mistress

Erotica: Alex And Her Master-Chapter 4-An N/C Fantasy

December 12, 2020 By J S Phoenix 2 Comments

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

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

Click here to read Chapter 3!

From last time:

He carried her inside. Alex tried to see around her, but the way she was carried, just about all she could see was the stone floor, and then the carpet as they moved deeper into the house. Down a flight of stairs they went, into a dark room. Twisting, turning, through several doorways he walked, until he reached a particular door. He set Alex on her feet, leaning her against the wall.

“Can you stand now?”

Alex nodded.

He reached through the doorway and pulled a chain dangling from the ceiling; the clicking switch triggered a light. Alex looked down and saw a small cuff, linked to a heavy chain.

“No… Please…” she begged. “Don’t do this… Please!” she wailed.

Instead of telling her to shut up, or worse, he simply picked Alex up and set her on the floor, locking the soft leather cuff snugly around her right ankle.

Alex began crying.

“Gccckkh!”

The man stuffed a penis-shaped gag in her mouth. When Alex parted her lips instinctively, he pressed it home until the ball-part of the gag popped past her teeth. He buckled the straps tightly at the base of her neck, tugging the gag deeper as Alex choked and gurgled.

“I told you to shut up, girl. So you get a gag.”

Pulling Alex back a couple of feet from the door as she fought the gag, trying futilely to dislodge it with her tongue, he laughed softly.

“And now you can have the hood, too.”

Alex sputtered and gurgled. The elasticized fabric slid over her head and constricted around her throat.

“Just hold still, and breathe calmly. You’ll be all right.”

Certain that she would be anything but all right, Alex sobbed and wailed as she heard the light-switch click again, and the door to the closet close with an ominous click of its own.

Alex had no idea how much time passed before the racking sobs subsided. Coughing and choking around the gag because of her unfettered crying, she finally regained control. The closet, dark and musty, surrounded her. She wondered how she would ever escape captivity. Finally, she decided to roll onto her side, even though she couldn’t see anything. She landed without any extra pain, relieved at what suddenly seemed great fortune.

And after a time, she remembered her bonds. It had been so long since she could move her arms, she had forgotten even to try. A few twists and squirms, all of which tugged hard at the knotted crotch-rope buried deep in her wet folds, gave her the answer: no escape possible…

So she waited. And waited. And waited.

Torrents of her own drool rolled from her lips, uncontrollably. The hood only made things worse, as it kept the wetness against her lips, cheeks, and chin. For a time she tried to slurp her saliva back in around the gag, finally deciding that the cure was worse than the disease. Hoping to sit back up so that the drooling would be diminished, she abandoned all hope when she realized she couldn’t do it. Suddenly, having rolled over seemed a very bad idea…

And then… Footsteps.

Alex mewed pathetically. She didn’t even care if it was her captor whom she heard: she needed attention.

The door opened and the chain clicked. Alex’s hood still blocked almost all light.

“Ready to behave, slave?”

Alex nodded. The hood came off in a rapid tug and the light glared into her eyes: Alex squinted at the sudden change.

He lifted her up to a sitting position. She felt the ropes fall away as the unseen knife-blade sliced through them. Alex whimpered as her arms moved forward, the circulation returning fully. Her arms and fingers tingled slightly.

“If you promise to behave, the gag will come out, too…”

Before he could speak further, Alex nodded furiously, drool flying from her lips, dripping on her bulging breasts. Without a word, he pushed her head down toward her knees, as if to make her bow in her seated position on the floor, pressing her breasts against her thighs. The buckle came open, and the gag came out with some difficulty; Alex slobbered uncontrollably over her boobs.

Taking her by her hair, he pulled her back to an erect sitting position, then pulled her head back so she had no choice but to look at him.

“Move your arms, slave.”

“Why are you calling me slave?” she croaked.

He raised his hand as if to slap her face with his knuckles. Alex cringed and whimpered in fear.

“That’s your one and only warning, slave. That’s your new name. Get used to it. Fast!”

Alex cowered as she nodded her compliance.

“Please don’t hit me,” she whispered, her head turning away as the words trickled out.

Her captor seized her face by the jaw in a single powerful hand, yanking her head up so that she looked at him.

“Speak when I speak to you. Or you may ask permission to speak. In any other situation, keep our mouth shut, slave. Understand?”

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, I understand.”

The slap was not so hard as it was shocking. Alex, her head leaning away, still turned her eyes to look up at him. Her eyes asked the question silently.

“I hit you, and far from hard, slave, because you will address me as Master. If I give you a command, your only answer is ‘Yes, Master.’ Understand?”

“Yes, Master.”

“And you will do exactly as I say at all times. Your only questions will be for clarification when you don’t understand an order.”

“Yes, Master. I understand.”

Alex’s mind raced as she heard the words to which she agreed. She tried to tell herself it was only survival. She wanted to live, and she wanted to escape. At the same time, she dreaded being locked in the closet again, yet somehow, when she considered it deeply, she wondered if it would be all that bad, as long as he didn’t tie her up so tightly.

She noticed then that she was still wet between her legs.

To be continued…

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

Please also visit me at: https://tinyurl.com/yycvsgr6

Low Protocol And Power Exchange

December 12, 2020 By Christmas Bunny 2 Comments

good girl on her knees, submissive — via stock.adobe.com

It began in baby steps. Our dynamic was very much an experiment, with each movement forward and each step of the way tested before the full weight of the relationship was brought to bear upon it.

It was a scary amount of power to give up. I came into the relationship a business owner, and began a second venture about a year in. Handing the metaphorical reins over to another when my hard work of years was on the line was a truly terrifying thing to even contemplate. It came part and parcel of our TPE, however, and I had to trust that he would allow me to continue to make decisions without his interference.

Part of owning a business is having to interact with others in various ways, be it as the customer service representative who is discussing a potential order, as the cashier handling payment, as the scheduler booking classes, as the manager attending to someone’s satisfaction, as the artisan building product and providing updates, or in educational capacities, both online and in-person. That’s a lot of hats, and they require a certain amount of freedom of action on my part. It has necessitated trust on his part that I would make decisions and behave in ways of which he would approve without having to have specific protocols in place to govern those actions.

As someone who has grown to become firmly embedded in my local community, I see an incredibly wide variety of levels of protocol. Some are required to ask prior to leaving the presence of their master, some are required to follow protocols which govern their interactions with others in various settings. Perhaps it is a set protocol involving carrying packages or interacting with waitstaff or asking permission prior to speaking and touching friends or strangers within kink settings. Interestingly enough (and this is a conversation I have had with friends on occasion, because many of us are fascinated by the differences in how relationships are built), many of the dynamics I have observed which involve a small business seem to run with a lower degree of formality and protocol, perhaps out of that same necessity.

If I must receive permission to speak to individuals prior to doing so, even ones of specified gender, and my partner is away from our vendor table, I would quickly become ineffective as a merchant. I would be unable to answer questions or complete a sale. The same holds true of online interactions. It would effectively make the business I run hobbled during his regular work hours until he could handle the aspects I was not permitted to attend to without him. That would lead to additional stress, and I ask a great deal of him as my business partner already. While he does make those decisions, he has chosen to leave many of the finer details up to me, limiting the majority of his participation to financial decisions such as inventory purchases, and to customer interactions in order to keep me from using my energy and focus up in those areas rather than in completing projects.

The leaves much of our dynamic very informal, from a protocol standpoint. Fortunately, that works well for our personalities and the way we fit together. While I sometimes feel that our low protocol interactions can be mistaken for a more casual relationship, which can bring with it a feeling of being less than, I remind myself that some of those stares may be from envy for what may appear to be a higher level of freedom.

