MENAGE - Bound,gagged,stuffed DOMINATED (1st time Gang,MFM, MFMM, MFMMM ,DP,TP,White Female Shared Hard,Fast without Protection)-Volume 1 -10 Short Story Book Boxed Set Anthology PLUS 3 BONUS STORIES

by Nicola Diaz

  The next morning, I wake up to breakfast on a tray. He has made me coffee, sandwiches and an omelet. I rub the sleep out of my eyes, go to wash my face and brush my teeth, and come back. After gorging on the delicious breakfast, I go to find him.

  He’s sitting on the couch, watching a Doctor Who rerun.

  “Good morning,” I say.

  “Morning,” he smiles. “Thanks for getting me into Doctor Who.”

  “Sure, anytime. What plans for the day? When can I leave?” I ask only to make conversation; I have no desire to leave either his house or him. Seems like an odd thing to admit, but I’ve become strangely attached to him within the space of a day. Perhaps not romantically, definitely sexually, but perhaps also as a friend.

  “Er….okay. Get dressed, and I can drop you wherever you want.”

  “I’m not leaving…for good. I will come back in the evening,” I say, more to reassure myself than him. But he seems relieved, and I’m glad.

  “Right. In that case, I’d like to give you a parting gift,” he says, and goes to his bedroom. I wait in the living room, and he comes back with anal beads. I roll my eyes, and he smirks.

  “I’d like you to wear these throughout the day, so that you’re ready for me when you come back,” he says in a voice deeper than I’ve ever heard him employ. It is beyond me to refuse him anything when he asks in that voice, and I’m curious anyway. So I nod.

  An hour later, he drops me at my office. I’m wearing the anal beads, as per his request. “I want to be a good sub,” I had whispered in his ear while getting out of the car. We had exchanged numbers, and he is supposed to pick me up after work.

  Everyone greets me at office, but if only they knew what I did yesterday, and what I am going to do today….the thought is enough to make my muscles clench around the beads. I spend the whole day thinking about all the interesting things I’d get to do as Alessandro’s sub, but the exact nature of my feelings for him remains a tricky question.

  When he comes to pick me up in the evening, and asks in that sinful voice if I had been a good girl, I realize that I don’t need to put labels on what we’re building together. In this moment, it feels great, and it feels worthwhile. So I push all my worries at the back of my mind, and whisper, “No. I’ve been a very, very bad girl. Please take me home and punish me.”

  THE END

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  Exploit Me!

  (First Time BDSM, Student, Voyeur, Video Taping)

  There I was, standing in front of an eager audience, wearing only my fish-net stockings, a thong, and a pair of black high heels. I knew what these guys wanted, and I knew how to make it worth their while. I started with my sultry cat-walk, and then I approached one of them with a quick flick of my hair and a turn on my heel. I knew that they liked to watch me walk up and down the platform runway, and that they only wanted to keep enjoying their drinks while watching me get my show going.

  As it got later into the night, my actions became more deliberate, more enticing, and more mysterious. It was hard to believe that only two months ago, I was still carrying trays with sloppy Italian food and cheap drinks through a stinky restaurant on Mechandless Boulevard. Now that I had a steady income once again, it was hard to imagine ever going back to that kind of work. The BDSM lifestyle was incredibly more unpredictable, and it sure paid a lot better. Still, it was hard not to reflect on where I came from, and what I did before all of this started.

  Ronnie’s Italian Restaurant of Santa Monica was always packed on the weekends. I didn’t necessarily mind the work, but I found that it was becoming increasingly more difficult putting up with picky customers every night. I did my best to make sure that they had whatever they needed, but sometimes it felt like I just couldn’t do enough to make everyone happy. One night, I even thought about quitting, but my boss was one step ahead of me.

  “Kelly, I need to talk to you as soon as you get drinks out to table eight,” he said with a gruff look on his face. Bill Peters was my boss, and he wasn’t the friendliest guy I ever worked for. I tried to keep my distance from him, but on the weekends it was inevitable because Bill often circulated the restaurant, making sure that everything was in place, and that all of his customers were being served adequately.

