September, 2017

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Bedtime Story – Lost & Found by Nat Cameron

Lost & Found by Nat Cameron – Paperback & Ebook

Before I start my story, I just want to remind you…I love you,” John says as he and Sam lie in bed. It’s warm outside but not hot enough for the air conditioning so they can hear the breeze blowing and the calls of exotic birds and animals unfamiliar to them.

“I feel so good being here with you, so happy. It’s such a contrast to when Aidon, Kate and I went to Hawaii shortly after the divorce. We all wanted a great Christmas holiday in the sun but the trip was also an escape from everything that reminded them about how much their lives had changed. I remember being there, and trying really hard for them, but I knew they were hurting and so was I. I saw families, and couples everywhere at our resort and I wanted what they had, or appeared to have. I felt so bad about taking their home from them.

But now, I know they’re happy again and here we are. We have so much together. You are a real partner, the one I was looking for and I never want to let you slip away.”

Sam is delighted to hear John express himself so freely. She always knew he was a good communicator, it was one of the things that attracted her to him, but he is like other men in her life; able to talk about how he feels, but not conditioned to do it, so it doesn’t always come easily.

“That story you told me this morning was so exciting. I’ve been having fun thinking of a story for you,”

he continues. “I kept imagining how hot it would be for you to be Pam’s Pet Girl and how exciting the whole scenario would be for me to observe as a fly on the wall. So that is where I am going to start.”

“Mmmmm, yummy” Sam says, turning off the light and settling in, under the sheet.

John begins:  “Pam has arranged to take you to her house for a sleepover. She comes to my place to pick you up. I greet her at the door. You are fully dressed because you are ready to go, but you are kneeling on the floor with your head down when she arrives.

“John, good to see you man!” she says “I am so excited about having Fifi overnight. As per our talk on the phone the other day, my friend Andrea is coming over for dinner and she knows I’m borrowing Fifi, so that’s all good, right?”

“Perfect, now, I want to be very clear about the rules for Fifi. She is to be a Pet Girl the entire time. Any failure on her part, any talking or, God forbid, talking back, will be met with severe punishment from you and I will back you up 100%. I have already explained these rules to her but she might need some discipline to help her to remember. Isn’t that right girl?” I stroke your hair and you leave your head down.

“Let me show you what’s in her bag. I have her food and water dishes, her leash and collar and of course all kinds of toys and restraints for you to use at your discretion. Any vocalizing from her that you don’t approve of, or any at all, will result in punishment, a gag or both. How does that sound?”

“Amazing! I am so excited, I can hardly wait!”

“One last thing, I’m going to restrain her hands behind her back right now if you are okay with that and you can drape her coat over her like a cape, okay? I just think it’s good to establish your authority right away. I’ve got Zap Straps in there, so feel free to use as many as you want to. They are excellent restraining tools.”

Pam takes you out to her car. You sit in the backseat. “Head down” she says as she straps you in. I’ve put a light cotton tee shirt on you, no bra.

“Oh, look at you, all trussed up like a good little slut” she says as she strokes your nipple through the thin cotton, watching you harden under her touch.

“Be good, or I’ll be sure to let John know about it. Do you understand?”

You nod your head.

“Good ”

When you get to Pam’s place, her friend has not arrived yet. She leads you into her house. As soon as she has you inside the door, she orders you to get on to your knees. You kneel at her feet.

“Such a good little pet” she says as she pats your head and then runs her hands through your soft hair.

“Come” she beckons you to the chair she has just sat down on. You walk on your knees to where she is. She takes your coat from your shoulders and looks at your body. She loves seeing those lovely little breasts of yours under the tee shirt I’ve dressed you in. She can’t resist stroking and fondling you through the material.

“Mmmmmm you’re getting such hard little nipples aren’t you? I’m hoping there are some nipple clamps in that overnight bag of yours…if not…I have plenty here we can play with. Lie down” she orders, and you rest compliantly on your side at her feet while she relaxes, finishing an article in the newspaper. After a few minutes, she goes into the kitchen where she places the bowls down, puts water into one of them and leaves the food one, empty for the time being. She goes upstairs to her bedroom and opens the bag. On her bed she places the handcuffs, a package of zap straps, a ball gag, the vibrator and a pair of nipple clamps. She then takes out the thick, black leather collar and the silver chain and goes back down stairs.

“Good girl” she says as she sees you lying down on your side the restraints still holding your hands behind your back.

“Kneel,” she says as she places the collar on your neck and tightens it. She attaches the chain and then she orders you to walk on your knees. She leads you into the downstairs bathroom.

“Pee?” she asks, you nod.

