When I was in college I remember rooms on the 3rd floor of the Library. Study cells, they were called. They were small, maybe 8×10, or so. Had a table and two to four chairs, a window looking out on the courtyard, a flat 4-pronged coat rack screwed to the concrete and totally sound-proof wall……just perfect for………….
I am waiting for you in the study room. Waiting for you to join me for lunch. I have packed us a wonderful meal, my Toy. Tender roasted chicken breast for protein. Succulent dairy cheeses, for calcium. Sweet crisp apples for vitamin C. And a light, blush wine to wash it all down. (Must make sure my Toy is fed properly.)
Quickly checking over your shoulder to make sure no one is close by, you slip into the room and press your broad back against the hardwood, swiftly closing the door; your hand turning the lock in one smooth move, barring the world from our private playroom. Your eyes meet mine for just a moment. Long enough for you to hungrily drink in the black boots… black slacks… black sweater …black eyes that command you to your knees.
“Mistress.” You whisper as your knees bend of their own volition and you take your position on the floor before me. Arms extended in front of you, forehead pressed to the carpet, ass in the air, knees, and ankles together. You await your Mistress’ instructions.
I am deeply pleased and my tone reflects that pleasure. “At ease, my Toy.” Immediately you rise to your knees, eyes lowered still, but back erect, arms behind your back, hands clasped. When I extend my small, well-manicured hand to you, you take it in your larger, masculine palm and gently, reverently press your lips to the back of my fingers, enjoying the tips of my long ruby painted nails as they tease the inside of your wrist.
“My Mistress. I am honored that you have joined me for lunch, Ma’am.”
“Mmmmm….” ruffling your hair, “As you should be, my Favored One.” Nuzzling my hand with your head, you feel my fingers entwine in your hair. I love the softness of your hair, silky and sensuous against my palm. I tug on your hair, forcing you to look up at me. Piercing eyes meet yours. You know what is wanted, I hardly need to voice it, but I do anyway. Quietly, yet commandingly. “Disrobe.”
Watching you peel out of your layers of winter clothing; sweater… t-shirt… jeans… amuses me. So many dynamics to this meeting. You, in a hurry, you have precious little time on your lunch break, and yet…you know my rules. Disrobing is to be a slow, sensuous, titillating act. Designed to teasingly reveal and seductively stimulate….ah, but now you are stuck halfway in and halfway out of your jeans, having forgotten to remove your shoes first. (Mistress covers her mouth in a delicate attempt to hide her grin.)
Amused by your awkwardness in this ongoing training to become my personal Chippendale, I am secretly proud of your efforts. You have been working hard, on your own time, to master the art of stripping. I remember how we searched together on the Internet for appropriate music for you to practice with. And how pleased you were to present me with a copy of the music CD you burned, so that Mistress could listen to the CD precisely at 9:00 pm, every Monday, Tuesday and Thursday evening, the exact same time that you are at home practicing. I smile thinking of how you diligently watched videos of male dancers that I provided for you. Memorizing moves and mimicking dance steps, all to please your Mistress, and yet, embarrassed by being forced to watch other men perform. Such wickedly contradicting emotions! You love the attention of your Mistress. Of feeling her power over you. Her dominance and control make you feel secure and safe. Yet she takes you places you have never been before. She explores areas of your psyche that have remained hidden and well guarded. She strips you down to just the sexual animal and feeds the beast within you. Yet, at the same time, she nurtures and comforts, educates, and refines. She strengthens the Man.
Resisting the temptation to praise you I pull you back into focus with one word. “Inspect.” The command is spoken softly, yet firmly and with conviction. It has an immediate effect on you. You take your position in front of me. Hands clasped behind your head, elbows back, forcing your well-developed chest forward, accentuating the rippling muscles. Mistress can hardly keep her hands to herself, but strong she must be and strong she is. My foot nudges yours. “Feet shoulder-width apart. Stand straight and tall.” I command. You adjust your stance, blushing brightly as your cock and balls dangle freely between your thighs. I know that you are embarrassed by your nakedness, exposed for all the world to see, should that door behind you suddenly fly open!
Cupping your strong manhood in my soft, warm hand, I lean in and tenderly kiss you. My tongue presses your lips, urging you to open to me. To accept my dominance over you and to give your submission to me. Eagerly you comply, taking my marauding tongue and sucking on it, with a hunger that mere food will not satisfy. Slowly I back you to the wall. Our lips still locked, our tongues still dancing. My hand still owning you.
You are barely aware of the transition. Your mind concentrating on the wild sensations coursing through your brains. One brain engorging itself with hot, pleasurable, pulsating lust as the other brain drains itself and readies to submit to the wildest of temptations.
Running my hand along the length of your arm, my fingers wrap gently around your wrist and draw it upwards. Immune to conscious thought, your body follows my unspoken direction and in the space of just 3 minutes I have you secured by thin, but sturdy, rope to the coat rack. I open my large carryall and extract a collapsible spreader bar and secure it between your ankles. You are now ready for whatever may be in store for you. And oh, what I have in store for you, my Toy.
I hear a startled gasp from you as I pull a blindfold from my purse. You are not fond of being …left in the dark…nevertheless, I place the blindfold over your eyes and check to make sure that it is snug, but will not give you a headache. (Something else is beginning to ache, though…yes, my Toy?)
In your imposed darkness, your body splayed against the wall, you feel yourself giving over to the need you have deep within you. The need that cannot be ignored, no matter how hard you try. The need to be possessed. To be owned and used. Released of conscious thought and responsibility for your actions. The need to be enslaved by One who knows your body, mind and soul better than you do.
“We must feed your body, my Toy. Proper maintenance is so very important.” A strip of roasted chicken is placed against your lips. Hungrily you suck it in and begin to chew. “I hope you are having a good day here at work.” I offer pleasantly, much as if we were seated at the table behind me having a simple, romantic interlude.
“Yes, Ma’am.” I am pleased that you are being so mindful of your training. Seeking only when a question is directed at you. A morsel of cheese is pressed between your lips.
“People being pleasant with you today, Dear?” A bite of chicken. My arm brushes gently across your belly, the softness of my cashmere sweater caresses your flesh. It pleases me to see your smooth skin prickle in response.
“Yes.” A breath of a whisper.
“Yes, what, Toy?” Sternness edges the hypnotic swell of my voice. I know that you are slowly entering your place of submission, your “sub space”, but properness is required at all times. My hand wraps firmly and dominantly around your balls. “Answer properly, please.”
“Yes, M-m…Ma’am.” Nothing you can do, you cannot protect yourself. And in a strange, bizarre way, you do not want to protect yourself. You want to free yourself. Free yourself to enjoy the erotic feelings submission brings you. Your mind sinks further into submission, as your cock grows harder in anticipation.
The warmth of my hand possessing you is powerful. Fingers flex gently, rhythmically, in beat with the pulsating electricity flowing through your shaft. Desire rises strong and overwhelming in you. Without thinking you thrust your hips forward, forcing my hand to stroke you. Your body begging me for release. Instantly my hand releases you. And a frustrated groan escapes your lips. Your cock juts straight and full from your loins. Quivering and pulsating, it is such a beautiful symbol of Man, but…
My hand slaps your cock hard. Startled, your yelp echoes in the small soundproof room.
“Silence, Toy!” I hiss in your ear, at the same time grabbing your balls, squeezing. “Or you will get worse.” Biting your lower lip, you accept your punishment. “You know you are to remain still, don’t you?”
“Yes, Mistress…I-I’m sor…so so-sorry, p-please.., Mistress, please f-forgive me.” The words tumble from your lips, as you struggle within to keep from struggling outwardly against the hand that grips you. I hold you a few moments longer, to ensure your compliance, then release you. Abruptly I return to pleasant conversation.
“I will be having a dinner party tonight, my Toy.” More chicken is presented to you, followed by a sip of wine, a bit of which dribbles down your chin, onto your bare chest. “You are available to cook for me?”
“Of course, Mistress! I am always available for you.” You answer hastily, partly because you know this is not a question of availability, but of confirmation. A formality really, since we both know you WILL cook for me, as well as do anything else I command, but your desire to please me is in a heightened state right now, especially in light of your dismal performance just moments ago.
My tongue licks at the wine trails along your upper torso, and I feel the shiver that races along your flesh, prickling the smooth contours of your chest. Flicking my tongue over your erect nipple elicits a moan from you. My teeth bearing down on your tender bud produces a low, desire filled groan. I smile, nuzzling my lips against the brownish puckered circle, my breath, hot and wickedly tormenting washing over you. Your breathing becomes rapid, anticipatory. Watching you, my hands playing over your flat belly, teasing the skin with my nails, my fingers work down to your cock. Long and thick, it bobs rhythmically as it juts from your bare pelvis. I squat in front of you, eye level with my favorite toy and without touching your penis with my hands, I lick the precum from the tip. The shudder that tears through your body attests to the eminence of your climax.
I stand and you sense me moving away. The closeness you felt, the warmth from my body so near yours leaves you. The denial of orgasm pushes at your mind, a small whimper escapes you as you tug at the binds that secure you to the rack. “Mistress?” Desire whispers. Nay, desire begs…
“Yes, my Toy?” My tone is calm, unassuming. We are two people enjoying a picnic. You can hear me rummaging through a paper bag. You wonder, but reality is forcing its way into the back of your mind. You cringe, the first little kernels of self-consciousness, more, self-awareness, push at your mind.
“Mistress, I could be fired….”, you begin, but your voice falters. A different sound has caught your attention. The husky laugh of the One you have vowed allegiance to, followed by the clicking rasp of a zipper opening. A zipper from an article of clothing? Perhaps Mistress’ linen slacks? Rustling-Mistress removing her clothes? IN PUBLIC?? As your mind wraps around these thoughts, desperately searching for cognizant understanding, you sense that Mistress has suddenly moved close to you again. Her presence is very near, her scent very strong. Yet she utters not a sound. Silence fills the study cell.
You sense her closeness with every fiber of your body. Like radar, your senses zero in on her. Your ears strain to hear her; your eyes yearn to look upon her. You long to feel HER. To touch her. To be touched by her. Yet she keeps her distance. She hovers just out of reach, just beyond the cloak of darkness she imposed on you in the beginning. Darkness surrounds you. Silence deafens you. Submission embraces you. Her Dominance humbles you.
A rustling, off to your left, catches your attention. You hear a metallic click, followed by a swift, whispery swoosh, and then a louder click reverberates close to your left ear. Your blinded mind categorizes the sounds: the sound of something locking into place. And then sound ceases to exist. Taking its place is a sensation. Pure, terrorizing, icy sensation. Heart hammering wildly against its bone cage, your mind recognizes the unmistakable cold, hard edge of Mistress’ switchblade. Bone-chilling cold steel lies silently against warm quivering flesh.
“Mistress…” comes the fearful, barely audible, whispered plea. “I’m at work….”
The razor-sharp blade and you KNOW how sharp it is because YOU sharpened it just last night at Mistress’ insistence, scrape lightly over your sensitive nipple. In spite of trusting Mistress to do you no harm, you shudder at the sensation. Tender erect flesh is teased by the tip of the knife blade. It digs into you, pressing your nipple inwards. You whimper, in spite of yourself.
“Tsk, tsk, Toy. Such an unmanly display…” A throaty chuckle teases your ear. “I dare say, my precious Toy, dessert will be served….” The knife moves away and you hear it slice through something. Immediately the crisp, clean scent of apple fills your nostrils.
“On… your….knees, my Toy.” The knife slices through the ropes restraining you. It is sudden and without warning, catching you off guard and being bound still to the spreader bar, you stumble forward knees and hands hitting the floor as you come crashing down on all fours, the carpet rubbing them harshly. Head lowered, for you know you have disappointed Mistress, you wait in the proper position for her determination of your fate. Needles of dread prick your mind as random thoughts race through your mind. Surely she would not punish you here–you tend to be a bit vocal during paddling sessions–and to be caught at work…no, she would not change that.
As if reading your mind, Mistress chuckles again. “You will be punished at home, Toy. So that you do not further embarrass yourself with your unmanly whimpering.” I release the ankle cuffs and remove the spreader bar. A chair scrapes on the carpeting. You sense the nearness of me once again. You can smell the apple fragrance permeating the room, but something else now underlies it. Something stronger, more earthy, more…feminine.
I have seated myself, bare bunned, on the straight-backed chair directly in front of you. Grasping your hair, I force your face between my ample thighs. Crisp, fresh apple scent mingles with the scent of hot, raw desire. “Serve me, my Toy. It is dessert time.” You know what is expected and you go to it with a flourish. Tonguing my wet pussy lips, your mind oblivious to the fact that you are in your place of employment, on your knees, naked and fully exposed, licking the pussy of the one woman who controls you right down to your sex. I love your worship techniques. You are taking to your training in that area quite well, and I barely have time to nibble on an apple wedge, before you have me climaxing in the first of several mini orgasms. As I lean back, hand-holding you at bay so I can catch my breath, the alarm on your watch begins to beep. Our lunchtime is over and you must return to work. Our hot, little 50 minutes concludes.
I remove the blindfold from your eyes and you blink as your pupils adjust, coming into focus just inches from your Mistress’ sweet pussy. A little something for you to think about as you finish out the day.
“Come and kiss your Mistress, Toy.” The command is soft, yet firm. I take you in my arms as our lips press together, tongues dancing and swirling, my nectar on your lips, commingling with the apple flavor on my own. God, you are good enough to eat! I think but refrain from feeding your ego at this time. As I release you and motion for you to dress, I begin to go over the instructions for the coming evening.
“You will need to go straight home from work tonight. I trust you have no plans for after work?” I stop and watch you wiggle into your tight jeans….::Smile::…zipping them closed over your still bulging manhood is not so easy!
“No, Mistress, I will go straight home after work.” You answer softly. I slip into my own clothing as you begin to tidy up the room and clean up our lunch things.
“Good. I want you to shower, shave, and be at my place by 6:00 pm. I have left your clothing and other necessary…items…on your bed, which, by the way, you did not make up this morning, did you?”
“No, Mistress, I overslept.” Hmmm, I do so love to see you blush when caught not keeping up with your assigned routines. And I KNOW you are thinking of the consequences that await you for all these infractions that you have racked up. I smile sweetly.
“We will deal with that at another time, Toy, though do trust that I WILL deal with it.”
“Yes, Mistress.” You swallow hard. Humbleness, and memorization, still a bit hard for you. “I know that I have displeased you, Ma’am. I deserve to be punished for my inability to control myself and for my lazy attitude.” You struggle to remember the last words of your penance mantra. “I will submit my body to your punishing instrument.”
“Is that all of it, Toy?” I prompt when you pause too long.
“I need and accept your guidance and discipline, Mistress. Please bring this slave to his knees and impress upon him correction to his slovenly ways.”
“And I will, Toy, trust me…I will. Now regarding the dinner, I will have purchased the groceries needed to prepare the meal, and you will be assisted in the serving of the meal by Mistress Anna’s sub, as well as Mistress Laura’s new sub. You understand, yes, my Toy?”
“Yes, Mistress.” It is nearly time for you to return to work and glancing nervously at your watch, you move towards the door. “I understand.”
My body blocks your escape, backing you once again against the wall. Before you can stop me, my hand is down the front of your pants stroking your still rock hard cock. My mouth covers yours, my tongue entering your mouth with a force that takes your breath away. When I break the kiss and release your cock, I whisper seductively….”Come prepared to stay the weekend, my Favored One.”
You are sent back to your work desk, located out in the open for all to see, with thoughts of being with Mistress, at her mercy and full command, for two full days, and sporting a huge, monstrous hardon. And you can’t help but wonder if you will be allowed to release during this session. And you know that you will beg for it………….
“Come here, bitch,”
The order is sharp and matter of fact. The girl switches off the water in the kitchen and immediately comes to her side. Although they are not usually so formal at home, the girl can hear in her tone that kneeling would be the appropriate course of action. She slips, gracefully, to her knees and looks up at her Lady, waiting to hear what she will be told.
Her Lady smiles at the gesture; Her slave, who listens intently to read her needs. Who seeks to please and give her what she wants, even in the smallest of gestures. She will have the chance to do so later. Her Lady has been plotting quite an evening of amusement for herself. A day really. She smiles to herself.
“Life is good,” she thinks as she leans back in the desk chair and listens for a moment to the birds. She looks down at the girl and raises an eyebrow, simply to see her blush and squirm. Instantly, the flush raises in her cheeks and her shoulders curl. Instantly, she’s wide open and an inch high. The girl giggles nervously. She can’t help herself. Her Lady knows the meaning of this giggle very well. She’s feeling tiny. Miniscule. Torn open. Exposed. Delicious, her Lady thinks. Her sweetness. Her vulnerability. The slight glisten on her olive skin.
“Finished with the dishes?” her Lady inquires.
“Good, go upstairs and bathe. Shave. Scrub yourself, inside and out. I want you pristine. Got it?”
“Yes, Ma’am,” the girl replies and instantly rises to do her bidding once the Lady offers an almost imperceptible nod of her head. But, the girl sees it and understands. She heads up the stairs, trying hard to make no noise, and enters the bathroom where she bathes herself thoroughly and shaves until she’s as smooth everywhere as baby skin. Because it is her will. Because she prefers her property, clean, bare, exposed to her, and pleasant to touch. When she’s finished, she steps out of the tub and on to the bath mat. She wraps a towel around her body and one around her hair to prevent any dripping on the carpeting. She brushes her teeth and makes sure her eyebrows are well-groomed. She looks in the mirror and is pleased with the results. Her skin has that after scrub glow and she feels smooth to the touch. She smells like black currant vanilla, one of her Lady’s special favorites. She applies lotion of the same scent to ensure the smell lingers, careful to rub it everywhere so that her skin remains milk soft for her Lady’s pleasure. As always, she wishes to appeal to all of her Lady’s senses. And it is with this desire for her Lady’s pleasure in mind that she completes the grooming ritual. She neatly hangs her towel up to dry, cleans out the grey porcelain of her Lady’s bathtub, and returns to the bedroom to dress.
To her surprise, her Lady is waiting, and she has laid out clothing for Her slave on the bed. This is unusual. Her Lady generally only selects Her slave’s outfits when She has a desire to play dress up or wishes her dressed a certain way when they are going out to play. However, according to her Lady, they will be going shopping. She needs a new red dress and shoes for the evening. Her slave is excited that they will be shopping for Her. She so rarely treats herself and She deserves it. She’s always thinking of others before herself.
The Lady smiles at her slave and arches an eyebrow. The girl squirms, once again. She’s certain her Lady’s eyes can see inside her heart and mind. Under her Lady’s hand, she has grown out of the urge to cover herself and the need for the carpet to swallow her whole. She still has to fight the urge to fidget, especially as she knows her Lady prefers her to stand still.
She is not there for a minute before a hold is taken of her hair and she’s taken down to her knees. Her Lady walks rapidly, and she has to crawl quickly to keep up with Her. Although the girl cannot see, the Lady smiles, amused by the way her hips wiggle as she moves, petlike, to keep pace. She’s led down the stairs and into the basement, where the couch has been covered by stretcher sheets and the table has clearly been prepared, with what the girl cannot see. Her Lady pats the couch and the girl obeys the wordless command. She climbs up and perches back on her heels. Her eyes adjust to the darkness; the white paneling of the walls comes into focus, and her nostrils fill with the familiar scent of Her, of that space.
She pats a spot on the floor and the girl kneels.
“Lay down, pet,” She commands, and, instantly, She is obeyed. The girl lays down and does not resist as her Lady pulls her legs apart.
“Are you ready?” she asks.
Ready for what? The girl does not know, but it hardly matters. She is ready now. She is always ready. If it pleases her Lady, there is nothing she wouldn’t do. It does not even occur to her to think that these words frequently preface tremendous pain. And today will be no different. Still, pain seems inconsequential when compared to her Lady’s pleasure.
She is surprised to feel cold between her legs. It precedes the brief moment of painful insertion and fullness.
“No lube I felt was necessary, I knew my dirty little whore would take it for me regardless,”
“Yes Ma’am,” she replies. Take what? Clearly something has been inserted, but the girl has no idea what. All of a sudden she jumps as she feels intense vibration. It catches her by surprise as it stimulates THAT spot. She moans as the vibration grows stronger and stronger, edging towards release…
“If it pleases you, Ma’am, may your…” but as she begins to beg, sensation stops, and the girl is left to breathe through the pressure and fullness of unreleased ache. Everything has happened so quickly. Device inserted. Sensation applied. Sensation removed. She can’t even think about the hows and whys? What has she inserted? How has she controlled it? What is she going to do?
As her Lady uncovers the supplies on the table, the question answers itself. Medical supplies and a 3.0 suture have been laid out like surgical implements. And the girl’s mind comes to rest upon a threat her Lady had once made.
“I’m going to put something in you, sew you shut, and take you out like that.”
As with so many things, the threat is about to become a reality. The girl whimpers a bit in thinking about how painful being sewed shut will be. She finds any sort of pain inflicted on her delicate bits to be intense. Sutures will be…she shudders, but instantly lets go of the fear. It is Her pain, after all, Her will, and therefore not to be fought. She closes her eyes and tells herself that pain and fear mean nothing, all that matters is her Lady’s pleasure. She lets go of every thought but this. She closes her eyes and immerses herself in Her. In her pleasure. In the scent of her, that reminds the girl that she is home. In the twinkle in her eyes as her sadistic need is fed. In the way She hums as she sews and the blood begins to flow.
“Don’t forget to breathe girl, you know this will hurt.” With that, she begins, and the girl’s world reduces down to the stinging pain as the suture is inserted and slowly pulled through the flesh of her labia. The girl quiets and focuses her mind away from the intensity of the pain and towards Her pleasure. Relax. Accept it. It is her desire and her will. It hurts Intensely so. And she sews slowly. With purpose. The tears fall and form, but the girl does not resist. She opens herself to the pain, allows it to flow through her. She is Hers. Her property. Her toy. Therefor Her pleasure and to fill Her needs. At the moment, her sole purpose is to be stitched for her Lady’s amusement. To suffer at her hand. Suffer she does, and amused She is. She, indeed, hums softly as she sews, smiling as the needle dulls and the sting grows sharper. As the girl’s tears flow harder. As she sees her little flower close up its petals, hiding away the little jewel she has placed inside. As her glee becomes tangible. Oh the fun she will have today.
“Ok kitten, all set. Go on upstairs and get dressed. Your clothing is on the bed.”
“Yes, Ma’am,” she replies. Her voice a throaty whisper. Her Lady smiles to hear the pain She has inflicted manifest itself in her body. The girl’s cunt is throbbing. The sting of the needle has been replaced by the dull ache and stretching of the sutures as they pull. Soon she will feel a sharper sting as her own body betrays her, and the stitches fill with the acidity of her own wetness. Reminding her that she, her body, everything she is, everything she has is Hers. Her property. A toy to facilitate her further amusement.
“Hurry up now, I’ll be waiting for you at my desk.”
