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Dance

By: defiant_1



(This one’s considerably longer than most of my recent stories. If there are situations or implements or dialogue that seem a little dated – or writing that seems stilted – that’s only because I wrote the story some time ago. I only just found it again, buried in a pile of old stuff. As usual, your feedback is welcome. Enjoy! – defiant^1)

*****

With one thing or another, Helen was as wound-up and tense as she’d ever been. The entire week had seen her more involved than usual with demanding customers, new business, lost business, and firefighting efforts to put to rest potential corporate problems. Arriving at her uptown home shortly after six that Friday night after yet another pushing and shoving match with commuters in rush-hour traffic, all Helen wanted at that moment was relaxation, sweet relaxation.

Her approach to unwinding wasn’t novel. In fact, she probably took the ideal course of action. Slipping out of her clothing, Helen stepped into a steamy bath complemented with a generous amount of bath gel and laid back in the refreshingly hot tub. Within minutes, the tensions of her workday life began dissolving as she sponged her body in the soapy, fragrant solution.

Now in her early 30s, Helen’s body was a sight to behold. Her well-rounded breasts had a perkiness to them, nipples aiming skywards, and her long legs drew rapt attention from men wherever she went. Her lustrous brunette hair hung shoulder length.

She spent a good 45 minutes in the bath, loving every moment of the luxury. Reluctantly, she left the cocoon-like warmth and moisture, and toweled herself dry. Helen did her hair, too, before having a light supper snack.

Picking at her salad, she scanned the evening newspaper for her information fix before turning to her favourite columnists and features. Then came the matter of critical importance – her evening’s amusement. The entertainment listings showed four separate singles dances that night. Checking them out by phone, Helen decided – using a combination of location and numbers of people likely to be there – that if she was to find any new blood, the event at the Triumph Hotel would be the most likely spot. As a bonus, it was only 15 minutes away from her house. She planned on making at least one conquest this evening, perhaps more. Helen knew she’d be bringing somebody home, plus she’d be giving her number to a few other “lucky” guys.

Now came the fun part... deciding what she was going to wear. Checking all her clothes, Helen came to a decision she’d never before reached. Up until now, subtlety had been a watchword. Tonight would be different. She decided to dress in a manner advertising her sexuality, and her preference. Helen chose her laciest, sexiest black bra – the kind that hooked in front and plumped her already-full breasts in the manner most men found riveting. Naturally, matching abbreviated black bikini panties followed. Sitting before her make-up mirror, Helen selected pink earrings as an accessory before adding lipstick and blush to complement them. She spent a lot of time on her eyes, wanting to make sure she projected a flirtatious yet dangerous look. Helen knew that after a man had visually sampled her body and clothing, it would be her eyes that sealed his fate. Satisfied, she added the lacy black garter belt and seamed dark stockings before choosing her outer wear. An over-the-knee, tight, black leather skirt was her choice, followed by a clinging, low cut sweater which would reveal – fully – her lovely cleavage. She reasoned that the idea was to make sure the guys saw the black cups and shoulder straps of her bra when she purposely leaned over to speak with them or during the slow dancing she was bound to be doing. Helen knew that by adding patent leather four-inch spiked pumps that she’d look exactly like what she was; a fetishist’s dream!

Ever since she’d been a teenager in high school, Helen had had a taste for dominating and humiliating her men. Since her first slave, Helen had used her mystique and mens’ submissive fantasies to fulfil her needs. Her last slave had become tiresome and she’d dismissed him three weeks ago. Now, she decided, she needed new action. checking herself in the full length mirror, she knew she was ready.

The taxi dropped her at the Triumph Hotel shortly after 11 o’clock. Finding the ballroom easily, Helen could see that the place was packed. Making her way to the entrance, she was reassured that her physical preparations were being appreciated. The guys stared then parted like the Red Sea, giving her plenty of room to move through the main doors. At the bar she ordered her favorite, but before she could reach her wallet, the man beside her offered, “This one’s on me.” 

Politely, yet without smiling, Helen thanked him, giving the impression that nothing less than his paying was her due.

“Have you been here before?” he asked.

“No,” she responded. “This is the first time.”

“Well, it’s pretty good tonight. There must be over 500 people here.”

Helen didn’t respond. Any fool could’ve made that observation. There was nothing to say, she reasoned. She surveyed her surroundings, making sure to catch and store in her mind as much of the action as she could. Of the men in her immediate proximity, she knew who was looking at her leather skirt and shoes, and whose eyes were focused on her face and breasts. She’d done the exercise a thousand times but still found it fascinating. Helen could peg the fetishists and potential slaves in an instant.

The guy who’d bought her her first drink hadn’t given up. “Would you care to dance?”

“No, thank you,” she said, and continued her brazen assessment of the room and the men in it. Taking her drink and wandering away from the bar, she meandered a bit, drawing attention from both sexes every step of the way. The women eyed her with looks that said they were sizing up the competition. Helen read those looks to be defeatist and malicious, that they couldn’t compete with her. But, the hell with them, she thought. She wasn’t here to win a popularity contest with the girls.

Finding an unoccupied table, Helen sat down. Once again, she did a visual exploration. Pleased, she noted that three potentials had followed her from the bar. Helen made a point of making eye contact with each of them. It wasn’t more than a moment later that the bravest approached, asking her to dance. It was a slow number so he put his right arm around her waist and got close enough to inhale her scent and to get an eyeful of Helen’s cleavage. Helen was delighted to feel his stiffening cock pressed against her mid-section. She introduced herself and he did likewise. His name, he said, was George. He was a tall, well built guy with a fair complexion – the kind, she thought, that shows her welts so nicely. Helen, while encouraging him as they danced, also remained a tad aloof. She was psychologically applying those age-old principles of dominance – affection and denial – by at one moment drawing him close, squeezing his hand and otherwise letting him know she was not offended by his erection, while not giving much of herself away in conversation.

When the song ended, Helen knew George was hers for the taking. She knew, too, that it was still a bit too soon to make her move so she sent him to the bar to fetch her another soft drink. She rarely drank alcohol in public. While he was gone, one of the remaining two potentials asked her onto the floor. Helen’s second impression, as he began to speak, was not good. This guy had all the body language of a potential submissive but came on as being too macho. When the song ended, Helen had struck him from her list and, wordless, turned and made her way back to her table where George stood awaiting her.

Good, she thought. He hadn’t sat down. George had promise as a slave. Making herself comfortable, she waited for him to take a small bit of initiative and seat himself. When he didn’t, Helen offered him the chair beside her. Both were overjoyed, Helen because he was already caught in her web and George because this beauty actually wanted his company.

They talked as best they could over the loud music. Helen made sure to allow him all the cleavage viewing he wanted. And he wanted a lot. His eyes were all over her. She suggested they leave the ballroom and go next door to the dining room where they could speak more freely and get to know one another. George quickly agreed and they left, him smugly escorting her past all the other men, lording his conquest. Helen observed his strut but she knew who got who. The maitre’d gave them a small table for two off in a corner. The couple had as much privacy as they needed for the kind of conversation Helen provoked. “Tell me, George, what made you follow me from the bar to my table?”

Taken aback because he hadn’t expected her to notice, George, to his credit, kept a straight face by responding, “Well, I found you so stunning that I wanted to know where you were going to settle-in so that I could find you later. When I saw I wasn’t the only one interested in you, I approached sooner than I’d psyched myself for.”

“Why did you feel you had to psych yourself?” she asked.

“Frankly, because I felt that if I didn’t steel myself for a possible rejection, the whole evening could have been a disaster. I hated the thought of being turned down by the first lady I approached.”

“George,” she said, “when I saw the way you stared at my leather skirt and my high heels, I knew we had something in common. I could tell you have an appreciation for things that go beyond the norm.”

“You saw me staring?”

“Yes, I did,” Helen said. “Are you embarrassed?”

“A little. I mean, most women don’t understand how powerful their visual impact is, or how much it can affect a man. I admit that I got caught up in your aesthetic presentation, especially your high heels and leather skirt.”

George had also been captivated by her low neckline, her eyes, her body language ... but decided not to mention it.

“Would you describe your taste in women as running to the kinky?” she asked.

“Absolutely,” he said, “provided she has the understanding to be feminine, desirable, a little bit witchy and dresses the way you do.”

