One More

“One more,” he says.

I nod, eyes closed, even though I know it is not a question.

“Look at me,” he says, very softly but with that tone that makes the difference between an invitation and a command.

I open my eyes, blinking at the light from the window behind him. He is kneeling on the floor, between my widely spread legs. I focus on him but from the corners of my eyes I can see the ropes tied to my ankles and secured to either end of the bed.

He holds up a pencil, unsharpened. I nod yes, craving this, needing this, wanting this. With his other hand, he clicks open a tube of lube and spreads a thin line of the stuff along the pencil’s yellow length. He rubs it all over the pencil and I shiver a little, watching intently.

He has noticed the shivers, the tensing of my legs in anticipation of his next action.

“You are such a good girl, ” he says, and points the pencil towards my mound. I can feel the erasered tip moving my inner lips apart, pushing the hood up, and then gently moving against my hard erect clit. I moan, trying to remain still, wishing he would let me cum. “I’m very proud of you, my little one.”

The eraser moves away from my tormented clit. I sigh a little, missing the touch.

And then I feel him gently slide the pencil in. In the middle of all the others. Gently stretching my pussy a tiny little bit more.

“Mmmmmmmm,yes,” I whisper to him, loving the fullness down there.

How many were there? How many filled me already?

I moan again as he alternates blowing hot and cool breaths towards my clit. He said I was not to come. But he was making it so difficult, so damned difficult. I can feel the frisson rising higher and higher, heading to the forbidden explosion.

And then he stops.

“One more, ” he says.

 

Guest Fiction from Cyrano

She’s in town for a conference and this is just too wonderful an opportunity to miss. I have made my arrangements, I’m booked into the same hotel and I know her schedule.

I can imagine how nervous and distracted she is, going through the meetings and lunches while knowing that I’m waiting. And not knowing what I will do to her.

She returns to the front desk and finds, among other things, a message from me:

“Playtime starts the minute you receive this note. You will go directly to your room, you will wash and dress in the corset and stockings as you have been instructed. I will call your cell.”

She leaves the front desk and as instructed goes to her room on the fifth floor to prepare for the evening. To prepare for me.    A well tipped hotel employee tells me so.

I give her half an hour and then call her cell. She sounds like she’s flustered. I tell her, without asking if she’s ready yet, to walk out of her room, turn left and go to the end of the hall and find the stairs. I tell her to go up the stairs to the seventh floor. I hang up.

I called her from my cell phone, from the seventh floor landing of the stairs she’ll be climbing soon. I’ve already taped a note to the door of the seventh floor:

“Bring this to room 802. Knock twice then wait.” The note is signed only with my initial.

I walk quietly up to the eighth floor and wait to hear that she’s coming. When I hear her on the stairs I close the door softly and go to my room.

It isn’t long before I hear her soft knock on my door. I watch her through the peep hole, she’s so nervous, looking up and down the hall, afraid to be seen in public dressed as she is…

She’s dressed, as I’ve ordered, in a very revealing corset, stockings, black shoes, stilletoes, of course and an almost transparent negligee.

I don’t make her wait too long before I open the door, just long enough to let her know who’s in charge and who is standing about in a hallway, wearing underwear and waiting to be used.

I finally open the door and greet her as if it’s the most normal thing in the world to find a woman in lingerie standing there. She offers the note and I take it with barely a glance. Then, looking hard at her eyes, I say “Kiss!”.

This is a command for her, she’s to step forward and drape her arms passively over my shoulders and behind my neck in preperation to receive a kiss from me. This exposes her body totally to my hands which, this time, move to her hips.

I kiss her gently at first while my hands slide up her body. Her posture has caused her breasts to be lifted from the very scanty protection of the corset and my hands find their way there.

My kiss becomes a little less gentle as my fingers stroke her breasts and finally home in on her nipples. I pinch them between thumb and index finger, gently at first but always, increasing in force. Soon twising and pulling too.

I feel the change in her body, her breathing, and I release her, asking if she’d like to come in. She breathlessly answers “Yes Sir” and I extend a hand to take her negligee.

With only the slightest hesitation she removes it and stands before me, almost naked. I step back from the entrance and invite her in.

I close the door behind her, watching to see that she does as she should. And I’m pleased to see that once she’s inside she awaits further instruction. Though she stands passively waiting her breathing is a little heavy and her legs do not seem to be very steady.

