1 comments/ 19705 views/ 3 favorites Duty By: hells_belle He had bought it for me as a sort-of joke. That cute little vibrator with the silicone sleeve. He had told me I would need it when he went on deployment. It wasn't fancy, but it was something to tide me over, so he said. He had no idea those settings would come in handy on his duty nights before he had even shipped out. It was only seven inches long with a modest girth, but for a small bodied girl like me, it was perfect sized. And it even had seven different settings, after all, I was a girl who liked some teasing. It happened one Tuesday night that I was especially lonely and in need of a good cum. I crept out of bed after several minutes of pointlessly playing with my clit without any kind of release. I opened the dresser drawer and there in the packaging was the purple godsend. As soon as I opened the plastic and slipped the silicone cover over it, I couldn't wait to feel my new friend inside of me. I rolled it in my hands for a minute... debating if it really was a good idea. Masturbation often left me wanting more and unable to fully please myself. I guess that was a risk I was willing to take... I laid back on my bed and slowly inserted the head into my awaiting pussy. It was slow to get past my puffy outer lips, but once it broke through to my cunt opening, I knew I was going to be in heaven. I was instantly wet as it slid into my hungry pussy. As soon as it was in, I turned it on the first setting. Immediately my pussy started to spasm as my first pre-orgasm wave hit. My juices began to flow and I couldn't resist turning it to the next setting. I pumped it in and out of my cunt for a second before burrowing it to the hilt inside me. At that moment I hit the next setting. My pussy contracted and a small amount of cum began to seep around the sides of the purple vibrator onto my bed sheets. As my orgasm ended, I began to pump it fervently in and out of my slit in hopes of continuing to another. The sound of my pussy slurping as I did it through my over the edge as I turned it up another setting. This was the last of the regular vibrate settings. The rest were intermittent and patterned. I decided to relax for a little while and let myself have a little fun. So I pushed the purple intruder all the way in and turned it on the next setting called the stair step. It would pulse then slow down continuously. So I crossed my legs to hold it in place and turned on the television. It's quiet hum however, aroused me to the point where I knew I just had to cum again. The next setting was a faster version of the first. I began to feel my next climax building, but I wanted this one to be slightly more prolonged. I took the vibrator out of my cunt and pressed the very tip of it against my clit. I drew my breath in sharply as it pulsed vigorously against my swollen button. God it felt so good, but I still hadn't achieved what I wanted, a full body, trembling, earthquake orgasm. I clicked the button one more time, and found that apparently these genius vibrator makers had hidden another -even faster- vibrate setting in the mix. I couldn't stand it any more and shoved it back into my aching cunt. As I drew it out then back in to the hilt, my hand began to tremor in anticipation. With one hand I fucked myself and with the other, my fingers were dancing over my clit at light speed. I gasped and suddenly it flooded over me, with each wave my body felt weaker and weaker but my hands kept flying back and forth. I came so hard that I collapsed onto my pillows as I tried desperately to turn the vibrator off. Finally as my spasming pussy and it's purple intruder came to rest, I felt the copious amount of cum that had pooled around my outer lips and even onto the bed beneath. I dipped my finger down into my hot snatch and brought it to my mouth, the taste was exquisite. I couldn't help but sucking on my finger for a minute to savor the last of my taste. I rested for a little while, then began to clean up. I started to wonder just how my my fiancé would enjoy hearing this story as I sent him a text message saying I just had the best self induced orgasm of my life. I guess this night really was worth it after all. Duty and Desire "And thought of doing something to the shore That water never did to land before." from "Once by the Pacific " by Robert Frost Eleni dug her paddle into the turquoise water, furiously propelling herself towards her meeting with Marano, Ocean Master, fighting down her fear and anger with physical effort. She wore a filmy cotton wrap, and her lean brown body glowed through, clinging to her breasts and thighs as she began to sweat from the exertion. The fate of her village depended on how well she pleased Marano. The seers of her village had declared that the signs of the Ocean Master's wrath - black, sticky tides, a school of dead fish lining the shore, destructive tsunami waves, and contrary winds - were a sign that he required a sexual liaison with a young and beautiful woman from the village. Eleni, had "volunteered". That is, after an evening and night and morning of flattery, dire predictions, and emotional manipulation from the Council Elders, her exhausted mother had agreed that Eleni should do what was required to stave off the Ocean Master's wrath. "And to top it all off, I'm supposed to have a baby by this arrogant monster," Eleni muttered resentfully. The Elders thought that, if Marano's own child were to live in the Whiterock community, then he would be benevolent to its people. Privately, Eleni swore that if she became pregnant as a result of this day's work, the Ocean Master's offspring would never see the light of day. She glanced back over her shoulder at the shore. Her people watched, anticipating this encounter that might save all their lives. Eleni's mother, however, could not watch. She had secluded herself in her cottage, crying and praying. "Well, I'm doing this for you, Mama, not for those selfish crabguts. Let them row out and fuck the God if they think it's so critical," Eleni murmured. "At least, they'll leave you alone after this. And maybe the dead fish will stop coming in on the tide. " She noticed that none of the village's children were on the shore watching her row. That was a mercy; the little ones would not see her humiliation. Finally, her little raft reached the spot the Seer had told her to await Marano; at the tip of an equilateral triangle, her village on one corner, the God's island on the other. She drifted and waited. Nothing happened. The sweat ran down and stung her eyes She stood, and said the words she had been told to say: "Marano, I am here! For my people, you may take your pleasures on this body!" Conscious of the watchers on the shore, with some embarrassment and some excitement, she loosened the ties on the sarong, preparing to step out of it, and let her perfect, slim and shapely body free to the sun and wind. But a voice stopped her, a voice composed of salt wind and wave sound, deep and reverberating. "Leave it." Eleni looked around for the speaker, but saw no one. Then again, the voice reached her inner hearing. "Leave it. I will remove it myself. " This time, she saw a shadow on the ocean, moving towards her. Where it passed, the waves calmed, and became glassy clear. Slowly a man-shape formed, a tall and broad-chested man, turquoise skinned, with green-black hair snaking down his shoulders. He was naked, his amorphous genitals made out of the same thought-stuff, saltwater bound by consciousness. His eyes were ever-changing, from grey to green to blue, and their depths were unfathomable. When she looked in his eyes, she felt herself losing her grounding, becoming lost and adrift, a current pulling her inward without choice. He came near, and his icy touch chilled her arm. She began to tremble. She had half-feared, half-hoped that the legends were not true, that no one would show up for this liaison. Yet here he was, to collect his tithe from the village. She was duty-bound have to let this embodied spirit take her body in whatever way he was able, and there was no turning back from her promise to her people. Still, he seemed gentle enough at first. As he had promised, Marano unwound the sarong, its ties parting at his touch, letting it drop to the floor of the raft. The raft itself was now still as if on dry land under the ocean-god's spell, the waves stilled and mirror-smooth in a hundred-meter circle radius. Marano cupped her round young breasts with his salt-smelling hands and bent to kiss her mouth. Trying not to cry, and to stop shaking, Eleni opened her mouth to Marano's. His probing tongue met hers, caressed it gently. Suddenly, she was no longer cold, as one becomes used to swimming in cold water within moments. She pressed herself against him, feeling his phallus take shape, and rise to press against her groin. His tongue left her mouth, licked the tears from her cheeks. "Salt," sighed the voice like a wave booming in a cavern. "Am I so terrifying, then? Is there only duty here, or could you want this, too?" "I do... want you," said Eleni, knowing now that it was true. She opened her legs slightly to let Marano's phallus rub her clitoris and vulva. Her knees were weak. "But I am afraid to lose myself in you. I am afraid..." On the shore, the Council strained to see. Eleni had disappeared in a grey fog, centered only on the raft. But it was a good sign. "The God cloaks her", said the Eldest. "Only she can see him." The rest were disappointed. Already, many were aroused, men and women, eyes bright. The members of the male Elders swelled under their robes, poking out the robe's fabric. The female Elders had unaccustomed wetness moistening the insides of their