Although this is a letter to my husband, it is posted here because I thought it might be interesting or valuable for others to read.
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Dear Husband,
The last few weeks have been very difficult for us both. I want to thank you for all of your help and patience. As always, you are amazing and I love you.
Last night we spoke about sex, at least I did, I chose my timing badly. Because of that, I thought I would write down what I need right now. I thought it might be easier for you to read it in your own time. To read it over and over again if you need.
I cannot have romantic, slow, gentle lovemaking at the moment. My mind and my body cannot deal with it. At the moment, while I am grieving I need other things.
I need for you to force me. When I bite or scratch or grab or push you down, I need for you to use whatever force necessary to get me to stop, to make me feel like I am yours. I need to be able to let go and try to attack you, so that I feel you are forcing me. I wouldn't actually do anything dangerous, but I need to feel the resistance in my body and my mind.
I need for you to give me instructions and commands. I need you to tell me to wash the kitchen floor on my hands and knees, naked. I need for you to tell me I have to do things by a certain time and to report back to you. I need to feel like I am yours to do with as you will.
I need to be punished by you if I fail my tasks. I need to believe that you will punish me. To believe that, I may even fail to complete a task, so that I feel your punishment (whatever form that takes is irrelevant). When I feel that I will know to complete future tasks, because you have told me to.
I need you to command me in bed, to tell me what to do. I need to hear your voice. If you don't want to speak, command me to speak or to do something instead. I crave your voice and your thoughts.
Before our loss, you were showing signs of natural Dominance. You seemed to love it and find it deeply arousing. At the moment that is hidden. I don't know if that is because you are grieving and need slow lovemaking or because you are scared of upsetting me or hurting me at this time. I hope it is the latter, because I need this. I need to be submissive to you, not to anyone else, to you. At this time, more than any other, I need to be submissive for my husband, for the man I love. I need to be owned by you.
I am not asking you to do things that would gross you out. I am not asking for you to fuck me hard up the arse, or to piss on me, or shit on me, or any of the other things I desire. I am only asking you to do things you have done before, but I would like them and I would like them with more aggression and force than has been between us before.
I promise I will not let you go too far.
I promise I will let you know if you are pushing a little too hard.
I promise I will not let you do anything that is too much for you to bear.
I am asking for you to trust me as I trust you.
Please, be my Sir, if just for a little while.
All my love,
Your wife
Showing posts with label Sexual Fantasy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Sexual Fantasy. Show all posts
Friday, 8 March 2013
Monday, 7 January 2013
Tea and Spoons Part Four (Erotica)
Yes, Yes, late again. Anyone want to punish me? If you haven't read them, or want to read them again, the previous parts are her: One, Two, and Three
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Tea and Spoons
Part Four
The doorbell rang with Charlotte smirking at Jon as his cock reacted to the giant dildo in front of him. “Such precision timing! Jon, get the door.” Jon looked down at himself then, mild panic brushed through him, quickly replaced with excitement and an eager enthusiasm to serve. It felt different and new and special.
The man at the door was a giant, well over six feet tall, a good few inches taller than Jon, and wide. Very wide with muscles that stretched his neatly pressed shirt. He was beautiful with dusky blonde hair and green eyes that looked right passed him. “Charlotte, my love, you look gorgeous. The dinner is ready in the van, the boy should get it.”
Without even looking at Jon, Charlotte said “Boy, this is Bobby, you will call him Sir. Do as he says.”
“Yes Ma’am” He spat the words out, feeling jealous and curious and angry all at the same time.
“Now, boy, don’t speak to your Mistress in such a tone. Go to the van, in the back is a large box. Bring it in and follow the instructions on the lid. Oh, and put some shoes on before you go outside, these should do it.” Bobby went into his bag and pulled out a pair of red knee length boots. They had a slight heel and were laced up the front. Jon knew he should say “yes sir” but he felt slightly sick and tears (of sadness, anger, shame, fury, he had no idea) were threatening to fall.
The boots fit perfectly, of course they did.
When he opened the front door it was twilight and warm. A nervousness about getting caught ate into him, but it was easier to comply than fight and end up having to do it anyway. As he leant into the van and his lacy dress rose above his arse, exposing it to the air, he heard the neighbors leave the house laughing and joking. They must have spotted him because suddenly it was silent, then some coughing and hurried footsteps before the car left. His face burnt a bright red and he was grateful they hadn’t seen it.
The box was heavy. When he took it into the house Charlotte and Bobby were nowhere to be seen, but he could hear them laughing and chatting, but the words were jumbled and he couldn’t understand a word. Once or twice he heard footsteps going up and down the stairs. Occasionally he heard a groan of pleasure and his stomach twisted in knots.
The instructions were simple enough. The box contained a fully prepared steaming hot meal. It would seem Bobby was a chef of some sort. Jon had to prepare the dining table for two but serve everything onto plates for three. He had to take his boots off (that was written into the instructions, just how planned was this event?) and call out when everything was ready. He did so.
Charlotte and Bobby entered the dining room and sat down.
“Boy,” Bobby spoke with a deep American accent, Jon wasn’t sure how he hadn’t noticed that already. It was clipped and his voice was practically scraping gravel. “Bring us our dinner.”
Jon did as he was told.
“Good boy, now for your hard work, you may share our table. Get your dinner plate, quickly before it gets cold.”
Jon did as he was told.
“Now, boy, you may eat with us, between us in fact. On the floor, under the table, between our feet, like the scum you are.”
He almost burst into tears. He didn’t know this man, although he suspected who he might be, surely Bobby wasn’t his real name. It was all too much to bear. Shame and humiliation ate at him as he sat under the table. His throat constricted making it almost impossible to eat. He heard the two laughing and chatting, sometimes about mundane ordinary things, sometimes they were teasing each other. Four times Jon heard them talk about him, when this happened they pointedly spoke louder and in clearer, crisper tones. Each time Bobby asked: “He seems to be doing well, should we reward him?” Each answer Charlotte gave was different: “No, I thought I heard a whimper earlier, he has no humility.” And “No, he is only interested in his own pleasure.” And “No, he has not yet learnt to reflect on his own wants and needs and desires.” Jon cried then, he tried to cry silently but he knew he failed. What seemed like an eternity later, but must have only been five minutes, Bobby asked the question the fourth time. “Yes, I believe he has learnt something, a little reward would be good.”
At that, Charlotte opened her legs. What he thought were thick black tights were actually stockings, leading to her completely bare, naked pussy. She was so wet she glistened and the skirt beneath her was damp. Jon could smell her. He groaned loudly, desparate to taste her, to lick her. His hand reached out to stroke her but he pulled it back before he did, to avoid further punishment. He wanted her so badly his cock was dripping wet, he stroked it idly. And just like that, almost as if she knew, Charlotte closed her legs, moved the chair back and stood up.
“Now, Bobby, shall we retire to the lounge?”
“Excellent plan. Boy, come with us. Leave the plates. You will be cleaning them tomorrow.”
Jon ached when he stood up. He had to stretch himself, move his body to relax the muscles. He caught both Charlotte and Bobby admiring him and put it down to a win for him.
The brief pleasure from that vanished as soon as he entered the living room. Charlotte and Bobby had already sat on the sofa next to each other. Snuggling. (They were snuggling? What?) In front of Bobby was a footstool, one of those that rocks forward and backwards slightly. Wrapped around it was what looked like a belt, except standing up from a hole in the middle was the giant dildo Charlotte had been holding earlier. It was shining, glistening with lube and next to the dildo was a bottle of lubricant.
Jon seriously considered leaving then, calling “Red.” He had fantasized about being humiliated so many times, but when it came to it, he really wasn’t sure this was for him. He felt sick. He felt used. He felt ashamed. He felt disgusted with himself. And yet, and yet ... He had never felt this desparate in his life, this needy with want. If he had to beg and lick this strange man’s feet he knew right then he would do it.
“Start the DVD, boy. Then you know what to do.” It was Bobby who spoke.
“Yes, sir.”
The DVD that started was porn, a whole mixture of bodies of different sizes, shapes, genders, and colors playing in a lavish Edwardian style house in a confusing mix of scenes. Jon wanted to watch, but returned to the sofa. He looked at the stool and, picked up the bottle of lube.
“Turn around, bend over, I want to watch you lube yourself up.”
