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Faint

By: Samuelx



We all know someone or have heard of someone who has an addiction. Addictions are dangerous, both for the people who are addicted and those who care about them. But what happens when someone's addiction is their only source of joy and it harms no one? Can it really be considered an addiction? By nature, addictions are harmful. Or are they? Can certain addictions sometimes be considered to be harmless? What a revolutionary thought! That's what this great story is all about.

We shall follow events in the lives of a tall, somewhat chubby young man afflicted with a terrible addiction. Dudley Jennings is a young African-American living in the Boston Area. He's nineteen years old, and a student at the Commonwealth Institute of Technology, a small private school located in downtown Boston. Right on Commonwealth Avenue. When Dudley enrolled at Commonwealth Avenue in September 2007, he was an ordinary young man happily beginning his college career. CIT was just the school he needed. A small private school with only eighteen hundred students. CIT had a focus on engineering, computing and various aspects of technical education. The school granted associate's and bachelor's degrees in more than forty fields. For a lifelong techie like Dudley, this was the place to be.

Dudley Jennings graduated from Brockton Military Academy, an all-male private high school in June 2007. He had been looking forward to college his entire life. He had been a straight A student at the Academy and won himself an academic scholarship to the Commonwealth Institute of Technology. He comes from good stock, intellectually speaking. His father, Kyle Jennings, is a graduate of Georgia Tech. He teaches in the civil engineering department at Worcester State College. His mother, Adelie Brown Jennings, is a distinguished MIT alumnus who owns a chain of hardware stores with branches in four states. With such accomplished individuals for parents, one could see that Dudley was under pressure as he began his college career. He enrolled in the Computer Science program at CIT. Dudley was happy to discover that CIT had a fledgling varsity sports program. He used to play Baseball and Soccer at the Brockton Military Academy. Fortunately, his new school had a wide variety of varsity sports.

The Commonwealth Institute of Technology Department of Athletics currently sponsors Men's Intercollegiate Baseball, Basketball, Soccer, Cross Country, Swimming, Volleyball, Wrestling, Lacrosse, Golf, Tennis, Water Polo, Ice Hockey and Football along with Women's Intercollegiate Softball, Tennis, Basketball, Cross Country, Swimming, Golf, Volleyball, Field Hockey, Water Polo, Lacrosse, Ice Hockey, Soccer and Rugby. They competed in the National Collegiate Athletic Association's Division Three. Unlike Division One athletic powerhouses like Boston College, Ohio State University and Georgia Tech, CIT didn't offer any athletic scholarships. Student-athletes played for love of the game. It is with great pleasure that Dudley Jennings tried out for the Baseball team and made it.

The athletic facilities of the Commonwealth Institute of Technology were located at the nearby town of Milton, as were most of the student dormitories. There simply wasn't enough space for CIT to house a Football Stadium, a Gymnasium, a Track Course and an Olympic Swimming Pool in the various buildings they owned in downtown Boston. It simply was not feasable. The real estate market was murderous at the moment. Always a good sport, Dudley was more than happy to get on the bus and commute to Milton to practice with the Baseball team. All he wanted to do was to play. The day CIT's Baseball team defeated Bridgewater State College was the happiest day of Dudley's life. His parents were there to cheer him on.

Yeah, life was good for Dudley Jennings. He was leading the kind of life many people could only dream of. Playing one of America's most popular sports while attending a pretty good school basically for free. He lived in a really nice and spacuous dormitory on Commonwealth Avenue. It was one of Boston City's priciest neighborhoods. Yeah, some of his neighbors were the richest men and women in the country. One of the New England Patriots was rumored to have lived there, some time ago. Dudley Jennings had it made. He was young, healthy and happy. He felt that he could do just about anything. Yes, in many ways, life simply couldn't be better. Unfortunately, trouble would soon come to paradise.

When trouble came into Dudley Jennings picture-perfect world, it came in the form of Matthew Masterson. A tall, good-looking African-American stud who enrolled at the Commonwealth Institute of Technology in January 2008. He was a transfer from Bridgewater State College. By a strange twist of fate, Dudley ended up becoming Matthew's roommate. Dudley's old roommate, chain-smoking and dope-dealing charmer John Jersey, had dropped out and left the school. Apparently, he had some issues of a personal nature to take care of. Dudley didn't know what to make of his new roommate. The first time they met, Dudley held out his hand for Matthew to shake. Matthew looked at his hand, smiled, and didn't shake it. Then, he threw his bag in the middle of the dorm and lay on the bed, after turning his CD Player volume to the maximum. Dudley sighed, and suddenly realized that the next few months were going to be quite long. He had a jerk for a roommate. 

As it turns out, Matthew Masterson wasn't just an ordinary jerk. The guy had a chip on his shoulder the size of Mount Rushmore. He always acted like he was all that. A man with something to prove. He joined the Men's Ice Hockey team, a move that shocked many people on campus. As a tall, athletic young black man, Matthew Masterson was expected to play anything from Football and Basketball to Soccer, or maybe even be into Wrestling. However, he wasn't into any of these sports. The guy actually wanted to play Hockey. He tried out for the Men's Hockey team and made it. He was actually a really good Hockey player too. How about that? Even though Dudley dislike Matthew, he secretly admired him for knocking down stereotypes about black people.

One day, Matthew surprised Dudley by asking him to come to a Hockey game. Dudley hesitated, but his curiosity got the best of him and he agreed. The two young men went to watch the Boston University Men's Hockey team take on Harvard. It was a fast-paced game of Division One Hockey. Dudley had never watched a Hockey game in his life and was surprised at how wild it got. Matthew seemed to be really into it. He had a wild look on his handsome face the entire time. Dudley was fascinated by the sight of Matthew in his own element. In the dormitory, Matthew kept to himself. He greeted Dudley with a chilly nod every morning and didn't care to make conversation. He hung out with a bunch of guys from the Football and Hockey crowds and their girlfriends. Baseball players like Dudley didn't seem to exist or matter. Well, that night, he seemed really different.

After the game, Matthew took Dudley to a restaurant and insisted on paying for everything. As they sampled some fine dishes, Matthew surprised Dudley by being charming. He seemed really interested in Dudley and expressed an interest in his life. Also, he apologized for his earlier behavior. He claimed that he had nothing against Dudley personally, but was mad at the world when they first met. Dudley accepted his seemingly heartfelt apology. Then, they went to see the new Alien Versus Predator movie at the downtown Boston theater together. It was a damn good movie. At the end of it, the two buddies walked through Boston Common together. The park was cool and quiet, just the way Dudley liked it.

As they walked through the park, Dudley's mind raced. He was discovering a whole need side to Matthew, one that he was strangely liking. What in hell was going on? Matthew suddenly dropped the ball on Dudley. He asked him point-blank why he didn't have a girlfriend. Dudley blinked and swallowed hard. Should he lie or tell the truth? He decided to do the latter. He looked Matthew in the eye and told him the secret he had kept from his parents, friends and teammates all these years : He was gay. Calmly, he waited for Matthew's response. Matthew laughed. Dudley's eyes narrowed. What the heck was he doing? Dudley had just shared his darkest secret with him and Matthew, in typical jerk fashion, was laughing his ass off? Filled with anger, Dudley shoved Matthew.

Matthew shoved him back, but didn't stop laughing. Dudley's heart sank. Was Matthew going to divulge his secret to the entire school? In the next second, he found the answer to that agonizing question. Matthew suddenly grabbed him, and did the last thing Dudley ever expected. Matthew kissed him. On the lips. In public. It was a long, deep kiss. Dudley tried to fight it but he couldn't. When their lips parted, Matthew was still smiling. Dudley looked at him with wide eyes. Matthew winked, and confessed that he was gay too. Like Dudley, he didn't feel that his sexual orientation was anyone's business. Dudley couldn't believe it. Wow. Matthew the Hockey team's superman was gay. Wow. And a great kisser too!

Matthew put his arm around Dudley, and they walked back to the dormitories together. Once there, they resumed kissing. Truth be told, both of them were sexy black college men with needs and desires that they had repressed for too long. And both of them wanted to make up for lost time. They hastily undressed. Dudley sat on the bed and watched as Matthew got naked. The six-foot-three, 240-pound black stud had a lean, muscular body that Olympic athletes would envy. Dudley got up and dropped his shirt and pants, showing off his six-foot-tall, 250-pound body. He had a few extra pounds and felt a bit self-conscious about that but Matthew reassured him that he looked good.

Emboldened, Dudley kissed Matthew again. The two sexy black studs hopped on the bed, and rolled around. They caressed and felt up every inch of each other's bodies. Tenderly, roughly and passionately, they made love. Again and again, until all strength was gone from their bodies. Dudley and Matthew lay side by side, their bodies covered with sweat. Matthew smiled, and gently stroked Dudley's face. Then, he kissed him. Dudley kissed Matthew passionately. That night, they bonded, and not just sexually. This wasn't a random hookup for either of them. Their souls had bonded. They were addicted to each other, they just didn't know it yet. This was the beginning of a passionate relationship for both of them. Two black male college athletes who had fallen in love. It was a beautiful thing. 

Faint Heart Never Won Fair Lady



With heartfelt thanks to Bill Kipling

Jack Bateman sat in his den. His blue eyes were unfocused as he stared at the TV screen. The local news broadcast was white noise to him, a murmuring backdrop to his thoughts. The glass of Pilsener stood ignored beside his chair, the remote control lay forgotten in his hand. He had seen her today.

When amongst people, Jack's expression was usually attentive. His eyes were uncommonly warm for their light color and his broad 6' 1" frame, strong and well honed through years of workout discipline, was noticeable for its trimness rather than capacity to intimidate. This was deliberate on Jack's part. When meeting with clients he leaned forward, partly to assure them he was listening carefully and partly to reduce his height. When in court, he used his physical qualities to their full advantage. His eyes took on an intensity that unsettled inexperienced and fallible witnesses before he spoke a single word. He was a carefully controlled chameleon; there was never a moment when Jack Bateman did not present himself according to what was required.

That Jack was able to respond so appropriately to situations was due to two qualities. He was observant, and he was analytical. While always ready with a smile and a genuinely warm sense of humor, Jack could also place himself on the fringes of human interaction and often did so, the better to observe it.

In this way he had learnt the unspoken rules of behavior as defined by the senior partners, and avoided the faux pas committed by his peers. He worked out regularly at his gym, and worked his mind as assiduously and resolutely as he worked his body. He missed nothing, he worked hard, and he never allowed his analytical ability to be swayed by subjective judgments.

In fact he was so rational that, at times, he could exasperate those who were closest to him. Everyone agreed that Jack was a 'great guy'. He was perceptive, a ready listener, and always responsive. Yet nobody could say they really knew him well. That the man was passionate was easy to believe; anyone who had seen him defend a client could recognize the depths of his feelings. But when engaged in personal conversation, Jack often gave the impression there was more going on in his mind than he was willing to divulge.

His chosen career and his dedication to it rewarded him well. He had taste and indulged it, carefully selecting the trappings of his hard won wealth; a small art collection, a large collection of classical recordings. He found time to indulge his love of history, travel and sailing. And theater. Which is how he met her.

*******

For years he had made an annual migration to London, visiting the theaters on Shaftesbury Avenue and taking in the atmosphere with a heady joy. He loved the English springtime and he enjoyed Shakespeare; and so the decision to break his routine one year and see the Royal Shakespeare Company perform at Stratford-on-Avon was almost inevitable. A friend recommended a 16th century inn within striking distance of the town. Using this as his base, he quickly worked up a plan that would keep him happily exploring the honey colored villages of the North Cotswolds, and take him as far afield as Oxford. With taxi service arranged to transport him from Heathrow to Stratford and back, and a classic MGB Roadster booked for the duration of his stay, Jack knew it would be a memorable trip. It was more than he hoped for.

On the morning he visited the Royal Shakespeare Theatre, the tour was able to include the backstage. This added another dimension to his understanding of that evening's performance; a dimension he found himself explaining to a quiet, gently smiling, fellow American woman later that evening.

The way they met was part serendipity, part gallantry. He had made his dinner reservation well in advance; she had not. He had not yet ordered when he observed that a poised, fair-haired woman in a simple black dress was about to be turned away for lack of seating. On impulse he had asked his waiter to let her know that, if she would like, she was welcome to join him. She was alone, so was he. Why not?

That they lived within twenty blocks of each other was quickly passed over, once discovered. Neither knew if that was a good thing or not. But as the evening's conversation progressed, Jack began to think it might be. By the time they got to sharing a chocolate truffle torte with espresso anglaise, he had decided it was. Her name was Christine. Christine Langford. She was a technology consultant with a small outsourcing company. Their clients were well taken care of; she wasn't able to take extended vacation time very often, and she rarely traveled abroad. She struck him as being a little out of her depth, and it attracted him.

