Category Archives: msub

The Haunted Menagerie

I would have made it out, but for the shoes.

You pay your two bits, they say, you go through the Menagerie, and you see things the likes of which never appear on Earth. Daunting things, horrible things… wonderful things (lustful things). You can take as long as you like, but there are two rules.

Two rules, and I broke both of them. If only they hadn’t had the shoes (black patent leather, three inch heels formed into a spike). If not for those shoes, on those feet, on those legs. Six pairs on twelve legs, beckoning me.

Rule number 1: Don’t leave the path. It’s in every fairy story, isn’t it? There’s even railings. You have to climb over them and into the exhibit. I passed grotesque monsters (tongues and limbs flail everywhere and sensual moans waft over the path). There was a squad of well triple-breasted cheerleaders desperate to show off the color of their panties (red thongs or black lace or plain cotton white). A sea of pink skin in the multi-armed lesbian orgy (tongues and limbs flailing everywhere while sensual moans waft over the path).

I passed all that until I saw the shoes. Little holes in the front where red painted toenails covered in sheer hose poked through. The hose ran up the calf and over knees before disappearing. I grabbed the red wooden railing, the paint flaking off where my hands wrenched around it, and I was up and over, and into the garden where they walked.

Break Rule number 1 and you stay in the exhibit until the night is over. Break Rule Number 2 and you must stay there until Halloween is over. I just wanted to see, to know. I knew better than to touch. Surely I knew better than to touch?

Maybe. I would have made it out, but for the skirts.

Pencil skirts, grey and severe and hugging the legs (covered in stockings). I fell to my knees on the grass and looked at them. Hips swayed and legs walked. The shoes which could press or impale. I leaned back my head to look, and I reached out for the zipper on the closest pair of legs.

Rule Number 2 is Don’t Touch.

I pulled the zipper down, damning myself and freeing the skirt, and showing the garter and lack of panties. That’s all there was. Shoes, stockings, garter, legs and hips and pussy. (No torso, no head, no breasts, no..)

Disembodied hands grabbed at my hair. (Don’t touch them and they won’t touch you, that’s the real rule number 2.) The legs stepped over me and the pussy settled down on my mouth, and I licked.

Sensual moans wafted over the path. I don’t know where they came from, but the legs, the hands came, and then there were others. Six pairs of shoes, 12 legs, six pussies, one tongue. I knelt there and they used me.

My clothes disappeared and my hard cock became their plaything. As one rocked on my face, another teased my cock with her heels. Stabbing my balls, pressing my cock into the garden floor.

I stayed there all night. I stayed there until the Menagerie wrapped up and left after Halloween.

That was years ago, five for fifteen? I don’t know. I stay here, and every night they use me. I could leave, but for the shoes.

The shoes always make me stay.

Under The Pine

Sweat beaded on his forehead, despite being in the shade. Greensboro summers were hot. He wanted to reach up, and brush the sweat out of his eyes, but it was impossible. Mistress had bound his hands behind his back moments after she led him under the boughs of the pine.

She had pointed it out to him, as they’d driven through the campus a few days before. “Look, over there,” she said, pointing as she drove. He had looked over and seen them: huge towing pines, like giant Christmas trees, their boughs draping down, against the ground. They were about twenty feet lower than the road itself, but still rose high above them. “Inside them,” she said, “There is a clear area where it would be easy to stand, or lie down; to have a picnic or something other, and no one would be able to see.”

As she unbuckled his pants, he could hear the college students roaming around the campus, making college student noises. No one had seem them sneak under the pine, and no one could see them, he hoped. Mistress had gagged him to be sure he wouldn’t attract attention. She lowered his jeans and underwear together. His cock was limp because he was so worried that someone would see them, that they’d be found.

She stood next to him, and whispered in his ear as she fondled his cock and balls with one hand. “You worried?” she asked. He nodded, and she squeezed his balls. “You mean you don’t trust me?” she demanded.

He shook his head no, and she smiled. He felt himself grow hard from her manhandling. It always worked. She knelt before him, and nuzzled his cock. “I said you’d get a reward, didn’t I? This is it. When was the last time I went down on you?”

He shook his head, and tried to shrug, but his bound arms made it uncomfortable. He couldn’t remember the last time she’d sucked his cock, and never on her knees in front of him. Of course, with the noise, and the cuffs – her selection, all part of her plan, there was no doubt who was in control.