Make no mistake, however. He holds full authority over me, regardless of the appearance of casualness our low protocol level may give outsiders. It is so important for us all to remember that each relationship, each dynamic forms as it works best for the individuals in question. For some, that may mean there are specific rituals and protocols dictating large portions of their actions. For others, such as us, that total power exchange may rely more on the granted authority of the top-of-slash rather than any formalized behaviors. We all have to determine what works best for us as individuals and as couples or relationship groups, and build from that foundation.

Christmas bunny has been exploring kink since she was legal to do so. Her serious writing started in college, where she accidently got some of her papers published in educational journals. She has recently expanded her writing to include her kink journey. She began writing in the physical realm, but shed some of her inhibitions and began sharing those entries with others. She now keeps an active blog of her personal growth and her relationship with her Master / Daddy Dominant and writes helpful educational posts on a variety of subjects.

Consensual, BSDM Psychological Torture

December 12, 2020 By PirateStan 2 Comments

naked male sub bound — via stock.adobe.com

It’s said that torture is an unreliable way to get information, that people will tell you anything to get it to stop. Back in 2004 we discovered that torture was being used on prisoners at the Guantanamo Bay Interment Camp. It was a huge scandal; The American people were very upset that we would do something so blatantly against the Geneva Convention’s rules on the treatment of prisoners. That’s the sort of thing our enemies do, not us.

So yeah, using torture to extract information from someone is bad. Let’s just get that out of the way right here at the beginning.

But there are some times where torture is good, particularly when you use it to tease, torment, and tantalize a willing submissive. Because it’s not just about causing them physical pain, but emotional pain as well. But, y’know, in a good way.

It’s certainly not for everyone. Many people wouldn’t want to inflict this sort of torment on someone, whether they consent or not, Others wouldn’t want it done to them, for a variety of reasons.

But when done right, with the right people, they can make for a truly intense, emotionally fulfilling scene. It’s like a roller coaster, that thrill of danger without it being actually dangerous, only safer (seriously, do a search on roller coaster accidents and deaths; you’ll probably never get on one again).

So what constitutes this sort of scene?

Generally, it’s any scene that has as much of a psychological component as a physical one. Many Doms do this to some degree during a scene; think of a blindfolded girl who doesn’t know what toy’s going to be used on her next, a Dom tormeting her with one she’s especially afraid of, or threatening to hit where he knows she hates getting hit (but isn’t a hard limit).

Then there’s what’s generally known as predicament bondage; a tied-up girl made to send a certain text message, a gagged one having to make herself understood by Alexa, or being made to stand on your toes while nipple clamps are attached above her (forcing her to choose between the pain in her feet and calves or that in her nipples).

But a full-blown torture/torment/psychological scene involves more than that. It involves getting inside a girl’s head and using her fears, anxiety, dread and, sometimes, triggers against them, but all within the bounds of consent and negotiation.

Obviously this qualifies as advanced play, and should never be done with someone you don’t know well. When done wrong you can inflict some serious damage on someone’s psyche, and those wounds don’t have a tendency to fade away like a bad bruise.

Y’know, rather than just continue with broad vagaries, I’m simply going to describe a good psych scene I had recently with a girl I’ve known for a long, long time and add notes along the way. Sound good? Okay, here goes…

The four of us (my household) myself, my girl, my dear friend, and his girl (who’s also a dear friend) decided to escape our COVID 19 quarantime by renting a house on the ocean for a week, to eat bad food, drink lots of wine, enjoy the ambiance and (oh yeah) engage in more than a bit of debauchery.

Midway through the week my friend’s girl (MFG) had the scene in question.

We’ve played together several times, so I know what she likes and, more importantly, what she likes that her top isn’t inclined towards (which is generally the reason why you have a scene with another). She loves impact play, loves bruises, but also enjoys being controlled and (more specifically) enjoys being tied up very tightly.

I also know that she has a number of physical limitations that need to be taken into account; she can’t stand for long periods of time, nor can her joints take any of the more extreme bondage positions, particularly her arms.

So my checklist is; secure, tight bondage; domination and control, impact play that will leave bruises; no standing.

I began by telling her to strip. “Completely?” she asked.

“What else does strip mean?” I responded, knowing she hated being entirely nude (although it was not hard limit). She has a beautiful body, so this was pure pleasure from my perspective, particularly as I knew it made her feel particularly vulnerable.

Realizing there are a number of stout kitchen chairs available, I decided to utilize one. Over the next 20 minutes or so I proceeded to secure her to it, hands at her sides. I used leather mittens to secure her hands under the chair, straps to secure her to the side rungs, straps above-and-below her breasts, another at her waist. I use another to secure her hips to the seat, two more to secure her ankles to the legs and, finally, two at her upper thighs attached to the back of the chair, keeping her legs spread very wide and leaving her very exposed.

Ahead of this I’d placed a very efficient padded blindfold, and finished by buckling a ballgag (not a terribly severe one as she can’t wear that; still, it muffled her speaking delightfully).

Oh wait, I forgot; we’d worked out safe words and gestures that she could effectively communicate while secured like this. Since this sort of bondage is my thing, I’ve got that part down pat.

I next proceeded to sit down on the very comfortable couch, put my feet up, pull out my phone and tell her, “Okay, you’ve got five minutes to get loose. If you don’t, that means you want my worst, right?”

As she muttered something incomprehensible I split my attention between the New York Times and her, watching as she … well… essentially sat still. Oh, her head moved around a lot, and her right foot wriggled around (I’d not secured it as well as I should have) but, ultimately, she could barely move. At all.

This, she told me later, made her feel extremely helpless, as it was very clear that I could do anything I wanted and she had no way to stop me… not even to move out of the way. She was both utterly terrified and thrilled at the same time.

For my main implement of destruction I’d chosen a thin wooden paddle, about 4 cm wide and 38 cm long. I’ve found it’s extremely painful and I’m able to use it with pinpoint accuracy. It also leaves wonderful bruises.

I began by running the paddle over her body, threatening different body parts. “If you don’t want to get hit there, simply move it out of the way,” I taunted.

After a few minutes of this I began to follow through, actually smacking her in the places I was threatening (starting lighter of course, before working my way up in intensity). Several minutes later I stopped.

I sat down and played on my phone again. I knew she didn’t have a clue when I might be back or even if I was still in the room. She struggled around some more, this time with more than a bit more desperation.

I repeated this several more times, each time more with more intense and harder smacks. I began to increasingly taunt her, threatening to hit a given area, telling her to prepare, then doing nothing. Or I’d threaten one area then engage in a fusillade of smacks to everywhere but that area… before pausing and finishing at the initial place I’d threatened.

After 20 minutes of this her right leg was shaking uncontrollably. She had, of course, been acting increasingly terrified as the scene progressed. Meanwhile, I’d checked in regularly and she always gave me a clear, encouraging nod, as well as a gagged “uh-huh”.

Which is, of course, the heart of the matter. She was allowing herself to be terrified precisely because she knew she was absolutely safe. It was the theme park thrill ride, only with bondage and beatings. Her catharsis was palpable.

After a little over a half hour I’d decided she’d had enough; she’s notorious for never tapping out, and I can read her pretty well. I went with my general rule of thumb that it’s better to leave someone wanting more than going too far.

While I removed her blindfold and gag first, I untied her from the chair slowly, letting her relax as well as relish the return of her mobility to each limb. Afterwards, I helped her over to the couch, wrapped her in a blanket, and held her as she recovered. She was in a state of bliss, completely wrung out like a wet noodle, but in a good way.

