Commuting

I have always been attracted to women in street clothes. Perhaps it comes from the fact that I was a sleeping kinkster for all of my early sexual life, I would see women walking down the street, shopping, driving next to me on the highway, and imagine what they were like beneath the street legal facade they wore. Breasts hidden, skirts hinting, heels and hair and lipstick working like smoke and mirrors to both accentuate the feminine while hiding the carnal. I see it everywhere, in the coffee store, on the street, on the train and some days it is hard to not simply approach one of these mythical creatures to see if they are anything more than hallucinations of my sex-soaked mind.

I pull up to the bus stop where she is standing, blond hair straightened, attention lost in her phone. She is wearing a charcoal grey skirt and white blouse. A wool jacket is buttoned and belted to reveal the curve of her body. I roll down the window and tell her to get in. She obeys and reaches for the passenger side door.

“No. Get in the back.” She pulls away from the handle as if her hand had been slapped and moves tentatively towards the back door. She climbs in and sits in the middle of the seat so I can see her in the rear view mirror. I pull away from the corner, the other people waiting for the bus may or may not have understood what had just happened. I really don’t care.

“Open your jacket,” I say as we head towards downtown. She obeys sheepishly, undoing the belt and then the buttons. Her blouse is cute and a simple pearl necklace and earrings bring it all together. “No unbutton your blouse.” She does. She is wearing a white undershirt to hide the black bra she has on.

“Pull up your skirt.” She is wearing tights, the enemy of daytime sex. “Rub your cunt.” She starts to play with herself, her perfectly manicured fingers running over the fabric. I can see through the sheer material that she is wearing a matching pair of panties. I roll down the windows in the back so she is on display for anyone who cares to look in. She is getting flush with embarrassment and excitement and her other hand pulls up her shirt to seek out her breast. Her breathing is getting short and fast as we hit the drive. All around us are commuters lost in thoughts of the work is ahead of them. She is not thinking about work, she is thinking about her sex, about getting caught, about being picked up off the street like a whore.

Around the Oak street curve and past Streeterville she is lost in her fingers as they play with her work prepped body. I take the Grand ave exit and a block west I pull into a parking garage. There is no attendant and I quickly make my way to the top of the parking lot. I find a corner away from the elevators and turn the car off. I hop out and open the back door. I pull her out by her hair and drag her the back of the vehicle. I push her down into a squatting position that she can only achieve by hiking her skirt even higher. I have her continue to rub her cunt as I unbuckle my pants and shove my cock into her mouth. She gasps for breath and starts to flail a bit but calms down and behaves after I slap her across the face. As I fuck her face, I open the back, the third row of seats has been folded down giving us plenty of room to fuck. I pull her off my dick by the hair and shove her into the vehicle. She crawls forward on her hands and knees and I get in behind her. I pull her blouse off and toss it into the seat in front of us then pull her undershirt off, exposing her bra. I pull each cup down, releasing her breasts. Her nipples are hard as I squeeze and pinch each in turn. I grab her shoulder and turn her over the back of the seat so her tits hang down and she stares out the front window. Her skirt is already up. I pull a pocket knife out and cut the tights in the crotch. She gasps in fear of the blade and at the loss of her clothes but before she can object I have forced my cock past her panties and into her wet slit. Her focus is lost as I fuck her. After a few minutes I lean forward and whisper into her ear.

“Cum like the little slut you are.” She lets go and cums for me. I can feel her cunt squeezing and finally giving out. I pull out let her collapse in exhaustion. I pull the condom off and jerk off until I am ready to cum. I slap her face and tell her to open up. Most of it goes in her but some dribbles down onto her tits. I sit back and catch my breath.

After a moment we pull ourselves together. I have her put her breast away still wet with cum and tell her not to put the under shirt back on. The black of the bra can be seen through the blouse but only if you are looking for it. Her tights are mostly intact except for the torn crotch and when she brushes out her hair it looks mostly put together. She reapplies her makeup as we finish driving the six blocks to her building and when she gets out only another whore or fellow kinkster would be able to tell that she had been properly fucked on her way to work. But this was never for them. This was for her. For the rest of the day she will know that she is a slut hiding in these business clothes, she will know that she is a sexual creature and an animal playing the proper role. When she heads to the bathroom and is reminded of the hole in her tights or feels the pinch and pull of dried cum on her breast, she will be able to remember her true nature and that is what it is all about.

Letting My Imagination Go

One of the side effects of my new-found free time is that I am insanely horny during the middle of the day. Mariela was home with me last week and we ran errands for a couple of hours during the middle of the day. She was shocked at how completely my mind had been taken over by thoughts of sex and perverted acts. Everything I saw, every woman that we passed was inspiration for some dark and sexually sick flight of fancy.

My days are actually quite full. The kids are home at 2 from school and have fallen in love with the community pool. The house is perpetually in need of straightening and the clothes of five people do not wash themselves. I love it, I feel needed, I feel like I am doing something that is productive and is tangible but the stress of going from 6 in the morning to 8 at night has started to wear me down. I need a release.

It has been part of my mid-term plan to add a few playdates into the mix of my week. I have the free time, the girls are at work so it is not taking away from them, and the boys are at school. An added bonus is that my neighbors are out of the house so the screaming is less likely to end in me trying to explain to the police that she wanted me to stick a knife in her ass and piss in her mouth. Timing is an issue though. I need to make sure that I get my work done before I play because otherwise I easily degenerate from the lord of the manor to the deadbeat gigolo. And this is where my overactive imagination gets me into trouble. If I do not do something to deal with these thoughts then I become obsessed. I need an outlet for them, some halfway house for my dark passenger that will keep it in check without killing it.

