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Part 2

By: CheshireKatarina



Note: I wrote this for a good friend of mine. I am an 18-year-old virgin female. I have blonde wavy hair, I'm about 5', 36D, average weight, and very fair-skinned, and this is my fantasy...

I awake at about 9:00 to feel your strong chest rising and falling slowly beneath my arm. I decide to take a shower to freshen up, expecting you to wake in the meanwhile, before I make my way back to my hotel room for the night. I slowly creep from the bed and the warmth of the sheets. The sudden cold of the room on my body makes my nipples stand erect. I feel them gently as I watch you sleep, hoping to get at least one last kiss before I leave. Little do I know that you are watching my naked form through barely opened eyes...watching me play with myself. You are somewhat relieved as I turn and walk to the bathroom, for fear of my seeing your rising hardness, spoiling your perfect show. You wait for a few minutes after I have entered the bathroom. You hear the shower start, then the curtain open and close. A few moments later you are sure that I am well into my shower, and you rise from the bed to follow my path to the bathroom.

Opening the door slowly, you listen to my sounds to hear if I have detected your presence. All is quiet, so you creep inside and close the door quietly behind you. Peeking around the edge of the curtain, you see that I have lathered up my body and hair thoroughly, and I am rinsing a bit of soap from my face. My eyes are closed, completely oblivious to your immersion in my activities.

I let out a soft sigh, just enough for you to open the shower curtain a gap large enough to fit you. You step into the shower slowly, my back turned to you as I run my hands all over my soapy body. I widen my stance to maintain my balance on the slippery floor of the shower. You smile, realizing this as a perfect chance. As I wipe the water from my face and begin to lean back from the warm stream, you make your move. All in one fluid movement, you slide one hand around my waist to my stomach and place your other hand firmly between my legs as you pull me near. I gasp deeply at the sudden touch, but you hold me firm so that I cannot turn around.

I relax a bit, but I am still somewhat tense with excitement. As you slip a finger into my slit, I moan and lay my head back on your shoulder. I reach down and begin to massage my swollen clit with my right hand as the other hand lays on top of yours on my stomach. First one, then two of your fingers probe deeper inside me, testing my wetness. I moan and gasp as my head rolls from side to side on your shoulder. Once you are sure that I am very ready, you remove your fingers and pull my reluctant hand away from myself. Turning me to face you, my eyes look dreamily up at you, my body limp and tingling as if it were on fire. You pull me close and kiss me passionately, letting me feel your hardness against my stomach. I put my arms up around your neck, kissing you back. You place your hands firmly under my ass cheeks and lift me up. I wrap my legs around you, my slit open and waiting just above your member. The soap rinsed from my upper body, I am able to lean back some and slide down onto your hard rod.

Once it is firmly lodged within me, I begin to move my hips slowly, grinding against you. My muscles clench you inside me, pulling at you, begging for more. As my hips move, my breasts are pressed against your chest, squeezing them into creamy white firm mounds between us. You can feel my nipples hard against you. My mouth breaks away from you to gasp and moan almost too loudly as we climax together, your juice spraying into me, filling me. I am so overcome, I collapse onto you, my legs, arms, and neck weak. You place your chin on top of my head, holding me, as I breathe heavily against you.

Part 2: Allison's Lesson



Friday night I was curled up on the couch with a bottle of wine and a chick flick. I was half way through the bottle and feeling it more than a little when the phone rang.

I took a peak at the caller id and saw that it was Michael. Smiling to myself I answered the phone. It had only been two days since we last saw each other, and he already couldn't stay away.

"Hello?" I tried to disguise my eagerness to talk to him.

"Hey Angel, what are you up to tonight sweetheart?" Michael's voice was like music filling my ears.

"Actually, just watching a movie by myself," I told him, then decided I better fib a little so I didn't seem like a total loser. "I had plans, but they were cancelled at the last minute."

"Oh..."

"What are you up to?" I asked.

"I was thinking about coming over, but if you wanted to spend the night alone..."

"Oh no! I would love for you to come over," I said. Could he tell I was about to jump up and down?

"I'll be there in ten minutes," he said, and hung up the phone.

I drained my glass of wine and went into the bedroom. I took off my slippers and flannel pajamas and slipped a sheer nightie over my head. I lit a couple of candles in my room and was in the kitchen grabbing a second glass when the doorbell rang.

I opened the door and Michael slipped inside before I could even say hello.

He stood in front of me in the darkened entryway, where I could just make out his outline and the scent of his musky cologne.

I took a few steps back so that the light from the kitchen fell over me, and I heard him take in a sharp breath. "Wow! Angel, you look ravishing," he said.

He reached for me and I fell into his arms. Our lips had just found each other when there was a loud knock on the door, followed by the doorbell.

Michael didn't seem surprised. He just went into the living room and I went to answer the door. I opened it a crack and started to poke my head around the edge of the door when it was suddenly pushed open and I was pinned momentarily between it and the door. Before I could even push the door shut I knew who it was. A rush of excitement flooded me when I heard her voice.

"Michael?" she called in her sweet little voice. Had he planned this? I wondered as I pushed the door shut.

I followed her into the livingroom just in time to see him stand up from the couch.

"Allison! What are you doing here?" he asked. She might have thought he was surprised, but it was all coming together in my head. What a delicious little scenario he had created.

I stepped from behind her into the light, making sure she could see what I was wearing. "I think what he meant to ask was what the hell are you doing here, Allison?" I said.

"You should probably just stay out of this," she said. She really was quite a cute little thing, I had always thought so, but now it was getting me down right hot. About 5'4" and 110 pounds, she had thick dark blonde hair hanging down to the middle of her back. She looked very stylish in a tailored black wool coat, and I found myself wondering what she was wearing underneath.

"No, I don't think I will, actually." I said. "Why don't you take your coat off and we can all talk about it."

Michael stood there watching silently as she took off her coat, not entirely by her own will, and I tossed it on a chair. I wished I could see the physical signs of his excitement growing, but I knew it was.

Allison was wearing a black jumper and white blouse, which I thought just about fit with her "cute" look.

"What is going on here, Michael?" Allison asked, looking me up and down. "What could you possibly want with this tramp?"

"Tramp?" I stepped up to her. She really was going to make this easy, wasn't she. "Who are you calling a tramp?"

"I asked you to stay out of this!" she snapped at me.

"Oh no," I said, planting one finger in the middle of her chest and shoving her back. "Oh no, you don't."

"Oh no I don't what, you bitch?"

I laughed and shoved her back onto the couch. "No, I think you should be the one to shut up now." I said.

"Michael!" Allison yelped, like she thought he was going to help her.

"Angel," he whispered, but he didn't make a move to help her.

"No honey, I think I am going to have some fun," I said as she stood back up.

I pushed her again, this time leaving her sprawled on the floor. She got up again, and with a few more shoves I had her in the bedroom.

"What are you doing?" she screamed.

I laughed and picked her up off the floor, throwing her on the bed. "I didn't tell you to talk, bitch."

I climbed up on the bed and sat on top of her. She kicked and fought and screamed, but I reached for the ropes that were attached to the headboard of my bed.

She cried out as I pulled the first rope tight, so I moved to sit on her face and muffle her screams. Her breath was warm against me as I pulled the second rope tight, only a thin layer of satin between my pussy and her mouth.

I moved my hips back and forth a few times, rubbing myself against her face as she fought me. As I stood to tie her legs, I saw that Michael had come into the room and was silently sitting in the corner watching the show. I couldn't see that well, but I knew that if he didn't already, he would soon have one hand inside his slacks.

As I reached for her legs she squealed and kicked, connecting one heel of her shoes with my jaw painfully.

"Ow! That hurt!" I said, rubbing my jaw. "Would you shut up, anyway? Didn't you hear me to shut up?"

Angry at the burning pain in my jaw, I caught her feet and pulled off her shoes, tossing them across the room. Then I reached under her skirt and ripped off her white cotton panties and climbed back onto the bed to shove them in her mouth.

Staring into her eyes I laughed as she struggled and pleaded. "Maybe now you'll listen when I tell you to shut up," I said.

Her protests muffled, she kicked wildly as I went back to tying her feet to the bed. I tied one and pulled the rope tight. I grabbed her second leg and pulled it away from the other. I could feel her muscles straining as I pulled the second rope tight.

