Two women work out whether they’re competing, or interested in each other. Or both.
It’s a hot scene, but it’s published now, and publishers don’t like things they publish to be also be available free on the internet.I’ll put up a link to where you can buy a book with this hot scene in it, shortly.
Teresa posed, hands and knees on his bed, ass up. She knew what would have to happen next: Roland would reach for her, get up onto his knees behind her. Then he said, “No.”
Teresa made a protesting noise. “Whuh?”
“Get up, girl. Off the bed. On your feet.”
Teresa looked at him, frowning. “I am dealing with a madman, who appears to be spurning my arse.”
But she rolled over and put her feet on the floor. Roland rolled off the bed too, stood in front of her and held her so that she had to look up into his eyes. “Go to my desk, Teresa.”
“You want me to bring you something?”
“And turn to face it.”
“Interesting.” But she did as she was told. It occurred to her that he was easy to obey because he wanted her and he focussed on her. He never made her feel like she was on her own. If he did, she expected that he’d find that obedience, in a sexual content, is a fragile thing. He hadn’t told her to, but to show him where she stood on matters of command and compliance, she put her hands back on her head.
Roland stepped behind her now, and cupped her breasts, lifting them a little while squeezing her nipples between the forefinger and middle finger of each hand. Teresa pursed her lips, and hissed almost silently. The pressure on her nipples was just hard enough that she could be certain that he meant to hurt her, though not too much.
She arched back so her arse found and pressed against his cock. He grunted, and she felt his cock growing at that contact, from semi-hard to absolutely, fully committed. He kissed her shoulder, then her neck, and stepped back. Debbie stayed where she was.
“Good girl,” he said. It was the first time he’d called her that. She knew, from reading books like Tessa’s Task, with the attractively domineering billionaire Julian and his submissive and virginal secretary Tessa, that those two words are more important than they might seem. Julian, in Tessa’s Task, had called Tessa a good girl after he’d spanked and buttfucked her.
People who get dominant when they’re turned on, like Julian and, it was now obvious, like Roland say that to submissive partners they approve of. If she didn’t want to be praised for submissiveness, “good girl” would only be offensively patronising. They’d be offensive words addressed to her or to any female person over the age of twelve, she thought, except in exactly this context.
SoTeresa froze for a moment, frowning. She considered whether to object, or deflect it with a joke. But part of her was simply pleased that he thought she was good. She felt Roland, behind her, freeze too. He’d be nervous, of course. It was as though saying ‘good girl’ was his job application, and he was waiting to see if he had the job. At last she smiled and nodded. She heard Roland breathe out, and he kissed her shoulder. She was still sceptical, despite the concessions she’d made on their previous night together. He might be more relieved than he should be. Still, he could have a trial period. Provisionally, he had the job.
He didn’t know about her reservations. He said, “Now put your feet well apart and bend over, Reresa. Nipples and nose touching that desktop. Stretch your arms out sideways, and don’t move them. Now, Teresa.”
This time the pause only lasted a second. Then Teresa obeyed, putting her hands on the desktop and lowering her body into that unmistakably submissive position. Obedience to that order was likely to turn out to be rewarding in multiple ways. She would be fucked, and fed. Now bent over, obedient and at risk of being called “good girl” again, she frowned, evaluating the position she found herself in.
She improved it, straightening her legs without being told, to present her uplifted arse for him.
So he stepped forward and put his hand on her bottom, caressing her left cheek fondly, then made claws of his hands, dragging his fingernails gently up from the crease of her thighs to the small of her back, and then returning to her thighs. Her skin goosebumped under that light touch. He rubbed her more firmly, then smacked her arse.
“Are you – Are you going to spank me?”
“Of course. Would you try to tell me you haven’t been asking for it, little minx?”
The butt plug was introduced quite recently, and it still feels strange.
The cane still feels ouchie.
As always, punishment is followed by a period for refection, before it’s time for comforting. It’s odd how a butt plug, together with Master’s penis, should equal “comforting”.
But that is how it is.
Claire tries on the punishment robe for the first time. Maddie fancies her in it. Some kind of happiness is brewing.
It’s a hot scene, but it’s published now, and publishers don’t like things they publish to be also be available free on the internet.I’ll put up a link to where you can buy a book with this hot scene in it, shortly.
Teresa kissed Roland, post-coitally lazy. “You know, if you fed your vampire girl, regularly, with your come, into my body and not into little bags that you throw away, I don’t think I’d have the urge to bite you. And then you could fuck me, face to face, without pushing my face away or tying me down.”
“I like you tied down.” That was a compliment, one of the odder ones she’d ever been given, but she knew he meant it.
He bit her breast lightly. “And I think you like being tied down, too.”
“Yes, I do. But maybe not every time? You can tie me whenever you like, but it’d be nice to think you trusted me. That you don’t trust me – and I know you’re not completely wrong, given my record – but that’s still … kind of hurtful. ”
“Ok. Then get on the pill tomorrow. And the deal seems to be, at the moment, that we neither of us fuck anyone else. Except with the other’s permission, and then with a condom. All right?”
“Sir!” She said it like a soldier acknowledging an order. Teresa realised she only called Roland sir when she was asking for something, or she was happy with something he’d said. She knew he liked hearing it. In her own way, she thought, she was training him.
“So will you fuck me now? Without you wearing a stupid bag on your cock? I want just your skin and mine together, nothing between us, and your seed when you come in me. Sinking into me. Letting me absorb it. Feeding me. I mean, I’d kind of like that right now, sir.”
Roland shook his head. “I’m still not going to risk you getting pregnant, little Teresa. We’ll still have to wait.”
