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Hot Summer's Day

“It was that kind of day,” he thought. A Southern August summer day, hot and sticky. Walking outside was like trying to walk against a river current. The very air resisted you. He grabbed a black handkerchief out of his back left pocket, and wiped his brow. He fingered the necklace he wore, and the single key on it. Damn it was hot today.

Still, he had to do what he was doing. His eyes scanned the horizon, and the daily thunderheads were building up, threatening a powerful storm. His cock stirred as he thought about the power of the storm, and where he was going.

He trudged into the woods, the green foliage casting a cool glow all around him. The air was just as humid here, but it still felt cooler. A gentle breeze fluttered through the trees, drying the sweat on his brow and further cooling him. Just another mile hike, he thought, before I get to the shack.

They’d built it as kids, Cindy and he. There was a nearby textile plant that dumped pits of detritus and cones of string; pallets and boxes, and all sorts of wonderful junk. They’d spent one summer dragging pieces that they needed further into the woods, behind the mill, behind the city cemetery in a place where no one would go. And with those pieces, they’d built the shack.

Later, as teenagers they’d dragged a mattress out there, and used it to experiment in other ways. They had never dated — that wasn’t their way. But there was an agreement there, that they would always be there for each other, at the shack.

His parents had moved away after he went to college, but Cindy’s family stayed in town. Cindy went to college for a while, but came home to get married after she got pregnant by her then-beau here. That was life in a small town: some escape and some get trapped. He had offered to marry her, but she had turned him down, with a wan smile. He knew he loved her, always had.

It wasn’t long now, he decided. Just over the creek, and back a few hundred feet. As he navigated through the brambles and vines that had inevitable grown up over their secret pathway, the shack came in view. Metal sheets with a wood room — one of their parents had re-roofed their house, and the two of them disappeared with the extra.

The air seemed to tingle, electrified with possibility. Glancing up through the trees, he saw the storm clouds moving in. He smiled to himself, and walked up to the shack. He didn’t knock, that wasn’t the way. He went on in.

Cindy stood, naked, on the old mattress. Both of her hands handcuffed through a rafter above her head. Her breasts larger than he remembered, but still firm despite the baby. Her stomach rounded, her hips wide and inviting just as he remembered. A fading bruise on the side of face made his hands clench, but old promises kept him from saying anything.

He walked up to her, and ran his hands over the stretch marks on her belly. “Hi, Cindy,” he said.

“Hello Master,” she said.

He shed his clothes, laying them to the side. Wind whipped around the shack, and thunder rumbled in the air. Cindy moaned. He smiled and kissed her deeply, running his hands over her breasts. He caressed her face over the bruise, and she blushed and looked down. He shook his head and sighed. If only, he thought, but no.

He removed the necklace and brought the key to the handcuffs, and let her down. He helped her lie on the old single bed, and he kissed his way down her body. She spread her legs willingly, and he slid between her as the thunder clapped again, and rain began to pelt against the shack.

They had built many things well, together. Their friendship, their promises, this shack. Not everything worked the way they wanted — water even now ran in from under the shack’s walls, but he loved her, and she loved him. His cock slid inside her pussy, and she let out a sigh of longing finally fulfilled.

Her legs settled on his shoulders, and he held her arms down as he entered her over and over. Bent double, she climaxed long before him, over and over again. He felt her cunt tighten down around his cock, and he smiled at her. “Kegels,” she whispered. He fucked her harder.

Afterwards he lay beside her, running his hands idly over her body, tracing the outline of the bruise on her face. “You could come with me…”

“No..” she said silencing him with a finger.

He cried a single tear, and turned away. “The rain is stopping.”

“Time to go back,” she lamented. She handed him his discarded necklace and key. “Thank you,” she said. He took back his key and began to dress. She slipped the handcuffs back into a hidden place they had added to the shack.

“I –”

“Shh, Master,” she said. She kissed him, half dressed. Half naked, he thought.

“When?” he asked.

“You know,” she reminded him.

“I really wish…” he pleaded.

“I’ll be fine,” she replied.

He turned to leave. “I really do love you,” he said as he left the shack.

“Happy Birthday, Master,” she responded.

It was already getting hotter and more humid as the sun came out. It was that kind of day.

 

The Sultan's Slave Rejected

This stands alone, but follows on from The Sultan’s Slave

The harem was dark when Sherri returned. The Sultan had demanded a story, and she had proffered one, but he had not returned the favor of his bed. The eunuch guards brought her back to the harem, but did not enter.

She found her way to the pillow bed that was her normal place of sleep, when the Sultan did not desire her company. She pulled off her silks, and lay down, and closed her eyes relaxing. Hands wrapped around her arms, and held her down. Other hands pulled her legs apart. There were people all around her.

She opened her eyes to absolute darkness. The windows were shuttered, the gas lamps out, there was nothing to see. “The Sultan didn’t want you tonight,” whispered someone in her ear.