Writing has always been a good outlet but I have tried to keep this blog to only the real world things that are happening. I know that most of the people who read this do not want to see the horrible images I see. They like the stories of me as a person dealing with day to day shit. What I need is a way to vent without scarring you my loyal reader.

What is that you say? You want to hear those stories? You want to know what I see? What?!? Some of you even want to help me act them out? Well then, how can I refuse? 😉

The middle ground for this is a tagging system that I am going to start using. It is simple and to the point:

• [Title] – Real life blog entry.
• [Scenario: Title] – A scene that I am either planning to do, want to do or already have done. This will be crazy but legal, safe looking for volunteers.
• [Fantasy: Title] – Welcome to the dark world of my imagination. These are the sickest unrealistic flights of fancy. Not for the faint of heart. If you read it is at your own risk. If you find yourself so turned on by what you read that you can’t keep you hand out of your pants and want to make the jump for fantasy to reality, let me know and we can see what kind of scenario can be made.

So there it is, a basic warning that some of what I am going to start adding to this blog may be more than you can handle. Am I being arrogant? Am I under estimating what you are hoping that I say? No, I am making sure that you are fully informed because frankly people, my head is a sick and dark place and while I need to get it out, not everyone that reads this is ready to face the void.

Hopefully this will lead to more stories, more posts and more readers that are titillated into reading something a little more kinky than they would have.

This is what happened.

First read ZG’s appeal: “Do you know what I did last night?!?“

It starts out simple enough. You are bruised and beaten about the chest and thighs, leaving little meat to play with RBP-style. No problem, I have other ways of making you uncomfortable. I run through the list, seeing what might be fun for both of us. Negotiations can be a real pain in the ass (or not) when playing with your SO. You can lay together, all lovey-dovey, and coo sweet nothings about how there are no limits between the two of us and all is fine and good… until I try and sleep with your sister. I guess we do have a few limits, don’t we? So back and forth we go. I tell you what I am going to do, you give me that look that says, “Really? That is what you want to do tonight?” Eventually we land on psychological play. Brilliant! After that little passive aggressive banter about what we both want, I really feel like making you cry.

I fix you a drink. A nice strong French Martini and sit down to chat and perv on FL while you drink it. Just before getting up to go play, I head out for a cigarette and you join me. You say, “Can I have another drink? The smoke makes my throat scratchy.”

Hmmmmm… If I make you another drink it will mean waiting until you drink it to play (est. 20 min) but it will also mean that you are drunk and fucking a drunk ZG is like playing with a drunk sorority girl, all bets are off. So I make you another drink. Ten minutes into your second drink I am ready to go, so I tell you to pound the drink. You obey like a good like alcohol-soaked slut, put the glass down in my hand and start down the hall towards our bedroom. There is a very visible list to left as you stumble along. I take the glass to the kitchen and head down the hall behind you.

I open the door to the bedroom and you are laying across the bed half drunkenly, half seductively. You are wearing a sleeping dress and no panties so your ass is sticking out, just asking to be played with. I pull you up to your knees and start to undress you like a fuck toy. You are falling into the role, leaving you arms where I put them and not moving as I roughly remove your clothes. While your body is behaving, you mouth is not and you start to sass about the way I am handling you. You say that I’m not being nice, that I’m being mean.

Duh.

I grab the Whitehead gag and put it into your mouth. You refuse to open up and I force your jaws apart to the point you let out a little whimper. I take a hood and put it over your head and then push you down into the pillow and smack your ass until it is high enough in the air to put undue strain on your face and neck when I fuck the living shit out of you. I tie your arms behind your back and weave the excess rope between your toes. You love that shit.

I start you off by fingering your G-spot and pushing you closer and closer to orgasm while telling you not to cum. You start begging and after a few minutes I think you are primed so I pull the fingers out. What a wet mess. I let you rest for a moment and start in with the verbal abuse.

One of the biggest challenges that we have experienced with mindfucking in the past is that you know me and I know you, and the certain level of doubt and fear that is needed to really get a game going is often hard for us to reach. Part of this is because you trust me implicitly and have faith in our relationship, so most threats and verbal attacks ring hollow. Add to this that most of the times we’ve played with psychological sadism has been in connection with jealousy or anger play, so when the words do ring true they have a tendency to ring very true. But we are nothing if not persistent, so onward I push. I start in easy.

You are wet as all hell so I ask why you always want to play drunk or while you are asleep. Is it because you can’t stand me? Because you can’t get wet? Is your cunt broken or just your brain?

Soft whimpers. Okay, this is good. You are getting nervous about where we are going. You have a date in a few days and I ask you about him. Is he going to fuck you? You know he doesn’t want to fuck you. Nobody wants to fuck you. You are so desperate you might as well ask people on the street to fuck you. Protests and whines come through the gag.

Has he called you? No, because he is too busy with other girls! You know he’s playing with other people that he would rather fuck. You know how many of them he would prefer to fuck than you? All of them!

You fold. The whining stops. Your face turns down at the corners of your mouth. The gag is starting to affect how well I can read your reactions, so I take it off and ramp up the questions in search of those precious tears. So if X is not interested in fucking you. What about Y? Is he even interested in fucking you? You know he fucks everyone. What makes you so special? One of your partners doesn’t want to fuck you and the other doesn’t care. Where does that leave you?

You sink lower and lower and just as we verge on tears you get quiet. I slap your ass and punch your thighs. You moan and whimper. I take a little break to fuck you. You are a mess. Wet as hell and waiting so I lay into you. As I feel the urge to cum rising, I pull out. My dick is covered in blood.

