Her heart racing in her chest, cold, naked in the rain. Hungry for him.' Will he come tonight? Will he leave me wanting?' It's been too long, a couple nights at least and she is frightened, hungry, thirsty, desperate. 'Please, Master.'
"I live to serve you!" As his fingertips dig into her flesh.
"Use me," and, "Thank you" as his breath grows ragged in her ear.
Flash Paper
Say goodbye to someone so special.
The connection an implosion.
Flash paper, pure and bright and intense.
The kind of thing destined to leave a mark.
That sweet nostalgic poisoning.
Grief that comes not bitter discontent, but selfish daydreams.
Weird to leave without anger, without resentment.
So strange the longing without feeling betrayed.
The world is a little brighter today, and a little more in shadow.
I have the words, the voice, the memory.
The addiction is severed, it’s not heartache, but the come-down flu.
It’s not rejection.
The choice was perfect fantasy or a prefect reality.
I barely have a chance to open my mouth before I feel him push past my teeth and ram against the back of my throat, Master’s left hand presses against the back of my head pushing it down, his right cupping my chin pulling it forward, keeping my throat open.
From the corner of my eye I can still see the screen, Mia is still crying, her shoulders shaking, I can barely hear her over the wet sounds of my Master’s phallus slamming hard against my tongue. I adjust my jaw, drop my tongue in the back of my mouth and relax my throat. Master takes advantage of the amount of control he has over me, the wave like motion of his hips as he pumps into my face proves his enjoyment of me.
‘Tobin The Bitch’, continues to work Master’s magic on the Mia on the screen. Between thrusts, I have a full view of my sister’s pain. I watch, almost hypnotized, as my fork lifts before the camera, nonchalant little bites if fettuccine alfredo, like it doesn’t matter, like I’m not shredding her heart, to trade for my own pleasure. I hear me clear my throat, “Really Mia,” a delicate sip of chardonnay, “I don’t understand why you’re acting so surprised, this has been a long time coming.”
“Grey is ten, Mia. That’s four and a half years you’ve had to find a man. Is there a reason, you didn’t think we were serious? I may be twelve years younger than you, but ours is still a legal contract. I can’t give you another extension. You swore when Jack died you would be able to replace him quickly. Said your church has a program for unwed mothers. Did you lie to me in the name of your God?” The fingers at my neck tighten, those at the back of my head, becoming still as stone.
I know the reason he has gotten so close so quickly. The laws only state that I have to make someone cry, my task has been preformed, by all rights I could have stood and walked out of the room, leaving her there, confused, hurt, letting her to brood, wondering why I lashed out. That self-righteous anger flowing through her tearing her mind between this and the words of her gospel telling her this feeling is wrong, but overall not much worst for wear. Master’s excitement is brought about by the calm way I sit, taking the time to finish off my meal, and my sister. He knows the only reason I would go on is to please him, to give example of my commitment to him.
“Tobin, no.” She says, as though she really thinks any of her words could make any difference.
The side of the fork coming down, cutting into the scallops on my plate, another simple, business like forkful lifts, so calm, the tip of one ting toying, set against the plate and spinning for a moment. I see Master’s hips flash three more times, the intensity brimming inside him, on that last thrust his hands lock my head and neck into place and my nose is buried in his pubic hair. Working my tongue and lips as much as this position allows, I work hard to feel his skin tighten and his veins swell and twitch against my uvula.
My lungs screaming in my chest, his shaft remains like a stone blocking my air, I feel hands at my hips, unlatching my garters, pulling on those silk panties, fingers from nowhere drive into my cunt. I have a moment of panic as this happens; no one has ever joined us before. The combination of surprise and the black spots floating before my eyes pulls an orgasm out of me that makes my legs and shoulders go limp, I am held off the ground by Master’s hands and those of our mystery partner third knuckle deep by at least two fingers. My amazement at this new level of play is only farther fed into by my own voice from the speakers.
“Or is it that at your age, even with all that grooming and breeding you’ve always held up to me, and even with your church’s help, you’re hopelessly unfuckable.” I drop that last word on my sister’s Christian ears and watch her shake, now with anger as well as fear. Direct disrespect has always been frowned upon in my family, and especially the use of what my mother would call ‘sailor words’, Mia’s shock is understandable, she lives every day by our mother’s rules and by those of her god, just as I live by the laws of my Master. I would find that kind of shock were he to say ‘I love you’; it is almost like two sides of a coin, she and I.
Master’s hot seed spills down my throat in great bursts, and the moment he releases me, so does his helper. I fall to the floor, my limbs shaking from the strength of my orgasm, the dark taste of his seed overtaking my tongue. Turning my head to lay eyes on our partner, I see only The Shoes. Master’s silent witnesses are both still as stone, and exactly in their places, I know they are quick, and nearly silent, but no human can move that quickly, Master gives me only a moment to ponder this, before pulling me to my feet by my hair walking me forward.
My heart skips a beat as I recognize what looks like a pile of white nylon ropes on the floor. Without need for direction I step into the two center most holes in the pile, placing my feet so that the last length is straddled between the ball and heel of each shoe. I bend, carefully and pull the topmost coil sliding it up my left leg first, the ropes enveloping me like a pant leg. Repeating the movement for the right leg and then moving on, my hands find the coils meant for sleeves and pull them to my shoulders. My already soaking pussy warms again in anticipation.
The machine Master has The Shoes pushing toward me is a reward; it makes no sound as it travels and rolls so smooth you’d have no idea of its weight or strength. It looks like a frame, at first, but horizontal, the inner edge lined with eyelets. I watch, my labia swelling in anticipation, as The Shoes busy themselves lacing the ropes, halfway through, I lay face down, again without prompting, and feel my weight being distributed across the netting, the binds tightening equally across my body like an especially erotic hug.
With the machine loaded I am staring at the floor, from four feet above, I love to look for phallus shaped markings in the marble as I wait, Master uses patience to keep me just this side of that white hot pleasure. It is the gyroscopic nature of this device that marks a testament to Master’s genius, the locks releasing and the free swing making no sound, meeting only perfect resistance from the gears, and I am now held upright, spread eagle, my face being fastened to the netting by twin leads pulled taught against the back of my head.
Only three feet, now, from the screen, my view filled completely by my sister’s confused, desperate, face. All this time the video has continued, her pain, my words, a soundtrack to this pleasure. Master has a perfect sense of timing; the Mia on the screen is gathering herself. I see her puff up in an attempt to regain some of her pride. Using the tools her years of service to the church have taught her. Grasping desperately to the kind of certainty that comes from thinking ‘God would agree with me’. Her hands are still shaking, betraying the confidence she’s trying to convey, as she brushes the last tear from her cheek. Squaring her shoulders, sucking in a deep breath and releasing it through taught lips, her nostrils flaring with the anger she’s trying to overcome.
“Tobin, I understand you are upset, but that language! There’s no excuse for it.”
“Mia, my dear, they’re just words, and may I remind you that you are in no position to attempt to correct me? Unless, of course you want to piss me off, I suggest you bite that god-fearing little tongue of yours before you do some permanent damage to your situation. If I were you I’d reach into that bag of tricks of yours and find some damn humility.” The tone of my voice echoes in my ears, the ice on the delivery, that stony gaze I can’t see on the screen, but know I tried to serve her. I am struck by the dichotomy of my situation, on the screen wielding my power over Mia, in Master’s name, and here and now, that power handed back to him, myself trussed, completely encased in his ropes, suspended, I feel like a fly caught in a web, vulnerable and loving it.
I can see the light flashing in my mind before I even open the door to my flat. Setting my purse down on the table, my keys make their familiar clanking as they settle against the hard surface. My heels make their hollow clicks as I rush into the kitchen, the truth on the answering machine stops my heart. Immediately my hands begin to shake. He’s early, at least a week.
