1 comments/ 17314 views/ 2 favorites Cold Steel By: marybethf Colder than a brass bra in Alaska. Damn I can't wait for summer. Of course then I'll be dying for winter again. Weather is all messed up these days. As I walk through the mall, seems every man, even a few women, is staring at me. I love the attention I get. Always been an attention whore and I play my looks up to squeeze every last drop out of people. These days, I'm not so bad looking for a 43 year old chick. I giggle at the thought of myself as a 'chick'. After college, I caught on to what guys wanted to see, how to get their attention. I pretty much already knew, just I refined my skils. When I was home during holidays, my Dad, my Uncle, both of them were always trying steal a peek up by skirt, my nightgown, down my blouse. I'd flash them, they'd get a boner, my pussy would cream, we'd all be happy. They had no problem letting me sit in their laps. I could feel their hard cock poking up against my ass. When Mom or Auntie, weren't in the room, I'd reach down and touch it through their pants. I loved the feel of a hard cock through cloth. They didn't want me, I didn't want them. We all just wanted the thrill of peeking without being caught. A few times I could have sworn that even Auntie peeked at me. When I sat in her lap, I think she was just too timid to try touching me. Oh I believe she wanted too, very much so. Once I let my hand slide slowly across her breast, even lingering for a moment longer than necessary, but she never took the hint. I'm sitting in the food court remembering things, in a time not so long ago. I must have been about 38, maybe 39, could have been nearly 40, that wonderful day. Some days just standout in one's life more than others. I didn't mean to meet Ben. It just happened. I remember the day so much more than when. I looked in the window of a store, not to see what they have, but to check out the reflection of myself, to admire how I looked. Sounds snobby, stuck up. I know. I hear that from people. Sometimes beauty like mine can be a curse. Some days I dress a lot more casual just to not be so obvious, not to stand out so much. Doesn't seem to help much. The reflection is nice. A tall woman, slim; lovely cream colored short sleeved sweater, not buttoned up far; skirt that ends just above the knees on long slim legs, bare, no stockings; and heals, not high, but enough to highlight my calves. Nice arms, nice hands, long fingers, nice nails. What I'd really like to do is hike my skirt and show my pussy to my reflection. I love to stand in front of a mirror and flash myself. Just the tiniest thought of doing that makes me moist between the legs. Ah, a shoe store. Bet I could have some fun in there. Just inside the store, I grab a loafer from the shelf, hold it in my hands, turning it this way and that. Not bad looking, but probably would never wear such a shoe. "Would you like to try that on?" I know the 2 guys were fighting over who would help me, I heard them talking as I picked it up. "So you're the lucky one today." I sat in a chair and held my foot out for him to remove the shoe. "What size?" "Don't know. Maybe you could be a darling and measure?" Just let the sultry tone work its wonders. John, that's what his name tag said at least, for all I knew, they had traded name tags, held my ankle and removed my shoe. His glaze was on me, not my foot, not my shoe, not the loafer. His hand almost missed my shoe the first time he reached for it. His hand shook with my ankle in his grasp. He put my foot in the measuring gadget and moved the little knobs around on it. "Be right back." "I hope so John." I said in the most sensual voice I could muster. He stumbled over nothing and almost fell. He returned with 2 boxes. "I'm Cindy." I held my hand out. "Enchanted." What a silly response. Just a boy, maybe 20, not good at guessing ages, not all that bad looking. He smiled as he shook my hand, his fingers lingering over mine as he started to let go. His voice breaking up a little even though he only said one word. Maybe that was all he could get out. 