From corvidae1@aol.com Thu Apr 17 18:57:35 1997
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From: corvidae1@aol.com (Corvidae1)
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories
Subject: REPOST: Nothing Like The Sun Pt.0 (Femdom)
Date: 17 Apr 1997 22:57:35 GMT
Organization: AOL http://www.aol.com
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X-Admin: news@aol.com
STANDARD DISCLAIMER: The following story contains scenes of female
domination. Those with moral objections to such activity as well as those
under legal age should not read this story.
All the characters in this story are fictitious. Any resemblance to
persons living, dead, or undead is completely coincidental. The author
makes no claims about any of the products, movies, artists or children's
stories mentioned in this story, other than they exist and are a part of
our culture at large.
Nothing Like The Sun
By L.Corvidae
Prologue: A Sincere Petition
Catherine woke feeling weary. Her mouth was flooded with the stale
taste of dinner from the night before even as the bulk of it rumbled low
in her midsection.
She slithered reluctantly out of bed and lumbered into the bathroom. On
the other side of the mirror over her sink she could see a pale,
disheveled ghost make a run for its own toilet. She wondered how long the
ghost could go on eating General Tso's Chicken and hot curries before its
thirty-year-old ghost stomach finally gave out. She wondered how many more
nights the ghost could sleep alone and not go crazy.
Catherine pitied the ghost.
Even her morning shower didn't do much to revive her spirits. She had
the day off from the clinic and there was nothing to do. She dragged
herself, still dripping, into the library and turned on her computer for
the first time in a month. She had at least a hundred messages, that the
online service had saved anyway. The filters caught most the Spam, but she
still had to dump a few that had gotten through. That left 111 E-mails.
She read though a few applications and stories by wannabees before getting
too depressed. Any message with a subject header that was a jumble of
acronyms - SWM ISO GS & CBT - she dumped. Ten messages left.
There were four from Dommes she knew online who were concerned about
her or just wondered what she'd been up to. She held off on deleting those
in case she felt more human later in the day.
The last five were applications by men at least smart enough to put
together whole words. One caught her eye, and stirred mixed emotions: "a
sincere petition." She liked the word "petition", but hated the "sincere"
part. In her experience if it said it was sincere, it usually wasn't. She
saved it for last.
She read the other four. Three were the usual tripe: I'm looking for -
I want this. One at least was promising and came with a GIF of the sender
in the nude; a rather fetching dark-haired young man, with an impressively
sized penis. His words were very smooth, very flattering. Just her type.
She had begun seriously considering the boy when she finally got
around to reading the last message.
The E-mail read:
To: P.t.altaic@******.com
From: MikeR0172@******.com
Subject: a sincere petition,
humblest of greetings, oh Beautiful Mistress Catherine.
Please forgive my arrogance in contacting you so brazenly, but i have
long been an admirer of your many postings and stories and could keep my
silence no longer.
my name is Michael R-. i am twenty-five years old and a virgin. i have
always been powerfully drawn to Women of strength and intelligence, Women
like You. i have been submissive to such Women - to all Women, really - my
entire life, always putting their needs ahead of my own. Now i wish to
take the next step. i wish to become a slave. Specifically, i wish to
become Your slave.
What can i offer You to grant such a boon? It is easy for me to write
words like faithfulness and obedience; to pledge to obey Your every
command and indulge Your every whim, but my words are no less true for the
ease with which they come. As for any talents i may posses, i regret there
is only one of note: i have some faculty with drawing in pen and ink. i
would be happy to send You samples of my work; and even if You do not
choose to accept me as Your slave, i would always be willing to accept
commissions from You for no charge.
For myself, i ask only for the opportunity to learn and to serve at
Your feet. It is not that i have no specific desires of my own, i do, but
my strongest desire is merely to please You in any way that i can, no
matter how trivial or mundane. Should any of my other needs be met in the
process, then i shall consider myself thrice blessed.
There is one thing You should know: i am not a masochist. As i stated,
i have read Your many wonderful writings and am fully aware that You are a
sadist, first and foremost. Such a pairing may not be preferable to You,
yet, again i say that my chief desire is to serve and to learn. i am
prepared to endure whatever hardships may incur from such servitude,
taking comfort in the knowledge that my discomfort brings You pleasure.
i have never been more serious about a thing in my entire life. i am
deeply appreciative for whatever consideration You have given me thus far,
and for whatever thought You may yet give. i await whatever reply You see
fit to send, with baited breath and bent knee.
i am, and shall remain, humbly Yours,
Michael R-
Catherine sat back after finishing the message. She read it again. She
wished she'd made coffee first; she always thought better with coffee.
Finally, she leaned back in to the keyboard and began to type.
Dear Michael...
END OF PROLOGUE
Note: Please feel free to E-mail with any constructive criticism and
suggestions for future episodes. Flames will be ignored.
This story is protected by copyright, 1997, by the author.
Once, I swore I would die for you,
But I never meant like this.
I never meant like this.
No, I never meant like this.
Stabbing Westward "Shame"
From corvidae1@aol.com Thu Apr 17 18:57:01 1997
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From: corvidae1@aol.com (Corvidae1)
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories
Subject: REPOST: Nothing Like The Sun Pt.1 (Femdom)
Date: 17 Apr 1997 22:57:01 GMT
Organization: AOL http://www.aol.com
Lines: 273
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X-Admin: news@aol.com
STANDARD DISCLAIMER: The following story contains scenes of female
domination and other mature themes. Those with moral objections to such
activity as well as those under legal age should not read this story.
All the characters and screen names in this story are fictitious. Any
resemblance to persons living, dead, or undead is completely coincidental.
The author makes no claims about any of the products, movies, or
children’s stories mentioned in this story, other than they exist and are
a part of our culture at large.
Nothing Like The Sun
By L.Corvidae
Chapter One: Michael's Number
Thursday Night.
I must have jumped off the sofa a hundred times before midnight finally
came. With each sound out in the hall I leapt into position: face flushed,
hands trembling.
Of course, I knew rationally that she was the sort that when she said
midnight, she meant midnight. Not that I harbored any illusions that our
clocks would be in perfect sync, mind you; just that it was unlikely
they'd be an hour to an hour and a half off.
It didn't help that I was bouncing around the apartment naked. It made
me feel just the way it was supposed to: embarrassed, vulnerable, and
incredibly nervous. Still, the discomfort I felt from that was child's
play compared to not being logged on to my computer. It was the first
thing I did after getting home from the gym at night; and I'd sometimes
stay up till well past four, hoping to catch a glimpse of the screen name
that had ruled my world for the past two months. Sometimes she logged in,
and sometimes she left me dangling. But after midnight, I'd no longer be
able to hide behind my machine again.
By 12 A.M. my pulse was racing like a jackrabbit. Exactly one minute and
thirty-five seconds later, it stopped altogether as I head the click of a
key at my door. I'd mailed it to a P.O. box she used for snail mail three
weeks ago when we'd finalized the details of this night.
My interview. My audition.
I barked my shin against the coffee table by leaping into position:
feet spread wide, shoulders back, sweaty-palmed hands clenched together at
the small of my back, and my eyes shut tight.
I wasn't unaware of the risk I was opening myself up to. I knew her
only from her words on a computer screen, and it could be anybody behind
that door about to see me exposed and relatively helpless. Some snarky
teen-aged boy could quickly snap a Polaroid and take off running, bragging
at leisure to his buddies about how he'd pulled one over on a "freak." But
I'd thoroughly, maybe obsessively, researched everything she'd posted on
the net - every story and rambling discourse about sexuality - and as
she'd said herself as she laid out the terms of our meeting, "You have to
jump in the water if you want to learn how to swim."
The door opened and cold night air washed over me. A chill ran down my
spine, distinct and separate from the nervous shakes that had been
wracking me since 10:30; and my nipples and cock, already hardened by
anticipation, began to throb. I prayed fervently that none of my neighbors
had taken their dogs out for a late night walk and were just getting in.
She entered and closed the door behind her. I was disappointed somewhat
by the sounds she made - or rather didn't make - as she moved. I'd
expected the creak of leather or rubber, or at least the click of heels on
the floor. The latter being a bit much, I admit, since my apartment had
carpeting.
Instead she moved quickly and quietly. The only way to mark her passage
being the whisper of what I pegged to be jeans and the subtly shifting air
as it wafted across my trembling, alert body. With that air came the scent
of herbal shampoo underscored with a touch of Chanel and a hint of lilacs.
"Good evening Michael," she said in a soft, silky voice that certainly
did not disappoint.
"Good evening, Mistress."
"I'm not your mistress yet, Michael."
That shook me. I had always addressed each E-mail to "The Beautiful
Mistress Catherine" without any complaint from her. Then again, it
suddenly occurred to me that there was a world of difference between
someone who was a mistress and someone who was your mistress.
"Then what should I, uh..."
"You may refer to me as 'Your Ladyship' for now."
"Yes, of course, My Ladyship."
"Not 'My Ladyship,' Michael, 'Your Ladyship.' You might become my
slave, but I will never be anything that belongs to you. Do you
understand?"
Damn! Damn! Damn! After all that dreaming and planning and waiting and
I was already screwing myself over! My face felt so hot I pictured it
lighting up the room with a pulsating red glow.
"Of course, your Ladyship! Please forgive me, your Ladyship!"
By the sound of her voice, she was halfway to me by now. She didn't say
anything or make a sound for a minute, leaving me to twitch and writhe
from the suspense.
Finally, she broke the silence by saying, "Well, you certainly weren't
being modest, were you?"
The subject of her remark started to droop morosely, while the pit of
my stomach sank. A shooting pain began to build behind my eyes and at my
temples, putting the fear in me that I might very well stroke out under
the pressure.
She closed the rest of the distance between us and, with a soft
rustling of fabric on fabric, sat on the sofa. She must have been sitting
at the edge, as I could feel her breath as she exhaled. It blew across the
aching skin of my cock, like a warm and gentle caress. Immediately the
blood rushed back, swelling it back up again to painful fullness.
She made a rueful tch-tch sound and said, "Modest and with a mind of
its own. My, my."
My hands, still behind me, now clenched into fists; my teeth ground
together. I'd spent every free minute I had at the gym; from the instant I
worked up the courage to contact her openly, up through the last, frantic
three-week period where I'd nearly worked myself to death just to get my
body into shape for this tête-à-tête. For her. And now the whole thing was
falling apart over the one fucking thing I couldn't change. Fuck her! I
didn't need this shit. I wanted to snap my eyes open and take a good long
look at HER. Just how pretty was she, anyway? How big were her tits? How
long were her legs?
Before I could resolve to do anything, she broke into laughter.
"Oh, Michael, relax," she purred, drawing out the "X" sound into one
long sibilant draft across my cock.
"It's not as if you were ever going to stick it into my body. Not my
pussy..." She lingered on the "S" again.
"Certainly not my mouth." She was close enough to me now that the
slightest twitch from me would have belied that statement; and in the
state I was in, provoked an accident of Biblical proportions.
"Not even up my ass. I'm afraid the only use I'd ever have for it
would be to use it to hurt you, Michael. And I'd certainly never let you
stick in someone else."
She paused.
"Unless..."
She stood up, pressing her unbearably warm body against my side. I
could feel her breasts pushing against my arm through the sheer cotton of
her shirt. She ran one hand across my midriff, gently stroking my hair
with the other.
"Tell me Michael, have you ever thought about having sex with another
man?"
My gut twisted violently. I'd never considered myself homophobic, and
I'd had gay friends throughout high school and college. But I viewed the
act itself as something akin to eating snails or jumping out of an
airplane: it was fine if you enjoyed it, but it made me queasy.
"Not even a little Bi? A special friend in college?"
All I could do was shake my head "no."
Her voice had dropped to a whisper, her lips as close to my ear as they
had been to my prick.
"Well, then we'll have to find you a nice, pretty one. A sweet soft
sissy that'll help ease you into it. And when you're a little loosened up,
we'll find a big, hung stud to break you in back here!" she hissed,
swatting my ass, making me jump.
The hand on my abdomen clenched, driving her nails into my skin. Her
other hand swung back up and clutched a fistful of hair.
"And you'll do it, too." She released me violently, striding away
across the room.
"Because while we'll play our share of games, your servitude to me is
not among them. There's only one punishment, and that's you being kicked
out on your ass. Understand that when I hurt you, it's because I get off
on watching you being hurt. Not because you were 'naughty.'"
She hadn't drawn blood, but the wounded flesh still burned with
astonishing intensity.
"You're having second thoughts, aren't you?" she asked, echoing my
thoughts with uncanny precision.
"You probably want to know what you get out of this. Well, the fact is
I couldn't tell you, and what's more, I don't care."
I couldn't believe what I was hearing. Was this the woman who'd written
all those posts, espoused all that philosophy that I'd read with such care
and devotion?
"I get what I want, and if you don't get something from giving it to
me, then you're wasting both our time. Didn't you say as much in your
first letter to me?" I had, but still I had thought there'd be something
more; something like...
"You want to say something?"
"What about love?"
She skipped a beat, then broke into incredulous laughter.
"Christ! You are a virgin to this, aren't you? What about it, Michael?"
I considered my reply for a good long minute.
"You wrote once about pony training. You thought that it was so popular
as a fetish because the Domme-slave relationship was fundamentally similar
to a horse and rider. One calling the shots, the other bearing the brunt
of the effort, but both eventually learning to establish a rhythm, forming
a bond, working together towards an ultimate goal."
She didn't say anything for a while. I was convinced I'd totally shot
my last chance.
When at last she spoke, she startled me by the plain, unaffected
quality of her voice.
"You're pretty cheeky, using my own words like that to seduce me."
She lapsed into another long silence. I was growing tired and sore from
holding my stance so long. The muscles in my back were beginning to feel
the strain, my calves were stinging, and even my penis began to flag
again.
"Those were old posts you dug up, Michael. Most the Dommes I've met
since then tend to view their subs as just another trapping of their
fetish; as faceless and interchangeable as a whip or dildo or table.
"I guess I expected that; but so damn many of the subs were that way to
- worse even. They'd mouth off about worshipping you and the like, but
deep down it's just lip service to get what they want. Hell, they don't
even need us, they could do it to themselves if they weren't so gutless.
All they need one of us for is to strap 'em down and give 'em a few whacks
until they're ready to cry 'Safeword' and then it's run along home to jerk
off in private."
"I wouldn't..." I blurted, "I don't need a safeword."
"Why," she asked, bemused. "Don't you have limits?"
I didn't know how to answer. I wanted to say or do anything so
desperately to impress her, yet I knew full well that if my mouth wrote
checks my butt literally couldn't cash, we'd both end up bitterly
disappointed.
Luckily for me, she bailed me out.
"Bullshit! Everyone has limits, Michael. That's where the real
sensuality of it all lies. Exploring, searching, finding those limits out.
A good Domme will know how to skirt the line, sometimes, maybe, even take
a step or two over it. And a good sub trusts his Domme to know what she's
doing, not cry 'Safeword' when his dirty little fantasies get all too
real." She finished with a long, heavy sigh.
An eternity passed before she said anything more.
"All right, Michael. I was wrong earlier. I would like to know what you
want out of this."
For an instant, I was living that age-old nightmare: called upon in
class to give an answer you weren't quite sure you knew. At least in my
dreams I had on my jockeys to give me some modicum of dignity.
As I tried to form some kind of coherent response in my mind I thought
back to the analogy of the horse and rider. That, in turn led me to a
notion that in my own mind summed it up nicely.
My mouth was bone dry by this time, and my voice cracked and hurt my
throat as I started.
"I want a number, your Ladyship."
I'm fairly certain she wasn't expecting that. It took her a moment to
recover.
"How do you mean?"
I took a deep breath, and began.
"When people buy a dog, a lot of the time they make a mistake and don't
establish complete dominance over it right from the start. Puppies are
cute. People love puppies and nobody wants to be 'mean' to one.
"But just because they're smart and have personalities, doesn't mean
they're little humans. They're animals with their own behavior patterns.
When dogs meet they immediately establish a hierarchy. Each one has a
ranking within the pack, a number. They define themselves as individuals
by the role they occupy in the group. It lets them hunt efficiently, which
is good for the pack, good for the survival of dogs as a whole. I'm not
saying they understand all that, but they do get something from being a
part of it. Comfort… strength, maybe. Joy.
"By comparison, human behavior appears chaotic and insane. There are
only two positions in our society: Number One and trying to be Number One;
and people can't imagine anyone being satisfied with anything less. Let
alone happy.
"Of course, we see dogs as being subservient to us, but owners make
mistakes in how they express it. They're inconsistent, inattentive or just
don't understand. The dog gets away with jumping on the bed, but not the
sofa. Some days they get to lead, others you yank the chain. A sock with a
knot in it is a chew toy, a sock without one isn't. It's not that those
people can't be kind and loving, but by inadvertently messing up the dog's
sense of order, what they're really doing is negating the dog's very sense
of self. He doesn't feel like part of the family, because there's nothing
to be a part of - just one big, constantly churning mess. Without that
sense of belonging, they feel isolated, confused… grow despondent over
time.
"That's how I feel around other people. I'm just so tired of trying to
puzzle every fucking thing out. I want a number. I want to know my place
and fulfill my role. And by knowing it, I hope, more than anything, to
reach that 'Ultimate Goal' of yours."
The end of my soliloquy was met with utter, terrifying silence. I felt
drained; like I'd been running a marathon instead of standing in place all
this time.
In spite of the dead calm, I didn't hear her move. I barely caught a
strong whiff of herbs and Chanel before soft, sweet lips were pressed to
mine in an all-too-brief kiss.
The next sound I heard was the door to my apartment opening.
"Tomorrow morning, Michael, you will receive an E-mail. It will contain
an address. You are to go to that address immediately after you get off
work in the evening. Do you understand?"
"Yes, your Ladyship."
"Oh, and... michael?"
"Yes, your Ladyship?"
"From now on you will address me solely as 'Mistress'."
"Yes, Mistress."
END OF CHAPTER ONE
Note: Please feel free to E-mail with any constructive criticism or
suggestions for future episodes. Flames will be ignored.
This story is protected by copyright, 1997, by the author.
Once, I swore I would die for you,
But I never meant like this.
I never meant like this.
No, I never meant like this.
Stabbing Westward "Shame"
From corvidae1@aol.com Thu Apr 17 18:56:06 1997
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From: corvidae1@aol.com (Corvidae1)
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories
Subject: REPOST: Nothing Like The Sun Pt.2 A (The other 2A is 2B)
Date: 17 Apr 1997 22:56:06 GMT
Organization: AOL http://www.aol.com
Lines: 330
Message-ID: <19970417225500.SAA07020@ladder01.news.aol.com>
NNTP-Posting-Host: ladder01.news.aol.com
X-Admin: news@aol.com
STANDARD DISCLAIMER: The following story contains scenes of female
domination, CBT, and foot worship. Those with moral objections to such
activity as well as those under legal age should not read this story.
All the characters and screen names in this story are fictitious. Any
resemblance to persons living, dead, or undead is completely coincidental.
The author makes no claims about any of the products, movies, or
children’s stories mentioned in this story, other than they exist and are
a part of our culture at large.
Nothing Like The Sun
By L.Corvidae
Chapter Two: Date With a Dominant
Part One
Friday Afternoon
It was about a ten minute walk from the strip mall where Mistress
Catherine had ordered me to park my car, to the subdivision where She
lived.
i was dressed, as per Her explicit instructions, in my finest suit,
which no longer looked good on me, considering all the weight i'd recently
burned off at the gym. Between the warm Spring afternoon, the heavy wool
of the suit, and my own wild sexual arousal, i was feeling awfully warm by
the time i arrived at Her front porch.
