The Mammoth Book of Women's Erotic Fantasies

by Sonia Florens

  “Stand.”

  I took off the chastity. His penis came to erection immediately it became free, in spite of the hurt. He started trembling, seeing me so close, feeling so humbled, wanting to appease me.

  “You will hump the floor every night for a month without coming after I caress and excite you. Maybe this will let you know that what you must concentrate on at all times is to be able to stand the three months until I let you come. That this is my wish and, if you are mine, you are to obey me.”

  “Yes, Mistress, as you say.”

  I came close to him and started kissing him. He separated his lower body from mine so his erect penis would not touch and offend me, but I grabbed his arse and pushed him to me, rubbing against him. He moaned and I continued kissing and licking his neck, caressing his back, his nipples.

  “Mistress, please, I am about to come. Please have mercy on me and let me back up so I do not shame myself offending you, please.”

  I pulled his hair, bending his head back, opened his lips with my fingers.

  “It will be such a hard month, slave.”

  I separated from him, letting him quiver and forcing his desire to subside. I held him in my arms, caressing his hair, as he convulsed.

  He was on his best behaviour after the correction; he served my dinner, walked along the beach with me although his basketball team was playing that night, without even mentioning it, came home and gave me a bath then a massage. He stood kneeling beside the tub while he bathed my body with a sponge, rinsing me later and, when I finally stepped out, drying me totally. His body was sweating and quivering from the excitement of having me so close and he was so aroused. I touched him briefly while letting him attend to me and during the massage my body relaxed in his hands. Whenever he came close to touching my nipples or my cunt lips, he would murmur: “May I, please?” before I permitted him.

  “I want you to massage my cunt with your face and bald head.” He closed his lips as he knew it wouldn’t involve using his tongue until permitted, it was just rubbing, first the head, then lowering his whole face to his chin, back and forth, then letting his nose tease my clit until told to stop or to use his tongue. By then his face would be filled with my juices and my smell impregnated his head. Involuntarily he would start whimpering.

  “You will wake me up in this fashion every morning and when I feel satisfied you will come to my side and lift a little your leg so I can play with your balls and penis. I will wear my strap-on, which is on top of my night table, and use your arsehole as a pussy, until I come. Then you would be left alone. I imagine your penis fighting the chastity with the erection, but you will be left wanting, in remembrance of all the women in the past that were used by men and then left, just like you will be left. Every morning, this will be your ritual.”

  His excitement only grew and he would fold over from the pain and beg (I love to hear him beg). “Please, Mistress, may I offer you my insignificant balls so you can enjoy slapping them so my erection will subside. You will be so generous if you will permit me to relax by inflicting pain, please, I beg you. I know I deserve to be like this, doubling over in excitement at your feet, at your whim. It will be a very difficult month that I have earned with my reproachable behaviour, but I beg you, just tonight, let my balls and my penis relax. I beg you, wonderful Mistress, my only star, my Goddess, I beg.”

  “All right, I will grant you this, but I will tie you so you remain in place until I am done, yes?”

  “Yes, Mistress, as you wish. Thank you, thank you.”

  I tied his wrists and ankles to the bed frame and made his head comfortable, as he would be jerking.

  “Are you ready, slave?”

  “Yes, Mistress.”

  “With your eyes open!”

  I showed him my open hand and brought it to his lips; he kissed it tenderly and eagerly. His penis was still fighting to get our of its cage. I started hitting him in his balls in a constant rhythm and the slaps made him jerk and moan; his eyes watered but he mouthed “thank you” repeatedly. I stopped long after his penis had almost disappeared, bringing my hand again to his lips and this time waiting for his gratitude in a flourish manner. Crying, he did this. By now, he was exhausted. I untied his hands and took his balls and tied them, having both ends tied to where his ankles were. He knew what I was doing. Frightened, he begged:

  “Please, Mistress, please, let my ankles remain untied; I am so frightened of moving and cutting my balls.”

