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Husband And Slave

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boy slave in shibari
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***all pieces of erotica are based on safe, sane, and consensual practices. We never condone anything that is NOT consensual.

Feuller went directly to a shower as well, Olen sitting on the toilet to hear the story.

“The asshole deserved it,” Olen said, having been the recipient of Moros’ attentions numerous times in the Midan Bathhouse where he and Feuller had met.

“His Majesty has offered me preferred reward,” Feuller said, stepping out and taking the towel Olen offered.

“What are you going to ask for?”

“I don’t know that I ever will. Right now, I’m tired and I hurt in too many places to want anything.”

They retired to bed together, and Feuller enjoyed being the little spoon tonight. 

“What would you like from me before we have to leave in the morning?” Olen asked.

“Wake me with your cock up my ass before breakfast.”

A request Olen was happy to fulfill. In the brightening dawn, he greased up his cock and penetrated for a slow love-making. Hand reaching around, he stroked his husband’s hard cock in time with his undulations. When Feuller came, Olen rolled him onto his belly for a harder riding. After a time, he slowed his motion and halted with his weight concentrated on his pelvis to drive his cock as deep into Feuller as could be.

“I have enjoyed these months to ourselves, without him whipping and fucking you every chance he got,” Olen said. “I used to be very jealous of the kind of attention he paid you. Attentions you never really wanted from me.”

“But not from her?” Feuller asked.

“No. I’ve never been jealous of her attention. Only his.”

“Will you leave me if I become his slave again?”

“No, I don’t think so. But I will expect to have your mouth around my cock much more frequently in apology. And I will fuck your ass harder the more jealous I am, even if you’ve just spent half the night with him. These are my conditions: If you are going to be slave to him, then you are going to be slave to me first and I will no longer be your aftercare servant. What do you say to that?”

Feuller considered the arrangement. “As you wish, Master.”

“Lift your ass onto your knees,” Olen ordered, backing away.

Feuller obeyed. Olen adjusted his position to open room to get his hand under Feuller’s body and smack his balls hard while he drilled into his ass.

“If you are going to be his slave, then I will have your ass first every single day. He will not ever have a clean ass unless he makes you clean it out in his presence,” Olen vowed. “Before I have your ass, your mouth will be around my cock so that my taste is first down your throat.”

He smacked hard and Feuller shouted his pain into the pillow.

“Do you hear me, slave?” Olen demanded, slapping the sack another hard one.

“Yes, Master.”

“Should I forget to have you suck my cock, you will offer to do it. Should I forget to fuck your ass, you will stand naked at the door until I do. This is your first rule.”

“I will remind you, Master. I will offer my mouth and my ass to you,” Feuller gasped and grunted.

Olen had grasped his cock and was stretching it painfully.

“Who do you love more? Me or him?” Olen asked.

“I love you more, Master. You are the one I married. I don’t want any other husband.”

“Good answer,” Olen said, and relaxed his arm to stroke the soft cock back into proper position. 

His ejaculation came up to spurt out and he slowed to enjoy every second of the sensation.

“Get my clothes together,” he said, pulling out and smacking his husband’s ass a hard one. “And yours. They’ll want to leave quickly after their breakfast.”

A tiny excerpt from the upcoming Peeper Obsequious.

Release date: 2-14-2021

Pre-Order link: https://books2read.com/u/bWdglD

Find the entire Peeper saga in my Gethis: History of a Planet series — https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B074CJZ2SP

TylerRose. is known as Dame Tyler in the NYC public SM/Fetish scene. She is an award-winning author who has written two “lifestyle”, four cartoon, and twentysomething fiction books.

Read her books on her Amazon page — https://www.amazon.com/TylerRose./e/B00HCPLSP2

You can also find more of her OP/ED work in Fetlife: https://fetlife.com/users/305828

She enjoys crocheting and baking, and will no doubt die with a thesaurus open on her thigh.

Erotica: Alex And Her Master: An NC Fantasy

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sexy Dom and sub kissing, pet play
via stock.adobe.com

***all pieces of erotica are based on safe, sane, and consensual practices. We never condone anything that is NOT consensual.

The pretty blonde girl in the red scoop-necked dress stared from the window of the old barn, her heavy-yet-firm breasts resting fully on the window’s ledge.  Her pale blue eyes looked out a thousand yards, seeing nothing, and not wishing to.  A soft breeze rustled her more-than-shoulder-length hair as she dreamed while awake.  Sad dreams…

Life was too difficult.  Painful at times.  But normally just overwhelming.

So lost in thought was the petite beauty, that she heard nothing as footsteps crept up behind her.  She felt something, though, an infinitely long microsecond before the damp rag clamped hard over her elegant, perfect nose.

“Mmmm-MMMM!”

Strong arms bound her as if by bands of steel.  One arm trapped at her side by her assailant, she nevertheless flailed her free arm uselessly in a pitiful attempt to escape.  Her fingernails clawed the air as the harsh hand holding the rag over her nose and soft, full lips clamped down even harder still.  The sweet smell overwhelmed her.  Sparklers began appearing in her eyes, and then the rag went away.

Vaguely conscious, she tried to resist as she felt herself lowered to the rough wooden floor, but her limbs reacted as if made of clay.  Her fogged mind ordered them to fight, to resist, to get up and run, but her traitorous limbs refused her orders.

She felt her dress sliding off, her bra, and then her panties.  Her fevered brain tried to remember where her shoes were, and then remembered they were on … her feet.  She shook her head slightly, trying to clear her mind, and received a reward: another whiff of the rag and its powerful chloroform.

Alex wanted to cry for help.  Her newly fogged mind gave the order.  She opened her mouth to cry for help.  For anyone, anyone, please to come help her…

“Glllllmmmmhhhhh…”

She heard a foreign sound, as if standing outside herself, watching her captor gagging her.  She wondered who the pretty girl was, naked but for her shoes, being gagged on the floor of the barn.  The tiny corner of her mind that remained clear told Alex that the pretty girl on the floor of the barn, being gagged, was … herself.

Her breathing restricted, her limbs useless, and now what little remained of her piteous cries stifled to silence, Alex collapsed.  All resistance ceased as she felt her arms being bound cruelly behind her.  First her elbows were cinched and bound ruthlessly tight, so tight that they touched.  And then her wrists were bound side-by-side, multiple turns of rope cross-cinching them.

And then, her prostrate body lifted, as if by itself, and more rope passed around her flat, hard abdomen, around twice, then cinched tight.   Alex grunted from the compression, exhaling hard, and her gag almost popped loose.  She groaned a tiny, mewing groan as the cloth was wedged back between her jaws.

Rope attached itself to the rope around her waist, and then passed deep inside her soft nether lips.  Alex whimpered when the rope was snugged tight, and then passed once again into her delicate, private opening and tied far too securely to budge.  A loose end from her crotch-rope secured itself to her wrist bonds, anchoring her arms so tightly that she could no longer move them at all.

More doubled strands of ropes around her firm, muscular thighs, above her knees.  Alex’s head began to clear…  

Still time to escape… she told herself.

And then more doubled strands of rope wended around her ankles, binding them so tightly together that she whimpered when bone touched bone.

Rolled onto her back, fingers pushed her gag fully past her perfect lips, past her glistening white teeth.  She thought she might choke, but the expert fingers relented well before that happened.  Her eyes fluttered open as she regained more consciousness, and she saw a tall, powerfully built man staring down at her, a broad strip of tape in his hands…  She knew he was going to silence her completely.  Alex willed her mouth one more time: call for help!

The tape went over her mouth before even the tiniest squeak came forth.  And then three more broad, sticky strips, at all angles.  A fourth…

Alex knew she was captured and helpless, her mouth sealed shut beyond hope.  And no one knew she’d come to the barn.  She’d told no one where she was going…

The man picked her up and slung Alex’s limp body over his shoulder.  Now half-conscious, she saw the trunk of her car.  Open.  He laid her gently inside the trunk, and packed blankets and foam all around her.  Her hazy thoughts wondered where those things had come from.

“Don’t fight, Alex.  And don’t scream.  You’ll have plenty of air in here as long as you lie here quietly.”

Alex’s half-fogged brain allowed no response.  The man retrieved her clothing and purse, stirred their tracks on the barn floor into an unrecognizable hash of dirt and old straw, and deposited Alex’s things in the trunk with her, then closed it, leaving her in the pitch-black darkness.  Alex whimpered quietly, wondering what would happen next.

She felt the front end of her car go up, felt it moving, and then the sound of a tow-truck winch became clear to her.

I’m being kidnapped!

A minute later, perhaps two, she felt the motion as the tow-truck drove away.

To be continued…

Thanks for reading.  If you’d like to read (non-serialized) stories I’ve written, please come visit: https://tinyurl.com/yycvsgr6

I’ve been writing erotica–niche adult fantasy (C/NC and N/C)–for the enjoyment of my readers for a number of years.  My greatest reward comes from knowing the pleasure my words bring to my readers.  If you want to let me know how you liked this story, feel free to drop me a line here: j.s.phoenix.1975@gmail.com

Erotica: Sexually Serviced For The First Time

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Gia makes Marco service her just the way she likes it

In my private relationships, I had been the submissive partner for some 31 years. What the man chose to do to me was what was done to me. I almost never got to choose what would happen beyond laying out some implements and toys. Even still, I didn’t have a choice in how they were used on me. My preferences were all but irrelevant. 