The house, located in one of the nicest neighborhoods in town, was
situated midway down a steep hill. From the front approach it appeared to
be a modest, two-story building, and my instructions were to go right up
to the front door and proceed directly inside.
i paused only long enough to admire the long front porch and the
old-fashioned hanging bench, before entering into the Mistresses' domain.
The interior layout of the house was skewed so that the middle,
"ground," floor was actually off to one side, stacking the upper story
directly over the basement. Directly to my left was a small closet and
next to that a table and mirror. To my right was a large, sunken living
room, delineated from the "hall" by an iron railing. If i were to walk
straight ahead, i'd eventually enter the kitchen, and just before that,
again on my left, were two sets of stairs; one going up, one going down.
i opened the hall closet and began to strip off my clothes as my
morning E-mail from Mistress had specified. i hung my suit up next to a
variety of plain, ordinary overcoats; and put my shoes - socks balled up
in one, underwear in the other - down among Her winter boots and galoshes.
What impressed me most about my surroundings, what i could see of them,
was an incredible sense of austerity: bare, white walls, white carpet and
very little in the way of furniture. The only decoration i could see
anywhere was a print hanging in the living room, above a plain, off-white
sofa. It was a Nagel, and depicted a woman either crawling or stretching
languidly. She had no top on, but her arm was positioned so as to
strategically cover her breasts; and she wore skintight pants with an
tiger print.
On the table next to the closet was a pink nylon dog collar with a
bone-shaped plastic tag. The tag read "michael." i put it on.
i was supposed to wait in the living room, so i went over to the break
in the rail and stepped down into the room. The sofa was bracketed with
two end tables and there were two easy chairs against opposite walls, and
that was it. No television or stereo, and nothing on the walls except the
Nagel.
As i studied the picture, something soft and furry tickled my ankle,
causing me to start. i looked down to see an orange-striped tabby peering
back up at me.
"Hi little fella," i said, squatting down to scratch it behind the
ears. It began to purr.
"She likes you."
i nearly jumped again as Mistress' voice came from behind me. i started
to stand.
"No, wait," She ordered, "I like you this way."
She walked past me and sat down on Her sofa, crossed Her legs, and
dangled Her left foot in front of my face.
It was the first time i had ever seen Her and i knew immediately that
i was out of my league. But then, i suppose every slave believes their
Mistress to be the most beautiful woman in the world.
She had pale skin, hair the color of wine, and was dressed all in black
to match Her dark eyes: black jeans, black tank top, and even the sides of
Her sneakers, which looked well worn, were made of black canvass.
She sat quietly for a moment or two, drinking in my awe of Her, before
asking, "So, michael, what do you think of my home?"
"It's, uh, it's not quite what i expected..."
Storm clouds crossed Her features. "That's because it's the LIVING ROOM
and not the dungeon, you stupid shit!"
i swallowed hard and stared at the floor.
"I should have known you wouldn't appreciate the honor I'm bestowing on
you. Most my slaves enter only from the back door, directly into the
dungeon. They're never allowed to see this part of the house!"
"Please Mistress," i begged, "i am honored! i'm honored by everything
you do for me!"
"Then why, michael, have I been offering my foot for over a minute and
yet it's still not clean?"
i quickly stuck out my tongue and ran it across the sole of Her sneaker
in a long, full stroke. Her shoes weren't especially filthy, but they
weren't especially clean, either. The taste of the dirt that came off them
wasn't nearly as bad as the way the individual granules scraped against my
teeth.
After the first few long sweeps across the whole shoe, i began to
concentrate on the individual whorls and valleys formed by the tread. i
tried to keep the residue on the back part of my tongue and away from my
teeth, swallowing frequently. my mouth rapidly began to dry out; and the
grit began to scratch up the back of my throat.
At some point i must have gotten Her left sneaker clean enough as She
re-crossed Her legs, forcing me to crawl around to the other side.
As i began to work on Her right foot, She said, "You really are a
stupid shit, you know that michael?"
i didn't know how to answer that, so i just kept on licking and hoped
it was rhetorical.
"Most slaves I've known would've been content to come in their little
entrance, do their thing and go home, but not you. You want more. You want
all of it, maybe.
"Well, nobody will probably ever get all of me michael, but you needn't
concern yourself. You'll have more than enough on your plate to keep you
busy. Painslut, domestic, and yes michael, to some extent even boring old
vanilla 'boyfriend.' My slaves before you only had to worry about
performing in a single category. You'll have to perform, and perform well,
in all three."
"Now," She said, standing. "If you'll excuse me, I have to get dressed.
My boyfriend is taking me out to a very expensive restaurant for dinner."
my heart skipped a beat until i realized She was talking about me.
"There's a phone on the end table. You have my permission to use it to
make whatever arrangements are necessary. Then get yourself dressed again.
If you get done before I return, you may go downstairs and have a little
peek at my little playroom."
She swept passed me.
"One last thing michael: now is the time for you to go overboard to try
and impress me."
And then She went up the stairs.
i stood up, glad to be out of that crouch. The cat jumped up on the
sofa, but i knew better than to join it. It took a few playful swings at
the cordless phone as i removed the device from the cradle.
Praying softly that my dad picked up, i dialed the number of my
parent's house.
"Hi... Mom?" my body convulsed with Oedipal discomfort. "Are you guys
still members of the S- Club?"
* * * *
After the most uncomfortable conversation of my entire life, i went to
the closet and put my suit back on. i dressed quickly, but i wasn't
certain what to do about my collar, so i opted to keep it on and just
drape my tie around my neck and leave the top few buttons of my shirt
undone. After that, i loitered a bit at the foot of the stairs until
curiosity got the better of me.
The steps down into the basement were steep and narrow. i made it about
halfway down before i had to stop and catch my breath.
The dungeon was amazing.
The room itself was a twenty-by-twenty foot square, with an extra
little kink jutting off beside the stairs. The floor was all done in gray
linoleum and the walls, what exposed patches i could see, were covered in
black, egg carton-style foam rubber; to deaden the noise. The walls were
further covered by peg boards which were themselves festooned with every
kind of device and implement you could ask for: whips, clamps, lead
sinkers, plastic spatulas and elaborate strap-and-buckle affairs whose
purpose i could only guess at. There were two small chipboard wardrobes in
one corner, and a large cage, known as a "crate" to dog trainers, in
another. The ceiling was at least twelve feet high and the plaster had
been stripped off, revealing the heavy beams underneath; which in turn had
eyebolts sunk into them at various intervals.
The rich, heady smell of leather filled my nostrils and i had to sit
down on the steps and savor it. my dick became as hard as i ever remember
it becoming in my life, and i was sorely tempted to begin masturbating in
my pants right on the spot.
Then i saw the cameras. Two were small, boxy security type models,
mounted up in the far corners of the room. The third was a large camcorder
mounted on a tripod in the small niche alongside the stairs.
At long last, i stood up and strode reverently down the last few steps;
entering Mistress Catherine's dungeon.
A tiny flash of red light caught my attention and i turned toward the
alcove.
The camcorder was on.
i immediately went over to check if there was a tape in the machine,
but there wasn't. Instead, several cables streamed out of the back of the
unit, and snaked along the floor and into the wall.
She was watching me.
i was all at once very glad i hadn't played with myself after all, even
though my cock was now screaming for attention worse than ever. And there
was no place to look, nothing to focus my attention on in that Stygian
wonderland that could ease the erotic tension that so completely enveloped
me.
i fixed my gaze upon what seemed to be a wine rack made of black,
lacquered wood; but when i removed one of the "bottles" i saw that the
object was rubber, veined, and possessed a prominent glans.
"One of my slaves made that."
i fumbled over myself to try and put the dildo back into its slot.
"The rack, I mean."
She'd put Her hair up and dressed in a simple, but elegant sleeveless
evening dress - black of course. The neckline was conservative, and the
hem kissed the floor. Much to my surprise, but not necessarily
disappointment, She was also wearing glasses. They made Her inky eyes look
like two gaping mouths, swallowing everything that fell under their gaze.
She smiled at me with unsettling warmth, and began towards me. The tips
of Her sneakers peeked out from under Her dress as She moved.
"You have good instincts," She purred, pressing Her smoldering body to
mine. i thought we might kiss, but Her hands found my throat instead;
undoing the buckle of my collar.
"Only I may release you."
She withdrew with the collar in Her hands and i took the opportunity to
hastily do up the remaining buttons on my shirt and fix my tie. When She
returned, She offered me Her arm.
"Shall we?"
* * * *
We took Her car. Naturally, She drove.
It was worth the eventual astronomical bill just to see Her reaction
when i gave Her the address of the restaurant. She didn't believe me until
we were actually inside and the maitre d' asked us to wait in the lobby
while our table was made ready.
Frankly, i had a hard time believing she'd never eaten there before.
The S- Club was the most elite restaurant in town, members only; and i
couldn't believe that none of their our-shit-don't-stink clientele didn't
wallow in some serious depravity. Unlike pure middle-class me.
While we were waiting for the table, i pointed out a yellowed, blurry
photograph of my great grandparents on the wall honoring the club's
founding members; thus giving Her the explanation She had wordlessly been
demanding since we entered.
We were seated by the large plate glass windows overlooking the lush
inner courtyard.
She had the steward bring us a bottle of an Austrian Sauvignon Blanc
with a tongue-twister name and an eye-popping price tag.
When i politely declined a glass, She gave me a funny look and asked,
"What's the matter, michael, don't you drink?"
"No, Mistress."
"Well, I know you don't smoke. My goodness, michael, don't you have
any vices whatsoever?"
"Aside from being your... 'painslut,' Mistress?"
She smiled and took a long drink of the golden, sweet-smelling wine.
"Touché."
When the waiter showed up to take our order, Mistress ordered the
Alaskan king crab for herself and a dinner salad for me. i thought it was
because She knew of my tendency to put on weight, but when the food
arrived, She gave me a toothy smile.
"There's only room for one carnivore in our relationship, wouldn't you
agree, michael?"
"Yes, Mistress."
She must have kicked off one of Her shoes, because each time She would
split open a piece of shell with a bone-jarring snap, Her bare foot would
sneak up into my lap; gently rubbing against my crotch. The agonizing
crack of rending carapace quickly became associated in my mind with
extreme pleasure. Once or twice - just to tease - she'd pop open a segment
without the accompanying footsie; eliciting soft, piteous groans of
disappoint from me.
i scarcely ate a thing.
Halfway through the meal, She took me by surprise by asking, "So tell
me, michael, what movie are we going to see tonight?"
i blanked. my jaw dropped open stupidly.
"It is customary for a boyfriend to take his gal out for dinner and a
movie?" She giggled at "gal." "His sweetie?"
For the life of me, i couldn't think of any movies that were currently
playing. i'd filled my whole life for the past three months with work,
getting into shape, and the humiliating, sometimes painful, acts of
'cyber-training' Mistress Catherine had demanded of me.
i could only think of two films, and both struck me as equally poor
choices. i thought about stalling until we got to the theater, but i could
see in Her eyes that She required a decisive move on my part, and fast.
The two movies refused to release their hold on my thoughts and make
way for more appealing candidates. One of the two was Howard Stern's film.
Unfortunately, i was the only person i knew who was indifferent about
Stern; and i desperately didn't want to find out Mistress hated him the
hard way. Yet, the other movie seemed worse: much, much worse.
"michael?" She asked, signaling my time was up.
"Have you, um, have you seen Empire Strikes Back yet, Mistress?"
i couldn't have gotten a more astonished response, short of saying,
"Tonight, why don't you be the one who crawls around on the floor like a
dog, 'kay babe?"
She let me stew while She took careful measure of my response. i wanted
so badly to beg Her to choose whatever movie She wanted, any movie. But i
also knew i was being tested. i was getting used to that.
She watched me with catlike concentration. The tension began to ease
out of my muscles as i accepted whatever consequences my choice might
bring. She finally graced me with a wry smile.
"Not since college, michael."
* * * *
The movie went over better than i could have hoped for. When the snow
creature swatted Mark Hamil, Mistress Catherine jumped, clutching at my
arm. A few scenes later when he's hanging from the ceiling, She gave my
arm another, more playful squeeze.
As the film progressed, She rested Her head on my shoulder. Midway
through She broke into hysterical laughter during the scene where Luke
tries to convince his new "master," Yoda to take him on. He boasts, "I'm
not afraid," and the diminutive creature growls, "You will be.. you WILL
be..." Mistress carried on so loudly that we began to get dirty glares
from the other patrons. An usher passed by and scowled at us. She sank
into Her seat, a helpless mass of giggles.
When at last She recovered, She began to tug at my coat, which i'd
removed and draped over the back of my seat. Obliging Her, i leaned
forward so She could have it. She played with it for a second, wrapping it
around and around in Her arms, before setting it back down in my lap.
i was wondering what the point of all that was, when i felt something
nuzzle up against my crotch. i glanced down and saw Her arm disappearing
down underneath the coat. She laid Her head back to rest against my arm
again, and slowly, click by click, undid my zipper.
i made a gulping sound in my suddenly parched throat, and surveyed the
theater nervously. We were near the back and, thankfully, the few people
who had sat near us had moved after Mistress' outburst. On the screen all
was sturm and drang as ships rocketed through asteroids and blasted the
hell out of one another. The noise was phenomenal
Her hand slipped into my pants, and immediately brushed past my penis.
Instead, She began to fondle my scrotum, manipulating it carefully until
She had both testicles in Her grasp.
Then She squeezed.
At first the pressure was soft, but firm; and the sensation it brought
forth was one of intense stimulation rather than outright pain. Then She
squeezed again, longer and harder than before.
i don't know exactly why, but as She was doing this, i put my arm
around Her; my hand coming to rest squarely on Her breast. When She
squeezed again, i did too: my actions a tender mirror of Her increasingly
rough ministrations. She had on some kind of underwired bra, so i could
feel Her nipple harden as i massaged Her; pleasuring Her even as She
tormented me.
my balls tried to shrink away from the pain, but She kept them locked
in a fearsome grip. i pinched Her nipple lightly between my fingers,
undulating my palm against the whole broad surface of Her tit.
She collapsed Her hand into a fist, sending a tidal wave of howling
agony throughout my body, yet i could give it no voice. She buried Her
face into my shoulder, biting me. A spasm passed from Her to me and She
bit me again: a savage, bruising chomp. Her hand compressed so tightly
that there seemed no room left for anything else. i felt crushed,
castrated.
i don't know if She actually came, or just stopped short lest She make
another scene. Abruptly, She went limp, the whole weight of Her upper body
slumping against mine.
She withdrew Her hand from my pants and made a disgusted face at the
slight smear of pre-cum along Her index finger. With a low snarl, Mistress
mashed the afflicted area against my lips.
"Lick," She whispered sternly.
END OF CHAPTER TWO, PART ONE
Note: Please feel free to E-mail with any constructive criticism or
suggestions for future episodes. Flames will be ignored.
This story is protected by copyright, 1997, by the author.
The Empire Strikes Back, Jedi, and Yoda are solely the trademarked
property of Lucasfilm Ltd. and are NOT used under permission.
Once, I swore I would die for you,
But I never meant like this.
I never meant like this.
No, I never meant like this.
Stabbing Westward "Shame"
From corvidae1@aol.com Thu Apr 17 18:56:05 1997
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From: corvidae1@aol.com (Corvidae1)
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories
Subject: REPOST: Nothing Like The Sun Pt.2 A (Femdom)
Date: 17 Apr 1997 22:56:05 GMT
Organization: AOL http://www.aol.com
Lines: 145
Message-ID: <19970417225400.SAA06906@ladder01.news.aol.com>
NNTP-Posting-Host: ladder01.news.aol.com
X-Admin: news@aol.com
STANDARD DISCLAIMER: The following story contains scenes of female
domination, CBT, and bondage. Those with moral objections to such activity
as well as those under legal age should not read this story.
All the characters and screen names in this story are fictitious. Any
resemblance to persons living, dead, or undead is completely coincidental.
The author makes no claims about any of the products, movies, or
children’s stories mentioned in this story, other than they exist and are
a part of our culture at large.
Nothing Like The Sun
By L.Corvidae
Chapter Two: Date With a Dominant
Part Two
Friday Evening
The rest of the movie passed uneventfully. When it had ended, Mistress
commanded me to walk out of the theater ahead of Her. She'd forbidden me
to pull up my zip, and thanks to my unabated erection, i had to walk
through the lobby with a noticeable patch of my underwear sticking out the
front of my trousers. Several of the employees pointed and laughed and one
sweet woman tried to tell me what i already knew by making a zipping
motion down the front of Her skirt.
i just shrugged like an idiot at her and walked on out to the car.
Mistress didn't say anything on the ride back to Her house, and when we
parked in the drive, She waited for me to get out and open Her door.
She got out of the car and proceeded to shove me up against the hood.
Standing on the tips of Her toes, She pressed Her body to mine and gave me
an aggressive, wet, probing kiss; Her hands grabbing at my ass.
She pulled back; Her eyes glittered with erotic heat and cold mirth.
"Time for you debut, my little painslut."
i started to follow Her towards the house, but She gently pushed me
away. She reached into Her purse and got out something.
"Open."
i opened my mouth as instructed. She reached up and put a key inside.
"The slave's entrance is in the rear, michael."
Approaching the house from behind, the ground sloped away so
dramatically that the building seemed huge. Even in the dark, i could tell
the backyard sprawled out to cover an impressive amount of land for a
residential area. Beyond that were thick, ominous woods.
There was a concrete patio by the basement door, and i promptly
removed the key from my mouth and opened the door.
i entered a small mud room which had only a heavy-duty Rubbermaid
garbage can in it. my collar hung by a hook by the door and i took it and
began to undress myself again. The can was clean, and basically symbolic,
but i was still uncomfortable dumping my best suit into it.
On the wall beside the opposite door was a sampler. Its borders were
all done up with hearts and bunny rabbits. ABANDON ALL HOPE, it read, ALL
YE WHO ENTER HERE.
Cute.
The door led into a narrow hall which in turn led to two more rooms to
the side before opening up into the dungeon proper. One of those
additional rooms had its door shut. The other, closest to the dungeon, was
a cramped bathroom, complete with bathtub.
The lights were off as i padded into the dungeon in my bare feet. i
knelt down in the dark at the bottom of the stairs and awaited the arrival
of Mistress.
The drama of it all was not lost on me as She descended from the bright
lights above into the darkened realm below. But it was when the silhouette
effect diminished that i gasped aloud.
Long ago, in one of our earliest chat room sessions, She'd asked me to
list the three items of clothing and/or fetish gear that i found most
arousing on a woman. my answers had been simple: a short leather skirt,
long leather gloves, and though i was submissive, a bright red ball gag.
It had been such a minor thing, and so early in our relationship that i
was amazed when She came down the stairs dressed in those things, the gag
worn as a necklace of course, and nothing else.
"Tell me what you want, michael."
"i... i want to please you Mistress. i want to give you pleasure.
Please, take this flesh, use it to give yourself pleasure!"
"Any way I see fit, michael?"
"Any way, Mistress."
She turned on the lights and ordered me to cross the room, on my knees,
naturally, before having me sit on a padded little stool.
She retrieved a few items from one of the wardrobes. The first was a
big leather sleeve, which i had to somehow put on my arms while they were
behind my back. When i got it more or less right, She made a few
adjustments and then pulled the laces tight until the muscles in my chest
began to feel the strain.
