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Ernest Greene

The Truth About O-Here At Last!

January 20, 2019 By Ernest Greene 6 Comments


First, my thanks to those who have continued to inquire about and wait patiently for my long-promised novel to appear. Most of the delay was occasioned by technical problems setting up the website to sell it and transact the purchases.

I’m happy to report that those hurdles have been cleared.  You can now by a full PDF copy of The Truth About O at www.truthabouto.com for $23.99, not a bad price for a 900-page saga, all taken from true life episodes documenting the rise and fall of one of the oldest, most legendary Sociétés D’O in Europe.  You can check out the beginning of the first chapter at the site free of charge.

For those who didn’t have the opportunity to read the previous excerpts that ran in earlier issues of Kink Weekly this book tells the story of “The League,” once among the most active O-based communities on the continent as experienced through the diaries, emails and interviews assembled by the men and women at the nucleus of the group’s dramatic history.

Centered around a castle outside Vienna, The League provided an environment in which men and women could act out the life of dominance and devotion depicted in Pauline Reage’s taboo-shattering novel, Story of O. Like similar groups in other European countries, The League put its own unique spin on Reage’s narrative, creating what it called “The Philosophy,” a set of rules and rituals by which both the masters and their “Os” (as they preferred to be called) could live out their conceptions of life at Reage’s Chateau d’Roissy.

An extraordinary group of women and men – many of them prominent citizens in daily life – took the tale to new levels of intensity, described in their own words through reams of correspondence.

As we get to know Sabrina, Fabienne, Lila, Federico and Alexander better and better through their own words we cannot deny both our similarities to them and our differences from them. They present us with an amazing and often disturbing funhouse mirror of our own ideas and practices as we pursue our paths through the looking glass of BDSM.

The result challenges all our received ideas about what a life profoundly dedicated to a kind of sexual feudalism, under which ownership and responsibility are inextricably bound, might be like. By turns powerfully erotic, unpredictably humorous and ultimately suspenseful, Truth About O takes readers down the path of what the community called “The Dark Lust,” a powerful desire for ever more intense and extreme D/s experiences.

Much of the journey will shock American sensibilities, as we learn about the stark differences between what we think of as consensual sex play and what The League’s members viewed as a demanding dedication to a set of ideas about sex, loyalty and courage. It is a journey that takes us outside our comfort zone of elegant parties and sensual exploration to extremes where the line is blurred between the pursuit of mutual pleasure and the irresistible need for ever-more-risky adventure.

If ever a book could be described as “not for the faint-hearted,” this is surely it. That all those who lived to tell of the ecstatic highs and harrowing lows of life at and around The Castle share with us their most intimate experiences of The Dark Lust is a strange gift unlike any other saga of sexual exploration we’re likely to encounter It manifests the power to change the way we think about who we are and what we do by admitting us to an alternate universe resembling our own and yet shockingly different in so many ways.

Ultimately, it is both an arousing and sometimes amusing collection of shared experiences at the edge of what we consider “edge play” and a harrowing, cautionary, true story of what can happen when exotic fantasy clashes with the harshness of real life at its most cruel and corrupt.

Our eloquent, insightful narrators leave us with more questions than answers – as much as we can ask of any non-fiction book that addresses the deepest contradictions of human nature.

There is beauty here, and also peril. If you choose to join The League for a few hundred pages, be prepared for the BDSM ride of a lifetime.


A Brief Introduction to Life in the League

What was it like to be an O under the ownership of The League’s masters and Mentors? One of the many gifts passed on by those who had the experience is this document, given to all women entering the community for the first time. It is a tantalizing taste of “The Philosophy” under which masters and Os alike chose to live their lives.

TO MAKE YOUR STAY AT WINDHOF CASTLE MORE PLEASANT

The Rules of the O

The Os are to treat the gentlemen in The Castle with respect.

The O ‘s are to address the gentlemen with “Sie,” the formal address for “you, ” unless given permission to do otherwise.

The O is to lower her eyes while in the presence of the gentlemen in The Castle.

The O always sits at the feet of her master, unless it is otherwise permitted.

The Os never participate in the masters’ conversation unless instructed. Among themselves they keep essential communications to a minimum and convey them in whispers.

Every O in The Castle is always available to every gentleman for unrestricted sexual use. Outside of The Castle, their master or their Mentor decides whether and by whom the O may be used.  Under no circumstances does the O make this decision for herself. The Os shall serve the men in The Castle with drinks, food, or other amenities unless already carrying out a master’s prior orders.
The Os in The Castle wear either the simple, white dress of the novice or remain completely naked. Shoes or any other clothing are permitted only at the discretions of the gentlemen.

For les soirées the dress rule is extended to require the wearing of the regulated O garments. Shoes and stockings are permitted only with approval of the master or the Mentor.

Outside The Castle, the O wears clothing the master or the Mentor deems appropriate.

Articles of clothing which are never allowed:

Any type of undergarments: slips, bras, panties or anything else that covers her intimate parts. Stockings, pants, skirts or dresses of hems below the knee line are also prohibited.

Os are to avoid any clothing that hinders rapid access to the breasts, the genitals or the ass.

The O shall never cross her legs and should always hold her thighs a hand’s breadth apart. Her lips should remain slightly parted at all times.

The O shall always wear a collar and/or The Ring of the O inside The Castle confines as well as in public at all times, except if the master or the Mentor specifically allows otherwise. If a gentleman outside of The Castle recognizes the significance of The Ring of O, he has the right to use the O as he pleases. If she is alone at the moment, meaning if she is without her master or her Mentor, the O is to immediately contact her master or Mentor. The master or Mentor has the right to ask by whom, how much, in what way, where, and how long the O is to be used. The maximum period allowed for such use is twelve hours, unless otherwise negotiated between the men.

Staying at Windhof Castle

Os who spend more than twenty-four hours at Windhof Castle without their Masters are required to be sexually available to any master or any Mentor at any given time. The use of the Os for service and/or any other work on the estate or in The Castle must be ordered by their master and approved by the appropriate Mentor.

The freedom of movement of the Os is generally restricted to the east wing. Entering the west wing is permitted only with express permission and during soirées.

The O shall perform all work assigned at Windhof Castle without any objection, whether outdoors, in the kitchen or in the office. The O shall wear the dress of the novice only if complete nakedness would be inconvenient. Shoes may be worn only if expressly ordered. This rule applies to the entire estate in all weather and during all seasons.

Herr Herrmann is in charge of the delegation of the Os rooms. These rooms may never be locked. Every O must be accessible and ready at any time of the day.

The duration and schedule of activities during the stay at Windhof Castle are the decisions the Mentors and the master of the O.

Punishments

In principle, the master or Mentor should never need to punish an initiated O. If this becomes necessary due to failure on the part of the O, the following basic rules will apply:

  • The whip shall be the primary punishment.

For this, the O is chained between the two wooden posts of the inner courtyard of The Castle. She shall always be completely naked, no matter what time of day, what season, or what the weather is like.

Other means of punishment:

Crops and similar tools may be employed for the bastinado.

A stay in the basement dungeon.

Sexual use by one or more of the workers or servants of The Castle.

Naked marching or being part of a work crew on The Castle grounds.

If the above-mentioned list of punishments is not considered sufficient, a gentleman or Mentor may consult the Mentors’ council, which will examine the offense, listen to both the side of the O as well as that of the gentleman and will then determine an appropriate punishment.

All of the above-mentioned measures can, of course, be demanded regardless of the need for punishment.  The masters, Mentors, gentlemen and guests may employ such techniques entirely for their own pleasure. Disobedience is always met with punishment but punishment may also be inflicted when no offense has been committed.

Goals

The goal of the initiation of an O is for her to learn to follow the rules of Windhof Castle and that apply to the philosophy of the O. The gentlemen, as well as the Mentors, but above all, the Os must honor these rules to the best of their abilities, be of sound mind and of legal age to participate in such activities or have such things done to them.

The goal of the initiation of an O is to formally give her over to her master fully and willingly. By wearing the ring, the O surrenders complete control to her Master.

The purpose of The League is to satisfy erotic desires in accord with the Philosophy of O. All measures, actions and events happen under the mutual understanding of all participants, and all must abide by the requirements of Windhof Castle.


About the Author

For over forty years Ernest Greene has been one of the most prominent figures in the BDSM scene as a writer, an activist, a filmmaker and a participant. During that time he has witnessed and contributed to the evolution of a once small and isolated sub-culture to a thriving and vital part of the larger society’s erotic life.

Greene is a longtime member of the Los Angeles BDSM community, joining Threshold when it was still an affiliate of The Society of Janus. He served six terms as Threshold coordinator between 1989 and 1995. He continued to do orientations for new members thereafter and has participated in numerous outreaches to academic groups as well as presenting at national BDSM events including Thunder in the Mountains in Denver, Colorado and GWNN in Austin, Texas.

Since 1985, Greene has concentrated his efforts mainly in adult entertainment and adult sex education, serving as Executive Editor of the best-selling fetish magazine Hustler’s Taboo since 1999. Greene founded the also founded the highly successful all-artwork spin-off Taboo Illustrated, now in its 72nd issue.

As well, Greene, has participated in the production of adult video for three decades as a performer, writer, director and producer. His body of work comprises over five hundred titles, including AVN award winners Strictly for Pleasure, Mask of Innocence, Tristan Taormino’s Ultimate Guide to Anal Sex for Women and Jenna Loves Pain. With his wife, Nina Hartley, he has served as producer and director of the Nina Hartley’s Guide series of adult sex education programs for video market leader Adam&Eve Pictures. The series has sold over three quarters of a million videos to date and now comprises forty titles. His own erotic features for Adam&Eve, O – The Power of Submission, Surrender of O and The Truth About O have thus far seen sales nearing 100,000 units, making them among the biggest selling X-rated feature titles in recent years.

Most recently, Greene authored a new novel, Master of O (Daedalus Publishing), reinventing the BDSM classic Story of O set in modern Los Angeles and told from the master’s point of view. Available in a variety of formats, including a deluxe illustrated version, from Masterofo.com and Stockroom.com, it has been highly praised for its insightful reinterpretation of Pauline Reage’s groundbreaking work of erotic fiction.

It was through contacts inspired by his own novel that Greene came to know the Austrian group modeled on Reage’s Chateau de Roissy, thus obtaining the remarkable non-fiction record of its rise and fall as depicted in The Truth About O, a dark and fascinating series of personal accounts from those who participated directly in that organization’s revelatory and often shocking history.

Tagged With: bdsm, ernest greene, fetish, kink, power exchange, The Truth About O

Master of O: Business Hours

January 3, 2017 By Ernest Greene Leave a Comment

The recollection of that day that had prompted Steven’s call and O’s rather nervous appearance before Constance’s desk. She showed O into Steven’s chambers and left quickly. Steven got up from his desk to pull O into his tight embrace, kissed her hard and long, his hand gliding down her spine to grip her backside. With no small talk first, he ordered her to strip. Today he had a different test for her.

O folded each removed article of clothing, stacking them on the couch while Steven watched. O never vamped the process, though she was quite aware of what she showed Steven each time she bent, straight-legged, from the waist to add another item to the pile.

When she was down to her shoes, she knelt on the carpet next to Steven’s chair, expecting to perform services similar to those she’d provided while Steven studied Jacqui’s pictures. To her surprise, Steven ordered her to stand and perch on the edge of the desk with her legs open and her hands in the correct position behind her head.

O planted her heels firmly to pose for him as vertically as possible, only the under curve of her bottom resting on the cool, polished wooden surface of the desktop. Leaning forward in his chair, Steven sucked her girly bits into his mouth and reached up to pinch her nipples, holding her that way long enough to induce a bad case of the shivers. Acutely aware of Constance in the outer office, O struggled to stay quiet to the very edge of orgasm, at which point the phone mercifully interrupted with a loud buzz.

Steven patted O where she was wet while parking a Bluetooth headset resembling a flying saucer in his right ear. He went right on playing with O, stroking her stiff clit and working his fingers in and out of her sopping depths, throughout his conversation with a prosecuting attorney at the other end of the line. His greeting was cordial and relaxed, even as he smiled evilly at O’s struggle to stay in position, his words coming to her through the fog of her arousal.

“So,” he began, “how did you like the proffer I sent over?”

There was a brief pause for a reply that made Steven smile even wider, though it didn’t distract his casual attentions to O’s intimate anatomy.

“I knew you’d hate it, but it’s the best I can give you. My guy walks with no time or your guy walks with no time. Which guy do you want to see go away worse?”

There was another long pause, during which O seriously wondered if her knees might buckle. The incoming voice was loud enough to be audible right through the headset, though O was too far along to understand a word.

“Come on, Ben, let’s just skip calling each other illegitimate sons of illegitimate sons of camel driver’s whores. I’m trying to do you a favor. Without my client’s testimony you’ll be dick-in-hand in front of the grand jury. If you have to immunize him to get it, he’ll be out on the street anyway. If you let him testify voluntarily, he’ll go right back into business and you’ll be able to build a case against him in a few months.”

Steven laughed out loud at the response, even as O was near tears from frustration.

“No I will not promise not to represent the son of a bitch. You can either send the crook you’ve already indicted over for a dime right now and possibly cut a plea bargain on my guy for a nickel at some later date or you can go home with your pockets inside out. Sign off on the letter and you’ll get my client’s singing lesson in your office tomorrow afternoon.”

The pause was shorter this time and O could no longer hear the other lawyer’s voice. Steven nodded, a victorious grin on his mug.

“See? Now was that so hard?” he asked into the microphone. “Let’s make it five o’clock. Afterward I’ll take you and Ashley out for a couple of drinks and we’ll have dinner at The Water Grill, my treat.”

After what sounded like a friendly farewell, Steven clicked off the earpiece and put it in his pocket, turning his attention to O. He stood up and brought her near enough to feel her body heat through the tropical worsted of his blue double-breasted suit.

“Don’t you ever represent any innocent people, Sir,” O said through clenched teeth.

“Innocent people can’t afford me. Besides, it’s less of a challenge.”
“You enjoy getting bad guys off?”

“Not as much as I enjoy getting good girls off. Be a good girl and bend over the desk.”

O did it joyfully, reaching across to grab the opposite edge. Steven unbuttoned his fly, springing out from behind it like a jack-in-the-box and fucked O roughly, taking his victory lap inside her as she lay across the cool, varnished surface. She came so intensely she had to bite her bare arm to keep from crying out. After he’d had his fill of her, he sent her off to clean up in the small but luxuriously appointed bathroom, complete with yet another bidet (confirming O’s suspicion that Steven played this game fairly often) before helping her dress. He kissed every inch of her exposed flesh before making it disappear behind each button. There was a question on her mind that took some courage to ask.

“The way you spring those criminals, Sir, it is payback for what The Blacklist did to your father?”

Steven gave that some serious thought. He conceded that it was a logical theory.

“But for all his bitching about how it destroyed his career, I’m not sure he would have had one without it. He might have ended up teaching at a junior college forever if he hadn’t been such an excellent martyr for the cause.”

Watching O straighten her clothing, he thought about it a moment longer, shrugged.

“Have to admit, though, I do like busting the system’s gear teeth. I could have gone to work for the ACLU or the SPLC, but the government expects to lose civil rights cases and it doesn’t bother them the way it does when I make them cut loose crooks they really want to prosecute.”

“Even if it means setting dangerous criminals free, Sir?”

“Locking them up doesn’t make them any less dangerous. They go right on running their games from the slammer while the taxpayers pick up their meals for them. We’ve got more people behind bars than any other country on earth. Do you feel any safer?”

O conceded that she didn’t.

“The real crooks who wreck the lives of millions from their Wall Street offices will never see a day behind bars anyway. My crooks tend to be the wrong color or speak the wrong language so they’re the one who get caught. I see no noble purpose in pumping up some wannabe appellate judge’s resume with a lot of slam-dunk convictions of guys who are going to end up dead or in jail someplace anyway.”

Thinking of her family, O felt a sudden hot rush of resentment for her own class. They were exactly the kinds of people no law could touch and she understood Steven’s resentment for their immunity.

Changing the subject, Steven praised O for her obedience and sent her on her way, Constance not even looking up as O headed out to the elevators.

A few days later O shot a photoset at the studio with a naked female model and a suited male partner in an office setting. Adding her own touches, she had the man dressage the female model, a petite brunette with a fabulous back view, after bending her over the desk. Then she had the girl suck him while he kicked it in his chair, pretending to talk into an old-fashioned phone. They’d finished with the girl’s stockinged legs and high heels up in the air as he splattered her tits while she lay on her back on the desk.

Looking through it later, O and Ray had a good laugh together.

“I should have let my brother have you sooner,” Ray said, flipping through the images on his display. “Think of all the great layouts that would be piled up on the shelf by now.”

About the Author:
Ernest Greene has been the Executive Editor of Hustler’s flagship BDSM magazine Taboo since 1999 and of Taboo Illustrated since . He has performed in, written, produced, or directed over 500 adult titles, including the Nina Hartley’s Guide series, starring his wife and producing partner, noted porn star and sex educator Nina Hartley. Master of O may be purchased here.

About the Illustrator:
Fernando is a self-taught illustrator inspired by American comic books and European fetish art. One of the preeminent creators of graphic novels in the explicit BDSM genre, his work includes the Cheerleaders series, Confiscated Twins, Dark Vengeance, and many more.