I move to the bar in the living room of my suite and pour myself a whiskey, then I pour her a glass of white wine. I turn towards her with the drinks and holding the wine glass out to her I ask if she’d like a drink. My little sweet obediantly takes the glass with a meek “Thank you, Sir.” and holds it, again waiting for instructions.

I am pleased, with myself for having trained her and mostly with her for doing such a good job of obeying.

I touch my glass to hers, then I say “If you want, you may drink now.” . I drink a good portion of my whiskey while I watch her over the rim of my glass. I don’t feel at all bad about what I’m going to do to her.

Her cheeks are flushed, her breathing is still heavy but she seems steadier now. When my drink is done and her glass is almost empty I reach my hand out towards her. She hands me her glass and I turn back to the bar.

When I’ve put the glasses away I once again command “Kiss.” and she approaches me as she’s been taught, again draping her arms around my neck.

This time I don’t bend down to kiss her so she must rise up on her toes to place her arms the way I like. My hands move to the waist of her panties and undo the clips. I gently slide the panties out from under the garters on her corset as I give her a brief but gentle kiss. Then I order her to kneel.

Instantly, but without rushing, she kneels before me as I inspect her panties. I turn my back to her and walk to the bar so she can see that I’mm looking at the crotch of her panties.

“What’s this?” I demand, holding the panties towards her.

“Sir, they’re my panties.” She replies, sounding a little confused.

“I know what they are, I bought them for you…” I say with an exasperated sigh, “I want to know why they’re so wet.”

With a sharp intake of breath she replies “Sir, it’s because I’m wet down there…”

Her voice trails off and I let the silence hang there a little before I ask “Wet down where?”.

My voice is quieter now. Not a whisper but so much more menacing than any kind of shouting.

With a stammer she responds “My, my pussy, Sir”

“Do you mean your cunt?”

“Yes, Sir.” she whispers.

“Say it.” I command. And she does.

“Why is your cunt wet?”

“Because you excite me, Sir.”

“Do you mean sexually?”

“Yes, Sir” she says, looking down at the floor not just with her eyes now, her face also directed down.

“What kind of woman comes to a man’s hotel room, in her underwear, gets her nipples pinched and finds it sexually arousing?”

I watch her struggle to answer, finally saying, almost too quietly “A whore?”

“What am I going to do with you, you little slut? How should I treat a little whore like you?”

Almost instantly looking me straight in the eye, she answers “Do what you want Sir, I am your slut.”

And I reply “I think I will…”

I turn my back to her and return to the bar for another whiskey, saying, as I pour “Kneel on the table.” I hear her moving as she obeys my command.

I walk to the couch, where she is kneeling on the table, and tell her to turn and face me. I tell her to spread her legs. And she does. I have her spread them wider.

I start to gently touch her cunt, stroking and teasing her, listening to her breathing and watching how her body reacts to my fingers.

At first I’m fairly gentle but soon I have two fingers inside her, playing with her “G” spot while my thumb mashes and rotates on her clit.

By now she’s making moaning noises and her hips seem to have a mind of their own as I ask her questions.

“Do you like that?” “Are you my little whore?” “Do you want to cum now?” “What will you give me if I let you cum?”

I have her turn around an kneel face down with her ass towards me. I fuck her with three fingers while my thumb rubs against her asshole. She’s sloppy with her own juices as I make her describe how she wants to be used.

I forbid her to cum, describing how she’ll be punished if she does, teasing her until she’s almost ready then stopping. Over and over. Then with no warning I stop. I tell her I have to go out for a few minutes and that she’s to wait for me there.

I put on my jacket and I go…

*******************

“So what then?” George asks. His rum and coke sits in front of him, neglected, in the piano lounge where we are talking. With his breathing and flushed face I’m beggining to worry about his health.

“That’s it” I say, ever so cool. “I put my jacket on and came down here to meet you.”

He looks confused as he says “So she’s still up there? Kneeling on a table? Waiting for you?”

I shrug and say “She’d better be…”

Shaking his head he asks “What now?”

“Normally” I say “I’d go upstairs and fuck her to pieces but tonight’s a little different. I’m finally going to tell her how much I love her.”