Mistress' words from the night before suddenly echoed through my mind:
"A good sub trusts his Domme to know what she's doing, not cry 'Safeword'
when his dirty little fantasies get all too real." Well, reality was
crashing in around me. i was now a prisoner, helpless; the only things
between me and grievous harm a mere word, and the conscience of a
self-proclaimed sadist.
She didn't even notice the onset of my panic; just went right on to the
next item which happened to be a pair of six-inch spike heels. She began
to painfully smash my size twelve feet into the size eight shoes. They
were narrow where my feet were widest, and impossibly narrow where my feet
were thin. If it weren't for the buckles and snaps, they would've shot
right off my agonized feet.
Lastly, She took off the gag, kissed the bright red ball, and popped it
into my mouth, pulling the strap tight.
She ordered me to my feet, and i experienced a whole new wave of pain
as the entire weight of my body pushed my feet further down into the
shoes; my metatarsal arch smashed deeper into the unyielding point of the
toe. With my center of gravity even higher up than usual thanks to the
heels, my six-foot frame wobbled uncontrollably as i took tiny, baby steps
to follow Her. To add to my worries, the shoes had negligible surface
area, and zero traction on the slick linoleum. i had terrifying visions of
breaking my ankles.
She ordered me to stop and hold still while She dragged a small
stepladder next to me. She'd also gotten a coil of thin, silk rope. She
started twining the rope around my balls, separating each testicle and
tying them off with a sharp, quick jerk. Then She closed a tight loop
around the base of my scrotum and another around the base of my cock.
Mistress took the other end and climbed up on the stepladder, feeding
it through one of the eyebolts set in the overhead beams. She pulled it
taut and secured it like that with a complex knot.
my whole body was trembling as She climbed back down. i began to
whimper behind my gag, but She merely smiled at me, gave me a toodle-loo
wave, and skipped away, going back up the stairs.
my ankles began to buckle, my calves cramped up.
Through the haze of fear and pain, i picture Mistress merrily skipping
into Her bedroom. i imagine a big, soft four poster bed and a huge home
entertainment center: three televisions, one for each camera. i see Her
kicking off Her skirt and crawling into bed; gleefully snatching the
remote from a bedside table. One screen, the largest, is a close-up of my
face: red and quivering. Drool runs from the corners of my mouth, tears
from my eyes. Another camera has a full-body shot from the rear; the third
closes in on my trembling behind.
In the depths of my fevered visions, i fancy Her absently toying with
the same breast i had fondled earlier. With Her other hand She reaches
over and takes a vibrator from a drawer.
She watches me intently, waiting for some sign; a twitch or spasm that
will tell Her the time is at hand. The vibrator begins to hum. She places
it between Her legs.
my own legs collapse from under me; the vibrator slides home. my entire
body is hanging by my genitals; my feet scrabble frantically for traction.
my ears are filled with the muffled sound of my own screams. Somewhere,
Mistress begins to moan.
END OF CHAPTER TWO, PART TWO
Note: Please feel free to E-mail with any constructive criticism or
suggestions for future episodes. Flames will be ignored.
This story is protected by copyright, 1997, by the author.
Once, I swore I would die for you,
But I never meant like this.
I never meant like this.
No, I never meant like this.
Stabbing Westward "Shame"
From corvidae1@aol.com Thu Apr 17 18:54:32 1997
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From: corvidae1@aol.com (Corvidae1)
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories
Subject: REPOST: Nothing Like The Sun Pt.3 (Femdom)
Date: 17 Apr 1997 22:54:32 GMT
Organization: AOL http://www.aol.com
Lines: 256
Message-ID: <19970417225300.SAA06806@ladder01.news.aol.com>
NNTP-Posting-Host: ladder01.news.aol.com
X-Admin: news@aol.com
STANDARD DISCLAIMER: The following story contains scenes of female
domination, CBT, and bondage. Those with moral objections to such activity
as well as those under legal age should not read this story.
All the characters and screen names in this story are fictitious. Any
resemblance to persons living, dead, or undead is completely coincidental.
The author makes no claims about any of the products, movies, or
children’s stories mentioned in this story, other than they exist and are
a part of our culture at large.
Nothing Like The Sun
By L.Corvidae
Chapter Three: Pleasing Mistress
Saturday Morning
i woke, cold and stiff, in the steel pan of the training crate. i was
only mildly pleased that my dick had regained its ability to harden
sometime during my fitful sleep.
She'd left me tied to the rafter for the longest hour of my life. It
became an endless blur of slipping, swinging and struggling to regain my
footing, only to lose it again moments later.
By the time She returned i was ready to scream my safeword loud enough
to wake the neighborhood. i wanted to get the fuck out of there and never
look back. Then i saw Her.
She was flushed, Her hair was out of place and Her naked body was
covered in sweat. i wasn't an expert, but She smelled like sex. A
rapturous smile beamed from Her features. She was so beautiful that She
was painful to behold, and all thoughts of my safeword fled me as She
removed the slimy gag.
She untied my tormented genitals, and i stumbled backwards. She guided
my fall so that i landed hard on the little padded stool.
Before i knew what was happening, She was on top of me, straddling me.
Her mouth fixed to mine, hungrily sucking the breath from my body. Warm
droplets fell on the tender flesh of my bruised and useless cock.
It was over too soon. She climbed off me and for a second more our lips
were connected by a thin filament of saliva.
She unbound my arms, but left the hateful, grinding shoes on.
"I like the way they define your calves," She explained with a
malicious twinkle in Her eye.
She led me to the crate and ordered me to crawl in. There wasn't
nearly enough room to stretch out, so i had to fold my cramped, aching
body into a fetal ball. She closed the gate and fastened the latch, not
bothering to lock it. There wasn't enough room inside for me to turn
around and get at it.
Before shutting off the light and leaving me there for the rest of the
evening, She said, "By the way, michael, you have my permission to
masturbate if you like. Only," Her voice grew stern, "I don't want to see
a single drop of spunk in the morning, you get me?"
i nodded weakly. "Yes Mistress." i remembered how my semen had tasted
when she'd forced me to clean Her hand at the movie. my stomach churned at
the prospect of having to lick up any more. Besides, my penis hurt so much
the last thing i wanted to do was touch it. i had my doubts it would ever
work properly again.
The dungeon had no windows, and with the door at the top of the stairs
closed, i had no way of knowing what time of day it was. As i laid in the
cold and the dark, i began to halfheartedly stroke my sore cock. It was
hard for me to imagine that twenty-four hours earlier i had been jerking
off under the steaming rush of water from my own shower; fantasizing about
this very moment.
i'd wisely gone to the bathroom repeatedly before leaving work the
other day; but even so, i hadn't been since, and the pressure in my
bladder was mounting painfully.
The lights came on with an audible snap, and i writhed in my cage,
temporarily blinded. When my sight returned, She was staring down at me
through the bars of the crate.
i gaped at Her with dumb astonishment. She was dressed like a
cheerleader, Her fuzzy sweater and short, pleated skirt all in orange and
black. A tiger logo was embroidered on the sweater, and Her hair was all
done up in a ponytail. Lastly, She had on a pair of new Air Jordans, the
kind with the broad bands of black patent leather; and i couldn't help
noticing that they did, in fact, reflect up.
She undid the latch on the crate and as i slowly crawled out backwards,
She rocked up and down on Her feet. i gathered myself into a pile of human
flesh on the floor and gazed up at Her, expectantly.
"What's the matter, michael? Not fetishy enough for you?"
"It's just not the fetish i..."
"Well - F - U - C - K - Y - O - U!" She cheered, forming the each
letter as She went.
"This morning I feel horny! Horny! Horny! Horny!" She cried out,
leaping into the air.
She stopped suddenly and cocked Her head to one side, giving me a
quizzical look.
Again, She seemed to read my thoughts with unsettling accuracy.
"No, michael, I am not on drugs! It's just when I get all horny like
this, I get... bouncy."
"Like Tigger," i said with a weary, but understanding smile.
For one wondrous moment the frenetic, sex-kitten facade dissolved,
leaving in its wake the most warm and genuine smile of pure delight i had
ever seen.
"Exactly."
She studied me for a minute, Her face lit up like a child who'd
discovered their new toy had a feature they hadn't known about. It hadn't
been that much of a guess for me really. i'd already suspected She liked
tigers. Her screen name, P.t.altaic, was a compacted version of the
scientific name for the Siberian tiger: Panthera tigris altaica.
"Who was your favorite character, michael?" She asked intently.
"Uh, Eeyore, i guess..." "Mistress," i added quickly.
She laughed. "I should have guessed."
"Well, michael, I'm sorry if this isn't what you were hoping for," She
indicated Her outfit, "but the fact is that I do get bouncy when I'm all
excited. And when I get like this I like to move. All those Dressing for
Pleasure sorts of outfits are lovely to look at, but they're confining as
hell.
"Still," She added thoughtfully, "it doesn't quite seem fair to you,
does it? I'm sure your head was filled with all sorts of visions of hobble
skirts and corsets and studded bustiers. And..." Her grin turned evil.
"Lovely, lovely high heels."
She ordered me to my feet and took me to the wardrobes. There, She
pulled out a satin corselette. She had to set it on the floor so i could
step into it, and then She hefted it into place and began puling
mercilessly at the laces.
i couldn't help but think of those giant snakes that kill their prey by
wrapping around a victim and then tensing up their muscles every time the
poor animal breathed out.
The compression of my torso almost proved to be more than my strained
bladder could bear.
"Mistress, please," i grunted.
"Is something wrong, michael?"
"i have to use the bathroom, Mistress."
"My, how thoughtless of me. Well, come along my pet."
She tied up the laces, leaving my body with just a hint of an
hourglass figure; then took me by the hand and led me to the john just off
the dungeon.
Because of the bathtub, the room felt incredibly cramped. The toilet
was small and low to the ground.
Instead of leaving me to my business, Mistress sat down on the edge of
the tub and batted Her eyes at me.
"Well?"
i'd always been shy about using public rest rooms, and to make matters
worse, the corselette held my body in a straight vertical line while my
stiff penis jutted out from my body at a right angle. If i were to go, it
would shoot right over the bowl and splatter against the wall.
i tried to relax, let my mind drift.
"Would it help if I told you that if you spill anywhere but the bowl, I
expect you to clean it up?"
There wasn't any toilet paper.
"Thank you, Mistress."
i tried again to calm down. i thought about work and all the things
i'd have to get done on Monday.
"Still feeling self-conscious?"
"Yes, Mistress."
"Look up."
i did. There was a camera in one of the corners. Bitch! Bitch! Bitch!
She laughed. "All right, michael, I'll let you make pee-pee in peace."
She stood and leaned in close to me, whispering, "I can always catch it
on instant replay."
She handed me a strange belt with metals rings set into the leather.
"Put this on when you're done."
Even after She left me, it took a while for me to get soft enough to
aim my piss into the toilet. i was almost finished when some of it
accidentally spattered on the rim. i swore loudly, but there was nothing i
could do.
i had a devil of a time kneeling down. i licked swiftly and with my
eyes closed; as if it would somehow make the act less repellent if i
couldn't see what i was doing. It was even harder to stand back up again,
and i practically had to climb the toilet to regain my feet.
Once i was up, i turned to the task of putting on the belt. Actually,
it was more like three belts. The thickest obviously went around my waist.
The other two started out as a single, broad flap connected to the first
and the forked off into two thinner ones. The rings were set in the flap,
which i began to realize was supposed to come down over my crotch. The
thin belts then ran around the cheeks of my ass to connect up again with
the thick one.
i held no illusions as to what the rings were for. That whole part of
my body was already one giant bruise, yet, grimacing, i threaded my soft
cock through the largest hole. It hardened instantly and painfully. my
testicles were worse, though. They were as soft as they were going to get,
and i had to squash them brutally to force them through their holes. the
whole region throbbed in agony.
Crying, wobbling, i went back into the dungeon.
Mistress was standing by a sawhorse with a padded leather cover. She
waved me over.
"Took you long enough," She chided, but She was still smiling.
She inspected the belt thoroughly, giving each afflicted element its
own nasty little squeeze.
"Is it too much, michael?"
i couldn't lie. "It is very close, Mistress."
She must have been a formidable poker player. Her expression was
completely unreadable.
"I'd intended to gag you again, and strap you down pretty good. You'd
better decide now if you can't go much farther."
i remembered the way she'd looked coming down the stairs the night
before; the way She looked when i caught the "Tigger" reference.
"Please Mistress. Please use this body to please yourself."
She nodded curtly and then knelt down beside me. She attached padded
cuffs to each of my ankles and in turn locked the cuffs to the legs of the
sawhorse, thus spreading my own legs wide apart.
She made me put the sleeve back on, and when i had that done She
gently pushed me forward over the horse. It was fixed to a circular wooden
base, and i could see that sunk into that base was another eyebolt. She
took a leather lead and snapped one end to my collar. Forcing me to bend
even further, stretching all my muscles to their limits, She snapped the
other end of the lead to the metal loop.
She showed me what looked like a rubber cup with straps attached, only
as She turned it i could see a big, fat penis sticking out of the center.
She didn't say so, but i think She held it out like that to give me one
last chance to back out.
In Her other hand She had a squirt bottle with what appeared to be
urine in it.
"It's not piss," She explained, squirting the penis in the gag
liberally. "It's much worse than piss."
She let me see the label before shoving the gag into my mouth. It was
bitter apple extract; used to discourage dogs from chewing on themselves
or the furniture. It tasted like a dead skunk's ass.
She moved around to the rear of my gagging, writhing form and tenderly
put Her hands on my ass. The soft warm skin against my cold, tense flesh
felt unbearably good. She began to massage me: my ass and thighs and lower
back. Nothing i had ever done to myself could ever hope to compare with
the pleasure She was giving me.
my body was used to thinking of pleasure as only stemming from one
place. Whenever anything sensual had happened to me, the signals were
instantly rerouted to my groin. But now all the nerves in that area were
busy: lit up with wave after wave of excruciating pain. i felt a rush of
epicurean warmth deep in my anus that i had never thought possible.
"Do you know why I chose you?" She asked. Not that i could answer. Not
that i wanted to answer and disrupt the feeling growing inside my body.
"Out of all those E-mails I get daily, what could have possibly moved
me to respond to yours? Hmmm? Haven't you wondered?"
i had. Obsessively. But it hardly seemed to matter now.
"It's because you're a virgin, michael."
That actually surprised me enough to break my reverie. i'd agonized
over putting that fact in my initial message, but i knew when the time
came i wouldn't be able to fake experience i didn't have. i was convinced
it would be the one thing that sent Her scrambling for the DELETE button,
but i also felt that honesty was about all i had going for me. It was a
shock to hear that for once i was right.
"All we do here, all the games we play, michael, are all really about
power; and power, for a man, translates as his manhood."
i heard the snap of a rubber glove.
"I do what I can to strip them of that. I degrade men, dress them as
women and deny them their cock, but it's all symbolic. I can't really take
away the one experience that really makes them a man. You don't have that
experience, michael. Your body is mature, but you're not a man, and as
long as you're my slave you never will be."
Her gloved finger began to play with my asshole, smearing some cold,
slimy lubricant around it. She slipped it in me a little bit and out
again. In and out, playfully spreading the jelly. i could hear Her peel
the glove off and drop it to the floor. Her hands grasped my hips firmly.
"Can you imagine how excited that makes me? How hot I get knowing that
you're sacrificing your manhood? That its very existence is in my hands?
Just to please me."
Cold, hard rubber poked at my hole. i felt the tension building in Her
through Her hands as She prepared to ram it home.
"I'm very pleased."
END OF CHAPTER THREE
Note: Please feel free to E-mail with any constructive criticism or
suggestions for future episodes. Flames will be ignored.
This story is protected by copyright, 1997, by the author.
Once, I swore I would die for you,
But I never meant like this.
I never meant like this.
No, I never meant like this.
Stabbing Westward "Shame"
From corvidae1@aol.com Thu Apr 17 18:53:35 1997
Path: news1.infoave.net!news-dc-10.sprintlink.net!news-dc-26.sprintlink.net!news-east.sprintlink.net!news-peer.sprintlink.net!news.sprintlink.net!sprint!uunet!in1.uu.net!152.163.170.17!newstf01.news.aol.com!audrey02.news.aol.com!not-for-mail
From: corvidae1@aol.com (Corvidae1)
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories
Subject: REPOST: Nothing Like The Sun Pt.4 (Femdom)
Date: 17 Apr 1997 22:53:35 GMT
Organization: AOL http://www.aol.com
Lines: 355
Message-ID: <19970417225100.SAA06725@ladder01.news.aol.com>
NNTP-Posting-Host: ladder01.news.aol.com
X-Admin: news@aol.com
STANDARD DISCLAIMER: The following story contains scenes of female
domination. Those with moral objections to such activity as well as those
under legal age should not read this story.
All the characters in this story are fictitious. Any resemblance to
persons living, dead, or undead is completely coincidental. The author
makes no claims about any of the products, movies, artists or children's
stories mentioned in this story, other than they exist and are a part of
our culture at large.
Nothing Like The Sun
By L.Corvidae
Chapter Four: Tribute
Saturday Afternoon
For the first time, i understood.
i'd known i was a submissive and that to pursue that would doubtless
entail enduring some pain; but i had never dreamed i could enjoy it. To
relish and desire it.
Not until that day. Not until She had finished.
i could do little more than hang by my fetters, savoring the strong,
pulsing burn deep inside my violated body. i knew it was pain; that it
should FEEL like pain, but it didn't. It felt good.
Pain was what was happening to my cock and balls. Pain was the feeling
that they would turn black and drop off. Pain was the feeling that it
would be a relief if they did.
The torment there in some way helped throw the voluptuous glee i now
took from my stretched and battered rectum into sharp relief. They defined
one another; almost needed each other to exist.
Mistress Catherine must have noticed the drugged-out look of rapture in
my eyes, for She became extremely concerned and quickly tore the penis gag
away.
"michael? Are you all right?"
"Yes Mistress," i replied, my voice soft and dreamy.
i don't think She was convinced, for She began to hastily extract me
from my various bondage devices, but when She got to the "jockstrap" i
cried out in protest.
"Please Mistress, no!"
She pulled away, astonished.
So, i explained the way my body felt at that moment, and how i
desperately wanted it to linger as long as possible. my words then weren't
nearly as polished as they are now, but She eventually understood.
And She was very pleased at this, too.
Much to my great disappointment, however, She still refused to remove
the shoes.
As She led me across the room, She commented on my tottering gait.
"We simply must teach you how to walk in those one of these days." She
sighed. "But you're just so cute like this. Like a little newborn foal
trying to stand for the first time."
She smiled at me wickedly. "And maybe someday my sweet little foal
will grow up and become a nice, strong pony for his Mistress. Wouldn't
that be nice, foalboy?"
"Yes Mistress."
She snapped Her fingers. "Come along foalboy. Follow Mistress."
On unsteady feet, i did.
She led me to the one room of the dungeon that had been closed to me
upon my initial entry. It turned out to be a sort of second living room.
Like the bathroom, it had more crammed in it than the room seemed capable
of comfortably holding. The biggest piece of furniture was a sofa sleeper,
with a small refrigerator, such as you might find in a college dorm room,
next to it. There was another of those cheap, department store wardrobes
and a few tall, thin, matching bookcases as well. i also saw the first
television in Her house. It was mounted over a VCR, on a high tray with
casters. There were candles everywhere, sitting on just about every
available surface.
On the walls hung several posters by the Swiss artist H.R.Giger; whose
most well known work to most Americans was designing the acid-bleeding
xenomorph that had chased after Sigourney Weaver in three, shortly to be
four, "Alien" movies.