Tagged With: ernest greene, erotica, Nina Hartley

Erotica: Master of O, Chapter Five

December 26, 2016 By Ernest Greene 3 Comments

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The strobe power packs beeped and popped when O test-fired the big Leica. For an instant, a brilliant flare from the lights on the umbrella stands illuminated the center of the darkened studio. O, dressed in a plain, black bra top, black tights and red, knee-high Doc Martens, stood next to the small, torso-shaped iron cage dangling from the ceiling on a long chain and studied the light meter in her hand. She frowned, hung the meter from a cross bar on the cage by its lanyard and went back to the wheeled cart where her cameras, memory cards, batteries and filters were all laid out on an immaculate blue furniture blanket.
“Still a little hot,” she pronounced. “Try raising them about six inches.”
Roger, O’s assistant, leaned over from the stepladder next to one of the stands and slid the shaft up, lifting the shiny aluminum umbrella. A wiry, balding gaffer who had once lit glamour shots on giant sound stages, Roger took it slow, tightening the stand and dismounting the ladder, wheeling it over to pop up the second umbrella. O watched carefully, judging how much spill she’d get from each.
She sighted through the viewfinder, lining up the empty cage dead center, and pushed the shutter button, triggering another brief explosion of brilliance. Putting the camera down, she want back to the meter, which was set to read when the packs fired. O pondered, head cocked to one side.
“I want some hair light from the back. Let’s pump up that slave pack a little.”
“On it,” Roger said, trudging toward the back of the set in his black jeans and T-shirt to tweak the power unit on the small strobe mounted to a rail below the ceiling. It was always tricky, shooting in a black space so the foreground details were clear without losing the feeling of cavernous gloom. It didn’t help that the studio Ray had rented for O was so enormous.
The ceiling, vaulted and braced with huge struts like a barn, was at least thirty feet high and the distressed flats, dulled to look like old concrete, were twenty feet back, arranged to intersect like the corner of a room. The vast floor layered over with black painted slats textured and riveted to look like steel plate contributed to the impression of a bleak and empty chamber. The atmosphere was as sinister as O could have wanted, but the place soaked up light like a black hole.
O strolled over to the makeup chair to see how Jacqui’s face was coming along. Jacqui lounged naked with a robe over her lap so any elastic marks would fade. She had earbuds stuck in her head and a copy of Wired spread across the robe. Her thick, naturally auburn hair was tied in a big knot on top of her head. Renata, the compact, butch-cropped makeup artist fluttered around Jacqui in her sleeveless shirt and cut-offs, dusting blush on the model’s cheeks.
“Light on that, please,” O instructed.
“You sure you don’t want any foundation?” Renata asked.
“Like she needs it with that complexion. And she was probably out partying all night.”
O reached up and plucked one earbud out of Jacqui’s skull. Carbon Based Life Forms leaked from the tiny speaker.
“Weren’t you?”
Jacqui, who had the high, trilling voice of a teenager, didn’t even look up.
“Only until two-thirty. Well, maybe three…”
Jacqui pretended to look guilty. O laughed.
“In about ten years you’re going to have to start working at looking like that.”
“In ten years I’m going to be living on a ranch in Wyoming not giving a fuck,” Jacqui replied, leaning forward to kiss O on the forehead.
“It’s so cool that you’re shooting me. That was one of the things I wanted to have happen this year and we’re already doing it. Your work rocks hard, man.”
“I’m glad you appreciate it. Models aren’t easy to impress.”
“A lot of the people doing this material aren’t that impressive. You bring some serious mojo to it.”
The next question was sure to be personal. It was time to change the subject.
“Like the cozy set we built for you?” O asked.
Jacqui looked around with an exaggerated shudder.
“Nice and creepy. Bad things could happen to a poor girl in a place like this.”
“Natalie Wood drowned off a yacht,” O said. “Bad things can happen to a girl anywhere.”
Jacqui rubbed her long hands together gleefully.
“So what’s happening to me today?”
“Just the usual. Rigid shackles, torture, fucking. Like I told you on the phone, you can pass on anything you don’t want to do. It’s not an endurance contest.”
“Maybe not for you, but I like to push myself. Terror is one of my better emotions.”
She gave O a huge, frightened face that made them both laugh out loud.
“My pitiful isn’t too shabby either.”
Jacqui stuck out a fat, trembling lower lip and widened her eyes to saucer-size.
“Remember that one,” O said. “I’m going to want it.” This bright, fearless, slightly geeky beauty had a lot of good images in her. O’s annoyance at Ray for slating a shoot without consulting her faded at the prospects. When it came to work, O and Ray had a separation of powers agreement. The office was his. The studio was hers. O hated having models pushed on her. There was usually some agenda that involved getting some guy laid and the model usually took advantage. At least Ray wasn’t a modelizer. This was strictly about good pictures and good pictures made up for everything.
“Now, about the fucking part …” Jacqui began.
“God,” O thought, “here comes the bad news.” She’d already inspected Jacqui’s lab report so she knew what the bad news wouldn’t be.
“Could you please ask him not to whisper dumb jokes in my ear when I’m trying to fake an orgasm? I don’t want him in my butt all night.”
“I’ll see what I can do, but you’ve worked with him before. He’s an obnoxious, little prick who …”
Both turned at the sound of a cheerful male voice.
“…shows up on time.”
Calvin, an unremarkably handsome, dark-haired, dark-eyed man just shy of thirty, strolled across the studio in his distressed motorcycle jacket and ripped jeans. He was very much Master Right, or at least Master Right Now, among the small group of players who specialized in on-camera domming, though neither he nor O knew just why.
He came over and kissed O on the cheek, blowing Jacqui an air kiss so as not to mess up Renata’s work.
“Hey, you,” he said to Jacqui, “how come you didn’t call me when you were up north?”
“They’d already booked me with someone else.”
“You could have requested me, you little shit.”
“I don’t want people thinking we’re married.”
Calvin made a gagging noise. Jacqui tossed the magazine aside and stood up, looming over him a good three inches.
“You better be good and mean to me today or I’ll kick your ass.”
“Not before I ream yours.”
O looked back and forth between them.
“Excellent. A grudge fuck. I can work with that energy.”
She turned to Renata.
“I want a lot of eyes, and some lips. A little redder than they should be. Don’t make her too innocent. “
“Right. Just a hint of her inner slut,” Renata said.
“Exactly. How long?”
Renata waggled her head from side to side, looking at Jacqui.
“Half an hour, maybe.”
“Make it twenty.”
O needed to confer with Fiona, her rigger, who was at the equipment table, zapping herself on the bare forearm with a violet wand. The gas-filled tube at the end of the generator lit up a nice, hot red-orange, but the spark seemed a little weak.
“The strobes will wash that out,” O said.
“Thought they might.”
Fiona used few words, uttered in a tight monotone though she had been known to burst out laughing at odd things. Small-breasted with killer legs and butt, it was Fiona’s face that both men and women found hypnotic. She had the high cheekbones from her exotic Eastern European blood, but her eyes were light grey flecked with yellow. Her hair was a deep and lustrous black. She was impressive in black jeans and a cropped T-shirt that showed off her muscles. Focused and disciplined, Fiona had been hurt enough during her performing days to respect the close tolerances at which a bondage rigger worked. That, and her creative mean streak, made her the best. O wouldn’t shoot without her.
Fiona cranked up the knob at the butt-end of the violet wand, stepped on the foot switch and gave herself another jolt. This time there was a loud crackle and pronounced whiff of ozone in the air, but Fiona didn’t flinch.
“That should read,” O said.
“Think it’s too much for internal?”
O stuck out her own arm so Fiona could shoot a loud spark at it. O didn’t flinch either.
“We’ll get a few good jolts on the tits and then crank it down a little for the hardcore. Jacqui likes to be pushed.”
A slight smile distorted the purposeful straightness of Fiona’s lips.
“This should be a fun day,” she said, putting down the wand and moving on to shake out the rest of her gear.
“We’ll be setting up for covers first. I’ll need her in the cage.”
“Let me know when.”
“Now would be good.”
As the cage descended, O did another lighting check, catching Fiona in the shot. Doing a digital instant replay on the Leica’s wide finder screen, she studied the results intently.
Fiona had the front panels of the cage, now suspended waist high, hinged open as Renata shuffled Jacqui, dressed only in green flip-flops to keep her feet clean, under the modeling lamp. O grabbed the Leica.
“Okay gorgeous, stand right there,” O said.
Shaking out her cascading auburn waves, Jacqui stood still in the halo from above while O took her first test-shot. The packs popped and beeped again. O looked at the preview panel.
“I already don’t like that. Roger, hook me up with a ring-flash, please.”
It was amazing how quickly Roger could move when the photographer had camera in hand. These were dangerous moments, employment-wise. He took the heavy unit from O, quickly wiring it with a circular reflector mounted at the end of the lens hood. He did a couple of trial pops himself before giving it back. For one long moment, O looked at Jacqui just standing there. One inch taller and this girl could have been on the catwalk. O wondered if Jacqui knew how lucky she was. She could even have a tiny, sexy belly under her navel without some agency ordering her to get lipo or seek new representation. O had come up through the rag trade and despised it as only an intimate could.
“Okay Fiona, let’s get her in there.”
Fiona eased Jacqui toward the cage by her biceps.
“You just sort of sit back into it,” Fiona explained.
Jacqui slipped into the narrow nest of bars effortlessly. She’d been bound so many different ways by so many different riggers she could have made a living as an escape artist. The contact of iron on skin raised a body-length shiver and a tsunami of goose bumps.
“Holy shit!” Jacqui cried out. “This thing is fucking furreezzing!”
“You’ll heat it up,” O reassured her while Fiona locked the bars into place around her body. She helped Jacqui thread her long legs through the openings at the bottom so they dangled vulnerably in mid-air. Jacqui kicked her flip flops neatly off the set.
“It’s tight too,” she said, shifting around as much as she could to see what movement she really had. The cage was designed to fit bodies even smaller than hers as closely as a suit of armor. The leg segments opened her wide, and there was a strategic gap in the ironwork running from the top of her pelvic arch under and around to the base of her tailbone. She looked down at it with raised eyebrows.
“And really, really nasty. Can I borrow it on Saturday?”
“Not unless you take Fiona along,” O cautioned. Fiona said she’d be happy to help out but she had another booking.
When the stage was clear, O told Fiona to crank up the cage. Jacqui made a noise like a kid on a swing as it rose. O stopped the hoisting with a palms-down grip gesture.
“Yeah, that’s very nice,” she said, eye welded to the viewfinder. This moment of promise approached the feeling she’d had when Steven circled her while she stood naked at attention in his living room.
“I’m going to take a couple of bracketing shots. Give me some deer-in-the-headlights.”
Jacqui’s face was suddenly transformed into a masque of frozen dread.
“Too much,” O said, shaking her head. “Dial it down about twenty percent.”
Jacqui grinned. It was so much easier working for someone she knew had been in the same position more than once.
“Perfect!” O exclaimed at the slightly less dramatic version. “Stay just like that, but lean forward as much as you can and squash your tits against the bars. Need the nips blocked for the cover.”
“Well, they’re certainly nice and hard,” Jacqui said calmly, pressing her flesh into the cold metal. She really did look fairly pathetic.
It was as important to her as to O that the results came out right, or she was suffering through this for no good reason other than a highly combustible paycheck. O fired away, squatting low, standing on a stepladder and lying on the floor. She had Fiona rotate the cage thirty degrees for some side shots.
“I wonder if I could spin around in this thing,” Jacqui mused.
“Why not? Just try not to giggle.”
O nodded at Fiona, who gave grabbed the cage and twirled it like a piñata. O wasn’t happy.
“Doesn’t work with the ring light,” she pronounced, ordering Fiona to steady things up.
Once the cage was still, O moved in closer, centering Jacqui from the waist up in the finder. This was it.
“Okay,” O said in a near whisper, “you’ve been hanging here for hours. You’re in some Eastern European hellhole and you’ve pissed off some cops who thought you were hot and you know they’re going to have their fun with you for a few days before they let you go. You want to play along, but you’re scared shitless you’ll fuck up and they’ll really hurt you. Now, give me that.”
Jacqui’s pathetic face would have made angels weep. O gritted her teeth, held her breath and fired off a dozen shots, perfectly cropped to fill a cover with Jacqui’s delicious anguish of anticipation.
O flipped back through the digital frames, amazed as always when something came out just like she’d imagined it. O held the camera up so Jacqui could look at herself on the screen. Jacqui’s face lit up.
“Bitchin’!”
“That’s our cover. Now for the easy part.”
It was true. The rest of the shoot lay ahead; it would be strenuous for all, but to O, that cover shot was the reason for all of it.
Fiona rolled in a long, steel table full of sinister implements and Calvin clunked over behind her in heavy boots and a rubber apron, completely exposed from the rear.
“Come on, O,” he whined, “do I really have to wear this thing? I mean, it’s so gay.”
“They didn’t tell you about the part where she gets out and pegs you with a strap-on?” O asked with a smirk. She promised she wouldn’t shoot him from the rear.
“It’s not like anyone wants to see your naked, hairy man-ass,” she reminded him.
“I’ll have you know I shave my ass twice a week. What do you want me to do with her, boss?”
O told him to start with some fingers. Calvin crossed to the cage, looked up at Jacqui and carefully started playing with her.
“Could we get a little lube, please?” O asked of no one in particular. Fiona ran in with a black bottle, poured some viscous liquid on Calvin’s fingers, and gently applied a generous dose to Jacqui through the opening in the bottom of the cage. Jacqui smiled down at her.
“I’ll make you stop doing that in about a week,” she warned.
“Nice wax job,” Fiona said.
“Hurt worse than anything that happens here.”
Fiona cleared the set and Calvin moved back to First Position, his fingers once more in play. O caught Jacqui in an authentic moan. Calvin really did know his way around a woman’s body – one reason he was on every girl’s “yes” list. Satisfied that she was ready, he slipped a couple of fingers inside.
“That’s great. Stay just like that. Jacqui, look down at him like you’d do anything to please him. More fucking equals less torture.”
Jacqui could easily do seductive and desperate at the same time. O captured that from a half dozen angles, having Jacqui move around as much as the steel embrace would allow so she could show off everything they’d had to conceal for the cover shot.
“Calvin, no more Mr. Nice guy. Get the long cattle prod from the table.”
Calvin picked up the yard-long rod with a big battery box at one end and double electrodes at the other. He looked it over and whistled.
“Now that is a wicked unit. I assume there are no batteries in this thing.”
“Sorry to disappoint you, but no, there aren’t,” O assured him.
“Damn. I’ve always wondered what one of those felt like,” Jacqui said.
O rolled her eyes and looked at Fiona.
“It sucks,” Fiona said succinctly.
“I do better faces when I don’t have to fake it. Let’s give it a try and if I can’t deal I’ll crash out on it.”
O shrugged.
“Okay Fiona, go ahead and sting it.”
Fiona shook her head but loaded up the battery box and handed the hot prod to Calvin. It had already been rewired to reduce the voltage by half but Fiona saw no reason to report that.
“Now what’s my motivation again?”
O reminded him that he was a sadistic little fuck who liked torturing helpless girls.
“I can do that.”
O instructed him to start with Jacqui’s right foot. He pulled her leg out straight, applied the contact points to her arch, and pushed the button just for a second. Jacqui yelped and rattled her cage.
“Ow! Fuck!” Jacqui yelled.
“I think we can take the batteries out now,” O said calmly. Fiona started over but Jacqui stopped her.
“Let’s just do it and get it over with,” she insisted.
“Fine, but no screaming,” O cautioned. “It gives me a headache.”
For the next half hour, Calvin worked Jacqui through the bars of the cage, carefully placing the prod with the contacts on either side of each nipple, then to her labia and finally across her anus, which O shot lying on her back from underneath, zoomed out wide for maximum depth of field to capture Jacqui’s suffering.
They broke for lunch, the models sitting around in hotel bathrobes swapping gossip while gobbling down sandwiches from the upscale deli nearby. O never ceased to be amazed at how performers could pack it away, but then most of them didn’t need to do a four-inch reduction with a corset unassisted.
They set up for the hardcore as Roger cleared away all the bags and napkins. Jacqui was stretched on a Y-frame, wrists overhead in steel manacles, ankles far apart, body-straps liberally applied in between.
O asked if she could move at all. Jacqui tried a few muscle groups to no avail.
“Not going anywhere.”
“Let’s get some singles on this,” O said. “Roger, I think we’ll need the kinos down toward the bottom of the frame to get a good arc.”
Roger unfolded a pair of long fluorescent tubes in corrugated cardboard housings and laid them out to cast their light upwards. They gave off a nice, soft glow.
Satisfied with the placement, O shoved the wheeled ladder toward Jacqui’s face, sending Roger up with the camera. Roger popped the packs and O, squatting next to Jacqui with the meter, took a reading. Looking at the image on the camera display, she smiled, turned it over and held it above Jacqui’s face so she could look.
“I think that works,” O said. “See? We’ve got the strobe on your face and upper body and we let your legs fall away from the light a little so when he zaps you we’ll catch the lightning in the bottle.”
“Nice,” Jacqui said. “Could I get a couple for my blog? I want to write about this.”
“No problem. I’ll res them down when I get home and email you a few.”
“Thanks. You’re nice to work with.”
“Only because you are.”
Free at last of the hated apron, Calvin stood by, stroking himself and looking Jacqui over. Whatever he was thinking made him visibly happy. O called for the wand.
“Flying in,” Fiona said, dragging the cord behind her. It was a harmless gizmo by comparison to the prod, making lots of sparks but causing only a mild static tingling where it touched flesh. Calvin had used it many times and didn’t need to be told to start at the breasts, working down. Jacqui made screaming faces but heeded O’s warning about doing it for real. Besides, this was cake, although when he actually put the glass tube at the end of the wand inside her and tapped the button, it felt like a swarm of small, angry wasps. It had to stay on a bit for O to get the sparks at just the right aperture.
The final set-up was simplicity itself: a waist high bondage pallet with rings around the edges. Jacqui and Calvin sat on a couch making out while the rest of the crew humped gear and lights. She was already on her knees sucking him when Renata came to patch her makeup.
“You can join her if you like,” Calvin said to Renata.
“Only if you want me taking a side of knackwurst with my lunch,” she replied. She didn’t have much patience for boys, especially this one; she’d had to put up with him on every set she’d worked one whole week this month already. Fortunately, no male performer stayed at the top for long.
O had Fiona position Jacqui ass-up on the pallet, wrists clamped between her ankles with a straight steel bar. Calvin gave into the impulse to tickle Jacqui’s left foot with the tip of a cane from the equipment table.
“Do that again, genius boy, and they’ll be two for knackwurst,” Jacqui warned.
“I just need a few strokes on each foot,” O said, already thinking toward the coming wrap and her drive home. She was sweating, and the heavy camera had begun to make her arms ache. Though the ring flash was long gone, the thing itself weighed a ton. Pro Leicas were still made with steel bodies, and there was no substitute for Zeiss glass.
Jacqui took half a dozen sound strokes on each foot, now deliberately taunting Calvin.
“Lovely, Sir. May I have another?” she said after each.
O made him count to three before every stroke so she could catch the cane in the air and then the impacts on Jacqui’s ass and feet. Once she’d gotten five frames on all targets, she couldn’t help asking, as she unsnarled her sync cord if Jacqui preferred sting to thud.
“I’ll take sting any day,” she said. “Floggers remind me of a car wash. It’s too bad he can’t mark me because I’ve got a vanilla girl-girl tomorrow.”
“Another time. Let’s get some sexy here. Calvin, find an angle where you can put it in her mouth. I want to see some good cheek stuffing.”
“Copy that.”
He leaned down, somewhat awkwardly to pack Jacqui’s mouth. How the boys stayed hard during all this remained an enduring mystery to O. Even a chemical boost wouldn’t give most men whatever it took to shake their spears at a room full of people without losing some concentration. But however uncomfortable the position, Calvin kept his edge, finding Jacqui’s mouth and putting it to work. As O had hoped, the pose made for some messy work. Spit was always a good prelude to other bodily fluids.
Climbing up behind Jacqui at O’s instruction, Calvin eased into her pussy first, doing long, slow strokes for the camera.
“This is such a tease,” Jacqui griped through gritted teeth.
“We’ll loan you a vibrator afterward.”
“It’s cool. I’ll get off during the anal if you let him go for a few minutes.”
“First I need an initial penetration shot. Then you two can have at it.”
O took the careful entry of Jacqui’s narrower channel low and slow, making the obvious even more obvious. For an instant, she was distracted by the thought of Steven. Why hadn’t he done this to her when he had the chance? When would he? All that was his decision. Her decisions counted in only one place anymore, and this was it.
Given the go-head, Jacqui and Calvin worked through the agenda, somehow able to stay in character, Jacqui looked back at him with utter hate. Calvin grinned sardonically, waiting for Jacqui to arch up in a wave of real spasms. Just for a moment, her face scrunched down in a way that wasn’t consciously appealing. Thankfully, O caught it in time. She loved documenting women’s orgasms, which she saw far too rarely shooting stills. Nothing ever went on long enough for most girls to come from it. Jacqui was not most girls, in a variety of ways. O realized they had things in common.
“I can go any time you want,” Calvin offered helpfully. It was a two-minute warning no experienced porn photographer would ignore.
“Okay, Jacqui,” O asked. “Where do you want it?”
“Gotta be a facial, don’t you think?”
With a face like hers? O didn’t usually like what she considered a tired convention of vanilla porn, but given Jacqui’s situation and how good she still looked in it, O decided not to duck the cliché. She had plenty of other unpredictable stuff already. While Calvin sprinted off to the bathroom for a quick rinse, O sat down next to Jacqui, still in her rigid bondage, and showed her some RAWs on the camera back. Renata shared the viewing experience while blotting Jacqui’s upper lip with a makeup sponge.
“You’re really good at this,” Jacqui said with genuine awe.
“You make my job easy,” O replied.
“Maybe. I can build a website from scratch in a day, but if I had to take my own pictures for it, I’d never get it online.”
“I knew you were a closet geek. You should get together with Fiona– she’s the queen of Photoshop, not that you need it.”
Jacqui gave O a very frank look.
“I wouldn’t mind getting together with you some time.”
Mercifully, Calvin strolled back from the bathroom, whistling.
“Good to go,” he announced.
O spotted him next to Jacqui’s face and moved in, sitting on the floor to see how much air she could get on the pop. She asked Calvin to please try and miss her.
Jacqui opened her mouth wide while he masturbated over her for a remarkably short time. One bad feature of stills was all the starting and stopping that made the final flat-out dash to the finish an ordeal for some of the guys. Not for this boy. However annoying, he was certainly reliable. Jacqui caught almost all of it on her tongue, rolling her head just enough to let it stream out the corners of her mouth and all over everything. Everyone in the room applauded, even Fiona who rushed in to take Jacqui out of the hard restraint.
“I’d call this a good day,” O said. “Thank you both. I’d like to shoot you again.”
It was only half a lie. She’d be delighted to shoot Jacqui any time. Calvin she’d rather shoot with an elephant gun, but she’d probably end up using him regardless. Male performers who could do their bit with bound female performers were a pretty small club.
Free at last, Jacqui stood up and gave a mighty stretch.
“That’s what I love about good bondage,” she said, giving Fiona a hug after Renata had cleaned up her wrecked face with a baby wipe. “It feels so fine going on and even better coming off. Somebody toss me my flip flops, please.”
O found them and handed them directly to Jacqui, who was covered in sweat and smelled strongly of sex. O could feel Jacqui’s body heat and it stirred her own uncomfortably, especially when Jacqui spontaneously used O’s shoulder for balance while standing up. She asked O if she could look at a few more pictures from the shoot. O obliged, flipping through them on the laptop onto which Roger had already started downloading them. They flew by in a fantastic blur of erotic violence.
“I’d love to have some of these shots for my site,” she said wistfully, knowing how hard it was to get use rights on work for hire.
“I think I can talk the boss into that if you give the magazine a credit.”
“No big.”
“And tweet about it. And write it up for your blog.”
“Done deal.”
They shook hands on it and Jacqui went off to a second bathroom to shower separately from Calvin. Somewhat to her own surprise, O found herself following along.
In the white, clinical bathroom, Jacqui sang to herself, off-key, while O watched her through the translucent curtain.
“Want me to wash your back?”
Jacqui pushed the curtain aside and turned around. O found a big sponge and some liquid soap. She worked away at some of the grime left over from the steel cage.
“You have no idea how good that feels,” Jacqui sighed.
“You’d be surprised.”
“I can tell you’re one of us. You know too much to be just another human tripod.”
“Well, your hints aren’t exactly subtle.”
Jacqui turned her wet face to O and kissed her on the lips.
It went on a few seconds longer than expected, threatening to turn into something else. Jacqui finally broke it off.
“Your hints aren’t all that subtle either, Madame Photographer.”
“I like flirting with girls if they’re wired like I am,” O said with a casual shrug. “They’re better at it than boys.”
Jacqui reached out and took O’s hand, looking at the big shackle ring.
“Whoever he is, he’s a lucky guy.”
“He’s the owner of the magazine, but he’s not all that lucky. He gets in his own way.”
“I can’t imagine much gets in your way,” Jacqui said over the noise of the streaming water.
“I take a detour here and there, but I stay on course when it comes to work.”
“Riiight. That’s why you’re in here with me.”
“I’d like to continue this conversation. I’m doing some stills for a latex catalog next week. All singles. Doesn’t pay a ton, but you can keep the outfits.”
“Fuck, yeah! What day?”
“Tuesday.”
I’ll put it on my phone calendar when I get out.”
Mission accomplished, O excused herself. She rarely did this kind of thing anymore, though she’d once been the terror of her boarding school locker room. She’d gone after girls relentlessly because that’s all there were. After meeting dick, however, O had pretty much given up her Sapphic enthusiasms. There were rare exceptions. Jacqui might be one of them.
O handed Jacqui a towel as she stepped, dripping, out of the shower.
“I’ll get back with you right away about Tuesday,” O promised.
Jacqui gave her a quick hug, all hot and pink and damp from the spray.
“I’d like that,” she said on her way out of the bathroom.
O wondered what was happening inside herself, a place where she didn’t spend much time as a rule. Tired and achy as she was after a typically strenuous studio day, she couldn’t deny her impatience for the coming Friday.