thighs. The grey knot of mist around Eleni's raft was a screen for all their hopes and fantasies. "I cannot promise you will still be yourself, after," said the ocean-master. "all life is change, and you will indeed be Changed. But I will calm the waves, and your people will fish in peace. Is this not what you came for?" Eleni nodded, unable to speak coherently. She could no longer stand. She sank to her knees, and her face at a level with the god's penis-form, opened her mouth and embraced it. He sighed, and leaned in to her face, holding her head at the back of her skull. He began to move back and forth, Eleni's lips and tongue circling the shaft in the ways her Auntie had taught her. Eleni's mind went back to her Auntie's sewing room, the old woman's eyes bright as she demonstrated on a gourd. "If you are to give ocean-master pleasure, you must try this. Perhaps then he will be gentler on you." But then auntie and all her advice left Eleni's mind, as Marano too sank down on his knees, then gently helped her to lie down. His body now seemed warm and comforting as a sleepy lagoon. He kissed her again, and this time she met him without hesitation. Tongues meeting, her legs opened, and she thought, "Now he will take me, now this is it." She waited, braced for the first punishing thrust. But instead, Marano's hand insinuated itself inside her, and his fingers explored and tickled her inside ridges, and her clit. She began to feel heat building in her loins. She moaned and arched, tried to pull him back on top of her, beyond ready for him to plunge in. But he laughed, like the shush shush of the receding tide. "Not so fast, little one. It is my wish that you too, feel pleasure, that this be not all horrid duty for you. Let me...." And now, somehow, his insubstantial hand bent in inhuman ways, for she felt him both inside and outside, and even around her anus, brushing her thighs, all over. She was beyond words now, arching back, head moving side to side. And still he kept on caressing her. Then he curled and wriggled and bent, and that tongue, like a sea anemone, warm and tingling, passed over her secret places. "Ahhhhhh... so salty, yet earthy, too. You are of the land, your taste is foreign, the flavor...mmmm." The voice lost itself exploring all her crevices and crannies. Eleni's knees were open wide and trembling, her hands on the Ocean Master's tangled seawrack hair, her eyes shut. She had never imagined it could be like this. It went on for stretched-out minutes, the waves now rocking the raft gently. Finally, her hands urging him, silently begging him, she managed to pull him back up so she could kiss him again. "You know that I am not human. I can fashion this body as I please. And so it is my pleasure to pleasure you...thus.. And Marano grew an appendage from his groin, a small, round, flexible finger that curled around Eleni's clitoris and vibrated it intensely. Her cried pierced the dank air as she orgasmed. Then, finally, with a move like a leaping seal he was inside, the large round smooth phallus probing her cervix, pounding in and out inexorably as the tides, she couldn't stop it, didn't want to, and the extra fingerling still rubbing her clit around and around, vibrating, Screaming, she took him in, the raft now rocking with the force of his thrusts. The ocean-master, losing control, let the mist evaporate, and the watchers on the shore saw their Eleni, naked and open, her rhythmic cries faint and far like a seagull's, the blue-green figure of their marine deity on top of her, fucking her deeply and continuously as the raft bobbed on the waves. The watchers began to reach for each other, in sympathy, grabbing the nearest partner without respect for marital bonds or usual sexual preferences. Soon the beach was filled with writhing, fornicating bodies, in pairs and triples, and the occasional watcher, hands on groin, stroking along with the wild coupling on the raft. Eleni, her physical boundaries blending with Marano's, knew the deep violet silence at the bottom of the offshore trenches, the flickering gleams of the light-making fish, the bottom dwellers. She knew the rhythms of the tide, not the usual monthly tug at her ovaries, but the ceaseless flexing of the world like a slow-beating heart. She knew the wild joy of the leaping dolphins, and appreciated the complex operatic sagas of the Blue Whales. Marano felt the glow of a hearth fire, hands kneading dough, the feel of rich earth dug deep in the fingers, and the warmth of a friend's greeting at the end of the day's work. He understood finally the love of the people for their land, and their rootedness in it, burying their dead and their placentas in it generation after generation. It was this he had wanted, envious of stability when his nature was fluid, for this he had tormented the village with dead fish and monsoons. . He understood finally and bleakly that none of it could ever be his. Marano sobbed aloud with regret and longing, and groaning, climaxed in a riptide wave, that built, overbalanced, and came down, frothing on the sand, its force spent. His physical body splashed out and evaporated. For Eleni, the warm weight was gone from her, the pulsing force from inside her leaving her drenched, aching, and chilled as the sun sank into dusk. Only the voice remained, and a shadow in the trembling air. "Farewell, lovely one. You have done your...duty...well. " The bitterness and loneliness in Marano's voice would haunt her forever. But Eleni mechanically gathered her sarong around herself, aware but uncaring of the watching eyes, and rowed back to shore, her loins aching, her throat swollen with sympathetic sobs that she would never allow to voice. It was done. Her duty. The rest....was none of their business. Eleni indeed was Changed. She was honored and envied in the community, much in demand as a maid of honor and midwife. She married late in life, after having had brief romances with a few of the young men in town. She had found that, as soon as she became attached to a youth, he was likely to have an accident on the sea. One was crushed when the mast of his schooner inexplicably broke on a calm day. Another was dragged away by a shark while trawling his nets. And so on. The rumors began, that Eleni was Marano's Chosen, that no man would ever replace him in her heart, and that the god jealously put aside any who would try. There was no child from her union with the ocean-master. There were rumors about that, too, but Eleni confided in no one, not even her mother. And Eleni resented the rumors, even as she knew that they were true, for many nights, she lay half-awake, hands stroking and probing her own body, reliving that afternoon on the raft. Sometimes, too, she would rise from her bed, after, and walk to the cliffs overlooking the ocean, and stand watching the moon's wavering path on the waves, the surf breaking far below. But if she called to him, he never answered in words; only the ceaseless pounding of the waves on the rocks echoed the throbbing in her groin, reminding her how it had felt to make love with the sea itself. Yet Marano kept his word; and the little village was not troubled by floods, or tsunami, or hurricanes, or shark attacks, for almost a decade. Eleni's attention to duty had achieved that much. She tried once to leave, to travel far inland, to a town where no one had ever heard her name. During the year of her absence, the little village of Whiterock experienced minor storms and ravages from the deep. Houses and boats were destroyed, the fish found other spawning grounds. Marano knew that neither spite nor requesting another youth would soothe his spirit; for his lust was the loneliness of the ocean for the shore. Bitterly he knew the truth - that one does not absorb the qualities one wants by fucking the person who has them. And so he contented himself with petty mischief against the landbound, while ceaselessly roaming and managing his own watery domain. One sunrise when a thousand dead herring lined the beaches, staring up at the dull sun with their silver eyes, Eleni returned. She made polite chit-chat with the neighbors, then retired to her old cabin on the cliffs. The next morning, when a neighbor came for gossip and tea, Eleni was gone. The morning dew glistened on her damp footprints walking to the rocks of the cliff. There they disappeared. Only old Katchi noticed another set of footprints, with unusual webbed toes, and her report was put down to senility. When the constable had been rousted from his bed to take a report, all traces of footprints had evaporated. The years passed, and Whiterock prospered. Mishaps from the sea were few and minor. Its fishing liveihood became an industry; a factory was built. Quaint olde shops appeared to lure the tourists in. Eleni's cottage became a historical landmark, and her story (edited for children's ears) was told to the sore footed, camera-toting travelers. And the question was sometimes asked, but never answered: Why did Eleni rejoin her watery consort? Was it duty....or was it desire? Duty-Bound Maybe someone can shed some light on this one. I've thought about it a lot, and I'll confess - I just don't seem to get it. Is it the role models little girls grow up with? Is it buried among the subliminal messages young women pick up through pop culture? Is it what they think we want? Is it what we want? Or is it a behavior buried so deeply in their genetic code that even the decades of self-enlightenment can't flush it out? Maybe it's the final forbidden pleasure? These are questions I pondered as I stared at the email Jack Hammond had left glowing from his computer screen. Samson and Jennings hired some of the brightest, best educated, and best bred