Each one was a swirling mass of blue-gray chaos, with subtle touches of
the erotic and obscene. They were as sinisterly arousing in their
complexity as the Nagel had been coldly sensual in its simplicity. The
most obvious of the lot featured a nude woman standing in an "At Ease"
position, eerily similar to the stance i'd been ordered to hold during our
first meeting. There was some... thing completely enveloping her head. i
turned away.
On Her bookshelves, A. A. Milne and Tolkien rubbed shoulders with
Gloria and William Brame, Anne Rice (as A.N. Roquelaure) and Doris
Kloster.
"This is my part of the dungeon, michael," She explained, curling up on
the sofa. She was looking at me expectantly, as if She were waiting for me
to make the same sort of intuitive leap as i had with the Tigger
reference, but this time i couldn't.
"i don't understand, Mistress, doesn't this whole house belong to you?"
She gave a disappointed little sigh.
"Yes, michael, I own this house, and all the things in it, but the room
out there, all the gear and the whips and the like, that room isn't really
for me. It's for you.
" 'You', meaning my slaves in general," She added with a quick wink, "I
wouldn't want you getting too full of yourself."
"What I do out there is usually hard work for me, and my rewards are
seldom swiftly forthcoming. Tying all those knots, whipping, even
butt-fucking; that's all strenuous exercise, michael. And you wouldn't
believe how hard it is to masturbate and cane someone's ass at the same
time - at least, doing both of them well, that is. For a time, I had other
slaves do all the grunt work for me." Her voice trailed off, sounding very
sad and far away. "That's why I now have all those cameras set up in
there. I can give myself freely to the energy of the moment and when I'm
done I can go upstairs, or come in here and take care of MY needs at MY
pace.
"Since I don't like people- like slaves- in the other parts of my
house, this is the place where I can go and relax with them. Where I can
be me AND be a Domme. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Mistress."
i cast my eyes about the room again, taking in everything in a new
light. For the first time i also noticed, leaning up against the bookcase,
that there was a pad of 14 by 17 inch Bristol board. Next to it was a pack
of mechanical pencils and a hard white eraser. i looked to Mistress and
She gave me a slight nod.
"I believe," She said, "you still owe me in the way of proper tribute."
i nodded back, but first i got to my knees and begged politely that She
remove the genitorture device. The wonderful sensation in my ass had faded
into a faint, pleasing glow; while the ache in my genitals had dulled to a
distressing sort of numbness. The belt was hard to get off. i could only
get semi-soft, and the metal ring scraped the tenderized flesh of my cock
terribly as She carefully pulled it free.
The removal of the belt brought with it a whole new rush of sensations,
all of them bad. While i sat on the floor, trying to recover, Mistress
opened the mini-fridge and poured herself a glass of red wine. While She
sipped at it, She put on Her glasses, and picked up a tattered copy of The
Tempest.
The Bristol board was just within arm's reach of where i was sitting,
and i used it to drag the rest of the supplies over. i began to sketch.
i'd always been a doodler, and in college i'd studied art and graphic
design. The plan had always been to be the next Todd McFarlane, and write
and draw my own comic books, but reality had a way of whacking you on the
nose. So, i ended up with a moderately fulfilling job at a moderately
successful ad agency where i hardly ever used my drawing skills at all.
To keep in practice i'd sometimes do the inking on a local underground
comic put out by some college buddies who'd remained true to their dreams.
They even let me write an issue, which turned out to be one of their best
sellers.
Again, thanks to the lengthy feeling-out process we had gone through
over the internet, "Sub Voir Dire" She called it, She knew all of this
about me already. She'd asked a lot of highly specific questions
concerning the kinds of material i preferred to use, so it wasn't really
that much of a shock now that they had turned up.
Actually, my work on the comic was proving detrimental to my
preliminary drafts of Mistress' portrait. John, who did the layout and
pencils, patterned his style in the Rob Liefeld - Jim Lee camp; which
meant that all women had long lean torsos, even longer legs, and almost
ridiculously oversized breasts. in short: a creature that did not exist
outside of the fantasies of twelve-year old boys and comic book artists.
my initial efforts mirrored this style, and the results of transposing
Mistress' features onto such a body, while aesthetically pleasing,
definitely did not achieve the effect i was going for.
She certainly wasn't posing for me, and Her sweater effectively
concealed all of Her upper body; making my ability to translate Her image
to the board accurately all the more difficult. And it was crucial to my
own sensibilities that i get it right.
i thought back to the way She'd looked the night before. i was tempted
to draw Her exactly as She had appeared to me that night; but that outfit,
simple though it was, had been MY fantasy, not hers.
i reflected on the way She prized Her freedom of movement, and started
in on a sort of imitation of the Nagel piece upstairs, with Mistress naked
and sprawled out on a big tiger skin rug. i worked diligently for several
minutes, but when i stopped to examine how the piece was shaping up, i was
struck by the spuriousness of the image. The last place She would probably
choose to luxuriate herself would be atop the dead carcass of one of the
animals She loved so dearly.
i began to erase so violently that She glanced up from Her book and
fixed me with an inquisitive glare, but said nothing.
Finally, i settled upon an imitation of the kind of pinup pose like
you'd find painted on the noses of old World War Two aircraft. She was on
Her knees, but not in a servile sort of way, and Her hands here up teasing
Her long hair. She looked playful and fun: Mistress as coquette. Curled up
around Her, like a living sofa, was a tiger in repose.
i added a rough circle around the whole image to reinforce the 'nose
art' image, and then put down my pencil. Mistress put down Her book.
"Finished?" i nodded.
She reached out and i handed Her the pad. She licked Her finger and
turned down the corner of the page She was on and promptly chucked the
book at me.
"Read," She commanded, inspecting the picture thoroughly.
i took a deep breath and cleared my throat and started at the top of
the marked page.
"Um, Ferdinand, 'No, noble mistress, 'tis fresh morning with me when
you are by at night..."
i stumbled a lot at first because i kept splitting my attention between
the text and Mistress; trying desperately to gage Her reaction to my work.
After i tripped over the same line twice, She gave me an exceedingly dirty
look, and i refocused all my attention on reading the play.
i actually began to ease into it. i'd affect a mild soprano when
Miranda or Ariel was to speak, and dropped my voice into a low snivel for
Caliban's lines.
i was so wrapped up in my reading that i almost didn't catch it when
She spoke, for Her voice was extremely quiet.
"It's very beautiful, michael. Thank you."
She put the picture down, let out a heavy sigh and began to slowly loll
Her head around.
"It's times like this, michael, that I most regret not taking more than
one slave at a time. I do so love a good back rub while being read to."
"Perhaps, Mistress, i could..."
She laughed. "Do two things at once? As well as you did just a minute
ago?"
i didn't have an answer for that, so i just sat silently until She
commanded to pick up where i'd left off, which was close to the end,
anyway. When it was finished, She stood and unfolded the bed from the
sofa.
"Come here, michael," She said, patting the edge of the bed. i sat down
and She at long last began undoing the buckles on those hateful pair of
shoes. The pain was staggering as blood finally rushed back into my
smashed feet.
She ordered me to go dim the lights and my walk was nearly as unsteady
free as it had been in the shoes. She began lighting many of the candles
and by their flickering light, She pulled Her sweater off, and unzipped
Her skirt.
We stood there, with the bed between us. Now clad only in Her panties
and sneakers, She climbed on top of the mattress, and for a second vamped
in an homage to my portrait. Then She swung Her legs around out in front
of Her and began wagging Her feet at me in a familiar manner.
"michael, would you be so kind as to remove my shoes?"
i got down on one knee, but as i reached for one of the laces, She
slapped me away. i looked at Her, confused, and reached out again. Again,
She slapped away my hand.
i then dropped to both knees, to better stabilize myself, and, opening
my mouth, leaned in towards Her feet. She slapped my cheek hard and i
tried to pull back, but She grabbed a fistful of my hair.
"Sorry michael. you have the right idea, I just couldn't help Myself!"
i tentatively moved my head forward again, gently closing my teeth
around the end of one of Her shoelaces. Tugging gently, i got the bow to
come undone. Then in dipped down to the first "X" made by the laces
crossing, carefully bit down on one lace and pulled, loosening it. i
worked my way down the front of Her shoe. When it was time to pull it off,
i craned my neck around so that my head came up under Her heel. i didn't
want to get teeth marks in the soft, foamy rubber of the sole, so i
wrapped my lips back over my teeth and then tried to wrap my jaw around
the heel of Her shoe. i slipped twice, but finally bit down hard enough to
get a good grip and wriggle the sneaker free. i repeated the procedure
with the other shoe.
Next came Her socks. i pressed my lips gently to Her upper calves and
gingerly pulled the sock down Her leg to Her ankle. Then i took the toe
end in my mouth and removed the whole thing with a mild tug.
When i had bared both feet She stood up and thrust out Her pelvis at
an odd angle.
"Panties."
Treating Her skin as if it were the most fragile of porcelain, i took
the elastic band at Her side with my teeth and dragged it down of the
swell of Her hip. The i did the other side. Her panties slid down the rest
of the way on their own. She stepped out of them and crawled back into the
bed, stretching out languidly on Her stomach.
"Put them on," She commanded, indicating Her underwear. "I don't want
you smearing that little prick of yours all over my body and spoiling a
perfectly good back rub."
i did as i was told, the elastic waist digging painfully into my flesh;
and cautiously climbed into bed with mistress, rearing up on my knees.
i began the massage at the nape of Her neck. i was a little surprised
at just how tense She was; but it suddenly occurred to me that She had
been taking as much of a risk all this weekend with a stranger in Her
house as i been going there.
y hands glided across Her skin: up Her neck and then down to Her
shoulders. my grasp was firm, my strokes were even. i rubbed Her deltoids
and drifted further down along Her triceps.
As i began on Her upper back, i could feel the muscles begin to relax.
i slid down Her back; my thumbs and the heel of my palm working the sides
of Her backbone, while my fingers applied gentle pressure to the backs of
Her ribs. i eased my hands around Her torso, wedging them between the
sheets and Her body so that my hands could caress the meat on Her ribs. i
was careful never to actually touch Her breasts.
By this time Her body had acclimated itself to my touch, so i went back
and did Her neck and shoulders again, my hands a littler stronger this
time.
i quickly retraced my route down Her back before slowing as the base of
Her spine. She let out a short, stale little fart, which i took as a
compliment. It meant that Her muscles were loose and Her mind was
drifting.
i kneaded the cheeks of Her hard, muscular ass until they were like
pillows in my hand, and then made the final sprint down Her legs. i used
both hands on each one, and when a calf was done, i bent it back at the
knee and massaged each foot. They were heavy in my hands, and i had to
lower them gently back to the bed.
Usually this was where i stopped, but She slowly began to spread Her
legs apart, opening up Her ass to me.
i timidly began to put my had up Her crack, but She tensed and murmured
"No!"
i hesitated. my palms began to sweat. i repositioned myself so that i
was lying between Her legs, and nervously i crawled forward, positioning
my mouth over Her asshole.
First i began to play softly with the crenature of skin around the
hole. Pushing it this way and that with the tip of my tongue. i kept my
hands on the backs of Her thighs; primed for any sudden tensing of Her
hamstrings that might indicate i was doing something wrong.
i eased my tongue into Her.
The muscles inside Her ass were extremely tight. i had to slide my
tongue in even further to get better leverage. i began to push against the
walls of Her rectum, trying to meet the resistance i found with an equal
amount of pressure. i swung my tongue around inside Her in stiff lateral
and up and down movements until at last the lining of Her rectum began to
loosen up and i could roll my tongue around in one continuous, circular
motion.
She gave a long, gratifying sigh and i slowly withdrew from Her, still
poised to move back in if She so indicated. But She was sated. Her body
lay still on the bead, breathing in long deep breaths.
i reared back up on my knees and waited for further commands. The taste
of Her filling my mouth.
In a slurred voice, She said, "bathroom... permission... masturbate..."
"Thank you Mistress," i said, not entirely sure i'd heard what i
thought i had.
She made a feeble waving motion to signal that it was okay, and i
climbed out of the bed and hobbled into the next room.
Supporting my weight with my left hand against the wall, i angled my
body so i would shoot directly into the bowl. It was a nuisance getting
the panties off.
my cock almost hurt too much to touch, but my foray into analingus
excited me to the point that it only took three or four painful jerks
until i came with a powerful spurt of semen. It hit the water with a loud
plop, and in spite of the tenderness, i kept milking my cock for a minute
or two afterwards.
i wiped myself clean with my hand and then washed it in the sink.
Returning to Mistress' side, i knelt down on the floor and waited. Her
eyes were closed and She was actually drooling out of the side of Her
mouth.
For a while i took pleasure in watching the results of my labors. As
time wore on, my knees began to hurt. After an hour or so i grew sleepy as
well. i caught myself nodding off several times.
But as my chin sunk to my chest, She lashed out and slapped the head of
my cock hard. my eyes snapped wide open. She had shifted onto Her side in
a reclining position, studying me as intently as i'd studied Her moments
earlier.
"You've done this before, michael." There was a suspicious quality to
Her voice.
"Yes Mistress, in college. Except the ass part. i'd give back rubs
occasionally to female friends of mine."
"And then they would go home all relaxed and be with their lovers.
Wouldn't they michael?"
i couldn't meet Her eyes. "Yes, Mistress."
She laughed cruelly. "Ahh, poor little misunderstood sub."
She sat up and ordered me to go get dressed and wait for Her on the
patio. i did as She said and a few minutes later She came strolling around
the side of the house dressed much in the same way as when i had first
seen Her, a little over 24 hours before.
It was nearing sunset, and She took me for a walk in the woods behind
Her home. She pointed out one small clearing lined with moss covered bits
of broken concrete which She called Her "Faerie Ring" and told me the
story of how She'd been stumbled upon by a neighbor while playing a
dark-tinged game of "Titania and Bottom" with a slave.
At last we came to a small pond and sat where the ground dropped away
to sharp slope into the water. She rested Her head on my shoulder. We
watched the sun set.
END OF CHAPTER FOUR
Note: Please feel free to E-mail with any constructive criticism and
suggestions for future episodes. Flames will be ignored.
This story is protected by copyright, 1997, by the author.
Once, I swore I would die for you,
But I never meant like this.
I never meant like this.
No, I never meant like this.
Stabbing Westward "Shame"
From corvidae1@aol.com Thu Apr 17 18:52:00 1997
Path: news1.infoave.net!news-dc-10.sprintlink.net!news-dc-26.sprintlink.net!news-east.sprintlink.net!news-peer.sprintlink.net!news.sprintlink.net!sprint!uunet!in1.uu.net!152.163.170.17!newstf01.news.aol.com!audrey02.news.aol.com!not-for-mail
From: corvidae1@aol.com (Corvidae1)
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories
Subject: REPOST: Nothing Like The Sun Pt.5
Date: 17 Apr 1997 22:52:00 GMT
Organization: AOL http://www.aol.com
Lines: 472
Message-ID: <19970417225000.SAA06627@ladder01.news.aol.com>
NNTP-Posting-Host: ladder01.news.aol.com
X-Admin: news@aol.com
STANDARD DISCLAIMER: The following story contains scenes of female
domination. Those with moral objections to such activity as well as those
under legal age should not read this story.
All the characters in this story are fictitious. Any resemblance to
persons living, dead, or undead is completely coincidental. The author
makes no claims about any of the products, movies, artists or children's
stories mentioned in this story, other than they exist and are a part of
our culture at large.
Nothing Like The Sun
By L.Corvidae
Chapter Five: Catherine
Monday Morning
Catherine woke feeling tired and a little sad. The sun hadn't risen
yet, and in the dark, still gloom of the early morning the house felt even
emptier than usual.
Knowing full well how early she had to be up for work, she'd sent
michael home the night before. It hadn't helped much; she kept going over
the tapes repeatedly, rewinding her favorite bits over and over.
She'd studied the way he reacted to her ravishing his ass; watched with
laborious breath as a slow, dewy look filled his eyes. Then she'd see
herself quickening her own pace, driving for her own orgasm and Catherine
would turn away angrily. She'd only ever brought a man to "orgasm" without
his penis once before, and she'd stumbled into it by accident. michael
impressed her as being sensitive enough for her to repeat the experience,
and she was pissed that her own greediness had ruined her first, best
chance.
When next she looked at the clock, it was one in the morning and she
only had four hours left for sleep, maybe five if she rushed herself
later.
She'd thought -hoped, really - that her experiences with michael would
change the patterns of her dreaming, but the old dream returned.
She knew she was dreaming as it happened. She knew it was The Dream;
but She couldn't escape the emotions it stirred up because she also knew
all too well that it was a memory, too.
She was in a bed, not Her bed, but a nearly perfect replica; in the
house she'd made her slaves rent when the stable too big and too unwieldy
for her own home. Melrose East, She had taken to calling it.
kelli was at her feet, licking and sucking her toes; and Catherine was
trying to push back the overwhelming guilt she was feeling at just that
moment and say what needed to be said. All She could think of were
clichés: no more room at the inn, last hired - first fired.
It didn't help that She'd brought the girl in against her better
judgment; that she knew she was already spreading herself too thin. If it
had been anyone but Caresse who had asked, She would have said "no," but
Caresse - Goddess Caresse, formerly of Paris, France (though once when
they were drunk, had admitted she was born in Lyon and had only been to
Paris "once or twice") - was Catherine's best friend in the scene.
The more Catherine got to know kelli, the more uncomfortable she grew
with the whole situation. For one thing, Catherine could never really
enjoy herself with female submissives. She had two other women in Her
stable, but they were both quite strong willed and self assured. Laura the
Amazon was a switch and Gina, who Catherine had picked up club-hopping one
night, was in it mainly for the camp and drama. Catherine let the Cuban
girl's irreverent attitude slide because she was simply the hottest dance
partner the mistress had ever known.
kelli, on the other hand, was weak and full of self-loathing. She had a
lot of serious rape fantasies, and once told Catherine, proudly, about the
time her boyfriend hand made her bend down in the middle of the park and
eat a pile of dog shit in front of a dozen spectators. What made it worse
was that the girl couldn't understand the revulsion and pity she elicited
from Catherine when she told those kind of stories.
Gina had told Catherine a little later on that kelli had confessed to
her that the boyfriend had actually tried to break up with her the night
before, and that kelli'd locked herself in the bathroom and threatened
suicide until he gave in. It was his idea that the girl go into "that S&M
shit" and Catherine guessed he had suggested it in large part to get away.
kelli was everything Catherine hated about subs and Dommes, and she
wanted her gone.
She'd been bracing herself for kelli to throw a similar tantrum after
Catherine dismissed her, when the door to her room flew open violently and
Gina came running in, wild eyed and screaming.
A world away from that time and place, Catherine shook her head sadly
and crawled out of bed.
She padded into the bathroom on bare feet and stopped to look at
herself in the mirror. The ghost looked exhausted, but happy.
Her eyes were sunken and looked bruised. She'd catch shit for that at
work.
Not that She usually minded the ragging, She even encouraged it most
times. She was completely open about her lifestyle at the office and it
delighted her that her male coworkers were either so stupid or so ignorant
that they believed she was joking. It was amazing to her that these men
could swallow the letters printed in Penthouse as fact, yet laugh off her
detailed descriptions of real-life encounters.
She relieved herself; the act of defecation reminding her of the way
michael's tongue had felt inside her. She'd been surprised overall how
professional a job he'd done with the whole massage. Most subs tried to
make it an erotic act: planting little kisses, groping her breasts. And
while michael had poked her once or twice through the panties, she'd dealt
with enough subs "accidentally" rubbing their cocks against her to know
that in michael's case it had been genuine clumsiness.