About the Author:
Ernest Greene has been the Executive Editor of Hustler’s flagship BDSM magazine Taboo since 1999 and of Taboo Illustrated since . He has performed in, written, produced, or directed over 500 adult titles, including the Nina Hartley’s Guide series, starring his wife and producing partner, noted porn star and sex educator Nina Hartley. Master of O may be purchased here.

About the Illustrator:
Fernando is a self-taught illustrator inspired by American comic books and European fetish art. One of the preeminent creators of graphic novels in the explicit BDSM genre, his work includes the Cheerleaders series, Confiscated Twins, Dark Vengeance, and many more.

Tagged With: ernest greene, erotica, master of o, Nina Hartley

Erotica: Poker Night at Master of O’s

November 15, 2016 By Ernest Greene 1 Comment

11

The next time he called, Steven instructed O to put on full makeup “as slutty as possible,” and present herself at his place at nine-thirty p.m. When O arrived, she found the large table covered in green felt and set up for blackjack, with decks of guilt-edged playing cards and stacks of clay chips. The sight made O’s stomach flutter. As usual, Steven (dressed tonight in a hunter green velvet smoking jacket with frogs across the front) was quite affectionate, only allowing her to kiss his matching green velvet slippers in proper slave protocol before dragging her to her feet for some serious making out. She was beginning to understand Steven’s twisted thinking too well and could broadly anticipate what was coming, though her new devil was all about the details and they changed constantly.

Steven prepared her in the back room, starting with a new pair of Wolford stay-ups, straight from the package. O wondered whether he shopped for such things himself or simply called and had what he wanted sent over. He collared her with the customary kiss on the nape, made her do the patent cuffs herself, which he fitted with small brass bells that clipped onto the rings, adding loose chains in between that would only slightly hobble her movements. This pair of ankle cuffs had snug stirrup straps that would have prevented her from kicking off her punishing patent heels, even if she’d had a mind to, though the very idea was too undignified to contemplate.

For once, he added a bit of costume, a tiny, black latex apron edged with a white latex ruffle, far too short to conceal anything a viewer might want to see or touch. Steven knotted the rubber straps in back with a huge bow.

From a drawer in the back room’s tool chest, Steven brought out a leather-covered tray, its red surface trimmed in black patent to match her restraints and a curved cut-out to hold it against her body. A buckled strap ran around the back to keep it in place. Lighter straps swung from the front corners. O knew enough about bondage to instantly comprehend how this was all meant to work.
Steven parked the tray up against O’s belly and instructed her to hold it there so he could buckle the belt snuggly around her middle. The narrow straps were equipped with snap-hooks that attached neatly to her collar rings, holding the tray level at right angles to her ribcage. Steven walked her over to the big mirror and had her do a turn so she could appreciate the effect. It was quite lewd, presenting O’s breasts on the tray along with whatever libations she expected to serve. The makeup was heavy enough to make her look like the fuck-doll she knew she would soon be.

But for whom? Steven offered no explanations as he showed her to the bar station at the kitchen island and quizzed her on how to properly mix various cocktails. O wasn’t much of a drinker, but she had once dated a bartender during her swing-dancing period and was quite adept with a shaker. The way the motion made her breasts bounce would undoubtedly contribute to her popularity.

O was relieved that there were only three extra places at the table, knowing she was in for a long evening.

It was that and more. In the kitchen Steven was using an ice cube and stainless steel tongs he’d taken from the bucket she’d just filled to run up and down her from behind, where she was completely exposed, when the B&O phone mounted on the wall rang. Steven gave permission for his guests to be sent up.

O was left in to finish setting out a tray of canapés from the huge refrigerator while Steven greeted his opponents – two men and a woman. All were lawyers, very high-ticket judging from the expensively casual way in which they dressed. They were also younger than Steven, and far from unattractive, though O would have served them at Steven’s command if they’d been a scouting party of Vikings.

The woman – slender with short blonde hair and some nice architecture well presented by the black-satin open-necked tuxedo shirt and side-striped trousers she wore – was the only one to acknowledge O’s presence, going to the kitchen to check her out. She started to ask O’s name, but Steven cut her off, explaining that O was under orders not to speak. It was the first O had heard of this order, but she was grateful for it. She had a hard enough time talking to strangers with her clothes on.

Steven relayed all the drink orders and O set to work pouring and stirring while they stood around the island and talked shop. One of the men, tall and sandy-haired, had just taken a staff position with the mayor’s office. Another, a buff black man in a tweed jacket and Oliver Peoples specs who exuded a carefully cultivated air of nonchalance, had just finished up an eighteen-million-dollar construction contract for a new wing at LACMA. The woman was taking a case on appeal to the state supreme court.

None of them seemed uncomfortable, or even surprised, at O’s all-but-naked presence, though they did turn their attention to her at Steven’s suggestion when she shook up a vodka martini for the woman, whose hungry gaze made O uncomfortable. O suppressed a smile at the thought of how the distraction she provided would work to Steven’s advantage in the upcoming match. He’d undoubtedly planned it that way.

Once they all sat down, O made a circuit around the table, dipping at the knee with her hands behind her head to serve each drink. She wasn’t surprised at all, much less offended, when each in turn felt her up, the woman lingering longest to tug on O’s thick nipple rings. She asked Steven if he’d had them put on her. He explained that she came from the factory that way.

Steven took the dealer’s position and the play got serious, both on and around the table. When not fetching refreshments or trimming cigars, O found herself constantly and rudely toyed with by everyone in the room. Each time she leaned over to clear an empty glass, someone groped her tits. For a time, the woman had her stand to one side and massaged O’s crotch with a practiced hand while deliberating whether to raise or fold. O could see everyone’s cards, of course, but betrayed nothing by her deliberately doll-like demeanor. If O was to play this part, she would play it as correctly as she could figure out how.

The tinkling of the bells on her cuffs could be heard over the low conversation with each trip to the kitchen. Steven had suggested they all make their requests of her through him to spare her the necessity of a verbal response. He knew that when the tray was fully loaded with black crystal double-old-fashioned glasses it was heavy enough to be a strain on her back and having to work around the short chains while performing her tasks was not easy. But as always, she immersed herself in the situation without complaint. By midnight, most of the girls he’d known would have been begging for a break from the evil fetish pumps, but O never gave any master the satisfaction of hearing her beg until at the limit of her endurance.

It was a weeknight, thankfully, and not intended for a prolonged match. O suspected the cards might be just a pretext, though clearly a profitable one for Steven, who had pretty much cleaned out all his friends by the fourth game. There was some predictable whining and griping, but it stopped quickly when Steven offered them all O as a consolation prize.

It was just what O had expected, ending up on her knees at each chair for a few minutes, getting everyone in the mood while Steven put away the game set, excusing himself to deposit everyone’s money in the wall safe in his closet. He took off O’s tray, much to the relief of her aching spine and neck, and unlocked the chains between her wrists and ankles.

Steven returned to find O splayed on her back on the table with one cock in her pussy, one in each hand and the woman sitting on her face. No one was to leave without getting off and O did whatever necessary to achieve that result. The black man came in her the conventional way, as Steven had the first time: supine with her heels in the air. O was glad for it, as he was long and the position kept him from going too deep. The sandy-haired guy sat in a chair while she performed on her knees. As anticipated, the woman was the most demanding. Folding O over the table, she retrieved a short, sharp single-tail whip from her handbag and used it all too competently. It was a real stinger, even for O, who involuntarily lifted one foot at a couple of particularly cutting strokes. O was relieved to be back on her knees with a mouthful of the woman’s lightly scented anatomy demanding her full attention.
O’s ass, of course, was saved for Steven, who took it on the dragon carpet after the others left. O answered honestly that she’d come with every one of them, but had the most fun with the female lawyer. O could never form a real romantic attachment with a woman, but generally preferred them for casual encounters. A quickie shoved up against the wall by a strong man was fun but she was enamored of every part of women’s bodies. With men she rarely noticed anything much about them above the waist.

Sticky and sweaty with her own fluids and those of others, she was pleased to shower with Steven and spend the night in his arms. He told her she’d made him very proud, which she already knew, but it was still nice to hear.

Returning home in the morning, she found Ray waiting for her, watching CNN. She’d barely gotten in the door before he set upon her, not even bothering to strip her fully, merely unbuttoning her blouse and skirt and nailing her to the floor.

O noted with some concern that Ray, whose sexual appetites were unpredictable, invariably made use of her every time she returned from Steven’s. He was always especially rough when she had fresh marks.

About the Author:
Ernest Greene has been the Executive Editor of Hustler’s flagship BDSM magazine Taboo since 1999 and of Taboo Illustrated since . He has performed in, written, produced, or directed over 500 adult titles, including the Nina Hartley’s Guide series, starring his wife and producing partner, noted porn star and sex educator Nina Hartley. Master of O may be purchased here.

About the Illustrator:
Fernando is a self-taught illustrator inspired by American comic books and European fetish art. One of the preeminent creators of graphic novels in the explicit BDSM genre, his work includes the Cheerleaders series, Confiscated Twins, Dark Vengeance, and many more.

Tagged With: ernest green, erotica, master of o, Nina Hartley

Erotica: Master of O, Two

September 26, 2016 By Ernest Greene Leave a Comment

01 copy

Read chapter one here.
CHAPTER TWO

“I have no idea whether this makes sense or not,” Steven told O, “but I’m going to find out. Get undressed. I’ll be back in a few minutes. This is where I want to find you.”

Steven turned and vanished down alongside the glass wall.

Steven’s outsize bedroom, on the other side of a sturdy wall he’d built from where he pictured her stripping at the moment, was also open to the exterior glass so he could kick back in his giant, girder-framed bed and keep an eye on the city. The walls were upholstered in a rich, dark red fabric. Metal chests trimmed in rivets and leather straps ran floor to ceiling on one side with a sliding ladder on a built-in track for accessing the upper drawers. A row of classic, white oak machinist’s chests and big, framed mirrors stood neatly arranged along the other. The bed, slightly elevated on a low platform, was fitted with steel rings at the corners and along the beams, the mattress spread with a black Pratesi duvet trimmed in the trademark triple striping, also red. Low, recessed lights set high around the perimeter gave little competition to the illuminated skyline outside the glass.

A door at the back not far from the bed gave into Steven’s dressing area. Nearly as large as the bedroom itself, its burl wood interior was lined with drawers, cabinets, hanging bars and three-way mirrors. It was all from a once-exclusive men’s shop, the interior of which Steven had purchased, dismantled and recreated in his loft when the shop went broke.

Furnished only with a large, tufted-leather bench in the center, it was as orderly as if still open for business. Every suit, jacket, shirt and pair of trousers hung in neat rows organized by color and design. Piles of cashmere sweaters were stacked in glass-fronted cases. Rolled socks, ties and scarves were tucked into rows of open cubbyholes. A door with a porthole in it, one of the few doors in the whole place, permitted entrance to a black marble bathroom equipped with every kind of plumbing fixture imaginable, all equipped with chrome spouts and hoses and thermostats.

Steven went straight to the mirrored double doors above the twin sinks, switched on the surrounding makeup lights and snagged a pill bottle from the cabinet on the left. He swallowed two blue diamond tabs with a handful of water from the faucet. It was pure drug abuse. He didn’t need chemical assistance. He just enjoyed two-hour hard-ons. His agenda was often elaborate and he liked to pursue it at his own pace. What a miracle drug they’d invented for perverts!

If this wasn’t to be a one-time thing, as the passing of the keys suggested it wouldn’t be, best not to hurry. No need to go to the back room this visit. Its wonders could wait. Simple, deliberate and direct felt right.
Back in his private boutique, where everything was the perfect size and color, Steven undressed. His system for dismantling himself never varied. O might well be naked not far away by now. She would wait for him. Waiting was part of it.

The rose stickpin came out first, to be skewered into the red felt inside the fitted-leather dressing box on the long, low chest next to the bathroom door. His plain, round platinum and jet cufflinks went there too, in a different compartment from the toggled chain bracelet and the onyx ring. The engraved card case and pillbox dropped into their spaces and the leather box shut with a firm click. Drawing the red-and-black pocket square, Steven shook it out, folded it neatly and slid it into a narrow drawer with many like it and many others more ornate. There was another drawer for glasses an optometrist might have envied. The wallet joined a dozen more in a locked cabinet and the fountain pen slid into a vertical rack inside a glass case so crowded with extravagant writing instruments it resembled an ant farm. His watch joined a dozen others in a motorized Tourbillion auto-winder with a skeleton movement.

He caught a quick glimpse of himself in the three-way fitting mirror. Steven’s looks didn’t inspire vanity, but his style did. Style, his mother had taught him, was a weapon in the arsenal, and Steven enjoyed shedding his armor less than he enjoyed putting it on. He’d gotten the dimple in that tie just right today. Shame to wreck it. Steven had often stayed dressed for the girls who fetishized the power-suit guy. But on this occasion, everything must go. Steven unknotted the tie as carefully as he had earlier pulled it into the perfect four-in-hand. No yanking on the woven silk. The tie department was a controlled riot of color where today’s choice, snugly rolled, went back to its cubicle in the red-and-black section.

He tossed his brightly lined suit jacket lightly onto the leather bench, revealing his devil’s red braces. Back in the day, a gentleman never showed his braces to anyone with whom he was not intimate, and these were racier in their way than the more pornographic embroidered ones he wore expressly to be seen. In the now open-collared red shirt, one of a dozen he had Turnbull make up for him, and the suit trousers with their razor-edge waist-to-cuff pleats, Steven briefly considered going back out to O just as he was. Remembering that this was not a seduction, he settled the braces on their hook, hanging the suit in the DB department (laying the broad lapels flat to avoid folding over the peaks) and treeing the boots before sliding them into the ranks of footwear ranged along half a dozen shelves. The shirt went to the dry-cleaning compartment, underwear and socks to the concealed hamper.

For one moment, Steven looked at himself naked.

He was already feeling the first hot flush of the drug hitting his system and he didn’t yet know the precise interval for O at which anticipation turned to boredom.

From the long bar of robes and dressing gowns, he continued today’s theme with a heavy, black-silk T&A, its wide, quilted shawl lapels and matching cuffs piped in red. How many pairs of skull-embroidered velvet slippers could one man wear in a lifetime? Steven’s own extravagances made him cringe occasionally, but now was not the moment for introspection. O was expecting him to be his bad self, what most women wanted from him. He lowered the lights and headed out to tonight’s arena.

As expected, he found O in the living room, displayed as precisely as all the artifacts he kept under glass. Stripped to her red-soled pumps, stay-ups, the long gloves she’d impulsively slipped back on and the collar around her neck, O knelt on her high heels in the middle of the dragon rug. Her knees were wide apart, her hands still laced behind her head like the condemned awaiting execution, shoulders squared, breasts out, chin straight, eyes lowered.

When Steven entered the room, stopped and stared, a slight tremor washed over her, though of course she didn’t turn her head to look at him. She was the one there to be looked at.

Steven was perfectly rude about taking in the view, making her stand at attention, walking around her, looking high and low. Yes, there were surprises. O could have rouged her nipples a shade darker so the rings would have stood out more, but they were far from inconspicuous. Though only an inch and a half in diameter, they were wicked thick, agonizingly stretched from an initial ten gauge to their current six. Plain stainless with black hematite captive-bead closings, they clearly wanted to be grabbed, weighted, tied and made to hurt.
Steven took in the slender shoulders and spectacular, natural teardrop breasts of the type for which women in this town paid vast sums and still didn’t get. O’s belly, flat and cut from fanatical exercise, her perfectly sculpted pink lower lips Steven and Ray had admired; the high, tight buttocks and long straight legs with slender ankles; all comprised a fine inventory and both Steven and O knew it.

Steven could see O’s pulse thumping in her carotids. A droplet of sweat trickled in each armpit. He was quite certain she was dripping elsewhere too. The tightening, throbbing bulge rising under his silk robe was just as apparent to the two of them.

Steven let her stay at attention as he plucked the half joint from the ashtray and fired it up with the giant lighter, inhaling a big hit. He approached O at leisure, his head wreathed in smoke. He seemed so accustomed to having whatever he wanted, absolutely devoid of shame or doubt. And she was alone with him at last. Now nothing stood between him and whatever he wanted of her. He stopped in front of O’s face, tracing her cheek with a fingertip.

“I love this moment,” he said quietly. “So full of promise.”

In the heavy silence of the vast room, its lights dimmed, the illuminated city at their feet, they shared an interval of limitless possibility. Steven held the joint up in front of her. O leaned forward and took a hit without using her hands. Steven got the closer look he wanted, impressed by the lean muscularity beneath her flawless skin.

“You’re a fit bitch, aren’t you?”
“I try to maintain myself in good working condition, Sir.”
Her address was so correct it came edged in an irony that inspired rudeness.
“You stink like sweat and sex,” he said. “And no perfume. I like that.”
“Sir has a keen sense of smell.”
“Not always a blessing in this world, but right now, I’m quite grateful for it.”

Flicking the roach into the porcelain Cohiba ashtray on a glass end table, he pulled O into him and kissed her, his hands reading her body like a blind man’s reads Braille. He was good at these things, neither tentative nor rough. His lips pressed hard on hers, but his tongue explored her mouth with surprising delicacy.

Skilled fingers rolled the steel rings back and forth beneath the tinted, stippled flesh. Steven loved the sensation of hard metal moving under tender skin. O’s already-half-erect nipples crinkled up around the jewelry. Her surprisingly blue web of milk veins stood out against the paler skin of her breasts.

Steven’s other hand came up between her legs and took hold firmly at their juncture, his warm palm pressing against her wetness. O managed to hold position, but there was no resisting the urge to rub against his open hand. O’s clit was almost embarrassingly large even when soft, which it most certainly wasn’t now, and it had its own agenda that would not be denied.

Wrapping his unoccupied hand in her hair, he pulled her face back from his.
“You’re also a fast starter,” Steven said. He didn’t overdo it, but a little humiliation spiced the mix. For people like themselves, without the knowledge of shame there could be no pleasure.
O’s voice came out huskier than she would have preferred. She wanted to be cool to this man, but it seemed impossible. She was uncomfortably aware of her visibly rapid breathing.
“I have no resistance to pleasure or pain, Sir,” she said as matter-of-factly as possible.
“And I can see why Ray has no resistance to you. I imagine most men react that way.”
“Some women as well, Sir.”
Steven laughed, face splitting into a wide grin. He was nothing if not jolly, but how deep did that go and what lay underneath? Her hair still wound into his grip, there was no avoiding his gaze.
“I’m sure. That must be helpful in the studio.”
“Sometimes. Models can be very competitive.”
“Why does that not surprise me?”

When he kissed her this time, it was much deeper and rougher, his strong hands plastering her up against the heavy silk of his robe. The kiss lingered, but when it was over, he pushed her away a carefully calculated distance and slapped her across the left cheek with perfect precision, exactly in the middle of the fleshy part, just hard enough to sting and leave a light handprint. O didn’t flinch. In fact, she looked up at him with a surprised smile.
“You really know how to hurt a girl, Sir,” she said brightly.
“Lots of practice,” he said.
Taking her by her collared throat, he smacked her across the right breast with a loud splat. The ring at the tip flashed in the light.
“Ouch,” O said, still smiling at him as the stinging spread out from the point of impact. Yes, he was an evil bastard and he wanted her to know it. Spinning her like a top, he gathered her in against him back to front. Something thick and hard poked through the smooth fabric of the robe to rub against the groove between O’s buttocks. O wondered if that where he would go first. Ray said he liked doing girls up the butt. If so, he wasn’t in any hurry, stroking the front of her body firmly up and down with one hand while the other still gripped her solidly between the legs. A shivering moan rose from deep in her chest. She was so small in his arms, gloved hands at last disentwining to reach back around his bullish neck.
“You’re made for this, aren’t you?” he whispered in her ear, which was decorated with a simple diamond stud edged in jet to match her stowed necklace.
“Made to be used, Sir?” she asked with mocking innocence.
“Made to play the slave.”
O stiffened, suddenly offended. She broke the embrace and turned to face him.
“You think this is just play for me?”
“It’s certainly a convenient way of getting what you need. After all, you’re only following orders. It’s not your fault.”
Her tilted eyes narrowed at his taunting. Her clenched teeth were straight and white.
“I never pretend to be virtuous. If I didn’t like myself as I am I’d be some other way. Sir.”
“Well,” Steven said pleasantly, “another thing we have in common. I won’t judge you for your nature if you won’t judge me for mine.”
O felt her flash of anger fade. It wouldn’t be easy, staying mad at this guy. She cocked a perfectly plucked eyebrow at him.
“And what nature is that, Sir?”
“Cruel but generous. And pathologically cheerful.”
He came forward suddenly and scooped her off the rug like a rag-doll. His shoulders seemed even bigger with her gloved arms wrapped around them. He gave off a faint citrus scent, something subtle and expensive. O couldn’t refrain from smiling when he swung her around, carrying her toward the vast, steel-topped table. It had been a long time since a man had made her feel so weightless. She extended a leg for his visual pleasure.

