Monday, December 12, 2016

December Confession by Cam

I kneel, face to the floor, hands chained in front of me.  My eyes are covered by a blindfold.  My ass is hooked, a chain leading from the hook to a ring on the back of my collar, and in the middle of that, a chain to a hook high above.  The chain is pulling both my collar and the hook in fmy ass, but the order is “head down” so I stay in position, awaiting your next command.  I can hear some noise, sense some movement next to me, but nothing distinct as my ears are plugged too.  I can smell you.  And then you’re gone.


I can sense there’s someone next to me; I can feel the heat from their body in the cool room, radiating across the short gap.  We both wait.  Wait for you to ready yourself and make your entrance.


The door slams loudly, making me start.  I look up instinctively, expecting to see, but the blindfold foils me.  A crop taps the back of my head and I bow back down, the collar again pulling at my neck.


Some more motion...but not me.  Then I’m unchained.  Pulled up to a kneeling position.  Someone standing in front of me.  Your finger touches my lip.  I kiss it instinctively, then you push it into my mouth.  I grant you access.  You fuck my mouth as I suck your finger, then pull down gently, opening my jaws gently.  I leave my mouth hanging open as you pull your finger away.


Something else is introduced.  Soft, warm, velvety.  Unmistakable scent, shape, size.  The person next to me was...is clearly male. Is clearly now in front of me. Is having their dick pushed into my mouth by you.  My instinct to pull away subsides, as I realise this isn’t for me.  Its for you.


So I suck.  I let that dick slide into my mouth, feeling it press against the roof of my mouth.  He’s hard, and thrusting into me.  I start to gag a little, which causes a hand to be held against the back of my head, pushing me even deeper onto his cock.  He keeps thrusting into me.  The feel of his dick in my mouth, and the steel ball inside my cunt, make me stiffen and swell.


Suddenly, he pulls - or maybe is pulled - out of me.  I’m roughly pushed back down to the worship position, and the ball of the ass hook is worked out of my cunt.  The relief is short-lived though, as his cock soon invades me a second time, ploughing into my ass, stretching and filling me.


I cry out in pain, only to find myself suddenly and roughly gagged, then my head pushed back to the floor, and held there with a foot.  He keeps thrusting into me throughout, his cock twitches, he thrusts one final time, deeper than I thought possible.  I cry again through the gag as he rends my ass in two and pumps his cum deep inside me.


As he starts to fade, he pulls out of me.  A few seconds later and the door slams again. I wait, cunt dripping sticky cum, for you to return with the next one.

Mark’s Kinky Wish for Xmas

It was late at night, on Xmas eve. I was ferreting about in the backstreets of London. The sorts of places where they still have those little curio shops, nestled amongst the Chinese restaurants and the all-night coffee bars. The snow was making little festive drifts where the winos’ empty bottles lay against the shop fronts.

 I was feeling sorry for myself. ‘Xmas is coming’, I thought, ‘which is more than I am’.
Bloody women. Why can’t I find one? If only women understood what I really want, the world would be a much better place. I am sensitive, caring, a good listener – why can’t I find a domme who will do exactly what I want, for God’s sake?

I wandered down an alleyway I hadn’t visited before. At the end of the street, there was a dimly-lit sign: ‘Madame Karrie’s Olde Worlde Fancies and Useful Things’. I thought, ‘May as well: this shop looks like a pile of crap, but the evening is already a write-off. Another bloody miserable Xmas.’ I pushed at the door, and the little bell above it gave a quiet chime as I entered.

The woman behind the counter, half revealed and half shrouded by the dim candlelight in the shop’s interior, glanced up from a package she had been wrapping.

‘Merry Xmas! I am the owner here. How can we help you?’ she said.

‘I want something unusual’, I replied. ‘It is Xmas, and I bloody well deserve something out of the ordinary. So go on. Surprise me from your treasure trove of tat’.

