0 comments/ 27825 views/ 1 favorites A Publisher's Pleasures By: adoration Author's note: Montrealers, or people familiar with this lovely Canadian city, will know that the tallest building there tops out at 51 storeys, but since this is a fantasy about a publisher of pornography I could not resist putting her offices on the 69th floor. And if there is a Dufresne Towers in Montreal, I'd love to think that such wicked games go on there. * I looked out of my office window from the 69th floor of Dufresne Towers. As founder and publisher of Clitoral Climax, a risque, raunchier-than-most erotic book publisher, I had insisted on being on that floor. It looked so good on our letterhead. Beneath me Montreal spread out under a cloud of flurrying white snowflakes. I had read somewhere that 50 per cent of the city's budget goes on repairing the roads after the ravages of winter each year, and could quite believe it. The snow was coming down in heavy clumps now, the flakes from where I sat looking almost as large as snowballs. I parted my legs and felt under the hem of my scandalously short miniskirt and fingered myself. I was randy. Nothing new in that. Although I am 37-years-old, I'm often randy. I think it's reading all those erotic manuscripts that I often insist on checking after my two chief acceptance editors have done it. As my fingers delved into the wonderfully wet warmth of my semi-shaved pussy, I debated. There were two opportunities open to me at 4pm on a Friday afternoon. Opportunity one, the simple one, was to buzz my blonde assistant Monique and get her in to "service" my needs. The other was to get her to call Gino and we could both play with him. The latter was, after some consideration, the option I chose. Gino is a dark-haired, part-Italian, aged 28 and a handsome hunk of a man, with flashing light brown eyes and startlingly jet black hair which almost falls to his shoulders. He is, according to my assistant, Monique, "the spitting image" of a man named Maldini, who plays for a football team called AC Milan. Monique, although Canadian, is part-French and part-Italian and is a football fan. I'm not, so I wouldn't know, but all I can say is if the entire AC Milan squad is as good looking as Gino, then I would happily entertain them one dark, dreary Montreal evening. Gino is, by the way, the male "persona" of Clitoral Climax, which specialises in two types of books. The first are female-oriented, in which women pleasure other women. There's not a man in sight, which is often the way I prefer it. The second genre is also female-oriented, but with a male who takes the part of a submissive, obeying every whim of his mistress, or mistresses. And when it comes to men, that is very definitely the way I prefer it. The men, while not limp-wristed wimps, definitely display a masochistic streak – a streak that I, personally, look for in my men. Sometimes interviewers for the newspapers and magazines – all of whom have this huge fascination for erotic publications – ask me what is the best place for a man. "On his knees," I always say, but I always laugh when I say it, just in case they think I'm kinky. Mind you, they only need to glance through our titles in the Clitoral Climax Collections to know that, but who's counting? Gino appears on the covers of our titles which deal with a male being subjugated by a woman. He is often on his knees, looking up adoringly at some dominatrix-type clad in erotic leather clothing. I swear he beds most of them. He's also got a fabulous body, well muscled, but not overblown like those appalling body builder types. He's nicely tanned – I think he spends half his life under some sun lamp or other – and is very well endowed down there. Well, well enough endowed to satisfy me, although I can be hard to satisfy. And then, as Monique is often fond of saying: "Karla, you're very hard to satisfy." To which I always riposte: "Nonsense, darling, as long as the man is very hard, I'm easy to satisfy." Gino, as I said, is well endowed. He tells me he's eight and a half inches when his nicely shaped, uncircumcised cock, is fully aroused. Which suits me fine. Any more I think would be overkill. No, eight and a half is fine by me. "Mon," I said, buzzing the lovely blonde, "what say we get Gino around for some teasing?" My 30-year-old blonde beauty laughed a deep, throaty laugh. Sheeet, she's so sexy when she laughs – oh, all right, she's so sexy, full stop. "We've haven't made him suffer for at least a week, Karla," she said. "I'll get him around right away." I put the phone down and looked out at the darkness over Montreal and resumed stroking my snatch. A session with Gino was always a lovely way to let off steam – in fact, a steamy way to let off steam. I loved the way I had my deliciously blood-red hooks into Gino. He was well paid by me for his modelling work, but he was also well paid for his "extra curricular" work, if you get my drift. He took Monique and my teasing because he was a sweetly submissive masochist and also because afterwards he enjoyed us in a far more conventional way. Monique entered, just as I was removing my fingers from my pouring-wet pussy and looking out over the snow-cloaked city. As usual, she looked stunning. She is a tall woman, almost five ten, I guess, with short-cropped blonde hair, it makes her look a bit butch, but what's wrong