Gym ~8~

She didn’t have a clue what she was getting into. She was nervous, but titillated too. She grinned to herself. What a wonderfully appropriate word that was! Tit-illated.


“What what?”

“You just started grinning.” Dane paused before pushing her roughly against the far wall. “Trust me, you won’t be grinning when I’m done here. You’ll be moaning. You’ll hurt. You’ll be exhausted because I’m going to make you cum a million times.”

“I was thinking,” she said, pausing to swallow the nerves suddenly bubbling under her skin, “about the perfect word for how I’m feeling.”

“And what word would that be? Scared? No. Terrified?”


Reaching for a set of ties, he paused, looked over his shoulder at her, standing there grinning at him. She was a sturdy thing. He could read the nerves, but also the fire. Her cheeks were still flushed from her laughing fit, but her nipples were hard rocks poking out the front of her shirt.

“Perfect word,” he agreed. “Take off your shirt and bra and let me see your tit-illations.”

She rolled her eyes.

“That’s an abuse of good English,” she said.



He paused a moment to let the staccato order, delivered in his no-nonsense tone, sink in.

“And that’s not the only abuse that will be happening here.”

Her fingers fumbled at the buttons on her blouse. He looked at her. Just pinned her, staring inside her, it felt like. Never had anyone ever looked into her in quite that way before.

“You need a safeword. It should be something–“

“I know what a safeword is. I read that 50…”

“Do not interrupt when your Dom is speaking, little girl. That book was only a toe-dabble into what really happens in a Domination-submission relationship.”

Shamed, she nodded silently, dropping her eyes, looking at the floor. Silly to think that she knew anything at all about this. His finger raised her chin, he saw the regret.

“You are learning. I will be…” he paused, studied her for a long moment. “careful,” he said. “I will hurt you. You will cry. You will moan. We will discover -together- if pain is what excites you. It doesn’t for everyone. Also, not all kinds of pain speak to all people who are painsluts. My promise is to deliver what we both need, while keeping you on the edge. I will always stop what I’m doing immediately if you use your safeword. It should be something simple, something easily remembered even during duress. Your safeword should not be “yes” or “no”…or even “stop”, because there will be times when you say those words and will not mean it. It can be a color. It can be fucking tulip for all I care. Pick one. And remember it.”

Amused, she couldn’t stop her sudden grin.

“Fucking tulip? How about RED? That’s easy to remember.”

“Red it is. Now get that fucking shirt off or I’ll rip it off for you.”

The implied violence, spoken in a calm tone made the grin fall away and her pussy tremble.

“Okay,” she said.

“Yes, Sir.” He said firmly.

Deep blue eyes flashed to his face. It was sternly set, but she could see he wasn’t mad. Rather, there was a deep intensity there. Those rich toffee eyes bore into hers. She was reminded of a hawk, watching its helpless prey before devouring it. Energy seemed to crackle from him, infecting her. Resisting the urge to bite her lip -how she’d hated that in that damned book, but how she felt the need to do it– she gave a soft nod.


“Good girl.”

He turned away to the wall, turned back. Silver scissors flashed in his hand before he grabbed her bra, tugging her forward.

“Next time, undress faster.”

In seconds, he’d cut her bra between her breasts, the tip of the scissors lightly scratching her soft skin, then the two straps. Tugging the shredded garment from her, he tossed it to the floor. Her mouth opened, closed. She rubbed at the tiny red welt.


His finger lay on her lips.


Grabbing her by the nipple, he pulled her to the wall, then pushed her back to it.

“Hands up. Quickly now, girl. I haven’t got all day.”

Expertly he tied her hands over her head. A subtle tug revealed that she really could not move them down. A shiver ran through her as she realized that she was helpless.

And she doubted that she’d ever been more turned on in her life. When his hands reached around her, his face inches from her, and unzipped her skirt, her breath hitched. In moments her skirt lay in a puddle at her feet before he kicked it away. Taking the scissors in one hand, his other fisted in her panties. Roughly he pulled them snug, until the fabric sandwiched into her slit, pulled taut against her agitated clitoris.

She moaned then. Rose to her toes to avoid the tug. He continued to lift, rubbing it deeply into her crotch. When her eyes drifted shut, her pretty mouth parted, he slipped the scissors against her skin, letting her feel the threat of cold metal.

