tagBDSMPam Learns Her True Nature

Pam Learns Her True Nature

Pam and her sister, Gillian, are talking in a coffee shop.

"Pam darling, you would not believe, he is so wonderful," Gilly's voice goes very high and squeaky when she is excited, "even though he is quite a bit older than me, he is so energetic especially in the bedroom," Gillian was telling her older sister Pam all about the new man in her life, "I have my own credit card, a maid looks after the flat and the laundry," Gilly sips her Starbuck's Latte, "I have so much freedom, except I do have to go off with him to boring business parties to be shown off," Gillian looks at her watch, "must dash, I have to clean the en-suite."

"Wait Sis..." Pam was startled, "I thought you said you had a maid."

"We do, but Andrew is very strict about some things... he makes me clean the bathroom. But as you know, I like a strong man."

"Can't you stay just a bit longer, you haven't told me half the stuff you usually tell me about your men, you know the 'interesting' bits." Pam grins.

"No I must go, if I don't do this he will send me to BLACK LI..." Gillian tails off.

Pam senses something, "Where will he send you?" Gillian looks uncomfortable; but she knows Pam won't let it pass.

"He'll send me to the Black Lines Studio..."

"Gilly, what is the 'Black Lines Studio'?"

"When I am 'naughty', he sends me the Studio to have me 'disciplined'. Black Lines Studio is a professional discipline agency where busy men can send their wives, or girlfriends, to be corporeally punished when they break the rules, you know, like overspending on the credit card."

Pam's mouth drops, "you mean that when you fail to clean the bathroom he sends you there to be 'spanked' like a naughty schoolgirl?"

"Yes Pam," now she wants to shock her sister, "or if I have made more than one mistake, the professional gives me the cane - which is simply awful," Gilly lifts up her skirt, "look, see, it leaves welts." Pam looks and sees the dark red tracks on Gilly pale thigh. She is shocked. Gilly continues, "The spanker, Robert Harwood, is a very strict man, and if he..."

"Wait a moment," Pam interrupts, "Robert Harwood? Is he tallish, grey hair, glasses," Pam pauses to think, "does he have a sliver steak on the left eyebrow?"

Now it's Gillian's turn to be startled, "Yes, how do you know him?"

"I used to work with him about three years ago - do you remember I used to chat to you about 'Bob' quite a lot."

Gillian looks up, "Oh yes, you were really keen on Bob weren't you! Do you want Robert's number - I really must go."

Gillian gets up, and hands Pam a business card, before leaving. Pam looks at the card, it is black with 'Black Lines Studio' printed in white across the middle. The contact details are at the bottom of the card. Pam feels her heart beating faster. Pam flips it over, it is an old appointment card, Time:, Date: and Reason:. It was filled out in a neat hand with a time and date indicating Thursday evening the last week. Pam shivers as she thought about her little sister attending the appointment. Pam reads, and rereads, the 'reason'. Against 'Reason', her sister's new boyfriend had written the single word: 'Disobedience'.

Pam resolved to call Gillian after supper to find out what she was getting into. As she caught the bus home she started thinking about Bob or rather Robert Harwood as she tried to think of him as. She had 'fancied' him a lot more than a little, he was kind, funny and serious. Off course, back then she had still been married to Carl (may his new tart make him miserable). In the Office where they she had allowed herself to flirt with Bob. She could tell that she had an affect on him, especially when she leaned over his desk and showed him her cleavage. But even when she was so brazen, he had never flirted back. Until that is just before he left, when he had started to reciprocate. Bob would make excuses to visit her desk. And while talking to her he would 'accidentally' touch her shoulder or hair. It wasn't too blatant, but she knew what it meant. Paradoxically it was then that Pam had stopped flirting with Bob. She didn't want flirting to go 'too far' and turn into an affair. Well, actually she did, but she couldn't face Carl.

However, right now, after all this time, they were both free. Bob had lost his wife to Cancer the same year that he left and she was separated from Carl. Pam was excited, but what was Bob doing with this Black Lines Studio thing?

On the phone that evening she got the truth out of Gillian. Apparently she had readily consented to the Black Lines Studio arrangement. She loved her men to take 'charge' of her. Previous boyfriends had spanked her themselves, but sending her to the Studio was Andrew's way of taking charge. And it was certainly effective. The sisters talked about the way Gillian had used her fashion model 'looks' to move from man to man, each more powerful than the last. She said it was more than just a 'meal ticket'. She was on a quest for man who could truly control her. And she finally told Pam about the fantastic sex they had after she came back from a Studio punishment. When she came she felt very submissive, and it really turned them both on.

Pam puts down the phone and starts to review her own life. If she was honest she would have liked it if Carl had been more 'hands on' with her instead of putting his job first. She looks at the card, takes a deep breath, and dials the number.

"Black Lines Studio, how may we help you?"

"Is that Robert Harwood?"

"You may not remember me, my name is Pamela Stuart. We used to-"

Robert's broke in, "Hello Pam I thought I recognised the voice - it's been a few years."

They chat on for a bit, Robert had wondered how she had found him at 'Black Lines'. And Pam explained that Gillian had let his name slip. Finally, to Pam's delight, Robert suggested they meet in a wine bar.

Hearing his voice brings back a lot of good memories. Its warm tone, even over the phone, makes her calmer.

After she puts the phone down Pam starts laying out the clothes that she will wear for their meeting. She decides to go for an old fashioned style, high heels, stockings, black skirt and jacket, and a close fitting sheer white blouse - reminiscent of the clothes she wore as a secretary when they were working together. To make the outfit special she chooses a low-cut balcony bra and matching panties. She thinks the outfit will make her confident and she hopes that it might 'please' Robert.

Pam can't help getting to the wine bar early, she orders a dry white wine. After about ten long minutes she hears a familiar voice.

"Pamela Anne Stuart, nice to see you."

Robert asks a waiter for a bottle of wine, and leads her to a corner seat. They talk about the old days and the difficult times they went through with their spouses.

As he refills her glass and he says casually, "You hurt me back then, when you rebuffed my approaches."

"I am so sorry Robert, I was frightened that we would go too far and cause trouble in our homes."

"I understand that, but I had been trying to protect our relationships for years. While you Pam, continuously flirted with me. Do you think it was easy ignoring you? I mean when I could see line of your panties, the lines of your suspender belt and the lacy patterns on your bra through your sheer blouse. How was I supposed to work when your perfume made my head swim?"

"I am sorry."

"But are you sorry really Pamela? I notice you are wearing similar outfit tonight. But instead of the lacy bra you used favour, I can see that it has a modern dark pattern," Pam blushes, "same old Pam, same old game," Robert looks into her eyes, "our little meeting has been pleasant. But how do I know that you are not about to reject me again, this very evening?"

"I won't. Please believe me, I've changed, what can I do to prove myself," Pam feels shaky inside.

Robert looks at her, "Give me your bra."

"What," Pam is shocked.

"You heard me."

"I, I can't..."

Robert smiled "Don't be absurd Pam, just go to the Ladies, remove it and bring it back to me. But you won't, will you? Just like before..."

Pam blushes again, "I would do it, but people might..."

"Let me help you." Robert reaches over and, with deft finger and thumb, unhooks her bra. Pam feels her breasts fall on to here ribs. In that moment she is defeated. Like a robot she gets up and goes to the Ladies and does as he had instructed. On her return, she hands her bra, scrunched up, to Robert. He puts it in his jacket pocket, "That is a start, but you still have a way to go to convince me that you are not still just teasing me."

Robert stands up and places a Black Lines Studio card on the table.

"Friday 8pm OK for you," he looks into her eyes. She can't respond. He flips card over and write on reverse, flips it back over and pushes it across the table to her. Robert walks toward the door. As he passed her, he leans over and says, "don't be late." Pam parts her lips, but no words come out.

Pam is left sitting bra-less looking down at the black appointment card. It is all that she can see, everything else is a blur. She considers leaving without reading the card. But instead she slips the black card into her bag and leaves wine bar. As she walks down the street it is strange having her breasts free. She calls a taxi and prays that no-one's would noticed her hardened nipples. In the taxi she gets out the card and reads the back, 'TIME: 8pm, DATE: Friday, REASON: Teasing & Disobedience'. Oh God, two items, hadn't Gillian said that two crimes meant the cane?

At home she sits wondering what to do, her feelings are in a whirl. She decides to phone someone, she knows what Gillian would say, she would say (with a grin) 'Attend the appointment, you deserve it'. So she dials older sister's number. Sally had been happily married for years, she would surely bring Pam to her senses. They talk a while, then Pam introduces the topic, by saying that she had been having some wild sexual fantasies involving being spanked recently, Sally (bless her) made it easy by immediately confessing to having rape fantasies. Pam explains that the Black Lines Studio thing as though it was a vivid fantasy she was being 'afflicted' with, and asks Sally what she would do if she had been given a Black Lines Studio card. Sally says it would depend if her attraction to the man was just sexual or if her feelings ran deeper. Sally is so sensible, thinks Pam.

