erotica

Erotica: Dinner Party

December 21, 2015 By Phi 1 Comment

“Okay, so…if I win, you have no say in anything that happens to you from six o’clock until midnight.”

“Fine., And if I win, I get a whole day of you pampering me wearing nothing but a bow-tie and a leopard print thong.”

“Leopard print? When did that happen?”

“Just now when I realized that pampering me included running your hands all over my body, getting your cock serviced and fucking me until I pass out, so that either way you were going to win.”

“Oh, you noticed that.”

“Yes. I noticed that. I want it to be a little bit painful for you.”

“Fine. Deal.”

“Ok. Ready?”

“Yeah. One…. Two….. Three…. CALL IT!”

“HEADS!”
___________________________________________

I know he cheated. I don’t know how he cheated, but I know he cheated. He was way too prepared for the win.

I was sitting naked, bound to the dining chair with my knees spread apart, my wrists behind my back, and a rope gag bound twice around my open mouth. They’d added that bit when I started complaining about being cold.

They’d also added nipple clamps at that point, as my commenting on the temperature brought their attention to my hardened nipples some time after the appetizer course.

You’d have thought they’d blindfold me, but no. It was a game, not a punishment. He knew I’d like their lecherous stares between bites of baked salmon and and sips of wine.

I’ll back up. At six o’clock on the dot he ordered me stripped and sent me off into the kitchen to prepare a proper dinner for two wearing nothing but an apron and heels. I created a three course meal to his specifications – appetizer, salad, and main course with a side. No dessert.

So I went with things I knew we’d both like. Bacon wrapped dates, a caprese salad with fresh basil, and for the entree: baked salmon with my not-so-secret spice blend and a side of grilled zucchini strips. It smelled pretty amazing, and I set the table for two using the nicer china and fancy silverware.

The doorbell rang at 7:15. He was grinning from ear to ear as I looked over, puzzled. “Our guest has arrived right on time. Go let him in.”

“What?”

He didn’t even bother to tell me again. He just gave me a look.

With a sigh, I walked over to the front door. His voice interrupted me. “Don’t answer the door in that dirty apron. What will our guest think?”

There wasn’t any point in arguing. I took the apron off and hung it on the coat rack by the front door and then took a deep breath.

When I answered the door, I was surprised to see a man standing there that I didn’t know very well. Part of me wanted to hide. I was naked, except for heels, and this guy was just standing there, not making any attempts to hide that he was enjoying the view. Pursed lips, he looked me up and down, letting his gaze linger on my tits.

“Uh. Hi. Welcome,” I said. “Come on in.”

“Don’t mind if I do,” he answered.

Fast forward to 8 PM: I’d finished bringing all the food out to the table and pouring them each a glass of wine while they talked about boring guy things, barely acknowledging my presence. I’d sneak glances at our guest while they were immersed in conversation. He was charming and attractive in his way. I’d met him a few times in our social circle, but listening to them chat about this and that, I realized that I hadn’t known they were that well acquainted. My lover’s comfort with him made me feel comfortable with him.

“Well, it looks like dinner’s ready. Let’s queue up the entertainment.” I could hear the familiar smirk in his voice and I knew he was talking about me. I couldn’t help but smile. I’d grown weary of being ignored.

Our guest came up behind me and pulled back on my hair, dragging me back and sitting me down on the chair while my lover pulled some rope out from a nearby drawer and started uncoiling it.

That’s how I ended up in the position that I was in at 9 PM. Tied to the chair, gagged and drooling, nipples clamped and watching my lover and his friend finishing up the dinner I thought I’d been preparing for myself, while they talked about me in the third person.

“You want to clear the table while I prepare dessert?” I squirmed in the chair. Our guest cleared the table while my lover started untying me – first removing the gag and replacing the rough jute with his probing, wet tongue. I wanted to wrap my arms around him, but they were still restrained behind my back. I did as best I could to lean into the kiss.

Without warning, he pulled the clamps off by the chain and I yelped right into his mouth. “ASSHOLE!” and I thrashed while the burning pain resonated through my nipples.

After several seconds, (and a lot of laughing), he leaned in to kiss me again. “Your nipples sore, honey?” He was rolling them around lightly in his fingers.

I nodded. Big eyes. Pouty lip. It never works, but I do it anyway.

He booped my nose and laughed again. “We’ll be taking care of that, honey.” The way he said it almost sounded like a threat as he leaned in and reached behind me to start unbinding my wrists with my face buried into his chest. Meanwhile, our guest had returned to the table with a large canvas gym bag and a paper supermarket bag.

“Honey,” my lover said, as he continued untying me. “Our guest was kind enough to offer to prepare our dessert table-side. Isn’t that thoughtful?”

“Yes, Sir.” I inhaled the scent of him and resisted the urge to bite. I had a feeling I was going to be the main ingredient in whatever “dessert” they were planning to partake in.

“What will you be preparing for us, buddy?” he asked our guest.

They were both looking right at me when he answered. “My favorite. Triple-Stuffed Slut.”

As he said it he pulled a massive blue dildo out of the gym bag and wiggled it around at me. My jaw dropped open as my eyes darted back and forth between the dong and my smirking Dom. The guest walked over to me and took advantage to stuff it into my mouth.

“That’s it. Get it nice and wet. We’re gonna stuff it in your cunt to marinade for a while while we prep the rest of you.”

I hadn’t made much eye contact with him yet, but this seemed as good a time as any to try to use my feminine wiles on him. I stuck my tongue out and slathered it all over the fat cock, letting the drool coat it nice and thick while maintaining eye contact with him the entire time.

