Animal Parade by DM Sands - part nine of ten

Chapter 9 - The Gift

I didn’t know how long I’d slept, waking so stiff and sore that I didn’t want to move. Groans made him smile sheepishly.

“Oops. Don’t move. I’ll get some aspirin,” he breathed warm into my ear.

Slowly I emerged from the sheets. My mind, reliving it all vividly, had held me there more than abused body. He ran a bath for me and need for its healing warmth beseeched me to make my way. I soaked, watching his back as he shaved. That and the razor revealing high cheekbones and strong chin hypnotized me.

Roaming eyes took in shoulders not overly broad, abs strikingly toned and sleek. He had a derrière to die for, just the right amount of curve filling the seat of his favorite aged jeans. He often preferred to lounge in those jeans and I enthusiastically approved. Infinitely touchable, he made me long to reach for him even now but I contented myself with the view and let the pills and warm water do their work. He’d even added Epsom salts to the bath and the thought made me smile.

“What?” he queried, catching my flash of teeth in the mirror.

When I admitted thinking how considerate he was, he came and knelt by the tub. His aspect serious, he slipped a hand below the bubbles to caress my arm.

“It’s because I love you.”

Having contemplated the growing depth of my own emotions over the last few weeks, I replied with virtually no hesitation, “I love you, too.”

‘There, I’ve said it.’

Whether or not this was meant to last, I intended to appreciate every moment of it. Kissing, tongues delicately sucked, warmed me more than the water. His hungry mouth tasted of peppermint mouthwash and I thought of the holiday season still months away. It occurred to me that I’d gotten the greatest gift of all.

‘Merry Christmas,’ I told myself.

He dried me tenderly. Rubbing lotion into chaffed thighs, bruised butt, rough heels, and between toes transported me. This treatment suited royalty in the comfortable chair.

Who truly dominated? Our relationship genuinely one of equals, a typical outsider would surely not understand. Others in similar circumstance would know more how we felt, the intricacies of our interactions and the substantial bond involved. I could tell he spent more time concocting his scenarios than we took enacting them. These exhibitions meant to please me (!) required extensive planning. He gave as much or more than he took.

We really just dabbled in the art of S & M. Although the news would probably stress family and friends, our arrival to this supposedly menacing sexuality had been accidental. Straightforward and unabashed requests led to gradual discovery of our inherent traits, treasure unearthed for which we were both perpetually grateful.

I thought now of our private stop code. “Stop” is too easy to say. Submissives need something of true meaning that can’t be misconstrued by their dominant. That’s when accidental injury can most likely occur. The bar’s name where we met our safe word, he’d let me choose it. His enthused acceptance had made my day.

“Durango” yet to be invoked, the need had never arisen. And I did not remember who suggested we take that step, prudent for continuing recent bedroom behavior. Neither of us wanted to desist nor had any intention of doing so.

Certain he was up for it (he told me!), I planned to eventually top him. I remained unconvinced of my preparedness. There is very real commitment to detail and groundwork to which I am unaccustomed. I had thus far been the grateful submissive throughout.

I lost all track of time in thought and only knew the hour would be considered very late in most places. But this was New York City. We planned attendance at a semi formal gathering. He surprised me again, presenting a lovely gown of red silk. Thin straps crossed the back, cut so low he’d bought matching panties in both color and design. The greatly correspondent undergarment would remain well out of sight.

The bodice of the dress offered a tasteful hint of cleavage and kerchief skirt barely reached mid calf. Completing the look, lace banded stockings rose just to my thighs and high heeled pumps again exactly matched. All in a style I would have readily picked out for myself, I was never so well coordinated. I considered my usual little black number hanging in the closet for tonight’s affair. How refreshing to leave it behind for something so bold. I almost looked forward to attending tonight’s fête. If only it didn’t mean leaving our intimate haven I’d be thrilled.

Subtle makeup tints dramatized the ruby lipstick. He’d picked that out, amazingly. He downplayed it, telling me the lady at the cosmetics counter selected it upon seeing my outfit. My rejoinder made it clear that merely thinking of lipstick surpassed most guys. Matching it to dress would not have occurred to me.

I eyed the deepening discoloration at my throat, dubious at camouflaging the blotches. Seeing the set of my features, he returned to my side in the dressing room bearing my lovely collar. Raising my eyebrows, I started to protest. It was hardly appropriate for the upcoming event, especially if you took into consideration the client throwing this party. Visualizing leather bondage gear alongside his Italian tailoring almost made me laugh.

“Don’t worry, I’m not that socially inept,” he joked.

That’s when he gave up the collar’s secret. Pressing hidden latches, he lifted the net of diamonds free. My jaw dropped and I must have looked ridiculous. Even if I did, his smile widened compassionately. He stepped close and draped the icy cascade against my skin. Asking me to lift my hair out of the way, he proceeded to firmly close the many clasps. I let my hair swing back in a wave and leaned in toward the mirror. It covered the marks flawlessly, worthy of water cooler gossip in place of contusions.

He called for a driver and we walked hand in hand to the car. My escort opened the door. Thanking him, I got in trusting he knew my humble statement regarded much more than rare courtesy in a coarse age.

Cordially mingling at the soiree, I couldn’t resist seeking him out repeatedly across the room. More often than not, his gaze met mine. After fulfilling our social obligation in the briefest amount of time politeness allowed or, honestly, less, he materialized at my side. Fingertips resting against my cheek, he leaned close to whisper intimately.

“Let’s go.”

To be continued...

Animal Parade by DM Sands - part eight of ten

Chapter 8 - House Training (continued)

No doubt relishing my impaired state, he must also love his ruse. He said little scams always satisfied more if he first taunted me with snippets of information I could later piece together. He’d spun the fable about the blinds and innocently showed me the features on his new camera.

I mused over these puzzle pieces, struggling to pull myself onto the bed. Claiming the Manhattan skyline sometimes bothered his eyes, he extolled the necessity of shutters for better sleep. Realizing that I’d never seen him unable to sleep, I snorted.

‘But then,’ my mind crooned, ‘every time you’ve seem him sleep you have always just fucked him within an inch of your life.’

There’d been more, too, not all so direct. Conversely, he’d charmed me with his display of the video camera’s direct to TV capability by a real-time screening of the pigeons on his roof. Their cooing and rustle of wings soothed me, minor spectacle enjoyed from the comfort of his unpretentious sofa. Iridescent feathers improved the cloudy daylight as the flock moved about. It made a pleasant distraction to his newspaper that lazy Sunday morning.

I recalled how whistling from the kitchen made that day decidedly less gloomy. Delicious aromas heightened AM hunger. Soon we ate a breakfast of crispy bacon and his signature crepes smothered in strawberry sauce. I’d all ready sampled some of the homemade whipped cream off of his lustrous skin earlier that morning. Ransacking his refrigerator as he slumbered, I had come back to bed. Waking properly, he acted incensed at my raid. Animated caricature of protest soon fell silent when I distributed two dollops onto the tips of my breasts. I tingled at that memory.

“I thought the cherries were meant to go on top of the whipping cream, not the other way around. But then again, these are more like strawberries, so pink and plump,” he argued with himself comically before sucking the topping off.

And there was the night vision demonstration another time. We’d walked the park after dark, filming feral cats and foraging raccoons. Their presence had been customary during childhood summers on an upstate farm; I got a revealing look at the familiar critters in this urban setting. He’d known I was a sucker for animals, both agreeing they had more of what we laughingly call “Humanity.” They certainly didn’t treat others like the majority of people.

Still in the dark I thought of how he treated me. Rolling over, my effort caused the constraints to ratchet maliciously tighter behind my back. I found the blinking light of the camera and spread my legs to it.

“Your cum is starting to slide down my ass,” I said in a sultry voice, trying to provoke his return. “That dirty cock of yours needs me more than I need it. You can jerk off, or you can have this.”

Murmuring various enticements, I lifted my hips toward that winking little beam. Exposing myself ever further, I tilted my pelvis and spread legs wide. Defiantly I derided him.

“You couldn’t even have me if you hadn’t shackled me to your lousy bed. You call me a dog sometimes because that’s all you could get before you lured me here.”

Struggling at my bonds helplessly, I found my brain responding to the sensory depravation by magnifying the aches settling in major muscles. I fidgeted still more with the rising awareness.

When he did come back, he lifted the camera from its stand so he could hold it close to see me in the blackness. He picked up the leash. Off the bed and kneeling at his will, I heard it rasp across the sheets. And he had lubricant, audible pop of the top informing me. After a long moment the cold liquid dripped onto my backside. Still sightless, I felt the fluid slither down the crevice of my posterior. It seemed to be the only occurrence in the whole universe.

Legs loose and watery, I rested upper body on the bed to support my weight. He snaked the oiled handle slowly within the dark reaches of my behind, powering past sphincter’s resistance. I found myself philosophically unable to pull away from the punishment.

‘How is he holding the camera?’ I pondered crazily, ‘I know he’ll want this on film. At least it’s skinnier than his dick.’

Wildly fragmented considerations choked out another strangled chortle. Hearing it, he asked if I had something to say. He waited for me to signal a stop. I offered nothing but a high pitched whine. Braided cable penetrated past the handle and the supple span made him toil harder. His fingernails pinched viciously as he labored. My bleating amplified with the stunning misery, conscious thought fleeing. I found divinity in the decadent spoilage of corporeal being.

He finally seemed satisfied with his feat and I felt him move to the bed, leaving me violated. Chain jerked hard caused the cuffs to bite into my hands as the links raced up my spine. I groaned loudly, shoulders straining. There was no expression on my face as I waited for his next exhibition of authority. I could hardly stand it, trying to intuit the next fiendish act in this play. The fiery ache in my rectum centered all attention.