While Sally is talking about something else, Pam looks 'inside herself' and finds that she does indeed have deep caring feelings for Robert. And along with those feelings, she finds something else, something that surprises her. She finds a feeling that says she HAS to attend the appointment because Robert has commanded her to do so. Pam realises 'in a flash' that she has been secretly waiting someone to command her, all her adult life.

"Sally I'm sorry but what I just said was not a dream it is really happening to me. And what you said to me has helped me decide. I find I 'must' go there to the Black Lines Studio, because Robert told me to attend. And I find myself compelled by something inside to OBEY him."

Sally laughs, "I knew all the along that it was a 'real situation'. And also I understand why you must go. It seems that I am better at hiding awkward truths than you are. You see when I get 'out of line' my 'boring' husband has me bend over the bed while he straps my bum with his belt until the the sheet is damp with my tears. After one of those sessions I am much nicer person and have that wonderful warm 'family feeling' again."

Pam is stunned. "So both my sisters are disciplined women and I didn't know. I am so dumb. Thank you sis, you have been very understanding and helpful."

After the usual farewells Pam pus the phone down and lays back on the bed exhausted. She reaches out and picks up the card and reads the reason again: Teasing & Disobedience. Two items meant the cane. Would Bob really cane her - like a schoolgirl caught smoking? She certainly felt very guilty now about how she had treated him.

At precisely 8pm on Friday Pam rings the Black Lines Studio doorbell and hears a faint 'bing bong'. After a wait of a full minute Robert opens the door and she walks in dressed in the same outfit she had worn to the wine bar (still bra-less). Robert leads her into the reception area and tells her to wait. She looks up at the pictures on the walls, they are Victorian engravings stern men and moon faced maids. One of the maids is bent over with big white her bum exposed. A black coated Victorian gentleman stands over her with a bunch of twigs. When Robert returns, she is startled out of deep thought. He shows her a contract and explains her rights. She signs the contract without reading it, and follows Robert into the punishment room.

"Do you know why you are here?"

"Yes Sir. I treated you badly and then I disobeyed you. I am here to take my punishment."

"Normally a first session would be a hard hand spanking, but as you teased me over a period of years, I am extending the punishment to ten strokes of the cane." Pam could see the rack of canes from where she was standing.

She blurts out, "Pleeeease, not the cane, I know I deserve a punishment, but Gillian says that she can't sta..."

Robert had put his finger to his lips, "I am going to teach you to respect me which is the right of any man, and I am going to teach you to obey me. I have decided that you require the cane. But, as the cane is severe on a 'cold bottom' I shall warm it up first with a hand spanking. Do you understand?"

"Yes Sir," Pam looks down, "thank you Sir."

Robert sits down on a hard dimpled leather sofa and gestures Pam to approach and to bend over his knee. She does so carefully and rests her arms on the sofa, she catches a whiff of leather polish from the sofa, as she feels Roberts left arm hold her firmly. His right hand pulled up her skirt. Being held feels good. But she feels a flash of humiliation as Robert raises her skirt - 'he'll see my privates' she thinks, and struggled a little.

"Sir, I-"

"The shame you feel is part of the punishment, you have no rights to privacy now."

She realises that he knows what she was feeling and that it is pointless for her to struggle, he has control of her and she has to admit it feels very good. The first smacks fall hard and fast, her body convulses and she cries out, but Robert ignores her and spanks her hard on alternate cheeks. Pain and humiliation rush through her, but after five minutes she stops crying out and just grunts as each blow lands. Her bottom is getting warm and she notices that those special feelings were happening between her legs.

"Ohhhhhhh Sirrrr."

Abruptly the spanking stops and his hard hand rubs her hot bottom cheeks. It ventures between her legs - where it finds wet hotness.

"I was right you do need the cane, a mere spanking is not enough for you. Some women do need the hard sting of the cane to get passed to their wantonness." Pam doesn't protest at his description of her. Indeed she feel very wanton.

"Yes Sir."

"Stand up, disrobe except for your stockings, suspender belt and your high heels. Stand in the middle of the room." Pam complies. She finds easier than she expected to stand naked in front of him though she is acutely aware of the weight of her breasts.

He walks round her, she feels his eyes inspecting everything.

"Pamela Anne, you are a slut. And you have been a bitch."

"Yes Sir, I know Sir, I'm really sorry Sir," to admit these things so explicitly...

"You will be more sorry soon."

"Yes Sir."

"Go to the cane rack and bring back the middle cane to me. Carry it back on outstretched palms."

"Yes Sir," as she touches the cane her fingers tingle.

A she stands before him with the cane on outstretched palms, she understands how complicit she is in her own punishment.

Robert lifts it from her palms, "Rest your hands and elbows on the desk and look into the mirror, make sure your bum is well presented." Pam complies and sees herself in the mirror with breasts hanging down. She feels her bum presented for Robert to clearly. How could she be so calm?

Robert rests the cane on her arse cheeks, he raises the cane. She sees the cane descend in the mirror and hears it swish through the air. But when it strikes with a 'Crack' she doesn't feel it, until a terrible burning pain rushes up taking her breath away. Robert waits while she suffers the intense pain at it's height. As the pain started to subside to just agony, he taps the cane on her bottom.

"Don't try and protect yourself, if you do I'll award penalty strokes."

Pam moans, "Oh please, please, no, I can't, I can't take it" the cane rises, Pam squeezes her eyes shut as she hears it swish CRACKKK - "ARRRRGH" the pain rises up burning worse than before, her body clenches.

"I'm sorry, I'll do anything, pleeease."

When the cane rests on her cheeks again, she starts sobbing.

"How many have you had?"

"Two Sir."

"You will count each stroke and thank me for each stroke. Do you understand?"

"Yes (sob) Sir (sob)" the cane rises again and Robert whips it in hard, her body jerks, Pam screams and rocks back and forth causing her breasts to sway. But she manages to keep her elbows on the dressing table.

"Threeee Sir, thank you Sir."

"Look in the mirror, look at a sorry bitch getting her well deserved punishment." Through her tears she looked at her swaying sniveling pain racked self, and realises how true his words are.

For the rest of the punishment she accepts the agonising strokes as her 'just deserts', she counting and thanking without struggling. When the last stroke is counted she waits, still sobbing, for Robert to instruct her.

"Go and stand facing the wall, place your hands and elbows on the wall, you may lean on them. Robert has to help her she is weak. Standing against the wall she was gradually able to compose herself. She has accepted her punishment, she has taken it without extra penalties. Would Robert accept her?

After a while Robert puts a hand on her shoulder and leads her to a full length mirror.

"Look at your welts," she looks her over shoulder and sees her bottom red and mark ten dark welts, "you deserved the strokes and look good don't you think?"

"Yes Sir," Pam felt totally submissive to Robert, just as Gillian had said she felt.

"You took your punishment well, your past sins are behind us."

A great joy welled up in Pam and she dared to turn, Robert was smiling and Pam hugged and kissed Robert' chest, "Thank you, thank you, thank you, you don't know what this means to me," he held her.

"Calm yourself," but she went on hugging kissing and thanking him she felt wonderful.

Then she paused, "Sir, your 'thing'... it's hard, can I..."

"No Pam, this was a punishment, there must be no rewards."

"Yes Sir, I understand, but I must know, can I see you again?"

"Pam get dressed," Robert put his hands in his pocket and brought out her low-cut bra. Pam got dressed carefully, pausing to admire her welts.

"How would you like to work as my receptionist? I have a contract to discipline a number of 'glamour models' for an agency. The agency wants to ensure that they turn up at 'shoots' on time and sober. They are sending me the offenders to be punished. They are little more than whores, but the money is good. I need someone on the reception desk."

"Yes, a thousand times yes," and she was kissing him again. Suddenly she stops, "will I be, might I be, punished again?"

"That depends if you are a good girl and do as you are told."

Robert sees a glint in her eyes and then feels her slender hand invade his flannel trousers and close round his cock, "It's still hard," Pam starts a gentle up and down motion with hand round his hardness, "is this an offence Sir," she is grinning now.

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tagNon-Erotic PoetryOf Buenos Aires

Of Buenos Aires

The sun will rise first upon her breasts
and only later will I taste its warmth
as she says, “Mi campo de mi zapatos,”
and I kiss the Argentina of her toes.
She’ll yawn at my kisses, shadowed in light
for only Maria Caballeros of Buenos Aires
will share with me the setting sun,
gaze upon its colors, feel the fleeting warmth,
taste its final rays, smell its gentle descent
and listen to the daylight’s final gasps
as it struggles to stave off the night
soaking us in a brilliant cloak.

