Nadia Nightside's Best of 2015

by Nadia Nightside

  “Before we go any further,” said Tatiana, “I want you to tell us. What we were talking about in the bar. I want us both to hear it.”

  “Tell us what?” Anne asked, squeezing Tatiana's hand tight. “What is it, my darling? I’ll do anything. Anything you want.”

  “Tell her, Sir. Tell her what you want to be called by your servants.”

  Peter groaned with longing. His hand ran up and down his huge length. There wasn't a time in his life he could remember being harder. Anne’s cunt was on fire as she watched Tatiana coax him on, her hand sliding up and into her wet pussy.

  “Tell her, Sir,” said Tatiana. “Tell her, please...”

  Both Tatiana and Anne had already called him Master, Anne knew. But Tatiana was right—it was different for them to say it, and for him to command that they do it. It was all the difference in the world. These two beautiful submissives would never be able to respect a man who couldn't affirm what he knew himself to be.

  Taking Anne’s face, he kissed her hard. “This is what I deserve,” he growled.

  Anne nodded into his kisses, smiling gleefully. “I know you do. I know! I know—”

  “I deserve it because I am your Master.”

  “Y-yes!” Anne cried, crying tears of joy now. “Yes, Master! Oh please, yes!”

  “You are both my slaves. Aren’t you?”

  He slapped Tatiana’s ass, and she yelped, smiling devilishly. “Yes, Master. I’m your slave.”

  Taking Anne by the hair, he pushed her down to the ground.“Get me ready, slave.”

  Obedient as ever, Anne wrapped her mouth around her husband's cock, sliding her lips up and down. Up and down. Every last inch of his meat soaked in her eager saliva.

  Even as Anne expertly sucked his cock, her huge tits sliding out from her clothes, his gaze fell mostly on Tatiana. He pulled the young, fit beauty forward and began kissing her hard. Tatiana's hand fell on Anne's head, guiding her back and forth on Peter's cock. Anne loved that, being guided like that by her best friend on her favorite dick in the world. It was so hot for her.

  Soon, though, Peter couldn't take anymore. He pushed Tatiana down on the bed, and removed himself from Anne's mouth. In no time, he had crawled up on top of Tatiana, wrapping her long legs under his chest, so that her knees were on top of her tits. The way those elegant sloped valleys smooshed underneath him was perfect, Anne thought. He was totally in control of her.

  Tatiana held Peter back for just one moment.“Please...just...remember to pull out? Please, Master? I'm not on the pill.”

  Peter nodded, smiling almost gently. “Are you ready?”

  Tatiana looked up at him with adoration, hands gliding across his cut abs. “Yes, Master. Please...fuck me.”

  The gentle look faded away, replaced by something primal and fierce. Peter sank forward, and Anne gasped as she watched her Master's cock enter the cunt of her fellow-slave.

  “Y-yes!” she gasped, eyes wide. She couldn't help but touch herself at the sight.

  “Oh fuck!” Tatiana moaned. “It's so big! Oh god...oh god! Anne...Anne never said you were...were...so huge.”

  Anne knew just what Tatiana was feeling. That enormity sliding through her tight folds. Her walls squeezing tight, trying to restrain Peter's overwhelming passion just slightly...but it couldn't be restrained. He was too strong. His muscles pulsed as he pounded deep into Tatiana again and again.

  Anne slid up next to him, her hands around his waist, pushing him in with every thrust.

  “Fuck her, baby. Oh, fuck her, please? Fuck your new slave...”

  “God, yes...you're so good, my slave. You're such a good slave.”

  Tatiana's eyes rolled back in her head, overwhelmed with pleasure. “Th-thank you, Master...”

  Her voice was stuttering and wild. Peter fucked her so hard that she was having trouble breathing, but she seemed to love it. For no good reason, Anne suddenly remembered the way Tatiana's eyes lit up when she mentioned Peter impregnated.

  “Fuck her...fuck her pregnant, Master.” In response, Peter moaned, thrusting harder. Encouraged, Anne kept going. “Won’t you please fill her up like you did me?”

  The gorgeous blonde's tits pressed on her husband's back, urging him forward into her best friend.

