bondage lover's blog: "hodge-podge"

Yeah, that's where I've been. I apologize for my scarcity here, but life has been so damn busy I've barely had time to breathe. For quite some time, I was out of work, and so a job search took up the majority of my time. I finally found one, and I've been there for about three months now. I work a lot of extra hours, but I am determined to make a good showing and impression at this place. School continues for me, I'm slowly but surely finishing my degree. Someday, that sheepskin will be mine. The coolest news by far is that I have begun writing for a television show! It's just a local show, but I like it. It's called Wolfman Mac's Nightmare Sinema, and it's a return to the days when local television hosts showed cheesy horror films and did goofy sketches. I've only been working on it for two weeks, but I have two scripts completed, and the first one shoots this coming week. On the kinky side, well, I'm sad to say nothing has happened. No writing, no playing, nothing. I'm gonna try and rectify that, but I don't knopw what will happen. In the meantime, I'll leave you with an unfinished piece of mine, but irst, I want to say a couple of things. Mistress of Wolves.....You are always in my mind and heart, no matter how long I am away. I am proud of you and happy for you. Whips, well, you are a special lady, and I am honored indeed to be your friend. And now...the story fragment: Pete glanced at his watch and started for the door. He would be glad to lock up and leave the hardware store behind him. It had been a long day, he had a party waiting for him later that evening and he could think of nothing more pleasurable than cracking open a few beers and hanging with his friends. As he approached the door and fished the keys from his pocket, he noticed a couple approaching. Pete stopped in his tracks as he looked at the pair. The man was handsome enough, Pete supposed, but the woman was breathtaking. Fiery red hair, a full, lush figure, and skin the color of fresh cream. “Damn,” he thought. “How come I can never meet a woman like that?” The couple strode into the store, the bell above the door jingling merrily as they swung it open. “Sorry folks,’ Pete said. “I was just closing up for the night.” The man looked at him neutrally. “That’s a shame,” he said. “We really need to get a few items, don’t we dear?” He looked at the redhead, who nodded demurely. She remained one step behind the man, her eyes were cast slightly toward the floor. “Perhaps we could convince you to remain open a while longer?” Pete shook his head. “I’m sorry, but I have to close. I’d love to help you, but I can’t. My hands are tied.” At that, the man suppressed a smirk, as if a private joke had passed between the pair. He removed his wallet and fished out a handful of bills. “Would two hundred dollars persuade you?” Pete looked at the outstretched wad of bills. He checked his watch. Two hundred dollars was a lot of money for him, and the party wouldn’t start for another two hours. He smiled at the couple. “I suppose I could spare some time,” he said. “How can I help you folks?” The man smiled broadly. “Do you carry straps?” Pete thought for a moment. “Do you mean for securing cargo,” he asked. “Or did you have something else in mind?” The man tossed a casual glance over his shoulder at his companion. “Securing cargo,” he said. Pete led them down an aisle and showed them a selection of straps designed for just such a purpose. “These are excellent,” he said. “I use them all the time. The nice thing is that the buckles have a ratchet built into them so you can really strap things down tightly. We can cut them into any length you need right here.” The man requested five straps of varying lengths. He gave the measurements to Pete who began cutting the requested pieces. He attached the buckle to the first and handed it to the man. He began to cut the second length when he heard the sound of the ratchet being tightened down. He looked up in surprise and saw that the man had looped the strap around the arms of the redhead, just above the elbows, and had tightened it severely. Pete goggled at the pair. The man returned his gaze and said pleasantly “Please, continue with your work. Don’t let us distract you.”

The news of Patrick Swayze's cancer leaves me thinking about my own mortality. No one lives forever, and I'm fairly confident that I don't want to be the first person to do so. I'm not concerned about leaving a mark after I am gone, because everyone leaves a mark. It is safe to say that the world is different simply because I am here, as it is also different because you are here. People will remember us for a time after we are gone, but memories are fleeting, and no legacy is eternal. So I don't subscribe to the hubris of a monument of some sort that will stand the test of time. It's more important to live well while we are here. Having said that, there are things I wish I had done, and things I still hope to do. I am a creative sort and I have had the great fortune to touch others via that gift. Whether it was through a joke I told, a story I wrote, or a role I played, I was allowed to take people away from their normal routine for a moment, and I am pleased and grateful for that. Still, one thing tops my list of things undone. I have not yet become a published author. I hope I can make that happen, and I hope that if I succeed, my creations make things a bit better for those who find them. I regret not having learned to play a musical instrument. I did play clarinet briefly in junior high school, but I was no Benny Goodman. Of all the instruments that speak (sing?) to me, the guitar is the one I'd most like to master. I played the guitar in a play once, and I learned a few very basic chords well enough to fake my way through a few tunes. It was soothing, and I was surprised at how quickly I grew to love the feel of the strings under my fingers. I miss it. I've always been afraid of change. The unknown leaves me feeling distinctly uncomfortable, and as a result, I have become a very rigid person. This robs me of the joy of spontaneity and the thrill of discovery by chance. Serendipity is the coolest thing, but it can't happen unless you open doors and embrace flexibility. I very much want to sky dive before my death. Hopefully, if I get the opportunity, it won't be the event that causes my death. I imagine that the wind rushing past my body will be quite a sensation. It will be an invigorating chill, almost as if my entire body had been immersed in a delicious, frosty mint. When I close my eyes, I thrill to the image of the world seen from far above. It's a beautiful thing, and as the earth rushes towards me, breathtaking detail begins to take shape. It's as if I were on top of a painting by Seurat, the dots morphing into splendid landscapes as I move away from the canvas. What an experience that will be. There's more to do, and more to detail, but right now there is one thing and only one thing that I want. I want my wife beside me in bed, the rhythm of her breathing, the rise and fall of her chest and the smell of her hair all wrapping me in a blanket of love and devotion. This simple thing, like all of the above, will happen. It's just a matter of time.