She finished her business, flushed, brushed her teeth, gargled
mouthwash, spat and smiled to the disheveled haridelle in the mirror. Just
another glamorous day in the life of a Domme.
michael had no idea how close to her heart he'd hit with his analogy
about dogs. In Catherine's estimation, all men were dogs; only some were
more German Shepherd and others more Irish Setter. michael was definitely
more Working Group than Toy, but then again, she grinned, slipping into
the shower, they were all toys to Her.
She felt better after her shower, she always did. She wrapped one towel
around her body, a second around her hair, and went back into the bedroom.
Bast, the cat, had jumped up on the bed and was licking herself. She'd
already made a good sized stain on Catherine's satin bedcover.
"Damn it, Bas, get off!"
The cat continued to lap at itself, oblivious. Catherine undid the
towel across her torso and teased it into a rat's tail. She snapped it,
with precision accuracy, directly above the indolent creature. Bast
stopped, glared at her, and hissed.
"I SAID GET OFF!" She barked. The cat began licking itself again.
Catherine sighed. "Bitch," she muttered.
She went over to her vanity. She loved cats, but at least men were
trainable.
By the time she was done drying her hair, the first rays of the sun
were peeking through her blinds. She went to the dresser and picked up the
pair of cotton underwear that had been neatly folded on top. They were
michael's, and they were probably the cleanest pair of men's underwear she
had ever seen. If it weren't for the faded tags, she'd have sworn they
were new. Given the disorderly condition of his apartment, she hadn't
expected it of him.
Unfortunately for michael, the pair of panties she'd swapped them for
hadn't been nearly so clean. That reminded her, and she hastily pulled on
the jockeys, tying a knot in the side so they'd stay up, and hurried over
to her upstairs library, where she kept the computer.
It was getting close to the time he'd be waking up and checking his
messages. She could check when each message was read, and quickly learned
his patterns. She'd sometimes wait a few minutes until she was sure he'd
come and gone and then send him a very important, highly detailed notice.
michael had gotten to the point where'd he check his mail three of four
times before going to work. She hoped he'd check today; she was pretty
sure he would.
As she typed her instructions, she began to wish she had a camera in
the mud room as well. She wanted so much to have seen his reaction when he
retrieved his clothes and found his underwear missing, replaced by panties
she'd recently used to wipe herself, front and back.
The whole body of her E-mail read: Wear them to work today. Wear them
all day.
She pictured him sitting in the locker room of his gym after work,
stripped down in front of all those men, wearing messy panties. She began
to get hot.
Biting the inside of her cheek, Catherine turned off the computer and
rushed through the rest of getting dressed. She tugged the waist of the
underwear high up her midriff, above the waist of her pants so she could
cover the knot in the side with her blouse. She was running way behind at
this point, and flew downstairs to make herself a quick breakfast of
eggoes and orange juice for her, and a tin of overpriced cat food for
Bast.
Not for the first time did she reflect on how nice it would be to have
a slave to help her through all the mundane little tasks of the day. But
that would mean letting them in parts of her house that she still wasn't
comfortable with anyone going. Not since Alex.
She bit down on the inside of her cheek hard. It was bad enough that he
had to haunt her dreams every night; she got furious when he wasted her
waking moments, too. Especially now that she was trying to seriously
start her life again. She'd studied enough psychology to know that extreme
hatred almost always stemmed from another, equally extreme emotion, often
love. Catherine hated Alex with every fiber of her being.
She gulped down the last of her juice, gave Bast's back a friendly
scratch, and sprinted for the door.
In spite of all her dallying and daydreaming, she still got to the
clinic before 7:30. There were already a few mini vans in the visitor's
parking. Catherine parked hers behind the clinic next to the other
employees, entered through the back door, and put on her white coat.
Mistress Catherine became Dr. Catherine, DVM.
It was going to be a long, boring, shitty day. Monday mornings were the
second busiest day of the week. Saturdays were the heaviest, when people
finally decided to make time for the animals they'd brought into their
homes. Catherine and her three partners in the practice had a standing
rule: If you wanted Saturday off, you had to go Monday morning alone,
barring emergencies. As much as she dreaded carrying the load alone until
noon, she knew from long experience not to even kid about wanting an
emergency. The Fates had a way of making you pay for such idle thoughts.
What made the day even shittier, however, was the fact that she had no
plans to see michael that evening. That had been all her decision, and she
was regretting it. But she'd had a few other promising relationships go
sour by spending too much time together initially; learning too much too
quickly and then growing bored before there was any chance to grow.
Besides, she reasoned, if a Top couldn't control Herself, She had no call
to control anybody else.
Catherine bade a brief good morning to Mandy and Amy, the two
assistants working the early shift. The young women said hi back and when
she'd left the room, gave each other a knowing look about the dark circles
under her eyes. Unlike Catherine's fellow veterinarians, the women in the
office knew the score. She'd even invited Mandy, who was into piercings
and "occasionally getting tied up," to the munch/birthday party
Catherine's fellow Dommes had thrown her two years back; but that was as
far as it went. Catherine didn't believe in shitting where she ate.
The doors were unlocked at precisely seven-thirty. Catherine always
made sure that the doors opened exactly on time when she was in the
building.
It was Spring, and that meant a lot of paw-biting and butt-dragging as
allergies began to kick in for the four-legged set. There were ear
infections and fleas and a few old-timers who were feeling the first pangs
of arthritis. There was a woman, reeking of cigarettes, who couldn't
fathom why her cockatiel was so prone to respiratory infections.
Catherine tried to be as tactful and professional as she could, but the
lady refused to believe that she was the cause of all her pet's problems.
The woman left the office muttering irritably about how it was all a scam
by the vets to keep her coming back for more expensive medication.
Catherine gave the bird four months to live.
Actually, Catherine had found that most owners of exotic pets were far
more conscientious about their animal's well-being than the average Joe
who owned a dog. You had to be, really. Exotics were exotic for a reason:
they evolved in very specialized climates and natural conditions and it
was folly to think you could just plunk them down in an alien environment
and expect them to thrive. It would be like taking a kid off a farm in
Iowa and dropping him down in the heart of Manhattan. Good owners did
everything in their power to adapt their environments to suit their pet's
needs. Bad owners expected the animal to adapt to them. Most died of
stress, instead.
At 9:15, just when things should have been dying down, a woman came
barreling in with a broken and bloody Black Lab in her arms. Mandy was on
the phone in a flash to get someone else in to cover while Amy ran
interference with the owner, trying to calm her down and get the full
story.
Catherine didn't need the story. Dog vs. car, it was simple as that.
She scooped the silent, trembling form into her arms - seventy pounds of
dead weight - and carried it to one of the exam rooms, setting it gently
down on the stainless steel table. Her white coat was smeared with blood
already. She could tell just by looking at the animal what was coming
next. She fought the urge to go to the sink and throw up. She gently
stroked the fur on its head, spoke soothing words into its vacant,
unseeing eyes.
When Mandy ducked her head in the door, Catherine ordered her to stay
with the dog while she went and had The Talk with the owner.
Catherine hated The Talk. She hated a world where such a thing was even
necessary. Amy glanced up and saw the look in her eyes and backed away
quietly.
"Is he going to be okay?" the woman asked, her voice barely more
controlled than her earlier frantic wailing.
"Ma'am, I can't lie to you. Your dog is seriously injured."
"Oh God!"
"He'll need surgery."
"Surgery?"
"There's no chance he'll even survive," her voice caught in her throat.
Her eyes began to water up. "And if he did.. he might never be the same...
but he might," she added forcefully. But it was too late, she could see
the wheels already turning.
"How much would this cost?" the woman's voice was soft and she sounded
lost.
Catherine's hands were balled into fists. Her nails were sinking deep
into her palms. She told the woman.
"Oh, Christ!"
"I know it seems like a lot," Catherine's voice was plaintive, begging
almost. But in her heart she knew. Some dogs recovered. Some ended up as
frisky as ever and full of life. These were her Angels. She had pictures
of each one on her office wall and she sent them Christmas cards every
year: addressed to the dogs themselves, not the owners. She loved her
Angels, each and every one. But the dog in the other room was bleeding out
of his ears. The dog in the other room wasn't making any sounds. And his
owner was looking at car payments or the mortgage, or little Bobby's
orthodontia. No Angels for Catherine today.
"What... what else can you do?"
The tears began to run down her cheeks. "We can make it painless."
The woman looked into her eyes, found more understanding than she had
possibly expected to. She nodded.
Catherine reached out and gently stroked the woman's shoulder, gave it
a gentle squeeze. They were both covered in blood so stains didn't seem to
matter. She got up and went into the back.
Mandy saw the expression on Catherine's face. She nodded grimly while
Catherine got the shot. Catherine always wanted so desperately to be the
one to cradle the animal's head. To stroke its fur and speak calming,
reassuring words until the end. But state law required that only a doctor
was allowed to even hold the shot, so Catherine was always the
executioner. The dog was already deep into shock and died without even a
whimper.
Catherine stood there for a long while afterward, running her hands
along the animal's flanks, telling him what a good boy he'd been. What a
brave boy he'd been. She couldn't stop crying.
Eventually Mandy had to come in and take her out of the room, to her
office. She sat Catherine down, ran her hands through Catherine's hair and
told her over and over that it would be all right.
When Mandy finally left her, Catherine sunk her head down onto the
desk. She wanted Alex. She wanted Alex to hold her and kiss her and make
love to her. But Alex wasn't an option anymore. She had no options
anymore. michael might never be an option. She had only herself. She felt
cold.
"Wow, that bad, huh?"
She looked up to see Pete in the doorway. Catherine had three partners
in the clinic, all male. Two she knew from Vet School. Peter she knew from
kindergarten. He was short and stocky and had a voice at twenty-nine that
sounded like he'd been drinking Wild Turkey since before he left the womb.
"Christ almighty you look like shit," he said.
"Fuck you!"
He smiled. "Look, Katie," he was the only person besides her father
she'd ever let call her Katie, "I'm here now and I can get Ron in here by
noon..."
"Damn it, Pete, no!"
"Will you stop being such a hard ass all the time? And don't give me
that 'a deal's a deal' crap, either. Take the rest of the day off. Please?
Doctor's orders!"
"You're a veterinarian, Pete."
"And you think you're the world's largest cat."
"Actually, most big cats outweigh me by..."
"Will you shut up and get the fuck out of here!"
He smiled as he said it; she managed a small one in reply.
***
She went to Barnes & Noble because they had in abundance the two things
that calmed her most: coffee and books. She did a quick reconnaissance of
the store, gathered up an armful of promising candidates, got a big
steaming mug of Irish Cream, and curled up in one of the big, comfy chairs
by the door.
Reading was her one great passion in life; books were her addiction.
In her library at home she'd stuffed the shelves of her bookcases two
deep. There were enormous piles of books on the floor, like snowdrifts;
great towering stacks of them that reached the ceiling. It had gotten so
bad that she'd been contemplating moving the computer downstairs to the
living room just to make more room.
The managers at Barnes & Noble didn't mind if she spent an afternoon
reading in their store because they knew she'd buy twice as many books
when she was done as she'd finished there. She read everything: pet care
books- naturally - books on biology and astronomy, psychology, sex,
Eastern philosophy and witchcraft. She devoured mysteries by the ton,
particularly Lilian Jackson Braun, and loved fantasy and horror. Anne
Rice, of course, spoke to something deep in her soul, but she especially
enjoyed the twisted, repressed, dehumanized sexuality of H. P. Lovecraft.
She could blow a month's pay in one weekend, all on books.
By contrast, Catherine spent virtually nothing on her D&S lifestyle;
with the notable and rankling exception of the downstairs tub. The vast
majority of her whips and cuffs and vibrators had come as "tribute" from
subs who, not coincidentally, had always fantasized about being tied up
with "X" or whipped with "Y" or fucked with "Z." Most of her "Domme
outfits" had been gifts from her fellow Dommes at the birthday party she'd
taken Mandy to. Caresse had explained that "We're tired of always seeing
you looking like Death, chéri." Catherine hadn't caught the reference and
had been highly offended. She began to sulk when Mandy explained that
'Death' was a character in a comic book who usually dressed the same way
Catherine did; or at least the same way Catherine was dressed that night.
The others had assured Mandy, who had only ever seen her boss dressed for
work, that Catherine's outfit that evening was sadly typical.
michael was into comic books, she mused. Perhaps she'd ask him about
'Death' sometime.
The tub, she had spent money on. It had been her intention to remodel
the whole dungeon, putting in a tub AND a kitchenette in the mud room, so
slaves could prepare her meals; but at the time she'd had a slave who was
heavy into golden showers, so she'd gone with the tub first. Three months
later, after shelling out half-again the estimate, the contractors still
hadn't finished installing it, and her dungeon was torn to pieces. She had
to fire them and bring in new contractors, who virtually had to start over
from scratch. Meanwhile, the slave who had prompted all this had moved on
to more golden pastures.
She'd gotten her revenge, though. She'd invited him over to
"inaugurate" the new tub, had tied him up, stuck a snorkel in his mouth
and then filled the tub with a weeks' worth of urine she'd saved in used
water cooler drums. She'd meant to leave him like that all weekend, but
she relented after the first two hours when the smell began to drift
upstairs. When she went down to release him, however, she saw his
incredibly swollen hard-on, and left him there for the full two days,
anyway. The stink by the second day was unbearable. She put down a carpet
of paper towels between the tub and the back door, untied him, and ordered
him to dress and leave without the chance to dry off first.
In retrospect, it had probably been the biggest erotic thrill of his
life, and she'd been stuck airing out her house for a week afterwards.
Big revenge, she thought glumly.
She wondered if michael had a thing for watersports and if she was
really interested in training him. Still, it never hurt to have a
well-rounded slave, and it would be so delicious to see the look of shock
and betrayal in his eyes.
The glorious thing about michael, she'd decided, was that he was still
in that twilight world between reading about things and experiencing them.
He knew what was coming, but could still be as shocked by the acts as he
was by his own enjoyment of them.
She began to get a yummy sensation in her belly as she daydreamed about
pissing on michael; the lovely whimpering he'd make as he tried to
comprehend why his beautiful Mistress degraded him so.
She was getting really hot and bothered when she caught something at
the periphery of her vision that made her heart skip a beat. She turned
suddenly, but the man was already through the doors. She twisted herself
around 180 degrees in the chair, staring intently through the plate glass
window, but she couldn't see him.
michael, she thought with a shudder, michael was here!
In the parking lot a car was pulling out of its space. She watched
miserably as it turned the other way and headed away from the store. She
was mad at herself for making him park so far away Friday night, for not
getting to see his car; but the maddening thing was that he had told her
what kind of car he drove and she couldn't now remember it at all.
Not that it would have mattered much: she knew nothing about cars, she
barely knew the male and model of her own. They all looked alike to her.
Still, she ran over his story over and over, hoping for some clue. He'd
had it for a year, a year before the company that made it hired his firm.
That was important to the story because he'd already dreamed up the
commercial for his own amusement that would end up causing such a big stir
at his company. She never watched TV, at least other people's TV, but
apparently the commercial relied humor to make the car's main weakness
seem like its best selling point.
She sighed angrily. She hadn't been paying attention. He'd seemed very
proud of his little triumph, so she'd let him go on at length.
The car turned out of the parking lot and disappeared. She turned
herself back around and dropped back into the seat.
"Fuck!"
People looked at her, startled. She suddenly realized that she'd said
it aloud and, cheeks burning; she tried to fold herself up and stuff
herself deep down behind the cushions of her chair.
Catherine considered it for a little while. Had he been following her?
No, she decided, michael wasn't the type. She looked at her watch. 12:48.
He could have been out on lunch. It must have been a coincidence.
But... what if he had seen her? What must he be thinking? The warm glow
began to fill her again. What if he imagined she was stalking him? She
smiled, intrigued. She'd saved every communication between them, and she
was certain that somewhere he'd told her the name of the gym he used. The
idea had... possibilities. True, staying apart for 24 hours had been her
idea, but hadn't someone told her "No 'deal's a deal' crap?" Doctor's
orders, she thought, breaking into a wicked little smile.
Catherine wanted to be certain, so she got up and left her books in her
chair, so nobody'd take it, and strolled over to the registers. She smiled
at the cashier, Monica. Catherine knew everyone who worked there, so she
had no trouble approaching her. Monica was one of those bubbly, eternally
optimistic types who most people found annoying. Catherine, who split her
time between sick animals, gothic Dommes and masochists, enjoyed talking
to her.
"Morning, Monica."
"Good morning Doct... oh Jesus!"
Catherine followed the line of the frightened girl's gaze and saw for
the first time that the dog's blood had seeped through her coat at one
point and left a large, red blossom over her left breast. The blouse had
been silk, new and expensive. Now it was ruined.
"Been a bad day," Catherine said slowly. Monica nodded silently.
Catherine tried to calm her down with a reassuring smile.
"Listen, Monica, did you get a good look at the man you just rang up?"
Monica shrugged. "Not really."
Catherine tisked irritably. "Not at all?"
"Not really. He seemed pretty average, I guess. Nondescript."
That sounded like michael.
"How did he pay?"
"Cash, sorry."
Behind her, someone "humphed" at Catherine. She looked over her
shoulder to see an elderly, overweight woman waiting behind her.
"Thanks, Monica," she said moving away from the counter.
"No problem, sorry. I hope you have a better day!"
Catherine smiled weakly. "Me too."
She got back to her chair when it occurred to her to ask what it was he
had bought, but there was a line forming, as the woman who had been in
such a hurry now fished around in her purse for her checks.
Average. It could be michael's middle name. Not that he wasn't
attractive in a plain, uninspired Midwest kind of way. He'd make a great
spy, she reflected, taking a sip of her coffee, he'd fade away in a crowd
with no trouble at all.
It bothered her that that bothered her so much. The problem was that
Catherine was used to the James Bond type of spy: dashing, charismatic and
beautiful. Even kelli, who'd been such damaged goods, had been a lovely
thing to look at; and Alex had been, was still, the most beautiful being
Christine had ever seen in her entire life.
Beautiful bodies, she thought glumly, ugly souls.
She wondered if it worked in reverse, but then again, she'd never found
Hitler an attractive man. She wondered if michael had a beautiful soul.
She wanted him to. In a part of her psyche she refused to acknowledge, she
needed him to.
Regardless, she intended to find out, and soon; before she let herself
get too attached. She intended to drive him hard and fast, to test him
beyond all possible doubt.
And if he stumbled? Faltered, shied away or "threw a shoe," as it were?
Then she'd cut him loose, hard.
If he got hurt, if he was damaged... she couldn't concern herself.
She'd told him, she was out to get what she wanted.
Mistress always got what She wanted.
so why, asked a tiny voice she wanted to ignore, am I so alone?
END OF CHAPTER FIVE
Note: Please feel free to E-mail with any constructive criticism and
suggestions for future episodes. Flames will be ignored.
This story is protected by copyright, 1997, by the author.
Once, I swore I would die for you,
But I never meant like this.
I never meant like this.
No, I never meant like this.
Stabbing Westward "Shame"
From corvidae1@aol.com Thu Apr 17 18:51:06 1997
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From: corvidae1@aol.com (Corvidae1)
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories
Subject: REPOST: Nothing Like The Sun Pt.6 A
Date: 17 Apr 1997 22:51:06 GMT
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STANDARD DISCLAIMER: The following story contains scenes of female
domination. Those with moral objections to such activity as well as those
under legal age should not read this story.