The next day she proudly showed off the many, many bruises I’d left her with, some of which were rather pronounced. Many pictures were taken.

All in all it was a very successful scene, bringing together those necessary elements of negotiation, understanding, preparedness, and improvisation. In particular, those elements of torment or “mind fuckery” were carefully plotted out, designed to bring her to a place of maximum psychological torment.

Of course, what worked with her may not work with someone else. I’ve done many such scenes with a variety of gals, some more successful than others. The better you know the person you’re topping, and the more creative you are, the better the scene.

This sort of psychological torture scene isn’t for everyone. But for those who enjoy and appreciate them, they can be quite the satisfyingly heady brew.

PirateStan has been involved in his local BDSM community since 2007, after having had a lifelong inclination towards it. He currently lives a contented life in Southeastern Virginia with his girl, zeirah, while working by day for a Major Metropolitan Publication.

Alex and Her Master: An N/C Fantasy-Chapter 3

November 28, 2020 By J S Phoenix 4 Comments

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

Click here to read Chapter 2

From last time:

“I told you, girl. Don’t make me punish you.”

His words chilled her to her core; Alex shuddered.

Alex heard the van door close, and then her car starting. She feared being abandoned in this van … where the hell was she? More tears came as she realized that even if she could get loose, she almost certainly couldn’t escape.

She heard her car shut down, and then her captor entered the van.

“Car strippers will be here soon. And in case you’re wondering, I disabled the GPS gear in your car long before I snatched you.”

At that point Alex realized she’d left her cell phone in her desk at work. Not only did Alex not know where she was, neither did anyone else. And now she knew there was no way to track her, either. Alex, paralyzed with fear, sobbed as the van slipped into gear.

“You made it easy for me, you know. You drive the most desired car in the world for car thieves. It’ll be stripped down to mere parts by morning.”

Then he said nothing at all. An interminable silence.

Alex again lost track of time. The van seemed to travel forever. Alex wondered whether someone might find her when the van had to be returned. Then she realized she was grasping at foolish straws. She realized her captor must have made plans to cover the rest of his tracks. The van was of no importance.

After this much time, Alex’s mouth had dried out. The thick gag-wad welded itself to the insides of her cheeks. She realized, more than anything, she wanted water. Needed water. To her relief, the van slowed, turned, and came to a stop. She heard a garage-door closing.

The minute that it took for him to open the van door and begin removing shipping blankets took years. Then the safety net and the tie-down straps. Alex looked up at him, her eyes pleading silently, as he lifted her to a sitting position.

“Mmmm!”

Alex wagged her head upward, extending her chin toward him in a muffled plea to be un-gagged.

“Mmmm!”

“Shut up, girl.”

His hand began working the edges of the first tape strip anyway, despite his stern riposte. Alex wished he’d simply rip the tape off, until she found out how sticky it was, how much it distressed her soft cheeks to have the tape removed at all, even slowly.

“Hold still. It’ll go faster that way.”

Alex froze in the hopes that doing so would indeed make things easier. Finally, after long minutes, the last of the tape came off. He plucked the gag-wad carefully from Alex’s mouth.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“Shut up, girl,” he responded softly.

Alex’s mind reeled. How could she ask for water if she wasn’t allowed to speak? Defeated, her head drooped sadly, her eyes staring at her naked lap.

“Look at me.”

Alex raised her head slowly. Her eyes grew round.

“Drink this,” he said softly, extending a bottle of water. “And slowly.”

Alex leaned forward despite the discomfort of her ropes. The water seemed so far away… The threaded opening touched her tongue, and he poured the contents slowly. Alex drank carefully, wanting every drop. When the entire bottle had been consumed, she leaned back.

“Thank you…”

Alex flinched in terror. She’d spoken… Fear surged through her instantly.

“You’re welcome,” he said nonchalantly, shocking Alex. “But keep still, now. You could scream if you wanted to, and no one would hear you. You’re miles from anywhere. But if you piss me off by screaming, or talking without permission, I’ll gag you again. Do you want that?”

Alex shook her head furiously, her tangled blonde mane waving as her head moved.

Picking her up, he slid her toward the door, seating her on the edge so that her legs hung over, her feet almost touching the floor. Alex gasped when she saw the knife in his hand, fearing the worst.

“You want me to untie you? It’ll take forever to undo these knots. Or do you want me to do it quickly by cutting these ropes away?” he asked rhetorically. “Now hold still.”

Alex sat perfectly still, watching, her eyes transfixed, as the blade sliced swiftly through the ropes binding her knees. Then he knelt, holding her trim ankles securely, as he sliced away her ankle-bonds.

“Can you stand?”

Alex nodded and stood. Then she fell as her freshly unbound legs buckled. He caught her in his arms.

“Just like I thought…”

Alex yipped in surprise as he picked her up and slung her over his shoulder, slapping her ass for punishment.

“I told you: keep quiet!”

“Can you stand now?”

Alex nodded.

He reached through the doorway and pulled a chain dangling from the ceiling; the clicking switch triggered a light. Alex looked down and saw a small cuff, linked to a heavy chain.

“No… Please…” she begged. “Don’t do this… Please!” she wailed.

To be continued…

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

Erotica: The Midan Beating Slave

November 22, 2020 By Dame TylerRose. 2 Comments

wet woman in white tank top — via stock.adobe.com

“How did the belt whipping you got from Rigio feel?”

Silence.

“Please tell me. Did it feel good?”

Tension in her shoulders, heaving breaths again. She warred within herself between what had been and what now was.

“It’s okay to say that it did feel good, Faesca. It’s not bad to like what your Masters do with you. Not in Mida.”

He gave her a moment to think on that.

“Would you like to have another belt whipping like you got from Rigio?”

She nodded under her arms.

His hand slipped under her arm to draw her from the sofa. “Come here.”

She turned around, feeling small and shaking nervously again. His strong fingers under her chin tilted her face up until she looked at him. She knew so much…and so little.

“It’s okay, Faesca. It is important to tell us you like what we do. If you like it, we do it more. We like to do the things you like to receive. If you want me to give you a nice strapping, you have only to ask,” he concluded, opening firm fingers to softly cup her cheek.

She struggled with acceptance, a single tear sliding out her right eye for such unfamiliar kindness.

“You are allowed pleasure here,” he said, calm with measured earnest. “We require that all things be pleasurable to our love slaves. No one will punish you for liking the things we do. We will prize you all the more.”

He paused, seeing her ease slightly and deciding on a new angle.

“Do you feel a gnawing in your belly? A craving for the pain of the strap? Here?”

His hand massaged just below her belly button.

Blinking, the scared bunny returned, she nodded a tiny nod.

“Do you like the peaceful calm that settles over you after?”

Another nod. How did he know?

“Do you sleep very well?” he asked with a small smile, hand lowering to cup her quim. She stood wider on her knees for him…such a good girl…and gave a more confident nod.

“How often did your former whip you?” he asked, slipping two fingers into her.

“A’mosh every gay,” she whispered so small he barely heard.

“Almost every day?” he repeated for clarity.

One more nod.

He removed the fingers, judging her to be receptive but not yet in high need.

He held his arms open. “Come here.”

She put herself into his embrace and he held her close and warm. A long moment it was, during which she calmed considerably. He ended the hug, set her back at the half arm’s length.

“Now tell me true. Would you like me to give you a nice long strapping to help you feel that special quiet and sleep well?”

Calm, quiet, with that same adorable blink. “Peash, Masker.”

He kissed her forehead tenderly. “Good girl. As you were over the cushion. Be prepared for me.”

