Tuesday, December 12, 2017

A Christmas Story In The Dungeon by Mark

A Christmas Story in the Dungeon

The light of the red candles flickered as he glanced nervously around the gloomy dungeon. Piled against every wall were festively decorated boxes – some large, some small and some medium-sized. He was tempted to investigate, but heard bolts being drawn back, and the creak of the dungeon door as it opened. He hurriedly fell to his knees and kept his eyes fixed to the floor in front of him, although he could hear the sound of her heels as she walked across the stone floor. He became aware of her standing over him.

‘You may look’, she said.

He raised his gaze to see her before him, clad in black heels and stockings and a long, close-fitting leather coat.

‘We are going to play a Christmas game’, she announced. ‘I will give you two chances. I will ask two questions, and if you get either one wrong, I will select a Christmas present to open. It is only fair to warn you: I do not think you will enjoy my Christmas present choices.’

He felt the familiar trickle of sweat in his hairline and the churning of his stomach

‘I understand, Mistress’, he said.

‘Good’, she said. ‘Then here is your first question. According to the Christmas carol, what did my true love send to me on the sixth day of Christmas?’

He frantically rehearsed the Christmas carol in his mind.

‘It was the partridge, Mistress!’ he cried. ‘The partridge in the pear tree’.

She sighed. ‘And yet you claim to love me. You are wrong. It was 6 geese a-laying.’

She walked across the room, and opened one of the medium-sized boxes. Inside, a coiled leather whip lay glistening in the candle-light. She strolled over until she stood above him, and began to whip him, each stroke landing in almost perfect parallel to the preceding stroke, His cries filled the air of the dungeon. After 10 strokes, she began again, this time criss-crossing her blows so that each one landed on already welted flesh. His cries grew louder as he sought to sink down into the stone floor to escape the pain. And then, as suddenly as it had started, the whipping was over.

‘Time for your second question’, she said. ‘How many ghosts visit Scrooge in Dickens’s story ‘A Christmas Carol’?

He almost laughed with relief and, somewhere inside, felt a smug satisfaction that he could outwit his Mistress and avoid more punishment.

‘Three!’, he said. ‘The Ghost of past, present and future!’

He kept his gaze fixed downwards in case she noticed the rebellious glint in his eyes.

‘Wrong’ she said.

He was about to cry out in protest, but some inner submissive sense held his tongue quiet.

‘There were 4’, she said. ‘The Ghosts of Christmas Past, Christmas Present, and Christmas Yet to Come …. And the ghost of Jacob Marley.’

He moaned as the realisation set in, and watched forlornly as she strode across the dungeon to the piles of presents. He watched her select the smallest box in the room, and inwardly heaved a sigh of relief. But after she tore the wrapping paper away, and opened the box that was revealed, he felt the fear rise in his throat as he watched the dim candle-light flicker on the cold steel of the pin-wheel device the box contained. Every fibre of his being told him to scuttle across the floor away from his Mistress as she advanced, the harsh metal of the implement barely warmed by the candle light. But his training kept him fixed. Slowly, she rolled the pin wheel across his chest and back, along his inner thighs, against the soles of his feet. Soon enough, the dungeon once again echoed to his cries of pain. Eventually, she stopped.

‘You know, in all this excitement I almost forgot’, she said. ‘We have all week to play with the rest of these presents’ – he flinched as she gestured at the piles of packages stacked around the dungeon – ‘but we must not forget your stocking fillers’.

She slowly unbuttoned the leather coat and slid it from her shoulders. She stood before him in high heels, black stockings, and black leather basque, her weight on one leg, her other stretched languorously before her. She slowly trailed a red finger nail up the outside of her leg as she watched him.

‘Do you like your stocking fillers?’ she asked.

His eyes travelled up from the spike heels, across her nylon-clad ankles and calves, to the full swell of her thighs, and stopped at the sensual divide between the lacy pattern of her stocking tops and her smooth creamy skin. He swallowed nervously.

‘Yes Mistress. I love my stocking fillers. You are the most beautiful woman in the world.’

He gazed up into her eyes as she smiled her secret smile down at him. Holding out her hand, she slowly led him to the bedroom and whispered: ‘Then a Merry Christmas to us all, and God bless us everyone.’

Christmas Shopping by Dash


Christmas Shopping by Dash

We've been at the stores for hours.  You walk ahead, a few steps. I follow behind.