“White” The voice of my dreams echoes through my ears, long after I’ve finished playing this message. “White” Rewind. Play. “White” Rewind. Play. “White” Rewind. Play. “White”. This obsessive repeated listening is as much a ritual for me as the laws that govern our relationship. I can already feel the dampness in my panties begin to grow simply from the sound of the wind on his ‘W’.
White is the color of Master’s anger. Every color has a sacrifice. The sacrifice for pink is not getting to see his face, and the absence of penetration. The sacrifice I make in this name is a steep one. Before we meet I must make someone cry. It is the only part of our game that occurs away from the house, and extends beyond just the two of us.
It is with a heavy heart I lift the receiver to my ear. Quaking fingers dial the number I’ve known for years, missing the buttons, trying again. Third time is the charm and I try to keep my tone light as I invite my sister to lunch the following day.
On his stoop that evening, eyes still swollen from tears his laws help me create. Shivering in the snow, stripped to only white silk panties, garter belt and stalking set, and white three inch stiletto heels, I once more make the count. As the numbers fly through my mind so do the images of this afternoon. Choosing to see only the good things, because I know I will live the pain again only too soon. We pick a Bistro downtown, white tablecloth is Master’s order, although Mia has no idea of his existence. My mind circles around the giggly bits, her relaying the latest antics of her child. He’s ten and way too smart for her own good.
In the finishing room my mind sees the boy, smiling at Christmas dinner around a mouthful of mashed potatoes, as I part my hair and create a pair of french braids joining them at the back of my neck to form a single braid traveling to my mid-back. I hear the pride in her voice telling me his test scores and advanced placement, her hands toying with the strand of pearls at her neck, as I apply the fierce eyebrows, pearl shadow, and harsh crimson lips that make-up the face Master needs to see tonight.
The costume he has chosen is a satin corset, small silver rose vines stitched throughout, silk lacings drawn tight against my ribs, the boneing digging in a little as I float one more time, down the stairs. My mind is split between thoughts of Master’s sweet release, and the necessary evil of this afternoon. I feel myself being set down and suddenly hear his voice screaming in my head, “White, white, white,” over and over an angry bruise raising in my thoughts.
The bubble breaks, The Shoes have removed my cover, I feel his hand slip behind my neck, up between the braids, coming to rest with thumb and pinky each catching a braid and taking full control of my head and pulling me to my feet roughly. Bringing my face six feet from the eight by five screen. The first thing my eyes are allowed to focus on is my sister’s face, those quiet green eyes, widow’s peak and pixie chin, those heart shaped lips, tinted only a little, followed by her deep red hair tied back in a bun, a double twist, the rest spilling out in curls to her shoulders. Everything about Mia is chaste; from her hairstyle and sparse make up to her crisp pale yellow suit, that same string of pearls resting at her clavicle just above the lace of her clean alabaster top. I know Master appreciates my use of her in this way. She sits, larger than life before me, as still and straight as an arrow, not yet knowing the ways I am about to tear her soul open, wrapped for now in her armor of Christ’s Love and perceived moral superiority.
The broach I am made to wear is simple enough looking. A single white gold rosebud, a diamond set at the heart. It’s most interesting quality is something which would go unnoticed but to the eye trained to its discovery. Through a hole, no larger then the ball of a fine point pen peers my Master’s silent eye, the lens of the camera. Another mute witness to the art Master holds me with. I hear my own voice, tinny from the recording.
“Mia” I said. The camera catching a surprising amount of both the area and detail of the room restaurant, a keen eye might actually be able to pick out my inverted reflection in the water glass, “how long are you going to let this go on?”
I see her expression change, for the second time today, eyes widening, that ever present idiot grin slipping just a bit. And I have to admit to myself once again that this feels a little good. “The boy needs a father.” I hear myself say, and again watch her perfect chin begin to quiver. “Wasn’t that the agreement?” The ice on my last sentence chills me, then and now, and breaks her a little more.
“Please.” Is her almost whispered reply. The mic is a good one; at lunch the place was so loud it had been a lot harder to hear her.
On the mark of her word I feel his hands at my shoulders, forcing me to my knees. There is a distinct double slap as my heels hit the marble, having freed themselves at the bend of my foot. His hands remain, applying a constant pressure as I watch my sister’s heart begin to break on the screen just as it did before my eyes only a few short hours ago.
“We’ve had this talk before, Mia.”
“Please.” She said again, her eyes shaking, beginning to well with a mother’s tears. “I’m all he knows. I need him.” At the release of those words, I watch again as her breath pulls, her teeth coming down against her bottom lip with the realization this is the very wrong thing to say.
“You,” I hear myself hiss, “need him?” There is a venom on my tongue I have only heard on the tongue of one other. In so many ways he has taught me how to live. “Is that all you concern yourself with? You? What Mia needs?” –‘Stop!’ I cry again in my mind, just like the first time, ‘Don’t do it!’ But again I continue, “Is that why Grey still has no man to guide him? Is that why-“‘Oh God DON’T! Don’t use THOSE WORDS!’-“MY SON has been left at this tender age in want of a father?” ‘You did it. You stupid, stupid bitch!’
The tears fall, spilling across her salad, splashing onto the white table cloth. Back in reality I had seen myself at the table like a third party, watching myself hurt her, unable to stop, horrified at the sight of her and of myself. The bitch part of me taking over, I think, this is far too nice a place for her to be making a scene like this. Never mind I’m the one causing it.
Those words, on his breath, on my skin, are enough to let me come again, but Master is not quite that kind. As the heat from his breath fades, and my body warms toward the second wave of orgasm I feel the coin drop against the same spot my Master’s lips had just caressed. The cold metal burns into my skin and relieves me of any pleasure. The coin is larger than a silver dollar and twice as heavy, I have never seen it, but it’s liberal use is Master’s favorite way to draw out the sensation he has placed in me. He keeps it in a freezer, I’m sure, and there have been times its echo has been found upon my skin the next morning.
My body tries to move, spasming, and jerking against the restraints, no allowed enough freedom to shake the coin from my body, and I hear his amused chuckle from the corner of my ear. As it warms, and my body stills, he removes the coin, and leaves me a twitching mass of raw nerves.
“Sweetheart” The word seems to rain down on me from above. In everyday speech this is a term of endearment, but on Master’s tongue there is no sugar implied, not for pink. His accent drops the ‘R’ and twists the word giving it a much more sinister implication. The tone he applies expresses his distain for the honeyed terms that disguise lust.
“My Dear.” On anyone else’s breath ‘dear’ is a single syllable word; Master’s use brings out a second. I feel a chill in the air that tells me, from experience, he is just beginning. I know I will be treated to a litany of the sweetest words ever spoken, delivered in a way that sends images of poison dripping from a serpent’s fangs. Each word he gives me leaves its mark on my soul just as the accompanying scissor stroke creates a signature of destruction upon the fabric. Soon the dress will be a tattered collection of strips clinging hopelessly to my body.
“Cup Cake” The abrupt delivery of each hard consonant cuts into me. The ring of the twin blades meeting each other enters my ears and echoes through my mind like ripples in a pond. With each opening he creates in my clothing he places a kiss upon the newly exposed flesh beneath and bestows another of his poisoned words. This causes a storm of goose flesh to travel from one spot on my skin to another, a writhing cloud of tightening and relaxing flesh sending me reeling into my second orgasm. His attack comes at me from all sides, I have images running through my mind of him, spinning, crazily, pirouetting like some sex driven ballet dancer. At my hip. Snip. Kiss. “Sugar.” Against my sternum. Snip. Kiss. “Baby.” Along my ribcage. Snip. Kiss. “My Love.”
His voice like an electric shock upon my flesh, bringing the same kind of presence an actual touch could. Had my hips any freedom of movement they would be bucking uncontrollably. My stomach muscles contract, my thighs tighten, knees lock, I feel sweat break out across my body. Master brings the blade to the center of my panties; the cold steel against my labia is too much. I come so strong I can actually feel my lower lips kissing the blades as the walls of my cunt tighten within me. Snip. Kiss. “Sweetness.”
