Posts Tagged ‘male dominant’

This is part two of a story. Any questions can probably be cleared up by reading the first part. It was not mentioned during the first story, but even though the story is written in first person, it hasn’t actually happened. This story was originally written for my Master as a fantasy of us, and it was him who inspired me to submit it. I hope you enjoy it as much as we do, and please leave me comments, as we do read them.



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I thought it was over. I realize now that that was a stupid assumption. You’d never let me get finish so soon at home, so why should it be any different now? My body has stopped shaking, but my mind is in a totally different place. As we look out on the gallery – you had opened the curtains, but I am unsure when — I notice that there are a lot of different things going on. Some people are just watching, their gazes roaming until they see a particular scene they like, while others are engaged in different activities. There is a hot tub, several private dungeon areas with views out to the public, and a few rooms that are laid out like bedrooms with large windows.



As I watch I suddenly feel you secure straps around my ankles, then my wrists. Suddenly my mind is alert — where had those come from? As I turn I see the tray they’d been brought in on along with the cords laying there. I am curious as to what they are there for, as it’s not something we’ve done before. As you pick up the first cord, you hook it to the ring on the right-hand cuff, followed by hooking the other end to a ring suspended from the ceiling. You do the same with my left. I am barely able to move in either direction, much less sit or kneel. Next you fasten my feet to the floor; I am now spread eagle, for everyone to see. I am glad that my clothes are still on and intact.



“You have been very naughty lately.” You tell me as I hang in place. “I expect better of you.” I am bewildered by this as I have no idea what you are talking about, haven’t I been a good girl? What did I do that upset you? “You want me to tell you what you did?” You ask with a menace in your voice that I am quite familiar with. “Yes, Please” I respond, unsure of how to answer. My knees are shaking and my pussy is once again wet with anticipation. “You mean you don’t know?” you ask, the sound of your voice so forceful that my pussy starts to ache. “No sir.” I reply knowing that more than a mono-syllabic response at this time would be difficult to say as the connection between my brain and mouth has been lost in the confusion of being on display with a dripping cunt. “Well slut, that means you need even more punishment.” The smile on your face is wicked, and my nipples are hard just contemplating what might be in store.



You slowly disrobe me, untying the corset, followed by the halter. As the zipper on the dress comes to a stop, you freeze momentarily as it pools around my calves, and ripping the seam out so it comes away completely you say, “I guess that’s just one more thing you’ll have to fix.” You finish my disrobement by tearing off the thigh-highs, and tossing them on the floor.



I can see everything. Hanging bare, and half suspended, I notice a girl — a sub by the look of her — watching us. Her Mistress is punishing a male sub by keeping him erect, but not allowing him to cum. The girl is transfixed, her eyes watching us closely.



Your focus is completely on me. You start my punishment with just a touch, using your hand to produce small caresses up my buttocks and spine. A soft touch here and there, driving me crazy as my pussy drips hot juices down my thighs. As you reach up and caress my breasts, I notice the sub across the way has begun to touch her-self. She mimics your movements, stroking her butt as you touch mine, pinching her nipples as you squeeze mine.



I am brought back to us as something cold lightly touches my thigh. I can’t see what it is, but it is stiff and smooth. I am nervous, and unsure of what to expect. The object is removed, and soon your hands start to fondle my ass. You very slowly start to play with that hole. It is sensitive, and tight. You work first one, then two fingers in, and as I start to moan with pleasure I notice that the sub across the way is leaning over a chair with her legs spread and her fingers penetrating her ass. Watching her is making me even hotter, and my swollen pussy is throbbing in response to my heightened senses.



I notice that you are now using a lubricant, it is making it easier for your fingers to pump in and out, and I am having a hard time focusing on anything else. Suddenly, in one quick movement your fingers are gone replaced by the cold object, which I now realize is a metal dildo that had been sitting in a bucket of ice.



The pain of this sudden violation makes me scream out, and you spank me to remind me of who is boss. I quiet, shaking in my bonds as my ass seizes from the unwanted intrusion. Now suddenly aware of everything I notice that my screams have brought us to the attention of other curious club-goers, but my favorite is the sub, who seems intrigued, and unaware that she has drawn her mistress’ attention as she continues to fuck her own ass.



Watching them I am reminded once again of my own body. I notice that the pain and humiliation of my recent violation has made my nipples so hard they hurt and my pussy even wetter. As the dildo in my ass starts to warm inside me, my body stops shaking, but just as I’ve gained the power to stand I am reminded that this is punishment as you begin to administer soft whips with a flogger.



Your chosen device is a red leather cat o’ nine with soft broad heavy straps, and a large rounded handle. I know this flogger well; it is one of your favorites. You start, as always, with a barrage of light, petal-like strokes, lightly tapping my ass and back with just the tips of the straps. You are speaking, but my mind has gone fuzzy, I love the feel of the whip, punishing me with its light caresses, showering me with promises of pain and torture.



I can still feel my ass filled with your newest toy, throbbing around it, squeezing it intermittently, as your strokes become harder. I shake in my bonds, my body tensing and releasing with each blow as they become harder and faster. I know the moment that they are hard enough to leave welts on my back and ass, and it is this point that I find my voice, exploding in a chorus with every lash of my punishment. “Yes! Oh, God! Don’t stop! I’m sorry master! Oh! Yes!” After a few short moments, your flagellation ceases and my body slumps in its bonds.



As you carefully sponge my back, softly soothing me with words of encouragement such as “Its ok,” and “It’s done now.” I notice that the sub across the way is still in avid fascination. I’d expected her mistress to have corrected the behavior by now; instead she is riding the male sub’s cock while watching the girl as she uses the handle of the flogger to masturbate while watching us.



You unhook the cords attached to my wrists and ankles, and slowly move me to a long table which you have moved to a position in front of the audience. You lower me onto the cold surface placing a pillow under my head, and several more under my ass to prop it into position. You then secure my hands above my head and my ankles in a position that spreads me wide open at the edge of the table. Using your fingers you quickly bring me to the brink of an orgasm as everyone watches. Just as I am about to cum, you remove your fingers and, slowly rubbing my inner thighs you wait for my body to calm. By turning my head, I can see the girl across the way has not stopped, and she lets out a small scream, and collapses to the floor as her orgasm hits and her cunt squirts cum in several directions as it tries to escape past the handle of the whip in her pussy. Having watched her sub’s display the mistress, who has moved to the male sub’s face to be eaten out, finally has her own release and also collapses to the floor, both women writhing in their bodies’ sudden ecstasy.



Seeing that my own body has calmed from its near orgasm, you begin to use your tongue to explore my throbbing pussy. You begin by slowly licking back and forth along my slit, enticing my clit to swell and swirling your tongue around it each time you reach the sensitive nub. You slowly open my nether lips to your probing tongue as it delves into me. I writhe with pleasure as you probe my cunt; licking first just around it, then into it deeper with each thrust.



“Please Master,” I plead with you breathlessly, “Please, I need your cock!” You seem to take no heed, and wondering if you’d heard me I try a little louder, “Oh! Master! Please I need you to fuck me with your prick!” I can feel you smile, and I know that you heard me, but now I’m desperate, and my voice rushes out in a rather loud shout, “Oh my God Master, Please, Please, Please! Fuck my cunt with your huge cock! I need you to make me your slut! Fuck me now, Please!!”



Without so much as a word you quickly stand and ram my tight, wet pussy with your rock-hard prick; the force of which makes me scream unintelligibly with pleasure. You slowly remove your cock, only to ram it back into my snug little hole eliciting squeaks and moans of pleasure from me.



As your fucking becomes smoother, you begin to taunt me. “You like this don’t you?” you ask, “You love showing the world how slutty you are, don’t you?” “Yes Master.” I reply, softly. “So say it, I want you to tell your audience just how much letting them watch you get fucked turns you on.”



My response is slow, I don’t know how to word it, or if I’m supposed to speak to them, or just tell you loud enough so they can hear, I finally choose the latter. “Oh Master!” I shout, “I feel like such a slut! Oh Yes! I love that all these people are watching you fuck my taut little pussy with your big hard cock. Oh letting them watch as you stretch my pussy, and bang my cunt makes me feel so good! Oh, God! I have to cum! Oh Please Master, Let me cum!”



My speech begins to slur into moans and whimpers as I hold back my orgasm, until finally you give me a nod allowing me to cum. You pull out as my body shakes with its release and positioning yourself over my face, you grab my hair and begin to pump your prick in and out of my awaiting mouth and – just before you cum – you pull out squirting your semen all over my face and tits.



You close the curtains once again, blocking us from view as you unbind me and help me to clean us both up with the sponge and a fresh basin of hot water. Wrapping me in a satin robe, and packing the remains of my outfit and our toys into a bag, you slowly escort me out, and back to the car where you help me in and gingerly strap me into the seat-belt.



As I fall asleep on the way back to your house, it occurs to me, I never did learn what the punishment was for… Oh well, I’m sure it will come to me eventually…

It was well past 9:00 p.m. when the phone rang about a week later. I was surprised to hear Mr. Damon on the other end of the line.



“Chloe,” he said, “Chuck and I have been discussing you here over drinks this evening and have decided we’d like a little more of your tight little cunt. Well, I’ve decided that. Actually, Chuck wants your mouth again.”



I was stunned, he was obviously a little inebriated, and not knowing exactly how to respond to such overt and startlingly coarse language, I could do little more than tremble, “Yes, okay.”



“Anyway, here’s what we want,” obviously not attuned to the trepidation in my voice. “Tell Joey that there’s an emergency at work and we need you here right away. We want you dressed in a coat and that’s all. Nothing underneath. What? Hold on, Chloe…. Chuck wants you in a garter belt and black stockings, nothing else.”



“I don’t have a garter belt,” I whispered shielding the phone, fearing Joey would hear.



“She doesn’t have a garter belt….Okay, I’ll ask her. You got black thigh highs?”



“Yes,” I stammered.



“Thigh highs and heels then. Nothing else. No panties. Nothing. You got that?”



“Yes, sir,” I answered nervously.



“When you get to the parking lot, call us. We’ll tell you what we want next.”



I could hear Chuck laughing in the background. I had a feeling that I would be used again by both Mr. Damon and Mr. Compton, but I hoped not so abruptly and so crudely. I was frankly reluctant to go, but having been unable to indicate that, I felt I had no choice now but to obey.



I went into the living room where Joey and I had been watching a movie and told him what Mr. Damon had told me. He looked puzzled, but told me to be careful and call him when I got there. He’d wait up for me.



I told him that wasn’t necessary, that I’d likely be late, slipped back into the bedroom, and nervously stripped. I think it was only then, while I was actually undressing as I was told to, that I realized I was in fact going to do this. When I stopped anxiously to check my naked body in the mirror to ensure that it would be pleasing to the men, I knew I was truly lost. I slipped my coat over my nakedness and left the bedroom.



I kissed Joey goodbye, scared to death that he would sense my bareness beneath the coat. My heart was racing as I walked to the car, both in fear and excitement.



I called Mr. Damon from the parking lot, and he told me the night watchman would let me in the back door and escort me to the elevator. He told me to leave the jacket on but unbutton it completely. The night watchman, a guy about my age that I had innocently flirted with many times, gave me such a strange look. It almost made me blush. With my coat unbuttoned, my nakedness was dramatically evident. I couldn’t imagine what he must be thinking.



At Mr. Damon’s office, I knocked nervously on the door. Mr. Compton answered and let me in to a rather dimly lit office and the distinct aroma of cigars. I saw Mr. Damon sitting on the sofa near his desk and standing just to his right a tall, distinguished looking older gentleman smoking a cigar and holding a glass of something in his hand.



“This is the girl we were talking about, Giles,” Mr. Compton said, ushering me into the room. “Chloe, this is Giles Stanford.”



I was a bit taken aback. First, I hadn’t expected anyone other than Mr. Damon and Mr. Compton, and second I certainly wasn’t expecting to see Giles Stanford, the man whose father founded the company.



“Beautiful young woman,” Mr. Stanford said, looking at me intently. He had a deep and intimidating voice, a voice that just seemed innately to command respect and one that literally put chills down my back. He was handsome in the way that older, powerful men who are confident in their place in the social order seem to exhibit naturally, and he was impeccably dressed. Even Mr. Damon and Mr. Compton were in obvious awe of the man. And I most certainly was.



“Take your coat off, Chloe,” Mr. Damon ordered abruptly. “I think you’ll be impressed with this, Giles,” he said, turning to Mr. Stanford. “Not only with her beautify but with her obedience.”



I was not ready for this. Both Mr. Damon and Mr. Compton had made it clear to me after they first took me that I was in fact their property now, but I don’t think I completely understood until just this minute. I knew that I had not actually given myself as property to Mr. Damon and Mr. Compton, as I had to Derrick. This was far different. No, I hadn’t “given” myself to them; they had simply taken me.



It’s very hard for me to explain, even to myself, but when Mr. Damon raped me, I understood that he did so because he knew he could. He wanted me, and the fact that I was married meant nothing to him. He took what he wanted, and he wanted me. My husband sadly was unable to protect me. Simply put, a more powerful man had taken what he had and now owned it in ways Joey could never emulate. And in truth, I was more naturally bound now to Mr. Damon and Mr. Compton than to Derrick. What I gave I to Derrick I could take back. But what was taken was forever theirs.



Understand I did and do love Joey. I have always done my best to please him and to build his confidence around other men. It really did please me to be his “arm candy,” but at the same time he put our relationship at risk by displaying me that way. My beauty, my sex were his badge of manhood, but when a stronger man simply took what he saw displayed, took ownership of it as his natural right, as Mr. Damon had done that afternoon in his office, I had no choice but to surrender. It just seems a natural law that that’s the way it must be. Like Darwin proved, these men were superior and had an innate right to strew their genes where they choose. This was much bigger than Joey. Much bigger than Derrick.



This wasn’t at all like my submission to Derrick. As I said, that was totally willing on my part. But the funny thing was, the distressing thing, actually, was that standing there in front of these powerful men it came to me in a dazzling image, that their taking me simply because they could had bound me to them in ways that my easy submission to Derrick could never. I truly was their property. Their captured property. Their booty.



“The coat, Chloe,” Mr. Damon said again, snapping me out of my reverie. I knew my next decision would unalterably mark me as “property,” but I also knew that decision had already been made last weekend when they simply took their property from Joey and enjoyed it. I slowly pulled the coat from my shoulders and let it fall to my feet.



“Well,” Mr. Stanford exclaimed. “Where did you find this? I see a ring on her finger. She married?” he said, walking over to me, his eyes fixed firmly on my body.



“Some auto parts clerk or something. Nothing to worry about.”



“Nothing to worry about, Honey?” Mr. Stanford asked, extending his hand and cupping my left breast, never once glancing at my face.



“No,” I murmured.



“I’ve never seen tits this large and so perfectly formed,” he said, addressing Mr. Damon. “In size and shape they almost look like implants, but they’re very obviously not,” he added, now kneading my breast and squeezing my nipples. “Tiny waist. This is a rare find. And she’s a good fuck, you say?”



“Not bad,” Mr. Damn answered. “A little inexperienced, but also tight and underused. Turn around and let Mr. Stanford see more of you, Chloe.”



I turned obediently, watching as Mr. Stanford put his drink and cigar on the table and came near to examine me more carefully.



“What did you say her name was,” Mr. Stanford asked.



“Chloe.”



“Bend over for me, Chloe, and spread you legs open a bit.”



I did as I was told. Putting his hand between my thighs, he nudged my legs open a bit more and began to expertly caress my vagina.



“Very smooth, nicely kept. Your idea?”



“No, she came that way,” Mr. Damon laughed.



“She has slightly puffed cunt lips, which I like a lot,” Mr. Stanford said, turning me now to face him.



“Has she ever been whipped?”



“I doubt it,” Mr. Compton said. Certainly not by us. We haven’t had her long enough, and I’d bet anything not by her husband. Ever been whipped, Chloe?”



I shook my head no, lying but worried about the question.



“You will be whipped,” Mr. Stanford said assertively, “but not tonight.”



“Would you like us to leave while you fuck her, Giles?” Mr. Damon asked.



“No, let’s all enjoy her, though I think I’ll invoke executive privilege and take her first,” Mr. Stanford laughed. “Take her over to that conference table and push her tits down on it,” he said to Mr. Damon. “I’ll take her from the rear.



“Cunt or ass?” Mr. Damon asked.



“Perhaps both,” Mr. Stanford replied.



“Well, just as a heads up, the latter is virgin, something we saved for you.”



“Interesting. Nice gift. I think I will give that a try. Your ass is virgin, Chloe?” he asked, running his hand across my butt.



“Yes,” I lied again, hoping he wouldn’t know.



As Mr. Damon was leading me to the table and pushing my tits down hard on it cold surface, I just seemed to intuit that once Mr. Stanford took me, I would be his property, not anyone else’s. In truth, I hoped that would be the case.



The second he touched my bare ass and began rubbing it and examining it, I knew without any doubt that this was going to be an intense experience.



“You haven’t branded her or marked her, I see,” Mr. Stanford said. “Maybe I’ll put my own mark on her,” he added. “If she earns it.”



I was determined to earn it. I wanted his mark, his brand, his whatever it was that he needed to deem me his property. I knew for the first time in my life that I was in the presence of pure power, and that whether anyone else knew it, he already owned me. I was just waiting for him to take possession. I would beg him if necessary.



His hand slid from my butt to my pussy and his fingers began to probe my clit as I writhed in anticipation. I heard him laugh and exclaim to Mr. Damon that I seemed eager to get “my cunt filled.” And I was! At least by him. I didn’t have long to wait.



I held my breath as I felt his cock begin to breech my labia because I knew Mr. Stanford would not be gentle. But I was mistaken. At first.



His first stroke seemed exploratory, as if probing to find the best position to impale me. His next stroke was not so gentle. He plunged his cock fully in me in one tremendous stabbing thrust, literally lifting me off of my feet. Each subsequent stroke found the very bottom of my cunt and threatened to rupture my cervix. I knew I would offer no resistance if that’s what he wanted. And then he stopped and withdrew!



I ws desperate for him to continue, but afraid to say anything that might offend him. I simply lay there, poised for his next assault.



“Chloe,” he said gently. “I’m going to fuck you in your ass now and I will probably rend you in the process. Do you understand?”



I nodded that I did.



“Your cunt is quite tight and I imagine your ass will be even tighter,” he went on. “I expect some tearing and some bleeding, as I’m not inclined to be gentle in these situations. I’d like you now to invite me to rend you ass.”



I hesitated, naturally. What he was offering was frightening and he wanted me to not only give my permission but to ask him to take me.



“Chloe?” he said sternly.



“Yes,” I stammered. “Yes, sir, go ahead,” and closed my eyes against what I knew was coming.



“I said ask me to rend your ass, Chloe. I expect your answer to reflect that.”



My voice was weak and wavering as I stumbling said, “Yes, please fuck me in the ass.”



“Rend, not fuck, Chloe,” he said sternly to me. Looking at Mr. Compton and Mr. Damon, he added, “Do you always have such problems getting through to your whores?”



I could see that neither Mr. Compton or Mr. Damon were happy with me at the moment, but I managed to blurt out, “Please rend my ass, Mr. Stanford.”



I heard him chuckle as he placed the head of his cock against my rectum. And then with a grunt he drove his engorged cock deep into my ass. I screamed in horrifying pain as his thick fat cock tore its way deep inside my ass.



His plundering of my rectum was relentless. The pain was incredible and seemingly endless, and only at last, when his heavy cock unloaded its burden inside my belled anus did I feel any relief. It’s odd how welcome his cum was, providing not only soothing balm to my ruined ass but also the promise of an end to this brutality. And odder yet, I had fallen desperately in love with this strong, domineering man who simply took what he wanted. In some way, I felt proud to have given him some satisfaction, even though the cost to me was extreme.



When he grabbed my hair and yanked me to my knees to clean his soiled cock, I took it humbly and gratefully. I ws his if he wanted me. And even if he didn’t!



“I think she needs a little training, Chuck,” I heard Mr. Stanford subtly complain. Her cunt is tight right now and that makes up for a lot of lapses in technique, but she needs work. Right now, she takes a cock. She doesn’t work with it. I’m surprised a beautiful young woman with a body like this hasn’t had considerably more experience, but she apparently hasn’t, so it’s up to you two to provide that knowledge. Also, her ass is frankly a little uncomfortably tight. I’ve opened her pretty well, I think,: he added, sticking four fingers into my ass and then again into my mouth, “but I expect you to keep her opened. Use a large dildo or have her ass fucked a least once a week by somebody with some size, perhaps by one of the blacks who clean up here.”



“No problem, Giles” Mr. Compton answered. “Maybe we can get a little better janitorial service with Chloe here as a bonus for especially good work,” he laughed.



Brianna



It was a week later when, being summoned to the office, I walked into the middle of a conversation about Mr. Stanford’s new girl, Brianna. Neither Mr. Damon nor Mr. Compton had met her yet, but they had heard that she was arrestingly attractive and quite young, apparently barely eighteen. Both were eager to see (and, I assumed, to fuck) her.



Mr. Stanford brought her to the office later that morning, and everything said about her was true. She was simply stunning. She was tall, at least three inches taller than my 5’6″, with beautiful long legs and supple hips and slender waist. Her skin was the palest ivory, and the contrast of her hair falling in luxurious waves of black curls down her back, framing the flawless features of her perfect face, only enhanced the stunning contrast. Her deep green eyes seemed to express knowledge far beyond her scant years.



Dressed in a chic teal skirt and matching sweater that very obviously didn’t come off the rack at a department store, she had an air of unassuming confidence. The body incased in that elegant ensemble would befit a goddess. Standing there in her natural hauteur, she displayed the aura of one accustomed to power and privilege, thought I learned later that was not the case at all. The daughter of one of Mr. Stanford’s clients at the time, Brianna first caught his attention at fourteen, he told us, and he resolved immediately to possess her and her younger sister. Mr. Stanford had first taken the mother as collateral on a loan made to her husband, a gambling addict deeply in debt to some very dangerous men, though his addiction to the crap tables was likely far more dangerous. The mother, Katherine, submitted early on, and within a month proudly wore Mr. Stanford’s mark above her vagina, a mark proclaiming her to be his exclusive property.



As the husband’s debts accumulated, Mr. Stanford’s hold on the family grew as did his interest in the two daughters. When he mentioned his intention to possess the two daughters when they reached the age of eighteen, Katherine objected. A week later, at lunch with an Asian businessman, he sold her for a bowl of wan ton soup to the same businessman, who that very evening drugged her and shipped her off to Hong Cong.



