by Ashley Hind
I readjust his straps and have him bend his knees and bring them upwards. His body moves forward, his undefended arse open for me. I have the dildo in my grip and I guide it forward. The red cloud would have me spit him at once but my softer side recognises that this is a first to be savoured. I do it as if it were the first time it was done for me. I ease forward, imagining the press there, the tightening in defence and then the capitulation. I see in his grimace the white pain of that first breach, as searing and as shiver-inducing as the first hard spank you ever receive. Then the open-mouthed, closed-eye awe of the slow slide; petrifying yet delicious all at once, tingling nerves you never knew you had. Deep and deeper still, right to the heart of you, opening you up, immersing you in dirty rapture.
The thrill of fucking a man is difficult to equate to anything else. That Lionel is so richly potent and so attractive can only accentuate this. It is easy to go slow and relish every moment. I stroke his hard cock as I do it, that unhurried glide across his oiled skin no more than a feather touch. It is driving him wild. That African girl, as incomparably arsed as she was, never did this to him. I can’t imagine his wife, the love of his non-business related life, has either. If my husband had let me do this to him, if I had forced it upon him, would he ever have looked elsewhere I wonder?
He follows my lead as I have him turn within the harness. He is in no mind to stop whatever I have planned for him. I liked the sight of my gloved hand stroking his cock but face down I must have him. Positioned like this is certainly when I feel most at another’s mercy, most rude and accepting, when my behind is there on a plate for them, filling their vision. The urge to drive straight back inside him nearly wins, but I just about remember to delve into my toy bag for the collar and the other thing. I put them on him. He gasps and squirms at the tightness of the collar but one reach-around feel of his prick tells me it is even more swollen than before, if that were possible.
I just about remember to deliver a quick flurry of slaps to those taut buttocks but my self-discipline is failing and I want more of what I’ve just had. I would be losing points at Dom School but the hunger is taking me over. Inside him I go again and this time it will be hard and fast, just as he would do to me if given my bum. Every slapping thrust takes a little bit of his power away and adds it to mine. I toss him like an expert, my hand swift on his shaft to match the pace of my thrusts. Those balls of his must be aching, screaming to be free to unload. If he can stay conscious through the release I give him then it will be one to trump all others. My hand goes to the collar to pull it tighter still. Harder and faster I go, babbling filth at him, the red cloud totally in control. Lucky he is my slave now because I have no idea how I would be able to face the normal Lionel again.
I am possessed but the devil in me knows precisely how to time it. With him close to delirium I unleash his balls from the pouch and take them in my grasp. Immediately his body tenses and I let go his balls and jerk him off with blurring speed. His cock feels like a fire hose in my hands, shooting great streams of hot cum all over my floor, wave after wave of it. I cannot even wait to ensure the last drops have been dragged from him. My pussy, enraged that I have not seen to her first, calls for my fingers, for anything that can act as a substitute until he has hardened again. Off comes the harness at my waist, the dildo still inside him. Down comes the zip at the front of my catsuit to have me spilling out. Down goes my hand and my fingers are immediately there, slapping at me, delving forcefully inside, feeling not like my own at all, like Stark’s perhaps, cruel and harsh but exactly what I need.
‘You are the most beautiful girl I have ever known,’ I hear him say though my muffled ears. ‘That was the most memorable fuck I will ever have.’
Not really! Actually, he is silent. Still, it is hard to speak when you have a bag over your head and no oxygen in your lungs. I vaguely see the vapour cloud in front of his mouth, the hooded eyes pointing towards the heavens, the weak cling of the clear plastic to his lips as his air runs out. But I am already being taken over by my own climax, and he will just have to wait for me to come back down again.
I am lying on my back when I come to, the catsuit gathered below my open knees. I appear to be sat in a pool of liquid, like I have wet myself. I don’t remember doing that. Bertrand enters without even knocking. He makes no effort to remove himself. He just stands there ogling my nudity, his hand grasping his crotch. He doesn’t seem interested in Lionel at all. In truth I make no effort to cover myself. The red cloud hasn’t quite gone and the more it appears the less it seems to ever subside. I rise onto weak knees and crawl across towards the bed, hauling myself up to sit on its edge. Bertrand has his prick out and it is erect; a fat venous brute of a stiffy. I feel the electric surge go through me again.
‘If you ever want to get that thing inside me then you shall have to learn to do as I say, starting now.’ I tell him, and feel no shame whatsoever. ‘It will not be today but you can go a long way to making it happen. There is a gold vibrator in that bag that I want you to use on me. If you make me come then I will permit you to come on me. Then I think my guest here needs to be put in the hole you have been digging for my Japanese water garden. After that there is a hire car that needs returning to the airport. I trust you have done what I asked this afternoon?’
He nods and brings out Lionel’s phone and holds it up as if this is proof enough.
‘Good,’ I smile. ‘That can be left in the car. I will follow you in the Evoque to bring you back afterwards.’
And it will be as simple as that. I lie back upon the bed, my gloved fingers stroking at my wet slit to ensnare him. I feel filthy, nasty, dangerous and godless. I’m not sure I have ever felt more fabulous.
