BDSM Library - Walking on the Wild Side

Synopsis: When two beautiful roommates explore the wild side of life, they meet with unexpected consequences. Kymber gets swept away by Michael, an older man who sees her as a challenge to control. She turns into his sex slave and the training is brutal.

The arrogant Cindy, a human Barbie doll, meets her match in Patrick. He makes Cindy debase herself in a place where she is the queen, turning her into a slut.

He told me I was to be pierced that afternoon. I was carefully licking his balls and in no position to respond. A little tug on the chain clipped to my neck was a signal to snake my finger into his asshole. I got it right, because his dick got very hard and he rammed it down my throat. Cum hurled like a storm surge into my stomach. He held onto my head tightly while I shuddered and gasped for air. I quickly lapped some precious drops that escaped and dribbled down my chin. He allowed me to relax between his thighs.

I wasn't very good at giving blow jobs. In fact, it was my albatross. Sir decided that frequent drilling would sharpen my skills. Any hesitation in decoding the subtle movements and tugs would incur a swift correction. Needless to say, he beat me frequently with the riding crop.

“Pay attention!” he'd say icily.

He forced my mouth to mold to him and filled my nose with his smell. When I opened my throat, he would drive deep into me, putting me at his mercy while I was at my most defenseless and vulnerable position. I had little choice but to keep trying. Yeah, I did get better at it. One late, rainy afternoon, as I looked up at him in a haze of pain and tears, I felt proof of my own power in the shuddering strength of his orgasms. I became the proud receptacle of his bodily fluids.

As he lay spent and stroked my head, he said, "Kymber, it's time to go. Slip into your heels and bring me your leash."

"Yes, Sir," I replied and scampered off.

I'd been jerking off to the Story of O and porn since I was a twelve-year old babysitter. I never thought those early beginnings of reading erotica would bring me to this point.

~Sunday Afternoon, three weeks earlier~

The familiar smell of Coppertone wafted to my nose. Cindy was energetically rubbing lotion on her golden arms. Her long, straight, flaxen hair was pulled up in a ponytail. She peered at me over her Jackie O sunglasses while I hid under my baseball cap and pretended to be incoherent.

"You look rode hard and hung up wet," she grinned.

Her mile high legs gleamed in the sunlight. I pictured myself skewered by HIS thick, pointed lance, squirming and screaming through the ball gag.

"Kymber?"

The plastic cap squeaked as she screwed it on the bottle.

Cindy shook my shoulder and I twisted ever so slightly to look at her and said dreamily, "Did you say something?"

Her luscious, thick lips were wrapped around a cigarette as she talked out of the side of her mouth. She opened a bag of carrots, flipped off the top of the onion dip, dunked, crunched, and created a cacophony. I wondered how she could balance all those activities at the same time and still be annoying.

"So,,,what happened to you?" she asked nibbling like a rabbit.

"Pass them over, I'm starving."

With a crispy carrot lodged between her choppers, she passed me the bag and flashed her big, pearly whites. As I scrambled for an explanation, I suddenly recalled Cindy's trembling figure from the night before,

"You left the whole bar gawking," I hissed. "What happened?"

Cindy wrinkled her nose and glanced away. Silence was her answer.

Cindy loved to regale me with the wild and wacky escapades of the Saturday Night with Cindy Show. Tears welled up in my eyes from laughing. You couldn't shut the girl up to catch your breath, as she told animated tales about her victims.

For example, one particular evening, I witnessed her brutal emasculation of a puffed up Ginzo who wanted to take her home. His mistake was a lame pick up line and gaudy, gold chains on his fat, stubby neck.

With a cigarette hanging out of the side of her mouth, she repeated his comment loudly, "Shut my mouth?"

As she whipped her hair to one side, she stood in his face and stared him down with her blazing, blue eyes.

"The only time I shut my mouth is when there's a big dick in it. Do you have a big dick? Huh? Or are you just a dick?"

She thundered as if she were a Cleveland steelworker. The poor worm took his shrunken balls and crawled back into his hole.

Cindy glanced around the pool, "Let's hop in and I'll give you the short version."

A walking wet dream with a well stacked rack, Cindy parted a crowd like Moses parted the Red Sea. Her polar opposite, I was petite with long legs and a curvy butt. As Cindy straightened up and jumped into the tepid water, her bikini bottom revealed raised, thin, red welts. We swam together like shapely dolphins to the shady side of the pool.

"I was playing a game with Patrick," she said as she gasped for air.

"You really should stop smoking. You can't swim across this tiny pool without running out of breath." I nagged.

"It's not the smoking. My jaws are too sore to open and my nose is stopped up," she complained.

"Yeah, right!" was my usual comment.

Cindy noticed the black and blue marks on my shoulders and took a closer look at the bags under my eyes.

"Hey, you are holding out on me!" she squawked.

I flashed a secretive smile and fingered the welts across her ass. She twisted away from me.

We always played this cat and mouse game of telling. I admired Cindy for her self confidence and ballsy demeanor. She oozed sex like a neon light in her charming gum chewing, lip smacking way. She was much better at telling stories than I, but, I got a rise out of her for holding back. This made her madly curious and I teased her. Cindy was shameless, like a puppy looking for a bone, snapping furiously, tugging away, and using all the wiles at her disposal to wheedle the truth out of me.

One time, we compared notes on oral sex. Although we both found giving blowjobs distasteful, Cindy had figured out how to give a bad one. Some guys might ask, is there is a bad blow job? She reasoned if you gave a bad blow job, they would throw you on the ground and fuck you really hard until they blew their nut. It sounded logical to me. I shared nightmares of my pouty, bow shaped lips being violated by long, thick, heavily veined dicks. Cindy calmed my nerves by using a banana to demonstrate the technique.

"Try to get him to lick your pussy and then fuck him. If he gets his dick in your mouth first, lick and nibble around the head like this."

She swirled her tongue around the helmet and across the piss hole.

"Suck the knob a little, then lick along the shaft while gently squeezing his nut sack." she mumbled, as she licked and sucked the banana's sweet nectar.

"Once he starts shooting, dodge and duck. Milk the rest of it with your hand. If he doesn't lick your pussy in return, then, it's Hasta la Vista, baby," she proclaimed with her hands on her hips. Then, the bitch made me eat the banana.

Cindy knew how to yank my chain with her sex talks and laughed uproariously as I'd excuse myself and scamper to my room to jerk off.

I attempted to stall her questions and dove under the water to goose her. My chestnut hair was matted around my face as I popped up behind her. We played cat and mouse for a while like a pair of giggly girls. Finally, she lost patience with me,

"Come on Kymber," she growled and gripped my hair tightly around her fist.

I pretended to adjust my bathing suit and my fingers manipulated my clit under water.

