Caught in the Shower by Lizbeth Dusseau

Caught in the Shower by Lizbeth Dusseau
From the novel: An Innocent Obsession (c) all rights reserved.

Steam billows from the bath, rolling like warm mist off the ocean. Leaning against the door frame, I stare through the shower stall at Alan’s body whitened by the fog. Rivers of water run down the glass, and down his thighs, and through the thick, dark hair on his chest and legs. Savoring his tight ass—like rounds of grapefruit I could pluck—my body quickens.

If he knew I was here, he’d invite me in.

So certain of that fact, I wander on tiptoe across the emerald-green tiles, inviting myself inside his shower. The door squeaks and he turns around, startled. Then his smile brightens as he sees the water soaking through my tee shirt. The sexy truth appears from beneath that clean, plain white. My broad aureoles bear lazy nipples at their centers—the buds tiny and teasable. These mounds look as though they are made of white cotton suspended on air inside my translucent shirt, floating toward him begging. I beg for what I want, wondering if he’ll accept the seduction or send me away. This is only the second time I’ve sneaked into his apartment and I worry that he’ll be mad.

With his scrotum in my fingers, I move the liquid sac across my palm as I stare into his brown eyes looking for approval. His cock begins to harden, throbbing rapidly to an erection, and then he tears away my nylon shorts, letting them drop like a wet rag to the shower floor. So, now he has my crotch in his hand, like I have his in mine—though his hand grabs while mine caresses. I don’t need more approval than that. Alan’s other hand squeezes my ass until I feel a painful, pleasurable surge of satisfaction, and slipping from his grasp, I drop to my knees, water falling from overhead like raindrops to drench everything still dry.

“Good bitch,” he says hissing, a hand running through my wet curls. I like him talking nasty, hearing the edge in his voice, as though he were demanding I serve him like a slave. I do this on instinct, the experience a natural one, as if my life were meant to be understood on my knees, gazing upward.

Now, my eyes rest on the organ beating at my face, as the swollen spear sticks up straight, pointing somewhere skyward. Wiggling into his crotch, his night musk lingers in the air about my nostrils and I breathe in its mysteries—he hasn’t yet washed the fragrance away.

He doesn’t smell clean, and I wonder where he was last night. And who he was with? Is that another woman’s perfume I sense, or did he just jack-off to porn? I smile thinking all these things, then swallow that smile as I swallow his cock. With my lips opening, the head glides inside. Drawing back the skin with my hand, my fingers slide along the stalk, moving up and down, while my tongue laps away the last of the salt and sweet cum I taste there.

He purrs hungrily as an animal would, winding his hands through my hair and pressing himself deeper down my throat. He’s anxious, wanting me as much as I want him.

We get to rocking inside this slippery stall, so hard he finally takes his hands away and grabs for the sides while I work the climax from him. Does he really understand how well I manage him? He thinks he’s in control, but I know better. So what if I have to do this from my knees, and listen to his crude conclusions about my soul when we’re not having sex.

I know he thinks I’m a whore, though he doesn’t have the guts to say so. It wouldn’t matter to me. I know what I am. Whore doesn’t fit, but the slut word does. I’d never take cash for what I do; if I can’t enjoy screwing my men without money then they aren’t worth my time.

In the center of this driving rainstorm of water, I taste something sweet; and although it quickly drowns away, there is the fresh sexual scent of him as he begins to erupt. I let the cum spurt down my throat, pulling it inside me as though I need it to live. I know my survival hinges on this. Hummm, sweet cream. Like I could nurse at this erection all day long. Were that so, I’d find one man and stick with him. But since the anatomy of my life doesn’t work that way, I keep moving from one man to the next.

“Get on the bed and stay on your knees,” he says while slapping my water-soaked face. Impishly crawling from the shower stall, I inch my way along the emerald tile and the dark carpet covering his bedroom floor. Scampering like a puppy to the top of his mattress, I wait, heinie waving like a red flag; cunt and everything else about me dripping wet. When he comes to me, ambling slowly from the bathroom toweling his face, I know he’s admiring my ripe flesh, almost wishing he hadn’t cum so soon. He would have liked poking that rod deep in my belly, shooting himself to the ends of the channel as though he were making babies. I’m surprised he even bothers with me now; once Alan’s had his fix, he rarely spends the time required to get me off.

Today, I’m lucky. He presses his hand at my snatch and begins to play. I know I don’t have long, but I only need a few quick moments until I’m far from the planet, mindlessly ecstatic. My randy home bursts. The muscles in me crunch down wishing for meat, but are content with a few deft fingers. I squeeze, bear down, squeeze more, and clench with my half-loaded pussy, while my ass grinds on air. His thumb moves higher, pressing at my anus. It’s too much to hope that this will be some drawn out venture. It’s come and gone in less than sixty seconds, but well worth that swaggering journey across his emerald tile.

“So, did I leave my door unlocked?” he asks.

“Un-huh,” I answer as I pull off my wet tee shirt and sit naked on his bed.

“What are you going to do about your clothes?”

“Borrow yours,” I conclude. “Or stay here long enough to use the dryer.”

“Can’t. I have a meeting in…” he consults the clock on nightstand, “in twenty minutes, Clarise.”

“Then a tee shirt and shorts will do.” Alan’s slim enough that we can share clothes; though, I’m sure it won’t be a habit—not with this man.

He stares warily my way.

“Come on, hon, I can’t go out of here like this,” I whine a bit.

“I think you look just fine,” he tells me smirking.

“Of course you would.”

I wait as he searches through his dresser and pulls out what I need. Blue nylon running shorts and a tee shirt from the Boston Marathon, 2005—faded but wearable. Might even improve my image.

“So, were you planning to seduce me, or was this an accident?” he asks.

“Sort of planning.”

“Horny?”

