Tuesday, June 26, 2007


‘It’s not fancy, but it’s nice’, he assures himself not for the first time, as he looks nervously at the entrance. The bunch of daisies beside him beginning to look not as proud as they had half an hour ago when he arrived, wet palmed and heart racing. He’s had time to cool a bit, and his shirt has had time to relax it’s carefully pressed fabric, the anticipation, and self-doubt are beginning to find their own time in the back of his thoughts. ‘What if she’s not what she said? What if she sucks? What if she doesn’t think I’m what I said? What if I suck?’

He runs their conversations through his mind, bits and pieces of verbal nostalgia playing in his ear, letters, phone calls, all that shared and private laughter. The smile that plays on his lips is as unconscious as the blush at his neck, both the result of their more, sordid conversations. She’s everything he’s looking for, and no strings. And as that thought comes to him, again his gaze drifts to the entrance.

His heart soars as the world slides into slow motion; the doorway is filled with the same girl from all the pictures, those deep brown eyes, tan legs flashing beneath the wine colored halter dress. He steps to her, stammering, “H- Hi…” and his voice betrays him with a crack and a squeak, because he can’t help but imagine those legs opening close enough to his face for him to feel her heat on his cheeks, back arching as the deep red silk slips up her thighs and drapes across her sex like a theater curtain.

Her smile reads his thoughts, with a playful toss of her hair and a swish of her skirt, she takes his hand, leaning forward she places a kiss at his neck just below his ear and whispers.” I know what you’re thinking, and yes. But let’s get a table first.”

Before he really knows its happening she leads his hand through the slit in her dress, pressing his fingertips into the soft fabric of her panties, warm, not damp, and then it’s gone, and the hostess is asking them to follow her to their table. His sad little daisies lay forgotten on the waiting bench.

Dinner, for him, feels like a dream, his mind spinning through the courses laced with her electric touch, brushing his leg, his shoulder. Each new plate seeming to spur on her advances, appetizer, to entrée, hot fingertips tracing his hardening cock through his pants, or leading his to that secret paradise between her thighs. Entree to dessert has her voice in his ear, spilling dirty thoughts into it, while images of cream melting across her tongue fill his thoughts. All the while filled with deep eye contact, and her silvery laughter, their conversation falling from them like a moment lost in time.

In the cab, on the way to her flat, she allows him to taste her. Laying supine across the back seat and holding him with those beautiful legs he hears for the first time without a speaker, her sounds. He tongues her swollen clit and toys with the jewelry she has there, three pair of labia rings, interlocked, bar his fingers, but create and intriguing texture against his lips, the taste of the surgical steel mixing with the sweet salt of her bites his taste buds with a coppery sting. She uses her panties from behind his head like a net, pulling at the waistband to lock him to her; and grinds her sex into him, mashing his teeth against her clit as he tries desperately to pull his lips together around it. And between her puffing breath and moans he hears her giving the cabbie directions, and describing what the rearview mirror can’t show.

He’s in a world he never thought he’d really know, surrounded by the sounds and textures and scent of her, his cock throbs with need, and he questions, for a moment, the jewelry. She’d never mentioned them, and he was certain from the phone calls that they weren’t always there. It’s a fleeting thought, though, because he needs this too badly to question any of it. ‘It’s been so long since I’ve had a real girl…’ he thinks and, his fingers clinch at her hips in desperate gratitude, ‘…no more silly bitches, Tommy. Only class A kinky thinkers from now on boy!’ and that thought sends him reeling, hips grinding against the bench seat in a frantic display of his desire.

He tries to pull his shoulders in, wanting to slid up, needing to feel her thighs on his, to give his restless prick something to shove, the idea of at least rubbing against that web of metal making him hungrier, but she rolls her pelvis to match his movements, keeping his face where she wanted it, keeping the control she’d promised she could provide. He whimpers and submits, frustrated, and sucks angrily at her clit forcing her orgasm. He feels the cab swerve and know what the driver is feeling, he’s been there. He remembers driving, one hand on the wheel, the other on his cock, and her in his ear lost deep in some dirty fantasy, ‘How sweet’, he thinks, ‘to finally control those sounds, to feel her flesh, to taste her’.