Quickly, quietly, the girl makes her way up the stairs. The stitches pull, a subtle reminder of her place. She cannot help but release a soft moan as she steps first her right leg, then her left, into the ruffled panties her Lady has laid out. Just stiff enough to be irritating to the tender bits that have been so thoroughly used. Her Lady’s clothing choice is equally deliberate. A restrictive pencil skirt hobbles her further, ensuring she cannot spread her legs too far. There will be no relief from the ache. She will suffer because it is her Lady’s will. For as long as she so chooses to have it so. Each step, each shift of her knees, each fidgit, each tiny motion will serve to give her Lady’s pleasure as the stitches will pull and her cunt will throb. Not so different from the every day, where each gesture, each though, each move she makes is executed with her Lady’s pleasure in mind. Merely externalized. And facilitated by her Lady’s fantasies come to life.
She finishes dressing, fixes her hair neatly, and quickly applies makeup as she wishes to represent her Lady well. She is loveliness incarnate in her dress and heels, and her slave wishes to ensure that she does her justice. However, her desire to turn her Lady’s property out well is balanced with the need for expedience. Her Lady is ready and the girl knows she does not like to be kept waiting. And there is still the business of readying her belongings and ensuring her Lady will have all she needs. She makes her way down the stairs, and gasps as she feels the strong vibration between her legs. Her senses flood with pain? pleasure? Both? All she knows is it is intense.
The stitches throb. Her pleasure button is pushed over and over again, thanks to her Lady’s strategic placement of the device. The combination is intense, and there is no relief for the sensations, save her Lady’s mercy. She begins to moan and pant, with pleasure, with pain, with the sense of what it is to be Hers. Her dirty little whore, so close to cumming for Her, even with her pussy sewn shut. This thought supercedes pleasure and pain. She is Hers. Her slave. Her toy. Her property. The realization once again brings her to the verge.
“If it pleases you Mi’Lady….”
And once again it is stopped. Pain floods her senses, just as both knew would happen. The vibration and her wetness are a potent combination. Her head spins, her eyes glisten with tears.
“Hush girl, there will be none of that today. I expect my slave to conduct herself like a proper young lady, regardless of the circumstance. We will be shopping in fine stores, perhaps having lunch or tea. You will not embarrass me today and you will reveal to no one that I am doing naughty things to you. What’s more, you will not cum without my permission. And of course, I expect to be served in a manner that befits a Lady regardless of what might be happening between your slutty little legs. Understood?”
Her Lady smiles to hear the concern in her voice. Her slave is a responsive little thing. One of the reasons that tormenting her brings her so much delight. She will be able to focus and hold her reactions in check. Of this, the Lady is certain. But it will take every ounce of her will to do so.
The second piece of her command: “you will not cum without permission,” she has added to ensure the girl will fail. She knows that when the girl is in that headspace of surrender, she has no control over what her body does. Perhaps if her Lady said, “stop,” it might be another matter. Just as she can make the girl cum on command if she wishes it. But she will not. She enjoys setting her up to fail. Pushing that button and the need she has to give her Lady perfection. To constantly remind her that she will fall short. Mess up. Fail. Disappoint. It is one of her biggest fears in the context of her service. And one of her Lady’s greatest sources of sadistic pleasure.
As if reminding the girl of how difficult her task will be, she shakes the remote, carefully concealed in her right hand, and the device buzzes to life. The girl’s eyes open wide, but she bites her lip to keep from crying out. Her heart rate increases, her breathing, though quiet, grows shallow and quick. Delicious, her Lady thinks as she watches her slave carefully collect her things, attempting to focus solely on her service and on fetching the things her Lady will need for the day. She smiles, that sadistic catlike smile as she watches her poor little slave process through pain and pleasure and aches. She kneels and presents her Lady with her purse, and her cleaned sunglasses. With hands emptied and her task completed, there is nothing left to do but experience the intensity of sensations. Pleasure and pain are equally intense and equally dangerous given her Lady’s orders. She wills her mind to focus solely on her Lady’s needs. Her lips quiver. Her shoulders shake.
“Up you go girl.”
The order is given and the girl follows the Lady out to the car. The sensation does not stop its assault on her poor pussy until she has opened and closed the door and her Lady is situated in the driver’s seat.
She says nothing as the girl carefully climbs into the car, attempting not to wince as she is forced to take a wide step and sit.
“Off we go,” her Lady simpers and, with a smile pregnant with sadistic glee, she pulls out of the
driveway and into the road.
They soon arrive at the downtown boutique, small, but elegant, and situated in an old Victorian-style brownstone. Seas of purples and blues frame the doorway and the trees slowly rustle in the mid-morning breeze. A welcome fit for a queen, the girl thinks as they step inside. She cannot help but blush as she drinks it all in. The marble floors, the soft music, the abundance of sterling roses. The cases full of jeweled accessories, polished to streak-free perfection. The regal chaise, strategically placed in the center of the store immediately draws the eye. Its gilded edges and fine silk brocade taunt the girl, hyperconscious of her full and aching cunt, of her station, of her place. A little nothing, a mere piece of property, no different than the haute couture that her Lady currently peruses. How small she feels in contrast to her surroundings. Like the cinder girl at the prince’s ball, hyperconscious of her calloused feet and her dishpan hands; worried that someone will spot a speck of dirt beneath her nails or the hint of a low country accent.
Her Lady strolls by each display against the wall. And the girl watches as she isolates each piece, inspects each seam, each bit of beadwork, the quality of the fabric. The girl says nothing as she trails behind her and slightly to her right, watching to see if and when her Lady will hand back her purse or an item for her to hold up. Her attendant, her servant, her slave. There to care for her. There to provide her pleasure through the simple fact of her existence. There to suffer silently. Every so often she feels a quick jolt between her legs, which floods her senses with pain, reminding her that she has been stuffed and sewn, like a thanksgiving turkey for her Lady’s pleasure and amusement. But neither make mention of her state. The Lady walks, the girl attends, providing her opinion when it is requested of her, observing with the watchful eye of a 20th century bookkeeper.
“May I suggest something that would look lovely with your coloring,”
The saleswoman’s voice startles the girl. And a second startle follows soon. The girl’s eyes grow wide as she feels the vibration begin again in earnest. She bites her lip to keep quiet and stands stone still, willing herself with every fiber of her being to ignore the pain that has flooded her senses and the wetness she can feel gathering. She focuses on the pleasantries that her Lady exchanges with the woman, lest she be asked to contribute to the conversation. She shivers slightly as she thinks of her Lady’s casual menace. There she stands, listening intently, admiring the hand sewn and dyed lace and the intricate details of the overlay. Caring nothing for the girl’s mortification or her extreme discomfort. She is the very picture of serenity and poise. For a moment the girl is stricken with fear that her Lady has forgotten that her g-spot and her thoroughly used cunt are being assaulted with vibration at the highest setting. Little beads of sweat form on her hairline and above her lip. Her chest heaves. Yet she, too, maintains
maintains her composure and her poise, as her Lady has instructed and as she expects. She makes no noise. She does not fidget. If she were more obtrusive, a careful observer might notice her pain-glazed eyes, the little beads of sweat that have formed on her hairline or the shallowness of her breath. But the girl is careful not to draw attention to herself and, thus, the shoppers and sales staff alike pass her by without a second glance. She is shadow among substance. Far less interesting to regard than the rows full of finery in crimson, navy, and black.
Her Lady takes a backwards glance at Her slave and smiles at what she sees. Her slave, obeying Her to the letter of the law. She takes great pains to mask her distress. She stands still and, although not in position as she would be if they were out in the community, her Lady can see that she is at attention and her focus is on Her. She does not whimper or moan. She has not adjusted her gait to relieve the fire between her legs. But her Lady knows every atom. To Her, she is transparent as glass. She can see how hard the girl is working in the look of intense concentration that has come over her face. She can read her mortification in the flush of her cheeks and see how very concerned she is about her body’s ability to adhere to Her Lady’s command to avoid release. She can read the questions when they pop into her mind. “Do they know? Can they smell? Can they tell? Have I been a good enough girl to hide them as she expects?”
She has strategically ensured that the girl’s g-spot receives a steady stream of sensation. Just strong enough to fill her with ache without allowing release. Yet, intense enough to make the stitches in her lips twitch and pull. To ensure she feels the sting of irritation as the thread absorbs her moisture. She smiles, but does not relieve the girl’s distress as she follows the saleslady to a dressing room with a velvet curtain. Her attendant wishes Her well, hangs the clothing in a convenient spot and leaves the Lady and the girl in peace. They are alone.
“Poor pitiful little thing,” her Lady simpers as She smiles and turns up the intensity. Her teasing is barely audible, but the girl hears every word; experiences them in every fiber of her being. Her eyes widen as she notes the sadistic twinkling in her Lady’s eyes – the only outward sign She has, thus, far, showed, that Her hunger is building as Her slave’s condition grows worse.
How she is enjoying Her foreplay before the evening’s entertainment. How beautiful she is when she suffers so sweetly for Her pleasure and to fulfill her need. How sweet her doe eyes are as they become a window into her anguish. As her chest heaves and her breasts rise and fall. As her limbs begin to tremble slightly, almost imperceptibly. In Her mind’s eye, She sees an image of Her slave, both sets of lips dripping with blood. Tears streaming down her cheeks as she’s bitten, slapped, punched, taken to the edge of what her body can handle…and then beyond. To that place where she can no longer cry or scream. Where the little mews escape her lips as she lies broken at Her feet. Her property. Her slave. Her pomme de sang. Her every sense filled with Her. Aching to give Her everything She wishes. All that she is. Needing to give Her more, though her body is weary and bruised.
“Suffer for me, girl,”
“Yes Ma’am,” the girl’s whisper is just as throaty as the Lady’s own. In that moment Owner and slave are taken far away from the queue of dresses that await the Lady’s attention. But it’s only for an instant. Though Her need to ravage has been raised, the tiger must wait. Bide her time. Let the need build until it cannot be contained. Until they are in the privacy of her basement or her bedroom or wherever strikes the Lady’s fancy. Where the girl’s body can be stripped as naked as her soul. Where the goddess can be unleashed and pleased. Where She can visibly bind her and admire the fruits of Her labor.
With the tiger held at bay, the Lady switches off the device and turns Her attention back to the dresses that have been neatly arranged on a clothing rack. She tries on dress after dress and models them for Her girl who is touched by the sight of Her. She looks so beautiful, and too long She has waited to have the finery She deserves. The well-cut lines flatter Her beautiful body and accentuate the muscle on Her calves and arms. The red is a lovely complement to Her hair and eyes. The black hugs Her curves in all the right places. The silk on the purple is loveliness incarnate. The heels are heart stopping. The girl blushes and, momentarily, averts her eyes as she feels a second throb between her legs, independent of the vibration from the wicked little device. Even after all these years, the mere sight of Her Lady makes her wet. Can move her to tears. Reminds her that she is home. Arousal. Solace. Ache. Need. The same. Evidence that she is simply Hers.
After careful consideration, the Lady decides that all three are stunning and the heels are not to pass up. She takes a last look in the mirror and twirls a little to see the view from the back. She loves how the heels accentuate the elongated lines of her calves, and how the entire picture shows just the right amount of skin. She feels the goddess rise to the surface. It is good to have her there once again.
The Lady smiles as she catches a sideways glimpse of Her slave. She is smiling as she watches the Lady, normally so humble, admire herself in the mirror. The girl is captivated by Her beauty, true, but more by the totality of Her, as is evidenced by the renewed throbbing between her legs, but the sense of pleasure that fills her stems from the Lady’s own. From the way She carries herself. From the spring in her step. From the smile on her face. From the light in her eyes. She is reminded of an image from the last weekend they had spent at home. When her Lady had wished to be pampered and asked the girl to give her a facial and a massage. While they had casually chatted at first, the Lady soon fell quiet and immersed herself in the experience, and the girl quietly rubbed and stroked, willing her fingertips to convey every bit of relaxing energy and pleasure that they could to the Lady’s body. Tears formed in her eyes as the Lady slipped deeper into quiet and her body let go. As the stress melted from Her limbs and Dhe wrapped herself in a blanket of bliss. As she relished Her slave’s soft touch. Her occasional devoted kisses. The well-wishes for her pleasure conveyed in every brush of her fingertips.
“My sweet girl,” she thinks, and it raises the hunger within her. She wishes to cut, tear, and bite. She wishes to hear her little cries of agony. “Soon, soon,” she tells herself as the tiger stirs from slumber and gnaws at her belly.
She says nothing, but hands Her purchases to Her slave and walks towards the counter to pay.
The girl is careful not to allow the dresses to drag on the ground or to drop the shoes. Her purchases are carefully placed in garment bags, the shoes in an elegant gold and pink wrapping, reminiscent of the fine brocade. They are handed back to her and she follows her Lady out to the car.
Once the packages have been securely, her Lady arranges herself in the driver’s seat and her girl shuts the door behind her. She climbs into the car when instructed and quickly buckles herself in.
The road is bumpy and in need of repaving, and the girl whimpers as her stitched lips throb. She has been sewn for hours now, and the ache has only gotten worse. The sound is quiet, nearly imperceptible, but her Lady hears and smiles. Her slave, suffering for Her pleasure and at Her hand. In pain, but not complaining. Focused on her Lady’s pleasure and on Her needs.
Despite the pain, she has been on point with her service. In fact, it is almost frustrating. The Lady’s sadistic needs have been begging for release. The tiger, though quiet, is hungry and She can feel it. How She wishes to feed on her devastation. How She wishes to watch her as she struggles to control the tears that naturally form when she fails Her. She loves to torture her slave in this way, yet another form of reveling in who she is to the girl and the power she exerts over her. Oh, the ways She can play with the girl’s heartstrings. Just as the girl is Hers to build up and to teach, so she is there to be torn apart and fed on. To be the recipient of her Lady’s sadistic attention and of Her need to destroy. She is Her property, nothing but Her property, and yet it means everything to them both.
They drive in silence, neither one acknowledging the girl’s pain, though her Lady is intent on intensifying it.
“My god you are SUCH a slut,” she sighs without warning. Her Lady’s voice startles the girl from her reverie. Instantly, she is enveloped in a curtain of shame. Though she says nothing, the evidence is written in the crimson flush that now colors her cheeks.
“Seriously, the entire car smells like you,” She sneers. “I don’t know why I bother to take you anywhere. I should just leave you chained up in the basement like the little bitch in heat you are since you can’t seem to control yourself as befitting a young lady in public. May I suggest that before we sit down to lunch, you go into the bathroom and clean yourself…because if you embarrass me at the table, I assure you, you’ll regret it.”
The words hit the girl harder than a slap in the face. Harder even than the rubber strap that her Lady is so fond of. She whimpers in fear at the thought of causing her Lady even a moment’s displeasure. Her Lady is well aware that this is one of her deepest fears. She knows any consequences she would mete out pale in comparison to the actual act of disappointing her, and, yet, the threat serves as an incredibly effective way to raise that fear in the girl. She whimpers again and turns terrified eyes on her Lady, who is in the mood to destroy, and will offer no comfort to ease her suffering.
“I’m sorry, I couldn’t hear you, bitch, was that a yes Ma’am?”
Her Lady’s reply is cold and matter o’fact. She smiles, Her cat-who-ate-the-canary smile, as she watches the shiver travel from the base of the girl’s neck to her feet, leaving a trail of raised bumps on the exposed olive tapestry of her arms and legs.
“Yes, Ma’am.” she whispers, a bit louder, this time.
“Go on then,” her Lady points to the bathroom.
It is unlike Her to do so, but the girl does not even have the time to marvel at this irregularity. It’s meaning becomes instantly clear as she feels the intense throbbing begin once again. Once again, the Lady’s cruelty knows no bounds. She has been set up to fail as her Lady is so fond of doing. She begins to attempt to clean herself up, but as fast as she dries her glistening lips, so the vibration stimulates a new flow of her essence. And she is all too aware of how strong the scent of her sex is. Her Lady has informed her on more than one occasion, that it is powerful enough to fill a room. She, herself, has been left bound for hours, forced to confront this mortifying attribute first hand as her Lady’s ministrations have, in fact, filled the room with the scent of her ache for Her. Of her need. She begins to tremble as she worries, “have I cleaned up well enough…will she leave it running throughout the meal…will she permit me to go and clean up again? Will they all smell? Will I fail her…” the anxiety is far worse than the sting of the soap in her stiched lips. She takes a deep breath, squeezes her eyes shut, and bites the inside of her lip as she sprays her panties with the fine fragrance mist she keeps in her purse for emergencies.
She’s as dry as she’lll ever be…so she takes a deep breath and returns to find her Lady has been seated. She sips a glass of water as She calmly peruses the menu. She can feel Her slave before She sees her, and makes an almost imperceptible gesture with Her hand to indicate to the girl that she should sit. The girl sees and obeys, and has to fight the urge to cry out when she feels the hard seat make contact with her aching cunt. And, of course, her Lady, still in the mood to take, instantly turns up the vibration. The girl’s world is reduced to a whirlwind of pain.
“Decide what you’d like for lunch.”
Her Lady’s order is simple, and, yet, so pregnant with her cruelty. While she often takes pleasure in ordering for them both, today, She is going to make Her tormented girl carry on a polite conversation with their server while in a state of distress and wondering whether her body will betray her.
Soon, the moment she dreads is upon them, and, the server arrives at their table. Her Lady calmly places Her order, not revealing Her satisfaction. She knows her slave like the back of her hand, and she knows she has succeeded in her mission. Raise the fear of failing Her in her, add a splash of degradation and public humiliation and the girl has come unglued juuuust enough to give her what she wants.
“And for you?”
The girl hears the dreaded words. She offers a quick, almost pleading glance at her Lady whose own steely gaze is an effective message to the girl that she should hurry and do as she’s been told.
She looks up at the server and their eyes lock. And at that moment, as if planned, she feels the buzzing grow even stronger. The girl inwardly shudders. She can hear the buzzing….everyone can…she’s certain of it. She’s going to reveal the secret. She knows it. She attempts to focus on doing as her Lady wishes, and she does not lose her composure…but she feels her cheeks flushing crimson again.
“My dear are you alright?”
The question, so well intentioned, is like a death toll. She can feel her Lady’s look burning a hole right through her. Little does she know that despite the heat of that gaze, her Lady is high as a kite and all smiles inside. Finally, she has given Her enough ammunition to let the sadist fully out to play. The girl’s devastation is total, but she wills her strength to surface and forces her mind to push all thoughts but her Lady’s order out of her head.
“Yes, Ma’am, I am fine, thank you. May I please have…”
The girl does not even process the food on the menu. A choice comes out of her mouth and her eyes are already turned towards her Lady, silently begging Her forgiveness.
The server nods and smiles and walks away, and her Lady wastes no time. “Bad girl,”
Instantly the girl’s strength flees her. Her belly is full of ice water and there is a chill she can’t recover from flowing through her veins. The pain between her legs is nothing compared to the pain tearing at her heart. She wishes she could make it up to Her, right here, right now. Anything to make it right. Anything to be her good girl once again. The thought of giving her a moment’s distress is utter torture. And now, confronted with her worst fear, she must fight to compose herself to avoid exacerbating the situation and displeasing her Lady even further.
Such a simple torture her Lady has devised. Yet so intense. The girl will be well used mind, body, heart, and soul before this day is up. A sobbing puddle of devastated slave at her feet, just the way the sadist likes it.
“Your slave is sorry, Ma’am, she’s so sorry,” the girl begins to whisper, her need to make it right evident in her voice. “She’ll do anything to make it right, Ma’am, anything.”
“You will,” her Lady states. “Later.”
The word settles on her heart like an early frost. Later. Six simple letters. Two small syllables. So innocuous. Yet, so painful. She will be forced to carry the knowledge that she has displeased Her, disobeyed Her, failed Her until such time as her Lady allows her to release the pain in a flood of cleansing tears and profuse apologies. Until the slate is cleaned and she is her Lady’s good girl once more. Until she can curl up under her Lady’s feet, at peace in her place while her Lady revels in Her headspace. But this will not be until later. When, exactly, she does not know. Her appetite, slim to begin with, becomes nonexistent. But, once granted permission to eat, she forces herself to consume her lunch. She knows better than to add insult to injury and disobey her Lady twice.
Her Lady notes the girl’s efforts, and consents to allow her to be finished when the girl presents her plate for her Lady’s approval. She has eaten enough to carry her through the evening’s activities, and, while on a normal day, She might have instructed the girl to eat more, She is anxious to return to the house and put Her carefully laid plans into action. A simple nod of the head tells the girl all she needs to know. Her Lady takes care of the check and gives a wordless command for Her slave to follow to where they will retrieve the car. No words need passing between them. She knows her Lady’s meaning as clearly as if She had spoken aloud.
“Pathetic little whore,” her Lady sneers as soon as the door closes behind the girl and they pull out of the parking lot. She smiles as the girl’s shoulders curl and her face pales. “Useless girl, I warned you, didn’t I, I specifically told you NOT to embarrass me, and you couldn’t even obey the simplest of orders. I was right, earlier. I should definitely leave you chained up with a little dog bowl while I’m out as you are clearly unfit to accompany me into polite society. You’re just a filthy dirty girl who can’t control her filthy pussy…even when her Owner stresses the importance of proper behavior.”
How badly the girl wishes she could disappear into the seats. How badly she wishes she’d be struck dead right on the spot. Instantly, she begins to sob.
“Ma’am your slave is sorry, she’s so sorry.”
“What did I say?” her Lady hisses. “I told you later. You disobey me again…shows how sorry you are.”
And with that, the girl is simply beyond speech. She cries inconsolably. Success! Her Lady is positively delighted. She says nothing more on the short drive back to the house. She simply revels in the sweet music She has produced.
They pull into the driveway and, with that, her Lady spits, “good god, you are such a fucking drama queen. For the love of god, stop your crying. you’ll only make yourself ugly and disgrace yourself further by disobeying me a third time. Bad little girl or not, I want you looking your best tonight, just as I will be. Can’t have you embarrassing me…again, now can I?”
“N…no, Ma’am.” the girl stammers and the Lady smiles at the smallness of her in that moment. She is nearly defeated. Nearly. But not quite where her Lady wants her just yet.
“That’s right,” her Lady smiles, a knowing smile and the girl instinctively whimpers as she realises that her suffering is far from over. “A lady, such as myself, deserves only the best of everything. That was all I wished for today, fine clothes, a pleasing lunch, and an obedient slave to tend to my needs as is her job. Of course I’ll have to settle for two out of three. Go on and put my things away.”
“Yes Ma’am,” the girl’s voice has shrunk to the size of a whisper, but even in her misery, she reacts instantly to her Lady’s command. To the expression of Her need. Carefully, she takes the packages and the dresses and carries them upstairs to her Lady’s bedroom. It is HER space, her own private sanctuary, and the girl, too, finds it more peaceful than anywhere else in the large house, simply because it is Hers. The soothing purples, the elegant cherrywood, the scent that reminds her that she is home, as strong as it is when she is at her Lady’s feet. The scent is oddly comforting to her, despite her state of turmoil, and the act of tending to her lady’s finery is centering. She feels herself begin to relax as she neatly stacks the shoe boxes and organizes the dresses, taking care that they don’t wrinkle or catch on the hangers.
Without warning, she gasps. The buzzing has begun again in earnest. Her swollen lips ache. Her headaches. Her heartaches. The buzzing is a cruel reminder of her earlier disobedience. And to make matters worse, with all of her tasks completed, the sensation seems oddly heightened. Though as yet unnoticed, the sexual urge has been building between her legs all day. And she cannot help but notice that the pain of stimulation seems oddly charged with the sensation of a different sort. Her heart begins to pound as she feels Her presence, the strong grip at her throat, and the hot breath on the back of her neck. She’s pushed up against the edge of the bed and lets out a startled little cry as she feels her Lady’s hands at the button of her skirt.
