Teresa's Switch

Today's story was a request from a new friend, someone who wanted as much to know HOW to write good erotica as she wanted to have one written for her. I was flattered that she thought, first of all, that I write consistently good erotica, and secondly, that she thought I could help identify what makes erotica good in the first place.

Let me be clear: I think I write good erotica. I think I write great erotica. I think what's on this site is some of the best erotica there is, and I stand by my work. I don't feel like I need to prove anything to anyone, because I think the work speaks for itself. That said, it's always nice when someone else says the same. At the heart of every artist is a deep seed of doubt, something that makes you always wonder if maybe, just maybe, you're the only one who thinks it's good. Or that your best work is behind you. Or that you've been deluding yourself. Or that the one good story was just a fluke. So even those of us who think they're awesome still need that external validation every now and then.

The characters in my stories take a beating, sometimes literally. The power is all mine as the writer. But once it gets posted here, the power goes to you, the reader. You become the one who can praise or punish. You become the one who can take revenge on behalf of the characters in whatever way you see fit.

Which, coincidentally, is what this story is about.

Teresa's Switch

Teresa sat in her chair like it was a throne, one leg crossed over the other, bobbing her booted foot as she looked at him. The door behind her closed, and she knew it was just the two of them again.

He took a deep breath and pushed himself to his knees. She saw the tension in his shoulders and knew what it cost him to get up. The welts on his back were starkly visible, and the beginning of bruises were already showing themselves all down his body. His wrists were rubbed a bit raw, and his skin was a rainbow of painful color.

He started to crawl towards her, shaking with the effort of moving, but slowly regaining strength. His muscles stretched as the cramps began to loosen, and by the time he was in front of her, he seemed much more together than he had when he'd first been let down.

He smiled up at her and rolled his neck, making a loud and satisfying cracking sound.

Teresa looked down at him, trying to keep the pride out of her eyes. He hadn't broken, hadn't cried, hadn't even whimpered the entire time. She uncrossed her legs and pressed the sole of her boot against his bare chest.

“Take them off,” she said.

He started reaching around for the bow at the top of her laces, and she pulled her foot away. She shook her head. “Hands behind your back,” she said.

He looked up at her with frustration, a spark in his eyes suggesting that he wouldn't forget about this. But he didn't complain. Hands behind his back, he leaned forward and took the lace in his teeth. He pulled back until the knot popped open. Teresa watched with rapt attention as he leaned forward again, hooking his tongue under the crossed laces to pull them loose, then clamping his teeth around them and pulling his head back again, letting the lace slide through his mouth, around his back teeth, until the two strands fell out again.

The second cross of laces came out the same way. Then he began just loosening the lace, curling his tongue under the string, pulling it a bit loose before moving down to the next X of string. Carefully, he loosens the laces all the way down to the top of her foot. Then he curves around her foot and takes the heel gently in his teeth and starts to pull.

Teresa moves her foot to help slide it out of the boot. Soon, he kneels in front of her, hands behind his back, her boot hanging from his mouth by the heel.

She laughs at the sight. “You can use your hands to put it down,” she says. He puts the boot aside, she pushes out her other foot, and he starts working the laces again.

Teresa bites her lip as she feels his tongue working along her shin, moving his own tongue down the tongue of her boot. She leans her head back and concentrates on the feeling as he loosens the laces enough to pull the boot off her foot.

She slides her feet against one another, rubbing the nylon together and watching his eyes follow the movement of her pedicured toes. After a slow nod from her, he reaches his hands around the starts to slides his hands over her foot, then begins rubbing circles on the soles with his thumbs, the pressure increasing quickly. Teresa's head falls back almost of its own accord, and she moans as he seems to twist the grip of his hands up and down her foot, massaging away tension she hadn't even realized was there.

She moaned, almost purring as he worked, rubbing his hands over her nylons, massaging along her heel and up the back of her ankles.

The massage seemed to go on forever, in that most wonderful of ways. When it finally ended, she wanted nothing more than for it to keep going. She lifted her head, made a pouty face at him, and gave a little whine.

He laughed, softly, and pushed himself to his feet. He stood in front of her, his body chiseled stone, the marks from earlier looking less like marks of pain and more like marks of pride and power.

“Was it everything you expected?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Teresa nodded, feeling her face flush. “It was amazing,” she said.

“And have you had enough fun and games?”

She looked up at him, at the way the sweat on his body gave him a slight sheen, at the casual definition of the muscles in his arms. She took a deep breath, inhaling his scent, letting his musk fill her lungs. Her eyes traced over the raised lines from the caning, over the angry red of the spankings, the bruises forming from the beatings, the lash marks from the whips. She soaked in the way he stood, the intense dignity radiating from his form.

A deep, shuddering breath later, she nodded.

He held out his hand, palm up. “Give it to me then,” he said. His voice was still soft, still gentle. But there was something there that hadn't been there before. Like the soft velvet of his words was suddenly wrapped around a steel gauntlet of unrelenting force.

Teresa fought back the urge to give a heavy swallow, and instead reached behind her and pulled out the collar. The leather was thick, a matted black strap with a locking buckle. Two and a half inches wide, it was halfway to being a posture collar. There was a ring to go over the center of the throat, another ring on either side, all bolted into place, all gleaming with a fresh shine.

She rolled it around in her hands, feeling the flex of the leather, hearing the clink of metal as the rings moved. She smiled up at him.

He looked down at her with all the animation of a statue.

She smiled at him and laid the strap of the collar across his open palm. He closed his fingers around the leather and slowly lowered himself to one knee. His eyes locked on hers as he took the collar in both hands and gently lifted it.

Teresa closed her eyes, smelling the leather, feeling the roughness of the collar. She let out a little gasp when he tightened it just a little too much in order to buckle it tight, but it loosened quickly. She heard the lock clip together, and let out a soft sigh.

She opened her eyes and saw him smiling down at her.

“Comfortable?” he asked.

Teresa reached her hand up to her neck and traced her finger over the leather. She gave the rings a little tug, enjoying how it pulled her whole neck. She smiled at him. “Very,” she said. She slipped one finger between her neck and the leather, making sure there would be breathing room even when she was breathing heavily, even when she moaned and groaned.

He hooked a finger into the center ring of the collar and pulled her up out of the chair. His other hand caressed her hair, his fingers sliding along her scalp, then sliding around to trace down her jaw. He pulled her forward into a kiss so gentle and soft that she melted against his naked body, pressing her curves against him. Her eyes fluttered closed, pleasure traced down her spine, and a smile spread itself across her face.

Then the kiss ended, and he pulled away from her, stepping back but not removing his finger from the ring in the collar.

“Good,” he said, his eyes twinkling. “I'm glad you're comfortable. I'm glad you've been enjoying yourself. I'm glad you liked having the power.”

Then his face went cold, his eyes started boring through her, and he started pulling down on the ring, forcing her to her knees in front of him.

She inhaled his smell, her eyes still locked on his. He looked down at her and gave her another smile, though this one was devoid of warmth and chilled her soul.

“Because as of right now,” he said, “That's all over.”

He let go of her collar and crossed his arms over his chest. “Understand?”

She nodded.

“Yes master.”