Joe Tortuga's Erotic Writing

In Media Mortem

2011-02-15T08:33:00.002-05:00

There are 41 posts on the Sir Tortuga Household Blog right now, only two or three of which are 'filler' posts. It seems to have a small if silent following -- which pretty much describes my erotic writing career. I know most amateur authors complain about comments (and the lack thereof) and I hate whining, but I've never gotten more than a handful of comments about any one story. Choices has generated the most comments over it's life (I first wrote it over ten years ago, and I still get a random comment or two from its place on ASSTR.)

Choices also has a very low rating on Stories OnLine, which I think explains the comments, there's something deeply unsatisfying about the story, yet it is obviously well written and constructed. It's supposed to be unsatisfying and disturbing, so I know that story is a success. It might seem odd that I see an extremely low rating, and very bad scores as a success, but really it means that I touched something in someone, and they reacted.

What upsets me is mediocrity. I'm sure that there are a set of users on SoL (maybe around 5-10% of it's user base) that religiously rate stories. Stories which they liked but don't stand out for them, for whatever reason, get a rating around 7 or 8. SoL then grades on a curve, and lowers the score based on the average rating at the time the ratings were given. Most of mine score slightly above average, but not distinguishably so. The (now two weeks behind) Sir Tortuga Household blog gets that sort of rating, although it seems to have a small, but loyal following.

Again, not complaining, but I bet off more than I could chew with this: daily posts, no definitely end to the story -- and in fact a story that takes some time to develop and mature, leaving me gaps to fill real-world things in as I can. Daily writing, and so on. I thought that it would settle out to a low hum, as has happened when I did daily writing on Cult Of The Turtle. But the simple answer for me is that fiction writing takes more creative effort than opinion/essays so that's not happened. I've felt a bit tapped and unable to work on other projects (and still manage to work and have a social life;)

These things are related of course, as once or twice a week I get a good comment or tweet about the blog, and I get a bit more energy to go forward. It's not vocal enough for me to get the real energy I need, but it's something (and thanks to everyone who has said something to me about it).

This is an In Media Mortem as opposed to a post-mortem, because I'm not ending the blog. I'm thinking about slowing my pace, though to two or three posts a week, but I don't know if that's a good idea or not. Haven't made up my mind yet, but I feel other projects clawing at me for attention. This has always been a problem -- in the middle of working on my (horrible, first draft) Kadja novel, I got the desire to write a complicated bit of code for managing writing a novel. Still a good idea, but I had to push it off -- as I'd made a commitment. Kadja, though, had a projected end. SirTortuga's Household Blog does not. Foolish me.

So, the project takes a lot of energy, and occasionally triggers my fears of mediocrity -- although not always, certainly -- and I'm struggling with what to do with it. I don't know how to get people to read it (or to tell if they are, sometimes). I think it's good, and I think SoL isn't my market. Certainly all of my feedback has been from #fucktoyfriday readers, which seems reasonable as it was inspired by that.

So most of the time it feels like I'm missing some part of the internet where I fit, which is funny to me, as the internet is where I went 20 years ago in order to fit. It's just much bigger now, which forces us to find tighter, more niche communities.

Like I said, this isn't a complaint or a request for praise, but sort of a thought about a big project. It's getting close to novel length -- if you assume an average post length of around 800 words, that's close to 33,000 words. Another month, and I'll have broken the novel length, and that feels really good, too.

SirTortuga's Blog

2011-01-18T11:47:00.003-05:00

I've moved his stories and blog over to Posterous. You can read it here. In a lot of ways, it's a blogging experiment: writing every weekday, doing world-building and and plot as I go -- although a lot of it is sitting there in my subconscious as I've sought a story for this world.

It's a world with a secret BDSM society that dates back to Ancient Greece (at least). They have their own culture and mores, while trying to sit invisibly within western culture. (I haven't decided about the Society's existence in non-western culture yet).

The original idea was inspired by the #fucktoyfriday tag on Twitter, which was crated by the user SayNine. I think I've taken it to my own kinky space, but I do think the idea, of using and being used has a strong fantasy component that a lot of people care about. Consent is valued, but the results are more extreme.

I'm writing this as a I go to keep my moving in the winter, and to be able to respond to other people as I can. There is a sort of over-arching plot, but it's a blog and if it ever becomes a burden, or never gains interest, then I can walk away from it. Blogging is a style I'm comfortable with, as I've been doing it in one way or another since 1995 or so. The fantasies aren't hard because they're mostly mine.

I'm going to post this to SoL as well, and possibly some other things, but I'm not sure yet (expect a post about that later). I'm not sure how to maintain the fiction there, but this blog is linked to my author account there, and will give me something to link to.

Anyway, I hope you're enjoying it, and I'd like to engage with my readers on it, however that means to them.

SirTortuga's Fucktoy Friday: Fifteen

2010-12-31T15:00:00.000-05:00

I met Fifteen in the private playroom off my main suite. The fucktoys call it "The Principal’s Office" because the only reason they ever go there is if something is really bad or really good. He was naked, his hands behind his back, and he was standing with his feet shoulder length apart. His cock wasn’t hard, but Fifteen was a shower, so there’d be something to work with no matter how he was feeling.

"Did you realize you were breaking her limit when you tickled her?" I asked him earlier.

"Yes, Sir" he said. "And I’m sorry for that."

"I’m not the only one you need to apologize to," I said. He didn’t say anything to that, and Iet him talk as I found the bight of the rope I intended to use on him. It was a smooth quarter-inch rope, not soft necessarily, but no rough edges. I’d chosen a black one to contrast well with his skin. Aesthetics matter, even if no one sees it but me.

"So is winning that important?" I asked him. I slid the bight around his waist and began working on the bondage around his cock and balls.

"Not winning," he said. "But the prize..."

He drew his breath in quickly as I separated his balls, wrapping them with the cord-like rope. "You wanted bells dangled from your naughty bits?" I asked.

"I didn’t care bout the entertainment, Sir" he said. "Or the New Year’s Party."

"What then?" I asked, continuing my ropework. His cock was getting hard, which made my work of trapping it even easier.

He didn’t respond, and I let him stew on it for a bit.

My second favorite thing in the world to torture is another man’s cock and balls. Breasts are my favorite target, but cock is a close second. I admired my work as I finished it up --rope was wrapped around the base of his balls, and divided and separated them pulling them away from his body. I finished the rope off around his cock, pulling it tight against his body, giving me a clean shot at his shaft, and each ball.

I pulled a crop from where it hung on the wall, and turned back to him. "What did you care about?" I asked. "What was so important?"

While he considered, I ran the crop over his balls gently,and up his shaft. When he didn’t respond, I started beating them lightly. At this level, I’m sure he liked it, but he knew what was coming, and still he didn’t respond to me.

"You’re lucky that Zee’s team did so well. The point of the contest for me was to find the most suited fucktoys for Carol’s show; you robbed me of that, by cheating," I said. "And now you say you didn’t cheat to win. Why is that?" I punctuated my sentences with strokes of the crop. Every period and comma, apostrophe and semicolon was a strike to one of his balls or the shaft of his cock. He was squirming now, but still didn’t speak.

"Why the competition with Zee?" I asked. "What is the point of all of it?" I continued to beat on his cock and balls, and he continued to be quiet as I tortured him.

He was still quite hard from all this brutal treatment, and in truth, I knew he liked it to some degree. For that reason, this wasn’t his punishment, it was foreplay. I was getting hot and bothered by it,too, and just wanted him to tell me what was up so I could fuck him, and get on with it. But with each strike my anger was growing, and had been over the week, and talking to Zee the day before hadn’t helped.

Finally, I pulled the crop back and looked him in the eye. "Tell me." He said nothing, and I swung the crop down hard on his left ball. He bent over, then, biting his lip so he didn’t cry out, and then he stood back up, and looked me in the eye.

"Is it just to be the best?" I asked. "Is that so very important?" He was silent, so I pulled the crop back again. "Tell me." I swung it down on his cock, harder this time, and he winced in pain, and jerked back. I gave him a moment to resume his stance.

"No, not to be the best," he said, and looked back at me.

"Then why?" I asked. "Tell me, damn it!" I swung the crop again, striking his right ball with the hardest strike yet. He fell to the ground, wincing in pain, and I knelt beside him. Tears were in his eyes from the pain and the struggle, and I knelt there and watched him.

"Damn it, just tell me so I can fuck and punish you and we can be done with this!"

"Promise, Sir? That you’ll fuck me?"

"That’s what I said!"

"It’s not about being the best," he said. "It’s about being your favorite. You take care of your favorites, you love us, and we crave it."

I just looked at him. I take care of my fucktoys, yes. That’s a requirement of having them, but love? What was all this talk of love? I love Lady T. I love some of my submissives, but the fucktoys are fuck toys. They know that going in, it’s part of the agreement.

I looked him over, and saw that his erection had finally subsided, which hadn’t been my goal, but fit with my current plans. I got up and got the chastity device that I’d planned for his punishment. He doesn’t like orgasm control, but it’s not a hard limit, which makes it perfect for this sort of thing.

I unwound his cock and balls, and he sighed as I touched him. He still hadn’t gotten off the floor, but I didn’t need him too. His cock went into a plastic tube that would keep it from getting hard, and it wrapped and tied around his balls. A padlock made sure it wouldn’t come off without my permission, and I was done.

"Two weeks," I told him. "That’s how long you’ll wear it. That’s your punishment from me for breaking the rules. You’ll need to work out what Zee needs for forgiveness amongst yourselves."

"Yes, Sir," he said.

I got up, and walked to the door. "You and your team are working the full shift at the New Year’s Eve party, as well, so you should go get ready."

"But..." he said as he got up to his knees. "You were going to..."

"And I will," I said. "In two weeks when that thing comes off."

"Yes, Sir," he said, and I left him there to go plan my party.

SirTortuga's Fucktoy Blog: 12/30

2010-12-30T15:12:00.001-05:00

Today I’m going to have to deal with Fifteen. I’m mostly sure what needs to be done, contingent upon our discussion today. I’d have done this yesterday, but it was a busy day, getting ready for the NYE part, amongst other things. There were a few things that needed my guidance yesterday, but for the most part our household runs itself, and things were mostly ready yesterday.

There’s a few things that need to wait until tomorrow: costumes, food, and final bits of decoration chief among them. Pretty much everything else was already done, or close to being done. I’ve found that having the fucktoy-run Christmas party a week before my big party means most of the kinks --as it were -- are ironed out of the system ahead of time.

My fucktoys kept things running smoothly, while one ran my calendar, the other took charge of my cock. I might have to have dual fucktoys more often, it was a pleasant experience. Of course, the most pleasant experience was giving Zee and her team the tickets.

When I got to her, she was cleaning up one of the play rooms on the second basement level. The room was the one I thought of as "The New Yankee Workshop Gone Bad." While there wasn’t so many large power tools, it was definitely a carpentry shop, with wooden horses, planks, and most of the clamps were like the ones used in carpentry. There was also a wall of power tools that had all been perverted in some way.

When the girls saw me, she rushed over to me, her braid swinging behind her. She gave me a full body hug. "Sir!"

"I’ve got your ticket," I said, and placed it around her neck. (The tickets are almost like badges, since not every attendee has pockets, or clothes.) She kissed me soundly, then. Her nipples had perked up and I wrapped my hands around her breasts.

She moaned as I squeezed them. "Cleaning up down here always makes me horny," she laughed. I kissed her then, putting more pressure on her breasts, and causing her to whimper.

I grabbed her ponytail near the base, and turned her around. I force walked her over to one of the wooden horses and bent her over. One of my fucktoys had unzipped me and pulled my cock out while I bent her over, so I was in her quickly, efficiently and forcefully.

The horse wasn’t really able to support her, but she grabbed the legs, and I pulled back on her hair in part to give her balance,and in part to be rough with her. I am a sadist, after all. I then used my other hand to smack her ass, hard. As my red hand prints appeared on her ass, she squirmed and moved, but was pinned by my body and cock.

She came with the third swat. It took ten for me to come.

Afterwards, she worked some more on the room, moving a bit more gingerly than she had, but with a smile and a glow about her. "How are you feeling about what Fifteen did?" I asked her.

She paused. "I get accidentally tickled all the time, but usually people apologize." It had happened to me, after all, so I just nodded. "And frankly, I’m probably less mad because it ensured my win -- although I’d have preferred to win without the technicality."

"Winning was that important?"

"We all want to be the best for you, Sir."

"But only you two seem to make a competition of it." I think I said it roughly. I was getting frustrated with the dissension and upset all this was causing. But before she answered, in fact before the words were completely out of my mouth, she’d turned away from me, ostensibly to dust something, but also to compose her thoughts or hide her feelings.

"I’m sorry, Sir," she replied, her voice quavering. "I’ll try to avoid it in the future."

"Zee," I said, which made her straighten --I rarely use their names to their faces. "You’re one of the best fucktoys this household has ever had. Trust me on that, okay?"

"Thank you, Sir," she replied. "I need to finish this cleaning, or things will not be ready in time."

I could have forced the issue, but she was right, and I needed to finish my walk-through. Today I deal with Fifteen, and see if I can defuse this problem. The point of having fucktoys was to not deal with this emotional shit. Did they not understand that?

SirTortuga's Fucktoy Blog: 12/29

2010-12-29T15:29:00.004-05:00

As normal, I awoke with a wet mouth around my cock. This morning, however, Lady T was also up, her legs up and apart making space for her own fucktoy alarm clock. I turned to her, my fucktoy moving with me, keeping their mouth where it belonged. I gave her a kiss and ran my hands over her breasts, teasing her nipples as I did. She moaned into the kiss, and I squeezed her tits. She was close, so it wasn’t long before she was pressing her crotch into her fucktoy’s face in orgasm.

She stretched, laughing as she rose from bed. “Feel free to use my fucktoy,” she said. “He’s got a good mouth on him.

I pulled the covers back to check on my own fucktoy’s progress. Her brown hair cascaded down over my cock as she sucked. “Ride me,” I said, rolling onto my back. She slid up my body and impaled herself on my cock. Lady T’s fucktoy was watching,his hard-on evident. “Fuck her in the ass,” I said. She shivered as I said it.

He grabbed the lube that beside the bed -- certain things are ubiquitous in my household -- and proceeded to enter her. I could fee him as he slid into her ass. When he was all the way in, I thrust up into her, so that we were both balls-deep into her. She came then, and we began to fuck her in earnest.

I don’t know what it is like for women to have two cocks in her, but as on of the men, it has its own appeal. You can feel the other man’s cock pressing against you through that bit of female flesh, as well as feeling her wrapped around you. In fact it’s even tighter than normal, and that feels pretty good too. As each of you moves, you can feel each other’s cock moving as well, and that sensation has a special place in my heart... or cock.

Soon he was about to come, but by the look on his face, he was fighting it. “Sir,” he gasped, “Permission to come?”

I didn’t know what my wife had planned for him, if he was on some sort of interdiction or orgasm control, but I am the head of my household. If Lady T was upset, she could let me know, but I suspect she would have said something before she left if it was important. “Granted,” I said.

He slammed his cock into her ass, and groaned as he came. She shuddered as he filled her up, coming again. Her cunt grabbed my cock, and I thrust once more before I, too came. We lay there for a moment, just recovering from our orgasms before Lady T’s morning fucktoy backed up and pulled himself out of her ass.

“I should rejoin Lady Tortuga,” he said, and I nodded, letting him leave.

My fucktoy slid off of me, and down my body, and quickly and expertly cleaned me off. I was close to hard again when she was done, but I needed to get up. I turned on the light and looked at her. We have a lot of fucktoys, so I didn’t recognize her right away. Her hair was straight and brown, and came down to her shoulder blades. She was skinnier than I normally liked, but her breasts were huge perfect mounds that were almost too big for her frame. “Where are you in the fucktoy rotation?” I asked.

Her blue eyes caught mine and widened in surprise. I don’t normally talk to my wake-up fucktoys, but then I don’t normally fuck them,either. She looked down, away from me. “I’m not,” she said. “I’m just an intern.”

That explained why she was here -- low on the totem pole, and not really full time. It also explained why I didn’t remember her -- her interview could have been months ago. “Well, you’re in the rotation now,” I said. “Tell today’s fucktoy that the two of you are working together today.”

She brightened and gave me a big white smile. Her nipples crinkled too, which made me smile. Yes, I could see why she passed the interview. “I’ll see you in the shower,” I said. She scampered away then, and I thanked myself for having the foresight for installing a five person sized shower. My bathroom is awesome, but more on that another day.

I took a few moments in the shower to think over my day. I had breakfast with Lady T -- a rare occurrence, but we had party planning to discuss. In fact the NYE party was going to dominate my day. I’d have to look over the preparations, and make sure everything was on schedule. Oh, and give Zee and her team the tickets they’d earned over Christmas. I also wanted to chat with Zee about Fifteen. I need to do something about that soon.

SirTortuga's Fucktoy Blog: Amongst Other Things, an Invitation

2010-12-28T14:06:00.002-05:00

Amongst Other Things, an Invitation

It was so cold in the manse this morning the fucktoy assigned to alarm clock duty crawled completely under my two blankets before fixing their mouth about my morning wood and sucking me awake. As I fucked their mouth, I was impressed that they did it without waking Lady Tortuga. Her day is on a different schedule than mine and she needs her sleep. I let myself come quickly, forcing my cock down the fucktoy’s mouth, quickly and hard.

I have a lot to do today.

First, I need to decide what to do about Fifteen. He broke the rules of the House, although it was a minor infraction, and he may have been pushed a bit to do it. Lady Tortuga reminded me that the contests itself was at fault, really. I like our merit system, it helps when we’re deciding what fucktoys to keep and which ones contracts we don’t renew. And it helps determine which ones are better at the job, and well, while quantity of sex is good, I want quality. The merit system encourages it and helps me pick.

Plus a lot of them get better servant jobs in other houses, and their merit here helps or hinders that as is appropriate. Still, as always, Lady Tortuga has a point. Today I need to decide what I’m doing, so that I can do it. As we’re not doing fucktoy interviews this Friday, either, I’ll be writing up Fifteen’s punishment for this. I’m enjoying this blogging thing, and I’d love to know what some of the other people out there think. Feel free to let me know!

And speaking of everyone out there in the community, don’t forget that our big New Year’s Eve party is this weekend. We’ve got a buffet, an entertainment hall with lots of nice kinky stations, as well as a series of private rooms. Since we’re a private establishment, all I ask is that you use the house rules: safewords on the stoplight system, clean up your fluids and wax, and use the fucktoys for your pleasure, within their limits.

Since I’m blogging this year, I’ll be doing an after-party write-up the first week of the new year. Please feel free to leave your own comments and impressions of the party on that post, or on your own blogs -- all I ask is that you let me know so I collect a group of links.

So think about it. You can contact me directly on twitter or send me an email.

Also, I’m interested in finding a bigger desk. This one is nice, but I can barely get one fucktoy under it, much less two.

Bloggery Stuff

2010-12-27T10:16:00.002-05:00

Joe Tortuga here, just talking a bit about what I'll be doing here soon. Hopefully for reals this time. You'll have noticed the Sir Tortuga posts, feel free to follow him/me on twitter. He's SirTortuga on twitter, and I'm JoeTortuga. JoeTortuga's twitter is going to be more chatty and game-design oriented, while the latter is going to be more kinky, with a spike of posts on Fridays. Story announcements (if you're not on RSS) will go to both, but SirTortuga gets them first, and a bit more descriptively. Yes we're the same person, although SirTortuga is more of a character/persona/fantasy. He's not kinkier than I am, he just has more resources to make it part of his life.

Some of the blog posts here will be by SirTortuga, and some will be by me, and some will be fiction. Sir Tortuga's style is bloggery, but his will all be tagged as sirtortuga. I'd love to have the posts appear to come as him, but all my email addresses are tied up in my google account,and that's how you log in here. I'd host the blogs myself, but my current provider (a good one) doesn't like porn, and I don't want to push it. I'd host it myself, but I've had local server problems, and just want out of that business. If there's somewhere better to be, that gives me the flexibility (does wordpress.com let you host porn?), I'd go there in a heartbeat.

Since FucktoyFriday is a community phenomenon (albeit started by Twitter users saynine), I want to return the posts here back to that same community. Posts about that from SirTortuga both here and on twitter later this week. I'm also starting to decide what my writing priorities will be for the next year, and FucktoyFriday is going to be part of it, so I hope folks like it.

Speaking up is a good way of letting me know about this stuff;)

Anyway, expect a post form the Sir tomorrow or Wednesday, and a short story on Friday, and, hopefully, something more fun next week as we reminisce about New Year's.

Sir Tortuga's Fucktoy Christmas: Carol of the Belles

2010-12-25T10:20:00.001-05:00

Christmas morning is one of the few mornings we wake up alone. My wife and I let the fucktoys have their own time in the morning. I made her breakfast, and we stayed in bed and let them do their thing. They’d be busy enough the rest of the day, setting up decorations and preparing for the entertainments they’d provide or be.

We talked and connected, fucked, and gave each other presents, and generally stayed within our Master suite for the whole day. While we planned a lot of our parties -- and we were working on our plans for the New Year’s Eve party -- we left Christmas and birthdays up to the fucktoys to plan.

We got dressed, my wife in a long green skirt and bright red low cut top, while I wore my traditional black pants and shirt. I wore the shiny black one, at least, that seemed festive. One of these days I’ll wear something else, and the fucktoys will all have heart attacks.

When we arrived in the basement hall, we saw that one corner had been laid out like a cozy den. There was a tree, and a fake fireplace, along with some comfortable couches. A fucktoy was serving as a coffee table, and Pierce was suspended over the fireplace.

Stockings hung from her corset piercings and from various strategic places on her legs and and arms and the ropes binding her. The stocking were full with treats, fruits and little toys. I ran my hand over her body as we inspected the work; I teased her tits to let her know she was doing a good job. I know it made me hard.

At the other end of the hall was a raised stage, with curtains and everything. "We can leave that up for the New Year’s Party," my wife said to me, and I concurred. Small low-backed couches were arranged to face the stage, with our divan right up front.

While our Christmas parties are often extravagant -- fucktoys given a little freedom often go a long way to please their masters -- they are also relatively intimate. While our New Year’s party was well enough attended that we had to sell tickets, Christmas was only for our closest friends and intimates -- our kinky family, if you will. These were the local dominants and submissives, sadists and masochists who were part of our circle, and for whom our doors were always open.

As we settled down, our guests began trickling in, leaving gifts under the tree and coming by the divan to talk and greet us before finding a place on one of the couches. After most people were seated, Carol walked up to my wife and I. She was the zaftig redhead who arranged the entertainment, and whom I’d mistaken for a fucktoy interviewee last week.

"Hello, Sir and Lady Tortuga," she said as she walked up. She curtsied, which was difficult in the extremely short green skirt she was wearing, and the green felt vest she had on parted and showed her cleavage and hinted at her nipples. She saw me looking, and flipped her skirt up, showing her garter and stockings and absence of panties. "I’m more accessible today, you see!"

"I do," I said, and introduced her properly to my wife. "I look forward to the entertainment you planned, and why you needed six of my fucktoys to pull it off."

"Well my part is all set to go," she said. "In fact, I was hoping you could entertain me during the show."

"Well," I said. "Christmas is a time for family, so always spend it with my wife."

"Oh..." she said.

"He means that we have to share you," my wife said. She patted the space between us on the divan.

"Oh!" Carol replied. "That works."

We moved to give her enough room to sit, and I caught my wife’s eye as she arched her brow. I’d told her the story, and just winked at her, and mouthed "Merry Christmas!" She loves round, redheaded women as much as I do, and here was one just asking for it.

The entertainment was interesting. Some of the fucktoys have good voices; they treated us to sung carols. Also, there was an interesting rendition of the "Night Before Christmas" with pony- (or should I say reindeer-) girls and a sexy Santa Claus. By the time Carol’s piece came around, we had her top off, and her skirt up around her waist. She’d was wet and open to my fingers; she had gotten my cock out and was stroking it with her right hand.

My wife’s top was also off, and her skirt was up around her thighs, hiding exactly where Carol’s other hand was. Not that it was hard to guess from the sounds my wife was making. The curtains closed, and Carol stopped stroking my cock for a second. "My piece is next," she said.

"You need to go?" I asked.

"No, I just want you two to fuck me during it," she said. "Let’s move the divan."

I smiled and waived over a couple of servant fucktoys to help us as we repositioned the divan. We quickly repositioned it so that I would face the stage as I fucked Carol. She lay on her back on the divan, and my wife straddled her head, lowering her pussy down to Carol’s mouth. I slid between her legs into her wet pussy. For her part, Carol let out a muffled, contented moan

Normally when my wife and I fucked someone this way we faced each other, but this time we both faced the stage. Neither of us wanted to miss Carol’s mystery entertainment. When the curtains opened, the five females on Zee’s team were on their knees, arms tied behind their backs. Hand bells hung from their tits, held there by nipple clamps. The lone male member had a single bell dangling from his cock, which was hard, but pulled down by the weight.

With the fucktoys was another woman, dressed in a green leather corset with fur trip, and a Santa hat stepped out. I recognized her from the scene, but couldn’t place her name. She had a crop in each hand, and bowed to the audience before turning to the fucktoys. I had some idea of what was coming and I thrust hard into Carol’s pussy. My wife was grinding her crotch against Carol’s face.