Our meeting is surreal, almost dream like. It is early evening and you are walking down a city street that is nearly deserted. The work crowd has long since vacated the area, and passersby are rare. You have been in the city on business, and your attire reflects this. It is professional, yet not stuffy. You walk with purpose, your mind on other things, when you stop short. Before you is a man dressed in a charcoal gray suit and topcoat. The suit fits him well, and you are struck for a moment by how handsome the man is. He stands in front of you, blocking your path. You meet his eyes, but he does not move. After a moment, he speaks. “Hello.” You are startled. Ordinarily, such an encounter would set you on guard, but there is nothing menacing in his manner. His voice is pleasant, light, despite the neutral expression he wears on his face. He continues. “I must say, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you. You look even lovelier than your photos make you appear.” I drink in your visage, my eyes slowly moving from your face and down the length of your body. “If I may say so, the camera does not do you justice.” You stand there, appraising my frame, and you find your voice. “Thank you,” you say. You notice that my gaze has returned to your face. My eyes lock with yours as I continue. “I am especially pleased by your manner of dress. The blouse, the stockings, they are perfect choices. They heighten your femininity. So many women advertise their sexuality brazenly. They mistakenly believe this accentuates them, but we both know it cheapens them, don’t we?” You nod, and swallow once. I smile now. “What a lovely throat. It’s bewitching. A man would be fortunate indeed to be allowed to kiss that neck, those lips. Sadly, I imagine few men are smart enough to realize this. I suspect that the men you allow to keep company with you do not show you the respect that you deserve.” I step closer to you, and you do not move away. “Meeting you leaves me with one regret,” I say. “Do you know what that is?” You lick your lips unconsciously. Your voice is both strong and soft. “Tell me,” you say. I step forward once more. “Meeting you in the flesh, that lovely, lovely flesh, no longer allows me to imagine this encounter. It’s a shame, as the imagination is a powerful thing. Don’t you agree?” You nod. Your mind races. You are not afraid, but intrigued. Who is this man? How does he know you? Your thoughts are interrupted by my voice. “You yourself are a very powerful woman. You understand the power of the mind. The imagination, the unknown, these things are intoxicating, hypnotic. They leave you wanting more. They awaken desires in you.” I can see the throbbing of your pulse in that lovely throat, and I continue. “You know about power, don’t you? Yes, you know all about power. I wonder if the men in your life have such an understanding. I imagine they do not. I imagine they confuse it with brutishness. They do not evoke a feeling of trust, as I do. You do trust me, don’t you, sweet vessel?” The name brings everything into focus. You now know who I am, and you feel a warmth build in you. “Yes, sir,” you say. “Yes, I do trust you.” “That is good. You know that I will not betray that trust, don’t you?” You nod now, unable to speak. Your mind is a jumble of thoughts, images. You feel as though you are drifting away to a dark and warm place, a place of dreams not spoken of. My voice drifts down to you, comforting you, alleviating any fear you may have had. “I can show you things. I can allow you the luxury of submission. I can show you the joy of servitude. I can unlock pleasures that you cannot possibly dream of. I can do these things. Do you want this?” You nod. “Do you trust me?” You speak, your lips moist and perfect as they form the words: “Yes, sir.” “Do you want to know my touch?” “Yes, sir” “Very well,” I say. I take your hand and hold it. You feel its warmth, its strength, and I trace one fingertip across your palm. You draw in a breath and sigh. My other hand reaches your shoulder and kneads it firmly. Your eyes close. My right hand leaves your palm and a finger rises to your chin. “Do you want to begin?” “Yes, sir” I remove the belt from the topcoat and hold it in my right hand. My left hand turns you and you respond to its invitation. “Hands behind you,” I say. There is no threat, no danger, and you comply. A moment later you feel the belt wind around your wrists and your hands are secured. “Remember,” I say, my voice soft in your ear. “You can let go of yourself. I will not betray your trust.” My breath is hot on your neck. “You know this, don’t you?” You nod in assent. I turn you to face me. Your arousal is evident, your nipples erect against the fabric of your blouse. I take one finger and run it along the side of your face, down your throat and I stop at the first button of your blouse. I open it, then a second, and the swell of your beasts is now exposed to the cool night air. The mesh of your black lace bra provides you a small bit of modesty, and I hear your breath quickening. “I do wonder,” I say. “I do so wonder what I may find beneath that skirt.” You let out a small moan, not in fear, but in anticipation. I speak again. “Turn and face the wall.” You comply. “Step forward,” I say. “I want you to place the tip of your nose against that wall.” There is no hesitation from you and you step forward, your heels clattering in the still of the night. You lean forward slightly and place your nose against the cool rough brick. I run a finger down the small of your back, stopping just above the hem of your skirt. “Do you trust me?” “Yes sir, oh, yes.” I lift your skirt and expose your bottom. The matching panties are delicate, fragile, and I trace the curve of your buttocks. If anyone should happen by, what would they think? But there is no one. There is only you and I. I gently slide the panties down your body, and you step out of them. I smooth your skirt over your bare flesh and turn you to face me again. You glance at your panties, balled in my hand, and you lock eyes with me. I need not ask. You trust me completely, and you know what I want. You open your mouth and I place the panties inside. You close your lips and you taste yourself, your arousal. “Follow me,” I say. Without waiting for a reply, I start down the street. You follow obediently, your wrists bound behind you, the cool air traveling up your skirt. We continue down the street and I stop by a car parked at the curb. I open the passenger door and you step in. I reach in and open the glove compartment. Inside you see a mass of shiny black fabric. “Open,” I say. You open your mouth and I fish the panties from it. “Hand me the object from the glove box”. You look quizzically at me for a moment. Your hands are bound behind you, how can you hand me anything? Realization sets in and you lean forward, pressing your face into the glove box as you snatch the object with your teeth. You pull it out and lean your head down to my outstretched palm. You drop the mass into it. I shake it out and you realize the object is a shiny spandex hood. You stare at it, and I reach into the pocket of my topcoat. I remove a large red ballgag and allow it to dangle from my fingertips. “Do you trust me?” “Yes, sir.” You lean your head forward and I slide the hood over it. You can no longer see. “Open your mouth,” I say softly. You do, and a moment later the ball settles deep inside of it, behind your teeth. You feel the strap as I buckle it around your head. You are silenced. You feel a hand on your chest, and I push you back into the seat. Straps encircle your body as I bind you to the passenger seat. The rise and fall of your chest is intoxicating. A moment later you gasp in surprise as the seat reclines back sharply. Your body lays flat in the vehicle. You test the straps, but they do not budge. You hear the door close, and seconds later the driver side door opens. You listen as I take my seat. “You can stop this at any time,” I say. “Do you wish to continue?” You speak, your voice muffled by the gag: “Yeff, firr. Puhwheezze!” I caress your hooded face and turn the key in the ignition. The car pulls away, and your journey begins.

There. Got that out of the way. I married llw two years ago. I had been recently divorced, and the one blessing of that prior union was that we had decided we would not discuss having children for a period of five years. When the marriage dissolved almost exactly five years later, I reflected on how wise that decision had been. I resolved not to enter into a relationship with anyone who had children. I had nothing against kids, I just didn't feel I would be a good father. I'm not patient, I frustrate easily, and I expect logic from those I deal with. Kids, as I am sure you know, don't mesh well with those expectations. But llw won my heart, and I agreed to marry her even though she had two children. I wasn't stupid enough to think it would be easy. But I wasn't smart enough to realize how hard it would be either. The young girl, upon learning of our impending wedding, asked in all seriousness if I could be kept in the basement and have food sent down to me. It's been a handful, but I love them dearly, even when they frustrate the living hell out of me. I don't think of them as step-children. They are my children, and I try to help them become good people. I try to do so in aloving manner, but I am firm when I need to be. I am fortunate enough to have llw to guide me and help me to be reasonable and fair. I had thought I had make progress with them. I learned tonight that I haven't. Our boy has been lying, experimenting with drugs, and we recently found out that when he has friends over unsupervised, they delight in setting things on fire in the living room. None of this is acceptable, and so while I was at class tonight, llw laid down the law. He accepted no responsibility, instead claiming that the only reason he was being punished is because I am a member of the household. He claims he owes me no respect, nor should he have to obey me at all. He reminded llw that he only has to live with us until he is 16. All of this hurt me greatly when I learned of it, but it hurt llw even more. Her life is complicated by my presence. I have no job, I make her interactions with the children more difficult, and I make her life more difficult in a variety of ways. Unfortunately, lately I am unable to see the ways in which I make it better. I love her, but maybe that's not enough. I know this is largely depression talking, but their is a truth to all of this. Would she be better of without me? I strive to improve myself in the hopes that I'll become worthy of her, but who knows? I may never be, and she may come to feel the same way.