She is soon divested and shivers as the cool of the room meet her flushed and slightly damp skin. Her legs are kicked apart and her eyes grow wide and glaze with the pain of her stitches pulling even further. She feels the knee strategically positioned before she sees her Lady’s cold grin. She trembles at the thought of what she knows is inevitable. “No, god, please no, let me exercise some restraint. Please, god, don’t disobey Her a third time.”
But her Lady is the maestro when it comes to plucking those strings as well. There’s not an inch of Her property She doesn’t know or can’t bend to Her will. The girl begins to cry in earnest before the thrusting begins. Though she dare not beg Her to stop, indeed the thought of saying no in any iteration is like poison to her, she cannot hide the terror and dread in her face.
“Your slave doesn’t want to disobey you Mi’Lady,” she sobs and trembles as her cunt instantly responds to the Lady’s teasing. The urge builds and builds, equal to the pain of the intense vibration. Over and over the little device assaults her g-spot. The girl’s eyes begin to roll back in her head. “Oh god, please, Ma’am, your slave really, really, really doesn’t want to disobey you.”
“Then don’t,” her Lady replies. Her desperation only adds fuel to the fire. The girl will get no pity here. Her Lady wants her broken. And third disobedience will accomplish this for sure. She smiles as she presses her knee strategically against the girl’s cunt. She can feel the throb. Feel the heat. Smell the essence of her. And She has no doubt She will soon win. She always does. There’s no way the girl can stop herself. Her body is in no way hers. Every inch of it belongs to red queen. Every centimeter is owned, every molecule, claimed. She has no more control over what her body does than she would a speeding train. And stopping either would be equally impossible.
She wails, utterly defeated as she feels the release shudder through her body. And with that her devastation is complete. Her Lady removes Her knee from between the girl’s legs and smiles as her little slave crumbles to the ground.
“What on earth is wrong with you today, girl? Disobeying me three times? Have you forgotten what you are and the unquestioning obedience you owe me? Clearly you need reminding of your place.”
Her steps are lively and light as she makes her way through the garage. Her arms filled with the packages she is excited to wrap, her nostrils with the scent of cinnamon, ginger and cloves, and her head with visions of familial harmony. Silent Night has been playing in the mall and she hums it as she walks. She is always happy this time of year and even though she is grown now, she has not lost her appreciation for the magic of the season. It’s not only her own family that seems to behave better in the weeks and months leading up to Christmas day. But the world just seems a little more festive. A little brighter. People seem to behave less ugly toward one another. They merge civilly and smile more. They seem…hopeful. It means something to her.
The hour is late and it’s cold even in the covered garage and her breath hovers cloudlike about her lips. This amuses her, enough to make her giggle. She is so like a child at times.
She reaches the car and opens the back door, still humming as she arranging her packages neatly on the floor. She does not notice the hooded figure quietly approach. Nor does she know that she’s been followed for hours. Having grown up in New York. She’s walked at ungodly hours in some of the city’s worst neighborhoods without incident or problem. She is generally street smart and knows to stay frosty when walking along in a covered parking lot…but at Christmas time she’s a sitting duck. Prone to a wandering mind and a happy heart she sees only the good.
She gasps and her brown eyes widen as a strong arm quickly covers her mouth. She feels the pressure of cold steel against her exposed throat. For a moment she is frozen in her fear…a split second, but long enough to feel pulled back against the body of the hooded figure and she whimpers and shivers as she feels hot breath wash over her left ear. It smells like peppermint and coffee, an odd realization perhaps but her senses are heightened in her fear. She feels dragged backward and she drops the last few packages as she attempts to pull away, biting and clawing frantically at the arm that holds her. Her struggle is ineffective. The figure is strong. Much stronger than she and her fear seem only to amuse her.
The struggle becomes desperate as comprehension dawns on her. They are headed towards a large box truck with a padlocked door and she fights her captor with increased vigor. Still, the figure says nothing, confident in her success, she merely presses the cold steel into the girl’s throat a little harder and the girl feels a small trickle of wetness run down her neck and pool in her cleavage. It’s warm. A stark contrast to the cold night air. She attempts to scream and feels her air supply cut off by the black sweatshirt. This quiets her enough to make it easy for the hooded figure to slam the back door of the truck shut.
“Now then, my dear, I’m going to release you, but if you scream I’m going to cut out your tongue. Understand?” the command is menacing and oddly emotionless and the girl does not doubt its sincerity, perhaps because the sharp blade is now tracing its way along the long lines of her neck, up towards her chin and to her covered lips. Tears fill her eyes and she nods frantically, desperate to show this person she will comply.
“That’s a good girl,” the praise is taunting but the girl doesn’t care. A moment of relief as she is released and she feels breath flood her nose and mouth once again. But relief is short-lived. She has been taken and locked in the back of this truck for god knows what purpose. She knows nothing apart from this. She has been taken, and whoever it is, she or he is in complete control of her fate. The hooded figure advances and the girl, trembling, cannot stop instinct from taking over. Frantically she backs away from the figure’s slow and casual advance. She however is utterly unconcerned by the girl’s ill fated attempts at escape. She knows she has her trapped, like a rat in a maze. Nowhere to go. No escape. No option but to follow the path that has already been laid out for her.
“Where you going sweet pea?” once again she is taunted. The figure’s voice is muffled by the hooded sweatshirt and the mask she is wearing to conceal her features and sounds oddly androgynous. She whimpers and freezes in terror once again as she feels herself trapped by the back of the truck. Instinctively she curls up into a tight ball, pressed tightly against the wall of the truck, silently wishing she could disappear into it. Her heart is racing. She trembles so hard she is positive she will break in two.
The figure stares down at her and though the girl can’t see it, can’t even see that she is a she, her eyes are dancing with hunger and her sadistic smile is wide. Sunglasses cover her eyes and her mouth is obscured by her clothing. She is dressed in black from head to toe and every inch of her body is covered. No distinguishing features. And the girl is too blinded with fright even to take notice of her stature. Is she tall or short? The girl isn’t sure. From her position on the floor, the figure seems eight feet tall.
“How kind of you, you’ve made my job much easier,” the figure sneers as she grasps her hair and shackles her around the neck in one quick, seemingly effortless move. Her wrists are then grabbed and she is shackled by the wrist and then the ankles in a similar fashion. The metal is cold. Like the knife blade. Her heart is beating so quickly she is certain it will explode.
Her terror becomes even more urgent and she is sure she’ll wet her pants when she sees a dark stain on the wood floor of the back of the truck that looks suspiciously like blood. Tears begin to sparkle on her eyelashes and drip slowly down her cheeks.
“Please don’t hurt me,” she begs. Her eyes wide and imploring. Her color pale. Her cheeks stained with tear tracks.
Once again that sadistic laughter. “Awww, how sweet,” and then a sharp pinch and a prick as a needle is inserted into her neck and though she tries to fight it her eyelids grow heavy and soon close. The back door is slammed shut and locked and soon “Silent Night” wafts in from the radio playing in the front seat. Indeed an odd sort of detail to take comfort in as her body surrenders to the drug cocktail that’s been injected into her jugular and she hears the motor purr to life, but it’s better of course than focusing on the alternative.
Her head pounds as her eyes flutter open and light assaults her pupils. Her body is heavy. So heavy she cannot move her arms and legs. No. Wait. She knows that sensation. The bite of rough hemp around her wrists and ankles and the familiar tightness of plastic wrap holds her still. In another context this would be incredibly hot for her. Bound and helpless, dinner nicely wrapped and served bloody and rare for her Lady’s pleasure. But she has her bearings enough to see that she is not in safe surroundings. Not in the quiet sanctuary of her Lady’s home nor is she mummified to a pole at the club that has come to feel like a second home. No. Wherever she is, it is hostile and forbidding and sterile. Emotionless steel. The smell of decomposition makes her feel queasy. Perhaps it is all a big mindfuck. Her Lady after all has said she’d be abducted at some point, and of course they share an affinity for creepy and forbidding places, but a nagging voice in the back of her head tells her this is not the case. Perhaps it is the drugs that have been injected so unceremoniously into her neck. Perhaps it was the casual ease with which the figure has spilled her blood…
She wiggles a little, testing the strength of her bonds, and she has to fight back tears when she realizes that they hold firm. It seems a cruel irony—how she loves being helpless and vulnerable to her Lady’s will and whim but helpless here for the sake of an unknown stranger’s casual menace with her fate uncertain. ..she is no cherished slave here. No she is merely a piece of meat. An object. A means for whoever has taken her to get his or her sadistic rocks off before disposing of her lifeless corpse. The thought terrifies her. Holy fuck! Where is she? It is dark and the wet cold chills her to the bone. As she turns her head to the right she sees a silver tray lined with various implements for cutting and slicing. Knives, scalpels, and some she does not recognize. Some whose purposes she cannot determine. One or two still have dried blood on the blade. All of them seem menacing. The seriousness of her predicament sets in she begins to hyperventilate, and then to scream, as she pulls desperately at her bonds.
A leather-gloved hand is clasped firmly over her mouth and the scent of blood fills her nostril. That it terrifies her is an irony crueler than her reaction to the mummification. Her eyes widen and her body goes rigid as the bloody glove applies pressure to drown out the sound of her screams. Her breathing becomes more frantic as she erupts in muffled sobs.
The figure in black says nothing as she reaches over to the tray and retrieves an object that the girl is intimately familiar with: a curved needle with a trail of thread already attached. She removes her gloved hand from the girl’s mouth and runs the sharp edge of the suture needle along her bottom lip.
“Your screaming is growing tiresome,” the voice is cold. Eerily emotionless. The girl begins to struggle frantically, the rope bites her flesh and draws blood. “And since you can’t seem to shut yourself up, I suppose it’s up to me. Isn’t it?”
“P…please,” the girl begins to beg but she stops as soon as she starts. Even though the figure’s eyes and face are still obscured, she can see that whoever she or he is, she is utterly unmoved by her distress. In fact, it seems to excite her as she breathes like one aroused.
The proximity of the needle to her face prevents her from seeing exactly how it is done. She feels a sharp, stinging, popping sensation as the needle enters the skin above her top lip. The thread swims through her skin and exits through the skin under her bottom lip. The sensation in intense, far more so than pricking one’s finger with a regular sewing needle and fear makes her flinch.
“You’re going to want to hold still now, and I think perhaps you should rethink screaming. It will only be unpleasant for you.”
Her eyes water after every complete stitch and the process is completed five times until each stitch is in place but untied. The figure then begins working from the first stitch again, pulling the thread tight, tying each one-off in the middle. She works quickly and skillfully and after all five stitches are tied and trimmed the girl can no longer speak scream or move her mouth. She trembles and tears fall rapidly down her cheeks. The pain has been intense and without the context of pleasing her Lady to help her process, she has felt the intense agony of every single stitch. Her lips swell slightly and quickly become dry as she is unable to moisten them. There is only a minimal amount of blood. Stitched silent. Unable to speak, to smile or pout, to curl her lips or frown, she is reduced to pleading eyes in an otherwise blank face. She doesn’t even have the luxury of hand gestures. Her utter inability to communicate, to mitigate her fate if mitigation is at all possible is terrifying. She is forced to confront her utter helplessness. She can no longer beg, plead, or participate in the conversation at all. She is forced into passivity. Into helpless acceptance. In her Lady’s hands it is a state she would find comforting but here there is only terror. Deep and unsettling unease that shakes her to the core.
The figure approaches until she is standing at the edge of the table and strokes the side of her captive victim’s face absentmindedly. The girl shivers and tenses. Her instinct is to whimper and cry but she stops herself as soon as she feels the pull of the stitches in her mouth. Her eyes grow wide and her nostrils flare. Her breathing grows rapid and labored. Again she thinks of her Lady and how utterly bizarre it is that in another context she would probably be begging to cum…not exactly the release she thinks of begging for in this case.
“You know human beings are very funny creatures. We lead such privileged, sheltered lives. Cut off from our own pain. We seek to avoid suffering at any cost. It’s always seemed foolish to me. Suffering can be very instructive. “ She runs her thumb back and forth over the girl’s cheek as she speaks. “I’m going to give you a gift, a gift few are fortunate to receive…but you, darling girl, you are lucky. Today you’ll find out what your life is worth to you. How hard you’re willing to fight for it.”
The girl gasps and as pain floods her senses she instantly regrets it. Her captor breathes deeply, a satisfied smile spreading over her concealed face as she watches the girl’s face contort in obvious pain.
“Let’s find out, shall we?” the playful glee in her voice is as unsettling as the gentle petting which has now founds its way to her hair. Her captor speaks of torture as casually as one might discuss the weather forecast. “What are you willing to do to stay alive girl?”
“ You have no doubt noticed you’ve been stripped and bound and wrapped in plastic. I hope you’ll forgive me but I’ve given you a few more surprises in your sleep. In another minute or so you’ll begin to feel restless. Have you ever heard of Akathisia?”
The question is terrifying? And Wait…she’s…done things to her in her sleep? How violated she feels. Her body’s borders are no longer her own. Consent—a word rendered utterly meaningless. Choice and limits are not freely given up. They’ve been forcibly taken from her and she has no way to prevent it.
“Answer me bitch!” her captor’s playful tone grows instantly hard when she finds herself ignored and the girl whimpers and tenses in terror. She shakes her head vigorously no. Her compliance seems to soothe her captor for the time being, but it has taught her an important lesson. She has a temper and does not like to be ignored, nor does she want to give up any modicum of control. This is her show, her game, her rules. And the only option is to play or die.
“Well dear, akathisia is an intensely unpleasant feeling characterized by muscle discomfort, inability to sit still, continuous agitation, restlessness, and fidgety feelings. It’s a condition that often plagues psychiatric patients but, as is the case here, can be induced with anti-psychotic drugs. Often patients who suffer from it describe the feeling as a need to “jump out of their skin,” and in fact some have killed themselves by jumping or falling after episodes of behavioral hyperactivity where they ran or paced from door to door, tried to climb up walls and doors, tried to reach the nearest exit and get out through windows. Of course we’ve taken precautions against that.”
The girl tenses as her captor pats the tight plastic wrap covering her midsection. The touch is unpleasant and seems to linger on her skin. It begins to crawl slowly up her spinal cord and dances through the nerve endings on the insides of her arms and legs. She begins to wiggle and squirm. The crawling is unpleasant. Incredibly so. As if spiders are crawling through her veins and gnawing on her nerves. The need to get up. To get away. To go…anywhere…is overwhelming.
Her captor takes no notice of her victim’s increased distress. She continues with her speech, “others have complained of a screaming inside. Non psychotic patients have all of a sudden started clinging to their physicians while imploring them for help in what is best described as utter anguish….”
But the girl is no longer capable of ration thought or comprehension. All she can process is. “Get out! Get away! Get anywhere!” Sweat begins to roll down the sides of her face, stinging the little pin pricks where the sutures have cut through her skin, as she fights against her bonds. Her muscles strain and her captor shivers with pleasure as she watches the muscles and veins in her neck, arms and legs bupalge. Her torso tenses and contorts slightly. She is only able to lift herself about half an inch from the cold steel of the autopsy table.
Crimson stripes begin to appear In the natural hemp as the rope cuts deep into her skin. She claws desperately at her palms and drums her feet in the air. The need to run is consuming. The window, not so far away seems to taunt her with its inaccessibility. Bound as she is she can barely squirm for relief. Running is an utter impossibility. Begging too as she cannot speak without ripping the stitches from her lips. No relief, not even through screaming. No option but to suffer. Tears mingle with sweat and burn like acid in the corners of her mouth. She shakes her head vigorously as if to find some way, any way, to let the inexpressible scream out.
“So tell me sweetheart, is it as bad as they say?”
Through her delirium, she vaguely processes the question. But she cannot answer. She is beyond the ability to respond. All she can think about is getting up! Getting away! Getting out!
Beneath her sunglasses, her captor’s eyes growing stormy.
“It’s rude not to answer when you are addressed and questioned little bitch.
Clearly you aren’t paying attention. I’ll have to remedy that!”
The girl only vaguely processes the threat until she sees the knife. Her trembling intensifies and her need to get away increases tenfold.
“If I were you I’d stop your wiggling, dear,” her moment of anger has passed, she is the epitome of poised calm once again. She smiles as she traces the very tip of the knife slowly up the girl’s calf, up the length of her thigh and pussy, stopping at the girl’s hood. The girl’s color pales as she attempts to direct her energy towards staying still, a near-impossible task as every fiber of her being is screaming at her to run. Jump. Dance. Claw. Tear. Anything to take the anguish away. Her breath, rapid and shallow panting. Her nostrils flare. The whites of her eyes prominent. Her sweat is profuse and cold.
The girl’s obvious terror excites the shadowed figure and she feels herself growing wet. Fear turns her on. Her own. Her girl’s. Taking her pleasure and feeding her sadistic desires in the most visceral of ways excites her to fever pitch. She is a sadist in the truest form and sometimes she simply wants to hurt. To take. To force submission even when it would be willingly given. She feels the pressure of fullness and she thinks how good release would feel. For an instant she considers revealing all, freeing the girl from her bonds and commanding her to satisfy her hunger.
But there will be time enough for that and she has put much time and effort into the planning of this scenario. And it’s all going so well, it would be a shame to end it all now She wants to push her girl to the edge of what she can handle, emotionally and physically, and she has taken a great deal of care to ensure that her girl Is too terrified to realize she is indeed under her Lady’ hand and suffering for her pleasure. It is no small feat given that the girl is very much in tune to her Lady’s presence. Her scent. Her voice. Her touch. She has gone to great lengths to mask these things. But she knows the girl is in tune to her energy and once acceptance settles in, she will figure it out. She knows the knowledge that is has been she all along will soothe her when all is revealed and she knows her girl well enough to know that it will serve only to strengthen the trust bond that exists between them. For the moment, however, she wants her to feel unsettled. Pain. Terror. Uncertainty. She wants her helpless. Everything she is, everything she wants taken from her. No limits. No choice. Convinced that her options are to play or die. Confused as to why even though she believes herself in mortal peril her thighs are soaked and a puddle is rapidly forming between her own legs. The scent of the girl’s fear is intoxicating. She drinks it in heavily before slowly running the very tip of the knife along the terrified girl’s labia.
“You know in India, when a woman committed adultery, they used to punish her by stuffing her cunt full of hot pepper. While I liked the principle the image I think lacks a certain dramatic flair. I have remedied the problem by modifying it a bit. I have no doubt it will be effective in keeping your attention, bitch.”
Slowly she inserts the knife’s blade that she has coated in a cinnamon oil solution into the girl’s pussy and her entire body tenses as she processes the danger. One jump. One twitch. One ill fated attempt at escape and she will be cut to ribbons. Her terror is so intense she does not feel Her Lady slip the blade out, replacing it with a finger. Smiling at the evidence of her arousal. Terror has soaked her thighs. How easily she could fuck her to orgasm again and again, but of course that would ruin the scenario that she has so carefully constructed. Slowly. Meaningfully. She removes her finger and waits for the girl to process the new sensation. And it is not long before she does. The spiders are creeping and gnawing with increased vigor. Her lips throb. And now she is being burned alive from the inside out. She loses control of her scream and little droplets of blood begin to form where the stitches have pulled. Tears flow freely over her cheeks. She uses the knife to cut the plastic wrap and the rope that bind her to the table and takes a firm grasp of her hair as she pulls the girl off the autopsy table and drags her over to the corner where a small dog cage has been constructed. There is just barely room for her to curl up inside. Again in a different context this would be a source of great delight. But terrified and convinced as she is that she will jump out of her skin, that she needs to get up…get away at all costs, it is an additional source of agony to her as she is pushed inside. The door slams shut behind her and she hears the click of a padlock locked tight.
It seems incredible but even in her predicament sleep eventually finds her. Relief is sweet once the spiders leave her bloodstream and it lulls her into quiet. She is not asleep for long, however. Her eyelids soon flutter open and she’s terrified to learn that even though her eyes are open, she is shrouded in darkness. She startles when she realizes she’s wet…at least she thinks she does but her body does not move, even though she is no longer bound.
“Wiggle your fingers,” she gives herself a fright filled command and she is shocked when she discovers that her body refuses to obey. All she can feel is the knocking of her heart against her ribcage as it pumps furiously in her chest. It is confirmed. Her body has become utterly alien to her. The utter loss of control over even the simplest of movements makes her feel like a stranger in a strange land, a feeling that is exacerbated by the strange brackish dampness in the air. The silence is thick. Why is she wet? Why the fuck can’t she move? She trembles violently…at least she thinks she does, but she can’t be sure and the uncertainty is terrifying. She wants to cry again…can she cry? Is she dead? She’s not sure but she doesn’t think so. Why is this happening to her, why…and why does it feel as though she’s been flayed alive? A side effect of the drugs? Or has her skin in fact been removed? It’s very possible it has. After all she can’t see, she can’t feel. She feels a slight rocking and a gentle bobbing up and down. She is not in control of these sensations but they are at least, identifiable. Having grown up on an island the sensation is familiar.
She is floating in water, alone. Nothing but her thoughts to keep her company. She can’t move. She assumes its salt water as her lips are stinging something fierce. What is keeping her afloat? What if she tires? She can’t move. Will she drown in the brackish water instead of in the sea of her own terror. Her head and body are filled with an inexpressible scream. The inability to release her fear is driving her insane…she is certain it will eat her alive from the inside out. How long has she been here? Has it been hours? Days? How long will the cat and mouse game entertain her tormentor? How much longer does she have? How much will she be forced to endure and will she be killed or set free when all is said and done? How will s/he do it? Will it hurt? Will she be afraid? Will she plead? Will she fight? Will she simply accept the inevitable? Don’t think about that! She forces herself to push the thought out of her mind. How she wishes she could kick her legs or flail her arms. Hell at this point she’d even take the wiggling of a pinky. Anything to quiet the ghastly, creeping torment. But she can’t move. Her body has betrayed her. She is a brain in a bathtub. Nothing but her own terror to keep her company. How badly she wants to, needs to thrash, flail, free herself from this state of suspended animation but fate is cruel. She can’t. She tries to but she can’t. And Her body refuses to comply. And the searing pain. God it burns. It fucking burns. Agony and anguish are insufficient to describe it. Is something nibbling on her toes? Wait…what? Toes? She’s gone insane, she’s certain of it.
Suddenly a noise pierces through the emptiness, quieting the panicked voice in her head. It is the voice of her captor, but in the state of terror she’s in, any sort of interaction that gets her out of her own head is welcome.
“Horror vacui, have you heard of it? Since you can’t speak or shake your head I’m going to assume the answer is no. Literally it translates as the fear of empty space. In physics it refers to the principle that the universe abhors a vacuum and in art Mario Praz, used it as an explanation for the suffocating and seemingly cluttered atmosphere of Victorian interior design. It’s not surprising that many examples of horror vacui in art come from, or are influenced by the mentally unstable. Also not surprising given that a few hours confronted with the fear is said to be enough to drive anyone crazy. ..especially when they’ve been injected with prolixin and turbocurarine before being subjected to sensory deprivation.”
