poeticdesires

Category: D/s

  • Little One

    ~ erotica ~


    She rode his face, her hips rising and falling with the bend of her knees. His hands gripped her thighs, holding her pussy to his lips, as he enjoyed every last bit of her. She reclined her head back, body rolling, as his tongue moved just the way she liked.

    I had the perfect view. My mouth around his cock. My hands resting on my lower back. My eyes focused on them.

    It wasn’t everyday they allowed me to participate, let alone watch. It wasn’t every day that I got see them, both of them, this way. But this wasn’t any normal day.

    One year. One year since we started our interactions. One year since I walked through their front door, got down on my knees, and asked them to have me. One year of learning what they wanted, how they wanted it. One year of being at their beck and call. Doing this. Completing that. And always, always ready to be on my hands and knees, all holes open for whatever either wanted.

    I circled my tongue around the head of his cock and flicked just underneath. I moved the way I knew he loved, playing with his dick as I pleasured him, taking glee in my work. Closing my eyes, I sucked hard, and slowly filled my mouth and throat with him, sinking his cock inside me. I slid my mouth up and down his shaft. Slowly. Slowly. He never wanted to cum too fast. I never wanted to stop sucking his cock.

    I felt the grip of my hair. Felt the hand pull my mouth off his cock. Opened my eyes, and saw her, still riding him, a fury in her gaze equal parts anger and lust.

    She stared at me forever before slapping me across my face. Then again, backhanding my cheek.

    “Try harder,” she said before forcing my mouth back onto his cock. I clenched my hands. My pussy quivered. I was glad she couldn’t see how wet I was.

    She pushed and pulled my head on his cock, quickening my pace, bringing him closer and closer to his cum. He started moaning into her cunt. She purred at his sounds, the vibration adding that much more pleasure to her fun.

    “That’s it, little thing. Make him cum.”

    Her hand released my hair, but I felt her will pushing me still. I continued my speed along his cock. Continued my tongue dancing along his shaft. Continued to take him into my throat. It wasn’t long before his hips moved. His cock twitched. And he screamed and spewed his cum into my mouth.

    I heard her, too, as she came on his face. Her guttural growl as the wave of ecstasy rolled throughout her body.

    I swallowed his semen, licked my lips, and sat back on my feet, eyes lowered, waiting whatever they asked of me.

    “What do you think,” he asked her as he wiped the pussy juice, saliva, and sweat from his face. He wore the grin I loved, the one he always had after I made him cum.

    She stood, her stiletto boots making her tower over me. She stared down on his unassuming frame.

    “She’s useful,” he said. “And talented.”

    “I had to coach her.”

    “You had to encourage her. And that’s only cause you weren’t patient. You never want a long slow fuck.”

    “But she does.”

    I made sure not to look up, not to move.

    “You love sucking his cock. Would love to do it all day and all night, I’m sure. Is that right?”

    She had asked a direct question. I had to answer.

    “Yes, Mistress.”

    “What about my pussy? Would you lick and suck it til the Sun rose?”

    “Yes, Mistress.”

    “Hmm…”

    “I told you,” he said. “She’s useful.”

    “And eager. I think I will teach you how I want my pussy licked, since you seem to have mastered his cock just fine. I think we will keep you around a bit longer. Does this please you, little one?”

    “Yes, Mistress.”

  • Submit

    ~ erotica ~

    “You must conquer me.”

    It was what he had heard before. The first had said it to him. She had spoken her truth on her knees in front of him their first night together.

    “I want you to take me. To over power me. Break my will. Make me bend to you. Force your control upon me.

    “I won’t make it easy. I’ll fight you, fight your will at every turn. But know that it’s my greatest desire for you to win. I want you to find a way to make me yours, make me submit to you.

    “I’ll never just strip for you. You must tear my clothes apart. I’ll never cater to your every whim. You must push me to do as you wish. I’ll never beg or plead for your body, nor will I ever simply lay down my flesh at your feet just because it is your desire to have me. You must take what’s yours. Fight my fury for every kiss and fuck you wish to have.

    “I want you to conquer me. Can you? Will you?”

    He tried, but never did.

    This night, our first night, I sat on my knees in front of him prepared to speak my truth.

    I was not her. And I knew I would say something all together different.

    “I submit to you.

    “I give my body to your desires. My will to your guidance. I kneel here in awe of you.

    “My greatest wish is my head on your knee. Your hand caressing my hair. Knowing all is right because I am here with you and you are here with me.

