"Thinking about it, I've decided that bringing Jell-O to a gathering of leathermen wasn't my big mistake. My big mistake was bringing it on the night that Master Trent was attending."
Can an Old Guard top survive in a world with safe words? This humorous BDSM short story was runner-up for the 2006 Rauxa Prize for erotic fiction.
This is a reissue of an older story.
Excerpt
Trent snorted. "Danger. You young leathermen know nothing about danger. I had only one fear when I was young, and I got over that in time. But you fear everything. You fear that you won't be accepted by your vanilla neighbors, you fear that society will think you're strange. You won't do anything spontaneous or risky because you might get hurt." Trent snorted again. "All you need, you say, is stability. Say, which pocket is your hanky in tonight?"
I sighed. This was an old argument between us. "Look, just because I'm ninety-percent top doesn't mean I can't have a little fun taking the other role once in a while. That has nothing to do with stability—"
I was interrupted then. Martin was starting to make the rounds of the room, clipboard and pen in hand, asking everyone whether they were registered to vote so that they could show the world what good citizens leathermen are. Nearby, most of the club had entered into a discussion of how long the negotiations before a scene should last between a top and a bottom, and whether there should be three breaks or four for further negotiations later in the evening.
"Fucking Christ," Trent said with disgust. Then he turned to me and asked mildly, "Will you do something for me?"
"Sure," I said with a mouth full of my first bite of Ho Ho. "Anything you want."
It must have been the Ho Ho. Sugar rushes cause madness, right? Because I promise you, "Anything you want," is not what you say to Master Trent. Not when he has his black handkerchief sticking out of his left back pocket.
¶ Available as online fiction and as a FREE downloadable e-book: Spontaneous
Showing posts with label BDSM. Show all posts
Showing posts with label BDSM. Show all posts
25.4.11
Achilles and the Houseboy...Gillibran Brown
Achilles and the Houseboy…Gillibran Brown
If Achilles, ancient hero of the Trojan War, had worn proper footwear then Gillibran Brown, modern hero of the Domestic Empire, would get into a lot less trouble, or so he believes.
A kiss heralds the arrival of a most unwelcome and troublesome visitor who throws Gilli out of kilter with life and his Daddies.
Take another journey with Gillibran Brown. (that's me ;-)
If Achilles, ancient hero of the Trojan War, had worn proper footwear then Gillibran Brown, modern hero of the Domestic Empire, would get into a lot less trouble, or so he believes.
A kiss heralds the arrival of a most unwelcome and troublesome visitor who throws Gilli out of kilter with life and his Daddies.
Take another journey with Gillibran Brown. (that's me ;-)
My wiki page: http://bookworld.editme.com/GillibranBrown
Book edition available at:
http://www.lulu.com/product/paperback/achilles-and-the-houseboy/15549858
Ebook edition to follow
Published by Houseboy-Works
Excerpt:
Prologue
When you think about the ancient Greeks, as oft I do, because I’m strange like that, they and their deities have a lot to answer for. Gone they might be, but they still manage to cast their antique influence over us modern mortals in a variety of ways.
Book edition available at:
http://www.lulu.com/product/paperback/achilles-and-the-houseboy/15549858
Ebook edition to follow
Published by Houseboy-Works
Excerpt:
Prologue
When you think about the ancient Greeks, as oft I do, because I’m strange like that, they and their deities have a lot to answer for. Gone they might be, but they still manage to cast their antique influence over us modern mortals in a variety of ways.
Take Achilles for example. If he’d worn proper footwear then I wouldn’t get into half as much bother as I do. Honest it's true, if he’d worn calve length Doc Marten boots my life would be much easier.
I’ll endeavour to explain using my vast knowledge of Greek mythology acquired from years of studying the ancient classics. (Lie detector snorts, you once read a kiddies book of myths and legends and most of it was in pictures) Okay, okay, but those pictures were detailed.
Achilles was the son of an immortal mother and a mortal father. The immortal mummy in question, Thetis, was distressed because not only had her son inherited his father’s Roman nose and overly large lugs, he had also inherited his mortality. She decided to top up her baby’s immortality by dipping him in the magical River Styx (there were no social services then you know, you could do what you liked) only the un-dead daft bat forgot to wet the heel she dangled him by, thus leaving him vulnerable at that point.