“Of course, and I thought of you first.” I lie, and he probably knows this, but we’re not worried about that sort of thing. Lovers like us always lie. I think the ego stays intact better that way. I was actually thinking of Joseph this morning when I woke up, but he’s away on business for a week and I can never see him this early. Stockbrokers wait until the last bell sounds for sex. I have been hungering for him lately—more than the others, and I don’t understand why. He’s aloof, inconstant and sometimes brusque, while I treat him like royalty. Anyway, Alan, the book editor, had to do. He’s rarely ready for work before ten. Too bad he has a morning meeting or we might have done it right and spent an hour in bed.

“You look good,” he manages the compliment while I’m shaking out my hair. The curls are like little rivers, with the muddled colors of my streaked brown hair becoming more noticeable when they’re wet. When my hair is dry, it sort of floats together like it’s natural—as though I don’t spend hours with Ziggy, the hairdresser, getting it right.

I’m vain about just this one thing—my hair. If my body is a little plump by current standards, it doesn’t matter. I have a theory about bodies, that size doesn’t matter, or shape, or even comeliness. Only energy matters, form without substance is lifeless and can never be sexy. I know my form generates warmth, and that the look of everything about me—wild hair, full breasts, and a hip-rolling ass—turns men on. I have plenty of men—falling into relationships I don’t ask for as easily as walking down the street. They like how I look and even better how I feel. Choosing the ones I want, I go with men who alarm me, and make no promises.

“Thanks,” I say in the wake of Alan’s compliment. He hasn’t stopped staring and that’s an even better compliment. “And thanks for the unlocked door.”

“And if it hadn’t been?”

Sporting a cocky grin I say, “I would have waited until you were out of the shower.”

“Then I would have been late.”

“Then we would have had to fuck fast,” I rejoin smiling as I jump off his bed.

“This was fast,” he reminds me.

“But it was good,” I sway myself past him looking for my sandals.

“You’re always good, Clarise.”

“Thanks.”

“But try to keep a lid on this sort of stunt.”

“Oh?”

“I mean not so often in the morning.”

“It’s only been twice.”

“And what if I’m here with another woman? That’s a strong possibility.”

“New girlfriend?”

“No. But I have other women and it could get awkward.”

“It doesn’t have to. I’d sidle up to both of you.”

“I wish,” he says disparagingly. “Women I date don’t do women.”

“How would you know, have you asked?”

“Trust me. They’d be giving up too much control.”

“Really? I would think that giving up control is what sex is about. Makes sense to me.”

“But not for some.”

I laugh. “Suppose that’s why you have me,” I quip while I’m starting for the door.

“Clarise,” he calls.

I turn back. “The office this week?”

“You have a message you want me to deliver?”

“I’m sure I can find one.”

We stop the banter there and I leave thinking it was a pretty good morning.

I’m always on a high and relaxed after good sex. My bicycle moves under me like I’m part of it. After great sex, I can’t ride at all, since I’m too removed and unfocused. That’s why quickies work during the day.

But for today, this is just what I need.

“Don’t” Please. Don’t Make Me! by Jo-Anne Wiley Excerpt

“Don’t” Please. Don’t Make Me! by Jo-Anne Wiley

Paperback & Ebook

Why hadn’t she gone home at six o’clock like she had originally planned. Well because there was one last e-mail to be answered and Angie liked to start her business day with a clean slate. She was just wrapping things up, ten after six, when her desk phone rang.

“Herb, I thought you’d be busy getting ready for the party.”

“I know… I know. But I’ve hit a snag, Angie. My fault. I just didn’t plan things too well. That’s all. But I’m glad I caught you. I need you to drop around to the house on your way home. I’m sorry; just didn’t plan things too well,” he repeated.

Alarms were going off between her ears: As shrill as any inside a fire hall. “It’s a bachelor party, Herb… a STAG! You don’t invite girls to a stag party!”

“No… no… no,” he tried to mollify her. “I just need help with the food.”

 

And now Angie was curled-up into the corner of the couch. She held one of Bernice’s cushions in her lap and tried to hide her nipples in the folds. She could have wished for a larger cushion.

What she wanted, was a really good cry, but that wouldn’t help right now. She needed to get dressed and get the hell outta here. Home! But someone had hidden her clothes. Her jacket was still there, hanging from the back of the bar stool. And her high heels lay upturned at the end of the coffee table. Angie groaned when she recalled how she had kicked them off just before climbing up to dance for the men.

God. It was almost midnight and she needed to call her husband:

 

“…hello dear… yes, well the reason I’m late… some of the guys from work wanted to fuck me. No big deal. Soon as I get dressed, I’ll be right along. There’s some leftovers in the fridge…”

 

Her cell phone was in her jacket pocket. And that was clear on the other side of the room. She would have to stand up and pass by the table where the men were playing poker. Right now, their attention was focused on the cards. But she feared that might change at the sight of her nude legs. Maybe she should risk it; just slip her shoes on, walk over to the bar, pull her jacket about her shoulders and leave, bare-assed. Unless she got stopped by a cop, she would be home-free! Sort of…

Angie figured she was safe to drive. The effect of the vodka that had given her misguided courage earlier, was wearing thin, leaving her cold and empty inside; empty except for the moisture that was leaking and leaving a sticky smear on the inside of her thigh; a dull reminder that she had fucked two of the men earlier.

Oh Lord, she thought, as the hazy memory began to solidify behind the solitude of closed eyes.

She didn’t know which two!

Angie looked about the room, trying to determine the identity of the guys she had serviced. And serviced was the word for it! She studied the men in turn but there was only one she could positively eliminate: Abe. He weighed in at close to two-hundred and fifty pounds. The guys in the bedroom were of average build. Angie massaged the eyelids with the balls of her thumbs and tried to make sense of the events that had turned her Friday evening into an unprecedented disaster.

She remembered she had gone upstairs to use the bathroom and someone had the gall to suggest that he be allowed to watch. She at least had the presence of mind to draw the line at water-sports. But who was it? Who wanted to watch her pee? As hard as she tried, Angie couldn’t remember his face. Maybe she had just sneered, without really looking; that must have been it.