    “I want only to be yours, totally and completely. I ask for the privilege of being dominated by you. Of submitting to you. Please tell me what you want; I will fulfill it. Make any rule; I will follow it. Give me the tools to please you and I will never go astray.

    “Use my body as you desire. My mouth, my pussy, my flesh is for your enjoyment whenever you have need of it. My mind is to be cultivated from your knowledge. My life enriched by being yours.

    “Please, may I submit to you?”

  • Cuddles

    Text me, don’t knock.

    I took my things upstairs. Dumped my kit just inside the door. Then walked across the hotel. Made my way up to the suite. 


    Here.

    A few breaths later, the door opened. The room was dark. I stepped inside. Saw shoes by the front. Thought, to be polite, I should take off my boots.

    I sat my jacket and water bottle on a table. Bent down. Went for a lace.

    He grabbed me by my hair. Pulled me into his room. Closed the door. Threw me against the bed. I stumbled, knees on the floor, leaning against the mattress.

    “Now you can take off your boots.”

    I stood. Leaned against the tall bed. Reached down. Unlaced my first boot. Tugged it off. Threw it and my sock aside. Repeated. My lacing, intricate, takes time to unwind.

    He sat on a comfy chair in the corner. I took off my badge. Put it on a table. Rested my glasses next to it.

    I sat on the floor at the corner of the bed. Faced him. Had one knee up. Pulled my legs in tight. Looked at him as he read.

    “Why are you wearing your dress?”

    I turned around. Stood up on my knees. Reached down. Pulled my gray mesh dress off. Made sure to wiggle my ass. Unhooked my bra. Flung my clothes in the pile with my boots.

    “How many RopenSpace tattoos do you have?”
    “Not many. Just four.”

    I smiled. One of the of temporary tattoos sat just above my ass crack. His comment reminded me.

    “Take off my boots.”

    I crawled over to him. Went for his left foot first. Rolled his pant leg up. Unlaced his leather. Spread the two sides. Worked the laces loose. Rested my head on the toe. My hands held his heal. He pulled his foot out. I set his boot to my right. Worked on his right. Put it by its mate.

    “Would you like to taste my cock?”

    I reached up. Unbuttoned his pants. Pulled out his cock. Took him into my mouth. Licked his balls. Enjoyed it all. I’d missed the taste and feel of him.

    He stood up. Pushed down his slacks. They landed in a puddle by his ankles.

    “Take off my pants.”

    I pulled them from his feet. Put the fabric by his boots.

    He grabbed my hair. Fucked my face. I sat on my feet. Rested my hands on the small of my back. Took him as he wished.

    “You make it so hard to just read and go to bed.”

    After 69 and 96. After fisting and rimming. Titty fucking and cuming.  Passed out.  Slept.  And the next morning I did the walk of pride, happiness, and enjoyment back to my hotel room.

  • Three Ashes

    The 1st
    “Poetic, would you like some ash?”


    She looked over at me, huge smile on her face, a two inch head standing vertical on her cigar.

    “Oh God, yes,” I said, my submissive voice squeaking out. “I’ve cried each time ash was flicked into the tray.”

    On my hands and knees, I crawled towards her. Stopped. Sat on my feet. Opened my mouth wide and put out my tongue.

    She rolled the ash into my mouth. I held the lump for her and the rest near her to see. I looked at her. I smiled with my eyes. Made a small connection.

    “Thank you,” she said. “You can swallow.”

    I closed my mouth and grinned. Then crawled away, happy.



    The 2nd

    “Poetic?”

    He had a pretty head of ash ready for my mouth. I extracted myself from my corner. Bodies squeezed together to fight off the chill in the air and the wind that assaulted us on the balcony.

    I crawled towards him, head bent. Rested my hands on his knees to keep balance. As I was about to sit on my feet, his hand found the back of my head. Gently petted my hair. I stayed as I was. Head bent. Forehead near his crotch. A feeling of connection being built. I nuzzled a little. Purred a bit. Felt warmth even though it was so cold.

    A small touch on my chin signaled for my head to rise. I looked into his dark eyes. Saw him, and his ash.

    “Open your mouth. Wider.”

    I did as he told. Tilted my head back. He rolled his ash into my mouth. I closed my eyes for a moment, then opened again. Looked into his eyes once more. Our gaze locked. I felt transfixed.