Maria will reach to my unleavened face,
softy call me, “Jaime,” and he’ll respond
to the gentle fingers of her passion
becoming prey to her Mapuche Kalku
as she hovers above me, just beyond my reach –
well, not really hovering – she’ll stand above me,
her timberwolf toenails brightly glistening
as she steps upon my Rosario chest:
a glowing Argentina lighting the night.

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byMungoParkIII© 4 comments/ 7


tagNonConsent/ReluctanceReturn of The Vile Gamer Ch. 1

Return of The Vile Gamer Ch. 1

It must have been six months or so after that night that I finally saw American Psycho, the movie I had intended to see, well... that night. I'd never made it inside the theater. My plans were rudely changed when I was abducted from the parking lot at knifepoint.

Thanks to my flirting, teasing and overall stupidity I spent the evening being brutally raped, abused and tormented by a real psycho....one I'd mistaken for a friend. I'm sure you remember Chuck. I know I can never forget him, no matter how hard I've tried.

Chuck. Former online friend...fellow writer...handsome.....sadistic...lousy bastard! I hated him still. Sure he could have hurt me a lot worse, but who cares? He hurt me enough. He hurt me plenty.

He was forced to give up his online pursuit of me after I blocked him from sending me any more email or instant messages. Poof...no more Chuck and his demented ravings about that night and how he knew I loved it. No more threats to come back either....those threats had totally terrified and unnerved me while sending my private parts into an aching, throbbing mess. And don't forget....I hated him. So you see, I couldn't talk to him anymore. It was all too confusing.

I was still hit with flashbacks on occasion, though not nearly as bad as before, when it was all still fresh...before my bruises and cuts healed. To my everlasting shame, I would not only remember the terror and violence of that night, but the stunning force of the orgasms he'd forced from me--mind shattering eruptions that came from God only knew what dark part of myself. But that's not the worst of it....I might as well confess further....It wasn't just the memory of the orgasms that would send my nether regions into a frenzy and set my whole body afire with lust. I wish I could say it was just that...then maybe I would've felt halfway normal....maybe. What bothered me the most was how the memory of the terror, helplessness and pain would bring on the same reaction.

How could the horrible memory of how the knife felt against my throat while being forced to swallow his cock make me throb?? How crazy was I to be able to bring myself to a crashing orgasm while remembering the rope around my neck, cutting off my air...re-living how it felt to face certain death while being painfully sodomized?? I'm no closer to understanding these things than I was when it happened, during those terribly strange days after the attack when I was forced by my own shame and guilt to stay silent and pretend it never happened. I was hoping that over time I could even believe my own charade.

I had gotten to a point in my life when I no longer thought about Chuck and what happened that night every second of the day. I'd pushed the whole incident into the deepest part of my secret self. It seemed the best way to make it all go away. I still hadn't told anyone, although I wrote several more rape stories that had gained something of a dubious popularity on the net. My readers were impressed with the realistic edge my tales of peril seemed to have. I just smiled and kept writing. At least it gave me an outlet without having to confront all these conflicted feelings of rage and arousal.

The day I discovered American Psycho had come out on video something shifted inside me and that night came back to me. At first I passed it by, unable to even look at the picture or writing on the box. Then I was annoyed with myself for my cowardice and rented it after all. I reasoned that I'd been wanting to see the damn movie, and he hadn't let me, so why should I let him stop me from seeing it now?

Good attitude....Bad idea.

I was shocked and thought I must be losing my mind when the first close-up of the actor playing the title role revealed a startling resemblance to my rapist. Why the hell did he have to look like him?? Surely I was only seeing things because of the connection between that movie and that night, but I still saw Chuck when I looked at him. Several times I resisted the impulse to just turn it off, but I sat thru it all with grim determination. The dude playing Patrick Bateman was NOT Chuck, dammit! He was a handsome, very talented actor named Christian Bale, and I was just being ridiculous!

That night I had terrible nightmares about being chased down a hallway by a crazed naked man who was covered in blood and weilding a chainsaw. That happened to be a scene from the movie, but in my dream it wasn't Patrick Bateman that chased me. Do I really need to say who it was? I haven't had nightmares over a stupid movie since I was a kid!

The anger I'd never really dealt with took even deeper root after that. For a time after the nightmare, I would feel pure anger and nothing else when I remembered that night. Those pesky sexual stirrings even went away....to my relief. The anger felt good and I latched onto it.

I'd been blaming myself for so long, and still did to a certain extent, but in my mind at least, Chuck finally began to share in the blame. Ok, so I'd teased him. Ok, so I'd been tricked into giving him too much information. Ok, so I'd roleplayed the part of his victim perfectly during our computer chats. Did any of that give him the right to make me his victim for real?? Some of you may say no, of course not. Some would probably say Hell YES. To those I would say this-- there's assholes everywhere, so who cares what you think?

Soon I became angry with myself for hiding from Chuck online. Why should I hide? He couldn't hurt me over the computer. My anger was growing more every day and I decided it was time to face him again. Vague ideas of seeking some sort of revenge were trying to form, although I had no clue what I could possibly do to him...but the thought of making him pay somehow was too seductive to ignore once it entered my head. I unblocked him, and waited.

I didn't have long to wait before the messages began again. Our first conversation was something like this;

Chuck: Where have you been?

Heather: Nowhere. I've had you blocked.

Chuck: I see. So why did you unblock me?

Heather: I was hoping maybe you'd dropped dead. No such luck.

Chuck: How have you been?

Heather: None of your business.

Our exchanges were like that for a while. My nastiness never seemed to bother him much. He was almost sickeningly nice despite my hostility. He started being weird again before long, telling me he wanted me again, quite desperately, and that he just knew I wanted him too. I told him to get bent, eat shit, go fuck himself, and a host of other charming sentiments when he would say those things, but nothing I said would make him mad enough to leave me alone. I was getting flustered and beginning to wonder why the hell I'd unblocked him. My idea of revenge was going nowhere.

Then one night it hit me....a real plan. It would be dangerous, maybe even deadly if I messed it up. Oh, but if it worked! Oh yes...The Vile Gamer would learn something about helplessness, pain and humiliation. It would be a lesson he wouldn't soon forget either.

The cautious part of me, the side of myself that worked so hard to pretend that night had never happened and move on with my life was horrified to say the least. Sometimes I was nearly overwhelmed with the madness of what I was planning, and tried to make myself stop. But there was a part of me that couldn't pretend anymore. It was angry all the time and punished my rational mind with flashbacks and nightmares whenever I thought of backing down. Finally it came down to either doing this thing or going mad.

While I was busy gathering things I would need and working out the details in my mind, I gradually became more friendly with Chuck. I admitted to him how part of me still became aroused when I remembered what happened, although it galled me to tell him this. I refused to agree to another "meeting" at first, pretending fear and guilt over my conflicted feelings (and let's face it, pretending such a thing wasn't that much of a stretch). Eventually, I pretended to let him talk me into it. It wasn't hard to make him believe I wanted another encounter as much as he did, since his ego was already convinced of it.

I told him I would get the room this time. I told him that one of my hottest fantasies was to be awakened, then taken in my bed by an "intruder". Since my own bed was out of the question, another hotel bed would have to do. I told him I'd leave him a key at the front desk. Chuck was nearly ecstatic over the idea.

"I knew you'd come around!", he wrote, adding "I think I might even bring a surprise for you this time".

"That would be nice", I replied, but didn't think about it any further. I cared nothing for his surprise, because he was the one who had a surprise waiting. Maybe I should have thought about it.

The night of my carefully planned revenge on the Vile Gamer finally came. It had taken over a month to get ready for it...both the details and my nerve. I was very nervous and more than a little scared, but his day of reckoning was here and I was determined to go thru with it.

I could barely hold the key to the room, my fingers were trembling so badly. A duplicate was waiting at the front desk, as I'd promised, for a "Mr. Black" to claim it. I eventually managed to keep my own key steady enough to unlock the door, and quickly ducked into the room I'd reserved earlier that week.

Once again it was a Saturday night, and I told my husband that I was going to the movies. I'm sure he was glad I was out of the house since I'd been very much on edge all that week. I blamed it on my job. My poor darling....I felt terribly guilty to be lying to him this way; but it wasn't like I was planning to cheat on him or anything. I was getting revenge for him too, even if he didn't know it.

He told me he thought a movie night would do me good since it had been so long since my last one. He had no idea it was stark terror, rather than disinterest which kept me away from the theater. Just the thought of sitting in that parking lot again made me shudder and nearly cry. The relaxing and innocent fun of my movie nights was ruined forever for me now--something else Chuck was going to pay for. I hoped.

Now here I was, not in the dreaded theater parking lot where the bastard could possibly show up again, but in a room where he most definitely would show up (of that I had no doubt), with a key to get in waiting for him. The irony was a bit much.

I set the shopping bag I'd brought with me on the bed and quickly began to prepare. He would be here very soon and I didn't have much time. When my other preparations were in place I stripped off my sweater, jeans, bra and panties, then donned a silky black teddy I'd bought just for this occasion. I turned off all the lights except for a corner lamp, which I covered with a sheer black nylon scarf. Doing this cast the room into semi-darkness with only a softly muted glow to see by. For what I was planning I needed as much darkness as possible, but still be able to see.