I stood at the end of the bed, my nipples taut and my pussy wet with excitement as I watched her chest heaving. "I'm going to show you who's in charge, you bitch," I told her as I slowly eased onto the bed, sitting on my knees between her creamy white thighs.

I pushed her dress up around her waist, revealing her dark curly mound. I leaned in to brush my lips along the insides of her thighs and looked up at her face.

Eyes wide she stared back at me. She tossed her head back and forth, begging me to stop through her gag.

I buried my face in her sweet mound and darted my tongue back and forth over her clit, feeling her fighting underneath me turning me on more.

Her hips moved against me, her fighting turning into a smooth sexual rhythm as I devoured her, taking her pussy in my mouth and sucking her sweet juices. I spread her lips apart with my hands and fucked her with my tongue, her screams sending me into a dizzy frenzy as I went after her.

I felt her tremble against me as her juices began to flow, her body succumbing to me against her will. I buried my face against her as she bucked, my fingers pushing hard against her clit, rubbing it back and forth between my fingers.

She was growing close to orgasm against me, I knew, but I didn't let up. I moved to cup her round ass in my hands, pulling her deeper into my mouth and holding her so she couldn't fight against me. Her back arched against me and she let out a little scream as she came against my mouth. I reached up and pulled her dress down so that it was around her waist, then slowly unbuttoned her blouse, revealing a white satin bra. I pulled the straps down so that her round breasts popped out of the bra, small dark nipples exposed. I reached down with my mouth and took one of her nipples in my mouth, sucking and then biting for a moment before I moved up to look her in the face, pressing the length of my body against hers, our breasts pressed together.

She looked scared as I looked into her eyes, and I smiled broadly. "What's the matter, bitch? You figuring out who's in charge?"

I laughed and grabbed her breast hard, twisting it in my hand. She let out a cry and her face twisted as thought she were in pain.

"You know you like it," I said. "You know you want it. The way you flit around looking so cute, you know you want to be fucked."

She shook her head, tears rolling down her face, and I laughed again as I stood up and reached under my bed, pulling my box of toys from underneath.

I looked over to see Michael sitting on a chair in the corner of my bed, his pants lying on the floor. I set the box on the edge of the bed and went over to stand in front of him where she could see us. I grabbed him by the back of the hair and kissed him deeply, moaning as he reached up and rubbed my pussy with one hand as we kissed.

"Enjoying the show baby?" I asked him.

"Fuck her," he whispered into my ear as I turned around. "Make her your bitch."

I went back over to the bed and opened the box of toys, pulling out a black strap on.

"Mmmmmmmm, you are going to like this," I told her, as she watched me pull of my nightie, exposing my breasts, nipples hard with excitement, and my pussy, shaved smooth.

I caught her eyes fixed between my legs and laughed. "You want some of that?" I asked, setting the toy on the bed and climbing up to straddle her face.

She shook her head madly as I held on to the headboard and sat on her face, my swollen clit buried between her lips. I clamped her head between my knees and moved back and forth slowly, then faster and faster as she fought against me. My legs held her there tightly enough that she couldn't move much, just enough to drive me into a frenzy.

"Oooooooh yeah, that's good baby," I told her, reaching down to grab her by the hair and shove her face harder into me. "Mmmmmmmm, you like that, don't you."

I rode her face, faster and faster, tossing my head back as I approached climax. I heard Michael behind me, breathing hard and egging me on as I fucked her face. I held her there tightly as I came against her, holding her there as I allowed my juices to flow into her mouth.

As I let go of her head and stood up to pull the strap on, she closed her eyes tightly, but there were no more tears.

"Mmmmmm, I can't wait to fuck that tight little pussy," I told her as I moved to the end of the bed.

I straddled her and held her hips as I drove into her hard. She screamed in pain and a smile touched my lips as I moved my hips against her, fucking her with the toy I had bought just for this occasion.

I heard Michael climaxing from him place in the corner, and then he was climbing up onto the bed behind me. Allison watched as her boyfriend bent me over, the strap-on still inside of her, and slid his hard cock inside of me. Our hips rocked together, his against me and mine against hers as he took me from behind, and she cried out in harmony with me.

"Ooooooh yeeeeeeesssss," I cooed, leaning over her and burying my face between her breasts as our bodies slid back and forth against each other. 

I felt myself growing close to orgasm again and I screamed. "Faster Michael, ooooooohhhhhhh! Faster! Fuck me!"

Allison's cries were mounting as well, still muffled by her panties. 

I took her breast in my mouth as I came, sucking and biting her dark nipple as Michael came inside me.

As he pulled out and went back into the corner, I jerked the strap-on from Allison's wet pussy and sat above her on my knees triumphantly.

Her eyes were wide with terror as I pulled the panties from her mouth.

"Now who's in charge?" I asked her.

She stared back at me silently and I reached down to twist her nipple.

"Who's in charge, bitch?"

She whimpered quietly as I twisted. "You are!" she whispered.

I let go and leaned in close, kissing her mouth deeply. "Who did you say?" I asked, my mouth still against hers.

"You are!" she said, louder this time, and I laughed as I stood up.

"Good." I said. I went into my closet and pulled on the flannel pajamas I had taken off earlier. When I came out, she was still lying on the bed, shaking a little, and watching me.

"I think she's learned her lesson, Michael," I said, and left the room. In the living room I pulled on my tennis shoes and grabbed my keys.

As I got into my car I smiled to myself at the thought of Michael up in my bedroom, untying his humiliated little girlfriend and helping her find her clothes. It will be a while before she forgets the lesson I taught her that night.



Part 2: Angie & Alex



Angie

I'm hornier than usual tonight. Looking forward to a night of fun and passion with our closest friends. I'm feeling very sensual as my silk garter belt and stockings rub suggestively against my skin, and the air circulates around my nude, bald pussy. I love not wearing panties - it's such a sexy feeling. Plus it allows easier access to wandering hands under the tablecloth! The soft red leather of my dress caresses my bare nipples when I move. They're already rock hard just from walking inside.

Alex and I stand at the top of the ballroom staircase searching the sea of faces. "There's Chrissie and Ben! Doesn't Chrissie look absolutely edible?"

"Mmm...definitely!" came the reply from my handsome husband. Chrissie is wearing an almost shear deep purple, backless sheath that dips to the tops of her cheeks, with a thigh high split on both sides. If she had pubic hair you would definitely be able to see it and while her pale pink nipples can't be seen through the thin fabric, their shape is clearly visible. 

For Alex's last birthday, Chrissie and I had starred in a movie directed by Ben, titled "A day at the mall". We wore calf length faux fur coats without bras, garter belts and stockings underneath and played up for Ben's digital handy cam. Picking out a few outfits each, we moved towards the dressing room, slipping Ben in when the saleslady turned to help another customer. Chrissie and I let our coats drop to the floor as Ben balanced on a chair in the corner, his cock in one hand and his camera in the other. 

After the dressing room in the boutique, there was a king-size four-poster bed in the Antique shop that we masturbated each other on, a cubicle in the ladies bathroom on the third floor that Ben fucked us both in and a five minute 'Short film' made in an exclusive men's boutique when Chrissie 'helped' a customer decide on whether boxers or briefs felt better hanging around his ankles while he was having his cock sucked. Of course, the guy had no idea that I was filming through a gap between two cubicles while Ben fucked me from behind...neither did his wife!

As I wrap my arms around Chrissie, back in the present time, I can feel that she is totally naked under the dress that is barely covering her natural DD-size breasts and tight ass. As Chrissie is voyeuristic by nature, she loves showing off her sensuous body and watching the reactions people have when they see her. Of course, people love to look at her too. She was voted "Most likely to do a shoot for Playboy" in her junior year, and her body had only ripened since then!

As I slide my arms around Ben's neck and my boobs press against his chest, his hands slide around to my ass and squeeze softly. "You are feeling soooo good baby!"

"Likewise!" I assure him, dropping a hand between us to squeeze his fat, semi-hard cock. "The sight of you works every time! We're going to have a fabulous night tonight. Are you ready to party?"

You bet I was!!

**************************************************

Alex

As we walk toward our friends, I can see that Ben's eyes are focused clearly on the bulge in the front of my tux pants. My cock swells a little more with thoughts of our last 69...that guy can certainly suck! I can feel the semi-swelling in his cock as we hug, pelvis' grinding. "Hey Ben! Good to see you!"