with that? Monique bats from both sides of the plate, if you get my drift. Men, women, as long as the Big Os are big she's happy. Her figure is a mouth-watering 36-24-36 and she dresses like a fashion model. "Gino was in a strip club and seemed to be enjoying himself," she told me, "but I told her you were insisting on his presence." Since I pay his mobile phone bills, Gino is under orders from me to never have it switched off. Then, as Monique emptied my out tray, she asked: "What do you plan to do with him this evening, boss? Torment him like crazy, then fuck his brains out?" I laughed. "My darling, we've had him in bed so often I'm sure we've already fucked all of his brains out," I joked. "But yes, if he's a really good subby boy this evening, then sure, we'll fuck him." "Great," said Monique, peering at the manuscript on my desk, "because I've been reduced to fantasising all week. I've finally dumped my boy friend and my little sub lady's gone to the fucking Bahamas for a fortnight. I could do with some action." "Well, before the action, there's some games I want to play with poor old Gino," I said, flicking the manuscript over to Monique. "We'll play one of the torments I've been reading about in 'Orgasm Denial for Oscar'. Sounds like they could be fun." Monique picked up the well-thumbed manuscript and looked through it with interest. "Shit, I just love orgasm denial," she said, "but 'Orgasm Denial for Oscar'?" "I know," I laughed, "it's possibly the worst title I've ever come across, pardon the pun, but I'm glad to say the words inside are better than those on the cover. In fact, I'm thinking of publishing it." Monique smiled: "But, as usual, you first want to try out some of its passages with poor old Gino, eh?" I grinned back at the sexy blue-eyed beast. "Hey, Mon, it's me, Karla you're talking to," I reminded her. "You know you enjoy punishing him every bit as much as I do." Monique, swept out carrying the correspondence I'd just signed. "If you insist, you perverted publisher you," she sniffed, in make-believe high dudgeon. It's a good job I know her and love her – after all, she's been my trusted assistant for five years. When she had gone, I stepped into my large en suite, which runs along the entire length of one office wall. Like my office, it also has an unfettered view out over Montreal thanks to a large double window, and as I stripped nude to prepare for Gino's arrival I savoured the sight of the snow scudding across the skies. I love being inside the warmth of my office when the Canadian winter is doing its worst. When I was naked I looked at my figure in a full-length mirror. My breasts are large, closer to 40 than 39 inches, with full, dark brown nipples and large areolae. My lesbian lovers can't get enough of my tits. Oh, that's silly – my "straight" lovers can't get enough of them, either. They're full and lush, and they have a little sag, as you'd expect on a 37-year-old, but they're damn fine tits, even if I do say so myself – and I often do! My hips are full – what they sometimes describe as "child-bearing hips", only I have no intention of having children, well, not yet. My ass is not large, but it's not small either. As one woman who works for an erotic magazine is fond of telling me, "Karla you've got tits and legs to die for, but your butt is beautiful!" I think she's right. It's what another of my perverted friends describes as "eminently spankable", only sad to say for poor old Pierre, who's really into spanking mature bums, I'm not a catcher when it comes to spanking, I'm a hitter, if you follow my baseball analogy. I checked out my minge – it was moist, of course, because I was really looking forward to pleasuring myself on Gino's magnificent masochistic body, but it was also nicely shaved. There was just a small, narrow splotch of dark brown hair on my mons, the rest was shaved clean, my lips looking thick and inviting. I pulled on black silk stockings, kept them up with a shiny black satin garter belt, then stepped into a pair of French high heels, which do wonders for my calves and buttocks. I cantilevered my breasts up into scrumptious uplift, courtesy of a black quarter-cup bra, which matched my garter belt. I pulled my longish brown hair back into a severe pony tail and clipped it into place, so it hung just down past the nape of my neck. A dab of lipstick – nothing too gauche – and I was ready. Back in the office, I went to a locker in one corner and removed from it what I thought we'd need. Item one was a spreader bar, to keep dear old Gino's feet an almost uncomfortable four feet apart. Item two was a throat collar, with attached D rings. Items three and four were cuffs for his wrists, which could either be clipped together or hitched up to his collar, thus keeping his hands away from any attempt to interfere with whatever Monique and I decided to get up to with him. But it was item five which was my favourite. A single-stranded, thin leather lash, with a lovely pleated grip, it was quite a stiff implement, not very bendable at all. It left lovely thin red marks across his beautiful brown skin. It didn't really hurt him, the way I wielded it, but it certainly stung. I swished it through the air a couple of times, delighting in the hiss it made. Then my phone rang. "He's here and I've made him strip down to his thong. Shall I bring him