Hope and Gloria – a work in progress

A while back I wrote “Photographic Memories” a story about a damaged photographer trying to find his way back to happiness. He said: The camera is a machine for trapping time. Flypaper for moments of truth.

That thought was in my head when I saw the black and white photograph below. It got me thinking about when the moment was and what truth it captured. My imagination led me to the first part of a story. I’ve shared it here as an illustration of where my ideas come from.

The text is of course fiction and does not based on any factual information about the women in the photograph.

Like all fiction, tt is only as true as the extent of your belief.

Enjoy.

 

Photograph by Hans Steiner

Hope and Gloria

© Mike Kimera 2011

 

“Thank you for agreeing to meet me, Ms. Denton.”

The researcher is young,  pretty and dressed to display her athletic form without actually revealing any of it. I assume that the publisher thought I would be more open in the presence of this fetching ingenue. Sadly it seems that the girl herself has not been briefed on her role and, instead of flirting with me,  she is speaking slowly in deference , I assume, to  my great age.

“Agreeing to meet you seemed to be the only way to avoid endless tedious phone calls with your boss. Is she always so anal about every detail? It seems to me that she is the sort of woman who would benefit from Rhett Butler’s advice to Scarlett O’Hara…”

I’ve clearly caught the girl off guard by attacking her boss and I’m fairly sure that she has never seen “Gone With The Wind” but one of the few privileges of age is being able to discomfit the young, so I  look her in the eye, lower my voice by an octave and say: “You need kissing badly. That’s what’s  wrong with you. You should be kissed and often and by someone who knows how.”

The poor girl’s eyes have gone wide. This one is as straight as a die, I think. There was at time when I would have taken that as a challenge, but not today.

“Do take a seat, my dear.” I say, as if nothing at all odd had happened.

She perches her tightly clad bum on the seat opposite me, crosses one leg over the other and leans forward in a way that may be meant to create intimacy.

“I’m sorry to trouble you with this, but my editor asked me to do some last minute verifications before your autobiography goes to press.”

Her smile takes her from pretty to adorable. I forgo the pleasure of asking her if she is accusing me of lieing.

“What is it that you would like to verify?”

“Well, the story you tell in Chapter Three is quite startling. My editor is excited, of course, but…”

“She’s worried that Gloria Smythe’s litigative descendants will try to sue? You can’t libel the dead, my dear. Your boss should know that.”

“Well, Gloria Smythe was the sex symbol of British Cinema in the 1950s. People have a special place for her in their hearts. We’re concerned that your story could attract a lot of bad press.”

“Don’t give me that ‘Nation’s Darling’ crap,” I say, allowing my irritation at the girl’s book-blub sentence to show. “Gloria’s relationship to sex was more than symbolic. She was a sexual omnivore with an insatiable appetite for the novel and the naive. The first time she ate me, I was both. Do you know, I think she only fucked me because my name is Hope and she couldn’t resist the opportunity for us to be Hope and Gloria?”

The girl actually blushed. Where do they find these people?

“The thing is, Ms. Denton, we would feel more confident in going to press if we had something that substantiates your version of events.”

My version of events. She makes it sounds as if having more than one version is a flaw rather than an inherent attribute of the human condition. Still, at least she had the backbone to raise the point.

“Well, Gloria is dead and her spineless excuse of a son burned any papers that he felt were inconsistent with his mother’s image. In those days we didn’t have the option of filming ourselves having sex and posting it to YouTube. Dear Christ, if we’d  been able to do that, Gloria’s film career would have been much more interesting. All I can offer you is this.”

I hand her a photograph and a journal. True to the ways of her generation, she looks at the photograph first.

“That’s me and Gloria. We were drying off from our swim. I’m the one looking at her. She’s the one looking into the distance.It was the last day of summer. The last day we were together. I was no longer either naive or novel. I didn’t know it then but Gloria had already lost her appetite for me.”

The girl, I really should have tried to remember her name, looks from the photograph to me and back again, trying to find that young swimmer in my face. She’s wasting her time of course. That swimmer drowned in grief decades ago.

“You both look so young.”

“I don’t think Gloria was ever really young. I on  the other hand was an absolute puppy. Look at me. Look at us.It is all there for anyone to see.”

“Who took the photograph?”

Hah, this girl may be brighter than I thought. That’s an excellent question.

“My mother. At the time I thought she knew nothing of what Gloria and I were doing. Certainly she never spoke of it. But a picture like that is not born of ignorance. My mother was addicted to seeing life through a lens. She took her camera with her everywhere. She once told me that life without a lens lacked focus. She always shot in black and white. She said that it removed the distraction of colour and the pretense of documentation and presented each picture for what it was, a choice on how to show the world to others.”

I realise that, while I’ve been evoking my mother’s ghost, my little fact-checker has opened the journal at the place that I had bookmarked.

“It’s my mother’s journal of course. I found it after she died. I rather wish I hadn’t. It demonstrated that while I’d never really known my mother, she had known everything about me.”

The girl looks up at me. Her mouth is open. She looks stunned. “Your mother…”

“…watched Gloria Smythe finger fuck me and then went back to her room and wrote it all down. Fascinating isn’t it?”

§§§§§§§§§§§§§§

Ok-That’s as far as the picture has taken me so far. I hope that the next piece will be an extract from the Jounral. If it arrives in my head I will bring it to you.

 

Kirsten’s First Morning At The Sanctuary

This little piece is set in a world of Doms who have castles and Subs who seek only to be shaped by their Master. Escapist but fun if you’re in that frame of mind. Enjoy.

 

Kirsten’s First Morning  At The Sanctuary

(c) Mike Kimera 2001

As the sun rises I focus my attention on the strands of silver in Madam Chen’s jet-black braid. She is small wiry woman with strong hands, a sharply angled face that seldom shows any emotion other than anger or contempt. She is standing between Kirsten’s legs, bending over her naked body like a predator readying for a kill.

Chen’s braid is a calculated provocation: it looks so controlled, so deferential, but speaks of sex and passionate restraint. Every man she passes watches that tightly woven braid bounce off her arse and feels his cock stir in anticipation.

I have imagined wrapping that braid around my fist and forcing her impassive face further down my cock until involuntary tears flow, or using it to bind her hands behind her back and pulling on it like a leash as I push deeper into her arse. I have imagined it, but so far I have held back. Chen is valuable because she is fierce and fearless. She believes herself protected and she has been trained to act without pity or remorse. That is one reason why we are all here.

“ ‘Feng Shui’ combines the five elements: Earth, Metal, Wood, Water and Fire to produce a harmonious alignment.” Madam Chen explains.

She makes the words sound like a threat and in a way they are.