Another member of the harem licked her nipple, bringing it to hardness. “He has someone else to warm his bed.”

A third voice, stroking her cunt. “Your sister.” Laughter, and soft caresses.

“No,” Sherri said. “She can’t protect herself.”

“Neither can you,” said the second voice, biting hard down on her nipple. Sherri cried out in pain.

Hands, fingers assailed her private areas, arousing them, delighting in her body’s moisture.

“You like it this way.”

“Does he hold you down, and ride you?”

“Does he stick his cock in your mouth and fuck your face?”

“Does he take you like a dog?”

After every question, the voice would lick and tease at her. She started to answer, and her mouth was covered as another of her sister-wives lowered her cunt to Sherri’s mouth. Someone licked her pussy.

“Don’t you know we’re all lonely?”

“You’ve been taking all his time with your stories.”

“Lick my lonely cunt, sister-wife.”

The woman between Sherri’s legs redoubled her efforts, and Sherri rode the wave of pleasure, rocking with orgasm.

“Tell him this — it will make a great story,” whispered the voice in her ear. “He may even want us again.”

 

Floating

Allie floated in the tube. She was wearing a latex catsuit, and a breathing mask. Something, like always, was stuffed in her cunt. She couldn’t hear anything, not even the splash of water: the tank was full, and dark. How long had she been down here? Why was the Society doing this to her?

It had been her idea to join the Society. While her husband had been on a long business trip, Allie had answered a personals ad. That had led her downtown, where she’d med Mistress Marie. They had had fun together, for a few days, and Allie had told her all her secrets. A week later, Mistress Marie and a male dominant showed up at their house.

Darren had been home.

They’d argued. Mistress Marie had bound and fucked him. The Master had fucked her ass in front of her husband. They’d signed the documents, and become members of the Society. Slaves.

She wondered if Darren regretted it.

It was so quiet.

She drifted off to sleep.

She woke up inside the tank. Where was she? What was going on? Why was she here? There was a buzzing in her cunt, the only thing she could feel. She moved, but couldn’t even tell she was moving. She was just floating. The buzzing stopped.

It was so dark. Or was it? Lights flashed in front of her eyes, she saw strange vision, heard strange sounds. None of it made any sense.

The buzzing started again. What was that?

She came. What an odd sensation.

Where was she, again?

A man lay next to her, being fucked by a leather-clad woman. “So it has come to this,” he said. He came inside the leather-clad woman. She wasn’t sure if she cared. Who was he?

What was his name again?

The buzzing began, this time twice as much, she rolled around, the only feeling she had was gravity, but even that was blurred, strange, as she floated.

For that matter, what was her name?

The buzzing intensified, and she came again.

How strange.

Further proof of my writing going back over older fantasies this story which I wrote a few days after Society Inititiation involves sensory deprivation much like Vacuum Bed.  

 

Vacuum Bed

Trigger warning: claustrophobia

It was only called a bed because that was what it was made from. What it felt like was a prison, or a cocoon. How she felt about it depended greatly on which of those two it was.

The only sound she could hear was the drone of the vacuum which sucked all the air out between two vinyl sheets that used to be the top and the bottom of a water bed. The only thing left between the sheets was her naked body. The only connection to the outside of her prison cocoon was a tube that held her mouth open and gave her air.

The vinyl was pulled tight by the vacuum and touched her skin everywhere. It pressed against her breasts and held her arms in place. She could feel it mold itself around her legs, her thighs. It pressed against her sex. It wrapped around her head, between her fingers and pressed tight against her shoulders.

She’d been bound before. Rope wrapped around her body, suspended from a ceiling, but that was nothing compared to this. She couldn’t move and the vinyl, while it touched her everywhere, was nothing like the rope.

The rope rubbed against her (smooth and rough at the same time) and the vinyl just disappeared. It touched her everywhere, but she couldn’t feel it. It was like air that way — ubiquitous and invisible. She only knew it was there because of its effects. Because she couldn’t see; because she couldn’t move.

Outside there were people looking at her, she knew. She wondered if her nipples were hard enough to be seen, two points frozen in carbonite. She wondered if it pressed tightly enough that they could see the folds of her sex outlined in vinyl. She wondered if they could tell how wet she was.

She couldn’t move. She couldn’t hear. She couldn’t speak. She couldn’t see. The plastic hose had no taste, and the smell of the vinyl waterbed overpowered any other scent.

There was nothing to do but think and be, and in that she was totally free. No choices or responsibilities or anything that needed doing. All she could do was lie there and try to feel the vinyl hug her tight and keep her imprisoned in her cocoon.

Fingers trailed down the outside of the cocoon and it was like a million fingers — not hard or big, but intense. It was the only difference. One trailed up her arm and it was the most intensely sensual gesture she’d ever felt. Then they slid over her breasts and idly ran around and over her nipples. Then they were gone.

An eternity later, touches on the inside of her thigh. Light, thunderous slaps that she could — almost — hear. Then touches against her sex, light, easy, hard, easy, light and gone. She wanted to yell out, to tell them to touch her. To touch her however they wanted so long as they did something, anything, anything at all.