in, boss?" asked Monique, in a low, husky voice which betrayed her excitement at the thought we were soon to start bossing poor old Gino around – the lucky bastard! "Sure, darl," I replied, "only make it a sufficiently humiliating entry for him, eh?" Monique obliged. The door to my spacious office and into the room, on all fours, came the lovely Gino. His hair shone lustrously, falling to his shoulders in a totally unfashionable style, but shit it looked good! Seated on the middle of back was my lovely assistant. Mon had chosen sheer, see-through red lingerie for work today, obviously. The bra was so sheer that her lovely large nipples were clearly visible through the material of the tautly-stretched cups. At her pussy was a sheer red thong, and if you looked closely you could make out her fair thatch of pubic hair just above her pink pussy lips, which were flattened against the pressure of the silk at her snatch. On her feet were blood red high heels. Gino wobbled slightly as he entered the room with Monique aboard his back. As I said, Mon is very tall – an inch or two short of six feet, so she's not the lightest rider in the world. Gino's lovely muscular body was rippling as he rode her to just in front of where I stood in the center of the office, slapping the lash lightly against my silk-stocking-covered right calf. "Hi, Gino," I said warmly, tracing the tip of the lash softly against his cheek – his face cheek, his buttock cheeks would have to wait for its caress. "So glad you could join us. You were at a strip club, Monique tells me. Which one?" Gino's handsome young face looked up at mine. "La Maison Diabolique, mistress," he said, quietly. "Oh, I'm so sorry to drag you away – that's where all the young ladies wear shiny PVC and rubber outfits and carry whips, isn't it? Were you enjoying yourself there?" I just love tormenting him after I've dragged him out of those lovely little places when I have a whim to punish him. He's got this thing about strippers – well, a lot of men have, haven't they? "Yes, I was mistress," he said, somewhat glumly. Poor old Gino! "Well, perhaps Mon and I can make up for your disappointment," I said, cheerfully. "Now let's see, what did we play last time – golden showers and golden cocktails to research some shocking piss story I'd been reading, wasn't it?" "Yes, mistress," said Gino, very, very softly, half-dreading that I was going to inflict a repeat dose on him, I expect. "Well, I hope you've managed to get your mouth washed out now, my darling," I said, again putting on a cheerful tone. "But don't worry, today it's going to be orgasm denial. That'll be fun, won't it?" "Yes, mistress," he muttered, hardly the tone of voice you'd expect from someone who was about to receive some lovely teasing and humiliation. Ungrateful young wretch. "Right, now Mon you can get off him and while I get him kitted out, you go into the en suite. You're going to be the masturbatrix, so you'll need a pair of rubber gloves and some baby oil," I told my assistant, who climbed off a relieved Gino and entered the en suite. While she was getting her gear there, I ordered Gino to his feet and admired his beautifully built body. His muscles gleamed in the high lights of my office, giving off a ruddy, healthy glow. Despite his foreboding, he couldn't hide his excitement – he was wearing a gleaming black satin thong cut high on his strong hips and there was a large bunch of muscle thrusting beneath the shiny material which spoke of a lovely hard-on. "Strip," I snapped, and Gino pulled down his thong and handed it to me, one of our little rituals. Rituals are so important in femdom, I think, don't you agree? I now had something more to admire. Gino's cock is dark brown, darker brown than his fake or otherwise suntan, and it's thick and has a lovely fully-fleshed foreskin at its head. He shaves the pubic hair from his shaft and scrotum, leaving just a trim strip across his pubic bone. I like that, it's so much nicer for fellatio I think. On the underside of his shaft, running from his engorged scrotal sac, was a narrow line of almost black skin, which went all the way up to his foreskin lips. One day I must get my doctor to tell me what it's called – that's if I can find a way to introduce it into the conversation. I was about to remark on Gino's mighty erection but Monique returned, on her hands a pair of red rubber gloves which prettily matched her red lingerie, and carrying a bottle of baby oil and she beat me to it. "Fuck, that's such a pretty prick, I'm gonna love playing with that, you naughty, naughty boy, Gino," she said, standing provocatively beside him. "Right," I said, rather more snappily than I'd intended, "then we'll get on with it. Now while I'm reading up on the rules for this game from our author's manuscript, you my dear Gino may start stroking yourself – but nice and slow, mind. You're in for a long, slow wanking, my lad." And I stepped behind my desk and as Gino placed his right hand on his shaft and took it between his thumb and middle finger and began to manipulate his quivering cock, I opened the story to the section which concerned Monique and I and our "wank research". "Now the story, such as it is," I said, looking at the single spaced typing, "is all about a rather exclusive club where middle-aged women pay to watch naked men being masturbated by