Dedicated to Miss Monday
I awoke early to the sound of a truck rumbling noisily down my street. I peered out my bedroom window to see a moving van parking in front of the house next door that had recently been sold. I thought to myself, "I hope it's for that cute single woman that viewed the property a few weeks ago." She was tall, slender and more than 'easy to look at' but I thought, "Why should even be thinking that I might impress a woman as attractive as her?"
I quickly showered, put on some decent clothes, and decided to go out and work in the yard for a bit. Perhaps I would catch a glimpse of her and maybe I could strike up a conversation with her. No sooner than I had started working around the yard than a small compact car whipped into the next door driveway.
Once parked, out stepped that same woman. I felt my heart skip a beat. She was wearing jeans and a loose-fitting t-shirt. She had those "innocent girl next door" looks about her. She was dressed for comfort and for work. I could tell that what she was wearing was not doing her body complete justice. She immediately started directing the moving men, prompting them to start unloading and taking control of the situation to get them on their way.
I was trying to look as if I were just working, but I was constantly looking her way. She looked over my way just as I looked over toward her. Our eyes locked for an instant before she let loose with a beautiful smile. I returned a nervous smile of my own.
She confidently strode over in my direction with what appeared to be great purpose. She introduced herself telling me that her name was Charlotte but that all of her friends called her ChaCha. She continued to say that -- since we were going to be neighbors -- we would probably be friends, and that I should call her ChaCha as well. i politely offered to help her if she needed any assistance. She said, " I don't right at the moment. The movers have everything in hand, but why don't you come over later once the movers leave. There are a few things I could use your assistance with."
She strode off as confidently, right back to directing the movers. I was intrigued by this new neighbor. I went back to working in the yard. I worked a few more hours, occasionally glancing over to look at the progress being made next door. When the movers started to pack up I took that as my cue to head in and take a shower.
I raced through my shower and I dressed just as fast, doing what I could to make sure that I would make a good second impression. I grabbed a bottle of wine on my way out slipping it it into a gift bag as I walked out the door. I had a bounce in my step as I walked across the yard to her front door.
I rang her doorbell and heard foot steps coming to the door and it swung open quickly. Much to my surprise there she stood (in some sort of god-awful frock that didn't do her body any justice at all....). I quickly extended my arm, offering her the bottle of wine and welcoming her to the neighborhood. She invited me in, thanked me for the wine and said that, though she was just about to start painting a room, she could wait on that. "Since you are here to help, follow me," she said. She put the wine on the coffee table, walked by it, and headed to a room in the back of the house. I followed. The room was empty except for some boxes and some padded and wrapped furniture. The boxes were labeled "Do not unpack!" in large letters across their tops. A drill and other tools sat on the floor alongside a step ladder.
She reached down, grabbed something from one of the boxes, and turned toward me, handing me an eye screw. She said it needed to be installed into a ceiling joist. The eye bolt was huge and I inquired why she would need such a heavy eye bolt. "Get it installed," she said confidently and with a smile. "It is much easier to show you than tell you. Are you up for that?" she asked. Without saying anything, I put the step ladder into place and I worked quickly to install the eye screw. It had my curiosity going at a break-neck pace. Seeing my last question still on my face, she said, "Well, I think i have your answer to what you asked."