“This is what a rapist might do to you,” he murmured. “Scare your pussy with your panties, scare your brain with the threat of cutting flesh.”

She moaned again, eyes bright on his face, trying to read through his shield of neutrality. But his eyes, gleaming, showed her the beast laying inside, and she shivered. A quick snip released the crotch, another released the side seam of her panties. Sharply pulling the fabric from her, he tossed the shredded cotton away. Still holding her eyes with his, he drew a pattern from the top of her slit, up her torso, around her swollen nipples. Drawing in a sharp, panic breath, she watched, helpless to move as he pinned her with his eyes, the open scissors slipping around and around her exposed flesh. With a quick twist of his wrist, he turned and hung the scissors on the nearby peg.

He moved away from her then, leaving her body humming. She didn’t know what she wanted. But that was a lie, wasn’t it? Because she was -there came that word again- titillated by what he was doing to her, to how he played with her body, her mind.

A cool breeze wafted through as the a/c unit clicked on. Her nipples rose impossibly higher, thick nubs of flesh. She’d always been mildly embarrassed about the size of her nips.

He came to stand in front of her.

“These are baby–newbie–clamps. What I put on you yesterday were for more experienced subs.”

Was that only yesterday? she mused. Hadn’t things…hadn’t she..changed so much in so short a time?

“It hurt. A LOT.”

“I know. I’ll bet your nipple is still quite sensitive, yes?”

She nodded. He smiled, the devils grin flaring white hot heat.

“Oh, goodie,” he said, and snapped the clamp on it.

The Assistant (9)

In the middle of the night, she woke.  There was no feeling of disorientation, she knew exactly where she was, and who she was with. His warmth enveloped her, the solid presence of him-his thigh tucked between her legs, his arm around her waist – were very physical reminders of the sudden transformation her life had taken.

She ached in wonderful places.

He had used her thoroughly, in ways she had read about, but never dreamed would experience. Sore, tired, yet the waves of joy rolling through her would not let her sleep. Snuggling deeper against him, she let the events of the past day roll through her mind.  So many new things! Sure, she had a story to tell, but not all of it was for her paper. She would need to start a diary, just to capture all of this. She never wanted to forget the start of her journey, no matter how it evolved.

She wriggled a bit, trying to get comfortable. It wasn’t easy, learning to sleep with someone, when she was used to solitude. Her tee-shirt was stuck under his side. For a moment, his fingers tightened around her belly, tugging her closer still. Taking the hint, she settled in place, accepting that sometimes she wouldn’t be comfortable. Somehow, that was alright.

Smiling in the darkness, she remembered how incredibly gross it had felt to put on the tee-shirt. She’d mopped up her own cum and droll with it, after all. How he had smiled after she’d donned it, frowning down at all the wet spots. She realized then that she’d crossed over into this world, she was no longer a passive looker, staring in the window, but a participant.

A willing, and rather horny one at that, she mused.

Refusing to let her sit in a chair, since she was such a mess, he had called her to come and sit under his desk. Not beside him, as she had imagined.

She’d looked at the small-ish space and wondered if she’d even fit. She wasn’t young and flexible, and with generous curves. Yet, she had shoehorned herself into the space. Far from being claustrophobic, it was comforting. His words had come from far above, it seemed. She had a flash of the gray-bearded God on high, speaking to the masses, and had to cover her mouth with her hand to stifle the giggles.

Then his words took root in her mind.

“Reach up. Open my pants. Take out my cock. Suck me until I’m hard.”

Each word sent a hot stab of lust straight to her pussy. Her nipples pressed hard against the wet tee. It was as if he was the puppeteer and she his marionette. Her hands rose, working at his belt, his zipper, releasing him. His cock was semi-hard by the time her hand fisted around him. Warm, his flesh was so warm. And velvety. Her fingers explored the length of him, as she shifted under the desk. His legs were spread, and she angled her head up enough to clear the seat of his chair and take the head of his rod between her lips.

She made it last. Long kisses on the top knob, gentle licks around the base where it joined his thick shaft. Soft sucking over the tiny slit, as her fingers gently massaged his balls. Her lips kissed down his hardening cock, her tongue darting out to lap at the sensitive underside of the shaft. Pressing her head against his belly, she managed to lick at his balls.