She was much faster this time and he made only one correction, moving her arms off her head. “My aim is true, sweet little Faesca. I will never strike that which I do not want to hit. And I never will want to hit you in the head. Not ever. I promise you.”

On second thought, one more adjustment. He moved her hair clear of her face, wanting to see her expression. And maybe putting her knees a couple inches farther over so he could better see the pink of her puss while she remained tall on her knees. He started lightly, ranging from her shoulders down to her ribs, listening to her gasp, watching her flinch inside her skin. After ten minutes, he stroked a hand over her back. She sucked in a breath, sighing it out long and even. Slipping his other hand down and under to find her clitoris, she was catapulted into a sudden hard climax.

He had not expected it so soon. Nor so easily.

“Very good girl. Would you like a harder beating now?”

“Peash, Masker,” she breathed.

He took her through another quarter hour, increasing his speed and force until she was taking as hard as he wanted of her. Only a moderate force. Not nearly as hard as he would in future days. Not for the first with him. And this time, when he grasped her clitoris, she shrieked and jerked downward in ejaculatory orgasm.

The beating itself aroused her passions.

He sat on the sofa to watch her recover from the powerful release, thinking he would have to reward Dohan very well. Such a treasure as this was rare indeed. He got himself another serving of wine, smiling into it when his secretary knocked on the door to announce Axlar’s return.

“Your timing is impeccable, brother,” he said, having risen. “I have something to show you.”

Without asking her if she wanted more, Preece began another round. He started as hard as he had ended the previous, quickly working up to smarting ¾ strength thwacks that echoed off the stone walls. She made no sound other than the occasional grunt or sigh. She no longer flinched, rapidly descending into the Beating Slave’s Dream Space. He gave her only five minutes worth, however. A firm squeeze of her clit and her cum jetted from her, running down both thighs in a warm river. No shriek this time. She let out a long, low, grunting groan and her body shuddered hard.

“Was that your idea or hers?” Axlar asked.

“She requested a strapping after some discussion to get her over her many Murabettan morals and trepidations. She is primed and ready for you and I’ll be back in the morning. I have to reward my slave.”

“What did Doe do?” Axlar asked, helping Peeper to her feet.

“Put his own ass on the line to make me see she’s a beating slave. Not a thing he does often,” Preece replied, watching Peeper swoon so that Axlar was compelled to scoop her up into strong arms.

“I’ll see you tomorrow in Council,” Axe said by way of exit.

He carried her through the palace to his own chamber and eased her onto the bed. The slightest caress of her thigh and she opened completely to him. So yielding and acquiescent was she that he took her to the limits of her endurance and left her sleeping in his bed while he went to the evening meal. He didn’t leave her for long, however, taking Rainko back with him. Refreshed by the deep nap, she did not protest when the two took turns with straps from the wall. Axlar refrained from introducing her to penile sodomy, instead using a medium sized leather phallus to begin opening her. He and his brother shared her repeatedly, toying with her together, watching as the other used her alone, delighting in the newness of the day’s discovery and learning her responses to many things.

Rainko escorted her to the slave hall and personally put her into her sleeping space. He remained at the opening, a hand resting on her leg until she was asleep. A matter of minutes in her well-fucked, well-beaten state. He went in search of Morcone, finding the Custodian of Thralls in his small office with Echie in bondage on her back over his desk and numerous painful clips in various places over breasts, thighs and labia.

A lovely picture indeed.

“Peeper is to be cared for in the manner of a beating slave from now on.”

“That is rather sudden, Highness,” Morcone replied, having risen from his chair to bow for the Prince.

“Six years in the making, actually. She may be new to Mida’s way of the love slave; but she is an experienced and quite accomplished beating slave.”

“How accomplished?” Morcone had to ask.

“Give her a few months and she’ll equal Orla.”

With that, Prince Rainko went to his own chamber, to Hanar’s waiting flesh. For the first time in months, he was too spent to make use of her, turning over with his back to her to get a sound sleep. And sent her back to the Slave Hall in the gray of early dawn without using her even once.

Excerpt from PEEPER — https://books2read.com/u/bOxRLK

——-

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

Twitter — https://twitter.com/DameTyler or @DameTyler
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FB Regular page — https://www.facebook.com/TylerRoseAuthor

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

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

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

Trust in Power Exchange

November 22, 2020 By Baadmaster 3 Comments

With the corona virus extending its “Reign of Error” (as a lot of people have got this pandemic wrong) into every area of our lives, I suggest we protect the most important areas in our lives WHEN POSSIBLE! (Was that the longest sentence in kink weekly?) To clarify: obviously, we cannot just go back to business as usual. For example, except for Mistress Cyan’s Virtual Dungeon, all the bondage clubs, at least in L.A., are closed. So, what to do to keep our bondage skills sharp and to also have fun.By some magical coincidence, I was going through my “questions bag” (which really isn’t a bag) and found a query that, although written pre-pandemic, was rather prescient and deserves to be answered. So here we go:

Reader: I’m a newbie, but am very interested in expanding my horizons. It’s giving control to someone else that appeals most to me about the bondage world. I love games of the mind, and have always been a control freak in every aspect of my life. The idea of a Dom having his way with me is thoroughly exciting. BUT it is also scary. How do I learn to trust someone? To lose control? How do I stay safe?

It appears (emphasis on the word “appears”) that many people who are control freaks in their everyday world long to give up control in their BDSM life. They not only find it exciting, but they also like the break from being controlling and responsible. But, as the saying goes, “Old habits die hard.” The desire to give up control, no matter how freeing and appealing it might be, is often easier said than done.

Thus, you are not alone in desiring to make the transition from day-to-day “Domme” to a submissive. The keys to making this big leap are threefold: a) “fantasy vs. need” b) “Rome wasn’t built in a day” and c) “letting go is a process.” Let’s examine, in detail, each of these three “keys” that I proposed.

The first one is “fantasy vs. need.” Is giving up control just a hot fantasy or is it an actual need of yours? Many people have sexual or BDSM fantasies that get them excited. But, as I have stated many times, there is no rule that says you must act on every craving that floats your boat. It might just be that due to your personal situation, this “submissive fantasy” is one that might best be left unexplored. On the other hand, if you have a true “submissive need,” then you should forget that it is scary and just give it a shot.

For most adults, consensual needs, I suggest – if at all possible – you not leave them unfulfilled. If this is your case, and submission is an unbending need and not just a pie-in-the-sky fantasy, then it is time to get to the “Rome wasn’t built in a day” principle.Learning to trust someone is a step-by-step progression. Trust is neither automatically given nor demanded – it must be earned over time. Thus, you have a right to be wary of any new Dom you play with – until he establishes the level of trust you feel comfortable with. As with any human endeavor, there are variations from person to person. Thus, it might take you more time to be at ease with one Dom than another.

Trust your instincts. This is especially true with respect to safety issues. In play, make sure you have a safe word and don’t be afraid to use it. If you do, and the Dom respects it, that is one way trust is built. Again, don’t expect instant trust. Furthermore, if your Dom tells you “I don’t believe in safe words” right out of the box, this is a big red flag. This is – especially in your case, where you have apprehension – as close to a “no-go” as you can find.Finally, about “letting go.” This is the end result of the whole process; it is not the process itself. It happens automatically after everything else has fallen into place. You don’t have to worry about it. In fact, worry (along with tension, doubt and too much thinking) is the enemy of “letting go.”