women from the country's most prestigious universities; yet, Jack Hammond and all of the Jack Hammonds in our firm never had any trouble finding plenty of young women to seduce, abuse and eventually crush. The downtown watering holes crackled with tales of conquest and abuse. If one were to accept the stories told after hours, one would believe that the lounges and supply rooms at Samson and Jennings were strewn with the naked bodies of women who'd been fucked, fucked again, and discarded. Sapphire rocks. HM This was the simple, yet cryptic message on Hammond's computer screen. It was a response to Hammond's original and equally cryptic note - Mark neat. Jack I figured it to be just another of Hammond's endless sexual games. It was just a question of upon which of the new and unsuspecting female staffers was Jack about to pounce. And was it just Hammond's style to leave the message for all to see while he hurried across the street to boast at Bartleby's about his fresh prey. I closed the program and left. My final task of each day was to trundle the dozens of boxes of sensitive documents belonging to the rich, famous, and powerful Samson and Jennings clients into the 10th floor safe. Truthfully, it was I job I enjoyed - even looked forward to. The 10th floor was occupied with some of Samson and Jenning's most desirable female staff, most of whom where as hopelessly flirtatious as I. I am a University of Michigan business school grad, fairly handsome once I grew into my 6'2" frame, most of which happened during my stint in the Gulf War. I think the women of the 10th recognized the irony that I, the strapping college educated Marine arrived each day at 4:15 to empty their trash cans and perform the menial tasks they couldn't be bothered with. My serfdom emboldened them. I must admit, I enjoyed my role. "So Phillip, how will we know who you are tomorrow night," Heather, a project assistant with an adorable southern accent, asked. "How bout I find you, Heather. But are you sure you would want to be seen with me?" A couple of the girl's giggled. This excited me, as I knew it meant that they'd collectively discussed the possibility. It was Friday afternoon and the office was electric with the anticipation of Saturday's soirée. Samson and Jennings was famous not only for its precision and skill as one the nation's top accounting firms but also for its no -holds-barred parties. I learned quickly that the staid and formal accountant's façade was just that. My colleagues were as quickly given to reckless hedonism as the Marines I'd spent leave with or the athletes I'd shared locker rooms with at the U of M. Saturday's party was a masquerade, so I knew that the combination of alcohol and anonymity would unleash a sexual explosiveness that even the stodgiest bean counter couldn't resist. "I don't know Philip," Heather said boldly. "We were kind of wondering how you'd feel to be seen with all of us?" I shook my head and smiled as if to say, "You naughty, naughty girls," but all I could think as I watched the women playfully share in their private joke was what a thrill it would be to spend a single wild evening in the soft lap of this delicious harem. The possibilities thrilled me, and I exited to conceal my pleasure. Just as I lost myself in images of the soft warmth of female flesh luxuriating over the lush carpeted floor of a penthouse suite the air of which was perfumed with the sweet smell of sexual desire, I drove that cart of file boxes right over the delicate, yet potent, foot of Ms. Merrill. "Goddammit! Watch where you're going, for chrissake!" Ms. Merrill dropped a stack of papers as she braced herself against the wall with one hand and reached for her foot with the other. "I'm so sorry. I didn't see..." "You sure didn't! Pay attention next time!" Ms. Merrill scolded between clenched teeth. She let the shoe fall from her foot and began massaging it with her free hand. I had collected all of scattered papers, put them back into the file and offered them to Ms. Merrill when I noticed the tiny cut just above her ankle. I dashed into the men's room and emerged only seconds later with a dampened cloth. I went to dab the blood when she snatched the cloth from me. "I can do it, for chrissake. Why don't you do what it is you're being paid to do. Whatever that is." "I'm sorry, ma'am. You're right I wasn't paying attention. I apologize" Ms. Merrill waved me away at the same moment some of the ladies, led by Heather, arrived to attend to her. Ms. Merrill was on the top rungs of Samson and Jennings hierarchical ladder. I had barely gotten a foot on the lowest rung, and an accident like the one I had just caused could keep both feet on the ground floor for some time to come. Ms. Merrill was an executive with a dangerous reputation. When I'd first heard the stories of devastation she left in the wake of her meteoric rise to the top, I couldn't believe it. First of all, she didn't look the part. Ms. Merrill was one of the most striking women I'd ever seen. Tall, red hair, with the strong confident gait of a long distance runner. She wasn't thin, but very athletic, as anyone who had ever seen her leave one of the downtown gyms after a Pilate's class would quickly attest. She had the type of beauty that left men defenseless. What reason would she have to be shrewd and ruthless? Those tactics were the refuge of the less attractive. But the anecdotal evidence was too strong. The mid-level executive positions at Samson and Jennings were filled with men who had challenged Ms. Merrill or dared to cross her. As far as I knew Ms. Merrill was friends with no one and feared by all. Friday afternoon's catastrophe quelled my enthusiasm for Saturday night's bacchanalia. But I'd made promises to attend and eventually humiliation succumbed to loyalty. I hadn't picked out a mask, so after lingering with several cups of coffee and the entire New York Times, I threw on some clothes and headed off to a small costume shop I knew of in the Village. Apparently, I wasn't the only one to wait until the last minute. In the shop I ran into half a dozen people from the firm browsing through the hundreds of masks. One of these familiar faces was that of Heather, the sultry southern vixen from the 10th floor. "My my. It's a public Phillip sighting," Heather said, loud enough for others to hear. "We were wondering if you ever got out on the weekends." "Oh yeah, I crawl out of my hole every now and then," I answered smiling. What Heather wore was colorful, clearly intended to draw attention to herself. Unlike the drab blacks and grey required by Samson and Jennings, Heather's outfit reflected her sense of energy and adventure. I couldn't help but notice that it was also inviting and just a little naughty without being slutty and cheap. She looked at me and held a silk mask to her face. "What do you think of this one, Phillip?" I shrugged with indecision. "Well since you seem to the resident mask expert, how about you pick one out for me." I laughed and accepted the task. As I looked over the hundreds of choices, I asked, "What'll you be wearing?" "Oh no, now that's a surprise young man. You'll have to figure that one out tonight. You'll know me by my mask. Pick one you like, Phillip." Among the motley staring back at me, one did attract me. It was a deep midnight blue. I picked it up and the tiny sequins and flecks of glitter sparkled back at me. It's eyes were cut differently that the rest. They were more cat-like - plotting, prowling. "This is the one," I said. Heather took it from me and held it in the light. She smiled and without looking at me asked, "What do you like about it, Phillip?" "It reminds me of the night, and I'm very curious about Heather's night. The part that lives while the rest of the world sleeps." I knew I'd run the risk of going a bit overboard, but what I said I actually believed. She looked at me, still smiling, but looking deep into me, as curious about the Phillip that I kept hidden from the world as I was about her. "That's nice. I'll see you tonight, Phillip." A notable emphasis on "night". My encounter with Heather tempted and tantalized me the rest of the day and I found it difficult to do much else other than imagine what might be. To burn off sexual tension I went for a long run through Central Park, but even then I looked for her in among the people enjoying the crisp autumn afternoon. I even left the park and jogged down Fifth Avenue and past the Samson and Jennings building in Midtown with the irrational hope that I might find Heather leaving the building. Once I returned to my apartment I went right to the shower to not only wash away the sweat and relieve my muscles from the strain of an eight-mile run but to also relieve the pent up sexual anticipation that was driving me crazy. Under the warm water I soaped my body. I felt the soft glycerin run over my member and down the insides of my thighs. I closed my eyes and imagined Heather. I undressed her as she watched me. She wore only the mask, watching me with those cat eyes. I felt the purr in her tummy as knelt to kiss it. I could feel my cock grow heavy and thick. At the moment I imagined taking Heather in my mouth, I began to rub the bar of soap over my stiffening cock. I could hear her soft moans in the water that poured over my face, and I stroked as I listened to the pleasure in her voice. This scene had been brewing in my subconscious all afternoon and it suddenly exploded to frenzied, ravenous lovemaking. I felt the warmth of orgasm start to spread through my loins. My hand stroked the full length of my soapy cock and I let forth load groans of desire, a primal expression of my lust that made my throat raw. I finally exploded in long