You dirty little whore! You are bleeding all over me. You groan with embarrassment. I have you lift your head and suck me clean. You like the taste of that? You think your other partners like the taste of that, the smell of that? You are a mess and no one wants to play with you! I pull out a sheet that is for just such occasions and make you lay on your back with your arms pinned beneath. You wriggle around trying to get centered on the sheet and not ruin our bedding. I slap you a couple of times to make you move faster. You finally get squared away and I climb back on top and fuck you some more making sure that you know how thoroughly disgusted I am. You fall into the fucking and lose yourself. This is all hot and good, but it is not getting us where we want to be, which is with you as a tear-soaked mess and me cumming on your face. What I need to do is get off the physical humiliation and start working on the harder psychological aspects.

What do you bring to a playdate other than tits and a high pain threshold? No response. I throw in some more abuse to get a reaction.

You know you are being left behind for other girls, don’t you? Nothing. More beating, spanking and general abuse to prime your body and counterpoint the emotional with the physical.

You know you can’t get anyone you play with hard? Slap! Zip. You know you are unattractive? Punch! Zilch. You know you are selfish, you’re ruining our marriage, you’re a bad mother!!! Bite, scratch, punch! Crickets. Silence.

You have gone inside yourself so deeply that you have completely shut down. I am not sure if I should consider this a win or a loss. I mean the point was to break you, right? What is more broken than catatonia? The problem is that while you may be broken, I really want the tears, the bawling, the warped sad ugly face that means that you have lost all sense of self. I need to snap you out of it so I can get behind you and fuck you some more.

Hard, cervix-bruising fucking accessorized with punches to the ass and thighs. I grab the rope holding your arms and force you back onto me harder and harder. I tell you to push back, to work at it for a change, and you make a feeble attempt to push back. I pull out and jump off the bed.

Fuck it! You don’t want to try I will find someone who will! I pull on my pants and grab my phone. I storm out of the room, slamming the door as well as I can without waking up everyone in our building. I head out to the kitchen and turn on the chime for the security system so you can hear the back door opening as I leave. I walk quietly back up the hallway listening for signs of life. Nothing. I open the door and you are in the same position that I left you. Un-fucking-believable.

Are you asleep?!? Are you that jaded, that much of a whore, that you don’t even notice when I’m gone? You try to argue and tell me that you are awake. Then what the fuck happened? You don’t care whether I am here or not? You stupid cunt! I untie your legs and arms and turn you over. Your head goes back and smacks the foot of the bed with a thud. I laugh and pull you back onto the bed and fold you in half touching your knees to your chest. I grab your hair and try to rip clumps of it out with every thrust. You grimace and gasp. Does that hurt? I am hoping you say yes, but you say no and I realize that you are too gone to even feel anything. I think it’s time to finish this off.

I turn you over and have you put your arms under you in the classic molester missionary style. I grab your shoulders and continue to fuck you. The mess between you legs is insane, wet beyond belief. You are enjoying this way too much, so I pull out and drive into your ass. You gasp and I quickly get up a good pace. Again the whimpering starts and again I ask if it hurts. Again, you say no. Dear god, bitch, you are insatiable! I speed up and cum hard in your ass and then before you have a chance to catch your breath I start again, redoubling my efforts for a second orgasm deep in your ass. And. I. Am. Done.

I get up and go to bathroom to clean up leaving you laying in the middle of the bed with cum slowly dripping from your ass. When I come back I have to get you up and put your head on the pillow at the other end of the bed. You take the cue and roll out of bed to get cleaned up. I lay down and quickly fall into an orgasm-induced coma.

On the Ride Home

She hit me. Not hard, not maliciously, but with a joking sense of dare, she hit me. I looked at her and she smiled that smile that says, “I have no idea what I am in for…” I reached up and petted her head, running my fingers up the nape of her neck until they held the back of her skull. I closed them into a fist and pulled down hard. Her eyes closed as she melted into the seat. I pulled her closer to me. We are on Congress at the post office. The road narrows to one lane as it goes over the river, concrete barriers on either side as we drive through a hole in the side of a building large enough to have its own zip code.

“Open your eyes,” I said. “One of us has to watch the road and I am watching you.” She tensed up as we pass through and I-290 opens up on the other side. I had her stick her hand in her pants to see if she was wet. Hell yes. Instant mess. I had her stick her hand down her throat which was pretty easy since I had her head pulled back like a sword swallower. She got most of it in and started to gag. I had her pull it out and start masturbating.

“Think of this. Think of now when you go home. This is what you are missing. This is why you are moving back. This is what you want, what I want. This is what we do.” Now we are going about 60 and her exit is coming up quick.

“Cum now.” She picks up the pace and starts to let out those little lost girl sounds, that whimpering that makes me… As she starts to cum, I pull back on her hair hard making her scream in pain at the same time. Again and again I pulled on her hair as she shook through a fairly nice little orgasm.

I looped around to drop her off in front of her sister’s house and to give her a little time to pull herself together. We stopped in front of the house and chatted for a bit before she went to get out of the car. She leaned over and hit me on the shoulder. Some bitches will never learn.

Parlay

 Prologue: This story was inspired by the erotic musings of Fallen Depths though it takes a very different turn and has a different style. I recommend reading the original too. ~MN

She was the cruelest bitch to ever lay flint to powder; the dread pirate Annie McMayhem, queen of the seas. I had met up with her once before in a Malaysian smugglers den where she was fighting for gold teeth. On the table next to her bottle of rum sat a small pile of bloody gold canines and incisors. I knew then and there that this was not a cunt to cross.