Unfortunately Kirsten is not listening. She is letting herself be distracted by Chen’s assistants, two teenage girls, who are releasing Kirsten’s arms and legs from the cuffs that I used to bind her to the leather bench that she slept on last night.

The first night in The Sanctuary is always spent that way.

The girls are stroking Kirsten’s wrists and ankles, helping the blood to flow. The younger of the two brushes her breast against the back of Kirsten’s hand with each stoke of the wrist. Even from across the room, I can see the girl’s erect nipples pressing against the thin fabric of her cotton shift.

Instead of listening to Madam Chen, Kirsten turns to smile at the girl. The girl looks away but leans further forward against Kirsten’s hand.

Madam Chen takes hold of Kirsten’s chin firmly with her finger and thumb, pulling Kirsten up into a sitting position, bringing their faces close together. Fear washes across Kirsten’s face as she looks up into Madam Chen’s unsmiling face and feels Madam’s sharp fingernails press into her cheeks. Kirsten’s eyes flick quickly towards me, hoping I will intervene.

“Look at me! You have not yet earned the right to look at your Master.”

Madam Chen’s voice betrays the hatred she feels for the flesh she holds. Young flesh, privileged flesh, flesh entitled to freedom and choosing to be enslaved.

I have promised Kirsten that she will not be marked without her consent, but it is obvious to both of us that Chen would like to rake Kirsten’s flawless skin. My imagination flashes me an image of Kirsten’s blood flowing over Chen’s pale nails as they rend her flesh. Kirsten trembles. My cock stiffens. Madam Chen smiles. It is not a reassuring smile.

“Today you will be used according to the principles of Feng Shui. Each time harmony is achieved you will be permitted to come. If you come without permission, you will be punished.”

Madam Chen lets go of Kirsten’s chin; steps back and runs her gaze across Kirsten’s naked body.

“I suspect you will be punished often. I look forward to it.”

It is unusual for Madam to be so provoked. She was born at The Sanctuary, was schooled in our ways. The fact that, instead of becoming part of our breeding pool, or being traded to another House, she has become a Madam is a tribute to her control, her aggression and her complete ruthlessness.

Perhaps it is time to remind Chen that the power she has been given can be taken away? Yet that would a waste and finding her successor would be a chore. Besides, the fact that Chen’s armoured emotions are so easily pierced reinforces my judgement that Kirsten is extraordinary.

Ever since she surrendered herself into my care, with her parents consent, on her eighteenth birthday, I have been nurturing her libido, ensuring she has come, with my permission, at least five times a day, often more. Her body now hums with a hunger that must be fed well and often.

I have being stoking that hunger since we set out for the Sanctuary yesterday. She was given no opportunity to touch herself on the journey. When we arrived, I stripped her and tied her to the tightly to the bench, positioning her with her head facing away from my bed and with her cunt spread and open to my sight.

They brought me a woman, ripe and soft, with pale flesh for my whip to write upon. It took me an hour to bring her to climax. Kirsten could hear her but not see her. Each time the woman moaned I could see Kirsten’s arse clench, showing how much she wanted to be the one feeling the whip’s biting kiss. By the time the woman was carried from the room, Kirsten’s cunt lips were slick and swollen.

In honour of her discipline in staying silence I decided to reward Kirsten. I stood between her legs, not touching her, relieving the aching hardness of my cock. When my cum splashed her belly, pooling in her navel, Kirsten groaned and pressed against her bonds. I knew what she wanted.

“Tomorrow” I said as I put out the light.

Madam Chen has noticed the dried sperm on Kirsten’s belly. It makes Kirsten’s smooth skin pucker slightly, like a scar. Chen scrapes at it, not gently, with one nail.

“Open her” Madam Chen says to the girl massaging Kirsten’s ankles.

She places her face an inch or less from Kirsten’s cunt and inspects every inch.

“Clean her. Get rid of all this hair. I want her smooth and oiled. Don’t let her come.”

“Yes, Madam Chen,” both girls say together.

Madam Chen strides out of the room, braid bouncing off her buttocks. As the door closes all three girls visibly relax.

“What is your name?” Kirsten asks the younger of the two girls. The girl shakes her head and refuses to look at Kirsten.

“Please tell me your name.”

The slap the older girl administers, catches Kirsten completely by surprise. The older girl places one finger across her lips signalling for Kirsten to be silent. The younger girl mimics the action but brings the finger from her lips to Kirsten’s and lets her eyes smile.

Without needing to speak to one another the girls lift Kirsten, taking one arm each and placing it behind their neck, supporting her under the armpits. Kirsten is still unsteady on her feet and seems glad of their support.

As they move with her towards the shower room, I step in front of Kirsten. The girls pause. I am fully dressed, and have cup of tea in my hands. I flick my gaze across Kirsten, reminding her of her nakedness, making her aware that her breasts are touching the girls who carry her. Her nipples harden and to my surprise she blushes. I prize that blush more than the sunrise I have just witnessed from the window of this chamber.

The shower room is tiled from floor to ceiling. At first sight it looks as if the shower curtain is missing, until the eye is drawn to the cuffs hanging from what is not, after all, a shower-rail. The girls raise Kirsten’s arms above her head and fasten them, wide apart, on the rail, then they spread her legs and tie them to rings set in the tiled floor.

I move forward and push my fingers through Kirsten’s hair. I keep her hair short and boyish, it’s easier to maintain and it provides a vivid contrast to her full figure. Kirsten tries to kiss my arm but I stop her with a look. When I hold up the blacked-out swimming goggles, she bows her head. With a practiced motion, I deprive her of her sight.

I step to one side so that I can read Kirsten’s body language. She tenses as she waits. Then the water hits her. She winces as it moves from too hot to too cold and then relaxes as the girls massage her with a high-pressure spray from in front and behind.

They start at her shoulders and work their way down, as if they were washing a car, then move closer, bringing the spray up between her legs from both directions. Kirsten tries to spread wider, welcoming the sensation, trying to dance on the water, seeking stimulation and release.

The water stops. There is silence.

Kirsten cocks her head to listen, seems momentarily puzzled by a sound that is familiar but which she can’t place.

When the shaving foam hits her mound she stands very still, letting the girls spread it with their fingers. She bites her lip; I can almost feel her anxiety as she waits for a sharp blade to move across her tender skin.

The finger pushing into her anus catches her by surprise. The younger girl is smearing lube with fast, light touches, inside and out. The nozzle slips into Kirsten easily, but the warm water that follows has enough pressure behind it to make her moan. She pushes forward, away from the assault on her rear, only to encounter the caress of the razor as it shears her.

I watch as the wisps of curly hair are swept away and her pink skin emerges looking freshly scrubbed.