At that I rise, drop a twenty on the table, to cover the drinks, and grab my jacket. I leave George staring at his drink as I head back up to suite 802 and my love.

And a long night of fun.

 

The Appointment – Part I

It was not as if she had to come to see him. When he had said, on the telephone, “I have two hours open at four o’clock that I will hold”, it was not as if he even expected she would attend at his office.

But here she was, in the beautifully appointed but still institutional beige and brown waiting area, her back ramrod straight, insides trembling a bit, perched on the edge of the wing chair’s cushion. She crossed and recrossed her black stockinged legs. Perhaps she ought not to have worn the gartered stockings for this first meeting. If he noticed, what would he think of her?

She glanced at the grandfather clock. Not yet four. She could still change her mind. And then she heard the soft rasp of a door opening across carpet. Decision made. Correction: decision confirmed. She knew all along she would not pass up this opportunity.

“Salley Tyler?” She pivoted on her seat towards the deep, polite British voice saying her name. Her first impression was that he was terribly tall and her second was that his eyes were very blue behind the wire rimmed glasses perched on his nose.

She nodded, standing up slowly so that her slutty stockings would not be revealed, picked up her purse and walked to his office. Her steps were deliberate and measured, one stilettoed foot in front of the other, willing herself to be graceful, not to stumble.

He waited at his door, shutting it firmly behind them after she went past. Placed in front of a large white marble fireplace were a leather couch and two matching arm chairs clustered around a large coffee table. The desk was on the oppossie side of the room, in front of massive windows obscured by floor to ceiling sheer curtains. The effect was comforting, elegance tempered with maleness, the epitome of what she would have called an English lord’s library.

“Won’t you please be seated?” he asked, indicating the couch as he moved past her to take the leather chair opposite. He was so formal! Had he ever been this formal on the phone? Perhaps the first time they had talked, she allowed.

She perched on the edge of the couch, just as she had done out in the waiting area, and watched him sit down and lean back into the chair. He was dressed quite elegantly, she noted, in a charcoal grey suit, crisp white shirt, and a black and silver striped tie. Very austere. She was glad she had decided to be more formal and wore a simple black, long sleeved cocktail dress.

“Your flight was good?” he asked. She nodded, smiling at his very proper manners. “And you slept enough to chase away the jet lag?”

“Yes, I slept away most of the day,”she said. She ventured a look up at him, directly into those startling blue eyes. “Thank you for suggesting the place. And thank you also for sending the taxi to fetch me.”

Her appreciation appeared to have pleased him, his beautiful thin lips pulling back into a smile. There was a hint of a five o’clock shadow on his strong jaw. A frisson of pure sexual excitement coursed through her belly down to her vagina. She quickly looked down again.

“I’ve made us some tea,” he said, very conversationally. Didn’t he know what was happening inside her? Perhaps he did not feel it himself. “Would you pour, please?”

It really had not been a request. It was an order, her first real order. A test perhaps. It made her shiver, the accented strong voice, confident and assured. Conscious of every move she made, she rose and made her way to the sidetable where the silver tea service was laid out. She wanted to impress him. She wanted him to think her elegant and worthy of his attentions. She wanted him to want her and want her more than any other woman.

So focused on her duties and her thoughts of him, she did not hear him get up. She was pouring the second cup of tea when she sensed him behind her. He was close enough, without touching, that she felt his body heat. And then the hair at the nape of her neck moved slightly, back and forth; he was breathing in her soft scent of vanilla and pink sugar. She put the teapot back on the tray and did not move. He did not move either.

“You received the envelope?” he said so softly behind her ear, almost a whisper.

There was no need to pretend. She knew he meant the letter that awaited her arrival at the inn this morning. Her knees almost buckled as she nodded and she clutched at the edge of the sidetable to steady herself.

“And the terms,” he asked, this time moving his lips against the hair at her ear. “They were..acceptable?”

She nodded again.

“And you are certain? The terms are rather stringent.”

Another nod.

“I will be demanding”, almost a warning as he murmured that.

“Yes, I know,” she whispered back.

 

From a Larger Work In Progress…

Dear Sir Charles,

As required, I write to you with a description of my first evening at The Kensington House. I will focus in on one aspect of that night, something that particularly overwhelmed me.