'Enchanted' my ass, probably too many English Lit. classes. He lifted my foot. I moved it a bit to one side, my knee a little higher than it needed to be, just enough he could see up the inside of my thigh. Though he could not see all the way up, I knew he had a great view. The poor boy was frightfully shaken and couldn't get the loafer on my foot. "Need a hand dear?" I moved the other foot some as I leaned forward a little. Now he had a clear shot to my pussy plus he could see all the way down by sweater, nothing inside except my breasts, and erect nipples that he probably could also see. "T t ta thanks." Some guys are too easy. Never grow up. I reached down and took the loafer from his hands, touching his fingers, the back of his hand, stroking it a little, and slipped it on my foot while carefully spreading my legs a little more. "That's nice John." "It sure is Cindy. Prettiest one I've seen." I knew he wasn't talking about the loafer, not even close. He was staring right at the other end of my leg. Doubted he had ever seen a pussy or even knew what they looked like. I wiggled my bottom a little in the chair, just enough to make my skirt ride up a little. I reached down and pulled on the bottom part of the skirt some. An excuse. At the same time I touched my pussy with my fingers, just enough to get some of the moisture on my finger tips. I put only one in my mouth. "Hmmm." I moaned deeply. I held my hand out towards him, a finger I had not licked pointed out. He looked around, afraid, no one near, and he kissed that finger. He said nothing. "You know John, I don't think this shoe looks right on me." "Maybe you can show me something else ... I mean maybe I can show ..." He stammered. "I understand John. Yes maybe I can ... another day." I took the loafer off and put my shoe on, stood, and walked toward the door. Just before I walked into the mall, I turned and waved to the two guys who were carrying on an animated conversation. Wonder what it was about? Te He. Windows were great for seeing someone staring at me without looking directly at them. Oh I'd caught a lot of great looks that way. Even a few people touching themselves while watching me. God, that would make me hot. I know most people think I have a different guy every night, or could if I wanted. And I could. But that's not what I want. I just want to show my pussy. Know that probably sounds strange. Desperate maybe. Depraved even. To me, pleasant. Shop after shop, store window after store window. I would catch my reflection in some windows. 'Who's that hot looking slut?' I wondered quietly to myself. 'Bet she has a fine looking pussy.' A travel agency had posters of the Caribbean in their window. 'Bahamas $399 with hotel', 'Jamaica $270 plus airfare'. I stood and dreamed. "Bet you'd love to lay on the beach in Jamaica? Maybe a tall rum punch in hand." I pop out of my day dream, look up. Handsome stud of a guy he is, could almost be my son if I had one. My heart flutters a little. I look straight into his eyes, I like guys as tall as I am. Great features. Nicely dressed from what I can see. Right now I'm spending all my time looking in those ocean blue eyes of his. 'Fuck me baby! All day and all night.' "Bet you'd look good laying next to me on that beach." I wished. "How about if you come in and we can talk about how many tickets to buy?" Was he coming on to me? You bad boy. He walks ahead of me. The small place is empty except for the two of us. Nice ass, a real Kevin Costner kind of ass. Like to have my hands on that chunk of flesh. Any time, anywhere. I look at his arms, his hands. Holy shit, his left hand is a hook. My heart goes into serious overdrive. A man with one arm is my most personal, hottest fantasy. Fuck me, Fuck me, all day long stranger. I am so weak kneed, I can barely walk. Quick get me to a chair. Some nights I sit for hours looking at pictures of men with one arm and masturbate the whole time. Now I'm going to be face to face with a real one, not just a picture. Holy shit. Keep beating my heart. I come out of a dream state just in time to see him motion to the chair in front of his desk and then sits down. The arm with the hook rests in his lap, the other on the desk. "Now what is your favorite color of sand? Or maybe we could match the color of the water with your eyes?" I can tell he is flirting. I like that. "Jamaica sounds lovely. Maybe one of those singles resorts? Lots of bare tanned skin on hot young virile guys." He moves some papers around, leaving the hook laying in his lap. "I've been to a few. Lots of freedom. No kids. No need to cover up as much. Good food." "Sounds lovely. ... You don't have to hide it ... your other arm. I don't mind." "Thanks." He laid it on the desk, close to my hand. "So many people find it almost offensive." I reached over and put my thumb and forefinger around the metal tip. "That's a shame they do." I stroked it a little, like a small cock, as my eyes went back and forth between his