Having now to deal only with the husband, Mike, Mr. Stanford made arrangements to cover all of his gambling debts, with the provision that the girls become his property at eighteen and that they both be virgin. When that provision was satisfied and Mr. Stanford took possession, he would give Mike a cash settlement of twenty thousand dollars for each. Mike agreed. Mr. Stanford began the girl’s preparation immediately.



By the time Mr. Stanford took possession of Brianna four years later, he had transformed her into an elegant young woman, poised and accomplished in her manners and dress, but more important a young woman trained to perfect obedience. Her body, nearly faultless already, had been sculpted by an array of fitness trainers; had been prepared further by a yoga instructor who enhanced her natural sinuous suppleness; and finished by laser treatments that left her body silkily smooth and unblemished. She was now eighteen, a virgin, and Mr. Stanford’s property.



When Mr. Stanford walked into the office that morning and introduced us to Brianna, I knew immediately that, though this girl was younger than I, she was much older in ways I would have yet to learn.



He told us the basic story that I have related above, and then asked Brianna to remove her clothes, which she immediately did. As her skirt and sweater fell to the floor, all of us involuntarily gasped in amazement. Brianna was simply awe inspiring. Her skin was milky white and flawless, her hips full, her waist stylishly tapered, and her breasts perfectly shaped and alluring.



I am not unaware that I have a nice body. Many guys have told me so. But I also know my boobs are too big for my frame, and while a guy might think my tits fit me impeccably, every girl would know otherwise. But Brianna was faultless. Her boobs were a large B cup or more likely a C, and stood prominent and enticing. Her nipples, slightly erect, were light pink and ideally proportioned. I felt humbled at the sight of this gorgeous apparition of classical beauty.



It was a moment before my eyes fell to what Mr. Damon and Mr. Compton had been talking about: a tattoo in subtle shades of reds and greens arching over her vagina and proclaiming in elegant script that she was the “Exclusive Property of Global Enterprises, Inc.” It was appropriate in every degree to her body and her demeanor. Once seeing it, I could never imagine her without it. It was perfection.



Turning her around by her graceful shoulders, Mr. Stanford drew our attention to her derriere and the small brand, about the size of a silver dollar, burned deeply into her bottom. It too was perfect. A thin circle enclosed Mr. Stanford’s initials, all of which protruded ever so slightly above her skin. I couldn’t help but touch it.



The skin surrounding the brand was as smooth as glossy velvet and the brand itself had no roughness to it at all. Rather than the irregular branding so common, this was a beautiful piece of art work that Brianna could be rightfully proud of.



“How did you get that brand to come out that way?” Mr. Damon inquired. “I’ve never seen that kind of result. How did you manage to brand her and not make a mess of it?” he added, expressing the sentiment of us all.



“The right equipment and a steady hand,” he replied. “I like to use a stainless steel brand that allows me a very thin outline that I can heat to extremely high temperatures. It’s important that your bitch not move at all when you apply the brand, so I had one of my dog breeding stocks modified enough so that I can secure her tightly enough to keep her immobile all through the process.”



“You’re a fucking genius, Giles. I mean it,” Mr. Compton said. “The mark is perfect.”



Mr. Stockton laughed and said it was one of his better inventions and that maybe he’d patent it. Everybody chuckled.



Mr. Compton again turned Brianna and while inspecting her vagina turned to Mr. Stanford to comment that her labia were not pierced.

Lloyd’s Angel: Doing Susan



January 1962



Dinner broke up with a round of “good-nights” and soon Susan and I were walking back across the campus. The two of us strolled quietly for a block, watching our breath steam in the chill night air, while a new round of snowflakes fluttered down past the streetlights.



“Whose idea was the ketchup?” Susan asked after we turned onto a less populated street. Her tone had hints of both resignation and humor, but apparently no anger.



“Alexandra’s. She thought something you weren’t expecting would be more useful.” I was honest enough to assign credit for a clever idea, and not chivalrous enough to take the fall for it if she was really upset. “Tell me about it while it’s fresh in your mind,” I suggested, genuinely curious.



“She’s going to come to a bad end,” Susan muttered, then shook her head. “I knew something was up as soon as I’d put it on my burger. I looked at the fries with that bottle in my hand, and I could feel my mouth water. But I knew I hated ketchup on fries!”



We passed another house before she resumed talking, giving me a chance to reflect on what she’d said. It seemed we had another piece of hard evidence that my ability was real, and that it was trickier to use than I’d thought.



“Finally, I just had to try one,” Susan admitted. “It was really weird.”



“Yeah, I saw your face. You didn’t like it after all?”



“Honestly, it’s confusing. It tasted exactly like I expected, but…” Susan shrugged. “It was like half my brain was saying, ‘you hate this,’ and the other half was saying, ‘this tastes great!’ I’m not sure what to think.”



“Wow,” I said, and blew out a large cloud of steam. “Would you eat them again?”



She thought on it awhile. “I think so,” Susan finally replied. “I think maybe I’d just need to get out of the habit of not liking it, if that makes any sense.”



“About as much as any of the rest of it,” I mused, pondering the ramifications. “Alexandra will be fascinated, I’m sure.”



I sensed more than saw Susan roll her eyes. “She has a low sense of humor, even if food was one of the things we agreed to test. Would you like to come up?”



Startled, I realized we’d reached the student apartment where she lived. “Won’t that be a problem? I thought you had a roommate.”



Susan laughed. “Yelena? Not on a Friday evening — I should introduce her to Danny, but I’m not ready to completely ruin her reputation! We’re not supposed to have boys in after hours, but the other girls sneak them in all the time.”



“Okay, if we won’t get in trouble.”



“No more trouble than you deserve! Just wait over there by the side door and I’ll be back in a minute.” She surprised me with a quick kiss and hurried in the front. I meandered over to the side of the building, following the path worn in the snow; I barely had time to look around before Susan had opened the door and dragged me inside. She led me up the back stairs to the second floor and down the hall, passing another girl who only smiled.



Susan let us into her room and I looked around for a moment while she rummaged in a dresser before producing a bobby sock. “Do not disturb,” she explained, pulling it over the doorknob before closing and locking the door. Some of the thoughts that had been running idly though my head over the past few minutes came into sharper focus.



We took off our coats, but instead of hanging them in the closet, Susan dropped hers on the floor and started unfastening her sweater. I presumed my coat ended up on the floor too, but I wasn’t paying attention to it. It turned out my earlier guess had been correct; there was nothing under the sweater except nubile female flesh.



“I do have nice boobs, don’t I?” Susan asked, presenting herself confidently for inspection.



“Oh yeah,” I agreed, urgently hard. Thoughts of Alexandra didn’t so much disappear as move aside as I admired the attractive and half-naked young woman before me. I needed physical relief, and I wanted to fuck her in the worst way.



“They’re bigger than Yelena’s,” Susan boasted, but I cut her off with an aggressive kiss. She opened her mouth almost immediately and our tongues probed against each other. I’m sure she felt my cock as clearly as I did her tits. We broke apart and almost in unison began shedding our clothes. Susan had a head start, but I didn’t have hose to deal with, so we finished in a dead heat.



I thought I read lust in her expression, but Susan turned away from me and started rummaging in one of the dressers, mumbling something under her breath. A little disappointed, I followed her delectable ass and wrapped my arms around her from behind, grinding my rigid tool against the small of her back. “Lloyd!” she squeaked, squirming in my embrace; she had a condom package in one hand.



I felt like a heel for not thinking of the risks, but my remorse quickly was buried beneath my rising anticipation and physical desire. My grip tightened and I lofted Susan onto the nearby bed, smiling at her surprised shriek. “Sssh!” I told her, and knelt on the bed to straddle her as she lay on her back.



Susan looked at my cock, jutting towards her face, and I wondered if she might squeeze it between her tits or even take it in her mouth. Instead, she tore open the packet and started rolling the condom down my penis; apparently she was as eager to reach home base as I was. I trailed my fingers up her flanks to her nipples, watching them stiffen beneath my touch.



As soon as the condom was in place, I crab walked backwards until I was between her legs. I wasn’t the world’s most experienced lover, but even I realized we hadn’t done much in the way of foreplay. I probed her bush gently with a finger, thinking I shouldn’t be too selfish, but Susan was already wet and pulling at my arms.



“Oh, just get inside me, hurry!” she moaned.



No man alive, and certainly not me, was going to pass up a request like that from a beautiful girl. I lined up and started easing myself into her molten pussy; about half-way in, Susan got her legs around mine and pulled me the rest of the way into her in a rush. At that point, my remaining self-control vanished and I started rutting into her like a jackhammer. It had been awhile since I’d been with a girl and Susan felt way better than my hand, even with the condom in the way.



She made the most erotic little moans and gasps, as if she were trying to remain quiet but just couldn’t hold them in. Her eyes were open, but must have been focused about 100 feet above the roof of the building.



I came embarrassingly quickly, like I was still eighteen or something, and collapsed momentarily atop Susan. Regretfully, I wriggled free before I deflated and lost the bulging condom inside her. My libido was still stuck in overdrive, even if my penis needed a break, and I didn’t think Susan had orgasmed yet. Settling myself beside her, I started fingering her dripping crevice. At the same time I was physically stimulating her, I tried to will her to orgasm.



It took a few minutes, but I could see something was working because her nipples were hard like rocks and her knuckles were white where they gripped the bedspread. Suddenly Susan gasped and arched her body completely off the bed while a scream tore itself from her throat. I’d never seen a girl so abandoned, and I didn’t think it was an act. My cock was hardening again at the sight of her.



Susan’s eyes focused on my face and she brushed a sweaty lock of hair off her forehead. “My gosh, Lloyd, I’ve never felt so wanton,” she whispered hoarsely. A slow smile spread across her face when a questing hand found my firm tool. “Come here, you.”



I thought she might want to fuck again, but she pulled on me, leading me by my cock until I was straddling her once more. Susan stripped off the condom and cast it aside, then pressed her breasts together around my now-rigid organ. “Do they feel as good as they look?” she asked me.



“Better,” I assured her. My slick flesh easily slid back and forth against hers. It wasn’t the same as fucking her, but without the condom in the way, the sensation was intense, and the view was even better. I’d heard about tit-fucking, but never done it before now. It was exciting to be doing it, and even more exciting to think I might have influenced Susan to do it.



It was ungracious, but I had a sudden flash of Alexandra squeezing her tits around my cock. The thought was enough to make me shudder and jet warm spunk onto Susan’s neck and chin. She jerked but couldn’t avoid either the initial blast or the follow-on emissions that dripped stickily onto her chest.



“Eeww, Lloyd,” she complained, evidently as unpracticed in these matters as I. “Come on, get off me!”



I backed off, but slowly, letting a few last drops spatter her belly. I felt like a dog marking his territory, and thought hard about Susan massaging my cum into her flushed skin.



Susan appeared to be oblivious to my thoughts. “Can you get me something?” she asked, sitting up. Some of my spend had already dripped onto the pillow, and now the rest was trailing slowly down her body — a truly erotic sight.



I looked about for a moment before catching sight of her panties lying on the floor with the rest of our clothing. “Here,” I said, stooping to retrieve them, “I think it’s your turn to ruin a pair.”



She gave me a dirty look before laughing and accepting them. “We don’t seem to do a very good job of planning, do we?” she asked, mopping up the worst of the mess. Susan looked doubtfully at the spots on the pillow.



“Lick it up!” I thought while managing to get out a simple verbal, “no.” My hopes rose as Susan used a finger to remove most of the excess, but she merely cleaned it on the panties and flipped the pillow so the spots were on the bottom.



She shrugged. “Oh, well. I’m pretty sure Yelena’s done worse to me.”



“What?” I asked, not getting it.



“This is Yelena’s bed,” Susan explained. “You don’t think I’m the kind of girl who keeps condoms in her dresser, do you?”



I took in her naked body, topped with tousled hair and gleaming here and there with the residue of my orgasm, and thought she looked exactly like that kind of girl. I felt an urge to do her again, but my penis didn’t look like it was up to the challenge. Yet.



Susan read the answer in my expression and flushed slightly before giggling. “Well, okay, but I’m not!” We both laughed, and started picking up our abandoned clothing.



It seemed a bit gauche to just leave, but we’d already had dinner. “Do you want to see a movie, or maybe get a cup of coffee?” I asked.



She cocked an eyebrow. “Isn’t that the wrong order? Besides, I think I need a little more cleaning up than you do.” Her skirt went into the closet in exchange for a robe, which Susan pulled on and belted. “Not that I don’t appreciate the offer, mind you.”



I finished tucking in my shirt and stuffed the tie in my pocket. “Well, another night, then.” I hesitated, and then walked over and kissed her again. It was pretty steamy, but without the raw edge of our earlier lust, and Susan pressed her hand over mine when I slid it inside her robe to cup a breast.



“I’d better fix that,” Susan told me when we parted, and ran a finger across my mouth; it came away lipstick red. “Better,” she pronounced, and walked me to the door.



Susan cracked the door and I slid out, trying for a little discretion, to find myself facing another girl. She was thin, although still feminine, and gave me a piercing look as I emerged from the room.



“So, Susan is not so aloof as she appears,” the girl drawled after finishing her examination. “I am pleased to meet you, I think.” Her amused smirk was hard to resist.



“I’m Lloyd,” I introduced myself, offering my hand.



“Yelena,” she responded, placing her hand lightly in mine instead of shaking it as I’d expected.



I yielded to impulse and raised her hand to my lips; it just seemed like a natural thing to do. “Charmed.”



“I can see,” she commented archly, looking at the red smudge I’d left by her knuckles. “I would wish you a good evening, but I see you’ve already had one.” Yelena stripped the sock from the doorknob and wiped away the lipstick. “Please feel free to visit again.”



“Yelena!” Susan moaned from behind me.



“I want to hear all about it,” Susan’s roommate said as she entered the room. I waved a silent, and unheeded, goodbye and retreated the way I’d entered without encountering anybody else.







The snow was falling again Saturday, and I wasn’t exactly a winter person. One of the benefits of boarding instead of living in a dorm or apartment was that I could get away with holing up on these kinds of days; Mrs. Wagner would even bring me coffee without prompting. I claimed my usual chair by the fireplace in the family room and worked through a stack of grading while Mr. Wagner studied the minutia of the sports section and Mrs. Wagner knitted — very homey.



After I’d finished grading, I turned to the more interesting question of assessing what I’d learned the previous day and what I might try next. There was a delicate balance to maintain between what I wanted and what would be safe, and what I could tell Alexandra and what I shouldn’t; I ended up just closing my eyes and waiting to see where my mind would drift.



I hadn’t quite fallen asleep, or so I thought, when I woke suddenly and found Mrs. Wagner standing beside my chair with a throw in her hands.



“Oh, I’m sorry, Lloyd! I didn’t mean to startle you; I just thought you looked a little cold.” She proceeded to settle the throw over my lap and legs.



“Don’t worry, Mrs. Wagner, I wasn’t really sleeping. Thanks!”



The whole interaction was almost routine, because Mrs. Wagner was eerily silent in her slippers and really had surprised me any number of times in the past. I’d grown accustomed to it, but it was disconcerting. Somehow it hadn’t worked that way today.



I lay back and closed my eyes again, but this time my mind was working much more quickly. What had alerted me this time? I worked on the problem fruitlessly for some time before calming again in the warmth of the fire and the crackle of the burning wood. I’d started watching the transient flashes of imagined stars inside my eyelids when I gradually became aware of a faint lightness somewhere ahead of me. It reminded me somewhat of coals buried beneath ashes after a fire had almost burned out, but without any sense of color.



Opening my eyes momentarily revealed the glow, if it really existed, seemed to coincide with Mr. Wagner. I closed my eyes again and cast about for Mrs. Wagner; I convinced myself that I found a matching glow where she was sitting, but it was too faint to discern with my eyes open. A little experimentation suggested the glows tracked with them, but I couldn’t make out anything more. The chief result of sitting there with my eyes closed was that I fell asleep again.







The ringing phone awakened me. For whatever reason, Mr. Wagner was in charge of answering it, and he was most of the way to the kitchen before I was aware enough to close my eyes and try to follow him. I didn’t have any luck, either due to the extra distance or my unsettled mental state.



“Lloyd, it’s for you,” he said after a minute.



I sat up in surprise. Sure, I was listed in the campus directory, but I couldn’t remember anybody calling me before this, and it wasn’t the right time for my parents to be calling.



“A Susan,” he added with a wink. It was ridiculous how excited both of them looked; Mrs. Wagner had let it be known that she thought I didn’t socialize enough, and now I’d never hear the end of it.



I got to the phone and tried to ignore my hosts, who were hovering far enough away to give me some space but doubtless close enough to hear every word I said. “Hi, Susan.”



“Oh, Lloyd, I hope you don’t mind me calling,” she apologized. “Did I interrupt anything?”



“Only a thought experiment,” I quipped. “I’m happy you called.”



“I was just wondering if we could get together and plan some more research.” She lowered her voice and continued, “I just couldn’t stop thinking about yesterday. You don’t think I’m being too forward, do you?”



“I’d like that,” I smiled. Out of the corner of my eye I could see Mrs. Wagner practically jumping up and down and whispering, “Ask her out!”



“This is research!” I hissed, holding a hand over the phone, before putting it back to my ear. “Would you mind coming over here? I board but I don’t think the owners will mind. The university doesn’t leave the thermostats turned up over the weekend, and it would be more comfortable than your place or the library.” It was unlikely to be a problem with the Wagners, and sure enough a quick glance showed Mr. Wagner giving me a thumbs-up.



“That would be fine; can you give me directions?”



“What if I pick you up, instead? It’s still miserable outside, and I’d be happy to take you home again afterwards.”



“Would you? That’d be swell!”



“About 6:30, then?”



“I’ll be waiting in the lobby.”



“I’m looking forward to it,” I assured her, and hung up.



Mr. Wagner chuckled. “She must be some girl to get you out in the snow.”



“Oh, shush,” said Mrs. Wagner, elbowing him. “Weren’t you telling me you wanted to see ‘Lawrence of Arabia’?”



They traded knowing looks. “Well, Lloyd, it looks like some girl is going to drag me out in the snow, too.” Mr. Wagner didn’t look too upset about it.



“I promise not to throw any wild parties,” I grinned, starting to think about what else I might do instead.



We ate lunch, and I called Susan back, just to let her know she didn’t have to worry about impressing the Wagners. I then proceeded to do un-Saturday-like activities such as making my bed, showering, and shaving. I also checked to be sure I had a few condoms discreetly tucked where I could reach them at need.







After picking at a dinner that could have been sawdust for all I remembered of it, all of us bundled up, brushed off the cars, and departed in different directions. The movie was long, and the Wagners told me they didn’t expect to be home until late. The roads weren’t as bad as I’d feared and I made it to Susan’s apartment early, but she emerged from the front door as soon as I got out of the car.



I handed her into the passenger’s seat, slammed the balky door hard to make sure it latched on the first try, and scampered around to climb back inside myself.



“Thanks for picking me up,” Susan told me, huddling in her heavy coat. “I wasn’t really looking forward to going anywhere in this.”



“Neither was I,” I laughed, “but this seemed like a good cause.” I concentrated on keeping the Ford in the middle of the street and we made only inconsequential conversation on the thankfully short drive back home. After pulling back into my space in the empty driveway, we dashed up to the house and inside to the warmth of the mud room, where we stamped the snow off our boots.



I offered to hang up her coat, and got the surprise of my life — beneath it, Susan was naked save for a scarf and her boots. “Jesus, Susan!” I blurted, fumbling with the garment.



She giggled, evidently pleased by the pole-axed expression that must have been visible on my face. “I have a present from Yelena, too,” she announced, and withdrew a handful of condoms from one of the pockets. “We only have to promise not to use them on her bed!”



“It’s a deal!” I got our coats mostly onto hangers and then, hands free, pulled her tight for a passionate kiss. “This way,” I urged her a minute later, tugging in the direction of my room. I had my shirt unbuttoned by the time we got there; I started on my trousers, but Susan pushed me onto my bed and finished the job herself.



“I want you,” she growled huskily, shredding one of the condom wrappers. “Do I make you hot?”



“Unbelievably,” I gasped, as if my rigid erection wasn’t answer enough. There were things I wanted to try, but I suspected I was too worked up at the moment, and the sight of Susan wearing only a scarf was a real turn-on. I made myself lie still while she rolled on the condom, then pulled her onto the bed beside me and we were in each other’s arms.

“I’m looking forward to this,” I admitted, but she just moaned as I pushed myself into her wet pussy. There was no resistance and in no time at all we were fucking like minks.



“Oh, fuck! Fuck me, Lloyd!” was about the most coherent thing Susan said, but she was vocal enough to make me glad we had the house to ourselves.



I forced myself to slow down so I wouldn’t pop right away. “Get on top, baby — I want to hold your tits,” I gasped.



Susan gave me a sly look, and we rolled so she was straddling me. She wriggled a bit and began bouncing up and down on my organ while I cupped her breasts in my hands. The bad news, if you could call it that, was that she was working herself more energetically than I had been. The good news was that I could lie passively and enjoy the ride.



With my eyes closed, I tried to ignore the extremely pleasurable sensations emanating from my groin and focused on the space above me. Almost immediately I found a glow, either brighter or closer, about where Susan’s head was; it bobbed slightly in rhythm with her body. I fixated on that spot and concentrated on my arousal, and how good my cock felt inside her, and the orgasm that wasn’t too far away.



Everything happened at once, so I never was sure what might be cause or just reaction. The glow rippled slightly, Susan’s pussy squeezed me like a vise, and both of us climaxed almost simultaneously. I gasped, releasing a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding, and Susan wailed as if she were dying. A moment later she collapsed atop me and we held each other, breathing heavily.



“God, you are hot,” I complimented Susan, meaning every word, and kissed her. I wasn’t sure if she’d orgasmed because of what I’d tried or not, but the effect was equally delightful either way.



“Flatterer,” she replied. “I’ve never felt the way you make me feel, Lloyd.” A subtle movement of her body reminded us both I was still inside her.



It wasn’t every day a guy had a beautiful girl tell him he was the best lay she’d ever had. I was still pretty hard, and motivated to go again, so I pulled Susan close and rolled us back until I was on top of her again. Both of us were smiling in anticipation as I pulled back a bit and thrust into her.



Susan screamed and we both jumped.



“Are you okay?” I asked, concerned.