The top reached out with the crop and began precisely striking the bells. They each ran exactly once, pulling on the tit of the fucktoy it belonged do, and playing out the melody of Carol of the Bells.

I could see that some of them, particularly Zee -- who had two of the first four often repeated notes of the song -- were having trouble keeping position, due to the pain every time one of their bells was struck. But there were no stray notes, and no one moved, which made me proud, as well as very aroused.

But I was going to be aroused by the feel of Carol’s soft silky pussy as I drove myself into her. We fucked Carol in time to the bells, speeding up with the song; I felt her come when the top struck the bell that hung from the male fucktoy’s cock. I came soon after, and saw my wife shuddering and arching her back as she came..

We slid off Carol as the song ended, lifting her up to sit with us as three fucktoys came over to clean us up in accordance with my household rules. "That was amazing," I said.

"You bet," she said woozily, kissing me and giving me a taste of my wife.

"I told the fucktoys they would get a special prize if you were satisfied by their performance," I told Carol. "So what do you think?"

"Oh, I’m pretty satisfied," she said. "And the performance sounded perfect to me."

SirTortuga's Fucktoy Christmas : Party Prep 4/4

2010-12-24T13:00:00.001-05:00

After the break, my fucktoy blew her whistle. “Time to regroup. Time to beat is 19 minutes 47 seconds.”

Fifteen’s team was ready, similarly to the way Zee’s had been. They had more men, and so had opted for more fucking. Two of the women had canes and crops, and were standing behind Zee. The third was on her knees sucking Fifteen to hardness -- or trying. He had just come, after all, and even fucktoys are only human. Twenty minutes was quick to think he’d be back up and running, but it was possible; that he wasn’t made me think his head wasn’t in the game, no pun intended.

My fucktoy blew the whistle and started the timer. I reached around her and moved the timer so it hung around her neck in a way that I could read its face. It had an alarm so she could still at as a referee, but I really wanted to know the remaining time.

The two women spanking Zee went at it with a vengance. One had a crop and the other a cane, and they were laying lines down her ass faster than I’d ever do. Red welts showed on her ass and before they had a chance to even form -- much less fade -- they were laying down another mark. They were careful enough to not break skin or do anything damaging, but they were right up to that line.

The third woman was busy sucking Fifteen to hardness. He was starting to show signs of growth, which made me check where she was in the fucktoy rotation, and bump her a bit so I’d get a chance to really use what looked like a very talented mouth. Fifteen’s men were fucking two of Zee’s women, and that left three of Zee’s people just having to hold still.

I wasn’t sure that was a good plan, but it did only take one person to move before the timer went off. If they were smart they’d have chosen a different target. The women weren’t going to move from a fuck, and Zee was neck and neck with Fifteen because she was a good fucktoy. I watched the timer as it bounced in time to my fucktoy’s work on my cock.

There was too much going on to really come fast, but she was doing a good job. I played with her tits for a bit, and put a hand down near her clit, but not so much so she couldn’t pay attention to what was going on in front of us.

The timer chirped as it went below ten minutes, and Fifteen ran his hand over his now newly hard cock. An impressive recovery time, particularly considering how sensitive he is. Still, that is one of our criteria for a fucktoy. He pushed the two women beating Zee out of the way, and knelt behind her. They stood there watching, as he shoved his cock into her,and grabbed her ass with one hand, and that huge braid of hers with the other.

He pulled her head back, and pressed his fingertips into her red ass. She cried out, making a painful face. What was Fifteen doing? If he hadn’t pulled on her braid she might have moved from just that. But no, I think he was going more for vengeance than anything else. I had my fucktoy slow down a bit so we could pay attention to what was going on.

He fucked her hard, and I could tell she was getting aroused. Zee’s body got flushed, and her nipples were hard. She was muttering a mantra -- I couldn’t quite hear what -- but it was obvious she was trying to hold off her orgasm. She should have let herself come just a little, but I suspect that if it has been anyone but Fifteen fucking her, she’d have done just that. This rivalry was getting way out of hand.

The timer flicked over 5 minutes, and beeped again. “Five minutes,” my fucktoy called out, and Fifteen started fucking Zee even harder. I watched as she shook as she came, but she didn’t break position at all. Just as Zee had kept fucking him, Fifteen kept fucking her, and she kept coming.

“Three minutes, “ I said, and my fucktoy repeated it. Fifteen scowled, and rand his fingers up and down Zee’s side, lightly touching her. She went rigid, and he tried harder, lightly tapping and tickling her. She bucked and moved away from him, and my fucktoy blew the whistle loud and long, so that I couldn’t hear anything else.

“Movement,” she said. I stopped the clock with two and a half minutes left on it.

Fifteen laughed. “We won, bitch, we won!”

I tapped my fucktoy on the ass, and she stood up. I put myself away as Zee stormed toward me. I put up my hand to forestall her outburst. Fifteen headed over to me with his team, as well. “Well, Ref, what do you think?”

“Zee’s team wins by forfeit,” she said.

“What?!” Fifteen yelled.

The ref looked at him, all of her five feet and piercings radiating anger. “You broke the rules -- normal limits apply, and you were tickling her. She called red for a reason, although I was ending it before then.”

“I was just touching her,” he said. “It was a mistake.” I’d made a similar mistake earlier in the day, but I’d apologized for it, I hadn’t kept doing it.

My fucktoy/referee turned to Zee. “Was it just a touch?” Zee shook her head. “Sir, do you concur, or could you tell?”

“Looked like tickling to me,” I said.

She turned to Fifteen. “My decision stands, Zee’s team by forfeit.” And that was that.

“Fifteen,” I said. “We’ll discuss discipline later. For now, return to your quarters. As for the rest of his team, go about your normal duties.” I wondered if they’d known he was going to do what he did, but there’d be no way to prove it without having them turn on each other. I hoped I had higher fucktoy standards than that, anyway.

They left,and I turned to Zee and her team. “Congratulations,” I said to them. “You’ll be performing with Carol in the party tomorrow and are excused from working the New Year’s Party.”

“Zee said something about tickets,” one of them said.

“That’s right,” I said. “Please Carol and you get tickets to attend New Year’s.” There were smiles and laughter all around.

“Sir, may we celebrate?” Zee asked.

“Certainly,” I said. She nodded, and two of her teammates lifted me up and carried me over to the gym mat, and, since Pierce joined them, I had seven very happy fucktoys on me touching me and each other.

I’d tell you what it was like, but you’ll have to settle for “Amazing.”

If you enjoyed this story,please comment. Also, check out the #fucktoyfriday tag on Twitter which inspired it.

SirTortuga's Fucktoy Christmas : Party Prep 3/4

2010-12-24T12:00:00.001-05:00

Fifteen minutes later, and Fifteen’s team was posed -- mostly on their knees, but also in a couple of interesting stances. My fucktoy/referee was on my lap, my cock deep in her cunt. Zee’s team was getting ready to force their opponents to move.

The gym has a hidden closet that is full of a variety of generic toys: whips, chains and clamps, canes and ropes. Most rooms have some sort of storage for that sort of thing, although I have a few unique and preferred items. They wouldn’t need those for this, however. Zee wore a strap-on, and her male team member had sprouted an impressive erection. The rest had canes or crops, which are among the more forceful of the available implements.

Zee knelt behind one of the men, and her male teammate knelt behind a woman. The others stood waiting for my fucktoy’s signal, each ready with crop or cane. I slid a hand down to my fucktoy’s clit; she was on my lap but we were both facing the gym floor. When I flicked her clit, she blew the whistle, and started the clock. Groans could be heard from Fifteen’s team as two of them were penetrated, and the others whipped on the ass.

The whole team was really good at being still, which didn’t surprise me, as that’s one of the things we train them on. The ones most likely to move were those who had an orgasm, but they’d been trained to deny themselves that as well. I was very happy with the ability I was seeing today.

I thrust up into my fucktoy slowly as I watched. I didn’t know how long Carol needed them to be still, but I hoped these displays took 10-15 minutes just to be sure the team that won could do it long enough. After a few minutes, Zee yelled out switch, and she moved down the line to the next man in line and everyone rotated. She was planning to fuck all the men, and her counterpoint would fuck all the women.

I wondered when was the last time I fucked any of them, and regretted not yet getting it all set up on my calendar. Still that’s what the my sexretary was for. I made a mental note to ask her. It was supposed to be fair, but I did occasionally play favorites. That’s my prerogative.

As I pondered that, Zee decided it was again time to switch, which meant she’d be fucking Fifteen. I was sure she’d left him last on purpose, even though that was risky for her chances to win. She leaned over him and fucked him hard. One hand snaked around to his cock, and stroked it, and the other pulled his head back so she could whisper in his ear. That didn’t count for movement, of course, since she’d moved his head for him. He scowled at whatever she said, and she laughed, and dropped his head.

Her hand stroked faster and she fucked him hard. I could see him fighting and straining. “Do facial expressions count as movement?” my fucktoy asked as she bounced on my cock.

“Let’s say not,” I said. “They were going to be tied, so only movements they couldn’t make then are fouls.” She nodded and rose up on my cock, and slammed down on it, shifting her hips as I filled her up.

Meanwhile, I could tell that Fifteen was getting close to coming. Zee was fucking him good, and then I saw him shoot. He arched his back and cried out, which was probably close to breaking the rules, depending on how strict my fucktoy wanted to be with them. It didn’t matter, though because Zee didn’t stop stroking his cock and fucking him. That made him move. He flipped her off of him, and pushed her away. My fucktoy blew her whistle then, and shouted “Movement!”

Fifteen got up and stalked over to me. “That was not okay!” he said. “You know how sensitive I am after I come.”

“I know,” I said. “Because I’ve done the self-same thing to you. It’s not beyond your limits, or hasn’t been.”

“Yes,” he said. “But that’s you, Sir.”

“You didn’t have to compete,” Zee said as she walked up beside him. “It’s not like I bit you.” Biting was one of Fifteen’s hard limits.

He just scowled and ignored her. He had to be one of the unhappiest people who’d just come I’d ever met. “I need fifteen minutes to ‘recover’.”

“Not up to me,” I said. “Ref?”

“That seems fair to me. Everyone rest, we’ll reconvene in twenty? The time to beat is just under twenty minutes.”

“Okay,” he said and walked back to his group.

Zee looked pensive, so I asked her, “Do you have anything to add?”

She bit her lip and said, “Not at this time, Sir. I should get back to my team.”

My fucktoy had gone still on my lap during this. “Is it that bad between them?” I asked her.

“It’s pretty bad,” she said. I nodded. It was something to think about. My fucktoys were toys, but they needed maintenance,too. As a rule, I don’t break my toys, and it looked like things might be coming to a head here. I couldn’t easily undo what I’d started, but after New Year’s, there was going to be a discussion.

“Keep me hard, fucktoy,” I said, flexing my cock inside her cunt. She moved a bit, just enough to keep me aroused, while we waited for the next round to begin.

SirTortuga's Fucktoy Christmas : Party Prep 2/4

2010-12-24T11:00:00.000-05:00

When I got to the gym, close to twenty fucktoys milled about, making space and talking with Antoine. A chair had been pulled up for me, and as I approached it, one of the fucktoys broke off, and walked to me. They called her “Pierce” since she had quite a few piercings on her face, breasts and cunt lips, but also had a set of corset piercings down her back. I ran my hand down them as she approached me.

“Sir,” she said. “Since Zee wants to be in the contest, I offered to take her place as your fucktoy of the day.”

“You don’t want to join them?” I asked her.

“Can’t,” she said. “I’ve already got a job as the mantelpiece.”

I fondled her piercings, pulling on them, “So our stockings will be hung with you, then?”

“Yes Sir!” she said. “I’m looking forward to it.”

I settled down in my chair. “What two fucktoys have the highest marks right now?” I asked her as she settled in at my feet.

“Fifteen and Zee,” she said.

I should have known that would be the answer. I picked them out. Zee’s braid swung back and forth as she talked animatedly with another fucktoy. It brushed her ass as she talked, and I smiled thinking of fucking her earlier. Pierce rubbed my hardening cock through my pants, but did nothing else.

Fifteen was one of our male fucktoys, he was six feet tall, had abs to die for, and a beautiful cock -- and the maturity level of a fifteen year old boy. Only his competition with Zee over who would be head fucktoy kept him in line; still, he was gorgeous.

“Which one is ahead?” I asked.

“Fifteen is a point or two ahead; Zee figured she’d catch up today, what with being with you,” Pierce said. My fucktoy of the day always got more merits or demerits than any of the others.

“Okay,” I said. “You’re the judge,” I said. “You’ll need some way to keep time, and a good ability to focus.”

Pierce chuckled at that. “I’ll be right back, then, Sir?”

I patted her ass, “Go on. Oh, and send Zee and Fifteen over.”

Zee and Fifteen came up, and Zee said, “You wanted to see us Sir?”

“Yes, I want you each to put together six person teams,” I said. “Carol, who is providing entertainment tomorrow, needs six fucktoys who can be perfectly still. She asked for tied slaves, but Antoine doesn’t have time.”

While they considered that, my fucktoy returned with a whistle and a digital stopwatch around her neck. She knelt between my legs, deftly pulling my cock out. I wasn’t hard, not yet, but they know their jobs. I ran my hand through her hair -- she wore it high and tight, but just long enough that I could grab it if I wanted. Handholds were the rule, and we let people choose otherwise. Variety is the spice of life, particularly in fucktoys.

“So we’re going to compete?” Fifteen asked. I could tell he was aroused at the prospect, which made me grin.

“Yes. Make up the teams from whoever is here and not already tied up for tomorrow. One team will try to get the other to move, then they’ll switch places. Best time wins. Oh,and be in positions that Antoine was supposed to tie you in. Might as well test for what you’re really going to have to do.”

“What are the limits?” Fifteen asked.

“Normal limits,” I said. “Anything I’d do to you on your fucktoy day. The only disqualifying movements are ones they make for themselves.” I hoped that’d work for Carol, but I wasn’t sure.

“Not everyone can participate,” Zee said, tugging on her braid.

“I know,” I said. “But we need it decided -- the team will have to practice with Carol later today.”

“And the prize?” Fifteen asked. He was very eager. I’m sure half of it was his competition with Zee, but I’ve been sexually generous with competition winners in the past.

“Winning team doesn’t have to work the New Year’s party. Losing team picks up the slack. Oh, and if the winning team pleases Carol, they get tickets to the New Year’s party.”

“Like,real people tickets?” Zee asked. Her nipples crinkled up at the prospect. My fucktoy choked at that point, and I hadn’t even shoved my cock down her throat. I pulled her head down on me, just to give her a good enough reason beyond eavesdropping.

“Exactly like that,” I said. “Fifteen, you’re a point or two ahead, I hear. So you can pick to pitch or catch first.”

He thought about it for a minute. “We’ll catch. I think we can set a time they won’t beat.”

“Well, then get to it,” I said. “I want this decided within the hour.”

“We’re so totally kicking your ass,” Fifteen said to Zee as he walked away. He slapped her on the ass, in a not-so-friendly way. I started to intervene, but thought better of it when she stopped and stared at him.

“Don’t count on it little boy,” she said, and stalked off.

While they grouped up, I tied my fucktoy’s arms behind her back using her corset piercings, and made her walk about a bit on her knees before returning to her place between my legs. She could only bob up and down on my cock without much precision or skill, but I didn’t really want to come yet, anyway. It was more fun to watch her struggle.

Zee and Fifteen came over, to let me know they’d chosen teams. Fifteen had three men and three women, and Zee had picked four women and just one man. Knowing what I did of their abilities, I admired her choices. Fifteen had his cronies, but Zee had picked people who could handle the discipline.

Interestingly, one of her friends hadn’t gotten picked at all, but that wasn’t my concern. Ultimately, they’re here for my pleasure -- and that needed to be theirs, because it was all I ever guaranteed. That’s what being a fucktoy is about, after all.

I untied my fucktoy. “Time to be the judge,” I said. She blew the whistle, and yelled for everyone to get in place. I moved out of the way, letting my referee be in charge. I didn’t control contests -- I just gave out prizes and set the rules.

Well, I enjoyed them too, of course.

SirTortuga's Fucktoy Christmas : Party Prep 1/4

2010-12-24T10:03:00.003-05:00

Fucktoy interviews were cancelled today because we’re prepping for the big Christmas party over the weekend. My fucktoy of the day had long brown hair in a braid that reached down to her ass. I had her strapped to a table, with the hair running under it, and locked tightly to the table as well.

I slid my hands up her sides on the way up to her breasts, and she twitched and let out a bit of a cry. “Sorry,” I said. I’d forgotten how ticklish she was, it was one of her limits. I hadn’t meant to tickle her, and she seemed to know that, so I just grabbed her breasts and fucked her a bit harder.

She let out a sigh, her mouth open where her head was pulled down by her hair. I hoped someone else would come and fuck her mouth, but everyone else was busy getting ready. That’s when Antoine came in.

Antoine is one of the best riggers I knew, and given the size of our party and the amount of ropework involved it was more than my folks could easily handle. It was totally worth the use of a couple of fucktoys over the holidays to entice him to the job. The fucktoys would probably like it, too, if I knew them at all.

I slowed down as he approached, but kept the pressure on her hair. Her head was bent back on the other side of the table -- one of the many I’d had manufactured at the perfect height for this sort of thing. “There’s a problem,” he said as he approached.

I waved for him to make use of the fucktoy, and she stretched her head out, trying to reach his thighs and crotch. She was very well trained, I’d have to remember that when I gave out treats over the weekend. Antoine, though, just caressed her breasts for a bit, in a distracted kind of way. “What’s the problem?” I asked. “And how can I make it go away?”

He smiled at me, and reconsidered using the fucktoy. He paused for a bit, pulling out his cock, and sliding it in to her mouth. She started making eager noises, and I fucked her a bit faster. “You know that entertainment lady? What’s her name?”

“Carol?” I asked. I remembered her from last Friday, and ground my cock into the fucktoy. She’d been good, even if it had been a bit of an accident. At least it had been a welcome one.

“Yeah, her.” He slid down the fucktoy’s throat, and back out again. “She needs six fucktoys for her presentation, and she says they can’t move the slightest bit, or it’ll spoil it.”

“She say why?”

“Said it was a surprise, but she showed me the positions, it’s not too complicated.” He slid into her mouth again and groaned.

“So what’s the problem?” I asked.

He didn’t answer right away, as he was busy fucking the brunette’s mouth, so I took the time to speed up my own fucking. She bucked and came beneath us, without asking for permission. Her mouth was full, and I do have a policy about letting them come when my cock is inside them. Still, discipline matters, so I swatted her breasts a bit while I fucked her.

“I just don’t have the time,” Antoine said as he slid his cock in and out of her mouth. He grabbed her breasts for me, wrapping his long fingers around her breasts, squeezing them. She moaned, and I started slapping her nipples in time to our fucking. She cried out in pain, and then again in orgasm.

I have to say that the way her cunt moved when she came felt exquisite. The way she moaned as she came must have felt as good for Antoine because he pressed his cock all the way down her throat and came. He let go of her breasts, and stepped back, as she licked his cock clean. I kept fucking her hard.

“Are the positions maintainable?” I asked him between thrusts. “Without bondage, I mean.”

He nodded. I could tell I was close. “We’ll have a contest then.” Upon hearing that, the fucktoy came again, and I pressed hard against her, coming myself. I pulled out and walked around to the fucktoy’s mouth to get cleaned up. “Can you pass the word to the fucktoys that we’ll be having a contest and need five volunteers for the party?” Antoine nodded and headed off.

When the fucktoy finished, she said, “Sir? I know I’m your fucktoy of the day, but I’d love to be in the contest.”

I chuckled, and put cock away. I unsnapped her from the table, and waved her on. “Go on ahead. We’ll meet in the gym in hour.”

SirTortuga's Fucktoy Friday: Interview

2010-12-17T08:13:00.004-05:00

(MF BDSM Mdom MM Oral)

The Sir Tortuga household has a sign on the way in: “Your Safewords are Yellow and Red” and on the way out: “Did You Remember to Dress?” It’s a place of dominance and submission, rough use and powerful orgasms, and sexual play of all kinds. Fridays are devoted to the #fucktoyfriday twitter tag.

One cannot, in our opinion, have too many fucktoys. They get time off, and there’s always some new use: suck awake alarm clocks, coffee slaves and you never know when you’ll need a new foot rest. It takes a particular sort of person to be a good fucktoy; looks are important,but not as important as attitude and demeanor. So every Friday we have interviews, to help keep up with the variety and needs of a proper Household.

I made a note to give the HR Slave an extra orgasm as I saw the current candidate step in. I grabbed the fucktoy at my feet’s head and slid it up and down my cock a few times, pulling him down to the base, and holding him there. She was a redheaded vision in lust, what Heinlein always called a zaftig coed: extra curvy in all the right places. She was wearing a professional grey business suit, although that above-the-knee skirt could easily have doubled as a hobble skirt.

It was an interesting choice, and I wondered if it was on purpose, or if she’d confused exactly what this interview was about. I leaned strongly to the latter, when she walked up, hand out. “Hello Sir Tortuga,” she said. “I’m--”

“I don’t care,” I cut her off. She looked confused. “A name is the last thing I care about in a fucktoy,” I explained.

Her mouth hung open for a moment, and she picked her jaw up off the floor. “Well, then Sir, what do you care about?”

“I want to know what you’re wearing under that skirt. Roll it up so I can see.” She reached down and grabbed the skirt, and began inching it up. I let the fucktoy at my feet get back into his slow pace, and watched as the interviewee revealed what she was wearing. First came the tops of stockings, dark against her pale skin. I smiled at that, and she smiled at me -- her gaze had never left mine, which gave her points.

She wore a black garter belt, and the skirt was beginning to bunch up around her wide hips, but she worked it up over them, and around her waist. She swivelled her hips a bit as she did it, causing me to thrust a bit into the fucktoy’s mouth, making him choke. When she was done she turned to me showing a thin, almost thong-like green panty. I was so transparent, I could see the curls of her bush under neath it. Then I noticed the problem.

I pushed the fucktoy off my cock, and stood, pulling my knife out of my pocket. It might have seemed silly to be standing there with my cock out, but some things need to be dealt with immediately. I stepped towards her, flicking my knife open with an audible click. I could hear the breath catch in the redhead’s throat, and she swallowed. I hooked my finger under the side of her panties.

“What’s up with this?” I demanded.

“P-panties?” she said. “Are...are panties a problem?”

“No,” I said. “Especially ones like these. But they are under your garter. Do you not know what a fucktoy is for?”

“Actually--” she began.

“A fucktoy,” I said, pulling on the strap of her panty, pulling it against her garter, “is for fucking. There’s no point in making it more difficult.”

I brought the knife around and she put up her hands to block me. I let go of her panty, and grabbed the back of her jacket, yanking back on it, pulling it and her hands behind her back. She teetered on her heels and I slipped the knife inside her panties and cut one side.

Her breasts jutted out, pressing against the white buttoned-down shirt she was wearing under the jacket. The top three buttons were undone, letting me see her cleavage, and a bra that matched her green panties peeked out near the top. I turned to stand directly in front of her, one arm still behind her, holding her arms in the twisted up jacket.

I slid the knife against her other hip, hearing her voice catch a bit, and cut the panties on the other side. She was afraid, which was somewhat understandable, but they should know we never permanently harm our toys. I questioned giving HR that extra orgasm now, as they hadn’t properly prepared this one. “Widen your legs, I said.”

She carefully slid her feet out, a bit uneasy on the heels and without the use of her arms, but in no danger of falling as I held her. The green panties fell down to the floor, and I closed my knife, and stuck it back in my pocket. “That’s better, isn’t it?” I said. I slid my finger between her legs, touching her dripping cunt. She drew her breath in as my finger brushed her clit, and I could see the arousal as it flushed her face.

“Yes,” she sighed. “But I think--”

“I think you’re a woman who likes a bit of adventure. Who likes a little risk and who likes to be told what to do.”

I stroked her clit with each sentence, and she just repeated the words, “Yes, yes, yes..”

“Don’t come yet,” I said. “I’ve not yet seen your tits.” I left her cunt alone, and began unbuttoning her top. She quickly spilled out of it, and I left the bottom two buttons done, so her shirt framed her tits in their green bra. It snapped in the back of course, so I brought out the knife. This time I flicked it open while she looked at it, and I smiled. I drug the tip of the knife over her sternum, sliding it between her breasts, and under her bra. I pulled down a bit more, and it cut through the fabric.

It fell to the sides and her breasts were free -- huge globes of flesh with cute freckles all over the top. I lowered my mouth to one of them as I slid my knife closed and back into my pocket. I gestured to the fucktoy who had been obediently waiting, and he began preparing things. There’s really nothing like a well-trained fucktoy.

Meanwhile the redhead was whimpering a bit, so I switched to the other breast. I put my hand back between her legs, and started stroking her clit again. Glancing up, I could see that her head was rolled back, lost in what I was doing. She was leaning against my hand as I held her jacket tight, and I knew she wasn’t going to be able to support herself long. But then I felt the bench touch the back of my legs, and I shifted around her, keeping my hand on her cunt, but reluctantly leaving those succulent breasts.

