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Slowly, he began removing her clothing, his hand gently caressing her soft skin. She moaned lightly as his hands reached beneath her top and massaged her breasts. Her legs parted instinctively as he explored beneath her lacy briefs. She glanced into the mirror above them and studied the immense contrast between her petite body against his naked Adonis form.

Soon her clothing lay in a crumpled pile beside the bed. The room was hot and steamy, and their bodies glistened with moisture. He stood in front of her, held her hands above her head, and told her to kneel down. As she descended, her tongue quietly explored his muscular chest. Lower and lower she went, until her mouth engulfed the tip of his erect manhood.

He moaned with delight as he held her arms apart and shackled them to fur-laced handcuffs dangling from the ceiling. He removed himself from her, took her nylons from the floor, and gagged her. The ankle shackles on the edges of the bed quickly held her legs apart. He then lotioned her body and his with baby oil, his fingers exploring her curves and penetrating her crevices of desire. Her sounds of ecstasy were getting louder, but still muffled by her gag.

He took an artificial phallus from the hot water, and beginning at her mouth, slowly moved it downwards. It moved past her neck, down between her breasts, and past her navel. She closed her eyes in anticipation of the piercing of her womanhood. Instead, he only slightly parted her now moist lips. Slowly but firmly he inserted the warm, pulsating rod into her other orifice. Her gasp of surprise soon turned into sounds of desire as he plunged it deeper and deeper while several fingers of his other hand stimulated her tunnel of love. Her body squirmed in pleasure, but her movements were futile against the chains that bound her.

When she had been filled, he again moved in front of her and positioned himself. He entered her slowly, savoring how easy her juices have made the entry. Her breathing and gasping were getting heavier, in rhythm with his powerful thrusts. His hands roamed her body, squeezing her breasts mercilessly and pulling and twisting the phallus stuffed into her.

Her arms and legs fought a useless battle against the shackles that held her open to his pounding, now faster and deeper. She thrashed about wildly, becoming one with the chains that bind her. She exists only to please as he ravages her with ever increasing intensity. Her screams of joy crashed through the ball tied tightly between her lips.

The room was spinning as she threw her head back and looked up. In the dream-like image above she saw a slave, bound and gagged, under complete control of her master. He was rewarding her virginity with the most sinful pleasure. He too was in a spinning room, his body tight and shone with sweat. All his essence was entering and leaving her. Finally, with a yell of triumph, he shot into her deepest regions, his juice mixing with hers. She let out a last, exhausted moan, overwhelmed by the fires that pierced her.

He held her close for a moment, then withdrew from her. He took the second phallus from the hot water and with one hand rammed it completely into her while the other pushed the first all the way in. Through the gag she begged him to stop. A leather strap was tied around her waist, and a second strap looped from front to back. The rods that continued to heat and vibrate are now held in. With another series of straps her breasts were held up and tied. He then took three small chains, all connected at one end. At the ends of the chains are clamps. Two clamps grip her nipples, while the third grips her clitoris. He turns off the lights and leaves the room, to attend to his next slave.

She is now left in the darkness, still chained and gagged, with the rods moving deeper into her and the clamps tightening their grip. Her body glistened like an angel, her arms and legs held apart as if she was in flight. She writhed and moaned uselessly, feeling the build-up of the tidal wave about to wash over her. As moans of delight drifted in from outside, she closed her eyes to fantasize what must be happening in the other rooms.

–end–

anonymous author

I flew into LAX and when I came through the gate I saw Brittany standing there. She was even more beautiful than her pictures had allowed me to believe. I approached her and the closer I got to her the more intimidating she became. I watched her face light up in a smile that I interpreted as one which said, ‘this is going to be easier than I thought to break this one into little pieces.’ We hugged and I thought she was going to break my ribs or knock me out right there in the airport; but, she eased up and whispered in my ear, “that was just a little sample of my arm strength. I’m going to destroy you with them and then break you in half with my long, strong legs. You belong to my muscles.” I could only smile and respond as any male would when that close to a beautiful, powerful woman.

We walked down to get my baggage and Brittany made sure that she walked in front of me so I could watch the flex of those gorgeous legs of hers. We talked while waiting for my bags and she would verbally tease me every chance she got. My bags finally came out and I pulled them off of the conveyor belt. They were heavy and I suggested we find a porter to take them out for us. Brittany said, “don’t be silly, I’m stronger than any of them ever thought of being. I’ll carry the bag you think is so heavy; do you think you can manage the camera?” And she picked up my bag as if it were empty and off we went. When we had the bags loaded into the car she took my hand and placed it on her arm then she flexed. The muscle exploded and my hand could not fit around it. Brittany said, “this is what a real arm feels like and you are going to be feeling it a lot around your scrawny little neck and weak body as I crush you into unconsciousness.”

We arrived at my hotel, checked in and the bell man took us to the room. I had gotten a suite as Brittany had instructed me to. After the bell man had been tipped and he left Brittany walked over to me; wearing her 4″ heels she stood about 6’2″. I looked up into her smiling face as she raised her right arm and flexed her muscle in my face. She then grabbed a handful of hair and wrapped her arm around my neck in a headlock. “Put your hand on my arm and feel how hard my female muscle gets as I knock you out.” I touched her arm and the next thing I knew was Brittany straddling my body as I lay on the floor. When she saw me open my eyes she laughed and said, “You only lasted 3 seconds but I won’t put you out so fast from now on. I want you to squirm and cry and beg some. Now sit up and put your neck between my thighs. You may feel them as I crush you out again.”