The zipper of his fly scratched her chin, but she was beyond caring, beyond feeling it other than to note it. Her entire being was focused on pleasing him, on making him hard. The image of this thick rod plowing deep between her wet thighs came to her, making her moan against him.

His hand tugged her up by her hair, bringing her mouth to the top of his cock. She tasted the salty sweet tang of precum, as she opened her mouth to take him in.

“Enough teasing” he growled, before pressing her head down. He didn’t release her to work at her own pace, grabbing at her head with both hands and fucking her mouth on his tumescent cock. Fully buried, she felt the thick head of him hitting the back of her throat; she gagged around it, making him moan and whisper, “good, good”. Then she was up to the top again, and sucking. No tender loving here, but hard sucks with her mouth wrapped tightly around the bulbous tip of his cock, until he forced her head down to swallow his shaft again. It was like being a sword-swallower, she imagined, as she gagged yet again.

He would not let her suck him dry. Instead, he pulled out of her mouth, and shot strings of hot cum onto her tee-shirt,  wiping himself dry on her cheeks. Deliberately, he rubbed the cum into her shirt, keeping eye contact with her as he did.

“There will be time enough for swallowing, slut. For now, you will wear my marks, and proudly.”

Without a by-your-leave, he’d pressed her back under the desk. In seconds she had heard the clacking of his keyboard. Time froze. It was warm, dark, and almost cozy under the desk.

Until she had to pee.

What was the protocol for this, she wondered. Should she ask? Tug his pants? Tap his cock? Kiss his shoes?

“There’s an awful lot of fidgeting going on down there.” There was that god-voice again.

“Sir, I really need to ….” She trailed off. She’d never asked for permission to go to the bathroom. Not since high school, for Pete’s sake.  It was undeniable that the idea of it was turning her on.


She knew then, that he knew. Knew exactly what she needed. And was going to make her say it. She fought the idea for all of 5 seconds, before the pressing need made her beg. He’d laughed, and pulled her out from under the desk by her nose.

Laying in his bed, she smiled again in the darkness. Her life had certainly been transformed. She’d moved from “assistant” to “His” in the short span of a day.

That  it was only the start of things yet to come was a given. Each new day would bring new challenges, new adventures. She could hardly wait! She fell asleep while looking  for the dawn, snuggled tightly in his embrace.

*** fini ***

Desire (4)

His gentleness astonished her. Her lips burned from that kiss, seared with the branding of his mouth on hers. He sat on her belly, looking down at her. In the semi-darkness, his intense eyes were hidden.

“So innocent.”

She frowned. She may be many things, but innocent was not one of them. Opening her lips to protest, he once more laid his finger upon them, shushing her.

He slid off of her, and ran his hands up and down the length of her. The touch was light, almost tickling. She watched his hands moving across her skin, down her legs, touching her toes, then up her inner thigh. Oh, how she wanted his touch at that sensitive junction! His hand cupped her, just for a moment, then moved up, over her soft belly, around her belly button, until he cupped her throat.

“You are so vulnerable, yet you don’t see it. Not just because of these,” and he tugged gently on the ropes that held her right wrist. “But because of here,” and he tapped her forehead. For a moment, his hand squeezed around her throat.

“The balance of pain and pleasure is a constantly moving point. And there will come a time when your pain will outweigh your pleasure, which will enhance mine. Has any of your studying prepared you for that?”

He paused a moment, looking down at her with a ferocity that thrilled her, even as it frightened.

“No,” he answered his own question. “Some things must be experienced to be explained. So we go, into the darkness, together. If you need this to stop…at any time…your safeword will protect you. I will hurt you, hurt you and take great pleasure from your cries, your screams, the marks I leave upon you. But if the line of toleration is crossed, and you truly can bear no more, your safeword ends it, and you will be released. You must choose the word, Emily. One that you will remember in the throes of passion, and the depths of pain.”


The word slipped out from her. She had been thinking about safewords. Her reading had taught her that while some didn’t play with one, most D/s couples did. It would be her only “out” from being hurt more than she could bear. All she had read had spoken about the release of pain, the blending of pain and pleasure, the heady cocktail of it served by a Dom, and the joy of ‘subspace’ but she hadn’t understood it. She knew now that she would, by the end of this. And ‘pepper’ had come to her mind again and again…a stimulant, a piquant flavoring, heat, and bite …for her it symbolized what she knew of the D/s experience.