Jon heard the man undo his fly, he heard the man touch his cock as Jon filled his hands with slippery liquid. He smeared it on his arsehole. He easily put the first finger in. Then the second. Knowing that two people were behind him, watching, made him want to put on a show. He groaned as the third finger slid in and he started stretching his own arsehole. His legs wobbled, but he managed to stay upright. He touched his prostate, pushing it, pressing it, feeling the ecstasy roll through him. His legs buckled then and he nearly crashed into the floor.
“Enough! Face me, boy and sit down.”
Jon caught the look in Sir’s eyes, he saw lust and desire and want. For a moment they shared that, then Bobby looked at Charlotte and kissed her with a passion he had never seen before. Jealousy and lust caught him. He wanted to lean over and join in, he wanted to run his hands over their bodies and be touched by them, be kissed like that. He wanted it all.
“Really, Jon, have you learnt nothing?” Charlotte spoke then, with an exasperated kindly teacher’s voice. It was as though she were talking to a child and not a man wearing a lace dress about to slide his arse onto a giant dildo.
“Sorry Ma’am. Sorry Sir.”
Jon straddled the stool, he held the dildo in one hand. It felt rubbery and large. It had some flexibility and give, but not much. It was ribbed and he guessed about nine inches long and obscenely thick. Much thicker than his own ample cock. He placed his arsehole at the top of the huge penetrating toy (is is really a toy?). Anxiety and excitement about what such a large thing would feel like bubbled through him. The tip entered, stretching his anus, not enough to hurt but certainly enough to feel like his limit was being pushed. He started to slide down. There was never any pain, but occasionally he felt tiny amounts of discomfort, questioning him like a challenge. Mainly he felt ecstasy. Pleasure coursed through him. The further in the dildo got the more his muscles stretched until he felt waves through his body and like his head was fit to burst. He forgot where he was and started rocking the stool backwards and forwards stretching himself more and more until he felt his balls hit the stool and his arse totally filled and pulled. He was groaning and crying out in ways he hadn’t known possible. He was acting like a cheap hooker and all he wanted was more.
“Enough!” Charlotte's voice was broken and raspy, but quickly returned to the authoritative controlling voice of before. “You are here for my pleasure. Now I want you to suck Sir’s cock. Put on a good show and you may just get a prize.”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
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This is the penultimate chapter in this story, although I have so many scenes chopped out there may be extras at some point. The last chapter will be up sometime in the next week.
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Tea and Spoons
Part Four
The doorbell rang with Charlotte smirking at Jon as his cock reacted to the giant dildo in front of him. “Such precision timing! Jon, get the door.” Jon looked down at himself then, mild panic brushed through him, quickly replaced with excitement and an eager enthusiasm to serve. It felt different and new and special.
The man at the door was a giant, well over six feet tall, a good few inches taller than Jon, and wide. Very wide with muscles that stretched his neatly pressed shirt. He was beautiful with dusky blonde hair and green eyes that looked right passed him. “Charlotte, my love, you look gorgeous. The dinner is ready in the van, the boy should get it.”
Without even looking at Jon, Charlotte said “Boy, this is Bobby, you will call him Sir. Do as he says.”
“Yes Ma’am” He spat the words out, feeling jealous and curious and angry all at the same time.
“Now, boy, don’t speak to your Mistress in such a tone. Go to the van, in the back is a large box. Bring it in and follow the instructions on the lid. Oh, and put some shoes on before you go outside, these should do it.” Bobby went into his bag and pulled out a pair of red knee length boots. They had a slight heel and were laced up the front. Jon knew he should say “yes sir” but he felt slightly sick and tears (of sadness, anger, shame, fury, he had no idea) were threatening to fall.
The boots fit perfectly, of course they did.
When he opened the front door it was twilight and warm. A nervousness about getting caught ate into him, but it was easier to comply than fight and end up having to do it anyway. As he leant into the van and his lacy dress rose above his arse, exposing it to the air, he heard the neighbors leave the house laughing and joking. They must have spotted him because suddenly it was silent, then some coughing and hurried footsteps before the car left. His face burnt a bright red and he was grateful they hadn’t seen it.
The box was heavy. When he took it into the house Charlotte and Bobby were nowhere to be seen, but he could hear them laughing and chatting, but the words were jumbled and he couldn’t understand a word. Once or twice he heard footsteps going up and down the stairs. Occasionally he heard a groan of pleasure and his stomach twisted in knots.
The instructions were simple enough. The box contained a fully prepared steaming hot meal. It would seem Bobby was a chef of some sort. Jon had to prepare the dining table for two but serve everything onto plates for three. He had to take his boots off (that was written into the instructions, just how planned was this event?) and call out when everything was ready. He did so.
Charlotte and Bobby entered the dining room and sat down.
“Boy,” Bobby spoke with a deep American accent, Jon wasn’t sure how he hadn’t noticed that already. It was clipped and his voice was practically scraping gravel. “Bring us our dinner.”
Jon did as he was told.
“Good boy, now for your hard work, you may share our table. Get your dinner plate, quickly before it gets cold.”
Jon did as he was told.
“Now, boy, you may eat with us, between us in fact. On the floor, under the table, between our feet, like the scum you are.”
He almost burst into tears. He didn’t know this man, although he suspected who he might be, surely Bobby wasn’t his real name. It was all too much to bear. Shame and humiliation ate at him as he sat under the table. His throat constricted making it almost impossible to eat. He heard the two laughing and chatting, sometimes about mundane ordinary things, sometimes they were teasing each other. Four times Jon heard them talk about him, when this happened they pointedly spoke louder and in clearer, crisper tones. Each time Bobby asked: “He seems to be doing well, should we reward him?” Each answer Charlotte gave was different: “No, I thought I heard a whimper earlier, he has no humility.” And “No, he is only interested in his own pleasure.” And “No, he has not yet learnt to reflect on his own wants and needs and desires.” Jon cried then, he tried to cry silently but he knew he failed. What seemed like an eternity later, but must have only been five minutes, Bobby asked the question the fourth time. “Yes, I believe he has learnt something, a little reward would be good.”
At that, Charlotte opened her legs. What he thought were thick black tights were actually stockings, leading to her completely bare, naked pussy. She was so wet she glistened and the skirt beneath her was damp. Jon could smell her. He groaned loudly, desparate to taste her, to lick her. His hand reached out to stroke her but he pulled it back before he did, to avoid further punishment. He wanted her so badly his cock was dripping wet, he stroked it idly. And just like that, almost as if she knew, Charlotte closed her legs, moved the chair back and stood up.
“Now, Bobby, shall we retire to the lounge?”
“Excellent plan. Boy, come with us. Leave the plates. You will be cleaning them tomorrow.”
Jon ached when he stood up. He had to stretch himself, move his body to relax the muscles. He caught both Charlotte and Bobby admiring him and put it down to a win for him.
The brief pleasure from that vanished as soon as he entered the living room. Charlotte and Bobby had already sat on the sofa next to each other. Snuggling. (They were snuggling? What?) In front of Bobby was a footstool, one of those that rocks forward and backwards slightly. Wrapped around it was what looked like a belt, except standing up from a hole in the middle was the giant dildo Charlotte had been holding earlier. It was shining, glistening with lube and next to the dildo was a bottle of lubricant.
Jon seriously considered leaving then, calling “Red.” He had fantasized about being humiliated so many times, but when it came to it, he really wasn’t sure this was for him. He felt sick. He felt used. He felt ashamed. He felt disgusted with himself. And yet, and yet ... He had never felt this desparate in his life, this needy with want. If he had to beg and lick this strange man’s feet he knew right then he would do it.
“Start the DVD, boy. Then you know what to do.” It was Bobby who spoke.
“Yes, sir.”
The DVD that started was porn, a whole mixture of bodies of different sizes, shapes, genders, and colors playing in a lavish Edwardian style house in a confusing mix of scenes. Jon wanted to watch, but returned to the sofa. He looked at the stool and, picked up the bottle of lube.
“Turn around, bend over, I want to watch you lube yourself up.”
Jon heard the man undo his fly, he heard the man touch his cock as Jon filled his hands with slippery liquid. He smeared it on his arsehole. He easily put the first finger in. Then the second. Knowing that two people were behind him, watching, made him want to put on a show. He groaned as the third finger slid in and he started stretching his own arsehole. His legs wobbled, but he managed to stay upright. He touched his prostate, pushing it, pressing it, feeling the ecstasy roll through him. His legs buckled then and he nearly crashed into the floor.