All the characters in this story are fictitious. Any resemblance to
persons living, dead, or undead is completely coincidental. The author
makes no claims about any of the products, movies, artists or children's
stories mentioned in this story, other than they exist and are a part of
our culture at large.
Nothing Like The Sun
By L.Corvidae
Chapter Six: Workouts
PART ONE
Monday Afternoon.
Normally i'd hit the john and change into my sweats with five minutes
or so left to go before the end of the day. That Monday, i waited until
five minutes after, making sure the office had cleared out.
On top of the bruises, i now had a rash covering my genital region
thanks to Mistress' wet panties. It itched mercilessly. The elastic waist
band had sliced deep into my midriff and people had begun noticing a faint
odor about me by after lunch.
"Mexican food," i tried to explain with a laugh, but the smell was much
pissier in nature.
By contrast, my gym sweats hung on my body like a tent. i had to take
the string in my pants and make yet another knot. Part of it was the fact
that i hadn't eaten more than a few bites since Thursday morning. i'd been
too nervous for lunch; afraid i might vomit under the stress i knew i'd be
facing that evening. A similar sense of queasiness kept me from eating at
all on Friday, and Mistress Catherine did not exactly serve meals in Her
dungeon.
When i'd gotten home late Sunday afternoon, i'd immediately went to the
bedroom and collapsed, sleeping in till the alarm went off the next
morning. And i'd taken my lunch break that day to make a quick trip to
Barnes & Noble to pick up something i'd thought of in a rare flash of
inspiration. For one second i thought i'd actually seen Mistress there, in
the mystery section of all places, but i wrote it off to wishful thinking.
It had been a terrible strain all day to keep Her edict about my not
being able to masturbate. Still, i knew i couldn't break it and get away
with it. Her eyes looked straight into me. That night would go murderously
slow by myself in that apartment.
Which was another reason i was in little hurry to get out to the gym
that night.
As i slouched out through the reception area, i was surprised to see
Lindsey, the receptionist, still at her desk. The consensus among my
fellow workers was that Lindsey had to be a lesbian because she A: had
three piercings in one ear, and B: had somehow managed to resist the
charms of every guy in the office who had asked her out. By my count, that
was all of them except me.
It had become customary on Monday mornings to stand around the "water
cooler" (which was really a coke machine) and make up all kinds of filthy
stories about Lindsey's wild, concupiscent weekends. Because i wouldn't
play, there were a few nasty stories told about me as well.
"Night, Lindsey," i said, making a B-line for the door.
"Uh, Mr. R- ?" she asked.
"Yeah?" i turned to look at her.
"Could I, like, say something?"
"Uh, sure Lindsey." We hardly ever said more than four words to each
other a day. "Morning!" "Good Night!" and brief exchanges when she had to
transfer a phone call to me. i always tried to be friendly and courteous,
in part to make up for the cretinous behavior of my fellow employees.
"It's just... I hope you don't get, like, offended or something?"
"Uh huh?"
"But it's just... you really need to buy some new clothes. I mean -
that's a good thing, y'know?"
"Yeah, you're probably right about that."
"I mean, if you had some clothes that fit, you'd look pretty, I don't
know, good, you know?"
"Really?" i asked, genuinely curious.
She rolled her eyes. "Oh jeez!" she moaned. "I didn't mean - I wasn't
- it's not that..."
"Whoa, easy there," i said, trying to calm her down.
"It's just, I like you and all, you're really nice to me, but it's not
like..."
"You just want to be friends."
"Oh jeez! I hate that!"
i laughed. "Usually I do too, Lindsey. But this time, for once, it's
not that bad a thing."
She looked at me, slightly astonished.
"Really?"
"Really," i said smiling calmly.
"I just thought, you should, like, know - about the clothes and all."
"Like I said, you're right about that. I guess I've had a lot going on
in my life recently to worry about my wardrobe too much."
"Yeah, you could tell," she said, nodding.
"Oh could you?"
"Oh, yeah! Like, last week you were the biggest spas. I thought
somebody was going to throttle you, and now today you came in here like, I
dunno, Michael Jordan or something."
i looked at her blankly.
"You know... cool."
"Oh," i said in a soft, surprised voice. "Thank you." Of course, i was
standing across the room from her, and she probably would've taken it back
if she could've smelled me, but it still meant a lot.
"Yeah," she said again, smiling warmly at me. i smiled back at her.
i drove to the gym with the word "cool" still reverberating in my ears.
i'd always been the nice one, the safe one, never the cool one. When i
parked my car, i took a moment to check myself out in the rearview mirror.
Some idiot, trying to look cool, stared back at me.
i checked in at the front desk and climbed up the stairs to the main
weight room. i didn't get three steps in before i froze, my heart seizing
up in my chest.
She was there.
She had on a black Lycra leotard and powder blue shorts. Her hair was
back up in a pony tail and She was chatting, no, flirting with a small
group of resident stud muffins who had gathered around Her like pigs to a
troth. She looked over at the stairs, saw me and grinned triumphantly.
She'd said, the night before, that the earliest i could hope to see Her
again would be Tuesday. i wondered if this was still another test; if She
was expecting me to approach Her or not.
i decided to go with my initial instructions and not make contact. i
got my card, and had intended to go through my usual routine. There was a
smiley face drawn on it in pencil, along with a capital "C."
According to my schedule, i was supposed to work on my upper body, so i
went over to the butterfly machine. Next, the curls.
Next came the bench press. i slid myself under the bar and began to go
through my usual series of two sets of fifteen reps. When i was up to the
tenth rep of the second set, i felt a shifting of weight at the front of
the bench. i looked up; She was sitting at the edge. Her knees touched
mine and our legs were pressed together all the way down our shins. She
planted Her feet on top of mine, and our thighs made a diamond shape with
a sensual no-man's-land in the space inside. People began to stop and
stare.
"Don't let Me bother you," She said.
"Um, actually i was nearly finished, Mistress."
"Nonsense, michael, I won't hear of it. Do continue."
Not knowing what else to do, i finished my set and began another one.
my arms and chest began to tire.
"It was very rude of you not to say hello to Me when you came in,
michael."
"i... wasn't... sure... Mistress." my words came out between deep
breaths. The weights seemed to grow heavier with each lift.
"It's very intimidating coming to a strange place and being all alone,
michael."
i almost laughed at "all alone." i finished my third set and let go of
the bar. She pressed down on the tops of my feet with Her own, and i took
the bar up again to do a fourth set. my muscles were really aching now. i
was grunting with every lift.
Halfway through the set, She leaned in so close that the top of Her
head almost touched the bar. She pushed my sweatshirt up my torso and
lifted the waist of my pants, craning Her head around to get a good look
inside. One of the female spectators gasped at Mistress' boldness.
She pulled herself back into an upright position and smiled broadly at
me.
"Well, I guess I can forgive you just this once."
The smile suddenly turned into a frown.
"Jesus!" She said crossly. "Aren't you EVER going to be finished with
that?"
We went down to the juice bar after that. People pointed and whispered
as we passed by. She was skipping along like a schoolgirl, leading me by
the hand.
She stopped short at the glass counter. She looked to me and asked,
"What do you like, michael?"
i pointed to a bottle of flavored sparkling water.
"Cherry?" She scanned my face for any hint of sarcasm or irony. There
was none to find.
"Okay, what flavor don't you like?"
"Uh," i scanned the counter until i saw one that made me grimace.
"Peach, Mistress."
She turned to the teenager working the register. "One cherry, two
peach, please!"
We sat at a table and She pushed the two bottles of peach towards me,
twisting open the cherry and taking a long swig.
"you must be terribly thirsty michael, drink up!"
i took big long gulps, trying to get the unpleasant water past my taste
buds as quickly as possible.
She finished Her bottle and gave me a long penetrating stare.
"I wish you wouldn't look at Me that way, michael."
"Mistress?"
"you look as though I could puncture you with a needle and a thousand
questions would come rushing out at once. It's very annoying. I don't
appreciate being bombarded with questions, michael, even if they are
unspoken ones."
"Forgive me, Mistress," i pleaded, casting my eyes down at the table.
"I'm well aware I'm breaking My own orders by being here, michael. I
have My reasons. If you feel, however that this makes Me somehow
untrustworthy then you are free to end this relationship now. Or..." She
waited until i looked up and met Her gaze again. "We could go back to My
house now. Which would you prefer?"
We took separate cars back to Her house.
Before we left the gym, however, She stopped me at the door with a
hand on my chest.
"You don't think I'm letting you into My home all sweaty and
disgusting like this, do you michael?"
"But, Mistress, i usually take my shower when i get home."
She laughed. "Of course you do! I can imagine how being naked in front
of all those men who are so much bigger than you are," She glanced down at
my crotch, "must be extremely humiliating. But I'm afraid I must insist,
My sweet. You can either take a warm shower here as a prelude to an
evening with Mistress, or a cold shower by yourself back at your
apartment."
Actually, being modestly endowed was the least of my concerns. By the
time i got into the locker room, most of the guys there had been present
at Mistress' show. Those few that hadn't had been brought up to speed, so
when i entered the room, an eerie calm settled over everything. The one
mollifying thing about the whole experience was that, of those who had
seen Mistress, i got as many envious looks as contemptuous ones.
i tried to pick a relatively deserted corner to undress; nearly
impossible considering that i was the center of attention. When i got my
pants off, a murmur ran through the room.
i thought i was going to have to cut Mistress' panties off of me. The
waistband had dug a trench around my equator. i finally wormed my body out
of them and ran a finger along the sore, red line bisecting me.
Guys took one look at my afflicted crotch and moved out of my way
wordlessly.
i didn't have a towel, so i used my sweatshirt instead, returning to
the parking lot in just my T-shirt. It had taken an act of will greater
than any i had ever known to put those panties back on again, but it was
worth it. Mistress was leaning up against the trunk of Her car, waiting
for me. She checked.
Before we left, She did a strange thing. She insisted i point out my
car to Her, and then gave me a very odd look once She had seen it. i
wondered about that the whole drive to Her place, but given Her expressed
displeasure over my curiosity, i forced myself to let it go.
i parked along the side of the road. She had gotten there ahead of me
and was standing on the lawn. When i walked over to Her, She gave me a
warm wet kiss and said, "Wait on the patio for about ten minutes." Then
She giggled and ran back up to the house. i stood there, letting the kiss
linger in my mouth. She tasted like cherries.
i suddenly remembered something i'd left in the car, so i went back to
get it before proceeding to the slave's entrance. i cooled my heels for
the requisite ten minutes, then entered, going through the same routine as
before: strip, garbage can, collar. i put the item from the car on the top
of the pile, so i could easily retrieve it later.
i walked into the dungeon and stopped. i made an inarticulate sound of
awe and pleasure.
She was dressed only in a pair of tight-fitting leather pants that
laced up the sides. She was beautiful. i fell to my knees.
She walked to me, Her pants making an incredibly exciting creak as She
moved. She took my hand and laid it on Her hip. my palm rested on the
warm, diamond shaped high relief of flesh formed by the laces; my fingers
on the cool, smooth surface of leather. She eased my hand down to Her
knee.
i whimpered ecstatically.
She ran my hand back up to the swell of Her hip. i whimpered again.
"There now," She said in a seductive, hypnotic voice, "you've had your
dessert early tonight. Now it's time for the main course."
She had hooked up a sort of trapeze to the ceiling and it was just high
enough that i could reach it if i stood on my toes. She pulled over Her
stepladder and commanded me to do just that; and then locked my hands into
place with police cuffs.
She got down, put soft padded cuffs around my ankles and hooked a big
wooden rod between them; spreading my legs terribly wide. i was now
practically putting all my weight on my big toes. i tried to just hang
from the bar, but the muscles in my arms were tired and sore from all
those extra bench presses.
The whole thing was really more tiring than sensual for me, and my
penis started to loll about in a semi-soft state.
Mistress circled me, and held up an object for my inspection. It was
made of dull red rubber and the only purpose i could imagine for it was as
a butt-plug of elephantine proportions. It was as wide as my biceps at one
end and thinned only to about the width of my wrist at the other. Sticking
out of the rubber, and spaced evenly around the sides like points on a
compass, were four white, plastic cylinders. There was a tiny hole at the
"thin" end, and a wide one at the thicker. A shoelace had been threaded
through the holes.
"Pretty, isn't it, michael?"
"It's beautiful, Mistress," i lied, mortified at the thought that the
monstrous thing would be invading my body.
"I'm glad you like it. I designed it myself. My... friends and I have a
little social club and we get together infrequently to.. you know... talk,
show off our latest acquisitions and play a few party games.
"One of those games was to see who could design the best homemade Teeth
of Kali, and I won. Do you know what Teeth of Kali are, michael?"
"No, Mistress." But it sounded bad.
"Why, you're looking at one now, silly! May I demonstrate?"
i was shaking badly. "Please do, Mistress. Please show me your
wonderful device."
She moved, not to my ass, but to my cock. She took the bit of string at
the wide end and tied it sharply, just underneath the glans. Then She
pulled at the other end of the lace, sliding the whole rubber contraption
over me until my whole cock was inside and the chubby end was pressing
against my pubic bone. She finished by tying a bow at the thin end to keep
it fast against my body. Inside, it was a tight, but not unpleasant, fit
for my still flaccid, stretched-out member. The interior was actually a
rectangular tunnel made of hard, smooth plastic; probably the same kind as
the mysterious cylinders. As my penis hardened a little, i could feel
dozens of tiny holes in the surface of the plastic, and my flesh began to
slowly expand into them.
Mistress held up something that looked a little like a plastic
flashlight, only with a thinner handle. The face looked more like a shower
faucet, lined with holes, and there was a white dot in the center.
Mistress pressed down on the dot. The face slid backwards with the creak
of rusty springs. Through the holes appeared dozens of little plastic
spikes.
"oh god," i groaned. The first tiny pinpricks began to ripple across
the surface of my trapped manhood.
"You see," She chirped like an infomercial, "the string holds it in
place until you're hard and then the spikes do all the rest."
i closed my eyes, moaning. my fear made me hard. my hardness brought me
pain. my pain made me afraid.
"Not bad for a dog toy, four meat tenderizers and an old shoelace, eh,
michael? And the best part is that the blood comes right out this hole in
the tip!"
That did it. i began to cry incoherently, thrashing in my bonds. She
slapped me across the face.
"I'm kidding! Calm down! Those spikes aren't nearly as sharp as you
think they are, michael, and you're not thick enough to drive them all the
way in!"
She caught my chin and pointed my face directly at hers.
"Do you understand?"
i nodded, whimpering in a completely different way than before.
"All right, then. I was going to gag you; I know how much you get off
on that. But I think for both our sakes, I'd better leave your pretty
mouth open just in case you need your safeword. This," She thumped the
rubber with Her finger, "is only the beginning of our session tonight, do
you understand, michael?"
i nodded miserably.
"I need to hear you say it."
"i understand, Mistress."
"Understand what?"
"This... thing.."
"Teeth of Kali, michael."
"This... these Teeth of Kali are only the beginning."
"And do you want more?"
No. i nodded yes.
"Say it, michael."
"Please, Mistress. Please give me more!" Despite what She'd said, my
prick had swollen to fill the entire cavity; at least in width. The spikes
sunk deep into my most sensitive flesh. A sheen of sweat broke out across
my freshly-showered body.
"I thought you didn't like pain."
"i want to give you pleasure, Mistress!"
"How very noble of you."
"Please!" i practically screamed, "i NEED to give you pleasure!"
"All right, michael," She said very softly. "Thank you."
END OF CHAPTER SIX, PART ONE
Note: Please feel free to E-mail with any constructive criticism and
suggestions for future episodes. Flames will be ignored.
This story is protected by copyright, 1997, by the author.
Once, I swore I would die for you,
But I never meant like this.
I never meant like this.
No, I never meant like this.
Stabbing Westward "Shame"
From corvidae1@aol.com Thu Apr 17 18:50:11 1997
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From: corvidae1@aol.com (Corvidae1)
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories
Subject: REPOST: Nothing Like The Sun Pt.6 B
Date: 17 Apr 1997 22:50:11 GMT
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STANDARD DISCLAIMER: The following story contains scenes of female
domination. Those with moral objections to such activity as well as those
under legal age should not read this story.
All the characters in this story are fictitious. Any resemblance to
persons living, dead, or undead is completely coincidental. The author
makes no claims about any of the products, movies, artists or children's
stories mentioned in this story, other than they exist and are a part of
our culture at large.
Nothing Like The Sun
By L.Corvidae
Chapter Six: Workouts
PART TWO
Monday Evening
"Say it, michael."
"Please, Mistress. Please give me more!" Despite what She'd said, my
prick had swollen to fill the entire cavity; at least in width. The spikes
sunk deep into my most sensitive flesh. A sheen of sweat broke out across
my freshly-showered body.
"I thought you didn't like pain."
"i want to give you pleasure, Mistress!"
"How very noble of you."
"Please!" i practically screamed, "i NEED to give you pleasure!"
"All right, michael," She said very softly. "Thank you."
She went over to Her racks of toys, leaving me to twist and tremble in
unspeakable agony. When She returned She had a girlish look of mirth on
Her face and something behind Her back.
She pressed close to me, extremely close.
"I've noticed that your sweet little plums have a distressing tendency
to run away from Me when I want to play with them, michael," She said,
reaching under Her "invention" and tenderly grasping my balls.
She wasn't hurting me - there - but i made a keening sound, a pitiful
wailing, in dreadful anticipation.
"You see?" She said, tightening Her grasp and pulling them gently
downward.
My words word have sounded a bit like this: "Owowowowowowowowow!" i was
virtually howling.
"And you don't hang very low to begin with My sweet, so I'm going to
have to start training you." She held up a leather device that was as
meaningless to me, yet as sinister, as the Teeth Of Kali. There were laces
up the front, like the sides of Her pants, and a chain dangling
underneath.
"This is called a parachute spreader," She explained, awkwardly tugging
it over my scrotum.
"You see?" She asked, pulling at it roughly. "If they dropped lower, it
wouldn't be this difficult!" She did up the laces. The stretching
sensation in my groin was unbelievable.
"And what we do," She said, holding up a small metal cylinder with a
hook on the top, "is this." She hooked it to the chain. My balls weren't
just being pushed away from my body, now they were being dragged away by a
full pound of weight.
"A pound doesn't seem like very much, does it michael?"
i was gibbering mindlessly. She snapped Her fingers in front of my
face.
"MICHAEL!"
"i don't know, Mistress," i groaned. "It seems like so much to me!"
"Well, I think you can take another pound," She said sternly. "And if
I'm wrong, you can always use your safeword and we'll clean up the mess
later."
Clack. Another pound. They clattered like castanets from the violent
shaking that wracked my body. All the jostling awakened new waves of
torment inside the Teeth Of Kali.
She surveyed me like an artist taking in the full effect of their work.
"Clamps, definitely."
i hardly even felt them as She clipped a pair of baby alligators to my
nipples. The sensations just had too much to compete with.
"Well, michael," She said at length, "you do remember what I told you
yesterday, don't you?" i sobbed in reply.
We'd spent most of the day in the dungeon's den. Saturday night, i'd
slept chained spread-eagle to the sofa sleeper and spent the morning at
Her feet, lapping at Her soles and suckling Her toes while She had coffee
and read the Sunday papers.
With an hour or so before She'd dismiss me, we went into the dungeon
and She had me lean against the punishment horse - "assume the position"
as they say in cop shows - and had given me a firm, but moderate spanking.
It hadn't really hurt that much, and i told Her that truthfully when
She asked.