    He brought his cigar to the side of my face. I felt the heat near my skin. Heard the burning of my hair. Didn’t move because he didn’t want me to.

    A caress of my chin closed my mouth. His fingers traced across my cheek and back down. I closed my eyes. Leaned my head into his touch. Let myself get lost in our shared moment.

    His hand stilled. I opened my eyes again.

    He thanked me. I thanked him. And then crawled back to my spot.



    The 3rd

    He looked over at me, a knowing grin on his face.

    “Poetic?”

    He was only two seats away, yet he was the hardest to get to. We’d all huddled in close, trying desperately to fight nature. I backed out, swiveled around, and meeped as I sat in place in front of him.

    His eyes were intense. His small smile almost mischievous. His hand reached behind me. Grabbed my hair. Controlled my head. Brought it forward.

    I opened my mouth. Stuck out my tongue. He rolled his ash. I felt the heat of the cherry near me. He kept his eyes on mine. Saw his control over me. My submission to him. Had me close my mouth. Thanked me in his quiet yet strong voice.

    I smiled and thanked him as well.

    Crawled away. Found my spot. Snuggled up to those beside me. Happy to be around people I don’t see nearly enough.

  • Crotch Rope

    ~ erotica ~

    My clit throbbed. I hadn’t cum yet. The rope had only been on me for a few minutes.

    He’d taken out the coil, my rope, and knelt in front of me. I’d let my hands laze in his hair as he worked. Wrapped once around my hips. Once under my ass. Knotted. Threaded the rope down between my lips. Brought it back up. Made a knot. Pulled tight through my pussy. Passed under the bands in back. Yanked down. Ran under the bottom band. Brought the rope back up. Tied it again. Tight. Knotted the excess around my waist loosely.

    “Good. Go put in the laundry.”

    My face asked a question; my voice was silent.

    “You heard me. Go put in the laundry.”

    I harrumphed before walking away.

    Immediately, with my first step, I felt it. Every movement was different. Every swish of my hips. I bent to pick up the basket. I took the stairs to the basement. I filled the washer, bending and lifting. Never had a hated choir been so fun. I bounced back up the stairs. Up was so much more fun than down.

    I stood in front of him.

    “Sit,” he said.

    And here I am now. Minutes later.

    He looms over me. I can’t help but squirm in my chair. Even the slightest movement is wondrous. Full of an almost guilty pleasure.

    He just looks down on me and smiles.

    “Stop.”

    “But…”

    “Stop.”

    I don’t move.

    But I can’t not move. I bite my forefinger. And pulse. Pulse my clit against the knot. And look up at him with my puppy dog eyes. I beg without words. Let him see my torment. My pain. He loves to see my pain.

    He bends down. Whispers into me ear.

    “Go to bed.”

    I gasp, then scamper to our room. Every step is more glorious than the next.

    I pull back the covers. Again, I sit. Then lay down. And then writhe. Face down. Snaking my body against mattress. Fucking myself with my rope. With the knot he tied. And it grows. And grows.

    I turn my head. He’s there. Staring. Smiling.

    “Are you close?”

    “Almost.”

    “Get closer.”

    I ease my hips up and down. I feel him watching me. My breathing quickens.

    “Please?”

    He flicks open his knife. I feel a yank on the rope. A moment of ease.

    And then he’s inside me. And he’s pulling the rope in time with his thrusts. And the knot is against my clit. And he’s pumping in and out.

    And I scream, “Please?”

    “Yes.”

    And I scream again.

    Afterwards, I feel a little sad. Until he kisses my cheek, smiles, and says, “It’s still long enough for next time.”

  • Zipper

    ~ erotica ~

    His face was blank, cold. He worked quietly, except for the muted snap. He held the ribbon with one hand and lined up the medical staple gun with the other, making sure his aim was just so. He was creating art, cruel art, for his enjoyment.

    This went on for what seemed like forever. Line up the ribbon, line up the staple gun, check his aim, and crack. Another piece of metal into my skin.

    I tried not to move or make a sound. Tried not to meep or shriek. Tried to keep my breath from slipping into staccato. If I reacted, gave any indication, I knew two things would happen. One, he would be pleased that his torments were taking effect. And two, his treatment of my flesh would be worse. More art would adorn me. More pain inflicted. And his big flourish would be that much more to take in.

    For it wasn’t just the pattern he created that thrilled him. It wasn’t just the zigzags or loops or whirls, the curves raised above my skin. No, it was the final pull, unzipping his zipper, that gave him his real thrill.

