Door to Door Saleswoman
Kelli was doing her ironing and taking care of the usual garbage housework Monday morning, decked out in her sweatshirt and loose jeans with her hair still damp from the shower. Maury Povich was on the TV talking about women married to serial rapists, and the house was just starting to warm up after the last night's freeze when the doorbell rang.
Kelli looked through the peephole and saw a professionally dressed woman carrying a sample case. She opened the door and asked what the woman was selling. "My name's Martha Howard, and I'm with 'My Special Wardrobe'," the woman began. "I'd like to show you this year's catalog of fine affordable hosiery and lingerie for the woman without time to shop for herself." The woman reached into her inside jacket pocket to hand Kelli her business card, and flashed her a view of a color catalog.
Kelli opened the door and ushered the saleswoman into her living room. "You'll have to excuse me, I've been working..." she started. "Don't feel any need to apologize," Martha responded, "if you had time to keep a meticulous house you wouldn't need our services." With that, Martha pulled out a catalog and laid it on the coffee table, then opened her sample case and pulled out a lined nightgown. "You're about a nine, right?" she asked. Kelli blushed and allowed as how she was closer to a ten. The saleswoman grinned, saying, "Well, these cover a range of sizes. Let me show you this one." And with that, to Kelli's surprise, the woman stood up to take off her jacket and blouse, revealing a black lacy bra and tap pants, and pulled the nightgown over her head. "Feel the material," she continued with no break, "it's a new development that combines the feel of silk with the wearing properties of a nylon blend." Kelli took the hem of the nightgown between her fingers and rubbed it, agreeing that it did feel nice.
Martha started to take off the nightgown, her voice somewhat muffled through the material as she said "Go ahead and try this one on -- we do have them in a wide variety of colors to suit your preference." Kelli was a little embarrassed, but since the saleswoman was so nonchalant about changing in front of her, she decided it must be part of her normal routine. So Kelli tugged the bottom of her sweatshirt out of her pants and pulled it over her head to remove it.
At that point, Martha palmed Kelli's breasts through her bra. Kelli shrieked as the woman's knowing fingers found her sensitive nipples, but the heavy sweatshirt muffled her voice. Before she could uncover her head, Martha had turned her around and bound her arms behind her back. Then, as Kelli started cursing her out, she tugged the sweatshirt away from Kelli's face -- only long enough to put something rubbery into Kelli's mouth.
The device was an inflatable plug, and Kelli could hear the woman squeezing the bulb as the infernal thing filled her mouth with the acrid taste of rubber, stretching her jaws wide to hold it in place. That done, the woman released the sweatshirt, once again muffling the helpless housewife's curses. She removed Kelli's bra and wrapped a different one around her, one with cutouts where Kelli's nipples were. Kelli felt the draft from the air conditioner playing over them, and the saleswoman nodded knowingly as they perked up like two ripe raspberries. She ran a feather over them, and Kelli moaned around her gag as she felt her legs grow weak.
Martha piped up as she watched Kelli squirm, "Let's see what we've got under those jeans!" Kelli tried to kick, but the saleswoman was stronger and she soon had Kelli's faded denims sliding down her legs, revealing her drab panties. As the woman tugged the jeans around Kelli's ankles, the squirming woman sent a vicious knee in the direction of her tormentor's face. But she wasn't quite on target, and Martha's voice turned cold in response. "You're not being a very good model, my dear -- perhaps you need a little... motivation." With that, she took a spreader bar from her sample case and locked it between Kelli's knees, holding them open and vulnerable.
Kelli felt the cold steel of a knife touch her thighs, and she willed herself into total stillness. She heard more than felt her panties ripped open, and as the air washed over her bared pussy her wet thatch of hair testified to her arousal. "I think you need to try our special accessories," Martha continued, and she probed Kelli's pussy with a long finger. She removed her finger and replaced it with a thin dildo, warm and slick, pushing it deep inside Kelli as the girl squirmed on the couch, wanting to repel the invader but unable to keep it out. Just as Kelli couldn't keep Martha's fingers off her nipples, or hide her response as the woman plucked at them and made them hard, deep red and sensitive. Kelli moaned as the woman moved the dildo in and out until she came, breaking into a cold sweat and slumping back onto the sofa.
While she was out of action, Martha removed the spreader bar long enough to slide a g-string up Kelli's legs. She re-attached the bar and cinched the g-string tight over the base of the dildo, then untied Kelli's arms and pulled the sweatshirt completely off her. She took out the mouth plug, but before Kelli could enjoy the relief from the strain it was replaced by a bridle and bit which the woman squeezed savagely between Kelli's jaws. "Let's play horsie!" she said, tugging Kelli off the sofa and sitting on her back. The housewife struggled to carry the saleswoman, who kept reaching down to alternately pinch her tits and slap her ass. Because of the spreader bar, Kelli could only move in small jerky paces, while the dildo rubbed her maddeningly inside every time she moved. By the time they got into the kitchen she was a mass of quivering flesh and rubber muscles. When her tormentor got up to get a drink from the refrigerator, Kelli found enough strength to stumble to her feet and do a full body slam, knocking the woman's head against the refrigerator hard enough to knock her out.
Kelli caught her breath shakily, then went to the closet and found some strapping tape. She tied Martha's arms tightly together behind her back, and started to rip the woman's bra off but changed her mind. She looked for the gag the woman had used on her, coated it with hot mustard from the refrigerator, and set it aside while she figured out how to get the spreader bar off her legs. That done, she started to take out the dildo, but as she tugged the thick object out of her vagina, the sensations were so intense that she had to close her eyes and thrust it back in and out, rubbing her clit until she came again.