“Suck me hard,” he said.

Sleek legs suddenly squeezed my sides painfully. Taking away my breath, he pushed my face to his crotch. The thick span of his penis slapped me as he pushed it up by the base. I eagerly took the soft skin of his semi hard member between my lips, tasting myself.

“Looks like my pet grew a tail.”

Smirk evident in his voice, callous jeer rippled over me in a warm exhalation. I concentrated on breathing, respiration noisy through my nose. He tugged my head up with a handful of hair and stood. I landed on my heels balanced precariously. There was a brief pause before the click of the latch, so I knew he replaced the camera to its former perch. I sneered toward it, over my shoulder, and shook my hips, agonizingly lashing my “tail.” I sensed him, sitting in his recliner, idly squeezing his erection as he watched me. Biding his time, he likely sipped a glass of wine or perhaps some juice. I made a show of acting bored this time, even sighing like I had somewhere else I’d rather be.

My ploy worked and the door burst open. Light flooded the room as he hit the overhead switch. God help me, hurtful light blessedly relieved the disorienting dark. There had not existed so much as a glowing clock face, only that evil red wink. I’m sure he switched his camera over from night vision. But I still adjusted to the brightness and he seemed instantly upon me. I considered that he would make me suck him again, tormenting me with the absence of him inside my pussy.

Handcuffs came off and, blinking rapidly in disbelief, I flexed my arms and rubbed my shoulders for a moment. He lifted me and wrapped my legs about his waist, lowering me firmly onto his cock. I held on tight, arms around his neck. Splayed hands pressed to my back for support, he stepped back to lie on the bed. Directing me not to move, he arched up into me smoothly, making me even more aware of the foreign object with which he sodomized me. One strong hand gripped my chain.

“Turn around,” he directed.

I couldn’t keep my fixation from his sensual lips as I rose up. I carefully gathered my artificial appendage, wincing as it moved within. It was a mystery to me how so many people found this pleasurable. Of course I’d received no preparation. Suffering fulfilled me like no other bedroom activity.

Feet near his shoulders, I held his calves. His length filled me and my wetness spread further over him with the new angle. The black leather strip draped across his stomach in stark contrast to his luminous skin. My breath caught.

But then he tugged on the leash and the air exploded from my lungs. I locked my thighs against him and froze my butt high in the air.

“Good. Now, touch yourself.”

Gasping sides heaved between my ankles. He withdrew the anal penetration another fraction of an inch. I pressed hard to my responsive flesh with impatient fingers. He continued thrusting steadily, almost gently. Overwhelmed with uneven extraction from behind, I shook from head to toe. Tightened chain let me lean into my collar for mild asphyxia.

Wheezing, I came again and again. Handle pulling out at long last, reedy growls rose to a scream upon expulsion. Still he fucked me, his erection fading. I folded my torso over his legs, completed by all that had transpired.

It signaled the end for now. He helped my clumsy fingers release silver buckles. Noting he’d had nothing left for his own orgasm, I extricated myself and expressed my regret. He disclosed to me that he didn’t care.

“It would just have distracted me from really appreciating what I was doing for you,” he said. “It was glorious.”

Wholeheartedly of the same opinion, I nodded groggily in satisfied stupor. We settled side by side snuggling in messy covers.

To be continued...

Animal Parade by DM Sands - part seven of ten

Chapter 7 - House Training

Nipples swelled with his simple touch, fabric rubbing them seductively as I ambled toward the hall lavatory. The simple card on the ornate gift box said in masculine penmanship: My Pet.

My entire comical image of him picking reusable food containers went out the door when I lifted the velour lid. I almost squeaked. Whatever the worth of this, the value appointed me had ostensibly become immeasurable and slightly daunting. Could it be a loaner?

Diamonds sparkled in indirect lighting hidden somewhere above ornate cabinetry. Far from being a piece of elegant jewelry, the necklace clearly designated subservience. Precious stones arranged in a shimmering web of interlocking settings overlaid a heavy black leather collar. The inside padded and lined with velvet, twin outside buckles affixed it.

My hands shook as I lifted it to my neck. I finally managed to fix it in place, adjusting it so the silver D-ring aligned with my spine. Prisms danced over dark blue shirt collar framing it. I was mesmerized. A soft knock on the oak door at my back made me jump.

“How’s it coming? Do you need help?”

“I’ll be right out.”

“Do you like it?”

Muffled question held lurid promise, sending a thrill up my back. Reaching toward the door, I suddenly remembered the underwear. Moist lace indicated what affect simply donning the lovely gift had wrought. I grinned, recognizing how he’d purposely let me experience this first rush alone. He may have missed initial visual; his augmentation would be spectacular. I exited the bath and found him right outside.

Painted fingertips to bejeweled throat brightened his eyes. It made me think of the coldest winter day. Not the chill, I recalled those deep blue heavens from which unclouded sunrays warm the earth. Romantic notion baffling, I discounted it as spurious. Something in doting eyes contradicted my doubt. But it could have been my imagination. He bustled right by.

Unable to comprehend why he stepped past, I noticed the partially ajar cupboard mirror. He withdrew a digital video recorder. A feral leer assured dark delights were yet to follow.

My lover told me what I’d suspected, that he had neither wanted to miss my reaction nor had he wanted it to be influenced by his presence. Spying the black lace at his feet, he picked up the miniscule piece of cloth and sniffed approvingly. Then he whimsically aimed the still live camera back to me and zoomed in toward my face.

“What is it that you want? Today, from life in general, what would you ask for if anything was possible?”

It seemed a night for introduction to many varied sides of him. Stammering, I delivered a short list wishing good health, happiness, and similar banalities. It earned me a penetrating look. Gazing up from the display screen, his intensity bored into me.

“Don’t be obtuse. You’re smarter than that. I want to know what your heart desires.”

“Right now?” I tipped my head and lilted, “I want you to show me the part of this beautiful gift that you’re withholding.”

Glimmering white teeth flashed a grin. In my mind I wondered where this was going. It had to be some elaborate ruse. He stunned me yet again, setting aside the camera and stepping into my embrace.

“It seems you always know just the right thing to say. I want to know you, to learn everything about you. But here I am pushing it. When I decide on something I always take it too fast. I want you to have emotional breathing room, if not physical.”

This last pronouncement punctuated by the production of a braided leather leash, it clipped to the ring under my hair. He gave a wicked smile. I deemed his smugness worthy. I would do whatever he wished and not regret.

“Look at this. Now I can take you almost anywhere. Before I always feared you might try to run off.”

Trilling into my ear, he pulled me into the hallway toward the sofa. When we reached it he turned to me and moved the cloth free from my shoulder. One hand worked to bare my breasts. Leash around the other applied pressure to bruises hidden under leather. I moaned for his biting and licking, the dull throb at my throat.

His fingers brushed savagely down my back and loose silk whispered to the floor. He shivered when I bent to kiss his chest and lips touched his nipple. Encouraged by his speechlessness, I grazed my teeth over the swelling and he hissed.

I saw the length of leather uncoil from his hand and expected it to pile at my feet. Instead, he threaded it between my legs. His hands tugged it back and forth, sliding tight against me. Anchoring myself with a grip on his waist, I worked his flesh aggressively.

The plaited strap slithered out from between my legs and he jerked me off of him. I straightened brazenly. Taunting him, I thrust my tits out and palmed the left. As I pushed it up I squeezed the bullet tip. I wiped the fingers of my other hand across my mouth, wet from sucking at him, and thrust them down to touch myself.

He knew perfectly well I goaded him into whipping me. I wanted it. And we both loved the anticipation inherent in the game.

“Down,” he demanded, slipping his pants over slender hips.

I awaited him, lips parted, as he stepped out of the cloth. Astonishingly, he clamped his hand over my mouth and turned my head. His palm threatened to smother, fingers firmly holding my jaw. He grabbed his erection with a fistful of my red-gold locks. Mad with lust, I darted wild eyes to the side and watched his hand frantically knot slightly damp strands.

“It’s like screwing silk,” he growled.

I struggled and bawled against his hand, desperate for him to fill me. It was futile, his power too great. I felt strands of hair tear out by the roots with the terrible might he engaged. Buzzed from the discomfort, dizziness of desire brought me close to swooning.

‘I’m a teeny bopper seeing Elvis for the first time.’

I snorted with delirious joviality at the unbidden thought. Overwhelmed with frustration and equally excited at the same time, I toyed with the idea of throwing out the hand signal. Ever watchful, he would stop as soon as he saw. Before I decided it he stopped himself and fell back into the sofa cushions.

I slid to the floor. Turned toward him, I looked up at his countenance. His breathing a harsh rasp, eyes closed tight, he obviously struggled to recover from the verge of ejaculation. I lay quiet, immobilized by need.

Dimly I heard him announce, “You want me to beat you. Don’t you?”

Only then did I realize he looked at me. I nodded numbly and pulled myself upright with no small effort. He stood and scooped me from the rug. I lay limp in his arms. Returned to the bedroom, he laid me down.

He unhooked my leash and got a cardboard box from the bottom drawer of his bureau. Out came a length of well-made chain, slim but strong by his grimly displayed test, and two identical padlocks. One lock secured chain to the cuffs still heaped on the bed and he rolled my body over. Deftly threading, he linked fetters through D-ring to second lock. Clicked around a bar of the brass footboard, lock at my side formed the final connection. He could leave me to stave if he wished.

Told to get on my knees alongside the bed, I did so feeling clumsy and out of breath. The first lash struck and I realized he’d gotten out his short stiff riding crop at some point. It struck below my buttocks, licking inner thigh before withdrawing. He had expert aim and thrashes landed within inches of one another, alternating between one leg and the other.