Believe me when I say I didn’t mind. I seriously enjoyed it when my husband (either of them) would just bend me over and have me. I didn’t have to think about what I wanted because in taking what they wanted, I was getting what I needed most. I’m not even going to call it CNC anymore. It’s just C. I was fully consenting every step of the way, and having left those relationships doesn’t suddenly turn all those things into non-consensual acts I hated. 

This writing, however, is about what happened when I took back choice and preference. This is what happened when I made that final shift into dominance and took command. 

At first, I attended sex parties simply to get pounded. I needed penetration and I wanted it hard, deep, and fast so I could have as many of the hardest orgasms as I could get in the short time available. I needed them to pound my cunt like they were drilling for oil or pulverizing diamonds into dust. I did get that. I loved it. I still want that. I love the feeling of two bodies working together, slapping with their mutual force toward a mutual goal.

I’m not good at being intimate, however. I’m not good at the “getting to know you” social hour part of these parties. I’m more the “hey, okay, let’s fuck and then we can talk afterwards when we’ll have something to talk about.” lol That’s when the ice has been well and truly broken, the endorphins are flowing, and it’s much easier for me to converse.

The other day, however, was different. I went to a daytime play group. It wasn’t as busy I’d expected, so I wasn’t anticipating getting much (if any) action. A familiar face struck up conversation with me toward the second half. I’d caned him some months earlier at a spanking party. (I recalled he’d asked if he may kiss my boots.) He offered to perform oral on me. I just wasn’t feeling it. I actually said that. 

I did not doubt that he wanted to please. It wasn’t that he was hounding me. It was that I’d pretty much settled my mind on not getting any sex, and was already looking ahead to the spanking party that was up next.

Marco is stored until his Mistress is ready to be serviced

He told me that since that day I’d caned him, he’d wanted to pleasure me. Thing was, he’d not offered how I actually prefer to be asked. Of course, he couldn’t know that. Usually, I view the poorly worded propositions of male bottoms as their way of trying to get what they want without regard for what I actually want. But this wasn’t about pounding my cunt. This wasn’t about getting his dick sucked and serviced. This was solely about me getting my rocks off. There was one sure way to change my mind.

I looked him straight in the eye and said “ask me very nicely.” He did, without hesitation, and I said yes. I truly do like being asked nicely. It’s a lost art these days, I think. “I have this great flogger if you want to use it on me” isn’t asking nicely. It’s offering me a script of what you want done to you. “Why don’t you lick it” isn’t asking me nicely or asking what I like. It’s stating what you want done to your dick.

Being asked nicely really does make a tremendous difference with me.

On the bed, he got down to business. Over the course of fifteen minutes or so, it was feeling really good.  I became much more aroused as I relaxed into it and started to having orgasms. 

Then I wanted something specific.

I wanted penetration. In out in out in out…but didn’t want his dick. I halted him, asked if he would do something for me. I held up a condom. A good finger fucking sounded terrific. It’s not something I can do to myself with my short little fingers. 

I don’t like giving instruction for every little thing at a sex party, preferring to let the guy do what it is that he does. If every one of them does everything according to my exact specifications, then I’m just replacing one with another and they’re interchangeable. I’m not interested in treating men like fuckable robots.

Two fingers in the condom, he obliged. Within a few minutes, I was building up to stronger and stronger orgasms and started to squirt with more regularity. I laid there, squirming rather a bit, and enjoyed having pleasurable things done to me.

A good ten or more orgasms and I was ready for something more intense. I wanted anal penetration, but not with his dick. He was submissive and servicing me, not there to get his own sexual gratification. I could have what I wanted (within reason), and only had to tell him to do it. This was an entirely new sensation for me, to be completely the dominant partner during an act of sexual gratification.

I have two general approaches to anal. 

First is the hold me down,  ream me out, and tell me to shut the fuck up and take it (because I’m going to be involuntarily screaming my lungs out for easily the first twenty or more minutes). I might not be able to shut up, but I’ll certainly be able to take it more readily. That phrase alone is enough to make me spontaneously orgasm.

She’s not quite ready for him yet

The second approach means being patient, not rushing anything, being very slow and gentle at first, giving me plenty of time to relax and accept penetration and get past the initial intense surges. 

Not many dudes really want to take that amount of time, however, so I’ve not done anal anything at parties. Except for a little bit of a finger or thumb, and one or two of them have rimmed me. Most guys are impatient and want to get the dick in and start pumping. 

The slower way is much more intimate than just sticking it in and grunting. In order for me to say yes, I have to trust that they’re going to do it how I want, and need, it done. I trusted that this man would do precisely what I wanted. I trusted he would stop when I said stop, or slower if I wanted slower. 

I asked him if he would please move his fingers down to my anus and penetrate there instead. He said yes he would, but admitted he’d never done that before. I assured him it would be fine. Just go really slow and gentle until I said I wanted more. 

He did exactly that, starting with one finger and his mouth. To say it felt good would be the understatement of the year. It was among the greatest sexual sensations I’ve had in a couple years. He put his mouth back to good use and I enjoyed a terrific round of orgasms.

We were given the half hour warning. There was another party afterward, so we couldn’t be there past the allotted time.

A few more minutes and I got this familiar urge low in my belly. When very aroused and receptive, I have a tremendous urge to pull my knees up and fold my calves onto each other. I can very easily hold them up, and it opens me completely to what is being done to me.

I had to pause him in order to do this, and told him I was ready for him to be more vigorous. I had shifted from the asking phase to the commanding phase.

So close, he can almost taste it

He certainly came through for me! He slipped a second finger into me and got right back to business. 

Tongue-fucked in the puss while finger-reamed, I nearly exploded with orgasm more than once. It was fantastic to be able to lie still and enjoy without having to brace myself to prevent being flung off the other side of the bed. Not having to think about timing our bodies or reading his signals freed me to drown myself in sensation and orgasm. I do orgasm fairly easily, and prolifically. 

I knew we were getting close to the cutoff time, but there was one more thing I really wanted him to do. Something that hadn’t been done to me in so very long that I couldn’t actually remember the last time.

I told him I wanted one more thing from him, but to go ahead and clean up first. He needed a couple baby wipes for fingers and hand after the condom came off, and a couple paper towels for his face.

I told him I would like for him to pop my clit for me, meaning rub my clit until I had the finishing orgasm that would completely spend all my passion. It’s my off button. I actually have to tell dudes NOT to touch it. Yay, I’m happy for you that you know where it is…now GET OFF IT!

I had him come up behind me, on our sides, move in real close to spoon, and reach an arm around. He admitted he’d never done this before. It’s easy, I assured him. It was merely a matter of if I could attain the orgasm. Being with someone new, it was possible I was too wound up and wouldn’t be able to relax and let it happen. My clit can be a fickle little bitch sometimes.

I guided his first to fingers to where they needed to be, and let out a breath of loveliness for how nice it felt. A little adjusting this way or that way, to make sure he was in the right spot, and I told him to rub harder.

He didn’t want to hurt me. Trust me! THIS will NOT hurt me. Rub it like you want to rub it off me, I told him, and I meant it. It took a couple minutes of surges and relaxing, gripping, straining, waves of near-orgasm, and finally I felt that particularly hot note in my gut that means the orgasm is right there, just out of my reach.

Finally, he is allowed to serve her

Right there, I told him. Rub it harder and press in more firmly.

That did it.

My entire body clenched from head to toes. Grunting, groaning, jerking, spasming, complete orgasm given to me by another’s hand for the first time in years.

I know I said stop, but I’m sure only I heard it. lol I ended up grabbing his wrist to drag it away from my clit, and lay there panting and heaving for breath.

Then the most beautiful of sensations: Aftershock orgasms. 

When my gut clenches and holds tight to catapult me into another mind-bending orgasm. I know I had two. I might have had a third, but my memory is fuzzy at that moment. I know I thanked him several times. I actually even pmed him to say thank you again; that I understood he’d done a few things he’d never done before, but he had done them very well.

Was it a kinky encounter? Nope. Not to me.

But it was immensely satisfying, and that is what sex is all about. I gave the orders and he obeyed. He submitted to my every want and need eagerly, even if he’d never done that thing before. We both did things we’d never done before, and it was magnificent.

As for after care…I had a piece of pizza and got a very nice and hard spanking at the party that followed.

TylerRose. is known as Dame Tyler in the NYC public SM/Fetish scene. She is an award-winning author who has written two “lifestyle”, four cartoon, and over 25 fiction books.

Twitter — https://twitter.com/DameTyler or @DameTyler
FB Fan Page — https://www.facebook.com/TylerRoseGethis/

Read her books on her Amazon page — https://www.amazon.com/TylerRose./e/B00HCPLSP2

You can also find more of her OP/ED work in Fetlife: https://fetlife.com/users/305828

She enjoys crocheting and baking, and will no doubt die with a thesaurus open on her thigh.

The Lesson

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dark haired submissive chained to bed
via stock.adobe.com

Dear Diary,

A black shag rug, Heavy velvet drapes, a patterned chaise, and seedy lighting. The key elements to a 1950s homage to boudoir. The pouted red lips on a powder-white face, high heels, and a bathing suit. The classic pin-up girl. Whether she was a blond brunette or redhead, on a calendar or pinned in a locker.  The sexy woman in a black and white movie. She is the epitome of sexy for me. In another time, I was that object of desire, frozen in time and the woman of men’s fantasies.  I know I’m silly, but I like the realness of pin-up girls. I could be a pin-up girl. I’d never know who had seen me or put my picture in their locker. The internet-famous thing scares me. The judgmental and anonymous comments didn’t offend me; they are pathetic attempts to not be invisible. No one puts a picture in their locker of women they judge. I also like the idea of being admired from afar.