“Damn. You’re right about having the ripe slut on hand,” he said as my lover freed me from the last of my bindings and took me forcefully by the elbows and stood me up. Together they led me to the now cleared dining room table and laid me down flat, face up on top of it. With a grunt, they positioned my body so that my ass was right at the edge of the table, knees up and spread in the air.

The friend took the dildo out of my mouth and walked around the table’s edge. “Mind if I taste the marinade before we put this in?” he asked, fingers already rubbing along the slick swollen flesh of my labia.

“Good idea,” was the response. I closed my eyes. I’d finally gotten used to my lover going down on me after years of neglect in that area. Having a near-stranger do it was going to take an actual act of submission. I had a feeling that was by design to try to get me more comfortable with receiving oral.

I felt soft lips on my forehead and realized that I’d had my brow furrowed. “It’s not punishment. It’s supposed to be fun,” he murmured in my ear. “Are you having fun?” I opened my eyes to meet his gaze and smiled, reaching my hand over to caress the side of his face.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” I assured him. Just then I felt the sensation of hot breath against my clit, and I pulled my lover’s lips down toward my own.

It wasn’t bad. I had trouble letting go enough to come, but it still felt pretty good. Especially when he started using his fingers. The whole time, I felt my pussy dripping wet into my asshole and knew that would help later on with the promise of being “triple stuffed.” I wondered which of them (or the dildo) would be taking that particular hole.

It didn’t take too much longer to find out.

Without warning, the dildo slid into my pussy and the friend started fucking me with it.

“OHMYGOD. OHMYGOD,” I moaned loudly. Did I mention that thing was huge?

“She’s just so noisy,” my lover said to his friend, and clamped his broad palm down over my mouth. In the mean time, he used his other hand to retrieve a bottle of honey and can of whipped cream from the super market bag on the chair by the table.

He flipped the lid top on the honey and I arched my back as the sticky syrup hit my nipple. I felt it dripping down the side of my breasts and closed my eyes, wishing for the warmth of his mouth on them. He knew how sensitive they were, especially after his move with the nipple clamps.

“Sshhh. You’ll wake up the neighbors,” he said as he lifted his hand off my mouth. “It’s almost 10pm.” He smiled as my body trembled little shockwaves and I nodded obediently.

“Open wide,” he held the whipped cream can over my mouth. I giggled and opened my mouth. He filled it with whipped cream and then kissed my lips closed and I snorted and moaned and laughed all a the same time.

But it was when he put his mouth on my nipple that I went under again. A virtual stranger fucking my pussy with a dildo and my lover’s hot wet mouth on my honey-drizzled tits….whipped cream notwithstanding, it was a recipe for orgasm.

And it worked.

He alternated between the cream and the honey, my right and left nipples, my belly, my neck, my shoulder. He bit into my shoulder.

When I came, it was epic. He was rolling my right nipple in his fingers while biting on the left one when it happened.

He came back up and kissed my earlobe, whispering “good girl” into it as the little aftershocks pulsed their way through my body.

“My dick is hard, buddy.” The friend had pulled the dildo out of my pussy and was now rubbing his cock through his pants, standing there between my legs staring at it.

“Oh. Hang on. Lets flip her over. You’re gonna love this.”

They pulled me up and the guest took a seat in the chair. My lover positioned me on my hands and knees in front of him and said three simple words to let me know what he wanted.

“Do your thing.”

I smiled. My turn.

If you’ve never had someone suck your cock like it was their calling in life to do so, then you won’t understand what our guest experienced for the next twenty minutes. And it was only twenty because I was slowing down and making it last that long. If I’d been trying, I’d have had him in five.

In the meantime, my lover had pulled two floggers out of the bag and started going at my ass with them. For a moment, except for the leopard print thong, it felt like I’d won the coin toss.

But about halfway through the blow job, he set the floggers down and knelt behind me. I grunted as his cock took advantage of my already lubricated ass. I love it when he fucks my ass.

And there I was, like a multi-orgasmic chinese finger trap as we crossed into the 11 o’clock hour. I’d yet to be triple stuffed, and part of me wanted to remind them – but just then, our guest appeared to remember the same thing, and pulled my head off his cock long enough to get up and grab the dildo from the table.

“I think it’s time, man.”

Handing it over, my lover pulled his cock out of my ass and re-inserted the dildo into my pussy, giving it a couple thrusts before shoving it far up inside and ordering me to clench. The friend took his place back on the chair, and just as I resumed “doing my thing,” the cock re-entered my ass.

I’m pretty sure we all woke up the neighbors.

After we all reveled in the afterglow, we went to go wash up. I took a little extra time to grab a bite of leftovers from the kitchen while they got dressed and chatted about music for a while.

It was almost midnight when our guest said his goodbyes and took off.

“You have ten minutes left, Sir.” I curled up into a ball next to him on the sofa. “What do you want to do with me now?”

He caressed my back with his hand and leaned over with his head to kiss my forehead again.

“Exactly this.” By the time Friday rolled into Saturday, we were both dreaming about future adventures.

Phi is an erotic fiction writer. Phi (pronounced “fee”) came into kink at early age and renewed her connection with the lifestyle in 2014 after a decade-long hiatus. A somewhat popular and undeniably avid blogger on fetlife.com under the name phi-is-me, phi lives in the suburb of a suburb in southern California with two cats and six pillows.