The sensations overcome me, and I am lost to them. It’s like an orgasm induced blackout, the pleasures mixing with each other, painting a mural of lust inspired moments on my most vulnerable flesh. Penetration is never an option for pink, the essence of the color demands it. Master’s artistry is demonstrated in his exactness, the lack of something inside me is of no consequence. The way he expresses his control, never fails to leave me awe inspired.
~x~In the glow of the porch light, I gather my things; the yellow glass casts a sickly glow upon my bare flesh. All of my apparel, having been sacrificed to suit his needs I shiver, standing naked in the snow, in my patent leather flats. My, hair, long since released from its pigtails, falls across my eyes as I reach into the bag beside me, collecting the symbols of my outside life. I retrieve my heels, stepping lightly into them, leaving the flats at the doorstep, a calling card of sorts.
Next to return is my skirt, the expensive black silk now seeming somehow rough against my bare thighs. On with my blouse, the fabric nearly frozen from the countless hours in the cold, immediately crisping my nipples as the cloth embraces my shoulders. Giving my jacket a snap as I remove it from the bag, before I place my arms into the sleeves, the sensation created by the lining rushing against my skin brings me for a moment back into the cellar. Each time I leave, my heart breaks a little, and I find myself looking for anything that can bring me there again, even for a moment.
The weight of my necklace brings me the memory of Master’s hands. The earrings give me a sense of womanhood, an outward decoration to remind me of the beauty I am made to feel through him. Placing the bracelet across my left wrist brings me to my past, and the dire need to feel controlled. The return of my wedding band cuts my mind with joy to think of how much this man must love me to allow me to make a gift of myself, each month, to another man. Watch on my right wrist tells me that our time has ended, and each glance will mark the time until my glorious return.
Pulling my hair back, twisting it, and using the tortoise shell clips to fasten it I turn, spinning on one heel. I sling my bag across my shoulder and walk to the curb; I raise my hand to the street, calling for a taxi to steal me away into the fog. I brush another tear from the corner of my eye as I slip away into the night, the thought of the weeks ahead until I hear his voice on my answering machine again, a single word message naming his next color.
My thighs begin to throb, my knees to ache. Shoulders stretched to feel like they will separate me at the breastbone, I must also keep my head thrown back, neck presented, soon that, too, will show me it’s delicious pain.
In all this time I have never understood how Master knows just when to call to me. I find myself pondering this each time as I wait. I remain as still as stone, my mind begging for his voice, eyes locked at the camera lens in the corner above and behind me. My pigtails brush my calves lightly, as they swing in time with my pulse. There is a small rush that comes through my soul, like one moment of fear. I know it does not show physically, but somehow he can sense it.
“Continue.” His voice is like velvet in my ears, deep round tones with a hint of salt. His accent speaks to me of subways and steaming grates, I’ve never seen. The small hairs all over my body stand at attention at the sound of it, my pussy moistens. Slowly, I am to drop my bottom to the floor, without releasing my ankles I must bring my breasts, also, the marble .As I place my shoulders and left cheek, against the cold stone, crossing my ankles as I release them, I bring my wrists together behind my back and let them rest.
Soon I will see The Shoes. Soundless on soft soles, they come in, two pairs of plain black loafers, men’s. As always I find myself wishing I could tell shoe sizes, for any other seed of information, because within moments I am blindfolded. At the same time I feel the leather lace between my wrists and ankles. Next will be the lifting, a set of hands at my shoulders, another at my hips, with a single movement I am shifted. I have no idea what The Shoes place me on. Something smooth, warm, and flat, I imagine a serving trey, myself being delivered for him to devour.
In the darkness behind my blindfold I wait. My skin, on fire from want of sensation, picks up the even slightest movement in the air as I am carried. The feeling of floating both relaxes and excites me, because I know what is to come. I feel myself lowering, but softly, I know we must be moving downstairs, although try as I might I have never been able to feel the steps. It is so much more like traveling down a river than being carried; the movements are so smooth. As always I find myself wondering about The Shoes, and how it is they move this way, I imagine them as dancers.
I am set down. My only clue to this is the absence of movement. In a few moments I will again be lifted, my wrists and ankles then unbound, temporarily, as I am repositioned. They bring me to a chair of some sort and redo my binds lashing my arms at the wrists, forearms, and biceps. My legs are opened, and lashed at the ankle, calf and thigh. The leather pulled just tight enough to bite into my skin. My head is pulled back; a single tie running across my forehead completes my immobility.
The Shoes are no longer moving near me, I only know this from experience, but they are still here, silent witnesses to my master’s pleasures. I sit, blind, waiting, never knowing how long it will be. My nipples harden, my breath grows shallow, and I again feel the small hairs all over me stand. Master knows the large part of my addiction is the anticipation; he pays me respect in this with the laws that bring me to him.
In the darkness behind my blindfold, I dream his face. The clean chestnut brown of his eyes, and the piercing way he uses them to rip into me. The soft look of his full lips contrasting with the hard words he forms with them. The relative smallness of his ears coupled with the intense way he listens. In my world of blackness my covered eyes release a single tear. The only thing I hate about pink is that innocence means I will not see him. This thought brings an exquisite stab into my heart.
Before that pain fades I hear his voice against my left ear, so close his lips brush the outer ridge. “Innocence” one word, but his tongue pulls on the consonants making it three, with a deep hiss trailing behind them. The very same moment his hands come to my breasts from behind cupping them, pressing me against the back of the chair, and disappearing just as suddenly.
For a truly indefinite amount of time I am victim to a barrage of such assaults, peppered in intervals of silence. My sight stolen from me, I have only my ears to lend clues to the direction of the next attack. But Master is blessed with a grace that leaves no mark upon the ear, and I am left blind to his movements.
His grace illustrated in a single movement I feel at once the pressure of the tool and the motor bringing it to life. This instant pleasure, having followed almost immediately the removal of his hands encircling my neck sends me spinning toward the first wave of climax. Just as my breath catches and a rush of fluid moves through my sex, the source of my joy is stolen from me, and I am left biting my lower lip and trying to stifle a whimper.
“Innocence” he says again, taunting me. I hear his fingers snap and a moment later I feel the binds keeping me pressed to the chair loosening. The Shoes, again, this time one at each side, are opening my restraints and pulling me to my feet. Leading me a few feet to the left, a hand at the back of my neck, held with fingertips pressing behind my ears gives pressure telling me when to stop. I feel my arms being lifted, but from behind, pulling them straight back and lashing my wrists to hold the angle. Moments later I feel a bar press across my waist, the hand at my neck pulls slightly communicating I must step back as the bar comes toward me. Three steps and I am lifted my hip bones placed against the bar so that my weight is split between it and my wrists. My ankles are then spread, and lashed as well, to what I can only guess is the base of the bar. My mind sees this device as being similar to gymnasts’ uneven bars. I love this tool. The pain from being hung by my wrists, the feeling of suspension, the cold metal chilling the front of my legs, all of these things haunt my dreams.
As I hang there, enjoying the position and the anticipation, my heart races. Before I fully get a chance to appreciate this feeling, the skin at my bum is met with the cold steel of his scissor. I feel its strength as it draws its line up toward the small of my back. I feel the fabric of the dress splitting against the blades, the combination of this and everything leading up to it forces my orgasm. I ride the wave of it as it travels up my body as though following the path my Master has set for it. Without warning my cunt surges and I feel a rush of fluid release and begin to trickle down my thighs.
I feel his lips brush the small of my back as he speaks against it, “Good girl.”
My Master’s Rainbow
I walk up to the door retrieving my key from beneath my left breast. My fingertips like ice from the December air cut a chilling path along my skin. Nothing in this world ever feels as solid as this particular key. I break out in goose flesh as I place the key in the lock. My breath catches as I set my bag down in the snow.