Prolixin? Turbocurarine? What are they? More drugs? What do they do? Is that why she feels as though she can’t move? As though she’s been chemically flayed alive? Is this in fact what been done to her…has she in fact been injected with psychotropic drugs? Where is she? What is happening to her? Why the fuck can’t she scream?! In her head she’s thrashing madly but her body remains eerily still. Will she be rescued in time or is she destined to die?
“And just so you don’t think me terribly cruel I’m going to give you something to think about while we wait for the drugs to wear off. I’ve got to go out for a bit but when I return we’re going to play a little game. One of my favorites, actually, fairly self explanatory. It’s called death or pain. Ta Ta deary, do try and enjoy your meditation time.”
And then there is silence…well save for the screaming in her head. Death or pain…what the fuck? Is this it for her? What will happen? She knows she has a high tolerance for pain but that is of course in controlled circumstances and at Her Lady’s hand. Here at the hands of a madman or woman whose only interest is in her suffering…can she withstand? She’s always wondered what it would be like to be really tortured…what would her response be? Would she beg for mercy and give in to whatever it is that they wanted or would she be stoic and brave? She knows that the human tolerance for pain in situations of distress can be quite high…but of course she’s only experienced this in controlled settings. And the circumstances here are different. This is not simply distress, this is mortal peril. Will she be mutilated? Does it matter if she is to die anyway? Is the game winnable at all?
“Oh God help…please, someone…anyone help!”
Death or Pain
Has it been minutes, hours, or days? The girl is not sure. She’s been floating in brackish water with no sensory input long enough for time to have ceased to mean. Left to ponder her fate the words death or pain have stuck in her head and they have turned her veins to ice. She’s freezing and terrified, even though the water is far from cold. Suddenly she hears a creaking followed by a loud crash. She jumps…OMG she jumped! Her body actually moved. She begins to kick and flail wildly in the water. With fear. With relief…she isn’t sure which but she doesn’t care. The release is powerful and she’s grateful for the ability to do so. The tears she’s wished she could shed stream rapidly down her face, and just as fast as they flow she blinks them away. Simply because she can. She feels herself lifted by the hair and thrown on the bitterly cold concrete floor. Instantly her nipples harden, her teeth chatter and her hair stands on end. The contrast between the water and the surface of the floor is astounding. Like an unexpected slap in the face.
“Okay sweatpea, let’s get you back on the table,”
That poised calm is unsettling and for a moment fear takes over. She flinches when she feels her captor grab at her hair and begins to back away from her. She knows she is simply prolonging the inevitable…she still can’t see and she doesn’t know the layout of the room and she can’t move very fast. Still, she can’t help herself. Once again she backs away. Her movements are cautious and uncertain. She is not followed. Her Lady stands still, a bemused smile playing about her concealed lips, the girls awkward, terrified crawling heightens her vulnerability, and whets Her Lady’s appetite to hurt.
“While I must say that’s adorable, my patience is growing thin. I’m beginning to grow angered by your resistance and I can assure you, my dear, you do NOT want to see me angry. Be a good girl now and stay still,” she advances towards the girl who can not stop herself from backing away, searching desperately with her hands for any nook or cranny that will put her out of harm’s reach. But fate is not on her side.
“Okay, have it your way,” her captor sighs as she grabs hold of the girl by the hair, pushes her down on the floor and steps down hard on her hair. She begins to slap her face repeatedly and hard. Her teeth Unexpected pain floods her senses as her teeth rattle and her swollen lips throb. A wave of nausea sweeps over her and she sees stars on the backs of her eyelids. Once again the girl’s abdomen and chest rise and fall rapidly and then her body goes limp. She is dragged along the floor by her hair and her body becomes a textured landcape of raised bumps as she feels herself hoisted up and onto a hard surface even colder than the floor. She hears the sounds of ripping and tearing.
Her eyes widen and her limbs go rigid as she feels pinching at her nipples and gentle stroking of her cunt. The touch reignites the unpleasant crawling on her skin. Reminds her of the ways in which she has been violate and the threat of things to come. She wiggles, a desperate attempt to pull away but once again her bonds hold firm. She can do nothing but accept the sensation. Please God, she thinks, please don’t let…
But before she can finish the fear in her head is given an external voice. “You know systematic rape has often been used as a highly effective subjugation technique. Armies have been doing it for centuries,”
The girl’s eyes flood as she feels sharp slapping where before there was gentle tracing. She has to bite down hard on her tongue to keep from attempting to scream and pulling at the stitches. Please let it be an empty threat, she thinks desperately. Please. Not here. Not like this.
“Funny. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were enjoying your predicament girl, how very odd. And here I thought you were suffering. I suppose we’ll just have to up the ante, won’t we?”
The thought disgusts her. It’s one thing to cum compulsively from the slightest brush of her Lady’s fingertips, the slightest inkling of her pleasure, but to be brought to arousal in these circumstances…she feels dirty. She shakes with shame and then breathes with relief when the sensation stops. But relief is only momentary. Who knows what could be happening? Not seeing , only feeling in this context is terrifying. She already knows her captor has “done things,” to her in her sleep. What else might she have done? What might she be doing that she isn’t aware of? And what might come next? Where has she gone? The sensation was bad. The lack of it is worse. It reminds her of the uncertainty of her plight.
Her Lady picks up the sharp blade and with one quick and confident stroke she cuts the stitches which have kept the girl silent. The girl feels a slight puff of air brush across her lips and gasps. Her success instantly clues her into what has happened. She has been freed. Her lips part and she sucks hungrily at the air, moistening her lips with quick, kittenish flicks. Relief is bitter sweet as she instantly recalls the name of the “game” she’s been told they will be engaging in. She begins to whimper and sweat. Another puff of air and light suddenly floods her pupils. Though she isn’t aware of it, she’s been hooded for days. She squints and squeezes her eyes shut. Light is painful. Her Lady smiles at the sight. The girl’s distress is intoxicating.
Searing pain in her left breast and then in her right elicits a piercing scream. Warm wetness flows down her torso. Her eyes eventually flutter open as she gasps at what she sees. A flash of silver, close to her skin. The glint of metal. Its shape indistinguishable. She cannot turn her head far enough to see what is missing from the tray of implements.
Casually her captor allows the blade to touch the delicate skin of her torso and she jumps. She has been anticipating torture and the slightest sensation terrifies her. She trembles as the blade is laid flat against skin. It’s cold at first but her body’s heat rapidly warms it. She trembles and cries as the blade is dragged along the edge along her stomach, barely grazing her flesh. Her breath quickens in terror and she screams as the point of the blade pokes playfully at her bellybutton.
“Please!” she sobs.
“Please what?” the response is cold and full of sadistic mirth, spoken as her captor traces the blade down towards her hips. The pressure is increased as it travels.
The girl tenses and sobs as she braces herself for the inevitable. She’s going to be cut. How badly how deep she doesn’t know. A white wall of fear paralyzes her. She has read countless stories of torture murder and the images flood her mind. Another cruel irony. How many dark fantasies have they inspired? In particular her special favorite—the Bathory murders. Will she suffer the same fate?
Her breath is heavy, her legs undulate and she grips the edge of the cold steel table for dear life as the blade is plunged into her skin. Fire floods her senses as her skin is split. The knife probes deeper into her scarlet flesh and she feels her veins opening . She cries as the metal rips and tears, forcing her open. She can not prevent the blade from swimming through her flesh. She simply lays there trembling. A sacrificial lamb. Ripe for slaughter…whimpering only encourages her captor. Her body quivers as she smells fresh blood. Out of the corner of her eye she sees the crimson slash which stretches from her left hip to her right. A spray of fluxive copper trickling playfully down her her inner thighs.
Although she cannot see it, her captor’s glee is tangible as she writes her pleasure in tiger like stripes on the girl’s bound body. Taped down as she is, she feels only searing lines of fire traveling the length of her torso, arms, breasts and legs as she is sliced and carved up, leaving rivers of blood to mark the places where her body has been carved like territories on a map. Sometimes her captor is methodical and slow. Sometimes it seems she slices and dices at random. The sensation is frightening in its intensity on the girl’s virgin flesh.
“Awww, you look like a candycane, how festive,” she taunts as she runs the blade along the girl’s cheek before tossing it casually aside. The girl trembles and tenses. Tortured little sobs escape her lips. They are ignored. Her captor smiles as silently she watches the girl bleed. She whimpers and pants attempting to calm herself by any means.
“You know in China death by cutting was a very popular execution method. In this form of execution, the condemned person was killed by using a knife to methodically remove portions of the body over an extended period of time. The process is a fascinating one. The condemned would be tied to a wooden frame, usually in a public place. His or her flesh would then be cut in multiple slices. And death was said to be slow and lingering, humiliating as it was done publically and damaging to the psychy as the body in pieces meant that the body of the victim would not be ‘whole’ in a spiritual life after death,”
The girl tenses and her mouth hangs open as the knife travels slowly up her torso and Her captor continues, “ the process begins with the torturer wielding an extremely sharp knife, much like this one, to put out the eyes of the torturer which of course means that the victim cannot see the remainder of the torture and, presumably, adding considerably to the psychological terror of the procedure. Afterwards rather minor but painful cuts are made to the face and body. Ears and noses are chopped off, tongues cut out, fingers and toes removed before the executioner proceeds to more severe cuts to thighs and shoulders. The entire process was said to last three days, and to total 3,600 cuts,”
As she speaks she casually runs the knife back and forth along the girl’s trembling lips and down the length of her damp left cheek. She screams as her captor takes a firm hold of the top of her left earlobe and tickles behind the cartIlage with the tip of the blade.
“Awwww you’re scared how sweet,” she simpers as she presses the blade into the tender flesh of her earlobe.
The girl’s crying becomes urgent.
“Awww princess I’m not going to cut it off…not now anyway. There’s so much fun to be had with my little dolly before I break her into pieces and throw her away,” her voice and her demeanor is gleeful as she steps away from the autopsy table and picks up an object that the girl is intimately familiar with. It’s a cane. Simple rattan and thin. A sob escapes the girl’s lips as the cane is slowly run up and down the soles of her bound feet.
“Foot whipping, variously known as bastinado is favoured as a form of torture because, although extremely painful, it leaves few physical marks, and of course unlike other areas of the body which become desensitized over time, the nerve endings in the bottoms of the feel continue to fire so that every stroke is as intense as the first. When used as a form of punishment, the prisoner may be immobilized before application of the beating by tying, securing the feet in stocks, locking the legs into an elevated position, or hanging upside-down. The Persian term falaka refers to a wooden plank which was used to secure the feet prior to beating.”
Each sentence is punctuated with a sharp stroke that makes the girl scream each time the cane impacts the tender flesh of her instep. She trembles and cries but her distress is ignored. Her captor continues:
“Foot whipping is effective due to the clustering of nerve endings in the feet, as you are no doubt discovering, it is particularly painful and take a long time to heal, rendering it a particularly brutal and cruel punishment. So many little bones in the feet too. So easy to break.”
She doesn’t cease in her whipping and the girl has to bite her lip to keep from begging her to stop. She remembers the name of the game and fears that to do so is to risk certain death. All she can do is struggle a little in her bonds and listen as her captor continues,
“This punishment has, at various times, been used in China and throughout the Ottoman empire and until recently, utilized as a form of corporal punishment in schools in the Middle East. It was convenient in that it could be employed on both male and female students in lieu of other forms of punishment considered inappropriate for females.”
The thud as the cane impacts the balls of her feet over and over sickens her. The pain is becoming intolerable. At the best of times the girl can barely stand impact or touch of any kind on her feet, at the moment it is worse than agony. How she wishes she could wiggle or kick, even a little bit, anything to help her process through…if she can wiggle and loosen her bonds a little bit, maybe she can… “dear god make it stop!” loosen her bonds enough to reach out and grab the bloodied knife that is just out of her reach…she’s broken out of duct tape bondage before and…her thought is interrupted by the piercing shriek that she is horrified to realize is hers. Afraid that her mind is drifting her captor has increased the force of impact and the girl instantly can’t comprehend anything but pain. She is a brain connected to the nerve endings in her feet which betray her in their constant firing. She screams again and begins to sob.
“Really my dear you’re being far too melodramatic, I’ve barely even gotten started with you and if you think this is painful, I’m afraid you’re likely to lose this game rather quickly. You don’t want that now do you?”
The girl can’t answer, she can only sob. Her captor has not paused in her ceaseless striking. The girl’s lack of response angers her. She deals her a blow that brings the girl’s screaming to fever pitch then grabs her hair, forcing her to look straight into her covered eyes as she brings her face inches from the girl’s own. The girl’s own eyes widen and Her Lady searches them for a sign of recognition, but all she sees reflected back is terror. She smiles inwardly. She has done her job well.
“Your rudeness is growing tiresome, bitch!” she snarls. “You best be careful, as I’ve told you before, making me angry is unwise. Look around you bitch, and make no mistake, I can be very nasty when I want to be. And if you continue to make me angry, I just might be inclined to show you that when it comes time to dispose of you. You don’t want that now do you?”
The girl’s nostrils flare and her face pales. Tears continue to stream down her cheeks as she shakes her head as vigorously as she possibly can. Her captors face is still inches from her own and the hot breath on her skin, still smelling of peppermint, reminds her of the ways in which she has been violated. Once again she feels the spiders stirring in her veins.
“We understand each other, then,” Her captor says as she deals her another hard slap, her hand, which has been resting in the pool of blood on the girl’s chest leaves a crimson imprint of her hand.
Defeated and a little dazed from the pain the girl weakly nods. Her captor smiles beneath her hood. She feels her stomach being to rumble and her mouth water as she looks at the girl. The sanguine rivers have flown freely where she has been sliced and she’s begun to look like a patchwork girl. Her little living dead doll. An image of the girl hours before, lips sewn shut, eyes wide and glassy, floods her mind and she smiles, “stitch bitch,” she thinks to herself. “Such a shame to waste it,” she thinks, but she can’t very well do as she might want to and lap and bite hungrily, slapping and clawing at her wounds until they pour forth life once more. She looks at the lines of crimson that trickled down the insides of the girl’s thighs and considers tracing just a finger in the girl’s blood and putting it to her lips. Her hand wanders, but she restrains herself, turning her attention instead, to the girl’s weary mind.
“So tell me, how do you like my little game, princess?” her tone is mirthful and light but the girl has learned enough not to be fooled. She cannot speak but looks at her, her feelings written on her face and in her eyes which are clouded with tears.
“Awww that bad huh?” she giggles and claps her hands together as she speaks. “I thought for sure you’d like it. I’ve been studying you for months and I’ve learned about your, shall we say alternative tastes. I think you’re lying to me. Your eyes say you hate it but your cunt suggests otherwise, you’re soaked, princess,”
She has been too frightened to realize that her captor’s hand has traveled between her legs. She tenses as she feels herself forcefully penetrated, but it is only for an instant, long enough for her captor to wet her hands in the girl’s juices . The act is as painful, but the comment is oddly familiar. If she didn’t know any better she’d swear it was something her Lady might say. And although she is mortified by the fact that she could grow wet in these circumstances, she feels for a split second oddly comforted. But the moment of peace is rapidly stripped from her as her captor forcefully smears her own wetness all over her face. “See?”
It’s true, she cannot deny it and she blushes furiously. Her face blushes, the crimson handprint no longer distinguishable from her skin as her own scent floods her nose.
“Open your mouth, you’re going to clean up your fucking mess,” she demands and the girl is surprised to find she obeys instantaneously. Perhaps because her mind has drifted to thoughts of her Lady and the bittersweet comfort has opened her to that state of unthinking obedience. She is not sure…but such questions of how and why don’t matter now anyway. Her thought process is interrupted as she feels her Captor’s fingers inserted forcefully into her mouth and throat, so deep she gags.
“Vomit on my hand and you’ll pay for it,” she warns and the girl fights to quell the nausea rising up from her stomach. She cannot and she fears she will disobey, she struggles to free herself, enough to give her room to swallow, even though she shudders at the thought. She is held firmly however and terror mingles with shame as she realizes she cannot prevent it from happening.
The hand is rapidly removed from her mouth and she is slapped hard once again.
“I warned you, bitch,” the hiss in her voice is menacing.
The girl begins to tremble. “I’m s…s…s..sorry,”
“You’re s..s..s..owwy,” she mocks, “awwww I’m sure you are but sorry isn’t going to cut it.”
The girl begins to whimper as her mind begins to contemplate the consequences of her disobedience.
“Will you shut the fuck up? You sound like a lost puppy,” she removes her gloves as she speaks and purposefully gives the girl a glimpse of something familiar. A delicate gold ring with pretty red stones.
The girl’s eyes widen. And instantly her mistake is forgotten as she attempts to process this new realization. What does it mean? Should she be terrified? Should she be relieved? She isn’t sure.
Her voice drips with incredulity as her voice forms a terrible question. A question she already knows the answer to but that she dreads just the same…
“Hello pet,” Her Lady smiles and the girl gasps.
It can’t be…it just can’t be…the abduction…the things that have been done to her. The threat of death…
“You seem surprised to see me,” her Lady remarks as she removes her sunglasses and the layers of clothing that have been obscuring her face and masking her voice. She lets her beautiful curls out from under the hood and shakes them out vigorously. It is Her Lady in the flesh.
“Really love, does it come as so much of a shock…”
She pauses as she continues to remove layers of clothing, until she is wearing only a pair of black pants, black boots, and a black tank top that the girl is intimately familiar with. How often has she admired her Lady in these same clothes at the club. How many times seeing her dressed thusly has made her flush with arousal. Damn it why is she thinking of this now? What on earth is going on?
“I warned you a number of times, didn’t I?” her Lady continues. “I told you I had a serial killer inside, but you just…didn’t…believe me…well she decided it was time to come out and play.”
For an instant the girl’s heart stops. It can’t be. She’s toying with her head. She has to be. Her Lady though sadistic and even cruel at times ultimately loves her. She’s always said the pain she inflicts is an expression of that love. She wouldn’t. ..she couldn’t.
“You’ve said you’d die for my amusement girl, well, look on the bright side…now you’ll get the chance to prove it…”
The girl searches her face and her voice for any indication that she is toying with her but cannot find one. She is too stunned to react.
“But first things first I believe I owe you something for disobeying me,” she picks up the cane once again and runs it along the girl’s exposed thighs.
The cane? This is her choice after everything she’s done? Instruments of terror, of mortal peril at her disposal and she chooses the cane. For an instant it seems strange, but it instantly becomes clear once she begins.
“You know how this is done, girl, count and thank me.”
The strokes are intense and the rapidity with which they are delivered nearly makes her loose her count. And the girl is surprised to learn that ever here, even now, even under these circumstances, she falls into unquestioned obedience, counting and thanking her. And still no act of pain or torture that has been inflicted upon her up until this point has been nearly as bad as having marks of disobedience inflicted upon her. Her eyes fill with tears that spill rapidly over her cheeks as she counts. She can barely stand the pain of impact. Can it be so? has her mind and heart been so thoroughly taken over that her devotion remains unwavering, that even in these circumstances, no feeling, no torture is worse than feeling as though she has disobeyed her Lady, even if her intent is to torture her to death? The same question fills both their minds as the cane bites into her tender thighs over and over again.
“Do you believe me now, I’m not all flowers and fairies,”
and still she counts and thanks her, as she has been instructed to do.
“50 Thank you Ma’am…51 Thank you Ma’am,”
The moment is a surprisingly intense one for them both. Emotion creeps into her Lady’s face as she increases the force behind her blows and the girl’s voice begins to crack and fill with sobs as she counts and thanks her.
“75 t…t….thank you Ma’am,” the words are barely intelligible by the time they reach this point.
Her Lady lays aside the cane and absentmindedly strokes the girl’s hair while she waits for her to calm herself. She is still crying freely and her breath comes in heavy gasps that linger in the cool moist air. It takes her considerably longer to quiet. Confusion has only heightened her terror. Her eyes, wide and searching, look for her Lady and when she cannot meet her gaze, dart around the dilapidated room desperate for some sort of understanding. But the blue paint peeling off the crumbling walls and the exposed wires reveal no secrets. The smell of decomposition is strong. To her left, steel. To her right the table full of implements, equally cold and impersonal. Hot pain radiates from her thighs where the skin has already welted and began to discolor. More tiger stripes in purples and reds. Her feet throb.
“Well my dear, I am sorry to say our game has reached its end,”
The girl tenses and gasps as she feels the pinch and then subsequent burn of an IV needle being inserted into the vein on the inside of her left arm. The words tear through her chest and for a moment she’s paralyzed by a white wall of fear as their meaning hits her. She cannot respond. Comprehension sets in and she begins to sob with renewed vigor.
“Awww, kitten, no need for tears, it’s not as bad as all that. Since you’ve served me faithfully this past year I’m going to do you a favor and end it painlessly. A luxury most won’t get. I’m simply going to drain your blood and it’ll be quick and easy, just like falling asleep. I’ll even wish you sweet dreams. And the worst part is already over—the needle is already in, see?”
…In and attached to a catheter which is draining over an old basin even as she speaks. Endorphine and stress have had an unusual effect upon the hue of her blood. It’s bright. Eerily so. Nearly fluorescent. Like strawberry sauce being drizzled over cheesecake. Such an innocuous image…the juxtaposition is terrifying. She can’t look away.
Her Lady’s eyes glitter as she watches the girl, eyes wide as silver dollars, chest rising and falling like a ship bobbing in the shallows. She’s not crying now, she simply watches the blood as it runs…a macabre little waterfall. Unsure if time is moving fast or impossibly slow…had she told her husband that she loves him before she left to do the shopping? Perhaps she should have made more of an effort to see her sister before she left town… still how odd to think that soon it will be as if she had never existed at all. This is it. Oh god, it’s really it. She has tried to live simply, tread lightly…will there be a body for the family to bury? How she wishes she had her lamb to comfort her. Is there a god? Holy shit what if she was wrong? Has she led a good life? If there is a god, is there a hell? Has she led a good life? Will she see her grandfather and her loved ones on the other side? Can you feel the moment where the life force slips away? Her eyes close as her head begins to swim. Panic is setting in…
Her body is betraying her. Each pump, each contraction of her heart pushes the blood through her veins, into the cathether, and out. Each beat a step closer to her inevitable death. The faintly melodic plinks as her life force falls drip by agonizingly slow drip against the cold metal are almost tauntingly pleasant. So innocuous a sound. Like the faint humming in her ears. Plink. Plink. Plink. The drops of blood fall and splatter like rain drops. Plink. Plink. Plink. She is eerily alert. Catlike in her fear. She can feel the blood moving in her veins. Hear the dull roar and the frantic thumping. Her ribs are vibrating…
…. Her eyes close in weary defeat. She’s lightheaded. A million tiny fingers tap a gentle lullaby on her skull…an unlikely piano. She sighs as her eyes close and white light eminates from the backs of her eyelids. She is floating on a cushion of air. Too weak to fight or even to giggle at the funny little plinks, her pallid lips soften. The hint of a smile plays in the corners. Haemorrhagic shock is surprisingly painless. She might even find it pleasant…if she weren’t so cold…
Plink…plink…plink…they grow fainter as the bottom of the basin disappears beneath the warm crimson curtain. The smell of iron fills her. ..but her beast is sleeping, curled up quietly at the end of its tether. She can only acknowledge with a muted purr…
Thud…Thud…Thud…her eyelids flutter open. Does that happen when you’re dead? Can you blink? Why are her wrists crossed? How very odd? She stretches and she is surprised to find that her muscles respond; the hairs on her neck bristle as her toes brush against something soft. It startles her. She jumps and her head connects with wood. Pain floods her temples and fills up the space between her eyes, traveling down her chest, an electric shock to her heart. Torpid unease turns to blind terror as her nostrils are assaulted by the scent of earth. Although it’s dark, she can just make out the outline of a pentagon above her head. Comprehension dawns. She is most assuredly not dead…and yet…Thud…thud…thud…
…The air seems oppressive. A beat. Frozen in terror. She chokes on her fear. Then violently, involuntarily her arms flail. They connect with the hard surface, mere inches from her face. It reanimates her. Releasing her scream. The tinkling of church bells seems oddly out of place as, beastlike, she kicks and claws at the unyielding wood…
…Light floods her pupils. Instinctively she shields her eyes. She feel s strong and loving hands take hold of her arms and lift her upwards, helping her to the ground at her Lady’s feet. She sits in stunned silence for a moment, before bringing her lips to her Lady’s boots. Her hair is softly stroked. Solace floods her being and her eyes close in relaxation.
