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K R I S T E N' S C O L L E C T I O N
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WARNING!
This text file contains sexually explicit
material. If you do not wish to read this
type of literature, or you are under age,
PLEASE DELETE THIS FILE NOW!!!!
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Dismaid
By Adrian Hunter (address withheld)
***
Good help is hard to come by these days. (Mdom/Fsub,
toys, bd)
***
Poor Yvette. She meant well, but she had so very much to
learn.
For instance, he couldn't really tell if she was doing a
good job on the carpet. She seemed to be scrubbing with
the proper vigor, but an old toothbrush was probably not
the right tool for the job. Especially given that the
toothbrush in question was attached to a chain draped
between her preoccupied nipples with a too-short piece
of string.
But he did like the way it forced her to bend over so
her nose practically touched the floor. And it certainly
made her ass wiggle enticingly beneath the ruffled skirt
flouncing above her thighs. Such a tempting target to
encourage with the crop.
She had made excellent progress today. It had definitely
been worth the effort to extend the wire on the
stimulator so he could control its speed from his
armchair.
She had already learned to hasten her efforts with the
toothbrush when he nudged the knob up a notch, despite
the effect on her very clamped chest.
And it had only taken two hours of practice.
He was quite pleased with Yvette's new uniform. It had
taken him forever to find just the right dress with a
scalloped front to present her breasts without
obstruction, not to mention the proper pouf in the
shoulders and an intricate lace trim to complement her
apron and headpiece.
And it matched the latex gloves and stockings perfectly.
He was a stickler for details, but he couldn't ask for a
better pair of Victorian button boots. They came up to
just below her knees and provided excellent support for
her ankles, an important consideration when completing
household chores that require many hours of standing.
Especially ones with heels that taper down to a sharp
point not unlike the business end of a knitting needle.
She started to pant again. He decided it was time to
dial down the machinery to a languid hum.
He checked his notes. This would make number seven this
afternoon.
Thirteen to go.
He picked up the book review section and wondered why
that tiresome Dean Koontz was still being allowed to
publish. Such a waste of trees, he tsked.
She groaned.
He sighed and put down his newspaper.
First of all, she was not to speak unless asked a direct
question.
And in those rare cases, she was to respond exclusively
in French.
In other words, a double transgression.
He sighed, realizing this would require immediate
remedial action.
"Put down the brush."
Standing behind her, he pushed the lash of the crop
between her clenched haunches.
"Up."
The shank bent with the urgency of his command.
Once fully upright, she trembled a bit as she composed
herself on the pinpoint heels and placed her hands
behind her head without prompting.
He resisted the urge to praise her, much less admire
her. Now was not the moment, he reminded himself, to
fawn over her perfect form.
"Reach behind you and pull up the hem of your skirt."
He stood beside her, the shaft of the crop resting
horizontally against her defenseless flesh.
"Let's review. You spoke without permission, and used
English. Correct?"
He prompted her to reply with a fast swat.
"Oui, monsieur."
"Did you climax just then?"
Crack.
"Oui, monsieur."
"That makes a total of seven this afternoon. Correct?"
Crack.
"Oui, monsieur."
"How many were you supposed to have?"
Crack.
"Vignt, monsieur."
"Correct. That leaves 13."
"Oui..."
Crack.
"I didn't ask you a question, Yvette."
He rolled his eyes. So much to learn.
She stared straight ahead as he stood next to her in
silence, her face unable to mask the looming sense of
dread.
After a few moments, he went to the bathroom and
retrieved a new bar of soap.
"This is for using vulgarity in my presence."
He unwrapped it slowly in front of her.
"Open your mouth."
Her eyes grew wide as he pushed it between her teeth.
"Bend over."
He allowed the silence to crush all hope of a reprieve
out of the room, then reached between her legs to remove
the still-buzzing vibrator.
"Thirteen missed orgasms. Times two transgressions. That
totals 26."
A moment passed before the crop whistled.
As he progressed, his rhythm became maddeningly
inconsistent in terms of both timing and aim.
But zebras wished they boasted such stripes.
"Straighten up."
Feeling flush, he walked back to his armchair to better
observe her glowing backside.
After a moment of appreciation, the familiar sensation
of blood engorging demanded his full attention.
"Come to me."
She turned and approached the chair, her fingers
remaining clutched obediently around the hem of her
dress.
"Turn around."
He slipped off his pants, opened his legs and placed his
hands around her hips.
She tottered uneasily on her heels as he pulled her back
and guided her over his lap.
"Put your hands on the arms of the chair."
Her sex pulsed hot and slippery against the tip of his
cock.
"Down," he commanded unnecessarily.