We were three days out from the Fiji, heading east when our crow’s nest spotted her flag. We signaled her and pulled along side for Parlay. As I boarded the ship I heard a blood-curdling scream. A man, stripped naked to the waist was lashed to the aft mast; in front of him a small figure brandished a rapier. She was bald with a silk scarf keeping the sweat from her eyes. She wore an off white shirt open to her navel, exposing breasts casually to anyone brazen enough to stare, and one large hoop earring. One arm was capped at the wrist by a stainless steel dagger while the other lined up the rapier tip. She lunged forward at the man tied to the mast. The blade deflected off his jaw and into the wood. He screamed as if castrated. Tears ran down his face streaking the dirt.

“Hold the fuck still you bilge rat or I won’t be able to pierce your ear!” McMayhem screamed. Someone appeared with a belt to strap his head to the mast. She lined up again and lunged. This time he screamed before she reached him. Her blade missed its mark and pierced his throat. The screaming died as blood filled his lungs. The blade had exited through the back of his neck and stuck tight to the mast. She gave it a pull but it didn’t budge. She put her foot on the dead man’s gut and blood spurt out as she twisted the rapier free. Victorious she wiped the blade on her shirt absent-mindedly. She looked up and saw me.

“AHOY Nodi! You ole syphilitic sea turd! Is that a belayin’ pin in your britches, or are ya just happy to see me?” She leapt from the bridge of the boat and landed on the deck beside me. We hugged and sized each other up, looking for new scars since the last time we had met. She had a fresh scar, still pink on the left side of her face and three of her teeth were now made of ivory with sapphires set in them. The missing hand was not new but the stainless steel dagger was.

“That’s quite a dagger ya got thar.” I said holding up my new steel hook. The same doctor had fitted both of them so they looked like evil sibling appendages.

“Aye, and that a mighty nice patch!” she said, lifting it up to look at my newly vacant eye socket. “Ya lose that to the French?”

I laughed. “Arrrrg! I didn’t stop to ask the lout if he was French and his wife was otherwise too distracted to tell me when he barged in on us.” McMayhem giggled.

“You, Nodi, are a whore.”

“Right now I be a thirsty whore. Whatcha got to drink on this skiff?”

“You’re in luck me heartie! We just plundered a Spanish galleon two days hence and filled our hole with bourbon and wine! Come, let’s drink!”

She led me to the Captain’s quarters. It was a spacious set of rooms with a sitting area occupied by a large round table scattered with maps, candles and the leftovers of several meals. With a sweep of her hand the table was cleared. A second mate brought me a chair while Annie sat in a high backed, red crushed velvet chair that was too big for her and the room but as she sat down she seemed to own in it. She put her foot up and tipped back in the chair.

“Whiskey and grub!” She yelled and the echoing sound of people springing into action reverberated through the room. Supper was served by two beautiful servant wenches. Their eyes were constantly down-turned and any movement by the cap’n or myself made them flinch. As we drank we started to play with this fear; as one girl began pouring my drink I would sit up quickly as if preparing to grab her. She would flinch and stumble back toward McMayhem who would bolt up scaring the poor lass back my way. Back and forth a few more times, until the waif burst into tears and ran from the room. We burst into laughter each time we did it. Annie began to tell me about her girls, Dutch captives that had been missionaries in Africa.

“They know more than missionary now!” She started giggling uncontrollably at her joke, pieces of food falling from her mouth. I spit bourbon across the table and tears welled up in my eyes. She calmed down and called in her first mate.

“Bring me a four pound cannon shot.” He raced out of the room, passing one of the wenches as she entered with more wine. Annie grabbed her by the arm and pulled her in and across the table. The girl was barely eighteen with golden blonde hair and pleading blue eyes that stared at me. Her face was held down into a plate of half-eaten food and she let out a small whimper; she knew whatever was coming next was going to be nearly unbearable. The first mate returned with the shot. It was a iron ball just a little smaller than a grapefruit. McMayhem took it and called for the other one of the servant girl. When she came in, Annie handed her the ball and with her steel-daggered hand, lifted the pinned down girl’s dress exposing her soft white ass and using her good hand to anchor the wench by the neck. The smell of sex wafted from beneath her petty coats betraying her slutty desire.

“That’s the finest pirate booty I’ve ever laid eyes on!” I said with a sneer.

The second girl, who had a similar face and hair a shade darker, knelt almost reverently in front of Annie, turning the metal shot over in her hands. She let a long thread of saliva leave her lips to coat the ball. She then spit on her hand and rubbed the already wet cunt of the blonde. The blonde’s eyes closed as she let out a moan of pleasure.

I slammed my hook down on the table and her eyes were again wide with fear. “Ye look at me while she scrapes yar barnacles,” I hissed. She kept her sharp blue eyes on me as her fellow servant, possible sister, began to work the ball into her cunt. Her lips parted slightly showing the whiteness of her teeth as the stretching became tearing, and soon after became filling. The brunette finally passed the threshold and the ball disappeared into the blonde’s cunt.

“Now ye hold it, me proud beauty or I’ll get me flogger!” barked McMayhem. She looked at the other girl, still on her knees. “Take off me pants.” The brunette undid the buttons and let the trousers fall. Underneath the pants McMayhem was wearing a harness with attachment points but nothing rigged to it.

“Get me the ram rod,” she commanded and the brown haired wench nodded and crawled to a nearby chest. When she opened it there was almost a glow from the great variety of dildos inside. There were silver and gold and polished wooden ones with fine grains of yellow running through the black meat. There were thick and thin ones, long and short. The brunette pulled out a simple blue steel cylinder. She hooked it into Annie’s harness and started sucking it without being told. Once it was wet and glistened, the captain pulled the girl off of it and positioned herself behind the blonde. She directed her steel cock into the girl’s ass and very unceremoniously, she drove it home.

“RAMMING SPEED!” Annie roared.

