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Erotica: Silly Little Slut

December 27, 2020 By J S Phoenix 2 Comments

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***All works of erotica are based on ficional scenarios. We never condone anything that is not consensual.


I don’t like cats.  Not really.  Except that they kill rodents.

But watching you move with cat-like grace on those impossibly high heels…  Delectable.  Yes, you caught my attention.  Perfect feline fluidity…  You slid up on the bar stool smoothly as you caught my eye.  Maybe I caught yours.  But I also caught your short dress sliding up your lean, finely muscled thighs.

I’m not normally a foot guy, either.  Most women act so proud of their feet when they should be the opposite.  But yours are … perfect.  It’s the arch, of course, but also the proportion.  The mere sight of them incites in my mind’s eye all manner of images of the tender torture I could inflict upon them.  I watched, entranced almost, as you let one shoe slide off, half-way, letting it dangle provocatively, pretending it was an accident. 

I sent the barman over to you with an offer of a drink.  You waved your hand at him from side to side, palm up.

“No, thank you.”

And then you turned to face me.  And uncrossed your legs.  And flashed me … a smile, too.  A winsome smile, telling me without words that no, you weren’t wearing any panties under your sheer pantyhose, as if you hadn’t shown me that fact already.  Silently you asked with your sparkling eyes, “What are you going to do to me?”

You had a different meaning for that sentence than mine, I’m sure.  Much different.

I made a move to walk over to you, and again with the hand.  A silent “no, don’t.”  I sat back down.  And still you continued your show.

Your cock-teasing continued the effect you expected.  My jeans tightened as the swelling increased.

Silly little slut…

No one else seemed to want to make an advance on you.  For me, it was a private show in public.  For them…  It was as if they had all seen your show before, and knew it for the cotton-candy cock-teasing that you intended.  All sugar; no spice.  Plenty of appetizer, but no entree.

A few more minutes and you watched me leave.  I’d had enough.  You seemed … disappointed.

What you didn’t know was what would happen later.

When you have no one else to tease, you’ll slither off the bar stool, perhaps letting your dress ride up to your hard, perfect cheerleader ass.  Maybe not that high, but you’ll make sure to give the room an accidentally-on-purpose exhibition.  You’ll slide your delicious feet back into your come-fuck-me pumps and give the room one last display of your sensuous feline stride.

And being you, you’ll head to the parking garage after checking all around to see if you’ve put anyone over the top.  Then, click-clicking along in your heels, you’ll make your way to your car.  You won’t notice the van parked a few spaces away; you never do.  But your pace won’t slow as you click-click-click along the concrete garage floor, racing to the safety of your car.

A few steps from that serene automotive cocoon, you’ll feel the leather glove over your mouth, and you’ll smell the leather too, because my hand over your mouth will also cover your cute little nose, stifling your screams into frightened whimpers and pulling you by your head back against my chest.

Then you’ll feel the other glove, sliding fast and hard up your delicately athletic thigh, sliding your dress up and cupping your pussy as I lift you off the garage floor and carry you squirming and flailing into the van.  When the van door slides shut, you’ll know what awaits you.  You’ll fight harder, but have no chance; you’re nowhere near a match for me physically.  And when I place you face-down into the pile of sheets laid there just for you, pressing your pretty face into the linen to silence you as I straddle your head, you’ll know you’ve lost–and that *no one* is coming to save you. 

When your arms are tightly bound behind you–with bondage tape the first time, but after that, you’ll experience the tight sensation of rope and straps–I’ll stuff your mouth full of cloth and then seal it with more tape.  Then still more tape to cover your eyes, and finally viciously tight wraps of tape around your trim, delicate ankles.

I’m sure you’ll squirm and fight even after you’re hopelessly bound–thrashing wildly on the hard van floor as I run my hands up and down your legs, playing with your perfect ass, probably even after I slap your ass hard several times as a warning.  When I rip your pantyhose open and slide my fingers inside to moisten you, you’ll be relieved.  You’ll take silent solace in the fact that at least I’ll be using your cunt.  And when I mount you, you’ll realize you were wrong.

And then I’ll whisper into your ear, as you twist and squirm under me in a futile effort to escape, the first words you’ll hear from me.