“pepper,” she spoke again. “And…do I call you Sir?”

“Yes, Emily. Pepper, and Sir. And now, you will lose your identity, and become my slut. You will answer to slut, to cunt, to whore, to fucktoy…or any title that I choose to give you in the moment. But Emily will be gone until you take your leave of me. Understood?”

She nodded, solemnly. It was one thing to read about this, those dirty names being applied to a girl…and it was another thing entirely to hear them used as her name. It gave her a quiet tickle in her tummy, a cross between nerves, and thrill. She felt…like the time she’d gone up in the Ferris Wheel when she was 12. Brave enough to attempt it on her own, despite her fear of heights. Going up had been a thrill ride, but the quaking fear when she was all the way up had made her belly quiver. That experience had been a curious blend of fear, and powerlessness, and the thrill of doing something she’d never dreamed she’d be brave enough to attempt.

This felt exactly like that.

His hand traced whorls around her right tit, around and around. She felt dizzy, watching it. She wanted his touch on her nipple. She wanted to be fucked. She, who had never delayed gratification of her sexual needs, was submitting even that to this man. It was a multi-layered puzzle, this submission thing. It was more than just letting him tie her up. It was more than just agreeing to his demands at any given moment.

It was giving him virtually everything.

For a moment, she wondered at that. At this moment, he could do anything to her. He could beat her sensually, or he could beat her senseless. He could use her violently, call in an army of friends to share her with, sell her into slavery, or kill her. She’d protest any of that, naturally, but it all boiled down to trusting that this man, this Dominant man, would use her for their mutual pleasure.

Yes…exactly that…. trust.

It took a lot of faith to believe him, that his words would honor his intentions. At this point she could only go by his reputation. Thus far, no rumors of anything untoward had ever carried through the halls of Boisvert, Stein, and Lichen about him. That sort of thing would, wouldn’t it?

For a moment, just a sliver of time, a bolt of fear stiffened her. He could kill her. Maim her. Harm her. What the fuck was she doing here? Yet his hand continued to make slow, lazy circles around her breast, and she felt herself gentled by that touch. She relaxed, with every circle he traced on her skin, until she found her place of peace.

His eyes stayed steady on her face, as if watching all the emotions playing there. When at last her heartbeat slowed from thundering panic to trembling excitement, his fingers closed around her nipple, and pinched, hard.

Desire (1)

She hadn’t ever pursued a man before. But something about him magnetized her. They had met, by chance, at a company outing. Cool eyes had assessed her, and she remembered being torn between annoyance at his weighing glance, and, God help her, preening. Her spine had straightened, her breath deepened, her cheeks had flushed. That her nipples swelled, and her pussy dampened, she ignored. She wondered, not for the first time, about his arrogant, dismissive look. He’d smiled, cool, composed, then turned and melted back into the crowd.

She’d asked about him, of course. All the same words rushing through her head were repeated by her friends.

“Arrogant bastard!”




“And those eyes…they look right through you!”  This last from her friend Cecile in accounting. She seemed to know the most about Mr. Stephen Howard, executive V.P. of Senior Management.

So, he was a manager. They all had that same style, managers. She figured it came from bossing people around all day. And really, there were all kinds of people, even bossy ones had a role.

She kept her eyes out for him after that. Boisvert, Stein, and Lichen was a huge firm, so odds were she wouldn’t see him until the next event, which was the annual Holiday party. She’d missed last year with her mom being ill, and having to fly out to Reno early to help her Dad.  Come to think of it, she’d missed the year before as well. She had no intention of missing this year.


The elevator door opened just as the bottom of the box of files she was holding decided it couldn’t bear the weight of them any further. Cascading folders, loose contents spilling across the elevator floor had her scrambling to gather them up, even as someone attempted entry.

“NO! No…you can’t come in here! She waved him off, not looking. The doors chimed to announce their closing, as she moaned “no ono” under her breath, but they stayed open.

“That’s why there is a “Hold” button on the doors, you know.” She looked up. It was him. Oh mother of God. He didn’t offer to help, merely stood looking at her with a half-smile as she knelt virtually at his feet. She felt the blush, felt exposed and vulnerable. Quickly she gathered up the files, stacking them willy-nilly.

“Come with me.” It was not a request. Wordlessly she took her stack of files, and followed him. The back of his jacket hid the back of him, but she imagined his ass was as lovely as the rest of him.