“I like having a man around who likes the kinds of things you do,“ she said. Looking him straight in the eye, she took the tone of the conversation directly to its heart, “In fact, most of the time I want a man to treat me with the respect a slave would give his owner.”

He lowered his gaze and said, “I often put beautiful women like you on a pedestal, imagining that I’d do almost anything for them.”

“If I demanded it, “ she asked, “would you do anything for me? Would you obey me and treat me the way a slave would treat a mistress?”

George again lowered his eyes, finding her cleavage in his line of sight. “Oh, yes. Yes, I would,” he responded.

“Well, I might give you the opportunity.”

The warm-up was over. Helen knew her game had now begun. Both were silent for a moment. George was absorbing the exchange of words while Helen stared him down. Suddenly, she said, “Let’s get out of here. Do you have a car?”

“Yes, it’s parked out back.”

“Go and get it. I’ll meet you at the front door.”

As he made his way to the exit, Helen slowly began gathering her things. Standing, she walked to the door of the dining room. When she reached the corridor, the third of her potentials was there. Awkwardly, he approached and told her that he’d seen her leave with a man but had hoped he might have an opportunity to speak with her. Helen said she’d committed herself that evening but gave him her number. He was kind of cute, she thought, and looked like he might be fun to while away a few hours with.

George was standing beside his car when she came out, holding the door open for her. Driving out of the parking lot, Helen gave him her address and the directions. Turning so that her back was against her door, she brought both legs up onto the seat between them. Extending one, she moved her high heel onto his lap, atop his genitals. George was beside himself with excitement as the high heel ground into his growing erection. Helen told him to steer with one hand and to massage her other foot.

He slipped off her shoe, then massaged her stockinged foot, squeezing, kneading and rubbing. As he did, Helen made sure her shoe on the other foot teased his cock. Up until now, Helen hadn’t taken the Mistress/slave concept all the way into the open. Deciding this was as good a time as any, she raised the foot George had been massaging to his lips and said, “Kiss it, slave.”

Shaken, George grasped her foot, kissed and sucked all five toes through the stocking, then passionately kissed her instep. His ardor increased to the point where Helen began to worry about his driving. Lowering her foot, she demanded he concentrate on handling the car. Naturally, her high-heeled massage of his cock quickly came to an end, too.

Helen liked the progress she’s made so far but now, she realized, it was time to close the sale. She knew she had to reinforce his desire. Snuggling close and putting her left hand on his upper thigh, Helen stroked it and said, “We’re almost there, pet. You know I want you to come inside but unless you agree to do everything I tell you, you’d better just drop me off.”

In a groan of longing, he promised to follow her orders and to submit.

In a stronger tone, yet still seductively, Helen said, “That’s good, slave.” She reached higher and squeezed his cock through his pants, “You’re going to be my little sex toy for the night and I wanted you to know beforehand what you’re letting yourself in for.”

Parking the car, George opened the passenger door and helped Helen out. She reached for his crotch and, taking a handful of his private parts, led him all the way to her front door. Once there, she said, “Last chance, boy. Once inside, you’re mine.”

George looked down and said, “I want to be at your mercy, Mistress.”

As they say on radio, that was the ‘phrase that pays’ for Helen. Quickly, she unlocked her front door, preceded him inside and closed it behind him. Immediately, she put her domination to work, ordering him to kneel.

He went to his knees on the instant, then heard her order to lick her shoes. He bent his head and Helen soon felt the slight pressure of his tongue through the leather. She enjoyed his submissive attention for a moment, then – leaving him where he was – walked into the living room. He began to follow but Helen pulled him up short, commanding, “Don’t make a move unless I tell you. Stay there on your knees.”

George could see her as she poured herself a glass of wine, made herself comfortable on the couch and crossed her leg. Helen let about five minutes go by before snapping her fingers and pointing to the floor in front of her. He began to rise but Helen commanded, “Crawl, slave.”

Blushing, George approached her on all fours, then pushed himself up so that he rested on his knees. Helen knew he could see her nylon tops and the soft, bare skin of her thighs. But that was fine. She wanted him hot. Extending the shoe dangling from the toes of her crossed leg, her desire was left unspoken. She loved the way his little pink tongue shot out of his mouth to lick the leather. She kept him at it throughout her enjoyment of the wine. From time to time, he had to take his tongue back into his mouth for re-moistening. Each time he did, Helen frowned.

“Stop, slave,” she said, withdrawing her foot. “Take off all your clothes, put them on the floor in the corner and come back here. Don’t even think of standing.”

He crawled into the corner and awkwardly took everything off before returning to her on his hands and knees. He knelt again, naked. His erection was standing at a 90-degree angle, seemingly saluting her shoes, stockings and leather.

Before leaving for the dance, Helen had choreographed how any scene might have gone later on. In anticipation, she’d placed various bondage and discipline toys in certain areas of her living room. Beside her was a small cabinet that doubled as an end table. Opening its door, she took out a black leather dog collar she’d originally found in the pets section of the supermarket. Leaning toward him, she put the leather around his neck and fastened it tight enough so that he knew he was wearing it but not so tight he choked. A black leather leash was next, snapped onto the collar’s D-ring. Helen held the leash so there was no slack between her hand and his neck. She wanted him to feel and to know that she had control and that she intended on exercising it. 

Standing, she ordered George to follow her – “just like a puppy dog” – into her bedroom. Helen loved this feeling of power. She loved having a mature male human being collared and on the end of her leash. She ordered him to bark. 

His “woof, woof” amused her and she acknowledged it by saying, “such a good boy.”

The wrist restraints and the rest of her goodies were in her bedroom. When she got him in there, she had him put his hands behind his back for shackling. Helen then attached her end of the leash to a hook midway up the wall. George wasn’t going anywhere. He was effectively staked out the same way you might find an animal pegged to the ground and held by a lead in a farmer’s field. In Helen’s case, her animal had his hands restrained behind him . . . he was collared and at the end of a leash that she, an attractive woman, had put on him . . . he was attached naked to her bedroom wall . . . AND he had a mighty erection.

Helen posed for him in a seductive manner just beyond the length of his leash before crossing her arms at the waist and slowly pulling the low cut sweater over her head. Black bra with breasts spilling over the cups, leather skirt, seamed nylons and spike heels were the adornments he now saw on Helen’s body. Involuntarily, he trembled and his penis throbbed at the sight of her loveliness. His reaction and his attention didn’t escape Helen. She took pride in the knowledge that she could affect certain men in this manner, and she intended to use her upper hand to the max. She determined that this slave was going to grovel, be humiliated, and whipped. She had already taken him a long way but was determined he would pay more than simple lip service about being a slave. When she was through with him, she thought, he genuinely would be.

George watched his beautiful conqueror approach, felt her cup his chin in her palm while she squeezed his cock with the other hand. “Slave,” she said, “you’ve got a lot to learn in the next few hours. Uppermost is the fact that you do not say nor do anything unless I give permission. Understand?”

“Yes, Mistress.”

“When I snap my fingers,” she said, “you will come to me on your knees. When I squeeze your cock, you stand still. When I run my fingers up and down your spine, you don’t move. When I make love to your ass, you submit. When I whip you, you take it. You do only what you’re told and nothing else.”

“Yes, Mistress Helen.”

She released him and, taking a length of her favorite blue ribbon, wrapped it around his balls and over the base of his cock, tying it in a neat bow. “There,” she said. “Don’t you feel like a pretty slave?”

“Yes, Mistress.”

Elbow length black leather gloves came next. She put them on and approached the tethered George. Holding one hand to his mouth, she commanded, “Use your tongue, slave. Smooth the leather up my arm.”

He worked and worked at making sure every crease was out of the glove before relaxing his tongue and head. Inspecting his work, Helen found a wrinkle. “You didn’t do too good a job, slave. That will cost you five lashes. Here, try the other one.”

Had he been any other person doing a job assigned him, George would have earned plaudits. In this case, Helen’s plan included finding fault. She did, a small crease just over her elbow, the most difficult area to make neat. “You call this smoothed on?” she criticized. “I call it lazy and haphazard. That will cost you another ten with the whip.”


Dance



Helen took her cat’o’nine tails in hand and approached her new slave. Holding it to his mouth, she said her whip had a personality all its own and that she’d given it a name. “Kiss and lick Charity, slave, and tell her that you want her to put her marks on your ass. Do it.”

