The Exquisite Corpse The Mysterious Femdom!

The Exquisite Corpse is a community writing project organized and edited by Lady Nej. Thank you Nej and thank you to all of our participants!

By: Diana, Eli, Madeline, Tempest, Paine & Bambi
Edited by Nej

She had this vague idea of all of this, and all that was in her mind was: How the heck was she going to do with a fucking ghost for a sub? The dumb spirit had no idea that he had been killed in a dungeon...now he was there, asking to be of service.

The spirit look around, and the surroundings were not clear. It was as if the whole world was covered with layers of mist. The gray walls added to the effect. Looking around, the spirit saw people moving around, some passing right through him, not aware of his presence. "Hey there", he spoke to the Lady who approached him, she didn't see him, nor was she aware of his non stop hellos. What happened to me, he wondered. Why can't people see me? Am I dead, have I become a ghost? Oh my, what am I going to do? How can be I be of service if I am dead. A dead ghost service sub? I must be the first of my kind.

As I move amongst the others that inhabit this world -- the the sightless, the clumsy, the unenlightened, the common man, -- I find them uninteresting as companions, but amusing to hunt.  During the day, I break into their empty homes, carefully picking their locks or sneaking in a basement window.  I touch their silky things and I roll gleefully in their beds.  Sometimes, I pull delectables from their kitchens, but mostly, I retire to a basement or an attic to wait for my prey.  I have been quietly subduing them in these prosaic spots for years and dragging them home for dinner for as long as I can remember.

Dinner was a sumptuous affair, resplendent with the rarest finds that scatter the forest. A rich hunting ground to replenish the larder.  Today's feast consist of root vegetable, stuffed baby pig, roasted slowly on the spit, the crackling evenly salted. As is tradition, the pig's mouth was stuffed with an apple; but, I like to add a little something to tradition; out of evenly bored holes through the apple were five slimy grubs. A little hard not to notice as it made quite the statement. It's not quite the same without sun dried newts arranged around the roasted carcass, their sunken eyes peering out in silent complaint. I chuckle a little, as I place a a small flower in the mouth of one. "So pretty," I murmur. My dinner companions remain silent, adding to the eerie air about the group. Each one strapped to their dining chairs with black silken ropes. Their mouths gagged in the same manner.

They were pretty specimens each one, a little worse for wear perhaps after all these years, but beneath the bruises there were sensuous lips, hard lean bodies, and amongst them a pair of piercing crystal eyes that sparkle, watching carefully. I'm rather fond of those eyes, they radiate a steely intelligence. They are all cherished pets, but I like him the most. I raise my eyes to meet his and was not disappointed to find our eyes locked together. I smile, as I smooth the flimsy blood red fabric of my gown, chosen because of the contrast between the deep red hues and my pale translucent skin, that somewhat illuminated the room. Candles glowed from silver candelabra, casting a dim light in contrast to my own luminescence. I walk over to him as I addressed the room, "Are you hungry boys?" and from behind I skilfully untied the gag from his mouth, allowing the dark silk to slide and fall to the floor; other eyes flash to attention at my words.

Watching the silk scarf slowly float to the floor, I should be terrified but I'm not as I move through the chill of death and decay unnoticed, creeping closer and closer towards the front of the crowd. My senses are on fire with the scent of his fear thick in the air and the pounding of his racing heart like a jack hammer in my mind. Drop by drop, beads of sweat form on his brow, slowly roll down his flushed face and come to rest on his clinched jaw before falling off. "Are you hungry?" she muses to a dimly lit room filled with lusting monsters hungry with an unforgiving appetite for blood. Their cold, dead eyes glaring up at her and then quickly darting back at him with anticipation. My heart's beating with pure hatred now as I finally reach the edge of the crowd, "Yes I'm hungry you fucking dead bitch, but what I thirst for is justice, not blood and I shall have it, have it at any cost. The boy is mine and I will take him!"

I stalked across the field crop in hand.  Grabbed his collar and dragged him to an ancient, oak tree, tying his wrists then ankles behind his back around the huge trunk.  His naked body shone in the moonlight, and I smacked my crop against his cock, hard.  As it slammed into his balls  I saw him jump and struggle against the chains.  I pulled my arm back, and then jerked forward bringing it down hard on his balls  “That’s one boy,”…. Crack…. It sounded again hard against his already red cock…. “Two, boy”, I stated flatly, “Three.”  He whimpered in pain as he jerked again pulling against the restraints.  “Four,” I called out again, as he whispered, “Thank you Miss.” As I cropped him, his cock grew harder and harder, "What a slut," I teased as I continued whacking his cock in fast even strokes.  “You excited toy?” I barked as I smacked his cock  again.  “No Miss,” he stammered. “Well you will be”,  He moaned again, and I could see his cock was hard.   I reached down, and grabbed it,  slapping it, before stroking it..   The mix of pleasure and pain was torture.  I watched his face grimace with pain as the drops of cum began to leak from his hard cock.  “Don’t cum boy I commanded,”   He groaned again louder, grunting from the pressure as my hand slid over his hard cock stroking harder.

The End



By: Eva, Tam, Gabrielle, Susannah, Panther & Crissy
Edited by Nej

She heard her old Mercedes as it sputtered and coughed, groaning as it turned out of the drive and raced away from the house. It's been a long time since that car peeled out from anywhere. It's more used to languorous weekly drives to town to run errands, ending with a loving top off of its tank. It's probably in shock. She could hear the man's desperation in the screech of the wheels and the frantic rev of the engine. There was no chance of catching him now. But it didn't matter. She took a deep breath, and did a quick survey of the room. It was what she supposed one would call the parlor in an old, more than slightly dilapidated farm house. A few pieces of furniture were placed like sentinels around the room: a dubious looking wooden chair with flaking blue paint, what used to be called a hope chest, now filled with old newspapers and Sears Christmas catalogs, and a small lacquered end table with a faded doily on top. An ornate fireplace dominated one side of the room, topped with a faux Napoleonic Empire hawk that looked down at her menacingly, as if he too were outraged at his incongruity. Crouching down, she picked up the grey striped shirt the man had dropped in his haste. Her fingers bunched the brushed cotton together and kneaded it softly as she stood up. She figured there was probably ten miles worth of gas in the car, give or take. She'd have to go out and get him at some point, but not just yet. She figured she'd let him suffer a bit. He'd left everything behind as he ran out of the house, even his wallet. There was nothing for miles and miles, not even a neighbour, never mind a gas station or telephone. Besides, he didn't know the area. She didn't dislike the idea of him being lost and helpless. If it weren't for the inconvenience, she might have even relished it. Why couldn't he have just trusted her, she wondered. Then she stopped, tilted her head and looked over her shoulder. She'd heard the chains in the basement gingerly start to rattle. She dropped the shirt to the floor. She better go deal with the other one first.

Because this one seemed to need a rest. After hours in the dungeon where She tortured him with salt on his feet, then calling the goats in, he was not in the best shape anymore. So She laid him back in the coffin and turned Her attention to the other one. A mean expression draw around the edges of Her lips, then She posed in front of him, knowing he couldn't move a bit. Not his body, not his hands, barely his mind. In front of the fire, She started to sway Her hips, then Her whole body in slow seductive moves, knowing in what state She would lead him without mercy. In the flickering light of the fire She danced his eyes out of the head, his mind out of his body and his cock in a useless erection. His unsteady panting breath and every now and then a dry swallow told Her that She had him ready for the next step.

She ordered him to undress immediately. When he hesitated, she quickly slapped his face, leaving him stunned; his cheek stinging from the slap and turning a bright pink.

"When I give you a command, I expect it to be followed...BOY." She said with a sneer. "Y...y...yes, Ma'am" he stammered and clawed at his clothing - trying to get it off quickly enough to avoid another slap...and her disapproval. She was holding the jar of mustard in one hand and had picked up a paintbrush with the other. "Come on, let's go - I want to see you covered in mustard before I return." She handed him the pot and the brush and turned to leave. "Oh and boy....don't you DARE miss a spot...or there WILL be consequences," she said in a low and dangerous tone.

Having just had her orgasm, and ordered him to clean the results of her squirting, she propped up on her elbows to watch him dutifully licking. Her boy begins with very gentle licks along her soaked seams, making sure to avoid her engorged clit in the process as he knows the punishment from that having experienced it before. Following her personal clean up, he backs away, still on hands and knees following the trail of her still warm cum. He smiles and shakes his head in amazement that she doesn't drown him in the process every time.

Closing his eyes to take a breath, then opening them again, he gasps in amazement to find himself in his car again. Tilting sideways in the ditch after the collision, his driver side window broken, the rain now coming in it and showering him. He shakes the water from his eyes and with shaking hands tries to get his fingers to work the seatbelt to release it. His head throbs in time to the fast beating of his heart and he feels a panic arise. He remembers... the dark figure, the chase, the crash... it all comes back in a rush. Fear grips him as he looks up and sees the dark figure looming just outside the car, waiting for him with a toothy grin.  


The End



By: Gaeth, Tika, Chaotic, Olive, Summer & Persephone
Edited by Nej

The stirring began. I don't know where it started, but I felt it in my limbs, and felt it moving inward to the core and I knew that I would open my eyes and see her standing over the coffin-like box in which she kept me. She'd be wearing that smirk of possession as she watched the power to move course through me. Then she would say, "Rise", and I would rise and follow her and she would use me until she was weary, and then I would die again.

All this I told the therapist that, listening with worried expression on her face, handed me one napkin after another so I could wipe my face of tears. I felt liberation by finally getting it all told, the nightmare, the humiliation, all the women who had humiliated and exploited me in the last few weeks of my life. In the beginning I was afraid that she, the therapist would not believe my story. I mean ... some people find it hard to believe that there are places like Dominion, where evil women live out their secret sadistic desires on innocent victims like me. Some people would think that I fantasized if I told them that these women, who seem to live ordinary lives as ordinary women are in fact demons, creatures without human emotions, able to turn themselves into these sex-hungry, bloodthirsty man-eaters when night falls. The therapist got up from her chair, after I had finished my speech and stood silent for a moment in front of me. I measured her with my eyes as if to read what she would say ...

