tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-56415973454169472512024-03-28T12:22:47.882-05:00Erotica by RequestCrawling into people's minds and giving them orgasmsBoot LShttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07391456569268749138noreply@blogger.comBlogger294125truetag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5641597345416947251.post-75774591857897573862021-04-01T23:15:00.000-05:002021-04-01T23:15:02.704-05:00Did I get your attention?<p> Anyone still check this place out? I hope so. Because I'm about to start up with something very similar to this. So stay tuned.</p><p>And to whet your appetites, here's a new entry...</p><span><a name='more'></a></span><p>The Puppy Drug</p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>First,
focus on the sensations. Check the senses one at a time, then figure out what
it all means.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Touch.
What is touching me? I feel something covering my skin all over. It’s soft. But
there are places where it is tighter and less flexible. My back. My wrists. My neck.
The floor is beneath me, flat and a bit cold. Unfinished concrete.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Sound.
I hear the distant hum of a water heater. The sounds of her house around me. The
basement.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Sight.
Can’t see anything. When I open my eyes and try to look around, nothing
changes. It’s either pitch black, or I am blindfolded. There’s a window in the
basement. So; blindfold.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Smell.
I smell dust. A bit of rust. And something else. Almost like meat. But not
quite. Is that? I think it’s dog food.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Taste.
My mouth tastes terrible. Probably a result of the drugs.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The drugs!
Right. We used that new stuff, the 63b9. It lets us have a conversation, plan
out a scene, and then forget everything that happened in the past hour. It
doesn’t allow consent, but I don’t have to worry about that with her. We’ve had
so many long talks, and I know she wouldn’t agree to breaking or even bending
limits while I was on 63b9. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>But I
don’t know what’s going on.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I’m
wrapped in leather. On my hands and knees. There’s something deep in my ass,
and my mouth tastes terrible and dry. But I can’t close it. Every time I try, I
realize that I have a gag in my mouth, a ring gag that prevents me from closing
my mouth, and allows her to put anything she wants into my mouth. I’m
blindfolded, and I’m in the basement.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Back
to the land of the serving, doggy boy?” Even with all the mocking vitriol in
her voice, I can still hear the love underneath. “About fucking time.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I
stretch out a bit, nearly falling when I realize that my fingers won’t move.
They’re encased inside of something padded. Bondage mittens.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I point
my face where I think she is standing, wanting to be obedient and desperate to
know what we planned out.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“You
don’t remember what you asked for, do you?” she laughs. “Of course you don’t.
Why would you? That’s the side effect of the 63b9, you know. Memory loss.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Oh, I’m
sorry. Did you think the memory loss was the only effect? No no, honey. It also
works like sodium pentathol, and makes it so you can’t stop yourself from
telling me everything I want to know. So you told me about this about your
absolute deepest, darkest secret.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“So
that’s what we’re doing, puppy. And this time, we’re going all the way.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“You’re
going to be my dog. My own personal bitch. Because I know that’s what you want.
Or, really, I know that’s what you said you wanted.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>She
laughs, and I hear her walking around me. “That’s why we made that video while
you were under. In that video, you told everyone that you wanted to be a dog
for me, full time. You described the whole fantasy, and you made sure to be
very clear that you consented to it.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“And no
one knows about this new drug. I know I told you it was the hot new thing, but
the truth is, I brought it home from work. So they won’t even know to test for
it. They’ll have no reason to.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“You’re
mine, puppy. By your own consent, you belong to me. You are my slave.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I feel
a hand on my face. She taps her finger against my cheek four times in a
measured pattern. I shake my head, and the panic that this might be real lifts.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“For
the rest of your life, you are going to be a dog. Because that, my little
puppy, is the primary purpose of 63b9. It is going to make you more and more of
a dog. A few more doses, and you won’t be capable of human speech anymore. Just
wordless grunts and barks, like a real dog.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“And
your muscles are going to shift, too. You’ll get so much better at being on
your hands and knees that you won’t be able to stand up straight even if you
wanted to. Because 63b9 is going to make you into my dog.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“That’s
why it’s called 63b9. Do you know what that means? In hexadecimal code, it
means K9. As in dog. It’s a doggie chemical. We developed it to help deal with …
something super racist, probably. But we’re testing it on you. Isn’t that
great?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I try
to move a little bit, even move to stand up, just to test things out. She yanks
a chain around my neck to force me back to the floor, then slaps me right on
the ass. Whatever is inside of me back there seems to wobble a little bit.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Down
boy,” she says with a snicker. “We’re just getting started.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“From
now on, you’re going to wear this doggie mask. When you are good, I’ll even let
you see a little bit. You won’t need to speak, of course. You can communicate
with my by wagging your tail. Can you wag your tail for me?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I’m
shaking my butt back and forth when I realize what she was talking about: the
plug in my ass is attached to a tail. A thick tail that moves the plug every
time I wag it. It feels frustratingly good, like it might give you pleasure,
but will never let you cum.<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>She
laughs at me again. “You’re also going to use the back yard like a good dog,”
she says. “I mean, obviously. Too bad we have such a low fence, isn’t it? Why,
anyone walking by will be able to look inside and see you there, doing your
business where everyone can see. They won’t know it’s you, though. I mean, I’m
sure they’ll figure it out eventually. But you won’t care by then.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Because
the drug is going to make you stupid. Well, stupider. I mean, you were already
stupid enough for me to be able to do this to you. You fucking simp. I always
knew you were a beta bitch. But now the whole world is going to know, too.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I feel
her hand rub up the inside of my leg. I even feel her start to move across my
crotch, but then suddenly I can’t feel anything. Then I feel her hand on my
other leg. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>She
giggles evilly. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Don’t
worry about the tail plug. We’re going to take it out when you have to do your
business. And when I want to fuck you. I’ve got a great double sided dildo I
can use to fuck you with. And then, for once, you’d be able to actually please
a woman. By getting fucked. Doggy style.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“The
leather fur you’re wearing right now is all you get to wear, for the rest of
your life. When we get outside, you’ll see just how much – or rather how little
– it covers. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“If you’re
a good puppy, maybe we’ll find other dogs to fuck you. Human doggies, I mean.
Well, at first, at least. I did say you told me the deepest, darkest fantasy.
So eventually, we’ll start bringing regular dogs in. Maybe get you one special
that can keep you as a bitch for the rest of your life.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Of
course, if you’re a <i>bad</i> puppy, things are not going to go well. When a
puppy is too rambunctious, he needs to be fixed. And we can’t exactly take you
to a vet for that. So I’ll have to do it myself. I just hope that I do it
right. You tube videos should help with that, right?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I can hear
her laughter, and part of me starts to wonder if I misread her check in. It starts
to worry that she’s going to actually go ahead with all of this, that she’s
telling the truth.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Then I
hear leather creaking, and her voice is right by my ear. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“But
you can be a good dog for me, can’t you puppy? You’ll eat what I tell you to
eat. You’ll fuck who and what I tell you to fuck. You’ll be obedient and
respectful.” She laughs again.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“That’s
right,” she says. “Wag that tail.”<o:p></o:p></p><br /><p></p>Boot LShttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07391456569268749138noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5641597345416947251.post-59485444706659015962018-05-05T14:15:00.000-05:002018-05-05T14:15:35.823-05:00Mr. J's ShowerI actually wrote this one a little while ago. Like most of the Joker stories, this one was written for a specific person, the wonderful photographer who does the <a href="https://kinkfiction.blogspot.com/p/support-starving-pervert-that-would-be.html" target="_blank">covers of our books</a>. It didn't quite fit what she was looking for, but my hope is that it will hit what SOMEONE is looking for.<br />
<br />
Let me know if you like this sort of thing. Leave comments or <a href="mailto:bls.ebr@gmail.com" target="_blank">send me an email</a> to let me know how you think.<br />
<br />
<u>Fresh from the Shower</u><br />
<u></u><br />
<a name='more'></a>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
I see him standing
there, preening. His skin is alabaster, his hair a shocking green,
hanging wetly across his knotted shoulders. I want to lick the drops
of liquid that sparkle over his skin. I wonder, will they taste like
water or like sweat?
</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
He has a towel
wrapped around his waist, tucked just low enough that I can see the
curve of his hips, the stark bones pointing like an arrow to what
little is still covered. His body hair stands out against his skin,
just enough to be rugged, not enough to look poorly groomed.</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
He smiles at me,
that too big smile that always promises more. More teasing, more
torture, more fun. His eyes bore into me with that smile, seeking out
my inner depths, feeling me from the inside.</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
He keeps his eyes
on me as he drops the towel, watching where my eyes go, his smile
getting even bigger. Alabaster all the way down. He runs his hands
over his skin, drawing my attention to the movement as he drags
fingernails down his chest, leaving little marks that disappear as if
they never were, inviting me to repeat the movements, inviting me to
add my own scratches to his perfect skin.</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
He still hasn't
said a word, just watching me as I stand there, my knees feeling
weak, my body shivering at the thought of touching him. He turns away
and bends down to pick up the towel, letting me see his back and his
ass in all their glory. His movements are exaggerated as he picks up
the towel and begins to dab it against his skin, the towel licking
away the moisture the way he knows I want to.</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Always there's the
smile, impossibly big to begin with and getting wider every second as
he watches me. He doesn't have to ask me if I like what I see. He
doesn't have to say a word. He just watches me over his shoulder as
he spreads the towel to hide his torso but not his ass, lifting up to
his toes and tightening the muscle there so I can see the lines of it
in his movement even when he lowers the towel to cover it up. I watch
him slide the towel down his leg, then move back up the other leg
with agonizing slowness, and I catch him almost lapping at the way I
lick my lips.</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
He stands back up
and turns back around, looking at me again with those eyes full of
cunning, staring me up and down like I'm prey. He looks at me like
I'm the one who is naked, like I'm the one who is vulnerable. He
looks me up and down like my clothing isn't even there. He looks at
me like he's ready to slam me up against a wall and press into me, to
make me scream his name as he slides into me with the same slow,
careful, cunning way he seems to do everything.</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
His eyes linger on
mine as he breathes, the pace of his breath getting faster and
faster, like he's panting from exertion. I can almost see us in his
mind, fucking against a wall, knocking things off shelves, dirtying
the apartment, spreading mayhem in our little world the way he likes
to in the world out there. I can almost hear us crashing around, not
paying attention to anything but each other, those lips on mine, his
tongue in my mouth, my hand in his hair. I can almost feel the
strands of hair between my fingers as he stands there looking at me,
not touching, not doing anything.</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
But oh, how I want
him to. Two steps forward and he could grab me. Two steps and he
could twirl me around and push me against the wall, rip down my pants
and have his way with me. He could push into me as much as he wants,
go as fast as he wants, fucking me like there's no tomorrow.</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
But he won't. I
know he won't. He doesn't do that. He never touches me. Not unless I
ask him to. And I have to ask. Those are the rules. I have to ask,
even when I want to beg.</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
If I ask him, he'll
take me. If I want him to, he'll use my body for his pleasure. If I
tell him he can, he'll make me feel pleasure that I would otherwise
only dream of. Those muscles, that tight wire under his skin would be
focused on me, on my pleasure and on my sensation. I'd be able to
drag my nails over that skin, that perfect, porcelain skin. I'd be
able to put my lips on his flesh, to let my teeth drag along his
collarbone, nipping as I went.</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
I'd be able to take
him into me, however I wanted to. All I'd have to do is ask.</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
His eyes get wide,
almost begging me to ask him. But he won't. He won't coerce me at
all. Not verbally. He doesn't have to. He just stands there, panting
at me, smiling at me, and I melt inside. His nostrils flare, his
smile stretching and then getting smaller, pulsing the way my body
does when I look at him.</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
He gestures over to
the rack of clothes. I can see his shirt, see the buttons that have
had to be sewn back on so many times, after they've been ripped off
in the heat of passion. I can see the pants with the zipper that
needed repair after I needed the pants off so badly. I see the tie I
used as a handhold to get him closer, to pull him to me. I can see
his vest just waiting to be torn off his shoulders. He stands there
and he looks at the clothing, then looks back to me, his breathing
normal once again. He raises an eyebrow, still grinning, questioning
me and my resolve, seeing how long I can wait before I ask him.</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
I have to ask him.
Those are the rules. And what would we be without rules?</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
The look in his
eyes tells me what we'd be without rules. We'd be animals. He looks
at me with an animal hunger, clearly wanting to tear off my clothes
until I was as naked as him, until the two of us were wrapped
together so tightly that you wouldn't be able to tell who was who
without a map. He wants us connected together, wants us to press
against the wall, to lift me up so I can wrap my legs around his
waist, so I can pull him deep inside me. He wants to snarl into the
nape of my neck and graze me with his teeth, to lash at me with his
tongue, to press his fingers into the small of my back.</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
He wants to be an
animal, wants me to be an animal. Want to growl and paw at each
other, to howl at the moon and scream as we fuck like the monsters
people think we are. Pounding against each other in that brutal,
bruising sex, that wild rampant fucking that no one would dare call
making love. There is love, but there is brutality in that love,
fucking like the world owes us money.</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
And all I have to
do is ask.</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
I just have to ask,
before he puts his clothes on.</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Or maybe, just
maybe, I'll wait until after.</div>
Boot LShttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07391456569268749138noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5641597345416947251.post-18193581666284950542018-04-06T12:43:00.001-05:002018-04-06T12:43:53.698-05:00The Cheshire smileToday's request comes from <a href="http://kinkfiction.blogspot.com/p/the-list.html" target="_blank">The List</a>. It's a bit on the short side, but I didn't have much to work with. Honestly, I don't know much about Nekos. But I know I liked writing this, as I enjoy writing every request. I just hope I did it justice.<br />
<br />
<u>A Cheshire Smile</u><br />
<u></u><br />
<a name='more'></a>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I don't think I'll ever find out how he
knew. I never wore my ears or my tail to work. I had pictures of cats
in my cubicle, but lots of people do that. And so what if I had a
neko girl as my desktop background? Most people just assume that I
like anime. It's actually made me a few friends in the office.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
But I never expected someone to figure
out the truth.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I don't know if I'll ever figure out
how he knew. He wasn't the first person in the office to ask me out.
Wasn't the first person I rebuffed. I know I have a reputation for
being a bit repressed, a bit of a prude. I know that people refer to
me as an ice queen, even though I try to be friendly and perky as
much as I can. But he knew, somehow. Did I meow in front of him? Did
he ever catch me purring? No, I don't think so. I never called myself
a stray or anything.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
How did he know?</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
However he found out, he knew. He had
me pegged. He came and asked me out a second time, but this time was
different. “Please, kitten?” he asked me. That made me stop. That
made me look at him. It made me suspicious. I asked him what he
meant. Why did he call me that?</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“It's a pet name,” he said, a sly
smile on his face. “Don't you like it?”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I admitted that I did. But I told him
it was inappropriate for him to have pet names for me.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“It's not for you,” he said. “It's
a generic pet name. A name someone has for a pet. Isn't that what you
wanted?”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I asked how he could know what I
wanted. He just shrugged at me. Maybe I'll never know how he knew.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“What matters is that I'm right,
aren't I?” he asked me. He came into my cubicle a little bit, and I
backed up. Just to give him space. I wasn't inviting him or anything.
He came in closer, leaned in so he didn't have to talk so loud. It
wouldn't do to have people hear us.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“It's okay to be a kitten,” he
said. “There's nothing wrong with having desires. Cat girls are
sexy, like the one on your computer screen. That's how you see
yourself, isn't it? It's who you want to be.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I tried to deny him. I told him that I
just liked anime. I even asked him to leave, but there was no
strength in his voice.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Okay,” he said. “I'll go if you
want me to. I won't ever bring it up again. But then you'll have to
find someone else who likes catgirls. Someone else who wants to pull
your tail while he fucks you. But hey, if I read you wrong, if you
don't want to admit it, I'll go. Is that what you want?”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I didn't have the strength to tell him.
What if he really went away?
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“So you want me to stay?” he asked,
smiling at me like he was the cat and I was just a mouse. “Just say
the word, and I'm gone. Or say the word, and I'll stay. Up to you.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I gave a little whimper. It wasn't
enough. “You have to speak,” he said. “Come on, kitten, speak.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I couldn't take it. But I couldn't say
the word. I couldn't tell him that I wanted to be fucked wearing my
tail. I couldn't tell him that I wanted to wear ears to work, or at
least out in public. That I wanted a collar, a thin strip of leather
around my neck. I couldn't tell him.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
But I could meow.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
That made him laugh. But not a mocking
laugh. Not a laugh at me. It was a laugh of joy, a laugh of pleasure.
“I'm so happy to hear you say that,” he said. “I've always
wanted a kitty.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I smiled.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“To be clear, though. You're a neko,
right? You want to be a cat girl, not an actual cat?” I nodded.
“Good. I'm not a furry. There's nothing wrong with them, it's just
not my thing. But nekos are hot. Catgirls are so sexy. You are so
sexy. You're gorgeous now, I can barely imagine what you'll look like
with ears and a tail.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
And a collar. I blushed. I couldn't
believe that someone thought I was sexy. Yes, people had asked me out
before, but I always just assumed I was a last option. I assumed that
they were asking because I was there and I was female. I've never
thought of myself as attractive. I don't think I'm ugly; I'm just
average. Having someone call me gorgeous was a new experience for me.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
And I liked it.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“There's so much we can do together,”
he said. “I can just tell that you're a bit of a slut. Would you
like to be a slut with me? A little catgirl slut? Does that appeal to
you?”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I wanted details. It was one thing to
just call me a slut. It was something else to know what it meant. The
idea of him fucking me while pulling on my tail was nice. But that
was just one thing. What else did he have? What else could he do?</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“I could scratch your ears while you
blow me,” he said. “I could take you to the bathroom at a club
and fuck you in the stall. I could hook my finger through your collar
and pull you down to your knees. Maybe, if it turned you on, we could
find other people for you to fuck. And you could wear a collar for
me. Yeah, a collar you could wear in every day life. I know you can't
wear your ears to work, but you could wear a collar. And maybe a
small tail. A butt plug tail.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
He was grinning again, looking at me
like a real cat would look at their prey. Was he a neko too? Was he a
cat person?</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Of course I am,” he said. “How
else do you think I knew? How else could I tell? So I'll fuck you
while we both have ears. I'll run my claws down your back. I'll knead
your breasts. We'll be cats together. If that's what you want. Is
that what you want?”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I couldn't help it. I meowed again.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
He smiled a Cheshire grin.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
Boot LShttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07391456569268749138noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5641597345416947251.post-52403083491634110762018-03-30T12:42:00.000-05:002018-03-30T12:42:12.527-05:00What Erotica By Request is and why you should careHello faithful readers. Alternately, hello dirty perverts. Or hello, random person who found this site.<br />
<br />
Whatever the case, I thought I would write a post about the site, about what you can do to keep it going, and about my process.<br />
<br />
I write primarily by request. Someone comes to me with an idea, I think about it, and then I write a story for them. It's a completely free service, and something I do to keep myself writing, and to help myself better understand certain kinks. The things in this story aren't necessarily what turns me on, but I hope that they turn you, the reader, on.<br />
<br />
Since this is a free service, I feel the right to ask for a few things, just to show that you support my work. First and foremost among them is feedback. If you like a story, please leave me a comment saying so. Tell me what you liked. Tell me how I can improve.<br />
<br />
Secondly, please make requests. This also tells me that people are reading. More, it tells me that people want me to continue.<br />
<br />
Both of these cost you nothing, but mean a lot to me.<br />
<br />
Of course, if you want to do something that DOES cost you, you are welcome to do that too. Check out my <a href="https://kinkfiction.blogspot.com/p/support-starving-pervert-that-would-be.html" target="_blank">books and wishlist page</a>. Send me a present. Or buy yourself a book. Both are good. If you buy a book, please review it.<br />
<br />
The more interest people show, the more likely I am to write. The power is in your hands. (and that's the way I like it)Boot LShttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07391456569268749138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5641597345416947251.post-90062703780994772532018-03-22T20:23:00.000-05:002018-03-22T20:23:33.784-05:00A new ProcedureThis is a new request. As you may have seen, <a href="http://kinkfiction.blogspot.com/p/the-list.html?zx=3ee0ea6709df17b7" target="_blank">The List</a> is up again. I'm going to work through it as quickly as I can. Hopefully, there will be more requests coming soon. Please feel free to ask for stories here, email me, message me, whatever.<br />
<br />
I can honestly say that today's story is not my fetish. I am not a breast man. I have nothing against them, of course, but they aren't my thing. Hopefully, though, this story will still do it's job.<br />
<br />
<u>New Procedure</u><br />
<u></u><br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
</div>
<a name='more'></a><br /><br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I didn't believe it was possible when
he described it to me. I mean, the idea was certainly sexy, but I
didn't think it would work. I didn't think it <i>could.</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
My skin would rip. My back would give out. The physics of it just
wasn't possible. It didn't work.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;"> But
he insisted it would. We had to go slow, he told me. Very slow. He
made the pace part of the fun. </span>An hour per cup size, at least. An
hour where he would tease me, where he would torture me with
exquisite pleasure. When he told me it was possible, that it wouldn't
tear my skin, I cleared my schedule.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;"> There's
still the worry about the back pain. My breasts are already large
enough to make my back hurt some days. But he insisted he had that
covered. He insisted that there was a solution that would work well.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;"> So I
came to the clinic, right at the address he had given me. He was
waiting outside, holding a package of some kind in one hand and a
holder with cups of coffee in the other.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;"> “Morning,”
he said, smiling at me. He offered me one of the cups of coffee. I
took it gratefully and found that it was perfectly made. One cream,
two sugars. Just how I like it.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;"> “I
used the last of the cream,” he told me. “So I'll be relying on
you to provide more.”</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;"> That
made me laugh. Then I asked him what was in the package.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;"> “It's
the solution to the back problems,” he said. “It looks like a
corset, but it has a back brace integrated into it. It'll keep you
back straight for you, and will support the extra weight in the
front.”</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;"> I
told him I wouldn't be able to breathe properly with a corset on.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;"> “Oh,
I wouldn't worry about that,” he said. “I intend to keep you
short of breath and light headed anyway. Come on, let's go inside.”</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;"> He
held the door for me. Such a gentleman.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;"> Inside,
doctors were already setting up the machine. At least, I assume they
were doctors. They wore lab coats and looked smart. They were very
kind, smiling pleasantly, but seemed somewhat preoccupied setting
things up. We stood off to the side and drank our coffee. I asked him
how long the new breasts would last.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;"> “There
are two options,” he told me. “They can do it with saline, which
will just last for a few days. Your body will absorb the extra, and
your skin will go back to normal. No long term effects at all.”</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;"> That
was one option. Not bad. But what was the other option?</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;"> “The
other option is to use this new chemical solution they've been
working on. At first it will seem just like the saline solution. But
the compound tells your body to reproduce the cells in your breasts,
so they will eventually take over the solution. They'll be real, as
permanent as your breasts are now. And just as functional.”</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;"> So
they wouldn't look fake. That's a good thing. I mean, they'll look a
little bit fake; no one has breasts that big. It just doesn't occur
in nature. I'd still look inhuman. But they'd be real. There'd be no
scars or surgery, no risk of infection.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;"> “Do
you want to try the saline first, see if you like it?”</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;"> That
would've been the smart thing to do. See if I can handle having a
quarter of my body weight in my breasts. Try it first, just to see if
it's something I can live with. I should really do it that way first.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;"> But
the prospect of them being real, of going through this procedure once
and suddenly having ZZZ breasts, was almost too much to pass up. </span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;"> Then
again, if I went with the saline, wouldn't I end up with sagging skin
afterwards? I mean, I already have size G breasts, but there's a big
difference between G and ZZZ. And once they're big, won't that
stretch out my skin?</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;"> “It
will,” he told me. “But it will be temporary. Your skin will
tighten up. According to the doctors, it should be back to normal
after a week, maybe two.”</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;"> So
two weeks of saggy sacks of skin around my breasts. I can live with
that, can't I?</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;"> But
if I got the permanent form, I wouldn't have to. They'd just always
be that big. I could work on my back muscles until I didn't need to
wear the corset all the time.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;"> “I'd
want you to wear a corset all the time,” he says. “Just the
underbust, but always. I'd lock it onto you. You'd be mine.”</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;"> I'd
been wanting to hear those words for so long. I wanted so badly to
belong to him. </span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;"> Maybe
I should just go ahead and get the permanent increase. We could spend
the time talking about what it would mean to belong to him. And I'd
have the corset on all the time. The one with the built in back
brace. It would help support the huge udder like breasts I'd have.