I pulled back the covers of the bed and slipped between the cool sheets, positioning myself to look as if I were sleeping. This was how he expected to find me so we could play out my "fantasy".

As I lay there on my side, one hand under my pillow, I touched the object I had hidden there and wondered for the zillionth time if I could really go through with this crazy scheme. I'd never done anything this dangerous in my entire life. I felt very vulnerable despite my careful plans. I was terrified, but at this point in the game it didn't matter. He would be here any moment and I had no choice anymore...there was no turning back. The only way out (besides trying to run, then and there) would be to hide my hidden object somewhere else and go thru with what Chuck thought we were going to do, which was spend the next several hours being used and abused by him again. I ignored the damn lying tingle this thought caused and was more determined than ever to go thru with MY plan, not his.

On and on my mind raced and pondered while I waited for him, and I was so wound up that I had to clench my teeth to keep from screaming when I heard his key in the lock. I forced myself to take a few deep breaths when I heard the door slowly open. Since I was supposed to be pretending sleep, I screwed my eyes tightly shut as I heard him approach, but they flew open again when I heard his voice.

"Heatherrrr...", he half-whispered.

I jumped, startled despite knowing he was there, and looked up at him. He was cloaked in shadows, yet I recognized him immediately. Seeing his face again nearly froze my blood and I feared I wouldn't have the nerve after all.

A kalaidescope of terrifying images flashed thru my mind's eye....his switchblade at my open car window....his mocking sneers and laughter....his handsome features contorted in rage at my attempted escape....the sight of my own face in the mirror when it was over-- the bruises, the swollen lips, the rope burns and smeared blood. I didn't expect this paralyzing parade of flashbacks.....Ohgod, I COULDN'T just freeze like this!!

He laughed somewhat nervously it sounded like, then spoke again.

"Just making double sure I have the right room. Wow...do I ever! look at you..."

Without further preamble he sat on the bed beside me and began touching me....my face....my neck...my hair. Then his hands boldly moved down to my breasts, fondling and squeezing till my nipples sprang to attention under the thin silky material that covered them. I gazed up at him, my heart pounding. I was nearly sick with nerves and fright now that the moment was at hand.

"Lookin good, Babe...",

His voice was roughened with lust. His breathing became heavy with excitement as he continued to explore my body.

My traitorous bitch of a cunt was suddenly alive and wet. How easy it would have been to just submit to his expert handling....to surrender to the dark longings his touches awakened in me....to let go and be his victim one more time....after all it would have been way less dangerous than what I was planning...I was appalled to hear my own excited gasps and moans.....ooohhhhh... NO!!! I snapped out of the hypnotic pull of my own arousal...I knew I must NOT let this happen!!! How could I allow myself to consider it even for a moment?? How could I possibly allow myself to be seduced by the man I hated most in the world?

I stiffened and jerked away from him...and from his evil seductive power over me. I shoved him hard as I squirmed away from his touches. He was laughing quietly at my sudden struggle, believing the game was about to start in earnest.

"So....my little bitch wants to play rough again...fine with me". He smiled and pulled his shirt over his head. It was now or never.

As Chuck was removing his shirt, and before I could weaken again, I quickly shoved my hand back under the pillow and groped for the thing I had hidden there. It was a stun-gun...advertised to send enough volts thru an attacker to render him unconscious, but cause no real or lasting harm. I'd found it on the internet, and had set this date with Chuck only after it was delivered. With no time to further ponder the matter of could I do it, I drove it into his side while his shirt was over his head and squeezed the trigger. He never saw it coming.

There was a horrifying split second when I was sure it hadn't worked. He had been poised over my body, ready to grab at me again, when he suddenly stiffened, making no noise except for a strangled grunt, then fell onto me...pinning me to the bed with his dead weight.

He lay across me, silent and motionless. I began to feel panic as I squirmed and struggled to get out from beneath him. I didn't know how long his paralysis would last, but for those frantic moments I was sure he'd come out of it before I could free myself. That would be just my luck, after all.

Gathering all my strength, I finally managed to scoot out from under him, and promptly fell to the floor on my behind. While down there, I quickly rolled onto my stomach and reached for the closest restraint.

Earlier I'd tied four seperate lengths of strong rope tightly to each of the bed's legs, hiding the loose ends under the bed itself so nothing would be visible in the darkness. Now I seized one of the ends that would restrain one of Chuck's wrists--the wrists, of course would have to be tied first so he couldn't grab me if he came out of it before I was finished. Scrambling to my feet with the free end of the rope clutched in my fist, I was instantly dismayed to realize I would have to roll him over and do quite a bit of shoving to get him positioned right. Oh Great!! , I thought. He's going to come out of it for sure now. Why the hell hadn't I thought of that before??

I was still grimly determined to finish what I'd set in motion, so with many a grunt and curse I somehow managed to get him turned onto his back and more or less in the middle of the bed. Despite my growing panic I forced myself to tie the knots good on each wrist, making sure they were where he couldn't reach them with his fingers. I heaved a sigh of relief when I was satisfied that both wrists were tightly restrained, then moved to the foot of the bed where I fished out the ends that would tie his ankles.

I was halfway finished restraining his second ankle when Chuck began to stir. I nearly panicked but fought the urge to stun him again. Instead, I threw my leg over his and sat on it while I finished tying the last knot.

He was groaning when I stepped off the bed, but not quite aware yet of what had happened. I stood there, absently rubbing my sore bottom where I'd landed on it earlier, and observed with trepidation my captive's return to consciousness.

To be Continued....

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Pins Ch. 06

When you promoted Julie and started paying her as a bird dog our gross went up another seventeen percent, too! Hell, she just brought in eleven new girls who went straight to porn vids the first week."

I grinned. "So what do you want?"

She looked at me with a blank stare. "Originally I thought of getting you a new Shelby GT500 but then I figured you should have the input as to what you wanted. Look Pins, nobody's kidding anyone. You're the principal reason we're doing so well, you deserve a present, so what would you like?"

She answered quickly. Whatever it was that she thought she wanted, apparently she'd already given it some thought. She said, "I want you and me to get on a plane and head east.

"While I always love your company... why?"

"I don't care about anything that went on before I came on board with the company but since I've been here there's one thing that's never sat well with me. I want to try to fix that one thing."

I figured out fairly quickly what she was asking for. I shook my head and just said one word, "Annie!

Pins, you've got to realize just how impossible what you're asking for is!

We're talking about a whole bunch of words with capital letters here. Kidnapping and Slavery sort of jump to the top of my list. They're the kind of words that make people go away for long periods of time, sometimes even forever. I kind of enjoy walking around without handcuffs but even if you could convince me that Annie wouldn't say anything to the cops you'd never get Medina to go along!"

"I..." Pins paused, wanting to choose her words carefully. "I've given all this a lot of thought.

I've done a lot of growing up in the last several months. A lot of the beliefs I took for granted when I was younger I've jettisoned and I've done several things our society considers immoral and illegal.

But you know what? If I were to list every single thing I've done; every shoot I've been in, every girl I've bird dogged for a porn video, every girl I've offered the opportunity to whore herself...

I line all these things up and there isn't a single thing I'm ashamed of except for that commission check I accepted for the sale of Annie. Every other situation involved a young lady making well informed decisions about taking control of her own body, of her own life! I'm just not happy that Annie never got that choice.

You want to get me a present? Here's what I want. I want the opportunity to convince you that I can unravel the Annie situation without any negative legal repercussions for any of us, including Mr. Medina. You'll be at my side at every step of the negotiations. If the whole thing winds up costing more than you wanted to spend on my present don't worry, I've got plenty!

You will have 100% veto power over any negotiations I enter into. Yours is the final decision. I just want to know that I've done everything in my power to give Annie back the right to run her own life!"

The whole thing made me nervous but if anyone could pull it off I figured it was Pins! I looked into her determined eyes and replied, ""I'll set it up for this afternoon.

Go pack for overnight."

Well that was weird! Ten minutes ago Pins came running into the house, burst into my room and told me I had to be in charge until tomorrow night. Then she proceeded to strip while she continued talking, "Be creative with the parental units but be believable. I know, find out if there are any concerts in Muncie that I might be interested in and tell them I had a last minute invitation!"

I asked, "The Who are playing Indianapolis! Will that do?"

"Perfect! Tell them I went to that, they know I've always been a fan.

Hopefully I'll be back tomorrow evening but if I'm any later I'll let you know. Oh, and call Bianca and alert her that I might have something for her for tomorrow night!"

I was sure Pins had misspoke. "You really mean Bianca? She doesn't trick, does she?"

"Who said anything about tricking? I don't want to go into any details yet 'cause the whole thing might not happen but just make sure she has the evening open. Wait, better yet, if she can pick up the evening shift at Hooters, tell her to do it!"

