0 comments/ 16860 views/ 3 favorites Vanity By: Ashson Alison. What can I say about Alison? She was eighteen, nearly nineteen actually, quite lovely, platinum blonde hair, blue eyes, excellent figure and, to top it off, she possessed a natural sexual allure that automatically turned heads. Any male coming in range of her sensual aura was instantly drawn to her, irrespective of age, girlfriends or wives. It wasn't her fault. It was just that indefinable something she had. She was personable, articulate and friendly, and quite willing to lend a hand if needed. As you can see, she had a number of good points going for her. Naturally, as with all of us, she had a few average and a few bad points to help balance out the picture. One of the more average things about her was her intelligence. She passed her exams, but she was never in any danger of being considered a nerd. And despite a few cruel remarks, she wasn't really a dumb blonde, even though she may have given that impression a time or two. It wasn't a lack of intelligence that made her make silly decisions, it was a lack of using the intelligence that she did have to consider the consequences of any course of action she might choose to follow. The real fly in the ointment was vanity. Alison knew she was lovely and she knew that she had sex appeal with a capital SEX. This knowledge, coupled with her vanity led her to try to attach every male she met, wanting to keep them all panting after her. She wasn't sexually promiscuous. In fact, according to rumour she was still a virgin. This naturally helped draw the wolves to her, all hoping to be the first. Alison's main delight was teasing men, promises insinuated but never explicitly stated and definitely never kept. She just liked to have them following her, anticipating the day she'd surrender to one of them. This is partly where her lack of forethought regarding consequences came into play. Her vanity and her careless attitude meant that she just didn't see that her friends and neighbours were getting tired of her antics. The women were especially tired of Alison coming on to and teasing their husbands and boyfriends. A couple of her friends did try to hint to her that she was going too far, pushing her luck with some of these men. Alison's ebullient self-confidence, allied with her invincible vanity, led her to just ignore these remarks. Lesser people were just jealous of her, she could handle men with no problems whatsoever. Ron, on the other hand, was a completely different type of personality to Alison. Where she was spring and sunshine, he was midnight during a cold frost winter. He was the one man that Alison did not want to attach. When they met they tended to circle each other, a cat and dog meeting and mutually agreeing not to fight, but acutely aware of each other at all times. Now, in Alison's opinion, Ron was trying to stir up trouble and seemed to be deliberately trying to pick a fight with her. He'd actually walked up to her and told her that she was a trouble-maker and that she was to cease trying to flirt with Andy, Ron's married brother. Alison was justifiably indignant. She wasn't flirting with Andy, just being polite. As far as she was concerned Ron could go and --- fly a kite. (Alison didn't like to swear. She considered it crude.) Ron had just looked at her and told her she had been warned. About a week later there was a pool party at Ron's place, and both Alison and Andy were among the guests. Alison was in fine form, wearing a miniscule bikini and flirting with every male in site, completely oblivious to the increasingly resentful looks she was getting from not only the women, but some of the men. The men didn't really want to find themselves having to explain 'but she means nothing to me' to angry wives or girlfriends. (And in a couple of instances, both.) Seeing Ron giving her the evil eye, Alison decided to teach him a little lesson for daring to lecture her. Drifting over to Andy she started flirting, smiling and touching, giving him little come on signs. Alison could practically feel the anger coming from Ron, and for a finale she managed to have her bikini top come loose. Not so loose that she was giving Andy an eyeful, or anyone else, for that matter, but loose enough for her to be able to make a fuss while quickly adjusting it, casting a 'so there' look towards Ron while she did so. Ron, Alison found, wasn't where he had been. Before she could turn her head to look for him what felt like a bear trap closed upon her ear, and Ron was leading her squealing and protesting through the crowd to a nearby seat. The crowd, adding to Alison's fury and embarrassment, was laughing and cheering Ron on. Reaching the seat, Ron sat, drawing Alison down and across his knees. Alison squealed loudly in disbelief, never having had it cross her mind that Ron, or anyone, would manhandle her. As for putting her across his knee, Ron wouldn't dare spank her. He just wouldn't dare. It turned out that he would, and the experience was going to be even worse than her horrified thoughts had hinted. To the laughing cheers of the crowd, and to Alison's horrified astonishment, Ron calmly pulled off her bikini bottom, leaving her bottom exposed for everyone to see. Squealing and kicking her legs, Alison suddenly froze at a casual word from Ron. "You do know that when you kick like that, you're flashing your pretty little pussy to everyone?" he murmured. "That's better," he added as she promptly clamped her legs together. "Now you just stay like that while I explain what I meant about not flirting with Andy and the others. This won't really take long, although you'll undoubtedly think it's too long." Ron's hand came down firmly on Alison's bottom. There was an immediate cry of ONE from the crowd and more laughter. A second spank drew a frantic squeal from Alison and a TWO from the crowd. Then came the calls of three, four and five, each matched by wails and squeals from Alison. Alison was twisting about now, trying to pull free from Ron's grasp, not caring if she was flashing the crowd as she did so. The spanks continued, tears gathered, and the crowd continued laughing and counting off the sequence. After eighteen, Ron paused. A voice from the crowd called, "I think she's nineteen." This was answered by a few more stating eighteen, nineteen and twenty. There was general laughter when Marie, Andy's wife, spoke up. "Ron," she called, "Why don't you just assume she's under fifty and continue the count up to that point? Then you're sure to get the right amount." Ron laughed and stood a scarlet faced Alison back on her feet. "Enough is enough," he said. Taking Alison's arm he