Kirsten relaxes her leg muscles and lets herself hang from the bar above her head. The older girl pushes a second nozzle into Kirsten, this time into her cunt, flooding her with the scent of strawberries.

Kirsten rise onto tiptoe but there is nothing she can do to free herself from the dual force of the liquids sliding into her. When the nozzles are pulled from her simultaneously she sighs with pleasure. Watching her from the side I picture her as the water nymph statue at the centre of some Seventeenth Century fountain.

Starting at her shoulders, in front and behind, with the practised co-ordination of a dance, the girls work an oil into Kirsten’s skin, until every inch of her smells of French Vanilla. It is slow thorough work, interrupted three times to prevent her from reaching a climax. Finally it is done. Kirsten gleams in the early morning sunlight.

“Thank you,” she murmurs when the goggles are removed, but the erotic haze she had surrounded herself with is immediately dispersed when she sees that it is Madam Chen who has given her back her sight.

Both girls are kneeling beside Madam Chen, eyes downcast, as she inspects their work.

Her eyes are on Kirsten’s as she tests the smoothness of the shave with the ball of her thumb. She leans closer and pushes two fingers into Kirsten’s cunt and one into her arse. Despite herself, Kirsten moans.

Chen reaches up until her mouth is close to Kirsten’s, fingers still inside her. Just when Kirsten is sure she will be kissed, when she’s starting to lean into it, Chen’s mouth forms, but does not speak, the word SLUT and she removes her fingers with painful speed.

Madam Chen holds her fingers under her nose as Kirsten settles back onto the soles of her feet.

“You have done well girls. You will be rewarded. Put the collar on her and lead her to the Courtyard.”

Madam Chen strides out of the room to prepare Kirsten’s first ordeal.

For a moment, standing between the two kneeling girls whose efforts have made her skin gleam, Kirsten looks so lost and bereft that my heart aches for her.

The girls look at me, waiting for me to provide them with the collar that will show Kirsten’s status here. I move towards her, signalling for them to remain kneeling at her feet.

“Kirsten,” I say, resting the palm of my hand against her face and feeling my pulse race at the restoration of that contact, “are you ready to accept your collar from me?”

Her dark eyes focus on me, like searchlights exploring my soul. She turns her head into my hand and kisses my palm. Her resolve has returned. The strength and capacity for passion that first attracted me to her are apparent in the quiet confidence with which she says, “I am ready”.

The collar is a simple thing: strong black leather trimmed with silver at the edges; and with four matt black D rings evenly spaced at front back and sides. My initials are carved into the leather on either side of the front D ring. The silver edging is more than decorative. It tells everyone in The Sanctury who sees it that Kirsten has chosen a path of self-exploration; the initials show that she is under my protection.

I attach a leash to the collar. Kirsten makes to follow me.

“Not yet, Kirsten,” I say. “First you must reward these girls for a job so well done.”

Kirsten looks confused. She is not sure what I want.

I make a movement with my hands. The girls respond as they have been trained to do and fall forward with their small arses in the air.

“Kneel and finger then to climax, Kirsten.”

I watch for several minutes as Kirsten works with a hand inside each girl. As their passion rises, I remind her that she must not come.

My cock is hard. I free it from my clothes and push the head into Kirsten’s mouth. She is sucking on it, her cheek s concave with the effort, when the girls come on her fingers one after the other.

I pull back from Kirsten, and reward each girl with some of my semen on their foreheads.

Standing, I pull on Kirsten’s leash, then turn my back on her and lead her out into the courtyard.

The Enclave: Chapter 1 – a new arrival

“I’m not as young as I look,” I said quietly, my mouth against her ear. “The Legate makes me dress like this. He likes the virgin-whore schoolgirl thing.”

The woman made no reply. Well, the cock-gag in her mouth made that predictable, but some of the panic left her eyes.

“Now I need you to lie very still.” I said, loudly enough for the microphones to pick up.

Her whole body stiffened. She’d seen the cut-throat razor in my hand.

“It’s OK. I’m good at this. I get lots of practice. I’ll have your mound smooth and hairless in no time at all.”

I thought for a moment she might cry. Instead she turned her head away. Most of them prefer not to watch.

She was old enough to be my mother. She even has the same Celtic look that makes me so exotic here: skin pale enough to see the veins beneath, blood red hair, sky-blue eyes.

He’d set this up because the whole lesbo-mother-daughter thing cranked his erection up a few degrees. Lewdness appealed to him. It made for great television. He’d be watching the recording of this session for weeks. I looked up at one of the cameras and smiled. Then I set to work shaving off the curls of red hair from the woman’s pubis.

Her clitoris was deeply hooded and her labia folded over one another like petals on a sleeping flower. The skin at the edge of her labia was darker than the rest. A rarity. He’d like that.

I ran my thumb over her mound to test the smoothness of the finish. We’d both suffer if I missed a spot. She flinched beneath my touch. Her bonds meant she couldn’t move far, but she definitely flinched, finding my touch more difficult to bear than the kiss of the blade.

Her wrist-cuffs had been clipped to the black leather straps around her thighs. Her hands were clenched into fists. She wore a wedding ring. Probably a war widow. I wondered how long it had been since someone had seen her naked. My guess was that no one had ever seen her naked and bound.

She’d get used to it.

We all do.

I set down the razor and slid up her body, pressing my small still-clad breasts against her large naked ones. Playing it up for the camera. When I was close enough, I whispered in her ear.

“He can’t keep you against your will. They don’t tell you that when you sign the form, but any contract can be broken. Slavery is still illegal.”

I kiss her ear to keep the watching public happy and continue.

“Nod your head and I’ll cut you loose and make sure he let’s you go. I can make him do that, I promise you.”

I sat up, legs straddling her, letting my too-short plaid skirt display my lack of underwear and placed both of my hands on her breasts.

I waited.

She did not nod.

I was not surprised. Any contract could be broken but there were always consequences. At the very least she’d be made to leave Enclave. She didn’t look like she’d survive that for long.

I tweaked playfully on her nipples and said, in my best schoolgirl voice. “Yum, you look good enough to eat.” Then I leant forward and sucked one of her breasts into my mouth.

She was actually quite beautiful. Even with the ugly black cock sticking up obscenely from the gag in her mouth, she looked dignified and elegant. Everything about her appealed to me. Everything except the fact that my touch made her flinch. It would have been nice, just once, to have had one of them love me.

Still, the Legate knew my tastes. Where would the fun have been in sending me someone who shared them?

I reminded myself that, in six more months, my contract came due and I would have a permanent right to reside in the Enclave, I would even have the opportunity to study. Once I’d paid my dues.

I climbed off the widow. She did not look at me.

I gave the cameras a quizzical look and said “I wonder if the rest of you tastes as sweet?”