  “Ah . . . but you won’t, and tomorrow morning I expect good service, so you will untie yourself and begin before I awake. Good night, my love, my slave.”

  I kissed him gently but let him rest, afraid of arousing him again. He had gone almost three months and now had to wait one more. I remember when I used to masturbate him at least three times a day and made him come; now it was when I permitted, although his erection was a must and was his service. I had to have available at all times, a hard penis to mount, to tease, even to mouth, but one that knew there would be no relief until I wished.

  I woke up in the middle of the night; he was fast asleep, carefully lowered so the rope tying his balls to the bed posts would not pull. I took off his chastity; he woke up and looked at me. I just had to touch his penis and it sprang hard in a minute. I smiled while I raised over his body. I brought my cunt to his face and lowered it, rubbing it up and down; his lips closed, waiting for my decision. I continued to lower myself until I was over his penis; just the head I got inside. He moaned loud, his balls were hard and he felt it tighten more around the rope as I moved up and down.

  “Mistress, I want you so badly, I am so hot, as horny as a bitch in heat, please . . . have mercy.”

  I pushed down a bit more and continued humping him, making love to myself. He could hardly move with his balls tied.

  “How much longer, my love? Tell me, how much longer do you have to wait?”

  “Until you wish, maybe a month and a week more if I behave, Mistress, until you say.”

  “Yes, much better. You know where you are standing and what is good for you, right, slave?” I kept talking while I continued to make love to myself using his hard rod.

  “Oh yes, my Goddess.”

  “I am feeling oral.”

  I moved out of him and lowered my head to his penis. Feeling my cold mouth tighten around his hot penis made him scream with pleasure.

  “Mistress, please, I cannot take it. I will come. Please”.

  “How dare you say this. What are you supposed to say when this happens?”

  “Yes, yes, Mistress. Please, Mistress, I beg you to slap my hurting balls so my penis knows that it just exists to pleasure you and he must be of service always. Please let my balls feel the pain of my lack of control. Please.”

  “Are you ready?”

  “Yes, Mistress.”

  Again I played the ritual, the showing of my hand, taking it to his lips, his eyes closing to the surrendering of what was to come and the slapping. This time, just twice, as I wanted to continue playing.

  “Please, Mistress, I am ready to be used. Thank you for not letting me shame myself again.”

  The next morning, he untied his balls and enticingly and softly climbed up to me, I quivered in my sleep and let him continue to caress me as told, careful not to be abrupt, attentive to every movement I did. As I opened my legs to him he let his head fall and caressed me with it. He was careful not to hurt me as I had used him for so long last night, stopping several times to correct his demanding erection but continuing with my pleasure. He knew my lips must be sore, so he was delicate.

  “You may lick.”

  His tongue became wide and hard as he softly passed it over my whole cunt lips and, as he felt my tension, it narrowed so it would flick on my clit, never allowing any saliva to make me wetter, just keeping the right moisture, which was my moisture only.

  “Again, just your face.”

  His mouth closed and he moved his head only, slowly bringing his nose, checking to
see if the action was approved before going further with masturbating me with his nose.

  “Sweet slave, sweet.”

  He pressed his mouth to my cunt and vibrated with sounds.

  “Keep on.” He must have done this for some time before I asked for his tongue again. He became just my toy machine, my vibrator but not only to me, especially to him. He knew and became a perfect toy, my perfect slave.

  “Enough.”

  Slowly he left the bed and went to the kitchen while I lingered more in bed, thinking of what a wonderful and useful slave I have.

  Debt Collecting

  Liza (London, UK)

  When my husband tells me he’s taking me out tonight, and that I should wear the clothes he’s laid out for me on the bed, I really don’t pay it a second thought. He will often book tables at nice restaurants as a treat for me, and buy me a new outfit to wear for the occasion, and it’s a while since we’ve spent any quality time together as he’s been so involved with his work. Perhaps he’s realized he’s been neglecting me and this is his way of saying he’s sorry. So I take a long bath, cream my body all over with lotion, wrap a towelling robe around myself and walk into the bathroom to see what he’s chosen for me.