“Good girl,” her Lady purrs. nothing more need be said.
Chess flicked through the magazine idly, her eyes drifting over the words she’d already read too many times. The late shift at the Blockbuster store may have paid well but on a Wednesday night the place was dead. The other sales girl had been called to the Manager’s office twenty minutes earlier and Chess knew she’d be laid out over his desk by now.
An impatient cough broke her reverie and Chess pushed her spectacles back into place with her fingertips as she smiled over at the customer. Dressed in a tight top and wearing a pair of baggy pants, the dark-skinned goddess made a rush of blood flow into Chess’s groin. Smiling broadly, Chess tried to ignore the feeling, carefully keeping her eyes locked on the girl’s face as she dropped into ‘sales mode’. “Good evening madam, how can I help you?”
The girl’s face was full of thunder and she slammed a DVD case on the counter. “You can get me the right damned film!”
Looking down at the case, her eyes flashing onto the angry customer’s chest for an instant before reading the title of the movie. “The Furry Honey Pot Adventure? It’s one of our most popular children’s animations, what seems to be the problem?”
“Damn false advertising. Furry honey pot my ass! How do you expect me to get off to a bunch of cartoon bears!?!”
Chess felt her face drop into auto, her smiling remaining fixed as the thought of this ebony goddess laid across her couch, desperately fingering herself to the antics of the animated bears causing her pussy to quiver. “Umm… well… could I offer you some other title?” Stammered Chess, her eyes dropping unconsciously to the girl’s chest again before Chess caught herself and looked away.
“Do you have anything with hot lesbian action that’ll get me hard fast?” The woman asked petulantly. Chess was confused for a second, did she just ask for something to get her hard?
“Have you checked out our adult selections?”
“I don’t want that junk, I want something hot. Got anything in the back room?” The woman winked as she leaned over the counter, her top stretching tighter across her breasts leaving her nipples clearly visible against the material. Chess reached up and pushed her glasses back into place as she looked down the girl’s top, her lips beginning to moisten as dirty thoughts filled her head.
“I do have some new stock we haven’t put on display yet, I could get them for you?”
“Why don’t I just come back there with you? Wouldn’t it be a lot easier then carrying all those cases out here?” The girl said, flexing her arms so that she squashed her breasts together, her cleavage enticing Chess once more.
“I’m sorry, I’m not allowed to take customers into the back storage area.”
“It’ll only be for a few minutes…” The girl’s tone was dripping with suggestions, conjuring all kinds of images in Chess’s head.
“Well… only for a minute…”
Chess walked out from behind the counter, feeling the moisture on her thighs as she crossed to the main door and turned the display to ‘Closed’ before turning back to the ebony hottie and waving for her to follow. Moving between the shelves, Chess led her to the locked door marked ‘Authorised Personnel Only’. Deftly tapping the keypad, she unlocked the door and stepped through.
Almost immediately the customer was upon her, pushing her forwards against one of the shelves filling the dark room. As the black babe’s hands slipped over her uniform, Chess found herself moaning and she quickly bit her lip. “Damn, you are one hot little number…” The customer whispered in her ear as her hand slipped under Chess’s clothes, one cupping her breast through the young girl’s bra while the other slipped down between her legs.
“Dirty girl, you been thinking about this?” The ebony-skinned temptress moaned as her fingers stroked over Chess’s crotch, feeling the damp lips twitching under her touch. Pressing harder, she spread the assistant’s flower wide as her fingertips teased the wet hole nestled between them.
“Oh… yes…” Chess responded, pressing her butt back against the girl’s hips, wriggling as she felt her cunt being invaded by the very tips of the girl’s fingers.
The customer pulled away from her, lifting her fingers to her mouth as she licked Chess’s essence from them. “Kneel for me.” The woman said, her voice leaving no room for negotiation. Without even thinking, Chess found herself on her knees before the goddess.
As she watched the dark-skinned slowly peeling off her top, the plentiful masses of her new Mistress’s breasts hanging heavily, the nipples standing out proudly from her chest as her dark hands unfastened her belt and pants before dropping them to her feet, her long thick cock standing hard in front of her.
Chess was stunned, her hand reaching out and stroking the rigid shaft in disbelief as the black beauty smiled down at her. “Do you like it slut? Do you like the way it feels?”
Smiling, Chess’s fingers massaged the length of the impressive shaft, leaning forwards and licking at the precum gathered on the tip, closing her eyes as she savored the flavor on her tongue. Getting bored, the customer pressed her hands against Chess’s head, pushing her down the shaft until she felt her cock bumping against the back of the assistant’s
Shocked Chess gagged, fighting to breathe as the ebony goddess pressed harder, slipping her cock into the girl’s throat as she started to pump slowly into her mouth. Chess’s hands reached up, cupping the woman’s bare black buttocks as she slowly calmed down, starting to moan as the cock drove into her again and again.
After a few minutes Chess could feel the cock beginning to twitch and as the ebony goddess pulled away she opened her mouth wide, tilting her head back as the flowing stream of cum sprayed into her face. Shifting her head, Chess took the next load in her mouth, leaning forwards as the third stream shot out, sucking hard as the salty goodness flowed down her throat.
Grabbing her shoulder roughly, the black beauty flipped Chess around, pressing her head down as she hooked her arm under the counter girl’s waist, lifting her butt high as she starts to rub the cum dripping cock against her wet cunt. As her face was pressed into the tiled floor, Chess moaned with lust, begging the strange cockgirl to slip the large black cock into her.
Smiling down at the wanton slut as she moaned and wriggling against her rigid shaft, smearing the cum over her drenched cunt, the black beauty shifted her grip, moving her cock to the tight puckered hole between Chess’s arse cheeks.
Panicking Chess cried out, writhing against her captor as the hard cockhead probed her butthole, “No, please, not my ass, I’ve never taken it there before…”
Laughing evilly, a broad smile splitting her dark face like a bleeding gash, the customer pulled the assistant’s hips back, forcing her cockhead into the tight, barely lubed hole with an audible pop. Chess screamed out, her muscles pulling tightly on the invader as the black girl pushed hard, forcing herself deeper into the poor girl’s rectum.
“Just relax, enjoy the feeling of my cock in your ass, it’s going to be there a while.” The ebony Dom whispered as her hands slipped under Chess’s body, one groping between her legs, probing her drenched slit, while the other squeezed her breast tightly, the soft flesh swelling out between the dark-skinned fingers.
Taking the advice, Chess tried to relax, her mouth gaping wide as her face was pressed hard against the tiled floor, the cock beginning to pump into her butt with long slow strokes. A strange feeling spread inside her poop chute, something she’d never experienced before, unlike having her cunt filled but still enjoyable in a perverse way, and soon her hips were pushing back against the thrusts, driving for her own reward.
The customer pressed her fingers deeper, slipping two, then three and finally four fingers into the counter girl’s pussy, the abundant cream making them slip easily into Chess as she used them to pull her toy up onto her cock, stretching the young girl and making her moan all the louder as she clawed at the floor in ecstasy.
“Oh god yes… I never thought… harder, please fuck my ass harder!” Chess heard herself saying, her mind filled with lust as the black shaft started pounding into her, the girl’s hips slapping into her buttocks with as regular clapping sound as she increased the pace.
Letting go of her toy’s breast, the ebony goddess pulled back, her hand almost entirely buried in the attendant’s cunt as her thumb played over her swollen clit. Raising her free hand high, she slammed it down over Chess’s flanks, admiring the bright red handprint on the girl’s arse for a second before spanking her hard again.
Chess rolled her head across the floor, her drool puddling under her cheek as she whined out in pleasure, her arms pressing against the floor as she pushed herself full body against the black shaft pistoning into her guts, her moans and cries filling the dank and dirty stockroom as she felt her orgasm building.
Pulling out suddenly, the black girl pushed Chess over, quickly grabbing a handful; of her hair and pulling her to her knees in front of the throbbing phallus. Jamming it in as deep as she could, the goddess tilted her head back, letting out a long satisfied moan as she pumped load after load of cum into the girl’s throat, filling Chess’s stomach with the salty goodness.
Pushing her away, the girl stood over her, still stroking her shaft in her hand as more cum shot over the counter girl, splattering on her glasses and dripping down onto her naked breasts as she moved her head, trying to catch the streams in her mouth.
When the cum finally stopped, the ebony-skinned girl grabbed Chess’s hair once again, pulling her close as she wiped her cock clean with the attendant’s dark hair. As she smiled down at the cum-soaked slut, the girl smiled that evil smile again. “Well that managed to get me off, now where’s your security recorded?”
Laid across the floor in a puddle of cum, drool, and pussy juice, Chess lifted her hand, pointed at a small cubicle in the far corner filled with a bank of monitors. The dark-skinned cockgirl plucked her clothes from the floor, examining them critically for any stains as she walked between the shelves.
Pulling her top back on, she stepped into the ‘security office’, quickly finding the video recorders that monitored the various sections of the premises. She stepped into her pants, pulling them up and tying them off with practiced ease as her eyes read off the labels until they lit upon the ‘storeroom’.
Rewinding the tape, she brought it up on one of the screens, admiring herself in the hazy black and white image as she forced her cock down the counter girl’s throat, as she bent the girl over and rammed herself into the girl’s butt. Stopping the tape, she reached out for an empty box, writing out a label and sticking it into the cover.
She stalked out towards the exit, throwing the tape down at Chess. “My friends will be in later, you’re going to rent them that tape, let them all see what a whore you are. If you’re lucky they may even help you make some more tapes as well!”
As the door slammed shut, leaving Chess alone in the darkness, she clutched at the tape, her other hand moving between her legs, stroking herself wantonly as she imagined all the people who were going to be watching it.
A deep crimson sunset hangs low over the bare, gnarled trees when I pull up to the house at 7:00, exactly on time. I see strobe lights through a broken window. The pink painted tire swing twisting gently in the breeze is a strange contrast to the black house. They’re making me wait. While I watch the windows, I’m trying to imagine what poor, lucky son of a bitch they’ll likely coerce into painting it some shade of pink for them.
7:15, hanging a cigarette out the window as it burns dangerously close to my fingertips and flipping through radio stations, I see the strobe light shut off. A minute later, Violet, Scarlet, and Magenta come down the steps in a jerky, gliding V formation, like a flipbook flock of seagulls, elegant ostriches in 5″ stiletto heels. I know these aren’t their real names, the same way I know they’ll demand a disproportionate exchange for that information. Slave for a week, a date in drag, something like that. But I’m not into that shit. I’m just here to take them to the party.
Dr. Hawthorne adores them, buys them those physics-defying shoes and then imagines the heels caught under the gas pedal, speeding 95 MPH over a cliff, these flamingos, his little peacocks, clawing their one and a half inches of painted plastic talons off against the windows in a vain attempt to escape as they plunge to their deaths. He tells me this over a patient’s chart, reviewing the pathology report as I’m documenting the character of the colostomy drainage. “Unbelievably hot,” he says. “They’re angels. You’ll love them,” he promises. “Keep your eyes on the road and you’ll be fine. Don’t answer any personal questions,” he warns. “They can smell fear, so act cool.” Right. “Just get them there safe and sound and I’ll give you $100 for it.”
$100. It’ll only cost $5 in gasoline. No doubt he’s trying to impress them, flashing a Franklin for a 20-minute drive. One of them — Magenta, I’m guessing, from the color of her mohawk — appears at my window, plucks the cig from my fingers with pink claws, sucks in smoke and stalks around to the passenger side where she swings the door open and slides into the seat beside me, exhaling in my direction. Before I realize what she’s doing, she’s moving to stab it out in my lap. I tense reflexively, knees jerking upward, yelping “What the Hell!” and then the back of her hand is pressed against my crotch, the cigarette grinding out against her palm. She smirks as if she’s just performed a magic trick beyond the audience’s comprehension and runs her hand through my hair, ashes and talons and all. “Nice to meet you, too,” I mutter, exhaling slowly, and she laughs, leaves her bright lipstick on my cheek.
Violet bounces into the backseat and scarlet follows, climbing over her to settle into her seat behind me, extending a toned leg in a controlled, calculated manner before crossing it high over the other knee. My eyes meet hers in the rearview mirror. A real-life Jessica Rabbit, her deep red hair, slick and straight, falls over one eye. She slides her tongue between dark, full lips, arms crossed beneath her breasts, elevating and emphasizing her cleavage. Her dress, long and sleeveless, is slit up the side, revealing a firm white thigh. I swallow hard and force my eyes forward, thinking about catheters and STDs.
Violet begins to hum. She’s the only one with hair of a natural color, blonde curls to her shoulders, though her transparent shirt and skin-tight pants reflect the same color obsession. She sings softly under her breath as I pull out onto the street and get in the turn lane for the highway. A Garbage song. “I came to cut you up. I came to knock you down. I came around to tear your little world apart.”
Focusing on the radio, I merge onto the highway, accelerating to 60. It’s quiet for a minute, just the sound of the road beneath the tires and the background noise of the radio until Violet’s high voice, almost a little girl’s, pipes up from the back. “Are you a doctor, too?” I remember what Dr. H said and keep my mouth shut, but she persists. “Are you, Mister? Are you a doctor?”
What can it hurt? It’s a simple question. “I’m a nurse,” I answer.
“A nurse!” Scarlet laughs, tossing her hair over her shoulder and narrowing her eyes in contempt. “Are you gay?” She leans forward, displaying more cleavage. Violet giggles. Already regretting having fallen for the bait, I keep quiet this time, turn the radio up a notch.
“What’s that, boy?” Magenta demands, cupping a hand around her ear and leaning in. Then she leans down, head almost in my lap, and asks again, “What?” She straightens up and says over her shoulder, “Well, the cock will talk, even if the boy won’t.” My eyes jump in her direction but I quickly shift them back to the road, recalling the doctor’s warning. I feel a hand in my lap, fingers at the button and zipper of my jeans, and my breath catches in the back of my throat as her claws dip into my boxers, closing gently around my cock. I’m thinking eye injuries and hemorrhoids.
She slides cool fingers around the lengthening shaft, running the pad of her thumb over the head. I start to sweat. “Jesus,” I whisper, and she laughs again. Scarlet and Violet are leaning in to watch the show as Magenta unbuckles the seatbelt and gets up on her knees on the seat, bending forward to bring her lips so close to my cock I can feel her hot breath warming it. Thinking perianal abscesses. Thinking of vaginal birth. Oh Gd, it’s not working.
“Let’s play a game,” she says. “The faster you go, the faster I give it.” Painfully hard now, I’m finding it impossible to keep my eyes on the road as she lowers her mouth over my cock, fitting it like a glove. A strangled moan fights its way out of my throat, against my will. DAMN, but she’s good at what she does and she knows it. Violet calls out my speed from the back — 65 — and I feel my foot heavy on the pedal, unable to stop it as her lips come within an inch of the base.
My lips move but no sound escapes. I clear my throat and try again. “Please…” Not even the thought of circumcision without anesthesia can save me now.
Violet calls out 70 and Magenta pulls back enough to ask, “What’s that? Faster?” before picking up the pace. Her tongue, her cheeks, her lips, her hands, they’re all in on it and she executes it like a pro, introducing me to sensations I never knew were physically possible. I hear 75, then 80. Legs trembling, I open my eyes to see the back of a car rapidly approaching. Holy shit. I slam my foot on the breaks, swerve sharply to the left. Violet tumbles into Scarlet. Horns shout from the left and the right. My cock is acquainted with Magenta’s teeth and the cursing from the car behind me pales next to what breaks from my lips.
Shaking, my blood pounding in my ears, I swerve into the right lane, moving toward the nearest exit, but Magenta takes the wheel and guides it back into the middle lane of traffic. She places a hand under my knee, easing my foot up from the pedal. We slow back to 60. “New rule,” she says, and her voice is low, steady. “Stay under 65 and I’ll suck you off.”
“What the Hell is wrong with you?” My voice sounds strange, distant and weak to my own ears. She ignores me, though I can’t say I expected an answer. Violet announces my speed as 60 and I feel an arm around my ribs, a hand on my chest, Scarlet’s, her palm over my pounding heart. Those claws reaching up under the shirt, scratching over my chest just below the threshold of pain. Warm lips slide back over my cock. This is torture… amazing, incredible torture.
“Sixty-four,” Violet warns, and then her mouth is on my neck. A violent shudder wracks my shoulders, jolts of electricity slamming through my spine. I wrench my foot off the pedal, stiffening my ankle to keep it raised while my hips writhe in the seat. This is fucking insane.
I can hardly breathe. Magenta’s lips touch the base of my cock. Her throat fights valiantly with the head and I’m nearly in tears with the effort of holding off the climax, trying not to ram the car in front of me. Scarlet drags her nails over my chest and through my hair, Violet setting my ears and neck on fire. The thought is no longer possible. All I can do is pray.
My prayers are answered. I see the exit ahead of me. Magenta’s throat contracts around my cock once more and every muscle in my body locks up, eyes shut tight and I’m not sure if I’m coming or dying, foot slamming down involuntarily, pushing the pedal into the floor. We skid to a violent stop at the light. Slowly, I open my eyes and see that we’re still alive.
Chest heaving, eyes streaming, mind numb, I miss the light before I realize that green means go and the parade of angry cars behind us are honking at _me_. Magenta leans back in her seat, flips down the mirror and reapplies her lipstick with surreal nonchalance. Violet slips her fingers into her ringlets, checking that each is still in place. Scarlet adjusts her cleavage, looking out the side window. The radio continues to play.
We drive another few blocks before I realize that my pants are to my knees, cock hanging out of my boxers and covered in lipstick. My face is wet with tears, my neck surely marked. I pull my pants up, boxers cold and wet, cringing at the thought of having to rip them off when I get home. Rubbing the lipstick off my neck with my palm, I exit the car on unsteady feet. The girls leave their doors wide open, somehow graceful on those ridiculous heels, and are ringing the doorbell already by the time I’ve shut the car doors. When I reach the front door, Dr. Hawthorne is there to greet me with the money and a strangely concerned expression on his face. “You look terrible,” he says. “The girls tell me you’re having urinary problems. Come on in, I’ll take a look.” And blushing pinker than the lipstick with which Magenta has painted my cock, I shake my head in horror, scrambling for an excuse…
After a night out together, dinner, the symphony, dessert, with lots of hand-holding, and many gentle kisses on cheek, neck, and soft gentle kisses on the mouth (short, out in public kisses she liked to call them), my gloved lady and I walked in the door. Suffice it to say, my lady “dressed to the nines”, the gentle frequency of her perfume, and soft gloved caresses had put both of us in the mood for more. As we walked in the door, I felt her hand gently brush my front in a way that brought my senses to a lovely height, as she and I both realized how ready we were.
I took off my coat and turned to take hers. She had pulled her leather operas up over her elbows and as I reached to the chair to take her coat I was distracted by her hands, pulling, and smoothing the soft leather high up onto her arms. “Pay attention, silly” she said; I notice I had almost dropped her coat from the hanger on which I had distractedly been trying to place her “evening out” coat. “Sorry I said, but I would say someone is distracting me just a little bit”. She smiled. “Can’t concentrate ever in the presence of a gloved lady! You are so bad!”
I had finished putting her coat on the hanger and had turned around. Her hands came up to my face, and I felt her lips, and the tongue pressed against, and in my mouth. Our tongues danced that lovely dance, as I felt her soft, warm, leather-gloved hands holding my face firmly, but gently. She pulled back.
Still holding my face she spoke, “honey, go in the living room, and take off your clothes. Place them on the couch and wait there for me. Please be standing at rest”. She was referring to the almost military-like stance where I stood with all of my pride exposed, feet about a foot apart, hands behind my back about waist high, my glory there for all the world, and her, to see. “I need to go upstairs for a few moments, then I think we should play”. With a light brush of her lips against my cheek, she turned and soon had disappeared up the stairs.
I turned off the hall light and walked into the living room. As was our custom, I removed my shirt, pants, underwear, and socks and placed them next to the lounging pillow, carefully moving the coffee table in front of the couch out slightly to give me room enough to stand, and to allow my lady to sit comfortably. I carefully folded my items as instructed. Pants first, neatly folder as taught, shirt, next, the same way. She liked things done neatly and carefully. Next my singlet, underwear, carefully piled, and lastly my socks. My lady wasn’t one for accepting things in neat and not done to perfection. It had taken time and several memorable paddlings before I got it right. I am not sure if it was a case of I couldn’t get it right, or if I didn’t’ want to; the thought made me smile.
As I stood there, I recalled those first paddlings and our exploration. When she first broached the topic of d/s relationship, I hadn’t been sure what it meant for either of us. I had been afraid, and unsure. It had me questioning who I was and whether I was surrendering not only myself but manhood to her. I had come to realize if anything, by surrendering myself to her, I wasn’t surrounding who I was, but was, in fact, giving myself to her freely. It has, in fact, freed me to be more myself, and I felt even more sure of who I was and what I felt. I heard her enter the room, drawing me away from my thoughts and back to her.
I felt her bare hand come around my chest as it slides across me, and her lips come to my ear; a gentle, but firm initial bite, followed by a quick, sensuous, sharp bite, made me gasp as she brought herself around to face me. In one hand she held a bag, in the other wine glass, bottle, and opener. She kissed me gently, quickly, open-mouthed and sensually, and sat done. “My” she said, “you are so ready”. She reached up, touching me, her hand wrapping itself around me. I looked down to see myself, red, big and swollen. “Yes I guess I am”, I replied. “I am a little surprised you know, I guess I was a little distracted thinking about our time together and where we have come. I think I like the results”. She laughed, still holding me, squeezed gently, and said, “I would say we have definitive proof of this in hand”. We laughed. Her hand fell away.
“Please open the bottle for me, and pour me some wine, my love, my own”. I reached down and taking the bottle in one hand, and corkscrew in the other set myself to the task. She had turned away slightly. She was still wearing her dress and blouse, but I could see she had removed her bra. Lovely heeled shoes, replaced with a favorite pair of thigh-high, black leather boots, pulled highest up as always her way, and warm, and shaped in a way that flatteringly highlighted her thighs, calves, and foot. It was pretty. She reached into the bag, pulled a smaller bag out. I knew what came next. Out came the loveliest, long, sensual pair of black latex operas, purchased with care from one of the finest “fetish latex clothiers”, in Europe. She reached into the bag and pulled out two small bottles. “Hey,” she said. “Pay attention to what you are doing please, I’m thirsty”; a chuckle. I noticed the crockscrew sat still in just touching the bottle head, the task undone. I set myself to the task at hand.