Her lips slid over his cock, and he moaned around the gag. Somewhere nearby someone was playing Frisbee. What if they threw it at the tree? He wondered. She grabbed his balls and sucked harder, moving faster and faster over him.

She squeezed his balls, and he heard cars drive slowly by – like they always did, but he had to wonder: could they see him, bound here, helpless, a fully dressed woman kneeling before him, squeezing his balls with her vice-like grip, her lips sucking, drawing his cum out of him? He gasped and felt his orgasm rise, and then he shuddered, spilling his cum into her mouth.

She chuckled and stood up. She released the quick-release straps on the gag, and kissed him, his cum in her mouth. He lapped it up, like he knew she wanted. “That was a good treat, wasn’t it, slave?”

“Yes, Mistress,” he agreed.

She kissed him on the cheek. “It’s what you get for being good. Just think if it happened more often.”

Over Dinner

I was in the kitchen, dressed in a simple sarong, wrapped around my waist for comfort. I was preparing our dinner and waiting for her to get home: hamburger was browning on our small gas stove, and bread was baking in the oven.  She must have gotten home early, when I heard the front door slam  A few moments later she stepped into the kitchen.

She was wearing her work outfit: flannel shirt unbuttoned, a sleeveless shirt on underneath. Her hair was cut short, but still mussed from her hard hat, which was tucked under her arm. I could see her nipples pressed against the white cotton of her undershirt. Just under her work belt, her pink cock poked out of her khakis.

She motioned with her chin, and I knew to turn around, over the stove. Placing my hands on either side of our cooking dinner, I felt my cock go firmly erect. Surreptitiously, I turned off the gas. The belt and hat hit the ground, and I felt her hands shove the sarong aside.

She leaned against me, her cock sliding up the crack of my ass as she did it. Her body pushed me down towards the burners as she reached over me. “Extra virgin,” she chuckled as she grabbed the bottle from the shelf over me. “As if.”

She chuckled to herself as she uncapped the bottle. I listened to the slippery noises of her masturbating the eight-inch dildo and felt myself get harder. Her oily hand pressed against my asshole, coating it and preparing me for her inevitable invasion.

I felt the tip of her cock press against my asshole.  One of her hands pressed against the small of my back, the other pulled my right ass cheek to the side. She slid inside me, and we moaned together.

“You like it when I fuck you, don’t you?” she whispered into my ear.

It wasn’t a question.

“You like it when your daddy comes home from work and takes your sissy little ass. Don’t you?”

She was above me, pounding into me, taking me. One of her hands circled around my waist and grabbed my hard, pulsing cock. “Oh yes you do, you do,” she said, laughing.

Dinner sizzled below me, even off the heat, and I grabbed the sides of the stove to keep her from pushing me into it as she f ucked my ass.  She pounded into me, slipping and sliding.  Her hand on my cock followed her rhythm, back and forth.

My knees grew weak as my arousal grew.  She slammed into me, and ground against me. I felt her shudder behind me as her orgasm caused her to clench all over.  Her hand on my cock squeezed painfully as I shot out my own orgasm, splattering cum against front of the oven.

I stood there in front of the oven, drained, unable to move yet. She slid off and out of me and tossed her cock in the sink. I heard her zip up her pants and start to walk out.

“Clean this shit up,” she said.  “And make my dinner. I’m fucking hungry.”

Indelibly (2/2)

Part one of Indelibly.

The elevator lights counted up twelve floors as I stood there, looking at the tattoo on her left arm, reading the challenge. I would have to read all her words and do what they said. As as I did she would reveal more of herself — more of her words to me.

“You can stop whenever you want,” she said. “You just won’t see the rest.”

That was the difficult part. I wondered if I’d be able to stop if I wanted. I wondered if I’d want to. My breath felt raspy and ragged as I thought through the implications of what she was saying. The elevator dinged, and opened onto her floor. She handed me her card. “I’m in room 1238.” Once again I tried to sneak a peek at her left arm’s writing, but saw nothing new as she waved me on.

I opened her door and held it for her as she went inside. I followed her in, and she handed me her coat to hang up. She walked into her room as I did, trying to resist the urge to stare at her tattoos.

The room was a typical hotel room with a king-sized bed. There was a small functional bathroom, a desk, a television, and a couple of chairs. She sat in one, with her legs out, crossed at the ankle. “You wanted to see, right Kyle?” she asked, waving me to her with her left arm.