face and the hook. Nothing was said for a few moments. He shrugged his shoulder, the hook opened a little, I slipped my finger tip inside and he let it close. "Bet this baby might feel good on other parts." I wanted him. If I could, I'd just push everything off the desk and just fuck him silly right here. "Maybe I could close early?" "Like now?" "Maybe?" I didn't even know his name. I didn't care about anything else. "Do we have to go far?" "As far as you want." He paused, looked at my face, again. "No. My place is a block from the mall." "Almost too far. I think I can wait." I stood. He stood. My back to the door. I grabbed his real hand and pushed it under my dress and pressed his fingers into my uncovered pussy. "You've made me that wet." I was sopping wet, gushing, dripping down the top of my thigh. "My name is Ben." "Cindy." He flipped the 'Open' sign over and locked the door. We walked side by side, his hook with my fingers around it as if it were a real hand. In the front door, he stopped and looked at me as if asking 'are you sure?'. I just looked straight into his eyes, kissed him quickly, and pulled on his hook. "Where's the bedroom Ben?" We sat on the bed, next to each other. I could tell he was a little uncomfortable. "I don't mind." I kissed his cheek, I kissed his hook. "Really, I don't." He seemed to relax and started to unbutton his shirt with one hand. I reached over and finished, then pulled it off. I glazed at his upper body, his smooth muscled chest and stomach, the way his arm fastened on, the cables for moving it, for opening the hook. He started to remove all the hardware. "Leave it for a while." I didn't explain. I pulled my seater over my head. Lifting his hook, I rubbed it across my nipple, it was cool, almost cold to the touch. "Feels nice." I pushed my skirt off and put the hook against my pussy, over my clit. "Yes." "I can't believe it." "Please do. I love this part of you. I want to know the rest too." I unfastened his belt, his pants, and pulled them off along with his shoes and socks. His hard cock was like a large tent pole in his boxers. "Something needs attention." I laid my head on his thigh and stroked him through the cloth. "Feels so nice." I pulled the elastic band down and let the cock appear. A lovely cock with a large smooth head. I laid looking at it, occasionally touching it with a finger tip, my tongue, just taking time to savour it, to feast my eyes, my senses. Ben laid back. I slid his boxers off. He took his arm off. I looked up at him, looked at how his arm ended between the elbow and shoulder. "We can play with the hook later." He covered the end of his arm as if to hide it. "No need to keep it covered, it's part of you." For the rest of the day, we made love in all manner of ways. Every part of our bodies was explored. He used that arm in all the ways I'd so often dreamed about. This man was such a considerate lover. I felt more satisfied than I'd ever felt before. We rested, drained of all energy to do more. His arm stump stroked the side of my face. I looked into his eyes, I could never get tired of looking at them. Touched his stump with a few fingers and rubbed it gently. "I like this part of you, would love to see you not hide it in that hunk of plastic." He was quiet as if thinking about something he might have trouble telling me, or maybe anyone. "Cindy ..." he started, then stopped, not just pausing. "Ben, it's okay. Tell me. Is it about your arm? I'll understand. I promise." "Well ..." he started again. I just looked longingly at him, stroking his short arm, cupping my hand over the end. "There're 2 things that I've always liked or wanted. One is attention." Another long pause. I was quiet and let him talk when he was ready. "Now this is the hard part." He held his stump more directly in front of my face. "I've always, I mean my whole life, wanted to be this way. Don't quite know why. Maybe because it attracts a lot of attention. Never cared why. Just knew I had to be this way." "How long ago?" "Last year. It's everything I expected." I kissed him. "My turn Ben. Don't worry. I think you'll be pleased. I hope so." "Sure Cindy. You're the best thing I've ever met." "Well I like attention too, a lot. Always have. ... Also, I've always been turned on by pictures of men with one arm as well. I nearly had a heart attack when I saw your hook. Maybe this is too much to share so soon. Hope not." I paused for a moment like when he'd tried to tell me something difficult. "I like to expose myself to people. ... In