I really enjoyed staring at Pins naked but at that point she ran into the shower.

While she was showering I ambled into her room and plopped on her bed. In a few short minutes after her shower she went straight to the closet while still toweling herself dry and grabbed a brown suede Diane Von Furstenberg bag. Into it she stuffed a change of sexy undies, a tailored shirt and her make-up kit.

I laughed, "Between the lingerie you stuffed into your bag and what you just stepped into I'd say you were going with a man!" She was about to strap a watch on her wrist when I almost gagged! "Gimme, gimme! Is that a Patek Philippe?"

Pins nodded and said, "Yeah, isn't it pretty? It's called a Twenty~4. Don't ask what it cost, okay?"

"If you die can I have this... and would that still apply if I killed you?"

"I suppose so; take it up with your sister. Now get me a blank corporate check."

I went and got a check. As I handed it to her I asked, "I'm not asking you to spill the beans but do you know how big a check you'll be writing?"

Pins continued applying her make-up as she said, "I really don't know! How big does it have to be before the account gets nervous?"

"We've got overdraft protection on that account but I'd appreciate a little heads up if you go into six figures!"

"Then we should be okay."

Javier Ruis Diego Medina

It had happened many times before but still never failed to fascinate me. I watched as first the head, and then the shaft of my penis slowly but determinedly disappeared into the pale flesh colored cavern with the deep ruby red entrance. My wife's mobile phone beeped at her so she removed her talented fingers from my shoulders to answer it. The fiery green eyes set above the blonde's entrancing mouth which held the entire length of my cock locked in on mine as if daring me to attempt to remove that to which she'd taken possession.

I felt Alma's large breasts press against my shoulder blades as she leaned forward to put the offending Blackberry in my line of sight. The blonde's eyes shifted to stare into hers as I read the text on the screen. I had hardly completed my reading when the mop of tight curls started bobbing up and down the length of my shaft pausing only long enough for her tongue to circumnavigate the mushroom shaped head at the completion of each stroke.

Lips sucking my cock and lips caressing my neck; I just began to say, "I'm ra..."

Alma interrupted, "If you say 'I'm rather enjoying this!' again we'll both deny you access to our bodies for the rest of the month!" She pulled on my earlobe with her teeth. "Really Darling you've got to come up with a better store of bedroom dialogue phrases, and don't give us any more of that crap about 'language barriers'."

The blonde took my dick from her mouth, got out of bed and started storming around the room. "You Guys! Work with me here! This is supposed to be hot steamy sex going on here! Remember phrases like 'consumed in the throes of passion' and shit like that? You deserve to be married to each other, all you do is bicker during sex!"

I needed to defend myself, "I didn't say a word! I was just enjoying a pleasant massage and blow job and now I'm getting neither!"

"But you were about to! It always starts the same way. Alma criticizes something, you respond and away we go! Sex goes out the window!

Now listen up! I'm going to lie on that bed and whichever of you who has a cock is going to stick it in me and the one with the pussy in going to sit on my face. You face each other and begin kissing! Tit squeezing is optional but if you two don't have someone else's tongue in your mouth I don't want to hear a sound that isn't a groan! No talking!"

Alma and I looked at each other and wearing our most contrite expressions said simultaneously, "Yes Annie."

I didn't say anything but as my cock entered her vagina I quickly realized just how wet Annie was! She so loved bossing Alma and me around. I reached down and repositioned her ass in my lap as I kneeled on the bed and began thrusting into her. After Alma positioned herself on the whore's mouth I gazed into her eyes and needed no encouragement to kiss my wife!

My hands, which had begun tweaking those glorious nipples, now traveled to every part of her body they could reach, from her scalp to her now noticeably growing belly.

Annie's tongue was so adept that Alma began to cum quickly. She grabbed Annie's tits and began screaming, " Yes, yes, yes, Yes!

Alma fell to her back on the bed. I flipped Annie over so she could continue her Moveable Feast between Alma's legs. I pulled her hips up and re-entered her doggie-style. After a short while Alma started gushing again and between that and my pounding her pussy, Annie began to let loose. The force of her cum against my cock's head made me sure that with a little practice Annie could be a fine squirter! I used the flood of excess lubricant to assist in my entry into her rear passage. It was at that point we resumed fucking in earnest!

If there had been a ceiling mounted camera aiming straight down at my mattress I'm sure we'd have looked like three newly installed batteries, our bodies laying with our heads aimed in alternating directions.

I was lazing in my role as the center battery in this bed gently kissing, massaging and generally admiring Annie's feet and toes. The stereotypical sign of age in a beautiful woman is supposedly sagging breasts but I've always thought that a woman's feet are a surer sign. I've seen C cups on a woman pushing 30 that have never been capable of trapping a pencil but let a woman enter the work force and her feet start showing it rather quickly.

Annie asked, "What'd the text say?"

"Quote: 'on plane landing NWK at 5:35'. Have you perhaps relented or do you still want to play this scene like you wrote it?"

I could see Annie's face softening, thinking about letting Pins off the hook, but then her resolve took control and the look of determination returned. "No, we'll stick to the script for the time being. If I change my mind you'll be the first to know.

I'm going to hit the showers and then make myself pretty for the arrival of our guests... Javier... Javier in order to walk to the shower, note the transitive verb walk in that sentence, I'm going to need both my feet."

I released the left foot I had been holding, simply saying, "Spoil sport!"

It felt to me like we had turned final and were now following the ILS path for landing at Newark International Airport. I had gone over in my mind, for the twentieth time, exactly how I anticipated this confrontation to play out. I felt confident that I could control the situation with respect to both Jeff and Medina but it was Annie who represented the wild card. If she flew off the handle and became the hysteric... I didn't want to think about that, knowing that I could be pushing the pretty blonde into a horrible corner. The state motto displayed on New Hampshire's license plates is Live Free or Die. Perhaps a noble sentiment but a Hell of a responsibility when you were making the choice for someone else!

As we descended the escalator to the lower level I saw a driver in full livery holding a sign which simply said NEEDLES-KNOWLES.

We were met in the lounge by Alma Burke the actress but around the New Congress Club she apparently was known as Lorene.

"Good to see you again Jeff and this must be Pins! I've heard so much about you I feel like we're old friends!

Can I get you two a cocktail?"

I asked for a Dewar's rocks and Jeff indicated that he'd have the same. I meant what I said when I told her, "I always assumed that actors never looked quite as good in the flesh as they did on film. You certainly must be the exception which proves the rule! You must hate ever putting makeup on that incredible complexion, you... you glow! "

Lorene smiled, "I knew I was going to like you! Only thing I must confess is that I'm cheating; it's easy to glow if you're pregnant and I am!

Anyway, Sr. Medina called just before you got here. His previous appointment is running over and I'm supposed to make sure you're entertained until he gets here. I know Jeff's tastes in entertainment but I'm relying on you to help me out."

Jeff said, "Actually Lorene we were hoping that the two of us might flesh out a ménage a trios. Is that little blonde I brought in last time available?"

"Annie? Let me check for you." She went over to a computer terminal behind the bar. "Looks like you're in luck, Annie's alone in her room right now and believe me those two words Annie and alone are seldom associated with each other. Shall I have her come up here or do you remember the way back to her room?"

Jeff said, "I remember the way. She's in room seventeen, right?"

"Yes she is, very good memory!"

On our way back to the girl's rooms I asked Jeff, "Pregnant? I would have thought that in this business that would be a negative!"

"She doesn't seem to think so. She looked genuinely happy. Go figure!"

Annie's unmistakable voice called out "Come in!" in response to my knock on the door. As we entered I was bowled over by how she looked. Up to this moment everything I'd seen in this house had been elegant and very upscale yet Annie was dressed like a cheap caricature of a DAR matron's idea of a prostitute. It was almost vaudevillian! One frog on her left hip seemed to hold the entire costume together but what had me most confused was the plethora of emotions which seemed to flash across her face before it settled into an effervescent grin.

"God it's great to see you guys! Alma said you were..."

She was just staring at my face reading something before she finally shifted her gaze to a huge mirror above the dresser. "Shit! Okay, Alma, you were right! The costume's for shit, I'm a lousy actress and Pins has already figured out that something's wrong." She stormed over to a pair of mirrored sliding doors which parted revealing a huge walk-in closet. She opened the frog and the 'burlesque queen' outfit fell to the floor just before she kicked it into a corner. She kicked off her shoes and reached into a drawer, pulling out a UCLA sweatshirt.

After donning the sweatshirt she reached for a pair of lace 'boy shorts' but apparently changed her mind, throwing them back into the dresser while saying "Fuck it!" She strutted back into the room naked from the waist down and plopped herself on the bed.

I just asked, "Annie, what's going on?"