We a drive at the jewelry store.  The bell rings. The woman behind the counter waves as you enter.  The counter near the back of the store has the earrings.

I put some of the bags I'm carrying on the floor. You point to a pair near the top of the display case.

"How about these?" I nod, smile.

"And these?"

"Hmm. Those seem like something my grandmother might wear. Those may not be the most flattering on you."

"Then I'll have to go with these. More carats!"

I laugh. You smile.

"Good choice," you continue. "Go ahead, honey, sing the song. Only two more times." The corner of your lip curls.

I sigh. "…two more times."

"Twelve iTunes gift certificates,"

"Eleven imported chocolate bars,"

"Ten designer tops,"

"Nine pairs of socks,"

"Eight visits to the spa,"

"Seven pairs of jeans,"

"Six pairs of shoes,"

You laugh, "That's right, including those sling back pumps you seemed to have a physical reaction to."

"Fffiiivvvvveee new lipsticks,"

"Four bottles of wine…"

You nod, and laugh.

"Three running tees,"

"Two pairs of diamond earrings...  That sparkle."

You smile. "Pay the woman."

"Yes Ma'am." I hand over my card. The earrings are given to another clerk to wrap. You step in beside me.

"We've got one more stop, baby. Now we'll get something for YOU." You smack my ass. "You might have to sing a little louder after that. You know how the leather muffles everything."

Who Are You Calling HO? by Sub #43

Who are you calling "ho?"
by miscellaneous sub number 43
-------------------

With a grunt and a weary chuckle, Santa stuffs himself into the chimney and zips himself down and out, warping time and space in his festive way.. Before him is a lovely room, with an elegant Christmas tree with presents at its foot. He steps forward to do his work, unslinging the huge bag of non-Euclidean geometry on his shoulder.

Slam.

Santa lands on his face, smashing his red button nose hard into the carpeted floor. He was tripped. Having trouble turning over, he is baffled to see that some kind of rope snare is around his ankles, cinched tight. He ponderously sits up, and takes off his mittens to try to get it off.

Yank.

A tug on his neck pulls Santa back flat onto his back. He is dragged along the floor by his neck, a noose of sturdy rope tied around it. He hears the grunting of a woman, struggling to haul his bulk, and tries to look up to see her, but he can't pivot his head. He is pulled until he is stretched out, the rope on his ankles fastened to some fixed anchor, and the rope on his wrists now pulled taut and tied off at the other end somewhere.

Santa is not afraid, per se. He has seen extremely naughty behavior before, and has had some close calls. But this is new and alarming. He grunts, straining at the ropes, his belly jiggling like a bowl full of jelly. He listens now, but no one is stirring, not even a mouse.

He hears her breathing as she steps into view. A woman in pajamas. Of height, middle build, early middle age. She smiles, but her happy face is not the face of an expectant innocent hoping for a new bike. It is something...different.

"Young lady, I insist that you--"

"Shut up. Do not speak." she says with such finality that he finds himself falling silent, if only to hear what could motivate this woman to speak to him in such a tone.

"Good boy," she purrs, and Santa can feel his face redden with anger.

"Now see--" he begins.

Thwack.

His thigh stings as though cut. She has struck him there with something long and thin that moved to fast to see. The pain is surprising...burning and throbbing and seeming to spread through his whole lower body.

"You will not speak," she informs him. "Do you understand?"

"Yes, but--"

Thwack.

It hurts more this time.

"You will not speak," she repeats, slowly and clearly. "Do you understand?"

Santa nods, cringing a bit, worrying that even that might get him whipped again.

"Good boy," she purrs again. His relief at not getting hit again makes the phrase sound like a thank you, or an apology.

"We have a lot of work to do," the woman explains. "So let's get started. You will address me as Beloved Miss. Say it."

He hesitates.

Thwack.

"Say it."

"Be...beloved Mistress..." he stammers.

"Good boy. This is going to go just fine. Just relax and listen and obey a few simple instructions, and in time you'll find everything falling into place."

Gulp.