“Yes, Mistress. Please, Charity,” he pleaded to the whip between kisses, “please have Mistress Helen use you to mark my ass. Please hit it 15 times as punishment for not smoothing Mistress’ gloves on perfectly.”

At the end of his plea, George licked the whip.

“You’ll get your 15, pet, and five more because I want to whip you. Turn around and bend over.”

When George complied, he felt her gloved hand reach between his legs. He was stimulated when she fondled his balls and stroked his penis. But Helen wasn’t doing him any favors. She simply liked seeing cocks hard and stiff.

“Count the lashes, slave, and thank Charity after each.”

The first blow landed dead center on his upturned ass. “One,” he said. “Thank you, Charity.”

Five more strokes, relatively easy since Helen didn’t yet know what this slave could take, then a pause to fondle his cock and balls again. His dick was still hard, giving her the go-ahead to put more emphasis into her flogging. Four more at medium strength had him moaning nicely.

“That’s it, slave, “ she said, “let me know you’re hurting. Charity and I like hurting you. Whine a little. Gasp for us.”

He was letting out little choked groans that threatened to become even louder. Helen stopped just long enough to get a gag and say, “I love the way your ass is coloring up, slave. And I love the sound of Charity slamming into it. But the neighbors might take exception. Open your mouth.”

She jammed the little ball gag between his lips and tied it at the back of his neck. Walking in front so he could see her, she ran her gloved hand over his cheek. “Do you still like being my slave? Before you answer, remember you’re tied up and very much at my mercy.”

His response was in the affirmative as he bobbed his head up and down.

“Good,” she said. “Are you ready for the remaining ten?”

Again, he nodded.

“So am I, slave. In fact, now I can really whip you since you’ll be screaming into my gag. You don’t mind if I let myself go, do you?”

“Uuughh,” he replied.

Helen took up a position behind him and let him have his final ten lashes in rapid order. She loved whipping a slave without giving any consideration. Her heart pounded and her pussy was soaked.

When he’d had the full 20, George’s fair skin showed the results. Pink and red welts were all over his upper thighs and ass. Up front, his cock had receded considerably but another moment of fondling and rolling it in her palm had made it spring back to an urgent life in Helen’s hand.

She opened her closet door and, taking a leg separator, attached the ends to each of his ankles. George didn’t know it yet but his legs were now spread wide enough for Helen to satisfy herself. The next thing he saw was his new mistress removing her skirt and panties, then taking something in her hand that looked like cow horns. A moment later, as she applied KY jelly to it, he realized what the device really was. Panic set in.

Helen inserted a portion of the double-ended dildo into herself, then approached her strung-up slave. She smoothed the petroleum jelly all over the skin at his anus, spreading it evenly on the dildo intended for him and said, “Bend over, slave. You’re about to get fucked.”

George tried begging around his gag, somehow letting her know that he’d never been used in that manner. “How nice,” she said. “I’m getting a virgin. Bend over. Lean your head against the wall. You’re going to get fucked.”

She was pleased that her new slave, while a quivering mass, bent and followed her order. She moved her hips close to his rear end, used both hands to grasp his hips, and teasingly caressed his bud with the hard dildo. Moving closer, she took one end of it in her hand, aimed, and gently slid the rubber cock - slowly - into George’s ass. His buttock muscles clenched tight.

“It’ll be easier on you if you relax, “ she said.

He tried, and the six-inch dildo slid in to the hilt. Helen began thrusting, making her slave the object of intercourse. As reluctant as he’d been, her softness and her approach soon had the desired effect. He was moaning and shifting his lower extremities just the way a female might. Helen was overjoyed – the stimulation of fucking a slave while the dildo worked its magic on her allowed her to pump with a sexual vengeance.

The orgasm overwhelmed her.

She stepped back, the dildo slipping out of him easily. Removing it, Helen lay on the bed recuperating while George continued leaning against the wall, collared, gagged, arms bound, legs spread and his cock erect. 

Helen needed only a few minutes before getting up and approaching him. She had him stand, leaned close to his ear and whispered, “You belong to me, slave.”

She unhooked his leash from the wall, removed the separator, then walked him to her bed where she sat. He bent his head, nuzzling his face against her calves. Smiling gently, she untied his gag, told him to lick her shoes and to thank her for his discipline and his fucking. Complying immediately, George began licking and told her how grateful he was that she had taken the time to use Charity on his backside and that she’d used him to reach gratification.

Helen balanced the pump on her toes, heel extended. “Suck it, slave. Suck it just as though it were my lover’s cock.”

His lips wrapped around the heel, his eyes closed. The feeling he put into it gave Helen all she needed to know. this one was into leather, heels and feet. Now, whenever she wanted him excited all she’d have to do would be to put his tongue to work while he knelt. “I like the way you do that, slave. I like having you on your knees after I’ve whipped and fucked you, seeing you suck my high heel. You, too?”

“Oh yes, Mistress. I love your shoes and feet.”

“Don’t get too amorous with them yet, slave. I’ve got more in mind for you.”

She released his hands and re-connected the shackles at the front. Taking him by the leash, Helen led George to the bedroom doorway. On the wood above the door’s mid point, there was a hook imbedded. Using a chain, she connected his wrists overhead, hanging him by his hands facing into the bedroom.

Helen visually teased her new slave by putting her panties and skirt back on, then going to her dressing table. Sitting before the mirror, she laid Charity on the counter and began brushing her hair. Through the mirror she could see him squirming on the hook, his balls nicely tied. Helen made sure to accentuate her brushing so that her breasts rose and fell provocatively within the bra in motion with her brush strokes.

What a picture she presented to her slave/fetishist!

George had a double view through the mirror, catching all the subtlety of her facial features, her neck, her breasts, the leather skirt riding up, exposing her thighs over the stocking tops in the reflection. He could also see her perfect back, the bra strap across it, the ass of her leather skirt, the seams of her stockings, and her high-heeled feet strategically placed on the floor, one slightly ahead of the other. Helen knew her breasts forced upward provided compelling viewing. And she played her posturing for all it was worth.

George started to ask something but she cut him off quickly, angrily jumping to her feet. “You know the rules, slave. No talking unless I allow it. And I didn’t.” She approached him rapidly, took his balls in her hand and squeezed. His face cringed in pain as his mistress twisted, tormenting George’s family jewels. Helen thought it was time now to step up his training anyway and his outburst provided the perfect opportunity. “You will say nothing unless you’re asked a direct question. Do you understand that, slave?”

“Yes, Mistress,” he squeaked.

She stood back and looked him over. Slowly reaching for the zipper on her skirt, she lowered it and then stepped out of the garment. Slave George now had another good look at her garter belt, panties and stockings. Helen picked up Charity and the gag from the dresser, walked over to her strung-up slave, tied his gag back on, squeezed by him into the hallway, and – without hesitation – whipped him soundly. She made sure the whip covered every square inch of his flesh, flogging him cruelly from just above the back of his knees to the top of his back. Helen let herself go. When she’d finished, his back, ass and thighs were a mass of redness and welts, just the way she wanted him. Leaving him hanging where he was, she again squeezed by, giving his cock a few jerks. She wanted it up. And her thrashing had the effect of reducing both his resistance to her and, unfortunately, his erection. That wouldn’t do for Mistress Helen.

Her attitude had always been, since she had discovered domination, that when she worked a slave she included small kindnesses. From time to time she would, depending on the occasion, encourage him to take greater pain by using her most beguiling tone of voice, or would give him a breather by allowing him a drink. Just about any kindness, she knew, almost always reinforced her domination because it was she - his tormentress - who provided it. But Helen knew, too, to always make sure her slave was either restrained or in a humbling position before she offered any solace. This time was no different.

Releasing him from the hook, she had him crawl to her at her stool by the dressing table. Gently stroking his face, brushing aside his tears and, essentially, loving him up, she asked, “Was mistress too hard on your poor back and ass, slave.?”

George melted as his mistress posed the question. “No, Mistress. At the time it was hellish but I feel better now.”

She reached for her whip. “You feel better, do you? Perhaps Charity and I should whip you some more.”

Please, Mistress, you may do as you wish but please give me a short break.”

You know I’ll be doing as I wish, slave. But I am not an inconsiderate mistress. Would you like a drink of water?”

His affirmative response brought him a new treat. Helen told him to stay where he was, on his knees, and she went to the kitchen. Returning with a saucer of water, she put it on the floor and ordered, “Drink, slave. Lap it up like the dog you are.”