He mounted and vaginally assaulted me, pressing the side of my face into the covers. He wrapped his other hand around my waist, driving in harder and faster. I sobbed, not from pain or despair, but joy at new vibrancy and vitality. He finished with a guttural snarl and heaved off.

Capriciously, I thought, ‘Apparently his epididymis has all ready regenerated and his vas deferens is in good condition.’

Frenzied chortle loomed imminently. I swallowed it, sputtering.

Coldly leaving without speaking, he chose to ignore my hysterical mirth. The room plunged into darkness with the closing of the door. Heavy curtains hid very effective shutters blocking city lights. A momentary brightness alerted me to his return so he could set up the camera on a tripod by the wall. When the room reverted to black, I understood he must have it set on night vision and would watch me on his television via live feed.

To be continued...

Animal Parade by DM Sands - part six of ten

Chapter 6 - Geography(continued)

“You’re mine. Anyone, man or woman, who even shows thought of fucking you is going to wind up in the ER.”

Perversely joyful, I managed to retort spitefully, “How would you stop me if I wanted some other man or woman to fuck me? You leave me on my own for days, sometimes close to a week at a time. Don’t you think I have needs in your absence?”

His eyes aglow, another side showed unexpectedly. Suddenly speechless, taken aback, I just blinked up at him. I didn’t believe I’d heard correctly. He reasserted his offer.

“You heard right. Move in with me. I’m a selfish bastard, but I want to be everything to you. Think about it,” he countered my inanity. “I could always just chain you up. This place actually has excellent soundproofing – the main reason I chose it. Let’s me concentrate, not hearing some neighbor’s brat.”

I closed my eyes with a sigh when he bent to kiss the bruises at my throat. Then he suggested a shower. The large glass enclosure filled with steam as we soaped one another. He washed my hair, massaging my scalp as he held the shower head with its long flexible hose. Then he lowered the stream and, spreading my thighs roughly, aimed the pulsing spray up into me. The suddenness caused my eyes to roll back in my head. Now he knelt, looking up at me. For one insanely anxious moment I awaited marriage proposal.

“Time now to get you clean, and then I can make you dirty all over again.”

Water flooded my relieved self and he bit my thigh. I knew it left small even dimples because I’d seen the neat indentations many times, all over my body. Sometimes they filled with blood. Not today. He soon put the nozzle back in its cradle and we toweled off with soft bath sheets. I took time to soak up most of the water in my hair and comb it out properly before emerging.

Padding back into the bedroom, I picked up his shirt from the floor and slipped it on as he watched. Water spotted the blue silk as I buttoned it and rolled up the sleeves. He told me as always how I looked better in his shirts than he did. Unbuttoning it exposed the even slices he’d put on my stomach and he bent close to examine them. Then he led me back into the warm bathroom. After smearing my skin with ointment, he affixed a square bandage. He surprised me again by presenting a pair of my panties. Left behind at some point, they’d been laundered and secreted in a drawer for my future use.

I took my time pulling them on, sliding them up my legs teasingly. He’d dressed himself in just cotton pajama pants and I liked the way the cuffs pooled around his ankles. It was a pleasure of mine to watch him while both dressing and undressing. In fact, it always amazed me at how sexy he made the most mundane acts. How beautiful on him were even the least exalted parts of the human form - his narrow wrists, overly large Tuscan nose, the shapely feet I was now admiring.

Offering me wine, he stopped a moment to extinguish the numerous wicks still lit. In contrast to his bedroom and office, the apartment’s kitchen sported warm colors and even a more clement temperature. Modern, no kitschy theme or tacky collectibles evident, he cooked in a chef’s showpiece.

He poured a glass of claret. The color reminded me of the gem in his ring and tiny orbs that oozed out behind the blade of his bowie knife. I sat down hard as my legs gave out. It went unnoticed, his absorption in arranging salads on tiny plates and garnishing them with thinly sliced strawberries. After that he ladled cold cherry soup into delicate matching bowls.

Besides doing me, he relaxed by cooking. It suited perfectly an outlet for his exacting nature, all the precision of putting together a combination of correctly proportioned ingredients to make something truly palatable and appealing. He slid open the big warming drawer. The crusty bread he liked to bake and stuffed mushrooms loaded the intimate ash wood table. Spinach and artichoke dip also joined china place settings. My stomach rumbled at the sights and smells.

“Dig in,” he chuckled, “I want to make sure you keep your strength up. Just don’t eat so much that you get sleepy. I’m not through using you.”

He toasted the future with an ambiguous expression. I echoed his words with a lopsided grin twisting my lips. Never quite certain what went on in his head, I’ve never minded. We mainly communicated with sex. I guessed the lack of over-sentimentality made me more comfortable. Uncertainty doesn’t faze me now that I’ve found sexual freedom.

An over simplification, this summation of a complex situation, all the same he gave exactly what I sought. I hadn’t even known what my life lacked until we began discovering our hidden natures together. Not about loss of control, the submissive’s environment is anything but out of control. More orderly than anything, the dominant carefully orchestrates everything and liberates his or her bottom companion.

What defined us? Pure sincerity. We let loose uncluttered passion, lust, and hedonism. We also instituted the greatest mutual respect.

The key is complete and utter trust shared between two responsible and mentally healthy persons. No fear exists besides what my own mind manufactures, perpetuating the fantasy in just the right way. I can’t truthfully conceive that he would carry things further than I wished them to go.

Our union without trepidation or apprehension, I can give myself over to it with no reservation or dread that I will be judged. There was no need to discuss what I could never articulate. With him I am the person forever sought and previously undiscovered.

Today we lingered, recovering our energy and savoring the food. I inhaled the perfume from the spray of roses, displayed in a crystal vase pushed to table’s edge along the wall. They were black, just as always. He’d started the tradition for me. Comparing them to what we share, he explained that they defined for him that disorienting and weirdly likable experience when a place is familiar and exotic all at the same time. He likened it to walking in the rain on a street you think you know in a city at which you’ve only just arrived.

Surprised to see the mysterious blooms in the first place that long ago day, in such a provincial setting to boot, I wondered at their origin. Just as in all that he did, there was considerable forethought involved.

He’d phoned his New York physician for his health report. Knowing him as a longtime buddy from the old neighborhood, he requested an additional favor. A few more calls procured the flowers and off they went, carefully packaged along with the documents. His way to never open a phone book or search the internet, he depended upon his extensive network of colleagues and cronies. He’d happily helped associates in turn and likely will again.

He cleared the table, telling me to relax. Dishwasher loaded, he sealed leftovers in identical Tupperware bowls. I pictured him attending a house wares party, perhaps hosted by the matronly assistant he sometimes employed. In my vision he choose the Deluxe set in Windsor blue and unpacked each piece carefully and meticulously. Washing each one first, he then arranged them in the designated cabinet for upcoming service. A grin tugged at my lips. Trying to contain the laughter threatening to bubble out, I excused myself to use the hall bathroom.

His long tapered fingers caught at my shoulder before he touched my chin, turning my face to his. I felt pulled in by his whisper.

“There’s a present for you on the counter. Put it on before you come out.” Cupping my breast, he continued firmly, “Then keep the shirt but I want the panties gone.”

I could do that. The trick would be walking straight.

To be continued...

Animal Parade by DM Sands - part five of ten

Chapter 5 - Geography

I’d first heard him proclaim me beautiful in a dimly lit Minnesota bar. Ideologically speaking we’d travelled about as far from there as you could get. Upon our first meeting I’d looked at him with scorn, most of humanity not worth my notice as far as I’m concerned.

My work, photographing various cultures’ conflicts and hardships, took me on a horror tour of countless countries. I’d seen some of the deepest depravity humanity had to offer: Rwandan slaughter fields, refugee camps with inadequate supplies and sanitation, villages where a third of the population carried the HIV virus and scores suffered and died on lice ridden cots.

Some wonderful people I met along the way made it worthwhile. They kept me going back. My hope to make a difference, their stories fortunately sold magazines. It’s a cold world, I know; at least it ingested a little awareness feeding sensationalistic appetites.

I returned to the States ready for some serious R & R. My camera focused on landscapes and wildlife where I hiked and camped for days along the Temperance River gorge. That night, however, I quietly drank away some memories before attempting sleep.

The curtly nodding stranger ignored my dismissive air and sat at the empty stool next to me. When he neither spoke nor moved away I found myself granting him a grudging respect. Despite myself, I began studying him out of the corner of my eye. When he ordered a vodka martini, my drink of choice, I smirked. This looked like the same strategy I’d seen men try in bars all over the world.

A few had succeeded, I must admit, but the affairs were always short lived. It seemed to always be me, the inevitable purveyor of bad news, to end the fling. Breaking hearts had somehow become a side effect of being me.

That cool night at the bar in Schroeder, my stranger got his martini dirty as requested, sipping it as he watched my reflection in the mirror. Then he left and I actually felt niggling disappointment. I went back three nights in a row, not admitting to myself that I hoped to see him even as I scanned the crowd.

The last night I planned to go, he showed. I had a dirty martini waiting. Dressed again in an expensive suit he still managed to look more relaxed, his silk tie loosened.

“What changed?” He remarked boldly, “The other night you seemed offended by my existence. And tonight you buy me a drink?”

We started off slowly after that. I abandoned my tent for better accommodation and he took me to dinner several times. At the end of each date he would walk me to the elevator of my hotel before bidding me goodnight with a chaste kiss and squeeze of my hand.

He always steered conversation back to me, keeping a great deal of him secret. I had to have him, the realization that I hardly knew the first thing about him increasing my desire. I very matter-of-factly brought up sex, insisting to see a negative AIDS test first. It had been a priority to get my own clean bill of health, practically the first thing accomplished after arriving in New York months earlier.