The bonds tying her to the bench have spread her legs wide. One of the ceiling cameras moved along its track until it is above where my face would soon be. The camera at the head of the bench stayed focused on the widow’s face. I wondered if the Legate was running the cameras himself today.

It wasn’t hard to work out what he wanted. He had had her left here with that big black rubber cock sticking out of her mouth after all.

“I know,” I said in a bright, happy voice, “why don’t I eat and ride at the same time.”

I knelt quickly beside her, making a show of loosening my school tie and opening up all the buttons on my blouse and saying softly, “Play along. This is going to happen. Try to enjoy it.*

I grabbed the dildo sticking out of her mouth and used it to turn her head to look up at me.

“Please, Momsy,” I said, “Can I have a ride?”

I didn’t wait for a reply. I was past worrying about the widow. I was looking after myself now.

I took off the skirt. No point in hiding the action. Then, slowly and with melodramatic relish, I slid down the faux-cock until it was all the way in. The only real cock I’ve ever had is the Legate’s and that was one more than I’d ever wanted, but I do like being this full; it takes my mind off everything else.

I didn’t have to fake the satisfied sigh, which was just as well as he’s not very tolerant of faking. I pushed up and down a couple of times, grinding back against her head, then I slid forward, careful to keep some of the cock inside me, and found my way to that hooded clit.

I get through these sessions by being somewhere else with someone else. Today, I was with Jess, in the barn, before the war reached us. She is sitting naked, with her back to a pillar, legs spread even wider than the evil grin on her face and pointing dramatically to her clit. “I need you right here, right now” she says.

I tried to imagine that the clit unfurling beneath my tongue is Jess’ and that this session is about love and joy. If I concentrated hard enough I could sometimes even make myself believe that. Today was not one of those days. I licked and sucked and nibbled but it all felt mechanical and forced. Which, I suppose, was quite appropriate. I was resigning myself to a lack-lustre session when I was taken completely by surprise. The widow started bucking beneath me, using her head to push the cock in deeper.

For a moment I let myself think that I’d actually aroused her. Then I realised that she really was just using her head; trying to get this over with as fast as possible.

I closed my eyes, said my traditional prayer “Jess, I need you right here and right now” and reapplied myself to making us both come.

It took me longer than usual to find her g-spot. It was set back in the curved roof of her sex and I needed most of my small hand in her to put pressure on it. Once I found it, everything slickened up nicely. I persisted and persisted until the widow lady arched her back so much that the cock slipped out of me entirely, leaving me gaping into the camera. She came for several seconds, in little quakes that felt like sobs.

This was a problem. I wasn’t even close to coming. I wondered how the Legate would react to that.

The sound of clapping reached me, like an answer to my question. The Legate had arrived in person to applaud our efforts. This was very unusual.

I started to sit up but he said “No need to rise, Lizzie. I like you just where you are.”

I dropped my head back onto the widow’s mound and carried on licking, never taking my eyes off him. He’s often forced home the point that I should look him in the eye when he’s using me.

As usual, he was accompanied by Yuriko, a Japanese half-breed who is even smaller and less developed than I am. She was wearing a sailor suit top but was naked below the waist. The leash he held was attached to her clit ring, ensuring that she always takes care to be at his side.

“Yuriko and I enjoyed your love making so much, I decided to join in.”

He snapped his fingers and Yuriko rushed to loosen the belt that held his kimono closed and reached up to slide the robe from his shoulders. She had to press against him to do this. He neither bent forward nor looked at her.

He has the well-defined muscles of a man who uses his body as a weapon: deep chest, strong arms, thick legs, spread in a fighter’s stance. His substantial erection curved up and back towards his concave belly.

Yuriko bent her head to suck him but he pushed her away, throwing the leash after her. He was clearly very excited. Which was good, because it meant this wouldn’t take long.

“I’m glad you enjoyed Mrs. Carstairs, Lizzie” he said as he climbed onto the bench and knelt between the widows legs.

He leant forward, steadying himself by pushing my head down onto her pubis. I opened my mouth and he pushes all the way in. I knew better than to suck. He would take whatever he wanted.

“You and, what did you call her? Ah yes, Momsy. You and Momsy make such a lovely couple,” he said, pushing deeper into my mouth, “that I’ve decide to put you in charge of her training.”

He picked up his pace, fucking my face as hard as he could. When I started to gag he gave a satisfied grunt, pulled out of me and slipped into the widow. She thrashed around until she heard him laugh. Then she had the sense to lie still.

It took less than a minute of humping before he was ready to come. The Legate was still forcing my head down onto the widow’s mound. I took the hint and did my best to lick her clit and his shaft. It’s a trick that takes practice but I’ve had plenty of that. The Legate went for the crowd-pleasing finish, pulling out of the widow to spew his cum on my face and her mound.

“Splendid,” he said with same sense of pride another person might show if they’d just invented a cure for cancer.

He got off the bench and headed for the door, still naked and still slightly erect. Yuriko was kneeling at the exit, holding up her leash to him. We all knew that it would be her function to deal with what was left of the Legate’s erection, probably while he viewed his newest recording for the first time.

While Yuriko got to her feet, the Legate looked back at me and said, “I’m making her your bed-mate for a while, Lizzie. Now clean her up and take her to your quarters. And do let her get some rest. I want her on the Pole tomorrow and I don’t want it over quickly.” Then he tugged on Yukio’s leash and left us.

For a moment I didn’t move. His instructions had caught me by surprise He’d never let me have a regular bed-mate before.

Then I processed his statement about the Pole. That was a tough routine for a new arrival. Clearly Mrs. Carstairs was more to him than just another neophyte for the Enclave.

I needed to find out what that connection was so I could decide if I’d been offered a reward or a poison chalice.

I was literally shaken out of my reverie by Mrs Carstairs herself, who was making it clear that she wanted me off her as soon as possible. While understandable, this was not acceptable behaviour from my new trainee.

I climbed down, found a towel to wipe his slime off me and put my skirt back on. I was in charge here so I got to clean up and wear clothes while she stayed naked and soiled.

My new charge was struggling against her bonds and trying to make herself heard despite the gag in her mouth. That wouldn’t do at all, especially with the cameras still running.

The slap across her face seemed to astound her.

I could see it would leave a mark. I had hit her a little harder than I’d intended to. Still, at least now I had her attention.

I grabbed the sticky cock-gag and turned her face towards me.

“I don’t know who you were out in the world but here, in the Enclave, you are mine to train. You are also my bed-mate and you will serve me as such even if I have to keep you bound the whole time.”

Her eyes became very cold. But she was calm and she seemed to be listening.

“Struggling against your bonds is not allowed unless it is caused by pain. That is why I slapped you. It is also why you will keep the gag in your mouth and his cum on your belly, while I walk you to my quarters.”