  I rolled my eyes, wondering what Bill would nag me about this time. I wanted to find a better job, maybe working in an office, or even helping with gardening work, but for right now this was all I could find, so I tried to be as accommodating to Bill’s demands as possible. I dropped off the drinks at table eight, and then followed Bill into the kitchen. “This should be fun,” I said to myself as I trailed reluctantly behind him. He didn’t look pleased.

  I looked around and noticed that all of the other waitresses and waiters looked stressed. Even the cooks looked tired and grumpy. I felt like it would be a blessing if Bill just fired me, and that’s exactly what he did. “Kelly, I’m letting you go. I’ve had too many complaints in just one week, and they all are about you,” he said. “It’s either the food is wrong, or the drinks get messed up, or the bill is totaled wrong,” he said, shaking his head. “I’m sorry, but we can’t afford to keep losing money because of you, and I have too many unsatisfied customers. It’s bad for business,” he said.

  With that, I untied my apron, slapped it on the counter, and then emptied out its contents. I counted out my money, which wasn’t much, cashed out the rest of my open checks, and then said goodbye to Rhonda, my one friend that had worked there almost as long as I had. “Catch you on the flip side,” I said, and then she walked out of Ronnie’s with my money in her pocket, and my head held high.

  The first week away from Ronnie’s was enjoyable. I caught up with my friends, and went out a few times to the clubs in Santa Monica. I liked having the freedom way from work, but reality set in quickly when my landlord, a grumpy middle-aged guy, left a note under my door Monday morning, advising me that my rent was late last month, and was now late this month, as well. I got nervous, and a sense of overwhelming anxiety crept in.

  I knew that school would start back up in less than three months, and that I needed to get money quickly, or not only would I lose my apartment, but I’d also lose my roster at the college and have to drop out of my enrolled classes. In a panic, I called my friend, Melissa. “I am in hot water,” I said over the phone. “I need money fast,” I said, pacing my tiny apartment and running my hands through my hair.

  “I guess we shouldn’t have spent so much on drinks the other night,” said Melissa in an attempt to keep it light-hearted.

  “Melissa, this is serious. I have nothing left in my savings account. I used what I had to pay for next year’s tuition, and now I have nothing for rent. If Bill hadn’t fired me with such short notice, I’d be okay. But now I’m late on rent, and you know that Gino will evict me if I don’t have it up front by the end of the week,” I said with a sigh. “When it rains, it really does pour,” I added.

  “Well don’t go jumping off any bridges just yet,” said Melissa. “If I were you, I’d go down to the Steaming Bean and see what kind of job postings are hanging up on the bulletin board. They always have a bunch of stuff posted,” she said. For a second, I felt relieved. Melissa was right. I could come up with something. With that, I hung up with her and got changed. It was getting warmer in Santa Monica as mid-summer hit, so I put on my jean shorts and a tank-top, then headed downtown.

  The Steaming Bean was usually packed during the summer with college students, tourists, and locals. Melissa was right. The bulletin board was loaded up with all kinds of ads and flyers. I poked around but didn’t see much in the way of job advertisements. Feeling a little discouraged, I decided that I might as well get a drink before I left, so I got in line and ord
ered a soy latte with vanilla, one of my favorite drinks.

  I sat down by the window and watched people scuttle across the street, or walk their dogs. Then I picked up a few magazines that were lying on the table next to me. One was a kids’ rag, so I put that back, and the other one was a seedy women’s publication, with lots of revealing images inside. I was actually surprised that they had something like this laying around a public coffee shop, but figured it was California, after all, so anything was possible.