Erotica: Good Girl, A Fantasy

November 16, 2015 By Phi 1 Comment

I’d been up since 6am, having only gotten four hours of sleep the night before. The party had gone well, the show was a success, and the afterparty was in full-swing. I wanted nothing more than to get out of there, walk in my front door and strip my way up the stairs to the bedroom and pass out.

But there were still hours to go between now and then. I still had to be “on.”

“Mr. and Mrs. Jenkins, thank you so much for coming! Oh, I’m so glad you enjoyed it. I’d love to catch up next week and give you an update on our next project. I think you’ll definitely want to be involved in it.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him. He was standing at one of the high-tops, sipping a drink and eye-fucking me as he had been most of the night. I’d warned him that I had to be on my best behavior.

“I need to be a good girl tonight. The other kind of good girl,” I’d responded quietly when he’d come up behind me, put his firm hand on the small of my back a the bar and whispered, “I’d love to take you to the coat check room and fuck your face right now, you dirty little whore.”

I mean, it’s not like I hadn’t thought of it. But, there’s a time and a place. There’s being a good girl, and there’s being a good girl.

He’d backed off after that, but every so often I’d glance around and spot him somewhere nearby, watching me.

When it got close to 11pm, I started preparing myself for the challenge ahead. Pretty soon I’d make the call to shut down the open bar and start gathering my volunteers to pack up the event. The crowd was starting to thin out. My bosses were making their rounds, drunk of course. She’d given me the biggest hug. “I have no idea how you pulled this off, but it was the best year ever!” She says that every year.

My parents were still here, but I could see they were starting to fade as well. I looked over at my friend and smiled. “Soon” I mouthed to him. He grinned back, and walked over.

“Now,” he said as he walked past me and up the stairs toward the room we’d been using for storage.

I took a quick peek around. Nobody seemed to be looking for me.

“Sam,” I said to my assistant, who was finally enjoying her first drink of the evening. “I’m going to head upstairs for a few minutes. Need a few minutes of quiet.”

She looked over at the staircase where he was standing there like Leo in Kate’s dream sequence, and laughed.

“Right. Quiet. Okay, I’ll keep everyone out.”

She knows what I’m about, you see. She knows.

I turned toward the stairs. Once he was satisfied that I’d follow, he turned and continued his ascent, disappearing behind the wooden shutters that separated the lounge area from the changing rooms.

By the time I walked into the room his cock was already out of his pants and in his stroking hand.

“Do your thing, slut.”

I fell to my knees in my evening gown and took him into my mouth. He wasn’t fully hard yet, but it wouldn’t take long to get him there. I was quite well acquainted with his favorite techniques.

I could hear the murmurs of conversations below. Suddenly, a conversation came through the walls like it was being broadcast over a megaphone.

“Oh, we LOVE having phi as part of the team! You must be so proud!”

“Yes, yes. We are. We come to this event every year, and we’re always so impressed with how well it turns out!”

It was my mother and my boss …talking about me. I was less than 15 feet from them, and separated only by a few pieces of slatted wood.

I heard him laugh. “That’s right. Listen to them talk about what a “good” girl you are. Fucking whore. What kind of good girl makes me wait all night to do what I want, huh?” He put his hand on the back of my head and pressed his cock toward the back of my throat. As if to make a point, he pushed harder until I started to struggle back for air.

“What, you need to breathe now?” He held me down a few seconds longer before pulling my head back by the hair.

“You breathe when I tell you to breathe.”

“Yes, Sir,” i whispered.

“You’re not leaving this room until I’ve seen my come on your tongue,” he continued, “so the longer you take, the more likely you get caught.”

I resumed my worship, using every technique I’d cataloged as his preference

He was starting to shake, the tell-tale sign that I was getting close. Then i heard their voices again. “I haven’t seen her in a few minutes. Sam! Sam, do you know where phi went? Her parents are leaving and want to say goodnight.”

Sam knew I’d be able to hear. “Uhh…I can go check around for her.”

“Maybe she’s upstairs?” It was my mom.

“Uhh…let me go check,” Sam responded, her voice louder than usual.

I pulled off his cock, and he grabbed and forced me back on.

“Don’t you fucking stop. I don’t care who comes up here. You don’t get up until my come is sliding down your throat.”

It only took another thirty seconds or so. He came right we heard the knock at the door. He just looked at me. I opened my mouth and showed him his come on my tongue.

“Good girl,” he murmured. “Tell her to come in, then swallow it.”

I pleaded with my eyes. There was a second tap at the door. “Phi, your mom is looking for you,” Sam’s voice announced.

“Come in,” I said, mouth full of come, as I stood up. I swallowed just as the door opened.

She looked at us both and laughed.

“Ok, Boss,” she said. “I’ll tell her you’ll be down in a minute. You might want to fix your lipstick.” She walked back out, shutting the door behind her.

When I turned to look at him, he was looking very pleased with himself.

“See, phi?” he grinned. “You can be both kinds of good girl in the same night. Now, get your ass back to work, before I put it to work for me.”

Phi is an erotic fiction writer. Phi (pronounced “fee”) came into kink at early age and renewed her connection with the lifestyle in 2014 after a decade-long hiatus. A somewhat popular and undeniably avid blogger on fetlife.com under the name phi-is-me, phi lives in the suburb of a suburb in southern California with two cats and six pillows.

Erotica: Lady O

November 9, 2015 By Phil K 3 Comments

After my first session of submission with Stephanie, I was even more hooked on BDSM. Each time I arrived, I would find her skill showed marked improvement over the previous session, each time showing me what a Domme can do and helping feed my desires to move from self-bondage to submission.