When she had finished up in the bathroom and washed her hands, she stepped through the door and was surprised to find the hall lights had been extinguished. Angie remembered being jostled about in the darkness. Then went blank for a moment before finding herself flat on the carpet with someone hovering above her. Very close.

It had been so dark. A liquid black that defeated her attempts to focus. Angie searched with her fingers; felt the stout wooden leg and the frills hanging to the floor. It was a bed! She was on her back across the floor of a bedroom!

And there was a penis between her legs.

Lord help her, she hadn’t even heard his zipper drop, but he was already burrowing into the folds of her vagina; already in there with two fingers and the tip of his penis. She could feel them; moving.

Angie had a mild panic attack. Wasn’t she supposed to be fighting him off; with tooth and nail? Defending her virtue, not to mention her husband’s private domain?

But it was like the old tree in the forest, thing… if she couldn’t see the guy, couldn’t identify him, was he really there?

Was she really cheating on her husband? The rationalization reduced what she was doing down to an acceptable, though naughty, adventure. As innocent as flirting, or masturbating, even. Just that she didn’t have to plug in her vibrator.

Her husband couldn’t possibly object and she could relax and enjoy having her sex manipulated. Wonderful! She had justified fucking on her friend’s bedroom carpet like a common slut.

Somewhere in the back of her sodden mind, she realized the argument was ridiculous, but just then the guy removed his fingers and there was the long, unfaltering push. He stretched her pussy like a bull-headed trout, bulldozing up-stream. And any reservations she might have had, were pushed to the back of her subconscious as she consoled herself by spreading her legs wider. What the hell. The guy, whoever he was, was good!

 

He was long and smooth and so very nice and firm. Angie felt the pressure build and then the long deep slide as her body yielded. With her head swimming in premium vodka, she didn’t stop to think about her reputation, her self-respect, what he might pass on to her. Didn’t think of her husband waiting patiently at home. She didn’t even care who’s penis was stretching her vaginal canal. All she could think about was how good it felt to have her sex bullied about. To be probed deeply by a strange penis that belonged to a faceless man. She lifted her feet, shamelessly, so he could get all the way in and she had the satisfaction of hearing him exhale deeply when he bottomed-out. God, it had been so long…

His hands were low down and Angie lifted her hips so he could reach under and grip her bottom; a cheek in each hand. With the extra purchase, he moved with determination; driving forward again and again. It was a maddeningly beautiful rhythm. Fingers were fluttering about her breasts, bending and pulling at her nipples. She was startled. How could that be? The man she was fucking still held her low down. Slowly the realization dawned: they were not alone. There was a second man!

She recalled a girlfriend who once admitted she had slept with two men. Angie had been appalled and her friend had labeled her a “prude!” Now, in her thirty-ninth year, successful and happily married, she found herself lying naked, on the floor of her friend’s bedroom with two men. She went all delirious inside. She should have felt shame. But instead she was yearning.

Angie sensed the second man floating above her eyes and when she stretched inquiring fingers along the carpet, she discovered a knee positioned either side of her face. She felt the rhythm of his movement through the muscles of his thighs. And Angie detected the sound now, the steady thumbing of his hand above her. Did he expect that she would take him into her mouth? But before she could fathom an answer, the man she coupled, paused and leaned forward; lifted on his hands. Angie heard the quiet smack of his lips and the groan from the one above. She had always been curious: Two beautiful boys sharing. And now it was happening a scant two inches above the tip of her nose. And she couldn’t see a thing!

The penis moved inside again: Long, slow, if not somewhat distracted strokes. It was good. Very good. And if Angie could have unwound a little, pushed away the realization of what was happening, she could have had, maybe, a powerful orgasm. But she couldn’t relax. Not outright. Too much was happening; too much for her brain to process. She felt startled, jostled, her leg danced with nervous tension. She stared into the darkness, eyes wide and restlessly blinking. Her perception abruptly changed. God. She was being raped.

But before she could struggle, her partner faltered. Pushed deep and held. And he came.

When he had finished, he rolled to one side and the other man took his place. Angie held on and accepted the other penis.

 

A Wild Ride by Patrick Richards Excerpt

A Wild Ride by Patrick Richards

Paperback & Ebook

My iPod was playing in the background, as I surfed the net.  I had been checking out a few porn sites and came across one dedicated entirely to Femdom stories, videos and pictures.  They peaked my interest a little.  No, actually they excited me quite a lot.  By the time I finished reading one about a young college guy who was tightly strapped over a bondage horse and having his ass brutally whipped, my cock was as hard as a fireplace poker and steadily dripped drops of per-cum.  I read on, as he endured a savage beating from a beautiful woman clad in sexy black leather lingerie.

I pushed my jeans and underwear down to my knees and stroked my dick while I continued with the story.  She used a long, thick leather strap to redden his ass and leave dozens of dark purple welts crisscrossing his butt.  He screamed and yelled from the intense pain, but his cock was as hard as mine.  As the intense whipping continued, he fought and struggled against his bonds, trying to escape the agonizing pain, yet wanting more.  I imagined that it was me who was locked helplessly over that padded bench.  I wanted to feel every stroke of her whip across my ass.  I would have changed places with that guy in a heartbeat.  My hand rubbed harder and faster, as the tawse painfully bruised and blistered his tender flesh over and over again.  As his Mistress finished his brutal torture, my balls rumbled and roared, releasing their load.  Gobs of steaming sperm shot from my hard cock.  Long ribbons of creamy cum streamed from my long, throbbing shaft.  The immense pleasure of my orgasm raged through me.  It was far more intense than ever before.  At that moment a profound lust for sexual pain and submission was permanently etched within my brain. I finally leaned back in my chair and caught my breath.

“Holy shit… I wonder where I can find a woman like that,” I asked myself.

After putting that story site into my favorites, I came across some pictures of a beautiful dominatrix who was looking for a slave to serve her.  She wore a black leather bra and a tiny little thong.  Her fishnet stockings were held up by a matching garter belt, and she wore really tall, stiletto-heeled boots.  In her gloved hands was a cat o’ nine tails with vicious looking knots along each of its long, braided strands.