A nudge with his thighs was all it took for her to begin
raising and lowering herself while his hands found their
way around her to her still-clamped breasts.
Her pace quickened as he fondled and kneaded her bosom,
giving an occasional tug to the chain from which still
hung the toothbrush.
A low moan escaped the bar of soap.
His fingers were unrelenting as she practically bounced
off his groin, each thrust penetrating her deeper than
the one previous.
He felt her heart thrashing like speedmetal drums as
they approached what appeared to be a mutually-
beneficial resolution.
At the first sign of his own release, he pinched open
the clamps and let them fall noisily to the floor.
He had to put his arms around her waist to keep her from
falling forward.
Sweating profusely, Yvette shuddered hard when his hand
slipped down and grazed against the top of her elegant
fur.
No, he reprimanded myself.
*** Later ***
Much, much later.
"Up."
He helped her off his lap and held her steady until he
was confident she wouldn't topple over like a tree
that's had quite enough of the chainsaw.
"It's time to put that soap to its proper use. Undress,
shower and return to me in 10 minutes."
He poured a jigger of frozen vodka into a crystal
tumbler and sipped it serenely while imagining the
steaming droplets cascading against her limbs.
She came back into the room all fresh and pink and
scrubbed and precisely on schedule.
He pointed to the full-length mirror edged in discolored
gilt that hung in the center of the far wall, then rose
to follow her.
As she studied her reflection, he collected his duffel
bag and a few accessories from the closet.
Spirals of black rope tumbled to the floor next to her
feet. He selected one, uncoiled it and begin wrapping it
snugly around her ankles.
Then, another coil just above her knees.
The top of her thighs.
Her waist.
And especially her breasts.
He pulled her wrists behind her back, positioned them so
her hands touched their opposite elbows, and bound them
accordingly.
He supposed he would need a chair to reach the hook over
her head with the excess line from her arms. He wanted
to be sure he provided enough support to keep her
upright under any circumstances.
Still somewhat dismayed at her insolence, he decided to
ensure her continued silence with the pump gag, held in
place by the training hood that encased her entire head
in smooth calfskin.
He was pleased she took the deflated bladder in her
mouth without her customary debate. As a reward, he
didn't bother with the eye coverings. Besides, seeing
would help her appreciate what he thought might prove to
be a most difficult task.
He held the butt plug in front of her eyes so she could
take a good, long look. Its brushed aluminum finish
gleamed dully in the soft light from the lamps scattered
about the room. With its long nose that widened
considerably halfway down, it looked rather like a model
of a space capsule from the Gemini era. Just the thing
for re-entry. Or rear entry.
He unfurled a long coil and tied one end to the back of
the rope around her waist. After giving the plug a
generous coating of lubricant, he threaded the line
through the metal loop screwed into its base and pushed
its tip maybe an inch into her rectum.
The other end of the cord soon ran between her legs,
then up her waist and around and over the knot between
her breasts.
Leaving the end hanging in front of her, he ambled to
the bookshelf that covered an entire wall and selected a
weighty tome. The bible. Of sorts. "Emily Post's
Etiquette." 864 pages of detailed instructions on how to
master the art of civil obedience.
"Proper poise in a young lady's carriage is so very
important," he pretended to read from a page opened at
random.
He closed the book and began to wrap it with the rest of
the rope dangling from her chest.
When it was secure, he carefully balanced the book on
top of her head. He hardly needed to tell her that were
it to tumble down from its perch, an opposite reaction
would occur to the plug.
He didn't like to put new holes in the hardwood floor,
but the metal eyelet was so small, he didn't even need
to get out a drill to screw it in place in front of her
feet.
A piece of twine soon connected her big toes to the
chrome loop.
"En pointe," he commanded.
As she raised her heels with the utmost deliberation and
care, he placed a long vibrator under her arches and
taped its ends to the floor.
It made a ghastly noise when he twisted it to its
highest setting.
Fortunately, he wouldn't have to endure its grinding for
long.
He resisted the urge to say something about keeping her
on her toes. Instead, he informed Yvette that he would
be in the kitchen preparing their dinner, which she
would also enjoy, presuming she maintained her
comportment as obviously instructed.
Of course, she would be expected to wash the dishes
afterward. He might even allow her to use her hands.
Good help is so hard to find these days.
Even so, he sincerely doubted his love would be quite so
quick to call "tails" the next time they flipped a coin
to see who cleaned the house.
END
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
It's okay to *READ* stories about unprotected sex with
others outside a monogamous relationship. But it isn't
okay to *HAVE* unprotected sex with people other than
a trusted partner. 4-million people around the world
contract HIV every year. You only have one body per
lifetime, so take good care of it!
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Kristen's collection - Directory 68