“Enough! Face me, boy and sit down.”
Jon caught the look in Sir’s eyes, he saw lust and desire and want. For a moment they shared that, then Bobby looked at Charlotte and kissed her with a passion he had never seen before. Jealousy and lust caught him. He wanted to lean over and join in, he wanted to run his hands over their bodies and be touched by them, be kissed like that. He wanted it all.
“Really, Jon, have you learnt nothing?” Charlotte spoke then, with an exasperated kindly teacher’s voice. It was as though she were talking to a child and not a man wearing a lace dress about to slide his arse onto a giant dildo.
“Sorry Ma’am. Sorry Sir.”
Jon straddled the stool, he held the dildo in one hand. It felt rubbery and large. It had some flexibility and give, but not much. It was ribbed and he guessed about nine inches long and obscenely thick. Much thicker than his own ample cock. He placed his arsehole at the top of the huge penetrating toy (is is really a toy?). Anxiety and excitement about what such a large thing would feel like bubbled through him. The tip entered, stretching his anus, not enough to hurt but certainly enough to feel like his limit was being pushed. He started to slide down. There was never any pain, but occasionally he felt tiny amounts of discomfort, questioning him like a challenge. Mainly he felt ecstasy. Pleasure coursed through him. The further in the dildo got the more his muscles stretched until he felt waves through his body and like his head was fit to burst. He forgot where he was and started rocking the stool backwards and forwards stretching himself more and more until he felt his balls hit the stool and his arse totally filled and pulled. He was groaning and crying out in ways he hadn’t known possible. He was acting like a cheap hooker and all he wanted was more.
“Enough!” Charlotte's voice was broken and raspy, but quickly returned to the authoritative controlling voice of before. “You are here for my pleasure. Now I want you to suck Sir’s cock. Put on a good show and you may just get a prize.”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
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This is the penultimate chapter in this story, although I have so many scenes chopped out there may be extras at some point. The last chapter will be up sometime in the next week.
Sunday, 30 December 2012
Tea and Spoons Part Three (Erotica)
A story about female dominance, parts one and two are already live, parts four and five are on their way. Apologies to regular readers for the delay in this posting. I promised it yesterday but internet was denied! It was traumatic. I need a spanking, or perhaps I need to spank the internet providers....
....................
Charlotte stands there with the paddle in her hands. She caresses it slowly, gliding a hand along the long shaft, rhythmically moving her slender fingers up and down. The paddle has a solid rubber grip, shaped perfectly to fit her hand. It is the paddle itself that makes Jon’s breath catch. It is about eight inches long and a good hand width across. There are holes dotted along it, holes which Charlotte keeps fingering between her caresses. Jon looks at the paddle with fear and excitement. He looks away from it, from Charlotte. He looks down at himself, sodden in piss, his tongue is rancid and furry, covered in piss and dust and filth.
“You are disgusting. Stand up. Remove your clothes. Put them in the washing machine. Then go and wash that filth from your body, and make sure you clean your teeth. You stink, you disgusting boy, you do not deserve to be in my presence.”
The instructions are like a gut punch, he is like this because she told him to be, he doesn’t understand.
“Yes, ma’am, sorry ma’am”
“Good boy, leave the bathroom door unlocked.”
He did as he was told. As he walked through the house he felt ashamed of what he could smell and taste on himself, but his cock kept twitching in anticipation. His pulse raced and he felt close to the edge. He didn’t know what of, but an abyss was just there waiting for him.
The hot water ran down his back and across his face, warm and comforting. He seemed to have been in there forever and had almost forgotten her when the door opened. His body tensed.
“Feeling better, boy?”
“Yes, much, thank you”
“Good.”
Charlotte bought a little foldaway stool with her. She unfolded it, saying nothing. She sat on it, directly in front of Jon as he stood in the shower. The paddle was placed across her lap, looming over the room.
By now, the water was off and Jon was getting cold.
“Now, we must start your punishment.”
Jon’s stomach dropped, he felt sick wondering what counts as punishment if the past three hours didn’t.
“First, you pathetically inept idiot, you need to be reminded of the importance of correct spelling and punctuation. Face the wall. Put your left hand against it. With your right hand I want you to spank your arse. You must count as you do so.”
Jon looked at her a little dazed, perhaps confused, and disbelieving.
“Look at me like that again, and you will regret it. Now begin.”
Her voice was stern and full of something not quite anger, but definitely irritation, maybe even boredom? Could that be possible?
His hand lifted and made contact with his arse, it was a fairly delicate flat-handed SMACK
“One”
SMACK
“Two”
SMACK
“Three”
It felt ridiculous and silly to be doing this. Jon could barely feel it and it was more than a bit embarrassing.
“Stop! You aren’t even trying. Pa-The-Tic. Here, take this brush. You are not leaving that shower until your arse cheeks are red and sore. Spank yourself hard, in very quick succession. Ten times on each cheek.”
The hairbrush was a plastic thing with a flat oval back about the size of Jon’s hand. He raised his arm; the angle was awkward, adding to the discomfort. He bought the brush down hard. “Fuck,” he muttered, surprised at how hard it stung, the water had softened his skin and the remaining droplets enhanced the sensation. “One, Two, Three… Nine, Ten.”
“Again!”
Again he spanked himself; it was stinging now, the impact heating up his buttocks and making his cock twitch appreciatively.
“Now your thighs. Make it twenty each side, and hit harder. I know how hard you can hit and you are being easy on yourself. Cowardly little boy, do not make me punish you for failing such a simple task.”
It was impossible for Jon to use the full force of his strength at this angle. The shower was still wet and slippery beneath his feet and his large muscles were developed for strength, not for flexibility. He had to concentrate so hard to aim and stay upright that he hadn’t been able to hit hard. He felt compelled to try harder. The embarrassment had given way to a compulsion, a deep need to do what his mistress (oh, is she really that, already?) commanded. He used all the force he could muster and landed a strike on his thigh.
“Fuu…One”
He wasn’t expecting the searing pain the brush would cause, he clearly didn’t know his own strength, even in this impossible situation.
“Two”
“Three”
“Four”
By the time he had gotten to fifteen on the first thigh, it was agony, his leg was burning and he was making pathetic whimpering noises.
“hnngh….Sixteen”
He started to slow down, his breath was shaking, his thighs were starting to wobble. All the time his back was facing his mistress and she wasn’t saying a thing.
“Seventeen”
At the eighteenth Jon gave a little squeak. The nineteenth hurt so much he bit down and caught his lip making his eyes water. Finally, it was the twentieth strike on the first leg. His arm was starting to ache now, it wasn't used to making this kind of twisted movement. He bought the brush down against his thigh, right on top of the burning muscle he had already pounded. His mind screamed and yelled at him to stop. The thought of doing this all over again made his eyes water but his cock throb.
“Enough! You did that better than expected. Well done, you are relieved of the duties for the other thigh. We shall leave it blemish free.” Jon felt disappointment, he wanted and needed more punishment, but he felt proud about doing so well and excited about the unspoken “for now”.
“Get out of the shower.”
As he did so, he caught himself in the mirror. Bruises were forming on his thigh, he felt vaguely sick, proud, and desperately aroused. Pre-cum leaked from his cock as he gave in to the heady, confusing mess of feelings.
“On your bed you will find what I want you to wear. Put it on.” Charlotte held the paddle as she said this; she stretched her arm out. Jon tensed; his throat constricted expecting to be hit. Instead, the paddle gently caressed the bruises on his thigh, as though the paddle were a soft cushion easing his discomfort. He shocked himself by feeling desire and want so great he groaned and heard himself beg, “Please, ma’am, please.”
Charlotte chuckled, barely audible.
“Go, get dressed.”
On the bed was an item made of black lace. Jon felt confused, his sense of touch heightened, his body electric, his mind lost. He put the lingerie on and stood in the mirror. He saw himself in a skin tight negligee with long sleeves. He could just make out his nipples through the flowery lacy pattern. It came just beneath his arse and cock. The bruises on his thigh visible. He saw Charlotte in the mirror behind him and turned around.
Charlotte stood before him, the paddle on the bed behind her and in one hand she held what looked like a belt and in the other, a huge rubber cock.