ropes. Spent and relaxed, I leaned my head against the shower wall and let the hot water run over me. At 8:00 PM I looked at myself one last time in the mirror. I picked my mask from the kitchen table. I hadn't given the selection of my mask nearly as much care as I'd given Heather's. I tucked it in my pocket and went to the street to hail a cab. I arrived at the hotel at 8:20. The party had started at 8:00 but I knew that most of the guests wouldn't arrive until closer to 9:00. Most of who was inside would be enthusiastic new hires like myself, showing up not too early as to appear eager and not too late as to appear blasé. As I stepped to the sidewalk, I saw Jack Hammond helping a young raven-haired beauty into a cab a few feet ahead of me. Jack was wasting no time tonight. Apparently he and Sapphire Rocks and made their connection. I pitied the poor girl. A Princeton grad, I recalled from a brief conversation I'd once had with her. A month or so from now, after Jack has tired of her and is ready to move on to something new, she'll miss some work. Her parents will worry because she doesn't call. She'll try to rebound by bar hopping and fucking men of all manner of race and social status, either to prove to herself that she's desirable or to punish herself for not being good enough. Maybe that's a little to psychoanalytic, but that's how I figured these things played themselves out. I entered the hotel and found the banquet room on my own. I plucked the mask from my jacket pocket, drew it down over my face, took a deep breath and entered. It was a large room, elegantly decorated. I studied complicated flower arrangement on one of tables. A finished drink was left on the linen. I picked up the glass and felt the solidness of fine crystal. Again, no expense would be spared. Spending money frivolously was Samson and Jennings single vice, and its employees loved the company for it. I looked about. The room looked empty as small groups of people stood in nervous little clutches, talking about nothing and waiting for something to happen. I grabbed a scotch from the bar and drifted around the room. I could feel people watching me, wondering if I was going to reveal my identity, but for the moment I chose to enjoy my anonymity. A steady stream of guests was entering. I kept a constant watch for Heather with her midnight mask. I wondered if she were as anxious for the possibilities of the night as I was. All of the women looked terrific. These, for the most part, were women who could afford to look good. Most belonged to gyms. Had connections to some of the city's best plastic surgeons. Many of these trophy wives needed to stay attractive for their husbands and stay the forbidden object of desire for other men. Strangely, I found that achieving the latter typically insured the former. By 9:30 the room was full. The band got louder and the laughter got raunchier. I still hadn't found Heather. I bided my time by making eye contact with other women. It was a game I played. I was particularly fond of wives that clung to the edges of a group of men who talked about this deal and that, about investments and football. I excused myself as passed in front of them. In the act of doing so I captured their glances. I politely touched their bare arms and looked into their bored eyes. In that instant I tried to communicate with my eyes and my fingertips that another world waited for them, beckoned to them. All they had to do was follow. I could feel their eyes at my back as I disappeared into the crowd. I represented something prematurely lost and then I was gone. Ready for my third scotch I weaved my way to the bar. At the other end was Heather, with her midnight mask. Her dress was black and clung to her shape. I imagined my hand tracing over the soft curve of her waist and hips. She furthered her disguise with a slightly campy black wig that just wisked the the nape of her long neck. It was an effective touch, but then I am always fascinated by and attracted to the little signs of "another self." Heather glanced casually around the crowded banquet all. I wondered if she were looking for me. As she looked in my direction I nodded. I would have waved, but at the last instant such a gesture seemed a little sophomoric; after all, tonight I was engaged in a sophisticated game of seduction. She nodded back, or at least she seemed to, then continued to look around the room. There was no desperation in her gaze. It was full of confidence and patience, just like a big cat on the Serengeti. Then it dawned on me. There was no way she would know who I am. She did not know what color mask I wore or anything else about how I would dress for the night. This added a new dimension to the game. Revealing myself would be a vital part of the seduction. The bartender set the drink in front of her. Sapphire Bombay on the rocks. Was Heather supposed to be Jack Hammond's tonight? Had the lush slipped off with another girl for a quick bang, and did he plan to return to capture his real prize? Was Heather the HM of the email? I had to confess I didn't know her last name. Did it start with an M. I tried to conjure up memos I'd seen around the office, but it was no use. Besides I was wasting valuable time. Hammond could walk into the room at any moment, zipping his fly and ready for round two. I walked around the bar and squeezed into a space as close to Heather as I could manage. I got the bartender's attention and said in a voice that I hand to consciously control, for at this point I feared it would quaver with adolescent lust, "Marker Mark." The bartender didn't move. He was waiting for something. "Neat," I finished. In an instant I caught Heather looking in my direction. I saw her in my periphery. I could see the sparkling sequins and glitter. When the drink was set before me, I picked it up and slowly turned to face her. She lifted the glass of Sapphire to her lips without ever taking her eyes off me. Her stare was intense. Her slender fingers curled sensuously around the glass. I grew instantly hard. I looked down into my glass to re-gather myself, but when I looked up again, Heather was gone. I spun around; she had disappeared just as I had disappeared from the vision of the women whom I had teased. Now I felt the emptiness and the panic of a lost opportunity. I left the bar to search the room. I squeezed past women and couldn't avoid pressing my firmness against them. Some didn't notice, others jerked away, some pressed back. The alcohol and perfume and the crush of flesh was dizzying and I eventually decided to go out to the street for air before continuing my search. The cool October air and the familiar sound of the streets helped me get my bearing. As I watched the life on the street, I questioned my sudden obsession with this one woman. I had nearly come to the conclusion that my best plan was to quit this exciting, but exhausting, game of sexual pursuit. I wondered if watching me give chase was all that Heather wanted of me. It would make a great Monday morning story to share with her cohorts. Maybe the best thing was to head back to the Village. I could stop by a familiar tavern on the way home. Saturday night was a great time to hook up with beautiful and interesting women. "Mr. Cates?" a limo driver said. "Are you Mr. Phillip Cates?" He was reading from a card. "Yeah, that's me. What's up?" "I've been asked to deliver you, Mr. Cates. This way please." He led me to a black limo parked at the curb outside the hotel. I followed, though I wasn't sure I should. "So what's this all about?" I asked. "What do you mean 'deliver me'? The driver opened the door and waited for me to get in. I shook my head and took a couple steps back. "Listen, Mr. Cates. My client hires me for these projects all of the time. I've never heard one of them complain. Trust me, you'd be a fool to turn down this offer." "No, sorry, my friend. This all sounds a little too weird. I don't know who your client is, but I was taught at a young age not to take candy from strangers. Thanks for the thought, though." "Well, I can't force you, sir, but with respect to your mother, you've never had candy quite like this. Here, take this." The driver offered me the tiny card from which he'd been reading earlier. It bore the Samson and Jennings logo. The card was filled with a handwritten message. "Deliver Mr. Phillip Cates to 239 W 98th St. HM I couldn't contain my delight. This simple message reinvigorated my interest and reignited my libido. I hopped into the back of the eager to pay a visit to HM. The limo was well stocked. An impressive collection of top shelf liquors. I helped myself to some scotch, hoping to restore the edge to my buzz - thus my bravery. I noticed two small silver trays on the seat next to me. On one tray were two joints. I hadn't been high since my homecoming from the Mideast. I tucked it in my pocket for future use. On the other tray was a gold key. Engraved on the ebony key tag was 1215. I studied it as if I possessed the key to Magic Kingdom. "Wait right here, Mr. Cates," the driver said parking at the curb in front of some luxurious West Side condos. He exited and approached the doorman with a familiar smile. They spoke for a moment before the driver returned and opened my door. "All set, Mr. Cates. The elevator is in the lobby. You have the key, I assume." I dangled the gold key in front of me as I reached for my wallet. Duty-Bound   Karen saw it the moment her husband stepped in the door, he'd been in another fight. Looking at his swollen lip and the darkening bruise on his cheekbone it looked like he didn't fare to well. She quickly stepped into the foyer and helped him pull off his jacket. "Where was this one?" she asked. "This