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Staci in Paradise Ch. 01

By: staciliv



Since this is about me, I'll start by telling you a bit about myself.

First the personal stuff: I'm female, thirty two years old. I'm employed as an IT manager in Orlando, Florida, a job I've held for about two years.

I was born in Texas, on or around April 1st. I say "on or around" because nobody knows for sure. I was abandoned by my mother when I was an infant, about a week old, left at a fire station.

I grew up in foster care in Texas. I was lucky. I had only one foster family I remember, a nice man and woman who at any given time had several other children of various ages in their care.

At an early age I discovered I was good in school, which was convenient as my looks (I was rather plain) and size (always the smallest) meant I was ignored by everybody my age. Books became my refuge; I read and studied and classes in school were easy for me. I graduated high school as valedictorian with a full scholarship at age sixteen to Duke University in North Carolina.

Still short (5 foot zero inches), small (105 pounds if I jumped up and down on the scale a bit) with mousy brown hair and glasses and younger than everyone else I was even more ignored in college. Again I turned to my books. I managed to graduate with a BS in Electrical Engineering in four years and a MS a couple of years later.

A couple of months after my 22nd birthday I entered the workforce. My first job was as a programmer for a company in Raleigh, North Carolina. I did ok, started to make a little money. Got an ok apartment, furniture, a not too old used car.

After a bit I'd accumulated some savings. I didn't date or buy expensive clothes or jewelry like so many girls my age. One day I took some of my savings and went and got myself a Lasik operation which corrected my vision to 20-20. I pitched the glasses.

Next I went to a good orthodontist and got braces. They hurt and were a pain and I was older than usual for straightening teeth so it took about two years but eventually the braces came off and I had nice, straight, white teeth.

I was sorta flat chested, about an A-cup, which matched my size. I'd always felt inferior due to my small breasts, so just before the braces came off I got a set of implants. Not huge implants - in fact the doctor had to order them specially. C cups, which on my small body made me look like I had really HUGE boobs.

I stared going to a nice hair salon. They put straightener on my frizzy hair and suggested a color other than mousy brown. They were going for blonde, like about 10,000 other girls at work had, but I had a sudden wild urge and had them do it black, jet black, and leave it long and straight. It hung almost to my waist.

Of course one thing led to another. I had to get new bras as I was now a 34-C and my 32-A bras would have to go in the trash. I went down to Victoria's Secret and had a good old time. In addition to bras I bought panties, slips, camis, even some gowns. Then shoes, several pair. Some skirts and tops and a couple of business suits. I blew a couple of thousand bucks that afternoon.

It felt great.

I'd taken some vacation to get my braces off and have the implant surgery. When it was time to go back I dressed in my new underwear and one of the suits. As soon as I arrived at work I knew things would be different.

The guys couldn't keep their eyes off me, mostly my new chest which was straining against the new bra, cami, shirt, and jacket. I wore pumps with four inch heels - no more flats for me! The little 'click, click' noises they made on the floor made everyone look up when I passed. I loved the attention!

Guys would come by my cube all day and flirt which I'd expected but what I didn't expect was the reaction of the women. I was suddenly accepted by the women; I had a lot of "buddies" in just a week. They'd invite me to lunch and to go to happy hour with them.

Happy hour was a lot of fun too. I'd been a couple of times and generally been ignored, but now with my super boobs I got lots of attention. I found all I needed to do was smile at a man and take a deep breath and he'd be right there buying me drinks and dancing.

I met some nice men. One guy in particular, Bob, kept asking me out, dinner and dancing. I accepted; the first date went pretty well, he wasn't too pushy although he wanted to play with my boobs when he kissed me good night. I let him - after all, he'd sprung for steaks and drinks - but stopped him before he got anything unzipped or unbuttoned.

I had a strange feeling when I told Bob good night went inside my apartment, like I was out of breath. I undressed; I discovered my nipples were all tight and pointed - they looked like little pencil erasers and they hurt a bit, like they were real sensitive. Even my satin Victoria's Secret bra felt uncomfortable. I was glad to have it off.

The real surprise was my panties. I'd been wet before of course, had gotten excited but never like this! At first I was so wet I thought I'd peed. I sat on the pot and peed for real then changed into fresh panties, put on one of my new gowns, and slipped into bed.

I couldn't sleep, kept tossing and turning, remembering Bob's passionate kisses, how he held me close while we danced, how nice his hands felt on my body. I wondered why I'd stopped him - I wouldn't do THAT again - wondered what it'd be like to have him in my bed, on top of me, inside me.

I must have drifted off to sleep after all because about that time I came rather violently. Not my first climax, I'd learned to please myself years ago, but a surprise. I was moaning and thrashing and it just went on and on and on. I could feel myself clenching inside over and over and over.

Panting, I finally came down from the incredible climax. I felt soft and wet. I slipped my hand under my panties; sure enough I was soaked again.

I tried to pull my hand out of my panties but I couldn't. I was rubbing myself, rubbing my clit and couldn't stop! I came again in about a minute, huffing and moaning and I still couldn't stop! Again and again I brought myself off until I couldn't stand it! Finally I had one more gigantic climax thinking of Bob, imagining him inside me taking me holding me down, helpless under his weight, feeling his own orgasm inside me..."Bob, Bob, fuck me!" I screamed as I came, pussy spasming violently, legs thrashing, hips rolling upward.

Finally I stopped cumming and fell asleep suddenly, like I'd been hit over the head with a hammer.

Well, you can probably guess where this is going. Next week Bob and I went out again. I'd decided to fuck him before he even knocked on my door and this time when he kissed me good night I didn't stop him; instead I pulled him inside and let him have his way with me.

I was nervous and didn't know what to do but the wetness came back which was a good thing. It hurt a little and I bled a little and Bob was really surprised to find out I was a virgin at age twenty four. After he got over the shock he was all puffed up and proud of himself and strutted around like the king of the henhouse.

Things went on with Bob for about six months. He learned and I learned that I climax quickly and easily and can have about as many as I want. This (Bob told me) was very unusual. He told me some girls couldn't cum at all - which I had trouble imagining - and others could only have one or two.

One night he gave me fifty.

He'd pick me up after work at the apartment and take out for dinner, usually fast food. In the car on the way he'd put his hand in my lap and start playing with me through my jeans or shorts or under my skirt. I'd spread my legs involuntarily (it felt REALLY good) and in a couple of minutes I'd be panting and moaning, hips bucking as his magic fingers transported me to wonderland.

There'd be one or two climaxes before dinner; then if we were in a restaurant the bastard liked to sit next to me and play with me while we ate (or tried to eat in my case). It was embarrassing; I learned to control my moaning somewhat but people still looked at me funny when we'd leave.

Then in the car on the way back to my apartment he'd finger me again, sometimes driving slow so he'd get to hear me beg on the way back. He really enjoyed the begging and truthfully I did too. I knew it excited him and I'd get what I wanted.

Back at the apartment he'd tease me, taking a long time building up before he'd finally take me. He'd bring me off a few more times orally (I REALLY loved his tongue!!) before climbing on top of me.

He liked to hold both my wrists in one of his big hands over my head then guide himself into me with the other. I felt helpless, knowing I couldn't stop him, not wanting to stop him.

Now I began to learn a bit about myself. Climaxing in public to build the ego of a male pig was humiliating; often I thought about it and could hardly stand myself. Being made to beg a man to fuck me was similarly humiliating.

But honestly I enjoyed the humiliation.

In a restaurant booth with Bob's hand between my legs he'd lean over and whisper things in my ear, embarrassing things. He'd tell me everyone was watching me, they could see what a hot little slut I was, how I couldn't get enough, and bingo, I'd oblige by cumming.

Or sometimes he'd tell me he was going to go over to some guy sitting across the restaurant and ask him if he'd like to come over and get me off a few times, and I'd cum for him again.

But far and away the hottest, most embarrassed, and most humiliated I ever got was when Bob would whisper in my ear that he was going to let several men have me.

He'd whisper that he had five or six or a dozen friends who were meeting us at the apartment after dinner and they were going to take turns with me and I had no choice, I'd have to do them all and they'd get me all hot and make me beg each one of them and I'd get to be the little slut I'd always imagined. And God how humiliated I'd feel and God how hard I'd cum!

We got kicked out of a couple of restaurants when Bob started this; I wouldn't be able to control my moaning and once I even cried out, "Yes! Yes! YES!!!" and dropped my fork on the floor and turned over my water glass, spilled it all over the table.

As time went on I became more receptive to Bob's fantasies; sensing my acceptance he got bolder. He'd sometimes make me go to the lady's room, remove my panties, and bring them back to him. He'd make a show of examining them, only half hiding the silky material and openly commenting on how wet they were, "You sure soaked these!"

Whenever he embarrassed me I'd flush hotly and look down, imagining everyone had seen and heard him humiliate me, although in truth this was not usually the case. Bob got quite a charge from seeing my reaction, my obvious humiliation.

And sad to say, I got a charge from being treated in this manner also.

My most violent, satisfying climaxes often happened in restaurants after Bob had pulled some stunt to humiliate me. Still hot and flushed from embarrassment I'd succumb meekly to him, spread my legs a bit to afford his fingers easier access to my wet, seething, roiling pussy. I'd squirm as he fingered my, clamping down on his hand as he got me off.

One afternoon Bob showed up at my apartment carrying a brown paper bag. I wasn't quite ready to go - we were going dancing that evening, I was half dressed, just finishing my makeup.

"What's in the bag, Bob?" I asked.

"Something special for you to wear tonight," was his reply. Grinning from ear to ear he pulled a plastic package from the bag. He went to the kitchen and got scissors from the drawer and began cutting it open. Fascinated, I watched, rooted to the spot. 

Finally he had all the plastic cut away. He was holding what looked like a small garage remote in one hand and a pink flat thing with straps in the other. Placing both objects on the counter he took batteries from the sack. He pried the flat contraption open first, inserted two "AA" batteries, then closed it. The garage remote took a single battery.

"Bob, what the..." I stammered.

"This part is for you," he said in a husky voice. "You wear it under your panties. The straps go around your thighs."

I blushed furiously as Bob explained the device, which he called a "butterfly". It was a little vibrator that I'd wear. Since I'd have on a short skirt it wouldn't show. The remote was used to turn the vibrator on and off and vary the intensity. Bob tried it all out first.

I was reluctant but thought what could it hurt? I mean, this couldn't be as bad as being publicly fingered at a restaurant with everyone watching!

Or so I thought.

Anyway, I slipped the thing on. It took a few minutes to buckle the tiny straps and adjust them. I then finished dressing, panties over the butterfly. It felt sort of weird at first, a little cool but it soon warmed to my body temperature.

The vibrator had a bulge that rested against my slit, not actually inside it. It had a few small bumps near the top - "for friction" Bob told me. When I moved it rubbed against my clit ever so slightly. Overall it wasn't uncomfortable. I soon forgot I had it on.

We went to dinner and for once Bob managed to keep his hand off my twat. After he paid the check we got in his car and drove to a club nearby. Bob parked and we went in.

The club was dark, illuminated mostly by subdued red and blue lights. Bob found us a small table a couple of rows back from the small dance floor. A band was playing rock music.

We had drinks and danced a few times. The band was ok, switching from fast tunes to slow ones, throwing in some oldies and even some country. Soon I was enjoying myself, a little toasty from the drinks, not quite drunk.

After a couple of hours Bob and I'd danced a few times. I was attracting attention from other men. I could see them stare openly at me when they thought Bob wasn't looking, leering at my boobs and my ass. I was wearing a low cut top with spaghetti straps, my black bra straps plainly visible. Four inch stiletto heels accented the natural tightness of my ass which was nicely displayed by the short tight skirt I'd picked out.

Bob and I sat down after dancing several times to fast tunes. We were both a little out of breath. One of the men who'd been watching me dance came over and asked Bob, "Would it be ok if I dance with your wife?"

"She's not my wife," Bob informed him, "but sure, go ahead, dance with her."

I shot Bob a look that said, "What the...?" but the man was already holding out his hand. Without thinking I took it, let him lead me onto the dance floor. The band had started a slow song.

The guy was handsome, tall, a bit over six feet. As he pulled me toward him I felt the hardness of his chest and arm muscles, thinking he must work out regularly. He smelled great, a slight whiff of cologne mixed with clean male scent.

As he began to lead me, slowly swaying, that damn Bob turned the vibrator on.

It surprised me, I jerked a bit away from the man holding me, looked at Bob. He had a huge grin on his face. The man looked down at me, confused.

"Excuse me," I said, "Dang heels trip me sometimes!"

Apparently accepting my explanation that I'd stumbled he pulled me closer. "Oh God," I thought, "What if he feels the vibrator?" but he didn't break his rhythm or indicate he could sense the vibrations.

I had no choice, all I could run off or relax. He was holding me, guiding me he smelled so nice...with a sigh I relaxed, laying my head against his chest.

The vibrations increased in intensity. I knew Bob had noticed my capitulation and was now ramping up the intensity of the butterfly. The tiny knobs thrashed about on my clit, teasing it into an excited state. I couldn't be still, couldn't stand it, but couldn't escape. I began to squirm, trying to escape the maddening sensations.

Feeling me begin to writhe the man moved his hand down and cupped my ass, pulling me tight against him. I felt his hardness through the thin fabric of my skirt. Thankfully because of his height and my shortness it was pressed against my abdomen; he couldn't feel the vibrations which were driving me wild.

We danced on and on. I knew I'd climax soon but was fighting it, fighting not to embarrass myself with this stranger. I felt myself getting wetter and wetter, felt my nipples harden, felt his breath as he kissed and licked my neck, my ears.

The dance was almost over, I was going to make it, I thought! Then Bob, damn him, turned the butterfly all the way to high.

I held onto the man tightly as I climaxed, eyes half closed, head back. I managed to moan softly and not scream which was something of a victory but he knew I'd just cum the dance floor, in his arms, melting into him.

