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Author’s Note: Hi! I’m Rachel Heath, an erotic writer who loves her work. This is the beginning of my novella, “The Man Who Was put On Earth To Serve Women.” It is my hope that some of you who read this start will want to learn what happens next — and buy “The Man Who Was Put On Earth To Serve Women.”
The Man Who Was Put On Earth To Serve Women shook some Ajax into a toilet and used the scrub brush vigorously. He folded a paper towel into a square then sprayed the seat and rubbed it clean. He did not work quickly for he was under no deadline but he was always mindful of doing the best possible job and leaving everything in the sparkling clean state that would please Cathy, Lydia, and Sarah. He threw that paper towel away, then paused in his work to take a couple of drinks of cold water from a Dixie cup. Looking in the mirror above the sink, he admired his own clean-shaven reflection. He was six feet tall, broad-shouldered, and ruggedly handsome. He possessed a light beige complexion, short wavy hair of a medium brown color, bright blue eyes, an aquiline nose, and prominent cheekbones. He tore off another paper towel, and removed the Kleenex box and the latest issue of the Reader’s Digest from the tank before wiping it clean.
Then he gave the same careful and thorough treatment to the sink, the mirror above it, and finally the bathtub. Before he left the lavatory, he looked around to make sure he had left no spot behind that he was capable of erasing. Finally he sprayed the bathroom lightly with air freshener and went to Cathy and Lydia’s bedroom.
There he removed knick-knacks and jewelry boxes from atop the two chests, setting them down temporarily on the ladies’ bed. He dusted thechests, trying to get all the crevices between the drawers. A certain fluttery sensation of sexual arousal mingled with fear and shame rose inside him as he got to the bottom drawer of the larger, maple chest: that was where the instruments of his correction were kept. He dusted the frames around the pictures hanging up on the walls. Then he returned to the kitchen to fetch a can of wax and polished what he had just dusted until the wood glowed with a fine sheen. He put each knick-knack back in its place after carefully removing the dust from it. Like most people, The Man Who Was Put On Earth To Serve Women had a name. However, unless he was at his regular job as an actuary (luckily he was back to working under a woman boss) or at church or in some other public venue, he did not like to think of himself by his name. He preferred to think of himself as The Man Who Was Put On Earth To Serve Women or simply as “fella,” the term used for him by Cathy, Lydia, and Sarah.
Taking a break from his chores, he went to the kitchen to fix himself a sandwich. He took that into the living room with a Coke and turned on the tube.
It was quite awhile after that, while he was in his own bedroom reading a recent issue of Time, when the buzzer went off. He jumped up. It was time for inspection. He quickly combed his hair and straightened out his butler’s uniform, slipped into his shoes and headed for the living room.
Cathy and Lydia were there. As was her wont, Cathy sat up in a straight-backed chair while Lydia was stretched out on the couch, shoes beside it and head propped against a pillow. Cathy was in her early twenties and Lydia had recently turned forty. Even though they were together all the time, no one ever took them for mother and daughter because they looked nothing alike except that both were of average height. Cathy was pleasingly plump, very large-breasted, with a light olive complexion and short, jet black hair that she wore parted on the side and in an old-fashioned pageboy. On this day, she was wearing a maroon-colored business suit with a black blouse. She wore a light make-up and no jewelry. Lydia was a svelte, small-breasted blonde with alabaster skin and an oval-shaped face. She had small green eyes and a large black mole on the side of her chin. Attired in a dark blue dress and pale stockings, she had no make-up on save for a baby pink lipstick. She wore earrings of gold in teardrop shapes, a couple of thin gold-colored necklaces and rings on both hands.
“You called,” fella said with a brief bow.
“Yes, indeed,” Cathy replied. She looked around the clean and tidy room. “It looks like a pretty good job.”
“Thank you, Madam,” he replied.
Lydia rose from the couch and pulled up the cushions. “You remembered to clean under here this time,” she commented, slipping her shoes on.
“Yes, Madam,” he replied.
Cathy continued around the room and stopped at the windowsill. She looked at her fingers: covered with dirt. “Unh-oh,” she uttered. Her brown eyes narrowed as she looked at The Man Who Was Put On Earth To Serve Women. “Not so good, fella,” she commented.
“I am sorry, Madam,” he said with his head bowed.
With Cathy in the lead, Lydia behind her, and fella last, the group went into the east wing bathroom.
“It sparkles,” Lydia said with evident satisfaction.
“Thank you, Madam,” he replied.
“But . . . my glass,” Lydia said in a severe tone.
“Yes Madam?” he asked.
Lydia showed him the little black ceramic cup (Cathy, like fella, drank from Dixie cups when in the bathroom). He could see that there was a small, reddish stain in the bottom of it. He ought to have washed it or at least replaced it with a fresh one.
Again his head bowed as he said, “I am sorry, Madam.”
“You should be, fella,” Lydia remonstrated.
He was silent and his head was still bowed.
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.”
“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.”
“But try to keep a lid on this sort of stunt.”
“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.”
“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.
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.”
“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?”
“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.”
“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?”
“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.
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.”
“Ah… whips and ropes and that kind of stuff.”
She chuckled. “Are you ready for what I have waiting for you?”
“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?”
“Remember, there is always the possibility of unforeseen and unpleasant consequences. Are you ready for those as well?”
“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?”
“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?”
“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.”
“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?”
“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 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.
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.
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.
57 Chevy by Lizbeth Dusseau
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.
No turquoise and white 57 Chevy.
No girl, no cunt, no glistening gold, no sensuous limbs.
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.