It is the same every time. Key in the door, but do not turn the lock, place the bag on the ground next to me. Take down my hair and place the clips in the bag, then my jewelry. Watch first, wedding ring, bracelet, ear rings, and necklace, always in this order. Next comes my jacket, my blouse, my skirt, and I’m left in my underclothes standing in heels in the snow, on the front stoop of his house.
The harsh clicks of the tumblers followed by the hiss of the air being pulled through the opening door are sounds that, even in memories, quicken my pulse and send blood surging through my labia. I step in, leaving my things on the stoop for the duration, leaving that world in the cold as I am baptized in the wash of warm air that welcomes me, once more, to this place.
The laws state that I must step only on the black tiles to move through the hall. There are no electric lights here only a series of six foot candelabras placed every five feet or so to light the path. The third door on the left is the finishing room; before I enter I have to kneel, knees spread, at the threshold. The count is only thirty here, but I must place my right palm against my pussy and my left must twist behind my back and lay with fingers flat, first and pinky placed to touch each shoulder blade. These laws are in place whatever the color; it is always the same with this. I’ve grown to love the pull in my bicep as it stretches.
Entering the room and taking my place at the vanity I use the silver handled brush on the table. This too has a count, one hundred. Because today is pink I must use those hundred strokes to part my hair into low pig-tails and have them tied off with the fluffy hair ties he has set in my box. Pink isn’t allowed make up, I use the removing wipes provided. I must now stare into the mirror and watch myself say aloud, “I am unworthy of my master’s gifts, and he forgives me for asking.” I must say this 5 times, before I move to the costuming rack.
He has chosen for me a simple dress, a white jersey baby doll with large pink balloons. As always the dress is too small, it doesn’t matter, slipping it on I imagine the cold metal of the scissors against my skin as he splits the fabric against the blades.
Finished changing, again I must kneel at the threshold, once more my knees are open, this time my hands must find my ankles, I am to remain this way until I hear his voice on the PA one word will caress my ears ‘continue’.
All forms of communication fascinate me, hand gestures, turns of phrase, a sigh, the words people choose to express themselves, even music, not just the lyrics, the actual sound. The way the guitar will carry a note or the drum will roll, that precious, tortured wail of a well played violin. I love to watch people just jamming with each other, the way they speak through their instruments, almost walking hand in hand connected through their sound.
I love to watch people, everywhere, doing anything (well almost anything). I sit in restaurants and listen and watch. By the time I pay the check I know what went on at each table around me. I know that the lady in the pink shirt is left handed, and very picky, I also know that the man across from her is tired, not sleepy, tired – of life or something like it. I ride B.A.R.T. and watch people think as they read, study, and work. I listen to their conversations and laugh, to myself. I make up lives for the still ones- the spacey or the sleeping (he’s an investment banker going through a nasty divorce; she’s on her way to the clinic to see about that infection).
One of my truest loves is to involve myself in passionate conversations, things people feel strongly about, things people just feel. From the obscure (paper towel brand preferences) to the universal (do I have to spell it out for you?). Conversations that begin at 7pm and just run on into morning, laughter, tears, “oh, fuck!” and “fuck yeah!” peppered with way too much to smoke.
I love visual art, the images people choose to create, the colors they use, the amount of emotion they can communicate through something as simple as an apple, or a clock. Any medium, oils, charcoal, aerosol, wood, metal, clay - it really doesn’t matter spray paint yourself and run screaming “I’m a pretzel! I’m a pretzel!” for all I care as long as it means something to you, as long as you’re trying to tell me something.
So this is for all you talkers, you musicians, you artists, you thinkers, you random interesting strangers. Thank you, keep it up because you keep me going.
Puppy’s Tale
My Name was Keri and this is my story.
Gina and I decided to go camping together. Three weeks in the mountains, just the two of us. Sun, nature, and most importantly, no parents, not even a cell phone for then to check up on us. Bliss, peace.
We’d been up there for about a week and a half already. We’d found a spot that was quiet and beautiful, a place so perfect it was like a dream. Cozied up to the side of a cliff and surrounded by trees, even better a a tiny waterfall that came to rest in a small lagoon beside our camp. The water was cool and clear, and the sound of the waterfall made us feel even more secluded.
Most of our time had been spent sunbathing on the rocks next to the lagoon, hiking, or bird watching in the forest nearby. The whole time we never saw any sign of other people. We began to become very comfortable with our seclusion, we even began to sunbathe nude.
One afternoon we were doing just that, sunbathing nude and talking. I’d just come up from a quick dip and was climbing up onto the rocks to lay out and dry.
Gina looked up at me, her hand held at her eyebrows to shade her eyes, “You look so pretty right now,” she said, “your hair is slicked back, your nipples are hard, and your body is glistening from the water.”
I blushed; I’ve never been good about complements. “Not as good as you do,” I countered, “your tits are all full, and tanned, and your hips are all rounded and sexy.” I was surprised to hear myself saying this, usually, I’m shy, but I chalked that up to the solitude and this envelope of safety we were feeling.
I sat down next to her, stretched out and lay down, dozing a little in the heat. I was more relaxed right then than I ever remember being before.
“Keri?”
“Mmm?”
“How far have you gone? With boys, I mean?”
“Not far. Just kissing, mostly, but once Devin Alder put his hand up my shirt. How far have you gone?”
“Mmm…. Just kissing, mostly, too. Only this one time, Jerry and I got really heavy and he got his hand down my pants.”
“Really? What was that like?” My mind was reeling, even in my fantasies I hadn’t gotten that far.
“Kind of slippery, and just as I started to kind of like it, his sister came home and we had to stop.”
“Slippery?”
“Yeah, at first I was scared, I thought something was wrong with me or I started my period, or something, but he acted like it was normal, so I relaxed, When I got home I looked it up, it’s normal. I guess you’re supposed to get wet, it’s supposed to help the guy get it in.”
“So what was it like?”
“It’s hard to describe….”
“C’mon, try, please?”
She sat up suddenly and launched toward me, I was caught off guard. I laughed sharply when she landed on top of me. But she didn’t get off me right away, instead she slipped one hand between my legs cupping my pubes with her palm and holding me down in such a way that I wiggled but couldn’t get away.
“I can’t really tell you but I can show you.” She hissed in my ear. I gave up the struggle and lay there, silently consenting to her experiment. I relaxed a little, and spread my legs some, just a little, to give her some room. She wriggled her fingers around; I could feel her fingertips pressing slightly into my slit, and then slide up and press against my clit. Rubbing lightly, it began to feel good, and like she said, a little slippery. Soon my hips began to roll a little and my breath became ragged. My mind began to race, ‘Does this make me a lesbian?’ I wondered, ‘If I like it when a girl touches me? If I want to touch her back? I could feel myself moaning and just as I was getting ready to lose myself to the heat between my legs, she stopped suddenly pulling her hand away. I lay there, my insides twitching, for a moment, and then sat up.
“What did you think?” She asked me, when I’d caught my breath.
Blushing again, “I liked it,” I said quietly, “but was I supposed to? I mean because we’re both girls, does this make me gay?”
“Not any more than you were five minutes ago, I guess, I mean they’re just fingers, you know, boys’ or girls’, what’s the difference?”
“I don’t know, I guess you’re right. Something was happening, though right before you stopped.”
“Yeah, I think you were about to come.”
“All I know is it felt good. Like really good.”
“I wonder what coming is like.” She had this wistful expression on her face. Suddenly I grew bold.
“You want me to try?” ‘Say yes’ my mind screamed, I don’t know why. All I knew was nothing was more important to me, just then, than putting my hands on her body, making her squirm like she’d made me.
“Maybe we could do each other. I saw this thing, once, in this magazine. Have you ever heard of sixty-nine?”
“That’s like eating out, right?”
“Yeah but we do it at the same time. One of us gets on top and we put our heads between each other’s legs, and, like, lick and suck until we come. It’s supposed to be really cool”
“Okay, but I’ll get on top. I’m just not sure I’ll be any good at it.”
