"TWO GRAVES" -- Horror Story Featuring A SeXStoRY

The yellow Mini Cooper-S convertible with white bonnet stripes pulled off the secondary road onto gravel, under thick canopies of Spanish moss. The only light was from the full moon, barely visible through the oak branches and the twin beams of the headlights. As the road went along, the vegetation encroached on it, branches brushing against the side of the car. A mile down the gravel road, the path ended at two iron gates, loosely chained together. The girl opened the door and stepped out: She was about 5 feet tall, around 100 pounds. An Asian girl with dark black hair pulled back into two tight pigtails, emphasizing the roundness of her face. Slightly too much eyeshadow underscored the shape of her almond eyes. Her lips were painted bright red. The pigtails were tied with red ribbons. She wore a navy jacket over a thin white blouse. Below was a plaid skirt that ended mid-thigh. The tight skin of her legs was slightly tanned. She wore patent leather shoes and white socks that emphasized the tanned flesh of her leg, rising to just above the ankle. Days before her 19th birthday, her substantial chest revealed she was a young woman and no longer a c***d. She had nearly straight hips, but there was enough curve in back, highlighted by the schoolgirl skirt to suggest a small, tight round ass. She stepped lightly, with a bounce. With the thin trace of fog rolling along the ground, hiding her feet, she seemed to flutter like a butterfly as she paced next to the side of the car, sorting through the small leather bag – the fashionable kind too small to be called a proper backpack, more like a purse worn like one. She came out with a smart phone, its bright display casting a beam of light, which she used to guide her way to the gates. Then she turned the display back around, and it cast a moonbeam across her face, tight and concentrating as her slender fingers moved quickly over the touchpad. She texted: WERE R U? In the blackness, far beyond the gates, came a bass laugh and an echo seemed to precede a deep voice: “Here, my c***d.” She turned sideways and leaned down, sliding between the gap in the chained gates. Holding the phone out like a torch, the girl stepped into the void. She shuddered in spite of the sub-tropical heat. Mist rolled over the uneven and soft ground, looking like thin fingers bending and grasping at her petite ankles and feet. Stone monuments surrounded her like an enemy army. She was in the middle of a grave yard. She stepped carefully between the stones, which were crowded closely together in some places. “The hour approaches” came the deep and slow voice, and she followed it, still stepping lightly, seeming care-free and fearless. “Do we at last meet?” the accented voice questioned. She pointed her phone torch at the voice and shielded her eyes to try and see into the darkness. The voice came from a large f****y site, where the plot was partitioned by a three-foot-high, wrought-iron fence. In the middle of the plot was a huge stone tomb, eight or ten feet square, rising perhaps 25 feet. She could see a faint glow from behind the monolith. She lifted one leg and eased the foot over the top of the fence, then tried, and nearly succeeded, to gracefully swing her body over the fence. Mid-stride, the height of the fence caught up to her, sliding the skirt up her thigh. She disentangled herself with as much dignity as possible, smoothing the pleats of her skirt and checking to make sure her hair was still neatly in place. She walked to the rear of the monument and saw rows and circles of wax candles, perhaps 60 in all. There were several smaller graves and a chest-high flat stone slab. The name on each grave was: LOVELL. “A good name, do you think?” the voice asked, seeming to thunder in her ears, making her jump. It was much closer now. “The name was chosen to distance from a f****y member. Have you ever heard of ‘Laveau’?” “Um… no,” she said, looking all around. “How come I can’t see you?” There was no answer right away. “In some parts Laveau is a famous name. Powerful name.” “Where are you?” she asked again, beginning to lose patience. She was looking at the Lovell f****y graves, examining the carvings on the large slab, admiring the angels and gargoyles. Behind her there was a sliding sound and a rustling of dead leaves. From out of the ground a metal door, like the door of a coal cellar, was opening, and a man came up the stairs. He stood at least 6’4”, his face somewhere between dark brown and ashen grey, with close-cropped curly hair. He wore flowing brown trousers and a loose-fitting tan shirt. These were partially covered by a kind of long black tunic with red trim. He was covered in tattoos of many things – devils and dead bodies and strange symbols. His bare arms, neck and face were covered in red grease-painted symbols that complemented the tattoos. On his head he wore a strange sort of crown made apparently of carefully folded palm leaves. In his hand he held a gnarled wooden rod. He rose up out of the ground as he ascended a flight of stairs, walked toward her and stopped three feet away, just inside the circle of candles around the cellar door. “You are even more lovely in the light of the real world than in the photos you sent,” he said, taking her in from head to toe. “Is that a Halloween costume,” she asked, looking at his apparel in confusion and apprehension. “It is necessary for the ritual,” he answered. “Do you still request it?” “Yes,” she said without hesitation. “Can you do it?” “Before one seeks revenge, it is best to dig two graves,” he said. “Good phrase to remember,” she said, thinking of her second request. “Tell me, c***d, why is it necessary?” “Does it matter,” she replied, not wanting to tell the painful story to a complete stranger. “Just tell me what it costs?” “Costs?” he asked, a look of amusement on his face. “I have…” she said, swinging the bag from her shoulder, “$4,000 in cash, will that do it?” The man crossed his arms and looked down at her, making himself seem very tall. “I have a credit card with a $15,000 limit. I’ll tell my dad I lost it after you’ve had a couple days to get a cash advance. If that’s not enough, this bag, the phone, my car, they’re worth a lot.” He looked at her, as if considering the offer, for perhaps a full minute, only the night birds and insects having their debate out loud. At the end of his deliberation, he laughed. The peal of his laughter broke through the pattern of the night like a roar, echoing out over the empty grave yard. “Someone has surely done you a serious kind of wrong! “ “Yeah, I don’t want to talk about it, I’ll just give you her name. Stephanie Dansel.” She thought about her former role in the senior high school play. She had been given the lead role and a fabulous gold and royal red dress of brocade and jewels. It had been donated to the school, had been worn in several Broadway plays, once by a leading lady who had died hours after giving her command performance. When she first saw the dress it took her breath away. It took everyone’s breath away. She had tried it on every night after rehearsal. The first dress rehearsal was one of the most amazing nights of her life. She felt magical to wear the dress surrounded by so many of her school friends. No one could take their eyes off of her, could not even remember their lines. But her performance seemed to excel, thanks, she was sure, to the amazing dress. Then, the next day, she had been called to the theater director’s office. Stephanie Dansel would be replacing her in the lead role. She had stared in disbelief, then began to cry. What was the reason? None was given. She stormed out of the office and soon found out. Stephanie’s father had pledged an enormous contribution to the school theater department and had secured a visit to the school from a Broadway cast during the next summer season. That had been enough to f***e the theater director to give the lead role to Stephanie. “This stuff is worth a lot,” she repeated, thinking of her anger and humiliation, “but this is worth more,” she said, almost to herself in a half whisper. “c***d,” he said between chuckles, “doesn’t the Book say, lay not up for yourself treasures in the earth where the moth and dust corrupt?!” She looked at him, not knowing what to say. “I can get more,” she said at last in a pleading tone. “More of the corruptible stuff?” he asked. “Well, they say a little corruption makes a whole lot of corruption.” More laughter. “Then what?” she asked, throwing her hands up in the air. “Not all that is corruptible is useless,” he said, raising an eyebrow. “Meaning?” she asked, lifting up her phone to see if she had received any new texts. “How long does that thing last these days?” he asked her, pointing at the phone. “Maybe a year,” she replied, not looking up at him. “You can have it if you want. I need a new one.” “And how long that bag last?” “Couple of years, maybe three.” “And . . . how long do you last?” “What?” “This. . ." he said, gesturing at her with his hand stretched out wide and twisted sideways, in an off-handed gesture at her desirable profile, her shapely legs and bosom, the alluring image of an Asian schoolgirl in the prime of life. “All this, this beauty?” She looked at him without emotion, then her nose wrinkled. “With you?” she asked. His knees buckled and his torso seemed to plummet down a foot and a half until he bounced straight up like a spring, exploding with laughter. The laughter lasted a full two minutes as he stumbled to the edge of the stone monument, leaned on it, choking with mirth, then stumbling halfway down the stone stairs and crawling back up, rubbing tears from his eyes, carefully, so as not to disturb the markings on his face. “No, c***d, not ‘with you’! Not with such a young thing so full of youth and beauty and life.” “Oh,” she said. “What then?” “I need your help, that is all.” “What do I need to do?” she asked. “Only everything that I say. Do not enter this circle, and help with a ritual. Can you do it?” “I guess, yeah,” she said. “What kind of ritual?” “It is necessary to ask first,” he replied, “are you a virgin?” She thought of lying. Instead, she answered: “No.” To her surprise, he said: “Good. We need corruptible stuff for what we do tonight.” “Okay,” she said, “but what is it?” “How many time?” “Huh?” “How many men?” “Uh… one,” she answered. And thus the path that lead her here tonight, and to request number two. Which she had not yet mentioned. She thought of him, the impossibly gorgeous boy, the dream of the whole school. He had never taken an interest in her until she was given the lead role in the play, opposite him. After the third rehearsal, he asked her out. Their dates had progressed well, they had shared a few kisses and caresses. One night, they agreed to linger and meet in the dressing room after the other k**s had gone. He kissed her deeply, his hands squeezing her breasts. She pushed his hands away gently. A few moments later he tried again. She pushed his hands away, but this time down, away from the thin T-shirt, onto her hips. He grasped clumsily at her ass, squeezing her thighs through the silk jogging pants, his hands sliding quickly inside her pants, inside her panties, his fingers slipping around in the slight hair of her mound, probing for an entry point, but far from the mark. She gently moved his hand away. He pushed her up against the makeup table and pulled her jogging pants down several inches before she put her hands on his fore-arms, stopping him. She somehow eased him back and rotated their positions until he was leaning against the table. “Too soon for that,” she smiled up at him, already sliding down, kissing his stomach, “but I know something we can do.” The following Friday was the first dress rehearsal. It was the first time he saw her in the dress. Like everyone else, he was completely captivated. He fell down twice during the performance. He looked like he was concealing a dirk in his pants for a good portion of the rehearsal. The half-hour after the rehearsal was like a dream, a whirlwind of compliments and praise from everyone. She sat there in the golden dress, her hair pulled back tightly with sparkling glitter combed into it, the magnificence of the dress accented by large costume jewelry, rings and earrings, a net-like necklace around the low-cut top. At 10:30, the last student left. He walked in five minutes later. He stopped in his tracks and looked at her, stunned all over again. They fell into each others’ arms. This time was magical, different from before. They seemed to melt together as they kissed, their hips moving together like the waves on an ocean. He kissed her neck and collarbone, hands squeezing her breasts. He tried to push the blouse down; she pushed his hands down, and he raised the skirt, his hand exploring her legs in the garter hose, past the garter band and up further, past the costumed effects now, to her regular white cotton panties. She did not resist as he pulled them down, over the garters, pushing her back to sit up on the makeup counter, lifting the dress up onto her lap. She found she had unzipped him and removed his cock, was balancing her foot on a chair as she leaned down against him to rub his tip along the ridge of her pussy. Before she could think twice, he was inside her. There was no pain, no hesitation, no awkwardness. He was just fully inside her and she was very, very wet. She had a brief moment to think of the condom in her bag, but she knew there was something