    When he was finished with his work, he took a step back and admired his craft. A small, almost undetectable smirk, emerged on his face.

    He set down the staple gun and slowly walked behind me. I felt his body next to mine. His crotch against ass. His chest against my shoulder blades. The musky smell of his cologne drifted into my nostrils.

    Following the rules, I slid my arms behind him. Delicately gripped his ass. Lifted and exposed my chest. Propped up his art. Made my body ready for his fun. My head rested on his shoulder. I looked up at him for a few breaths before turning my head and closing my eyes.

    He reached over my body and danced his fingertips along the pattern of metal. With every touch I had to keep myself from jumping. I could feel even the whisper of the air moving over my skin as his hands took in his work.

    This was the most staples he’d ever put in me. And I knew there was only a few more breaths before the wave of pain and pleasure would arrive.

    “Ready?”

    I inhaled. Gritted my teeth.

    “Yes.”

    I felt him lift up on the ends of the ribbon, which he’d placed above each breast. The moment was about to happen.

    But as he lifted, he didn’t jerk. Didn’t yank. Just lifted, pulled, harder and harder yes, but slowly. I felt my skin stretch as he raised me up, up. I felt my spine compress as I tried to rise with his hands. At a certain point, though, all I could do was hold still. Take in the sensation.

    Pop.

    The first two staples at the ends of the ribbon released. I muffled a cry, but I knew he heard it anyway.

    His hands remained high, pulling at the next pair of staples. Keeping my chest arched up towards the heavens.

    Pop.

    The next two staples partially broke free of my skin. I felt the jerk of the ribbon on the next pair, and tried to quiet a shriek. I could feel the smile on his face, seeing me endure his torture.

    He lifted the right side higher now. My chest contorted, trying to alleviate some of the pain.

    Pop. Pop. Pop.

    Three more staples broke free. A tear for each slid down my cheeks. He bowed his head and lapped up the droplets.

    The ribbon no longer crossed on itself, looking now like an angled number six.

    “Fast or slow?”

    He’d never given me a choice before. He’d never put this many staples in me before, either. Fifteen little pieces of metal in my body. Fifteen little glints reflecting the light he shone on my skin. Eight more still had to be released from my flesh. Now I would decide how that would happen.

    “Medium.”

    Even in my pain, I couldn’t pass up an opportunity to be just a little bratty.

    “Hmm,” he said. I heard the amusement in his utterance.

    He relaxed his hold on the ribbon. I relaxed my chest back down.

    He ran his left arm across my neck, lifting my head up. His right hand held one end of the ribbon.

    He pulled.

    Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop.

    Each staple released as he jerked at the ribbon, jerked at my skin. My body reacted without my will. Staccato breaths on each pull. New tears on my face. Muffled weeps with each shock of pain. And finally, on the last staple, he held it. And held it. Just at the threshold of release.

    “Beg me.”

    “Please. Please. Please hurt me. Take it out of me. Relish in my pain.”

    There was a split second where his grip relaxed. And then his arm swung out hard and the staple flew out of my skin. I screamed my pain. Cried into his arm.

    He melted his body against mine. I felt his hard cock against my ass. He rubbed his cheek against my face and sighed his pleasure.

    Even as I cried, my pussy throbbed from the pain and ecstasy of his art.

  • Salivate

    ~ erotica ~

    He had a curious grin on his face.

    “Why are you smiling?”
    “Because it’s you. It’s actually you.”
    “You did read the model release form, correct?”
    “Yeah.”
    “And my name was on the letterhead.”
    “Yeah, but. You don’t think you’ll actually meet the head of the company on your first audition.”

    Another one, fresh from the farm, looking for fame. How cute.

    “First audition?”
    “Yes Ma’am.”

    And he Ma’am-ed her.

    “You do realize what kind of porn we make here?”
    “You make all kinds of porn, Ma’am.”
    “Yes. What was your name?”
    “Samuel.”
    “Of course. Yes Samuel, we make all kinds of porn for almost every genre.”
    “Then this is where I want to be.”
    “Really. Why?”

    He seemed taken aback by her question. But then he stopped, gave it a few breaths of thought, and spoke.