When Kelli was able to catch her breath, she pulled the slimy object out of her with a quick shuddering gasp and set it aside. Martha was starting to come around, so Kelli pushed the mustard-coated gag into her mouth and sealed it with some of the strapping tape. She smiled coldly as a thought occurred to her. "Don't go away now," she muttered to the dazed woman. Kelli rummaged in the bathroom until she found what she was looking for -- an old tube of Ben-Gay. She squeezed some of the heating ointment onto her fingers and then slipped her hands into the saleswoman's bra cups, squeezing the woman's tits to and fro as she worked the stuff in. She stood back and watched as the ointment took effect. Martha began writhing on the floor, muffled curses and moans coming from behind the gag. Kelli watched the sweat pop out on the woman's forehead and reached out with one foot to rub Martha's tits, making her squirm more. "Is this enough motivation for you?" Kelli snarled.
Kelli tugged her G-string off, and squatted over Martha. "Do something nice for me, and maybe I'll cool off those tits of yours," she said. She reached down and peeled the strapping tape off of the saleswoman's mouth, the gag coming with it. "Guuhhgg..." was Martha's unintelligible reply. "I'll take that as a yes," said Kelli, and settled down over the woman's nose and mouth. Quickly she felt a tongue probing around between her legs, searching her private places until it found its way to her vagina and clit. "Gee, seems like you've done this before," the young woman commented as she closed her eyes to enjoy the sensation. She rocked back and forth as the probing tongue brought her around to a shivering orgasm, then got up and went back to the refrigerator. She came back with a jar of honey, and took off the woman's bra. Her breasts were large with bright red, raw-looking nipples. Kelli rubbed the cold honey all over the breasts, pushing the nipples in with her thumbs as Martha shuddered and moaned beneath her. Kelli slapped them experimentally, enjoying the way they looked when they quivered.
"Your arms must be hurting, lying on them like that," she said. So she rolled Martha over onto her stomach, then after another thought found the spreader bar and fastened it between Martha's legs. The saleswoman started to complain, but subsided quickly when Kelli waved the gag in front of her. Kelli helped Martha up, wobbling a little on her feet, and half-walked, half-pushed her toward the clothes closet in the living room. She took some twine from the closet floor, and fastened Martha's arms to the closet bar, then stuffed the gag back into her mouth and shut the door.
Kelli went over to the phone and started to dial her neighbor's number. "Peggy," she said when the call was answered, "do you have time to come over for a while? I've got a saleswoman here who has the most *interesting* things to show..."
***** {END} ***** Completed 1991, 1697 words
Door to Door Saleswoman, by Rajah Dodger {rdodger@hotmail.com}, Copyright (c) 1991. All rights reserved, except that electronic not-for-profit reproduction rights only are explicitly granted with the stipulation that this authorship and permission note must remain attached.
Friday, January 9, 2009
Tuesday, January 6, 2009
Something New From a New Contributor!
Here is something from our newest contributor, Thatgrrl.
ThatGrrrl is a 40ish sub living a complicated personal life and managing lots of data on a daily basis in North Carolina. She is a cat lover, book reader, tea drinker, and Mensa member.
Be Still….
Sleeping, she waits for him to come to her. A light touch on her lips brings her slowly awake, and she senses a presence. She hopes it is him, but the moon is new and the room is dark. The door is closed, and she is alone with someone.
She feels warm breath in her hair, and hears a whispering voice that says, "Be still. Very, very still." And then she feels a coldness on her cheek, juxtaposed against the warmth of the voice in her ear. Her own breath comes a little faster, and warmth starts to spread in her body. At the same time, a tinge of fear colors the darkness in her eyes.
"Who?" she says, and slightly turns her head. But she realizes very quickly that was a mistake, because the coldness on her cheek turns to heat as something sharp pinches her skin. Is it a pinch? Is it a cut? She can't tell.
And then she feels warmth on her cheek, the warm wetness of a drop of blood, or is it a tear? A finger wipes it from her cheek, and offers it to her lips, to her tongue. She willingly accepts it, still unable to discern the source.
"I told you to be still, baby. I meant it." The voice whispers in her ear, and she swallows. "I'm sorry. I'll be still. I promise."
Strong hands encircle her wrists, lifting her hands above her head, holding them there. She feels the weight of another joining her on the bed, but she doesn't move, doesn't shift her position, because she's been told to be still.
"Good girl." She smiles at this highest of praise.
Her smile is engulfed by his lips as he kisses her, slowly, deeply, strongly. Her arms ache to hold him, to touch him, the way her heart aches to be his, but she remains true to her promise. She doesn't move, except to breathe.
She feels his lips caress her cheek, feels his tongue dart out and lick her where the coldness pinched her, and her heart skips a beat. She has no control over her heart.
He draws back from her, but she feels his presence above her on the bed. He whispers in her ear again. "You're mine, aren't you? Mine to do with what I will. Yes, you are." Quietly, carefully, she replies, still not knowing for sure who is asking the question, "Yes. Yes, I am." Hoping it's him, the one she's been waiting for. The one she loves. The one she needs.
A sound she can't identify fills her mind. But then, another sound follows almost immediately, the second one is a sound that she hears in her dreams, when she's driving, working, reading, thinking, eating, living, a sound that she craves the source of. A sound that makes her body convulse. A sound that makes her mind swirl down into darker realms of pleasure.. A sound that she can't live without.