For just a moment, as though by a trick of the candlelight, it looked to me as though a fiery glitter appeared in her eyes. But the next second it was gone, and she smiled benignly at me.

‘Well’, she said, ‘we are always happy to cater for our caring and sensitive clientele.’

I had one of those mental deja-vu hiccups, where you find yourself realising ‘wait a minute, that is just what I was thinking!’ But her happy smile and almost girlish voice reassured me. I walked over to join her at the counter.

‘In fact, I’ve just been wrapping your present’, she said.

Normally, I would have found that sort of presumptuousness in a woman intensely annoying. My present! How could it be my present? I’d never even set foot in the store before. Women are *always* doing that to me – as if somehow my innermost desires are transparent to them.  I wouldn’t mind, but usually they run a mile once they think they have worked out what I really want. But, there was something about the way her slim fingers were tying the ribbon around the package …. I snatched it up.

‘I should warn you’, she said, ‘be very, very careful how you use this’.

I gave her my best disdainful stare: it is the one that says ‘If I want an insignificant person like you to offer me advice, I will ask for it.’ She smiled happily at me – although for just one brief moment I felt again as though I could see flames in her eyes. Obviously, another trick of the candlelight. I mean, really. Pay your bloody electric bill, woman!

She watched in silence as I pulled at the wrapping paper. Underneath was an old, tarnished, brass lamp.

‘Really?’, I laughed. ‘Could you *be* more stagey??? A brass lamp?’

She looked down demurely at her hands, now clasped in front of her.

‘Perhaps if Sir were to rub the lamp – but I warn you, you really should be careful’.

‘Let me guess, I rub the lamp and make a wish? Or do you rub my cock and I make a wish? I always get those confused’, I laughed.

The room grew dark, and for a moment the shop become almost insufferably hot, and the flames from the candles seemed to cast an orange glow against the walls, reflected back in her eyes. But the next instant, I was back in the dimly lit interior and there she stood, nice as ninepence. I blinked. Perhaps I should cut down on the festive drinkies.

‘If Sir rubs the lamp, and makes a wish, it will come true’, she said. ‘But, you can only do it three times’, she smiled at me.

See, this is just my luck. I wander into a wierdo shop, where they can’t even afford fluorescent lighting, but then it turns out the shop-keeper is, well, pretty God-damned good looking. But then it turns out she is a fruitcake. That is my life in a nutshell.

‘OK’, I said, ‘Watch this!’

I rubbed the lamp and then said in a loud voice (a bit like one of those characters from ‘Lord of the Rings’):

‘Bring me a Mistress now!’

There was a bright flash, and standing before me was a lady in a too-short red miniskirt, with teetery high heels and too much makeup.

‘Omigod, Mark!’ she cried. ‘Our secret is revealed! Our passionate affair has been discovered by Lord Boris Johnson, and now he demands recompense. You must duel with him at dawn, my darling!’

‘For fuck’s sake!’, I shouted at the lamp. ‘Not *this* kind of mistress, you stupid twat! If I want an over-blown tart I can join Tinder!’

I rapped the lamp on the counter-top, and the red-miniskirted one disappeared. I glanced over at the woman behind the counter. If I was a person of lower self-esteem, I could almost have imagined her eyes were mocking me. But if I was that sort of person, I would go around worrying what the stupid counter-girls at Tescos thought about me. I rubbed the lamp again.

‘Listen very, very carefully lamp. I want someone dominant!’

There was another blinding flash. A short balding man stood before me, His leather jeans looked two sizes too small, and the leather straps of his harness nestled snuggled into the tufts of grey hair on his chest.

‘Aha!’, he said. ‘Now I have you, you ……’

I rapped the lamp on the counter-top again. He disappeared.

I shouted at the lamp. ‘Will you pay fucking attention, you useless piece of badly molded brass-mongery! I want a woman, who is beautiful, and dominant, and who will be my mistress!’