Willow led me to a room at the end of the long hallway, past the other girls’ rooms. It felt rather as if I was walking down a very long plank, step by step towards the unknown.

My stomach was fluttery with butterflies. I did not know what was behind the door but I knew, I knew, that it would change my life, my knowledge of self, in a deep and profound way.
And I was scared. I knew that I could leave at any time, that I could stop and turn around. But as apprehensive as I was, my inner self coached to keep going, to see what would happen next.

Willow pushed the door open for me and let me pass through before her. WE were in a very large bedroom. I heard the lock click and whirled to see if my escape route was taken from me.
“Welcome to my room, Holly,” Willow said with a gentle smile. She brushed past, pointing towards another door. “There is a bathroom in there. Would you like to freshen up?”

I nodded, so glad for a moment alone to collect myself and re-evaluate everything. The soft drone of the bathroom fan drowned out any noise from the bedroom. I leaned against the marble vanity and peered into the mirror. My cheeks were flushed and my eyes were wide, like a child about to experience a rollercoaster ride for the first time. Well, here I was at the top of the ride, about to go over. Is this what I really wanted?

“You should turn around,” I whispered to my reflection. “You should get out of here now while you can. You can get your job back. They’d take you back in a minute.”

But I knew I was not going to run away like a frightened child. I remembered the things you had said and how they made me feel, how excited I was to have this experience, this inner exploration of myself.

Willow knocked. “Are you alright?” she asked. In other words, she wanted to know if I was ready to continue on my journey.

“Yes, yes, I am,” I said, acknowledging my decision to follow this through, whatever was to happen.

“There’s a robe in there, “Willow said. I saw it hanging on the back of the door. “Why don’t you get more comfortable by taking off all those constricting clothes and putting that on? You will feel much more relaxed, I promise you.”

Two more deep breaths and then I started to undress. First the shoes, kicked off to the side. The smart navy jacket I hung up on another hook. The pearl buttons on my cream silk blouse seemed to get caught up in my fingertips, I fumbled with them so, and I had to will myself to get them undone. Before hanging up the shirt, I unzipped the slim pencil skirt, which promptly puddled at my feet. I stepped out of it and hung the two items up with the jacket. I unpinned my hair from the severe French roll that held it off my face, and swished the long hair around my shoulders.

I felt a little chilled, even though the room was warm. Looking at the mirror again, I was surprised by the contrast of this reflection to the one of the frightened girl. There I was, standing tall, shoulders back, eyes now dark and glowing with excitement. yes my cheeks were still flushed, but as my breathing was shallow and fast, I knew it was from excitement, not from fear.

“Look at you!” I whispered. Look at me, indeed! Standing there in a lacy cream bra, hard nipples clearly visible beneath, and a matching thong and garter belt holding up stockings, I looked like a virgin bride, ready for her wedding night.

I pulled on the soft white robe, tying the sash around my waist, and opened the door. Willow was completely naked, sitting in a wingchair near the fireplace; a large pillow was on the floor in front of her and she motioned towards it with a beautiful slender hand. Knowing that my journey was commencing, having seen the other girls’ deference and displays of respect to Willow, I had no doubt of what was expected of me.

I walked over to her, Sir, and knelt on the cushion at her feet, eyes lowered. I must admit that my eyes were lowered more from my embarrassment at seeing another woman completely nude, than because of respect. Except for the fitness club, where women scurried to the showers covered by a towel and dressed with their backs to one another, I had not been in such close quarters with such blatant nudism.

“This is a difficult for you,” Willow observed. “You are embarrassed, aren’t you?”

I nodded, my cheeks blushing. How gauche I felt I must look to the beautiful,composed Willow. Willow placed two fingers under my chin, gently raising it until I looked her in the eyes. I could see the amusement but it wasn’t mocking – no, indeed, it was acknowledgment of how I felt, of sisterhood, of understanding.

“Sir Charles has a very intense program for those of us that wish to work for him,” she said, continuing to hold my gaze. “Many times you will feel embarrassment. And humiliation,too. But it is the process by which we become perfectly submissive. You do understand what this week is about, don’t you?

“Sir Charles sees something in you which makes him believe you will be a perfect fit in his companies. But it is how you do this week, with the initial training, which will determine whether or not he will take you on.