He bent to the task, lapping the water like a huge St. Bernard might. All the while, she held his leash. She’d filled the saucer to the brim and, when he brought his head up indicating he’d had enough, there was still almost half the contents remaining. Putting her shoe over the back of his neck and using the spiked end of her high heel, Helen pushed his face back to the dish. “Lap it all up, dog. When I give you a present I expect you to enjoy it.”

George finished it all as she sat yanking the leash and digging her heel into the back of his neck. when the saucer was dry, she allowed him to kneel back up again. 

By then, it was well into the early hours and she’d decided to wind thing down for the night. Whether he knew it or not, this lave was staying over as her “guest”. She had him put his mouth back to work on her shoe again and, as he licked and kissed, she playfully used Charity over his shoulders and back. The idea was to get that cock of his up again, not punish him. This whipping was strictly sensual.

“Is my slave all hot and bothered by Mistress?”

“Yes, Mistress, I am.”

“I’d like to see how hot you are. Here, I’ll use my gloved hand to tease your cock. While I’m doing that, lick your way up my stockings. Don’t touch my skin, just the stockings.”

She grasped his cock and began the milking process, squeezing just hard enough, moving her hand on the skin of his penis up and down, up and down, up and down, piston-like. It didn’t take long before her ministrations caused his pre-cum juices to appear at his cock’s tip. Helen knew that her slave was only a second or two away from orgasm so warned, “Don’t even think of cumming unless I give permission. What do you think might happen if you ejaculate now?”

The question wasn’t meant to be answered, it was purely rhetorical. And he knew it.

Helen stopped wanking him, spread her legs and told him to worship the crotch of her panties. He licked for all he was worth, her keeping him at it until she came for the second time that night. In the final throes of her ecstasy, she whipped him and pulled on his leash with all her strength. The worm suffered, and Helen loved it.

Recovering, she reached again for his cock, jerking, pulling, squeezing, and teasing. It didn’t take long. His cum erupted in a series of geyser-like spouts all over her glove. Holding it to his mouth, she had him suck the leather dry and swallow his load. She further embarrassed him by saying, “Since I didn’t give permission for that cum, slave, you’re in for another round of discipline. This time, it won’t be much fun for you. I know how painful Charity can be when she’s making her special kind of love to the rear end of a slave whose sexual involvement has been extinguished. Turn around, face on the floor, ass in the air.”

Ball gag once more in place, Helen whipped hard, fifteen brutal lashes to his ass. He was jumping all over, trying to avoid her precious Charity.

Leaving him writhing in agony, she dropped her whip onto the vanity table and found the longer leash in her drawer. She exchanged it with the smaller one, snapping it onto his collar. Taking the end, Helen hung it over the hook in the wall. Getting him up on his knees, his eyes red from his tears, she undid his wrist shackles and re-connected his hands behind his back. Adding the ankle cuffs, she used a length of chain from them and also slipped the end over the wall hook.

Her slave had some slack and could move a bit but he was just out of reach of his mistress’ bed. Throwing him an old pillow, she said, “Make yourself as comfortable as you can, slave. You’re sleeping on the floor tonight. If you have to go to the bathroom, forget it. Just hold it until I wake up tomorrow.” From that moment on, she ignored him. Helen took off her remaining clothes in a semi-strip tease before slipping into a see through black nightgown. She exchanged her pumps for high-heeled slippers, walking past him on her way to the bathroom.

Returning a few minutes later all set for bed, she stopped and looked down at her new boy. He looked up at his mistress, still teary-eyed, and tried to move closer to her. Helen took pity, gave his head a little hug as she drew him to her thigh, and said, “Before we go to sleep, slave, give my feet a kiss good night.” 

He bent to the task, clearly respectful and worshiping, as he kissed the insteps of both her feet. Helen went to bed with no further thought of him. Soon she was in a deep and luxurious sleep.

Saturday morning and up at the respectable hour of nine o’clock, Helen looked over at her new slave. George’s eyes were wide open and he had a pained expression. “Good morning, animal,” she said. “Do you have a problem?”

“Good morning, Mistress. Yes, please let me go to the bathroom.”

He had been good not to awaken her, she decided, and now was the time to be a gracious mistress because she wanted him to be even more in love with her. Besides, her plans called for his Saturday to be a long one. Releasing him from his bonds, Helen directed him to the two-piece bathroom off the hallway. He stumbled as he went, his limbs getting used to the fact that they were no longer restrained.

While he was gone, Helen went to her shower and spent the better part of half an hour in it. She’d decided that if slave George wanted to leave, now was a good time for him to beat a hasty retreat. But she wasn’t surprised when, upon entering the kitchen, she found him awaiting her naked and on his knees near the table with a pot of fresh coffee in his grip. He poured her a cup, put the pot back in the coffee machine and returned, kneeling and saying good morning to her feet with his lips and tongue.

Helen said, “You had a rough night, slave. You may relax for a few minutes and join me for breakfast. Pour yourself a cup, too.”

Helen and George were enjoying toast and coffee when she turned and asked, “When you went to that dance last night, did you have any idea you might end up as a woman’s slave?”

“No, Mistress, I didn’t. But I knew the moment I saw you walk into the room that I’d do anything for you.”

“Have you been a slave before?”

“Yes, Mistress. A girlfriend at the place I used to work put two and two together based on my behaviour and our conversations. She became my mistress. After we broke up, I’d sometimes go to a proDomme.”

“I gave you a chance to leave while I was in the shower. Why didn’t you take it?”

“I want to stay with you,” he said, “for as long as I can.”

Helen nodded, then said, “In a few minutes, after we’ve finished eating and maybe had another cup of coffee, I’m going to snap my fingers. When I do, I’ll want you back down on the floor, your lips pressed to my slippers.

“Yes, Mistress Helen.”

“I’m glad we understand each other. Now, just so you know, I went to the hotel last night looking for somebody like you. I’ve been through the usual relationships and they don’t satisfy me. I know I need a max sex toy, a slave who’ll take my abuse and worship me all the more because of it – a man who’ll be my slave because he wants to serve femininity, particularly mine. I like whipping men. And I specifically enjoyed whipping, humiliating and teasing you. Unless you decide to leave within the next couple of minutes, I’m planning on using Charity and some of my other toys on you... a lot.”

George didn’t respond, he simply nodded his head in comprehension. While he poured them both a second cup, Helen told him that her girlfriend and she would be going shipping in a little while. She said she and Brenda had no secrets, including the fact that Helen’s overnight guests were slaves. She said Brenda must be treated as a mistress, too.

“In fact,” she said, “she’s become quite the Domme herself. Don’t feel anxious about your nudity when she comes in. I want you to greet her the same way you would me, on your knees and respectful. Am I making myself clear?”

He acknowledged that she was.

Helen snapped her fingers and said, “Your moment of equality is over, slave. Follow me into my bedroom and help me dress.”

George jumped from his place at the table, fell to his knees and pressed his lips to her high-heeled slippers, then crawled behind her to the bedroom.

Helen chose a fresh set of black undies and had her slave hold the panties as she leaned on his shoulder, stepping into them. Handing him the front-clasping bra, he held it as she slipped first one arm and then the other through it, then turned for him to do up the catch between her magnificent breasts. George was good. He didn’t try for a feel.

Taking the slave collar, Helen had him kiss and lick it before putting it around his neck. He stayed on his knees as she put on a sweater and pair of lacks. Slipping into spike-heeled boots, she clipped the walking leash onto his collar and led him into the living room to await Brenda. Helen put him to work licking her boots, giving him full rein. He did first one, including the sole and sucking the heel, before she offered him the other. Helen said she needed them nice and shiny because she didn’t want Brenda to look better than she did.

George was just completing the side of her second boot – his erection complete – when there was a knock on the door. Helen looked down at slave George and said, “Slave, get over there and let Brenda in. Stay on your knees and keep your head down. Don’t look her in the eye. When the door’s closed, I want you to press your lips to her foot and tell her who you are.”




Dance



Helen’s new slave did exactly as instructed. He opened the door, keeping his eyes lowered and, after closing it, prostrated himself at her feet and kissed her shoe. “I’m slave George,” he said. “I belong to Mistress Helen.”

Brenda laughed, stroked his head, picked up the end of his leash and said, “How nice! A new slave. Come along, slave George. I’m a little agitated this morning and I can use your services.”