one what?" "You know what. Where did you get into a fight tonight?" "How do you know..." he paused, seeing the look in his wife's eyes he knew he was busted. "Hattie's Coffee Café." "Hattie's?" "Yeah, but it wasn't my fault this time." "It's never your fault, only this time looks like maybe someone got you pretty good," Karen replied. "Nah, no, you got it wrong. I kicked his ass, kicked it good. Only afterward I got blindsided." "Don't tell me, one of his friends jumped you?" "No, it was Hattie. I finished the guy off and was headed back to my table when Hattie just off and clocked me." "George, Hattie's an eighty year old woman." "Nah, she's in her mid seventies and is young for her age. I think she works out some." "And tell me George, how did the fight start? Wait, wait, did it have something to do with haiku?" "You know it did." "George, why can't you just go to a poetry reading and let the poets read their poems, good or bad just let them read them." "But it's wrong Karen, dead wrong. I mean when they stand up and read a sonnet, it more or less is written in iambic pentameter and fits a set rhyme scheme. I mean they don't stand up, call it a sonnet and then read an ode, or a triolet, no they read a sonnet... good or bad, it's still a sonnet." "And the haiku?" "Don't you see, everyone thinks that as long as it has three lines of five, seven and five syllables it is a haiku." "Well isn't it?" "Karen!" "All right, I was just kidding. I know they are so much more, and yes I know that in English the syllable count is so different from Japanese that even the five, seven and five is a misnomer." "And you know I am duty-bound to correct them." "Duty-bound? You mean that proclamation you received from that Japanese haiku club?" "Haiku club? It's their high council on haiku. So when I follow their edict and step in to berate the ignorant poet for reciting the abomination they call a haiku, I act in official capacity." "And when you do that, what always happens George?" Karen asked, running her hands up through her long blond hair. She sees him looking at her hair and reminds herself she needs to get it colored again, the roots are nearly as long as her fingers now. "They say something about the "haiku police" thinking they're cute or something." "And?" "Well, I whip out my badge and then remove them from the stage. Then they start a fight... happens every time." "George, you ever think that maybe, at least in their eyes, you jerking them off the stage might be what starts the fight." George flopped down in his recliner holding his head. "I am only doing what I am supposed to do, but it just doesn't do any good. Every time I beat some haiku sensibilities into someone, three more show up who haven't got the first fucking clue." "I know George, but you're home now, why not just try and relax," she said, reaching down and massaging his shoulders. "You're just so tense," she said, slowly working her hand over the tight muscles of his neck and shoulders. "I guess you are right, maybe I'm taking this all too seriously," he said resting his head back on the chair. Karen ran her hands down over his arms and then onto his chest, slipping her hands into his shirt. Moving them through the hair on his chest, she slipped over to his nipples and let her fingers slowly circle over them. Noticing his breathing quicken a bit, she felt him lean back, pushing his chest out some. She also noticed the tent forming in his pants. While still working his nipple with one hand, she silently unbuttoned her blouse with the other hand and then, as she slipped her hand from his shirt and moved around in front of him, she removed her bra. Moving in between his legs, she knelt down on the floor, quickly unfastened his pants and then eased his cock out. After a few short strokes he was fully erect. Noticing a glistening droplet of precum, Karen leaned forward and touched her tongue to it, wincing a bit at the bitter flavor. She then eased her mouth over the head of his cock, as her one hand moved to his thick shaft and the other cupped his balls. Working in unison, she began stroking his cock, bobbing her head up and down over the head as she sucked and gently kneaded his balls. Glancing up at his face, she saw his eyes close and then heard him begin to breathe even faster. She could tell by the way he responded that he would never last long enough for her, so she intensified her sucking. Just as she suspected, within just moments he was flexing his ass muscles and lifting his hips from the chair trying to push his cock even deeper into her mouth. She felt his cock suddenly thicken as he moaned loudly, thrust his hips upward and came, spurting his hot cum into mouth. Pulling her head back, she quickly swallowed and then slipped her mouth back over his, taking each additional spurt into her mouth. When his orgasm has subsided, she pulled her mouth away and then swallowed once again, feeling the thick, bland cum slip over her tongue and down her throat. Karen rested his head on his thigh as she watched his cock soften. As it slowly descended, falling onto his thigh, she glanced up and saw him looking down at her with a smile. "Are you relaxed now?" "Yes, I think so," he said. Karen watched his hand move down between his legs and lightly brush against her breast. Straightening up, she arched her back and pushed her breasts out , letting him take them in both his hands. "Mmm, nice," she said as he squeezed them lightly. "What about you?" he asked. "What about me?" Karen replied. "I want to do something for you," he said. Smiling Karen reached down and grabbed his soft cock, "but it looks like you need to stiffen up a bit. Besides, I've got something in the oven." Feeling him pulling her up onto him she said, "Okay, okay. Look, let me do a few things in the kitchen and then I'll be ready. Why don't you go look at something sexy on the computer and see if things stiffen up." Feeling him release her, she moved into the kitchen where she stood waiting, waiting for the inevitable. He pulled off his pants and underwear and headed over to the computer. It took a few minutes, in fact it took long enough that if she did have something in the oven, she'd have had time to get it out, put it on a plate and take a few bites. Finally it came... "Motherfucker! Damn it all. You know you try... you try and teach them something, but do they care... fuck no, they just go on writing that mindless dribble, five seven five, yippee I wrote a haiku. I ought to kick her ass." "Her?" Karen said as she walked from the kitchen to the computer. "Yea, some supposed haiku poet, who wouldn't know a real haiku from a real fuck." "Oh really, and I imagine you could teach her." "Damn right," he said, his face beet red as he turned, clenching his fists. She moved over to him, leaned her breasts against him, feeling his body quivering in anger she reached down, took firm hold of his cock and began stroking. Fueled by the testosterone surging in his body, his cock quickly responded to her hand. Squeezing him she said, "Teach me, teach me about a real fuck." Karen saw his jaw tighten as he clenched his teeth, but he reached down, lifted her up in his arms and quickly carried her to their bed. He tossed her down and before she could get to her shorts, he had pulled them and her panties off. His hands grasped her thighs firmly and spread her legs wide as he moved his face in between her legs. She felt his tongue pierce her and then circle inside her as he tasted her. It dipped in and out of her several times before she felt his tongue withdraw and then lap up between her lips and roughly roll over her clit. Normally she like it slow and tender but not now, not tonight, she wanted him to take her, take her completely. She gasped as his tongue plunged back into her and then slipped out. She felt him bite her nipples as he moved his hips between her legs and she quickly reached down and guided him into her. His weight suddenly came upon her as she felt his cock drive deep into her. Almost breathless, she gasped for air as her pussy suddenly was empty and then with a loud slap, it was filled again. The sensations repeated themselves, empty, then full, empty then full as her husband desperately thrust in and out of her. With each thrust she felt his balls slap against her ass, and more importantly she felt his pelvis grind against her clit bringing her closer and closer. She then exploded in as a jolting wave of pleasure erupted from her pussy and then ran through her entire body. Wrapping her legs and arms around him she pulled him tight, her pussy convulsing wildly. As her orgasm subsided she realized he was oblivious to it all as he continued his ferocious thrusting without even slowing down for her. The sensation was so intense for her now it almost hurt, but then yes, it changed, yes, yes once again, closer, closer and yes, yes, yes, she once again pull him tight as she cried out, "Again, I'm coming again." She held him tight, feeling his muscles surge, feeling him filling her like he never had before, slamming himself into her again and again until she heard him moan loudly. His tight muscles suddenly went slack as he collapsed upon her, his strength suddenly gone, his cock deep inside her suddenly seemed smaller. She remained beneath him as they both caught their breath. His cock slowly softened and finally slipped out of her as he rolled over onto his back and whispered, "Karen, damn that was incredible." "Yes it was George, yes it was," she replied. She remained next to him in bed, cradled in his arm until she heard a light snoring sound. As he slept, she crept out of bed and walked out to the computer. Signing on, she opened a message thread and clicked to post a reply. Thinking for a moment she slowly typed three short lines and then hit preview. Looking at the screen she read: his giant thick cock plunged deep into my pussy filling me with him She then clicked edit and entered a title for her post, typing "another haiku." She then signed off and returned to bed, hoping her "haiku" would stir up her husband as much as the one she posted earlier in the day did. Climbing into bed, she snuggled up to her naked husband, pressing her pussy tight against his thigh, feeling the pressure against her clit she smiled and closed her eyes.   