But there was nothing. Just the stillness and the drone and the smell of vinyl.

She breathed in through the tube and out again.

Nothing.

Nothing.

Nothing.

Fingers then against her thigh, in the place there, then running up and over her sex. Her breath caught. The fingers pressed on, a bit harder, a bit surer, a bit more insistent. It had to be him. No one else touched her that way.

Please let it be him.

Please let it be anyone, so long as they didn’t stop.

She arched her back against the touch to get more, but still couldn’t move. She was bound in the dark with nothing but the touch of a strangers (or his?) fingers against her sex.

There wasn’t anything else.

There wasn’t anything else to do or focus on.

So she just felt it.

And the fingers pressed on, and she was coming (moaning around the tube, unheard by anyone, even herself) and she was writhing (in place, held there by the vacuum bed) and she felt electricity flow through her (and at first there was nothing to do but notice) and then she was all of that. Fingers, pussy, come, electricity, quiet, bound and sated.

The fingers stopped and she just lay there quietly, thoughtlessly, forever.

Until the vaccum was turned off and the vinyl was lifted, and he was there.

Fuckstarter

I have spent the last week being very careful. I washed all the dishes, and all the laundry is done, except what Sir is wearing. (I have been naked all week.) I made dinner every night, and didn’t burn it once, although I came close on Tuesday, and had to be spanked. Sir said my blowjob skills had improved so much that night, and I swallowed it all, so that black mark was off my list.

So, for the first week since I moved here, I had a week with no black marks. I only had one gold star, from last night where I spent the night tied to the bed, and Sir used me in all my holes, coming four times (once with my hands). I also obeyed him all week, and even as he used me last night and I desperately wanted to, I did not come.

I want very much to come.

My pussy is wet and red with arousal all the time. My nipples poke out and the slightest breeze hardens them as I work in Sir’s house, or kneel at his feet while he eats dinner and reads the paper. My ass is red because I hoped that a spanking would earn me another star and because I thought it might keep me from coming.

But let me tell you a secret: I almost came from the spanking, from his hands on me, and on my ass, and caressing my tits.

He told me I could write on this site, anything I want. Even for someone to come and get me and take me away, if I wanted. But that is not what I want.

I want very much to come.

I could, I guess, sneak my fingers between my labia while he was at work. It wouldn’t take much and he has taken the chastity device away, and almost never uses the armbands that cruelly tie my hands back, except when he wants me to suffer for him. But I don’t, because he forbade it. And because I just need two stars to come. Three if I want him to make me come. Four if I want him to fuck me when I come.

I want very much to come.

I want very much to come by his hand.

I want very very much to come with Sir’s cock deep in my slutty pussy.

And this is why I’ve come to Fuckstarter.

Sir has promised me that for each 10 likes, plusses or retweets, I’ll get a gold star. The same for every $5 I earn for my posts. For each four gold stars I get, I get fucked by his cock. If I get five, I’ll even be allowed to come back here and post a detailed description of how he used me that week. If we get enough for toys (and I hope we do!) I’ll do an in-action report and review.

And all those stories and reviews will go out to everyone, enriching their sex lives (and mine!), if only you’ll donate to our Fuckstarter. Just the idea of writing all that for you has me dripping wet. I really need to do something about that, and you can help. Check out the social icons below, and the donation buttons!

I want very much to come.

My other choice is to behave and earn the stars on my own by being a good girl.

So I desperately need your help, because I want very much to come.

And you can help.

Donate, like, and share this Fuckstarter with your friends, and I’ll earn enough stars that I can be pierced on my Sir’s large and throbbing man meat.

Thanks!

Slave Misty

 

Pet Sitter

The man who answered the door had an Eastern European accent, although his English was impeccable — better than mine. His house was on a cul-de-sac in a development nestled somewhere between Upper Arlington and Dublin. For those not from the Columbus area, that means he was pretty rich.

But that didn’t surprise me, the pay for pet sitting that he’d sent to me when I responded to his Craigslist ad told me he was pretty rich, if not filthy rich. The consent for a background check I filled out confirmed it. “I’m Tom Mays,” I said. “I’m here about the pet sitting job.”

“Oh, yes,” he said. “You’re right on time. I’m not used to that — in Europe things are more casual.”

I nodded and he waved me in, and tapped a sheet of paper on a table in his anteroom. There was a small briefcase on it, tied with a bow. He ignored it, so I did too. “Read, sign. And take off your shoes. No shoes in the house, that’s the rule. One of them.” He chuckled at that.

The paper was a non-disclosure agreement. I’d seen one when I interned at a tech firm downtown. I shrugged and signed it. He looked at it and nodded. “Good, good. I’ll show you how to take care of Tatiana now.”

One of the odd things was that he’d not told me what sort of animal it was. “Tatiana is your…”

“Pet,” he said. “A very good one.”