(click to read entire story…)

We’ve gone over to Jon’s one evening. Susan is out of town, and we decided to keep Jon company. He made dinner for us, and we brought some good German beer. I’ve had a few glasses of wine with dinner. After dinner, we’re sitting in the living room, just talking, some about art, some about people you and Jon know. It was a long week for all of us and it’s nice to chat with friends and relax. Everyone feels very calm, although you suspect there is some undercurrent of sexual tension. You had teased me before we left home, and now, after dinner, you notice my nipples through my shirt. I’m a little flushed, but it could be from the wine.

I’m sitting at your feet and your hand is on the back of my neck, sometimes stroking my head, almost petting me. I am drifting off a little as you and Jon start to talk about some esoteric part of history that doesn’t interest me too much. I am content to let my mind meander and not worry. I lean back, now, between your legs, and put my head on your thigh. As you lean forward, you reach down and stroke one of my breasts very gently.

At first it is very natural and not conspicuous. Jon may not even notice because he is very intent on the discussion at hand. But as time goes on, you become more and more purposeful, obvious about what you are doing. Your fingers occasionally stray over my [tag]nipples[/tag], even pinching the right nipple, once. I close my eyes to concentrate on the feelings, so I am pretty unaware of how much Jon is noticing. You start fiddling with the buttons on my shirt, and almost casually undo the first three or four. Reaching into the opened shirt, through my bra, you take hold of my ring firmly and suddenly.

“Jon, Alice’s breasts are really very beautiful” you say, almost quietly.

Jon looks confused for a moment about Alice, but then realizes. You or I must have told him that Alice is my bottom name, and your signal that we are playing. It clicks in his head with what you have been doing for the last ten minutes.

(click to read entire story…)

I had never been an actual slave in “real life,” although I had had strong fantasies about being a slave for just about as long as I could remember. I have a very submissive nature, especially around someone who is able to bring out that side of me. This story is about a Mistress I served.

Mistress R. was my online Mistress. We had never actually met; we only corresponded through the email on a local BBS. All I knew about her was what I could read in her “bio.” She was 33 years old, 5’9″ tall and weighed 140 pounds. She was married and had red hair. Most of the other answers in her bio were normal enough, but under a question about personality types, she had selected “dominant.” Of course, with my submissive side, I had to write to her and explore just what she meant by that answer, and I was happy to learn that she liked to fantasize about being a Mistress. Based on this, we soon formed an online relationship with her as the Mistress and me as the slave. She made it very clear that since she was happily married this could never be anything more than “electronic play,” and I readily agreed. Right from the beginning she was very demanding. She remained totally in control and things seldom went the way I wished, but as I followed her orders (by myself, in front of the computer), I began to feel myself mentally coming under her control.

She began my training by telling me that as her slave, my body become her property. Just like I wouldn’t think of touching a Mistress without permission, she required me to ask for her permission and to follow certain rules she set forth before I was allowed to touch “her penis.” She ordered me to relieve her penis three times a day, but I was never allowed to even touch it if I was on any kind of furniture; I had to be kneeling or laying on the floor. This was very hard for me, since reading her letters or chatting with her or thinking about her made me very horny; it was hard to keep my hands off of her penis. I was required to send her a daily report once a day about how I had relieved her penis, how I had carried out any of her other orders, and describing my feelings to her.

Let me explain that although we never played in person, I tried to the best of my ability to obey her every command exactly as she wished, without complaint. I was not entirely successful, I think in part due to the fact that I probably needed her watching over me to insure total obedience. It was enough, though, to make me feel totally like her property. I was honest with her, so whenever I disobeyed or did not follow her orders, I told her so. Being an online computer relationship, I could have lied and she would never have known, but I think then I would have missed out on many of the feelings that came along with it. I really began to think and feel as if I were under her control.

(click to read entire story…)

I think it was the blood that kept my attention, really. Not that there was so very much of it, but it was quality blood. I mean the image. I’m not explaining this right. I mean amidst the almost three dozen rising welts on her back there were only three slashes that were bleeding. I think they were on purpose. But they were bleeding so well. Not a lot, mind you, but attractively.

You see, the blood was trickling in rivulets from these three lashes and running down her back. The scarlet tracks split and joined and resplit as they made their way to her shapely ass. Just in the small of her back they spread thinly into the fine lines and contours of her skin like a red river delta. And surrounding each gash, was a slight red spattering, where the blood mist flew from the lash had settled.

Where not rising or running red, her skin was pale. It was beyond pale, it was white, like snow or alabaster. Like the little cotton puff clouds on a fair day, her skin was. The contrast was shocking.

She hung there, her knees bent, legs unsupportive. Still conscious, but no longer holding herself up, she hung there by her arms. Almost without will. Her head was bent to her chest, and I could see that the strain on her shoulders was tremendous. Yet she hung as she had been told to before the whipping. The fact that she could relieve the pressure on her shoulders but chose not to was unfathomable. Admirable. (click to read entire story…)