She was reserved, even cool, at first. Her dark hazel eyes would only occasionally meet his. Given the situation, he thought her caution was sensible. As she relaxed, he caught glimpses of a considerate nature. She had relatives in London, had planned this trip with an aunt who had fallen ill at the last minute. She almost hadn't come but her aunt had insisted that she should. Their plan had been to eat dinner at a local pub, but she didn't feel comfortable doing that on her own. It was kind of him to share his table with her. Would he excuse her? She wanted to call and make sure her aunt was alright.

He studied her as she walked to the lobby area, watched her easy movements on her high heels. They added some height to her 5' 4" frame, and balanced her compact figure. She curved in all the right places. Curves he became better acquainted with, back in the United States.

They agreed to date on their return. Once she was over her caution, and he had eased her shyness with his warmth and candor, Jack found she laughed easily at his gentle teasing. She was easy to get along with during the few days they spent together. It was in a low-ceilinged, rowdy pub in Oxford that they finally swapped telephone numbers.

To his joy, she turned out to be the same person back home as she had been on vacation. She was natural, and a natural choice for him, he decided. She kept her apartment and moved in with him, eventually. From the start, they worked out together at his gym. It gratified him to see how vivacious she could be, how she impressed the male contingent in the free weights room. It was her odd mix of brilliance and insecurity that he found so attractive, and she was undeniably intelligent. He was proud of her.

There had been few lovers in Christine's life besides one, long-term relationship. Jack was a confirmed bachelor and had played the field more. In the beginning, their lovemaking was lustful. While Christine was shy, she was not timid. She gave herself freely to passion and Jack enjoyed feeling her ardor rising, taking her to the edge of orgasm, and controlling their lovemaking. Then, as long work hours intruded, as the weekend routines took hold, they made love less often. She perceived his devotion to his career as waning interest in her, and it hurt her pride. She felt shut out; he never discussed his cases, and he didn't understand her professional field. Resentment set in. Jack knew he was losing her but could not respond; at some level of intimacy, their relationship failed. Jack could not admit to himself that he needed her help, and she could not perceive that he needed it. So Christine played along as Jack analyzed, reasoned, and rationalized away her concerns until she felt her self-confidence slipping away. And then she became angry, no longer able to talk coherently about how she felt. Jack's cool composure, his only defense, became abhorrent to her.

Their breakup became a necessity, in the end; he came home one day and she was gone.

Outwardly, Jack did not change. She never turned up at his gym again. When asked if she was OK, he frankly and unemotionally stated she had moved out. He didn't offer any more information than that and, sensing a tender bruise, the gym clientele left the subject alone. He carried on as though nothing had happened. It was the rational thing to do; so, too, was not looking back. Jack had put time and distance between him and Christine, and had moved on. Or so he thought.

*******

As he stared with uncomprehending eyes at the colors on his TV screen, Jack was dimly aware he was in shock. He had seen her today.

Shock wasn't too strong a word, he decided. He'd not expected to see her, but it was more than that. It was the way she'd acted, the way she'd talked. He thought he knew her, but she had been so different it was almost as though someone else was walking in her skin. He didn't believe people changed that radically. So he played back the memory, analyzing, seeking answers. She had turned up at his gym.

Helen was a trusted spotter with many of the gym regulars. She paid attention, watched carefully for signs of collapse and mentally counted the repetitions. What Jack appreciated most was the way she spotted him on the bench press. She was unobtrusive, applying just enough lift to the bar to help him on the last reps. Her encouragement was quietly spoken. Not anything like what he had heard on that last set; the one where he had closed his eyes. He had been focusing on squeezing the last, desperate contractions from his pectoral muscles when he had heard her voice. Christine's voice.

"Does it burn, Jack?"

His eyes had flown open. And he'd almost dropped the bar on his neck. Her gloved palms had quickly caught the bar, and then barely maintained its lowered position. She had merely balanced it on the sides of two fingers of each hand. The weighted bar was almost fully his, and had swayed dangerously. Helen had vanished.

"You'd better regain control, don't you think?" Her voice had been mellow, suggestive. Her face had gazed down at him impassively, but her eyes had locked onto his with frightening intensity.

"Wh-what are you doing?" His heart had been galloping, breathing totally shot to hell. He had almost panicked. She had smiled before she answered. There had been triumph in that smile.

"Isn't it obvious? I'm spotting you. Now, p-u-ssh, Jack." She had pouted as she formed the command. The sensuality was unmistakably intended.

His concentration had been completely broken then. He had begun to lower the bar carefully to his chest but she had held it up. Frustrated, he had quickly retaken control of the bar.

"Stop it, Christine. This isn't funny."

"No, it's not, is it?" she had agreed, brightly. "There's a lot of weight on this bar." Then she had feigned puzzlement. "But it's not like you to give in, Jack. Do you really want to give me control?"

Something in the question had turned his panic to anger, given him the surge he needed to send the bar up to where he could place it on the stand. But she had not let him place it.

"That's good; now, one more."

He had obeyed. Looking back, he did not know why. Maybe he thought he would humor her; whatever the reason, he had simply dropped the bar and sent it shooting back up. He remembered it had surprised him, how effortlessly he had done it.

"Another. Do it!" She had been totally, completely, serious. Her eyes had been blazing. With a strong exhalation, he had made the bar soar.

"Again!" He had never heard her speak like that. It had almost been a bark. He had completed another press.

She had practically purred. "Good boy. Work it, Jack. Show me how much you can take."

As he analyzed it now, he realized he had given her control. Not of the bar; her fingers had stayed with it and she had spotted him carefully but he had done all the work. No, he had given her control of the exercise. His exercise. Actually, him.

His body and the weight had flowed together. He hadn't needed to close his eyes to focus. Her face had been all he that had needed; that, and her insistent commands. As he pumped iron like he never had before, she had watched his pectoral muscles contract and a dark sweat stain spread between their raised, hard contours. Her smile had been wonderful then, tender, broadening as she looked down into his eyes. He had no idea how many reps he had done.

"Burning now, Jack?"

Oh God, had he been burning. His pecs had been ready to burst. And he had been erect. The shock when he had realized...

...that was it. He'd been in denial about that. Then the full meaning hit him like a sledgehammer. 

She had taken control of him and he'd been aroused by it. Jesus Murphy. He had really liked it. He wasn't shocked at her; he was shocked at himself.

Oh, he had been so embarrassed. His strength had given out when he had realized his chest wasn't the only part of him that was bulging. She had been ready. She had pulled the bar up and helped him to drop it onto the stand without him having to say a word.

She had walked down the bench as he lay there, panting, arms splayed. She had stopped level with his groin. She had actually stood there, eyeing his pants exactly where he was displaying his excitement. Christine. Shy Christine. Examining her handiwork like an artist studying her brushwork. He had tried to get up but she had suddenly turned, straddled his chest, leant forward, and whispered into his face. He remembered the hush in the weight room. Everyone must have been watching.

"I'm going to leave now, Jack. Watch me as I go, will you? Make sure nobody tries to, uh, hassle me on the way out. I'll call you. 'Bye."

She had planted one, pouting kiss on a bare finger and then pressed it gently on his mouth. Cool as rain, she had dismounted him and strolled away. He had sat up to watch her go. Her compression tights had shown every contour. She looked great; whatever she had been doing, it had worked. 

She had turned once to afford him a view of her from the front, he reasoned; perhaps to show him her top was open to her cleavage. Or was that it? Jack's heightened awareness had caught something. She had hidden it quickly when her eyes had met his. But for a moment, he realized, she hadn't been sure. Even in her triumph, she hadn't been sure he would care enough to watch her go. That's why she'd turned. He knew it.

Jack closed his eyes, smiling now. 'Ah, Christine, my fair lady; it's still you.' He began to fantasize about her.

In the softly changing light of the TV, alone in the quiet of his den, Jack's exhausted body gently towed his floating mind out to sea. Where, from the depths of his psyche, a part of him rose like a leviathan in answer to a call. A part of him he had never, ever, expected to meet.

*******

He was gazing up at her. Christine was standing behind his head, towering, poised, and looking down at him impassively. Her mouth was open, lips slightly parted. He watched, fascinated, as she slowly ran her tongue across her upper lip, deliberately sending him some animal signal he couldn't have explained; but which he understood. Her eyes measured him, waiting. She rewarded his involuntary shudder with a smile. She blinked once, slowly, and then lazily slid her cool gaze down his prone body.

His prostrate, bound body. In his fantasy, he laid the length of the bench; his wrists were cuffed and shackled below it. His ankles were cuffed to the bench legs. He tilted his head back. He wanted to see the tightly clad contour of her pubic mound above him. She let him see, but moved away before he could gaze his fill.

He watched the undulating movement of her hips and buttocks as she strolled slowly along the length of the bench. His skin thrilled to her touch as she trailed her fingers along his perspiring, naked skin. She stopped level with his groin. She turned her head, looked back at him over her shoulder. His eyes locked on hers as she reached and placed her hand lightly on his balls. When she was assured of his attention she looked down at her hand. She grasped his sac and pulled, stretching him. Her grasp became a crushing clench as her fingers tightened. She manipulated his testicles, rubbed them together. The pain shot upwards, stabbing into his abdomen. He cried out, head back, eyes staring in disbelief at the ceiling light above him.

She was standing beside him. She pushed her breasts forward, allowing him to watch her circle and cup them with the flat of her palms. She let him watched her tweak her nipples. His cock was swelling. She slowly smoothed one hand over her abdomen and down to between her legs where she pleasured herself. His eyes fixed on her rhythmically moving fingers, on the place they disappeared between her folds. 

She told him to open his mouth for her. He gratefully sucked the wetness from her woman-scented fingers as she laid them, mercifully, on his tongue. She pulled her fingers from his mouth and slid them down his chin and neck.

She stood astride him. He looked up at her. He adored her. She was holding a riding crop. He thanked her as she began to whip his nipples in a slow, courtly, figure eight.

First one nipple.

Tap.

Then a graceful backhand to the other.

Tap.

The taps became flicks and the leather tress began to deliver a precise, quickening sting. Then she was dancing around him, applying a cadence of stinging, wrist snapping switches to his reddening skin, raising livid patterns of crazed art. She applied her skill lightly, delighting in the adoration in his glazing eyes.

She slowed. She turned her back to him and mounted his chest. She took hold of his cock and stroked him purposefully. Her voice floated strangely in his ears, a mellow murmur from a dark place that held him as firmly as his cuffs and shackles.

As his blood pumped to her bidding, she told him he was not to release. She forbade it. She knew he wanted to please her, and she would be disappointed if he cheated her. He was only to be hard for what she was about to do. As she stroked him, he obediently and thankfully swelled for her.

She held up the crop. His heart thundered in anticipation. As he watched, she brought the crop down in front of her in a slow, graceful arc. Then he felt her tapping it quickly and lightly against his rigid shaft. She rubbed excitedly on his chest as his groans rose. Her short, wet, rocking movements increased with his agony until he was barely aware of the slowing rhythm of the crop, hardly noticed her slowing undulation.

She was holding herself open over him. She slid two fingers down to her open sex. He groaned as he watched her penetrate herself. She showed him how deeply she entered, how slowly she withdrew. When she was flowing, she quickly cradled his head and brought him to her as she lowered herself onto his protruding tongue. He sought to meet her expectation. He nuzzled her, worked his tongue inside her, and fucked her as her fingers had done, slavishly, hungrily, until she withdrew.

She stepped away, took pause to stretch. She strolled casually around him, surveying her handiwork, admiring the marks along his ribs and chest, the glistening of her smeared juices. She took her time, caressing him occasionally. When his erection had subsided, she faced him and straddled the bench between his legs. She grasped his genitals. He gazed subserviently at the ceiling light as he listened to the quiet sound of snaps fastening. She told him to look. Glancing down, he saw the black leather straps that now held him around the base of his balls and cock. He could feel another strap between his testicles.

He heard her tell him again that he was not to come. He was forbidden to release. His erection was all she required. She stroked the underbelly of his shaft, licked him, sucked him, and ran her tongue around the ridge beneath his head. He engorged again for her.

The straps held him tightly now; his cock was stiffer than he had ever felt it. It was suffused with all the blood in his body. He felt monstrous, like some manic Priapus with huge, heavy balls. And then she mounted him, took him into her, delighted in the feel of the leather against her clit. She churned and ground herself against it.




Faint Heart Never Won Fair Lady



With all the control he could muster he allowed her to use him, fought his involuntary muscle contractions, held back as she pleasured herself on him and rode him mercilessly. He felt her sex tightening, clenching on his shaft. He watched as she leant back, eyes closed, fingers digging into the flesh of his thighs. He felt her clenching him tighter, harder, until he heard her long, shuddering, exultant moan.