Our second session was more rope tying. When I arrived, she let me in and directed me to strip and kneel with my back to the door that entered the room. I did as requested and waited for her to approach. When she entered she stood right behind me over my legs. The heat from her body merging with my own. She did not need to do anything more to indicate her presence. Her warmth was enough and put me at ease as she put a blindfold over my eyes. She stepped away for a moment and then returned.

When she was close to me, she began to bind my arms. Starting with my elbows, she wrapped them with a rope and started to pull them together. She did not stop until my elbows touched. Already, I could tell her experience had found better ways to secure me. She followed up with roping my wrists together, which left me completely vulnerable to her.

Sensing my thoughts, she came around to my front and started to flick my nipples. Within moments my nipples were perking up and I immediately found them held by a constant pinch. The pinch was similar to last time, but not as strong. I could feel her touch my skin at about an inch down from my nipple.

She continued to repeat on my other side below my other nipple. Then she would alternate back to the other side and continue another inch down. Over a period of what felt like an eternity, the pinching became long lines down my chest to along my thighs. I would sometimes twitch, which would wiggle those areas that already pinched me. Any subtle movement imparted pain from each pinching spot and I would find myself focusing hard to get through the feeling. When she stopped, I was relieved for the brief period I was untouched, but that was short lived.

I could hear her walk to the closet and pulled something out. Standing behind me again, I was sure this was not the moment where she was going to take off the blindfold.

“Open your mouth'” she said.

Given the situation, I was not in any way going to argue with what she was doing. Doing so would surely cause something negative to occur. As instructed I opened my mouth. I soon found a bit gag that was being tightly secured deep into my mouth. Crossing my mouth from left to right and pulling so deep in that my back teeth were catching hold of the bit.

Walking away again she picked out another item from the closet. Upon her return she quickly made me aware of what the item was.

*thawp*

The stinging, familiar pain found the back of my thighs. The feeling was sharp, then dulled after a few moments. She must have sensed the right time to strike, as the pain was becoming less and my mind was coming back from the reaction as she struck me again. This became a repeated pattern. Her goal to keep me bound and registering pain at an almost constant level or higher.

The continued impacts of the cane upon my body made me twitch. The twitching would cause the pinching on my front to hurt more from all the spots on my body. I could tell that she had to be enjoying the reactions, as I lost track of time and all other focuses of the world. After what seemed like an eternity she stopped caning me, which allowed me to focus on the pinching pain on my front. To focus on controlling myself and withstanding the torture.

She walked to in front of me and proceeded to remove the blindfold. Tilting my head up to look at her as light returned to my vision. My eyes blinded for a few moments as they adjusted to the return the sense of sight. When I could see clearly it was then that I noticed a pair of strings in her hand that dropped straight down between us.

“Would you like me to remove what is attached to these strings?” she flaunted.

I did not move and inch. I was not sure what she meant to do or why. I dared not break eye contact with her to find out what these strings were attached to and how.

“I’ll take your silence and unmoving body as acceptance,” she said backing away.

It was then I was able to look at where the strings went. The pinching was from clothes pins. Each side was connected together with the string. As soon as she noticed the hint of dread in my eyes, she yanked on the strings with great ferocity.

I gripped the bit gag with my teeth as the pain of the pinches tugged at my skin, the feeling of my flesh being torn from my body came forth as she did so. This was a rather intense pain. I was not sure what could have made that worse, but I hoped I would not find out.

She walked up slowly and teased me. Looking me in the eyes as she rubbed the spots where clothespins had been moments before. I didn’t look where she looked, but I watched as she smiled. Enjoying the feeling of what had to be impressions upon my skin at each spot and the look in my eyes as she touched each sore one. A look of satisfaction and pleasure came forth beyond that devilish smile. As painful as it was, I found enjoyment in pleasing her.

I was sure she meant it as a way to tease me, as she reached around my body in almost a hug. After a few moments, I was unbound and my arms dropped to my sides in soreness. Yet, I was not given much time to rest or analyze my experience.

“I want you to become a table,” she said. ” Get down on all fours and become the best human table ever.”

Puzzled, I thought about her command did as she asked and became a table. Using her cane she swatted those areas of my body that displeased her as a means to perfect my position for adjustments. Spreading my legs a bit more, lowering my back, then when happy she walked out of the room. I wanted to see her walk away, but I resisted. My mind still lost on the pain from early and trying to understand what she had in mind for me now. I expected her to bring back candle wax, but that was not what she brought.

“Now, if you spill this, then we will have issues,” she said. “I do not want a mess on my nice clean carpet.”

When she was finished speaking, I felt something on the small of my back. The object felt cold and smooth with a circular base.

“That is my glass of water.” she said. “Don’t spill that cup, as it is quite full.”

Without being able to see the cup, I had to assume it was filled to the edge of the lip of the glass. I also assumed it was a tall glass as it felt quite heavy upon where it was placed upon me. I tried to not move as best I could. Then it happened.

*smack*

A soft, but stingy blow came across my ass. I twitched just enough to dribble. What I did not find out until later was that she caught the glass from spilling completely. She tested me quite a few times after that. Trying different objects to hit me with. Pulling on my nipples and even tapping my member with her implements of impact. I was trying to do my best and she was pushing to see how far that extended to self control and power of will.

By the time she was done, our session time had ended. As usual, I was let free and I got dressed. As I was walked out, we swapped pleasantries before I turned to get in my car. I would think about the pain I suffered and the restriction of the bondage. A feeling of euphoria following each time.