"Well, it started with you."

~Saturday Morning~

Saturday mornings was always the same. As we staggered out of bed, one of us spilled coffee grounds on the floor before they made it to the cup. We forced a cup of joe down our throats and don sneakers for a quick run. Brunch and shopping filled up the rest of the day. If money was tight, we hung around the apartment, put on some tunes, and wallowed in our own makeshift spa.

Today was spa day. Hair and nails were on the agenda.

"What are your favorite sex fantasies, Cindy?" I asked innocently, while I trimmed her bangs.

Cindy lit another cigarette, tipped her head towards her shoulder, and blew smoke rings while she considered her answer. She squirmed in her seat and adjusted the seam that stuck in the crack of her ass.

Through squinted eyes she said, "No. Do you?"

Visions of fucking, sucking, handcuffs, and whips danced in my head. I was fishing for some assurance that I wasn't the only female pervert.

"No."

I resumed my fishing expedition like a cat on a wire, "You never thought about being kidnapped, tied up, spanked, forced into doing things you'd never do?"

She took another drag and looked sidewise at me, certain that something was afoot, "Let me braid your hair, bitch."

Call me crazy, but, I love it when she calls me bitch. Her fingers moved very firmly along my scalp as she grabbed sections and tugged sharply, almost to the point of pain. The tugs stimulated all my nerve endings and I imagined those tugs on my nipples.

"Where are you going with this?" she asked suspiciously.

It was a lazy afternoon, I was looking for mischief, and horny enough to wank. So, I got creative.

"Let's play a game, a sex chain story. It has to be really hot and nasty. We can stop whenever you want. You set the stage to start. I will add to the story, make it nastier, and then stop. You will add more to the story to make it even nastier than I did, and then I'll take my turn. Got it? It will be SO hot!"

Cindy grinned, "You're not turning lezzie on me, are you?"

"Naw," I laughed.

"Then I'm game." She said.

We lay down on the floor with pillows under our heads and got comfortable. Cindy used her street smart voice to started the tale.

"A young girl, about our age, walks up to her front door but forgot her key. It's dark and she bends down to look for it under the flower pot. While she's fumbling with the pot, someone grabs her . . . " she stopped.

"A masked man leans into her ear and hisses, 'I have a knife in my hand, do you feel it?' She feels the knife cut her bra off." I continued, "The serrated edge strokes her nipple and she shivers."

Cindy interjected, "She is so scared, she pees herself!"

"Then, he pulls a pair of dirty underwear from his pocket and stuffs it in her mouth then digs into her a little more with the knife,"

I'm unable to add more at the moment and pause.

"You're gonna die in a New York minute if you try anything funny," said Cindy, as she mimicked a man's voice.

I picked up the next thread, "He quickly cuffs her hands behind her back, pushes her down so that her dress is up over her head. And he rips her panties off. She tries to donkey kick him in the balls."

Cindy's blue eyes widened as she said, "He spanks her butt, hard, leaving bright, red hand marks on it...THE PRICK!"

My pussy pulsed and my panties were uncomfortably damp. I hoped Cindy wouldn't notice me fidgeting with my shorts.

I continued, "You are a real slut, showing your bare ass on the front porch for all your neighbors to see. Let's give 'em something to talk about. "

"Go on" said Cindy.

I noticed she squeezed her thighs together so, I kicked it up a notch and remembering a line from a dirty novel, hissed, "He grabs his fuck stick and spit on her asshole. 'I'm going to stick my dick in your ass, bitch. When I'm done, you're going to lick me clean. He laughed cruelly as he said it."

She fluffed up her pillow and laid back down. Her eyes glazed over and she had a dreamy look on her face. Both of us visualized our own version of the scene as it unfolded. I turned over onto my side, away from Cindy, stiffened my fingers and grinded my mound against them. Cindy played with her nipples because I saw her hands under her stretched out tee shirt. They roamed around in lazy circles as she alternately rubbed and twisted them.

The tome was nearing its end and I finished it with this, "She's ashamed that anyone is looking at her THERE. Her butt hole looks like a star, tiny and defenseless. She clenches it really tight, hoping to keep the intruder out, but he forces his knob in with a grunt. The feeling of his dick at her back door is painful and nasty. He drives it home in one stroke, like a jackhammer, going in and out, pounding her into oblivion."

I slapped my nether lips urgently and tried to keep the noises coming from inside me to a low roar. . . what else could I . . . pant . then I released a low groan. As I approached the crested shore, my legs squeezed together, toes unfurled, eyes squeezed shut, and my heart pounded. I . . . just . . . had . . . to . . .CUM...and finally, I embraced the little death with fireworks and joy.

We were quite a sight. Cindy came after me. She used a similar technique to reach her apex. Legs splayed, she slapped hard at her straining pussy like a runaway train. Her breasts quivered and her eyes rolled back in her head. She grimaced. Cindy's face stayed like that in that freeze frame until she floated back to earth. I patted her head as she rolled up into a ball. After several moments, she opened one eye to see me staring at her with my mouth open. We smiled like sated cats that just licked milk from their whiskers. We unplugged the phone and retired to our respective bedrooms for a nap.

~Later that Saturday Evening~

Our adrenaline surged as we walked into the night. Cindy and I were flying high and dressed to slay. Attention was a poultice for our ego. Cindy draped her chassis in a blue skirt with a matching halter top and stilettos encased her painted toes. Her side swept bangs and bouncy hair, hung like a silk scarf down her back.

A short, black dress topped my diamond shaped calves and strappy black sandals adorned my feet. An elegant ponytail betrayed my school girl innocence. The only accessories were my green cat eyes.

Brass handled doors opened to heart pumping music and the low roar of talking. Smoke hung in the air like a wet suit.

"How you ladies doing tonight?" asked a familiar face.

"Jimmy!" we squealed in unison.

"The usual?" he asked.

We nodded and in unison, flashed our blinding smiles.

Cindy liked to stand at the bar and smoke. She exuded an untouchable quality of royalty. I happily perched on a stool next to Cindy, fresh, un-jaded, and approachable, a clear canvas of naivete. With a martini in my hand, I readied myself to observe the unfolding tableau.

Jimmy was a body builder stuffed into a tuxedo, complete with bursting buttons and a bow tie that strangled his neck. Wavy hair complemented his thick, black, mustache. I imagined him with a cowboy hat in a pickup truck, complete with a bumper sticker that advertised MOUSTACHE RIDES 50 CENTS.

He had an uncanny ability to size people up. Many times he stepped in when someone was plying me with drinks. Cindy could take care of herself but he watched over us like a big brother. We appreciated that and tipped him very well.