fact just before I saw you, I'd been exposing myself to a guy in a shoe store." I could see his expression change a little. Not sure if it was good or bad. "I don't let them touch me or anything like that. I just get a charge, a serious rush, from showing someone, usually a stranger, my pussy." I tried to hurry though the next part. "I also go out at night with one arm tucked in my sweater." I slowed back down. "There, that's pretty much it, well there's maybe a tiny bit more." "Haven't heard anything that would make me not want to be around you so far. Hell, if you can stand the fact that I wanted to have my arm off, how could I complain about anything you just told me?" I took a deep breath, let the breath out. "Well ... I wouldn't mind ... having an arm off too. There. That's all." "Would you mind if I was along when you flashed?" Damn, he didn't even puke. I was shocked. I'd never told anyone that much about myself. Too afraid. Get the straight jacket, the padded cell, the loony wagon. "That could be a lot of fun. You could expose me, if you want. I know the other person would be so jealous of you with your fingers on my pussy, parting my lips, showing them all that wet pink skin, ... Ben, this has me pretty damn hot. You up for more fucking?" We went to dinner together. Ben wore a short sleeved shirt without his hook so his stump was exposed. I sat next to him and watched the other dinners as they would watch him, watch how he would do things. "Oh Ben." I whispered in his ear. "I can't believe how everyone looks at you. If I were you, I'd cream in my pants from all the attention." He reached down and put his hand on my thigh, I looked at him and nodded yes. His hand slid up my thigh and under my skirt. I leaned my head on his shoulder as he let his little finger slide between my pussy lips. My hand rested on his chest. I knew this was a good way to distract others who might be looking. I moved my head and kissed him on the side of the face. A finger tip slipped inside me and rubbed my clit. "Give me a taste." He held a finger to my lips. I licked. "Very good." "Your salads. Ground pepper?" "No, hot enough already." I dabbed the napkin at my forehead. He smiled, and left. The days were a whirlwind, a mix of great white hot sex, public displays of my pussy, even some of his cock, lots of loving on his marvelous arm, everything was like from a romance novel. He was so smooth in the ways he would reveal my pussy out in public, I swear, sometimes they wouldn't even have a clue what had happened to them. Boom! Pussy. Boom! Gone. It only took a month before we started living together. Around the house, I sometimes went with my right arm tucked in my blouse or sweater. I am left handed after all. That would make Ben rock hard to see me like that. Loved that cock of his. Oh my, did I ever love to suck that monster. We used something that would paralyze my arm. Couldn't feel it, couldn't move it, couldn't use it. The effects usually lasted a few days. I was in heaven those days. We'd been using it for about 6 months off and on, usually during weekends. Always wore off. Well one time it didn't wear off. Maybe we'd just been lucky, don't know. Into the 2nd week, I still couldn't feel my arm. I wasn't very panicked. Ben reminded me how much he loved me, how nice we both felt it would be if the arm wasn't there. That sure seemed to be way it was going to be too. At the start of the 4th week, Ben took me to his doctor friend. A week later, my whole arm was gone. We never tired of our love making, our public sex displays, of him having one arm, of me having one arm. Always wonderful. At least for the next bunch of years. Don't know what happened, but one day when Ben came home, I was sitting with my other arm tucked away. I had just slipped my arm inside my shirt and sat there watching TV. All the same feelings I'd had pretending before, rushed back. It was like a shot of dope. I felt so good. I don't know how long it'd been before Ben came home, a hour, two. Don't know. "Well look at you!" "Hi darling. Hope you don't mind?" "Mind? Why the fuck would I? God damn, you're beautiful that way." "Would you mind helping with things I can't do? Even out in public?" Today, I'm sitting here in the food court at the mall, a year after the 2nd arm came off, waiting for Ben to get us some burgers. A guy a few tables away is watching me spread my knees. I'm so damn damp, so horny, and I can't even finger myself. Damn it Ben, get your ass over here and let's give this guy a fucking good