    C 

Sir,

There is something weird about writing a journal in longhand, then sending you a picture of it—anyway, crazy busy with the installation for the rest of the week.  I will have limited ability to communicate. 

As requested, I have attached the pictures of my closet and bedroom rearranged to your liking.  I am walking to work in order to ensure I am getting exercise every day. I am wearing what I like to work not things that make me invisible, and yes, I love the feeling of no one knowing that I am wearing lace and satin under jeans and shirts. I touch my bracelet a thousand times a day to remind me of you and how much I love being yours.

I have this weekend marked as you arrive Friday morning.  You have your key. I will be home by seven. I can’t wait to see you. 

       C 

Sweet Caroline,

You have done well. You’re an amazing woman. Thank you for the pictures of your tasks. I rather liked the black lace with the rosebuds under your company polo shirt. Imagine my hand cupping your breasts while you present your latest plan.

This Friday, leave the jeans home, wear your tight pencil skirt- nothing underneath. I want a picture of you at work in your skirt and heels, lace bra and white blouse.  Your nipples display perfectly, your tits look amazing in your lace bra. Wear your hair in a loose braid, lips red. The small ass plug just to top it off.  See you soon.

Sir

 The anticipation of seeing Sir made Friday drag. I used lunchtime to get my paws and claws painted Brazilian red.  In the late afternoon, a quick flurry of text messages inspired the most effective stakeholders meeting in meetings’ history. I manage to get out of the office and home before six.

The surprise of the living room transformation stopped me cold. Sheets of burgundy velvet over the windows made the room darker with a rosy glow. A large umbrella light, like photographers’ use, was across the room. The couch was missing, and a square leather-topped table had impact toys and red ropes.  My chaise was positioned in the middle of the room. It had a shaggy black throw.  I giggled in delight and actually jumped up and down with joy. It was perfect. We were going to play photoshoot. With arms crossed, Sir watched me from the dining-room door. His form-fitting black t-shirt was my favorite thing. I bounded across the room to greet him, “thank you, what a great surprise.”

“I’m glad you like it.” He kissed my forehead. What are your safe words?

“Penguin and lawyer.”

He nodded as he spoke, “you wanted a pin-up girl experience,” He laced his finger through my hair and brought me close, “you will have that; are you prepared to be pushed tonight?

My voice was just above a whisper, “Ok,” as my heart began to pound. The fear of the unknown won over the desire to be lost in time with him. “No feet or breath play?”

“Understood,” he smiled. “your clothes are in on the bed.” A noise came from the kitchen. 

“What the hell? Who’s here?” I stepped back from him. This was something new. Why was there someone here? As I walked around him, he followed me into the kitchen, a man was looking out the kitchen window.

“Bill, this is a beautiful spot, what a great backyard. There is enough room for a basketball key and hoop.”  Hearing Sir’s name struck me. 

“This is your photographer, Pete. Do you still want this?”

I dropped my head and said, “Yes, Sir. Thank you for this. May I go get ready?”

“Good girl, off you go.” He slapped my ass as I walked by.

I was shaking by the time I closed the bedroom door. There was another man in my house. I was vibrating, my throat tightened, and I could taste bile. I didn’t even look at the bed. I went to the bathroom and watched myself in the mirror.

“Ok, girl, calm the fuck down. Safe, sane, and consensual. This is your fantasy. If you don’t want it- say so.” I stared at myself and did some sort of sexual fantasy inventory of the last six months with Sir. I ran the water and brushed my teeth, rinsing the taste from my mouth. “Ok, girl, get present.” Heavy eyeliner with a small wing and mascara made my eyes look bigger, a lip pencil, powder, and deep red lipstick finished the look. I powdered my cheeks and chin. I learned powder on the forehead, just got make-up in my eyes when I began to sweat.  Nancy Sinatra would be proud.  I brushed out my hair and put it in a twist. I secured my hair with bobby pins, and I made my way to the bed. He had been through my drawers, and there was a gift box: the stockings and full garters, a pair of high waisted girdle panties, and a bra. Compared to modern lace lingerie, this stuff was granny wear, but I loved how securely it held me. I felt safe and sexy in it.  The gift box was small. Inside was a small pocketknife, like the ones we got in souvenir shops when we were kids. And a note.

Sweet one, 

 I want to take you there. No cutting of you. Just cutting away the bull.  If you trust me, bring the knife with you.  If you just want your picture take, don’t.  

  Sir 

I opened the knife and ran the backside of the blade along my forearm.  The blade was shiny; I turned it over and dragged it along my arm. I was curious enough to close the blade and bring it with me.

In front of the chaise, Pete had a small table that could adjust the height. I remember seeing one in the Sears photo studio when I was a kid. Black velvet draped over it. He had me stand behind it. He spun it until it was just under my boobs. He locked the table’s wheels and positioned me with my elbows squeezing my tits together. The camera flash filled the room repeatedly as he talked to me. I didn’t realize how wound up I was until I released the knife onto the posing platform in front of me. Pete never broke stride. He just talked me through poses. 

Sir stood behind him, just watching. After a dozen different poses, Sir stepped into the light. He was in his discipline dress, a pair of well-worn jeans.  He stood between me and the camera, kissing me fully on the mouth. A warmth filled me, and I purred as my body responded to his touch. I froze when the heavy flash went off. He pulled me in and spoke softly. “Are we good? You are amazing, I am with you.” The camera flashes continued.

“You’re enjoying yourself?” he asked. 

He moved the posing table, and I stood in the middle of the room, wanting permission to touch him. Permission to drop to my knees and take him in my mouth. Permission to drag my nails over his chest. I pulled my bottom lip between my teeth and nipped at it, waiting. I hated waiting.

I nodded. I was holding my breath, my brain was racing, but not in a bad way.  He took the knife, opened it, and laid it on the leather table. Sir roped and restrained me; it calmed me. Sir was not gentle. I watched as he pulled and adjusted the red ropes. Pete posed me, adjusted the lights, and froze moments. There was music somewhere. On the floor, kneeling with my ankles bound and knees lassoed to my arms tied at 90 degrees, I looked up at Sir. He stood silently – I smiled. He unzipped his jeans. His fully erect cock laid against the zipper.

I opened my mouth.  His glorious smooth cock, warm and tasty. I loved the feel of him in my mouth. He pushed his cock to the back of my throat, I gagged as he held my head, and I used my mouth and tongue, saliva ran down my chin, my eyes watered. He called me his whore, and my enthusiasm to suck increased. The pace of sucking his cock made my pussy ache. I fought the restraint wanting to touch him. I gagged and sucked, trying to keep eye contact- he held my head and pumped his cock until is cum ran down the back of my throat. He was sweet in my mouth. As he separated from me, I became self-aware.  I watched as he left me alone in the middle of the room, my face was wet and uncomfortable. He zipped up his jeans and talked to Pete about what a used up little slut I was. They talk about me like I wasn’t there. I couldn’t move. My head was spinning. I tried to free myself my wiggling, the result was me falling over.

He was at my side, “you are a stupid slut.” He righted me. “Pete, let’s move her up here.” You will be freed when I decide I am done with you and not before.” They each took a side and put me on the chaise. The camera was there and intrusive. I couldn’t contain my frustration. I was crying. Sir stroked my skin and kissed my tears. “Where are we? do you still want this?”

“Yes,” I said without reservation.

He stood behind me, his head close to mine, the knife slide across my skin, under my bra.  He cut the straps and released my breast. He pinched and slapped my breast, sucking and kissing my neck -a mix of humiliation and sexual hunger intensified the experience. He moved methodically, cutting away my clothes. I was exposed. I could feel the heat rise. My entire body was blushing, my façade was cut away. The lingerie hung off me like peeling skin. I was raw. I started to sob, trying to hold back the tears, my body heaved as my breath caught in my chest.” Sir cut the rope that held my thighs, opened my knees, and fingered my sex. My heaves became moans, and he flicked my clit and finger fucked me. While the ropes were pulled away, I opened myself to him.  The pace was frantic. He stripped away the remnants of my lingerie, he tore at the stockings as he flipped me over. His hand across my ass sent shock waves rolled through me and intensified my arousal. A shift to the belt made my clit swell and thumb in excitement. I counted as he had trained me to do. He smoothed and checked my skin after every five strokes.  I ached for his touch. My cries and whimpers were met with a crop to the thighs. I was so aroused my ass popped in anticipation of being brought to climax. I rode his fingers and gripped them with my cunt. 

“May I cum, sir?” He stood and stepped back. I grew cold as the room came back into focus. Pete stood with his camera.  

I rolled over and sat up in confusion. “Oh my god,” I balled up and dropped my head to make myself into a ball and hide from the camera. I had forgotten about Pete. 

A flash filled the room. He was still taking pictures. I raised my head; the tears flowed as I saw what reminded me of my pride lay in shreds on the floor. I was tired, and my body felt heavy. I bent over and picked up a piece of my bra. I wiped my face with it and stood under the harsh light of Pete’s lens. I was utterly exposed. I was frozen. My brain wouldn’t work. The flashed continued. I rose my hands and shielded my face the onslaught of flashes. 