Achilles grew up fine, strong and immortal, albeit with a small print clause he had declined to read - failure to wear chain mail socks at all times will invalidate your life insurance. He was also as thick as ancient Greek pig shit. Why else would he have elected to go into battle against a tribe of aggressive chiropodists wearing a gold lame evening gown and a pair of patent leather sling backs, which left his heels totally exposed to his enemies weapons. It’s true, honest, it really happened (swiftly puts a hand over lie detectors mouth)
It seems our mate Achilles wasn’t quite the hero he’s made out to be. According to some sources he was second to none when it came to flinging hissy fits and sulking in his tent for days on end when he didn’t get his own way. He could very well be the patron saint of brats everywhere.
When he was called up for service in The Trojan War Achilles was not pleased. He didn’t want to go to war, he wanted to stay in and play Grand Theft Chariot on his X-Box. He came up with a cunning plan to dodge the draft by dressing up as a woman, but he forgot to wax his legs and Odysseus sussed him.
Okay, I feel a slight tangent coming on. In spite of my old school teacher's warnings about wandering off subject, I'm going to go with it. (Sorry, Miss) According to a painting I once saw of Achilles, he had muscles that could lay claim to being independent territories but a cock the size of a winkle. It set me off pondering, it doesn't take much, I love a good ponder.
Surely any painter set on depicting one of the most famous heroes of the Trojan War would opt to give him a magnificent dick in keeping with his status, one that could be used as a battering ram in the event of a siege situation? Instead, the artist chose to give him a todger and ball bag that would embarrass a cherub. Perhaps he was running out of flesh coloured paint at that point and decided to skimp, or perhaps it was an ironic comment on the futility of war? Who knows! Artists are funny folk and a tiny cock could mean many things.
Anyway, he said, forcing himself back on topic and away from cocks, which doesn’t happen often believe me, because of Achilles, the cross dressing warrior Greek, most of us modern humans have an Achilles heel, a weakness of one kind or another.
Being a well-balanced sort of chap I actually have two Achilles heels, one on each foot. The first is jealousy and the second is temper and they don’t make good partners. One fuels the other and tends to make a bad situation even worse.
It’s Achilles fault that I so often end up at odds with my men folk. If he’d worn sensible footwear then Paris would never have been able to kill him with a well-aimed poison arrow and the term 'Achilles heel' would never have been coined. Consequently, according to my logic anyway, I wouldn’t suffer from jealousy or temper or a combination of both and I’d have a smooth and ripple free relationship with my own particular pair of Greek gods (legends in their own lunchtime)
Leaving aside half arsed pseudo mythological stuff, this humble chapter in the life and times of this houseboy concerns the manifestation of my personal Achilles heel, Jealousy, who dropped in for a visit the weekend prior to Dick’s birthday on the first of August.
On that particular weekend Dick had been called south by the imperious and chilly tones of his mama and was due to be away from Friday afternoon until Sunday evening. Shane was also away on business that Friday, but would be back late the same day.
Being an optimistic sort of house lad I was looking forward to spending some quality time alone with my alpha Daddy. As things turned out it was fantastic. He wined me, dined me, bought me flowers and new clothes, wrote me a love sonnet in iambic pentameter and told me he adored me. He even stacked the dishwasher (well, you wouldn’t expect him to wash up by hand now would you) while I supped champagne cocktails and watched the telly. (Lie detector says, in your Mills and Boons little fantasies, boy.) Okay, okay (romantic dream pings and pops like a fairy liquid bubble) it wasn’t quite like that. So, I hear you ask, either that or I’m suffering audio hallucinations, what was it like? Well, it was more like this: sprinkle-sprinkle - glitter-glitter (don’t worry, being gay I’m fully trained, licensed and insured for magical glitter sprinkling) let's go back in time to the Friday before Dick’s birthday, the twenty-seventh of July 2007.
21.6.10
Fun With Dick And Shane
Excerpt
Warning: Adult Content
The Story Of Friday
I awoke alone in the single room, having been banished there the night before because Dick and Shane said they did not want to share bed space with a surly brat. Fair enough. I didn’t want to share it with a couple of judgemental old farts and said so, but very quietly under my breath so they couldn’t hear. No way was I sending my pretty botty on a suicide mission. Judging from the moans and murmurs coming from the master bedroom they had been awake for some time before me.
I awoke alone in the single room, having been banished there the night before because Dick and Shane said they did not want to share bed space with a surly brat. Fair enough. I didn’t want to share it with a couple of judgemental old farts and said so, but very quietly under my breath so they couldn’t hear. No way was I sending my pretty botty on a suicide mission. Judging from the moans and murmurs coming from the master bedroom they had been awake for some time before me.