I climbed down the ladder and assured her that the eye hook was firmly installed. "Good," she said. "Ready to see how it is used?" I nodded. She then said, "Then there are a few conditions you must follow. If you balk I will stop immediately and you will be on your way." I nodded once again. She handed me a blindfold and said "Put this on!" Without saying a word I took it and covered my eyes. I felt a sense of excitement come over me. "I need you to remove your shirt," she added. "Oh my god!", I thought. "What i have gotten myself into?" Nonetheless I removed my shirt without hesitation. "Good boy!", she stated. "Boy?", I thought. I was taken aback by the comment -- but aroused. "Extend your arms, boy!", she commanded with an air of authority. I was feeling a bit fearful but again I complied without hesitation. I felt something wrapping around first my right wrist and then my left wrist. I attempted to pull them apart but they were bound together. I was fully aroused now. My cock was pressing against the fabric of my pants. "I see you are enjoying this little demonstration, boy", she said. I sleeplessly muttered, "I am." She asked, "Do you think that is the way to address a woman that has you in such a compromising position?" I muttered, "Yes, ChaCha!" In a disapproving voice she replied, "No. That is completely unacceptable. Try again boy and say it like you mean it." I then said, with more volume: " Yes, Miss ChaCha". In a stern voice she then said, "That is much better, boy!"
I could only imagine what was coming next.
End of Part One
Sunday, March 9, 2014
Mary's Lamb by Doc
Professor Roberts droned on, lecturing about – a nursery rhyme! Specifically, “Mary Had a Little Lamb”. Janice listened but didn’t take notes….Her thought was “English is boring!”
“The Redstone School (built in 1798 and located in Sudbury, Massachusetts), is believed to be the school house mentioned in the rhyme. The song was inspired Mary Sawyer. In the town center of Mary's home in Sterling, Massachusetts there now stands a statue of Mary's lamb…..”
Mary opened her laptop as the old man went on, now reciting the variations of that song gone viral -- translating them back into English from the (truncated and distorted) variations. She thought of Professor Roberts following her home FROM school one day (which was against the rules) to teach *him* a few things. She grinned.
On the laptop she searched and found ….
Mary had a little lamb,
Its fleece was white as snow.
And everywhere that Mary went,
The lamb was sure to go.
Now Mary found the price of meat too high
Which really didn't please her.
Tonight she is having the leg of lamb,
The rest is in the freezer.
She sweetly smiled up at him, slightly tilting her head. He noticed her. She could tell. She dreamed of leg of lamb. And then her mind wandered. “Hmmmmm,” she thought. “I bet I could….”.
She looked back at her laptop, and almost laughed at loud at the next variation she found….
Mary had a little watch,
She kept it in her garter.
And when the boys asked her the time,
She knew what they were after.
Janice unbuttoned the top button of her blouse as if she were hot. Actually, she was feeling a bit warm. She hoped Professor Roberts was, too. His eyes were on her; that was a start. She turned back to the laptop…
Mary had a little lamb,
She kept in her yard.
Every time she took her panties off
Its woolly dick got hard.
Janice looked down at Professor Roberts’ crotch. She grinned even harder.
She wasn't surprised that he asked her to stay after class. She wasn't surprised either when he said, “I got the impression you didn’t think my lecture was very interesting, Janice.” She wasn't surprised either when she invited him to her apartment, either (though it was against the rules) and he accepted her invitation.
Soon Janice had her own ‘little lamb’ that followed her FROM school each day. She rather enjoyed the fact that “everywhere that Janice went her lamb was sure to go.” Or stay. Or whatever else she told it to do.
Janice got an “A” for that course. She rather liked having him cook for her at home, too. She made him bake roast lamb. He never caught on.
“The Redstone School (built in 1798 and located in Sudbury, Massachusetts), is believed to be the school house mentioned in the rhyme. The song was inspired Mary Sawyer. In the town center of Mary's home in Sterling, Massachusetts there now stands a statue of Mary's lamb…..”
Mary opened her laptop as the old man went on, now reciting the variations of that song gone viral -- translating them back into English from the (truncated and distorted) variations. She thought of Professor Roberts following her home FROM school one day (which was against the rules) to teach *him* a few things. She grinned.
On the laptop she searched and found ….
Mary had a little lamb,
Its fleece was white as snow.
And everywhere that Mary went,
The lamb was sure to go.
Now Mary found the price of meat too high
Which really didn't please her.
Tonight she is having the leg of lamb,
The rest is in the freezer.