The blonde, whose eyes had never stopped looking at me no matter where I was looking, screamed as the rod tore into her. McMayhem liked the sound and giggled as she picked up the pace. Faster and faster she sodomized the girl whose cries of pain started to melt away and turn into screams of pleasure.

“Give this Sea Dog Hansel,” Annie offhandedly said to the girl on the floor. The wench had been enraptured in the fucking. She was caressing her breast and cunt absentmindedly. “Now!” Annie ordered and the girl jumped from her reverie and returned to the pleasure chest against the wall. She came back with a six-inch long statue of porcelain. It was a little Dutch boy with rosy cheeks and wooden shoes. The brunette adeptly removed my hook and replaced it with the figurine, and then with her eyes raised to me she slowly took the statue into her mouth, coating it with saliva. I took it out of her mouth, watching the line of spit trail from her swollen lips. I walked over to the blonde and she eagerly started licking at the wet figure.

“Now, bring me Gretel.” The sweat was beading up as McMayhem continued to work the girl’s ass. There was a disappointed moan followed by a crash as the cannon shot finally fell from her overused cunt. The captain stopped.

“You lazy whore! I’ve crushed seventeen men’s skulls between me thighs and you’re pussy is wider me ship’s beam!” She pulled out of the girl’s ass and picked up her rapier. “Ye know the punishment.” The blonde nodded, stood up slowly and turned over to lie on her back in the middle of the table while all the time, not for a moment, letting go of the Dutch boy that was my hand. She shifted her weight and moved back to get her whole body on the table. She brought her legs up and lifted her dress to expose her red and swollen cunt. A light fuzzy of blonde hair covered her like down feathers. Without a second of warning or preparation, the dread pirate brought the sword down across her labia. The girl screamed and bit down on the Dutch boy.

“One,” said the brunette still on her knees, rubbing her clit. Annie slashed at the cunt again and again the blonde screamed.

“Two,” her voice was getting more aroused.

Slash. Scream.

“Three…” She was working her clit frantically. McMayhem shifts position to cut perpendicular to the last three.

Slash.

“Four!”

Slash! The last one was with such gusto that the tip drew blood as it crossed the soaking wet pussy.

“Five!” The brunette screaming in orgasm as the blonde cried in pain. Annie leaned in and kissed away the blood and licked the blonde’s swollen labia but before she could get the impression that all was wine and roses, she took her little Dutch girl and shoved it into the little Dutch girl. The little blonde was devouring the dildo in her mouth and in her cunt almost completely forgetting the pain from just a few minutes earlier. Annie fucked her hard and fast while I went for depth, reaching far down her throat.

Annie McMayhem giggled. “Let’s make ’em kiss!” There was an irresistible insanity in her eyes and we both started fucking our corresponding holes as deep as we could imagining that we would eventually meet somewhere in the middle of the bitch. She gagged and gasped and squirmed as the captain pushed up against the wenches cervix.

“On the count of three, lift.” she said. “One, two, three!” We lifted her off the table by the dildos. Her hair hung down and her limbs hung limp but the small of her back was floating as if by magic.

“Now that, is a spit roast!” By now the brunette was on the floor writhing uncontrollably.

“It looks like your whores can’t control themselves.” I nodded at the mess on the floor and laughed.

“She’s insatiable! However, most of my whores can fuck for hours without so much as a moan.” As she talked she motioned for the brunette to come closer. When she was near, the dread pirate rubbed her boot on the girls cunt, mixing the mud and salt with her cum. She lifted her foot and the brunette, like a starving dog, jumped up and started licking the mixture from her foot.

“I don’t know,” I said. “I’m a thinkin’ I could get one of your whores to cum before I do.”

“Bullshit!” She sneered and kicked the brunette away.

“Care t’ make a wager?” I looked for that bit of crazy that would give me the advantage.

“I’ll bet me best. No! I’ll bet better than me best!”

“You’re on,” I said.

The dread pirate Annie McMayhem smiled and a twinkle filled her eyes. “Get Bridgette.” The order went out like ripples behind a massive stone being thrown into the water. The girls were cleared of the room and the table was broken down as to give the competition more room. Shortly after the room was prepared, a small hooded figure made her way to the open space. She removed her hood and I was instantly taken by her jet black hair and emerald eyes. She was an enchantress and I knew it.

“Avast, me proud beauty! I be firing me cannon down through your porthole.” I growled.

I found a stool, sat down and called for a bottle. The blonde was on her knees at my side and I handed her a new attachment for my hand. It was two thin, slightly curved metal plates that came together in a duck’s bill. A small cord tied to the harness near my elbow allowed me to open and close it with a simple flex of the forearm. I stuck it in the blonde’s mouth and pried her teeth apart to test the mechanism. She moaned a little and I spit down her open throat.

“Bring me Moby Dick!” The dread pirate giggled as the brunette took a small wooden box from the larger chest. Inside was a scrimshaw dildo shaped like a sperm whale. There were rubies and diamonds embedded in it like petrified blood and sea spray. She put it into her harness and removed her shirt, now completely soaked in blood, sweat and cum. She made quite the sight standing there in only her boots, scarf and strap-on made of whalebone. Her nipples stood out like gumdrops, and thrust at the air. The brunette backed up and offered her cunt up to Annie, who fell upon the wench with renewed hunger.