“Well I don’t really know what I’m doing either. It’s not like I have any expectations, you know.”
She seemed to make sense, so I nodded. She leaned back and I climbed on top of her, resting my elbows next to her hips and spreading her thighs with my hands. I placed each knee just above her shoulders and I could feel her breath against my pussy. I bent my head forward, down and lowered my lips against the skin there. I began to softly pet her with my tongue exploring her folds with its tip. I felt her shudder slightly and took it as an invitation to get bolder. I stuck my tongue out really far and began to lick her pussy like an ice cream, long wet strokes against the length of her slit.
All this time I could hear her breathing and feel her hips rocking in time with my tongue. As I put her clit in my mouth and started to suck I felt her buck hard beneath me, and her tongue, which had been echoing my own snaked deep in my pussy and her hot breath sent me over that edge I had been so close to earlier. I lost myself to her touch; I licked and sucked her randomly whenever my own orgasm allowed me any control. Soon she, too, began to moan and writhe beneath me, and I could tell she was coming. Quickly. I pressed my lips to her clit once more and sucked hard at the firm nub. Her hips bucked and she clamped my head between her thighs. My body rocked up and down with the force of her movements. I wrapped my arms around her thighs, hooking my elbows at her hips and tried to hold my position on her cunt. As I struggled, one of my fingers slipped into her asshole. This did something to her, because where before she was just moaning and bucking, now she began to cry out ‘omigod’ and grabbing and slapping my ass, digging her fingernails into my back and pumping her hips so quickly I could barely hold on to her. In the throws of her orgasm, she had thrown her head back and forgotten mine. I was cool with that, for some reason, all I wanted was to get her off.
Suddenly her cries stopped, her body was still rocking under me, but she didn’t make a sound. At the same moment I felt something piercing my twat, something long, thick, and hard. The pain is incredible and before I can react I feel someone’s hand at the back of my head, grabbing my hair, pulling my head back and up. I feel hot breath in my ear and another arm snakes around my waist, keeping me impaled on what I now know is someone’s cock.
I opened my eyes and saw someone, a man, pulling Gina from beneath me by her ankles, her kicking and trying to scream, but there’s a plastic bag over her head. I one behind me keeps fucking and it keeps hurting. A third man kneels in front of me, a black man; he pushes his dick in my face. I feel the gun before my focus on the barrel, it is warm and pressing against me forehead.
“Suck it bitch-girl,” he hisses, “But don’t get any ideas, believe I can pull this trigger before you can bite my cock.” I open my mouth and he shoves it in, deep down my throat, and I try not to gag because he’ll feel my teeth. I think, strangely, ‘I wonder if I’m any good.’ The one behind me keeps fucking, and I feel as if I’m being ripped in two. I can hear Gina’s muffled screams, and what sounds like slapping. It feels like hours these two strange men pumped at me, the one in my mouth pinching my nipples as his balls slap against my chin and neck, the one in my cunt slamming against my ass, his balls hitting my legs. His hand pulling my hair in tight, forceful fistfuls, keeping my head back, my neck open for his buddy’s cock. At some point, the pain in my cunt stops, and against my will, I orgasm hard, my pussy contracting against his prick. Also against my will, I begin to suck, confidently, the huge member in my mouth. They come, one shooting his load down my throat, and swallow, not even knowing how or why I am doing it. The other pulling his cock from my hole and spewed what seems like tons across my back and ass, I can feel some land in my hair.
They drag me across the rocks and dirt to the trees, pulling me to my feet and tying me, spread eagle, to them. There’s a board between my ankles, they must have brought it with them, it has leather straps at each end. A gag is in my mouth forced way back against my tongue. I have to breathe carefully through my nose so as not to choke against it.
I can see Gina now. The ones who’d gone after me are now at her. The black one is lying on his back with her on top of him, fucking her and biting her nipples, I can see the blood dripping down his chin. The other is lying on top of them, her sandwiched in between; he must be in her ass. This one has long, red hair; I can see his ponytail swinging as he thrusts roughly into her. I can tell she is trying to scream, but they’ve taken the plastic bag off her head and there is a leather belt wrapped around her neck. A third man, the one who took her from me steps in front of her, he has dark hair, black almost blue in the sunlight, he grabs her hair and shoves his cock into her mouth, I can hear her gagging against it.
I am surprised that as I watch this my pussy begins to tingle, and to moisten. I feel my breasts begin to tighten as my nipples become hard. It is a horror before me, my best friend being savagely raped in front of me, choked and bitten, her body being stretched out by men with only sex and pain in their heads. ‘We were virgins,’ my mind screams, ‘We’re only seventeen!’ And still, somehow I am turned on by the scene before me.
Two of them are finished with her, The Dark One, and Jet Black Hair, I begin to call them in my mind. Big Red is still plugging away at her ass. After all the cum he sprayed on me, I wonder how he’ll manage again. He has the belt in his hand now and is pulling and pulling, and fucking and fucking. Her body goes limp and he comes shortly after, picking her up by her hips like a rag doll and slamming into her. He takes off the belt and tosses her on the ground. He kneels next to her and bends down. I realize he’s using CPR to bring her around. She coughs and gurgles as she comes back. He slaps her roughly, and drags her over next to me, chaining her near my feet like a dog. I look down at her; she’s dirty and bloody, and crying. Her face is bruised from the beating she took, and her neck looks angry and soar, her lips are swollen and split; her nipples are bleeding, almost bitten off. There is blood on her thighs and ass cheeks, from the pounding that Big Red gave her, and from her deflowering. I know mine must look the same.
I cannot see the men, but I can hear them. I know they are close by. My hands and arms are going numb from hanging the way they are. I try to move them to regain circulation, my elbows flop and strike me in the face.
Two of them return, Jet Black and Big Red. They encircle us and I can hear Gina whimper below me. Black Hair stands beside her and grabs her roughly by her hair; he pulls her to her knees and shoves her face between my thighs.
“I know you like to lick twat.” He growls to her, the first words spoken to us since this whole ordeal began, save The Dark One’s instruction on sucking dick. “I felt how juicy your pussy was when we took you. You were all hot on this one’s tongue. Eat it, bitch. Eat her cunt, because your life depends on it. If I don’t hear her come, you die.” She began to cry and to lick me, alternately sucking my clit and taking gasping, sobbing breaths. As she did this that strange heat bean to grow inside me again. I cannot believe that I’m coming again, why does this urn me on? My knees grow weak and my hips begin to rock. My orgasm growing and my best friend being forced between my legs. Suddenly, a sharp pain rips through my asshole, Big Red is behind me but this is not his cock. I look down on Gina and see Black Hair crouching behind her, shoving a piece of re-bar into her ass. From the feel of my own pain I can only guess I am being raped with its twin. The pain is tremendous but strangely I still orgasm from Gina at my cunt. As I throw my head back I feel that same leather belt being slipped around my throat, but I still come, as my face pulses and grows hot and tight and I feel my eyeballs bulging, I still orgasm. My hips buck and my arms twitch, and I come, and the world begins to slowly go black, spots getting larger before my eyes. I pass out.
I am gasping, retching, my throat burns and I can hardly breathe. I am coming to. I am on my hands and knees choking on the ground. My neck feels strangely flat inside, my guess is that my trachea has been crushed, at least fractured, I taste blood in my mouth.
I roll over, Big Red is above me. I’m guessing he used CPR on me, too. He has a disgusted look on his face, he purses his lips and spits in my face. He kicks me, hard in the side, and again in the stomach. He picks me up by my hair and smashes his fist into my face. Pain explodes across my cheek and mouth, I feel teeth slide across my tongue, tow of them. I spit them onto the ground, as I do this he brings his knee into my nose, breaking it and bringing a torrent of blood through my nostrils. He drops me to the ground, bleeding and crying my head spinning, throbbing. I lay there as he walks away toward Gina, and the others.