gorgeous dominas. They have to try to resist the manual manipulations as long as they can. The shorter they last, the more strokes they get when it comes to the punishment section of the game. Fun, eh Gino?" Gino looked a trifle pained, in fact, as if he didn't think it was going to be "fun" at all. "Do we have to have rules, Karla?" Monique inquired, cheekily, because she, as a long-time partner with me in domination, knows darn well there have to be rules, regulations and so on in male domination. Well, in any domination, I guess. "Most certainly, Monique," I said crisply, keeping a stern eye on Gino to make sure he wasn't stinting in his masturbation. "It's all part and parcel of the fun. And speaking of 'parcel', I think it's time we got him tied up. Get that spreader bar on his legs, then the cuffs and the throat collar." As Monique bent and started strapping the spreader bar to his ankles, I reminded Gino: "Keep stroking, slave!" He loves it when I call him "slave" – at least, I think he does. And even if he doesn't, I love calling a man a "slave", such a delightful word to roll off the tongue, isn't it? When Monique had his legs spread wide, she handed him his cuffs and ordered him to stop stroking himself. "I don't see why I should do all the fucking work, get these on while I attach your throat choker," she said. She loves bossing him around, too, of course. Finally, Gino was ready and Monique made him place his cuffed wrists up to either side of his collar, where she snapped the D rings onto the metal links in the throat choker. Now he was ready, cock swaying stiffly in front of him, naked and ready for his torment. But I dragged out the start of the game – naturally! I looked at the manuscript, although I knew the rules by heart, and informed Gino what lay in store for him. "Righto, Gino," I told him, "now this is an orgasm denial game. All you have to do is refrain from coming for an hour. Get past the 60 minutes time control and you win." Gino looked pained. Sixty minutes must have seemed like a fucking long time to him – and yeah, I guess it is. "Now for the first 10 minutes," I informed him, "Monique is only allowed to use her hands on your cock and balls. She mustn't touch you with her breasts, her ass or her pussy. Just hand contact. "For the second 10 minutes, she is allowed to add her lingerie to your body as a little tease – panties and bra, if she wants. "After 20 minutes, she is allowed bodily contact with you – she can rub her breasts and buttocks against you, press her pussy against you." And here I paused. "Speaking of pussy, Mon, are you nice and wet?" I asked, seeing Gino's obvious discomfort at the teasing lying ahead of him. "Like Niagara Falls in flood, Karla," announced my assistant. "Lovely," I said, then continued with the "rules of engagement", as it were. "And from the 30-minute point, Monique is allowed to suck your cock. That'll be lovely won't it, Gino?" Gino sighed and murmured "Yes, lovely, mistress" although I knew and he knew that when that happened he would be on the verge of ejaculation, especially after the previous 30 minutes' teasing. "And from then on," I grinned, "all you have to do is hang on until the 60th minute without coming and you've won. Simple, eh?" Gino disagreed. "It seems almost impossible, mistress," he moaned. "Well then, we'll call it Mission Impossible, shall we?" I joked, a small joke and one which produced only a slight smile from our slave. "And if he fails?" asked Monique. "What then, Karla?" "Um, let's see," I said, dragging Gino's torment out, although I knew, of course, exactly what his penalty would be. A Publisher's Pleasures "Oh yes, here it is," I said, as if I'd been searching for it in the manuscript all along. "Yes, failure means six strokes of the lash." "Six fucking strokes?" spluttered Monique. "What a useless bloody penalty. Hardly worth all that stroking I'm going to be doing." "Well," I said, earnestly, "that's what it says – oh, hold on, I hadn't turned the page." And I looked up and beamed at Gino, whose face was now bathed in a look of deep resignation that things were about to get far worse. "It's six strokes for every minute he's short of the 60 minutes," I informed Gino and Monique. "So, say he lasts 35 minutes before coming, that's 25 times 6 which is, oh what is it?" Monique leapt in, an evil grin spreading across her face. "I make it 150 strokes," she said, wickedly. "Shit, Gino," she said, looking our slave directly in the eye, "I hope you can make it past 35 minutes, you poor old wanker, you!" Gino stifled a groan, knowing full well that he'd find that extremely difficult. I pulled a digital clock from my desk drawer and placed it facing me, and thus away from Gino's puppy-dog eyes. "OK, team, let's get this research under way. Monique, oil him up." Monique stepped in front of our slave and poured some of the baby oil into her gloved hand, smeared both hands over his cock and balls, then stepped back. His genitals glistened with the lotion. "Right, let the fun commence," I called, and pressed the clock which started to count up from 00.00 to 00.01, 00.02 and so on in its ascent to 60.00. As I instructed, Monique began to rub her rubber-gloved hands over Gino's balls, kneading them very softly, before moving up to his shaft and applying slight pressure, pulling his foreskin back from his