She sweetly smiled up at him, slightly tilting her head. He noticed her. She could tell. She dreamed of leg of lamb. And then her mind wandered. “Hmmmmm,” she thought. “I bet I could….”.
She looked back at her laptop, and almost laughed at loud at the next variation she found….
Mary had a little watch,
She kept it in her garter.
And when the boys asked her the time,
She knew what they were after.
Janice unbuttoned the top button of her blouse as if she were hot. Actually, she was feeling a bit warm. She hoped Professor Roberts was, too. His eyes were on her; that was a start. She turned back to the laptop…
Mary had a little lamb,
She kept in her yard.
Every time she took her panties off
Its woolly dick got hard.
Janice looked down at Professor Roberts’ crotch. She grinned even harder.
She wasn't surprised that he asked her to stay after class. She wasn't surprised either when he said, “I got the impression you didn’t think my lecture was very interesting, Janice.” She wasn't surprised either when she invited him to her apartment, either (though it was against the rules) and he accepted her invitation.
Soon Janice had her own ‘little lamb’ that followed her FROM school each day. She rather enjoyed the fact that “everywhere that Janice went her lamb was sure to go.” Or stay. Or whatever else she told it to do.
Janice got an “A” for that course. She rather liked having him cook for her at home, too. She made him bake roast lamb. He never caught on.
A Slave Girl's Torment by Leasha
This confession is the second part to one dated 22/2/14. It follows along on the same theme. A third part by Leasha is still to follow.
---------------
By now it is mid-day. All this evening's guests have arrived and have been correctly checked through the systems. Check-in has been handled by the house's slaves, and each room has been specifically adjusted to match the individual needs of each of the guests. The guests pay rather a lot of money to spend time in the castle, and Mistress is always cautious in the choice of each room to ensure that it is tailored to the whims and desires of its occupant.
The house is spread over six levels: four above-ground levels and two below-ground levels. Three of the four upper levels have been set apart for the guests, but the top level is a private one -- for Mistress and hers. Each one of the guest levels follows a theme, and each of the bedrooms and suites have been exquisitely decorated to match the theme.
I sit up in bed, uncurling from a tangle of silken sheets, and I shudder against the coolness of the room, my shoulders quivering. I shake loose the silken sheets, and the light material slips downwards across my breasts exposing my pert pink nipples, flushed with excitement. The lower parts of my body are still enshrouded in the silken sheets. After a cat yawn and stretch, I gaze at tiny droplets of sweat that glisten against the pale porcelain of my skin. The afternoon sun is streaming through a gap in the curtains, casting dancing shadows upon this four poster bed .
The tinkle of a bell in the distance signals the beginning of lunch. Leaping from the four poster, scrambling to all fours, struggling to disentangle the silken sheets, I panic. I realize that i have 'slept in'. The erotic sweet scent of my pussy, still wet, hangs in the air. A mixture of sweat and cum coats every inch of my skin, betraying my arousal; its glistening wetness is evident on my thighs and outer lips. It evidences the telltale signs of a naughty masturbating slut: me. The thoughts of my encounters with Mistress earlier in the morning hang in the air. All signs point to an unmissable tell that I have been a naughty slut.
Assuming 'the position', my legs spread wide, my back slightly arched, my breasts pressed out for Mistress's inspection, my eyes down cast to the floor, I wait, with bated breath -- knowing and anticipating the wrath to come.
Against the polished wooden floor, I hear the clip-clop of stiletto heels ,
I wait, my breath caught in my throat, mouth drying, my tongue sticking to the roof of my mouth.
I hear the sound stop, not daring to look up. I know she has not taken enough steps. My mind races. Can she tell? Is my scent so strong that she can smell me down the corridor? My breathing hastens; I hear pounding in my ears. I know she is close now,
Even knowing that trouble awaits, I still can feel my body flushing, teased, aroused. Her hand is on the door handle. She is there! I know she is teasing me, holding me in suspense. I want her, need her, and desire her with every fiber of my body. I am craving her like an addict. A small simple whiff of her perfume is enough to provoke a dampness between my thighs.