Padding across the landing I quietly opened the door, my guts contracting with jealousy as I observed them. They were oblivious to my presence, totally lost in each other. After watching for a few moments I quietly closed the door and went to the bathroom, using my fist to relieve my erection so I could pee, reviewing the scene in the bedroom with my minds eye to aid the process. Relieved and watered I pulled on a fresh pair of boxers and a t-shirt and went downstairs to begin my duties.
Shane eventually came into the kitchen trailing a tantalising tease of Yves St Laurent aftershave while adjusting the silver cufflinks he always wears in his work shirts. He spared me a glance.
“No breakfast for me this morning, Gilli. I have to run.”
I scowled, choosing to take his words as a personal slur, “I’ve made it now, and it won’t take you more than a few minutes to have a bite.”
“I’m sorry, cub, but I need to get going. I’m running late as it is.”
“Waste of time hauling my bum out of bed at six to make you breakfast you don’t eat.”
He shot me a warning look from flinty green eyes. “Don’t start, apart from anything else it’s your job to haul your bum out of bed at six to make me breakfast, regardless of whether I eat it or not.” He pulled on his jacket and then made to reach for me prior to kissing me goodbye.
I sidestepped him. “It’s not my JOB to accept false affection and besides, you’re running late. God forbid you waste a precious fucking second on me.” I hissed, as his hand slapped a single harsh reprimand onto the side of my bare thigh.
“Lose that attitude, Gillibran, because I’m heartily sick of it. I’ll see you this evening.”
He matched the harsh slap with a harsh kiss and then he was gone, well most of him. With his kiss still stinging my lips, I flopped down on a chair and stared at the red handprint stinging my left thigh. It was a perfect copy of his right hand; all digits including the thumb were present. I laid my own smaller hand on top of it, as if trying to hold it. I then stared at his place at the table: the neatly folded napkin, the un-drunk orange juice and freshly brewed black coffee, the uneaten scrambled egg and lightly done toast. It looked forlorn and abandoned. My eyes stung.
“Don’t take it personally, he’s got a lot on today.”
I looked up to see Dick leaning against the doorjamb; brown hair sweetly mussed, arms folded.
“He made plenty of time to shaft your brains out.” I snatched up the plate of scrambled eggs and stood up, stalking over to the bin with it. “I don’t see why he couldn’t have made some time for me. I mean it’s not like your arse is going to be scarce over the next week is it.” I tipped the cold flaccid mass into the pedal bin snapping, “there’s juice, coffee, cereal and toast on the table, help yourself, or do like Shane did and ignore it because he was too busy sticking you to make time for my pathetic offering. He knows I look forward to having breakfast with him, but my feelings apparently don’t count. I’m going to get dressed.”
Savagely dumping the plate on top of the eggs I made to exit the kitchen. Dick caught my arm, spun me round and slapped my bottom hard several times.
After making me retrieve the plate from the bin he dragged me back to the table. “You’re onto a hiding to nothing carrying on like this,” he sat down pulling me firmly onto his knee and putting his arms around my waist, “or should I just say a hiding. Shane is running out of patience and so am I. You’ve been a miserable pestilence all week. It’s like living with a hormone-encrusted teenager. Why didn’t you join us in bed this morning? We usually have to fend you off with a stick when it comes to sex.”
“You didn’t look like you’d welcome company. Shane was into you like you were about to become an extinct species.”
“Cutting your nose off to spite your face in other words.” Dick gazed at me solemnly, “listen, I want you to be nice to Shane this evening. He’s tired. He’s had a heavy week at work and he needs to come home to a peaceful haven and domestic harmony, not to someone with a sour face and an attitude to match.”
“He didn’t tell me he was tired, or that he’s had a heavy week. He doesn’t tell me anything. He’s hardly spared me the time of day lately, except to criticise.”
“Stop it, Gil, stop looking for reasons to be annoyed with him. It’s not fair. He doesn’t like fretting you that’s all. Besides you’re the one that’s hardly spared him the time of day, because you’ve been too busy wallowing in resentment. Be a good boy today and do your work properly.” He stroked my face with elegant fingers, “do something special for dinner, make the dining room welcoming and we’ll have a lovely evening together, yes?”
I nodded and tried to produce a smile, but it was swept away on a riptide of tears, not even a life raft could have saved it. “Do you think about me when you’re away,” I put my arms round him, sobbing into his neck, “or is it like I don’t exist? Are you happier without me, do you regret that I came into your lives, do you want it to be just the two of you again?”