"This is just to get you used to it," She informed me. "Next time you
are here I intend to give you a proper beating."
Next time had come much sooner than i had anticipated.
She had positioned me from the start to stand facing the pegboard where
She displayed Her weapons. She walked over and began to pick through the
bullwhips coiled like snakes, the crops and canes and broad wooden
paddles. She selected an arm-length, leather-wrapped shaft with a flap on
the end.
"What do you think?" She asked, displaying it proudly.
"It's a beautiful crop, Mistress," i replied.
"It's a QUiRT!" She snapped, smacking it squarely across my testicles.
i nearly blacked out. My legs turned to jelly and all my weight fell to my
straining arms and shoulders to bear. i couldn't even cry out, i just
dropped with a soft puff of escaping breath.
"You've been dreaming of this for how long, michael? And you still
don't know the proper terminology?"
"Mistress, please," i grunted, "forgive me."
"If you were to display this kind of ignorance amongst company, it
would reflect badly on Me as a Mistress, michael. It'd take a lot more
that 'Please, Mistress' to assuage Me then. A lot more." Her eyes burned
into mine. my balls tried to pull up out of fear, with disastrous results.
It wasn't the threat of "A lot more," it was the threat of "Company."
"Fine. It's My duty to educate you. You don't know the difference
between a crop and a quirt?"
"No Mistress."
Smack! This time i did cry out.
"Obviously! A quirt, My dear, has this leather tongue on the end. Do
you see?"
i nodded.
"Open wide and I shall slip you the tongue."
i opened my mouth and She stuck the end of the quirt in it. She rubbed
it around the roof of my mouth and back and forth over my tongue. my mouth
filled with the taste of the leather and i began to feel the first real
stirrings of sinful pleasure course through my ravaged body.
"Poor michael," said Mistress as She French-kissed me with Her whip.
"How hard it must be for you. All your fetishes and desires so neatly
wrapped up together in this twilight realm, yet inextricably linked to all
those things you hate and fear. Genuine desire forever conjoined with
genuine suffering."
She pulled the quirt from my mouth. "You'd probably be better off with
a hooker, My sweet. You could indulge in everything you want and not have
to worry about all the nasty bits on the side."
"Not everything Mistress," i blurted through the pain.
She raised Her eyebrows in surprise. "Why you little brown noser! Do
you mean Me?" She laughed, lifted Her arms up and twirled around. "You
have a Catherine fetish now, is that it? My, that IS serious."
She pulled back and hung the quirt back in its place. "Let's see,
michael. I've given you a taste to sate your anal fetish, and I've given
you a taste to sate your leather fetish." She smiled at me malevolently.
"Would you like Me to give you a taste to sate your Catherine fetish?"
"Please, Mistress!"
She selected a paddle from the wall, only it wasn't actually a paddle.
i'd played tennis and squash in college, and it definitely looked like a
racquet of some kind. The frame was wider than a tennis racquet, and the
handle was much shorter. She'd covered the whole thing in black leather;
and judging by the way She hefted it, She'd replaced the strings with
something heavier.
She displayed one side to me. It was covered in small metal studs.
"Naughty," She explained.
She flipped it over. The other side was smooth.
"Nice."
She began to play with the racquet; to spin and twirl it and flip and
catch it. She was incredibly deft with it.
"This is Catherine's favorite paddle, michael," She explained. "Do you
know why that is?"
"No, Mistress."
Crack! She smacked the "naughty" side against my ass and held it
there, grinding the studs against my skin.
"Don't be stupid! Of course you don't. I haven't told you yet. Would
you like Me to tell you?"
"Oh, please, Mistress," i cried.
Crack! The "nice" side this time.
"Such a sweet slave." Like before, She kept the paddle pressed against
me, rubbing it against my cheeks. This time, however, the sensation of the
leather against my tenderized ass was intensely arousing. Given where my
cock was at the time, this proved a decidedly mixed blessing.
She began to circle me as She talked. Whenever She wished to emphasize
something, the paddle would come crashing down on my ass like a corporal
exclamation point.
"This racquet is directly responsible for My First Time, michael. Not
My first time having sex!" Crack! "My first time having sex was hardly an
event I'd wish to commemorate!" Crack!
"Actually, I was quite old when I lost My virginity. Not as old as you
are, of course! But old by comparison with My..." Her voice seemed to trip
over itself. "My peers!" She hit me with the studded side on that one. "I
never was much interested in dating, but on some level there is an almost
inherent D&S aspect to the relationships between teenage boys and girls.
Or at least, there used to be." She sighed.
"I couldn't even say the experience was... interesting. It didn't last
long, and frankly, wasn't even as painful as I'd heard it described."
In spite of everything, i had to fight to suppress a smile. Only She
would consider something like pain to be an added bonus.
"Once I got to college, that changed. Boys now wanted to be men and
take all the power for themselves. Inexplicably, the women actually ceded
it to them! Now I understand that it's like that even in high schools,
which is a terrible shame. Girls have SO much power over boys when they're
young, it's inconceivable to Me why they give it up for something stupid
and nebulous like 'security'! I've provided for myself far better than
most the girls I knew who gave up control of their lives to some... man!"
She'd landed three more blows during the course of Her statement. my ass
was beginning to glow.
"The point is that once I arrived at college, My interest in 'dating'
which had always been tenuous at best, evaporated entirely. I had friends,
some of whom were eminently fuckable; and I did attempt to try having sex
again, but it was only marginally more satisfactory than the initial time.
I was not unaware of what it was that I sought, but I didn't really
understand all that much about it, being a 'good' little Catholic
schoolgirl from the Midwest."
"Then, in the second half of My Freshman year, I took a psych course
and for the first time heard the word 'Sadist,'" She whacked me with the
"naughty" side, hard, "used in a sexual context. I don't know, michael.
Can you remember the first time that all the diffuse, vague longings and
half-understood desires finally coalesced into something coherent,
something you could put a word to?"
Actually i couldn't. It had never quite been like that. It was more an
organic evolution for me rather than a single revelatory incident. i said
so, and She seemed saddened by it.
"Well, for Me, michael, it was like waking up. Like My libido just
stopped dreaming one day and woke right up!
"Unfortunately, I was still woefully ignorant about a lot of the
'Facts of Life,' if you will, when it came to dominance and submission. I
actually thought that I would be in the position most subs face; having to
deal with incredibly stiff competition just to get a decent partner. I
couldn't imagine that subs outnumbered Dommes the way they do. It feels
contrary to human nature almost, that people would rather be beaten than
do the beating." She punctuated this with a series of lightning swift
strokes across the inflamed skin of my ass and the backs of my thighs.
My chin was to my chest at this point an rivulets of sweat cascaded
down my body. i was listening to every word She said, but it was in a kind
of fugue state.
"I had a friend. A very dear male friend. He was very much like you,
michael, sensitive and unassuming, even submissive in a way. But he went
about expressing that submissiveness in the wrong way: he would constantly
date shrewish, mean women who treated him like shit. He would follow them
like puppies and they'd just abuse him. He confused mean with strong, do
you understand?"
She slapped me back to attention.
"DO YOU UNDERSTAND, MICHAEL?"
"Yes, Mistress," i rasped, nodding feebly.
"It would have taken no effort on My part to make him My lover. Does
that strike you as arrogant, michael?"
She was poised to strike me Herself. i thought of the way the men at
the gym had clustered around Her.
"No Mistress! Men throw themselves at you Mistress!" She smacked me
with the smooth side.
"Sweet boy." i could hear Her kiss flesh, and She gently pressed Her
hand to my stinging skin.
"I tested him a bit, tried to gage his reactions to the idea of bondage
and pain and the like. Sadly, he was also from a 'good' Midwestern
upbringing and he found the ideas, well, unpleasant at best. It was easier
for him to have his ego ground down by continuous mistreatment, than to
suffer a whipping from loving hands. As I said, I was still quite
inexperienced myself, and I thought I understood his motivations at the
time."
"Two or three times a week, we'd get together and play racquetball. I
became very good at it and I enjoyed both the exercise and the
competition. I finally fixed on an idea that would give Me the opportunity
to stretch out My wings as a Domme. I brought him to My room one Friday
night and told him all about Me. All about what I desired. He was terribly
shocked and deeply troubled by it all, I guess proving that My ability to
feel him out had been more subtle than even I had given myself credit for.
I offered him a deal.
"We would play a match in the morning. If I lost, I would become his
lover for the rest of the semester. That was still a good two months, mind
you, and I intended to go the whole way, do the whole doting girlfriend
bit. If he lost, he was mine for the next twenty-four hours."
She paused, looked into my eyes.
"That game was the biggest sexual rush of My entire life. And he played
his ass off!"
She stopped, smiled at me, twirled Her racquet around on Her palm,
smiled again with Her entire face.
She went back to the pegboard and hung the racquet up. She strode
towards me and unlocked the cuffs. Somehow, i managed to stay on my feet,
teetering. She removed the various torture devices. The Teeth of Kali came
off with a struggle, and my prick was pockmarked with ugly purple dimples.
i swooned. Finally, She undid the ankle cuffs. i hadn't been instructed to
count, but i took at least twenty lashes in total.
"Storytime is over, michael, now I wish for My massage."
She gently took my aching penis in Her hand and led me to Her dungeon
den. The bed was out, and on it lay what looked to be a pair of thin,
rubbery underwear.
i was about to ask permission to go to the mud room and get my surprise
for Mistress, when She began to speak.
"Go to the bed. Pick it up."
i did. It was heavier than i'd thought. i looked inside and saw a metal
tube. It wasn't underwear.
"I'm afraid, My pet, that, small as you are, My panties still didn't
hold you in enough to keep from spoiling what was otherwise an exceptional
back rub. That is a chastity belt. What do you think of it?"
"It looks... serious, Mistress."
"It is, michael. That's rubber over strips of stainless steel. It's
designed for long term usage."
My stomach flipped. Long Term.
"Put it on, michael."
In many ways, it was set up like the CBT belt i had worn on Saturday,
only my penis went through the tube instead of a ring, and was forced to
point straight down. Once the final straps were pulled around the cheeks
of my ass, i would have to piss siting down, and masturbation was out of
the realm of possibility. The cruelest irony of all was that the waist of
the belt came right up into the line sunk into my waist by the panties and
the rubber chaffed the raw skin there.
"You were supposed to have that yesterday," She explained, sounding a
little irritated, "but the man who makes them is a bit of a perfectionist;
and he refused to work with just My eyeball estimates, so I had to go and
break out the tape measure."
My jaw dropped. i gaped at Her in utter confusion.
"By the way," She giggled, "you make the cutest sound when someone
touches you while you're sleeping."
She walked towards me, swaggering Her hips. "I believe you know this
part already," She said, thrusting Her pelvis towards me.
i got to my knees and took the end of one of the laces in my mouth. The
smell of the leather was mixed with the slightest touch of Her perfume. i
undid the bow.
Removing Mistress' pants with my mouth proved to be a painstaking task
that left me charged with phenomenal heat. Again, that feeling of
sensuality was only partly welcome as my cock endured new torment within
its unforgiving metal tube.
When i was done, She climbed into the bed and lay face down, awaiting
me.
"Mistress?"
She turned Her head towards me, taken aback.
"What is it michael?"
"May i... i... i have brought something that may help me in this
endeavor. May i please go and retrieve it? Mistress?"
Her eyes narrowed to suspicious slits. "If you must."
"Thank you, Mistress!"
i ran out to the mud room.
The moment Her eyes fell upon the walkman, you could almost see the
plumes of frost upon Her breath. i was suddenly very comforted by the
knowledge that my privates were safely behind a strip of steel.
"I'm not stimulation enough for you, michael?" She growled menacingly.
i'd been rehearsing my speech since the moment the idea occurred to me
that morning in the shower. It was still very hard to get the words out
right.
"You told me before that a good slave trusts his Mistress, Mistress.
Now i ask you to trust me."
She turned away from me angrily.
"If you NEED it, michael," was all She'd said.
i climbed into bed with Her. i knew i'd be naked - or a reasonable
equivalent thereof - so i'd affixed the walkman to a nylon strap back at
home and now had it slung across my chest. i twisted it around so it was
up against the small of my back and wouldn't drop down and bother
Mistress.
It was clear She was furious. Her body no longer just looked like
marble, it felt like it, too. i pushed PLAY and began to slowly, easily
work Her rock-hard neck muscles.
"In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit," the voice on the tape
said.
"In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit," i echoed aloud. Her
whole body shook as She suddenly realized what was happening, and then, to
my great relief, the tension slackened.
And thus did i "read" to Mistress, and give Her a massage; all at the
same time.
END OF CHAPTER SIX. PART TWO
Note: Please feel free to E-mail with any constructive criticism and
suggestions for future episodes. Flames will be ignored.
This story is protected by copyright, 1997, by the author.
Once, I swore I would die for you,
But I never meant like this.
I never meant like this.
No, I never meant like this.
Stabbing Westward "Shame"
From corvidae1@aol.com Thu Apr 17 18:48:26 1997
Path: news1.infoave.net!news-dc-10.sprintlink.net!news-dc-26.sprintlink.net!news-east.sprintlink.net!news-peer.sprintlink.net!news.sprintlink.net!sprint!cpk-news-hub1.bbnplanet.com!news.bbnplanet.com!ais.net!uunet!in3.uu.net!152.163.170.17!newstf01.news.aol.com!audrey02.news.aol.com!not-for-mail
From: corvidae1@aol.com (Corvidae1)
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories
Subject: STORY: Nothing Like The Sun Pt.7 (New!)
Date: 17 Apr 1997 22:48:26 GMT
Organization: AOL http://www.aol.com
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Message-ID: <19970417224700.SAA06361@ladder01.news.aol.com>
NNTP-Posting-Host: ladder01.news.aol.com
X-Admin: news@aol.com
STANDARD DISCLAIMER: The following story contains scenes of female
domination. Those with moral objections to such activity as well as those
under legal age should not read this story.
All the characters in this story are fictitious. Any resemblance to
persons living, dead, or undead is completely coincidental.
Nothing Like The Sun
By L.Corvidae
Chapter Seven: The Challenge
It was a night for firsts. With my ass still smarting from my first
beating, i massaged Mistress, giving extra consideration to Her arms as i
figured they might be especially tired. i was finishing up with my tongue
in Her ass, as i had before, when She slowly turned over onto Her back. my
face was centimeters away from Her most private of regions. i'd never
noticed before, but Her pubic hair was a much lighter shade of red.
"Lose the walkman," She commanded.
i quickly discovered that all those half-remembered cutaway pictures
of a woman's vagina i'd seen in health class did not do the real thing
justice. Nor did it give me much of a road map to work with for my first
time performing oral sex. i found Her clitoris, as much by luck as design,
and began to work around it; teasing it. i began to time my strokes to be
in sync with Her breathing, as it was impossible for me to differentiate
Her heartbeat from the pounding in my own temples. She began to buck Her
hips and i went in for the "kill." Aside from the hard, steady rasp of Her
breathing, She was very quiet. Suddenly She arched Her back and let loose
a low, undulating moan. Her whole body dropped back down and seemed to
almost deflate a little.
i tried to pull away, thinking i was finished, but She grabbed a
fistful of my hair and dragged me back in. i went back to work, sliding my
tongue into Her, mindful to always keep in contact with Her clit as i did.
She was tossing Her head from side to side, whining in a soft, plaintive
tone. my tongue had been going nonstop for several minutes now and was
beginning to tire, and my face was slathered in Her sticky juices, yet i
was in a state of pure bliss. Her cries went up an octave and She grabbed
at my hair again, pulling at me as if to drag my whole head into Her; to
consume me utterly. And then it was over.
i still hovered at Her crotch for a second or two more, just in case,
but She was breathing slowly and restfully, paying no mind to me
whatsoever. i turned on my side and laid my head down against Her thigh,
like a pillow. i could have died completely fulfilled at that moment. my
nostrils were full of the smell of Her, my mouth was full of the taste of
Her and my ears were filled with the thunderous roar of Her femoral
artery. my dick was locked away and useless, yet i could have died
completely fulfilled.
Sadly, my rapture was short-lived as She soon kicked back Her other leg
and gently shoved me away with Her foot. She sat up and got out of the
bed, snapping Her fingers at me.
"Come on, you!"
i followed Her into the bathroom. She sat on the toilet and ordered me
to sit on the floor and wrap my legs around the cold porcelain. my chin
was to rest at the edge of the seat and i had a perfect view as She
relieved Herself. A few stray droplets spattered my already sloppy face.
When She was done, She slid forward, pressing Her sopping pussy into
my face.
"Clean," was all She said. To be honest, Her urine wasn't half as bad
as the peach-flavored water She'd forced me to drink earlier.
She gave me a towel to clean my face, made me pee with my new chastity
belt on while She watched and then we went back to bed.
She pulled my arms around Her, just below Her breasts, and we lay there
for a long time in the quiet darkness of the night.
i thought She'd even fallen asleep, when She surprised me by asking,
"You were going to use your safeword back there, weren't you?"
"i... thought about it," i answered.
"Several times, unless I miss my guess."
"Yes, Mistress."
She sighed heavily.
"But i didn't Mistress!" i pleaded.
"I know, michael, and that's what bothers me."
"But... you'd said..."
"What I don't like, michael, is when a slave is an asshole and abuses
his safeword and wastes my time. Otherwise, it's as important a tool for
me as it is for you. I need you to be honest with your reactions or else
things could get terribly out of control and then we BOTH lose!"
"you're not an asshole, michael," She said, gently stroking my
forearms. "Don't act like one."
"i'm sorry Mistress. i'd... i'd never be anything BUT honest with You."
"Then why didn't you use your safeword?"
i had to think about that one.
"i... i remembered the way You looked Friday night when You untied me
from the ceiling. i thought about the way Your body felt in my hands when
i rubbed your back, the way the pants and Your skin felt together. i
thought about how badly i wanted to experience all those things again..."
"And you endured," She said softly, finishing for me.
"Yes, Mistress."
She didn't say anything for a while after that. Again, i began to be
lulled into a state of semi-consciousness when She snapped me out of it by
asking, "michael, do you think if you had known I was going to let you
make love to me with your mouth; do you think you might have been able to
endure... more?" She looked back at me over Her shoulder. Her eyes
glittered somehow in the darkness.
"Yes," i said without hesitation.
She mulled this over for a bit longer.
"Then let me ask you this," She began. "Suppose you were to... say...
flip a coin. And if it were to land one way, I would gratify you in a
sexual way. Give you a hand job, let's say. BUT... if it landed the other
way, I would be able to push you far past your limits and into the realm
of your worst nightmares. Would you flip that coin, michael?"
i had to think about that. i looked around the room and my eyes fell on
one of the Gigers. Nightmares had a special resonance in this place.
"i'm not sure i could, Mistress," i answered truthfully.
She turned her body round in my arms. i could feel her soft, warm
breasts pressing achingly against my chest. She smiled.
"So, you do have an instinct for self-preservation after all. I'm glad
- you had me worried for a second."
"All, right," She said, looking deep into my eyes, "I'll concede a few
points. I wouldn't kill you, obviously, or cripple you or cut anything
off!" She tugged at my nipples, but i knew what She meant. "I wouldn't do
anything that would render you unable to function in the world if we
should part ways, but beyond that... beyond that ANYTHING would go. Would
you take that chance then, michael?"
i looked into Her face, so expectant and hungry, and i knew i was
doomed.
"In a heartbeat, Mistress."
***
Tuesday Morning
We slept, entangled in each other's arms. i woke before She did and
spent my time softly caressing Her hair and reflecting back over my life.