Teresa kissed Roland’s collarbone, still not quite healed from her bite. “Sir, I can suck your cock. I can swallow your come, taking it all down into me, and it goes through my body. I extract its energy while it’s in my stomach, and what I can’t use passes on into my alimentary canal. And out.”
“You want to suck me off? So that I come in your mouth? And that would feed you? All right.”
“No. I mean, yes, but not right now. That’s not what I want us to do. I’m just pointing out that you don’t have to think only of my cunt. You can fuck me hard, come in me and not get me pregnant. I’m amazed you haven’t taken my arse so far. You obviously like it.”
“I like your arse a lot.”
“So we’ve got the answer, sir, haven’t we? Fuck me up the arse, and I won’t feel I have to feed on your blood. And I won’t keep biting you. Your seed, my lover and my sir’s seed, that’s got to be even stronger than blood.”
Roland stared at her, as if she’d said something strange. Perhaps she had. She could see him waking up from his post-orgasmic stupor.
He said, at last, “You know, you’re right. I come in your perfect arse, and you won’t bite me. So that’s how it’ll be, the very next time.”
“No. Idiot.”
He said, “Idiot?” She glanced at his cock. It was still mostly down, but it was becoming engaged again, starting to take notice and thicken. He noticed her glance.
Teresa still looked at him as if he were a slow child. “Roland, I’m not talking about the future. I’m saying, fuck me up the arse. And come in me. I mean now, sir.” She rolled over and lifted herself onto her hands and knees. As she’d expected, the sight of her, presented, her arse up, inviting and demanding his desire, made the difference she wanted. He woke up.
“Your arse,” he said, “is perfect. And perfectly poised. And you’ve just made the weirdest argument for buttsex I’ve ever heard. But I endorse the no-biting project. Also, your arse has the sexual pull of about a thousand ships, I’d say.”
“So?” Teresa shook that arse at him.
She’s been a perfectly good girl. And yet, she is there, and stage one has just ended.
But good girl, bad girl, trickster or treat: who cares? She’s got a gorgeous arse, and she colours beautifully.
Is this a trick or a treat? If you could hear the squeaks while we built up the heat for this photo, you’d probably guess.
Either way, trick or treat always starts here. Never where it ends, though.
One of the best things about taking on a Master, if you’re a submissive, is that you don’ t have to feel guilty for your mistakes. Claire learns this, among other less subtle pleasures.
It’s a hot scene, but it’s published now, and publishers don’t like things they publish to be also be available free on the internet.I’ll put up a link to where you can buy a book with this hot scene in it, shortly.
Tender in the night. The beautiful Zoë. She glows.
I don’t like saying this, because it’s so unlikeable, but I am scarily intelligent. When I was 11, I was top of the school at Maths by a sufficiently terrifying margin, I’d read all of the surviving dialogues of Plato, and the books attributed to Aristotle, and I’d worked my way through Principia Mathematica and found the joke at theorem 110.643. I’d read more English literature than my English Lit teacher. I’d decided that I was going to be either a poet or a philosopher.
But the girls around weren’t exactly interested in any of that. And I realised, looking at the underside of Debbie Brown’s thigh when she crossed her legs, that I was really, intensely, focussedly interested in girls. So I tried to talk to them more and make friends. And I hoped I’d get a girlfriend, and we could kiss and hug and stuff. Maybe I could stroke her thighs.
But I had no small talk at all. I only knew how to talk seriously about big topics. I didn’t watch TV, and barely knew anything about pop music, except that the Beatles had been good, and kind of unusual. I was a Beethoven, Mozart and Wagner guy. I couldn’t dance.
So I bought a stack of albums so I knew Bowie from Beck, and both from a hole in the ground. I bought some magazines that talked about people on TV as if they were real people, and studied them. I learned to gossip. I had my hair plaited. I learned to say mildly amusing things, without trying to be Oscar Wilde.
It took about a year, because the girls at my school remembered the little professor, and he wasn’t boyfriend material. Also, I still couldn’t manage to pretend interest in sports or belief in any religion, and I sometimes let it slip that I thought both were boring and stupid.
So my first girlfriend was a new girl, who’d just transferred from another school. I made some missteps, like taking her to a film society screening, but next time we went to the beach. And she, bless her soul, taught me to kiss, which was a head-spinning sexual revelation.
And she taught me how to be interested in everything she thought and felt. So I was 13, with a girlfriend.
I should say that it’s not that I thought girls were dumber than me. It was that my IQ was off the charts. At that school, everyone was dumber than me. But I didn’t care about the guys. I know that saying so is not very likeable.
So I had transformed myself from an intellectual who was never going to get laid, or at least not for years, into some sort of would-be hipster, who was obviously faking it but who could usually more or less pass. There were rewards, obviously. Sexual desire has always been the most important motivation in my life, and the new version of me, the new guy, got laid.
But there were costs, too. I had to hide, or at least tuck away, quite a lot of who I was and what interested me. At university I had a lot of wonderful sexual adventures, but not marks that identified me as all that smart.
I don’t think I regret the self-transformation. But who knows what would have happened if I hadn’t done it?
I think I’d have spiralled further away from people, becoming more and more eccentric. And maybe become famous for solving some abstruse intellectual problem. I can’t imagine which one, now. I’m not that man.
Claire learns that a Master’s forgiveness is self-forgiveness and a kind of psychological relief acquired through kinky pleasure.
It’s a hot scene, but it’s published now, and publishers don’t like things they publish to be also be available free on the internet.I’ll put up a link to where you can buy a book with this hot scene in it, shortly.