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The Dean

By: Eric



"You wanted to see me?" she asks as she stands at his office door. His secretary's desk is empty, since it is after 5:00. The administration building is nearly empty on a Friday afternoon.

"Yes, Miss Murphy. Come in and close the door." He speaks to her from where he is sitting behind his desk. She does as he says and looks at him with a questioning expression.

"I have been getting some complaints about your teaching, and I want to discuss some things with you."

"Really? What kind of complaints? The students in my classes certainly seem happy."

"Well, maybe that's part of the problem. They're too happy. I hear all you are teaching them is how to play and have a good time."

"The course I'm teaching stresses balance in our lives, and play and relaxation are an important part of that," she explains. "Everyone around here is so serious all the time. We need a little fun injected into our coursework."

"I see. And I suppose you think he am a boring person who never has any fun, don't she, Miss Murphy?" As he speaks he gets up and walks around his desk toward her, never taking his eyes off hers. He walks close in front of her, and the intensity of his manner seems to make her uncomfortable. Her eyes drop as she whispers, "No, Sir. I don't think that at all."

"Well, that's good, Miss Murphy, because I do like to have a good time, but the pressures of being Dean of the college don't give me much time for fun. Since you are so good at teaching it, I thought maybe you could help me out today."

"Wh-what do you mean, Sir?" she stammers, her eyes still downcast.

"I have a feeling you know some special ways of having fun, Miss Murphy. I want you to do what I say, and these complaints about your teaching will be forgotten."

"Yes, Sir. Whatever you say."

"Good. I think we will both enjoy this " He moves behind her and reaches around to cup her full breasts. He feels her stiffen slightly. "Just relax, Miss Murphy. There's nothing to be afraid of. " As he leans down to kiss her neck he feels her relax as her ass pushes back against his hardness. "There, that's better. Let's get more comfortable."

He squeezes her breasts before he releases them. His hands move behind her to the buttons of her dress and she stands very still as he lowers it to the floor. Her half slip follows.

"MMMMMM, very nice, you have good taste. " He turns her to face him and stands back to gaze at her lovely form, enjoying her breasts pushing out of the top of her black lace bra which barely covers her nipples. Her matching panties show through her pantyhose, which he quickly removes from her, tossing them and her shoes to the growing pile of her clothes. "God, how I hate pantyhose! Garters and stockings are much sexier! "

"Yes, Sir," she agrees. "I wear them sometimes."

"Oh, you do, do you? Well, you'll just have to show me sometime!"

"Yes, Sir. I would enjoy that, Sir."

"Well, let's see what else you enjoy. Get down on your knees."

"Yes, Sir."

"Remove my pants."

"Yes, Sir. Anything you say, Sir."

She kneels in front of him and fumbles with his buckle. He decides to help her, not wanting this to take any longer than necessary. He kicks off his shoes and she pulls his pants down as he steps out of them. His cock is bulging in his shorts and she gasps as she grabs it through the fabric.

He grabs her hand. "I didn't tell you to do that! You must use your teeth to uncover it. Then kiss it!" She struggles to pull his shorts down with her teeth, and when his cock pops out she begins kissing it. He reaches down and pulls his shorts off all the way. "Now, kiss and suck it, but don't use your hands."

She begins by running her tongue around the head. He puts his hand on her head and pulls her forward, pressing into her mouth. Her eagerness pleases him as she sucks and pulls on his cock. He can feel the muscles of her throat squeezing him.

"That's enough," he gasps. "I don't want to cum yet!"

He pulls out and grabs her hand, lifting her to her feet. He leads her to the table in his office and lays her down on it. He pulls her panties off to expose her pussy, gasping at the sight of its hairless beauty. He notices that her bra has a front hook and he takes advantage of it, freeing her full breasts. He notices the hardness of her nipples and grabs and pinches one of them. His other hand goes to her smooth pussy and presses against her wet lips. She moans loudly and arches her back. He lets her have a little orgasm before he removes his hands and moves down between her legs. He bends over and places his lips against her sweet pussy, sucking it into his mouth. Her lips are soft and pliant as he bites and pulls on them. He turns and climbs onto the table straddling her body so his cock is between her full breasts. He squeezes them together, wrapping his hardness in her soft flesh, and as he pushes forward he commands her to kiss it. She complies with a soft "Yes, Sir " and licks it each time he thrusts forward. He reaches back behind him and pushes 2 fingers inside her. They both begin panting harder and he knows the end is near, but there is one more thing he wants from her.

"Stand on the floor," he says as he gets off her body. She gets down from the table and he turns her to face it, bending her over and pressing her breasts against its hardness. "Spread your legs!" he orders as he presses against her with his cock. Her ass is soft as he presses against it, and he hesitates for a moment, trying to decide which opening he wants. He knows her cunt is wet and ready, so he decides to save her ass for another time. He feels her heat as he slides down to her wetness and slams his cock in. His belly slams against her ass as his balls swing forward and graze her clit. She lets out a little shriek as he grabs her hips and begins a steady in and out rhythm. He looks down and sees her cheeks ripple with each stroke, and he can feel her juice dripping down his balls as his cockhead swells. He feels her muscles tighten around him as he begins to shoot his load in her.

"AHHHHHHHHHH!" he screams as his hot cum shoots into her. She fucks back with her ass, seeming to want more.

"Ohhhhhhhhhhhh yesssssssssssss!" she cries as they slam against each other. Their violent banging goes on for a few moments before she collapses onto the table and he falls onto her back. They stay in that position for a bit, catching their breath. Finally he stands and pulls out, his soft cock making a slurping sound as it slides out. He reaches to the tissue on his desk and hands her one, using one himself to wipe up.

"Well, Miss Murphy, I don't see what anyone has to complain about. I think your teaching of stress relievers is very useful and appropriate. We will have a second lesson soon."

"Yes, Sir," she replies with a smile. "My lesson plans are quite varied and complete, as you will see."

The Dean's List



Initially, I was nervous. I had no idea why I had been summoned to the dean's office, though it could have been as a result of any number of shenanigans in the dorm that I'd been involved in. It didn't make me feel any more comfortable when I saw that my R.A. was already in the dean's office when I was sent in. I'd felt that my R.A. was pretty cool and had assumed that if she had some sort of problem with me, that she would talk to me about it. The only issue I and the other guys on my floor had with her was that she did have a bias against the guys when it came to discipline. We always attributed that to the fact that she obviously liked girls a lot better than guys – she was a pretty butch lesbian.

I joined Lori sitting in front of the dean's desk and was forced to listen to what I considered an unbelievable and misleading tale. The previous Saturday night, we'd had a great night on our floor. Just about everybody who lived there was hanging out, some of us were drinking but we were mainly just having a really good time. At one point, John, Pete and I got it into our heads to run around the dorm sporting only our banana hammock underwear. We'd gone back to our respective rooms, slipped into the briefest pair of briefs we each owned and did a lap around the building on our floor, including right through the group that we'd been hanging out with. We then went back into our rooms and got dressed again. On the whole, the reaction had been pretty positive. The other guys thought it was hilarious and the girls, well, let's just say that all three of us had physiques that could pull off the look. And I know for a fact that Lori was laughing and cheering along with everyone else.

Apparently, sometime after the festivities ended on Saturday night, Lori's perception of the evening's big event changed. Personally, I think the fact that she might have actually found us sexy or attractive had messed with her belief system. Unfortunately for me, she decided to talk to somebody about what she was feeling and that person convinced her that she'd been sexually harassed.

So there I was, sitting in the dean's office being accused of sexual harassment. Luckily, I was given an opportunity to present my side. I pointed out to Lori that she hadn't expressed any discomfort on that night, that, in fact, she'd appeared to me to be having a good time. I also indicated that my understanding of the sexual harassment policy was that I wasn't expected to know intuitively when someone was offended by my behavior, particularly when they are not presenting any obvious signs. Furthermore, I explained that our little stunt had been done to make everyone laugh, not to try to titillate any of them. I apologized to Lori for offending her but also suggested that she might want to loosen up a little bit.

To her credit, Lori was open-minded on that day. She saw my point and suggested that maybe she'd overreacted. We agreed to put it behind us, that she would try to relax a little more and that I would keep my clothes on in public. When we'd finished up to the dean's satisfaction, she had me stay behind after Lori left. Closing her office door, she came and sat in the seat Lori had vacated. She chuckled and said that she thought Lori could definitely stand to loosen up a bit. That relaxed me a bit since I wasn't sure why she'd wanted me to stay after Lori had gone. It didn't sound like I was in trouble, especially when she started asking more about our run through the dorm. I gave her a little more detailed description, including answering her questions about what we were wearing and whether my partners-in-crime were in similar physical shape. She seemed to find it entertaining judging by the way she was laughing. She asked if anyone else had spotted us running around the dorm and I said that we'd passed quite a few people, male and female, who'd either cheered us on or wolf-whistled at us.

"If I'd been one of those young ladies," the dean said, "I probably would have grabbed one of you and dragged you into my dorm room." Seeing me raise my eyebrows at that comment, she responded with mock modesty, "Oops, I probably shouldn't have said that. How very irresponsible of me." She smiled a sensual smile.

"As someone prone to a bit of impulsive behavior," I answered, "I appreciate when people aren't afraid to say what is on their mind. For example, I find myself wondering if picturing me and my friends running around in our underwear has gotten you wet."

"It might not be appropriate for me to talk about that," she said, rising from her chair, "so how about if I just raise my skirt and you can determine for yourself."

She was wearing a grey suit and white blouse with grey stockings and, as she leaned against her desk and raised the hem of her skirt, I was pleased to see that her stockings were held up by a black garter belt. The dean was not an unattractive woman, though probably at least 30 years older than I was. Her shoulder length hair was mostly silver with the occasional jet black strand or two. She had a pretty slim figure but I couldn't tell much about her boobs with her suit jacket on. As her skirt got higher on her thighs, I was lowering myself to my knees in front of her. Her black panties weren't all that racy, but they were damp and I detected a musky scent. I started sliding her panties down, but stopped with them just below her ass cheeks in the back and her trim salt-and-pepper bush in the front. While grabbing an ass cheek in each hand, I stuck my tongue out and licked her pussy, eliciting a moan of approval from the dean.

I teased her like this briefly before yanking her panties all the way down and off, allowing her to spread her legs wider as she leaned against her desk holding her skirt up with one hand and my head in place with the other. I slipped a couple of fingers up into her well-lubed hole and slurped her clit while she moaned softly and rocked her hips toward my face. I took over holding up her skirt with my free hand while she slipped out of her jacket. I looked up as she cupped her breasts through her blouse, squeezing them briefly before dropping her hands back to my head.

Holding my head in place, she pushed her pussy against my face, continuing to moan as I finger-fucked her and sucked her clit. I was surprised to have my face buried in the dean's bush, but instinct had kicked in and I was apparently giving her exactly what she wanted. My cock was rock hard in my jeans and if she didn't help me get off, I was going to have to run back to my dorm room to stroke one out. I was actually really enjoying myself. At that age, it was rare to be with someone who knew exactly what she wanted and wasn't afraid to let you know. She was humping my face harder as her breath started to come in gasps, but I just kept at it. Her juices were flowing down my hand as her pussy became more and more engorged. When she finally sucked in her breath and shuddered, I continued fingering and licking her until she let out a long sigh.

Raising my head and looking up at her, I was instructed to stand because she needed my cock. It looked like I wasn't going to have to take care of myself after all. The dean was already pulling my shirt off as I worked on getting my jeans open. She leaned forward and pressed her lips against mine, her tongue immediately entering my mouth as she reached between us and began to stroke my rigid cock. I massaged her ass while we made out, my cock growing harder. She pulled away and turned around, releasing my cock and hiking her skirt up to her waist. Her ass looked really nice, round and firm like she worked out a bit. I rested one hand on the small of her back, on top of her garter belt, and guided my cock to her pussy with the other. Placing my cockhead at between her pussy lips, I thrust my hips forward and slid easily into her. Grabbing her by the hips, again feeling the garter belt under my hands, I started stroking slowly in and out of her slippery pussy.