I rubbed the lamp again, and this time the lightning flash seemed to last for an eternity. The walls of the shop dissolved into the red and orange hues of the candlelight and white bolts of electricity shot across the room. As the shop faded from sight around me, the shop owner was surrounded by pulsing shimmers of heat and luminiscence. In the half-light that was left from the flickering candles and the shafts of radiance surrounding the shop keeper, I could vaguely make out a landscape of desolation stretching out into infinity behind her: gibbets, crosses, cages, bonfires and the mournful sound of souls yelling in torment.  I felt an awful tugging sensation at the centre of my being, drawing me towards the infinitude of fiery darkness beyond.

‘Ah’, the shop-keeper said, ‘I thought you would never ask’.

This Is Not The Gift You Were Expecting by Anonymous

This is not the gift you were expecting
You were expecting something wrapped smartly,
With crisp corners and tight edges, bright cheery paper, like those clerks in the malls
 At Christmas time would offer. Perfect bow centered on top, seams straight.

This is something wrapped urgently on the way out the door, barely covered in the Sunday comics, tape everywhere, frayed cord bow stretched enough to make a little hole right over The Family Circus

It’s the feel of the cord on your wrists that jolts you back into the present. It tightens like a feeding boa constrictor every time you try to move. You give that up.
The blindfold is still there. Time is meaningless, an abstract concept invented by a dead religion. The sun may have crossed the sky, it may have laughed at you. The stars may be telling inside jokes.

Cracked lips and dry mouth. Sore muscles. The not knowing. The knowing that the only thing you know is that you don’t know.

Then there is the cock. The random erections caused only because your thoughts drifted to her. Because in your need you dared to let yourself hope. Throbbing, pulsing, hardness, even that, ultimately out of your control.

Once more it stands straight up, slapping off your stomach as you hear her voice murmur an appraisal.  A wet tongue brushes your lips, gone in an instant

Then tracing every curve and line of your aching body, down the sweep of your thighs. A pause, then with impossible precision, a line is drawn up the vein of your shaft, and your whole body shudders.

This is not the gift you were expecting.

The Night Before Christmas by Anonymous

Twas the night before Christmas and Madame Whiplash,
Had closed up her dungeon and was counting the cash,
The last client had gone and the handcuffs locked tight,
Tucked in their drawer for the rest of the night.

The whips, crops and birches were stowed round the back,
She'd loosened the cogs of the dastardly rack,
Spurs were wiped clean of blood, the bullwhips were coiled,
The chains were buffed bright and the leathers were oiled.

It was late as she packed the ball-gags in a drawer,
And swept up sawdust from the bloodstained, tiled floor,
As she tidied away an array of butt-plugs,
Something fell down the chimney with a ho-ho and a thud.

It was Santa, white-bearded, and laughing so jolly,
"My dear, did you order panties made from holly?
A barb-wire bra and a corset to match-it,
And for your worn rack, a new capstan and ratchet?

Thigh-boots in black with spurs and high heels,
Clips, clamps and pincers to make clients squeal?
My dear, all these items are for tortures so vile -
Not befitting this season, which is one of goodwill."

Madame Whiplash replied, "I have recommendations,
From satisfied clients - do you want demonstrations?
I could start with a caning to make your cheeks glow,
An old-fashioned spanking to make you "ho-ho".

I can truss you in leather, with a bridle and reins,
Hitch you up to the sled with harness and chains,
If your sack has been heavy and you have a sore back,
May I offer a stretching on my refurbished rack?"

Santa's eyes opened wide and he answered, "My dear,
I guess that you've heard I come but once a year,
What you have offered will relieve my frustration,
Mrs. Claus never offers me such stimulation,

"We've almost an hour so please do your worst,
Strip me and whip me with bullwhip and birch,
Use restraining devices till the pressure is pinching,
I can take a rack-session without screaming or flinching -

But don't tell the kiddies that Santa's depraved,
That I like S & M or play mistress and slave,
Don't mention my studs or my Prince Albert ring,
My nude-woman tattoos or my intimate piercings!"