I eagerly studied every inch of that picture over and over.  My God, she was magnificent. Finally I printed it out and hung it on the wall next to my bed.  She was my Goddess.  I was in love.  Something came alive in me that night.  I reread that story dozens of times and went to bed every night mesmerized by the picture of my perfect Mistress.  I fantasized about being totally naked at her feet and feeling the agonizing, but pleasurable pain of her whip.  I jerked off to her image and longed for what she had to offer.  I wanted her.  I dreamed of serving her.  I would be her slave forever.

Hour after hour and day after day I read those stories and was drawn in ever deeper.  I couldn’t get those thoughts and desires out of my mind.  God, it seemed like I was living with a perpetual hard-on.  Even dreams at night contained scenes of bondage and torture, and yet I wanted more.

Those thoughts filled my life, but it was going nowhere fast.  Mornings were no better than my evenings.  I had flunked out of college and was renting an older, furnished studio apartment by the month in downtown Albany.  It wasn’t much, but it would do.  I didn’t have a job, but I was eagerly looking for one.  There was enough money left from my college loans to last for a few months if I was careful.

Every day I picked up the previous day’s newspaper from the convenience store down the street.  The manager there saved it for me, so I could check the classifieds and look for a job.   He told me he would give me some part time work as soon as a spot opened up.

During the day I went from store to store looking for work.  I went to job fairs but never seemed to get a call.  I remember someone once said that you should spend as much time looking for a job as you would working at one.  I did.  Looking for something was my job every day.  After all, there was no way I wanted to go home and live off my parents.   I couldn’t anyway.  We didn’t get along and hadn’t spoken in months.  It was constant.  I filled out applications and checked on them every few days.  I couldn’t understand it.  Nothing seemed to work.  I realized I had no experience and couldn’t even put together a decent resume.  I was going nowhere fast.

I got some part time work at the McDonalds down the street.  The manager knew I needed the job and didn’t have any money, so he let me eat some of the stuff that had been sitting around too long.  They were going to throw it out anyway.  Sometimes I ate well, and other times it was a little slim.

Nights I stayed home and read on my laptop.  I didn’t have the money to do anything else.  Luckily I was able to get free Wi-Fi from someone in the building.

One night an older woman, who lived on the first floor, stopped me when I came in.  She needed some help.  She had dropped some clothes over the back of her washer and couldn’t get them out.  Of course I helped her, and she treated me to some homemade chocolate chip cookies and milk.  As I ate, she noticed that my clothes were a little dirty and suggested I bring them down so she could wash them for me.  I didn’t want to put her out, but she insisted.  She knew I was desperate.  I went upstairs and got them, and she put in my light colors.  We talked for a while, as I emptied the plate of cookies.  I was hungry, and I guess she was lonely.  The first load was finished, so she threw my darks into the washer.  It was a rather pleasant evening, and I had clean clothes without having to go to the laundromat.  That costs a lot on money.  A few days later I put on a clean pair of jeans and found a twenty dollar bill neatly tucked in the pocket.  I knew where it came from.  Mrs. Hansen became my guardian angel.

One afternoon I asked a cute little blond who worked at McDonalds with me if she wanted to go to the movies.  I told her it wasn’t really a date, because I could only afford the movie.  She laughed at me and walked away.  That night I sat at my computer, read some more stories and later jerked off.

That month my cell phone was turned off and things just got worse.  Now they couldn’t even call me for an interview.  Finally Bob at the convenience store had me work on Saturday nights from four to eleven.  It wasn’t much, but it helped.

There was a small television running in the office at the Stewart’s Shop.  Between customers I saw a small segment here and there.  I caught just the last bit of some controversy about people who advertise in the personal section on Craig’s List.  I went back to the register and sold a guy a pack of Marlboros.  He looked eighteen.  Hell, he looked thirty, so I didn’t bother to check his age.  Someone in the main office just happened to see me not check his ID on their surveillance camera.  I lost my job over that one the next day.  Bob was unhappy about it, but he didn’t have a choice.  I wasn’t mad.  It was my own damn fault.

A couple of nights later I decided to see what all the excitement was on Craig’s List.  I clicked on the Personal Ads for Albany, NY.

There were dozens of ads for men looking for women, but very few where women were searching for a guy.  Actually most of them were guys looking for guys.  Then a different ad seemed to jump right out and grab me.

“Woman seeks young submissive male for fun with ropes, whips and paddles.  I’m in my early 30’s – tall and slender and love to show off my sexy body in leather lingerie.  No long term commitments, just an evening of exploring your limits.  Call me at 518 four five five 6170.  No $.  Let’s talk.”

I read it over several times and looked at the picture that I had previously hung on my wall.  Then I reached down and adjusted my jeans, as my cock began to grow.

“Fuck!  I wish my phone worked.”

After writing down the number, I went back to reading stories and looking at pictures.  I suddenly looked at the clock.  It was 9:15.  I had time.  It only took me about ten minutes to walk to the convenience store.  I figured I could borrow a phone for a couple of minutes if Jeff was working.

I smiled as I walked in, because he was there.

“Hey Jeff, can I use your cell phone for a minute?  Mine got shut off.”

“Sure bud.”

“Mind if I use it outside?”

“No, go ahead.”

I stepped outside and pushed the number.  On the third ring she answered.

“Ah… ah… I just read your personal ad on Craig’s List.”

“Yes, are you interested?” she said in a real sexy voice.

“I think so.”

“You call me about being tied up and whipped, and you only think so?  How old are you?”

“Nineteen.”

“So what makes you think you can handle this kind of stuff?  Do you like pain?”

“I’m not sure, but when I read stories about kneeling at a woman’s feet and being brutally whipped, I get… ah… ah… I get really hard.”

She laughed.

“Why not get a girlfriend and try some normal sex or just jerk off, if you’re that horny?”