perfect about this night that could not be ruined by something so trivial. They both climaxed in unison, crying out at the top of their lungs, no more restraint than a****ls in the wild. He waited outside while she changed into her street clothes. She took a long while. He walked her to her car. At the car, the realization hit her, and she broke down. He comforted her and said soothing things. She told him she loved him, had only done it because they would be together always. He said they would, that he loved her too, that he respected her, that she had nothing to be worried or ashamed about. At the end of the final scene of the following Friday’s dress rehearsal, he held a trembling Stephanie Dansel in his arms and kissed her passionately. She had found a card in the bottom of the accessory bag that went with the dress. The card simply said “DO YOU HAVE A NEED OF THE MAGIC THAT GRANTS YOUR SECRET WISH?” Only that, a name, and four numbers. She asked the librarian about it. The name was an exchange name that had been replaced by a three-digit telephone prefix about 45 years ago. She called the number, but it was just an answering machine with no message -- a ring, a beep and nothing else. She had almost forgotten until the evening she sat in the back of the darkened auditorium watching him grope Stephanie Dansel in her dress. Just then she got a text message on her phone from someone using the same exchange name and number for identification. The person was just curious about her, would not say if he or she knew her, or how. For the next two weeks, she had chatted with whoever it was every night. The person was busy in the day, but at night, he or she always seemed to be available to text, filling her head with imagery of spells and magic and hints of the knowledge to harness their power. There were rituals that could buy her power and money (she needed none of either), love (she no longer wanted it) and, oh yes, revenge. She had asked eagerly for assistance. Again and again she asked him -- she didn’t know if it was a man or a woman, but she had the distinct impression it was a man – for his help. She offered any amount of money, offered to buy anything he wanted. Her text companion was constant and keenly interested in her, but non-committal. Finally, sensing it was a man after all, she sent photographs of herself, suggested what else she might be willing to do. Whoever it was, he didn’t take the bait. Opening night was in only three days. She pressed the issue a bit further, finally texting: “I M DESPERAT PLEEZ TELL ME WHAT TO DO TO GET U 2 HELP?” Then came the directions to the remote graveyard in coastal South Carolina, several hours’ drive from her home. “This ritual,” he was saying, “it helps you too.” “Oh really?” she asked. “It brings him who can take revenge for you,” he said. “Can… can it be revenge on two people please?” she asked, thinking she was about to meet a killer, perhaps, her mind raced, a demonic one, and that this wish might really come true. For a moment, she was not so sure she wanted it to. “Two can be arranged, yes. You will take a different part both times.” “Now,” he said, moving carefully and silently to the very edge of the circle, “are you ready to bring him?” She suppressed the lump in her throat: “Yes.” The man vanished into the cellar and brought out a basket, poured a vial of what looked like bl**d on the ground, took out a piece of cloth and burned it, chanted some words over it. She could hear something stirring from deep in the vault beneath the monument. “Shhhh… he comes,” the man said. Emerging from the vault was a thing in a black cowl, wrapped in dirty white gauze. The face was hidden. It walked slowly swaying side-to-side and came to stand silently before the man, roughly six feet tall, but shorter than the man who commanded it. “Wh… what is it?” she asked in a trembling voice. “He is a zombie initiate,” the man said. “He has been called back but not kept here yet. We can’t control him like we want without a grounding ritual.” “How do we do it?” she asked, looking in amazement at the black hole under the cowl. “We ground him here with something corruptible. It have to be some offering he will take and then we got him.” “How do we do the ritual?” she asked. “Leave the spell and chant to me,” he said. “You do the offering. Offer him something he takes. Wait for me to open a link.” He whispered something over a little pyre he lit in a clay jar, poured out a cone of powder. “There, the link is ready,” he said at last. He gestured with his twisted staff of gnarled wood and the thing moved forward, out of the circle, until he stood before her. She looked down and saw a long, grey hand underneath the cloth and gauze. Slowly, the figure pulled back the hood. In a glimpse she saw blazing green eyes, matted brown hair, an ashen face streaked with the mold of the grave. It was a young man, though he appeared to be dead, a zombie, as the ritual leader had said. There was no smell or sign of decay. “You have much to offer,” Lovell said. “All night long for many nights you told me the things. Now you have to be right. Make him an offer to ground him here as my slave. If you don’t, after a short while, he goes back down there to sl**p and I lose my zombie, and you lose your revenge.” Shuddering uncontrollably under the gaze of the dead thing, she removed the bag from her shoulder and began to sort through it. She took out a thick envelope filled with $100s, $50s and $20s. Looking at the bundle and then at the thing, she felt foolish. She dropped her first offering at his feet. He did not look at it. He only made a non-verbal sound. The meaning was clear. The offer had been rejected. Next she threw her phone to the ground. Could he have any use for it? No. It was rejected with the same sound. She dropped a watch, credit cards, a brand new Apple iPad, iPod, the rest of the contents of her bag, finally the bag itself at his feet. All rejected. Finally, she held up the keys to her car. Also rejected. “The time is drawing to a close,” Lovell warned. “What else can you offer?” “That’s all I brought,” she said. “All?” he asked questioningly. “There was one other thing you said. Do you still want revenge so much?” She tried to take half a minute to think, but she felt the window of the spell closing, the sands of time pouring out of the bottom of the hour glass. Opening night was tomorrow. “I offer myself,” she said solemnly. “For sex,” she clarified. “Not my soul or anything.” The zombie did not move. Lovell laughed. “The soul is corruptible, but does not corrupt – decay in this life -- like we need it. So don’t worry.” “But he didn’t do anything. What now?” she pleaded. “You got to show him the offer,” came Lovell’s reply. She gestured impatiently at herself, down the length of her body, at the tight sweater around her chest. “Show him the offer,” he said again. Slowly she raised up her skirt with both of her now-empty hands, pulling it up her thighs in front to show him white panties underneath. The zombie made a noise of assent. “The offer is accepted,” Lovell said and laughed. “I knew you would do: his soul is in turmoil because his death came after he was away for a year, when he was on the way to see the woman he loved. Can you imagine?” “A little bit I guess,” she said. This explanation calmed her for a moment, in spite of her terror because she had no idea what would happen next. With a stiff movement of its arm, the zombie tore a hole in the middle of the black robe, reached in through the gauze, brought out a huge erect cock, as grey as his face and hands, swollen and engorged from either years of anticipation, or some effect of the grave. She couldn’t guess which. “You have to teach to him what you knew in life. When he teach you something back, he is trapped,” Lovell said. “What does that mean?” she asked. “Don’t you know?” he asked her. She nodded and bent her knees slightly. “Yesss, yesss,” Lovell hissed. Her knees bent down, down, until they sank down into the soft earth. “Yessss,” he said one more time. The zombie approached her, now offering his phallus. She reached out for it carefully, like one touching the end of a pin. Her hand shot back: It was as cold as stone and unyielding to her touch. The long hand came out and grasped her right pigtail, pulling the left side of her head up against the black cloth, till her lips were alongside his proffered cock. She touched her lips to the cold stony flesh. It had no taste and the smooth texture of polished marble. She opened her lips and allowed the tip of her tongue to touch it. The zombie guided her head along the length of the shaft, still holding her by one pigtail. Her lips reached the tip, and her tongue flicked out to lick the end. The tip twitched and the zombie groaned. She slowly drew him into her mouth, perhaps three or four inches. The taste was like an icecicle. She began to lick along the side of it again. The zombie moaned and pulled her head tight against his hips. A grey burst of almost ash-like fluid shot from the tip across her cheek bone and onto the shoulder of her navy blazer. From inside the circle, Lovell laughed, “yes, yes!” “Is that it?” she asked hopefully? “No, no, that does not ground him. Remember, you teach him everything you learned and then when he teach you something, the ritual is complete and we have him.” “Oh,” she said, wiping at her cheek. “But now what?” The zombie grunted and pointed. “He want you to climb up on that stone there,” Lovell said, pointing to the waist-high slab that dominated the back of the f****y plot. She climbed up, showing her panties in back as she negotiated the side of the steep tomb. Finally she reached the top and sat down facing them, gasping at the icy cold granite on the backs of her thighs. “Now take down your underthings and lift up the dress for him, open your legs, show him the offering.” She didn’t allow herself to back out. Opening night was less than 48 hours away. Just as before, the time that lead her here, she pulled her panties down to her ankles and lifted up the dress, showing the dark hair of her pussy, bending her knees up and apart, sliding her right foot up and back free of the panties, until she was spread widely, all plainly visible in the candle light; then she parted, wider and still wider at Lovell’s urging, until her feet were almost a yard apart, so wide she could not plant the feet on the freezing slab, totally exposed, her ass now numb from the frigid stone. The zombie climbed slowly onto the slab, across her, up and up until he was leaning over her. When he took her, it was like she had been plunged into a tank of ice water. She felt the freezing cold missile enter her, harder than any living man’s could be, sliding in and out of her again and again until she went numb from the cold. She felt his hands all over her, like ice cubes, feeling her ass and thighs, moving up to her chest and squeezing her breasts. She tried to push his hands away, but she could not move him. The granite hands pulled her sweater open, and she heard the buttons of the blouse pop with tension as they snapped and flew away. Then she was revealed, her bra pushed open, and she heard Lovell laugh. She opened her eyes to see the zombie tossing handfuls of tissue out of her bra and over his head, Lovell laughing hysterically. At last, with surprising deftness, her bra was unclasped – or torn in two in back – and pulled away. She lay there with her flat chest, nipples harder than they had ever been before, standing at attention as the first man to ever see them – albeit a dead man – pinched and licked them with his popsicle tongue. Stone tongue and hard wet flesh collided, again and again. She moaned at the sensation in spite of herself. She could feel nothing beneath her waist, but a warm vortex was building inside from the contact; though numb, her g-spot was being stimulated repeatedly and she began to moan. The second of her two patent leather shoes fell to the ground, three feet below. The zombie gripped her ankles, bending them back, back, pressing them almost to her ears, stretching the slit of her cunny lips impossibly tight vertically as he pierced her again. She looked up, her legs over the top of his shoulders, and could see the graveyard dirt on her knees, evidence of her initial offering, when she knelt and began to fellate a monster. Now he was deep inside her, and she was unable to resist coming. She came again and again as the zombie used her, hard cock never softening, until at the stroke of 1 a.m. (she heard her phone chime the hour, 10 feet and a lifetime ago away), he seized up and went straight as a board. She felt what seemed like a rush of ice water pouring out inside her. She lay under him, still panting from her extensive orgasm. When he retreated half a foot, she pulled back, moving backwards cross-legged, till she was sitting in the middle of the stone slab. She could see rivulets of ash-grey cum running out of her pussy and down along her ass, leaving a trail along the stone. She may have fallen asl**p briefly. She awoke to Lovell’s pleased whisper of “yes, yes!!!” She opened her eyes and saw him, still standing at the tip of the circle, arms oustretched. “Now, we will see if it works. But one thing remains. The reciprocal teaching will bind him forever.” The zombie awoke from his reverie, standing at the foot of the slab and regarding her. He reached out a long arm and took hold of her ankle, pulling her gently but sternly toward him. She allowed herself to be d**g