In the quiet confine of his den, his body tensed beyond endurance, he felt the first contraction as his semen began to pump. 

*******

The next day, Jack was not functioning well.

"Does he seem alright to you?" Margaret whispered into the 'phone. She was one of the paralegals, and she was talking to Jane, Jack's secretary.

"Yeah, really. Totally spaced-out. He came by for a discovery, I gave it to him, and he just came by for it again. That's not like him, Janey, he's out of it! Ask him if he's OK."

'Out of it' hardly described Jack's state of mind. He had no idea what he'd just read but he knew he'd read it at least three times. Yesterday evening's fantasy still danced around the edges of his consciousness and he just couldn't make it go away. But every time he tried to put it on his mental dissecting table, its allure captured him again.

"Dammit!" Kicking his desk seemed a reasonable response. He certainly didn't have a plan.

"Mr. Bateman?"

"Oh, um, hi Janey..."

"There's a call for you on your line. Is there anything I can get you?"

His 'phone had rung? He stared at the blinking red light. Apparently it had. His obvious confusion decided Janey.

"Look, I'll tell her you're sick and then maybe you should go home. Do you want me to call a taxi?"

Her?

"No, Janey I'll take this one, thank you. And no taxi; I'm fine, um, thank you. I may leave the office after the call. Clear my schedule, would you? And call me on my cell 'phone if you need to."

She hesitated, then left. He watched the door close softly. Then he took a breath and picked up the line.

"Hi Jack. How are you?"

It was her. All rational thought flew merrily out the window and down the city street, chasing imaginary butterflies. Like the ones flittering around in his stomach.

"Jack?"

"Hi, Christine." He hoped his breathing didn't sound as ragged to her as it did to him.

"You alone?"

"Yeah." 

"Are you sore today?"

Jack's brain finally snapped into gear. It was a loaded question. He usually handled those well.

"It normally takes a couple of days for stiffness to set in."

He closed his eyes as soon as he'd said it. Oh damn. Besides sounding pompous, he'd managed to allude to yesterday's erection. He braced himself for the obvious.

She was gracious. There was only the slightest pause, during which he imagined she was smiling. No, he knew she was smiling; and he was blushing.

"It's called Delayed Onset Muscle Soreness."

"Oh, I never knew that." The relief was evident in his tone, he knew.

"Yes. DOMS, for short."

Oh no.

"Not to be confused with people who play domination games, of course. You know about those, Jack?"

He was not going to lose it. He was not going to...

"What the hell's going on Christine? You walk out of my life, then turn up one day and play me like a puppet! What the fuck are you doing?" He'd lost it.

"Ssssh, Jack. Don't be scared. You were beautiful yesterday. I loved how you looked. And how you responded; oh, you were so, so beautiful."

He felt like he was going to cry.

"Jack?"

"Yeah."

"I want you. I want you helpless, I want you bound, I want you hard and I want you inside me."

He had no chance of hiding his gasp. It didn't even matter, anymore.

"I want you to give me what you could not before. I want you to submit to me, Jack. Do you have Helen's number?"

Helen? He knew someone called Helen? Who the hell... Oh, Helen! His eyes popped. Of course! Helen would never have walked off mid-press with a fully weighted bar hanging over his neck if she hadn't...

"You and Helen set that up?"

"You have questions? Then Helen's the lady to speak to. I've found her very, very helpful, these past nine months. Call me after you've talked to her. 'Bye."

He listened a long time to the flat tone in his ear. It took him a long time to replace the handset. He walked out of the office like a sleepwalker. But once he got in his car, he had it together. Oh yes, he had questions. "I want you helpless, I want you bound..." He was looking for Helen like his life depended on it; because, today, Jack was a drowning man.

He called Helen from his car, as soon as he was on the highway. For once, he drove like everyone else and ignored the speed limit.

While he waited for Helen to pick up he realized he knew very little about her. Quiet, controlled, attentive; she was all the things he liked but he had never really talked to her. He had come to trust her implicitly when working out with her. Now he wondered who the hell had been spotting him for the last nine months. That's right. She had become his spotter shortly after Christine had left. She'd never mentioned Christine, never asked about her. Another thing he had liked about her. He snarled as he changed lanes. A horn blared behind him. She'd never asked because she hadn't needed to. And he had thought it was out of respect.

"Hello?"

"Jack."

"Hi, Jack. I think you want to meet?"

"Oh yes, lady. At least, that's what Christine calls you." The engine was roaring as he burned up the highway.

"Road rage is a killer, Jack. Slow down."

His rational brain took a cool look at its rampant counterpart and decided enough was enough. Jack found a space in the center lane, took a deep breath, exhaled through his mouth, and relaxed.

"You're an astute woman, Helen. It seems I may have underestimated you. Want to tell me what's going on?"

"Are you willing to hear it? Some of it may be difficult for you. If the answer is 'yes', then I'm prepared to help you. But I want an assurance from you, first."

"Which is?"

"That you will listen to me with respect and an open mind. You're going to need both, if you're going to get through this with any understanding."

Helen's tone was edged with sympathy; it was balm to his roller coasting ego.

"Helen, I promise you I will listen. And I will appreciate any help you can give me because I really don't understand this. I don't even know what 'this' is. So I don't know about the respect. I'll try on the open mind part. Ok?"

"Good enough. Meet me at the cafe around the corner from the gym. I'll be waiting for you."

*******

He'd never seen Helen in anything but her workout gear, which wasn't extraordinary in any way. As he walked around the corner from his parked car he spotted her sitting at one of the café's outdoor tables and his mental faculties came to a sudden halt.

She was ignoring an ogling youth who was trying to catch her eye as he walked by. Jack could see the attraction. Her long, dark brown hair was loose, falling in layers around her bare shoulders. Her breasts were encased in studded black leather, save where the halter top's plunging neckline allowed them to bulge gloriously. She wore a matching short, studded, black leather skirt over fishnet stockings. But the best, for him, were the spike heeled, thigh length, black leather boots. As he joined her, he was acutely aware of the incongruous contrast of his wing tips, tailored suit and classic white shirt. He'd had the presence of mind to leave his tie in the car, at least.

She was totally unselfconscious, calm and collected. Strangely, now that he was with her, so was he. He kept his eyes on her as he gave the waiter his order. No, perhaps later for the menu. Thank you.

He could hear the steam from the espresso machine inside the café, the traffic sliding by, the clopping and clicking of footsteps on the sidewalk. In his inner space, all was quiet.

"She gave you quite a shock, didn't she?"

"Yes, she did. But I shocked myself more."

"You liked it."

"Yes. Look, I wasn't kidding. I don't understand what this is about."

"Jack, have you ever considered Christine may be a woman?"

Thankfully the waiter's appearance with his cappuccino saved him from making his retort. Instead, he considered the question as he stirred in a little sugar.

"Ok, I missed something, obviously. Help me."

"She felt like a trophy; something untouchable, for you to display."

"I was proud of her, Helen." He felt miserable, suddenly. He knew the truth of it.

"I don't doubt you were. But what you were proud of was not Christine; it was what Christine presented to you, for your world. Not your fault, Jack. You weren't to know."

"I'm listening."

"Do you know what your kind of lady is, Jack? Your kind of lady is a woman living in a straightjacket. Your kind of lady is presentable. She's nice, polite, and she doesn't speak out of turn. You can take your kind of lady anywhere. That's what Christine wanted to be for you. And she was, wasn't she? She was your nice, presentable lady."

There was a lump in his throat and it was getting bigger. He was staring at his coffee, hurting. He hadn't allowed himself to feel hurt in a long while; certainly not when Christine left.

"So that's what this is about." He sighed. At least now he understood that much. Through moist eyes, he looked across the street at nothing in particular.

"Who was she, Helen? Did I know her at all?"

"As much as she knew herself. When she came to me, she was confused, bruised, and blaming you. She said you'd never let her speak. I asked her what she had tried to say. I asked when you'd gagged her. She got mad at me then." Helen smiled. "It took her a while to see it. But she agrees, now, she had expected you to be responsible for her happiness."

"I think we both expected that of me. I did gag her, in a way. I decided what made her happy. I didn't want to hear anything that didn't fit how I thought it should be. I gave her a role, and I didn't give her an out; even when it wasn't working. And then when it drove her crazy, I backed away. I didn't know what else to do."

"You had the house, the biggest income, and the most to offer in your world. What more could you have given her? Why couldn't she just hold up her side of the bargain, hmm?" Helen chuckled, not without sympathy. 

"You were both lost. It happens, Jack. It's the old saying, 'be careful what you wish for, you just might get it!' But you're luckier than most. You've got a second chance. You do want it, don't you?"

"Yes!"

He looked in Helen's soft brown eyes. He had somehow missed their intelligence, up until now. He really had underestimated her. She was smiling at him over the rim of her coffee cup.

"What does she need? What can I give her?"

"I think she's told you what she needs, hasn't she?!" Helen laughed. "And, judging by what she's told me, I think you need it as well! Hey, chin up! You're going to have some fun!"

"And with the woman you love, too," she added, softly.

It was a balmy, early summer day and the sky was clear. They talked over a long lunch. After lunch, they continued their conversation as they crossed the street and strolled together in a nearby park. And it was in that park, having questioned, listened, and considered well, that Jack came to his decision.

"You know, when I was a kid I had this fantasy. I would fall in love one day and achieve complete atonement with one, special woman. At-one-ment. Sort of like a Vulcan mind meld. That love would be so deep, I wouldn't have to say anything, she wouldn't have to tell me anything, we'd both understand each other completely. Always. Then I grew up a bit and told myself that wasn't possible. I caught glimpses of it, sometimes."

"Let me guess; with Christine, when she was turned on." 

He turned to face her. There wasn't anything he couldn't say to her now.

"Well, yes, but no. Most times it was a self-congratulatory experience. You know, like, 'look at her writhing; what a great stud I am'.

Helen smiled. "That was when you were in control."

"Right; that was great, but it wasn't my fantasy."

They continued their pace. Helen didn't speak; she gave Jack space to work through it. He was thinking hard.

"She couldn't tell me what she wanted. It suited me, I guess. I didn't help her. You did, though. Christ! I never heard her say anything like what she said on the 'phone to me today! But she was always passionate, her body was right there. Do you know what I mean?"

"Yes, I do. Christine is a sexual being. As are you, Jack."

That stopped him in his tracks. Nobody had ever called him that before. Not even close. He grinned at Helen as she took his arm and they strolled on.

A young couple on a nearby bench stared at the clean-cut guy in the expensive suit and the woman in the leather gear. The girl giggled and whispered to her boyfriend. Jack didn't care. If they'd been the senior partners, he wouldn't have cared. They could all go to hell.

"Well, a body like that, you'd have to be really obtuse not to be able to read it. There were times I could let go of the ego trip. It was different then. Oh, yeah. The times I felt closest to Christine was when..."

He stopped walking. His shoulders sagged, his head bowed.

"When, Jack?"

"When it was for her, not me." His whisper ended with a choked sob, and he accepted Helen's embrace. "I want her back, Helen."

"Even if it's just for one day?"

"Oh God."

"She has some issues, too, you know. You can't make demands here."

He pulled himself upright, blinked up to the clear sky, swallowed, and looked down into Helen's eyes. He had decided.

"Even if it's just for one day," he said quietly.

Helen smiled, wiped away his tears and stroked his hair. "You, my friend, are a wise man."

She led him back towards his car. "You are going to call Christine this evening. Start thinking now about what you want to say. When she is ready, you and Christine are going to meet at my place and you and she are going to have your atonement. I promise. A good Domme always keeps her promises, you know."

Jack smiled. "And you're a good Domme, aren't you Helen?"

"You bet your sweet, spanked ass I am."

*******

Later that evening, when Jack was at home, he called Christine.

"Hello?"

"Hi, Christine. It's Jack. May I speak with you?"

"Yes, Jack?" She sounded nervous. Somehow, he wasn't.

"Helen and I had a long talk today. You're right, she's wonderful. I'm glad you found her. Well, I know you want an answer."

Suddenly, he didn't feel so composed.

"I want to submit to you, Christine. I think I need to. I know Helen has taught you about limits. We can talk that through, when you're ready. I'll trust you. I respect what you've been doing and I understand. You might not believe that right now, but I do. When you're ready, I'll be there. Anything you want, you can take it from me, Christine."

It wasn't quite what he and Helen had discussed, but close enough.

"Anything?"

"Anything we agree. That you want. When you're ready."

"And we will agree that I can hurt you? Within limits."

"Yes."

"Control you?"

"Absolutely."

"And you fully consent to this?"