cock helmet, allowing a thick dribble of pre-cum to slide from his semen slit. Gino was breathing heavily but making no other sound as Monique worked assiduously at his erection, but both she and I knew this was a mild flirtation compared to the "heavy petting" she would soon be employing on the nude slave. I watched with interest, making the occasional remark to my assistant in domination about how sweet Gino's cock looked, while playing with myself as Monique played with him. Then the clock ticked over from 09.59 to 10.00 and I announced: "Time to add the lingerie to the mix, folks." I stepped from my chair and walked around to Monique and unhooked her bra, allowing her lovely breasts, with their fully erect nipples to come into Gino's focus. "Where do you want 'em?" I asked my assistant. "On his cock and balls, but I'll arrange them," said Monique, stepping forward and draping one red-cup against Gino's cock helmet, then arranging the other cup so it nestled against his heavy ball bag. "There, how's that feel, slave?" asked Monique, looking at her bra hanging on his hard-on. "Wonderful, thank-you, mistress," Gino replied, although he didn't sound as if he thought it was wonderful. Next, I pulled the see-through red panties from Monique's pussy and handed it to her. Monique, the little minx, waved her panties around in front of Gino's sweating face. "And where does slave want my panties, eh?" she taunted him. "On my face, please, mistress," intoned Gino in a sort of half-sob, half-whimper. Monique obliged him, placing her gloved fingers into the panties and making a sort of little tent of them before lowering them onto his face. "Deep breaths, Gino, inhale the pussy perfume – is it nice?" "Yes, mistress, it's gorgeous," he panted, inhaling the sopping wetness of her most intimate garment, as Monique began to massage his cock shaft once more, this time with her bra between her fingers and his penis flesh. Then, Monique decided that the bra wasn't providing enough stimulation, and she flung the garment aside, refreshed her gloves with baby oil and resumed her dextrous work on Gino's gleaming knob. Almost immediately, he began to start really sweating. I thought he was nearing climax and felt my pussy lips again. Monique must have heard a sigh escape my lips, because she turned and while never slowing her steady, smooth stroking of Gino's weeping cock head, she looked over to me. "There, Gino, your mistress is enjoying herself, look she looks as if she's about to come. You're not about to come, are you, Gino?" she teased him. "No mistress," Gino panted in response, though I'm sure his brain was screaming "Let me come, I must come!" "Seems so unfair, eh Gino?" Monique continued, her glove still working its magic on his shaft, slightly pulling the foreskin down, then pushing it back up. "There's mistress, able to come whenever she likes, while you have to keep fighting back the urge to splash your spunk all over my hand, eh?" Gino sobbed: "Yes, mistress, it's unfair, yes!" And Monique laughed at his distress. "Course it's unfair, Gino. There's no such thing as fair or unfair in femdom, is there? There's just domination and submission, isn't there?" And as Gino choked out a "Yes, mistress" I had a small but satisfying little orgasm, pressing my thighs hard together to wring the final little shudders from it. Then I checked the clock and to my delight saw it click over from 19.59 to 20.00. "Twenty minutes are up, Mon," I informed her, as she worked on her sweat-sodden slave. "Now you can up the tempo, see if he can hold out for another 10 minutes." This was the signal for the statuesque blonde to stand and kiss Gino full on the mouth, a long, lingering kiss. And her next move was even more provocative for the poor slave. Pressing up against his naked body, she placed her shaved minge against his hard-on, pushing his cock back until it was flush against his abdomen. Then, with tantalisingly slow thrusts, she rubbed herself on his shaft. "How's that Gino, that helping take your mind off my masturbation?" she cooed, licking him in the ear as she worked her belly against his, her buttocks clenching and unclenching as she enjoyed her frottage against his cock. "It's lovely, mistress," her slave replied, in a voice wracked with anguish as he fought desperately to resist what by now must have been a frustrating and ferocious desire to shoot his spunk. "It's lovely for me, too, Gino," said Monique, "but my poor titties are feeling left out of the fun. Would you mind terribly much if I rubbed them over your big cock and balls, my dear slave?" It was said in a teasing, tormenting lilt and although the words were couched as a request Gino knew damn well that for a slave there was only one possible response and he gave it: "No, that would be lovely, please rub them over me, mistress." He said it in a low, soft voice, a voice that really said "Stop tormenting me, you wicked bitch!" but Monique taunted him some more. "Are you sure, Gino?" she said, an evil question mark in her tone. "I wouldn't like to do anything that's against your real needs." "No, please rub them on my prick, please, mistress," Gino pleaded with her and Monique squatted down until her boobs were level with his oil-smeared erection. "Very well, darling," she smiled, "if that's what you want, that's what you'll get." And her breasts