show. At last, Ben puts the tray of food on the table. The sun glares off the cold steel of his hook, that wonderful thing I like wrapped around my clit, my nipples. Just the thought sends waves of pleasure though my body. He holds a drink cup up for me, I suck the straw. I look at him and mention the guy at the other table, the only other person here, how he's looking under the table at my pussy, how much I want Ben's hand to touch me Right God Damn Now! His hand slides up my thigh and begins to finger me. I was already having a pleasant orgasm, but now, God now, it is rumbling through me like a 4 locomotive freight train. The stranger unzips his pants and strokes his cock, then shoots a load all over his underwear. He was sure ready in a hurry. I blow him a kiss. He zips up and leaves. Ben holds the burger in front of my mouth, I can smell myself on his fingers. Can life get much better? Next week we're going to Jamaica. Cold Steel Author's note: Usual disclaimers apply, but a little looking online will prove that the bladeplay pics mentioned here do exist. The camera's operator is largely a creature of my imagination, even if there is something of an old acquaintance in her. * "Oh, you like having hard things in your mouth, you fucking slut?" Lindsay Lohan grinned for the camera, shyly looking away as she bit down on a twelve-inch stainless steel carving knife. Her friend, ex-MTV veejay Vanessa Minnillo pulled down the left side of her black tank top and dragged a razor-sharp chef's knife back from the upper curve of her breast toward her shoulder. Lindsay shivered at its touch, her pussy dampening. Of all the little games they'd indulged in lately, bladeplay definitely was a huge-turn on for her. She'd "forgotten" to wear panties tonight at the direction of the camerawoman. Pretty soon her upper thighs would be soaked, and if she was lucky Vanessa would bury her head between her thighs and lick up the mess. She playfully giggled and nodded. Playing hard to get would be a dangerous game tonight, but she loved dangerous pleasures. But first they had to please the camerawoman enough to earn their rewards, and she could be a real bitch. "Look at me, Lindsay, smile pretty for the camera." The camera clicked again. "Hold your knife to Van's throat, and look sexy. Give me a good pout. No, not the cutting edge, you fucking coke whore, the back side. You're liable to get the shakes and kill her by accident." The camera clicked again. "Now lean in, and pucker up. You know you want to kiss your little friend...." Another click. "Don't kiss her yet, wait for it, now you may." The two starlets kissed long and hard, their tongues sliding into each others' mouths like old friends. It was almost enough to make them forget about their current situation. The snap of a riding crop across Vanessa's tightly packed jean shorts was enough to break the moment as their hostess snarled her displeasure. "That's enough. Now get in the back and get dressed properly. This isn't Casual Friday, you lazy bitches. You're lucky I don't whip you both bloody right now, and leave the whip marks where the paparazzi can't miss them." Kristi Annison was one of Hollywood's beautiful also-rans, the sort who may appear anonymously in an issue of a men's magazine and never be seen again. She was a former prom queen, multiple pageant winner, and honor student from the Chicago suburbs, a dreamer gone bad. In a town where hundreds of beautiful teens and early twentysomethings show up every month looking for stardom, not all of them make it, no matter how great their natural 36Ds or how long and perfect their legs were. Even her blonde hair and green eyes were real. After refusing to blow third-assistant producers for walk-on parts as a bikini-clad extra, almost getting date-raped by her agent, and spending a lot of time in the wrong kinds of clubs, she had discovered a lot of rich LA men would pay a lot of money to be abused, and she liked doing it. Some of them were such human trash she would have paid to hurt them, but abusing women was something she did strictly for fun. She'd met Lohan at a fetish-themed house party at the home of a fiftyish male producer who secretly liked women's clothing and taking large toys up his ass. She'd liked the way Lindsay's eyes had lit up, and taken her home that night. Unlike Lindsay and Van, Kristi was already "dressed" for the night's fun. She wore a tightly packed leather bra with a matching garter belt, all in basic black. She'd skipped the G-string from the set, since