She chewed daintily on a lip and considered. “Oh, yes. I just — wasn’t expecting that.” She spread her legs a little wider. “Please don’t stop!”



I started pumping again. This time, I didn’t stop when Susan started wriggling and panting beneath me; as if we’d played the previous few minutes over again at high speed, she climaxed after only a minute, but continued begging me to fuck her harder. With that stimulus, I rapidly approached my own orgasm. Judging by the jerking and incoherent cries she made, Susan got off one or two more times before I emptied my load into the abused condom.



“Oh, Jesus Christ,” she sighed weakly when I pulled out before the condom could leak any of my semen into her.



Feeling a bit drained myself, I skimmed off the condom and discarded it before collapsing back on the bed beside her. “You are a firecracker.”



“I know. I mean, my gosh, I’ve never cum like that before.”



I’d been wondering that too, and she’d saved me the awkward question. “I’d like to cum like that again, but I’ll need a little rest, first,” I chuckled. There was a decent chance my meddling might have had something to do with it, but I couldn’t be sure and I didn’t have infinite stamina. I had a slight headache, but it was already fading.



Susan giggled. “I guess it’s a good thing I have extra condoms!” One hand possessively cradled my shriveled penis.



“I have to admit I have a few laid in, too,” I grinned in return. “Do you want to see how many of them we can go through?”



“Yes,” Susan answered, with a matching grin. “But maybe we can talk while you recover.” Her expression turned more serious.



I braced myself for the sort of touchy-feely dialog many girls seemed to feel went hand-in-hand with sex. “Sure. What did you have in mind? Something about the research project?” It was sort of a joke.



“In a way,” was the unexpected answer. Susan rolled on her side so she could look at me. “Help me, Lloyd. Help me be better.”



The strange request triggered so many random thoughts that they jumbled together and all that came out of my mouth was, “huh?” It wasn’t my finest moment. “What do you mean?” I clarified. “You seem plenty good to me!”



Susan brushed the side of my face with a hand. “Thanks, Lloyd. But I do have a problem, a big one, that I think you could help with — and not many people could.” She took a deep breath and released it, then added, “I’m too shy.”



It was a struggle not to laugh in her face, but Susan clearly was serious about it, and it would be rather ungentlemanly of me. “I hadn’t noticed,” I finally responded, making a point of running my gaze down her nude body.



“I’m serious!” she protested, punching me lightly. “It’s different with you — I’m uninhibited, more confident, more open. I don’t know why,” Susan reflected. “I just trust you, I guess.” I started to reply, but she shushed me and continued. “I’m not this way with anybody else. It took me months to open up with Alexandra, and we share the same office! Remember how long it took me to say anything to you besides ‘hello’ and ‘good-night’? Do you know Dr. Reynolds still calls me ‘Susie’ and I haven’t worked up the courage to tell him I hate that name?”



Susan rolled back to stare at the ceiling. “I shouldn’t even be in the graduate program. My parents were so proud I got my bachelor’s degree that I couldn’t tell them ‘no’ when they started talking about graduate school. I passed on a grant application for this year because I was embarrassed to ask for help on it, and then I was afraid to admit I missed the filing deadline. I can’t go on like this.”



“Lots of people have problems, Susan. I’m not exactly a ladies’ man myself, in spite of what you might think. I’m not sure I could help, even if there was something to do.”



“Don’t sell yourself short.” She pinned me with a direct look. “I don’t want to feel like I’m asphyxiating every time I’m in a room with strangers; I want to be my own woman. Whether it’s because we just happen to click, or because you’ve been meddling with me, I don’t care — just help me learn to do it with other people!”



“Don’t you think that’s a bit rash? I have no idea what — if anything — I’m doing, and I could make things worse without even realizing it.” I wondered if that wasn’t already the case. “Maybe we should wait until Alexandra’s experiments have gotten a little further along.”



Susan blew a tendril of hair away from her face. “That could take forever; I don’t want to wait.” She stroked a finger gently down my chest to my groin. “Please?”



It would have taken a more principled man than I to resist her plea; I sighed. “I’ll try. Just lie here quietly, okay?”



She wriggled a bit. “Can we get under the covers first? I’m getting a little chilly.”



“I have a better idea,” I said, standing up and offering her a hand. “C’mon.” I grabbed the throw that had gotten kicked off the foot of the bed at some point and started for the hall.



Susan hung back. “Lloyd! Where are you going?”



“The family room; we can sit in front of the fire. The Wagners won’t be home for hours.”



Thus reassured, she joined me and we ghosted naked through the house. The fire had died down, but it only took a minute to poke up the coals and add a few more logs. I’d thought we’d use the couch, but Susan had opted to steal a pillow and camp on the rug closer to the fireplace. Soon we were lying spooned together with the throw around us, watching new flames dart up from the seasoned wood.



“Better?” I inquired.



“Much,” she answered, arching slightly so her butt was planted even more firmly against me.



“Okay, just relax. I’m not going to do anything right away.” Susan nodded, and I closed my eyes. At this range, with her hair tickling my nose, what I thought of as the glow of her mind bloomed in my vision as soon as I started looking for it. I continued concentrating and subtle hints of details began to appear; it was reminiscent of sunspot pictures I’d seen. I had no idea how to manipulate it, but ample reason to believe it was possible. “Hmmm… How to start?”



Self-confidence was a slippery concept, especially since most of my presumed successes seemed to be associated with simpler emotional cues. Reducing Susan’s fear of conflict and failure seemed to be what was needed, but I’d never tried to remove rather than impose a feeling, either. The most workable approach seemed to be establishing a positive feedback cycle, but based on what?



“Tell me if you feel anything happening.” I tried to form an amalgamation of my impressions of Susan, the notion of strong, independent women, attraction, and desire, and then somehow attempt to project that in front of me. Nothing happened for a long time, but then Susan’s glow rippled gently. There was an itch inside my head, and then something twisted in a way I couldn’t describe; the penumbra of the mind in my vision flared, and I lost sight of it as I was seized by a splitting headache.



“Damn,” I cursed softly, seeing stars.



“What happened?” Susan asked, twisting to try and look at me.



“I’m honestly not sure, but I gave myself a heck of a headache.” I tried rubbing my forehead, to no discernable effect. “I think I need some aspirin.” I disentangled myself from Susan and the throw, and then stumped off to the bathroom. On the way back, I made a detour to the liquor cabinet and took a quick shot of Mr. Wagner’s brandy before carrying a pair of snifters back to the family room.



Susan had thrown off the covering and in the glow of the fire looked like every man’s wet dream — at least, every man who didn’t have Alexandra on the brain. I felt a stirring in my groin as I sat down beside her.



“Nightcap?” I asked, handing her one of the glasses.



She sipped it appreciatively; Mr. Wagner had far more experience and financial resources supporting his liquor supply than mere graduate students. Giving me a sly Mona Lisa smile, Susan tilted the glass and spilled some of the alcohol on herself, where it trickled between her breasts and down to her navel. “Ooops!”



I obligingly tossed back the remainder of my drink and leaned over to lick her smooth skin. I sucked the fragrant liquor from her belly and slowly worked my way upwards, kissing and teasing as I went. By the time I was done, her breathing was coming more quickly than when I started, and I was at half-mast. I transferred my attentions to her delectable tits, straining to see how much I could fit in my mouth. I teased first one and then the other nipple until both had hardened between my lips and teeth, and Susan was moaning softly.



“My turn,” she husked as she pushed me away. Susan poured out a little more of her brandy, this time directly on my erect penis, and then drained her glass. She tossed her hair back and it was my turn to moan as she bent and took the tip of my organ in her mouth.



My hips rotated of their own accord, trying to drive my cock deeper into Susan’s mouth. I’d gone perhaps an inch more when she shrieked — muffled by my flesh — and sat up to look at me. I was concerned I’d offended her or gone further than she’d intended, but that didn’t seem to be the problem.



“What did you do to me?” she asked, looking me in the face with wild eyes before dropping her gaze to my crotch. I had no answer, but apparently it wasn’t needed; she hunched over and engulfed me again, this time sucking me in so deep I heard her start to gag. Susan backed off, but only so she could go down on my full length again.



The feeling was incredible. I’d had a girl take me in her mouth before, but it had been nothing like this, and with nowhere near the same enthusiasm. I started bucking back, and we settled into a fast rhythm. I could barely believe this gorgeous girl was servicing me this way; I tangled my fingers in her hair, but I could hardly drive her faster or harder than she was going on her own.



When her rhythm broke down and I realized Susan was climaxing, I couldn’t help blowing my load down her throat. She sat up, coughing, and we both tried to catch our breath.



“Oh, my,” Susan choked. She coughed once more, and then fastidiously wiped an errant drop of semen from her lip and examined me. “I never knew — is it like that for everybody?”



“I don’t think so,” I admitted sheepishly. “You seemed to enjoy it a lot.”



“It was almost as good as getting fucked,” she told me with a gleam in her eye. “The feel of you going into me, it was — well, orgasmic. I want more.”



We both looked down at my deflating penis. I’d already cum three times that evening, which was normally about my limit.



“Please fuck me again, Lloyd.”



I proceeded to make perhaps the stupidest decision of my life, before or after. Whether it was the lure of a beautiful vixen, hormones, the liquor, my own hubris, or more likely a combination of all of them, I closed my eyes and focused inward.



Forgetting that I’d admitted to myself that I had nearly no control or understanding of my ability, and glossing over any distinction between mental desire and physical aptitude, I sank into the glow of my own mind. I thought about my hard organ, the way it felt sinking into Susan, desire for her and Alexandra, and every girl that had ever prompted an erection, and tried to find that peculiar twist that could propel those thoughts.



The next thing I remember was lying flat on the floor with Susan leaning over me asking, “Lloyd! Are you all right?”



I looked down the length of her fire-lit body from her hanging jugs to the hidden juncture of her thighs, above my jutting tool. “Oh yeah,” I said, ignoring the return of my headache, and grabbed for her.



“Oh no you don’t!” she giggled, eluding me. “I left my condoms upstairs!”



We raced back to my room, laughing, and if Susan let herself be caught just short of the bed, I recovered enough to wait for her to cover my throbbing meat with a condom before throwing her backwards onto the bed and covering her. There was no finesse, but she was so wet that none was needed; I sank into her like a hot knife in butter.



We rutted like animals. Susan moaned and shrieked her way through another wracking orgasm, but like a machine my cock remained stubbornly rigid; there just wasn’t enough sensation through the condom. I wanted to be inside her, flesh to flesh. All the same, the point of the condoms hadn’t completely escaped me.



Abruptly, I pulled out of Susan and stripped off the condom.



“What are you doing?” Susan panted.



“Something different,” I told her. “I need more sensation.” I grabbed the tube of Brylcreem from my nightstand and squeezed a generous amount into my hand, then began coating my cock with it.



“I don’t want to get pregnant,” Susan protested half-heartedly. I probably could have just fucked her and she would have let me, but my mind was on a different path by that point.



“You can’t get knocked up this way,” I assured her, kneeling on the bed. “Have you ever had anything up your ass before?” I rolled her. She started kicking and screaming, but I had the advantages of surprise, size, and position. My cock was harder than a tire iron as I pressed it between her cheeks and began forcing myself into her tight anus.



It was the sensation I was looking for. I pressed harder, burying myself deeper inside her. Susan was lying quietly now, crying, but I didn’t need her active participation. I pulled nearly all the way free and then reversed my stroke.



“You bastard,” she sobbed, but her butt rose to meet me as I skewered her again. I smiled and picked up the pace. A few minutes later I’d hauled her to her hands and knees, making it easier to fondle her tits, and we were both pounding away with abandon. I finally climaxed, but not before Susan had shuddered and nearly collapsed beneath me from the force of her own orgasm.



“Don’t ever force me again,” Susan told me flatly after I pulled out and she could roll onto her side to look at me.



I ducked my head guiltily. “I’m sorry, honestly. I think I screwed us both up a little bit.” She was looking at my cock, which was still hard, and seemed to force herself to look up.



“I can’t pretend I didn’t like it, by the end. Just remember I’m not your toy.” She took a deep breath and blew it out. “Can you fix things?”



“I’m not sure,” I shrugged. “You want to get cleaned up first? This is sort of…” My voice trailed off.



Susan gave me a small smile. “I’d like that. I feel unclean.”



I led her to the bathroom and dug an extra set of towels out of the linen cupboard. “Do you want to go first?”



She considered. “How’s the hot water supply?”



“You won’t have a problem,” I answered. The least I could do was avoid mentioning that the second shower might be problematic if I wasn’t quick. My self-induced lust, or whatever it was, was fading and I felt increasingly bad about raping Susan — there really was no other way to describe what had happened.



“Come in with me,” she decided, “you’re already naked.” I hesitated, and she reached out and hauled me to the tub. “Don’t be an idiot. I forgive you.”



What followed was a lot of soaping and fondling, followed by a stand-up ass-fuck when Susan lowered herself gingerly onto my revived tool. We both orgasmed again, Susan more colorfully than I, and we just had time to clean ourselves before the fading water temperature chased us back to my bed.



We snuggled together under the blankets and quilt, this time face-to-face. “I just wanted us to both enjoy sex,” I explained to Susan. “I’m not sure if I can reverse it or not.”



She gently kissed me. “I trust you, Lloyd. Still. Just do your best — if nothing happens, well, I guess it wouldn’t be the end of the world.”



I closed my eyes and focused on the glow of her mind. I watched it swirl and pulse, resistant to my cautious attempts, but kept trying. At some point, I fell asleep.







Alexandra swayed before me, her hair swirling gracefully in a breeze I couldn’t feel, her body barely concealed beneath a filmy negligee. I moved towards her, naked and rampantly erect, and her ruby red lips formed an “O” of awe as she admired my manhood.



Neither of us shifted position, but somehow she was lying on a bed or large couch and I hovered over her. I drifted closer, the tip of my organ pushing white fabric before it into her sex. She pulled at her nightgown, the sodden material forcing me out, but I pressed it back in again. We embraced, locking our bodies together, and she breathed, “Lloyd,” in my ear as our hips thrust against each other.



I woke as my balls clenched and I jetted into Susan. She had her face buried in a pillow, which served to muffle her shrieks of ecstasy so only I could hear them.



“Good morning,” she greeted me with a wide smile after dropping the pillow.



“Good morning,” I replied, followed a moment later by, “oh, God,” as my mind stumbled into action. I didn’t know what to be panicked about first. It was light out, the Wagners surely must be awake, the bedsprings weren’t muffled, I’d just cum inside Susan, and I hadn’t succeeded in changing us back.



“No, just Susan,” she quipped, disengaging herself from my cock. She relieved one of my anxieties by removing a condom from my erection and discarding it out the side of the bed.



“I wasn’t able to do anything last night,” I confessed.



Susan’s hand tightened about me. “I gathered as much; we’ll both live.” She flashed a grin and disappeared beneath the covers; a moment later I felt her mouth sucking on my heated flesh.



The mental picture of her servicing me this way reignited my carnal desires. My dick felt a bit raw, but jabbing it into Susan until her nose nestled near my balls felt even better. I felt for her body and started fingering her sopping pussy, not that she really needed it, and suddenly it seemed we were in a quiet race to see who could make the other climax first.

July 2008



“Hey, Lloyd, I hear you’re getting a baby girl! Will you miss me?” Dom thought he was more of a comic than he was, but he was a pretty sharp partner and I’d miss him. I didn’t know exactly how he’d gotten his job, but he was at the beginning of his life rather than the end, and was making the jump from store cop to real cop. I didn’t envy him the change, but then I wasn’t the one making it.



I was the one who got to deal with his replacement, an unknown quantity probably the result of the same impartial hiring process I’d run through. There had been some informal discussion about swapping around shifts, but nobody was keen on teaming up with the newbie — or keen on teaming up with me.



There weren’t complaints, precisely, but I rattled them in some unknown way. Dom told me I “had dark waters” when he was in a good mood, and called me “hinky” on days when he wasn’t. I was still in the middle of the seniority list — by date of hire, not age — and I knew some of the others continued to harbor suspicions I was some kind of management spy. They didn’t like it when I used big words, either.



There were only three topics of conversation at Dom’s farewell party. “Can I see your gun?” “Do you think management will give us a raise?” “I hear Lloyd’s new partner is a hottie.” I quickly tired of all of them, particularly the last. It was based on third-hand gossip leaking from that week’s new hire orientation, and quickly elaborated with sexist suppositions from the all-male audience who felt challenged by the absence of any hard facts to make up their own.



As somebody who spent nearly every night looking at more female flesh than they could imagine, I had somewhat higher standards and lower expectations. “Man, don’t you wish you were still young enough to enjoy her?” asked some wag who had misinterpreted my lack of enthusiasm.



He was quickly silenced by Dom, who’d had the native intelligence to notice I wore a wedding band but had never, in two years, spoken a single word about a Mrs. Parker.



The laugh turned out to be on me after all. I ambled into the break room the next morning to find the personnel manager and a young girl waiting for me. Okay, the “young girl” probably wasn’t any younger than Alexandra had been when I met her, but that had been a long time ago. She looked damn young to me.



She stood straight like she had a stick up her ass, or was posing for a Marine Corps recruiting poster, or both, and a body that would’ve had Danny panting and climbing the walls. I admit I admired her charms, discreetly, myself, but I also noticed her level gaze that flicked periodically around the room before always returning to me.



“Mr. Parker, I’d like you to meet Angela Vasquez. She’ll be your new uniformed partner. Ms. Vasquez, this is Lloyd Parker. I hope you enjoy working together.”



Angela had a firm grip and an inquisitive eye. She favored me with a social smile, but I’d seen her eyes flick from my face to my ring to the earbud and back to my face again before the rep had gotten fairly started on his retreat to the safety of the management offices.



“REMF,” Angela muttered under her breath.



“Excuse me?” I said, not catching the reference.



She waited a beat until we were alone. “Rear Echelon Mother Fucker,” Angela explained, watching me closely.



I snorted. “Very apropos. Armed Forces?” It wasn’t a very risky guess.



“Does it show?” she asked, grinning to show she knew it was a silly question. “Army. I was in Iraq; two tours.”



That impressed the hell out of me. “Well, I hope you find this a little more restful. Would you like the ten-cent tour?”



“Sure; lead out.”



We didn’t do much more that day than walk the store, every floor, so I could show her every door, every changing room, the blind spots where shoplifters seemed to think the security cameras couldn’t see, the few spots where they really couldn’t see, and most of the other quirks I’d picked up in two years.



I could see Angela treated it like a combat exercise, never mind that the bad guys almost never fired back here. She didn’t ask many questions, but the few she had were worth the asking. I found it easier to talk to her than I expected, so much so that I was a little hoarse when our shift ended.



“You look younger than I expected,” she told me at the end of the day.



The compliment took me a bit by surprise, and made me feel good. “You’re older than you look,” I said in turn.



“Yeah,” she said with a sad smile. “They say it wears off a little bit after a while; I don’t know.” The smile brightened a bit. “Well, until tomorrow, Lloyd?”



“See you then, Angela. Have a good evening.”







I started looking forward to the day job. I got a lot of razzing from the guys, until Angela nearly broke a few fingers off the hand of the idiot who thought the way her ass filled out her uniform slacks gave him license to pat it. After that, they treated her with the respect you’d give a tiger, and put down our cordial partnership as another facet of my mysterious bearing.



My secret was that I simply treated her like a daughter or granddaughter instead of some centerfold picture. I wouldn’t have thought you needed a psychology degree to figure that out, but maybe I was wrong.



Angela was intelligent and inquisitive, sometimes annoyingly so once she got over her initial reticence. She reminded me a little of Alexandra, more so when I found she was working this job during the day to make money for school during the evenings. The Army had paid for her undergraduate degree, but she was determined to get an MBA and break into a good management job. “Nobody ever got rich working for somebody else.”



Our shifts grew to resemble freeform dialogs on the topics she encountered in class, occasionally interrupted by the need to dissuade misguided shoppers from eroding the store’s bottom line. Angela’s gratitude was obvious, since she didn’t have much free time off for studying. I was happy to keep our conversations on safe topics.



Nevertheless, as that summer faded into memory, a degree of tension worked itself into our friendship. Part of the problem was me; I’d been extremely reluctant to say anything more about myself other than I was a widower who didn’t want just to sit home alone. Nevertheless, I could see the wheels turning in Angela’s mind — figuratively — every time this old geezer undercover officer she worked with managed to answer, at length and off the top of his head, nearly every question that came up in her coursework. A good deal of the art of our profession was noticing things that looked out of place, and I knew it was bothering her.



The other part of the problem also was me, so to speak. It seemed I was finally waking up to the fact that I was still a man — one who hadn’t gotten laid in more than five years. I remained stubbornly faithful to my memory of Alexandra and the promise I’d made her, but it was starting to get hard.



The girls at Home Run were walking inducements for sex and treated me with the careless familiarity of someone who was harmlessly androgynous. It wasn’t exactly like being the palace eunuch; rather, the thought that someone of my ancient decrepitude might retain a sex drive just never crossed their minds. Danny wasn’t that much younger than me, and he was still active. Anyway, I thought I’d become inured to it all.



I knew I had a problem when I caught myself thinking one afternoon about what Angela’s ass would look like if she were in heels instead of her black athletic shoes. I gritted my teeth and told myself to focus on the accounting problem we’d been discussing.



My conscious mind was one thing, but I started waking in the mornings with erections and unsettling fragments of half-remembered dreams that all featured a lithe, dark-haired beauty with a flashing smile. I felt vaguely guilty, but there was nothing I could do about it.







I started going off the deep end in October. Some of Angela’s friends from school were throwing her a party for her 25th birthday, and she invited me. I mumbled something non-committal at the time, repeatedly counted up the reasons I shouldn’t go, and ended up taking a night off from Home Run anyway.



The place was some restaurant I’d never heard of before, and I knew I shouldn’t have come the moment I stepped in the door. I took a long look at the cluster of youngsters gathered around Angela and realized I was probably older than all of their professors. Unfortunately, Angela spotted me before I could retreat.



“Lloyd!” she screamed, bouncing to her feet. Maybe a dozen pairs of eyes were focused on me while she hurried over and embraced me. “I’m so glad you could make it! C’mon over and meet everybody!” My body tingled where her breasts had brushed it, and what she did to a pair of jeans had to be illegal.



Angela introduced me around to her friends, whose names I uncharacteristically forgot, as her partner, and parked me on a stool next to hers. All of them were acquaintances from the University, save one young man whose eyes held the same faintly haunted expression as Angela’s.