I stepped behind her, and pushed her forward onto the bench the fucktoy had brought. “I’m going to fuck you now,” I said.

“God yes,” she said.

I held her hands still with one of mine, and motioned with the other to the fucktoy to suck her breasts. He smiled, and quickly complied. He’s earned his orgasm today. I slid her legs wide so that she was resting fully on the bench. I’d had them made specifically for this, and it put her at the perfect height.

I grabbed her hands with mine, forcing her down, and giving me control. I stepped forward, and right inside her sopping cunt. She wrapped herself around me, wet and silky, and she cried out, shuddering and coming. I hadn’t given her permission, but I tend to be lenient when someone comes while my cock is inside them.

And anyway, I was more than ready to come myself.

I pounded into her, and quickly discovered she was multi-orgasmic. Really, except for the clothing choices and prep she’d make a perfect fucktoy. I thought about what I could do to her exquisite body as I rammed into her. She came again, her cunt squeezing hard against my cock, and I came, filling her up.

I stood there for a minute, still inside her, and revelling in the feeling of what I’d done. I came to a decision, and stepped back, letting go of her arms. She pushed herself back up to a standing position, shrugging her jacket back on in the process. She teetered there a moment, regaining her balance while the fucktoy moved around to quickly and efficiently clean off my cock.

The redhead let out a huge breath and smiled. “I needed that.” She began doing that thing women do, as she removed the ruined bra. “I hope you plan to replace this bra and panty set. They were my favorite,” she said. “Of course, that’s why I wore them.”

I slipped my cock back in my pants, and zipped up. “There’s a clothing allowance that goes with the fucktoy position,” I said. “A position, I have to say, which I hope you take.”

She rolled her skirt back down, her hips undulating as she spoke. “That’s the thing. My name is Carol.” She put out here hand, to shake mine, and I took it, bemused. “I’m here to talk to you about the Christmas party entertainment, not apply for the fucktoy position.” The fucktoy let out a laugh, and I buried my face in my hand.

“I’m sorry--” I began.

She barked out a laugh, “I’ve got no complaints. As it is, I’m thinking of adding another good fucking to my bill for the entertainment.”

“I’d be up for that,”I said. “We do a lot of work in trade.”

“That’s good to know,” she said, and settled into a chair, crossing her legs and giving me a quick glimpse of the tops of her stockings before becoming all business. “Now, about those plans, I have some new ideas now that I’ve had a better feel of my client...”

Tamara Never Cums

2010-08-31T08:59:00.000-04:00

This is not my best story. But, of my erotica, it has the best story about being written.

A little over eleven years ago, I joined a mailing list. Soon after, a thread on the list began which discussed people's names, how they were often punned on, particularly if used in a song. One of those people was the eponymous Tamara of this story, and after hearing the song they were discussing, got an idea for a story. I asked her permission to write and publish that story, which she granted.

I published it to alt.sex.stories.moderated with no title, having a 'competition' of sorts to see if anyone could guess the title, which is a Vile Pun. I forget now who won, but it was a fun thing for myself, and for Tamara herself. In months we had met, in a little over a year (just over 10 years ago now) she moved in with me, and we have been together since.

Thank you Tam, for all those years of inspiring me and being a perfect partner in my life.

Tamara Never Cums

MF Mdom bdsm Vile Puns

The music started again, and she knew it was going to start all
over soon.

Tamara sighed as small jets of cool air blew over her, drying the
sweat off her exposed skin, breasts and thighs. The mechanical
jets paid special attention to the wrist and ankle cuffs as well
as the leather corset that she wore. He didn't want them to
become too wet. He'd told her why, but now, after hours in the
machine, she couldn't remember.

The jets moved and focused in on her breasts and crotch. First
blowing a general, easy air; then focusing much more strongly.
Her nipples hardened under their ministrations. Then the one at
her crotch began to blow on her clit, sending pulses of pleasure
through her whole body.

The chains tightened as she writhed against them.

It had all begun when she had wandered into that online chatroom.

He had been all suave and domineering, there. And she'd been
more than interested in the fantasy. The little power games they
played out had been quite enjoyable. And when he'd started
telling her to do things when she was offline, she had done them,
too.

And it had been fun. Very fun.

Then they had met. Somehow this man who was interesting,
literate, and intelligent had been physically blessed as well.

He was tall, with deep mocha eyes that drew her in and kept her
captive. Thirty minutes later and they were in his hotel room,
fucking. She was tied to the bed and his prodigious member was
sliding in and out of her wet, wet hole, while she begged for
more.

The music began again.

The chains pulled her arms and legs tightly into the shape of an
‘X’. The platform tilted back a bit, leaning in a 60 degree angle
this time.

Something like feathers began slowly teasing her sensitive nubs
back into hardness. She sighed aloud at the feeling and felt her
heat begin to rise again.

She felt a small dildo, almost the size of a finger, begin to move
slowly across her slit, massaging it. Gently, oh so gently.

Too gently.

She tried to buck against it, but no, she couldn't move at all.
It just began to vibrate, ever so little.

She heard another whir, and each of her nipples was being
massaged and tweaked by three metal fingers, sending little jolts
of electricity through her whole body.

This went on for a while, building the tension and heat in her
pussy. Lubrication gushed out of her; a sheen of sweat was all
over her flushed and heated body.

Her head thrashed side to side, the clamps tightened a little
more. The small dildo was replaced with a larger vibrating one,
sliding, thrusting, slamming into her. She was so close, her
arms and legs tensed, the taut chains humming. It all stopped.

Cold water in a fine mist sprayed over her, lowering her
temperature, and dousing the fire in her loins. "Nooo!!!!" she
cried out, "not again!"

The music started over.

"This," he had said, "is my machine."

It was glorious and complex: an entire room dedicated to a device
of pleasurable torture. She had seen dungeons before, but this
was no dungeon: it was designed to cocoon one person; to please
and excite one person; to drive one person to lustful insanity.

"It's all automated, too."

Of course, she had thought, what else would you expect from a
rich programmer?

He'd shown it to her then, the electrodes in the corset, the
robotic arms and their attachments, the carefully programmed AI.
How it was all designed to control and excite.

It was several weeks before she acquiesced to his request.

The music skipped, and started over.

Metal clamps seized her breasts, and tightened on her nipples.
Chains attached to them began to shorten, pulling her breasts up
and away from her body.

She cried out in pain at her tortured nipples.

A purple glowing ball, attached to one of the robotic arms, began
to descend towards her face, then up her arms. It came close to
-- but did not touch -- her arms. Small electric shocks caused
the hair on her arms to raise. It hurt, but it also felt good.

She relaxed into it, as it slowly moved over her body. One arm,
then another. Playfully with the outside of her hips, down one
leg, and up the outside of the other. Then back to the inside of
one leg. It moved up slowly, in a zigzag motion: first one leg,
then the other.

Finally it reached that place, that place between her legs, and
began shocking her there, sending jolts through her body.

The chains on her breasts tugged, stretching them further. Her
back arched, the pain became pleasure. It was going to happen
this time. It was! It was! She panted, anticipating.

The chains dropped her with a loud “thunk” back to the pallet. All
stimulation stopped.

The music began again.

He had carefully, even lovingly, strapped her in. He tied the
corset around her, making sure the electrodes were just right,
and not in danger of shocking her.

Then she laid down on the wooden pallet, and he tightened the
cuffs around her wrists and ankles. He kissed her, ran his
fingers lightly over her breasts, and slid his middle finger into
her pussy. Then he left.

Five minutes later the music began.

The chains pulled her legs up and apart, bending her double, and
exposing her ass. She felt a small dildo enter her sopping pussy,
then quickly exit. Then she felt it touch against her asshole,
and the chains pulled her legs wider apart.

It slid in slowly, until it was all the way in. Then the larger
one entered her pussy. They began pumping then, in a rhythm
designed to drive her mad with desire. She tried to rock with
them, to get more stimulation, but still, she couldn't move.

When they started vibrating, they pushed her into a frenzy again.

It was an uncomfortable position, but the stimulation was still
getting her hot, making the sweat roll off her brow. Rivulets of
sweat rolled down her chest, gathering between her breasts where
small clamps twisted and turned, tweaking her nipples.

The past evaporated, and the future. She was gone, reduced to
one big sensation. Just a part of the machine.

When the third dildo entered her mouth, she didn't even know if
the music was playing.

He smiled to himself, as he manipulated the dials and switches in
front of him. He looked through the two-way mirror at the lovely
new sub, writhing in ecstasy in the Machine.

He sighed and leaned back, letting one of his house slaves move
her mouth up and down his rigid cock. He gazed through the glass
thinking that she was definitely one of his better acquisitions.

A small panel light went off, and the action in the room came to
an abrupt halt.

It was time to restart the Garth Brooks CD.

Ratings and Rantings

2010-08-30T12:55:00.000-04:00

Of the two stories I published last week, Choices is by far my favorite of the two. It's richer in terms of emotion, and in terms of provoking thought and response in the reader. Nothing is a surer indicator than the overall stats of those stories on Stories OnLine.

Now, the tone and genre of the stories I write doesn't perfectly resonate with that of SoL. So, while I'll have an occasional story which is liked by many of them, I doubt I'll ever be one of their pre-eminent writers. I'm not quite sure where my stories fit, but if I ever find a site that has the audience my stories want, I'll pay for a membership or three.

The stories that seem to have some popularity at SoL are Wife/Cuckold stories, BDSM stories, Harem stories and underage/incest stories. Long adventure stories with harem themes seem really popular, and they often contain BDSM. Also, there are several authors who do many short cuckold stories. The underage/incest stories date back to the founding of SoL, when it was formed as a safe haven for that sort of story.

There, that's your basic market research. Most of what I write is BDSM of some sort of fashion, but the first story I posted there, They Will Know fared very badly. I suspected that, as it's a breathplay story, and,well, SoL doesn't include a code category for breathplay.

The second story, The Willing Cuckold, is currently my story with the most number of hits (~1700) of all my stories, and has been up for about a year and a half. Its posting predates the crash of my linux machine, but I think it got me one or two comments, total. On SoL it's a liked, but not loved story.

I posted Thursdays there back in January. It has about 700 hits, and the same basic rating (but less votes) than Cuckold. Becuase of the title, the slug and the keywords, this story is never going to get hits on search endgines, where Cuckold gets a couple handsful of new hits every week (more if I post a story during that week). Google reminds me that I received two comments on this story, something I'd forgotten until now. It was enjoyable and fun to write, but primarily just a diversion.

That brings us up to the past three weeks when I posted three stories. I posted them all in parallel on this blog. Kadja is currently my highest rated story, and about 360 people have read all four parts; the story itself has almost 1400 hits as of this writing. It's generally liked and has been added to more people's private libraries (by an order of magnitude) than any other story, and my favorite author count doubled while it was being posted.

There will be more Kadja, of course, as the novel I was working on last year was based on her. Which gives me a lot of material to turn into short story adventures. Kadja is a fun adventure, and perhaps the thing that fits best into the SoL world that I've written. It's not a harem story, not really, and has a female protagonist, which perhaps sets it outside the norm there. Still, more stories will increase her ratings, and find Kadja a good audience.

Last week I posted two stories which have seen print, and which, to me, are both fantasies: one romantic and one horrible. Of the two, Choices is by far my favorite (and one of my favorite stories to have written). Something About Him always struck me as being too romantic and ideal to be happy with, but it has some power. Something now has the second highest rating, and least number of hits of any of my stories. I'm not sure it got enough votes to display a rating on the main site.

Choices has almost 1000 hits over the past five days, and the lowest rating of any of my stories, in all the ways that the story can be rated. Two people gave it a '5' (of 10) for technical, although I don't think there are any major grammar, sentence, spelling or plot structure problems with that story. Those people also gave it the lowest rating for plot and appeal.

For both stories, I put an author note at the end, discussing (very briefly) my thoughts on the story, and requesting comments, with promised responses. Something got one anonymous comment, which I can't respond two. I awoke Thursday morning (the day of Choices' publication) to two very angry comments. I've since gotten 6 or 7 comments of various times. At one point, the ratings on the story dropped down to close to 3, and are now up to 4.1 (with Kadja being at 7). [NOTE: SoL's ratings are adjusted to fit a curve, so Kadja may have gotten a mix of 8's and 9's, but been adjusted down because other stories posted that day got 10s.]

I twittered that I was very pleased with Choices' reception. I'm not sure it's a story to like, and feel good about. It's a dark fantasy about being in a dark place, and choosing to stay there. It's chilling, as one of my commenters pointed out. Unfortunately, that is not well liked or rated by SoL's readers.

That's okay with me. Few artists I know desire mediocrity. Hate me, or love me, but please Goddess don't ignore me.

This week, in honor of 10 years of living with my wife, I'll be posting the story that won her to me, despite it's vile pun. I'm also considering posting three of my earliest, lighthearted works (which comprise a series of sorts) just to confuse people what sort of writer I am.

Choices

2010-08-25T00:15:00.009-04:00

(MF Mdom wife)

Choices. So many choices, so many ways things could have worked out. But we make our choices, and we try to make good ones. And we take responsibility for our choices, too. Did my choices lead me inexorably to this point? Or was there an uncontrollable, unchosen outside force that got me here? Not that it really matters, because I choose, every day -- every minute of every day -- to live like this. Wasn't it Sartre who said that every day we make the choice to go on living, so we are responsible for the state of our lives -- after all we chose it, right?

Right now, even as I type these words, there is a woman under my desk. It's a big desk. I chose it because it was big. Not so I could get a woman underneath it, but for the desktop surface area. It just so happens that I can fit a woman underneath it. She's on her knees, of course. I gave her a pillow. Her mouth is around my cock, slowly sucking and nibbling to her heart's content. She's really good at it. Better than I ever knew in our twenty-two years together. The woman is my wife.

There have been lots of changes lately. I wasn't sure when it started. No, I do know - I just didn't know it at the time. The real changes started at least a year ago. I don't know how I missed it, but I did. I started noticing things when my sex life picked up six months ago, but didn't examine it too closely. I was too busy reveling in my good fortune to question its origins.

Of course, I didn't select her for her sexual prowess. She didn't choose me for that either. Believe it or not, we were both virgins when we met in college and our sex life was never what you'd call imaginative. The first time I saw her, I was attracted to her: a cute pert nose, long straight red hair, and long legs that went all the way up to her ass. She was wearing a pink tennis skirt which showed them off, and a white sleeveless shirt which clung to her breasts.

Unlike so many other college women who wore pants or jeans, Mary liked to dress well. Imagine my surprise when I discovered she was actually intelligent. We were in a philosophy class together -- she was actually a philosophy major, of all things. I wound up taking a lot of philosophy classes for my remaining two years of college.

After graduation, I asked her to marry me. She said yes and dropped out of school. A year later, Jenny was born. Two years later, Tom followed her. Tom started college last fall.. I think that's why I didn't notice the change in our sex life: I figured it was just an outgrowth of finally being alone in the house again, a hearken back to the old days when we did it more than once a week, or once every two. Or maybe that the exercise program she'd started several months earlier was finally paying of in other dividends.

It still wasn't anything special. Missionary position, or, ironically, the female superior position. The thing about sex for us was the connection. At least for me anyway, then. The connection with the woman I loved. Looking into her eyes, touching her, caressing her. That two- way exchange of caring that expressed our love. It didn't have to be 'hot and sweaty sex'. We made love.

Things are slightly different, now. I have to wonder if I was the only one who saw our sex lives that way. Why did she wait so long to tell me? Or, did I, happy with the status quo, choose to ignore her signals? I'll probably never know.

She's sucking really hard now. It's almost hard to concentrate. She's holding herself up with one hand, and the other is fondling my balls as her head bobs up and down on my shaft. It's fucking amazing. He taught her well.

Yes, HIM, that uncontrollable outside force that has, like a tornado, blown through my life, turning everything upside down and inside out. Only it wasn't a tornado. It wasn't fast and sudden. It was more like the ocean breeze that molds the sand into dunes: inexorable, insistent, but so gradual you don't even see the changes.

It was him that started the exercise program. It was him that urged her to increase her sexual activity with me. It was him doing all of that, behind the scenes, until that fateful day a few weeks ago when it was all presented to me, the deal all closed, with only one loose end. I had only one choice left to make, and I keep making it every minute of every hour of every day since.

I had just gotten back from helping Jenny move out of the school dorms into her own apartment. She would be spending the summer in Raleigh -- finally really moving out -- and she needed her dad's SUV to move all her stuff. I gladly volunteered, and spent the weekend helping her move, and meeting her friends and roommates. Tom was still in school for a few more weeks, so we'd have to do it all over again then, only he'd be moving home.

I drove back Sunday afternoon, taking my time. I had slept well that night, and had almost slept over the hotel's checkout time I was so tired. But I was well rested, and looking forward to getting back to Charlotte, and my wife. I still had no clue what was going on.

I should have had some sort of clue when Mary met me at the door, wearing only a sheet wrapped loosely around her body. I asked her, "What?" but she stopped me with a finger on my lips and slight smile on her face. She dropped to her knees in front of me, still holding the sheet around her, and pulled my cock out of my pants. It was only the second blowjob she'd ever given me.

The first was while we were still in college. She thought she'd try it as an alternative to using condoms. We were cheap college students and these were the days before college campuses were giving them away. We wanted sex, but we wanted neither the consequences of sex nor the cost of birth control. But after that first attempt, Mary found the money for condoms. It was always nice inside her pussy anyway, warm, inviting, wet. Even after 22 years I never got enough of it. Now I satisfy myself with the other options.

And one can really become a connoisseur of the "other options" You can be sucked by the mouth, and then there's the tongue. And her ass...tight all the time in a way her cunt hadn't been since Jenny was born. Not that I have much choice in the matter.

But I'm rambling. Where was I? Oh yes, Mary on her knees in front of me, naked as the day she was born, her mouth hot and wet around my cock. My first blowjob in 23 years, and it was a damn fine one, too. I wanted to talk to her, but she motioned for me to be quiet, and kept sucking. Eventually I came in her mouth, and she swallowed it all, and then cleaned my cock off with her mouth.

That just got me hard again.

So she led me upstairs into our bedroom, stripped my clothes off. I was hot and I wanted to be inside her, even though I had just come. I reached for the sheet, to take it off, but she shook her head. "What?" I asked incredulous. "Honey, take off the sheet, I want to make love to you." She shuddered then, and let the sheet drop. And I saw.

"You pierced your nipples?" I exclaimed. That was something the youngsters did. But still, I could feel the blood flow down to my twitching penis. It was hot. I reached for them, and her hands came up.

"No," she said. "They are too tender to touch right now."

"OK," I said. "But damn, they are hot. I need you now, lie down so we can make love."

She looked down at my feet. then back up at me. "I...I want you to fuck me in the ass," she said. I stared at her incredulously. She wanted me to fuck her where? Then she turned and got on her knees on the bed in front of me, and I saw the reason why.

Six, no seven new piercings. One just over her clit, the other six down her labia, three on each side. And a bar running through it. And it was locked on! Locked! There was no way I could get inside her pussy. "What is going on here?" I said, backing up, confused.

"Please John, just fuck me in the ass, and I'll explain it. There's lube by the bed." I looked, and there was lube on the nightstand. I took it, lubed up my cock, now hard and straining as it hadn't since I was in college. I needed to know what was going on, but I needed to fuck her more. Then I lubed up her asshole, and slid into her ass, something I had never done before.

And God she was tight. Tight like I'd never felt her before. I slid in and out of her, slowly, then faster and faster as the lube spread up and down my cock and the inside of her ass. My mind was lost to the lust of my wife, my sweet gentle wife who was now practically a pincushion. Not that I thought about it then, of course. I was too tied up in my cock and what it was doing, feeling my balls slap against her ass as she moaned and sighed beneath me. So, despite all the signs, I still allowed myself to think that my wife had done all of this for me, for our sex life.

I couldn't have been more wrong.

After I came in her, and pulled out, my cock covered with lube and her goo, Mary got up, went to the bathroom, and then came back out with a towel, and washed me off. She curled up next to me, and I looked at her. "That was amazing."

"Yes," she said, quietly. "It is amazing." Almost whispering. She was quiet for a moment. "Now comes the hard part. You need to watch this." I saw that she had our bedroom remote, and she clicked the TV on. Then she slid down my legs and once again engulfed my cock with her mouth. It was limp, but her tongue began it's magic, slowly getting me hard again.

Then the tape in the VCR started to play.

On the screen I saw a man's face, covered by a domino mask. The camera pulled back, revealing a man with brown hair, a little gray at the temples, but otherwise in good shape. Without a shirt on. In one hand he held the remote for the camera, and was thumbing it. As he zoomed the camera back, I saw his other hand, wrapped in my wife's hair, moving her head up and down his cock. She was moaning.

He stopped for a moment, and Mary kept moving of her own accord. He looked into the screen. "Hello John," he said. I looked down at Mary, her head moving up and down my cock, and then back up at the TV, and saw the same thing, only she was with a different man.

What the hell was going on?

The voice continued. "I made this tape out of fairness to you, since you are greatly wronged by this. I only recently discovered that my pet had never explicitly asked you for this, although she seemed certain you knew how she felt."

"No," I muttered, "I never knew.." Hearing that, Mary whimpered around my cock.

"I had been making tapes -- for my own collection -- but I thought you should know the full depth of your wife's depravity and betrayal. And betrayal it was. We met online over a year ago, and I put her off, not meeting for six months. Then three more months before we had sex. Then still three more months before I made her mine.

"But not fully mine. There is another man she owed her allegiance to." His eyes, a deep blue, looked straight into the camera, straight into my soul. "I took her anyway. But not completely. You still have a choice."

The video faded away, and was replaced by an image of the same man, still in a mask, beating my wife with a flogger. "I had to be careful," he said. "I left no marks on her skin, except for an occasional, accidental bruise. No piercings, no tattoos, no scars. I wouldn't do that until she was fully mine."

Again the screen faded, and was replaced by him sliding in and out of my wife's ass. The video camera moved -- there had to be someone there, filming it -- until I could see my wife's face as she begged and pleaded for him to fuck her harder. "I took her every way I could, and she begged for more. I took her anal virginity." The camera faded, and she was giving him head. "I taught her how to give a good blowjob." The camera faded again, and he was fucking her pussy, while she was tied spread- eagled on the bed. "I taught her how to squeeze a man's cock with her pussy. How to please him even if she is tied tight."

The camera returned to the original shot.. "You are the benefactor of that knowledge. Well, you'll never use her pussy again. I hold the key." He brought the key up, and dangled it in front of the camera. "But her oral and anal skills are excellent. And she enjoys it."

"Tell him, pet, tell him how much you enjoy being degraded like this."

Mary on camera and live, both stopped, and said the same thing. "I love it. Fuck me, treat my like the whore I am. Take me in the ass, fuck my mouth. Do whatever you want to me and I'll do it."

"And..." the man on the screen said.

"And I'll come."

He laughed. Mary returned her mouth to my cock. I felt a tear fall and hit my thigh.

"She's such a slut, isn't she? And she's mine. I'm not even there, and she still did what I said, didn't she?" He laughed again, and then leaned into the camera. He spoke again, conspiratorially, "When I'm not using her, you can have her mouth and ass. I couldn't bring myself to take her completely away from you. Or you can use this tape to get a complete no- strings-attached divorce from your wife. She won't even get the house, because she'll come to be with me. It's your choice."

The screen went dead. I sat there, as my wife, his pet, kept sucking on my cock. The VCR played out and rewound, and still I sat there. My wife was a slut, and a whore, and some other man's pet. She had cheated on me for months, and never said a damn thing. Then she had allowed this-- this other person-- to alter her body and mind, how could she do such a thing?

My rage built. I grabbed her hair and fucked her mouth, holding her head as I did it, so that she couldn't move. I could hear her gag as my third orgasm of the day shot down her mouth. I pushed her off my cock, and got onto the bed. She was audibly sobbing now. "What did you expect Mary? Hell, you even like it."

She sobbed louder, and collapsed on the floor. I curled up in the bed, and went to sleep.

I awoke the next morning, not to my alarm, but to her mouth on my cock. It was a really nice way to wake up, but when I realized what was going on, the memories from the previous night flooded back into me. I pulled away. "What are you doing?" I asked her.

"Master likes me to wake him up this way," she said. "I thought you might as well."

"Who is this guy who has done this to you? What have you become?"

"He's Master." she said, as if that explained everything. "I am his slut, his slave, his pet. Everything I do, I do for him."

"Including what you do for me?"

She was silent, and then looked down at the floor.

I put my hands around her face, lifting her eyes to mine. "Mary, Mary, where are you? Where is my wife of these many years? Come back to me."

"She..she can't," came the whispered reply.

"Why not?"

"She's gone." I let my hands fall, and her face looked back down at the floor.

"Dammit, Mary. Give up on this. You're still alive, you still have choices. We can work on this!"

"No, I don't have any choices."

"Of course you do, everyone has choices!"

"Not for me. I didn't choose this. He made me like this. I can't choose to stop unless he releases me."

"Nothing is holding, except your own choice." I railed at her. She just sat there looking at the ground, denying that it was ever any different.