"You too man." We look knowingly into each other's eyes as we pull apart and move to greet each other's wives.

"Chrissie, you're looking as sexy as always!" As I take her in my arms I can feel those enormous tits pushing into my chest and my hands automatically slide to her ass as I grind my pelvis against her. I close my eyes and recall the sensation of her tight pussy sliding down over my cock as she fucked me on top of the pool table last Friday. Mmm. My cock throbs against Chrissie's mound and she moans quietly as she kisses my mouth and pushes against me. "Hello handsome! I can see that you're all ready to play!" I certainly was...and more than one game with more than one player!

I'll always remember the time we played "Spin the Bottle" on Chrissie's birthday with the empty Moet bottle from dinner. I ended up fucking Chrissie with the fat end of that bottle while she laid tied, spreadeagled and blindfolded on the pool table. That was right before she got 'gang fucked'. 

She had decided earlier in the day that she wanted to broadcast our 'games' online, and since it was her 'birthday wish', we all put on masks and connected the digital video camera up to the computer, logging onto our favourite site and leaving the room 'un-locked' for all to view. The present that Chrissie didn't know was coming arrived just as Ben slid the blindfold over her eyes. 

She had always fantasised about being blindfolded, tied up and being fucked, sucked, licked and nibbled by any number of guys and gals. So, Ben and I had spoken to several guys and three women from our gym and arranged for them to come over and help make Chrissie's fantasy a reality. Angie had let them in as Ben and I had tied Chrissie up and I had begun to fuck her with the Moet bottle. 

The 'gang' walked in...all naked and toned, the guys all with big, hard erections and the girls' with big cushy titties, hard nipples and bald pussies...just the way Chrissie liked them. She still says it's the best birthday present she's EVER had!! But that's another story.



Part 2: It Wasn't Just Him



It was new year's eve and all my neighborhood youngsters had been planning a party at the rooftop of our building. Since it was going to be near the house so the parents were fine with us partying till late night. We had collected money and gotten ourselves some food, soft drinks and a loud music system. We created a makeshift dance floor and put some lights, making sure to leave enough dark areas for the ones who wanted some privacy. The group was mostly my younger brother's friends and a couple of my friends from school days.

Obviously, there was no alcohol as almost everyone was under 21 apart from me and my friends. My brother was 19 and had finished high school, and most of his friends were of the same age group. The girls were all dressed up in party dresses and makeup, and the guys were having a good time hitting on them and trying their luck. There were a few couples in the mix, who were dancing in the corners, all over each other.

I was finding all this rather cute, being the grownup there was fun. But after a while it got boring and the party started loosing steam. Few of the girls left, as their parents thought it was getting late, even before the new year started. I hated the stupid rules that some parents imposed on their kids, it felt as if we were living in the 18th century. 

I was wearing a short party skirt that ended a good five inches above my knees and a nice pink top, that showed off the curves of my young, yet supple body. Over the last couple of years, I had gotten an ass that I was really proud of, and didn't mind showing off.

My friends decided that this was too boring for them and moved to another party, and I was left with these hormone raging, grouping and grinding youngsters almost all of whom had been looking at my legs or my breasts all evening. As the night went on, some of them even got the courage to ask me for a dance. 

Poor guys, they were so conscious of my body that they couldn't even dance properly. I could make out that a couple of them had boners as soon as they kept their hands on my waist.

Before I knew it, I started enjoying this attention and started teasing and tormenting them even more. I would grind my butt on their crotch and let their hands wander over my body. Soon enough, I was surrounded by six or seven guys, all my brother's friends who I had seen growing up over the years. They were taking turns pairing with me, and with each song they were getting bolder. I could feel their cocks under their pants, rubbing against the softness of my ass. One of them even dared to grope at my breasts and I had to take his hands away and put them on my waist. 

This was getting a bit out of hand as I was getting really turned on by all this attention. I could almost feel the wetness dripping down my legs. I had to push my way away from the dance floor to get some air and cool down. I walked over to the other side and found a couple kissing and dry humping in the dark. This party was getting interesting by the minute. I took a can of diet coke and drank it slowly to calm myself down.

There were only a couple of other girls left and around ten or so guys. I heard them starting the countdown, but was still too buzzed to go back to the dance floor. Everyone was shouting and hugging and wishing each other happy new year. 

Out of nowhere I felt two hands come up from behind and squeeze my breast really hard. I almost jumped and shouted, but as if he knew, by reflex his hand covered my mouth and pulled me further into the darkness. I was pinned against the wall and my mouth was covered, as his hands mauled my boobs and touched me everywhere. I was in shock and tried to push him away, but he pinned me back harder and I could feel the whole weight of his body crushing me against the wall. My eyes tried to adjust to the darkness and make out who this beast was. As if reading my mind, he came close and whispered.

"Its me Tanya... Raju Bhaiya". (Bhaiya is the Hindi word for Big Brother. It is often used by girls to refer male shopkeepers or domestic help etc)

I was infuriated at his actions, how could he even think that he can do this to me. I tried to push him away, but he was too strong, and by now he had found a rhythm with my breasts and nipples. My defense was weathering away, as his hand slid under the side of my skirt, pulling my legs apart and with a thrust he almost entered inside me. I could feel his hardness rubbing against my cunt, as he bunched up my skirt all the way and I wrapped my left leg around him. His lips were inches away from mine and his hands where playing my body as if he knew exactly where to touch me to make me moan. I could smell stale tobacco and cheap liquor, as his lips ravaged mine. It was something I had never felt before. This dirty old man who works as the domestic help in our building, has a wife and kids who live in the basement, was almost raping me on the terrace of my own house, with a party going on a few feet away. 

My nipples were hard and aching to be sucked, and my pussy was burning. He was no longer holding my hands but I was still pinned to the wall with the weight of his body. He was humping me like a cheap whore, and his hand had found the hook of my bra. He tried to open it but couldn't, I could feel his frustration rising as he pulled at the strap almost tearing it apart. I took his face in my hands and looked in his eyes. He was really drunk and full of lust, but the gentle touch of my hands on his face calmed him down. I pushed him away a little and he obliged, I kept looking in his eyes as my hands went behind my back and unhooked the bra, I took is hands and kept them on my waist and pulled his head over my breasts.

He pulled up the top, and looked at my breasts in awe. I smiled at his expression and pushed his face between the valley. It was as if I had lit a fire inside him, he took his cock out and put my hand on it, and with both his hands held my firm round c-cups and sucked on the nipples as if they were his path to heaven. He sucked on them for a good ten minutes, biting them, nibbling them, pinching them while his tongue made circles around them. All the while I was playing with his hard seven inch thick dark cock. My hands would tease its tip when he would lick my nipples and jerk it hard when he sucked them. It was as if he was teaching me to be his pet. I followed obediently, trying to suppress the moans by biting my lower lip and pushing his face harder on my breasts.

The music had gotten louder and the party was into its last hour and everyone was shouting and dancing to welcome the new year. And I was getting fucked by Raju Bhaiya on my own terrace under the open sky. I could see the fireworks going off as I closed my eyes and guided his stiff rod inside me. It was big. Bigger then any other cock I has felt before. I almost shouted out in pain as he rammed it inside me. I opened my eyes for a second to see if there was anybody around who could see us, but there was nobody. I wrapped my legs around him and put my hands around his neck as he fucked me harder.

His cock was finding places that had never been touched, and it was driving me crazy. I pulled him closer feeling every inch of him inside me. My nails dug deep into his back, as I could feel the pressure building inside him. I didn't care who he was, and where we were, I just wanted to feel him inside me, feel his cum fill me up like a cheap whore.

And then like a burst of light, he came inside me, I could feel his body shudder as he unloaded his semen inside me. My cunt sucked every drop of his cum as if it never wanted it to stop, my body was talking a totally different language. I felt him go soft inside me, but didn't let him go. I was his now. His personal whore. The whore he can fuck whenever he wants, wherever he wants, however he wants.

We stayed like that for a few seconds, catching our breath back. His face was still between my breasts and my legs were still wrapped around him. He finally moved his face up and whispered in my ear in Hindi.