When you trust your Dom implicitly, when you aren’t stressing about safety issues, when you become less self-conscious about the whole idea of submitting, then you will automatically “let go.” A good Dom will put you at ease about your concerns and free your mind to perform the tasks that he will demand of you — the actions that, taken in totality, define “submission.” Believe me, with all the decisions that are thrust upon me during thin pandemic, I too would like to be an “Un-Dom” for week or two! Or even a day!The beauty of submission is that, ideally, it is a mental state wherein your mind is freed from all concerns other than the submission itself. Thus, by its very definition, it cannot exist until all your other fears and doubts are dispelled. And, except in very rare circumstances, that takes time!

After a ten year run as head writer for the legendary bondage.com, and an equally long run as the host of the hit internet show “Baadmaster’s Dungeon,” we are pleased to welcome the one and only Baadmaster to KinkWeekly. His thoughts about all things BDSM will now appear regularly on these pages. From the mental aspects of D/s to the nuts and bolts of S&M play, Baadmaster will cover every facet of this ever expanding lifestyle.

Erotica: The Marionette

November 14, 2020 By Joji Sada 2 Comments

sexy submissive hair pulling toilet slut — via stock.adobe.com

I need you to leave me.

No, that’s not quite true. I need you to leave me…broken.

I need you to strip me of my building doubt and fear and bring me back to reality.

It has been a long few months Sir. I’ve waited patiently from the shelf I’ve been placed on. A lifeless doll, stationed on the living room bookcase, just watching the world through wooden lids.

Can you see the varnish on my eyes; glossed over and shining with need? Can you hear the creak of my hinges as I try to reach out to you? Can you feel the cracks in my body when you hug me? Can you taste the dust covering my soul when you kiss me?

Probably not.

I am a very good marionette. I move when you need me to. I move in and out of your vision when I feel it is necessary to ease your stress levels.

I make a lot of decisions. My mind moves a mile a minute, but my mouth is stitched shut. I tug and I tug but the threads are so tight.

I should be panicking.

But, I’m not.

Because good girls wait for when they are needed.

Isn’t that right Sir?

I am a slow learner, but I know that patience is a cornerstone of self-control. And self-control is your number one requirement.

So, I wanted to share a story with you. I want you to close your eyes and dream of breaking me in the most deliciously depraved ways.

Here is what I see:

My eyes are closed. They have been for ages now. You put me in the back of your van, told me to keep them shut, and not say a word. I do not know how long we have been driving. For all I know, you have been driving in circles just to disorient me.

Halfway through, you told me to strip. I am not wearing much. I never do when you tell me to get ready. I am so used to being naked for you, clothing seems almost a sin. There should never be anything that prevents you from seeing or touching any part of me at any time.

Its cold, even inside your van. I am curled in a ball, my knees at my chest, with my back against the seat. I am staying out of view. It would be no fun if the police were to pull us over.

It is taking everything I have Sir not to open my eyes. My stomach is rolling with motion sickness and my body is disoriented from all the movement. Yet, I know that’s why you did not blindfold me. You prefer that I obey through will power and without assistance. That’s why I know that whatever happens, I am going to have to make sure I stay in the moment.

Thankfully, the van finally stops. I have not moved. I am waiting for your instruction.

Mistake number one.

I hear the door open and suddenly my ankle is pulled harshly. My head drops to the floor and my back burns from the rug.

“Up and Present”

I scramble to follow your voice. I am hesitant because I cannot see where you are and where I should be. As I get up on my knees, you have decided I am not moving fast enough. Your fingers wrap around the chainmaille of my day collar and yank me forward. You are the only thing holding me up.

“Have you forgotten everything? Is this what I am stuck with?”

Your words sting. I keep my face stoic. You have not given me leave to speak. But, I right myself and get my balance back. My hands lock behind my back. My knees are biting into the grooves in the floor of the van. The connector bars for the seats are not kind to my shins either.

You lightly smack my cheek. “Head up.” You command. Then, without warning, my collar drops from my neck. My eyes are wide behind the lids. Now, I am panicking a little bit. You’ve never removed it without warning before. Have I upset you Sir? Are you abandoning me here? Am I being released? My chest is heavy and constricted. What have I done? Why won’t you talk to me? Please Sir. Please, tell me I can speak. Please.

Thirty seconds.

Thirty seconds and I have worked myself into a panic.

Thirty seconds and then I feel it. I feel the smoothness of my leather collar. I can hear the rings and feel the heaviness against my throat. I take a deep breath. I know what is coming next.

Your hands tighten it to its furthest point. I can see white spots behind my eyelids. My lips fall open in an ‘O’ and I gasp. This is about control. You will release when you are ready, not when I am.

And you do. As the blood pounds through my head and my head is dizzy in need, you let go. You buckle it comfortably.

I’m naked, terrified, and in my TPE collar.

Maybe I shouldn’t have asked you to break me.

Your palm is resting on the top of my head. I am trying to prepare myself for what I have gotten myself into.

Ten Seconds.

Twenty seconds.

Thirty seconds.

The silence is long tonight. It is never a good sign when you are quiet Sir. It means you are losing yourself in the moment. That means the dragon you keep leashed inside will be in charge tonight. I may not survive this.

And so, it begins.

Your hand curls into my hair and I am yanked from the van and thrown to the ground below. It is soft and cold. In a split second, your hand is back in my hair and you are half dragging me. I am trying to crawl fast enough, but I keep stumbling. Left and right, back and forth, there is no rhyme or reason to where you are taking me. I feel filthy. My hands and knees are sinking into the Earth.

Please Sir, let me open my eyes.

I am thrown back to the ground with a disgusted sigh. I can hear your frustration with me. I don’t remember the last time I couldn’t keep up with you, step for step. I’m frustrated with myself and we have only just begun.

I turned my face sideways to lessen the pain on contact. I figured it out now.

You have me in the mud. You have me naked, outdoors, in the fucking mud. I did the first thing that came to mind. I growled.

I forget how quick you can move Sir. You had me flipped over and you knelt across my ass, your knee landing on my lower back. Your hand wrapped in my hair and yanked my head back painfully. You leaned close to my ear and spoke ever so softly.

“Did you have something to say piggie?”

I growled again.

You pushed my face into the mud and then pulled me back.

“Good little piggies oink.”

Silence.

I refuse to give you what you are asking.

Try Me. Push Me. Make Me.

As soon as you let go of my hair, I made a decision. I bucked my ass up to jostle you and I took off. Even with my eyes closed, I was determined to put distance between us. I have no idea if you lost your balance or not. As quick as I felt your boot to my side, kicking me over, I knew I had not bucked hard enough.

I landed on my back and before I could breathe, your boot was on my neck. It pressed firmly and I felt myself sinking into the mud. My hands pushed against your boot without relief. I knew I had pissed you off.

“Open your eyes.” My eyes popped open instantly. Even in the darkness, it was too bright. I blinked rapidly and struggled to breathe.

You are ready to watch me suffer.

You finally lift from my neck and I am gasping for breath. Your boot meets my cheek and shoves half my face back into the ground and I hear you talking finally.

“Your hands will stay off my leather if you wish to keep them out of play. Do I make myself clear?”

“yes.”

You push down harder. “Yes, Sir.”

“Up.”

My breathing is laboured and I am seriously contemplating refusing you. But, deep down, I cannot bring myself to do so.

I need this.

I lift myself from the mud. It is already drying on me. I can feel it cracking. I’m on my knees, staring up at you.

You tap my lips and I open obediently, tongue out. You clip a clothespin to next to my piercing. You smile so mockingly. “This will help wash you off.” I glared. Drool is not a way to wash myself.

“Tonight, we are going to work on your discipline, lil piggie. Kneel up, off your heels. Back straight, eyes forward, neck straight. Lace your fingers behind your head and keep your arms up. I do not want to hear a sound.”