    “Ma’am, I left home because no one there could understand me. I grew up in a very strict religious household in a very closed off town that had one way of thinking and being. And that way was not who I was. I realized that pretty early on and kept quiet about it. But then I couldn’t take it anymore, so I decided to just leave. Packed a bag and came here.”
    “Why here?”
    “You’re the reason why I found my courage. I found your stuff, clips of your porn on the Internet, and for the first time I realized I wasn’t alone. Other people wanted, if I may be so crude as to say, the same kinds of dirty nasty downright wrong sex I dreamed of since I first starting jacking off. The kind I thought only I loved. The kind I knew, if I ever told anyone in my town, would have me beat or worse. To learn I wasn’t alone. To learn there were other people, lots of other people like me. Of course I had to come.”

    For the first time, she looked at him. Really looked at him.

    He was a cookie cutter image of down home raised 100% American red meat. Just what her audience would eat up. But there was also a genuineness in his eyes. He meant every word he said. Everything out of his mouth rang true.

    Standing there, naked in front of her, lights shining on his tanned skin, completely naked, cock out for the world to see, yet this boy was comfortable. Relaxed even. A light went on in her head. There was possibility in this boy.

    Still, she needed proof.

    “You listed Anything Goes as your preferred porn category. Do you really mean that?”
    “Yes, Ma’am. Until I yell Red, I’ll take it all.”
    “Well, we don’t have to start out with that today. How about just a test shoot. Are you up for that?”
    “Yes, Ma’am. I’d love to.”
    “Good. Andre!”

    She yelled for her assistant. He hurried into the room, latte in hand.

    “Thank you, my love.”
    “He’s cute,” said the tall gay man.
    “Indeed. Andre, darling. Take off your clothes.”
    “Ms. Hunt, I.”
    “Andre, you’ve been good to me this past year, learning everything I’ve taught you quite quickly. Up until this moment, your performance has been excellent. Do not disappoint me now. Take off your clothes.”

    Andre took pride in his wardrobe, dressing to fit his status as Sandra Hunt’s right hand. Well balanced colors. Polished shoes. Silk ties. Removing his clothes felt dirty, beneath him. What he didn’t realize was that Sandra was about to reward him for his work.

    “Samuel.”
    “Yes, Ma’am.”

    There was a look in Samuel’s eyes. His stare didn’t leave Andre from the moment he walked into the room.

    “Samuel, you are going to suck Andre’s cock. He, as with all my employees, is regularly tested for STI’s. You, by merely being here for this audition, have also been tested and come up clean. Are you comfortable sucking Andre’s cock?”

    And there it was. She saw it, plain as day. The way his eyes shot open. The lick of his lips, salivating over the idea of what was to happen next.

    “Yes, Ma’am.”
    “Good. Andre?”
    “Yes, Ms. Hunt?”
    “Stand next to Samuel.”

    Sandra turned and pressed record on the small digital camera a top a tripod beside her.

    “Let’s see. Andre, will you need a chair?”
    “No, Ms. Hunt.”
    “Samuel, will you need a pillow for your knees?”
    “No, Ma’am.”
    “Samuel, will this be the first cock you’ve ever sucked?”
    “Yes, Ma’am.”
    “Good. Think of this as a lesson. One that will help you in your coming years.”

    Sandra glanced down at Samuel’s cock. Whereas before it was barely at half staff, he was now standing a full attention.

    “Samuel, first you’ll want to stroke Andre’s cock. Think of how you’d want your own cock touched, caressed. That’s good. Now, don’t forget the balls. Use both hands. Can you hear Andre, how his breathing’s changed. That’s what you want. That’s how you know you’re doing it right. You want to try to read to Andre’s reactions. Listen to his body. His non-verbal cues. Also he may guide you with his hands. Andre.”
    “Yes. Yes, Ms. Hunt.”
    “Put your hand on Samuel’s shoulder and push him down. Good Andre. Now Samuel. See how Andre’s cock has grown a bit. He’s becoming aroused. Do you like that, knowing it’s you who’s making this happen?”
    “Yes, Ma’am.”
    “Are you ready to take him in your mouth?”
    “Yes, Ma’am.”
    “Good. First, lick your lips. I imagine your mouth is already wet, salivating even, at the idea of Andre’s cock in it. Start out with just licking the tip. Good. All around it. Now close your lips around the head. Be sure to cover your teeth with your lips. Now stroke his cock with your mouth. Up and down. Up and down. All along his shaft. How deep can you get him in your mouth? Can you take more of him? More? You feel Andre’s fingers in your hair. He’ll guide you. Glide you along his cock. Encourage his cock deeper into your throat. Do you like that? How Andre is using you. Making you take his cock. Making you take all of him. Fucking your face.”