Jon’s own cock responded, tenting the lace, rock hard, and dying to be touched.
will be up on 3rd December (assuming the internet doesn't die again!) 5th December, due to my shiteness! 7th December, due to reasons (it really will be, it is all ready saved and proofed, ready to his "Publish")! If you read this series do let me know what you think. Constructive
criticism is welcome in the comments especially but Twitter and email are also
good. Many thanks to Dan especially for his ongoing enthusiasm (and sound telling off for being late!).
....................
Charlotte stands there with the paddle in her hands. She caresses it slowly, gliding a hand along the long shaft, rhythmically moving her slender fingers up and down. The paddle has a solid rubber grip, shaped perfectly to fit her hand. It is the paddle itself that makes Jon’s breath catch. It is about eight inches long and a good hand width across. There are holes dotted along it, holes which Charlotte keeps fingering between her caresses. Jon looks at the paddle with fear and excitement. He looks away from it, from Charlotte. He looks down at himself, sodden in piss, his tongue is rancid and furry, covered in piss and dust and filth.
“You are disgusting. Stand up. Remove your clothes. Put them in the washing machine. Then go and wash that filth from your body, and make sure you clean your teeth. You stink, you disgusting boy, you do not deserve to be in my presence.”
The instructions are like a gut punch, he is like this because she told him to be, he doesn’t understand.
“Yes, ma’am, sorry ma’am”
“Good boy, leave the bathroom door unlocked.”
He did as he was told. As he walked through the house he felt ashamed of what he could smell and taste on himself, but his cock kept twitching in anticipation. His pulse raced and he felt close to the edge. He didn’t know what of, but an abyss was just there waiting for him.
The hot water ran down his back and across his face, warm and comforting. He seemed to have been in there forever and had almost forgotten her when the door opened. His body tensed.
“Feeling better, boy?”
“Yes, much, thank you”
“Good.”
Charlotte bought a little foldaway stool with her. She unfolded it, saying nothing. She sat on it, directly in front of Jon as he stood in the shower. The paddle was placed across her lap, looming over the room.
By now, the water was off and Jon was getting cold.
“Now, we must start your punishment.”
Jon’s stomach dropped, he felt sick wondering what counts as punishment if the past three hours didn’t.
“First, you pathetically inept idiot, you need to be reminded of the importance of correct spelling and punctuation. Face the wall. Put your left hand against it. With your right hand I want you to spank your arse. You must count as you do so.”
Jon looked at her a little dazed, perhaps confused, and disbelieving.
“Look at me like that again, and you will regret it. Now begin.”
Her voice was stern and full of something not quite anger, but definitely irritation, maybe even boredom? Could that be possible?
His hand lifted and made contact with his arse, it was a fairly delicate flat-handed SMACK
“One”
SMACK
“Two”
SMACK
“Three”
It felt ridiculous and silly to be doing this. Jon could barely feel it and it was more than a bit embarrassing.
“Stop! You aren’t even trying. Pa-The-Tic. Here, take this brush. You are not leaving that shower until your arse cheeks are red and sore. Spank yourself hard, in very quick succession. Ten times on each cheek.”
The hairbrush was a plastic thing with a flat oval back about the size of Jon’s hand. He raised his arm; the angle was awkward, adding to the discomfort. He bought the brush down hard. “Fuck,” he muttered, surprised at how hard it stung, the water had softened his skin and the remaining droplets enhanced the sensation. “One, Two, Three… Nine, Ten.”
“Again!”
Again he spanked himself; it was stinging now, the impact heating up his buttocks and making his cock twitch appreciatively.
“Now your thighs. Make it twenty each side, and hit harder. I know how hard you can hit and you are being easy on yourself. Cowardly little boy, do not make me punish you for failing such a simple task.”
It was impossible for Jon to use the full force of his strength at this angle. The shower was still wet and slippery beneath his feet and his large muscles were developed for strength, not for flexibility. He had to concentrate so hard to aim and stay upright that he hadn’t been able to hit hard. He felt compelled to try harder. The embarrassment had given way to a compulsion, a deep need to do what his mistress (oh, is she really that, already?) commanded. He used all the force he could muster and landed a strike on his thigh.
“Fuu…One”
He wasn’t expecting the searing pain the brush would cause, he clearly didn’t know his own strength, even in this impossible situation.
“Two”
“Three”
“Four”
By the time he had gotten to fifteen on the first thigh, it was agony, his leg was burning and he was making pathetic whimpering noises.
“hnngh….Sixteen”
He started to slow down, his breath was shaking, his thighs were starting to wobble. All the time his back was facing his mistress and she wasn’t saying a thing.
“Seventeen”
At the eighteenth Jon gave a little squeak. The nineteenth hurt so much he bit down and caught his lip making his eyes water. Finally, it was the twentieth strike on the first leg. His arm was starting to ache now, it wasn't used to making this kind of twisted movement. He bought the brush down against his thigh, right on top of the burning muscle he had already pounded. His mind screamed and yelled at him to stop. The thought of doing this all over again made his eyes water but his cock throb.
“Enough! You did that better than expected. Well done, you are relieved of the duties for the other thigh. We shall leave it blemish free.” Jon felt disappointment, he wanted and needed more punishment, but he felt proud about doing so well and excited about the unspoken “for now”.
“Get out of the shower.”
As he did so, he caught himself in the mirror. Bruises were forming on his thigh, he felt vaguely sick, proud, and desperately aroused. Pre-cum leaked from his cock as he gave in to the heady, confusing mess of feelings.
“On your bed you will find what I want you to wear. Put it on.” Charlotte held the paddle as she said this; she stretched her arm out. Jon tensed; his throat constricted expecting to be hit. Instead, the paddle gently caressed the bruises on his thigh, as though the paddle were a soft cushion easing his discomfort. He shocked himself by feeling desire and want so great he groaned and heard himself beg, “Please, ma’am, please.”
Charlotte chuckled, barely audible.
“Go, get dressed.”
On the bed was an item made of black lace. Jon felt confused, his sense of touch heightened, his body electric, his mind lost. He put the lingerie on and stood in the mirror. He saw himself in a skin tight negligee with long sleeves. He could just make out his nipples through the flowery lacy pattern. It came just beneath his arse and cock. The bruises on his thigh visible. He saw Charlotte in the mirror behind him and turned around.
Charlotte stood before him, the paddle on the bed behind her and in one hand she held what looked like a belt and in the other, a huge rubber cock.
Jon’s own cock responded, tenting the lace, rock hard, and dying to be touched.
---------
The next part of
the story is here Monday, 24 December 2012
Tea and Spoons Part Two (Erotica)
Part One of my story for the seasonal festivities can be found here. I
have no idea how many parts there will be. I should give a warning for this
story because it includes a hard limit for many people. Highlight to get the
warning: piss play, including consumption
------------------------------
Tea and Spoons
Part Two
---------
Part Three will be up on the 29th December
------------------------------
Tea and Spoons
Part Two
“Undo your belt
buckle, please”
Jon gets
goosebumps and gives a little smile. He doesn’t mean to, it just happens. He’s
nervous and embarrassed and feeling ever so slightly scared. He releases the
belt buckle and starts to pull it through the loops of his jeans.
“Stop! Did I say
take the belt off? No. I give precise instructions. Do not deviate from them or
things will not go well for you. Do you understand?”
Jon nods. Charlotte
accepts his acquiesance with a smile.
“Very well, Jon,
undo your jeans and drop them to the floor.”
The man does as
he is told. Something he can’t explain makes him cover his cock with his hands,
even though he is wearing jockey shorts, and even though she has seen and
sucked and fucked it. He starts to realize that he has totally underestimated
her. His cock twitches at the thought just as his brain screams for him to run,
to beg, to say sorry.
Charlotte stands
up and walks around him. She looks him up and down. Every so often she kneels
down and stares at his legs, casually running a finger along the inside of his
thigh. He turned around once to look at her, she didn’t even speak then, she
made the same sound you might make when stopping a dog eat food from your
plate, a gutteral “ach, ach” sound. He did as she commanded, humiliated that
such a simple sound could make him submit. The inspection seemed to last
forever before Charlotte sat back down on the chair, her methodical skirt
arrangement exactly like before.
“Come here Jon.
Keep your jeans as they are.” Jon hobbles over to Charlotte. He needs to pee
but says nothing. This will be over soon. Charlotte isn’t very strong, he can
always just stand up and go to the loo. No worries ... he ignores the niggling
doubt at the back of his mind.