along until he had both hands on her hips, pulled her off the slab and laid her on the ground. The warm ground felt like heaven after the cold stone. She lay there gratefully, not caring for that moment what happened next. The zombie squatted on all fours between her legs, which he arranged outspread, for several minutes. She was too exhausted to move. Slowly, the zombie leaned forward, his hollow eye sockets and blazing green eyes regarding her as his pointed tongue protruded from between his lips. She jumped when the freezing thing, every bit as hard as his cock, slid along her inner thigh. Like his cock, it seemed engorged from death, larger than a normal man’s. And soon it was probing her, licking with its cold like death in every crease of her, then inside her, eating and fucking her. As the zombie’s mouth closed along her labia with the breath like the burst from a freezer, sucking on one tender lip, Lovell cried: “That’s it, c***d! You have done it! We have bound him here for our use and revenge!” A tear of relief and triumph rolled down one round cheek as she let out a cry of pleasure, and another involuntary utterance at the thrill coursing through her from the hard, long tongue now deep inside her. The zombie sucked and licked at her, coaxing orgasm after orgasm from her, withdrawing just often enough that she retained feeling in her body. She heard her phone chime 2 a.m. as the zombie pulled away, while she was still moaning, surprised to find she was still stroking her own hard nipples. The zombie pushed up her thigh and began kissing deep down the back of it, to the small of her ass, kissing and sucking every inch of her. She screamed out at one point as his teeth pierced the soft flesh of her ass. Then he was inside her again – not his tongue this time – and she eventually blacked out. When she awoke, she had chills all over. She could see dawn rising just beyond the Lovell monument. The zombie stood before her at attention. She stood up to look around. Her possessions were s**ttered all about the plot as were her panties, blouse, bra, shoes, one sock and her jacket. She stood up, smoothing her skirt, wrapping her arms around her tiny bare breasts. One pigtail had been pulled free and hung down to the side. Grey residue followed a twisting and turning course down her thigh. One foot was bare, charcoal earth between her toes and under the red painted nails. Her ass, thighs and knees were covered with grave dirt. She stood there, next to the zombie, rubbing the bite wound on her ass. “Did it work” she asked eagerly? The opening performance of the play was the following evening. There could be just enough time to get her role back. “Oh yes!” he said. “It worked per-fect!” Her enthusiasm took over at that point. She clapped her hands and jumped up and down, small breasts bouncing slightly. She took three steps toward Lovell, who she could see clearly for the first time. He wasn’t as old or as bad-looking as she had thought he would be last night. It must have been that voice. Was it clearer today, more “normal?” She was almost to the circle. Perhaps she meant to embrace him in spite of her half-nakedness, but he put out a hand and said “Stop!” She felt her feet come to a dead stop. “Gather your clothes,” he said in a commanding voice. Her feet began to move against her will and she began to dress. “Now you will both go and carry out your revenge – him to her, you to him, is it not the right way?” he asked with a laugh. “Then you will come back to me.” She felt her feet carrying her toward the iron gate. They lifted on their own skillfully over the fence, then toward the car. The zombie followed her. They climbed into the Mini and backed down the dirt road. *** The show must go on. In a curtain call mixed with tears and roars of applause, she bowed as roses and cards were tossed to the stage. Afterward, she sat alone in her dressing room, standing and looking into the mirror at herself in the dress. Who was she? She stood there, still in full costume, after everyone had gone. She knew he would come, drawn there by the dress. He walked quietly to her side, and the two stood together in silence for a moment. “You were incredible!” he exclaimed, wrapping his arms around her waist, then sliding them up to her breasts. She gripped them and pulled them down along her stomach, between her legs. “Mmmmmm” he said, burying his face into the back of her hair as he started to lift up her long dress in back, “you feel so cold . . . .” *** They returned an hour before dawn, descending into the lightless vault. She still wore the beautiful dress and jewelry. Lovell was there, stirring something in a pot. He ordered the zombie to his chamber, a separate room to the right. The ritual leader occupied the white marble ante-chamber, featuring an altar, two couches, a green marble table with an oil painting over it, two chairs and a heavy stone vase. Various chambers spurred off from the ante-chamber. One would be hers. “Did you enjoy your revenge?” Lovell asked. “Yes” she admitted, for she had no will to deny it. He dipped a strainer into the pot he was stirring and pulled out a mixture of herbs. “Take off that dress,” he ordered her. She did it automatically. She was naked under the dress. Internally she could feel self-consciousness of her nakedness, but she no longer had the physical willpower to cover herself. “Hang that thing over there,” he said, pointing to a peg. She did so, her slender body standing before him, exposed, arms at her sides. “Tell me, c***d,” he asked her, “did you like when that zombie fucked you?” “Yes.” To lie was impossible. “You want sex a lot now, yea?” “Yes,” she admitted. “Good.” He laughed. “Like to suck a cock a lot?” he asked. “Yes.” She hadn’t even the willpower to feign shame. “Like to taste that jizzum?” “No.” she said flatly. He laughed and laughed. She sat there naked, waiting. She had all the time in the world. He reached out and, with the lightest touch, ran the tip of a finger over the swell of her left breast. “You believed in showing him all you knew in life you grounded him eh? And in taking from him? Ha ha. Yesss. You know better now, don’t you?” he asked. “Yes,” she said. “You know now, it grounded you instead! And now, you like revenge so much, you can do that a lot too.” He smiled at her, almost kindly. “Pretty soon I can think up some more revenge you can have.” He pressed his finger lightly on the swell of her cold lip. “Now squat down on that cinder block right there. We need it warm for later on maybe, yeah?” and he erupted in laughter, the same sound repeated again and again, as if for eternity. She squatted down on the cinder block just as he instructed. She knelt. Part of her was aware that the block had been heated recently to a very high degree, and she was seated on it, by Lovell’s instructions, in such a way that her quim was positioned directly on top of it. “Fan it out so the inside get the full heat,” he instructed. She did so. She still felt sensations, but heat and cold and pain were not among them. She still felt emotion, and certainly pleasure and… hunger. Her mind went back to him, and how she had moaned as he had been inside her, how she had let him finish before she . . . . took her revenge on him. Just thinking of it stirred her hunger, physical in every sense of the word. Lovell lifted the strainer over her head and ordered her to tilt her chin back. He sprinkled her face, hair, her entire body, especially the sexual organs, with the herbs strained from the concoction. “I’m gonna make sure you stay the way you looked at death forever and ever, good?” he asked with a grin. “Yes” she said, “it is.” “We gonna have a lot of fun,” he said, taking a smoking hot metal spoon from the pot. “Open your mouth, put some heat on it, c***d,” he said with a laugh. -THE END-

A night in the Valley SeXStoRY

All my previous stories have been true. This one starts out as true but the actual encounter is not. Bored, slightly d***k and lonely on a business trip, I check into an adult chat site. I find you playing on cam. Damn nice dick there. You are staying at the hotel I normally do but I am across town this time. I want you cock in my mouth. I am jacking off and watching. But you won't let me come over. You have a girl coming by. By you say I can lick her juices off :) A couple of hours later there is a knock on my door. I open it nervously. I have never done this before. You make some small talk to put me at ease. We have a beer. Now I ask to see you. You unzip you pants and there is that 8 inch beauty. I drop to my knees and start licking. Immediately it is hard. I can taste her musty juices. I am leaking in my pants. I unzip and slowing play with myself as you fuck my mouth. You tell me about her small perky tits and hot pussy. I feel you shake. I feel you tremble. Then the explosion in my mouth. I cum almost immediately. As then as quickly as it started, you are gone. Just me with her smell and your cum in my mouth. And my cum on the floor :) Damn, I wish you would have kept your promise

24 HOURS IN GLASGOW (Part One) SeXStoRY

This story is based on chats on XHAMSTER the names have been changed to protect the guilty. As the train pulled into Glasgow Jennie wondered for about the hundreth time if she was doing the right thing, it had started quite innocently chatting on Xhamster and after several raunchy chats where she had orgasmed they had agreed to meet up. Lydia explained that Jennie had to agree to follow Lydia's instructions to the letter subject to conditions which they both agreed to abide by, so Jennie found herself sitting in a first class carriage wearing a sensible tweed skirt and a very tight white blouse which showed her every curve, underneath however she had no knickers on and just a gridle and balck seamed stockings. The train stopped and opened its doors and jennie made her way onto the platform down by the barrier was a tall woman with burnette hair and dressed in a full length Black leather coat, black leather boots with 5" stiletto heels and black leather gloves and sunglasses, Jennie knew from the description that this would be Lydia. Walking down to the barrier Lydia walked over to her and grasping herhands with her gloved hands kissed Jennie on both cheeks and said ' Jennie glad you could make it, we are going to have so much fun', Jennie found herself being guided out of the station as per the agreement she had no luggage apart from her handbag. On the station forecourt a mercedes sedan sat with its rear door open and a black woman wearing the tightest chauffers uniform she had ever seen, as she got closer she could see that it was made of Grey leather and the trousers were tucked into Black leather knee high boots with 5" stiletto heels and Jennie noticed that she also was wearing black leather glov es which disappeared up into her jacket sleeves. Jennie was guided into the back of the sedan and found herself sitting in a sumptious leather seat she noticed that the windows were tinted stopping anyone looking in, Lydia slid in next to Jennie and the door was closed Lydia turned to jennie and said 'lets have a proper welcoming kiss' with that she leaned over and passionately kissed Jennie on the mouth forcing her tongue into Jennie's mouth, Jennie responded and soon Lydia was caressing Jennie's left breast with a leather gloved hand as Jennie started to feel her pussy start to get wet. Breaking off the kiss Lydia smiling said 'God you taste delicious lets have a drink' without waiting for a response she opened the minibar and opened a bottle of Bollinger of champagne and poured two glasses,Lydia handed a glass to Jennie and said 'We'll have a spot of lunch, then go do some shopping and have some pampering and then we have the evening to enjoy ourselves'. Lydia lit up a cigarillo and as we sipped champagne she idly stroked my nylon clad knee with a gloved finger and asked Jennie various questions about different sexual practices and other personal questions Jennie didn't know why but she found herself answering them honestly. The car stopped and the door was opened Lydia got out and offered Jennie a leather gloved hand as she got out and tucking her hand under her arm led her towards the entrance of a expensive and exclusive restaurant, the door was opened by a doorman who saluted as we walked by, The maitre'd and two waiters were standing by as we walked in and the maitre'd said ' madames, l have selected the table personally exactly as you requested' with an imperialious wave of her gloved hand Lydia sent the maitre'd to lead the way with two waiters following us she looked like she owned the place. We were led to a corner table where we could oversee the rest of the restaurant but only a couple of tables could see us, one of those tables was occupied by two older ladies we unbuttoned our coats and they were taken by one of the waiters, Lydia was wearing a short black leather skirt withb knee high black leather boots and a black skintight lycra top which clung to every curve and black leather gloves which came over the sleeves which made it difficult to see where they ended, additionally she had a gold watch on her left wrist. We sat down and Lydia said 'We'll have my usual and a bottle of bollinger '86 ' Excellent choice' beamed the maitre'd Lydia produced another cigarillo and the waiter whipped out a lighter and lit it, Lydia put a leather gloved hand on my knee and started stroking the inside of my leg whilst she smoked, l noticed that all the tables had glass tops so