Part 2 Laura’s mind was racing. The arm around her throat was squeezing tighter and she felt her herself begin to weaken as the oxygen left her body. The hand clamped over her mouth dug tightly into her skin, mashing her lips painfully against the palms of the intruder. “Are you all right, my pet?” the intruder asked. Laura thought for a moment that the question was intended for her. Then she saw Catherine nod her head. “Yes, Master” she said. Laura was confused. Did these two people know each other? What was happening? The unseen assailant forced Laura further into the room until they reached the far wall. He forced her to her knees, her legs stretched out behind her. He sat on them, pinning them to the floor. He removed his hand from her mouth. His arm disappeared from around her neck. He grabbed her flailing arms and forced them together against the small of her back. With one hand, he secured her arms and pushed her with tremendous force, trapping her body against the wall. With his free hand he grabbed the remaining coils of rope from the dresser. He quickly began to bind her wrists. Laura finally found her voice. “Who the fuck are you?’ she demanded. “How did you get in here? What’s going on?” Her captor finished wrapping her wrists and cinched the rope with a savage jerk. It dug into her skin and Laura could feel the rough texture of the hemp as it chafed against her flesh. A hand grasped the back of her head and pushed her face roughly into the wall. She could not move her head. “It is not your place to ask questions,” the intruder said. His voice was deep and strong. “All that you need to know is that the young woman you have bound on the bed is my property. She is my slave, and you will now learn a lesson about taking those things which do not belong to you.” The hand left her head and Laura felt more rope encircle her arms just above the elbow. She grunted as the rope was pulled and her elbows were forced together. She strained against the ropes but found no slack. Her arms began to ache immediately. She was lifted roughly to her feet. She thrashed uselessly in the arms of her captor, swearing furiously. “You crazy fucker, let me go right now or I’ll scream,” she said. Her captor laughed. “Please do,” he said. “No one will hear you, and the sound will excite me further. Isn’t that what you told my pet?” He wound another loop of rope around her waist. The intruder tied the rope off in the center of her stomach and ran the excess through her legs. He pulled it tight behind her, and the rope nestled itself between the lips of her pussy. The pull increased until the length of hemp dug painfully into her. The intruder yanked Laura’s body back into a slight arch. He fastened the rope between her wrists. Laura tried to lean forward but could not straighten her body without increasing the tension on the rope and increasing the pain between her legs. The intruder forced her to her knees and grabbed her by the hair. For the firs time, Laura saw her captor. He was tall, over six feet. The man was dressed in tight leather pants and a plain white shirt. The clothes fit snugly, showing off his well-toned frame. He pulled her forward with a sharp tug, his large hands holding her securely, forcing her head between his legs. He squeezed them shut, trapping her there. Laura hissed in pain, but told herself she would not give this man the satisfaction of hearing her cry out. Her captor bent down and grabbed her legs. Laura tried to kick them free from his grip. “God damn you, let me go!” she yelled. “Who the fuck do you think you are?” The stranger squeezed his legs together even more tightly and Laura could not help but let out a small cry of pain. “No more questions,” he said coldly. “I won’t tell you again.” The assailant forced her legs together and quickly bound her ankles. His hands found her hair again, and he loosened the pressure of his legs as he yanked her body sharply upwards. He forced her to lift her face so that she met his gaze. Her eyes locked on his, her dull fury evident in their glare. “From this moment on, you will call me Master. Is that clear?” His voice was low, even, without emotion. His green eyes revealed no empathy. “Like hell I will,” spat Laura. The Master pulled her upwards by her hair, lifting her body off the ground. The pain in her scalp was tremendous. “You will call me Master,” he repeated. “Fuck you!” Laura hissed, her teeth gritted tightly against the pain. He lifted her higher and grabbed her left nipple in his hand. He pinched it roughly and began to twist it between his fingers. “You will call me Master,” he said again. Laura cried out in pain. “Oww! Fuck! Yes! Yes! Master! Yes!” He released his hold on her nipple and returned her to the ground. He continued to force her face up to his. “My slave and I often frequent the bar from which you have been finding your toys,” he said. “You have scared away many of our potential playmates. We have heard stories of how you treat them, and we dislike your methods. You do not dominate, you torture. You inflict pain without reward. So I have decided to teach you some lessons about dominance, about submission, about suffering.” Laura said nothing. She only continued to glare at him. He continued. “My slave Catherine posed as one of the young things you find so appealing. I followed the two of you as you left the bar and trailed you here. Once you led her inside, I waited at your front door until I heard you enter the bedroom. Then I let myself inside. Next time, I suggest you lock the door.” The Master threw her roughly to the ground. She sprawled across the floor, face down. He turned his attention to Catherine’s bound form. “Would you like me to untie you, my pet?” he asked. Catherine spoke softly: “If it pleases you, Master.” The Master moved forward to release the girl. Rather than step over Laura’s bound form to reach Catherine, he simply stepped onto her prostrate body. Laura grunted as the weight pressed down upon her and the heels of the Master’s boots dug into her back. He shifted his position along the length of her body as he untied the ropes that fastened Catherine to the bed. Once freed, Catherine rose from the bed and knelt before her Master. “Okay, okay,” said Laura. “You’ve got your slave back, now please leave.” The Master stepped off of her back and bent down. He took her bound wrists in his hands and lifted her body off the floor. The crotch rope dug deep into her flesh and she yelped as her body left the ground. She pulled her bound legs beneath her in an effort to gain some support and relieve the strain on her aching mound. “It is time to begin teaching you some respect,” the Master said. He continued to lift Laura’s body until her feet were securely under her. “Come here, pet, and take this bitch by the arms,” the Master commanded. Catherine stepped forward and pulled on Laura’s wrists, forcing her to bend over and present her ass to the Master. He picked up the wooden paddle and rubbed it gently against Laura’s cheeks. “You will count off each stroke, and you will thank me after each blow,” the Master said. “Do you understand?” Laura said nothing. Her thoughts were focused on the rope between her legs. Catherine had pulled Laura’s wrists as high as she could, and the strain of the rope against her clit was all Laura could think of. The pain was great, but the pressure was exciting. Laura felt herself grow wet. She had begun to gyrate in an attempt to increase the stimulation. Her concentration was broken by the sharp sting of the paddle as it cracked against her ass. Laura let out a yelp of pain. “I asked you if you understood,” said the Master. “You will answer when spoken to. Do you understand?” “Yes,” said Laura, and the paddle cracked against her buttocks once more. “Yes, what?” asked the Master. “Yes, Master,” Laura said softly. “Very good,” said the Master. “Then let us begin.” He swung the paddle again and again. He struck with much more force than Laura ever could have. She grunted with each blow, struggling to keep her thoughts focused as she counted the strokes, thanking her punisher after each. She tried to rub against the rope, but each time the paddle struck her rhythm was disrupted. She could do nothing but hang there, her arms pulled up, the rope digging into her crotch, the paddle raining blow after blow on her stinging cheeks. She counted off ten strokes, twenty, thirty. Her ass was burning and she felt her eyes water from the pain. Still, she never missed a stroke, nor did she neglect to thank her Master after each one. Finally, after she reached fifty, the Master spoke. “Very good. You’re learning.” Laura knew better than to speak. She hung there limply, suspended by her arms. The Master spoke again. “Slave, place this toy on the bed.” Catherine forced Laura’s body to the bed and placed her on her back, facing the ceiling. She did not release the ropes securing her arms or feet, nor did she loosen the rope between her legs. “Bind her legs to the bedposts,” the Master commanded. Catherine untied the rope that held Laura’s feet together and began to tie her ankles to the bedposts. “Pull the ropes tight, my pet,” said the Master. “Stretch her as far as she will go.” Catherine tugged on the ropes and Laura felt her legs pull part. They opened wider and wider until she felt that she would split. The Master ordered Catherine to climb onto the bed. “Place your pussy over her mouth,” he commanded. Catherine positioned herself as her Master had requested. “Since you have already delivered so much punishment to my slave, I think now you should reward her,” said the Master. “You will eat her out, and you will make her cum. You will do so until I tell you to stop.” He picked up the candle that Laura had dropped when he entered the room. He continued to speak. “As you do, I will decorate your body with the wax from the candle, as you had intended for her.” Catherine lowered herself onto Laura’s upturned face. She allowed the full weight of her body to rest there, and Laura’s nose was mashed down painfully. She could smell the girl on top of her, her musky scent made Laura dizzy with desire. Her tongue emerged and she began to lick the girl, slowly, sensually. She had begun to lose herself in the act when the first drop of wax fell against her skin. Her body jerked and Laura hissed in pain, her voice muffled by the crotch of the girl above her. More drops fell across her breasts. She struggled to keep her mind focused on the moaning girl above her. Laura continued to slurp away at her pussy. Catherine was very wet and her juices dripped onto to Laura’s face. Her moans of pleasure were growing louder as her breathing quickened. The wax was falling faster now; each drop hotter than the last as the Master brought the candle closer and closer to Laura’s flesh. The drops rained down over her nipples, along her thighs, across her belly. The pain was electrifying. Laura thrilled at the sting of each drop as it made contact. She imagined she could hear the wax sizzle as it fell through the air and splattered against her. Her own pussy throbbed dully, she wished she could touch herself, but her bound wrists were of no use to her. Her tongue found Catherine’s clit and circled it urgently. The girl ground her body down against Laura’s face. Laura felt Catherine’s body rock and heard her speak breathlessly: “Master, may I cum?” The Master granted his permission and Catherine shuddered as she let the last of her control go and the orgasm ripped through her. Catherine made no move to rise from her position, and Laura twisted her head in an effort to get her to climb off. Suddenly she felt the sharp blow of a leather strap as the Master slapped her naked sex. Laura let out a muffled gasp from between Catherine’s legs. The sting only served to fuel her lust. “I did not give you permission to stop,” the Master said. He swung the strap again and Laura moaned in pain and pleasure. She began to lick Catherine’s clit again, and the girl began to rock in pleasure atop Laura’s bound form. Laura worked the girl’s clit with her tongue, her body jerking as the wax continued to fall, punctuated with blows from the leather strap. Catherine was moaning loudly, and requested permission to cum once more. The Master granted it, and the girl’s screams of pleasure rose again. Laura did not stop. Her mind was locked on the writhing girl, the sensations of the falling wax and the stinging strap. She was more aroused than she had ever been and wanted desperately to be fucked. She bucked her hips, grinding the crotch rope against her, but it did nothing to madden the itch deep inside of her. Catherine was screaming with pleasure now: “Master, may I cum?” This time both girls were surprised to hear the Master refuse to grant her permission. Catherine moaned in frustration as Laura’s tongue danced across the girl’s dripping pussy. Catherine was screaming now: “Master, may I cum?” Again, she was denied. For the first time that evening, Laura sympathized with the girl. Her own lust was driving her crazy. The scent of the girl above her, the taste of her sex, the smell of Laura’s own desire coming off of her in waves, the heat of the wax, the sensation as it hardened upon her body, the sting of the strap, the roughness of the master, all these things swirled in her mind and she ached for release. Catherine was screaming again: “Please, please! Please master, please may I cum?” “Yes, you may,” said the Master. The words were scarcely out of his mouth before the girl thrashed wildly as she allowed the climax to tear through her body. Her groan was an animal thing, a wordless expression of her pleasure. She bucked as her body was rocked by spasm after spasm. Finally, the strength left her body and she fell forward, supporting herself above Laura’s torso. She was panting shallowly. Laura could keep silent no longer. She began to beg from between the girl’s legs. Her words were muffled under Catherine’s body, but they were unmistakable. “Please Master, fuck me!” The Master did not speak. He crossed to the bed and helped Catherine rise from her perch on Laura’s face. Laura’s mouth and chin were slick with the juices from the girl. The Master supported the weak girl as she climbed from the bed and knelt beside him. The Master untied the ropes that secured Laura’s legs to the bedpost and pulled her off the bed. The wax that had dried on her body cracked and flaked off, pattering to the hardwood floor. He forced her to her knees before him. Laura spoke again, breathless with lust. “Please Master, please fuck me, fuck me hard, fuck me now!” He spoke quietly, softly, a single word: “No.” He wound his fist into her hair and turned her face upwards. “You have not earned a reward.” He took the belt he had been using to flog her and wound it around her throat. He