Turning to Helen, Brenda asked, “Why didn’t you tell me you had a new one? I would’ve come over last night.”

“I just got him last night,” said Helen, “and I plan on keeping him for quite some time.

“Mind if I take him into the spare bedroom for a few minutes?”

“Not at all,” Helen replied. “Need any equipment?”

“Actually, I’ve been looking forward to seeing your next slave. Now that he’s here, I’d like to use Charity.”

“Certainly. He’s had too easy a time of it today anyway.”

George was listening to the easy banter between the two women and was growing appreciatively apprehensive because Brenda was shaping up as being equally formidable. He thought Brenda looked fabulous in her tight jeans, floppy sweater and the red, high-heeled sandals.

Handing Brenda her whip, Helen sat back and watched as her girlfriend led George away on his hands and knees.

Once inside the spare room, Brenda inspected George more closely. She, too, had noted his erection the moment he kissed her shoes. Brenda wasn’t the least bit shy. She quickly slipped the sweater over her head, revealing a voluptuous figure in a deep-cut red bra. “Remove my shoes and hold them while I take off my jeans, slave,” she commanded. “While you’re at it, lick them clean.”

Brenda took down her jeans, stepped out of them and - much to George’s delight - revealed a red garter belt, bikini panties and black nylons. Sitting on the bed, she extended a limb straight forward, arching her foot as she did. “Suck my toes, slave.” 

George felt himself tugged toward her by his leash and soon had her toes wriggling in his mouth. He sucked them individually before she gently pushed them all between his lips. Withdrawing, Helen offered him the same thrill with her other foot and toes before telling him to put her shoes back on her feet.

Brenda stood, turned her back to him, and brought the leash between her legs, pulling it tight. She forced George’s head against her buttocks, saying “Kiss and lick my ass, slave. I want every inch of it moist by the time you’re finished.”

He went to work as Helen slightly bent forward, giving his mouth and tongue access to the entire area. He energetically licked, stopping only when she jerked his leash, then dropped it.

Brenda left the room, returning almost immediately with Helen’s wrist shackles. “Put your hands behind your back, slave,” she commanded. “I want them out of the way before I introduce you to my brand of discipline.”

George responded the only way he knew how – “Yes, Mistress.”

“Helen is your mistress,” she said.“You’ll call me Lady Brenda.”

“Yes, Lady Brenda.”

“Kneel beside the bed, drape your body over it. I’ve been looking forward to whipping a man ever since your mistress dumped what’s-his-name over three weeks ago.”

George got into position as instructed, his upper body over the bed, his knees on the floor. Brenda stood behind him, ran the lashes lightly down his back and over his ass before pulling it away. She then applied the whip in a punitive manner, whipping him as hard as Helen had at her angriest last night. The slave squirmed, moaned and cried as the whipping progressed. “That’s it,” she said. “Hurt for me. I love whipping men and I love hearing them whimper when I’m doing it.”

While flogging him, Brenda was using her other hand to rub and caress her clitoris and her breasts. this wasn’t play for her. She was administering a sexual beating aiming for what she needed most this Saturday morning – a long overdue orgasm. Abruptly, she quite and sat on the bed beside the crying George. Giving him no respite, Brenda ordered, “Get your body off the bed, worm, and use your teeth to take down my panties. I want you eating my little pussy better than you’ve ever done anybody before.”

George struggled, using his teeth to work her red panties down over the garters, over her knees and finally over her spiked red sandals. He nuzzled his face into her warmth, extended his tongue and searched for her love button. Finding it, he flicked the clitoris over and over, occasionally stopping to send his tongue scooting into her love canal. It didn’t take long before Brenda, worked up before having arrived at Helen’s and only having her horniness enhanced by whipping him, came in a torrent on slave George’s tongue.

Lying back and turning over on her stomach, she said, “Get your head up here and suck my high heel while I get my breath. You did a nice job, slave and – in a few minutes – you’re going to get your reward. While you’re sucking my shoe, stare at my beautiful ass. Give it all your attention.”

George found her shoe and slipped the heel into his mouth. His cheeks compressed as he sucked his tormentress’ spiked leather. At the same time, he looked up her gorgeous legs, past the stocking tops and the garters. Brenda hasn’t exaggerated. Her ass was beautiful.

Brenda sat up, undid his wrist restraints and told him to jerk off for her. “Focus all of your attention on my ass,” she said. “Think about how wonderful it was licking it earlier. Think about how much you want to worship it now. Use your left hand to play with your balls. I want you to cum all over my ass. Pump your dick faster, slave. Shoot it. Make me feel your hot cum all over my cheeks.”

George was delirious with lust. Her words, her actions, and her continued control of him through her manipulation of the leash – combined with her smile of superiority – took George to his peak. He ejaculated in seven or eight delicious spurts, spreading his semen over both of Brenda’s gorgeous buttocks. A moment later, he’d pumped himself dry.

In her gentlest voice, Lady Brenda said, “Lick it all up, slave. I want you to eat your cum from my gorgeous tush. That’s it, swallow it for me.”

Giving him no time to recover, Brenda swiftly put her clothes back on and pulled him after her to the living room. Accepting the leash from Brenda and once again putting him to work licking her boots, Helen said, “I hope you feel better now.”

“Oh, much,” Brenda replied.

“You must be. I couldn’t help but hear Charity doing her lovely work in there. And you weren’t too quiet yourself.”

“He didn’t do too bad a job. I may want to use him again after we get back.”

Helen, looking down at her foot worshiper, said, “We might do a number on him together. Would you like that, slave?”

“Yes, Mistress Helen,” he managed.

The two women visited for a while longer, all the time Helen holding onto George’s leash. They both used him as a foot rest, too, as they discussed where they were going, what they wanted to buy, and where they’d have lunch. When they’d decided to leave, Helen looked down at George and said, “We’ll be back in about four hours. By then, I want this house to be spick and span. I don’t want to find dust anywhere. And I want the kitchen floor to be clean enough to eat from. In fact, that’s exactly where you’ll be eating tonight. any questions?”

He had none.

“And, if you happen to finish before we’re back, get the wrist restraints, put the end of your leash over the hook in my bedroom, then put the shackles on. I’ll want to see you there on your knees when we come in.”

The two left him at the door, after he’d kissed all four feet. Once out of the house, the women were all smiles. In the car - they used his - Brenda asked Helen how she did it.

“Actually,” Helen replied, “it’s quite simple. There are a lot of guys just like him, And once you get up the nerve to make your intentions known, they almost always fall all over themselves trying to get you to do the things they’ve only imagined or read.”

Brenda acknowledged the validity of Helen’s statement and said she wished she possessed enough self-confidence to do what Helen so successfully accomplished. “Any time you want a slave, you get one.”

“It’s all a matter of knowing what to look for,” she said. “When I was still in high school, I came across an article in a magazine I shouldn’t have been reading. At first I was shocked. But the more I read about male submissiveness and female domination, the more I recognized my own needs. In the article, for example, it suggested that women interested in the superior position should look for men who pay extraordinary attention to their feet and shoes. Combine their interest in feet with a certain longing expression and chances are good you’ve found a sub.”

Brenda asked, “But, it must have been awfully hard getting your confidence up.”

“It was,” Helen acknowledged. “I was only 17. But even then, even in high school, I put the principles of the article to work. I started recognizing guys who had hang-ups about my shoes, leather and feet who themselves didn’t know it. The more I watched them watching me, the more self-confident I got. One other aspect of the story was that - trite as it may sound now - ‘if you want to be something, act the part. Pretty soon it won’t be acting any more.’ The more I played at being a dominatrix, the more I fell into it. Now it’s second nature.”

“You know I love dominating and whipping and humiliating your slaves, Helen. And I’m grateful that you let me... but I want one of my own.”

“That’s really no problem, Hon,” she said. “Jut put one on your shopping list. You’ll recognize him either in the mall, in the subway, at work, and - best of all - in social situations.”

The laughed yet each knew that the other was perfectly serious.

Back at the house, George couldn’t believe his luck. Ever since his first Domme, he hadn’t found another woman, besides professionals, who wanted to dominate him. Now he had two, both of them dynamite in the looks department and both happy to have his slave services.

He wanted his mistress to be impressed with his efforts so he made up his mind to work hard during the time Helen and Brenda would be away. He went about his chores systematically, thoroughly doing one room then checking everything before moving on.