steered her towards the house. "What are you doing?" Alison demanded. "Where are you taking me? My bathers are back there. I'm half naked!" she wailed. "Don't worry about your bathers," Ron told her. "You'll soon be completely naked. I'm taking you to my bedroom where I'm going to fuck some common sense into you." Alison promptly started struggling and protesting. "No, you're not. No way. I'm not going with you. I'll scream." "Actually, you were doing a fair bit of screaming all through the spanking. Did you notice anyone rushing to help you? Of course, if you prefer it, I could always bend you back over that seat and ravish you in front of everyone. You'll probably find they'll enjoy it and cheer you on. You never know, some of the men there might just want to have a turn as well." Feeling stunned, Alison went with him. "They all know you're dragging me in here to rape me, don't they?" she said in a small voice. "Don't be silly. They just think that we've had a lovers spat and we're going inside to sort out our differences in the time honoured way, with you gracefully yielding to me." "Why would anyone think we're already lovers?" squealed Alison in shock and fury. "I'm not sure," said Ron, sounding genuinely puzzled. "But for some reason everyone thinks we've been lovers for weeks now." Alison felt stunned. "Why would anyone think that?" She put the question to Ron. Opening the bedroom door and ushering her in, Ron shrugged. "If I had to guess, I'd say Marie jumped to that conclusion from something I said to her and promptly spread the word to all her friends." "Wh-what did you say to Marie to give her that impression?" "Let's take off that silly little top. Um, what did I say to Marie? I think it was something along the lines that she didn't have to worry about Andy sleeping with you because I was keeping you too busy to stray." Tossing her top to the side Ron eased Alison down onto the bed. She was looking up at him, appalled. "You told Marie we were lovers?" "Just anticipating what was going to happen," came the reply, as Ron stripped. Alison's attention suddenly snapped back to her present predicament. Appalled to find that she'd not only been side-tracked but dumped naked on Ron's bed while she was thinking, she gave an alarmed squeak and tried to sit up. A pair of hand cupped her breasts and forced her back down onto the bed. Ignoring her protests, Ron settled down onto the bed next to her. "Before I start, are you still a virgin?" he asked. "My honest guess is that you probably are." "Does it matter," snapped Alison. "Only to you. If you're a virgin, I'll start of slowly, giving you a chance to adjust to something new. If you're not, I can drive straight in and let you catch up. Virgin?" He smiled down at her. Alison quailed and nodded. She'd been tempted to deny her virginity, but that drive in and let you catch up sounded rather frightening. "I'm not ready for this. I don't want it. You know I don't." "Unfortunately, I don't care. You've been asking for this for too long. Better me than those two hoons who have been following you around." Even while talking, Ron was gently massaging Alison's breasts. Her hands had closed on top of his to pull them away, but she found she couldn't make the effort, just holding him while he was causing some very odd sensations within her. She didn't want it, but if pressed she'd have to admit she liked it. Alison gasped as Ron leant over and captured her nipple with his mouth, gently sucking on it. She could feel his tongue rubbing over it and his teeth brushing lightly against her flesh. She shuddered. A stray thought crossed her mind. "What two hoons," she asked. Ron raised his head and looked at her. "Those two idiots you attached at the pub the other week. They decided you were a sure thing and were going to take you into the park. I had to discourage them." Alison looked at him with surprise. "He'd been looking out for her?" Then she gasped, as a hand closed over her mound and squeezed. Actually, gasped is probably an understatement. Her whole body seemed to jump at that first delicious, forbidden touch. She'd always been highly practiced at fending off men before they could grope her, and now she found she had no experiences to fall back on. It was all going to be new to her. Alison squirmed about, trying to push Ron's hands away, protesting the entire time. Protests and wriggling were both ignored, while Ron's insistent hands travelled over her body, touching her intimately. When one finger managed to slip between her lips and caress her internally, Alison gave a frustrated squawk and tried to drag the invasive hand aside. To Alison's indignation, Ron promptly turned the tables on her, capturing her hand and pressing it against his erection. Furious she snatched it away, which left her feeling rather foolish a little later when she found her hand, apparently of its own accord, had drifted back and was holding Ron's cock. Alison found her mind going blank as she tried to tell herself to do something. What she wanted to do was push Ron of the bed, jump off herself and run away screaming. What she found herself doing was running her hand up and down Ron's erection, while pressing her pussy firmly against his intrusive touch. Excitement was building in her as she watched Ron suckling on her nipples, felt Ron slowly teasing and exploring inside her, felt Ron's erection filling her hand, heat emanating from it. All too soon, Ron was rolling on top of her, his weight crushing her to the bed, and his erection was pressing firmly against her. Alison could feel him lifting his hips, could feel the head of his cock moving lower, dragging itself down past her mons and slipping between her legs, where it rested against her pussy, gently pressing against her slit. She lay there, looking up at Ron, shaking her head slowly, refusing to admit this was happening. Ron was smiling down at her, his hand between their bodies, gently easing her lips apart. Alison was still denying that it was happening when she felt Ron making his entrance, slipping between her lips and pressing into her. Alison protested, loudly and repeatedly, knowing that it was all for show and she was about to learn what sex was all about. Still protesting, Alison felt pressure building inside her, a solid bar was leaning heavily against her hymen, and she could feel something yielding within her. Her mouth finally closed and she just stared desperately at Ron as he slowly increased his pressure. Then she gave a soft wail as something tore, and the iron bar broke through her defences and surged triumphantly into her. Ron laughed at Alison as she twisted beneath him. "Relax," he