  Tatiana moaned, her eyes suddenly wild. “O-oh fuck! Yes! Do it! I’m not on the pill. You can do it. Y-you can f-fucking put a baby in me, please, Master!”

  Peter had a moment of doubt. “But...you said...”

  “I know what I said!” Tatiana shook her head, face wild with orgasmic pleasure. “I take it back! That was before I felt you. I don't have a choice, I need your cum in me. Fucking fill me, Master, please? Make me your fertile fuckslut. Make your fucking Mommyslut, please? I need to feel it, I need it inside me, please please oh Master please...”

  “Oh fuck, I'm gonna...I'm gonna fill you, slave...”

  The voices of the two slaves became interchangeable, both of them wanting the same thing. Anne's fingers buried deep in her cunt, feeling the climax of her lovers approaching in the air.

  “Yes!”

  “Yes, do it!”

  With a roar, Peter unleashed inside of Tatiana. There was no protection as he filled up her fertile, fit body with his obviously virile cum. There was no way she wouldn't be pregnant soon. Tatiana screamed in orgasm, her body clutching Peter's hard muscles close to her. And Anne, cumming with the two of them, envisioned her friend soon clutching a hot pregnant belly, taking those sexy purple pills, and begging to do whatever her Master said.

  They collapsed on the bed. Tatiana and Peter made out slowly, cuddling softly. Meanwhile, Anne licked their juices up from Tatiana's pussy and around Peter's cock.

  “You'll be our Master from now on, won't you?” Tatiana asked. “This is permanent?”

  “Yes, Master,” Anne moaned, swallowing a mouthful of spent cum. “We need you now. We need to be yours from now on.”

  Peter reached around and slipped his hands into both girls' asses, taking them between the cheeks like he held a handle. His juices and theirs ran down through his fingers.

  “I own you. Both of you. From now on. You're my property.”

  “And you're happy?” Anne asked.

  “That's right, my good girl. I couldn't be happier. You've done very well.”

  Anne let out a pleasant, contented sigh. Her home and family, newly evolved, felt more secure than they ever had.

  Other Books In This Series:

  Risky Threesomes: Seduced By A Lesbian

  Risky Threesomes: Steps For A Taboo Road Trip

  # # #

  Owning My Co-Worker

  This hot saga features a young man who finds out that he's the luckiest guy in the world—his cum puts the beautiful women at his work into a blissful, obedient trance. But as he uses this power more and more, he begins to lose control on his morality...and wonders if he's supposed to be a “good guy” anymore at all. Other books in this series are “Owning My Boss” and “Owning My Ex,” both a continuation of Victor's ever-growing harem of delectably endowed beauties.

  She knelt before me, her mouth coated with my seed. Only moments before, I had filled up her fertile pussy with a heavy, ball-draining load, gushing hard right on her g-spot. We came together, but only I came out of the haze afterward. Only I was able to stand up on my own power and survey what had been unleashed in the world.

  The young beauty, her clothes in strips and rags after she and I both had torn them to pieces in our furious lovemaking, waited to hear my voice with every atom of her being. Before, she barely gave me the time of day. Everything I said was now to her like the breaking of star matter in the beginning of the universe—it made up every other thought that she would ever have afterward.

  She trembled in wait, needing to hear me. Her body swaying with pleasure. Her eyes blank. My seed dripped down her thighs, no doubt having left quite an impact in the unprotected womb of her gorgeously fertile body.

  She was mine. Now, and forev
er. And I could shape everything about her from now on with just a few words.

  “You love fucking me,” I said.

  Her response was automatic, but vibrated with pleasure and warmth. “I love fucking you.”

  Even just a few days before, if I had told her that, she would have laughed and called me stupid or insane.

  There is a great power within me. I can’t explain its origins or its nature. All I know is the truth of it, and its taken me a long time to even come to terms with that much.

  So it’s going to sound weird, what I’m about to tell you. Crazy, even. But it’s the honest truth:

  My sperm puts women into hypnotic trances.