Charlotte pats
her lap.
Jon mentally
screams and runs and shouts to not be so fucking ridiculous. But he feels
himself bending over. His toes and fingers barely touch the ground. He tries to
keep his head held up in defiance, but it is too awkward to stay like that. His
cock brushes against Charlotte’s thigh and Jon feels shame as it stiffens
knowing she will feel it.
He feels Charlotte
grab his arse through his shorts. She kneeds it and tugs it and pulls it. She
gently taps it. He feels her hand slip into the shorts and squeeze his arse.
His cock gets hard. Jon feels Charlotte slide the shorts just over his butt
cheeks. The cool air reminds him he needs to pee until THWACK. He flinches and
twitches.
THWACK, another
smack lands on his butt
And another
And another
And another
It stings.
“Ok, that’s
enough. Charlotte, really.”
It wasn’t that
it hurt, the smacks just stung a little. It was more that this wasn’t how they
were meant to be. Charlotte did what he said. Jon hurt and humiliated Charlotte.
It wasn’t meant to work this way. Charlotte’s smacks were certainly not
supposed to sting. She’s so small and weak and ... THWACK
“Charlotte!”
The anger and humiliation
grows as she ignores him. She doesn’t say a word. All he can hear is the sound
of her hand landing on his arse and her breathing getting heavier.
“Charlotte, I
need to piss, please stop.”
“Very well, Jon,
stand up.”
Jon is confused
at this, just like that? Maybe he was right, maybe she really is that weak. He
really is her boss. He laughs a little too loudly.
“Jon, go to the
sink and pick up the mug I left in there.” He looks at her, his face falls, and
turns ashen white. Realization sinks in. She isn’t playing. She isn’t his toy
to do what he wants with. She is taking what is hers, and somewhere Jon knows
he deserves it. He does what he is told. He picks up the mug, knowing what is
coming.
“You may piss in
that.”
His heart
thumps. Excitement and disgust course through him in equal measure. He holds
the mug in one hand and his cock in the other. He looks down at himself,
standing in the kitchen his jeans around his ankles, his shorts just below his
butt cheeks. He looks pathetic. He wonders if his butt cheeks are red. When the
piss comes it is a humiliating but blessed relief until he realizes the mug
isn’t big enough. He looks at Charlotte, his eyes wide showing panic and shame
but also a challenge. He doesn’t know if he is challenging himself or her. She
nods at him and moves her hand indicating he should continue.
“I can’t, it’s
going to spill out, on the floor, my kitchen floor, I live here, with Jemima,
that prim lady you met. I can’t do this.”
“You can and you
will.” Charlotte stands up and moves to the door to watch from a distance.
His stomach
churns as he feels the warmth of his piss flow out of the mug and over his
hand. It cascades to the floor. It falls on his jeans. By the time he finishes
he is standing in a pool of his own piss.
“What a good
boy, that wasn’t so difficult was it? Now, take the mug to the fridge and put
it on a shelf, any shelf will do.”
Part of him feels
trapped in a glass cage, his mind screaming for him not to do it. He does it
all the same. As he hobbles to the fridge he drags the piss on the floor with
him. The mug is dripping with piss but he puts it on a shelf. He shuts the door
and tries not to think about it.
“Oh, well done.
You get a gold star for that. Take off your jeans, leave them there and kneel
on the floor.”
He does as he is
told. He doesn’t know why.
“Crawl to me. As
you do so, I want you to lick the floor clean. Lick your piss off the floor.”
Jon’s face contorts
into revulsion. He feels shame so great he never
imagined it possible. He looks at the woman in the door and feels awe and
hatred and lust. He crawls towards her, his knees and hands covered in piss. He
licks the floor, tasting his own piss and whatever other shit falls on kitchen
floors. When he reaches Charlotte he looks up.
Somehow,
somewhere, out of nowhere, she is holding a thick wooden paddle.
---------
Part Three will be up on the 29th December
Wednesday, 19 December 2012
Tea and Spoons (Dominance Erotica)
I am a submissive. I like to be humiliated and bossed about. I like to
give the power to someone else, under the right circumstances of course. I have not always been like this. In fact, I am a very dominant person. Some might say a bit of an “alpha.” This
is in many areas of life, but especially sexually. Since I was a young wee
thing I knew the power I could have over people with the right words or a
certain look or smile.
Tea and Spoons
Part One
The man hears someone at the front door and ignores it; he’s too busy looking for filthy porn. He hears muffled chatting.
“Jon!” His landlady calls out.
Shit! How did that happen, he realizes she is just outside the room. Reluctantly he puts down the tablet, gets off his bed and answers the door.
“Jon, a ‘friend’ of yours,” she hesitates with the word friend, not quite sure what to make of it, “she is downstairs. She says that she was staying with someone else nearby but they had a big row and she has nowhere else to go. Her name’s Charlotte. You’ve never mentioned her before, so I wasn’t sure what to do. Should I send her up? If she really is in trouble, she’s welcome to stay.”
Jon’s first thought is “fuck.” He instantly knows who it is. What the fuck was she thinking? “Yeah, Jemima, send her up. I don’t know why she didn’t call first, must have been something big.”
A couple of minutes later Charlotte is standing at Jon’s bedroom door. He hurriedly shuts it behind her. Not touching her. Not smiling. He doesn’t know whether to feel livid or turned on, so naturally settles for both. “Are you mad? What the fuck?”
Charlotte merely smiles at him. She is carrying a smallish backpack. It gets casually dropped on the floor. She slowly unbuttons her overcoat and drapes it over the bag. She is wearing a severe black dress, made of very heavy fabric. It sits just above the knee. It is very high cut and respectable, quite prudish in fact. It is even an A-line skirt. The only concession to her femininity is a grey band around the waist, showing off her curves. She is wearing thick black tights and formal black shoes. Over her dress she is wearing a tailored suit jacket, the same colour as the band. Her hair is slicked back into a very tight bun, with just a couple of strands of hair coming down.
“Hello Jon” She grins wickedly, her eyes slowly devouring him from top to bottom. She kneels down and fishes something out of her bag. She hands it to him.
“Have a look, Jon”
He looks at the pages. Dozens of them. Printouts of emails he has sent her. Each one is marked in red. Spelling mistakes, grammatical errors, unreadable prose....it is all marked with bright red crosses. “Charlotte, what the hell is this?” Jon starts to suspect that this isn’t going to end well. He looks through more pages, some have been highlighted as well as corrected. As he reads them he realizes they are all unfulfilled promises, things he never did. His blood runs a little cold as he stares at her. What is looking back at Jon terrifies him.
Charlotte is glaring, a terrifying stare piercing through to his soul. He feels himself involuntarily stepping back. “Charlotte, my landlady in the house. This is ridiculous. Seriously, you’re being stu...” There is a knock on your door.
“What now?”
“Jon...” his fastidious landlady looks at the unlikely duo. She can feel the tension. She looks Charlotte up and down, curiously, not quite sure what to make of such a formal looking woman being friends with her incompetent lodger. “I am off out now, I’ll be back Sunday, quite late I suspect.”
“What? When did this happen?”
“Did I not tell you? Oh, I must have forgotten. I won tickets to some jazz thing in London, you know how much I love it. Anyway, it is all expenses paid. Travel, two nights in a hotel. Amazing really, I hadn’t entered, I thought it was a joke, but no, it all panned out.”
“Oh, that does sound wonderful, how very fortunate.” Charlotte smiles at her before facing Jon and grinning. His landlady leaves and his whole body tenses.
“You set this up! How? What the fuck? You’re mad.”
Charlotte smiles at him, slightly cocking her head in delight.
“I need a cup of tea. Let’s go downstairs so you can make me one.”
“What?” Jon feels bewildered, angry, and excited all at the same time. But he follows Charlotte downstairs all the same. He follows her into the kitchen, perturbed that he is following, yet increasingly curious.
“Could you get me a chair please, and make me some tea?”
He doesn’t know why, but he does as he is asked. Something, somewhere at the back of his head makes him want to. He feels the strangest need to see what happens next. His heart rate increases just a little. The anger starts to subside, giving way to curiosity and excitement.