“Alright, stand up,” she says. You stand

“Head down” she says making sure that even though you are standing, your subservience is maintained. She unbuttons your jeans and pulls them down. She then pulls your panties down. While you pee, she takes off your socks and shoes. She then slides your pants and panties off. You are now sitting on the toilet wearing only your tee shirt, and the thick collar with the chain attached.

“All done? good,” she says as she takes toilet paper and wipes you off, taking her own sweet time. She knows she is exciting you.

“Up” she says as she washes her hands at the sink. She uses nail scissors to cut off the plastic restraints around your wrists and then she orders you to raise your arms above your head. She takes off your shirt and you stand before her naked.

“Keep that head down” she orders as she runs her hands over your body, appraising you, stroking, pinching and fondling you freely, with complete control.

“Turn” she says. You turn around and stand with your back to her. She strokes the skin on your back and fondles your ass, kneading you, stroking you, reaching around between your legs to feel your lips.

“Open, that’s it, good little slut,” she says because she knows exactly how turned on you are already.

“My!….how wet you are, my beautiful, slutty girl. Turn back this way.” You comply immediately, partly out of a desire to please her and partly to avoid punishment. She kneels down.

“Open, wide this time.” She takes a good look at your pussy, so smooth and pink. She runs her hand over the bare skin of your mound.  Her fingers re-acquaint themselves with all of your secrets. She opens your outer lips, pulls and spreads your inner lips, briefly slides two fingers inside you and then rubs them teasingly, all wet and slippery on your clit. You work hard not to make any noise.

“Down! right down, on all fours like a good pet, now!” she says firmly. You obediently comply and feel the cold floor on your knees and your hands.

“Such an excited girl,” she washes her hands again. “You keep my fingers so wet baby, what a good girl you are,” she says. She leads you out to the living room where she tells you to sit. Obediently, you do as you are told. She places a soft fleece blanket on the floor with two large cushions and orders you to lie down. You walk to your bed, your chain dragging on the floor behind you.

Pam goes to the kitchen and you hear her open a bottle of wine and pour it into two glasses. You hear her as she prepares a meal. She puts some music on.  Not long afterwards, your smell garlic and herbs and many other good smells coming from the kitchen. The door bell rings. Pam goes to the door and calls through it.

“Is that you Andrea?”


“Give me a minute, I want to have everything just right.”


Pam approaches you. “Come!” she says as she walks you to the door. Pam places you beside the door and orders you to kneel.

“I want Andrea to be able to get a good look at you, beautiful pet.”

“Head down again now, that’s it.” She strokes your hair for a moment then opens the door.

“Hello, I am so glad you’re here!” Pam says as she and Andrea hug each other.

“Me too, thank you so much for inviting me, I am so excited about meeting your pet!” Andrea says.

“And….we get to have her all night. Her master won’t be picking her up till noon tomorrow.”

“Mmmmmm,” Andrea says, “so I guess we can be her Mistresses until then, how exciting!”

Andrea approaches you, raises your chin, looks at your face appraisingly. You know better than to make eye contact. She lowers your head and then crouches down to run her hands over every part of your naked body. She touches your upper arms.

“Nice toning” she says to which Pam agrees.

“He keeps her in really good shape.”Pam says

“I can see that, turn around girl! turn around Fifi!” Andrea says, already in complete control, showing firmness and absolute dominance. You turn, allowing her to look at your toned back and beautiful, round, athletic ass.

“Magnificent, alright, look at that! she has the backside of a twenty year old sprinter” Andrea says with appreciation.

Pam jumps in ”….which reminds me….I want to make sure we have some good things on hand with which to spank her, should she need discipline or punishment. I have strict rules from John, who has been very clear about his expectations for her. Let’s go upstairs and I’ll fill you in and we can make sure we lay out a good paddle for that lovely bottom of hers.”

“Stay!” Pam commands and she and Andrea disappear upstairs. The room is a little cold from the opening of the door. Your nipples harden but you stay still, eager to show them both, how good you can be when you put your mind to it. They come down, go into the kitchen without looking at you, get their wine and take it into the living room. They chat and get up-to-date a little, ignoring you entirely and establishing their complete control over you. Eventually Pam calls you.

“Here girl” she calls absently, as she continues to laugh and talk to Andrea. “Good wine isn’t it? and it doesn’t cost an arm and a leg,” Pam says as you walk compliantly to where she sits.

“Come here! What did I tell you about your head!? hmmmm? What did I say? Bad girl! You keep that head down! Now! That’s better!”