I approached her and she held out her hand. I took it in mine. The tattoo started just above her wrist and wound up around her arm. I read it aloud. “These things are yours to do: to speak the truth, to caress and kiss, to show obedience.”

“What truth shall I speak?”

“The words, if they are true,” she said. “Or, more simply, don’t lie.”

“And obey the words, and caress and kiss them?”

“It would be a start,” she said.

I took her right hand in mine, and traced the first word “They” and whispered it aloud before kissing it. I worked my way up her arm, and around. The final word, I traced with my tongue before whispering it, “command,” into her ear. Then I took her left arm and did the same. Her breathing got a bit faster, and more shallow as I worked. Then, finally, I whispered her left arms’ final word, “obedience” in her ear.

She turned to me then, and kissed me, pulling my lips to hers. She parted my mouth with her tongue, and we kissed long and hard. “That’s a very good start,” she said. “There are more.”

She slid the strap off her right shoulder, letting it fall down her arm. The top of her dress fell, uncovering her right breast. The words started below it, and spiraled up onto it, ending just outside her areola. It was a simple command, that I desperately wanted to follow: “Caress and tease and touch and kiss.”

I took her breast into my hand and traced the words around with my fingers. I teased her nipple with my fingers, feeling them stiffen as I worked. I leaned down and kissed the words, ending with a kiss on her nipple. As I leaned back from the kiss, she dropped the other strap, revealing a similar tattoo on her left breast.

“Nip and squeeze and lick and suckle.” I leaned back into her right breast, and lightly bit her nipple, before turning to her left. I smiled at her, and took both breasts in my hands, and squeezed them. I licked her nipples, and then began to suck them. She sighed, and ran one of her hands through my hair, pulling me to her nipple. The other held her dress in place, confirming to me that there was more she was hiding, beyond just her legs.

After a moment, she pulled me up by my hair, and I let her.. We kissed some more. She was as hot and bothered as I was. She pulled back from the kiss. “The rest is more intense,” she said. “More demanding from you. I want you now, though. I can turn off the light, and go to my bed.”

“But then I won’t see your tattoos until morning.”

“Not even then,” she said.

“I need to see,” I said. I rubbed my pelvis against her; I knew she could feel how hard, how needy I was.

“Then you need to remove my boot,” she said. She pushed me away, and I slipped down her body until I was kneeling in front of where she sat. Melinda lifted her left leg and placed her left foot in my hands. I reached up and unzipped the boot, then took the heel in one hand and pulled the shoe off her her feet. She stretched the foot, arching it against my hands.

I kissed her toes, and she laughed. “Read the words, Kyle. There will be time for that later.”

The script started at her ankle. I traced it with my fingers and brought my lips to each word, whispering each while my lips brushed over it. “Low to the ground, kiss the thighs of the one you will obey.” I kissed the word “kiss” that I’d seen on her earlier, teasing the place behind her knee before sliding up to her left thigh.

I pushed her dress up and she helped, pulling at it. The final word ended at that sensitive place on the inner thigh. I french kissed that spot, teasing and sucking — invoking those other words — until she pushed my head away. “Do the other leg now, Kyle.”

“In a hurry?”

“No more than you.”

There was truth in that, although I thought I’d reached a plateau of horniness. I didn’t think I could be any more aroused than I was at that moment, but I was conflicted. I had to know the words, and I wanted to sink my cock deep in her and be surrounded by her words forever. Ultimately, I had to know the words more, so I pulled off her second boot and set it aside.

She let out a sigh. “This is the one,” she said. “This is where you’ll stop.”

“Melinda?”

“There’s always the bed, Kyle. I’m not trying to trap or tease you.”

“I don’t think you understand how much I want to know all your words, Melinda.”

She shuddered then, and let out a low moan. “You are so beautiful down there, Kyle. Read my words, for Gods sake! Don’t keep me in suspense any longer.”

“You?” I said, but took her foot in my hand and kissed it. “Commit” was the first word. “Forever” was higher. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, reading the whole thing. “Commit yourself forever to her care; promise with your gentle touch.”

I read it out loud, and then ran my hand slowly up her leg, tracing that tattoo’s script as I went. This one was longer than the other leg, and went all the way up to her panties. I kissed her thighs, and she writhed on the chair. “Is this what you want?” she whispered. In response, I just teased the words with my tongue and played a gentle rhythm over the sensitive spot in her thighs.