Sweet release finds him in the elevator, twelve flights never felt so long with her lips hugging his cock in a full mouth embrace. Her tongue rolls against his flesh in hot waves, lip and tongue piercings drawing smooth pressure points, proving her abilities in rhythmic taps as she pulls. His climax comes in perfect time with the belly dropping sensation of the lift settling.


My new plaything is lost in it’s own mind when I shove the decoy aside and start to really play. All night I’ve been letting her share, she’s had to do a lot of work to get us this one. While it’s dizzy and weak minded, I lead it to the door, it thinks it’ll get sex, so it follows.

The blind little sheep, stupid little cock driven animal! It doesn’t even notice she’s gone, that the swing in my step isn’t the same as hers. It doesn’t notice that I almost choke on my bile as it shoves that weirdly squirming tongue against mine, but it seems to like the taste of itself in my mouth. It thinks the disgust on my face and the strength I show when I shove him to the couch is a game she promised to play.

She told it there would be ropes, but she was wrong, she doesn’t know about the drug. She doesn’t even know about the job that opened the door to it. The toy barely notices the needle when I pair it with a well placed bite, and its racing heart and ragged breathing hasten the effect. Curare is a powerful drug. Its eyes widen as it realizes it can’t move, blinking rapidly.

“This stuff,” I say, waving the syringe so it can see, “works quickly. Without respiratory aid the diaphragm paralyses within several minutes, good for us I don’t need nearly that long to see what you’re made of.”

I raise its arms, working quickly, but carefully rubbing the warm, dead, palm against my nipples, my other hand expertly releasing the jewelry she didn’t know she was wearing, I take his greedy flesh into myself rocking and working myself against a cock I know will die happily inside my orgasm.

“I know you feel everything,” I say, letting laughter play in my voice, taunting it, “ you told her you wanted to be helpless, vulnerable to a powerful creature to use for pleasure. She told you to be careful what you wished for. You should have listened.”

The pupils are drawn to pin-pricks now, it’s close, the buzzing starts, the gift begins. From below the cushions I draw my blade, making sure it sees, squeezing my muscles around it mimicking the way she used her tongue in the same place, using it now to press against the sacred mound within me, the chain mail web grinding against it’s testicles, a few rings swinging with my movements.

The eerie silence when there should be screams as I bring the skin from its ribs away from its torso and use the crimson wine to paint my breasts, my belly; its cheeks, spur me to come stronger than I’ve ever known. The gift presents itself in perfect time; I watch its eyes and know that the last moment between this world and that was split equally with the crest of my orgasm, a perfect way to start the game.

My toy is now complete, and still oh, so warm and sticky. I lose myself to my playtime, spending hours taking things apart, and learning things, tasting, touching, using it. I splash around in its insides a bit before I prepare it. Experience has shown me that a popsicle stick works just beautifully to keep the penis useful. The hands I remove and place in the lockbox in the bedroom. I take the rest to my temple, to use later, when time has had a chance to change it a little for me.

Monday, June 11, 2007


I know I'm a long while between posts, but I wanted to drop everyone a line and beg your patience, I'm working on something kind of special, so bare with me, ok?

In the meantime I would absolutely LOVE it if anyone had anything to say, (questions, comments) about anything at all, really...



Sunday, June 3, 2007


The thought of you has been driving me nuts all day. Our afternoon tryst still moistens my lower lips at the thought. I’ve been writing, sex on the brain. That window opens, the blue sphere tells me it’s V. You seem a little disappointed at the conversation turning to my calling him. The thought of the three of us crosses my mind. I know he’s into that, and you may be tempted.

He’s all hot about the pictures I sent him. When I call he answers on the first ring. You’ve got your hands on my breasts nuzzling the space between them and I miss what he says about the look in my eyes in the picture he’s staring at.