How many times in college had i vowed to "do anything" for the love of
some girl? At least a dozen times - and a dozen times the offer was
rejected: sometimes politely, sometimes tearfully and sometimes with more
cruelty than even Mistress seemed capable of. Now someone was calling my
bluff, forcing me to make good. She'd spent two full months picking my
brain, worming hundreds of minute details from me in order to create a
complete mosaic of who i was. By comparison i knew virtually nothing about
her; only what'd i'd gleaned from studying two dozen disparate postings to
an eclectic array of newsgroups. That, and She was beautiful, She was
demanding, and that I loved Her.
She began to fret in her sleep. i tried to hold Her tightly and clam
Her, but She moaned and pushed away violently. She woke with a start, not
certain of Her surroundings for an instant, and then slowly recovered Her
bearings.
"Mistress?" i asked worriedly.
"I'm all right, michael - what's the time?" She asked, suddenly
concerned.
To me, it was still pretty early, but She began to move around in an
agitated state, all but pushing me out the door.
There was an awkward moment when i hesitated, not able to bring myself
to ask about the belt. She finally seemed to get my concern and said,
"That stays on for now, now go!"
i drove home with the sun only just beginning to rise and had plenty
of time to shower and take care of my bodily needs. i just had to do the
latter sitting down.
It didn't seem likely that She'd send me an E-mail so soon, but i
checked anyway, and to my surprise She had.
Get off work at 3:30, it read, you will change into casual clothes and
meet Me in My garage. It is time for you to start living up to your
promises.
i was fairly uncertain how ducking out early would play with my boss.
my wunderkind status had been steadily eroding as more time passed between
my "hit" commercial and my follow-up. The clients were still delirious
with what we'd given them, which bought me some slack, but it was rapidly
becoming "put up or shut up" time at the office. It was crunch time in my
life all around.
Still, i couldn't help but feel a little cocky walking into the office
and seeing Lindsey give me a big smile from behind her desk. i thought
about tossing my hat onto the coat rack, like Sean Connery always did when
he saw Moneypenny, but as i didn't have a hat, and the office had no coat
rack, the idea died a quick death.
She gave me a playfully irritable look, and i glanced down at my
oversized clothing.
"Working on it," i said.
By the time i got to my office, all that daydreaming about James Bond
had given me an idea. i brushed off all the toys and bric-a-brac from my
desk and pulled out a green legal pad. A lot of us used odd colored legal
pads for writing because it helped establish just whose ideas were whose.
The idea went like this: Two spies (Guys in Black w/ bad German
accents, i wrote) are hiding in the bushes by a parking lot. There are two
cars in the lot: our client's (OUR HERO) and an expensive British sports
car (Whatever the HELL James Bond Drives!) The "spies" are chortling to
themselves because they've planted a bomb in "Race Sterling's" car and
won't their "Master" be pleased - that sort of thing.
Anyway, "Sterling" comes out of a building all decked out in a full tux
and - surprise! - gets into OUR HERO and drives off, honking the annoying
little horn and waving at the stunned master criminals. Suddenly, from
another building emerges a bald guy holding a white cat (BLOW-FELD or
something). HE gets into the other car and cut to the thugs looking on in
horror as their boss gets blown to bits. A voiceover says, "Sometimes
flashier isn't ALWAYS the way to go!" and then they show the company logo.
i took my rough draft straight to Mr. Christian's office. i knew he
wouldn't like it; he'd hated the first one. Just about every guy in the
office hadn't thought much of it, but the rep from H- had been a woman,
and had about died laughing when she got to the "Sometimes faster isn't
always better" tag line.
Mr. Christian wanted to know who the hell "Race Sterling" was ("I made
him up, sir. You, know, a James Bond type!") as well as "Blow-feld." ("He
was like, the bad guy in two or three of the films, sir. The guy with the
cat?")
In the end he gave his reluctant nod to doing up a full proposal for
the client. That actually boded ill for my chances of getting off early,
and i almost didn't ask.
"Uh, sir, i was wondering if i could have the afternoon off."
He looked at me as if i'd just stepped out of a UFO.
"Why?"
"Well... it's, uh... I kind of have a big date tonight."
"On a Tuesday?"
i shrugged. "She's not your ordinary woman, I guess," i tried to
explain.
"She?" he asked, intensely curious. As i mentioned, i was not unaware
that that office gossip turned my way once and a while. i nodded.
"Oh, yes sir," i said, trying to sound manly. "She's a hell of a
woman!"
He thought it over for a minute.
"You think you can have this idea of yours up and running by Friday?"
As far as i knew, i might be spending the next week strapped down in
Mistress' basement.
"Yes, sir!"
"Well, then, hell, son! Take a long lunch and get yourself ready for
that date of yours!" He winked. i winked back.
It occurred to me upon leaving Mr. Christian's office, that with his
hairless pate and his beady little eyes, Mr. Christian could easily play
the Blofeld character. Frankly, if he had a cat, i'd half suspect him of
being Blofeld.
i spent the rest of the morning typing up several more drafts, and even
went online to check the spelling of Blofeld's name.
To celebrate the break in my creative blockage; and to reward my
patient, shrunken stomach, i decided to gorge myself at Pizza Hut. i went
clothes shopping after that, which might not seem like such a bright idea,
but i liked my clothes a little loose, too. Years of not having that
option had definitely made it seem more desirable now that i did. i
wondered idly if Mistress had ever been overweight. i doubted it.
As i was being fitted, the tailor could feel the belt underneath my
pants. i merely gave him a "what can you do?" look, and he didn't make
mention of it again. It helped mollify him that i went all out and had
myself fitted for a suit as well; for the next time Mistress got a taste
for Alaskan king crab.
i had a lot of time to kill, so i went to the gym and burned off a
little of my lunch. Being not even 2:00, the sparse crowd was thankfully
different than the one that had witnessed Mistress and i the prior
evening.
Afterwards, i went home, took a shower and dressed in a new pair of
blue jeans and an old T-shirt. i drove to Mistress' house.
The garage door was open and inside it looked like... well... a garage.
She was standing next to a riding mower, dressing in an off-white silk
blouse and long, black cotton pants. She looked very professional, and not
for the first time did i wonder what Mistress "really" did for a living.
"Those pants are new," She said with a satisfied smile.
"Yes, Mistress."
"Take off your shirt."
Spring was still toying with our town, alternately going from 60's to
30's depending on some unknowable whim of the Gods. Of the God-Desses, i
corrected myself. That day it was back in a warm phase, but i still
hesitated to do as She asked.
Some reflexive sense of shame from the way i'd looked before kept me
from wanting to expose myself in so open a place. Nevertheless, She moved
towards me and roughly pulled my shirt off my body.
"you've worked very hard to achieve this," She explained, running her
hands over my chest. "I don't see why you should be so embarrassed to show
it off." She shoved me towards the mower.
"Assume the position."
i did as She commanded, painfully aware of how visible we were from the
street. She ran Her hands over my ass, grabbing and kneading and cooing.
"Do you know how you feel about my body in leather, michael?"
"Yes, Mistress."
"Well, I feel the same way about a nice, firm ass in tight jeans. It
really is your best feature, michael."
i was trembling. Pride and embarrassment raced around in my head.
"All right, enough play." She said, pulling away.
i turned to look at Her. i was afraid She'd pull out a coin. If She did
i was going to make damn certain it wasn't two-headed or something like
that. Instead, She said, "Do you remember your very first E-mail to me?
That you said, and I quote, 'my strongest desire is merely to please You
in any way that i can, no matter how trivial or mundane.' Do you remember
that michael?"
i was breathing very hard. "Yes, Mistress. I remember."
"Good!" She said, swatting my ass hard. "Now mow my fucking lawn!"
i spent the rest of the daylight doing yard work. i mowed Her front
yard and raked the leaves in Her huge backyard. i did it all without my
shirt on, which got more and more embarrassing as Her neighbors started
getting home from work.
i was sweaty and tired by the time She waved me in from the "slave's
entrance." She had me strip down, except for the belt, of course; and led
me to the bathroom.
i was ordered to sit in the tub while She "got something." The tub had
no shower faucet. She came back lugging a small Rubbermaid wastebasket
filled with steaming water. She doused me with it, and four more. The
water was just hot enough to sting and i yowled each time She soaked me.
Then She dragged me out of the tub by my hair and made me stand while She
dried me off. She gave particular attention to the parts of me She'd
beaten the night before; all but burning the skin in Her frenzy.
She led me back to the mud room and ordered me to dress, including my
collar.
"Come along, michael," She said, slipping out the door. "We're going
out to dinner."
She explained to me in the car that we were going to Her favorite
restaurant in town and that i shouldn't worry because the owners knew Her
quite well and allowed Her to bring pets inside.
We had to drive East from Her house to get to the West side of town.
She pulled into the parking lot of a large Chinese restaurant, picked a
space that seemed unusually far from the building and killed the engine.
She got a leash from the glove compartment and clipped it to my neck.
The walk across that blacktop was the longest in my life. The restaurant
was located off of one of the busiest streets in town and easily a hundred
cars sped by each way while Mistress led me unhurriedly to the door.
Once we got inside, an elderly Chinese woman looked up from the
hostess' station and broke into a happy cry.
"Hong Mao!"
"Lin!" Mistress cried in return.
The two women embraced and began talking very excitedly in what i could
only assume to be Chinese, though which dialect was way beyond my
capabilities. Finally, Lin looked over at me and asked pointedly, "So this
your new friend, hah?"
"Yes he is," Mistress said proudly. Lin studied me intently. She didn't
look impressed.
"Be nice, Lin, he's been very good to me so far."
Lin shrugged as if to say "It's your call" and led us to a seat in the
middle of the main dinning room.
"You want the usual Hong Mao?" Lin asked Mistress. Mistress nodded and
they both looked to me.
"Uh," was all i could muster.
"Order what you like, michael. They know how to prepare it here." That
struck me as an odd thing to say, but i ordered the cashew chicken anyway.
Mistress told Lin to just bring me a glass of water with Her wine.
While we were waiting, nibbling at the little bits of fried something
from a bowl on the table, i forgot myself and asked, "Hong Mao?"
She dipped one of the little strips in hot mustard, bit down and
grinned. "Steel Tiger," She said.
i looked at her skeptically. She laughed.
"It means 'Red Cat,' are you happy now, michael?"
"Yes Mist..." my words were choked off in a startled gulp.
Mistress turned around to look at the doorway.
Lindsey was there.
She was still dressed from work and i was actually kind of surprised to
see that her dinner companion was a woman. She was looking straight back
at me, her mouth wide open.
Mistress broke into a huge smile and waved them over. Lindsey walked
over to us briskly, seeming to recover from her initial shock. Her friend,
her girlfriend, tagged along behind; looking for all the world like an
older, blonder Wednesday Addams from the movies.
"Umm," Lindsey began nervously, "Hi Michael."
"Hello, Lindsey... this," i indicated Mistress. "This is, uh,"
"Catherine," Mistress said, extending her hand. Lindsey shook it. "I am
michael's Mistress."
"Yeah, I can see..." Lindsey said, following the leash as it laid
across the table and ran up to my collar. Suddenly she seemed to remember
her friend and introduced her as Betsy.
Betsy gave a barely civil grunt. She looked even more tense and unhappy
than i felt.
"Would you care to join us?" Mistress asked, indicating the two empty
seats at our table. Lindsey gave me a quick glance, but Mistress said,
"michael's wishes in this matter are My own, aren't they, michael?"
"Yes, Mistress."
Lindsey turned to talk it over with Betsy, who mostly grumbled "dunno"
and "whatEVer" and finally they sat down at our table. Betsy sank into a
funk that she never got over throughout the whole meal.
i was in for still one more shock once Lin returned with our drinks and
broke into a similar sort of excitement over seeing Lindsey, who she kept
calling "Little girl!" Lindsey explained that she'd been coming to the
restaurant since before the place had moved to their current location and
Mistress said She had too. The two began to talk animatedly about the old
building and compare notes as to the quality of the food over the years
under different chefs. They'd both been coming since they were children
with their parents, though Mistress had the longer record, having dinned
at the grand opening when She was just six. Mistress was very curious as
to why She'd never noticed Lindsey before and Lindsey sort of ducked the
question and said that she was usually with her parents, even these days.
i didn't mind being ignored nearly as much as Betsy seemed to, but
eventually the conversation turned around to me and Lindsey mentioned that
the office had been buzzing about my new idea. Mistress made me explain
the whole thing, acting out the bad German accents and all, and She and
Lindsey both laughed and agreed it was "cute."
Lin returned with the drinks for the newcomers, and took thier orders.
Betsy just wanted won ton soup, and Lindsey ordered spicy wings. Lin also
brought another bowl of fried strips.
Mistress took one and dipped it in the mustard again.
"So tell me, Lindsey," She said, taking slow, crunchy bites, "does my
michael behave himself at work?"
"Oh, yes, ma'am. He's always been a perfect gentleman. You've trained
him quite well."
Mistress laughed. "I'm afraid our training has just begun! But it is
nice to know that my new pet has good breeding." She smiled wickedly at
me.
Betsy muttered something under her breath which earned her a dirty
look from Lindsey.
Lin brought out all our food at once with the help of a busboy. Lindsey
seemed interested in Mistress' food, which was chicken in a very hot,
golden sauce.
"General Tso's" Mistress explained.
my cashew chicken was delivered sans chicken. Like Mistress had said,
they knew how to prepare food for Her slaves there.
Mistress and Lindsey talked and ate. They had several cups of tea. A
little too much of the conversation was about me for my comfort, but
Mistress didn't go into too many embarrassing details. She did mention the
chastity belt i was wearing, which even got a rise out of Betsy.
Mistress asked a lot of questions about Lindsey's piercings. It turned
out she had a lot more than anybody at the office even suspected.
Occasionally, Mistress would sigh and give me a pointed look that spooked
me greatly. Lindsey figured out what was going on quickly; and patted my
arm reassuringly.
"It really doesn't hurt all that bad," she said. i quietly ate my
cashews and watercress and hoped that the conversation would drift into
less unsettling waters.
When Mistress told Lindsey that our first "date" had been to see The
Empire Strikes Back, Lindsey broke into laughter and told Mistress that my
desk at work was littered with "those toys!"
Mistress grinned broadly. "My little slave does love his toys," She
sighed.
By the end of dinner i was beginning to feel pangs of jealousy myself.
i was glad when the subject of the check came up, but apparently Mistress
had some standing agreement with Lin and nobody had to pay anything.
Lindsey was extremely vocal about her envy over that, but Mistress
whispered something in her ear that seemed to explain it. my jealousy was
mounting by the second.
i was therefore relieved when Betsy more or less demanded to go back
home and we had to split up. Mistress and i rode back to her place in
silence. We entered the house through our respective doors, and i took up
my position at the base of the dungeon stairs.
She came down dressed in the outfit She'd worn to my gym the day
before. She had a large, gift wrapped box in Her arms and i could not
conceal my curiosity.
"Poor, ignored michael," She said, mocking me. "Perhaps this will make
up for my want of attention." She set it down in front of me.
"Mistress, may i open it?" i asked.
She didn't reply. She began to walk around me in circles.
"Your friend is quite attractive, isn't she?"
my cheeks burned. "Yes, Mistress."
"I assume the two of you have never dated before."
"No, Mistress."
"But I bet you've thought about it, haven't you michael?"
"Yes, Mistress." i wondered where She was going with this, though i had
a chilling sense that i already knew.
"You've pictured her while masturbating, haven't you?"
The humiliation was unbearable. i had a horrible sinking feeling that
this would get back to Lindsey and she'd always consider me just another
asshole from then on.
"Yes, Mistress," i moaned.
"Tell me, michael - tell me honestly - would you like me to bring her
in as my slave? Would you like to have a little playmate to split
Mistress' harsh attentions and to have fun with when Mistress was away?
Would you enjoy that michael?"
"No, Mistress," i said somberly, "i would NOT."
She sat down on the steps and looked me squarely in the eyes.
"you do realize that who I take as a slave and how many I choose to
take - that's entirely my prerogative. you do realize that, don't you
michael?"
"Yes, Mistress," i replied miserably.
i couldn't look at Her. i stared at the package in front of me. She'd
wrapped it with paper covered in little, colorful dinosaurs; like a
birthday present for a seven-year-old.
"Look at Me, michael."
i looked up. Tears were running down my face, but i was determined not
to let it get any worse than that.
"I am glad that you said no."
my jaw swung wide open. i managed a grunting sort of "huh?"
"I have my reasons not to want her, michael. One of them is your
feelings on the matter, but I assure you, that's a very small
consideration for me. Still, it would have... complicated things, had you
said yes."
"Thank You, Mistress," i said softly.
"I told you it wasn't about you."
"Thank You anyway," i said, not flinching from Her gaze that time.
"To be honest michael, I did enjoy her company. I wonder if you would
be equally adverse to our spending time together in a strictly social
setting."
"No, Mistress. i.. i'd like that, too, i think."
She nodded. "Good boy. Now open your present."
i carefully unwrapped the box and opened it up. Inside lay a racquet
similar to the one She'd used on my ass the night before; only it still
had its strings and looked brand new. There were goggles, too, and a small
pile of Lycra, which i realized were supposed to be pants.
i gave Her an inquisitive look.
"Did you know, michael, that they've built a new health club out near
here?" i shook my head 'no.' "Well, they have. And unlike YOUR gym, this
one has racquetball courts."
She stopped, searched my features for understanding.
"Do you remember my little story last night? About my first time?"
"Yes, Mistress." A slow, fuzzy sort of comprehension began to overtake
me.
"Do you remember our discussion afterwards? About flipping a coin?"
"Vividly, Mistress." my mouth began to dry up. The cool air in the
dungeon caused my skin to break into gooseflesh.
"Well, we're not going to flip a coin, michael. If you want release,
you're going to have to earn it the hard way. And I mean very hard. I told
you I was extremely good at racquetball in college, have you ever played?"
i told Her i'd played squash and tennis in college.
"Then here is what I propose michael, and you can always say 'no' if
you like; though I can't promise that it won't hurt My estimation of you.
I propose that each Saturday afternoon we go to our new club - oh, I've
already taken the liberty of signing us up! - and playing a match of
racquetball. That's usually two games. If you win, I gratify you in rising
increments. First that hand job. Beyond that, I'm a little conflicted at
the moment, but we'll get it straightened out when the time comes. Anyway,
for your fourth victory I CAN promise you this: We will go upstairs, to my
bedroom, my REAL bedroom, and I will make love with you. I assure you, I
won't just be lying there; I intend to get as much out the experience as
you do, my pet.
"Think about it michael, four wins. your manhood could be as little as
a month away."
i thought about it. my pulse was racing.
"If you lose you must submit, completely submit, to the torment of my
devising. It may last that night, or all weekend. You may ONLY use your
safeword if you are absolutely, one hundred percent certain that you are
about to suffer serious injury."
i was shaking. i was sweating. i knew i'd lose at least the first game,
probably many more before my first win, let alone my fourth. A huge vista
between a paddling on the ass and maiming and death opened up before me.
If i agreed, She'd be routinely dropping me in between, with no recourse
save to end the relationship altogether. i pictured Her bedroom, Her bed,
Her sheets, Her body - warm and alive against mine.
i was so frightened i nearly soiled myself right then and there.
Instead, i said, "i agree, Mistress."
END OF CHAPTER SEVEN
Note: Please feel free to E-mail with any constructive criticism and
suggestions for future episodes. Copyright 1997
Once, I swore I would die for you,
But I never meant like this.
I never meant like this.
No, I never meant like this.
Stabbing Westward "Shame"