    Sandra didn’t know how far Samuel would go. Didn’t know yet how far she could push him. But the thought of this fresh face, his fresh mouth, his cherry ass, and all the money she could make off of him made even the harden Sandra Hunt quiver at the thought.

  • Penetrated

    ~ erotica ~

    “Turn your ass towards the camera.”

    She did as she was told.

    “Spread your cheeks. Wider. I want to see your asshole before I fill it.”

    She didn’t like this angle. She wanted to see her Master, glimpse his face on the screen as he ordered her around. Still, she always did as she was told.

    “Have you been training like to I instructed?”
    “Yes, Master.”
    “Good. Because if you haven’t this will not be fun for you. We both know, no matter what, this is going to be fun for me. Go get the package I sent you.”
    “Yes, Master.”

    She scurried across her room, picked up the box, and placed it on the bed.

    “Open it.”

    She tore at the packaging. Inside was filled with tissue paper. Lifting the delicate wrapping, she saw it.

    “Master?”
    “Get the bottle of lube.”

    It sat on her end table.

    “Turn your ass towards me. Spread your cheek with one hand. Lube up my pretty little hole with the other.”

    It was his hole, his mouth, his body, to be used in anyway he saw fit. She remembered that, loved that, as she pumped lube onto her fingertips and caressed her opening for him to watch.

    “More. Good. Stick a finger in. That’s it. Shove some more lube inside. You’ll need it next.”

    She did as she was told.

    “Now pick it up.”

    It was heavy, which made sense. It was big. Bigger than she’d ever taken before.

    “Lube all around it.”

    It looked like a freakishly large tear drop. She thought this ironic. She was sure there would soon be tears.

    “Now bring the tip to my hole. Keep spreading your cheek with your other hand. Is the tip against my hole?”
    “Yes, Master.”
    “Good. Push.”

    It was as she knew, at first. The familiar relaxation, letting go, letting something in. Only it kept getting bigger. And bigger. And bigger. She eased it in slowly, asshole spreading, as her Master watched and spoke.

    “That’s my good little slut, getting her asshole spread wide open for her Master. Filling my hole to the brim.

    “How does it feel, my little slut? To have something of mine in you. To feel it slide into your ass. Filling your hole. I want to see you take it. Take all of it. All of it. Me filling you to the brim.”

    She worked it in slowly, an eighth of an inch at a time. Breathing. Relaxing. With his voice, imaging it was his hand pushing the plug into her. His slow movement, filling her ass up.

    “Fuck!”

    It was in. All the way in. Her ass stretched more and filled fuller than ever before.

    Her eyes were soaked with tears she willed herself not to cry. Her body shivered from the over stimulation, wanting desperately to cum.

    “Master, may I?”
    “My little slut took all of it. Sucked my plug into her ass just like I told her too. Turn around, I want to see your face. Are those tears?”
    “Yes, Master.”
    “From the endurance?”
    “Yes, Master.”
    “You are going to endure a bit more for me. Position five.”

    She paused for a moment before accepting his command. Lifting her torso up, she sat back, her ass against her feet, her hands on her thighs. She tried her best not to groan as her own body weight pushed the plug in just a little farther.

    “Good, my little slut. Position six.”

    She tucked her toes under, lifting her body up just a little. She spread her knees, showing her Master her slut pussy. She interlocked her fingers behind her head. Sat back on her heels.

    “Good, my little slut. Play with your clit.”

    She licked her fingertips and began rubbing herself. Her body could barely take any more sensation. But she pushed through. She would do anything her Master wished.

    “I want to see my plug in you. Position seven.”

    She turned, ass up in the air, back arched, arms stretched out in front as her tits tickled against her bed spread.

    “Did I tell you to stop playing with yourself?”
    “No Master.”

    Her hand went back to her clit.

    “Start hitting my plug with your other hand.”

    She was forced to balance her body on her face and shoulders, but she didn’t care. Every inch of her body was energized, fueled by her Master’s cruel lust. She slapped the plug’s base while playing with herself, her ass and pussy right in front of the camera for her Master to see. She moaned despite herself.

    “My little slut.”
    “Yes, Master.”
    “Cum.”

    She gasped. Bit her bed spread. Rubbed her clit faster. Slapped her plug harder. Panted. Her body convulsed. She screamed, “Thank you Master. Thank you Master.” And came as her Master watched.