  I flipped through and couldn’t help but giggle at some of the pictures. There were women tied up with twine sitting on chairs, looking sultry and sensual, wearing fish-net stockings, and high heels. Clearly, this was a magazine for those with particular fetishes. The longer I gazed at the pictures, however, the more intrigued I became with what it all represented. I wondered if the women in the magazine actually liked being hired for this kind of work, or if they just did it for the money. Then I flipped to the back of the magazine, and was surprised to see an ad for BDSM shoots, right here in Santa Monica.

  I finished what was left of my drink and then tore out the ad. When I got home, I called up Melissa, and read her the details over the phone. “What do you think?” I asked her with an eager tone. “I think I could do this, easily,” I said.

  “Well, you’re no prude, so you’ve got that going for you. But BDSM is pretty hardcore. You think you’d make it in that industry?” she asked. “You know that it’s all just a show, I mean, those women get paid and then they go home. It’s not like…the kind of thing that they really enjoy,” she said, already sounding like she didn’t approve of it totally.

  “Well, I don’t care what the other women do, or whether they like it or not. I just know that if I don’t come up with at least eight hundred dollars in the next two weeks, my ass is going to be out on the street,” I said. Melissa told me to give it a try, to at least see if I could handle the work, and then take it from there. And that’s exactly what I did. I called the number in the ad, got scheduled for an interview the next day, and then started work the following week. It was truly nothing like I had expected.

  First of all, I had only read a little about BDSM in a few books that I got used online. Even though they went into a lot of detail, they didn’t really explain what it felt like from anyone firsthand. I had been hoping to actually talk with someone who did this for real, and who could tell me what to expect. But all I got from the books was a broad sense of what it was like to give and receive torture, how to set up a kinky scene, and why some people engaged in this kind of lifestyle.

  When I stepped into Frankie’s BDSM Room, or “The Groove Room,” as he liked to call it, my whole world changed from that point on. First of all, Frankie was a really gross guy. He was about thirty pounds overweight, and he was always talking to me with a cigarette dangling out of his mouth with ashes hanging off the side. He liked to call all of the females who worked for him his “little flowers,” so when he called me he’d say “Hey, Little Flower Kelly,” or if he wanted to talk to Fiona, it was “Little Flower Fiona.” It got to be really annoying.

  On one of the first shoots that Frankie had me do, I was asked to stand in front of an audience and wear my black leather bodice, with a pair of black heels, and a small, lace thong. Frankie asked me if I knew anything about nipple torture, and I told him that I only knew what I’d read about in a few books. He told me I’d figure it out soon, and told me to just watch what Katrina did first. Katrina was one of the women who had been hired just a few weeks before me, and who had an incredible body and a natural flair for the BDSM world.

  “So, Kelly, you just have to go from soft torture to hard torture, and don’t try and do too much all at once or you might hurt yourself,” she said with a little laugh. I watched some of the men from the audience came up and stroked Katrina’s nipples. Then he flicked them softly with his fingers. That didn’t seem so unusual to me. But then he started to flick them harder, and Katrina called out. It seemed like she was in pain, but that she was enjoying it at the same time.

  Frankie filmed all of it, and I stood back, waiting with a mixture of anxiety and excitement for my turn at the camera. I knew how to handle myself in front of an audience. I know waitressing is far from BDSM photo shooting, but I still think that all of my experience with talking and walking in front of a full restaurant with platters of hot food above my head set me up for success in this new, wild world. I watched as the men continued to flick Katrina’s nipples, and then stood back astounded at what they did next.

  One of the men took a metal bar out of a box of ice. It reminded me of a ruler, except it had no numbers on it. He slapped it against Katrina’s nipples and she yelled out. Her expression looked seductive, and even though she was tied up to the chair, something in her eyes said that she could devour anyone who got in her path if she wanted to. I watched as the man continued to flick her nipples with the icy cold ruler, and I tried to imagine what it felt like. Then I looked over at Frankie who was smiling and smoking a cigarette the whole time that the camera rolled.