While I kissed her, I reached up under her skirt, and latched my fingers under the waistband of her panties. She stopped me with her hands. “This is the last challenge Kyle. Once you read these words and obey them, there’s no going back.”

How must it have felt to get a tattoo there? It was like she’d dedicated her body to my fetish, to being a temple to my desire. The question then was would I commit myself, would I go on?

“You’ve committed yourself forever to these words,” I said. I spoke slowly and traced the matching words on her skin as I spoke.

“Y
es,” she said. Her hands gripped the arms of her chair so tightly they were red.


“You want someone as committed to you as you were to getting these.”

“Yes.”

I looked up at her then. “Someone who will be the only one to see them. Who will want to see them, and obey them. And you.” She looked down at me with a gaze I couldn’t read. She was teetering between hope and loss, and control and chaos. I slid my hands back up the outside of her thighs, bunching her dress around her midriff.

Her back straightened as I hooked my fingers once more in her panties. Her hands unclenched and something in her seemed to settle. I wasn’t sure what I was submitting to: my own desire to see the words. her commitment to wearing them. or to Melinda herself. I wasn’t sure that it mattered, because without her none of it was possible.

I pulled her panties down.

Her muff was the soft fine hair that blond women have; her words stood out well behind her hair. Above her lips — her wet, aroused lips — were the words. “Be mine: lick.” I moved forward, and her legs parted to grant me access. Her hands threaded through my hair, touching me but not insistent, not yet. That waited until my tongue slid between her folds and then, then she pulled me tight to her and thrust against my face.

Her bare feet found my hard cock. I was still dressed, still wearing my nice dinner pants, but my cock was hard and obvious. She put her feet on either side of my cock, and I rocked back and forth against them. My tongue slid in and back in the same rhythm: lick and thrust, lick and thrust.

Her breathing was fast, but she was otherwise quiet, controlled. She began to rock me back and forth with her hands, controlling the speed, controlling the motion. I licked and sucked and nipped — all as her words commanded me. My cock was hard and raw, and then I was coming in my pants, soiling them. But her hands were still insistent, her pussy wet and hot and inviting. I kept licking and rubbing and thrusting back and forth.

Then she grabbed me. She grabbed me with her hand and legs and words, and pulled me in and held me there. I licked and sucked as best I could for someone who couldn’t breath. She cried out and shook against me; it seemed like forever, but couldn’t have been that long. It was long enough that I was gasping for air (or, perhaps, from release) when she let me go.

She pushed me away for a bit, pulled the dress off, and she was there, gloriously naked except for her words and her sweat. There were more there, on her midriff, and I moved forward to read them. “Whisper promises” was tattooed around her bellybutton, and I whispered into it, “I am as indelibly marked as your skin.” Up from there, and ending just below her breasts was “Lay your head to rest.”

I lifted myself up, still kneeling at her feet; she pulled me up with her hands, and I put my head there on her breastbone where the words were written. She wrapped herself around me, enfolding me with all her words. Yet there were many blank places to write my future commands, I realized. But I didn’t say anything.

I just rested my head between my Mistress’ breasts on her words to me.

Indelibly (1/2)

I met Melinda at a local industry trade show. Her company was marketing some ghee-whiz gadget she had been the lead designer on.  My company sold accounting software tailored to the same market — my job was just to do setup and get out of Marketing’s way. It was kind of cool, actually, but you don’t want to hear about that, I guess.

Melinda was wearing a light jacket over a sleeveless blouse, pants and calf-length boots when I met her, which is why I was able to talk to her in the first place. If she’d worn what she wore to dinner, this never would have happened. I wouldn’t have made a fool of myself and she wouldn’t have given me the time of day. As it was, I did make a fool of myself, but it was the second or third impression instead of the first one.

But I get ahead of myself.

I was setting up our booth, which involved crawling around on the floor and setting up PCs and a mini-server for the actual sales reps. I was working pretty hard and not paying attentin. She could have been watching me for hours, and I wouldn’t have known. I looked up and there she was, leaning half over the booth in a way that pushed up her breasts a bit. Her skin was mostly covered, as I said, which meant I wasn’t too flustered.

“Hi,” she said.

“Um, hello,” I replied.

“I was wondering if you had an extra outlet over there. They were supposed to supply us with surge protectors, but there weren’t any here.”