During college, studying and working left little time to learn the game of life. My wild experiences were limited to frat parties, vanilla sex with boyfriends. In Catholic high school, I engaged in the typical school girls’ escapades, drinking beer before a school dance, and peeing standing up in the boys' bathroom, taking each others' clothes from the locker room and leaving them to fend for themselves.

Cindy and Jimmy were special friends. They shared a common ground as servers that worked at public establishments. While he had the enviable job of being head bartender at the club and made very good money, she scored a coup and landed a waitress job at the best steakhouse in Houston. She planned out how to get the steakhouse job like a mouse planned to break into a cheese factory. Cindy succeeded by using the oldest trick in the book, sex. She gave the owner blowjobs in order to get what she wanted. He had the business savvy to give Cindy the best shifts because customers returned just to see her. She was quite personable when she wanted to be.

Cindy's laser vision scanned the crowd and came to rest on a handsome, feral piece of beefcake. He looked like the high school hood and stood out among the sea of suits with his white tee shirt and pack of cigarettes rolled up under his sleeve. His name was Patrick. Short spiked hair matched his sharp, chiseled features and a spider web of lines outlined his steely blue eyes. Quiet and impenetrable, his words were measured morsels. Cindy was drawn to him like a moth to a flame. We met him three months ago at this very club. Since then, they had a strange arrangement, a standing appointment every weekend, here. They'd disappear for a while and she'd return subdued. I was nosey and peppered her with guarded questions which she ignored.

Patrick's eyes connected with Cindy's and she excused herself to join him in a cloistered nook. The club had alcoves where couples could huddle with some semblance of privacy. This time, I followed her, determined to eavesdrop.

"Please don't make me. I'll do anything else." Cindy implored.

"That will cost you ten more strokes, slut." Patrick said in a steely voice.

With resignation, Cindy said, "Yeah, I know."

"Look at me,"

He pulled out her tits, stretched the nipples away from her chest, and pinched them hard enough to cause her to wince.

"Put your panties in my pocket," he said and she did so.

"You are a whore. Whores enjoy being outrageous and the center of attention,"

A tear ran down her cheek as she looked at him and nodded.

"In ten minutes, come to the men's bathroom with the man I chose," he said and tenderly kissed her tears away.

As Cindy walked back to her post, my eyes were fixed on her.

"Jimmy," she said in a strange voice, "Long Island Ice Tea, please?"

"Sure, babe."

Cindy took long slurps. Her legs crossed and uncrossed, each time they opened up a little wider. She turned her seat so that her snatch faced a table of Geeks that flanked Patrick. His pointed towards a pimply faced, man who wore a wrinkled plaid shirt and a pocket filled with pens. He looked like he hadn't showered in a couple of days. Cindy was visibly shaken, but put her hand under her skirt and slowly stroked her mound. I touched her shoulder with concern.

She slapped my hand away and hissed, "I'm playing a game with Patrick."

A game! I watched her seduce the geek from across the room and he came over. He had poor social skills and looked down or around room. Embarrassed, he shifted from one foot to the other. I fully expected him to stutter.

"Patrick said you wanted to dance with me," he squeaked.

Cindy shot a disgusted look at Patrick and he didn't miss it.

"No, I don't want to dance with you. I want to suck your dick. C'mon, follow me."

She led him to the men's room and all eyes were on her as her bosom and hips moved in tandem. She knew how to milk shock value. Patrick followed swiftly at their heels. My head spun. Jimmy had caught on. He asked if I wanted another drink but I ordered one for Cindy instead.

"She's going to need it," he grinned.

I squirmed in my seat for at least twenty minutes and when Cindy returned, her hair was disheveled, lipstick smeared, and there was a noticeable drop of something on the corner of her mouth.

"Here's a mirror. Your lipstick is smeared." I offered but she ignored me.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Mr. Geek return from the restroom, his yellow teeth framed by a sloppy smile. I flipped Patrick the bird. He sauntered over to Cindy, possessively grabbed the back of her neck and whispered something while she tried to remain cool and sip her drink. He pinched her thigh hard and she almost choked on her drink.

With Cindy behind him, he stopped to mumble something to the rest of the Geeks, then led them towards the banquet room. Like Alice in Wonderland, I wanted to follow the rabbit down the hole, but I waited patiently instead. It was a long while before Cindy stumbled back to her chair. She had a faraway look in her eyes, a crooked smile, and stains on the back of her skirt. The Geeks trickled out of the banquet room, and as they moved toward the exit, they waved wildly to Cindy. Her new fan club grabbed their crotches in unison in a gesture of thanks. I looked at Patrick with eyes as big as moon pies.

"What happened? Tell me!" I insisted but she didn't respond.

I was unable to get the obscene images out of my mind. The corner of the bar chair was just the right height for me to scratch my twitchy itch and I did. Patrick lips curled up into a wicked smile and embarrassed, I blushed.

"Can I be of some assistance?" asked a tall man who'd been standing nearby. "That was quite a performance. You can mop the floor with those panties," he said with his pale gray eyes riveted on my ass.

In his late thirties, his salt and pepper hair belied a youthful face. Dressed casually with a loose Armani jacket, he was the most attractive man I ever saw, and, inexplicably, I was drawn to him. It was a fight or flight moment, I felt naked and vulnerable.

I turned on my heel to run away but he grabbed my elbow and said, "I'm sorry. My name is . . ."

My mind went blank. It didn't matter what his name was or who he was. I just wanted to go home with him. He saw my desperation and like a Neanderthal, hoisted me over his shoulder, and carried me back to his cave.

~In the Neanderthal’s Cave~

“Please! Let me touch it!" I begged.

"No. Not yet," he hissed, pulling my hand away from between my legs.

He held my face and kissed my mouth. I couldn't see because my eyes were blindfolded, but, I captured his tongue and gently sucked. It forced a groan from his lips. I wanted him to let me touch myself and couldn't wait. Wild Thing played in the background while I was draped on my back with my hands pinned under me. The aroma and texture of the leather sofa was intoxicating and I was vaguely aware that we were playing his game.He dove into my nether lips, and drew circles on my clit with his hard, pointy, tongue. He stopped to blow air on my tender bud, and then, started all over again.

I gasped in staccato. Crack! The crop came down hard on my upturned nipple and I screamed in shock and pain.

"Not until I say" he mumbled.

That didn't stop me from trying.

His finger wormed its way into my rosebud, one knuckle at a time. I ground my heated mound on his mouth with reckless abandon. I just couldn't wait. I had to cum and fast. That's my problem. He reached for the riding crop again and whacked me on my hairless slit.

"Ow!"

The pain stung briefly. Undeterred, I arched my pussy toward his face again. Swat! The crop tattooed a welt on my cleft. The scream was automatic.