Fear covers her, knowing that she promised him she would be still, but, at the sound, the beautiful sound, her body disobeyed of its own accord, and she shuddered. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry..." but he hushes her with a kiss. He knows the effect that sound has on her, on her body and on her soul. "It's ok, baby. Don't be afraid."
She feels the coldness under her chin, lifting it, and she gladly obeys the unspoken command, willingly exposes her tender throat to him.. She feels his lips on her skin, and then a small nip, a gentle bite, and a tiny sound escapes from her.
“Yes. Please. Yes.”
ThatGrrrl is a 40ish sub living a complicated personal life and managing lots of data on a daily basis in North Carolina. She is a cat lover, book reader, tea drinker, and Mensa member.
Be Still….
Sleeping, she waits for him to come to her. A light touch on her lips brings her slowly awake, and she senses a presence. She hopes it is him, but the moon is new and the room is dark. The door is closed, and she is alone with someone.
She feels warm breath in her hair, and hears a whispering voice that says, "Be still. Very, very still." And then she feels a coldness on her cheek, juxtaposed against the warmth of the voice in her ear. Her own breath comes a little faster, and warmth starts to spread in her body. At the same time, a tinge of fear colors the darkness in her eyes.
"Who?" she says, and slightly turns her head. But she realizes very quickly that was a mistake, because the coldness on her cheek turns to heat as something sharp pinches her skin. Is it a pinch? Is it a cut? She can't tell.
And then she feels warmth on her cheek, the warm wetness of a drop of blood, or is it a tear? A finger wipes it from her cheek, and offers it to her lips, to her tongue. She willingly accepts it, still unable to discern the source.
"I told you to be still, baby. I meant it." The voice whispers in her ear, and she swallows. "I'm sorry. I'll be still. I promise."
Strong hands encircle her wrists, lifting her hands above her head, holding them there. She feels the weight of another joining her on the bed, but she doesn't move, doesn't shift her position, because she's been told to be still.
"Good girl." She smiles at this highest of praise.
Her smile is engulfed by his lips as he kisses her, slowly, deeply, strongly. Her arms ache to hold him, to touch him, the way her heart aches to be his, but she remains true to her promise. She doesn't move, except to breathe.
She feels his lips caress her cheek, feels his tongue dart out and lick her where the coldness pinched her, and her heart skips a beat. She has no control over her heart.
He draws back from her, but she feels his presence above her on the bed. He whispers in her ear again. "You're mine, aren't you? Mine to do with what I will. Yes, you are." Quietly, carefully, she replies, still not knowing for sure who is asking the question, "Yes. Yes, I am." Hoping it's him, the one she's been waiting for. The one she loves. The one she needs.
A sound she can't identify fills her mind. But then, another sound follows almost immediately, the second one is a sound that she hears in her dreams, when she's driving, working, reading, thinking, eating, living, a sound that she craves the source of. A sound that makes her body convulse. A sound that makes her mind swirl down into darker realms of pleasure.. A sound that she can't live without.
Fear covers her, knowing that she promised him she would be still, but, at the sound, the beautiful sound, her body disobeyed of its own accord, and she shuddered. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry..." but he hushes her with a kiss. He knows the effect that sound has on her, on her body and on her soul. "It's ok, baby. Don't be afraid."
She feels the coldness under her chin, lifting it, and she gladly obeys the unspoken command, willingly exposes her tender throat to him.. She feels his lips on her skin, and then a small nip, a gentle bite, and a tiny sound escapes from her.
“Yes. Please. Yes.”
Sunday, January 4, 2009
Dom Larry's Journey To This Point
I had intended to start this blog off with a short description of My journey in the lifestyle to this point, but life got in the way and I am just now getting a chance to tell all of Y/you a little about Me.
I'll start with a little about Me. I am 43 years old. Married for 21 years to a wonderful woman that I love unconditionally, but she is completely vanilla. She knows I have this need to explore my Dominant personality and allows Me to explore within some limitations W/we have set (thus Y/you see My biggest obstacle to living this lifestyle in the optimum way). If she was in the lifestyle I know she would be a Domme, so imagine what disagreements are like in My house! Now more about My journey.
My journey began almost 7 years ago in a completely unexpected way. I have always known that I had a dominating personality, though if Y/you had seen Me in high school Y/you would never have guessed that (the most polite way to describe Me in high school would be NERD) and even now I get comments that by looking at My face Y/you would never guess at My "dark" side.
Seven years ago, I was asked by a lady that I had known for several years before that point if I would Dom her. She told me during O/our conversation that she had always been the Domme in her previous encounters but did not feel fully comfortable in that role. I had not even thought about this lifestyle up until that point, so after I agreed to do the scene with her, I had to do a large amount of research before I did this. Needless to say, the scene went very well and this lady informed Me that I was a natural Dom.
This led Me to even more in depth research and My first faltering steps into looking for a submissive of My own. I made a lot of mistakes that I can see looking back now. But for almost 2 years of very active searching, the best I had been able to do was meet a few submissives or those playing submissive for a scene now and then. I got so frustrated that I actually gave up the search.
But what usually happens when one does that? The subs came out of the woodwork! At one point during that time I could have had as many as NINE subs at once if I had wanted them. I chose one because I barely had time for that. This sub, I will call her B, was nothing more to Me than a living breathing sex toy and she knew that from the beginning. This lasted for almost a year until she began to say things to people that did NOT need to know anything about O/our arrangement that could put My private life in the open at a time that I could not allow that to happen. So that ended, badly.