    When she finished, she sat in front of the laptop in position five, plug still delightfully inside her.

    “My little slut, it’s getting late. I have to go to bed, and so do you. But before we part, position seven.”

    She turned and stretched out her body.

    “Now, relax and pull out my plug. Slowly. Just as slowly as when I ordered it into your body.”

    She gripped the base and eased out the teardrop. New tears entered her eyes as the plug left her ass. Her Master was leaving her body. Taking away that piece of him she’d accepted into herself. She worked the toy out, trying to enjoy each minuscule sensation as it exited her ass.

    When gone from her hole, she returned to position five, plug in hand.

    “You will do this every third night for two weeks, just as we have just done. My plug in. You playing with yourself. Cuming. And then pulling my plug out.”
    “Yes, Master.”
    “And you will remember whose name to scream, who to thank each time my plug is filling you up and making you cum?”
    “Yes, Master.”
    “Until next time, my little slut, when on the fifteenth day I will be there in the flesh, and it will be my hand penetrating you.”

  • Orals

    ~ erotica ~

    “How was your test?”
    “Brutal.”
    “I thought college was suppose to be about learning. This shit feels more like torture.”
    “Indeed.”

    ~

    “When examining the works of. Of. Copley. When examining his portraits. On the whole. One sees. Oh God.”
    “This is not religion class, Ms. Lane. And though Copley’s work is magnificent, I do not believe anyone has seen God in his art. Start again.”
    “Yes, Mr. Cecil.”

    Penny bit her lip, gripped the edge of his desk, and dung in her nails. Mr. Cecil knelt down and again pressed his lips onto Penny’s clit.

    “When examining the portraits. Mmm. Of. Mmm. Of Copley. One sees. One sees his exper. His exper. His expertise. In capturing. Detail. Form. And the human fa-a-ace.”

    Penny’s voice rose an octave as her hips tilted up.

    “The human face, you say?” said Mr. Cecil through teeth gripping Penny’s mons.
    “Yes. Sir. His a-bil-i-ty. To paint. Life. Like. Portraits. Surpassed. His. Con-tem-por-ar-ries.”

    Mr. Cecil relaxed his teeth.

    “Can you give an example of this skill?”
    “Yes, Sir.”

    Mr. Cecil resumed enjoying Penny’s pussy.

    “Copley was so. So detailed. In his work!”

    Mr. Cecil slid two fingers into Penny’s pretty pussy.

    “So detailed, Ms. Lane?”
    “So detailed! That portraits. Featuring! Men wearing. Formal white wigs! Include. Include powder. From. From their. From their wigs. Kissing.”
    “Kissing?”

    Mr. Cecil stood, wrapped his free arm around Penny’s neck, and pivoted her body up. As he brought his lips to Penny’s mouth, embracing his ever eager student, he pistoned his fingers in and out of her hot pussy. Penny squealed, tasting her pussy on her mentor’s lips, on his tongue, in his mouth, and cuming on his hand.

    Mr. Cecil grabbed Penny’s hair, tilted her head back, and said, “Kissing?”

    “Kissing their shoulders.”
    “Very good, Ms. Lane. A+ on your oral exam.”

  • Instruction

    ~ a story ~

    It was a simple request.

    I was known for my cigar service, my love and care in the role. The time I’d taken to learn about the act, as well as multiple types of cigars and the accoutrement surrounding the ritual.

    The Top was respected in our community, though I had little time interacting with him. He was quiet, reserved without being introverted. He listened more than he spoke, but when he did utter words they were always worth hearing.

    I found him alluring, enticed by his mystery and beauty. He was handsome. A shock of gray down one side of his hair. Fit firm frame. Always wearing leather boots. Ever meticulous in his appearance. Whenever possible, a cigar in his hand.

    So when he approached me at the end of a party, with few else still around, and long past his normal departure time, I stood up straight. I held my hands behind my back. I gave him due deference to his station in our community.

    “Kat, nice to see you this evening.”
    “You as well. I trust you enjoyed your time tonight.”
    “Immensely. Thank you for your attendance during the smoker.”
    “It was my pleasure.”
    “I could see that. You take great pleasure in cigar service.”
    “Yes, I do.”
    “Do you teach?”
    “On occasion, if the opportunity presents itself.”
    “I’m sure you excel at teaching as I’ve seen you excel at most everything.”
    “Thank you. Your appreciation of my efforts is quite humbling.”
    “I have a girl. She’s pretty, but shy. Would you meet her?”
    “Yes, of course. When?”
    “Tomorrow?”
    “I am off tomorrow. Your address?”
    “I will text you.”
    “Supplies?”
    “I have my own already.”
    “What time?”
    “7:30pm. Just before sunset.”
    “Very well. Last, what honorific would you like?”
    “She calls me Daddy. You, Kat, may call me Sir.”
    “Thank you, Sir, for your invitation and confidence in my abilities.”