Successive sessions that followed between Stephanie and I were good, but they were spaced out because of time and our schedules. Eventually all sessions with her died off in occurrence. After a time we lost contact, as college took more focus than everything else. When the urge to seek out my submissive side pulled at me enough to the point of distraction, I headed back to Craigslist to find a dominant woman to expand my experiences.

My search was as before, with many responses of interest and nibbles from fakes. Some from people that were too scared to commit to meeting in person. Other replies were semi-serious and some were just picture collectors. On occasion I would find a person to meet in public, but that seemed to always fall through. Finally, one email reply caught my attention that I could not easily ignore:

Hello,

I see you are interested in becoming a submissive to a dominant woman. What you seek is not something to take lightly. Though I have watched your posting change and evolve over the passing months, I also understand that you have been submissive before to Stephanie. I’ll admit that she was a good start for you, but should you wish to experience far more from a woman that can train you well, then reply to this email. Don’t be shocked on how I know you were with her. Just know that some circles are smaller than others, but also have far more discretion.

Perhaps you will be the one to meet my needs and expectations, but that is something only you can prove.

I’ll be waiting…

For the rest of the day, I was no longer focused on work. All I could think of is what to do and how soon work was going to be finished. A few people wondered if I was feeling ill, but I brushed it off as nothing at all. Though afterwards I thought better of it and should have taken the option to fake sickness. At least then I could have relaxed at home or been given more time to prepare myself.

When work day finally came to its end, I proceeded home. Lost in thought of what to do. I walked in the door and took a shower. Though I took far longer than normal, perhaps hoping the heat and water would cleanse my mind for what to do.

When I came out of the shower I sat down on the couch. Taking my phone out, I looked at the message again. With a
deep breath I typed a reply and pressed send. I was committed to what was to come.

Phil K comes with creative talents ranging from writing to photography. His photos invoke thoughts and desires to make you want to engage with the images, while the stories make you long to be in them and never end. You can view his work here. Helives near Royal Oak in Southeast Michigan.

The Delicate Flower

November 9, 2015 By Desdemona Leave a Comment

Photographer: Dexx Model: Nicole

Nicole was curious. She had always wanted to explore her kink but was nervous. She went online and soon made contact with a mysterious woman.

“I’d like to try some things,” she typed.

“Then what are you waiting for?” the woman replied.

“I’m a delicate flower. I’m not sure if I can handle very much.”

“Then we’ll just have to try and find out, won’t we?”

Erotica: Michelle, the Prequel

November 2, 2015 By Phi Leave a Comment

I was excited. I was also fucking nervous. Mistress had me in training for three weeks with her other girls before she’d even let me spend the night at the mansion. They worked me raw having me learn positions and study current events and cleaning – good god, all the fucking cleaning. And it had to be done “The way Mistress likes it.” Every time. Even shit she’d never see, like making the beds in the guest rooms.

It wasn’t that I wasn’t grateful, it was that I’d signed up for more than this. I felt like the Karate Kid doing wax on wax off stuff before figuring out that it was preparing me for what was to come. And in my head I knew that. And I tried to be patient, but I guess patience isn’t really in my nature.

Each night I’d wrap up my training and wait in a room while my “sisters” went in to report on my progress. Each night I waited for Mistress to walk back through the double doors and welcome me to stay.

Each night, Juliette would be the one to walk back through the doors. “Mistress thanks you for your service and wishes you a good night. Please return tomorrow morning at eight o’clock.”

And that would be it. I’d go back to my shitty apartment that I shared with roommates I barely knew, and masturbate myself to sleep.

By the end of the third week, I was starting to get used to the routine. I’d catch glimpses of Mistress as she’d wander in from time to time during my studies. Wanting to impress her, I’d stay focused on my tasks – and other than a courteous “Good morning, Mistress,” or “Good evening, Mistress,” I’d carry on with whatever I was doing. I’d been taught that was “the way Mistress likes it.”

The day Mistress walked back through those double doors alongside Juliette, I fell to my knees before her and kissed the ground at her feet without being told.

“You’ve made excellent progress,” she said. “I’m hosting a get-together this weekend. Tomorrow morning, you and I will have a chat and discuss your place in this household. If we come to an agreement, I will introduce you as a member of my House at the party on Saturday.”

“Yes, Mistress,” was all I could say. With that, she turned and walked out. I didn’t come up until I heard Juliette speak, “I’ll show you to your room whenever you’re ready.”

I was ecstatic. All that hard work had paid off! And the following morning, instead of waking up in my shitty apartment with my shitty roommates, I woke up in a beautiful bedroom with my own adjacent bathroom.

Over breakfast, Juliette tried prepping me for my conversation with Mistress, but I kept zoning out, daydreaming about being introduced at the party. I imagined what I would wear – a brand new black leather collar and my dark blue corset with back-seamed stockings and heels. I would look perfect for her, and all her guests would be watching me and envious of her and I would be her most prized possession.

“Just remember, she likes things the way she likes them. Don’t question her. Are you listening?” Juliette was waving her hand in front of my face.

“Yes, Mistress likes things a particular way. Got it.” My mind wandered back to the curve of my cleavage in that corset.

My conversation with Mistress went well. She already knew a lot about my background from my application and initial interview. This was more about letting me know about her expectations if I were to accept her collar. Obedience, charm, respect, and loyalty. All the traits I’d spent three weeks learning about and training in.

“Do you know why I selected your application?” she asked me.