“Don’t worry, slut.  You’ll get it there, too, deep in your tight little quim, before I’m finished.  And if you’re a good little cunt, I’ll fuck your pretty face, too.  But not here.  Somewhere else.  It’s going to be a *long* weekend.  There’ll be *plenty* of time…”

I won’t tell you, though, while I’m raping all your openings, that when we’re finished, I’ll tie you up tighter than ever, making sure everything is as uncomfortable as possible.  I’ll drive you back to your car, reveling in your pathetic struggles to get free, and bind you securely in the driver’s seat with all your shredded clothes lying in the passenger seat, your eye-catching high-heeled pumps lying outside the driver’s door.  Then I’ll lock your car door and set the alarm and throw away your keys, all so the Monday-morning commuters can see you, imprisoned in your car, praying for and dreading your rescue.

And how can I be so certain of all this?

I’ve been watching you for a *very* long time…


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

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

Tagged With: bdsm, bdsm play, bdsm relationship, bdsm scene, ethical slut, fetish, kink, pain slut, power exchange

Get Your Own Damn Coffee!!!

October 9, 2017 By Baadmaster Leave a Comment

Coffee

From time to time I will answer provocative BDSM/kink questions instead of my usual opinion articles. Here is one that I found particularly unique.

I am a male submissive who has been given a training collar by my Mistress. I love serving her sexually, as a pain slut and as a house slave. But lately, she has gotten into diapering me, treating me like a baby and using me as furniture. Although at first I liked the experimentation, I have now grown to dread these activities. I have told Mistress my feelings, but she takes it as a challenge and insists on doing these activities even more than before. What should I do?

In all aspects of life, be it vanilla, unvanilla or anything in between, the operational word is compromise. Unless you are the one in a million person where everything dovetails perfectly with your partner, there are areas where you will have to give and take. To a casual observer of the world of submission, compromise is not apparent since the sub appears to gladly do all things required of him/her. On closer examination, however, the submissive is usually compromising – even if this concession is unconscious or instinctual. There is a line I often use in my live presentations where I say that submissives often think to themselves, “Get your own fucking cup of coffee” when they are required to get their Master/Mistress some java on a cold winter’s morning. Usually this is just a passing semi-rebellious thought that is quickly dismissed. After all, to express it verbally would jeopardize the relationship. But, that does not mean the compromising aspect of the early morning coffee run is illusory. It is real. It is in the execution of the task and the acknowledgment of the compromise and sacrifice that separates the real life interaction of a D/s couple and the fictional “never having to compromise” basis of an idealized, imaginary Master/slave construct.

Thus, the fact that you are having service conflicts is proof that your relationship is grounded in reality. Pushing limits and exploring new territories is part of your Domme’s task. If she only asked for things that you will readily do anyway, she is not really being Dominant. This is what I have called, in a previous kink weekly article, “Coca-Cola Dominance.” Demanding that your submissive only drinks Coke when she already likes it is not Dominance. Thus, you must expect your limits to be pushed and tested if you are in a true D/s partnership. Submission without compromise is not submission at all.

That compromise is the currency of all relationships does not mean that it cannot have deleterious effects on the union. Clearly, when compromise becomes painful and is required so often that is destroys the joy of serving, the relationship is put into peril. This is where the Domme must be experienced. You state, “…I have now grown to dread these activities. I have told Mistress my feelings…” You have done your best. In essence, there is nothing more that you can do. The ball is now in your Mistress’ court.

Think of your Mistress as the Captain of a ship. But as opposed to being on a ship, where rebellion is mutiny, your service is voluntary. A good Mistress knows this and listens to her slave, weighs in all the factors and then decides upon the course she would plot. It comes down to her, not you. If she pushes you to the point where the overall arc of your service is moving into the area of unhappiness, you have the right to ask for your release.

I would make your concerns doubly clear to your Domme. Do not soft-pedal your dread of certain activities. This is not topping from the bottom. It is communication – the bedrock of all human activities. If your Domme continues to push you way past your compromise limit, you can leave.

Hopefully, she will throttle back on demands that jeopardize your service, After all, a sexual slave, a pain slut and a house slave all rolled into one is hard to find. Hopefully, she will realize that and not risk the relationship. On the other hand, if you ask for your release, you will probably have little trouble finding a new Mistress. After all, you do have a lot to offer any Domme!

By BaadMaster
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.

Tagged With: bdsm questions, domme, house slave, mistress, pain slut, sexual slave, slave, submissive

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