So, once again, I was searching for a submissive. This time I knew more about what I was doing, but still the search became very frustrating as it had been going on for about a year and a half, and I was on the verge of giving up the search again. And once again, what happened? The submissives came out of the woodwork and I could have had as many as 7 if I had wanted them, but I only had time for 1. This time I chose much better and found K. K knew my limitations on time and personal situation and was willing to accept those for as long as W/we were together. This relationship turned into nearly everything someone in this lifestyle looks for. To be completely honest, if I could have, I would have married K, but I couldn't due to My personal situation. But, for 18 months, W/we explored and lived the lifestyle as best W/we could within those limits. In February of 2008, K met a single vanilla man and she respectfully requested to be released to pursue this relationship with him. I agreed, very reluctantly, and released her.
Once again I was searching. I found some scene playmates during this time, but nothing that was right for Me at the time. I had resigned Myself to a long and frustrating search again. Until in late November I found D, and then C, and then T, and then SM, and then SA....and they keep on coming! Again I am being forced to be very selective, but now I have more time than the last time I had do choose, thus I will be able to take on more than just one. This is still developing as I go, but I can say that I have chosen one to be My priority, and W/we will see what happens with the rest.
I'll start with a little about Me. I am 43 years old. Married for 21 years to a wonderful woman that I love unconditionally, but she is completely vanilla. She knows I have this need to explore my Dominant personality and allows Me to explore within some limitations W/we have set (thus Y/you see My biggest obstacle to living this lifestyle in the optimum way). If she was in the lifestyle I know she would be a Domme, so imagine what disagreements are like in My house! Now more about My journey.
My journey began almost 7 years ago in a completely unexpected way. I have always known that I had a dominating personality, though if Y/you had seen Me in high school Y/you would never have guessed that (the most polite way to describe Me in high school would be NERD) and even now I get comments that by looking at My face Y/you would never guess at My "dark" side.
Seven years ago, I was asked by a lady that I had known for several years before that point if I would Dom her. She told me during O/our conversation that she had always been the Domme in her previous encounters but did not feel fully comfortable in that role. I had not even thought about this lifestyle up until that point, so after I agreed to do the scene with her, I had to do a large amount of research before I did this. Needless to say, the scene went very well and this lady informed Me that I was a natural Dom.
This led Me to even more in depth research and My first faltering steps into looking for a submissive of My own. I made a lot of mistakes that I can see looking back now. But for almost 2 years of very active searching, the best I had been able to do was meet a few submissives or those playing submissive for a scene now and then. I got so frustrated that I actually gave up the search.
But what usually happens when one does that? The subs came out of the woodwork! At one point during that time I could have had as many as NINE subs at once if I had wanted them. I chose one because I barely had time for that. This sub, I will call her B, was nothing more to Me than a living breathing sex toy and she knew that from the beginning. This lasted for almost a year until she began to say things to people that did NOT need to know anything about O/our arrangement that could put My private life in the open at a time that I could not allow that to happen. So that ended, badly.
So, once again, I was searching for a submissive. This time I knew more about what I was doing, but still the search became very frustrating as it had been going on for about a year and a half, and I was on the verge of giving up the search again. And once again, what happened? The submissives came out of the woodwork and I could have had as many as 7 if I had wanted them, but I only had time for 1. This time I chose much better and found K. K knew my limitations on time and personal situation and was willing to accept those for as long as W/we were together. This relationship turned into nearly everything someone in this lifestyle looks for. To be completely honest, if I could have, I would have married K, but I couldn't due to My personal situation. But, for 18 months, W/we explored and lived the lifestyle as best W/we could within those limits. In February of 2008, K met a single vanilla man and she respectfully requested to be released to pursue this relationship with him. I agreed, very reluctantly, and released her.
Once again I was searching. I found some scene playmates during this time, but nothing that was right for Me at the time. I had resigned Myself to a long and frustrating search again. Until in late November I found D, and then C, and then T, and then SM, and then SA....and they keep on coming! Again I am being forced to be very selective, but now I have more time than the last time I had do choose, thus I will be able to take on more than just one. This is still developing as I go, but I can say that I have chosen one to be My priority, and W/we will see what happens with the rest.
Friday, January 2, 2009
First Fiction Post! Thanks Rajah Dodger!
Upstairs
My wife was out of town for the week, which left me without much to do besides watching TV or catching the basketball games on the radio. So when rush hour hit, I headed to a nearby bar and sat at the rail to check out the traffic, ordering a gin and tonic to pass the time. It was an upscale crowd -- yuppies, businessmen like myself, you know the type.
As I swiveled my barstool around, getting a quick 360 of the clientele, I realized there was a woman sitting next to me. She was good-looking brunette in a well-tailored business suit. And unless I was very much mistaken, she had been giving me the eye.
I turned around, and she was there all right, looking at me with an expression I couldn't quite fathom. "Rough day?" she asked, and I relaxed and moved into the "office work" routine with half my mind while the other half tried to figure what she was looking for. She was friendly enough, and I tuned back into our discussion just in time to hear myself recommend a little Chinese place for dinner.
We ate at Yank Soo's in one of the booths overlooking the river. Separate checks, of course. She told me about life in the field of accounting and how hard it was for a woman to get ahead in a male-dominated area. We talked about college and career, and found a mutual interest in old jazz. Turns out she had some early Blue Note disks I had been looking for years, so I asked about taping them for my collection and she invited me to come over and give them a listen first.