You walked around me. I don’t like losing sight of you Sir, especially in such a foreign environment. I feel your boot nudge my ass. I rocked ever so slightly, but no sound.

Then, it happened. I felt a sharp sting. It hurt. I was unprepared for this Sir.

Then again.

And again. There was no warm-up. You are hitting me as though we have been doing impact for a half hour now. My body is cold and sensitive.

It hurts. My knees are shaking. Holding myself in this position makes it hard to zone out the pain of the hits.

I bet that was your intention.

Six. I think so anyway.

Seven. A sob is caught in my throat.

Eight. I am unsure what it even striking me at this point. It hurts. You keep changing the contact point.

Nine. The tears are leaking. I am trying so hard to keep quiet. I need to please you.

Ten. That was a particularly vicious hit to my thighs. I broke.

I fell forward. My body is hunched over, my back bare. My hands are in the mud and I am shaking, trying to keep the sobs in.

Silence.

I can hear you breathing. Even now, it cuts through the sobs. I am aware of you.

I bring myself back up into position. Just as you expect.

Its not the falling that disappoints you. It is the unwillingness to pick myself back up.

I look up at you. You are blurry through the tears.

Without a word, you take your boot and place it on my chest. You push. My body starts bending backwards. You are saying all you need to without a single word. If I am going to bend, it will be at your will and your will alone.

I keep balance for as long as I can until I am once again on my back. Your boot moves and the heel grinds into my nipple piercing. It feels as though you will rip it from my body. It hurts to intensely.

My body is twisting, trying to escape you. Your weight holds me in place.

Please Sir. It hurts so bad.

You move to my other piercing. It burns.

Please Sir.

Please.

You’ve barely touched me and I feel as though I’ve run a marathon.

I just want your comfort now.

Please Sir.

You move to grind your boot against my sex. My pelvic bone feels as though it is cracking beneath you.

I’m sobbing again.

But I know how to end this.

I must give myself over to your control again.

You are waiting for me to willingly do so.

I have known what I need to do for a while now. But my head was set on rebellion.

After a particularly strong grind, you remove your weight. Sobbing, covered in mud, and aching fiercely, I curl into a ball.

Brokenly, I end it.

“OINK.”

My name is Joji. I am 29 years old currently and I have been in and around the kink community about 15 years.I am a collared submissive to Magick42. I am also a Daddy to a wonderful babygirl, and have been for more than three years now and I find it very fulfilling. I am being mentored in and being taught electroplay. I am a masochist at heart and thoroughly love impact play, especially caning. I enjoy reading anything I can get my hands on and am a die hard Harry Potter and Doctor Who fan. I am also the secretary for a group in Idaho called Moscow S.P.A.R.K.E (Simply Providing Another Route to Kink Education). It is our mission to teach safe practices to those new to the community and give them a safe haven to ask questions and learn without judgement. We accept all kinks and all we ask in return is respect between all our members.

Rewards vs. Recognition In Power Exchange

November 14, 2020 By Ms. Rika 2 Comments

hot submissive wanting to please her dominant — via stock.adobe.com

I hope you have been enjoying Rika’s Lair, my monthly column dedicated to thoughts and experiences regarding power dynamics in Service-Oriented D/s relationships. Look up “Ms. Rika” in the search box for links to all of my articles in KinkWeekly!

I’ve written, at length, about my approach when it comes to rewards and punishments. I don’t do either of those. I refer you to my other books for that discussion. However, I’ve also written about how a key responsibility of the dominant is to recognize the submissive’s efforts so that the submissive does not feel alone / abandoned in the dynamic.

Some people have argued that recognition of the submissive’s role and assessment of the quality of the job, is tantamount to a reward for the submissive. They feel that a dominant saying “good job” or “thank you for continuing to serve me” is a reward for their efforts.

I disagree with this notion. It’s true that submissives get pleasure and satisfaction from a dominant’s recognition, however, there is a strong distinction between rewards and recognition.

Though I don’t do rewards, I do a lot of recognition. My subs love that I recognize them and, in fact, recognition is a basic necessity of the dynamic. However the difference that I see, stems from dictionary definitions of the two words.

In my mind, the difference is as follows:

Recognition is personal praise or gratitude for good work and can be given at any time.

Rewards are tied to goals and accomplishments and are generally given up on completion.

I don’t reward goals / accomplishments because top-notch service is expected of my submissives. There is nothing “out of the ordinary” for submissives to work hard and complete a task, assignment, or even anticipate a need extremely well. If I set a goal for a submissive, they strive to achieve it, primarily to please me.

I do however, provide personal praise for their efforts and also will show my gratitude for their continued submission. Note: As in my essay on “Saying Please and Thank You”, I choose to show my gratitude that my submissives continue to choose to serve me each day…as they show theirs to me for allowing them to do so. If a sub does a great job of anticipating something for me, and removes an obstacle before I have to face it, I’m both grateful and generous with my praise.

Just because someone enjoys recognition and gets something out of it (e.g., Pride, sense of accomplishment, and affirmation of the dynamic), doesn’t make it a reward. A reward is linked (in my vernacular), to completion of goals or milestones. Rewards are more: Do this, and get that” – “Get this because you did that”. It’s motivations and incentives.

Herein lies my issue with rewards. I question why a sub would need more motivation / incentive than serving their dominant well and receiving acknowledgment of a job well done. A pleased and satisfied dominant is the objective of their submission, so why would it take anything more or less than that to motivate the best possible service? I’m suspect when that isn’t enough.

Recognition, on the other hand, is one of the most important, and often neglected responsibilities that a dominant takes on in my methodology. Recognizing when your submissive is striving to meet your expectations and fulfill your preferences, is important in letting them know that you’re active and present in the dynamic. It doesn’t take a lot to recognize a sub: Just a “Good job serving me” or an “I see how you did that for me, and I liked it” go a long way. I like to have my sub thank me for doing things for me: A little bit of irony goes a long way. These are really simple, no effort things that just say, “I’m here, I’m present, and I see your effort”.

As far as I’m concerned, recognition is a must. I recognize my subs as often as possible. I prefer higher volume of lower effort recognition. Reward, on the other hand, is unnecessary and often counter productive; as it tends to distract submissives from their ultimate motivation – that of pleasing their dominant by fulfilling their expectations.

Ms. Rika is a lifestyle dominant, educator, and author; living in the suburbs of NYC with her husband/slave. She has written several popular books on her approach to adding Dominant-Centric, Service-Oriented D/s to relationships. You can find her books (in both print and eBook formats) at Lulu.com (http://www.lulu.com/spotlight/msrika), or at Amazon, Barnes & Noble, the iStore, Books-A Million, Kobo.com, or anywhere books are sold. Search for “Ms. Rika”. Write to me at Ms_Rika@hotmail.com

Erotica: The Fight Within

November 7, 2020 By Joji Sada 2 Comments

hot sexy male submissive with leather harness — via stock.adobe.com

***all pieces of erotica are works of fiction. We never condone anything that is NOT consensual, safe, ethical, or sane.

I need to specify to those reading this, that playing during high emotion can be dangerous. You can miss verbal/body cues, overlook a safeword, or face the issue of potentially blacking out/disassociating.

I wrote this to explore parts of my psyche I’ve yet to delve into. But I also wrote this to someone with whom I trust my life.

The goal of delving into the darker parts of the mind, is to learn. There is more revealed in the unconscious mind than in any other medium.