“I brought your something,” I told her during a lull in the noise. “You don’t have to open it here.”



She looked at the slim package, wrapped in expensive paper from the specialty store in the mall, and then at me. “That’s so sweet, Lloyd; you didn’t have to do this.” Before I could react, she leaned over and pecked me on the cheek.



My paralysis lasted a minute or two while she tucked the gift into her coat pocket, and nobody else commented on our interchange. I was intensely aware of Angela’s proximity the remainder of the evening. The left side of my body felt her heat, even when I was drawing out her acquaintances on their experiences at school.



“Hey, you want to go clubbing with us?” Angela asked me after the remains of the meal had been cleared away and we’d embarrassed her with the obligatory “Happy Birthday” chorus.



“Are you kidding?” I laughed, and then blinked. The mental picture of myself trying to bounce along to the crap I heard filtering out of the Abercrombie changed channels to the image of Angela drawing a bare knee up my leg, spreading her tiny miniskirt, and arching her back to emphasize her breasts through an indecently thin top. I hurriedly added, “My heart would never survive it.”



“You aren’t as old as you think you are,” she chided me with a smile.



The erection filling my underwear begged to differ, and I remained close to the table as the group began to break up and made their goodbyes.



I welcomed, and simultaneously dreaded, a farewell hug from Angela. “Thanks again for coming, Lloyd. And thanks for the gift; you didn’t need to get me anything.”



“You’re welcome. Have fun; I’ll see you Monday,” I replied.



I drove home to my dark apartment, carefully undressed, and masturbated for the first time in decades. My hand hadn’t forgotten what to do, my cock was aching for release, and there was still a hint of Angela’s scent on my shirt. A little lotion for lubrication soon warmed to body temperature, and each slow stroke I made pulled the tension out of my body and concentrated it beneath my hand.



The pace didn’t stay slow for long. I closed my eyes and started fantasizing, dreaming of delicate feminine fingers replacing mine on my heated manhood. A moist tongue extended to touch me, warning me of the warm lips that were about to engulf my glans. In my imagination, my hands were free to guide her head closer, but the hair threading between my fingers remained stubbornly dark and it was Angela’s face that looked lovingly up at me, not Alexandra’s.



“I didn’t thank you properly,” she’d say, releasing me and crawling sinuously up my body. Angela was naked, and bare like most of the girls at Home Run, so there was nothing to obscure the view as she inserted me into her glistening folds. My penis felt like it had entered a sauna, and her muscles gripped me like a hand, but her hands were supporting her body so I could admire her compact breasts and the ruddy nipples capping them.



My hands pulled her forward, dragging her off my spear, so I could taste her skin, capture one of those buds between my teeth, and stretch it before allowing it to pop free. Her lips parted with an inarticulate sigh that left us both trembling, and when I pushed her back to spear her again, she was wetter than before.



“Do that again,” she gasped, and after I did, her nipples matched, equally stiff and engorged.



“I don’t think I can take much more of this,” I admitted. Every nerve in my body felt like it was energized and my heart was racing.



“Thank God,” Angela replied, wearing an expression of desire that managed to raise my blood pressure even more. She started rocking herself more vigorously, working my frenzied penis with her pussy, and the ends of her hair, perfumed by her body, trailed across my face. A droplet of sweat zigzagged its way down a jiggling boob, never quite breaking free.



My body jerked, and Angela threw back her head and screamed her climax as I began pumping jets of hot sperm onto my undershirt.



“Oh God, Alex, forgive me!” I sobbed into the stillness of my lonely apartment. The semen cooled rapidly, but my desire did not.



I knew it was just a dirty old man’s fantasy. My darker side, stirring sluggishly to life after a long sleep, reminded me that, unlike other men, I had the power to make that fantasy a reality. I sat on that thought — hard. The trail behind me of lives ruined or ended by my feeble attempts to play god for my personal benefit still haunted me.







Nevertheless, in the same way my body and spirit slowly had returned to life, my intellect was stirring again. Fed by my discussions with Angela about her coursework, I realized I missed the stimulation of using my entire mind. My idle thoughts — purely as an intellectual exercise! — drifted to considerations of how I could “fix” somebody while avoiding the missteps of my youth.



The only thing that kept this madness in check was the dawning suspicion, totally against all expectations, that Angela might be interested in me.



She was never without the expensive pen and pencil set I’d given her. While we both remained professional at work, Angela’s demeanor seemed warmer than before, and she invited me out for a drink the following Friday. “Oh come on, Lloyd. I feel like I owe you a round!”



I tried to make light of it. “It’s date night. Don’t tell me you couldn’t find a younger man!”



She laughed and made a rude gesture with her hands. “I prefer a companion with a little more intellectual depth, and you’re much smoother with the mental undressing.” Angela laughed harder at my guilty start. “Don’t worry, I take it as a compliment. If you weren’t looking, I’d know you were gay!”



“Now who’s being politically incorrect?” I chuckled. “I guess you talked me into it.”



We ended up in a booth upstairs. Surprisingly few people remembered the store had a small restaurant in it — a throwback to the old days — and it certainly wasn’t the sort of place people went on Friday nights. It was quiet, and even if the employee discount didn’t extend to alcohol, a few beers weren’t going to break us.



Angela had softened her look by donning a disappointingly bulky but warm turtleneck and letting her hair down. She’d been growing it out, and it was long enough she usually put it up when she was on the clock. I, of course, was already set with a forgettable flannel shirt and cardigan.



Our conversation avoided the financial meltdown, work, and school, and drifted onto our pasts. Angela’s laconic accounts of her experiences in the Army were by turns comedic and dark, and I was pretty sure she was self-censoring some of it. In her turn, she was tickled to hear I was an alumnus. We compared notes on the changes (or not) between our eras for a while, but she guided the conversation back to me.



With some initial reluctance, I described my meeting with Alexandra and how we’d come to marry. Needless to say, many details were omitted and others altered for the benefit of young ears. She was horrified to hear we’d lost our son at the World Trade Center. Even with sympathetic prodding, I couldn’t say more about Alexandra than that she’d died a few years ago after a long illness.



It was still more than I’d ever told anybody, except maybe Danny, who’d lived it too, and I realized that the tightness in my chest had loosened a bit by the end of the telling. Angela furtively wiped her eye, and we sat silently for a moment longer.



The restaurant was deserted; it was past closing time and I vaguely recalled Angela telling them we’d lock up on our way out. Just at the moment, perversely, I was feeling a warm sense of companionship rather than sexual attraction. “We should do this again,” I suggested. “Next week, my turn?”



Angela shook her head, dashing my hopes. “On Halloween? Are you kidding?”



I couldn’t believe I’d forgotten. Danny always threw a costume party at Home Run that was like Mardi Gras, but with fewer morals. There was no way I could skip out on it; I didn’t know how he’d made it through the years I’d been gone without getting raided, or worse.



“How about the week after that?” Angela countered, shattering my introspection and lifting my spirits.



“Let me check my appointment book,” I grinned. After a little pantomime, I added, “My eyes don’t work so well in the dark anymore; can you make this out?”



“It says you have a date with a smack for being a wise guy,” she mock threatened, but spoiled the effect by laughing.



“Well, heck,” I was laughing too, “a drink with you beats a smack upside the head any day — I guess we’re on!”







It was back to the old grind after that. I intercepted an odd look or two from Angela later the next week, but we still seemed as close as ever and my mind was focused on trying to head off Danny’s wilder ambitions for Halloween.



The party was a disaster. Personally, not professionally, that is; Danny was a master at gauging his audience and cleaning up on the business side. The problem was, there were a lot of people there and every damn time I caught a glimpse of a thin brunette, my cock ratcheted up another notch in my tuxedo pants.



It was ridiculous — Home Run would be the last place on earth I’d expect Angela to show up. Even if she did, she didn’t strike me as the sort of girl who’d go out wearing only a mask and a G-string. Maybe the red devil with the cutout around her crotch, but not with a pitchfork that had dildos instead of tines. Who knew there were so damn many brunettes in town?



After walking halfway around the room trying to get a look at the face of the harem girl who was covered from head to toe, but only in gauze so thin you could read a newspaper through it, I had to retreat upstairs to my office.



Danny poked his head in the door while I was cleaning up after my jerk-off session. “You know, Lloyd, you don’t have to do that. At least half the girls would be more than happy to give you a blow, or fuck, or whatever. Whatever you promised Alexandra, she’s gone now.” His tone was neutral, nonjudgmental, but then he’d been amoral since our unexpected meeting in the Madison lobby long ago.



“Thanks,” I told him, the stark reminder of my past poor planning pouring cold water on my nerves. “I’m okay, now.”



I didn’t stress out for the rest of the evening. I told myself things would just happen in their own time, or they wouldn’t. Any thoughts I might have to the contrary were purely hypothetical intellectual exercises to pass the time, like doing the crossword puzzle. I was almost able to convince myself everything really was okay.







Then there was Obamamania. The effect was a bit muted in the store, whose clientele slanted more Republican, but you couldn’t avoid it anywhere else. I knew by the spring in Angela’s step who she’d voted for; actually, so had I, but I didn’t advertise it.

I didn’t want to stay at the store, so I’d made reservations at an Italian place Danny recommended. It was expensive enough to keep out the noisy crowds, but perversely focused on the “casual chic” sort who didn’t get excited about dressing up to eat.



Angela gave me a long look. “Am I going to be okay like this?” she asked me, gesturing at her sweater, after I’d given her the option of convoying or carpooling.



“I’m not changing,” I nodded. “Besides, you know you’ll have the waiters walking into walls.”



“Stop it,” laughed Angela. “What would you know? Do you even own any clothes younger than I am, gramps?”



“Ouch,” I winced. “I have it on good authority you’re fine. Shirt? Check. Shoes? Check. No swimsuit — Check. Don’t worry.”



“Well, I’ll trust you,” she said lightly, sending a faint chill down my spine. “But I’ll drive; I seem to recall somebody saying he didn’t see too well after dark.”



Her old Taurus looked and sounded like it was on its last legs, but it knew its mistress and got us to the restaurant without complaints. Angela hesitated in the driveway, seeing the valet sign ahead but no alternatives — apparently the casual chic didn’t like to self-park, either. She sighed and pulled up in front of the door.



They were expecting us, and the maitre d’ led us back, not to the table I was expecting, but to a curtained-off private room. It boasted a fireplace, a chandelier, and an ornate table set for two. A single long-stemmed red rose was laid across one of the settings. Goddamn it, Danny! I silently cursed and colored beneath the expressionless gaze Angela turned on me.



“If this will suit?” the host asked, pulling back a chair for Angela.



She nodded, showing considerable poise, and allowed herself to be seated. I was seated across from her a moment later, and the wait staff left us, promising to return momentarily with menus and water.



“Well,” Angela allowed. “This is… a little more than I was expecting. You did say ‘drinks’, didn’t you?”



“I have never been so embarrassed in my life,” I muttered into my lap.



“What?”



I looked up at her. “I said, I’m sorry.” After a heavy sigh, I continued, “I asked a — friend — to recommend someplace quiet where a couple could talk. I think he’s a little too invested in my emotional well-being and jumped to conclusions. I certainly didn’t expect this! We can leave, if it’s making you uncomfortable.”



“No, we’re here,” Angela said, lifting the rose to her nose and inhaling. “I saw your face when we came in, and I know you didn’t expect this any more than I did. It’s a little humorous, really.”



There was a break while we ordered drinks and some appetizers.



Angela spoke up again, sounding stern, as soon as we were alone. “But you’ve been holding out on me, Lloyd.”



I let my surprise show, uncertain what she meant.



“I was curious, so I looked you up in the alumni directory. Why didn’t you tell me you have a Ph.D.? Christ, no wonder you can sleepwalk through my coursework! What are you doing wasting your life doing store security?”



“That part of my life’s over,” I told her flatly, slumping back in my chair and draining off half my glass of wine. “I can’t do it anymore.”



She backed off her intensity. “Yeah, your wife. I Googled her. I’m so sorry; that must have been Hell for you. What a tragic accident.”



I didn’t say anything, but just stared at the menu without seeing any of the words and clenched my hands in my lap. And cursed Angela’s perceptiveness.



Her eyes narrowed. “It was an accident, right? Surely you can’t blame yourself for it? Lloyd?”



“I. Don’t. Want. To. Talk. About. It.”



Angela sighed and picked up her menu, but the atmosphere remained tense through the end of the salad course.



She surprised me by speaking up just after we’d gotten our entrees. “I’m sorry I’m being pushy, Lloyd. I’ll say one more thing, and then I promise I’ll shut up and never mention it again if you don’t want me to. Okay?”



I nodded, resigned.



“Don’t cheapen Alexandra’s memory this way. I care about you, and you’re throwing your life away for something that wasn’t your fault. Look, I saw a lot of bad things in Iraq, and others saw worse. Bad things happen in life, Lloyd. But we pick ourselves up and move on, because if we don’t, then what were our friends sacrificing themselves for? Don’t be a quitter.”



Her premise was wrong, but I couldn’t tell her that. Knowing she cared lightened my heart, and the humor of the situation got to me. Getting lectured about life by a young girl? “Yes, mother,” I rolled my eyes.



She smiled, and the rest of the evening passed much more agreeably.



When we left, Angela was carrying the rose with her. “Thank your friend for the rose,” she told me while we waited for the valet.



“I’ll tell him what he can do with your rose,” I growled, still embarrassed by the whole thing.



“You’re so sweet,” she laughed, and squeezed my arm gently.



We drove back to the mall, and Angela pulled up next to my old Acura. “Next week, my turn?” she asked casually. “In less refined surroundings,” she added with a laugh.



“Absolutely,” I agreed with delight. I was even more delighted when she leaned over and brushed her lips against my cheek before I climbed out. “Drive safely,” I warned, closing the door.



“Live well,” she shouted through the glass. Angela waited until I had the engine started, and pulled away into the night. She was incorrigible.



I spent the night dreaming about the touch of her lips, and what they would feel like everywhere on my body. In my dreams, we revisited the restaurant, but Angela was the main course. She lay naked atop the table, writhing in ecstasy, while I gave her the fucking of her life and we both came together. Later, we spooned on the plush rug in front of the fireplace, and her kisses tasted of our combined excitement.



That smile was still on my lips when I woke alone in bed, and the stickiness in my pajamas belonged only to me. Was she as interested in me as I was in her? The question kept preying on my mind.







I didn’t know which one of my bastard coworkers to blame, but I knew the jig was up when I met Angela in the break room Thursday morning.



“Hey, I’m sorry, but I have a conflict for tomorrow. Could we reschedule for Tuesday?” Angela already had her “professional” smile on, but I could see the glint of humor in her eyes. For damn sure she knew it was my birthday.



Arguing would have prolonged the inevitable. “Yeah, but no fancy stuff,” I warned her.







“Plain enough for you?” Angela asked archly; she’d just pulled her winter coat over the uniform. It meant we weren’t going upstairs, and probably weren’t going out anywhere that wasn’t extremely casual.



My pulse sped slightly in nervous anticipation. “I’m yours to command.”



She laughed. “How long will that last?”



It wasn’t technically holiday season yet, but the mall had already opened satellite parking lots for the employees, so we rode the shuttle out. “Just follow me,” Angela said during the ride. “I’ll drive really slowly so it’ll seem familiar to you.”



Angela didn’t carry through on her threat, but she was a careful driver and I didn’t have problems staying with her, even in the evening rush. We headed generally in the direction of the University and turned into an unremarkable residential area. I followed her slowly down a street, and saw Angela roll down her window and point towards a vacant spot along the curb.



As I pulled in, she sped down the street and turned into an entrance just beyond the building, quickly disappearing from view. I got out of the car and looked around, feeling a little light-headed; this had to be where she lived! I started walking towards the door of the building she’d gone behind, and Angela appeared in the doorway when I was about two-thirds of the way there.



We walked up to the second floor and she unlocked her door before ushering me in. “Welcome to Casa Vasquez, Lloyd. Throw your coat in the closet. Can I get you a beer or glass of wine?”



“Something red would be great,” I answered, looking around with interest. There wasn’t a lot of furniture, and everything was spic-and-span; pretty much the polar opposite of my place. I heard some clunking and shifting of cookware in the kitchen, so I drifted that way.



Angela met me there. A pair of half-filled glasses sat on the counter, and she’d just put a pot on the range. “It’ll take a little while to heat, but the hard stuff was done yesterday. I hope you like Mexican.”



I smiled and told her, “I’m not so picky in my old age.”



“Great! If you can amuse yourself a minute or two longer, I’ll change into something more comfortable.” Angela winked at me and sauntered out.



A sip of wine steadied my nerves, and I wandered back into the main room. There was a small display case hung on the wall, and I moved closer to examine its contents. There were some ribbons and medals, of which I recognized only a Purple Heart, what I took to be a unit insignia, and her Bachelors diploma. The rose from our last dinner lay in the bottom of the case. I looked around for pictures, but didn’t see any.



“Ta-da, comfortable and decidedly not fancy!” Angela announced. I’d faintly hoped for a filmy negligee and heels, but what I got was sweatpants and a tee-shirt, with fuzzy slippers. The shirt, which was black, proclaimed “I invaded Iraq and all I got was this fucking shirt.” It had the same insignia as the patch in the case.



“It seems like a lot of work for a shirt,” I laughed.



“You have no idea,” Angela said, walking back to the kitchen to check the pot. The back of the shirt said, “TWICE.”



“Come on,” I kidded her, “were you even out of diapers for the first one?”



“First grade, I think,” she mused while giving the pot a stir. “They decided a second tour was good enough for government work. Here, get some more wine; we have about 15 or 20 minutes, I think.”



Angela disappeared again while I refilled our glasses, but she was back by the time I was setting down the bottle. “Happy birthday, Lloyd,” she smiled, and then handed me a gift box.



“You didn’t have to do this.” Whatever it was, it had a little heft to it. I opened the box, and found it contained a man’s watch. Looking more closely, I realized it was an old stainless steel Rolex, still in pretty good condition. “Angela, I can’t accept this; it must have cost you a fortune.”



She lightly pushed away my hand. “It didn’t cost me a penny. My mother gave it to me; I guess it was my grandfather’s.” Her eyes focused inward for a moment. “She’s never been very talkative about her side of the family.”



“It must have some sentimental value; save it for your husband, then.”



“Stop whining and just accept it! I forgot I even had it, honestly, but I thought of you right away when I found it. You know nobody my age wears watches anymore — we just look at our cell phones. It would make me happy for you to have it.”



I carefully removed the watch from the box and examined it. It looked like an Oysterdate, which pretty much exhausted my knowledge of Rolex watches, and appeared to be in mint condition except for some scratches on the bottom of the steel link band. Angela obviously had wound it and set the correct date and time.



After a moment of thought, I removed my pedestrian Timex and put on the Rolex; it sat solidly on my wrist, a little loose but quite passible. “Thank you, then, from the very bottom of my heart.”



“You’re welcome.” She hugged me, and I was intensely aware of her body beneath the thin shirt. I didn’t want to embarrass either of us with an erection, but my body had other ideas.



“So, what are we eating?”



“Carnitas,” Angela answered, looking back at the range. “It’s slow-cooked pork, served with lots of things that are bad for you. But, hey — we both probably should be dead already.”



It proved to be delicious. I forced myself to stop before I was full, not wanting to be bloated.



“Forget about the dishes,” she ordered me when I started to clean the table. “Go sit on the futon and pretend you’re a guest, okay?” Angela punched the button on the coffeemaker and joined me; our knees were almost touching.



I shifted a bit, using my hands folded in my lap to cover my rigid penis. Angela looked at me, as if she were waiting for something, and I gazed back at her, taking in the loose coil of hair on the back of her head, the way her bust moved lightly beneath the shirt as she breathed, and the curve of her legs beneath the soft pants.



“You’re undressing me again,” she chided.



“I think you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen,” I told her with a dry mouth.



A slight wariness entered her eyes, but I was already too far gone to notice it. “I admire you very much, too.”



They were almost the words I’d been longing to hear. I needed her so badly! My hand trembled when I reached out to turn her face towards me so I could kiss her the way I’d been longing to.



She swept my hand easily aside and turned her face away, stiff-arming me back into my place. “Lloyd, no!” Angela was clearly upset, but still in command of herself and the situation.



I stared at her in stark incomprehension. “No?”



“I invited you here tonight to salute you and feed you, Lloyd — not to have sex!” She was trembling now, herself. “I am not that kind of woman.”



“You’re all that kind of woman!” I shouted, and began struggling to reach her.



Physically, she had nothing to fear from me; emotionally, anger started to displace her initial disbelief. Angela shouted, “NO!” and slapped me, hard.



YES!” I raged, and waves of emotion fueled by loss, rage, humiliation, and lust channeled through my mind’s eye and crashed down on her like a ton of bricks. Mentally, it was more like a ton of flashing, razor-edged knives.



I wasn’t consciously directing anything, but my raw ability hadn’t faded any after years of disuse. Any inhibitions I might have felt were buried beneath raw emotion and a bitter sense that all my past attempts at self-restraint had ended badly. I didn’t show any restraint at all, that evening.



The tangled ball of Angela’s mind thrashed as if the individual strands of her consciousness were unraveled simultaneously in place and then stretched in differing directions, somehow forming two almost independent but interwoven tangles, before the sparkles forming them began to flare under the pressure of my intent.



I wanted a slut, a wanton sex object who would always be ready for my attentions, craving my touch, and loyal beyond all doubt or distraction. Not a slave, exactly, but a partner whose most focused desire would be my own gratification by whatever means necessary. If I felt even a passing desire to take her, she would be ready. The living incarnation of every adolescent boy’s unwaking wet dream and carnal fantasy.



Both of us screamed. What Angela felt, I didn’t know, but the mother of all headaches seemed to hit me like lightning, and the sparkles of her mind were eclipsed by the stars appearing in my vision, just before I passed out.







My senses were out of kilter when I finally decided I was awake. Keeping my eyes closed seemed to reduce the intensity of the headache, and allowed me to concentrate on the pleasure I was receiving. My first thought was that Susan was blowing me; that we’d stolen away again to the lumpy couch in the ladies’ washroom for a quickie. She was all frantic desire, without the quiet, assured confidence that Alex had developed after decades of learning more about my body than I knew myself.



Belatedly I understood that framing the comparison at all meant it couldn’t be either of them, and I forced my aching eyes open. Angela knelt between my legs, worshipping my organ with an intensity of purpose that showed in every line of her body. The sight of this fantasy realized brought me to full rigidity.