murmured. "The worst bit is over and from here on it should just keep getting better." "Easy for you to say," snapped Alison, a hint of a sob in her voice. "You're not the one who's just had a poker jammed up their ass." "It's not your ass, and you seem to be accepting the poker easily enough," came the laughing reply, while at the same time Ron pressed steadily deeper, filling Alison's tunnel, then stretching it and filling it yet again. Alison found herself twisting slightly from side to side, trying to help Ron's entry. Her knees rose, repositioning her hips, giving Ron better access. She gasped as he drove relentlessly on, intent on filling her completely. With a little slapping sound, Ron thrust fully into Alison, pubes mingling and rubbing against each other. He held her there, not just pressed against the bed by his weight but now pinned there, his cock a shaft that had firmly nailed her. Alison felt Ron gently squeeze her breasts, while at the same time he pulled slightly away from her, then pressed back down. Funny little sensations started to ripple through her, the ones from deep inside her almost, but not quite, drowning out the funny feeling his touch gave as he caressed her breasts. When Ron repeated the subtle movement, Alison found herself automatically lifting her hips to meet him. She liked the feel of him moving inside her, even if she didn't want it. Slowly but surely, Ron increased the speed and length of his movements, coaxing a reluctant response from Alison's virgin pussy, a response that not so slowly turned into an eager acceptance and a keen desire. Alison found herself bucking under Ron, carried away by strange emotions, her legs rising and circling him, desperately clinging to him, a lifebelt in what was a sudden sea of turbulent emotion. Pacing himself, Ron drove repeatedly into Alison, his hands clasping and working her breasts while his mouth closed over hers, his entire being wrapped around her while she responded, worshipping his body with her own. Alison was lost to time. All she knew was that Ron was there, in her, possessing her, taking her to places that she'd never been but was now desperate to reach. Not just this time but repeatedly. She could feel him moving faster and strove to match him, eager to please this dominating master she had acquired. Ron came deep within Alison, feeling her respond and come apart in his arms. Their mutual climaxes fed off each other, lifting them both higher until they both faded out and were gone, spent. Lying there in the afterglow, Alison slowly came to her senses. What the hell was she doing here? She'd just been comprehensibly raped by Ron. Shouldn't she be getting up and running away screaming? Or doing something? "How can I go back to the party with them all knowing what you did?" she suddenly wailed. "Are you talking about the spanking or the seduction?" came the laconic query. Spanking? God, she'd forgotten all about that. Double god, everyone had seen her getting it and they'd all laughed. Seduction? "Seduction?" she asked scornfully. "Is that a new word for rape?" "Don't be so picky," drawled Ron. "Anyway, you're not going back to the party just yet. I thought you might enjoy a nice shower, and then we can come back here and repeat the seduction. Or rape if you prefer to call it that." Alison blinked and looked at him. He could not be serious. She shook her head and looked at him again. He was serious. He was offering to rape her again. "A shower will be good," she muttered. "I'm feeling sticky. But if you try to rape me again I'll fight." "That's OK. You're allowed to. Come on, the showers through here," said Ron, ushering her into the en suite. "As this is a day of firsts," he told her, sliding open the shower door, "you might as well have your first experience of being ravished in the shower." He followed her into the cubicle, while Alison looked at him, eyes opening wide with shock and anticipation. Vanity She turned the key in the lock, securing the room. Carly was very protective of her study, which wasn't surprising really. In a way, it was the most erotic room of her house. The gentle hum of the equipment inside made her smile as she went upstairs and paused for a moment facing the full-length mirror that greeted her as she entered her bedroom. She downed the last of her hot chocolate and set the mug on her bedside, barely taking her eyes off her reflection as her blonde curls lapped the sides of her face, complimented by her dark eyes and full-bodied lips. She slipped off her red silk nightie and let it slide across her skin, fluttering to the ground, exposing the gently tanned 25-year-old body beneath. If she wasn't quite so tired, her favourite vibrator would no doubt be coming out to play – but alas, bed called. The following day was unremarkable, at least for Carly. Two orgasms before getting out of bed and a third in the car on the way to work. A quick Costa between the multistorey and the university because her self-indulgence had again made her late. And finally a breeze through the doors, safe in the knowledge that she so excelled in her field (which incidentally was astrophysics) that her poor timekeeping was always to be forgiven. Though not unnoticed. 'Where you been? Our results are due in any time,' said an eager technician of some kind. 'Relax,' Carly purred. She couldn't quite tease out any more words. Not only did she have tonight's rendezvous with her girlfriend in mind, but she was also at the mercy of pair of jiggle balls right now which threatened to belie her otherwise cool, professional exterior. Especially given how fast she'd had to walk to get here on time. The morning was a hectic rush of paperwork mainly, and it wasn't until midday when the pressure subsided that she quite realised how aroused she had become. Flustered, in fact. 'Carly, you got a few minutes?' It was the voice of her head of department. 'Yes, what's up?' 'I'm due at South Campus in five minutes,' he said. 'Walk with me.' That wasn't exactly what Carly wanted to hear. In fact, the thought of walking now, when her orgasm progress bar was probably at 60% already, was more than a bit of a worry. But her boss knew she had to be on South Campus shortly too, so it made sense to walk together. And that left her very little room to manoeuvre out of it. So she clenched her teeth and followed him. 'I take it you've read through our findings?' 'Glanced through. It's promising Carly, but to back it up with something concrete would take an enormous study. We'd need, what, at least a hundred volunteers?' 