Magnet for Human Hearts
So my Japanese water garden is going to have to move over a few feet. Bertrand is already on it, spending all day digging next to the bit that’s been partially back-filled. The hire car was left locked in the airport car park, the Swiss businessman who hired it apparently vanishing into thin air, leaving his luggage and phone inside it and boarding no plane. The phone was wiped clean of henchman fingerprints. Before Lionel was installed as part of the pond foundations his cold hands were borrowed to reapply the prints a forensic team would expect to find. A man who gets paid as much as Lionel is going to be missed but they won’t be finding his body any time soon. A mystery he will be. There is nothing particularly to link him to me. Bertrand aside, the only other person who knows that anything went on between me and the Swiss is already six feet under, sporting a newly shaved head. I got rather a big kick out of his last afternoon alive and it has cost me nothing, so I should be feeling pretty pleased with myself.
Why, then, am I sulking? Well, partly because I thought it time to expand my sexual horizons into the world of the female body, especially since part of me thinks I need to at least be thinking of developing some kind of lasting, more involved relationships and I’m not sure I could do this with any man, certainly without it ending rather abruptly. I thought the obvious answer to my female hankerings was Madam Destiny, since it would merely involve an appointment, plus I could get a few pointers thrown into the bargain.
‘I am neither a lesbian nor a prostitute, Anoushka,’ she primly informed me over the phone. ‘I will occasionally take female slaves but none will have the pleasure of my body. This is for two reasons. Firstly, I am primarily attracted to males. Secondly, my husband does not get off on watching other females give me pleasure.’
What, so that worm Drummond is calling the shots here? Seriously, that bitch Pauline Destiny can be so condescending at times it makes me want to punch her in the tits. So why am I at her house again, not with fists flailing but instead sat in tame submission? You see, for all the looking down her nose she does, I can’t help but turn to her to help solve the confusion that reigns in my head. I have no other but her. Heidi is unapproachable and in the pits of despair, which isn’t very helpful. P
ippa is mute and solemn and closed because her two best friends have husbands who have died and she can’t get on with organising parties, which is straining her already tenuous grip on reality. Who else can one talk to about their bondage fantasies? Inspector Stark seems like the only one I could feel comfortable with, discussing the wilder side of life, since he has seen it all. But he is perhaps the main contributor to my confusion.
Madam Destiny is behaving like a reluctant agony aunt. I think she is a bit pissed off with me since I always phone her and demand to come round, even when she is busy, and I don’t listen to her refusals. I don’t care if it is “Drummond Time”, whatever the sweet Fanny Fuckmunch that is. As far as I am concerned it is evening time, that is all - and darkness should be where fun lies. I’ve eaten but I am still empty. I’ve been possessed with the dirtiest fantasies all day, and now I want to do something about it. She has told me that this is the last time that she will see me, although how she can stop me barging in is anyone’s guess.
I slap the wad of notes on the side and tell her I need to talk but she says I shall have to be part of what she has planned for her husband if I want to stay. Well, I do want to stay so she has him stand in the corner whilst she sits me on the special high seat in her dungeon, with wrists and ankles secured, and tells me she is going to subject me to electro-stimulation. It’s not really the kind of thing that sounds conducive to deep conversation so perhaps I will simply have to muse as she goes about her business and try to eke out some answers here and there. Drummond better keep his eyes off my pussy, mind.
So, here is the conundrum as I see it. I love the world of bondage - or the thought of it at least. I want to sink right into its warm embrace. I love the secret naughtiness of it, the endless potential. I love the thought of having the guilt and responsibility taken away. I adore the clothes, especially on the women, especially on me. They make me feel like an omnipotent goddess. They make me think I could compete with anyone. In them I feel unconquerable, like a magnet for human hearts.
Men are cunts. They deserve to be thrashed. They need to be strapped down, humiliated and stripped of their pride and macho instincts. They need to be bound so that they cannot stray. They need to have burned into them the ethos of unwavering love and loyalty. The thought that this still wouldn’t have it sinking in brings forth my red cloud. Much as this thrills me at the time, this cannot go on. It neither sates my raging desire nor quenches my thirst for justice, revenge, whatever you want to call it. And I can’t keep killing every man I meet, it’s just not polite.
Turning to women did seem like a potential solution. They have a different attitude to betrayal than men. However, like Pauline here, I am not a lesbian. The idea of naked females makes me wet but it would not stop this seething hunger for cocks. I don’t know why I am suddenly obsessed with the biggest male member I can find. Maybe because I think to conquer and tame it would be to bring the whole of maledom under my thumb. But how could I trust any man not to walk out on me again? My father left just because I was a little difficult. Imagine how difficult a dominatrix would be. My husband cheated just because he fancied spurting inside a new model from time to time. I cannot now be new. How could I trust myself not to let the red cloud take over, knowing any man could have desires away from me, no matter what I did for him?