"Naya saal mubarak ho. Aab puura saal tujhey aaise hi chodunga. Kal khud se aa jaiyo, teri Bhabhi maikey ja rahi hai."

(Happy new year. Now, I will fuck you like this the whole year. Come by the house tomorrow, my wife will not be there for a few days.)

He mauled and sucked my nipples once and went away, I stood there in the dark, my skirt bunched up, my breasts hanging out, and his cum dripping out of my cunt. I smiled to myself, looked up into the sky and said to myself,

"So, that's why I didn't feel like wearing panties tonight."

I got myself sorted and walked back into the party. I did look flushed, but so did everyone else as they had been dancing for a few hours now. I wasn't sure if any of these guys had walked over to the other side and seen me fucking Raju Bhaiya. 

Anyway, they were glad to have their toy back, and before I knew it they were crowding around me again. This time I didn't stop them at all, they grouped my already sore breasts, they rubbed their little boners on my thighs and on my ass. This was nothing compared to what I had been through a few minutes ago. So, I let them have some nice memories of the year going by and danced with them like there was no tomorrow.

At 2 am and the parents come policing, and killed the party. I am sure I had made three of them cum in their pants and knew that all of them will be jerking their cocks thinking about me for the rest of the year.

"It wasn't that boring a party after all", said my brother when we came back to our house. 

I could see his cheap smile and winked at him. "I hope your friends had a good time."

I took a shower and put on my favorite old blue cotton skirt and a loose t shirt and went to sleep.

Somewhere around 4 am I heard my bedroom's door open and I saw my brother come in. He crept in my bed and snuggled behind me inside the blanket. I pretended to be asleep, as I was pretty tired. 

After a few minutes, I felt his hand around my waist and his body pressing against mine. That's when it hit me, he was hard. I could feel it pushing against my ass. My eyes opened with a shock, but I didn't turn around. Hoping that he would fall asleep and wouldn't remember this in the morning. But, soon his hand was under my bust inside my t-shirt. I hadn't worn a bra or panties as I was planning to sleep in peace.

He put his leg over mine and gently rubbed them, each time pushing my skirt higher up my thighs with his knees.

I was absolutely still, as his hand held my left breast and his fingers rubbed over my nipple. I shut my eyes even harder and bit my lower lips, as I felt my body betraying me a second time in one night. My nipple got hard instantly and I can bet I heard him chuckle a little at his achievement. Then he did the same to the other nipple and pinched it, as if telling me that he knows I am awake and enjoying his touch.

His hand left my breasts and I let out the breath that I was holding inside. I thought that was it for tonight, but then I felt something poking on my lower back. It was slightly wet and sticky.

My brother was poking his naked hard cock on my lower back. I couldn't believe this was happening on my bed, inside my blanket. 

My back arched at the touch of it and he held my waist and rubbed the pre-cum all over the curve of my back. I couldn't take it anymore and my hand went behind my back and held his hard cock. I didn't turn around but teased and caressed his dick, played with his naked balls and then held his cock firmly in my grip. I rubbed it on the side of my waist and then in the crack of my butt. I could feel his breathing getting heavy and the tension in his cock building up. I jerked him hard and fast making him cum all over my back and my waist. I cleaned up his cock with my hand and wiped it off my skirt, and pretended to go back to sleep. All this while I didn't turn around even once to see his face.

He whimpered out of my bed and went back to his room and I finally went to sleep. 

I woke up to a beautiful new year's morning. Got out of my bed, changed into a pair of pajamas and took my skirt to my brother's room. He was still sleeping. I went and sat next to him. We woke up and almost jumped to see me sitting there. He looked at the skirt in my hands and the cum stains on it. 

"Little brother, do you mind washing this for me. I am sure you don't want mom to wash this, right?"

He quickly grabbed the skirt from my hands and hid it under his bed.

I smiled at him, leaned over and gave him a light kiss on his lips and went back to my room.

There were still a few days remaining in the holidays, and I was sure this was going to be a memorable one.



Part 2: My Owner's Embrace



The day after my last encounter with my Master was a hell of longing. I needed to be alone with my thoughts, to replay in detail every single moment, from when he appeared at the door to the sight of him putting his clothes back on before leaving. That last image shot pain through my heart, but it was part of Our time together so it was precious to me. The grace he possesses makes every image of him extraordinary. I know I sound like a starry eyed kid, but the way he ties his boots is Dom.

All I wanted was to lie down in Our blissful bed with my eye mask secured in place and relive the previous day, but I had to be at work, there were annoying real life responsibilities, so I went through the day agitated and plagued with images at random taking me by surprise. I tried to concentrate on my job and then a flash of sensation or the sound of a phrase from his lips would leap out of nowhere. "Are you OK?" people would ask. I couldn't very well say that I was possessed, hot as hell, obsessed by thoughts of the man who had made me his personal pain whore. "I'm fine. Really." All I wanted was to put events in the perfect order in which they had really happened and be free to give into the powerful feelings that had my panties in a disgraceful state as I smiled, weak and polite, concealing fierce lust. 

That was yesterday, but today I had the day off. That moment of waking and realizing I had nowhere to be filled me with near ecstasy. I fell into gentle chosen dreams, safe in the knowledge of what I would be free to do after more delicious sleep.

When I opened my eyes, it was to the perfect grey light of an overcast day. I love to go into my fantasies on a day like this. I could almost hear his knock on the door. I breathed in the memory that was so fresh it was more than memory and still alive. I didn't touch my body anywhere yet as I pushed the covers down, just let him lead me to the table, obeyed him to bend over with my lower half naked. I felt his touch on my sweaty skin, felt his voice sinking into my substate brain. His breath and the sweet scratch of his cheek on my back led me to the moment when he'd changed course. 

I remembered this was where he left me posed submissively on my own to introduce me to my punishment. My shyness had been interfering in my service to him and he'd decided it was time to record me on camera as a kind of immersion in exposure that would beat the self-consciousness out of me. A cure is sometimes the last thing in the world you want because the problem it treats makes it painful, but I trusted my Master and wanted to make up for ever holding back from him.

So, there really was a recording. My breath paused a moment as I considered this interesting fact. All day yesterday, I'd been tormented by the desire my "punishment" had lit up inside me, but I never recalled exactly why I felt it had been a punishment, the physical part had so overwhelmed me with pleasure.

I'd been terrified that he would make me watch it, and, two days later, I was just curious. I didn't wonder what I looked like, just hoped there might be something in my own face that would give me what I wanted—that day all over again. Did he know I would not be able to resist watching myself being fucked senseless by him? Maybe that was why he told me in our after-sex embrace on the floor that I didn't have to. I'd passed the test anyway, I guess. 

Suddenly, it seemed a waste not to look at it. Without another thought, I sprang up from the bed I'd inhabited too long—I was full of nervous energy. About ten minutes later that energy was curled into a little ball of female nerves in the computer chair where I write this now.

There I was on the screen. There was no audio, thank God, and the picture was dim and grainy, but I could see my form clearly, shifting and fidgeting as much as my pose would allow. I lifted my face ("Good girl," I whispered ironically to myself), and looked into the blank gaze of the camera. I saw my face and accepted it—I looked like a child and saw why I get treated like one... except by my Master who calls me his little girl and treats me in very adult ways. 

There he was, just walking in his way that's a little too fast to look like the camera hadn't made a mistake. Then I couldn't see him and I felt disappointed at just me, my face, as I experienced his opening. 

My eyes didn't go all wide, but I saw myself look intently at something peripheral and knew his fingers were within me. 'That's him entering me,' I thought to myself and felt acceptance that there was no huge explosion—I wasn't making a porn film. 

The girl on the screen looked up and then lowered her eyelids like she was fighting sleep or going into a trance. That she opened her mouth and then smiled looked more like something sinister. If she hadn't been bent forward obscenely it would have looked like an innocent flirt. I could see a certain pulse in the image and realized it was her Master pushing her forward with his fingers in her cunt. 

I continued to watch through fingers across my face, like I do with horror movies I pick out, afraid to look or miss a split second. The expression I wore on screen became more difficult to see because it was changing and reacting to something that made me wet to recall. I squirmed in my chair as I grew uncomfortable knowing I was getting off on this. When you are submitting you are less responsible for what happens, or it feels that way. Straying back to the moment of my own will felt depraved, only because it was me I was watching, and I realized how much I do swallow all the crap I hear about how pure I look. I watched until I could see myself raised up enough to listen to his language in my ear and my breasts and belly quivering with his use of me. 