She looked at me for a few seconds before starting to answer. "When I first got here I hated Jeff for what he'd done to me. With the passage of time that eased up a bit." She broke a little wry smile, "Especially when I saw how shitty he was at his job!"

Her gaze shifted to him, "Jeff if you're going to be a believable 'gangsta' you probably shouldn't call twice a week to check on your victim!"

"I did, however, still have a lot of issues about the way I wound up here but as I thought about it I started shifting the blame to where it belonged." Annie looked back at me. "To you Pins.

Jeff was just a kid trying to act macho grown-up gangsta asshole... but you went along knowing it was wrong." She put the soles of her feet together and held them as if her hands were clamps.

She sighed. "So you're here to somehow spring me from this 'prison'? That's nice. How'd you plan on pulling it off?"

I didn't take my eyes off her face even though she was still looking at her feet. "I had a plan. I think it would have worked. It involved a lot of subterfuge and money, mostly."

She nodded. "You're pretty bright. It probably would have worked but how were you going to get me to keep my mouth closed? The whole plan would have blown up if I went to the cops or started screaming."

She finally looked at me. "You're kidding!"

"Really big threats; scary ones!"

She just stared at me. "Wow! I guess I'll have to take your word for it.

What you didn't know was that I'd earned enough money to pay Javier back my first couple of weeks here. I could have gone back home almost any time I wanted. I'm good at what I do and I've got quite a book of regulars built up. You couldn't replace the clothes in my closet with what my Dad earned last year.

But I do have some fences to mend back in Indiana, so here's my proposition. I don't want any of your money. I don't think I could bring myself to take it even if I needed it.

I want a month. In a month I'll heal some of the long standing open wounds in my relationship with my folks. I think I've grown up enough to do that... and I miss my friendship with Bianca. Javier's been getting me copies of all her porn vids and I want to talk to her, make sure her head's on straight." She laughed. "I might even indulge myself and try to fulfill an old fantasy about fucking her!

So what do you say? Will you give me my month?"

It was my turn to be confused. "I don't get it. If, as you say, you can leave here anytime you want, what can I do to make it happen?"

"I already told you. I'm very popular! My appointment book's filled for quite a ways into the year. I'll write a bunch of notes to my Johns explaining a 'family emergency' but I want you to cover for me. You'd have to move into my room here and service my appointments for the next month."

I didn't know what to say. How could I just disappear for a month? I hadn't set anything up with my cousins to cover for me with the family, I had appointments... I had a life!

Then it struck me that so had Annie had a life when we took it away from her. A month; when you think of it as a sentence for the crime of accessory to kidnapping it wasn't really so bad! I just nodded and said, "Yes."

"Good. So now that that's settled why don't you go back to the lounge and talk to Alma about clothes. You'd probably fit into my stuff but I'm not feeling very sharesy toward you right now. Besides, all the while you and I've been talking Jeff's eyes have never left my pussy's open lips and it's getting me horny. I want to fuck him and I don't want you around."

I reached over and squeezed Jeff's hand as the plane took off. I remembered that when we flew east from Indiana I'd done the same thing. Jeff actually looked at a loss for words so I decided to start a conversation. "Did Alma... Lorene tell you she was pregnant?"

He answered, "Yeah she did. Won't that interfere with her work?"

"For sure, but she doesn't really trick all that much since she and Javier got married last year. She's got a few long standing regulars but even they got cut off while she and Javier were trying to get pregnant. Now she's picked up one or two of them again but they all know she'll quit completely in a while. At least until the baby's older. She can't wait to be a mommy, and ever since they ordered an amnio and they found out it's a girl he's gone off the deep end! A week doesn't go by that Javier doesn't buy the baby something new! She's got a better wardrobe than I do and she hasn't even been born!"

Jeff relapsed into silence. I grabbed his hand again and kissed it. "Will you cheer up? She'll do fine!

Let me tell you about my business. Remember my first day when Alma sent me off to fuck Jeremy Stone? Well something started that day and in a short while I had half of Hollywood's "A" list as clients. Of the list of the top twenty highest paid actors I've fucked eleven and six are regulars! Lately I spend almost as much time in New York and L.A. as I do here. One of them is even working to get my acting career kick started. On the 28th I fly west to test for a role I don't even want! That industry is weird. I'm supposed to test for a role that's completely wrong for me just so the Director can see me and hopefully remember what he sees later in the year when he starts to cast for a film he's making based on a Chennelworth novel. There's apparently a part in there that I'm supposed to be perfect for. Who knows? You've already seen what a shitty actor I am but they say they can teach me.

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Down and dirty

It’s how we always do things. The practical takes precedence over the emotional. It was cold, so the socks stayed on.

Naturally, no other garment can remain and effect true practicality — at least, not when the most significant achievement being aimed for is an abundance of orgasms all round. But socks keep your feet warm, and there’s a lot to be said for warm feet when you’re engaged in prolonged fellatio.

Not that practicality as a concept should be knocked, but it’s also safe to say that it hadn’t been the main feature in this particular turn of events. Getting into the right position required much heaving, grunting and the occasional giggle — but again, it was a means to an end. The required positions were achieved, and the resultant touching, licking, stroking, pinching, caressing always pleased.

I always enjoy a good solid straight forward orgasm, unenhanced by the wonders of nature, but goddammit  I just love it when said enhancement is there. The climax takes on a different hue — in fact, several. The jagged breathing as I near my peak melts into layered waves of bliss, each color more vivid and intense than the last, my lungs expanding to fill my chest cavity, until I finally burst and come, showering rainbows all over the room.

There was a moment one time, where I floated above my supine body, and watched such a set of proceedings unfold from above. My head on his leg, my tongue millimeters from his cock, where until recently — up until my attention was too severely distracted to continue — it had been engaged in providing some pleasure of its own. His head resting on one arm, regarding me with a knowing smile as his other hand engaged itself in painting me into a bed mural; my legs akimbo, a spreading dark patch beneath me, evidence of what had just ensued.

Of course, I’m not without my own contributions to the hoopla. How he responds to my tongue is a source of pure pleasure for all concerned. Me, because I delight in his enjoyment, and him because…. well, because show me the man who doesn’t become an inanely grinning Mr Happy when their cock is firmly ensconced in the mouth of another, and I’ll show you a wax model. It takes a moment for the cock to realize where it is, and then it all of a sudden grows into its full glory, and hits the back of my throat — requiring my best gag reflex control skills.

It’s enormous fun. Watch this space.

My eyes rake the ceiling in idle and vain search  of cobweb or crack upon which to focus. From somewhere beside me, I hear you whisper huskily:

“You’re writing again, aren’t you?”

In truth, no. Not this time. This time I am concentrating on exhaling and regaining some composure. I say “some” intentionally, for “all” is simply a pipe dream at this point. In the space of — what, three hours? Four? — I have lost all semblance of reality, and my outer identity and sense of self have been shed like so many outer garments.

I need to remember this. Above all else, it intensifies that oh-so-fleeting moment, dissipating almost as soon as it comes into existence. A sweetly poignant memory to cherish when this bubble bursts; but one for which albeit briefly, I must burst that very bubble in order to claim.

As I drift off into the never-never land to which you succeed in transporting me, a tiny part of my brain holds back, clinging to the here and now by the skin of its metaphorical teeth, and making tiny notes in the margin of my consciousness. Barely perceptible yet spine-tingling kisses become a rhythmic stroking of my skin, in a manner precisely calculated to send delicious shivers through me.

The word “precise” sticks in my head: it’s such an appropriate word. Every move you make is precise. Accurate. Meticulous.

Your tongue glides across my skin, and I feel you breathing. With no external restraint, despite hankerings to the contrary, you have me enthralled and supine; expectantly frozen in place, barely moving a muscle — save those that move of their own volition. As you close in on your prey, encircling the final location, the delectable fever of anticipation grips me from within. I can barely breathe — I know what will happen, yet I cannot predict the form it will take.

And then it begins — more exact and on the mark than ever before. I gasp, and silently scream my bliss to the rising heavens. The meticulously detailed locale of your soft tongue inside me is of an accuracy hitherto unparallelled. If all this were not enough, you manage to indicate your own pleasure vocally, which just sends me over the edge. That tiny part of my brain loses its tenuous hold and joins the remainder of my grey matter in space, as I spiral ever upwards into sheer ecstasy.

This is an experience that I never want to consign to oblivion — and yet oblivion is the place towards which I feel myself headed.

You navigate your way around my body using your own as leverage, and I marvel at your care and attention to detail. My outpouring of pleasure is both metaphorical and literal — not to mention seemingly endless.

Yet that which truly astounds me is your own participation. There is no distance; admittedly, physical distance would be quite a feat at this stage, but mentally it would not be considered that unusual. However as I writhe in exquisite agony, whimpering with pleasure, you are there with me. I feel you. I sense you through every pore on my skin.

You are precisely where you wish, desire, and intend to be — I couldn’t ask for anything more.

It’s been wonderful — thank you.