“Let’s board these bitches Nodi!” she yelled as she fucked her captive. Bridgette lost no time, moving in close. Her hands were like snakes, seeking to wrap themselves around me until the found a place of weakness. I grabbed her hair, snapping her head back, pulling her mouth open ever so slightly. One hand was inside my shirt running up my side while the other wasted no time finding my cock. I opened the new clamp that was my right hand just far enough to take hold of her windpipe. She gasped and stepped backwards as I pushed her against a column. I let go of her hair, reach down and with a single movement pulled off my belt. I wrapped it around her neck and the post, cinching it to the point that she winced in pain. I watched as the color faded from her cheeks and her green eyes started to glaze before I released. She moaned and I secured the belt to hold her tightly without choking. I pulled off her robe and used it to tie her hands behind the post. I pushed her down onto her haunches, feet beneath her, knees spread. She was mouth level with my cock and stared at my crotch greedily. Her mouth opened and closed with her pouty lips quivering. I took the speculum hand and shoved it down her throat until her eyes were watering and then pulled it out covered in saliva and bile. I slid it into her cunt and spread it so I could easily reach her G-spot. Once inside her and pushing in her spot, I removed the speculum and put it back in her throat. In less than thirty seconds she was squirting all over the floor, crying gagging and convulsing.

“Thar she blows!” screamed Annie.

I stood up and pulled out my dick. While holding her mouth open with my speculum hand I pissed down Bridgette’s throat. She closed her eyes and drank thirstily. Annie put her boot against her brunette’s ass and pushed toward us. “Lick it up, slut!” I pulled up my pants and removed the belt from Bridgette’s neck.

“Ye got quite the crew here,” I said as we dress and watch the brunette clean the floor. “Ye sure tha’ ye can part with one o’ them?”

The dread pirate Annie McMayhem giggled her evil giggle. “Aye, me have an even better bitch in mind for yar prize.”

Bhakti (Take One)

We are sitting on the couch, watching a movie and you tell me you have to pee. Of course you have to pee, you are half way through your second Cosmopolitan. I do what I am wont to do when you show me a way of picking on you, I start pushing on your bladder. You squirm and try to object. You tell me “no” as you laugh and then you do something you never do, you start to fight back. Hello? What is this, a bit of fight in my timid little sub? Ok, game on.

You are not pulling your punches, you are giving it your all. Pinching, pushing, pulling, biting. Biting? That’s new. I push my hand into your mouth. Feed the bite, as they say. You bite harder and harder. Your eyes start to plead with me to show pain. You whimper when I tell you to bite harder. You are not a sadist for sure. I pin your arms down and pinch you back. I play with pressure points and you refuse to show that it hurts. Good, it means I can go farther, more and more and more until the yelp of pain bubbles out. I wonder if you will bite my dick if I put it in your mouth. Yep, and hard. Ok, that will not be repeated. The fight goes on and I am on top so I use my weight to outlast you. Finally you are exhausted and scream, “Fuck! Uncle!”

I stick my fingers down your throat and get them coated in saliva. I pull up your dress and start rubbing your clit. You relax and fall back on the couch. You beg to cum. I stick my fingers in you and they are covered in cunt juice. They go back in your mouth and you suck them clean. Back to the clit. Ready? Five, four, three, two, one. Cum. Just as you do I slap your pussy as hard as I can, slamming the breaks on your orgasm.

You still have to pee. Fine, let’s pee. I lift you off the couch by your hair. Down the hall into the bathroom. You start for the toilet. Nice try. I open the shower and throw you in. Squat and piss like an animal. You have on a housedress and bra, but no panties. Good thing, too; I would have made you piss through them. I shove my cock in your mouth while you piss. So degrading being used while pissing. I fuck your throat. You suck my cock. Back and forth with you attacking my dick like you are starving. We can smell the piss now and I ask you if you feel disgusting. You shake your head with my dick stuffed in your cheeks. I tell you to choke on it.

You open your mouth as wide as you can and impale yourself on my cock, pushing it down your throat until the gagging turns to coughing turns to puking. You catch it in you mouth and swallow. Again and again. The smell of vomit is now mixed with the piss and you are still sucking my dick like a woman possessed. You are so eagerly licking and gagging and fucking and sucking. You are on your knees worshipping me, eyes closed, devotion consuming you. I pull your dress up over your shoulders to show your bra and have you pull out your tits so they hang out unceremoniously. You are so fucking used, so consumed and whorish that my dick is literally throbbing with excitement. You are not yourself, you are nothing but desperate desire completely overwhelmed by the need to please my every whim.

I pull out of your mouth and start jerking off as I look down at you, so completely in the moment, so beautiful in your degradation. Your hair is a mess. Your lips are swollen with desire and from sucking my dick. I tell you to lick my balls while I jerk off and you take the command to heart and start kissing and licking and cleaning them as if they are your reason for being. You are so completely taken up by this that I cannot hold it for long. I grab your hair, pull back your face and demand you open your mouth for me. I tell you how filthy you are. You say yes. I tell you you are low. You say you want to be low for me. I say that you are a whore and love being used. You say,

“Please piss on me.”

There it is. That is where we were going from the beginning. I knew it, you knew it. The scene was about being low and you were giving it up to me. You want me to because you know it is what I want. I cannot get any harder but the moment distracts me from cumming and so I fuck your face and put you back to licking my balls. You attack them and soon I am there again, this time I cum. I cum in your eyes and nose and in your open and eager mouth. You hold still trying not to let the cum fall. I catch my breath and let my dick soften for the next part.

And then we wait…

And wait, and wait and wait. The moment stretches out as I try and feel the urine in my bladder. I get out of the shower and get a drink of water. And another and another… I can feel it hitting the bladder so I get back in the shower. Nothing. I take off your clothes. I take off my clothes. I close the shower door and start the water. That makes the feeling rise but again nothing. More waiting. I am standing there and you are so obediently waiting at my feet. I turn the shower on you, imagining the water on your face is my piss. Yes, it is hot and that makes me start to get hard again. That doesn’t help. You tell me to move the water when I am ready to start pissing.

