• Skip to main content
  • Skip to primary sidebar
  • Skip to footer
  • Home
  • About
  • New to kink?
    • Articles for beginners
  • Contribute
  • BDSM Buying Guide

Kink Weekly

BDSM articles ideas bondage erotica resource

Home » ernest greene » Page 2

ernest greene

Part Two: Interview with Author Ernest Greene, Master of O

February 6, 2017 By Desdemona 5 Comments

Read Part One here!

Dexx: So last night you won an award. Fetish Film of the Year?

Ernest Greene: Actually it was for body of work from the L.A. Fetish Film Festival.

Nina: It’s the Legacy Award.

Ernest Green: It’s for the “millions” of fetish films I’ve made. I’ve made a lot of them but I still think it’s under seven digits.

Nina: For the longest time you were the only guy doing it. You were the only dominant—to many people he was the dominant male role model for 10 years. You were the only male on camera all through the 80’s and 90’s tying girls up and whipping them.

img_3830

Ernest Greene: And off camera, I was the first guy who was ever actually paid, starting with the Marilyn Chambers gig in “Private Fantasies 6” to do the rigging, to actually tie people up. Bondage rigging as a job didn’t exist here before that. In Japan it did. They were already making extremely sophisticated and very high quality videos and they had a guy whose job it was to do the bondage. I was living in Little Tokyo at the time and started watching Japanese bondage videos to figure out how they got such different effects with rope. So after I thought I could do that, I started using that in my own rigging and pretty soon, there were whole shibari groups. There’s ShibariCon. Believe me, when I was looking at those videos the idea that there would some day be an event in the US called ShibariCon was unthinkable. And sure enough, some of my work got over there and I ended up doing a photo book with one of their guys who they brought over here–a book for the Japanese market of combined Japanese and American bondage. Ken Marcus shot it.

Dexx: Oh yeah, he showed it to me when I interviewed him. Beautiful.

Ernest Greene: You can blame me for all that boring rope work you have to watch. Watching people just endlessly pulling string, honestly I know I’m going to make someone hate me for this, but to me, it’s like watching people do macramé, I’m glad there is a naked body in the middle of it to look at but over all I’m still a leather-and-chains enthusiast.

Dexx: We like rope. (Laughs)

Ernest Green: I think it’s a sensual thing for the people who are doing it while they’re doing it, but in terms of theatre—

Dexx: It’s a little slow, yeah.

Ernest Greene: As theatre, it’s a little slow, though there are exceptions. One couple from England we know, Clover and Wyckd Dave, are fantastic.

Nina: In one 20-minute clip of a continuous performance where he ropes her in continuous motion is just amazing.

Ernest Green: He kept her in suspension the whole time. She did not touch the floor once. It’s mesmerizing. Proving once again that there are about six people who know how to do something and everyone else should just not even bother.

Nina: He didn’t spank her once, though. I think she was a little disappointed about that.

Ernest Greene: These are English people. She even said something about it after. ‘A little bit of the cane every now and then, I wouldn’t mind it.’

Nina: You’ve learned as a dominant that it’s wise to play some requests. I’ve learned as your slave how to drop a hint or two.

Dexx: When did you bring shibari to the states?

Ernest Green: This was in the early 90s.

Dexx: Was it challenging to find actors and models to star in those productions?

Ernest Greene: Not at all, they were lined up. They thought it was fun. Porn gets boring, doing the same stuff all the time. This was something new and different. You’re not going to become an X-rated performer if you’re not somewhat adventurous. They aren’t all wildly sexual in the way they portray themselves on camera, but most of them are more open minded than most people their age because they’ve been exposed to more. So the bondage thing, which had been at one time been considered a ghetto of sorts in porn took off as a genre.

Nina: Back in the 80s when I was first offered the chance, my exes basically said bondage movies are only for performers who have nowhere else to go. It was for the down and out. It was the last stop before actual retirement.