Goosebumps coat my already flushed skin. I hear the click of the handle turning in its brass lock. I shudder in anticipation, then I follow with a gasp and a sigh of relief. There she stands: my Mistress.
Keeping in 'the position', I await her inspection,
She gives a touch to my chin and I feel her breath on my cheek. Trembling with excitement and fear I raise my head, my eyes still locked to the ground. There is barely an inch between our lips. Taunting me with her exquisite beauty, I sense the wondrous fullness of her flush pink lips, so close. I can smell her. I reach forwards, a wanton girl, seeking out the touch of my Mistress. She of course knows I would do this. Her hand locks upon my chin, squeezing my jaw, and with a flick of her wrist my head is jerked downwards.
Down I go, my face touching the floor, my ass spread in the air -- on display. The wetness of my pussy is evident to her eyes. Shameless and brazen, despite my whimpering sobs, I plead and I beg her to use me as her slut,
Mistress laughs a cold, powerful, teasing laugh. Reaching into the cabinet she removes a gag. I can hear her movements and sense her whereabouts in the room. Spreading my lips apart, she forcefully inserts the gag. Saying in a alluring whisper "Stay, my slut!" she leaves the room. I stay motionless, gagged, with my pussy bared for all to see, my face to the floor. A soft sob of need leaves my lips -- as I wait.................
---------------
By now it is mid-day. All this evening's guests have arrived and have been correctly checked through the systems. Check-in has been handled by the house's slaves, and each room has been specifically adjusted to match the individual needs of each of the guests. The guests pay rather a lot of money to spend time in the castle, and Mistress is always cautious in the choice of each room to ensure that it is tailored to the whims and desires of its occupant.
The house is spread over six levels: four above-ground levels and two below-ground levels. Three of the four upper levels have been set apart for the guests, but the top level is a private one -- for Mistress and hers. Each one of the guest levels follows a theme, and each of the bedrooms and suites have been exquisitely decorated to match the theme.
I sit up in bed, uncurling from a tangle of silken sheets, and I shudder against the coolness of the room, my shoulders quivering. I shake loose the silken sheets, and the light material slips downwards across my breasts exposing my pert pink nipples, flushed with excitement. The lower parts of my body are still enshrouded in the silken sheets. After a cat yawn and stretch, I gaze at tiny droplets of sweat that glisten against the pale porcelain of my skin. The afternoon sun is streaming through a gap in the curtains, casting dancing shadows upon this four poster bed .
The tinkle of a bell in the distance signals the beginning of lunch. Leaping from the four poster, scrambling to all fours, struggling to disentangle the silken sheets, I panic. I realize that i have 'slept in'. The erotic sweet scent of my pussy, still wet, hangs in the air. A mixture of sweat and cum coats every inch of my skin, betraying my arousal; its glistening wetness is evident on my thighs and outer lips. It evidences the telltale signs of a naughty masturbating slut: me. The thoughts of my encounters with Mistress earlier in the morning hang in the air. All signs point to an unmissable tell that I have been a naughty slut.
Assuming 'the position', my legs spread wide, my back slightly arched, my breasts pressed out for Mistress's inspection, my eyes down cast to the floor, I wait, with bated breath -- knowing and anticipating the wrath to come.
Against the polished wooden floor, I hear the clip-clop of stiletto heels ,
I wait, my breath caught in my throat, mouth drying, my tongue sticking to the roof of my mouth.
I hear the sound stop, not daring to look up. I know she has not taken enough steps. My mind races. Can she tell? Is my scent so strong that she can smell me down the corridor? My breathing hastens; I hear pounding in my ears. I know she is close now,
Even knowing that trouble awaits, I still can feel my body flushing, teased, aroused. Her hand is on the door handle. She is there! I know she is teasing me, holding me in suspense. I want her, need her, and desire her with every fiber of my body. I am craving her like an addict. A small simple whiff of her perfume is enough to provoke a dampness between my thighs.
