Big Bad Ass Book of Sex

by Nancy Armstrong

  Suffice it to say that if you’re going to get tattooed or pierced as part of your BDSM play, do research, make sure to go to a reliable place that uses clean needles, and take care of your new adornment by disinfecting and whatever else they tell you to do at the reputable place you went to get it, because it won’t be very sexy if it’s oozing pus.

  AND FINALLY, ICK

  There’s a lot of weird crap that’s not just weird but revolting and not okay, and we’re not going to deal with it. These are things such as necrophilia (sex with dead people), bestiality (sex with animals), pedophilia (sex with children), and other kinds of gross stuff that’s against the law and against the morals of most of polite and impolite society. Even mentioning some of that junk makes us feel icky, and we hope people won’t think we’re condoning those behaviors. We’re not. This book’s philosophy on sexuality is that if everyone involved is a grown-up and can agree to these acts (not so of the dead, animals, or children) and you stay within the laws of your community, whatever you do is fine by us.

  LISTEN UP, THIS IS IMPORTANT

  Say it with us: there’s no reason not to do whatever you want as long as no one’s getting hurt who doesn’t want to.

  WELL, LOOK WHO FINALLY MADE THE

  Rodeo

  BDSM is a catchall term to describe nonvanilla sexual acts, including bondage, domination, submission, role playing, discipline, and punishment. POWER is the main currency of BDSM play, and it may be wielded in any number of ways. The SEXUAL AROUSAL often comes from the EXTREME trust a person must have to willingly cede all of his or her power to another person, much as in any conventional marriage.

  Stories

  AN HOUR OF CARNAL DELIGHT

  Wolf Feather

  The penis gag muffled her squeals quite effectively. That was indeed very good, since we were in a hotel room in Alabama.

  Using an around-the-mattress restraining system, my slave was spread-eagle on the bed, her limbs cuffed into position. She was wonderfully naked save for the blindfold, penis gag, and collar. A sheen of sweat coated her body. Her chest had been marked rather nicely by the earlier flogging, and her breasts still bore slight indentations from the clothespins that had surrounded her nipples before the flogging.

  Throughout the evening, a pair of vibrating bullets had been churning slowly inside her—just enough to keep her aroused and counteract some of the pain but clearly not enough to give her the pleasure she craved. But at last it was time to grant her that pleasure, for she had truly earned it.

  Reaching between her parted thighs, I picked up the control box and slowly increased the power for one of the vibrating bullets. She sighed happily, a sound I just barely heard because of the penis gag. Then I increased the power of the second egg to match, and she whimpered around the fake phallus invading her petite mouth.

  Setting the control box back to its former position, I sat on the edge of the bed, a hand gently gliding up the sweat-slickened, well-toned stomach, coming to rest on a visibly dented, well-reddened breast. I both heard and felt her slight gasp as my hand reinvigorated the latent ache of the feminine protrusion, yet the proud nipple boring into my palm clearly indicated how much she was enjoying this treatment.

  “So beautiful,” I whispered to her, my hand tightening the grip on her breast.

  She squirmed beneath my hand, her squeals simultaneously pleading for me to release her breast and to squeeze even harder. The penis gag muffled her whines as my grip tightened to a point that I knew would hurt her even without the previously inflicted pain from the flogging and the clothespins. This was always an interesting time, watching her attempt not to breathe so that the usually instinctive subtle movement of her breasts would be negated, thus lessening the pain (or, at least, I assumed that to be her rationale) as I squeezed harder still. Yet she soon came to the point where she had to groan aloud, the sound muffled by the gag as she exhaled, her breast shifting subtly within my hand. Only then did I release my grip, noting the redness my latest action had left on her curved flesh.

  I reached for the control box again and increased the power of the two vibrating bullets a little more. As expected, my loving slave moaned anew at the increased rumbling within her. Without question, despite (because of?) the pain she had endured, she was extremely aroused—that much was quite evident from the liquid desire emerging from the base of her torso.

  “Calm your breathing,” I instructed as I stood. I knew this would be a difficult task for her after the pain she had received, especially with the pair of bullets churning inside her, and I purposely waited until her breathing was as normal and regular as possible before moving to the foot of the bed and crawling up between her spread legs. I could hear the metal bullets vibrating inside her, constantly knocking against each other, churning softly, enticing more desire to seep from her beautiful sex.

  My slave moaned aloud (albeit a muffled sound) and lurched a bit as my tongue stroked her feminine folds. Her taste was tangy, sweet, exquisite. Closing my eyes, I inhaled her scent, devoured her with my nostrils. Softly, I exhaled onto her moistened sex, the action greeted with a muffled whimper, bringing a smile to my lips.

  “Do you like having the fake cock in your mouth?” I asked, and she nodded. “Do you like having the bullets banging around inside you?” I queried as I picked up the control box once more, and she nodded vigorously.

  Without warning, I increased the power for both vibrating bullets, giving her the maximum amount possible. Her muffled voice suddenly did not seem quite as muffled as she cried out in reaction to the increase in pleasure.

  “The slave has definitely earned a good come,” I said, slipping off the bed. “Enjoy.”