“I’m done,” I said. I was fully back into my body, and my brain was starting to function again.

Sir was at my side, the lights were off; the room was dark, except for a candle, the music was still playing.

“I want you.”

I hesitated and tipped my head towards Pete to suggest, “but he’s here?” He said nothing, but held my gaze. I opened my legs and welcomed him in. 

Sir,

I am still processing this weekend. We had talked about pushing my boundaries. In the moment, letting my body be present erased the raw and exposed sensation, I felt as you cut away my bra and the flash froze the moment in time. Your hands around my neck, your teeth grazing my shoulder as he recorded us, was exhilarating. I hope I expressed my gratitude for constantly keeping me with the sensation and not in my head.    

Scared and struggling with shame. The sexual tension and my body’s response to being exposed and vulnerable scrambled my brain a little. 

Yours.

After the Battle for Aziza (Dirty Deeds)

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Mouths locked together as they soared up into the hatch, her nails digging into the back of his neck.

“I never knew fighting got you so hot,” Jerome teased as the hatch sealed shut beneath them.

“Yeah, you may have to wrestle me for position there, bubba.”

She turned to walk away and he darted a snakehead hand to capture her wrist and keep her on the spot. There was no fighting his iron hold. There was no struggling unless she wanted to start the wrestling match right here or bring her pyro or psychokinesis into it. She had promised him she never would.

He was talking into his phone with Gable but glaring at her with an expression she knew too well. She glared back, knowing what was in store for them both. Soon as Gable was on the teleport pad, Jerome had her over his shoulder to carry through the ship.

On her feet in their quarters, he ripped her blouse apart. Buttons flew in all directions.

“Have I told you how much I like that you don’t wear a bra?” he asked when he’d bared her lovely breasts.

She hooked his advancing foot and shifted, taking him down and putting him on his back on the floor and straddling his waist.

“Oh, you think you gonna be sneaky, huh?” he grinned.

He sat up and flipped her to her back. She twisted out of his grasp and rolled away. He caught her by the loop of her jeans and a boot and dragged her back. The boot came off into his hand and the button popped off her jeans between his finger and thumb.

“Come get me, old man,” she growled.

“Careful what you wish for, little girl,” he warned, hands seizing the waist of her jeans.

With him providing accidental leverage, she bolted out of them, laughing and leaving the other boot behind. He grabbed her ankle, loving her raucous laughter. Her right hand shoved back at him with an illegal blast of psychokinesis.

“Playing dirty will not end well for you,” he warned with a darted grab of her wrist.

Two seconds and she was on her belly and he was straddling her thighs to keep her in place. Wriggling and bucking under him, she tried to evade but he caught her other wrist. Holding them in one hard hand over her head, extending the Staff Power to prevent more illegal outbursts, he reached finger and thumb into his back pocket for the flat fold of duct tape. Twice around her wrists as she continued to writhe and curse under him and he was able to get up and hook an arm under her leg and the other under an upper arm. He picked her up and tossed her onto the bed.

She started the scramble away on her elbows and knees, and he caught her again, flipping her onto her back. He used the duct tape again, bringing it between her wrists and around the lowest bar at the foot of the bed.

“Now what’chu gonna do?”

He had her. Chest heaving, arms bound, eyes defiant. Finality would come with the forceful taking she expected. His knees drove her open wide and he looked down on her so beautiful in her passion, needing this aggression from him to get her own out in a safe manner.

Instead of the near rape she expected, he lowered to kiss her. She was calming, defeated but not submitting. His lips met hers, hot breath made steaming by the fires she’d created. Growing in intensity with the flicking of tongues. She bit his lip. Not enough to draw blood but dammit it hurt.

“You’ve been warned not to do that,” he smiled, and tore off another strip of duct tape.

“You wouldn’t.”

“Wouldn’t I.”

He taped her mouth closed and kissed her over it. “Don’t bite.”

His hands thrust her thighs impossibly wide and his tongue found her hot, slick core and engorged clitoris. How her pyro got connected to her sex he was still figuring out, but the more she used her fire, the harder she needed to fuck after. She had stopped training with fire because of it.

This time, rather than give her the physical force of his thrusting cock, he gave her the unrelenting assault of his tongue and hands. Slaps and smacks to breasts, hard pinches to nipples, strong sucks of clitoris. She gave a throaty groan of gushing orgasm. 

He mauled her with hands and mouth as he had so often done before she’d given him her virginity, and did not let up until he’d worn the fight out of her.

Finally she lay still and breathless and he left the bed long enough to remove his clothes. Her thighs parted for him willingly this time and she sighed a soft groan of satisfaction when he drove into her flesh to join their bodies together in the thing they always had done best.

Eyes closed, she did not see the sharp knife sliding under the edge of the tape between her wrists. He cut her loose from the bed, then split the tape binding her arms together. She peeled it off blindly and reached for his shoulders to hold him.

“Bite me again and I will beat your ass with my belt,” he warned, and peeled the piece from her mouth.

“Tease,” she breathed.

“Yeah, we’ll see, won’t we? I bet I can make it so you don’t like it,” he said, and ground his pelvis into her.

He built her up to that same fever, only then giving her the violence and vigor she needed. The harder he was on her, the more she liked it and the more she gave to him. She had to give it all in order to be herself again. He knew when that happened. During that most intense orgasm that had her shaking in his arms and he felt a certain sort of POP! over his Staff Power aura. She went calm and quiet almost immediately, barely responding to his kiss. He lay beside her, occasionally kissing her cheek or temple. That profound sigh, relieved, satisfied.

The Fire Beast had gone back to its cave until battle would call it out again.

“Feel better?” he asked.

“Much. Thank you,” she said before falling asleep in the next breath.

Excerpt from Dirty Deeds, book 4 of the Kingdom Key series
https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B06XZ7PSJK

TylerRose. is known as Dame Tyler in the NYC public SM/Fetish scene. She is an award-winning author who has written two “lifestyle”, four cartoon, and over 25 fiction books.

Twitter — https://twitter.com/DameTyler or @DameTyler
FB Fan Page — https://www.facebook.com/TylerRoseGethis/

Read her books on her Amazon page — https://www.amazon.com/TylerRose./e/B00HCPLSP2

You can also find more of her OP/ED work in Fetlife: https://fetlife.com/users/305828

She enjoys crocheting and baking, and will no doubt die with a thesaurus open on her thigh.

Erotica: Photo Session

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Mona shifted her bag nervously from hand to hand.  She’d been crushing on this particular photographer since first seeing her work shared on Instagram.  She did gorgeous erotic sessions as well as marketing shoots for local kink vendors, and their recent casual friendship had Mona hoping for more.  They’d negotiated boundaries for this shoot more thoroughly than Mona ever recalled negotiating pick-up play scenes, but even so, she was nervous, and a tight ball of anticipation rested low in her stomach.

An assistant finally answered the door, escorting Mona back to the photographer’s lair in the back of the house.  They had a partial water setup included today, and Mona’s steps quickened as she wondered how it would go.

Innocently was the best word for the first half hour.  The assistant busied himself, occasionally disappearing for several minutes at a time, while the photographer set her equiment for a test shoot.  Brusquely, she asked Mona to take her place to begin the session.  “Panties?” she asked.  Mona blushed a little and squeezed her knees together, shaking her head in the negative.  “Good, you followed instructions,” came the distracted response as the shutter began to click, capturing the alluring combination of embarassment and arousal.

“Now flirt with me,” came the first instruction.  Mona looked puzzled and began to open her mouth when the photographer stopped her.  “With your body,” she clarified. 

Mona leaned back onto her hands, dancing her knees slightly apart, flashing glimpses of bare cunt under an indecently short dress.  The photographer clicked the shutter quickly, adjusting position around Mona as she worked.

“Harder nipples,” came the next command.  Mona pinched them through her skater-style dress, but despite the coolness of the studio space, they didn’t harden.  

“Can you help me?” Mona asked shyly.  The photographer silently handed the camera to her assistant, who continued shooting photos as she kneeled next to Mona, pinching her nipples roughly and plucking at the bars in them.  Mona found herself shifting with the beginnings of arousal, but her pierced nipples remained uncooperative. 

With a small noise of frustration, the photographer bent her head and placed her mouth directly on the stubborn buds.  The sucking came hard and immediate, and Mona’s nipples began to respond.  The photographer bit solidly behind the bar, and that took Mona’s nipples the rest of the way to rock-hard.  She moaned quietly into her closed mouth, trying to maintain some degrees of professionalism despite the hungry mouth on her nipple.    She vaugely heard the shutter clicking as her head fell back and she wantonly pressed the nipple more firmly into the photographer’s mouth.  “That ought to do it,” the photographer said, distantly, reclaiming the camera from the assistant, who had been shooting photos the whole time she’d worked up some decently sized wet patches on the font of Mona’s dress.