He held open an office door. His office. She swallowed hard, then preceded him into the space.

“Put those there. You’ll have plenty of room to sort them before you take them upstairs. But be quick. That meeting is in 15 minutes.” He turned and left her.

It was like a strong wind blowing in and through her. She shook her head, amazed that he managed to shut her up. Anyone else and she would have snapped at him, castigated him for not helping. Yet in his own way he had. The long gleaming surface of his conference table stretched across his office. She imagined, for a moment, laying there, ass on the edge, as he fucked her.

No. Better not go there.

Quickly she began sorting her files, pushing aside her erotic fantasies of Steven Howard.


Standing outside his condo, she sucked in a deep breath. The die was cast, her hand had already rung the bell. It was too late to turn and run; she heard footsteps approaching the door.

He stood in the space, consuming the space, owning it. His hand rested on the edge of the door, his body blocking any entry. His chest was bare, gleaming with perspiration, while a pair of old and ratty sweatpants clung, barely, to his hips. Her mouth filled with saliva.

He let her look him over. She was perfectly groomed. Her tee-shirt was tight, her prettiest bra lifted her ample tits to show their size and shape beautifully. In her head she imagined him tugging him to her, kissing her speechless, his hands running up and down her body.

“Miss Kensington?” His voice snapped her out of her reverie.

She passed him the box of chocolate covered strawberries wordlessly. His brow raised in silent question.

“for…you know..your office today. Thanks.”

She spun and turned to go down the hallway, her face flushed. Geezus.


So, he did know her name. His hand blocked hers for a moment as it was poised over the down button. His breath brushed her earlobe as he all but whispered.

“Thank you, Emily. I don’t date vanilla women.”

His hand pushed the button, while his body kept her from turning back to him.

“Vanilla?” she asked, not looking at him, as she stepped into the elevator. What was it about him and fucking elevators?

“If you don’t understand…that’s explanation enough, little one. Thank you for the berries.” The door slid shut as she stood, back to the doors and descended to the garage.



sexual overdrive (7)

She sprawled on the bed as if she was boneless. Truth to tell, she felt boneless.

She also felt…fabulous.

Her ass throbbed where His strong teeth had bitten into her flesh, her pussy and clit throbbed with a deep, primal, need. She understood the words of all those sexy stories she had read over the years.

She yearned for him.

What a funny, archaic term.  Romantic and foolish. Yearning for someone? Never would she have thought herself capable. Yet, here she lay, giddy, and longing for a man she barely knew.

“Mel-o-dy….” His voice, soft and mellifluous  brought her back to the present. To His presence.

“yes, Sir?” Her voice was a thin whisper of sound. She pressed herself upward on her elbows, looking at him. His eyes, deep and fathomless,  glowed at her. She should have been embarrassed, with him looking up across her body, staring at her cunt, her round belly, her floppy tits.

“Why don’t you embarrass me? I’m just ….”

“On sexual overdrive? That’s what I see. I see a weeping pussy, the flutters of your body telling me what your words do not. That you are hot and horny, and, even more important to me, that you don’t fear pain. That your body is excited by even the small taste I’ve given you.”

His finger teased up her thigh, rubbing against a plump and swollen lower pussy lip. She stared at his hand, as he moved deeper into her cleft, until her head fell back, her eyelids drooped, and all she could see was the red haze of lust erupting within.

She squealed as he tugged her forward, off the bed.

“Move with me, Melody,” he chanted in a sing-song rhyme of lust. Her legs passed over his shoulders, as he supported her hips.

“I hold you, you hold me.”

“Wha-a-a..?” She began…

“Your feet will hit the floor, and my chair will tip back, far back. Your feet will be the support of both of us, my little slut, while I eat your sopping cunt.”

The dirty words, mixed with the practical. She trembled at the force of them, the reactions that they excited within her. She could see it, in her head. Her feet on the floor, him tilted back in his chair….and in moments, he had maneuvered them into position. He set the brakes and, wrapping his arms around her hips, dug his fingers into her soft bottom as his mouth went to work on her pussy.

His tongue lapped the outer folds of her flesh, long, slow, sensual laps up and over each puffy lip, then driving deeper, licking into the cleft between.  The tip of the questing tongue swirled around her clitoris, making her arch and try to press that needy spot against his mouth. She felt the laugh as a warm vibration.