  “You’re up next Little Flower Kelly,” he laughed and flicked his ashes all over the sticky concrete floor. I smiled and then sashayed up to the end of the walk. Frankie had a set of black vinyl chairs and a few old couches set up on the stage. Sometimes he liked to mix it up with other odd props, like the wooden treasure chest in the storage closet, or the dirty velvet ottoman that he liked to prop his feet on. He always told us to use whatever got us in the mood.

  I clicked my heels together and then tossed my hair behind my shoulder. I had let it grow pretty long over the summer and I liked to wear it down because I thought it gave me a sexier look. I gave Frankie a wink and then I sat down on the treasure chest which was situated by itself on the platform. Frankie adjusted the light a little and then he gave me the okay to start my stuff. I called one of the men up from the audience and asked him to sit by my side.

  Frankie usually had a lot of the same men in the Groove Room. Some of them were paid to help with the filming, and some of them just paid to come and watch. They liked to bring alcohol and weed most of the time, although Frankie didn’t have a license to sell anything inside the place. It was pretty much a back-alley operation that only a select crew knew anything about, and that was how Frankie liked to keep it.

  I patted the guy on the shoulder and then he stood up. Frankie had the camera rolling and he was nodding his head, encouraging me to start. I sat back and straddled the treasure chest. My legs were the perfect length to sit on that thing, and they wrapped around it perfectly to give me some balance while I started playing with my tits. I slid my hand under the black bodice and then the guy yanked it down. He gave me a hungry look and then he grabbed my tits and pulled them until I yelped. Then he laughed and let them go.

  I shook my head and tried not to feel embarrassed. I didn’t know that it was going to hurt so badly. Frankie shut off the camera and shook his head. “Little Flower Kelly, babe. You’re gonna get good at this, I can tell. But you gotta act like you’re enjoying it, from the get go,” he said. It was hard for me to imagine how I could enjoy this right away when it hurt like hell to have my titties yanked on, but I went along with the program. I reminded myself of how desperately I needed the money.

  The guy grabbed them again. He twisted the right nipple hard, and then let it go. I actually felt like that time it didn’t hurt as bad, and it even felt kind of good. He did the same with my left nipple. He twisted it and then let it go. Then he came around and stood in front of me. He took one nipple in his mouth and bit it, first tightly, and then hard. I threw my head back, enveloped in the intense sensation. He did the same with the other nipple.

  Frankie let the camera roll, and sat back on his chair. I started to feel a little more comfortable with the scene, and with the audience. My tits were throbbing with excruciating pain, but I put on a seductive smile and then waved the man over for more. Frankie flicked his ashes and took a swig of his beer. I could see that
Katarina was off to the side, drinking a rum and coke and laughing with one of the men from the audience. The man came and stood before me, admiring my ripe, red nipples.

  “Give me some more of your torture,” I said, and looked directly at the camera. Frankie nodded his head aggressively. He liked where I was going with this, so I kept the energy going. “Give me another flick or a twist,” I said. “My titties like it,” I said and then scowled at him. He gave me a weird grin and then grabbed both of my tits at the same time. He twisted them roughly under his hands and I cringed at how painful it was. Still, there was an oddly sensual and enjoyable part of all of this, and I was beginning to think that I liked it.

  Just then I saw Frankie shut off the camera. “That’s good,” he said with a grin. “I got a lot that I can use on that roll,” he said. “Wonderful work Little flower Kelly,” he said. “Go take a break and meet us back here in the afternoon for the late shift,” he said. I was excited to hear that he wanted me to come back for the late shift because this often attracted a larger crowd, and I knew that some of the women got hefty tips on top of their hourly wages during this time.

  I got changed in the back room, which was basically a dingy broom closet. I pulled the string that turned on the light and then stripped down to my panties. My nipples were red as cherries and it was almost too painful to put my shirt on. However, all of the nipple play had gotten me really horny, and I felt like I needed to masturbate before getting dressed. I ran my fingers softly over my sore nipples. Then I pinched them a little bit to see what my pain level was. I winced and then let them go.