Ernest Greene: It certainly became the exact opposite. I began working with Andrew Blake, who started incorporating fetish and bondage elements in his really beautiful shot-on-film pictures and they were extremely successful commercially. After that, there came to be a whole bunch of people making BDSM pictures and a whole bunch of performers who came into the business mainly to do those pictures. For the first time we had specialty bondage performers who actually understood and enjoyed the material we created. Life was so good for me then, because I didn’t have to explain anything anymore. I’d tell them what I had in mind and they’d say ‘Oh yeah! I did all of that up at Kink.com last week and I’m fine with it.’

Ernest Greene and Nina Hartley's in home dungeon.
Ernest Greene and Nina Hartley’s in home dungeon.

Ernest Greene: Unfortunately If you look at certain Tumbler blogs, some of what’s out there is like a train wreck. You can’t really look away but you wish you could. There are people doing this that really shouldn’t be. And they’re amateurs. You don’t know where this footage came from, you don’t know who to contact and say, ‘Hey guys you’re out of your mind, stop doing that!’ I’ve been very outspoken about abusive practices in the porn industry overall and in BDSM pictures particularly. I know this has made me some enemies but better that than indifference to the safety and wellbeing of performers. As my friend Lily Burana once said, “It’s all in good fun until somebody loses an eye.”

Dexx: Out of all the films you’ve produced throughout the years, are there any that stand out to you as being particularly memorable to create, or any of your favorites…

Ernest Greene: Oh sure, I had my own first video line called Twist Productions during the 90’s when we first started doing BDSM as glamour. This was when brightly colored latex suddenly became available. We started renting nice locations and costuming people and making it look appealing. Then for a log time I worked for Bizarre Video and we made nice little girl-girl bondage movies…

Nina: Fabulous

Ernest Greene: I went to some lengths to recruit talent who were BDSM-oriented and experienced.

Nina: These were all girl/girl shows with full nudity, real restraints and real whippings, implied penetration. We did them hardcore, but we didn’t shoot hardcore.

Ernest Greene: In those days, hardcore with bondage was considered legally risky.

Nina: And he said, you know what shoot it anyway, and someday…

Ernest Greene: It will be okay. Yeah, couldn’t get my boss to go for that. So we shot it softcore. But those 20 segments of “Nina Hartley’s Private Sessions” are nice because it’s obvious everyone was having a good time. They were the only sets I ever worked on where people wouldn’t go home. Normally when someone’s scene is wrapped up, they want their check and they want to get out of there. Eventually it would become so crowded in the back room I would have to push everyone to the rear because they wanted to stay and watch everyone else’s scenes. We won some awards for those shows but I wouldn’t call them art. I would just say they were fun. Then I finally got a chance at doing this on a large scale for Adam and Eve.

I’d started editing Taboo magazine for Larry Flynt by then. One thing that’s for real about Larry is his commitment to the 1st amendment. When we first started doing Taboo I said we really needed to show penetration with bondage if the magazine is going to be competitive. We’re going to have to show real BDSM in this publication. We got some unexpected support from by Larry’s lawyer, Paul Cambria. He said, ‘Bondage isn’t the issue. Consent is the issue. No one’s going to go to jail just for showing somebody tied up having sex. If they’re saying “No, let me go, I hate it, get off me,” that could get you up in front of a jury. If on the other hand, the person who’s going to be tied up brings a pile of rope to someone and says, ‘Please tie me up.’ Then there’s no issue. We started showing pages and pages of tied up people fucking in every single issue of Taboo. This kind of paved the way for Adam and Eve, the most conservative company in video, to fund me to do some big features that have bondage with hardcore in them. I’m most proud of my three Story-of-O-based titles, “O–The Power of Submission,” “Surrender of O” and “The Truth About O.” They were big productions with all-star casts. They sold like crazy and, of course, nobody got in any trouble for doing them. In a way, they were rehearsals for the writing of my book.

"Master of O" book cover
“Master of O” book cover

Dexx: Let’s talk about that book, “Master of O.” What led to you feeling like you wanted to write a book?