I let go of the gag, picked up the razor and said, “Nod your head if you are ready to obey me.”

She eyed the razor with concern but this time she nodded.

I sliced through the bonds at her ankles with the razor but I left her wrists bound to the straps around her thighs. Then I dragged her to her feet by the cockgag.

Standing up, she was much taller than me. My mouth was about level with her breasts. She had nice breasts, large but firm, with wide nipples that still pointed up and out.

I looked up into her eyes and saw only wariness. Wariness was a lot better than shock or despair or hate. I could work with wariness, but first I had to reinforce it.

“You have nice nipples, Momsy,” I said, twisting her left nipple between my finger and thumb but keeping my eyes on hers.

“As your trainer, I get to decide if we pierce them…”

Score one to the home team, Mrs C’s eyes widened in shock. The camera would love that.

I placed the flat side of the razor next to her right nipple. “… or if we should take them off altogether.”

I smiled then. I think that frightened her more than blade.

“But, then perhaps they’re better as they are. What do you think, Mumsy? Oh you can’t speak with you mouth full. Silly me.“

I leant forward a little so that my mouth was close to her breast.

“Maybe, if I became fond of your nipples, if I knew they brought us both pleasure, I could leave them as they are. Would you like that Momsy?”

I waited. A small tear escaped down one cheek.

You have to admire the control that that implies.

Mrs C nodded.

Twice.

“Show me that you want me to enjoy your nipples.” I said.

Mrs C worked it out. She pushed her left breast forward against my mouth, brushing my lips.

I moved the razor away from Mrs C’s other breast and extended my tongue so that I could lap at the nipple like a cat taking cream.

She really did have attractive nipples but I made myself pull my mouth away. I needed one more step to drive the lesson home.

“I’m not sure you’re enjoying this.” I said, stepping back. “Perhaps you would prefer I didn’t suckle you?”

Mrs C shook her head so violently that the cockgag wobbled. She shuffled forward towards me, doing the best she could with her wrists bound to her thighs, to offer me her breasts.

“Well, if you’re sure.” I said.

I grabbed her breasts with both hands, lifting and squeezing them so that her nipples were offered up like cherries on a sundae. I sucked on each nipple, worried them with my teeth, pulling my head back to stretch her flesh. I wasn’t gentle but I was thorough.

When I stepped away, Mrs C stayed still, waiting for me to tell her what to do next.

We were making progress. A sense of triumph blossomed briefly within me. It died when I looked into Mrs C’s eyes and saw myself reflected there. I understood then that the only one triumphing here was the Legate. Which is something I should never have lost sight of.

I decided to change the game a little.  Silently, I stepped forward and cut Mrs C’s wrists free from the straps at her thighs and then reached up,grabbed the cock-gag and used it to make Mrs C bend her head. When her ear was close to mouth I whispered, “The only words you say when I loosen this gag are ‘Thank you, Lizzie'”.

I loosened the strap until I could pull the gag out of her mouth and leave it dangling from her neck. Her lips were swollen and her mouth and chin were covered in spit but that only seem to make her more attractive in my eyes.

“Thank you, Lizzie” she said. Her voice not much above a whisper.

“That’s OK, Mumsy. That’s your reward for offering me your breasts like a good girl.”

“Now, let me take you to your new home.” I said holding out my hand.

I thought she might ask for clothes, or a towel to wipe herself, or try to cover her nakedness with her hands, but she had better control than that. She took hold of my hand and said “Thank you, Lizzie.”

She kept hold of my hand and stayed in step beside me as we walked through the Enclave to my quarters.

Amy Goes To College: Chapter 2 Amy Plans Revenge

Amy Goes to College

Chapter 2: Amy Plans Revenge

(c) Mike Kimera 2004


To: ti8nwett@bigfoot.com

From: amyable@FckU.com

Subject: How to solve a problem with Maria.

Hey Sis,

Great news, I’ve managed to screw Dean Julien Ward. Well, not really screw him, not yet anways, but his ass is mine. Which is only fair given the bruises he left of my ass when I got busted for smoking pot. Tonight I’m gonna make him pay for that.

You should see this guy: think Giles from Buffy –scrawny, old, snotty voice, no fashion sense – then add a cold hunger in the eyes. He’s into sex but it’s in some twisted Brit way that’s all controlled and condescending.

I knew as soon as I got into his office that he’d hit on me. A man like him probably doesn’t get fucked often unless he pays for it. And I’d have been fine with that. I like it here at Desert U. It’s not the world’s greatest college but at least they let me in. After that thing with the fire at my last college I thought no-one would take me. So I thought, “If I have to fuck devil-Giles to stay in school, hey I’ll just waggle my ass and get him off as quick as I can.”

Of course it didn’t go down like that. Friend Julien likes games. He leaves the handcuffs on and he gets me to call him sir, he even asks my permission before he lays into me.

The spanking shit was a surprise. I’d never been spanked before. You should try it – or have you tried it already? The whole of the next day I couldn’t stop thinking about his hand stinging my ass, his cock, not that long but plenty thick, pressing into me. All that heat and hardness… and pain. My ass was hurt but the pain was making me wet.

As you know I’ve always enjoyed sex. But I’ve enjoyed it like a sport I was good at or a game I could win. The spanking was different. It produced basic, gut churning lust. I wanted his cock and I wanted him to hurt me. I found myself wanting to have him slap my face with his cock as I knelt in front of him. But I also wanted him to lose himself to it. I wanted to see him sweat. I wanted to know he needed it as badly as me.

At the end of the spanking I was bent over, handcuffed, bare- assed, and wet enough to fuck a baseball bat and the bastard unlocked the handcuffs, called in his frumpy secretary and threw me out without even giving me a decent fuck.

It was like he was laughing at me. Like I wasn’t good enough to have his cock in me. Like he was in charge and I was just a toy. I ran out of his office full of anger and frustration. I wanted to go to my room, lie on my bed and frig myself unconscious but laying down wasn’t an option and by the time I got home my lust had become a hunger for revenge. No one turns me on and then just kicks me out. I decided I was going to fuck him and then break him.

That next day he walked past me in the corridor. I was leaning with my back against the wall. I opened my legs as I saw him and pushed my books up under my breasts. I made eye contact and then looked at his crotch, but he ignored me. Walked by as if I didn’t exist. I decided that that had to change. He had his guard is up against me, smug bastard. I needed to get past it to get to his cock. I needed a lever… or a Trojan horse. By the end of the day I’d found the solution: I’d get to Ward using Maria.