everything could be seen. One of the women at another table started to complain about Lydia smoking to a waiter, Lydia ignored her and continued stroking my leg and moving her hand up my leg pushing my skirt up, very soon my stocking tops were visible and lydia continued her small talk, the woman was now getting shriller but the other woman at the table was now engrossed at what was happening at our table. Lydia by now was brushing my pussy lips with her leather gloved fingers and my legs parted of their own accord and two fingers slipped into my moist pussy and immediately located my clit and started playing with it, l let an involuntary gasp as this happens. The woman who is complaining now stands up demanding to see the manager Lydia sneers and saids ' Haven't you seen two people enjoying themselves in public before then', the women who was standing up says ' l've never been so insulted in my life' her friend tries to hide a smile as she watches us. The wine waiter brings our champagne and Lydia leans over and says ' l want you to unzip him and suck his cock' she says it in such a commanding tone l don't even think of not doing it, l reach up and run my fingers over his crotch and pull his zip down his cock springs out and l grab it and pull the foreskin back and lick his head with my tongue Lydia meantime is still playing with my clit with her gloved fingers. I take the cock into my willing mouth and start to suck and lick his cock, this is too much for the woman who says ' that's it if the manager won't deal with this then the police will have to ' and she storms off looking for someone to berate,the other woman was still watching intently but was now rubbing her knicker gussett as well. Lydia smiled and said 'perhaps that's what your friend needs a hard cock or a friend to make her cum, then she might not be so uptight' the woman laughed and continued rubbing herself, suddenly her friend stormed back in giving us a digusted look and saying ' Betty we are going this place is full of perverts and not a place for us ladies' Betty gave us a wry smile and stopped playing with herself, as the women walked us she hissed 'hussies' Lydia smiled and replied 'Jealous' the woman just sniffed and walked on. I felt the waiters cock begin to twitch and went to release him to wank him when Lydia put a gloved hand on the back of my head and said 'No my dear it is your starter and you must finish it', l obeidantly carried licking and teasing his cock until l received a mouthful of salty, warm spunk, this triggered off my own orgasm and my juices flowed over Lydia's gloved fingers. I released the waiters cock and he calmly zipped himself up and poured the champagne and left, Lydia pulled her gloved fingers out of my wet pussy and l could see my juices glistening on her leather clad fingers it was strangely erotic and she smiled and dipped her fingers into her glass and said 'Bollinger and pussy juice an interesting combination', she held her fingers up to my mouth and l licked and sucked the liquid off her gloved fingers. Our food then arrived and Lydia said 'Oysters and Steak we need to keep our strength up' over the next hour we chatted about various things and at the end l was surprised to see that we had d***k two bottles of bollinger, Lydia called for our coats and the wine waiter brought mine and slipped me a note as we went to leave, Lydia smiled and said 'so far more to do' To be cont.

k**nap (Chapter 2) SeXStoRY

Chapter 2 After some measureless interval, I heard a car pull up, and the door open. I braced myself, certain that I'd be greeted by a blow. But I was surprised. "Hi, Boss. At least, I assume that's you." It was Roger -- and I nearly fainted with relief. Quickly, he unfastened the ropes holding me in place, carried me to the couch, and removed the hood and gag. He didn't waste time asking me if I was okay; the outlines of what had happened were obvious enough. "Where are the keys to your handcuffs and leg chains?" he asked. I told him that I had left the keys on the night table, but that I suspected John had taken them with him. "There's a master set in the linen closet, though; I always keep spares there." Roger disappeared for a moment, but returned empty-handed: "John apparently ransacked the place; there are no keys to be found. Let me run into town and pick up a few tools." I demurred. "Before you go anywhere, could you please carry me to the bathroom? And I have a well-equipped workshop downstairs; you'll find what you need in there, I think." Roger obliged in the first respect, but before fetching the tools, he carried me back to the couch and covered me with a sheet. "I think you'll be more comfortable this way," he said, without even a leer or flirtatious note. Teasing games were one thing -- I remembered Roger at a company beach party when John had eased my bikini top off -- but he knew that this wasn't the place for any such thing. Of course, I was feeling safe again, which made my bondage seem a bit sexy again; my reaction, at least partially, was that I wouldn't mind the chains just then if only Roger had been the one who had put them there! I didn't let on, though; I just composed myself while Roger got what he needed, and cut through the links. He then dispatched me to the bedroom to shower and dress, while he cooked some food for us. Over the meal -- breakfast? lunch? -- I told him what had happened, sparing no details. I even explained the "k**nap" game to Roger; he seemed fascinated. When I finished, I asked him to explain how he had shown up to rescue me. "When I saw John following you away from the office yesterday, I knew there would be trouble. I had biked in to work, so I had no way of following you, and of course I had no idea where you were going except for *the farmhouse*. I tried going to the police, but they weren't interested; everything was too vague and weird- sounding. So I went back to the office and thought for a while." "It seemed to me that your farmhouse would be 30 minutes to two hours from here. Much closer and you wouldn't get any extra privacy over your regular house; much further and it would be too inconvenient for weekend visits. I kind-of guessed it was a love nest, but I wasn't certain just how you'd feather it." We both blushed. "I narrowed down the search area a bit by assuming it was in the same general direction as your house; the direction you headed off in was at least consistent with that guess. That still left a lot of towns, though. But it was all I had to go on, so I started dialing Information for each of the towns. No dice." "No," I said. "The purpose of this place is relaxation and isolation; I deliberately didn't get a phone or even any clocks. As far as possible, this is not the real world." Roger nodded. "That left the local tax offices, for all those wretched little towns. I knew there was nothing else to be done until morning when they opened, so I called my `assistant' and alerted her." I looked a bit puzzled; Roger replied, "Surely you remember Janice?" I nodded; Roger continued, "Even though we're no longer going out, we're still friends. And Janice hates John with a passion. Their relationship ended much like yours is doing: with John getting violent, though not quite to this ex- tent. He let her go after a week, and she never filed charges -- she said that she had no evidence it wasn't just another game, and he could point to her collection of toys when defending himself. I didn't agree, but it's not the sort of thing you can push a lover into doing, especially after a couple of years." "Anyway, by morning I had compiled a complete list of numbers for her to call; one of them eventually worked. I couldn't make the calls myself -- I had to give your presentation." I jumped up. "Roger! How did it go? What did you say about me?" "No problem -- I said you had a bad stomach virus, but would probably be in tomorrow. And I think things went quite well; they really liked your stuff, even more than mine, I think." He paused. "You always keep the best parts of these bids for your- self," but he was smiling as he said that. I smiled back at him. "That's my real pay for running the business, and tending to all the paperwork. Anyway, that's neither here nor there. What are we going to do about John?" Roger turned dead-serious. "I don't know. Would you prosecute?" "Well, to some extent I have the same problem as Janice: where's the evidence? You rescued me, of course, but all of the paraphernalia here is mine -- and that's a pretty strong defense. We'd need to get more evidence." Roger paused. "Can we frighten him, maybe even punish him enough to make him stay away?" "I doubt it -- and in any event I will not be a party to that sort of v******e." Roger seemed to sigh in relief as I continued, "Hmm -- if we did manage to get some more evidence, could we use it for blackmail instead? Neither of us wants our proclivities known." I blushed; I'd been fidgeting with the remains of the handcuff the way I do with bracelets, treating it almost as if it belonged there. Roger noticed, and laughed. "Whatever do you mean by that?" he asked, as he pulled the two chain remnants close together. "Do you mean you like this?" he asked as he grabbed a discarded twist-tie and fastened the two together again. "Roger! Stop that this instant! Or I'll have to spank you," I said. But I left my hands together, not pulling them apart, while we continued talking. "Can you tolerate being bound again, the way you were when I found you?" Roger asked. I hesitated; he continued. "If the chains and hood are on you, but you're laying on the floor, I think I can pull the rope taut when I see his car entering the driveway. There would still be time for me to hide. Here's what we'll do." Eventually, reluctantly, I agreed. And so it was that after Roger chiseled the remains of the old manacles from me, I brought out some new ones -- sans any keys -- from the toy box. I stalled, looking for every last excuse not to go through with it. Was the kitchen properly cleaned up? Was Roger's car well-hid- den? Finally, there was nothing left to prepare; it was time to do it or flee. I went into my room and undressed, then headed back to the living room. "Are you ready?" Roger asked. I remained mute, no more able to agree than I had been when John bound me to his whipping post. I dr**ed the gag around my neck -- we decided to try pretending I had managed to spit it out -- and Roger tied the hood. He handed me the handcuffs then and asked me to chain myself. "No, Roger -- you do it." I hugged him; he hugged my naked body, and bent to his task. The locks clicked home. "Roger? Touch me again?" I pleaded. He finished tying my ankles to the floor, and properly threading the ceiling rope. I felt a gentle caress on the side of my breast as I lay on the floor. "Let's talk about that later, when we're equal again," he replied. But he caressed my breast once more, loving- ly and lingeringly, taking the sting out of his words. And though we lay there silently, his arm remained on my shoulder, reassuringly. I don't know how long I laid there, bound. This time, the chains were Roger's; the scene, though, was John's, and there was still very real danger ahead. And I could do nothing to help; we had no key for me to use to escape and come to Roger's aid if necessary. Eventually, we heard tires kicking up gravel in the drive. "He's here," Roger said, unnecessarily. He helped me to my feet, pulled the rope taut, and vanished without even a kiss. Help- less, I waited for John. A few minutes later, John came in. "Waiting where I left you, I see. Polite of you," he sneered. I heard the sound of a heavy object hitting floor, and the clank of some metal. John chuck- led. "Remember what I said I'd do tonight? Here are my branding tools, all nice and clean. I ordered them weeks ago, waiting for this moment." Now that was an interesting revelation; my revenge for his apparent thoughtlessness had nothing to do with the situation. It struck me as quite likely that if I hadn't escaped from the motel, all this might have happened last night. As if he were reading my mind, John said, "Yup -- last night was to be the lead-in, if you hadn't dawdled. You thought you were playing bondage games with me, but it was never really a game to either of us, was it?" With that, he slapped my buttocks, hard. "Of course, I could never have afforded a place like this before today anyway; it was thoughtful of you to provide it for me. I hope you like it a lot; I don't think you're ever going to leave. While you're here, you life will be like this." With that, he started to hit me, hard. I stifled a scream; I was supposed to be gagged. Roger stayed hidden; he was going to come out on my signal only. For now, we had to elicit as many incriminating comments as possible from John, which meant that I had to take as many blows as I could stand. And I had to judge the psychological moment just right; expelling the gag with a scream after a blow seemed more plausible if I were silent despite having been ungagged for some time. Why not put the gag back in? Well, apart from the dangers I described earlier, I need to be free to give our release word. And we were certain that the hood was going to come off before the attempted branding; John would certainly want to tease me with the sight of the hot iron. If we were wrong about that, I was going to suffer a lot of pain before I got out of this. Worse yet, John might consider the hot iron a weapon to use against Roger; in a fight like that, anything