Mona rubbed her bare thighs together slightly, immagining that mouth a little lower.  Another command came, “Turn over and offer me sex without speaking a word.”  Mona shyly raised to her knees, dress still ruffled from her earlier shifting.  She played with the hem of her dress, teasingly flashing even longer glimpses of bare pussy than before.  Mona dropped to hands and knees, the skirt hitching up over bare ass, totally exposing her.  She arched her back and slid her knees slightly apart, teasing with what she had heard was quite a lovely bare cunt.  She reached a hand back and covered it briefly, glancing flirtatiously at the photographer from over her shoulder, then took a slap of opportunity, the sound of bare skin being slapped ruined by moisture already pooling under her hand.  With a flush, she quickly withdrew the hand, sitting back on her heels and letting her knees slide outwards until she rested her pussy almost on the floor, still glancing back over her shouder every so often.  The shutter clicked furiously as the photographer recorded each moment.

“Such a wet little pussy,” she murmured.  “I can see it from here.  Take the dress off and show me that body, naughty girl.”

Fuck.  Mona had already been turned on, but being called a naughty girl just hit the accelerator on her excitement.  She slowly pulled the dress off over her head, the flush of arousal evident between her legs.  The photographer shot photos from all the angles, being sure to capture Mona’s swollen cunt.

She handed the camera off again.  “Are you ready for the fun part?” she asked.  Mona nodded her continued consent as the photographer held one finger up menacingly, then dropped it down to touch Mona’s clit lightly.  The whirr of the shutter continued as the photographer expertly rubbed wetness into every crevice of Mona’s wet little slit, and she rocked her hips against the finger in response.  “Lay back,” came the next command, and she obeyed with haste.  A tongue began firmly probing Mona’s clit, and she began to see stars.  The photographer began adding spanks and slaps, creating ripples of flesh.  She reached a hand out as if demanding something, and didn’t stop what she was doing until an object was placed there.  She began using a crop on Mona’s ass and thighs, mouth still pleasuring the wet little nub at her core.

The crop must have had a special handle.  Its direction was reversed and slid into Mona, and in that manner she was alternately spanked and fucked with the handle until she was crying for release.  Mona trembled and made glorious sounds at her treatment, not daring to believe she was finally in the hands of her idol, with hours left to come.

Erotica: Echie Grown

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***all pieces of erotica are based on safe, sane, and consensual practices. We never condone anything that is NOT consensual.

“Thrall, come here,” he said, wiping his fingers on a cloth in his lap.

​She was the only other Thrall in camp besides Peeper, so Echie knew he must mean her. She hurried around the ring of officers. “I don’t have wine, Master.”

​“I don’t want you to fill my goblet. Put the pitcher on my table and assume the position.”

​She complied and was kneeling beside his table in seconds, knees wide and arms loose, looking up to him with confusion.

​“I’ve been watching. Do you feel as changed as you look?”

​Her mouth dropped open, mind startled into silence. “I—I don’t know how to answer, Master.”

​The play of emotion on her face was new as well. None of the anger that used to be there. 

​“Not once in these days since I arrived have I seen you paddled. Not once have you earned a punishment. This is not normal and I have noticed. What has brought about this change?”

​She blinked at him, taking pause. Also a new action for her. Echie spoke quick, heedless to any impropriety.

​“Master Jacek , Your Highness,” she said quietly.

​“How has he managed to do what no one else could?”

​“I—I don’t know, Master.”

​“That answer is not acceptable. Give it again and I will cane you. What is it Master Jacek does that makes the most disobedient cunt in court suddenly become the example for all on what a good slave should be? Answer me.”

​“It has not felt so sudden to me, Master,” she nearly whispered, eyes lowered. “It has been a very long and hard road. What does Master Jacek do?” She looked up to Preece again, disconcertion plain in her eyes. “Everything. He demands more of me than anyone else ever has.”

​“His punishments are worse than mine?”

She nodded.

​“What is his punishment when you misbehave?”

​“I kneel in the corner.”

​“That’s it?” Preece questioned. “He puts you in the corner of his tent and this is somehow a worse punishment than my favorite cane?”

​Echie nodded, swallowing nervously. She had to answer honestly, but was beginning to fear that she was going to anger him.

​“Why?” he asked, keeping his tone even and non-threatening.

​“Why, Master?”

​“That is what I said.”

​She shifted her weight, eyes lowering again to think and not looking up again when she had her answer. Yes, very different indeed. 

​“Because to have your cane is to have your attention. To have a paddling from one of the grooms, or Morcone or…anyone…is to have some sort of attention paid to me. The sting for the rest of the day and the marks for a day or two remind me of those attentions. When Master Jacek puts me in the corner, he does not touch me or speak to me. I am completely ignored until he is no longer angry with me. He also has me wait in a corner for him if he has no use for me but I am sent to him,” she ended offhand.

​“No use for you? Does he not fuck you every chance he gets?”

​“He does not, Master. Maybe one day in four.”

​“I see. How is punishment different from waiting?” Preece asked.

​“For punishment I face the corner, Master. For waiting, he now allows me to face the center of the tent and we may converse.”

​“Now allows you to face center? Why now?”

​“At first…well, when he first came…when I was…before—“  She stopped, took a breath. “Forgive me, Master…I really don’t—“  She halted again, realizing the word that was about to follow and searching fast for different ones. “…have words to explain.”

​“Yes you do. Stop worrying that every word is going to get you into trouble and say what it is that Jacek did or does that makes you so changed. Don’t make me repeat the question again.”

​Her brow creased, pinching her eyes in distress. She heaved a breath and started again.

​“When I was bad, no one really seemed to care. The Masters would smile and chuckle and it didn’t matter. I could be as bad as I wanted and no one did anything but give me some whacks. I wasn’t special to anyone, like Hanar is special to Master Rainko and Dohan was special to you. Not even when I was the King’s favorite, short lived as that was,” she mused. “I didn’t have anyone to please because no one expected me to try to please. Master Jacek never smiled or laughed when I was bad. He was the only one who ever told me so long as I continued to behave in that manner I would never be anything more than a cunt for fucking.”

​Her brow creased, not liking the thought.

​“I realized he was right. Even the Queen only saw me as a disobedient cunt. That’s why she brought me on the tour to be the example on how to discipline. She expected me to be bad and earn punishments so she could show the entire country how to properly punish a disobedient cunt.” 

​A realization she did not like one bit.

​“Jacek was the only one who insisted I behave,” she continued in softer tone. “From the first time we met, Jacek told me I would wait in the corner until he wanted to use me. And that I would earn the privilege of serving his table.”

​“Did he even have you serve his wine?” Preece asked, finding her tale an interesting one.

​“Cunts only fuck. They do not serve Master wine. Cunts don’t have a name or open doors and they don’t speak. They are a set of orifices for use and nothing more.”

​“How did you like that?”

​“I didn’t, Master. Not one bit. For the first time since I can remember, I wanted to please someone. I had to work to please him, work to earn my name, even to wear the flowers of Thrall.”

​“And so here you are two months later, sitting to the Queen’s left.”

​Echie nodded, her eyes coming up to his in plain truth. “I don’t know how it happened. I was just trying to get through one day after the next, sometimes one hour into the next.”

​“When is the last time you were caned or paddled?”

​She had to think on that. “For punishment or for Master’s pleasure, Master?” she asked.

​“Punishment.”

​Her face pulled back, eyes widening as her mind sought backwards. “Um…a couple weeks, I guess?”

​“And the last you got for a Master’s pleasure?”

​“A couple nights before we arrived at Lord Quye’s home, I think.”

​“Is a caning something you want to have for pleasure now?” he asked.

​“Not particularly, Master,” she replied quietly.

​“Why not?”

​“I’d rather have intimate attentions and be close with touching and kisses than receive a caning, Master.”

​“Why?” he pursued.

​“I don’t kn—I mean…”  She sighed hard and he could see she was coming close to tears for trying to supply so many acceptable answers.

​“Is it that you have found the value in Master’s most tender touch when before all you understood of love was his paddle?”

​Her relief was visible and she nodded vehemently.

​Preece looked to Dohan and Jacek sitting across from him with empty dinner trays. “Doe, go to my wagon and bring the short frame. Show Jacek how to set it up.” 

​Echie startled out of her skin, having not heard the two men return to eat. How long had Jacek been listening? Had he heard her full confession?

​The wood rectangle was brought and Jacek learned how to stake it to the ground on both sides. The base was a square for stability and the overhead portion high enough to stretch a slave tall on her knees. When it was ready, Preece stood in front and snapped his fingers sharply. Peeper and Echie both presented themselves, looking up to him and waiting. He pointed at Echie, then gestured to the frame. She crawled forward and he swiftly bound her wrists overhead. Walking around to see her from all sides, he noticed the soldiers drifting over to watch the show. 

​“Peeper, service this quim until you are told to stop.”

​Echie’s mouth fell open in a gasp. She had never been strung up to a tree in the courtyard to receive such reward. She had always been one to make a slave scream and cum for the Masters’ enjoyment. Tonight it would be her squirming and her crying out to amuse their eyes and ears.

​Peeper’s wide open mouth closing over the flesh of her womanly mound held a new, sensuous quality, the eyes of the soldiers new meaning. The sound of a strap landing caused her to flinch as if it struck her own back. He didn’t swing the strap hard, only enough to make a good noise and give Peeper a little incentive. He was careful to aim for her upper back, keeping well away from her bruised bottom. It wasn’t long before she had Echie straining in the shackles and screeching in climax. The soldiers chuckled and commented on Preece’s strap technique.