And I'd belong to him. Forever.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;"> “Do
you want that?” he asked.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;"> Of
course that's what I wanted. But wouldn't he get tired of me,
eventually? It would be almost impossible to go out in public with
breasts that big. People would stare.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;"> “They
would absolutely stare,” he said. “They would stare at your huge
breasts, and at the way you stand up straight, and at the collar
around your neck. They'd stare at you, and they'd know you belonged
to me. We'd have to buy you new clothes. But that's okay. You're
worth it.”</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;"> That
made me blush. And it made the decision for me.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;"> Soon,
I was connected to the machine. Tiny needles slid into each of my
nipples. It was a tiny pinch, and then I felt the liquid start to
spread inside me. It wasn't cold, but it was a bit cooler than the
rest of my body. Especially once it started. As I felt my breasts
firm up, the liquid defeating the work of gravity, even just
temporarily, my whole body started to heat up. I gasped in pleasure,
and saw him smile at me.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;"> They
went slowly. It wasn't painful, but I felt the skin start to stretch
a little. No sooner had I felt it than he was there with lotion,
rubbing my breasts gently, his fingers tracing over my skin.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;"> “This
will help with the skin,” he told me. “It will help it retain its
elasticity without causing stretch marks.”</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;"> I
didn't entirely believe that there wouldn't be stretch marks. How
would that be possible?</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;"> “There
will be little ones,” he told me. “There's no helping that. But
there's a cream we can rub onto your skin for the next few days that
will make them go away. They'll fade to nothing, and soon your skin
will be just as perfect as it is now.” He continued rubbing my
breasts long after the lotion had soaked in.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;"> The
bag at the other end of the needles soon emptied, and was replaced
with a fresh one. I looked down, and saw that my breasts were already
bigger, visibly so. He smiled at me again, then reached forward and
rubbed my areolas with his finger nails, making me bite my lips to
stop from crying out in pleasure. That made him giggle.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;"> It
seemed like the second bag emptied faster than the first one. My back
was starting to hurt. He saw that, and began putting the corset on
me. He wrapped it around me, taking a moment to kiss the back of my
ear and then run his tongue down the side of my neck. I gasped in
pleasure, and then felt him pulling the corset tight around me. He
reached around me to connect the clasps down the front. Then he
reached his hand up to show me the little padlocks that would go on
each of the clasps.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;"> “Are
you sure?” he asked.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;"> I
pointed out what I was doing, and that seemed to satisfy him. Soon,
there were the snick sound of padlocks locking the corset onto me.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;"> There
was one more lock for the laces, which he inserted once they were
nice and tight.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;"> Once
it was all locked on, the pressure from my breasts lessened. The pain
eased, even if I couldn't breathe quite as well.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;"> “I
can't wait until this is done,” he says, whispering into my ear.
“When you start to lactate. I wonder if you'll be more sensitive. I
know you'll have more space for clothespins. I can't wait to use them
on you. We could probably fit thirty or forty on each one. Would you
like that?”</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;"> He
didn't really have to ask.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;"> “Just
a few more hours,” he said. “Then we can get to work playing with
them. We can break them in. Together.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;"> “And
then, we'll get you that collar.”</span></div>
<u></u>Boot LShttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07391456569268749138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5641597345416947251.post-26822708160446738402018-03-21T12:48:00.000-05:002018-03-21T12:48:16.990-05:00Only Two WordsLooks like I'm getting back to it! I have requests now, and have remade <a href="https://kinkfiction.blogspot.com/p/the-list.html" target="_blank">The List</a>. So I present to you a new story.<br />
<br />
What would it look like if my Mistress took me to a club? I have a list of fetishes. All I had to do was write.<br />
<br />
Please enjoy.<br />
<br />
<u>Only Two Words</u><br />
<u></u><br />
<a name='more'></a>
She was very careful while we were getting dressed. She followed
the rule and put on her boots before her corset, and it was all I
could do to remain standing seeing her like that. She wore a skirt
that more framed than covered her gorgeous ass, and the boots hugged
her legs right up to the knees. I stood naked in front of her; I was
not permitted to move, no matter how tempting of a sight those boots
were.<br />
<br />
“You'll get your chance,” she told me, an evil smirk on her
face. Then she put on her corset and had me help pull it tight. Once
it was on, and she had her makeup on, it was time for me to get
dressed. I had no idea what I was going to wear.<br />
<br />
While she was putting on her makeup, I tried to guess. I knew we
were going to a club, so I wasn't going to be naked. I had to be able
to at least get inside. But would I be wearing a hood? A dress? A
school girl outfit? Would she let me wear boy clothes, for once?
Would I be dressed in a nice suit, just escorting her to the club?
Probably not.<br />
<br />
The first thing she had put on me, the only thing I'd been
wearing for the past hour or so, was the heavy leather collar. It was
locked in place with one of those little padlocks they put on
luggage. But once her makeup was done, she pulled out a toybag and
told me it was time for the rest of my outfit.<br />
<br />
The first object she had for me was a butt plug. I was allowed to
lube it with spit, sucking it as she held it in front of her like a
cock. Once I had slobbered on it, she had me turn and put my head on
the floor, then pressed it into my ass until I squeezed tight around
it. After that, it was back to my feet.<br />
<br />
She gave me a leather harness that goes over my shoulders and
leaves a strap of leather across my chest and my back. It doesn't
offer any protection, but functions like a shirt. I buckled it into
place and the slid on the very tight leather shorts she offered me,
noticing that they were so tight that they would work like a chastity
belt, at least for the night. Another padlock kept these in place,
pretty much guaranteeing that I wasn't going to be cumming that
night.<br />
<br />
“I hope you haven't been drinking too much,” she tells me.
“Because I won't be taking that off if you have to pee. You'll have
to hold it.”<br />
<br />
“Yes Mistress,” I said. Those two words are important.
They're the only two words I'm allowed to speak.<br />
<br />
She gave me knee pads, which told me a lot of what we would be
doing that night, and then let me put on my boots. She helped me
attach my hood, taking away any kind of real identity I might have
had. But she didn't put on the gag or the blinders, at least not yet.
So I could still see, and I could still talk, or use my mouth.<br />
<br />
Then she pulled out something I had never seen before. It looked
like a giant leather sheath. And slowly, I realized that's exactly
what it was. There was a little bar, and handle, at the tip of it.
She told me to grip onto that, with both hands. Behind my back.<br />
<br />
I gripped onto it, and I felt her buckle something onto the
harness I was wearing. Then I heard laces sliding through grommets,
and my arms were pulled tighter together. She pulled the laces tight
around my flesh, and my arms pulled tighter and tighter. I could feel
the tension in my chest, and the ache in my shoulders started not
long after. Then she attached something to my collar, pulling my arms
up a bit higher.<br />
<br />
“Too tight?” she asked, her voice a bit mocking. She
tightened it a bit more. “There, that's good, isn't it puppy?”<br />
<br />
“Yes Mistress,” I said.<br />
<br />
With my arms in a binder behind me, there was no chance I was
going to be driving. In fact, I ended up laying in the back seat for
the whole ride to the club. When we got there, I was only really able
to stand up because of the help she gave me. She attached a leash to
my collar and pulled me up to my feet, half choking me in the
process. She giggled at that, and then led me across the parking lot,
where anyone could have seen us, and to the door of the club.<br />
<br />
She paid our admission fee. I couldn't have reached a wallet even
if I'd been allowed to have one. I heard the music, felt it in my
bones as we walked inside. Once we were in, she took me to a table. I
didn't sit down. She pointed to the floor next to where she sat. I
knelt.<br />
<br />
“Good boy. Would you like to lick my boots?”<br />
<br />
“Yes Mistress,” I said. And I meant it.<br />
<br />
“Go ahead then. But pay attention, because I'm going to explain
the rules for tonight while you do it.”<br />
<br />
She had to yell over the music, and even still I had to focus on
her words as I ran my tongue over the leather of her boots. I
couldn't enjoy myself as much as I wanted to, couldn't moan out my
pleasure, for fear of missing something she might say.<br />
<br />
“Tonight, you are going to serve anyone and everyone I tell you
to. I'm going to let them write on your skin. They'll spank you,
they'll bite you, they'll whip you. You will take it all. You will
let them call you names. I've organized a lot for tonight. They will
put clamps on your nipples. They may let you lick their boots or at
least kiss their shoes. And you will. And every time they are done
with you, they will slap you, hard. Do you understand?”<br />
<br />
“Yes Mistress.”<br />
<br />
“Oh, and one more thing,” she said, reaching into her purse.
She threaded the strap onto my hood and attached the blindfold,
leaving me completely in the dark. “You won't get to see who does
what.”<br />
<br />
“Yes Mistress.”<br />
<br />
I continued licking her boots, focusing on the smell and the
taste, on the sounds of the club around me. I knew the rules were
done, but she was still talking.<br />
<br />
“Do you wonder who I've arranged to come here, puppy?” she
asked me. “Will it be people you know? Will it be women, or will
there be men? Maybe I'll have them sign your flesh after they use
you, so you'll look in the mirror tomorrow and see the names of all
the people you served without even thinking about it. Without having
any idea that it was them you were worshiping, or that it was them
who kicked you, slapped you, beat you.
<br />
<br />
“Maybe there will be people I hadn't even thought of. After a
few of the ones I've planned have used you, maybe some of the other
people in the club will want a turn. And I couldn't refuse them,
could I? But why would I? You love the idea of being used by
strangers. Don't you puppy?”<br />
<br />
“Yes Mistress,” I said, transferring over and beginning to
lick her second boot, sure that I had hit every spot on the first
one, even though I couldn't see.<br />
<br />
“You'll serve anyone I tell you to, won't you, puppy?”<br />
<br />
“Yes Mistress.”<br />
<br />
She laughed, and I felt the boot I wasn't licking start to rub
suggestively against my crotch. I wanted to have an erection, but the
shorts were so tight that there was no space for it.<br />
<br />
“Another time, maybe I'll bring you back here without your butt
so tightly plugged. Maybe we'll let people fuck you in the ass. Maybe
with strap ons. Maybe with dildos. Maybe just with real cocks. And we
can fuck you in the front, too, can't we? Right in the mouth. Maybe
that will happen tonight. Would you like to suck cocks tonight?”<br />
<br />
I didn't. Not real ones, anyway. I wasn't ready for that step.
But I had only two words I could say. So I said them. “Yes
Mistress.”<br />
<br />
She laughed again. “You really are pathetic, you know that? But
don't worry, puppy. I'm not going to let you suck some man's cock.
You don't deserve that. And I wouldn't want you pleasuring other
people with that tongue of yours. I wouldn't want to risk you
deciding that you just want to be a cock sucker for the rest of your
life. I wouldn't risk you deciding that you were as gay as we both
know you are, and devoting your life to the cock. No, we can't have
that.”<br />
<br />
Suddenly, there was a tugging at my throat. She pulled me up to
my knees by the leash, jolting me into place. And then she was there,
her head right next to mine, her mouth right at the level of my ears.
“You're mine,” she growled. “Mine and mine alone.”
<br />
<br />
Then she pushed me back so hard that I almost fell onto my bound
arms. I would have had she let go of the leash. But she held it, and
thereby held me up. But she put a boot on my chest and held me half
bent backwards, half on my knees. The tension in my legs was agony.<br />
<br />
“You're mine, puppy,” she said. “Remember that. No matter
who else uses you, no matter how many times you get slapped tonight,
you are mine. Mine to do with as I please. I'm the one who will see
the bruises. I'm the one who will make <i>damned</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
sure you have bruises. I'm the one who matters. You know that, don't
you puppy?”</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-style: normal;">Only one response was
appropriate.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-style: normal;">“Yes Mistress.”</span><br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
Boot LShttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07391456569268749138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5641597345416947251.post-39042744765610015162018-03-17T16:40:00.001-05:002018-03-17T16:40:59.554-05:00Long awaited conclusionThere's a chance this will not be a one off thing. I might go back to writing again. Certainly if people send in requests. I'm willing to write if you're willing to read.<br />
<br />
This request was for me to finish an old story. The original story is here: <a href="http://kinkfiction.blogspot.com/2012/11/ten-rules-i-dont-know-unfinished.html" target="_blank">Ten Rules I don't Know (unfinished)</a>. Someone read it, and wanted to know the other rules. Wanted to know how it ended.<br />
<br />
So here, to answer that request, I present to you....<br />
<br />
<u>Ten Rules I don't Know (conclusion)</u><br />
<u></u><br />
<a name='more'></a><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Day 5, part two</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
As I wipe a bit of errant cum from my
lips, I turn my eyes immediately to the floor. My master pats me on
the head and calls me a good dog, then goes to get in the shower. I
stay where I am, thinking about the rules.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
There are ten of them; that much I
know for sure. They told me that there were ten when this all
started, five days ago. So far, I have seven of them down, though I
have no idea if they're correct. What I have so far, though, is:</div>
<ol>
<li><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I can't use the bathroom without
permission. Or maybe at all. I can use the diapers they make me
wear, if I want.</div>
</li>
<li><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
But I can't change diapers without
permission.</div>
</li>
<li><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I can't use my hands for anything,
including eating. They're still in the mitts from last night, so it
doesn't much matter.</div>
</li>
<li><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Don't make noise. A quiet doggy is
a good doggy. No speaking, and no screaming or whimpering.</div>
</li>
<li><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Stay on my knees, or lower.</div>
</li>
<li><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
No touching myself. Any release I
may get will because they permit it, not because I want it. I can't
rub myself against something.</div>
</li>
<li><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Don't make eye contact with human
beings. I'm below them, I'm a doggy.</div>
</li>
</ol>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
That's all I know. There are three
more, but I have no idea what they might be. They must be rules I
have been following so far. Otherwise, I would have been punished for
breaking them. My Master and Mistress have never been even the
slightest bit hesitant to punish me until I figured out a rule.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Last night, we had a party. I woke up
exhausted, but still committed to this game. It won't stop until I
either use my safeword or guess all ten rules. I have no intention of
using my safeword.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
So it's about figuring things out.
Mistress calls me back out to the kitchen, and I crawl out to her. Is
crawling one of the rules? I could try walking hunched over, or on
just my knees, to see if she punishes me. But honestly, it's just
easier to stay on all fours and be a dog for them. Maybe it has to do
with eating or drinking anything they put in front of me. They have
been giving me a variety of liquids to drink. Like the bowl of rum I
drank before I went in to wake up master.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
It's starting to kick in. Hard to
focus, hard to concentrate. I'm not sure I'd be able to walk straight
even if I were allowed to. It's all I can do to crawl to her feet and
kneel there, waiting for orders.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“How are you doing, doggy? Have you
figured out all the rules yet?” she laughs. “Of course you
haven't. There hasn't been a chance to learn them all, has there? By
my count, you've only come across nine of them. What's the last rule,
puppy?”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Nine? I only have seven. I missed
something. I think back on the last five days. On the beating master
gave me, on the slaps and knees to the balls from mistress. I think
back to serving as a coat rack at the start of the party, and then
how I kissed everyone's shoes, and finally how I was used by each of
them. But no rules seem to come from any of that. I think I have the
eighth one. Eat or drink anything they put in front of me. It sounds
like it's just a rule of being obedient, but I think it has something
to do with the doggy thing. Dogs will eat anything.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
She grabs my hair and pulls my head
back. I quickly close my eyes, knowing that this will not be an
excuse to let me break any of the rules. “I asked you a question,
puppy. Open your mouth.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I open my mouth, and she hocks a big
loogie into it. I don't swallow it. I know better than to swallow
without permission.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Is that a rule?</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Keep it in your mouth,” she says.
“And figure out how to please me in this situation. I told you to
answer me, but you're not allowed to speak. How do you obey me and
follow the rules at the same time? Just so you know, if you guess
wrong I'm going to take you out for a walk, dressed the way you are,
all around the block.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Normally, I'd think she wouldn't do
that. But she might. All other rules seem to have gone out the window
in what was originally just a weekend but is now stretching to a full
week. So how do I respond? I'm not allowed to speak. But she asked me
a question and she wants an answer. What do I--</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I bark. I bark like a dog, seven
times. Somehow, I do it without too much of her spit coming out of my
mouth. Some of it lands on the floor, but the lion's share remains on
my tongue. I can taste it clearly.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
She lets go of my hair, after giving
it one last tug, and laughs at me. “Good doggy,” she says. “You
may swallow, then lick up what you spilled.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I swallow her spit, then bend down to
lick the floor. She sighs. “We probably should have cleaned that
before you came over. Or any time in the last month. I wonder what is
caked onto the floor you're licking. No, don't stop. I want you to
make a nice clean patch for me.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I fight down the urge to say 'Yes
Mistress' and just keep licking, pressing my tongue against the
linoleum and wondering if she is telling me the truth. The floor
tastes fine.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I can't believe I just thought that.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
So. When I speak, I must bark. Be a
doggy. That's a rule, definitely. Eight down, two to go.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
But wait, doesn't that contradict rule
number 4? A good dog is a quiet dog. But then, when I am commanded to
speak, I suppose it makes sense. So when commanded, I must bark like
a dog.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“I think you enjoyed the idea of
going for a walk,” she says. “that's the only explanation for why
you would do something so ridiculous and stupid as to bark like a
dog. You're a human being, aren't you? I mean, it's a bit hard to
tell right now, but you are. Or maybe I should say, you were.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“That sounds more appropriate,” he
says, coming out of the bedroom still toweling off from the shower.
“He certainly doesn't seem human anymore, does he?”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“No, not at all. But we can't just
take him for a walk, can we? Not dressed like he is.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I can hear the taunting in her voice,
and I know they have another surprise for me. More surprising than
the tail in my ass that I've been wearing for the past few days. More
surprising than the diapers, or the hand mitts.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
He goes to the hall closet and pulls
out a box. Inside is a leather mask, a full face hood. But it isn't a
blank hood like the one we usually use, meant to just dehumanize me
and to trap me in darkness. This one is shaped like a dog. Like a
puppy. The jaw moves up and down, and opens enough to give access to
the ring that will be pressed against my lips. So enough that my face
can still be used as a fuck toy.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Come here, boy,” he says, and I
crawl towards him. For some reason, I wiggle my butt back and forth a
little bit, making my tail wag. She laughs hysterically, he just
smiles at me. When I get to his feet, he pats me on the head, then
starts putting on the hood. Then he pulls out two knee pads and has
me roll onto my back so he can slide them onto me. When he's done, he
attaches a lead to my collar. Then he walks me to the hallway mirror
and sits me in front of it. “Stay here until you are called for,”
he says. Then he walks away. I can hear them having breakfast.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I look at myself in the mirror. I
really do look like a dog. I have a diaper on, underneath tight lycra
shorts. I don't have shoes on, but I am wearing knee pads. I have
mitts on my hands, making them paws. I have a muzzle and doggy ears.
I have a collar and a lead. I look more dog than man. My skin is a
mottle of healing bruises from when master literally beat the shit
out of me.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
So. New rules. Eat whatever I'm given.
Bark like a dog when I have to speak. What could the last rule be?</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Day 5, part three</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
They left me in front of the mirror
for what felt like hours. I heard them eat, then lounge together on
the couch watching television. It was loud enough that I could hear
it, but not loud enough for me to work out what they were watching. I
couldn't quite make out any words, just the voices. I overheard
mistress on a phone call with a friend, and heard her say something
about a club. From that, I figured out what we were doing that night.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
When they finally came and got me, I
followed along the lead without resistance. I got a little nervous
when they took me out of the apartment and into the hall, more so
when they waited for the elevator. I was near panic as they tugged me
through the garage. But no one else was around. No one saw us.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
At the car, they had me get into the
trunk. There was a blanket there, but it smelled like dogs. They
insisted, so I got in and lay down on top of it the best I could. It
was a cramped trunk.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I heard their muffled voices talking
and laughing, then heard them get in the car. Soon, we were on the
road.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
They drove carefully. You have to be
very careful when there is someone in the trunk. It's a dangerous
place to be. If there's an accident, the person in the trunk could
end up dead. And if you get pulled over, it will be very difficult to
explain to the police.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
They pulled over after a few minutes,
then came to let me out of the trunk. “We're getting on the
highway, puppy,” she said to me. “Get in the backseat. On the
floor.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I crawled out of the trunk and around
the car. I realized as I did it that they hadn't found some secret
place to do this. Anyone could have seen me. The sun was shining. We
weren't even parked in shade. I got into the car as fast as I could,
and hunkered down uncomfortably in the back seat.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
They started driving again, and soon
we were on the highway. I tried to listen to their conversation.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“I told him there's no way he could
have guessed all ten rules yet,” she told him. He chuckled.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“How many does he have?”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“I don't know. Seven or eight, I
think.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Do you think he'll ever figure out
the last one?”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“I doubt it.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
That made me think. They say I've gone
through nine of them, but not the tenth. And they say I won't be able
to come up with a tenth. I'll never get that rule down. What's a rule
I'd never get?</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I thought about it, and about the
rules I'd learned so far. The seven I was pretty sure of; eat or
drink whatever is put in front of me; bark when I have to speak.