  At first, I think he’s playing some kind of practical joke. Instead of the designer label cocktail dress and slinky lingerie I’ve been expecting, I see clothes which, frankly, are better suited to a Soho streetwalker: a tight white crop top in some shiny material, a denim mini with a frayed hem which appears to be less of a skirt and more of a belt, a black push-up bra and matching thong panties, made of scratchy artificial lace. No tights or stockings, just white stiletto-heeled shoes.

  “I can only find some cheap, nasty stuff on the bed,” I call down the stairs to my husband. “Are you sure you haven’t made a mistake and brought the wrong bag home from the shops?”

  “There’s no mistake,” my husband calls back. “Put it on and I’ll explain in the car. Oh, and put your hair in a nice, high pony tail and make sure you’re wearing lots of red lipstick and black eyeliner.”

  By the time I’ve finished dressing and applying my make-up, I look and feel like a tart. The bra, which is clearly visible through the thin top, thrusts my small breasts out provocatively, and the miniskirt is so short that if I bend over or stand carelessly I will be displaying the cheeks of my bum, separated by the chafing lace of my thong. I go downstairs, tottering a little on the three-inch heels, still wondering what this is all about. My husband just nods his approval curtly, and leads me out to the car without letting me grab a coat to cover my slutty outfit.

  I wait for him to give me an explanation, but he says nothing. It’s only when I realize that he is driving away from the high street, towards one of the roughest estates in town, that I finally ask, “What the hell is going on here?”

  At last he breaks down and confesses. First of all, he says, he loves me and he always will. He’s been keeping things a secret from me because he wanted to protect me, but now everything has gone beyond that point. For the last year or so, he tells me, his business has been in financial trouble. For a while, he tried to forget about his problems, and carried on spending money he didn’t actually have, treating the company’s funds as though they were his own personal bank account.

  As the debts began to mount, in order to keep up the lavish lifestyle we had become accustomed to, he decided to borrow money to cover the shortfall, but when the bank refused to give him a loan because they deemed him to be a bad credit risk, foolishly, he turned to the most notorious money lenders in town, the Lee brothers. He knew they were supposed to be involved with all kinds of criminal activity, but he was desperate. Of course, despite his promises to repay the money, he hasn’t been able to, and their threats of what will happen to him if they don’t get at least some of it back have been getting more and more vicious. Finally, he has come to a solution which is acceptable to them: he is going to pay a portion of his debts by giving them unlimited use of my body for the night.

  I can’t believe what he is telling me: it’s the most outrageous thing I’ve ever heard, and I demand that he turns the car round right now and takes me home. There is absolutely no way I am going to let these strangers have sex with me. My husband tells me he has tried everything else, but the two have seen the photograph of me he keeps on his desk in his office, and they want me. And what the Lee brothers want, the Lee brothers get.

  We pull to a halt in front of a rundown tower block. The walls are plastered with graffiti, a mattress and a broken fridge have been dumped on the concrete forecourt and a couple of the street lights don’t work. I can’t help thinking that the car will probably have lost its radio and maybe even its wheels by the time we return to it.

  We take the lift, which is in semi-darkness and stinks of urine, up to the ninth floor. My husband raps on the door of one of the flats. It is opened by a man who must be a good six foot four in height, with a lean, powerful physique. I have to admit he is not unattractive, but he looks rough and ready, his dark eyes hard in his tanned face. He eyes me slowly up and down, and his lips curve upwards in a feral smile.

  “Very tasty,” he mutters. I almost expect him to haul me inside the flat and leave my husband on the doorstep, but he doesn’t. Instead, the two of us follow him into the living room. It’s small and cramped, with a stained carpet and a three-piece suite with torn beige covers, and it smells of mould and boiled cabbage. I can’t believe the Lee brothers actually live in this squalid little place, given the amount of money they’re reputed to have made from all their dodgy dealings, and I suspect this is just the place they use when they want to give someone a working over – though not usually of the type they’re clearly planning to give me.