​He barely heard them, attention focused tightly on the two slaves, gauging every movement and expression. He paused the strap to step inside his tent and bring out his thicker cane. An end under Peeper’s chin backed her from Echie to wait. He rolled his sleeves another flip to rest above his elbows. A hand slid down Echie’s arms to cup her breast and give a firm squeeze as he bent low to Peeper’s ear to whisper instructions.

​Cane in right hand, strap in the other, he brought the strap down on the diagonal to land a long kiss from right shoulder blade to left ribs. She rose up to lip Echie’s nipple and he gave her a few seconds before swinging the cane. It struck Echie’s right buttock and she gasped with the thudding jolt. No pain, but the smack was firm. A strike to Peeper, the next to Echie, increasing each in force and speed until Echie was taking as hard as he wanted to deliver it. Not nearly as hard as he could swing, of course. Not nearly so hard as Peeper could tolerate. But strength wasn’t the point. Making her scream wasn’t the point, though her grunts and gasps were gorgeous. She took a full hour, perfectly capable of taking more.

​Squirming and tensing on her knees, Peeper’s lips offering a tender caress to balance the sudden,  thuds, Echie was being driven to a new level of need. When he slid his hand, cool and soft, over her hot, welting buttock, she shivered for him in a way she had not previously. His hand slipped between and under to find her slickness. The touch sent a gruff, startled cry from her, brought her jerking downward in spontaneous climax. The shackles would not let her go far, however.

​The soldiers chuckled knowingly, joked about how she could take them all on. Preece grinned at Captain Kron’s declaration that he would have her first.

​“If I ordered her to, I’m sure she would. But I think she is craving the cock of a specific Master,” he said, handing Peeper the cane and sending her to his tent with it.

​He bent again, to Echie’s ear, his hand under her chin to force her face upward. Her eyes fluttered open, glazed and dreamy. Her first deep and real Dream Space.

​“When you please Master Jacek, you please me. When you displease Master Jacek, you displease me.” He opened the shackles, expecting the fall to her forearms on the wooden platform.

​“You could all mount her exactly like this and she wouldn’t give a single protest. Would you, cunt?” he asked, the tip of his boot nudging her thigh.

​Gasping for air, she couldn’t reply. She had known the beating slave’s dream space from many, many paddlings, but this was the first time she had been given sexual stimulation during any beating. It was totally different, far deeper a sensation, like floating half outside herself. Certainly the longest caning she had taken. She had not wanted it to end. He’d not even touched her left butt cheek. Or her thighs. There was much more caning to be done before she would be satisfied it was enough.

​“Master Jacek, the slave Echie is to be rewarded for her honesty and her diligent service this day. Use her as you choose.”

Excerpt from the novel PEEPER
Universal link: https://books2read.com/u/bOxRLK

TylerRose. is known as Dame Tyler in the NYC public SM/Fetish scene. She’s been doing this BDSM stuff for over 30 years in private and more than 10 years in public venues. 

She is an award-winning author who has written two “lifestyle”, four cartoon, and over twenty fiction books that you can find on Amazon. https://www.amazon.com/TylerRose./e/B00HCPLSP2

You can find more of her work in Fetlife: https://fetlife.com/users/305828
FB Fan Page — https://www.facebook.com/TylerRoseGethis/
FB Regular page —  https://www.facebook.com/TylerRoseAuthor

She enjoys crochet, coffee, and baking, and will no doubt die with a thesaurus open on her thigh.

Erotica: Through The Door

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Candy pressed light fingertips against the door.  The sounds were unmistakable.  She knew exactly what this was.

Still without touching anything but her fingertips to the wood, she imagined the scene inside.  

That sharp clap with no echo or repeats – it was definitely a face slap.  The muffled moan following was sure to indicate its recipient was on their knees sobbing a bit.  The squeal directly on the heels of the sobbing would be when the insistent demand of fisted hair yanked her out of her shocked self-indulgence.  

Candy lightly pressed her ear to the wood, hoping the echoing sounds would become clearer with more contact.

The next loud grunt suddenly muffled was Ms. Shocked being unceremoniously tipped onto her face via the gripped hair.  Ass in the air, the beating would commence.  Floggers would rain their many tails down upon their hapless victim.  Canes would leave distinct impressions in their wake.  Weighted gloves would replace tools, since Candy knew he preferred to use a more hands-on method to achieve his full satisfaction.

Slaps would drag texture across Ms. Shocked’s body.  Punches would solidly sink into areas cushioned by fat, bounce slightly in more muscular sections of the targeted zones.

Candy hovered, ear and hands barely pressed to the door.  She squeezed her thighs together as her breathing quickened slightly.  She was living the experience in unison with its object.  She didn’t allow herself to imagine the bottom inside as anything other than a vessel.  

What sounded like a grunt followed by wet slapping was him sliding his cock inside that naughty cunt, dripping excitement from its rough treatment.

Candy struggled to hear more, dropping to the ground to listen at the crack umder the door.  The smacking sounds intensified and she felt her nipples harden.  They pressed against the floor as she quietly contorted against the door frame, struggling to catch every nuance.

It grew quiet and she unsteadily rose to her knees, wondering how to end this awkwardness and march in, moist pussy betraying the angry words she planned.

As she kneeled at the door, hand upon the wall to balance her rise, the door opened suddenly at her nose.  A hand gripped her hair, tilting her head back and obscuring her view into the room and any other possible occupant.  A cock worked its way into her shocked mouth, effectively silencing her half-formed protest, echoing her imagined fantasy as eerily as if it had all happened before.

It began again.

Erotica: Walk Towards The Ocean

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Walk towards the ocean, down the old cow path there is a swimming hole and waterfall was the last line of the instructions he had sent. I reread the message and stuck the phone into my bag. The logistics of this type of outing was challenging. Hike in a bathing suit or change there? My compromise, no panties, and friction rub on my inner thighs. There are no there cars around. Daddy said he’d meet me there, he is hiking from the next cove over. I checked my small knapsack, clipped the car keys inside, and set off down the path. 

It was late afternoon and the sun was at my back. I quickly realized the entire walk was going to be downhill, which meant the walk back would be all uphill. The thought of a mile uphill made me tired. Daddy was a nature nut and I am nuts about Daddy. I’m walking by myself on a Tuesday afternoon, bumbling towards an unknown place because it will make daddy happy. I don’t like this, I don’t feel graceful or elegant. I don’t want to do this, but daddy says I have to expand my horizons. There is freedom in being daddy’s girl. I am released from the responsibilities and daily grind when I am not at work. I get to feel young, lay down my lab coat and reports. As Daddy says he knows best and I should do as I am told.

The sun at my back made the view spectacular. It’s like I am walking into a giant painting. The sound of the waves hitting the rocks is carried up across the bluff. I sit on a large rock and retrieve my water bottle, it is a perfect day for this. It’s not long before I hear rushing water. In my excitement to see Daddy, I skip towards the sound, promptly followed by tripping and tumbling. Landing on my back tits up and breathless. The knapsack stopped me from really hurting myself, I’m just embarrassed. I lie there looking up at the clouds for several minutes frozen in my self-consciousness. No one is laughing there isn’t anyone here. I am filled with a sense of relief. Like the bumbling fool in a B movie I right myself. I look down to see that my boobs are almost out of my shirt, the knapsack strap had pulled up underneath. I am rather disheveled. I drop the bag and reposition my clothing. I thought Daddy would be here by now.  It wasn’t as far as I was expecting, trees and an incline to the left shelter the swimming hole.

Sitting cross-legged at the edge of the swimming hole I dip my hands and arms in. The water is cool. It’s a good time to change. I look up and down the trail before I pull my swim bottom out. I make sure the ground is dry, take off my shoes, and leave on my socks. They are really cute. There are hiking mice across the toes. I try the trick of putting one leg in the bottoms and feeding it through my shorts to put on the other leg. Growls of exasperation and anger as well as a reprimand to the clothes for being uncooperative fills the air. My face feels flushed and in my frustration, my clothes now feel like they are strangling me. I am not having fun and I want to go home or even back to work. This is so stupid. 

I dig out my phone from its compartment and text Daddy. This is not fun. It is pretty, but thereis nowhere to get changed and I am by myself. Where are ou?

His reply is a picture of trees. No words.

“Agghhhh” I squeal in frustration. I may have even stomped my feet, a little. I pull on the swimsuit bottom that is still around one thigh and almost fall over. I plop on the ground and continue to text. AS soon as I get myself organized I am going home.

“Oh, baby don’t be like that” He is across from me on the rise.

“What are you doing over there?” I spit, mortified at the thought that he has been spying on me.

He tossed his knapsack over and walks across the rocks at the far end of the swimming hole. The man is a freaking gazelle. He is beside me and kisses me on the forehead. I feel silly and found out. I want to go.

“Oh, Babygirl, I’m here.” He speaks melodically. He wraps his arms around me drawing me in. I want to run and hide. He releases me as my body relaxes and I stopped sobbing. I was sobbing, what the fuck is wrong with me.

“Why did you make me come here alone?” He doesn’t respond. 

“I’m here now.” He kisses me softly and smoothes my hair. He holds me by the shoulders. I know a lesson is coming. A finger raises my chin until I look him in the eyes.

“What?” I spit at him. “This is not my idea of fun, tripping my way to the ocean at the end of the earth, for what?” I flick myself away from him and plop down to remove the swimming bottoms that I still have around one leg. I exhale hard and center myself focusing on the task of leaving. He kneels next to me and takes the bottoms off my leg.