rubbed against his pre-cum dripping helmet, before she cupped them in her rubber gloves and placed them so his cock was stuck between the lush, full gloves. Then she pushed her breasts together, totally trapping his penis between them, before starting to rub them up and down the length of his tense shaft. "Oh fuck, that's so good," Monique panted, as her big boobs rose and fell on his thickness. "Is it good for you, Gino?" And Gino, whose face was now a twisted, contorted visage of concentration, panted: "It's great for me, mistress. Please don't stop." Monique emitted a deep, throaty chuckle and told her victim: "I have no intention whatsoever of stopping, you lovely old thing." And then I noticed that the pressure of her breasts against his cock was having a delightful effect on his foreskin flesh – the tension of his prick between the globes meant that with each downward thrust, his foreskin was pulled back almost to its thick ring an inch or more from his cock head. Then, with her upward thrust, the foreskin would replace itself, covering his helmet. It was a motion not overlooked by Monique. "Oh look, Gino," she told him, "look at the way your foreskin is rubbing up and down your helmet. It's so sweet, I love that look. You're so clever. Isn't he clever, Karla?" "Very," I remarked, "but I don't think he's clever enough to last much longer, darling, you're really putting the pressure on him." Monique laughed. "Yeah? Well watch this, Karla." And with that she removed her breasts from the tit fucking position and stepped behind Gino's sweating body and bent over until her nipple-hard boobies were tracing just slightly onto his buttocks. Reaching around in front of the gasping slave, Monique then resumed her handiwork on his stiff shaft, continuing the pulling his foreskin, bring it down an inch or so from his head almost to the ring, then flicking it back so it covered his helmet. Gino didn't appreciate the change of position, judging by his grunts and groans as Monique's breasts rubbed over his bare buttocks and her rubber-gloved hand kept up its stroking. As I admired her breast work on his backside, I glanced at the clock and saw it tick along from 29.51, to 29.52 and then inexorably over to 30.00. "And now you can use your mouth, Mon," I announced, as the digital read out indicated Gino had been "enjoying" half an hour of Monique's adroit manipulations. Slowly she rose, then stepped in front of her slave, his face dripping with perspiration, and still breathing deeply to inhale the musky aromas of her pussy-stained panties. With a deliberate motion, Monique pressed her minge against his muscular left thigh, graunching her labia lips over the knotted, rippling flesh. Planting a kiss against his lips, and at the same time rubbing her breasts against his well-developed pectorals, Monique had a question for her slave. "Want me to suck that lovely cock now, eh Gino?" Gino nodded, looking miserable, as if aware that he would soon be reaching the point-of-no-return and that his climax was becoming inevitable. "Yes, please, mistress," his voice came, husky, throaty and almost despairing. And Monique squatted in front of his hard on, cupped his heavy ball sac with her left hand, placed her right on his shaft and opened her mouth to accept his cock head between her lips. As she did so, Gino let out a sharp hiss, of both pleasure and, I am sure, agony. After her lips had encircled the tip of his hard-on, Monique's right hand pulled on his shaft, dragging his foreskin away from the helmet. The little vixen then dragged her mouth from him, revealing the bright pinkness of his knob, his slit dripping with pre-cum. "Like that, Gino?" she said, huskily, in a voice trembling with excitement. "Oh yes, mistress, it's wonderful," Gino replied. And Monique repeated the process, covering his cock head with her mouth, pulling the foreskin down, swirling her tongue across his pink knob, then letting the flesh slide back up to cover his helmet. Soon she was doing it about 10 times a minute, not fast, just slow enough for Gino's brain to start demanding "I've got to come, I've got to come, please let me come". Soon it was all over. Gino's body was gleaming in a sheen of perspiration and suddenly his body stiffened, his muscles contorted, his face went into a grimace and he squeezed his eyes shut. "Oh fuck," he exclaimed, "oh fuck, help me, please help me, oh fuck, I'm coming, mistress, I'm coming – yeeeah." And with a guttural grunt and a high-pitched little squeal, the lovely 28-year-old naked male slave spurted his semen from his now unencumbered cock, Monique having removed her mouth and her hand from his shaft as she felt his semen surge from his balls to his cock head and erupt with one, two, three and finally, a little dribbler of a fourth shot of spunk. As he grunted his satisfaction at the relief he must have felt in his balls, I glanced at the clock. It read 36.45. To be kind to our victim, I jotted down on a pad this little notation "Ejaculation at 37 minutes – 23 minutes left. Six times 23 equals 138 strokes!" I felt the total – 138 – deserved an exclamation mark. Monique rubbed her rubber gloves over the splashes of spunk which glistened in globules on his belly and I stepped over to his sweating body to announce the result. "Well, Gino," I told him, as Monique peeled off her gloves and