"Yes, Christine, I do." He was shaking now, his voice was hoarse.

"Jack?"

He swallowed hard. Let her please, please, not beg off. Please.

"I don't know if I'll see you again afterwards."

"I know."

"Does that matter?"

His heart was pounding. "With regard to that, all that matters is what you want. Whatever that is, I'll accept it. Now, then, forever."

There was a long pause. He closed his eyes. Please. Oh, please.

"This Saturday, at Helen's place. Be there at 8 a.m."

There was a click; Jack opened his eyes and gave wordless thanks to whatever Higher Power he had been praying to, as he shut off the cell 'phone in his trembling hand. 

*******

Helen's house was two blocks from the café, in a quiet residential street where the rush of nearby traffic was softened by mature, spreading trees. That any tree could live in a city never ceased to amaze Jack. That he loved them so much was something he had only recently realized.

In the last few days, he had slowly woken up. He felt as though he had been emptied out of all his old, dead senses and new life had been poured back in. The feeling had started with the call that set this appointment. It had ascended the next day with his first visit to Helen's house, where he and Helen had discussed his behavioral limits and what Helen would convey to Christine. He'd taken the rest of the week off. He would be back next week but, for now, the world could go on without him. He had somewhere else to be. Someone else to be. Up the steps now. Knock on the door. It was time.

"Good morning, Jack."

"Good morning, Helen."

"Please, come in. Follow me."

The heavy door closed quietly behind him. Helen looked resplendent today, he decided. She was wearing a very short, red, PVC dress and spikey, red, patent leather shoes. As he followed her wordlessly down the narrow hall he admired the lacing across the open back, the way the shiny sheath fitted around her waist, and the way the zipper curved around her buttocks. She led him through the kitchen, small but neat as a pin, and into the back parlor. He thought of it that way because there was something Victorian about the atmosphere of the bright little sitting room. Maybe it was the pale chintz upholstery and the potted palms and ferns. In any case he stood, uncertain what to do until she sat in one of the armchairs and indicated he should take another.

"Welcome back. There's some final paperwork, Jack. You'll be using my premises and I'll require you to sign a consent and release. A word about that. I know we've discussed it already but I'm going to say it again and you're going to acknowledge that I've said this to you; it is your responsibility to let Christine know if you are hurt or if you wish to stop whatever is happening."

"I understand. Absolutely, that's my responsibility."

"Obviously you're going to want to please her as much and for as long as you can but, if you need to, say your safeword. She knows what it is, and she knows my rule on that. Everything stops immediately. I have gags here but I have asked Christine not to use one on you today. That puts an added responsibility on you, Jack. Don't speak unless she asks you a question. And don't, under any circumstances, try to manipulate her or give her instructions; not verbally, and not any other way."

"I won't."

"Ok, I'll get you the forms. In the meantime, strip and put your clothes and any jewelry in that box." She pointed to a small leather trunk beside his chair.

He stared at it for a moment as she left, then complied and perched a little uncomfortably on the edge of the armchair seat, arms folded across his knees. The paperwork and discussion on his first visit had included an extensive list of behaviors; he'd rated humiliation somewhere low on his acceptable rating. There was always a degree of subjectivity, he guessed. The house was nice and warm, anyway.

"Up on your feet."

Helen came back with a clipboard with pen and papers attached, and two steel contraptions lying on top. He the metal objects warily as he stood, feeling extremely vulnerable. Helen was all business.

"Christine asked for you to be ready for when she arrived. I think the larger size will be right for you but wasn't sure so I brought both. Spread your legs."

He noticed she wasn't saying please for anything now. He stood with his feet about two feet apart.

"Present to me. Hips forward, bend your knees. Hands behind your head. Look at the far wall." 

Her commands were peremptory and he obeyed, not without a small thrill. She crouched down to attend to him. He felt her warm hand pulling slightly on his genitals. A steel band was snapped around him behind his sac. His penis was now held down in a confining and severely sloping steel tube.




Faint Heart Never Won Fair Lady



"Good fit. Now sit and go through the forms. When you're done, stand and present for my return."

He inspected the chastity device as soon as she left. His head was free and some of the underside of his shaft was accessible. But the snug band around his scrotum was a single handcuff, holding him high against the underside of the tube. And it was locked; there was no sign of the key. He sighed, read, signed and dated the forms, then left the clipboard on the arm of the chair and reassumed the position. Helen soon returned and quickly glanced through the papers. He stood still, waiting, and feeling faintly foolish.

"Good. Keep your hands where they are, and follow me."

Walking as naturally as he could, Jack followed Helen out of the parlor and through a doorway under the hallway stairs. His eyes quickly scanned the basement as he descended to it, taking in the bare brick walls, the track lighting, the steel and leather furniture, and the massive, wide, floor-to-ceiling steel closet against the far wall.

"Open the doors to the closet."

Jack walked to it, opened the doors and immediately his heart rate punched up a notch and he felt an adrenaline surge. The inside of the doors were lined with implements for beating, whipping, pinching and pulling. A selection of steel bars in varying lengths was arranged along the back, along with cuffs, shackles, chains, and lengths of rope. Discretely labeled drawers presumably contained smaller items; he had no idea what they might be, or what might be used on his body. 

"Bring me a larger collar. One with two chains attached."

He scanned the equipment, selected a black leather collar for himself with two silver chains attached to a D-ring in the middle. There were small, rubber-tipped clamps on the ends of the chains. He knew where they would go. He turned with his collar in his hand, looked for Helen. She was standing in a pool of light beside a declining bench that was mounted on a steel frame. The top was shaped like a horizontal hourglass, and covered in dull black leather. He approached, wide-eyed, already picturing himself on it.

"Lower your arms and drop to one knee."

He held himself still as she buckled the collar behind him. The chains hung loosely, swinging against his nipples. The clamps bumped gently against his abdomen.

As he took in the snug feel and sensation of the collar, realizing its presence around his neck, something of his identity slipped away. It was a relief. And to be relieved was a relief. It meant he truly wanted this. He was exhilarated.

"Stand up and align yourself with the bench."

He stood at the bench end, taking in its contours.

"You will see the vertical section facing you consists of an arch. This is to afford access to your genitals. You will also see that it is slanted towards you. This is to force your buttocks outward. Mount the bench. Kneel on the raised pads and place your thighs against the vertical."

His uncertainty returned. This would be the most willful act of submission he had ever performed. It was a threshold that part of him did not want to cross because he knew, once he'd gone past it, there could be no turning back. The door to his former life would be gone. He could never, ever, forget that he had done this. Helen waited silently. They both knew he had two choices; he could balk, or he could obey.

He understood, then, what Helen was waiting for. Whatever he decided to do, Helen would call Christine. The thought of Christine hearing he had kept his promise propelled him on; his mind stepped forward over the line, and to Christine's waiting pleasure.

His body was tense and he felt awkward, but he managed to clamber up and get his knees and thighs in position with some grace.

"Well done, Jack." Helen's voice was warm and soft. It was more than a bench he had just climbed; it was his own personal Mount Everest and she knew it. Her tone and simple praise let him know she was pleased for him.

Then it was back to business.

"Now, bend forward and lower yourself to the decline."

He lowered himself down slowly to the bench top, feeling the supple leather caress his skin and the hard press of the chains and clamps where they pooled beneath his chest. He carefully drew them out to either side of the bench and let them fall.

"Lower your arms to the frame and hold your wrists ready at the straps. Lay your head against the bench. Face the wall."

As Helen strapped down his wrists, thighs and calves he laid his cheek against the smooth leather and tried to relax. He was totally exposed, yet comfortable. His bent legs were splayed open; the curve of the bench end pushed against him and held him ass out. The decline held his ass up. The final strap was a wide leather belt that Helen passed beneath the bench top and buckled over a pad that covered his kidney area. He was now totally immobilized. He was aware of a growing discomfort as his cock began to swell in its constricting, bent prison. He was conscious of his balls in open space, held up against his hurting cock.

"Your Mistress will be here shortly. Lie patiently, and do not turn your head."

Helen left. He waited, nerves coming undone. Were there cameras? He didn't dare to try to look around. He attempted to control his breathing, slow his pounding heart. The 'phone call would be brief, he knew, but it would be a while before she arrived.

*******

The slow step on the stair broke him out in a sweat. Footsteps walked slowly past him. There were faint sounds at the closet, and then he heard the sound of steel drawers opening and closing. Someone approached him from behind, moved to the side of him. Christine? His heart pounded as her face came into view. She crouched beside his head. Her beautiful, serious, deep hazel eyes looked fully into his. He gasped at the light shimmering on her blonde hair. It flowed in a radiant mantle down around her latex covered shoulders. She was totally sheathed in a shiny, black, latex catsuit; from her neck, to her wrists, to her ankles, as far as he could see. He could not tell from her expression how she was going to be with him. She looked pleased to see him, but so different.

When she finally spoke, her voice was mellow, soft. She invited him into the game he so much wanted to play.

"You're not wearing your clamps. It would please Mistress to apply them to you. You would like that, wouldn't you?" 

He licked his lips, swallowed hard. "Yes, if it pleases Mistress."

Her eyes glowed and she smiled.

She reached below the bench to a dangling clamp and deftly applied it to his nearest nipple. The tight pinch immediately focused his attention. As the initial pinch wore off, a growing ache began to gnaw at him. He kept still as she moved around the head of the bench to his other side, and kept his face averted as the same torment was applied to his other nipple. She walked to somewhere behind him.

"You look nice; very nicely positioned. And well trussed too." She moved to the side of him. "But what's this? I see a little dew here, I think."

He felt her finger slide his precum over his head. Her gentle fingering caused him to swell more. It hurt him. He stared at the wall as she toyed with him. The impropriety was delicious.

Her tone hardened. "Just as I thought; you need milking. How disappointing. I suppose you think it's flattering, that I should be impressed? Well I'm not, not at all. What would impress me would be for you to take a beating. In silence. Do you want to impress me?"

"Yes, Mistress, I do."

"Very well. Let's see how you do with the tawse, shall we?"

She must have already selected it from the closet, he decided, because the punishment began immediately. Three long, heavy, leather fingers struck across both his buttocks on the first stroke, quite lightly, just to place her aim. Then she gave him six strokes. She started gently, but each lash was firmer than the last until he gasped with the force and follow-through of the final strike. After the first six, Christine soothed each cheek with a circular, stroking caress of her palm until he relaxed. And then she resumed.

She worked the tawse powerfully and rhythmically around the sweet spot, just above, below, and over the center of his buttocks. The loud slaps exploded in his eardrums and carried through the air of the open room. With every stroke the leather fingers sank into his flesh with a heavy slap. She allowed each stroke to subside to a warm glow before applying the next. Jack's breathing was ragged, but he made no other sound besides an occasional involuntary grunt as he jolted from the force. To keep his skin relaxed and fresh, Christine palmed his cheeks again. 

"That was a sufficient warm up, I think. Now, Mistress is going to cane you."

There was no respite; she began to cane him immediately. But it was a substantial cane and she applied it lightly at first. On delivery, she held the cane against his cheeks before applying the next lash. The fifth stroke brought his head up and off the bench with a gasp and a start. 

Each lash began with his hearing registering the oncoming blow. The cane hummed through the air and the sound of its strike against his outthrust cheeks was an assault in itself. He closed his eyes tightly as the cane landed. The blow's energy traveled through him to his abdomen, where it was finally absorbed by the leather pressed against him. The height of the sting followed a moment later, then fell to a resonant ember that spread through his skin and lower body. 

The onslaught was powerful; every lash was a demand for vocal relief. There was the occasional gasp or grunt, but he did not cry out. He pressed his brow against the bench and his lips against each other, striving to maintain control of himself.

He had begun to grow used to the phases of the lash; the awful pause, the ominous hum, the bite, the sting, and the heat, when she suddenly broke all his expectations and lightly lashed both his inner thighs and the tender strips of flesh where his thighs met his cheeks. She worked him over quickly with the tip of the cane as he struggled anew to keep from voicing his agony.

From that point on he had no idea if the next stroke would be hard or light, or where it would fall. He was fully submersed in pain. Working quickly, then slowly, then fast again, she caned his thighs, his calves, and again and again on his buttocks until his cheeks were covered in stripes and welts.

She slowed, eventually, until he heard the cane drop and felt her fingers press against his burning skin, drawing the heat from him. She rewarded his stamina by mercifully rubbing and kneading his flesh to ease him. He loved that she touched him so, loved even more to feel her excited breathing falling softly on his burning flesh.

"You're doing very well," she told him. "But you need more attention here, perhaps."

She pressed a finger at his exposed anal rim and he tensed involuntarily. A new consciousness arose within him. Almost in panic, he thought of the safeword and his list of unacceptable 'play'. But he'd said he trusted her. He'd said she could take what she wanted. He dreaded her entry, but he didn't want to stop her.