“Let me help you.” As he is removing the menacing bathing bottoms he hooks a finger into my sock and takes that too.

“I don’t need your help” I protest, I’m angry at him, he has made me look like a fool.

“You may not want my help, but I want to help. You are frustrated, why?”

I stick out my hand, palm up, “my sock please” my tone is severe.

“Now, are you being reasonable? You had a rough time, but now you are being a brat, unnecessarily stubborn. What will you accomplish storming off in a huff, how far up that path will you get before you will regret this behaviour.” I know he’s right. lower my hand and head in shame.

A whispered, “I’m sorry,” is all I can manage.

“Enough of that, stand up for me,” I comply. He undoes the button of my shorts. Instinctively, I clap my hand over his. He removes it and continues, I draw my hips away challenging his action wordlessly.

“I’m not going to stop. You are free to express your feelings, you are beautiful and have nothing to hide.”

“People might see.” My eyes bulge and my voice squeaks. “I have a professional reputation to protect.”

“Ok, who do you see that is going to report you for not wearing your lab coat? Anyone?” He looks around, up the trail and down. “Who did you run past on your way here? How many cars were at the top of the clearing. I’m not saying that there is no chance of anyone coming near us, but really we are 30 minutes from the city, with cell reception in this amazing spot. Breathe baby.”

He opens the zipper and kisses me gently. “You keep looking up and down the trail, I’m going to see what I can find here.” I did as he suggested, I let him play away as I surveyed the area. I was almost oblivious to what he was doing. Both of his hands slide around my hips and worked my shorts down to my hips. His mouth kisses the small mound of hair, groomed to his preference. I was unable to process the attention and affection. The sense of having my ass exposed makes my face redden. I am mortified. I’d almost rather just be pantsless, the waistband resting at the edge of my bottom brings back a knot in my stomach and throat from childhood. I don’t like it.

“Daddy, pencil.” Tears roll down my face. “I don’t like this.”

He stops immediately. He does not let me pull my pants up, rather he helps me sit on his lap.

“Can you tell me what happened?” His voice is engaging and genuine.

“I don’t like having my pants pulled down.” He is wiping my tears as I speak. 

“I pull your pants down all the time, It’s not that, try again.”

“I don’t know, someone might see my bum.”

He smiles, “I have my mouth on your pussy and you are afraid someone might get mooned by you? Take a second and think about that.” As he waits for my response his hands move over me, fingering the hair at the back of my neck, stroking and listening intently, slowly awakening my desire for him.

“It’s embarrassing.” Is all I offer. 

“Ok, Babygirl, you are holding onto something that you don’t need to. Be here! now, how does it feel to be here with me? How does this place feel?”

“Well you’re wonderful and it is pretty” Why can’t I think? I try to maneuver the t-shirt over my ass.

“Ok, over my knee. Get that ass in the air. Count for me.” He rubs my ass until I respond to his touch. The first slap is firm and I choke down my protest.

“Count!,” he says and delivers the next one more firmly. A series follows, a hard dozen, I count. My ass stings and my tits start to ache.

“Are you still embarrassed?” he asks without anger.

I look at him and my face is crimson with mortification. As we make eye contact his hand slips between my thigs and he slides his fingers through the dampness to my clitoris. He continues to speak as he explores my swollen clit. I gasp in pleasure.

“We are all alone in the world, nothing else matters. Not an open field, not some long worn childhood humiliation, this is all we have right now.” He gestures towards the waterfall as he slides a finger into my vagina. “Next to a fabulous waterfall and swimming hole.” His thumb presses on my anus and I can no longer hold eye contact. He pulled back just enough to remind me I have to keep looking at him. He is watching me. “Are you ok?”

“Is your embarrassment helping you enjoy yourself?” he asks as he thrust two fingers in my cunt. I curl around his leg and open mine to allow him full access. Once my vaginal muscles start to contract he puts a hand under my tummy, a sign I am to let him up. Yoga helps with this. I move to downward dog with his hand occupying my holes. The balls of my feet press into the ground and I am back in my body. I wish he had taken off the other sock.

“Can we find somewhere more private?” I ask.

He withdraws his hand and slaps me hard. “Get the brush from my bag.” I drop my ass and retrieve the brush from his bag. My shorts are gone, my single sock is muddy and a little damp. I kneel in front of him holding the brush up. 

“Did you agree to meet me here?”

“Yes, I’m sorry”

“Did you agree to play on my terms?”

“Yes, but…”

“No, there is no argument here. You called pencil, we talked through it and started again. You didn’t call carnival, so why are you asking questions that stop play?”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, you’re not sorry, you don’t like it when I call you on your shit. Now, listen to daddy, I will never harm you. I will push you. I am going to fuck you hard, right here and you will not die of embarrassment. Get that top off and in a position like a good girl.”

I stood in front of him with my hand interlaced behind my head. I swear even my knees were blushing at this point. He slapped my tit and sucked the erect nipple gently. I stood looking at the ocean with my back to the world.

His hand holding the hairbrush as he nipped and licked my tits and spoke; “I am going to spank you before I make you cum. Daddy knows what is best for you. Now, on all fours face the other way, head up, if you drop your head I will spank you again.”

I waited on all fours looking ahead terrified someone would come down the path. This time the impact of the hairbrush was no offset b the building of an orgasm. It was punishment and I humiliated by my behavior. When he stopped and rubbed his hand over my ass it felt hot. He kissed it and slide his fingers deep inside of me. I watched the path almost unaware of his touch, I was so afraid of someone finding us.

His cock slide in and my body reacted. The path towards me seemed to fade away as I closed my eyes and the light of the setting sun created kaleidoscopes on my eyelids, the warmth of the sun-dried my salty tears as waves of ecstasy moved through me. His hands-on my hips slapped my ass and intensified my experience, I craved the discomfort that came with each slap. It was like the chocolate sauce on a cheesecake. The smack on my ass intensified the experience. His pace had to be intentional, When he slowed my mind started to look to the path, but as he worked to edge me deeper towards the orgasm my senses were drawn to the pleasure he brought me. The sun was hanging lower in the sky now. My body was electric with sensation. He withdrew as he wrapped himself around me and squeezed my nipples.

“Baby girl is going to ride Daddy.” He spread out the blanket I had taken from his bag. He lays on his back, his condom wrapped cock completely erect and waiting. I positioned myself between his legs, slide onto my stomach where I could suck on his balls. I licked and sucked until a moan escaped him. I stopped and immediately positioned myself above him. Just the tip while I reached around and held his balls. I then began to move up and down, stopping to rotate my hips. I could feel him come to full size and fill me I leaned forward, placing my hands on his shoulders I rode and bucked letting untold noises of pleasure erupt in the air. The orgasm was intense and I didn’t want it to stop, I slowed my movement so his cock was stroking my G spot, whimpers seeped from me as I rode the wave of pleasure.

My eyes were squeezed so tight from the pleasure I was seeing stars. I chased the frenzy to the crescendo where his hips press him up, and I ground until he came. I wrapped myself around him and thanked him. Eventually, I rolled off and he came to his side facing me. We laid there for several minutes before I fell back into my body and felt the earth under me.

 He kissed my forehead, “Are you still embarrassed?

“Not really.” I smiled. 

“Good. Let’s head back.”

“Why? I said I WAS NOT embarrassed.”

“Well, I can have you walk back naked if you want?” he said as he pulled his jeans on and did up his belt. “It will be dark soon. No one will see you, but it might be cold.”

I threw my shoe at him. “Very funny.” I slide into my shorts and t-shirt, took off my other sock, and put on my shoe. He passed me my other shoe. 

Let’s go, maybe next time we can get into the water. He carried both of our packs as we walked back to the car. The first stars were just visible as we arrived. Still no one in sight.

Erotica: What is a Gallipot? (A piece of Arlyn: Adjutant & Apostle)

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sexy Domme with whip
via stock.adobe.com

“Would you like to see a Gallipot getting a good working over?” he asked.

“What’s a Gallipot?” she asked.

“A pain slave who enjoys the harshest, roughest, most excruciating of pleasures. It’s quite something to watch.”

“They like it?” she asked, thinking of Segat’s pain slaves. 

“Tremendously. I’ve seen women squirt their juice three feet in orgasm and men with cocks so raging hard they turned purple before ejaculating.”

“How do you watch this?” she blurted in shock for the description.

“Preferably with a dozen others quietly engaged in their own sexual fun while watching. We pay to get in but we’re in our own roped off section. No one can touch you. Well, except me. But I won’t, I promise. It’s all very civilized.”

“Don’t you have a curfew at the temple?” she asked.

“Do you honestly think I give a shit if I have a curfew? Come on.”

Arlyn suddenly liked him a lot. She followed him through the market and out the opposite side. They walked a stone paved street up a slope and turned right to go farther into the town. Another right and they were in a small gated garden, narrow path leading to a low-roofed entry. The door closed as they reached it. 

“What’s that about?” she asked.

“It means someone just entered before us and we have to wait a moment. It’s fine,” he replied, reaching to pluck a pink flower from a vine wound through a hedge. He gave it to her. “I love these. They’re among the first flowers of spring.”

She smiled, reminded of the day Jacek had given her a flower.

The door in the entry opened and they went in. It closed behind them, the space lit by three oil lamps.

“Welcome. The event has not yet begun. How many are you?”

“One man, one woman. We’d like an upper tier box, please.”