"Damn..." he breathed in my ear.

That was all, just that one word, then the dance was over and he was half carrying me off the dance floor but not back toward Bob. I dimly noted that he was leading me out the door. I wanted to protest but no words would come from my lips; I offered no resistance as he led me outside.

We walked a bit, toward the back of the lot. A blue pickup truck was parked there, a large one with a crew cab. He opened the back door and lifted me inside.

I lay back on the seat. His hand was under my skirt, pulling off my panties and the butterfly. He didn't seem surprised by the flat plastic sex toy -- or maybe he just didn't care. I felt his massive bulk above me, felt him guide himself into my sopping pussy, obviously ready for him.

He took me like that, in the back seat of his truck, still mostly dressed. Over stimulated from the vibrator I came almost immediately as I felt him enter me, this time crying out, screaming as loud as I could, no longer afraid I'd be heard, pulling him to me, begging him to take me hard, roughly, without mercy.

Laughing, he said, "Lets see those tits!" I felt him slip my top over my head, felt sudden freeness as his expert hand found my bra clasp and freed it. Tossing it aside he stared in open admiration at my twin mounds before sucking and licking my nipples.

This was too much! Again I felt my hips begin to buck and roll, urging him on. He responded with long thrusts, burying himself deeply in me. Suddenly, too soon, I felt him stiffen, felt his seed spurting deep inside me. It felt so wonderful!

He lay on me for a minute, panting, then pulled out and zipped up his pants. I gathered my bra and top and slipped them back on. I found the vibrator; now still, out of range of the remote. I stuffed it in my purse.

We walked arm in arm back into the club. Looking around I couldn't find Bob. One of the waitresses told me he'd left. I went outside and looked; sure enough, his car was gone.

The man who'd recently had me - I never learned his name - offered to drive me home. I agreed, thanking him. When we got to my apartment he was obviously rested and was feeling frisky, ready for another round of lovemaking. As he kissed me passionately in his truck parked outside my small apartment I thought, "What the hell?" and led him in, into my bedroom, into the bed I'd only shared with one other man ever. And we made sweet, slow, satisfying love.

Later, much later, I woke to hear the front door close softly. I slipped out of bed and flicked the lock, watched the lights from his truck recede then vanish as he turned out of the parking lot.

And this was how I had my second man.

Staci in Paradise Ch. 02



Bob never mentioned that night. He showed up a few days later; we went to dinner as usual; afterwards we went back to my apartment and made love, again as usual. He left around 10 PM that evening.

The next morning I found the remote for the butterfly on the kitchen counter. I put it with the vibrator in my nightstand.

Things at work were going better. Since I was now being noticed I started to get some appreciation for my work. In a few weeks I was promoted to team leader and put in charge of five other programmers.

I continued to spend money on myself. I invested in nice clothes, had my nails and hair done professionally. I dressed as a business professional at work; nevertheless, I noticed men at work - and women too - continued to notice me. Looking down at my new boobs I thought, "These things are power!"

Bob and I continued to coast along. Our love making settled into a more or less familiar rut. He wasn't so interested in embarrassing me at restaurants any more, seeming content with weekly sex.

Strange I didn't notice his behavior. Strange that I didn't connect the dots, so to speak.

He'd come by on Monday or Tuesday, almost never on a weekend. We'd have dinner and sex; after sex he'd leave, usually around 9 or 10. He never stayed overnight. I never met his friends or family.

One evening around 7 I'd just changed into my jeans and tee shirt after work and was relaxing on the couch, trying to decide whether to go to health club or stay home and watch TV. Bob had visited the night before so I wasn't expecting him when I heard a knock on my door. I peered out through the peephole and saw a pretty blonde woman standing on my stoop.

I opened the door. "Are you Staci Livingston?" She asked. "May I come in?"

Long story short, she was Bob's wife. 

Turned out he was sneaking out for a "night out with the boys" twice a week. The nice lady told me she'd had him followed; I wasn't his only girlfriend; and she didn't think I knew he was married but would I please leave her husband alone?

I cried and cried after she left. It wasn't that we were in love (why weren't we? I wondered) but I'd assumed we were exclusive. Poor, dumb me!

I never saw Bob again. I wish I could say he begged me to take him back, promised to leave his wife and I refused but truthfully he never called or tried to see me at all. Which made it hurt even more, like a knife twisting in my stomach.

And so I went to work every day and went home and cried every night. I felt empty inside, used.

Then slowly, gradually, the sadness turned to anger.

I became angry at Bob. Instead of crying I'd imagine I had him tied spread eagled to my bed while I slowly castrated him with a dull knife. Or maybe I'd beat him with a baseball bat. Or sew him up in the sheets while he was asleep and beat him with a frying pan.

I joined a health club and began to exercise every day after work. That helped too, the exercise made me so tired I'd fall asleep as soon as I got home. An added benefit was I looked and felt even better.

Work went ok. My team completed a couple of projects; they were well received. I started to hear a general buzz around he office, my name was being mentioned for a managerial position.

It was about that time the company went bankrupt.

So I found myself out of work. Not a big deal, I had some money saved - plus with two Engineering degrees and five year's experience I didn't think I'd have a problem finding work. I took a short vacation, played around on the beach at Cozumel for a couple of weeks, then returned to Raleigh and started hunting a job.

Now, I'm skimming over a lot here, mostly because it just isn't that interesting. During my "mad" phase I'd gone to the club Bob had taken me too where I met my second man. I never saw Bob or the man with the blue truck there again, but being a lone female in a bar I was an instant target. I let myself get picked up a couple of times, there were a couple of one night stands and a bout with Trich which made me itch like hell and also made me more careful.

Problem was work. I knew if people where I worked thought I was cruising the bars I'd lose respect. Since I wanted the manager job I needed the respect, so I quit going out and didn't date at all. For six months before the company went belly up all I did was work, exercise, and watch TV.

After my vacation I went on a couple of job interviews but wasn't in a hurry to jump into anything. The third interview changed my mind.

The job was in Atlanta. The man interviewing me was nice, polite, in his forties. He had a picture of his wife and two kids on his desk. He wanted me to set up an Internet site and do some programming for him. He was willing to pay me almost twice what I'd been making at my last job.

Intrigued, I asked him more about my job duties. He swore me to secrecy (common in IT interviews) and told me about his business.

"Actually a woman would be prefect for this job," he said. "The other girls wouldn't feel...exploited."

The guy (I'll call him Fred) owned and operated the largest strip club in the Atlanta area, two adult bookstores, and something called a "dungeon". I started to walk out right then but Fred assured me the businesses were legitimate. He told me he didn't have trouble with the police and didn't allow drugs or prostitution. He wanted to set up some websites to advertize the bookstore and strip club, and promote the dungeon.

Fred assured me I'd be working in an office, not in some sleazy club. He gave me "carte blanche" with respect to equipment. He even offered me THREE times my old salary.

I finally accepted.

The next week I started setting up my office. It was on the third floor of an office building, in the suite with Fred's office. He had an accountant and a couple of secretaries and the lawyer who officed down the hall was on retainer.

I bought computers, a server, and some routers and hired some people to set them all up. In two weeks I had an office network set up complete with development and production servers. I set up email for Fred and the accountant and secretary.

I did some rough drafts of the websites. After talking with Fred we decided to set up the strip club site first, since it'd be the simplest - just a "splash" page with pictures of some of the girls, a map, and a page for special events.

I had the club site pretty much ready to go, so I scheduled a session with a photographer. I discussed which girls to feature with Fred, and between the two of us we decided that I needed to go down to the club and experience it for myself, meet the girls, then decide which to feature.

This made me very nervous - I'd never been to a strip club but I'd heard all sorts of things about sleazy women and men hanging out at them. Fred understood; the next day he introduced me to a huge black gentleman named John who was one of the bouncers at the club.

John was about six-five and nearly three hundred pounds, all muscle. In spite of his enormous size he had a nice, pleasant demeanor. I didn't sense a threat from him. Almost at once I began to feel safe in his presence.

I later found out John was gay.

Anyway, I spent several evenings at the club with John. He'd pick me up at eight in a fairly new Mercedes which belonged to Fred. He was always dressed sharply, nice suit and tie, shiny shoes, not too much jewelry. I'd dress to match, a little more formally than was my custom, like I'd dress on a first date.

John would drive me to the club in the Mercedes. The perfect gentleman, he'd always come around and open my door, have the car valet parked, and usher me inside.

At first I was scared to death. John and I always sat at the same table, in the "VIP" section toward the back. There were four tables in the VIP section, all on a raised platform about two feet above the regular floor. The added height afforded an unobstructed view of each of the five stages. There were also curtains which could be slid out, shielding each table from view of the others.

The main stage was at the other end of the club. It was about ten feet square, hardwood, raised a couple of feet. There was a curtained entrance in the back where the girls came out when announced and two poles near the front. A ledge ran around the outside. Chairs were pulled up to the ledge so the patrons could sit around the stage.

The other stages were smaller, maybe four feet square, the same height as the main stage, scattered throughout the club. Each stage had a pole in its center.

The DJ would announce each girl; music would play and she'd come out of the curtains. Each girl was more or less dressed, usually a string bikini or halter top, short skirt, thong panties, and heels, usually sandals and always with very, very high heels.


The girl would dance to the first song, then the DJ would urge the men on by loudly proclaiming, "Ok, let's get Amber (or Brittany or Angel or Sparkles) to take her top off, whatdya say, guys??" And the men would hoot and clap and a couple would hold up dollar bills, and Amber (or Brittany or Angel or Sparkles) would wait and the music would start and she'd take off her top, usually slowly easing it down her arms, holding it against herself, teasing. And the skirt would follow and she'd be naked except for her thong and heels.

And the men would hold up more dollar bills and the girl would move over to each in turn and let him tuck the dollar under her thong or sometimes (if she was well endowed) between her breasts. And this would go on until the song ended at which time she'd climb down and go to the second stage, and the girl at the second stage would go to the third, and so on with the last girl going backstage or on to do lap dances.

And so it'd go, on and on, until 2 AM when the club closed. The men weren't sleazy like I'd thought. Most were dressed nicely; there were a lot of Beamers and Mercedes in the lot. There were several bouncers; they stayed out of the way unless somebody got a little too drunk or passed out or threw up, all of which were rare. Their only other duty was to stand at the front entrance from time to time - two were there at all times; they rotated - and escort each girl to her car when the club closed or the girl got off work.

I learned a lot about the club in two weeks.

The first thing that amazed me was when I learned the girls weren't paid by the club - THEY paid the club $100 a night (Friday and Saturday) or $50 a night (Sunday and weekdays). They made their money primarily by giving lap dances at $50 each.

Second, the men weren't allowed to touch the girls, not even when a girl, naked except for a tiny thong, was gyrating wildly between his legs as he lay back in his chair.

I don't know how the men stood that. I again blessed a benevolent God that I'd been born female.

There were other rules too, like, unescorted ladies weren't allowed in unless they were dancing; no drugs; the girls weren't allowed to drink on the job (although they encouraged men to buy them $25 "drinks" which were non alcoholic).

Also, most of the girls didn't have huge tits (Although a couple did - they always did real well on lap dances and tips). I figured my store-bought hooters would give most of 'em a run for their money. A couple of the girls were even very flat chested, not much upstairs except large nipples.

Strangest of all, about 1/4 of the girls were married. They all said having a wife working in a strip club "excited" their husbands. A couple of the girls even told me they were pretty well off financially - they just danced "for fun".

The first two times I visited the club were on a Friday and Saturday night; it was pretty crowded and hectic. My third visit was the following Tuesday. The club was pretty deserted at 8:30. I asked John to take me backstage to meet some of the girls.

John opened the small door to one side of the stage for me then stood guard outside it (the bouncers rotated that duty too). I entered into a medium sized room crammed full of dressing tables with lighted mirrors. Racks of clothes were all over the place; the floor was littered with discarded skirts and tops. Apparently all you had to bring was your shoes and thong; everything else was provided.

Wading through the mess I introduced myself to a couple of the women sitting at the dressing tables, waiting to go onstage. Strangely, none were smoking. I asked a girl named Charlotte about this; she nodded toward a "No Smoking" sign I'd overlooked.

As I was talking with Charlotte I heard a coarse voice from behind me. "Well, well!" the voice said, "New meat!"

I turned around and saw a large blonde girl, about my age, dressed in short white skirt and white tank top. She stood several inches above my five foot frame; her heels made her nearly six feet tall. The short skirt and white tank top accented her already large breasts (she was one of the girls who could definitely give me a run for my money). She had a slightly smirky, insolent expression on her face.

I bushed under her stare. "no, no," I stammered, "I-I have a college degree..."

I don't know why in my confusion I thought having a degree excluded me from being a stripper but on a subconscious level I obviously did. The blonde threw back her head and began to laugh; the other girls joined in as I blushed even redder.

"Honey, that's cute - I have a degree too!" the blonde exclaimed. "A couple in fact - BA, MA, PhD." She stuck out her hand. "Myrna Smith, or I should say, Dr Myrna Smith, clinical psychologist." Myrna peered at me, intently. "What are you, twenty one? Twenty two?"

"Twenty nine, actually," I said, taking her hand. "Sorry, I didn't mean..."

"That's all right, darling, no offense. Lots of people make that mistake."

Right then and there Myrna became my close friend. We talked for a few minutes; then I heard the DJ call, "Let's welcome Angel! Angel, come on out!"

Myrna AKA Angel excused herself; she was gone about a half hour before she'd made the rounds of all five stages. "Slow night, no lap dances" she said as she stepped back in through the dressing room door, now nearly naked. She sat down in the chair she'd vacated, right in front of me, unconcerned by her nakedness. I blushed and looked away: Out of respect for my modesty, not her own, she pulled a thin kimono top on and tied the belt loosely.