'Mm-hmm,' she concurred simply as the gentle quiver of the balls teased her. As did the aftershave that her Clooney boss wore. Maybe he was 50-odd, but she'd still have ridden him. 'Do you think you can make it work?' They continued to walk. Carly's heart rate quickened. She wasn't sure whether it was their walking pace that had done it, or the now very real possibility that she might reach orgasm before she reached her destination, whether she wanted to or not. 'I'm convinced I can, yes,' she said, bubbly now. It was only a short walk but it seemed to be taking forever. The ring binder she carried bent as her grip tightened. These infernal balls had pushed her over the precipice once before, while she was on the Tube – but that was at gone midnight with the entire carriage to herself. This was midday at a busy university with her head of department striding beside her and students brushing past on their way to wherever they were going. He turned a corner. She almost carried straight on. 'Are you alright. Carly?' 'Ehh, just...a bit hot. Sorry, you were saying?' She knew that her face was flushed; she could feel the glow as she fanned herself a little. Now there was relief. She had stopped, and so had the vibrations. That only made it worse of course, five seconds later, when they began to walk again and that momentary relief turned to rising panic. Somehow the teasing little stop-start had made her more sensitive, and she knew now that she was done for. 'Listen Carly, what you're doing is exciting stuff...' *I know that!* she thought as she bit her lip. 'I'm just not sure we can go all the way.' *I'm about to if I don't stop fucking walking!!* 'It's a shame really, because I'd love to see you bring it to its conclusion,' he added. *Oh god...* Her muscles clenched like crazy around the balls, trying to steady them. But that just intensified things. Her legs were beginning to feel weak. It was taking all of her energy and concentration to keep her knees from giving way. Her knuckles were white and a crease had appeared in the cover of her binder. Her forehead sparkled with perspiration. She was screwed. Five...four...three... 'Okay, this is me,' he said. Two...one... They stopped walking, but it was too late. 'We'll have a better talk about this tomorrow,' said her boss. 'Uh-huh,' Carly sizzled. He strode through the door, with no clue what he was about to miss. There was nothing she could do now. So as the door closed, she gave in and that ring binder crashed to the floor as she herself sunk to her knees and the blur that was her right hand locked itself to her crotch. Climax was upon her either way, but a quick fingertip massage through her trousers was enough to turn stifled pleasure into skin-rippling bliss. She managed to keep her usual vocalisations down to a careful squeak or two – and just thanked her lucky stars that no-one was around. If her boss had fancied an addendum now, she'd have been sunk. Through deep and difficult gasps, she endured the full force of orgasm. A tutor rounded the next corner. 'Hey, you okay?' A startled gasp. 'Shit...ehh, yes! Just dropped this...' The trusty ring binder gave her a much-needed alibi, and the other woman wandered off, bemused and probably not convinced. 'Fuckkk,' Carly muttered as she regained control. For many, that would have been enough excitement for one day. But Carly being Carly, just had to top it off with another orgasm – albeit this one obtained in front of the mirror in the nearest toilets she could find. They were handy not only for privacy, but also because there was always a mirror on the wall. 'My god, I'm gorgeous,' she ogled her own reflection as she fingered herself. As orgasms go, it was good – but frustratingly it didn't quite match the unplanned nature of her close call in the corridor. The rest of the working day passed uneventfully (well, compared at least to the morning's fiasco), particularly after Carly removed the mischievous balls and concealed them in her handbag. Nevertheless, as the appointed hour of home-time approached, her anticipation began to grow again. She was in a particularly wicked mood now, and that made her nervous. She got home shortly after 6pm, and as she wandered into her flat, her senses all atingle, she sniffed the air gently. Mmmmm, Gucci Guilty; the scent of her partner, you could say. She giggled a little, knowing it was to be another mind-blowing evening, and then slipped into the kitchen for a glass of red wine. A few sips later, she climbed the stairs. Her proverbial other half was there, just as she knew she would be, draped across her favourite chair in the window, wearing only two things: a necklace chain with a little key on it, and an eager smile. Carly put the wine on her dresser and looked her up and down slowly as her lover gazed back with equal admiration, their eyes radiating a playful desire off one other. The air as always seemed to warm up between the two, and Carly had never quite managed to figure out whether it was something about the chemistry, or just her excited imagination making her blood run hot. Either way, once in this position, faced with a woman every bit as beautiful as herself, she knew there was nothing either of them could do but surrender. The erotic intruder gazed on as Carly removed first her jacket, then her figure-hugging top, and then her bra. All three items were cast to the floor like they were of no consequence, and the sight of Carly topless and in only a pair of tight jeans tantalised her lover to her feet. There was not a word between them. They had this down to a fine art, each knowing precisely what to do. This was the nature of their relationship: words were meaningless now, and it was far easier and perhaps safer even to avoid all but the most necessary ones altogether. So they each took a step forward and their bodies met, their arms sliding around one another and their bare chests pressing together softly. Their kiss was electrifying as always, and they made it last – lips lingering in contact at first, then tongues flashing cheekily between. They took in the taste of the kiss and let it blend with the fragrance of their perfume, and for a few moments it seemed that they would lose control as their mouths locked. As they kissed, her lover's hands fell neatly around Carly's waist, and then proceeded to the front of her jeans. In a second the button was undone, and then the zip. Passionate hands slipped inside Carly's jeans, one either side, and guided them off her inviting hips. With an involuntary wiggle, they fell to the ground and Carly stepped out of them. Her lover wasted no time in removing Carly's red thong too, and now they were equals. Two naked, lustful female bodies, wrapped up in the moment. It was