Her face gave nothing away.  Then she began to speak. "You don't know the history of it. You can't begin to realize what is tied up in all of this. You will never know." She shook her head, the unreadable mask of her face fracturing just a bit, giving me a look into the horror of which she spoke. I was taken aback. I wanted to run, I wanted to hide, but to where?  We were stuck here, I was trapped with this broken person, with no way out.

Looking around I decided there were two ways I could handle this situation. I could embrace it or I could fight it. If I were honest with myself I would have to admit there was something inside me stirring in this situation. I was exhilarated and my excitement was growing with each passing moment. Focusing on the broken person next to me I began to see them with new eyes. No longer a leaden weight to be stuck with but someone with whom I could explore this dark side of myself. My mind froze for a moment as I realized what this thought meant for me and I came to terms with what I was about to do.

I quickly telephoned the take out shop and ordered Chinese. I needed a full meal in my belly to complete this task. It arrived quickly and I gobbled it up. Wiping my mouth, I realized that my hands were sticky with sauce and I snapped my fingers, summoning my slave who cowered behind a chair. I held out both hands as he licked them clean. His first meal of the day. I lay back and slowly pulled my skirt up, allowing him to peek at what was underneath. He slavered and begged. With another quick hand motion he went silent and I could see his eyes searching for glimpse of what made his world go around. I snapped my fingers again and he retreated back behind the chair. What a good boy he is! He has taken to training well. Perhaps I'll list him on Craigslist: Free filthy sub to good owner. Non returnable.

That was impossible to do he might get some super hot Domme who was too soft, his reward for being a shitty sod must be deliciously dastardly and cruel. I paced the floor in my Docs, still covered in subbie detritus, and pondered on his fate. His experience needed to be satisfying to me in a way he had never been.

The 'solution' presented itself soon afterwards in an unexpected and twisted way. A few days before Halloween I met up with an old friend, he was actually my father's friend but his range of knowledge and and deep philosophical ramblings made him a stimulating companion. We sat in a central coffee shop with autumn leaves swirling in the gutters and it is here in these innocuous surroundings that my sub's fate was sealed. The guy, Max, is very astute and certainly identified my Dommie predilections without me saying anything a long time ago. He also guessed that something was playing on my mind and asked me if I wanted to share it. I explained the situation without divulging too many details and said I would welcome any ideas as to how best to 'deal' with my boy. His solution almost resulted in coffee being expelled down my nose through a combination of laughter and shock. Once I had recovered we spent an hour discussing the finer details of a highly simple yet effective plan.

October 31st arrived, my Boy and I prepared to leave for what what I had described to him  as a kinky Halloween party. He was blindfolded for the journey, that sort of stuff has always thrilled him and up to now he had no reason to think I'd keep him anything other than safe. What happens next is 'the plan' that had been discussed. Before we came too close to our destination I stopped and cuffed him, all locked up and blind, perfect for my plan.

I turned off the road towards an ancient manor house and came to a halt on the graveled path. Doors slammed, voices were raised; I pushed him towards the door, which swung open as we approached. Another world unfolded before my eyes the sixteenth century true to every detail. Ensconced before a huge open grate sat five hooded and cloaked figures. Max's voice echoed in the vast expanse of the room,

'We are present to worship the Goddess present among us'

Thinking on my feet I responded with,

'I bring a gift with which you may celebrate the turning of the seasons'

I watched the night slip by, served wine and fruit by the other males present, I watched while they used the boy over and over until his arse no longer puckered but gaped red and bruised.

He never used his safe word.

Next day I left him there.

Removed all traces of his presence from my apartment.

Erased him from my life.

Sometimes I ponder if Craigslist would have been the gentler option; No...... that was the best Halloween ever I loved every moment of his humiliation and pain.

And,

I have met another boy who just might be the next Halloween sacrifice.

THE END

I Want by Lady Diana

I want you to want me in the roughest and obscene way that you know of.
I want to be covered in you, sweat, your breath and the words that escape your mouth with my hand in your cock at 3 a.m.
I want my teeth marks on you, bruises in your neck from all my kisses, hurting muscles that you can feel whenever you move.
I want secret marks that nobody knows about, and marks not so secret that people can see in you when you move your head in a certain way.
I want your tongue in my mouth and my fingerprints  in your ass.
I want you to know how your name sounds when it flows from my lips between a moan and a gasp.
I want you to feel the hunger I have for long going unfed.
I want to posses your body and your pleasure, but above it all I want you.

Confession by Lady Persephone

[This is a true story...]

Candles flickered in the side chapel; the bones of ancient ancestors settled deeper in the dust of centuries many feet below me. The statue of Our Lady gazed ever downwards as if watching over those whose memories had long been lost to the worms. I shuffled on my knees the names of those buried beneath carved on the marble slap that was my cushion.

It is freezing outside but my cheeks are flushed, hands clammy under the folds of my habit and I fear that my sins will never be forgiven for they are beyond the forgivable or perhaps it's because I don't believe; have never really believed. I begin reciting my sins to the Virgin knowing her cold demeanor will not thaw to my entreaties.

The chains of the turret clock rattle and creak as midnight approaches. I rise and pad towards the altar, a tomb containing some ancient saint's bones and along with them the sins of my earlier life. A howl of pure sorrow echoes in this hallowed place, mine. I tear at the altar cloth it's silverware clattering to the floor and prostrate myself across the stone. My lips move. I cannot be forgiven for I have no regrets and I would do it all again.

I push against the top stone. It yields almost too easily; smells of musty dampness rise and strike my nostrils. He lays there almost uncorrupted by the passing years, his naked body with dry skin peeling the only testament to his time in the tomb. I close my eyes and visions sweep across the intervening years of desolation and isolation.

Sacrilegious memories. His pale body nailed to the cross, here at this very spot. My whip across his puny almost fleshless buttocks rattling flesh against bone. The priest who promised his God chastity yet who worshiped me as the Goddess incarnate. ....Later a soft nipple placed between his lips and devoured in an archaic parody of transubstantiation.

Perhaps if it had been one moment of pure passionate insanity I might believe in my own salvation. Not one moment but scores of times leaving the chancel and nave littered with unholy fluids our breath condensed into tongues of infernal hellbent lust .

-----

He died All Hallows Eve some thirty years ago, his gluttony for pain and my yearning for the pleasure of torturing taken to its ultimate end. Those years of total mental and physical supremacy have fed my life of contemplation. When I kneel in prayer with my sisters, the rosary slipping through my fingers, I smile; dogma and doctrine pale when compared to my divinity.

Next Halloween he will lie unmolested as I too will be laid in a tomb and our story  will be  lost to the dust and cobwebs of time.

The Inquisitor Goes To Hell by Doc

The Grand Inquisitor looked forward to a busy day rooting out heretics, Jews, wizards, and witches from his beloved Spain.  Though he didn't really like the smell of burning human flesh, he simply thought of his job as one of purification.  He was, as laid out in The Book of Judges, pleasing God by burning these degenerates and turning them into smoke.
 
It was a shock when he emerged from his home and found everything in chaos.  Little did he know that he had been swept up from Spain in the Year of our Lord 1490 to Spain in a year of Satan:  1937.

“What’s going on,” he asked a passerby.  He had never heard such a thunderstorm in his life!  The woman stared at his strange clothing for a second and then just said, “They have encircled the city, the sons of bitches.  They’re fucking bombing us!”  He had no idea what ‘bombing’ was but he knew she had spoken impiously. “Sister, you need not use that language in front of a man of God.  She stared, said ‘fuck you’, and then raised her skirt.  “And to hell with you… priest.”

The Inquisitor was aghast.  He was in Satan’s Hell!  He must have died in his sleep and been taken off by demons.  He dropped to his knees, shaking.  The woman laughed at him.  “Kneeling to worship me, priest?”  He numbly looked up.  “You are a witch!  Possessed by Satan.  You are sent to tempt me.”  A verse of scripture that -- didn't quite match the circumstances --  crossed his mind: the words of Satan.  “All these things I will give You, if You fall down and worship me."  The Grand Inquisitor looked at the woman, his gaze pausing as it moved from her face to her breasts to her hips and…. She had now lowered her skirt – but he could still see in his mind what had been revealed to him moments ago.

She chuckled, looking down at the kneeling man.  “I see you noticed.  Now, before we are both killed standing here in this street, follow me.”  The inquisitor only then noticed that, though the thunder continued, the sky was blue.  “Strange” he thought.  As he looked up he saw birds that he had never seen before high overhead.  They shone in the sun like silver.  Their wings were spread wide and never moved.  They roared.  He had no idea what to make of these.

“You fool.  Follow me!” the woman said.  “Oh, and my name is Maria.”  She grabbed him.  “Hurry, they are bombers,” she shouted.  Only an instant later pillars of smoke and enormous crashes of noise erupted on the next street.  The inquisitor now began to wonder is Hell was simply eternal warfare waged by demons against demons, each bent on crushing sinners between their armies. “Certainly that must be it,” he thought, dimly recalling a very suspect book he had read years ago about Hell, writing by an Italian of dubious reputation; his name was Durante alle Zattere, or something like that.  He could not recall anything in that book, named Inferno, relating to demons fighting each other, but ….  The inquisitor, now following Maria, stared at her buttocks under a flimsy cotton skirt.  He knew it was a violation of the 10th commandment to look at Maria with lust, but – if he was already in Hell, then it was obvious he could not be condemned to Hell for gazing on her loins, right?