Myrna was twenty seven. She told me she'd worked her way through college dancing at clubs throughout the Atlanta area; she'd been at this one the past five years. She got her degree, then her Masters, finally her PhD and was a licensed, registered psychologist in the state of Georgia.

"One of these days I'll move on, move to Denver or Philly or Dallas, set up a private practice" she told me, "But for now the money's just too good here." I told her I was a programmer, told her about my job with Fred, explained what I was doing at the club. I was proud of my salary; I let it slip that Fred was paying me $150,000 a year.

Myrna laughed at this. "Hon, I make twice that, easy." I found that hard to believe but Myrna worked out the math for me: $50 a lap dance, drinks, tips, averaged to $1000 to $1500 a night, less $50 or $100 to the club. She'd made over $300,000 last year.

Myrna had a nice house in the 'burbs, drove a Cadillac, shopped at expensive stores. She took vacations to Europe or Hawaii or Tahiti or China. She had no family and no husband. She had what she referred to as a "nice nest egg" of around a half million in stocks and investments.

Myrna and I were soul mates. We started to hang out outside the club, going to dinner or movies together when our schedules permitted (This was sometimes difficult as she worked mostly nights, while I worked days). We shopped together, exercised together, shared secrets.

Myrna had done research in something she called "the dominant lifestyle"; that was how she got her PhD. I had no idea what "the dominant lifestyle" was. One evening Myrna told me all about it in excruciating detail. I was alternately embarrassed, shocked, and unbelieving.

She told me she worked at Fred's "dungeon" a couple of nights a week. "Not as much money as the club," she told me, "But lots easier and more fun!"

Turned out Myrna had helped Fred set up the dungeon and was actually a part owner. Myrna handled things there for Fred, hiring the girls, setting up the rooms, buying the equipment. She said the place "ran itself, pretty much" but I knew it was still a lot of work.

Myrna was a hard worker.

She got me to open up like nobody ever had. The very first night sitting in the dressing room at the club she'd looked me in the eye and said, "Looks like you haven't been laid in a while."

Just like that! I'd known this woman for an hour, and she knew that! I blushed and stammered; she just smiled; but we came back to the subject a few days later. "Bad boyfriend?" she asked, and I found myself pouring my heart out to her, telling her all about Bob and the man at the dance club and the guys at my old job and everything...

She let me run on and on, not interrupting, until I was finally finished and sat sobbing as she held me. After a bit I quieted down, got up and washed my face. 

When I sat back down I started to apologize; Myrna hushed me with a wave of her hand. "I know what you need, Staci. I know just the thing for you."

And so Myrna began to talk to me about the dungeon. She told me what she did there, what the other girls did.

She told me I needed to spend some time working at the dungeon.

I refused of course. I didn't want to hurt her feelings but I couldn't imagine myself as a prostitute, paid to have sex with some sweaty fat man. But Myrna persisted. She explained that the girls at the dungeon NEVER had sex with the "clients" as she called the men. In fact, she told me, girls weren't even allowed to be naked, even topless.

I listened to her describe the "sessions" as she called them. She told me the men would make appointments by telephone. A half hour session was $200, an hour $350. The man and girl agreed in person as to what would take place.

I had trouble believing what Myrna told me the men requested. Being beaten, spanked, or whipped was number one, followed by bondage, humiliation, toe sucking, trampling.

The dungeon was in an old warehouse. It was divided into several small rooms, plus a "living room" with a couch and a couple of chairs, plus a back office complete with monitors. One of Fred's bouncers monitored the rooms at all times. There'd never been trouble but he wasn't taking any chances.

Myrna talked me into going with her and John and sitting in the back office, watching one night.

Three girls sat in the "living room", sprawled on two couches. The doorbell rang; Amy, a blonde who had her hair in two ponytails, got up and answered it. She escorted a nice looking man in his early thirties in.

The man looked around. "Honey, you scheduled your session with me," Amy told him. "Come right this way."

Taking him by the hand she led him to a door. "Go inside and undress," Amy told the man. "I'll be there in a minute."

The man went inside; he appeared on another monitor. He began to undress, folding his clothes neatly. The room he was in was called "the schoolhouse". It was made up like a school room, complete with blackboard, student desks, and a larger desk for the teacher.

He placed his clothes in a corner of the room and sat, naked in one of the student desks. I couldn't help admiring the man's trim form and flat stomach.

And his rather obvious erection. Large, larger than Bob, about eight inches long I estimated, and thick. It bobbed and swayed as he moved around, the purple head engorged.

I licked my lips involuntarily. Myrna poked me and smirked.

In a minute Amy came back from the bathroom. She was wearing black rimmed glasses. She entered and sat behind the teacher's desk.




Staci in Paradise Ch. 02



"Class, rise and say the Pledge of Allegiance!" Amy barked. She and the man stood up and faced the flag in the corner of the room. Naked as a jaybird he put his hand over his heart and said, "I pledge allegiance to the flag..."

After the pledge they each sat down. Amy looked at the naked man. "Now, class," she said, "We'll stand and read our assignments." Nodding to him she said, "Paul, you first."

Paul stood up, looking down at the floor sheepishly. "Well?" Amy demanded.

"Teacher, I forgot to do my homework," Paul admitted.

Amy stood up and came around the desk, an impatient look on her face. "Come here, young man!" she ordered him. Paul shuffled to the front of the room.

"I see you also forgot to put your clothes on before you came to school!"

"Yes, m'am"

"Well, I suppose you'll have to be punished. Go to the cabinet and bring me my paddle. NOW!"

Paul rushed off to a stand up cabinet in the corner of the room, opened it. Inside were several paddles and whips. He selected a small whip (I later learned it was called a "pussy whip").

"WHAT!" Amy yelled as he handed it to her. "THIS WON'T DO! GO BRING A PROPER PADDLE!"

Hurrying back, Paul selected a larger paddle, the kind used in years past to subdue and punish schoolboys. Head down, he presented it to her.

"Assume the position!" Amy commanded. Paul gripped the edge of the desk; this forced him to bend over. "Three should do it - this time!" Amy said, and with that she moved to the side and swung the paddle to Paul's naked ass.

CRACK! The paddle made a loud noise as it contacted Paul's ass cheeks. He jumped, raised up on his toes. I saw the pain register on his face. CRACK! CRACK! Two more in quick succession. Paul's ass now glowed bright red; he was squirming and grimacing from the pain.

And his dick was throbbing. I thought he must be close to cumming! The paddling had obviously excited him.

Amy ordered him to his seat. "Now, class," she said, "We'll do some arithmetic at the blackboard. Paul, if you please?"

Paul got up and stood at the blackboard. "Now, Paul, your first problem is: Two plus two equals what?"

Paul wrote the number 4 on the blackboard in chalk.

"No, no, Paul" Amy chided him. "You know you must write the whole problem! You don't want another paddling do you?"

"No, teacher!" Paul said. He erased the 4, wrote "2 + 2 = 4" in chalk. Amy wasn't satisfied with this; she wanted the numbers in vertical format. She told Paul he was "wrong".

Paul sputtered something; Amy's face darkened and she made Paul bend over her desk and gave him three more "licks" with the paddle for arguing.

And so it went, Paul trying but failing to satisfy his "teacher", Amy paddling him. I saw his member throb and jerk every time she swatted him. I wondered if he'd cum soon.

Amy settled that. She had him bent over the desk, tears running down his face as she paddled his naked ass. "Paul, your job is to satisfy me, to do whatever I want you to do," she told him. "My job is to make certain you can't POSSIBLY satisfy me. Do you understand?"

Paul nodded. "Yes, yes, teacher!" He cried. "I understand!"

Amy smiled. "You're a good boy, Paul. I have a special treat for you." Reaching under her skirt Amy pulled off her thong. It was red, a bright red thong. Standing behind Paul she swiftly slipped it over his head so the crotch rested against Paul's nose.

He inhaled deeply, head back, breathing in her female scent. "Cum and I'll paddle you, boy!" she exclaimed. And sure enough, right on cue, when she said the word "cum" he did, in huge spurts, cumming all over the desk. And true to her word Amy paddled his red ass, slapping him every time he spurted, making him rise up on his toes each time the paddle landed on his naked ass.

When he finished she looked down at the puddle on her desk. "What a mess! Lick it up!"

And he did. Paul licked every drop off the desk.

Amy smiled at him, pulled her panties off his head, and patted his shoulder. "Same time next week?" she asked.

Still panting, Paul nodded and uttered, "Yeah, same time."

She left the room. Paul put his clothes back on and left the way he'd come in, speaking to no one.

I looked over at Myrna. I was flushed, confused by the emotions I felt: Revulsion, wonder, disbelief.

And excitement. No denying it - I felt the familiar wetness, the slow burning in my stomach. I was turned on.

That night, safe at home, I strapped on Bob's butterfly and turned the remote all the way up to high. After several screaming, thrashing climaxes I finally drifted off to sleep. I'd left the vibrator strapped on me; I woke up twice during the night and turned it on again, each time cumming over and over and over as I thought of Paul being paddled, imagining what it would be like to be his "teacher", imaging what the paddle would feel like in my hands.

I knew I'd soon give in and work in the dungeon as Myrna suggested. 



Staci in Paradise Ch. 03



It took a few days to work up the courage to approach Fred. In the meantime I worked hard at my job. The club site was up and running; I'd picked out several of the girls (including Myrna). The photographer had done a good job. Fred and I picked out a couple of batches of photos. I intended to rotate them every week or so, adding fresh photos to keep interest up.

The dungeon was next, so it made sense that I'd want to look it over like I'd looked the club over. Fred didn't know I'd been hanging out with Myrna, though.

Finally one afternoon I screwed up all my courage, marched into his office, and unloaded everything to him. He listened patiently, didn't even act shocked when I asked if I could work at the dungeon part time.

"You know, Staci," Fred said, "I hired you to program my computers."

I assured him I'd not let my programming duties slide. He finally agreed, but told me I'd receive no special treatment, I had to do all the things the other dungeon girls were required to do, like have a full physical and pelvic exam before starting work; a VD and AIDS test which would be repeated weekly, and sign a release. I would also need "training" as he put it. "Myrna can take care of that, you two are so close now."

So I had the tests; I was fine. I signed the release which basically said if I got arrested I was on my own.

Finally one day I reported to Myrna at the dungeon for my training.

I was nervous. It was early afternoon; we were the only ones here. "Staci," Myrna said, "Before you can use something on someone it's important that you know what it feels like. Do you understand?"

I looked down, blushing furiously and nodded.

"Good. Take off your clothes."

Shivering a bit I unzipped, unbuttoned, and unsnapped under Myrna's watchful gaze. Finally stepping out of my panties I wrapped my arms around my bare breasts, shivering a bit. It wasn't really cold, but I had goose bumps all over anyway.

Myrna led me to a device in at one side of the room (we were in the "spanking room") which looked like a big wooden "X", slanted away at the top. It had leather straps on top and bottom.

"Stand here," Myrna pointed to the bottom of the X. I put my bare feet near the center, facing the X. Myrna grabbed my left leg and pulled it over to the bottom left of the X. I felt leather; looking down I saw her buckling a leather strap around my left ankle, binding it to the X. She repeated this with my right leg and ankle; then my left wrist to the top left of the X, right wrist to the top right. I was firmly secured, helpless. I pulled a bit, instinctively, but the straps didn't yield.

Moving close, Myrna whispered in my ear, "Do you know what I'm going to do now?" I shook my head, managed to stammer, "N-no..."

"Anything I want," she said with a cruel little laugh in her voice. Then she turned and walked out the door, pulling it shut behind her.

I was scared, what had I gotten myself into? I thought frantically. My mind was racing in circles, round and round and round.

Myrna left me like that, helpless, strapped in, for nearly twenty minutes. The anticipation was more than I could bear. I dreaded what would happen next but wanted her to hurry, get it over with.

Almost out of my mind with dread and anticipation I suddenly realized I was becoming excited. I felt the familiar wetness between my helplessly spread legs, knew I was opening, readying for a male member to invade me. Damn, I thought, I am a hot pants little slut!

I jerked as I felt leather across my left shoulder. Myrna had returned; apparently I hadn't heard her enter the room. "This is a cat," Myrna explained. "In medieval times the leather tails were studded with lead beads, to further cut the flesh. As you can see this one is all leather."

She drug the cat slowly up, the leather rubbing against my breast, pulling slightly. Then across my right shoulder, the leather tails hanging over my right breast, pulling it slowly up...

Myrna continued this torture for a few minutes. All the while I wondered what it would feel like to be whipped with that thing, wondered if I could take it, wondered if I'd cry and beg her to stop.

Finally she flicked the cat across my bare ass. It made a slapping noise; I jerked more from surprise than pain. Then again she rubbed the cat across my shoulders, my back...

SLAP! Suddenly another slap, a little harder than the first. I jumped and yelped a bit this time, again surprised more than hurt.

She kept this up for what seemed like forever, rubbing and slapping, slapping and rubbing. The slaps got harder and they hurt but I didn't cry out. Across my back, both ass cheeks, she kept slapping, rubbing. I was burning, my back and ass were on fire, it hurt and at the same time it felt wonderful. I was trapped, tied down, helpless, I had to take whatever the blonde dished out...

I heard a guttural cry from far, far away, ahhh...aHHHH...AHHHHHHHHHHH. Somebody was cumming, I thought then I realized the cries were mine, I was cumming, spasming against nothing, hips jerking, head back. Cumming and cumming and cumming, on and on and on.

Myrna stopped whipping me. She gently untied my ankles and wrists. Panting, I nearly fell on rubbery legs. She held me up, cooing to me sweetly like you'd coo to a baby or a small child.

Myrna helped me to the sofa, brought me a glass of water. I drank it greedily. I was slick, covered in sweat, panting. I panted and panted and panted, unable to speak.