Whether embarrassment or shame played a part, I don't know, because the second after I turned away and switched off the computer, I got into bed. More than anything, I was aroused. I needed my Master's hands on my body, his fingers or mouth on my clit, his teeth to sample every soft erogenous bite of me, but I was alone. I would have to do, which was far less than I needed, but I felt the presence of his desire with me, knowing I am supposed to give into lust each day. Knowing he wanted me to cum always made me wetter each time the moment came when couldn't wait another second to rub my throbbing clit. 

I felt the blood rushing to my cunt and knew how obscenely ripe and red it looked because my Master had photographed me tied down and split open when I was turned on like this. My shaved, swollen lower lips glowed a dark pink against the white bed sheet, the shadow of a puddle starting to show between my thighs. I felt a delicious heaviness between my legs before tentatively running a fingertip through my slit. 

It was so slick I could barely feel my own touch and I moaned knowing how I needed more intense stimulation, his male hands to play with me like I was his fuck toy to explore. I felt so much pleasure at just the thought of how smoothly he could slide his cock into me, how good it would feel to him to enter such a voluptuously juicy owned girl. I squeezed my fat pubic mound and could feel my clit's hardness beat beneath hot flesh. I did the same to my breast with my other hand and the two combined points of sensation had me writhing like a hopeless slut. 

It felt gorgeous to be aroused like this, and even though I wanted my Master so much it was physically painful, I loved that he could do this to me, that Owning me and fucking me had me so hot just the memory of it had my body begging to wallow in attention. I pulled at my tits and fingered my vagina until my hips rolled up from the mattress in such a whorish style that I felt filthy and I loved it. I struggled in my desire, arching further off twisted bed clothes until I felt myself break a sweat. It was then I heard the distinct sound of the front door open. 

I froze and felt a mix of panic and relief at my Master's voice. I didn't want to be discovered like this, unprepared, but he was here and that always brings me joy. 

"Possessed? Are you here?" He sounded stressed and that fueled my adrenaline because I didn't know what the matter could be. "Your keys are are in the door—It's not safe for you..." He was worried something had happened and I felt guilty that I still couldn't find the words to call to him. I should've been greeting him, not paralyzed in indecision about how to get through the next moments. The funny thing was, he wouldn't be mad at all to find me sweaty and reeking of sex in Our bed. I'm sure he'd find that to be a fitting welcome for him. He would find me anyway in about two seconds. 

He came through the bedroom door and, though I'd considered pretending to be asleep, he's hardly a fool, so I half-covered my face with my sticky fingers and smiled up at him. I tried to look sheepish, like I felt, and also cute.

"Good day, my little slave girl," he said warmly, the edge of worry gone from his voice as all was suddenly crystal clear. "What have you been up to this morning?" He said it as if he didn't know and really wanted an answer.

"I'm sorry, Sir—" I blurted out.

"Oh, my possession... You don't have anything to be sorry for."

"I'm sorry I left the keys in the door again." I didn't tell him they had been there since last night.

I raised myself up on my elbows to look at him, trying to ignore the fact that a single touch to my clit would send me over the orgasm edge at that moment. He told me to lie down and continue. I didn't hesitate. 

My Master walked to the side of the bed and sat down to enjoy what was a show for his pleasure; even when I'm alone I picture myself as he would see me and that makes it so much better than ordinary masturbation. He stoked my thighs with his warm hands before possessively spreading my legs wider apart like I was his to arrange, his living doll. It melted me and I mewed with relief to be under his control once again. His eyes sparkled in that demented way I find so attractive; when he sees something up to his sexual standards, his eyes suggest that he's picturing the possibilities and I love to watch his face, that grin that looks like he's trying to keep from laughing. He's told me that it's a look of ecstasy, but it just looks like mischief. It's probably both.

I returned my fingertip to my clit and circled very slowly to tease myself and provoke him. He slid his finger into my cunt like he was testing the water. He did it like he was curious how I felt, not to give me pleasure just yet, and that excited me so much. I wanted to pick up my pace, but wanted him more aroused before I came. I wanted to see his arousal and smell and taste it from his fingers while he watched. I anticipated the moment when he would free his erection from his trousers and I would get to indulge myself in the sight of how sticky I'd made him before I gave into the temptation to cum right then around his still finger. 

I stretched my thighs wider apart and gave him such a classic look of submission—that need to show devotion and also the unadulterated lust that need fueled—that I saw him acknowledge it with his eyes. It felt good to see my Master moved by my desire to be his wanton slave. A lesser man might be put off to see a woman so open in all senses, knowing deep down he didn't deserve that kind of love or wasn't strong enough to take responsibility for an Owned girl's heart. My Owner rose to get my collar. I was so hot I could barely stand to see him moving further away, instead of pushing me into the mattress and devouring me whole.

He went to the dresser and began to look through my drawers, and I loved how naturally he did it, like he was completely entitled to everything associated with me. I also loved that I didn't resent it at all. He doesn't live with me, but answers my phone if it rings, calmly telling any caller that I can't come to the phone. No one who knows me would question that. They don't understand it, but know not to question it if they want me in their lives.

"You look like a slave who needs the reassuring touch of her collar right now. Would you like that, my little pet... to feel nice and secure wearing your Master's collar?" He said while gently rummaging through my stuff. Why he assumed I kept it there, I don't know. He sometimes pictures things while we are apart and doesn't imagine it could be otherwise. Most of the time, he's exactly right.

"It's here, Sir," I whispered, producing the bondage collar from under my pillow.

"You sleep with it under your pillow. How touching." He wasn't being sarcastic, or emotional, either. To him, it was simply a fact that he had uncovered. "Today I'm learning all kinds of things about your habits when I'm not here... in Our apartment." It made sense that I was sentimental about it, so he was already moving to put it around my neck, hungry for more exiting discoveries than my places for Our belongings. 

"Do you ever wear this when you think about me?" He asked, his strong fingers fastening the rather difficult buckle. 

"At first I did, Sir, but not anymore... It doesn't feel right to put it on myself."

"Good girl. I understand," and he quickly pulled my mouth to his. His kiss was intense and expressed that he did understand and we didn't need to say anything more for a while. 

His tongue flickered in my mouth and his passion sent new waves of sexual feeling all through my body, from my chest down though my stomach clenched to sit up with my legs still splayed. The muscles contracting in my belly increased the spasms of ache and pleasure deep in my cunt, and a long moan of sweet suffering vibrated against my Master's lips. I salivated at the taste of him, the sound of his heavier breathing as he lost a little of his self control to lust, to committing to kissing me properly, letting me know who I belong to. He held me upright with an arm around me, nails dug into my ribs, and his other hand tugging the wide collar. He fought my sucking lips to break the kiss and sink his sharp teeth into my neck above the leather. 

"Oh, God," I gasped, "May I please make myself cum while you hold me like this, Sir?" I whined, but I didn't care: It was real need.

"Mmm hmm," He replied, still chewing my neck. "Yes, my slut. Stroke yourself now and hold nothing back... Make yourself cum... You need to so badly, don't you... Let me hear it..." 

Sobbing sounds of exquisite pleasure filled our room. I rubbed my clit, frantic for more of this feeling and to find release from it, spreading slick fluid everywhere and making a mess. One of my legs was thrown over my Master's lap and I knew I was staining his clothes, but also that in a perverse way he wanted that, to wear the girl cum of a slave he'd driven out of her mind with submission to him. 

"Just fucking cum you stupid bitch!" and I did, but not hard. It was a release like switching off a bright light. I just instantly wanted nothing, and not in a Buddhist way. I fell against my favorite person's shoulder feeling very empty and far away. Not wanting, like this, was agony worse than the ways I feel tantalized. 

He hadn't said those words to me that sent me over the edge. It was me. 

We inhaled and exhaled, or he did, at least. He knew I wasn't ready to talk about it and knew how I suffered at failing him with a show that had a disturbing abrupt ending instead of a finale. 

"Undress me," he said affectionately.