  * * * * *

  It started off simply enough. I was on a ladder near the back of East Side Pages, stacking books at about the middle of the day. That was of the main functions of my employment at that time, though I have since grown in status. Anyway, it was the history section, heavy books—and unwieldy, too. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but outside of craft books, it’s books on history that seem to have the strangest shapes. Many of them tend to be akin to well-worded picture books.

  My co-worker, Mallory, walked by. Leggy, brunette, and busty, a force of pure lust brought into this world, or so it often seemed, specifically created to arouse my senses. Every day, she came into work in outfits that openly encouraged my eyes upon her. Tiny skirts that danced around her sexy hips, tall socks gluing my eyes to her long legs, cheerful flirty tops that showed the incredible expanse of her tanned, bountiful chest.

  That day was no different. Her outfit was tight and tiny, sporting probably the smallest sweater I had ever seen her wear and a skirt that hugged her ass like a reunited lover. That skirt exemplified how I would have hugged her ass, if I had the chance.

  And so, high above her on the ladder, as I stacked book after book back into the shelves, I could not help but admire her bubbly ass, downright sculpted by that tiny red skirt, as she arranged the magazines one stack over.

  I’m not sure exactly what happened next. I think I overreached, or perhaps Gerald, our resident cat, pushed my ladder off its balance. But in any case, there was an enormous tumble and crush. Books flew everywhere, and the ceiling and floor groaned in a collective facepalm at my stupid awkwardness. The air filled with dust, and I ended up on the floor covered in books.

  I was fine, but the stacks had all tumbled forward like dominoes, and half the store was completely in ruins. For a few moments, I wanted desperately to press rewind, like so often we do in crisis. The brain makes you believe that if you just want it bad enough, that time can turn backward.

  “Holy—” Mallory, quick to act, rushed to pull me from the wreckage. “Are you okay, Victor?”

  I nodded. Even despite the circumstances, and the substantial bruises I had on my rear and hip, I could not stop myself from admiring the perfect view of Mallory’s cleavage as she attended me. Her necklace bopped against my face, a metal rendition of a robot’s sword and shield from some anime she loved.

  Standing up all the way, I leaned on Mallory for support. My leg felt tricky and old, and I stretched it slowly.

  Years before, I thought maybe I could be an athlete, and made it onto the high school football team. Four months later, and I was nursing a torn ACL. My knee has never quite been the same.

  The front door rang. Through a swirl of blond hair, I saw the unmistakably beautiful form of our boss, Dawn. She was back from grabbing us a few sandwiches down the street. “I heard a crash. What—oh god.”

  She dropped the sandwiches on the counter and rushed to where I was still stretching my leg, and Mallory was still providing an incredible close-up of her cleavage.

  Dawn was gorgeous as well. A confirmed lesbian and constant voice in the local papers and city blogs, eloquently putting forward feminist positions on every topic from pay equality to adoption rights, she was the type of woman that men had crushes on when they wanted to punish themselves. I had no such desire. I think I was the only man she had ever hired, and the only reason I was hired was because of my graduate degree in literature. And even that was because my thesis had focused on examining post-Victorian literature from a specifically third-wave feminist lens. I still think she had her doubts about me, that I was just waiting to demean and debase her in the most horribly public way.

  Gotta say, I was tempted to daydream about her debasement at times. Dawn was a beautiful person, but the last few months of employment had been less than stellar. The first month was great—everybody was happy and positive. I had started dating Audrey, another clerk, right away, and got a few odd looks, but it wasn’t so bad. And then, sales started to fall hard, Audrey left our relationship in limbo by running out of the country, and the whole situation all had gone to hell.

  “You two,” said Dawn holding her face in her hands, “really need to fix this. Right away.”

  “I know, boss,” said Mallory. “I’m sorry. I think it was Gerald, he was—”

  “Oh god, Gerald!” I hopped into action, furiously looking through the wreckage. “Is he all right? I haven’t seen him. Did he—?”

  For several moments, we were all of us consumed with tearing through the books and looking for our mascot. Gerald was a happy, fat gray tabby. He liked to sit on the chairs we had posted throughout the store, mimicking a giant furry pillow. Then, when a customer inevitably nearly sat on him, he would snuggle into their lap and hold them hostage with his deep, rhythmic purrs.