“I want you to be aware that you are free to leave at any time. No one will try to stop you. I can tell you from personal experience that the week is long and hard, that there will be times when you wonder why you are here, question your sanity, and want to leave. But I can also tell you that the rewards of perseverance are great, greater than you can imagine. And certainly better than anything you will find out there in the vanilla world.

“Holly, at this moment, I need to ask you: are you prepared to do this?”

“Yes,” I said, without hesitation, although my heart bumped hard in my breast.

“Yes, Mistress” Willow corrected, softly but firmly, rising.

“Yes, Mistress,” I repeated, and lowered my eyes to avoid looking at her private parts.

“Then tonight we shall start your training.”

 

Homecoming

I had a lovely dream last night. As dreams do, time and place were mixed…

Imagine a small room. Is it the only room? Perhaps. Or maybe this is the whole house.

The floor is packed dirt. I know this because I am on my knees, facing the door, waiting. A large fire roars in a fireplace behind me. Its light dances with the shadows against the walls. Its warmth caresses my back and I relish it. My hands are icy; I can feel tendrils of cold sneaking in around the doorframe, touching the skin not covered by cloth or fur. I know I have been on my knees for a long while; my legs and back feel the strain. But I stay where I am. Waiting…

…It has been a long wait.

But I hear, finally, the sound of footsteps approaching.

And in my belly something drops. I have started shaking. Fear? Excitement? Both?

And then the door swings open; there is a swirling rush of cold air and snow, and I am no longer alone.

You have arrived.

You stand there, unmoving. The door had been slammed shut. You do not move.

My breathing is ragged, short breaths, just enough. I have not looked up at you. I cannot. I am on my knees at your feet.

Time passes slowly. I shake more as I wait. Wish you would say something, anything. Or move. Start this. Please start this. Please.

But I have been taught that I must wait.

It doesn’t matter than my muscles ache. Or that I am cold and afraid. That my fear is mixed with love and adoration. It doesn’t matter. Only you do. You have taught me this.

And I wait.

You are so angry. I can feel you looking down at me. I know you have heard rumours of my conduct while you were away, how I dared to look a man in the eyes, in the company of many, many others. Are you deciding how you will punish me?

You haven’t moved. The muscled columns of your legs are planted firmly in front of me. I long to reach out and hold you, to touch those legs, feel their strength against my cheek.

How long? How long?

A roar. Large rough hands digging into my arms and shoulders, jerking me up and pushing me back down. Throwing me backwards. Advancing. I try to move away. You won’t let me. You grab me again. I can hear you breathing hard, angry. So angry. Shaking me. Pushing me.

My Viking is home.

My face is pushed into a pile of furs. Our bed. You have ripped the clothes off my back and pushed me down there. I resisted at first. Tried to get away and leave. But it only inflamed you more. And made you stronger.

You are straddling me, locking me between your knees. I feel you raise up and…

…SMACK! The first fall of the leather hits my ass. I gasp at the intensity of the stoke, the searing pain. Before it turns into warmth, the second hits. SMACK!. On top of the first! It hurts! Oh dear father Odin, it hurts! and it doesn’t stop!

SMACK!…SMACK!….SMACK!…SMACK!

“Who owns you?” you growl as you strike my tender reddened bottom, over and over.

SMACK!

“You, Master…” I whimper and gasp.

SMACK!

“Say it!” You command. SMACK!

“You own me…oh!” SMACK! “…Master.”

Over and over again. I have lost count of the strokes. But you have thankfully not asked me to count them out to you this night. My whimpers have turned to tears and I am sobbing with pain. But you have no softness in you, no sympathy for it. I must endure all that you give. And I do.

SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK

How long? I have no idea. I am crying but also feeling a warmth in me. Can feel desire for you coursing into my loins. Pushing my bottom up to meet your strokes. Wanting them, wanting you.

I feel you move, pushing my legs apart with your thighs, and you push home to the core of my being with your hard cock. I am so wet you encounter no resistance. You are fucking my cunt with the same intensity as the beating. Growling. Wrapping your hands in my long hair, pulling it back. Rough. Very rough. The head of your cock pounds against my womb, harder each time. I push back against it, welcoming the pleasure of the fucking and the pain of the deep thrusting and the sound of the slap of your thighs against my reddened ass cheeks.