He then reasoned – in the same line –“If I’ve been judged a sinner and sent to Hell, then Satan is my new Lord and Master.  If this woman is a demon, I have no reason  NOT to engage in sin with her.”  He looked at her breasts.  “I am beyond the purview of the commandments of God, since I am no longer a servant of Him,” he said aloud without thinking.

“Priest, you better get moving or we’re going to get blown to bits!  Here, follow me into this basement!”  He obeyed her instantly.

Once they were under the protection of the huge concrete building, Maria turned to him and said, “I heard you say you are no longer a servant of God.  So, I have a proposition to make you.  What about becoming *my* servant?”  A huge explosion, very near, made the man start shaking.  “Whatever you want, demon!  Whatever you demand!”
 
She smiled, trying to look innocent.  “Well, you could start by worshiping me!”  He nodded vigorously.  She decided that she had nothing to lose with this strange male person, so she then said, “Promise me you will love, honor and obey me for all time!” (Maria had a sense of humor.  Besides, messing with this guy’s mind was a distraction from the German bombers overhead.  She didn't even want to think about the Italian troops closing from the north and east.)

He said nothing at first, so she pressed her luck. “Now!  I want you to promise!”  She pulled up her dress so he could see her better.  She had no underthings left.  They’d long since been left behind.

“Promise to obey me!” she shouted.  He nodded.  “Yes, I promise, demon.  I am yours forever, spawn of Satan.”  (Maria had no clue what this meant.  It sounded just like the thing a weird priest would rattle on about….).

“Again,” she said!  “Say it and mean it!  And then add, ‘I will sin with you forever and ever amen.”

“I promise to love, honor and obey you for all time.  I will sin with you forever and ever amen.”

It was an instant later when a bomb flattened the building in which Maria and the Inquisitor were hiding.  Flames quickly erupted.  The two were trapped in the fire.  She died quickly.   He screamed as the flames burned into his flesh.  He could smell his burning flesh.  Soon it was over.  He turned into smoke.

Maria and The Inquisitor  arrived at the Gates almost at the same time.  The only words they heard were, “You have renounced the right to enter here.  Return to spend all eternity to your lord and master.  And they fell into The Pit of Eternal Fire, united there for all time.  She was indeed his new goddess – but he learned quickly that she was truly demonic.  He suffered under her power.  He was bound for all time to love, honor and obey her.

Maria took full advantage of her power.   The Inquisitor was to pay for his sins Forever.

What Lurks In The Heart Of Man by Lady Axelle

Part I

Nocoli pulls up to the nondescript building in our cities abandoned business district, the one that never quite recovered after the dot com bubble burst. He turns down Trentemoller and searches for my eyes in the rear view mirror. I remove the band from my wrist, gather my hair into a loose ponytail, lick my lower lip, and inhale deeply -- once, twice, a third time -- before I meet his gaze. My expression betrays the electric feeling running through me as I give him a blank nod and he exits the car, coming round to open my door. He holds out his hand and I step out into the cold crisp night, taking my case from his other hand.

All of my encounters follow the same script. I never know exactly how I’m found; my name is only whispered on the fringe of certain circles. The letters arrive in all states. Some are hand written on stationary as expensive as a good bottle of wine. Others come scribbled on binder paper, stuffed into envelopes with the address of the water company crossed out and replaced with my own. There is always the same aura of hesitation in the writings, the same sense of desperation, and they are always addressed, to “Miss”. I have the luxury of being selective. I can’t explain what sways my decisions, how I choose to facilitate one person over the other, but there is always a distinctive connection. I write my replies and warn against any deviation from my instructions. It has been long enough now, that the whispers sway any rebellious ideas.

I check the small remote in my back pocket and I enter through a side door, listening as my steps echo in the cavernous corridor. The lighting is dim, but I can see the clinical brightness ahead. I discover her exactly as I had expected, sitting on the north end of the table, nude, sans the blindfold. I can see she was truthful about her height and weight, something that I appreciate.  There have been times in the past where I had to leave on the account of untruthfulness. Appearance ceased being something I cared about long ago, but numbers have always mattered. Misinformed calculations can lead to dangerous situations. She knows not to speak, or to move, or to make any acknowledgment of my presence (per our letters).

I  place my case to the east and from it I remove my glass and a large bottle of water, setting them to my left at ten and eleven. I remove my trench-coat and place it over the back of the chair, taking a seat on the south end of the table. I examine her face more closely.  She has to be in her early forties. The laugh lines lead me to believe that, despite the isolation of her proclivities, she’s happy. The pillowy curve of her mocha cheek make me wonder how much I’d have to slap her in order to witness her blush. The stray bit of hair falling over her brow makes something inside me itch, but I refrain from reaching it over and pulling it from her scalp. Instead I reach over and languidly pour myself a glass of water, taking a small sip before removing the rest of the items from my case.

The ting of metal being placed on metal sets off a giddiness in me.  I can’t help but to softly hum. I arrange the smooth wood, the warm leather, the pleasure devices all in ascending order by height. I rise and place the case under the table as I go to setup the rigging. I eye the girl; she hasn't moved since I entered, though her breathing has quickened after hearing me lay out my tools. A grin spreads across my face as I unfurl some clear plastic sheeting; I watch as it billows before falling to the floor. I head back towards the table, standing behind her. I lean in. I see her shrink for the first time as she senses my proximity, an instinctual reaction when prey senses a predator. I look to the clock just over her shoulder and I smile. We are right on schedule. I remove her blindfold before returning to my seat across from her.

“Hello, Ramona. My name is Selene and I’m a torturer.”

What You Did by Anonymous

That clear, strained clinking of steel links under the duress of tension.
The creaking of leather bindings stretching to accommodate this new and furious pressure.
The sound of her calm, focused breaths at regular intervals, inches from my face.
My eyes open, crawling up from her midsection, to her intently staring eyes.
I feel my shoulder click when I go to take a particularly big breath.
Something had to give into the tension.
I felt suspended.
My arms held way above my head by her fist, the chairs of my wrist cuffs coiled about her fist which seemed rooted into the wall.

"What did you do!?"

She almost yelled into my face.
It took every ounce of self control not to even glance away.
I cold feel the heat of her words scotch my cheeks as they passed on the breeze.
She looked furious.
Hungry.
Before I could even speak, she growled, and grasped something at her hip.
I heard the *Click* *Sliiiiiiiiide*
My whole body tried to gasp in sudden fear.
The glint out of the corner of my eye.
That flash of reflected light piercing my soul as it could so easily do to my flesh.
She stroked the back of this blade across my stomach, touching cold steel to hot skin.
Tracing the reverse edge of the tip up past my diaphragm to the base of my ribs.
Then I felt it, that razor sharp tip faintly sting my body with just a feather's touch.
Frozen in fear, I barely even breath.

"Tell me what you did, pet...."

This time more melodic, calm, seductive...
Deviant.
Her tone of voice shifting now that I can't even move a muscle.
Even her eyes were softer.
Well, softened from the pure embodiment of raging fury, to the unquenchable hunger of a stalking tiger.
My lips quivered in stubborn refusal to form anything that could be described as intelligible language.
My brain a maelstrom of emotion, all permeated with that over arching shadow of fear.
The blade twisted so the edge was upward, and upwards it rose.
She lifted her hand carefully, drawing a white line in my skin from the little red bead she'd made before.
Far enough to stretch the fabric of my shirt taught over it's edge.

"I.. Without permission... I came, without permission... Mi-"

Cut off by my hands being pulled a little ways towards her, and slammed back into the wall.
Her eyes lit up with that roaring fire once more, glinting with such sweet deviance.
She knew already, of course she did.
But this was all part of her fun.
Her teeth clenched and muscles taught.
Her knee slammed to the wall between my thighs, Lifted to squeeze between my legs, and force mine apart.
She drew herself along side me, cheek to cheek.
She wanted me to feel her displeasure.

"You stole from me..."

I couldn't argue.
Not even for a second.
Not a breath.

"And what are you going to do to pay for what you stole, Slut."

That last word spat out like a bitter taste.
Lashed against my inner ear like a whip.
Scored into my waking mind with the same unbridled passion she used when marking my skin.
I cringed and faltered.
I stayed silent.
I listened to the tear of fabric strands, giving way to the resumed advance of unrelenting steel.
I was made intimately aware of the temperature of the air.
The proximity of her body.
My goosebumps greeted the light.
Her teeth greeted my neck, and I whimpered.
My shirt fell open and she removed the blade from against my body.
*Slam*
The blade being seated into the wall, trapping the chains of my restraints far above my head.
And that tell tale chuckle.
You know the one.
It translates to "You're so fucked right now."

"I think I'll make you work it off, but first...."

She slapped me firmly across the face.
It was sudden, so much so that I didn't even see her body position for it.
Returning from my daze of surprise I felt her tear my jeans open and grab her possession.
The other hand took a grip about my throat.
pressed right up above my collar and my voice box, sinking into the softness.
The vital-ness.
Tighter.
Tighter still.
getting comfortable at the point where my face flushed red and only soft slow wheezing breaths can be taken.
She ran her tongue across the top of my cheek, collecting the small tear that she'd milked from my eye.
A droplet of desperation.
Fear.
She stroked and manipulated my still frustrated body.
Scratching it with her nails.
Gripping it so tight I could squeak and beg.
Well, if I had any air.

"I'm going to enjoy making you apologise, for what you did."

Impromptu Confessions 18/10/14

Life foists changes on you without reason or warning, and I am no exception to the rule. I find myself in a transitory period with several options before me. I know some of them will be painful but perhaps the more painful road is the better way in the long run. I could stay the path I am on which will have a change in circumstances all it's own, follow a path with painful changes that are major and have no real known direction beyond the first change or follow a new uncharted course that has tickled my curiosity. There is no rush to make a choice but I know that choose I must and so change is most likely in the offing. I only know for sure that change will happen and is happening as we speak. Time goes on and change is inevitable.