threw them into a wastepaper basket, "I've given you a time of 37 minutes, you actually lasted for 36 minutes 45 seconds, but I'm letting you have a 15 seconds bonus – isn't that kind of me?" Gino looked at me, his face starting to relax from his ordeal, although by now I know he was anticipating his impending ordeal – my lovely little lash. "Yes, mistress, very kind indeed," he said, softly. "So you were 23 minutes short of the target and I make that 138 strokes. Do you agree with my arithmetic, you lovely slave, you?" I teased him. "Yes, mistress," nodded Gino, "I agree." As if he had any option! "Right, well Monique you can take a break, while I apply his forfeit for failing to reach the time control," I informed my naked assistant. Monique moved to the chair behind my desk and fell into it, her legs splayed, the fingers of one hand playing with her pussy. "All I need," I added, "is for you to make a note of the strokes on that notepad and let me know when I've given any target I pick on 30 strokes. I've got five targets to work over, so that's 30 strokes on each, more or less." "What are the targets you've selected, Karla?" asked Monique, as I took up position behind Gino's sweat-streaked naked body. "I'll start with that glorious butt," I informed her. "And Gino?" "Yes, mistress?" he said, as his body tensed, awaiting my first cut of the leather across his backside. "Just because I've got Monique to make a note of the strokes that doesn't mean you can just stand there and take it. I want you to call out after every 10th stroke and thank me for them, got it?" Gino's lovely black-haired head bobbed as he nodded: "Yes, mistress, I understand." Quickly, and without any advance warning I whipped the lash down across his beautiful booty, fetching a nice thin red stripe to its contours. "Turn around, present your buttocks to Mistress Monique," I snapped. "It was her labours that earned you this flogging, so she may as well be able to enjoy watching the fruits of those labours." Gino shuffled around until his bare buttocks were facing the blonde audience. "And don't think that warning stroke counts, slave," I announced. "The next stroke will be the first." I traced the lash lightly across his buttocks, once, twice, three times. Then, I pulled my arm back and with a flashing upstroke cracked the punisher against his cheeks. He emitted a little wince. The lash had left its mark. The next blow was in a downward motion and cracked onto his flesh about two inches above the original mark. Gino winced again. Two red marks now crossed his beautiful bronzed bum. From a corner of my eye I could see Monique's hand steadily at work between her thighs as she sat engrossed in the picture of punishment playing out before her. I, for my part, was in no hurry, although I was eager for Gino's mouth. I lashed his ass eight more times and finally he grunted, then steadied himself and spoke: "Ten strokes, thank-you, mistress." The first 10 had been delivered with my right hand – now, I switched the lash to my left and moved off to Gino's right side. Again I whipped the cruel little leather thong across his bronzed, taut buttocks. Nine more blows followed, then came Gino's grunted "20 strokes, thank-you, mistress". "I think we'll make you wait for the final 10 across that lovely tush, Gino," I informed him. "Where would you like the next 20?" Gino gulped at my question, then dutifully replied: "Wherever you wish to flog me, mistress." I laughed. "Good reply, my darling slave, but I really want you to name the target, there's a good boy." Then my voice changed from amusement to command: "Now, Gino, where!" "My back, please, mistress – er, no, can I change that to my front thighs? I'd like to look at you flog me." I glanced at Monique who was trying to stifle a snigger, but was playing with her pussy. "What do you say, Mon?" I asked her. "Back or thighs?" Monique pondered for a moment, then answered: "Front of his thighs – inner and outer thighs, mind you. And make him turn round and face me, I want to see if you make any impression on his cock." I drew my arm back and fired another whip stroke onto his lash-streaked backside, and Gino obediently shuffled around in his spreader bar so he was facing my desk and the masturbating minx, Monique. Standing off to his right side, and with the lash in my right hand, I began to baste his thighs. I gave him five cuts on his superbly muscled right inner thigh, then five more across his outer thigh. "Ten strokes, thank-you mistress," Gino intoned and then Monique spoke up. "Fuck, look at his cock, Karla," she said, in an almost awed voice, "it's starting to perk up, the fucking pervert!" And she was right. The pain slut's penis was starting to slide around from its resting place on his balls and stirring into a semi-hard-on. Switching the lash to my left hand I walked across to his left and gave him 10 more strokes, this time on his inner and outer left thigh. By the time he had counted out "20 strokes, thank-you, mistress" his cock was nearing a full-blooded erection! Off to my side, Monique was tumbling over into a paroxysm of sexual delight as her fingers worked their magic on her pussy. But the sight of Gino's stiffy was obviously what had triggered her explosion. "Oh, I'm coming, Karla, I'm coming and fuuuuuck – look at that cock!" I waited for her to calm