Fortunately as practical as me, he presented documentation with a flourish the very next night. He held a dozen black roses in one hand and the paperwork in the other. Grateful, I doubted my ability to wait months for results. I would have probably broken my own rule.

It seemed years ago and time had flown by. I landed an assignment in the Big Apple, happy to be close to family. A busy place filled with interesting characters, it was also his base of operations. Flood of memories screened in moments, I let him walk me to his bed.

“Lie down. Relax.”

I’d long since learned not to be deceived, my nipples hardening at his felonious advice. Various aches made themselves known and I knew they would be savored until healed. Some would take days.

He detoured to his bureau and my heart skipped a beat, several beats, when I saw the large knife in his hands. It looked new, like something a hunter might own. It glinted in the light of many flickering candles when he unsheathed it.

He snatched an incongruous canister of cashews from his desk. He fed me a few, chewing a handful. A thoughtful gaze on me, he picked up the blade again. He didn’t bother to dust the salt from his fingers.

“Remember when you bled on my chair last time? You were never properly disciplined for that.”

The scene flashed before my eyes. I could not have disagreed with his account more, argument unspoken.

My period had made a mess of his sheets and he surprised me with an order to sit in the chair. I draped my legs over the armrests and he immediately mounted me again. The chair had creaked complaint at the pounding inflicted upon it. Pulling out swiftly, he told me to look.

“See how slick it is with your blood. Now turn around.”

His dick against my anus, slippery as it was, still took effort for him to work into the tight opening. And the pain was immense, unending, as he forced himself in time after time, holding back his orgasm to prolong his pleasure. I rocked under his unbearable ruination, enduring the punishment without complaint. My low moan and his heavy breathing were the only sounds to be heard under the flat smacking sound of his genitals bashing against my otherwise neglected vulva.

He jerked me back to the present by putting the tip of his weapon to the taught skin of my stomach. I realized he’d sharpened the metal to a scalpel’s edge because tiny crimson drops appeared, no pain yet from the incision. It only began to hurt when he started a third cut and I held my breath, mesmerized.

Stopped at the count of five, they were shallow. Maybe three quarters of an inch long and a mere quarter of an inch apart, each one was ruler straight. He clarified motive for the deceitfully tasty snack when he bore salty fingers onto this latest handiwork. He destroyed oddly beautiful pinprick drops of blood, the salt rubbed in. Tears sprang to my eyes and he brought his hand up, demanding that I lick it clean. I lapped at it, a strange keening emerging from my throat. Erection forming during enactment of this diabolical scenario, he told me to move.

“You took that like such a good girl," he praised, taking my place. "I know what a hopeless slut you are and I want to reward you. Mount me now.”

I did so gladly, emitting the high strangled sound. I dropped to his chest and he allowed me to kiss him. As I tasted his salty lips it intensified sensation from the small precise cuts, compressed now against his hard stomach.

Pushing my shoulders, he got me sitting partway back up so he could suck at nipples briefly before curling up to lick at my wounds. Wanting to rub my clit as I watched, I brought my hand in. He crushed my body to him, dropping his head to the pillow in one fluid movement. Eyes blistering me, speech sounded dangerously soft.

“I didn’t tell you to pleasure yourself. Your purpose is to please me.”

With that he shoved me off, rolling on top of me. He put his hand on my throat, squeezing with alarming strength. For just a moment, he blocked my airway. When he moved his hand I knew that red phantom fingers would remain, later turning purple and finally fading to green and yellow before vanishing.

‘I’ll be wearing scarves and turtleneck sweaters for a week.’

The thought resonated giddy. He ignored it, weighty silence almost tangible, and then rolled away. My eyes followed him as he crouched between my legs.

“I want a close look at what you wanted to play with. You know you’d be worthless without this cunt, you little whore,” he breathed over my nakedness. With that he lowered his head and used his teeth on the smoothly waxed lips hiding my vagina.

The sharp nips caused me to jerk away from his teeth, almost as quickly bucking against his mouth. He told me how swollen my sex was, the lovely deep blush of my flesh, as he sucked my clitoris free from its hood, pulling it between his teeth. I let out a high pitched wail. He drew back his head, slapped my pussy tauntingly, and balled his hand hard against tender flesh. His fist ground deep, not entering so much as punching against me with short firm movements. His forearm moved like a piston and I struggled onto my elbows in order to watch it as if from outside myself. I was transported.

With malevolent glee he aligned the garnet stone of his college ring to punish sensitive nerve endings. Close to another orgasm, I was pulverized until I thought injury may result. This notion excited me still further and I contorted in ecstasy. It forced me to drop back onto the sheets, howling like a banshee. His jaws replaced his fist and he literally ate my climax, lips and tongue working. His constant groan vibrated against and, more importantly, within me all the while.

Beyond contemplation of consequence, I tangled my fingers in his hair. Flaxen curls felt luxurious between my fingers. Without warning he climbed over and pushed me back onto the mattress. Erection haphazardly aligned, it rammed in.

Shrieks were torn from my throat. His flat stomach slapped a frantic rhythm against mine. Tendons straining in his neck called me. I gave in to impulse and licked them, biting down on his shoulder as his cock ground into me still deeper. With a final shove he bellowed, his head thrown back. His entire taut body quivered with tension as he discharged inside of me.

We lay shuddering, silent in each others’ arms but for our labored breathing. When he shifted onto his back, arms behind his head, I caught my breath at the beauty of him, his chest gleaming in the light. I propped myself against him, unable to suppress my joy.

“You amaze me,” he rumbled, “I can’t get enough of you. I ought to hate you for it. I don’t. Why is that?”

“I can’t answer that. Hell, I can’t even begin to tell my family or even friends about you. I don’t know where to start, and so they keep trying to set me up with some investment banker or post grad frat boy.”

The last word died on my lips as he pounced. Pinning me to the bed, he snarled in my face.

To be continued...

Animal Parade by DM Sands - part four of ten

Chapter 4 - Eminent Domain (continued)

My softly spoken delivery was less timid than it may have sounded. I loved testing the boundaries. Velvet laughter caressed me, raising the hair on my arms.

“True. I throw you out and you keep crawling back. I can’t decide sometimes if I should screw you or call the dog warden, you little bitch,” he retorted. “Maybe I should put you out of your misery.”

Cuffs clicking open freed my left hand and then my right. He slowly pulled my arms out and down to my sides as if we were a pair of ballet dancers. Gently soothing over the muscles, he gripped the straps again and yanked hard. Having ripped it down the length of my body, he let go. It lay tangled around my feet and he freed it from them, dropping the scrap of cloth.

‘How did the fabric hold? Is it entwined around my restraint where it disappears over the edge of the box spring?’ After this ridiculous hypothesizing another voice in my head said with much more force, ‘WHO CARES? Touch him while you can!’’

I blindly found the bunched muscles of his upper arm. He’d leaned in, licking my navel, and my groping hand prompted him to bite the soft skin of my stomach. Moaning and twisting, I sunk my nails in. I clutched nothing, not even knowing where he had gone. He moved so swiftly that the displaced air swirled over me. Changing quality of the light through my blindfold made me realize that he held a candle. I shivered with dread and delight.

“You scratched me, you worthless slit,” he thundered. “Now I’ll show you pain.”

I all ready squirmed in anticipation when the first drops hit my skin. I heard the first juicy plop. He moved his arm, slowly dripping a trail of hot wax along my hip and over my belly. Absorbed by the line of sweet agony, I didn’t realize he had extinguished the candle and held it the opposite way, poised to penetrate me.

He jerked his hand in and I screamed as the long taper infiltrated me. The shock passed and my cries softened, pussy virtually swallowing the smooth cylinder.

“That’s better; I don’t want you to lose your voice now. There’ll be plenty of reason to scream later, I assure you. The night is so young,” he mocked inches above my mouth.

He bit my lip, a tiny pain. My mouth filled with the sharp taste of copper as his tongue licked at the cut and pushed beyond my lips. His strength became apparent by the way that deep kiss never wavered even as he continued brutalizing me with the candle. One arm steadily supported the body. I aspired to be eyewitness, my perfect acquiescence contending for this prize.

I was at last able to catch my breath, though only slightly. He let his body rest against me, breaking away from my lips. His pulverizing rhythm never faltered. It was another minute (or an hour?) longer before he tossed the object away from us. I made a sound of complaint, so close to orgasm. The penalty/reward instantaneous, he yanked my blindfold off.

A few individual hairs pulled out. This fresh, sharp pain and sight of blood discoloring his chin unhinged my mind somehow. I squeezed my eyes shut but the promise of relief vanished, vertigo spinning me into the darkness. I opened my eyes and they betrayed me. The world spun now, alabaster skin around a crimson stain.

It induced a series of deep flutters, my cervix a giant moth flapping frenetically toward some moonlit blossom. He sensed it, my gasping writhe the clue. The groan escaping his lips showed his excitement at my response to his abuse. That cool exterior was cracking.

I observed the real measure of his arousal when he pushed himself onto his knees – that single fat drop of emission leaking from the tip, nearly ready to fall. He moved close to my face. His organ loomed large, encompassing my world. I thought he might actually let me lick it off. Choosing the alternate, more degrading route, he smeared it on my face. It left a trail across my cheekbone. The head felt so soft and pliant, deceiving silk pressed to my skin. I knew how it could batter more tender parts of the female anatomy and the anticipation drove me even closer to the brink.

My face ablaze with the very humiliation I craved, I was ordered to stand up and face the wall. Ravening, dimly registering his edict, I failed to respond. He appeared truly angry and I felt fear – a sudden, faint terror. His long fingers closed over my wrists and began dragging me toward the edge of the bed.