That's nine. So what's the tenth rule?</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Do you think you'll get it, puppy?”
She turns around and looks at me, one hand gently tracing a nail down
my back. “Or are we going to rent you out at the club? Should I let
people fuck you in the ass, and pull your lead back so you choke
while you're getting fucked? Should we drip wax onto your body until
it's completely covered? Should we let you sit in the bathroom and be
a urinal for the whole night? Maybe we should let you go home with
someone else. Do you think that will teach you the last rule?” she
laughs. Then she drags her nails, sharpened more like claws, down my
back. It feels like my back is bleeding, but I know it's just
scratched. I make sure not to make a sound, biting my lip behind my
mask and fighting the urge to whimper.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
What rule would I never guess? What
hasn't come up yet? I've done everything they wanted. And I would do
anything they told me to. I'm obedient. I'm a good dog. I would obey
every rule they gave me. There isn't anything I can think of that I
wouldn't do. I have hard limits, but they've always respected them.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Is that the last rule? To give up my
hard limits? I don't see that as being likely. They've never
expressed any problems with my hard limits. Most of them would get us
all arrested. And they wouldn't suddenly stop respecting those hard
limits just to keep me in their service as their dog forever.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Wait. To keep me in their service
forever.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I sit up in the seat and clear my
throat. I haven't spoken in days. “I have them,” I say.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“You'd better,” she says, staring
daggers at me. “Otherwise, you're breaking one of them.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Two of them,” I say. I take a
deep breath.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“If you're wrong, we're pulling over
at a gas station and you're going to fuck whoever else is there,”
he tells me, not taking his eyes of the road.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Yes Master,” I say.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Proceed then.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Rule one: I am a dog. I can't make
eye contact with human beings.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Correct.” He almost sounds
disappointed. “Continue.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Rule two: a quiet doggy is a good
doggy. No speaking, no screaming, no whimpering.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
She sighs. I must have that one right
too.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Rule three: If I am required to
speak, I must only bark. Rule four: As a dog, I must stay on my knees
at all times, always being lower than humans. Rule five: I must eat
or drink anything I am given without hesitation or question.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
She shakes her head. Then she sighs.
“Correct,” she says. “What else?”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Rule six: as a dog, I can't use my
hands for anything, including eating. Rule seven: I can't use the
bathroom, only the diapers. Rule eight, I can't change diapers
without permission. Rule nine: I cannot touch myself or try to
relieve my sexual tension. If and when I do cum will be because you
permit it and cause it, not because I want it.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Close enough,” he says. “That's
nine. What's the last rule?”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“That I can't stop being your dog
until I figure out all ten rules.” I say. “I was so stupid not to
see that sooner. You practically told me that one before we started.
In fact, you <i>did </i><span style="font-style: normal;">tell me that
one before we started.”</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Good boy,” she says to me. She
smiles and reaches back to caress my leather clad face. “I'm so
proud of you,” she says. “We'll pull over soon and get that mask
off you. I have your clothes in a bag here.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Wait, what? Why?”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“You guessed all the rules,” she
says. “That means the game is over.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“I don't want it to be over,” I
say. “I want to propose a new rule.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“This ought to be good,” he says
from the front seat.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Two new rules, actually.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“What are they?”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Rule eleven: the game only ends
when we want it to.” I say.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“And what's rule twelve?”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I shrug. “I have absolutely no
idea,” I say. “But I bet it's something really, really obscure.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
They laugh together.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Good dog,” she says to me. “Now
lay back down. We have a few hours before we get to the club. You are
going to be such a star tonight.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I climbed back down to the floor,
smiling behind my mask.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I was a good dog.</div>
<u></u>Boot LShttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07391456569268749138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5641597345416947251.post-4832285353070038922017-01-21T14:44:00.000-06:002017-01-21T14:44:16.562-06:00Because they still come sometimesHi everyone! I'm not dead, but it's been a while. It's been a while since I've gotten a request that actually inspired me. Please send more if you want to see more.<br />
<br />
But in the meantime, here's a nice joker story for you. And for her.<br />
<br />
<u>Being His</u><br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
He looked down at
me with that extra smile, the one that made his manic eyes shine and
that made me feel like all the crazy in the world was behind his
eyes, but that it was between me and anyone who dared try to get to
me. They'd have to get to him first, and he had his knives ready for
them to try.</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
He gently stroked
my hair, bringing his hand around to cup my chin in his purple
leather glove, turning my head up to look at him and the smile that
stretched near ear to ear whether he was smiling or not. He licks his
lips and gives me a look that shivers my spine, his hair falling in
front of his eyes. His hand goes back to rubbing my hair, then his
fingers tighten and pull my head back, shocking a sharp breath from
me.</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
His tongue darts
over his lips again. “Ooh, does that hurt?” he asks, the mock
concern in his voice hiding the real question underneath. If I told
him it did, he'd loosen his grip. We both know that. But I don't want
him to.</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“No Mista J,” I
tell him through clenched teeth.</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“That's good,”
he says, his voice raising into a laugh as he pulls my head back
again. “Because if that hurt, then what comes next, well, that
would be really unpleasant. For you.”</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
His free hand
reaches down and unzips his pants. I reach up to help, hearing his
mad giggle drift through my mind as I reach in and pull out his cock.
He goes back to petting my hair, smiling down at me with a need in
his eyes that others don't get to see, a need that only I get to
fulfill.</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
I look up at him,
my own eyes mirroring the need in his, and I slide my tongue from the
base of his cock up to the tip, cupping his balls in my hand and
wrapping my other hand around the base of his shaft and looking up at
him for approval.</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“That's my girl,”
he says, drawing out the words and making them like filthy steam as
he breathes them out at me.</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
I keep my eyes on
his as I wrap my lips around the head of his cock, sliding my tongue
around beneath my lips, moving my hand up his shaft until they rest
on the outside of his lips, and I slowly slide my mouth downwards,
swallowing his shaft bit by bit, then pull back up, my fingers adding
friction and my tongue adding a wet warmth. He shivers, and I know he
feels every instance of it. I know his nerves are on fire.</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
He lets out a soft
moan as I slide my hand around his shaft and plunge my lips back down
the length of it, licking his cock along the way as I let him push
deep into my mouth. I set up a slow and steady rhythm; he knows he
can speed up if he wants to. He knows to speed up when he wants to.
In the meantime, I can feel the leather of his glove gently slide
along my face or through my hair, and my lips start to tingle at the
taste of his cock.</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
He groans out my
name as I pull my lips off his cock and just rub my hands up and down
the shaft a few times, looking up at him with a smirk that would make
the devil blush. He smiles down at me and puts his hands back on my
head, and I hear the leather creak as he makes a fist in my hair. It
only pulls at the very end, and he holds me delicately, a mixture of
taking complete control and not doing anything with out my say so. Or
at least without my consent.</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
I find myself
nodding and opening my mouth again, sliding my lips over his cock
again, looking up to see him lean back, his hair falling away from
his giant smile, the light hitting the white caked makeup and
reflecting off the red of his lips, his skin showing through where
the sweat has peeled away the makeup.</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
I relax my neck as
best I can as I slide back down his shaft, leaving my head in his
hands, my hair in his fists, and letting him push himself deep into
my throat, then pull back out, my hand wrapping around his shaft as
long as he gives me the room to spare before he begins pounding his
way into my throat, fucking my face harder with each thrust, pulling
my hair and thrusting with his powerful hips. He uses my head like
I'm his toy, and for a few brief seconds, that's all I am. I'm his,
through and through, and I know what he will do to anyone who forgets
it. It makes me smile as I fight down my gag reflex, letting him
thrust into me again and again without fear or concern.</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
He loses the gloves
somewhere on the way, and I feel his skin on my scalp, on my face, as
he slows down and lets me take over again. I keep bobbing my head up
and down his shaft, my hand clutching just below my lips so that he
gets the sucking and the rubbing at the same time.</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“You're going to
make me cum, you keep doing that,” he says to me, his voice almost
a growl. I look up to see him licking the scars on his face, and he
winks down at me. “But then, that's the whole idea, isn't it?”
his hands start to squeeze, and I feel his nails drag along my scalp
as his fingers wrap in my hair. “Mmm good girl,” he says, letting
out a sharp exhale and jerking his neck to one side, making it crack
and making his whole body shiver.</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
I moan, feeling my
lips, my tingling lips, vibrate on his cock from the sound, as an
echoing moan is drawn from his deepest core. A moan that flows from
deep inside him and up through his legs, making those knees shake,
making his hips thrust a bit faster, making his hands clench in my
hair. I can taste his cum in my mouth as he holds me there, and I
swallow because I know he wants me to. He lets me go and staggers
back a few steps, breathing heavily and giggling quietly to himself.</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“That,” he says
between laughs, “was amazing. It's like a super power.” Then he
steps forward and gently pushes me backwards, until I'm laying on my
back. He pushes my legs aside, spreading them out and slipping the
panties off with the deft movement of his hands.</div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“My turn now,”
he says, looming over me with that big smile of his, looking down on
me, owning me. Then he turns his head to the side and gives me a
questioning look. “Did I ever tell you,” he asks, as he slides
down my body, placing gentle kisses down my chest and over my
stomach.</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“how I got these scars?”</div>
Boot LShttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07391456569268749138noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5641597345416947251.post-65978879688709272112016-07-29T21:53:00.002-05:002016-07-29T21:53:59.036-05:00An Erotic Novel? How novel!Hello!<br />
<br />
Okay, so as you know, I've released several collections. You can still get <a href="http://www.lulu.com/shop/boot-ls/erotica-by-request-volume-1/paperback/product-20646953.html" target="_blank">the original collection</a>, or <a href="http://www.lulu.com/shop/boot-ls/erotica-by-request-vol-2-power-exchange/paperback/product-20659069.html" target="_blank">Power Exchange</a>, which has a story never published on this site. You can still get <a href="http://www.lulu.com/shop/boot-ls/erotica-by-request-vol-3-boots-and-bondage/paperback/product-20674438.html" target="_blank">Boots and Bondage</a>, with some of the best stories inside. And of course, you can still get <a href="http://www.lulu.com/shop/boot-ls/erotica-by-request-book-4-boots-fairy-tales/paperback/product-22326684.html" target="_blank">Boot's Fairy Tales</a>, with all its special extras.<br />
<br />
But I've never released an actual novel before.<br />
<br />
Thankfully, I was able to get the wonderful Dreadnaught Photography to do another cover for me, and I took my promise in <a href="http://kinkfiction.blogspot.com/2013/12/no-more-moriarty-here.html" target="_blank">no-more-moriarty-here</a> seriously. I waited until I had a good cover, until the book was well finished.<br />
<br />
And now it is!<br />
<br />
Please, please, please, go buy a copy! Buy one for your friends. But dozens for enemies, and send it to their place of work until they sue you for harassment*<br />
<br />
**the lawyers at EbR HQ insist that you NOT harass people, or at least that we not encourage you to.**<br />
<br />
Wanna see the cover of the <a href="http://www.lulu.com/shop/boot-ls/the-case-of-the-empty-cage/paperback/product-22781501.html" target="_blank">new book</a>?<br />
<a name='more'></a><br /><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLfJUYdEldNWOPLSC_bW4NNpsZfysFgoBmWBNv4SXrWGHkjhpMYQDLdPLPwHpjm2jgy1h110NyvCY-TDb4pt4zEuLrkWHzT2TOTGH00w2PBvHBimNrnTqm_QtvpqAZFZEyQ66gaIX0mb8/s1600/product_thumbnail.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="http://www.lulu.com/shop/boot-ls/the-case-of-the-empty-cage/paperback/product-22781501.html" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLfJUYdEldNWOPLSC_bW4NNpsZfysFgoBmWBNv4SXrWGHkjhpMYQDLdPLPwHpjm2jgy1h110NyvCY-TDb4pt4zEuLrkWHzT2TOTGH00w2PBvHBimNrnTqm_QtvpqAZFZEyQ66gaIX0mb8/s1600/product_thumbnail.jpg" title="" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.lulu.com/shop/boot-ls/the-case-of-the-empty-cage/paperback/product-22781501.html" target="_blank">The Case of the Empty Cage</a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
It's like Sherlock Holmes. Only told by Moriarty. And kinky as hell.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Buy it!</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
(please?)</div>
Boot LShttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07391456569268749138noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5641597345416947251.post-46098121581840611502016-07-07T14:37:00.000-05:002016-07-07T14:37:19.980-05:00Hands at Ten and TwoI got a request!<br />
It's been so long since that has happened. I missed it. And it took me a while to get to it. I needed to get in the right headspace.<br />
But I got there, and I wrote this for a new friend.<br />
<br />
In other news, there's a new book about to be released, written by yours truly. But that'll get it's own post.<br />
<u><br /></u>
<u>Hands and Ten and Two</u><br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
He wraps the rope around my wrist, twice, then loops
underneath it, between my skin and the rope, and ties it off. It feels loose,
and I have to admit I’m a bit disappointed. But he laughs when I tell him that.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“It’s just loose so it won’t cut off circulation or hurt any
of the small bones in your hand. Trust me, you’re not getting out of it. In
fact, go ahead and try.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I might be able to get out, eventually, if I had my other
hand to help. But he’s already looped the rope through the steering wheel and
wrapped up my other wrist. It’s still loose, easily enough room for two fingers
between the rope and my wrist. But I can’t pull free. I can move, just a little
bit, but not much.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Ten and two,” he says, gesturing to the wheel. He loops the
rope back around the steering column, effectively locking me in place. He ties
things off and sits back, looking at me with a smirk peeking through his beard.
“Now go ahead,” he says, his voice half teasing and half … something else. “Struggle.
See if you can get free.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The way he tells me to struggle, the tone of his voice, the
twinkle of his eyes, all of it sends a rush of heat through my body. I pull at
the bonds, not quite registering why I can’t get free. It feels like I should
be able to. It looks like I should be able to. But it’s just not happening. I
can pull all I want, and all that does is press the rope into my flesh. He
warns me that I might give myself rope burn if I’m not careful. And he makes it
very clear. “You will be giving it to yourself,” he says. “Because that rope is
loose for a reason. The next one will be tight, but we don’t need to worry
about bones for that.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“What do you mean?” I ask, my voice shaking just a little
bit.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He doesn’t answer, just pulls out that pair of safety
scissors and snips it against empty air a few times. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“This is for emergencies,”
he tells me. “Just in case things are too tight.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Are these going to get tighter?” I ask, pulling on my
wrists again. The knots don’t seem to be getting any looser.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He chuckles. “No, they aren’t. But other things might be too
tight.” His smile promises great evil that I know I will enjoy if I can just
let it happen. “Like, for instance, your shirt.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And then the scissors are slicing down my chest, starting at
the collar and just snipping their way down, turning my shirt into, at best, a
vest. And completely destroying the bra that had been valiantly trying to hold
me in. That explains why he told me to wear an old bra I didn’t care about. But
I wasn’t expecting that.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Still, as my breasts flop out, I have to admit that it <i>was </i>tight. I give him a small smile and
a nervous laugh. I pull against the rope again, trying to help him cut the
sleeves off so he can pull the shirt right off me. I even lean forward a bit to
give him an easier angle.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He gently puts one finger on my forehead and pushes me back
against the seat. “Don’t presume,” he says. “I haven’t decided if you get to
keep the shirt or not. After all, it’s not tight anymore.” The scissors go back
in the cup holder, and he rubs his beard as if really considering things. “And
then there’s the question of exposure. Do you feel more exposed with your
clothes in shreds, or would it be worse to be naked? I think being naked you
could explain away to yourself. You could own it, be proud of your body, and
just sit there topless. But this. No, this isn’t topless. This is your shirt
sliced open, your bra cut in half. This is you, exposed, unable to hide
anymore. And it would be so easy, if you could just close the gap.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He reaches over and pinches the shirt together with two
fingers, showing me how easy it would be to cover up. “Wouldn’t take much,” he
says. “Such a tiny thing, so easy to do, if only you had a free hand.” Then he
lets go, and my breasts spring free once more.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“But you need to keep them on the wheel,” he says. “At ten
and two.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He chuckles softly and then takes out another rope. “feel
this,” he says, rubbing it against my cheek, then through my fingers, then over
my bare nipple. “It’s soft, isn’t it? Has a lot of give. That’s important.” He
holds the rope in place, folded over, and runs rope around my breast, pushing the
rope back through the loop. “When it has give that means I can pull it nice and
tight,” he pulls until the rope has pulled my breast far firmer than any bra
ever managed. “And it won’t pinch your skin. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“It’ll cut off circulation, of course. Your breasts are
going to turn all kinds of fun colors.” He begins to loop the rope around my
other breast, then tightens again and runs the rope behind my back, then back
through the original loop and back around, tightening all the way. “But your
breasts don’t have bones, so there’s no real risk, so long as we don’t leave
you like this for more than an hour or so.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I let out a wince when he ties a second set of loops, this
one a few inches up my breast, separating my nipples, which themselves are
standing more at attention than I can ever remember them being. Looking down,
they look like pegs. But as he flicks them, I can tell they’re still sensitive.
More sensitive.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He runs the rope around my shoulders, but never across the
throat. “Have be careful,” he says. “I don’t want you to get injured.” He smirks
through his beard again. “I just want you to hurt.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I nod, biting my lip. I don’t trust myself to speak right
now. Seems like it could end badly.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Remember, if this ever gets to be too much, just say the
word and I’ll cut you free. Don’t worry about the rope; I can get more.” I nod,
and he leans back in his chair. “And it goes without saying, if you get pulled
over, I’ll cut you free of the wheel right away. But that’s still going to
require a lot of explaining on both our parts, so drive save, okay?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I nod again, and he lets out a chuckle. “I’m so glad you
agreed to this,” he says, reaching into his pocket and pulling out one last
toy. “Now do me a big favor and spread your legs just a bit.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This I was not expecting, but I have no desire to go back
now. No desire, not even an inclination, to say no. I spread my legs, and half
expect him to chide me for spreading them so far, so fast. Instead, he just
smiles and reaches between my legs. He unzips my jeans, then presses something
into the fly. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A few seconds later, when it begins to buzz, I know exactly
what it is. I have one just like it at home. But I usually put it to a higher
setting. This setting is too low, an insistent tease that never goes anywhere.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I give him a whimpering look, and he smiles, nodding. “Exactly,”
he says.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Now, pay attention to your driving. We’ve got places to go.
Foot on the break, please.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He shifts into gear for me, and I start to pull out into the
street. I can’t believe we’re actually doing this. What if someone sees?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It’s as if he can read my mind. “Oh, I bet a lot of people
will be able to see. Anyone who gets close, really. And if we drive next to a
truck, they’ll be able to look down and see everything. Most people won’t
realize what they’re seeing if you’re careful, of course. It’s dark out, and
there’s no light in the cab.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Then he reaches up and presses the light on his side of the
car, illuminating the interior.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Oh, wait,” he says. “Yes there is.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He laughs again as I squirm, trying to get the vibrator to
move, or to turn up, or something. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Drive carefully,” he tells me, as if he’s a driving
instructor giving me a test. “If you can do this tonight, maybe next time I’ll
bring nipple clamps.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
That makes me gasp and turn to look at him with a mixture of
pleading and terror in my eyes.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He reaches forward and caresses my cheek, then gently turns
my head so it’s facing forward. “Eyes front,” he says. <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Hands at ten and two.”<o:p></o:p></div>
Boot LShttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07391456569268749138noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5641597345416947251.post-56089743677538074302016-02-15T21:56:00.000-06:002016-02-15T21:56:17.751-06:00What I won't doThis is an unrequested story. I'm getting to know someone, and I wanted to write a story for her.<br />
<br />
I've been thinking about it for a while. Didn't know how to start it. Didn't know what to say. I wasn't sure what to pick from her list of interests, what to focus on. All those things she likes, all those things that interest her!<br />
<br />
And then it came to me. All the things she wants to do, and what I won't do.<br />
<br />
Please comment if you like this. If I knew people wanted more to read, I'd probably go back to writing.<br />
<u><br /></u>
<u>What you want</u><br />
<u></u><br />
<a name='more'></a><u><br /></u><br />
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
I have been
thinking about us, and about the things you want to do. I've thought
about your desires, the things you shared with me. And I thought
about what I won't do.</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
You say you want to
kick me in the balls, make me curl up in agony. You get a gleeful
smile when you talk about how I'll go all fetal, and you'll make me
stand up so you can do it again. I think about the blasts of agony
that will spell out my nervous system for me, the pain that will show
me pathways I didn't know existed.</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
You talk about
spanking my ass bare, spanking until I'm red, until I'm bruised. Will
you bend me over a chair or over your lap? Spanking must be hard on
your arms. I think about my ass, hairy as it is, and I wonder if all
that hair will add some protection. Will it cushion the blows at all?
I think about your hand leaving its impression on my flesh, and I
think about how my nerves will burn, how the slightest touch will set
off wild reactions through my body.
</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
I think about what
you want, and I think about what I won't do.</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
You want to control
when I use the bathroom, to dominate my world completely. You what to
discipline me, to use me as furniture. You want to slap my face, to
scold me when I don't serve you well or fast enough. You want to be
the authority, for me to submit because I am a slave, and a male, and
obedience is what I am good for.
</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
I think of all the
things you want, and I think about what I won't do.</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
You want me bound
in rope and chain, in leather and in steel. You want me to squirm as
you torture me. You want to hear me whimper when you pull my hair,
hear my breath catch when you grab my crotch and pull so hard I'll
think you're planning to rip it off. You want me to breathe like I've
run a marathon when I haven't moved, haven't been <i>able</i>
to move, for hours. You want to laugh at my suffering, want me to
hold out against unimaginable pain just a little bit longer. You want
me to hold out and you want to know that I'm holding out for you,
that I'm holding out because I know you want me to.</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
All
the things you want. What won't I do?</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
You
want to put beads in my ass. You want to plug my ass. You want to
take a strap on and fuck me silly. You want to push things in there
that have never been before. You want to torture me, to tease me, to
use me. You want to laugh at me, you want to tell me how pathetic I
am.
</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
You
want me in chastity, want my cock under your lock and key. You want
to be able to decide when and if I ever get to cum. You want that,
and you want to use that power. You want to change how I act. Want me
to learn the proper decorum. You want me to be a good slave, to
properly serve you. You want to make me act a certain way, to break
bad habits of mine. You want to control my mind by controlling my
body. By controlling my orgasms. You want to be able to punish me
when I displease you, and you want to be able to reward me when I
break, when I give in and become what you want me to be.