could happen. I was bracing myself to scream when John stopped the beating. "Time for a different game," he said. He untied the ropes holding me in place, and pushed me to the floor. My arms and legs were still chained; he further secured my by tying my handcuffs to my waist. Finally, he tied another rope to my leg chains and dragged me, feet first, towards the barn. My sense of panic, which had vanished when I heard Roger's voice, returned in full measure. Could Roger follow us and not be noticed? Did Roger even know where we were going? Was there a place for him to hide in the barn? I didn't know, and it worried me. If I'd known what Roger was up to, I'd have been even more worried. He hadn't even been in the house during the whipping! Rather, he'd been out searching John's car, an action that was ultimately to prove very helpful, but almost got him caught at the time. When we reached the gravel drive, I couldn't hold in my screams any longer. I was being dragged face down, and the rocks raking across my breasts were too much to bear. John dropped me, swore, and came over to investigate. "Maybe I should have dragged you by the hair; the gag seems to have been pulled off." Sure enough, the hood was shredded, so his explanation was quite plausible. "No matter, I'm the only one who can hear you scream, and I quite enjoy it." He laughed again, and twisted my breasts. "But I think I'll let you recover a bit while I prepare the next set of toys." With that, he picked me up in a fireman's carry and went into the barn. It would have been out of character not to plead, so I did. "John, stop this; you know I'll play any sort of game you want, do anything you want." "Of course you will, dear; did you think I'd give you the opportunity to refuse. Now shut up; if you say another word I'll gag you again." I was silent; another gag could have been deadly. John continued, "But I do think I'll put the hood back on for now; wondering what I'm going to do next will be half your pleasure." When we got into the barn, John tied a rope to my ankle cuffs, and hoisted me into the air up-side-down. "Next time, instead of leaving your hands tied to your waist like that, I'll just attach them to a heavy weight, and bounce it down on occasion; this time, though, this pose is just to hold you for a while." I moaned, and had no need to fake it. What followed next was a bit odd -- some hammering, drilling, sounds of something -- a ladder, I learned later -- being dragged around, plus more than a few curses -- John wasn't the handiest guy around. Finally, he was done. He informed me of this by unceremoniously cutting through the rope; if I had been much higher off the ground, I could easily have broken my neck when I fell. He then unlocked my leg chains, and fastened a strap around each ankle. Some footsteps, and the clicking of a ratchet. Slowly, my legs were pulled further and further apart. Slowly, they were raised into the air. I started to scream, but John didn't say anything until I was again suspended, this time with my legs pulled uncomfortably far apart. He pulled off the hood and looked at me. "I'm going to spread you a bit more, then leave you like this. Then I'm going to brand the inside of your thighs while you can't move an inch to stop me. Then I'll drop you to the ground, rearrange the pulleys to spread you like you've never been spread before, and take you till you scream." True to his word, he tightened the ratchet a bit more, and vanished. For some reason, I felt the urge to look around and understand what he had done. A rope from each ankle went through a pulley wheel mounted high off the ground, at either end of the barn. One rope was simply tied, at ground level; the other went to a winch, also near the ground. By turning it, he dragged my ankles apart, and raised me into the air. Obviously, by simply removing the pulley wheels, he could stretch me on the floor, in a more convenient position for r**e. Suddenly, I heard Roger's voice. "I think we've got him. If you can, try the release word before he lights the torch!" But where was Roger hiding? The whole inside of the barn was open; there weren't even any stalls left. I didn't get a chance to ask him; John came back in. "I found something else I want to try before branding you; it should be even more fun." It was a round file, a very coarse one, that he had found in the workshop. He rubbed it, hard, on the inside of my thighs. It would have hurt enough under any circumstances; with my legs stretched that tight, it was sheer agony. I screamed, then used our release word. I'd only done that once before with John, and that time it was a test, though he never knew that -- it's always wise to learn if your partner really will stop when things get too rough. "Release you?" John asked? "Are you joking? That was when we were playing your games. This is my game, and I'm the one who decides when to let go. Come now -- are you ready for your brand? Or shall I use this a bit more?" He pointed the file downward, as if ready to insert it. "No, no!" I screamed. "Beg to be branded," he replied, touching me with the tip of the file. "I beg you, I beg you!" I screamed, all but forgetting that rescue was at hand. But I had to get him away from me, lest he use me as a hostage. I needn't have worried. As John stepped towards the propane torch he'd brought, I yelled, "Roger!" John looked up, and an amazing thing happened: Roger jumped him from above; he'd been in the hayloft! It wasn't really a fight; John was stunned by the impact. Roger pushed him, roughly, towards the winch, slammed John into the wall to immobilize him, and released me. He caught the crank so he could lower me slowly to the floor. The keys had fallen from John's pocket during all this; ignoring him for the moment, Roger picked them up, walked over to me, and unlocked me. John slowly rose to his feet. "I'm not done with you yet, bitch. And don't try calling the cops; with this setup, I'll have no trouble convincing any judge this wasn't just a game. And you can't even afford to have this public; your precious business would fall apart." I was going to reply, and dare him to expose me. He didn't really understand the situation. I, and my competitors, are fundamentally artists. So are the client representatives we deal with. And in the art world, people pride themselves on ignoring odd personal lives; such things are irrelevant. What I did was quite tame by comparison to some of them. I didn't get a chance to answer, though; Roger spoke first. "Of course, you can't afford the exposure, either. What's more, there will be no trouble with the jury; I have the whole thing on tape, even the part about you rejecting the release word." John started looking concerned. "But there's more. While you were busy, I had a look in your car." At that, John started looking very alarmed. Roger continued, "I'm sure the D.A. would love to send that funny white powder to a lab. But that's not all. That stuff was packaged for sale, not home use. And there was a lot of cash in the trunk as well, which suggests that you didn't purchase the stuff. Tell me -- what would the kind of folks you ripped off do if they learned your name and address? Wait -- don't leave yet. I'm not going to do anything with that tape now. Nor have I removed anything from your car. But I did use your very own car phone to tell some friends what's going on. I suggest that you leave, immediately. And if you ever come near her or me again -- well, that tape will be page 1 news, and a letter about the d**g rip-off will be mailed to a certain address." John didn't stay to hear any more; he fled. All I wanted to do was lay down and have a good screaming fit, but Roger dissuaded me. With some justice, he pointed out that I should not stay at a known address until he had distributed copies of the tape and I had installed suitable alarm systems. We walked back to the house, arm in arm. Roger cleaned me up and bandaged me; then we headed for a randomly-chosen hotel to spend the night. Obviously, all we did was cuddle. Roger was a bit distant in the morning, when I was a bit in the mood for more. "Right now, you're feeling very grateful to me. Don't mistake that for infatuation. And remember, we still work together, even if you do make me a partner to handle half of this contract." How had he guessed my thoughts! "Relax for a while, date others, and recover from all this. In a few months, you can make a decision about us." His logic was, of course, impeccable. And I did start dating others, though I remained celibate; I wasn't ready for anything deep. Work kept me busy; we did get that contract, and I did promote Roger. And we never heard a word from John; when we checked with his neighbours, we learned that he had never re- turned that day. I never did learn if he fled or if the mob got him without our help. Finally, I hit it off with someone. We retired to his place that evening; he even had a reasonable set of toys of his own. And it felt good -- when you chain yourself up, as I had been doing, there isn't that sense of abandoning control that you get when someone else does it. Most important, though, it clarified my feelings about Roger. I waited until the next time both of us had to work late, well after everyone else had gone. I walked up behind him as he sat at his desk, put my arms around his neck, and rested my head on his shoulders. "You've been k**napped," I said in a dreamy voice, closing my eyes. He grasped my hands, and I felt something hard. "No, it's you who's been k**napped," he said, as he snapped a pair of handcuffs shut. We drifted back to the couch in my office. Before this, I'd often spent the night there when I'd been working late, but never nude, never bound, and never with Roger chained beside me. THE END . Geri www.bdsmfinder.com

I fucked my 73 year old mother in law SeXStoRY

I fucked my 73-year-old mother in law I was with my wife and we were leaving her mother’s house after our weekly visit, she is 73 but looks more like 60, I was having our customary hug and saying goodbye when she whispered in my ear “Will you come and see me when you’re free” I knew what she wanted after the time we had with her panty girdle. I arrived at the house two days later just as she was leaving “Are you going out” “I was going shopping but that can wait, come on in” We went in to the living room “Can I ask you to do something for me again” “I told you, I’m here anytime you want me” “Will you watch me use my toy then come on my girdle again, I had Billie’s perfume on for two days last time” Billie’s perfume was what her dead husband called his cum when he squirted it on her. “I free now if you are” My mother in law led the way into the bedroom and kicked off her shoes, she had black nylon on her feet. Will they be the same tights I saw in the laundry basket. She pulled the elastic waist on her skirt over her tummy and slipped it down her legs and off her feet, she was wearing cut off stocking things nearly up to her knees. “Are you sure you want to do this for me” she asked “Yes I’m very happy to be here, any thing to make you happy” She slid her hands up her blouse, pulling and wriggling her panty girdle down and got on to the bed with it. She sat in the middle of the bed with her knees in the air and legs wide apart looking like a little Buddha, with her blouse covering her tummy. This is the first time I had seen her fanny wide apart, she has got a very large triangle, covered in hair going up her tummy and on to her legs and a long looking slit visible through her thinning hair. My mother in law reached under the pillow and pulled out a vibrator , very old and hard looking thing compared to today’s models “Come and sit down” I sat down next to her leg as she pulled out some KY jelly “I need this stuff now, it’s been a long time since my fanny self lubricated” I touched her feet feeling the nylon, sliding my hand up and down “Sorry about them I didn’t know you were coming, there not sexy looking at all” “I think they are nice, I love stockings” “I was always in stockings with my corset and girdles when I was you age, Bill loved them” My mother in law squeezed the KY on to the vibrator and I moved so I could watch her slid it in, with one hand and her fingers in the of a shape of a V she parted her lips exposing her soft looking insides. Now she slid the vibrator across her exposed lips lubricating herself. Slowly she entered between her lips finding her ancient love hole and slid it in, I could feel my cock wanting out and I rubbed at my crotch. With little movements it started sliding in and out and turned it on holding it against her clit Here I was, watching my 73-year-old mother in law with a vibrator in her fanny, getting very worked up, I lifted off the bed pulling my trousers and boxers to my knees “Come closer,” she asked I moved up the bed and her hand touched my leg, moving towards my cock, I moved my hand on to her blouse feeling her tits and started to undo the buttons as her hand gripped my cock. She lay on the bed with her eyes closed, one hand holding the vibrator still on her clit and the other on my cock “That’s it Bill your so hard bill” Bill was her dead husband name I wanted to feel her tits but there was that much of them in her bra to pull out, I was scared I would wake her from her fantasy about her husband. I played with her hard nipples through her bra instead. She moved her hand off my cock, moving it on to my hand on her tits pushing it harder on to her nipple, her hand moved