The dean was resting her head on one of her arms on top of her desk. The other hand had crept down between her legs where, I assume, she was stroking her clit. I fucked her slowly, wanting to prolong the pleasurable feel of her pussy as long as I could. I was pushing into her as deeply as I could, my hips smacking against her ass and eventually resulting in a little cry of pleasure from her each time. Her pussy felt fantastic, partly due to her arousal, partly due to her previous orgasm and partly because that's just how pussies felt, especially when you were only nineteen and hadn't experienced that many of them. Removing my hands from her hips, but continuing to fuck her, I worked her blouse free of her skirt and slid my hands up under it. Encountering her tits encased in her bra, I kneaded the soft flesh in my hands, feeling her hard nipples pressing out. I slid my hands around to her back and unclasped her bra, then slid my hands back around and slipped them under it to feel the bare flesh of her tits. Feeling the soft, smooth flesh seemed to make my cock even harder as I continued to fuck her.

I gently tweaked and pulled her nipples, eliciting moans of pleasure and seeming to make her pussy even wetter. It was probably a combination of my playing with her tits, her own fingering of her clit and me fucking her that got her pussy so engorged again. All I knew was the longer I fucked her, the better it seemed to feel. It wasn't much longer before the dean was pushing back hard against my incoming thrusts and making lustful noises each time I was completely embedded in her. Finally, her breathing got harder and harder until she let out a long moan and I could practically feel her pussy flooded with more fluids.

When she once again let out a long sigh, I straightened up and pulled free of her, then unfastened her skirt and yanked it down to her ankles. She stepped out of it as I helped her up and turned her around. I boosted her up onto the edge of the desk, made out with her for a minute or two, then eased her backwards before slipping my cock back into her slippery pussy. She wrapped her legs around me as I leaned forward and unbuttoned her blouse while sliding my cock in and out of her again. With her blouse open, I pushed her bra up over her tits and started to fondle the soft, smooth flesh again. Her nipples were hard and her areolas were large and dark pink. If I could have done so comfortably, I would have taken them in my mouth and sucked and licked them. Hopefully I'd have an opportunity to do that another time, but in this position the best I could do was to fondle them while I fucked her.

I was so ready to cum by then, looking down on her nearly naked form, so I kept fucking her harder and harder. I had to release her tits and hold onto her thighs, hooking her knees over my arms, so she wouldn't slide away across the desk. She had her eyes closed and her tongue hanging out by this point and had taken over playing with her tits after I had abandoned them. When I was finally ready to spew, I was too far gone to finish in her mouth or even to pull out and squirt onto her belly, which I found out later she liked. I just kept fucking her harder and faster, looking down to see my slippery cock disappearing and reappearing below her bush. My hips were smacking against her ass and she was grunting with each thrust until I finally pushed into her and started to cum. I pumped in and out a few more times before I was completely spent.

I helped her back to sitting on the edge of her desk and we made out some more. She told me how much fun that had been but regretted that she hadn't gotten to suck my cock, asking if I'd come back and let her do it the next day. She put me on her calendar for an hour during a time when I had no classes.

Other than the sex, I didn't get any special treatment for the rest of the semester, or for the rest of my tenure at the university, for that matter. It was nice to go out on the weekends and not be completely obsessed with hooking up. If I didn't get laid over the weekend, it was a pretty safe bet that I would on Monday. Even if I did hook up, the dean was usually anxious to hear all about it. She was a horny lady and I was glad to be the one to reap the benefits of her passion.



The Dean's Lister



* Early Saturday Morning, 

Cloudy Day with Scattered Rainshowers + Thunderstorms:

I, Nishida, eighteen going on nineteen years of age, am totally shaking and shivering because I was still garbed in my wet (and nearly see-through) school uniform; stood in front of Browning International Academy, my alma mater since first grade, where I am now at my Senior Year in High School.





The Dearling



The rustling from the wood's edge caught my attention. The dusk obscured its cause, I felt as much as saw a presence. Not twenty feet away from me on the cabin's porch, he emerged, caution evident in every step. He scanned the clearing ready to spring back into the safety of the forest. I remained motionless, fearful that I would frighten this beautiful creature away. He must have sensed no danger for he ventured right up to the porch. It was only then that he spotted me. He froze, staring at me with soft, brown eyes. Curiosity seemed to overcome caution as he put a foot onto the step. I came to my feet slowly, stepping out of the shadow into the lowering light of the evening, trying to express that I posed no danger. I smiled. His eyes met mine and he returned the smile. He accepted my touch as I stroked the tawny hair covering his head, pushing against my hand. His fear was gone. A sound caught his attention, a rustling from the same spot from which he emerged. His eyes met mine for a moment before he bounded off in the direction from which the sound had come. He paused on the verge to glance back at me then was gone.

Two days passed before I saw him again. This time he showed no hesitation, but bounded up and onto the porch, initially nuzzling my hand, then moving closer to place small kisses on my neck. I was beyond charmed by the attention. I had remained seated, his approach so quick I had not time to rise. He came closer, resting his head in my lap. I would be embarrassed to admit my growing erection, but that was clearly the object of his continued nudging. He looked up from my lap seeking permission but didn't wait for my response. He greedily exposed my cock, wolfing it down his throat, proceeding to suck. This was not gentle fellatio, rather desperation for my cum. Only a few minutes of this aggressive assault brought the intended result, a flood of my essence. He swallowed all he could then lapped up what had escaped. His eyes were filled with accomplishment. He gently licked my cock head, then fled back into the forrest.

I was overcome. Our first meeting had been sweet, innocent. The second was fraught with mystery. Who was this young male from the forest? He made no sound. Was he capable of speaking? Was he a wilding, homeless and living in the wood? He moved through the forest with the lightness and quickness of a deer. Was he alone? This I doubted from his very capable handling of my cock. I was both frightened of my forest sprite and eager to be with him again.

I came to this lonely place to seek refuge and silence. It was my hope that from the silence, my muse would return and I could write again. The several weeks prior to the arrival of my mysterious friend were empty, no inspiration surfaced. On his arrival, my curiosity was stimulated and I found words again. The stealthy sound of my writing could have been heard through the night had anyone been near enough to hear. 

At dusk each night, I waited on the porch, homing for the return of my wild friend, my dearling. Some evenings he would appear at the edge of the wood for a moment, then disaapear, responding to a call I could not hear, a signal I could not sense. On what I came to consider my fortunate evenings, he would replay his desire for my orgasm. I quickly overcame any shock, craving his sometimes soft, sometimes needy attentions. He accepted only gentle strokes along his head, shoulders, back and flanks. I urged him to come inside the cabin with me, but he bridled at the open door, content only to be with me on the porch. Sometimes he would fondle and cuddle my cock and balls after inducing orgasm, other times he would immediately flee as he had the first night. 

I craved a closer connection. He clearly heard and understood my words, but offered no verbal response, making his affection of me clear through his oral attentions, gestures and looks upon his lovely face. I could only hope that his growing familiarity would continue.

I was eager to promote the connection and thought to express my eagerness for his attentions. I waited for his arrival as naked as was he, standing at the front of the porch. After two disappointing nights, I again heard the familiar rustle, he was near. I stepped from the porch into the light of a strong moon, exposing my emotions as much as my body. He approached, playfully, almost slyly, grinning as he circled me. He approached me with kisses and touches. My lust sprang up. He touched my cock, then turned, presenting his rump invitingly. 

On entering him, I knew this was not a new experience for him, he responded hungrily, demanding all the power I could muster. The sensations I felt were exquisite, driving me to the edge of my control several times before I succumbed and released myself into him. I staggered, totally emptied. He guided me into the cabin and setled me onto the bed. His eyes roved wildly around the room, seeking an exit. Overcoming his evident fear of the closed space, though the door remained wide open, he lay with me on the bed. I enveloped him with my arms, holding him to my chest. Contentment and exhaustion overtook me. My next realization was the rising sun coming through the still open door, falling upon the bed I occupied alone.

Following this intimacy, I was compelled to know who this creature was. I resolved to follow him, should he come again, knowing that I would have to overcome the affects of his sexual attentions. I purposely rested each afternoon, waiting for the time he would come again. 

After a gap of several days, he came again. Gone were all the coquetish ploys. He boldly approached, fondling me to full erection, then kneeling, presenting the gift of his ass. My plans for caution were thrown to the winds as I engaged with him, my need rising to meet his. We coupled, intent on each other's pleasure, coming to quickly to climax. I held him to me, still fully inserted, caressing him.

He began to wriggle playfully beneath me, pulling free of my embrace. A quick kiss on my cheek and he was gone. I pulled myself together, not giving in to the revelry of the pleasure I had just experienced, but leapt to my feet and chased after him. He was swift, moving along known ways through the forest, but I was able to follow, my senses elevated by the lovemaking.

Just ahead of me the gloom of the forest lessened, the light coming from a clearing. I heard them before I saw them. I stopped at the edge of the clearing, an amazing sight before me. There gamboling and dancing, were many of his kind. In their midst clearly was the object of their performance. There regally stood a magnificent creature, his chest broad, his presence commanding. I was awed. What were clearly his tribe sought his attention, each one offering themselves for his pleasure. He feigned inattention, appearing to look past his tempters, but his enormous erect phallus gave lie to this pretense. He reached out for one of the dancers, pulling him roughly to his chest, stroking his prize, teasing him with mock copulation, then sending him on his way. Another was so teased. 

My fascination ended when my own dearling came into his reach. My heart rose into my heart. I could not allow this, this my own creature to be taken. I broke from my hiding place, rushing into the clearing, confronting the buck. Face to face, I knew I was no match for this creature, yet I stood my ground. The once-dancing crowd retreated behind thier master, watching intently, fearfully. He surveyed me, perhaps judging how much of a threat I posed. 

In a flash, he was upon me, throwing me to the ground, slamming his full weight onto my prostrate body. I knew he was fully capable of killing me. He reared back to strike, but paused. His face communicated layers of meaning, anger that I had intruded on his tribe, frustration that I had interupted his pleasure, respect that I had confronted him, and sadness. 

Why sadness? His power and authority was absolute, he was at the pinacle of existence. I believe that sadness was an awareness that one day, perhaps not for a long time, but one day, he would face an opponent not so easily subdued, one that would take away the worshiping lovers and leave him vanquished and alone.

He sighed deeply, then relaxed his assault of me, rising and returning to his harem. My dearling skirted past him, rushing to my side, helping me to rise. He guided me back to my cabin, drawing me by the hand to the bed. He eased my pain with affectionate touches, bringing me to orgasm and sleep.

On waking, I felt him at my side, leaving me in amazement. I clung to him, showering him with the affection I had felt from our first meeting. And so it went for several days. Sweet love making and affection. My heart soared, I was content and fulfilled.

One fine morning, as lounged in the sun in front of the cabin, they appeared. The master led his harem into the clearing and stood before me. His eyes raked over me, assessing his rival once again. With only a nod, he called my dearling who fled from me to his side, offering me only a soulful look of regret. The buck took his own back. They all followed him into the wood and I was alone.

I knew I would not see my dearling again. I left the cabin the next day, returning to my world. I was deeply saddened to no longer have this creature in my life. I came to understand with the wisdom of years that my time in the wood with him was fleeting, that it was not for a lifetime. I also knew that I would carry him in my heart always.

***

Many years later I returned to the cabin. I suppose to relive that magical time in my mind, to keep the recollection fresh. In tribute to those memories, I again stripped away the outside world along with my clothing and stood upon the porch, looking at that place where he always appeared. I thought I heard a faint rustling, dismissing the possibility as an illusion of the heart. 

But then, a magnificent creature stepped proudly forward. A moment later, his tribe came out, crowding around him. I stared in admiring wonder for several minutes, slowly coming to realize this was not the same leader. No, his movements and gestures were familiar. This magnificent creature must be my own dearling, come of age and power.

He acknowledged me with a nod, then proudly turned and led his tribe back into the forest. I stood amazed, beyond happy to have seen him again, reliving our every moment together. A rustle at the edge of the forest interrupted my reverie. A slight but beautiful creature emerged. Cautiously he approach me, offering his head to be stroked, nuzzling my neck with sweet kisses. The one I had loved had presented me a gift, this dearling.