looped the end through the buckle and pulled her toward him. Laura leaned forward as the belt tightened. “You must earn your Master’s favor. You will start by sucking my cock. Now unfasten my pants and pull down my zipper.” Laura blinked in confusion. The Master had not untied her wrists. “I can’t,” she said. Her head rocked back as his open palm struck her across the face. “Never say no to me. You will do as I say. If your desire is strong enough you will find a way to please me.” Laura said nothing. How could she do as he requested with her arms and wrists bound behind her? The sting from the slap was fading, and her mind cleared. She leaned forward until her face rested against his crotch. She opened her mouth, craned her head forward and gripped the button in her teeth. She closed her lips around the button and worked at it with her teeth and tongue, trying to force it open. Her cheeks and chin rubbed against his cock and she felt it stiffen beneath his pants. The smell of the leather was intensely erotic. She longed to have his dick inside of her and worked urgently to free it from its prison. Finally, the button popped free. Laura dropped her head slightly and gripped the tag of the zipper between her teeth. She slid it down slowly until it reached the bottom of the track. She leaned back and stared up at the Master, waiting for his next command. He slid the pants down around his legs and stepped free of them. He wore no underwear and his erect cock stood stiffly before him. “Open,” he said. Laura opened wide. The Master pulled her forward by the belt, tightening it around her throat as she came toward him. He stuffed his cock deep into her throat. He was larger than anyone she had been with before, and the huge shaft filled her mouth completely. She quivered with lust as it slid across her tongue. She pushed her head forward, sucking in every inch of him until his balls rested against her chin. She strained to push her tongue forward and bathe them in her saliva. The Master pulled the belt tighter and Laura felt her oxygen supply beginning to fail. He wound his hand in her hair and began to fuck her throat savagely. Laura tried to relax her throat so she could swallow all he offered, but the belt around her neck made the job difficult and she gagged as his cock tickled the back of her throat. Her head was swimming. Her excitement built. She would die if he did not fuck her. She sucked him off feverishly, determined to please him. His thrusts became faster, deeper, more urgent. Laura made small, strangled gurgling sounds around his dick. She was becoming light headed and euphoric as the air supply was denied her. Her body was fully alive, her sensations heightened to a degree she had never felt before. She pulled her wrists back, tightening the rope between her legs and she ground her body against it in an effort to bring some relief to her swollen pussy. Her vision was clouding, her lungs were burning, but she was determined to finish him off before her consciousness left. She licked at his balls. Suddenly he pulled her against him, burying himself deep in her throat and she felt him stiffen as his cock pulsed and sent his cum spraying against the back of her throat, across her tongue. He released his hold on the belt and Laura sucked in a huge lungful of air. She coughed roughly, but was determined to swallow the Master’s load. She closed her mouth and felt it slide down her throat, the salty taste making her dizzy with lust. “Have I pleased you, Master? She asked softly, her eyes gazing deeply into his. The Master said nothing. Laura felt a wave of disappointment wash over her. She had hoped to earn his favor, but he did not look at her. He lifted Laura to her feet and turned her body silently. He released the ropes that bound her wrists and elbows; the rope that pulled snugly against her throbbing clit. He guided her back to the bedpost. He picked up several lengths of rope that lay scattered along the floor. He began to bind her in an intricate shibari style tie, her breasts wrapped in rope until they bulged outward. Her arms remained free. She stared down at the web of rope that encased her body. It was beautiful. “You will only please me when you give yourself freely to me,” the Master said. Her body was lashed tightly to the post. Her legs remained free. The Master wrapped a length of rope several times around her head and between her teeth. The rope pinned her tongue flat in her mouth. The Master nodded at Catherine, and without a word the girl crossed before Laura and knelt at her feet. The Master crossed to the dresser and picked up the case which held her cutting tools. “A submissive should be willing to give all she has to her Master,” he continued. “Her mind. Her body. Her tears. Her blood.” He picked up the scalpel. He turned the scalpel’s blade so it flashed in the moonlight. “Are you ready?” Laura’s heartbeat quickened. She watched the moonlight play along the blade. The glint was mesmerizing, hypnotic. The excitement built in her and she nodded her head slightly. The Master approached, the blade held out before him. He stared into her eyes. She met his gaze. She was breathing shallowly, rapidly. The scalpel drew closer to her flesh. The Master held it just above her breast and drew it downward lightly in a straight line. She barely felt the touch of the knife. She craned her eyes downward and watched as a line of blood welled up in the shallow cut. It ran vertically down her chest and a drop collected on the end of her nipple. She stared, fascinated, as the drop rolled off of her breast. The sight made Laura’s knees go weak. The Master made a second cut above the opposite breast, his touch like a feather. The blood welled to the surface and traced a path down her skin. He traced his finger through the crimson lines and held it before Laura’s face. He placed it in her mouth and she sucked greedily at it. He pulled his finger free and bent down. The blood was again collecting along her nipple like a scarlet teardrop. His mouth found her breast and sucked at it gently, savoring the taste of the blood on his tongue. Laura moaned softly. He cut her again, his touch no more than the barest whisper along her skin. This time he drew the blade down the center of her chest. The blood rose to the surface, a deep rich black in the moonlight against her pale skin. The blood moved down her chest, pooling in her navel for a moment before continuing its journey downward. Catherine’s hands slid up Laura’s body and through the blood, painting her body in a deep red smear. Laura quivered at the touch of the girl, the heat of the thick liquid as it traveled along her flesh, its scent, its thickness. Catherine’s hand reached out, and Laura saw the stains on her fingertips as the hand disappeared between her legs. She flinched as they found their way inside of her. Catherine rubbed her face along Laura’s stomach, hugging her tightly. The Master pushed her away gently, making sure that the girl’s fingers remained deep inside of Laura. The Master took Laura’s right wrist in his hand. He turned it gently so that her forearm rotated and exposed the inside of her elbow. He moved swiftly, and before Laura could register what had happened another silent mouth opened in her skin just above the elbow. He repeated the process with the left arm. Laura stared, transfixed, as the blood ran down her arm, across her palm, and rained from her fingers. Her body began to slip into a dream state as the fingers inside of her pushed her towards orgasm. The Master moved his hand down and made a small cut along the inside of her thigh. She gasped and jerked as the Catherine’s tongue traveled up the length of her leg, meeting the blood than dripped from Laura’s newest cut and mixing it with her saliva. The Master cut the other thigh and Catherine repeated the process, looking up at Laura as her tongue continued up and over the wound and lapped at her sex. Laura stared into the girl’s eyes, frozen by the sight of her own blood on Catherine’s lips and chin. The Master pulled the girl’s head away from Laura’s bush, letting the girl’s fingers dance inside of her. He quickly moved the scalpel into position along the artery that ran between her pelvis and her pubic mound. He moved with a quickness and skill that was surprising, inflicting cut after tiny cut along her skin. He never did more than the slightest, shallowest cut into her flesh, and he never disturbed the slave girl who masturbated Laura. Her breath was coming quickly; her moans were coming more and more rapidly. Laura glanced down and watched in lust and fascination as the blood that dripped from her body cascaded down in tiny droplets and splashed along the arm that extended between her legs. She drank in the sight of her body, covered in tiny winding trails of red. The sight pushed her over the edge and she spoke quickly, seeking her Master’s permission to cum. He refused and ordered the slave girl to withdraw her hands. Laura groaned and squeezed her legs together, hoping to trap the girl inside. The Master forced her legs apart and the young girl pulled herself from Laura’s body. She rose and crossed away. Laura stared into her Master’s face. Catherine returned holding a small chain. On the end of the chain hung a tiny glass vial. The Master took the vial and opened it. He held it to her breast and let the blood drip slowly into it. When it was filled, he capped the vial and hung it around his neck. “Now wherever you may go, a piece of you will remain with me,” he said. Laura trembled in ecstasy. Rational thoughts had left her mind. Her brain flashed a series of images before the screen of her subconscious: the blood running down her chest; herself kneeling before the Master, his cock in her mouth; her face buried beneath Catherine as she climaxed violently; the wooden paddle as it swung through the air. Without realizing it, she had begun to mumble around the rope in her teeth. As her mind returned to the present moment she heard herself repeating one phrase over and over: “I am yours. I am yours. I am yours. I am yours.” Her eyes never left the face of her Master. Her heart swelled as she saw a smile cross his lips. “You have pleased me, my pet,” he said softly, and began to untie the woman from the bedpost. As the last of the ropes fell away from her body, she knelt obediently before him. The tiny wounds carved into her flesh still leaked their tears of red down her body. He leaned down and Laura felt his hot breath against her ear. “Would you like me to fuck you, my pet? Would you like me to fuck you while you bleed?” he said. “If it pleases you, Master,” she said, the lust in her voice unmistakable. He took her face in his hand and turned it gently upward. He exerted the slightest pressure and she rose at his touch. He nodded at Catherine, and the two girls crossed over to the bed. The Master directed Laura onto the mattress. She knelt on all fours. The immaculate white sheets began to change as small drops of red fell upon them and were eagerly soaked into their fibers. The Master spoke again. “Would you like me to fuck you in the ass, my slave?” Laura trembled as she answered. “If it pleases you, Master.” Catherine knelt behind the girl. The Master placed a hand on her shoulder and she pressed her face into Laura’s naked bottom. She pulled her cheeks apart and Laura felt the girls tongue as it circled her anus. She shuddered violently. Catherine bathed Laura’s ass with her tongue, lubricating the tight opening for their Master, until the Laura felt the saliva running down her toward her pussy. The Master laid a hand on Catherine’s shoulder and she pulled away. Laura heard the bedsprings creak as he climbed onto the mattress. A moment later she felt the tip of his cock pressing against her asshole. He grabbed her waist firmly and pressed himself into her. His fingers, wet with her blood, left small red prints on her skin. Laura moaned with delight. She pushed back against him, driving the shaft deeper inside of her. As she did so, Catherine lay on the bed before her. Without a word, she slid her body under Laura’s so that she could pleasure the moaning woman. She wrapped her arms around Laura’s back and lifted her body so that she could nuzzle her tongue into Laura’s hot opening. Laura felt their bodies slide alongside each other, lubricated by the blood that oozed from her. The Master pounded away at her from behind, Catherine teased her with her tongue, and Laura’s body came alive in a fury of lust, desire and arousal. Her hands grabbed the bed sheets and curled into tight fists, staining them with the bloody imprint of her palms. Her legs trembled. She was no longer capable of speech, just a series of grunts and moans. Her body swelled with pleasure and she knew her orgasm was near. She had never felt anything this powerful, and she knew it was more than the physical acts the Master and Catherine were performing on her. It was the entire evening: the thrill of being dominated by a strong man, the rush of the pain, the psychological roller coaster she had undergone. Catherine’s tongue explored her with an intensity no other lover ever had. The fullness Laura felt as her Master thrust himself in and out of her became synonymous in her mind with a sense of completeness, a sense of wholeness. She was lost in the passion, the intensity. Finally, her body could stand no more and she cried out to her Master: “Master, may I cum?” “Yes, you may,” he answered, and Laura’s body erupted in the most intense orgasm she had ever felt. It was as though her entire body had become one nerve ending that shook with pleasure. “OH MY GOD OH MY FUCKING GOD YES!!” she screamed. She bucked and spasmed as wave after wave of pleasure tore through her. She wondered if she would ever stop cumming. Her Master tensed behind her and came inside of her. She felt a surge of joy. Slowly, finally, Catherine withdrew her inquisitive tongue and Laura collapsed in a heap, panting with exhaustion. “Thank you, Master”, she said. The Master stroked her hair. He ran his fingers along her naked body. “You are welcome, my pet,” he answered. “Have you learned your lesson? Do you now know what it means to punish, to be dominant, to be submissive?” Laura nodded. “Yes, Master. Please forgive me for my behavior before.” The Master kissed her deeply, fully. When he pulled back, he looked into her eyes. “You are forgiven, if you will do one thing for me.” Laura looked up at him and spoke “I will do anything you ask.” The Master gestured at Catherine. “I want you to take this slave and dominate her as I watch. I wish to see if you truly have learned the lessons I taught.” Laura smiled as the young girl knelt before her, her hands behind her back. “If it would please my Master, I will obey,” she said.