"It would please Mistress for you to be compliant," she said, softly.

It was the encouragement he needed. He exhaled and relaxed as much as he could as she pressed again at his entrance. 

"Good boy."

She withdrew her finger when she felt him give to her. Evidently a demonstration of his intent was all she required for the moment. As she spoke, she moved to the farside of the bench where Jack was facing the wall.

"You could use something to help you focus your attention. A little release, although you may learn from this that not all release is pleasurable. Tell me if it is not so."

She bent and yanked one clamp from his nipple by its chain. He yelped with the shock and then felt the agony of blood returning to his starved tissue.

"Well?"

"It hurts, Mistress," he gasped.

"How does it hurt?" she asked, as she moved to the other side of the bench.

"It hurts hard, Mistress."

"Then you have learnt a valuable lesson; one that should be reinforced."

So saying, she sharply pulled off the second clamp. He felt the pain flooding his second nipple as the agony of the first subsided to an insistent, throbbing ache. He heard her footsteps retreat to the back of him once more.

He realized what she had just taught him. All his carefully controlled life he had known that bad choices would expose him to the hurt, the blows and the buffeting of life. But in bondage to her, all choices were hers, not his, and in that was his emancipation. In this bondage he was unleashed, he was free. Release from this bondage could hurt.

As the throbbing pain suffused his breasts he heard the snap of latex and a faint click, and then he felt her gloved finger smearing soft and silky fluid around his rim. His body was for her, he told himself, trying to achieve quiescence as she attended to him.

She did not relieve him of his fear immediately. She savored it a while. She pressed on the spot between his ass and balls and massaged him in small, firm circles until he was stimulated and his sphincter began to twitch. Then she pushed a finger into him, lubricating him gently but insistently. To his embarrassment, his sphincter tightened on her.

"Open to Mistress. Just once more."

She waited until he could release. She pressed another finger to his rim while she withdrew the first, and then she crossed both fingers and entered him in one deliberate, wedge-driving, fluid motion. She began to fuck him gently, sensually, until his pleasure built and he ached to gratify her, to give himself to her, to show her his thanks for her merciful release. He began to push against her, as much as his straps would allow.

"Oh yes! There's a good, fucking, boy! That pleases Mistress very much. Let's open you right up now, shall we?"

She pushed something firm into him.

"Squeeze now; draw it in for Mistress. Then relax, and let it fill you."

He clenched and felt it ascend easily until a nub rested against his prostate. Externally, a part of the probe pressed against him between his ass and balls, and he could feel a part of it pressing outside his rim.

For a moment, he had a terrible feeling he was going to wet himself, and he felt uncomfortable with the hard object inside him, but he did as she told him and concentrated on breathing and making himself relax. The strange sensations quieted and eventually he simply felt full. She stroked and massaged his hot buttocks while he adjusted to the insertion.

"You are making Mistress very happy. So hot and red, and you hold your little handle out so well. Mistress is proud of you. Would you like Mistress to use your little handle?"

He wasn't sure what it meant but he trusted her. "Yes, if it pleases Mistress to use it."

"Very well then."

She took the handle of the probe and subtly moved it inside him. His whole lower body was in a turbulence of pain and heat; and then he felt the first thrumming wave of pleasure from his prostate. His breathing deepened as she continued to massage him, and the wave built. As she massaged his prostate through his rectal wall, the pleasure intensified deep within him; and then another wave began to grow at the root of his cock.

Bound and compliant to the sensations she was causing him, he felt vibrant warmth spreading through his trapped cock and balls. For all the restraint he had exercised through his strapping and caning, he couldn't suppress the deep, shuddering moan that exploded from within him as his body succumbed to his slowly building orgasm.

She took him further. She stimulated him relentlessly, creating a building ebb and tide of pleasure through his body. As he gave himself up to her, the waves rocked and rolled him, carried him up and beyond all his known pleasures to heights he had not glimpsed before.

He had never felt been forced to orgasm, had never conceived of it. Stepping forward through the blinding ecstasy of what was being done to him, the analytical self that protected him in his everyday life assessed the situation and concluded Jack was succumbing to an inescapable violation.

It was not violation because he could not stop the forced pleasure; he still had his safeword. It was not inescapable because she would ignore his safeword; he knew she would not, this was not edge play.

Jack's remaining reasoning concluded the violation to which he was succumbing was inescapable because it was an act of his own making, an act for which no safeword exists. Jack was approaching the abandonment of self. Emerging from the overload of his submission, Jack's total surrender enticed him, beckoned him and invited him into its black folds. He almost could not conceive the concept of a safeword now. Jack was far, far, gone.

The last standing guardian of his mind stayed with him, but it needed Christine's help. Noticing the slackness in his body and his shallow breathing, Christine quickly stepped to Jack's face and saw the need in his vacant eyes. The stroking of her hand on his cheek pulled him back.

"Jack, do you want to stop?" He shook his head slowly.

"Are you sure?" He nodded.

"You like Mistress milking you, don't you?"

If he answered that one, Christine decided, he was still in the game. She smiled as he blinked away the beckoning darkness, smiled at her, and whispered, "Yes."

"Then thank Mistress," she told him, softly.

"Mistress, thank you for milking me."

"My pleasure; but you milk yourself now. Do as Mistress tells you. Squeeze on your massager and work it inside yourself."

He summoned the will to obey her. He found he could continue the stimulation by slowly contracting and relaxing his sphincter. As he concentrated on his breathing, the waves pulsed and grew anew. He maintained a steady rhythm, urged on by Christine's watching and sweet murmuring.

"Do it for Mistress."

"Good boy. Work it. Show Mistress."

"Make milk for Mistress."

As he began to spasm involuntarily, the probe stimulated him without his conscious effort. He could not stop; he was helpless. As the spasms came more rapidly, they became deeper. He was drenched in sweat, groaning and helpless, caught up by the waves within him. In his peripheral vision, he was vaguely aware of her reaching below the bench.

"Mistress is waiting now. Milk yourself into the cup for Mistress."

The pulsing waves mounted within him, driving him to a pinnacle of pleasure and beyond. His cried out as his whole body shook and his major muscles went into uncontrollable convulsions.

Suddenly, without erection and with no further urging, he released his pre-cum. It flowed from him, copiously, freely and steadily. He heard it draining into a plastic receptacle beneath him.

"Good boy! Mistress is very pleased. Lie still and relax now."

The probe still pulsed with his involuntary contractions but she allowed him no more orgasm, instead gently easing it from his back passage. He groaned with confusion and intense, total, bodily relief.

He heard a faint click and felt his imprisonment being removed from him. His balls dropped down and his cock hung freely at last. He was flaccid. He wasn't sure now if he could achieve an erection or not. The answer came shortly afterwards, when she showed him what she was going to do with his fluid.

She came into view, and stroked his perspiration-soaked hair gently, bringing her face close to his. She gazed into his eyes, murmuring softly to him as he slowly resurfaced.

"You pleased Mistress so much you deserve to be rewarded. Mistress will allow you to suckle her."

She undid the zippers over her breasts, and pulled them from the catsuit. They stood free, apart, and in stark contrast to the black latex. He watched as she pulled on her nipples until they stood upright. She leaned low over the bench, placing a breast close to his face, took the cup, and poured some of the clear, viscous liquid over her breast. As it flowed to her nipple, she held herself to his mouth.




Faint Heart Never Won Fair Lady



Jack took her nipple hard and sucked his pre-cum from it. He opened his mouth when she poured more, collecting it on his tongue then closing his mouth, swallowing and sucking harder to maintain the pull on her slippery skin. He felt her breathing hard into his ear. She pulled away from him and poured his pre-cum over her other breast.

"Continue."

He applied his mouth to her other nipple, his cheeks concaved and jaw aching with the hardest suction he could achieve. After the last drop had been poured she cradled his head, stroking his hair while he slavishly licked at each of her wet breasts. And then he realized he had his answer.

*******

Yes indeed, he could still achieve an erection. Probably the most massive one he had ever had in his life. Mistress saw his widening eyes and bent to check. She came up frowning.

"You have an erection," she observed sternly as she started unbuckling him.

"Yes, Mistress."

"Were you given permission to engorge?"

"No, Mistress."

"Stand up."

He stood beside the bench, his cock throbbing upright and pulsing. He quickly took in the small, wheeled table where she had placed her selection from the closet. She took hold of his shaft and squeezed it tightly to refocus his attention. He looked up quickly and fixed his eyes forward.

Maintaining her grip, she reached to the small table and he felt a leather ring being snapped around the base of his swollen cock and balls. Another small click followed and she stepped back, holding a short leash in her hand. It was attached to his ring. She pulled and he stepped forward. 

She smiled. "Come with me."

She slowly lead him by his cock along the floor and across to a large, flat backed chair. She pulled him around and pushed him down onto its hard, wooden seat. Working quickly, she fastened his left wrist and both ankles into the cuffs attached to the chair's arms and legs. She then strapped him across his torso against the chair's tall back. Leaving some inches for movement, she bound his right wrist with the cock leash. Finally she strapped his head to the headrest with a forehead restraint.

After walking back to the closet, she returned with a short, oil-tanned flogger. He was going to get to watch her this time, he realized. She had zippered herself back into her catsuit and now stood before him, one hand at resting on her sideways jutting hip, the other holding the flogger loosely to the bend of her knee. She was regarding him with a faint smile. She looked loose and relaxed.

"Now Mistress will show you how she deals with an illicit erection. You will masturbate before your Mistress. Put your hand around your shaft," she ordered. He took hold of his erection with the hand she had bound to his cock ring.

"Pump it, slowly. Very slowly." He began to work his shaft. "Keep it at that pace and do not stop. And Mistress absolutely forbids you to ejaculate. Do you understand?"

"I understand Mistress." He hoped to God he could do it.

"This should help you focus."

She stepped to his side and lightly threw the flogger across his chest. She then dropped the tails with a slow downward flip of her wrist over his head, shaft, hand and balls. He maintained his pace as she drew the shower of tails away in a slow, loving caress.

"Keep it up," she ordered.

She flogged him in a tightly controlled, downward figure eight. She worked slowly at first, synchronizing her timing with his stroking. She whipped his chest just hard enough to stimulate his excitement. He hissed when the stinging tips licked his head and stung his hand, gasped at the smack to his chest.

After warming his flesh, she allowed him watch as she unzipped the catsuit between her thighs. He began to work himself a little faster. She allowed it. She flogged him faster, adjusting to his pace, and she concentrated her stinging strokes across his brightly reddened chest. 

Then she threw a downward stroke across a thigh.

"Slowly!" He controlled and slowed his pace while she resumed her rhythmic whipping to his chest.

Then she bent low and threw a light upward stroke to send the tail tips flicking against the exposed flesh of his inner thigh.

"Pump it! Fast! Hard! Now!" He groaned and pumped his shaft hard until again she whipped him across a thigh.

"Slowly!" 

With every stroke to a thigh she ordered him to masturbate either faster or slower, and he adjusted his stroking to her pleasure. He took his whipping until she noticed his deepening breathing and the mounting tension in his body.

She ordered him to stop. Bending down to him, she untied his hand from his cock leash and worked quickly to release him from the chair. Pulling him from the chair by his leash, Christine led him to the rubber mat in the center of the floor and ordered him to lie on his back. Then, positioning herself on her knees over his groin and grasping his throbbing cock, she slowly and deliberately lowered her open sex to him and placed him inside her.

"Please don't move," she asked of him, softly. "I don't think either of us could take it."

Jack bit his lower lip and gazed at her towering, shiny, latex dipped body and up into her smiling, tender eyes.

"I can hold it for you."

"You feel huge."

"I know."

"Mistress wants you to fuck her. Now."

She was right; it didn't take either of them long.

*******

It took Christine three days to call him; seventy-two hours of pent up frustration for Jack, agonizing indecision for Christine, and teeth gritting patience for Helen that finally gave out with Christine's fifth call.

"Christine what, exactly, is your problem? You're wearing me out with this BS. You obviously want to see him again or you wouldn't be going through this. He's waiting. Just call him, will you? Set another session and have at him!"

"I don't just want another session," she said, miserably.

"Great! Neither does he! Tell him you want to date him again, and then set another session. It'll be great! He'll worship you!"

"I don't want him to worship me. Not all the time. That's too much like before. I mean, I'd just be another kind of trophy."

"Then for Pete's sake what do you want?"

"I want him to top."

Helen banged her forehead against her clenched fist. "Christine, isn't that what you wanted to get away from? Jack being in control?"

"I know," she mewed, "but I want him to! I can't explain it. I loved dominating him and I'd do it again, but I've been fantasizing about this ever since I did it. Would you tell him for me?"