Jon makes the tea while Charlotte intently watches the whole process. No words are exchanged, just glances, occasionally a smile or a nod. The room is filled with tension. He wants to say something. He wants to hug her. He wants to kiss her. He wants to throw her against the kitchen counter and fuck her. Something stops him doing any of that. This is her story and Jon knows it. He hands her tea.
She sits there and takes it. She stares at it and says thank you. Twenty minutes go by and she doesn’t touch the tea. The pair chat inanely about the weather and work. The kind of thing people talk about with their parents, not the kind of thing people talk about when they have done the depraved acts these two have.
“Do you not like the tea?”
“I wait for it to cool before I drink it. It should be cool enough to sip now though.” She sips it once, twice, then she puts it down. Ever so slowly. Jon watches her head lift up. Then she stands up. She picks up the mug from the table. Jon watches her movements. Every one is precise and careful. The room practically crackles with electricity. At that very moment, Jon realizes what he did wrong. The milk! Charlotte likes her milk added after the water. He watches her go to the sink and very slowly pour it out. The warm, wet, milky liquid pours from the mug. He bites his bottom lip. He finds himself holding his breath. It’s caught, just waiting. Waiting for something.
Jon’s eyes follow her as she neatly folds the skirt under her and sits back down on the chair.
“What should I do with you now? That tea was undrinkable. That will not do. It will not do at all. I think you need to be given a little lesson, don’t you?”
Jon freezes like a rabbit caught in headlights. He feels utterly ridiculous. He wants to run, but he has never imagined Charlotte like this. Commanding in quite this way. After what seems like an eternity, he nods.
----------------
When I started having sex, I enjoyed being dominant in bed. I
particularly liked “corrupting” virgins or the inexperienced (I still
have this fetish if truth be told). I would do it for their pleasure, push their
boundaries as much as they’d permit and then I’d discard them. In hindsight discarding
them was a pretty shoddy thing to do. When I was with experimental or kinky
folk I could be dominant. In fact, I loved it. But, isn’t there always a but!
The kicks I get from being dominant are not from doing things to people
or forcing people to do things for their own pleasure. No, I get kicks from
being powerful, from getting people to do things I want, even when they don’t
want it. This makes me a fantastic dominant in very specific sexual situations,
but a lousy one in most.
The idea of using power in this way is not one which sings to me in the
way that giving away my power does. I am a cliché, powerful and dominant (a
total control freak) in real life and utterly enthralled to anyone who can make
me give that up. But still, today is a day for female dominance and male submission, so this is the first
part of a short story. The next part will be up on Christmas Eve. Each
part can be read as a standalone, except maybe the first one…it sets the scene.
Unless you
thoroughly object to tea, this should be safe to read, even at work.
-------Tea and Spoons
Part One
The man hears someone at the front door and ignores it; he’s too busy looking for filthy porn. He hears muffled chatting.
“Jon!” His landlady calls out.
Shit! How did that happen, he realizes she is just outside the room. Reluctantly he puts down the tablet, gets off his bed and answers the door.
“Jon, a ‘friend’ of yours,” she hesitates with the word friend, not quite sure what to make of it, “she is downstairs. She says that she was staying with someone else nearby but they had a big row and she has nowhere else to go. Her name’s Charlotte. You’ve never mentioned her before, so I wasn’t sure what to do. Should I send her up? If she really is in trouble, she’s welcome to stay.”
Jon’s first thought is “fuck.” He instantly knows who it is. What the fuck was she thinking? “Yeah, Jemima, send her up. I don’t know why she didn’t call first, must have been something big.”
A couple of minutes later Charlotte is standing at Jon’s bedroom door. He hurriedly shuts it behind her. Not touching her. Not smiling. He doesn’t know whether to feel livid or turned on, so naturally settles for both. “Are you mad? What the fuck?”
Charlotte merely smiles at him. She is carrying a smallish backpack. It gets casually dropped on the floor. She slowly unbuttons her overcoat and drapes it over the bag. She is wearing a severe black dress, made of very heavy fabric. It sits just above the knee. It is very high cut and respectable, quite prudish in fact. It is even an A-line skirt. The only concession to her femininity is a grey band around the waist, showing off her curves. She is wearing thick black tights and formal black shoes. Over her dress she is wearing a tailored suit jacket, the same colour as the band. Her hair is slicked back into a very tight bun, with just a couple of strands of hair coming down.
“Hello Jon” She grins wickedly, her eyes slowly devouring him from top to bottom. She kneels down and fishes something out of her bag. She hands it to him.
“Have a look, Jon”
He looks at the pages. Dozens of them. Printouts of emails he has sent her. Each one is marked in red. Spelling mistakes, grammatical errors, unreadable prose....it is all marked with bright red crosses. “Charlotte, what the hell is this?” Jon starts to suspect that this isn’t going to end well. He looks through more pages, some have been highlighted as well as corrected. As he reads them he realizes they are all unfulfilled promises, things he never did. His blood runs a little cold as he stares at her. What is looking back at Jon terrifies him.
Charlotte is glaring, a terrifying stare piercing through to his soul. He feels himself involuntarily stepping back. “Charlotte, my landlady in the house. This is ridiculous. Seriously, you’re being stu...” There is a knock on your door.
“What now?”
“Jon...” his fastidious landlady looks at the unlikely duo. She can feel the tension. She looks Charlotte up and down, curiously, not quite sure what to make of such a formal looking woman being friends with her incompetent lodger. “I am off out now, I’ll be back Sunday, quite late I suspect.”
“What? When did this happen?”
“Did I not tell you? Oh, I must have forgotten. I won tickets to some jazz thing in London, you know how much I love it. Anyway, it is all expenses paid. Travel, two nights in a hotel. Amazing really, I hadn’t entered, I thought it was a joke, but no, it all panned out.”
“Oh, that does sound wonderful, how very fortunate.” Charlotte smiles at her before facing Jon and grinning. His landlady leaves and his whole body tenses.
“You set this up! How? What the fuck? You’re mad.”
Charlotte smiles at him, slightly cocking her head in delight.
“I need a cup of tea. Let’s go downstairs so you can make me one.”
“What?” Jon feels bewildered, angry, and excited all at the same time. But he follows Charlotte downstairs all the same. He follows her into the kitchen, perturbed that he is following, yet increasingly curious.
“Could you get me a chair please, and make me some tea?”
He doesn’t know why, but he does as he is asked. Something, somewhere at the back of his head makes him want to. He feels the strangest need to see what happens next. His heart rate increases just a little. The anger starts to subside, giving way to curiosity and excitement.
Jon makes the tea while Charlotte intently watches the whole process. No words are exchanged, just glances, occasionally a smile or a nod. The room is filled with tension. He wants to say something. He wants to hug her. He wants to kiss her. He wants to throw her against the kitchen counter and fuck her. Something stops him doing any of that. This is her story and Jon knows it. He hands her tea.
She sits there and takes it. She stares at it and says thank you. Twenty minutes go by and she doesn’t touch the tea. The pair chat inanely about the weather and work. The kind of thing people talk about with their parents, not the kind of thing people talk about when they have done the depraved acts these two have.
“Do you not like the tea?”
“I wait for it to cool before I drink it. It should be cool enough to sip now though.” She sips it once, twice, then she puts it down. Ever so slowly. Jon watches her head lift up. Then she stands up. She picks up the mug from the table. Jon watches her movements. Every one is precise and careful. The room practically crackles with electricity. At that very moment, Jon realizes what he did wrong. The milk! Charlotte likes her milk added after the water. He watches her go to the sink and very slowly pour it out. The warm, wet, milky liquid pours from the mug. He bites his bottom lip. He finds himself holding his breath. It’s caught, just waiting. Waiting for something.
Jon’s eyes follow her as she neatly folds the skirt under her and sits back down on the chair.
“What should I do with you now? That tea was undrinkable. That will not do. It will not do at all. I think you need to be given a little lesson, don’t you?”
Jon freezes like a rabbit caught in headlights. He feels utterly ridiculous. He wants to run, but he has never imagined Charlotte like this. Commanding in quite this way. After what seems like an eternity, he nods.
----------------
Part Two will
appear on Christmas Eve! is here
This post was made for the prompt "Have I always been....". To see other answers clickety click:
Tuesday, 13 November 2012
Wednesday, 31 October 2012
"unnamed" (erotica)
My erotica today is not literally without a name, but the blog post is. That is because today's story is very triggery. I repeat TRIGGER WARNING!!!!!! Please take this seriously!