Vanessa had already eaten her to orgasm once tonight just for the right to be there. Hair pulled back, dark makeup including Bitch Red lipstick, a cute little spiked choker, backseamed stockings, and five inch spike heels completed the look. Lindsay shivered at the thought. She'd pissed Mistress off before, but she'd been so out of control in her personal and public lives lately she knew she'd have to concentrate on behaving if she was to get any pleasure at all tonight. Times like this were all too rare anyway. Sure the press expected her to show up drunk or high and occasionally crash one of her cars. Letting them find out her test flights of most every cock in Hollywood had left her unsatisfied and had landed her on her knees worshipping another woman's stiletto heels? Forget it. Her career would never survive that, and she didn't have enough money in the bank not to be waiting tables inside five years. Less, the way she and Vanessa had been putting Colombia's finest up their noses. As they ran to the back bedroom and began unpacking their garb for the evening's games, she figured Vanessa had troubles of her own. Her boy-band vet Nick Lachey was spending more time indulging his own same-sex desires, sneaking in and out of Chinatown and paying big bucks to beat the asses and suck the cocks of Asian teenagers. That's probably why he liked Vanessa for public occasions. She had a tight little brown ass, probably enough to make him ignore her perky tits. What Lindsay liked was that Vanessa was such a D-list celebrity that she'd do anything to be allowed hang around at parties with the more famous. She was so eager to please that she'd taken Paris Hilton's finger up her ass then licked it clean on a dare in a nightclub's back room. Paris, never one for attention span, laughed and walked away in search of other entertainment, so Lindsay wiped her tears and took her home twenty minutes later. Vanessa had ended the night collared and leashed to the foot of Lindsay's bed. Two weeks later she'd been brought over as a birthday present for Lindsay's Mistress. Lindsay was going for "fetish slut" tonight. She pulled out a red leather corset with garter straps, stockings, matching five-inch fuck-me stilettos, and her restraints. Mistress had given her a full set of stainless steel wrist and ankle cuffs and a heavy collar to be worn on play nights. She loosely buckled the corset, knowing Mistress Kristi would relace it according to her mood. Vanessa was doing the schoolgirl thing. She was quickly yanking her hair up into pigtails, then threw on a white tank top, a cheap pink plaid miniskirt, white ankle socks, and a really ugly pair of black buckle flats. Lindsay wanted to roll her eyes at the pathetic effort, but there wasn't time. In a town with Syren and Trashy Lingerie, she'd done her prep at Wal-mart by the look of it. God, she wanted to see her pay for it, too. They ran back to the living room for Mistress's inspection. As Linday had hoped, Mistress wasn't happy with Vanessa's "homework". "That is the worst schoolgirl outfit I've ever seen. Like any bitch in class who fucks up her homework, it'll cost you later." Vanessa didn't care. She was so wired from being in a scandal-worthy situation with Lindsay "Maxim's Hottest of 2007" Lohan that going home tonight with a sore ass would be a small price to pay for the thrill. Mistress's attention shifted to Lindsay. "Not bad, nice effort. You obviously put more effort into it than Van here. But your stocking seams are crooked, and you know I'm going to cinch that corset down. Vanessa, while I'm adjusting Lindsay's corset, go get two butt plugs out of the drawer. The two biggest in fact, and don't worry about the lube. I don't think either of you sluts needs it." Vanessa paled at that, but ran off obediently. Lindsay wanted to laugh at her transparent effort to get back into Mistress's good graces, but kept her composure. "Lindsay, turn around, hands behind your head." Lindsay turned around, keeping her legs properly spread and her back arched forward. She hoped Mistress would notice the juices running down her thighs, and the fresh Brazilian waxing. Vanessa's tongue would feel so good down there...Meanwhile her corset laces were yanked mercilessy. "Breathe out, slut, that's it, much better." Vanessa ran back up, plugs in hand. "Good. Vanessa, Lindsay gets hers lubed a little, so start sucking on the little one." Vanessa stared into Mistress's eyes, obediently licking and deep-throating the two-inch thick plug. Mistress took it