"No, I won't! I'll teach him how to handle the equipment if that's what you want but you could do that yourself now. And if you want to get back into a relationship with him, then you owe it to yourself to tell him what you want. You can't go through life hoping he'll just get it somewhere along the line! Call him!" Helen hung up. She was done playing Agony Aunt.

So the next day Jack had another call that necessitated the closing of his office door.

"Hey Chris! How are you feeling?"

"Oh, I'm fine. I, um, had a really good time. How are you?"

Jack's heart skipped a beat. She sounded bright. Good sign. "Never better. I feel great! That was such a turn-on; I can't stop thinking about it. I've been hard all week." Oops. Slow down, Jack.

"I've been really horny too." Oh, yes!

"Ah, really?"

"Uhmm-hmm."

"Want to do it on Saturday?"

"Um, yes." Jack punched the air.

"Ah, Jack?"

"Yes, beautiful?" That surely couldn't hurt.

"I want it a little different this time."

"Anything. Same as before, anything. I'll go all the way, you know I will."

"Well, this time I want you to decide what you want."

"Oh. But I don't get it. Then I'll know what's coming, won't I?"

She paused. "Yes. But I won't."

He took a moment to think it through. "You mean, switch, right?" he asked, slowly.

"Yes." She suddenly sounded breathless and timid, almost like she did the night he first met her in the theater restaurant.

But everything had changed since that night. He'd thought her such a nice lady then. She was still his lady; but not in that way, any more. He was never going back to that. Oh no. And neither was she, if he could help it.

"You mean you want to be my slut whore, right?"

"Yes." She was almost whimpering.

Oh this was going to be good. "Do you want to be a good little slut whore for Master?"

No one could say he didn't learn fast. All his life he had learnt fast. Never with so much interest as now, though.

"I want to be the best slut whore I can be for Master."

"This Saturday, at Helen's place. Be there at 8 a.m."

He hung up, grinning broadly at the 'phone.

*******

There hadn't been time for him to learn how to use the whips, but that wasn't going to be a problem. There were easier games to play, he reasoned, and they would all be within Christine's limits. He had reviewed Christine's behavior ratings at Helen's place, late on Friday afternoon.

Jack arrived at 9:00 a.m. on Saturday without waiting for Helen to call him. He knew Christine wasn't going to cancel the appointment. The smirk on Helen's face when she opened the door confirmed that all was well.

He stood in the middle of the basement floor and smiled. Christine hung before him in a pool of light, her bright hair shining as she moved her head slightly. She looked remarkably pretty in black stockings hitched to a tight red PVC basque. Her stretchy, black, open crotch lace panties were sitting just nicely outside her lips. He could see, because Helen had prepared her just as he had asked; her ankles were locked into cuffs fixed to the ends of a spreader bar.

On the other hand, Christine couldn't see anything. Jack had asked for her to be blindfolded and Helen had obliged with a black padded leather version. She had also cuffed Christine's wrists to the ends of two suspension chains; neither too high, nor too far apart. She wasn't stretched out so far that she'd be numb in five minutes. She'd be able to swing around some. The hot red silk hanky peeking out of her stuffed mouth was just delicious, he decided.

Christine snapped her head at the sound of the closet doors closing. He knew she was listening to his returning footsteps and the clinking noises of his selected toys as he dropped them on the small table. He moved behind her, bent his knees, and slowly ground the fly of his leather pants against her ass. Looking down, he could see the contour of his growing cock bulging beneath the supple leather. Her breathing quickened.

Standing against her, he slowly stroked her upper back with his palms, smoothing her skin outward from the base of her neck to her bare shoulders in long, firm strokes. He pushed his hands up along the undersides of her bent, suspended arms, reveling in her vulnerability. He supported her arms with his as he held them in a firm grip. He bent his head to her neck, nuzzled aside her hair and bit tenderly into her exposed flesh. She swayed against him, leant back into his naked chest; a part of him wanted to hold her and keep her forever hanging for his caresses. A part of him wanted something else.

He ran his hands lightly down her arms. Gripping her hair in one hand, he slid the other around her. He clenched the softness of a breast through its PVC casing, squeezed her, palpated her until he felt her relax and heard her sigh deep in her throat.

He slid his hand slowly down to her abdomen, down to her pelvis, and pushed her ass into him. He pulled her head back by her hair and whispered to her as he ground his groin hard against her spread, round cheeks.

"You're going to be Master's little slut." His reward was something between a whine and a moan.

He kept the pressure on her pelvis and released her hair. Sliding into her cleavage, he lifted first one breast and then the other from their tight, shiny cups.

Stepping away to the table, Jack picked up a pair of clover clamps by their connecting chain and slid them into his pocket. He approached her and lightly stroked her rose-brown nipples. When he had their attention, he squeezed and rolled them between the tips of his forefingers and thumbs. She moaned; her head tilted back as he softly touched a finger to her sex. She was moist.

Helen had left an ice bucket for him on the table. He reached over and took a cube from it. He held the melting ice to her stuffed mouth and then trailed its wet surface across her cheek, down her neck and across her breasts. He nudged and wetted her turgid nipples until they puckered and hardened. He pulled the clamps from his pocket and let them fall from one hand to the other so she could hear the clinking sounds of the metal.

"You're not wearing your clamps. It would please Master to apply them to you. You would like that, wouldn't you?" He had a damn fine audio memory.

She shuddered as he dragged the hard contours of the clamps across her nipples. He educated her in the shape and contours of the tightening mechanism before he applied them. As the tips closed, he smiled at her mewing and rolled the connecting chain slowly between her breasts.

"Shall we make them tighter, little girl? No need to answer. Master knows what you need." He hooked a finger under the chain and slowly pulled it towards him. She arched her shoulders back and pushed her breasts towards him to relieve the pressure until she had no more leverage and he pulled just one moment more. The clamps bit fiercely.

"Good girl."

He stepped forward and reached behind her. Grasping one cheek firmly, he pulled her against him while sliding his other hand between their bodies, over her abdomen, and down between her legs. He slowly slid his index finger along her slit. She began to rock on his finger and bump against his groin.

"Master didn't tell you to move, girl," he told her quietly. "Stand still."

With two fingers he slowly spread her outer lips, sliding forwards and back along the slick inside walls. He closed the sides of his fingers deep along the depths of her inner lips. He squeezed and held the folds together, pulling and working them in small, circular movements. Opening his fingers, he slid inside them as he slid his other hand towards her anal opening.

She stiffened. He knew she hadn't rated anal penetration highly. He'd never taken her there, and he suspected nobody else had either. There's a first time for everything, he reflected. She'd taught him that.

He stepped to the table, covered an anal plug in lube and took a generous amount on his fingers. Leaving the plug in reach he stepped behind her.

"Step back. Present your ass." She hobbled backwards until she was leaning forward on the suspension chains, back dipped and ass held out to him.

He gently rimmed her with the lube until he saw she was relaxing then he immediately and firmly forced his finger deep into her. She wailed behind the gag as she clenched on him. It was payback time. The wailing continued as he worked more lube into her. She was going to have to spit the gag out and tell him if she wanted it to stop. He hadn't chickened out; he knew she wouldn't. His little whore had pride. 

He pushed the squat, fat anal plug inside her. It went in without too much resistance. He let her rest while he wiped his hands and considered the bullet shaped vibrator lying on the table.

"Straighten up."

He stepped in front of her as she hobbled forward and pulled on her clamp chain to quicken her pace.

"Clench on your plug; make sure it stays up you. Understand?"

She nodded quickly, then swallowed as she felt him spread her lips and hold the blunt end of the metal bullet to her clit. He pressed the trigger end and worked the buzzing vibrations around the hood and down to the entrance to her sex. Cradling the bullet in his curved fingers, he smoothed it back along her slit and around her swelling clit. She held herself still and flowed onto his hand as he played the toy along her soft folds.

Switching hands, he unzipped his fly, pulled out his swollen cock, and quickly worked himself to full erection. He slid the thrumming bullet into her, caught it as it slid slowly from her and reinserted it again and again with a probing finger. Christine moaned louder with every reentry, sagging on her chains.

"Do you want your Master's cock?" She moaned again and nodded.

"Then present again, slut."

He turned off the slick vibrator and dropped it into his pocket. He moved behind her, stroking his cock as he guided her back with his boot toe hooked under her spreader bar. He pulled the anal plug slowly from her ass, dropped it, and pushed his hot, red head against her now vacant opening. She gave and he drove the head insistently into her.

He grasped her hips and leant back to watch his shaft sink into her bent, bucking, and wailing body. He leant over her, clutched her breasts and whispered to her.

"Master's going to give his little girl what she needs. Nice and deep. It'll only hurt for a little while. Are you ready?" She whimpered, and then nodded.

"Good girl." He straightened up and pulled out almost to his head, then slowly, firmly pushed into her until his balls were pressed against her.

He took her as he had promised, shafting her long, slow, and deep. Her whimpers changed to moans. She pushed back. He shortened his strokes and stepped up the pace. He began to pump her steadily; he could hear her groaning.

Then he adjusted his stance and slammed into her; he smacked one of his palms against a cheek. Her head snapped up and she yelled into the gag. He thrust and smacked her again and then plunged hard and fast, spanking her as she let loose scream after muffled scream. The blood was roaring in his ears.

He pulled out of her. He reached up to the suspension chains and released her wrists. Her arms dropped limp and her legs began to sag. He supported her torso with one arm and pulled off the blindfold. She blinked and gazed back at him with clear adoration in her eyes.

"Ok?"

"Mmph-phmm." She nodded. He pulled out the gag, tossed it away as he stepped in front of her and pulled her upright. He crushed her to him, kissed her mouth hard and probed her deeply with his tongue.

"I'm not done with you yet," he told her.

She smiled and grasped the suspension chains for support while he worked to release her from the spreader bar. He scooped her up and carried her over to the velvet covered foam wedge on the floor, bent, and dropped her unceremoniously onto it. He quickly strapped her ankles and wrists to the sides and then knelt at her upthrust, glistening sex. He grasped his eager, bouncing cock.

"Tell Master what he's doing to you, whore," he told her, as he leaned over her.

She stared at him, wide-eyed and hesitant.

"Say it."

"Master's rubbing his head on my pussy."

"And?"

"Master's, mmm, Master's putting it inside me."

"Putting what inside you, girl?"

"Master's putting his cock inside me. Oh!"

He held himself still, smiling over her.

"Whore," he told her, and then he thrust into her.

"Oowah!"

"What are you?" He drew back.

"I'm a wh-WHORE!" She shouted it as he thrust again.

"Master's going to shaft his whore. What's he going to do?" He drew back.

"Master's going to shaft me; I'm his wh-WHORE!" The angle gave him full penetration. He was hard up inside her.

"You stop, I stop. Understand?" he whispered to her. "Tell Master everything."

She was uncertain, but she nodded. As his pelvis settled into a pounding rhythm, she found the words.

"Master's cock is shafting me!"

"Ow-ah, Master's head is hurting me!"

"Mmmm. I'm a whore; I want it. I want Master to use his slut. Oh! It hurts! Oh!"

He released the clamps.

"Oh! Oh, no; it hurts!"

He took a breast and pressed an aching nipple into his mouth, drawing the painful circulation back to it.

"Oh no, don't! Oh please don't! Please! Ohhh!"




Faint Heart Never Won Fair Lady



He took his time, settling into a steady, long slide as her breathing deepened. Her voice lowered and grew husky.

"I love being spread for you. I want you to fuck me wide open; I want you to ball me 'til I bleed. I'm your sex slave. I'll do anything for the hurt, I want it. I love your cock. I love it in me. Please don't stop. I'll do anything, please don't stop. I'll do anything for you."

Her back was tightening like a slowly wound spring, her hands were clenching.

"Hold it back."

He pulled the bullet out of his pocket and turned it on, holding it close to her ear while he fucked her.

"Oh no, please! I'm trying. Please don't!"

"Look at me. Hold it back."

He pressed it to her clitoris. Her eyes widened as the swollen nub thrummed like a taught, plucked string. Then her head pushed back against the firm, supporting foam; she closed her eyes, and let out a long, wailing cry as clenching, undulating waves pulsed through her sex and pulled deep on her womb.

He turned off the vibrator and pocketed it again, holding himself still inside her. He waited until her panting had subsided, then slowly resumed.

"Look at me."

She struggled to hold her eyelids open, to focus on his serious, intense face moving above her.

"Master says when you are done, girl. Tell Master what he is doing to you."

"Oh no. Oh please."

"Tell Master."

"Master is fucking me," she whispered. "Master is still... Oh! Oh God, please!"