Finally I was able to dress. Myrna drove me home, helped me inside, into bed. I fell asleep at once, exhausted, sated.

This went on every afternoon for the next two weeks. Myrna subjected me to various whippings and paddling's. I never lost control again; I knew what to expect. When I'd feel myself going in that direction I'd pull myself back.

Finally I'd been beaten with every instrument of torture known to man. I had to recuperate for two weeks as I was now marked and bruised all over.

Myrna helped me pick out a "witches costume" as she called it. She said it would look good on me with my long black hair and light skin. A black thong and matching black bra (I insisted on Victoria's Secret). A black dress, obscenely short and low cut. Black pumps, six inch heels I could barely walk in. Black thigh high stockings.

I had the nail salon do my fingernails and toenails bright red, "hooker red" they called it. Long shapely extension that made typing all but impossible.

Finally I was ready. I met Myrna at the dungeon on a Friday evening after work, dressed like a slutty witch.

Only the two of us tonight, she told me, with John watching the monitors. She'd picked out a "real nice guy" for me.

I kept fidgeting, looking at my watch, nervous. Finally the bell rang. Myrna answered it, ushered the man in.

He was surprisingly nice looking, a little older than me, mid thirties I thought. About six feet tall, trim, athletic. Soft brown eyes, white teeth that showed when he smiled, curly dark hair. I wanted to run my fingers through it.

I wondered what this guy was doing here. I mean, I'd have rolled onto my back like a June bug if he'd said, "boo!" at me as I imagined most women would. Why was he paying for the privilege of being treated like dirt?

Anyway, I got up. I saw his eyes run up and down my small frame. He hesitated a minute at my boobs: they looked great I admit, framed by the black dress. He stopped at my feet, staring at the tops of my pumps for a long, long time.

I finally walked toward one of the doors, beckoning him to follow me. "Go in here, take off your clothes, I'll be there in a minute" I blurted out.

He didn't seem to notice, just went into the room. I glanced over at Myrna; she flashed me an "ok" sign. I discovered I actually had to go potty, so I walked off toward the bathroom.

On the way back I peeked in at John in the monitor room. My guy was sitting on the floor, legs crossed, completely naked. Like the man I'd seen with Amy he had a huge erection.

He was beautiful.

I walked back to the living room, pulled the door open, and went into the small room. There wasn't much in here - a couple of chairs, carpet on the floor. We called this the "interview room".

I sat down in one of the chairs, crossing my legs. Looking down at the man on the floor, I said, "Well, darling, what can I do for you tonight?"

He crawled toward me on the floor. I indicated the other chair with my hand but he shook his head. He kept his eyes on my feet, one on the floor, the other dangling.

"You have beautiful shoes," he said. "Are your feet beautiful too?"

Laughing, I let the shoe on my left foot, the one dangling, hang down a bit, exposing the tops of my red painted nails. I heard his breath catch. Pulling my shoe back on I said, "Well, I don't know - what do YOU think?"

"Oh, yes, I think so...I think you have the loveliest feet in the world!"

I looked down at him. This was fun; I felt empowered, powerful. Time to play with him a bit. "They sort of hurt, you know? My shoes are a little uncomfortable." I saw him lick his lips, almost drool. "And my new pumps are all scuffed, they need to be polished." This wasn't true, the shoes were brand new.

"I'd gladly give you a foot massage..."he began.

"Maybe later," I told him. "I couldn't enjoy a massage knowing the horrible condition my shoes are in." I smiled down at him. "Do you think you could clean them up a bit for me, darling?"

Drooling, his head dropped. Tongue out like a dog he began to lick my left shoe as it dangled in front of him. Long slow licks from back to front.

I let him go on for a bit then switched legs, allowing him to "polish" my right shoe.

He was breathing hard. "Ohhh, that's great, thank you, darling. How about that massage now?"

He gently slipped the shoe off my right foot, placing it on the floor reverently, and began to rub and massage my foot with both hands. He occasionally rubbed my foot against his cheek.

He was visibly panting now. I switched legs and allowed him to massage my left foot. He did a good job, I'll give him that - it felt wonderful!

Myrna had told me about men with foot and shoe fetishes. I'd only half believed her but my doubts were evaporating. Now the final test.

Reaching down I rolled my stocking down and off my foot. I extended it a bit, touching his lips with my big toe.

Sensing what I wanted he opened his mouth, took my toe into its warmth. He began to suck and lick my toes, one at a time, then putting all them in his mouth. Sucking and licking, licking and sucking...

My eyes closed as I surrendered to the pleasurable sensation. I wondered what his tongue would feel like on my pussy, teasing and licking and sucking my clit.

Automatically I uncrossed my legs. He held my foot in his hands, licking and sucking my toes. My legs spread a bit, eyes half closed, I surrendered to the feeling.

My climax surprised me. I came hard and suddenly, grunting and moaning a bit. Hearing that the man redoubled his efforts, sucking and licking eagerly.

I pulled my foot from his mouth, offered my other foot. Quick as a flash he had my stocking off and repeated his performance on my other foot.

Looking down I saw his member pulsing, throbbing. I saw the sheen of pre-cum on the head, knew he was close, sensed his need. Smiling, I raised my free foot, began to rub his cock with the bottom of my foot.

I felt him cum almost immediately; felt the hot liquid spurting onto my foot, coating my toes. He came and came and came; pouring what seemed like gallons of his creamy seed all over my red painted toenails.

Finally he was done. He made as if to move back, but I shook my head, instead raising my cum soaked toes to his lips. Obediently he sucked and licked until he'd cleaned every drop from my foot.

Rising, I retrieved my stockings and slipped my shoes back on. I patted his head as I'd pat an especially obedient dog, rose, and walked through the door and into the monitor room. I watched that wonderful, handsome man dress and leave.

For allowing my feet to be sucked and my shoes to be licked I was paid $150. Glancing at the clock I was twenty minutes had passed since I'd answered the doorbell.

Hell of a way to make money, I thought.

And so I worked at the dungeon two nights a week, Tuesday and Friday. The nice young man (his name was George) became a regular. Every week or two he'd set up an appointment with me to suck my toes, lick my shoes, and cum on my feet.

We didn't do anything more than that - not for a while anyway; but I'm getting ahead of myself.

The first six months at the dungeon could be described as my period of wonder. I never realized what perverts men were! Myrna tried to explain it to me, all about strong females in their past and events when they were children but it sounded like psycho-babble to me.

All I knew was, I was having fun.

Whenever I had some poor man bent over the whipping horse or on the X cross paddling or whipping him I'd think of Bob and the pain and humiliation would rush back and WHAP! Some poor guy would receive the result of my anger. And it felt good, I felt so powerful. I was their Mistress and they damn well knew it, and I'd make them pay for being pigs!

There were men like George who wanted to suck my toes. Men who wanted to be paddled. Men who wanted to be naughty schoolboys. Men who wanted to dress as women, makeup and wigs and all.

One man wanted me to shave him. I thought he meant his face.

Duh.

During this period I didn't date. I finished Fred's sites; he was pleased, getting online business for the adult toy store. I visited it also; I even bought a couple of toys for myself. Better than the butterfly. More effective.

Myrna and I went to happy hour and dancing a couple of times. It was nice to dance with men, feel someone hold me close, feel his hardness and sense his need as he held me close. Most of the time I went home with Myrna and went to bed alone.

A couple of times I didn't. The one night stands were not as upsetting as the earlier ones, mainly because I'd get to work my anger out on some man's willing ass in a day or two.

Weeks passed.

One day I got a call from a headhunter. He had a job in Orlando. Same money I was making working for Fred but I'd be a Director, in charge of an entire IT department, thirty people.

Leaving was tough but Fred understood. I'd set up his servers and web sites. Before I left I hired him a couple of good programmers and a network guy from my old company. In all he got a good deal; all together they didn't cost him much more than he was paying me.

And so one blustery winter day I said goodbye to Myrna, climbed in my ten year old Acura, and followed the moving van south to Orlando. 



Staci in Paradise Ch. 04



Orlando worked out well for me job wise. I got the usual resistance from a couple of the managers to having a new female boss - especially one who could have passed for a sixteen year old schoolgirl. I worked hard to gain everyone's trust and confidence; they came around slowly.

I had a nice bit of savings by now. I put some of it on a down payment and bought a nice house in a good neighborhood, not too big, not too ostentatious. I traded in my Honda for a new Mercedes.

Outside of work I didn't have much of a social life. No time! I was putting in twelve hours a day, seven days a week minimum - not because I had to, because my job was fun. I was having fun!

The women I worked with were mostly secretaries, a few programmers; only one other female manager. They were friendly but more or less avoided me. Afraid of the girl executive. Nobody tried to get too close to me.

Nobody but Maria that is - but more about Maria later.

Days turned into weeks and weeks into months. Things were going well, productivity was up, the VPs and CEO were pleased. We decided to upgrade servers. Called for proposals; selected the five best, requested formal presentations.

And so one day I found myself in the presentation room with all five managers and a few of the technical staff. We were doing two a day presentations; a vendor team would come in in the morning, give their presentation, then another in the afternoon. Second day, fourth team.

They marched into the room, five men and one woman, dressed in business suits. One of the managers introduced everyone.

One of the men was a tall, handsome guy in a dark grey suit named George Smith.

I still wore my hair long but usually kept it in a bun as I had today. George squinted at me; I knew he was thinking he recognized me, but wasn't quite certain. At the dungeon I used the name Yvonne (in honor of Yvonne DeCarlo, the witch mother in the old Addams Family TV show); I was introduced as Staci. I wore blue contacts at the dungeon to cover my light brown eyes.

Although I doubted George ever looked at anything other than my feet or my tits.

Anyway, I could tell he didn't want to risk asking, how could the little strumpet from Atlanta be the IT director of this company? No way, he was probably thinking.

They gave a good but not outstanding presentation. We'd already more or less decided on the second company anyway. After the presentation they invited us all out to dinner (this was customary). I accepted as did a couple of the managers. We arranged to meet later that evening at a local restaurant.

All through dinner I saw the look of confusion on George's face. I sounded the same but that didn't mean anything; I had very little accent or other distinguishing verbal features. I was dressed in a conservative grey skirt, white shirt, and grey jacket with taupe low heel pumps. I noticed George sneaking glances at my shoes from time to time; I knew he noticed the low heels.

Yvonne had always worn six inch spike heels.

The conversation continued pleasantly. I found out George was from the Orlando area, had lived here the last ten years. He'd been engaged but broke it off a few months back. He didn't say why; nobody asked. The other guys and the woman (her name was Grace) had similar stories.

I told them I was from Texas (true) and had been in Orlando for about six months (also true). I didn't mention Atlanta or ever living elsewhere.

After dinner we had a few drinks; then I begged off, using the excuse that I had to get up early for work. I excused myself, walked out and handed my keys to the valet, and got in my Mercedes.

I drove around the block, stopped down the street from the restaurant and parked. George and two other men came out after about twenty minutes, got their car, and left. I was pleased to note that George was driving.

I followed them at a respectful distance. George dropped the others off one at a time then drove on to an apartment complex. He pulled into the parking lot; I turned in behind him. As he parked and got out of his car I pulled up beside him.

"Get in." I commanded.

His eyes got wide as saucers. "Y-yvonne?" he stammered. I didn't answer, just pointed to the passenger door. Finally able to move, he pulled the handle, got in.

He started to say something but I cut him off. "Shut up, George."

I drove a couple of blocks, then pulled over. Reaching in my purse I pulled out a silk scarf. He drew back a bit but yielded as I tied the scarf around his eyes. I didn't want him to see where we were going.

I drove on without another word, to my house. Not directly there; it was only about a half mile from his apartment. I drove around a bit first with the silent, blindfolded man in the seat next to me. Finally I turned in to my street, pulled into the drive. Opened the garage door with the remote, pulled in. Cut the engine, closed the door with the remote.

"Ok, George," I told him, "You can take the blindfold off now."

He pulled the scarf off his head. "Where are we?" he asked.

"Somewhere you won't be able to find," I answered. "Scared?"

"N-no..."

"Liar!" I chuckled. "No matter. Come with me."

He followed me to the living room. I sat on one end of the couch in the center of the room; I indicated George should sit on the other end.

"George, darling," I said, "I know you recognized me - or thought you did, anyway. I know it'll be a matter of time before you check me out, find out I moved here from Atlanta."

George started to protest, but I cut him off. "Shut up, George!" I commanded. "Then next thing, people will start wondering and at best it'll cause me a lot of trouble and at worst I might lose my job. So I decided to bring you here to head things off."

He looked puzzled. "Let me explain," I went on. "As of right now you will forget Yvonne, forget you ever knew anyone with that name and will never ever try to bother me in any way. Because if you do I'll go to the police, claim you've been following and harassing me, that you've been threatening me and I'm scared. Who do you think they'll believe, George?"

I saw comprehension in his eyes. "You have no proof that I was ever someone called Yvonne, or that I worked in a dungeon. I on the other hand have excellent records of my past employment and education so if you don't want to get locked up as a perv you'll do as I say and not bother me."

George was looking down, at my feet. Damn, I thought, foot perv to the end! I took his face in my right hand, pulled it up and looked directly into his eyes. "Do you understand, George?"

"Yes," he said in a soft, plaintive voice. "Yes, Yvonne...I mean, Staci." He paused one, two, three breaths; then he softly added, "Mistress Staci."

Damn, damn, damn! Damn little perv, why'd he have to be so damn cute, why'd he have to have those soft brown bedroom eyes? Why'd he have to have that flat stomach and those muscled arms and why, oh why was I wondering if his tongue would feel as good on my pussy as it'd felt on my toes all those months ago?

I sighed. "Ok, George," I said. "Here's the deal: I won't deny it'd be fun to play with you. Would you like that, darling George?"

"Yes, Mistress. I want that more than anything - if it pleases you."