She takes your chain, wraps it around her hand several times and pulls it hard. She roughly manoeuvres you, so that you are in front of her on all fours.  She orders you to put your head right down on the carpet. You comply immediately. Andrea watches all of this, completely captivated by the spectacle she is observing. She sees you with your side to her, ass up in the air waiting for whatever punishment you have coming to you, to be delivered decisively. Pam gives you several hard spankings. You feel completely humiliated, your face flushes bright red and you feel as if you are going to come, right then and there.

“I’m sorry Andrea, that our conversation had to be so rudely interrupted by an impertinent girl who seems to be having great difficulty understanding her place at this moment. “

“Not to worry……I’m sure we can think of several different ways to reinforce that message as the evening progresses. I look forward to it.”

“Me too, but let’s keep her on a short leash in the mean time, there really can’t be too much discipline in this situation. Now, what were we talking about?”

Shackles and Cuffs by Lizbeth Dusseau

Shackles and Cuffs…

Excerpt from the novel Spontaneous Combustion by Lizbeth Dusseau,

© Copyright, 2014, all rights reserved. Ebook

I never thought much about shackles, though I’ve always loved that word – shackles. Better than ‘cuffs’ which doesn’t have that Old World feeling about it that shackles do. There’s something romantic in that word that makes me think of them fondly – reason unknown. And yet, it’s not the word I’ll use today when talking about my recent experience with my master. While shackles sound romantic, cuffs is a no-nonsense kind of word. And since he’s a no nonsense kind of master, I’ll call them cuffs for now.

The name doesn’t matter, it’s what he does with them that counts.

When he first talked about putting me in cuffs, I worried that my thin wrists would slip through the bands, as they often do with most wrist restraints. He was unfazed by my concern, and I soon saw why. He already had the issue covered; these cuffs were adjustable and could fit tightly around my small wrists with no room left to slip my hands from their confining grasp. How clever of him to understand the versatility of his choice when he ordered them – must have been years ago.

He’s a practical man, cuffs for any occasion, any slave. And now me, like I’m another in a long line of submissive females taken in by his unique authoritative charm.

Let me not forget to mention the ankle cuffs of the same design as those for my wrists, these just slightly larger. I feel doubly bound with hands and feet both locked in leather. The minute I put them on, I become aware how fully tethered I could be were I to be lashed to a tree, tethered to a cross or laid out on a bed with my body spread wide, and every part of me vulnerable to the master’s plans. I’ve never wanted this. Oh, maybe in a fantasy or two or three, perhaps. But those fantasies took place in real dungeons, with dark lords, despicable brutes masquerading as country gentlemen, or urban financial warriors with enough cash to have women panting, ready to be their sexy chattel when they take a break from work and need a place to slake their pent-up lust.

But never in a real time, real life sexual relationship with a man on top and me, a lifestyle submissive below, has this cuffed and shackled reality been something that particularly turned me on. It’s never been part of my kinky DNA. At least that’s what I thought not more than a few months ago.

Now’s different. Now cuffs are part of my reality, a permanent fixture in the master’s bag of tricks. I’ve had to reconsider a lot of pet beliefs about myself since being introduced to this man.

I’ve been turned into a play toy, my body naked – yes, of course, I’m naked. Is there anything other than a naked slave? Shackled, fettered, retrained, restricted, any of the adjectives will do since all of them take me down a rung to something elemental inside myself. A place behind a door, a secret passageway, a realm so obscure in me that until this master entered my life, I never knew it existed. I’m dizzy with the splendid truth that there are still mysterious places left in me to explore.

The experience is more than I expected. The locks clatter when I move, and the weight of them is not something that I can dismiss. The look of them, the feel, the sound, the smell of them, takes me into an altered state of arousal without his saying a word.

Once fitted properly, their noisy clatter works on my mind with every rash or subtle movement, with every jiggle, with every time a heavy lock hits hard against my flesh. Heat rises inside my crotch. Desire creeps into me from every angle.

I never imagined myself shackled for sex, that something so uniquely in tune with the strange set of sexual practices that, in general, I embrace, would become a regular routine with me. I always figured that cuffs were the province of those lifestylers more driven by the symbols of their kink than I have been. Never seemed all that important to me. And yet, I know that when our first sex date was over, and I had his permission to remove the cuffs, my mind instantly rebelled. I didn’t want them gone; and for several seconds, I couldn’t fathom what my life would be like without them, their smell, the feel, the heavy, awkward weight. Damn! It is uncanny what they do to me!