The latex dress
She reached for a bottle, and slowly, with care, spread the dressing aid over first one hand and arm and then the other. She was careful to make sure it was spread evenly, carefully, really sensuously spreading the dressing in a way that ensured long fingers, hand, wrist, and arm were well covered. “I think that is ready,” she said, carefully closing the bottle and then placing it back in the bag. My favorite moment came next. She took a glove in hand, and carefully gathered it at its wrist, and with a deliberate. delightful to watch push, slowly filled the latex fingers with hand and wrist. I loved the way gloves came to life as a feminine hand slid into them; I always marveled at how the inanimate piece of clothing came to life as its wearer forced its shape to take hold. Reaching carefully for the edge top, she slowly pulled the glove up her arm. I had the cork of the wine bottle out but had again become distracted watching the lovely transaction.
Slowly she pulled and smoothed the black latex; I loved the sound of the snapping latex as it molded itself to her arms, warming to her skin and giving shape to the muscle and sinew over which it was pulled. She had smoothed the glove to the top and took a few moments more to gently tug the top of the glove before reaching done to her fingers. I watched the fingers of her bare hand as they smoothed and pushed the latex until gloved fingers took shape. She held the glove out for a moment. Inspecting it carefully, she spoke, “I never get tired at how that looks. It looks so feminine and almost other worldly whenever I pull these on, and they feel just great!” She had a smile on her face, and her eyes sparkled. “I hope you are going to be ready to pour me some wine”, she said as she reached for the second gloved. “I have the cork out my lady, and am allowing it to air, waiting for your next instruction.”
She had started the second glove. I marvelled at how good she had become at putting on the latex. It had been a learning experience for both of us when we had started to learn about latex. She had gotten very good at putting on her gloves without help, although I must admit I missed the joy of smoothing the latex, and the extra touch of her latex hands against my own that was inevitable. The glove dressing had really been a help. Again, that lovely moment as she extended her arm; taking glove top in gloved hand, arm outstretched, I watched with delight as she wiggled her fingers, and adjusted her gloves carefully onto her hands. Both hands extended now, she announced herself very pleased with how her hands looked, and turning back to me requested some wine.
I carefully poured and handed her the delicate crystal; the contrast of latex, feminine hand against the lovely crystal was intoxicating. She took a sip. “Umm” she said.
“That is the loveliest Shares. It tastes so much better in a latex-gloved hand”; she cackled. Reaching with her empty hand, she again took hold of me, just at the head. Glass raised to lips, she rubbed her thumb gently on the underside, a shiver going through my body, as I strained against her hand. She placed her glass down and bent forward; gentle lips drew me deep. I felt her against the base of me, and then she slowly drew back, tongue and lips etching my skin and member. She stopped at the head, and rested. Her latex held me on either side; her eyes closed, I could hear her breathing through her nose, a soft moan coming from inside her. She stayed there for a moment. I could hear the ticking of the clock over the rush of the blood in my head. She withdrew, and drew on the wine. She placed the glass down.
She reached up with a hand. “Lovely”, she said. “I love you”. I replied. “I love you too oh my lady. Thank you for your care and love”. “Sweetheart” she said, “I give that to you with care and pleasure”. She reached for the bag.
Out in order came butt plug, strapon, and one more item. “Oh” I said. “I see that came”. “Yes, I wanted to surprise you. Happy?” “I couldn’t’ be happier, although, I must admit I am feeling a little intimidated”. “Oh, don’t hun. Its ok if you do, but I would sooner have you enjoy this as much as I know I am”. She had taken out the item from its bag and removed her glasses. She took some hair gel brought with her as well and smoothed her hair back; “that’s so it’ll fit better and be a little easier to put on” she said, putting done the bottle. Her gloved hand reached done for her new latex hood, again ordered from a fine European maker of fetish wear. It was a hood made of moderately thick latex, with lovely red highlights around the oval eyes, and mouth area. On top was a tube attached to which was a “pony-tail”, of black and red latex. I watched as she moved the hood upto her face. She looked up at me, and still doing so, began to pull the hood onto her face and head.
It was magical. Like the gloves before, the hood seemed to take a life of its own as it melded and molded to her face. I watched her latex hands elegantly, gently. and firmly smooth the latex over her face and towards the back of her head. She reached up and adjusted the mirror lensed eyes. I loved that look. It spoke power, and control to me. “Can you see all right”. “I can; the lenses are tinted a light yellow, and the actually let in a lot of light, I don’t’ feel claustrophobic at all. How about you, are you all right with this?” “Well, I am a little intimidated, but it’s ok”. Nervous laughter. “Good,” she said. We both laughed as the tension broke. She turned around. Please zip me shut. I reached down. There was an internal flap that shields the wearer’s head from the zipper. I smoothed it out for her. “Ok, I am going to pull the zipper down”. I slowly, carefully, pulled the zipped down to the bottom, and then smoothed it for her. “Thank-you”. She turned to face me again. She reached up and smoothed the area around her cheeks and neck before reaching up to adjust the eyes. It was very erotic. She stood up. “Rest postion”.
I bent straight and placed my arms behind me. She stepped forward. and drew me forward with one arm, behind my back, pressing my body against hers. Her other hand came up to my face and I watched her masked face come forward. I felt her lips and closed my eyes. Tongues and lips pressed urgently against each. Her breath was hot and deep. She pulled back. Open your eyes and kiss me eyes open. I did as she directed. I looked at the blankness staring back at me. Her hands came around both cheeks and she adjusted my head so that she could better see my eyes. I knew she was watching, anonymously, powerfully behind the blankness. She pulled back breathless. “That makes me feel so horny. I can’t help myself. Eyes open please”. She leaned forward and kissed me again. “Wow,” she said, pulling back. “I am really going to enjoy this”. I felt her hand reach down.
I had swollen so big. I strained; “hands to the rear please”. She reached around my body, and drew me closer again. She looked up; those blank eyes stared, and her smile broadened. I opened my mouth to talk, but she drew a finger to her lips. shoshing me quiet. I watched the finger dissapear inside her mouth. She thrust it in, and sensously drew it out. I watched as her most finger disappeared around my back. I braced as I felt it press on me; “spread your legs honey”. I did as I was told. Her finger pressed harder and slid in. I felt as she pushed and felt that lovely sensation of pain, surrender and pleasure as her knuckle came to rest against me. Her free hand reached for me and she moved closer, her finger sinking a final few centimeters. It drew back, and thrust forward, slowly the tempo increased and then I felt it against my prostate. She pushed hard and I felt a wave of pleasure as my prostate and body seemed to almost hang in space on that one appendage. She moved sidewise slightly. “I love that” she said. With her free hand she passed me first bottle and then glass. “More wine please”.
She was sitting on the table and to my side. She stretched out her hand; I stopped to watch the bottle leave her gloved hand. Shortly I handed her the wine. She took the most greedy gulp. “I am so ready for that ass”. She was breathing in a way that was almost lustful as she pulled the finger out. Opening the second small bottle, I watched her pour its contents over both latex-gloved hands. She worked the liquid carefully over her hands; repeating the same process as before with the dressing, she carefully applied the most generous amount to both hands. They shone from the liquid; it was heavenly. Swipping another greedy gulp of wine she put the glass down, put her hand in my back, and lining up her finger, pushed my body back onto her waiting for appendage. Two fingers.
She was breathing heavily, those two lovely fingers pushing in and out. Occasional manipulation of prostate combined with hard thrusts made me wince and moan almost simultaneously. I was dripping pre-cum now. A third finger. Her thrusts were getting harder, and faster. I felt myself buckle and her hand came up stopping me. Pre-cum flowed from my cock. Her hand came out, and she reached for butt plug. Lubed to satisfaction, she placed it on the table, and stood up. Her hands came up to my face. “Eyes open”, as she pressed forward. She almost was devouring me as our frantic, frenetic mouths and tongues thrust at each other. I was almost delirious with lust for her. We were both sweating, the scent of our lovemaking filling the room. Pulling back, she held my face. “I love my hood, I feel so free. Push away the table please. I did as I was told. She pushed back on me slightly, “rest position please”. I did as instructed.
She sat down on the couch, spread her legs, and drew her dress up. She was bare, fragrant, and wet. I could see her moistness, and its delightful scent wafted up to my nostrils, sending me further into that delicious delirium. She motioned with her finger and pointed. I moved in front of her and dropped down. She took my head in her hands, “eyes open unless I tell you otherwise”, and kissed me again. She drew back breathlessly. “Now,” she said. I bent forward and took her sweetness in my mouth. Her clit was swollen and standing hard and proud. I brushed my tongue over it and felt her push hard; her body shook and she moaned. The convulsions slowly subsided. “More, now, more!”. I did as I was told. My tongue slid over her clit, danced down her thighs, and across her moist vaginal lips before landing again on the target. She began to move rhythmically and soon her body buckled, she pushed hard, crushing my face against her. She almost screamed, and convulsed. Her hand held my hair. She pulled on my hair with one hand, while the other held me firmly in place. I was in pain and delirium as she expertly mixed the two. “Again, on my clit, nowhere else”. She pushed me hard against her. Shortly she buckled once more, and yanked my head back hard, my neck bent back, my body prostate, and hanging. I watched her convulse until she subsided. “Rest position now”. I did as I was told. She reached for the wine.
She drank and looked up at me without speaking. She was holding me; her stare remained unbroken. After a few more sips, she spoke. “Wonderfull. You so know how to please your lady. I am very satisfied. Please turn around. I did as I was told once more. “Lean over the table please my love”. I felt the coldness of the table. The combination of my hot sweat and its cold surface made me shiver. I felt the hard plug push for entry.
“In it goes. I am going to stroke you so deeply inside those lovely cheeks. That is what is the reward for a good sub who satisfies his lady. “Lovely, just lovely,” she said. I felt the base of the 7-inch plug against my cheeks. She left it there for a moment before drawing it back slowly. She repeated the process this way several times before telling me to push away the table and rest on my hands and knees. I pushed the table and my hands made contact with the carpet; the plug never left me. She moved my legs apart with her booted feet and I felt her pressed against the inside of my thighs. She was kneeling. The plug slid in and out, back and forth, side to side, and in a circular motion, randomly. Her other hand stroked my cheeks on both sides, running over the small of my back and up my spine. I shivered and she laughed. “I am so in control of you. You are totally mine, now and always”. “Yes”, I said. “I always will be your sub, your servant, your lover, your own”. “And I will always be your lady, your lover, your protector”. I felt a swell of emotion in me and my eyes torn slightly. She could hear my breath. “Ohhhh”.
She bent forward and I felt her hand wrap around my front. She squeezed slightly, I winced, and she laughed. Her hand slid up until it was pressed around my base, my testicles bulging forward and slightly swollen. The plug continued its joyous dance. She moved sideways slightly, and I watched her hand disappear underneath. Oh, she said, placing a finger in her mouth. “Lovely pre-cum, you are ready and so am I”. She withdrew the plug abruptly causing me to yelp. This was followed by deliberate slaps on both cheeks, and her chuckle. “Stay”. I didn’t move.
She moved forward in front of me, reached down, and balancing on my back, placed her foot in the harness and pulled it up her leg. Moving the table in front of me, she stood. “Lookup and watch your lady prepare”. I did. She stared at me through those blank eyes, never removing her gaze as she finished pulling on her artificial appendage. She dropped down in front of me, and placing a finger under my chin lifted it to her lips. A quick kiss, “ready?”. “Oh yes my lady”. She stood up, and moved behind me.
She dropped and separated my legs again. Her lovely hands came up to either side of my hips and I felt her separate my legs even more. She lubed herself and as she did I heard that soft, lustful breathing. “Ready” she announced and before I could say anything she pushed roughly and violently forward until she was pressed full bore against me. “Ohh, ohh, ugghh” I exclaimed. “You were ready, you just didn’t know it”, she chuckled. She was in me fully and rested with her arms on me, leaning over me slightly forward as the appendage pushed inside me making room for itself. “Oh, you are such a good boy”. Her hands were stroking my back; I loved that. “My latex gloves feel so good against your skin, can you feel how they slide?” “Oh yes, it’s wonderful”. “You have been so good tonight”. She started to pull back and thrust forward again; I winced once more. Again a devious chuckle. She drew back half way and thrust forward more slowly, gently. She began to develop that familiar thrusting; I felt my inside relax, and the occasional gentle brush against prostate drew me further into the gentle web of dominance and power she so carefully had created.
The thrusts began to vary. Long thrusts, drawbacks, and then slow and quick thrusts, deep and back, deep and back. The lovely pain and pleasure of what she was doing me drove me further into that wonderful space. She began to get faster, and I began to sweat even harder; my heart raced; my head wrapped in the deafening rush of blood between heart and brain. Faster she thrust, harder, deeper. I could feel myself on the verge of collapse as she pushed. Her breathing was becoming heavier and faster, the very air seemed to almost be alive with her sex, our love, and the pain and pleasure of dominance. “Oh”, she repeated softly. It began to cascade and the thrusting increased its intensity. I was straining against myself, lost in delirium, pain, and sex. She moaned deeply, I felt one last thrust and she fell against my back, her body quivered and shook, as the pleasure cascaded over her body. Finally, she drew away, and slowly withdrew from my body.
I collapsed on the floor, conscious of the pre-cum leaking from me and against my body. She was breathing heavily. “Oh my love, my own, lovely, lovely, lovely. You are such a good boy”. I said nothing, I was drained. She moved to me with towel in hand. At my side, she rolled me over, and bending down, “eyes closed”, kissed me so gently, so deeply, with such intensity and love. She began to towell me down and drew me so that I was lying between her legs, my head on her thigh. She stroked my head and ran her hand down my face. “Lovely, lovely man”, she said. She rolled me over onto my chest and finished toweling me down. “Come,” she said. She helped me to first me knees, and then up. We went over to the couch. She climbed on, stretched out, and extended her arms. I laid down in her loving embrace. She covered me with a afghan and stroked my head. “Sleep for a bit now my love”. Her hand continued to stroke me. “You are my own, now and always, and I will always be your lady, your friend, and your protector”. I fell asleep.
The evening started as my boy friend Jake assisted me as the Photographer at my Husband Cody’s huge, formal corporate affair for a few hours and Jake kept teasing me to meet him in one of posh sitting rooms of one of Atlanta’s premier country club’s for a quick romp. Of course, I was too shy to actually sneak off and do this, but I was certainly excited by the idea nonetheless, mentally and physically. When I ran into Cody out socializing in the ballroom full of Atlanta’s top CEOs, CFO, lawyers and investors I asked him where the ladies room was, and of course, he gave me directions on how to get there, but he also gave me instructions to bring him back my panties. Given where my mind had been wandering, that sounded like a great idea and I found quickly that I very much enjoyed the comfort of free pussy in my loose skirt and sexy thigh-highs. Later after I had handed over my panties, I ran into Cody again, but this time we stepped into a back hallway to chat for a minute where I was anxious to pull up my skirt and show him my bare ass. Then while we stood there and talked he reached up my skirt and softly stroked my kitty making my insides buzz with excitement. When we were about to leave Cody suggested we invite Jake and “hang out” after kids in bed. GREAT IDEA I thought:) so Jake and I stopped off for a drink on the way home to give Cody time to pay the sitter and ensure the kids were tucked in.
After a drink and a little time to relax at the bar, Jake and I headed home. When we got to my house we poured some wine and talked about the incredible “touch less” orgasm my long-distance Dom gave me earlier in the day. I explained to both of them how i was doubtful about the whole idea and going into it I didn’t believe it could work with me, but wow, it was amazing – and I had a picture of my untouched but red and swollen pussy taken after 4 orgasms to prove it. Throughout the conversation I was either laying against Cody on the couch as he pulled up my skirt and gently stroked my warm, smooth mound – letting Jake enjoy the view as I lay there with my legs spread wide open, OR I was sitting on Jake’s lap, nuzzling his neck, rubbing his chest and enjoying his scent, while Cody looked on with eager eyes. The discussion of orgasms led to us talking about squirting orgasms, which I’ve also been thinking about a lot lately and just lots of sex talk in general, all of it making me hornier and hornier, and at some point Along the way I mentioned a fantasy I have recently had to fuck outside in this particular place, an area hidden inside of some trees in our back yard. Without too much persuasion I convinced them to come to see it. I went to pee before we went out and much to their surprise I came back from the bathroom in just my thigh-highs. It was chilly out so I wrapped a knit throw around my shoulders and we headed out into the dark. We carefully navigated through the trees in the dark with only a couple of minor mis-steps. When we got to the spot I’ve had in mind, an area almost like a ceremonial den, surrounded on all sides by thick evergreen branches – with an open area at least 10 feet around and 15 feet high, Cody said “this is great – I like where your fantasy is going. Show me exactly where you imagined being ‘taken’.” When I moved over to the one side and told him I imagined I was up against this tree he said, “Show me the position you are in for this fantasy of yours.” So, I placed my hands on the smooth tree bark, leaned forward and stuck my ass high up in the air…
With my hands still on the tree, my husband proceeded to take the blanket off my shoulders, take one end and tie it to my right wrist, then wrap it around the tree and tie the other end to my left wrist and then asked “Is this how you wanted to be fucked?” … I said “Yes! Will you please fuck me?” Cody said “since Jake is our guest, I think you should ask him to go first,” so I did… I turned my head and looked back over my shoulder (as I was still tied to the tree, bent at the waist, with my ass towards Jake) and I said, “Jake, will you fuck me?”. To my surprise (lol) he said “Sure sweetie – I’d love to fulfill your fantasy.”
He began rubbing my ass, which felt nice and warmed it up since I was naked and it was cool and damp out here under the stars. He progressed to rubbing my now swollen lady-lips and after making me wait too long he slipped in a finger, all the way to the hilt – confirming what I had been feeling… I was soooo wet! It made me light headed and made my knees go weak. After working me up to even more exciting levels with the first one, then two and then three fingers pumping into my pussy he suddenly stopped and I was like – “Ohhh, no, no, don’t stop.” But then I heard him pull out a condom. I am sure Cody could see the huge smile that instantly formed on my face. And then all at once, I felt the warmth and stiffness of my “other man” pressed up behind me – making my insides scream to be filled. Cody re-secured the blanket on my arms from the opposite side of the tree and held onto me as Jake gently slid into me. Cody leaned in and we passionately kissed as Jake continued to rhythmically glide in and out of my sopping cunt – he’s so huge – it feels amazing the way he fills me, the way he moves, it’s like we are dancing together, with rhythm and grace, grace I know I couldn’t pull off on a dance floor, but which we elegantly perform every time we are ‘together.’
As Jake slowly built up to a firm and smooth rhythm My husband heard me mumble something and said “What was that Babydoll? What did you say?” I repeated for him clearly and just a little louder “Ohhhh, Jake, fuck me, Jake, fuck me!” Cody said, “Say it again, louder, I don’t think he could hear you.” And so I said it clear and firm and probably even loud enough for the neighbors to hear, if their windows were open, “Jake, fuck me… Ohhh, yeah! Ohh, please Jake! Ahhh, yeah! Fuck me Jake, fuck me baby.” He suddenly thrust fully into me, lifting my feet off the ground and pressing my shoulders into the tree – I could feel the pulsing of his manhood as he ejaculated deep inside me. He stood there for a moment and then slowly began to slide in and out again – making the inner walls of my love-hole come alive and fill with unimaginable sensations. After a minute or two of this heavenly feeling, he pulled all the way out, turned to Cody and said, “I think it’s your turn man.”
Then they traded places – Jake came up and kneeled in front of me, my hands still tied to the tree, my head practically laying in the ‘V’ between the split trunk as I was recovering from the first round, we were face to face and he then reached up and placed his hands on my forearms, just below the blanket that was still keeping me tied to the tree – the blanket and my lover holding me in place – waiting for my husband to have his turn with me.
Cody was now standing behind me, his cock rock hard from watching me enjoy being taken by my boyfriend. He grabbed his cock in his hand and used it like a paddle to spank my pussy a few times – which made me realize just how full and swollen and sensitive it was. Gawd, I wanted him in me, and just then his large soft tip pressed forward and split my lips open as he quickly slid inside me. Ahhh, what a feeling – that skin on skin of his bare manhood inside of my slippery wet cunt. Jake and Cody have such different styles. Cody fucks, like he does everything, with intensity, with purpose, with vigor and confidence. It took me up another level as he began to furiously pump into me, his hands strongly grasping my hips, his long fingers wrapped all the way around, grasping onto my iliac crests. Each inward motion brought his flat firm pelvic region strongly against my sexy little ass. I could feel when he leaned forward and more of his abs would come into contact with more of my rear and when he stood more upright, I could feel more of his stiffness reach farther up inside my wet warm folds. Each time he pounded into me my shoulders would bump into each of the two tree trunks on either side of my head. Each time he ground into me my feet would move forward a little. Until he was practically under me, fucking up into me, while his hands kept pulling me back down onto him. We reached a frenzied climax and he filled my pussy with hot jiz – so strongly I could feel it like a hot jet against the back of my womanly places. As we stood there, coming down from our peak I could feel his legs shaking which brought a grin of satisfaction to my face. I enjoyed every touch, as his hands smoothly moved up my back and held onto my shoulders and then he gently leaned down and laid his chest upon my back and rested for a moment as we enjoyed “being together”, being one. Then he untied my hands and carried me back into the house – all three of us, with a huge smile on each of our faces!
I arrived at the house a bundle of nerves but excited to be with you once again. You told me ahead of time just to walk in the door, you would already be ready and waiting for me. I took a deep breath and closed my eyes as I entered into your domain. The house was dark, candlelight glowed around the room. It was very romantic. It took my eyes a bit of time to adjust to the light, and when they did I realized there was a figure kneeling just to my right. In a faint whisper, I heard “welcome my mistress“!
I very slowly walked towards you, taking in as much as I could. You had on a blindfold and nothing else. Your arms were crossed in front of you with your hands just holding onto your cock. Like you were ashamed to let me see that you were excited. Your breathing was slow and shallow with anticipation of what was to come. There was a pretty wrapped package in front of you with a single white rose upon it. I knelt down in front of you picked up the rose noticing that the thorns were removed at the lower half where I was to hold it. I took in the aroma of this lovely blossom and smiled, thought to myself; my slave is so good to me. With that, I placed the rose just at the base of your neck and drug its thorns down your chest. Not enough to tear the skin, but enough to show the red scratch marks. You inhaled deeply and arched your back moaning with happiness. I leaned closer to you my lips almost touching yours, I whispered, “thank you for the gifts”. And I kissed you gently on those soft pouty lips. I rested there for just a moment, taking in your essence. Your tongue escaped and parted my lips, searching for that delectable dance our tongues do so well. I love the way you kiss me, adoring and passionate! I backed away and quickly slapped you across the face! “I did not say you could kiss me, Slave”! The shock of this slap took your breath away and made your cock become more erect. With your head bowed in shame you cried out, “I’m sorry Mistress, forgive me. I could not help myself”.