I get really immersed in whatever I'm doing and my work has been central to my life for a long time. I love my job, passionate about it but in the last year or so I've begun to feel jaded. Not wanting a traditional promotion and unsure which path to travel next I was open to explore new horizons. This summer opened my eyes to new opportunities and I know I am ready to seize them.


 It would be easier to describe anything static!  Really.  My body is more stable than my mind, which travels over centuries and ranges all over planet earth and beyond.  It's hard to keep my consciousness in any channels. Dommes past and present have come and gone -- and returned -- in just the last two months.  I'm yanked about. Structure? I write for this event every week.  I go to the gym at least three days a week.  I eat every day.  I sleep every night.   Everything else is flux.  I have no idea if the chaos is positive or negative.  I just hold on, wondering what's around the corner.


The biggest change that I've had recently... would have to be my own personal growth.  I have grown into my Dominance, grown into my confidence.  This has freed me to take the focus of myself... that insecure "what can I do to make them like me?" desire to focus on the people around me... Those who are close to me... It has helped me find balance and happiness.



Stopped caring for some people. They have been making life a bit difficult. Now I don't give a damn about them. That's the transition.

How To Tenderize A Pig by Anonymous

The phone call lasted over an hour.  The frustration in her friend's voice hanging in the air around her.  She did not leave her house often, but did this time.  The bag she carried was heavy, it thudded against her thigh with each step she took.  She descended the stairs to the club, the doorman giving her a slight nod and a "Welcome Lady" before opening the door for her.  Inside it was dark, the music soft, the barest audible mingling of voices.  She let her eyes adjust then worked her way to the back, entering a room with a red door.

Inside there was assembled chairs in a semi circle around the perimeter.  Seated were many acquaintances, some she knew by name.  Her friend was seated closest to a table in the center, here is where she walked and set down her bag.  She remained silent, looking around the room and noting the brat suspended from the ceiling by cuffed wrists, a pig mask covering the brat's head.  Her lips gave the slightest curve of approval at the hook in the ceiling a couple feet in front of where the brat was suspended, also a few feet of empty space behind.

Opening her bag, she retrieved a couple ziplines, the clothespins arranged in rows of 15 with knots between.  She walked to the brat and began pinching bits of skin and attaching pins.  She worked her way up the chest on each side, taking care to include the nipple.  The brat did not say a word or make a sound.  This brat had greatly displeased their Mistress, and thought they could "take whatever anybody dished out".

At the top of each zipline was a loop, these she looped through a bit and tapped the brat's chin twice, inserting the bit then tapping their chin again til they closed their mouth.  Turning around she then went to her bag and extracted an iron weighted and hooked ball.  She carefully knotted rope to the ball, tugging it vigourously to make sure it was secure.  Standing on a chair, she ran the other end of the rope through the hook in the ceiling then walked towards the brat, the rope skimming along her fingertips as she pulled til the weight was suspended off the floor.  She tied the free end to the mouth bit in the brats mouth then let go, hearing a squeal of surprise as the brat bit down harder to handle the extra weight.

Reaching up she yanked the pig mask off the brat's head, observing them carefully as they looked around, taking in the room and their predicament.  She turned around and went to her bag, reaching in and feeling the leather against her hand. She closed her eyes and her body gave the slightest shudder of pleasure before removing the whip and unfurling it with a slight snap of her wrist.

The brat's eyes grew wider, watching her walk to the rear, the muscles in the neck straining with the weight to turn to see what she was doing.  She flicked the whip, the tip snapping against the brat's ear, the brat's head snapping to the front, the brat's body quivering now, the legs shaking.  She began with a soft lash against the upper back, watching the body jump and the weight sway.  The ziplines had been on there for awhile now, she smiled in anticipation knowing the pain this brat would be subjected to.  She managed two more lashes before breaking the brat.  A soft scream before the much louder sounds of agony and pleasure.

The brat stood, head bowed, tears flowing down their face.  Angry red welts ran in a line up their chest.  She walked by and waited, as other servants retrieved her items and handed them to her one by one.  She packed her bag then closed it, her hands resting on it for a moment reverently.  Sighing, she picked up her bag and left the way she came, her step lighter, the night more alive than it was before.

Confession by Rock

Feelings

Unknown feelings,
Churning, coursing through me,
Causing my mind to spin
As it attempts recognition.
Frustration,
At the lack of understanding
My own emotions.
Only a vague awareness
Of BLACK
Running through my veins;
A fearful darkness
Hidden amongst the light.
Pulses of negative energy
Along with floods
Of racing warmth.
Anger, elation, sadness, peace;
A mix of all emotions
Which is beyond all
Scope of knowledge.

The Trip Part III by Anonymous

The Trip - Part III  - Anon

As he trembled,  he could feel all those eyes upon him. It was as if everyone went silent and turned their gaze to him, the guy bound and kneeling. He could feel her hand in his hair and feel his head roughly pulled back again so that he was looking up at her. "I bet your wondering...what is she going to do with me now?"  

"Well first we have to see what to do about those," she said, and pointed over at the pictures the ladies were holding up  "I know.  How about I let them give you a little pay back first."

With that she let him go, and moved away from him. The ladies began to move toward him, and he felt two hands reach out from behind him. Two guys took ahold of a contraption and began to move it closer to him, and he soon found himself bent over a wooden box, his back and ass exposed.

She walked over to the pictures and began to look through them. As she did, she called out the women's names associated with each one and they began to form a line.

A whip was handed to the first one and she stepped forward. "Did you enjoy the pictures?" she asked as the woman took a few swings of the whip, making marks upon his back.  She passed the whip to the next, and they took their turn. With each crack of the whip he tried to stop from crying out. Each whip mark was being etched on his back. He could not stop himself from crying out as the last few took their turns. That's when his wife got up and made her way back over to where he knelt.   He was forced to watch each step of hers until she vanished behind him. He felt the cool caress of her finger tips.touching the red flesh of his back.

"Don't worry, there is much more to come," she said, her fingers sliding down along his spine while he tried to stay still. He begged, saying he'd be good, saying that he'd do anything, if she would just let him free. He promised he wouldn't say anything about this to anyone if she would just let him go. "Please just let me free and lets just go home!" was the last thing he had said before she interrupted him.

"But I do bore of your words at the moment,." she stated simply.  She reached over into a black bag and pulled out a ball attached to a long strap, and as he was pleading with her, she pushed the ball into his mouth and then pulled the straps tight.

"Shall we continue?" she said with a soft mischeivious laugh. "After all, the auction isn't for some time still."

Captain Jane by Doc

Captain Jane Flistenberg asked the two men she’d sent out to ‘take care of things’: “Is it done?”  They nodded.  “Yes, ma’am!”

The group of seventeen guerrilla fighters had been in hiding.  Now there were only 15.  It was the result of disobedience to orders.  The men had been sent to execute Sergeant Sarah Smithson and Corporal Gary Fortenberry.  It had been by garrote: quiet, efficient, and fast.  A length of wire tied around two small pieces of wood.  Around the neck.  It took less than a minute.

The captain’s face was dark.  She hated ordering their execution.  She knew the men and women of her unit felt even worse.  They all knew – every man and woman in the unit – that it had been necessary.   The rule was iron-clad.  No sexual contacts of any kind in the field.  Time enough for that on R & R back in the city.  Never in the field!  Worse, the couple had been on guard duty (supposedly).

She decided to call the group to discuss what had happened.  She chose to do it just before sunset.  There would be no campfire tonight.  Scott, her scout, had seen troops in the valley.  She knew they had night vision equipment, drones, and infrared ‘seekers’.   Everyone knew they were being hunted.

“I don’t need to tell you what happened last night – and what I had Jimmy and Elbert do today to ‘fix’ our problem,” she began.  No one met her gaze, which wandered from person to person.  Juanita coughed.  Carl fiddled with his shoelaces.  “The two people, who we all liked, had to suffer the consequences of what could have resulted in all of us being dead at this very moment.”  There was total silence.  The captain paused.

“I think we all have our needs.  We all hate this life hiding out here and sneaking around.  It’s not fun.  It is however our life until we manage to clear this district.”  She knew she was stating the obvious, but decided to plunge on.  “The reason I had Sarah and Gary executed was not because they decided to fuck.”  She used that word deliberately.  She needed to speak plainly.  “The reason I had Sarah and Gary killed was because they refused to wait until we would be relieved in a couple of weeks and – by fucking while on guard duty – put all of us at risk.  Do you all understand?”  Several heads bobbed up and down.   The others didn't move.

“I want  everyone to understand that I didn't want to have this happen.  It won’t happen again.”  Jane was now getting angry and it showed in her voice.  “It won’t happen again because you now know I’m serious about having my orders followed.  It won’t happen again because you motherfuckers now know what I’m made of.  And it won’t happen again because I think we all know that following orders isn’t an option.”  She stopped.  She thought.

“Not now, but whenever you want… if you decide to leave our unit and take your chances ‘down there’”… She gestured toward the valley.  “…. With ‘them’ going door-to-door every night”.  She paused.  “Let me know.” Another pause.  “You can go down there and take your chances and have a comfy life and fuck your brains out or get drunk as a skunk, or whatever.”  Everyone knew that if anyone did that, she would gladly let them do so.  They also knew those who left would be dead in 48 hours.  If they weren't turned in by the villagers first they’d be found in the searches.  Quitters might never have time for fun -- before being shot – or raped – or tortured – or …. .

Everyone knew what had happened two years ago when the enemy had moved into the district.  All those things and worse.

No one moved for a long time.

Finally Captain Flistenberg stood up.  “When we go to town in two weeks,” she said, “you won’t recognize me.  You won’t recognize yourselves.  We’ll stop being a fist.  We will have fun.  We will party.  We will fuck and drink and go wild.”  She paused again.
“But not until then.”