“needy, greedy slut!”

His words were muffled, and tickled her. She’d never had anyone talk to her through her pussy before. It felt strange. And sensual. He continued to torture her, avoiding her clit.

“Want more?”

The words rumbled up her cunt, barely registering in her overheated brain.

“mmmmmmmmmm” she responded, wordless, guttural.

She felt the sharp pinch on her ass.

“OW!” she responded.

He was silent.

“Yes! Yes! More, please Sir? Please? Pretty please?”

He smiled at the desperate tone in her voice.

“You’re kind of a bastard, you know that?”

Whoa. Was that her? How had that slipped out? She could barely move, suspended on her back against his thighs, her feet planted on the ground, his head buried deep in her snatch. His deep laugh echoed up her pussyhole, through her belly, making her smile, despite the increasingly desperate need growing between her thighs.

His lips settled over her clit, and he began to suck. Much as he had while kissing her earlier, he sucked hard and deeply, until the pleasure was slashed with pain. It hurt. It felt fantastic. No…it hurt.

An orgasm began to build, faster than the tides in a hurricane. She stiffened, her body going rigid as it ripped through her. She felt like she’d drawn up into a tight bow, and then as an arrow was set free, flying through the cosmos.

She was half-unaware as he gently, slowly, righted his chair, her feet hanging limply over his shoulders. He moved her left leg, ducking under her knee, and turning her sideways on his lap, cradling her like one holds an infant.

It was the pinching that roused her. Her nipples were suddenly under attack, sharp pinpoints of pain.

“ow..ow! Ow!”

He looked down at her, as her eyes flew open.

“There she is. Off, slut.” He pushed her off his lap, guiding her to the floor between his legs. She looked up at him, a faint frown between her eyes.

“I have tasted you, and found you, frankly, delicious.” She blushed at his look. His cheeks were still wet …from her pussy, she realized. She felt the heat in her face grow deeper.

“Now it’s time for you to taste me.”

Her eyes widened, just a bit. He scooted forward in the wheelchair, then leaned back. She sat, looking at him.

“That wasn’t a request, you know.” Their eyes met. Held.

“I…” her eyes fell.

“Total communication, slut. Do not forget that is our cardinal rule.”

“I don’t know what to do. If …” she gestured at his legs.



“Are you asking if my cock works? Because I can assure you that he does. When you were squirming on my face, he was straining against my zipper; oh yes, slut. My cock works very well.”

Face flaming, she nodded, then a soft “Yes Sir,” as she remembered he preferred to hear her words. Reaching up, she unbuckled his belt, then lowered the zipper on his fly. Feeling the bulge growing under her fingers she realized that his cock worked very well, indeed.


sexual overdrive (3)

She got there early. It was something she always did, just in case she got lost, got a flat, had a panic attack. She much preferred punctuality to being “fashionably late”, which she considered unfashionably rude.

Living only a few blocks from the park, she had decided to walk. Her stomach fluttered with nerves. Her pussy fluttered with a burst of sexual craving that was hard to contain. She was going to meet the man who excited this…this raw need in her. She was going to meet the man who might, maybe, perhaps….oh, how she hoped he would…become her Dom.

She held the picnic basket in her hand, a pair of plates, forks, napkins, and a bottle of white Chardonnay inside, along with two sturdy wine glasses, and the pie. She was setting a scene, she supposed. Or catering to him. To needs that she had no idea if he felt or even wanted. But …what the hell. He couldn’t fault her for trying, could he?

She set the basket on the wide ledge that surrounded the fountain. She’d been here dozens of times, but had never really looked. The statue of the mermaid captured one’s fantasy. The girl who wasn’t satisfied with the life she had, although it had been a perfectly fine life. Who’d craved that something else that was hard to explain to her family. Just something different.

She smiled as she realized the metaphor there. She, she was the mermaid. There was a sound behind her and she whirled. She blinked.

“Hello, Melody.”

It was His voice.

“I understand the package may not fit the predestined vision you may have of a Dominant.” He smiled, waving a hand down to encompass the chair he sat in. It was spiffy. It was different. A sports-like wheelchair.

“I…had no idea, no.” She looked at him, met him eye to eye. “It doesn’t matter to me.”