"Shh, be quiet little bitch," he laughed

I stopped talking and pouted. So this is how it was going to be, his way or no way. Wickedly, he teased me to another wave as his fingers traveled up my body like slow, soft caterpillars and latched onto my stubby nubs. He twisted them almost cruelly. I tried to hump his leg. Crack! Crack! Crack! The crop landed sharply on my breasts in measured strokes and caused my head to snap to attention in exquisite agony.

He was withholding pleasure from me so that the orgasm would be so intense, I would shake, shiver, and beg for more.

Michael was his name.

Michael flipped me over like a pancake, onto my knees, with my chest on the couch. Cold lube worked its way into my squirming holes. I whimpered like a kitty and squirmed to get away. He stopped struggling with me.

"Don't stop!" I implored.

Michael fastened a ball gag on my mouth and tied my hands behind my back. I was helpless, just the way he wanted me. A cold, hard object was at my ass's door. The end, smooth and softly pointed, worked its way into my sphincter.

"Relax or it's going to hurt. Take small, quick breaths, and push out," he crooned into my ear.

With a pop, my bumhole swallowed the slim shaped plug.

"Does it hurt?" he asked.

I shook my head yes to no avail. His warm body crouched over mine made me shiver in anticipation. Cologne, mixed with his musky scent, filled my nose. His hand caressed my breasts and the other fingered my pearl. As my body rocked in its own steady rhythm, the finger pulled away and left me in a neglected state again. I thrashed in frustration. Then, my prayers were answered as Michael cleaved my steaming pussy with his throbbing bone.

He removed my gag and said, "Tell me how it feels."

"I love you fucking me. . .fuck me harder. . .fuck. . ."

I humped my mound on corner of the couch and met him stroke for stroke. As I rocked harder and got closer to an orgasm, he slapped my ass, a reminder not to cum.

"You little whore . . . how does it feel to have both holes filled? Your pussy is so slick... I can slide in and out all day."

Babbling incoherently, he pumped with wild abandon.

Whoosh! The butt plug flew out like a rocket. Michael reared back and plunged the depths of my bowels and fucked me in slow languorous strokes. His balls slapped against my pussy.

He ordered me to hold on longer, 'Don't cum!"

Was he crazy?

"You have the tightest ass I've ever had! I love fucking your ass . . . I want to fuck your ass forever . . . " he rasped.

I flailed like fish on a hook.

"I love you fucking my ass . . . fuck me harder . . . fuck my ass!" I screamed back.

He smacked my ass repeatedly. It made me shiver toward an orgasm. I tried to squeeze my thighs together to get just a little bliss. He fucked me harder and I wailed. I took the pain and turned it into pleasure.

"Michael? . . . " I asked, "Can I . . . touch myself now?"

“Yes!” he screamed.

His cum blasted in powerful jets and I felt his cock pulse inside me. Then, with hands released from bondage, my fingers were like birds in flight. With featherlike strokes, they danced and slid across the lips, like little slapping taps, while I ground my hips in circles. This was all it took to raise the momentum from a crescendo to a raging roar. My brain sped like a bullet toward the bulls eye. I reached my destination with a piercing scream and collapsed in convulsive orgasms. My fate was sealed; I was his slave.

"Later," he gasped, " we are going to try something different."

Still blindfolded, I cocked my head to the side and hung on to every word. He picked me up and gently bathed me. I was in no position to refuse. Then he fed me milk and cookies and put me to bed.

~Something Different~

Michael smiled down at my resting form and whispered, "You're in desperate need of control. All that pent up sexual energy needs to be channeled."

He fastened a leather collar on my neck and attached a leash. I was about to have my first lesson. Michael placed my hands on his hard cock. It bobbed as if it was searching for a hole and my head was guided to its only target. I remembered Cindy's blowjob lesson and licked the tip, all around the corona and in the slit. The knob begged to be sucked and I obliged, but only a little. My tongue rode down the length of his hot rod to a pair of hairy balls. I had to stop. Can't take hair balls; I'm not a cat. He frowned, grabbed my ponytail and tugged it hard.

"Concentrate." he said and forced me towards his balls.

I knew what he meant. His hairy balls needed a tongue bath. To me, it was unfair. My pussy was bald, pink, and clean. But sucking his hairy balls was obscene. That's where Cindy's lessons fell short. The bitch didn't tell me about the balls. He pulled down on the leash, a signal to continue. I hesitated. Crack went the stinging crop on my back. I sucked those balls as if they were oysters and savored the musky flavor with my tongue. I made my way towards his hairy bum and licked in between. Oops! His cock spiked me in the eye. Michael grabbed my shoulders for leverage and pumped my face with his turgid weapon. While I drained his bull sized balls, I gagged and retched. My throat filled up with hot, salty, stringy, goo.

"Swallow. . . All of it," Michael hissed between his teeth while he fired into my gullet.

Cum dripped from my mouth and I was proud for being the cause of his explosion. Michael studied me. I felt satisfied, yet unsure and frightened.

"I like the look on your face." he smiled, wiping cum from my chin.

He taught me about pleasure through pain. And so the story goes. . .

~Sunday Afternoon, Back at the Pool~

"Let me see your welts," she whispered.

"Sure. I'll let you touch them, too, but first, bring me a beer," I sighed, watching Cindy swim away.

The arrogant Cindy, a human Barbie doll, meets her match in Patrick. He makes Cindy debase herself in a place where she is the queen, turning her into a slut.

~Blonde Bitch Collides With Thrifty Geeks~

"How would you like your steak done, sir?"

"Rare, just like you, honey," he leered.

"Yes, sir." I blushed on cue. "Loaded baked potato or fries?"

"Loaded taters," he said with his deep, Texas accent.

I nodded, and with a professional flourish, turned in the order and moved onto the next table. It was the best steakhouse in Houston, and my goal was tips, big tips. It was centrally located in the middle of several office parks and the clientele was well-heeled, except for the technology companies. They hired mostly geeks, thrifty geeks, and you could spot them a mile away. Sigh.

My yellow ponytail was perched high up on my head. The boss ordered a custom black vest to showcase my bulging breasts. The short, tight matching skirt made me feel sexy and when I bent over, you could see that I was wearing seamed stockings with garters. The boss said I was a vision on heels, when I was giving him a blowjob.

On slow nights, the boss sets up a wager with the staff. All of us participate to see who gets the most tips. I was often at the top of the list. The bet was this, whoever that got lowest tip on a check had to blow the boss and the busboys. The one with the highest tip got an extra 5% on top of it. I was in! I've won these bets before but the boss was known to be tricky, and tonight, he knew something I didn't.

Sure enough, there was a reservation for a big party made by one of the technology companies. When a group of oddballs walked in, they created enough attention that the other diners stopped what they were doing to look. It was the party from some "Geeks-R-US" technology company.