Ernest Greene: I started out as a writer. That really is my original career. I began very early, had my first piece published in Esquire when I was 15. I was also an enthusiastic reader of erotic literature. In my day, the gateway book for BDSM was “Story of O,” which I read when I was a teenager. Even then, though I didn’t know anybody who had ever done any of the things in the book some of it felt very real to me and some of it was surprisingly flat. But like most people blown away by what a terrific writer Anne Desclos really was. I was amazed by how much punch she could pack into 200 pages. The drama of it, the way it was written and the richness and the beauty of the visual descriptions struck me as entirely believable and credible. I didn’t know where these people were or how they got into this, but I was mesmerized by the whole reading experience. Then, when I got to the end of the book and saw that there was no end. The original book really doesn’t have an ending, though Desclos wrote one in which O committed suicide after Sir Stephen abandoned her. Well, that was not acceptable to Jean Paulhan, the mighty lion of French letters for whom she wrote it. She never expected it to be published and wanted to conclude it on a low note in keeping with her low opinion of the people upon whom she based the characters. There really was an O, a beautiful middling-famous actress who was the embodiment of La Belle Masochiste. Paulhan wouldn’t let the author bury what he considered a brilliant book, or end it on a downbeat that would scare off readers. This says something about their relationship, the difference of the relationship between men, women in Europe and here. A women author here would say: “no I don’t want it published and I don’t care what you think,” and that’s the way it would be. He took the book to the controversial publisher Jean-Jacques Pauvert and after some rumbling with the French government they got it into print, even without an ending.

I read it and found it compelling but also unsatisfying. It bothered me that the male characters in it were completely lifeless. O was the only living character in that book. Anne Desclos knew the woman all the sadistic guys were after, Paulhan included, regarded her as a romantic rival and disliked her intensely, which is one of the things that always amazes me when people say, It’s such a romantic book. Hardly. O and those around her were given pretty rough treatment from the author. I always felt they deserved better and I never bought the line that the women in the book endured suffering for romantic reasons. I thought the failure to address the real, erotic pleasures of sadomasochism for those, male, female and other who are drawn to it was a dodge to create a more respectable motivation for them than dark lust. I’m comfortable with dark lust and I wanted to fix that failing of the original.

Check back next week for the final segment of this three part interview!

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.

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

Interview with Author Ernest Greene, Master of O

January 30, 2017 By Desdemona 7 Comments

I was fortunate along with anniebear to sit down with some BDSM legends, Ernest Greene and his wife Nina Hartley. I asked them about the history of BDSM, where it’s headed and also the rise of BDSM porn. I hope you enjoy part one of this three part interview. -Dexx

Ernest and His wife Nina
Ernest and His wife Nina

Dexx: Great to have both of you! Ernest Green, you’re known to many of our readers as the author of the hit BDSM novel Master of O, but I gather that you’ve been into kink for a lot longer than that. Maybe we can start with you telling us how you first discovered BDSM?

Ernest: It discovered me! I’m one of those for whom it’s a basic orientation in the way that being gay is for others. I’m hardwired for BDSM. I have never had a sexual fantasy that was not sado-erotic in some way. Starting with my very first girlfriend I did BDSM play and it’s been pretty much like that ever since. I’ve had one vanilla relationship in my entire life trying to prove a point in my early twenties that I could do it and I proved a point all right but that wasn’t the point I wanted to prove! I couldn’t do it! It wouldn’t work for me. It was a very long year and a half and when it was over I was really glad. That experiment was settled and I never tried it again. So I really think this is not true of everyone who’s interested in BDSM nor does it need to be but there are some for whom it really is part of them. There’s interesting anecdotal evidence, unsupported by any organized research because no one will fund it, that it’s heritable, in the way that being gay is heritable. There seems to be a kink gene that appears in families in different branches in different generations who were brought up widely apart and had no direct contact with each other. I had two uncles, one of whom was just the most normal guy on earth. Then there was my other uncle who clearly had the marker.

Nina Hartley: And his mother.

Ernest Greene: Yes exactly. As the completely normal uncle said to me near the end of his life, “You know your Uncle Mel, he had this weird streak of sexual cruelty to him.” Uncle Bernard was 86 at the time and when people are 86 they have no filter. They have no time for small talk. We were at a family dinner and all the air went out of the room. Then there was a brief sort of nodding off moment and then he looked at me and said, “And your mother she had that too.”