I wrote this story about three months ago, almost immediately after reading Mollena Williams's article "Digging in the Dirt: The Lure of Taboo Role Play" in Tristan Taormino's The Ultimate Guide to Kink (2012). The article inspired me to embrace my lifelong rape fantasy. Yes, a rape fantasy. While this piece of erotica starts off fairly normally, albeit it with a D/s and pissplay kink, it is ultimately a rape fantasy. It is my rape fantasy and it both arouses and repels me. It gets me wet and needy, but it also horrifies me. And that horrified feeling is, in itself, hot as hell. It took me a long time to work out whether I was ever going to post this story, but it is one of my favorite fantasies and I return to it time and time again.
Why do I like it so much? I don't know. I cannot possibly be as eloquent as Mollena, "The Perverted Negress," and so I suggest you read her article. It is my favorite piece in an astounding book. Before the story starts I quote a passage from her article:
-----------------------
The Rape
“Go to the toilet. Take off your knickers. Stuff them in your mouth. Pee over your hand and masturbate until you come. Then come back and give me your knickers without anyone noticing.”
“Yes, sir.”
She did exactly as he told her. She was wearing a skin-tight rusty-colored dress. It was down to her knees with a very pronounced cleavage. The toilet was one of three cubicles in the Ladies room. It was clean enough, and the usual pub graffiti had recently been painted over. The woman lifted her dress up, and pulled down her panties. They were large shorts to avoid a VPL, but they were completely see-through red mesh. Her bush was trimmed just how her Master had instructed her earlier that day. She was wet from being ordered about all day. “Clean my clothes, make me tea, wash your hair with my piss....”
She stuffed the soggy panties into her mouth, with the gusset against her tongue so she could taste as much as possible. She placed her hand under her cunt and emptied her bladder. The piss ran over her hand in rivers. She nearly came just from that, but she controlled herself. She then rubbed her clit furiously, feeling the pressure build until it came out in powerful waves. Even with the gag the lady in the next cubicle must have heard. She pulled down her dress and waited for the lady to leave.
Back at the table her Master took the panties and stuffed them in his pocket. His cock was rubbing against the inside of his shorts. The wet patch, which had slowly manifested while he was waiting for her, became a large soggy mess in his pants. He was sure the wetness was showing in his trousers now, the thought only made it worse.
The couple carried on like this all evening, chatting and laughing, eating and drinking. It was only when they were kicked out of the pub did they go home.
The slave made a pot of tea and sat on the sofa. The Master sat next to her as she smiled at him and snuggled into his chest. He put his arms round her and pulled her close, kissing her roughly. She pulled away.
“Sir, I’m really tired. I’m sorry, it’s been a long day. Do you think we could just watch something crap on telly and snuggle?”
He grabbed her hair in his hand and pulled it roughly, forcing her head into his lap.
“Suck my cock, bitch.”
“Sir, I really don’t want to.”
“Like you have a choice, slave, do you want me to beat you?”
“I’m not playing. Red. Ok? Red!”
“What the fuck?” He pushed her off him. “What do you mean, red? Are you serious? You’ve never used your safeword and you use it now? Just because you don’t want sex? You really want to just snuggle? What about tonight? You had your fun, now it’s my turn.”
“Oh, come on. We are adults, we fuck all the time, we do not need to take turns like that. I’m tired, I just want to chill out.”
“You think all this is about you and your needs? You think I told you to orgasm in the pub because that’s what you wanted? I do it because it turns me on and it gets me fucked. So, let’s just stop playing around and fuck.”
At that she stood up and started to walk away. She was furious.
He grabbed her arm, turned her around and slapped her hard across the face. It knocked her off balance but she managed to stay upright. For a split second she just looked at him, shocked.
He was just standing there, with a furious look on his face. She stepped backwards, slowly, one step, then another, until she was a few feet away from him. Anyone looking at her would see the terror in her face.
She carried on walking backwards, “I’m just going to go next door for a bit; we should spend a few minutes apart. Ok?” As she left, slowly moving one step at a time, she didn’t turn her back on him. He leapt forward and grabbed her by both shoulders. He shook her hard. He slapped her across the face. A hard back-hander. This time she fell, holding her cheek. She sobbed.
“Please, you’re scaring me. Don’t.”
He just stood there watching her. “Don’t what? Get what’s mine?” He spat the words out with venom.
She stood up quickly and ran. Or she tried to, the minute she had taken a couple of steps he was on her. He pulled her to the ground. He pinned her there, his arms forcing her down so she couldn’t move. She was crying and sobbing and yelling out for him to stop.
With one arm across her chest and shoulders, his other hand lifted her dress to her waist. He then undid his belt, his button, his zip....
“No, please God, not that. I’m sorry, no, please.”
He didn’t stop.
He pulled his pants down just enough to get his cock out. It was hard and dripping wet. He changed position, forcing her legs apart with his own. She was powerless against him. His strength far surpassing hers. She couldn’t move as he pinned her down with both arms. She was sobbing and turned her head away, desperately trying not to see the face of the man she adored turn monster. He lifted one hand and grabbed her face, turning it towards her.
“Look at me, bitch. I want to see your face as I come.”
With that he thrust his cock deep inside her. He thrust it in and out, as she cried beneath him. He fucked her deep and hard, shooting his juices deep inside her cunt.
-----------------------------------------------
To see other sexy postings, pop over to Wicked Wednesday
I wrote this story about three months ago, almost immediately after reading Mollena Williams's article "Digging in the Dirt: The Lure of Taboo Role Play" in Tristan Taormino's The Ultimate Guide to Kink (2012). The article inspired me to embrace my lifelong rape fantasy. Yes, a rape fantasy. While this piece of erotica starts off fairly normally, albeit it with a D/s and pissplay kink, it is ultimately a rape fantasy. It is my rape fantasy and it both arouses and repels me. It gets me wet and needy, but it also horrifies me. And that horrified feeling is, in itself, hot as hell. It took me a long time to work out whether I was ever going to post this story, but it is one of my favorite fantasies and I return to it time and time again.
Why do I like it so much? I don't know. I cannot possibly be as eloquent as Mollena, "The Perverted Negress," and so I suggest you read her article. It is my favorite piece in an astounding book. Before the story starts I quote a passage from her article:
"Rape and domestic abuse are never acceptable. There is no excuse, no defense, for emotional, physical, and psychological violence against another person. Then how does one justify these desires? It is simple to talk about consent, but there are those who assert that no one can ever consent to abuse. ... So how can I say yes to saying 'No!' but not meaning it? Am I not just mirroring the abuses around me by perpetrating these abuses in a fantasy that merely propogates a system designed to oppress and strip me of my humanity?
If my stated desires as an adult look like an abusive or dehumanizing interaction, and my partners and I make an informed decision to engage in it, it's all good, baby. Seriously. Acting out personal or historically wicked situations and/or abuses is my right. My sexual fulfillment is only as politicized as I permit it to be. I give no quarter to the juggernaut of political correctness when it aims for my libido, leaving behind a grease stain of shame and guilt." (page 377)
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The Rape
“Go to the toilet. Take off your knickers. Stuff them in your mouth. Pee over your hand and masturbate until you come. Then come back and give me your knickers without anyone noticing.”
“Yes, sir.”
She did exactly as he told her. She was wearing a skin-tight rusty-colored dress. It was down to her knees with a very pronounced cleavage. The toilet was one of three cubicles in the Ladies room. It was clean enough, and the usual pub graffiti had recently been painted over. The woman lifted her dress up, and pulled down her panties. They were large shorts to avoid a VPL, but they were completely see-through red mesh. Her bush was trimmed just how her Master had instructed her earlier that day. She was wet from being ordered about all day. “Clean my clothes, make me tea, wash your hair with my piss....”
She stuffed the soggy panties into her mouth, with the gusset against her tongue so she could taste as much as possible. She placed her hand under her cunt and emptied her bladder. The piss ran over her hand in rivers. She nearly came just from that, but she controlled herself. She then rubbed her clit furiously, feeling the pressure build until it came out in powerful waves. Even with the gag the lady in the next cubicle must have heard. She pulled down her dress and waited for the lady to leave.