On that night before Christmas, old Santa he stripped,
Got solidly thrashed, stretched, handcuffed and whipped,
Then back in his outfit and full of good cheer,
He said "I really must dash - but I'll be back next year!"

Author: Unknown

Sins Of The Flesh by Emma

as she rested on bended knee ..... her Mistress look up at her rolled her hand round her face ...... and smiled ........ and whispered into her ear " my little slut , mine all mine " as she heard her Mistress speak these words tingling sensations run through out her body and she was filled with adrenaline , as her Mistress looks down at her slowly removing the top she had on and was so gratefully allowed to wear  , she then slowly moving her hand round her shoulders all the way down to the very nipple , rolling all the way round making it stand on end ......... the more her Mistress whispered Mine into her ear the harder and harder they became , as her hand gently rolled down her stomach grabbing her pussy ....... saying in a loud booming voice ............ this slut this is mine too , i own this ......... are we clear ...... she nodded to her Mistress , yes Mistress ........ as she opens her legs wider .......... All Yours Mistress .........

as her hands began to roll round her nipple all the way down to her stomach pulling at her panties snapping it back hard leaving a pink mark on her pelvis ........ as she squeals thank You Mistress .... her Mistress grins grabs a piece near her waist starts to rip off exposing her pink fleshy dripping wet pussy ...........

as her Mistress pushes her foot up against her clit .......... is this what you want slut ?? is this what you want whore ??? ............. as she squeals and bends yes Mistress ......... as her Mistress grins slapping the inside of her thigh pink back handing the other side , she lets out such a squeal ........ all the while saying Thank You Mistress, as it was always such a pleasure to be touch by her ........

her hand moves down to inbetween her legs and slaps her clit hard as it goes vibrating through her , her Mistress staring  deep into her eyes filled with nothing but lust

pushes her back so she falls on the floor her legs spread wide as she moans Thank You Mistress mmmmmmmmm , slapping her clit again and again harder as she jumps the more her clit is so sensitive ........... slapping her ass and forcing her on all fours .........

il give you exactly what you deserve my little whore ........... is that what you want ? as another moan falls from her lips Yes Mistress !!! rolling nails down her back ........ rolling her hand round her hair pulling back so it arches her back ........... your just a little whore arnt you .............. yes yes Mistress .........

as her Mistress leans over her rolling her hands round her breasts ............ pulling her nipples twisting release , as she gasps as her nipple being pulled ....... her Mistress grinding her pelvis into her ass ...........

is this what you want ????

as the final squeal Yes Mistress falls from her lips .......... when you earn it you can have it .....

slapping her ass one final time red raw hand print ........ Your mine and i will do what i want when i please ............. as You wish Mistress Your will is my command ............ rolling her hand round her face and never forget that my little slut !! as her Mistress leaves the room smiling .......

the end

Sunday, November 13, 2016

My Confession by Anonymous

My Confessiion

When I see him, my mouth goes dry. The lioness in my belly rises up, clawing, and she begins growling, searching for him, demanding. I reach up, wiping my lower lip with my fingers, glancing away and believing that I've hidden this intensity yet again.

It was as if he planned to look this gorgeous, bathed in the afternoon sun and sitting in my living room. He taunts me with his muscled chest. As his submissive eyes lower, I reach down, cupping his chin and pulling it up directly, commanding his attention to my face.

It's all I can do not to shove my heeled boot into his chest, knocking him backward, stripping his clothing off and taking him right there. In my mind, that's what I'm doing. I'm raping him. I'm ripping his shirt, raising my hand and pummeling that broad expanse of a chest with the back of my hand and unleashing this beast of a dominant woman that must possess him. But on the exterior, my controlled, practice voice only replies, "I see you're here again. Something you wanted? I have little time for you today..." And I release his chin, my palm itching with the need to slap his square jaw, leaving a pulsing, reddened handprint upon it.