Maria is a Latino, just under 5′ tall, small breasts topped with coffee colored nipples, dark eyes, waist length black hair. She’s a local, still living at home with mummy and daddy; still dressing like she’s in high school – I bet her mom picks her clothes. Her best feature is her mouth. Her lips always look swollen and moist as if she’s just finished sucking cock. Except she doesn’t suck cock. Her preference is for pussy, my pussy in particular. She’d been trying to get a lick of my pussy for weeks. I’ve had girlfriends before – as you know very well J. A girl’s tongue on my clit is a welcome change, but Maria’s not in my social circle so I wasn’t interested.

Last week Maria met me coming out of a bar neither of us was supposed to go near. She was drunk and alone and as soon as she saw me her nipples saluted. I took her back to my car. As I put her in the back seat she made a grab for me.

She kissed me with those large lips, putting her tongue in my mouth. “I love you,” she said.

I let the kiss linger and then pushed her away saying, “Get off me, bitch”.

She caught hold of my arm and pulled my hand between her legs to her wet pussy.

“Please, Amy. I’ll do anything,” she said.

Her cunt was soaked. She was starting to turn me on. I pushed her back down on the seat, making sure no one could see us. I lay down on her full length. My tits pushing up against her. Her thigh trying to dry hump me between my legs.

I held her hands above her head and said, “Do you want my pussy, Maria? Do you want your tongue up my cunt?” She pushed against me but couldn’t move.

“Yes” she breathed, “God yes”.

“Well you’ll have to earn it you little lesbian slut”

That started to sober her up. She didn’t like that so much.

“If you want my pussy” I said, “I want to see this shaved and smooth.” I put my hand on her cunt and pushed two fingers in while still holding her hands above her head “and I want this pierced.”

I brought my hand out of her pussy and pushed it into her mouth, grabbing hold of her tongue. I liked the thought of a hard little stud in her tongue flicking against my clit.

Then I raped her mouth with my tongue. I was hot now and I wanted a fuck. She’d warmed me up nicely for the meeting with my boyfriend’s father at the Lazy O Motel that I’d been on my way to. It was time to go.

“OK slut, out of my car,” I said and dragged her ass out of there. As I drove off she was still on the ground in the parking lot with her hand buried in her panties.

I thought no more about it then, the day after Dean Shaw’s little bondage session, Maria was there when I went for my session in the gym. After the session, Maria followed me into the showers. She had the sense not to stand next to me but she let me see that her pussy was now smooth and hairless. With her slight figure it made her look very young and vulnerable. Her clit also looked larger.

I remembered that Maria had been out for a couple of days. I’d heard from the other girls that she’d had a major row with her father. I wondered if it was because she’d had her tongue pierced. I figured it was time to check her out. If she was pierced then she’d help me nail Ward.

I made sure I was out of the locker room before Maria was. I waited in the corridor and grabbed her wrist when she walked by. The stupid bitch actually smiled at me, delighted at the attention. I didn’t speak to her I just dragged her round the corner into one of the empty music rehearsal rooms. The soundproofing in these rooms makes them a favourite spot for a lunchtime fuck. I’d gotten the janitor to give me a key (you can guess how and no I didn’t swallow).

Alone with Maria in the room I pushed her up against the wall and said, “Show me.”

Without taking her eyes off mine she stuck out her tongue which was now decorated with a shiny silver stud. “And the rest,” I said.

She lifted her skirt and pushed down her panties to show her smooth pussy again. I put my hand on her mound and kissed her on the lips. Her nipples stood out like rivets.

“You’ve been a good slut so far, Maria, and tonight you get your reward.”

She smiled and tried to reach for me. I grabbed her by the cunt and slammed her ass back against the wall.

“Wait ’til I tell you,” I said “You’re going to help me get the man who did this to my ass.”

I took off my panties and showed her the bruising. She looked sorry for me – how touching – and I let her trace the bruises with her hand. Actually it felt good.

I decided to try out that stud of hers. I sat on one the chairs, opened my legs and had her kneel before me.

“Show me how you use that tongue, slut and I’ll tell you what we’re going to do”

She thanked me and set about licking my clit and cunt with the kind of skill that only comes from lots of practice. The girl was good and the stud would really help get me off.

I told her that tonight she would go to the Dean’s office just as his prim and proper secretary was leaving. She was to make sure the secretary saw her go in. Once inside she would ask for counselling about her father’s reaction to her stud. When she heard the secretary leave she would show the stud to the Dean and explain that her boyfriend made her get it for oral sex. She’d say he made her shave her pussy too and would take off her panties. If the Dean came on to her she was to suck his cock (not an idea she was keen on) if not she was to rip her clothing and throw herself on him. I would then enter.

With perfect timing I came on her face when her instructions were complete. She wanted me to finger her. I told her she hadn’t earned it yet but that I did have a present for her. I reached into my bag and pulled out a banana that I’d intended to have for lunch.

“Here, fuck yourself with this while I watch.”

If she did it I would know the slut was in my power. That banana disappeared inside her so far and so fast that it took my breath away. When she came I was glad the room was soundproof.

The plan worked well. The secretary saw Maria go in. Ten minutes later I entered on cue and found Maria on the floor (where Dean Ward had just thrown her – too cautious to get her to suck his cock). Her panties were off, her clothes were ripped, and his cock was hanging from his open fly. Maria does good work with the right incentives.

FLASH the camera goes off.

I explained to the Dean that I’d tell everyone he made Maria shave and get a stud and that I came along because she said she thought he would try to rape her once he got bored with her mouth.

You should have seen his face: outrage, disbelief, anger. He actually looked dangerous. Then I offered him a way out.

Of course” I said “It doesn’t have to be that way. Not if you decide to take both of us with you to the Lazy O Motel.”

His cock and his eyes both got hard then. For a moment I wondered if he would just rape us. Then he relaxed and leant back against his desk, his cock still sticking out of his pants. He picked up Maria’s panties and threw them at her.

Tomorrow. Eight o’clock. Now I want you and your slut out of my office.”

Maria scrambled over to me. She was frightened. She looks sexy when she’s frightened. My pussy was getting damp. I decided to sit on her face before I sent her home. It might even be fun to make her come. It would be good to keep her grateful; I wasn’t done with her yet.

See you tomorrow, Prof,” I said, putting my arm around Maria. “Time for me to find out how wet you’ve made my little slut.”

I slide two fingers into Maria. She blushed but she didn’t move away, instead she pressed herself against me as I worked her. I could see it was taking all of Julien’s control not to cross the room and fuck us. I wouldn’t let him of course. I wanted to make him wait first. I wanted him to feel used.

I pulled my fingers out of Maria. She mewled in protest, already having forgotten that she was being fingered in public. I silenced her by pushing my wet fingers into her mouth, holding them high so that she’d have to stretch to suck them. I want Ward to see her tongue stud in action.