  Maybe it was just from working with only women for four months, but I’d come to be able to read vibes pretty easily. We searched frantically, and I could tell Dawn’s stress levels were reaching their absolute limit.

  “Here he is,” I said finally. He was in the corner of the shop, well outside the arena of disaster, already napping once more on a chair.

  Dawn squeezed my shoulder firmly. “Good. Okay. That’s good. And you’re okay? Your leg?”

  I complained about my knee from time to time. Or rather, I had to sit from time to time, and cited my knee as the reason. I tried not to whine.

  “Yeah,” I said. “Thank you. It’s all fine.”

  “Mallory?” Dawn asked. “You’re okay, too?”

  She nodded. “I banged my wrist a little, but it’s all okay.”

  Dawn let out a breath. “I was going to drop off these sandwiches, and then I had a meeting downtown.” She picked up a book from a pile that had been created in the mess, and then set it down again. Her eyes were wide. “I can’t...this needs to be fixed, guys.”

  “We can close up,” I said. “And you can make the meeting. We’ll have it all ready for you tomorrow.”

  “Close up.” She shook her head. “When we need sales right now. Where’s Lori?”

  “She called in,” said Mallory.

  “That’s the third time this week.” Dawn shifted, restless. “And it’s Wednesday.”

  Mallory shrugged. “She knows you won’t fire her.”

  Sighing profusely, Dawn collapsed down onto the counter, her hands clambering over the register. She was worn out. Today wasn’t going to be the turn-around day that she needed for a good mood, and I—purely by accident—had just plunged her even deeper than ever.

  And then, straightening her shoulders, she stood up with fierce determination in her face. Her golden curls framed the heart-shape of her face. She looked beautiful.

  “Okay. I’ve got to go talk with these assholes at the bank. Do what Mallory says,” Dawn said to me, “and fix all this shit as much as you can, okay? This is the worst time for this. God. I’ve got an entire day, no, week of un-cancellable errands and meetings. Goddammit.” She took another breath, calming herself. “Call Lori and see if she’ll come in, okay?”

  She grabbed her purse and left. The bell above the door rang, innocuous as ever, but if you were a pessimist, you might start to wonder exactly how many rings the bell had left in it.

  Once upon a time, East Side Books was a staple of the downtown center. Homegro
wn authors would make it a staple of their toured book signings. All the hipsters would slide in as they perused the local record shops and comic book stores. Sometimes there would even be a local band playing in the basement for a cool, small, intimate show. But the city had pushed the store’s growth down.

  All the seasonal festivals were pushed out into county, citing better parking and cheaper rates as the reason for the shift. The record store was under new management that discouraged vintage buyers from browsing, and the comic book shop folded—selling half of its unsellable stock to East Side Pages in the process. All this, on top of the general decline of the American book store, meant that the store was increasingly in trouble. There were ways to save it, and I thought I knew a few, but Dawn only wanted to listen to Dawn’s advice, even as she took money from every philanthropist donor still willing to listen to her spiel.

  Audrey, my ex, was the daughter of one such donor. I earned a lot of negative points with the staff when I started dating her, though I didn’t know it at the time. She represented the new order, and I had unknowingly allied myself with it.

  There were only four of us working at the shop now. Dawn, Mallory, Lori, and myself. This was down from a staff of ten when I had started. They had either moved to better-paying jobs or just plain moved away. Those of us who were left were all full time, and Dawn could barely afford us. I think she had stopped allotting herself a salary, all in the hopes of riding the storm into calmer waters.

  Unless something huge happened soon, no such calm waters existed. Little did I know that the huge happening was contained within me.

  * * * * *

  Five hours later, Mallory and I were still working, and Lori hadn’t come in. She was too sick—in other words, hungover—to make it. It was just as well. In the state she was in, she would have just slowed us down.

  Working in tandem with Mallory, the mess lessened methodically, if not quickly. Mallory had moved from city to city every year of her life until two years ago, when she settled in to San Paulo and this shop. So, she knew how to pack, and had learned plenty about the organization of space. Following her lead, we were almost done by the time the evening came around.