The vein on his neck pulses, and he glances away. "I wanted to see you, Miss. I can't stop thinking about you." His voice slightly falters as I drink in his delicious unease. Through the light fabric of his shorts, I can see just a small bit of bulging beginning to appear. The outline of his cock through his shorts. The whole time I turn to walk away, my knees slightly trembling from the effort of restraint, I know his eyes are feasting on the back of my thighs. It is all I can do not to turn around, grab a fistful of his hair and smother his nostrils with the muscles of my inner thighs, so tightly that he cannot breathe while I bring the toe of my boot down and step on his erection.

I pour myself a glass of tea, "I hope you aren't actually admitting to using self-gratuitous thoughts of me to pleasure yourself." Cupping my fingers around the glass, I turn to observe him. His jaw is working with considerable thought on how to answer my question as I lean casually against the counter, idly sipping my drink. I swallow back desire, an ocean of it, crashing over me. With each movement of my arm, bringing the cool tea glass up to my lips, I press it against my hardened, turgid nipples that threaten to reveal the lust that simply will not go away. I add, "Harboring such erotic thoughts about another person without their knowing about it is shameful." The last words leaving my lips that crave his sweet mouth, to drink in his woeful cries as my lash begins to make love to his flesh, extracting from him the dark gasps of euphoria and sacrifice that I alone can inspire.

"It's true, isn't it, boy? You lust for me. And you've been stroking your cock and thinking about me." I level my gaze at him over the clear rim of the glass. I calmly set it down, expelling a warm, calm breath and standing back up, arching my brow at him. His face reddens, and he stumbles over his words. He chuckles, and then his smile fades. In a moment of rare bravery, he looks up, "I want you so badly, Miss. I cannot help my thoughts." At his confession, my own sex responds, a deep bass drum once, pounding, in my belly and making me swell, the fabric of my panties wet as my throat constricts. I could, right now, walk to him, lay hands upon him, press my thumbs into his windpipe and begin to take his very air away... it's how badly I must dominate him. I need to lay upon him, torture his cock, completely envelop him with my body until he drowns, so desperately immersed in my presence that he can no long live apart from me.

I glance at the door.

"Get out of my sight. I said I had no time for you. You may try again... in a few days" His stomach muscles tense, and he rises, pain flashing in his eyes as he meets mine one more time. Sweet, violent pain screams in the back of my head at my own denial, and as he drives away, I watch his car through the window. Turning, I pick up a very expensive glass vase, hoisting it through the air as it shatters in the direction he last walked, dispensing its brokenness across my marbled floor.

"Soon," I say, speaking only that word. Yes. It's not quite time.

But it's coming.

EXTRACTS FROM A DIARY FOUND IN A DUMPSTER by Mark

TITLE: EXTRACTS FROM A DIARY FOUND IN A DUMPSTER

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

12 MARCH

Dear Diary

I have said it before, but it bears repeating: Dommes are easy meat. Tonight I’ll be going to my favourite club. There are always one or two there, dressed in their latex or leather, standing tall in their high-heel shoes, looking disdainfully around the room. Easy meat.

I always approach them the same way. I am ever so humble.

“Please forgive the intrusion. You look so wonderfully domme standing there. Can I buy you a drink?”

Sometimes it is hard not to laugh. – they never know I am dom, until it is too late. Until I have revealed all their broken little dreams, their inner confusions, their need to submit. Easy meat.

I will let you know, diary, how I get on. I know you love to hear how they end up crawling and begging after I’ve thrown them out of bed!

15 MARCH

Dear Diary

I have not written for a couple of days. It seems strange to think it is less than a week since I visited the club. She seemed like all the others. The usual fascination with getting her outfit *just so*. The cool demeanour. The phony confidence when I approached her. It should have gone so well.