Thoughts of his sounds and your body driving me to distraction, I sit outside with you and smoke. I have to admit my original thoughts went to having you outside, the air on our skin an added sensation, but not wishing to press my luck, I lead you to the couch, removing my pants. When I tell V I’ve just shaved my pussy, I can hear his breath shake on his exhale. I hear his panting deepen as I tell him you’re eating me. The way you make me come and the sound of you fisting your own cock, the thought of me pleasing two men at once gives me that throaty gasp, and V starts saying “There you go, that’s it, come for us, be a Good Girl” and I know he’s gonna nut soon. That’s when I tell him not to pop too quickly because I’m gonna let you fuck me, and I have to step outside of myself for a second and wince because I should have said ‘Let you hear him fuck me’ bad wording… but I hear him whimper as he tries to back off.

You’re still pulling on yourself and licking me, and I think about how much he loved the BJ pictures we took, and thinking about how hard I’ve been trying to learn to swallow your shaft, so I suck on you for a bit. That whimper in my ear getting stronger and the greedy way you’re grabbing at me and holding my head is driving me hard, just like the train I hear go by outside.

I get to that point. That cagey, I need to get fucked HARD right NOW, point. I tell him how you’re gonna fuck me from behind, knees on the couch, and the speaker in my ear explodes in ‘ Gods Yes!’ and ‘Fuck. Yeah Baby!’ , his breath puffing into the phone between his deep growls. Coming from the moment you enter me and riding the crest of one orgasm to the next almost nonstop. You slam into me from behind and just as I’m about to tell you to rub my asshole with your thumb, you drive deep and my head slams against the back of the couch hanging up the phone.

The thought of leaving him dry crosses my mind, but his sounds in the background were turning me into some kind of rabid sex kitten. I grope in panic for the phone as you keep driving your cock into me. First call the line is still busy. I take a moment to fix my headset and try again, “Good of you to call me back” he says, and I can’t really reply, you start pounding again, with a vengeance, and all I can hear is yours and my breathing. Barely in the background, I hear him egging me on now, almost an afterthought to our grunts and moans. My cunt convulses a final time as you pull out and shoot across my back, I lay there, panting, and melted on the couch. Feeling like a total Slut Goddess.

Saturday, June 2, 2007

My Master's Rainbow (pt.6)

Movement in my peripheral vision draws my attention and the real world comes sharply into focus. My heart stills, and my exhale becomes ragged, it is fear, it is surprise. A cold sweat breaks out across my brow, it is need, it is impending gratification. My eyes widen and my jaw tightens, it is embarrassment, it is resolve, rejection, betrayal, and gratitude. It is anger.

It is twelve figures, faces and bodies shrouded with white satin cloaks, circled around me. Master has given me to an army. That realization brings me crashing through another orgasm, this sweet release, my body convulsing against the ropes. In the center of it, there is a point where an unconscious decision is made, my body must choose to scream or to whisper. That question posed, endorphins releasing in reply, and before the message can fully be received, the sting in my left breast begins. That familiar burning cold, the coin brings to my skin never fails to confuse my flesh. It remains, poised at the curve of my cleavage, the skin there burning and soothing as the coin rocks in time with my racing heart.

It’s like an implosion; every other sensation is not wiped away, but intensified and brought into the center of me. For a moment, the whole world is the skin beneath Master’s coin. The way it overcomes me, is like nothing else, only Master can elicit such overwhelming reactions. Then, that unforgiving heartache when the coin is removed, like my skin has betrayed me.

And swimming up from the back of it all, Mia, her voice carried to my ears over my own sucking, gasping, breath.” I know what I’ve said, Tobin, and the Bishop promised he’d be able to help me.”

“Hmm… and yet he hasn’t. So then is the fault his? Are you calling this ‘man of the cloth’ a liar? Or are you going to take a step of that high horse and admit the problem lies in you?”

As though on a timer, all twelve figures step closer to me, in unison, with no noticeable cue. My heart beats even faster, I feel sweat break out across my forehead and begin to slide down my temple, I do my best to shake my head within the web trying to fling the droplets clear of my eyes. They step again and I find myself trying to judge how many steps until they reach me, five more, maybe.