Goosebumps coat my already flushed skin. I hear the click of the handle turning in its brass lock. I shudder in anticipation, then I follow with a gasp and a sigh of relief. There she stands: my Mistress.
Keeping in 'the position', I await her inspection,
She gives a touch to my chin and I feel her breath on my cheek. Trembling with excitement and fear I raise my head, my eyes still locked to the ground. There is barely an inch between our lips. Taunting me with her exquisite beauty, I sense the wondrous fullness of her flush pink lips, so close. I can smell her. I reach forwards, a wanton girl, seeking out the touch of my Mistress. She of course knows I would do this. Her hand locks upon my chin, squeezing my jaw, and with a flick of her wrist my head is jerked downwards.
Down I go, my face touching the floor, my ass spread in the air -- on display. The wetness of my pussy is evident to her eyes. Shameless and brazen, despite my whimpering sobs, I plead and I beg her to use me as her slut,
Mistress laughs a cold, powerful, teasing laugh. Reaching into the cabinet she removes a gag. I can hear her movements and sense her whereabouts in the room. Spreading my lips apart, she forcefully inserts the gag. Saying in a alluring whisper "Stay, my slut!" she leaves the room. I stay motionless, gagged, with my pussy bared for all to see, my face to the floor. A soft sob of need leaves my lips -- as I wait.................
Late Night Whispers by Lark
There's nothing I love more than knowing how easily I can control a man just with the sound of my voice....
It was late at night, even later for him since he lives far on the other side of the pond. But he was working overnight that night, and he asked me to keep him company as he stocked shelves, getting ready for the Christmas shopping rush anticipated in just hours. He was the only supervisor on the floor that night, so he had to be furtive in his conversations with me. From time to time I had to sit there quietly while I listened to him tell some person or another what they should be working on next.
When I know someone online, and I hear them speaking to people in their every day world, it is a treat to me. I quickly began to feel myself getting just a little excited. It wasn't long before I was giggling both to myself and into his ear. I knew it threw him off. I could hear him pause here and there as he spoke to his staff. Seconds after he dismissed whomever it was that he was talking to I heard him whisper seductively, "What are you giggling about?" -- and I knew that he knew.
We continued to talk a bit as he walked around the store checking in with one person or another. "Stack them like this." "Unload this." It wasn't long though before my giggles began to transform into soft sighs.
"You're going to get me into trouble," he said.
"I doubt it," I told him, breathily.
"It's beginning to get hard to walk," he told me. The only reply I could muster was a laugh.
The next time he stopped to speak to someone, my sighs merged with moans. I could tell that his conversation was awkward and forced. It amused me. When I heard his conversation end he had no words for me. But I did for him. I said, "Stroke for me."
It wasn't long before I heard his door shut; his breathing began to match my own.
"May I please cum?" I heard. That surprised me. Ours had never a dom/sub relationship -- but at that moment I knew things had changed.
All I needed to say was: "Cum with me."
It was late at night, even later for him since he lives far on the other side of the pond. But he was working overnight that night, and he asked me to keep him company as he stocked shelves, getting ready for the Christmas shopping rush anticipated in just hours. He was the only supervisor on the floor that night, so he had to be furtive in his conversations with me. From time to time I had to sit there quietly while I listened to him tell some person or another what they should be working on next.
When I know someone online, and I hear them speaking to people in their every day world, it is a treat to me. I quickly began to feel myself getting just a little excited. It wasn't long before I was giggling both to myself and into his ear. I knew it threw him off. I could hear him pause here and there as he spoke to his staff. Seconds after he dismissed whomever it was that he was talking to I heard him whisper seductively, "What are you giggling about?" -- and I knew that he knew.
We continued to talk a bit as he walked around the store checking in with one person or another. "Stack them like this." "Unload this." It wasn't long though before my giggles began to transform into soft sighs.