perfection. And now the game began. Carly had never been able to make up her mind whether she preferred to dominate or submit. Both drove her wild, and this switch relationship meant she could enjoy each with equal enthusiasm. The key on her lover's necklace meant that she had chosen to submit tonight – though in truth, Carly already knew that would happen. It always had to be this way round; it was just easier somehow. Of course, the beautiful visitor tried, as she often did, to push her luck. But the moment her hand strayed between Carly's legs, Carly assumed her role and took a firm hold of her wrist. As much as she wanted to feel those expert fingers inside her, she had to keep her resolve. Carly's hand stroked her lover's hair now. She eased her fingers into the curls, and then gripped hard. A little whimper from the sub, and then Carly led her to the side of the bed like that. She didn't resist. Carly let go, and pushed her slave hard with both hands, watching as the force of the shove dumped her onto the bed on her arse. She opened her bottom bedside drawer and tossed two pairs of handcuffs and an o-ring gag onto the sub's bare tummy. It winded her a little, but she knew what to do. While Carly crossed the room to the dresser, her loyal slave fastened the gag in place nice and tight, lay down on her back and cuffed her own hands to the head of the double bed, as far apart as she could get them. Carly kept her back turned and listened for the second click that indicated her victim was ready. Then she turned to enjoy the sight of her body restrained provocatively, her mouth trapped open by the gag. She walked to the bed, wine glass in hand. She loved how her sub squirmed even now, before the torment had even begun. And now the gag was in place, and her sub couldn't talk back, Carly knew she could speak. 'Don't look at me like you know what to expect,' said Carly. 'You know how that pisses me off.' Her slave's mouth was useless now, at least as far as speaking went, but it was still fun when she tried to gargle a brief 'sorry' from it nonetheless. Mistress Carly took a sip of wine. She was about to put it down, but changed her mind. She took another sip, and her sub knew what was coming. Though it was unnecessary for Carly to pin her down, she climbed atop her slave anyway, straddling her nude body with her own, sliding back and forth just a little, letting the moisture tell her slave's tummy just how much she was already enjoying herself. Then she leaned forward, and their eyes locked. She took a firm hold of her sub's head, and their lips almost met as Carly allowed the fluid to trickle from her own mouth into her slave's. She couldn't close her mouth. All she could do was enjoy the taste, and then swallow awkwardly. She had already had a couple of glasses herself before their games began, and right now she wasn't sure what intoxicated her more – the wine or the fact that her Mistress was forcing even more into her and there was nothing she could do about it. Another sip, and another taste for her sub, and then Carly finished off the glass. She leaned forward again and manoeuvred her tongue through the o-ring, carefully into her slave's mouth. Tongue-tips met, and the poor frustrated slave tried to turn it into a kiss as best she could – but of course Carly withdrew her tongue immediately with a giggle. A moan from the sub alerted her that it was a torture worth repeating, and so she did it again. Their tongues touched, just enough to notice, before she whisked away again. And then back, in and out of her sub's mouth, torturous little touches from tongue to tongue, until she started to writhe and lift her head from the pillow, each time Carly keeping that elusive lick just out of her reach. She ran a finger around the inside of the nearly empty glass, and let her slave lick it as she pushed it into her mouth. She withdrew and licked it seductively herself, drawing another moan from her slave's tortured mouth, and then got up. In an instant the moment moved from one of grace and charm to something more aggressive. The slave could only watch as Carly picked up her thong, its lacy fabric still carrying traces of the day's excitement, and came back to the bed. 'Not a sound from now on,' she chastised her sub, forcing the thong into her mouth and watching her eyes widen ever so slightly at the uncomfortable yet erotic taste of lust juice and lace. Then she held the key on her slave's necklace in her hand for a moment. 'I'm feeling evil, so you know what that means, don't you?' Her slave nodded. 'It means that either you're a good little bitch for me, or you don't get released. And we both know how terribly inconvenient that would be, don't we?' Nod. Carly soaked up the sight of her thong poking out of her slave's helpless mouth, then opened another drawer. This was probably her favourite part when it came to domination – it was magic wand time. Her slave would have smiled if she could, but her sparkly eyes said it all. She'd been looking forward to this part all day. Carly plugged in the device and flicked the switch. Slowest setting first. The purr of the want matched the stifled moans of anticipation from the slave, not to mention the giggles of mischief from Carly. She moved the wand toward her slave's intimate parts, and then switched it off. She put it down and gently took her slave's left nipple between her teeth. Slave tried to bite down, but of course the gag and thong prevented that. 'If you can keep quiet,' said Carly in between tender tongue caresses to and around her slave's nipple, 'you can have those vibrations all to yourself. But if you moan again...' Carly demonstrated by switching it back on and guiding the wand between her own legs. Her knees went a little weak – and so did her slave. She wanted that thing between HER legs, not Carly's. She wanted it so fucking badly now that she pulled against her restraints. Carly pushed it harder onto her clit, swirling it gently, gasping a little, gripping the bedclothes with her free hand. 