“Gentlemen and ladies, do you have any questions?”  No one said a word.  She looked around and then said, “Dismissed.  Now let’s bunk down.  Carla, you and Jonesy are on guard duty.  I think you’ll act professionally, right?”  Both immediately replied, “Yes, ma’am!”

The sun set that night on a group ready for the next day.  They would be putting out Claymore mines tomorrow.  Their job was to kill.  They all wanted to live.  They would obey orders.

Impromptu Confessions 11/10/14

Question: What Is Your 3 Way Fantasy?

I would love to ravage this boy...

My best friend and I would break him down, tear him to pieces and then put him back together the way *we* want him to be.

Mm.  Yes.


My three way fantasy is to be the fluffer for my Mistress and Her alpha slave.


My 3-way fantasy involves three other people... not myself.  I am the director of the scene.  I watch, until I get bored with them, then I go back to playing Angry Birds.


My 3-way fantasy is to be taken by my Mistress with her strap-on, as i orally pleasure whomever she wishes, female, male.  Then they switch. I orally pleasure my Mistress as i am taken anally again, everyone climaxing.  Finally, both of them bring me to climax with their mouths and hands while i am still bound.


My three-way fantasy has actually been turned into a Confessions story. This was because it started with me writing a fantasy for my Mistress. I started with me being naked in a dark room, waiting for Her. When She arrived, She blindfolded me and that's where the fantasy took flight on it's own wings. The words tumbled from my head onto the page. A third person, a female, was there in the room in my fantasy. She played with my Mistress before I was approached by this someone i identified as not being Her. I was sat on, breath- controlled and then peed on by this unknown and unseen female.  After this person left the room My Mistress spoke to me. She then revealed that She had worn different perfume than normal and that it was Her that had played with me -- not some unknown anonymous woman.

I read my fantasy to Her after writing it.  I was shaking with nervous tension, almost crying, because this had come from somewhere i had not seen.

by Elric

No, it has not come true.  It involves Me, a male sub, and another FemDom. 

The dirty little sub is bound spread-eagle, blindfolded. He has a cock gag inserted into his mouth, and he is lying with headphones on, tuned into his favorite music. The two of us lay a table cloth over him, set him as a table, and eat off of proper place settings of beautiful china, the plates warm against his body. Once finished, we first remove the set table and the table cloth, then remove his headphones so he can hear us -- touching, eating, fucking each other, our moans his only input.  Eventually, we simply ride the cock table, She on his cock, me on the gag, both of us teasing his body with our hands.  Finally both of us switch places, and continuing to enjoy this pleasure table until we are finished.

Three way fantasy?..... Uh, well, I once met a couple I didn't know.  I was in town for a convention.  (Where and how I met them is a long story....) They asked me to take photos of them fucking in their motel room.  I did.  ..... The next day I went to a session of the convention.  Gulp.  Yep, they were there.  Before I could say a word to reassure them I would be discreet, they left.  I didn't see them again.  I felt horrible.  I never would have said a word.  Their weekend in the city was ruined.  It never occurred  to me or them that we were in town for the same convention........ 

My three way fantasy has come true. Me, Chicken and Waffles! 

What You Need To Do Today by Doc

“Do you know what you have to do?” she asked.

He gave his normal response (which was honest): “No.”  And as usual she listed all the tasks she had decided she wanted him to do.  He wasn't very enthusiastic about scrubbing the floor, vacuuming the carpet, going to the post office to get the mail, going to the supermarket to buy milk, and…. He knew there were other things but.  “Oh well,” he thought.  “If I forgot anything, I’m sure I’ll be reminded”.

He used to do all the things she told him she wanted him to do with more enthusiasm, but two things had left him somewhat deflated.  First was the realization that she was a living robot, by which he meant she didn't really want any of the chores she assigned to be done.  She was simply acting out her programming from decades ago when she had received orders.  It wasn't about her wanting.  It was about a cold legacy of obligation alive in her brain.

He wondered if there was a cleaning God who went around the world checking on houses to see if they were properly run and – if they were not – angry enough to send folks off to a Hell in which there were dead insects, dust, grime and cobwebs hanging from an infinitely long and wide expanse of plastic laminate flooring.   He couldn't fault her for nit-picking on him alone.  She did the same thing to herself.  It was sad.

He hoped (mostly vainly) for some joy and fun and abandon in his life.  Yes, there was ‘going out to a restaurant’ (which she really did seem to like doing).  As for himself, he honestly didn't care what he ate. He did his job: they went – together -- to restaurants.  He told her, as she expected, that the food was ‘fantastic’ and that he was glad to try…. Well, whatever, really.  It was all food to him.

Sex was another topic.  That was a rarity.  “I’m sorry, but I’m not really interested in it very much,” she explained.  He nodded.  It was obvious.  His bad luck.  He simply nodded and acknowledged it.  He had promised to be faithful and – if you consider physical contact as being unfaithful – he had submitted to that obligation, too.  He had ‘lady friends’, and she knew that, but she and he knew that beyond ‘that point’ he was forbidden to go.  He submitted.  He obeyed.  He didn't much like it, but his job was to love, honor, and obey.  So he did.

Love was a curious word.  He’d discussed it with some of his female friends and they all seemed to know (somehow) what the word meant and – to think that ‘love’ was very, very important.  (They seemed to link it to something else they valued: ‘a good relationship’).  He wasn't so sure.  Maybe the Greeks had figured it out best, breaking things out into love of parents, love of children, love of friends, love of …. Well, you get the idea.

He understood lust.  He understood friendship.  He understood loyalty.  It was the idea of ‘erotic’ or (worse!) ‘romantic’ love that had him puzzled.   He thought of ‘love’ as a word that (disgusting and disreputable) males used to lure women into bed.  To fuck.  Et cetera.   If that was what ‘love’ was, he wanted nothing to do with it.  Why bullshit someone and later disappoint her when the truth came out.  Pathetic.  There was no way he could lie just to get laid.  He lacked the courage.  Or maybe the selfishness.  Whatever.

“Honey, have you washed the pantry floor?”  She broke his reverie.  “No dear, I’ll get to it in a while.”  She replied, “You’re not doing anything.  Do it now!”  He did.  And he looked up at the clock.  He idly thought of phoning one of his lady friends to chat.  The nice thing about them was that he could talk about his feelings and his ideas and his erotic fantasies.  They seemed ok with that.  They never left the room in a huff or said, “That’s interesting.  Oh, did I tell you what Angela said when I talked to her on the phone yesterday….”  Maybe he could talk to one of his friends later.

Now his job was to submit to his partner and her long list of ‘to do’ items.

Maybe that’s what love is, he mused.  Submitting.

He wondered if his partner’s submission to the obligations drilled into her head made her a switch. Maybe it just meant they were both just sheep, herded by a collection of thoughts passed down from generation to generation.  A code.  A code called ‘Thou shalt….”.

Voyeur by Elric

The night-dark room is silent until that moment the light floods in like a deluge, sweeping away the peace of the shadows, bathing the walls and the floor in an artificially sharp daylight.

There you are – Voyeur! I have my back to you but I can feel you there…staring…smiling…thinking I can’t feel your gaze on my back. Through the window, you are peering….peeking….you Peeping Tom!

I know what it is you seek. I know that you await Her entrance as much as I do. You long to see Her sleek, feline figure appear at the same expected time. You ache to see Her dressed in one of Her sensual and provocative outfits that hugs her every gorgeous curve. You hang upon the moment when She glides across the floor in Her most erotic manner, flashing Her smile, so full of promise and torment. She is on her way.

When She enters the room, I can almost hear you draw breath, you Watcher! I know what you are doing: Loosening your clothing and touching yourself. Wishing it were Her hands on you instead of your own.

As I kneel before Her, and kiss Her feet did I hear you gasp? I’m sure I did.

As I remove my clothing and present myself to Her, I know you would give anything to be where I am right now! You sad Spectator … getting your voyeuristic pleasure second-hand.

You want to be me but you can’t be. Through the window is all you will ever have; the closest you will ever be. Well, listen up, Peeper! You can watch all you want … touch all you can … take yourself into the soaring spaces where none but angels sing. You can fall slowly to earth again only to watch once more, but you will never have what I have…right here, right now.

And what’s more, when the lights go out and the window closes, you can no longer see Her, but I am still here. I am still kneeling at Her feet and I am Hers when you go back to your own life, away from your window… away from your chair…away from your desk. When sleep and work take you back to reality, She has me, here in the dark – free!

The End

Time For The RL Thing: A Boy's Fantasy by David

The phone rings. 'Hmpff, probably my work' he thinks, and he doesn't answer. It's his day off so why should he answer? It keeps on ringing, and then stops, but 10 seconds later it starts ringing again and again. 'This is starting to get annoying' he whispers softly to himself, but grabs his mobile eventually and answers ' Hello' he says in a somewhat annoyed, grumpy voice.

‘Hello? IS that the way you speak to me, boy?’. He hears a stern voice on the other side and the hairs in his neck suddenly stand up straight. He immediately recognizes her voice, but coming from the telephone instead of his laptop speakers, it sounds almost surreal. ‘Well? Answer me, boy!’ she says. He stutters, ‘I..I’m sorry Miss, I…I’m just a bit surprised’. He hears her laughing, but then returning to a stern voice ‘Well, that’s not an excuse, boy.  You know you should be ready for Me always and everywhere. Your day isn't starting very well I’m afraid, cause…’  He hears her giggle a bit but isn't at all prepared for what is coming,  ‘ I am here, boy! And YOU are going to pick me up from the airport, a.s.a.p.’.