"All right then, here's the ground rules. In Atlanta we did what you wanted. Her we do what I want. Do you understand?"

He nodded, apparently unable to speak. "You will do WHATEVER I say WHENEVER I say and FOR AS LONG AS I want, is that clear?"

"Yes, Mistress"

"Good. And I like that, you will continue to address me as 'Mistress'", I continued. I smiled at him. "Last chance to chicken out! I warn you, George, you will not enjoy everything I'm about to do with you!"

"No, Mistress, I want it," George breathed huskily.

"Wait here," I told him.

I went into my bedroom, pulled the door closed behind me. I was breathing hard, flushed. It had been so long since I'd had a man, over a year. I was excited, nervous. I knew George well, better than most women I thought with an inward smirk. I'd seen his beautiful body naked at my feet many times.

I'd see him there tonight, I knew.

I took my time - he wasn't going anywhere, I knew. I stripped off my clothes, started the shower. Took a hot shower, running the water over my body then climbed out. Sitting in front of the dressing mirror I took a couple of hairpins out and let my hair down, out of its bun. I combed it straight, glistening black, down to my waist.

I carefully put in the blue contacts, made myself up using lots of eyeliner and blush - more slutty that I'd done in months. I found my black witch's dress in the closet. A black thong and bra. Thigh high black stockings. And the black pumps.

The black pumps with the six inch heels.

I looked myself over in the mirror. Staci was gone; Yvonne stared back with her slutty blue eyes. The toes weren't painted and fingernails were a normal peach shade but they'd have to do.

I slowly and carefully put on my hooker red lipstick.

All ready! I took a deep breath, pulled open the door that Staci had walked out of an hour before.

Yvonne walked back in.

George stared up at me. I heard him gasp, saw his wyes widen as he saw his beloved Yvonne standing in front of him. "Thank God!" He exclaimed, "I thought I'd lost you!"

And with not another word he fell to his knees in front of me, looking down at the toes of my shoes.

I felt a rush of power, more intense than I'd felt in months. I'd almost forgotten how sweet this could be, a man on his knees before me, begging to be used, to be abused in any manner I saw fit. And now we were in my house; the rules of the dungeon didn't apply.

I had a lot of things planned. Most wouldn't have been allowed at the dungeon.

"Remove your clothes," I commanded my slave, "Fold them and put them neatly on the floor. Then crawl on your knees to my bed." I went back into the bedroom and sat on the bed, leaving the door open.

In a few minutes George crawled obediently in, naked as commanded. I felt a rush of heat and wetness as I saw his naked male form, beautiful in its perfection. I couldn't help noticing his huge erection, bobbing and weaving as he crawled, the head purple, shiny from pre come already.

His need was obvious.

He'd be satisfied all right, but only as a side effect of my satisfaction. This night was all about me!

I stood, reached behind me, unzipped the black dress; let it fall to the floor. I stood before him dressed in bra, thong, pumps, and stockings.

"Like it?" I asked. He looked up, nodded. Judging by the way his cock throbbed I knew he wasn't lying!

I turned around, facing the bed. My ass was inches from his face, my thong a black ribbon down the middle. "Kiss me, George," I ordered him, "Kiss my ass!"

George rushed to comply, showering my cheeks with quick kisses. I pulled away.

"No, slower," I told him. "Stop every few kisses and thank me for the privilege of allowing you to kiss my ass."

I moved back to him. He began to kiss my, alternating cheeks, long, slow, wet kisses, licking as he nuzzled. He did as I'd ordered, stopping frequently to breathe, "Thank you, thank you, Mistress!"

This felt great; I felt in control, empowered. At the same time it wasn't particularly stimulating. I knew as hot and ready as I was I'd cum almost immediately if I allowed George anywhere near my pussy or my toes. Even my breasts weren't safe! I wanted him to work a bit before I rewarded him with a climax.

I closed my eyes, swaying a bit on my heels. After a bit I stopped him, stepped out of my heels and kicked them across the room, pulled my stockings off. I felt his eyes go to my bare feet.

"No!" I barked. "Keep kissing my ass!"

He jerked his head up and obeyed, again showering my ass cheeks with long, slow kisses. He gradually grew braver, moving closer to the thin satin ribbon in the center. I wriggled a bit, encouraging him, feeling him nuzzle my nether regions, kissing and licking, moving the thong aside with his tongue, licking my anus.

I was beginning to go, I knew! I could feel myself responding to his kissing and licking, swaying, my eyes half closed.

I suddenly jerked away. Not yet! I pulled myself back from the brink. Turning, I looked down at George. He had a sad, puppy dog look on his face, as though I'd stolen his candy bar instead of pulling my ass off his face.

I had to get control back! I crossed the room, picked up one of the black pumps, threw it at him. He caught it and without being told began licking it as he'd done in Atlanta all those months ago.

I sat on the bed and watched for a few minutes. Slowly I came down from my impending climax. Gradually I regained control.

I pulled my shoe away. "On the bed, George!" I ordered him. "Lay down face up."

He obediently lay on his back on the bed. Going to a drawer in my dresser I pulled out a couple of pair of panty hose. They should work for this, I thought.

I tied one leg of one of the pair of panty hose to his left wrist, the leg of another to his right wrist. I pulled first one then the other around the bed post and secured them. Next I repeated this with his ankles. He was spread eagled, secured.

I fetched another scarf, tied it around his eyes, blindfolding him. He couldn't see now, perfect! I looked down at my handiwork. One thing missing, I thought.

Reaching down I pulled my thong off. I hadn't worn it long but it was soaked with my girl juices. Smiling, I crawled up on the bed, pulled the thong over George's head, positioning the sopping wet crotch directly over his nose and mouth.

Every breath would remind him of me, I thought.

I slipped out the bedroom door and turned off the lights, pulling the door closed behind me. I walked over to the couch and turned on the TV using the remote. Flipped a few channels. Found a chick flick on HBO, about half over. I curled up and watched it for about an hour.

Finally I opened the bedroom door, went in quietly. I'd expected George's excitement to have subsided somewhat but after an hour his cock was still engorged, hard, pointing at the ceiling. He was an amazing man!

I discarded my bra, moved onto the bed, now as naked as he. Still blindfolded, he couldn't see me.

I dangled my left breast over his mouth, lower, lightly brushing his lips with my nipple. He jerked as the hard point brush his lips.

I felt him open his mouth, raise a bit. I allowed him to suckle my nipple, enjoying the feeling as he sucked and kissed it. Alternating to the other nipple I allowed George to worship my right breast for a bit; then back to my left...Back and forth.

I'd been correct, I was now so hot and wet and ready just having this minimal attention to my breasts was going to result in a climax. I felt myself begin to go...I rose off him, panting a bit.

I fought for control, fought to regain myself. I pulled myself back from the brink, sitting on the bed.

I finally was able to continue. I put my right leg over George's prone body, placing my knee even with his waist, facing his feet. His beautiful cock was inches in front of my eyes. I wanted to lick it and suck it, feel him explode inside my mouth, swallow his seed, taste his maleness. Later, I told myself.

I bent low, my mouth an inch above his swollen glans. I opened my mouth, exhaled warmth onto him. I was rewarded by increased pulsing and a fresh sheen of pre-cum on the head.

I knew he'd go off immediately if I took him in my mouth.

I raised a bit and slid back slowly, positioning my hips above George's mouth. "Lick me!" I commanded gutturally, lowering myself onto his mouth.

George obliged eagerly. His tongue was like a live thing, tossing the swollen bud of my clit from side to side violently. I fought back my climax against this assault, telling myself it was too soon, too soon! Unable to stand more without going over the edge I raised off him.

"Stick your tongue inside me!" I ordered. "All the way in, I want to feel you all the way in me!" I lowered myself again. This time I felt his tongue slide deep inside my slick pussy, felt my juices running down into his mouth. I lay still, relishing the feeling of being tongue fucked.

Almost automatically my hips began to buck and roll. I fought the urge to move as much as I was able, remaining as still as possible. Minutes passed. It felt wonderful.

Raising off George I moved down, grasped his maleness in one hand, and impaled myself on it, taking its full length inside myself. I moaned involuntarily; it felt wonderful!

"Don't you DARE cum!" I ordered. "If you cum before I give you permission I'll make you lick it all out, every drop! Do you understand?"

"Yes, Mistress," he mumbled.

I was still on him, enjoying the feeling of fullness. I knew if I moved I'd climax almost immediately; I suspected he would also. Time for that later.

I rose off George's massive member, watching it appear from inside me, now glistening with my juices. Scooting back again I lowered myself back onto his tongue, drawing the smaller appendage into the place his dick had recently resided. Again I lay still for several minutes.

I repeated this over and over, onto his massive, swollen appendage, lay still; onto his tongue, lay still. It was driving us both crazy! I tried to bark orders a couple of times; the only thing that came out was a guttural moan, completely unintelligible.

Finally I couldn't stand it! With his cock deep inside me I began to slowly raise and lower myself, almost withdrawing him from me on, plunging back down. Two strokes...three...four...

"Mistress...Please..." I heard him beg. I knew he was about to explode, I wanted it, wanted to feel his seed spurting inside me, yet I refused to give my permission! Faster and faster I humped him, torturing him, cruelly using him!

I felt him stiffen, felt him jerk and spasm as he shot hot spurts of cum deep inside me. His climax triggered my own. I screamed and cried out, feeling myself clenching, squeezing, and milking the last drop from him.

I'd warned him! I'd not given permission. As soon as my climax began to wind down I pulled up and back, trailing gobs of white man-juice out of my slick pussy.

I quickly moved back, perching on his mouth. "Tongue!" I commanded. "Lick me!"

He obliged reluctantly, obviously tasting his fluids for the first time, but he was tied, helpless - what choice did he have? I began to hump his face, drawing his tongue in and out of my sopping hole, feeling his sperm draining out into his mouth. I heard him swallow frantically, taking the remains of our love into his mouth, down his throat.

Faster... I mover a bit, allowed him to tease my clit with his tongue. It was heavenly! Not holding back now I came hard, clamping down on his face cruelly. I heard him grunt in pain, but I didn't care!

Again and again I humped George's face; again and again his talented tongue brought me off. I came and came and came. It had been too long since I'd had a man! I was devouring him! I fully intended to fuck him to death!

I don't know how long this went on; hours I think. After a bit I noticed he was hard again. This time he lasted longer when I again put him inside me but in the end he couldn't stand my violent humping and again came without permission. This time he didn't protest as I forced him to swallow his own seed he'd placed inside me.

Finally I was exhausted. I lay on the bed for a bit, panting, regaining my breath, then got up. I left George tied on the bed, covered in our combined sweaty sex wetness from head to foot. I started the shower, took a long, hot shower.

I pulled on some panties, a bra, shorts, a top, and slipped flip flops on my feet. I padded into the living room, gathered George's clothes.

Returning to the bedroom I tossed the clothes on the bed. Poor George was still blindfolded and tied hand and foot. I untied him; he pulled the scarf off.




Staci in Paradise Ch. 04



"Get dressed," I told him. Not even allowing him to wipe his face I forced him to dress, indicated he was to follow me to the car. I told him to get in then wrapped the scarf around his eyes again. I drove him home. Neither of us spoke on the drive.

Arriving at the apartment complex I stopped next to his car, pulled the scarf off. "Goodbye, George," I said.

He looked at me, I could tell he wanted to say something, but I shook my head. "Get out" I told him.

He opened the door and got out. I drove off, glancing back in the mirror as I turned out of the parking lot. He was still standing where I'd left him, watching me drive off, a forlorn look on his face.

I never saw George again. I later heard he'd married a woman ten years older than him, a former professional dominatrix. His family was scandalized.

But I knew he was happy. 



Staci in Paradise Ch. 05



Maria Rios O'Flannery was the admin for the Marketing director, who officed two doors down from me. She was a medium height girl of Cuban descent with long dark hair as black as mine but natural; deep brown eyes, and tan skin.

She dressed well but not in a flashy manner, usually conservative skirts and shirts and jackets and flats or low heeled shoes. Her shirts concealed an ample bosom, at least as large as mine and as I later learned, all natural.

Maria had been with the company for two years before I got there. She was a couple of years older than me. She managed her job with quiet efficiency that effectively hid her hot temper and boiling Latin blood.

Perhaps her most outstanding feature was she was the only woman at the company who was not openly afraid of me.

Oh, I don't mean the women were afraid I'd hit them or fire them or even yell at them (I never yelled at women. Yelling was reserved for men). They were uncertain of me; I was the first female executive at the company and many felt threatened by my position and title. Although I tried to be open and friendly with everyone and not act "like the boss" women - and men to a lesser degree - still kept their distance.

Maria on the other hand treated me like I was one of the office staff. Not disrespectfully - Maria treated everyone at work with respect - but by obvious warmth and friendliness.

Before long we'd developed the habit of having lunch together in the break room. Maria was always on one diet or another - "My Cuban genes will make me a fat Latino one day" she'd say - usually eating tuna and crackers or celery or carrot sticks.

I on the other hand was blessed with some weird metabolism. Now over thirty, I could eat and eat and eat and never gain an ounce. Regular sessions at health club kept me toned but I never gained or lost, just stayed at 105.

At least twenty pounds of that was probably from my fake tits.

Anyway, in deference to Maria I'd restrict my lunch to a TV dinner, usually Lean Cuisine or some such tasteless drivel. Fortunately I'd go on business lunches fairly regularly; I'd eat like a horse on these occasions.

Sometimes a couple of the men would join us; sometimes one or two women. We were never exclusive and I made a point of never appearing to play favorites with Maria. She didn't work for me anyway; there was no problem.

Maria was married to a man of Irish descent, John O'Flannery. John was tall and muscular, a former college football player. Maria told me he'd been drafted by the Eagles and had warmed their bench for a couple of seasons before being cut. He was now a successful accountant.