We walked into a large open living room. There was a dining room and nice kitchen off of it, and an enclosed porch on the back. He walked up to it, and pulled out a set of keys. “I will be out of the country for four months,” he said. “The plan is that you will live here, and take care of Tatiana. You have the time, right?”

“I’m a college student,” I said. “I can arrange my schedule however you need.

“Good. Pay is housing and food and a small stipend, which goes on a debit card. Plus you get to play with Tatiana. All of this depends on how you two get along.”

“I’m pretty good with animals,” I said.

“Animals,” he said. He laughed a deep hearty laugh. “That’s a good one, Tom. You’ll do fine.” He slapped me on the back and opened up the back porch.

Inside was a dog cage for a medium to large dog, a bowl of water fed from a large bin, and a food bowl which was empty. Stacks of canned stew lined the shelves. “Three of these every day,” he said. He pulled a can down off the shelf, opened it up and dumped it in the bowl. “On nice days she can stay outside if she wants — she has a lead and it must be on, yes?” I nodded. “But make sure she goes out at least three times a day — and only outside!”

“Of course.”

He opened the back door, and called out, “Tatiana! Come here baby, I want you to meet your new caretaker.”

I stepped out on the porch with him and surely my jaw dropped and my eyes grew wide as a naked woman ran on all fours up to us. She had a collar, and some sort of odd bit in her mouth, and of course a chain on a lead. She bounced around us, and rubbed her head against our legs, particularly our crotch. Yaroslav just laughed, and let us inside.

Stunned, I just followed as he walked back into the living room, and she followed behind him, crawling. I watched her ass as it swayed back and forth. He sat on the couch, and motioned for me to sit beside him. “Sit,” he told Tatiana, and she knelt in front of him. He pulled out a key and unlocked the bit in her mouth, and pulled it off her head.

“This,” he said to me. “Is the most important part of your job. Every day, you hear me? Every day!”

I nodded.

“Tatiana,” he said. “You are a free woman, you may go when you want, and there is a briefcase on the table with clothes and money, and accounts — more than you can spend, yes?” She nodded. “It’s all yours if you want, or, you can choose this. It’s up to you.”

She smiled, and moved forward, and put her face in his crotch. She pulled his pants down with her teeth and his cock popped out. I watched as she sank her lips over it, and bobbed up and down. “Every day she chooses,” he said. “I wanted to set her free, but no every day. I can’t complain too much. I want you to ask her every day, encourage her to be free — there’s a bonus if she does that. If not, I guess she’s the bonus, eh?” He laughed.

“You can fuck me tonight, Tatiana. Taste the boy, he’s the one who’ll be taking care of you.”

She came over to me, and pulled my pants down. I admit I helped. She engulfed my cock with one big swallow, and I gasped as she began bobbing up and down on it. “There are rules,” Yaroslav said. “I’ll send you a pdf. Ms Hines will be in to clean and check on you both every week. She’ll let me know if you mistreat Tatiana.”

Right then I had no plans to mistreat her at all. What she was doing was blowing my mind. And literally my cock.

“You ask her every day, and help her go if she chooses. Otherwise, she serves you and you fuck her until you can’t take it anymore, okay?”

“Okay,” I said.

“Good man. Tatiana, present,” he said. She jumped up on the couch and stuck her face in his crotch, and her ass in the air. “You’re a greedy little bitch,” he said as she sucked his cock down. “Fuck her, boy, fuck her. This is your job.”

I grabbed her hips and sank into her. She was wet and ready and tight. She whimpered when I slid into her, and Yaroslav laughed happily. I had to admit it was weird, but I’d been hard since I’d seen her, and it was my job. I wondered what sort of person chooses to be a pet. She’d never spoken a single word, even. And she certainly hadn’t complained when I, a complete stranger, started fucking her.

I finally came — and I think she did, but I admit I wasn’t paying attention. Yaroslav grabbed her head and I watched as he filled her mouth with his cum. When he was done, he said, “Down!” and she slid off the couch, and put two fingers in her pussy and pulled out my come and began eating that. I could feel myself stirring, but Yaroslav was getting up, and pulling on his own pants.

I followed suit.

“So,” I said. “When do I start.”

He looked over at her. “Tomorrow. I have one more night with her. I’ll wear her out for your first day, yes?”

I laughed and nodded.

“She needs this,” he said. “Keep her healthy, good exercise, variety of activities that sort of thing. Bring your stuff tomorrow, and we’ll put you up in the master suite. Give you all of the keys. Ms. Hines will be here too, she’ll show you around.”

I looked at Tatiana wistfully myself and felt myself stirring in my pants. “Tomorrow,” I said.

“Yes,” he laughed. “Tomorrow.”

This was going to be a great job.