He gulps hard  Not only are the hairs on his neck standing up now, but goose bumps appear all over his body.  His knees shake and his hands tremble. A strange mixture of fear and excitement creeps up from his toes to his head, clearly not missing his cock about halfway.  ‘Well?’ she says and he realizes he has been standing there for a few minutes, completely at loss what to say. ‘Y..yes Miss’ he stutters again. ‘Good boy’ she says.

-----

‘Arrivals….exit 3…’ he mumbles to himself as he finds his way around the airport. His heartbeat is highly raised; his throat is dry as the desert. He stumbles as he bumps into people and then he hears it: her laugh.  He would recognize it everywhere. Quickly he looks around and then their eyes meet, for the very first time. His mouth falls open and his eyes widen as he stands there, with about 10 meters in between them.  He seems to have forgotten how to speak or move. She stands there, smirking, not saying anything either for a few minutes, just enjoying his reaction and his worried, surprised, yet pretty little face. Then she walks up to him and with one finger presses down on his shoulder.  He slowly gets down on his knees, not moving his eyes from hers. Not able to resist, he suddenly wraps both his arms around her legs and presses his head against her thigh. “MMmmistress’ he whispers, hugging her close. She smiles and pets his head, running her fingers through his hair. ‘My boy’ she says.  Her words make his stomach tumble with joy. Their hug lasts for a few minutes and his fear slowly melts away. He doesn't notice people looking at them and he doesn't care. His love for his Mistress is overwhelming.  All he wants to do now is to hold her, to never let her go again.

He closes his eyes, his head still pressed against her thigh.  Suddenly he feels her hands near his neck and then he hears the sound of metal. He opens his eyes and sees her hands holding a black leather collar.  She slowly places it round his neck, carefully locking it in place. If people weren't already looking at them, he thinks, they for sure will be now.  Suddenly he starts to get a little nervous again. Then she bends forward, her face near to his ear and whispers ‘You are Mine’ as she tugs a little on the metal leash attached to the collar.  Suddenly she turns around and walks off, her fine butt shaking from side to side.  He stands there and watches for a few seconds but then stumbles when the leash pulls him forward. He manages to get up to his feet and walk behind her, meanwhile feeling the leash tugging. Even though he feels people staring at them, joy takes over his body. Finally, after all this time having his virtual body leashed to hers, this is the real thing.  This feels so much better.

With one motion of her hand she orders him to carry her bags.  Together they walk outside to find a taxi. The taxi driver looks at them with a curious face, but -- probably due to Mistress's stern look -- he opens up the doors and the trunk of his car.  Quickly. She smirks and her boy smirks with her. Boy's stomach tumbles with joy and excitement again a few times realizing his Mistress can even get a vanilla guy to follow her orders. He gasps. They get in the back seat of the car and it drives off. He sits next to her, still leashed and never feeling happier before in his whole life. Then she speaks in a soft tone ‘So, you think you can just sit there, My boy?’. He looks her in the face, first smiling. His smile turns into a worried look once he sees her stern but slightly smirking face. She pulls the leash, softly first, making his head move in her direction. Suddenly with a quick tug, she makes his face land directly in her lap, his face down. He feels her hand on the back of his head making sure it stays in place.

‘Now, guess what I want you to do boy.’. He gulps, realizing instantly what it is she wants and at the same time aware of the taxi driver and his rear-view mirror. He blushes and he hears her softly laughing at him. His hands move towards the zipper of her sexy black skirt. ‘With your teeth, My boy’, she whispers. He nods and pulls back his hands, finding the pull tab with his mouth  He clumsily tugs it down slowly. He feels her eyes staring at him -- and not only her eyes. He blushes still and tries to fight the battle in his head between the will to please his Mistress, his own excitement, and his shame. Shame loses this battle because, with the zipper down, he is staring directly at her hot, already slightly wet pussy. He hears her as she whispers ‘This is a day full of surprises, isn't it, My boy?’. He nods. Not waiting another second he buries his tongue in her pussy, making her gasp. She lays her head back, she closes her eyes, and strokes his hair as he starts working his tongue slowly up and down her pussy.  He touches her clit each time for a few seconds. She moans softly. ‘That’s a good boy’ she whispers ‘Lick me clean, make me cum’. He shivers as he hears her speak but is eager to try even more his best at circling his tongue around her clit. His hands on her thighs feel her legs shake a little bit.  That and her soft moaning let him know he’s on the right track. ‘Mmmmmmmmm’ she says.

He keeps licking up and down and around her clit, and she starts shaking a bit more and her moans grow louder. 'Yes! Mmmm! Good boy’, she says. Soon her whole body is shaking and he knows he’s doing it right. ‘Yes!  Yessss…’.  She moans loudly now. He buries his face deep in her pussy, running his tongue all over and around her clit in a fast pace, until finally… ‘Oooohhhh mmmmyy gooddd, yesss’…She gives a loud moan and he feels a fast shaking of her legs.  Her hand holds on tight to his hair.  She is grabbing it and pulling on it a bit. Then she falls backwards, ands pets his face -- still in her lap. They both smile.

The car stops. They’re there at his home. He starts to climb out the car, but before he is fully out, she pulls him back, whispering in his ear again. ‘Don’t think, My boy, that after all of this I have forgotten how you spoke to me on the phone, earlier…’. He gulps softly, staring at one big bag the taxi driver has placed down next to the car.  There are a couple of black handles sticking out on one side of the bag. He looks at her again. She smirks. Then they get out.

Rape Confession by Anonymous

My confession today is about my secret desire.... well, now not too secret a desire... a fantasy of  being raped. I've always, when walking down streets or in crowded areas, looked at certain females that give off a dominant demeanour and wondered what it'd be like if they caught me off guard. You know, down an alley way or in a private room within a building of business, or even at home. I've found myself wondering if, within that petite handbag of theirs, there's a gun, or a knife, or some rope, or a gag, or maybe even a strap-on tucked away in there -- just in case they come across an opportunity. So that's my confession, I have fantasies about being caught off guard, tied up, gagged, tortured and humiliated and raped.

Longing by Rock

As I wander through life,
Searching for She who will complete me,
My soul is filled with longing.
My eyes fill with tears as I sit here,
Alone, with nobody to hold me,
 To touch me, Nobody for me to touch,
 to hold To care for and serve.

Life’s joys seem so far away,
 All who I observe Seem to have found their match.
 That person to love,
 That person with whom they can share
 Their lives…why can’t I?

The longing that fills my entire being
 Throbs within my heart,
  A constant ache on my journey.
  Travelling day to day with only myself
  To comfort and to guide me.

Am I so different, so complex
 That I can not find One to share my life?
 My hopes and dreams,
  Lost upon deaf ears;
  The beauty I gaze upon
  Unnoticed by blind eyes;
  The senses I feel, unfelt
  By invisible fingers.

So I continue on life’s convoy,
Facing each obstacle that comes my way.
 All the while searching,
 Never ceasing to seek Her out.
 In hopes that one day, She will arrive,
 And my life shall be complete.

Confession by Lady Lobbie

Once upon a time in a land not so far away,
A boy lay dreaming about the coming day.
The door I do open, in to the room I walk,
Around his cage I do stalk.
A swift kick to the bars, I deliver with my shoe,
Wake up boy you have very much to do.
He yawns, stretches and awakes
The 1st task of the day to bake cakes.
He toddles off to the kitchen to do as told,
I follow on behind him so he acts as good as gold.
He enters in to the room and is shocked to see,
My very good friend a lady named fie.
A look of shock crosses his face,
As she looks on sat in my space.
I grab his trousers and pull them down,
I tell him swiftly turn around.
He squirms as I push him over the table,
I tell him to get as comfy as able.
I pick up the lube and cover his hole,
Then pull on the object that will help reach my goal.
The strap on is lube and slid in to place,
It fills his ass with a simple grace.
Pushing hard and deep,
I feel his body leap.
My friend watching on as he gives in,
The noise he makes is quite a din.
Shall I let him cum I ask with a smile,
No she tells me make him last a while.
I fuck his ass with all that I can, hard and fast,
I hope he can last.
Let him cum after a count of ten,
Not a moment before then.
So the count do begin ten, nine
I bet he’s feeling fine.
Eight, seven, six and five,
I know that I feel so alive.
Four, three, two…one,
His seed is spilled till there is none.
I let him up, so he can go. He stays shaking,
On the table a wonderful noise he is making.
He slowly stands and asks to leave, my friend says yes with much laughter,
And of cause they live happily ever after.

Arts & Crafts by Anonymous

The day had been long and I was sitting down with a glass of wine in my hotel room.  I was checking a few remaining e-mails when suddenly a video call came across my screen. I saw the name and it was Mistress.  I accepted it immediately.

"On your knees, boy" she said.  I obeyed at once.

“We’re going to do a little arts and crafts” she said with her usually wicked giggle before play. “Get the ball of twine and remove your clothes.”

Before leaving on my trip she had given me a few items to take along, but with no instructions nor any reasons why I should take them. I crawled across the floor to retrieve the ball of twine from the suitcase. And then, while still on the floor, I struggled to get out of my clothes. In the background I could hear her stirring honey into a cup of tea. Once I was completely naked I got into position, kneeling before her on the camera.

“Very good my boy” she said “Now were going to make a figure 8.”

I looked up puzzled. She began to explain that I was to take the twine and start making figure eights. Tying my shaft to my balls using a figure 8 pattern.  I was to repeat this motion making a tight figure 8  pattern until I was covered from the back of the shaft all the way to the tip and the balls bulged out like a big purplish mushroom.

Every now and then I would glance up to see my beautiful Mistress sipping her tea as I painstakingly complied until I had used about 25 feet of the very thin coarse twine.

“Now let's just talk about your day” Mistress said with a chuckle as I knelt there. The conversation lasted about 35 minutes and the entire time I knelt on the floor as my cock and balls just got tighter and tighter in their bonds. “Now my boy go and get the razor blades I gave you.”