I gave up, showered, and went to work. I tried to shut it out of my mind, but I couldn't. Finally I decided on a course of action. I had to push her. To force her to back out of this plan. I wasn't going to let her go, to lose her in body as well as in spirit. Eventually this would pass, and she'd come back to me. She had to.

So I began my program of abuse. I used her, as much as I could. I slapped her face with my cock, fresh from fucking her ass. I took her whenever I felt like. I beat her, I pushed her. I treated her like the object she said she was.

He takes her most weekends, and occasionally for a week at a time, but most of the time, she is with me. And every moment when she is with me, she is my servant. She cooks, she cleans, she is my sexual slave. And never a word of complaint.

And my secret shame is that I enjoy it.

Had she really asked me many months, years ago to do this for her? Had I ignored it? Or had I just not heard it? Even so, could I have stood what it would have made out of me? What it is making out of me now?

I should let her go. Let her go to him. My wife is long gone, and what remains is someone, something much less. And it lessens me.

But there's always the hope that she'll finally come back.

And so I make my choice, every minute of every day.

And, God help me, the sex really is good.

Something About Him

2010-08-24T00:15:00.008-04:00

(MF Mdom Rom)

There was something about him. I knew it the moment I saw him, but I wasn't sure what it was. Some would have said it was his looks. His hair was short and black, his eyes were a dark, dark brown and his skin was just the healthy side of pale. He wore a tight black T-shirt and leather pants which stretched over his body and displayed what lay underneath. He was leaning forward, chin in hand, a serious expression on his face.

And maybe that was it. He could have been lost in concentration or just waiting for lunch, but he did it with a sense of purpose. I felt that he knew what he was doing, why he was doing it, and what he was trying to accomplish. And there was something attractive about that.

So, while I had come to the restaurant to get some lunch, I found myself walking over to him. I was going to say, "Hi," and introduce myself. Maybe get his name and give him my phone number. If I was lucky, maybe he would even call me back.

When I got to his table, he was still as a statue. I opened my mouth to introduce myself, but before I could speak, he said, "What?" Just that, nothing else. I paused at his apparent irritation, uncertain what to say. My words fled as I stood there, silent.

But there was still something about him. His voice was deep and resonant; his single-word question wasn't mockery or sarcastic. Yet it demanded an answer. "Wh-what do you mean?" I stammered, confused, trying to regain my mental faculties.

He turned and looked at me for the first time. His gaze met mine, then lowered as he examined my body, appraising me. His eyes met mine again, and he asked, "What do you want?" Again his gaze traveled over me. I could feel it as it caressed my breasts, slid over legs, and finally, pierced me between my thighs. What was it about this man?

"You don't know?" He asked almost mockingly. "You walked over here to speak to me and you don't know why? Is this a common problem? Do you know what you want about anything? How about your job? Your life? Do you want the nice little husband and the two-point-five kids, or do you want something else? Do you even know? Is that the real problem?" Again he wasn't mocking, it was almost as if he really wanted to know if it was true, did I know what I wanted. And, suddenly, I wasn't sure if I could tell him.

He asked me again, more forcefully this time, "What do you want?"

The question echoed inside of me. What did I want? Not what I had, certainly. A lousy job, a non-existent social life. I realized to my dismay that I had no idea what I wanted to fill my empty life with. "I don't know," I whispered, despairingly.

"Humph," he said, and turned back in his seat, resuming his previous posture. Ignoring me.

I returned to my seat, and collapsed in my chair. My salad arrived, and I ate it slowly, ponderously. I tried to think about what I wanted, but all I could focus on was what I didn't have -- like him, for instance.

Occasionally, I'd glance up at him, but he was always in the same position. When his food arrived, he at it quickly and deliberately, and left. I finished a few minutes later, and went back to my worthless job.

That night, I masturbated for over two hours. I wasn't horny, I was empty. I had to keep the loneliness away. It had been getting worse and worse lately, and today, with the man from the restaurant... Well, he figured prominently in my fantasies. He took me, lifting my legs up and back, pressing my body beneath him. He plunged his huge cock deep into my cunt, over and over, all the while staring at me with his intense gaze, boring into my soul.

And in my fantasy, for just a moment, I knew that finally, I wasn't alone.

I came again and again, over and over, until I fell asleep, exhausted, my hand still pressed against my crotch.

That was the first day I saw him.

I woke to the incessant buzzer of my alarm the next morning. After all the activity of the last night, I had a deep and dreamless sleep. My body and mind resisted the need to rise, to get ready to go to work. To get on with my lousy life.

I thought back to the night before, and felt the emptiness creep in again, and I brushed my hand over my bush, idly opening my pussy lips. It sent a small shock through my inner void, and I shook my head. I had to get up, I couldn't lay here all day and play with myself. But the image of him lingered in my mind, his gaze piercing me at lunch, his cock piercing me in my fantasies. My cunt clenched, and I forced myself out of bed.

Robotically, I prepared for my day, until I got to selecting my clothes. I pulled out a low-cut blouse, and wondered if he'd appreciate the view in that one. That was when I realized I was planning on eating at the same restaurant again today. That was when I realized how bound up in his web I'd become.

Did he do anything to deserve my confusion or my passion? Or did he just stumble over some trigger, some thing lying dormant in me that realized that something, anything had to change. Maybe he was just the most convenient target; maybe anything that set me off kilter would have caused this. But I couldn't shake it: there was something about him.

So I dressed in my most revealing business clothes, and went to work. I don't want to say much about it, it was Hell just like always. The only thing that got me through the stupid meetings and tasks of the morning was thinking about him, being at the restaurant today. I didn't allow myself to consider the most likely prospect: that he wouldn't be there at all.

So at lunch, I left my desk a few minutes early, primped a bit in the ladies' room, and walked to the restaurant. I sat at the same table I was at the day before, ordered the same thing, and waited.

And, of course, he didn't come. With each second that ticked, each minute that passed, the emptiness inside me grew and filled. When I had finished my salad, I stole back into a private stall in the ladies' room, lifted my skirt, and slid my hand inside the scoop-necked blouse. I cried, and masturbated, trying to remember my fantasies from the night before, unable to see his face above me, unable to feel his cock inside me.

I finally came, and with the infusion of endorphins, I collected myself. I washed my hands and fixed my makeup, paid, and left the restaurant, vowing never to return.

That night I flipped through my scrapbooks of a happier time. When I had thought I was in love, and he was in love with me. A time when I was excited about my new career, and we talked about settling down, buying a house and having children. The pictures ended far before the relationship did, before the reality hit home and my career turned out to be a dead-end road to nowhere, just like my barren womb.

What could I offer to a man, really? Alan obviously didn't think I could offer much, so he found his own way without me. And I was left here, at a dead end road, with no map to continue on. I wanted so desperately to be filled by something, a sense of purpose, a cock, even the impossible. I settled for cheap alternatives, and retired to my room with my largest dildo, to fuck myself into harsh oblivion for the second night in a row.

I masturbated for a long time, having small, yet ever-building orgasms. Eventually, my fantasies drifted again to the man from the restaurant. I imagined the dildo was his cock filling my cunt, moving slowly in and out, as he made love to me. My orgasm built, sending shudders throughout my body as I/he rammed the dildo/his cock into me. My cunt clenched, and I let out a piercing yell as I came.

Relaxed, I drifted off to heavy sleep.

Once again I woke to the screeching of my buzzer. I was rubbed raw, and the dildo lay between my legs, sticky with my own juices. "I've got to stop doing this," I said to myself, as I rubbed my eyes, trying to wake up and clear my head. It had been a long time since my head was clear, and I was truly awake.

As I sat at my kitchen table, sipping coffee, and looking back through those horrible photographs, I felt calm for the first time in a long time. I recalled my fantasies of the night before. It had been a long time since I had been passionate about anything, and there was something about him, something that scared and attracted me at the same time.

So, I went back to the restaurant, despite my vow from the previous day. I had to go, if only because it made my day different than all the ones before. Once again, I repeated the first day's tasks and timing as if it were a ritual to summon the mysterious man. I had a mission or an obsession, but I had something, and it was mine.

The minute I saw him, my nipples hardened as I recalled my nightly fantasies. He had returned -- I was surprised and elated. Now, I had to decide what to do. I had hoped he would return, but never really believed that our chance meeting would happen again. I could stay here with my salad, or I could go back to him, and talk to him.

Finally I realized there was no point to all of this if I didn't talk to him. Resolved, I stood up, my knees a little shaky. I gathered myself together, and walked over to his table with a purpose. As I walked, he turned to face me. When I got close to him, he said, "So, did you ever decide?"

"Decide what?" I asked.

"What you wanted," he said.

I looked into his dark eyes. I'd had a couple of sleep-deprived days to ponder this question, and I'd run it over in my mind again and again. I didn't know the answer, but felt I had to be free of the question. "Does it matter?" I asked.

"That depends..." he said, drawing out his voice. I waited for the rest of his answer. As I waited, he appraised me again. I could feel his gaze pass over me, like a lover's finger sliding slowly over my body. Where it passed, my skin shivered. My nipples responded. My mouth grew moist. Hair stood up along my arms. My cunt began to get wet.

His gaze went back to my face. "Probably not," he said. It felt like a dismissal. He began to turn back in his chair, back to stare at his wall. I reached out and put my arm on his shoulder, pulling him back to face me. I couldn't allow this moment to pass, there had to be something more to it.

He turned back, raised an eyebrow, and stared at my hand until I removed it. "What exactly is your game, anyway?" I asked.

"There is no game," he said. "Two days ago, you walked over to me. I asked you what you wanted. Yet, you couldn't answer. I had to wonder -- what kind of person doesn't have an answer for that? You must have wanted something when you came over, but you couldn't say. Personally, I don't think you can answer. However, there must be some answer, you are here again today. There must be something you want. What do you want?"

I took in a deep breath. Back to that question again. I clenched my right hand into a fist, I could feel my nails digging into the palm of my hand. "No, I won't answer that yet. What do you want?" I asked, throwing the question back at him.

He cracked a small smile then, the first I'd seen from him. "Does it matter?" he asked, volleying back with my own words. His smile went away, but his eyes held amusement. Was this some sort of game to him? Well, two could play at that game.

I returned with some of his own ammunition "Do you even know what you want?"

"Yes, I do," he said, stopping me in my tracks

"Really?" I said.

He leaned forward in his chair. "Do you even want to know? Do you even think you could handle it?" His voice was soft, seductive, yet challenging. I just gave one imperceptible nod. "I'm looking for a woman," he said. "A woman who will be mine." I must have looked shocked then, because his eyes laughed at me. "A mirror to my soul. Someone to receive what I provide, to fulfill my desires, as I fulfill hers. Someone who turns to me for comfort and care. Someone I can wrap my arms around and hold her whole world. My opposite and complement. I can't seek her, because she must seek me."

It sounded almost familiar. Like something I had wanted, once. "What does this have to do with knowing what I want?"

"I know what I want," he said. "The woman I want, being my opposite, won't." His gaze bored into me again, and I felt a familiar shock. I fought the desire to bring my legs together, squeezing my thighs.

"What exactly is it that you can provide?" I asked. Visions of him pounding into me assaulted my consciousness. I had needs and desires, why couldn't I say what I wanted?

"Purpose, for one," he said. "I would be her purpose. And, in many ways, she would be mine."

"And you think I am that woman you desire?"

He tilted his head. "I don't know. Have you ever fantasized about kneeling down in front of someone in, say, a crowded restaurant, pulling out his cock and going down on him?" I shook my head no. "And doing it in an outfit skimpier than yours?" He leaned forward; I leaned back, away from him. "And masturbating while you did it?" I must have blushed then, he pulled back and gave me that condescending smile again. Was he suggesting that I do this for him, now?

My body was flushed with excitement, but I answered honestly. "N-no."

"Well, then," he said, as if that decided it. His eyes flickered, and focused on something behind me. "Your lunch is here." He turned again, and this time I didn't stop him.

That night, I went to bed early to get some rest, but found my dildo lying there under the covers. I picked it up, and slid the head between my lips, and then began sliding it in and out, deeper each time. I imagined him grabbing my hair, and pulling me to his cock, as he shoved it deep inside of me. I got up on my knees, and used my free hand to finger my cunt, sliding two, then three fingers deep inside of me.

We were in a public place. He was humping my face as I rammed my hand up my cunt. I was embarrassed but I didn't care, because he was wild for my mouth, and I was so hot for him. I sucked harder and harder as his cock filled my mouth. I felt him spurt, his come splashing against the back of my throat, and my cunt clamped down on my hand.

I let out a muffled scream around the dildo. My body shuddered and shook and shook again, as wave after wave of uncontrolled orgasm washed over me. I hadn't come that hard in months, maybe years.

I had to wonder, what was happening to me?

And did I want more?

The next morning I awoke more refreshed than I had in a long, long time. I lay in bed, where I had slept at a skewed angle, and watched as my digital alarm slowly counted up to the alarm time. When it went off, I got quickly out of bed, stiff -- but in a good way that I never realized I missed -- and shut it off.

When it came time for me to pick clothes, I headed into my spare bedroom -- the baby's bedroom -- where I kept some of my older clothes. I found two outfits, clothes that I wore clubbing, that I shouldn't ever wear to work, that still fit me, and fit well. One for today, and one for tomorrow, I told myself, just in case I missed him again. He'd shown up twice now, there was reason to believe he'd be back, eventually.

My first choice was the "more revealing" option. A V-neck blouse with a push-up bra, and a thigh-length dress that I couldn't bend over in. Nevertheless, it was better for work than the other one, which had as it's base a crotch-less body-stocking. Work wouldn't like it, but well... so what? I didn't care about work anymore. I wasn't sure I ever had.

As I put it on, I had a mental image of me on the floor in this dress in front of him. It was short, and I was on my knees, so I was showing a lot of thigh. But it was also easy for me to slide my hand up, inside the skirt, hiking it up just a little bit more to run my finger over my slit. As I stood there in my closet, I touched myself, and my pussy lips distended, making way for my finger. I smiled. Yes, this was what I wanted.

I was running late -- work had decided to be worse than usual, over and above the crude comments from co-workers, and an admonishment from my boss. All I did was smile and wonder what he'd say about tomorrow's outfit.

So, when I got there, he was already there. He was sitting and staring, but instead of facing the wall like had the previous two times, he was turned, facing the door. When he saw me, he relaxed, just the tiniest bit. He didn't show it on his face as he turned back to face the wall.

Disconcerted by this, I wasn't sure what to do. I glanced over to "my" table, and shook my head. Instead, I adjusted my outfit one last time, and walked over to him, and stood beside him. I still didn't know what to say.

He turned his head to me, and looked at me. Once again, his gaze traveled over me. He took his time, lingering at my hard nipples, pressing against the blouse, caressing my legs like a lover, and then settling back again on my eyes. He smiled just a little then. My heart skipped at his apparent approval. Again, I had to wonder whose web I was in: his or mine?

And I was totally wet.

His eyes narrowed. "So," he said. "Here we are again. " He seemed gruff, almost angry with me. Most of my confidence fled. Had I misread him? Wasn't he glad to see me? I felt myself shake, and the tears at my eyes, as I began to sob.

I pressed the heels of my hands into my eyes, and sobbed into them, willing the tears to stop. "Oh, God!" I said. I gathered myself together, and lowered my hands to my sides. I could see my makeup smeared on the heels, and knew I must look awful.

"I don't know anymore," I said. "I thought I knew, but then I met you, and now I don't know anymore. My life has been hell, and then, suddenly, there was you. It's like you put me under some kind of spell. I can't think of anything but you."

"Do you believe in love at first sight?" He asked.

"This," I said. "Is not love. Lust maybe, or something else."

"But do you believe in it?"

"I did once."

"No longer?" I shook my head no. "I've never felt this way about anyone," he continued. "There is something inside of you, an emptiness that begs to be filled. A loveliness that wants to be used... A need that fills my want. There. I've told you how I feel, you can guess what I want. What do you want?"

Damn, it was that question again, thrown up to taunt me again. I turned to go, convinced this demon would never let me go, but he reached out and touched my elbow, "Wait," he said. "Do you really want to leave?"

I stopped, and turned back. "I don't know," I said. "I don't fucking know. I don't know what I want, or who I want, or what I want to do. I've been thinking about it for four days now, and I still don't fucking know. I used to think it was easy, simple, of course I know what I want, it's what I'm doing, right? But that was all yanked away from me long ago, and now life is too complicated. I don't know what I want, I don't know what I can have. I spent most of my time just being, going through the motions, and then you showed up. You and your stupid question."

"It doesn't have to be complicated," he said. "It could be simple."

"No," I said, shaking my head. "It can't. I am not simple, life isn't simple."

"I could make it simple for you." His voice was quiet, but certain. An offer, a bargain, all I had to do was take it. His voice seemed to plead for a moment. "Let me make it simple for you. Let me hold you in my arms, and make everything all right. No one was supposed to go through this life alone, we all have someone there for us, someone who matches us. Let me be that person."

God how I wanted to just take him up on it, but no, I knew it wasn't that simple it never is. "I can't give you children," I said. There that would take care if it.

"Did I say I wanted children?" he asked. His stern mask fell. "You are my completing part, I know it. I want to devote my time to you, and all the rest will take care of itself."

I felt my nipples press against my bra, I felt my pussy muscles tighten. I looked into his eyes, and I fell into his gaze. I closed my eyes, and went down on my knees. With the skirt I was wearing, the people in the restaurant were getting a show, but I didn't care. It no longer mattered.

I knelt down, first on one knee, then the other. I lowered my head to his lap, and he ran his fingers through my hair. His hands slid under my arms, and he pulled me up, until we were hugging, him sitting, me kneeling on the ground.

His hands wrapped around me, and I knew peace for the first time in two weeks. His hands pulled me tightly to him, and I knew serenity for the first time... maybe ever. His head was next to mine, and he whispered in my ear, "Welcome Home. Welcome home, my love."

I felt my pussy spasm again, and he kissed me, sending me over the edge with just a kiss.

There was just something about him. I knew it the moment I saw him.

Ahoy, Mateys!

2010-08-23T12:14:00.000-04:00

Early this morning, my wife Tam was talking to one of her crewmates on PuzzlePirates (I'm also a member of the crew, but a very new one, as I only play the game casually, and to play with her.) She mentioned my name, which is also my name in the crew, and one her mateys said, "Joe Tortuga,as in 'Joe Tortuga's Erotic Writing?'"

She let me know while I was getting ready, and it's made my day. As I told her, if you see a Joe Tortuga out there somewhere, it's almost certainly me. I didn't always go by this name online, I used to go by "GenericJoe" but I'm not the only one of those -- there's a band that predates the use of the name. So for the past few years I've moved over to this nick, and done a lot of writing (both erotica and games writing) online with it. It's who I am, perhaps more than my "real name."

Thinking about this, I realized I had a few older pieces, all on my ASSTR blog that could use highlighting. Not all those old pieces, but some of the ones I thought were of slightly higher quality. I thought I'd post them here, and at StoriesOnline.net where I've been dual publishing stories.

These two stories are ones that I think of as both sides of the BDSM fantasy, particularly the role that Dominants play in it. One is a romance in the purest since of the word, where the characters are sure in their roles, and conform precisely to the way we wish. The other twists that around, with characters who aren't so sure of who they are and what they want. The former lacks introspection, it's just the way things are -- which is why it is a romance, and the latter is almost completely introspection, and that's why both of these are fantasies, not reality.

In my opinion -- hard fought, and not-so-humble -- you can't do BDSM or Polyamory without both honest introspection and discussion. (You probably can't have successful normal relationships without that either, but I've never done those...) The characters in these stories do neither, really but one is sweet and cheerful and the other dark and dangerous.

I hope you enjoyed Kadja last week. I enjoyed writing it, and have notes/outlines for more stories, if they're desired. I'm working on another longer piece based on Manga, which is why I'm hoping to entertain you in the interim with some older fare.

Something About Him will be posted on Tuesday, and Choices, its darker cousin, on Thursday.

Enjoy, and as always, let me know what you do and do not like!

Kadja: Gaining Power 4/4

2010-08-18T09:00:00.000-04:00

(MF mast bondage dragon magic)

I pulled agasinst the chains that tied me to the sacrificial altar. I don't know if in that moment I wanted to escape, or get closer to the beast that flew above us. I looked up at it is at banked, and flew again across the moon.

At first it was just a pair of wings eclipsing the moon. It flapped its wings, and dove straight for us. As it fell, Jayne called out in that strange language and the torches burst into bright white light. Still it fell toward us faster, and faster.

I tested my chains again, frightened of the collision as it got closer to us. Suddenly it opened its wings with a snap that immediately slowed its progress. "Dragon..." I whispered. It was lovely, huge wings which blocked out all light except from our torches. Copper scales glistened in the white torchlight. Its body hung between the wings, as if suspended in space above us. It's head long and square, it's tail twitching sinuously behind it.

It settled down on hits hind legs onto the tower in front of me, about ten feet from my spread out legs. It passed it's head -- which was easily half the size of my body -- over me. It's maw was filled with teeth, and I saw it's forked tongue as it spoke to my sister. "This is the sacrifice, then?" It's voice rumbled from deep within it's body. I could feel its power above me, even as i pulled on the chains for what comfort they could give me for all that they confined me there.

"Yes, Ohlim," my sister responded. "This is my sister Kadja. She wants your help."

Ohlim turned to me then, the tips of it's tongue moving over my body. "You want my help, little thing?" The tongue tickled and teased me like a lover.

I took a deep breath and looked it in it's slit coppery eyes. I was here for a reason. "I want my power," I said. "I cannot feel it."

I bit my lip as Ohlim fixed his gaze on me, looking into my soul. "I can help with that, little Medrhi. There is a cost, I will want a favor." Its tongue slid over my thighs, and up my side, under the chainmail covering my breasts. The forks of hit tongue played with one nipple.

This, then, was how I would be beholden. It had to be worth it. Anything would be. I was too aroused to say anything aloud; I could only nod. That was enough for him, it seemed, and for my sister.

She stepped up behind me, and touched my head to calm me. I took some strength from that. "Dragons are asexual creatures," she said. "They live forever, unlike us. But they are more than that, right Ohlim?"

I don't know that I agreed with her. What he was doing with his tongue wasn't asexual. But I knew what she meant. It didn't have the organs or the chakra -- while I was both frightened and aroused by what it was doing, for Ohlim it was just an intellectual exercise.

"There is much more to us than it seems," Ohlim said. It began to transform above me, shrinking, solidifying, becoming humanoid, becoming decidedly male. In shape, he was the mirror image of Antonio, but he still gleamed with coppery scales. "I can transform to look like any human, and it gives the equipment and the chakra I need to help awaken your power," he said. "I can look even more human if you like..." he became the spitting image of Antonio for just a moment. "But then the magic will not work so well."

"I think I prefer the scales," I said.

Jayne touched either side of my head and spoke again in that indecipherable speech. She knelt behind me, and kissed the top of my head. I felt her do something -- I'm not sure what, but it was like a spark of electricity going from her lips to my head. Then she stepped back.

Ohlim stepped forward then, and he stood between my legs at the base of the altar. I could feel him where he touched my legs.He leaned over me, to kiss me and I ran my face over his, feeling his skin. It was suprisingly smooth, despite the scales, supple and easy under my hands. I had thought his skin would be hard and unyielding, but it was anything but. I pulled against my chains, wanting to touch him, to feel him, and to pull him to me.

His eyes were still draconic, coppery slits, and his lips met mine. I opened my mouth to him, and our tongues touched, the forked tips of his tongue playing with my normal tongue. I moaned into it. I was so ready for him.

His nails were pointed, like claws, and he gently dragged them over my body while we kissed. I shivered beneath him, my need rising even higher. His hands found my breasts, pushing the chainmail up and out of his way. I moaned into our kiss as he fondled and squeezed my breasts.

Pain is part of being Medrhi, but the feel of his hands digging into my breasts was exquisite pain. I cried out into our kiss, and he broke it, grinning down at me. He moved down my body, bringing those lips and that tongue to my nipples. First one, then the other.

I closed my knees around him, but could only just barely touch his body. I wanted him, and wanted him now. "Oh, Ohlim," I urged him. "Fuck me, fuck me now." But he wasn't to be pressured. He fondled and teased my breasts, squeezing them with his hands and licking my nipples with his tongue, almost bringing me to orgasm just from that.

"Please fuck me, Ohlim. By the gods, fuck me!" He chuckled as I swore, but moved to oblige me. He pushed my chain loincloth away, and I felt his fingers on my legs. His nails slid up my thighs, and I shivered in anticipation.

Finally he was touching my pussy. "Wet," he rumbled, his voice too large for his human-sized body. "Gooood." His fingers lightly touched my clit, and I shuddered with a small orgasm. It didn't take much, considering. "Now you are ready for me."

I could feel his cock, at the lips of my pussy. His cock was hard and unyielding, unlike the skin of his face. That was good. I spread my legs as wide as I could and he thrust fully into me. I cried out in release as he slid into me with another small orgasm.

He leaned over me then, on hand on the altar, and the other on my left breast. He began sliding in and out of me then. He slid all the way out, then all the way back in, the wholeness of his cock filling me completely. "Feel that," he rumbled. "We touch at the root, in a sexual way. We move together. Feel the power rising, open yourself to it."