The Death of a Cuckold



I hated my father.

When I was younger, I had a favorite stuffed animal. However, since I was young, I couldn't pronounce my v's properly. So my favorite stuffed animal was affectionately known as 'My Beaber'. I carried my beaber everywhere with me. I loved the stuffed animal so much that I couldn't part with it, no matter how many people tried to take it away from me. Cousins would always torment and tease me by playing keep away. But I knew the secret to getting my beaber back. All I had to do was cry, and the boys would quickly stop playing their games.

One night, I left my beaber outside in the yard. It was shortly after dinner that I realized that I left my beaber outside. Now, I should tell you that we used to live out in the country. Let me tell you when I say that it was dark outside, I mean pitch black. This was the kind of dark when one walks down a dark alley, and who knows what evil villains are lurking in the dark. However, this was the country, so those evil villains could range from scary monsters to zombies to ferocious animals with huge, pointy teeth! And to make matters worse? Dark storm clouds were rolling in. My beaber was going to get washed away in the rain!

But never fear! I knew what to do. All I had to do was cry, and I'm sure that my father would go outside; brave the dark and all the monsters that lurked in the shadows; beat the incoming storm and retrieve my beaber. After all, no one likes it when a girl cries. All the boys melt and do what I want when I don't get my way.

Not my father. No, he had the audacity to tell me to go get it myself. Even with all my tears, my sobbing, and my pouting, my father refused to go get it for me. How could he do that to me? Didn't he love me? And to think he had the nerve to ask me 'If you love it that much, why did you leave it outside in the yard?' Before I could even answer the question, he said 'If you truly love your beaber, you would face your worst nightmares to have what you wanted most.'

Well, I would show him. I stomped right up to my room, slammed my door, and cried all night. Mom tried to comfort me. I could even hear them yelling downstairs. Mom knew the rule about what boys are supposed to do when girls cry. With each lightning strike and thunderous roar, my heart was breaking. My father didn't care enough about me to go get my beaber. Didn't he know he was supposed to do it? I loved my beaber. It's not my fault I forgot about it in the yard. It's always going to be there for me regardless of what I do.

Needless to say, when the morning came, I still didn't have my beaber. Fine, I would just go get it myself and give my father the silent treatment. I've seen Mom do that many times. I've even heard her on the phone talking to other boys, making fun of my father though I didn't understand everything she was saying. She could even make him sleep on the couch when she was truly mad at him. I couldn't wait to have those powers. I was sure that Mom would teach me these powers when I got older.

When I went outside and looked for my beaber, I simply couldn't find it. The storm must have washed it away. Again, I started crying. But now! Now, my father responded to my tears. He came over to where I was and asked me what was wrong. I refused to answer him. I simply crossed my arms and gave him a mean, pouty expression. With a furrowed brow and pursed lips, I just glared at him. I've seen mom give this look when she's angry. Maybe it will work for me?

Not a chance in Hell. My father simply laughed and told me to go get the mail. I stood my ground. I was not going to let him make fun of me, like my cousins did. I was going to be just like Mom. She just had more practice at doing this. Though, I will admit when my father raised his voice and demanded that I go get the mail, I lost my resolve. The last thing I wanted was a whipping. Not that my father ever raised a hand to me, but the tone in his voice was intimidating enough.

So I walked down the gravel easement to the row of mailboxes. I would kick a stone or two along the way, pouting and mumbling some curse about how I wish my father would go away forever or how he needed to be left out in the dark with all those monsters. Let's see how he would like it. That was my favorite stuffed animal, and he didn't care.

When I got to the mailbox, the tears started flowing even more so than before. But these were not tears of sadness. These were tears of joy! Inside the mailbox, protected from the torrential rain that had come down the night before, there was my precious beaber. It wasn't ruined. It wasn't lost. It was safe and sound, and now back in my arms. I was NEVER going to let it go again. I promised beaber over and over that I truly loved him, and that I would never abandon him again.

I hated my father.

While I learned that the crying game was not going to work on my father, Mom refused to give up. The yelling never stopped. Doors slammed. Dishes broke. And the phone calls when my father was away increased. I could never truly hear what Mom was saying because she kept whispering on the phone. But I could hear her giggling. Plus, she always hung up when my father would come into the house.

One night, there actually was no yelling or screaming. There was no crying, no tears. Mom simply walked into her room, packed up a couple of suitcases and walked out of the house. There was some strange man in a red pickup truck waiting out in the drive way for Mom. She dropped her suitcases in the back of the truck, climbed into the cab and never looked back. I couldn't believe it. Mom was leaving?!

Who was going to teach me the rules of the crying game? Who was going to show me those powers that she used on my father, so that he would sleep out on the couch? She was supposed to teach me everything. Sure, my father spent hours telling me that her leaving was not fault. That it was a problem between him and Mom. He said that they both loved me, but that they needed some time a part to straighten out their differences.

I was so mad at him for making Mom leave. I even spat back at him 'If you truly love her, you would face your worst nightmares and go get her!' Let me tell you something about my father. He was a big man, or at least in the eyes of a child. He was strong. Superman had nothing on him. When a child sees this giant of a man break down and cry for the first time, it changed everything. Mom made me see that he had a tender side. He was a wimp. I think that was the word she used on the phone to one of her boy friends.

Unfortunately, I was still developing these powers that Mom had. Despite the fact that my parents were getting divorced, I still had to stay with my father. I begged and pleaded to live with Mom. After all, my father was a wimp. Plus, I needed to learn what other powers girls had over boys. Out of spite, my father insisted that I stay with him. He made it so that I never saw Mom at the court house, during the divorce hearings, or even when I spoke to the judge. He made sure she was never there.

In fact, he went so far as to force me to have only one Christmas. All my other friends who went through a divorce said that they loved Christmas time. Instead of having one family Christmas, they would get to have two. Some of them would tell stories about how one parent would always feel guilty and smother them with gifts, while the other one would give a few presents but they were really expensive. How come I never got this? Why didn't I have this power? See! This was all my father's doing. If I would have lived with Mom, I'd know how to have two Christmases.

I hated my father.

When I started getting older and was going to high school, I hated doing homework. I hated going to class, especially biology. Do you know how disgusting it is to dissect a worm? What was even worse was when we had to cut open a pig! The stench was something fierce. It was like going into a boy's locker room after football practice, but the odor was on steroids or something. Who cares about anatomy? Who cares about recessive genes and chromosomes? It's not like you hear people talking about this stuff in real life.

Fortunately, I discovered that there were other people who hated their parents as much as I hated my father. I would get every chance I could to spend time away from the house, and away from my father. While I knew that my friends hated their parents, I was envious of them. I would go to these huge houses in housing additions. They had all the latest gadgets and computers and everything. My father never had anything like that. This was one more reason to hate my father. He didn't buy me all the cool stuff. This was another power that I lost out on.

And it didn't stop there. No. Going out on dates was the worst! I'd go out on a date with a really cute boy. He did things that made my heart race, whether it was speeding through town at nearly 100 mph, or break into places where we weren't supposed to be. The danger and the excitement got my heart racing. I was caught between fear and that adrenaline rush, much like a roller coaster ride. So when the boy kissed me, it felt like my entire world was spinning. My head was swimming on cloud nine. This boy was taking me to heights I never thought possible.

Unfortunately, my father had a way of bringing me back to Earth in a hurry. When the boy dropped me off at home, my father was waiting for us. He had a couple of shot guns out that he was so conveniently cleaning at the time we pulled into the drive. He forced me to go up to my room, so that he could have a little chat with my boyfriend. Needless to say, I never went out with that boy again.

Ever since that night, boys refused to go out with me out of fear of my father. I knew that crying on the staircase would do me no good. If I stayed out all night, he would simply come looking for me. That was even more embarrassing than the gun cleaning incident. I could not believe that my father was doing this to me. He was ruining my life. Just because Mom left him for some hunk doesn't mean that he could take it out on me.

But there comes a time in a child's life when they start to view their parents differently. 

While being grounded for yet another offense in defiance to my father's house rules, I decided to clean up one of the walk-in closets. After all, it would be a place where I could put my clothes and my shoes. While I may not have had a lot of the latest toys, gadgets and electronic devices like all my friends, I did have all the clothing I could want. Wal-mart fashions may not have been quite as trendy as Aeropostale or Abercrombie and Fitch, but getting three tees for the price of one made sense to me. I worked hard for my money, and I wasn't going to throw it all away on a blouse that would be out of style by the next year. Ok, so maybe my father's teachings weren't all bad.

This closet was in a desperate need of a cleaning. Time must have forgotten about this place because there were cobwebs everywhere. Ok, maybe not everywhere, but there was definitely one when you first walked into the closet. The one that you don't see that gets into your hair and sticks to you no matter how many times you try to pull it off. Some of the clothes that were hanging up in this closet were definitely from a time warp. I couldn't believe that people actually chose to wear some of these things on purpose!

While putting the old clothes into garbage bags, so that they could be given away to Good Will, I found my parents' wedding album and some other keepsakes. Flipping through the album, despite the outdated fashions and the long forgotten hairstyles, my Mom looked absolutely gorgeous in her white wedding dress. You could see the love in her eyes that she had for my father. Plus, my father, who never wore a tie or a jacket for anything, looked very dashing in his rented tuxedo. Picture after picture brought back memories of when my parents were together, when they were in love.

But just like the faded photos and the dust covered album, that was so long ago. Still, it was different to see my father in a much happier state of mind. For the last several years, ever since Mom left, there was no sparkle in his eye, no spring in his step. The only time that I would get a glimpse of this reaction was when I won some kind of award from school, regardless of how stupid it may have been. Regardless of the function or the reason, my father was there to cheer me on. In my own mind, he was doing this to embarrass me to no end. But after looking at these photos, my mind began to wonder if I wasn't seeing things as clearly as I should. Especially since not once did I ever see Mom at these events.

Putting aside the photo album, I stumbled across a collection of letters. Judging by the size of the Tupperware container, there was a ton of love letters. It's amazing how sentimental these can be. It's not like now where people post their status to Facebook, or tweet their feelings for someone, or even send a quick text of 'I 

It may have only been a month, but I can't believe how much in love I am with you. I can see the sun shine in your hair, and your smile warms my heart. Your beautiful brown eyes have me under your spell. With but a word, I would reach up to the highest of heavens and pluck out a shining star just for you. There is nothing that I wouldn't do for you. I would go to all ends of the Earth to retrieve your golden fleece. Your beauty is beyond compare, and the fact that you even entertain the thought of loving me in return is much like Aphrodite and Hephaestus. You are my Venus. You are my Juliet. I can see me living my entire life by your side.

That was only an excerpt from one of my father's love letters. They were long and colorful. My father was such a romantic back then. What happened to that magic? What happened to that spark? Obviously, Mom loved these letters because she saved so many of them. Though, a quick perusal of the envelopes and handwriting written on them, I noticed that there was a change. Not just in the penmanship, but also with the tone of the letter.

I can't wait to see yor naked body again. I loved the way you straddled my cock while you played with your huge tits. The way you shrek when I spank that ass. I defintly love your lips as they wrap around my big fat cock. And the way you moan when you cum. I love you.

Aside from the misspellings, these letters in the back of the container were much different. They were short. They focused on physical sex, rather than emotional love. They used vulgar language, rather than poetic expressions of love. And yet, the writer still used the word 'I love you'. Why did Mom have these? This definitely was not written by my father. What was worse, these letters were dated after my parents' wedding. What was going on? A bunch of these letters were romantic and sweet and could melt a girl's heart. They focused on love and living a life together. The other letters were crude and nasty, and focused on physicality and living in the moment. The grammar and spelling errors were enough to make me sick.

However, my stomach churned when I stumbled across the last find in that walk-in closet. It was from a laboratory out in California. The contents of this letter would change my life forever. It changed everything except for one thing.

I hated my father.