You pull back, thrusting fingers into the wetness between my legs. I miss your cock but the fingers feel good. I moan. your fingers move in and out and up, transferring the moistness to my most secret place. Feel your rough fingers searching out its rim, pressing into me there. Pushing the tight muscle, forcing me to relax and allow you in.

One finger. Two. Pushing deep. And then your slick cock.

Pushing against the hole, demanding entry, refusing to be denied. In pushes your head, stretching me. Pain. Pain. Gasping at the pain. I can’t move away. And then you thrust all the way into my ass. I will myself to relax, to allow you the access you demand.

You are in me so deep. You own me body and soul. I am totally yours. You use me so roughly here but the pain becomes pleasure. You pump in and out. I contract my muscles around you, as you have taught me. I want to please you. You are breathing so hard, panting in my ear, biting my neck and shoulders, pulling my hair, fucking my ass. Fucking it, riding it, owning it.

And then your explosion inside me! Aaaaah, the feel of your hot cum spurting into me, filling my ass with your sweet seed. Still hard, still pumping, still owning me. Marked as yours in the most primal of ways, marked by your cum.

And you collapse on top of me, not pulling out. Keeping your cock wedged firmly in my ass. We sleep this way, you and I. As one. Master and mastered.

 

You Just You All You

I want you. I need you.

You can see it in my eyes – can’t you? Begging you to make me yours…

Please…please take me, mark me…

Take my body, my soul…..

Make me perfectly submissive to your desires…

Uuuhhhnnnnnnn….yes, spank me….

mmmmm…..yes, please….

Ohhhhh…..more, please, Sir, more….

Uhhhhhnnnn….yes, I have been bad…

Ohhhhh….thank you, Sir…..

…been so naughty…

….I’m all yours…totally yours…..

Ohhhhhh….yes, Sir, I am your dirty, filthy slut…

Ohhhhhh…thank you, Sir….

Please, Sir….oh, please….please fuck me….

Unnnnhhhhhh….oh god yes….yes…

Ooooohhhhh…you feel soooo good…

so big….so hard… ahhhhhhhh

I can’t get enough of you…..

Yes, I am your whore, Sir….oh!

Yes I deserve to be spanked

Yes you know what is best for me

How to keep me in line…

Oh god you feel so good inside

I’m so wet for you, such a whore for wanting you to take me like this

you’re so fucking hard, Sir… so deep in me….

mmmmm, I love when you play with my ass….

ohhhhh, yes, I want you to fuck me there…

Take my ass, Sir…it’s all yours, all yours….

Oh god…Oh…Oh…Oh…

More…all of you, please, Sir, all of you….

You feel so good, so gorgeous in my ass…

yes, whenever you want it, Sir…it’s yours to use as you wish

Mmmmm, I can feel how big your knob is….

….feel you throb in my ass…

fucking me….god fucking me soooo good….

needing to be yours…

needing your roughness…your discipline….

needing you to make me totally, perfectly yours….

ooooh, I can feel you cumming, so hard…

…spurting into me….

…filling me with your hot cum…

…making me yours….

…all yours….

…always yours….

 

His

He intrigues me, Asklepius does. He has this sexy deep voice and amazing laugh. His accent sends shivers through my body every time I hear it. I imagine him standing behind me, in public somewhere, speaking softly but firmly about what he intends to do to me.

“Naughty girl,” he says as he runs a hand down my bottom, under my short leather skirt and discovers that I have negected to wear any undies. He pinches me quickly, hard, and I jump, stifling the squeal on my lips. “Imagine! Out in public like this! You shall be punished for that, my Dear!”

By the time we reach his apartment, I am trembling with desire, anticipation and a little fear. My nipples have gone rock hard under the cotton blouse and I can feel the heat, the wetness between my thighs. I had heard that certain note in his voice, the warning that tonight would be more extreme for me.

He opens the door and pushes me into the hall. I trip but catch my balance. Without warning I am slammed forwards against the wall, my breath knocked out of me. He grabs my hair and twists it hard, pulling me without care to his bedroom, and using the force to send me flying onto the bed. I whimper at the pain but he ignores this.

He opens his closet, pondering. I know this is where he keeps his favourite implements and it is unsettling to have to wait for him to make his choice. Finally he reaches in and pulls out a cane. He turns and looks me directly in the eyes, unwavering, and snaps the cane against his palm. I shake my head a little, crawl backwards on the bed away from him, willing him not to use the cane, pleading with my eyes. He walks to toward the bed and I lower my head, admitting submission to his will, his punishment, all without a word spoken.