</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
You
want my cock bound up so you can fuck my ass, so you can make me cum
without touching my dick. You want to do that, because you know how
that will make me feel. How submissive must it feel, to cum just from
being fucked? How humiliating must it be to know that I was given an
orgasm through pure and complete submission. What does that say about
me, about my manhood? Oh, the things you want to say to me. You want
to use my biology against me. You want my mind so addled, so lost in
sub space, so completely gone, that I will be yours. That I will look
upon you and call you Mistress, that I will look with adoration. With
worship.</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
You
want me to beg to worship your feet. You want me on my knees,
cradling your boot in my hand. You want me to look up at you, to meet
your eye while my tongue slides along the leather. You want to see me
lick even as you feel the pressure of my tongue on your foot, feel it
through the boots you were so sure would prevent any feeling. You
want me to lick hard, to press with my tongue as intensely as I can.
You want me to worship your boots not because I like to do it, but
because <i>you </i>want it
done. You want me to be your slave, to do everything to please you,
without caring about myself.</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
You
want so many things. And I think about what I won't do.</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
You
want to close a collar around my neck. To hook up a leash and drag me
with you. You want everyone to know that I am yours. I'll kneel at
your feet and hold your drink while you use your hands to talk. I'll
get on my hands and knees to be your foot rest while you relax. You
want me willing. You want me there.</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
There,
with a blindfold on, or maybe a full head hood. Something that blocks
out any chance that I can see what is going on. You want to be able
to slap me across the face without my being able to flinch away.
Without my seeing it coming. You want to be able to keep me there in
the dark, while you enjoy the party, while you talk to people. You
want to be able to laugh with them at me, at the little slave by your
feet. The one who wants nothing more than to serve you. The one who
will agree to anything you desire. You want me on the chain so you
can show me off. You want to protect me, to make sure no one else
plays with me without your permission. And you want to give
permission. You want to be able to whisper naughty thoughts into my
ear, and know that I wasn't expecting to hear anything. You want to
know that I am helpless, that I am at your mercy.</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
All
the things you want. And then there's what I won't do.</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
You
want to dress me as a woman, strange as that may be. We both know how
ugly of a woman I would be. But you want it anyway. You want me to
stand there awkwardly in revealing clothes. You want me to stand
there in stockings. You want me to shave my legs. You want to think,
during our time apart, how much I must be itching as the hair grows
back. You want me to dress as a woman even though it won't look good.
Even though there will be no chance of passing. That isn't the point.
That isn't the reason. I won't look like a girl. You know this. You
know that I'll feel humiliated, degraded. Even just in normal
clothing, because I'll know it's meant for a woman.
</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
You
want to take me out in public, where no one will know but you and I.
Where people will look and see me as a man in a suit escorting a
beautiful woman. You want me to know, though. To know that my shirt
is a blouse. That my slacks are cut for women. That my blazer isn't
meant for a man. You want me to know that I'm dressed as a woman,
even if no one else can tell without looking closely. You want me out
in public like that, where you and I are the only ones who know I'm
cross dressed. And you'll want me to have those nylons on underneath
my slacks. You'll want me to walk straight not out of pride, but out
of the fear that if I relax too much, my butt plug will fall out.
You'll want me to keep my tie tight so no one will see the leather
collar hidden beneath the collar of my blouse.</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
You
want all these things. And I can only think of what I won't do.</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
You
want me to be a chair for you, a footstool. An ashtray, if that's
what you decide on. And you want me to accept all of this without
question. You want me to be obedient. You want me to know what will
happen if I disappoint you. You want me to remember other times
you've scolded me for not following instruction. You want me to worry
that you're going to beat my ass with a belt, or with a brush, or
with whatever you have handy. You want me to think twice before
disobeying, because I know the price of failure. And you want to
keep me guessing. You want me to wonder what kind of discipline will
be in store for me when I am punished. You want me to know that I've
been bad, and to know that punishment is coming.</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
But
you want me to wonder. Will you simply scold me? Will you clamp
weights to my nipples? Will you crush the parts that make me a man in
your hand, just to show me the kind of power you have over me? Will
you tie me up, or will you leave me unbound, so that we both know I
could pull away if I wanted to? So that we both know that I could
escape, and that I'm choosing not to. Will there be a lecture during
the torture? Will you quiz me about it afterwards? Will I have to
focus on your words while trying not to focus on the clamps
tightening around my nipples? Will I have to remember what you say,
or how many times you whip me, all while trying not to think about
how each time I flinch, the weights move and pull on my nipples all
over again?</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
All
these things you want to do to me. And then what I won't do.</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
You
want me to serve you. You want me as your maid. You want me to fetch
you drinks, to wait on you hand and foot. You want me to get pleasure
from nothing more than serving you. You want me to beg to be your
seat, to ask for permission to wear lingerie beneath my clothes. You
want me to agree with everything you say, no matter how degrading it
may be. You want to be able to train me, and you want me to beg for
the training to continue.</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
You
want to tie me up and make me an art piece, display me to people that
I can't see. You want to turn me into an object, to shush me when I
speak because objects don't talk. You want to drag me around by my
leash. You want me to surrender to you, to be yours so completely, to
trust you when you bend my boundaries, when you push me to do more.
You want to hurt me, and expect me to thank you for it. You want to
let your imagination run wild, and have me suffer all the more for
it.</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
All
these things you want.</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
And
what I won't do.</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
What
won't I do?</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
If
we get to that point, I'll tell you. I promise.</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
So
far, there's nothing I won't do. </div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
I'll do all that you want. </div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
For you.</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
Boot LShttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07391456569268749138noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5641597345416947251.post-73387718897926799402015-10-28T16:25:00.000-05:002015-10-28T16:25:39.530-05:00Service, furniture, and (of course) bootsHello faithful reader and random assortment of delightful pervs!<br />
<br />
I've decided to take a more active role in the universe, and as such I made a twitter account. You can reach me now at @Boots_EBR. I'm funny, I promise. And I take requests through twitter now. Requests like this one.<br />
<br />
I didn't have much to work with... pretty boys, service submission, boots... but it was enough to be inspiring. I hope you like it.<br />
<br />
<u>The next pair</u><br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
She looked down at the shining leather,
turning her foot to the left and then to the right. Beneath her, the
stool shifted in place a bit, and her riding crop lashed out almost
of its own accord to remind him to hold still.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“This is acceptable,” she said once
her examination was complete. “You may remove them and go get
another pair.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
She leaned back, taking a drink that
was right where she reached for it, and put her feet up on a stool
that rushed onto his hands and knees in front of her while the other
boy, his freshly shaved body glistening in the candlelight, carefully
began untying the boots and gently sliding them from her feet. He
made sure her stockings and socks were firmly in place, smoothing
them out and making sure she was comfortable, before bowing and
standing up, leaving him completely exposed and right at her eye
level.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
She smirked at his erection and reached
her crop out to trace along the skin. He stopped moving entirely, a
mixture of panic and hope on his face. She slid the crop slowly,
letting the little loop of leather trace along the skin, putting the
slightest bit of pressure on it as she moved up around the head and
down underneath. He slowly started to lift up onto his toes, almost
without even noticing it, his chocolate eyes starting to glaze over.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
With a flick of her wrist, she snapped
the crop against his balls. Even his yelp was cute. “Get. The next.
Pair.” she said, her voice colder than the smirk on her face would
suggest. He hurried out of the room, and she let out a small chuckle
as she watched his bare ass, still red from earlier, as he carried
her boots out of the room.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
She looked down at the one who had
rushed forward to be her stool. He was so excited to do anything for
her. That's what he'd said. She slipped the crop underneath him and
tapped on the cage she'd locked his cock in, making him moan quietly.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Don't worry,” she said. “Soon
you'll be completely broken, and you won't need the cage anymore.
Another month, maybe a year.” She chuckled at his whimpering “Maybe
two years, just to be safe. Think you can survive not cumming for two
more years, little one?”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
He swallowed hard. “Y-yes mistress,”
he whispered. “If that's what it takes to please you.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
She moved her foot over to his face and
rubbed the sweaty sock on his cheek in a loving caress. “Good
answer, boy,” she said.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Thank you mistress.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
She heard the other boy coming back.
“You think about how long you could last while I get a new pair
cleaned,” she said. She ignored his whimpered 'yes mistress,' her
attention on the new pair of boots.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
She raised an eyebrow as if she didn't
approve. “Docs?” she asked, looking at the beat up old pair of
Doc Martens he held in his hand.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The boy stopped, his chocolate eyes
sparkling with hope even as he struggled to put words together. “I
thought maybe you'd enjoy them mistress,” he said.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Why?” she asked, her voice still
icy, enjoying the look of beads of sweat sliding down his chest. It
looked so much better hairless. So much prettier.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“B-because you'll be able to feel it
better,” he said quietly, looking down at the floor.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
She let the silence stretch as long as
she could, knowing that his thoughts were far crueler than anything
she might come up with. It wasn't until he was ready to apologize, to
go get another pair, that she finally sighed.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Very well,” she said, wiggling her
toes at him. “You may proceed.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
He slid the boots onto her feet, almost
completely untied. She hadn't left them unlaced like that, but she
knew that was part of the fun for him, so she didn't say anything.
She just sat there, holding the boot up, as he started sliding the
black laces through grommet after grommet, the little white stitching
on the laces forming a nice pattern as they criss crossed up her leg,
almost to her knee.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
He pulled the laces tight, tying the
bow and then double knotting the way she liked it. Such a well
trained boy she had. No wonder she wasn't letting the chair beneath
her or the stool in front of her do his job. Not yet, anyway.
Someday.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
As he worked on her other foot, she
made sure to bend her ankle in the boot that was already tightly
laced on, knowing that the sound of stretching leather would – yes,
that's it. She smiled as he shivered in pleasure, as he inhaled
sharply and let out a tiny moan that he couldn't hold back. She felt
her foot stool take a deep breath too, knowing she was driving him
just as wild.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
She handed off her drink, the slave boy
rushing forward to grab it before she just let it go. As the one in
front of her finished lacing up her other boot, she looked them over,
pretending to be disappointed.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“They're so old,” she said. “I
can't believe you'd even find them attractive.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“They're gorgeous Mistress!” he
insisted, dropping to his knees without needing to be told. He
cradled her boot in his hands like it was a delicate thing he was
afraid to touch too roughly. “The leather is worn into the shape of
your feet, into the curves of your body. They are an extension of you
Mistress, and there is nothing I would rather do than clean them for
you.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Nothing?”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
He shook his head.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Start with the soles, I think,”
she said, practically kicking him in the face as she extended her
foot towards him.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Without pause, complaint, or question,
he began to run his tongue over the sole of her boot, sliding across
the soft brown material. His tongue moved quickly where the sole had
worn away to practically nothing, but he paid special attention to
the ridge under her heel and to those few places were the lines of
tread were still there to be cleaned. Her sole was soon soaking wet,
and he placed a kiss against it before moving on. His tongue slide
over the side ridges and over every yellow stitch around the base of
the boot, giving each one his full attention.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
She slid the crop over his shoulder,
dragging it along his back. When she smacked him, he twitched, but
his tongue never slowed. She tapped her crop against his back
rapidly, but he never stopped his inexorable licking, sliding up over
her ankle bones and moving upward, sliding his tongue alongside the
laces while she slapped him with the crop.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
He was well trained. He couldn't stop
himself from twitching, but he didn't complain or slow down when she
hit him, no matter how hard. His skin was practically glowing red as
he made it back down her boot, licking over the stitching along the
back of her foot.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
She let out a soft sound of pleasure.
He'd been right; she could feel it. The pressure of his tongue on the
leather, the gentle movement as he made love to her boots, it was
like a foot massage. She could feel the tension leaking out of her,
feel the pleasure replace the soreness. It wasn't just the state of
the boots though. It was him. She knew it was him.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
These were his favorite pair. These
were <i>his </i>pair. The pair that
he dreamed about, the pair that he always begged her to wear, the
ones he would choose every time. Even if his erection hadn't been
straining at his skin, even if she had locked him back up, she knew
this pair was the best one for him to clean.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Would
he cum just from cleaning them? He might; it happened before. Oh, how
she'd laughed at him, making him lick them clean all over again to
get his man spunk off them.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Do
you remember the time you licked the cum from these boots?” she
asked. “The first time, I mean.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Yes
Mistress,” he said, his tongue sliding along the curve of boot that
separated the toe piece from the side piece. He left the toes for
last, always had. They were the best part, and he savored them.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Do
you think any of it was pushed into the leather? Do you still taste
it when you lick them?” she laughed. “Is that why they're you're
favorite.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
He
blushed, so it couldn't be too far from the truth. But he didn't
answer. He was miles away, his tongue pressed against her toe,
sliding over the flat top of her foot with a slow and eager movement,
a desperate licking, a dedication to her boots that sometimes made
her wonder if he liked them more than her.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
She
held up the boot and inspected it as he waited her permission to
continue on to the other one. What torture it had been when she had
told him he couldn't! It was worse than any beating she could give
him. Worse than locking him up, almost worse than sending him away.
One boot clean, the other filthy in comparison. A job left undone.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
It had
been delicious torture. But she wouldn't do it again. She wanted them
to look good, the black boots against her pale white skin. Of course,
that didn't mean she had to accept them right away.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
He'd
never believe that he'd missed a spot. But she didn't need to say
anything. She just had to look carefully at the boot, watching the
shine of his saliva on the leather reflecting the light. She took her
time, making him sweat, making him shuffle on his knees.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
She
snapped the crop to his chin and lifted it up a bit. “Don't move,”
she said. “It's distracting.” The crop held his head up at an
awkward angle, but he didn't try to adjust when she moved the crop
away. “Good boy,” she said. Then she sighed. “All right, I
suppose you can do the other one.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Thank
you Mistress!” he said, as excited as he'd been the first time
she'd let him do it.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
She
glanced at the other slaves in the area and pointed at her bootlicker
as he went back to work. “The rest of you could take lessons from
him,” she said. “So deliciously eager.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
She
smacked him on the side of the neck with the crop. This time, he
didn't even flinch. “And resilient too,” she said, settling in
for another soft foot massage.</div>
Boot LShttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07391456569268749138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5641597345416947251.post-89278331963671362742015-09-04T14:28:00.001-05:002015-09-04T14:28:32.895-05:00Book 4, and a teaserHello hello!<br />
<br />
The fourth collection of <a href="http://www.lulu.com/shop/boot-ls/erotica-by-request-book-4-boots-fairy-tales/paperback/product-22326684.html" target="_blank">Erotica By Request, Boot's Fairy Tales</a>, is now available for purchase!<br />
<br />
Please buy some copies for yourself, your friends, people you meet on the street, or just as starter fuel for a fire.<br />
<br />
You can find the whole thing here: <a href="http://www.lulu.com/shop/boot-ls/erotica-by-request-book-4-boots-fairy-tales/paperback/product-22326684.html" target="_blank">Book 4</a>.<br />
<br />
Like the cover?<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjV8xjlwQc3hjseqLIEMGaKhWdSp4S16gr1L7Dprt2DvOJ1G2qaDVkuA6h7IWOuvYzG01NqBMpeY4hniB8y0IYxp08u6wqSxfCct4B3LyXN0bqNzJWftwNuymsnTE-3nFkytat6gcWzUgQ/s1600/product_thumbnail.jpg" /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
It's another<a href="http://dreadnaughtphotography.com/" target="_blank"> Dread Naught Photography</a> creation.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
But that's not all! This picture also represents a special story that appears ONLY in this volume. Just one more reason to buy it.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Now, I promised I was going to tease you....</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Remember <a href="http://kinkfiction.blogspot.com/search/label/Moriarty" target="_blank">Moriarty</a>? Well, her story, both the parts that are on the site and a LOT that isn't, is the next project to come out of our publication... group. In fact, all we're waiting for is another spectacular picture from <a href="http://dreadnaughtphotography.com/" target="_blank">Dread Naught Photography</a>.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
In the meantime, give me some requests! Stories are free, and I am happy to write them. I love getting tips, but they're not required. All I really need from you is inspiration and requests.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
So please, send them to me at <a href="mailto:bootlickersub@yahoo.com" target="_blank">bootlickersub @ yahoo . com</a> or just post them here, and I'll see what I can do for you!</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
-Boot</div>
Boot LShttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07391456569268749138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5641597345416947251.post-1672716653919312482015-08-15T16:28:00.000-05:002015-08-18T18:09:30.835-05:00Ali Baba and the Forty... ThievesSo rumor has it another collection is in the works. That's right, after a two year hiatus, EbR is back, and is coming out with a new collection. The picture is taken, the pages are almost full, and things will be good to go in just a few more stories.<br />
<br />
I'll post all about that. Maybe I'll get lucky and one of you will even buy a copy.<br />
<br />
Today is one of the last stories that will make it into the collection. The other story will be tied to the cover shot, and that story will NOT be posted here. So to read it... you have to buy the book.<br />
<br />
But for today, this is a great request, and a great little fairy tale to talk about.<br />
<br />
<u>Coins, cocks, and conversation</u><br />
<u></u><br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 1;">
Ali takes a deep breath,
shifting in her seat. Her hands are clenched in her lap to stop them
from shaking too much. There's no good reason for her to be this
nervous; there's only the one guy sitting across from her. And he's
smiling. She knows him. She trusts him.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 1;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 1;">
“Do you know who
Scheherazade was?” he asks her. Before she can answer, he
continues. “She was a storyteller. She had to tell a new story
every night to avoid being killed by a bored sultan. As long as she
had another story, he let her live. She's sort of the narrator in
1001 Arabian nights. It takes that long for her to make him fall in
love with her and make him spare her life.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 1;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 1;">
He waves a dismissive hand
“or something like that. Anyway. 1001 days. That's almost three
straight years. Can you imagine? Telling a story every night. All
night. And having to come up with it on the fly.” he shakes his
head. “I think your jaw would get tired. Any time you use your
mouth for the same thing for hours on end, it'll get tired. But I'm
guessing you already know that.” He smirks at her.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 1;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 1;">
The silence stretches for a
while, until finally she nods, wringing her hands together.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 1;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 1;">
“One of those stories
that Sheherazade told was Ali Baba and the forty thieves. I bet that
one is a bit personal for you, isn't it? In the story, Ali Baba
steals from some thieves. When they catch him, can you imagine what
terrible things they must have done to him? He found a way into their
secret lair, and he stole from them. Twice.” He shakes his head.
“It's bad. I'll bet they took their time, and took turns, with him.
Don't you think? Forty men all torturing one poor fool who made the
mistake of stealing from them.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 1;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 1;">
He puts a single coin on
the table between them. It's a golden coin, only worth a dollar. But
that's not the point.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 1;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 1;">
“Forty men. One victim.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 1;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 1;">
Ali looks at the coin,
knowing what it means. All she has to do is pick it up. That's all it
will take.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 1;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 1;">
“But let's not think
about that,” he says, leaning back again. “Let's talk about
everyone's favorite subject: sex. There are lots of kinds of sex.
Lots of positions. Which leads me to another book. I'm sure you've
heard of the Karma Sutra? Most people have.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 1;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 1;">
He tosses a second coin
onto the table, identical to the first.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 1;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 1;">
He looks at her again until
she nods. As Ali opens her mouth to answer, he holds up a hand.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 1;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 1;">
“No need to talk just
yet,” he says. “You should save your jaw strength.” He smiles,
tenting his fingers in his lap.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 1;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 1;">
Her eyes settle back on the
coins as he continues. “Most people haven't actually read it, of
course. But it has this reputation. The reputation that it's
basically a sex manual, with hundreds of different positions. And
there's truth to that. But there's also a story.” he sighs. “But
you don't care about the story, do you? That's fine. I wanted to talk
about the positions anyway.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 1;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 1;">
A third gold coin hits the
table, and Ali jumps at the clinking sound.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 1;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 1;">
“Most people think that a
woman has only three places where she can be fucked. The mouth,” he
smiles. Then he gestures dismissively at her lower body, “the pussy
and the ass. Of course, some people are smart enough to remember that
women have hands too. So that's potentially five cocks all at the
same time. Takes a bit of maneuvering, but it's possible.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 1;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 1;">
He holds up a fourth coin,
rolling it down the fingers of his hand. It looks almost hypnotic
with the grace of his movements.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 1;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 1;">
“But there are more,”
he says. “The Karma Sutra helps expand the mind, and makes people
realize that if the breasts are large enough, you can press them
together and create another hole to fuck.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 1;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 1;">
Another coin hits the
table, and he rolls one down each hand now as he watches her fidget.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 1;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 1;">
“I suppose we could get
creative, too,” he says. “The gap next to your big toes, for
example. That's two more positions for cocks.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 1;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 1;">
Clunk. Clunk. Two more
coins.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 1;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 1;">
“But do we really want to
go to seven cocks? I'm not entirely sure. And I don't know how much
fun it would be for someone to fuck your feet.” He takes out
another coin, spinning it on the table to come to rest with the other
seven. “Then again, some people like that kind of thing. Feet are a
popular fetish. What do you think the odds are that at least two in
forty would have it?” He scratches his chin, his smile turning even
more mischievous.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 1;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 1;">
“The other thing some
people do is let more than one man stand by her head, so she can pass
her mouth back and forth between cocks. Or then can even try putting
two cocks in your mouth at the same time.” He shrugs. “Which
works, but many men are uncomfortable with. You'd have to do a very
good job sucking and licking both cocks for them not to think about
their petty homophobia.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 1;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 1;">
She clenches her hands to
stop from shaking.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 1;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 1;">
“So let's review,” he
says, leaning over the table. “One in each hand.” he moves two
of the coins to the side into their own pile “One between your
breasts. That's three.” He gestures to the new pile of three coins.
Then he slides two more over. “Two more with your feet. One in your
ass, one in your pussy.” One by one, he adds another coin.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 1;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 1;">
Then he smiles at her again
and puts his fingers over the last two coins, sliding them slowly
over to the pile. “And let us not forget the mouth,” he says.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 1;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 1;">
“Nine coins. Nine cocks.
All at the same time.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 1;">
He stacks the coins
together into a neat pile, rising up off the table in a small pillar.
“1001 stories would take almost 3 years. How long do you think it
would take to fuck forty men?” He holds up a hand. “For a normal
person, I mean. Someone who was NOT a raging slut.” He gestures to
the pile of coins. “How long to do it one at a time, without one
night stands?”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 1;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 1;">
“C-could take forever,”
she says.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 1;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 1;">
“How often is too often
to have a new partner?” he asks. “Again, for a <i>normal </i>person?”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 1;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 1;">
Ali
shrugs, blushing as she looks at the coins. “I don't know,” she
says.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 1;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 1;">
“No,
you wouldn't, would you?” He sighs. “Let's say one a month, then.