OK, to you, dear diary, I admit I was smitten by her more than usual. She was beautiful, and her eyes – her eyes seemed to pierce through the gloomy interior of the club. If I did not know better, I could almost have believed that she saw right through me. For the first time I found myself on my knees. But that is OK, it is all part of the act – after all, I am ever so humble *laugh*.

I am not sure how it happened, but I did not bring her home.  It is not that she turned me down – not exactly. But, we parted at the club. I am not quite sure how that worked out. But she took my number, so I guess, dear diary, a pleasure delayed is a pleasure heightened!

19 MARCH

Dear Diary

No calls from her.

So I went to the club again, and she was there. She looked as cool and beautiful as last time. I went over with a drink, but she did not recognise me! To you, dear diary, I admit I was furious. How could she fail to remember me? I said nothing, I was ever so humble. But inside I was seething, and thinking of how I would visit humiliation on her, when it was my turn.

Her gaze is – how can I put it – smoky. It is like being trapped in the headlights of a car in the fog. It is hard to describe. I am not sure why I have not seen her before. It is almost as though that last time was her first visit to the club. But why would a beautiful domme suddenly appear out of the blue that way?

We talked. I found myself on my knees again. How did that happen? I gave her my number again. I am pretty sure she will call now – after all, I was *ever* so humble! *laugh*

21 MARCH

Dear Diary

No calls from her.

I am worried she lost my number. Maybe I wrote it down wrong. It has to be something, or I am sure she would have called by now. They are all the same. Inside, they need a man to be dominant with them. I can’t understand why I have not heard from her. It is probably my cell service – I need to change supplier.

Am already sorting out my outfit for the next club night. Not that I am eager or anything. Just it is always good not to have to rush at the last minute.

26 MARCH

Dear Diary

No calls from her.

I went to the club. She was there. She laughed when I asked her why she had not phoned. I could have ground my teeth, but as ever, I was oh so humble. So I meekly asked why she had suddenly appeared just a couple of weeks ago. She said she was from out of town on a ‘special mission’ and that she had been called in by local domme friends. God, how pretentious. I *know* her local domme friends – I have probably dom’d most of them, *laugh*. But I meekly smiled away, nodding up at her from my kneeling position on the floor. (How did that happen? How did I end up on my knees? It is almost becoming a habit.)

But she did say that next week, after the club, we might play a little. Did I like knives? I almost burst out laughing. “Oh yes”, I said, “knives and I are old friends”.

I admit to you, dear diary, that she is beautiful. It almost seems a shame to think of marring that beauty. But as you know, I am ever so humble, and so have to follow the dictates of my nature!

2 April

Dear Diary

I went to the club. She was not there at first, I was terrified she would not appear. Well, no, not terrified, obviously not. Concerned. Yes, that was it, I was concerned. But eventually she arrived. I brought her drink to her, and found myself on my knees before her again. Somehow, I do not seem to mind that so much with her. I expect that I am just building up the tension for when the tables turn, *laugh*.

She talked again about knives. Did I really not mind? I was ever so humble “Oh no Miss, I love them”. She laughed, and for just a moment I had that same eerie feeling that she could see right through me. I shrugged it off. She said she would visit after the club closed, so I gave her my address, then left early. After all, one always has preparations to make!

2 April, Midnight

Dear Diary

Am waiting for her. The room is set. Her life will never be the same again!

2 April, 1 am

Dear Diary

I can hear her heels on the staircase outside my door. I am waiting behind the door. I admit my heart is pounding.

                            NEWSPAPER CLIPPING STAPLED TO LAST PAGE OF DIARY

Local man found slain in kinky love-nest!

Mr Gregor Samsa was found slain in his apartment yesterday evening. Neighbours said they had contacted local police services after hearing loud screams emanate from the dwelling. Police said they are baffled by the crime, and by the SM paraphernalia found at the scene. The lead detective said they were especially puzzled by an inscription carved by a knife on the decedent’s chest: ‘I am ever so humble’. At this time, law enforcement officers have no suspects, and it is predicted by sources within the department that the crime will remain unsolved.