A scared woman inside asked, ‘What am I playing at? He could kill me and not a soul would know.’

He let go before I would tumble to the floor and I struggled to find my legs in an effort to stand. His hands came to my aid, oddly gentle, untying my ankle and steadying me.

Guided to the wall and pushed into it, my tits were crushed against the surface with a force I found both uncomfortable and alarmingly delicious. He put a palm on each firm curve of my ass and pulled me open so that I thought I might tear in two. His breath came out in animal grunts. My cunt tightened around him, nipples swelling perversely, and my own cries began to drown him out. Heartbeat thundering in my head, I felt him come in a hot burst. As if given permission, my climax detonated a galaxy of stars. I vibrated in intoxicating afterglow.

He collapsed against me, his weight pinning me to the unforgiving wall before he suddenly stepped backward. I crumpled to the floor, blood still trickling from my lip as I turned to lick his ankle. Leaving a scarlet smudge I thought he would make me lick it off. And I would do it without pause. Instead he commanded that I stand.

“Get off the floor. You look like a fucking dog,” he griped.

Collecting my bearings, I took an upright stance. His next move shocked me, nearly unbalancing once more. He grabbed my hair without pulling, placing his hand on my cheek. Wavering on my feet, I expected this diversion to culminate in a violent tug upon my locks. My eyes followed fine tresses trailing between unfurled fingers to drape over his forearm in a translucent wave.

“You’re so beautiful.”

The proclamation spoken now and in this moment surprised me. All the same, I found my thoughts traveling back.

To be continued...

Animal Parade by DM Sands - part three of ten

Chapter 3 - Eminent Domain (continued)

His tongue left a wet trail from collar bone to ear, where he tugged on the lobe with his teeth. Then he licked behind my ear, over it, and plunged his tongue into the canal. Over and over it darted inside, the wet sound imitating that which he usually induced from much lower. And then as he started to gnaw on my neck something loosened in me, the marionette’s strings suddenly cut. He let go and stepped back, watching me fall gracelessly to my knees with an impact that didn’t even register.

His dick right in front of my face appeared bigger than life itself. I wanted it in my mouth, to nibble and pull it in.

“May I, please?”

In answer to my plea, he grabbed the back of my head and forced himself in, nearly gagging me but for the fact that I wanted it. A hoped for fulfillment, it was never guaranteed.

He would push me away when I asked to suck him off or rub his erection against my face and neck. I’d pay later for licking. I always licked it, as many times as I could. As penalty he’d inflict some new suffering upon me or just leave me, bound and exposed, to endure his absence for however long he felt adequate. Abandonment by far the nastiest thing he had ever done, nothing worse came to mind.

Now I enjoyed the suede texture of him and started to reach for his hips. He wrenched back, leaving my hands half raised as if in supplication. I nearly drooled and felt my cheeks flush as I rolled my eyes up toward his face.

“What did I say about touching me?”

He told me not to move and I knelt there awkwardly, awaiting reprisal. Apparently he’d obtained new handcuffs. The last pair broke under duress. Technically, the key snapped off in the lock.

That’s when our liaison first showed a humorous element. Returning with bolt cutters he had said he now understood why the police started using plastic strip ties on suspects. He, however, preferred a good old fashioned steel pair.

“I like your steel pair, though I find them far from old fashioned,” I’d wisecracked, inelegantly chained to the desk.

He burst out laughing that afternoon. Then he whipped me with his belt for being facetious. That had become our pattern, seemingly endless rough sex followed by more hours of banter and even tenderness. If he wasn’t gearing up for another programming session, that is. I’d usually not know the situation until the scenario played itself out.

If lucky, I’d find myself lathered within a steamy shower. Perhaps we’d curl up later with books picked from his library, soft music or a smoldering fire as backdrop. Exhibiting plenty of sensual after-play, hands and mouths roamed over barely clad bodies. The flesh willing, bodies weak, desire usually became so unbearable that we’d join in lovemaking yet again right there on the sofa.


Other days, with him so distracted and serious planning a new venture, he might not have even given me time to retrieve my panties. There I would stand on the street, his cum running down my leg, a disheveled figure in the dark trying to hail a taxi. The doorman didn’t quite know what to make of me and called Yellow Cab if I failed finding reasonably prompt conveyance. I always made sure to tip him for his trouble, surprising him every time.

Eyes blazed as he strode toward me, bringing me back to the present from my reverie. He told
me to lie down on the bed. Quickly I complied.

“That’s good,” he sighed, as if he regretting his need to do this. “Get on your stomach. I want to see your pink ass in the air.”

Arms pulled over my head suddenly, his endeavor locking them in place to the headboard pinched narrow wrists. Another set of marks needed hiding or explanation. I’d think of something. Silk brushed my back. It whispered over my skin raising gooseflesh. The fabric wound and tied around my head effectively blinded me. I wondered if it could be the scarf assumed lost.

The reflection melted away upon slap from a rolled up periodical. My ass felt hot where he’d hit more than it stung. I nearly giggled as my cunt throbbed at the familiar, welcome sensation. The next landed with a thwack and I pushed up slightly onto my knees, rising up reflexively. It stung appealingly and I rose still higher. He slapped his hand lightly against my labia majora and rubbed roughly, working deeper. Spreading juices cooled rapidly, soothing burning flesh. He said nothing as he tossed the magazine on the nightstand.

Still not speaking, he got on the bed and I felt the smooth skin of his chest on my back just as his dick tore into me. My thighs spread wide under the onslaught of his and the fine blonde hair on them tickled my skin, inharmonious sensation alongside the brutal way he entered me. Penis buried deep, he twitched his groin muscles. He repeated the move several times, pulling cry after cry from me with each nudge, each minuscule lift inside me.

His breath on my ear told me I shouldn’t have this yet. And with that he was gone.

I whimpered, sensing he sat back on his feet. The weight of him shifted, my only indication. His hair brushed eager skin so softly and pleasantly until he bit my leg just above the knee. I flinched and he let out a low sinister chuckle. I wouldn’t be going anywhere for a while.

There had been times when he’d walk out, the door clicking softly shut behind him. Left chained to a clothes rack in the darkened closet, I grieved the lack of him. Long and interminable, the minutes seemed to stretch into hours. As he sat at his computer, the real torment was hearing him describe some dark porn scenario.

Secretly, I guessed his narration came from his own disturbing imagination. And I hoped it was so, that he’d someday work it in with his plans.

Really not making me wait long at all, he’d come back and remove my restraints to take me on the floor or carry me to the bed as I blinked in the sudden brightness. Other times he would mount me where I stood. I’d grab onto the bar, his thrust hammering me against the neat row of suits.

After that I’d be whipped for soiling an expensive suit coat by supposedly sweating on it. He would soon stop to touch and admire the few thin welts left on stomach or legs. He’d seldom mark my back, liking it unmarred. The idea excited him that I could wear something backless while hiding evidence of our sport on neck or wrist with jewelry or cosmetics. Buying expensive apparel just for the purpose, he valued stripes on my stomach and/or legs lurking underneath.

I felt him grab my unleashed ankle. Lifting it to his shoulder, he licked the instep. Quivering as with fever chills, I waited for whatever may come. He let go my leg and let it fall, rolling me onto my back. Wrists twisted in the restraints, cruel metal encircling them in mean jaws.

“The teddy suits you… you’re really just an animal parading as human” he groused, “Just driven by hunger… the need to feed… to mate.”

Phrases disembodied in the air all around, licks and bites punctuated every pause at random places. Contact brought guttural cries, sounds accentuating his words. Fabric clinging to my skin from the water he’d flung, it peeled away as he tugged at the shoulder straps.

“Oh no,” he lamented. “How am I gonna get this off if you’re chained and bound?”

Unsure if I should answer, I offered quietly, “You could free me. I won’t run away, you know.”

To be continued...

Animal Parade by DM Sands - part two of ten

Chapter 2 - Welcome (continued)

Meeting me at the door, he greeted me coolly, wasting no time before escorting me to the bedroom. He knelt on the floor and told me to hold onto his shoulders. They were bare, warm to the touch. The only thing he wore was loose boxers and I could plainly tell he was happy to have me here. I closed my eyes as he carefully untied the ribbons that secured my sandals and then slipped them off, tenderly caressing the soles of my feet as he did so. The shoes were placed side by side under the bed, out of the way.

“Are you ready?”

He’d asked with a hint of a snicker. I was. My replay shaky, it held no jollity.

Next the robe was removed and lay forgotten on the carpet. A collapsed ghost, it glowed in the hall light that lashed across the room, a thin line of brightness in the dim flicker of candles. Not forgotten was the cotton sash from about my waist. This he immediately used to bind my ankle, a little too tightly. Its length just enough so that he could fuck me on either the floor or the mattress, its other end tethered me to the bare metal support leg.

A serviceable blanket was thrown over the bedclothes, sheets of an extraordinarily soft Egyptian cotton. The bed devoid of comforter or quilt, even extra pillows, indicated the whole room. Stark, utilitarian, the only seemingly soft touches were the plush desk chair at his computer station and the dispersed batches of glowing tapers.

I knew better.

The chair’s padding was both for his comfort when working and also to prevent unintentional contusions when he included it in sex. Spots darkened the upholstery in a few places. He’d neglected to steam clean it recently, defying his admission that he did it fastidiously. I did know he owned the machine to perform the laundering of it. It had become too embarrassing to take it anywhere for professional service. And yet I could determine the offending blemishes from where I stood: coffee, catsup, semen, the wine dark stain of menstrual blood.