I came out to my parents when I was about 28 and I was very surprised at my mother’s response. She looked vaguely embarrassed and said, “Gee I hope it isn’t something I did.” I said “No I think it’s more like something that you are.” She nodded and agreed that could be true. (Laughs) We’ve always been open about it and I’ve always been this way. I do understand that it can just be recreational, spicing up sex more conventional sex, and I think it is for most people. And then there are those for whom this is it! Luckily I found someone whose kinks are a little different from mine but they overlap enough so that things work very nicely. I’ve been married to women who were wired too much like me and it was a problem. If two people’s wiring is too similar it really is difficult to make the adjustments necessary for a happy day to day life, because most of the time we’re a happy day to day couple. Around the house our protocol is pretty relaxed. Nina always wears her collar, for instance.

Nina: And I’m usually naked. (Laughs)

Ernest Greene: We’re not a 24/7 couple, we joke that we’re a 7 to midnight couple. When we have the time and there’s nothing else going on then we can indulge that fully. But we do not “live the lifestyle,” a term I don’t really like. This thing chooses you. Its not like you decide one morning to be a kinky person. One morning you wake up and realize you are one! You can fight it but if you’re like that will only cause frustration. It would also be a disservice to your partners to leave them wondering why it is that you don’t seem very interested in them if you choose someone who’s completely vanilla. Don’t choose a vanilla partner if you can’t be one yourself. I’m also against attempting to change anyone’s basic sexuality. There’s a lot of that going around at the moment. In one Facebook group I moderate that question comes up far too often. Anything that begins with “how can I get my partner to …” goes nowhere good. If the desire is already there and not yet awakened you can certainly offer it as a possibility. But for most people it’s a music they cant hear. I don’t think they can learn to hear it by trying even with the best of intentions. You’re either tuned to that frequency in whatever degree or you’re not.

Just a small selection of erotic art displayed in their home.
Just a small selection of erotic art displayed in their home.

Dexx: So in your formative years presumably there was not the same amount of BDSM porn available as there is now so what were your sources of inspiration or did you have any mentors who kind of taught you some of the things?

Ernest Greene: The world was so different back then it’s hard to describe. First of all yes there was always lots of BDSM erotica around, you just had to know where to look for it and believe me I found out. I made a point of it. An early inspiration for both of us was John Willy’s artwork. We loved it then, we love it now. There was a limited supply, compared to today, of BDSM oriented erotica, but it was mostly better because it was done by people who were not expecting to make money on it.

Dexx: Right.

Ernest Greene: Those who created this material never expected it to be seen. As a result they created their work in a sort of soulful, passionate, personal way that you don’t see too much of these days. But yes, yes I did hit puberty right around the time erotic books first became available in the US – to date myself very seriously—I read “Story of O” when it came out over here.

Nina: Right. (Laughs)

Ernest Greene: When I read it, even though I had no real experience of my own at that point, some of it seemed very vividly described. The level of visual detail was quite striking, but the emotions seemed all wrong. It wasn’t until some years later that I found out the person that wrote it did so as a present for a lover who was into it, and she wasn’t. She basically said, ‘Well, I can’t do the things you like to do, but I can write a book that you would like to read.’

Nina: She got the details right but no insight into why people engage in this behavior.

Ernest Greene: Except for O herself, the characters in the first book are very flat, especially the men. In her late life interviews Anne Desclos, who had started using her own name by then, admitted that she barely knew and didn’t much like the people around whom she built the story.

Nina: No wonder the characters in Ernest’s book “Master of O” are so well rounded.

Ernest Green: Because I know them. They’re all my friends—or at least I hope they’re still my friends.

Nina: They are.

Ernest Greene: At the beginning of my own explorations I looked around and there were, even in those days, the beginnings of small SM groups. The first one here in the U.S was…

Nina: In New York.

Ernest Greene: I went to my first meeting of The Eulenspiegel Society in NYC in 1972. I don’t know what I expected but it was all very light-hearted and good-natured. Happy to say that T.E.S. is still around—

Dexx: Sounds very German.

Ernest Greene: Indeed. Eulenspiegel, I guess, is meant to be some mischievous, imp character who’s curious about thing. and that’s what they named it after. When I moved out here I got involved with the Southern California Society of Janus, which had spun off from the original S.O.J. up in San Francisco. After some of the bickering typical of leather organizations ours changed its name to Threshold. I did six terms as coordinator of Threshold, which makes it sound a bit like doing a nickel in San Quentin, something it at times resembled.