Effortlessly, Steven conveyed her to the longer side of the table, moving a chair out of the way with a velvet slipper before perching her on the edge so her feet dangled just off the floor. Finding her balance, she put her hands back behind her head and opened her knees as far apart as possible. The neat, straight line between her thighs popped open in full, dewy bloom.
“My, she’s a naughty little thing, isn’t she?
O’s shoulders rose and fell, taking her breasts along.
“She has a mind of her own, Sir.”
“With which you seldom disagree. Very smooth too. Shave or wax?”
“Laser, everywhere from the neck down – arms, legs, everywhere. I’ve always hated hair on my body. I started shaving at fifteen but I could never get it all off. Now I’m like this permanently.”
“I admire your dedication. Take off your gloves. I want to see what you do when you’re alone.”
The table was chilly under O’s backside, but she got herself as comfortable as possible on it, unbuttoning and tugging off each glove, folding them onto the table next to her left leg. One hand went to her right breast, twisting and tugging hard on the fat ring. The other dropped straight to her lower lips, squeezing them together and rolling them back and forth. Steven smiled to see that her pink nail polish was a dead match for the color of her most intimate flesh. He would have wagered the building he stood in that her pedicure was identical.
O could certainly have made a performance of masturbating for him, displaying herself far more bawdily, but he hadn’t asked for that. He wanted to know what she did when she was alone, and this was how she started, gradually, working into a slow, circular massage that made her inner juiciness quite audible.

Steven appreciated the precision of her obedience. Sliding comfortably in against her nylon-sheathed thigh, he unhitched the tasseled belt of his robe to join in.

It was often difficult for O to keep her eyes down, but not when there was something worth looking at. They went straight to the rigid flesh that popped out to greet her. Both at work and at leisure, O had many occasions to appreciate male anatomy when it justified her interest, but that was far too seldom. Steven had just what she liked – not much longer than usual, but appealingly girthy, with a narrow, cleanly circumcised head expanding rapidly to broad bulge, then tapering back in with a slight upward curve. It was rock-hard and clearly very happy to be so close to her.

Steven rubbed it against the stocking, holding her by the neck.
“Sir has a nice one, if I might take the liberty of saying so.”
“I’m quite attached to it myself.” His tone was affable enough.
“Permission to touch?”
“By all means.”

O’s touch didn’t disappoint. Still masturbating with one hand, the other was warm and her grip was firm and assured, her stroke slow and knowing, with a slight twist at the end. Steven felt the swelling increase, the throbbing grow more urgent.
“You’re quite accomplished at that, aren’t you?”
“I’m glad you approve.”
“Of the fact that you’re a slut who’s an expert on cocks?”
“Yes, Sir. I’m dreadfully promiscuous.”
“I’m shocked. Hands back now.”
O was approaching the edge, but she stopped short and complied. Steven took O’s nipple rings and a healthy chunk of the meat in which they were anchored between the thumb and index finger of each hand.
“Tell me when it stops feeling good.”
He began to pinch, the pressure rising gradually until O’s head swam and she moaned.
“You enjoy being hurt this way,” he observed.
“Yes, Sir. You can go harder if you like.”
O’s pain tolerance followed a familiar bell curve, rising as she approached orgasm and, no doubt, descending rapidly after climax.
“Shall I give you a safeword?”
“I’ve had them before but never used one … Sir.”
“Fine then. Just tell me if something’s wrong and I’ll take that into consideration.”
When he pulled her up by the rings almost off the edge of the table, she let out an unexpected yelp. He kept her up there a long minute, her shoulders lifted and back straightened to relieve the pressure, her laced fingers tightening behind her collar.
“Is that something you don’t like?”
“No, Sir,” O said between gritted teeth. “I can take a lot there before it hurts in a bad way.”
“Very good. One thing you will be forbidden is modesty in any form. If you’re to belong to me, nothing must be concealed, physically or otherwise.”
“Understood, Sir.”
“Down you go, my dirty girl.”
Placing his open hand against her breastbone, he gave O a surprisingly hard shove, landing her flat on her back on the table. It felt freezing under her, shaking loose a cry of surprise. Her freshly abused nipples suddenly popped up even harder as a wave of goose bumps rolled down the length of her body.
“It’s meant to be cold. Put your legs on my shoulders and lie still.”

O rested her ankles lightly on either side of his face, expecting the abrupt penetration for which they both certainly appeared ready, but Steven was not one to be hurried, ever. Instead, he bent down and slapped her face back and forth. He kissed her repeatedly, starting at her mouth, which she made as accommodating as possible for him. Working his way down her collared throat, he paused at the engorged tip of each breast to tug the rings between his teeth for a moment. Then he continued down the furrow of her belly, his lips warm and dry on O’s skin. She tried to stay still and open, but she really didn’t want what was coming next.

It wasn’t that O disliked oral stimulation, but most men were so god-awful at it she’d rather they didn’t try. All that frantic flicking, usually concentrated in the most obvious spot. Please, let this one not be that way.
Much to her surprise, Steven ate pussy like a dyke. Fastening his mouth around her splayed parts, he sucked her wholly into his mouth, applying his tongue in lazy circles across the entire landscape of her membranes. `
Involuntarily, O felt her legs wrap tight around his neck, hearing what sounded like a muffled laugh from far below. She wasn’t the first woman he’d surprised in this way.

Picking up speed, licking and sucking harder, neither shy nor aggressive, he went at it systematically, carefully noting every twitch and gasp, adjusting his motions accordingly. As Steven once advised Ray, “Show me a master who doesn’t give killer head and I’ll show you one who’s soon to be replaced.”

O grabbed the edge of the table, clutching with all her might. He’d let her do most of the work herself and now had only to apply the necessary attention directly to her clit. Steven applied himself to it with careful determination, one hand wrapped around a rocking thigh, the other snaking up to close over her throat above the collar. His grip tightening, he felt her whole body stiffen and arch.

“Please, Sir,” she gasped, “permission to come.”
Sliding a hand over O’s wet parts to keep her warm, he looked up at her with an evil grin.
“Does girl deserve it?”
“Please, Sir. Girl needs it.”
“Then girl will pay the price after.”
“Gladly, Sir.”
Steven dropped his head back into her lap and O’s heels pressed into his shoulders as the bright flush that always gave her away spread over her chest. She went rigid, slapped her palms down on the surface, threw back her head and let out a shockingly indecorous howl. Her entire body clenched into a crunch, lifting half off the cold steel. Her hands flew to the back of his head as he felt her pelvic bones grind against his face. He exhaled sharply through his nostrils, burrowing in deep, but halting his movements until O’s spasms faded. He knew better than to suck past the money.
Slowly detaching himself, he leaned into her flushed, damp face. O’s hair fell to one side and her eyes were closed so tight the mascaraed lids wrinkled.
“That seems to work,” Steven pronounced with the satisfaction of a mechanic hearing a starter kick over.
“Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir,” O panted.
“I like the way you taste,” he said, “Get up.”
“I’m a little dizzy, Sir.”
“I should hope.”
He stood straight, took her by the hands and pulled her onto her perilous heels. O swayed slightly, seeking her balance.
“Here, I’ll make it easy for you.”
Swinging O around, Steven placed her hands flat on the table, yanking her hips back until her rump grazed the front of his robe. He casually kicked her ankles wide apart, exposing a long, shiny, liquid streak down the inside of her right thigh. O made no attempt to brush it away. She was certainly more stable this position, but even as the whirling subsided in her brain, she felt a chill of anxiety. He said he was cruel and generous. She guessed the cruel part was next.
“Lovely. Stay just like that.”
Steven left her there, strolling over to the silver-handled crop dangling from its hook. He was in no hurry about it, losing none of his perpendicularity en route. To her disappointment over the years, O had found many men couldn’t concentrate on more than one thing at a time. Somehow, she suspected, that wouldn’t be a problem here.
Steven lifted the crop by its pommel-ring and cheerily tossed it in the air. It did a single loop just under the lights and dropped, handle-first, into his grip. Since she wasn’t meant to look, the flourish was not for O’s benefit, just a spontaneous expression of exuberance. This property was now his, for however long, to enjoy as he pleased. At the moment, it pleased him to hurt her. There was no anger in his lust, just cruelty as he had promised. He strolled over, pacing slowly back and forth behind her.
O’s composure had limits. Her eyes began following him under the fringe of her hair. It was all she could do to keep her head still.
She’d expected strong legs from all that fencing, but not the dancer’s sinews or the loose-limbed gait. Steven’s gut, visible through the widening split of his robe, was even harder than hers, a slab of flagstone mounted on his sharply defined waist.
Already knowing the strength of Steven’s arms, it dawned on O that if she cared to resist him in anything, it wouldn’t matter at all. And from the safest perspective, down between her open legs, she saw that up-tilted ram rise even further. The anticipation of hurting her got him harder. This delicious realization made O dizzy again.
Finally, he stopped behind her. Tucking the whip under an arm, he dropped a hand between her shoulders, pressing her tits to the steel surface, still only slightly warmed by her body heat, and pushing down on her back to extend her hindquarters to him. O reached for the opposite edge of the table, figuring she’d need to hold on tight. Satisfied, Steven stroked the side of her face softly with the business end of the crop. He felt a wave of tenderness for her, as he always did toward those who endured to satisfy him.
The leather was smooth against O’s cheek and smelled of regular dressing.
“It’s my favorite,” Steven explained, “ideally balanced and easily controlled. I assume you’re still light-headed.”
“A bit, Sir. It was a very powerful orgasm.”
“Girls are always more pliable after the first one. And particularly sensitive. They’re far more readily broken by pleasure than pain, which is why I never deny them, though I still expect the courtesy of a request before coming.”
“I’ll try to remember, Sir.”
He moved in close, rubbing his cock along her flank, his hand finding its way underneath her to the right spot. Even a gentle contact made her jump, heels clicking back on the floor as quickly as possible. Such tiny lapses always amused him.
“Here’s the deal,” he said, still using her as a masturbatory object, “if it’s too hard, raise your right foot. If you want more, wiggle your ass.”
“That wouldn’t be impertinent, Sir?”
“It’s never impertinent for a slave to show off her ass.”
Stepping back, Steven went to en garde, crop extended. Every girl took the whip differently. Steven never ceased to marvel at the variety of their responses.
The first stroke was light and crisp, delivered to the lower curve of O’s butt-cheek with a slight upward cut at the point of impact. It hardly stung, but conveyed the general idea. Steven always gave fair warning. He was good about that.
Moving behind her in an unhurried stride, he took his time, positioning himself for each blow.
In his head, as always, Steven made choices. Whip. Touch. Fuck. It was an intoxicating combination of sensations, but his choices, once made, were never haphazardly mixed. He worked the crop in precise half-circles over the tops of O’s rear curves, each impact a bit harder, painting a deeper-hued stripe, proceeding from light pink to crimson as the instrument traveled back and forth like a metronome.
Steven watched and listened with complete attention – the speed at which the color rose on O’s flesh, the increasingly rapid contractions of her diaphragm, the accelerating sway of her hips. Steven liked making girls ask for it, beg for it. Their pleasure was his power.
Every ten strokes precisely, he paused, draping his arm around O’s waist, balancing the whip on her tailbone and sliding his fingers under her, around her wet zone, sometimes inside, probing expertly for any spot that produced a particularly intense response.
If O typically found men’s tongues disappointing, she positively dreaded their big fingers mauling her insides. But this man did not maul. He pushed buttons with the expertise of a skilled pilot.
Uppercuts to the lower surfaces now, swift and sure to the point where the line between pain and pleasure was more brightly drawn, though O was equally happy on either side of it. She was only distantly aware of her swaying rump, inviting him to strike harder.

Steven never declined such an invitation. He loved the meaty thump of leather on muscle, the rippling of skin outward from the point of impact, the knowledge that not only was he inflicting pain on someone he desired, but inducing her to like it.

The crop’s broad head distributed the energy as widely as possible, but it lacked nothing for bite. Now the focus moved inward, making O jump with the sudden, hard shots to the inner thigh. Liking the effect, Steven lingered, laying a row of triangular prints laddered from knee to crotch on both sides.

Curiosity overcoming both etiquette and common sense, O lifted her head and looked straight back over her shoulder at him. He was masturbating unabashedly with his unoccupied hand, smiling broadly, gleaming eyes focused to coordinate his aim. His movements were as ball bearing smooth as she presumed his saber advance to be. That hard, weathered face bore none of the usual affected sternness or stagy detachment that had become so wearying during the final days before Ray had reclaimed her from The Mansion.

Steven was in the moment, fully relaxed and loving it. O wasn’t the kind of selfish pain-addict who simply lived to have her itch scratched until it bled, submitting only for the purpose of seducing a partner into helping her get her freak on. She liked to see a man enjoy her so thoroughly. Pleasing made her confident and the indisputable evidence of Steven’s pleasure stood up between his legs like a tree-branch.

He had always been the kind of kid who tied up other kids, and when he reached puberty, he tied up girls. His first, a year ahead of him in school and improbably a cheerleader, had asked him to spank her with a belt before the first time they fucked.

Steven was convinced that there was a kind of transponder in those for whom sexual cruelty was as orientational as gender identity that sent out a signal others like themselves could read. He’d been turned down on his terms of engagement very few times in his life and he had never hesitated to state them clearly. Whatever guilt or shame so many men seemed to have over such impulses had been left out of him at the factory, along with certain other usual components, including jealousy and the urge to reproduce.

“Put your head back down, silly girl,” he said good naturedly, “and we’ll see if I can keep your mind from wandering.”
The sharp snap up between the legs commanded O’s attention wonderfully. She let out a yelp when the leather connected with a wet splat, but the tingling that followed, building atop the growing heat of the surrounding regions, was delicious.
“May I have another please, Sir?”
“Oh, absolutely. Have a couple.”
He delivered them smartly, with hardly a respite in between. O gasped and moaned.
“Thank you, Sir. That’s wonderful. Would Sir like me to count?”
Steven cringed.
“Oh god no. I hate formality for its own sake. I’ll whip you until I’m ready to do something else.” He continued a long time, halting unpredictably to massage O’s hotspot as he’d seen her do it, pinched between her neat, hairless labia. Back to whipping, he never stayed in one place too long, distributing the strokes evenly, left and right, high and low, until O’s ass glowed red all over, highlighted by darker crimson streaks.
Rubbing his fingers lightly across it, he could feel the rising welts. They weren’t deep and wouldn’t bruise. Most of the color would be gone by the next day, but for a first time, they served their purpose, providing him with an alluring view. He set the whip on the table where she could look at it and moved in behind her.
Pausing one last moment to look at all those splotches of scarlet, he took her by the hips and made a hands-free, unhurried entrance, the head of his cock pushing into O’s tenderized opening very slowly with a single, drawn-out thrust. Normally, he would have greased her up with some silicone lube first, but his earlier probing had satisfied him that she was wet enough already. She moaned and he felt her whole body go limp on the table. Snug and warm within, she was a perfect fit in every way, her small stature making her easy for him to slide in from the rear despite her tall heels.
Never one to hurry his indulgences, Steven took her in long, slow strokes, feeling her strong internal muscles grasping for him at every withdrawal. Swinging his hips in slow circles, he held her down flat with a hand in the middle of her back. It was a gesture she understood the way a well-trained horse understood a light tug on the reins and she stayed completely still from the waist up, only lifting her heels slightly and swiveling her pelvis each time he filled her again. The heat of her fresh welts tingled against Steven’s hard abs. He couldn’t resist raising the temperature with occasional random blows from an open hand, each of spurred O into grinding back harder.
Steven relished the control his chemically boosted arousal gave him, allowing him to speed up or back off without losing one PSI of internal pressure. He could stir O’s insides with lazy orbits; deliver a hard volley of pounding strokes, then back down again long before anything unexpected could occur. Steven couldn’t remember a single unscheduled orgasm in his entire life and doubted he’d ever have one. O, however, let out a pitiful whimper and began hammering at him so hard she rocked the heavy table. Her back heaved and her voice was high and thin when she pleaded for permission. Though it was a courtesy he demanded, Steven never said no to such a request, knowing that the more orgasms a woman had the more she was likely to, and that always worked in his favor.
After a few particularly deep, rough jolts, he slammed his hips against O’s sweaty backside and held her tight around the middle. O wailed, shaking her head from side to side, babbling out her gratitude along with assorted invocations of various deities and a few curses. This time, the telltale red flush rose along O’s spine. He stroked her affectionately while her breathing slowed to normal.
“That must have been a good one,” he observed calmly, his hard rod still now, but pulsing inside her from the blood pumping through his dilated vessels.
“Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir. Penetration works best for me, but you can also get me off with a vibrator if you like.”
Steven laughed.
“You really don’t hold anything back, do you?”
O was still breathing hard.
“It’s a slave’s duty to keep her master informed, Sir.”
“I appreciate your honesty.”
Steven could read his partners with the expertise of vast experience, but preferred not to have to.
“I’m going to enjoy you from the front now,” he said, sliding his arms under her shoulders and raising her onto her feet. O staggered a bit turning around and her face was as flushed and sweaty as the rest of her, stray wisps of hair clinging to her cheeks.
“Want to see first?
“May I?”
He guided her over to the mirror so O could admire the neat rows of stripes. She brushed them with her fingertips. Their burning and itching went straight to her center.
“They’re beautiful, Sir. Thank you.”
“I’m sure you could take it harder, but you get the general idea.”
Steven wondered what was required to wring genuine pleas for mercy from those full lips. Perhaps he’d find out sometime, but it wasn’t his usual objective. He was only vicious enough to satisfy his needs and didn’t seek limits as ends in themselves. It hadn’t always been thus.
He swung her around into his arms and kissed her hard. She gave it back to him, letting a small squeal escape her nostrils when he reached down and squeezed her ass.
“You’re mean, Sir,” she panted when their mouths separated.
“You noticed that.”
“But you could be meaner if it pleases you.”
There were places in Steven he rarely visited anymore, though as a younger man he’d spent a lot of time there. He sensed that was precisely the geography O wished to explore, but it would have to be his choice and he wasn’t ready to make it yet.
He took O by the wrist and led her back to the table, once again seating her on the edge. This time the cold steel felt good under her seared backside. She deliberately shifted her weight on it, ostensibly settling herself in, splayed open with her hands out of the way.
O was nice and sweaty now. Clever girl, the blush on her lips and tits might be colorfast, but her mascara was clearly meant to run and small, black rivulets trickled from the corners of her eyes. Steven knew it had been a gamble, or possibly a presentment. Not all men liked criers. As it happened, he did.
“You do mess up nicely,” he said, putting his hand to her wet face. O suddenly broke form, grabbed his wrist and held it tight, squeezing out a few more black droplets between her shuttered lids. But she smiled at the same time. Steven stroked her face gently for a moment and then ordered her back into position.
Undoing the tasseled belt of his robe, he shrugged it off, catching it neatly over one arm as it fell and laying it next to O’s things on the couch. Turning back, he allowed her the privilege of a good, long look.
In addition to his most obvious landmark, Steven had other striking terrain features – a spectacular red irezumi dragon, surrounded by red and yellow flames and bright blue waves, covered his entire left shoulder, winding down his arm just to the stopping point of a short-sleeve shirt. He noticed her studying it.
“Gift from a Japanese client for whom I did a favor.”
“Beautiful,” O said. She didn’t have a thing for ink, had come to think of it as a fashion cliché that couldn’t be donated to The Salvation Army. But Steven’s seemed to fit him perfectly like everything he wore. Not far from it, on his other shoulder, was something she really didn’t expect to see, a deep, perfectly round scar she was pretty sure she recognized. Daringly, she reached out and touched it with a fingertip.
“Not so beautiful.”
“It was a 9mm, through-and-through. Gift from a less satisfied client.”
He dipped his shoulder to show her the exit wound in back.
“And here I’d assumed it was from an ex-wife.”
“She and I parted on better terms. Anyway, it didn’t break any bones or hit anything vital.”
“That was lucky.”
“If I was lucky I wouldn’t have gotten shot. Now sit up straight.” She did it gravely, setting her shoulders and properly lowering her gaze to Steven’s velvet slippers, taking just a beat to see him through the viewfinder. For all the evident mileage, Steven had the battered perfection of an artifact from a distant era, all muscle and sinew, solid as marble. The idea was a little absurd but the frisson was real.
O was on a blind date in ancient Crete without a ball of string to find her way back out of the labyrinth where Ray had offered her as tribute. What if she couldn’t? What if this was the date that lasted forever? O didn’t believe in forever and reality intruded with a sharp rap to the side of her left breast.
Just as he had from behind, Steven applied the crop with unerring aim, planting bright red blooms around O’s aureoles before giving her hard, downward slaps across their heavily ornamented tips. Whipping over piercings was tricky, but Steven had much practice at smacking the upper surfaces without catching the rings.
O couldn’t stay silent under his precision hammering of these tender regions. She tried not to squirm. Throwing his aim off would make things worse. She did gasp, whine, whimper and cry out. Now Steven was breathing hard and the pulsing further below was unmistakable. The more he hurt her, the more he enjoyed himself.
Moving to each side, Steven laddered a row of vermilion splotches down her torso, stretched long as she arched back to absorb each impact fully. The leather bit deeper each time. Few men seemed to understand the erogenous potential of a woman’s belly. O loved being whipped there, or caned, or flogged, or lashed. She loved the rippling vibration through her ovaries that seemed to sink down straight through her liquid interior. Struck abruptly across the cheek with the crop, she let her head swing with the momentum, slowly coming around to look him in the eyes. She wanted him to see how wet she was there as well as elsewhere. Nothing opened the taps quite like a stinging smack in the face.