Three and a-half hours later he was finished. As he worked, George couldn’t help but thank his lucky stars that he had found Mistress Helen. Not only was she beautiful and sensuous; she also satisfied every erotic yearning he’d ever had for a woman.

Making a final inspection, he satisfied himself that his mistress would find nothing to criticize. He allowed himself a short break, taking a snack and a glass of diet soda before putting the shackles on his wrists, using his mouth to secure the catches, then hanging the end of his leash over the hook in his mistress’ bedroom.

He knew he was a slave. His submission shone through as he knelt on the carpeted bedroom floor in self-imposed bondage, at his mistress’ command and awaited her return.



Dance



It's after-hours at the club, and there are only twelve couples left in the place. The bartender announces last call, and we exchange sheepish glances with the man and woman sitting and the next table. We know that for us, the night is just beginning.

Somebody dims the lights again, and the DJ spins a song with a heavy bass line. It's so loud that you can feel your heart start to beat with it, and it seems to set everybody in motion. Couples head to the dance floor, and you look at me and smile. Under the table, I feel your hand slide softly up my thigh. The sensation of your skin on mine makes me quiver, and instinctively I part my legs to allow you. You slip your index finger inside me, quickly and deftly, probing me for just a moment. I want to grab your hand and hold it there, but before I can, you withdraw, bringing the finger to your lips and tracing it slowly and deliberately with your tongue. I want you so badly, and tell you so. Your hand clutches my knee, sending another shock through me. We won't be going back to our room yet. You want to dance.

On the floor, we surrender to the pulsating rhythms as easily as those around us. People dance so closely that it is hard to tell where one ends and the other begins—mouths and hands form one being, moving in perfect time with the music. To the right of us, a stunning blonde girl guides her partner's hands underneath her top, resting them on her perfectly sculpted breasts. She's facing us, the man behind her, gyrating against her and working her tits out of her red lace bra. He circles his large fingers around her pretty pink nipples, and they are so close that we can see them stiffen to his touch. I feel your erection grow harder against my back, and I push against it, letting you know that I see it and I feel it too, that I'm thinking about how amazing it would be to suck and bite her as well. The man winks at us and turns her around, the show over, for now. 

You grab my hips, and I move with you, the feeling of your strong, capable hands making my breath quicken and my panties moist. You whisper in my ear that you know exactly how turned on I am, gently slapping my ass for emphasis. I buckle for a second beneath you, imagining you taking me from behind, spanking me to the rhythm of your thrusts. This is exactly what you have planned, you whisper, then bite gently on my earlobe. This one is slow—you spin me around to face you and I rest my head on your chest. Around us, eleven couples do exactly the same thing, nearly in unison, the flashes of light from above resting here and there, displaying bodies glistening with sweat and smelling of sex. The room is thick with it, ripe with the arousal of expectation. I see your gaze rest on some people in front of us, and I turn to look. A tall brunette is plastered against her date, and we watch as he lifts her dress and reveals a tanned, round ass. He slides his hand in between her skin and her black thong, massaging her perfect cleft. I meet his gaze for a moment, then look away shyly. You look down on me, a sly grin crossing your features, and I nod. I keep my eyes locked onto yours as I feel your hands lift my own skirt up. I stiffen a bit as you guide your hand along one cheek, the air hitting my bare skin, knowing that the man behind me is taking it all in. 

"She's watching too," you say, pleased. I bite my lip and clasp your neck tighter. Words are exchanged between you and the man, and the next thing I know, you're leading the four of us off the dance floor and into an out-of-the-way corner. The girl notices me looking at her, and for the first time I see her face and have to catch my breath. She flashes me a wide, flawless smile and again I feel the familiar longing between my legs. 

We watch, almost touching, as the man pins her up against the wall, holding her hands above her with one hand and unzipping his pants with the other. Seconds later, his swollen cock comes into view, and like a reflex, I begin to rub your unbelievably hard erection through your pants. He slips into her so cleanly, so effortlessly, that it is obvious she has been ready for this for a while. She moans loudly as he begins to buck inside her. Her hands now free, she raises her dress above her head, dropping it to the floor. She begins to play with her small, perky tits, twisting the dark brown nipples between her manicured nails. Suddenly, your hand is under my shirt and massaging me through my bra—you take turns pawing and caressing, mirroring what she is doing to herself. My hand down the front of your pants, I pump to the man's rhythm. I feel you relent and grow even harder, and that's when I tell you that I need it inside me right now, and I want you to take me back to the hotel.

A short ride later, we find ourselves bristling with the evening's energy, still charged, ready to devour one another. It takes mere seconds before we're naked, facing one another and memorizing each other's bodies. This picture will have to last for a long while, and will be conjured up a lot during the months before we can see one another again, so we take our time. You loom over me, begin to chew lightly on my bottom lip, then my ear lobe, then my neck. My hand grazes your muscled thigh and finds your cock, squeezing it gently, willing you to know what I want. 

You push me onto the bed and begin covering me with tiny kisses, your wet tongue pausing to circle my nipples. For the second time tonight, I spread my legs for you, and this time you plunge in not with your fingers, but with your face. Your tongue expertly parts my lips, discovering every inch of me, making my legs shake and my nails dig softly into your hair. You suck and fuck my clit with your entire mouth, covering yourself with my juices, lapping them up like water. I come twice this way, and you stop both times to kiss me hard on the mouth so that I can taste myself on your tongue, smell myself on your face.

My body exhausted and languid with pleasure, it is easy for you to turn me onto my stomach and request that I get on all fours. I expect you to tease me a while, slipping your cock inside me bit my bit until I beg for it, but it seems even you cannot hold back after the night's activities. You slam into me, hard, and I cry out. This is what it feels to have you inside me. You fill me up completely, thrusting in time to our own music now, as graceful and steady as you were on the dance floor. Your hands alternate between my hips and my ass, strong, slightly forceful, and it's not long before I come a third time. I contract and convulse around your shaft, moaning your name, trying desperately to commit this moment to memory.

You withdraw, and your hand squeezes my hip. You don't have to tell me what you want, just as I don't have to ask for it. But I know you want to hear it.

"Will you fuck me in the ass?" I say, and arch my back to meet you.

You are so wet from being inside me that you enter easily, slowly sliding in inch by inch, pausing every once in a while to make sure I'm comfortable, and I encourage you by moaning louder. This is a much tighter fit, I feel you expanding inside me as you thrust. You reach around and begin massaging my clit, but not before placing a finger in my mouth to ready it. The feeling is indescribable—feeling you filling me from behind as you stroke between my legs is nearly too much, and I let out an animal-like growl that signals another orgasm. My muscles clench once again around your cock. I know you are going to come soon as well, so I pull away, because we both know how we want this to end.

You flip me onto my back and begin stroking yourself over my body, and I wait in anticipation for you to show your hot, white excitement to me. Several seconds later, you spurt all over my tits, coming in three separate waves, and I take my fingers and smear it all over my chest. It is warm and yielding and wonderful. I want this too, this mental photograph of me, utterly and completely satiated, covered in your cum.

You look down at me and smile, because of what we just did and what we'll do for the next several days. I raise myself to kiss you, wondering when you'll take me out dancing again.



Dance



He watched her, dancing. 

She was the one dancing, of course; while he could remember a time, back in his youth, when he might have danced, the time was long past now. But she loved to dance, loved to let the music wash through her, working magic in ways neither of them could completely understand. She loved to sway and sweep and twist and tremble as her body was overtaken, as it was possessed. It was better, sometimes, than sex could ever be – not because he, or any of her partners, was less than able, but because there was no peak, no high point that led to an inevitable dwindling of pleasure. It went on, and on, as long as she wanted and had the strength to move and be moved.

She loved to dance. And he loved to watch. 

This time, they were in a bar, with friends – more hers than his, though he got along well enough with them all. Her friends had either accepted long ago their strange relationship, the mentor-father figure-lover who encouraged her to fall in love with others, who was always there to fall back upon when they left or she left or things simply became untenable and she wished for freedom again. They had accepted his constant presence in her life; and to be honest, more than one of them had envied it, though none of them would ever dare to make advances. Just because he believed in love that could reach in any direction didn't necessarily mean she would be as open-minded. 

She was, after all, not much younger, but young enough to believe that being possessive was the only means to security. He knew that, and he indulged her jealousy to a point, as hypocritical as it might be; certainly, he kept his flirtations out of her sight, and to her friends he seemed as unapproachable in the terms of desire as any figure of myth and legend. 