I didn't look at his face as I focused on unbuttoning his shirt. My fingers were too deadened even to tremble. I wanted to make a joke about what I'd blurted out, but that would just pile weakness over weakness. At the last button, I slid his shirt over his shoulders. I could feel the heat rising off him, the freshly broken sweat that I was not too broken to need to lap up. 

"You wash me so appealingly, and I haven't had a bath in hours." 

He always knows what to do with me. I rose at the suggestion, and started to the bathroom, when he pulled me back. "Complete my first instruction, my girl. As I told you, 'undress me.' "

I looked at him sitting at the edge of my bed, not looking nearly naked enough while still in his punk, patched trousers, pinstripes making his legs sharp angles... There was also his disarming angelic smile. I didn't kneel. My route to making him naked was a diagonal to his belt. He lent back as I got rough in my devotion to duty, ripping his clothes open as I am not the most subtle of slaves. He helped me by lifting up, but it was still not smooth—His hard on was in the way. I noticed the white slime I'd left on his thigh and pointed, but he told me not to worry about it. He's a kind man and would never call me a bitch, just nice epithets like whore or slut.

I was back again, fully at my best, when I saw how my weirdness didn't make him want me less. I worked to be gentle in setting his cock free, but it wasn't easy because he was still wanted... something. It was sex, but he could do that anytime with Owned property. Sex for him is more than fucking in a way I'm not advanced enough yet to truly grasp.

I was nervous and shivering with lust to see that my Owner was reclining naked, his fine pale arms behind his head in a stolen moment of Dom enjoyment. He didn't mind and I didn't either about my outburst because I would draw the bath and please him with warmth, show him that my submission was a warm bath that never ran cold.

I untangled from his grip and went to open the tap. I poured in the salt and regretted I had few witchy herbs left to seduce him. The hot water was so inviting I slithered in even though it was for him. I pictured him, still, lying on the bed and anticipated his approach. 

I submerged myself just a second before standing. My Owner likes to see my skin wet and I wanted to be completely drenched to make a pleasing sight for him. When I rose I could feel his presence in the doorway. I turned carefully in the tub to give him the full view of my body in the round, the water streaming down over my skin, and I felt myself blush. I felt color appear in my cheeks and couldn't tell if it was from the heat of the steam or my vanity that I thought of my display of myself as a gift for him. I was vain, but that he liked to see my wet tits was just a fact. He'd explained why he spits on me sometimes—it's not meant to degrade me, it just appeals to his aesthetic taste. I loved to be spit on by him; it was one of the ways he showed his belief in his Ownership of me. 

He stood in the doorway like an elegant nude portrait. He was watching me with an intense curiosity, openly wandering all over my body with his gaze. 

"What are you thinking, Sir?" I asked because he looked like he had some idea that was amusing him. 

"That you look like a nymph and that you're clever to make your Master hard by getting all wet for me." He ran his fingers up his twitching erection as if to prove it to me. "And what are you thinking, my little bathing pet?" he asked politely.

"I was thinking about how I like it when you spit on me... and now I'm thinking about sucking your cock."

He stepped closer to me and I wanted to throw my arms around him, but wanted more to be controlled by him for his pleasure. I hoped he would let me serve him with cock sucking and he could see how hungry I was for his taste. He put his hands on my slippery shoulders and pressed me down so that I was kneeling in the warm water. I took a moment to breathe in his scent and admire his beautifully formed cock. A thin strand of sticky fluid descended from the tip and I could already taste the pale golden flavor. I stuck my tongue out to catch it and he still tasted like champagne, as I always remember him. I stroked his taut balls with my fingertips and pressed the spot he'd shown me... I was rewarded for being an obedient orally serving slut with the mouthful of pre-cum I'd produced. I continued to massage until I'd swallowed every drop that had built up.




Part 2: My Owner's Embrace



My Master could see how gluttonous I am for him and he twisted his fingers into my hair, scratching the back of my head in the way cats enjoy. 

"Good girl," he told me and I murmured contentedly as I sucked him deeper into my throat. I pulled his smooth cock all the way in and then almost clear of my lips a few times to make him slick with saliva so that every move I made would feel perfect for him, then concentrated on adoring his gorgeous flushed glans. I kissed affectionately and licked with the tip of my tongue, taking my time. He was so luxuriously silky I was sure my lips felt rough by comparison. He teases me when I describe him as "soft" that I've insulted him, but there is nothing I've touched as fine in texture as my Master's skin. Or in coloration; he describes his cock head as purple when he writes dirty stories for me because pink is feminine to him, I suspect, but the color is rosy pink--a vibrant, lusty shade that draws my eye and makes me drool. I knew that when he wanted to be deeper within me, he'd take control and fuck my face. 

For now, he seemed very pleased to be enjoying the lighter sensations; I looked up without stopping and he was watching me, a relaxed smile on his lips. He put his hand over mine at the base of his cock and squeezed. I got so turned on at that I moaned—I love when he instructs me in giving him pleasure and the feel of his hand much bigger than my own. I let go so he could stroke himself while I sucked gently at fresh fluid oozing into my mouth. 

I wanted him to use me harder, but only if he craved that, too. I grazed his sensitive flesh with my teeth, as he had instructed me our first time together. I had never been with a man who liked any teeth involved, but my Master told me it gave him pleasure. I wanted to stimulate him to the point he would begin to force his cock deep in my throat and thrust until I began to choke. My clit ached at the thought of it, at how powerful he seems when he fucks me until my eyes water and mascara runs down my face as I try not to gag. 

He gasped at my nibbling teeth and gripped my head in both hands. I opened my lips to invite him to use me as his sex toy and was determined to make him cum by withstanding his forced fellatio. I looked up at him and pleaded with my eyes to do everything he wanted with me, always. Holding my head firmly in place, he plunged into my mouth like it was his, made only for his cock. He held me to him, my face pressed tight against his body, my throat feeling seared by the sexual heat. I held my body as still as possible while he shoved hard into me over and over. I could feel him swelling even harder and felt my own body respond to that immediately; my cunt wanted desperately to be touched, but I was captivated by my Master's approaching orgasm. 

His pace quickened and the grip on my hair was fierce. I gagged a little but squealed in disagreement when he would ease up. I wanted his cum and I wanted it to be from pure use of me, not service from my lips and hands. I loved to use my hands and milk his cock onto my breasts, but I needed to know that each part of me pleased him equally. It suddenly seemed very important to my slave identity that I could make my throat like another cunt for him, that he could cum buried inside me.

Above the sound of my panting to stay strong, I heard him moan softly and his rhythm became more staccato. He had stopped drawing back as far and kept most of his cock lodged in my throat. It was thrilling to feel him so passionate and lustful, but I knew I couldn't take much more. The muscles in my jaw were screaming and I was getting lightheaded from not being able to breathe normally. Even so, just the thought of being in pain and having my breath restricted from being fucked by my Master had me so aroused it ached deep inside me in powerful waves. I lost track of time and forgot we were in my bathroom. In my mind, we were in a hotel where we used to meet.

"You are Mine!" His raised voice echoed in a way that startled me and I felt his thick cum hit the back of my throat, coating it as I drank him in. He slowed and I closed my lips to suck eagerly. He moved my head up and down his length and I tasted more bursts of his sweet sexiness until my mouth was full. I didn't swallow, but swished it around to savor before grinning up at him and letting it dribble down my chin and onto my chest. I thanked him.

My Master held himself steady with his hands on the shower curtain rail for a moment of post-orgasmic delirium before stepping into the bath with me. He sank into the water that was still warm enough to feel sensuous and pulled me down onto his chest. 

He held my tits in his protective hands and we rested peacefully without talking for a long time. It wasn't silent, though, because our breathing was deep and I could hear his pulse. I felt connected to him in a way I had never experienced with anyone; we are not the same, but it's a difference that creates electricity (I am the negative one.) I thought to myself that I had never been so happy, noticing how recently I had been full of despair and self-hatred. My Master has such skill at bringing me back from that. He knows how good he is to me and has told me he knows he is the only Dom for me because that is how I make him feel. It gives him a power over me that suits him. He gives me a feeling of being cared for that calms me to the core, until there's no pain at all, only bliss.



Part 2: The Collar



It took over a week for her to email me:

Richard has filed papers. I have nowhere to go. Please help.

I emailed back a meeting time and place, this time at a Barnes & Noble in my home city. I agreed to meet, but made no other promises. 