I was hoping they wouldn't be seated in my section, but, of course, the boss saw to it that they were. After they were given menus by the hostess, I gave them five minutes to settle down before I walked over to introduce myself.

Their eyes popped out of their bottle cap glasses when I sashayed over. The apparent leader of the group was Seymour. I knew because it said so on the outer flap of his plastic pocket protector.

Starting to my right, I asked, "Can I get you something to drink, sir?"

I used the special innocent schoolgirl voice; it was a fail-safe style that garnered more tips. It was as if I was speaking in tongues. I handed them the wine list and made a few suggestions. They were very quiet, trying to catch the drift of the wine lesson. I couldn't get a drink order out of them. They all asked for water! They were cackling some more, apparently, the water had gone to their brain. So I returned to get their order. They were quite animated.

"Can you pour yourself into a martini glass?" chortled Seymour.

I smiled prettily, even as I eyeballed his white headed pimples that looked ready to pop.

"Are you going to nurse the drink," I teased back? He wasn't expecting to be flirted with because he smiled and his face got red.

His fellow guest, who wanted some attention as well, made a poor attempt at a joke.

"Hey! In the mornings I wake up fully tented." He sprayed spittle as he continued, "What do I do?"

I wiped spray off my clothes and wanted to say, 'Hey buddy, I want the news, not the weather.'

Then, howling like little boys, they ordered martinis. Hey, what the fuck.

All of them ordered steaks and even splurged on dessert. They ate like college students who'd lived on nothing but condiments. I was working the table, giving my best service, and joked with them a bit, but I had a nagging thought that they weren't savvy enough to know how much to tip.

The Geeks stayed until closing and although I didn't rush them off, I brought the check to them to pay when they were ready. As soon as they left, I went to fetch the signed credit card slip and had already mentally calculated the tip. I was stunned and mad! They left me 10%. I ran after them to the parking lot.

"What did I do wrong?"

I was near tears because I'd lost the bet. They looked back at me quizzically.

"Nothing. We're just being thrifty," said Seymour.

On my knees after losing the bet, my lips slid up and down the boss's long pole. He was taking an unusually long time to cum and I watched with alarm as the line of busboys grew larger. Somehow, I was coming out on the short end of this deal. It was going to be a long night.

~Lucky Day~

Then, one lovely day, I was driving with the top down. The wind was blowing my hair straight back and I had the car on cruise control on the busiest street in Houston. Life was good!

As I sat at a traffic light, cigarette smoke was lazily blowing out of the side of my mouth, something obnoxious caught my eye, matching plaid shirts across the street! Damn bastards! It was those thrifty Geeks. Risking a nasty U turn, across the busy, six lane boulevard, I pulled up next to them with a tire screeching halt. Moving in slow motion, like a rerun of a car accident, I reached behind the seat and pulled out a sawed off baseball bat.

"Remember me?" I asked sweetly, trying to hide the bat behind me.

It was funny to see them rub their eyes under the bottle cap glasses. Maybe the sun was in their eyes, or was it my bright smile? I didn't care.

"Who . . . uh . . . do we KNOW you?" asked goofy.

"She's the martini girl! Cindy the martini girl!" cried Seymour. "From the restaurant...Remember?"

He looked at me with obvious joy and said, "Wow! Funny seeing you here."

"It's your lucky day," I said cheerily, and then went ‘Jack Nicholson’ on all over their car hood.

~Are You My Bitch?~

It was Saturday night, and the feeling was right to blow off some steam from the week. Kymber was looking cute in her black dress and boots, but I was dressed like a slut who looked like a Barbie doll. Soft, pink canyons peeked out of my halter top. It took awhile to get the kinks out of my long, blonde hair with the straightening iron. My eyes, fringed with cornflower blue eyeshadow, gave me the that $2 whore look, just as he ordered.

The point was, when I walked into the club with Kymber, all eyes would be on me.

Patrick, the studied chameleon, was standing nearby. We had an unspoken, ongoing tug-of-war to see which one of us, him or me, was more outrageous than the other. He nodded expectantly toward Seymour and his gaggle of Geeks.

Suddenly, my stomach turned queasy and I turned to Kymber and said, "Oh, shit!"

She knew by the way that I rolled my eyes that I was about to be fucked by fate! We'd had this discussion before, how fate has a way of biting you in the ass when you least expect it.

A lot of good that did me, because soon, I was on my knees in the men's room with one of them and it was his lucky day. Patrick locked the door. Seymour trembled with anticipation and looked at Patrick, then, at me. I saw Patrick give him the nod to go ahead.

Seymour pulled out his pathetic little pecker. It was leaking all over his pants and by the time I reached for it, he quickly came in my hands. I must have said something mean and stood up, but, Patrick signaled for me to stay put. I was impatiently tapping my foot.

"She hates me," whined needle dick.

"No, I don't think she hates you," consoled Patrick.

"Yeah, she does," Seymour insisted.

As Patrick tried to hide a grin, he agreed, "Yeah, I think she probably hates you."

He chucked Seymour under the chin, as if he were a little league baseball player who struck out.

"I'm obsessive about germs," mumbled Seymour as he washed his hands and face in the sink, then, handed me a paper towel.

Patrick turned impatient now and took over the scene.

"Seymour," said Patrick, grabbing my hair, "See her mouth? It is a pussy mouth. This is how you fuck a pussy mouth."

I made a big O with my lips and Patrick stuck his big dick in my red mouth. As usual, he was pulling my hair because he loves the way my screams cause vibrations in his balls. The hair pulling and throat fucking made me so hot. I was swimming in my own juices. My hand moved ever so slightly. Crack! He slapped me, hard. I thought I could sneak a little pussy play in while he was distracted, be he knows me.

"I'll tell you when, slut."

My eyes flashed with anger. He held my hands above my head and slowly pushed his python in again. I opened up my throat. His balls smashed on my chin and pubic hair pushed up my nose. He concentrated his efforts into a steady rhythm. Sliding his cock back and forth in my mouth, Patrick jammed it deep down my throat several times, unconcerned about suffocating me. He seemed determined to spurt directly into my stomach, so he held my head tightly with both hands. I struggled and wriggled, my face turned red, then white, and I dropped helplessly as he spewed down my throat. At one point, he eased back just a little for me to catch a breath, then dove deep again to release the last droplets of cum.

"Swallow bitch . . . that's it," he panted, but his cum was already well past my mouth.

Sputtering, I drained his balls.

"Now clean it."

Instinctively, my tongue swam like an eel, curled around his balls, then snaked up the pole to the tip. I sucked the glans for the last drops of dew as if I were born to do this. I'm such a slut.

Realizing that Seymour just observed one of the best blowjobs he'd ever seen, Patrick resumed the lesson, "That's how you do it."

Seymour's dick had revived and he asked eagerly, "Can I go again?"