He fucked me harder then, not pulling out all the way, but still those long sure strokes. Still that full press into me. I tried to breath, but his hand on my breast made it hard. He squeezed as he thrust into me, and I thrust back against him. I listened for my power, I searched for it where we joined. I wasn't sure if it was power or building orgasm that I felt, but there was something there.

I pulled at the chains on my arms, trying to get more of him in me, even though there wasn't any more to have. He pressed against me then pulled back and thrust again. And again. And again. Something was building, something deep red and orange and yellow and all the colors of the rainbow. Again and again and he picked up the pace.

Faster and faster he fucked me and I lay there and let him, meeting his thrusts. The thought I was fucking a dragon flitted across my mind. The thought of his skin against me, the thought of his hands holding him. Hands which seemed more like claws at that moment, one scraping against the stone of the altar, the other with a vice grip around my breast.

His tongue snaked out of him, and touched my nipples. We were atop the Aerie, light all around us. Magic filled the air. Light filled our bodies. He fucked me harder. I wondered how many could see, and met his thrusts.

It would be soon now. Very soon.

He pressed harder and harder into me, then he pulled out completely and thrust all the way in, and there he stayed, roaring out in pleasure. His hand, now a claw on my breast, squeezed in passion. I felt his come fill my pussy, and the world flashed in light. The torches roared and went out, but still there was light, light of every color even black and white.

I was coming, and I cried out with a voice I am sure all of Winterhaven could hear.

Ohlim leaped back from me, transforming in an instant from human back to dragon. I could see its chakras change, the orange, sacral chakra fading into others. Chakras of colors I couldn't name bursting into existence. "It is done," it said, and leaped into the sky, gone as fast as it had arrived. It flashed in front of the moon again, and I could see how Ohlim's chakra gleamed in the night.

"I've been missing this for so long," I said.

Jayne came to me, the iron key back in her hand and unlocking me from the altar. "You've got a bit of the indigo, too," she said. "You'll be able to see even more now. I suspected as much -- you've always had good night vision."

She removed the cuffs from my arms, and I sat up, and rubbed my breasts. My left breast was marked, not with a scar or a tear, but almost a tattoo in the shape of a grasping claw, holding my breast. "Beholden," I whispered, and my sister looked up at me and nodded.

"There are worse creatures to be beholden to," she said, unlocking my ankles.

I stood up, and adjusted my clothing to be covered again. My thighs were wet with my own juices and dragon cum, but that didn't bother me. I touched it with my hands, and felt a thrill pass through me. I'd fucked a dragon, and I had my power now.

The torches were completely burned away, and all we had was moonlight. I could hear people moving below us, and see torchlight on the ground. I walked to the edge and saw a group of guards approaching the gate. "We have company," I said.

"Well what we did was neither circumspect nor legal. What did you expect?"

"Illegal?" I asked. Not that the law is so important, but it's good to know what laws you broke.

"Ancient magic," she said. "Generally frowned upon by the Empire. It's just for nobles, and the rich, you know."

"We can't go back the way we came," I said. "Unless the priests will hide us in the tower."

"No," she said. "I sent the apprentices away, they should be long gone now."

"So we go down the outside?" I said. I turned to her and grinned. I saw her orange chakra glowing over her womb with a strength that outshone her others. That was why she was an Erosceror, of course, only now I could see it.

"Yep," she said. Jayne is much smaller than me, which is good. We'd done this before but not for years. I climbed over the side, where the moon's light would be shadowed. I held there, while she climbed on my back and held on.

I don't know if I was just filled with good energy from the sex, or if the carvings on the wall made it easier, but climbing down the tower was easy and fun. We worked back and forth, hugging the shadowed areas. With my new vision, it was much easier to see the guards below, and to avoid them. Trees and rocks still blocked my new vision, but I was hardly complaining.

The other advantage we had tonight was that the moon was shining on the gates of the tower, so the towers shadow was away from the guards. We could hear them climbing the stairs, but the outer wall really was faster. That and we were going down. Jayne held on and muttered "You don't want to see us, you don't want to see us." I saw her magic red and luminous envelop us, and for once I really understood what she was doing: she was shaping the desires of those who might see us to not want to see us, so they wouldn't.

Not an illusion really, but one more in line with her power. I was impressed, and remembered all the times she used to do something similar while we lived on the streets. My sister was more powerful than I had ever known before. For that matter, so was I.

I dropped us the last few feet to the ground, and we worked our way to the wall around Temple Hill. That was the trickiest spot, because at the top we couldn't avoid the city lights. I boosted Jayne over, and heard her drop to the ground. After a quick check that no one had seen us, I went next, lifting myself to the top, looking out over the city.

The new vision blinded me for a moment, the way magic blended in with the whole city. The city lights, the houses, all the people. I stopped at the top stunned by it all, and heard a guard cry out. "They're over there."

"Shit," I muttered, and leaped over the wall. Jayne had already started running for a nearby alley, and I followed her. A quick look back, and there were a handful of guards following us. "Run!" I urged her. "Meet you back at the tavern." She nodded and took off.

I turned and waved to the guards, making sure to shimmy in my chainmail bikini, and took a different route. Four of the guards followed me, and only one went down the path Jayne went. She could handle one easily enough, even though she wasn't a fighter.

I ran through a few more turnings, losing two of the guards along the way. The other two were faster, though, and I wouldn't outrun them. I dodged into a darkened alley that turned into a dead end. I could climb out, but not in time to stop the pursuit. It was time to turn around and face them.

I pulled my daggers, glad I'd brought them along, and watched as their eyes went to my hips. I grinned at them. The alley was pretty narrow, and the guards were using the sword-and-shield combo that Antonio favored. If I could close with one, the other wouldn't be able to help without endangering his friend.

I looked my chosen target in the eyes and licked my lips, and I could see sweat on his brow. He lunged at me, and I twirled out of the way, inside his reach. Reversing one of the daggers, I spun behind him, and struck him on the head, knocking him out.

The other guard didn't wait for me, and was swinging as soon as her friend went down. I parried with the dagger, and she knocked me back. She was much stronger than the first guard. She grinned as I leaped back. "Your tricks won't work on me Medrhi. I don't like girls."

My power was easy to reach, both for movement and seduction. I let it fill me, and closed with the remaining guard. "I don't know," I said, my voice smooth and rich. "I might change your mind." She swung again, and I parried. I pushed against her sword, bringing our crossed blades above my cleavage. I shimmied again, putting a bit of power into it. Her gaze flickered, and I broke the parry, pulling in close to her.

I rubbed my chest against her, spinning around as she tried to step back to get her shield between us. I danced back and forth letting the lioncloth flap in the breeze, and putting all my power into the movement. I willed her to want to look, to see what she could see. Her aura flashed indigo, as her gaze wandered over my body. I knocked the sword out of her hand, and kicked her in the chin.

I'm not all bad, she got to see my all before she passed out. Not that it'll make her like women any more.

Getting back to the tavern was easy at that point. As would be showing Travia my power. I needed training, as I couldn't seem to turn off my sight. But like I had assured Jayne, that training would be available to me. I was already good at what I do, and now I'd be great. Maybe even great enough to get to fuck another dragon.

Kadja: Gaining Power 3/4

2010-08-16T09:00:00.002-04:00

(MF mast bondage dragon magic)

The next three days were a special kind of hell. I lay there for a while, but just like I don't avoid sex well, I'm not good at being still. That third chakra was almost as strong in me, and I needed to be out moving and doing things, Jayne was right about that. I spent the night prowling, something I don't let Travia know I like to do. It's how Jayne and I got enough money for her to go into training. I'm good at climbing and sneaking and, well, acquiring. A girl likes her loot.

I didn't steal anything those three nights, because that's another thing that makes me horny. No, I just climbed up the roofs of Winterhaven, and made my way around the city I knew so well. I went back and forth across the city a few times, and even made it as far as the castle walls. But I'm saving that approach for later, because I may only have one real chance at it. No sense getting caught and spending my nights in jail, when I needed to be on Temple hill soon.

The goal was to tire me out enough I could sleep through the day, and it generally worked. On the third night, I put on my best chainmail -- the same set I wore for Travia earlier in the week -- and headed for the gate to Temple hill. I left most of my things at home, just a pair of daggers because I'm naked without them. I didn't think it'd matter much for the ritual, and it'd be worse to be without.

When I dropped down in to the square outside the gate, my sister was already there. She was easy to spot, as she had a couple apprentices with her as torch-bearers. I didn't recognize them, but that wasn't surprising. Her Master was a bit secretive in general; Travia was much the same with outsiders.

There were two of them, a woman and a man, both cute. I wondered if both or either of them would be involved in the ritual. While I prefer men, I don't abhor women. And my nerves were such that I didn't much care who fucked me, so long as I got fucked.

"Hiya, Jayne," I said, walking up to them.

"Kadja," she said nodding. "Ready?"

"Yep. Where are we going?"

"The Aerie," she said, and turned to walk through the gate. I followed in behind her, and the apprentices positioned themselves in front and back, lighting our path.

I looked up at the Aerie, the second highest point in the city -- the highest being the spire atop the castle. The Aerie, though, is a tower, thirty feet in diameter at the top, and built by some ancient and long-dead civilization. It was here when King Tolbin founded Winterhaven five hundred years ago. It was a few generations after him that the spire got built. People with ego problems don't typically found lasting empires.

The Aerie, though, was wide at it's base, and had a spiraling staircase built around the center.

Carvings spiraled up the outside, making a particularly easy climb. I figured it would be faster and easier to climb up the outside, but I didn't think we'd be managing that today. I added it to my list of things to do, though. All in all, it was a pretty cool place to get laid.

Jayne stepped forward at the gate, and spoke to the priests who were guarding the entrance. She spoke in low tones to them, and handed them a small bag of coins. I arched my brow -- who was paying for this? I hoped it wasn't me.

"Let's go," she said. "To the top." We went through the gate. The Aerie has a spiral staircase that hugs the outside wall. Newer construction on the inside abutted the staircase, making it a long hallway that ran up the side of the entire building. Every twenty feet or so, there was a door into the inner tower. They were all closed, and I know for sure the first two were locked. I'd know about the others, too, but Jayne gave me a look when she heard the second rattle.

I'll have to work on that.

After fourteen doors, the stairs ended with a wooden hatch in the ceiling. The male apprentice, who was leading handed his torch to Jayne, and swung it open. I could see the moon shining above us as we climbed out onto the roof of the tower. It was a perfect circle, about thirty feet in diameter. Seven stone torch stands were spaced evenly about the circle. The border of the tower ended in little one-foot talk triangular spikes that made it look like a crown from the ground. From the outside they look like they'd deter a thief, but I knew better now.

In the center of the circle was a waist-high altar about the size of a small bed. Next to that was a chest that looked new enough to be out of place. Seeing that Jayne said, "Good," and walked over to it. "This is a good sign."

"There was doubt?" I asked, nervous.

"Nothing is certain until it happens," Jayne said. She took an iron key out from within her robes, and fitted it to the lock on the chest.

"So that's not normally here, then?" I knew the answer, but the mysteriousness was getting to me.

"No, it was left by your suitor." She pulled out several torches, and handed them to the apprentices. They started putting them in the stone sconces on the edge of the circle.

"My suitor?" I laughed.

"Well," she grinned up at me, "The one you're going to fuck, anyway."

I watched as the apprentices lit the torches, casting an orange glow on everything. I could already see by the moonlight, but the torches showed that the carvings that extended to the roof of the tower. The story of creation that began at the base culminated here, with the meeting of man and dragon, and what happened then. The whole thing was intertwined around a cut out seven pointed star. The torches stood at its points.

I was overwhelmed with the feeling of age of the place. The Aerie was an old, old place of magic. This was real, and it was going to work. I was sure of it. The sound of chains clinking together distracted me from my thoughts, and I turned to see Jayne holding up four iron cuffs. "Irons?" I asked.

"For our sacrifice," she said. "I guess you aren't supposed to move around." She gestured to the altar. "Sit there."

I sat down on the end of the stone altar. It was surprisingly warm in the night air. Jayne knelt in front of me, and chained one leg to the altar. "Should I take these off?" I asked, gesturing to my chainmail outfit.

Jayne looked up at me from between my legs, her gaze stopping for a moment on my crotch and breasts. It wasn't sexual, just assessing. She looked at me with a wry grin. "No, that's not necessary, or desired." I laughed, there was that. A Medrhi warrior in garb is usually pretty ready to move from fighting to fucking. Nothing was really in the way of anything.

She locked down my other leg, and told me to lie down. I did, and she moved to my right, took my wrist, and clamped one of the irons around it. She bent down, and attached it to the altar's hooks. She walked around to the other side, and attached my left wrist to the altar. I had to wonder why something like the tower had tie-down rings on its altar. I tried not to dwell on that.

Instead, I pulled on the chains to test them -- I had no intention of going anywhere, but I needed to know. I had a little movement -- enough to help, but not stop the sex. The chains themselves were plenty strong, if a little uncomfortable. No one promised me comfort, after all. They promised me power.

Now that I couldn't move, I could feel myself getting hot. I took a deep breath, and looked up at the moon.

The apprentices finished lighting the torches, and I realized just how bright it was up there. Seven torches is quite a lot of light. I realized that while no one could see me or Jayne, everyone in town knew something was going on up here. I turned my head to the hatch we came up, and saw Jayne usher the apprentices out.

She closed the hatch behind her, and locked it. I raised my eyebrow and wonder just what was going to happen. I pulled against my chains a bit more, just for reassurance. I think it worked, a little. It made my nipples crinkle up a bit though. I was more than ready to have sex, at least. I held on to that thought -- it was something I understood.

Jayne began walking clockwise around the circle, muttering to herself. As she passed the torches, they changed color in the order of the chakras. Red, orange, yellow, and all the way to violet. I think they were even brighter than they were before. The people of Winterhaven were getting a show tonight.

I looked up at the moon, and tried to wait for whatever would happen. I reached for my power, just to see if it was happening yet, and felt nothing beyond my own arousal and expectation. My sister was standing above my head, facing me, calling out in a language I didn't quite understand.

That's when I saw it. Unfurled wings high above stretched from one side of the moon to the other. A roar that would wake all of Winterhaven, and a gust of flame to punctuate the point.

Dragon.

Kadja: Gaining Power 2/4

2010-08-12T09:00:00.002-04:00

(MF mast bondage dragon magic)

My sister, Jayne, is a natural Erosceror. She's gotten training, and told me enough about it to understand how power flows through the chakras of the human body Chakras are little centers of anima within the body of all living creatures. Humans have seven primary ones, and several smaller ones. The primary ones run from the base of the spine all the way to the top of the head.

Like her, my strongest chakra is the second one, centered on the womb in women and with the power of sex, feelings, and desire. Unlike her, I don't have access to my personal magic. Most people can't do much with their power: usually that is because they don't have much.

Some people have a lot of power but don't seem to use it. They are still successful, sure, but they'd be exponentially more successful if their chakras were open. I'm in the latter category. I'm good at what I do, but if Jayne is right, then I have a lot more going for me than skill and practice can get me. All I need to do is to learn to open my chakras to the anima around me.

But I've never been able to. As far back as I can remember, Jayne has been able to do such wonders, while I had to struggle on my own. It worked okay, it kept us alive on the streets of Winterhaven. She did certain things well, keeping us warm and taken care of, and out of trouble. Sorcery of any kind, particularly second-chakra sorcery can only get you so far in the material world. That's where I came in. Jayne says my third chakra, which governs motion, is almost as bright as my second. I've never been still, and I've always been spry. I didn't always do the right or legal thing, but I kept us alive.

Jayne finally found a Master to teach her how to use her power, and I found Mistress Travia to teach me my own. We didn't have to live on the streets anymore, but we still struggled to get by. And that would just be harder without Travia's support. Jayne would be fine, but I'd be totally on my own.

To avoid being on my own, normally I'd turn to my lover Malkem. He was my main male companion and primary lover; he was also out of town. He'd finished up his training a few months before, and had taken a job as a caravan guard. He was Medrhi as well, but of a different school. We'd argue about whose was a better school, which often led to combat-inspired sex. He wouldn't be home for a few months, so I had found other amusements. I'm sure he did the same; no Medrhi schools revere abstinence.

So I was a bit indisposed when I finally saw Jayne again, two days after my meeting with Travia, and still sooner than I'd expected. I'dd spent the last two days getting drunk, getting laid, and sleeping in. I was working hard on a third day when she showed up. The bar got quiet when she walked in -- not because she didn't belong, but because of the air about her.

She walked over to my table and gave the men on either side of me a look which caused them to get scarce. No one in their right mind wants to deal with an irate Erosceror. But sometimes they're your sister. Most of the regulars knew her, of course, so it wasn't hard to tell something was up. I quickly drank half my ale, and pushed a drink across to her.

"Hiya, sis," I slurred. "Have a drink."

"Antonio said you might be drowning you sorrows."

"He told you that, eh? Well tell the bastard that they swim pretty good."

"You're lucky we were interrupted," Jayne ignored me. "The ritual we were working on takes two weeks. You only have one."

"Five days, now," I said. "And it'll be my anniversary."

She sighed at me, and took my hands. "C'mon. Let's go home."

Home was on the second story of the tavern, a one-room apartment we shared. It wasn't much, but it was ours. And it was above my favorite bar, after all. "Don't wanna go," I countered.

"Sure you do. It's nice and warm and s oft in our bed upstairs. You can sleep and dream pleasant dreams." She squeezed my hands, and looked me in the eyes while she talked to me. She smiled held me for a moment when she finished.

"Uh, sure," I said. My head wasn't very clear, and it seemed like she was right. Time to sleep.

We walked upstairs, leaning on each other as we climbed. She let me to our bed, pulled down the covers, and tucked me in. I wasn't wearing much,anyway -- I rarely do. She started getting ready for bed herself. "Tomorrow you can tell me all about it."

"Yeah. Mistress said to talk to you." I mumbled a bit, the bed sapping my strength and luring me off to sleep.

"She did? Travia wanted you to talk to me?" She stopped and touched me on the shoulder, getting my attention.

"Yeah, 'Tell your sister I sent you to her' she said." I yawned, and snuggled under our fur blankets.

"Really," Jayne said. She kissed my forehead. "Sleep dear sister, sleep. I'll be back in the morning."

And with that, she was gone. Or I was just asleep. I don't really remember.

What I do remember is waking up the next morning, my sister hovering over me in her robes from the night before wielding two hot mugs of kava, and my head pounding from the night before. For the first time in days, I didn't just want more ale to fight the ache. I took the mugs of kava from her, as she slipped into bed next to me, like we used to do as children to confide and comfort.

I handed her back her mug, and sipped my own. She wrapped her hands around the mug, and said. "So. Tell me about it." I told her about my fight with Antonio, and my discussion with Mistress Travia. She knew most of it, about how I couldn't sense my chakras the way she has always been able to do.

She looked at me. "There is nothing in you stopping this from happening. You can do this for yourself. There's no need for special measures."

"And what have you ever suggested that I haven't tried, Jayne? I've meditated, and focused. Don't tell me that Travia's training doesn't require discipline and control. I've listened to you tell me about your training, and your sense of magic, and I've tried. But it's not there, it won't respond to me, and it won't do what I want."

"It's your power, Kadja. Yours to be claimed. You can do this."

"Almost twenty years, Jayne. That's how long I've tried to do this. Seeing you, my big sister with her easy magic, and just trying to be like you. Nineteen years, I've tried. All of my life I've tried. If I couldn't honestly do it before now, how am I going to do it in five days?"

"Four now," Jayne said, looking away from me.

"Right. Thanks for setting me straight, sis." I leaned back against the headboard, holding my kava, and not looking at my sister. She did the same, and we lay there, the old argument and jealousies between us.

"There's another way," she whispered. "It has risks. It can leave you beholden."

"But I would have my power?" I asked, still staring into my kava.

"Access to it, yes. You'll still need training, for instance. You'd still need to claim your power, but you'd be able to touch it."

"The training I will get from Mistress Travia. She's promised me that much. And it is my power, right? If it's mine, it's mine." I reached out to her, and turned her to face me. "Tell me how it is done."

"It's a ritual. I can help perform it, but I need another's help. Three nights from now, I want you to meet me at the gate to Temple Hill. We'll do the ritual there."

"What kind of ritual?"

"You know what kind of ritual," she said. "I'm an Erosceror, you're Medrhi. You know where our magic comes from."

I nodded. "Okay, I can do that."

"There's one more thing," she said. "No sex. No masturbation. Don't come anytime in the next three days."

"You're kidding me."

"No, I'm serious. It's important for the ritual. It builds power in the sacral chakra, which we'll release during the ritual."

I sighed, and nodded. "Okay, I can see that. Three nights is the full moon."

"Right," Jayne said. "That's convenient, but not required. I need to organize things, and you need to fast from sex. Those are the key things."

I nodded. "I'll be there," and drank my kava.

"You can do this," she said rising from bed. I pouted at her. "You should get out, use the excess energy. Maybe do some prowling."

I smiled at that. She opened the door to go out. "You're not going to sleep?" I asked.

"Too much to do," she smiled. "Take care. See you three nights from now."

She put on her slippers, and set her kava on the table, and slipped out the door. She was going to be busy, great. I just got all the stuff I liked to do taken away. I couldn't fuck, which meant I couldn't drink, and I better not fight either. I drank down my kava, and lay back in bed wondering what I'd do.

Kadja: Gaining Power 1/4

2010-08-11T09:00:00.007-04:00

(MF mast bondage dragon magic)

I grinned at Antonio, and pulled out my knives. Antonio was topless, wearing just a brief loincloth that flapped in the breeze. Not that I was wearing much either: a leather halter that ended just under my breasts, and a pair of leather shorts that just covered my ass. Mistress Travia, our trainer, thinks I should wear a loincloth like Antonio, but with tits like mine, I don't need to show more.

Plus, I like all that leather gripping my ass and nether parts. Helps make me horny, and that's the key to fighting.

The daggers help too, of course -- they are my choice for getting in close and personal. Antonio drew his sword and readied his shield. His fighting style is more visual, so he tends to want to stand back. Me, I'm all about the touching and rubbing. But then we are Medrhi, and that's the way we do things.

Travia shouted out "Go!" and we closed with each other. While I ran to get inside his reach, Antonio did that thing he does, where he stands there completely open, his skin glistening with oil or sweat, and something surges underneath his loincloth. He's predictable in doing that, and I was ready for it, but I still felt a flush begin to form, and a twitching between my legs.

I know it's part of being a Medrhi warrior, and while I'm very good at the fighting, I just don't seem to possess the ability to arouse my enemies. I mean, I know Antonio, we've been friends for years, and he's gayer than hell, and totally off my "to do" list. But here I was panting at the stuff beneath his shorts. And even if training had left me with no doubts about what was there -- I still wondered. At least this time, I kept from licking my lips.

"Don't be afraid of your lust, Kadja. Use it, it is your power as a human being, as an attractive woman. Tap into it, and strike at his loins with your power."

I wanted to argue, but I'd made all the arguments I could. Yes, Antonio was gay, and not the least bit interested in my body. But the power shouldn't matter. He was a sexual being, and the Medrhi can tap into that in any creature. Or so Travia had told me, over and over. I tried to reach into myself, as they taught, to tap into my power as Antonio had done and got what I always got: nothing.

I could do this, I told myself. I was a better fighter than him, a better sneak, more agile, everything except the inability to tap into my power. It was time to use my full knowledge. I could coax the power out, or defeat him in some other way.

I looked into his eyes with lust in my heart, and a promise of something. I needed to get under his reach, rub up against him with my thighs and ass, my breasts and lips. Anything to distract him for that take-down blow.

His sword swept around to me, and I parried with one dagger, his shield blocking my thrust with the other. I pressed my breasts against his chest, shimmying just a bit, to draw his eyes and give me the opening I needed. He pushed me back, and I jumped with it, flashing my thighs at him in a sweet back flip. He swung his sword again, and we began to parry back and forth. He was trying a new pattern today, and I let myself fall into it for a moment, to figure it out.

That was it, I noticed. A moment when he slightly extends himself, with his shield blocking my two daggers. One more round of this, I thought, while I turned on the charm. I shimmied and lured. If he'd been a straight man, he'd be at my feet. Instead I got more of his pattern. The sword extension came around, and I grinned at him. He grinned back, his body gleaming in the sun. I took a deep breath as I ducked under his overextended sword, and pulled up inside his reach.

I swung my dagger for his throat, and noticed -- just for a moment -- a twitch of him beneath his loincloth. I smiled, thinking I had an effect on him. It was enough to distract me from his shield as it swung for my head. I woke up, woozy on the ground, Antonio standing above me, offering me hand up.

"Very good, again, Antonio," Mistress Travia said. "Kadja, my office after you clean up. We need to talk."

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," I swore under my breath. I looked up at Antonio. "So this is it."

"The power is in you," he said. "I can feel it."

"Yeah, the problem is that it's trapped in there."

He shrugged. It was an old exchange. I glanced at him as he walked away, and my desire to do him faded back to nothing.

If only I could make him want me that much.

That was the core of my problem, really, and one I pondered while I showered. Fighting always got me hot and bothered, and fighting Antonio doubly so. We were friends, after all we had similar interests: men, the Medrhi fighting style, men, skimpy clothes, and men. I was attracted to him a little, and in lust with him because of the way we fought, and he was completely unattainable. At least my fingers weren't unobtainable.