Even if I never delve into this scenario in person, I will have revealed everything I need to…subconsciously. Master has told me, on more than one occasion, that my writing gives him insight because I pour myself into it. It is the same reason he refuses to read unfinished work and offer suggestions. If he did, it could influence me.

I explore darkness only with someone who can bring me back into the light. I explore brokenness only with someone who can piece me back together. I explore emotional fuckery only with someone who will not be crushed beneath the weight of it.

What you choose to do is your decision. Just know, if you cannot separate what is done in a scene from what happens in real life, your relationship can be irrevocably changed or damaged.

You once told me, Sir, that I push your boundaries unlike anyone else.

I had to think about that. At first glance, it looks as though I lack respect for your limits. But, when we talked about it, you told me it meant I pushed you as you push me.

We have successfully faced quite a few demons and delved into some dark places.

We have moved seamlessly from physical pain to mental and we continue to push against what is deemed as safe and sane.

We are risk takers Sir. I’d have it no other way.

With that in mind, I wish to request a new boundary to be explored.

I want you to make me angry Sir.

I want you to throw me against the proverbial wall and help me bring the bricks down.

I want to feel the thrum of adrenaline and the fire in my veins.

I want to fight you.

I want to growl and scream and cry.

I want you to take me down without mercy.

Are you willing to brave this with me Sir? Are you willing to catch me on the other side as I come down? Are you willing to help me deal with the guilt when this is done?

Are you willing and able to keep me sane without losing yourself in the process?

We don’t play angry. We have always refused to play during any heavy influx of emotions.

Tonight, I want that to change.

Please, Sir?

You are a crafty bastard Sir. When I asked for an emotionally charged scene, I did not expect you to have me set it up.

You know how much I hate making decisions.

I know you’re fucking with me. But I also know you want to understand how far to push me.

See, you can read me my body like no other. But what I choose at the beginning, gives you an idea of how far to go.

I understand it. I just don’t like it.

I knew the two fastest ways to anger without conflict.

Step one: My song. On repeat. Seven minutes of mesmerizing lyrics that take me over.

You can see the change in me. There is a reason I rarely play this song. It stirs my mind like a woman possessed. It makes me feel…violent.

Step two: Handcuffs

We both know the cuffs alone will make me fight. I tried breaking the kitchen chair last time we used them.

This time, you were smarter.

You locked one wrist in front of me, pulled the chain between my legs, and locked the other one. Then you pulled the leg irons chain over the cuffs and pulled them down and around the leg of the bedframe.

I am technically free to move within a small area. With difficulty, I can switch from kneeling to sitting but little else is possible.

You snap your fingers.

I Breathe deeply. We are about to begin.

You want me immersed.

I sit down on my ass, my knees bent and my hands loosely hanging. My top half is bare, and the room is chilly. My fingers are playing with the soft fabric of my leggings already. Can you see my anxiety already Sir? I don’t think I have hidden it very well.

The leg irons pull against my ankles. I have twisted the chain already, but I refuse to say anything. I will deal with this.

I look up at you. I am scared Sir.

For all my bravado, I do not like being angry. I know that I could hurt someone. I know that I could hurt you if I sink too far. I feel very small for asking for this.

You read me so well. You look deep into my eyes, my lip trembling, and you run your fingers through my hair. It soothes me. I close my eyes to revel in it and you backhand me.

We’ve started.

From this point, you won’t let up until you are ready…or I color.

Would that be wrong? To color on a scene I’ve requested?

You will tell me that it is not wrong. And I know for damn sure, we would never be trying this if you didn’t trust me to speak up when needed.

Those thoughts cross my mind all the time.

So, let’s see what happens Sir.

Are you ready?

I am waiting for the music to start.

“Are you ready for this?”. You ask only once.

You are giving me an out.

I inhale deeply. I don’t want it.

“Press play” I state firmly.

Without another word, you press play. I know we have put the song on repeat for the length of the disc. It will continue to ramp me up until it is turned off.

The headphones are immersion ones. They close me off from the outside world. All I can hear is the music.

Then, you leave.

I fucking hate being alone. I get antsy and worried and scared.

Forty-five seconds in. My eyes close of their own volition.

1 and a half minutes in. I can feel my face contorting into a smirk.

2 minutes. My lips move unconsciously to mouth the dark words. You were smart Sir. By using the instrumental track, with only the backup vocals, I can sink ever so further. The ability to sing along and keep myself distracted from the emotion is no longer an option.

My chin drops to my chest. I roll my neck to one side and slowly to the other. I can feel the cracking of the bones.

3 minutes. My heart is pounding. My eyes are open and unseeing. My head cocks to the side, glaring into the nothingness.

Four minutes. Even though I know I shouldn’t, I start rubbing the cuff rings.

The cuffs are cool to my thumbs as I rub the metal.

My thoughts are dark Sir; and sneaky.

We are halfway through the first play of the song. The bass drum is beating loud. I am tugging more frantically at my cuffs now. I feel them pulling against my hands.

I am going to bruise.

I am watching the door. I’m determined to be free by the time you come back. I plan to tackle you. I’m going to take you to the floor and have you beg me for mercy.

I can do it.

I smirk.

If not, I will go down fighting.

I was unprepared for the mask Sir. As soon as the darkness descended, I started bucking. You appeared from nowhere.

Were you watching me? Where? I could not see you.

Why would you hide Sir?

Are you scared of me?

Won’t you let me free Sir?

I can do such wondrous things to you.

After all, you cannot see the fire in my eyes with a hood on.

Tsk. Tsk. Tsk.

Whatever shall we do Sir? Won’t you let me out to play?

You have turned the volume up. I can feel the vibrations across the whole of my ears. I feel the zipper on the hood open across my mouth. I strike forward to bite you.

Rule number 2 in our dynamic. I am never to bite.

I’ve just declared war.

I am pulling roughly at the handcuffs. If I can shift the bed frame, then you have no chance.

I feel your hand grip the back of my neck, as though you were planning to lift me. You press my body forward. Your other palm presses harshly against my mouth and pinches my nose through the hood. I did not even have a chance to take a breath. I’m trying to wrestle free. I can hear the clanking of the metal over the music. I feel like a feral animal trying to free itself. My head is locked into place by your strength.

I am going to pass out.

Then, you let me breathe.

Or so I thought.

One big breath is all I managed before you shoved the gag between my teeth. You made sure I would be able to breathe by picking the ball gag with holes. But it clearly tells me that talking is out of the question.

Good.

If you want an answer, you are gonna need to read my fucking mind.

Sir.

I feel the chain go slack for a split second. You must have lifted the corner of the bed. I pull quickly and round my head in what I believe is your direction. It connects with something. I turn the other direction and roll onto my back. I know I cannot run with the way I am chained. But I do have enough room to kick you.

I kick out, low to the ground, and my foot connects. I know instantly I have hit too low. Your boots hurt quite a bit when kicked with bare feet. I aim higher but I feel your hand grab my ankles. My arms are stretched as you hold me tight.

Then the blows start.

A firm smack right onto my ass.

I hate this position. I hate having my legs in the air like a baby. It is humiliating…and you know it. That is exactly why you do it.

Two. Three. Four.

In such quick succession, I cannot catch my breath or bearings.

Five hits me full force to the top of my pussy.

Fuck. I guarantee you heard that through the gag.

Six. Seven. Eight.

Harder and harder you hit my ass. My body is trying to rock against the floor. Anything I can do to get free. I am not fairing so well at that.

Nine is a firm kick to the ass by your boot.

God Dammit.

Ten reigns down on my pussy once more. Pretty sure I am going to be icing for days at this point.