How could he hide this secret from me? Although, if I really thought about it? It should not have come as a surprise. My father may have worn his hair high and tight, it was still dark and brown. Mom always loved the way her long brown hair cascaded down to her shoulders in dark curls. Even in the wedding photos, their brown eyes danced with love and happiness. Maybe my blonde hair and blue eyes were just recessive genes? That's what they taught in Biology. How could my father be so mean and hide the truth from me?

The official looking letter stated that I was not my father's daughter. How could he do that to me? Why did he hide my real father from me? He must have forced Mom to not say anything to me. I never knew that he wasn't my real father. With all the things he did for me, I can't believe he would lie! He made me call him 'father'!

I needed answers, and I certainly could not trust the person who had been hiding it from me for all my life. No, I needed to find Mom and make her tell me what was going on. Maybe, then, she could explain how she could marry such an evil monster like my father?

Tracking her down required more effort than I thought. I tried Grandma and Grandpa, but they haven't seen her since she left my father. All the aunts and uncles didn't seem to know or care too much about her whereabouts. I was about ready to give up when I was reading the paper and came across the police blotter. There was a domestic disturbance out at one of the trailer parks, and it listed Mom's name and some other guy. Finally, I would get my answers.

I'm not sure what I was expecting. Perhaps I was hoping the heavens would open up and all that was wrong in my life would be undone. That Mom's home would be Utopia, and I could run away from the evil that lurked in my own home. Unfortunately, that was not the case. Instead, the front yard of this trailer park home was cluttered with litter and garbage. I wasn't sure if the owner of the house was also running a junk yard or simply having a rummage sale for the last two years? The grass was either dead or overgrown. My father would have a stroke if he saw the way this yard looked. With as much time as he put in tending to his lawn, this place was an absolute disaster and a complete contrast from home.

Mom must have seen me pull up, because she was the first to greet me. At first, she didn't recognize me. I know I didn't recognize her. Her store bought blonde hair looked fake; and you could easily see the dark roots. While the tattoos were probably a good idea at the time she got them, but not so much now. She had let herself go since she left my father. When she finally realized I was her daughter, she hugged me and I could smell the nicotine on her clothes. It was enough for me to worry about getting cancer from second hand smoke.

The 'tearful' reunion didn't last long, though. I immediately asked her who my father was. At first, she tried to lie say that my father was my real father. However, I held up the letter from that laboratory out in California. She frowned and eventually said that my real father was a 'mistake'. That she loved my father, and that my biological father was just some guy she met at the diner where she worked. They had some fling that lasted about a year, but that he skipped town one night and was never seen again.

It was about this time that this balding, pot bellied beast of a man stepped out of the trailer as well. My biological father may have been a mistake, but I realized at that point in time that the summer clothes that I chose to wear that day was a huge mistake. This ugly looking pervert eyed me like I was a piece of meat. You could almost envision this twerp jacking off to porn and having the same look in his eyes as he did that very moment when he was looking at me. This was the guy that Mom left my father for? I threw up in my mouth, and then left. And just like Mom, I never looked back.

I hate my father.

I finally met a boy, who survived a shotgun cleaning talk and endured whatever else my father could throw at him in order to make sure that he respected me and loved me for who I was as a person, and not because of my looks. I finally met a boy who could make my heart race, not with actions of living in the moment but because of the time that we spend together. All those other boys who my father protected me from had gotten girls pregnant before they even graduated high school. Some of them tried to be good fathers, but most of them ran away from their responsibilities. This boy is different. He even earned my father's approval to ask me to marry him.




The Death of a Cuckold



But who will walk me down the aisle? Who will give me away at my own wedding? Who will be the last man to hold mine before I become Mrs. Banks-Williams? I can't ask my biological father to do it because I don't even know who he is. I'm certainly not going to ask my Mom's boyfriend, or whatever he is, to do it because the mere thought of being that close to him makes me vomit. No, my father is supposed to hand me over to my fiancé. 

My father raised me like his very own daughter. He loved me as if I was his own flesh and blood. He made me feel loved, and provided for me all the things a child could ever way. He forgave my slut of a mom because he loved her and truly believed that she was sorry, when she was nothing but a cheating whore. He taught me the difference between love and lust. He taught me that love should be unconditional, but that it should also be two ways. He taught me that you should want to do all that you can for the person that you love, but as long as there is the same kind of love in return.

My father also taught me the difference between living and having a life. Living in the moment lasts but a few seconds in time. It's forgotten before you know it. Having a life, especially with someone you love, lasts a lifetime.

My father was a wimp and a cuckold, according to some of the people in the community, but he was more of a man than any of Mom's lovers. Tell me of a man who has the strength to accept that his daughter is not his own flesh and blood, but raise her and love her like she's his only angel? Well, that man is my father.

I hate my father because he died before I could tell him that I love him with all my heart, and I will forever be grateful to him for the things that he taught me. And if my fiancé can't deal with the fact that I want to hyphenate my name so that everyone will know that I am my father's daughter first and foremost, then he doesn't know me and doesn't deserve me.

Daddy, I love you so much!

*****

There was not a single dry eye when Melissa Banks stepped down off the podium and collapsed in a sobbing fit at the head of her father's coffin in tears. Her fiancé, Aaron Wiliams, rushed to be by her side and console her in her time of loss. It was at that moment that he fully understood his bride to be, and no longer complained about her wish to hyphenate her name in remembrance of her father. Even the old biddies that gossiped about the numerous affairs that Liz Banks had with some of the men around town, and how Steve Banks did nothing, looked away in shame. The only word that was spoken was a soft 'Amen' from the pastor.



The Death of Al



This is the story of someone's death - a guy named Al. I liked Al, he was a great guy. Always busy with this or that and a lot of fun to be with. But he died a few years back. I know, I was there. Sure, people still see him around but now he's known as "Linda's Good Boy" or just "Good Boy" and is he is happier than he's ever been. I should know, I'm am Good Boy

My ex-wife and I had been going back and forth for months about starting a female led relationship. We'd start and then it would stop. I thought we had closed the door the final time with a series of email and weeks without communication until I received an email from her. The email read:

If you want to serve me, you will come to my house tonight at 7. You will bring the box of toys. Let yourself in. There will be a bag and a note inside that bag. Follow those instructions and don't be late. If you are not there by 7, I will lock the door and you will never see me again. Don't worry about my daughter, she's staying with a friend the next few days.

Her daughter was 11 and close in age to my own son, who was 10. When we were married they were the best of friends, but the time and distance of our separation had taken its toll on their relationship just like it had my relationship with Linda. We also had older kids. Her oldest daughter lived in Atlanta and probably hated me with every ounce of her being. She was spoiled and had a mean streak about her. In short, everything I wanted Linda to be. Her older son was away in the Air Force. My older kids had a so-so attitude toward Linda, but pretty much kept to themselves.

I wondered if I should go or not. It was Tuesday night and my usual writer's group night. She knew that. Maybe she was forcing me to make a decision or perhaps she knew that this was one night I was free of obligations to others. Either way, I had a decision to make. On one hand, serving her meant giving up my current life. On the other hand, it meant pursuing a life that had consumed my thoughts for years - decades even. It had long been my desire to live as a submissive slave to a beautiful woman like Linda - to kneel before her, do her bidding and make sure she had a life of comfort and ease. I am not sure where these desires came from, only that they had been with me since a young age - maybe as young as 12 or 13. Every time I saw a woman in a dominant position on screen or in print, my heart melted. Problem was, I had so much going on, the reality of my life often conflicted with my desires and nothing could push me over - until that night with Linda. Yes, after careful consideration, I decided to go.

That evening came and despite having serious reservations about this (I didn't want to lead Linda down a path again I was going to chicken out of), I got in my car at 6:30 and drove out to her place. I arrived early and drove around for a while considering my options. As much as I wanted to leave, to get out of there and never have to face this again - to go lead a "normal" life, I was drawn to her place and at 6:55 I let myself in.

I pushed open the door and immediately saw the plastic bag on the floor. I opened it, took out the note, and read it:

I am glad you decided to come my pet. 

Take off your clothes and put them back into this bag. You will not be needing them. Take out the collar, put it on and attach the leash. Put the bag in the corner. When you are done, come upstairs, find me, and kneel beside me, holding up the leash handle. You are to keep your eyes down at all times.

I did as I was told. I took out the collar and leash, took off my clothes and put them in the bag. I put on the collar, attached the leash and stuck the bag of clothes in the corner. I then bowed my head and walked upstairs, a feeling of apprehension flooding my body. Despite part of me telling me it wasn't too late to run away, I was drawn upstairs. 

I got upstairs and saw Linda typing at the keyboard. I went to her side, kneeled, and held up the leash. She finished what she was doing and without a word, grabbed the leash handle and pulled me toward her bedroom with a firm yank. I followed on all fours. When we got into the bed room, she pulled me up on the bed. I looked up at her for further directions.

"Eyes down!" 

I complied without a word. 

She smacked my naked butt with her hands. "Yes, Ms. Linda! You will always answer me with 'Yes, Ms. Linda' unless we are out in public, then a 'yes, dear' would be fine. Is that understand?"

"Yes, Ms. Linda." Another smack.

"Will you ever tell me no?"

I paused, not knowing what to say. 

"Good boy. I never want to hear the words 'no' uttered from your lips. Understood?"

"Yes, Ms. Linda."

She pushed my head down, walked over to her dresser and picked something up. I couldn't see from my position, only hear the rattled of brushes and who-knows-what-else. Before long I felt a sharp thwack on my naked butt. I try to pull away, but she grab my hips and held firm. She hit me again - twice more, three times. 

"I have been doing some research, talking to some Mistresses and I decided it was time for you to take your proper place at my feet." another strike. Her blows seemed to be getting harder. "I am so pissed at the way you've been treating me lately - our whole time together." More blows. "And if you want to be submissive, then you are going to do it right." She hit me three more times before she let up. "Get on your knees."

I got out of the bed and kneeled before her, fast, before she could land another blow. She grabbed my hair and pulled my head up. Our eyes met. "You have to understand that there is no going back for me. Will you serve me as your royal mistress?"

I paused, swallowed. "Yes, Ms. Linda."

"Good, now get on your feet." 

I rose, my head bowed. I was naked and my cock stood at full attention, not unnoticed by Ms. Linda. She took my cock in her hands and started stroking it. She started licking my ear and whispered. "That turns you on to be my slave doesn't it? To do as I command? To do my bidding?" 

I answered with a meek, "yes, Ms. Linda."

"That's good, because that is going to be your life from now on. You are going to want to obey me. My will is now your command, my displeasure your disgrace. Understand?"

"Yes, Ms. Linda."

"Now, be a good boy and go finish my dishes and clean the kitchen. I'll be down in 30 minutes to inspect your work. Understand?"

"Yes, Ms. Linda." And with those words, Al died, and Linda's good boy was born. 

To be continued...



The Death of Dreams



"So what's the score for tonight?" Karen asked, putting the final touches to her make-up in the dressing table mirror.

"Noise abatement raid." I told her, pulling her policewoman uniform out of the closet and laying it neatly on the bed as I got into my own outfit. "Stag night curtain call at the best man's house. They want it video taped so I'll be with you all the time. Basic £150 package, no frills."

"Shit," Karen frowned.

"Sorry." I shrugged. Karen was by far and away my best exotic dancer. Nothing was too much trouble, if you catch my drift. She'd think nothing of taking jobs that the rest of my stable of strippers would run a mile from. If the price was right, of course. She was a born entertainer, too. She could have a bar full of rowdy drunken yobs eating out of the palm of her hand with just a few jokes whereas some of the younger girls that were on my books did little more than strip and run. The college girls were the worst. Sure, they looked the part, with their youthful, slender, toned and tanned bodies, but they carried a lot of inhibitions and nervous clumsiness despite their outward brassiness. Being as naked as the day they were born in front of dozens of loud, lewd and horny pissed up dickheads can be a frightening experience and some of those kids working their way through university just couldn't hack it, Older birds like Karen had a lot more experience and confidence and were able to take it in their stride and her particular creativity brought in a fair bit of repeat business. And it helped, of course, that she still looked the part, too. 