Steven wasn’t surprised. O’s signals were polished but not subtle, much like his moves. Finely tuned alarms began to wail softly in the back of his mind. He wasn’t in a listening mood.

Coming forward, he pushed her over, ordering her to lift her legs wide. O did it, knowing where he’d concentrate next, starting with her smooth thighs and working up to the place where the whip would sting best. Quick and just hard enough, the slapping of the crop’s flap made O’s legs quiver. Some penetration would be lovely now. Even a passing spike of guilt for Ray, a perfectly satisfying demon lover in his own way, couldn’t distract her from the hunger this hard man inspired.
Tears flowed freely now, running in rivulets off her cheeks, pooling on the table. He grinned down at her affectionately.
“I’ll bet you’re eager to show me your appreciation, aren’t you?”
“Any way you like, Sir.”
“Good then,” he said with crisp cheer.
Slipping his hands beneath O’s perspiring back, Steven easily slid her to the far side of the table so her head fell off the edge, affording her a brief, inverted look at the night skyline through the windows before his bulk blocked her vision. That big, hard shaft hovered over her face, which she lifted to run the point of her tongue along the underside. Nice and smooth. She could have licked it like ice cream all night, but that wasn’t the plan.
“Open,” Steven ordered brusquely.

O’s parted lips fell completely wide as he stretched her arms out by the wrists and held them down on the table. Slowly, Steven slid his cock into her wet mouth. This was a challenging test and he knew it. If he felt her teeth, he’d let her know, but he didn’t. Instead, he saw the slight swelling under her delicate collar, heard her wheezing breath through her nostrils, watched her belly heave when she finally started to cough and choke. But she let it happen, keeping her head still while struggling for air. O even kept her legs open to afford him the best view.
Steven withdrew just as slowly, spilling thick spit down O’s face. After all, she had said she didn’t mind getting messy. He let her demonstrate her well-schooled lips by not pulling out completely. He had yet to meet a submissive woman who didn’t take pride in what she could do with her mouth. O definitely had bragging rights in that department, but he would indulge her vanity only so far. For Steven, mastery was the subtle balancing of what was desired and what was required.

Again, he went to the choke point. Again, O’s breasts rose and fell as she did her best to breathe around him, but ultimately the coughing and gasping racked her small body once more. Steven sped up, giving her just enough time to suck in some air before packing her face each time. His hands found her thick nipple rings and tugged upward, but O stayed flat on her back. This one had her pride. Was it about impressing Steven or not disappointing Ray? She knew he would hear all about this.

It was neither. O would have preferred to be on her knees, demonstrating the talents she’d cultivated with such extensive practice, but Steven chose to use her this way instead and that was all that mattered. In most men to whom she had submitted there was always an anxiety she could feel. They were afraid of hurting her, afraid of breaking her. They didn’t realize that, despite her appearance, she despised being treated as a china doll.

Watching the huge muscles tense in Steven’s legs when he rocked in and out of her mouth, O realized that by treating her with such brutal selfishness he was showing her the respect she had been missing. Suddenly aware her hands were free while he mauled her breasts, she daringly reached behind him and took hold, forcing him in even deeper, deliberately gagging on his invading hardness. This was so wrong and she was so down for it.
O needn’t have worried about Steven. He’d long understood that women were not fragile. Nor were their tastes particularly refined. While the appearance of fragility might attract men, too often it brought out instincts opposite those that appearance was meant to inspire. Why affect vulnerability if not to encourage violation?
The grip of her small hands and the rocking of her head even as she struggled for every breath might conclude the proceedings more abruptly than planned.

The first person a master must master is himself. Summoning all his willpower, he slid free of her hungry lips and squatted down to face her.

“You’re entirely too good at that,” he said. “It could be dangerously habit forming.” He took her by the hair and kissed her, oblivious to the rivers of saliva contributing to the further ruin of her makeup. She kissed him back ravenously, and then shook loose, wet hair flying.
“Please, Sir,” O panted. “Please, girl needs fucking so badly.”
“I think you’ve earned it.”

Steven stood up straight, his wet lance gleaming in the lamplight from above, and went back to the other side of the table. He pulled O to him by the ankles quite roughly, sat her up, encircling her small shoulders with his big arm, and stepped in, carefully guiding the thick head fisted up in his hand to where O’s naughty opening waited eagerly. Steven took possession in his usual, unhurried way, letting her feel every inch go in, one by one, holding her upright and impaled as if she were weightless. He felt the heat pouring off her, the need clasping at him in her depths. Usually, even in these moments, some part of Steven always looked on from a distance – thinking, remembering, comparing, and engineering the next move. At the moment O could have eaten his head like a female mantis and he might not have noticed.

Fully settled in, he flattened his free hand to the small of her back and moved inside her in lazy circles, sliding in and out with agonizing slowness, savoring the physical connection each time. Having extracted O’s tears, now he wanted something else.

She gave it with her languid mouth, her nuzzling of his neck, her hands sliding up and down his broad back. As much as he could be hard, she could be soft, pressing her stinging breasts against his iron ribcage, swinging her hips to match his movements, raising and lowering ever so slightly, seeking the sensation of being shafted deep with each in-stroke.

O’s breathing grew hard and husky and her legs wrapped around his middle, respectfully urging him to do what she so needed, but he held her up a long time, moving in and out in those maddeningly extended rotations. She tried to stake herself against him harder, but the edge of the table didn’t give her much leverage. She could only fuck him back with aching core muscles.

Not utterly indifferent to O’s plight, Steven tucked himself under, slamming into her from below, tilting her forward all the way onto him repeatedly. It was without doubt the deepest O had ever been fucked. The friction of Steven’s pubic bone against her recently mistreated clit compelled her back toward the precipice.
“Okay, dirty girl, back down you go.”
This time he lowered her to the table more gently, never slipping out of her for an instant. Settling her hips just so, he lifted her legs and placed them over his tattooed shoulder, crossing her black-clad ankles and resting them on his collarbone. He looked over at the red-soled shoes and grinned.
“Isn’t that pretty?”
He kissed her ankles, rubbed his face against them, as he swayed into her depths.
Held down to the table with one hand gripping her neck and the other working deviously at the critical junction between her captive thighs, O had little resistance to Steven’s now-relentless pounding.
Babbling out a desperate plea for release she sat up suddenly, throwing her arms around him and sobbing into his nearly hairless torso. Steven stroked her head, bending down to kiss the top of her skull as he held her close.
“Good girl,” he whispered in her ear. “My turn now.”
With that, he laid her back down carefully. O shook like a wet kitten. She was covered in sweat, suddenly aware that she must reek from the exertion. One eyelash was starting to come off and black streaks trailed down toward her chin. Neither of them cared about any of it
Steven rolled her onto one side, tucking her legs under her so her heels hung off the table. It wasn’t a comfortable position, but she didn’t care about that.
Grabbing the far edge, O impaled herself on him with all her considerable strength. Holding her by hip and ankle, he worked her back and forth, enjoying the graceful S-curve of her body as she lay on her side. Hardly moving himself, he pistoned her against him harder and faster, his strong hands tightening around her hip bone and leg, adjusting her until the angle, the friction, were just right.
Instead of the killing thrust O expected, he drew almost all the way out at the last minute and slowly slid back in, roaring like a beast, taking his release by the inch. O could feel the hot spurts and convulsive shudders all through her from the inside out. It went on a long, long time and when it was over Steven made no move to disengage. Flipping O onto her back, he leaned down and let the weight of his upper body lie over her.
The room was so quiet now, just the sounds of breathing gradually growing softer and more even. Eventually, Steven stood up, placing a hand over O to keep her insides warm while he slowly extracted himself, wet and dripping.
“You’re very good at that,” he said with jovial affection. It didn’t take Steven long to regain his composure, ever.
“You did most of the work … Sir.”
“I’m immune to flattery. “
Steven deftly slipped off O’s pumps, standing them neatly on the table, offered her his hands to help her up. Normally preferring the highest heels possible, at this moment she was quite glad to be flat-footed, led over to the couch. Steven fell back into it, pulling O onto his lap.
“I’m forced to admit it. For once in his life, Ray was right about something.

About the Author:
Ernest Greene has been the Executive Editor of Hustler’s flagship BDSM magazine Taboo since 1999 and of Taboo Illustrated since . He has performed in, written, produced, or directed over 500 adult titles, including the Nina Hartley’s Guide series, starring his wife and producing partner, noted porn star and sex educator Nina Hartley. Master of O may be purchased here.

About the Illustrator:
Fernando is a self-taught illustrator inspired by American comic books and European fetish art. One of the preeminent creators of graphic novels in the explicit BDSM genre, his work includes the Cheerleaders series, Confiscated Twins, Dark Vengeance, and many more.

Tagged With: erotica, Ira Greene, master of o, Nina Hartley

Erotica: Master of O, One

August 29, 2016 By Ernest Greene 5 Comments

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Everything in the enormous hotel bar was bright and blonde: the gleaming veneers of the square, modern furnishings, the pin-spots studding the ceiling, the leather upholstery on the stool where Steven Diamond was parked with his shoulders squared – even the bartender, golden hair spilling down the back of her snug, black uniform jacket. The bar crowned a glass and steel tower so high stray wisps of marine layer drifted by the vast expanse of surrounding windows. The sun had almost dropped into the sub-coastal murk and the streetlights of downtown Los Angeles had begun blinking on far, far below.
Alone at the end of a pale, varnished expanse of wood as long as a bowling lane, Steven surveyed his city in the quiet before the corner office crowd would rush in to drink away the day’s frustrations.
Steven had none. The deposition had gone well. As usual, he’d scheduled it for the end of the day when both the prosecutor and the material witness were eager to get home. It might have cost Steven a billable hour but he was not one to roll the meter. With the retainers he commanded, there was no need.
But then there had been the call from Ray. Ray, Ray, Ray. While his work was as free of frustrations as only that of an extremely competent mercenary can be, his personal life had some stubborn complications. At one time he had resented his younger half brother fiercely, not only for the easier road he’d traveled, but also for the delight he’d brought their mother through what seemed to Steven fairly modest accomplishments. But though he didn’t share Ray’s last name (Raymond Vincenzo, – not a lot of obvious similarity to Steven Diamond), Ray was all that remained of Steven’s bloodline.
Like most confidence men, confidence was the one thing Ray lacked, having never been tested in the world without Steven to pluck him out of its tiger pits and dry wells. He couldn’t help trying to convince others, hoping to convince himself.
Earlier today, he’d been typically insistent on the phone. He had something wonderful for Steven. He couldn’t describe it. Steven had to see for himself. In the first three minutes Steven added up three good reasons to be suspicious. Ray’s wonderful discoveries had often turned out to be expensive in unexpected ways. Some were worth it.
Curiosity alone, inspired by the excitement in Ray’s voice, would have gotten him to the end of that bar. If Ray ended up bringing Steven a problem, he’d just solve it like all the others.
From the paneled offices of Bunker Hill to the marble corridors of city hall to the sweaty, institutional-green antechambers of the 110 Hill Street Courthouse to Men’s Central off Santa Fe, Steven knew every back room where a fix could be put in. If ever a city could appreciate a resourceful criminal attorney, this was it. No one worked the system’s levers more smoothly. For those who could afford him, he was the best legal mechanic in town. And for those who couldn’t, he was occasionally inclined to do a bit of fixing anyway. Sometimes an owed favor was as bankable as a fat cashier’s check.
Morgan, the tall, lean, part-time actress who brought him his club soda with a twist was one of those for whom he had put in a pro bono fix. It was just a simple DUI with no priors and a good bartender in a place frequented by Steven’s clients and competitors was useful. Like so many, Morgan had come out here for the movies and made a few, her athletic frame strategically draped with scraps of animal skins. On camera, she’d usually died heroically, but even the stunt players agreed she could probably have eviscerated most them without spilling a drink. A trim and tanned forty, she still did some theater now and then but had stopped going to open calls.
“You think Sheriff Delgado will resign?” she asked, setting Steven’s drink dead center on the black napkin. Steven swirled the ice cubes and took a swig.
“Not this time. Already indicted and with his friends on the Board of Supervisor’s termed out, he’s finished.”
Steven’s was the smooth baritone of a radio announcer selling something expensive. He’d polished it over many hours persuading judges and juries to believe the patently ridiculous.
On the West Side they gossiped about film stars. Down here the inside talk was politics.
“Even with all he’s got on the D.A.’s office.?”
Morgan had hung onto her tough-girl delivery as well as her taut physique. Steven liked that about her. She was a pretty good saber fencer too, a legacy of her reign as sword-and-sandal queen. The two of them occasionally clanged steel on the planks of The Downtown Athletic Club.
“It’s an election year. Our new mayor will bring in his own tin for the sheriff’s office. Delgado will go quietly to avoid the hospitality of his own jail.”
Morgan glanced toward the host station where Julian, the thin, elegant host, greeted a young couple with impersonal cordiality.
“I think your party has arrived,” Morgan said.
“I hope it turns into a party. Anything involving my brother is suspect.”
“Let me know how it works out.”
Morgan turned to the barback just as Julian led the couple to Steven. Steven stood to greet them, exchanging a back-thumping embrace with the younger man in the blue leather jacket. Steven wasn’t just taller than Ray. The vast span of his back and his tree trunk legs made him seem of an altogether more massive species. Ray had always been a rather delicate boy though with his hipster goatee and his expensive, skinny, blue- tinted shades he remained conveniently ageless. He may not have been a rock star, but he knew how to play one on TV.