See what you missed when you wouldn’t let her suck you, Prof?”

I want you and your sextoy out of my office,” he said. His tone was hard and unforgiving. But his cock was harder. I swear it shivered as he spoke. He’d be jacking off as soon as we left the room.

I can see you want us, Prof. Tomorrow should be fun. Don’t be late,” I said. And then I dragged Maria out of there.

She was still mauling me when we reached my car; rubbing her self against me and feeling me up. I had to slap her to make her stop. Hitting her felt good so I did it again. She looked up at me in shock but she didn’t try to defend herself. My cunt contracted when I realised she was waiting for me to hit her again.

We were alone in the parking lot and my Santa Fe is way taller than Maria, so I decided to take her.

Turn and face the car. Put your hands on the vehicle and spread your legs.” Jesus, I thought, I sound just like a cop. I liked the idea.

Maria didn’t move so I span her round by her shoulders and threw her against the car. I was rougher than I meant to be and she bounced of the car but she assumed the position. I kicked her legs wider apart. She was tense, waiting for the next blow.

I kissed her on the neck and ran my hands over her little tits. “You were a good girl, Maria, so Amy’s gonna reward you.” She pressed her butt back against me and purred. She actually purred. “Amy’s gonna push her fist up your cunt until you come screaming like the little painslut you are.”

Amy, I…”

I slapped her hard across the butt. “You wanna talk, slut? Then the only words I wanna hear are ‘Thank you, Amy’. Do you understand that?”

I thought she’d say “Yes” but she was smarter than that, she just said “Thank you, Amy”

The first two fingers just slid in. I worked them in and out pushing her up onto the balls of her feet.

With every stroke she said, “Thank you, Amy”.

I had to squat to get the rest of the fingers in. The thumb was the most difficult. Then I was in her up to my wrist. Fuck, that felt good. I closed my hand into a fist and she screamed for the first time. I rested my head against her ass to keep my balance (and because I liked the feel of her flesh on my forehead) then I fucked her with my fist. I kept it slow; I didn’t want to rip her.

The little slut was still chanting “Thank you, Amy.” I was so hot that I had to slip a finger over my clit. I steepled my fingers inside Maria and pushed until I found her cervix, then I squeezed. Shit she went off like a hooked fish. The sound of her coming tipped me over. I bit into her butt as I came, closing my eyes with the pleasure of it.

When the come had passed I realised my knees were stiff and my hand was still jammed up Maria’s cunt. I yanked the hand out and she collapsed onto her knees. She let herself sit then turned to face me.

Her face was streaked with tears. She’d bitten that cocksucking lip and there was a little line of blood running over her chin.

I was just wondering if I’d gone too far when she said, “Thank you, Amy.” Then she looked down and said, “I love you.”

That woke me up. I’d had enough of Maria for one day. I reached forward and pulled her head against my breast. As she started to nuzzle I  wiped my cunt-slimed hand on her hair.

Yeah, well to me you’re just a wet cunt and a talented tongue, Maria.”

I stood up. She looked ready to cry. When I drove away she was still kneeling in the parking lot.

Yeah, I know I was hard on her, but she shouldn’t have brought up all that love shit. I hate it when they do that.

Anyway, Sis, that was Phase one of my master plan in action. Phase two is tonight. I go to the Lazy O and make Julien Ward regret not fucking me when he had the chance.

I’m gonna tell him that if he lets us tie him, Maria and I will take turns on his cock. I might even have Maria suck him while I tie the knots. Then I’m gonna push some Viagra down his throat. He’s gonna be hard for hours and we won’t fuck him once.

I’m gonna take Maria right on top of him. I’m gonna use a strap-on to take her hard. Then I’m gonna strap it onto darling Julien’s mouth and use it to fuck myself silly. The bastard will be begging to come. If he begs prettily enough I’ll get Maria to give him a hand job while I sit on his face.

I’ll let you know how it goes. Hey, I may even take a few more pictures just so you can join in the fun.

Hugs and Kisses

Amy

PS: Have you dumped that wimp boyfriend of yours yet? I don’t know why you put up with him. When I had him at Spring Break he wasn’t that good a lay.

Ask Alice

It’s been a while since I wrote something that is erotica with no frills. This is a D/s story with a lesbian / bi-sexual flavour, so it hits a lot of the arousal tags.

I hope that it goes on to do more than that. I want this one to crawl under your skin and make you itch afterwards.

I’m happy to receive any comments. Enjoy.


Ask Alice


(c) Mike Kimera 2010, All rights reserved.

“Carol, this is Alice.”

Alice is small, round, pale and naked.

Hot fingers of desire run their nails up from my belly to my breasts.

This instant arousal shames me, not just because it is lust without a context but because the trigger for my arousal is not the soft heavy flesh in front of me but the ugly slave collar around the girl’s neck and the strange gag across her mouth.

Alice is in a deep squat, hands behind her head, arms and legs spread wide, breasts and sex exposed and available.

Without thinking about it, I take a step closer. In my heels, I tower above her; my sex is level with her head. All I’d have to do is lift the hem of my little black dress and…

I make myself stop. The girl hasn’t even looked at me and I am ready to use her like a sextoy. This isn’t how I think of myself.

I turn towards Alan.

“You’re sure she’s OK with this?”

“Ask her.”

“But…,”

“… the tongue-clamp means that she can’t speak. The loss of speech is worth it don’t you think? See how wide and wet her tongue is? How the pressure of the clamp keeps her attention on this soft sensitive tissue over which she has surrendered all control? How the saliva that drips from it makes her breasts glisten and reminds her that she is an object on display, ready for use?”

The gag is a kind of bridle through which Alice has forced her tongue. The gag holds her tongue at full extension. It looks painful. I want to think of it as monstrous and barbaric but the main effect it has on me is to want to stroke my thumb across the surface of her tongue.

“Squat down,” Alan says, “and look into her eyes. Get closer. Close enough to suck the tip of her tongue into your mouth. What do you see?”

My little black dress is short and form-fitting. Underneath it I am wearing thigh-highs and the tiniest of thongs. As I squat, I am intensely aware of the way the fabric slides up my legs, exposing my thighs.

I get close enough to Alice to smell her sweat. She is younger than me. Her skin is perfect. I want to lick it. Slowly, deliberately, she makes eye contact with me.

Looking into her eyes I understand for the first time that I am dealing with a person here, a woman, like me. Except that she is bound and naked and drooling. And I can take her if I want to. The thought makes me wriggle with excitement but I keep eye contact.

“I see… embarrassment? Defiance? Fear?” I say.

Alan squats next to me, so close that his shoulder brushes mine. He reaches out, grasps the tip of the girl’s tongue between his finger and thumb and turns her head towards him.