I wouldn't have minded getting me a little of that action myself, truth be told. Children were yet to spoil her voluptuous figure with stretch marks or sag. Her thighs were still taut and silky smooth, her slightly bigger than average ass a deliciously alluring curve whether stuffed inside a pair of tight jeans or split by the scarlet thong that she often opted to wear for a short while when working. Her hair was a deep black that shone almost blue beneath stage lighting, reaching down to a point halfway down her back, or to the bottom of her breasts if it was spilling over her shoulders as part of her act. And those breasts were absolutely fantastic. Big, round, firm thirty-eight inch c-cups that stretched to breaking point any lingerie that she wore to cover them.

When made up she also gave those college girls a run for their money, too. If you can visualise a busty, raven haired, green eyed Gwyneth Paltrow then you are well on your way to visualising Karen. As I pulled on my black trousers I glanced into the mirror out of habit, sneaking a peek at the undisputed queen of my harem. She caught my subversive ogling and tipped me a reflected wink. I smiled back as I pulled the trousers up over my growing bulge before it reached the point where my own arousal became evident. I couldn't let myself be seen as unprofessional.

Yep, give me an ex-hooker over a college graduate any day of the week. Sometimes I felt a pang of guilt taking my share of the fee for providing transport and security where Karen was concerned. I was nothing more than a taxi driver when Karen was working. She could handle herself perfectly well. I'd never had to step in to keep things under control. I just ended up watching her act from stage right, trying to ignore my burgeoning erection while at the same time monitoring the excited revellers that she was performing for. Sometimes the college girls panicked when punters got overly familiar and forgot about the 'no-touching' rule, turning to me for help when they thought that things were getting out of hand. I didn't mind - that's what I was there for, but Karen had this alarming habit of kneeing aggressive punters in the balls without warning while their mates laughed hysterically and all I had to do was drag the groaning assholes back to their seats or out the door depending on the severity of their transgressions. Not once had she ever given me the signal to step in and stop the show.

I still remember her audition. She had nailed it first time, without the assistance of music, whereas most girls are red faced, stilted and robotic in their theatrical disrobing, even with modern tunes to choreograph to. Those girls I had to send away, advising them that it was a show they were putting on, not just playacting getting ready for a shower at the gym. Karen had been fluid, nubile, teasingly tasteful initially but increasingly raunchy as the audition progressed. At the end of her ten minute demo, with her bare ass facing me, her body bent over at ninety degrees, those huge tits with hardened nipples hanging down, and a dirty look tossed over her shoulder as she used a pair of fingers to prise apart her clearly moist, freshly shaved pussy lips, I was damn near ready to cream in my own pants. And having run this stripper for hire business for twelve years that really was saying something. 

"How far do you let your dancers go?" I recall her asking, a subject that I usually had to raise myself and then negotiate with new recruits, some of whom balked at the thought of even letting a punter within ten feet of them, never mind doing something as tame as a lap dance in their lingerie. Most college girls thought they could get eighty quid for just disrobing and then running off stage to the dressing rooms. One or two of those girls had gotten me into some decidedly dodgy situations when disgruntled punters demanded their money back after seeing no more than a five second flash of teenage pussy with most of the pink flesh hidden behind the embarrassed girl's own hand.

"That's entirely down to you." I had told her. "But the fee is the same. You get eighty quid for a ten to fifteen minute act, but if I have to make a refund then both of us go home with nothing. Neither of us wants that, right?"

"Oh I get that. What I mean is if there's extras on the menu, then what's your cut?"

"Extras?" I'd asked innocently, though I knew, of course, what she was alluding to.

"Hand job, titty fuck, lapdance, blowjob, that kinda stuff." Karen explained, looking at me like I was some sort of imbecile for even having to ask.

"Oh, that's all down to you." I said dismissively. "I don't want a cut of that but every fifteen minutes I stay on providing security or hanging around as a taxi service will cost you another tenner. If you want me to leave then just say the word and I'm gone, but then you'll have to find your own way home. When I leave, I go home for a good drink and I'm not coming back out and risking my driving license after a coupla cans of Carling." 

She nodded at that thoughtfully, then shook hands with me, still stark naked and seemingly oblivious of this fact. I had to make a conscious effort not to let my gaze stray from her green eyes to the brown teats that topped her impressive rack, then I spent an age afterward trying to work out if it she had shaken my hand with the one that she'd used to spread open her sex to me, only to feel disappointed when I eventually worked out that it wasn't.

I made good money from Karen and her 'extras', too. She charged a fortune for her 'treats' as she called them, but never went as far as fucking a punter. I'd watched her take spurts of jizz over her tits and face, swallow loads of cum down, and even seen her sit on some lucky bastards face but she didn't allow anybody to put his dick inside her pussy. She'd take a finger, no problem. A sex toy she'd taken as a prop often got a good wetting, and not just with saliva. She'd push her ass back against any tongue on offer without hesitation so long as they pushed a twenty into her hand first, but the furthest I'd seen her go was rubbing one guy's swollen knob over her pussy lips until he blew his load all over his own shirt.

She seemed to have some in built timer that you could almost set your watch by. She'd do her strip, trawl the crowd for offers, and the minute somebody pulled a tenner out of his wallet she'd sit heavily on his lap and grind away for a few minutes before moving on to the next eagerly waved bank note. I'd watched her once and worked out that she made a tenner every two minutes on average, or twenty for a good five minutes of whatever she felt like doing. In an hour, including her routine, she could make another hundred and fifty to two hundred quid on top of the eighty that I paid her just for turning up and getting her kit off. It was getting to the point where punters were ringing me up and asking for Karen by name. It complicated my business, because it meant I had to consult with Karen for availability before confirming a booking, but that was a small price to pay for the extra money she brought in. With minimal overheads - I worked out of my flat and my car - the free money came in handy, though some of the college kids weren't happy that they were being passed over in favour of Karen. Tough shit on them - I had an ex-wife and two kids to pay for.

None of the younger performers wanted to work with Karen, either. If I had to do a gig that specified a two girl show then I had to leave her out because she'd go further than the kids did which put pressure on them to perform more raunchily than they were comfortable doing. They just wanted to do their ten minutes, collect the money and run. The last thing they wanted to be doing was lap dancing the front two rows of a working men's club for an hour and a half with all sorts of drunken, hyped up saddos slobbering all over them and sticking their fingers in places where the sun seldom shone. Karen just didn't give a damn. I'd known her to get dressed after her act and head to the bar for a pint surrounded by hopeful suitors before quickly knocking back the free drinks they had bought her, handing out business cards promoting the 'escort and personal massage' service she ran herself having used me to expand her client base, and then getting me to drop her back home half pissed. Not once had she asked me to leave while she went about earning her bonus, so I got to see it all going down - the hand jobs, the tittyfucks, the face sitting and the occasional blowjobs if a guy happened to have more money than modesty. All she said when we talked about it was that it was 'better than what I used ta do.'

I left it at that. Sometimes she let slip little glimpses of her past life on the drive home after a half hour knocking back free drinks at the bar. There had been cocaine involved, a pimp at one stage, an arrest, all the usual stuff you hear about where big city red light shenanigans were concerned. One of my contacts who ran a similar service in Bristol had told me that he'd heard a rumour that she'd grassed up a Pakistani drug dealer who'd put her pimp in hospital with a kitchen knife and then moved in on his stable of fillies, only for the CPS to put her life in danger by dropping the charges because the cops couldn't find enough evidence to guarantee a conviction. All they had was her statement, and what jury would value her story when the defending barrister exposed her as a prostitute? The police didn't give a shit about pimp wars and whore trading because crimes like that costs taxpayer's money to prosecute while victimising motorists was a veritable money spinner. In an era of triple dip recession and public sector cutbacks speeding, parking fines and middle lane hogging were at the top of police priorities. Being a whore or a pimp puts you lower down the ladder than being a loan shark. No cop gives any sort of a shit about their rights.

So Karen skipped town, hiding in the relative backwoods of South Wales until the Pakistani dealer eventually gets iced by the next ambitious thug wanting to expand his territory and she was forgotten about. Right now she was in exactly the same situation as an escaped slave from Alex Haley's 'Roots', albeit looking over her shoulder for brown skinned slave traders rather than white ones.

I strode to the kitchen and poured myself a glass of coke while Karen squeezed her sumptuous curves into the black trousers, white blouse and old skool chequered cravat of the traditional British policewoman, the plain outfit made absurd by fluffy pink handcuffs dangling from a studded leather belt.

Karen eventually wandered in to join me in the kitchen, tucking her hair up into a thick bun and clipping it in place before finishing my coke without even asking my permission. "Ready when you are." She chirped. I rang the punter and gave him an ETA, checking that his party was where they were supposed to be and that they still wanted to go ahead with their entertainment, then we jumped into my Astra and headed out to the venue - some bloke's house in an affluent area of Llanishen where a group of revellers were crashing out after a stag night in town. It wasn't a big gathering, less than a dozen blokes, I had been told at the initial booking, but sometimes these things ended up going out of control, especially if the drinks cabinet was well stocked. 

When we arrived it looked like the place would have a drinks cabinet that would put many a high street wine bar to shame. I left my car blocking the drive and we strode up the path past a Mercedes SLK with personalised plates and a brand new Audi TT. I banged on the front door with my knuckles, the muted sounds of The Kaiser Chiefs thumping away beyond the sturdy oak panelling. I Predict a Riot, I determined. Not a great omen, I considered.

No answer. Karen tutted, rolled her eyes and did a bored pirouette on her high heels while I banged harder on the wooden door. The music abruptly reduced in volume and I hit the crap out of the door once again. Ten seconds later a six foot tall hairy mass of muscle that would look more at home tramping around the Himalayas being hunted by photographers wrenched the door open, peered myopically at us and said "The fuck you want?"

"Police." I said, just in case he was tonight's mark, puffing myself up to match his bulk. I was bigger by an inch and maybe eight pounds, but none of that eight pounds could match the muscle this hirsute jock was carrying. Hairy doesn't even begin to describe him. He reminded me of a character from 'The Life and times of Grizzly Adams', but I couldn't decide if it was Dan Haggerty or the bear that he resembled more.

"There have been some complaints about the noise from your neighbours. Can we talk inside?" I said reasonably, staring him down.

He glared at me insolently, obviously unimpressed with authority figures. Or businessmen pretending to be authority figures. "She can come in, but you can fuck right off." He slurred, grinning at me, then a voice behind him told him to shut the fuck up and let us in. I peered past the drunken hairball, got a thumbs up and a beckoning gesture from a bald guy and pushed my way past. Karen trailed me in then took over while I handed the bald guy a CD containing the music Karen was to perform to.

"What's that smell?" She said loudly, conversation suddenly halting and all eyes in the room, including those of two guys who had been racing split screen on Gran Turismo 5, settled on her as she stood in the middle of the lounge, hands on her hips and sniffing at the air."Is that weed, sergeant?"

You could have heard as pin drop. Until, that is, the virtual race cars on the PlayStation slammed into crash barriers with a shriek of rending rubber, plastic and metal.

I inhaled deeply through my nose and frowned. I could easily make out the distinctive odour of marijuana over the stench of beer and a hint of vomit. Clearly one of them had sailed too close to the wind in town and gotten splattered by his own puke. "Yep, smells like it to me!" I said. "Frisk 'em, constable." Strange word, that. Say it fast enough and it sounds like cunt stubble, which is how I chose to pronounce the word. Between that and the fact that Karen was in shiny silver 'fuck me' heels you'd think somebody would have twigged.

"Right. Up against the wall, the lot of you." Karen shouted. Nobody moved. "Now!" she yelled. The bald guy who had let us in grinned, having returned from his HiFi as Britney Spears' 'Toxic' began to play, and did as she'd told him, setting an example. "And the rest of you!" Karen snarled.

One by one they reluctantly followed the bald man's lead until all nine of them stood facing the wall. "Which one of you gormless wankers is in charge here?" Karen demanded, grabbing asses and roughly squeezing crotches one by one as she pretended to 'frisk' them.