“I’m not sure how I could have done any better.” She says her voice echoing circles around me.

“Oh, really Mia?”

“I went to the right meetings, I dressed nicely, I smiled. No one came to me.”

“You smiled? And no one came to you?” In the restaurant, I had been struggled to keep the laughter out of my voice, in the cellar, listening, I realize I had done a very poor job of it, it’s ok, poor Mia, it was about to get so much worse, “ Imagine that, Mia, no one came to you .” The laughter in my voice fading now, leading into that cold edge again, then, and now, I am loving it.

Puffing up again, indignant, Mia says,” What is going on with you, today, Tobin? You’re being extremely disrespectful.”

“C’mon, Mia, disrespect? Really? If either of us is in the position need to remember their place here, it is not me. Need I remind you what the stakes are? Your son, darling,” I smile inside thinking of the way Master uses this word, “or mine? You need to be careful, Mia, really fucking careful. I called you here to remind you that your time is almost up; just six months now, think you can manage it? Don’t think I won’t take him back. I’m not that little girl anymore, Mia and you know it. ‘Nobody came to you’. What the fuck is that? No fucking wonder you haven’t gotten laid in four years!” Cursing freely now, my mother’s ‘sailor words’ given shore-leave in my sister’s ear, my voice still quite low, but vicious and clipped, this is a private show, for me, for her, for Master.

Master’s shrouded circle has stepped twice more, always in unison, always without cue, or warning. One step left and they’ll have me, my mind frantic, trying at once to imagine what will happen when they reach me, and trying to block the images out. And still over all of it, two things, tear through my mind, excitement and anger. I am caught between my cunts aching need to be used, and my heart’s feeling of betrayal at having to share my precious time with Master.

I stare at the screen, trying to center my mind on anything besides that next bittersweet step. Mia’s face, that look of pure bewildered confusion, manages to hold my attention keeping my imagination at bay. Not for the first time, that look amazes me. They all have it, my whole family, and their strange congregation. It is a look of fear and naiveté, of absolute disbelief at the possibility of any idea not presented to them by their precious gospel. God’s plan in action, if that plan were to build walls and post sentry against the unclean, it breaks my heart to see. It’s like the rape of minds, the violation of independent thought.

“I’ll come for Gray in the afternoon Mia,” The plan falling from my lips even as I place it in my mind, “you’ll be going out. I’ll send a car for you. Believe it or not, we both want the same thing. I love my son and want to see him thrive; I know Lance and I can provide for him, perhaps, better than you, now. But I also recognize the need for consistency in his life. Get in the car, Mia. We are both bound by this contract, yes, but that does not mean I can’t help you. The driver will take you to see a dear friend of mine; she will teach you a few things about how to own yourself, sell yourself, to become woman enough to own a man. You have to trust me, Mia. You don’t have a choice.”

I loved watching her face twist with the mixing emotions, gratitude at my apparent change of heart, fear at the suggestion of this woman friend, pain at the idea of change, anger for the experience on the whole. The opportunity to see it again, big as day in front of me, is not lost, but savored, grasped as desperately as a life preserver in the arms of a drowning man.

The time lost in my sister’s eyes ends all too quickly. One last shrouded step and they’re on me in a rustle of satin, a flash of hands, arms, and bare bodies, as all twelve toss their cloaks off of their shoulders, revealing their bodies, but leaving their faces lost to me. Master’s army seems equally divided; it does not appear that there is more of either sex.

They begin to touch me, some stroking gently, some using the edges of their fingernails to draw angry red lines against my soft white flesh, still more pinching, or grabbing and pulling, no part of my body is left unattended. Just like The Shoes, this satin-soaked army moves silently, with a grace like I’ve never seen, my mind just has time to frame a question as to how he finds these people, and the world begins to spin. Literally.

The silence of this tool leaves no room for warning. Excitement and frustration surge through my body, carrying with them an orgasm so strong its final waves leave black spots before my eyes. When it leaves me, I am once again horizontal, this time facing the ceiling. My ears again pick up the familiar tone of my own voice, and for a moment I am confused, ‘We already heard this part…’ I think as I hear me say “ ‘Nobody came to you’. What the fuck is that? No fucking wonder you haven’t gotten laid in four years!”