That last had earned me extra torture, though it was him insisting I be mounted on it that day. I didn’t care; yearning for all that he would give me. It didn’t matter if it were reward or reproach (I often couldn’t tell which was which and it didn’t concern me in the least). My one dread was neglect. Without admitting it to him, I suffered when he failed to call. He was usually unreachable when I gave in and tried contacting him first. By design or carelessness, I could never be sure.

When I didn’t see him, it was due to his obsession with some project. Customizing security software for big corporations consumed him, especially when he got a juicy assignment. His brain craved the challenge that so suited his intellect. He’d barely sleep for days at a time, only eating at his desk.

Finally satisfied with the final product, he’d install it for the latest patron. His clientele list included many Forbes 500 companies. I wasn’t sure how he got so many such good contracts, only that his employer encouraged competition between coworkers. I really didn’t care as long as I heard from him when he was done.

His occasional assistant, hired to maintain his bookkeeping and correspondence, would ultimately get disgusted by the piles of dirty plates and laundry. Starting out by doing some cleaning herself, she would sometimes insist upon a housekeeper if the venture carried on too long.

Even though I’d only met her a few times, I knew this because she insisted he was a better person around me. At our last meeting I was greeted with a litany of just how good I am for him and how I ought to consider moving in. Flustered, he shooed her out the door, something I’d never seen happen. Then I was offered a stammered apology. It didn’t faze me because she sounded like the do-gooders in my own life.

He told me he’d slept for 24 hours straight. I looked toward his bed. The dent in the one big pillow looked as if it would still be warm to the touch. The sheets were a twisted tangle lying half on the floor. A water glass sat on the nightstand, half full or half empty, depending on your outlook.

Half full, I decided, watching silently as he picked it up. Suddenly, he splashed the contents over my front. The tepid water felt cold and my erect nipples stiffened further. I cried out in surprise.

He liked this space very cool, almost cold. He said it helped him focus on the job, and the way he screws me I’d probably suffer heat stroke if it was warm in here.

Now naked, his raging hard on taking all my concentration, he stepped up to me and all the air seemed to have been sucked from my lungs. He ducked his head just enough to lick the water streaming down my chest before it disappeared entirely into lace and satin. I found my breath. He took it away again because I’d tested him, coiling my fingers in his longish rumpled curls. He struck like a snake, grabbing my wrist and hissing venomously.

“Did I say you could touch me? I don’t recall that I did.”

“I don’t care what you said,” I uttered sardonically; “I wanted to touch your hair.”

The tendons stood out in his arm. I watched for it, the subtle display of power always enflaming me. He jerked me closer and I stumbled against the hard smooth swell of his chest.

I had no clue when he found time to work out. He’d once let it slip that he ran, sometimes for tens of miles, clearing his head when he couldn’t get around a particularly difficult design problem. He was firm without being overly muscular, so God alone knew if he lifted weights or if it was just natural.

I wanted to learn his every secret but feared that he’d lose interest if I did; or equally horrible, that I would. Being with him right now was all that mattered.

The carpet was black, lush. It felt luxurious beneath my bare feet. The one time I’d worn stilettos and thought to keep them on, he’d pushed me into his chair and then yanked them off. Throwing them out the bedroom door, he spoke, low and threatening.

“Don’t waste my time. If I want you any way but naked, I’ll tell you.”

Truthfully, they weren’t practical with him. Sure, they made my calves look sexy. We were well enough matched in height that a high heel actually hindered any standing position. I am not tall and he only had perhaps 4 inches on me. I liked that I didn’t have to stand on tiptoe to kiss his lips. That is, if he’d let me.

He trapped me in his arms and I turned my face to look at him, blinking from my lashes a single drop of water. My parted lips begged silently for the feel of his mouth on them. He shoved my head to the side and gruffly brushed my hair off my neck. I moaned, then again, louder, as his powerful fingers clamped my wrists behind my back. They were merciless. I felt a twinge in my shoulders to which I was very much accustomed as he pulled down on my hands. I braced for more, welcoming it.

To be continued...

Animal Parade by DM Sands - part one of ten

She did not need a husband in her life, or children. Companionable partnership in a little safe BDSM suited her lifestyle just fine. Let family and friends worry over her solo flight. She knew better. Together they soared in his bed. He agreed. Both successful, they would let the future take care of itself.

Chapter 1 - Welcome

He didn’t care much for lingerie. It didn’t matter if it was the finest silk or satin, leather or lace, fishnet or vinyl. It was all just wrapping paper meant to be torn away. It would eventually, sooner rather than later, get discarded on the floor so he could play with the toy it had concealed. One exception happened to be something that I simply chanced upon during a shopping excursion in Manhattan.

My mother, of all people, shopped alongside me when I found it. I didn’t think she saw, momentarily browsing in another part of the store. The strange quality of her voice alerted me when she asked what I bought. Knowing she appreciated honesty above all else, I showed it to her. Ultimately I fibbed, saying I didn’t know why I had bought it. I suppose she hoped it made me feel sexy alone as opposed to having one night stands; it would never occur to her that I would have a secret lover. I normally told her nearly everything. In fact, I think I sometimes told her too much.

She knew nothing about the man I longed for each night, my insatiable appetites. I thought it best, despite her urgings that I end my Lone Ranger act and find someone. Mom, who thought herself progressive, said she didn’t care if my special somebody happened to be male or female as long as I was happy. She simply thought it unhealthy to always be alone.

I would argue (truthfully) that I had such wonderful family and friends I didn’t need a man. There was companionship, emotional support, and still my schedule was my own and no one else’s business or concern. That suited both my career and my personality just fine.

A small tight knit network of friends got together at least once every week, often for a movie or a show. Sometimes we’d just have dinner and a few drinks, maybe go dancing. I attended more often than not the bi-weekly meal with my parents. Sometimes it included all three of my brothers and their families. The day and time varied with everyone’s schedules. Usually held at my folks’ home in Brooklyn, sometimes the parties would be hosted by one of us siblings. We gathered at my loft more than a few times. Not if the entire extended family attended, though, for I didn’t have enough furniture for the growing brood.

I was eternally grateful for my brothers’ knack at reproducing. Not only honored as Auntie to some terrific kids, I had Mother kept at bay for the most part. Dad occasionally asked when I was going to settle down and give him another grandchild. I’d just laugh him off, thinking he really just enjoyed baiting me. Surely seven grandchildren was nothing to complain about. It’s a good thing I’m not an only child, my girlfriends subsequently the worst. If it was appropriate, the gals sometimes brought their little ones along on one of our outings and somebody would always start in.

“Don’t you want one? You’d make such a terrific mother!”

Honestly, I didn’t feel I had anything to offer a child. Not at this stage in my life, at least, when I enjoyed professionally productive and personally footloose existence. Being entirely too selfish and a bit of a narcissist to boot didn’t leave room for much of anyone, let alone someone who would be in constant need of my care and attention. So for now I would remain single and childless by choice.

If the dear woman who birthed me persisted down the avenue of romance, I would just look at her innocently. My vague air of disinterest on the whole subject of love connections hid my thought at what she really didn’t want to know.

The one serious attachment for me truly in the past, that poor guy had wanted to commit for life. And though I had loved him, acutely, it was clear I couldn’t be everything he wanted. Feeling unduly pressured, I actually told him once that he should find himself a little wife, buy a house in the suburbs with a white picket fence, and have fine sons with her. For my part, I would enter into the role of mistress.

The comment released my pressure valve and got my point across crudely, if effectively. Taken off guard, he actually laughed and, I think, felt some relief at the time that I still wanted him.

It seemed my needs were always put behind his, always my schedule altered to accommodate him. The biggest obstacle for me, however, was his tendency toward impossible aspirations. Each new career turn would make all his dreams come true. I don't mind failure if you learn from it. He just couldn't make up his mind. His enthusiasm would taper off and leave him dead in the water. A few weeks or months would go by and then he was on to something else, an unbearable pattern.

Despite our bond, I knew I couldn’t marry him. And eventually, honestly, I realized I didn’t need him. The sex remained great as the relationship dissolved, the physical side my only true objective. As I detached from him emotionally, that link irrevocably lost, it broke his heart. He was married now, finally having moved on as I’d learned to do. I could only hope for his happiness.

My family and friends had all seemed equally at ease with this development, none of them really thinking him quite good enough. There was a propensity for every last one of them to search for the perfect guy, and my increasing indifference caused some to speculate. Perhaps it wasn’t a guy at all that I wanted, perhaps the special someone I sought was a woman. Rather than being offended, I was amused by the development.

Not a living soul in my crowd had ever met my special friend, for whom I bought the garment Mom saw. I didn’t expect they ever would.

Of a leopard print material that faithfully imitated the big cat, the item was nearly invisible from the back. It had the thinnest of shoulder straps to hold it in place and a thong barely there at all. Perhaps that’s why he liked it. Or maybe it was the way my tits strained the thin bodice. Plus, it simply turned me on to model the low-cut swatch of satin knowing how he appreciated making me soak through it during foreplay. With a mere flick of his thumb he could gain easy access, as well, an important bonus for a man who knows what he wants.

He requested I wear it tonight.

I flaunted myself shamelessly. Riding in the car he sent, alone in the back, I wore only a thin swimsuit cover over the teddy. Itself a work of art, a robe of flowing white opened at the sides like a poncho. Small seashells dangled musically from silken cords at the wide neckline. It tied with a long soft belt that had played its own role in countless encounters.

The successful drivers, the ones who keep in steady employ, get along by faking professional detachment. And this young stud behind the wheel, to his credit, managed not to stare as I entered and exited the vehicle. He spoke not a word on our route. I could only assume he spoke English. Who knows? I wasn’t interested in making a new friend, just in visiting the one awaiting my arrival this evening.