Julian started to pull a stack of menus from under his arm.
“Would you like to be seated now, or have a drink first, Mr. Diamond?”
“We’ll take the drink, but just one.”
Julian flashed his professional smile as he pulled out the two adjacent barstools.
“I’ll hold you to that Mr. Diamond. We’re slammed from 8:30 on.”
“I have a feeling this will be an early dinner.”
Turning from Ray, Steven looked at his younger brother’s companion for the first time. In a city full of beautiful women, most in some kind of trouble, Steven had met many. He never lost his appreciation for the exceptional few. He’d seen a picture or two of this one in Forbidden, Ray’s magazine, but there was much that pictures did not convey: her surprisingly small stature and formal bearing, the dark luster of her shoulder-length bobbed hair; the yielding warmth of her brown eyes emphasized by luxuriant, expertly applied theatrical lashes; the extravagant fullness of her slightly parted lips (lacquered a subtly wicked red). A black jet choker accentuated the slender grace of her neck. She stayed out of the sun: her complexion fair, almost porcelain. She couldn’t have been much over thirty.
A short silk-satin jacket, closed at the neck with lingerie hooks, fell straight from breasts all the more ample on her petite frame. The top of a full, corset-waisted circle-skirt rose barely to the hem of the jacket. Where her skirt ended just below her knees, Steven noted the black, seamed stockings, the patent pumps with very high, slender heels and the red soles that every woman in L.A. coveted. Elbow-length leather gloves with buttoned wrists and turned back cuffs were rather retro and a bit wicked also. She carried a small deco clutch beaded in silver and black.
If this was Ray’s surprise, it was one of his best. Were Dodger Stadium filled with young women in big hats, sunglasses and black trench coats Steven could stand on the pitcher’s mound and know with absolute certainty which of them would come down and kneel in front of him. The straightness of O’s spine and her quiet, deferential manner, among other subtle cues, suggested she’d be the one.
Ray took her by the gloved hand and brought her forward.
“Steven, this is O. O, my brother Steven.”
Ray placed O’s hand in Steven’s. Her squeeze was firm, but fleeting. Steven’s look was long, leisurely and appraising.
“Your brother’s told me a lot about you,” O said, glancing just once into his eyes before averting hers, the effect simultaneously bold and demure. Her voice was soft, a bit deeper than expected, but her enunciation quite clear.
“He’s told me absolutely nothing about you,” Steven replied. “What is O short for?”
Ray laughed.
“Even I don’t know.”
“How refreshing. Someone who can keep a secret. If more people did that, I’d be out of business. A pleasure to meet you, O.”
Steven held onto O’s long, slender, gloved hand as he helped her onto the adjoining barstool. How effortlessly she swept the skirt aside with her free hand so it fell around her when she sat down, revealing nothing in the smooth movement, though she did take in a short, sharp breath when her backside made contact with the leather seat. Not much under that skirt, Steven surmised. And under the draped blouse, perhaps a hint of hardware, though he couldn’t be sure.
Steven waved Morgan over. Morgan actually blinked and looked twice at O, a major display of interest for one accustomed to seeing some of the world’s most tempting arm-candy.
“What can I bring you fine-looking folks?” she asked cheerfully, cocking an eyebrow at Steven.
Steven tilted his head toward his brother.
“He’ll have a G and T, Bombay Sapphire.”
He turned his attention to O.
“For you?”
O seemed tentative, almost hesitant. She glanced over at Ray.
“May I get a Campari and soda?”
Ray pondered a beat, as if pronouncing on something important. Steven knew gestures of authority were far more common than authority itself.
“Why not?”
Morgan’s other eyebrow went up.
“And you, Mr. Diamond?”
“What do I usually have here, and do I like it?”
“Right then. Compari and soda, Bombay Sapphire gin and tonic and a Stella with a glass.”
She turned back toward the bottles.
“They know you pretty well at this place,” Ray said with a laugh.
“I prefer taking my mysterious encounters on friendly turf. If you can’t afford one, I can buy you a tie.”
Steven reached across O to tug on the open collar of Ray’s dark blue shirt. Ray’s face exploded into the bright, boyish smile no one ever tired of seeing.
“Unlike lawyers, magazine publishers are not required to cinch their necks with remnants of ancient heraldry.“
Ray turned to O.
“Steven became a lawyer so he’d have an excuse to dress up every day.”
O took a photographer’s inventory of significant details. Steven’s flamboyant style provided plenty of those, anchored by a bespoke double-breasted black wool-crepe suit with important roped shoulders. It was accented with a black-silk rose stick-pinned through the left lapel, a rather daring red shirt, a black tie embroidered in red with the “Death or Glory” skull-and-bones motto of the British 17th/21st Lancers, a black pocket square with rolled red edges and mirror-polished, wing-tip paddock boots O was sure had come off the benches at John Lobb. He was, without a doubt the most elegant man she’d seen on this coast. And he wasn’t even gay. No gay man had ever looked at her the way Steven did.
Though she knew Steven and Ray were only half siblings, she had expected at least a superficial resemblance. There was no hint at all of Ray’s even features in Steven’s hard mug. His was a fighter’s face, all weathered angles and small scars. His close-cropped hair had gone almost entirely white, his merry blue eyes hooded by up-angled brows. He had a dreadnought of a chin and a grin so dazzlingly white and even, she half-wondered if he concealed a second row of teeth behind it. He looked to be somewhere north of fifty, but his lightness of movement belonged to a much younger man.
“Actually,” she pronounced, “he looks like a friendly devil.”
“And so I am,” Steven said, raising the glass Morgan had just filled for him.
“To friendly devils and beautiful women in black,” he said. The three of them clinked crystal. Steven’s hands were strong, immaculately manicured, a silver signet ring with a plain, black onyx shield instead of a cipher on the third finger of his right. On his left wrist he wore a big moon-phase watch with so many complications O wondered how anyone could actually tell time with it.
O was a bit too careful in her movements. Steven suspected he frightened her at least a bit. It was a common reaction among certain women and not necessarily unpleasant for either party. He imagined she felt it right where she liked to and had to restrain herself from rubbing her bare thighs together under the skirt. Steven mercifully suggested they take a table.
It was right next to one of the giant panes through which the tower’s looming height was more apparent. It looked down on the machinery-cluttered roofs of other very tall structures nearby in which lights had also begun to come on. Dusk is a swift affair in the basin and darkness closed in fast.
That O sat up very straight, heels planted firmly on the floor, knees slightly parted so the full skirt fell between her thighs, did not escape Steven’s notice as Julian drifted a black napkin over her lap. O’s lips remained slightly parted as well. Someone whether herself or another, had gone to a lot of trouble training this woman to broadcast the right signals on the frequency to which his libido was permanently tuned.
Steven waved off the wine list, pulled a slender leather envelope from an inside pocket and put on a pair of large, perfectly round, black-rimmed spectacles. With O seated between them, menu unopened, Steven and Ray caught up on each other’s respective enterprises while surveying the narrow strips of cream-colored paper between the leather covers.
O remained silent. Her mouth had gone parched and she was afraid to call attention to her dilated pupils. It was a telling effect whenever she got excited. She took a sip through the red straw of her aperitif.
“What’s good here?” Ray asked.
“The lack of music” Steven replied, “But I’ll probably have the salmon tartar and the lobster ravioli.”
Ray laughed.
“What, no Wagyu filet?”
Steven was a dedicated carnivore who drank beer, smoked cigars, kept late hours and still had a B.P. of one hundred over sixty-five and a resting pulse of fifty-eight.
“Next time. You have it and I’ll take a bite. What does O like?”
Talking about her in the third person was part of the curtain raiser for the act to follow. Any session – and this situation had all the hallmarks of one in the making – begins at first meeting. How it goes after depends greatly on the opening moves.
Glancing over at O, her elegant, gloved hands folded on the white tablecloth, Steven already looked toward dessert. It wasn’t just O’s beauty that stirred interest somewhere further south than his stomach. Her muted theatricality seemed full of promise. All Steven knew know about O was that she was the star photographer for Ray’s magazine, or rather the magazine with Ray’s name on the masthead and Steven’s signature on the articles of incorporation.
“My guess would be the frisee salad and the Dungeness crab cakes,” Ray suggested.
Steven smiled at O, flashing those predator’s teeth.
“Was he right?”
She shrugged, causing a mild disturbance under the black satin jacket.
“Ray always orders for me. It’s a luxury, not having to decide something once in a while.”
“Every time she looks through the viewfinder she has to make a choices,” Ray explained. “Fortunately, she makes most of them right.”
The waiter, a tall, young man with an affable manner no doubt cultivated for auditions, was next to the table in his starched whites as soon as the men’s menus touched the linen.
“Good to have you back, Mr. Diamond,” he said, certainly sounding sincere.
“Nice to be back.”
“Until the craziness starts,” the waiter confided in a stage whisper.
“You’ll get us out in time I’m sure,” Steven replied, proceeding to rattle off their selections, which the waiter repeated, withdrawing after a quick bow.
Ray told O that Steven knew everyone in town.
“Only the important people, “ Steven clarified. “Parking valets, waiters, executive assistants, sales associates, you know, the ones with the real power.”
They all laughed. O’s laugh was light and musical and, Steven suspected, not often heard. He could do with more of it.
Latin kitchen messengers wearing black aprons brought over small cups of mushroom consommé and big, flaky popovers to keep them busy during the wait for the first course. Ray juggled one of the hot popovers onto O’s bread plate.
“You’ve got to try these. They’re evil.”
He tore one apart, buttered a section and offered it to O. O unbuttoned her gloves and slid them off, neither hurrying nor making a burlesque act of it, and draped them over the arm of her chair. She took Ray’s offering whole, with no affected delicacy. For the first time, Steven saw the silver shackle ring on O’s hand. He’d seen many versions of the standard door-knocker design, but this was the most elegant – clean and simple, big enough to catch the watchful eye but not out of proportion to O’s slender fingers. O’s nails were short and perfectly buffed a medium pink as carefully chosen as everything she wore.
The ring was definitive. O was someone’s slave. Ray undoubtedly thought she was his, but Steven had doubts.
“Definitely evil,” she pronounced, neatly dismantling the pastry, allotting half a pat of butter to each side.
“She can eat anything and never gains an ounce, just like you,” Ray told Steven.
“Shooting burns a lot of calories.” O swallowed a second bite.
“I’ve seen your work” Steven said, “You go for the strenuous angles.”
“She’s got a lot more stamina than I do,” Ray interjected. “And she’s not afraid of getting messy.”
“I just look like I would be,” O said. There was that laugh again.
Steven fixed his cool, blue sharpshooter’s gaze directly on O’s face.
“More importantly, you understand the content. It shows in every frame.”
O shifted uncomfortably in her seat. This conversation was no longer about photography.
The rest of dinner was occupied with the current state of the magazine business, which was hurting, and criminal practice, which wasn’t. No one seemed to be hurrying through the meal, but the air was heavy with expectation. All agreed, or rather the men decided, to take a nightcap at Steven’s place, which was nearby. Steven called for the check. Ray made a feint toward his inside jacket pocket. Steven stopped him cold with an upraised hand.
“You’re money’s no good here,” Steven said, taking out a long, sliver-edged wallet and an ornate black-resin fountain pen as big as a cigar and encircled with silver Art Nouveau scrollwork. Steven barely glanced at the check before tossing a black charge card into the folder. The slip came back in about ten seconds and Steven signed off on it with a flamboyant flourish. Lawyers signed their names to lots of things. Steven wanted his clients to feel they got their money’s worth of his trademark purple ink.
Collecting O’s vintage fur shoulder wrap and exchanging farewell handshakes with Julian, Steven, O and Ray shouldered through the grumbling throng waiting to be seated, O safely between them. They rode the heart-stopping glass elevator down forty floors to the garage. Steven presented his claim check and a crisp twenty, exchanging a few jolly words in fluent Spanish with the valet captain. Steven had meant what he said regarding whom it really counted to know well – those left alone with either one’s food or one’s car.
O stood at the curb, Steven and Ray a few steps behind, studying her carefully. Even the roomy circle skirt couldn’t entirely obscure O’s high, hard handful of an ass.
Ray elbowed Steven, grinning.
“Just your kind of view,” he said quietly.
“Quite scenic. “
Steven’s mind wandered back to a weekend in a double suite at Principe di Savoia in Milan with a couple of splendid French whores they’d picked up at a café in The Galleria after a surprisingly unexceptional performance at La Scala. Choosing partners for the first round, Ray had made both girls bend over in front of Steven to spur a quick decision. They had all been laughing back then. Tonight’s engagement, Steven suspected, would be no laughing matter.
Steven’s car was parked right up front and when the runner kicked it over, the high-pitched whine of the turbocharger whistled through the tiled cavern. The sedan was the only one of its kind, a two-tone black-over-silver Jaguar of an older body style with a strong retro feeling. But there was nothing retro under the sheet metal. It was one of a handful of street-modified S-Type-R racing models that had been imported to the U.S. and it was terrifyingly fast. Ray’s anthracite-gray BMW came right up behind it. O started toward its passenger door, but Ray blocked her way.
“I want you to ride with Steven.“ It wasn’t a suggestion. O did not hesitate, going straight to the passenger side of the Jaguar and waited for Steven to assist her by her gloved hand into the low, body-contoured leather seat. She got her skirt under her with just a flash of a stockinged leg that would have raised the dead.
Steven slid in behind the wheel and popped the shift lever into gear. The dashboard lit up red around clusters of old-fashioned white-faced gauges. The burl wood and stitched leather cockpit still smelled like it had just rolled off the showroom floor. O sat still and straight, knees and lips never touching.
Steven slid back the cover of the glass moon roof as they eased out into the street.
“Look up,” he said, “it’s almost like being in Manhattan.” O gazed upward at the glistening office towers forming a canyon around them, baring her tender throat in the process.
“It’s a lovely view,” she agreed, “but it’s not Manhattan.”
Steven sighed. No it wasn’t. Were it not for Ray, he might be practicing there instead. Though both Steven and Ray had grown up entirely in California Steven had lived all over the world. He’d moved back to Los Angeles after their mother died, only to be reminded daily why he left in the first place.
The car was tight and silent except for the high note of the turbo. It didn’t ride like a luxury car, the tightly sprung suspension translating the bumps and dips of L.A.’s neglected streets up through the frame. O looked over at Steven’s chiseled features. How must it feel to be so comfortable in one’s body? Again, O experienced that strange hot-and-cold feeling deep down. Ray had hurt her, and seen her hurt, many times, but she wasn’t scared of him. In some way, he was a boy, and boys had never frightened O. Boys were easy. This elegant monster was most definitely not a boy. Beyond that, she wasn’t sure what he was.
“Ray’s very happy since you’ve been together,” Steven said. O hesitated to talk about Ray, even with his brother. Especially with his brother.
“He’s told you that?”
“He doesn’t have to. He’s an expert at looking like he’s having a good time, but I used to watch him stare out the window on rainy days, back when we still had them here, and wonder what was bothering him.”
“Did you ever find out?”
She clearly expected a more complete answer than he was prepared to give.
“Yes. But I haven’t seen him like that since you came along.”
Crossing Figueroa, skyscrapers gave way to low, grimy commercial buildings with signs in Spanish, bright lights pouring from open doorways. Knots of dark-skinned people clustered under the street-lamps and around the big boxes and tents on the dirty sidewalks here and there.
“Welcome to the nicer part of Skid Row,” Steven said, aware of O staring out the window. “They’ve cleaned it up a lot. Most of the dealers have moved over to Sixth Street.”
“You know this area rather well, Mr. Diamond,” O said, a bit archly.
“It’s convenient to the places I visit my clients. I can be at The Federal Detention Center in seven minutes.”
“Quick service.”
“Not if you’re sitting in The Federal Detention Center.”
The dingy gray landscape of taquerias and murder motels gave way to the patchy greenery of MacArthur Park. The dirty lake in the park’s panhandle reflected the lights from a tall square building, buttressed in concrete X-frames, at the far end. It still looked like the Late International-Style office tower it had once been. When Steven pulled up to the massive steel gate of the parking structure they caught the headlights of Ray’s car behind them in the mirror. Ray had his stereo turned up so loud they could both hear it.
Ray was in high spirits. Since The Plan first came into his mind, he’d thought of little else, working through the fine points, making all the arrangements, carefully rehearsing his lines in the mirror at home during O’s stay in Pasadena. Now it would all play out just as he intended. Ray never stopped expecting his endless procession of schemes to do so, no matter how rarely that happened.
The steel-mesh gate rattled open and the cars descended the spiral ramp into a cavernous automotive museum. The floor was covered in spotless black and white flagging. Rows of overhead fluorescent lights popped on as they passed a sensor to reveal the most lavish garage O had ever seen, complete with an hydraulic lift, walls of diamond-plate cabinets, a huge chromed compressor and a cart full of Facom pit-stop tools. Steven parked at the end of a row of exotic, ruinously expensive, spotlessly shiny vehicles. Ray pulled in next to him, speakers still booming through his open windows.
Getting out, O had a quick look at the other cars, ranging from a meticulously restored Auburn boat-tail speedster to a Mercedes SUV. In between, she inventoried a Mercedes gullwing coupe, a new Morgan Plus Four in BRG and a totally anonymous blacked-out Lincoln Town Car. The fleet’s flagship was a spectacular Rolls fitted with suicide doors and a brushed aluminum hood. She didn’t have to ask to know they were all Steven’s. All but the Morgan were black.
The lobby was as austere as the exterior, its spare furnishings carefully chosen to match the architecture. A bulky, shaven-headed black man in a blue blazer looked up from the tiny TV on his desk as they entered.
“Evening Mr. Diamond, Mr. Vincenzo” the security guard said with a nod.
“Quiet shift, Mr. Ambrose?” Steven replied with the burnished amiability he showed toward the city’s human infrastructure.
“Dead as heaven on a Saturday night.”
“Just how we like it.”
O had already formed a mental picture of what she’d see when the elevator opened on the top floor and it was entirely inaccurate. She’d spent a lot of time in the homes of the rich and influential, finding most bland and impersonal. What she saw when she entered was anything but.
Steven certainly had The Big Guy’s view. Through sweeping windows twelve feet high O took in the night cityscape from the glittering skyline of downtown across the park to the few remaining terra cotta facades of the old hotels (their aging neon signs missing letters like gaps in a row of teeth) and all along the backdrop of Silver Lake hillsides to the distant brilliance of The Griffith Park Observatory. This was how Steven saw the world – from above. Massive sliding doors led to a broad deck outside of the building. On one corner of the deck, a massive pair of I.D.F binoculars had been mounted on a pier so Steven could have a closer look at whatever. He used them a lot during the summer to watch the mating and fledging of a pair of red-tailed hawks and their offspring that nested in the neo-Babylonian effigies ringing the roofline of the one-grand, now derelict hostelry directly across the park from him.
The interior was vast to be sure and grandly eccentric. Steven slowly powered up the overhanging low-voltage lamps on the cables draped overhead. Their illumination was supplemented by up lighting from a pair of tall torcheres with wide chrome heads flanking a massive silver-painted leather sofa with a built-in chaise at one end. The three of them could easily have slept on the thing head-to-foot.
The walls were finished in matte faux aluminum and every piece of furniture, from the impressive row of tall bookshelves covering the far wall to the sides of the black-felted pool table not far from the open kitchen, was faced in some kind of metal. Even the long dining table had a steel top surrounded by aluminum Emeco chairs. The sealed concrete flooring, however, was greatly warmed by the biggest Tibetan dragon rug O had ever seen – black with the huge mythical beast hooked in red and green.
Three big-screen monitors were bolted into one wall, but otherwise there was framed artwork everywhere, floor to ceiling, most of it shockingly unsuitable for public viewing. Clearly, access to Steven’s private quarters was tightly controlled.
“Welcome to my brother’s cabin in the sky” Ray said,
“Look around” Steven said. “I’ll pour us a real drink.”
He flashed a grin at O’s obvious wonderment as she made her way around the huge space, checking out the museum-grade, large-scale aircraft models strung on monofilament from the cement I-beams of the ceiling, the rows of foreign military hats under glass domes atop the bookshelves, the case of erotic netsuke, the drawings and paintings – lewd, cruel and exquisite beyond anything she’d ever seen in person. She stopped with a small gasp in front of a John Willie watercolor of a tall redhead whipping a near-naked brunette tied to a tree.
“It’s real,” Steven said. “There are only about a dozen in circulation. The dealer wept when he let it go.”
“Steven collects all kinds of things,” Ray sighed, settling in on the couch. “He had to take the whole top floor to hold them all. Then he had to buy the whole building to keep everyone away from them.”
On a shiny hook next to the watercolor hung the most exquisite riding crop O had ever seen, its heavy sterling handle fitted with a large ring at the top and a smaller one down at the ferule where the tightly-woven leather shaft attached, as if it were intended for wearing on a sword frog. The leather tapered cleanly, then flared into a broad head. O shuddered at the sight of it, wanting to touch it, or be touched by it, but not daring to ask permission for either.
“It’s a Betony Vernon,” Steven said of the silver-hilted crop, “like your ring.”
Steven missed nothing. Though she’d painstakingly assembled herself to the exacting specifications Ray had laid out, she wondered if there was some detail she’d omitted. She was relieved when the conversation shifted back to the construction of Steven’s quarters.
“I drew the floor plan and did most of the build-out myself,” Steven said, pouring amber streams from a black cut-crystal decanter (ornamented with the same skull and bones woven through Steven’s tie) into three matching black highball glasses. “Working with my hands relaxes me.”
Beneath all his external polish, Steven was nothing if not physical. He could have been just as happy, maybe happier, as a painter or sculptor, but somebody in the family had to make a living.
“I find it hard to picture you bringing clients here,” O observed coolly, taking her glass from the black leather tray on which Steven offered it, her gaze still fixed on the whip.
“He keeps a vanilla office for them,” Ray reassured her. “He doesn’t want them distracted while he’s explaining his fee structure.”
Ray patted the silver cushion next to him. O came straight over and sat down, her straight spine never touching the back of the couch, her heels planted firmly on the rug a few inches apart, her lips still slightly ajar.
Again, Steven noticed the precision of O’s protocol. Ray was fairly haphazard at training partners. When not directly involved in something sexual, he wasn’t terribly strict with them. As a disciplinarian, he was less indulgent than inattentive. But O was always tightly focused. It was in her pictures. It was in her whole demeanor. She didn’t even take off her wrap or gloves until Steven requested it. She kept the deco clutch nearby. The more Steven saw of O and Ray together, the less likely a pairing they made.
“I don’t worry much about my public image,” Steven said, putting the tray on the floor before settling deep into a matching metallic-leather club chair and resting his glossy boots on the ottoman. “When you see me on TV, I’m usually dragging some gangster through the perp walk with his coat over his face. No one expects me to be a Boy Scout.”
“And you find that convenient,” O concluded for him.
“Not as convenient as what I do,” Ray said, swirling his glass.
“I suppose not,” Steven conceded. “The bar association takes a dim view of having sex with one’s professional contacts.”
“In my business, it’s considered suspicious if you don’t. O, would you mind preparing something for us? It’s in the black box on the table.”
Ray pointed to a richly lacquered humidor inlaid with gold medallions on a nearby glass table. O opened it to reveal stacks of pungent Cohibas, mostly figurados and splendidos, and took out a Mylar bag. Closing the lid, she spotted a narrow, oblong silver tray next to the humidor with an engraved rolling box and a steel grinder at either end. O extracted a perfect, spicy, sticky bud from the bag, took the lid off the grinder and tossed it in. Twisting the lid three times, she tapped its shredded contents onto the wooden surface inside the rolling box, scooped them into a paper from a green packet and formed a perfect joint.
Both men watched as she licked the gummed edge with the pointed, pink tip of her tongue. Twirling one end, she snipped the other with a pair of cigar scissors from the tray. Bringing the finished joint over to Ray, O dropped to her knees so smoothly her circle skirt spread out around her like a halo. Ray passed the joint deferentially to his big brother, who fired it with an enormous engine-turned lift-arm lighter that flared in front of his face for just an instant. He was sure he caught O glancing over at him in the fleeting illumination as the spicy, green cloud spiraled upward. O gracefully folded her hands behind her in silence. Inhaling deeply first, Steven slipped Ray the burning reefer. Ray took a long drag, coughing it back out almost immediately
“Man, I don’t know where you get this stuff,” he rasped. It goes straight to the medulla.”
“Okay Ray,” Steven said, white plumes boiling out through his nostrils, “why are we here?”
“I was starting to wonder if you’d ever get to that one, counselor.”
Ray looked back and forth between them, face lit up, rubbing his hands.
“This was so meant to happen,” he said gleefully.
Ray looked down into O’s averted eyes. His satisfied grin went momentarily slack, as if he’d just heard last call when he was about to order another round. He took her face in his hands and turned it up toward him, leaning over to kiss her hard and long. She gave herself to it, keeping her crossed wrists behind her back. Her breasts rose and fell a bit more rapidly under the shiny jacket, again showing a hint of concealed hardware, but she remained otherwise perfectly still until he withdrew, instructing her to turn around. She pivoted gracefully, folding her legs under her and lifting her hair in the back without being told.
Ray unhooked O’s jet choker, kissed the nape of her neck. Opening O’s handbag, he dropped her necklace inside, bringing out a slender, white gold collar with a ring on the front and a small locking latch to the back. Circling her throat with the metal band, he secured it with a quiet click. O came smoothly back around to face them again, her posture as before.
This was the unmistakable signal. O, or at least her body, would soon be at Steven’s disposal, as he expected. Ray confirmed the expectation with crude practicality.
“Her test report is in the bag if you want to look,” Ray said matter-of-factly. “They gave her a full panel at The Mansion before I brought her home.“
“I’ll take your word for it. Want to see mine?”
“Already have. You’re in The Mansion’s database, remember?”
“You always were a snoopy little shit. I assume you told her about the vasectomy as well.”
“No worries. She had her tubes tied last year. Like I said, it was beschert.”
They both laughed, getting O’s attention, adrift since the collar went on. The first few minutes were always like that. She’d be fine once she was naked. Then they wouldn’t just be talking about her as an object. She would be one.
Steven leaned forward for a closer look. Ray took the joint while Steven hooked a finger through the ring on O’s collar, lifting her eyes to his.
“She’s quite a prize,” he said evenly.
“You have no idea,” Ray replied in a hoarse whisper, contrails billowing from the corners of his mouth. He reached around to hold the joint in front of O, but she shook her head just enough to toss her hair.
“No thank you, Sir.”
He passed it on to Steven, who continued to lean forward as they smoked, studying O’s face.
“How long was she up at The Mansion?”
Ray guessed it had been about a month.
“She probably taught them more than they taught her.”
Ray laughed.
“No doubt. O is the best slave I’ve ever had. She’s the best slave any Master ever had.”
O looked down at the floor now, her spine stiffening uncomfortably. It was her job to please and that of her Masters to judge.
“Evidently she hasn’t been trained to properly take a compliment.”
“Thank you, Sir,” O whispered in desperate haste.
O was acutely aware of her accessibility under the skirt. She had assumed they would use her together. The prospect was the opposite of frightening, and yet the fear was there, as it had been since she first set eyes on Steven. She didn’t doubt that Steven could make her cry and scream in ways good and bad, but the fear this knowledge inspired was just a familiar, juicy tingle at the promise of some expert woman handling.
The weed taking effect, Steven’s eyelids dropped a bit, reducing his gaze to a narrow, penetrating gleam.
Ray shifted uncomfortably on the couch.
“She’s the first one I’ve been with I thought might be good enough for you.”
Steven leaned back, taking a sip of the blonde whisky in the black glass.
“You’re awfully generous. What, precisely, do you have in mind?”
“Suppose you had something you loved but knew should rightly belong to someone else,” he asked, standing to circle O. “Something too perfect to own just for yourself. I think I have something here we might enjoy in common for a long time to come.”
“Sort of like a timeshare?” Steven suggested with half a laugh.
“More like transferring the deed.”
Steven stood next to Ray. They both looked down at O. She composed her face to conceal the rising turmoil within. The room suddenly felt very hot. O, whose demure bearing was entirely false, unhooked her blouse with trembling fingers, revealing the closely spaced, perfectly convex inner curves of her breasts above the corset-top of the skirt.
“You’ve got my attention,” Steven said.
There’s still something you need and I have it,” Ray said flatly, “and that’s not right, after all you’ve given me.”
Contemplating Ray’s implications, Steven raised an eyebrow.
“If I wanted a slave, don’t you think I’d have one? Playmates are lower maintenance.”
Ray shook his head ruefully.
“You’ll want this one.”
“What if she doesn’t want me?”
Steven squatted face-to-face with O, tugging up his wide trouser cuffs as if intending to stay a while.
“What about it O? Do you want me?”
O looked long and hard at Steven’s weathered features.
“Yes,” she said at last. “I do… Sir.”
“I might take yes for an answer,” Steven said, standing back up, “once I know the exact terms of the offer.”
“She’ll be yours whenever you please,” Ray told him, “She has a house in Los Feliz, so she’s not far away. You’ll have the keys and a special cell phone number. For whatever purpose, when you call or come over, she’ll offer herself. In between, she’ll still be mine, but O has to understand that’s not a real distinction. Whatever I have, I owe to you.”
Steven sat on the arm of the couch facing O, who continued to kneel, frozen in place, relieved that the protocols she’d learned did not require her to move unless ordered. She wasn’t sure she could have.
“Our mother was married twice,” Steven explained. “She had me with Husband Number One. Times were tough then. She was an aspiring opera singer and my father thought he might make it as a writer, at least until he was blacklisted. He was eventually rehabilitated, but it took too long. She left him and married Ray’s father, who was younger and seemed to have better prospects. “
“Our mother wasn’t really cut out for motherhood. Steven’s taken care of me most of my life.”
“Cleaned up after him, to be more precise.”
O couldn’t stop herself from looking up. What did she see in Ray’s face? Bitterness? Disappointment? She wasn’t sure, but it was not a look she’d seen before or wanted to again.
“It’s true,” Ray conceded. “I’ve got a knack for finding trouble and Steven’s always been there to drag me out of it. He’s the main backer of Forbidden. Whatever belongs to me I owe to him.”
O looked over at Steven, amused.
“Then you already own me, or at least the part of me that shoots for the magazine.”
“We’re talking about other parts now,” Ray said, harshness creeping into his tone. He nudged her in the ribs with the toe of an alligator boot.
“Present yourself.”
Languidly, O leaned forward until her breasts touched the floor. She swept the skirt up, composing it across her back, then stretched her arms out in front of her and touched her forehead to the floor. Her pelvis was rotated up, her knees apart. As Steven had assumed, the smoky Wolford stay-ups were all she wore underneath the full skirt and old-fashioned tulle petticoat. He looked lingeringly at what he was meant to see.
It was, he had to admit, a lovely view. O’s muscular backside, like her breasts, was all the more obvious for her delicate frame, as were her hemispherical hips. Her thighs perfectly smooth above the triple velvet bands at the tops of her luxury stockings, emphasizing the triangular space between her thighs that left her unusually exposed from almost any angle. This was a feature Steven always appreciated in women. O’s legs were long for someone of such diminutive proportions, and well defined beneath the seamed nylons. Photography, like fencing, was as much in the legs as in the hands.
O opened wider to show more. She was completely bare, front to back. Her plump, pink girly bits were perfectly symmetrical, with just enough padding to assure a comfortable ride.
“Did you ever see such lovely dimples?”
Ray pressed down on the small of O’s back, rotating her pelvis even further upward.
“Reach back and show him the rest,” Ray ordered.
O took a firm grip on each buttock and parted them. O’s puckered rosebud looked almost virginal, but after a stay a The Mansion that was impossible.
You like getting it back there, don’t you?” Ray asked, reading Steven’s mind.
“Yes, Sir. I do.”
“She’s quite perverse,” Ray continued. “Maybe even enough for you.”
Unbidden, O turned on her knees, lowered her head and kissed the top of each of Steven’s boots lightly before settling back onto her heels.
“Very nice, but I think I’d rather continue this discussion with us all standing up if you don’t mind.”
O rose nimbly between them, smoothing her skirt before lacing her fingers behind her neck like a prisoner. She looked down at her high heels automatically, but Steven casually scooped a strong, smooth hand under her hair. The back of her skull felt like a bird’s in his grip, as though he could easily crush it. He made her meet both their gazes directly.
“Was any of this negotiated in advance?”
She suspected this was the voice Steven used in court.
“Not specifically, Sir.”
Ray laid out the general compact under which O served anyone he designated.
Steven pressed, cross-examining.
“I assume that confers very limited use rights.”
“It’s usually a one-time thing,” Ray said with a shrug.
“They don’t get the house key or the secret cell phone number, I don’t imagine, or the privilege of summoning O whenever they sprout boners.”
O stifled a laugh. Steven went so easily from prince of the city to coarse commoner and back.
“Why are you fucking with me?” Ray demanded, clearly annoyed. “I’m trying to do something nice for you.”
“Nice, yes. But for me or for yourself? My questions go to motive. And in any case, I think O gets a vote on such a broad mandate.”
She looked back and forth between them, such as Steven’s unwavering hand around the rear of her cranium allowed. Disappointment edged with scorn crept into her voice.
“You’re really not asking me for a decision, are you?”
“I’m sure it would be easier for all of us if I simply embraced my good fortune, but there’s something I need first.”
Ray sounded exasperated. Why could Steven never let anything just happen?
“I’ve said she’s yours for the taking. What more do you need?”
“Express and specific consent.”
“O’s perfectly capable of walking out at any time. Neither of us would try to stop her.”
Steven’s laughter startled them.
“I doubt we could if we tried. But consent is more than just the absence of ‘no.’ It’s an expression of mutual intent.”
Ray scowled at his brother.
“Spoken like a true lawyer.”
Steven released his hold on the back of O’s head.
“You don’t know anything about me,” he told her in a warning tone. “You have no idea what submitting to me would be like. We’ve spent less than three hours together and your Master is offering me full possession of you. Doesn’t that raise some concerns?”
“It frightens the shit out of me, Sir.”
The signs were there: the wide-open pupils, the heaving chest, the slight trembling of the knees.
“I suppose that’s part of the appeal. But you might be quite surprised and, perhaps, unprepared for what serving me really means.”
“I have few hard limits,” O declared. “I’m sure you’d respect them.”
O felt challenged in a way she didn’t like.
Steven could see as much.
“That’s never the problem. The arrangement my brother proposes carries obligations beyond the merely physical. The surrender I require is absolute and unsentimental. You love Ray, right?”
O’s lashes fluttered down.
“Of course.”
“But you don’t love me. Can you give me everything you give him anyway? Please don’t answer without thinking.”
O thought, hard but not long. She felt a tenderness for Ray she couldn’t imagine this tempered-steel paladin would ever inspire. Most men found her submission so compelling they would do anything to secure it, making them all ultimately unsuitable to her own desires. This one might be different.
O had to be wanted, not needed, and there was absolutely nothing needy about Steven. The gradual erosion of boundaries between O and Ray had required him to farm her out to an institution where she could be at the beck and call of strangers, and it was strangers she craved. A wave of profound sadness swept through her at the realization that Ray would never be a stranger to her again.
Could Steven be the stranger who would always want her but never need her? She’d seen Ray cry more than once and awkwardly attempted to comfort him. She couldn’t imagine Steven in need of comforting.
She looked up at him, jaw set, eyes implacably determined.
“I want to do this thing. I consent to it without reservation. A person cannot give away what he doesn’t own. If I refuse I was never Ray’s slave and everything between us was a lie.”
The men exchanged a look of surprise.
“I told you she was different from the others,” Ray said, a touch triumphantly. He pulled a red, woven-silk monkey’s fist key shackle from his pocket and handed it to Steven. There were only two keys on it – one small, wrought like a piece of jewelry, the other a conventional brass door key.
“The little one is for her collar. The other goes to her house.”
Steven stood there a long moment. It was so silent the air seemed to have gone out of the room. They couldn’t know what he was thinking and he wasn’t about to tell them. There had been many attempts and many failures, starting with his marriage to Marie, to integrate his desires with his affections. Sooner or later, everything had hit the wall, sometimes shatteringly hard. He stared at the keys in his open hand until Ray reached over and closed it around them.
“Please, Steven. We all want it. Let it happen.”
“When have I ever said no to you?” Steven replied, with a shrug of resignation.
Steven turned his friendly devil smile on O.
“And how could I say no to you?”
Ray’s face lit up as he threw his arms around Steven.
“You won’t regret this.”
Steven made no reply. He was quite sure he would, though not yet how.
Ray pulled O close with an intensity she’d never felt from him before.
“I love you so,” he said. Then he kissed her – long, hard and deep – before pushing her away to arm’s length.
“I’m outta here. You’ll stay. I’ll be waiting at your place when he’s done with you.”
With a final, traditionally fraternal embrace for Steven, Ray turned and walked out the wide steel front door, his steps receding toward the elevator. They could hear him singing to himself out in the hall until the elevator bell dinged.
For an instant, O considered chasing after the man she knew with all his weaknesses to avoid the man whose strengths were the most obvious things about him. But O did not flee. She was alone with the Minotaur in his labyrinth, the way she had sometimes fantasized as a girl. Cold in the gut, nevertheless, she could not turn her back on this fabulous beast.
Steven looked into the dark pools of O’s yearning eyes and decided on the spot to let the beast off its leash.