It was never an ambition of mine to be fisted.

In fact, when reading this piece, I was reminded of how I once felt about the whole fisting experience. Except I was far less enthusiastic than she sounds.

“Euw,” I thought to myself on more than one occasion.

“A whole fist? Inside my poor little pussy? What if it goes too far in, and I feel his watch in me– and it snags on one of the leftover pubic hairs goddamn-them that evaded the all-pervading destruction of my depilatory efforts? What then? Aiieee!!!”

When i imagine the bad of a situation, I tend to go straight to worst-possible-case scenario, and wallow there for a while. It’s one of the joys of being neurotic. Of which there are many.

And then it happened for the first time.

I lay in his arms, and I could feel his fingers inside me, probing into the deepest part of me, furiously. It was his desire to make me gush my come all over his hand, and by golly he was giving it his all.

“How many are inside me?” I asked him. “Fingers, I mean.”

He giggled. (How sexy is it when a guy giggles with pure pleasure? It could sway even the most frigid of hearts, I’ll bet.)

“Umm… all of them.”

“All of them? All???”

“Yeah. All.”

“All. Four. Fingers.”

“Yes, all four. And don’t forget my thumb.”

“You mean you’re….”

“Yeah. I’m fisting you. How does it feel?”

It felt fabulous, if the truth be told. I felt filled up, but it was different than the thick-cock-filling-me-feeling. And it was lovely, because the movements made by his fist inside me were so different to a cock. So sensual, yet so raw and so powerful. I could liken the smooth, fullness of the moments to how it felt immediately after my anal passage relaxes and allows a cock that is fucking it full access.

It was wonderful.

But I was still doubtful. I mean, if it was this easy, what had stopped all my other lovers from trying it? Was it because this guy was more perverted? Unlikely. Perverted in a different way, maybe?

Yeah — maybe.

I strained to look. “I wanna see!”

“Here, I have an idea. Hold on a second…”

His voice trailed away as he reached behind him and grabbed a large professional digital camera from the stand next to the bed. He fiddled with it a little, and then handed it to me and started positioning my arms with his free hand.

“Wait… let me move your hands for you… lift your arms up a bit… yes.. that’s it. Now push the button.”

I duly pushed the button, and heard the satisfying click-whirr-clunk of a photo taken. He took the camera from me, and single-handedly adjusted it so that it reflected the last picture taken, and then showed me.

Sure enough, there was my cunt, and his fist… all the way inside it. (And he wasn’t wearing a watch.)

It’s the oddest thing to see your pussy iconized like that. The whole picture was my pussy and his wrist protruding from it. And as i was looking at it, I could feel his fist inside me. Accommodating myself to fit him had been far easier than I’d thought, although I am not terrifically big in the cunt area.

Practicalities dispensed with, we returned our attentions to fucking. Specifically, to him fucking me with his hand.

His whole hand all the way inside me. Fisting me.

The sweetest and most intense pressure as his pace increased and my grip on reality started to unhinge. The build-up inside me of pre-orgasmic excitement and an almost-but-not-quite unbearable tension in my bladder or thereabouts spiralled me higher and higher to orgasmic bliss until i came and gushed out rivers of fluid all over his hand, and I heard his contented sigh of satisfaction.

“That’s it, come for me baby. Yesss….”

I exhaled, and lay back, exhausted. I felt his hand slide out of me, caressing me as it slid. I heard his satisfied breathing complementing my own jagged coming-down gasps and i felt blissed-out and dazed.

My first fisting.

Fleshbotted, here.

Open the door. What do you see? Me. You see me.

Look at me. Go on, look.

See the glint in my eye? You know what that means.

See the curve of my hip, cocked, with my hand resting gently upon it.

As i stand. Waiting for you. Wordlessly inviting you.

Come on. Come to me.

Come and get me.

See the glimpse of my thigh, visible through the elegantly draped slit in my skirt. Imagine your hand running up it. Imagine your fingers trailing up it seductively… from my ankle, to behind my knee and then…

Onwards. Up my thigh, moving inwards, the skin growing warmer as you progress further.

I know you can see me.

I know you want me.

Take me. I’ve waited long enough.

Feel the softness of my lips against yours. Of my hand against your cheek. Of my breasts against your chest.

See how easily my blouse slips off my shoulders? Doesn’t my shoulder look inviting? A kiss, a nibble, a nip… a bite? No underwear… no markings… no problem.

Your hands and your mouth delight in the luscious fullness of my breasts; lush and golden with rosy-hued tips. You could drown in them… and die happy.

Stand behind me, you can do that without letting go. Keep one hand there, guarding your spoils. I won’t complain.

Use your other hand to explore further South… tickle that sensitive area around my navel… stroke the silkiness a little further below… and then you’ll find that silky soon becomes slick, plump and moist.

Don’t neglect the soft flesh into which your cock is pressing. Your naked cock. My accomodating ass. Your hard, throbbing cock. My warm, open ass.

You know what to do. You have free rein.

I’m losing the ability to instruct you.

Can’t… focus.

Ecstasy… taking over.

Mind… blurry….

oh god oh god oh god oh god oh god oh god oh god oh god oh god oh god…

And there i am. With you.

A tableau of sensuality.

Flung over the back of the armchair, almost carelessly.

Abandoned and open to you.

Arms akimbo, clothes discarded.

You’ll take me every way you want me.

Every way you can.

Every way i want you to.

You know it’s what you want.

Beguilingly and bewilderingly polite. This was my first impression.

A soft-spoken and courteous person by nature, Adam’s initial inquiries about me were very cordial, and carefully structured. In addition to the fact that English was not his mother tongue, which i could tell was restricting him slightly in how he expressed himself, he was obviously also uncomfortable in expressing his desires verbally. And, apparently, unused to dirty talk or profanity.

Or so I thought.

Maybe it’s a xenophobic trait within me that should be stamped out like a burning scrap of paper. But the northern European accent that colored his English so prettily invoked a very polite and well-mannered attitude and impression… which was hard to gel with the disgracefully depraved way in which I like to cavort.

Suffice it to say that I presume way too much.

For this particular blind date, pictures had been exchanged. By the handful. We’d recognized each other immediately from aforementioned photos, through the steam of a Saquella espresso machine in the corner of a seductively warm cafe on a blustery cold and wintry evening. The lights outside along the sea front danced brightly, giving a false impression of cheeriness, but there was nothing cheery about the biting wind outside. We had, however, done our best to banish any last vestige of cold by both ordering wine — red for him, mulled with a stick of fresh cinnamon for me. We looked at each other, and smiled… and I was wondering how to broach a subject somewhat less conventional than the severity of the weather, when he took my hand and placed it on his thigh.

No words really necessary after all. Especially not when i ran my finger deliberately slowly over the growing bulge on his inner thigh.

I’m wet just at the thought of it, as I write.

He leaned into me and whispered politely “I need to fuck you, the sooner, the better. Can we go?”

The next few minutes were a blur of giggles, and bill-paying, and urgency, and hands clasped tightly, and half-walking, half-running to his place, only a short block away from the cafe. Formalities that had seemed to worryingly important had all but been dispensed with as we collapsed through the door, and into each other.

At first, we hugged and held each other very close, our hands roaming, and divesting each other of our accumulated layer of clothing. Once we were suitably scantily attired, he paused, and took my chin in his hand, lifting my face to kiss him.

Dear god, but he could kiss. My knees nearly buckled.

The passion intensified, and not breaking from the kiss, he managed to remove my remaining articles of clothing. Lacy panties in a puddle on the floor, where they had fallen after he’d given them a sharp, commanding tug. Matching lacy bra strewn halfway across the room, where I’d find it much, much later, decorating a very good reproduction of Guernica. All i wore were knee high socks, and tall, black, leather cowboy boots, which despite their heel, brought me not very close to his height at all (he had to bend to kiss me, but he didn’t seem to mind).

So i was naked but for the boots, which put me in mind of another occasion, and he was barefoot, in jeans, with a button fly with which I’d been struggling until he began kissing me. Once he’d started the kiss, it distracted me enough that I’d kind of concentrated just on that.

His giant-like gentleness was short-lived. He finally broke from my lips, and somehow twirled me in a circle until i was held tight with his arm, but bent over it, with my side against his muscular but softly fuzzy stomach. He almost lifted me in order to get me into position, nudging my arms up and onto the desk, where i rested, facing down, leaning on my forearms and elbows. He slowly stroked my back with his hands; long, relaxing strokes that discombobulated me so much that when he landed me a massive blow to the buttocks, i jumped.

“Stay still,” he commanded, still very polite, but unarguably firm.

I do what I’m told, me.

I felt the warmth of his body as he leaned over me, his cock nudging against my ass, as his hands explored me. He left one hand stroking my body, holding it inches from the surface of the desk, and used the other to draw an imaginary line from my cunt to the end of my ass. All the way, in one slick and slippery stroke.