Patrick laughed and stepped aside, "Go to it, tiger."

With geek bravado, he stuttered, "Lick my dick."

Seymour fisted his dick and rubbed it all over my face. I was pissed. Glaring at Patrick, I spat out Geek pre-cum. Patrick wagged his finger in a mocking way. I wanted to rethink this thing, so I hesitated, trying to figure out how to get out of this situation. Patrick pinched my nipple hard when Seymour silenced me with his dick. He clumsily jerked his pecker in and out, then toured my mouth as if he were sharpening his pencil. My breasts were fondled and nipples twisted. I sucked and licked his balls as he fought the urge to cum. Suddenly, a fart escaped from Seymour's butt. I stopped licking; it was so gross. Patrick observed the tug of war as tears of humiliation welled in my eyes. I must have looked pitiful, and hoped to tug at his heart. Patrick rewarded my diligence with a little treat.

"You can cum," Patrick said, "after Seymour."

Patrick said the magic words, 'you can come,' and I feverishly focused on bringing him off by fingering a spot between his balls and anus, pressing firmly with my digit. My other hand caressed his balls. That was sure to make him pop like cheap champagne. I sensed his balls contract as if to spew and I snuck my hand to frig my clit with frenzied speed. At last, Seymour lost the battle, and with great relish, sprayed my face with a drizzle of cum.

"Just desserts," he sneered, looking at me with satisfaction.

Seymour washed his spent dick in the sink and left with Patrick. I pulled out my lipstick and checked my hair, then took respite at the bar with Kymber. I was looking forward to the evening's end. However, my reverie was short lived when I saw the shark-like smile Patrick threw me. That simple act always sends blood pulsing to my pussy. Why? I don't know. He just knows how to make me do what he wants.

"What's going on Cindy?" asked Kymber as she observed the exchange.

Picking up my purse, putting on my best face, I followed him to the banquet room. I was fucked! He did it again! The rest of Seymour's friends were waiting for their turn with me. My slut pussy betrayed me with wet anticipation. Then, I spied the blinking red light of a video cam.

"What's going on here?" I hissed, evaluating the situation.

The sight of Patrick, the panting geeks, camera and tripod, it all sent me over the edge. There was even a pillow in front of the camera for me to kneel on!!!

As I spun around to glare at the grinning Patrick to voice my objection, he simply said, "They want their money's worth, they're thrifty."

"That's glib," I retorted and walked out.

I should have known it wasn't smart to disrespect him this way. Patrick quickly caught up with me, grabbed the back of my neck, and firmly walked me back into the banquet room. As he escorted me to a spot in front of the camera, he picked up the pillow off the floor where I was to kneel and service all those stinky little dicks. It took the last reserve of self control to keep from complaining, that, and having one of those dicks stuffed into my mouth. While Patrick stayed at my side, the boys stepped up, one after the other, and pumped and spewed all over me.

The last of the geeks blew his nuts all over my tits and shortly after, handed Patrick some money. I cursed and swore. The room was empty except for the two of us. Patrick's eyes narrowed and his nose flared.

"You do what I say, Cindy, if you want to be my bitch. That's all there is to it. So, what's it going to be? Are you my bitch or not?"

I was ignoring him, busily cleaning geek cum off my chest and lips, adjusting my skirt, and putting my heels back on. There was such a nasty after taste of salty snot in my mouth, I wanted to throw up, and using all the disgust I could muster, spit a wad of leftover cum on his shoes. As usual, I didn't think through the consequences of my rebellion.

"My bitch would have crawled on her knees to kiss my boots and tell me how grateful she is to be owned by me," he said.

I smarted at his remarks and lowered my moist eyes to the floor. My cheeks were flushed with embarrassment at his disapproval. I had to salvage the results of my actions. He had to show me the error of my ways and I knew it. Patrick turned in silence on his booted heel and left.

"Wait!" I ran after him, "I'm sorry."

Chastened, I followed as he burst from the smoky den into the cool, but humid night air. I struggled to keep pace with my skinny heeled shoes.

"Please. Please, talk to me." I pleaded with my practiced pitiful look, the one that strengthened the desire for sadistic pleasure in him was the same one, by happy chance, that tweaked the masochist in me.

His crotch always tightened at the verbal aphrodisiac, the word, please and a self-satisfied look crossed his face.

"I'll be back in five minutes," he said getting in his car, "If I find you standing in this exact spot, naked, then I'll talk to you."

"But, we're . . . outside."

"Yeah, I noticed," he said. "My bitches do as they're told."

~Being Bratty Can be a Bitch~

Sometimes the hardest part of being bratty is when you finally get what you really want. But now, all I wanted him to do was scoop me up in his arms and take me home for a good whipping with a hot fuck afterwards.

Patrick was experienced and self disciplined. The challenge of breaking through that controlled exterior fanned my desire. Tonight cemented one important thing. I needed to be dominated, pure and simple. The more I tested him, the harder he needed to come down on me. I wouldn't have it any other way. Above all things, his silence was an unspoken weapon and he used it like a maestro. I was afraid but enthralled with his power over me, this tacit control that drew me like a moth to a flame. He was the edge of the envelope that I'd pushed toward all my life.

There I was, at 2:00 a.m. in the morning, standing outside the club, teetering precariously on my Magnolias, naked.

As bad as I wanted to cover myself and run inside the club, the clock was ticking. Nothing could be worse than having Patrick return to see me disobeying him again. I'm certain he would leave me out there to fend for myself. Getting naked in public was a bit scary, but once I dropped my g-string, the last vestige of modesty, I felt strangely liberated. For my part, it was a real act of trust. I'd been completely overpowered and made to do something I didn't want to do, but needed to, all the same. He should be damn proud of me, even if I am a kinky bitch.

I tried to cover up my fleshy zeppelins with one hand and my pussy with the other. Shit! My clothes were on the ground, right where the bastard told me to put them. Kymber would have said I looked like Venus trying to deal with the twentieth century. At least I know who Venus is. Jimmy the bartender, a stand up guy, kept an eye out for me. I didn't think Patrick was going to leave his cash cow out here alone for one second.

"Hey, how ya doin?" Jimmy asked.

At the time, I didn't know Patrick enlisted Jimmy to be his operative, to extract information about my roommate and me. Jimmy did not disappoint partly because I think he had a crush on me, and because he was promised a piece of the action. The more Patrick found out, the more appealing I became, and of course, his suspicions were confirmed. It was common knowledge that I discarded lovers out of desperation. Little did I know that it was born from searching for the genuine barbarian. Patrick possessed and ravaged whomever he desired, and I hoped he thought I was worth the effort.

I was trembling like a leaf with goose bumps covering my skin like little sand dunes. Still, I stood there waiting for him, like the feisty little bitch that I am.