None of which was really important that night, as the air seemed to shimmer and she to float within it; all that mattered to him was that she was dancing, and when she danced, all was well in the world. 

Eventually, a slow song came along, and she made her way through the crowds back to the table. Her chest was heaving, a sheen of sweat on her shoulders and cleavage turning her skin red beneath the lights. Laughing, she kissed him and sat down, sparklers of joy in her eyes that he could feel being ignited in his as well. When she was looking at him, the rest of the world seemed to fall away. "Are you having a good time?" she asked, stealing his glass of ale and taking a long swallow. When she looked up again, her upper lip was outlined in foam. 

With his thumb, he wiped it off, and laughed when she sucked the digit into her mouth to clean it. Her tongue wiggled against him, and she raised her eyebrows invitingly. He looked over, and her friends had all disappeared. He slid his free hand beneath the table and let it fall on her bare thigh. Slowly, his fingers stroked their way upward, and he could feel her whole body tremble. He let the side of his hand press against her, the thin silken fabric sliding over his skin, and he could feel the heat as she rocked her hips forward. Deliberately, he slid his hand up, pushing against her clit. 

She gasped and leaned over to kiss him, her tongue teasing its way between his lips. An electric shock seemed to ripple through his body, the hair standing up on his arms, his cock beginning to swell against the fly of his trousers. He could hear her friends' voices somewhere in the mix of sound surrounding them both, but only as if they were calling from another room. He hooked his finger in the elastic band where her panties clung to her thigh and slid behind it. For a moment, she let him caress her, and they continued to kiss. He could feel his heart racing, and he slid forward in the chair. Her breath was hot against his cheek. 

Suddenly, she pulled away and stood up, her eyes shining, her friends arrayed behind as if she were Aphrodite and they her accompanying nymphs. She bent down again to whisper in his ear: "Don't go anywhere. I want to go home with you tonight." Then she spun away, her skirt flying up over her thighs like curtains parted by the wind. His eyes followed her, as they always did; even as she found some younger partner on the floor, even as she swayed, her hips pressed tight against his, her hair falling back over her shoulders like water. His eyes followed her without rancour, without jealousy, and he lost himself once more in the poetry that her body was in motion. 

He watched her, dancing, and could not help but love her more. 

Late that night, in a quieter room, lit only by moonlight filtering in from the fields, he watched her moving again, and he was equally entranced. She rode above him, her arms folded behind her head, rocking and writhing in rhythm with his thrusts, each time seeming to rise higher, to float above him like some ethereal creature, but then sliding down to the base of his cock once again with a fire in her eyes that was definitely of the earth. She moaned, reaching down to place her hands on his chest, her fingernails teasing down through the tangle of hair to his belly, and back up to his nipples, flicking them lightly (something he would never have believed could be pleasurable before knowing her) until he groaned and swelled thicker inside her. 

He reached up blindly, needing her flesh beneath his palms as well, and his hands found her sides, slid down to her hips. One hand slid down his body again to where they joined, and she stroked her clit as he pulled her down hard to meet his thrusts. She bent her head back, breasts squeezed between her upper arms, nipples taut, and cried his name into the night, so loud he swore he could hear an echo reply moments later ... 

Then he realized that voice was his own, moaning from somewhere deep in his throat as she gripped him tighter than ever, as she slid slickly up and down his hardness, as he felt the rising pleasure inside him hit that point where there was no more holding back, and he thrust one final time, reaching somewhere deeper than he'd ever felt before, and burst, his heat spilling into her, triggering her own reaction a moment later, both bodies moving in perfect, harmonic pleasure, voices and souls mingling as they cannot help but do when any two share their secret hearts in the way that the truest lovemaking is. And all the while, he watched her, each moment only more perfect than the rest. 

After they had slowed, and she was lying languorously in his arms, he kissed her softly and thanked her for everything she was to him. She kissed him back, letting her palm slide over the curve of his middle-aged belly to stroke his soaking-slick cock once again, and bent her head to whisper in his ear:

"I don't know why you say that you don't dance with me."



Dance



I admit it: I'm guilty of taking my wife for granted. I'm not exactly sure when I began neglecting Lily. Perhaps it was when I accepted the promotion to district manager from account manager. Long hours came with the responsibility of moving up and the challenge of doing something different. Those hours and the money accompanying them sustained the lifestyle Lily and I wanted: the house in Sunset Hills; the cars, her SUV and my Beemer; the electronics; the clothes; everything else that we had and were acquiring. I told myself it was important because it seemed to be important. I thought Lily understood.

Work kept me away from home most of the day and behind my computer at home much of the evening, however. After awhile, I noticed that we were living together separately.

Living together separately.

It sounds funny. We shared a house, but we weren't sharing lives. We slept in the same bed, but not often together, rarely as lovers. Our time together consisted of dinner once or twice a week and an hour or two in front of the television.

Then came that moment.

I was walking from my home office in the den to the kitchen for coffee. Lily was finishing the dinner dishes at the sink. The under-counter stereo played a smooth jazz CD. Lily moved slowly, her hips swaying to the music beneath her skirt. Something in the simplicity of it stopped me. I stood there watching her dance under the amber cone of the sink light. I wondered what she was thinking. Was she dancing in a memory, a fantasy? Was I there with her? Had I gone away?

These last two questions concerned more than I expected. I loved Lily. I had known that I wanted a more permanent relationship with her after a month of dating; we married a year later. But we hadn't been together for awhile. Though I found purpose in my work and my work gave us this world around us, it wasn't everything.

I stepped toward her. My cell phone vibrated in my pocket. I looked at the screen and saw it was Mathias calling. No doubt he wanted to talk about the Benning proposal. I turned toward my den; he would want to go over the figures we put together on Tuesday. I heard plates clank as Lily put them in the dish drainer.

Lily.

I looked over my shoulder. Lily swayed in the soft light.

Alone.

The phone whirred in my hand. I thumbed the button which stilled it. I put the phone on the hall cupboard and walked toward the kitchen.

"Hello," I said, putting my arms around her loosely.

She froze in my embrace.

"Don't stop," I said.

"What?" she said.

"Don't stop dancing."

I felt her smile through the warmth and ease of her body. I felt her hips move slowly to the music once again. I felt the rustle of her skirt against my pants. I tightened my embrace, drawing her closer. Her dark hair brushed my lips and nose. I breathed deeply of her.

"Do you remember New Orleans?" she said.

"Yes." I nuzzled the top of her head.

There had been a small restaurant just outside the Quarter. We had danced to live jazz there like this. It was the first year we were married and we had nothing but each other and possibility. I could not have promised the couple there in my mind's eye that they would grow into us, but I remember that didn't matter then. Closeness like this mattered.

I turned Lily to face me, held her closer, felt the press of her breasts against my chest. I moved with her. She kissed my cheek. I returned it and sought her lips with mine. She tasted sweet, her breath warm within my mouth. Our tongues teased each other's tongues.

We danced and kissed and stroked each other until long after the CD stopped. Then I took her hand and led her upstairs to our bedroom.

I helped her remove her blouse. She took off my shirt and pushed me back so that I was sitting on our bed. She stepped back one step, then two, then closed her eyes. Her hips moved slowly again. Music played in her head. Her warm smooth movement played in my eyes.

Lily had filled out since we met, but she had done so in the most wonderful way. Curves became her. They framed her in softness and subtlety like the muted colors of twilight. They gave her flow.

Her fingers undid her skirt. The material slid over her hips and piled at her feet with a whisper. She stepped out of it and closer to me, still dancing.

I let my hands rest lightly on her hips, feeling the movement, feeling the warmth. She swayed in my arms, head slowly rolling from side to side, her eyes meeting mine hungrily each time through the arc.

She reached behind her to undo the fastener of her pink bra. She leaned forward and let the straps slide over shoulders and down her arms. I reached up to help her remove it and expose her full breasts.

She stepped back again, one step, two steps, just out of my reach. She danced again: hips and breasts moving slowly in the soft light, her long dark hair brushing her bare shoulders. She weighed the soft weight of her left breast in her hand, her thumb brushing across the hard pink nipple.

I felt a hungry growl rumble within me. Her eyes met mine with a smile and equal hunger. Slowly, almost as a tease, she danced toward me.