Angela stood, revealing her sweatpants and underwear already were missing. My eyes drank in the arousing contours of her young body, pausing briefly at the traces of semen glistening near her neatly groomed bush. Wearing only the tee shirt and socks, she quickly knelt atop me and guided my erection into her pussy.



We both moaned at the exquisite sensation, and Angela quickly looked up at my face. Seeing that I was awake, she gave a cry of delight and leaned forward to kiss me aggressively. “Master!” she cooed a moment later.



“Don’t call me that,” I blurted, feeling the word jab at my guilty conscience.



She started and pulled back slightly, suddenly looking as if she might cry. “Don’t you find me pleasing?”



“Don’t stop! Oh, you’re extremely pleasing; just — not that word. I’m nobody’s master, least of all yours.”



The smile reappeared instantly. “Whatever you say,” she agreed, and began to work herself on me again. Angela’s expression suggested she was pandering to some beloved, but addled, elder — not a bad analogy — but became by turns more self-absorbed as our excitement crested higher.



I couldn’t remember the last time I’d cum more than once in a day, but years of abstinence coupled with the sight — and feel — of Angela’s wild abandon were pushing me to the edge again. “Oh, you hot fucking slut,” I gasped, not bothering with any self-censorship at this point.



As if my words were goads, Angela began panting. “Oh, fuck! Fill me up with your cock! I am your slut! Oh! OH! Ohmygod!



She was too much for me, and I felt my penis throb as I orgasmed the remaining dregs of my scum into her. Angela screamed her delight at the same time, orgasming so wildly she put out a hand to grip the futon and keep from falling over. Part of me suspected it wasn’t a coincidence, but the rest of me was having too much fun watching to give it any thought.



Angela pulled herself off me and watched, entranced, as commingled lubrication and jism glistened along the entire length of my deflating manhood. She reached out to grasp me, but I shooed her away.



“Go easy on an old man! You don’t want to break it, do you?”



“More,” she pleaded, with the air of a five-year-old in a candy store.



I couldn’t help laughing. “We’ll see! First, I’d like to see more of you.”



Angela stood without artifice, but with innate grace, and faced me. She pulled the shirt over her head and tossed it to the floor. A toss of her head arranged her hair behind her shoulders, and she was already removing the simple cotton bra she wore.



My mouth went dry looking at her. I knew what Angela looked like fully clothed, but some women were expert at using garments to accentuate their good points and obscure those that weren’t so good. She hadn’t struck me as that type, but it was clear her body didn’t need any help at all in that regard. I didn’t know how I was going to do it, but I wasn’t going to end the night at this point!



I stood up, and discovered my pants were still puddled around my ankles. Happy I’d worn loafers, I managed to free my feet without killing myself. A few steps brought me within reach of Angela. Gingerly, I reached out to cup a breast; it was warm, soft, and I felt the nipple erect itself against the palm of my hand. Angela’s lips parted in an unaspirated sigh, and her body melted against mine. Well, against my flannel shirt and cardigan, anyway.



“Damn shirt,” I muttered, and withdrew my hand to start unbuttoning it.



Angela brushed my hands gently aside. “Let me,” she offered. Her fingers were deft, and didn’t miss a single opportunity to touch and stroke my body. When she finished peeling my undershirt over my head, we were pressed against each other with our outstretched arms entwined.



My cock was thinking about rising to the occasion a third time. I left it to fend for itself, sandwiched against a toned hip, and pulled Angela tighter against me. I kissed her again, and this time she reacted passively, parting her lips and allowing my tongue to explore her mouth as I chose.

That was an outburst. An unnecessary one. Mason had a plan. He was going to reinforce the importance of Ginny talking to her father about her lifestyle choices. But the audacity of her questioning was crossing a line he couldn’t ignore. Mason got out of the car and opened the door, gesturing Ginny to get out. She got out laughing and fumbling in her heels on the gravel driveway.



“Silly, I told you my house is way over there. This is just th-”



“Take. Off. Your clothes,” said Mason.



“Ginny!” called out Ginny’s father from the front door of his new mansion. “Ginny who is that?”



“Hi Daddy!” cried Ginny.



“Tell him who I am,” said Mason.



“Uh-um, Daddy! This is Mason!” Ginny shouted across the lawn. Her father made a grumpy gesture and went back into the house.



“I’m going to repeat my instructions to you because you appear to be hard of hearing.” Mason’s voice was cool, calculating. His jaw clenched. “I want you to be naked when you are at home. Home starts at this gate. You are to dress and undress here every morning and every evening so that your whole family knows you are mine twenty-four-seven… and so does the neighborhood,” he added with a miniscule smile.



“You can’t be serious? I didn’t sign on for some camping trip! I want to be a concubine. I want to be a sexual servant. I want to be loved! And this… this is preposterous!”



“Would you like to know what it’s like to be a real concubine? Right now?” he asked, completely calm. Ginny’s face changed, her eyes lightened an almost unnoticeable degree.



“Right now?” she asked.



“Right here. But I need you to take off your clothes.” Ginny complied, sensing she was about to experience something she had always dreamed of, and she was, but not this. The moment she was nude Mason pinned her over the hood of her car and whispered in her ear calculatingly. “As your dominant partner I welcome questions of any kind, given they are presented in a respectful manner.” An unscheduled exhale escaped his lips. His weight pressed upon her, with exceptional pressure where his hand held her wrists together high on her back. “This ensures learning. However, your questioning this evening in the car was rude, disrespectful and bratty. This is what happens to a concubine when they behave this way.” He smacked her with his bare hand, which, to Ginny’s inexperienced rear felt like an oar. He slapped her hard, enough so she jerked forward on the hood of the car, engine still warm, heating her torso, Mason’s hand heating her ass. For the first two hits she only made muffled gurgling noises, but she began to let out pitiful little cries. Mason let his spanking weaken, loosened his grip on her and leaned in to hear those sad sounds until they subsided and he began slapping her again. But the cry was gone and Mason felt he had made a point. Ginny began to fold her clothes and looked up at him from beneath orange strands of hair. Mrs. Johnson was standing still as death just outside her front gate three houses down and staring.



“Because of your outbursts I cannot let your previous mistake with your assignment go unpunished. But, I want things to be right with us, so your consequence will be to tell your dad everything about us. Tell him everything you did and how you want to live.” Ginny smiled, as if relieved. “This may be my body,” he said, grabbing her, “and my rules. But this is his property and you follow his rules. Tell him I said that. Let me know how it goes tomorrow.” He drove away. Ginny walked into the house, and shortly after she was shunned to the pool castle, where she already lived. She felt foolishly dirty for telling her folks, her mom seemed especially betrayed, but a part of her felt lighter.



The next morning Mason watched her from across the street, as she dressed herself. He watched her humiliated posture and slow movements. The method, clothing, and demeanor with which she dressed, on the gravel filled driveway reeked of defeat, disappointment, and delicious reluctant acceptance. After the previous evening’s screaming and yelling on the part of her parents, and strangely calm discipline administration on the part of Mason, she didn’t know what she would do wrong today, and what sort of “consequences” Mason would dream up.



“Did you tell him I respect his rules?” Mason asked right away.



“I told him something like that,” she said. Mason sighed, trying not to seem disappointed. “He seemed to get how deep you were about it but then he kicked me out,” she said.



“Well, there’s nothing you can do about that,” said Mason, nonchalantly starting the car. “He’ll come around. In the meantime, I have an assignment for us for first period, possibly all day long.”



“But school-” she protested.



“I’m arranging right now,” he said texting, “for Amanda to take notes for you. However you have to be back for the last period of the day. Mrs. Roberts will notice your absence. Your dress code is rule number one, and needs to be discussed, however your grades need to be maintained as well. I expect an A on Mr. Feldman’s History essay tomorrow.”



“Who’s Amanda?” asked Ginny with an obvious tone of jealously.



“Ginny. Your upbringing is clearly becoming a problem. While I neither discriminate against nor judge individuals who choose a path other than my own, I expect my concubine to be fully my property. You are still completing your application process and your training is so far from beginning you will long for the trials of today when it does finally progress. However, I must understand that you come from… a mother and a father, is that correct?”



“Yes Sir,” she said curtly with full knowledge of where this conversation was leading.



“I know your parents have a marital contract that stipulates monogamy. We discussed this at the mall. How were you born a submissive girl?



“It’s possible,” she said in a way that could only read that she was lying to herself. Mason determined Ginny was in far too delicate of a position on this matter for him to obtain information from her directly. Other means would be necessary.



“Your jealousy was not only apparent in your comment but uncalled for. You need to become comfortable, as soon as possible, with the idea of my having more than one concubine. Is that clear?” He asked gently.



A defeated “Yes Sir,” escaped her lips.



He drove around the outside of town and took her to a Mansion. It was his father’s. Mason too lived in the guest house of his parent’s property, but he didn’t take Ginny there. He took her to the upper most tower of the mansion where an tremendous barrel of a man lived and worked and rarely left. As soon as the two of them walked in the man greeted Mason so warmly, Ginny thought he was going to get slapped. Ginny looked at him slyly, attempting to fix her eyes on his face, but they wandered noticing various details. He wore loose fitting tweed slacks with a vest, pressed white shirt, and a cravat. His shoes were uncreased. His hands were delicate. His face was clean shaven.



“Ahhhh Mason. You grew, what is it? A quarter of an inch since I last saw you? You know that’s too long to go without your tailor! And why aren’t you in school? And do tell me: Who is this pearl of a child you’ve brought with you?” rambled the man. “Oh the colors I could dye to accentuate that hair…” he said, extending his arm to stroke a lock only to be tapped away by Mason.



“Mason,” Ginny said under her breath, “Who is this?” But the man heard her.



“Who am I? Who am I?! Why I am the Great Georgian. I am a world known tailor, commissioned to work here, for the Tearings.” Ginny looked sceptically at Mason who gestured with his eyebrows that Georgian wasn’t lying.



“I have a project for you, Georgian,” he said taking Georgian to the window and out of Ginny’s earshot. They spoke very briefly, Mason clearly giving strict orders and Georgian standing at attention. “Maybe have a few designs ready by later this week?” said Mason on his way out.



“Absolutely, Sir!” responded the Georgian, who took Ginny’s measurements while Mason waited outside. He’s such a gentleman, she thought. After Ginny’s measurements were complete they went back to Cherry Creek and went straight to the women’s department store. Ginny tried silks, designer denim mini-skirts, luxurious bras. There seemed to be no limit to what Mason could buy for her, but she was always on edge, feeling, “This must be the last thing.” By lunch Ginny had a new wardrobe and Mason took her to the concubine administration office where she was issued identification specifying her as unowned and complete with an official bar code. The office had certified tattoo specialists who could copy any bar-code and Ginny’s was tattooed on the front of her sex. Her private parts were in a huge amount of pain by this point, still healing from the piercing, and feeling the fresh scratch of the black bar code, to be seen by everyone who sees her naked, including her father. Lunch gave them enough time to get to school sometime during fifth period. The halls were empty save for the occasional janitor or teacher going in and out of bathrooms or the copy room.



Mason pulled Ginny into the boiler room and the door clicked behind him. There was no question as to what his intentions were, at least vaguely to Ginny. Mason’s shoes clicked on the floor as he walked towards her and all Ginny could think of was the keys on the rings that hung from the janitors’ belts. Mason pinned Ginny against the wall and gripped her under her short, short skirt to check for panties and grooming. All was as it should have been but his fingers lingered as Ginny took in a short breath. Unwilling to risk the possibility of her making a noise, Mason placed a hand over her mouth and whispered into her ear. Ginny’s breath slowed and she appeared to calm at the sound of his cool, low, carefully placed words.



“You are caged by my body and have nowhere to run. I’m going to remove my hand and you will be quiet, are we clear?” Ginny nodded, a tear forming in one eye. Mason removed his hand and Ginny gasped for air from within the confines of his enormous limbs and tilted head. She’d always admired his physique, and now she knew why. The sense of helplessness he gave her was overwhelmingly delicious. She would have done anything he’d asked for at that moment. She’d already forgotten about the janitors’ keys, sixth period, dress code. She was his in the moment only. She was fixated on Mason’s hands, one of which was still stroking under her skirt, causing a great deal of pain when it passed over her fresh piercing and tattoo but immediately afterward providing intense pleasure, teasing her, touching her only superficially. But the circumstances of the situation, the closet, his huge body, getting caught, the pain, made her so excited she called out. Mason’s hand landed over her lips and with a sharp thwack he muffled her pleasure, placing the other hand over her shoulder and turning her around, holding both her wrists behind her back. He used his belt to secure them.



By this point the heat of the room had Ginny’s fair skin severely flushed. Mason pressed her face up against a warm pipe, and she shuddered again. He must have known how hypnotic his whispering was.



“Has anyone ever put anything in your ass before, Ginny?” he asked. Ginny shook her head, scared and unprepared psychologically for the experience ahead of her.



“No.”



“We’re going to play with your ass a little bit right now,” he said. He was pressing her face into the pipe and talking through his teeth into her ears. “Spread your legs and stick out your ass,” he said, and as she did he lifted her skirt above her hips and squeezed her hips, parting her, and pulling her open. It was hard to see in that room but Mason could still make out the intense coloring of Ginny’s sex. Her outer labia were porcelain white, just as was the rest of her, the exterior of her inner labia were a deep pink, but her insides were a near magenta, and her asshole was nearly perfectly porcelain with just a hint of pink around the edge. Mason shoved his hands deep into Ginny’s mouth, coaxing up a good deal of saliva and running his fingers across her ass, pulling at its circumference, first with one finger, then two, then three. Her ability to relax without any experience was spectacular. He put his fingers back in her mouth for a good cleaning.



“The bell will ring shortly,” he said looking at his watch and putting his belt back on. “Your assignment, due this weekend, will be to prepare your ass for my cock. We have one more shopping trip after school to assist you with this.” Mason left the boiler room and the passing bell rang. Ginny walked out shortly after him and everybody stared at her. Had they known what she’d done? She felt the imprint of the pipe on her hot face. She attempted to straighten her hair and while doing so she realized: What am I so ashamed of? She walked to class with a hint of self confidence that was new to her. Even though she sought to belong entirely to someone else, her sexuality never felt so much her own.



After school Ginny dutifully slipped into Mason’s passenger seat. “So what lies ahead, Sir?” she asked.



“Sinsations.”



“Sinsations? Isn’t that a stripper store?” asked Ginny.



“Ohhhh Ginny. It’s far more than that. You won’t be shopping for outfits, but you will be shopping for a minimum of five things in each of the following three categories: implements of discipline, restraints, and toys. You must be clear about what category you are placing something in. Understand?” Ginny shook her head that she did and began wandering around the store with her basket. Mason leaned against the wall and observed her behavior. At first she wandered only around the main open section, taking in the experience of the store. It was nothing like what she’d imagined, with its carpeted floors, friendly staff, and general department store feel to it. In this open section she looked at basic toys, dildos, vibrators, and plugs, reading the boxes and examining the products. In the corner of the store stood a room labeled “BDSM.” Ginny quickly selected a few insertables and was pulled to the BDSM section where she found all sorts of toys. Far more than she could ever ask Mason to purchase for her, she thought, and began thinking of ways in which one could improvise. Panties could serve as a gag, for example. But some things, were to be made with the utmost care, she thought, some things could not simply be fashioned on the scene. She chose a beautiful Koa wooden paddle, and simple but elegant kangaroo hide whip. She returned to the first section and selected a vibrator, dildo, and butt plug. Those were her toys.



As she lingered in the BDSM room there were all sorts of items that caught her attention as she fantasized about punishment, infractions, and discipline. She wandered through the isles feeling the various materials and Mason realized she was daydreaming and needed to be redirected. He approached her swiftly from behind and, looking in her basket, over her shoulder, he gripped all the hair from one side of her head to the other.



“What have you selected?” he asked in a normal tone. He startled Ginny and worked hard at trying to hide how pleased he was with his own stealth. Once Ginny composed herself she began describing the articles in her basket with much self-involved detail about how this grove or vein or fall might awaken her senses. She was very clear that each of the items in her basket were to be in the “toy” category. The last toy was a butt plug and Ginny’s descriptions of it were centered less around herself (which is what Mason had hoped for for this category), but more centered around its features, bells, and whistles.



“Ginny. Why didn’t you ask a salesperson or myself to help you?” he asked.



“I wanted you to think I knew about that stuff,” Ginny replied shyly.



“This morning you told me you’ve never had anything in your ass. I doubted it briefly because you were so receptive, but clearly I was wrong to doubt you.” He grabbed her by the chin and pulled her face firmly up to his and spoke very smoothly and distinctly. “No lying. No hiding. Anything. Ever.” It was as if the world shut down around Ginny. The store blurred around her. The voices and sounds melted into indistinguishable noises until all she heard were those short sentences from Mason. All she saw was his face until he released Ginny’s chin and snapped his fingers. Two sales people arrived almost instantaneously and presented themselves to him.



“I will need a set of graduated crystal anal plugs delivered to room number one please,” and the two staff members disappeared as quickly as they materialized. Mason placed one finger through the ‘O’-ring in Ginny’s collar and tugged on it. Ginny instantly knew she was to follow and he led her to a corner to the store she hadn’t noticed, behind a wall. There was a hallway of doors, and the very first was inscribed with an “M.” Mason wasn’t sharing any information with her, he wasn’t explaining anything, he wasn’t even looking at her. She knew she was in trouble. She didn’t mean to lie, but that didn’t really matter. When they arrived at the door another shop worker arrived with them to unlock the door and as they walked in he asked Ginny to surrender her basket.



“Do you think I don’t know how all this works?” asked Mason, leaning into the employee, using his stature to his advantage. The boy ran off and Mason led Ginny in, who was terrified of what consequences lie ahead. Mason read her silence as obedience, and her behavior was obedient, but psychologically she was in a daze, rummaging through all the possibilities. What could he do to her in that little room? Had she made a selection with one of her “toys” that will undoubtedly seal her fate? Remembering the morning’s spanking and the heat of the car, remembering this morning’s session in the boiler room up against the hot pipe, Ginny felt her face begin to flush. She was mortified that Mason caught her in her lie so easily, she felt humbled by her failure to be less than acceptable, and she was starting to perspire, wondering if her choice of paddle would in fact be a toy or not or maybe Mason would come up with something more creative, more deviant, more twisted. Mason led her in by her collar and positioned her in the corner of the room. The room was lined entirely with mirrors, with one wooden chair in the corner, and just a few basic items hanging from the wall. The graduated plugs were laid out on a table for him and waiting. Mason took a seat in the chair and crossed his legs. He looked at Ginny for an uncomfortable amount of time during which she fidgeted but could not meet his eyes.



“Ginny. How do you feel right now?” he asked her.



“I feel… I… um. I…” No coherent statement managed to escape her lips.



“Take of your clothes,” said Mason.



“Here?” asked Ginny.



In one motion Mason stood up pulling the whip in a rounded swoop from the basket. He stepped towards Ginny, pulled her skirt down, unhooked her bra, and turned her around. He snapped the whip several times in the air, and leaned into Ginny.



“Every noise you make will cost you.” The whip cracked Ginny’s skin again and again. With each strike a lazy mark would emerge upon her flesh seconds later. Some marks bled, some didn’t. No noise came from Ginny’s mouth. When he saw her body slacken significantly he stopped and sat back down at his chair. Ginny didn’t move from her position save for an occasional twitch or tremble.



“Let’s try this again. Take off your clothes,” he said in a normal tone. Ginny pulled the skirt from her ankles off. She dropped her bra to the floor. “Face me. Put your hands behind your back,” Ginny obeyed. “How do you feel?”



Ginny stood before Mason with her head high for a few moments as she searched her mind desperately for the correct answer. Mason watched her shoulders lower, he watched her brow drop, her posture become crooked, and her chin begin to quiver. She began to wring her hands behind her back and again, no response.

Lloyd’s Angel: Birthday Presents



November 2010



We kissed, and my cock was hard against my stomach. I was more than ready to continue, but she eeled out of my grasp and stood up. I expected her to strip herself or me, but she surprised me by just standing there and grinning.



“Angel!” I protested. “I can’t believe this; it’s my birthday!”



She wrapped her arms around herself and twisted back and forth. “I want it more than you do, trust me; but you can have me every day, and we haven’t done presents yet!”



“Presents, plural?”



Angel nodded. “It’s a big day. You’re 75, and technically I’m 2!”



I frowned repressively and stood up, too. “I thought we just agreed, Angela, that technically you’re 27 and some change, and I seem to recall you had a birthday party, which you quite enjoyed. It sounds like you’re double-dipping.”



She stuck out her tongue at me. “We both know that party was for Angel. And you. Angela didn’t get to do anything at all, except stand up Rose.” Putting her hands on her hips, Angel declared, “it seems only fair that if Angel can have a sex party on Angela’s birthday, Angela should be able to have a sex party on Angel’s birthday.”



I grinned. “Okay, already; you’re making my head hurt. Where is this party?”



“Upstairs — I hope.”



“Rose?” I’d almost forgotten her until Angel mentioned her. “Isn’t this a little abrupt?”



Angel grinned wickedly, and I realized I was still as hard as an eighteen-year-old. “I don’t think so; if I’m wrong, we’ll just have to behave ourselves during dinner and fuck ourselves blind afterwards. Now, if you’ll just grab the wine?”



I was enjoying this newly assertive side of her, and decided to relax and let her drive. I retrieved the bottle from the side table and followed Angel out the door. I thought again about how good the slacks looked on her, and realized the extra length of her legs came from the heels she was wearing. It was tempting to think about leaning forward and goosing her, but visions of broken legs in the stairwell dissuaded me.



We walked along the hall to what I presumed was Rose’s apartment. Angel peeled a post-it off the door and flashed me a triumphant smile as she held it out for me to read: “come in.” She whispered, “Be quiet; it’s a surprise,” and opened the unlocked door.



“It’s Angela,” she called softly while I locked the door and set the bottle down on the kitchen table.



Rose’s voice sounded from the bedroom. “I’m in here.” I thought she sounded a little tense.



Angel gestured frantically for me to follow her, and together we walked over to the bedroom doorway. “Rose!” she exclaimed as we looked inside.



“Oh my God!” screamed her friend. Rose was stretched out atop the bed, completely naked, with her wrists handcuffed to the headboard. She writhed in a futile attempt to conceal herself, obviously embarrassed. Her blush spread all the way to her chest.