They had a nice house a half mile from mine. No kids: "We're DINKs," Maria told me. "Double Income, No Kids."

Maria and a couple other women went to happy hour every Friday. She invited me several times; I always begged off but finally gave in. One afternoon Shelly, Maria, Lea, and I piled in my Mercedes and drove a short distance to a place called The Captain's Den.

It was fun in a noisy sort of way. The band started up after we'd been there a few minutes; a couple of men danced with Shelly (the youngest) and Maria (the biggest boobs). Nobody got too drunk. We left around 9; I drove everyone back to their cars. No big deal.

After a few weeks the Friday happy hour became sort of a normal thing. Lea and Shelly would usually go; sometimes a couple of other girls would join us. Sometimes men from work would show interest but since most of the group was married we discouraged this.

One evening Lea and Shelly couldn't go (date and period). On the way to the bar Maria suggested we go to her house instead and I have dinner with her and her hubby.  I was reluctant at first, but she encouraged me. "I'll just call and have him start dinner," she said. "We can just leave my car; I'll pick it up tomorrow morning."

I thought it was a bit odd that John O'Flannery, six foot four, two hundred thirty pound ex-linebacker and successful accountant was "starting dinner" on command from a phone call but I dismissed the feeling. Too sensitive, Staci, I told myself.

Maria's house was a little bigger than mine, with a neat, well manicured lawn. I parked beside John's pickup truck in the driveway and followed Maria in.

John was in the kitchen; the smells from various pots and pans made my mouth water. He smiled at me warmly when Maria introduced him then returned to preparing dinner. I followed Maria through sliding glass doors onto a large deck shaded by a canopy beside a small swimming pool. She excused herself to "go get comfortable", returning in a few minutes in shorts, a halter top, and flip flops.

John brought us drinks, excellent apple martinis, not too strong. We drank and chatted for nearly an hour. From time to time John brought us fresh drinks.

I was a little tipsy by the time he announced dinner was ready. Maria and I went inside, sat at the dining room table. Dinner was enchiladas, salad, tortillas. It was delicious; I ate like a pig! Maria nibbled a bit, obviously still dieting.

After dinner she and I returned to the deck with more drinks. I was quite toasty by now, the food providing only a temporary reprieve from drunkenness; and so was fairly receptive when Maria suggested I "get comfortable".

She ushered me to her bedroom, picked out blue jean shorts and halter top. The shorts were ones she'd worn in high school, she explained, much too small for her now. They were much too big on me but didn't quite slide off my butt. The halter was a better fit, a little big but not extremely so. Apparently my silicone boobs were about the same size as her natural set. I slipped out of my skirt, jacket, shirt, panty hose, and heels and pulled on the borrowed clothing.

Dressed almost alike, we returned to the patio. I noticed an eight foot fence around the back yard; none of the neighbor houses were visible. It was cozy.

Dishes washed and put away, John joined us. There were only two chairs on the deck. In my half drunken state I didn't think it weird that John sat on the deck, a bit in front of Maria and slightly to her side. When we'd run out of appletinis he'd go in and make another batch.

Maria and I were laughing and giggling now, telling funny stories - or at least we thought they were funny. We talked about men we'd known, things we'd done in the past. Nothing too personal, just chatting, having fun. John was mostly silent.

Finally Maria looked over at me. "Do you want to see something really funny?" she asked.

"Sure" I giggled back.

"John! Maria barked, "Up!"

My giggling ran down a bit as John towered over us. He was dressed in shorts like ours and a tank top which showed off his rippling muscles. He was quite impressive!

With a "watch this" wink to me Maria told him, "Ok, darling, strip."

Oh, oh! I thought. I stammered something about having to go now, tried to get up on shaky legs. Maria patted my arm reassuringly. "Don't worry, Staci," she told me, "He's not going to try to have sex with you or anything. Just watch, I bet you'll enjoy this!"

Well, ol' drunk me, ya know? I let her convince me, sat back.

"Ok, John," she repeated.

With a swift motion John pulled his tank top off and tossed it aside, then unzipped his shorts and slid them off. To my surprise he wasn't naked. At first I thought he had on dark underwear, but on closer inspection I could see he was wearing something made out of black material and what looked like shiny metal.

He stepped out of his shorts and stood at attention in front of us, hands clasped behind his back.

Maria stood and walked around him. "You know, Staci," she said in a matter of fact tone, "Men are like rutting pigs. They can't help it, poor things; it's their nature.

"But you can't trust them, you know. I bet you know, don't you?"

I thought of Bob.

"Anyway," she continued, "John begged me to marry him, but I knew the first time he went out of town he'd be porking some little bar tramp. So I made certain that wouldn't happen."

She ran a finger around the front of the device John was wearing. I saw him shiver a bit, saw goose bumps form on his arms. "I had this made special for him," the brunette continued. "Measured him, sent off for it. It came all the way from Germany."

She had him turn around as she explained the device, which she called a "male chastity belt". I'd heard men at the dungeon ask about these but I'd never seen one. I kept quiet; Maria didn't know about my time at the dungeon.

The chastity belt consisted of a metal strap and a cage in front. The strap was leather encased and thin; it ran up his ass crack like a thong and attached to the metal reinforced belt in back. In front it attached to the belt. There was a lock in the middle. Maria showed me the key which she wore on a chain around her neck.

"He can pee if he needs to," she explained, "but that's about all. The cage holds his little weenie down; it can't get hard inside the cage. Can it, darling?" She breathed to him.

John shook his head and looked down.

"If he's really good, pleases me, does all his housework, I let him out once a week for about an hour," she went on, "but if he displeases me in any way I just excite him myself which makes him try to get hard, poor boy. This is very painful, as you can imagine."

I couldn't imagine, I'd never had a dick of my own, only had them inside me. I knew if you bit down or nicked it with your teeth they'd scream like bloody murder. I supposed being confined in a cage, trying to get hard but unable to, would hurt too. I just nodded, fascinated.

"We bought another little addition, "Maria said. She motioned for John to turn around. On the back of the belt was a rectangular mass. "Battery pack," she continued. "Connects to the anal probe which you can't see, it's behind the thong strap."

Maria held up a small plastic box. I reminded of Bob's butterfly remote control. "Three buttons," she said, smiling wickedly. "Push the first one, he feels a little shock, not too intense, but gets his attention. The second button makes it shock him more, hurts - or so he tells me, isn't that right, darling?"

John silently nodded again.

"Button number three" she paused, held up the remote. "Shall we demonstrate number three, John?" she asked.

"No, no, please!" He begged quickly. Obviously button number three was more painful than he'd like!

"We use other methods of discipline," Maria went on, "but I find this to be most effective."

"For example," she said, pressing the first button. As she held it I saw John's face contort in anticipation. He immediately dropped to his hands and knees, forehead on her feet. She released the button, grinning at me; he remained in place, submissively at her feet.

"He stays in excellent shape physically," she continued. "We have exercise equipment.  I monitor his regime; if he slacks off or acts tired I zap him, which really encourages him to work. Just look!" She felt his biceps, hard and taunt. "Isn't he beautiful!"

I had to admit, he was beautiful. He was especially beautiful in his supine position, head on his Mistress's feet like an obedient dog.

Maria explained other benefits of the belt. "He's improved his oral technique. Being unable to obtain relief allows him to concentrate on my pleasure.

"We have several dildos that attach to the front," she explained. "If I want something inside me I can put one on him then have that for as long as I want. He doesn't feel a thing!"

I was getting excited; all this sex talk was having an effect on me. It'd been two months since I'd used George; I was getting horny again. I felt familiar wetness, a burning in my stomach.

"And I can even 'loan' him to my friends for the weekend. They are perfectly satisfied, and I don't have to worry about him sticking his little weenie in anybody but me as long as I have the key"

She saw the flash of desire cross my face. Smiling, she held out her hand. I let her pull me to my feet, let her lead me to her bedroom, heard John follow meekly behind.

She instructed John to lay down on his back on the king size bed. "This is a little toy called a 'queening stool'," she explained. Reaching down, she held up something that looked like a short chair with four short legs and no bottom. The sides were padded thickly and covered with brown plastic.

Maria climbed on the bed, placed the chair over John's head. He lay back, there was a leather harness that fit under his head. Straps connected it to the sides of the chair.

Maria gently helped me undress, and then helped me onto the bed. I sat in the chair, legs spread in front of me and to the side. John's magnificent body was stretched out in front of me. Looking down I could see his neck; his head was under and behind me a bit.

"Pull the straps, Staci," Maria told me. I found the two straps which were connected to the head support. I pulled them, felt them slide in their buckles. I felt John's breath on my ass as he was raised by the leather.

Unconsciously I jerked back a bit. His mouth was directly under my slit now. I pulled the straps a bit more, drawing him up into the center of my pleasure.

John began to slowly lick me. Maria was right, he had excellent technique! He could have brought me off in ten seconds by an assault on my clit but knew I'd cum harder if delayed a bit.

I felt his tongue slide up my sopping hole, felt him pull it in and out, tongue fucking me. He licked and nibbled around the lips of my swollen labia, drinking my juices.

I gave him plenty to drink.

Licking, tongue fucking me, on and on. I began to roll my hips, bucking back onto his face. I found I was in perfect control - if I wanted my clit licked I'd scoot back a bit. If I wanted my slit tongued I'd scoot up. A bit farther up and I'd feel his tongue on my anus.

It was heavenly! On and on. Finally I couldn't stand it! With a final backward scoot I positioned John's tongue directly on my swollen clit and began to hump his face violently. He responded by flicking his tongue across the hard little bud, tossing it back and forth.

I came like a bitch dog in heat! Howling and screaming, head back, I forced myself down onto him, forced his tongue deep inside me. I felt my wetness surging, flowing down me, into his eager mouth. I heard him gulp as he swallowed it greedily.

I raised myself a bit, forcing my clit off his tongue, relaxing, over stimulated. Then I moved up and slowly lowered myself, feeling John's tongue slid deep into my slid hole. I moved up and down slowly, fucking his tongue.

I was panting, wet and slick with sweat. I barely noticed Maria holding me, naked herself now, straddling John. I felt her hot Latin body against mine, felt her hard little nipples against my boobs.

Then Maria was kissing me, a deep, long, slow kiss. Her tongue invaded my mouth, a live thing, claiming me.

I was momentarily startled; I'd never had sex with a female before – other than a couple of midnight fantasies the thought had never entered my head. For some reason now, the situation seemed quite normal! As I continued to hump her husband's face I kissed Maria back hard, passionately. I moaned as she sucked my nipples, licking, sucking, following their bouncing as John's talented tongue brought me to climax after climax.

It was an interesting evening to say the least! 



Staci in Paradise Ch. 06



As Maria and I became closer we began to share experiences, thoughts, dreams, and desires. Except for Myrna I'd never had this kind of close female friend. I'm normally reserved and keep to myself but in a few months I found myself sharing things with Maria I'd never told anyone else - or even admitted to myself.

I told her about how hollow I felt growing up, an abandoned orphan nobody wanted. I told her how it hurt to be ignored in high school and college. I told her all about Bob.

We had a lot of discussions about Bob.

Maria was a good listener. She seemed to understand and encouraged me to open up in a non judgmental way.

One evening was sitting on her deck enjoying my fourth appletini while Hubby cleaned up after another exceptional dinner.

I was pretty toasty; I could hear myself blabbing on and on and laughing as if from a distance, as though I was suspended a bit outside my body. Maria and I were talking about sex.

She shared some of her experiences; I shared mine. I'd told her about the dungeon, which particularly interested her.

"It was nice," I told Maria. "A real sense of power, you know? Just what I needed after Bob."

Maria nodded encouragement. "But not what I'd want as a steady diet," I continued. "No real sex, yuuuck! Plus, whipping men isn't my number one fantasy anyway."

This started a discussion of fantasies. Maria told me she'd fantasized about being taken, not against her will necessarily, but somewhat roughly and urgently. Against the outside back wall of a nightclub, say.

I found myself imagining a man holding me trapped against a brick wall, taking me as I struggled helplessly against him...

It excited me. I felt a familiar wetness and heat, considered asking Maria to "borrow" her hubby tonight.

A few more sips of the vodka. "I fantasize about men," I began. "Not one man, several men." I began to visualize a line of males, naked, lined up at my bed, erect members in front of them like lances, taking turns with me one after the other...

"I suppose," Maria said as I described this debauchery, "It's like my fantasy in a way, isn't it? I mean, you want to have no choice, to know you must do as someone else wishes."

I nodded. "Yeah, I suppose."

We changed the subject; I later excused myself and managed to drive home safely. Mr. Buzzy got a good workout that night as I imagined the men lining up, one after the other having me, the ones waiting cheering and making rude comments about what a slut I was.

The humiliation added burning heat. I hated myself for thinking it but it was true nonetheless. Maria was right - I wanted to be controlled. Owned.

Thinking the word made me climax. I teased myself with it as I moved the vibrator in and out, enjoying the pleasurable sensations. Several men, I thought, lined up, one after the other, taking me, taking turns, holding me down, nothing I could do, I was their...SLAVE...violent orgasm, clasping, thrashing...

Finally I drifted off to sleep.

Maria mentioned my fantasy again the next day at work, casually, in passing. Nobody was around but remembering my shameful thoughts the night before I snapped at her, cross. She left my office with a hurt look.

Over the next few weeks she and I teased around the subject a bit. I apologized for snapping at her. "Oh, that's all right," she told me. "It just means you really want it but it embarrasses you."

I had to agree.

Maria kept on, having me embellish my fantasy. I surrendered to her gentle urgings, adding more details. I told her about the humiliation, how that excited me, thinking of being nothing but a slut to several men, being OWNED (another orgasm, involuntary, on her deck with no stimulation at all).

If I'd known Maria a bit better I'd have known she was the ultimate planner. After a few weeks she stopped prodding me about it. I decided she'd let it go at last.