I arrived well in advance of her, taking a seat in the coffee shop window where I could scan the parking lot. I almost did not spot her. Despite the early-June Florida heat, she was wearing a long-sleeved heavy cotton blouse. I expected this, but was still mildly disappointed.

I greeted her near the door. A flurry of emotion played across her face upon seeing me; hatred, desire, love, fear...all within seconds.

"Coffee?" I asked.

She nodded, and we went to the counter to place our orders. When hers arrived at the counter she began to reach for it with her right hand. As she did so, the blouse, which was slightly too short for her, rode up her arm, exposing three or so inches above her wrist; three inches now alive and solid with beautiful color and design. The young man behind the counter cocked his head slightly, perhaps to get a better look at the vibrant tattoo. Self-consciously, she dropped her right hand and tugged at the sleeve, attempting to hide the design. She then took the coffee with her left. I smiled to myself, but said nothing. We did not speak at all as she stared at, but did not drink her coffee. I asked if she needed a place to stay. 

She said little during the late evening drive to my house, beyond explaining that her husband, Richard, wanted nothing further to do with her.

"He called me a freak," she sobbed, her left hand grasped firmly on her right wrist, subconsciously protecting her arm from view.

"You will stop that now," I gently commanded. "You are the same person as you were before we met in that cabin, only now more beautiful, more exotic, more desirable."

"To you…" she said, and although meek, she seemed relieved.

I left it at that, and continued driving. Exhausted, she fell asleep during the car ride to my house, her hand still clasping her right wrist. I had to carry her to the bedroom I had already arranged for her. She only awoke halfway, and resisted not at all, as I took her out of her jeans and blouse, and dressed her in a cream satin chemise. I tucked her into bed, admiring her beautiful face, the splash of dark honey hair, and her intricate, fully sleeved arm lying across the white comforter. The tattooed arm was completely healed and the skin was smooth and soft. She looked at peace.

At my fireplace that night I contemplatively stared into the fire, and burned the cotton blouse she wore earlier that day.

As I mentioned before, I need little sleep, and was long awake before she rose. She must have been exhausted, since she slept well over twelve hours before I heard her rise and move around inside the guest bedroom.

I waited quite some time for her to come down. After a nearly an hour I began to fry up some eggs and bacon. Hunger, the second most potent primal urge, coaxed her from the bedroom and down into the kitchen.

She entered slowly, still exploring the space, and sat down sullenly at the small table in the breakfast nook. Her hair was dark and damp from a morning shower. She was wearing the same pair of jeans as the night before, only now with a white tank-top.

She broke the silence.

"Where is my shirt?" she demanded.

"It is gone," I replied, dividing the eggs onto two plates, "but there is enough clothing for you upstairs including many tops. I believe they are all your size. I see that you found one. Besides, that shirt was much too heavy for summer."

"They are all like this," she said with scorn, tugging at the thin strap at the shoulder.

I turned to look directly at her and spoke, "That ink covering your arm is never going away. You cannot hide it the rest of your life. As I said last night, you are the same person as you were before the weekend at the lake but with one addition."

"You have been sleeved," I said, putting extra emphasis on the last word, "you will live with that and you will become proud of it. You no longer have any choice or say in the matter. You are the same person, yes, but you are wearing, and will always wear beautiful art on your skin. You are going to display that art to the world, and not conceal it in my presence."

She said nothing, but poured herself a glass of fresh orange juice from the pitcher on the table. With satisfaction, I noticed that she poured the juice using her right hand.

For the most part, I let her be that day, but watched her carefully as she moved about through the house. She did not attempt to cover or clothe her arm again that day, but spent long moments studying her own reflection when she walked by a mirror. Sometimes she would gently rub her arm while doing this, perhaps hoping that the ink on her arm would come off with that rub, or, perhaps, marveling that it would not.

She never once attempted to leave the house, but spent that night in the guest bedroom.

I decided that it was time for us to step out.

The next morning I greeted her again in the breakfast nook. She was again freshly showered, and dressed in a fresh cotton short-sleeved shirt. I looked forward to watching her shower; to seeing the hot water dance across her firm body; to seeing her clever hands work the soap into a lather and spread it across her body; and, to seeing my work on her standing defiant against that soap and water, unwashable, impervious. It would cement in my own mind what I had done to her. 

"Pack some things, we are going out tonight," I informed her.

"Where-" she started to ask.

"You will see when we get there," I stated, cutting her off before she could even finish the question. "We will only be gone one night, so no need to pack very much."

I produced a garment bag from Neiman Marcus and handed it to her, "Here, change into this." 

She padded upstairs, and came back down, dressed smartly in a dark sage Channel linen vest and matching pants. She looked elegant, yet casual. She kept looking at her right arm, a contrast of dark oriental wind-rows and splashes of bright color. She was obviously very aware of how exposed it was. I marveled at her smart appearance, the contrast between a conservative linen suit and the extremely public display of heavy tattooing. 

"Very nice," I said approvingly, "now start packing, the car will soon be here."

In a daze, she assembled some things into an overnight bag. After only fifteen minutes or so the cab honked from the driveway. 

She suddenly paused before stepping outside, her left arm crossed atop her right.

"I can't do this," she said, gripping her arm tightly, attempting to hide it, "this isn't me, this isn't who I am."

I laughed.

"Go look in the mirror again, like you did all day yesterday. This is what you are now. You have no choice now but to accept it."

I picked up her bag and mine, and she reluctantly followed me outside and into the cab.

"The airport," I instructed the driver.

The flight from Florida to Atlanta was short; hardly enough time to enjoy the first class service. I had to gently nudge her to uncross her arms on several occasions: as she walked through the terminal; as she boarded the plane; and as she took her seat. I ordered a drink for her while the plane was prepared for takeoff.

The flight attendants, if they even had feelings or opinions about the work, did not make them obvious. I was quietly glad, since what she needed most right now was to not be a spectacle, to not feel like an oddity.

We arrived in Atlanta around five in the afternoon. We took another cab to the Downtown Hilton, and went up to the Presidential Suite I had reserved. She blinked at the sumptuously appointed rooms, and flopped down on the bed, closing her eyes.

I rather enjoyed the sight of her, sprawled out across the white comforter, arms thrown above her head, but we had a schedule to keep.

"No time for that," I barked. "Check that wardrobe."

With a sigh she stood up and opened the rich, dark mahogany wardrobe. Inside, as I had instructed the concierge to do, was a black silk evening dress, incredibly expensive for such a small piece of fabric, hanging from its very slight straps. On the floor of the wardrobe were matching heels. She brushed her fingers over the lustrous garment, the silk rippling slightly at her touch.

"Now put that on, and make yourself ready," I commanded, and left the bedroom to allow her to get ready, while I changed in the living area.

It was perhaps forty-five minutes later the she emerged. It took me far less time to change, and I was sitting, patiently, in an overstuffed chair in the living room of the suite, looking out over the city. I nearly lost my all-important composure at the sight of her.

The dress was spare, stopping a good eight inches above her knees, making her already long and shapely legs appear even more astonishing. The neckline was cut low, and there was virtually no back. She twirled in place; the muscles of her as yet undecorated back flexed as she raised her arms. Her arm sheathed from shoulder to wrist in dark and intricate ink magnified her beauty and elegance. 

We took a cab from the hotel to the Woodruff Arts Center. Gathering in the evening dusk was a well-dressed crowd mingling outside and entering the large columned building. We got out of the cab and made our way through the crowd and into the cavernous interior. I was dressed nicely, in a dark Armani suit, but I was scarcely noticed. The crowd parted for her. Conversations stopped in mid-sentence as she went by. Old men stared and their wives glared at them.

"They are staring at me," she said in a nervous half-whisper.

"And why shouldn't they," I said, "you are beautiful and exotic, something these people have never seen before."

She swallowed hard, but pressed on, smiling tensely back at the curious on-lookers. I bought her a whisky and water at the thoughtfully provided cash bar in the lobby. She seemed to relax.

The performance was wonderful. The Atlanta Symphony with guest violinist Itzhak Perlman performing Mozart's Fifth Violin Concerto and Vivaldi's Four Seasons. More important, the public unveiling of my art was a huge success.