They have her tied up now, in my place. More blood streaming down her thighs. At some point they’d begun cutting on her, I could see long slits along her ribs where they’d stripped away her skin. The Dark One was screwing her ass with his huge member, while Black Hair was using a straight razor to pull back the flesh from her abdomen. This seemed to excite The Dark One as he began pumping harder at her, his thrusts lifting his feet off the ground. She was trying to scream, I could tell, but they had her gagged, as I had been.
I could see Big Red sitting off to the side, pulling on his cock. I could only lay there, battered on the ground watching. As The Dark One finished fucking her, he stepped back, her body falling limp with exhaustion and pain.
“Drop her.” I hear Big Red call out to the others, “She’s almost done. Let her rest, she’ll last longer.”
They loosed the rope above her head and let her fall, like a rag doll to the dirty ground.
Black Hair came up to me and grabbed my arm, dragging me back to the others. He tossed on the ground next to Gina and sat with them in a circle around me. They all had folding chairs, ‘They must have planned this.’ I think and wonder why it occurred to me for only the first time.
As if he’d been reading my mind Black Hair speaks again, “We’ve been watching you two bitches.”
“All week, we’ve been watching you two.” This from Big Red, with a kind of crazed giggle.
“Been looking forward to killin’ you bitches for days now, too.” Black Hair again.
“Your little dyke-bitch friend is sweet,” says Big Red, “everything we expected. But you, you came. I could swear you did.” He giggled again, that sick giggle, and reached out and pinched my nipple, pulling at it roughly. And again I could feel the heat in my pussy. Even through all the pain wracking my body, I begin to get aroused.
“Didn’t you, bitch?” Says Black Hair, and slaps my ass.
“Yes.” I hear myself whisper through my tears.
“I KNEW IT!!” Cries Big Red, giggling wildly now. I glance up at him, he is nude, like the rest of them, like Gina and me his cock jumping against his thigh. All I can think of is how insatiable they all must be, I’d lost count how many times they’d each come, but it seemed they’d all been fucking us for quite some time now.
Yet as I watched, his dick grew long and hard again before my eyes. As I glanced at the other men I saw them all grow hard. ‘Again?’ I thought amazed and wondered what they had in mind this time around. I looked up to Big Red’s face, and saw him lick his lips. I glanced down to Gina, her crumpled, bleeding body lying at my feet, she moaned quietly. She’d taken a lot, and I saw what Big Red meant when he’d said she was almost done. I, on the other hand, was more alive than I had any right to be.
“Are you a dyke, too, bitch?” Black Hair asked me with a note of contempt in his voice.
“I- I don’t think so.” I whisper, wishing for there to be strength in my voice, but knowing there won’t be because of my encounter with the belt.
“You were coming on her face when we got you, but they tell me you fucked the hell out of his cock, and you sucked his dick like you were made for it.”
“Yes.” I tell them, almost proud of how I’ve taken it better than Gina. How much stronger than her I must be.
“So, are you a dyke or what, bitch?”
“I was a virgin, I don’t know.”
“Well I say she’s just a slut.” This from The Dark One, who hadn’t spoken much. Through most of this he had remained silent, pulling on his thick member, and just watching us. “Yeah, I say she’s just a little baby bitch slut.”
“You said you was a virgin?” Big Red again.
“Yes.”
“Well you must come by your shit naturally. I bet you just been waitin for a fuck.”
“Yeah, you must have just been waitin for it. I bet you just needed somebody to show you how much you like it.” Black Hair now chiming in with the others. “You know you like it now, bitch.”
I just nod, but he slaps me. “Don’t you bitch?”
“Yes.”
“Say it.”
“I like it.”
“Say you like the fucking.”
“I like the fucking.” My pussy growing hot again, growing wet again.
“Say you love it.”
“I love the fucking.”
“Now thank us for showing you.”
“Th-Thank you. Thank you for showing me how much I love the fucking.” And surprising myself, I realize as I say the words that I mean them.
“Now beg for it.” The sadistic grin on Black Hair’s face struck me as evil, and welcomed me at the same time.
“Please fuck me.” I whispered, and meant it. I heard myself begging them, pleading with them. Not for my life, as I should have been, but for an orgasm however I could get it. “Fuck my cunt, fuck my ass, fuck my lips.” Even though my lips were swollen and cracked and my throat was ruined. “Fuck me, use my body. I am a born slut and I need your cocks.”
And they did, Big Red taking my mouth as The Dark One raped my pussy, and Black Hair shoved his cock in my ass. The pain was torture, it was complete, and it was ecstasy. These men had taken me completely, filled my body with pain and cum, and I was fucking them freely, the ruined body of my friend at our feet as they pumped at me.
At some point, Big Red finished and began strangling me again, and again I came hard against the men inside me as the world grew black.
Once again I came to near the water. This time the liquid in my throat and the pain in my chest told me I’d been drowned. Big Red was standing above me again. Once again, as I lay there choking and gagging, he beat me and kicked me and left me lying in the dirt, dizzy and wheezing.
As I lay there, unable to move, I watched. They were going at Gina again, she was barely alive, but that didn’t seem to bother them too much.
I watched as Black Hair knelt before her, and something in his hand glittered in the moonlight. A knife, a huge knife. Not the hunting kind or even a wicked little pocket blade, but a ten inch chefs’ knife. As I looked on in horror, Black Hair thrust the blade into her, splitting her tiny pussy against the steel as he penetrated her. She let out a final scream and they laughed, as if her dying amused them. Black Hair continued to fuck her with the chefs’ knife, loosing her blood across her legs. He eventually lost interest in that and moved toward her head. I saw as he raised her torso by her hair and drew the blade across her neck, slashing through until she’d been nearly decapitated.
Big Red stepped up then and grabbed Gina’s ruined corpse by her shoulders, her nearly severed head falling back gruesomely. He then began to fuck the gaping hole in her neck, giggling wildly and crying out, “Look boys this one knows how to deep throat!!”
He meant it, too. I could see his intensity as he slammed his cock into the ragged hole and came deeply down her throat.
When Big Red finished with herbody, he tossed her to the ground, like a piece of garbage. He regarded her with as if she were a tattered blanket, not as though she had, only twenty minutes ago, been a lovely, caring, seventeen year old girl.
The Dark One came up me then, a rag in his hand. I thought again they would gag me, and that they would use me once again for their sick pleasures. Instead he grabbed the back of my head and covered my mouth with the cloth.
“Breathe deep, bitch.” He said.
I tried to hold my breath but he kneed me in the stomach, I gasped and tasted something acrid, chlorophorme or ether. Again, I passed out, thankful, only, that this time it wasn’t painful.
Epolague-
“….The next time I woke up I was here.”
“What shut up, your kidding, right?”
The dark haired beauty before me exclaims with large blue eyes.
“Oh, but it is,” I tell her and toss my head back to show her the scars on my neck that after ten years still haven’t faded.
“Haven’t you ever tried to escape?”
“In the early years, many times, but now you couldn’t pay me to leave.”
“What? Why? Aren’t you sick to death just bein here? These men raped you, killed you repeatedly, murdered your friend, and now you say they kidnapped you! How could you possibly want to stay?”
“Because they are my masters now.” I tell her, even though I know she can never understand. “A few years ago I got away. I was gone for six months, could have been forever. But I met a guy. Nice guy, my own age, real averge joe. I just couldn’t get into it with him. I tried, but his sex couldn’t turn me on the way my masters can. After a few months of it, I came back here, begging them to take me back.”
This girl just stares at me, eyes as big as saucers. Her skin has paled since she sat beside me earlier. She looks strangly small and confused, sitting in her fetish gear on the smooth leather couch. I can understand, this world is just a game to her, something for her and her boyfriend to play at when their vanilla grew boreing. She set her drink on the table that is strapped to my chest.
One of my masters, Black Hair I still call him, approaches me. He places his hand at my neck and squeezes, lightly. “Have you been entertaining the guests, Puppy?”
“Yes sir,” I say to him, “she asked me how I came to be your furniture. I told her my story.”