    His home was brick, large, in a quiet part of the city with trees lining the lane and no homes less than one hundred feet apart. I parked in his driveway, pulled out my messenger bag, and walked up to his door. Checking my phone, it was 7:15pm.

    As soon as I knocked, I heard scurrying footsteps approach the door. As the door opened, I glimpsed a petite woman with short brown hair wearing a pink sundress, glasses, and sandals. She smiled at me for only a moment before darting her eyes to the ground.

    “You must Kat. Hi.”

    Her words were quick, darting almost as fast as her eyes had.

    “Hello. Excuse my early arrival.”
    “May I take your bag for you?”
    “Of course.”

    I handed her my messenger bag. She gestured for me to enter, then closed the door behind me.

    His home held an air of sophistication without the pomp and circumstance. Shelves housed what seemed like years of knick-knacks from a life well lived. The furniture was a mixed of deep browns and black, all leather. A fireplace to my right as I entered with pictures on the mantel. A tall wide wooden staircase to my left. On the far right, black marble on the kitchen floors and blood red marble for the counter tops. A heavy wooden dining table to my far left.

    She led me to the back patio, viewable through the open air arrangement of the home. He sat beneath an awning, donned in full leathers, staring out into the backyard garden and the trees behind his home. The plume from his already half smoked cigar danced up in a curvy line.

    She slid the glass door open, waited for me to exit, and then closed the door behind me.

    “I expected you’d be early.”
    “Pardon my…”
    “No pardon necessary. I appreciate your punctuality.”

    He waved me over to a chair near his with his cigar hand, drawing a smokey form in the air; I sat.

    “Would you like something to drink or eat?”

    On the small table was a host of cold finger foods: fresh fruit, raw vegetables, and small slices of cheese. A pitcher of lemonade perspired, a few drops of water kissing the metal table. His girl sat down my bag beside me, picked up a glass, and poured me a drink before my answer. She then sat on a pillow at the foot of her Daddy.

    “Thank you for your hospitality.”
    “Thank you for your time.”

    I sipped the cold beverage and tried to relax in the warm Spring air.

    Looking over, I saw how he lazily stroked his girl’s hair. She nuzzled his hand and softly cooed. For a moment, I felt a twinge of envy. She looked so happy, so peaceful, so pleased there at his knee. Their manner was matter-of-fact. This was their life. They fit together so well.

    He tapped her on the shoulder. She cupped her hands, one over the other, and held them up as if in supplication. He rolled his ash into her hands. She continued to hold her hands up until he tapped her on the shoulder again. She then licked up the ash from her palm.

    My emotions turned from envy to confusion.

    “Sir, why am I here?”
    “You know cigar service, and this is my Sunday afternoon cigar time.”
    “Yes, but she knows cigar service.”
    “Yes.”
    “Why am I here to teach her if she needs no instruction?”
    “Teach her?”

    Confusion came into his eyes. And then a moment of understanding.

    “No. I should have been more clear. I wanted you here to be next to her, to play with us. Tonight is, for lack of a better word, a date.”

    At once my heart jumped into my throat. I felt horrible at my previous moment of envy, yet also joyous at the idea of what the next moment could bring, if I were brave enough to ask the question straining from my lips.

    “Sir, might I request a small gesture?”
    “Of course. You are our guest. Ask anything.”
    “Might I sit at your other knee?”

    For the first that evening, and my first time witnessing it, a wide grin burst across his face. His girl peeked up at me, a flash of glee in her eyes. Before he uttered a word, she scurried off and brought back a matching pillow, sitting it on the other side of her Daddy before returning to her spot.

    “Well, you have my girl’s answer. Mine is the same.”

    I sunk down from my chair, crawled the minuscule distance over, and nestled myself on the pillow. Leaning my head against his knee, he caressed my cheek with his right hand, his cigar hand, as smoke danced around my face.

    I could hear her cooing, and his breathing, as I closed my eyes and actually, truly, relaxed.