Her "little place" was a Victorian brownstone in one of the more expensive neighborhoods. I pulled into the second bay of the two-car garage since it looked like rain. She showed me into the music room as she went to fix something to drink. I was impressed -- her jazz collection was something incredible, from rare Bird to just about every Monk album ever released. I found the records we had discussed and put one on the turntable, then sat on the couch and listened. Cool, sweet, jazz -- I closed my eyes and drank in the sound. At some point in the first track she put a drink in my hand, and I sipped as I listened.
The first track ended, and I opened my eyes to see her beside me on the couch. Somehow, taking her in my arms was the easiest thing to do, and when the second track began we just naturally rose to start dancing. Her hands drifted down to the base of my spine, and I became aware of the points of her breasts through the silk blouse she wore. We turned so she was dancing with her back to me, moving her hips back into mine. I cupped her breasts, and heard her sigh as she leaned into me. She turned around, and as our dance went on she unbuttoned my shirt, and then removed it and my jacket. Next to go was her jacket and blouse, and we danced through the next solo with her hands inside the back of my pants.
"Come upstairs," she breathed, running one hand between my legs, and I didn't have the will to resist her. She unfastened my pants there in the music room, leaving me in shorts alone, took off her bra, and kissed me long and deep, my hands roaming over her back and down farther. She led me up the stairs, one hand in my shorts, and opened the door to her bedroom. There was a large bed there, a music system equal to the one downstairs, and a low metal Sixties-style bench with a fur seat by a curtained wall. She asked me to sit on the bench, and as the music from downstairs continued, used her own fingers to bring her nipples into proud erection. "Kiss me," she said, offering a ripe tit, and I cooperated, drawing it into my mouth with lips and tongue. "Harder," she moaned, and I used my teeth and tongue, feeling it become stiff and swollen. She pulled away, then offered the other breast for the same treatment. When she pulled away this time, her face -- indeed her whole upper body -- was flushed. She beckoned with one finger, and I came to her to slip her skirt off, revealing a black pair of crotchless panties. I slipped a finger between her thighs, finding that she was already warm and wet.
She asked me to turn around, so I did so, facing the bench and wall as she dragged my shorts down, my penis spring free to smack audibly against my belly. I felt her hands move down my legs, and then a clicking sound. I looked down to realize that she had just fastened a set of fur-lined cuffs around my ankles and snapped them to the bottom legs of the bench. She pushed me forward, and as I fell she grabbed one arm, then the other, fastening them similarly to the other end. I began to appreciate the design of the bench in a different light now. The seat of the bench ran from just below my neck to just above my waist, then the bench legs went out at an angle, leaving me open to the air from the belly button to mid-thigh. I couldn't see what she was doing, but I could still smell her private aroma, and that maintained my flagging erection.
She slid a footstool beneath my chin, lifting my head so I could see the slit in her panties and smell the juices that were already gathered there. As she slid forward, I stretched my tongue out to meet her, finding her hot and wet inside. She gripped my head as I kissed and licked, and ran trails with her nails around my ears, the back of my neck, my armpits, each nail leaving a trace I could feel as clearly as reading a map. I felt something toying with the head of my penis -- she had stretched her legs and gripped me with her toes. Now she pulled slightly away from my face, and I had to stretch my head and tongue to reach her, as she braced her hands on my shoulders and began working me with her feet. I could not hold off, but as I began to shoot I felt her begin her own spasms around my tongue.
She bent her knee, bringing one foot onto the stool, her toes between my face and her pussy. "Suck," she commanded, and despite some misgivings I did, mingling the acrid taste of my own fluid with the heavy smell of her juices. She buried my face inside her pussy again, and I licked and nibbled until she was satisfied. She arose, moving to my nether end, and I heard a buzzing sound, then felt a vibrator moving over my thighs, between my legs, between my cheeks. She parted my cheeks and I felt her finger work its way into the opening there, moving in and out until I relaxed. Then her finger was replaced by something thicker that went in until my muscles clamped around a narrow portion. She ran the vibrator over the end of the plug, and the sensation was so intense, that to my surprise I found myself becoming erect again.
She unhooked the cuffs from the bench, and helped me to stand erect, taking me in a full body kiss, tongues fighting for space, then sliding slowly down my body to taste and tease my nipples as I cupped and squeezed her full breasts. Each move I made caused the plug to wiggle, making my erection bob and jerk against her. "Poor baby, we've been neglecting you," she said, and sank to her knees to engulf me in the moist cavern of her mouth. I closed my eyes and stroked her fine hair as her tongue and lips worked their magic on me, all the while her fingers were pinching, caressing and stroking my thighs, cheeks, genitals. My breath was coming ragged as she held me on the edge of erupting.
She pulled away, holding me in her hand as she led me to a curtained wall, then drew the curtain aside to reveal a large metal frame with D-rings at the corners. She backed me up and attached my feet to the corners, spreading my legs to do so, then kissed and licked her way up my body, finally lifting my arms and hooking their cuffs to the top corners of the frame. By now she was riding on top of me, rubbing her labia around my aching member, her breasts hot against my chest.
She moved her head down to kiss and worry my nipple, then made me gasp as she clipped something to it. She repeated the treatment on my other nipple, then slid down and wrapped her breasts around my erection, bring it up harder (if possible). Now she attached some sort of clamp to the skin just below the head, with a weight attached to the clamp. The weight magnified every movement I make. As she stepped away from the frame, my attention wavered between the growing pain at my nipples, the constant reminder of the anal plug, and the self-jerking action of my cock. Her face was radiant as she watched me quiver.