I grabbed her when she moved close and rolled her under me onto the bed. My mouth met hers hungrily, my hands in her hair and on her breast. She groaned in my mouth as I kneaded her breast gently and then a little less gently. My thigh slid between hers and I found my knee pressing against the heat of her sex. She ground against me.

I kissed my way down her throat to the sensitive spot between her clavicles. My fingers toyed with her nipples, drawing circles, pinching, twisting.

My mouth found her nipple. I drew it in against my tongue, flicked, sucked.

My hand ran over her belly, down her outer thigh, up her inner thigh. She was silky smooth and warm to the touch. I continued to circle from belly to thigh to belly, very consciously avoiding her pussy.

I could not consciously ignore my own sex, however. I felt the pressure of my hard cock against my leg. Lily's hands moved to my belt, to the button of my pants. We broke embrace long enough for me to stand and shimmy out of my pants. I dropped to my knees on the bed, my cock stabbing through my gray boxer briefs. I lay beside her, kissing her again, one hand on her breast, the other reaching behind her to twine in her long hair. She reached down and palmed my cock through the soft cotton of my briefs. Growling in her ear, I ground my cock against her hand.

She pushed me onto my back and trailed kisses down the thin line of graying hair from my chest to my belly. I felt my cock growing harder and thicker as she moved toward it. She pulled the elastic over my hips and I felt the cool brush of air breeze across the sensitive tip of my cock.

She kissed the side of the shaft. She kissed along its length. She took the tip in her mouth. My hips flexed toward her.

I lost time as she sucked my cock, dissolved in the sensation of her tongue winding around and around the sensitive tip. My hands tied knots in her hair. My hips moved of their own. I felt the tension growing within me.

Hands guiding her, I encouraged her to move up to meet me face to face. I rolled onto her. Little control now, little finesse, my hand slid down her belly and opened her thighs. My fingers found the elastic of her pink panties and crept inside. Her mound was trim and hot. My fingers found moisture on her pussy lips. She groaned as I touched the tender folds.

She wriggled out of the pink panties and spread her legs wide for me. I touched her. She moaned, breasts arching toward me, head arching back. I kissed her throat as I positioned myself between her legs. I could feel the tip of my hard cock dancing against her belly and mound.

Then I was inside her.

I was inside my woman.

And she enveloped me. And we were together, grinding against each other.

Fucking.

I felt her swelling around my cock. I felt my cock thickening within her. Our movement was like a dance itself: steady and deliberate. We groaned passion into each other's mouths. Her thighs tightened around my waist. She rocked to meet each thrust. I ground into her, twisting just a little at the end of each thrust. Her breathing came in short gasps, mine in grunts.

Tension.

Tightening.

The delectable balance between grinding like an animal and dissolving into the universe tipped ever so slightly to the right.

Lily came. Her pussy clenched and clenched my thick cock. That maddening squeeze and her groan of complete pleasure threw me to my orgasm. I came with hard, tight spasms, pumping come into my woman. I thrust deeper in her, my hips a manic machine. She came again, her pussy milking my cock, mixing my come with her own hot juices.

Then we collapsed into each other, breathing hard.

Being still.

Being still.

Letting the world redevelop around us.

Feeling our breathing and hearts slow and match.

I rolled onto my side and held her tight to me, her head between my head and my shoulder, my thigh between hers, knotted together comfortably.

I felt the warm stain of tears on my chest.

"Are you okay?" I whispered, stroking her long dark hair.

"Very," she said. Her fingers tickled my graying chest hair.

Within minutes she fell asleep against me. I could not help but think of the office as I lay there with my wife's warm body against me. I could not help but wonder how they would do without me for a week. Maybe two. 



Dance Bar Bathroom Slut



Dressed in extremely short cut off blue jeans shorts that showed my ass cheeks, 4-inch red heels, a red tank top, a sports bra, way too much make up and a blonde wig, I set off for Atlanta. "Black guys love trashy blondes don't they?" I thought to myself. 

I checked into an Atlanta hotel and reapplied my makeup and went downtown to a gay bar. I walked pass the line and all eyes were on me, looking like a trashy little whore, the big black studs in the line were whistling and a couple of them slapped my ass, almost fully exposed thanks to the cut off jeans. I got to bypass the line and go straight in. The place was jumping with hot guys. It must have been 95 degrees in there and everyone was a hot, sweaty black man. I cruised once around and got lots of attention. After a while I decided to let my cock hang out of my tight shorts and paraded around the dance floor, balls out, cute as pie. A bunch of men surrounded me and started grinding on it. I had hands all over me and was so turned on. So I left the dance floor and right into the bathroom. 

When I entered the bathroom, there were many men having sex, lots of guys on their knees, lots of glory hole action. 

I went into the second last stall and sat on the toilet. "On your knees bitch" a harsh voice behind me ordered. I felt hands on my ass, and felt my jean shorts being pulled off. It was so exciting. On either side of the stall two long black cocks slid through the glory holes. "Suck it bitch" I could hear from one side of the wall. I completely swallowed on of the big cocks and felt a cock slide into my dry ass. The stud from behind then had the sense to spit all over my tight little asshole. I grabed behind me, spreading my ass cheeks for the big stud, allowing him to fuck me with easy. I loved the feeding I was being given, sucking on a big long cock. The guy from behind fucked me hard and I whimpered. "We got a little white bitch taking it in the stall here!" some black guy yelled with a southern drawl. The glory hole cock exploded all over my face and without missing a beat I turned my cum-covered face to the right to swallow the other big sausage.

After the stud came inside me from behind, another stud slid in. "Oh my God" I heard another man say but I had no idea what he was talking about until he slid in. He was easily 14 or 15 inches, and literally ripped me in two. As he began to fuck me, the guy who had fucked me before turned around nd grabbed the back to my hair, pushing my head up and down on the glory hole cock, talking in my ear. "You lucky bitch getting that big cock in your ass.that's the biggest cock I have ever seen and it's all yours.what are you gonna do with it bitch?" And with that, I bucked back, taking almost the whole thing in my ass. I started giving it right back to him; bucking and swerving my hips, giving that cock the fucking it deserved. The glory hole man started to cum and that man sitting on the toilet grabed that hose and made me swallow the load, rubbing his cock all over my face. When the man from behind said he was gonna cum, I turned around and swallowed as much of his huge cock as I could, licking off all my shit to eyeball him as he skull-fucked me. I was gagging loudly on the sausage and he got real rough with the skull-fuck. He pulled out and dropped the biggest load I had ever seen onto my face, literally 7 or 8 long stands of cum all over my face and hair.

With that I was led into the main area of the toilet where all the sinks were. "A little more room to work cock slut". I was surrounded by studs, pushed to the floor and forced to give 8 guys a blowjob all at one, taking turns back and forth on the shiny big black dicks. Getting back on all fours, I had a big black cock in my ass in no time as I continued to swerve on 5 to 6 cocks from the front. I love looking a man in the eyes as I suck his cock and get fucked from behind.

So there I am, in a black gay bar in Atlanta getting fucked senseless from both ends in the filthy toilet. The music from the dance floor gave me the beat I needed to move my body in a sexy way. "This little piggy is enjoying this," one of them said. I spat out a thin 11-inch cock and said, "Damn right, fuck me boys" and the room erupted. The best thing about this was the hot men kept on coming in. I think I got to service pretty much every single guy who needed to take a piss. Guys were literally putting their drinks on my back, fucking me for about a minute, blowing their load in my loose ass, and then going back out to dance. I loved the fucking I was getting, I love being a black cock whore.

When more hard men with huge cocks had their way with me, the one guy from the beginning pulled me into the stall again like he wanted some privacy. He sat on the toilet and had me lick his dick on all fours. He had his drink and a smoke, and more importantly, I had my white ass right by the door of the stall. Every one in a while, a stud would slide in from behind and fuck me ass, pushing my cum-covered face deeper onto his cock. It took him a long time to cum, and ordered me pretty verbally on how to suck that cock and ass. When he had an orgasm, he shot a lot of cum everywhere and told me to swallow every drop. I love it when people cum on my face. Luckily I had a cock in my ass when he came. I turned around and started up at one of the hottest men I had ever seen. 6 foot 7, 50 years old with white cock hair and jet-black, hard body. I loved sucking this guy off and when he came, he shot on the floor of the toilet and told me to lick it off.

I love Atlanta almost as much as I love a hot, hung, black man.