inside her bra pulling her foot long tit out then pulled the other one out, both hanging off her towards the bed. I felt her tit for the first time, all floppy and soft and I bent down towards it as I lifted it up in to my mouth, her hand moved back on to my cock, making small movements on it and her breathing had altered, long, deep and slow. I began sucking her big, hard nipple and I could just see her other hand starting to move the vibrator in and out of her “Yes Bill suck harder” I sucked harder “Bill I’m coming, yes Bill” My mother in law started to moan, her hand was gripped tight around my cock and I suck on her nipple “Bill I’m there, oh Bill come on me” I was so wound up in her orgasm I forgot that she wanted me to come on her panty girdle “Come on my fanny” She lay across the bed , her legs just on the bed, wide apart and I moved between them. Her hand reached out for my cock, slowly wanking it. She let go of it and with her two hands she pulled her fanny lips wide apart making her fanny in to a pink diamond shape. I could see her hole where her vibrator had been all covered in KY jelly and I started to wank my cock just inches away from it, getting closer until I rubbed my cock over her hole “That’s nice” Holding my hand still, I started to thrust in to my hand, the tip of my cock just touching her fanny “Go on push it in” I felt my end mix with the KY as I pushed in, not wanting to go in to far I held my hand around my cock as I pushed in to her tight hole. She let go of her lips moving on to her tits and massaging them, “Will you come in my” I was only fucking her with two inches of my cock, I lifted her legs up with both hands feeling her short nylon stockings and I could see her fanny being fucked. I fucked her with short slow thrusts not wanting to give her too much pain. Her eyes still shut and little moans were coming from her as I felt my cock about to come, I stopped inside her letting my cum pump itself out in to her “Oh Bill” I bent my head down and kissed her nylon covered foot moving up her leg “Yes that’s nice Bill” My cock started slipping out and I lowered her legs, she quickly grabbed her panty girdle and had it over her feet and was standing up pulling it all the way to her dripping fanny in a flash “Oh thank you, I really thought Bill was back with me, will you hold me tight” We stood together, my hands feeling over her girdle covered bum and her tits and bra squashed against my waist as she held me tight and kissed my chest “Thank you, I hope I don’t turn you off sex, with seeing an older woman with all her hanging bits” “I’ve fantasized for years about you, getting turned on when the wife and I come to see you” “I’ve often seen a bulge in your pants and have thought a fair few time about you when I’ve been playing with my toy, if my daughter not plenty for all your needs, I wouldn’t mind you coming around once a week if you want” “I would like that” “You were very gentle today with me, but would you push it in to me further next time, I would love to feel all that cock inside me and to have an orgasm with it” “If that’s what you want but can you wear your corset and stocking for me” “That a deal, can we kiss as well” she said I lowered me head to meet her mouth, little small kisses on the lips first then her tongue started to part my lips and her hand back on my cock, I could feel that I was going to enjoy my weekly visits.

Caught (part 3) SeXStoRY

I wake up from my pain induced incapacitation to a throbbing in my shoulder. Then it all rushes back to me in a wave of lust and pain. You stabbed me in the shoulder and it turned me on so much that I left it there while I ravaged you and then used it to send my orgasm over the edge. Holy crap it was amazing. I haven’t moved yet. I’m still naked but I’m under the sheets now and my shoulder is wrapped with a pillow case. So you did what I told you to, my good little pet. I look for you and find you asl**p with your back turned to me; your hand is still pulled up off the bed from the handcuff. I slide out from underneath the sheet and slip out of the room. I go to the bathroom and take off the pillow case. It sticks and pulls off the wound with a slight pop. Damn it! It’s infected. I don’t know how long I was out but it was long enough for it to get bad. Guess I will be visiting the hospital tonight. I walk into the bedroom and find you still asl**p. I leave some food, a bottle of water, and an alcoholic drink for you as a reward for your behavior, on the nightstand. I pull the sheets over your porcelain skin to your chin. You’re so beautiful when you sl**p. I get myself dressed and get into my car. Still reeling off the night before, don’t remember the drive to the hospital. When I get to the emergency I check in with Bonnie. Needless to say I’ve been here before. “Another conquest?” Bonnie retorts. I lean in close over the desk, “Want to be one?” I whisper. “Not today,” she replies but her blushed cheeks say otherwise. I’ve been hunting Bonnie for three years now. I see her every two or three months whenever my lust for pain is too much for my body. “You’ll enjoy it,” I reply, the offer hanging in the air like the promise of a kiss after a good date. I turn away and sit in the waiting room. I make sure the chair is visible from the registration desk. I keep my back to Bonnie but I know she is watching me warily. Bonnie is a twenty something nurse fresh out of school so I know that the sexual escapades of college life are still fresh in her memory. Those hormonal boys, or girls, have nothing on the pleasure I could give her. She has slightly curly, auburn hair and green eyes that are hidden behind no-rimmed style glasses. Other than that I have no idea what she looks like which makes her all that more intriguing. My shoulder throbs. The ibuprofen I took before coming to the hospital hasn’t even touched the pain. Finally, after three hours I get sent to the back. I request Doctor McCarthy. He’s been the only doctor I see in the emergency room. I love to regale him with my stories. He doesn’t call the cops and gives me free d**gs. I don’t tell and neither does he. He’s an older man who grew up when sexual orientation was straight and nothing else. He used to manage a brothel for gay men in his younger days. “When does Bonnie get off shift?” I ask him. He chuckles deep in his throat, a smile crossing his face. “Not even healed from your last adventure and you’re already sizing up for another one, eh?” “Uncontrollable appetite doc. What is a girl to do?” I smile back. He chuckles one more time and hands me a prescription for an antibiotic, a pain killer, and something else. “What’s the last one doc?” I questioned. Really don’t want to take something I don’t need. “It’s for Bonnie when she gets off at 9:30 tonight. She is off for the next two days. I like her very much as a nurse so don’t scare her too much,” he replies. I smile and shake his offered hand with my good arm. As I walk back through the emergency room and blow Bonnie a kiss good-bye. She blushes and dives into the runny nose complaint from a new mother for her son. ----- I fill my prescription and head home with the pill bag on my passenger seat. I try to come up with a plan to get Bonnie but I’m too excited to get back to my pet. I walk in a little dazed from the pain killer and catch you trying to pry the handcuffs off with the knife blade. I lean against the door jamb with my arms crossed and just wait for you to notice me. I hear a click and your wrist comes free. “I really have to quit leaving that knife out for you my pet.” I say, a little loud to give you a good jump. You turn to the door to stare at me in disbelief. “Didn’t think I’d be home this soon I take it?” I reply in response to the shocked expression on your face. “I’m leaving. Now!” you reply. I laugh, still standing nonchalantly in the doorway. “You can do this the easy way and toss the knife over here and re-cuff your wrist. Or I’m going to have to show you my bad side.” I shuffle my feet and stand to my full height giving you a menacing look, no longer wanting to exchange little quips. Your face goes white in fear and then red in rage. You move to get off the bed and I put my hands down to my sides and ball them into fists. “Don’t test me,” I growl, no longer amused. Your face goes defiant and you get up on your knees. You throw the knife at me and just miss my bad arm. I watch it skitter across the floor and hear the click, click, click of the cuffs tightening. I rush the bed to scare you and you back away, huddling at the extent of the cuffs. I sidle closer to your face and kiss your lips. I can taste the salt of the tears that had fallen to you lips. “I’ve decided why you’re so angry my pet. You’re lonely.” Your face goes blank and I stare into your eyes. Suddenly they go wide in understanding. “No! You can’t do this to another person,” you yell, “it’s not right, not humane.” “Why do you think I call you pet?” the words drip from my lips like acid. “Well you can’t stop me. I already have her picked out. Her name is Bonnie. Don’t get too close though, she’ll only be here for two days.” “Please,” you beg, “don’t make someone else suffer through this.” “Ever think that you’re not the first?” I retort. And walk out of the room. ---- It’s 9:30 p.m. The lights from the parking lot give the hospital an eerie glow. I see Bonnie hurrying out to her car. But I see her from her rearview mirror. I sit in the backseat quietly waiting for Bonnie to open her door. She suddenly stops and looks around. She looks over at my midnight blue firebird and a sudden feeling of annoyance hits me. If she runs because she recognizes my car my hour of being here will be wasted and I will be very annoyed. Finally she turns around and continues on her way. I here her soft shoes padding up to the trunk and I sink down further into the backseat. The keys scr**e the inside of the lock and the door handle is jiggled open. She falls into her seat exhausted from her twelve hour shift. As the engine of her Camaro growls to life, the rumbling of the engine gets me all geared up too. As Bonnie sips her cup of coffee I decide that this is how I will bring her down. I slip one of the valiums Doctor McCarthy gave me into her cup when she sets it back into the cup holder. As she drives on and finishes her coffee, she shakes her head as the valium starts to hit. For being a nurse she doesn’t have a high d**g tolerance. She pulls over into a mall parking lot and leans her chair back. She puts her hands behind her head for cushion and closes her eyes. I wait half an hour before I make my move. I crawl over the front seat and manage to get her body to the back. I slip into the driver’s seat and peel tires to get home before anyone can call the cops. ---- “Where am I?” groans Bonnie, “and why am I handcuffed to a bed with another woman?!” her voice gets shriller as she takes in her surroundings. “Finally at my house, “I whispered into her ear. Bonnie looks me in the face and realizes what must’ve happened. Surprisingly she takes it all in and shrugs. “Just glad it’s not some creepy stranger,” she mutters and rolls away. “And who are you?” she directs at the other woman. “My name is Marcy and I’ve been here for three days!” she says loudly so everyone in the room hears her. “Ok,” says Bonnie as she rolls back to me. “So what is it you have in mind?” I smile, not believing what I am hearing. “I’m going to let you guys get acquainted while I get some sl**p. Being stabbed in the shoulder is very tiring.” I begin to saunter out of the door and pause to turn around and see my bed covered by two gorgeous women. My couch is more comfortable anyways……

The Mansion (Chapter 2) SeXStoRY