I gasped. His fingers were strong and probing, and still cold from the inclement weather outside. I wasn’t complaining.

Slowly, deliberately slowly, he started to stimulate me, his whole hand probing, touching, encircling and teasing. This was a touch unlike any I’d previously encountered, and the heady feeling with which it left me had me reeling. In a good way. In moments he brought me to a surprisingly thundersome climax, leaving me wet, spent and thoroughly slippery. As i leaned on my forearms and panted to get my breath back, I heard the crackle of a foil wrapper, then the unzipping of his jeans, followed by the soft sound of denim hitting carpet.

Then politeness left the building once and for all. He grabbed me, hard, but not ungently, spread my legs apart, and held me still with my face on the table; then swiftly, smoothly entered me with a single thrust and no fumbling. His cock felt like solid steel as it entered me and he made sure i could feel how hard he wanted, or needed to fuck me.

“Spread those legs more, baby… yes!” As he pumped.. and pumped.

He grunted, I moaned.

He sweated, drops of moisture falling onto my back. One hand twisted in my hair, pulling it but not yanking my head. Thrust. Fuck. Pump. Push.

“God yes. Yes. Fuck me. Fill me. Yes.”

Harder. Faster. Harder still… faster still…

He grunted his intentions like a mantra.

“Fuck that cunt, that soft sweet cunt, going to fuck it harder than it’s ever been fucked. Fill your cunt. Yes? You want that, baby? Yes?”

In my head, I drifted away on a cloud of spaced-out bliss; the physical not matching the mental. I was in full physical submission, restrained by his strong hand, and his deliberately thrusting body; yet my body gladly accepted, even welcomed the hard furious fucking it was receiving.

Somewhere far away, I heard myself wail… softly at first but growing gradually stronger and more shrill. I could sense the pink light of orgasm approaching as he kept pounding my g-spot until i gushed, my mind afloat in ecstasy, my cunt awash with girlie-cum. It didn’t stop him. Rather, it increased the intensity of his fucking and the depth of each push into me. I felt my body slide forward across the desk, skater-like on a film of sweat. Astonishing really, since such a short while ago I’d felt so cold i couldn’t stand still, and now i was perspiring.

Since i was now sated, regrouping after the orgasm, i could concentrate on his pleasure more fully. I pushed back onto him, using my sweat-aided leverage. I tried to do my kegels as he fucked me, only succeeding some of the time since he was by now pumping hard and very fast.

“Yessss!” With a shout, he came, holding me tightly by the shoulder and hair.

Not quite so polite, after all. But a pleasure to know.

The moment that you feel his hand on your flesh, that’s when you know.

Not all trysts work this way, it can be freely admitted. But there are occasions where you instinctively know that the owner of said hand is one with whom there is something very unusual and special going on.

You know for sure that you two have connected in a very unique way; that the sex will be of the mind-blowing, furniture-moving, scrape-me-off-the-ceiling variety… These are usually the times where you have cause to feel as though an electric shock just ripped straight through you, from nipples-to-cunt, with a nod and a wave at your g-spot.

And you’re right. A casual touch over a table in a restaurant, as he passes you the soy sauce. You take a lump of Wasabi with chopsticks clutched in trembling fingers — what the fuck was that?! Your skin is tingling as though you’ve just been rubbed with mentholated cream, and your heart is beating faster than it should.

You take a deep breath, and try to compose yourself, but there’s no point. You don’t really want to. Such levels of connection are so rare and so precious that you want to savor every second, but still cannot quite help your knee-jerk reaction to deny it, suppress it, re-normalize the situation. Each attempt you make is very clearly in vain.

Nothing seems normal at the moment, but you revel in the abnormality. This is what you thrive on, and you plan to utilize it to the max.

The remains of the Miso soup and the Tuna Tataki are arranged in that lackadaisical manner that the leftover food from a carefully ordered meal is wont to take; sprawled in disarray over the dishes where once they were heaped so beautifully.

And you two sit, exhausted from the effort of eating, but exhilarated at what is to come. From the moment your fingertips touched you knew that you had connected in that amazingly intimate, physical way, and the countdown was on till the required niceties were out of the way and you could be alone.

Although, if the truth be told, both of you had, at separate times, considered sweeping the dishes onto the floor, throwing the other over the table and fucking them senseless. Said thought had rendered the thinker speechless for a while; which had actually gone unnoticed due to the disproportionate amount of body language being used as the primary means of conversation.

Bills are paid and you leave, and as you do, your hands bump against each other, which immediately becomes a firm handhold. The urgency is palpable and rising, and you know that it doesn’t matter where, or what, but you must be alone with him now. Now. NOW! Apparently he feels the same as he drags you down the side street where his car is parked and almost throws you up against it, much as you might have thrown him over the restaurant table, and kisses you for the first time.

It’s amazing how much a kiss can convey; how it surpasses speech in its communicative ability. You know what he is thinking, feeling, needing and wanting — and he knows the same about you.

It’s only a matter of time before it happens. The time it will take for you to drive there. A journey which will not allow you to separate your hands, and a destination where the remainder of your bodies will continue what the hands started.

And all this you know, from his touch.

Fleshbotted again.

She felt him slide in and out of her, as he lay on top of her, holding him close to her.

“You like that?” he whispered lasciviously into her ear. “My cock is all the way inside your ass. Do you like it like that?”

She shivered with joy, and murmured a tiny “Yes…” into the pillow.

He hugged her tighter, and continued to slowly pump himself into her.

“That’s so good to hear, baby. You’re such a good girl.”

This entire anal sex episode had started some months earlier, on a theoretical level. The subject had come up in conversation, and nervously she had mentioned how she was scared of trying it again.

“I tried it once,” she typed him on an Instant Message application. “It hurt so badly, and only after a long time did it start feeling good. I tried once or twice since, but I couldn’t make it past the pain.”

There was dead air for an ominous and elongated minute and then she saw that he was typing a reply.

“Firstly,” he wrote, “you needn’t worry. The key is to relax. And you are under no obligation to do anything — if you’re not happy, it just won’t happen. You have to trust me – which I know you do. But i will not — would not — ever force you to endure anything that you have no desire to do. Know that, and relax.”

Reading those words did relax her. Immediately.

“Thank you,” she typed in, gratefully.

He continued.

“It is all about technique. And arousal. And trust. Don’t worry, baby, it will be fine.”

And then he had to go. Much relieved, and feeling unburdened, she breathed easily, and ceased worrying.

As they’d entered the room it had been how it always was with them. Drawn together as if magnetic, she’d reveled in his touch, so strong and sensual and familiar. The expression “melting into his arms” wafted through her head, and she dismissed it as too trite, but it still resonated. It was, after all, exactly how she felt.

The urge to control manifested itself almost immediately. As they kissed, he tugged at her hair and she weakened.

“Get naked, baby. Now. And hop onto the bed.”

She did as she was told.

“Good girl. Lie next to me.”

Again, she did as she was bid. She truly trusted him, which was why she’d allowed him to take control ever since their first meeting. He embraced her, and then shifted himself so that he was lying on top of her, as she lay on her stomach. His arms encircled her and she could feel their strength. He whispered to her, and she could feel his lips move against her ear, which excited her all the more.

“I’m going to fuck you so good. So. Damn. Good. Such a good girl you are, baby. And so wet and ready for me. ”

He slid himself inside her cunt from behind, and held himself there, impassive. She pushed herself back onto him, and he started to pump into her, slowly. Deliberately.

“That’s it, baby. Give me that pussy.”

The fingers of his left hand found their way into her mouth where she sucked, teased and licked them lovingly. Her hips were angled upwards, giving his right hand access to the entrance to her cunt, where his fingers stroked her slowly, bringing her to a thundering clitoral climax.

As she shuddered beneath him, she felt his right hand move from her cunt to the side of her body. Moments later, she felt a dribble of deliciously cold lube trickle between her cheeks, and his hand begin to play around her tight little anus. A finger slid in, and she gasped. Was she ready? She wasn’t sure.

“Relax, baby. I want you to relax your muscles. All of them. Will you do that for me?”

“I’ll try,” she mumbled into the pillow.

“What was that?”

He pulled her head up by the hair, to improve the acoustics. She repeated herself, only more coherently.

“Good girl. My good girl.”

She felt one finger slide inside her, and then two. His thumb massaged the anus, and she succumbed to the sensation.

Suddenly, sharp pain, and she yelped.

“Ow, fuck!”

“You’re not relaxed enough, baby,” the sensuous voice murmured. “Trust me. Yes?”

She nodded, and made a conscious effort to do just that. The massaging resumed, which felt great. Then she felt him slide into her, and absolutely no pain at all… only the mild discomfort that goes hand-in-hand with that great feeling of having one’s ass ploughed.

It was fabulous. His voice in her ear once more, delighting her.

“You like that? My cock is all the way inside your ass. Do you like it like that?”

Oh god, did she ever.

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