5: Interoggatory

Dossier
ID: Hannah Li
Hair: Black/with blond streaks
Eyes: Blue-green
Height: 162cm
Mass: 58kg
Age: 19
Birth Date: 2150.10.13

While visors had been around since the days of Google, they current incarnation of them didn’t become popular until the early 22nd century, along with the brain interface. Originally designed as a pair of sunglasses, or as a wrap-around torc (which didn’t cover the eyes), the Initech Visor was a subcutaneous device, using nano-transmitters to communicate with users and their environment. The fact they were called ‘visors’ was just an artifact of their origins.

The early designs were slow and only capable of low resolution displays controlled by eye movements, or a separate wireless hand-held pointer. Current devices can be trained to respond to a large variety of movements and sub-vocalizations, while the top of the line models respond to mental commands. Everything from toys, entertainment devices, or vehicles can be controlled directly by these devices. More complex systems can be maintained and manipulated by using visors to communicate with the AIs installed on those systems to pass messages, reports, and commands back and forth.

Right now, Martin Ernst was annoyed with his visor. It kept blinking with an important but not vital message from Mistress Mara. She was one of the other members of the Triumvirate who ran the de Sade. She was sending the message over and over, interrupting both his vision and, more importantly, his sex. He wafted it aside with a flick of his fingers and then put a temporary block on her address. She could only override it with an urgent message, something he was sure she would only do in a real emergency.

He certainly had more important things to do. Namely Hannah, a spy posing as a slave who he was currently pulling across the floor of his quarters. She was on her feet, stumbling a bit as he moved more quickly than she could easily keep up. In her defense, she was weak from the multiple orgasms he’d given her earlier.  However, he needed to know some things. Like who she was working for, how they bypassed the de Sade‘s security and what her pussy felt like as he took it without mercy.

In order to get on the de Sade you had to pass a psychological evaluation that confirmed your ability to consent and your honesty in that consent. Different groups: governments, religious groups and competitors all tried to slip spies in amongst the “non-Citizen permanent residents” or, as they truly were, the consensual slaves. They rarely succeeded because in order to pass the evaluation, they had to really want to be consensual slaves. They had to desire the treatment they would get here. That kind of person rarely made a good spy, particularly when the people they were spying on could meet their most secret and terrible desires.

Hannah Li, the woman he was dragging into the bedroom claimed the desire to be taken against her will. By joining the permanent residents she gave a shallow, if tacit approval to be used that way. Maybe she hadn’t meant it, until he’d done it; but of course the examination knew better.  Knew what she wanted and was willing to have done to her; otherwise she wouldn’t be there at all. Knowing that he’d pushed her against his wall, where she quivered in excitement, her kimono in tatters around her waist. And now he was dragging her to his bed to discover her secrets and have his way with her.

Again and again.

He pulled her onto his bed, and lifted the magnetic cuffs so they slipped in a hook he’d installed in the wall above his bed. She kicked at him, and he grabbed her ankle. He smiled to himself. She was conflicted: she wanted him to make her come, but she didn’t want him to do it. So she fought back. That was good for him, too.

He pulled a spreader bar from the toy box beneath the foot of his bed. Using the cuffs at either end of the bar, he attached it to her ankles. A bit of chain, holding the bar to the bed, kept her from twisting and turning too much and definitely kept her from kicking. “I hope you don’t mind the chains, dear Hannah,” he said. “But silk rope is hard to get out here, and I like to reserve it for more sensual applications.” As he spoke, he ran his hand up her side, and touched her breasts.

They were nice breasts, with piercings through the nipples that matched the ones he now noticed on her outer labia. There was also a serpent tattoo (“Eastern Dragon”, his visor told him, tagging it as a point of interest), which started between her breasts, and ended somewhere near her pussy. He had been a bit rushed and horny when he’d first taken her, and now that she was filled with his come, he paid more attention to the way she looked.

Her long black and bleached-white hair was worn braided and spiraled atop her head, and was held in place with a couple of hairsticks. The hairdo was fraying about the edges, but not as bad as the kimono which he’d torn down, largely to see her reaction. It was high time that was removed. He slid into bed beside her. Propped up on his left, he teased her nipples. They hardened under his fingers and he said, “Ready to tell me who you work for?”

She shook her head.

“You will, you know,” he said. She looked at him, fear in her eyes. He could tell she knew it, too.

He pulled the kimono apart, and out from under her. The red dragon tattoo ran around her body twice, before the tail ended somewhere in the dark hair around her pussy. He traced the parts that he could see with his fingers stopping at her pussy.  He slid his hand over it, and hovered his middle finger over her entrance.

“Don’t come,” he ordered. “Not until I say you can. And I won’t say you can until you give me what I want.” He slid his finger between her wet folds, using her rings to spread her outer lips. She gasped as he teased her clit. She was biting her lip to keep from coming. “This part would be easier for you, if you didn’t really like it,” he said. She glared at him, and he teased her clit with his finger while watching lust fill her eyes. She looked away again when he laughed.

“Like I want you to make me come,” she said through gritted teeth.

“Oh, I’m not trying to make you come,” Martin replied.

“No? What do you call this then?” Hanna asked.