"It's my house, but that guy in the red shirt is the one smoking pot." The bald guy grinned.

"Eh?" A sandy haired guy in a red shirt turned to him and said.

"Right. Face the wall, motherfucker." Karen snarled, striding over to him and pushing him harder against the artex stippled wall. She put her feet between his legs and kicked his heels further apart. "Spread 'em, dirt bag." Then she dropped to her knees behind him and started to pat him down, beginning with his ankles and working her way up to his ass while I told the rest of them to carry on with what they had been doing earlier. The two virtual racers elected to watch the humiliation of the groom to be now that their rides had been totalled. The bald guy could barely contain his laughter.

Karen's hands, meanwhile, were in the back pockets of red shirt's jeans. "''Ello, 'ello , 'ello? What do we have here then?" Her hand emerged clutching a few twenty pound notes that she quietly stuffed into one of her own pockets.

"Hey!" 

"Shut it, shithead." Karen told him. "So where have you hidden the weed, asshole? I hope for your fucking sake I don't need to do a bloody cavity search, because by the time I've finished they will be bloody cavities. Literally. You have anything in your front pockets?" She demanded, then reached around him and jammed both hands into his pockets and began rummaging around.

"There's definitely something in here, sarge." She threw over her shoulder. "Whatever it is it's not very fucking big, though." She added, earning herself her first laughs of the night as she roughly rubbed his penis through his pockets.

"Whoa!" The soon to be betrothed complained again, though not quite so loudly this time.

"What, you don't like that?" Karen asked him, feigning offence. "Would you rather one of your homey-ohs here had his big, manly hands in your pockets instead of my dainty ones?" By now the laughter was louder than the music.

"Don't you like girls?" She pouted. "These babies not good enough for ya?" She asked him, leaning into him and pressing her breasts against his back, rubbing her torso in a circular motion as she continued to knead his cock through the pockets of his jeans. After a few moments of fondling the guy's dick she stepped back and pulled on the knot of her necktie. "Turn around." She ordered him, and when he complied, grinning broadly as by this time he'd figured out what was going on, she stepped right up to him, pressed her chest to his, and deftly fastened the necktie behind his head as a makeshift blindfold.

"On your knees, motherfucker." Karen instructed, placing her hands on his shoulders and pushing him down so that when he was kneeling before her his face was level with her crotch. Even over the music you could hear the guy sniff as he inhaled her scent. 

"What the fuck, you cheeky bastard!" She exclaimed. "What do you think you're sniffing?"

"Nothing." The guy said defensively.

"Bollocks. You were sniffing my cunt, weren't you, you dirty old man." She asserted. "Smell anything fishy down there?"

"No, nothing!" He repeated, now fearful of offending her as his mates laughed at his predicament.

"Then you need to get your face in fucking closer, you moron." She said to more laughter, rolling her eyes. She lifted up her right leg and hooked it over his shoulder, pressing her groin against his face and rubbing it up and down his nose. "Ooh, I like your nose," she purred. "So much bigger than what's in your trousers. Oh, I forgot....you don't like to play with girls do you. I bet you wish it was my hunky sergeant rubbing his big huge balls over your face instead of my hot, wet pussy yeah?" Before he could answer she grabbed his hair and wrenched his head up and down, making it look like he was nodding.




The Death of Dreams



"Mmmmm, that feels goooooood." Karen moaned, then unhooked herself from the intended's face and turned to the rest of the party. "So are all you guys gay, too or would some of you like a little girly show?"

"Get 'em off! Show us yer tits! Shake 'em baby!" Were just some of the responses. Most of them were lost in the clamour as they fervently assured her that their sexual persuasions were most definitely hetero, except not putting it quite so wordily or politely as I just have. 

"You wanna see these?" Karen said, acting surprised as she leaned over, facing the group of men crashed on and around the sofa, her hands cupping her heavy breasts and lifting them toward her face. Needless to say the response was even more deafening. If the neighbours hadn't already been on the verge of complaining about the loud, banging music then this latest raucous caterwauling would surely have gotten them dialling the cops. 

She unfastened her hair clip and let her long black locks spill free then deftly popped the top two buttons of her white satin blouse open to reveal a little cleavage, just enough to show that she was wearing a lacy black bra underneath. Red shirt had moved the cravat aside, wearing it like a bandanna and was grinning drunkenly as Karen got into her routine, whipping her hair from side to side as Britney belted out her pop song.

Another button succumbed to her expert, practiced fingers as she danced, her nubile body moving lithely to the music amid whoops and cheers that accompanied each successive button that gave way and opened to her deft touch. Her blouse was soon unfastened all the way to her navel, allowing the punters a clear view of the two large fleshy orbs within their lacy, almost see-through cups. I was so fixated on the performance myself that I didn't notice that the bald guy who owned the house and had made the booking had sidled up beside me until he nudged me with his elbow.

"How far does she go?" He asked, nodding in time to the music as Karen made her awesome tits dance just by shaking her shoulders.

"I'm not going to spoil the surprise for you, mate. Just enjoy the performance." I told him, folding my arms in front of my chest in my most intimidating pose.

"No, I meant how far would she go if I made it worth her while?" He clarified.

"That's between you and her. I'm just transport and security." I explained. "Your money paid for a strip and some raunchy antics. No touching allowed unless she's the one doing the touching. I explained all this to you when you booked." I reminded him. "If you're looking for something a little more daring then I suggest you wave a few notes around. The bigger the bill, the more she'll put out. Don't insult her with fivers, though, unless you want to get spat on." I grinned at him.

"Gotcha." He nodded, turning back to watch Karen as she slowly eased the blouse out of the waist of the black trousers of her policewoman's uniform, gyrating her hips and pulling the hem of the shirt behind her back, showing off her pierced navel, licking her scarlet lips exaggeratedly with slow, sensuous tongue movements. Her velvet gloved hands traversed her body slowly, gliding from her hips, across her smooth, taut belly, to her firm breasts and back down again. Spreading her legs wide, she did the bump and grind just like she was making love to some phantom boyfriend.

"Will she fuck?" The guy blurted out after a moment as Karen explored her own body, her fingers doing some seriously sensuous walking. I glowered at him, frowning. It really is amazing what excess alcohol can do to one's inhibitions.

"Never seen that happen." I told him, shaking my head, though knowing something of Karen's dark past I expected that she'd at least have a figure in mind for going all the way during her act. If she was happy hanging back after shows handing out business cards offering escort and massage services (including Nuri) then there was probably a threshold where she'd actually fuck somebody's brains out on stage. Everybody has their price. "You can ask." I said doubtfully. "But I reckon that sort of entertainment will cost more than you can afford."

At that the bald guy laughed. "You have no fuckin' idea, bud." He said, taking a long pull from a can of Carlsberg. I later learned from one of the guys in the party that the bastard had won 22.6 million quid on the Euromillions lottery and this was the start of a week long stag experience for red shirt - his older brother - that was heading into Europe the following day, the red light districts of Amsterdam and Budapest highlights of the itinerary. I hated him already. Even more than I hated the clone of Grizzly Adams.

Karen turned her attentions back to the guy kneeling at her feet, sexily sliding the satin shirt down her arms before draping the garment over his head. He made a show of inhaling her scent from the discarded blouse as she danced around him, pushing her ass back into his face and wriggling, her eyes wide, mouth open, hands on her cheeks as his nose pressed into the crack of her butt through the black trousers. She held that shocked and surprised pose for a few seconds before moving back to the middle of the room, spreading her legs wide, facing away from the eight guys around the sofa, hands on her full ass cheeks and then she bent forward at the waist, keeping her hands on her butt, all ten fingers splayed wide.

She gripped her curvaceous ass cheeks and pulled them alternately up and down, staring between her legs at the upside down sofa and the rapt men watching everything she did. Slowly, as she played with her butt, the trousers began to slide down her hips, revealing the thin T-shaped giveaway sign that she was wearing a very flimsy g-string underneath the black slacks. She allowed them to drop an inch or two then straightened up and turned around, having spotted the rich fucker waving a tenner to and fro in his right hand. 

Karen sauntered over to him smiling, hands on hips, the waistband of her trousers by this time having been pushed halfway down her hips as she walked to reveal the top half of a black lace triangle covering her pubic mound. She grabbed the hand that held the note and relieved it of the money, rewarding the donor with a prolonged feeling up of her left breast through the bra, guiding his hand over the nipple in slow, lazy circles, encouraging him to squeeze the full, fleshy boob. He took full advantage, hooking his fingers in the fabric of her bra and tugging it down to expose a nipple, and he nearly had the teat trapped between his thumb and forefinger when she pulled his hand away and placed it instead on the other cup of her bra, wagging a finger of her free hand in a motion that suggested he had erred. "Naughty boy." She chastised him. "All in good time."

And that, my friends, is how you lose a tenner with an adult entertainer. Push her too far and she'll back off fast, keeping the money as the price of your impatience. She allowed him to feel up her other boob through the bra and this time he behaved himself, his lesson learned. The performer had to remain in control or before you know it you've got a gang rape on your hands. That's why I was there with knuckledusters, a switchblade and a fully charged, totally illegal SGT Terminator 6 stun gun in my pockets. If I knew where to get a proper pistol I'd have been packing one of those bad boys in a shoulder holster, too.

She moved in closer to Baldy, encouraging him to put both hands on the cups of her bra and squeeze them for a few seconds, then abruptly retreated back to the kneeling guy, well out of arms reach of the multimillionaire. His time was up. A tenner had bought him less than a minute of brassier groping. Karen resumed her performance, the slow, sensuous swaying that they had previously enjoyed accelerated to complement the beat of the next track on the playlist - Desire by U2. 

I could see one of the men already thumbing through his wallet in anticipation of his own 'extra', having figured out from the bald guys lead what the protocol was for experiencing Karen's treats. 

Her hair whipped around in a circle over her head as she bent forward before her audience and treated them to an unrestricted view right down her cleavage that was interrupted once a second by her long hair sweeping across the view down the valley between her tits. She dropped to her knees and knelt in front of Red Shirt, the guy who was set to lose his freedom at the end of the stag festivities, put her arms around his neck and kissed him hard on the mouth amidst cheers from the rest of the audience. The groom flushed a bright red as Karen turned around, lay down on the sumptuously carpeted floor, lowering her head into Red Shirt's lap, her face looking up at him, and began to inch her trousers down her legs, showing more and more fishnet stockinged thigh as she bicycled her legs to the music. Fortunately the trousers were flared adequately for them to slide easily over her three inch heels as they descended further down her legs.

The groom put his hands on her tits as Karen concentrated on removing her trousers as sensually as possible, but when he tried to slide his fingers inside to fondle the bare flesh concealed within she unclipped the handcuffs from her belt, caught his hands in hers and slapped them on his wrists, squirming quickly away out of his reach while the rest of the gang laughed at his predicament. She got to her feet, stepped out of the trousers to leave them as a scrunched up pile of black fabric on the floor and sauntered behind the bewildered groom, who was pulling at the cuffs to get them off, but only succeeded in tightening them further. She then put her stiletto heeled right foot in the middle of his back and pushed him over until he was lying face down on the floor, keeping her heel on his ass as he lay there still grinning like a loon, and tapped her foot, banged her head and thrust her hips provocatively to the beat of the music. 

I scanned the audience for trouble, finding none, and returned my attention to Karen. Man, she looked as hot as I had ever seen her. Five feet nine, tanned, toned, 38C boobs stretching a lacy black bra atop a perfect, curvaceous hourglass figure, dressed in a tiny scrap of a g-string, a suspender belt and fishnet stockings in high heels. The black satin gloves and jet black hair complemented the sexy ensemble. I could feel myself hardening just looking at her, even though I'd seen her in this - and much less, of course - many, many times in the past. Fuck knows how the audience were managing with their erections. I figured it was only a matter of time before the twenty pound notes started to make an appearance.

The guy who had been fishing around in his wallet earlier finally held up a hand and started waving the little scrap of blue paper about. I could tell from where I stood off to the side that it was a measly fiver. Unbelievable. Karen was even closer to him and could no doubt see his offering for the insult that it was, yet she took her heel off the prostrate guy's back and skipped across to snatch the proffered note excitedly.