He gripped her shoulders and kept pumping as she rocked again on the agonizing waves of her rapture. He stayed inside her until the final spasm had passed.

He pulled his hard shaft out of her, and uncuffed her from the wedge. He rolled her onto the rubber tiled flooring, and settled his back into the incline.

"You have one last duty to perform, whore."

She moaned and crawled to him on her hands and knees.

"Suck it; and do a good job."

She cupped his balls in one hand, and gently licked and sucked her juice from the underside of his cock. She wet her lips and pressed them to the tip of his head and then slowly, gently, sucked him into her mouth. Keeping her lips just behind his head, she held his shaft and gently pivoted her lips around his ridge while fluttering her tongue over its underside.

She worked past his ridge and then smoothly sucked down on him. She worked a long, smooth suction up and down on his shaft, and then flicked at his ridge and slit with her tongue. He sighed as felt a flush of warmth spread from the base of his cock and through his groin to his thighs.

She took him deeper; he felt the sensitizing of his head as it bumped against the back of her throat. Her rising and falling upon him grew faster. Her breathing held her steady until she felt the taste of his pre-cum.

He was tensing. She pulled up to work around his ridge while her hand slid between her legs to collect her juice. She spread it on his cock and quickly slid his wet skin over his shaft. His balls pulled up hard. His prostate stiffened, his legs began to shake and his back arched. 

His muscles grew rigid, relaxed briefly and then the first contraction sent a spurt of semen into her mouth. She swallowed quickly as he sent her a second, larger dousing. Before she could swallow his second eruption, he was having a series of deep, pulsing contractions and pumping out his flow into her gulping, choking mouth.

He had just enough energy to look into her raised face and see his cum oozing down her chin and neck.

"Good girl," he whispered, before he fell back, eyes closed, drained and exhausted.

*******

"Does it burn, Jack?"

Christine's eyes glinted devilishly as she looked down at his straining chest.

"Not as much as your ass is gonna, after I've paddled it tonight."

"I don't think so. You know Mistress is going to whip you if you don't complete that rep."

He sent the weighted bar soaring up to her and dropped it onto the stand.

"That says Master rules tonight, little girl. Let's go."

At the next bench along, Helen smiled at the wide-eyed eavesdropper she was spotting. They both watched Jack push Christine up against the wall and force a scorching French kiss on her before the happy coupled left for the showers.

"Demonstrative, isn't he?" said her partner.

"Actually, he used to be a very cool, reserved character," mused Helen. "In fact, he found it very hard to express his feelings, at one time."

"No! Really? What the hell happened?"

"He came across an old saying. Come on, you have another set."

"What was the saying?" he asked as he settled back down on the bench.

"Faint heart never won fair lady," Helen told him, and smiled.



Faint Star



"I want everything you can find on former child stars." Nelson slapped a long list on Chloe's desk. "I want to know who's in rehab, who got fat, who went bald, who's gay, who's dead... I want pictures, but definitely interviews... I'll take anything."

Chloe stopped chewing on her pen cap long enough to look away from her computer screen at her boss. "You want interviews with the dead guys, too?"

Nelson raised his eyebrow and smirked. "If you can get that, I'll run it front page."

"If I can get that, I'll take it to the Enquirer—they pay more," Chloe snapped back, giving him a lopsided smile. 

"Ooooo, you bitch!" Nelson picked up the paper and waved it at her. "Careful, or The Star won't be paying you at all. Now, research, missy... I wanna know what happened to that little freckled kid from Lost in Space and, more importantly, so do our readers."

Chloe snatched the paper from his hand. "Our readers also want to know who last saw Elvis and where the last alien abduction probe took place."

He grinned. "See... be thankful I didn't give you those."

"Riiiight." She rolled her eyes. "Thanks, boss."

"You're welcome," he winked, heading toward his office.

"Billy Mumy," Chloe called after him. "He did that weird song, 'Fish Heads.'" 

Nelson stopped, turning to face her. "What?"

"The kid from Lost in Space," Chloe replied. "He did that song, you know, 'Fish heads, fish heads, roly poly fish heads...'"

"Really?" Nelson cocked his head at her. "See, I picked the right girl, didn't I?"

Chloe sighed. Probably, she agreed silently, picking up and scanning the list. Willie Aames—wasn't he the kid from Eight is Enough? Not the little one... one of the older brothers, the blonde one, the cute one... what was his name...? Tommy! She had such a crush on him as a kid, she remembered. She'd had crushes on half the people on the list, she realized with a smile.

She typed Danny Bonaduce into her search engine, pulling up a picture of the little smartass redhead from the Partridge Family. What the hell happened to him? she wondered. It wasn't long before she found out.

* * * *

Chloe would do pretty much anything for her job. That, apparently, included fucking Danny Bonaduce, former geeky redhead on The Partridge Family. Funny, she thought it was going to be some sort of sacrifice, a pity fuck, but he turned out to be a pretty good lover, considering how much they'd both had to drink that night.

Of course, the whole situation came with the usual first-time one-night-stand tension—does he like that...oh, that's good, but ouch, ouch, elbow on the hair... oh no, not the plunging tongue kiss! But that tension also proved to make it hotter, that newness in the moment, coupled with the fact that, while he might be a "washed up" child star, at one time this guy had women following him around like bitches in heat.

He was strong, well-muscled, and had a cocky sort of confidence in bed she associated with men who were unsure and a little soft underneath. She realized, as he slid inside her for the second time that night—condom firmly secured, that much she wasn't willing to risk—that this man would tell her anything she wanted to know when it was all said and done. 

The second time took longer, thankfully, and she led him over to his back so she could finish herself, his hands cupping the full weight of her breasts, his cock busy up inside her, but it was her fingers rubbing her clit that would bring it all home, and that's where she focused, eyes closed, wondering for one brief, dizzy moment before she came what Danny Bonaduce would think if he knew she was fantasizing about some other, bigger star. 

It didn't surprise her that he called out his wife's name when he came, grabbing her hips and pulling her pelvis in tight—it both amused and saddened her to know they'd both been thinking of someone else—but it opened the door and let out a flood as she slithered onto the bed beside him, resting her head on the other pillow. 

She didn't have to ask him a thing. He talked about it all—the alcohol, the drug use, the prostitutes, the fighting—and underneath was the pain, pulsing like some festering, unhealable sore. The perpetual reporter in her thrilled at every detail. His devoted wife was finally divorcing him. His life was falling apart. He couldn't stop using, couldn't stop looking, believing that maybe the next thing would be the magic elixir, the pill that would fix it all.

Chloe propped herself on an elbow, tracing a finger through the center of the tight, red curls on his chest. "Do you hate David Cassidy?" 

"Are you kidding me?" Danny barked a laugh and shook his head. "David Cassidy was the reason I got laid every night. I was the one who consoled the poor girls who didn't make it into his dressing room on the first try."

"So you think they weren't there for you?"

"I know they weren't." He shrugged. "And you aren't either."

"No?" She managed a tight smile.

"I know what I am." He said it with a certainty that surprised her. "I'm a sideshow attraction. A freak. But you gotta work with what God gives you, right?"

She couldn't help herself or her next question. "So why do you think I'm here?"

Danny reached over her and pulled open the motel night table drawer. Chloe didn't have time to react as he lifted the running microcassette player from its resting place on, of all things, the King James Bible. 

"Because you're P.T. Barnum, baby." He dropped the recorder next to her on the bed with a smile. "And there's a sucker born every minute." 

Chloe watched him as he dressed, feeling something thick and tight filling her chest as he pulled on his boots, tucked in his shirt. She dressed, too, more slowly, finding her panties hooked over the doorknob, a high heel tucked under the bed.

"So which rag are you from?" Danny finally asked as he pulled on his jacket, picking up the electronic key card. "No hard feelings, babe. I just want to know where my face is going to end up tomorrow, that's all."

She sighed, reaching across the bed for the recorder, half-hidden by the brightly bleachable but inevitably still stained motel sheets. "It doesn't matter."

His eyebrow went up when she pulled the cassette from the recorder, twisting the long strands of tape around her finger and pulling, breaking it off before dropping it into the empty blue plastic trash bin. 

"You know, P.T. Barnum never said 'There's a sucker born every minute.'" Chloe slipped her jacket on, ignoring the sudden intensity of his gaze. "It was some rival of his who credited him with that particular phrase, trying to disgrace him."

"Yeah, I know." Danny held the door for her as they walked out into the cool night air. "But Barnum never denied saying it."

She frowned. "I wonder why?"

Danny laughed, taking her hand as they walked. "Because he knew the truth. Free publicity is gold."

Chloe glanced up at him, and something caught her attention, something she rarely saw anywhere near L.A.—the twinkle of a faint star in the sky. She let Danny Bonaduce, former child star, lead her toward his waiting car, and wondered which one of them, exactly, had played the role of the sucker that night.



Faintheart to Braveheart.



Manish looked at the calendar. It was three years since his dad had passed away. He still remembered how Manisha, his mother was devastated by his death. But kudos to her, she had selflessly and single handedly put him through College, till he had got his degree. Soon thereafter, he had managed to get a job. Things couldn't have been better & he was happy, that his mother could now relinquish her job. The death anniversary of his father was fast approaching and for the first time in the last many years, he was contributing finances necessary for the expenses. Usually they had most of their relatives arriving at least a day before the necessary ceremonies would be performed. It was no different this time around and the relatives started pouring in for the traditional rituals. The day came and everything worked out excellently and Manish was feeling pretty satisfied, that he had not failed in his duty. As the day came to an end, the relatives began to leave. There were the usual tears, and goodbyes floating around. Manish was busy seeing them off. After the last of the guests had left or so he thought, he proceeded to the kitchen to get a glass of water. As he entered the kitchen, he was stunned by the scene that was in front of him. His father's youngest brother Uncle Siddharth was trying to kiss his mother and she was helplessly resisting him as he continued to forcibly hug her. He had both his arms around her and was forcing her against the kitchen platform, and due to his strength, her back was arched over the kitchen platform. Manish was so infuriated, that when he was about to make his presence felt, he heard his mom say 

"Please, For Gods sake let me go. Somebody might walk in, please Siddh let me go."

Manish heard her and noted that she was referring to Uncle Siddharth as Siddh and that set him thinking that she probably was avoiding him due to the chance of somebody seeing them rather than her resisting him as he had earlier thought.

"Come on Manisha, you have not been with a man since you have been widowed. Surely you need to be taken care of. Why not allow me? You must be masturbating! A prick is a prick and a dildo can never be a substitute for the original. Come on honey; give me a kiss at least."

Manish barged in, and pulled the bastard off her. Before he knew what happened, he had kneed him in his groin. Siddharth yelped in pain and as his head came down, his knee continued till Siddharth's chin made contact with his raised knee. Siddharth screamed in pain and his head snapped back and met the base of Manish's palm hitting his nostril so hard, that the nasal septum cracked. Manish literally dragged Siddharth by his collar and kicked him out on to the street. To say his Mom was stunned with the brutality she witnessed her son let loose on Uncle Siddharth, would be an understatement. 

Manisha tried to thank him and make conversation, but Manish would have none of it, and just plain avoided talking with her. This went on for weeks. She was under extreme strain and pressure, as she just couldn't understand as to why her son had suddenly become a stranger and had stopped communicating with her. Despite Manish realizing the trauma he was putting his mother under, he could not get that last bit of conversation out of his head. It kept coming back to him: 

"Please, For Gods sake let me go. Somebody might walk in, please SIDDH let me go."

She must have been intimate enough with him to refer to him as SIDDH. It was too personal for his liking and every time he thought about it, Manish would seethe in anger. His anger soon turned into hatred, but he had no valid explanation for this irrational behavior. It was probably two months after the incident, when his Mother confronted him one evening.

"Son! I don't know what is bothering you. Ever since that day, it is as if we have become strangers. You don't even look at me anymore apart from not even acknowledging my presence. Son, I cannot take it anymore. I am not responsible if Siddh tried to force me. You were there and you know nothing happened. And if I do not know, what I have done wrong, for you to behave this way, how am I going to improve the situation."

"Mom, if you feel you have done no wrong and that I am not justified in my anger, you and SIDDH are welcome to your opinion. I couldn't care less."

"But, honey, what are you angry about?"

"You think I am an idiot? If you were not instrumental into egging him on, why would he hit upon you?"

"SIDDH is probably six to seven years elder than you. That puts both of you in probably the same age group. Now, tell me honestly, if I was not your mother, would you also not try your luck with a young widow, who has not been with a man for about three years?"

Manish was stupefied with her question. He looked at her anew. She sure had a body, and a great one at that. She was 5 feet 5 tall. She was probably 40 but she had the face and body of a 26 year old. She was to say the least VOLUPTUOUS. Manish couldn't help his dick hardening. Her breasts must be 38D, he thought. He hastily pushed the thoughts away and asked her whether she had ever been intimate with SIDDH. 