How wrong I was.

The year ended well. Work was good; bonuses were handed out the beginning of December. Everyone was happy.

Maria insisted I spend Thanksgiving and Christmas at her house. It was warm, friendly. Relaxing.

Now New Year was rapidly approaching. I wasn't dating, still too preoccupied with work. Maria and I kicked a few ideas around. She had family in Miami she told me; suggested we drive down and celebrate New Year's Eve there.

I protested, claiming I didn't want to be a third wheel, but she poo-poo'd that off. "I have a cousin, Carlos," she told me. "He's twenty five and quite the young stud. I'll set it up; he can be your date!"

A fix up! Yuuuch! I didn't want any part of that, but Maria kept pouring appletinis down me and finally I gave in.

So, December 30th we drove to Miami. I insisted Maria let me pay for hotel rooms for us; she arraigned an obscenely expensive suite in a beachfront hotel. I gulped when I charged it on my Visa, but what the hell? I thought, lotta savings, nothing to blow it on.

The suite was really nice. Maria and John moved into one of the rooms; I got the other.

That evening Maria invited Carlos to have dinner with us. Around eight I heard a knock. Maria walked over and pulled the door open. The handsomest man I'd ever seen in my life was standing there. "Maria!" he exclaimed. "Carlos!" Then lots of hugging and rapid Spanish.

Finally Maria led Carlos over to where I was standing on weak knees.

"Staci, this is my cousin Carlos," she said with a twinkle in her voice. "Didn't I tell you he was beautiful? Makes you want to roll over on your back like a little bug, eh, Chica?"

Embarrassed, I stammered a greeting. Carlos took my hand gently - for a wild moment I thought he was going to bend down and kiss it! - then looked down at me with soft liquid brown eyes.

To say he was beautiful was an understatement, I thought. A bit under six feet, trim, muscular athletic build - he obviously worked out - dark hair, a little curly at the ends.

I looked down, suddenly uncomfortable. I knew and suspected he knew that if he wanted he could just pull my clothes off right then and there and have me on the floor in front of Maria and the only thing I'd tell him would be to hurry up.

I felt myself flush, felt the burning of desire in my stomach, felt myself spread, wetness beginning to seep from my pussy as my body involuntarily readied itself for him.

Damn! I shook off the feeling, took his arm, and let him escort me out, down the elevator, out to his car.

We had dinner at a Cuban restaurant Maria remembered then went to a Spanish club for dancing. The fast dances were ok, but when they played a slow dance and Carlos held me tight my traitor body that hadn't had a man in too, too long betrayed me. I could feel his hardness, knew he wanted me. I couldn't stop rubbing myself against his cock, imprisoned in his pants.

Carlos responded my running his right hand down my back, cupping my ass, pulling me toward him. I didn't resist. Eyes half closed I looked up at him dreamily. He lowered his head and kissed me, a long, slow, sweet kiss that was nevertheless demanding.

My panties were soaked with the wetness of my desire. I remembered Maria's fantasy and wondered if he'd choose to pull me out the back door and take me against the back wall of the club. I wondered if I'd put up a sham fight while urging him on, my hand inside his pants, holding him in my fist, pulling him to me...

Only one thing wrong: Nothing would be forced. I'd have let him have me right there on the dance floor if he'd wanted.

Finally sensing my need Carlos spoke to Maria in Spanish, then led me outside, his arm around my waist. We got in his car - "They'll take a cab home," he answered my question. In a few minutes that seemed to take forever we were back at the hotel; the valet was parking the car, we were in the elevator, kissing, unable to wait until it got to the top, his hand under my skirt, rubbing me through my soaking panties, head back, mouth open, a demanding kiss as he rubbed my clit through the thin satin.

I came there, standing in the elevator. I began to moan uncontrollably as my climax washed over me, obliterating rational thought, "Ahhhhhh....UHHHHHHHHHHHHHH...Yeeeeeesssssss!" as I clamped both legs around his hand, hips bucking and rolling, rubbing myself against him uncontrollably.

The elevator finally dinged. He scooped me up in his arms and carried me, limp, to the door of the suite. I handed him the card; in a flash we were inside and he was carrying me to the bedroom (the right one, fortunately). He lay me on the bed gently. Through half closed eyes I saw him rip his clothes off; suddenly he was beside me, naked.

All pretense gone now, I began moaning, responding to his touch eagerly, rising on cue, legs spread, offering myself to him. He took a long, slow time undressing me. His mouth on my skin was like fire, kissing, licking.  I begged him to hurry, to take me, but he was intent on teasing me, making me wait. On and on and on he went. I came twice more as he slowly tortured me.

He's teaching me who's boss, mastering me, I thought. I came again when I thought that.

Finally he was poised above me, holding both my wrists trapped in his strong left hand, too strong for me to break loose as he guided himself into my waiting female wetness with his right hand. I felt him enter me, long and slow as I bucked against him to no avail. He held my ass with his hand, pulling me up to him as he paused, fully inside me.

He waited a minute until my panting subsided somewhat, then began a long, slow rhythm, in and out, in and out. I came again after three or four thrusts, screaming, moaning into his strong chest. On and on and on he went, bringing me to climax after climax.

Finally I felt his pace quicken. I thought he was going to finish, but instead he stopped again.

Looking down at me, Carlos muttered, "You're beautiful, Chica." I smiled up at him. "Maria tells me you have this fantasy," he continued. "I have some friends, we'd like you to be our SLAVE tomorrow, agree to be OWNED by us, be out little SLUT..."

Damn Maria! Hearting those words I began to buck and roll, hips thrashing, clenching inside over and over. From a distance I heard moaning, realized it was me, AHHHHHHHHHHH...YEEEESSSSSSS....

Smiling down Carlos kept it up, telling me I was going to be a SLAVEGIRL and all his friends would fuck me one after the other; that they'd OWN me and I'd be their PROPERTY and I'd do WHATEVER THEY WANTED. And I came and came and came, one long, screaming, thrashing, bucking orgasm that went on and on and on until I finally felt him go stiff, felt him hold my ass,. forcing himself deep inside me, felt him jerk as he poured his hot, sweet seed deep inside me.

Men will often go to sleep as soon as they get off. I'd had that happen and heard of it from friends but never had I ever passed out. This time was an exception.

As soon as I felt Carlos's jerks subside I went to sleep, right there with him still deep inside me. It was as though I'd been hit over the head. I was out cold.

I don't think I was out for long. When I woke up Carlos was looking down at me, running his hand though my hair gently. Turning my head I kissed his hand.

He smiled down at me, kissed me gently on the lips, a long, gentle kiss. I felt his hand roaming over my body, slowly exploring.

After a few minutes it seemed the most natural thing in the world, he rolled on top of me and entered me again, going in easily into my slickness. This time he lay still inside me, kissing me and stroking my face.

"It's ok, Chica," he said. "It's nothing to worry about. Women want to be SLAVES (cumming) of men, want to have a strong man OWN and CONTROL them (again cumming). Maria told me about your fantasy.

Panting, I managed to say, "Uh, huh..."

"I want to give you your fantasy, Chica," he said dreamily. "I want to share you with all my friends, I want all of us to have you (cumming), I want you to be our little SLAVE SLUT (cumming).

"Carlos, stop a minute!" I pleaded. "Are you serious? You want me to be um, guest of honor at a gang bang?"

"Yes, Chica," he said in his husky voice. "It's ok, I'll be there, and I'll protect you."

Nobody said anything for a long while as Carlos slowly thrust in and out. I responded, matching his thrusts, enjoying the rhythm he established.

Finally I breathed a single word into his ear, "Ok."

And came again immediately. Damn, I thought, I'm such a slut! 

The van was a nondescript white, about ten years old. Nothing special about it, parked by itself in the back of the lot, but as I walked on shaky legs toward its white slab side I began to shiver uncontrollably.

Carlos had his arm around my waist and held me close, his presence a steadying influence. I leaned on him, thinking I'd surely stumble and fall without his firm support. The heels of my red pumps made little "click, click" sounds on the grey asphalt.

The van was bathed in semi darkness, the nearest light fifty feet away. It was conveniently out of sight of the club entrance and the other parking lot entrances. Privacy. We'd need privacy, I thought.

The thought made me shiver uncontrollably again in spite of the mild Miami night. There'd be nobody to rescue me, nobody I could turn to for help. Once inside the van I'd be on my own. I was afraid, terrified in fact. But I wanted it.

Oh, how I wanted it.

I wanted my fantasy, wanted to be used, pillaged ravaged by these men. Most of them I didn't know. Most of them I'd never see again.

But for one night, for a few hours I'd be theirs, their slut, their property to do with as they pleased.

A hot flash rose from deep inside and washed over me. I was already wet with anticipation but I felt a fresh flow of my juices soak the satin of my panties as I imagined what I'd soon experience. My face flushed and I continued to tremble, not from cold now.

We'd finally reached the van. Still easily holding me with his right arm around my waist Carlos reached up with his left hand and pulled the side door of the van. It slid back on its tracks with a rumbling sound.

I peered inside. In the dim interior I could make out a small mattress on the floor of the van covered by a plain white cotton sheet. Three pillows were at the head of the mattress, wedged against the seat backs. Only two seats, driver and passenger.

I remembered my high school days, girls giggling and whispering about these kind of vehicles. "Fuck van" was what we'd called them. I'd never actually seen one.

This was my first.

With smooth pressure on the small of my back Carlos urged me inside. I climbed in on my knees, sat on the middle of the mattress and turned to face the door.

The men were there, a few feet behind Carlos. There were at least twenty men in the group. Most were young, teens and twenties, although I spied one or two older faces. All were Hispanic, Cuban first or second generation I guessed. Some had drink cups from the club; a couple held beer bottles. They were whispering to each other, a quiet buzzing I couldn't quite make out. Occasionally one would gesture or leer in my direction.

I could imagine what they were thinking.

I felt the soft material of my bra against my nipples. They were hard little points, two pencil erasers pushing against the flimsy material of my bra and my dress. Carlos had picked out my outfit - a push up bra and teal low cut satin dress so short I was afraid to bend over in it - and I knew in the absence of a camisole my nipples were clearly visible.

My thong was obviously also visible as I tried without success to sit in ladylike fashion on the mattress. I curled my legs under me and finally gave up trying. What the hell? I thought as my legs spread a bit under my weight.

When Carlos had picked out my clothes earlier he'd passed up several black and red thongs in favor of a rather plain white one. I'd wondered about that at the time but now his plan was clear. Red or black would not have shown my wetness as the simple white one obviously did. I was soaked and without looking knew the men could plainly see the wet dark stain of my juices leaking through the thin silk covering.

I heard a collective groan of appreciation from the men, now pressing closer to get a better look.

I was wet, excited, and ready. They knew it; my body plainly sent the message.

Smiling, Carlos entered the van. The men pressed closer around the open door. Kneeing in front of me he cupped my head in his hand and pulled me toward him. His mouth found mine and he kissed me hungrily, hard, his tongue invading my mouth.

I kissed him back passionately, my hands involuntarily splayed on his chest. I felt his hot animal heat as the kiss went on and on. 

His hands roamed over my body, stopping on my right breast. Cupping it he began to rub and caress my soft woman flesh. Moaning as he kissed me I surrendered to the pure pleasure I felt.

Carlos finally broke the kiss. I arched my back, neck back, as he kissed and licked my neck, my ears...then lower, slowly...kissing, licking gently...

I felt his hand on my back. The zipper slipped down smoothly. He moved his hand off my breast a bit; the dress slid down off my shoulders.

The men let out a loud "OHHHHH" of appreciation as my push-up bra was revealed. They began to talk excitedly to one another in Spanish. I heard the word "puta" a couple of times.

I don't speak Spanish but I knew what puta meant: Whore.

Carlos tugged at the hem of my dress. I rose up a bit and he pulled it off me. Next his experienced hand found the catch of my bra. I felt a coolness and sudden freedom as it slipped off my chest, hanging by the straps on my arms.

I flushed as I saw the men leering openly at my breasts. They were quite pretty I knew; the best implants money could buy. Not too big as huge boobs would have looked silly on a small woman; a medium C cup.

This was the first time I'd exposed myself to twenty males. I felt embarrassed, humiliated.

Excited.

I couldn't control my panting. It was if I were out of breath as Carlos pushed me back gently, his hand cupping my womanhood through the silk of my thong. He was rubbing, caressing...My hips rose to meet his hand, urging him on, easing his access.

Suddenly his hand swept past the silken barrier. Dimly I saw him pull the soaking thong off my legs and hold it high in his left hand as his right hand continued to massage my wetness. The men cheered and clapped as he held his trophy high. With a flick of his wrist he tossed my panties into the crowd.

Somewhere in the far distance I felt a flush of warm humiliation. Tomorrow my panties would hang from some man's car mirror for all to see.

I didn't really care. Somehow Carlos slid his pants down; he paused a moment above me. He held my wrists together over my head in his left hand as he guided himself into me with his right.

The men cheered Carlos on as he took me. I was again humiliated beyond words. The humiliation of being taken before twenty strangers, the anticipation, the excitement - it was all too much. As I felt Carlos slide deep inside me I went stiff and crying out loudly moaning, screaming, climaxed.

And not just any climax! It built and went on and on and on seemingly forever. I felt my hips rise as I rolled up to meet Carlos's thrust. I felt myself clenching him inside, squeezing, my body begging for his seed, for his own climax.

Seeing this, the men began to clap and cheer. I heard cries of "Go puta!" and "Do her, Carlos!" along with other Spanish words I didn't recognize.

Again I was humiliated beyond belief. In that moment I hated myself, hated the men, hated the need that had driven me to this.

But the need was still there. And it would be satisfied.

Finally my climax subsided. I realized Carlos hadn't moved, was still holding himself inside me as I'd bucked and squirmed. Now he began to thrust in and out, almost leaving me on each outward stroke then plunging deep into me again.