  The other brother is lounging on the settee, but he gets to his feet as I enter the room. He’s about ten years younger than his sibling, slightly shorter and stockier, with blue eyes and spiky, highlighted blond hair. They don’t look anything alike, and I suspect they have different fathers. The one thing they do share, however, is a look of undisguised lust as they stare at me. Their eyes seem to be stripping me naked, and I feel vulnerable but also suddenly, shockingly excited. What do they want to do to me? Will they expect me to perform sex acts I never have for my husband? Will I be able to say no? And, more importantly, will I want to?

  Without being told, my husband goes and sits on a wooden-backed chair in a corner of the room. The dark one – I haven’t been given any kind of introduction, nor do I expect one – unthreads the thin leather belt from his trousers and uses it to fasten my husband’s wrists securely behind him, binding him to the chair. There are beads of sweat on his brow and a panicked look in his eyes as he realizes he’s helpless. Whatever these two lowlifes decide to do to me from now on, he can’t prevent it.

  The blond comes to stand behind me. He grabs hold of my honey-blonde pony tail, and twists my head round to face his. Though his features are softer than his brother’s, and I suspect he probably has the nicer nature of the two, I’m acutely aware of how much bigger and more powerful he is than me, and a strange mixture of fear and anticipation shudders through me.

  He presses his mouth to my neck, and I think for a moment he’s going to kiss me. Instead, his teeth nip my skin, just enough to bruise, and I realize he’s leaving his mark on me with a love bite. I wriggle in his grasp, but he holds me tightly. I can feel his cock beginning to stir in his jeans, the hard length of it pressing against my backside.

  “Cute body your missus has got,” he says to my husband, “and I can’t wait to see it naked.”

  As he speaks, he is pulling at the midriff-baring top I’m wearing. The stitching in one of the badly finished seams gives way, and he casually tears the garment off my body.

  “Not got much in the way of tits, has she?” the older brother says, and my face flushes with embarrassment at being discussed so crudely.

  “I dunno,” the blond replies, squeezing my breasts through the push-up bra. “I reckon t
here are a couple of nice little mouthfuls here.”

  “Well, get them out, then,” his brother tells him, and the blond reaches into the cups of the bra and scoops my breasts out. The nipples stiffen under a combination of his touch and the greedy gaze of his brother, and I almost want to thrust my chest out further, as if to prove to them that I’ve got something worth looking at.

  I’ve almost forgotten that my husband is sitting meek and immobile in a chair, and then I glance over and meet his gaze. He looks away, ashamed, but I have seen the size of the bulge in his trousers and know that having to watch what is being done to me is turning him on.

  The blond is still playing with my nipples, and I realize how much I want to feel his mouth on them. His brother has other ideas, though.

  “Strip the rest of it off her,” he says. “I want to see her cunt.”

  Again, my cheeks burn: my husband has never called it that in all the time we’ve been together. Sex with him is gentle and tender; not rough and crude. There’s nothing but roughness and crudity about these two, so why do I find what they’re doing so exciting?

  The blond does as his brother asks, unzipping the miniskirt and letting it drop to the floor. Then he tugs my panties down and off. I’m standing there in nothing but bra and high heels, nipples hard, pussy damp. I can smell my own arousal, and I’m sure they must be able to, too.

  The older brother thrusts a hand between my legs without ceremony, finding me wet. His thumb settles on my clit, rubbing it hard. It normally takes very little of this type of treatment to bring me to orgasm, and despite myself I am panting with desire when he abruptly withdraws his fingers and orders me to my knees.

  I comply, and am rewarded with the sight of him unzipping the fly of his jeans. He wears nothing beneath them, and the dark arrow of pubic hair that leads to his groin comes into view, followed seconds later by the hardening length of his penis. Even partially erect, it looks big, and I shudder with guilty pleasure at the thought of being made to take something that size in front of my husband.