She almost screamed, "Of course not! And how dare you insinuate..." her voice trailed.

"Then, do you have any sane explanation, as to how you refer to him as SIDDH!"

"What is your problem son? He was very young when I got married to your father, and he used to hang around me all the time. I've been calling him SIDDH from day one. As a matter of fact, I know that I was his first crush. But, that is a phase every teenager goes through. In fact, if you think back, you too were in love with your teacher, who taught you History."

"I think I understand and Mom, I am sorry."

"That's all right honey. But, what I cannot understand is, why you were so angry. Retrospectively, when I think back, I am unable to understand the extent of your anger, which was nearly bordering on hate."

She was looking at him when she was talking and then her features changed. 

"Honey, my God! You were jealous. That's it. There can be no other explanation."

lHe stood rooted where he was. It began to dawn upon him that she was probably right. She quickly turned and went away to her room leaving him standing speechless. They did not see each other that evening. She remained in her room whilst he stayed put in the confines of his room. The next morning he came to the living room with a lot of misgivings. She was not to be seen. He found his breakfast laid on the table. He meekly ate the stuff and quickly left to return after work in the evening. A week passed by and now he was the one who was traumatized. He had not seen his mother the entire week although she was looking after the house, churning out meals in time, keeping the house tidy and clean etc., But, he was now missing her and he cursed himself endlessly for his foolhardiness. At the same time, he realized the full implications----- he wanted her physically. He decided upon a plan of action. He'd return earlier than her and she would have to see him, as she entered the house. There was no way she could then avoid him. Accordingly he returned early and waited for her arrival. He was parked on the couch dressed in shorts and a t-shirt when Manisha arrived home. She found him sitting in the living room reading a book. She stood in the doorway gazing at him. He looked up at her and smiled. Manisha merely looked blankly at him and moved towards her room. He hastily got up and stood in front of her, blocking her way. 

"Mom, let bygones be bygones. Please sit with me. We need to clear the atmosphere. Puhleez!"

"This is exactly what I was worried about. Anyways, I have located a place for myself and will be out of here next week. You can lookout for a girl in your age group and get married or get laid, for all I care."

"Mommm!"

"Stop that sniveling. You are like your dad. Always seeking self sympathy. Remember the Bravehearts get what they want, irrespective of the odds. It is the faintheart who lags behind in life and that will be your fate, if you don't learn to become a Braveheart." With that she pushed him aside and strode into her room.

He kept hearing her words again and again. He thought to himself, that was she communicating something? He was absolutely sure, he was missing something here. As he continued to ponder, it started dawning on him, that taking matters into his hands would mean that he must make the first move. That is what she had obviously meant. If he had the guts, he should be able to bypass social norms and make his move. As long as he would be stuck with morality and ethics, he belonged to the category of the fainthearts of this world and would have to suffer losing her. If he chose he could become a Braveheart and forget the word incest existed in the dictionary. It was close to Nine in the night, by the time he figured it out. He hoped to hell he was right. He tried her bedroom door. He was on the right track, else, why would she have left it unlocked. He opened the door and saw her lying on the bed. She was sleeping on her side with her face turned away from him. He approached the bed and initially sat on the edge of the bed. His weight caused the mattress to depress, but she did not move. He became bolder and lay down on the bed also lying on his side facing her back. Manisha lay on her side, pretended to be asleep.

She felt her son come up behind her, his erection pressing her back through his shorts. Manish's hand swept up her sari clad thigh and across to her bare stomach. His mouth sought out her neck as his hand encompassed her breast fondling it through her cotton blouse. She murmured 'no' but his tongue was now in action. He licked the inside of her ear while he continued to fondle her breast. He pushed his rod against her back, while he tried to undo her blouse. He struggled for a moment, and then tore her blouse away. He scooped her breasts out of her bra and started squeezing them like a madman.

As he nibbled her earlobe he lightly moaned and let his hand journey down and into her petticoat. He reached her soaking cunt and as his hand went inside, his fingers sought out her pussy. There was now no pretence, and she turned over. She pulled her son to herself and sucked hungrily on his lower lip. Their mouths met and their tongues wrestled as they tongue fucked each other.

He stripped her off her sari and tore her panties down while she pulled his shorts down. His cock sprang free, his swollen tip with pre cum poking into her belly. He left her lips and said, "BRAVEHEART is here to fuck you mom." He pulled her onto him as his hands roughly grasped her ass cheeks, moving her up his body until his hard dick was between her thighs and her pussy was hugging it. She sat upright and holding his cock directed it to her pussy. He rocked her back and forth on him, sucking her nipples and thrusting deep upwards to impale her. She was turned on. Suddenly, he pushed her off him. He got behind her and lifted her hips slipping his cock into her gaping gash. But he didn't just want to fuck her like a dog. After a few strokes he slipped out and she soon found out what he intended to do. She experienced a thrill that coursed through her entire body when she felt his tongue at her asshole. He lubricated her asshole and sure enough his dick was nuzzling her asshole. She wanted to protest, but did not. 

"God I am going to shove it up your ass momzie, fuck you like a whore." 

His cock began to slide inside her. 

"You are sooooooo tight, you fucking whore."

His meat went in up to his balls. 

"Dad ever fuck you like this before?" 

Her face buried in the pillow he began to fuck her ass in earnest. As his cock banged away deep inside her ass, his balls slapped against her butt cheeks. He could tell that she was close to getting an orgasm and he slapped her ass. 

"Cum for me mommy, cum like a whore." 

He pulled her hair and caused her to arch while continuing to thrust into her till she screamed, not in agony, but her first vocalized shrieking pleasure combined with physical orgasm. He slipped out of her and turned her onto her back. She saw his hard wet cock in front of her face. He moving over to her and placed his erected cock on her lips.

"Wow, you are still hard honey!" She said.

"Yes, bitch, now suck my cock!" 

She opened her mouth and took him in her mouth and sucked on his cock. While continuing to deep throat him she lubricated her finger with her wet pussy and brought it up behind him finding his ass. She caressed his asshole with her wet finger and ever so slowly penetrated her finger in his ass. As, she sucked on his cock little by little she inserted her finger. She heard a moan coming from him. She quickly found his prostate and started massaging it. He dug his hands into her hair, his head thrown back as she swallowed all of him deep into her throat. He could feel himself getting closer, and he tried to hold back, but every time he looked at her she sent him over the edge again. He couldn't stop watching her as she ran her hands over his thighs, then reaching to cup his balls in her palm. He moaned again, and she stared up at him with her innocent and yet sexy eyes. He knew he was about to unload as he felt it shooting up his length. He wanted to cumin her mouth and he held her face to ensure, but she was more than willing. As fast as he jerked she took it in her mouth and that which she could not swallow she licked it from her lips, and from the head of his dick, smiling at him as he shuddered. She was a picture with his cum hanging from her lips, and her tongue darting out to catch every last drop and she milked every last drop out of him. She looked at him in wonder. 

"Gawdalmighty! You are still hard!"

Without a word, he moved on top of her. He placed the head of his cock just at the entrance to her cunt and then withdrew it. He continued to play with her pussey with the tip of his shaft. He ran the head around her swollen lips but didn't enter her. She was deeply aroused and she was whining and pleading for him to fuck her. Finally, with one big thrust he entered her. She gasped as if the wind had been knocked out of her. He began fucking her slowly, with soft thrusting and occasional grinding. She was moaning and groaning in pleasure. She had her beautiful long legs wrapped around his back and would slowly slide them down the back of his ass and legs and up again, encircling his waist, drawing him harder into her. Then he began to increase his pace. First he was simply going fast. Then, he began to pound into her violently. She was surprised at the fact that she was in fact enjoying being fucked ferociously and savagely. She began to scream in pleasure while he continued to pound her. She writhed and screamed as she felt her repeated orgasms. Finally, she knew he was about to come. His ass cheeks tightened as did his thighs, and within moments he started ejaculating into her.

"You are good son. Damn good!"

"The show has just begun mommzie...."



Fainting Pleasures



...as he brought to her pleasure's peak, he...

"Jessie."

...looked into her eyes and saw exactly what he did to her...

"Jessie. Hello?"

...she screamed her pleasure as her love juices... "JESSIE!"

"Jesus Christ, you scared the living crap out of me, Seb."

"Well, if you hadn't had your nose so far into that porn novel you're reading..."

"It's not a porn novel, it's a romance novel, and you know how I get when I read."

"It's alright, truly. I was just wondering if you were gonna come to bed tonight? It's one already."

"Yeah, I'm coming."

He notices, probably for the millionth time, as she put down her book and stretched her back, how utterly gorgeous she is. At 5 foot 11, she is taller than most girls, but her height did nothing to detract from her beauty. She had waist length black hair, grass-green eyes, and a strawberries-and-cream complexion. She had a lithe figure, not skinny, but definitely not heavy. She was just right. For him.

She got up and looked at him in that special way of hers, and asked, "Are you coming?"

"Your book got you worked up didn't it?"

"They always do."

She took him by the hand and led him to the bedroom, where she lit a couple of candles. She turned to look at him. He was taller than she, which was a bonus for her. In fact he topped her by several inches. He had short, wavy dark blonde hair that she loved in the morning when it stuck up all crazy. His dark blue eyes could melt you with one glance. His frame was a perfect fit for hers, tall and lean and hard in all the right places. But there was only one place she was thinking she wanted hard right now. She slowly stripped off her clothes, turned around and saw he did the same thing. They climbed into bed, kneeling in the middle to face each other. For each, they were more in love now than ever.

He reached up and cupped her cheek, "Have I told you today how beautiful you are?"

"Only once."

He leaned over and kissed her forehead, her eyes, her cheeks, finally settling on her mouth, which opened to let in his tongue. As they continued, the kisses got deeper, until you couldn't tell where one ended and the other began.

She reached down and touched his leg, slowly sliding her hand up. Just before she reached her goal his hand stopped hers, "No ma'am. Tonight it's all about you." She shivered, but it wasn't from cold.

He leaned over and kissed her again. Sliding his lips from hers, he kissed a trail from her lips to her shoulder, where he preceded to drive her crazy, getting that spot where her neck meets her shoulder. So sensitive. He reached his hand up and gently cupped her right breast, teasing her nipple with his thumb. His other hand was giving her right breast the same attention. All of a sudden his mouth closed over one nipple, sending a shock wave through her. She moaned lightly in the back of her throat.

He slowly pushed her onto her back. He then proceeded to kiss every inch of her. Not a spot was missed. As he came back up her right leg, he gently parted her thighs, kissing the inside of her leg. He worked his way to the very heat of her. He gently parted her lips, placing soft kisses just to the side of her already hot pussy. She started to squirm, thinking if he kept teasing her she just might jump him. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, his tongue snaked out and licked her from the top to the bottom of her throbbing pussy, quickly inserting, then just as quickly came back out. But he was far from finished. He had just gotten started.

He closed his lips around her clit, slowly, lightly sucking on it, just to drive her crazy. As her hips lifted, he started to flick it with his tongue. He knew just what she liked. He pulled her lips even farther apart to get better access, and then dove right in. He went buck wild on her clit; sucking, licking, biting. He inserted two fingers into her pussy, at which point she came, showering him with her juices, which he lapped up eagerly. He slowed his pace, letting her calm down a little. After a minute he sat up, lifted her into a sitting position and kissed her. She loved to taste herself on his mouth. A sweet, salty taste.

He took her hand and guided it to the object of her desire, "Can you tell how much I want you?" "It's very evident," she purred, as she slowly started to stroke his dick. She loved the velvety smoothness. Her pace increased, until he couldn't take anymore. He roughly shoved her back and inserted his hard dick into her hot pussy. He started slow, teasing her. In... out... in... out. She started to squirm underneath him. Her pussy wet his dick, her juices flowing.

"Jeez, you're hot for it tonight, aren't you?" He increased his pace, and then slowed right before she came. He did this several times.

"Goddamn, you're killing, Sebastian."

"That's the idea, sweetheart. Death by fucking." He could tell she wasn't going to be able to take much more, so he pulled out, stuck his face between her legs and started to suck the life out of her clit. When she started a low moan in the back of her throat, he knew she was about ready and rammed into her. He slammed over and over again. She screamed with the pleasure. He felt her pussy start to contract around his dick as her pussy drowned him. He knew he wasn't going to be able to take more of this and increased his pace even more, finally letting loose him own cum, filling her full.

He stayed still in her for a few minutes, and finally pulled out. It was then he noticed she had fainted with her pleasure. He lay down next to her and pulled her into his arms. She slowly came to, looked at him and grinned, and said,"My romance heroines have never had it that good."