Staci in Paradise Ch. 06



I'd just had the most amazing climax of my life. Over stimulated, all I wanted to do was lie still - the last thing I wanted was more stimulation! I struggled a bit but Carlos continued to hold my wrists over my head as he pumped in and out.

Whimpering a bit I tried to pull away but his hand under my hips tightened, forcing me to meet his thrusts. I couldn't stand it!

I was learning that she who cums first suffers.

Whimpering and squirming to escape Carlos's thrusts only made the sensation more intense. There was no escaping. I could barely stand it, I HAD to make him stop, give me a break, but he was relentless. I felt like crying.

Then it became not so intense, I still wanted him to stop...then again I couldn't stand it but didn't want him to stop. Panting, hips rolling, I began to meet his thrusts.

"That's it, baby...Come on" he whispered in my ear, urging me on. The men began to cheer and urge me on too as I ramped up to another climax.

I went stiff, screaming, head tossing from side to side as another violent orgasm shook my body. Carlos held my hands tightly which was a good thing - otherwise I'd have scratched his back to ribbons, shirt and all. I dimly heard the men cheering again as their puta entertained them.

"Baby, I could do this all night," Carlos whispered in my ear as I panted helplessly, "But you've got a few other suitors. Can't keep them waiting - it'd be rude!"

I'd thought I couldn't be more humiliated but when I heard this I realized I'd been wrong. I blushed bright red as I felt Carlos again begin to move, to plunge himself in and out. I didn't fight it this time, knowing it was useless. I was trapped, held down, helpless.

A few deep thrusts and I felt his pace quicken, his thrusts shortened. I knew he was close! I matched his rhythm, urging him on

Suddenly he stiffened. Deep inside me I felt his manhood begin to pulse as he poured his seed into me. It was warm, gushing, and felt wonderful!

As I felt Carlos's sperm spurting into me another climax surprised me and I matched his stiffening with my own and my cries of pleasure.

The men were going wild now! As Carlos pulled out I saw the glistening of our combined love juices coating him, felt his cum begin to ooze out of my pussy. Carlos was quite a man - he'd already had me once that night and the second time he still managed to pump a gallon of man juice into me.

Carlos rose to his knees and pulled his pants up. Turning to a handsome Cuban man about twenty five years old he said something in Spanish. The other men laughed; the man Carlos spoke to nodded in my direction and said, "Si, Si, Si!"

The man climbed in the van and quickly dropped his pants. He looked right into my eyes; I could see the raw lush there. I glanced down involuntarily and gasped - his cock was the largest I'd ever seen! Easily ten inches long and thicker than my wrist. I wondered if I could take him, even after Carlos had opened me up.

I knew I'd soon find out.

Apparently Juan (I later learned his name) spoke little English. Leering down he put his hands on my hips and rolled me onto my stomach. I drew my legs under me a bit, spread wide, as he pulled my hips toward him.

He guided his massive member to my slick opening. Using both hands he worked himself up and down my slit, seeking the opening.

Fortunately I was soaking wet; otherwise I'd not have been able to take his massive member. I felt myself stretch as he slowly slid inside me. I groaned and tried to rise up a bit but he pushed my shoulders down and held me for a minute.

The message was clear: Get down, bitch!

I groaned as I felt Juan's massive member slide into previously unexplored depths, stretching me as he went. He paused a moment then slowly began to pull back.

It seemed like forever before he hesitated again then slid smoothly back into me. As I felt him stretching me an involuntary groan escaped my lips, a long, low, obscene sound.

Of course the other men loved that.

And so it went. Juan pulled back, I'd moan loudly, "ahhhhhhh". Then back in again, "UHHHHHHHHHHHH". "ahhhhhh"..."UHHHHHHHH"..."ahhhhhh"...."UHHHHHHH". 

This was in truth not painful although at first I thought I Juan's massive ram was going to split me in two. He raked across my swollen, over stimulated clit every time he pulled back then again when he plunged in. I felt my hips begin to rise to meet his thrusts, enjoying the rhythm he was setting, enjoying the fullness.

And the humiliation of knowing he possessed me, this man I'd not even give a nod to if I passed him on the street now for this short time owned me, controlled me.

He was my Master. I knew it and he knew it. He would do as he pleased with me and I would take whatever he gave, happily or not. It was obscene, humiliating, humbling. But nonetheless true.

I felt myself begin to go, my hips began to hump Juan's huge appendage hungrily, begging him to plunge hard and fast, without mercy. I felt my wetness gushing as I raised my head and began to moan, helpless as my orgasm washed over me. Clasping him, milking him, I wanted him deep, deep inside me.

Finally my climax subsided and I was still, panting, spent. But Juan had responded to my demands and was now pumping in and out quickly. I knew he was driving to his own climax.

Suddenly his hand slapped my ass hard, making a loud smack as he shouted, "Puta!" I yipped in pain and surprise and reflexively bucked my hips, torturing my poor swollen clit. Again he slapped my ass.

The message was clear: Move your ass, cunt!

I had no choice! Stifling my clitoral overstimulation which was not as painful as being slapped on the ass so I complied. I moved my hips back and forth, matching Juan's rapidly shortening strokes, urging him to have his pleasure with me, pour his sperm into me.

I hadn't noticed, but Carlos had moved to the top of the mattress and was sitting, watching. I felt hands on my hair, pulling my head up. Barely conscious of this as my pussy was being ravaged by Juan's mule dick I saw Carlos had his pants down again.

His somewhat softened member was now two inches in front of my nose. It was gleaming with the wetness of our recent sex. He moved forward a bit, at the same time guiding my head down to him.

Without thinking I took him in my mouth and began sucking him gently. I tasted the slimy saltiness of my juices on him mingled with the sharp taste of the last remnants of his cum. 

Still moaning with Carlos' dick in my mouth I kept bucking and roiling my hips, trying to hasten Juan's climax. He grabbed my hips and with a loud groan and a final thrust simultaneously pulled me backward, invading the last inch of unexplored territory deep inside me. I moaned loudly around Carlos' member as I felt Juan spurt, pouring buckets of warm cum deep inside me.

I almost came - I think I would have but suddenly Juan was gone. Almost at once I felt another set of hands on my hips and I was pulled back onto another hard male. He was not as large as Juan.

After Juan's hugeness had ravaged me I'd have sworn I would be so stretched I wouldn't be able to feel anything but the human body is a resilient thing. The new man (I couldn't see his face as mine was still buried in Carlos' abdomen) felt just fine.

I don't know what it is about being taken from the rear, doggie style - perhaps on some ancient, primeval level this is how sex was intended - but I respond to that faster than any other position. Most of my girlfriends do too. Most men don't know this secret. Want to make us cum and cum and cum? Do us from the rear, on our hands and knees, like bitches.

These men knew that secret.

I began to climax almost at once, pulling off Carlos and screaming, moaning, begging to be fucked! Again I paused after my climax; again rough male hands slapped my ass. The man was like a rider putting a reluctant mare through her paces. I was being ridden, galloped, and controlled at the will of my Master.  My rider saw me as I saw myself, a spirited mare being broken to absolute obedience, forced to respond to the wishes of her rider, the male mastering her.

Thinking these embarrassing, humiliating thoughts should have disgusted me, but instead I felt the heat building in the pit of my stomach, felt myself begin to tremble as I helplessly responded to the degradation of being mounted and ridden before these men took it's sweet toll on my female psyche. Overpowered by emotion, stimulated beyond bearing I couldn't take more, couldn't stand it another second!

Yet the man's pounding was relentless as he continued to ride me, continued to slap my ass, urging me on. Helplessly I responded, meeting his thrusts, rolling back into him, feeling him slam into my ass, until finally he didn't need to urge me on. My traitor body began to hump and buck of its own accord, wanting him, needing what he was giving me, urging him on.

I heard myself as from a distance, as though listening to someone else. I heard myself moaning in time with the man's hard thrusts, "UUUHHHHHHHH....AHHHHHH...UHHHHHHH..." I heard the men urging him on, "Fuck her, ride her, man!" I heard the obscene wet slapping sounds as he drove into my ass, heard the squishing as my sopping pussy was filled to the brim with sweet man meat.

It was too much, too much! I begged him to stop, screaming I couldn't take it any more!

His response was to utter in my ear in a guttural, lust filled voice, "Oh, yeah, puta, you're gonna take it all right!" followed by another fierce slap on my already sore ass.

My mind was whirling...I was their whore, their slut, they owned me, this man riding me, fucking me relentlessly owned me, was my master, who I would obey...I felt myself spinning, heard myself screaming, hips thrashing, bucking as my slave girl climax washed over my traitor body, again confirming my status to my latest Master.

I was his, owned, possessed. I knew it. He knew it.

I lowered my head, panting into the sheet. .My hair was wet with sweat from my exertions. I felt hands in my hair, forcing my head up and back.

My eyes were half closed. I expected to see Carlos but he'd moved. In his place sat another man, pants down. Instead of Carlos' softening member there was a long, hard male appendage right in front of my eyes. 

The man firmly guided my head toward him and placed himself onto my lips. I opened my mouth and took him inside, sucking and licking the circumcised, purple head.

I'd never had two men at once! One riding me, filling my pussy, the other in my mouth. I never understood why oral sex was called a "blow job" - I'd have called it "blow fun"; I've given a million and I love every one!

My eager sucking was enhanced by the humiliation of the men watching. They were now making rude comments in English as well as Spanish - "Look at her go, this slut really loves dick!" "See the cum running all down her leg, wow, she's full of it"

Again, this was humiliating beyond belief. I felt used, nothing more than a piece of meat to these men - but at the same time I had to admit the burning humiliation was hotly exciting. I felt more excited than I had ever felt in my life. I was the slave of these men, and I loved it!

I came twice more in quick succession as the unseen male pumped me from behind, each time screaming and thrashing as my helpless slave girl orgasm washed over my body. Whenever I slowed down the man slapped my ass; this encouraged me to hump and buck on his dick without regard to my poor swollen clit or sore pussy.

I wish I could say both men came at the same time! It would have been a dream come true to be filled inside both orifices simultaneously but alas, it was not to be. I give excellent blowjobs; as a result I was soon the recipient of a mouthful of hot cum. I swallowed his massive load eagerly.

This time I was between climaxes. I saw his friends pull the man who'd just cum out of the van; another rapidly climbed into his place. Smiling I took him in my mouth and began to work him. In a minute I felt my rider stiffen, felt his hands on my hips pulling me tight against him, felt his member seek the last millimeter of unexplored territory inside me. His hot cum began spurting deep inside my womanhood, filling me with his seed. Again and again he spurted, filling me until I felt it begin to leak out around his stiff cock and mingle with the stickiness already running down my thigh. He gave one final great groan then I felt his hands loosen a bit; almost at once his friends pulled him off me.

I felt a sudden emptiness. I began to roll over but immediately other hands were on my hips. I felt myself guided back onto another hard, ready male cock as yet another man took me, claiming me for his own.

And so it went, on and on, for hours and hours. I later learned about fifty men had me that night, some two or three times. Some had me doggie style; others on my back. I sucked others off. Sometimes a man would fuck me, cum inside me, and then have me suck him off.

My willingness to perform this last act seemed to amaze the males most of all. I suppose something about cleaning the remains of lovemaking off them marked me as a slut in their eyes more than any other act.

A couple of the guys wanted me anally. I'd wriggle and not let them have me this way - it hurts, plus I'd not suck them or let them fuck me afterwards - so they soon quit trying. I don't think anyone was disappointed.

Finally, dawn was lightening the sky; the last man had had me. I was wet all over from cum, my sweat, and the sweat of fifty males.

I wiped myself on the sheet, cleaning as best I could. Looking around, my bra and panties were gone. I pulled my dress up over my legs and zipped it with shaking hands. I even found both red pumps.

Trembling all over, I didn't think I could walk. Carlos pulled his car next to the van, gently scooped me up in his arms, and set me in the passenger seat. A towel had been folded on the seat; I sat on that which was fortunate as cum continued to pour out of my overworked pussy, the deposits of fifty males.

Carlos drove me back to the hotel, then carried me to my door and inside set me on the bed gently. He kissed my forehead and softly whispered "Adios, puta". I heard the door close.

Summoning all my strength I pulled my dress off and started the shower. I took a hot shower and a hotter bath, soaking in the warm water for an hour.

You'd think that after all I'd been through - fifty men having me over and over for hours - I'd be exhausted but amazingly I felt energized and renewed after my bath. I slipped into panties, bra, loose shorts, and a tee shirt and flip flops. I first visited the local drugstore and picked up a douche. Returning to my room I douched with the warm water and vinegar mixture, flushing the last of the sperm from myself.

Dressing again I drove to a nearby Denny's and had a massive breakfast of eggs, pancakes, bacon, and coffee. The stores were closed for the holidays; I felt like shopping but that would have to wait.

Returning to the hotel, I surveyed the damage. The satin dress was pretty much a goner. It was a cheap one anyway, bought for me at a local sex shop by an old boyfriend. It had a huge spot on the seat from the ride home with Carlos. I wadded it up and tossed it.

Shoes were ok, thank goodness! My only pair of red six inch heels. I didn't usually dress like a ho but sometimes it was fun.

I drove back to Orlando the next day alone. I scheduled a visit to my gynecologist a few days later. He checked; everything looked fine. When I confessed what had happened he gave me a huge shot of penicillin and some pills.

I never saw any of the men again, not even Carlos. Maria said he was doing fine, was back with his wife. That's good. Carlos gave me an exceptional fantasy which I'll never forget but there would have been too much between us to make a relationship work.

I soon left the Orlando area, moved to another state a thousand miles away. It's been a year and a half since that incredible night. I've had some offers but haven't dated anyone yet. That will change soon I think; I'm about ready. Couple of girls at work keep mentioning happy hour. Maybe I'll go with them this Friday.