'Ohhh, so good,' she teased. Slave watched. It was agony. She tugged again at the restraints, and Carly worked herself harder. It was obvious now that Carly's resolve was greater than her slave's, and so the helpless woman backed down like a good little girl and stopped tugging. Her body relaxed as best it could, and she fell silent. She could only watch in frustration as Carly pushed herself toward the point of orgasm – and then stopped. The wand now lubricated with Carly's juices, she slipped it between her slave's open legs and pressed. Slave's body convulsed, her control halfway gone – but as ordered, she managed to stay quiet. She bit down on the gag and endured it, and came close to screaming when Carly pushed the switch again. Suddenly the wand's gentle hum turned to a sporadic fiery rhythm as the cruel woman had switched it straight to full power. Slave couldn't help but gasp through her gag. And of course, Carly immediately pulled the wand tip away from its resting place and began to slide it up and down her slave's chest, leaving a trail of sticky fluid as it went. Encircling the slave's breasts, she guided it back down gently and applied the pressure again where it counted the most. This time when the slave gasped, Carly pressed harder. With each gasp, more pressure, until waves and waves of gorgeous torment ran through her slave's entire body. Her left eye began to twitch in that involuntary way that told Carly she was close to orgasm. And then it happened. Her back rising off the bed in an arch, slave's skin went tingly and her heart beat furiously. It was just a little wand teasing, but it had done the trick after so much denial. The orgasm consumed her, and the gasps were beautifully restrained (though she really didn't want them to be) through her tormentor's tasty thong. Almost a full minute later, the sensations calmed, and so did the slave. The pressure had been released. 'Nice, honey?' Slave nodded, blinking through her disorientation. Her breathing was heavy and loud, though muffled. Carly ran a finger over her slave's cheek, and let it find the tip of her thong as her breath rippled through it. 'Would you like this out now?' Slave nodded. 'So your little mouth can have a break?' A nod again, more vigorously now. 'So I can sit on your face?' There was no response this time. They had never done facesitting with restraints before, and slave knew how much Carly loved it; and how deeply it took away her self-control. Even without restraints, it wasn't unknown for Carly to get so carried away that poor slave had a job to breathe – and now here she was, still spread out like a big X, wrists and ankles inescapably attached to the bed. Slave knew what was going to happen, though in situations like this she still stupidly persisted in thinking she could change it. 'Do you want to keep the gag in?' Carly tormented. Slave shook her head. 'Would you like me to sit on your face?' A feeble nod. Carly smiled, and pulled the gag out of slave's mouth gently. Then she unfastened the o-ring and removed that too, leaving the bound and still helpless woman to gasp through the relief and adjust her tired mouth back to its usual position with a touch of lip-licking to put the moisture back into them. Carly noticed her discomfort, and leaned over, running the tip of her tongue across her slave's top lip. All the way round and back across the bottom lip she licked, and then her tongue found its way into slave's mouth. It was only a brief kiss; just long enough for the taste of Carly's saliva to leave its mark. The slave purred now. 'Please be gentle with–' Carly's finger found her slave's lips swiftly. 'No talking, remember? If you talk, I'll have to punish you, and you're in no position to risk doing anything that might upset me. Are you?' She removed her finger from slave's lips. 'No Mistress,' said slave. Carly could be fierce when she wanted – and right now, she wanted. So she slapped her slave straight across the cheek, hard. There came a little squeal from slave, who had almost forgotten how physical her Domme would be. Or perhaps she just didn't realise how much the slap was going to sting. 'I said no talking, you stupid little bitch,' said Carly. She was visibly and genuinely annoyed. Vanity 'I'm...' she was going to say sorry to her Mistress, but as Carly raised a hand to smack the other side of slave's face, she fell silent. Overpowered. Carly lowered her hand and opened her bedside drawer again. Slave didn't quite see what she produced this time, but then again she didn't need to see it to know that it was a cattle prod. Or at least, something very much like one: something Carly had built herself, actually. The curly-haired vixen climbed slowly atop her slave, facing away from her, allowing her a good look at her bum as she did so. Then even more slowly, she lowered herself. As Carly's pussy neared her slave's face, too close now to focus her eyes on, the restrained girl had only the view of her tormentor's silky smooth back to enjoy. Her graceful hips curved into her waist, and her perfect skin glistened in the low light as her golden blonde locks flowed over her shoulders. Slave couldn't help but want to feel those locks all around her own face, tangling her up, but there was no such luck tonight. Then she was smothered. After so much practice, Carly had the positioning spot-on so that the crucial part of her reached slave's waiting mouth perfectly. Slave's whole face had been obscured now, and as Carly fixed herself onto her seat firmly, her tender skin moulding to the shape, breathing became impossible for her slave. The whole experience obscured not only her vision, but her capacity to think. It wouldn't be long before her need for oxygen took over, and she didn't have to be told what Carly wanted. No, she knew exactly what she was to do. So she did it. Carly squirmed as slave's tongue lapped at her. Tingles roamed around her clitoris as the moistness grew and her slave's skilled, slow yet intense licking made her smile. She could feel that her slave was trying to breathe, so she pressed down harder. Desperation made her tongue work faster, but that only did the trick to a point – beyond that, it became more tickly than orgasmic. 'Slow it down,' said Carly. But slave's tongue only managed to slow the pace for a few seconds. Her face buried, she was unable to take a gasp, her head was starting to swim and her lungs felt hot. She wriggled and tugged against the restraints, her licking becoming more and more frantic. 'I said,' Carly dealt a blow to slave's inner thigh with the electric prodder, 'slow it down.' Of course there came a stifled yelp. And now so desperate for air, the sensations Carly had forced her slave to give her were becoming less and less sexual. She could even feel the suction between her slave's airways and her own skin as she tried desperately to breathe in. Stars formed in her slave's mind, and then without another word Carly hoisted herself up just a little. An enormous gasp whirled around her pussy as her traumatised slave caught her breath. The cuffs chafed at her wrists and ankles as she tugged and writhed, her blurred vision returning to normal just in time for Carly to hit her again with a few volts of power and force another screech from her mouth. 