I had no idea what she was going to do with the razor blade. But I complied and fetched the small package of everyday razor blades. She just started to laugh again. "Now you need to go to bed….it's been a long day and you have a long drive tomorrow, but obviously you can't go to bed with your cock tight like that.  It would be inhumane me to leave you so -- and wee bit dangerous.” She continued “Now take a razor blade and what I want you to do is start slowly cutting the twine back from the tip to the back of the shaft. One strand at a time slowly cutting each away with the blade.

I looked at her in horror. Surely I would cut myself. But I took a deep breath and slowly ever so slowly worked the blade back and forth on top of the twine. Tiny strands begin fraying away and the first binding popped free.  But the second was when it all started to go terribly wrong. The first cut…. a tiny cut….on the thin bulging flesh of my erect bound cock. The blood started with a trickle just a tiny drop. Instantly twine started to absorb it. Turning from a lite tan color to a dark crimson. I grimaced knowing this is going to be a long process.

Mistress just giggled and continued to sip her tea. Then she said “Now you know why I told you to take your first aid kit.” I closed my eyes as I heard her lovely wicked  laugh.

That would not be the last cut. So much blood was trapped within my member. By the time I cut the last strand…there had to be at least 40 tiny nicks….I had dozens of them up and down my shaft. On the floor before me there were scores of tiny pieces of bloodstained twine. I looked up at my Mistress and I took a moment to collect my thoughts.  Taking deep breaths and, for a moment, covering my face with the palms of my hands I reflected on what had just happened…..And then I whispered to my lovely mistress

" Thank you Mistress.”

I could see her smile and her delight. She was pleased and she said “You are welcome; now off with you to bed”.  And she hung up.

A Day With Mistress Part 3 by Anonymous

                                                                                   
           He  takes a deep calming breath as she releases the whips, letting them fall to the ground. She runs a finger up each side of his body from where her thighs are gripping him to just below his armpits. She slides her hands underneath him (pressing her breasts against his back), finds his nipples and playfully tugs and twists them. He gathers himself, rigid as a statue; every inch of him is alive with feeling, and he moans as she teases them, not caring what sounds he makes.

      She whispers tauntingly, with mock sympathy, "Isn't it just a shame that you cannot cum now, you poor thing?”. His ass rises and falls and he bucks his hips fruitlessly, his hard cock jabbing at empty air. He answers her in anguish, “Yes, Mistress; yes, oh god!”

     She releases his nipples and slithers beneath him, looking at his face as she caresses his ears, which calms him for a brief moment. She spreads her legs around his, her inner thighs warm with the heat from both of them. He looks down at her, his erect cock bobbing in frustration, not daring to break his position. “You're driving me wild, Mistress” ”Down, boy!” she says while guiding him with her hands, pulling him down on top of her, skin to skin, both of their pulses racing.

    Heat radiating from both of them, she wiggles teasingly below him, his cock pressed against her lower belly; they both feel her hard nipples digging into his skin. He groans, driven almost mad by denial, and he starts to writhe slowly on top of her. She squirms demurely upward and, grasping his face in her hands, demands a kiss. He presses his lips to hers -- passively, hungrily.  Mouths open. Tongues exploring once more despite their panting breaths. He curls his tongue around hers in a deep passionate kiss, sucks on her tongue as he starts to undulate on top of her.  As the length of his shaft slides back and forth along her cleft, he can feel her engorged clit along the fat vein beneath his penis.  His glans slides back and over the trimmed pubes on her smooth mons.

      She breaks the kiss to get some air, her head swimming; she reaches up to still his hips, looking into his eyes. He goes still, feeling her hands move over his welts. She inhales deeply, grinning sadistically while tracing the lines on his skin. She rakes her nails over the raised welts, leaving horizontal lines over the vertical lines.

      “You have been a very good boy, but no, you are not allowed to cum." She pushes him up just a bit, getting some room to maneuver. He rises to his hands and knees as she pulls herself through the pillars of his arms, her breasts in perfect alignment for pleasures to be had there.  Then she continues wiggling out from under him, bringing her altar just below his face, She grabs a handful of his hair and pulls his face down close to her core heat. He whimpers and compresses his lips, breathing raggedly as he catches her scent, his cock stiff and aching as his blood boils.

     “Lick me like the hungry boy you are!” she says and then she parts her thighs, providing an unobstructed view of her temple. He moans and lowers his head, brushing his lips lightly over her swollen labia. He places soft kisses along the crease of her thigh, back over her mons, and finally along her cleft. She thrusts her hips up against his face, eager, hungry, needing the service of his lips and tongue. His tongue extended, he keeps it still and drags it upward along her slit, then wiggles it to part her pink inner lips. He then curls his tongue, the tip just flicking under her clit.  
 
    She feels her nipples honed to diamond sharpness. She feels her skin tingling and breaking out in goose-bumps.  Her breath catches from the sweet sensations of his questing tongue. He rests his nose just above her cleft, his upper lip positioned just above her clit; finally, his tongue rises, circles around the base, and moves over the clit hood.

    She takes a deep sudden breath, her knees quivering as he presses his tongue flat against the engorged bud, and then, waving it, curls his tongue slowly. He starts to lick her reverently, his lips pursing, closing, as he tastes the sweetness of her temple. He moans as her walls flex and quiver.  His tongue, flicking now, laps eagerly as he kneels above her on his hands and knees.

    She breathes shallowly, her head falling back. Her mouth opens in a silent scream as he sends waves of pleasure throughout her body. He continues to lap hungrily, swallowing, licking, worshiping her, and aching deep down in his belly as he gives her pleasure. He rolls his tongue up and down, just enough, as he savors her.  He is aroused, obedient and grateful.

     She mutters “Ah, God!” as her body begins to tighten.  His lips press tight against her temple, his nose crinkling against her trimmed pubes; he begins to suck gently on her clit.  "Fuck!" she whispers; she inhales deeply as her toes curl. With his face buried between her thighs, he whispers that he is her dog, her slave, and that he worships her with his entire being.  His cheeks glisten with her juices. He flicks his tongue up and down, bending her engorged clit with the tip of his tongue.

    Her body stiffens, taut, as she braces herself for that explosive release she knows will come when she climaxes. He moans at her taste, bobbing his head up and down over her temple. She grabs his hair, yanking his face into her temple. “Eat it, God dammit!" she hisses and snaps between panting breaths.

    He nods and drags his tongue along her slit: down to dab at her perineum, and back up before eagerly sucking and lapping her clit. His lips and tongue trace every crease and fold, up and down, back and forth.

    Her mind lost, her walls flutter and clinch unto themselves, and her honey spills forth in waves. He flicks his tongue right beneath her anus and drags it over her gaping slit.  Then he sucks in her clitoris as she climaxes. He moans, opening his mouth as she gushes, and he swallows hungrily.

    She can barely breathe as she lets it all go, wallowing in sweet sensation.  He keeps his mouth glued to her temple and stays that way while her climax peaks. After her shuddering subsides, he then kisses her temple reverently.

     As she catches her breath he kisses spots along her inner thighs. She gathers her wits and commands him to clean her. He moans happily and drags his tongue along her thighs, along her temple, and along the crease of her ass.  He dutifully cleans her skin of her orgasmic fluids, and his tongue moves back over her mons, across the sticky spot of fluid left from his glans earlier.

    She lies there swimming, dizzy, ethereally spent as he continues with his tasks  He even licks a trace of fluids off of the floor. She lies there peacefully, her eyes closed, as he repositions himself between her thighs.  His forearms and hands are pressed flat on the floor, his thighs are open and his ass is raised high as he rests his forehead on the floor just in front of her temple.

    She slowly returns to the mundane world, shaking off her orgasmic fog. She then pulls him up, kisses him, absorbs her juices and slowly, passionately, sucks his tongue.  His mind reels.  He had ached to worship her in that way, to show his devotion, to serve her. She breaks off the kiss, looks him in the eye, and says nothing. She then rises and stands briefly before him before she silently but quickly walks away.  He bows his head and says “Yours, Mistress, I am yours.”

The End

Impromptu Confessions 4/10/14

If you could have fictional character or celebrity be your Domme or sub who would it be and why?  

Jessica Rabbit would be my Domme, cos she would be able to do ne of those power punches when angry and I would rocket to the moon. That would be cool.

Karl


Think how awesome it would be to owned bye Lara Croft (Tomb Raider) Mad whip skillz... rich,  adventurous,  not bad looking ...and i would get to fight and raid tombs as well  Win win


Captain America or Johnny Depp



I have a little crush on Sookie of Trueblood, I would love to be her Domme!


Captain Kathrine Janeway, cause shes hot, an she is like the only female captain ever in star trek no one screws with her ever!! she is bad ass, an well I like her cause I have an older woman fetish thing going on.  hahahahaha


I would have choosen Sean Connery as a submissive
He is a very sexy man, full of strength, smart, and a true man.
Who wouldnt want him to submit to your every whim?

the celebrity i would choose to be my Domme would be Uma Thurman in her role as Poison Ivy in the Batman movie. The reason is that her pheromonedust would make me do whatever she wanted and this would be just like it is now with my Mistress.

Billie Piper as Rose Tyler in Dr. Who.....  A sense of humor, willing to launch off on adventures, brave,  and fun.  Cute, too.  I think I'd be able to be totally open and honest -- and that she'd be ok with that.  Perhaps I'm influenced because I often feel like Dr. Who, visiting Earth, amazed at humans and how they think.   

for a dominant

two words

grace

jones

Confession by Rock

Just over 2 years ago, I disappeared from not only the Dominion, but also from the RL BDSM scene.  I had thought that I'd met my match, and I was ready to marry the Lady that I was with.  We met on SL and journeyed to the Dominion together, and for her I gave up everything, only to discover that her interests lay in online roleplay only.  When we met in real life, we found that she did not like being a dominant and we did not have as much in common as we had originally thought.  It destroyed a part of me when we separated after 3 years, and it has taken a long time for me to find my way back.