“I’m trying to make you beg me to come,” he said. “It’s more interesting that way, isn’t it?”

“Fuck you!” she said, but he watched as her nipples got hard, and a flush worked its way down her chest.

He teased her, and listened to her breathing, as she got close, he backed away. He lowered his lips to her breast, teasing her nipples and pulling on the ring with her teeth. When she got close again, he said, “Don’t,” he cautioned and bit her nipple. Her breath drew in sharply, and she began muttering.

“Alpha Centauri, Andromeda, Aquarius, Beta Centauri, Betelgeuse, Cancer, Cassiopeia, Crab Nebula, Cygnus….” He laughed.

“You forgot Canis Majoris,” he said. She glared at him, and he returned his mouth to her nipple, and teased her clit even more furiously. He slid his hand forward, and hooked his middle finger inside of her, feeling for the rough place which was her G-spot.

“Oh, yes.” she said.

“Want to come?” he asked.

“No.”

“Oh, that’s too bad,” he said. “I was going to make you come and then I was going to fuck you again, while I teased your breasts. You like that don’t you?” He pulled a ring with his teeth and she gasped. “Don’t you?”

“Damn it. Yes.”

“Just tell me who you work for. I’ll let you come.” He sucked her breast into his mouth, teasing the nipple with his tongue. He could feel her wetness around his finger as he teased, fucking her with his hand and massaging her G-spot on the deeper thrusts.

“Ya-Yamato,” she whispered.

“What?” Martin asked. “What did you say?”

“Yamato Industries. It’s,” she paused to gasp as he fucked her with his hand. “Who I work for.”

“Very good,” he said, licking her nipple. “Ready?”

“Yes.”

“Ask me.” She stared at him blankly. “Ask me for what you want.”

“Fuck you, Master.” She replied. He stopped fucking her pussy with his hand. This was what he wanted: her complicity. He knew it was what she wanted too, and that she hated the truth of it. He bit her nipple and pulled on the ring with his teeth. She moaned and tried to grind her hips into his hand.

“Ask me,” he demanded.

“Let me come,” she whimpered. “Please let me come.”

“And?”

“And fuck me. Please let me come, and fuck me. Please?” The last was plaintive and begging. Martin smiled to himself in victory.

He pushed his fingers back inside her and moved them in and out. “Okay,” he said. “Come.”

She did, crying out, and clamping down on his hand. “Good girl, you’re such a good girl,” he said letting irony into his voice. “Coming on demand already.” Deep in the throes of her orgasm, she ignored him.

When her cunt let go of his hand, he got up and unhooked the spreader bar from the foot of the bed. Using it to lift her legs, he slid between them, his cock pointing to his ultimate goal. He sighed in pleasure as he parted her wet pussy, and pushed all the way inside her.

“That’s good,” he said. “I love to fuck sluts. Especially ones who say they don’t want it, but beg for it anyway.” He pressed the bar forward, folding her in two, and pushed even deeper inside of her. “Enemies especially,” he whispered. “Ones like you who will be hurt and punished and taken again and again. And you will beg for it. For the orgasms and for the pain.”

Her head tossed back and forth as she muttered, “No, no, no,” under her breath. He fucked her, grabbing her breasts with his hand, mauling them as he pounded in and out of her. And then she was coming, faster than he suspected, probably sooner than she thought and he quickly followed her into orgasm, depositing a second load of come inside her.

He collapsed next to her, and his visor demanded his attention one more time. Angrily, he dismissed it again. Mara was obviously being petulant with some new perversion, and while he’d normally join her in it, he had his own new perversions to consider. He looked down at Hannah, she was out of it for a moment, allowing him to catch his breath.

Maybe it was time for her to do more of the exertions here, he thought. He lifted the cuffs from the wall, sent the command to unlock them through his visor, and pulled her hands behind her, and cuffed them back together. He removed the spreader bar, just attaching one leg to each corner of the bed. It wouldn’t limit her movement, or keep her from kicking him, but it’d keep her in the bed. There were guards to call anyway, should she remain violent.

He suspected, however, she would continue to be the agent of her own demise.

He lay down on his back beside her, on his back, one arm under her head. She muttered and cuddled against him. He played with one of her nipple rings, twisting and turning it, pulling it out from his body. She made little whining and whimpering sounds, but didn’t pull away from him. It gave him ideas for future interrogations, and revived his cock back to full hardness.

“It’s time for you to do the work,” he said. She grinned at him in a way that disarmed and infuriated him. He pulled on her nipple rings and her grin became a lustful smile. She had some difficulty moving with her arms behind her, but she was able to climb atop him. Her chest pointed out at him, and he raised his hands to her breasts.

She hit her rhythm and began controlling her speed. Content to let her set the pace for now, Martin played with her out-thrust breasts. She stopped, grinding against hem, then started again. The grin returned, sly and domineering. He squeezed her breasts, and the expression didn’t go away. He squeezed harder, and she just resumed riding him.