When he entered the shop, he was immediately struck by the incredible array of items, all haphazardly resting in random piles before him. The man sighed heavily. While he was by no means a neat freak, he had an intense dislike for clutter, as it symbolized an impediment to efficiency. He had a momentary impulse to leave the shop, but he remembered the picture in the window, and stepped forward to speak to the shopkeeper who sat behind the counter that occupied the center of the room. The shopkeeper seemed not to exist of this world. His upper body was visible behind the countertop, and from what the man could see, the shopkeeper seemed to be composed entirely of perfect circles. He shifted his wireless round glasses atop his perfectly round nose and scratched at the tuft of hair that circled his perfectly round head. He sighed deeply, his perfectly round torso expanding slightly as he mooned over the old starlet who grinned at him from the pages of the old movie magazine that was spread before him. He looked up as the man approached. "That picture in the window? The one of Spencer Tracy?" the man said. "I wondered if you had any more like it." The shopkeeper raised a pudgy, circular hand and spoke softly. "Let me stop you right there, my friend," he said. "I can't answer any questions about my stock." He noted that irritated look that spread over the man's face and continued softly. "I'm not trying to be difficult, you understand. It's just that I have so many items coming in and going out that it's simply impossible to keep track of what's here at any given moment. Besides, I find that when a person comes in looking for one certain thing, they often pass up some real treasures. So, if you have the time and if you crave a little adventure, I invite you to prowl around. You never know what you might find." His spiel delivered, he turned back to the upturned face of the starlet, long forgotten by all but himself. The man sighed. He looked around the shop. He had never seen so many things crammed into such a small space. Again, he considered leaving, but the words of the shopkeep ran through his mind. Treasure. Adventure. He laughed to himself. Treasure and adventure had always eluded him, and he had no expectations that today would be any different. But his logical nature kept him from exiting the small shop. If he couldn't find anything, he could always strike a deal for the Spencer Tracy picture that hung in the window. It really was a striking photo. His mind made up, the man turned and began to rummage through the array of casually strewn stock. He had no idea how long he had picked through the collection of childhood toys, old jewelry, magazines and knick knacks. He took no notice of the other patrons who entered the shop. He was happily lost in a world of unexpected delights. He had seen some of these items before, or at least he had seen items of a nature that was so similar that the differences were immaterial. Here, however, each thing seemed special. Without the pressure of finding a specific thing he could concentrate on what made each good unique, rather than focus on why each thing wasn't "correct". The stock was truly magnificent, but nothing spoke to him in any individual way. He was resigned to the fact that he would leave empty handed when his foot kicked something beneath one of the display tables. The man heard the small soft rasping of metal as the item slid along the floor, and he bent down to see what he had disturbed. His breath suddenly stopped, and the world swam before his eyes.His reverie was broken by the voice of the shopkeeper who now knelt beside him. The man turned to face him, and he spoke in a soft, awed voice. "Do you know what you have here? Do you know how valuable this is?" The shopkeeper smiled softly. "Well, I couldn't possibly have any idea of how valuable any of these things are. To me, an object might be worth a few cents, but to someone else, it might be priceless. I just put a fair price on them, and if I lose a little money on an object, well, that's the cost of doing business, I guess. Shall I wrap that up for you?" The man shook his head reluctantly. "This can't be real," he said softly. The shopkeeper looked at him quizzically. "Well, it looks real enough to me," he said. "What exactly leads you to believe that it's some sort of apparition?" The man sighed deeply, still shaking his head with sorrow. "People have been looking for this for decades. It doesn't make any sense. Why would it be here, and why would I find it? I mean, who am I? I'm just a guy, I'm not supposed to find things like this." The shopkeeper looked deeply into the man's eyes and spoke with a tenderness and wisdom that the man had never heard before. "Do you know the difference between the men who find great treasures and the men who pass them by?" The man shook his head. "It's simple. The men who find great treasures never ask themselves if they are worthy. They know that every man is just as worthy as the next, no matter what the treasure. The folks who keep worrying about worthiness let everything pass them by. You think about that, and I'll be over at the counter when you've made up your mind." That night the man sat for a time, staring at his treasure from its perch by his bed. He reflected on how often he had convinced himself that he wasn't good enough to speak to an attractive woman. He thought about how many times he had convinced himself to stay in the job that he so desperately hated because he wasn't good enough to find anything better. He thought of how sad he often was, and how he had accepted it because he didn't believe he deserved anything more from his life. Most of all, he thought of what the old shopkeeper had said. As he drifted off to sleep, he knew that he had been given a valuable gift, but more importantly, he knew that he was ready to accept it. That night, he slept peacefully. When he rose the next morning, he drafted his letter of resignation. He strode into the office of his boss and quit without ceremony or explanation. On his way past the front desk, he asked the receptionist to join him for dinner that evening, and he smiled serenly when she agreed.