She wore expensive linen clothes in colors that were also expensive to create. Pearl necklace, gold bracelet. This was obviously a lucrative business. Lenden handed her several gold coins and received a numbered slat of wood.

“Do you want a mask?” the woman inside asked, gesturing to a table with a variety of colored masks.

“I don’t,” he said. “But the lady would.”

He looked over them, selected a black and blue eye mask with gold beads and a small blue feather sticking straight up between the eyes. He tied it around her head and took her hand to continue through the corridor to the door at the end. Through it and they were in a cocktail party. Men and women mingled, talking and enjoying wine or whiskey. 

A server wearing a gold ring around his neck with chains down to a gold ring around his cock offered a tray of beverages.

“We would prefer water today,” Lenden said.

The server lifted a cup to her first and then to him and continued on his way. Another server had savory meat delicacies. A third offered candied fruits with a sharp cheese. 

The door opened periodically to let in new arrivals. Her eyes went to it each time, seeing who was coming in. She knew no one, of course, until the one face in the world she would recognize entered the room.

Harmen. He did not wear a mask. He did not have his belongings with him. She knew he liked to visit a whore house now and then while traveling. His eyes met hers across the room, hard and disapproving. He’d seen her come in, had followed to collect her.

Before he could take a single step, Lenden was taking her through the door on the left to go to their box. He showed their numbered slat and they were allowed past.

“Your number, Sir?” she heard behind them as they reached the stairs. “That number is for the floor, Sir. You cannot go up to the boxes.”

“I need to speak with that couple,” Harmen said.

“Then you will have to wait until they come back to this room, Sir.”

She heard nothing more, as they were at the top of the stairs. Another servant in gold collar and cock chains escorted them to the left, to the second open doorway. Going into it, Arlyn first saw the wide, backless sofa with small table in front of it for their cups. Beyond was a ring of similar boxes. One level below, the same ring with one box enclosed.

She saw Harmen enter his box and sit. His eyes met hers, displeased. She decided she would ignore him for now.

“Do you come here often?” she asked Lenden.

“About once a month. They do this several times a week.”

The boxes were full in a moment and the nicely dressed woman came out of the enclosed box.

“Thank you for attending, Marus and Maruals. For those of you who have not been here before, I am Marual Glynn. I will conduct the scene this evening. We are pleased today to exhibit the Gallipot Cadell for your entertainment and arousal. This is a non-participatory exhibition but feel free to enjoy yourselves. As always, please keep talking and other noise to a minimum until the event has ended.”

She went back into the closed box.

“Non-participatory?” Arlyn whispered. “What’s that mean?”

“It means no one from the audience can join the center display but the audience can have sex themselves if they want.”

She clamped her jaw shut rather than utter the ignorant “oh” springing to mind. Looking around the other boxes, she saw several women shedding their clothing, and a few men.

Lamps around the boxes were extinguished, giving the occupants a shadow of privacy while leaving the center ring illuminated. The door opened and a young man of magnificent musculature was led out by that same woman. Following was a nude woman with an arrow quiver strapped to her back. Several rods were sticking out of it, of different shades of green, brown, or tan, made of varying materials. Some were wrapped in leather, others were bare wood or bare bamboo. She knelt with her back to the center.

Behind her was another naked male carrying an ornate wood box. He knelt beside her, lowered the box to rest on his thighs, and opened it. Arlyn could see the shining knives in sheaths in the lid, metal sticks in a tray.

As Cadell reached the center, he lifted his hands to grasp a metal bar hanging from the ceiling. Arlyn saw the scarred designs on his skin. One on a bicep, another on the back of a shoulder, another on a thigh.

The Marual selected a many tailed leather whip. Rather like what was used on a ship, but with many more tails and not as brutal in the construction, she took position behind Cadell. She swung it to the left and right of him, in wide arcs of a figure 8 that levelled out her speed. She brought the piece to the center to strike him with each pass. Fwap, fwap, fwap, fwap, steady and moderately fast, about three strikes per five seconds. Not very hard for the first minute, she increased force but not speed, bringing the whip harder on the downswing. 

Cadell stood solid and unmoving, not even flinching. He was looking out into the audience, bottom and top tiers, and smiled at someone below Arlyn’s box. 

The mop-like flogger dropped to the floor next to the female slave and the Marual grasped a handle to take an implement out of the quiver. A rod about two feet long that she used to strike him from the upper back down to the middle of the ribs, then she skipped over the soft tissue of his waist and took up again from high atop his ass down to just above the knee. Another skip of the knee and she smacked his calves. Down and up, down and up again, she made a good thirty passes with increasing force. His entire backside was pinked, beginning to stripe in welts.

She changed targets, whapping back and forth between his thighs until he had parted his feet as wide as she wanted them. Around to his front and she began to cane his chest and belly. He made not a single sound. Arlyn saw his cock was raging hard. She flinched inside her skin when the Marual smacked his cock with the cane.

She smacked his cock from base to tip, five times in total while he gripped the bars tighter and gritted his teeth. Back to the base, to strike the triangle of flesh above it, then down the length of his erection. He only grew harder. The cane went lower to strike the ball sack hanging between his thighs. It swung like a ball on a tether and she slapped it again, this time with her gloved hand.

It was the gentle stroke of that gloved hand, gripping around his cock, that made him grunt loud enough to be heard.

She stepped away to drop the cane onto the floor next to the flogger. Reaching into the quiver again, she took out a thinner stick that was much more flexible and whip-like. Standing behind him, she swung it to land on his right hip and drag across his buttocks. A slice of blood opened to drip down his behind. She struck again from the left. Arlyn saw the end six inches of the thin reed wrapped around his thigh to leave a deep red welt there before it dragged across his buttocks.

She was familiar with that sensation, if in a wider medium. Harmen’s belt wrapped around her hip like that, it’s folded tip leaving a particularly intense sting. Sometimes the edge of the leather left her marked for a week, he struck with such power.

Ten strikes with the reed-like rod and the Marual paused. The female slave came forward with a wet cloth from inside the box. She wiped down his backside.

“When this is over, will you come to my room with me?” Lenden asked.

She turned her head to look at him a few seconds, then let her eyes sweep across several boxes to see couples engaged in various sexual acts. Mouth were busy between legs, fingers were delving into orifices, hips were at work from behind.

“Why, when we can have sex right here?” she said, reaching down to the buttons of her pants to loosen them.

She stood to push them down and her eyes met Harmen’s. She smiled at him and sat to remove her boots and pants at the same time. Her loose shirt came off easily, was dropped onto the pile of clothing between the little table and the sofa bench. She leaned over onto her left side as he kicked off his pants and shoes and moved in behind her.

“Sure you want to do this?” he asked.

She reached around to grasp his half-hardened cock and stroke it. “I don’t think I’ve ever wanted to have sex more in my life,” she said.

He didn’t ask again, lifting her knee to place her leg over his thigh. She angled her buttocks backwards to give him better access. As the Marual was picking up her next implement, a six-inch-long metal stick, Arlyn sighed out her relief to be filled. Lenden kept himself to an even pace that allowed them both to watch the happenings below.

The Marual slowly worked the slender stick into Cadell’s penis, smiling at his grunts and struggle. With a gesture, she sent the female slave over to lick his cock and suck his balls. She then reached into the box to pull out a coil of leather. Tossing out the end showed the audience a four-foot whip. She snapped back and forth, cracking it. Several in the audience gasped with the sound. Arlyn had a cum, the sound so much like the sound of Harmen’s belt when it landed on her.

“Do you know the man scowling up at us?” Lenden asked.

Arlyn chuckled lightly, lifting a hand to his cheek. “Indeed I do.” She turned her head to whisper. “He’s my priest companion and he approves of nothing. So give it to me good and give him a wink when I cum.”

Lenden choked back a laugh and increased his speed. She quickly had another orgasm and he smiled at the face scowling up at him. He reached around to grip her puss from the front, watching Cadell get a whipping to his back and chest with a mouth slave kneeling under his cock. Arlyn lowered to lie fully on the sofa, eyes closing to enjoy her own pleasures while listening to the shouts from below. 

Cadell could no longer contain his vocalizations. The whip swung and he shouted, and Arlyn sighed with a near-climax. Cadell’s sounds continued, grunts and growls as he worked to regain control over himself. A good minute later, the whip swung again and he shouted again.

“You’ll want to see this,” Lenden said after some twenty shouts. “They’re about to finish.”

Arlyn opened her eyes to see the Marual reach around to grasp the ring at the end of the metal stick. She pulled it out of his penis in a slow and steady single motion. As soon as it was out, the mouth slave went to work. Cadell didn’t need long. Two minutes at most and he let go the bar to grasp his cock and finish off in spurts over the mouth slave’s face and gaping mouth.

Audience members not engaged in sex themselves applauded and the intermission commenced.

Read the rest of Arlyn: Adjutant & Apostle
https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B07646YM2Z

TylerRose. is known as Dame Tyler in the NYC public SM/Fetish scene. She is an award-winning author who has written two “lifestyle”, four cartoon, and twentysomething fiction books.

Read her books on her Amazon page — https://www.amazon.com/TylerRose./e/B00HCPLSP2

You can also find more of her OP/ED work in Fetlife: https://fetlife.com/users/305828

She enjoys crocheting and baking, and will no doubt die with a thesaurus open on her thigh.