Chapter II He: When you wake up the next morning panic strikes almost immediately as you notice that while you were sl**ping your dress has been taken away. There is another thing: next to the gate is a large bordeaux-red leather covered cushion with some sort of a note on it. You sit on the bed for a while, the sheets wrapped around your body, suddenly feeling extremely naked and vulnerable. Finally, holding the sheets around yourself as tight as you can, you step out of bed and pick up the note. "Prepare yourself and as soon as you are ready, you are to wait here on your knees." Why does this make you suddenly hurry? You move to the bathroom, wash and do your hair. Instinctively, you feel yourself rushing to get ready. It must have been the note and the fact that someone had been in the room overnight without you noticing. In less than fifteen minutes you are kneeling down on the large cushion. It feels like an hour but in fact it has been less than five minutes, when you see a pair of boots walking to the gate and opening it. You fight the urge to look up, focussing your eyes on the pair of shining Spanish reding boots in front of you. You get the feeling you better not create reasons for punishment. "Stand up, Alexus." My voice is friendly but firm. My hand reaches out. Keeping your eyes firmly concentrated on the floor, surprised by the unexpected galantry, you hold my hand and you get up on your feet. My arm wraps around your waist and in a fashion - almost as if you were taken to the dance floor by your lover - you are led back to the living room. Feeling the touch of clothes on your bear skin, a hand touching your hand makes you shiver - underlining your nakedness and the contrast. There is a nice breakfast and you are allowed to sit and eat. There is hot and strong coffee, toast, eggs, thinly sliced somked Scottish salmon and various juices. The contrast between your nakedness and the luxury of this breakfast is difficult to cope with, sitting here totally naked, staring at your plate and not being allowed to say one word. There is so much you want to ask, so much you need to know. Somehow having to be silent is what is the most difficult since it takes away all control, every possibility to have any influence on the situation. Music is softly playing. You recognize the transparent, almost naïve tones of Medieval flute play and the high voices of a nuns choir singing a Madrigal. But that only underlines the silence and when I finally start to speak it is as if a bomb goes off.. "Ok, this is your situation. I'm sure you are expecting David to walk in any minute. Well he won't. He's in the States and he will not come here. Not until I tell him your training has come to the point where he will be satisfied. In other words, the harder you try, the sooner you'll have a chance to be reunited with him again. The objective of this thing is to improve your overall abilities and especially your behavior." I let my words sink in for a while, enjoying my coffee and observing you closely. Watching you as the gravity of the situation hits you and your fork stops halfway to your mouth. "Yes, this does mean you are stuck here until both David and I are satisfied with you. You've got nowhere to go, no clothes, no money, nothing, meaning that you are de facto a prisoner here. As you see, it is a very comfortable prison, but still a prison. If you work hard, it will be comfortable and relatively nice to be in. But I can assure you it can get a lot less comfortable if you plan not to cooperate." I pour you another cup of coffee and gently touch your hand for a brief moment. "Now try to relax and listen carefully because I am going to explain some basic rules. Things will only be told to you once and I will expect you to act accordingly. If you don't, you'll be punished - even if there is the slightest mistake. We're looking for absolute perfection here. These are the basic rules: You will not speak unless spoken to and I'll expect you to be polite and make sure your language reflects your position. You will be addressed by name and you will address me as Sir. You'll be naked at all times, at least during the initial stages and you will keep your head down at all times. Do not try to cover yourself. If you do not need to use them, keep your hands behind your back. Finally, you will obey every order immediately, without hesitation or protest and without thinking twice. There are no safewords, no escape routes. You will not be asked to do anything you can not do or handle, but I will be the judge of that, not you. Do you understand?" "Yes Sir," you reply quietly. After God knows how many hours it sounds strange to hear your own voice. "I'll make sure you will get some books and magazines to read in your room so you can relax a little during rest hours. When you are in your own room you may move and act as you please, with two exceptions. As soon as you wake up in the morning you must make sure you get yourself ready and on the cushion as quickly as you can and you won't be allowed to speak, not even to yourself. Now, let me show you where you are." I stand up and put my arm around you again. Folding your hands on your back you follow. "You may lift your head during the tour and look around." The living room appears to be the center in a rather large, T-shaped one story mansion. You do not immediately recognize the style but I explain the mansion as at least 400 years old, originally built as a large fortified farm and used as a stud-farm for two ages before it was restaured and rebuilt into its current shape. To the left are the room you spent the night in and there are several other rooms you do not get to see. You assume these must be bedrooms, probably including mine. The living room itself is connected to a large, half open and very well equipped kitchen, traditional style with a stove in the middle and actual local home made hams and sausages haning from the ceiling, accompanied by garlic-strings and some local vegetables you do not recognize immediately. The house looks like there must be staff to run it, but you do not see any of them. However, since things are in an impeccable condition and the atmosphere is much like a luxury hotel, you know this can not be done by me alone. And, I do not look like the household type. To the right are what look like service rooms - washing machine and such. The leg of the T takes your breath away the second you enter. It is a former indoor horse training facility and still very much breathes that atmosphere. I explain the design is an exact copy of the world famous French horse training center in Chantilly castle, near Paris, where horse and female ballet dancers practise together and perform their outstanding shows. In the middle is a huge empty dressage ring that must be at least thirty yards long and fifteen wide. The walls are covered with all sorts of equipment. You can only start to imagine what all that is for. At the far end is a door that leads to a very well equipped dungeon that makes you shiver. Right and left of the entrance door to the dungeon are several different cages with different dimensions, from very small to reasonably large. Somehow the heating system here must be perfect, because even though you are totally naked you are not cold. We walk outside. On each side of the leg of the T is an open area, surrounded by a high gate with lots of bushes and trees around. The two open areas each have a specific character. One is a beautiful and rather large Toscane-design garden with a large open grass area in the middle, surrounded by very tall, arrow shaped coniferae reaching high into the blue air. In the back is a little pond. The other area is quite different and a lot more intimidating. It is a large open sandy area with various poles and stakes and even something that looks very much like a medieval scaffold. Again I do a little explaining. "As you may have spotted, this house is in a very private area. The path you walked on when you came here is not a public road and in fact the last miles you traveled in the car were on private territory. The woods, as far as you can see, belong to the mansion and are protected by a gate and dogs. That includes protection against people going out......." I take you back inside and place you in the middle of the training ring. "Alright Alexus. Stand up straight, spread your legs and raise your hands above your head. To start with I want to see and feel what you are like." Soft violin music is playing in the background. She: My mind struggles to deal with all the information you have given me. My emotions come over me in waves. Anger at being here like this with you, and anger at David for having sent me here. I resist the urge to reach out and scratch your eyes out. I have fear threatening to overtake me, fear promising to control me as it always does. I try to sort out my thoughts while standing here. I am David's slave. It is his wish that I be here. This is reality, not fantasy. I want to please him, so I decide to go along with things for now. What will happen to me? Will I be able to handle it? What if I cant? This is all so unreal, my brain is on overload. Again I resist my initial urges, to run away as fast as I can. I know you are waiting for me to obey your instructions. I wonder if you can hear my heart pounding, surely you can. I will obey, for now. I raise my hands slowly over my head and clasp them tightly together. I stand tall and calm myself again. I am overwhelmed with the need to look at you, to search your eyes for signs of…. something, anything, but I keep my eyes on the ground as instructed. I focus as I have been taught, to obey. I feel your eyes begin to roam slowly over my naked body, missing nothing. He: I take a few steps back. You hear the distinctive clicks of riding boots on the coblestones that cover the floor of the training ring. My eyes such in your silhouet first, identifying the distinguishing crives, roundings and shapes before sooming in on the details - eyes, hair, neck. I slowly walk around you a few times, never touching you, just looking in complete silence. You hear me walking to one of the equipment racks. When I come back I push your head up with one finger under your chin. A thin but nonetheless effective stainless steel collar is clicked around your neck. Very quickly matching steel cuffs are put on your ankles and wrists. You stare at them. They are fairly broad - about three inches, but thin and with rings attached on either side. They have a built in locking system. The clicks seem to make an awful sound, as if they will never be taken off again. Finally a matching steel band is clicked around your waist. This one has four rings, two on each side and one front and back. "This is a training set. For the duration of your stay you wear these at all times. A handy way to be able to restrain you immediately without having to go through all sorts of trouble and a very nice and constant reminder of your position and the reason for you being here," I say as my fingers trace the sides of the steel, feeling the sharp contrast between the coldness of the steel and the softness of the skin it now surrounds. Two ropes are lowered from the ceiling. Snap hooks are connected to the rings of your wristcuffs. Now you are f***ed to stand like this. The good news is that it is slightly easier then having to hold your arms up by yourself. But now you're totally defenseless. Your stomach makes a full turn when you think about the process that is about to start. It is even more humiliating than you expected it to be. You are subjected to a very scrupulous and detailed examination and your tears already flow by the time I examine your ears and pull them to test their sensitivity. Your mouth is f***ed open, my fingers glide along your teeth. Totally disregarding your tears and distress the examination progresses, squeezing your flesh, testing your muscles, your breasts, your nipples. By the time your bottom cheeks are pulled apart and my finger pushes against your tight anus you are sobbing uncontrollably, feeling like a piece of meat. Then your labia are pulled apart. "Noooo," you yell. "No please, not there." There is no reaction just efficiency. Your wetness shows, you know. A finger gently slips inside you, but it doesn't feel gentle at all. It feels like a terrible invasion. The total lack of response, the silence, is unbearable and again the soft music playing faintly in the back only underlines this. Finally I seem to be satisfied. My hand grabs your chin and my fingers push your cheeks between your teeth, forcing you to open your mouth. You see me reaching into my pocket. You can not see what exactly it is but soon you feel your tongue burning. A clamp has been placed on it, a sharp and strong one. It hurts terribly. There is a chain attached to it, which is clipped to the front ring of the waistband. Now you are f***ed to keep your head down and your tongue is pulled out of your wide opened mouth. "I do remember telling you, you are not allowed to speak, Alexus. I am sure this will be a very good reminder." It is said in a very casual tone, as if it is totally unimportant. I walk out of the room, going back into the house, leaving you alone. It hurts terribly but the humiliation is five times worse at least. You are f***ed to stand like this, suffer the pain, your tongue stretched to its limits, drooling heavily. You can not close your mouth. You must look like an idiot this way and you see your own saliva dripping on the floor, slowly forming a little pool. You close your eyes. The tears come again. It hurts. It really hurts and the pain increases rapidly as your tongue and jaws start to cramp. You even forget about your arms and shoulders getting tired and painful. You don't know how long it has been before I return and remove the clamp. "I take it you have learned your lesson." Again that damn casual voice. "Yezz Sil" you try. Talking hurts and it is difficult. Your tongue feels swollen. Again you get no response. Instead your arms are released and brought to your back. If only they were cuffed there, instead of having to hold them in place your self. A long thin, braided leather leash is attached to your collar and I lead you to the side of the room. I walk to the rack. When I come back you freeze, seeing the long bullwhip in my hand. I pick up the leash and stand in the middle of the room. "Now walk, Alexus. And make sure you keep the leash in a straight line between you and me." The whip cracks right behind you, making you jump up in fear. You start to walk in circles. I let you do two or three circles. "That looks like nothing. Not even close to female. Straighten up, tighten your butt and pull your shoulders back." It's not easy holding your head down and pulling your shoulders back at the same time. Not to mention having to squeeze your bottom cheeks together. "Straighten up, Alexus ... Move to the rhyth of the music, Alexus ... Do not walk but stride, Alexus ... Make sure your muscles are relaxed, Alexus ... It should look natural, Alexus." There is constant criticism. The whip cracks frequently as you walk, and walk and walk. You're supposed to make even steps and keep a constant pace, stride sexy and self-confident at the same time but without showing an attitude, make your bottom twist and turn, push your breasts forward. It