Getting angry with her impetuousness, he reached out and pulled and twisted her nipples. “Ouch,” she complained, but the grin didn’t fade.

“What?” he barked at her.

“Three things,” she said, continuing to ride him. “First, you really should have asked why Yamato sent me, not just who I work for. You might have anticipated things if you had.”

His hands cupped her breasts, squeezing them as she rode him. “Anticipated what things?”

“That brings me to the second, thing,” she said squeezing his cock with the muscles of her pussy. “You should have realized that you aren’t the only one who can afford a high-quality visor; nor should you have discounted that some of us are better at hacking them.”

The magnetic cuff unlatched with an audible click, and she was a blur of motion, raising her hands to her hair.  She pulled out the hair sticks and shook out her spiral bun. He was momentarily blinded by the cascading black and blond hair, but was just able to move his arms to grab her wrists as she pressed the sharp metal hair sticks against his neck.

The angle of his arms was awkward; she had a much better position. It was all he could to hold her wrists back. All she needed was another half inch or so, and she’d be able to plunge the spear-like hair sticks into his jugular. And she still rode his cock, slowly, enticingly, enjoying herself, and arousing him.

“I know, I know,” she said. “I ‘won’t get away with it.’ You can summon the guards with your visor, and while I might be able to read the message, I can’t intercept it. But that brings me to the third thing you’ve forgotten, and my real reason for being here.

“You’ve been getting urgent messages from Mistress Mara since Lord Bruce left. She couldn’t warn you of me, of course, but the contents do pertain to my mission. You really should read it. Now.”

His shoulders were tiring, so after sending the message to his guards, he opened the urgent missive. The video slid into his field of vision, filling it, and Mara’s voice came over the audio channel.

“I think you’ll be interested in this,” she said. “We could hunt her together.” The video began to play showing two women, one obviously older than the other, dressed as a spaceship pilot. The younger girl was dressed in semi-fashionable clothing, but that’s not what drew his gaze to her. She was exquisite, long red hair, and a curvy body that rivaled Hannah’s. The camera panned and zoomed focusing on the red-haired, full figured girl.

The two women were walking along a dock on a station somewhere. As she moved the camera got a better view of her, her face filled it. A perfect smile, and green, green eyes. He froze the video, leaving it in his full field of vision. He could feel the tips of the hair sticks pressing against his neck, but his arousal grew from looking at the video still. He held Hannah’s arms, using it as leverage as he pounded into her.

Under the image a caption appeared. “Girl #16180,” he read aloud, grunting as he fucked Hannah.

“Yes,” Hannah said. “She’s a clone. A perfectly submissive sex clone.” She held herself still as he fucked her.

With the vision of Girl #16180 in his visor, he restarted the video. Her movements were graceful and sexual. The vision of her filled him with lust, and the desire to possess. He lost himself to the feelings of danger and lust.

As he came hard inside of Hannah, she said, “That’s what we thought.”

He collapsed back and she rode him, grinding against his cock, bringing herself to a quick, final orgasm before the guards entered the room./p>

February!

Well January is gone, and with it a bunch of new stories as well as some revivals of old ones.  We hit all our targets for publication and had a really amazing month in terms of how many people came to visit.  I certainly enjoyed it creatively, and feel there were some stories in there I really enjoyed sharing with everyone.

The blog got over 2500 page views last month.  Since I set it up in 2008, it has received only 7500 (mostly because of the neglect and dust around here).  Nothing is quite as exciting to a writer or other creator as knowing that people are seeing (and hopefully liking) their work.  So thanks for that, it’s one of the many things that gives me motivation to keep going.

I’d originally planned a Fellatist story for this week.  However, I’ve decided to put him on the shelf for a while. I had some ambitious plans for him (and his Twitter), but it never seemed to gel in the way I wanted.  Still, that makes room for some new ideas that have presented them to me.  I find that the more I write, the more ideas I have to write about, so making some space gives us more variety, anyway.

Not to worry, though, all but one of the February stories are written.  The rest will get queued up for your viewing pleasure guaranteeing a veritable cornucopia of erotic titillation throughout February!

This week we’re going a bit lighter than last week. I’m going to share the first story I ever published on alt.sex.stories.moderated.  It’s the second or third erotic story that I ever wrote. I think it’s sweet and a bit of a laugh. I’ll be posting Upstairs on Wednesday.

On Friday we return to the realm of BDSM with a fun story called Sub Let.

A Mid-January Thank You

Thanks to everyone who has come to the blog this year. The year is very young — only two weeks old at this point, but it’s already extremely successful. As of this writing, January 2013 is now the most viewed month ever on this blog — and it’s not even  half over!  I hope everyone is enjoying these stories as much as I am writing them for you.

I’ve worked out a tentative publishing schedule for the first quarter so I have plans through March to meet my yearly goals.  That still means two bits of fiction a week: one something re-edited from the archives, and one brand new piece.