One every four weeks, in that search for Mister right. Forty months.
That's almost three and a half years.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 1;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 1;">
“That's
like telling 1001 tales.” He shakes his head and gestures back to
the thick stack of coins. “Of course, nine at a time means you'd be
done by the fifth round. Even if you did them one a month, you'd be
done shy of half a year. That's not bad.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 1;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 1;">
Then
he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a stack of nine more coins,
setting them next to the first.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 1;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 1;">
“Two
in one day and you'd be almost halfway there.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 1;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 1;">
He
sets two more stacks down.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 1;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 1;">
Then
counts out four more coins.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 1;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 1;">
“This
is it,” he says. “Forty coins. Forty cocks. Forty thieves.” He
looks at Ali for a few seconds, then chuckles. “Of course, if this
was prostitution, you'd be the cheapest whore in the world. A dollar
each. That would be... pathetic at best. That's not why the coins are
here.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 1;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 1;">
He
sets a glass on the table and begins to drop the coins in one at a
time. “I just wanted to have something to demonstrate the endeavor
you're thinking about. Something to show you just how much we're
talking about. Just how many guys. How many cocks.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 1;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 1;">
Clink.
Clink. Clink.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 1;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 1;">
“I
imagine you'll be very sore.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 1;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 1;">
Clink.
Clink. Clink.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 1;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 1;">
“I
hope you've planned for that.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 1;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 1;">
Clink.
Clink. Clink.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 1;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 1;">
He
sighs and leans forward, looking Ali right in the eyes. “What's
most important is that you know how to make it stop. Have you ever
been skydiving?”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 1;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 1;">
Ali
shakes her head. “This is the wildest thing I've even thought of.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 1;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 1;">
Clink.
Clink. He smiles.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 1;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 1;">
“When
you skydive, the first thing they teach you is to arch your back, and
in fact your whole body. Spread your hands, push your shoulders back,
lift up your feet, the whole nine. It's a pretty distinctive stance,
and not one you get into naturally.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 1;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 1;">
Clink.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 1;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 1;">
“They
tell you to practice it in bed. To try it a few times so your body
gets used to it. But you know all about practicing things in bed.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 1;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 1;">
Clink.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 1;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 1;">
“The
problem is knowing when you've practiced enough. At what point have
you done it enough to know you can do it on command? At what point
have you built up the stamina?” He smirks.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 1;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 1;">
Clink.
Clink.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 1;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 1;">
“Anyway,
that pose is important. Because it's impossible to miss. So you need
to practice that pose. We'll have you do it once before we start, all
stretched out and showing your body off to us. Probably make you hold
it a few seconds to get a good look.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 1;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 1;">
Clink.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 1;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 1;">
“But
after that, if you do it again, we'll stop. Immediately.” He looks
her right in the eye, drawing in her attention with utter sincerity.
“Okay?”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 1;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 1;">
Ali
takes a deep breath as he drops the rest of the coins into the glass
in a torrent that sets butterflies off in her stomach. She nods.
“Okay,” she says. “I- I can do that.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 1;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 1;">
“Excellent,”
he says, standing up and offering her a hand.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 1;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 1;">
She
stands somewhat shakily, and he gives her a pleasant smile.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 1;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 1;">
“Now
then,” he says, taking her to the other room and helping her settle
in.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 1;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 1;">
“Open
Sesame.”</div>
Boot LShttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07391456569268749138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5641597345416947251.post-12142888632228919002015-07-17T15:36:00.000-05:002015-07-17T15:36:38.574-05:00Gearing upI made a new friend the other day. At least, I hope we'll be friends. I met her at a bondage store, and it seemed to me like we all hit it off.<br />
<br />
Yesterday, I asked if I could write her a story. It's been a long time since I've written based purely on a fetlife profile. I hope this is good. I hope she enjoys it.<br />
<br />
And I hope you all enjoy it. Give me a holler, or drop a comment. Tell me there are people still interested, people who want me to start writing again.<br />
<br />
<u>Gearing up</u><br />
<u></u><br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
When I came in, she was already
dressed. The latex so perfectly fit to her that it might have been
painted on, the leather corset tight and only accentuating the lines
of her body. I took in the smirk on her face, the twinkle in her
eyes, and I knew I was in trouble.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I watched the light glinting off the
grommets where her gloves laced down her arms, then trailed my gaze
to her knees. Somehow, I skipped over her waist and my eyes went
straight to her knees. Her knees and the leather boots wrapped so
tightly around her legs that they dragged my eyes down to the floor,
along the lacing and down to the curved toe tapping impatiently on
the floor.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Then I look up, and I see why she was
being impatient. There, just below her waist, is a harness and a
strap on, dangling there and teasing me. She reaches one gloved hand
against the table next to her.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“I wanted you to see everything
before we get started,” she says. She lifts up the white cloth,
letting it dangle so I can see the straps. Then she shows me the
hood, and the harness strap. “Now strip.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I'm smart enough not to say anything,
just stripping quickly down to nothing. She curls a finger towards
me, and I take a few steps towards her. There's something about being
naked while she is so completely dressed. And she is. Barely any skin
is showing anywhere on her body. It's all black latex and leather,
red stripes down the corset, laces up the arms and down the boots,
and a dark, terrifyingly purple dildo hanging between her legs.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
There's so much power in clothing. The
less I'm wearing, the more she's wearing, and everything changes.
Never mind that I could probably overpower her physically. Never mind
that I'm twice her size. Standing there before her, completely naked,
I feel fragile as glass. I feel like she could crush me with barely a
thought. And by the tiny raise in her eyebrow, I can tell she's
feeling the same way.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Look over here,” she says,
gesturing to the table and managing to somehow look down on me even
though I'm taller than she is. “And I'll explain what's going to
happen.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“First, I'm going to put you in this
straight jacket. It'll have you basically hugging yourself, but once
I buckle in the straps, you won't be able to move all that much.”
She smiles, the innocence of it completely negated by the tone of her
voice. “There's a strap that goes between the legs too, but I'm not
going to bother with that one. So you could in theory pull it over
your head to get out.” She puts a hand on my cheek, gently rubbing
the latex against my skin.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“But you wouldn't do that, would
you?” she caresses my cheek. “Because that kind of thing would be
very” she grabs my chin, and her grip feels like iron, “upsetting.”
The look in her eyes is terrifying, and a shiver goes down my spine.
It's all I can do to shake my head and assure her that I wouldn't
resist her. I don't want to.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
She lets go of my chin and gives me a
light tap across the cheek. “Good boy,” she says. “Now, let's
continue.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Once your torso is nice and bound,
I'll put on the hood. We'll get it all nice and tight, like a leather
skin over your face. I might put the gag in right away, but the
blindfold is going to have to wait. I think it'll be fun for you to
see what else we're going to be playing with.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“I'll put the harness on you after
that, I think. You see all these rings? Those are contact points, so
I can suspend you.” She gives a bit of a chuckle and points to a
small pot of ben gay. “Have you picked up what's going to happen
yet? Put the clues together.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Blindfold. Hood. Gag. Harness.
Bound torso, and a very strong, overpowering smell that I can rub
just below your nose. You won't be able to feel the ground beneath
you. You won't see a thing, hear a thing, or smell anything. And all
you'll taste is leather. Delicious, delicious leather. Hold out your
arms.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I raise my arms, just shaking a little
bit, and slide them into the white cloth sleeves of the straight
jacket. Sure enough, soon I'm hugging myself, squeezing tighter as
she pulls the straps through the buckles.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Not too tight, is it?” she asks,
though I can tell she doesn't care what the answer will be. She
laughs and locks in the buckles. “There we go.” She takes a step
back, letting me get another look up and down that gorgeous,
dangerous body. She wiggles her hips a bit, and the dildo waves back
and forth, drawing my eye with the movement.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“There's something you have to
remember,” she says. “Your safeword is your left leg. Kick it as
wildly as you can if you need me to stop.” She steps within a few
inches of me, so close that I can feel the latex of her pants up
against the erection I can't even begin to be ashamed of. The touch
feels almost <i>accidental</i>, but
not so much that I can be sure she didn't mean it. “Nod if you
understand.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I nod
vigorously. She smirks again and steps back, tenting her fingers and
giving me an evil look.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“That
a boy,” she says. “Next comes the mask. And I start taking away
your senses. So listen carefully, because it's the last thing you're
going to hear for a while. I want you to know exactly what's going to
happen.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“I'm
going to put the harness on you, and I'm going to suspend you from
the ground. You won't know how high up you are, and it won't matter.
You won't be able to smell anything but menthol, you won't taste
anything but leather, and you won't see anything but darkness. And
you won't hear anything at all. So all your focus is going to be on
the things you feel, on the things I do to you. And I'm going to do
such things.” Another laugh.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“I'm
going to fuck you. That should be pretty clear. I'm going to fuck
your ass like the worthless slut you are. And I'm going to tease and
torture that little thing you call a cock. I've got a paddle that
taps gently on one side and sends volts of electricity through you on
the other. And you won't know which is which until I do it.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“I'm
going to crush your balls in my hand, and you're going to scream into
your gag. But don't worry, that won't bother me. I may even put a
constant charge through your cock for a little while. Do you ever
wonder what time will feel like when you don't have any basis of
comparison? You can try counting your breaths if you like.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Will
it be just a few seconds of agonizing torture that <i>feels
</i>like it's going on for hours, or
will it really last that long? Will I fuck you for an hour or just
for a few minutes?</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“You
can cum if you want to. I'm not going to stop you. Then again, I'm
not going to stop anything else, either. I know how intense your
nerves get after you have an orgasm. Can you imagine how much worse
it'll be when touch is the only sense you have to focus on?”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
She
laughs again. “Oh, this is going to be fun. Now bend down so I can
put this mask on you.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I
lean forward, and she slides the leather over my head. It gets a
little stuck on my nose, and for a few seconds I'm looking out the
mouth hole, but then she adjusts the hood and it goes all the way
down. I can see out the eye holes. At least for now.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Open
wide,” she says, pushing the gag into the mouth hole without
waiting to see if I comply with her instructions. How could I not?
Why would I not?</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The
laces pull tight behind my head. I can hear the zip as they drag
along the grommets, the leather fastening tighter and tighter around
my head, squeezing me like a second skin. I can still breathe through
the nose, but that breath is the only thing I can hear. That and the
beating of my own heart.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Then
I feel a smear against the top of my mouth, and all I can smell is
strong and minty.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
She
pushes on my shoulder, and I obediently fall to my knees as she
starts fastening a collar around my neck. It's a big collar, locking
my head into place. She bends down and into my view and gives me a
wave.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I can
see her lips moving, but I can't hear anything. I can't hear her
laugh, and thanks to the posture collar, I can't follow her movement
as she steps around me. I can feel the straps tightening around my
torso, and can feel her foot on my back pushing me forward until my
forehead is on the floor, and all I can see is the floor itself.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Then
there's a pull, and I can see more of the floor. I feel something
strap around my ankles, one at a time, and then I get a lovely view
of her boots as she steps around me.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
She
bends down and looks me in the eyes one last time, blowing me a kiss
and giving me a wink, then disappearing for view just a few seconds
before everything else disappears from view and she pulls the
blindfold around my hood.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Then
I feel a tap on my thigh, and something cold on my ass. Something
very cold.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Lubricant.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
She
puts a hand on my lower back, and I swear I can hear – no, <i>feel
–</i> her laughing.
</div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
</div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;"> Time
to start.</span></div>
Boot LShttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07391456569268749138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5641597345416947251.post-3104037780583637602015-06-26T22:54:00.001-05:002015-06-26T22:54:50.981-05:00Rescue, Submission, and DominanceWow! It's been over a year since I've posted anything. I thought I was done, thought I had given up. But you kept reading. And that's fantastic. Plus, people started to request again.<br />
<br />
You've never met Maxine DeFleur, I don't think. But you might get to see a lot more of her. Let me know what you think of her. Let me know if you like her.<br />
<br />
I've never been one for uppity submission. I want to surrender power. But until Maxine, I never realized just how much power you get when you give it all up.<br />
<br />
You'll see; I'll show you.<br />
<u>The Rescue</u><br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Did you ever hear of a sex rescue?
That's when a succubus infiltrates the lair of another demon and
fucks her way through the minions in order to rescue a friend.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Given that succubi are demons, and as
a rule we don't usually <i>have</i>
friends (at least not mortal friends), I'm not surprised that you've
never heard of it. This may be the first one.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Which
gives me the element of surprise.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I'm
not what you call sneaky. Yes, there's subtly in seduction, sleight
moves of subterfuge to get people in the right mindset. But that's
sex, not ninja stuff. I don't do ninja stuff.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
In
fact, the best way for me to get in is to be as brazen and open as
possible. So never mind the magic to hide. I let my wings unfold in
all their stunted glory -only good for gliding, but part of the look-
and my horns grow large and proud from my hairline. My tail slides
out my back, moving with a mind of its own, the tip glistening with
that delightful venom. I let my tongue lengthen and fork, my teeth
grow into those tiny needle like fangs, and my claws sharpen to a
point that they can cut through steel like butter.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I
love my claws. They're useless as weapons. Most of me is useless as a
weapon. My claws only cut objects. Like armor. Or clothing. They're
wickedly sharp, they look badass, and they mean never having to deal
with a pesky buckle or caught zipper.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
As
for the rest, I leave it outside. What succubus worth her spit would
bother wearing clothes? I need every advantage I can get, every scrap
of attention. And very little garners attention like a naked red
haired demon walking confidently up to and then through the gates of
your castle.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I can
taste their arousal as I walk by the guards. The one on the right is
too busy cataloging every curve of my body, the tiny tuft of hair
between my legs, the perkiness of my nipples, and the plump cushions
of my lips. No doubt he'll be using this imagery later. The other
guard is a bit less taken in, and so my tail jolts out and pricks him
once, so fast that they don't see, so subtle that no one notices. Especially not when the poison takes its effect.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
It's
not poison. Not really. Just a venom. A venom that causes a massive
orgasm. Not dangerous, at least not in small quantities. But very
useful when you need a guard to cum in his pants and forget why he
was going to stop you from going inside.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
It
wasn't hard to find them once I got in the building. I just had to
follow my nose. Sex has a definite smell, and eventually you learn to
focus on it. Not just sex though; sexual torture, sex that isn't
exactly consensual, sex that isn't at all consensual – all of these
things have their own flavor. Don't let anyone ever tell you that
having an orgasm means you liked it or that you consented. The body
does what it does, and you have no more control over it than that
guard did. But when you have an orgasm without wanting to, when
someone is doing something you didn't want them to – that has its
own smell.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I
hate it. But right now, I'm following it. Because I know that the
smell will lead me right to her, right to my friend Alci. And right
into the den of demons, the deviant devils. My enemies.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Never
expected that to happen.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
When
I find her, I find them both. Her and Beck, chained together in a
position that they would probably have enjoyed anyway, a position
they probably DO enjoy, when they are at home together.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Mouths to
pussies, legs wrapped around necks. Great fun for parties and even
for lazy Sundays, but no way to sleep. No way to be chained.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I can
see cum dripping out of Alcione. It's not hers, and it's not Beck's,
which means it can only belong to one of them. Worse, it seems to be
dripping right onto Beck. I'm sure that scent will stick with her for
a long time.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
There's
only one good thing about this scene. Well, two. First, while the cum
is definitely demonic, I don't think it's addictive. Sometimes it is.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Second,
there's only one guard. Another succubus, walking around them,
breathing deeply, feeding from their misery and from the betrayal of
their bodies. She's wearing high heels that strap around and around
her leg, snaking their way up to her knees. She makes that special
sound when she walks, that tapping, that clacking, that sound of
control. The way she walks is the difference between dominance and
submission. She is dominating them, even though they did not consent.
And I can't have that.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Hello
there,” I say, stepping out into view. My feet are bare, and I keep
my legs together, my hands by my side and my head down. The only
difference in what we are wearing is her shoes, but the difference in
our roles of power is as extreme as it gets.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“What
do you want?” she asks, never even bothering to ask my name. She
has no doubts about me, no reason to wonder why I'm here.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“I,”
I take a deep breath, sounding coy and innocent, the way thousands of
men and women alike have loved. “I was um. I was hoping that-”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Spit
it out.” she says, her tone cold, but her eyes alight. She's
already turned on. Most succubi live on the edge of arousal all the
time, and the idea of meeting one who is willing, even eager, to
serve that arousal is almost too much to resist. But she has to sound
tough, has to sound dominant, or the illusion will be shattered. And
so much of sex is illusion.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“S-sorry,
mi- miss.” A slight 'slip,' like I almost called her Mistress
automatically. “I was hoping that I could serve you. I saw what you
did today, with them” I gesture to my friends, but don't look their
direction. My eyes are locked on her feet. “and I was hoping that-
that I might be able to submit to, um, to you.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
She
gives an evil grin, glancing at the two naked girls chained up in
such an uncomfortable and humiliating position. “You want what they
get?”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I
nod. I feel like such an ass.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Well
then,” she says, snapping her fingers and pointing at the floor in
front of her. “Kneel, bitch.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I
hurry to kneel before her, and within seconds my tongue is exploring
her insides. I don't need to be a demon to smell her arousal, and I
don't need an extensive tongue to taste it. But they help. Her hands
grip my hair and she begins to moan immediately as I start licking. I
curl my tongue on the very edges of her lips, sliding between them
and moving slowly upwards, then pushing my tongue forward, turning
it, twirling it, and pulling away again.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
She
presses my face into her crotch, and I know that the tease isn't
necessary. I don't need to spend the time to spell out the alphabet
with my tongue. I don't need to reach a hand underneath and press one
finger inside her, and I don't need to press the other hand above her
pussy and rub the tip slowly and gently. I don't need any of my
tricks.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
She
was already so hot, so turned on, that it barely takes a touch before
she's orgasming, completely out of control. Her knees go weak, she
screams, and her life opens up to me.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I've
had a long time to practice drawing life from my partners. I don't
have to kill, and I don't have to drag it out all at once. I can pull
it out slowly, carefully, sensually. Teasing it out of her, slipping
my tongue around it and drawing it into myself, licking away at her,
keeping the chemicals flowing, continuing her orgasm longer and
longer. She pants for breath, gasping and squeezing my hair. I tease
just a bit more of her energy out, like licking her soul, and she
screams, tearing out huge clumps of hair.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
But I
have her life, and the energy is enough to heal me so fast I don't
even feel the pain. I have her life, and I can slip it out of her bit
by bit, weakening her without her even realizing it, without her even
considering defending herself.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I
could have killed her. I probably should have. That would be justice,
after all. But I don't. She didn't do this to my friends. She may
have played a part, but this isn't her fault. She's a victim of her
own nature.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Which
doesn't mean I have to take it easy on her. When she collapses, I'm
pretty sure she'll be unconscious for a long, long time. Maybe she'll
have a coma dream and think about what she's done.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Probably
not. We aren't known for our consciences.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Once
she is out, I waste no time getting my friends free. I don't untie
anything, I don't look for keys. I just slash right through the
chains, right through the straps. My claws can't hurt them, so
there's no reason to be gentle. In a manner of seconds, they're free.
Groggy, barely aware, and probably traumatized. But free.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“I
have to get you out of here,” I say, picking them both up. I'm not
normally this strong, but with the life of another demon inside me, I
have no trouble carrying them away from that room, carrying them
deeper into the castle, away from the smell, away from the memories.
I have no trouble carrying them until they can snap out, just a
little bit, of the state they were in.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Once
I have them somewhere safe, I set them on the floor and try to wake
them up. Alcione has a cut above her eye, and that whole side of her
face is swollen. I run my tongue over the cut, licking at her wound
until the skin heals up and the swelling goes down. She groans her
way to consciousness and looks at me.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“You
always get to go to the nicest places,” I say with a smirk.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“M-max?”
Alcione looks like she doesn't believe her eyes, and makes them much
wider just to be sure. I shift my form to look human again, though I
don't know if that'll help. This isn't the same body I had last time
I knew her.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Sorry
it took so long,” I say. “I kind of died, and had to deal with
all that.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Wh-what
are you doing here?”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“I'm
here to rescue you,” I say.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Aren't
you a little short for a storm trooper?” Beck mumbles. Good. That
means she'll get through this. I hope.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Unless
you'd like it back in your cell, your highness,” I say, smirking my
trademark smirk, “I suggest we get you two the fuck out of here.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“We're
naked,” Alcione says.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“I
noticed. Wait here.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I
don't need to give them as much time as I do. But a few extra seconds
won't hurt. And the two serving girls that I find two hallways down
don't mind giving up their clothing. In fact, they practically rip it
off as soon as they see me. I guess my kind have been here for a
while.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Once
you've met creatures that are designed and evolved to give sexual
pleasure, you have a tendency to want to keep them happy.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I
didn't even have to knock them out. But I did sting them. I'm not
cruel.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
When
I get back, Alcione and Beck are supporting one another, but both
women look like they could collapse at any second. Alcione is crying,
though her tough German exterior won't let me see it.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I
pretend not to, tossing them the simple dresses the two servants so
eagerly gave up and turning to pretend to keep watch. “Get
dressed,” I say.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
In a
perfect world, that would be it. We'd sneak out of the castle,
there'd be a montage of a journey home, and all would be wine and
roses. They'd get some therapy, I'd get some forgiveness, and we
could put all of this behind us.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
But
this is not a perfect world.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Their
guard may still be asleep, but when someone finds her there, and
finds my friends <i>not </i>there,
it does raise an alarm. And it's pretty clear that they were rescued
by a succubus. I did <i>not </i>think
this through.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I
lead them towards the outside wall and start to cut into a window,
peeling away the stained glass and making a nice escape route for
them. “You get out and you run,” I tell them. “Do you hear me?”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Maxine?”
Alcione is still confused. “Nein. Nein, I can't.” she reaches out
and touches my cheek with a tenderness that I have only ever wanted
from her. “Mein schlampe,” she says, the slur coming out of her
mouth with complete endearment.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I
smile and kiss her hand. “Yeah,” I say. “And you have to go.
There's no time. I'll distract them.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“But
how will you get away?” Beck asks.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I
shrug. “Maybe I won't. Could be worse.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Alcione
goes pale and shakes her head. Okay, apparently it <i>couldn't</i>
be worse. Wow. Considering some of the things I've seen her do, some
of the things I've been lucky enough to be a part of, things that
would give priests heart attacks and erections at the same time, it
must have been bad. Like, really bad.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
So
bad that they're not going to leave me here.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Fuck.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Oh, I
did not want to do this.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i> Don't do it Maxine.</i></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
It's
the only way.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i> Oh, I'm going to regret this.</i></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i> </i>I
step towards Alcione and take her face in my hands. I press my lips
softly against hers, my forehead touching hers, and I whisper into
her mind.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
It's
a sound. A word that isn't in any language. The sound of a madman
playing the fiddle while his city burned around him. Those notes of
music, combined with the smell of the flames, the taste of the ashes,
and the indelible image of people screaming while Nero laughs; I
whisper them all into her mind.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“That's
my name,” I tell her. “When you're safe, call me. Just call my
name, and I'll be there.” I close my eyes, pressing my forehead
against hers and already mentally kicking myself for doing this.