“I have, but that’s not what I want.  I need something else.”

“What do you want?”

“I want to… ah….  Look.  I’m on a buddy’s cell phone.  Mine was shut off.  I flunked out of college and rent a small studio apartment off Henry Street.  Can I email you or talk to you on webcam?”

“Sure.  What’s your first name?”

“Nick.”

“Do you have Skype?”

We exchange information.  She said we’d talk around ten thirty.

I gave Jeff back his phone and thanked him.

“You get a job?” he asked.

“No… better.”

Later I was in my meager, one room place when my computer beeped and started doing its thing.  Suddenly she was there.  I was mesmerized, as I saw her.  She was beautiful.  I could see her full breasts and her long blond hair.  Yea, I’m a normal, well almost a normal male….  I noticed her round, full, upturned breasts before anything else.

“Wow,” she said.  “I don’t know why you aren’t out fucking some hot young babe tonight instead of waiting for me.”

“Thank you, Mistress, but you have something to offer that those young girls don’t have.”

“What’s that?”

“Ah… whips and ropes and that kind of stuff.”

She chuckled.  “Are you ready for what I have waiting for you?”

“Yes, Mistress.”

“Have you ever had a whip laid across your ass and felt that kind of pain?”

“No, but if you do it, I will gladly accept it.”

She laughed.  “Once I start, there will be no escape.”

“I know.  That’s the way I want it.”

“You’ve probably heard the expression, ‘Be careful what you wish for.’ I think Eminem and maybe even Daughtry did a song with those lyrics.  They sang, ‘Be careful what you wish for – ‘cause you might get it all.’  Are you ready for all of it?”

“Yes, Mistress.”

“Remember, there is always the possibility of unforeseen and unpleasant consequences.  Are you ready for those as well?”

“Yes, Mistress.”

“Let me warn you one more time – be careful what you wish for.”

“I will Mistress.”

“Then tell me everything that I should know about you.”

“Well, I’m 19 years old and have no future.  I drank, drugged and screwed my way out of college.”

“No future?  Everyone has a future.  You just don’t know what it is yet.”

“Yea… well things aren’t going too well for me right now.  I can’t find a job, and I’ve pretty much exhausted any money I have.”

“Things could always be worse?” she reminded me.

“I doubt it.”

“Well in spite of all that – describe yourself physically for me.”

“Ah… well I’ve got dirty blond hair and dark green eyes as you can see.  I’m five foot ten and weigh about 150 pounds.  I have always worked out, so I’m in really good shape, and I have a… ah… ah…,” I explained as I looked down.

“Go ahead.  How big is it?”

“About eight inches.”

“Nice.  What about family?”

“We don’t get along.  I don’t speak to them and haven’t in several months.  They have no idea where I am or what I’m doing, and they don’t care.  Personally I don’t either.  My mother’s too busy with her new boyfriend to even return my calls.  She’s probably afraid I’ll ask her for money or something.”

“That’ll change some day.”

“Maybe, but I rather doubt it.”

“What about your dad?”

“I haven’t heard from him in six or seven years.  He’s somewhere down south I think.  Ran off with some young chick he’d been screwing.”

“Look, this is Wednesday.  Come by Friday night at seven.  I’d like to meet you and maybe play a little to see if this is what you really want to do.  Let’s call it a trial run.”

“God, that’s great.  Where do you want to meet?”

“Do you know where the Spectrum 8 Theater is on Delaware Street near the Medical Center?”

“Yes.”

“Just a block from there is Hulbert Avenue.  I run Rare Dragon Antiques just three stores up from the corner.  Think you can find it?”

“Yea… I can.”

“Now listen closely.  I want you to wear a dark colored, hooded sweat shirt and a pair of sweat pants with absolutely nothing on underneath.  Take the bus and wear the hoodie up covering your head and face as much as possible.  Can you do that?”

“Yes, Mistress.”

“Look, I don’t advertise or anything.  I like to keep this part of my life a secret.  Only those I invite know about my dominate side.  I am a legitimate, respected business woman here in the city.  So I expect the upmost privacy.  Please don’t discuss this with anyone or let anyone know where you’re going.  If anyone asks, tell them you have a date.  I hope you understand.”

“Oh I do, Mistress,” I responded as my hard cock raged within my jeans.  “I want this to remain a secret just between the two of us as well.”

“Thank you.”

“Will you do one other thing for me?”

“Anything….  What do you want Mistress?”

“Stand up and show me that big, beautiful cock.”

Without a thought I did as she asked.  I unzipped my jeans and slowly pulled them down along with my underwear.  By then my cock was already rock hard.

“Nice… really nice.  Most guys would give their right nut for a cock that size.”

I blushed a little but smiled, knowing that size really does matter with most women.

The rest of the night was spent reading more stories of Femdom and slavery.  I was so intrigued and just couldn’t get enough of it.  God it made me so fucking hot.  Finally about three in the morning I just jerked off to the picture on my wall and went to bed.

I found it impossible to sleep however.  All I could think about was the guy in the story who got his ass beaten by his dominatrix.  That was going to be me.  I found her.  After a while I drifted off.

Friday night couldn’t get here fast enough.  That morning I decided to go down to see Mrs. Hansen about doing another load of laundry.  I needed to wash my sweatshirt and sweatpants for tonight’s activities, so I took her a whole load of jeans and stuff.  That was no problem; in fact she had even made me a pan of chocolate brownies.

Later in the afternoon I showered and got ready as if I was going out on a date.  Finally it was time.   I left my room with my key and just enough money for bus fare both ways.  I did as she asked, wearing just the sweatshirt, sweatpants and sneakers, nothing more.  I pulled the hoodie up over my head and hid deep in its dark folds.  I didn’t want anyone to see me.

A fear of the unknown swept over me, as I got off the bus just up the street from the theater.  Slowly I walked down the sidewalk until I reached Hulbert.  It’s the third door up I told myself. Suddenly I was there.  The antique shop loomed in front of me.  My heart started to pound, and my cock was rock hard and ready.  I think I was trembling with excitement.