“Is that so?” He turned, and tipped his drink toward her “And what did you think?”
“I think you’re a sick fuck!” Her reply is spiteful. She doesn’t realize what a bad answer that was, but I do. I’ve seen this set up before, as I look over her shoulder I see The Dark One coming quietly up behind her, a dishcloth in one hand.
“I’ve been watching you for a while,” he hissed into my ear from behind. His arms snaked around my waist, his left coming between my breasts and covering my mouth, to stifle any pleas. His right reaching down, between my thighs, fingers searching, lifting my skirt. Trespassing. First finger, thumb rushing roughly through my pubes, bombarding my sex.
He pushes me into my apartment, its dark in there, but he doesn’t stumble. More dragged than led I am placed, belly down over the back of the couch. His left hand now, grasping the hair at the base of my neck, forcing my face into the pillows. With his right, he rips my panties off, scratching me deeply with his fingernails. I feel the blood begin to trickle down my thighs as he impales me. His hips slam against mine. In the middle of my terror, I falter. Confusion. I can feel the white heat of my orgasm building. My hips buck against him, pulling him into me, deeper, forcing him to tear me apart inside. I rock, I buck, I ride, my pussy grinding into him, figure eights. He’s as wide as a tree trunk, as solid as steel inside me. He feels me moving, and misunderstands; he thinks I’m struggling against him. The hand at the back of my head forces my face deeper into the pillow. I struggle for breath, but I’m in too deep, I’m suffocating, drowning in my own spit.
Written in lipstick:
“Don’t think I didn’t know you came, whore. I’ll be back.”
I shiver as I wash myself and think:
God, I hope so. That was the best fuck of my life.
I sleep in my sexiest teddies now. I never bring men home, just in case he needs me.
Lover’s Cove
The moment I walked through the door I knew I’d found it. I could tell from the patio that this was the one. This was the apartment with the balcony that had the only unobstructed view onto that beach.
I’d only been in town a few months but already I had a special place in my heart for that beach. It was extremely private, one path in, surrounded by cliffs that created a natural wind block. After watching it for a while it was clear that this was one of those hotspots. A place where locals went to party, or for romantic encounters. Luckily this was a small enough town where people were still polite about things, it went without saying there was first come first served policy involved, no one ever interrupted without invitation. No one but me, anyway. But they didn’t know that. I’m sneaky.
In one of my daylight explorations I noticed it. I was playing with my telescope on the beach, watching birds and ships, kind of daydreaming, and I started looking in the trees. There it was, at first I thought it was a window, but when I focused my lens, I realized it was a balcony. It was really the answer to my dirtiest prayers; I could sit there, and watch people and never get caught!
I’ve always been a voyeur, I have a lot of little cameras, I love to listen through doors to roommate sex, I look in windows at night hoping to see anything, don’t like porn because it’s so fake, but just the thought of watching real life sex gets my blood up. I especially like women’s orgasms, to hear them catching their breath, they way the sound leeks out of them as they come, the sight of bare hips writhing, bucking uncontrollably, and the twitching after. I love the expressions on their faces when receiving cock, surprise and then joy, the rougher the initial penetration the more prolonged that expression, it’s especially nice if she happens to be facing my lens.
I toyed with the manager for a few moments, pretending to care about light fixtures and closet space, pacing off square footage casually mumbling about storage. Finally agreeing on a price, I followed her back to the office, signed the papers and received my keys. I don’t think she noticed me eyeing her cleavage the whole time.
The next few days I spent shifting things around, finding a couch for the patio, setting up my telescope, my cameras. What I was doing, really, was trying to keep my mind off the beach. Watching is really an addiction to me, in every sense of the word. It takes me higher than anything else in the world, and has been, many times, the cause of my losses. For these reasons, I try, like an anorectic, to prove to myself I don’t need it, I chant “I don’t need to see, I don’t need to see.” As always eventually, I break down and watch.
That first time in a new place is always so perfect. New people, new weather, I always buy new furniture so I feel more like I’m in a stranger’s house. I strip down and wait, toying with my lenses, cleaning them, distracting myself with some of my tapes, (hidden camera video from stranger’s bedroom windows). I didn’t have to wait too long; it was just before sunset when I saw flashlight beams reflecting off the sand. My heart stopped, ‘here it comes’ I thought, surprised at the desperation, even in my own thoughts. From years of looking at people I’ve grown to read them in moments. I see the dark haired girl first, a mohawk, braided, and nearly waist length, she’s fit, strong looking, dressed in a black bikini top under a fishnet tank and a pair of low rise jean cutoffs. My trusty lenses tell me the tattoos on her hips are of fingerprints, my years of watching tell me this girl is wild. The other is a blonde, short hair, long legs, athletic looking, real clean, no ink on this one. She’s wearing this tank like swim top and panty style bottom under an almost sheer skirt. My training shows me a side of her I’m not sure she sees, this one is a little dirtier than she thinks.
As I watch they throw their things down on the sand, and head for the water, shedding their day clothes as they run toward the waves. As they splashed and played in the water, I watched, the anticipation growing warm in the center of me.
I had been sitting for hours it felt like, so I got, up, stretched, and went to the freezer. The City had been in the middle of a history making heat wave for weeks; just sitting on my balcony was drawing a sweat. I placed two scoops of ice cream in a bowl, grabbed a spoon and returned, just in time, it appeared, to the balcony. Peering at them again I found them together on the beach. The cheerleader was laying on the sand, at the water’s edge; the rock star was above her, their arms and legs entwined in a very passionate embrace. Rock star’s hands were laced in cheerleader’s hair, as she held the other girls’ face kissing her deeply. I watch as her hand slowly crept down to her friends’ breast, freeing it from the suit top with an upward pull of the fabric. That breast was perfectly exposed to me, smallish, not an A cup, but not heavier than a full B, milky white in this light, with clearly defined tan lines, showing me how modest she usually was. Her fingertips gripped rock star’s shoulders and, she arched her back when lips touch her nipples. I saw the muscles in her arms tense as she tried, gently to guide her friend’s lips lower. Rock star looked up at her and smiled slyly, she began to slide down, kissing the cheerleader’s belly before she hooked her thumbs in the waist band of her friend’s suit and pulled it down, past her thighs. The cheerleader kicked them aside quickly as rock star opened her thighs, an expression of relief spread across the cheerleader’s face when the rock star buried hers between them. I watch as backs arched and hips rocked together, a frenzy of arms, and legs writhing together in a ball of sex before my lens.
Forgetting for a moment the ice cream in my lap I reached between my own thighs to pet the place there that throbs with them, my pussy is hot, wet, and wanting. While I watched them together, exploring each other’s bodies, I rubbed my clit. I imagined being part of the scene before me, how I would join them, who I would enjoy first. My breath caught, and I felt a shudder run through me as I pictured the cheerleader coming on my own tongue, the rock star and I holding her down. My hips rocked as I began to give myself over orgasm, my fingers worked on their own, seemingly on autopilot, rubbing my clit, sliding into myself, slippery fingers deep inside me where I love to put a man.
When I looked again my girls had changed positions cheerleader was still laying on the sand, but rock star was straddling her face. I could see her face when she threw her head back, her eyes clenched, biting her lower lip. Suddenly her eyes opened, and her perfect mouth shapes itself into an o. It’s an explosive orgasm, so animated I almost could hear her moans through my telescope. As I watched her breasts heave and her hands travel over them, grasping herself, pulling on her own nipples, I came again, having placed a dildo in my cunt and riding it as rock star rode her friend’s face. My long melted ice cream spilling across the deck at my feet, a sticky sweet reminder of my first private show.
Lost for a while in my own afterglow, I passed out that night on the outdoor couch, hands and dildo still between my legs I awoke the next morning. Remembering, I smile and think to myself ‘I’m going to like it here’...
Boy in a Box
You’re dressed in nothing but a chastity belt and I’ve got you locked in a metal cage, lined with chicken wire, only large enough to crouch in. For the moment I have you on your feet, but at any time I choose I can toss that box around and send you flying.