If I have posted this before on my old profile, I do apologize. Feedback determines if the tale continues. Laura sat in the smoky bar and surveyed the crowd. She hated coming here, the drinks were always watered down and her clothes stank of stale cigarettes for days afterward. But the place had an uncanny knack for attracting the naïve young girls that she had found herself preying upon lately. Laura knew their type. They dressed in tight leather and fancied themselves players in the BDSM scene because their boyfriends had blindfolded them once or twice during sex. They considered themselves bisexual or lesbian because they had kissed their roommates once or twice in college. Laura was an experienced player in the BDSM scene. She had tried it all and she had enjoyed every minute of it. But she had trouble keeping a partner. Her previous playthings had found her too rough, and ended their association with her after the first session. She longed for a partner with whom she could let herself go fully, hold nothing back, but the women she met seemed fragile and scared of their own reactions. She had toyed with the idea of becoming a submissive, but there were two problems. First, she was too dominant to let herself be controlled forever by one person. She much preferred to play the role of switch. But even more troubling, she could not find a man who could push her to her limits. They treated her like she was a glass sculpture, liable to break if they got rough with her. She longed for a man who could give back what she was capable of dishing out. But men like that didn’t seem to exist. At least, she hadn’t found one. And so Laura had begun a long string of one-night stands. She would pick up a young woman in a bar (never a man, bringing strange men home was too risky) and bring her home, binding her and testing her limits. But it was always the same. They were full of bravado at the bar with a drink safe in their hands, but once Laura had them tied up and had forced them to submit to her every whim, the bravery of the young things melted away. Laura wondered if the woman before her would be any different. Laura had spent the better part of the evening looking the petite brunette over before approaching her. Her name was Catherine and she was dressed in the latest in “fetish wear”, straight off the rack from Hot Topic. She wore an ivory colored corset with cute little black and white skulls dotted across the front of it. The top of the corset extended up so that her full breasts were almost completely covered. The red plaid mini skirt was straight out of a Britney Spears video, but it did show off Catherine’s legs to good effect. When she stood, her G-string peeked over the band of her skirt. Laura doubted that the girl would be any different than the others, but she looked so damn fine that Laura decided to play it out. They had talked over drinks for nearly an hour, and Laura was pleased to see that Catherine had been looking her over as well. Laura had made sure to wear her clubbing outfit as it did a marvelous job of accenting her “charms”. Her tight jeans showed off her legs and the curve of her ass, and her black boots added a few inches to her 5 foot 6 inch frame. Her red hair was pulled back and hung down her back, just brushing the top of her tattoo. The bustier showed her breasts to full effect. She was a striking woman, and she had turned her share of heads when she entered the bar. The conversation went well. Catherine had “experimented” before with bondage and lesbianism and longed to try something more. The alcohol served to lower her inhibitions, and soon she agreed to ditch her friend and come back to Laura’s house for some fun. Laura laughed softly. “At least one of us will have fun,” she thought to herself. Laura paid the tab and the two of them rose to leave. Catherine’s gait was unsteady, and she leaned into Laura for support. Laura felt the pressure of Catherine’s breast against her arm and felt her pussy grow wet with the promise of the evening to come. Laura steadied Catherine as they made their way through the parking lot to Laura’s car. She opened the door and helped Catherine inside. Laura took her place at the wheel. She turned to Catherine and spoke. “Are you ready?” she asked. “Yes,” Catherine replied, a slightly nervous shudder in her voice. Laura continued. “Good,” she said. “From now on you will call me Mistress or Ma’am. Do you understand?” Catherine giggled. “Yes, Mistress,” she said. “Very good,” said Laura. “Now open the glove box and hand me the scarf inside.” Catherine did as she was told and placed the long silk scarf in Laura’s outstretched hand. “Turn your head,” Laura commanded. Catherine turned to face away from Laura, who wound the scarf around Catherine’s head and over her eyes. She tied a knot in the back and cinched it tightly. Catherine hissed slightly. “Is the knot too tight?” Laura asked. “No, Mistress,” Catherine said quietly. “Good,” said Laura. “Now face the front and place your hands at your sides. Do not move them unless I tell you to.” Catherine complied without a word. Laura turned the key in the ignition and pulled out of the lot. She lived only a few minutes from the bar, but she made a point to drive out of her way, lengthening the journey to heighten the apprehension for Catherine. She stole a glance at her passenger and was pleased to see the petite brunette trembling slightly in her seat. Was it fear? Was it excitement at the events to come? Laura did not know, but her lust intensified. She reached over with her right hand, the left firmly clutched on the steering wheel. She let her long nails lightly brush against Catherine’s inner thighs. Immediately, Catherine’s skin broke out in gooseflesh at Laura’s touch. Laura’s hand moved up and under Catherine’s skirt and gently grazed the fabric of the thong Catherine wore. The panties were damp. Catherine breathed in sharply as Laura’s fingers grazed her flesh. She let her breath out in a long shuddering sigh. Laura rubbed gently against Catherine’s pussy, her eyes never leaving the road before her. Catherine moaned softly and shifted in her seat so that Laura’s fingers could get better access. Laura listened to the sound of Catherine’s quickening breath. She made no attempt to slide her fingers inside the silky fabric; she simply continued to rub lightly, sensually. She continued to tease her new toy. Finally, when Laura felt she could not contain her lust any longer, she turned the car and made a beeline for home. She pulled into her driveway and quickly shut off the motor. In a flash she was at the passenger door. She opened it and helped the blindfolded girl out of her seat. Laura guided her inside the home, a hand on her shoulder. She felt Catherine shaking beneath her touch. Laura led the trembling girl into her bedroom. A large four-poster bed dominated the room. She stepped before her and placed her hand at the back of Catherine’s head. She pulled her toward her and kissed her full, on the lips. Catherine hesitated, and then returned the kiss. A moment later their tongues touched. They kissed deeply, each tasting the residue of the other’s drinks on their lips. Laura wound her hand into the girl’s hair and pulled Catherine’s head back sharply. She gasped. “Not so hard,” she murmured. Catherine did not loosen her grip. She traced Catherine’s neck with her tongue, coming to rest in the hollow of her throat. She nipped gently at the skin of her neck. Catherine was shivering as though a low electric current were running through her body. Laura released her hold on the girl and stepped back. She watched Catherine’s heaving chest as it rose and fell with every deep breath. Laura turned to the dresser by the bed. She had laid out her toys in preparation for the events to come. It was covered with an assortment of tools she would use to test Catherine’s limits: A large wooden paddle, several wax candles, coils and coils of hemp rope, a small case which held several sterilized needles and scalpels. Laura reached over and picked up a switchblade knife. She thumbed the button and the blade sprang open. It gleamed in the moonlight that flooded the room. She stepped towards Catherine and in one quick move she sliced through the laces and the fabric of the corset she was wearing. She tore the garment away from the girl, exposing her breasts. At the sound of the ripping cloth, Catherine stepped away; leaving the torn clothing in Laura’s outstretched hand. Catherine tore the blindfold away from her eyes and her voice rose in anger. “What the hell do you think you’re doing? That cost me a lot of-“. Her voice stopped in mid sentence as her eyes fell on the knife in Laura’s hand. Her eyes darted to the table and widened in fear as she saw the objects laid out upon it. “Oh, shit,” she said softly. “Look, I think you’d better take me back to the bar. This is getting a little out of hand.” Laura said nothing. She picked up several coils of the rope and stepped toward Catherine. Catherine saw the look in her eyes and turned and ran for the door. Laura bolted after her. Catherine was halfway down the hallway to the front door when Laura’s hand grabbed her by the hair and pulled back sharply. She wrestled the young girl to the floor and forced her face down on the ground. Laura quickly sat on her captive, and pulled her arms behind her back. “Let me go!” shouted Catherine. “Let me go or I’ll scream!” “Please do,” said Laura. “No one will hear you, and the sound will excite me further.” She quickly bound the girl’s wrists behind her back, palms together and pointing upwards, as though in prayer. She jerked the ropes tight and pulled the wrists upward so they nestled in the small of Catherine’s back. Her fingers touched the bottom of her neck and she howled in pain. “Why are you doing this to me?” Catherine cried, her face pressed against the wooden floorboards. “Because it pleases me,” Laura said. “You said you wanted to try something more. Now I will make your wish come true.” She bound the struggling girl’s legs and ankles, and reached up to the skirt that still hung around her waist. Laura slid it down the length of her body and tossed it aside. Catherine was nearly nude now, the thin fabric of her thong her only covering. Laura turned the girl onto her back and pulled her torso up so that Catherine sat facing her. She wrapped another coil of the rope around her body, crossing the ropes above and below her breasts and further securing the frightened girl’s arms to her body. Laura rose and stood watching her unwilling playmate as she struggled in the ropes. There was no hope of escape, as Laura was an expert in the art of rope work. Catherine glared at Laura, her eyes brimming with tears. Laura reached down and took Catherine’s nipples in her fingers. She pulled upwards, and Catherine yelped in pain. Laura did not cease her pulling, and Catherine tried to scramble into a kneeling position to ease the pain. Once she had found her knees, Laura began to pull the girl along to the bedroom, leading her by the nipples for the entire journey. Catherine shuffled forward slowly, her bound legs allowing her only minimal process. She yipped constantly as her nipples stretched out before her. They reached the bedroom, and Catherine began to beg. “Please let me go!” she sobbed. “I just thought we’d make out, maybe do a little spanking or something, I’m not ready for this.” “I know you aren’t,” said Laura. “That’s what makes this fun.” She lifted the bound girl easily and laid her across her lap. Laura leaned over and grabbed the wooden paddle. “Spanking sounds like a good way to begin,” she purred. She brought the paddle down sharply, reveling in the loud cracking sound it made as it came into contact with Catherine’s ass. Catherine yelped in pain. Laura spoke. “With every blow, I want you to thank me. Is that clear?” Catherine did not answer. Laura struck her again, and the young girl’s buttocks jiggled when the paddle made contact. “I asked you if that were clear,” Laura repeated. “Yes! Yes! YES!” Catherine screamed. “Good,” said Laura. “Then we may begin.” Laura swung the paddle. Catherine whined and said, “Thank you, Mistress” in a small voice. The paddle came down again. “Thuh-Hank you, Mistress,” repeated Catherine, the strange inflection in her words was caused by her grunt of pain in the middle of the phrase. Laura continued to swing the paddle, landing blow after blow on the girl’s quivering ass. Laura loved the way Catherine jerked on her lap with each strike. Her ass was beginning to glow a fiery red. Laura was really turned on now. The girls fear, her struggles, and her sobs all fueled her growing lust. She swung the paddle over and over, each blow harder than the last. She rubbed the wood against the cheeks of Catherine’s ass after each strike, caressing the tender flesh. Catherine repeated her thanks over and over, her voice catching each time in the middle of the phrase as she gritted her teeth in agony. Finally, Laura tossed the paddle aside. She tossed the girl onto the bed, and rolled her over so that her face turned toward the ceiling. Catherine lifted her head to watch, fearful of what was to come. Laura stood at the foot of the bed and removed the bustier. Her breasts popped free, her nipples fully erect. Laura rubbed her breasts for a moment, then reached down and unbuttoned her jeans. She slid them to the floor. Her panties followed. She stood naked before her terrified captive, her body bathed in moonlight. She walked along the side of the bed and climbed onto it. She rolled Catherine onto her stomach, and then stretched out before her, her legs on either side of the girl’s head. “Now,” she said softly, “show me how much you appreciate the attention I have given you so far.” Catherine only blinked in confusion. “What do you mean?” she asked in a small, frightened voice. “I want you to lick my pussy. Work me over with your tongue until I cum.” Catherine shook her head, and Laura reached down and grabbed the girl once more by the hair. She did not bother to repeat the command; she simply pulled the girl forward. Catherine cried out in pain and began to inch her way forward along the bed like a centipede. Finally, her mouth was at Laura’s pussy. Laura tugged her forward again, burying the girl’s face between her legs. She closed her knees around Catherine’ head. “See how wet you have made your Mistress?” Laura asked. “Can you smell my scent? Lick my pussy so that my scent remains on your breath and maybe I’ll release you.” Catherine let out a small sob from between Laura’s legs. A moment later, Laura felt the girl’s tongue as it poked out and began to hesitantly kiss her pubic mound. She ran her tongue over and around Laura’s sex. The girl was hesitant, her unwillingness evident in her tentative movement, but Laura was in a heightened state of arousal from all that had gone before, and shivers ran through her body. “Oh, God, yes,” she said breathlessly. Catherine pushed her tongue between the lips of Laura’s pussy and flicked at her clitoris. Laura tugged harder at the girl’s hair, forcing her to squirm her body forward and bury herself further inside Laura. Catherine began to move with more urgency, as though she had realized that the sooner she brought her captor to climax, the sooner the ordeal would end. Her tongue made slow, sensual circles around the clit. She strained her neck forward and trapped the clit between her lips, sucking at it gently. Laura arched her back. Her eyes rolled back into her head in ecstasy. Catherine had found a rhythm and was working steadily, taking her cue from the moans and gyrations of her captor. Laura’s breath was coming faster now, her body alive and surging toward climax. Suddenly, she began to spasm as she came violently. She squeezed her knees together tightly, trapping Catherine between her legs and forcing her head to move along with her as she thrust her hips upward. “Keep that tongue moving!” Laura ordered. She wanted nothing to rob her of the full force of the orgasm. The girl’s tongue continued its motions, and Laura cried out as the waves of pleasure shot through her body again and again. Finally, she fell back to the bed, panting. She opened her legs and Catherine peered up at her. Her face was slick with Laura’s juices. Her face was red with shame. “Please let me go now,” she sobbed. Laura rose from the bed. “You will go when I tire of you and not before,” she told the bound woman. “And since you have displeased me with your question, it is time for you to be punished once again.” She rolled the girl onto her back and grabbed more rope from the dresser. She untied Catherine’s legs and wrapped a length of rope around each ankle. She wound the other end around the bedposts and pulled tight. Catherine sobbed again as she was spread helpless before Laura. Laura did not untie her arms and Catherine grimaced in pain as her bound wrists were pressed into the small of her back. Laura took two more lengths of rope and wrapped the ends around each of the girl’s upper arms. She tied them off around the remaining two bedposts. Catherine tried to move, but she was pulled tight. Laura stepped over to the dresser and picked up one of the large candles. She crossed to the foot of the bed and stood before her captive. “Have you ever had hot wax dripped on your naked flesh?’ she asked. Catherine shook her head, her lips pressed tightly together. “The closer you hold the candle to the body,” Laura said, “the hotter each drop is when it makes contact with the skin. I find it delightful to start high and move slowly closer so that each drop hurts more than the last.” She lit the candle and bent down; holding the candle near the girl’s trapped foot so that she felt its heat upon her tender soles. Catherine tried to pull away but the ropes held her fast. Laura rose again. She stared at Catherine but did not register the fact that the young girl’s gaze had shifted to something just behind Laura. Laura lifted the candle. A large amount of liquid wax had pooled in the shallow bowl near the wick. “It’s time for a little pain, my dear,” Laura said softly. She was about to step to the girl when a strong arm reached around her from behind and locked itself around her throat. A hand clamped roughly over her mouth. Laura let out a surprised “MMMPPPHHHH!” into the palm of her unseen assailant. She dropped the candle. It fell to the ground and the flame snuffed out. Wax spilled across the hardwood floor. She struggled in the grasp of the intruder. The arm around her neck tightened and Laura gasped for air. She felt his lips at her ear and heard his strong voice, gentle in tone, as he spoke. “Yes, Laura. You’re right,” he said. “It’s time for a little pain.”