I stood there for a few minutes more.  Finally it was 7 o’clock.  I sucked in a huge breath and entered her shop.  A small bell hung on the door and rang as I walked in.  I was a little scared.  Moments later a gorgeous woman appeared, and all my fears disappeared.

“Nick… I presume?”

“Ah, ah… yes, Mistress.”

“Please come in.  Let’s go on into the back rather than stay out here with all these big open windows.”

I followed her around a variety of well-used junk.  There was that distinct stale smell of old hanging in the air.  When we got in the next room, she turned and looked at me.  Slowly she reached up and put my hood down with both of her hands.  She smiled, as she looked deep into my eyes.

“You’re really cute,” she said as she ran her fingers through my shaggy hair.

I grinned and blushed a little.

“Thank you, Mistress.”

She was wearing a long black satin robe which she slowly opened in front of me.

I’m sure my jaw dropped open when I saw her.  She was gorgeous.  She was just as I imagined.

“What’s the matter Nick?”

She stood there in a black leather bra and….

“Holy fuck…,” I whispered.

“Isn’t this what you expected slave?”

“Oh God yes,” I said, as my hand reached out and lightly touched the soft leather of her garter belt where it came around her hip.

She took my hand and raised it up until I gently felt the smooth leather that barely covered her firm breast.  She watched my every expression before she spoke.

“Now it’s your turn.  Off with those sweats so I can see what you’re so proud of.”

I never hesitated and anxiously pulled my sweatshirt over my head, tossing it into a nearby chair.  She ran her hands over my hairless chest and circled my small nipples.  Her fingers soon reached the waist band of my sweatpants and slowly pushed them down over my hips.  She laughed as the soft material caught onto my fully erect cock.

“Do I excite you a little slave?”

“Yes, Mistress… a lot.”

“I see that.  I’m glad.  If I didn’t, I’d be really upset.”

She ran her hands up and down the entire length of my hard organ a couple of times.

Moments later I was standing before this magnificent Goddess totally naked.  I really thought I would have been a little reluctant to be here like this, but something stirred within me.  I wasn’t bashful in the least.  My balls churned, and my cock throbbed in anticipation.  Small droplets of pre-cum glistened on its tip.  I stood there submissively with my head down a little and waited.  I wondered if I should get down on my knees.  I was ready to be her slave.

She walked slowly around me sort of surveying the merchandise.  Her hand ran across my ass cheeks.  I tightened them just a little.  She chuckled.  After completing her little circle, she reached down and hefted my rather small balls.  They aren’t huge and hang way down like a lot of guys, but everyone is a little different I thought.

“You don’t shave anything do you?”

“No, Mistress.”

“I like that… just naturally blond and with hardly any body hair at all.  If it wasn’t for this long, hard, magnificent cock, I’d think you were only about twelve years old.  But this monster,” she chuckled, as she ran her hand up the length of my shaft once more, “makes all the difference doesn’t it?”

I smiled.

“I wonder why you aren’t out having some young, sweet little pussy dancing on the end of this beauty tonight instead of standing here naked with a woman nearly twice your age.

“Are you gay?”

“No, Mistress, definitely not.”

“I knew you weren’t when you got so hard so quick just looking at me and my leather outfit, but I had to ask.”

She stepped off to the side and picked up something from a small table.

“Turn around.”

As I did, she grabbed my wrist and snapped a handcuff around it.  I could feel the cold steel and hear the ratcheted sound as it closed snuggly against my flesh.  My balls rumbled, and my cock throbbed even harder from the excitement of that moment.  I reached around with my other hand eager to become her captive.  She laughed and fumbled with the cuffs for a moment or two and then turned me back around.

“I fixed the double locks.  That way they can’t get any tighter and cut off your circulation.  You never know what position or where you might end up before the night is out.”

Then I smiled.  “I’m yours to do with as you please Mistress.”

“Oh I will, now on your knees slave.”

Immediately I sank to the floor before her.  Her leather clad pussy was right there in front of me.  I stared at the folds of smooth leather that disappeared into the junction of her legs.  I could smell the intoxicating mixture of the leather and her sex.  Slowly she slid her tiny leather thong down over her hips and then spread her legs a little once it was off.  A very narrow strip of dark hair led my eyes to her moist lips.

I looked up at her and then back down to her waiting pussy.

“Normally I would have never let you even see me at this point.  You would have had to lick my boots and serve me for many months to prove that you are worthy, but I’m especially horny tonight.  Lick my pussy slave, because it will be the last one you will see for a long, long time.”

My head was pushed back as she pulled me between her widely spread legs.  I pushed in a little deeper, so my tongue could explore every inch of her moist pouting lips.  She eased forward a little more and worked her pussy over my face, as the lust surged through her.  I could smell her scent and taste her passion.  I wanted her.

I was hot as well.  My cock throbbed and pulsated with every heartbeat, as I continued to serve her.  I think she was as excited as I was, having a young stud between her thighs.  My tongue worked deep within her moist pussy, and my nose rubbed her ever-hardening clit.  I licked and sucked and savored her sweet nether lips continuing to worship her.  Finally I worked up until I could latch on to that erect little button with my lips.

“Slow down slave.  Take your time.  Enjoy it while you can,” she whispered.

I moved back down and ran my tongue in and out of her love tunnel.  I tongue fucked her for several minutes before moving on.  Finally I slid back up to her special spot.  She put her hands on the back of my head and held me there.  I covered my teeth with my lips and sucked her clit between them.  I worked my tongue over that hard bundle of nerves for a couple of minutes.  Finally after a few more brutal lashes with my tongue, she moaned with pleasure.  Her girl cum gushed from her sweet pussy, as she came over and over again, drenching my lips with her musky offering.  I savored every drop of it, as she moaned and cooed.  I never stopped my eager assault.  I licked and sucked and worked my mouth over her hungry pussy, as she screamed with unending pleasure.  Her orgasms roared through her, one after another.