'Stop moving around, you're annoying me,' said Carly. 'I'm...sorry...but–' Prod. 'FUCKKK!' Carly jabbed her again, and another gasp. It almost brought tears to slave's eyes. 'Please!!' slave begged. Zap. Another scream. This time though, slave realised her mistake. For every time she spoke, she got a nasty jolt to one or the other of her thighs. So this time she bit her lip hard and kept quiet. Carly lowered herself back over her slave's face. It turned her on hearing slave's frantic heavy breathing stop instantly, so much so that she gave her another prod just for the hell of it. A stifled scream and then her tongue began to work again, deeper, more passionately this time. It was clear to Carly that her slave was beginning to need this ordeal to come to an end, and as such her tongue had gone into autopilot now. It lapped lusciously at Carly's clit. Slave's body began to writhe again. 'I'm not getting up bitch, not til I've cum,' Carly panted eagerly. She zapped her slave right between the legs, enjoying the spasmodic deep thrust of her tongue that mirrored the way she tried to arch her back. Carly threw the prod aside and held her slave down by the hips, bowing her head in anticipation as her orgasm drew closer and closer. Her long hair made slave's skin tingle, and that made her give a final push with her tongue that sent Carly over the edge. Oblivious to her smothered slave's predicament, she reached the point of no return. Her movements now were out of her own control – the onset of orgasm had taken her over, making both she and her slave helpless to what happened next. Carly rocked her hips, grinding harder onto slave's face and releasing her juices without mercy. Her body fell forward into an almost 69 position and her hands clamped around her slave's thighs like vices. Deep ecstasy pulsed through her body, and her screams must surely have been audible to her neighbours. Even though she lived in a detached house. It blew her mind. There was nothing in the world right now but Carly and her poor, helpless slave. Carly's body was still awash with tingles and she convulsed blissfully as the climax reached its peak, then began to relax as it subsided. Her body was sweaty and her breath hot and irregular. And then she realised that her slave was totally without movement. Carly slid forward, and at once both loved and hated the feeling of her pussy parting company with her slave's face. She turned around and straddled her slave's glistening, perfect body with her own and giggled. Carly had overdone it again; poor little slave girl had passed out through oxygen deprivation, and now there she lay, her face moistened by Carly's pleasure. Turning sticky. Carly wasn't concerned. She simply took the opportunity to enjoy a taste of her slave's skin while she was out. She kissed her vulnerable bare chest several times, up and down, and let her tongue linger around slave's nipples. Then she kissed her lips, aroused not only by the taste of herself there, but also by the lack of any response. Finally as slave's eyes flickered, Carly slipped her body into cuddle position and let her arm sit comfortably across slave's chest. Slave came to, breathing sharply for a few seconds. She blinked. 'Fuck,' she mumbled, everything still fuzzy. 'Thought I'd make it that time...' Her weakened voice was music to Carly's ears. 'Mmmm, you wanted to be there to feel me orgasm, didn't you?' 'Yeah...knowing how amazing it was.' 'Too bad,' said Carly. Slave realised that her lips were moist and licked them instinctively. She could taste Carly. 'I love it when you squirt,' said slave. Smile. 'Only you can make me do that.' Carly used her gentle tongue to remove the rest of her juices from her slave's face. Of course she drew out the process for as long as possible, exploring every inch of her face and yet carefully avoiding the lips. Just to frustrate her. When she stopped, slave looked her in the eyes. 'Let me free so I can hold you.' Carly giggled again. 'Let me free. I KNOW you want to.' 'Bitch,' Carly chastised, for her slave was right. The dominant woman rolled over and plucked the handcuff keys out of her drawer, dangling them just above Carly's mouth. 'Or I could have you swallow these,' she tormented, 'and just leave you like this when I go back.' Slave's eyes narrowed. 'Okay, okay,' Carly gave in. She unfastened the ankle cuffs first of all, and slave drew her legs up in relief. Then she kissed slave's lips in passing as she made for the bedhead and released her wrists too. She flicked the keys back into the drawer and resumed her cuddle position. Slave's arms slipped around Carly's body, their bare skin awash with goosebumps. Like a single entity, at once now they clamped arms around each other, legs too, entangled like wires behind the TV set – and held each other as tightly as humanly possible. There was no kissing now, no fondling, just two bodies locked in a hypnotic hug. They couldn't let go. With both of them satisfied, there was no feeling in the world like his, nor could there ever be. 'I'm really looking forward to this one,' Carly whispered. 'Go and do it,' said her slave, 'before we destroy the universe or something.' They released their grip, knowing that if they didn't do it now they never would. Without another word, and without laying eyes on her irresistible slave again, Carly left the room completely naked and headed downstairs to her study. She unlocked the door eagerly and waves of excitement washed over her as she hurried in and powered up her amazing machine. Carly was a genius of the first order. Her IQ had been measured on three separate occasions as 188, 204 and 196 respectively. She was in all likelihood the best scientific mind in the world, albeit somewhat undiscovered. And here in her study sat the thing that she had decided to devote all of her amazing intelligence to building – and build it she had, though it had taken two years and cost her her entire lottery jackpot to obtain the parts and components necessary. There were so many potential uses for a time machine, but Carly had selected only one: satisfying her amorous lust for herself. That crazy sexy turned-on feeling she had whenever she looked in the mirror. For three weeks now she had been using this piece of apparatus to quite literally have sex with herself, several times a week. She needed now, as always, to try to remember everything her slave had done tonight – for in a moment, she would BE that slave, and experience from the other side of the equals sign everything she had just done to her. So she had to replicate her slave's movements, because otherwise she would be changing the past. And as anyone