She asked me, "What would you like first?" but I could not give her an answer. Remove the clips? Take me into her mouth? Unhook my arms? She chuckled at my indecision, then went to the side of the frame, unhooked a bar, and swung the frame out, now perpendicular to the wall. "You'll like this, I think," she said, scraping her nails up my ass cheeks, wiggling the plug to draw a low moan from me. She took the weight and fastened it to the anal plug, so every motion I made was now reflected.
I heard her step away, and then I could not hear her at all. My nipples felt on fire, and all the squirming I could manage in that frame would not budge them. But all that movement did shake the weight and move the plug, making my aching erection harder. Where did she go? I began to worry how long she was going to leave me and finally yelled "Hello? Where are you?" I got my answer as my ass exploded in pain. Whack! Whack! She had re-entered the room quietly and now was strapping my ass. I cried out from the shock, her only response more laughter. Every jolt of the strap seemed to run from the base of my ass cheeks to the head of my erection.
When she finally stopped the spanking, I thanked her in relief, asking what she wanted from me. "Aren't you enjoying yourself?" she answered, "Oh, silly me, you have all these tight muscles that need to be loosened." She began stroking my ass, her palms cool relief against my abused flesh. She started moving the anal plug in and out, fucking my ass with it while the attached weight pulled my cock up and down in return. The sensations finally overwhelmed me, and without her ever touching my cock directly I came, long and hard, in spasm after spasm, her fingers continuing to move until I was slumped boneless in the frame. I barely whimpered at the pain when she removed the clips, then released me from the frame.
Eventually I gathered the strength to get dressed -- she had done so already and had coffee brewing down in the kitchen. We shared a cup together in silence. As I got up to leave, she said, "We really must get together again." The thought was tempting, but thinking of my wife, I declined. "No, I really think we must" she said more firmly, and handed me a photograph.
I hadn't noticed a camera at the time, but the photograph was clearly recognizable as me, naked in the frame, nipples clipped, face locked in a rictus of pleasure, strands of semen flying in the air. "I have your number," she said as I left.
I think she does.
***** {END} ***** Completed 1989; 2059 words.
Upstairs, by Rajah Dodger {rdodger@hotmail.com}, Copyright (c) 1989. Originally written under the pseudonym "Major Havoc". All rights reserved, except that electronic not-for-profit reproduction rights only are explicitly granted with the stipulation that this authorship and permission note must remain attached.
My wife was out of town for the week, which left me without much to do besides watching TV or catching the basketball games on the radio. So when rush hour hit, I headed to a nearby bar and sat at the rail to check out the traffic, ordering a gin and tonic to pass the time. It was an upscale crowd -- yuppies, businessmen like myself, you know the type.
As I swiveled my barstool around, getting a quick 360 of the clientele, I realized there was a woman sitting next to me. She was good-looking brunette in a well-tailored business suit. And unless I was very much mistaken, she had been giving me the eye.
I turned around, and she was there all right, looking at me with an expression I couldn't quite fathom. "Rough day?" she asked, and I relaxed and moved into the "office work" routine with half my mind while the other half tried to figure what she was looking for. She was friendly enough, and I tuned back into our discussion just in time to hear myself recommend a little Chinese place for dinner.
We ate at Yank Soo's in one of the booths overlooking the river. Separate checks, of course. She told me about life in the field of accounting and how hard it was for a woman to get ahead in a male-dominated area. We talked about college and career, and found a mutual interest in old jazz. Turns out she had some early Blue Note disks I had been looking for years, so I asked about taping them for my collection and she invited me to come over and give them a listen first.
Her "little place" was a Victorian brownstone in one of the more expensive neighborhoods. I pulled into the second bay of the two-car garage since it looked like rain. She showed me into the music room as she went to fix something to drink. I was impressed -- her jazz collection was something incredible, from rare Bird to just about every Monk album ever released. I found the records we had discussed and put one on the turntable, then sat on the couch and listened. Cool, sweet, jazz -- I closed my eyes and drank in the sound. At some point in the first track she put a drink in my hand, and I sipped as I listened.
The first track ended, and I opened my eyes to see her beside me on the couch. Somehow, taking her in my arms was the easiest thing to do, and when the second track began we just naturally rose to start dancing. Her hands drifted down to the base of my spine, and I became aware of the points of her breasts through the silk blouse she wore. We turned so she was dancing with her back to me, moving her hips back into mine. I cupped her breasts, and heard her sigh as she leaned into me. She turned around, and as our dance went on she unbuttoned my shirt, and then removed it and my jacket. Next to go was her jacket and blouse, and we danced through the next solo with her hands inside the back of my pants.
"Come upstairs," she breathed, running one hand between my legs, and I didn't have the will to resist her. She unfastened my pants there in the music room, leaving me in shorts alone, took off her bra, and kissed me long and deep, my hands roaming over her back and down farther. She led me up the stairs, one hand in my shorts, and opened the door to her bedroom. There was a large bed there, a music system equal to the one downstairs, and a low metal Sixties-style bench with a fur seat by a curtained wall. She asked me to sit on the bench, and as the music from downstairs continued, used her own fingers to bring her nipples into proud erection. "Kiss me," she said, offering a ripe tit, and I cooperated, drawing it into my mouth with lips and tongue. "Harder," she moaned, and I used my teeth and tongue, feeling it become stiff and swollen. She pulled away, then offered the other breast for the same treatment. When she pulled away this time, her face -- indeed her whole upper body -- was flushed. She beckoned with one finger, and I came to her to slip her skirt off, revealing a black pair of crotchless panties. I slipped a finger between her thighs, finding that she was already warm and wet.