"I'm freezing my ass off!" I replied with great annoyance.

I bent down to rearrange the clothing on the ground when a gust of wind blew up my ass. Brrr!

"Can I use your jacket?" I pouted, "Please?"

"Come on, be a big girl now," consoled Jimmy, "I need this jacket for work tomorrow. Who knows where you'll be then?"

That ticked me off. He was enjoying this at my expense, and sure as shit, my bitch face returned, "What do you mean?"

With his hands in his pockets, Jimmy shrugged his shoulders, shuffled his feet and whistled 'Wild Thing' for my benefit. I GOT the meaning.

Patrick was parked five hundred feet away, watching with his binoculars. With twenty seconds to spare, he screeched to a stop in front of me, looked as if he wanted to fuck me, right then and there, but, managed a thin smile. Most men would give their left nut for the hard-on Patrick was sporting.

"Put these on, then, get in," I heard, as a pair of handcuffs, a leather collar, and a rubber ball gag were tossed out the window onto the pavement. My heart sang as I put the gag on first.

Patrick hummed along to the radio oblivious to the smell of my sex that permeated the car. The passenger door opened and a cool breeze hardened my nipples. He firmly gripped my wrist. We were in a deserted parking lot, and he wasn't the least bit worried that someone would see us.

As he came around to open the door for me, I was worried he was going to give me a smarting smack.

"This way," he said.

My pussy spasmed with urgency as I was dragged to the back seat. He put me across his lap and stroked it a few times before his firm hand connected fiercely with my ass.

"You've been a real brat!" he hissed as he spanked my butt, spacing the strokes in time with the words.

I was strangely excited as my bottom quickly reddened and became raw from this blistering session. He concentrated on spreading out the blows evenly and it throbbed when he was done. As his calloused hand repeatedly connected with my apple red cheeks, I could tell he wasn't holding back. I quivered with the blows and raised my ass upward to meet his hand. I played the brat, kicked wildly in feigned protestation as I felt the insistent pressure of his cock straining up at me.

He kept it up until I was on the verge of tears. Then he taunted, "What did you think would happen?"

I was unable to respond. With every stroke, my pussy flooded with undeniable pleasure. His punishment was so severe I wouldn't soon forget it, especially when I walked, moved, or tried to sit down. In unmistakable defiance, I flexed my cheeky muscles and kicked again to see what he would do.

"Don't make me take off my belt," he threatened.

I needed to feel his oily, leather belt on my tenderized ass. I hoped he would make it all better later. Maybe he'd apply some ice and a soothing salve and caress my pained cheeks, sit me on his cock, and bounce me to the outer limits of pleasure that would erase the memory of the pain. All the things he does to me I take as signs of control and attention, the kind of attention I go out of my way to get.

The first spanks are the ones that hurt the worst. Patrick lined up the first stroke across the crack of my ass and the next one directly above it. I drooled copiously, a side effect from the ball gag. Heavy drops of my tears spattered on the vinyl seat and made it slick.

Quickly, I stood upright and was ready to run blindly away from him, but Patrick held me in place and pushed me forward onto the warm hood of the car. My heart skipped a beat as he unzipped his pants and propped his dick against my slit. Patrick fingered the juice that dripped down my leg, then cleaved me with his steel rod in one stroke. He pumped slowly, savoring the sensation of the liquid silk.

I strained to enjoy the impalement, arched my back, and pumped against his hammering thrusts. His forehead gleamed with sweat as he struggled to contain the boiling spunk from his aching bullocks. Lust won out over greed and he pulsed his steaming seed into me with a wild rebel yell.

I kept focused on my goal and rubbed my mons on the hood ornament. My clit was raw as I jammed myself on Patrick's deflating stump. I didn't care about the pain. Reaching the apex of my desire, I screamed into the gag, and fainted, leaving an imprint of my sweaty breasts on the hood.

~The Tail Hook~

The acrid odor of smelling salts were being waved under my nose. He'd plugged my ears and laid me down on a padded gym mat. I was unable to hear anything but distant mumbles. He gently wiped me down with a warm, soapy wash cloth and rubbed my skin with a cream.

Patrick must have set up this evening earlier in the week with Jimmy's help. The two men donned black leather masks to hide their identities from the video cam on the tripod, ready to create more visual proof of me in the throes of pain, humiliation, and pleasure.

Trussed up like a turkey, my globes were separated with thick, soft rope that continued around my upper arms and across the back to form a type of harness. Another rope circled my waist several times, cinching like a corset. Ankles and calves were bent and bound to my thighs, forcing my back to arch and bottom to curve up obscenely. The back of my slave collar was attached to a stainless steel blunted tail hook inserted in into my ass. This position lined up my mouth and throat horizontally. The most frustrating part was the immobilization of my head. I couldn't thrash because I was controlled by the hook restraint. I tried to scream out my frustration through the ball gag.

I'd been bound to balance horizontally from the ceiling. My collar, rope harness, and ankles were attached to heavy construction chain. Presented like a piece of raw sushi, I was served up by a pair of strong and meaty hands while being hoisted up with the pulley. Once I was raised to the desired height, the chain was secured. Struggling was fruitless as my limbs were stretched into impossible contortions by the weight of my body. My breasts looked like a pair of toddlers’ heads hanging from my chest and caused someone's cock to point skyward like a steel pole. Stroked and pinched nipples hardened before a painful set of nipple clamps were attached to them. My pussy clenched with desire as I winced in pain. I am a world class slut.

The ball gag was removed, Ora-gel was applied to my lips in preparation for the battering they were about to receive and it would have a numbing effect that would make the men last a whole lot longer. Holding my ponytail for leverage, glans rubbed over my slick lips and I licked the newcomer with enthusiasm and attempted to suck the corona. My mouth needed widening in order to accommodate the thickness of his rod. The fist sized cock stretched my mouth. Trying to shield my lower teeth with my tongue in order not to scratch the underside of his cock was an impossible effort. Gently rocking back, he fed me his dick an inch or two at a time, testing the width and depth of my throat, tight on all counts. Taking a different tack toward the ultimate goal, he lifted his smooth, lemon sized balls to my liquid lips. I knew it was not Patrick because this one's pole and balls were hairy.

He delighted in the licentiousness of anonymity as I rocked back and forth on his spike, reveling in the debasement evident by the puddle of cream on the mat under my cunt. If anything, I was happy to be spared the bobbing and bending of my throat to accommodate his log.

"She can deep throat like a fag. Shove it in deeper, but give her a chance to breathe once in awhile." Patrick crowed.