I was stunned. I’d not put much thought into it. I’d assumed it was because she found me attractive, but I didn’t want to say that out loud. It was as though she read my mind, though, because she smirked “It’s not because of your ass, though I do plan on enjoying your physical attributes to their fullest, and very soon.”

I bit my lower lip in an effort not to smile broadly.

“I selected you because you have spirit,” she said. “My house runs very smoothly. I don’t have cause to dole out punishment very often.” She stood up from her chair behind the desk and walked toward me.

“Kneel.” she said.
I knelt, hands shaking.

She was holding a collar.

“Chin up, look at me.” As she said it, she took a forceful grasp of my chin and pulled it up anyway. I opened my eyes and looked into the darkness in her eyes.

“I enjoy breaking the spirited ones. I’m going to enjoy breaking you.” she whispered. If she hadn’t been holding me up, I might have melted into a puddle right there.

“Do you accept my collar?”

“Yes, Mistress.”

She fastened it around my neck, and pulled me up by the hair. I scrambled to stand as the pain shot through my scalp.

“You will not be clothed from now until after the party Saturday night. Nobody but myself has permission to touch you. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Mistress.” My voice was hoarse with desire as I started stripping off my clothes in response.

“I mean nobody,” she paused and smiled cruelly. “Not even you.” She punctuated that last sentence with a sharp pinch of my left nipple. I winced in response, and she slapped my face in response to that.

I fell silent, but inside, I felt my face flushing. Emotionally I was feeling vulnerable and angry simultaneously. I called on my training for the previous three weeks and with a deep breath, calmed myself back into submission.

As I prepared for the party two nights later, I found myself staving off anxiety attacks. I reached into my purse and took half a xanax, just to take the edge off. I’d not touched myself in nearly 48 hours, nor had anybody else. I’d been doing household chores all morning wearing nothing but my collar. That afternoon, Mistress entertained herself by having Juliette and Brendan fuck each other in the garden as I served her lunch.

Watching them fuck, and watching Mistress direct them from one position to the other to the next while they obeyed without question had me so wet I was dripping down my thighs.

Every once in a while she’d look over at me and everything about her expression screamed “I know you want to touch yourself and I am not letting you.”

Her guests started arriving around 7pm. It was the who’s who of the BDSM community. Juliette had taken her place at Mistress’ side, while I was tasked with offering wine to the guests upon their arrival. Everyone was dressed beautifully, women in latex and leather and beautiful corsets. The men in suits. I was the only one completely nude except for my collar. Not even a pair of heels to accentuate my legs.

I felt everyone’s eyes on me. I could feel them staring at my ass as I walked past them, and they didn’t hide from ogling my tits at all. Some of them were even leering.

But nobody touched me. I was dripping wet and at that point, even the ugliest fucker in the room could have slid his fingers inside me and I’d have been grateful.

I went into the wine cellar to open another bottle of red wine, and poured myself a glass, quickly gulping it down before returning to the party.

That was probably where things went completely wrong. I’d forgotten about the xanax I’d taken earlier. My libido was out of control, and Mistress had hardly said more than two friendly words to me in two days.

I watched with envy as Juliette served at her side. That would be my place one day, I thought. But first I had to get through the evening.

Mistress finally looked up and called me over. Finally. I set down my tray of wine glasses and walked over to her. “Yes, Mistress?” I curtsied. There were three or four people around her at the time – men and women I recognized as leaders in the community.

“Saffron hasn’t had a walk in ages. Go take her out around the block. Don’t come back until she’s done her business.”
I was shocked.

“Outside?” I asked.

She raised her eyebrow. “Yes. Outside.” Her tone was dripping with sarcasm. “I’m trying to avoid her doing her business in the house.”

“But…” I felt the anger boiling up. This was my coming out party and she’d been ignoring me the entire time, except to tell me to walk her dog?

“But what?” her tone was getting cooler.

“You said I can’t get dressed until after the party.”

“Yes.”

“And you want me to walk your dog in the street, naked?”

“And now you’ll do it while wearing a ball gag and a plug up your ass.”

My mouth dropped open. Was she nuts? And before I could stop myself, I said the words I would eventually learn to regret for a long, long time.

“You’re a bossy fuckin’ bitch, aren’t you?”

The entire room fell quiet. Juliette’s eyes went so wide it looked like that Soundgarden video from the 90s.
Mistress didn’t say it to anybody in particular. She didn’t have to.

“Get her out of my sight.”

It was Brendan who pulled me out of the room and dropped me off at the end of the hallway.
He didn’t say a word. There was nothing to be said. I’d fucked the hell up.

And I was going to pay for it.

Phi is an erotic fiction writer. Phi (pronounced “fee”) came into kink at early age and renewed her connection with the lifestyle in 2014 after a decade-long hiatus. A somewhat popular and undeniably avid blogger on fetlife.com under the name phi-is-me, phi lives in the suburb of a suburb in southern California with two cats and six pillows.

Erotica: Michelle

October 25, 2015 By Phi 1 Comment

She always sat in the back corner. Who knows what time she had to arrive each night to get that spot? It had the best vantage point of the room. There was no movement on the floor she couldn’t watch.

And she watched. Every night she watched.

He’d been watching her for weeks. They’d never made eye contact. Her eyes were always scanning the room, glossing over heads and faces and arms and asses and tits. She watched them all while he watched only her.

His fantasy began after the first night he spotted her. He gave her a name: Michelle. He gave her a background: intelligence officer with the CIA, assigned to monitor the club’s patrons for signs of some of the most notorious criminals. He imagined the types of situations she’d encountered and escaped from using her feminine wiles.