down, then remarked: "And now, my darling Monique, isn't there something you've forgotten?" Monique looked puzzled, then her eyes lit up. "Oh, shit, sorry Karla, I forgot, but you said you wanted to know when each target had taken 30 strokes, and he's only had 20 on his bum and front thighs, so far." I nodded. "You're right, I'm wrong, as usual around here. OK, I'll finish off his front thighs and then I'll turn him around for his last 10 strokes on his tush." I then gave Gino five more shots over his left thigh, switched to the opposite side, laid five more on his right thigh, then snapped to him "Present your ass, slave!" He shuffled round. The last 10 burned onto his bum and Monique announced: "Right, that's 30 on his buns. Where to next, boss?" "Slave's decision," I said. "Where to next, Gino?" The fully-erect slave thought a moment, then said: "My upper back, please, mistress." And so his punishment continued, my lash falling across his sinewy, muscle-straining back 30 times, 15 strokes on his upper chest across his mighty pectorals, then 15 on his washboard abs. Throughout it the pain slut maintained a hard-on – a remarkable slave, eh? Then Monique said: "He's had 120 strokes, Karla, so that leaves the backs of his thighs for the final 18 strokes." I considered that, then announced: "Eighteen – it's such a nothing number, isn't it Mon?" She agreed. "Yes, neither one thing nor the other," she answered. "What say we make it 20 strokes, eh slave? Ten across the back of each thigh?" I ventured. Gino's reply was, of course, pure slave slobbering: "Yes, mistress, that will be fine, thank-you, mistress." I didn't stint with the strokes, but nor did I ruin his lovely slave flesh. Gino and I have this sort of agreement – I want to get amusement from whipping him, he wants to get arousal from being whipped. So I don't go too far and he cracks a fat! Fair all round, in my book, pardon a little publisher's pun. A Publisher's Pleasures At last his flogging was over and I freed him front his restraints. While I did this, my partner in punishment went into the en suite and started what I knew from habit would be a long shower. When Gino was finally unfettered, I led him over to a long, black couch set against one wall of my office. Lying back on it, still in my stockings, garter belt and quarter-cup bra, I parted my thighs and indicated to Gino to join me. He leant onto the couch, kissed me passionately and pressed his stiff cock head to my cunt to accept his prize. Slowly, but firmly, he slid its eight-and-a-half inches up my velvet-smooth cunt until he was deep within me, then began his steady, slow thrusting. I ran my hands over his lash-caressed back and buttocks, and kissed his full, sensuous mouth. "There, there, poor old Gino," I murmured as his thickness pumped delightfully in my cunt. "did naughty Karla drag him from his ladies at his favorite strip club?" Gino was panting slightly now. "It was my pleasure, mistress, you know I love you," my long-haired slave smiled. But I had no intention of allowing him to get away with that type of diplomacy. "There's a black stripper at the club, isn't there?" I asked. "Yeah," grunted Gino, his eyes clouding over, obviously just thinking of her. "She's got big breasts, huge nipples, areolae like saucers, hasn't she?" I asked. "Yes, mistress," he said, moving faster inside me now. "You'd like her to sit on your face, with her shaved pussy and the stubbly pubic flesh, with its musky, strong aroma, wouldn't you, Gino?" I teased. "Yes," he panted, again upping the tempo of his prick thrusts. "And there's a lovely young blonde there – what is she, 20, 22, something like that?" I asked. "Yeah, 22," said Gino, sweat now starting to form on his forehead. "She's got lovely firm, perky breasts, hasn't she?" I taunted him. "You'd love her to press them all over your cock, wouldn't you, Gino?" Again he replied in the affirmative, as his thrusts became stronger and longer. "One day I'll invite a few of them up to my place, take you down to my cosy little dungeon – my treat," I told him. "We'll get them to dress up in their kinky gear, dance for you, whip you. That would be fun, eh?" Gino grunted his penile piston now pounding away. "Yeah, yeah," he gasped. "Make you scream – you'd like that, wouldn't you Gino? Screaming for your mistresses? Me, Mon, the black woman, the blonde? Yelling and blubbering as we take turns with the whip on your back, eh?" Finally, he could hold out no longer. "Oh, fuck, I'm coming, mistress, I'm coming," he told me. I raked my fingernails down his perspiration-soaked, whip-streaked back and said: "Come in me, big boy, come in me, I don't mind." And with a roar, Gino exploded as his second ejaculation of the session poured into my pussy. As his penis slipped into from my sex channel and he withdrew, it left a snail trail of spunk on my inner thigh. I didn't mind. There's an old saying, I think, that goes along the lines of "What goes up, must come down". I pushed him onto his back on the long couch and straddled his mouth with my pussy. Obediently he began to clear up the mess he had made. I looked out the huge window. The snow was still silently falling on Montreal. I didn't care. I was in the warmth, my pussy was warm, my slave's tongue was warm. "Ah," I said, more to myself than Gino, "the perks and pleasures of being a publisher."