“I've never told anyone my True Name before. Don't make me regret
it.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
She
shakes her head. “Nein,” she says.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I
don't know if she's saying she won't make me regret it, or if she's
saying she won't leave. Just in case, I pick up Beck and toss her
through the hole in the window, keeping her from touching any of the
sharp edges.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Alcione
nearly dives after her, and with a nudge of my currently enhanced
strength, I manage to get her out there as well.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Just
in time for the demon to come round the corner with her guards.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I
recognize her. Not her face; I recognize her smell. The smell that
was dripping out of my friend. The smell that came from her cock when
she used it to defile one of the only humans I've ever given a shit
about.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
There
should be a dramatic fight scene, but there isn't. I'm not a fighter.
But what I am is a lover.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
So I
step forward, quickly stinging the two succubi on either side of her,
rapidly hitting them with huge doses of my venom and dropping them to
an orgasmic heap.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Who
are you?” the demon asks, her hands clenched into fists, her
muscles bulging, and her demonic penis as erect and hard and big as
my forearm.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I
shrug. “No one who matters,” I say. I run my hands through my
hair, taking a slow step towards her, my eyes locked on her cock. “No
one to worry about. No one whose name you need.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Where
are my prisoners?”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I
shrug. “I ate them,” I say. Then I gesture at the two succubi.
“How else could I do that?”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“You
<i>killed </i>them?”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I put
a finger to my lips and press my toe into the floor, turning it a few
times and adopting a pouty face. “I got hungry,” I say, in my
best innocent little girl voice. Then I drop my eyes down her body
and back down to her cock. “I'm still hungry,” I say, licking my
lips with a smile.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I'm
not saying that demons are stupid. I'm just saying that a succubus
who knows what she's doing, who knows how to manipulate the scent on
the air, who knows how to move just right- she can get a lot done.
She can crawl naked through the dark hallway of a castle, her hips
moving hypnotically and cat like as she crawls closer and closer,
eyes locked onto a member that is clearly eager to meet her, and that
is big enough to prevent enough blood from going to its owner's
brain. And she can do it in that perfect way, that practiced way that
seems so natural, that there is no resistance. There's no need to
resist. I'm moving like I'm starving, like I'm desperate for her
cock. Like there is nothing in the universe more important to me than
sucking her down my throat and proving to her that I don't even <i>have
</i>a gag reflex.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
She
says something else, something about being in trouble, but my hand
has already wrapped its way around her shaft, and when I look up at
her, I'm pretty sure she has no real idea what she was talking about.
“I was bad?” I say, still all innocent sex kitten. “I guess
that means you'll have to punish me.” It's not hypnosis, but if you
say things in the right tone, you can get a lot across. “After.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I
wrap my lips around her cock, sliding it into my mouth as my
elongated tongue wraps around the shaft a few times. My mouth is open
wide, my lips just barely touching her flesh. Now I can slide my
mouth down her shaft while pulling up with my tongue. Her cock inside
a cock sleeve inside a cock sleeve. Okay, there is something hot
about that.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
So I
give her the best blow job she's ever had, my hands rubbing where my
mouth can't get, my tongue doing things no human tongue can possibly
do. She moans, she groans, she cums right down my throat.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
And I
drink her life. I drink her life with that same slow tease, opening
the gates inside her. My hands move from her cock and find her pussy,
fingering her until she's cumming twice, until I have two places to
pull her life from. I suck and I finger, I moan and I lash out with
my tail, stabbing her again and again, causing orgasm after orgasm
after orgasm. I lose count, probably long after she did.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
She
starts to realize what's happening, and tries to push me off. She
tries to get me away from her. But it's too late. I have her so deep
inside me, I have her life draining down my throat so hard that there
there's no way for her to get loose. Not when she kicks me hard
enough to break all the ribs on my left side. With all that life
flowing into me, the ribs heal almost as fast as they crack, and I
barely notice the pain.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Not
when she stabs a knife into my shoulder and wiggles the blade around,
grinding it against my bones and leaving it in so I can't heal.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
And
certainly not when she tries to burn me, when she puts fire to my
skin as if it would do anything. Fire can't even singe me. I'm a
demon, sure as any of them.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
She
tries to scream, but pleasure keeps getting in the way of her rage.
She tears at me with her claws, but groans when I stab her with my
tail a few more times. She falls to her knees, and I follow her down,
not letting go, not letting up, not even breathing.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
She
pounds on me, breaking my collar bone, snapping my neck. I feel her
claws tearing at my wings, but none of it matters. She's getting
weaker, and I'm getting stronger. We've already passed the point
where her resistance mattered. We've already passed the point where I
might have let her live.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I'm
draining her life, and with it some of her memories. I can see what
she did to my friends. And I'm going to make sure she can't do it
again.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
When
I finish, she's nothing but a shriveled husk, her spirit bound into
hell until after <i>I </i>die.
She was so strong. I'm able to smash the other two succubi together
and knock them out. I feel like I could take on a whole army.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
An
army, but not a goddess. Not a goddess of lust. Especially not after
I've just eaten one of her favorite soldiers, and supposedly eaten
two of her favorite prisoners.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I
collapse to the ground, feeling the pleasure of her presence pressing
down on me, demanding that I submit, insisting that I lose any will
to resist. She is going to make me suffer such exquisite torments for
what I have done.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I
don't struggle. I don't resist. I dive into the submission, letting
her have whatever she wants, letting her do whatever she wants. I
will be the perfect slave for her, submit to her every whim. I will
suffer her wrath and I will never give her any reason to think that I
was even contemplating resistance.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I
will submit to her so completely that she won't be able to stop me.
I'll serve her so utterly that she won't be able to hate me. I'll
give in to her deepest fantasies so completely that she'll never be
able to blame me for what happens.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
It
worked on human souls for centuries. It'll work on a god.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Submission
and Dominance. Two roles, both doing the exact same thing.</div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
This
is going to be fun...</div>
Boot LShttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07391456569268749138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5641597345416947251.post-84445010400494934992014-10-03T13:22:00.001-05:002014-10-03T13:22:40.520-05:00Nancy and the bullToday's request is a bit more graphic than I usually like to get. I prefer the tease, where the sex is off camera. But this... how the hell could I do this off camera?<br />
<br />
<u>Nancy and the Bull</u><br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white;">Jonathan pulled on the rope
around his forearms, trying to find some give in the shoulders. He wasn’t
trying to escape. But his Mistress gave his head a little kick anyway.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white;">“Hold still, fag,” she said,
shifting her feet. She crossed her ankles on his shoulder, the weight of her
feet pressing against the nerve above his collar. There wasn’t enough pressure
to really hurt, but there was enough that he couldn’t have ignored her if he
wanted to.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white;">“Sorry mistress,” he said.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white;">“Don’t talk. You’ll miss the
show.” She rubbed one foot against his cheek, pointing his face towards the bed.
“And I want you to remember this.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white;">Jonathan looked at the bed,
knowing there was no way he could possibly forget it, not even if he wanted to.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white;">Nancy was lounging on the
bed. Nancy, who he’d had a crush on for months. Nancy, who he’d finally worked
up the courage to ask out, then nearly passed out when she said yes. Nancy, who
was perfect and beautiful and amazing. Nancy, who was naked, horny, and ready
to have sex.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white;">But not with Jonathan.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white;">“You can begin,” his mistress
said, but she wasn’t talking to him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white;">Jonathan didn’t know the man’s
name. He didn’t suppose it mattered. When the man stepped up to the bed,
Jonathan fought down the instinct to jump forward. Nancy was naked, and so was
the man. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white;">There shouldn’t be another man naked in bed with <i>his</i> girlfriend.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white;">The man stopped and turned
towards Jonathan and his mistress. He stood so his cock was inches from
Jonathan’s mouth. He was only half hard, but it looked more like a forearm than
a cock. It was huge, wide all around and longer than Jonathan could ever hope
to be.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white;">“I’ll bet Nancy will love
this,” his mistress said. “After all that time with a man like you, she
deserves a full sized one. Don’t you think?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white;">Jonathan didn’t say anything.
He couldn’t take his eyes off the monstrous cock in front of him, a cock that
was slowly stiffening and somehow managing to get even bigger as it did.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white;">The man laughed and reached
out to tousle Jonathan’s hair. “Don’t worry, fag boy,” he said. “You’ll get
your chance.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white;">Then he turned around and
stepped up onto the bed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white;">His mistress patted him on
the head. “You know there’s no coming back from this, right? You’ll never be
able to pleasure her again. He’s going to rip her so far open that your tiny
little dick will be like throwing a hot dog down a hallway. She probably won’t
even be able to feel you inside her anymore. I mean, look at the size of him.
Nancy, what do you think?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white;">“I think it’s huge,” she
said, her legs spread wide and a smile on her face. “I think he’s going to rip
me in half.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white;">“And that turns you on, doesn’t
it?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white;">“Oh my god, yes.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white;">His mistress laughed. “That’s
because you’re a cock hungry whore. Isn’t it?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white;">“Yes mistress!” Nancy said,
already wriggling on the bed, her eyes locked on the huge cock in front of her.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white;">“Say it.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white;">“I’m a cock hungry whore!”
she shouted, her arms twitching like she wanted to reach out and pull the man
inside her.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white;">Then she looked over at
Jonathan with a tiny hint of worry. “Are you sure?” she asked.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white;">He nodded, his erection
giving him the willpower not to back out.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white;">“Then I am too,” she said.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white;">And like that, it started.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white;">Nancy yelped and giggled as
soon as the tip of the man’s cock pressed against her pussy. “Wow,” she said. “It’s
just…” he pushed it a little bit deeper. Nancy gasped. “So…” she gave a long
groan, her whole body shivering as the bull pushed himself further inside her. “So
big!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white;">The bull turned and locked
eyes with Jonathan, a smile on his face as he pushed himself further, as Nancy
wriggled in pleasure, screamed in pain, and moaned as both sensations twirled
around her, sending her mind off to wonderful places.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white;">“Did she ever make that face
with you?” his mistress asked. He didn’t have to answer. “That’s what a woman
looks like when she’s actually being satisfied.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white;">The bull pounded against
Nancy, ramming himself deeper and deeper inside her. Her back arched, she
reached up and put her hands on the man’s shoulders. She bit her lip, then
threw her head back when he pushed in all the way. She collapsed back on the
bed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white;">He pulled back what seemed
like forever, pulling his cock all the way out of Jonathan’s girlfriend, then
rammed it back in with brutal force.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white;">Nancy’s body jerked and
twitched like she was possessed, her arms flying out to the side, her back
arching farther than Jonathan thought possible, her head falling back. Her
mouth was open wide, and a scream of pleasure was ripped out of her.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white;">She shivered enough that her
hair undulated on her head. She wrapped her ankles around the man who was
fucking her so hard that she couldn’t speak, and her eyes seemed to roll back
into her head.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white;">“Oh, I think you’re about to
see something new,” his mistress said. “This is called an orgasm. It’s what
women have when a man actually satisfies them.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white;">Jonathan blushed, pulled on
the rope, and prepared to argue. But his mistress pointed her toes, pushing
down with her ankle and pressing the top of her foot against his neck to stop
him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white;">“I know you think you’ve
gotten women to orgasm before,” she said, her voice dripping condescension the
way his back was dripping sweat. The way Nancy was dripping all over the man’s
cock.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white;">“But look at that,” his
mistress said as Nancy screamed again, her whole body shivering like it was
being electrocuted, her fists clenching the sheets of the bed like she was
afraid she was going to be pulled off it. Her shoulders pressed against the
bed, her back arched as she turned her whole upper body into a tunnel for his –
for the <i>bull’s</i> – cock. The sheen of
sweat on her body was so sexy. Her ass was so perfectly shaped. Jonathan
stopped blushing; not enough blood.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white;">“That’s real. That’s not
faked. Your girlfriend there, delicate little flower that you thought she was,
is getting the fun of a real man. She’s getting to feel a real orgasm now.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white;">His mistress raised her voice
and addressed Nancy. “Aren’t you, you horny little slut?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white;">Nancy responded with a
wordless cry of pleasure as the bull pounded at her again.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white;">His mistress laughed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white;">Jonathan felt the pain of
being on his knees for too long and tried to concentrate on that rather than on
the display in front of him. His mistress was right; he’d never seen Nancy act
like that before. He’d never seen her gasping for breath the way she was, never
seen that smile that refused to fade. He’d never seen her cum like that, never
heard her scream in pleasure like that. Jonathan had never seen Nancy that
turned on. He’d never seen her have a second orgasm.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white;">Or a third.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white;">And he definitely wouldn’t
have the stamina to give her a fourth.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white;">The bull finally pulled out
of her, and Nancy curled up into a fetal position of pleasure. The man was
still hard. How was he still hard?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white;">He stepped up to Jonathan and
smacked the huge cock against Jonathan’s cheek. His mistress laughed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white;">“I’m covered in the bitch’s
cum,” the bull said. “Lick me clean.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white;">He reached out and put a hand
on the back of Jonathan’s head, pulling him forward with inexorable force.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white;">“And when you’re done with
me, you can go lick my cum out of her.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white;">His mistress pushed her foot
against his back, helping Jonathan lean forward. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white;">“You heard the man,” she
said. “Try not to dislocate your jaw.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
Boot LShttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07391456569268749138noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5641597345416947251.post-19777534807156537442014-09-22T14:00:00.000-05:002014-09-22T14:00:01.023-05:00Objects don't speakToday, I have a request. I love requests.<br />
<br />
I don't know how to explain my process. Someone asked, and I didn't have an answer. All I could tell them was that I just let the idea simmer for a bit, then the story jumps into my head with a basic structure, and grows once I start typing. I don't know how else to explain it. I have no other words.<br />
<br />
And the best way I can tell if I did a good job is by figuring out whether or not a story turns ME on. And this one... does.<br />
<br />
<u>Objects don't speak</u><br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
They say
most communication is non-verbal. I can attest to that. Verbal communication is
when you talk to someone, and talking always takes place between people. That’s
why she won’t talk to me.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I don’t
count.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She still
makes her will clear. She’ll tap me on the head when she wants me to open my
mouth. She’ll pull on my leash when she wants me to move. A foot under my chin
means to lift my head. Steady tugging on the leash means to keep going. And a
slap across the cheek means to stop.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She didn’t
need to explain those things to me. Didn’t need to use words, not even small ones,
to explain this to me. I learned through trial and error. Which was all I
deserved, really. She made it very clear that only people deserve words.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So when she
said “Get on your knees slave,” I knew she wasn’t talking to me. She was
talking to him. I was already on my knees. I have been for so long I can barely
remember a time when I wasn’t.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And when he
said “Yes Goddess,” I got a little jealous, but I also knew what it meant. It
meant that he was more than me. That he was higher up than me, that I was meant
to serve him same as her. If he was able to speak, if he was given <i>permission</i> to speak, that meant he was
better than me. Objects don’t speak. Slaves speak. Slaves are more important
than objects.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I still
have to listen, of course. I can’t see anything, which is a small comfort. I
don’t have to look at him, don’t have to see him there. I don’t have to watch
him fuck the most important woman in my life. I don’t have to watch her smile
as he serves her. I don’t have to see the sparkle in his eyes when she says “Now
lick my boots, bitch.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I don’t
have to watch him crawl towards her. I don’t have to watch him cradle her ankle
in his hands. I don’t have to watch his tongue trace over the leather.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But it’s a
small comfort. Because while I don’t have to see it, I <i>do </i>have to hear it. I have to listen to them fuck. I have to hear
the sounds of pleasure she makes as he satisfies her. And I have to live with
the knowledge that while <i>he</i> can
satisfy her, it’s something that I will never do.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I don’t
have to watch him lick her boots. But when she puts her feet up on my back and
tells him “Now suck the heels like they’re a cock,” I have to hear it. I have
to feel him lift the weight from my back, have to feel him moving up and down
the heel of her boots.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She
encourages him. “That’s a good little bitch,” she says, and I know she’s not
talking to me. “Deep throat them you cock hungry bitch. God, you’re such a whore.
Doesn’t it embarrass you?” She laughs, but not at me.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She settles
herself onto my back, and I can feel the bare legs of my Goddess. I can feel
her flesh on mine, and the pressure of her weight is nothing. I am touching
her, and that’s all that matters. Her legs spread, her boots pressing against
my arm and my leg. Her hands touch me on the back. It’s heaven being so close
to her, being touched by her. I am her couch, and it is wonderful.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But then
she snaps her fingers. “Come on,” she says. “Get down here and lick my cunt you
pussy licking piece of shit.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And she’s not
talking to me. I have to stay still, her seat as she wriggles from the pleasure
being given to her by another man. I have to feel the stubble on his chin when
it rubs against my ribs as he licks her. I have to feel his hands when he uses
me for balance. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I don’t
have to see it, but I can feel him worshiping her with his tongue, doing all
the things that I long to do, the things I would do anything for a chance at. I
get to hear her sounds of pleasure, and I know how good of a job he’s doing. I know
that I can do better. But I can’t say anything.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’m not to
be spoken to, which means I’m definitely not allowed to speak.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I have to
listen to him flail around, I have to feel his cheek against my side as he
tries to find that special place that will push her over the edge. I have to feel
it all. And the best I can do is pretend that some of her laughter, maybe just
a tiny bit, is directed at me. That on some level, she’s laughing at my
willingness to be where I am rather than just as his ineptitude.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When she finally
makes him stop, when her form peels away from mine, I’m left feeling like I’ve
lost everything. Her touch was so important, once it disappeared I could feel
the outline of her flesh on mine. All I had left was the smell of her sweat in
my nose and the dripping liquid on my side. Some of it was her. Some of it was
just his spittle. I felt it drip down my skin, pooling underneath me until it
finally started dripping into a puddle beneath me. I couldn’t wipe it off. I
couldn’t move.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Objects don’t
move. Objects don’t wipe themselves off.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Objects
just stay where they are. They remain still even as they hear her getting fucked
up against a wall. They remain still as she screams her pleasure. They remain
still as he grunts like an animal.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I know better
than to move. I’m just glad I don’t have to see it. I’m glad I don’t have to
watch her legs wrap around his waist, her ankles crossing. I can hear the bend
of the leather in her boots, but I don’t have to see it.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I can smell
their sex, can smell his musk and her pleasure. I can hear it. But I don’t have
to see it. I don’t have to watch it.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I just stay
still, suffering in silence, until they finally stop. Until she groans long and
loud. Until I hear him say “May I please cum Goddess?” and I hear her reply.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“No.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Please?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I hear her
laugh at him, at the desperation in his voice. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Please
Goddess!” he begs. “I don’t know if I can stop.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Not yet,”
she says.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I hear them
continue, hear her groan again. I don’t have to watch her eyes roll back, don’t
have to watch her bite her lip.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Now?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Yes,” she
says, panting the word out. “Cum for me bitch. Right now.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And I have
to hear him scream in pleasure and release. I have to hear it, but I can’t
move.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I have to ignore
the drip between my legs. I have to ignore the pressure, the animal desire to
get involved. I’m not involved. I’m just here.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Her boot
slides under my chin. It’s still wet from when he licked it, and I can feel the
slime of his spit against my flesh. She lifts my head up, then taps me on the
top of the head.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I open my
mouth, obedient object that I am.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Come here,
bitch. Put your cock in here.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“In his
mouth, Goddess?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I hear a
slap, but I feel nothing.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Not him,
bitch. It. It is just an object. It’s here to get you clean. Can’t have you
going back to work with your cock all covered in my juices, can I?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Can I take
off the condom, Goddess?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Yes. But
when you’re good and clean, make sure to put it in the hole so that the object
can slurp it clean.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I don’t
close my mouth. I want to. I want to close my mouth, I want to shake my head. I
want to make it all stop. And I know that I can. I can prevent any of it from
happening. All it would take is a word. One word, and everything would stop. I
could be a person again.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I could say
it. But I don’t. I can’t bring myself to say it.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When he
puts his hand on my head, I don’t say it. When he slides his cock into my mouth
and tells me “slurp it clean,” I don’t say it. When he pushes it deeper and
deeper, so deep that I wonder if his cock will ever end, I still don’t say it.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I could have
said it when he finally pulls his cock out of my throat. I could have said it
when he had me lick her juices from his balls. I could have said it when he
laughed at me and called me pathetic.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I could
have said my word, but I didn’t. He called me pathetic, and all I could think
was that he had actually spoken to me. He had given me a word, even if it was
only one.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I heard her
hit him. I don’t know where, but I heard his pain. “Don’t speak to the
furniture,” she said. Then she tapped my head again. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My mouth
popped open, and she put something inside. Something made of latex. Then she
closes my mouth, and I can taste the cum on the inside of the condom.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Next time
you disobey me,” she says, “I’m going to make you suffer a lot more than a
little kick. Now get up, get dressed, and get out.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She settles
back down on my back, dripping on my side again, forming a whole new stream
across my stomach.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Yes
Goddess,” I hear him say.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She ignores
him. No more words for him.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And none
for me.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
Boot LShttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07391456569268749138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5641597345416947251.post-24227463878667103272014-09-18T09:34:00.000-05:002014-09-18T09:34:00.320-05:00Her voice in his earThis... didn't come out the way I expected it to. Sometimes, stories get away from me. It made me uncomfortable (in all the right ways) as I was writing it, though. So maybe it's still a success.<br />
<br />
It's a strange thing about inspiration. Sometimes I look at someone's list of fetishes and the answer just jumps out at me. I just take those key words and let the story flow. Other times, like this time, I look at the list and an idea jumps out at me, but it's not something I can put my finger on. It's not one of the words in front of me. It's something new.<br />
<br />
Anyway, I hope you like it.<br />
<br />
<u>Voice in his ear</u><br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
David sat
alone, coffee steaming on the table in front of him. When his phone rang, he
pressed the button and a voice came into his ear. Her voice.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Do you
think it’s strange sitting by yourself?” she asked. He couldn’t answer. She had
been very clear about that. The call was one way. <i>Just sit there and take it</i>. That’s what she said.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
For all
David knew, she was halfway across the country. Maybe she was on a business
trip. Maybe she was sitting around her apartment, lounging in a silk negligée. Maybe
she was walking down a busy street.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“It’s
probably not all that bizarre, not yet,” she said. “But sooner or later, it
will start to stick out. Did you order that coffee I told you to order? Is it
there on the table in front of you, steaming and hot?” She caressed the words with
a mixture of tease and sex in that perfect balance that only she could manage.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Put your
hands on the table,” she said. “Palms down, on either side of the coffee.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
David put
his palms carefully on the table top. Cold, but not uncomfortable.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Make sure
you’re sitting up straight,” she told him.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Then there
was a stretch of silence. Maybe she was in an elevator with someone else. Maybe
she was at home brushing her teeth. Maybe she was using the bathroom. Maybe she
was just taunting him, making him wait. Making him feel how much power she had
over him. Sitting alone, completely in her control, obeying a voice over a
phone line. Doing nothing without instruction.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“You still
there? Good boy,” she said, after what seemed like an eternity. “If anyone
comes to ask how you are, I want you to tell them that you’re fine and you don’t
need anything. The coffee is fine. Do you understand? Nod your head if you
understand.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
David
nodded his head, his face scrunching in confusion. Was she watching him?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She
giggled. “You did it, didn’t you? I’m not even there. I don’t know if you’re
obeying my orders. For all I know, you’re sitting at home in your underwear,
jerking off to the dulcet tones of my wonderful voice. But you’re not, are you?