Bleeding For You by Anonymous

Bleeding for you

If I told you that I needed you would you understand
What if I said I desired you, would you feel the same
The yearning inside me was not preplanned
Every day with you just continues stroking the flame

Under you heel is where I have always belonged
Lying in wait for your next sharp command
Down at you feet my pride so very strong
I am here I was meant to be for so very long

Your whip marking my flesh is what I desire
Feeling so proud to bear your simple mark
Every sound of you voice sets me a fire
Wanting to have you lead me out of the dark

Where this is leading I have no real clue
Working into the unknown following you lead
I only know my submission to you is true
While every ounce of me is for you to bleed

Tuesday, October 31, 2017

Desolation by Anonymous

Desolation
motion sick and bound
No knowledge of place or time
To confound the senses.
Self-indulgent vanity
Etched in stripes
Sudoku of the deviant kind.
Desolation
No sight or sound
Vomit tipped desert lips and
Swallowed emotion.
Ravaged night-clad soul
Sarcophagus embalmed with 
Witching hour shadow bruises.
Desolation
Heartsick and stormy
Mirror of the devastation within.
Sanctified upon the altar
Incarnate lustful Goddess
Merciless,yet pure
Nemesis of my existence.

An Incident At Halloween by Anonymous

AN INCIDENT AT HALLOWEEN (WITH APOLOGIES TO AMBROSE BIERCE)

It was Halloween Eve and a slave stood upon a railroad bridge at Owl Creek, looking down into the swift water twenty feet below. The slave’s hands were behind his back, the wrists bound with a cord. A rope closely encircled his neck. It was attached to a stout cross-timber above his head and the slack fell to the level of his knees. Some loose boards laid upon the ties supporting the rails of the railway supplied a footing for him and his executioners -- two Mistresses, with rifles across their shoulders, directed by the slave’s owner.  The slave’s own Mistress, her pistol holstered, stood with folded arms, silent, observing the work of her Domme colleagues, but making no sign. Death is a dignitary who when she comes announced is to be received with formal manifestations of respect, even by those most familiar with her. In the code of the D, silence and fixity are forms of deference when a slave is put to death.

The preparations being complete, the two Mistresses stepped aside and each drew away the plank upon which he had been standing. These movements left the condemned slave and his Mistress standing on the two ends of the same plank. If his Mistress stepped aside, the plank would tilt and the condemned slave go down between two ties. He looked a moment at the swirling water of the stream racing madly beneath his feet. A piece of dancing driftwood caught his attention and his eyes followed it down the current. How slowly it appeared to move! What a sluggish stream! He thought: "If I could free my hands, I might throw off the noose and spring into the stream. By diving I could evade the bullets and, swimming vigorously, reach the bank, take to the woods and get away home.” As these thoughts flashed into the slave's brain, his Mistress stepped aside.

As the slave fell straight downward through the bridge he lost consciousness and was as one already dead. From this state he was awakened -- ages later, it seemed to him -- by a frightful roaring in his ears, and all was cold and dark. The power of thought was restored; he knew that the rope had broken and he had fallen into the stream.  He was not conscious of an effort, but a sharp pain in his wrist apprised him that he was trying to free his hands. He gave the struggle his attention, and the cord fell away; his arms parted and floated upward, the hands dimly seen on each side in the growing light. He watched them with a new interest as first one and then the other pounced upon the noose at his neck. They tore it away and thrust it fiercely aside, the undulations resembling those of a water snake.

He came to the surface facing down the stream; in a moment the visible world seemed to wheel slowly round, himself the pivotal point, and he saw the bridge, the Mistresses upon the bridge, his executioners. They were in silhouette against the blue sky. They shouted and gesticulated, pointing at him. His Mistress had drawn her pistol, and the other Mistresses their rifles. Their movements were grotesque and horrible, their forms gigantic.

The slave dived -- dived as deeply as he could. The water roared in his ears like the voice of Niagara, yet he heard the dull thunder of the volley and, rising again toward the surface, met shining bits of metal, singularly flattened, oscillating slowly downward. Some of them touched him on the face and hands, then fell away, continuing their descent. One lodged between his collar and neck; it was uncomfortably warm and he snatched it out. As he rose to the surface, gasping for breath, he saw that he had been a long time under water; he was perceptibly farther downstream -- nearer to safety. The Mistresses had almost finished reloading and fired again. The slave saw all this over his shoulder; he was now swimming vigorously with the current. His brain was as energetic as his arms and legs; he thought with the rapidity of lightning:

In a few moments he found himself upon the gravel at the foot of the left bank of the stream -- the southern bank -- and behind a projecting point which concealed him from the Mistresses. The sudden arrest of his motion, the abrasion of one of his hands on the gravel, restored him, and he wept with delight. He dug his fingers into the sand, threw it over himself in handfuls and audibly blessed it. It looked like diamonds, rubies, emeralds; he could think of nothing beautiful which it did not resemble. A whiz and a rattle of grapeshot among the branches high above his head roused him from his dream. The baffled Mistresses had fired him a random farewell. He sprang to his feet, rushed up the sloping bank, and plunged into the forest.