who's seen Back to the Future must surely know, doing that is probably not a good idea. She set the controls for 5:55pm. Then she pushed up the slider that activated the machine, and sat in a chair hooked up to it with electrodes and curly wires. She let her body relax. BANG. A little disorientation, and then everything calmed down. Don't be fooled by all those sci-fi films – time travel isn't all blinding light and tumbling through surreal wormholes. As Carly had realised, it was actually quite a simple process once you figured it out. And quick too, for here she was now, in the past. A glance at the clock over the fireplace told her that the machine had worked. She had just moved two hours back through time. She crept out of the study and listened. She did it always, even though she knew full well that her earlier self wouldn't even be home yet for another ten minutes or so. She made her way up to the bedroom. It was all tidy, the bed was neat, just as it had been before she got in from work. The stage was set. She grabbed her favourite perfume bottle and left the room. Spraying it into the air downstairs ready to entice her past self, she returned to the bedroom and finished with a couple of extra blasts to her neck. Then she fished the handcuff key out of her drawer and slipped it onto a neck chain that she always kept for this very occasion. Time was of the essence. She heard her own car pull up outside, and her heart raced a little. She took up her signature provocative pose in the chair by the window, and waited for the sound of her past self's key in the lock downstairs. She couldn't help but touch herself a little as she heard her Mistress' playful giggle downstairs. She wanted to ambush her two-hour younger self the minute she walked through the door, but she daren't; that would be changing the past. And that realisation was enough to force her into 'good little slavegirl' mode. She had to do exactly what younger Mistress Carly told her to now, not only because she wanted to, but because the safety of the space-time continuum depended on it. After what seemed an age, Mistress walked into the room, wine glass in hand. God, she looked sexy in her expensive clothes. There was no wonder she fancied herself so. Carly smiled, eager for Mistress to use and abuse her naked body. As she watched her past self put her wine glass down and begin to undress, she knew she was in for one hell of an experience. Again. Vanity Note: Please do not think this story is racist against any religion (I hate them all honestly). It is honestly more of a treatise upon our times. Daisy is every bit as much a character straight out of any Saturday or Sunday morning on a London High Street. Take both with a grain of salt. *** Daisy knew she looked rough. Walking down the High Street at seven o'clock in the morning barefoot nonetheless. Her six inch heels that looked so damned hot last night were simply not worth the effort this morning. They along with her knickers were stuffed in the huge, over-sized purse slung over her shoulder. Her top had a few stains on it and smelled just a tad ripe. A couple of them were red wine, she remembered those. But she was afraid that a couple of the others were Charlotte's barf. That was probably where the smell came from. But then too she had snuck out of the flat without a shower so her body still carried the smell of sweat from the packed dance floor and sex. She smiled at that last thought. She stubbed her toe and reminded herself to follow her mother's advice next time and throw a pair of flats in the bag before she left. The woman ought to know. How many walks of shame had she taken in past twenty odd years? But it had so been worth it. She tugged her skirt down just a bit without the knickers she was afraid her dignity might be compromised. She giggled, not that she had that much left but a girl had to have some secrets. She had looked so damned good last night when she had gone out with her girlfriends. This was her favourite skirt. It was black leather, well, probably the fake stuff considering she got it for fifty quid at Camden Market. But that did not matter; she always looked good in it. Good enough that she had pulled the hottest guy in the pub too. Harry? That was his name, right? She thought it was something like that. Barry? Larry? Terry? No, she was almost certain that it was Larry. Oh well, what the fuck did a name matter? What matter was that he was hot. Bear fit even. Tall, she liked her men tall. And he had been over six feet for sure. He had been a bit on the thin side, but not too skinny. He was a ginger too. She did not usually go for gingers, but it was the whole Harry thing that got her. Yes, his name was definitely Harry. He had made so many jokes about it last night. Even when they stopped being funny. He had not been a bad shag either. Well, what she remembered of it. His body was certainly worth looking at. And he had the best tasting cock she had in a long time. Well the past month or so for sure. His cock was long even that she had trouble deep throating him, which said something since she was the best deep throater in her gang. Thankfully it had not been too thick. Which was great for the blowjob, but it really sucked when it came to the shagging part. She giggled...really sucked...she could be so fucking funny sometimes. She had to remember that to tell all her friends that one. Maybe even post it to her social networking page. She was so caught up in her thoughts that she did not see the crack in the pavement and tripped, almost falling flat on her face. She righted herself fast enough. But not quick enough as giggles echoed downed the street. It was so early that there was hardly anyone about except for a couple of other girls on the infamous 'walk of shame.' Then she saw them across the street. Three heavily draped girls. Even though she could not see their faces she knew that the giggles must have come from them. She was not going to take that shit from no one. So she held up her fingers in the universal sign of 'peace.' And shouted, "What you think you looking at?" The one closest to her stared across the street or at least Daisy thought she did, she turned in her direction any way. She shouted back then, "Slag," her English as good as or better than Daisy's. But Daisy had not been raised on one of the toughest estates in north London for no reason. She knew come backs and it did not take her two seconds to come up with the perfect one for this situation, "I'd rather be a slag than some black post box with only a slat to see out of." She squared her shoulders, lifted her head and walk forward with pride and vanity.