So, if spanking the loyalty into them is still not potentially full-proof, the other alternative, if I want to stay immersed in this delicious world of BDSM without being overcome by the urge to murder each new partner, is to embody the M part of it. How, though, can that possibly be lasting? Only tying people down keeps them with you. Being tied means you cannot go after them. Taking their pain means they are only after giving you more of it, in all forms. Slaves can be fooled, used, discarded. I can grow delirious at the thought of Stark’s hand turning my bottom red, of him beating me with his huge cock and using it in me any way he wants, but what keeps him here when he is done? What rope binds us? His eyes are everywhere, I have seen this. He is always looking for more. What slave can truly be a magnet for their Master’s heart? Slaves are there to be hurt and I couldn’t bear the heartache. They can be left at any time, with no power to follow. This is everything I fear. No one must ever run from me again.
‘Ow! Fucking HELL!’
Madam Destiny has just zapped my tits. I guess I knew it was coming because not only has she got a range of hand-held wands designed to shock you with, she also has electrodes attached to my now very hard and tingling nipples.
‘I want you to stay silent, Anoushka.’
‘You shouldn’t pass current through the chest area,’ I chide her, since I have read all about this and know my stuff. ‘It can cause arrhythmia in some and even lead to death.’
She uses one of the wands to zap the delicate flesh of my inner thigh, far too close to my wet puss for comfort.
‘I said I want you to remain silent.’
She plans to zap the will to come visiting her from me, of that I am sure. I thought I was protected in a catsuit but unlike the one I wore for Lionel this one is all zips and she has opened me up like a split fruit now that my limbs have been secured. Drummond is as always not supposed to look at me but although she has him in the corner behind her, she hasn’t made him face the wall. He could see me if he chose to sneak a peek. I seem to walk into this most withering of humiliations every time. I thought I was safe to go through life without having the likes of feeble Drummond perving over my nudity and my slavery to lust.
It is more a lasting tingle than a single shock, but the extra-sensitive areas like the genitals heighten the feel. When a surge of current is fed in it can feel more like a throb. Often the muscle contractions can make it seem like a mini-shock that can cause momentary panic and the suggestion of pain, but it always transfers into warm pleasure. Your skin cringes from the next contact, just like it does with a spanking. You cannot help this. The nerves are alive and on edge. Sensitivity continues to increase and this means your defences seem ever lower. Just like a spanking I can quickly see how this can easily lead to orgasm. As ever, it is about being receptive to it. I didn’t ask her to do this to me but surprise, surprise, once under her spell, I give in so easily.
Drummond sports a cock ring and ball sack pouch very similar to the one I put on Lionel, but his is also wired so that she can send electric thrills through his sensitive parts at various intervals. It is the first time Madam Destiny has deigned to let me observe her husband’s genitals and I have to say she was not lying when she claimed he was well endowed. The current has made his prick stand rigid. The sight has my heart banging, my breath catching. It has me shuddering. Towards me it stretches like a brutish flesh weapon. It is not particularly nice to look at but it is fat and very long, and that alone thrills the really debauched part of me that hungers for such things. The rest of me thinks it must be disgusting because it’s not pretty and it’s attached to him, but the bit that likes it is the bit that gives me orgasms and thus the bit that often holds sway.
Having being chastised for sticking the electrodes to my nipples, Madam Destiny sticks them instead to my bum cheeks, and fires off a series of rippling bursts. However, I think she secretly wishes she had induced a cardiac arrest that could have been put down to a tragic accident. She has smeared lube all over the exposed parts of me, so I know the current can be applied anywhere. The wand is used all around my thighs and belly. She even has me stick out my tongue and has me yelping with just one prickle touch of the wand. Every now and then she skims nearer to my puss to have me tensing. It will come there, for sure, but only when she is ready. All the while she tells me she has wands to put inside me. It makes me tremble and gasp, even begin to plead against it, but I know I can’t wait for it either.
‘You want to slurp upon my luscious cunt, don’t you, Anoushka? You want to suck upon my perfect tits and even push your face into my gorgeous bum and lick me there.’
God, yes. The first touches at my labia come from the wand and have me wailing. Drummond will hear my pitiful sounds. Surely he will not be able to resist a look? Another shock comes and I cry out. Just like a spanking, even as your pulse races and your brain fights to manage the assault on your nervous system, you are already silently begging for the next contact.
‘But you will never know what it is to taste me, Anoushka. You will never have my velvet cream slipping down your throat. You will never feel the heat of me inside, the softness of me.’
Her lubed fingers are creeping between my thighs, pushing at my wet opening and sliding in so easily, stirring around as I whimper to coat me and make me ready for any electric toy she wishes to put here.
‘That joy is reserved only for my loyal husband, Anoushka. And for my darling boys, Castor and Pollux - and only them to remind my husband how easily I could leave him if he thought for one second he might disobey me.’
It is desperate jealousy I feel now, along with the bliss of her fingers. It’s hatred of those that have feasted upon her, been inside her. She knows this animosity is just making me quiver more. Drummond can hear all this. His mind will be racing with the images of what I look like, of the pictures she creates. His prick is so swollen, so fearsome. His spunk let fly now would be like a bullet. One look at me might send it shooting, but he keeps his eyes to the ground, however much this rips at him. The wand she eventually chooses for insertion is the thinnest she can find. At first I think it must be for my bottom, with a much fatter one chosen to stretch my begging puss, but no. She knows I need fatness so she gives me the opposite.