She only drank water. Glass after glass. The waitress didn’t even ask her anymore, just kept the glass filled the whole night. The only time Michelle ever moved was to go use the ladies room; but he imagined it was a cover for a drop with her handler. She had to drink the water so she could have adequate reason for visiting the ladies’ room so often to report on her targets’ nefarious activities.

He was a beer guy. His first night there, he drank two before he went home.

The next night he saw her again and stayed long enough to drink four.

After a few weeks, the waitress didn’t bother asking him for his order. He’d sit down and she’d drop a Stella on the table and wait for his card to open the tab without a word.

He watched as Michelle returned to her table from another drop with her handler. She was wearing a tight black miniskirt tonight. When she crossed and uncrossed her legs he could see the flash of red lace between them.
He stared at her tits as his eyes started losing focus and his mind wandered about what he might find under that splash of red lace…

She stood again. It was too soon for another drop. He sat up and looked in the direction of her gaze. A very tall, very attractive woman was walking toward Michelle’s table. She was wearing high heels and black leather pants, with her hair gathered in a high ponytail.

His mouth gaped open as he saw Michelle kneel before the woman. Right there on the floor in front of everyone! She knelt down and leaned over to kiss the woman’s shoes. The woman looked down on her and smiled. She crossed her arms over her chest and said something.

Michelle sat back up on her knees but stayed on the floor, eyes downcast.

What the the hell was going on?

He watched as the mystery woman spoke and Michelle nodded solemnly.

Suddenly, she raised her gaze and her arm and pointed….directly at him.

The woman turned her head to face him. She arched an eyebrow and looked back at Michelle. With another nod, Michelle dropped her arm and cast her eyes downward again.

He felt his heart racing. What the fuck was going on? Who was that woman? Why did Michelle point at him? What had he gotten himself wrapped up in?

The waitress came by. “Mistress will see you now.”

He did a double take and looked at the empty bottle of beer at his table. Had he been drugged? Was he dreaming?

“Pardon?”

“Go. Don’t anger her. It won’t go well for either of you.”

“Either of us?”

“Oh, you drunk fuck. Get your ass over there before she starts tapping her foot or by God you will regret it.”
He stood, bewildered, and made his way over to the back corner of the room.

“Y-you, uh….” He didn’t really know what to say. “I was told you wanted to see me?”

“Kneel.” Her voice was low, but feminine, and very confident.

“I think you have me mistake-….”

She interrupted him. “Kneel.”

Quietly, Michelle reached over and tugged at his pant leg and motioned for him to join her on the floor with an alarming look on her face.

He began to worry for her safety. He knelt.

He didn’t notice that the club had begun to clear. By the time he realized that the noise level had changed, there were about half the usual patrons still in the room. All of them wearing black. Most of them sitting at tables, watching.

“Do it.”

Michelle crawled forward and turned to face him. She placed her hand on his thighs, and then ran them up toward his waist. Her fingers fumbled with his belt.

When her small hand reached in to grip his cock, it was already hard despite his shock and confusion. By the time her tongue was circling his head, he was certain he was dreaming.

He’d been there a few hours, so the alcohol had taken hold. To her credit, she didn’t seem to tire from her task. When he finally felt the orgasm building, he looked up at the woman.

The corners of her dark red lips tilted upward slightly. “You may.”

What the fuck? The words tore into him and pushed him over the edge. With a grunt he came into poor, sweet Michelle’s throat. She stayed still for a moment while he considered whether or not he was going to faint.

“Your penance is complete,” said the woman. “You may go.” Michelle stood up and walked away.

The waitress arrived with a warm rag and his credit card bill. “Here you go. It’s on the house tonight.”

Still confused, he took the rag, cleaned himself up and refastened his pants and belt.

He looked to the woman, and she shook her head. “You may go.”

He came back to the club every day for months. He never saw Michelle, the woman, or the waitress again.

Phi is an erotic fiction writer. Phi (pronounced “fee”) came into kink at early age and renewed her connection with the lifestyle in 2014 after a decade-long hiatus. A somewhat popular and undeniably avid blogger on fetlife.com under the name phi-is-me, phi lives in the suburb of a suburb in southern California with two cats and six pillows.

Erotica: Hund’s Rule

October 5, 2015 By Phi 2 Comments

They’d been skirting around it for well over a year. The sexual tension had been growing between them, but the timing (as timing often is) had just been off. When they met, he was just out of a relationship. Then when he was ready she was in one. Then when she was out of it his mother had taken ill. Then when that had passed it was something, then another thing.
Through it all, they’d remained close friends. He felt drawn to her as she did to him. She’d watch him at play and it would terrify and intrigue her.

She’d joke, “For someone who says he’s not a sadist, you sure do play the role well.”

He’d shrug. “That’s what they want.”

She knew that she wouldn’t be enough for him. She was too green, too inexperienced, too tame to satisfy his needs. And the carousel of women…he never seemed to really get attached to any of them. They’d come and go from his life like bees on flowers. Hovering around for a bit and moving on to the next one.

So when she felt her lips go numb as she watched him with someone else, or when he pulled his shirt off over his head at the beach, or when he simply smiled that smile, her logic brain would kick in and shut it down.

It would never work.

He watched her more intently when she wasn’t paying attention. Her face in profile was already so beautiful, but when he’d catch sight of her looking directly at him with…those eyes…he couldn’t stand it. He’d drown himself in other distractions and convinced himself it was better for everyone.