Yes, I'm a woman and I like to masturbate. Is that so surprising to you? My lover says my second chakra shines bright like the sun when I do. It proves I'm enthusiastic about sex, at the very least. Right now I was horny from the battle, and needed to relax before talking to Travia. Plus a good come would wipe away the feeling of defeat from yet another loss. And put off what I knew was the inevitable result of our talk.

The grotto behind our training area has a hot spring that spills down like a waterfall. I like to lie under it, the warm water cascading over my breasts, and down between my thighs. I lay there, my right hand between my legs, opening my sex to the warm water. My left hand on my breasts, playing with my nipples, squeezing them until they hurt.

There's a certain amount of pain involved in being a warrior, and I liked that too. It fed my power, which would be great if I could touch it. I opened myself to it as I lay there, two fingers sliding on either side of my clit rubbing back and forth, faster and faster.

The water drowned out all other noise, and all other places. For a moment I forgot about my problems, trying to be fully me, and to touch my magic. I didn't feel it stirring, but I was used to that. Other stirrings I did notice. Antonio sloshed into the water, taking care of his own needs. I closed my eyes, and arched back in the water, feeling it cascade over my face and pound against my neck and breasts.

I glanced at Antonio, who was openly masturbating as well. His hard cock poking out. I wanted it, but would never have it. I watched, though, and felt my own orgasm building. I willed it to be a good one, as it might be my last here. The hot water flowed over me, and I pinched my clit just a bit, and pulled on my nipples hard with my other hand. My orgasm crashed upwards through my body and I cried out in pleasure, shaking beneath the waterfall.

I came down from my orgasm, and Antonio must have come as well. His hand was on my arm, and I let him enfold me in his arms, and I cried against him. "I don't even like girls, Kadja," he said. "But anyone who can come like that... would make a great Medrhi. You can do this."

I wanted to kiss him then, but disengaged before going to far. "Thanks," I said. "But if it hasn't happened yet, when exactly is it supposed to?"

He didn't say anything, but didn't need to. It's not like it was the first time we'd had the conversation. Usually it took a few beers before I got this sappy. As I cleaned up and prepared to present myself to Mistress Travia, I wondered if it was okay to be good enough, when I had the capacity to be great. A sinking part of me thought I'd already failed the chance at greatness.

Travia insisted on proper Medrhi dress, so I put on my best chainmail bikini. The bottoms hung like a loincloth,and the mail bit into my breasts, but it was what she wanted. I centered myself, and took a deep breath before heading to Mistress Travia's receiving room.

The room was half business office and half sybaritic bedroom. She made it work. It was mostly decorated in shades of red from blood to ruby, lit by orange lamplight as a reminder of the source of our power. Citrus incense burned, giving the room a clean feel, but I knew she had heavier, more aromatic herbs to lend a different feel.

Her desk was covered with a fine cloth, and decorated with exotically shaped perfume bottles. Behind it sat a plush leather chair that sat at an angle, making it easier for her to slide into a velvet divan. The divan, where she lounged now, was surrounded by pillows suitable for kneeling or lying upon, or other sensual activity. Beside the divan, in easy arms reach were her arms and armor, and a reading crystal that surely contained our contracts and other pertinent information.

I knelt on one of the pillows near the head of the divan. I was practiced at that, and my rings of my bikini tingled as they shifted, hinting at seductive parts of my body. Travia nodded at my use of her craft, and I just hoped it would be enough.

She touched my right temple, and cocked her head as she looked at me with more than her eyes. "It arouses you then, to fight. Even in loss."

"Yes," I said. "Antonio's power helps with that."

"True," Travia said. "But you were aroused before that."

"It helps to feel it," I said. "To make them believe in the seduction."

"You are right in that," Travia sighed. "You have learned my lessons well, Kadja.

"No one here moves as deftly as you when you fight. Few are as capable as you are with blades. You are beautiful in your own right, and very capable of seduction." She smiled a knowing smile at the last, and I closed my eyes, and bent my head to her.

"Thank you, Mistress." I closed my eyes, and pressed my fingernails into my palms, knowing what would come next.

"But--," she paused. "But, I cannot teach you anymore if you do not touch your power. You can do this thing, Kadja. It is natural and right. I do not know why you block yourself."

"I-- I'm not blocking myself! I want to open my power, I tried to open my power during the fight, and after in the grotto. I try so many times a day, and nothing. Nothing ever. Jayne can't explain it either, she never had this problem."

"Few with your sister's level of power do," Travia said. "Or of yours."

"So what, then?" I could feel tears running hotly down my cheek. "You are done with me then?"

"No, not yet." She hesitated. "But there is no more I can teach you until you do. In a week's time will be your seventh year here, training with me. At your majority, three years ago, you were almost as good with a blade as you are today. Three years is normally enough time to integrate a trainee's sexuality with their skills and get their skills even close to the level of yours.

"You've spent those three years stagnating. I would love to teach you to fully be a Medrhi warrior, but it behooves me to let you out on the world and make your way as you are. You will be good at it, and learn much more outside of these walls."

"But--. But--"

Her hand slid off my forehead, and wiped at my tears. She pressed a finger to my lips. "Shh, child. You have seven days. Develop the ability use your power, even a trickle of it, and I will train you as best I can, and keep you as my apprentice until you master it. But if you do not... Kadja, if you do not, then there is nothing more for me to teach you."

That had the air of finality that told me she'd made up her mind. "Yes, Mistress."

I rose then, and began to back out of her office. "Kadja. Tell Jayne of this, and that I sent you to her. There may be a way that her Master knows."

"Yes, Mistress. I will," I whispered.

I walked back to the grotto to grab my street things. I could have gone in my bikini, but right at that moment, it felt like a lie. I had seven days. I'd had seven years. How were seven days going to help?

Kadja

2010-08-10T13:53:00.000-04:00

I'm posting a story, that according to Google Docs, I edited 18months ago. Why wait so long when the story is finished? Well I wrote it for my wife, Kat Tortuga, and I've considered it her story for some time. The novel that I spent most of last summer writing was based on this story and the character and world veered a bit, and will most likely do so again.

So, this story isn't canonical and it wasn't written for publication, and, I admit, I'm not sure how I feel about the character. She's strong and complicated (in my mind at least) yet wears skimpy outfits and uses her sexuality to succeed. Her personality and style are perfect for Kat, but I admit to questioning it a bit over the past year and a half. Re-reading the story I find that I like it, it's fun, and I'm happy with that.

It's the first piece I wrote with fighting in it, and I've found that writing a fight scene is a lot like writing a sex scene, particularly for Medrhi warriors. They both depend on advancing goals (winning, orgasm) and physical descriptions of action that have to be believable and visual in the reader's mind. I think I did pretty well for my first foray into it.

I still hope to revisit these characters, and do something more complex and nuanced, but at her heart, Kadja is a sneaksy warrior who likes her loot and dragons and sex.

First part goes up tomorrow, which is Kat's birthday, and the remaining three parts will be up Friday, Monday and Wednesday.

Enjoy!

Osprey University

2010-04-27T12:22:00.000-04:00

I think it's the gamer in me that makes me revel in creating settings. I like situations, certainly -- a lot of BDSM erotica is about interesting situations. But I like settings: places to play and tell stories in. I think that's why a lot of my stories secretly fit into two or three 'universes' other than the real one. One of those universes that I've returned to time and time again is the universe of "William H. Osprey University." I've only ever published one story, Body Double, which was set in that universe, but there are thousands upon thousands of words in my work in process folders which fits one way or another into this universe.

{Body Double can be read on my ASSTR website. It's not bad, and was one of the longest things I've written/published until recently. It suffers from confusion and drift, but was fun to write. It's been close to a decade since I wrote it, and may not be my best work, for what it's worth.}

I recently had an idea that seems to be shaping up into a nice story or sequence of stories about a bit of technology that nicely fit into the Osprey universe. I'm working on it now, and thinking of rewriting Body Double so it fits better and makes more sense, particularly since one of the character in the new story is Alyson's roommate from Body Double. So, I thought it'd be nice to write a bit out my setting, and my plans about it.

William H Osprey University, or "WHO U" or just "Osprey University" is a small private university near Greensboro, NC. [Technically, Osprey, the city, and Osprey University sit in the same location as Elon, NC, about twenty miles east of Greensboro.] William Osprey was a man interested in science and learning and had, perhaps, too much money. At his death, he left an endowment that founded William H Osprey College, and set its goals of creating an excellent academic institution.

The College did fairly well, turning out top quality scientists until the 50s, when things were getting slim. North Carolina formed the UNC system, which was cheaper and more accessible to students, and things were looking bad for a small college in a small town. One of the alumni, one with perhaps stranger ideas, created an endowment to the school, again for the sciences. He preferred fringe science, but didn't require the school to consider that; he did, however, set up incentives for academic scholarships, and got Osprey enough money to convert to full University status.

A couple of the first scientists recruited, and selected by the alumnus, were successful in some of their experiments with Kirlian photography and parapsychology. One of those scientists went quite mad, and had to be imprisoned after threating to make sex slaves of the cheerleading team

Since that time, Osprey has grown its science departments with all manner of strange and fringe science. They've added a full medical school, and offer more academic scholarships than any other school in North Carolina, and perhaps the American South. There's also a bit of a reputation for eccentricity, if not outright madness, amongst the Osprey Faculty.

Still, their science seems to create results, no matter how fantastic or weird.

I suspect that if he were in the same Universe, Otto Von Madd would have attended Osprey, but left because they were to staid for his theories. Like many graduate student alumni that weren't offered permanent positions, he's sure to show them, show them all.

Most of the stories I've written or envisioned for Osprey revolve around auras and aural connections -- it plays a key role in Body Double, as well as the first (unpublished) Osprey story, Time Enough. Later ones picked that up as a key element, as well as the story I'm currently working on, "The Empathy Machine." It's probably not confined to that, but it's nice to have a thematic element to tie the stories together (besides the basic setting, anyway).

Transgression and Kink

2010-02-10T09:00:00.002-05:00

I've written quite a bit about transgression and liminal spaces on my other blog, devoted to games. This is a topic where I think there's some overlap between games-as-play and sex-as-play. I've linked to the longer topics here, but let me recap quickly what I mean by those terms.

Transgression, and transgressive activities are those that break a social more. This is not a definition about what is and isn't legal, but what is considered by society to be moral. It's possible to step from normal space, to an alternate space where the transgression you're committing isn't immoral. It's still immoral from society's viewpoint, but it isn't in the new space or society. Those kinds of spaces are what I call liminal spaces.

Anytime we play, we set up rules about what is going to happen -- sometimes it's implicit and sometimes it's explicit -- and inside that playspace there is an understanding that some rules are only valid inside it, and within it, that when we step outside of it, the rules are gone or different. I also believe that all morally acceptable kink exists withing a play space like that.

I think it's easy to see that kink isn't really socially acceptable. It may be condoned by law, and more or less tolerated, but I don't think it'll ever be really acceptable (if it becomes so, then I think kink will move out along other extremes, in order to stay unacceptable. Why I think that is another post.) But really, something like "beating your spouse" that's not just morally unacceptable, it's probably illegal.

As kink practitioners, however, within our society we don't think it's necessarily wrong to beat your spouse, with one all-important proviso: consent. I don't know how much non-kinky people think about consent, but as a kinky person, that boundary line of kink defines the space I'm in. When I evoke it, with my partner, then we are in a different space where it's okay to do certain, negotiated things, and in fact, it's rather fun. We get something from that space as well, we become slightly different people -- yes, facets of our true selves, but with some changes in priority. For some people it's a dangerous space, where they are afraid, but safely so -- with the boundary there protecting them, and the ability to remove the boundary, and dissolve the space entirely.

With Girl, our original negotiations were detailed and specific, setting out the boundaries of our play. I pushed at them, because that's where the most fun is, but I stayed within them. Girl (and I) had, and have, the power to abolish a scene at any time if things aren't going the way we want. We did that some at the first -- it was as important for me to know that she would exert her boundaries as it was for her to know that I'd respect her exertion.

Thus we established the trust and now call up that space whenever we want to. We still negotiate at the edges of the space, and talk about where we'd like to go, and what we'd like to try. The boundaries are in flux, at one moment flexible, yet in another completely firm.

This liminal space lets us get into dom- and sub-space, where we let those aspects of our personality come to the fore, and take us over. I can be as cruel as that part of me desires. I don't need to control it myself, like we all do, as we've been trained by society. I have put in place another rule that will stop me if it's too much.

We leash our desires to the boundaries of the liminal space -- to consent itself -- always knowing that we can hit the safety switch and step away. Then it becomes safe to be slave to our desires, and that is where the wonderment of the experience comes from. Note, for instance, that other than 'beating my spouse' --which is just an example -- I've not said anything about the activities themselves, just that they are outside the society's norms and morality.

Consent is also key here. The liminal space of play doesn't exist without it. That means to me that rape cannot be BDSM. Spousal abuse cannot be BDSM. Torture cannot be BDSM. BDSM can look like all those things, but at its' core, surrounding and placing it in a different context, is the consent of all the participants.

e[Lust] #6

2010-01-26T19:40:00.000-05:00

HNT Courtesy of Having My Cake And Eating It Too

Welcome to e[lust] - your source for sexual intelligence and inspirations of lust from the smartest & sexiest bloggers! Whether you’re looking for hot steamy smut, thought-provoking opinions or expert information, you’re going to find it here. Want to be included in e[lust] #7? Start with the rules, check out the schedule in the site’s sidebar and subscribe to the RSS feed for updates!

~ This Week’s Top Three Posts ~

Exposing My Self to Airport Security - I stared right at her until she looked away and called for assistance for a pat-down search. I gaped, chin dropped: holy shit, they're gonna give me a pat down cuz I'm packing a silicon cock.

Prefect’s Prerogative - When I neglect this duty, or don't perform it to his satisfaction, he makes me light a fire in his room, and stand in front of it in just my school shirt and white socks.

Attention Women: There is Something Wrong With Your Vagina - Yes, that’s what your vagina needs: a breath mint. Because, just like vagina shouldn’t smell like vagina, it also shouldn’t taste like vagina.

~ e[lust] Editress ~

The Perfect Fat – Why do clothes designers assume that if you're plus-sized you're 1. over 5?9? and 2. over the age of 45 or “matronly and modest”? At the age of 32 I am not yet ready to dress like my grandmother.

~ Featured Post (Lilly’s Pick) ~

Zipless- “I have some Scotch in my room—maybe you’d join me? You know, in the interest of not drinking alone…” She smiled. Perhaps she could yet salvage the day’s ending.

See also: Pleasurists #61 for all your sex toy review needs.
Also in recent sex news, check out the coverage of the Adult Entertainment Expo that happened in Las Vegas a couple weeks ago. You’ll see videos and articles from our fellow sex-bloggers on fun things like a rodeo penis and new sex toys not even on the market yet!

Sex News, Interviews, Politics & Humor

Arousal is not consent
Psychosexual: Does the G spot exist? Do I care?
Reputable Help for Haiti
Squicked
That'll be 151 Nickels
The Case of the Mysteriously Vanishing G-spot
Transtastic: Joking About Being Trans
Vegas – Day One – Diva’s Quick Recap
Vegas – Day One – Tess’s Thoughts
Why Don’t They Just LEAVE?

Kink & Fetish

Anatomy of a Mindfuck
Bad Submissive
Claiming: Go Pantiless After
Dating Refresher
Electric fuck
Fetishes and me
Kinky With Class
Laziness never pays off
Piercing reversal
Resolution
Titty Fuck
The Coffee Date, Part 2
The Job Interview
Without Reason

Thoughts & Advice on Sex & Relationships

BDSM Relationship Advice for Newbies
Greedy For The Verse
Hang Ups and Hand Jobs
Ivy Madden
If she had just been a better wife…
Insomnia
Swinging
The Sexiness Beneath
Weightlessness

Erotic Writing

42DD
A Different Kind of Fuck
Across the Room
All in a Play Party’s Night
Amazing Night
Bedtime Story
Behind You
Breathe and Let Go
Done by a Clown
Evening Home
Glow
Lick You As Long As You Like
Moments of Clarity
Naughty Neighbor
Saturday Night’s Alright (For Swapping)
Sex and Video Games
Slip sliding away
The Slut Chronicles #11 ~ The Dinner Party
Thursdays
Tyler
Visitors in my Bedroom
Wicked Wednesday: Altitude
When you Talk About Maelee

Thursdays

2010-01-14T09:05:00.002-05:00

Thursdays (MF Rom)

I checked the time on my phone. It read "3:56" just as my computer made that shutdown noise. Perfect. I'd worked through lunch just to achieve this. I pulled on my jacket, keeping the phone in one hand and texted while one of my fellow escapees pressed the down button. "You home?" I sent, my phone chirped as it sent the message and the elevator binged its arrival.

I'd have to wait for the reply -- the elevator blocked my service. But I could wait, I was in an awesome mood, because it was a Thursday. Thursdays used to suck -- they were the worst day of the week; they're near the end of a tiring workweek, and you still have to drag your ass out of bed one more time. But now, though, Thursdays are the best weekday ever. Why? The simple answer: Girl Scouts.

My phone didn't beep in response until I sat on the bus. I tapped the face, and brought up the message. "Just got home," my wife wrote. "You?" She'd been on the road home when she got the text, but hadn't responded. She might put on makeup at a stoplight, but she never texted while driving. Normally at this time of day she'd be outside our daughter's school, waiting for her class to come filing out. But today our six-year-old Brownie was at her Girl Scout's meeting, and would be until six.

"Bus just left with me on it," I tapped out and sent. I love our girl, but she's six. Until they're two or three, they don't really understand what's going on around them. For the next couple of years, they go to sleep early and the adults get some time alone in the evenings. Once they're ready for kindergarten, though, they're talking and aware and demanding attention. Sure, you can give them an early bedtime, but they're just as likely to wake up with nightmares right in the middle of 'adult alone time'.

My phone chirped, "How far?"

"About halfway." I responded. "Are you in bed yet?"

I love my wife. We're good together, like pieces of a puzzle. We're separate individuals but we complement each other perfectly. When our daughter came to us with the flyer from school wanting to join Scouts, we looked at each other, our gazes immediately catching each other. It was just for a split second, but every book in the Library of Congress could have passed through that gaze. "I can," I said to her then, nothing else. She knew what I meant.

She turned to our little girl, "I think that's a fabulous idea!" and then proceeded to make plans for uniforms and cookies.

My phone made a slightly different noise, this one for when I get a picture. I arched my eyebrow and opened it up. It was a crappy picture -- her phone has no flash -- but I could see enough. Naked flesh, a leg, and thigh-high socks. Oh, and the bright white of her Hitachi vibrator. "Short meeting today," was the accompanying text.

The bus thrummed beneath me, vibrating just a bit, and I settled my laptop bag on my lap, pressing down a bit, giving some pressure to my erection. I'd been getting more aroused as I'd gotten closer to home, but the photo had pushed me to full readiness. And I still had minutes to go before I got home. "Socks?" I texted back. "You mean you're not naked yet?"

I was already thinking about it of course, and it was a few minutes before she responded. I watched the stops slip by. The trip at four is much faster than the one an hour later, where it feels like we stop at every possible place. I urged the bus on faster, and scowled at people who pulled the cord, stopping the bus. And pressed my bag down on my lap, feeling the pleasant pressure of my hardness and the vibrations of the bus.

A second photo arrived, still featuring the Hitachi Magic Wand, but this time no socks or any clothes, and a hint there, of my wife's breasts. I looked at it and sighed. Even after all these years together, I still wanted her. And now, once a week we had the time to sate that want. The picture was crappy, and the guy next to me was kind of curious what it was. I held the phone away from his view, and lost myself in it. Frankly, I almost missed my stop.

Almost, but not quite. "Getting off," I messaged my wife.

"Me too," was the almost instant response.

I checked my phone again for time, it was a bit after 4:30. Normally, meetings ran until 5:30 or 6, but this one was short, evidently. I let the laptop fall in front of my body while I walked off the bus, letting it hide my erection, while still giving a bit of stimulation to it. Well, my wife would be ready. I'd be ready too.

The front door was unlocked when I walked up the stairs. It's not the way she comes in, but she knew how I'd arrive, and planned for it. She got home before me and had more time, so she'd done it. I smiled at the thought she'd put into things, and let my laptop bag slide off my shoulder onto the desk inside the door. I kicked off my shoes, and started undressing as I moved up the stairs and to our room.

I left a line of clothes on the floor, but didn't call out. She'd have heard the door, and knew I was nearly there. I rounded the landing to the top floor, pulling my socks off as I went. Our bedroom door was at the end of the hall, and I was down to my underwear. My wife was on her knees, right by the edge of the bed.

I shoved my underwear down, letting my cock bounce free, and stepped into our bedroom. I could smell her arousal. I could see how wet she was. I walked up behind her, and slid right inside of her with one stroke. We let out sighs in unison as we joined, perfectly, easily.

I settled my hands on her hips, steadying myself, and began to fuck my wife.

God, how I love Thursdays.

Thanks to Tam and Joessam for editing, and SweetSpiced for the nice photographs

From the Archives: Thoughts of Him

2009-04-14T09:57:00.003-04:00

This piece was written by a much younger man, who had substantially less experience than the one writing today. Most of these questions, I've answered in one way or another, although the longing is still there on some days. I used to think this was one of my better pieces, but as I went over it to edit it for the web, I'm less sure of that now.

It was, at it's time, and garnered more comments than my normal work (in which it got 2-3 comments). That's a bit surprising as it is an MM story and those are notoriously un-responded to. (Maybe I posted it in the wrong places).

It feels almost emo, although I'm sure I wrote it before that term became common parlance. It's easily a decade old, and largely autobiographical, although I felt the need to hide it with pseudonyms. That's just as well these days, as the person in this story isn't who I am any longer.

Anyway, for Joessam and SexyWife, here is the older piece, "Thoughts of Him"

Thoughts of Him

(MM, MMF)

What, he wonders, will it feel like to have a man beside him again?

The feel of someone else's cock against his own flesh, rubbing, sliding. Between his legs. Touching his own ready hardness?

And the man's lover there, too. What would it feel like to be between two lovers? Her tits pressed against his back; her hand over them both, pushing and pulling them together. Her leg over his, rubbing her wetness against his thigh.

He remembers the hotel room. Frank's smooth black body next to his pale white one. Jane behind him, touching him with her hand and nothing else. He loses himself in the soft skin of his black lover. Rubbing, sliding, moving. Coming. White jism on ebony skin.

By this time Jane is gone. Frank is still there and gay and doesn't care about his wife. He thinks, All he cared about was my hand, rubbing his cock up and down. So soft. So hard. So hot.

When will he feel that again?

And will he love him this time? Will he like him?

Will the man want more from him, too? Emotion, love, even tenderness? Will the man be as mad for him as he was for Frank? He wonders, will he lose himself in me, if only for a moment?

What does a penis taste like anyway? How does it feel, hard inside your mouth, filling you up. How does it taste, flaccid, wet, surrounded by bitter come?

Frank hadn't had any condoms or tests. It wasn't planned -- it just happened.

If it had been, would the small man have sat on the side of the bed while he knelt -- his mouth going up and down Frank's cock? Would there be someone to do that? Would they want it?

Once, someone had done that for him. He'd fled before he could get the courage to return the favor. But he hadn't even liked him, even if his mouth did feel warm and wet and good as it sucked vacuum-like on his cock, drinking his sperm. No one else, male or female had ever done that.

Would he do it, maybe? Would he?

What will it feel like to have a man beside him again?

And he thought then of all the other places that men had on their bodies. Useless nipples worthy of kisses. The fold of flesh between the cheeks of an ass where a cock can slip back and forth and down into an entirely new place.

Hands to kiss and rub with. Arms to hold and legs to watch.

Skin to touch and feel. Would he be soft or dark or hairy? What will he smell like? What shade the hair under his armpits, on his chest, in a tuft around his balls? Or will he shave, skin smooth and hairless, like Frank, who had cared for his skin -- it was smooth as a baby's bottom, especially his bottom.

He remembered, cupping it with his hands as he rode, his cock sliding on Frank's crotch, cocks rubbing together. Hands touching those tense muscular thighs.

Would the new man have tight muscles? Will he be tight and angular or soft and cuddly? Did it matter?

What will his voice be like when he comes? A gentle Southern drawl? A deep groan of release? Or will he shout, announcing his orgasm to the world? What is his singing voice like?

No man had ever sung to him, but he wanted to be held, encapsulated and sung to. Lullabies. Sweet reassurances. Head leaning on hairy shoulder, rocked back and forth and protected.

And if his woman comes to them then, and wraps her arms around them, naked and inviting, what then? What if Jane would have done that for Frank? Would he have cared?

What will it feel like to have a man beside him again?

And the image flashes through his mind: on his front, legs spread, a man behind him, sliding up and down his ass cheeks, warming the once-cold lubrication. He slows, and shifts, poised at the gateway inside. He shivers. What man to do that? What would it be like to be filled that way?

Or bending a man double beneath him, looking down at him between his legs. Sliding into him, moving up and down. What would it feel like, sunk deep into him? Would he feel the other man's balls, his rigid cock pressing against him?