She asked me to turn around, so I did so, facing the bench and wall as she dragged my shorts down, my penis spring free to smack audibly against my belly. I felt her hands move down my legs, and then a clicking sound. I looked down to realize that she had just fastened a set of fur-lined cuffs around my ankles and snapped them to the bottom legs of the bench. She pushed me forward, and as I fell she grabbed one arm, then the other, fastening them similarly to the other end. I began to appreciate the design of the bench in a different light now. The seat of the bench ran from just below my neck to just above my waist, then the bench legs went out at an angle, leaving me open to the air from the belly button to mid-thigh. I couldn't see what she was doing, but I could still smell her private aroma, and that maintained my flagging erection.
She slid a footstool beneath my chin, lifting my head so I could see the slit in her panties and smell the juices that were already gathered there. As she slid forward, I stretched my tongue out to meet her, finding her hot and wet inside. She gripped my head as I kissed and licked, and ran trails with her nails around my ears, the back of my neck, my armpits, each nail leaving a trace I could feel as clearly as reading a map. I felt something toying with the head of my penis -- she had stretched her legs and gripped me with her toes. Now she pulled slightly away from my face, and I had to stretch my head and tongue to reach her, as she braced her hands on my shoulders and began working me with her feet. I could not hold off, but as I began to shoot I felt her begin her own spasms around my tongue.
She bent her knee, bringing one foot onto the stool, her toes between my face and her pussy. "Suck," she commanded, and despite some misgivings I did, mingling the acrid taste of my own fluid with the heavy smell of her juices. She buried my face inside her pussy again, and I licked and nibbled until she was satisfied. She arose, moving to my nether end, and I heard a buzzing sound, then felt a vibrator moving over my thighs, between my legs, between my cheeks. She parted my cheeks and I felt her finger work its way into the opening there, moving in and out until I relaxed. Then her finger was replaced by something thicker that went in until my muscles clamped around a narrow portion. She ran the vibrator over the end of the plug, and the sensation was so intense, that to my surprise I found myself becoming erect again.
She unhooked the cuffs from the bench, and helped me to stand erect, taking me in a full body kiss, tongues fighting for space, then sliding slowly down my body to taste and tease my nipples as I cupped and squeezed her full breasts. Each move I made caused the plug to wiggle, making my erection bob and jerk against her. "Poor baby, we've been neglecting you," she said, and sank to her knees to engulf me in the moist cavern of her mouth. I closed my eyes and stroked her fine hair as her tongue and lips worked their magic on me, all the while her fingers were pinching, caressing and stroking my thighs, cheeks, genitals. My breath was coming ragged as she held me on the edge of erupting.
She pulled away, holding me in her hand as she led me to a curtained wall, then drew the curtain aside to reveal a large metal frame with D-rings at the corners. She backed me up and attached my feet to the corners, spreading my legs to do so, then kissed and licked her way up my body, finally lifting my arms and hooking their cuffs to the top corners of the frame. By now she was riding on top of me, rubbing her labia around my aching member, her breasts hot against my chest.
She moved her head down to kiss and worry my nipple, then made me gasp as she clipped something to it. She repeated the treatment on my other nipple, then slid down and wrapped her breasts around my erection, bring it up harder (if possible). Now she attached some sort of clamp to the skin just below the head, with a weight attached to the clamp. The weight magnified every movement I make. As she stepped away from the frame, my attention wavered between the growing pain at my nipples, the constant reminder of the anal plug, and the self-jerking action of my cock. Her face was radiant as she watched me quiver.
She asked me, "What would you like first?" but I could not give her an answer. Remove the clips? Take me into her mouth? Unhook my arms? She chuckled at my indecision, then went to the side of the frame, unhooked a bar, and swung the frame out, now perpendicular to the wall. "You'll like this, I think," she said, scraping her nails up my ass cheeks, wiggling the plug to draw a low moan from me. She took the weight and fastened it to the anal plug, so every motion I made was now reflected.
I heard her step away, and then I could not hear her at all. My nipples felt on fire, and all the squirming I could manage in that frame would not budge them. But all that movement did shake the weight and move the plug, making my aching erection harder. Where did she go? I began to worry how long she was going to leave me and finally yelled "Hello? Where are you?" I got my answer as my ass exploded in pain. Whack! Whack! She had re-entered the room quietly and now was strapping my ass. I cried out from the shock, her only response more laughter. Every jolt of the strap seemed to run from the base of my ass cheeks to the head of my erection.
When she finally stopped the spanking, I thanked her in relief, asking what she wanted from me. "Aren't you enjoying yourself?" she answered, "Oh, silly me, you have all these tight muscles that need to be loosened." She began stroking my ass, her palms cool relief against my abused flesh. She started moving the anal plug in and out, fucking my ass with it while the attached weight pulled my cock up and down in return. The sensations finally overwhelmed me, and without her ever touching my cock directly I came, long and hard, in spasm after spasm, her fingers continuing to move until I was slumped boneless in the frame. I barely whimpered at the pain when she removed the clips, then released me from the frame.