from her with a scowl. "Stop flirting, bitch, you're going to suffer tonight already. Lindsay, bend over the back of the couch and spread your cheeks." Lindsay complied, teetering on her heels, the humiliation of her pose making her even wetter. She felt the tip against her tight asshole. "Now beg for it, bitch. Make me believe you really need something in your butt." Lindsay took as deep a breath as she could inside the corset. "Mistress, your little slut needs her ass filled. You know I need it, that I'm just not happy without your toys in me, reminding me what a fucking whore I am, what a good whore I want to be for you." "Not bad. Too bad you weren't that convincing in Herbie." She shoved an inch in, Lindsay grunting a little before the waves of pleasure rolled outward. "Keep talking." "That feels so good, Mistress. Please, I'll be a good slut for you, please give me what I need." Another inch, the tapered plug rudely spreading her ass open. "Please, more, give your little whore more, fill her ass up before you beat it." Another two inches went in, the fattest part of the plug. Mistress held it there, cruelly stretching Lindsay's asshole. "You like that part, don't ya, slut? Your ass stretches so pretty. That's the good thing about shoving so many Hollywood cocks up there, you're good and loosened up. I bet you licked all of them clean, too, right after they shot their loads up your ass. You must be a dirty fucking slut to lick a nasty cock covered in cum and ass juices. That just makes me want to get bigger toys and try to hurt your pretty little asshole, then maybe wipe them clean on your face." The plug slid into place with the faintest of popping sounds. "Good job. Now what do we say?" Lindsay didn't have to fake the sound of delirious pleasure in her voice. She was soaking wet, her clit was throbbing, and right now she'd let Mistress wipe most anything on her. "Ooooh, thank you, Mistress. Your little slut is so happy with her toy in her ass." A cruel chuckle. "Not bad. Now hold that pose, but put your wrists together behind your back. A padlock clicked, trapping her steel wrist cuffs together behind her. "Now Vanessa, give me that plug and bend over the couch next to Lindsay. Spread those cheeks for me." Vanessa nervously complied. This plug was a three-incher, not a two. It was bigger than anything she'd ever had up her ass, and she knew Mistress was pissed at her. This was only her third play-date and she knew Lindsay was getting off on being one rung up the ladder on her. Well, she'd show that dumb cokehead who the better woman was here. She boldly leaned forward, spreading her ass cheeks as wide as she could. "Mistress, your slut is ready." She got a hard slap across her ass. "Did I ask you to say shit? No. I don't give a fuck if you're ready or not. Straighten up a minute." A leather-wrapped steel ring gag was shoved into her mouth and a strap buckled around the back of her neck. "There you go. The only thing your mouth can do tonight to interest me is lick the sweat out of my ass crack once I make you regret being such a lazy bitch. Stick your tongue out." Vanessa obeyed, blushing in embarrassment. Mistress clipped a clothespin to the tip of her tongue. Pain shot down her tongue and through her jaw, but her nipples and clit hardened. For all her little obedience games and dares with Lindsay, and that night in the club with Paris, she was scared at the fact that the more pain she took, the more she got off on it. "Hands behind your back", and police-grade steel cuffs ratcheted around her wrists. "There we go. Now the faster you take this plug, the faster I'll put your tongue to other uses and get that clothespin off there. Now bend over, bitch, show me that cute little asshole." There was no slow tease, no relaxing of the pucker, just a building wave of pain as Mistress ruthlessly shoved the dry rubber toy into her asshole. The scant bit of pussy juice and sweat that had run down there through the evening were her only help as the thick rubber plug stretched her more than she'd ever though possible. She wanted to scream around the gag, but forced herself to hold it. Mistress picked up on her poorly concealed pain. "That's it, Van, You know you want to scream. Scream for me, bitch", but the best she could manage was an agonized moan. Panting for breath, and feeling unable to stand, Vanessa felt like she had to take the biggest shit of her life, but the groove and flange kept the plug firmly in place To make things worse, a tiny click, and it buzzed to