All that day he travelled, laying his course by the rounding sun. The forest seemed interminable; nowhere did he discover a break in it, not even a woodman's road. Doubtless, despite his suffering, he had fallen asleep while walking, for now he sees another scene -- perhaps he has merely recovered from a delirium. He stands at the gate of his own home. All is as he left it, and all bright and beautiful in the morning sunshine. He must have travelled the entire night.

As he reaches the door, a blinding white light blazes all about him with a sound like the shock of a cannon -- then all is darkness and silence!

The slave is dead, his body, with a broken neck, swings gently from side to side beneath the timbers of the Owl Creek bridge.

Halloween by Anonymous

The date is approaching... it is nearly that time of year again. Halloween - when adults can dress up in crazy outfits and act like nobody is watching. It is like SL but with candy!

Halloween is not my favourite time of year but there is something oddly freeing about being able to be someone or even something else for a night.

I've been thinking lately how fun it would be to integrate D/s with Halloween...

He rings Her doorbell and waits patiently hearing footsteps moving towards him. He swallows hard as the door opens and light shines out. A gorgeous Lady dressed as a witch stands before him. 'She is gorgeous!' he thinks to himself. A moment passes as his eyes adjust and then he says "Trick or treat" with a smile on his face, confident that his costume is concealing his identity. She responds "Trick" and quickly reaches out, grabbing his arm and yanking him into the house.

He opens his eyes wide and looks around sheepishly as the door slams shut. Her hand takes a hold of his waistband as she walks in front of him without saying a word. Her heels click on the wooden floor guiding him towards another already open door.

Carefully they descend a steep staircase into a darkened room. He blinks rapidly trying to adjust to the low light, when suddenly the 'clicking' stops.

A firm feminine voice rings out from the darkness "Don't move".

He remains totally still despite feeling something gripping his left wrist and then his right. His heart pounds in his chest as he stands there for what feels like an eternity. The lights flicker on. He looks around and sees Her standing by the wall watching him. Then his eyes start to bounce from one spot to the next locking on to various pieces of equipment dotted around the room highlighted by the directional lighting. He is in... a dungeon.

She walks over to him with a quiet confidence and a slight grin on Her face. "You can move now".

He tries taking a step forward. The chains attached to the cuffs on his wrist go taut and he falls back.

"Now now... what trick would you like to see?" She says laughing to herself as she slowly undoes his pants.

He stutters, lost for words and with one quick movement she yanks his pants and underwear down to his ankles. His cheeks flush as his quickly stiffening cock reveals his excitement at the predicament. She slaps his cock hard sending it bouncing from side to side.

"Did I say you could get hard?" She says tapping her foot impatiently.

"No" he says quietly.

She slaps it again "No what?!"

He squirms and pulls his hips back feeling the sting running up and down his shaft. "No Miss!"

"That's better" She says and starts walking around slowly inspecting him.

Having done a full circle She stands in front of him and produces a large Jawbreaker.

"Time for candy" She says forcing it into his mouth and securing it with duct tape.

She smiles widely seeing both the panic and excitement in his eyes. Taking up position behind him, she slowly gropes his ass, kneading the cheeks together and spreading them apart. Letting go and without any warning she slaps his right ass cheek hard, grinning as his ass tenses up and a red outline start to form. She quickly follows up with two more hard slaps in the same place, laughing hearing his pained sounds and watching him squirm in the restraints.

She drags her nails over the red hand print, watching as the white lines quickly turn red again. Just as she draws her hand back, a loud "ding dong" echoes throughout the house.

"Don't move" She says with a grin on Her face and walks away.

At the top of the stairs she says "I hope you enjoy your trick, it's time for me to go and hand out treats" and with that she turns off the lights, closes the door and walks away.