“Hell it doesn’t.” He stated it baldly. “But eventually it won’t. For now, as I say, I understand the adjustment in your thinking. You expected a tall, strapping burly man, like from one of those sex movies. And to be sure there are those. Just as there are vanilla movie stars. But most of us…and by that I mean all  people…most of us are just people. Not movie stars. Flawed, human, too fat, too thin, too pimply, too awkward. I can accept your honesty, girl. In point of fact, I demand it.”

“I didn’t expect the chair, but how could I? I guess …I didn’t have an “expectation” like you were going to be 6’2″ or something like that. You were a nebulous person. And now you’re real. And I’m okay with that.”

He blinked, obviously taken aback.

“I have your pie, Sir.” Turning to the fountain, she stretched. He’d see she had a big ass, the bulge of a roll around her midsection. Fucking pop tarts! Not to mention her own love of tasting what she baked. She was great cook, and her belly bore the proof of her skills in the kitchen.

“I’m not perfect. But I make a damn fine pie.” She smiled, then opened the box to reveal the bounty within. The smell of cinnamon wafted to him. He took an appreciative sniff.

“My mother taught me to never trust a thin cook,” he said, taking the plate she offered, then the fork. “Napkins too? Smart.”

“I have wine. I don’t know what you prefer… but I think a crisp white goes nice with apple pie. ”

“Unless you’ve got a tall, cold,  glass of milk in there, I think the white will be fine.”

She offered him the wine glass, but he gestured for her to hold it as he eyed the pie. The smile was genuine as he perused the thick stack of apples, the softly oozing filling, the flecks of cinnamon, and the flaky crust.

“This,” he said, holding it aloft, “is more than a ‘damned fine pie’. This, my dear, is a piece of art.”

Without further ado, he dug in with gusto. He didn’t stop, nor speak, until the plate was bare. She watched him eat with a faint smile. It wasn’t often she had a man appreciate her cooking this way.

“That was …. well beyond “good”,” he said, wiping his mouth with the napkin; then handing it back to her with the plate, he took the glass from her. She watched his lips as he sipped, then caught his eye, as he slid the wine around in his mouth. . She felt her heart bump up a notch. Their gazes locked as he tasted the bouquet.  How someone swirling a mouthful of wine was at all sexual was a mystery. Yet, he was getting her all churned  up, stirring her, making her blush.  She felt her pussy swell, felt the dampness in her palms, and in the folds between her thighs.  He made her nervous. He turned her on.

For another long moment, there were no words. She watched as he swallowed the wine, fascinated by the play of his Adam’s apple moving up, then down. Her eyes slipped back to his face, to his mouth. It was …sultry, if a man’s mouth could be described by such a female term. His bottom lip was full and round,  and the hint of a beard on his chin only accentuated it. She swallowed, trying to speak, but she could only stutter.


He smiled, and she wondered if he knew how much he discomfited her. She could only look at him, that nervous feeling back in her belly.

“And so we have met. Where do we go from here, little one? Obviously I’m not going to knock you unconscious and drive away with you. It might attract a fair amount of attention should I do that, eh?”

She giggled again, shaking her head no.

“You make me…” her eyes dropped to the tips of her sneakers. Her voice dropped, then stopped.

He looked up at her.  “Do finish.”

She glanced up at him, startled at the steel in that statement. Statement, hell, it was an order, steel wrapped in the velvet of his voice.

“You…make me….” She flapped her arms. “Gods, this is so …”

“….so? Interesting? Appealing? Amusing?” He supplied as she faltered to a stop once more.

“Embarrassing. It’s embarrassing. We’ve just met. Okay not just…emails. …and the phone…but…”


More steel. This time wrapped in steel wool. Prickly. Tougher. Domlike.

The word flitted in her head a moment. Yes. He was Domlike. The chair didn’t matter…it was all about the attitude of the man. And he had it, in spades.

“You make me feel nervous. And…excited.” Her voice dropped.

“Nervous…and excited…are two halves of the submissive coin, yes?”

“I don’t know!” She waved her arms again, pacing in a small, tight circle in front of him.

“How can I know that? I’m not a submissive. I’ve never done ANYTHING like this before and I…”

“Sit.” He pointed to the ground beside his chair. Her rant cut off mid-thought, and she moved beside him and sat, looking up at him quizzically.