On Wednesday, we’ll have the very first Image I wrote.  Those were fun to write, but the process, and I admit, the lack of delay in their publishing, meant they got very little editing.  They are also 5-6 years old, and I’ve become a better writer in the interim.  So the published pieces are essentially drafts, and I’m going back and self-editing them now that I’ve got some space from them. To give my editors a break, they focus on the Friday stories; hopefully my distance from the Images is enough that I can edit them almost as well as they can.

Friday, as promised, is a new Fellatist piece, where he visits Hayward, California.  I pick these cities randomly from a list, but if you know of a good place for him to visit, I’d take suggestions.

Thanks to all of you for visiting, and if you’ve shared or retweeted links to the site.  Extra Special thanks to Tam and Kat, my wives and editors, for all the hard work they do to make the stories here the best we can. I can say honestly the stories are much much better for their influence.

Safer Sex and Zombie Yule

Sure, the world has gone to hell. All the dead rose from their graves, and people who die also seem to rise from their graves whether they’re buried or not. It’s a fucking shit-sandwich you’re forced to eat, and all the bread went bad two weeks after the Rising.

It’s been a year now, and we’re looking at another Zombie Yule. Maybe the crazies are right, and the world will un-end and go back to the way it was. Or maybe we should all just keep our rifles clean and practice our headshots. Either way there are zombies out there right now.

Now there are a few things still good in the world — your fellow survivors are among them, and there’s things you can do with them. I can tell by the giggling that some of you assholes have already figured out what this is about. So pipe down and listen — what I tell you today could save your miserable fucking lives, as sure as learning what to shoot and when to run.

So here’s the thing: there’s a light in the tunnel, because we are human. We’re social creatures, and we like being together. And while we’re facing down inexorable zombie hordes, our ancestors had survival problems, and that light got them through it all too.

And that light? Sex.

It feels good, it leaves you less stressed out and more focused. We’re mostly wired to enjoy it, and well — for those of you who are straight, anyway — it’s the only way we get more humans to fight the zombies. In the confines of the encampment, you can take your downtime however you want, but sometimes you’re on a long mission and things happen. I’m here to make sure you all know how to make them happen safely.

Back in the before-times, people thought that you could scare teens away from having sex by telling them what horrors will happen to them if they do. But you know what? Teens fucked anyway. So while there are horrors out there that will happen, let’s talk about how to make it not so bad.

Rule number one of sex is consent. You don’t like that, and want to go against it? Well, I’ve got a bullet with your brain’s name on it. We’ll shoot you then burn you like a zombie so you’ll never be a bother to us again. This is no joke, and I’m serious as I can be. There aren’t many people left in the world, I don’t want them to be misanthropic fucktwads.

Now, on to the tips.

First things first: Condoms and lube. You don’t want to get pregnant until you’re fucking ready, so use condoms. Most of ’em have a shelf life of 3-5 years, and have been largely left behind by looters. They took the food, but not the condoms. They’ve got expiration dates on them, so check them out. You can get lube, too, although it has other uses so it might be harder to find. Don’t use oil based lubes with latex condoms! It breaks ’em down until they’re fucking worthless and you’re pregnant and screwed both ways.

Second: Set up a lookout. You’ll be organizing into quads, make sure you really like your teammates, because two of ’em will be watching you and watching out for you while you take your sex breaks. Screw privacy, zombies don’t care about your fucking privacy. If you want privacy, wait until you’re back in the camp, and then fuck. Same goes if you want a three- or four-some with your squad mates. Two of you should be on zombie watch all the fucking time. Clear?

Third: bondage. Now, this rule isn’t just for the field, but for anywhere you are. If you wanna be tied up, or you wanna tie someone up, you remember this rule: it’s got to be easy to get out of. You keep a knife handy, or you make it so there’s a quick-release. And you never, ever leave anyone behind because you tied them up. You don’t want to be some asshole tied to a bed when the zombies come. They’ve only got one word for that, and it’s “RrrrrrrRrrrg” which roughly translates to “Oh, look, someone left a chocolate mint-brain on our pillow, I’ll just eat that right up.” And if I hear of anyone doing this to anybody, see the note above about consent and bullets.

Now finally, there’s one other thing. There’s a few people talkin’ about how zombies were once “people”, and have “rights” like people do. Some of them got a boner for fucking zombies, which is to say, they are complete fucking idiots. I’ll tell you what happens if you get close enough to a zombie to have sex with it: it eats your fucking face. And then your brain, and then I’ve got to kill you when you come back as a zombie. That means I have to do actual work, and you know how much I hate that. So for the love of Christ, don’t fucking fuck zombies, all right?

There you go, then. The sex talk. Use condoms; have a lookout; and if you tie people up make sure they get fucking untied before a zombie comes. Even you lot should be able to figure that out.

Dismissed.


This piece has more swearing than any other piece I’ve written, save one (which is unpublished). I figure anyone who gets to a place of leadership during a zombie apocalypse can say whatever the fuck they want, and probably will.