I was not expecting the surge of emotions that have flooded to the surface as I re-enter the fray. It has been wonderful to get back in touch with this side of myself. I find myself craving, deeply needing, to let my submission out again. I have missed the emotions that flood over me when I am on my knees at someone's feet, the feeling of "completeness" that I feel at that moment. I am missing the feeling of a collar buckled tightly around my neck, the cool metal of a leash dangling against my chest, the shiver that runs down my spine as I feel the gaze of a dominant upon my body. These feelings and emotions play at me.

I seem to be overly excited, overly mischievous, the hunger inside me seeking a way to be fulfilled. It is challenging to rein that in, to pull myself back. I fear that in the time I have been away, the training and self control that I used to pride myself in has slipped away somewhat. I need to work hard to get that self-discipline back, so that I may be an object of pride to the one I hope to serve. So much to think about, so much ground to make up...but I can do it.

Airport Tale by Doc

He’d sat in the airline terminal for two hours after the flight had arrived.  She wasn't on it.  He sat because he really had no other plans.  When it was obvious she had changed her mind, his mind was left quite empty.  No one looked at him strangely as they might have had he been in a park on a bench waiting.  In an airport they look for lonely and abandoned luggage.  Not for lonely and abandoned men.  Passing cops only look for lonely and abandoned men in downtown parks.  Vagrants.  No one here would say, “Move along, pal.  Do you have a place to stay, or do I need to take you in?

He actually hadn’'t expected her to get off the plane – deep down inside.  It had been something in her voice that had made him waver and lose faith.   Actually he hadn't lost faith; he had come to the airport, right?  No, what he’d lost was hope.

Finally it was time to go.  Some clock ticked inside him.  It kept saying, “Don’t look back.  Don’t look back.”  He didn't.  It was time to look forward.

The next morning was bleak.  It was raining.  He decided not to make any coffee at first – but he changed his mind.  Staring blankly at the wall he decided to make a phone call.

“Joan?  Is that you, Joan?”  It was.  Joan was not the woman he’d been waiting for at the airport.  Joan was simply the friend that told him that he really needed to be at the airport for United Flight 666.

“Yes, so how is she?”

“Uh, she wasn't on the plane.”  Silence.

“You mean she missed her flight?”  They both knew that wasn't the reason.

“Nope.  It’s like Marjorie.”  That was code.  They both knew the story of Marjorie.  She’d been gorgeous when she arrived – early – on her wedding day at the church.  Two hours later she had been whisked away.  Crying.  The groom had changed his mind.  He never showed.
“Have you phoned her?”

“Nope.”

Joan asked, “Are you alone?  Are you just sitting there alone?”  He nodded before realizing she could not see him over the phone.  “Yep.”

An hour later Joan was at his home.  Two hours later they were making love.  Three hours later she was frying eggs and he was dicing vegetables.  Four hours later he was washing dishes as she sat silently watching him.  Five hours later they were again making love.

It was a week later when she moved in.   She never told him she’d made sure no one would ever get on the plane to meet him.  She never told him she had contacted her competition to tell her he was already taken and wouldn't be at the airport to meet her.  She lied.  She was playing for keeps.

And a year later she dumped him.  It never occurred to him to phone his former love.  That was history.  Everything was history.

The morning after Joan moved out he decided not to make any coffee at first – but he changed his mind.  Staring blankly at the wall he decided to make a phone call.

“Phyllis? Is that you, Phyllis?  It was.  Phyllis was a friend.

She spoke quickly, firmly and clearly. “I told you the airport thing was fucking nuts.  I warned you about Joan.  You never listen!”  He nodded before realizing she could not see him over the phone.  “Yep,” he finally said.

She then said, “From now on, I make the decisions.  You have fucking miserable judgment.  I’m much better at running your life than you are!  Don’t you agree.”

What could he say?  He simply said, “Yes.”

“I’m coming over there!  Meet me at the door.  And have two drinks waiting!  You know what I like!”  With that she hung up.
An hour later Phyllis was at his home.  Two hours later they were making love.  Three hours later she was frying eggs and he was dicing vegetables.  Four hours later he was washing dishes as she sat silently watching him.  Five hours later they were again making love.

Six hours later he was kneeling beside the bed.  He had made love to her, but she’d made it clear that his job was to make her cum – and to not cum himself.  “I’m in charge now”, she’d said.  “You suck at running your life, and I’m taking over.”  He’d nodded.  She was playing for keeps.

This all happened over nine years ago.

Phyllis is still quite happy at how things have turned out.  For that matter so is he.  He doesn't quite understand why. People frequently comment on the couple.  One of the most absurd things they say is “They were destined to be together.”  Destiny had nothing to do with it.

Bad judgment, stupid choices, and sheer blind luck brought them together.   There are no guarantees they may not tear them apart.  Life is like that.

Anonymous Confession

I hear her scream and my heart drops.  I hear the yelling! my god!

i love her now as much as yesterday but why does it seem more?

you are my thoughts and dreams and love you Miss.  Don't leave like that, don't be scared and in pain.

I need to protect her and she wants to protect me...I am the fodder and she is the general.

Dont be scared, I will be what you need at the times i need to be it.

Be careful My Mistress be careful

A Day With Mistress Part 2

                                     A Day With Mistress - Part 2
                                                           
          She positions the whips for the first strike, then snaps them simultaneously in the air, they make one loud synchronized "CRACK!" , the sound amplified, intensified by their dual flinging.    She pulls them back and starts to work them as though playing double-dutch, the first stokes landing softly upon his plump luscious ass cheeks. He bucks and yelps; abashed, he stammers "th...thank you Mistress!" as twin lines of fire shock and arouse him while equally relieved that she didn’t land them with as hard as the sound alone was..

      She begins the whipping, leaving pink streaks in her wake, but no welting, yet, as the fun has just begun.   He moans in reaction, raising his ass higher, each kiss of the whips arousing him even more. He cries out softly “Oh, Mistress!” as she walks the whips up from his ass covering the span of his entire back and down again towards his ass, the strokes landing in quick, light succession streaking outward from his spine..

      He bends and arches his back with each blow, he can feel the petite sudden and multiple pains along where the lashes strike.  The pain is like a drug to him, the stinging marks blending together, stirring up hormones, endorphins, taking him deeper, and he cries out “Oh, god, my Mistress!”, his cry turning to whimpers, even as he struggles to keep his ass raised high, his entire body quivering.

      She lingers over his shoulder blades a moment, never missing a stroke as she straddles his back, her warm wet pussy planted firmly on his bare, sweaty, whip marked skin. He lowers his head, his skin hot and marked as he bears her weight.  He arching his back, he feels the dampness of her temple, the twin cheeks of her glorious buttocks, as she takes her seat, using his lower back as her throne.

      She slows the frequency with which she whips him, even as she increases the strength of their impact.  She starts to writhe on him, her hips moving back and forth, her flowing temple smearing her joyous cream on his back, stimulating her engorged clitoris.

He feels the change, from burning sting to aching thud, and keeps braced, sore, throbbing and aching, and wanting more. He can feel her engorged clitoris rubbing on his back, and it makes him shake, makes his palms sweaty. His eyes tear up and he is filled with consuming emotion, on fire with submissive passion.

      She breaks her rhythm, flings the whips over her shoulders, and snaps them harshly on both cheeks behind her, leaving vertical streaks over top of the horizontal streaks on his ass. He yelps, and bucks forward, gasping as twin lines of fire burn his buttocks. He takes a deep breath and whimpers "thank you, my Mistress!" as he takes in the pain and his body heaves under her.

      She feels the sudden bucking beneath her and pulls her whips in, makes some adjustments and starts with a new rhythm and new targets.  She says “I know you can take this for me; yet you need only say one three letter word for it to cease.” He sobs and whimpers, dizzy as he tries to think of the word, in vain.  She begins using short wrap-around strokes striking his pectorals; one lands directly on his pierced nipple, and he sinks even deeper as the lashes fall; the pain is pleasure, even as he struggles to find the word. He stammers, saying he can’t think of the word and she replies in a soft voice, even as she continues to swing the twin signal whips, “Red, the word is red.” He feels dull and stupid, it should have been so obvious, but that feeling subsides in the wake of other feelings of lust, pain, desire, submission.

     She grinds her hips, rocking back and forth on his back, her breathe quickening. His balls draw up, his penis stiffens and throbs as he grovels on hands and knees, moaning as she rides his back, undulating in rhythm with her rocking.

    She stops whipping him, clutches them in one hand and wraps the twin lashes around his neck. She loops them, pulls them taut enough to have a bite in them, now making a leash of both. He pants and writhes, his back curling, ass rising and falling, his skin marked and hot from the whipping.

She holds him steady with the whip leash and reaches behind her, to tease and play with his balls. He whispers huskily "oh, Mistress!", inhaling sharply as her fingers curl around the heavy sac. She says “Shhh!” in a soft soothing tone, as she plays with his balls, gathering and releasing them several times.  Rolling and massaging the left then the right, left, then right again. He pants but remains silent, shivering beneath her. He can feel her thighs clamped tightly around him, her temple, her ass resting on his back.

      She pulls his balls back and upward toward his anus, and he breathes raggedly, feeling the harsh tug, his back bent into a bow, head yanked back, pulled into a painful and unnatural position. She digs her fingernails into his balls presses them in rapidly, randomly, causing pin prick sensations in different locations along his stretched balls. He whimpers softly, raggedly, his ass jerking and bunching until she lets them go, relying on gravity to make them bounce quickly back into place, causing him additional discomfort, followed by immediate relief.

       
To Be Continued....