Eventually I gathered the strength to get dressed -- she had done so already and had coffee brewing down in the kitchen. We shared a cup together in silence. As I got up to leave, she said, "We really must get together again." The thought was tempting, but thinking of my wife, I declined. "No, I really think we must" she said more firmly, and handed me a photograph.
I hadn't noticed a camera at the time, but the photograph was clearly recognizable as me, naked in the frame, nipples clipped, face locked in a rictus of pleasure, strands of semen flying in the air. "I have your number," she said as I left.
I think she does.
***** {END} ***** Completed 1989; 2059 words.
Upstairs, by Rajah Dodger {rdodger@hotmail.com}, Copyright (c) 1989. Originally written under the pseudonym "Major Havoc". All rights reserved, except that electronic not-for-profit reproduction rights only are explicitly granted with the stipulation that this authorship and permission note must remain attached.
Thursday, January 1, 2009
First Contributor!
Welcome our first contributor to My Spot!
Rajah Dodger.
He has been generous enough to give us a brief biography, so please take the time to read it and get to know Mr. Dodger. Watch for the first of many stories he has been generous enough to allow me to post!
Rajah Dodger is a citizen of Texas, both by birth and current residence. A man in his midlife (that's as close to demographics as he will authorize), he has been "in computers" for nearly a quarter of a century and makes his living in Houston, not far from one of the world's largest [targets] centers of petrochemical production. He speaks English, reads some Spanish, and writes in a variety of computer languages.
Once upon a time he cursed the darkness of badly written stories on adult computer bulletin boards. Then a voice came to him (probably from one of the neighbors fed up with his whining), saying "Go thou and show them how it is done, for in truth you cannot do much worse." And thereby hangs a tale -- over seventy of them to date, with no outraged villagers coming yet to burn his house down. He writes about most anything that catches his fancy, whether it's darkly nasty stroke or socially redeeming fluff.
None of his family suspects that he is a published author; his wife considers him merely strange, and his children don't consider adults to be members of a relevant species anyway. When not working or writing, he plays cards, reads science fiction, listens to classical and rock music, and watches television. He recently delivered a wreath of flowers to the pricing manager at Safeway to commemorate Bob Barker's retirement.
Finally, to answer the inevitable question, his pen name has nothing to do with either the Indian subcontinent or any desire to escape law enforcement. (Well, if you must know... that was a long time ago and he was under age.) It actually comes from a combination of Charles Dickens and British pilot slang. The rest of the etymology is left as an exercise for the astute student.
Rajah Dodger.
He has been generous enough to give us a brief biography, so please take the time to read it and get to know Mr. Dodger. Watch for the first of many stories he has been generous enough to allow me to post!
Rajah Dodger is a citizen of Texas, both by birth and current residence. A man in his midlife (that's as close to demographics as he will authorize), he has been "in computers" for nearly a quarter of a century and makes his living in Houston, not far from one of the world's largest [targets] centers of petrochemical production. He speaks English, reads some Spanish, and writes in a variety of computer languages.
Once upon a time he cursed the darkness of badly written stories on adult computer bulletin boards. Then a voice came to him (probably from one of the neighbors fed up with his whining), saying "Go thou and show them how it is done, for in truth you cannot do much worse." And thereby hangs a tale -- over seventy of them to date, with no outraged villagers coming yet to burn his house down. He writes about most anything that catches his fancy, whether it's darkly nasty stroke or socially redeeming fluff.
None of his family suspects that he is a published author; his wife considers him merely strange, and his children don't consider adults to be members of a relevant species anyway. When not working or writing, he plays cards, reads science fiction, listens to classical and rock music, and watches television. He recently delivered a wreath of flowers to the pricing manager at Safeway to commemorate Bob Barker's retirement.
Finally, to answer the inevitable question, his pen name has nothing to do with either the Indian subcontinent or any desire to escape law enforcement. (Well, if you must know... that was a long time ago and he was under age.) It actually comes from a combination of Charles Dickens and British pilot slang. The rest of the etymology is left as an exercise for the astute student.
Dom Larry's BDSM Spot
H/hello all!
Welcome to My Spot on the web!
This Spot is My place to share My personal experiences in the BDSM lifestyle with Y/you and anything else I wish to share with Y/you. I will post my personal story and personal experiences, but I would also like to share Y/your personal stories and experiences.
If Y/you have any original BDSM themed erotica (stories, photos, images, poems, etc), I would be pleased to read/view them and consider them for posting on the BDSM Spot.
I would like to see threads with information for those curious about the lifestyle. Threads with information or suggestions for those in the lifestyle. Original erotic stories or poetry with a BDSM D/s theme are also welcome. Original photos, images, or artwork is also welcome. Please email them to domlarry72401@yahoo.com for consideration for posting to My Spot!
Thank Y/you!
Dom Larry
Welcome to My Spot on the web!
This Spot is My place to share My personal experiences in the BDSM lifestyle with Y/you and anything else I wish to share with Y/you. I will post my personal story and personal experiences, but I would also like to share Y/your personal stories and experiences.
If Y/you have any original BDSM themed erotica (stories, photos, images, poems, etc), I would be pleased to read/view them and consider them for posting on the BDSM Spot.
I would like to see threads with information for those curious about the lifestyle. Threads with information or suggestions for those in the lifestyle. Original erotic stories or poetry with a BDSM D/s theme are also welcome. Original photos, images, or artwork is also welcome. Please email them to domlarry72401@yahoo.com for consideration for posting to My Spot!
Thank Y/you!
Dom Larry
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