About the Author:
Ernest Greene has been the Executive Editor of Hustler’s flagship BDSM magazine Taboo since 1999 and of Taboo Illustrated since . He has performed in, written, produced, or directed over 500 adult titles, including the Nina Hartley’s Guide series, starring his wife and producing partner, noted porn star and sex educator Nina Hartley. Master of O may be purchased here.

About the Illustrator:
Fernando is a self-taught illustrator inspired by American comic books and European fetish art. One of the preeminent creators of graphic novels in the explicit BDSM genre, his work includes the Cheerleaders series, Confiscated Twins, Dark Vengeance, and many more.

Tagged With: ernest greene, erotica, master of o

Erotica: Master of O

August 15, 2016 By Ernest Greene 2 Comments

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This week we are thrilled to be featuring an excerpt from Ernest Greene’s Master of O entitles Four Play. The full book includes illustrations as well. We’ve included a few for your enjoyment.

The blue Suburban waited outside, young men dashing to assist the ladies into the back seat. Ray got in with them, as usual, and the old guy rode up front, as usual. The heat was blasting, there was music playing and Steven was glad he hadn’t bothered with an overcoat, though as a native Angeleno he considered anything north of Santa Barbara The Arctic.

Mina’s new space was airy and bright. They all agreed the old location had been a bit funereal. Here the friendly but correct staff of young people who didn’t want to be actors seemed more at home. Brandt welcomed them at the door and showed them to their usual table where they settled into the mid-century modern seats with enough implements on the table in front of them to perform orthopedic surgery. Thoughtfully, the napkins were black, as lint was a constant menace to all the darkly attired men and women in the spacious room.

Big windows gave out onto the street where people walked by under the lights in pairs and groups, a mix of tourists and locals taking in the gentrified zone around Front and Battery. Steven was struck once again by how heterosexual the center of town had become since his time at The Presedio. This was a whiter, straighter, cleaner city than he remembered but at least it was a city.

Looking over at O he caught a glimpse of some similar nostalgia. For O Manhattan was Paradise Lost. As her father bought up more and more of the places where fashion, which had once been O’s trade, set rules for everywhere else, she felt ever more uncomfortably visible there.

When she showed up in the Style section of The Times at fashion week twice in the same season it was definitely time to move on. Albert, who had spent most of his life in Manhattan, had been delighted to join her.
A round of chilled Absolut shots and a platter of Osetra appeared unbidden to an enthusiastic welcome. Steven remembered some kind of toast in Russian from the Kosovo detail while O piled blini high with tiny grey eggs topped by dollops of sour cream.

“The commander over here’s gotten wasted with the finest officers of many lands,” Ray proclaimed proudly.

“It’s true,” Steven admitted, “and I’m a lightweight by comparison. Everyone thinks the Russkies are bad, but the French are more consistently drunk, the English are more loudly drunk and the Japanese put them all to shame in every category.” O pointed out that Steven forgot the Germans.

“They take it through a rubber tube at each end.”
Everyone laughed.

Ray and Jacqui would have to finish off the fifth of Charles Krug with only a little help from O. Steven and everyone else would be happier if he stuck to a nice Belgian beer.

Jacqui had a great story from her stint as a latex model in Stuttgart but the waiter appeared, pad in hand, and attention turned to the menu. No decisional paralysis in this crowd. There would be the seasonal seafood presentation for O, venison for Jacqui (who had shot and dressed many a deer back in Wyoming), a rare rib eye for Ray and the lobster pot pie the patrons wouldn’t let the proprietor take off the menu for Steven.

All talk of business was forbidden tonight. Ray and Steven knew there would be no escaping it once within the walls of David’s fortress twenty-four hours from now. At the moment Ray and Jacqui were very much preoccupied with one another and Steven and O with the two of them.

Something was happening before their eyes that neither had anticipated. Ray the unavailable chick magnet and Jacqui the unobtainable fetish goddess were doing a pretty good impression of two high school seniors in love. O’s labors had been almost too successful and she felt a slight twinge of regret over it. She enjoyed being able to pull Jacqui’s strings with the skills she’d polished during those boarding school seductions. It wouldn’t be as easy as she’d thought to hand them over to Ray, but that was coming.

Steven was simply amazed at seeing his brother happy. Ray’s neon grin was famous but behind it was the sorrow Steven had seen in Ray’s long, brooding silences as they watched their mother’s decline. Steven did what he could for Ray but the two of them had been wounded in such different ways neither could fix the other.

There was nothing like a copper vat of lobster and cream to float away bad memories on a sea of cholesterol. But the best distraction had been saved for after dinner. When the entrees were cleared O and Jacqui excused themselves to the ladies’ room, leaving Ray and Steven to conjecture what would go on in there while waiting for the white chocolate lozenge and the tiramisu that O and Jacqui would be required to feed each other to the last bite.
Steven might have had consent concerns about any kind of public acting out potentially observable by some hapless couple trying to convince the woman’s parents, just in from Salt Lake, that they shouldn’t worry themselves with the things they’d heard about this town. However, as those things were largely true, Steven didn’t feel it was his responsibility to uphold someone else’s idea of what passed for civic virtue in this town.

Returning, both O and Jacqui walked much more carefully, taking smaller steps and holding hands as they descended the short ramp into the dining room. Like the gentlemen their mother had brought them up to be, Steven and Ray stood to pull out the girl’s chairs for them, the better to watch them settle their backsides ever so gingerly. The seating was rearranged with O and Jacqui now separated only by the corner of the table.

Jacqui looked on ruefully as O passed the small black control box over to Ray. O’s impressive posture would be even more rigid for the hard, thick, bulbous plug Jacqui had helped her insert where it would be the most challenging.
Each girl was required to explain precisely what the other had done when they were alone. Jacqui now wore the device Steven had used on O when they’d gone to dinner with his friends. O was already being stretched in anticipation of how she would be made to serve when the got back to the hotel.

Ray slowly ramped up the vibrations under Jacqui’s dress while she swallowed each bite of date cake. O struggled to keep from rubbing her thighs together as Jacqui made her lick the spoon clean after every scoop
of jasmine cremeux. Their flushed faces nearly touched in the soft candlelight.

30

“You’re evil with that thing,” Jacqui said through gritted teeth, turning her glittering green eyes (fully enhanced with the tinted contacts) toward Ray. “You know I will scream if you make me come,” she warned.

“No she won’t,” O said. “She’ll just make a pathetic face and whimper.”

“Some sister you are,” Jacqui started to say, the last syllable suddenly jumping up a few octaves when Ray maxed out the remote. Steven looked idly around the room. Not a single head had turned. Yes, it would be nice to live where scandalous behavior wasn’t so marketable a franchise.

On the ride back to the hotel Steven again sat up front with the driver, occupying him with tourist bullshit while Ray held Jacqui’s arms behind her so O could extract another orgasm with the remote control.

Up in Steven’s suite clothes came off rapidly, or as rapidly as Ray could undo all the tiny hooks on Jacqui’s dress. O stripped to her heels, corset and stockings, revealing the ruby-red crystal on the base of the ovoid steel plug buried in her bottom when she bent over to retrieve her septum ring from the red kidskin jewelry roll in her valise. Satisfied that it was properly centered with the removable segment hidden, she devoted her attention entirely to undressing her master. O carefully put away each item, lingering over his boots to remind him of his regard for the view she provided from above, all the more enhanced by the glittering jewel between her cheeks and the inked ribbons trailing off toward the sides of her haunches.

Ray capriciously left the stimulation belt locked around Jacqui’s hips once he got the dress off her and played idly with the remote control while tossing his clothes here and there around the room. Jacqui squealed and doubled over, shaking from the shoulders down as she sank to her knees.

Ray had learned to accept Jacqui’s need for pain. He held in the shock button longer than he would have on his own before switching to the vibe and bending down to kiss her. Jacqui begged him to pinch her nipples really hard before letting her suck his cock. He practically lifted her off the floor, smothering her yelp with his hard-on. After that, the humming of the vibrating belt and Jacqui’s slurps and sighs were the only noises from that side of the room.

O draped Ray’s red shirt over the top of a lamp to soften the light on her way to fetch the purple silk robe with which Steven traveled and an outrageous pair of Tom Ford brothel slippers embroidered with naked odalisques. She held the robe for him while he slipped into it, knelt to keep the slippers in place so he could step in.

“May I bring us something to smoke, Sir?” she asked as he settled into one of the round deco chairs in the seating area. Steven watched the red crystal flash from between O’s rear cheeks while she went to the desk to fetch a joint from Steven’s engine-turned silver cigarette case and a matching vintage Dunhill Rolagas.

Returning to the chair O lit the joint and took a deep drag before passing it to Steven. He slipped the lighter into the breast pocket of the robe and pulled O carefully onto his lap so she could sit without being jabbed by the jeweled stopper plugging her piping. He tenderly hooked a finger through her nose ring and pulled her close for a lingering kiss.

Together they enjoyed the show Jacqui and Ray staged for them. O knew that Ray had stopped paying attention to them but she caught Jacqui’s eye long enough to exchange a wink, cut short on Jacqui’s side by Ray’s sudden tap on the shock button. Jacqui squeaked and twitched but kept on sliding Ray’s shaft in and out of her face in a steady rhythm. Jacqui loved an audience and Ray wasn’t exactly shy himself.

“They make a very handsome couple, Sir,” O observed.

Steven agreed. Noticing a fresh set of slender pink marks neatly laddered over Jacqui’s torso, Steven noted that Ray had upped his game for his new partner. Why not? Steven considered himself a product of all the women who had ever given themselves to him. He had learned from each, at least as much as they had learned from him. O was the most enlightening yet.

Pulling out of Jacqui’s mouth and lifting her off the floor, Ray scooped her up, her arms, legs and head dangling, and carried her to the wide tufted-leather bench opposite Steven’s chair. He dropped her on her back none too lightly. Jacqui bounced nicely, giggling and squirming when Ray turned the vibrating prods back on.

He left her to it while he searched out the tiny key to Jacqui’s steel belt from the pocket of his discarded trousers, tossing it over to O who neatly plucked it out of the air. Jacqui moaned in frustration when Ray suddenly switched off the vibes.

“Would you mind getting that thing off her, please?”

“My pleasure, Sir,” O replied, cautiously lifting off Steven’s lap. Key in hand, she crawled onto the bench with Jacqui who looked over at her suspiciously.

“You’ve got that twinkle in your eye,” Jacqui said warily. “You’re going to do something mean to me, aren’t you?”

“Who, me?” O asked innocently. She slapped Jacqui hard across the face, first to the right, then to the left. Jacqui laughed, reached up and grabbed O by the collar.

“Kiss me, bitch,” she said in the most commanding tone she could muster.
“Gladly.”

O stretched out on top of Jacqui, O’s small body easily enfolded by Jacqui’s long arms and legs. They kissed deeply, rubbing against each other’s flesh in the red-filtered light. Ray came over for a hit from the joint and the two men watched their slaves wrestle playfully while the smoke formed a cloud overhead.

“Aren’t we a couple of lucky bastards?” Ray asked rhetorically.

“You know I don’t believe in luck.”

Eventually, O squirmed from Jacqui’s grasp, reclaimed the key she’d lost in the tangle of limbs and pushed the taller girl down.

“Hold still if you want to get fucked,” O instructed.