"You're going to get me into trouble," he said.
"I doubt it," I told him, breathily.
"It's beginning to get hard to walk," he told me. The only reply I could muster was a laugh.
The next time he stopped to speak to someone, my sighs merged with moans. I could tell that his conversation was awkward and forced. It amused me. When I heard his conversation end he had no words for me. But I did for him. I said, "Stroke for me."
It wasn't long before I heard his door shut; his breathing began to match my own.
"May I please cum?" I heard. That surprised me. Ours had never a dom/sub relationship -- but at that moment I knew things had changed.
All I needed to say was: "Cum with me."
The Canvas by Lady Crissy
The Canvas by Crissy Viper
"Are you sure?" I said.
"Yes, Miss. I trust you," he responded quickly, with a smile.
The beginning. There was always a beginning. A moment created out of time, space. It was almost a type of magic. Creating an opening, an opportunity, where before there was none. No chance of realizing this possibility until this very moment.
"Good boy," I acknowledged with a smile in return.
I began by stepping close and carefully looking over the canvas of his body . Like a sculptor considering a slab of marble. He had offered this, and I had accepted. He didn't understand how much it meant to me, but I planned to show him. Does form follow identity, or does identity follow form? I was hoping for a little of both. I wanted to create what I desired most and to show him the elements within him that I had known all along.
I let my desire guide my fingers as I smoothed and molded, as I pinched and gently created definition and smoothness. This was to be a firm and strong body, muscled, but not overly so. Arms and legs were massaged and created to be strong, to be durable, to be comforting. I made his torso solid, with a bit more flesh over his fit form. I formed his chest to be solid, with nipples that invited gentle biting, and a firm ass that would give just the right sound when spanked soundly to bring me to wetness.
I held his cock and balls next and I formed them to average specifications and his cock to be cut. I created his cock to be something that would be fun to play with - to stroke, to slap, to make hard over and over without mercy or release. Smoothing my thumb over his budding erection, I brought him to fullness and gave him a squeeze approving my work before letting go, hearing his soft moan.
Looking into his eyes, I put my hands on his neck, drawing them down and over his shoulders, down his arms, and then to his torso. I watched the skin change hue, subtle changes in the tone following in the wake of my palms' gentle movements. I gave him light, almost pale skin, not deathly pale but with the blush of his warm blood beneath it. Cool skin that would invite kisses or licks or bites to reach the warm wetness underneath. Running hands over his torso, over his hips. and down his legs to his feet.
Lastly placing my palms on either side of his face, I leaned in for a sweet kiss, watching as his head slowly matched the rest of him, his lips slightly red from the kiss as I withdrew. I saw it then. The first signs of recognition. The gravity of the situation shone in his eyes then, his lips half parted in the wake of the kiss. Then his surprise. The beginning had become something more in only so many moments and touches. The shift was perceptible. The soft acceptance on his face let me know there was no turning back now.
I touched his eyes then, and his brow, watching the short dark hair appear and thick dark lashes on his lids. I created eyes of ice blue that had a sense of alertness and intelligence, but also a bit of hunger. My fingertips continued down his jawline and hair grew there. A line of beard hair grew in black, so that, though his skin was pale and beautiful, it would mark him as a man grown. A short line across and above his lip gave him a very short and sparse line of hair there as well. His lips I formed to be soft and just a bit plump, all the better to bite and to feel on my skin if I were to allow it.
I took a moment to admire him then: My creation. My fingers moved to his scalp then, and the gentle swirls of my fingertips brought forth the soft, dark wavy hair that covered his head now and I laughed softly as I twirled strands between my fingers, enjoying the feel of it. In the same theme, my fingers danced over his chest and stomach, and even down lower, to add soft dark hair here and there, though not very much.