Something in her eyes changes when he touches her. She looks at him as if he is the only person in the world.

“I see desire and submission,” Alan says, letting go of her tongue. “I see a struggle between her picture of herself as a strong woman and her need to be offered for the use of strangers.”

Alice looks down.

Alan brushes the hair back from her forehead.

“You do want to be used, don’t you Alice?” he says.

There is a pause then, looking only at Alan, Alice nods.

Alan stands up. I remain squatting, torn between hunger and conscience.

She nodded. She could have said no. That makes it OK doesn’t it?

I look up at Alan.

“And she, er… likes women?”

“That,” he says, “is something we are all about to find out.”

“Oh God.”

It comes out almost as a groan. As he’d promised Alan has arranged for me to live my fantasy.

Alan and I have known one another since University. He was one of the first people I came out to. Back then, I was dating Heather and he always asked me a lot of questions about what it was like to sleep with a woman. I always told him that he should know; he’d done it often enough. He kept on at it; asking for a threesomes or just to get to sit and watch. He even offered to film us. I thought about it but Heather was a private person and wouldn’t consider it. Heather left me two years ago. Since then, Alan has hit on every girl he’s seen me with.

Alan is very public in his sexuality. He’s a control freak. He’s a martial arts expert who stays in perfect shape. He made his money in the City before the credit crunch and now runs a string of Dojos. He also trains pets. That’s how he describes it. His pets are submissive women that he literally has begging him to tie them up and slap, pinch, whip and fuck them into ecstasy. I’ve seen the photographs.

This evening, Alan and I had one of our regular dinners at Langhams. It’s been a while since I’ve been with someone so it was a relief to be able to talk freely; the more wine we had, the more freely we talked.

Towards the end of the meal, Alan asked me the question that had brought me face to face with Alice.

“Tell me about what gets you off.”

“You know what gets me off,” I said, making light of the question. “Pretty young things who think I’m gorgeous.”

“Don’t be evasive. Tell me about the long-held fantasy that you return to time and again and which always gets you off. The one that shares your bed with you when you are alone. The one that has nothing to do with anyone’s pleasure but your own.”

I didn’t reply.

Alan looked at me, letting the silence build. He’s a hard man to say no to.

“My deepest darkest fantasy,” I said, leaning towards him so that I could speak quietly, “has always been to have sex with a straight woman. I don’t mean a woman who is gay but not admitting it; I mean a woman who is strongly heterosexual but who still offers herself to me.

“Sometimes it’s a married woman, neglected by her husband and exhausted by her kids, who I sweep off her feet. Sometimes it’s a cocky young thing who doesn’t desire me at all but is willing to use her body to barter her way out of a bad situation. Hey, it’s a fantasy. I’m allowed to think bad things as long as I don’t do them.

“What the fantasies all have in common is that I’m the first woman who has ever fucked them. I know how that sounds but the whole ‘she’s not a virgin anymore’ thing makes me hot.”

I could see the excitement in Alan’s eyes. His whole body-language had changed. He’d moved into that predator-on-the-prowl mode that makes him look sexy, even to me.

“So, I’ve told you mine. Now it’s your turn.”

“Mine is always the same,” he said. “I think about you squatting on the face of a pretty woman and coming so hard that you scream.”

That sent a sliver of ice-cold excitement into my spine. It wasn’t just the image; it was that I knew that Alan meant exactly what he said.  Which meant that he’d spent years, cock in hand, working towards the short strokes, with me as the centre of all his desire. It was a disturbing and arousing piece of knowledge.

“Well,” I said. “I guess we all fantasize about what we can’t have.”

“I don’t accept that. These fantasies tell us what we really need. It only makes sense to arrange to live them.”

Without waiting for me to reply, he reached into his jacket, pulled out his phone, and pressed a speed-dial number.

When the call went through he said, “Be there in twenty minutes. Prepare yourself and wait for me.” then he hung up and signaled the waiter for our bill.

“What was that all about?”

“Come home with me and you’ll find out.”

I had indeed found out. I’d found that my fantasy-made-flesh had a bone-deep appeal that both appalled and illuminated me.

Alice is mine if I want her.

I will get a straight woman’s tongue where it will do me the most good and Alan will finally get to watch me fuck.

It is perfect.

Isn’t it?

“It doesn’t matter if Alice enjoys you forcing her tongue into your cunt or grinding your clit against her nose.” Alan says. “What matters is that she shows me her obedience. If she’s a good pet, I’ll send her home to her husband with my cum up her arse and we’ll all be happy.”

Alice is married. Alice left her husband this evening because Alan told her to. Alice is going to let me fuck her because Alan told her to.

I allow myself to touch her.

I slide my hand down her thigh. She gives a small involuntary flinch but she stays in place. Alan has trained her to stay in place.

Her sex is wet on my fingers. Long, engorged labia that part easily. I take her imprisoned tongue into my mouth at the same time that I push two fingers into her.

She closes her eyes and waits.

Alice will let me do anything to her. Anything at all.

I want her eyes open. I want her to look at me; to see me, the woman who is going to show her what sex can be. I want to leave my mark on her memory.

My fingers find the roof of Alice’s sex, my thumb presses into her clit so hard she struggles to stay in her squat. When I suck hard on her tongue then clamp down on it with my teeth, Alice’s eyes shoot open. I have all of her attention now.

I hear Alan unzip. I have all of his attention too.  He steps closer until his erection, as hard and purposeful as his will,  is visible above Alice’s head. Wordlessly he starts to stroke himself. Slow unhurried strokes that speak of controlled desire and absolute entitlement.

I realise that he is  going to stroke himself while he watches  two women, one gay, one straight, squatting, sucking, fingering, fucking, putting on a show for him.

Now I know exactly what I want, no, what I need to do.

I pull out of Alice’s sex, release her tongue and use both hands to undo that cruel tongue-gag.

Alice looks at me with a question in her eyes. It seems to me this is the first true acknowledgment she’s made that I am anything more than an extension of Alan’s will.

I look up at Alan. He grins at me, displaying his arousal like a trophy or perhaps a weapon.

I put my hands on either side of Alice’s face as she flexes her freed tongue.

I lean forward and kiss Alice on the forehead.  Alan’s erection hovers above us like a bird of prey. I work my way down Alice’s  face until I am close to her ear.

“Go home to your husband,” I whisper. “You deserve someone better than Alan.”

I stand up, straightening my dress as I rise.

The look of astonishment on Alan’s face is the highlight of my evening.

“I’m leaving now,” I say to Alice. “I’m calling a cab. If you want to leave with me, be upstairs in five minutes.”

Looking from Alice to Alan I realise that neither of them know what her answer will be.

I leave the room smiling. It seems that I may have  swept a straight woman off her feet after all.