“I want to know that it is you and not the water” you say and I am more in love with you than ever.

It starts to come again and I reach up for the showerhead and like that, the feeling is gone. Arm down, I concentrate, feel it coming again, reach up and it’s gone. Repeat. Meanwhile you are trying everything. You look up at me even though the water is burning your eyes. You open your mouth even though you really are not looking forward to drinking it. You try to look excited, eager. You try to look scared and used. You touch me, you cower, you talk casually, seductively. You are silent. You are so patient that you wait there for 45 minutes in the bottom of the shower while the water slowly goes cold.

I start getting desperate. I push on my bladder. There it is! The feeling comes rushing up. Not just a faint glimmer of hope, not just an inkling, a full-on I have to piss moment! Here it comes, once it starts it will be fine. The floodgates will have been opened. Finally it comes and… it’s just a trickle. Then it stops. I punch my bladder, I squeeze, I push until it is overwhelming and it finally happens. The piss comes at last. Not a lot, not for long, but enough to make it official. You have a look on your face that is the perfect combination of utter disgust and joyous relief. We laugh a little and I help you up to shower off so we can finish our movie. I get out of the stall and dry off. We chat a little about how it was so much harder than I expected. I am out of my head a little as we talk, happy that we did this, happy that it turned me on like I thought it would. I do not even realize that I have walked over to the toilet and sat down. Sure, now the piss comes…

Why I Play (Part II)

Chest bound in that beautifully tight way that makes the skin turn crimson and later purple.Wrists tied to ankles, chained together so she could be hoisted up and thrown around like a piece of meat. The hood takes away her individuality, the blindfold takes away her sight. As much as I have worked to take away everything that she might call her “self” the language, the tone, the words that come out of her mouth are still hers and that is what has to stop.

I work her over physically first. I fuck her cunt. I fuck her mouth. I fuck her ass. I shove my hand inside and turn her into a moaning human glove. I punch her tits. I pinch her nipples, slap her face. I pull on the rope between her angles to remind her of her predicament of her helplessness. I tell her to cum. She does but I am not convinced. It is a weak, “Do as sir says even if I’m not really there yet.” I tell her to cum again, to squirt. She tries and fails.

I start in on the mental. I tell her that she is not a slut a slut likes to cum. She was a whore. A whore is to be used, to be abused. A whore doesn’t cum because she doesn’t care. She is not paid to care. She is there to be fucked. I lay into her, start pushing her to say it.

“What are you”

“A whore, sir.”

“Do whores cum?”

“No sir.”

“Why don’t you cum whore?”

“Because said no.”

I get out the Hitachi and start to destroy what shreds of dignity she may have left. She begs to cum and I just laugh. There is no way in hell she is getting permission. She is a whore and whores are to be used and thrown away, not be satisfied. She is leaving in two days. Going off to hunt wolves in Alaska with Sarah Palin or some shit like that. I ask her if she is going to have fun killing puppies. I tell her she is a whore, my whore. She agrees. I ask if she would fuck the first guy to walk by our house. She says she would for me. I ask her if she is going to whore in Alaska. “Are you going to pick up some guy in the bar and fuck him?”

Cue the water works. She starts to cry big sad tears as I drive the Hitachi into her clit. The crying starts a chain reaction. She looses control and starts to cum and as she does she starts to squirt. I mean buckets. She is crying and cumming all at the same time. Fluids explodes from her like she is a water balloon on dry grass soaking my bed (her side thank god). She is shaking and crying, cumming and sad and all sorts of screwed up.

Later when she is untied and the sheets have been changed, she crawls up against my chest and falls asleep. This is why I play.

Making the Most of the Space You Have

Three bedroom, two bath with a dungeon in the back. I hate to call it a dungeon because that implies torture and while pain and torment are definitely on the table, they are merely means to an end. They are colors to paint with but they are not the picture. How about studio? Studio is even more pretentious than dungeon. I am not an artist. I love to be creative, to hear you say, “I’ve never done that before.” But that is not the same thing as comparing what I do with being a musician or sculptor. Office? Too serious. Play room? Too playful. Let’s just call it “the room.”

The room is almost done. The frame is in place and most of the books that had been collecting dust on the shelves have been boxed up. The lock has been installed and the curtain for the glass door has been hung to keep out unintentionally prying eyes. There a few things left to do (hang the curtain to hide the shelving, get a stereo system, get rid of the desk, etc.) but all in all the room is coming together. It made its maiden voyage last night and I was pleased.

I leave the ladies to play on the couch and make sure that everything is order; the music is selected, the heat is on. I stand in front of the wall, looking at the newly organized toys. I find what I am looking for (cuffs and blindfolds) and look over the assortment for anything else that might be fun. Oh, o-ring gags!

When I return to the living room I am met by that pouty look. The look of a child (read: Z) who is mad because she has been told it’s bedtime when she just got to the good part (read: vagina) of the book (read: adorable lady friend M). The silly bitch just doesn’t know how much book reading she has ahead of her. Adorable lady friend M is dressed in perfect nerd girl harem attire (glasses, garters, skirt and sweater) and Z has on her standard business hotness. I leave M on the couch for a minute as I guide Z back to the bedroom. It’s her house so I have to spin her a little to get her confused. A girl always sounds better falling when she has no idea what (if anything) is going to catch her fall. She lands face-first in the bed with her legs at awkward angles that make it hard for her to keep her balance. I leave her like this and go back to get M.