Finally she stepped back but continued taking long, deep breaths.

“Holy shit!  For a young guy you’re really good at that.  You must have had lots of practice doing that while at college.  I bet you made a lot of girls really happy.”

I smiled, as she stepped back and pulled her little thong back up covering that beautiful treasure.  Then she reached around and picked up something else from the table.

“Open wide slave.”

I opened my mouth, and a large red ball gag was wedged between my teeth.  It filled my mouth as the leather straps were pulled around behind my head and buckled tight.

“Stand up.”

Then she reached over to the table and picked up a second set of cuffs.  They were much heavier with a short, six inch length of chain between them.  These were closed snuggly around each of my ankles.

“Now turn around a little and bend over this table,” she said as she picked up a thin riding crop.

As I did, she continued, “I’m going to give you a dozen hard lashes with this crop across your ass.  Have you ever been whipped before?”

I was a little scared, as I shook my head back and forth.

“You have to pay for the pleasure you just had.  Since you don’t have any money, you’ll pay with a little pain.  That’s why you came here though isn’t it?  You want the pain.”

My head nodded up and down a little, as I tried to mumble, “Yes.”

She ran her hand across my unblemished globes.  They were smooth and ready for her to decorate with dark red stripes and thick purple welts.  My bottom was a blank canvas for her to paint in black and blue.  I was ready.  I wanted it.

I heard the swish of her whip, as it came around and slammed across both of my ass cheeks.

“M – m – m….”

“That hurt slave?”

I nodded my head up and down and tried to mumble through the gag.

“Do you want more?”

Eagerly I nodded yes once more.

Another line of pain sizzled across my ass.  God it hurt.  It cut deep into my flesh, but I never made a sound.  Again she brought the whip around and left another deep red welt just below the last one.  Its fire burned across my butt.  As she continued whipping me, the intensity increased.  Each one hurt more than the last, but I was determined to take it.  I never made a sound as the ninth and tenth lashes fell hard.  The eleventh one went diagonally across both cheeks with even more force than the others.

“M – m….”

The last one was the worse.  It landed in that crease where my ass meets my thighs.  My cheeks clenched tight, and I moaned once more.

“Is that what you expected?”

I didn’t know how to answer.  I really wanted more.  I wanted to be fastened to some bondage bench and whipped some more.  Finally I shook my head up and down as the throbbing continued.

She chuckled as she reached between my legs.  My cock was fully engorged with hot sex-charged lust and desire.  It begged for more.  I looked up at her as she smiled.  I think she was impressed by the way I took her whipping.

“Did you like that slave?”

I nodded my head up and down.

“Do you want more?”

As I indicated my desire, the moment was shattered.  We both heard the bell on the front door of her shop jingle.  Someone entered.

“Shit!” she said.  “I must have forgotten to lock the door and turned the open sign around.  I’m sorry.  Don’t move or go anywhere.  I’ll be right back.”

Yea, chained up like this and being totally naked, I’m going to run right out in the street, I thought to myself.  Of course I’d wait for her. I wanted more of her – much more.

“Just a minute,” she yelled.  “I’ll be right out.”

“Take your time,” some man replied. “I’ll just look around a little.  You never know what special thing you have here that I might be able to take home with me.”

Then she turned to me.  “I’m going to borrow these.”  Quickly she slipped into my sweats to cover herself up and went out into her shop.  I could hear them talking.

“Oh Mr. Mueller… I didn’t expect you quite so early.”

“Well, I was in the area and saw the lights on, so I thought I’d stop in.  Is there any possibility of picking up my newest acquisition tonight?”

“I guess so, but you’ll have to give me a minute or two to get it boxed.  Look around.  I’ll be back in a little bit.”

“Please take your time.  There’s really no big hurry, even though I’m really quite excited to see it,” he added.

She came back to where I was and whispered to me.

“Quick!  Get in here Nick and don’t make a sound.  He’s after something rather special,” she explained, as she opened the top of a heavy wooden box.

Being securely locked in both ankle and handcuffs, it was a little difficult, but she helped me climb in, so I could hide.  The box was actually quite small, so I lay down on my side in a tight fetal position in order to fit in.  It was really dark as she closed down the lid.

Soon they were both in the room right next to me talking.

“So,” he asked. “Is this one going to make me happy?”

“Oh without a doubt.  I think he’s absolutely perfect.  He’s exactly what you are looking for. Possibly even better.”

“Can I see him?”

“Of course Franz… he’s right in here.”

Suddenly the top of my hiding place opened, and I looked up in total surprise.  Instantly our eyes met, and a strange sensation rushed through me.

“Very nice,” he said, as the top was again closed.  “I think he’ll do just fine.”  Then I heard some sort of latches on my box, and the click of two locks.

“No!  Let me out of here,” I yelled unheard because of the gag, as I tried to move.

Immediately a feeling of overwhelming panic enveloped me.  I knew I was in deep shit.  There was no doubt in my mind.  I tried to get up and push my way out of the box, but I couldn’t move.  My hands and feet were locked in unyielding chains.  The box was way too strong and locked securely shut.  I screamed and yelled, but the gag kept most of my sounds inside.  Finally I quieted down and lay there wondering what had just happened.

It was nearly pitch black inside the shipping crate except for a few thin steams of light that came in through the small holes that would allow me to breathe.  I quickly realized that there was no possible escape.  I was doomed to whatever lay ahead.

“He’s younger than I thought you would find.”

“As I told you on the phone yesterday… he’s only 19 and absolutely perfect.  There are no family ties, no job and no one will realize he’s missing for several months or more.  I’ll send someone to get anything important from his room tomorrow, and he will completely vanish without a trace.  That’s why I told you I needed a premium price – twenty-five thousand in cash.”