Duty Bound The new King was impotent and I, his new Queen, was to accept an unknown male to conceive an heir. My duty. That the King could not fulfill his matrimonial duties was both surprise and disappointment. Everyone, including me, assumed his virility beyond question. And I had accepted that I would submit to him, my first, immediately after the wedding. Instead, I would be supplied a surrogate to both take my maidenhood and fill me with viable seed. "You may think me a tyrant," he said, standing at my bedside, "but I cannot afford to be insensitive to my duties. The kingdom expects an heir and I, we, will provide one." "But couldn't you just..." I wanted him to take my virginity, not relinquish it to some unknown who'd boast about it for years. "No," he said. "And don't ask why." The 'why' was that my maidenhead was part of the payment. I just nodded to him, heartbroken but resigned. Suddenly, I felt sorry for him. If I hadn't truly loved him before, I did at least respect him. "I'm sorry you must do this," I said. He turned away. I was heartbroken. He faced me again, eyes watering. I felt the sadness. "I'm sorry," he said. "A King should never show emotion." Yet he had. To me. I reached for his hand squeezed it. "His Queen," I said, "understands the burden you shoulder." He nodded. "Such kindness. I am touched. Therefore, I will proceed with my plan with a lighter heart. After your monthly times cease, the nightly visits will stop," he said. "However, his identity must remain unknown to you. To that end, I have given Gwyneth special instructions. You're to follow them without question." Gwyneth was my lady-in-waiting. "So she knows of him?" He shook his head. "She knows only that it's my request, and that I prefer women so prepared. You mustn't enlighten her." "Prepared how?" He turned away. "Just do as I ask," he said. He faced me again. "Please, for the sake of the kingdom." I nodded. What choice did I have? "I will comply." He bent down and kissed me on the forehead. "Thank you. You will be richly rewarded. And, I promise to frequent your bed often, though congress will be fruitless." "And I will welcome those times," I said. He smiled. "I hope so." "Is my lover to visit me shortly?" No matter who he was, I would find him distasteful. "After I retire." So soon? "I'll... I'll be fine," I said. He nodded. "In the morning, as far as anyone is concerned, our first meeting was most satisfactory." Abruptly, he left my chamber. In the sudden silence that followed, I wondered why, of all the eligible women in the kingdom, he had chosen me as Queen. Had he thought me the most receptive, most tractable, to what he surely knew must be done. What, in my past, had assured him of this? But nothing of substance came as answer. My visitor must also possess a special talent or trait. He would be virile, of proven ability. Hence, our offspring would have half-brothers or sisters. Once entwined, our unique gifts would complement each other's and assure both successful and unrevealed couplings. Still, I mourned the loss of my prized asset, my virginity, to a man I would never know, never love, and one forbidden to raise his own child. I was washed and powdered, combed and braided. More importantly, she instructed me in the expectations of men—my knowledge of them sorely lacking. Gwyneth's eye-opening descriptions shocked me. As blue blooded and negotiable currency, I had been chaperoned since puberty. Now, barely concealed beneath a finely laced nightdress, the moment had come. It just wasn't the moment I had dreamt about. "These extra preparations our King talks about, are they onerous?" "You're to simply lie and accept," she said, quickly glancing away, then faced me again. "You'll have no choice." "So I've been told." Gwyneth shook her head. "It's more than that, milady. You're to be fastened to the bed and blindfolded. I'm sorry." I was sorry too. "You're to do this to me?" She lowered her eyes. "Yes, milady. And I'm to make sure you're ready...," She glanced away. "...accepting. There's to be no impediment when it comes time to take your maidenhead. Once the King's seed is deposited, he will leave." "Are you to prepare me now?" She nodded. "Shortly." "Who else knows?" "No one, milady." No one except my new lover. And those the King had confided in to help carry out this wicked plan. The whole realm would soon know. I would be the laughing stock of the palace. I sighed. The King would suffer more, his manliness in ruins, his respect severely eroded. Again, I felt sorry for him. I could spoil everything by telling Gwyneth it would not be the King who comes, but a surrogate. But I would not. I would submit, as ordered. My husband had been correct in his assumptions—I was amenable, I would do my duty and keep my tongue. So too, he must be certain the surrogate approved of his women being fettered, unable to resist. I was reduced to a fertile vessel to seed. The only questioned that remained was whether being so bound disgusted me. "Go fetch your ropes," I said. "But it's too early, milady." "If I'm to be bound nightly then I should get accustomed to it. Bind me, prepare me, as you were ordered." She bowed and left, then returned with a basket of heavy cord. "These are silk, milady, imported from the east." At least my husband had considered my personal comfort. "How should I lie?" "Without any clothing," said Gwyneth. "Wrists and ankles to the corners." Vulnerable. Exposed. Easy prey. I pulled my nightdress over my head and tossed it aside. I had long lost my shyness around her. She'd been in charge of my personal grooming for years. As such, she'd seen every corner of me. I lay back, arms and legs extended. "Is this satisfactory?" She pulled a silken cord from the basket. "I shall be gentle. But you mustn't be able to remove yourself." She hesitated. "What is it?" I said. "I'm sorry you must be so bound. If I could, I would gladly endure the unpleasantness in your stead." I hugged her. "And what point would it serve?" She giggle nervously. "He expects to see someone, a woman, waiting. And this room will be darkened." "And shall you then try and transfer the resulting issue into me when he leaves?" She shook her head, giggled. "That would be difficult." "Don't fret, it's my duty and I shall survive. After all, I have you to protect me." "Yes, milady, I will always do my utmost, whatever your needs or wants." "Therefore you will come fetch me, after, or if I'm in distress" She lowered her eyes. "No, milady," she said. "I'm only to enter after he leaves." I would suffer any mistreatment unprotected. I prayed my husband had chosen wisely. Gwyneth proved adept at tying silk. I could not pull or wiggle free yet I did not feel undue pain or distress. A small pillow under my hips ensured I would be an easy mount. However, I wouldn't tire. Then I was rendered blind, a leather band over my eyes. I tried to remove it, tried to see under or past in some small way, and failed. "It's well tied at the back," she said. "It will not shift." I was secure without hope of sight. "Now I wait," I said. "How much time remains?" "Some," she said. "But I'm not done." I laughed. "What else could you possibly do?" I felt the edge of the bed dip—she'd sat beside me. "Please, milady, what I do now is what I was ordered to do, nothing more. I beg forgiveness. And remember, I wish our situations were reversed." She was genuinely distressed, I could hear it. And ready, accepting, meant not only fettered, but conditioned to yield easily. She would arouse me manually. "I could have used my own hand," I said, then sighed. "Gwyneth, I will reward your devotion handsomely. Please continue as ordered." After, I would submit to an unknown man's thrust, his seed, and Gwyneth would return to rescue me. "I can satisfy myself after," I said, "if it comes to that." "Please. Again, I'm sorry, I wish... I wish it were me so ordered. But the King demands you relinquish all sovereignty over your desires." "All?" Silence. I closed my eyes. "Do as you must. Proceed," I said. "I will when it's time." Then she rose. I heard her move about, doing what I did not know, just that she was not attending to me. My predicament became clear. My lady-in-waiting was now my master. She was, in turn, servant to the King. All sexual activities had been move beyond my control. I would submit and he, whomever he was, would take. From that, the King would have an heir and the kingdom would be jubilant. And later, should I perhaps bind Gwyneth as I am now, that she may share my experience, my plight? Would the experience help her become a better servant? I imagined her thus bound, arousal slowly prized from her. And there remained the injustice in our situations. My nakedness was not new to her. She bathes and grooms me daily. But I had never seen her unclothed. The edge of the bed sunk. Gwyneth. She touched me, but just on my thigh. I gasped anyway. "Should I speak?" Silence. I should not. I should only submit. But I might not become aroused. After all, she was a woman. Her caresses, back and forth, feather-like, fleeting, spanned my legs, then skirted to my stomach. Then a maddening dance