  I made my way to the door of the hotel room. Even at that distance, I could hear the perpetual buzzing emanating from within her constantly writhing body. Purposely, I opened and closed the door to make it sound like I had left her alone, mercilessly exposed and unable to free herself … although I was quite certain that she would not even attempt to flee the power of the two bullets churning inside her.

  The better part of an hour passed as I leaned against the wall, my arms folded across my chest, admiring her delightful show. The sight, sound, and scent of her performance were powerful, provocative. And when I at last returned to the bed and reached over her thigh to slowly turn down the power, she actually seemed thankful, as if such a lengthy period of carnal delight had nearly been too much for her.

  Even after I had removed the dormant bullets and freed her from the bonds, she remained in the same position, barely moving even after I had removed the penis gag and the blindfold. Only then did I truly leave the room, getting bottled water from the vending machine in the corridor and ultimately rehydrating her.

  In the morning, she was asleep in the passenger seat even before the car had reached the highway. She was so thoroughly sated and exhausted from nearly an hour of carnal delight that she was still tired some nine hours later. I looked at her for a moment and smiled, thinking to myself that I would need to exhaust her with carnal delight more often.

  A COLLECTOR

  J. M. Thompson

  Jeremy pulled just past the open parking place and turned on his blinker. Putting the car in reverse, he carefully backed into the space, swinging the wheel as he cleared the car in front of him. He then put the car into drive and, straightening the wheel, pulled forward. It was quite rare to score a parking spot close to the Laundromat. He then walked around the car, opened the back door, and pulled out a bin of clothes.

  Once inside, he saw that he was the only one there, so he quickly dumped his clothes into the dryer and then set his bin up on a table near it. All he had to do now was wait for the Saturday morning washers to appear. He lived about eighteen blocks away from this Laundromat, and there were probably a dozen others he could have gone to that were more convenient, but he chose this one.

  There was an upscale apartment complex just across the street, one that catered to the “urban professional w
oman,” or so the advertising said, so he figured he might enjoy the clientele at this place. Sure enough, after about a thirty-minute wait, two very attractive women walked in the door, carrying their bins of laundry. Jeremy jumped up and opened the dryer and pulled out his clothes, stacking them on the table next to his bin. He then started folding.

  As the women were setting down their laundry and getting their change and detergent together, Jeremy decided he wanted a cold drink, so he headed over to the vending machine. He had to walk past both women as he went to get the drink. After putting his change in the machine and getting the drink, he slowly walked back to his clothes and dropped two items onto his stack.

  Before anyone could notice, he folded a pair of his jeans and then picked up the pairs of panties he had slipped out of each woman’s laundry and hid them under his pants. He continued folding, pausing only once to take out his phone, dial someone, and then hang up without talking. He fiddled with the phone a bit and then finished folding his clothes.

  He walked out to his car, opened the back door, dropped the bin inside, and then walked around the car and got in. He started the engine, carefully worked his way out of the parking space, and then pulled out into the street. The drive home took about fifteen minutes with all the traffic—much too long!—but he finally made it.

  Once back at his apartment, he lifted up the blue jeans and took out the two pairs of panties. He looked them over, congratulating himself for his double score today. This wasn’t an easy task because the secret was to get the panties before they were washed. He could get clean panties at any time during the washing, drying, and folding the women went through, but to get the panties before washing, he had to move quickly.

  He picked up his cell phone, e-mailed the two photos he had taken to himself, and then went to his computer. Pulling up the photos, he printed out a nice picture of each of the two women, and, remembering that the light pink panties went with the short Latino woman with a tight ass and small breasts and the white panties went with the blond white woman with nice big tits, he placed the photos with the matching panties.

  Taking a clothespin, he attached each photo to its respective panties and then opened the top drawer of his dresser. He carefully arranged the latest items with the ten or so other pairs of panties and photos. Pausing for a moment, he grabbed the one he had gotten today from the Latino woman and then closed the drawer.

  Gazing at the photo, he quickly undressed and then went into the bathroom, returning with a towel. Spreading the towel on the bed, he climbed up and leaned back against the pillows. Propping up the picture so he could look at it, he pulled the panties over his head. He looked at the picture through the leg opening of the panties and took a deep breath, taking in the scent of the woman in the photo.

  Reaching down, he grabbed his cock and began stroking, all along sniffing and breathing in her scent. As his cock began to feel good from the stroking, he stuck his tongue out and, finding the bit of crusty residue left from her juices, touched his tongue to it, letting the flavor roll down his tongue. As he continued stroking and looking at the picture, he sucked the crotch of the panties into his mouth. His saliva wetted the crusted substance, and as it liquefied, he sucked it into his mouth.

  The woman’s flavor flooded his mouth as he stroked his cock faster and faster, finally arching his back and coming, spurting onto the towel he had spread on the bed. After milking the last drops from his cock and drying it on the towel, he pulled the panties off his head. Once again using a clothespin, he attached the panties to the picture of the Latino woman and then opened another drawer, this one containing the panties he had worn while masturbating. He dropped the panties in and slowly closed the drawer. He wondered what he was going to do for lunch.