After dinner we took a cab to the Presidential Suite at the Downtown Hilton. The plane flight back to Florida was not until early afternoon the next day. Our suite was nearly on the top floor, and the window looked north, up Peachtree Street, into the bustle and lights of Midtown. The Woodruff Arts Center, the venue of the symphony, was visible; a large low building sitting among tall office towers.

She turned around and faced me, her left hand absently stroking her decorated arm, a habit she had picked up within the last day.

"It won't stop at this, will it?" she asked, indicating her right arm with her left hand.

I met her gaze but did not answer, and she turned to look again across the flickering lights of Midtown Atlanta. I could watch her, her face reflected in the glass as she gazed out, and could see her focus shift from the dizzying cityscape to her own reflection. She stopped stroking her right arm, and slowly held out her left. She gazed at the smooth, pale skin, and held her right arm up next to it. She then brought her right hand up and, with her fingertips, gently, almost sensually, caressed the top of her breasts, all while staring at her own reflection. I knew she was trying to imagine how she would look, and how it would feel, to have the indelible ink claiming more and more of her soft, pale skin. 

She turned around again to face me, her face flushed and nipples hard beneath the sheer evening dress she was wearing.

I quickly strode to her, reaching behind her head, grasping her hair, and pulling her head back. Her lips parted and I savagely kissed her, her body melting into mine. I could taste the whisky on her lips and breath.

I pulled away, her mouth still open and anxious. "What has you so excited?" I asked.

"I…For a second…I could see myself…the colors across my chest...on both arms…feel your hands grasping me…the machine buzzing…I…" she stammered, flustered at her inability to express the emotions and desires welling up inside her. 

I put a finger to her lips to silence her, and then lifted from the ground by the waist. Her arms circled my neck and shoulders as her legs wrapped around my hips, straddling me as I stood. Carrying her thus, I walked to the large white marble shower, her crotch grinding against mine with each step, her lips hungrily drinking at mine.

I set her down, and with a swift motion lifted the silk evening dress over her head. She hungrily began working my belt buckle and zipper. I tore the Egyptian cotton dress shirt open, the buttons breaking loose and ticking off the mirror and floor.

We were both quickly undressed, and I pushed her into the shower and turned on the water. The small marble and tile room, with three jets of near-scalding water, quickly filled with steam.

I grabbed the French-milled soap, and with both hands worked the bar into a slippery lather. Starting from her left arm, I slipped and slid my hands across her, soaping every inch. My hands roamed across her chest, cupping and lathering each full breast. I then moved to her right arm, soaping her arm from wrist to shoulder, admiring the firm feeling of supple muscle beneath decorated skin.

Certainly, there is no canvas more beautiful than a woman's body.

My hands roamed down, across her stomach, and paused at the downy hairs where her legs parted. My right hand tarried there, my fingers scooping up beneath her, slick with the mild but slippery soap. The bud between her legs was full and sensitive, and she sucked in her breath as my fingers flirted there.

With the shower beating hot water against my back, I lifted her and pressed her against the marble wall. I slipped a hand between her thighs and parted her legs, and rammed myself into her. She screamed lustily into my ear as her feet dangled a nine inches above the wet tile, nailed against the wall like a butterfly pinned to a board. Her legs and arms wrapped around me as I thrust into her over and over. Together we careened from one wall to the other. She screamed as she came, hot tears quickly washed away by the even hotter water.

She pushed me away and reached for the soap. With both hands she worked the bar into a lather and grabbed my rigid shaft with her right hand. She worked her hand up and down, while she gently cupped my balls with her left. The intense feeling of her busy hands, as well as the sight of her decorated arm working my member was too much. I groaned as I came, the spilled seed was lost among water and soap, and quickly washed away.

We finally arrived back from Atlanta late the next evening. 

Once home we settled in front of the fireplace and sipped some brandy. I sat behind her, watching her as she stared into the fire. I enjoyed watching her, her cascading hair, her firm calves and shapely feet tucked up underneath her, her steady pulse beating in her throat.

"Put your blindfold on," I instructed her firmly.

She hesitated, suddenly shaken out of her own thoughts.

"What-" she started, stopping when she saw my glare.

She hunted among the bags still packed from the Atlanta trip, and found the length of cloth. She carefully tied it around her head and across her eyes and sat, waiting patiently. I shackled her to the chair, uncertain whether bonds would be needed. She was at a delicate phase, but after this evening there would be little cause for future concern.

It took some time for me to set-up my tools, and even longer to find exactly what kind of design I wanted for her. Eventually, I found it and made a stencil. It was long, some twelve inches or so, and narrow.

I sat beside her, and pinned her long hair up. I carefully shaved the soft downy hairs on the back of her neck. I gently kissed the freshly shaved skin. She shivered slightly as goosebumps formed across her neck and arms. I noticed that her nipples became hard beneath the sheer, cream silk robe that she wore.

"Now, sit very still, and keep your head held just so," I instructed her, as I applied the paper stencil. Starting from back of her neck I circled it around her throat and again to the back of the neck, the two tails of the stencil meeting above the nape of her neck. I carefully unwound the stencil, leaving a clear purple design on her skin; a guide for my hand, holding the needle, to follow.

A look of apprehension covered her face, as I moved away. She was undoubtedly beginning to guess at what I had planned for her, but she said nothing.

I let the stencil dry as I assembled the lining machine. I dipped the lining needle in a cap of black ink and approached her. Starting from her side, several inches beneath her right ear, I triggered the machine and slowly glided it across the delicate skin of her neck. The skin there is much more sensitive than the arms, and she sucked in her breath as the needle grazed her skin. The needle and ink did their work, leaving a sharp black line in her skin, permanent and undeniable.

In this fashion I slowly circled her, extending the lines and design completely around her neck. Hot tears flowed from beneath the blindfold as she gritted her teeth. She whimpered and moaned as I worked, but her breath came fast, and her nipples remained erect. I cleaned away the blood and ink, and switched to the shading machine and shaded the design with black ink. Again I circled her, working in the midnight black ink, cleaning away blood and pigment. Finally, I selected the last color, a vibrant scarlet-red, and, circling her again, worked that color into her now tender skin.

I carefully, almost reverently cleaned away the ink from her hair, chest, neck and shoulders. Despite my care, the silk robe was utterly ruined, as stained as her newly tattooed skin. I again gently kissed the back of her neck.

I unshackled her from the chair, and left the blindfold on as I led her slowly to a mirror. The room was lit only by candles, and her hair and face glowed warmly in the flickering light. I turned her to face the mirror, let the robe fall about her ankles, and slowly untied the blindfold.

She gasped softly at the sight of the design, her right hand rising, and coming to a gentle rest on her chest just beneath the collarbone. Circling her delicate neck was an intricate Celtic knot; one strand black, the other red. My colors. Even a turtleneck could not conceal all of it.

"What is it?" she asked slowly, as her fingertips gingerly explored the edges of the design.

"Your collar," I said gravely. 

"Collar?"

"Yes," I said, carefully measuring each word, "by that mark I claim you as my own possession; a possession that I will treasure and protect. From this day forward, whenever you look into a mirror you will see that mark and remember that you are mine in all ways possible."

She continued to stare at herself in the mirror. The collar inscribed around her neck fluttered slightly as she swallowed, contemplating, understanding, accepting.

I came up behind her and, grabbing her waist with one arm, pushed her upper body forward until she was bent forward at the waist, facing the mirror, both hands pushing against it for support. Subconsciously, her legs spread slightly and her hips swiveled back and up. From behind, I ran my fingertips felt along the edges of her labia, gently probing inside her. She was very, very wet. I untied the sash closing my robe. Entering her was like slipping into warm oil.

She looked into the mirror only a few feet before her eyes, her eyes meeting mine for a moment, and then focusing on the collar tattooed around her neck.

"You enjoy being inked, don't you?" I said, as I partially withdrew, teasing her as she started to get close.




Part 2: The Collar



"…yes...yes.." she panted, as I plunged back into her.

"The pain, the sounds, the uncertainty," I said, in a cadence, my hips punctuating each word.

"Almost as much as you like being fucked," I said, as I hammered hard into her.

Her low moans were answer enough. I moved faster, and raised the moans to a scream as she came.

I grabbed her shoulders and arched my back as I spent myself into her. I stood a moment, contemplating the canvas that was her sweat-soaked back.

"No," I said, "it will not stop at this.."