Then she stopped, her wide smile morphing into a frown of confusion, opening up the five pound note, stretching it, analysing it by holding it up to the light to assure herself that it was real, then she glared at the miser who she had taken out from, pouted, stuck her nose up in the air, turned her back on him and began to walk away. She stopped, looked over her shoulder, bent over, presenting her ass to him, them slid the fiver down inside her g-string. The back of the garment, that is. She then proceeded to use it to wipe her ass crack with.

I couldn't help but grin. Some of the audience were laughing at the show as she demonstrated exactly what she thought of being offered a five pound note. One or two were grimacing and groaning in mock disgust, while the moron that had just lost his fiver went bright red in embarrassment, his mates calling him a cheap bastard amongst other appropriate put-downs, one of them slapping him across the back of the head as Karen continued to further soil the note with nothing more disgusting than the sweat from her ass crack. When a stripper puts on a show in a g-string or thong she makes sure that things are absolutely immaculate in that region.

But Karen wasn't finished with him yet. She drew the fiver back out of her butt crack and began to walk back to the guy who had given it to her. She lifted it to her face, made a show of wrinkling her nose in disgust at the rank odour of it, then leaned over the guy, grabbed his jaw in her left hand and rammed it into his open mouth with her right hand. The rest of the audience were laughing hysterically at their friend's predicament as he spat the blue paper out onto the floor. Karen's ground rules had been well and truly laid down. 

A twenty pound note immediately appeared. This time Karen plucked it from the fingers of the donor, slid it inside the gusset of her thong and slowly, provocatively, erotically and exaggeratedly rubbed it up and down her pussy lips six or seven times, pressing it firmly against the hood of her clit, her eyes closed, lips parted, head tipped back, the tip of her tongue protruding from the upper right corner of her mouth, before handing it back to the guy who had given it to her. He sniffed it, sighed contentedly, then she snatched it back out of his grasp, turned her back on him, and then sat back down in his lap.

His hands immediately wrapped around her, unerringly finding her breasts as she ground her ass in a circular motion against his crotch. She yelped, jumped up, then turned around and wagged her finger at him. Then she put both of her hands in his crotch, made a show of carefully repositioning his bulge, then immediately sat back down on him, grabbing his hands with hers and slapping them back onto her breasts.

She turned to the guy who had tried to buy her favours with just a fiver and poked her tongue out at him like a petulant child, leaning back onto her new beau and throwing her arms up and around his neck as she rubbed her ass against his hard on and allowed him to roughly play with her tits, even letting his fingers grope inside the cups, but sternly resisting his efforts to lift them up and reveal her bare breasts. I doubted the strap of the bra could withstand being stretched enough to go up and over those thirty-eights anyway. Karen slapped away the hands of the men to either side of the one she was riding. "Let this lad get his money's worth first." She told them as she continued to squirm on his lap, making his bulge harder and harder until I could see from the look on his face that, trapped inside his chinos and under her butt, things were getting a little bit uncomfortable for him.

He soon gave up trying to yank her bra off and instead moved his hands down her flanks, shifting his attention to her panties as she dry humped his trapped erection. She allowed him to slide his hands inside her knickers, groaned loudly as his fingers stroked up and down her pubic mound, then abruptly jumped off his lap when he tried to force a finger between her vaginal lips. She wagged a finger at him, then kissed her palm before giving his crotch one last squeeze with it.

Karen moved back to the groom, who by this time was lying on his side watching the action, his cuffed hands held in front of him. As Desire ended, segueing into 'Devil Inside' by INXS, she rolled him over onto his back with her feet, then pressed one of her heels down onto his crotch, rocking it back and fore as she continued her performance, which by this time primarily involved the slow, finger by finger removal of her black satin gloves.

The groom, despite his pink fluffy bondage, grabbed hold of her foot and managed to twist off her shoe. Now, bereft of one high heel, Karen crushed the bare sole of her foot harder into his crotch, rolling her eyes as her victim grinned up at her, bringing up his cuffed hands and putting them behind his head as he relaxed contentedly. She dropped a glove onto his face disdainfully, still twisting her bare foot left and right as she seductively took off the other glove, then she changed feet, pressing her remaining high heel down firmly onto red shirt's balls.

His smug expression swiftly contorted into a grimace as she ground her sharp heel into his swollen testicles, though from my perspective her abuse seemed to be doing very little to reduce his ardour. I think the guy had forgotten in his semi-inebriated state that he had paid for this mistreatment when she had relieved him of the cash that he had been carrying in his back pocket when she had frisked him earlier. He brought his hands back down to her foot, hoping to twist off her other shoe, but she kicked them away, then sat down heavily on his belly, leaning over, her tits hanging to either side of his face. She twisted her torso to and fro, her big breasts slapping softly against his cheeks. She reached behind her back with one hand and deftly unclasped her bra, allowing the two halves of the garment to flop down and hang to either side of the grooms face.

When she finally leaned back, the bra remaining on his face, the clapping and cheering at the much anticipated sight of her unfettered breasts matched anything I'd heard in a crowded club with ten times this number of men watching her act.

"Do you like what you see, boys?" Karen asked them once the noise had abated, cupping her big tits in her hands and lifting them up for their approval, extending her tongue out as far as it could go and flicking it across a n erect bud as she stretched her right breast to near breaking point. The chorus of whoops, whistles and cheers resumed even louder than before as she weighed her ample charms in her hands. Her 38C cups were certainly a formidable duo. Full, natural, slightly upturned and sporting nipples that stood out like thimbles from brown, bumpy aerolae. They were undeniably a beautiful pair of tits. One of the guys was so impressed with them that he immediately jammed his hand in his pocket and began rummaging around, pulling out a wad of notes and peeling off a tenner with trembling hands.

"Hey honey," He called to her as she squeezed her boobs together and leaned over, preparing to rake her nipples over the groom's grinning face. "Give me some of that action."

Karen immediately slid off the groom and crawled on all fours, tiger like, across the floor to him, purring sexily as she did so, her heavy tits hanging beneath her. She put her hands on his knees, prised them wide apart, then reached up and plucked the tenner from his grasp. swiftly climbing on top and straddling him, her knees to either side of his thighs. She pressed her pussy down onto his bulge and leaned forward, her hands guiding her tits to his face, offering one nipple to his mouth, then she wrenched it away and guided the other nipple to his foraging tongue. After a few moments of teasing him with her teats he closed his hands around her back and crushed her right breast against his face, teeth closing over the nipple. I moved forward to intervene, but Karen held her hand out to tell me she was in control of the situation and I backed off. When he eventually stopped sucking on her tit and came up for air, she twisted her torso and fed him the other breast, pushing herself onto him and at the same time grabbing the back of his head and encouraging him to suck on this one, too. After a minute of this she extricated herself from his grasp, snatched another tenner from a guy who was sitting on the floor because there was no room left on the furniture, and roughly smothered him with her mammaries for two minutes while the rest of the audience egged them both on.

The rich guy, by this time, had caught Karen's eye by waving another twenty pound note around. She climbed off the guy who was sat on the floor and crawled on hands and knees toward the money. Kneeling between his thighs she reached up for the bill, only to have it tugged away out of reach. He patted his bulge and beckoned her up. Karen climbed on top of him, pressing her pussy down on the roughness of the zipper of his jeans and encircled his neck with her arms, plucking the twenty from his grip. She dry humped him hard as he fondled and sucked her saliva soaked tits roughly, making her gasp on occasion, bit she never gave me the danger sign. 




The Death of Dreams



One of the guys that had stayed out of the action thus far fumbled in his pockets for money and rose unsteadily to his feet, the erotic action having sobered him sufficiently that he was ready to join in. He shuffled to Karen's side as she rode the lottery winner like he was a rodeo's mechanical steer and thrust out a hand containing two twenties. 

This was all going too fast, I figured. Karen hadn't even lost her panties and guys were already looking for blowjobs. The groom, who tonights performance had been intended for, still lay more or less neglected on the floor, still handcuffed, and the only attention he had received had been getting briefly humiliated and dominated by Karen. She shook her head and ignored the guy looking for a blowjob, returning her attention to the rich dude who was obliviously sucking on both of her nipples at the same time, her breasts forced roughly together with his hands, but the new guy wasn't taking no for an answer. He tapped her on the shoulder, showing her an extra twenty in his fist along with the original forty. The money vanished and without relaxing her ride of the lottery winner, she unbuttoned his trousers, unzipped him, and tugged them down to mid thigh, taking his boxer shorts down with them.

A fully erect six inch cock sprang out a hush fell across the room, the only sound the heady beat of Garbage's 'Hammering in my head' as the caterwauling, whooping and jeering tailed off. He thrust his hips toward her face but Karen was having none of that. She put her hand on his bulging belly and locked her elbow, holding him at a safe distance as her other hand wrapped around his hard shaft, pulling on it to slide the foreskin back and expose the sensitive tip. I hoped the guy wouldn't get too upset that the expected blowjob wasn't going to happen and his money was just going to get him jerked off at best. 

Karen's hand expertly milked his twitching cock, a twist in her wrist action as it travelled up and down the length of his meaty shaft making the guy groan out loud with pleasure and relief. The rich guy finally realised what was going on and released Karen's tits, turning his head to watch the action as his friend got a high speed handjob. With her other hand cupping the guy's balls, Karen's experience at making men climax quickly came into play and her hand became a blur as she sensed the guy beginning to lose control. He'd only been in her hand for thirty seconds when she felt his scrotum tighten and his butt clench.

He grunted as the orgasm hit him. Karen moved her left hand from his balls to cover his glans as her right hand wanked him off as fast and hard as she could manage, several powerful spurts of ejaculate shooting into her hand, some of it seeping between her fingers and dripping onto her stockinged thigh. The man grunted repeatedly, bucking his hips as he came, then staggered backward when his balls had finally been emptied and slumped against a wall, his trousers remaining at half mast around his knees, softening penis dribbling a thin trail of semen onto the deep, expensive carpet. 

"Fuckin' 'ell." Exclaimed one of the guys who had stayed on the periphery of the evening's entertainment, breaking the silence. Karen studied her hand, splattered with sticky semen that stuck her fingers together, wondering what to clean it with and glancing about for some Kleenex or a towel. 

"I'll pay you a grande to make us all cum." The lottery winner said so that everybody could hear.

Karen didn't hesitate with her answer. "Handjobs?"

He shook his head. "Anything and everything." He insisted. "And bareback."

Again Karen didn't hesitate with her answer. "Three gees. No photos or mobile phones."

"Two." he offered. "That's all the cash I have in the house." He said with a shrug, knowing that this was a take-it or leave-it offer."

Karen didn't hesitate with her final answer, recognising that it was that or nothing. "Done. Where can I wash my hands?"

"I'm in charge now?" 

"Yes, master." Karen smiled coyly. He closed his fist around her wrist and guided her cum soaked to her lips. She made an extremely arousing show of cleaning the semen off her hand with her tongue, licking the ejaculate off her palm, from between her fingers, and then sucking on each of her fingers in turn, finishing with a child like exaggerated sucking of her thumb before presenting her perfectly clean but saliva slick hand for his inspection.

"Good girl. Now go play with the boys."

Karen pushed herself off him and gathered up the money that she had let drop to the floor while she'd been otherwise engaged with her hands. She padded up to me and handed me the cash, including the eighty quid she'd stolen from the groom. "Sorry, but can you hang around? This won't take long. All I gotta do is get each one of them off and then we can go. Switch that camcorder off, too."

"No problem." I told her. "I'll get the cash up front before you start. If he doesn't pay up, we leave right now." 

She gave me a thumbs up and returned to the middle of the room, hands in her hips, striking a thoughtful pose. "Now where were we?" She pondered aloud as I collared the lottery winner and followed him to the kitchen where he kept his cash. "Oh yeah." Karen said seductively. "Any of you hunky guys want to help me out of these things?" she asked, hooking her thumbs in the elasticated waist band of her g-string and wiggling her hips.