You drag me by my ankle across the carpet until we meet linoleum. You roll me over in one smooth motion and use the leverage of the chain to pull my knees up under me. My ass is now in the air and my face is pressed to the cold floor. My shoulders are burning, and my wrists are swollen. I am biting down on the rubber of the gag so hard I am expecting it to split.

I feel a heavy thud against my thighs. Oh god, not that one. I hate it.

Five thwacks, each getting harsher and harsher. The hood is wet now. It clings to my eyes as they water, and I have soaked the bottom half with my spit.

I keep trying to shift away from the blows. For a masochist, I move a lot Sir. Have you ever noticed that?

Five more and I am sobbing. My legs are shaking to the point that I cannot hold them up anymore. Then again, as soon as I started to drop them, I felt it.

You finally unsheathed the knife you were hitting me with.

The broad side of the blade is cool against my skin. I feel its tip at my belly button, with the rest of the length sliding down to my pussy. It is your warning to keep my position.

And it is my chance to end it.

Not a chance in hell Sir.

Is that all you’ve got?

My legs are trembling. I feel like I have been at the gym for a couple hours on a treadmill. I feel the knife sliding against my skin. I am trying to hold still. I know there will be marks. Even the dullest of your knives leave me with welts.

Ever so slowly, the tip slides down between my legs. I feel you grab the crotch of my leggings and I feel the sharp tug as you slice them. The knife leaves my skin for just a moment and I feel your fists shred my clothes the remaining in bit. I can only feel them clinging to me from my calves to my ankles. Then the blade is back.

You are cruel Master. I am trying to focus on where the blade is at, but the music is distracting me too much. If I had to guess, knowing the marks it will leave, I am positive you are drawing little smiley faces that I will be staring at in the mirror for the next week.

I am not amused!

But I can imagine the smirk you must be wearing at your own ingenuity.

I feel the tip slide down my thighs and to my calves. I feel the rest of my leggings fall from my body.

Time is relative in the dark. I lost count of the amount of times my song has played. I know my ass stings. I have no idea how long you have been marking me with that blade. I know it periodically slides between the lips of my vagina and I hold my breath every time. I know my jaw aches from the gag and my neck is sore from being on the floor in this position. My shoulders still burn, and my body shakes from either adrenaline or cold. Of which I am not entirely sure.

But I want more Sir.

When you have finished with the blade, I feel you give me one last whack with it after you sheathed it and I felt your breath light up the cuts along my backside.

Gently, you pull me up to my knees and let me lean my head against your legs. The music is turned down until it is a mere whisper. It stays constant, and I still cannot hear you, but it curbs the adrenaline.

You pick me up to standing but my legs cannot hold me. So, you leave me kneeling and drag me to wherever you desire me to be. You bend me over the bed. It keeps me kneeling but puts the pressure on my abdomen instead of my knees. I put my forehead against the softer surface.

Your hand is rubbing my ass. It feels nice.

Then I feel the cold. You just dumped ice water down my back, across my ass, and over my legs. My body tenses instantly. We both know I do not do well with temperature change.

This is new.

And then I understand why you turned the music down.

POP

Fuck.

It is the fucking cattle prod.

Yes, it hurts. But it is the sound that gets me.

Once to the thigh. It travels with the water as it drips down my skin.

Then you set it off near my ear. I jumped and thrashed.

Another to the ass. The knife marks light up with the electricity.

Did you know open wounds increase the intensity of the shocks? Of course you did. This is your favorite. To watch me bend and bow to the lightning. To watch me shiver from the cold, or is that fear?

One. Two.

POP. This one doesn’t touch me but I can hear it near my face.

Three.

POP.

Four. Five.

POP. This time I hear it behind my neck

Then one long intense one between my legs. I screamed with that one.

POP. I can hear it again, but I cannot tell where it is coming from. This time I hear it and it is followed by a smack to my ass. It must be the belt.

I cannot hold back the cries anymore.

Smack.

POP.

Silence.

Where am I Sir?

I am very, very cold and I cannot open my eyes.

My ears are buzzing but there is no defining sound. My body is shivering but I feel a warm hand on my stomach and one in my hair.

My heart has slowed.

My mind is jumbled and dark. I’m not really sure what is going on.

I don’t know how long it took but my eyes finally flutter open. It takes several tries. The room is very bright, even though we have black out curtains up.

I finally open my eyes and I see Master there. I am laying on my back with my head in his lap. He is watching me. He seems worried.

I see his lips moving but I cannot understand what he is saying.

Everything is a blur, but I can guess what happened.

I stare up at him with a soft smile. I am in the safest place right now.

He is waiting for an answer.

I know the question.

“My name is Joji.” I see him breathe a little easier.

He brushes my hair from my face and rubs soft circles on my tummy with his thumb.

“And my name?” The question sounds so soft to me, but I can hear him again.

“Master.” As I see him smile, I know that we are both going to be fine.

Erotica: Alex And Her Master- An NC Fantasy: Chapter 2

November 1, 2020 By J S Phoenix 2 Comments

woman tied to chair splashed with water — via stock.adobe.com

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

Want to read chapter 1? Click here

From last time: Alex, the pretty blonde girl in the scoop-necked red dress, was taken from behind…

I’m being kidnapped!

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

Alex squirmed to get comfortable. Her bound arms hurt no matter how she moved, and she couldn’t move much. She decided she’d be satisfied if she could simply become less uncomfortable.

Satisfaction eluded her, though. Soft tears trickled down her face, more from her reflections than the pain of her bonds. As the truck traveled further, she thought her bound limbs might grow numb.

No luck there, either.

The week’s events invaded her mind, forcing her, against her will, to relive the chain of events that brought her here. Trapped beyond hope, bound and gagged, stuffed into the trunk of her own car on this fateful Friday.

On Thursday night, he’d broken up with her. Crushed her heart with cruel words. And things only got worse after that. In keeping with management-manuals the world over, she’d learned at noon today, Friday, that she had lost her job. She’d left in tears upon receiving the news, unable to disguise her misery, forgetting entirely about cleaning out her desk. The fact that she had been handed a severance check meant that the firing had been more than days in planning, and all the while everyone had smiled at her as if nothing was amiss.

So Alex drove out to the old farm. She had no idea who owned the land, and it hadn’t been worked in years. Something about that old barn had intrigued her since she had been a little girl, and she often went there to think, to ponder. Today, to brood.

And, as it turned out, to be kidnapped.

More tears trickled down her cheek. She preferred tears to terror, and Alex felt near enough to terrified as it was.

Just as she thought she might get her nerves under control, the truck slowed, turned, and pulled to a stop. Alex had lost track of time. When the trunk popped open, she saw that the sun had gone down. Alex squirmed. Somehow her bonds hurt more now than at any time since her abduction.

He looked down into the trunk.

“Still nice and secure, I see,” he said with a slight smirk in his voice. “Have a good trip?”

Alex tried to glare at him, but her courage withered when she looked in his eyes. His stare transformed her into the proverbial headlight-frozen deer. He clicked a fob in his pocket; Alex heard a door open. He leaned down, picked her up as if she weighed nothing, and carried her to what she discovered was a rental van.

He laid her on the floor, securing her bound form to cargo hooks with straps, then pulled a safety net over her. Finally, he piled several shipping blankets over her.

“Don’t struggle. Just lie still, and you’ll be able to breathe.”

Alex struggled anyway. She wondered whether he was watching her as she writhed uselessly. When it became hard to breathe, she stopped fighting her bonds.

“I told you, girl. Don’t make me punish you.”

His words chilled her to her core; Alex shuddered.

She heard her car shut down, and then her captor entered the van.

To be continued…

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

mistress

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