The doorman was a little more fazed by my apparel. Even if it suitably covered my unmentionables, it clearly illustrated how much of a live wire I could be. All the staff probably pegged me as a high class hooker, at best. And I didn’t care a whit.

A garment bag held everything I would need for the night and included a cocktail dress with accessories. It remained to be seen whether it would be needed. For the time being my presence had been requested to attend a late party, making an entrance at his side and mingling with his clients. But if plans changed I may be on my way later tonight. Or would it be tomorrow morning? Sometimes, his welcome extended even further if our calendars allowed.

The uncertainty should have bothered me. It didn't. We had a very special rapport, my blonde bombshell and I. He hated when I called him that; said it made him sound like a forties screen queen. I used the term whenever I wanted to get under his skin.

“How’s my blonde bombshell tonight?” I might tease upon arriving.

It never failed to get things started out right.

To be continued...

Leap of Faith by DM Sands (chapter three of three)

He unlocks a door at the end of the hall. i would have assumed the rarest of rare vintages were secured here. Wrong.

“We have the place to ourselves. I have the only key,” he announces, ushering me inside and locking the door once more.

i remain speechless, gazing at a vast display of sexual appliances. He explains an aversion to sharing his accoutrements, which i appreciate. Pushing me back against the wall, he licks shapely lips.

Long fingers steadily unbutton my shirt. They don’t stop until i’m naked. Well, mostly.

“God! How can you stand to wear that?”

He’s referring to my strict leather chastity belt. It’s the reason i donned heavy denim instead of snug navy suede that pairs so much better with the matched tailoring of my off-white shirt.

“It’s the only way i’m allowed to leave the house, Sir.”

“So he locked you in that and let you come here?”

“No, Sir. He’s working. i doubt he knows i’m gone.”

“Then who put it on you?”

Stunned by his naïveté, i answer, “Why, i did, Sir. Neil doesn’t like anyone else touching me.”

“Do you have the key?”

Incredulously i ask, “On me? Sir! Of course not.”

“But…”

i stand expectantly in a respectful slouch. Few people can fathom what to do with a bona fide, absolute bottom but he will overcome his hesitant distaste. Out of the corner of my eye i can see his contemplation over just what an opportunity he’s stumbled upon.

“Stand up straight. Look at me. What are my boundaries to keep you safe? This is the last time I’ll ask. Speak.”

“Preferably Sir will not cut my hair, or bruise or break the skin. As long as this body remains visibly unmarked, Sir has complete freedom to use and abuse the slave. Kind Master encourages my masochistic tendencies, fortunately, but of late he’s denied that need. i’m risking a lot by being here, as Sir guessed. That should indicate how desperate the situation has become.”

Now the hair stands up on my arms when the truth fully dawns on Sir. He may be the most perfect match imaginable for my needs. There is not a whip in sight. Only blunt toys and metal restraints line the walls and shelves.

“Kneel on that bench, Mouse.”

It’s padded, so my knees are protected. I let murmured appreciation express my thanks. Master can bruise them another day.

“Good. Lock your ankles into this spreader bar,” he orders, passing me the device.

He assists in securing wrists alongside feet. Stroking my upturned ass, Sir liberally lubricates my entrance, careful to get as little as possible on my codpiece. An ominous rumble informs me that he’s dragging over a machine noticed in the corner when we entered.

Masturbation not tolerated, my hole is tight from neglect. He turns up the power to fight the huge dildo past my body’s initial resistance. i hadn’t expected such abrupt penetration. White noise fills my head with the fulfilling pain of being so brutally stretched.

He sits and watches for some time. How long is anyone’s guess. My vision blurs with disorientation from the constant pounding. This is heaven except for the fact that I would rather feel the man over this machine.

“What’s your name?”

“mouse,” i whisper. “Sir.”

“Lower case. I hear it. Interesting. Neil must have worked hard on you. Is that true?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“And yet you defy him.”

“Yes,” i whimper, ashamed.

“Perhaps we should call him. I’m sure he’d like to know where you are.”

“Sir,” i groan. “Please.”

“Please, what?”

“Please, don’t, Sir.”

“You’re saying no? You’ve got guts, kid. I’ll tell you what. I’m going to take over for that monstrosity. You’re good and loose for me now. When I’m done, I’ll send you back with my juices dripping out of that pretty ass. Okay?”

“Sir,” i wheeze.

“That’s not marking or wounding. You gave the boundaries, mouse, you live with the consequences.”

He’s right. The sensation of his hot cock reaming me brings a joy inexpressible.

Sir doesn’t take his time. He comes almost right away. Shuddering, i feel my erection strain to grow. The delicious, frustrating ache grows with every orgasm he shoots into me.

At long last Master… No, Sir, pats my throbbing behind fondly.

“Nicely played, mickey. Run on home now and see to dinner. Perhaps ‘Don’ will join us. Eh?”

He laughs at his own joke. This body has no energy left for such after straining stomach muscles contracted again and again to push against his thrusts.

“Whatever you wish, Master.”

When i serve sushi ordered from a favorite restaurant our private joke brings great joy to both the Honorable Master Neil Bryce and his slave. For i, mickey wilson, live the charmed Japanese phenomenon of hikikomori. My life is replete in Master.

We both sleep well this night. My dreams are untroubled and vague, nothing worth recalling.

When Zsa Zsa’s yapping wakes me early, i rush so Neil doesn’t wake. My chastity belt goes on under street clothes for her daily walk.

Our puppy’s recovered quickly from being spayed and frantically wags her tail when I get the leash. Similar straps pleasantly chafe my thighs as we stroll. i look at the ground when she barks excitedly at neighbors preparing for their morning commute.

They’ve given up trying to speak to me. And if they wonder at my quiet existence, i don’t know. My generous lord handles all requisite interaction with outsiders. He takes care of me.

~the end~

Leap of Faith by DM Sands (chapter two of three)

i stand and brush out the creases in my jeans, hoping damp palms aren’t betrayed. He waves me ahead toward the dreaded stairs. They’re the worst kind, open slats spiraling into open air. He senses my hesitation.

“Change your mind? Tell me now while I’m feeling generous. Otherwise, up you go.”

If he’s a switch as i suspect, at least he’s sounding like a reasonably firm dom. That’s good. i don’t do well in the hands of wannabes, testing them until they overcompensate.

So, up i go. Shaky and slow i progress, hanging onto the handrail with a death grip.

i actually feel better at the top, staring at the narrow causeway with slightly unfocused eyes. His big hand at my back steadies my gait. i’m startled when the harsh voice, so different from Neil’s, carries over my shoulder.

“This way.”

From downstairs the cubicle appeared dark. Now i see the construction is all smoky mirrors. He opens the door and two-way surfaces make the furniture appear to float in mid air. My heart drops three stories to be kicked about by the gyrating dancers below.

A very dim desk lamp barely lights the inside, gaudy flashes from without upholding the secret of this observation room. i see the bartender ascending, haughtily weaving past patrons. She carries a tray bearing delicate crystal stemware and an ominously labeled bottle.

Absinthiana will allow the one pouring to artfully decant the strong, green liquor over sugar cutes. Sweetness will balance out the bitter wormwood nicely. i know because i used to regularly imbibe in the chic beverage before Master revoked alcohol from my privileges. He called my recovery the twelve volt program.

After nearly nineteen months as a teetotaler, more than a sip will get me drunker than a skunk. i calculate how to avoid a bad scene, either here now or later at home. i’ve had no valuable epiphany before a soft knock announces the opening of the glass door.

“That was fast,” Don praises his employee. “Put it on the edge of the desk, please, Rhonnie. You can go. I’ll pour.”

He turns to me, indicating i should sit. Okay. Feeling relieved, i’d expected to serve him and doubt my ability to manage. i woozily take the closest seat.

“Mouse? Is everything all right? You don’t look well.”

What do i say? He shocks me by stepping close and kneeling before me. That’s my place.

“All right. I confess. I guessed who you were the moment I saw you waffling about whether or not to come inside. You’re that jerk Neil Bryce’s toy. Aren’t you?”

“What?”

How dare he? My heart palpitates. What do i say to that?

“That’s okay. Don’t feel you need to say anything. You met me fleetingly before your disappearance. I had just moved here in hopes of owning my own business. What I wanted more than this joint was you. Then you fell off the face of the earth.”

“i’ve been busy,” i hedge.

“As a domestic slave? A shut-in? Rumors abound, Mouse. I’ve been dying for a way to get to you. Now you show up tonight at my door like a wet dream come true? I must have built up some good karma.”

Demanding fingers twine my hair, a delicious pain. Due to ingrained subservience i don’t try to pull away from his lips.

His tongue fills my mouth, forcing me to open wide. i hadn’t planned on an oral attack. Being roughed up and fucked? Yes. But this?

i hadn’t counted on a kiss.

Out of surprise and a lack of instruction i don’t really respond, just accepting more than anything. i quickly learn that my laidback tendency displeases him.

He jerks my head sideways and tears spring to my eyes. Yes. This is why i’m risking everything.

“Rules. If I kiss you, you will kiss me back. Any recent surgeries I should know about?”

“No.”

“Medications?”

“No. It’s just…”

“What? I presume we can’t have any marks for your master to find. That’s no problem. I’m very good at covering my tracks, Mouse.”

He scrapes a nail across my nipple through ivory suede. i had a whole outfit custom made long before Neil made me quit my lucrative job. He told me to throw the garments out. i didn’t, though i couldn’t wear the blue leather pants here.