You’re sitting in a diner, spine straight, hands on the table, nodding to a
voice that no one else can hear.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“It’s
delightful, you know. I haven’t asked you to do anything strange, not yet, but
you’re completely in my power. I can make you do anything. I can make you
suffer. I like it when you suffer for me. It’s a beautiful thing.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“And that’s
kind of the point, isn’t it? It doesn’t matter how bad the suffering is. It doesn’t
matter what I make you do. The point is that you’ll do it. You’ll suffer
because I want you to. You’ll take whatever I dish out because that’s what you
want to do.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“There’s no
one forcing you, David. You could get up and leave any time. You can hang up on
me, and I’ll never know. I’ll just keep talking until I’m finished.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“But you
won’t hang up on me, will you? You’ll sit there, rapt in attention, your back as
erect as it can get, listening to everything I say. And you’ll probably stay
there for a while after I hang up, just in case there’s more I’m going to say.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“You won’t
know when I’m done. Maybe I’m just letting a silence stretch.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She stopped
talking again. David strained his ears, trying to make out anything on the
other end of the line. Was she on a subway? Was she watching television? Was
she lounging in a bath tub, her body draped in bubbles, the aroma of flowers
clawing at the air as she smiled at his suffering, little beads of sweat
forming perfectly on her forehead? <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Maybe she
was having a cigarette. Maybe she was dragging hard off the long shaft of
burning tobacco. Maybe the smoke was slithering through her mouth, sliding down
into her lungs for a brief respite before being slowly released out through her
nose in a smooth cloud. Maybe she was getting ready to flick some ash off the
cigarette, looking for an ashtray. Was she smiling? Was she enjoying the
torture he was going through?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“How long
would you wait?” she finally asked. “Would you sit in that diner for five
minutes of silence? Ten? An hour? Will you be there until they close, desperate
to hear my voice and terrified to hang up?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“What if I
tell you something important? What if, after an hour of absolute silence, I
tell you a word? Just one word. Something simple, but so important.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“What if I
make you wait for as long as I can hold out, and then I tell you what your safe
word will be? Can you risk not knowing it? I’m careful, you know I am, but what
if I go too far? How will you stop me if you don’t know the right word? It’s
not like I kept it from you. I could say it over and over, just to make sure
you won’t forget. I could be very specific. But will you still be there,
listening, when I finally decide to do that?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She
laughed, then gave a sharp inhale of breath. Was she teasing him, or was she
teasing herself? More smoking, or just a happy little gasp?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Some day,”
she said, “I think I’m going to do this when you’re talking to other people. I
think it would be fun for you to try to pay attention to what someone else says
while I whisper in your ear. I could whisper sweet nothings, or I could whisper
terrifying things that speak to your deepest fantasies.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Could I
make you completely lose your train of thought? Could I make you hard somewhere
incredibly inappropriate? A funeral? A retirement home? A family gathering?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Or maybe I’ll
just make you my puppet. I could have you go somewhere and repeat whatever I
tell you to say. You could say out loud the things I whisper in your ear, no
matter how depraved my whispers get. Maybe I’ll send you to church. That could
be fun.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Imagine
it, my love. You sitting in a confessional as I feed you lines to say to the
priest. Telling him that you’ve sinned, and giving him such a list of sins as
he’s never heard. We can wait until you find a very old priest. One who’s been doing
confession for decades. One who has heard it all, who can’t be shocked by
anything. Then we’ll put that to the test, won’t we? We’ll see how depraved we
can get before he calls it quits.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I could
make you confess to doing things you’d never, ever do. Those things that even <i>I </i>think are taboo. Those things that are
your hard limits. I won’t make you do any of them. But you’ll tell the priest that
you have. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“What would
really shame you? Most people, most <i>normal</i>
people, would find it hard to confess to committing murder. Or just adultery.
But what about you? Would we have to make up some underage girl for you to have
had sex with? My god, I’m disgusted just thinking about it. Maybe something
less horrific, like molesting a mannequin at the mall.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Maybe we
can have you tell the priest that you went to a glory hole. You could invite
him to come. Tell him when you’ll be there, tell him you hope he shows up. Tell
him you hope to see him there, even though you won’t know it’s him. After all,
he’d just be sticking a dick in a hole, and that’s all you’d see. But you could
invite him anyway.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Would that
make you hard? Would confessing these things, even the horrible ones that you
would never do in a million years… would that make you horny?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
David took
a few breaths to steady himself as the silence descended again. He was
uncomfortable, not just at the suggestions, but at his body’s reactions to
them. He didn’t want to think of himself that way, as someone who would like
that kind of thing. But the erection said otherwise. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It was the
tone of her voice. That hint of laughter under her words. He could almost see
her eyes sparkling with mischief as she talked. He could almost see the little
upturned corner of her lips, that crooked smile that tore away any thoughts of
resistance he might have entertained. It wasn’t what she was saying. It was the
way she was saying it. It was the way he knew she’d do it, the way he knew <i>he’d</i> let her.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I love
this,” she said. “I feel like I’ve completely hijacked you, like you’re my prisoner.
No, more than a prisoner. A puppet. You’ll dance when I pull your strings.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Are you
anatomically correct, little puppet? When I tell you to come home, and you
knock on my door, kneeling in the hallway, will you still be hard? Will I open
the door and see a little stain on the front of your pants?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I wouldn’t
be mad, you know. Go ahead and stain your pants. I’m just going to cut them off
you anyway.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“That’s
right, puppet. I said cut. Not rip. I’m not going to take off your clothes. I’m
going to slice them to pieces. I’ll take a knife and cut off your tie. I’ll
carve the buttons from your shirt. I’ll sever your belt, gouge apart the seams
of your pants. I’ll trace the blade along your flesh, cutting away everything
that isn’t a part of you. I’ll cut and cut until you’re completely naked. Until
you’re just standing there as my puppet, completely exposed to the outside
world.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Then I’ll
let you in out of the hall.” She laughed with the full weight of her sadism
laid as bare as naked flesh.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Are your
palms still on the table?” she asked, her voice light. “Are they sweaty yet?
Are you shaking? How hot are you?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Did you
forget about your coffee?” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
Boot LShttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07391456569268749138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5641597345416947251.post-1186658752133821532014-09-16T11:49:00.001-05:002014-09-18T09:34:28.576-05:00Ask Boot... something.<div class="MsoNormal">
I’m trying to get back into writing. It’s difficult; my
other self keeps demanding the use of our brain for ‘work’ and other wastes of
time. But right now, the brain is mine, so I want to write.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And while I have no inspiration (someone please make a
request!), I do have something I can do. I can ask myself questions. So I
present to you another Ask Boot:<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>What kind of boots do
you like?<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The kind people wear. Especially girls. I’m pretty sure I’m
at least mostly straight.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Okay, that was a whole
lot of qualification. You want to explain that?<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My sexuality? Sure. That’s not where I thought you were
going; I was all ready to start describing a sexy pair of boots. But this is
good too. Probably better.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<a name='more'></a><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
I am a cisgendered male who is heteroflexible. That means
that I genetically have one X and one Y chromosome, I was born male, I was
raised male, and I identify myself as male. I <i>do</i> think that parts of my brain are female, and I don’t mind taking
up a female identity in spaces where I can leave my body behind. But I’m not
looking to dress in women’s clothing, I’m not looking to be androgynous, and I’m
not looking to actually become a woman. That’s not my thing. I will (and do)
support people who feel some kind of gender dysphoria, but that’s not what we’re
talking about. I’m male. I’m a guy, and I’m happy that way, even if I sometimes
like to pretend otherwise. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Heteroflexible is a bit more complex. I’ve identified as
heterosexual all my life. I can’t really point to any man I’ve ever looked at
and been sexually attracted to. There are men that I find attractive, but it’s
always in that way of “I understand why people are attracted to that” kind of
thing. I think Neil Patrick Harris is very attractive. So is Joseph Gordon
Levitt. But while I think both of them are attractive, I can’t honestly say I’m
attracted to either of them.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But there’s always been this nagging feeling like I’m not <i>just</i> straight (or heterosexual, if you
prefer… and you should). I think the questioning started pretty early on in
puberty, but I didn’t keep a diary or anything, so I can’t give you an exact
date. What I know is that I tried to figure out if I was gay (or bisexual), and
if not, why not?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I come from a weird family. My aunt wanted me to be gay
because she wanted to see if my father would really be as accepting as he
claimed to be, or if it was a case of “it’s fine for other people to be gay,
but not MY son” sort of thing. Regardless, there was never any overt pressure
to like this kind of person or that kind. My parents were very supportive (and
for the record, I think my dad would have been fine with it). It may be the
fact that they were so supportive that gave me the space to ask these questions.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
What didn’t I like about the idea of being gay? Was I
opposed to someone bending me over a table and fucking me in the ass? No, not
at all. Quite the contrary, in fact. Just asking myself that question led to a
ton of very fun fantasies. I definitely was not opposed to getting fucked, to
being dominated, to being held down and used for the pleasure of someone else.
I wasn’t even opposed to the idea of someone cumming inside me.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So was it the other thing? Did I have a problem with the
thought of putting a penis in my mouth? Well, I didn’t like the wording, that’s
for sure. Too wimpy. Fine: how did I feel about sucking cock? That sounded <i>way</i> better. And more interesting.
Intriguing. It sounded like something I could totally see myself doing. Again,
fantasy after fantasy. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Of course, these fantasies always had a female element.
Sometimes I was female. Most of the time, though, there was a woman who was
with the man, who was my dominant. She would want me to let the guy fuck me <i>for her</i>. I would suck his cock <i>for her</i>. All of this was stuff I could
do, but only for a girl.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Maybe it was a matter of the taste of cum? No, I tried that.
Cum is actually more or less tasteless. It’s got kind of a slimy texture, but
it’s tasteless. I never really liked it, because the cum I was tasting was
always my own, and by the time I came, I was no longer as enamored with the
idea. I had orgasmed, and the dirty and perverse fantasies that pushed me over
the edge were evaporating into thin air. So it took a long time to get myself
to do it, and when I did, I can’t say I liked it. But maybe it would be different
if I was still all turned on.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So it looked like I had nothing against any gay activity. I
like cock. I love mine, and the idea of pleasing someone else’s doesn’t disgust
me in the slightest. It appeals to me, somewhat actively. So what’s the
problem? <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
For a long time, I thought the problem was just a matter of
finding the <i>right</i> guy. Finding a guy
I was attracted to. I figured it would just happen. But college came and went,
and while there were plenty of gay friends who were willing and interested, I wasn’t
attracted to them. Life continued, and I found myself more the object of desire
from men than from women. But I didn’t feel it. So what’s the deal?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Was it the kissing? I can get past kissing. I’m not even a
fan of it generally, but it’s not like I’ve never kissed a man before. It wasn’t
a great experience, but I’ve done it. I know what it feels like to have his
whiskers against my lips while his tongue awkwardly presses into my mouth. I
imagine the ‘real’ thing would be different; we were drunk and playing Truth or
Dare. It’s not the same thing.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Anyway, for a very long time, I thought this just meant that
I was heterosexual. I may be one of the only people in the world to lament the
fact that I subscribe to traditional heteronormative gender and sexual roles. I
was resigned to it. I consoled myself by reminding myself that I’m still
submissive, masochistic, desperate for humiliation, and have a list of kinks
longer than my… well, it’s long. Let’s just say that. So it’s not like I’m <i>normal</i>. That was comforting.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But every once in a while, the question would raise its head
again. I don’t have a problem with anal (at least, not with receiving it). I
don’t have a problem with oral. I like the idea of getting fucked in the ass.
Being told to suck cock would turn me on. Even doing them in that order has a
weird spice to it. So why can’t I do anything with a guy?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Maybe it was a matter of strap
ons. I know they’re fun. I’ve sucked rubber cock. It’s more humiliating than
the real thing, I imagine. Because there’s no pleasure being gained from the act
itself, other than the way I’m debasing myself. She likes it because she can
make me do it and can insult me for doing it, I like it for exactly the same
reason. But a real man would also like it for the whole orgasm thing.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And something about <i>that</i> is appealing too.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I thought I was stuck. Turns out,
not so much. The answer was right there in front of me the whole time. I find
women attractive, but I like cock. I want to get fucked, I want to suck cock,
but I’m only attracted to the female form.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There are three ways to put those
things together. There’s the strap on… done that. It’s nice, but not enough.
There’s the ‘doing it <i>for her</i>’ thing
I talked about… not sure I could do it, even if it came up. But there’s a third
option.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
What if <i>she</i> has a cock? Not a rubber one, not one that can be removed or
switched out for a larger model when she wants to scare me. What if she has a
cock that’s just as real as mine, that gets hard, that will cum on my face,
that will fuck me in the ass, and that will make her grunt like an animal and
have orgasms at my expense? (I love that term. Sex should always be consensual,
but ‘having orgasms at my expense’ just has a great ring to it).<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
That would do it, wouldn’t it? I’d
get the thing I’m attracted to (namely, the female form), but I’d also get the
cock. And there are lots of ways to find that sort of thing. There are
transvestites. There are drag queens. There are the pre-op transgendered (or
those who never intend on getting surgery). There are hermaphrodites. Okay, the
last one is pretty rare, but the first few aren’t.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But I do need her to pass. I don’t
mean that I need people in public to think she’s a girl; I don’t give a shit
what people in public think of me. I’d be happy to be with a man on dates. But
when it comes to sex, she needs to look like a woman. A woman with a dick. It
doesn’t have to be bigger (or smaller) than mine; I don’t care about size. I
just care about functionality.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I haven’t found someone like that
yet. I mean, I’ve met plenty of people who are women with a penis, but I haven’t
met a dominant one that I have hit it off with yet. It seems like a
disproportionate number of them are submissive (the whole ‘sissy’ thing), but
that doesn’t mean there aren’t dommes with cocks out there. I just don’t know
any in a personal (biblical) way. I haven’t played with one. Maybe, if and when
I do, I’ll call myself ‘selectively bisexual’ or just bisexual. Maybe I’ll
still be heteroflexible.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
Boot LShttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07391456569268749138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5641597345416947251.post-17053009549413112712014-09-02T13:24:00.000-05:002014-09-02T13:24:02.481-05:00No such thing as a safe betDo you know the secret to make a small fortune through gambling? Start with a large fortune. Gamble until it's small. Then stop.<br />
<br />
Making bets is never a good idea. But then, sometimes it's more fun to lose than to win.<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<u>How could I lose?</u></div>
<a name='more'></a><u> </u><o:p></o:p><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
I think there’s some law of the universe that brings doom
along with those words.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But I didn’t know any better. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Trash talking is a normal part of any competition. And given
the stakes, it made sense to taunt her with all the things I would do to her,
with how I would use her body for my own enjoyment. I figured that maybe it
would make her <i>want</i> to lose, make her
hesitate as she thought about the things I would do. I knew Caroline likes
whips and chains and stuff. I knew she loved the smell and the feel of leather.
She even told me she liked the taste. So I figured maybe teasing her about how
I was going to tie her up would help me win.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And I didn’t pay attention to her trash talk. Who pays attention
to trash talk? Yeah, yeah; you’re going to do all those things to me. I tell
you I’m going to fuck you in the ass, you tell me you’re going to use a strap
on and fuck me in the ass. I tell you I’m going to tie you up, you tell me you’re
going to blindfold me. I say I’m going to whip you, you say you’ll put clamps
on my nipples. All in good fun, right?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Granted, Caroline knew a whole lot more than I did about the
subject. But what more do I need? I’m going to make you suck my cock. And she’s
going to make me suck hers, but not until <i>after</i>
she fucks me in the ass. I’m going to spank her ass red. She’s going to whip my
back raw. I’ll pinch her nipples. She’ll squeeze my balls until my eyes pop
out.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
That one made me laugh.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’ll make her kiss the ground I walk on. She’ll make me lick
her boots, treads and all. I’ll make her crawl like a dog. She’ll make me live like
one, sleeping in a cage and eating from a bowl without using my hands.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’ll fuck her until she cums. She’ll fuck me until I come,
then make me lick it up.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
All in good fun, right?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’d be lying if I said that the trash talk wasn’t appealing.
I mean, Caroline has a <i>dirty</i> mind.
Where does she come up with all this stuff? She’s going to put a dog collar around
my neck, shackles around my wrists and ankles. She’ll put a bar between my
ankles to spread my legs and hook my wrists to my neck so I look like a begging
dog. She’ll trample me, and kick me. She’ll bite me. She’s going to kick me
until I scream out my safeword.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I knew it would never happen. After all, there was no way I
was going to lose, but the ideas were kind of hot. I thought about having her
wrapped up in leather or in vinyl, and that image was good. I mean, really good.
Huge boots like a stripper, all laces and latex, hugging the curves of her legs
like paint.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And, she told me, I’m going to lick those boots clean. Top
to bottom. Sole and all. She’s going to make me go out in public wearing nothing
but a coat. She’ll make me kneel naked in front of her window. I’ll spend the
weekend sleeping on the floor. My tongue will be used for many things, but never
for talking.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I think that was my favorite threat. There’s just so much
sexual energy in that little threat. I told her I’d keep her mouth full. She
laughed.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I thought we were just having a good time. I thought my plan
was working, that I was turning her on. I figured she must love a good, strong,
dominant man. She’s into whips and chains and stuff, so of course she wants a
man who takes control.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A man who’s in shape. A man who can protect her. I’ve taken
martial arts for years. Caroline knows that. If she wanted to win, why would she
have suggested a fight, especially one that was to submission? It’s got to be
because she wants to be beaten into submission. That’s how she gets her kicks.
And if that’s what it takes, I’m happy to oblige. I’d do just about anything to
get her in bed.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Not that I thought she’d be a slouch. I mean, I’m bigger
than her, but not by all that much. And she’s clearly in shape. If she wasn’t
so athletic, I’m not sure I’d be nearly as attracted to her. I figured she’d
give me a run for my money. But honestly, how could I lose? I’m a trained
fighter. She told me she’s never had any formal training.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So I figured that meant that she wanted me to win. That this
was all foreplay to her. In fact, she promised me that it was. It was our second
date when she brought it up. She asked me what I was ‘into’ sexually. And I
asked what she was into. She said she liked violence.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Not abuse, mind you. But violence. Passion. The tearing off
of clothes, the choking until your partner sees stars, the mind blowing orgasms
that keep life exciting. She loved the thrill of it.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And the more she described it, the more I wanted in. Even
before we settled on the actual bet, I was down for whatever. She used words
like bound and gagged, like domination, like power exchange, and I was hooked.
How could anything be better than getting to fuck Caroline? Apparently, being
able to be in complete control when I did.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
That was the deal, too. Complete control. No questions, no
hesitations. Complete and total control, for the entire weekend. Whoever
submits in the fight submits for the weekend. No way to end it except to admit
defeat. To call out the safeword and back out. And, she told me, backing out of
the weekend meant backing out of the relationship.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
That should have been a clue, now that I think of it.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I was so sure I was going to win. We met in the gym, on a
wrestling mat. I had made sure to wear form fitting clothing so she wouldn’t
have anything to grab on to. My feet were bare so that they could grip the mat.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She was wearing jeans. Seriously, jeans. Not only that, she
had on high heels. Well, high heeled boots, but still. Her tank top wasn’t even
tucked in, and while the gloves looked like they’d protect her hands if she
tried to punch me, they wouldn’t stop her from breaking a nail.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Are you sure you want to fight back?” she asked, standing there
looking like a model, one fist on her hip. “You could just give up, you know.
Drop to your knees and beg me to dominate you.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I laughed at that. “You can do the same,” I said. “Just
putting it out there."<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She let out a sigh, shook out her hands, cracked her neck,
and settled into a sloppy fighting stance. I almost laughed at it. How could I
possibly lose?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Here’s how I lost:<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I charged forward, figuring if I could get my arms around her
and bring her to the ground, I’d be able to win just through sheer size and strength.
Her stance was so sloppy, she wasn’t dressed for a fight. I guess I underestimated
her.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It’s not that she dodged. It’s almost as if she just leaned.
A tiny movement that left her completely free of my grip and left me tripping
over her leg and flying across the mat.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I scrambled to my feet, not wanting her to get me into some
kind of submission hold. But she hadn’t moved except to turn and face me. She
was smirking. <i>Smirking.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I reached out and grabbed her. Then pain shot through my
body and I was on my knees in front of her. She was holding my chin and asking
if I was okay, making sure that I wasn’t going to throw up. “Some guys do,” She
told me. “The first time they get kicked in the balls, they vomit.” Then she
patted me on the cheek with her other hand. “Don’t worry though,” she said. “You’ll
get used to it.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I pushed myself to my feet and actually took a swing at her.
I wasn’t going to hit her; I just wanted to make her move so that she would be
off balance and I could put her in an arm bar or something.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Then her hands were on my wrist. And, suddenly, her legs
were somehow around my neck. She twisted, we fell, and she started to squeeze
the life out of me.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
All in all, it was an embarrassingly short fight.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She helped me to my feet, by which I mean she grabbed me by
the throat and started to pull me up, and she smiled at me. “See?” she asked. “Isn’t
the violence more fun?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I thought you wanted to lose,” I said.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She shook her head. “Haven’t you been listening?” she asked.
“I have all <i>kinds</i> of plans for you
this weekend. You were trash talking. I was promising.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She let me go and tensed as if expecting me to attack her.