I took his hands in mine then, touching, forming. Creating fingers that were neither soft, nor rough, with fingers that were strong enough to hold my hand firmly or to give me massage for as long as I wanted. Bending down I finished his feet, making them strong enough to stand for hours attending me or to run if I needed him to be swift and to fetch something for me.
Taking a few steps, I admired My creation. A perfect instrument reflecting the best of what I wished from him. Having created him perfectly for me, I felt my own desire rise. Crooking a finger, I beckoned him to me. "Come My creation, you have much to do."
The end of the beginning
"Are you sure?" I said.
"Yes, Miss. I trust you," he responded quickly, with a smile.
The beginning. There was always a beginning. A moment created out of time, space. It was almost a type of magic. Creating an opening, an opportunity, where before there was none. No chance of realizing this possibility until this very moment.
"Good boy," I acknowledged with a smile in return.
I began by stepping close and carefully looking over the canvas of his body . Like a sculptor considering a slab of marble. He had offered this, and I had accepted. He didn't understand how much it meant to me, but I planned to show him. Does form follow identity, or does identity follow form? I was hoping for a little of both. I wanted to create what I desired most and to show him the elements within him that I had known all along.
I let my desire guide my fingers as I smoothed and molded, as I pinched and gently created definition and smoothness. This was to be a firm and strong body, muscled, but not overly so. Arms and legs were massaged and created to be strong, to be durable, to be comforting. I made his torso solid, with a bit more flesh over his fit form. I formed his chest to be solid, with nipples that invited gentle biting, and a firm ass that would give just the right sound when spanked soundly to bring me to wetness.
I held his cock and balls next and I formed them to average specifications and his cock to be cut. I created his cock to be something that would be fun to play with - to stroke, to slap, to make hard over and over without mercy or release. Smoothing my thumb over his budding erection, I brought him to fullness and gave him a squeeze approving my work before letting go, hearing his soft moan.
Looking into his eyes, I put my hands on his neck, drawing them down and over his shoulders, down his arms, and then to his torso. I watched the skin change hue, subtle changes in the tone following in the wake of my palms' gentle movements. I gave him light, almost pale skin, not deathly pale but with the blush of his warm blood beneath it. Cool skin that would invite kisses or licks or bites to reach the warm wetness underneath. Running hands over his torso, over his hips. and down his legs to his feet.
Lastly placing my palms on either side of his face, I leaned in for a sweet kiss, watching as his head slowly matched the rest of him, his lips slightly red from the kiss as I withdrew. I saw it then. The first signs of recognition. The gravity of the situation shone in his eyes then, his lips half parted in the wake of the kiss. Then his surprise. The beginning had become something more in only so many moments and touches. The shift was perceptible. The soft acceptance on his face let me know there was no turning back now.
I touched his eyes then, and his brow, watching the short dark hair appear and thick dark lashes on his lids. I created eyes of ice blue that had a sense of alertness and intelligence, but also a bit of hunger. My fingertips continued down his jawline and hair grew there. A line of beard hair grew in black, so that, though his skin was pale and beautiful, it would mark him as a man grown. A short line across and above his lip gave him a very short and sparse line of hair there as well. His lips I formed to be soft and just a bit plump, all the better to bite and to feel on my skin if I were to allow it.
I took a moment to admire him then: My creation. My fingers moved to his scalp then, and the gentle swirls of my fingertips brought forth the soft, dark wavy hair that covered his head now and I laughed softly as I twirled strands between my fingers, enjoying the feel of it. In the same theme, my fingers danced over his chest and stomach, and even down lower, to add soft dark hair here and there, though not very much.
I took his hands in mine then, touching, forming. Creating fingers that were neither soft, nor rough, with fingers that were strong enough to hold my hand firmly or to give me massage for as long as I wanted. Bending down I finished his feet, making them strong enough to stand for hours attending me or to run if I needed him to be swift and to fetch something for me.
Taking a few steps, I admired My creation. A perfect instrument reflecting the best of what I wished from him. Having created him perfectly for me, I felt my own desire rise. Crooking a finger, I beckoned him to me. "Come My creation, you have much to do."