“Oh, yes, Ma’am!” Jacqui answered quickly, spreading herself out so O could get in between her legs and unlock the belt from around Jacqui’s middle. The light-gauge spring-steel popped open, revealing the grooves it had temporarily inscribed up Jacqui’s smooth abdomen.

“Be nice,” Jacqui warned, grabbing a handful of O’s hair.

“Don’t you trust me?” O asked, deliberately wiggling the twin probes as she slid them out of Jacqui’s insides. Jacqui clamped her legs around O’s hips and lifted up so O could slide the belt from under her and toss it on the floor.

“Poor thing,” O said, staring at Jacqui’s swollen wetness. “You’ve had such a demanding evening already and we’re just getting started.”

Jacqui stuck out her lower lip.

“You’re all a bunch of cruel perverts taking advantage of a defenseless slave.”

“Let me make it up to you,” O said with a wicked grin. She lowered her face between Jacqui’s legs and went right to work. Jacqui rolled her eyes, grabbed O’s head and ground her crotch against O’s mouth.

“Damn, girl, you don’t play fair at all!” She exclaimed. Ray and Steven enjoyed the spectacle of Jacqui squirming and thrashing and beating the padded bench with clenched fists, waiting for the desperate cry for permission to come yet again. Jacqui had an endless supply of real orgasms stored up from all those she’d had to fake for the camera. Jacqui lay gasping her entire body flushed bright pink, while O tormented her with the occasional lick to her most hyper-sensitized spots.

Ray sat down next to Jacqui on the floor so he could shotgun her a hit. Jacqui inhaled deeply, stroking Ray’s big granite-hard cock as she looked up at him.

“Glazed like a jelly donut,” he observed, smiling down at her glittering green eyes.

“Oh yeah. Give me a minute and I’ll show you some serious payback.”

Jacqui sat up with some assistance from Ray, O rocking back onto her heels to get out of the way. Jacqui pointed at her.

“Now it’s your turn to scream.”

O wasn’t given to screaming but was perfectly pleased to let Jacqui try and make her do it. Clearly the girls had planned something in advance.

O rose from the bench and offered Jacqui a hand. Jacqui took it, standing up woozily as if she might topple off her heels. Ray and Steven shrugged at each other while O led Jacqui over to O’s open epi leather suitcase. O’s intentions became clear when she brought out a small zippered leather bag from which she removed a black bulb syringe, a couple of pairs of short black-latex gloves and a clear-plastic bottle of viscous liquid. But that wasn’t all she’d brought along. Next she took out and carefully unrolled an exquisitely stitched single-glove made of soft red kidskin. It seemed impossibly small for any girl to actually wear but O was more limber than most of the bondage models she shot and could easily touch her elbows together in back. She turned to Steven.

“May we be excused for a moment please?”

O led Jacqui off through the suite’s bedroom leaving Steven and Ray alone to smoke for a moment.
“Well, I can see where this is leading,” Ray said.

Handing Steven the reefer he went to the open steamer trunk where he poked around a bit and brought out a nasty-looking coiled snake-whip.

“You seem to have found what works for Jacqui,” Steven observed as Ray took a couple of practice flicks in the air, furled the whip and parked it on his shoulder.

“I can be just as mean as you are with the right encouragement.”
Steven glanced over at Ray’s still-stiff spear.

“Jacqui gives good encouragement.”
Ray looked down at himself and laughed.

“It points to her like a compass needle whenever she’s within half a mile.”

“I assumed you were just that way all the time,” Steven said, exhaling a gust of green smoke.
“I think it runs in the family.”

Steven looked down at his own lap where the flag stood at full-mast also.

“Mine’s chemically assisted,” he explained.

“Yeah, right. Tell me you don’t pop a chubby every time O walks by.”
“I never lie,” Steven declared righteously.

“Good thing for us the girls appreciate it.”

“I think we’re about to be shown some appreciation right now.”

O and Jacqui emerged side by side. O’s arms were ruthlessly welded behind her from the shoulders down inside the tightly laced leather sleeve, which was held in place by suspender straps looped through O’s armpits and snapped to the top of the single-glove.

The compression thrust O’s breasts outward even more spectacularly than usual. With her waist cinched by the corset and her hands thrust down into bottom of the sleeve, O looked like one of John Willie’s watercolors come to life. She stood up very straight for maximum effect while Jacqui walked her over to where Steven sat, Jacqui’s gloved fingers in the opening previously occupied by the jeweled plug. They managed to cross the room quite gracefully, stopping in front of Steven and Ray.

“Turn around, Sister,” Jacqui said firmly.

O turned and nuzzled in between Jacqui’s breasts so Steven could see how O was held open from behind by Jacqui’s invading digits.

“I got her all nice and clean back there, Sir. She’s hoping you’ll use her primarily in that way.”
Steven reached forward to trace his mark inscribed in O’s flesh.

“She’s lucky to have such a helpful friend.”

“Sister, Sir,” Jacqui corrected.

“I’m happy to oblige,” Steven said, “but I think we’d like you both on your knees for a bit first.”

O turned around and the two girls knelt smoothly with Jacqui’s fingers still in place. Despite the immobilization of her arms and Jacqui’s distracting penetration, O got to her knees without a wobble. At Marie’s they had learned to work together with the smoothness of oiled ball bearings. While O lowered her face to Steven’s lap, Jacqui lifted her head so Ray could loop the whip around the back of her neck and pull her mouth onto him. The room was silent but for the sounds of heavy breathing and distant traffic out on Geary Street. O’s head bobbed up and down over Steven, her nose ring flashing in the reflected lamplight and her constricted limbs completely straight down her back. Jacqui’s head swung back and forth in front of Ray, who remained standing, using the looped whip to guide Jacqui’s movements. Steven reached under O to roll her thick rings between his fingers through the stippled flesh of her nipples.

Jacqui switched out her ungloved hand for her mouth, continuing her attentions to Ray as she lifted her eyes to meet his.

“I think this would be a good time, Sir. Would you assist me please?”

“No problem.”

Ray put the whip down on the back of the chair. Jacqui finally withdrew her fingers from O’s bottom, peeled off the greased glove and tossed it aside.

“Up you go, princess,” Ray said, gathering O off the floor and swinging her over Steven’s chair. Compared to Jacqui O was practically weightless. He lowered her carefully, holding her by her corset-compressed waist, while Jacqui guided Steven in from below. O threw a stockinged leg over each arm of the chair and slowly impaled herself while Jacqui supported her back.

“You’re all much too good to me,” Steven said huskily.

“I’ll remind you of that the next time I need a check,” Ray shot back.

Steven would have laughed but he was preoccupied with the sensation of O’s sphincters opening to admit him. He reached around her and gripped her breasts, holding her upright in his lap while she acclimated to his substantial girth in her tightest passage.

Using only her strong legs to raise and lower her body O swung her pelvis around in slow circles, drilling herself as deeply as possible. Steven held her leather-bound arms against his chest, grinding up into her from below. Jacqui continued to stroke Ray while putting her mouth to O’s unoccupied and unobstructed anatomy from the front. O gasped, squirming helplessly in her restraints.

A sheen of sweat rose over O’s body. She couldn’t inhale very deeply due to the constriction of the corset. O’s bosom rose and fell with her short rapid breathing. Her head lolled against Steven’s neck, the white-gold circlet in the middle of her face bouncing as she writhed under Jacqui’s practiced attentions. She feared Jacqui would take her over the edge too soon, making it more difficult for her to surrender to Steven’s upward thrusts, which grew harder and more urgent with every stroke.

Finding himself idle, Ray took up the whip and applied it to Jacqui’s stretched back, teasingly at first, then with increasing force until the stripes rose. Jacqui wriggled her spine sinuously and made a happy gurgling noise, but would not be distracted. She intended to get that scream out of O but first there was something she just had to try.

Seemingly undisturbed by Ray’s increasingly hard lashes, Jacqui lifted her head and gave Steven her pained, come-drunk smile. Her face was wet with O’s juices and her own perspiration.

“Want to feel something nice and dirty, Sir?” she asked Steven.

“Always.”

Jacqui slipped two fingers inside O’s unused socket to stroke Steven’s cock through the taut flesh between O’s holes. She was quite skilled at finding just the right spot deep inside where she could simultaneously make O toss her hair and cry out while inspiring Steven to pump even more ferociously from below. By then Jacqui’s back was crosshatched with red streaks from the Ray’s single-tail and her available hand had wandered down to locate her hard, swollen button.

Putting her mouth back to work with one pair of fingers buried deep in O’s most humid terrain and another equally busy with her own, it didn’t take much longer for the inevitable chain reaction to occur. First O went stiff, her insides pumping around Steven’s invading hardness as the long-awaited wail was torn from her lips. Her response triggered his, unleashing a torrent of hot lava up past her tightening internal muscles, his hot breath against her cheek as he let out a low, guttural growl. Jacqui lurched forward flicking madly away at herself, her high whining cry muffled in O’s cleavage.

Ray stopped whipping, folded his arms and stood over them all with a wide grin on his face. He’d often wondered if he’d ever really seen Steven happy, though Steven made sure Ray never saw him unhappy. At that moment, Ray had no doubts about anything. His brother to whom he owed everything was entirely satisfied with the gift Ray had given him.

And Ray was by no means displeased with the devious, sweet, funny and unpredictable girl Steven had used to return the favor. Reaching down, he took a handful of Jacqui’s auburn curls – carefully set for the evening out – and dragged her to her feet so she could scamper off to the bathroom.

Running in heels with her typical lightness afoot, Jacqui was only gone a few seconds, returning as Ray helped O out of the chair. A few dabs at O’s behind, a couple of strokes up and down Steven’s still-stiff ramrod and everything was nice and tidy again. Jacqui unsnapped the shoulder straps of the single-glove and yanked it down off O’s aching arms, undamming a river of sweat down O’s spine. O stretched and shook out her arms. She had been much too involved to notice how intensely they’d begun to tingle in their confinement. Jacqui pointed at her laughing.

“You look like you’ve just been fucked in the ass!” Jacqui proclaimed.

There was no denying it. O’s hair had completely come apart. Her make-up was wrecked, as she’d decided earlier to wear mascara that would run, and her septum ring had shifted to one side.

“And you look like you should be fucked in the ass.” O replied without thinking. Suddenly the room got quiet. Steven shot Ray a puzzled look. Ray shrugged.

“Um, we haven’t done that yet,” Jacqui said, shy and a bit embarrassed. O had been waiting for this moment and now it had arrived. Jacqui was no anal virgin, but neither was she as experienced as O in such things. She hadn’t deliberately withheld that part of herself from Ray but he hadn’t demanded it and she hadn’t thought to offer it for more than a finger or a toy of some kind.

The look in O’s eye sapped Jacqui of all will and resistance whenever she saw it. She had no doubts what would happen next.

“Well Ray,” Steven said, “I think you’re about to take full possession.”

Looking down at himself, Ray seemed a bit worried.

“I don’t know. She’s awfully small back there. I don’t want to hurt her in a bad way, if you know what I mean.”

“O once told me that no woman’s a slave until she’s given up her ass. I suspect that was O’s whole purpose in organizing things as she did, not that she didn’t get something for herself out of it.”

O gave Jacqui a challenging look.
“I fear my anal virtue, such as it is, is in danger here,” Jacqui said.

O took her in hand.
“If you don’t mind, I’d like a few moments with Jacqui.”

“I’m sure we’ll all benefit as a result,” Ray said agreeably. Jacqui gave him a rueful look.

“I hope all of us includes me, Sir.”

“You most of all,” Steven insisted as O led Jacqui off to the bathroom.

“I assume this was your idea,” Ray said, sinking into the unused chair.
Steven shook his head.

“Not guilty this time,” he replied as he got up to find his discarded robe.

“Nice for you, the way O drops girls at your feet.”

“Unlike the way they just fall at yours.”

Neither had ever suffered from a shortage of feminine attention, but Steven had to work a bit harder for it. He’d seen girls in twos and threes physically drag Ray home from some of L.A.’s trendier watering holes.

O came out of the bedroom with a big plug-in vibrator wrapped in coils of extension cord. She found a socket near Ray, stung the vibe and handed it to him.

“If you don’t mind, Sir. Won’t be much longer.”

Ray cheerfully told her to take her time, but she scampered back through the suite anyway.

“I think she’s more excited than I am,” Ray observed.

“Your motives are different.”

It was the kind of cryptic remark from Steven Ray had learned not to question. Any explanations Steven had to make would be heard soon enough or never.

True to her word, O returned shortly leading Jacqui on a leash of smooth, black leather attached to Jacqui’s collar ring. Jacqui crawled alongside her, swaying her hips like a very large and potentially dangerous panther already in heat. Jacqui even rubbed her face against O’s leg when they reached the appointed spot in front the chairs.

O’s hands were now sheathed in the short black-latex gloves again and she held the bottle of thick grease in one of them. The marks had blossomed into red vines all over Jacqui’s back and buttocks. O had pulled the pins from Jacqui’s hair, which now hung in tendrils around the sides of her face. Jacqui was barefoot, giving her a more feral look. The visual effect was as striking as O intended.

O offered up the leash to Ray in return for the vibrator, suggesting they start with something familiar. Ray understood the hint. Giving Jacqui’s leash a sharp tug, he signaled for her to crawl up into his lap facing him. Pausing only to offer a slavish kiss where it mattered most, Jacqui climbed into Ray’s arms while O slipped him into her from below. Settling her knees onto either side of his lap, Jacqui put her arms around Ray’s neck and showed what she could do. She could bounce up and down fast or slow, roll her hips side to side, sit up straight and spear herself to the hilt while rubbing her breasts into his face for easy sucking and licking and lean back so far she could lay her palms on the floor.

That proved dangerous, as O seized the opportunity to slash Jacqui back and forth across her torso with the coiled whip Ray abandoned. O’s aim was true and Jacqui made no attempt to protect herself from it. When Jacqui finally got dizzy and had to right herself, she presented Ray with new scarlet decorations at eye level.

Steven quietly got up and found himself a figurado from his cylindrical alligator-bound travel humidor, clipped the end with a round guillotine cutter he sometimes used as a watch fob and fired up. Normally, he would make O do these things for him but her labors were better invested elsewhere at the moment. While Jacqui and Ray kissed and nuzzled, O knelt under them on the floor, applying her mouth to their point of connection.

Steven watched from the other chair, puffing his cigar and admiring O’s ingenuity. There was no lazy passivity in O’s slavery. She colluded fully in everything Steven did to her and everything he wanted done to others.

Whatever she was doing down there must have felt pretty good, judging from the way Ray threw his head back and stared blankly at the ceiling.

Grabbing Jacqui’s hipbones, Ray hammered fiercely away pounding another climax out of her so quickly she barely had time to stammer a request for it. Neither Ray nor Steven was doctrinaire about such things, but both appreciated a good-faith attempt to obey the rules.

O crawled up Jacqui’s back, hooking an arm around Jacqui’s collar. The moment had arrived for her to show Steven what she’d accomplished.

“If I may suggest, Sir, I think it’s time to get this girl down on her hands and knees.”

Ray lifted Jacqui, who was nicely limp and floppy, out of his lap. She slid to the floor where O positioned her with great precision – face to a pillow Steven tossed them to put over the carpet, hands folded behind her collar, tail raised to what O calculated would be the correct height, given Jacqui’s long legs.

“Now you just keep your head down and your ass up and let him use you as he pleases,” she whispered sternly.

“Yes, Sister,” Jacqui panted. She was a bit afraid in addition to being awash in hormonal bliss, which made it all the better.

Kneeling next to Ray, O parted Jacqui’s rear cheeks to show off the puckered rosebud between.

“Isn’t it darling?” she asked. “It’s like nothing’s ever been in there.”

“You know that’s not true, Sister,” Jacqui insisted, resting her chin on her hands.

They ignored her and she forgot what she was going to say next when she felt the delicate point of O’s tongue teasing a most sensitive spot. A shudder traveled up and down Jacqui’s long spine. O raised her head to kiss Ray’s cock affectionately, found the lube bottle and squeezed a big clear drop onto her gloved fingertips.

“Shall I open her little flower for you, Sir?”

“By all means.”

Ray watched as O gently rubbed in the thick shiny liquid, first one with one finger, then with two. Jacqui sighed and arched up her rump to make it more accessible. She relaxed easily under O’s practiced touch until she’d dilated just enough for O, after applying another squirt of lube to Ray, to ease him into her with excruciating slowness. Ray looked on, fascinated, as if the part O was slipping into Jacqui’s backside belonged to someone else. Ray had never been in hands as skilled as O’s and never expected to be again.

Nevertheless, he was quite happy to find himself inside the warm dark tunnel where O fitted him so deftly despite its tightness. Ray was a gentleman about these things, holding still until his belly lay against Jacqui’s buttocks, allowing her to make tiny movements while she adjusted to the sensation. Only then did Ray begin slowly pistoning in and out of her.

O looked over at Steven, meeting his eyes, the blue of which reminded her of The Mediterranean at Cap Ferrat. Her expression was solemn with expectation. There was something she needed him to understand.

He nodded to her respectfully. Steven knew exactly what O was doing. She was fulfilling her promise to deliver Jacqui to Ray as his slave, approximating what O was to Steven as closely as possible. O favored Steven with one of those rare, brilliant smiles that always lifted his spirits.

“You’re a wicked, little whore,” Steven said affectionately.

“Thank you, Sir. I do my best.”

At O’s request Steven tossed them another pillow from the bed for O to put under Ray’s knees. O found the vibrator and switched it on. Jacqui jumped at the sound of the powerful electric motor but Ray was holding on much too tightly for her to go anywhere. She was quite defenseless against O’s application of the round humming head of the device right where it would be most effective.

Jacqui’s noises changed tone, sinking an octave to some more animal sound arising from deep in her belly. Now Jacqui pounded back against Ray oblivious to what hole he was in. O reminded her by snapping off a glove with her teeth, spitting it to the floor and doing to Jacqui with her clean fingers what Jacqui had done to her when O was staked onto Steven. O was more or less ambidextrous from years of handling camera gear and didn’t miss a useful spot with the vibrator while stirring Jacqui’s internals with a bare hand.

Suddenly inspired, Steven got up, went to the open steamer trunk and came out with the slender rattan cane he and O prized most. Walking around behind Ray, Steven ordered Jacqui to put her bare feet in the air. Jacqui complied, rocking her weight on her knees as she offered up her soles. Steven gave her six good ones on each foot making Jacqui cry out nearly to the point of sobbing.

As expected, the cruel lashing put Jacqui right over the top once more. Not bothering to ask, or caring about the consequences of failing to do so, Jacqui climaxed again with a high-pitched whine and fell forward right off of Ray and onto her face. O turned off the vibrator, set it aside and ruthlessly yanked Jacqui back into position with the leash Ray had dropped when Jacqui lunged forward.

“Get back up here like a good fuck-doll,” O barked. Jacqui responded with the appropriate gasped apologies and promises to hold still. After plugging her backside once more with Ray’s throbbing, purple-headed shaft, O peeled off the other glove, stood up, took the cane from Steven and mercilessly thrashed Jacqui’s tail until Ray was finished pumping it full of every drop he’d held back all evening.

A look passed between Steven and Ray that no one else would have understood.

Jacqui, face still down, didn’t see that look. She wasn’t unaware of Ray’s history with Steven but she didn’t care much about it. What had developed between Jacqui and Ray was a thing of its own. Steven didn’t know much about what people call “falling in love,” but he had seen it before and liked the idea, mystifying though he’d always found it.

Leaving everyone else to get untangled and cleaned up while O circled the room naked, camera in hand, recording more “crime scene” images for that eventual book, Steven went to the glass door of the small, round balcony and took his cigar outside. The night air was cold, but the draft up Steven’s robe was pleasant after the heat of the previous hours. The taste of the cigar made him think of chocolate. The lights of San Francisco’s hills were scrimmed with the fog moving in off the bay.

Not only had O succeeded in making Jacqui Ray’s slave as Ray had used the facilities of The Mansion for O’s training to serve Steven, she had gone further. She had provided Ray with the suitable life partner she herself could never be for him. The formal collaring at The Mansion would proceed in due course, but the union between Jacqui and Ray was already a fact on the ground.

For the first time in their lives as brothers Steven envied Ray.

Through the crack he’d left open in the sliding door Steven heard the three of them laughing inside. It was getting cold. Time to go in. Steven took a last puff. When he turned to the door, O stood waiting, disheveled and sweaty, the portable silver ashtray held in both hands with the lid already opened. She flashed Steven that smile again as he entered. Twice in one night. Things were going very well indeed.

About the Author:
Ernest Greene has been the Executive Editor of Hustler’s flagship BDSM magazine Taboo since 1999 and of Taboo Illustrated since . He has performed in, written, produced, or directed over 500 adult titles, including the Nina Hartley’s Guide series, starring his wife and producing partner, noted porn star and sex educator Nina Hartley. Master of O may be purchased here.

About the Illustrator:
Fernando is a self-taught illustrator inspired by American comic books and European fetish art. One of the preeminent creators of graphic novels in the explicit BDSM genre, his work includes the Cheerleaders series, Confiscated Twins, Dark Vengeance, and many more.

Tagged With: ernest greene, erotica, master of o

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