Back at the table her Master took the panties and stuffed them in his pocket. His cock was rubbing against the inside of his shorts. The wet patch, which had slowly manifested while he was waiting for her, became a large soggy mess in his pants. He was sure the wetness was showing in his trousers now, the thought only made it worse.
The couple carried on like this all evening, chatting and laughing, eating and drinking. It was only when they were kicked out of the pub did they go home.
The slave made a pot of tea and sat on the sofa. The Master sat next to her as she smiled at him and snuggled into his chest. He put his arms round her and pulled her close, kissing her roughly. She pulled away.
“Sir, I’m really tired. I’m sorry, it’s been a long day. Do you think we could just watch something crap on telly and snuggle?”
He grabbed her hair in his hand and pulled it roughly, forcing her head into his lap.
“Suck my cock, bitch.”
“Sir, I really don’t want to.”
“Like you have a choice, slave, do you want me to beat you?”
“I’m not playing. Red. Ok? Red!”
“What the fuck?” He pushed her off him. “What do you mean, red? Are you serious? You’ve never used your safeword and you use it now? Just because you don’t want sex? You really want to just snuggle? What about tonight? You had your fun, now it’s my turn.”
“Oh, come on. We are adults, we fuck all the time, we do not need to take turns like that. I’m tired, I just want to chill out.”
“You think all this is about you and your needs? You think I told you to orgasm in the pub because that’s what you wanted? I do it because it turns me on and it gets me fucked. So, let’s just stop playing around and fuck.”
At that she stood up and started to walk away. She was furious.
He grabbed her arm, turned her around and slapped her hard across the face. It knocked her off balance but she managed to stay upright. For a split second she just looked at him, shocked.
He was just standing there, with a furious look on his face. She stepped backwards, slowly, one step, then another, until she was a few feet away from him. Anyone looking at her would see the terror in her face.
She carried on walking backwards, “I’m just going to go next door for a bit; we should spend a few minutes apart. Ok?” As she left, slowly moving one step at a time, she didn’t turn her back on him. He leapt forward and grabbed her by both shoulders. He shook her hard. He slapped her across the face. A hard back-hander. This time she fell, holding her cheek. She sobbed.
“Please, you’re scaring me. Don’t.”
He just stood there watching her. “Don’t what? Get what’s mine?” He spat the words out with venom.
She stood up quickly and ran. Or she tried to, the minute she had taken a couple of steps he was on her. He pulled her to the ground. He pinned her there, his arms forcing her down so she couldn’t move. She was crying and sobbing and yelling out for him to stop.
With one arm across her chest and shoulders, his other hand lifted her dress to her waist. He then undid his belt, his button, his zip....
“No, please God, not that. I’m sorry, no, please.”
He didn’t stop.
He pulled his pants down just enough to get his cock out. It was hard and dripping wet. He changed position, forcing her legs apart with his own. She was powerless against him. His strength far surpassing hers. She couldn’t move as he pinned her down with both arms. She was sobbing and turned her head away, desperately trying not to see the face of the man she adored turn monster. He lifted one hand and grabbed her face, turning it towards her.
“Look at me, bitch. I want to see your face as I come.”
With that he thrust his cock deep inside her. He thrust it in and out, as she cried beneath him. He fucked her deep and hard, shooting his juices deep inside her cunt.
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Wednesday, 24 October 2012
Relaxation Before the Storm (erotica)
This story can be read as a stand-alone or as a sequel to "The Kitchen."
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Relaxation Before the Storm
After the escapades in the kitchen, I don’t put my panties back on and we go to the pub for a quick drink. We talk about all the things we want to do to each other. All the positions we want to try. All the kinks we want to explore. It is arousing and exciting. It also relaxing as we sit and chat, not feeling pressured, just enjoying our time together.
We go back to yours and make dinner so we can relax watching TV. You choose something you think I should watch and we snuggle on the sofa. The electricity is charged as we idly caress each other. Our hands stroke each other’s arms and legs. Our fingers circle each other’s palms. Our hands reach under our tops until we cannot take it anymore and we start kissing.
I lie back pulling you on top of me, wrapping my legs around you as we grind into each other. You take off my top, then my bra. You suck my nipples hard while squeezing my breasts just enough to keep me balanced on the edge of pleasure and pain.
You turn me over so I’m on my front with my arse and legs over the edge of the sofa. My breasts squashed against the sofa. You lift up my skirt, bare my arse and put a cushion under my head, pushing my head into it. You tell me not to move as you get some lube and a dildo.
You smear lube all over your cock, masturbating yourself so I can feel it along my arse crack. Your left hand grabs my shoulder and scratches the length of my back leaving bright red marks. You lean over and bite my shoulder hard. I scream out for you to bite harder, to just keep going. When you stop, you gently lick where you caused the pain, the nasty mark swelling in anger.
You squeeze lube into my butt crack and tease your finger around my arse, smearing the lube along the crack, around my hole. You take a dildo and put it in my cunt. You rub my clit from behind, not moving the dildo; just making sure it is in far enough it doesn’t get squeezed out with my throbbing cunt.
You move back to my arse. Now you put a finger in, to the first knuckle, then the second, then all the way in. You pull it out and add a second finger, opening my arse, relaxing my muscles. You take your fingers out and put a condom on your hard, dripping cock. You open my butt cheeks and ease your cock into my anus. You push it deeper in, occasionally sliding out to torture me and pleasure yourself. You push my head firmly down into the cushion so my breath is restricted. Finally you sink your cock all the way into my arse. You fuck me like this.
You change speeds, slow then fast. You change force, gentle then rough. You change depth, barely entering or up to your balls.You free my head and ask me what I want. I beg you to let me come, but you simply say “permission denied” as you shoot your juices and cry out your pleasure. You roll me onto my back and empty the condom into my mouth, making me swallow, before telling me to go to bed and wait for you. I do as I am told.
This post was written for Wicked Wednesday, with the prompt "Relax." Pop over there to see more sexy stories.
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Relaxation Before the Storm
After the escapades in the kitchen, I don’t put my panties back on and we go to the pub for a quick drink. We talk about all the things we want to do to each other. All the positions we want to try. All the kinks we want to explore. It is arousing and exciting. It also relaxing as we sit and chat, not feeling pressured, just enjoying our time together.
We go back to yours and make dinner so we can relax watching TV. You choose something you think I should watch and we snuggle on the sofa. The electricity is charged as we idly caress each other. Our hands stroke each other’s arms and legs. Our fingers circle each other’s palms. Our hands reach under our tops until we cannot take it anymore and we start kissing.
I lie back pulling you on top of me, wrapping my legs around you as we grind into each other. You take off my top, then my bra. You suck my nipples hard while squeezing my breasts just enough to keep me balanced on the edge of pleasure and pain.
You turn me over so I’m on my front with my arse and legs over the edge of the sofa. My breasts squashed against the sofa. You lift up my skirt, bare my arse and put a cushion under my head, pushing my head into it. You tell me not to move as you get some lube and a dildo.
You smear lube all over your cock, masturbating yourself so I can feel it along my arse crack. Your left hand grabs my shoulder and scratches the length of my back leaving bright red marks. You lean over and bite my shoulder hard. I scream out for you to bite harder, to just keep going. When you stop, you gently lick where you caused the pain, the nasty mark swelling in anger.
You squeeze lube into my butt crack and tease your finger around my arse, smearing the lube along the crack, around my hole. You take a dildo and put it in my cunt. You rub my clit from behind, not moving the dildo; just making sure it is in far enough it doesn’t get squeezed out with my throbbing cunt.
You move back to my arse. Now you put a finger in, to the first knuckle, then the second, then all the way in. You pull it out and add a second finger, opening my arse, relaxing my muscles. You take your fingers out and put a condom on your hard, dripping cock. You open my butt cheeks and ease your cock into my anus. You push it deeper in, occasionally sliding out to torture me and pleasure yourself. You push my head firmly down into the cushion so my breath is restricted. Finally you sink your cock all the way into my arse. You fuck me like this.
You change speeds, slow then fast. You change force, gentle then rough. You change depth, barely entering or up to your balls.You free my head and ask me what I want. I beg you to let me come, but you simply say “permission denied” as you shoot your juices and cry out your pleasure. You roll me onto my back and empty the condom into my mouth, making me swallow, before telling me to go to bed and wait for you. I do as I am told.
This post was written for Wicked Wednesday, with the prompt "Relax." Pop over there to see more sexy stories.
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