What would surprise him and quite possibly forfeit my honor of serving in his home is the fact I’ve got a safe house with my old pal Zsa Zsa. She’s my best friend. Supporting a friend through gender reassignment apparently earns extreme loyalty

Her encouragement is the one thing that got me this far tonight. The unused doghouse in her backyard hides my plastic bin of old clothes, a favor i don’t take lightly.

Don slaps me. i blink, less startled than content.

“I asked you what was the matter. Answer me.”

Omitting my fear of heights, i declare, “i am not permitted intoxicants.”

“By Neil,” he states as opposed to asking.

“Yes.”

“Neil isn’t here. Is he?”

“Ummm, no,” I hedge.

He stands and orders me to do the same. i’ve chosen my safe word for when we get to that point where “no” simply isn’t adequate. Predictably, appropriately, he asks for it now.

“Freefall.”

Unpredictably, he grabs my shoulders and turns me. My left arm twisted behind my back serves as a handle. i find my face pressed against the glass and empty space yawns before my horrified eyes.

“Yes. I remember you. You suffer from vertigo.”

Bile rising bitter in the back of my throat, i thankfully swallow without retching. He spins me around. The surface feels cool through the thin material at my back. It’s a mild improvement. He whacks me across the other cheek, vastly promoting my calm.

“Don’t ever hide something that important. I really don’t want you throwing up on me. What do you say we go to the cellar?”

i’ve been there before. i’m both excited and relieved. Half the basement stores wine, each area containing a particular variety by an eye popping array of vintners. The rest of its uses are similarly segregated.

In other words, you will find a large room for Chardonnays from around the world. Across the hall exists a needle play parlor to take those so inclined out of this world.

After such a long absence i never dreamed of an immediate invitation. Not even from Roy.

Don leads me around the throng writhing to some techno beat. i get a rush from the feeling of privilege. How many of these partiers know what splendid tortures await in secret, sacred darkness?

An expensively suited bouncer stands guard, ostensibly over the bottles. His onerous task really prevents tourists from stumbling into a clandestine den of iniquity. The deeper we descend my rapid pulse rushes blood into a roaring river.

“Mouse?”

“Yes.”

“What’s your pleasure?”

“i should be asking you that.”

“Maybe. I’m asking you.”

“i don’t know,” i pant haltingly.

“Your coming here tonight obviously risks a lot. The verge of panic screams out at me through those big doe eyes. So you’re seeking something special. What is it?”

“Pain. Domination. i’m afraid it’s no more specific than that,” i timidly admit.

If he’s disappointed, it doesn’t show. i ask what he wants to be called.

“Sir will do. I never went for the heavier handed pretention of being called master. My actions should be adequate proof of that status.”

No lie rings in his modest statement. Don’s not bluffing. i’m going to love this man.

~to be continued with final chapter~

Leap of Faith by DM Sands

Would you leap without looking? Tonight Mickey (or mickey as the consummate sub thinks of himself) will. But is walking away afterward an option? More likely he’ll be crawling, and loving it.

Leap of Faith

My hand trembles so badly i lower treacherous fingers from the door handle. This is stupid. i make a fist and mutter angrily.

“Come on, mickey. Get a grip. It’s just a club.”

“Excuse me,” a rough voice intrudes. “Out or in?”

“Oh, uh. In, i guess. Thanks,” i mumble as the amused inquirer holds the door.

Smooth, mickey.

“No problem,” he replies over his shoulder.

In a moment he is lost in the crowd. Damn. He was one handsome man.

Don’t get me wrong. i’ve got quite a looker at home. When he’s not at work, anyway.

At thought of Neil i almost turn right around and leave. The trembling travels up my arm to think i’m breaking Mr. Bryce’s rule. He doesn’t let me go out alone.

Period.

Not to the store, not my Zumba class, and most certainly not a place like this. i am his and wandering without a chaperone simply isn’t permitted.

What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.

But what if he finds out? That could hurt us each equally. No matter how tough he acts, Neil’s got a heart of gold. Breaking it would kill me.

He does love me. That counts for a lot. And it’s not like he doesn’t take good care of me. Or at least he always has in the past. It’s why i moved in, mutual affection growing over time.

But lately i’ve been feeling like he’s little more than a strict keeper. i mean, honestly, the last time i went to the zoo the leopards in the cat house were getting more action than i’ve had in the last month.

The stress of Neil’s new project at work simply takes everything out of him. Of course i’m not allowed to inquire about his job. He says i shouldn’t worry my pretty little head about such things.

It never occurs to the man that his concerns are mine, too. A significant other should help bear some of a lover’s burdens. Even a screwball submissive like me understands that much about relationships.

Silly man, what does he think his stoicism spares me? His restlessness keeps me awake half the night. Worse, his rampant stress level inevitably spills over into our sex life, or lack thereof. Not in my nature, complaining is completely out of the question.

So yesterday i got sadly stuck cleaning the house without avid, brown eyes critiquing this body. No judgmental overseer sought a reason to beat my aerobicized behind. Pointedly leaving dust bunnies under the couch didn’t earn me a single lash, let alone a whipping.

That’s what hurts the worst, i realize, scanning the crowd self consciously. Neil didn’t even inspect the apartment last night, let alone find an excuse for rough intercourse. He ate his dinner in silence as i stood to wait on him. Ordered to bed early i lay wide awake and silently bored watching him toss and turn.

So here i am. Needing validation, i’m risking the behavior that nearly got me killed a few times before Neil took me in.

Perhaps this is enough. Maybe just pretending to put myself out there can tide me over until my lover misses us, too.

“You here alone?”

i nervously grab my drink two handed, afraid it will spill in turning. My interrogator looks like a thug. But me being who i am, my mouth opens wide to honestly answer yes.

“Beat it, Romeo. He’s with me.”

The brute looks doubtful, sizing up my hunk from outside the bar. He decides to let it slide.

“Sure,” he relinquishes. “No offense meant.”

“None taken. In fact, I’ll take it as a compliment. I’d hit on him, too, if I were you.”

A dark glance gives me chills. That guy would’ve been trouble. i gratefully watch his retreating back.

“Thanks,” i repeat inanely from earlier encountering my beautiful savior.

“No problem. You seem new here, a little lost, and I wouldn’t want that asshole whisking you off or scaring you away.”

“Yeah?” Boldly, i further, “And why is that?”

“Because I only want you leaving the bar if you’ll come with me. Otherwise, I’ll resume watching you from up there.”

He points to a shady alcove off the mezzanine. i hadn’t even looked up. The catwalk always made me dizzy, so the club’s new addition completely missed my notice.

Tapping his nails impatiently, he prompts, “So?”

Still not answering, i’m caught by vertigo spinning my brain. Channeling useful techniques learned in therapy, i look down at the solid ground beneath one low, calfskin boot and put my other foot down from the rail to add stability.

The same thing doesn’t work for everybody and i’m lucky my solution is so simple. And as an added benefit, the gesture looks coy in the right situation.

This is definitely the right situation. i peer up at the bigger man through my lashes.

“So, what?”

“Come upstairs with me.”

“Upstairs?”

“Yeah. When I said leave the bar I meant my bar. Stay here and let these other bozos buy you my overpriced booze or come to my private office upstairs. I win to some degree either way. Yes or no?”

“Wait,” i blurt, wondering if my formerly reliable barkeep would set a trap for me on Neil’s behalf. “What happened to Roy?”

“You’re not new,” he comments victoriously, blessedly ignoring my uncharacteristic rudeness. “I was sure I knew that hair. Why haven’t I seen you around lately?”

Though lengthier, the color hasn’t changed. i got Mom’s shade, polished copper, and treat it like gold. Gut instinct tells me to ignore compliment and just answer the man.

“i don’t get out much lately. It’s been about a year and a half since i was here. When Roy ran the place.”

“He sold out to me shortly after that. Retired to Florida. My partners and I thought about changing the name to advertise new ownership. But why mess with success?”

No lie, this rundown factory brought to life Roy’s ambitious dream and became a booming transgender club. Everyone for miles around knows “The Chimney” as the place for folks to mingle. The man, not known for his subtlety, refurbished the old smokestack and painted the name in giant gold lettering on two sides.

He was famous for welcoming my little BDSM subculture, endearing him to us all. The fact i missed big news like his retirement shows just how cloistered i’ve become to please my owner.

The appraising gaze from this handsome fellow makes my heart pound. Feeling heat creep up my neck, i can only pray the blush doesn’t show in flashing strobe lights. Neil makes fun of me when freckles flare. i remind myself this isn’t Neil.

“I like the blush. Very becoming. What’s your name?”

“mickey.”

“Oh, yes. You used to be with Rick’s crowd.”

Something mysterious but flattering crosses his face. Amusement curling his mouth distracts me from worry that i don’t know what name he’d gone by. i’d most likely been too drunk or high. Or both.

“You were probably too wasted to remember meeting me back then,” he jibes accurately.

“i’m sorry.”

“That’s okay. You’re looking good. I’m Don, like the duck,” he jokes modestly. “In fact, I’ll call you Mouse.”

“Okay, Don,” i agree automatically, neither averse nor unacquainted with the pet name.

“Okay, meaning you’ll come upstairs? Or are you merely agreeing to the title?”

Answering before i can chicken out, i reply, “Both.”

“Very good.”

Putting a proprietary palm on my thigh, he summons the bartender. The doll-like tranny gives her boss a flirty smile and leans close for private instruction. Then Don indicates me and points to his office, eliciting a jealous pout.

“Just do what I asked, Rhonda. Have our refreshment there in under five.”

“Sure, Donald. Whatever you say.”

Chuckling, he confesses in my ear, “I’d rather hear those words from you.”

Cautiously i parrot, “Whatever you say.”

“Let’s go,” he growls.

~to be continued~