But I’m not that guy. What I am is a man of my word. I’m a man who agreed to
submit to her for the weekend if I lost, even though I didn’t think that was
possible.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’m a man who is going to do whatever she tells him to do. I’m
a man who’s going to suffer for her whims.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And I’m a man who’s not entirely sure that’s a bad thing.<o:p></o:p></div>
Boot LShttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07391456569268749138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5641597345416947251.post-28321401873501481792014-08-28T09:36:00.001-05:002014-08-28T09:36:35.008-05:00Desires and NeedsIs my vacation over? Maybe. My other self finished his novel and went back to work with his boring normal job, so I get to fester in the rest of our head again. I get to have control some times, and I get to make him think dirty thoughts at inappropriate times.<br />
<br />
So that's fun.<br />
<br />
For those of you still keeping up on things, thank you. I haven't taken this long of a hiatus in... well, ever. I'll try to get back in the swing of things, try to reassert myself and my life in this brain I have to share.<br />
<br />
For today, I got inspired by a conversation about desires and needs. And someone saying that bdsm erotica can't include safe words or other basic safety ideas because it 'detracts from the fantasy.' That it's never sexy to include that sort of thing.<br />
<br />
Well, I disagree. But I'll be happy to hear your opinions too. Let me know what you think.<br />
<br />
<u>Wants and Needs</u><br />
<br />
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Never mind
what you want. Want is such a weak concept. Wishes, desires, preferences – all so
fluid, all so impertinent. People want world peace. They want money and fame
and love and respect. They want new cars, they want to get laid, they want an
orgasm, they want success. People want a house, they want children. They want
to get married.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Forget about
what you want. Tell me what you <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">need</i>.
What do you <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">need</i> to have? How do you <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">need</i> to be treated? I don’t care what
you want to do. I don’t care how you want me to treat you. I don’t care what
toys you want to use, and I don’t care what you want to have happen to you. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>All I care
about is what you need. So tell me. What do you need?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Do you need
to be treated like shit? Do you need me to call you an animal, to treat you as
less than human? Do you need my permission to be worthless? Do you need to be
treated like your opinions don’t matter? Do you need to feel hideous, unwanted,
without value, a waste of space and an insult to my very presence?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>That’s what
I care about. I care what you need. I care that you need me to whip you. I care
that you need to be flogged, that you need to be kicked, that you need to be
trampled. I care that you need help, that you need to be pushed further and
further into submission.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>It isn’t
easy. I understand that. I know it can be hard to get what you need. There are
all sorts of blockades in the way. Barriers that you’ve spent your whole life
constructing. You’ve got your self-esteem, after all. You have confidence. Your
regular life demands these things. You don’t really want to be broken down into
a mindless and subservient creature. That’s not what you want.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>But it <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">is</i> what you need. Isn’t it?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>So you need
my help. You need me to help you knock down those walls. You need me to tie you
up so that you can’t struggle. You’ll try to struggle anyway. You’ll try to get
away, to escape the cruel ministrations I’m going to put you through. You’ll
want to get out. But you’ll <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">need</i> to
stay bound. Won’t you?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>It’s a
struggle, I know. Here you are, fighting between the wants of your normal life,
the pressures you’ve lived under for so long, and the desperate need to let it
all go. The need to be tortured, the need to suffer just to give you back that
tiny shred of value. You need to know that your agony is your purpose, that the
torture gives you some reason for existence. You know you will be in pain
because I wish it. It pleases me to tighten clamps on your nipples, to see the
tears brim in your eyes. I enjoy seeing the lines of red rise up on your skin,
hot to the touch so that I can see where it stings.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>That will
give you value. You will have that tiny measure of worth because you know that
you will be my toy. That you will exist for my pleasure. And just like that,
without even realizing how it happened, you’ll understand that otherwise, you <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">already are</i> worthless. Focusing on the
value you have as my toy, as my fuckdoll, will point out just how insignificant
you are in all other capacities. With pain, we will break down your walls.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>And for
that, you know I’ll appreciate you. I’ll be glad that you are willing to
whimper for me, that you’ll beg me to stop one minute, then beg me to continue
the next. You’ll beg me to keep going long after that little voice inside you
starts insisting that you can’t handle any more. You’ll ask me to keep going
even after you start shaking from the overload of sensory flooding.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>That voice,
the one that begs you to stop, the one that begs <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">me</i> to stop; that’s your want. That’s your desire. You’ll want the
torture to stop, you’ll want me to tell you that everything is okay. You’ll
want to be comforted, to be reassured that you have value, that I see you as a
person, as an equal. You’ll want to be told that this was all just a game, that
it was nothing more than play. You’ll want to know that I respect your mind,
that I care about your emotions, that it matters to me what you want.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>That’s what
you want. But it’s not what you <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">need</i>.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>You have a
safe word, after all. If you really <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">needed</i>
that reassurance, if you really needed to know that I know you’re a person, you’d
use that word. You wouldn’t beg me to stop. You wouldn’t cry in the hopes that
there would somehow be a shred of decency in my heart, a hint of compassion in
a place where words like ‘mercy’ have no place. You wouldn’t whimper, you
wouldn’t struggle. You wouldn’t want me to stop treating you like a thing. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>If you
needed me to stop, I would. When you need me to stop, I will. I’ll untie you. I’ll
hold you when you cry if that’s what you need. I’ll whisper sweet reassurance
in your ears. I’ll tell you how amazing you are, how strong you are. I’ll tell
you how proud I am of you. I’ll make sure you’re not in too much pain. I’ll
give you back your clothes and even give you privacy to get dressed if that’s
what you want.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I’ll tell
you that you are wonderful. I’ll tell you that you are amazing, that I know you’re
a person. I’ll tell you that everything else I was saying was just part of the
scene, was just part of the game. I’ll reassure you and help you rebuild those
walls, help you see yourself as a valuable and important person. I’ll help undo
all the damage we did within the scene, and I’ll make sure you’re okay.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>When you
need me to, I’ll do all that. I’ll do it without hesitation. I’ll be completely
honest, completely caring. I’ll be human and treat you as a human in return. I’ll
respect you and I’ll make you feel important. When that voice in your head wins
out, when we cross the point where you don’t just <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">want</i> me to stop, I will.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I’ll stop
when you need me to.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>But not
before.</div>
Boot LShttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07391456569268749138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5641597345416947251.post-3057201729246789002014-07-28T16:08:00.001-05:002014-07-28T16:08:56.667-05:00The promise of the teaseThis is a request from someone who knows me in real life. I don't get those very often. I was surprised when she made the request, too; I'd always thought of her as a domme, not a sub. But hey, you learn something new every day.<br />
<br />
Take me, for example. Today, I learned that when I let my mind write in the second person, it gets REALLY sadistic. And the poor sub in this story today learned that a little bit of knowledge can really, really suck.<br />
<br />
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<![endif]--><u>The Promise of the Tease</u><br />
<u></u><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"><u> </u></span><br />
<a name='more'></a> There we
go. Are you nice and uncomfortable? Good. Then we’ll begin.
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Go ahead.
Test the restraints. I know you like cuffs. Can you feel them moving around on
your skin? I bet you’re wondering if you can slip your hands out of them. Did I
lock the cuffs on too loose? Maybe with a bit of squirming, you’ll be able to
break free. It might cost you a bit of skin, but you can try. Go ahead.
Struggle. I love it when you struggle.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Of course,
getting your wrists out of the cuffs won’t do anything, will it? For all you
know, those strips of leather on your forearms are manacles. I could have just
left the chain a little bit longer than the cuffs, and you’d never know it. You
could be tied up so much tighter than you think you are. What do I care if you
get a few centimeters of extra movement? Maybe I want to see you squirm.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Actually,
there’s no maybe about it, my dear. I definitely want to see you squirm. That’s
not a power thing. It’s not that I want to watch you writhe in agony or wriggle
in pleasure simply because I can see and you can’t. It’s not about controlling
which one – pain or pleasure – makes you move. It’s not about controlling the
noises you make. It’s not about the power. It’s about pleasure. My pleasure. I
enjoy watching your squirm. I like knowing what’s going on when you don’t. I
like knowing what’s coming.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>There are a
few things I want you to know about, though. Things I want you to expect. I
wouldn’t want you to get scared and over react. Wouldn’t want you to freak out.
But it’s more than that. I also just want you to know what’s coming. I want you
to know what I’m going to do, so you can wonder. Every time I start something,
you can wonder what I’m going to do, how far I’m going to go this time.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Let me give
you an example. I <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">am</i> going to make
you cum. I’m going to make you have the most astounding orgasm you’ve ever
experienced. But not until I’m ready for you to have it. Until then, every time
you get close, I’m going to shock you. Not enough to do any damage, and
certainly not enough to knock you out. But enough pain that you won’t be able
to push over the edge. And to make it even more fun, I expect you to tell me
when you’re getting close.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>One of the
times you ask, I’m going to give you permission. I’m going to let you go ahead
and cum, let the orgasm flood over you, let you float on the endorphins. That’ll
happen. Once. The other times, you’re in for a painful shock. One that you
will, quite literally, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>beg</i> me for. Will I let you cum the first
time? The tenth? The fiftieth? Only time will tell, my dear; I certainly won’t.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I’m also
going to pierce your nipples. Eventually. First, I’m going to play with them. I
might clamp them. I might just twist them. Maybe I’ll flick them, maybe I’ll
rub them. Maybe I’ll lick them for a while, then pinch them. Maybe I’ll pierce
them slowly. Maybe I’ll do it quick. I’ll definitely press sharp things against
your skin. Some of them will puncture your skin. But I’m not going to stop
until the piercing is through and sterilized, until the piercing is as complete
as it can be. There will be blood. I’m prepared for it.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
You’re just going to have to wonder, have to ask yourself if
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">this</i> torture is the one that will
result in a new piercing, or if I’m just fucking with you. You can suffer from
the pain or you can let yourself float on the endorphins. Of course, if you
feel like you’re getting close to cumming, then you’ll have to beg for
permission. Which I might give you.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I considered choking you a bit. Maybe not enough to stop you
from breathing, just enough to make it harder. Enough to make you gasp for each
breath, to make you work for it. I could put an egg timer on the table here,
and choke you until the timer dings. I think I’m going to do that, in fact.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
More than that, I’m going to give you some incentive. If you
tap out while I’m choking you, I’ll stop. You can use your safe word then or
not; that’s always up to you. But if you don’t tap out, if you make it until
the little bell rings, then I promise I’ll let you cum one time sooner than I
have planned. So while you’re there, gasping for air, feeling your
consciousness slipping away, wondering if it’s worth it to let me keep going,
just remember: letting me continue will get you an orgasm that much sooner. You
can always tap out. But if you do, won’t you wonder? How much longer was it?
Another five seconds? Another two? </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I won’t be disappointed in you, I promise. I can’t promise
that you won’t be disappointed in yourself, but that’s not really up to me. Is
it?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’m also going to drip a candle on you. The entire thing.
Maybe it’s a birthday candle. Maybe it’s one of those huge tapers. It might
leave a stain of wax on your skin, it might cover so much of your torso as to
be a second skin all itself. Will the next drip be the last drip? I could tell
you. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But I won’t.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Still don’t want to struggle against the cuffs? Good for
you. I’m so proud. You’re doing amazingly well, considering. I mean, I never
mentioned sex. I never mentioned how I was going to make you want to cum in the
first place. Will I fuck you? </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
No, I’m not going to fuck you. It has nothing to do with
whether or not you’re worth it. Don’t think like that. Don’t wonder if I’d
consider it soiling myself to actually fuck you. That’s not a line of thinking
you should go down. Let’s not talk about whether you’re worthy of sex. Don’t
think about how desperate you may or may not be. It’s not in the cards, dear. I’m
not going to fuck you.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I promise, it has nothing to do with how disgusting I may or
may not find you. It’s about control. Honestly. I’m not sure how well I would
be able to control myself. And we wouldn’t want things to end too quickly,
would we? Wouldn’t want to have me cum and leave you there on the edge, would
we? I might get bored and wander off, forgetting all about you. Maybe I’d leave
you tied up while I went and cleaned myself off. That would just be cruel.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So I’m not going to fuck you. I have a vibrator. Vibrators
are wonderful things, don’t you agree? I can set it to a specific speed, maybe
one that would put you on edge but never put you over it. Then I could leave it
there. Maybe duct tape it to your thigh while I make dinner. You could ride
that edge, and then I could shock you again, just to pull you back from it.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Or I can use it to penetrate a little bit. Enough to make
you want to cum. Enough to make you beg me to shock you.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I want you to know: the vibrator I have is pretty powerful.
It has a lot of speeds. One of them is so high, according to the manual, that
it guarantees orgasm within thirty seconds. I wonder if that’s true. We may
have to put it to the test. I don’t see how faster vibration makes for faster
orgasm. But I DO have a stop watch. So we can see if you need the shock before
the twenty ninth second.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Hold still now. I’m going to light the candle. Don’t worry;
it’s far enough above you that the wax will have cooled before it hits your
skin. It’ll still hurt, of course. But no damage. Wouldn’t want to do any
damage.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
What I <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">will</i> do,
though, is adjust the height of the candle. It can get surprisingly close
without risking any of that damage. And if I pull it far enough away, the wax
may have cooled so much that it’ll bounce right off you when it hits. And when
I put it close enough, it’ll hurt so much you’ll think it will leave a scar. It
won’t. But it will feel like it will.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’ll tell you what: I promise that there will only be one
single drop of wax from that distance. So when it hurts the most, whenever that
is, you can rest assured that it will never hurt that much again.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Of course, if it ever does, that just means that I wasn’t as
close as you thought I was. So there’s that. But if you can tell me when it’s
the closest, if you guess which <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">one</i>
drop hurts the most… well, I’ll let you orgasm one time sooner.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
How long am I going to drag this out, do you think? I’ve
offered two ways to let you cum sooner. Does that mean I’m going to shock you
three times? Maybe I won’t shock you at all. No. Where’s the fun in that? I’m
definitely going to shock you.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
How many times is up to you. And up to me.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But we have all night.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I think, before we really get started, I should shock you.
Just one time, really quick. Maybe half as long as I plan to later. That way,
you’ll get an idea of what’s coming. You’ll know what it will be like. And I
think I might shock you a little bit longer each time. Or maybe not. We’ll see.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
For now, let’s begin, shall we?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
Boot LShttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07391456569268749138noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5641597345416947251.post-38606033125944331752014-07-25T15:18:00.000-05:002014-07-25T15:18:27.307-05:00This is submissionI don't know if this means I'm back or not. I know this idea has been kicking around in my head, and I know that I have a little bit of a request list building up. So maybe it does.<br />
<br />
Mostly, though, I'm worried. Do I still have it? Have I lost my skills? Can I still crawl into your mind and give you an orgasm? It's been months, people.<br />
<br />
So you tell me; do I still have what it takes to please you?<br />
<br />
<u>Submitting to a gang bang</u><br />
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The first
step was to put on the cage. “We wouldn’t want you to get hard, would we?” she
asked me. The giggle that followed had no mirth in it. The cage was tight
already, and I knew that trying to get erect just wouldn’t fit.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Which is
not to say you won’t get fucked,” she said. “In fact, tonight you’re going to
get gang banged.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>She led me
to a soft matt and told me to get on all fours. Just for now, she assured me.
Then she hooked a belt around my waist and put each of my wrists in a little
sling. “Okay,” she said. “You can stand now.” Once on my feet, she showed me
another padded strap to lay down on, one that would go right across my chest.
Leaning into it, I found myself almost floating, my feet barely touching the
ground.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Now hold
this,” she said, handing me a huge dildo. “Hold it tight.” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I squeezed
my hand around the dildo and heard a ripping and tearing sound. Then I felt
something sticky on my hand. Looking over, I watched as she wrapped duct tape
around my hand over and over, literally taping me to the dildo. By the time she
was done, it was like my fingers had been turned into a dildo. I could move my
wrist, but nothing else.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Then she
walked around to the other side and put another dildo in my hand. “Keep your
thumb free,” she said as she started taping me up just as tightly. Once I was
fully bound and couldn’t use my mitts as anything other than rubber cocks, she
put a red cloth against my palm to be held there with my thumb. “This is your
safeword, okay?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Okay,” I
said. “But why can’t I just say something if it gets to be too much?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>She gave me
another giggle, and her eyes flashed with the mischief that was still to come.
She stepped away, and then showed me why I wouldn’t be able to speak.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>It looked
like a gag. Well, sort of. Most gags have something that goes into the mouth,
to keep you from talking. This one had a little cock shaped piece of rubber,
maybe three inches long. Long enough that I’d feel like I was sucking cock, but
not so long that I’d gag on it. But that wasn’t the weird part.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The weird
part was on the other side of the gag. Normally, it’s just a flat piece of
leather, and no one can tell what’s in your mouth. But this time, the flat
piece of leather had a ring on it. And through the ring was another dildo. A
huge rubber cock hanging off the front of my face.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“You always
wanted to get face fucked,” she said, smiling at me. “I bet this isn’t <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">quite</i> what you meant. But it’ll have to
do.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Then she
put a blindfold on me, and I had to guess about what would happen next. I had
to rely on my other senses. The click of her heels on the floor as she walked
over to her bag. The sound of a latex glove being snapped into place, followed
by more steps towards me. The smell of lubricant. The feel of something very
cold being pressed, then rubbed, into my ass. The gentle way she massages my
ass with two fingers, trying to get me to relax, trying to get me to open
myself up to her.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I was so
sure she was going to fuck me. I figured she would work her way around. She’d
fuck me in the ass with one of her strap on cocks, then move to each hand, and
finally end up fucking my face. It could be hours. I was already straining
against the cage.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>When she
started pressing the dildo up my ass, I was sure I had it right. She slid it in
slowly, carefully. Almost gently. I kept waiting to feel the leather of her
harness, but it didn’t come. The dildo just kept going in, deeper and deeper.
It pressed in as far as anything had ever been, just on the edge of being too
uncomfortable. Just on the edge of burning, the edge of me dropping the little
red flag.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“You’re
doing very well,” she told me, patting me on the curve of my back. I was
breathing hard through my nose, trying to keep my ass relaxed, trying to let
her in as deep as she wanted to go.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Then she
hooked something to the belt she’d put on me earlier. And another strap found
its way between my legs, around the little cage I was trapped in, and hooked to
the front of the belt.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>She stepped
away. I could hear her heels clicking on the floor. But my ass was still full.
Still so very full.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>And she
laughed again. “I have to take a picture of this,” she said. And I know she
did. More than one picture, too. “Do you have any idea what’s about to happen?”
she asked.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I made a
noise into the gag, trying to guess. Trying to tell her that I had a sinking
feeling, that I was afraid I did know.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>She laughed
at the fact that I couldn’t speak. “Haven’t dropped your flag,” she said. Then
she giggled in that evil way again. “Not yet, anyway.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>There was a
knock at the door. I heard her walk over and open it. Then I heard other
voices. They exchanged platitudes, none of them even mentioning me. I tried to
count the voices. Were there three? Four? More than four? </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I listened
as they walked through the room. There was the click of Her heels. I’d
recognize that sound anywhere. A softer step sounded like bare feet. Then a
harder pounding that made me think of boots with a thick heel. Who had she
invited?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The steps
came closer and closer, and hands started to trace over my body. Long
fingernails. Trimmed nails. Calloused fingers. Smooth hands. At least four sets
of hands, slowly tracing over my body as I shook there, stuffed front and back,
my hands bound into dildos, reality slowly sinking in.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“A gang
bang,” she said. “That’s what I promised you. And that’s what you’re going to
get.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>A pair of
hands – calloused and with short nails – took hold of my right wrist, gently guiding
it around. Another pair, this one soft and with long nails, grabbed the other.
I felt very long nails on my ass, sliding around like razor blades, delicately
playing with the skin but moving with the restrained violence of a patient
shark.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>And I felt
her hands in my hair. I could smell how excited she already was. Probably not
the only one.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“How many
guys can say they’ve fucked four women?” she asked me. Then she laughed again. “Or,
rather, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">got</i> fucked by four women.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>All four of
them penetrated themselves against me then, each letting out a gasp of pleasure
as they used me. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Four
women,” she said, “And here you are, no more than an object. Nothing more than
a stand that holds our dildos. An object.” She pushed herself all the way to my
face, and I could feel the stubble of hair against my nose. She pulled back and
then thrust forward again.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>They all
started to find their own rhythms, pleasuring themselves against me, using me
for their pleasure, but not doing anything <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">with</i>
me. I strained against the cage so hard, but the plastic wouldn’t budge.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“This,” she
said to me, scratching furrows through my hair with her nails, “is true
submission. You’re nothing. You gain no pleasure; you don’t get to cum. No one
is going to touch your dick. We’re just going to fuck you for our own
enjoyment. Use you like a toy.” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>She pounded
hard against my face. Behind me I could feel hips pounding against my ass, but
the dildo shoved in deep didn’t do much more than vibrate. It felt good,
maddeningly good, but I knew it would never be enough to put me over the edge.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“It’s not
about your pleasure,” she said, gently using my ears as handles as she fucked
herself against my face. “It’s about your service.” She paused, and I could
feel the muscles in her legs tense enough to tell me she was ducking to the
side a little. “And you haven’t even <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">considered</i>
dropping that flag, have you?” she asked.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I couldn’t
have answered.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I didn’t
have to.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“That’s my
good boy.”</div>
Boot LShttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07391456569268749138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5641597345416947251.post-3089094669533756162014-06-02T13:54:00.000-05:002014-06-02T13:54:15.396-05:00HiatusHey, did you notice that I haven't written anything in a while?<br />
<br />
<br />
Yeah.<br />
<br />
There are reasons. For one thing, the other half of my brain (the one who controls the body) is working on a non-kink novel about a witch with all her magic bound up in tattoos who finds herself stuck in a supernatural Hunger Games style situation. That's taking a lot of our creative energy, and since he lets me take most of it, I figure it's only fair to give him a chance every once in a while.<br />
<br />
For another reason, I'm just not feeling it lately. What is there to say that I haven't already said? I've written nearly 300 stories, fantasies for more than 100 people. And it's awesome. But I'm worried that if I keep writing, I'll just be repeating myself.<br />
<br />
Which brings me to you. Yes, you. If you like the things on this site, then you can help make me write.<br />
<br />
Tell me something I haven't written about. Whether it's your fantasy, a random challenge, or just an idea that strikes your fancy, make a request. You can do it anywhere; comment on the story. <a href="mailto:bootlickersub@yahoo.com" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">send me an e-mail </a>or a fetlife mail.<br />
<br />
And, as always, feel free to send me vast amounts of money and prizes. No one has done that so far, (there WAS a gift, which was awesome), but you could be the first!<br />
<br />
In the meantime.... I'll be back when I'm back.Boot LShttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07391456569268749138noreply@blogger.com0