Nina: Eighties?

Ernest Greene: Mid to late eighties. I joined in 1983. I was coordinator from 1986-1992 or some crazy thing like that. That is the heaviest session of all, being in one of those rooms during a business meeting, I’ll tell you that right now.

Nina: Heavy bottom session. (Laughs)

Ernest Greene: And you can’t mercy there. There is no safe word for it. The guy who handed that job over to me had had it for six terms and he did his best to warn me.

Ernest Greene: Because even though we only had 64 members, we had about 120 opinions about everything. I have noticed SM people tend to be opinionated. They also tend to be high-maintenance in groups. When Bill handed the sash off to me as coordinator, he said, ‘So did they tell you about the vow of celibacy?’ I said, ‘Vow of celibacy? I don’t remember anything about that.’ He just smiled and said, ‘You will.’ And sure enough, the very first party we gave in my first term was in the middle of summer. It was July, it was sweltering and the club we rented had a busted air conditioner. So I spent the entire night on the roof trying to fix it while the party went on. Actually it turned into a pretty great party because it was so hot in there everybody got naked. At one point, I looked down through the skylight and thought, ‘My God, a whole room full of naked people!’ They had all come fetished out and just couldn’t keep that stuff on.

There were some nice perks though. As a leather group leader, you were a member of the Leather Round Table, which gave you reciprocal membership privileges in every other group. I got to go to gay SM events, bi SM events, fetish-themed events and so on. I got to see all kinds of interesting people doing interesting things. I’d approach whoever was playing at the end of their scene and ask if they could show me how certain techniques were done. It wasn’t formal mentoring of the sort that’s been so inflated subsequently. There was zero snobbery attached to any of it because this was Mr. Regan’s America and everything we did was totally misunderstood and despised at the time. People were very forthcoming with the few who didn’t judge or reject them. ‘Oh you’re interested? You don’t think it’s disgusting and should be stomped out? Okay, cool! I’ll show you what I know.’ It was also a lot safer back then because everything was done by personal contact. The internet in my opinion, has been pretty much a disaster for the world of BDSM. Which isn’t to say we haven’t had some pleasant experiences out of it. We’ve met people online who’ve become friends. We’ve met some of our most compatible playmates that way. But overall the bar to entry is now very low. Anyone can represent themselves as anything on the internet. And enough new people who’ve come in since those books bad books we shall not name came out who just don’t know what is expected and what is permitted and what is okay and what is not. This has given rise to quite a rift between younger and older players because the older ones basically stick to the safe sane and consensual rule, or RACK which is some modernized variation thereof, but a lot of younger people are coming in saying, ‘Oh, that’s just that old guard bullshit, you people are just elitists and don’t know the way it really is.’

Nina: Just get off my lawn, people.

Ernest Greene: Yeah, we knew something about this before those books came out, so if that’s all you know about it, it’s possible we do possess some useful knowledge you don’t. But if you don’t want to hear it, you can piss on the electric fence and find out for yourself why it’s a bad idea.

There are a lot of predators out there that will simply say—‘Anyone who tells you anything different from anything I’m telling you is full of shit, a liar and just in it for the sex. There is one kind of SM that is correct, and it’s mine. Whatever my rules are, are the rules.’ When I see that their status is 19-years-old, male, straight, master, unparternered, I pretty much know what I’m dealing with there. I’m sorry if that offends anybody in the [The Next Gen] crowd, who overall, I think are great. We need new, young people to keep things going. I’m not sorry to see it expand, I’m sorry to see it explode. To get to the point where on Fetlife you’ve got a couple million people, you can expect in any city of a couple million people there are going to be bad guys. If you picture it as a virtual city with neighborhoods, some neighborhoods are going to be safer than others and that’s very much true when it comes to BDSM on the Internet. If you wander in with no prior knowledge and are completely naive and eager to give this a try, as far as you know, all dominant men are just like Christian Grey. They’re all kind of spooky, a little edgy, but they’re really poor injured little boys working off their mommy issues and all they need is the love of a good normal vanilla woman to straighten them out, fix them, and make them normal. That’s pretty far from the actual trajectory of a real BDSM person.

