A woman tries to get her new husband to admit his fantasies on their honeymoon; humour, no sex.
“Neither could I admit that I longed to be on the end of that paddle she was holding. The one she was threatening me with. How could a person want to be beaten? It was too kinky, it was a sold as a punishment device but yet I wanted to be punished.”
A female dominatrix “treats” her submissive to an orgasm.
“…She teased me; my balls tickled, my cock mercilessly excited as her feathers worked my horniness into desperate cries and squeals. I was there; I was where I hadn’t been for four weeks…”
Short erotic story: a man spanks and fucks his submissive wife.
“…She’s mine: the acceptance of my collar is the acceptance of my domination. Her eyes swam with excitement the day I first fastened it: savouring the symbol of her submission as she stared lovingly into my eyes. A new connection between us, a new bind holding us tightly. A powerful, never-ending commitment to each other….”
A writing rivalry escalates into a whipping.
“…But I gritted my teeth, squeezing my muscles as the heat in my skin sizzled to her tune. This was mind over matter, sheer willpower as my body received a dozen more strokes: each one ten times more painful than the one that preceded it….”
A girl seeks to stop her arousal from becoming public.
“…The toy squealed and hummed, barely audible over the noise of the train as her month-long horniness boiled angrily inside of her. I watched her writhe and squirm, bouncing on the heels of her boots as her breathing became ragged…”
Chapter eight of my bisexual-male football player series.
“…I was nearer the end of the queue. His bottom was bloodied and beaten by the time I reached him. The air had been think with yells and cries, squeals and screams. Profanity filled my eardrums as player after player savaged the losing team, smashing their rumps with ever increasing harder implements…”
Olivia wanted to play; Olivia wanted to exhibit her new toy and Claire was the chosen victim. Claire never argued against the demands and confidence of her dominant playmates: neither in the bedroom or as a “volunteer” for the regular sadistic demonstrations. She never felt able to resist the offer of immovable binds of rope, or the furious hits of impact play; she longed to have her submissive tendencies explored and her bratty attitude punished.
But while Nina looked virginal, the reality was anything but. She was a slut, a trollop and a prostitute. She was a vicious sadist who sought satisfaction by thrashing and humiliating her partners while charging them for the privilege. She was twisted and fiendish.
But Fiona wanted to play: she had the fiery look of arousal in her eyes, the latex stockings that made her feel confident and sexy, and the gleam of a sadistic imagination desperate to be set free.
But Lucy wailed as our Captain barked: failing asleep on lookout was a serious abberation. One that would not go unpunished. All twenty-two of us, huddled on deck to watch the ferocious beating unleashed by moonlight.
My mouth welcomed the victor, sliding his warm, firm cock between my lips. I sucked; I’d practised on my girlfriends dildo as we knew the rule changes in the league for this year, but nothing prepared me for the real thing. I licked the soft ridges as his foreskin slid back and his glans became exposed, sucking in his masculinity and swirling my tongue over his sensitive head.
I studied her for a moment: the cheap watch on her wrist, the budget tablet and the clothes: I hadn’t noticed the smart, blue uniform of a flight attendant hidden beneath her light coat. “Good fortune?”
The court office passed her the paddle; the red velvet worn to a shiny black where it had made repeated assaults on errant ladies.
The villagers were silent, watching with rapt attention, entranced by my wife’s punishment.
I heard the rise in her voice as she hummed; the malevolence that dripped from her laugh as she powered the paddle against my abused rump again, and again, panting as she launched a full-on assault on my backside.
I had Rosie Marshall on my books and I had to try and get young Rosie through her probationary period without re-offending. I was told that this was impossible, and she was the reason there was a vacancy: the last probation officer quit. The one before that had a nervous breakdown, and the one before that tried to kill her. It was a long list of failures, but it was easy to see why.
“Fuck! Oh fuckity-fuck-fuck!” I yelled, squeezing the profanity from my lips as I panted. I looked behind my shoulder at her, standing akimbo and focusing on the marks gifted by her new toy.