around my breasts. By the time she reached the first nipple, taut, my arousal had surfaced. Woman or not, I had responded. By the time she teased the second I began to despair at her pace. "You may," I said, "without fear of reprimand, touch me where necessary." Again, silence. But the delicate tease continued and I became thoroughly kindled and frustrated at the pace. I resolved that if it ever came to pass that we do switch positions—if I am unable by whatever reason to submit for a particular evening—I will drive her to madness no matter the ferocity by which she wishes it to end. Indeed, I was well prepared, moist, all obstacles to entry removed. Then she did touch my petals and I moaned loudly. She knew my state, exactly. The Queen was ready. Her servant had done her duty. But then a finger pushed between them, not deep inside but enough to verify my purity. Then she withdrew, my most sensitive junction her new focus. I would not utter a sound again. I would be stoic, ladylike, and not betray my desire. She knew her work, the tension rising, my body, legs, becoming taut, muscles straining. I would soon reach summit, the pent up demand too great to restrain. "Gwyneth," I said, "you mustn't continue. I—" I was panting, out of breath. But I knew she understood me. Yet she did not slow or change. Again, I resolved, positions reversed, I would show her no mercy. None. But my passion threatened to overflow, to erupt, to ruin the proceedings. This was too soon. Then it did, thwarting my will to resist, or because of it, forcing me to succumb to its savage fluctuations, while I strained and moaned most unladylike in my silken bonds. And was entered! Fully. A massive intrusion, emptying my lungs of air, the sharp tearing fleeting, fully absorbed by my arousal. This was not Gwyneth. This was my new lover. I contracted around him, hard, writhing and whimpering. I wanted more and he supplied it, pounding deep and long, powerful hands gripping my hips, forcing us together. My pinnacle, instead of subsiding, continued, drawing him back into me when he withdrew, squeezing hard when he collided with me. This, I decided, was matrimonial bliss. If only it could be within a true marriage. Instead, I had committed treason. Then he erupted, spurting hot, deep, his muscles trembling as he held himself aloft, his manhood firm against my womb, held there until his spasms subsided. He fell against me, long burning breaths against my neck. "So lovely, my Queen." The King. My King! My husband. I could not help it, I cried, tears bursting forth. Joyous. So very unexpected and welcome. I wanted to hold him. "Kiss me," I said. He did. Passionate, searching. He pulled away, still out of breath. "I love you," he whispered into my ear. "And I you." I should ask him why he approached me thus. Why had he not ask to bind me as a matter of course, if he wanted that? I would have, reluctantly. In an instant I knew the brilliance of this tact. After experiencing such bliss, I craved reliving the experience. "You'll do this to me again?" I said. "Soon perhaps?" Nightly. "Yes. But do not ask." He rose, withdrawing, the sudden absence a void. I missed his body upon mine. I missed his royal member. I missed being so deftly aroused. I missed him. "Don't leave me," I said. I resented the cords now. I wanted to wrap my arms around him and never let go. "I must. Protocol must be observed. But keep the cords at hand," he said. Then the door leading to his chamber closed. I heard Gwyneth enter. She removed the blindfold. Then untied me. But I remained as if fixed, wrists and ankles at the corners. "You never touched me," I said, "did you?" "No, milady. It's not my place." His claim of impotence was no more than a ruse. But the Queen's love—my love—and respect for him was reality. I would never be able to resist him and his needs. I giggle to myself. Of course I wouldn't. As per my duty, he'd bind me so I could not. Duty-Bound "Not necessary, Mr. Cates. Keep your money. I've been well compensated. You are asked to put the mask on before entering the room. Have a nice evening." I could hear my heart pound as the elevator climbed to the eleventh floor. If the elevator operator could hear my heart beat, he certainly did a great job hiding it. I treaded the lush hallway carpet of the 12th floor looking for 1215. Once I found it, I paused for a second to gather myself. I wanted to make sure I was prepared to play the game. The last thing I wanted to do was rush in like a horny schoolboy, hard-on an all, which is kind of how I felt. I took a deep breath and slid the key into the lock. The tumblers clicked. I turned the knob and pressed the door open. I pulled the mask over my face and entered. The apartment was tastefully appointed. I ran my hand over the furniture's rich fabric. Each elegant sculptures, portraits, and pieces of Indian pottery sat in the soft glow of low light. The corner condo looked out onto the Hudson to the east and to the shimmering towers of Midtown to the south. No way could Heather afford this place. I guessed at what she made and figured she had tapped into one helluva sugar daddy. I heard soft jazz rolling down the hall. I knew I was to follow the sound, and it led me to a bedroom that was lit by gentle fire. Sitting next to marble fireplace was Heather. She still wore her black wig and mask, but she'd shunned the slinky dress for a glimmering silk nightgown. Her long legs were crossed and, bathing in the flame's golden light, were as tempting and alluring as Sirens. Heather rose and walked to a table at which she poured champagne for both of us. Watching her silk draped figure flow across the room was hypnotic; even the simplest movement expressed her profound sexuality - an erotic allure that nearly took my breath away. "I always admired your imagination and taste for adventure, Heather," I said taking the flute from her long slender fingers. "But I confess, I never quite imagined this." Heather walked around me before returning to her seat by the fire. "I'm very interested in what you imagine, Phillip." The voice was not at all what I expected. Granted I'd been drinking enough for my senses to play some tricks, but Heather's southern belle's voice was unmistakable. This voice was very different. She must have sensed my confusion. "Do you know who I am, Phillip?" "No. No I don't." "I like that," she said smiling. "It gives me freedom." She crossed her long legs, allowing me for just an instant to look into the dark region between her soft thighs. Obviously taken aback, I didn't know how to respond. I took a long drink from the champagne. My eyes scanned the length of her legs. I could tell from the way her calves tapered to her ankles that this was a woman who took care of herself. My eyes fell on the rich bracelet that slid along her slender ankle as her leg slowly pumped. Then I saw it. I caught a fleeting glimpse of it as her foot passed through the firelight. At first I wasn't sure. The room was dark and scotch had influenced my perception. But then I saw it again. It was small and would have gone completely undetected had I not known what I was looking for. Just above the ankle, partly covered by the bracelet was the tiniest cut - just a scratch really. HM. Not Heather at all. Whereas the "H" became a mystery, the "M" revealed itself. Merrill. My first impulse was to run from the room. Then I realized whom I was dealing with and the hell she could make my life should I offend her. My second impulse was to show no fear. She arranged this game. This was something she wanted. Typical of her style, she'd gone to elaborate lengths to get what she wanted - to satisfy a need that only a select few had ever had the pleasure. With this realization, the fear ebbed and my curiosity started to surge. "Does it bother you, Phillip?" she asked. "Does what bother me?" "Does it bother you to be used in this way," she smiled. "After all, you've been beckoned to serve a single function - to satisfy a women the name of whom you're never permitted to know." Her lips pressed into a faint smile, a subtle indications that she enjoyed offering me her perspective on our "arrangement." "I understand you were in the military. Gulf War," she continued. "Then you must be used to all kinds of interesting assignments. Surely an evening like this can't frighten a war hero." It may have been the expensive champagne. It may have been the teasing. It my have been my knowledge that I had discovered the chink in her armor. Or it may have been the vulnerability I divined in a rare and fleeting girlish gesture. It probably was all of these. I walked to her. I pulled the room key from my pocket and dropped it in her lap. "The champagne was perfect. The setting singular. The possibilities - intoxicating; however, I think you are looking for another kind of lover. Strangely, I wish I were more intimidated, alas guess we're just left to imagine the possibilities." As I turned to leave, she reached for my arm. My gamble had paid off. I grabbed both her wrists and trapped them against the arms of the chair. I put my face close to hers. "I know you better than you think, and I'm betting you're ready to have me prove it to you." The self-confidence had left her mouth. Like a hiding, but curious child, she looked at me from behind that mask. As I stared into those eyes, I pulled open the front of her robe. I watched her eyes grow wider as I slowly circled the curve of her breasts with my fingertips. Exploring her flesh and feeling the heat rise from it. I ran a fingertip over her pink nipple and felt it stiffen beneath my touch. I smiled. Withdrew my hand from her breast and walked back to retrieve the glass I'd left on the table. With my back to her, I