“Oh,” I said. “Ah… sure.” I stood up and brushed the dirt off my knees and she just smiled. She was about my age, brown eyes and blonde hair pulled back in a bun. “But you can get them from the organizers.” I pointed back to the table where all the vendors had to sign in.

“Well, then,” she said. She smiled at me and her eyes lit up a bit. “I guess that makes the most sense, and keeps things from interfering.” She set her plug down, and then leaned back over the wall. “Will you be manning the show?”

“Oh, no,” I said. “I’m just here to set up. They don’t let us tech guys out to see the public.”

She laughed. “Well, I’m the tech-gal for us, and no one understand the product like I do, therefore I’m forced to do these things.”

“You have my condolences,” I said.

She laughed. “You live in town, then?”

“Yep, we’re based out of here.”

“We are too,” she said. “After all this, I think I’d like to spend some time with a regular guy. Would you like to dinner?”


I blushed, I’m sure. I hadn’t seen much of her, but she was beautiful. And I don’t get out much. “With me?” I asked.

“Yes,” she said. “I could see you knew what you were doing, crawling around down there. I get tired of always talking to sales and marketing people.”

“O-okay,” I said. Then with more confidence, “Sure!”

“Great,” she said. “Tonight at 7? At Simon’s?” I nodded and she put out her hand. “I’m Melinda, by the way.”

“Kyle,” I said. As our hands shook, she turned her hand so hers was on top. Her jacket rode up on her arm, and I saw a bit of a tattoo there. It was a word, maybe with a capital T. I took a deep breath, and felt a wave of lust rush through me. “I, uh, look forward to dinner very much Melinda.”

“Cool,” she said. “See you then.”




I tried to be cool. ‘Tried’ being the operative word. I had a date, with a woman. She’d even asked me out, which of course was how I had a date with a woman. But more importantly, she had a tattoo. A tattoo with words.

And that was all I could think about.

What did it say? Was it a quote, a thought, a poem? Was it only on her arm? Were there other quotes, or other words on her? She seemed normal, dressed in her business suit, but she wasn’t, and that bit of tattoo was the hint that she was just a bit odd, right? Odd like me?

I don’t know where my fascination for tattoos came from. One of my early girlfriends had one, a butterfly just above her ass. She liked to fuck doggie style and I’d watch it whenever we had sex. I’d rub it with my finger and she’d urge me on whenever I touched it. My next girlfriend had stars over her ovaries, and demanded that I kiss and lick them before I went down on her. A proper kiss, then a couple of licks on her pussy, and she’d roll me over and ride me hard. My longest relationship was with a woman who had a poem tattooed over her heart. I’d recite it to her between kisses on her breasts as we made slow, sweet love. She’d pushed me to get my own tat, but I’d always resisted — I think that finally ended things for us.

Those three experiences kind of locked it in for me. I’d had one night stands with women with no tattoos, but never more than that. I don’t know if it was just me — a fetish or something — or if it was something about my personality and the kind of person who gets ink. Of course, I’d become fascinated by tattoos; by now they were a fetish for me, and I needed my lover to have one. And when I could see one on a woman, at least one who was available, I often lost all control or civility, I admit. Which is why it was good that Melinda had approached me without me realizing she had such wonderful ink on her.

The day I met Madeline, I got nothing else done. Except some web surfing about tattoos of words.

At least I had enough focus to get myself home, cleaned up and back to the convention area in time for dinner. Since she was local we could have gone anywhere, but back downtown to Simon’s it was. It was one of the nicer restaurants in town, and had the advantage of being connected to the hotel and convention center. I parked in a nearby lot, and walked in. I was there fifteen minutes early, of course; she was waiting for me when I go there.

Again she wore a jacket, but this time over a black dress that came down to her knees. I wasn’t sure if the boots were the same, but they came up to her calves, leaving a short gap between their tops and the hem of the skirt. On the outer side of the left leg, in the same script as her arm, was the word ‘kiss.’ As I approached her,she turned, and I saw on the inner part of her right leg, in the same gap, was written ‘fore’.

I felt myself stir as desire to read her words, to see all of what was written on her passed over me. I wanted to see her naked, or as naked as was required to see everything written on her. And I wanted her. I wanted her very very much right then.