“Aw, baby,” he rubbed my back. “We’ve been through all this, time and time again. You’re just needlessly tormenting yourself. Of course we think about you and no we’re not happier without you. We’re just something different. We need to do this, honey. Shane and I need to do this. It strengthens us and we need to be strong, not just for each other, but also for you. Shane and I are the core of this relationship, we have to be certain of each other and we need time alone to renew ourselves and reconnect.”
“I know I’m being a selfish, immature little prick, and I’m sorry.” I tried unsuccessfully to stem the flow, “but I can’t help it.”
He cuddled me while softly singing a refrain from a Gershwin song that he’d improvised just for me, “your Daddies are rich and they’re both good lookin' so hush pretty baby, don’t you cry.”
When I was more composed he stroked a sensuous hand along my thigh, “no more tears now.” The hand slipped inside the leg of my boxers where my cock sprang eagerly to greet it. He kissed my tearstained face and gave me a little wink, “come on, my slutty little boy. Come to bed and have some fun with Dick.”
copyright Gillibran Brown 2010
More information at: http://bookworld.editme.com/GillibranBrown
2.4.10
A MATTER OF TRUST by AC Katt
EXCERPT – Drawer 67
Antonio thought he was clever, but was in truth foolish, gullible and vain. He left Trenton and Bear for the bright lights of the Big Apple. Six months later, Bear received a call from the Sixth Precinct of the NYPD to come to the city and identify the body. The police found Bear’s address clutched in the hand of a boy dumped in an alleyway off Seventh Avenue behind Weng-Feng Wok, a local Chinese restaurant. The owners, Misters Weng and Feng, discovered the body when they took the kitchen garbage out to the dumpster after a 3:00 a.m. closing. Bear vividly remembered the scene.
A Detective Sergeant by the name of Patrick O’Malley, a wiry Irishman from Homicide, brought Bear into the squad room.
“Take a seat, Mr. Drummond. As I explained to you on the telephone, we found your address clutched in the victim’s hand.
“Have you ever seen this before Sergeant O’Malley?”
“Unfortunately, this young man is not the first found in that condition in this precinct.” O’Malley responded. The Detective Sergeant laconically pointed to the pictures of young men pinned to a corkboard on a wall of the room, visible from every desk.
“All of their faces were beaten and cut to a point beyond recognition.” O’Malley continued.
Bear grimaced.
“You can make the ID from a photo.” O’Malley suggested sympathetically.
“No, I’d rather see him and be certain.” Bear said as he silently prayed the man in the photo was not his former sub.
They took a Squad Car for the silent ride to the City Offices of the Chief Medical Examiner. Bear was in a fog of guilt and remorse. O’Malley ushered him into the cold room followed by one of the assistant coroners.
Bear shivered. The bodies of the victims were stacked in drawers that were piled four high and consumed the entire back wall of the room.
O’Malley spoke, “Drawer sixty-seven.”
The assistant opened the drawer and slowly drew the sheet from the body.
Bear gasped, and then gagged. O’Malley grabbed his arm.
“Do you recognize the victim?”
“Yes, it is Antonio Rialto.” It was Antonio, but an Antonio Bear would not have been able to identify save for a birthmark on his lower left abdomen.
O’Malley spoke again, “You’re sure.”
“Yes I am sure, I remember the crescent shaped birthmark, it was unique.” Bear gazed at his former sub. The dark Botticelli angel’s face was riddled with deep cuts made by a serrated knife. Both eyes were black and even after time in the cold drawer, swollen shut.”
The assistant coroner spoke, “The autopsy showed every rib was broken and the lung perforated. They shot out his kneecaps and his whole body is covered in welts. He was whipped.”
Bear was lost in thought, tears coursed down his face; more poignant for his silence. He did not notice his wet cheeks. The beautiful boy in drawer sixty-seven was provocative, mischievous and so very alive in his memory. He was just twenty-six. The toy had failed to please.
O’Malley grabbed Bear’s arm and ushered him out of the room handing Bear his handkerchief. Bear was thirty-two years old and had not cried since he was sixteen. He made a silent vow, I will never cry again.
Bear turned to O’Malley, “You’ll get this bastard?”
“With your cooperation…” O’Malley countered.
“Anything you need,” Bear replied between clenched teeth.
On the ride back to Trenton, the tears coursed down his cheeks as he repeated his mantra, I will never cry again, I will never cry again, I will never…
Buy this book from XOXO Publishing
13.1.10
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...
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...
31.12.09
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...
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...
27.12.09
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...
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...
24.12.09
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...
“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...
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...
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...
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...
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...
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...
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