Or, maybe, fucking the man's wife, reveling in her more familiar feminine flavors. Self-generated wetness around his cock, the walls of her vagina pressing in, pulling his cock. He stops, and the man mounts him from behind, and begins fucking him, his wife through him.

He is just a conduit then, filled up and in turn filling up. Could he stand it? Would it be too much? Or maybe, Jane riding him, moving, and the man taking her from behind. Would he feel that? The other man's cock through the flesh of his wife?

Would the man do that, too?

To be taken by a lustful man. He knew what a man near orgasm was like slamming in and out of a woman -- he had been that man many times. What would it be like to have such a man inside him? Mad with lust, pistoning, driving, coming. Filling him up.

What will it feel like to have a man beside him again?

And then he remembers how Frank kissed him, as they walked hand in hand in the mountain snow. They'd driven up to the mountains to see the snow and weren't disappointed. The six foot high drifts hid their amorous attacks.

Will he want to hold me in public? Will he want to have stolen kisses and hugs? Will he want to just be with me?

Or will he just want to find the nearest hotel, so they can not sleep together, grinding their bodies together in passion.

He thought to himself that he wanted the tenderness, the gentle passion. The stolen moments of the heart.

It was one thing from a woman -- women were just that way. But a man being tender was vulnerable, sweet. Sexy. Magical.

He stopped, and rested his head against his clasped hands. Will he be someone I can love, and hold, and caress? Someone I can grow old with gracefully, or not? Will he love me in return?

And he hoped so. There were so many hopes for a new man. But he knew so little.

What would it be like to have a man beside him again?

What would it be like to have him?

What would it be like?

How would it feel to have a man beside him again?

Slap

2009-04-10T12:00:00.000-04:00

This is a brand new original piece, a short image for your enjoyment and arousal.

Slap

(MF Mdom harsh)

Her face flashes with shock when the blow lands. Her lips form a moue, uncertain and shocked at what happened. Her eyes are a soup of surprise and fear with a dash of defiance. A tear forms at the edge of one eye, and drifts down to her cheekbone. I lick it up, relishing in the saltiness of my creation.

Dark emotions, cold and erotic swirl within me. This is punishment for teasing and denying me, earlier today. I don't punish her often, and never from anger. I'm not feeling anger now. No, this is lust. I slap her again, a bit harder this time.

Her lips still form that same shape, not quite a pout, not quite kiss. The flash of defiance is there and I slap her again as I see it. It quickly fades, as tears slide down both sides.

I lick them off. My cock strains against my pants. She sits there, naked, as I hold her face in my hands and taste her tears.

I kiss her and she kisses me back urgently. "I'm sorry, sorry, sorry," she whispers as I break the kiss.

I lean back, caressing her warm cheek with the backs of my fingers. She turns her cheek into me, to kiss my hand. I slide my other hand into her hair, holding her head tightly. "I know," I say as I lift my hand away from her lips, and slap her again. I can feel her jerk just slightly beneath my hand.

She doesn't quite believe it, even though I promised her I would be cruel. I lick her face and tell her how I love the flavor of her tears. I bring her hands to my crotch so she can feel my hardness.

"Yours," she whispers. "Yours." Nothing else passes her lips, and those words barely do. Other words -- safe words -- could pass but they do not. I am almost satisfied.

It's not just about punishment. It's about reminding her. Of who I am, of who she is.

She is mine, freely given, freely taken. She submits to my rules and is rewarded. She defies them, and is punished.

I slap her again, twice. Harder than I had before.

She whimpers and cries. Her hands fumble at my belt, and push my pants down and over my cock, which springs up for her.

"Yours," she states more confidently, and lowers her mouth over my cock, sucking on it like she needs it to live.

I run my a finger over her cheek, lifting the tear there to my mouth.

"Mine," I say as I savor the flavor.

From the Archives: Whip It Out

2009-04-07T09:07:00.000-04:00

This story started generating in my mind around 9-11, I actually went to lunch while they evacuated downtown Charlotte and started the rough draft of this story. It sat around on hard drives for several years before I resurrected it, cleand it up a bit and posted it ot usenet. It may or may not be on the asstr site, or my other blog. It's also the story that I borrowed heavily from (thematically, anyway) for yesterday's Microfantasy Monday post.

Whip It Out was originally intended to be a trilogy, but I between the long time between inspiration and publication, along with a lukewarm response, I decided to let the trilogy lie. There's always more writing to do, after all. I hope you enjoy it though, I enjoyed writing it.

Whip It Out

(MMMF exhib oral anal bdsm 9/11)

I gasped as the whip cracked right next to my ear. I only felt the sting slightly as the tip of the whip, moving faster than the speed of sound, sliced through my nicest silk shirt, severing the connection at the shoulder. The sleeves were already torn, and the shirt hung only by the left shoulder seam. I began to realize that Damon was going to take off all my clothes before the boys fucked me.

I wondered if he'd use the whip on the blindfold as well, or if I'd be able to see everyone who was watching. With the way I was getting wet I wanted to get fucked hard, and fucked hard in front of all my friends at the party while my husband looked on. Damon was good, I had to admit -- not once had he cut me with the whip, so I was beginning to relax, and not regret the plan that I'd come up with three weeks before.

Then there was another crack of the whip; the left shoulder seam was gone, and my silk shirt folded forward and back, hanging from my breasts and my back where the side-seams held it in place. My cunt gushed as I felt the air on my skin, and I had to admit this was the best volunteer work I'd ever done.

~ o ~

My husband Tim and I were making love slowly. My passion was rising, and about to peak as we listened to the sounds of Tommy Dorsey on the radio when the announcer broke in and told us the news. "This just in -- A jet airliner just crashed into the side of the World Trade Center. We don't know much else right now, but will keep you informed. Oh, my God! Folks, someone just put this in front of me. A second aircraft has crashed into the other tower, causing a huge explosion. I don't know what's going on, but stay tuned, and we'll try to figure it out…"

While the announcer spoke, my husband stopped thrusting into me; I stopped responding. We both stopped, his dick deep in me, him above me, his hands making angry fists out of our blankets. I felt him shrivel inside of me, and roll off. "Tim..." I said.

"Where's the remote?"

I sighed, and rolled over, grabbing the remote. I pointed it at our TV cabinet, turning it on. The wooden doors slid away, and our HDTV powered up. My cunt complained about it’s need, but as soon as I saw those first pictures, I knew our session was over. Tim and I curled up together, and watched the devastation and confusion.

An hour later, when the first tower collapsed, Tim whispered in awe. "I'll have to cancel my trip."

I closed my eyes and held him tightly; he was going there the next day. We were both flying into New York City, but Tim was going to check on his business interests -- in a building which was now just smoke and rubble.

We spent the day watching the news, cuddling and snuggling. CNN had a prominent place, always on the screen, either full size or tiny as we flipped through the other channels, to see how the others were covering the attack. We had lunch brought in, and sent the servants home.

Around six, I cut the television off, and slid down my husband's body, taking his cock in my mouth. Over the years I’ve found that sex is one of the few things to turn back the power of death, and when we're faced with illogical and overwhelming loss, the best thing to do is to fuck. And I don't say that just because I'm a randy slut, either.

Tim's cock hardened in my mouth as I licked and sucked it, pulling in. His cock hardened and lengthened, filling my mouth as I bobbed up and down on him. With one hand I gently played with his balls, and he groaned.

I lifted my mouth off of him then, and ran my tongue around the head of his cock, and into the slit, tasting his pre-cum. That's when I moaned. I slid up his body then, rubbing snakelike against him. I caught his cock between my breasts, squeezing them together, feeling a trail of precum going down my body as I went.

When my lips reached his, I pressed my slit against his cock, and kissed him. "I love you," I whispered.

"I love you, too," he said.

I kissed him then, and jammed my tongue into his mouth. His hands slid up my sides, seeking my breasts. I broke the kiss, and his hands found my breasts squeezing as his thumbs ran over my nipples, teasing. I lifted my pelvis, swirling my hips, finding his cock with my cunt and sliding down onto him.

He flexed within me, and I began to ride him in earnest. He lifted his head to my breasts, suckling on one, teasingly biting my nipples and flicking them with his tongue. I rode harder, impaling myself on his cock, over and over, feeling our groins meet and his cock deep inside of my greedy cunt.

Overwhelmed by the day, I rode him mindlessly and hard. His mouth moved from nipple to nipple, one of his hands slid between us to find my clit, and I started coming as I rode him. He flexed again, and twitched, and I slammed up and down on his cock, grabbing at him with my cunt. He howled then and his cum filled me up. His passion threw me over the edge, and triggered an even more powerful orgasm.

We stayed like that for a moment, while I straddled him. I rolled off of him, and he held me in his arms. I kissed him. "Thank you," he said.

"Thank you," I said back.

"Always," he whispered dreamily. "Always."

And we drifted off to sleep until it wasn't September 11th any longer.

~ o ~

Hands came around me, and lifted my arms, which were then fastened to two chains hanging from the ceiling. I nodded, understanding, after all this dais, and those chains were additions Tim and I had made to the house, for just such occasions as this.

My hands were lifted up, giving Damon clear access to the seams of my silk shirt. The shoulder straps were already gone -- the side seams and my breasts held the shirt barely in place.

He worked the whip quickly -- three cracks from the left severed the side seams there. Three cracks on the right, and my shirt folded outward-- forward and back, being held up by nothing more than the hem of my skirt.

What amazed me was his deftness with the whip. I only felt the slightest brushes of the wind as the whip tore through my garment. He'd even gotten my shirt and not the bra underneath. I never knew Damon had such skill -- perhaps if I had, I would have let him do this a lot sooner.

Either way there was something about it, doing it in front of everyone at my party that made me wet, and turned me on. Fuck, it was hot. I twisted on the ropes, clenching my cunt, waiting for the next blow.

~ o ~

About a week later after 9/11, Tim and I were discussing what to do about it. "Well," Tim said, "We've got some money set aside for giving already. We were going to give it to the sexual abuse hotline, but..."

"We need to give something to the September 11th fund."

"We can give money to both -- you know as well as I do that we can afford it."

"We should hold a fundraiser," I suggested. I admit that the kernel of the idea had been in the back of my mind ever since Tim and I made love after watching the news. Sex to hold back Death, right? And what works for us will work for others.

"And what, sell places at a dinner? Most of these people are going to give to September 11th, too."

"Well, we could make it worth their while," I said, smiling.

"Oh? And how is that?"
"I was thinking of a charity auction. We can hold it here; it's about time we threw another party, anyway. What we can do is this --people give a donation -- then they get one charity dollar for each hundred that they donate. Then we put something up for auction that they can bid on."

"OK, so we want something people are going to donate extra money on. Something they couldn’t normally get then?"

"Right."

"Like what, oh darling wife of mine?"

"I was thinking about me."

"You?" he asked, incredulous. "Our friends? They would pay to get what you so freely give away?"

"Oh, I think any of our friends would pay to have me for three hours, completely at their beck and call, any service I can offer to them." I brushed my hand over his trousers, feeling his erection swell, trying to burst through two layers of material. He liked the idea.

"And what 'services' are those?"

"The usual," I said, stroking his cock through his pants. "Hand jobs, blow jobs." I leaned forward, and whispered in his ear, "Good old American Fucking, and of course...anal sex. I think people would pay for just the blowjob, myself."

"It's that good?"

I slid down to my knees, and undid his fly. "You be the judge," I said. I pulled his trousers and underwear down just far enough for his beautiful cock to spring out. I slid my lips around the head, licking around the shaft, as I brought him deeper and deeper into my mouth until my lips were pressed against his balls.

Tim's hands entwined themselves in my hair, and he began moving my head up and down his shaft. I licked and sucked as he moved my head up and down his shaft, faster and faster. He began bucking into me, then, his cock going in and out of my throat as his excitement grew. I could taste the wonderful elixir of his precum, and then he was shooting into me, his seed pounding against the back of my throat.

I pulled off of him, licking him, cleaning him off. "Now, tell me what was that worth...fifty? a hundred bucks?"

"A hundred easy," my husband said, exhausted.

"And that's a hundred auction dollars. They'll have to give $10,000 just to have that much."

"A ten thousand dollar blow job?" he asked.

"Or more," I said, smiling up at him.

"I think we might have a bidding war," he laughed.

"They'll do it just for the charity," I said.

"Oh, of course," Tim said, and we laughed together.

It only took us two weeks to pull the whole thing together.

By the time the date of the party rolled around, the whole thing had grown, just a bit. Tim thought that it would be "unfair" to some of our less fortunate folks -- or those who'd already given to the September 11th fund -- to force them into an auction with just their own money. That, and I came to realize that if we were only going to auction off one item -- namely me -- I'd also be the only entertainment. I may be a fairly good-looking woman, but I'm not an evening's entertainment all by myself.

Tim disagreed with that point, but it was my reason for accepting his alterations. About a year ago, some friends of ours, the Kinstons, threw a "gambling party". We'd provided some of the tables, and they had slot machines, that sort of thing. While that party became a sex party -- only perhaps by accident -- it meant that the Kinstons had some equipment we could use to "redistribute wealth" amongst our friends in time for the actual auction.

One of our security people used to work in Vegas, so he taught three of our other people to run the various tables: craps, and a couple blackjack tables. We also set up a couple poker tables for those who would prefer that. We knew from experience that our friends were adepts already.

As we were setting them up, I noticed that one of our poker tables had a stain on it. Remembering the cause, I turned to my husband and said, "I am not gambling this year, it just gets me into trouble."

He laughed. "Well I might, I'm keeping a few of the auction dollars for myself tonight."

"Why bid on what you can have anytime?"

"Oh, I thought I'd use them as leverage, or to boost the price. Who knows what might strike my fancy tonight?"

"I'm sure you could find someone to stroke your fancy tonight, hon," I said, moving closer to him.

"Yes," he replied, "but it's more interesting this way."

"Patricia!" a voice called out from behind me.

I turned, "Damon!" I shouted. "I'm so glad you could make it."

Damon Kinston and his wife, Janet, stood in the doorway to our ballroom. "He wouldn't stay away once he knew what the prize was," Janet said smiling. I grinned at Damon, and he patted his hip, where I noticed he had a single tail whip coiled at his waist.

"Oh, no," I said. "You aren't using that thing on me."

"The flyer says we get three hours of your time, and you will do whatever we want. Sounds like you already agreed to it to me," Damon replied.

"It also says no permanent marks, scars, or cutting of the skin," I said.

"Oh, now, hon," my not-so-helpful husband butted in. "You know Damon is an expert with the whip."

"I'd never cut you, my dear. Trust me on that." He leaned forward, and took my hand, brushing it with his lips. "There are other uses for the whip. And anyway, I'd have to win the auction, wouldn't I?"

I eyed him warily. "Damon, you’ll be the first if anyone ever uses a single-tail whip like that on me. I've seen you use it, and I know you're a master. Plus, I'm certain you are an excellent lay."

"Speaking of which," Damon replied, "did you ever get that stain out of the table?"

I blushed at that, and my husband came to my rescue. "Damon, did you and Janet bring the things I asked for?"

"We certainly did, Tim," Janet said. "I've got the case full of fake money we used last year, and the slot machines are being unloaded now. There's also a case of tokens for the machines. How are you going to work this?"

"Well, I think we're going to let the money go at a one-hundred dollar donation per dollar of funny money. We'll probably trade the coins in at four-to-one rate. That way we can cover the tokens already in the machine with part of our donation, and all the auction money will go to charity."

"Sounds excellent," Janet said. I smiled as she took my husband by the arm, and ushered him off. I knew she was attracted to him and it seemed the feeling was mutual.

"If you were smart," I told Damon, "You'd get Tim's share of the money for your wife so you can benefit at the auction."

"Oh, I could never sell her off -- she's way to willful, and I'd never hear the end of it."

"So you aren't going to get Tim's money?"

"Oh, no, she's going to try to get it on her own." He laughed at that for a moment. "By the way, here's our check for ten thousand dollars made payable to the fund. That's one hundred auction dollars, right?"

"You got it." I snapped open the case, and gave him the money, and recorded the donation. We flirted and made small talk while Tim and Janet disappeared. It was still an hour or so before the party would get under way.

~ o ~

The ballroom was our play room -- designed by my husband and I for a party. Of course, I never anticipated having my best and most expensive outfit being whipped off of me and destroyed when I designed the room that way. I had taken my jacket off earlier -- to show off my cleavage, of course -- and I hoped they left the skirt intact, at least, since they matched. It was a wonderful skirt -- long, almost floor-length, with a long slit up the side. Three inches more slit, and it wouldn't be a skirt, but just an expensive rectangle of fabric.

I'd worn a thong panty set -- and a matching bra -- knowing that they'd be seen tonight. I just thought it would be slightly less high-profile. Not that I mind getting fucked in front of a lot of people, or even undressed, really.

I listened, trying to hear what was going on next, waiting, as I shifted my weight, and pulled on the chains. Then I heard the whip, and felt it at my hip. Crack! I felt the touch against the skirt, and then I felt it falling down, taking with it my silken shirt -- now in two pieces -- brushing my legs as they floated down.

So much for keeping the suit intact.

~ o ~

I was still working the door when Janet reappeared about an hour later, with a silly grin on her face. I knew that grin -- I'd seen it in the mirror often enough. She caught up with Damon and carried him off to see to the disposition of the slot machines. Tim followed her down about a half an hour later, after the guests were arriving.

"So you finally came to your own party," I chided him.

"Fashionably late, of course," he said. "After that, I needed a shower." He rubbed his face a bit and waggled his eyes at me.

"And Janet didn't? Were you doing it wrong?"

"No," he whispered in my ear. "She swallows."

I grinned then. Of course she did, this was Damon's wife, after all. "So are you going to give me your donation?" I asked my husband.

"Later, hon," he said, smiling.

"For the fund."

"Oh, yes." He gave me the check, and I counted out two hundred dollars. Just then a man I didn't recognize walked up to the table.

"Evening, Tim," he said.

Tim turned. "Nick!" he exclaimed. "Patricia, this is my old and good friend Nick Webber. Nick, this is my wife and the prize for this evening."

"And what a prize she is," Nick said, taking my hand in his. He was a gorgeous man, fit, tall, blond-haired and blue-eyed. He even smelled nice.

I turned to Tim and asked, "So this is the infamous Nick?"

"Heard of me, have you?"

"I've told her all -- well, most -- of our exploits." They laughed together like old friends.

A woman, a statuesque blonde, perfectly matched to Nick, came in and stood beside him. She wore a beautiful low-cut gown with an elegant black choker locked around her neck. "Master," she said to him, "The car is parked and locked." He didn't have a driver?

"Very good, Tasha." I looked at Tim and his eyes quickly flicked from Tim to Tasha's décolletage, which, I had to admit, was an impressive display. "Tim, Patricia, this is my slave, Tasha." Tasha curtseyed and bowed her head, but otherwise didn't speak.

"You always did have good taste, Nick," Tim said, still eyeing the woman.

"So, Nick," I said to change the subject, "what sort of donation would you like to give?"

Instantly focused on me, he responded "What is the largest donation so far, Patricia?"

"Thirty-thousand,” I said, showing him the register I was keeping.

"Angelina Bower?" he asked.

I nodded in her direction, and he turned to look. "Exquisite," he whispered.

"Lesbian," I said, smiling.

"That doesn't bother you -- a woman in the bidding?" He looked at me, with his piercing blue gaze.

"Oh, no," I said, matching his gaze. "Should it?"

His eyebrow arched. "I'll match her donation." He held out his hand, and Tasha filled it with a checkbook. I wasn't sure where it came from, although Tim probably noticed. Handing me the check, he asked, "So, can I give more later if I want?"

I nodded. "So long as it is before the auction," I counted out three hundred fake-dollars and handed them to him.

~ o ~

I could sense Damon moving around me, admiring my body. All I had left on was my bra and panty set -- neither of which were designed to hide anything. Well, if I'd really wanted to hide anything I wouldn't have come up with this plan in the first place. Most of the people in the room had seen me naked; in fact, I'd had sex with many of them. Few had seen me quite this helpless -- and none of them had seen a single tail used on me before.

Finally the movement around me stopped. CAA-RACK! went the whip, again next to my ear. Then another snap on my hip, followed quickly by two more: first my left hip, the second and last at my other shoulder. A foot wormed its way between my legs, and I widened my stance. The thong, now held up by nothing fell to the floor.

I also felt my bra straps fall down my back, and onto my cleavage in front. One more snap of the whip, and I'd be naked -- save for the blindfold. My cunt twinged, and my scent, freed from the panties, reached my nose.

Damon was skillful with the whip, but, God I hoped they fucked me soon.

~ o ~

About an hour after Nick arrived, most of our guests had arrived, and started gambling, or milling about and talking. I turned the desk over to one of our servants and began working the crowd. I could have had her work the whole night, but working the door allowed me to see who was giving how much. Now I was interested in how that "wealth" was being redistributed.

Bill and Edward Robbins were busy working on the slots. They were brothers who had each been given part of their father's estate to run, and as such only had a little disposable income. Yet, they were handsome, smart, and good company, so I invited them to my party. Not everyone could win, and with their collective one hundred funny-dollars, I didn't even think they would be finalists.

"How's it going, guys?" I asked as I watched them pump tokens into the slots.

"Not bad, overall," Bill said. He was the older brother, he was dressed in a tan jacket and slacks, his brown hair neatly trimmed and combed. "I think we've about tripled our money."

"Impressive," I said.

"Good luck," Edward replied, "That's all it is to slots." The younger brother was dressed similarly to Bill, only he was wearing a loud Hawaiian shirt, and he had been running his hands through his long hair, leaving it a fluttering mess.

"We're trying to build up enough to start with the high rollers back there." Bill jerked his head in the direction of the poker table.

"Well, good luck guys, there's only about 500 funny-dollars worth in the slots, and Damon and Angelina are playing poker. You'll be lucky to hang on to what you've got."

They laughed at that. "By the way," Bill asked, "Since we donated together, can we bid together, or as a group, and still win the 'prize'?"

Since I was the prize, and I knew I'd do anyone who was there that night, I just nodded. "The more the merrier," I joked.

Edward groaned. "Bill, we've got to get to the poker table, so we can lay this sexy goddess."

"I agree, Edward, I agree."

While they cashed out their tokens, turning them into the paper script we were using, I wandered over to the poker table. "Crap, piss and vinegar," Angelina said, tossing down her cards. "Patricia, these two men are taking all my money. I'll be lucky to put a bid in on your ass, much less getting any action from your tongue."

Nick raked in the money. "Don't listen to her, dear; this is only the second hand I've won tonight, and only because Damon here folded early. I'm afraid I've only won back what I lost playing blackjack."

"Damon, are you beating people at poker again tonight?"

"You know how that goes, don't you dear?" Damon said, his finger rubbing over the stain from our last encounter playing poker. "I've just got my lucky seat that's all. Are you going to join us?"

"Not tonight and maybe never again against you, dear Damon. Personally folks, I think he cheats."

"You know better than that," Damon said. "You folded on that last hand -- I still want to know what cards you were holding. I think she folded on purpose."

"Well, you'll never know, Damon."

"I think I might just win tonight to make you tell me. Not to mention I want to whip your clothing off your body."

"I think I want to hear this story," Nick said.

"Well it'll cost you a hundred to hear it," Damon said.

"Oh, Damon, don't cheat the boy -- I'll tell it to you for fifty," Angelina said.

"Oh, I can spare it I think," Nick said, and slid a hundred dollars over to Damon. "I can win it back from him later."

"Well, I've heard the story," I said, "and may tell it some other time, but for now, I must be off."

I found my husband winning at blackjack. "How's it going, hon?"

"Pretty good," he said. "Winning most of our own money back. Got a bit out of Nick, too. He's better at reading people than playing a chance game like blackjack."

"And what are you going to do with all your ill-gotten gains?"

"I don't know. I'm the only man in the room who won't be in on the auction."

"Angelina probably could use your help."

"I don't think she'd give me what I want," he said laughing.

I laughed along with him. "Who do you think is doing the best?" I asked.

"Damon, of course, but don't discount Nick or Angelina."

"What about the boys?" I asked as we watched Bill and Edward move over to the poker table.

"Only if they get lucky," my husband said. "But it could happen."

"It's been a couple of years since I've had them -- and then it wasn't together."

"You're interested?"

"I'm horny. All these people bantering and gambling, and all to get into my pants."

Bill and Edward were talking privately to Nick, who got up, and gave them his place at the poker table. Nick stood, and Tasha rose from next to him -- I hadn't noticed her kneeling there before -- had she been under the table, maybe? The two of them walked over to where Tim and I were talking.

"Patricia," Nick said. "I hope you don't mind, but I want to steal your husband away for a while. For old time's sake."

"Go ahead," I said. "I'm thinking of taking a break myself."

A hostess shouldn't leave her party, but I was getting damned horny. All these people were attractive. Most were previous sexual partners. I retreated to a private bathroom, and rolled my pantyhose off. I don't even know why I wore it tonight instead of garters. Now, it was just getting in the way.