The moonlight shone down on the girl as she writhed sensually on the thick carpet of leaves. She was nearly nude, save for the thong and bra that covered her most intimate areas. She was wrapped securely in rope, but she showed no signs of distress. The still of the evening was broken occasionally by her soft moans as the rope that split her crotch rubbed against her sex. Her chin glistened, a rivulet of drool running down it as it leaked from the ball gag that filled her mouth. Angela fancied herself an expert at escape. She often solicited suggestions as to how and where she should be bound. The only stipulations were that she be bound in public, for the possibility of discovery thrilled the young woman to no end. The challenge was to see if she could escape before she was discovered. Sometimes she was successful. Sometimes, she was not. She dearly loved failure. Lately, she had been failing with increasing regularity. One friend in particular succeeded in devising the most diabolical scenarios for her, complete with explicit directions on how to achieve ways of binding herself that left her barely able to move, let alone escape. Unfortunately, he had been very scarce as of late, and so she had consented to this latest challenge, offered by the one who knew her better than anyone else: her sister. It seemed simple enough. She would be stripped and bound in a tight hogtie, her mouth sealed by the largest ball-gag she owned, and she would be left alone in the woods for one hour. If she could free herself in that time, she would be the victor. If not, her sister promised her an even more severe surprise. Angela had decided almost immediately to fail this challenge, as she longed for the punishment scenario that was to follow. Now, as she rolled along the floor of the forest, she wondered how much time had passed, and how much longer she would have to wait before her sister returned and the game got interesting. At that instant, she heard the crunch of footsteps approaching. She sighed with anticipation, delighted that her thoughts had served to cue her sister’s return. The footsteps stopped as the figure stood before her, and she rolled onto her back to get a good look at her sister. Her eyes grew wide as she looked into the face of her discoverer. “Hello, Angela. Are you ready for your surprise?” The man knelt beside her and spoke. “Your sister promised you something even more severe, and I don’t intend to let her down. We arranged this months ago. I suspect, however, that you may find this to be a bit more distressing than you imagined.” His hands ran down the length of her body, and Angela’s flesh trembled at his touch. His fingers stopped to examine each knot, testing its tightness. He cupped her face in his hands and looked into her eyes. “I’m pleased and disappointed, young lady. I’m pleased that you didn’t escape, but I’m disappointed to find that such a simple tie has rendered you helpless. I’m going to have to put you into something more restrictive, something more painful. Something that will ensure you never escape. But first, I think I’ll test that gag of yours.” He reached into the cup of her bra and caught her nipple between his thumb and forefinger. In an instant, he pinched it savagely and the girl’s eyes squeezed shut as she mewled into her gag, partly out of pain and partly out of a rapidly increasing sense of fear. The sensation did not ease when she opened her eyes and saw the object in his left hand. It was a large rubber triangle affixed to a leather strap. It seemed huge, and she stared in shock as the man spoke once more. “That gag just won’t do, little lady. After all, we need to make sure no one hears you. We don’t want to be disturbed, and we certainly don’t want your sister to return before we’ve finished, do we?” He began to unbuckle the strap that held the fat rubber ball in her mouth. He pulled it free and the soft pop echoed in the still of the evening. Before she could speak, the man clamped a hand over her mouth. “Your sister thinks the two of us are going to play. We are, but not as she expected. You see, she’ll be returning in the morning, but we’ll be long gone before then. I’m kidnapping you, Angela. From this moment on, I own you, and I’ll use you in any way I see fit. No one will ever find you, and though you’ll never stop trying, you’ll never escape.” The man immediately pressed the rubber triangle to her lips, and as she opened her mouth to protest, the narrow side wormed its way into her mouth. She cried out as he forced it in deeper and deeper, her jaw stretching as the triangle widened. She was sure her jaw would unhinge, but the man continued to force the object into her oral cavity, cutting off all sound save for the whistles of air that rushed from her nostrils. When she was sure that she could not open her jaw any wider, her teeth slid into the grooves that ran along the top and bottom of the triangle. He took his hands away from her face, and she realized that she could not expel the gag on her own. She simply could not open her mouth wide enough to free the teeth from the grooves. As she worked to dislodge the mass, the stranger buckled the leather strap behind her head and pulled it tight with a savage jerk. “You should have screamed when you had the chance, girl. Now you’ll never speak again.” Angela worked like mad to make herself heard, but with the thick rubber triangle lodged in her mouth, she was rendered completely mute. It mattered little. The woods were deserted, and her assailant would pay no attention to her pleas. That much was evident by the rough manner in which he had set about re-binding her. The ropes weaved and looped about her body, each turn being pulled to a tightness that neither Angela nor her sister could ever hope to achieve. It was almost as though a machine had set about the task of securing her. Her legs were folded double and wrapped in cord after cord, her elbows were pulled tightly together, her feet tied so securely that they seemed to exist as only one limb. Angela could do nothing bout squirm, the only movement possible being the rising and falling of her chest as she struggled to catch her breath. “It’s surprising how much pain one can withstand when one has no choice, isn’t it my pet?” said the assailant as he pulled her arms high into the center of her back. Her palms were pressed flat and bound in a reverse-prayer position. Immediately, she felt a burning in her shoulder blades as the strain set her muscles to aching. Panic bloomed in her mind as she felt a loop of rope around her throat. She renewed her struggles, yelling into the rubber gag for all she was worth. The man laughed lightly. “That’s the spirit, girl. It’s no fun to capture the ones who submit easily.” The merriment left his voice as he took hold of her wrists. She felt the rope around her neck tighten as the pull on her wrists increased slightly. “Listen closely, Angela,” the man said. “The rope around your neck has been tied into a noose, and the other end is fastened to the ropes that bind your wrists. The more you struggle to free them, the tighter the rope around that lovely throat gets. In fact, I’d say it’s in your best interest to force yourself to keep those wrists just as high up in the center of your back as you can, lest you accidentally choke yourself.” She grunted and sobbed. Her entire body was trembling with pain and fear. Her muscles screamed, her joints groaned, and she found herself wondering how long such agony could last. “We’re almost ready, girl,” said the man. “We just need to make sure you’re outfitted properly for our road trip.” The hands of her captor gripped her and traveled along her body. They stopped when they reached her thong. Angela let out a muffled cry of alarm as she felt his hands slide into the sheer material. A second later, he tore them from her body in one savage rip. His hands gripped the cheeks of her bottom and spread them apart. Angela closed her eyes and waited for her defilement. “Maybe when he’s finished he’ll let me go,” she thought. “Very nice,” the man said. “I’m going to have a great time fucking you. But that comes later.” Before the girl could even register what the man had said, she felt his hands wind themselves in her hair and begin to fashion it into a long braid. Not just a braid, the girl thought. Something else was being wound into it. “Of course,” she thought. “He’s braiding rope into my hair. Why not? It’s the only part of me that he hasn’t bound.” When the braid was completed, the man pulled back on the rope and Angela’s head was pulled back, her chin rising from the dirt below her. She let out a low grunt. “Now comes the fun part.” The man said. It’s time to make you truly uncomfortable. Have you ever seen one of these?” With his free hand, the abductor held out a shiny metal object that simultaneously baffled and terrified the poor girl. It looked like a large curved hook. One end had a steel ring fashioned into it. The other end, the hook end, rounded off smoothly at the point where a barb would have ordinarily existed. “This is an ass-hook, Angela,” said the man. “I think you’re gonna love this.” The hook disappeared behind her and the girl braced herself for the violation to come. She sobbed when the hook pressed against the pucker of her anus. It paused, resting there for a moment. The man’s voice drifted up from behind her. “Damn”, he said. “Wouldn’t you know? I forgot the lube.” Angela barely had time to react to the words when the hook was pressed deep inside of her. She howled, but the gag allowed no recognizable sounds to escape, only a low, guttural gargling noise. The hook slid deeper and deeper into her, and then she felt a pull on the rope that had been braided into her hair. Her head was pulled back, back, back. She felt her neck would snap. The man threaded the rope through the ring at the end of the hook, and now Angela’s head was held fast. The man knelt down once more. He studied the captive thing before him. She was a work of art; a sculpted mass of taut, agonized pain, fear, anger and despair. “Cheer up, girl,” he said. “You finally have what you’ve always wanted. Your life is now a never ending challenge in which you constantly struggle to escape before I come back to have my way with you. You are destined for a life of constant torment,” he said. He bent low and whispered softly, his lips brushing against her ear. “Until I sell you, that is”. To be continued…..