In his absence tonight, I took them out of hiding according to his orders, gently fondled the stiff leather and the hardness of the steel. I drank in the pungent aroma that I love then listened as the metal clattered when I put them on. The memories of our first hours together ran through my brain, all sexually charged. They collided inside my sex where it was wet, hot, wanting. I know he’s preparing me for this next arrival, when I imagine that the sex will once again stir up more unrestrained passion. Ah, but there’s a method in this master’s madness. I know that when I put them on, I’ll feel as I did that first time, and as I did tonight, that I have arrived in the place where I belong.

Oh! Why do I make so much of them? I shake my head in wonder. They’re just a toy… END

57 Chevy

57 Chevy by Lizbeth Dusseau

From the story collection Brown Paper Fantasies © 2000 by Lizbeth Dusseau. Ebook

She arises out of nowhere on a deserted stretch of road.

Where the dry land shimmers with heat, where you can see for miles the endless ribbon of hot asphalt stretched out in front of your eyes, he sees his first glimpse of her. He thinks at first it’s a mirage, the turquoise and white Chevy, with a blonde girl sitting on its hood. But he slows from an 85 mile an hour clip to a snail’s pace just to see if she’ll vanish as soon as he approaches. He stops his battered pick-up when he realizes that she is no mere apparition.

Like a phantom from his wet daydreams there she is, her long smooth legs dangling beyond the thin dress. Pale pink, peach and faded yellow flowers meander about the transparent fabric, while the dress barely covers her slinky limbs and her thin torso. In the light, he sees through the fine material how her large breasts are pushed against the flowers, how her waist curves, and how her hips blossom below. She parts her legs so he can see the outline of her cunt. There’s even a damp spot on the dress where she’s pressed her fingers to her hole and the juice has stained it.

“Car broke down?” he asks.

He squints facing the sun, raising his hand over his brow so he can see her better. Tanned arms reveal downy sun bleached hair, matching the windblown straw-colored locks that dangle in his face.

“I think so,” she says giggling, though she doesn’t make an effort to move. “You know something about cars?” Something sensuous about her lips, he wants to move right in and kiss them.

“Yeah, sure,” he says. He runs his hands through his hair, pushing it back, and startling blue eyes appear, framed by darker brows. His T-shirt hugs his chest, his nipples poking through as clearly as hers poke through her dress.

He can’t help staring down at her as she bends her knees up to her chest and parts her legs wide. Where her ass meets the hood of the Chevy he can see her bare pink cunt. Caught off guard he stares beyond his embarrassment, as the sun bounces off gold rings embedded in her labia. Six, he thinks, three on either side, and one wet hole between he sees glisten in the sun.

“You want me to look under the hood?” he asks. He hesitates, though not his cock that bobs against his denim blues. Hot—so hot he thinks it might explode.

She giggles again and shakes her head no.


She reaches between her legs, drawing the skirt up just an inch or two, and takes one ring-bedecked finger of her right hand and slips it into the small hole. Then she pulls at the piercings, drawing the labia aside so he can see the purple hue of her inner folds.

“You can fuck me if you like,” she whispers softly. In her eyes lust drips like water from a lazy old faucet. Slowly, languidly her limbs ooze with sexual intent, drawing him into her closer, a step at a time. She sways just slightly as if she’s keeping time to music only her crotch can hear.

“You mean right here? Right now?” He shakes his head and looks down the road. “There’s a motel…” he starts.

“Shush.” Her red puckered lips against her index finger quiet him. “I’m ready now.”

He hesitates, but she has him on the tether of her droopy eyes. At the bumper of the Chevy, he reaches out with his thick well-used hands to part her thighs further. He gazes down between them while she smiles.

His hands, more impulsive than his reason, reach out and grab her hips to pull them close. Fingers at his zipper open the fly and withdraw his cock. It bobs momentarily in his hand, the last bit of hesitation. With the nod of her head as approval, he throws away logic and presses himself into her opening—that small place expanding with eager welcome around the throbbing organ.

“Ah, yes,” she murmurs softly as she lies back against the hood of the car while he pulls her groin tight to his and begins to thrust. With her arms reaching out to either side of her like she’s grabbing bed sheets beneath her, she’s laid out for him like some vision of womanhood sent from the gods. He drinks in her sex as if he’s gulping wine. Her writhing moves in a languid rhythm. She moans, whimpers and jerks so hard he thinks she’ll jerk him out. She comes. He knows that by the way her inner muscles squeeze down hard. But she’s much too quick for him. He’s still on the rise about to feel himself splash over that erotic edge. He hopes she’ll let him finish but she opens her eyes.

“My ass,” she says, now more like a dragon breathing fire than the sumptuous siren rising from the desert. Drawing up her legs so that his prick pulls out, he sees the shiny metal rings that thread through her vaginal lips. He feels them because he’s never felt anything like it before—some mark of sexual power, or obedience—or both. Perhaps they’re one in the same. A tug at the forward rings and she cries softly. “My ass,” she repeats, and she turns her hips so she’s lying face down on the old Chevy’s hood, her ass bare, ready for him.