He’d just broken up with Greta when they’d met. It took him so long to get over that betrayal that he’d built a wall around his heart – a wall of charm and wit and strength and absolutely no trace of vulnerability.Except when she looked at him. He couldn’t hide it then, and though she never acknowledged it out loud, he thought for sure she could sense it. She was kind that way.

Too kind. Too good. Too pure. He didn’t deserve her light. She didn’t deserve his darkness.

The night of her bad scene, she called him first. He dropped his date off at her car and made a beeline for her apartment, where he found her huddled on the floor by the sofa. The sight of her in such a state ignited a rage that burned to his very core.

“What happened? What did he do?”

“I …no, he didn’t,” suddenly she felt like she’d been overreacting.

He dropped down to his knees beside her and put his arm around her, pressing her face against his chest. “Please tell me what happened.” He closed his eyes, breathing deeply, trying to stay calm.

“I just…I wanted to be more….”, she sputtered through choked back sobs. “I wanted to be able to take more. So you could….” her voice trailed off as she realized how ridiculous it sounded.

He could feel his heartbeat echoing in his ears. So he could what? What was she talking about?

He pulled her into a tight hug and pulled her away so he could look at her tear stained face. Watery lashes and smeared mascara framed the deep hue of her eyes as she looked back. She was searching his face. For what?

He realized, he’d been searching hers. For what?

He leaned in and kissed her. Softly. After over a year, he’d finally the courage to do what he’d thought about doing since the moment he saw her – timid and wide-eyed at the dungeon party so long ago.

She sniffled. He’d kissed her. She wasn’t wrong. He felt something. But no, he needed it. How many times had she seen him with others. He needed to give the pain and she had tried tonight. Tried to be strong enough, but she couldn’t take it.

She looked away again, and her skin jolted when he placed a finger under her chin to lift it back up toward him. He was looking right at her. She’d seen flickers before, but he always masked them so well she thought them imagined. There it was. His passion. His desire. His vulnerability. She wanted him, so badly. She’d been wanting him the whole time. Gathering all the courage she could muster, she looked up at him one last time.

“Can you do this without having to hurt me?”

The question struck him to his core. The wall had shown her only one facet of his ability to connect with people. She thought him a sadist. She couldn’t possibly understand how very deeply that affected him. Or how very deeply she’d affected him. He stared at her lips, her eyes, her cheekbones. He took in the whole of her face and saw the beauty in her soul that she’d never tried to hide. He’d just been looking the other way.

Consciously he let down his guard. He’d risk it, for her. With tears welling up in his own dark eyes, he nodded gently, then asked, “Can you?”

Phi is an erotic fiction writer. Phi (pronounced “fee”) came into kink at early age and renewed her connection with the lifestyle in 2014 after a decade-long hiatus. A somewhat popular and undeniably avid blogger on fetlife.com under the name phi-is-me, phi lives in the suburb of a suburb in southern California with two cats and six pillows.

Erotica: Now

June 25, 2015 By Phi 4 Comments

She’d given him the spare key which unlocked the front door to her house weeks ago. There were evenings she’d stay up, ears hearing and pulse responding to sounds both real and imaginary.

This time, there would be no discussion. No giggles or hugs or questions about what she felt like doing or if anything was bothering her physically. After a year of tying together, they could read each other well enough to communicate without words if necessary.

She stopped at the market on the way home. The sun was going down earlier after the time change, and when she walked in to her house from the garage door, she had to use her cell phone to light the way to the closest light switch.

She didn’t make it to the closest light switch.

He pinned her to the wall, hand over her mouth and pressed his forehead up against hers until she realized what was happening. Until she realized she was safe. Until she realized the scene had begun.

The tension in her body melted away slowly as she regained control of her breath. He removed his hand from her mouth and reached over to turn on the dimmed light of the chandelier. He pushed a lock of her hair back behind her ear. She knew what was coming and braced herself for it.

I like the way you kiss my face with the palm of your hand, she’d written to him back in the early days of their partnership. Since then, he’d always incorporated face slapping into their scenes.

He spun her around and pushed her against the wall, bringing her arms back and swiftly wrapping the rope around her wrists. She didn’t struggle. She never struggled.

His breath was hot against her neck as the rope became an extension of his arms and wrapped around her once, twice – tightly – then cinched and pulled taut.

For the next ten minutes, he weaved the intricate pattern of pain upon her skin until she cried out and with large eyes wordlessly pled for permission.

He usually granted it.

Not this time.

The denial sent her deeper.

The emotions began to build and she felt her body start to tremble, heard the cacophony in her head of need and lust and desire and submission bubbling over.

He usually told her to take a deep breath when this happened.

Not this time.

This time he let it overwhelm her. He pulled her hair back and with her face toward the ceiling, her tears began to flow freely down the sides of her cheek. He took a length of rope and wrapped it around her eyes and mouth. She was blinded, gagged.

She’d released the emotion, but he’d not yet granted her other release. He pressed his body against hers. Her hands behind her back found their way beneath his shirt on to the cool skin of his belly.

And then he pulled the thread across her naked throat. He held it taut and watched the rise and fall of her chest in its harness until he knew, without her words, without her eyes – just with the feel of her body in his fibrous embrace.

He leaned into her ear and whispered: Now.

Phi is an erotic fiction writer. Phi (pronounced “fee”) came into kink at early age and renewed her connection with the lifestyle in 2014 after a decade-long hiatus. A somewhat popular and undeniably avid blogger on fetlife.com under the name phi-is-me, phi lives in the suburb of a suburb in southern California with two cats and six pillows.

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