  “I think I’ll try some Mexican food today,” he said to himself as he picked up the towel and tossed it into the laundry hamper. “Yeah, Mexican food for sure,” he repeated.

  BACK TO WORK

  J. M. Thompson

  Going back to work after a long weekend with my mistress is a hard thing to do. After taking four days off with the holidays, this time it was even harder. At home all I have to do is put on my dress, apron, hose, and high heels and follow my mistress’s instructions. Sure it hurts a bit, her slapping my balls if I fail to be ladylike, and it often is difficult to keep my bad boy under control around her, but the rewards are wonderful.

  From the time I get home from work until I back out of the driveway, my life is completely in her hands. If I am good, she will reward me; if I am not good, she will punish me, which, to be perfectly honest, is also rewarding. To feel her crop redden my ass turns me on so much that I can barely keep from coming as she hits me. As she squeezes my balls, my cock gets so hard that I nearly double over with the pain, yet knowing that sensation pleases her makes me happy.

  Sadly, today was the day after Christmas, and while I had the wonderful memory of bathing her last night, I had to go off to work and face running the company, directing managers and VPs on how to do their jobs, making crucial decisions on contracts and pricing, and fighting with the accountants to try to get straight answers out of their bean-counting minds.

  After shaving, I went in and selected my clothes: pinstripe, blue shirt, black belt, several ties. I was planning to let my mistress select the tie. Dark socks and black shoes would complete the uniform for the day. How I miss those high heels and that garter belt while I am sitting in endless meetings, yet in the end, it all balances out.

  Walking into my mistress’s room before getting dressed, I asked, “Mistress, I am about to dress for work, but can I do anything for you?”

  “Well, my back is a little sore. Do you think you could give me a massage?”

  “What kind of a massage do you want, mistress?”

  “I’d like one of your special ones,” she said, turning over and looking playfully into my eyes.

  “Yes, mistress. Let me go call work and tell them I’ll be late.”

  “Don’t take too long. My back is hurting.”

  I slipped out of the room, grabbed my cell phone, and called my secretary. “Hey Danielle. Look, I’m going to be an hour late or so. And tell accounting to work up a draft on that Sarbanes-Oxley thing and I’ll go over it with them when I get there. Okay, see you then.”

  Tossing the cell phone onto the bed, I removed my clothes and paused a moment, thinking about my mistress’s body, and then walked into her room, my bad boy fully hard. “Are you ready, mistress?” I asked.

  “Ready and waiting,” she replied.

  I moved over to the bed, where she was on her stomach. Grabbing the lotion, I carefully straddled her, and though I was kneeling, I was also sitting on her lower back with my cock pressing into her rolls of skin. Pouring the lotion into my hands, I let it warm up and then began running my hands first along her shoulders and then over to her backbone and down to her ass, pressing against the muscle striations buried deep in her tissue. I continued adding lotion and rubbing her all over her back and then down her buttocks and thighs.

  Working back up, I let my bad boy slide over her now slippery skin. As my hands moved over her back, pressing deep to reach the muscle, I moved my hips so my cock slid up and down the furrow between her buttocks at the base of her back. I continued the massage as I could feel the pressure building in my balls. Pleasure shot through my bad boy, and then it spurted out onto her back.

  I then quickly licked it up, grabbed a towel, and wiped down her back, cleaning any excess come and lotion from it. I slid over beside her on the bed, where she gave me a kiss on the lips and said, “Be careful.” I kissed her forehead and headed back into my room, quickly getting dressed.

  Once dressed, I headed out to my car, started it up, and backed out of the driveway. Traffic was light since it was so close to Christmas, so I got to work faster than I had expected. I pulled into the parking lot, drove up to the space nearest the front door, the one marked CEO, and pulled in. I stepped out of my car, locked it,
took a deep breath, and then walked into the building.

  I walked back to my office amid a hail of “Good mornings,” “How was your Christmases?” and “Boss, I think we have a problem here.” I was back at work and completely in charge once again.

  AN EARLY STROLL

  Anne Alexander

  The sun had just come up over the ocean, making the waves sparkle breathtakingly as they broke on the sandy shore. It was low tide, and there weren’t many people on the beach yet, mostly joggers and people with dogs, but it was already getting hot.

  Joel listened to the radio as he was getting dressed, feeling the sun warming his skin through the jalousie window before he saw it. He ran a comb through his dark blond hair and picked up his toothbrush.

  “It’s going to be another August scorcher today, folks. Temps in the high eighties, with about 70 percent humidity. Call in sick from work if you’re not already on vacation—the only place to be is on the beach to get that breeze off the ocean,” the deejay enthused. Joel was glad he didn’t have to work until evening. It was a perfect morning for a stroll along the tide line.

  He brushed his teeth as he looked in the full-length mirror and admired himself: a lightweight T-shirt, long board shorts with a button fly, and flip-flops, which he would take off as soon as he got onto the sand. He thought about bringing his iPod and then decided he didn’t need it. The walk would be entertaining enough, he thought, unbuttoning his fly and heading outside.