I stand before you, and turn slowly, making sure you have enough time to take it all in. Red, thigh high, leather boots, white faired skirt just long enough for the hem to brush my boot tops. White leather vest, red satin bra, my mohawk divided into several small braids each spilling well past my shoulders. Normally I don’t wear make-up, but for this I have donned a lipstick color that can only be described as cock sucking red. Walking circles around you I look over my property, poking you through the cage, I use a wedged wooden dowel to pry open your mouth and a flashlight to inspect your teeth, much the same as I would a horse
Crossing behind you now I pull your hair through the cage braiding it tightly so you can’t move your head at all, my breath hot against your ear as I hiss behind it.
“From this point on you are merely an object to do with what I please, and as such are not worthy of a name. I will refer to you in any manner I please, you are only allowed to speak if you are asked a direct question, and then you will limit your answer to three words the last of which will always be Mizzum. Any deviation from these rules will be severely punished.” As I finish speaking I kiss the back of your neck, and rake my fingernails across your shoulders. I take a moment to explore your firm body, randomly tasting your skin with light kisses and small licks, before splashing ice water across the backs of your thighs. And laugh when I hear you suck air, sharply, through your teeth.
Coming back around to the front of you, and bringing with me a chair, I place myself before you, sideways, shoulders resting on one arm, backs of my knees on the other, boots in the air. Posing a little, I arc my back, place my hands on my knees and open them, slowly, letting my skirt ride up a little. I spin to face you setting a foot on each side of the cage, knees closed, at first. Again with my hands on my knees I slowly open them, sliding my hands, palms in, up my inner thighs as I do so, covering my sex just as it, otherwise, would have been revealed to you. I extend my toes and topple the cage.
And again with the ice water, across the front of you this time, you rub your eyes to clear them and I can hear your breath again, this time blowing the water from your mouth. Before you know what’s really going on, I’ve set a two inch thick, plexi-glass slab atop the cage, effectively making you into a coffee table. As you lay there, helpless, I stand above you, the heel of each foot placed just at your shoulders, giving you only peeks at the view I’m sure you’ve been dyeing for. Shifting continually, to obscure as much as possible, I shimmy around a moment, before dropping to my knees and opening myself to you, fully, for the first time. Giving you a generous view of my carefully trimmed bush, my soft, wet lips, and my swollen pink clit as I rub myself against the tabletop. No more than eight inches from your face and you’ll still never touch me.
I reach between my thighs, middle finger of my right hand dipping into myself and then sliding up to my clit, making those harsh little circles you know I love so much. I watch your face as I play with myself, you’ve got a look of almost desperation and I have to laugh again because I know how long you’re going to have to wait. I stay there, my hips rocking, my abs beginning to roll, you can see my breasts heaving from beneath me, I’ve opened my vest and am pinching my nipples through that red satin bra. Pressing my tits together creates a movement in the fabric that allows the undersides of my bosoms to escape, just a little. Leaning foreword, putting my elbows to the tabletop, and sliding back, I sit as though straddling you, and watch you for a moment.
You have that mad intense, expression on your face, hands traveling all over your body aimlessly. I watch you fumble with those damn metal panties, and hear you whimper in frustration. I can think of no sweeter music to my ears, than the sound of a dirty little boy desperate to be touched.
“Hey, Bitch!” Startled your eyes widen your mouth contorts as though you were about to say something, forgetting for a second the rules.
“Good boy, you remembered!” Climbing down from on top of you, I kick the plexi-glass aside, I flip your cage over so that now you are face to the floor, kneeling beside me, I unbraid your hair, releasing your head, and pass a thin, studded leather collar to you through the wire. You do not need to be told to put it on.
“If I let you out of this box you’ll be a good little doggie?”
“Yes… please… Mizzum.”
Releasing the locks at your head I allow you to crawl out, stopping you as your shoulders clear the cage, just long enough to snap a leash on your collar. Crawling at my side on your hands and knees you are led to a water dish on the floor.
“Lap it up, bitch.” You begin to drink thirstily, pursing your lips and sucking gratefully from the dish. I place the ball of my foot against the back of your head and dunk your face under water. You come up coughing and sputtering in surprise.
“I said ‘Lap it up’, you’re not listening, you little cunt!”
“I’m sorry Mizzum” You cough at me, earning yourself another face full of water.
“Listen up pig! No one wants to hear anything you volunteer! UNLESS I ASK YOU SOMETHING, SHUT THE FUCK UP, you pathetic little whore!” As I say this I rain stinging blows across your back and thighs with my open palms, leaving swollen, angry looking hand prints in your skin. Leading you over to my chair and sitting in front of you, I grab your chin, bringing your face only inches from mine. “Are you ready to behave now, bitch?”
“Yes…please….Mizzum.”
“Think you can remember the rules, whore?”
“Yes…sorry …Mizzum.”
“You don’t even know sorry, pig. Fuck up again and I’ll teach you, is that clear?”
“Very clear, Mizzum.”
I release your face pushing you away from me as though you disgust me. Bringing my foot to your face, I place one boot heel against your lips. “Suck it, slut.”
As you begin to fellate my shoe, I lean back in my seat, and begin again to touch myself, that same middle fingertip, those same harsh little circles. My hips begin again to rock, my abs to roll, my breath to catch, I reach for your right hand with my left and bring it to my left thigh, placing it there and pressing gently against it, silently telling you it should not move from that spot. “You can stop that now, pig.”
When you pull your mouth away I set my leg upon the arm of the chair and place your left hand against my right thigh, again pressing against it, telling you to keep it there. Leaning foreword, I lace my fingers behind your head and pull your face between my legs, I feel you’re hands tighten on my thighs in anticipation as I say, “I know you don’t deserve it, but eat my pussy, you cunt gobbling little pig! This time I mean it when I say lap it up!”
I think you’ve learned your lesson, because you are taking me very seriously, you use long, tentative, strokes, flattening your tongue against my sex. Watching the muscles on your back and shoulders I can see how difficult it is for you to hold back, your gasping breath against my pussy tells me you really want to force yourself on me. After waiting so long and teasing you so hard, I can no longer resist and I come against your mouth, my hands grasping uncontrollably at your hair, I pull you into me, burying your head between my thighs, while you try both to breathe and to continue licking my cunt in those long wet strokes I commanded of you. Losing myself to you I rush foreword, knocking you over and landing on top of you, rubbing my body against yours. My breasts escaping the fabric of my bra completely and freeing themselves across your chest, the firm points of my nipples pressing into your torso. Grabbing your face and kissing you deeply, pressing your soft hot lips against my neck I feel your body tense, confusion, desperation, communicated through your hands as you try to grab me and hold me to you, but also try to resist doing just that because you know you don’t have my permission. You begin to whimper as I grind my hot, wet pussy against those unyielding metal panties, crying out in anguish as I come again so close to your throbbing, helplessly contained, member. My fingernails digging into your chest as I rock, shuddering with the force of my orgasm. My breath coming in gulps, I reach for your hands, pressing them firmly to my tits, your touch like electricity against my skin once more I come. This primal need expressed in grunts and squeals while all you can do is bite your lip and try to control yourself.
Regaining my composure as I recover, breathing heavily, flushed, but once again very much in control, I climb slowly off of you. Turning my back to you I address the wetness collected on your groin and thighs. Mimicking the long, open tongued movements you utilized on me I clean my juices off of you, once again testing your commitment to your role. The taste of your thighs is salty, but does not contain that flavor I would recognize as the bitter, dark, taste of come.
Smiling sweetly I address you; “You’ve been a good boy tonight, Swine. Keep it up, maybe tomorrow I will let you come.” I place a gentle caress upon your cheek as I remove your leash and collar, leading you back into your cage. I turn out the lights as I walk away, leaving you in the dark, with my scent still in your nostrils, and the sound of my heels echoing in your memory.