Again I took the rose and let the blossom run up and down your chest. The soft peddles felt nice caressing your skin. I ran the peddles down your stomach to the top of your pubic hair. Ran it across your pubic region and I watched your cock leap at every touch. I let it glaze across the head of your cock the precum touched the peddles and made a silky stream. I bent down breathed ever so slightly at the head. Letting you know my mouth was close. You sucked your breath in with the hope I would take you. Your cock bounced about waiting for something to happen. I stuck my tongue out and just licked off your precum carefully not to touch any skin. You tasted deliciously sweet as I let it linger on the tip of my tongue. You moaned aloud wanting more but said nothing like a good Slave. I let my rose dance continue to stroke up and down your shaft, around your balls, I walked behind you and swiped it between your ass. Then I let the thorns touch your butt and pressed a little harder. You whimpered, I let the thorns scratch all the way up your back to the base of your neck. You let out a shudder and a loud cry of pain.
Falling over onto your hands, breathing heavily. Saying “thank you, Mistress”.
I looked around to see a table with some toys on it. There was a leather flogger, a riding crop, and a wooden paddle. I studied each one, glimpsed back at you on all fours and chose the flogger. With the scratch marks embedded from the thorns, the leather flogger will make perfect marks. I kissed the flogger, told you to take a deep breath and “crack” I let the first strike go right in the middle of your back. Before you even had time to recover I let blows two and three loose. You screamed out mercifully! Stated stop! Realized what you said you tried to compose yourself. I asked, “did you just say stop”? In a shallow voice I heard, “yes Mistress, I did”. Before you finished that phrase, I first flogged the left side of your ass, instantly the right. You went flat on the ground, howling and panting for every breath.
I stopped took in a profound lung full of air, raised my shoulders and head high, in a triumph full moment.
I squared down to your level in front of your face and said, “you lousy weak excuse of a Slave, get up and take your punishment like a good boy”! You composed on all fours, in a whisper said, “yes, My Goddess”. You inhaled and realized that my sex was right in front of your face. But you did not move, you have been trained well.
I grabbed your ears and in a sharply inhaled breath, I smashed your blindfolded face into my pussy. You open your mouth and sucked on my cum soaked silk panties. In the excitement, you pulled my panties down just enough to have your mouth clamp down upon my clit. I was rock hard! Your erotic whimpers cried out for more. As your tongue touched me, my body involuntary shuddered uncontrollably. My orgasm was near. The closer I got the harder you sucked. In a few final seconds, I grew still, my cunt throbbing with wanting release…and you pulled away! Knowing that I love this type of torture. I breathed as deep as I could to stop my orgasm from releasing. Smiled at you, knowing you that you could not see me. And whispered, “you are my silver-tongued devil, you do know how to please me”! “yes, my Goddess”! Was all I got.
We both calmed down, you got back on all fours, I stood tall. I traced your back admiring my work, the welts were picturesque. I knelt behind you, kissed and licked my way around your ass. I opened your cheeks, sucked and probed my tongue deep into that abyss. “Goddess, I fucking love you”! Was spoken aloud. These words I crave to hear! I absolutely melted!
I ignored these words of adornment, kissed that ass, spit on the abyss…licked my two fingers and forced them into this trench of love canal I claim as my own. Screams howled through the house. As your sphincters gave way to a fierce entrance. I explored as deep as I could find the prostate. Massaging it, making your cock dance. I reached with my left hand and squeezed your balls as hard as I could. Moans of pain and pleasure were aroused. I milked you until you said, “I’m close”! I backed out slowly kissed and sucked that abyss one last time. Crawled in front of you, cupped your face between my hands and kissed you adoringly with such passion that both our bodies melted into one another. I removed your blindfold, looked you in the eyes. Smiled that smile only you bring out in me. Glanced at my package, looked back at you, tears were welling in your eyes…all you said was “Goddess, I’m ready”!!!
She had grown comfortable and safe within her environment. The cinderblock walls around her and the bars of the cage that contained her were now her home. Early on she used to keep track of the days by the sounds of the steps overhead and the long intermittent silences in between. She knew that a series of two of those silences would occur between his visits. That must be a day she thought. She had come to understand the silences were likely the time he was either sleeping or gone from the house, probably at work.
Really, she lost track a long time ago but instinctively she knew when the time was drawing near for him to come to her. In the time between visits she would nestle herself in the cage he kept her in. In the beginning, she would fight it, desperately trying to find a way out. It was futile. No amount of yelling, screaming, pounding on the bars, nor yanking on the lock would prove to be successful. Eventually, she grew tired and gave in to the inevitable. She was stuck, captured, possessed. Convincingly she told herself it wasn’t so bad. She was fed enough to be comfortable and the room, although it had no windows was warm. Considering the lack of sufficient clothing she was thankful for the warmth.
At times it was quite difficult to wait for him to come and allow her to visit the ensuite bathroom. Early on there were times, only a few, that she could not wait. The ensuing punishment for such mishaps taught her quickly to learn how to make sure she could wait….no matter how long. She learned to simply keep her back to the room while she lay in her cage so as not to see the ensuite, so close and yet so inaccessible without his allowance of its use. The bathroom thing was what made her wonder the most just how long she had been staying down here or was it up here; she had no idea. Just how long had it taken for her to train her body to deny itself of such natural functions. It didn’t matter anymore. It had been long enough for her to realize that. That and the reward of a shower for being able to hang on, as opposed to the denial of one if she hadn’t. It no longer amused her how now the little things mean so much to her….a a shower, the use of a toilet, the touch of another human being.
She could sense the time was here. He would come to her very soon. Oh how she looked forward to those moments. In the beginning, her heart would pound with sheer panic when she heard the clank of the locks opening behind the door. Her heart would still beat harder in those moments now but more in anticipation. She heard the familiar sound now and the slightest of smiles graced her lips.
“Hello my pet,” he pleasantly cooed as he walked through the door, ’how’s my girl today?’ Why he asked amused her in away. He knew she gave up speech and language a long time ago. Perhaps she simply forgot he figured, although she always seemed to understand what he’d say. Her communication now days consisted simply of various grunts, groans, purrs and the like….and of course, the sobs and screams that were inevitable at his hands. Long ago she gave up wondering why he did the things he did to her. She just knew to accept them. A part of her grew to enjoy it; it was the only attention she received. He knew this and teased her often.
“Oh, come on now girl, why the tears? You know you like it, don’t try to pretend differently. Your body tells me so,” he’d quip. “As long as your body keeps betraying you like that my little pet, I promise to keep giving you what you obviously want.” And with that he’d always chuckle to himself, amused by his own joke.
Today was a good day. She was happy to see him and he could tell by the way she sat up when he walked in; up as much as one could in that cage. He never stopped admiring his handy work. The hard work and effort he’d put into building that thing, just for her, was evident to him each and every time he ran his hands over it….and she always watched. She watched his every move, always. She had become, over time, fixated on him. He was her entire world and that was exactly what he wanted. Sometimes he was certain that he could almost hear her purr as he slowly sauntered around her cage, chattering away to her but mostly to himself. He often wished he had noticed the day she said her last word so that he could have marked it on a calendar. Once in a while, when she would make one of those sweet little murmuring sounds while she fixed her gaze on him, he’d get a slight tingle through his body. In those moments he sort of missed the sound of her voice. Then he would remember back to some of the vile things she uses to spit at him. Her rage with him had run deep, very deep. Those were the early days though and for the most part he didn’t miss them. As much as he longed for the sound of her words he didn’t miss having to punish her for such terrible disrespect of him. He truly didn’t enjoy it at all. It wasn’t like the other stuff. “Now that stuff, that stuff is fun,” he thinks with a grin.
He’d continue talking to her as he walked away venturing into the ensuite to run the shower for her. He looked after his pet well.
Once the water was on and the towels laid out he’d come back and unlock her cage. It really was a work of art and very comfortable too. No barbaric dog cages for his pet, nothing but the best and he was very proud of it and of himself and in fact, also of her. She had learned to behave whilst he went about unlocking her from the cage, no more half-crazed, wild ambush attacks in an attempt for freedom. Secretly he was very impressed at how long it took to untrain her of this nasty habit of fighting back. Her strength and determination had always impressed him even as it frustrated him. Oh how he hated having to punish her like that. Never in his entire life had he ever heard another human being screech such unhumanly sounds like the ones she made when he had to teach her a lesson. She’d never know it but he would often break out into tears of his own once back upstairs and alone. He really did feel badly but it had to be done. She needed to learn, to conform, to submit to his will. And learn she did.
But that was a long time ago, so long ago. She was such a good little thing now. He was as pleased with her progress as he was with his own patience.
“Come now,” he called to her, “come clean yourself up and do your business you filthy thing you”. She would always grunt in embarrassment when he said such things. He remembered how proud she was before he claimed her. Always primped and made up. No need for such things now, no one to impress but him and to him she was beautiful as she was because she was his. He just enjoyed teasing her.
It was odd how he always gave her privacy in those moments. Very odd considering some of the vile, humiliating things he always had planned for his visits. She had given up on modesty far too long ago to even remember it existed. She had grown to accept that he knew every physical fiber of her being so there was no point in trying to pretend otherwise. Besides, with no mirrors she had no idea what she looked like anymore anyway. How she appeared relied solely on what he said. If he said she was ugly and shameful looking she believed it and sulked accordingly. When he said she was pretty, beautiful even, she postured with pride. When he was pleased with her so to was she.
Upon exiting the ensuite she never knew what to expect. The unknowing would always make her shake a little with both fear and excitement. That and the fact she knew she would eat if she complied easily, had made her a most willing victim. The exhaustion of fighting back from the torture and the ensuing, seemingly endless amount of time without food or water, had taught her that to resist was pointless. Some may have felt it not worth surviving in such an environment but she had learned it was her life now, her world was his world; his fantasies her reality.
When she came out she could see the room laid out, preparations made for the coming endorsements. He always had a plan. Her only plan was to comply, do as told and all would be ok. She knew that somehow he would never quite go too far even though it always seemed like this time would be the time it would be just a little too much to bear.
Some rituals, like the showering beforehand, never changed. She stood there, clean bodied and wet haired and obediently waited for him to come to her…and come to her he did. As always, he walked toward her stopping only when he was a mere inches from her face. Then, as always, as she tipped her head up to gaze into his eyes, his hand would glide up and reach gently into her hair and rest at the nap of her neck. The sweet, gentle kiss would always follow. She would dream often of that kiss, the silken feel of his lips to hers, his warm breath fanning out over her face as his tongue would slip between her parted lips. Somewhere in that moment is when he always startled her blissful state with a stark, violent jerk of her head as his hand forcefully gripped her wet hair and his chuckle would turn to a menacing growl.
“BITCH…. my lovely bitch,” he snarled as he dragged her, by her hair, across the room. “Come along we have work to do, lots of time for that later,” he’d say with a laugh, a frightening, spine-tingling laugh.
She knew if she could just get through it he’d look after her; lovingly hold her and tend to her wounds once he was done inflicting them. She could sense that this time would be one of those really difficult, long lasting times and it worried her but she would get through. She would look at him with pleading eyes and pray that he would show her some mercy….she knew he would not. But she knew that after, he would allow her to curl up into him and he would stroke her hair as he mused about anything that came to mind. She didn’t care, she didn’t listen…she simply hung on to the sound of his voice as she would fly and drift and stare at her cage. The lovely, comfy little safe haven where he would eventually toss her and sit across from it and admire her. She would be able to feel the contentment that matched the calming gaze he would bestow upon her but for now she would have to wait because first would come the pain, the tears, the blood, the fear, the……
It was the first time I had seen an erect penis and I watched in awe as he stroked it faster and faster until he came. Seeing his body twitch and watching him squirt made my pussy tingle and I reached down and felt how incredibly wet I was. I hurried back to my room and started exploring this new phenomenon. To this day I am amazed that it took me so long to realize the pleasure one can get just touching oneself. Although I know now that I didn’t cum, the feeling of slipperiness as I moved my finger in my crack was incredible. I didn’t insert a finger into my vagina. I didn’t know I could and I really didn’t need to. I must have accidentally stumbled across my clit because, even though I didn’t feel a lump or anything, it really tingled and sort of sent sparks up and down my legs and in my belly.
I have been very lucky to have had 3 older and more experienced boyfriends who have complied with my wish to stay a virgin until I am married (I wouldn’t say they were too happy about it though). I have learned an incredible amount about my own body from guys who have delighted lots of pussies! I guess it stems from my first masturbation experience but I really get stimulated by being with a guy, fondling and stroking his cock but holding off letting him cum until he is about to explode and then watching him finish himself off while I masturbate. Once he has cum, I get him to lie back, I kneel over him and slide my pussy along his cock using the mixture of his cum and my juices as lubrication. I love the feeling of his warm prick between my lips and can move my body so that the head of his cock presses on my clit – just awesome! My excitement builds and builds as I feel him harden again and I can take longer and longer strokes along him. I can get to that awesome level where my pussy starts to throb before he cums again and I explode with the feeling of him pulsing between my lips. I draw myself back so that I can look down and watch him squirt. I know I squirt a bit too but with all his and my juices on him, it is impossible to tell how much!
Sorry, I have rambled LOL. I am a very visually stimulated girl and use a mirror while I am masturbating. I kneel on my bed with a shaving mirror between my knees. I then start stroking my inner thighs and watch the petals of my pussy unfold. It is such an amazing sight, seeing the inner lips start to protrude and then unfold and thicken. I stroke higher and higher and start to push outward on the top of my thighs so I can watch myself opening.
I also pull up slightly and that pulls back on my hood and rubs it over my clit. I get wetter and wetter and when I feel I cannot handle it any more, I move my left hand up to open my inner lips and use my right-hand middle finger (more sensitive and easier to control) to circle my clit.
Sometimes I find that moving my hood back and forth over the head of my clit using my thumb and index finger helps to get my clit even more erect and accessible.
When I cannot take the teasing any more I slip my finger between my lips and then stroke it directly on my clit using a sideways movement of my finger. Within a couple of minutes, I start to feel the tension mount and I slip my index and middle finger into my pussy, curl them round and “walk” them over my G-spot. My whole vagina seems to swell and loosen and as soon as I press on my pubic bone, hot fluid pours out of me. I go back to my clit and after a few strokes, the most incredible feeling washes over me. My pussy goes into spasm and I stop moving to watch my whole vulva tremble and twitch. By leaning back a bit I can actually see the walls of my vagina tightening and loosening and it takes a good minute for the waves of ecstasy to subside.
I have found that “after the play” is stimulating. I gently stroke the tops of my thighs and watch as my pussy slowly folds itself away and the swelling subsides. I have repeated this method for hours and never cease to be fascinated at the way a pussy responds to stimulus. I have never been with another woman but would love to do to someone else what I do to myself and watch her pussy respond to my touch.
Thanks again. I guess you may have to edit this as I have made it a little long LOL!
First I would like to express how much I love to masturbate! And this website has really helped me as well!
The way I masturbate is a bit different. At night, I lay in bed with my covers on top of me. I take of my clothes and massage my lips. I am shaved, so it’s so smooth. Then I stroke my clit. when i am really horny, I take out my electric tooth flosser. I don’t have the floss on it, so it just goes back and forth. I hold it on my clit, and fantasize. I fantasize about my friends and I doing a girl-on-girl three-way, but I’m not a lesbian.
Me and my one friend lay the other girl on her back and play and kiss and suck her breasts. Then we pull down her G-string and kiss her lips. By this time I usually orgasm. When I first started masturbating, I would feel like I was riding a wave and then just exploding. Once I even cried. But now, my vagina just spasms for 10 seconds and stops. I have tried caressing my body, and getting really worked up, but nothing helps…Any tips?
Hi! I’m 21 and have been masturbating for a long time, but my first sexual experience (oral sex/fingering, no intercourse) this spring made me a little bolder in my self-love fun. Today I had a great time–already wet (I love weeks 2 and 3 after a period), and throbbing. Usually, I try to find the nub of my clit and rub, but today I found that rubbing perpendicular across the shaft of the clit, over the clitoral hood, set me writhing. I like to move my legs around, and see how it changes the shape of my vagina. Legs over the head makes it big and open. Today I pressed my legs together and lay on my side–it makes me really tight. Today was also the first time I did clit stroking simultaneously with g-spot stroking. Fun fun fun. I think learning first about what you want is more important than being sexually experienced. I still haven’t had penetrative sex, mostly because I think sex should not just for the body, but a connection on a mind level, too, and I just haven’t found that yet in a guy. Also because I am still a virgin (in a way)–my hymen is still intact, and since I know sex will be uncomfortable the first time, I want to do it with a guy who will care enough to make it a good experience for me. I anticipate getting a clitoral hood piercing–I think it would be a great way to help me personally experience my sexuality and give awareness to what my body can do. I enjoyed this site A LOT! and am really glad I found it. Interesting on a feminist scholar level, and also personally.
I start off by going In my basement and taking my Uncle’s old porno magazine I then go upstairs to the top floor in the middle of the night (when my grandparents are asleep) ….I read some of the stories and I look at the girls spreading their legs and playing w/ their selves. I then strip my
underwear and pants.. then I spread my lips with one hand, then rub my clit with the other. It feels so good…When I orgasm, I like to stop and look at the pictures, then I start all over again.
I also like to get Ice-cubes and run them up and down me. when the ice-cube gets small enough, I stick it in my hot-hole and it feels SO good. Sometimes I use an electric tooth-brush (That I only use for pleasure) and I put it on the highest setting…it is AWESOME…I am 15 and a virgin….I like to go to my friend’s house…and we take turns “playing” with each other….She is GREAT!!!!!
I’m 13 and have been masturbating since I was about 10 my first encounter with myself was with an electric toothbrush. The brush felt so good vibrating against my clit. I usually masturbate by touching and rubbing my clit in different ways, Mmm. I also feel really really turned on when I watch myself in the mirror playing with my pussy.
I too have been masturbating since I was about 19; and I am now almost 43. I have never told anyone about this, because I felt I was probably “not normal” in some way. I have been married for 24 years; and the sex is good. Yet, I truly desire women and that is what I fantasize about when I am masturbating. I love big breasted, plus size, curvy women. I have never had a sexual relationship with a woman–only fantasy.
I only masturbate in the tub. We have a handheld shower that many of you also have talked about. It has an adjustable setting and I use the setting that pulsates the water. I put some liquid soap on my hand and gently rub my vulva and clit, slowly stroking and flicking my clit with my fingers. Mental imagery is very important for me, so I close my eyes and think of another woman gently massaging my clit as my fingers go in gentle circles. Then I put the pulsating showerhead between my legs. Ours is designed so that is has a long cord on it, which allows me to lay on my back with the water pulsing between my legs as I play with my nipples. I use liquid soap once again on my nipples; it is such a slippery and sexy feeling as I begin pinching and tugging my nipples–this makes my clit go crazy! I still have my eyes closed thinking of another woman stroking my clit and sucking my nipples. It doesn’t take long for the pulsating water to do the trick and I am coming like crazy! I have to make myself keep the water between my legs because it can get overly sensitive for a few seconds….but if I do, the rewards are great and sometimes I can come again right away!
I’m a big fan of masturbation and clit stimuli and while I consider myself straight while masturbating I fantasize about women. All of my porn is girl/girl lesbian and I prefer the most hardcore porn available. I have a very close girlfriend and one evening she came over and we were having some wine and chatting girl talk when porno’s came up. She had never watched a lesbian flick so I asked her if she wanted to watch one. Of course she did and I obliged. We were sitting in my living room so I asked her to follow me to my bedroom. We were oddly quiet in the beginning as I tooled around the bedroom while she watched trying to keep myself from becoming outrageously horny. I had never considered her anything more than a close friend and I certainly hadn’t considered having sex with her. Anyway, I became so horny that my panties were soaking wet. When I finally sat down on the bed where she was laying I told her I needed to masturbate and asked her if she would mind if I did it in front of her. She nodded her head without commenting so I stood up and removed my shorts and panties. I grabbed a clit stimulator from my nightstand and laid down on the bed. I usually like to spread my legs wide, rock my hips, and moan when I masturbate but I was afraid of touching her leg so I did my best to stay in my own space. I propped a pillow under my ass as normal and began rubbing my clit with my fingers. My pussy was dripping and the cum was warm and delicious as I transferred it to my clit. I had to start and stop because I was so close to cumming. It felt surreal and I wanted it to last. She was squirming a little bit and I thought she was uncomfortable with my masturbation. The next thing I knew she had wiggled out of her jeans and was positioning herself in a kneeling pose between my legs. She asked me to spread my legs wide and remove my top so she could get in closer and rub my nipples. I did what she asked and helped her put a pillow under herself. She opened her legs really wide and had them around mine so I could see her pussy as I rubbed and massaged myself. I had never been that close to another woman before unclothed and I was fascinated and overcome by how beautiful the experience was. Her clit was swollen and I could see the cum around the opening of her pussy. We were completely in the moment when I had the most explosive orgasm I have ever had. We came so hard the first time. We played two more videos and masturbated for hours. The only thing I regret was not having the courage to put her clit between my lips and suck her to orgasm. I was actually fantasizing about it with her there in front of me but I didn’t want to do anything that would break the trance we were both in. I guess it just felt weird because she was such a good friend and I hadn’t considered her a lover. Anyway, that was the one and only time it ever happened with her but I’m happy to report I finally have had the experience with a woman. It is everything I had hoped it would be. There is nothing like having a clit between your lips and knowing what it feels like for the other person. Divine!
My name is Heather and I’m 20 years old. I stumbled across your site when I was reading up on female ejaculation. I did it once when my boyfriend was eating me out and rubbing my G-spot at the same time. He practically went crazy, it turned him on so much. I have been trying to do it since because I love to turn him on like that, but so far no luck.
Anyway…I enjoyed reading about everyone’s experiences with masturbation. In my experiences with female friends, masturbation is a taboo subject…everyone always denied that they did it, including myself, saying that it was “gross”. Thinking about it now, I bet every one of them has masturbated at least once, if not frequently.
I masturbate at least once a day, if not more. Currently, my boyfriend is living 1500 miles away from me and we have only gotten to see each other every three months or so. I am an EXTREMELY sexual person with an EXTREMELY high sex drive, so this has been very hard for me. When I was living with my boyfriend before he went away to school and we were having sex frequently, I would only masturbate once a week, if that. Now I am up to twice a day…not that I’m ashamed of that whatsoever. I am just one of those people who can have just finished having sex, and want to do it again two minutes later.
I would say I’ve been masturbating since I was about 10 or 11. I just remember one day that I just felt really horny…I didn’t know that was what it was THEN, as I had no concept of “horny”, but having been sexually active both with myself and a partner for years now, I know that’s what it was. I just had this overwhelming urge to touch myself “down there”, which wasn’t a place I ever touched myself except when using the bathroom and bathing. This will probably be funny to all of you, and I think it’s funny too, but does anyone remember those books about reproduction and puberty from the late seventies? They were called “Where Did I Come From?” and “What’s Happening to Me?”. Well, I found the Where did I come From book and went to the page with the illustration of the man and woman having sex. I started rubbing myself down there. I remember the way I did it for a long time was I kind of…folded my outer labia over my clit and rubbed it until I came. It took a long time and my orgasms were never very intense, but to me it felt like heaven.