In the room I hang them up on the frame, each in turn. They sway on tiptoes as I strip and inspect them. After finding that both of the girls were in good shape, a few bruises and a scar in the middle of M’s back, but nothing broken, I bring them together, strip off all their clothes except their garters and have them stand together under the frame. I put their arms together from fingers to elbows and wrap them together. I take the two sets of arms, tie them together and string them back up. M is much shorter than Z so I had to try to not overextend her arms while still keeping Z off balance. I keep their arms over their heads, mouths gaping and drool pouring out of their top-side fuck holes. I bring their feet together and start wrapping.

If you did not already know, you can get 1000’ rolls of stretch wrap at the hardware store. I am trying to get various colors but the questions I get from my supply manager have made that more of a challenge. I wrap them together from feet to neck, making sure to pull them together with each round. By the end they are one solid body with two arms and two hot, gagged little mouths that were now almost completely out of drool.

I am many things, but a monster is not one of them. Okay, maybe that is not entirely true. I am a monster, but I do like to take good care of my toys so when I see that they are drying out I got a big glass of water and a turkey baster. They are like a freaky two-headed baby bird choking on the tablespoons of water I drizzle into their mouths. The water pours out and down between their tits making the wrap squeak as they moved. I inject more water under the wrap, watching it run down their backs as they squirm. Refreshed, I let them hang for a bit while I got the camera.

When I come back with the camera the girls are trying to make out through their gags. Their mouths pried open, tongues searching for each other made them look like some sort of incestous Siamese twins. I took a few nice photos (Santa brought me a new camera for Christmas after reading P’s final play date before his (un)timely end and seeing some the pictures from that).

I finished taking pictures and cut the girls down. The nice side effect of playing with shrink wrap is that the skin is hyper-sensitive afterwards. So they quickly fall into touching each other. I take off their blindfolds and gags and move them to the bedroom for more relaxed sexytime.

Yes. Overall, I would have to say that the room is coming along nicely.

All your emotions are belong to us!

I had barely touched her when she started to cry. Shoulders came up and forward and her chin went down. Her elbows locked in tight against the sides of her body as if to limit access to the sensitive under arm region and to reduce the area available for me to get ahold of. Her hands were set into rigid claws, palms out. Normally, an obedient sub who behaves quickly, I knew that something was happening in her head. I grabbed her hair by the ponytail that was packed into the back of her hood and pulled her head close.

“Put your fucking hands down.” I kept anger out of my tone as I leveled the words at her. I wanted the weight of potential punishments to settle on her mind without the distraction of screaming. Slowly as if her will was fighting every instinct in her body, the arms came down but the shoulders were still tight and forward. Her breathing was short and fast, more shallow and rapid that could be expected for so early in the scene.

“Drop your shoulders.” Nothing.

“Drop your shoulders.” I let her know that it was the last time I was going to say it nicely. Still nothing. I punch her in the upper arm. “Drop them.” I punch her other shoulder. “Drop them.” Again and again, the blows start getting harder and landing faster. She cowers and turns away. She is bawling now.

Her body language betrayed the state of mind she was in. It was as if her head was a well-decorated room and I was an earthquake that had knocked over vases full of flowers and torn pictures from the walls. She could not help it, she could not stop it. The pain of isolation and abandonment had gotten into her head. She is so proud of her strength, of her ability to withstand the psychological torment. Her walls are thick and when playing with others, ZG will usually only cry from physical pain or exhaustion. Now, here, for me she is crying because she is scared, confused and alone.

“I don’t like it when you are mean to me.” She sniffles through her tears.

“You don’t like it?” I move in close to her ear, my breath hot on her skin. “I don’t give a shit what you like.” I bend her over, planting her face in the bed and kick at her ankles to spread her legs. Her cunt is hot and wet, so I squeeze the bruises on her inner thigh.

“Your cunt is soaking wet, so either you are a fucking liar or you are such a slut that you will put up with anything if it means you will get fucked.” I pull my belt off and fold it in half so the buckle is in the palm of my hand.

“Which is it?” I bring the belt across her right butt cheek with a solid smack. She lets out a little moaning cry. She is trying to be quiet now, which tells me that she is still in control a little bit.

“Do you want to be fucked?” I bring the belt back across her left butt cheek. The connection is not as solid so I shift my stance and do it again. The scream is a little louder. I lean in again. “You want to get fucked?”

“Yes,” she whimpers.

“You are such a fucking slut that you will do anything to get fucked, aren’t you?” I undo my pants and let them fall to the floor.

“Yes.” She tries so hard to leave it there. She hates confessions. I can see that in this silence she is trying to rebuild the walls in her mind and pick up the pieces of her emotional sanity. She hates to admit to weakness, to needing anything, but I will not let her get away with this.

“Say it then. Say that you are a slut that will do anything to get fucked.”

“I will do anything to get fucked.” Again, she is cutting it short.

“Say the whole fucking thing,” I hiss. The buckle works like a roll of quarters tightening my fist as I punch her ass.

“Ah! I’m a slut who will do anything to get fucked!” I enter her as she says this. I fuck her slowly, letting her juice cover my cock.

“Again.”

“I’m a slut who will do anything… Ah!” I thrust hard to hit her cervix. She clenches her teeth and I drive deep into her. “It hurts…” She knows that it is a mistake to say it even before the words get out of her mouth.

“This is not for you, cunt!” I continue to alternate between softer shallow strokes and burying myself in her. I wrap the belt around her chest and arms, directly across both nipples as I tighten it. It makes for a handle to hold on to, allowing for more consecutive deep thrusts. I can see in her eyes that it hurts, but when I pull out she continues to cry.

She is broken. She is lost in despair and I am beyond turned on. Getting her to a place that no one else can take her, laying her out defenseless and destroyed and then picking up the pieces is both erotic and romantic in my perverted mind.