Over and over, my ears are filled with my own voice taunting my sister, calling her out, practically laughing in her face. The relief of having done that, after having been subject to her condescension my whole life, at first was a glorious moment. The replay in my mind and on the screen a reminiscent triumph, even the initial few sound byte plays were a thrilling experience when mixed this way. But now, with this fever pitched replay and four of his naked, faceless, soldiers crawling toward me, the web shaking with their weight, my desperately confused mind circles around one thought:’ There’s a reason I have never spoken that way to her!’

Her condescension is valid; her position in every way she knows to read it is above mine. She is superior, morally, professionally, educationally; even her genes are stronger than mine. I know that having been in a restaurant, a public place, I was safe for the moment, and that even barring that, Mia’s nature would never have allowed her to raise her voice to me, but later there will be another price to pay. Another voice will soon be heard, and in this family, we are to follow two gospels, that ever present, almost universal, book of God, and in truest hypocritical blasphemy, the words of my mother.

As I am taken by a surge of fear at the thought of her, her opinion, her decision on the matter, Master’s four have taken their positions. A man lies above my head, his legs spread wide to accommodate the woman who places a ball gag in my mouth and cinches it tightly before straddling my face to grind her pussy against it and my lips and leaning forward to fellate him. At the same time I feel someone else sitting at the base of my ribcage, another man, his hands at my breasts, using them against his cock Someone else, sex unknown, is using a toy, a dildo with a clit tickler aggressively on my swollen pussy, the buzz driving a bolt of that deep, white heat into my flesh with each thrust. I feel the web rock with their wild, random, movements, each sway and tumble reminiscent of the waves at the heart of a storm driven sea.

One of Master’s soldiers has grown bold, showing off his strength and prowess by climbing the web from beneath me. I feel his arms come up between the ropes at my elbows locking his with mine. He pulls himself up by the same line that runs across my collarbone, it draws tight against my chest as it takes his weight while he slides his legs through the ropes at my thighs wrapping them around me and hooking his feet just inside my knees. His cock head brushes the puckered rim of my anis; I barely have time to take note of how slick and hard he is before I realize that it’s vibrating. Somehow, despite all the motion above me he is able to hold on, to keep control, to move slowly, carefully working his vibrating phallus with long, deliberate strokes. As the woman on my face comes, he enters me the translated movement of the bullet vibe in his cock ring helping to coax my asshole into opening. The rolling, surging, motion of my web moves our bodies for him; his deep growls and hot, puffing breath in my ear announces his enjoyment.

I am surrounded by a world of sex, all over and around me people are using my body and each others’ in a writhing bed of pleasure. I feel the hands on my breasts tighten and their owner’s pace quicken, at the same time the soldier grinding against my ball gag begins to roll her hips and clench her thighs, her juices running across my tongue. I can also feel the man in her mouth pumping his hips harder into her.

Everywhere in the room the breathing has changed, and the motion of the web has grown more frantic. I marvel again that the soldier below me can maintain his hold on me, keep me so beautifully impaled within it all, forcing my own orgasm to announce itself in shudders and gulps. Somehow in the midst of it all my voice has stopped, and I realize Master must have given orders regarding their voices because no one is calling out, and there are no moans, just this ragged puffing blanket of desperate breaths, a symphony of orgasmic air.


Dressing again in that familiar, sickly yellow glow, reflecting, as always, on the things Master has shown me. Like an experiment on my soul, each session with him is meant to teach me something, too help me fix the broken pieces. By removing himself from the greater part of our session, he has left the stain of today’s color in my mind. His truest passion is the world of human emotions. A smile plays across my lips and I whisper to myself,”His passion controls him, and I benefit.”

On the cab ride home my mind turns to Mia, and to Gray, I breathe deep, resolve stirring, creating, there is work to be done. One more nearly breathless whisper earns me a glance from the rear view mirror, “Thank you Master.”