poured another glass of champagne and drank deep. "Perhaps, you should leave," she said. "This is not what I had in mind." "Really?" I said as I returned to her. I took her arm and lifted her from the chair. I led her to a window that overlooked the river. I let her watch the reflection in the window as I stood behind her and opened her rope. I let her watch my hands as they slid up over her flat tummy and cupped her breasts. I kissed her neck and lightly bit into the perfumed flesh. I heard her gasp. "I thought so," I whispered in her ear. She reached back to touch the firmness that I pressed against her ass, but I caught the hand and with it led her to the bed. I rebuffed her efforts to pull me into the bed. I demanded control. Complete control. I slid from her grasp and pushed her roughly onto the bed. I pulled her legs apart and stood between them, my body looming over her sex. I reached down and took her in my hand. I felt the bristle of her trimmed mound against my palm and then I felt the moisture dampening my fingertips. I curled my hand against her sex, and let a finger slide inside her moist cunt. My fingertip stroked the velvet walls of her pussy. Her stomach rose and fell as in spasm of delight. She reached for my wrist, but again I denied her any control. This time I stripped away the silk robe from her body. In one motion I tore it in two. The sound of the ripping fabric elicited a groan - a mix of surprise and arousal. I lifted her long legs into the bed and with each half of the silk robe I bound her wrists to the antique cast iron bedposts. I kissed her mouth, forcing my tongue inside. "Mine", I groaned before I ran my tongued down her neck, over her dappled chest. I brushed my lips over her now pebble hard nipples. My hungry mouth kissed and tasted her tummy, pausing to tug at the stud that pierced her navel. I traced my fingertips over the tattoo. It excited me to discover the blue and pink symbol of naughtiness that she kept hidden from the world. It was a serpent of some kind. Reared and potent. It's muscular, scaly body coiled beneath it. It's mouth open, hungry. It's eyes looking down at her moist and swollen cunt. My mouth explored the neat little strawberry bush. I felt her hips rise to meet me, but she'd have to wait. First I licked the nectar that dampened her creamy thighs. My fingers dug into her flesh. I bit at it with carnivorous zeal. Her low groans had turned to whimpers. When my mouth descended on her juicy cunt, she let forth a cry of pleasure, pent anticipation. I licked the nectar from the folds of her pussy, leaving not a drop. I curled my hands under her pink ass and lifted her to my mouth, so that my hungry tongue could plunge inside her. She furiously pulled against the silks as my tongue teased her swollen clit. I'd bring her close to climax and stop. Bring her to the edge of ecstasy once again and stop. "You'll come in my good time," I told her. I rolled her over to her tummy and ordered her to lift her ass. Offer it up to me. As she did, she looked back at me. Her lips were parted as she panted. I watched her silently mouth the word, "Please." I spanked the pink bottom. Watched it grow red and spanked again. I bit down into the globes of her delicious ass, and as I did, three fingers filled her now drenched pussy. I wiped the juices that rolled down her thighs and offered my moistened fingers to her mouth. "Are you ready to be fucked?" I finally asked. "Ready to feel my servant's cock." "Now!" she ordered. "It doesn't work that way," I said in a controlled voice. "Fuck me!" she cried. "Getting closer." "Fuck me! Fuck me, goddamit!" "Well, this is not what I had in mind," and I left the bed. "Please. Please fuck me. I need you to fuck me. Please. I beg you. Fuck me now." I released her from the bonds. She rolled to her back and lie there panting, watching me undress. I slid next to her and we both luxuriated in the contact of our flesh. I did fuck Ms. Merrill; in fact, our damp bodies were still colliding in passion when the first streaks of golden sunlight danced over the surface of the Hudson. Ms. Merrill and I never spoke; never met again. After all, she was in control. Heather was promoted shortly thereafter to an office on the 15th floor. I missed our sexy repartee, so about a week after she'd settled in, I went to her office to congratulate her. The office was empty, so I decided to find a piece of scrap paper with which to leave her a note. As I was looking for a pen, I discovered something lying in an unpacked box. I picked up the midnight mask. A note was attached to the inside. Heather. Thanks for the costume. Everything worked perfectly. Just as you said it would. HM Duty Ch. 02 For some reason my fiancé seemed a little uneasy when I told him my good news. "Baby, you know that present you got me? Well, I decided I should put it to good use," I told him as we lay together on our bed. The soft sheets underneath my barely clothed body made me want to tear off my remaining clothing and welcome my fiancé home. "Well I figured that when I got your text message. I know you can't make yourself cum without your fingers, you always complain that it just isn't enough," he replied. "Why do you seem upset that I used the vibrator then? I mean, you got it for me to use, didn't you?" I questioned him. "It's not that I'm upset, it's just that, well, just don't replace me. I'm sure you would love something that doesn't talk back to you and doesn't need special attention when it's not in use. Makes me seem rather obsolete, that's all," he told me. It was hard for me not to laugh. Perhaps if I was more feminist, I would be happy on my own with toys to please me and no one else in the picture, but that just isn't me. "Baby, you have lost your mind. I love you and I don't care what kind of toys there are, I'm not replacing you," I said earnestly. It seemed to relieve him a little bit. "Okay, I just don't want you to forget about me while I'm gone," he said. "Oh stop it, babe. This is ridiculous. Calm down and let's have some fun this evening," I said to change the subject. I leaned over and began to kiss his neck, stopping to nibble a few times around his collar bones. His wandering hands gently removed my remaining clothing and began to caress the small of my back. "So how about we make it so every time I use it, I think of you?" I asked him. "What are you talking about?" he asked, slightly confused. I reached into the drawer where I kept my toys and grabbed the purple vibrator from its hiding place. I turned it on the first setting and placed it in his hand. He jumped a little at the feeling. I was still trying to open him up sexually, an arduous but very rewarding task. Simple things still caught him off guard like a sexually repressed teenager. Although we had never talked about it, I had made it my personal goal to ensure we experienced everything we possibly could. He got the message fairly quickly and slowly started rubbing the smooth instrument of pleasure around my pussy lips and close to my clit. Immediately I started to press myself towards him, hoping he would grind it harder against me. Instead he pulled back. "Oh? Is this what you want? You want me to fuck you with this fake cock?" he demanded. "Yes baby, please. I need something inside of me," I begged. I knew this was somehow going to turn into an interesting game. "How bad do you want it?" he asked. "You want it in this little thing?" and positioned it on the outside of my pussy. I nodded my head yes as I tried harder to press down onto it, but every time I moved, he took it farther away. "You're going to have to work for it tonight." He grabbed my clit and pinched it between two of his fingers. "You better start playing with yourself or you're never going to get any release." My fingers were between my legs before he finished his sentence. I was dying for him to fuck me with my vibrator. Honestly, I was dying to be fucked by anything at that point. I began playing with my clit as best I could as he provided distraction by running the purple cock all around my most sensitive area. "Please baby, please," I moaned as I felt the orgasm slowly building inside me. I guess he finally gave in, because right after the words escaped my mouth, he pushed it to the hilt inside of me. I bucked my hips against his hand with my fingers still teasing and twisting my clit. I didn't even notice my fiancé slip a finger into my pussy to gather the wetness until it was positioned at the pucker of my asshole. He paused for a second and slowed his rhythm with the vibrator. "Don't stop fucking me!" I yelled at him. I was so close to cumming, I couldn't let him stop now. He smiled as he pushed his finger into my waiting ass. Immediately the sensation pushed me over the edge. He pulsed his finger in rhythm with the plastic cock in my pussy. My moans grew loader as I came, hips bucking every time he shoved it in. There was no way I would be able to forget this treat anytime soon. As I came down from my climax, my juices began to pool under my ass on the bed sheets. He slowed down and let me bask in the last few moments of my orgasm. "You like that, baby?" he asked me. By now he had taken the vibrator out of me and placed it on the bed beside us. His hand gently stroked my hair. All I could do was nod. "You want to taste yourself?" I weakly answered him with another nod. He took the finger that had been buried in my asshole and put it into my pussy to get some of the sweet cum out of it. "This time you can get a little of both flavors." I tentatively took his finger into my mouth. It was a sweet, rich taste that met my taste buds. I can't say I didn't enjoy the mixture of flavors, in fact, it made me want more.