Sometimes, you simply have to face the facts.  Tonight, I learned that I may not have the skills needed to become a writer.  You see, a writer needs to be able to find the perfect words, the words that don't paint a simple picture, but rather bring a thing to glorious life in the mind of the reader.  This evening, however, something happened that left me at a loss for words.  

I bowl.  Badly.  So badly, in fact, that when my father learned of my average, he asked if I quit after five frames.  But I keep trying, and I hope to improve.  Tonight, my league held their Christmas shindig, the highlight of which is the White Elephant gift exchange.  Everyone brings a small wrapped gift, and when you bowl your first strike of the evening, you get to choose a gift. 

It came as no surprise that by the time I bowled a strike there were only two gifts remaining.  I looked at them for a moment, trying to gain some divine insight into which gift would suck the least.  I took a deep breath and made my choice.  I brought the package back to the table and unwrapped it.  My mouth fell open.  Words failed me.  My eyes bled.  Instantly, I heard the voice of the knight who guards the Holy Grail in "Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade":  "He chose poorly".  What could possibly have spawned such an abomination unto the earth as this…thing?  What was it, you ask? 

This:
 


Yes, it's a fish clock.  A big mouth bass that tells the time.  For a long time, I was convinced that the thing wasn't completely without worth.  At least it told the time.  And I took some comfort in the old adage:  Someone had given me a fish, so not only could I eat for a day, I'd know what time dinner was.  Then I realized the item came without batteries. 

I studied the box.
 

My first thought was that the word "movement" was oddly fitting, since I nearly shit myself when I saw this thing.  I focused on the journey this box had undergone.  Movement made in Japan, box and case made in China, marketed by Wal-Mart in Arkansas, and shipped here to Michigan.  I became instantly depressed.  The clock was better traveled than I was.  I was slightly cheered when I saw that the item was a Wal-Mart exclusive, but I later searched their entire website, and could find no mention of the thing.  It was then that I realized that even they were ashamed by it.

My bowling partners asked what I intended to do with the thing.  At first I thought I'd probably re-gift it next year, but I'm considering adding a voice chip to it.  For some reason, I picture it chiming the hour, sighing heavily, and saying simply "There is no God".

Later that evening, when I showed this gift to my family, my daughter remarked that it was "gay".  My son corrected her, pointing out that it wasn't just gay; it was "redneck gay".  I chided the both of them.  No homosexual would ever be guilty of purchasing something in such bad taste.

Still, I do owe something to the individual who placed this item into the exchange.  I was so distracted by it, I couldn't concentrate on my game.  Consequently, I bowled 50 pins over my average.