life. She hadn't noticed that Mistress had modified the plug's core with a pocket-rocket vibe. Her knees buckled with the sudden waive of pain and pleasure, her tongue stinging as the clothespin was yanked off. "Now kneel down behind Lindsay there, and stick that tongue out. Start licking Lindsay's sweet little cunt there. It's such a pretty pussy. Too bad it's been a cum dumpster for every asshole with a TV gig." A girl-girl rookie the night Lindsay picked her up, Vanessa loved the taste of pussy now. She would have loved shoving a couple fingers up Lindsay's cunt as she ate, but she was helpless. Even if she was uncuffed, it was a rotten angle to work at. Eating from behind, the clit was down, not up, and the base of Lindsay's butt plug kept banging her in the nose. The rhythm of her lips and tongue were taken away by the ring gag, but she did the best she could. She felt cold steel slide down the back of her wife-beater, and she slowed her licking at the distraction. Mistress savagely yanked one of her pigtails. "Keep fucking licking, bitch. You really need to learn where you stand around here." Chastened, Vanessa dove back into Lindsay's pussy like it was the only thing that mattered. She tried to ignore the tugging at her shirt as one of the razor-sharp chef's knives sliced her thin top off, but the mere touch of the blade to her skin made her dizzy. What kind of deranged freak have I turned into? "No matter what happens, hold that pose and keep licking." A black leather blindfold cut off her vision, then agonizing pain shot from first her left nipple then her right one as clamps were fitted. She was helpless to do anything but moan into Lindsay's pussy. Then more clicks as police leg irons locked around her ankles. Lindsay, already wanting to cum from the time she'd walked in the door, was shoving her cunt back onto Vanessa's tongue, while Mistress laughed at her predicament. "That's it, you little fucking whore, eat my pussy. Lick all that juice up. Oh gawwwwd...Mistress, may your slut cum?' More laughter. "Yes, you may. But you'll owe me." For the way her mind was being roughly reprogrammed in weekly doses, that was all the urging she needed to get off. Her knees buckled, and she sagged back against Vanessa's face with a screech. "Very nice, Lindsay. Now get your ass over here and return the favor. Van, rest up a minute. I'm nowhere near done with your dopey ass yet." To be continued when I have the time. Cold Steel This one is just plain sick, so consider yourself warned. Don't judge it too harshly till you've read all three parts, though--it's not going where you probably think it's going. * "Why are you doing this?" the girl asked, and for a moment Tolliver wondered that himself. "Because you deserve it," Vyce responded. He gripped her right arm as tightly as Tolliver held her left, leading her down the dimly lit staircase that led below the labs. "Do you know what the Tyrant did to me? What he did to all of us?" "You won't get anywhere with Vyce," Tolliver interrupted. "When we learned that the Tyrant was dead, he was in the first ranks to storm this castle. His sister was one of the girls in the labs, and he found her too late. You weren't barred in like she was. You could have saved her." "The Tyrant needed a few people to give the others food. A few to clean the floors. A few to . . ." She broke off. "But you know his power as well as I. If I'd done anything, I'd have wound up on the other side of the bars myself." "You're a coward," spat Vyce. "But we're giving you a chance to prove you're more than that." "He had me lead a few of the other girls down here. None of them ever came back up." "The notes in the lab mention two experiments," said Tolliver. "A monster, and a weapon to kill it. If you can get the weapon, you'll have a fighting chance." The girl was close to tears. "I'm just a maid! I've never killed anyone!" At last they reached the door, thick steel with a single barred window. Tolliver held the girl while Vyce opened it. Vyce shoved her through, and the door swung closed behind her with the sound of screaming metal. The girl pressed her face to the bars. "This is crazy!" Vyce ascended the stairs without looking behind him. Tolliver barely heard his muttered words. "This is justice." The girl slumped to the ground. She was dark of skin and hair, far darker than Tolliver's pale brown, and in the gloom beyond the door he could no longer see her. But he could hear her as she cried, and he thought of ghosts as he left her alone in the dark.