I admired her tits, slightly larger than Angel’s, and figure, which I found only slightly less pleasing to my eye. She sported a pierced navel and a small landing strip above her copiously flowing pussy; the covers beneath her were soaked and I could smell her desire from the door. Out of the side of my eye I could see Angel making the same examination I was; my cock felt harder than ever.



“I’m so embarrassed,” moaned Rose, tugging on the cuffs again. “Can you unlock these now?” She looked at the nightstand and Angel, unwilling to meet my gaze for even a second.



Angel seemed disinclined to move, so I took it upon myself to walk over and pick up the key that was sitting atop a sheet of folded paper on the stand. The cuffs I recognized as standard issue. I unfolded the paper and read a brief note in Angel’s handwriting: “If you’re ready to take a chance, be sure these are all you’re wearing. 6:30PM. Love, Angela. PS: Make sure the door is unlocked.” I looked over at her and bounced the key in my hand. “Well?”



“In a minute,” Angel told me. She crossed in front of me and sat on the edge of the bed beside Rose. “I’ve always wondered,” she said softly, looking down, before leaning forward and kissing her friend. It was a long kiss, and Rose’s arms strained against the cuffs. Judging by moans I heard, she didn’t want to push Angel away. The women finally came up for air, both gasping. “More fool I,” Angel said cryptically, but I could guess her thoughts. “Well, no time like the present,” she said more cheerfully.



I held out the key, but she waved me away. “No, I want to know what the big secret in this nightstand is.”



“No! Angela!” Rose screamed. “Don’t you dare open that!” She thrashed energetically but had no way to interfere as Angel opened the top drawer. It was a measure of her desperation that she resorted to calling on me. “Lloyd, can’t you stop her? Do something!”



What I wanted to do was stick my cock in something, but I was afraid if I even adjusted myself I’d shoot my load in my pants. I settled for watching Angel’s methodical search of the nightstand.



The top drawer held odds and ends, including a small wand vibrator and a tube of lubricant, along with some condoms. They were hardly worthy of notice. The next drawer was lingerie, which Angel sifted quickly aside before producing an egg-shaped vibrator with an external battery pack and a string of beads. Those went on the top of the nightstand with the other toys.



Rose was blushing again, but both Angel and I had searched enough people carrying contraband to know that whatever she feared, we hadn’t come to it yet. That became apparent when Angel removed a set of flannel pajamas from the bottom drawer and exposed a gigantic double-headed dildo that looked like it had been stolen from a horse. Even bent nearly double, I was surprised it fit in the drawer.



“You use this? By yourself?” Angel inquired, resting one end between Rose’s breasts and then slowly pulling it so the head dragged from her cleavage to nearly her crotch before it was lifted away. Rose watched it like a bird transfixed by a snake. “Tonight, I’m afraid you’ll have to share.”



Setting the dildo aside for the moment, Angel selected the egg vibrator and turned back to Rose.



Rose clamped her legs together and moaned, “Come on, Angela, can’t you just release me?”



“A little help please,” my beautiful vixen requested. It never occurred to me to refuse or, for that matter, convince Rose to stop resisting. I knelt at the foot of the bed, bracing one foot against my knee, and spread Rose’s legs apart. They were muscular, but she put up only token resistance.



Once her objective was revealed, Angel slid the egg slowly into Rose without turning it on, and then pulled it out again, slick with moisture. She adjusted its positioning, and began pressing it against Rose’s ass. “Come on, Rose, open up for me; you know you want it.”



Rose shook her head, but she drew her knees wider apart and I saw fresh drops of dew appear on her labia as the egg was swallowed up by her sphincter.



“What a greedy little ass you have, Rose,” purred Angel. She lifted the battery pack to where Rose could see it, leaned down, and gently blew on her friend’s pussy while she thumbed on the vibrator.



All of us were surprised by what happened. Rose’s hips seemed to levitate off the bed and I thought she might break the headboard as she wailed and climaxed explosively. A fraction of a second later, Angel cried out in surprise and bucked so hard she lost her balance. She actually bounced her head off Rose’s stomach before falling off the bed. I would have laughed if the situation hadn’t been so erotically charged.



Both women orgasmed again before Angel could find the remote and switch it to its lowest setting. “Rose,” she gasped, “I had no idea!”



The redhead didn’t look embarrassed now; she looked, well, hungry. “I’ve been here for an hour and a half, just in case you got here early. I spent it all fantasizing about what might happen, getting hotter and hotter with no way to get off.”



I slipped off my jacket. “I think we’ll be having dinner late,” I told the ladies when they looked at me.



Rose’s eyes were wide, but Angel leaned over and whispered something in her ear. Rose closed her eyes and nodded briefly, and then the two of them kissed again.



“Could I have a word, Angela?” I asked, once they’d parted. We walked out of the bedroom, just far enough Rose couldn’t hear us. I looked at Angel, who was nearly bouncing with anticipation. “What’s up? I don’t want to force Rose to do anything against her will, and I thought you weren’t that into other girls.”



“It’s Rose,” she told me, as if that explained everything. “She needs a good fucking — didn’t you see how excited she is?” Angel slowly pulled my tie free, using body language that had me ready to chuck the entire discussion. “I want to fuck her, too. I just imagined your voice telling me.”



That probably should have sounded alarm bells, but most of my spare blood supply was below my waist and nobody was home upstairs. “But she’s okay with this? I know she didn’t expect two of us.”



Angel aimed a devastatingly smoldering look at me. “I reminded her she’d do anything for me.”



How had she figured that out? I gaped, but she was already walking back into the bedroom, working her hips with every stride. “Screw it,” I decided, following; there’d be another day.



In the course of her time at Home Run, Angel had learned to sell a striptease like nobody else I’d seen. Perhaps I was biased, but Rose watched from the bed like she was living in a fantasy. Her slit was leaking condensation like a cold glass on a warm summer day.



I’d watched Angel disrobe before, but that didn’t mean I was tired of it. She hadn’t done a tease for somebody else in my presence for a while, but the occasional glance in my direction reassured me I wasn’t far from her thoughts. I stripped without affectation, looking forward to quenching my desire in her body.



Finally, all of us were naked. I watched Angel for a hint about what to do next; it was refreshing not to be driving for a change. Rose looked back and forth between her friend and my erection.



Angel broke the tableau and knelt on the bed between Rose’s legs. “Have you ever shared this with anyone?” she asked, picking up the double-headed monster again. Rose blushed in response. “Tell me what you want, then.”



“Make love to me,” Rose whispered, barely loud enough to hear, and darkened even more.



“Is this for making love?” Angel asked, bringing one end to her face and kissing it. I had no doubt she could have deep-throated an astonishing length of it, but it was too wide to fit in her mouth. “Or is it for fucking?” She ran a finger down Rose’s stomach, laughing lightly as her friend raised her hips in a vain effort to increase the level of contact. “Did you say something?”



Rose bucked, trying to hook her legs around Angel and pull her in, but the teasing brunette was just far enough down to deny her the required leverage. “Fuck!” she panted. “Just fuck me, already!”



“What?” Angel dangled the cock so one end rested on Rose’s mound just above her creaming gash, but lightly enough that Rose’s struggles didn’t succeed in forcing it between her glistening lips.



“Fuck me, oh, fuck me now!” Rose screamed, loud enough I began to worry about the neighbors. “Fill me up!”



After shooting me a quick triumphant glance, Angel rose on her knees and spread them slightly. She proceeded to work one end of the dildo into herself and twisted until nearly half its length had disappeared inside her. Given its girth and the speed with which she’d impaled herself, I knew Angel had to be dripping with excitement, too.



The tube of rubber hung obscenely between her legs as Angel crawled closer to the redhead chained to the headboard. Rose had already drawn up her knees and spread them wide, offering herself eagerly. This time, when she rocked her pelvis upwards, the head of the artificial cock sank into her, and she let out something that was halfway between a gasp and a sigh.



The gap between their flexing bodies steadily lessened until it disappeared, and then Angel drew smoothly back and began to repeat the process. I realized it was the first time she had been with somebody without my cum marking her. It was a little unsettling, and my erection urged me to remedy the situation.



I knelt on the bed behind Angel, admiring the play of muscles that led up to her tight buns.



“Fuck my ass,” she ordered me. “I want to feel you exploding inside me!” She slowed her thrusts and arched her back, exposing her clenched sphincter and giving me an aiming point.



God, she was tight, especially with that monster filling her womb, but I slid right in. I didn’t inquire about details, but ever since that first night, Angel kept her ass cleaned and lubed for use at a moment’s notice. Rose gasped as I rammed all the way home and pushed Angel into her.



I withdrew slightly, balancing on one hand so I could reach around and grab a breast with the other, and let Angel do the work. She rocked back and forth, alternately impaling herself on me and the dildo, and I felt her heart racing beneath my hand.



The reach was a little harder, but I moved my hand to Rose’s bobbling breast and kneaded it. I twisted her nipple and felt her buck underneath us, biting her lip and moaning. The slick heat of Angel’s rectum gripped me as her body writhed against mine. I wasn’t going to last much longer, and didn’t want to be the first to pop. It didn’t sound like Rose was far behind, and I wasn’t worried about Angel.



My eye fell upon the forgotten battery pack lying beside Rose. With a devilish grin, I let all my weight fall on Angel, pressing us together in a sweaty flesh sandwich. Both girls gasped in surprise, but my hand was free to grab the remote and thumb it to high, while holding on for dear life.



Rose bucked like a bronco, screaming, “Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck!” as the added stimulation pushed her into a mind-numbing orgasm. I knew how strong it was because Angel climaxed too, shuddering as her bowels convulsed around my throbbing cock. She felt like heaven, and I panted as my load pumped into her ass.



That, of course, set Angel off again before she could even draw breath. She cried out incoherently, and only the intruders pinning her in place fore and aft kept us from tumbling apart. Rose was looking frankly a little frenzied, so I switched off the vibrating egg. All of us panted wordlessly a moment longer.



“Happy birthday,” I told my incomparably sexy companion, and then leaned forward to kiss her on the back of her neck. I leaned back, withdrawing from her ass, but paused a moment to wipe myself on her cheeks as her rosebud reluctantly closed. All felt right with the world again.



Any thoughts we might be finished were quickly dashed. I was still admiring the view when Angel pulled herself off the dildo, leaving the other end impaled within Rose, and reversed direction to face me. “Suck me clean,” she demanded, and sat on Rose’s face.



I was a little nonplussed, initially. “Come on, Rose. Get going! Get that tongue of yours way up inside my ass and lick out all that tasty cum!” Angel wriggled and seated herself more firmly atop her friend, while Rose’s legs kicked uselessly.



The kicking stopped, and Angel’s breathing deepened. I reminded myself that she wouldn’t be doing this unless Rose wanted it, since only her partner’s orgasm could release her own.



“Come here, wise guy,” Angel beckoned, and reached out to draw me forward by my cock. She took me in her mouth, without any expectation of milking me a second time, but rather in the near-ritual cleaning she performed almost every time we made love.



I felt no regrets about pulling free a few minutes later and enjoying the view. Angel, her hair spilled out of its confining twist, rocked slowly atop Rose, her eyes closed. On impulse, I walked around the bed to the nightstand and used the key to unfasten the cuffs on Rose’s wrists. Immediately, her hands came up to pull on Angel’s thighs.



Angel’s eyes flew open and she shifted slightly, bending down to focus on Rose’s stuffed pussy. The pair began a frenzied sixty-nine; their tongues attended to swollen clits while Angel began pistoning the dildo into Rose again. Rose’s fingers found their way to Angel’s dripping cunt and asshole.



Their breathing gave way to rough gasps and short keening cries, and then both bodies tensed and relaxed in another simultaneous orgasm. For once, I felt no temptation to meddle.



Perhaps, at long last, I’d received a birthday present after all: patience. I lay down beside them, caressing Angel’s flank, and didn’t worry about my physical capacity. Later — maybe that night, and maybe not — I’d be ready again; and when I was, my Angel would be there for me.



I decided I’d better see what Rose had in her freezer; I didn’t think either of them would be moving from the bed for the rest of the evening.

We’ve been fucking for nearly three months. Today, he fucked me twice. This evening, after strapping me with his belt until I cried, it was over his desk; his hips grinding into the mulberry marks. I have just come out of the shower, where he was slightly more benevolent but my breasts were kneaded into the the cold porcelain and my head was held forcibly skyward nonetheless.



I am tracing the welts and bruises, admiringly, in front of the bedroom mirror and listening to him brush his teeth. I let him beat and bond me; I have crawled and cried for him but I know he wants more.



I slip into his bed and conceal my nude body under the covers as I watch him stride through the room to a chest of drawers, before he turns to face me.



I curl my leg over the top of the duvet and he snatches my ankle, snapping a cuff around it. I seize it back and roll over to look at him, looming at the foot of the bed. The restraint maintains its clutch.



‘No. I’m tired.’ I say, my eyes narrowing in challenge.



He reaches over the bed’s base and a paw-like hand grabs my calf, dragging me down the sheets like an old Christmas tree.



‘You can sleep once you’ve told me which way you want to be cuffed: on your belly or on your back?’ He replies, evenly.



Panic and nausea ripple through me; I know he’s showing me that I’m captured. I think I want this but I am nineteen and scared.



‘I asked you a question: answer it.’ He snarls.



My mouth is paralysed but I slowly twist my body until I am lying prone again.



He tugs at my ankle and begins to secure it to the bedpost but, again, I bolt. I try to claw and wriggle back up to the pillows but a dead weight immobilises me. When we’re upright, he feels twice my height and, now, on top of me, I am reminded he has triple my strength. His arms cover mine and his hands encircle my wrists. His stomach crushes my abused flesh. I can feel his unyielding cock nudging my slit.



I throw my head back, desperately trying to topple him. He responds by releasing my arm and pressing my head into the mattress. My emancipated limb flails behind me, attempting to strike or scratch him. My other arm is freed as both his hands snap around my neck and squeeze, the force of his vexed body depressing me further into the bed.



‘It’s futile fighting me, little slut.’ He hisses into my ear.



His fingers flex around my throat and I’m starting to feel faint. One of my legs slips from under his and kicks upwards and backwards, despairingly. He laughs, mercilessly, his grip resolute.



I thrash as I feel my energy sapping and my consciousness ebbing away.



‘You are mine. I own you.’ He draws each word out slowly. His hands relax around my neck.



He’s made his proclamation and stated his cause. I’ve been expecting it but the words still cut an icy path through my heart. I drink in the oxygen, greedily.



He rolls off me as I pant, my ribcage rising and falling shakily. He draws a soft trail down my arm with his finger and I am nonplussed by his tenderness. I look at him, warily, and see his eyes are steely.



‘Are you going to stay still whilst I fasten the cuff?’



I break away from his impenetrable gaze and nod my head.



‘Say it.’ He commands.



‘I will stay still whilst you fasten the cuff.’



‘Why?’



I know what he his trying to coerce out of me but I will not satiate him. I clamp my mouth shut.



He continues to stare at me for several seconds, waiting, before he returns to the foot of the bed. My ankle is secured.



‘You’re wet.’



I’m staggered by his observation. I’ve been consumed by genuine fear of him yet he still arouses me. I become aware of the sultry stickiness between my thighs. I scarcely notice him open and close a drawer.



A crack I hear before I feel refocuses me. I recognise its bite as that of the paddle. He has only used it on me once, on unmarked skin. I could barely endure it then.



My hips begin to buck irregularly as he strikes me on flushed flesh. He’s hardly hit me five times before I’m begging him to stop.



‘Please…please, Sir…I can’t…stop! Please!’



I’m still breathless from his suffocation and the pain engulfs me. I’m incoherent and inarticulate. Tears flee from my closed eyes.



‘Please, Sir…No!’



The paddle falls rhythmically, each smack harder than the last. He continues until my rear feels aflame and I’m no longer pleading, just sobbing and breathing in convulsive gasps. The implement drops onto the bed, by my feet. He appears by my head and strokes my hair.



‘Kiss your owner’s cock, pet.’ He whispers, his voice soft but insistent.



I attribute my actions to wanting to appease him but I know they stem from desire. I lean towards him and caress the head with my lips and plant lustful kisses down to its base. I open my mouth and strive to take him in but he pulls back. I raise my head, questioningly, but he is already mounting the bed and straddling me. The heat is radiating from my cheeks and collecting between us. His cock pushes against my cunt, gently. He drags the head over each lip, gathering moisture. His hand curves under me and he traps my clit between thumb and forefinger. He pinches and manipulates it in circular motions and I moan. I fold my leg towards my torso, like a pirouetting ballerina, to expose myself to him further. My back arches and my hips start to undulate. I try to push myself back and onto him. Still torturing my clit, he shoves decisively inside and holds himself there. I want to rock forward but he wraps his free arm around my waist and debilitates me. He draws out gradually and completely. I vent a frustrated sigh at being left hollow.



I feel him trail my wetness up to my virgin rosebud. I’m anxious but willing. He rubs more fervently as he urges himself forward into my narrower opening. Pain sears through me. He thrusts slowly as I become accustomed to the unfamiliar sensation and the soreness evolves into a perverse pleasure. The fusion of his ministrations to my bud and his increasing pace bring me swiftly to the brink. He feels me tense and demands:



‘Wait.’



I focus on impeding my orgasm. I try to desensitise myself and disconnect my head from the thrill building and overwhelming me. Despite myself, I begin to fall over the edge. His cock stiffens and spurts. Plunging into our shared euphoria, he descends onto my back and bites my earlobe.



‘Who do you belong to?’



I am overcome by desire and gratification. I am conquered.



‘You…I belong to you.’



He laughs, happy and satisfied. Yet he compels me further.



‘Who owns you?’



I sigh, defeated but elated.



“You, Master. You own me.’



He kisses my neck, straightens to unfasten the restraint and then snatches me up.



I smile to myself as he carries me back to the bathroom, amused at how quickly I need to be cleaned up again. He washes me, lovingly, and the man of just minutes before is a stranger. I love the duality.



‘I want to show you something before I re-cuff you to the bed.’



He steers me to the mirror by my hair. We both scrutinise my reflection, his hand still nestled in the locks at the nape of my neck. His red-purple hand prints are still livid on my throat, enclosing my neck.



‘Look at that, pet, you even have a collar.’

Ginny awoke to the smells of Earl Grey tea and hot cakes filling her nostrils. She was in a canopied bed and never felt so comfortable, warm, and was enveloped in goose down. The maid set down the teapot, arranged a few items on the tray and left the dark room. A glimmer of light shone through the heavy curtains and Ginny stared at the steam pouring upwards from the teacup, catching a single particle of dust in the morning light. She remembered the previous evening’s events slowly, getting dressed, the gift, the essay reading, her confession, running up the stairs, but it was blank after that. Mason finally stood from a chair and spoke up, pulling the curtains aside, nearly blinding Ginny with the light that forced its way upon her.



“You have two hours to ready yourself. I took the liberty of getting your items brought here, your implements of discipline, your restraints, and toys. I found nothing of value in your closet and spoke with your father,” he said.



“You spoke with my father?”



“Yes. I wanted to be sure he was comfortable with my presence on the property and with my business with you,” he said.



“Well what did he say?” she asked.



“He’s coming around. I think he understands I don’t want to steal you from him.” Ginny sat quietly looking down. Mason stared at her momentarily. “As I was saying, we will have a training session in two hours. I would eat soon. You don’t want to be hungry; you don’t want a full stomach either. I expect total cleanliness, inside and out when I arrive at,” Mason looked at his watch, “10:35. Be nude, your face and hair clean, no cosmetics. And that collar is waterproof.” Ginny ran her fingers over the mesh. “Clear?”



“But make up makes me feel sexy,” she said.



“I don’t want you to feel sexy. I want you to feel submissive.” He waited for his words to take their effect and left the room. After eating in bed Ginny explored the room finding an empty closet, empty drawers, windows which wouldn’t open enough for her to climb out. She entered the adjoining bathroom to find it much better supplied with enema bags, her set of graduated crystal plugs, plush towels, brushes for teeth, hair, nails, polish remover, everything she might need and she began to realize just how much work nudity really was.



She cleaned herself as best she could and when Mason entered she was kneeling on the floor, head down, hair dripping unscented water down her torso and temples. He raised her to her feet by means of a short leash to her collar and quickly affixed the fetters Ginny purchased. An implement of bondage. A compliment to the collar, in reddened leather. Ginny found them in a recessed corner of the store and although new, they were supremely crafted and had the feel of being old and weathered, hand stitched, and broken in. Primed for use. They felt somehow hers when she first picked them up and she cringed later when the checker scanned them, seeing their price. Mason pulled her out of the room and down a long hallway lined with portraits, busts in strange metals, and carpeted with rugs of foreign designs and exotic colors. She kept her eyes pointed down however. She felt different. Calm. She felt there was no other way she ought to be but nude, gaze down, leash leading to Mason’s hand. He led her into another room which only had three cabinets and a horizontal wrought iron rod hanging above a circular rug and led her to a bin.



“Each cabinet is for a different purpose. You have five minutes to silently separate your items. I will decide their final placement after we… play.” Ginny wanted desperately to tell him all the things she thought about when she purchased each item, how she had asked the sales people for help, how she had thought of him, but he said silently. Silently. She learned in the store not to second guess him and her task was complete within the alotted time. Pleased with something Mason kissed Ginny, caressing her chin, her shoulders, the small of her back. He looked at her selections and stroked his hair finally grabbing Ginny by the wrist and pulling her under the rod which hung about four feet above her head. He closed the door and behind it was a crank, which he turned until the rod lowered and he cuffed Ginny to it.



Walking up to the middle cabinet he said, “Flogger, whip, paddle…”



“Those are-”



“Shush!” he snapped. “It’s obvious what you think. We’ll see what they really are.” He cranked the rod above her so she was standing upright flat on her feet but her arms were erect. “I think the first part of our session will focus on this cabinet here. While I myself am not prone to use such implements for punishment, I have been trained to use them for other measures. Let’s see if you change your mind about your obvious assumptions.” Ginny wanted desperately to protest as Mason toyed with her but she knew he wanted her quiet. He pulled out the kangaroo flogger and walked around her, swinging the falls, occasionally tapping her, brushing her, awakening her entire body, her sex, her belly. Her nipples and ass.



He started tapping harder, tapping more frequently, swinging each stroke before the previous declined in intensity for Ginny. Her head leaned into her arm, her toes squirmed. There was an unscheduled exhale but for the most part Ginny maintained her entirely unspoken oath of silence. Tap. Tapping. The taps increased in intensity until Mason stopped walking around her and focused his attention on her ass, picking up stokes faster with each swing, reddening her cheeks on her rear and moistening her brow until it all stopped at once. He stepped into her and brushed her hair aside literally breathing down her neck, running his hands along the hairless, warm red skin of her ass which only leaned out to him, wanting him to continue, but he walked away.