I heard the snap of wallets opening and the rustle of freshly printed banknotes sliding over each other. Karen was milking this audience for every penny. She sauntered up to the winning bidder and turned around, pushing her ass back at his face. He hooked his fingers in the waistband of her undies and tugged them down in one quick, forceful movement, drawing them all the way down to her ankles. She stepped out of the tiny scrap of black fabric and wiggled her bare ass invitingly at him, spreading her legs wide and bending over to look back invitingly at him through the wide upside down vee that her thighs had created.

Realising that his money hadn't yet run out he put his hands on her ass cheeks and began to massage them languidly, his thumbs straying dangerously close to her soft, smooth outer lips. She pushed her ass back at him again and the guy hesitated a moment before cupping his palm over the shaven, waxed mound and squeezed it gently, the heat of her core radiating away through his life and love lines. He smeared her seeping wetness over her outer lips with the flat of his palm, grinning lewdly as Karen pushed herself back at his hand even more insistently, then boldly he eased a single finger into the slick hole. Karen gasped, jerked away from the intruding digit and then, before it could fall out, she thrust her cunt back hard onto it, reaching between her legs to grab hold of his wrist and encouraging him to explore her tight, wet sex with his finger.

He went at it enthusiastically amidst loud and lewd encouragement from his friends, plunging his finger in and out of her hole at almost double the tempo of the music playing on the stereo. As I walked back to the lounge with a good two thousand pounds in my pocket I gave her a thumbs up to signify that she could now do as she pleased to earn that money as fast as possible. The longer it took her, we both knew, the more she would have to give to me. She winked at me and I could see from the look on her face that she was really getting into the fingering that she was taking, her pussy by this time being stretched by two of the man's phalanges. After another thirty seconds of fast, frantic finger fucking she straightened up, turned around, straddled the guy who had been diddling her fanny and began grinding her soaking wet cunt onto his firm bulge, thrusting her tits into his face.

The rich guy, by this time, had stripped right down to his boxer shorts and walked behind the sofa to stand directly in front of Karen. She reached over the head of the man suckling on her big boobs and yanked those shorts down to reveal a hard, thick, slightly curved penis. He grabbed hold of her hair and pulled her onto it, lifting her up off the other guy's lap, and Karen opened her mouth to accept his meat.

"C'mon guys." He said as her lips closed over his swollen, bulbous glans. "Let's fuck this bitch up." One or two of the crowd turned to me for confirmation that I wasn't going to knife them if they did. I shrugged and gave them a subtle thumbs up. Karen was now on her own and I was nothing more than a referee waiting for the signal that they were going too far.

"No cumming in her cunt or ass, you perves." He warned them as he tightened his grip on her hair and fucked his cock in and out of her mouth, forcing it deeper with each thrust until his balls were all you could see of his genitals. "I don't want to be dipping my dick in some other fucker's sticky mess."

Slowly, almost disbelievingly, one of the bolder members of the posse began to remove his clothing. From there it was a chain reaction of undressing, clothes being discarded haphazardly as their enthusiasm for free, no strings attached sex mounted. Despite an understandable momentary urge to drop my own kegs, shuffle over behind Karen and jam my hard-on up her ass, I was actually glad that I wasn't a part of this impending gang bang. I didn't fancy rummaging around ten pairs of other guys boxers and y-fronts for my own shorts when it was time to pack up and leave. 

In no time at all the room was awash with naked flesh. The only clothes touching skin in the entire room were Karen's fishnets, the guy she was sat atop of, the handcuffed guy who was doing his best to remedy that and, of course, everything that I was wearing. The guy beneath her didn't intend to remain clad much longer, though. Working frantically to unzip himself, his hands busy between his crotch and Karen's bare, shaven pussy, he had soon pushed his chinos down his thighs before grasping a firm hold of his erection and guiding it expectantly toward the heat emanating from Karen's sex.

A fleeting touch of his swollen purple glans against the slick folds of her engorged labia was all it took. Karen spat the cock in her mouth out and eagerly thrust herself down on the rock hard tumescent cock-head pressing hopefully at her pussy lips, making the man beneath her cry out loud as her tight cunt walls sucked him inside her. She arched her spine at the penetration, tearing her tits out of the mouth of the guy who was now holding onto her flanks and fucking his cock up into her, and then suddenly there were hands everywhere.

At least three hands were pawing at her bouncing breasts. Another hand was trying to turn her face toward his raging hard on. Two more were pulling her left hand toward the cock of a guy kneeling beside her on the sofa. The guy she had been sucking off had his fingers still entangled in her hair and was trying to guide her wide open mouth back onto the erection that he held in his other hand, desperately pushing himself forward over the back of the sofa so that he could feel Karen's lips and teeth raking against his hard cock flesh again. One guy was caressing her smooth ass cheeks while another wetted his finger and eased it slowly inside her butt hole to prepare that orifice for a third guy who stood between them, stroking his shaft as he prepared to sodomise her. 

There were also a lot of men standing around, hands stroking their cocks as they tried to find a way to get in on the action. Those who had been reluctant to strip initially found themselves standing around idle, waiting impatiently for an opening.

Karen, however, was far from idle. Too many guys, not enough of her. That was the problem. Not even Shakti, the multiple handed Hindu goddess, could have kept all the cocks being waved around this lounge occupied. Karen was a frenzy of uncoordinated movements. As she bounced up and down on the man fucking her she was also jerking on a cock in her left hand. Her tongue flicked over the bulbous head of a third prick that she gripped firmly in her right hand, fighting the guy who was trying to pull her by the hair back onto his cock while another guy's penis was enthusiastically painting one of her nipples with its oozing precum. Her butt cheeks clenched tightly around the finger burrowing deep up her ass while the hands of the guy itching to screw her anally prised those cheeks apart with both of his rough hands.

Some of the latecomers started to muscle in behind the sofa and Karen suddenly found herself with three cocks being waved in her face as well as one to each side from the two guys perched on the sofa to either side of her and the man she was fucking. She tried her best to satisfy them all, sucking on one, stroking two at the same time, shifting her attentions from dick to dick as her impatient lovers turned her head this way and that. Then she felt something hard and domed, greasy already with precum or saliva utilised as preparatory lubrication, pushing in between her ass cheeks as hands still tried to spread them apart, the finger that had been working in and out of her anus abruptly vacating to make way for what felt like a singularly impressive piece of fuck-meat.

"Shit, I'm fuckin' cummin'!" Warned the guy she was bouncing up and down on, and suddenly all was chaos.

"Get the fuck off him!" One of them cried. The guy who was about to jam his prick up her ass backed away, almost falling over in his haste, two others lifting Karen bodily off the cock still pounding in and out of her cunt, its owner unable to control it. And not a moment too soon. No sooner had her pussy reluctantly relinquished its hot, velvetty grip on the spasming penis than the twitching organ let fly several spurts of thick, creamy seed, jets of it arcing up out of the tip and raining wetly down onto the guy's Lacoste shirt. Some of the audience cheered. The rest of them urged the panting guy to get the fuck out of the way so that they could take his place. 

They were already too late, though, probably having been distracted by watching the messy climax of their friend. The two guys that had lifted Karen off her first conquest had roughly pinned her down on her back on the deep pile carpet and had already mounted her, one of them with his manhood buried all the way to the balls in her pussy as she hooked her ankles around his back while the other was crouched over her face and feeding his cock into her mouth while she jerked him off and at the same time caressed his hairy balls. 

Two down, seven to go.

The hairy guy who had been within a heartbeat of ass fucking Karen squeezed between the two that had wrestled her to the floor and straddled her midriff, placing his erection between her tits and squeezing them into the narrow, fleshy valley. The guy fucking her had to reposition himself, lifting her ass up off the floor so that he could kneel between her legs and screw her while keeping his body at roughly ninety degrees to hers. It was either that or have his face against the hairy ape's equally hairy back. Yet another guy knelt at her side and guided her hand to his cock so that she could wank him off, which left two men standing around pulling at their pricks and watching impatiently while the handcuffed guy still worked frantically at getting the rest of his clothes off so that he could join in the action.

I watched Karen's cheeks alternately hollow as she sucked on the head of the cock in her mouth, and then balloon as it was thrust in and the knob hit the warm, wet wall of her oral cavern and bulge it out. A hand was wrapped in her hair to keep it from slipping out of her mouth as the hairy guy titty-fucking her aggressively slammed his cock-head against the underside of her chin, keeping her tits folded tightly around the thick shaft of his cock by pinching her nipples between his fingers and pulling them towards each other. Karen moaned around the cock in her mouth as her pussy was ploughed hard and fast and her teats were tortured mercilessly.

Her left hand moved somewhat disjointedly, fingers wrapped tightly around a long but relatively thin penis, her wrist pumping up and down the full length of the slender weapon. Her eyes were wide open, her gaze flicking from the man face-fucking her to the ape man using her big tits to get himself off.

"I'm gonna cum!" The man tit fucking her exclaimed. "Let me come in her mouth, Dave." He asked his blowjob receiving buddy. The guy instantly withdrew from Karen's mouth and the hairy ape jerked himself up her body until his ass was squashing her boobs flat and his manhood waved above her face. Karen looked up at it, eyes glazed, and he guided his thick prick toward her lips.

"Just kidding!" He grinned, winking at the guy who had yielded her lips to him, then he cradled her head in his hands as he pulled her further down the shaft, attempting to make her deep throat him. Karen abandoned the cock that she had been jacking off and wrapped both hands around what protruded of the meaty flesh of the cock forcing its way down her throat. She fought against his hold on her head, raking her teeth down the ridged, veiny weapon and he relented, fearing that she might clench her jaws and bite down on it to stop him pushing it past her tonsils. This allowed her a few more inches of his cock to play with. Her hands were a blur on his meat, her cheeks concaved as she sucked on it with at least as much viciousness as he had shown her teats a few moments earlier, and as I watched I could see him grit his teeth, his eyes narrowing at the intensity of the blowjob. He tried to pull out, but between the attentions of Karen's hands, lips, teeth and the suction of her jaws it was clear that he had no chance. He was in big trouble and knew it, and instead of working toward the prolonged face fuck that he had wanted he reluctantly accepted that he had been bested and cried out in ecstasy, pumping his spunk down Karen's gulping throat after only a minute of face fucking her.

Karen's eyes widened at the torrent pouring into her mouth, her facial muscles contorting into a grimace around the cock that remained locked between her lips. Clearly this guy had dietary issues. His seed did not appear to be pleasing her taste buds at all. He threw back his head and barked a series of staccato 'ah's as his balls emptied their load onto Karen's recoiling tongue, his slime sliding down her throat, ably assisted by gravity and by the fact that she didn't want that stuff collecting on her overwhelmed taste buds any longer than it had to. When he had finished she spat his cock out. "You're done. Get the fuck off me." She snapped. Laughing, the ape reluctantly complied, taking his time about it while Dave, the man who had given up her mouth for him, moved back into position.

"Not yet!" warned the man still hammering away at her cunt, subjecting Karen to half a dozen powerful thrusts that made her breasts bounce violently before he abruptly snatched his dripping wet dick out of her pussy and scrambled up to her face, clutching his cock tightly at the base of his glans, his face screwed up with the strain of holding back a torrent of cum that was already powering its way unstoppably along his tubes. He managed to get into a kneeling position somewhere near Karen's face and then relaxed his vice like grip on his dick. "Fuck!" He exclaimed, sending a ludicrously long and thick stream of jism pouring down onto her face, The creamy white fluid painted a thick line up her cheek and over her nose, then he aimed his overloaded cock toward her mouth and a second stream of spunk sprayed over her lips and teeth. She opened her mouth to take the final dribbles of juice, sucking on the end of his knob until he shuddered and collapsed back onto his haunches, totally spent. 

Meanwhile, the man that the ape had called Dave had repositioned himself between Karen's legs, and was rubbing his hardness up and down her distended vaginal flaps, making her shiver with delight as the anticipation built. Another guy was moving into position above her face, clutching his cock in one hand, but held short of jamming his dick in her mouth when he saw how much of his buddy's cream was spread around his objective.