She smiled to the camera, as she grabbed the shirt on the back of his neck and threw him over the desk, sending his nameplate cascading onto the carpet below. “I’m going to teach you some manners,” she barked, grabbing a fist full of his trouser waistband and jerking it downwards.
Her firm grip on the base of my back as she arranged herself into position, rubbing the hair that lined my masculine bum. I know she glanced at my testicles hanging underneath or traced the line of my body from my taut calves to the arch of my back. She does these things, because I do those things. The admiration of the sub is part of the game.
I knew what would happen; we both did. Encouraging sadists was a dangerous game and one squeal was all it took. Suddenly there was an unspoken competition between them: who could make her squeak the loudest. Every spank got firmer, louder, more painful. I would see her fighting back the tears, and screwing up her face as trainee dominant after trainee dominant sized up her gorgeous arse with battering hits.
Or so I thought, my impossible dream was vividly real as my exposed rear waited for her. I was ready, desperately wanting the show to begin, yet filled with trepidation. My heart pounded on the soft bench as I frantically replayed the songs in my mind. I’d seen the videos: Melanie was intense, as the poor abused men desperately pleaded with the sadist on the vocals. It was sheer depravity.
“And what sort of boyfriend wants to share his girlfriend?” She asked. “What sort of man would get off on seeing his girl used or felt up on the dancefloor?” I squealed as her hand made contact with my suited trousers for a second time, wriggling. I could have wrestled myself free with ease, but I didn’t want to: I wanted to see how far my diminutive girlfriend would take her games. “Eh?”
The sting of the tawse tore into my flesh, the momentary peace shattered by a yell from a suffering man. The scorching heat of my wounds burnt as I wriggled on the soft duvet. “Damaged goods,” she teased. “Try again.”
She used her strap-on like she promised and it made for some great pictures; the part of his beaten buttocks sucking the big, black veiny cock of the petite Russian. It had to be a black cock, a realistic black cock: the contrast of his milky-white skin and the darkness of the dildo was pure circulation pornography.
She wanted to rile me; she wanted me to lose all control, trying to make me see red over her teasing and unleash a volley of spanks on her defenceless skin. She wanted pain, and she was about to get it.
“I’m going to slap that flesh. Hard. Give you the spanking you deserve, throwing my hand over your body and pelting it. I’m going to ignore your pleas for mercy and enjoy your cries. I’m going to spank you so hard, you won’t be able to sit down for a week without being reminded of your gluttonous indiscretions. I’m going to make you cry, which is going to make me fucking hard, as you beg for mercy.”
“Your brain,” she reminded me with a knowing smile. “Most powerful weapon I have to use against you.” I scoffed, slightly less than before, and she rewarded me a slap on the backs of the legs with her hairbrush, sending a rush of pain to my legs and making me fall onto my bed.
Fingers roughly tugged at my skin as clamps were applied, biting angrily into my nipples and sending pain tearing through my consciousness. My body boiled with sheer agony; it was unlike anything I had experienced. It was intensely overpowering, hearing myself yell with desperate cries. “Get ’em off, get ’em off,” I pleaded.
But for a moment, she was not interested in the bed; sliding the dress from her body and facing her new husband in her expensive white lingerie: she had never adorned such fine garments for their play before. His blue eyes undressed her further, imagining her smooth skin underneath her lacy panties or the succulent orbs hidden beneath the unwelcome straps.
She had to get it right, especially if she would be teaching his children, and he was going to help her. Ten spanks for every mistake in her story; they agreed. The naked au-pair cheekily smiled as he read out her tale.
She wanted to go further, and I obliged: I kidnapped her walking home from work, bundling her unceremoniously into a van and ripping her clothes into shreds as I tore them from her body. Eight masked men had their way with her in the warehouse as we assaulted her, striking her bare skin with our terrifying arsenal of whips, canes, floggers and crops.