She heard him by the door and soon felt the rod being cranked higher until she was on her toes, straining to be somewhat comfortable. He flogged her harder and she swung in the air, completely out of control of her movements, her arms wriggling back and forth toes on their tips, feet arched at maximum stretch. He hit her once, hard and an unrehearsed, unexpected cry escaped Ginny’s lungs and an unexpected, “Yes,” escaped Masons. This was most certainly the voracity at which Ginny felt most stimmulated but the force with which Mason had to wail at her with his flogger began to tire his arm and finally, after a noisy period of time he returned the flogger to the cabinet and released another lever from the crank, dropping Ginny to the floor on all fours, head down not daring to look between the strands of now dried amber hair.



Before long she felt her ankles being cuffed roughly to hooks protruding up through the rug; the rod was pinned down and her neck was clipped to the rod. From this position, ass in the air, legs spread, she didn’t see Mason get the paddle from the same cabinet and slipped on a vibrating glove. Kneeling silently behind her he slapped her with his bare hand and the smack reverberated out the room and down the long hallway. The novelty of the sensation shocked Ginny and she cried out with every ounce in her lungs. Mason began tapping her with the paddle lightly on her already reddened ass, increasing in intensity as he slowly massaged her with his gloved hand, the vibrations from which were excrutiatingly painful on her rear.



The glove itself was invented by a Swiss woman decades ago. She was a sexual servant of the lowest rank, with no rights, the most submissive of women. It was rumored that she was one of the original women from Washington DC to produce a child from her own ejaculate. There were no contracts back then, not even for married couples, and the men were still recovering from the Great War. She was a test subject in a laboratory and became attached to a scientist who allowed her to experiment in his workspace. She wasn’t allowed to let her hands touch her pussy, so she designed a rudimentary rubber glove with pulsing beads. Her owner was so pleased with her resoursefulness he allowed her to use it. It was adapted over the years to have veins of lubricant and multiple speeds and variations, all controlled by the fingertips and all hidden in a seemingly inconspicous latex glove.



Mason’s gloved hand currently wandered around to the front of Ginny’s pussy and teased the piercing she got for him their first day together. His vibrating hand moved back and forth from her moistening pussy to an always freshly paddled ass. Pain was always coupled with pleasure and neither ever seemed to last long enough until Ginny felt his bare finger wandering near her ass, pressing into it, stretching her. She heard the sound of Masons zipper and before she knew it her ass was being used for his needs. Ginny immediately took the signal to relax and her entire body slumped save for her rear, which remained in the air. He paused paddling her as he slipped fingers into her gaping ass, enjoying the vibrations himself and lubricating his entrance. He watched his bulbous head stretch her opening as it moved almost all the way out and slid further in with each thrust until he was fucking her so hard he could barely here the faint noise above the resumed paddling, vibrating and slapping flesh. It was a strange noise until Mason was able to discern a simple and elongated, “Ohhhh,” driveling from Ginny’s lips.



His hands remained firmly deligated to her groin on one side and to paddling her rear on the other. Ginny felt as if she couldn’t take any more paddling, as if she’d had enough, as if all of this, this bondage, this ass fucking, this stimmulation, and especially this paddling was too much and she began to hollar out as if she regretted everything she had done up to that point, as if she wanted nothing more than to get out of there. But suddenly there was peace. Suddenly she felt a wave of calm and all she could hear was the tap-tap-tapping of the paddle, and the she could feel the cock in her ass. Suddenly she became acutely aware of the vibrating sensation on her clit. Awareness and calm turned into peak and climax as she came, shaking in her restraints, muscles twitching, voice cracking as she hollared. Her contractions slightly tightened her everywhere and Mason came too, filling for the first time the first vessel that ever purported to be his and his alone.



As Mason sat back onto his heels his hand passed over Ginny’s pussy and he examined the model of glove she chose. He noticed something very strange. There was no ejaculate. He inspected Ginny and found none.



“How do you feel right now Ginny?” he asked.



“I… There’s no where else I’d rather be. No way I would rather be,” she responded dreamily. She clearly came. She was clearly submissive. Mason thought about her essay, and what she said about her parents. It must all be true. That collar has to stay on at all costs. Mason asked another pressing question in hopes of revealing more information about Ginny’s origins and sensibilities.



“Tell me, do you still think all those items belong in the pleasure cabinet?” he asked.



“Absolutely,” she gasped. “But maybe if you use that glove a little more and we’ll have to make a torture cabinet,” she smiled.



“Dinner is in three hours,” he said having no patience for joking, his mind spinning in circles about this novelty of a woman he’s captured. He gently unclasped her. “Why don’t you take a nap?” He fastened her leash, checking its security and walked her back to her room. “Your room has been filled with clothes from Georgian. Dress formally for dinner. I expect you there at eight.” As Mason left Ginny already fell backwards onto the down of the bed, her fingers, unable to wander downwards, found her collar. She ran to the full length mirror at the corner of the room and admired herself in it. Mason mentioned a special collar. Was this the one? It seemed plain from afar, but as she neared her nude reflection its details became more visible. The metalsmithing was finely wrought, creating an intricate lace-like pattern of gold and black, but mostly red. It appeared this red metal was neither painted nor stained, but was somehow naturally red, though Ginny brushed this thought aside as no metal she knew of was red. She remembered Mason’s words. She should nap.



When she awoke she found a glass of water and a bowl of grapes that tasted like nothing she’d ever had. They looked like regular grapes, but tasted of flowers. She opened the previously empty closet and found it full of garments more foreign than the grapes. There were dresses and gowns, skirts and bras, but they were all sewn in several places with boning, attached by fine metal chains bejeweled with precious stones in strategic placements. There were completely sheer fabrics and there was fur. But nothing broke Mason’s dress code and everything matched her collar, bringing out the natural tones of her eyes, skin, and hair. There were several pairs of shoes in her size, all seemingly hand made from various stained leathers and skins.



Ginny showered again, cleaning herself thouroughly and found even more supplies than before, including a professional makeup tower. She readied herself quickly and dressed in a fully boned corset bra made of heavy cotton and a high waisted full length burgundy skirt that appeared to be made out of gold lamé, but was smooth as silk. It was completely sheer save for a strip in front of her sex leading to a high slit and another black strip down the back.



When she entered the dining room it was silent save for a quiet conversation between Mason and an older gentleman who appeared to be his father. Upon seeing her Mason stood up immediately, as did his father.



“I want you to meet my father,” said Mason, introducing her to Mr. Tearing, owner of a series of nightclubs, a line of S&M furniture, and she didn’t know what other enterprises but they must have been extensive to pay for such a home.



“Good evening Mr. Tearing,” she said.



“Don’t be silly. Jonathan will do just fine,” he said kissing the back of her hand. “This is my first concubine Martha.” Martha gave Ginny a dignified nod as her eyes turned downwards. “This is Paris, Mason’s younger brother.” Paris didn’t budge from his conversation with a young girl. “And Anastasia, my first daughter with my second concubine,” he finished. Upon hearing her name Anastasia jumped from her conversation and walked decisively over to Ginny.



“You can call me Anastasia,” she said sticking out her hand as if she wanted Ginny to kiss it. Ginny shook it awkwardly and sat down only to have Anastasia turn her bare back and beaded ass to her.



“Hi Mason darling,” Anastasia flirted hopping in his lap, curling her fingers under his chin. “Have you taken under consideration that itch I had?” Mason was pleased to ride along for this conversation.



“Why yes I have. You need only wait a few moments longer dear Ana,” he said. Ginny felt an ice cold tinge of jealousy but shook it off. Not that brat, she thought. Dinner passed awkwardly, with Jonathan asking lively questions of Ginny and no one else seeming to take an interest. Paris and Ana seemed engrossed in familial gossip between themselves and Martha silently and obediently agreed with Jonathan’s comments and approved of his rather eccentric gesticulations and vocal intonations. Mr. Tearing seemed very curious about Ginny’s father’s business, especially his furniture making entrepreneurship, but Ginny knew very little about it as her father was quite secretive about his doings. Often Ginny was left searching for an answer and Mason jumped to her rescue. After dinner Ginny was exhausted and Mason put her to bed.



“Where will you sleep?” she asked him, yawning.



“I will sleep in my building across the back yard. But first I have some business to attend to at the club,” he said on his way out. Ginny was already asleep. Mason took a great deal of time readying himself for the club. He showered, got his hair trimmed, selected clothing with great care. He didn’t know how things would turn out, how she would receive him. Before long it was time to go. He knew she would be waiting for him, as he left precise instructions.



If one didn’t truly know him as a Master, know his intentions, his heart and soul, upon entering the room he would leave upon a submissive woman the distinct impression that they were in the presence of something abundantly sinister. Like the fresh smell of death, he brought with him an all encompassing, room filling ambiance, drizzling chills on submissive women’s necks, and raising the brows of other Masters, who stepped aside and either feared him or longed to know his ‘secret.’



Tonight Ana waited for him at the club with bated breath. She knelt upstairs in a concrete room with nothing but a few looming implements hanging over her on the walls. She knelt in the room for hours as Mason primped himself. She was naked save for fetters, patrons of the club could peek in on her and watch her face contort from a look of pride to a mixed expression of “chin up” to blatantly obvious pain in her knees and back, to a trance like state. Finally Mason came in and without closing the door walked directly up to Ana and gripped her by the neck, lifting her to her feet. She fumbled in a futile effort with his forearms, choking, grasping at the floor with her toes until she was set down but not loosened completely. A small crowd gathered at the doorway and she looked up at him from beneath raven strands of hair, arching her back, pressing her tits forward.



“I’m going to give you what you’ve been asking for so,” he subtly took in the smell of her tresses, “vociferously.” Ana shuddered. He spread her against the wall roughly and attached her fetters to hooks. She heard his footsteps on the floor behind her as he pulled something off the wall and slipped on a pair of gloves. Whack! He flogged her. Whack! With enough time in between impact for her to feel the entirety of the force and never roll into oblivion.



“Of all people, why do you want to be considered?” he asked, hitting her, harder this time, and the next. She didn’t answer. Mason hung the flogger up and did what he called ‘checking his subject.’ If his slave, or applicant was too wet, his interrogation techniques were not working. Crassly he shoved his fingers into her cunt running them up her slit and in her ass. She was afraid of this. She didn’t want him to know she was at the peak of her accomplishments as a concubine in training and so was quite wet. Mason didn’t want her to know this didn’t impress him. She didn’t want him to stop. And he didn’t.



He pulled the cane off the wall and landed one splotchy splat to her meaty mound, bringing a reddened flush to her already glowing face. He left mark after mark, holding her torso firm and caning her hard, leaving mark that will only make the men downstairs want to fuck her more. Goddammit, she likes this too, and he stuck his fingers in her pussy again, scooping up as much fluid as he could, and shoving it in her mouth, filling her with her own tastes and smells, the indisputable truth that she’s everything her sibblings call her. Mason turned her around. He clamped her nipples with clothes pins and pulled out the whip, barely caressing her nipples with it.



“I haven’t gotten an answer out of you.” The whip grazed until it popped the clamps off. He pulled at her nipples, scratched them. He bound her, fucked her face, suspended her, cut her, brought in a cage for three days, coming and going between training sessions with Ginny and interrogation sessions with Ana. Ana refused to eat and Mason refused to give in. Only cruelty would do for his sister. Until finally she said, “I love you. I don’t want there to be anyone else. I don’t like her. I want to be the first.”



“That simply can’t be,” he said unlocking the cage and walking away. She sat in the cage for hours dumbstruck, afraid to leave the confines of his bondage. It was the only desire she knew. Soon the crowd grew tired of watching her and she crawled out and dressed herself. Mason returned home to find his father holding Ginny’s essay, sitting in an easy chair, drinking a scotch.

It was warm on the terrace of the small village home. The sun was setting but the sky was a firey color. Master stood next to me, the tips of Sir’s fingers were touching the small of my back.



Master’s hand moved up my back and ran through my hair and his hand gripped my hair tightly and I, his Kutiya (hindi for bitch) let out a soft moan from the unexpected, yet delicious touch. He used His grip in my hair to turn me toward Him. Pulling my head back, He brought His face close to mine and spoke firmly to me..



“Aaa.. My slut.. My bitch.. you are Mine and will be Mine in everyway from this moment forward.”



He stood pressed up against me, His hand still pulling my head back. I felt His mustache and the stubble of His day-old beard against my skin. My eyes closed, enjoying the feeling, and then I felt His teeth pressing and then biting into my shoulder and then neck…



I felt an instant wetness between my legs.. A desire.. a need that couldn’t be resisted.



His other hand moved over my face.. my neck.. down to my breast. His hand grabbed and kneeded my breasts.. one at a time. My nipples grew hard and He could feel them against His palm, even through the fabric of my blouse.



His deft fingers pinched my nipple.. hard. I felt Him growing hard against me. His hands moved over my breasts and then ripped open my blouse then slapping the top of my breasts. My hands reached out to touch Him but He pulled away and slapped me across my face, leaned in and spoke into my ear…



“Not yet My slut..”



His arms wrapped around me and I loved feeling His warmth against me.. the scent of His body.. the feeling of His solid self…



He unhooked my bra and pulled it over my shoulders then told me to take it off, which I did. He moved behind me then, and again, I felt Him against me.. His arms around me..



One by one He pinched and pulled my nipples.. Twisting them between His fingers, then put a clover clamp on each of my long, thick nipples. He then tied the string loops on each of them together. All the while I felt His cock pressed against my ass, growing harder and harder all the time. I reached back and ran my fingers and palm across His hard cock



My pussy was so wet and my mouth was watering. My fingers fumbled to open His trousers. I wanted.. NEEDED to touch His cock.. to feel it, taste it, be filled by it… I opened His pants and slipped my hands into His shorts..



The heat of His hard, thick cock in my hands, my fingertips rubbing His balls while my palms moved up and down the length of the shaft of His cock. I leaned my head back and kissed the underside of His chin and neck. He moaned which made me smile and encouraged me to continue. My tongue licking His neck.. softly nibbling His flesh



His cock began to leak slowly.. pre-cum.. Mmmmm



I pushed His pants down and I pressed my ass against His hard, leaking cock. I could feel the pre-cum through my skirt.. I felt His hands grab my ass. Suddenly He turned me around, With His hand pulling my hair, He moved me where he wanted me: Down on my knees before Him, I licked His cock and balls, slowly and intently.. enjoying every moment.



“Thats a nice place for my bitch to be at,” He said to me, as he watched me at His feet.



I sucked Him slowly into my mouth, my tongue licking His cock. I looked up at Him as I sucked His cock.. needing to see if I was pleasing Him. His hands were buried in my hair and I sucked faster, harder.. Pulling Him deeper into my mouth..



My face pressed against His belly as His cock filled my mouth and pressed against the back of my throat.



“Yessss,” he moaned, and began to fuck my mouth.



I could taste Him heavy in my mouth. I wrapped one arm around Him while the other played with His balls.



One of His hands was wrapped around my throat as my hand caressed His delightful ass cheeks, and He continued to fuck my mouth mercilessly.



I moaned with my mouth full of Him. My thighs were soaked.. nipples hard and clamped.. hands caressing His ass.. My mouth full of His cock..



Each time I moaned or groaned, He sighed… Sometimes affirming him pleasure with a low “yesss” or “fuck yes”.



Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t help moaning. The feeling of His cock in my mouth was too good to be resisted. I wanted desperately to taste Him..



I felt His balls begin to rise and twitch in my palm and knew He was close to cumming.



I took His cock deeeep in my mouth and throat, and swallowed. My throat closing on His cock again and again.. My tongue and lower lip rubbed and teased against His balls and the underside of his cock.. the shaft and glans.



I felt Him push deeper and then I felt it..



Felt Him cum.. and cum and cum and…



I felt Him flood my mouth with His hot seed. I swallowed Him sucking every drop of His cum.. licking His cock and running my lips over the shaft. My hand milked His of every last drop, lapping it up and then rubbing His cock all over my face.



I enjoyed feeling Him everywhere on me, and as I looked up at Him, I saw Him smile. I kissed the inside of His thighs.. my teeth grazing across their flesh and I heard Him moan a long “Mmmmmm”.



I loved the sound of Him moaning!



His hand still buried in my hair, was slowly rubbing my head.. Pulling my hair.. There on my knees before Him, with my head pulled back, He slapped me across my face then grabbed the string between the clover clamps on my nipples and pulled up.



I let out a yelp and a groan, and felt my body betray me.



A small gush released from my pussy and my body shook as I came. He pulled up harder and I moved to stand up, as He used the string to lead me.



The sun was nearly down. The sky was getting darker and stars were coming out.



He lead me a few meters away to a potting table littered with soil and pots and twine.



And rope.



He backed me up against the table, laying me back onto it. He reached over me and grabbed the rope and twine. He tied my wrists and secured them to the potting table, took the twine and smacked it over my skin with it. It was scratchy and pokey and left small red raised patches where it hit.



He moved to the side of the potting table, yanked on the clamps.. Once.. twice.. three times. Each time I groaned and the last time I squirmed and cried out.



“Yes, My lovely slave..” He spoke softly.



He put His hand around my throat and squeezed slightly, then slapped my face again. I looked into His dark eyes And there was a humor there.. and a hunger.



I wondered if you could see my own hunger for Him. He leaned over me and bit my breast.. Hard. Again I cried out but not just from pain but pleasure as well.



He bit again and again across my tits and belly. My skin was a map of red crescents. He reached into a box looking for something and came out with a long garden knife.



The skirt I had been wearing, I was still wearing. He ran the blade down the length of my upper body tracing over the impressions of His teeth on my skin and then sliced through the fabric of my skirt and then again through the thin fabric of my very wet panties.



Instinctually I closed my legs, but He took the twine and hit my legs hard with it..



“You look nice with fear, anticipation and desire,” He said, then ordered me to open them for Him.



Softly I replied, “Yes Master”.



I closed my eyes as I felt His hand on my thigh.. Touching the slick wetness.



Suddenly I felt the twine smack hard onto my bare pussy, my long fleshy lips hot and red and stinging.



He was pleased, “mmmmm, nice..”



The first smack came on my inhale but the exhale was broken and moaning, and then the second smack came eliciting a loud cry. The loud spank of His hand followed the twine and I squirmed again. I was unconsciously making a half moan, half cry that grew louder with each impact.



He pushed my knees open wide and told me in no uncertain terms to “Keep them open!”



He moved around the table, above my head and opened His trousers, pulled His cock out and rubbed it over my lips “Lick it, bitch”.



Of course I did, and with pleasure.



I felt His cock grow harder and harder as I licked it.. kissed it.. sucked it.. He pulled the clover clamps again and I half cried, half yelped.



Once He was nice and hard again He moved to the other end of the table, yanking the clamps as He worked His way around.



When He was at the foot end of the table I felt His fingers press into the inside of my thighs and I smiled knowing I’d carry His fingerprints with me for days to come.



He pushed my knees up to meet my chest and my ass rose up off of the table. I felt His cock slide between the long wet lips of my pussy and rub against my clit and then down to the pucker of my ass.



I sighed.. It felt so good..



Then His voice, loudly.. “Open your eyes My whore. Open your eyes!”



I opened them wide and was staring into His large, dark eyes.



“Finally I’m going to take what’s mine..” He said as I felt Him push His thick cock into my tight, virgin ass.



I cried out, trying to stifle it.. but a tear slowly made it’s way down my cheek and into my hair.



He fucked my ass slowly at first and then harder and faster. He leaned over and bit my lip and then came. I felt Him cumming inside of me as he buried his entire cock inside of my ass and flooded it with His seed. I cried out and He smothered my mouth with His.



He lay over me.. His cock still within me.



Sometime later He cut the rope off of me using the knife and helped me to sit.. then held me as we walked a short distance to a large patch of lush grass where we lay down. The cool grass held us asIt was warm on the terrace of the small village home. The sun was setting but the sky was a firey color. He stood next to me, the tips of His fingers were touching the small of my back.



His hand moved up my back and ran through my hair. His hand gripped my hair tightly and I let out a soft moan from the unexpected, yet delicious touch. He used His grip in my hair to turn me toward Him. Pulling my head back, He brought His face close to mine and spoke firmly to me..



“Aaa.. My slut.. My bitch.. you are Mine and will be Mine in everyway from this moment forward.”



He stood pressed up against me, His hand still pulling my head back. I felt His mustache and the stubble of His day-old beard against my skin. My eyes closed, enjoying the feeling, and then I felt His teeth pressing and then biting into my shoulder and then neck…



I felt an instant wetness between my legs.. A desire.. a need that couldn’t be resisted.



His other hand moved over my face.. my neck.. down to my breast. His hand grabbed and kneeded my breasts.. one at a time. My nipples grew hard and He could feel them against His palm, even through the fabric of my blouse.



His deft fingers pinched my nipple.. hard. I felt Him growing hard against me. His hands moved over my breasts and then ripped open my blouse then slapping the top of my breasts.



My hands reached out to touch Him but He pulled away and slapped me across my face, leaned in and spoke into my ear…



“Not yet My slut..”



His arms wrapped around me and I loved feeling His warmth against me.. the scent of His body.. the feeling of His solid self…



He unhooked my bra and pulled it over my shoulders then told me to take it off, which I did. He moved behind me then, and again, I felt Him against me.. His arms around me..



One by one He pinched and pulled my nipples.. Twisting them between His fingers, then put a clover clamp on each of my long, thick nipples. He then tied the string loops on each of them together. All the while I felt His cock pressed against my ass, growing harder and harder all the time. I reached back and ran my fingers and palm across His hard cock



My pussy was so wet and my mouth was watering. My fingers fumbled to open His trousers. I wanted.. NEEDED to touch His cock.. to feel it, taste it, be filled by it… I opened His pants and slipped my hands into His shorts..



The heat of His hard, thick cock in my hands, my fingertips rubbing His balls while my palms moved up and down the length of the shaft of His cock. I leaned my head back and kissed the underside of His chin and neck. He moaned which made me smile and encouraged me to continue. My tongue licking His neck.. softly nibbling His flesh



His cock began to leak slowly.. pre-cum.. Mmmmm



I pushed His pants down and I pressed my ass against His hard, leaking cock. I could feel the pre-cum through my skirt.. I felt His hands grab my ass. Suddenly He turned me around, With His hand pulling my hair, He moved me where he wanted me: Down on my knees before Him, I licked His cock and balls, slowly and intently.. enjoying every moment.