I can’t believe what just happened.  I’ve just allowed myself to be kidnapped.  I willingly came to her for a night of bondage and fell right into a trap.  I even got into this tiny box without a struggle.  I pushed and shoved and fought as hard as I could once more, but it was impossible to get loose.  I was stuck in this fucking crate until he decides to let me out.  I screamed for help, but it didn’t do any good.  No one could hear me.  There was no help for me.

I could hear the muffled sounds, as the transaction took place.  The money was counted, and the deal was finalized.  I had just been sold.  I had just become his property.  I guess I would be his slave instead of hers.  That scared me.  It scared me a lot.

After a while I felt the crate move.  I think I was put on a dolly or something, as my box shook and bounced along.  There were a few sudden jars and jolts.   I was obviously taken down the front steps of the building.  Right there in front of anyone who might be watching, I was taken away.  Then there was one more solid, bone-jarring thud before I heard a motor start.  I was in a vehicle, heading somewhere into the unknown.  At that moment I realized my life would never be the same again.

She was right.  No one will miss me.  If she sent someone to get my computer from my apartment, there would be no trace of me ever.  I will have just vanished from the face of the earth.

Why would someone pay that much money for another person?  That thought bounced around in my brain for quite some time.  Why was I worth $25,000?

I was running all kinds of thoughts through my mind, when I remembered something she said, as I knelt between her thighs, “Lick my pussy slave, because it will be the last one you will see for a long, long time.”

She had asked me earlier if I was gay.  Suddenly I got a bad feeling.  The guy who just bought me is obviously gay.  He was looking for a young submissive male, and it turned out to be me.  I realized that I wouldn’t be eating any pussy in the future.  I wouldn’t be fucking any young, cute college girls either.  I would be sucking cock and probably taking his dick up my ass.  I’m the one who would be fucked.  There was no doubt in my mind that I just became the sex slave of a goddamn faggot.

Again I fought as hard as I could to free myself from this fucking crate and the future that lay ahead, but it was no use.  I was doomed to a new life.  There was no escape.

“N – o – o – o – o….” I screamed.  “N – o – o – o….”

Then something else flashed through my brain.  She told me something the first time we spoke.  It was something about “the possibility of unforeseen and unpleasant consequences.”

I told her I was ready for those, but now I’m having different thoughts.  I have heard about people on the internet who are not who they say they are.  Was I that naïve?  I never gave anything like that a thought.  After all, it couldn’t happen to me.  Who would think of being abducted as a sex slave for some gay guy while answering an ad on Craig’s List for a female dominatrix?  Maybe Craig’s List really does have a few problems.  The ad said “an evening of fun with chains, whips and paddles… no long term commitments.”  Like everything else, it was a lie.  Oh I’m sure the part about “looking for a young, submissive male” was accurate, but where’s a lifetime of slavery fit in to that listing?  That sounds like a pretty long term commitment to me.  And serving a man for God’s sake!

Then I realized I had missed another monumental clue back when we were first talking on Skype.  She told me about being discrete and not telling anyone where I was going.  She said she didn’t advertise.  That’s fucking bull shit.  That fact never registered.  Hell, I found her because of her ad on the internet.  She strung me along – telling me just what I wanted to hear.  Maybe I didn’t want to know the truth.  I wanted to serve a Mistress.

I guess I was wrong when I told her that I had no future.  It isn’t what I had planned, but I guess I have one now.

The Blue Butterfly by Don Julian Winslow Excerpt

The Blue Butterfly by Don Julian Winslow

Paperback & Ebook

Raynard took his place in the big chair before which Gratia now stood waiting.  He smiled to see that she had dressed as he told her to, in that tailored business suit, the same outfit she wore the day they first met: the pencil skirt and silky blouse under the trim fitted jacket; the gleaming patent leather pumps.  He took his time, taking in those lengthy legs encased in shimmering black nylons, pausing to admire those feminine lines and handsome features: the classic high cheekbones, the generous lips set now in a tight, tense line.  She stood looking down at him, and their eyes met: hers, large and expressive eyes; deep brown eyes that were anxious with neurotic energy, yet bright with the anticipation she felt keenly rising up in her.

“Come here, closer,” he muttered.  He watched the pointed shoes take a step forward on the deep pile carpet. He looked up at her.

“Get undressed.”

Katerina In Charge by Don Julian Winslow Excerpt

Katerina in Charge by Don Julian Winslow – Paperback & Ebook

Suddenly she felt him tense and straighten up, and she turned to look over her shoulder to see Katerina standing in the doorway — imperious Katerina looking down on them in that characteristic pose of hers: hands on hips, her long tapering torso now encased in the black armor of the tight bustier.  She made an imposing figure, tall legs set apart in a widened stance, shimmering black stockings held in place halfway up her long thighs by the elastic stays, and sleek boots of gleaming leather with wicked stiletto heels.

  In her right gloved hand she held the paddle they had purchased earlier that day, and the ruthless determination of her hard lean features made it clear, that this was no longer a sisterly shopping companion.

Slaves of Rome by Don Julian Winslow Excerpt

Slaves of Rome by Don Julian Winslow – Paperback & Ebook

I watched the parade without much interest as it made its way slowly by, when a creaking wagon came into view and with it a particularly rare prize.  The jogging cage held a statuesque blonde.  This must be a captive from the Northern peoples, I realized, a rare Teuton to be sure, as I recognized the striking Nordic features that Gaius had once described to me in such loving detail.  This Germanic beauty was impressively tall, regal in bearing, and elegantly made, she stood with cold blue eyes looking out over the crowd, eyes that were remote and unblinking.  Mostly the favored captives who found themselves so displayed in the tall wooden cages would shrink back to huddle in a far corner averting their eyes, or they might squat down studying the planks on the floor with head held low in the utter shame of defeat.  But this woman did no such thing!

            She stood there boldly, defiantly facing her Roman enemies, strong legs set in a widened stance as though to compensate for the roll of the wagon.  Her hands clasped the bars at either side of her pale face, as she stood regarding with icy contempt those who would seek to subdue her.

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?”

“Yes”

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

“Okay”

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.