She turned to me and smiled. “Kyle!,” she said. “You made it, I’m glad.” Her hair was in a ponytail and it swung from one side to the other as she spoke.

“Melinda,” I said, reaching out to take her hand. “Of course I made it. I’ve been looking forward to this all day.” As we shook, I quickly looked down.  This jacket was a bit shorter than the one she wore to the trade show.  The word that began with “T” was “They”.

“Me too,” she said.

Soon we were being seated, and talking lightly about our industry. “So what do you do, Kyle?” she asked.

“I’m IT,” I said. “All of it. I have an assistant, but we do all the IT stuff for the company. Cloud apps help.”

“How big is your company?”

“Around 200 or s
o.”


“That’s pretty impressive, working with just two people in IT.”

“Thanks,” I said. I admit I blushed a bit from her praise. “It’s not like R&D, though. That must be interesting.”


“I like it,” she said.

I asked her what she did day-to-day and she lost me in a jumble of science and technical details that I just barely understood or had heard before. All geeks and nerds and tech people size each other up when they meet, see where they are in the hierarchy. I’ve never been high, but I’m the most technical person at my company. Melinda left me in the dust. There was no doubt she was smarter than me.

As I listened to her talk, I started to wonder what I was doing there, hopelessly outclassed by this woman. It only intrigued me more, made me want her more. Her obvious intelligence meant that the only way I’d ever figure out her words was to see them myself. It didn’t help that I saw her left hand as well, and it had the word “these” on it. “These”, “they”, “kiss” and “fore”.

“Fore” was too short or archaic though, it could be forewarned or forearmed or, and I thought this was right: forever. “They kiss these forever,” I thought. An intriguing combination, but not the words went together, of course. I had to know, and I was no match for her. There was no way to win this.

It must have shown on my face, because she stopped talking about her gizmo for a bit. “What is it Kyle, am I boring you?”

“Not at all,” I said. “Although you lost me a few turns back. I’m afraid I’m not up on that tech.”

“Sorry,” she said. “It’s just that I’m pretty passionate about my work; sometimes I tend to go on about it, in the hopes that someone will understand some of it.”

“Well I got some of it,” I said. “I guess that’s why I’m here.”

“In part,” she said.

“Oh?”

“Your ass was also very cute where you were crawling around on the floor,” she said.

“Oh,” I said, blushing. She just smiled at me.

“I’ve embarrassed you,” she said. “I’m sorry, I can be too forward sometimes. It’s just that when I want something I go and get it.”

“And what do you want?” I asked.

She smiled and leaned back. “First, I want to know what you want. You’ve seemed distracted all evening.”

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I admit, I’ve got a bit of an obsession for tattoos. I need to know what all yours say.”

“Need?” she asked. She stood up, dropping her napkin on her plate. She stood too close to me then, towering over me a bit. She put her hand on my chin as I looked up at her. “Well, Kyle, that’s up to you. There’s a price to seeing all my tats, and reading all my words. But I can guarantee you that if you’re willing to pay the price, you’ll see every last one of them.”

I felt myself go rigid then. My cock was hard in my pants, pressing against my briefs. My voice broke as I spoke. “I-I’d like that ver-very much.”

Her finger brushed my cheek. “Oh, you are going to be fun.”

She signed her room number to the check, and led me to the elevator.

I was going to see them! To read the words she felt important enough to ineradicably stain her body. I was rock hard as she led me to the elevator.

She stepped on the elevator as it opened, and I entered behind her. “Help me with my jacket,” she said.

“O-of course,” I said. I held the collar of her jacket, and she slipped out of it. I tried to see around her to read the words written on her arms, but we were the same height and the heels in her boots gave her an advantage. She took the coat from me, and draped it over her left arm, obscuring it. The top of her dress was held up by straps, but showed very little cleavage. Every part of it was meant to obscure precisely what I wanted to see, I was sure.

“Here,” she said holding out her right arm. “This is the start of it, and the price to see the rest.”

I took her hand in mine and read aloud what was written there. “They shall always be mine, those who read all my words and follow their every command.” I looked up at her. “What commands are written on you that I would have to follow?”

“Well, that’s part of the test,” she said. “You’ll have to decide once you see them.”

Once again a rush of lust washed over me. I was going to see her words and read them.

And obey them, a small part of me whispered. And obey them.


Return next Friday, January 11, 2013 to see the conclusion to Indelibly. As always, your comments and feedback are appreciated!