Dexx: So, you must have really seen the public dungeon community emerge from the shadows and flourish since the Society of Janus days?

Ernest Greene: We started out in the 60s. During my first term our group had 67 members. After 6 years, we were up to 700. And this was before the Internet. So it was already a dynamic idea that was beginning to roll. Now, there’s hardly a city of over 250,000 that doesn’t have a club. There are also a lot of posers and hacks as you would expect, but there are a lot of sincere people for whom it’s been a great discovery that they’re not alone. They come from some little town someplace where there aren’t any kinky people they know of and they manage to find this large community that offers both danger and opportunity. There are many more choices of things to do and people to meet, styles to explore, and there are also, occasionally, folks you would not want to meet. That’s why I think it’s important that there be some institutional memory preserved from how things were. In the old days the rule if you wanted to try some new technique, a new kind of whip or bondage, first, you watched somebody who was already an established expert at this demonstrate it. Then, if you had a partner who was willing to let you practice on them, you got to do it under the supervision of the person who knew how to do it. Then if you didn’t screw that up, you had a chance to do it yourself. Now, everybody just strolls through the door and goes at it, whether they know anything or not. Some bad things have happened as a result of that. To some extent the bad influences are counterbalanced by the availability of classes and workshops.

Nina: There’s still plenty of opportunity to learn about consent and safety, but there’s no enforceable requirement to do so.

Ernest Greene: In those days, if you didn’t do the course work, you didn’t get to graduate.

Nina: You didn’t do BDSM 101, you didn’t get to come to parties. Before you were welcome in a public space, there were orientations you had to attend.

Ernest Greene: I did those orientations for many years. I did them with my first wife. I did them with the late great Bob Flanagan. We subjected everyone to a true Salvation-Army-style ear banging on safe sane, consensual and confidential BDSM.

Dexx: On the subject of learning that you’re talking about, do you think that the community now can benefit from some sort of standardized certification or training?

Ernest Greene: I just don’t know how we’d make it work, because what people do in private, they do in private. The worst abuses, I think are, again, are classically committed by the kind of abusive personality that will try to separate their victim from everybody else. They’ll say: ‘Don’t go to munches. Stay away from organized BDSM groups because they’re all full of people who might tell you something other than what I’m telling you.’ I don’t see any way to certify people. What I do think is if you’re considering becoming involved either casually or seriously with a partner and you know anyone they know, you can get in touch with that person and ask what their experience was with this individual.’ So there’s a bit of informal watching of each other’s backs, but it’s nothing like it was in the old days. And again, you couldn’t just go to another city and start over after your bad reputation drove you out of your own community because even in different groups in different cities, your reputation would follow you. There was a small enough total number of BDSM players in the whole country you had to be kind of careful wherever you were. This is no longer the case.

Continue to Part Two.

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.

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

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

01 copy

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: Master of O, One

August 29, 2016 By Ernest Greene 5 Comments

01 copy

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

01 copy

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

  • « Go to Previous Page
  • Go to page 1
  • Go to page 2

Primary Sidebar

Sale – today only

Bondage kinks coffee mug

Put a smile on your face each morning

Support Kink Weekly on Patreon!

Become a Patron!

Help keep us online and get
epic good karma (and no ads)

Already a supporter? We love you! Visit here to enable ad-free browsing.

Get

Quality lockable ankle cuffs

Contribute

Want to feature your writing or photography on Kink Weekly? Are you an BDSM/sex expert or professional, and interested in being quoted in an article? Contact us

Archives

Simple Mummification Fun!

By PirateStan Leave a Comment

Learn helpful mummification techniques in this week’s edition!

shibari male submissive bound

Why Excellent Submission Can Be Remarkably Elusive

By Ms. RikaLeave a Comment

Dive deep into submission with Ms. Rika in this week’s edition!

Footer

18 U.S.C. 2257 record keeping compliance statement
Always play
Safe Sane and Consensual

Copyright © 2023 · News Pro On Genesis Framework · WordPress · Log in