The end of the beginning
The Gift by Anonymous
I got your gift, boy.
I wonder how long you had held that, wanting so badly to give it to Me, but unsure if it would be welcome, afraid of the repercussions.
I can tell it was chosen with so much care, with so much knowledge of me. Only someone who knows me as well as you could have chosen so perfectly.
I returned it back to you, yes.
Not that I didn't love it. I did. It was beautiful, and touching.
However, nothing material can replace what I really want. I want more. I want you. I want you to come to me, bearing that gift to kneel at my feet and beg for me to take you.
I wonder if you are brave enough to do so.
Truth Be Told by Anonymous
I have long since not trusted dommes. It must have been more than three years ago now that I was a guild leader in World of Warcraft. I meet a very sweet women who told me about Second Life. In truth I never thought it would be so vast. I thought it was a much simpler game than it turned out to be.
My first day in, I made my very first avi and I followed the starters' guide. I did it without her knowledge. I did not think to learn about SL first, using videos or blogs or anything of the sort. I just dove in head first and never looked back. I did send her a message and give her a call on Skype. I had been in a starting area for maybe 15 minutes when she logged into SL and took me to her parcel. It was only a day or two later that she told me to wear her collar, telling me that if I did not wear her collar I could be taken, and that people could force a collar upon me and then take me and sell me as a sex slave.
Of course I was new. I was dumb. I knew nothing of SL and I thought this was how it was played. I was a good boy so I never left without her consent. The only time I'd ever spent off her parcel without her was to go to a sandbox where I spoke to no one. It was weeks -- nearly a month -- before someone told me that is not how SL works. Finally I learned that SL was bigger than her parcel and more than her collar.
I ran away and became scared of a life that I actually should have enjoyed. The Truth is, I love the life of a submissive, but since then I have been frightened of ever again putting a collar around my neck for anyone.
Then.... I met her. My Queen. My Goddess. My Mistress.
She makes me feel safe and comfortable. She does not force things onto me that I am still learning about. She tells me the truth and does not manipulate me taking advantage of what I do not know. I have been hers for under a month, but already I feel close to her. I dare say I love my Mistress. My deepest desires now only consist of pleasing her. I know I still have much to learn about being a good submissive, so I learn a little more each day. I only hope one day I can be the perfect boy to serve her every need. I wear her collar. I belong to her.
My first day in, I made my very first avi and I followed the starters' guide. I did it without her knowledge. I did not think to learn about SL first, using videos or blogs or anything of the sort. I just dove in head first and never looked back. I did send her a message and give her a call on Skype. I had been in a starting area for maybe 15 minutes when she logged into SL and took me to her parcel. It was only a day or two later that she told me to wear her collar, telling me that if I did not wear her collar I could be taken, and that people could force a collar upon me and then take me and sell me as a sex slave.
Of course I was new. I was dumb. I knew nothing of SL and I thought this was how it was played. I was a good boy so I never left without her consent. The only time I'd ever spent off her parcel without her was to go to a sandbox where I spoke to no one. It was weeks -- nearly a month -- before someone told me that is not how SL works. Finally I learned that SL was bigger than her parcel and more than her collar.
I ran away and became scared of a life that I actually should have enjoyed. The Truth is, I love the life of a submissive, but since then I have been frightened of ever again putting a collar around my neck for anyone.
Then.... I met her. My Queen. My Goddess. My Mistress.
She makes me feel safe and comfortable. She does not force things onto me that I am still learning about. She tells me the truth and does not manipulate me taking advantage of what I do not know. I have been hers for under a month, but already I feel close to her. I dare say I love my Mistress. My deepest desires now only consist of pleasing her. I know I still have much to learn about being a good submissive, so I learn a little more each day. I only hope one day I can be the perfect boy to serve her every need. I wear her collar. I belong to her.
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