I’ve used a lot of different things to facilitate my masturbation…one of my grandmother’s particularly racy romance novels, a Reader’s Digest article (lol!), etc. When I was about 13 I started reading a teen magazine that had some stuff in it about masturbation. My mom had a massager…it was a big hand held thing that had this purple rolly ball with nubs on it. I used to roll it back and forth over my clit, over my underwear because it hurt when I just did it bare. Later, I discovered the bathtub trick.
I didn’t start getting into penetration while masturbating until after I had sex with my boyfriend at 17…mostly because I was extremely tight down there and it was painful. But now that I have been sexually active with my boyfriend for the past 3 years, I literally cannot get off without penetrating myself, either with my fingers or a cylindrical object. I have a “personal shaver” that kind of buzzes and vibrates and have used that a couple of times, both on my clit and in my vagina.
Most of the time, I lay on my back with my right leg bent in at the knee and laid flat to the side and my left leg bent at the knee with my foot flat on the bed. Kind of a 90-degree angle looking deal. Most times when I actually get to the point where I want to touch myself, I am extremely wet, aroused, swollen…whatever you want to say. First, I rub my finger around my vagina and spread my wetness around. I run my finger around my outer labia, then around the inner, and around my clit. I kind of flick or tap my clit a couple of times with my fingertip, then dip down and into my vagina. I don’t ever really touch my breasts or nipples as this only feels good to me when my boyfriend is doing it…I get nothing out of it when I do it myself. Sometimes I dig my nails into my inner thighs and drag them down (I am not full-fledged S&M, but I do like my pleasure spiked with a bit of pain…biting, scratching, rough sex, etc.). I continue to do the flick, tap, and finger method. Then I rub my clit with my fingertip in a circular motion, going slow then fast, slow then fast. I slowly build myself up to orgasm this way, and just when I’m about to orgasm…I stop. I guess you have to have really good control of yourself to do this, because sometimes even I can’t resist the temptation to just push myself over the edge! During sex with my boyfriend, I love being teased like that, so I do it when I’m alone as well. I bring myself to almost-orgasm at least five times, more often more, and when I finally feel like I am ready to let myself orgasm, I use my left middle finger to finger myself. I pretend it’s my boyfriend’s penis as I thrust it in and out of myself. Then I start to massage my clit again with my middle fingertip on my right hand and I let myself orgasm.
I don’t know if there is any scientific basis to this, but my theory is, that continually bringing myself to the edge of orgasm several times before letting myself go over the edge creates more blood pooling in the pelvic area. When you finally let yourself orgasm, there is more blood to be released, and hence stronger sensations and contractions.
To anyone who has never “teased” themselves like this before…I STRONGLY suggest it. I used to be embarrassed that I masturbated, but I quickly got over that. Masturbation is a completely normal, healthy activity and anyone who does so is NOT weird, gross, perverted, strange, etc. I can almost guarantee you that EVERYONE does it.
I’m 19 and the best masturbating experience for me was when my parents and I were on holiday and we were staying at a tropical resort. One day they went out and left me alone in our gorgeous tropical hut with a private hot tub. I knew they wouldn’t be back for hours so I decided to get into my brief, sexy bikini (which kind of turned me on!!) and i went into the hot tub. The jets which the bubbles were coming out of were on full blast and I knew that they would be really pleasurable so got in, started to caress my body and pulled down my bikini bottoms, pressing my clit hard on the jets. The bubbles felt amazing and my body was jerking back and fourth against the jets, it was the BEST feeling ever. It was also really good because I didn’t have to pleasure myself using my fingers which causes you to concentrate on what you’re doing but this, this was great coz it felt like someone else was doing it for you but MUCH harder and hotter! When i got out my legs were weak and my clit was tingling with arousal, it was great!! The only problem is I don’t have a hot tub at home so i cant do it all the time, but I made my stay at the resort worth my while as i did it about four times each day!!! I recommend it to anyone who has a hot tub or is going on holiday, BEST TECHNIQUE!!! Anonymous
I think I’ve been masturbating (including orgasm) since I was in the 2nd grade. At this time my sister and our neighbor were in Kindergarten and sometimes when we were unsupervised we would all play doctor. It always seemed the cure for every “ailment’ was a pelvic exam… I remember we would take turns placing the toy stethoscope on each other’s clits and rhythmically moving it. This would actually bring me to orgasm! Now and days I enjoy sitting in front of the computer with my legs spread as wide as possible watching porn (although I’m straight for some reason my favorite is close-ups of pussys and/or clits) as I rub my clit. I love to pull my plump lips as wide open as possible and at times insert a shampoo bottle etc. I will either alternate this with caressing and pinching my nipples or if I really want to come hard I’ll just put a clothespin on each nipple. (Just try it…..) Sometimes I’ll put a clothespin on each of my pussy lips and then pull them open for an even nastier sensation. I’m always trying to find new ways of pussy play!
I am addicted to masturbation. I am 15 and do it several times a day (when possible).
Since I discovered my vulva and clitoris at the age of 18, I have been hopelessly addicted to its incredible ability to control my entire body and mind. I masturbate at least 3 orgasms per day. I simply use my fingertips and pressure from my hand. When I started at 5, I would put both hands between my legs while lying on my tummy. I would push my hands against my coochie and rock my hips back and forth and up and down. I remember how it tingled at first then began to throb. It felt so good. I began to experience orgasms after only the second or third time I did it. That was it, I was hooked!
I do it so often that sometimes I am even masturbating while talking on the phone to guys or my friends. It makes me feel so naughty. I love it! It’s so funny when I have to hold the phone away for a few moments when I cum so that they don’t hear me grunting into the phone. If only they knew.
I remember that, by the time I was 17, my need for orgasm had already become overwhelming. It seemed that nearly every moment that I was alone, my fingers would be in my panties, stimulating my incredibly sensitive clitoris. I would play for as long as it took to eventually make it quiver with an orgasm. Not much has changed since then.
I actually have many difficult days in school, as my pussy gets involuntarily excited throughout the day, in anticipation of me getting home and relieving it. I often find myself squirming awkwardly in my chair, trying desperately to provide my pussy with some sort of frictional stimulation from contact with my panties. I squirm as long as it takes to get pressure to my throbbing clit. I even get so desperate at times that I ask to use the restroom, where I sit down and actually masturbate right then and there. Sometimes that helps, but often it just makes it worse because if somebody else comes into the bathroom I get too nervous to do it long enough to reach orgasm. On those unfortunate occasions I do my best to insert my panties into my crease and spend the rest of the day squirming in my seat.
What was ironic was, when I was little, how us girls used to tease all the boys about their “wieners” and about how we bet that they all played with them. Little did they know that this little girl probably had them all beat.
When I was in first grade I was already obsessed with masturbation. As soon as I got home from school, I would immediately change into something, usually a sun-dress, if I wasn’t already wearing a dress of some sort. This allowed me quick and easy access to my pussy while making it easy to cover myself if I was unexpectedly interrupted. Then, if I could not be alone in my room, I would go to the makeshift “playhouse” that I had created in the corner of our garage. After making sure that I was alone and I was well concealed, I would lift my dress just high enough to get my hand under the elastic waistband of my panties and would commence playing with my pussy… all the while keeping a close eye on the garage door.
Usually, within mere moments my hips would be rocking from the pleasure of my fingers on my bare, smooth pussy lips and hard, pea-sized clit.
I often wondered if I were the only girl in school who did this and if I somehow had discovered something that nobody else knew about. In the back of my mind, I also felt dirty and ashamed. I just had the feeling that little girls weren’t supposed to be doing things like that. However, the payoff was too rewarding and my coochie had already become too accustomed to the routine to stop.
I began wondering if my body were somehow different from the other girls down there, causing me to do this. I remember myself paying close attention to my friends ‘coochie’ when we would undress together to put on swimsuits or something, looking between their legs at their coochies, looking for something different. If they noticed my staring nobody ever said anything about it.
I quickly discovered that, on appearances at least, theirs looked nearly identical to mine. This now had me wondering if theirs felt like mine did and if they ever played with theirs. I later realized of course that most girls’ coochies look pretty much the same at that age and that every girl has a clit.
I badly wanted to tell my friends about my discovery and ask them if they ever played with their coochies, but never did.
However, odd or not, I was hooked and spent countless hours fingering my coochie to orgasm after orgasm. I became an expert at masturbation by the age of 10. I couldn’t help but wonder… “Does it get any better than this?” I had reached the point of amazing control of my vaginal muscles and clitoris. I would love to, and still do, stimulate my pussy to the very edge of orgasm, only to lay and enjoy the throbbing pleasure. I love the feeling, as it quivers in near torturous pulsations. I am usually able to do this 2 or 3 times before I can’t stop it anymore and I cum.
Anyway, I will continue to enjoy what God has given me. Cum one cum all! J
I am 41 years old and love to have my clit rubbed. Many times I will get my vibrator out and turn it on and usually I lay back spreading my legs open really wide. This makes my clit protrude and I get complete access to it. I love the way my clit feels as it begins to swell from my touch. I do this many times a day just hoping someone might knock on the door. Usually, I keep my shirt on. I start to play with my nipples. They are one of my most sensitive spots. I love to tease people ( men and women alike ). If I am expecting a package from my ups guy……..I know when he runs and I usually will start playing with myself a little before hand. Then when I answer the door, my nipples are swollen under my white t-shirt and I can’t help but play with one of my nipples by circling it all the while accepting my package. I won several wet t-shirt contests because my nipples are my best asset. When I am in a bar or lounge…….I usually wear a short skirt without any panties and a shirt without a bra on. I will accidentally drop something and a guy that is around me …usually one I don’t know, will end up picking it up for me. While he is bent down I slowly separate my legs to let my clit breath a little. There is nothing better than to see a guy come up after getting a good look at my swollen clit. Sometimes I have even had a guy nibble on it. After he is already up and interested………I will touch my own nipples and rub on my own clit a little just to tease him some more. Clits are a wonderful thing for me to feel.
I am nearly 21 now and I have been sexually active and fingering my pussy for nearly 3 years. I am bisexual and love to experiment with both boys and girls. I like to sit in the shower and turn it onto pulse stick my trusty dildo in my pussy and start pumping away! I then aim the water at my clit and I cum heavily within about 10mins and if I’m lucky I usually get multiple orgasms. I love the fact that I have a pussy and a Clit and that I have an organ in my body that is designed just to give me pleasure. If I ever get bored of fingering myself i just get another boy or girl to do it for me but that usually ends up in a full-blown pussy pounding!! which includes multiple orgasms and lots of cum!! I love masturbating and I love shagging I just can’t get enough!! xx
I enjoy using a make-up brush. I would lie in bed and use the bristles to rub over my clit while using a handle of another brush to push in and out of my pussy. As I get wetter I would do circles with the brush over my clit until I come.
Once in awhile, I might use my fingers but I usually use household items 😀
My name is Haley, and I’m 24 years old. I recently discovered this site while researching for my sex ed. class. I have been masturbating since I was 18, but I have tried some techniques and they worked great.
The only problem is that my family is very religious, and maybe because I’m not supposed to do that, it makes more fun. I have had boyfriends and kissed and have been caressed by a few guys, and I loved it. But then one of my girlfriends did it and it was more sensational than when my boyfriend did. I’m not sure if I’m lesbian or bi.
I have been reading your site for over a year. I have been masturbating since I was a young girl. I love it! I read to find new techniques as I have tried almost everything.
Something others might want to try is humping the kitchen chair. Mine have knobs on them and they are just the right height so that I can stand and pump. OMG, they gets so juicy.
I use vibrators, fruit, wieners with a rubber. I have done it in my car, at work, in bed, on the sofa…everywhere.
I fantasize about woman. I want to them suck a juicy cunt…mmmm. I want mine sucked and licked and loved. I have this fetish for big boobs. Oh to be sucking on one right now would be out of this world…I am dripping thinking of it.
I am enlarging my clitoris. As I write I have a syringe on my clit. It is somewhat painful but feels good too. I want it to be big. I stroke it like a man stokes his penis an I want it bigger for that reason.
I do have an animal fantasy. I have never tried it but I am willing if the opportunity appears. I am sitting on my porch in my nightgown in the semi-darkness. Out of the trees comes this huge gorgeous Irish setter. He comes before me and his nose go straight to my cunt. He is smelling and licking and his silky hair feels so fine against my legs. I lay back and he licks me and he licks me. I come almost immediately. I am hot for him. OMG it feels so good. I am loving it. I am coming right now as I write this. I pass out from the desire and lust for more. I do not go farther but can’t wait for the next time my friends appear.
I love sex with myself. It feels so good. I do it every day. And I will be doing when I am ninety.
I am 22 and have been masturbating since a was 15. I did not know what it was until I was 22. I did not know anything about the clitoris or the G-spot. I thought I had destroyed what was down there for my life. I found the word masturbation somewhere a few months ago and looked it up in the dictionary. It sounded a lot like what I did alone. Then, when I found this site yesterday, I read about girls who had started masturbating when they where 5 too. And I thought I was the only one!
I am 32 and started to masturbate my clitoris when I was about 18. Before that age I never new much about masturbating until I read a book about the facts of life, and was first touched by a man at 16. Every day, usually before I go to bed I sometimes start by putting on a DVD on, mainly women I like to watch, then lie back with my legs spread and start with rolling my nipples in my fingers and thumb, then I start feeling a bit warm and moist, then holding my labia apart with one hand so I can run my fingers in a circular motion on my clitoris, sometimes I use my vibrator on my G-Spot as well, and fantasize about a woman I had a one-off experience with is watching me and sitting with her legs spread, and saying sexy things to me until I have my orgasm. I share my fantasy with my boyfriend when he comes to see me, and I enjoy him to watch me as well. I haven’t yet spoken on the phone or emailed a woman while I masturbate apart from once a few years ago which was very brief, but I’d like to again if I had the chance to while I have an orgasm, but don’t know if I can through this site. That’s all for now until I go and put my DVD on. Bye.
I experienced my first orgasm when I was in the second grade. I achieved a clitoral orgasm (which is the exact same orgasm I experience now at 36). I masturbated regularly all my life and I believe I may have grown the world’s largest clitoris because of all the extra attention I’ve been giving it. I didn’t experience a clitoral orgasm through cunnilingus until I was about 23 or 24. Because of my partner’s (now my husband) wonderful mouth, my clitoris has grown even more. Now I’m debating whether I should try to profit from my gift.
I am 18 years old. I am a frequent masturbator and I have found that the most pleasurable way for me to get off is in the bath tub. What I do is I set myself right under the faucet. I turn the water on to a comfortable setting and I let it trickle onto my clitoris. I like to increase the water pressure by plugging the sides of the faucet with my thumbs. I let the pressure hit my clit. I moan and come every time. My clit throbs with pleasure. I think its better than getting eaten out. Even when I just think about doing it I can feel my clit getting hard. And sometimes when I think about it, and look at my clit, you can see it already peeking out from under the hood. It makes me so hard and wet.
My name is Kay and I’m 47 years old. I have a slightly unusual way of masturbating, which is actually in full view of a room full of people. There is a certain device at my local gym that is used to strengthen your abdominals, mainly obliques. You stand on two small pedestals while resting your forearms on bars and lean back on a back rest. Then you raise your legs – either straight out or bent at the knee. You do this multiple times, and certain work out pants help the effect more than others (tighter in the crotch). The repetition of the legs moving, rubs against the genitals and creates the most amazing orgasm. I discovered this by accident as I had gotten quite good at this exercise, and I never wanted to stop, so I achieved multiple orgasms.
Hi, My name is Chris and I love your site! I am 24 and I started masturbating when I was about 20 or 11. When I was younger me and a friend of mine would play games that would include having to have “sex” and we would lay on top of each other with our clothes still on and kiss each other. then one day she started rubbing me “down there” and it felt very good! So I did the same to her. We did this type of thing for about a year or so.
Now when I masturbate I love to imagine women having sex with me. I’m in no way a lesbian but the female body if so much more beautiful than the male body. I love this site and sometimes come here and read the stories to get me very horny. Sometimes I even go off right at the computer! Thank you so much and keep up the good work!
I’m 23 years old. I’ve been masturbating for about…6-7 months now. I had started by just penetrating myself with my fingers and seeing how many fingers I could put inside. Then I started using other things. Anyway, I decided to look that stuff up and I found out about orgasm. and…WOW. lol.
Normally I start off laying on my back on my bed at night. Then I put my index finger on my clit and start going in circles. After I’m really aroused and I get all wet, I turn over onto my belly and put my two fingers on my clit and start moving in a kind of humping motion. This is an awesome position cuz not only is it easier to move, if you do it right, you also rub your nipples around and stuff too. This starts to feel really good. Then I’ll start moving my pelvis around in circles. After a while when I feel myself start to reach orgasm I get to the point just before and stop. My body kind of takes over at that point and makes me go over the top.
To anyone out there…I say that masturbating is AWSOME! It makes you feel more in tune with yourself.
I’m 18 and totally addicted to orgasms and masturbation. I do it at least once everyday, average three or four times and once masturbated 13 times in a day, seven of those at the mall, mostly in fitting rooms but once in the middle of a crowded food court with a remote-control vibrating egg. One recent experience still makes me so hot I can’t think about it without masturbating again…
It was early evening and I was in my basement bedroom doing my “homework”. Yeah, right! I was totally naked on top of my bed, legs spread wide, favorite vibe deep in my cunt and approaching a very strong orgasm. I heard a noise, glanced up and there in the open doorway stood my best friend, who had arrived unexpectedly and been sent downstairs by my mom. I was much too far gone to stop and suddenly found the thought of an audience extremely hot anyway. Panting heavily I smiled at my friend Raylene and, without a word, kept plunging the rabbit in and out of my drenched pussy. In a few moments, Raylene had flipped up her halter to expose her titties, which are very like mine, small but with large chronically erect nipples. She had hoisted her denim mini, dropped her yellow panties, plunked in my computer chair and was soon fingering her puss. I couldn’t hold back and exploded in a thunderous cum-a-ton. As I floated back to earth, I watched through glassy eyes as Raylene worked her puss. I was already thinking about my next orgasm as I watched my beautiful friend cum. We still had not spoken a single word but were both smiling widely as Raylene tossed off her halter, unzipped her skirt, dropped it to the floor and stepped out of it as she walked toward the bed. I can’t tell the rest cuz I know this site is only about masturbating.
My name is Alana and I am 29 years old. I have been masturbating as far back as I can remember. I imagine I probably started around the ages of 4 or 5, when I became aware of the actual pleasure I felt when brushing accidentally against my clitoris. when I was younger, I would go hide in a dark, empty room and I would rub my genital against any object in the room until I achieved an orgasm. Nowadays, when I feel “horny”, I pull down my panties, I spread open my lips with my left index and middle finger, in a v shape, directly on the lips of the vagina. With my right index, I go straight to the tip of my clitoris and massage it, sometimes rubbing it gently, and sometimes quite fast. I love to imagine, that either a woman (this really turns me on!)is licking my clit, or any forbidden figure such as a priest. I open my legs, spread eagle and imagine how it looks to have these individuals eat me out. This usually produces great orgasm in me and I feel totally drain after the experience, until I next time.
As a very femme lesbian girl, I really enjoy the feel of delicate materials and lace against my skin. Maybe it only works for me, but I love to wear tights, stockings, and pantyhose, but only the all-sheer ones without the gusset. I’ve always touched myself for as long as I can remember, just because it felt good, but not really knowing why. As it started to feel good, I’d stop, thinking it was wrong, but eventually, I kept going and enjoyed my first orgasm. I was 10, almost 11 at the time. Since then, I could make myself come quite easily. As soon as I’d start to touch I’d instantly start to get wet, and my orgasms always are rather “dribbly”. But I’ve always enjoyed dressing up when I’m alone, just to feel through the materials. I love a frilly, lacy dress… either pantyhose or if I wear stockings I’ll wear sheer unlined panties… a camisole… lace cup bra… slip… and elbow-length lace gloves. I love to slowly feel through the layers, eventually removing them, and by the time I’m almost done my nylons or panties are soaked through. And I usually end up making myself come in them. Especially rubbing and fingering myself with the gloves on. I find that the fabrics hold my wetness, so I can feel it against me. I’m not really into needing objects inside me, but I will use some, depending on my mood. Even if I don’t dress up, I’ll masturbate most days, but I find that the week I’m ovulating, I need to do it more often, sometimes when I wake up, when I’m home from school, then at night. And a lot of the times I’ll come more than once. Those weeks are usually the times I’ll dress up if I’m alone and I know my mom has a long shift at work. Maybe some might find it strange, but if any do, I’d love to hear from you. Jenn.
Okay I have read many different techniques but no-one has written in about this one; I use a pencil, but not in my vagina! I use one of those pencils with and eraser on the end… I lube the eraser and put the eraser into the little space under the hood of my clitoris! I move it twist it turn it and rub it…it is amazing. Give it a try, I guarantee you’ll love it. It will make you orgasm very quickly and most intensely. Its awesome. Enjoy!
Hi I was wondering if there is any way for me to get in contact with any of the girls that have written on the clitoris forum? I’d really like to talk to some of them and maybe share techniques and what not. Reading all the posts on the forum alone makes me so wet they are sooo hot. I love laying down on my bed and spreading my legs wide… I also use an electric toothbrush on my clit and my god it feels SO good… I hold it on my little clit, sometimes moving it around a bit, pushing harder or softer. It really is amazing and I recommend it to everyone. I also use a vibrator at the same time to move in and out of my pussy… I don’t go too fast, I usually start deep and slow, pushing it against my g spot and letting all of the vibrations just consume my body. Sometimes I’ll take out the vibrator and just continue with the toothbrush and use the free hand to play with my tits, tease my self, pinch my nipples gently. I love that. I always end up with my legs bent in the air and as I cum I put the vibrator back in my pussy and move it in and out, sometimes fast or sometimes slow, hitting my g spot so hard, as the toothbrush continues to vibrate on my clit. It feels amazing… I love all the hot juices that my pussy produces as well. Mm. I want to do it right now because this made me so horny!! 🙂 Like Kelly, I also get turned on my lesbian porn, not male porn, even though I am straight. I would really like to get in contact with some of these girls…is that possible? Please let me know. thanks 🙂
Along with many other people, I was really shy to write to you guys at first.I am 24 years old and I started masturbating when I was about 18 or 19 years old. My mom and my sister know that I masturbate, but I am too scared to tell my dad. Anyway, before I masturbate, I find that watching 69 and lesbian porn turns me on and gets me in “the mood”. I love watching people suck and lick pussy. So I watch some of that and rub my clit at the same time. I always rub my clit through my panties when im watching porn, so it doesn’t hurt after.
Anyway, so then later when im really horny, I got a tell my parents im going to “take a shower”. I go to the bathroom, take off all my clothes and get in. I take the showerhead, make it warm, but not hot, and I start out using a pulsating stream of water. Then I switch to a fast and thick stream of water and put it directly on my clit. I find that it makes me cum really fast. While I hold the water on my clit, I think about the porn that I just previously watched and that makes me cum even harder. I think about lesbians licking and sucking each other’s pussies and I cum really fast. When I watch porn, I do it when im the only one home. But, I masturbate in the shower all the time at least once a day. I try to suppress my orgasms as much as I can, so no one can hear me, but they still are pretty loud! Well, my dad should be home any minute now, but I just wanted to share with you my technique!