The  sound of his laugh made her blush for some reason. Even the mermaid, frozen in bronze, was smiling at her. He shook his head fondly, it seemed, as he gently ran his hand over the top of her head, cupping her chin to raise her eyes to his.

“You doubt you are submissive?” His smile was wide, and lit his face.

Her blush deepened.

“Oh, little one, there is no doubt in my mind about it. Nor, I think, should there be in yours. After all, here I am, and there you sit. Just like a good little girl should.”

He smiled again.

There was something there in that wicked grin that made her butterflied stomach dance a nervous jig.

She wasn’t sure, but she thought she kind of liked that about him.

sexual overdrive (1)

She had a hunger. It burned and coiled through her body, like the fabled snake. It curled in her belly, and stretched along her spine. She lusted.

Poring over online catalogs for sex toys didn’t help that hunger abate, not by a long shot. She was on sexual overdrive, that was for sure. And she needed an outlet way better than the battery operated boyfriend that lay in the box next to her bed.

Her computer was tabbed to three websites. The sex toy site was over that of that blog she liked…the one with all the Xplicit content. Well, all the good sex blogs had that. This one had pictures. Stories. Toy reviews. It was something that she only allowed herself to do on Friday nights. The third tab was that dating site for submissives.


She wasn’t sure she was one.

She pondered that for a while. The thought of someone …hitting her. It should be anathema.  She clicked open another tab and found that blog with all the bondage on it. Hitting the link in the sidebar, she found the website with all those free movie clips.

Gods. That …Dominant…was hitting the tiny blonde with the giant jugs ….with a whip.

Who did that?

Who “submitted” to that?

And why were her panties soaked? Horrible! Heinous. Hateful. Just …no. That wasn’t her at all.

But every date she’d had in weeks had bored her to tears.

She clicked back to the website for submissives. She opened her profile. Eleven hits.

She’d posted her profile 10 minutes ago.

Somehow she felt like a tasty snack thrown into the shark tank.  She read the offerings. OH, right. Like she wanted to jump into this and be branded by GuyTop402.

“Right” she said aloud. “Yeah, I wanna wear your mark on my ass forever and I’ve not even figured out if I am a submissive or not. Did you even *read* my profile you dumbass?”

She growled at the mean looking face on her monitor. Maybe this meant this “lifestyle” wasn’t for her after all. Her throbbing clit told another tale.  She clicked through guys 2-5, female top 6, and read number 7. He was 18 years her junior. That just seemed wrong. And he liked to be called Daddy?

“Let’s get serious Daddy,” she spoke to the clean-faced youth’s picture. “I was born way before you. I’d start laughing hysterically if I had to call you Daddy. Babyface, sure. But daddy? No way, no how.”

With a sigh, she clicked off the screen. Another profile popped up. She blinked. Shit, she hated when her cursor did that, slid down the monitor from where she meant to click. She needed to get that fi…whoa.

She blinked, leaned closer to the monitor.

“Your new at this, I see. Curious. Curious is good, but you need to be safe. This isn’t the best place to meet a new partner you know. Lot of guys (and gals) looking for fresh meat to scratch an itch. I hope you’ll take time to sift through the drek, and perhaps write back to me. We can talk offline, then see if that clicks, maybe talk. I will ask you to be safe as you sift through options, okay? This isn’t an easy place for newbies. Sincerely, Dom Bill.”

She re-read it. There was nothing overly sexual. Nothing demanding. Just a warning to take care. Like maybe he thought of her as a person and not just a grouping of sex-holes?

She took a deep breath, feeling her heart pounding. For all she knew, he didn’t even live near her. Several of the responders were from the other side of the country, for gosh sakes.  Nonetheless, she copied his email address and dashed off a quick email.

“Dear Dom Bill,

Thank you for the warning. I will be very careful. Was that a line meant to get my attention?

It worked.


Uncertain in New London”

Jittery, she rose from the computer. A shower would help. Yet standing under the spray, she shivered.  She’d taken a step. She was scared. Nervous. And wet. NOT from the shower spray. She felt between her thighs, fingering her clit, her pussy lips. There was a slickness there not borne of water, but of a deep-seated hunger. Leaning into the corner, she fucked her pussy fast, feeling her knees melting as her orgasm cascaded through her. Eyes shut, gasping, she held there a moment, then quickly lathered up.

She wondered if Dom Bill had responded.