“Thats a nice place for my bitch to be at,” He said to me, as he watched me at His feet.



I sucked Him slowly into my mouth, my tongue licking His cock. I looked up at Him as I sucked His cock.. needing to see if I was pleasing Him. His hands were buried in my hair and I sucked faster, harder.. Pulling Him deeper into my mouth..



My face pressed against His belly as His cock filled my mouth and pressed against the back of my throat.



“Yessss,” he moaned, and began to fuck my mouth.



I could taste Him heavy in my mouth. I wrapped one arm around Him while the other played with His balls.



One of His hands was wrapped around my throat as my hand caressed His delightful ass cheeks, and He continued to fuck my mouth mercilessly.



I moaned with my mouth full of Him. My thighs were soaked.. nipples hard and clamped.. hands caressing His ass.. My mouth full of His cock..



Each time I moaned or groaned, He sighed… Sometimes affirming him pleasure with a low “yesss” or “fuck yes”.



Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t help moaning. The feeling of His cock in my mouth was too good to be resisted. I wanted desperately to taste Him..



I felt His balls begin to rise and twitch in my palm and knew He was close to cumming.



I took His cock deeeep in my mouth and throat, and swallowed. My throat closing on His cock again and again.. My tongue and lower lip rubbed and teased against His balls and the underside of his cock.. the shaft and glans.



I felt Him push deeper and then I felt it..



Felt Him cum.. and cum and cum and…



I felt Him flood my mouth with His hot seed. I swallowed Him sucking every drop of His cum.. licking His cock and running my lips over the shaft. My hand milked His of every last drop, lapping it up and then rubbing His cock all over my face.



I enjoyed feeling Him everywhere on me, and as I looked up at Him, I saw Him smile. I kissed the inside of His thighs.. my teeth grazing across their flesh and I heard Him moan a long “Mmmmmm”.



I loved the sound of Him moaning!



His hand still buried in my hair, was slowly rubbing my head.. Pulling my hair.. There on my knees before Him, with my head pulled back, He slapped me across my face then grabbed the string between the clover clamps on my nipples and pulled up.



I let out a yelp and a groan, and felt my body betray me.



A small gush released from my pussy and my body shook as I came. He pulled up harder and I moved to stand up, as He used the string to lead me.



The sun was nearly down. The sky was getting darker and stars were coming out.



He lead me a few meters away to a potting table littered with soil and pots and twine.



And rope.



He backed me up against the table, laying me back onto it. He reached over me and grabbed the rope and twine. He tied my wrists and secured them to the potting table, took the twine and smacked it over my skin with it. It was scratchy and pokey and left small red raised patches where it hit.



He moved to the side of the potting table, yanked on the clamps.. Once.. twice.. three times. Each time I groaned and the last time I squirmed and cried out.



“Yes, My lovely slave..” He spoke softly.



He put His hand around my throat and squeezed slightly, then slapped my face again. I looked into His dark eyes And there was a humor there.. and a hunger.



I wondered if you could see my own hunger for Him. He leaned over me and bit my breast.. Hard. Again I cried out but not just from pain but pleasure as well.



He bit again and again across my tits and belly. My skin was a map of red crescents. He reached into a box looking for something and came out with a long garden knife.



The skirt I had been wearing, I was still wearing. He ran the blade down the length of my upper body tracing over the impressions of His teeth on my skin and then sliced through the fabric of my skirt and then again through the thin fabric of my very wet panties.



Instinctually I closed my legs, but He took the twine and hit my legs hard with it..



“You look nice with fear, anticipation and desire,” He said, then ordered me to open them for Him.



Softly I replied, “Yes Master”.



I closed my eyes as I felt His hand on my thigh.. Touching the slick wetness.



Suddenly I felt the twine smack hard onto my bare pussy, my long fleshy lips hot and red and stinging.



He was pleased, “mmmmm, nice..”



The first smack came on my inhale but the exhale was broken and moaning, and then the second smack came eliciting a loud cry. The loud spank of His hand followed the twine and I squirmed again. I was unconsciously making a half moan, half cry that grew louder with each impact.



He pushed my knees open wide and told me in no uncertain terms to “Keep them open!”



He moved around the table, above my head and opened His trousers, pulled His cock out and rubbed it over my lips “Lick it, bitch”.



Of course I did, and with pleasure.



I felt His cock grow harder and harder as I licked it.. kissed it.. sucked it.. He pulled the clover clamps again and I half cried, half yelped.



Once He was nice and hard again He moved to the other end of the table, yanking the clamps as He worked His way around.



When He was at the foot end of the table I felt His fingers press into the inside of my thighs and I smiled knowing I’d carry His fingerprints with me for days to come.



He pushed my knees up to meet my chest and my ass rose up off of the table. I felt His cock slide between the long wet lips of my pussy and rub against my clit and then down to the pucker of my ass.



I sighed.. It felt so good..



Then His voice, loudly.. “Open your eyes My whore. Open your eyes!”



I opened them wide and was staring into His large, dark eyes.



“Finally I’m going to take what’s mine..” He said as I felt Him push His thick cock into my tight, virgin ass.



I cried out, trying to stifle it.. but a tear slowly made it’s way down my cheek and into my hair.



He fucked my ass slowly at first and then harder and faster. He leaned over and bit my lip and then came. I felt Him cumming inside of me as he buried his entire cock inside of my ass and flooded it with His seed. I cried out and He smothered my mouth with His.



He lay over me.. His cock still within me.



Sometime later He cut the rope off of me using the knife and helped me to sit.. then held me as we walked a short distance to a large patch of lush grass where we lay down. The cool grass held us as we looked up at the stars, a thin blanket pulled over us.



We lay in each others arms, kissing and touching and caressing.. We fell asleep in one another’s arms, and I woke up to His cock hard against me. He was still asleep as I stroked Him slowly then wrapped my legs around Him and slipped His hard cock into my already wet pussy and rode Him slowly.. He woke up buried inside of me.. My hands caressing His chest.. and kissing, licking and biting His ears, neck and lips.



I felt Him beginning to move under me. His hips pumping. The pleasure building again, faster and higher with each movement.



The climax came quickly.. unexpectedly. My back arched as the muscles in my body tensed and shook.. my skin flushing bright red. A flood released over His cock as he moved in a frenzy then exploded inside of me. I lay over Him.. His softening cock within me.. Our cum mingling together.. His arms around me and mine around Him.. Laying entwined in the grass in the cool night air on the terrace.

I am a nineteen year old girl from a large family of farm laborers. I am nothing special if you discount the large bosom, the curved buttocks and the sparkle in my eye. I’ve rolled around in the hay with a few of the local lads but nothing memorable and it certainly did not make me feel any of them were marriage material.



Then one time I was out and about and who should I meet coming the other way?



Only the good lord of the manor himself. Normally, I’d bob a curtsy and he’d sail by, nose in the air. But this time he reached forward, stopped me with his arm. Took my hand in his and raised it to his lips, with a slight bow.



To say that I was flustered would have been an understatement. My cheeks turned red and my knees fumbled my curtsey, almost tipping me into the mire. His hand on mine steadied me and then he was on his way, shooting smoldering glances across his shoulder.



I dream of him that night, intense dreams that make me toss and turn and moan. He takes me in his arms and I press against him, my head tilting towards his, his tongue pressing firmly into my mouth, his hand reaching between my legs for my sex. But before this dream can go any further, I am awakened by the cock crowing, my sex wet at his anticipated touch.



I clamber downstairs and out to the well, to wash the wetness away. I draw a bucket and the coldness of the water in the early spring morn causes my nipples to harden under my sleeping shift, the frigidness of the air sending shivers through me, not unlike his touch in my dream did. I am ready to believe that he, aided by some wicked old crone, has laid an enchantment on me, as his eyes, his touch I cannot from my waking moments, nor my sleeping ones, forget.



In the afternoon, my mother sends me on an errand that requires travel to a nearby farm through the woods. As I am at the deepest part of the path, who should come riding through but his lordship?



His eyes catch mine with an intensity that freezes me in place as he swings down off the horse.



I know I should protect my virtue. That I should run into the woods until I have lost him far behind me. The last thing my humble family needs is the offspring of an unwed daughter.



But I can’t move, I am unwilling but compliant as he reaches towards me, takes my hand and leads me after him. As soon as we are away from the path, he walks behind me and unlaces my dress. He pulls it down, til it lies around my ankles, leaving me naked before his eyes except for the thin protection of my under shift. I am half dreading and half begging, inside, for what he is about to do to me.



He reaches forward and uncurls my hair from it’s pinned knot. Twisting it around his hand, he forces me to my knees, the leaf mulch staining the thin white linen. He walks in front of me and stands, his eyes locked on my full bosom. Instinctively my arms fold in front, covering my nakedness. He reaches forwards, raises my chin til my eyes meet his and slaps me, hard, with the back of his hand.



“Don’t cover yourself if I want to see, do you understand? Wench?”



I nod, blinking back my tears, wishing to run from his cruelty, but pinned there by my desire for him.



He twists my hair around his hand again and raising me to my feet, kisses me, intensely, passionately, his tongue finding mine, his cock pressing against my nearly naked stomach.



His free hand reaches forward and tears my shift as if it was of no consequence, spilling my breasts forward into the cold spring air. His hand assaults first one nipple, then the other, leaving them stiff and myself gasping for breath from the stimulation, my brain and body turned into a melted puddle of lust.



As my ripped underdress falls from me, his fingers trace downwards until they entangle themselves into my dark bush and then find the hot, moist, cleft that lies between my legs.



As his fingers encounter my sex I find my legs weakening and if it were not for the support of his arm behind me I would be on the ground, my body undone by my desire.



His fingers, two, three or four, I am unable to count, enter my hole and he pushes them in as far as he can, at once hurting me but at the same time causing my body to melt and weaken even more. Just as I feel sure I am unable to take any more, he withdraws his fingers and brings them up to my mouth. He forces them between my lips and I taste myself, creamy but bitter, not unpleasant.



His hand grabs hold of mine and draws it towards his phallus, hard and hot and larger than any I have had the pleasure of touching before. He rubs himself through my hand and I can feel a pleasing juiciness at the end. He takes my hand away and lowers me onto the cold ground. He lies astride me and rubs his hardness at first against my thigh and then over my cunt, his wetness mixing with mine. I feel my cunt opening, wishing to grasp him inside me.



When I think that once again I am to faint, he gets me to turn over, to place myself on hands and knees, as if I were a farmyard sow or a bitch ready to receive my mate. I feel his cock bump against my engorged parts and then it is pushing into me, making me cry out in pain. He hushes me, warning against drawing attention to our union. Then he drives into me fully, I bite my lips to prevent myself from crying out, the pain beginning to turn into delicious pleasure.



He then slowly withdraws all the way again. Leaving my desperately swollen hole empty and begging for more. He teases me with the head of his cock before driving it in again, faster and harder this time, causing me to cry out regardless of my own will, this time instead of withdrawing he moves his cock around in circles, stretching my virginal hole, making contact with every last millimeter of flesh that he can find. Then he starts moving in and out, slowly, slowly, then getting quicker, the rubbing causing my head to boil and bake, my breathing to turn to rough gasps and fireworks to run through my groin, thighs and stomach. After what seems like a lifetime or just a few moments, he is pushing into me hard again and holding himself there and I can tell without having to ask that he is pumping me full of his seed. That a concern for my fertility, is not a priority for him.



He finishes and withdraws. Lies next to me for a few moments, then as I roll over to embrace him, he pulls away, stands up, straightens his trousers (the only bit of him disturbed) and says “I will see you at the manor, next Monday at one o clock in the afternoon.. Don’t be late”.



With that he strides off, leaving me lying on the ground, my head and body invaded, disheveled and seeing no way of disobeying his instructions.



I am early as I walk around to the servants entrance, knowing that approaching the front door would mean a punishment beyond hell. I knock and it is answered by my cousin Ann. She looks me up and down, snootiness displayed openly on her face, a bit grand considering she’s only the scullery maid.



“We ‘ave been told to except you” she declaims, “not that your any better than you should be” she carries on. “Shut it” I tell her” Would you deny him if he came to you?”.



“That’s beside the point” she replies turning around and walking quickly into the interior of the kitchen, “Come on, then” she calls over her shoulder. I cross the threshold hesitantly, having never been in the manor before.



The kitchen is busy, hot and crowded, people bustling to clear up the remnants of luncheon.



Ann leads me to the bottom of some stairs that twist and turn upwards; I follow, noticing the effort the rest of the servants are putting in to ignoring my presence. Up we go and when we reach the second landing, Ann pushes open the door and looks both ways, checking there is no-one around. There isn’t and we nip across a corridor, through another door and into what appears to be a dressing room.



“He says your to put these on” Ann tells me, gesturing at a green silk corset, under shift and pantaloons. I’ve never seen clothing of the like, I get undressed and then Ann helps me get laced in, tighter than ever before, seeing as when you are working you need the ability to move.



She then takes me through to one of the grandest rooms, I’ve seen in my life. His bedchamber, I guess, the four poster in the middle giving me a slight clue.



Ann points at a carafe of wine and a glass. “He told me to get you to drink a fair few of those before he turns up”.



“Where is he, anyway? I ask.



“Out riding, working up a good sweat for you, no doubt” she snorts with laughter. I start on the wine. With the tightness of the corset I find myself feeling bloated after the first glass. But I carry on and try for a second. It goes down, but I can’t prevent a healthy belch from coming forth. By the third glass I am feeling woozy, unused to such heady wine. I try and get it down but it is nearly coming straight back up.



I turn to Ann, “I can’t manage anymore, it’s nearly making me throw up, what with the corset.”



“Right, I’m off then.” She picks up the tray, as she turns to go, she says “He also told me to tell you to get on your knees, look at the floor and not move until he gets here.” She shakes her head, “I don’t know what you’ve got yourself into, Laura. But I hope it’s worth it.”



She leaves and I do as she has told me to do. My sex burning in anticipation as to what this is going to mean. I kneel there, the silence overwhelming, watching the shadows of leaves dancing on the floor.



My legs are going to sleep under me and my back is aching by the time the door to the room opens. I look up, absorbing his glowing countenance, the reddened cheeks from the vigorous exercise he has undertaken. He is wearing his riding boots still and carries in his hand the crop.



“Did I say that you could look at me?” he demands. I flush and return my gaze to the floor, “No” I reply. “NO MY LORD” he repeats back to me. “No…My Lord” I reply, hesitating over the words unsure of what that means, not exactly the way you address a lover but then again none of this seems normal. Perhaps they do things differently in high society.



My lust has brought me here, but will his cruelty drive me away? He walks over, “Look straight ahead” he orders. I do as he says, ending up with a view of his cock bulging through his trousers. “Open your mouth as wide as you can”.



“What?” I can’t help but glance up.



He slaps me. “Just do as you are told.”



I open as he has instructed. He unbuttons his trousers and his large prick flops out in front of my face. “Lick it’ he tells me, and I do, in the way I used to lick butter from a slice of bread as a child.



This is obviously unsatisfactory to him. He unpins my hair, and pinches my nose until I am grasping for breath through my mouth. At which point he drives his penis into my mouth, to the back of my throat, if it was not for the fact that he lets go of my nose, I am quite sure I would have fallen to unconsciousness. He fucks my mouth in a similar way to the last time that he fucked my cunt. I am unprepared for this treatment and the corset, wine, and gagging he inflicts on me causes me to retch until I vomit.



All over the carpet, finer than anything ever viewed before in my lifetime. He withdraws his cock, looks down at me with disdain and slaps me again, hard. “Do you have any idea of the cost of this?”.



Tears course down my cheeks, as I shake my head no. He walks away from me, from my tears.



“It cost more than you could earn in a whole lifetime, no matter how varied your talents. For this transgression, I fear, whatever my personal feelings may be on the subject, that you must be punished”.



I am agog at the suggestion, it was the treatment that he was imposing on me that caused such a disturbance.



I begin to protest, “But My Lord, I only drank that much wine on your ord..”



He cuts me off, “Take your choice, either to be thrown outside now, wearing nothing, to crawl home through the mud, your family’s good name as honest laborers destroyed by your wretched state. Or to be tied and beaten by myself, as I would do to an unruly horse.”



I am ripped apart at his words, knowing I dare not expose my family to my shame, that he will be using that instrument of cruelty on my barely covered, to be pitied, flesh.



“Get up and stand by the bed, slattern.” I do as I am told, already feeling more tears pricking at my eyes. “Hold your arms out”. Again I obey. Hidden behind the drapes tied neatly to the pillars are heavy iron manacles, the type that convicts, prisoners, criminals have to wear. I feel my cheeks redden in shame. He attaches them to me and I am now incapable of running from what he is about to do, no matter how much I want too.



I hear the familiar swish of a crop through the air but the noise seems somehow intensified in the confined space of this room. And then the swish again and it hits my buttocks. I cry out, the pain fiery and sharp but for some reason I feel a tingle run through my sex at the same time. He does it again and I cry out loudly. “Quiet, girl, or I will be forced to gag you” he threatens.



As the next blow lands I have to bite my lip, hard, to prevent myself from crying out. He continues to beat me for quite some time, until I have tears running down my cheeks and the fire in my bottom is running through to inflame my sex as well.



“You took that well, I am sure Ann will appreciate knowing that you were punished as she is down scrubbing the stain that you have caused.”



And then he reaches forward and pushes his fingers up into my burning sex through the silk. “And look at how wet this has got you. You are quite a natural you know. You would be in high demand in somewhere like London. Could charge a high price to be treated this way. Luckily for me, you are here and you are mine. Do you like that thought?”



Strangely, his words send a current of pleasurable feeling running through me and I stammer “Yes..yes My Lord”. “Good, very good” he replies, pleasure soaking through his voice and softening it for the first time in my presence.



“Now, would you like me to release you? Or shall I leave you there, chained and unable to leave. I could come and admire you whenever I felt the need, watch as your body fell deeper into a state of degradation and weakness. It’s a very tempting prospect.”



He sounds so serious, so solemn yet pleased at the idea that I feel my body involuntarily shake from fear, belief that this is what he intends to do.



“Please sir, I beg for my release, not just for my own benefit, but for the benefit and succor of my parents. My help with my brothers and sisters is invaluable to them.”



“I will unchain you, and expect to be thanked, profusely for my kindness. But you are not free to leave this room yet. Not until I have entirely satisfied my need for your presence.”



He removes the manacles and pushes me hard, face down, onto the awaiting bed. “Thank you, My Lord, for releasing me and allowing me to fulfill the needs that you have.”



“You are a quick learner” he praises me. He reaches forward and tears the thin silk that covers my sex. “Legs wide apart, whore.” He orders. I open them as far as I can, and his hand reaches forward, roughly assaulting my sex, rubbing the delicate parts hard. As his hand pulls away, I can feel myself, inside, crying out for more. He places one finger inside my wet hole and I writhe, trying to recreate the sensation that his cock did bring about in me. “Would the desperate whore like more? Would she like to be filled?” he enquires.



“Yes, My Lord, please, fill me like you did before. Make me yours, use me as you will.” I can feel any self-control I might have had slipping away as he slowly adds more fingers, satisfying my craving whilst at the same time making it flow through me all the more. “Look at that, the slut can take four fingers and less than a week ago, she was untouched, ready to be plucked. At least, that’s what I assume from the blood that I took home on my manhood.”



“Yes, My lord, I was a virgin, I was saving myself for my… husband”



And with that shame floods through me, as at the same time as he puts another finger into my cunt, causing it to be stretched, to hurt in a manner similar to the initial penetration from his cock.



“And yet, you gave yourself freely to the first man who forced the issue. I could smell what you were the first time I encountered you. That you would let me use you so.”



And his fingers push deeper, harder, and the pain is turning to a pleasure as he reaches as far as he can inside me. “Your sex is opening to me, like a flower, like the greedy cock devouring hole that it is.”



And it’s true it is, I am pushing myself against his hand in an attempt to get it further in me, to fill me as much I can be filled. And before I know what is happening, he removes it from me, takes it away, leaving me empty, unsatisfied, starving for more.



“I don’t like cock hungry holes” he informs me, “no doubt I will use it from time to time, fill it like I just have, as well as filling you with my seed, play with you like the toy you will become. But for the most part,” and with this, his well lubricated fingers reach for my shithole and push their way in, “I will be using this hole, safe in the knowledge that my penetration of it will be unwillingly received.”



No, please” I protest, “not there. That is an offence before God.”



His other hand comes down on my backside, hard, making the marks he has already left, throb with a reawakened burning.



“No, please, My Lord” he reminds me. “And I intend to degrade you to the point that heaven will never open its gates for you. And you will, for the most part, enjoy every step along the way.”



For the third time, today, I feel my eyes stinging with tears as his hand continues to invade my forbidden hole. Two fingers, then three, returning to my cunt every now and then to renew the moisture needed to counteract the dryness.



“Now, since this is the first time I have used you like this, I will be gentle and take it slowly. Do not expect the same courtesy in the future. May I suggest you relax? Try breathing in and out slowly, and stop crying. That will do no good to anyone.”



I breathe as he suggests, allowing my body to slump onto the bed, with no resistance anywhere. He enters my cunt and I relax even more into the joyful sensation of being filled again, but he only moves it in and out a few times, coating himself with the juices from it before withdrawing and setting to poking his large cock up my arse. He pushes and I tense, involuntarily.



“Keep relaxed, slut or I will have to force it and neither of us will enjoy that.”



I breathe in deeply, slowly as he has told me to do and the tension leaves me once again. This time he pushes harder and I feel the head of his cock enter my arse. It hurts, but bearably and he waits until I have once again relaxed myself before pushing further. This process is repeated many times, until he has eventually managed to fill me, to bury his cock in my unholy hole.



Which is the point at which, he unleashes his brutality, pulling out most of the way and then ramming himself back in hard.



I try to wriggle away but his hands have my hips firmly clasped and my strength is no match for his. But the assault does not last for long, as he is drawn to the point of release by what he is doing far too quickly.



He unloads his seed into my with a deep groan of satisfaction, then withdraws and collapses next to me on the bed. “That feels so much better” he smiles at me. I find myself smiling in return, despite the tears streaking my cheeks and the soreness that my lower half seems to consist of. But I am pleased that he is pleased. Satisfied that I have played my role well.



He reaches forward and takes me in his arms and for the first time that day, kisses me, intensely, passionately and totally unexpectedly.

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