“Turn around, January,” he orders.

I am shaking now but I obey, on all fours, turning my ass to him.

“I want you to tell me, ” he says, “why I need to do this.”

“Because I was naughty,” I say. I have transgressed, broken the rules, his rules. “I didn’t ask permission to go without panties.”

“True, ” he conceeds, with a nod of his head. “But that’s not the main reason.”

I look back at him. What have I missed? What else have I done? He knows what I am thinking. His lips turn up at the corners, devilishly sexy and totally dangerous with intent. “Because I want to. And I can. Lift your skirt, January.”

I lift it. I am wet for him and he sees my wet cunt waiting for him.

I lift it because he makes me tremble and shiver.

I lift it because there is no other option.

 

House Call

Sir has decided that I am to come to him this evening. He was terse on the phone: “You know what I like you in. Wear it. I expect you to walk through the front door promptly at nine.” And then he hung up. But even with those few words, his voice created electrical currents in me, fingers of desire coursing under my skin, my nipples puckering and my pussy throbbing.

Sir wanted me in pvc. Sir desired me in leather. Sir loved me in latex. And of course I always made certain that whatever Sir wanted, Sir got. In spades.

I took care in what I chose to wear for him, wanting to please him totally. First the latex stockings, one on each leg, a second skin stretching up each thigh. Then the matching latex garter belt, clipped to each stocking. No panties this time, I decided, letting my inner slut guide me on that choice. I shimmied into a form-fitting leather skirt and then a matching lace up corset which pushed my breasts high and together. Into my cleavage I dabbed his favourite perfume, a sweet mixture reminiscent of champagne and chocolate he never failed to compliment. I slipped my feet into shiny black stilettos and then pulled on opera length latex gloves. The last item was my collar: simple black leather without decoration.

And as he ordered, I arrived at his home within a minute of nine 0′clock, opening the heavy front door just as his clock was chiming the hour.

My heart beat quickly and my breathing was shallow for I could see him in the front room, stretched back lazily in his favourite chair, running one hand back and forth though the strings of a flogger. Quickly I removed the cloak which had hidden me from the prying eyes of his neighbors, hung it up, and waited for his command, eyes downcast to show my submission.

“Crawl.” That was all he said, just loud enough for me to hear it, and my pussy became even wetter. As gracefully as I could, I lowered myself to my hands and knees and slowly, slowly began to crawl to my Master. The leather swished around me, caressing me, and I heard his breath quicken as he watched. I moved my hips back and forth deliberately, like a cat, exaggerating my movements so that he could see how I had dressed for him.

At his feet, I stopped. He placed one booted foot on my back and pressed me down to the wooden floor. I did not resist him. And then I felt him lean over me and clip something to my collar, a leash, and he hauled me up roughly by it.

“Please me, slut,” he ordered. “Lift your skirt.”

I leaned over, caught the hem, and pulled it up over my hips, revealing my naked pussy to him.

“No panties,” he observed dryly. “Why am I not surprised, slut?”

“Because I am a whore, Sir,” I whisper. I can feel the moisture pooling between my thighs, feel the wetness dripping downwards. He reaches forward and shoves two fingers into the slick folds of my pussy lips, pinches my hard clit, and proceeds to shove the fingers up into my cunt. I gasp at how good it feels. He snorts derisively.

“You most certainly are, ” he agrees. “I think whores need a firm hand to bring them under control, don’t you?”

I nod, my cheeks flushing with shame and desire. He withdraws his fingers and brings them to my face, softly caressing my lips with them, before shoving them into my mouth. I lick them, tasting me, tasting his skin. With his other hand he pushes me back down to my knees, one leather clad leg between them. I can feel the smooth leather just beneath my streaming pussy, and push down so that my cunt rests on his shin. With a moan, I move back and forth, just a little, teasing my clit, and licking his fingers.

I did not think he noticed but I was wrong. He let me continue a minute more before he withdrew his fingers and then shoved my head down to his leg where my cunt had been. The leather was slick and shiny with my juices.