“In your ass?” he questions.

She hisses her reply and parts her legs, her feet on the bumper, so he can see the target easily, that puckering hole already wet with juice that was dripping from her cunt.

His fingers slide in first as he draws more of her dew from its fountain source below. When they slip easily in and out he moves in closer, pressing the hard head of his cock against what seems to be a tiny hole. He watches it expand as he forces the thick stalk beyond the opening door. Her backdoor scent, that odd perfume of earth and darkness and diabolical things, transports him back in time to his darkest sexual hours. He’s no longer in the desert screwing a curious enchantress, but in a place where lecherous men fuck reckless whores.

“Yes, god yes,” she cries in muted tones barely audible to his ears. Her pulsing rhythms draw him inside her, the sensation profound. More. She clamors for more, thrashing about on the hood of the car, demanding his prick go deep, demanding that he pick up the pace so that his balls slap against her ass, so that he must grab her flesh and hold on tight.

“My cunt,” she groans.

Her meaning clear, it’s his fingers that find the lips and hole and the dangling metal. It’s his fingers that tug hard, that jerk the rings and pinch her clit. But it’s his cock that feels the benefit when her body explodes for a second time.

She gasps for breath, exhausted, but unable to stop the rollicking gyrations. She squeezes hard and his own gut wrenches. With a final thrust, he shoots.


Laid out. Spread eagle. Face down on the Chevy. He sees her breathing in even measured breaths. He dabs his cock on the back of her thigh and then puts it back inside his jeans.

The transparent dress is bunched about her waist, while her wasted bottom remains in its lazy repose, showing signs of a good fuck—where he’d held her flesh tightly and kneaded it until it turned red. The color will fade soon, but for the moment, her bottom is a fine thing to look at. He parts her ass cheeks one last time with his fingers to see where he’d impaled her.

“Your car didn’t need fixing, did it?” he asks her.

“Hummm,” is the only sound he hears from her.

“Shall I go?” he wonders aloud.

“Ooo, no,” she suddenly finds her real voice. “Just one last thing.” She turns about. “Your lips,” she says pointing down to her pierced lower lips.

“My lips?” he questions, and she nods yes.

With a shrug and a smile he accommodates her again, his tongue doing a dance about the rings and flesh and warm wet hole, until she shrieks with her muted voice one more time and then goes limp. Falling back against the hood of the Chevy, she looks as if she’ll melt into the metal.


The sun, once so high above, droops low, as if it’s been hours that have past. He could swear that their fuck took only minutes, but the facts belie that. The shadows on the surrounding mountains have been altered by the time of day. So long, they stretch across the desert like sulking phantoms. He notes the hour hand on his watch, staring at it as if something has gone awry. It’s late, much too late. And yet, the second hand ticks off the seconds as it always has, and he knows that somehow he’s lost reality under the spell of the woman lingering on her 57 Chevy.

“Can I help you up?” he asks her.

She’s on her side, her long thighs pressed together so that he can barely see the glistening rings, though they still peek at him. With her blonde head resting on her thin white arm she looks at peace. A coy smirk reminds him how she greeted him, though now she’s naked. Her dress, somehow discarded, lies in the dust beside the car, as if it belonged there.

“No,” she answers him, “I think I’ll rest awhile.”

Any other lone woman on a lonely road, he’d never leave like this; but this one knows what she wants and he doesn’t argue. There’s little way to say goodbye. No thought of meeting again. He wouldn’t even know how to ask since she belongs to another world.

Walking back to the pick-up truck he climbs inside, all the while staring at her smiling face. Pulling into the highway, he drives by slowly for one last look at her silky white shape and the hint of gold between her legs. Lying there, as if she has nothing better to do than shag strangers in a barren desert, she waves him on with a happy grin. And he takes off.

A little remorse, a little pang of fear grips him in that first instant down the road. He’s left her too quickly. He should have made sure her car would start. A girl, any girl has no business on this deserted stretch of asphalt. He thinks the thoughts; sure he should turn back. But then all that concern disappears. One look in the rear view mirror, he sees the truth.

She’s gone.


No turquoise and white 57 Chevy.

No girl, no cunt, no glistening gold, no sensuous limbs.

She’s gone.

It hasn’t been minutes since he left her side, it’s only been seconds and she’s gone, disappeared into the ethers of the heat. Where? He’s not about to ask. Shaking his head, he moves on, guns the engine on the truck and heads off toward the purple sky.