I sat on the toilet, and slid my panties down my legs. Then I slid my hand between my slit, and began massaging my clit. Back and forth, faster and faster. I remembered the time Damon fucked me on the poker table. The time Angelina buried her face in my cunt, and I in hers. I imagined going down on Edward while Bill fucked me from behind. I wondered what it would feel like to ride on top of Nick. Was he big, was he good? Would he ride me hard?

My finger moved faster and faster. I grabbed a towel, and bit into it as I came shuddering, moaning into the towel. I wiped myself off with the towel, and checked my watch. It was time for the auction.

~ o ~

I grasped the chains above me, to steady me for the next crack of the whip. I knew where it was coming, square in the middle of my back, where my bra snaps closed. The strike would come there, and slash through the material, removing my last piece of clothing.

Do you understand how precise you would have to be to do that? To have the whip crack -- moving faster than the speed of sound -- enough to cut sturdy cloth and to not cut the person wearing the cloth? Well, I knew Damon was an expert with the whip before tonight, but now, standing there unclothed by his skill, I had new respect for his ability.

Two whip cracks, one on either side of me, as Damon showed off his whip work -- that wasn't like him, but far be it for me to say anything. Then the third crack, right behind me, and the bra came undone. I felt the loosening in my breasts, no longer supported. The bra, however, did not fall -- it was being held in place by my breasts -- what irony that!

I smiled to myself glad that I'd -- however inadvertently -- pulled one over on Damon. At least now that he was done the boys -- the ones who'd actually won the auction would have their way with me.

I felt two fingers touch my sternum, and I knew. Even though he could have brushed the bra off with his fingers, he did not. He was going to whip it off. I felt him lean closer, and whisper in my ear, "Be ready." I shuddered in excitement and fear, waiting for the blow.

The voice I'd heard didn't belong to Damon.

~ o ~

When I got back to the main hall -- after straightening myself up a bit more, the auction was already in full swing. Edward and Bill were bidding together, and had gotten the bid up to 250 dollars. They must not have lost too much at the poker table, which was only a little less than they had from the slots. Angelina was counting her money and shouted out, "Two-seventy-five! It's all I've got. Top it if you can!"

"Three hundred for me," Damon responded coolly. He caught my eye, and gave me a predatory smile. He patted his whip, and grinned.

Nick was being quiet. Tasha was again on her knees in front of him. My husband, who was running the show, said, "Do I hear 325? Come on folks, I saw more money than this out there tonight! Patricia, come on up, help me out."

I walked up to the round stage he'd had brought out -- it was in the center of the large ballroom. I stepped up on it. "Show them what they are bidding on hon," my husband urged me on.

I took off my jacket, and pulled the neckline on my shirt down and thrust my breasts out. My skirt was slit almost to the hip, so I showed my newly-uncovered legs. I was met with hoots, hollers, and a call of "Three-twenty-five" from Bill

Damon smiled "Three-fifty!"

Edward and Bill looked at each other, then up at my husband. They took a deep breath, "Four hundred!"

"Do you even have that much?" Damon challenged.

"That and more," Edward called back.

I looked at Nick he made a gesture at my husband, who nodded. Damon replied, "Well then boys, it's just you two and me, I'll just put it on the table. I've got 575 dollars. Top it if you can."

The boys looked at each other, and I smiled. I was looking forward to Damon topping and fucking me. He'd made a lot of money tonight. I wondered if some of it didn't come from Tim, despite what my husband said.

Edward and Bill talked to each other, and looked furtively around. I wondered what was going on. "Ok, since you put it that way," Edward said. "We'll blow our whole wad, too."

"That is the plan!" someone who wasn't bidding shouted out.

"We've got one-thousand one-hundred fourteen dollars and twenty-five cents. From the slots."

"I don't believe it!" Damon roared.

"Come with me gentlemen," Tim said. "We'll settle this at the cashier's table." The four men walked away, leaving me to wonder what was going on. That was a lot of money, over a hundred thousand real dollars -- all going to the September 11th fund, sure -- but paid to have sex with me. I felt myself gush a bit at the thought.

Tim walked back, carrying a blindfold. "I think we settled it," he said. "But you have to put this on." He stepped behind me, and tied the blindfold on.

"What's going on?" I asked.

"You are going to be shared," he said, a smile in his voice. "Take off your shoes and stand here."

He walked away, and I stood there, wondering.

~ o ~

I was worried. The voice that had whispered to me, warning me of the final blow, was not one I recognized. It was possible that I was already too far gone in lust and excitement to notice. It was possible that it was someone besides Damon. It was even possible that Damon was changing his voice to mindfuck me, just a bit.

In fact, I thought it was entirely possible. He and the Robbins boys disappeared with my husband, and just agreed to share me -- because there was no way, no way in Hell that those two boys had over a thousand dollars to bid with.

Hands positioned me, straightening me up, spreading my legs. The changes in my posture forced my breasts out, and forward. I understood the reason behind it then. The man -- whoever it was -- was going to use the whip to pull my bra off, and wanted to have the best target. That and it wouldn't be hard to force the bra off now. A simple brush of someone's hand would have had it floating to the earth.

My nipples hardened, as I thought about anonymous hands running over them. I could feel my own juices running down my legs now. I was glad I'd removed my hose before the action started. I could sense someone in front of me, and two others behind me. It must have been the three of them, the boys and Damon--or whoever. It made sense.

I wondered what they'd done for Damon to get him to let them join. Maybe they'd had the exact same amount of money, maybe? That line of thought was cut off, as the two behind me began to run their hands down my back, and over my ass. I arched my back, and the one in front -- the one with the mysterious voice -- said, "Good. Stay like that, Patricia, and you'll be fine."

I heard him walk away, and then he snapped the whip to the left and right of me again. Then it snapped at my chest, and I gasped. The bra, split into two pieces fluttered down to the floor. Applause erupted from the crowd, and the mystery whip artist -- for artist he was -- came up to me, and ran the handle of the whip over my nipples.

I moaned at the roughness, and he stepped closer to me, pressing against me. His hands reached around me, and I felt him working on the blindfold behind my head. "It's time, Patricia. Time for you to see everything."

The blindfold came off, and I blinked a few times, as the whip artist stepped back. My eyes grew wide -- it wasn't Damon after all, but Nick! "Nick!" I said.

"I thought you realized," he said, and turned around me, carefully caressing my body.

I looked at the audience, and right in front of me was my husband. Tasha, her dress bunched around her waist, was facing me as well, as she slid up and down my husbands cock. Tim smiled at me, and cupped Tasha's breasts, pulling her back to him. "So you traded Tasha..."

"For Tim's money, yes. And I did rather well at poker. The rest I gave to Edward and Bill."

"How did you get Damon to loan you his whip?"

"Ahh, well, that's a tale for another time," Nick said. "For now, we want to fuck you."

"Oh, God, yes!" I said.

"Just..."

"What?"

"Don't move too much while we fuck you, dear. I don't want to miss."

"Don't hit me with that thing!"

"I won't cut you, or leave a lasting mark. Those were the rules, right?"

"Yes."

"Trust me, Patricia. If you don't know it by now, I know what I'm doing."

I nodded, and he made a motion. The chains lowered, and they brought out a bench. Nick positioned my hands on the bench, which meant I was leaning over. "Edward, you're first. Like we discussed."

Nick walked away, and Edward climbed onto the bench. He undid his belt buckle, and unzipped his pants, dropping pants and boxers to the ground. His cock popped free. "Suck me," he said.

I had already started. I leaned forward and took his member in my mouth. He reached out to me, and took handfuls of my hair in his hands, holding my head in place, while his cock slid in and out of my mouth, and down my throat.

A whip crack sounded underneath me, I felt the brush of air against my nipple. I was startled out of what I was doing. "Let me move," Edward said. I relaxed, and let him fuck my mouth, his cock filling me, over and over.

Nick's whip work continued, snapping near my breasts over and over. Two or three times he snapped it near my ass, then he started whipping my ass, forcing me forward, towards Edward, his cock going deeper and deeper down my throat. He never cracked it when it hit me, and I relaxed, letting Nick run the scene, and letting him control it.

The snaps over my breasts began to send electric shocks to my cunt, turning me on more and more. Edward was getting turned on, too, and he grabbed my ears, and thrust his cock faster and faster into my mouth fucking it with abandon. Finally he cried out, and his come spewed down my throat sending small quakes through my body as he came.

"Bill," Nick said. "You're next."

Bill walked around me. He was already completely naked, his lovely, long cock bobbed as he walked. I felt him walk behind me; his hands caressed my abused ass, sending tingles through my body. He pressed himself against me, I felt his cock searching for my sopping cunt. Then he found it, and we sighed in unison, as he pushed himself home.

Again Nick started with the whip, cracking it over my nipples, hitting me a few times in the breasts like he had on my ass, driving me wild. He cracked the whip in front of my face, two, three, times, pushing me back on Bill's cock, forcing me to impale myself on his cock.

He didn't have to force me though, by now I was insane with passion. I had been in need of a fuck since I stood on the stage, before I was auctioned; all that Nick had done with his whip was to enflame it, to increase my heat.

Bill clutched at my hips, pounding his cock deep inside me. I felt his balls slapping against my clit as he ground home, our crotches meeting as he filled me. In front of me, Tasha was bouncing again on my husband's dick, and Nick was cracking his whip in my face.

I pushed back, grinding my hips against Bill's cock, trying to get more and more of him in me, even though I knew it wasn't possible. Nick cracked the whip underneath my body, sending erotic puffs of air against nipples and sending electric shocks directly to my cunt. He didn't even have to be close now, all he had to do was crack the whip, and my body shivered.

I pushed against the floor and the bench, as Bill pounded in and out. Nick cracked the whip over my breasts again and I started coming. Bill cried out, and shot his seed deep into me, pulsing in time with my own orgasm. I wailed, and melted.

Bill, sated, pulled out and I was empty again.

Nick walked up to me, and ran his hands over me, his fingernails digging into my ass, and breasts where he'd struck me with the whip, I moaned and panted as he touched me. "You are one hot slut, aren't you?"

"Yesss," I cried.

"The whip excites you!"

"Yes!"

"Kiss it," he said holding it out. I did. "Take it in your mouth." I opened my mouth and he put it in. He walked around behind me. I heard fabric rustling as he undressed.

He stood behind me, and took the ends of the whip in his hands, and pulled back, pulling my head back. I groaned around the whip. His cock slid into me quickly, and he thrusted once, twice, three times. "That's good enough," he said, and pulled out.

I groaned, again, "Uuuuuck eeee" I begged around the whip. Fuck me, fuck me.

He moved a bit more, and I felt his cock at my asshole. I groaned and pushed against him. His cock, coated in my juices, and Bill's cum, slid into my asshole. He pulled on the whip, and I slid back onto him. He tried to force me, but I went willingly, letting him fill me up with his cock.

Then he bottomed out, all the way in. He grabbed my hips -- still pulling on the whip -- and slid back out. Then in, and out, and in and out and in and out, he began to rock in and out of my ass.

Finally free to move, I rocked with him, pushing back and forth as he took me on the stage.

Tasha cried out as she came, and my husband too, not long after. I could feel another orgasm building as Nick continued to fuck my asshole. He pulled the whip out of my mouth then, and started cracking it over my back, and the shocks started up again.

"Harder! Harder!" I cried out as he pistoned in and out of my ass.

Crack! Crack! Crack! went the whip and my orgasm started again; a long rolling one. I shook as I came, my arms unable to hold me up any longer, just being held by his hands, and his cock as he went in and out of me.

I felt his seed in my bowels as he shouted out, and cracked the whip one more time. Then we collapsed on the stage, and the audience applauded.

It turned out that there was a lot more to Nick than I ever knew. While independently wealthy, he did travel most of the year doing tricks with his own whip. It was just luck that Damon showed up with one -- for all of us, really. Damon confided that Nick was much better whip artist than he was -- an admission I rarely heard from Damon.

When I realized that Nick's off-season home was in upstate New York, I turned to my husband. "We still have to go to New York, right? and soon?"

He nodded, and I smiled.

We did go, but that's another story.

MfM: Charity Raffle

2009-04-06T10:24:00.000-04:00

Microfantasy Mondays are a small erotic-writing exercise sponsored by Ang at Sweltering Celt. This week's them is cards.

~ o ~

Charity Raffle

(Fsub, bdsm, nosex, bond)

I stood on the dais, naked, except for a pair of black high heels and a blindfold. My hands were bound over my head wrapped, if I had to guess in some of Master George's soft black rope. He'd also bound up my hair with rope into a pony tail, and -- judging by the angle -- looped it high in the wall behind her. Thankfully, it gave me just enough balance to stand comfortably, which was a good thing, because George had some odd ideas for the day. Ones that would leave me standing for a while.

Last night, over dinner he'd said, "The shelter needs the money, right?"

When he'd led me in, I saw the implements he'd choisen: a couple of kinds of floggers, both a wooden and a lexan cane, her heavy wooden paddle, and a pair of thick leather gloves. They were arranged on the dias, in a circle around where I would stand, handles out, inviting. "My, that's a lot of toys," she said.

"The better to beat you with, my slut."

That's when he started tying me up. When he finished with my hair, he showed me the fishbowl. There was already a half-inch layer of business cards in it. "This is just the folks I talked to personally," he said.

"Good thing you're rich," I said, smiling.

He laughed as he slid the blindfold over my eyes.

Last night, as he drank his wine, he'd said, "They don't need to know where it came from."

There were a lot of people in the room. Mostly men, judging by the voices. "There's no need to rush, " George said. "This is a raffle, everyone gets a chance. And since we don't have tickets, there's no need to rush."

"How much is it again?" A young man, perhaps a tenor, asked.

"Five bucks in my hand gets you a card in the bowl," George said. At least he wasn't raffling her ass off cheaply.

"What if we have more than one card?" A woman this time, with a sultry voice. I'm pretty sure George seeded her in the crowd to ask the question. She sounded like she knew the answer, or hoped for it at least.

"If you've got the cash, go for it," George said.

There was a quick rumble of voices, followed by scooting chairs and what I imagined was their collective reaching for wallets. I felt her nipples harden, and her pussy lips moisten.

Last night, over negotiations, he'd said, "They don't need to know how it was raised."

"How does this work again," the woman asked. She was a plant alright, although I was sure she was also playing. Who was it? Linda? Bethany?

"The rules are simple," George said. "I'll let my dear Charity explain it."

That was my cue. "It's simple," I explained. "Once we have all the cards in the fishbowl, Master George will pull a name. That person can select one of the implements below and use it on me a set number of times."

"A set number of times? Anywhere?" someone asked.

"Not anywhere, but anywhere safe," George answered. "The number of times is ten with either of the canes, fifteen with the paddle or gloves, and thirty with the floggers. That's what we agreed to?"

"That's right," I woman said. There was rumbling through the crowd, as my Master ran his hands over me. He chuckled knowingly as her ran his fingers between my legs.

"The bowls about half full," he spoke lowly, only to me. "There's probably five hundred cards in here."

Last night, as we'd gone back to my place, he'd said, "Plus, I'll match it, dollar for dollar."

"Anymore takers?" he asked. "Remember, this is for Charity!"

Laughter rippled through the room, but there wasn't much more movement. He shook the fishbowl next to my head then walked around. It gave a nice thunk, and I thought, "At least five hundred cards. Maybe more now."

People were paying to beat me. They were paying quite a bit. I wondered how many knew what it was really for, if they'd have given a similar donation to keep the homeless shelter going for another few months. I didn't know, and it didn't matter. They were paying to have a chance at beating me.

"Well," my Master spoke. He had that tone in his voice that said he was disappointed. It was slightly condescending, and disapproving. "I'd really hoped we'd fill the bowl. This really is for a good cause." He paused for a moment. "I mean, if you thing welts on my sluts' ass are a good cause."

I guess he hadn't told them.

"What would make you donate a few more cards?" He asked.

"How about multiple winners?" Sultry-voice asked. "One for each of the implements you have?" She was definitely a plant.

"Oh, yes!" George said. "That's an excellent idea!"

"No!" I said. "No!" I struggled a bit with the ropes. My safeword sat on my tongue, but I couldn't bring myself to say it. My breath was short with arousal, strangers. Six strangers -- I might know them, but I wouldn't know who unless they told me -- were going to beat me, and pay for the privilege.

The crowd bustled about again, and George went about gathering their cards.

Last night as he undressed me, he'd said, "And, my slut, you'll love it and you'll come so hard."

He was right. I did.

We're planning another in six months.

HNT: Dragon Chained

2009-04-02T13:22:00.000-04:00

Here we have a picture of the dragon, chained.

Dragons are my Girl's (Joessam on twitter/Bookwyrm on FetLife) totem. [This is why you'll be seeing a story about dragons and sex posted here before too long.] The bracelet is a locking bracelet from Things Remembered and was her Sir's gift to her for Christmas.

I meant for her to wear it on the other hand, since it is a beautiful tattoo, in essence her guardian, watching out for her. But when she put it on this one, the imagery was too strong, and we both sensed it was right. Yes, it's her guardian, but he is chained by me. Willingly, of course, my Girl and her Dragon.

Chained.

Unfortunately, I can't recommend the bracelet, as it's made of a base metal that irritated Joessam's skin and it needed to be removed for realistic reasons. I still carry it's key with me on my keychain because I know that, at least metaphorically, it is still there.

From My Images : His Collar

2009-04-01T21:34:00.000-04:00

A few years ago,I undertook to write 5 short pieces a week, all from writing prompts. That should explain whey Microfantasy Monday is a draw. I wrote over fifty of them before running out of steam (although I may return to them). They are almost all bdsm related, and some are parts of a series. I'm going to post one a week here as they get cleaned up (although I may not post all of them, some are -- shall we say -- less good.)

This one got some comments and a favorable review, and was the 19th written/posted.

~o~

His Collar

When I was a child I spoke as a child I understood as a child I thought as a child; but when I became a man I put away childish things. -- I Cor. xiii. 11.

It had been years since I put it away, still a childish girl of 22. I had met Henry, and while he could never be like Samuel, I knew that he would always be there for me, a thing Samuel had never been able to promise. So I packed it away in a box, unwilling to completely let go of ancient promises and forbidden hopes.

Long afterward, I came upon it again, unboxing things left too long in an attic. I was 45, had three wonderful children. Henry was a Vice-President at the bank. Conservative, a pillar of the community. I put it on again, the spikes radiating outward. The passion overcoming me, my desire for Samuel overwhelming me. I played with the idea of finding him again, as I masturbated -- trying to excite myself, but not to actually come. Just like he used to do.

The kids were at college, and I was alone at home most of the time. I found myself pulling it out again and again. Then one day Henry came home early, the noise from the door opening pulling me out of my submissive reverie. I put it back in the attic again, and left it there.

Henry died a few weeks ago, at age sixty-five. He went young, but we had a good life. The kids, their spouses and children -- precious grandchildren -- all left, and I remembered the box in the attic.

I went upstairs, and retrieved it, unpacking the old, cracked leather of the neglected collar.

I stood, naked, my breasts drooping, my skin covered in wrinkles, my hair expertly done by my stylist of so many years. I lifted the collar to my neck, clasping and latching it, and I was young again. My hair the rich, long black of youth, bound in a ponytail at his request. He was walking around me, with the rope, winding it around me, binding me. Next he grabbed the whips, and beat me, over and over again.

For leaving him with no explanation. For marrying another man, having another man's children. For, worst of all, neglecting the care of the collar I had promised to keep and care for as a symbol of my submission, our love. When I wore it, I was Samuel's, and no one else's. Forty years later, it was still true. I felt my soul kneel to his, wherever it was, and I went down to my own knees.

I slid my hand over my aged breasts, and between my legs, masturbating and crying for new and ancient loss.

And thought, once again, about finding him, and apologizing.

Tattoo Caning

2009-03-31T14:29:00.000-04:00

This came out of a discussion on twitter about caning, and some of the different ways it can be done. I searched on it, but found very little actual information. The best I could find was an article on "Rhythmic Caning" on Wiki After Dark. I first heard of it when one of the local BDSM groups brought in a particularly geeky speaker to discuss it (I don't remember which group or who the speaker was, exactly).

I thought it was interesting, although they (mistakenly, IMHO) picked a heavy bottom from the group to be demonstrated upon, and that seemed to color the feelings of the group. It probably didn't help that he wasn't a very entertaining speaker (his geekiness showed up here in flat jokes and mild quirkiness; in this way he reminded me of one of my long time friends from high school). However, as part of the demonstration we all got these yard long cooking skewers. The things were maybe an eighth on an inch in diameter and had a point on one end.

We also got what I thought was a competent introduction to the topic. Certainly enough for me to try it out on SexyWife, and later on Girl. It has become a staple of our play, and I just wanted to write up a brief description of it, and maybe SexyWife or Girl will come by and add their thoughts from the receiving end.

Caning is largely considered an extreme activity amongst BDSM enthusiasts. I've been on both ends of the cane, and find it interesting (the receiving end was problematic as I was uncomfortable in the position I was in). There are lots of kinds of canes, with different flexibility, material, and effects, just as there are different kinds of floggers or other toys. The are generally very accurate, and good for hitting specific locations both very focused or across the whole body. You can pretty easily draw a welt with one and bruise with it. Because of all of this, canes have a lot of psychological impact on a bottom who sees you bring one out.

However, there's no particular reason to hit hard with them. You have another choice and that's hit often. Tattoo caning is designed for this, in the musical meaning of tattoo, to beat or tap rhythmically. I think, but am not sure, that FetLife uses the fetish "drumming" to refer to this activity, but as they don't define the fetishes it's hard to be sure. It wouldn't surprise me, though, as that's largely what it is.

For my first attempt at tattoo caning, I only had the two yard long skewers. I kept the pointed ends in my hands, using the other ends as my beaters. Music helps, something with a fast beat is nice. I've got some techno that works well, but that's hardly required. The goal is to hit lightly and fast, as though you were doing a snare roll on drums, or playing a fast beat. You don't have time (nor is it necessary) to do a full swing, or to put full strength in it. This results in an almost massage-like feeling for the submissive.

The advantage to the light taps is that you can use the canes reasonably safely across more of the body. Traditional caning needs to stay away from the belly, hands and feet because the blows are so hard you could do actual internal harm or break bones. With tattoo caning you can do all those locations. With skill you can vary the strength of the strikes to strike lighter in less safe areas, and harder in more safe areas. In this way tattoo caning is more about sensation play, than about pain, although it flirts with pain, and can be used as a warmup to harder play.

In fact, I think this works very well: you pull out the canes which gives a sense of urgency to the bottom. Then you go with tattoo caning which is very relaxing for her, then you slowly ramp up the hits until you're more in traditional cane territory and they remember that you have canes in your hand.

There's no need for that, of course, you can stay at the massage level, or wherever you both are comfortable. That's half the fun of BDSM, anyway.

Nothing in life or sex is fully safe, and once you start hitting people with things that safety drops off somewhat. (We are prefer to work within the guidelines of RACK). In my experience, this is relatively safe S/M activity, and my partners and myself have enjoyed it. It dials up and down in intensity pretty easily as well, so there's room for lots of players. Although, I think people with a lot of caning experience / heavy bottoms will see this as a minor warm-up to the real event, people who prefer a lighter activity could just do this and get a lot of enjoyment out of it.

MfM: Long-distance

2009-03-30T12:49:00.000-04:00

Microfantasy Mondays are a small erotic-writing exercise sponsored by Ang at Sweltering Celt. This week's them is long-distance.

~ o ~

The alarm on his phone was ringing dragging him out of his sleep. "What time?" he muttered, pulling the phone close to his eyes so he could see. "Four AM?" What had possessed him? He blinked twice and looked at the phone again, turning its alarm off, and settling back down to the hotel room's bed.

That reminded him.

Somewhere else there was another phone. The same model, the same plan, the same alarm. Set for the same time but in another time. It would be seven AM for her. She had the better of it, of course. She got to sleep in.

Thinking of her there, naked in their bed, he slid his hand down to his hardening cock.

Somewhere, a thousand miles to the east, and just a bit south, she was sliding her own hand between her legs, touching her silky wet folds and thinking of him.

He stroked himself faster and faster, thinking of her. Her breasts, dangling above his lips, her nipples teasing him. Her pussy wet and ready for him. She was there, he was sure, doing the same thing as him, just as surely as her love for him was the same as his for her.

The only thing that wasn't the same was their location.

Hello and Welcome

2009-03-30T12:22:00.000-04:00

I'm realizing that I need to take into account the audience of my work, and I ultimately have two primary interests: sex and games. I write about games at Cult of the Turtle and that's my main home on the web. (There will be sex writing there too, mainly as it pertains to games.) I feel that some of my audience for games is adversely interested in what I'd write about sex, so I haven't been writing that much of that sort of thing.

I've posted some on Stories OnLine, but that's ultimately a gated community, and not the sort of place I want to be the primary repository of my work. I have much at ASSTR, but that doesn't have the kind of commenting and feedback I want. It seems to me that blogger/blogspot has become the place for sex bloggers these days, so I want to be here too.

I've written online for thirteen years now, and have amassed a large body of work. I've written as Kaos, GenericJoe, "Generic" Joe Tortuga, and now just as Joe Tortuga. I don't foresee any future name changes.

I'm pretty happy with who I am.

As part of this blog-creation was to start posting on Micro-Fantasy Mondays, I'll get on with that now