“Look what you’ve done, slut.” His tone was low and casual, a warning to me. “Clean it up.” He grabs me by the ears and moves my face into the wetness. This has caught me by surprise and I whimper a bit.

“I. Said. Clean. It. Up!” His tone is still casual but the enunciated words indicate he is losing patience with me and whatever punishment he has in store for me will be worse now. He grabs my hair, winding it tightly around his fingers, hurting me, pushing my face into the leather. I run my tongue and lips over it, tasting myself, cleaning as best I can. I do not stop until he orders it.

Still holding the hair at the back of my head, he pulls me upward with him, to our feet. “Who do you belong to?”

“You, Sir,” I pant. He is hurting me but it feels so good.

“You’re my fucking slut, aren’t you?” He demands.

“Yes, oh yes,” I whimper.

“You are my slut and my whore. You belong to me.” This time it is a statement. “And I am going to punish you for what you just did.”

He lets go of my hair and I stumble a bit. He pushes me towards the arm of his leather couch and this time I do trip, falling onto it. My skirt is still above my waist and now my ass is sticking up in the air. He has quickly moved to grasp my wrists and place cold steel handcuffs on them. I look up to see that the cuffs are attached to a rope tied elsewhere. As I realise that I cannot move my arms back, I feel him at my ankles, securing them to the legs of the couch. I am immobile and I am helpless.

And then he stuffs a ball gag into my mouth and fastens it behind my head. I had not expected a gag. We had talked about it before but had never tried it. I am scared by this but also excited. I have absolutely no control; it is all his.

And then the flogger hits my bare ass, lightly to begin with and then building in speed and intensity. The warmth changes. He stops momentarily and then strikes hard with a paddle. I shriek at that, but cannot move, cannot do anything. He keeps the intensity up, and I am crying, sobbing into the gag, saliva pouring out of my mouth around it. Just when I think I can’t take it a moment more, he stops. I wonder what he is going to hit me with next. My ass cheeks feel like they are on fire. I hear the zip of his pants and then feel the length of his hard thick cock pushing roughly into my streaming cunt. He slams in and out of me, grabbing my hips to firmly control me, his fingers biting into my skin.

“You fucking slut,” he pants hoarsely, “you are mine and I can do what ever I want with you.”

I moan in agreement, feeling his cock thick and hard, pulsing. My cunt walls try to grab him, to keep him deep within me. The harder he pushes, the more he hurts me, the better it feels.

“Cum for me, slut,” he orders. “NOW.”

And I do, spasms racing through me, delightful, wonderful spasms. And then I feel him cum, too, deep hard warm spurts of cum joining with the cum already streaming over his cock. He falls atop of me panting, kissing and nipping at my neck, running his hands up and down my arms, caressing the latex and the woman he loves so much.

 

Leather & The Little Black Dress

I love The Little Black Dress, always have, and I have a number of them in my wardrobe.

But this dress is my dream dress, the one I just have to have.

I was researching latex and leather clothing recently. I had met a Dom ( I shall call him Odysseus) who has a thing for latex and leather. I really hadn’t thought about it personally. For Odysseus it is the icing in his D/s world. What could be the big deal?

As I looked, I started to remember some of my own wardrobe choices over the years. The hand-tooled leather belt with the celtic cross buckle. The studded leather bracelets I could only wear as part of a costume. The stiletto healed black leather boots. The leather skirts. The leather vest made to go with my grey dress. The lovely sueded leather pants with lacing at the calves! And the oh-so-soft little black leather racing gloves!

It appears I have a thing for leather…and probably latex and pvc, too *grin*.

Don’t you just love this dress? I think I could get away with wearing it during the festive season, don’t you?

(This dress is from Decadent Designs, http://www.decadentdesigns.ca/, a Canadian company. Check it out – the designs are gorgeous and the prices seem quite reasonable.)

 

Victorian Ladies Handcuffs – Oh My!

Aren’t these sweet?

I was looking for some pretty Victorian images and these popped up!

They are available at http://surplusandadventure.com/.

The accompanying text mentions only a short history of law and order in England around 1750. No mention of how these were used!

What surprised me most was that this store is NOT your usual fetish-wear/BDSM equipment site. Au contraire, it appears to cater to the army/police/survivalist/extreme outdoorsy types. I couldn’t even find which department these came under.

Is this what the SAS is sporting this year?