goes on for ages it seems. Circle after circle, after circle. You never imagined just walking could be that difficult and fatiguing, and whatever you try, there is always something wrong. When it finally stops you are exhausted. Every muscle in your body hurts and you are sweating all over. With a little satisfied grin I finally unlock the leash and smack your bottom. "Go wash up. Time for lunch." I watch you as you walk to the door, head down, hands on your back, trying to do your best to move in the way you have just been taught. The light lunch - soft white boiled fish and even a glass of wine - is refreshing and offers a chance to recuperate. It all convinces you there must be servants in the house. Not only should someone have been there to make lunch and set the table. You also notice your bed has been made and the bathroom has been cleaned. Still, there is no sign of anybody else in the house. After lunch you are taken back to the training ring and you have to bite your lip not to scream as the leash is clipped back on again and things start where we left off before lunch. Well, not exactly where we left off. This time you are presented with a pair of stiletto heels to wear, which makes things considerably more difficult, not just the shoes as such, but the coblestones make it almost impossible to show any elegance. The extreme high heels are difficult to walk in and the first three or four circles you feel like a c***d on skates for the first time. It is difficult to keep your balance, let alone try and display anything like femininity and grace. There is another difference. The bullwhip has been traded for a long, stiff dressage whip that touches the back of your legs every time you need encouragement or correction. It is nothing like whipping, just tipping - gently touching your skin but somehow the impact is enormous. The effect of constantly being corrected and pushed and perfected is something you can not yet cope with. The almost clinical approach, efficient, straight, strict and never ever a raised voice, just constant reminders is something new to you. Soon you start to wish you were thoroughly whipped, spanked or whatever as a punishment instead of these subtle, almost irritating corrections, not to mention the fact that there seems to be no sexual aspect to this whatsoever. You're not given very much room to analyze the situation. The need to concentrate on what you are doing is just too big and consumes your entire span of attention. You are constantly kept on your toes in more ways than one. The slight pulls on the leash whenever it slacks and the touches of the long whip seem to make you more off balance and uncertain mentally then anything else you have ever expected. You are really trying your best - if nothing else just to try and avoid these subtle hints. I watch you carefully during this training process, analyzing your responses, carefully bringing you close to edge of protest and resistance over and over again, making sure you do not cross this thin line. I can see your concentration, your struggle and your helplesness as you try hard to walk on the high heels over the uneven stones and still maintain grace and elegance. By the end of the afternoon you are able to move quite well, despite the fact that you are totally exhausted and your muscles are strained and tested in ways they have never been before. Your feet and calves are killing you and so are your shoulders. Having to pull them back and pressing your elbows together in a constant effort to push your breasts out is difficult and something you are not used to. You are sweating intensely now, your hair being al wet like you have recently taken a shower. For once you are happy having to keep your head down, since it avoids the sweat dripping into your eyes. When you are finally sent off to wash again a big sigh of relief escapes from your lips. Dinner is eaten in silence again but the fish and the chilled, dry white wine make up for quite a lot. Once dinner is finished, for a short moment you fear there will be a third training session, but much to your relief there seem to be no plans for that. Instead I relocate to a comfortable chair, order you to bring us some coffee - which is already made. I throw a large cushion on the floor in front of me. You don't need instructions. Almost automatically you kneel down. She: Dinner was wonderful and allows me to rest both my mind and weary body. I am amazed at my own reactions to you. I found myself wanting to obey, to please no matter what. As you led me around the ring criticizing my every move, I found myself focusing even harder. All else was forgotten. My anger and fear at being here with you is secondary. The submissive nature in me seems to flourish under your attentions. As we sat in silence at the large table, I watched you through lowered eyes. Who are you, and what is this place? Are you paid to train me? What interest do you have in this? Where are the servants? Are there more slaves here? You eat your dinner, only casually glancing at me. I can't help but wonder if you find me attractive, sitting here at your table in nothing but chains. I find myself blushing as I recall the days events. Seeing myself prance around naked, trying to stay a step ahead of the whip. I am overwhelmed with the humiliation of it. You watched me carefully, just as carefully as you inspected every inch of my body. I remember the stages of emotions I went through in that ring. I was angry at first, wanting to strike out at you. I resented being treated like livestock. I am a lady after all. Later, as my body began to respond to the training, I felt a strange sense of pride. As I followed your instructions, I imagined how I must look. How erotic and sexual I would appear. Still later yet, when my muscles began to ache, exhaustion set in. I only wanted your approval. A sign that you were pleased. You were relentless with the whip, with your demands. When I finally achieved some sense of your high expectations, I was rewarded with a slight smile, and a "very nice Alexus..." I am surprised at my hunger. I eat with passion, and the food is much to my liking. The wine is one of my favorites and I am thankful for its soothing properties. I find myself beginning to relax finally. The metal cuffs on my wrists clink on the table as I finish my meal, so I put them in my lap. I wait with my eyes lowered, for you to signal the end of dinner. You tell me to get coffee and I move to the table where it is already prepared. I pour you a cup and bring it to you, moving very slowly, cat-like across the room. You accept the cup and ask if I am having any. I shake my head no. Instinctively, I kneel on the cushion by your feet. Again I am surprised at my emotions. I'm feeling at home here, on my knees. I want your guidance, your control. I am afraid that you will hurt me, but just as afraid that you will not. I was worried during the day today that I could take no more and yet I find myself craving more now. I speak quietly, not looking up, "Sir, may I request another glass of wine please?" I wait with cuffed wrists crossed on my thighs. I study the gleam of the silver in the firelight and await your response. He: I look deep into your eyes. "You are not supposed to speak, remember?" Oops, you blush. I let it sink in for minute. The silence is deafening. " I'll let you off with a warning this time. You've done well today, and since all this must be extremely confusing to you, I'll even allow you to ask questions." I pour you another glass of wine and light a cigarette. Let my hand glide through your thick red hair, gently pulling your head backward a little to let you look at me. "So, fire away..." I say and push your head back in position. She: I get comfortable kneeling on the cushion and take the glass of wine. I sit quietly for a while savoring the wine and opening my mind, allowing the questions to come. "I wish to know who you are, more about you. What is this place and are there others here like me? Can you tell me why I was brought here? What is going to happen to me? What if I cannot do as you require, what if I cannot take all that you give? When will I be released? Will David come to see me?" I blush a little at the flood of questions that pour from me. "I'm sorry Sir, that was a lot of questions, but my mind is racing. I find myself strangely acclimated to this life you show me, but I am afraid as well. Of course you will only answer the questions you wish to answer, but I have so many." I sip my wine again, wanting to look up at you, to see your eyes. You are sitting quietly, smoking your cigarette. It is incredibly quiet as I kneel waiting for you to speak. You move slowly, turning to put your cigarette out in the ashtray next to your chair. You reach down and stroke my cheek, your hand stopping to touch the silver collar around my neck. I lean my head back, feeling the strength of your hand on my neck. I ache to feel more of you. Your hand trails down my neck and between my breasts. I take a deep breath, trying to remain still. You pull your hand away and smile at my reactions. I see you lean back in your chair and then you begin to speak, to answer some of my questions. He: "Alright, you are in my house, at least in one of them. As you have seen this mansion has been fully converted a training facility. Originally that was done for my own subs but as the word got more or less around it is occasionally used for two reasons, either people rent it for vacations for example, or for specific training purposes and very occasionally I will use it myself to train subs on the request of friends. These last occasions are very rare, since I am not in the business of training. It would have to be a very special request and a very special purpose. It would also have to be a very special sub. I'll get to your specific situation in a minute." I take a while to look at you. Let the words sink in. And enjoy the sight of you sitting here in front of me. The atmosphere is improving and so is your behavior and comfort with the situation, but still everything is very fragile. This is only temporary, I know and it may change any minute. It will. It has to. I can see this brings up more questions then answers and I can help but smile. "Just enjoy the wine and listen." I continue. "In fact you can pour me a glass as well, while I explain a little more. The answer to your question about others is yes and no. There are two kinds of servants here. One of them you have already met. He brought you here. He works as a chauffeur, butler and generally manages the household and estate when I am not around. He will also act as a host when other people rent the place and will take care of administration. He lives here and so does his wife, who does the cooking and shopping. Both are very capable of performing all sorts of power exchange related tasks as well, but they will only do so when told to be me. They live in a cottage a bit further down the road and you will hardly ever see them. Next to them, there is a gardener, who maintains the estate and the gardens, does the foresting and a lot of technical and repair and maintenance work. He also lives in his own cottage on the estate. Next to this there are two very well trained subs. They perform all sorts of household tasks and do other jobs. They belong to me personally and usually live here. The paid staff may use them if they please within very strict guidelines. Staff as well as subs are extremely discreet." I wait a while again, cup your chin and and look deep into your eyes your eyes, trying to see inside you. Especially the description of the two subs seems to hit you. "Although you will probably get to see very little of them, you are to obey all orders that might be given to you by the staff. They have instructions to stay out of sight and perform their normal duties as invisible as possible, but they have also instructions to make sure you stay here and do not attempt to escape. Not that you stand a very good chance of doing so." "And now to your position. Come here." I pull you against me. I want to feel you. Comfort you and feel your physical responses at the same time. You don’t hold back. That’s good. Crawl up against my legs, resting your head against my knees. "David has asked me to do two things with you. One is to try and establish where your limits are. Since they may be further then he might be able to explore he considers it a good idea to let this be done by someone you do not know in an environment that is sufficiently equipped to do so. The other things is try and find out to what extent you can be trained. Ergo, you do not have to be afraid to disappoint me, since this is more or less a fact-finding mission. I will however test you to your absolute limits and probably far beyond what you yourself consider possible. I am not going to disclose what exactly is going to happen, you will soon enough have your hands full trying to keep up with what is actually happening and there is no need for you to know what else might be in store. Apart from that, much of that depends on the way you will respond and what I am going to discover and bring out." I can see a combination of fright and excitement in your eyes. I pull your head further on my lap. You are breathing heavily now. This hits you harder then you are willing to admit. Your body is slightly trembling. I can feel you try to control your nervousness, not wanting to show it. Not wanting to be vulnerable. To be continued…… . Geri www.bdsmfinder.com