After he adjusted the focus of the camcorder, Patrick quickly slid under my steamy hole. He tugged on the nipple clamps while he sucked my bud. I protested when he moved his finger to the tail hook. He rimmed all around the tail hook, taking his good old time. Unable to express my ardor any other way, I vigorously flexed my toes. Taking note of my possible impending orgasm, Patrick returned to pressure my clit with his tongue, alternating by gently suckling my puffy, pussy lips.

He trained me to respond like Pavlov's dogs and quickly pulled off the nipple clamps as my pussy convulsed in a climax, causing my dick-stuffed mouth to open in a silent scream.

Jimmy took advantage of this golden opportunity to drive his tool deep in one lunge, but was not satisfied until the bulge in my throat was caused by his throbbing cock. He held onto my ponytail until his sperm jetted into my mouth. I swallowed instinctively, unable to take in air. I gagged and spewed. The thick, rank cum leaked from the corners of my mouth and nostrils. I openly cried when his cock softened and slipped out of my mouth. Then, the gentleman bartender used a cool washcloth to dab my battered face.

"My turn."

They lowered me to the ground and unhooked my sore tail. Relieved the worst was over, I begged for water and downed a full bottle with a straw. They gave me a few minutes to recover.

Jimmy brought along his favorite leather flogger with twenty-four tails. He had dreamed of using this on my teasing ass. He'd honed his strokes over the years on many a tender bum and knew how to vary the pace and strength of his strokes to bring the person to their final goal with mind-blowing ecstasy and pain.

Placed on my knees, breasts hanging over a padded bench, the sex acts had been all carefully planned and choreographed. This was going to be the last hurrah of the evening. Patrick nodded to Jimmy and soft strips of the flogger began to warm up my ass. Jimmy alternated from side to side with a steady rhythm to evenly marks the cheeks. I'd reached the point where the pain was almost unbearable and squawked in protestation, but Patrick grabbed my tongue and held it like a vise while he turned around and guided it to his musky ass. He encased my face between his murky cheeks and I passed out from lack of air. The smelling salts revived me and he began again. I'd figured if I didn't cooperate, he'd keep smothering me until I did.

Patrick rubbed himself back and forth on my tongue until his asshole opened like a flower. Probing deeply, I held my breath. Setting the bar on personal best for hardness, he fucked my pointed tongue while he jerked his cock to the mounting climax.

"That's it, rim my stinky asshole, you ass-licking, fucking whore," he babbled breathlessly.

I was in no position to complain.

Meanwhile, Jimmy's dick came back to life at the sight of his work on my well-marked ass. He rubbed my ass cheeks as if they were hot cross buns. Scrambling for lube, he put a finger full around his cock head and massaged the rest in my rosebud. Luckily, the tail hook had doubled for a butt plug. Jimmy fisted his tube steak and snaked it into the narrow passage, flying in the resistance of my sphincter.

"God, it feels SO good! Open up for daddy."

Jimmy gauged the flex of his cock by the sound of my grunts. At this point, his urgency to fully penetrate his princess was too much to control and I screamed as he speared the tender tissue. I tried to pull away but couldn't.

"Come back to daddy. It's going to be all better real soon," he crooned.

Feeling my nose poking further up his ass, Patrick's spunk boiled up from his swollen balls. He turned around and bathed my face with thick, salty strings of jism.

Jimmy grabbed my waist for leverage and forced me further back onto his dick. He was balls deep and I squeezed instinctively. Finding that a sign of acquiescence, he renewed the frantic pumping. He roughly grabbed a bobbing melon, twisting on the nipple. The slut in me loved the feeling of a full asshole being pistoned to its outer limits. I squeezed my rectum in staccato with impending orgasm. As Jimmy pushed me to the crest, I screamed as I stiffened, then, crumbled under him. The bull grabbed my lifeless body, and rabbit fucked me into oblivion, shooting his fluid inside my ravaged bowels.

This was sure to be a money making hit, the helpless form, skewered by two masked and muscled men, a receptacle for their spunk, and a classic picture of obscenity. And me, the bratty bitch from Cleveland, engineer of my own demise, wallowing in the pool of humiliation and sordid attention that was my destiny.

The arrogant Cindy, a human Barbie doll, meets her match in Patrick. He makes Cindy debase herself in a place where she is the queen, turning her into a slut.

~The Most Important Rule~

Quiet and demanding, Michael was a mystery, and I adored him. He owned my heart, and although I wanted to give him more, he wanted one thing, to control my orgasms. He said they were hard for me to give up and that is why he wanted them.

How did I get myself into this situation? My friends would be shocked to see their assertive, princess-like bitch reduced to a cum-begging slut. Flushed and happy from head to toe, in spite of the cane marks he was applying on my ass, I wished it would last forever, until, he began to demand control of my orgasms.

When I began my lessons as Michael's pet, I was a bundle of contradictions, a defiant streak contrasted against the appearance of the little girl who was lost. Either way, I was his toy all wrapped in layers of ribbons and tissue.

He put me through a series of choreographed games that were designed for me to fail, but, so what? I thoroughly enjoyed the thrashings because ultimately, the orgasms that followed were mind-blowing. So, the rule was set in place, no cumming without his permission.

~Guilty Pleasures~

One time, I tested the boundaries he'd set and I was quickly shown to the door. It was his way or the highway. I promised to be good, but that was not enough. He made me do what I didn't want to do, practice, practice, and more practice waiting to orgasm until given the command.

"Did my little bitch behave today," he teased as he kissed me.

I knew that question would come up as soon as he walked in.

"Yes, sir," I said looking down.

"Of course, if you didn't, there would be consequences, right, my pet?"

He snooped around the room. I avoided his eyes but it was hard. He couldn't guess, could he? Was the smile on my face a little tense? Maybe I was a little too chirpy. Oh, save it, he won't know.

Nervously, I straightened the pillows on the couch checking for evidence of how I used them this afternoon. It hadn't been the first time, either. The cum was gentle but sweet. Sooner or later, I'd have to pay the piper, but I wasn't ready yet.

What if he found out? I'd be punished, or worse! He might leave. I'd be so sad. Should I admit that I lied and hope for the best? No! I'm going to stick to my story.

But I was busted. He could tell from my placid expression and calm demeanor.

"Go get your toys."

It didn't sound like he wanted to play with them.

"Bu . . . but . . . why . . . ?"

"You know why."

I challenged him petulantly. "How do you know?"

"I know."

And he did.

Whining, I stamped my foot for emphasis.

"But I gave you my word."

It was not a smart thing to do.

He pointed to the door and said, "Go and get them or don't come back."

"Oh, all right."

I felt like a teenager being made to pick up my room.

~Show and Tell~

Later, carrying a loaded gym bag, I returned like the prodigal son. Ironically, 'I Can't Get No Satisfaction' was playing in the background. Michael took the bag and dumped the contents on the floor. His hands were on his hips as he grimly surveyed the stash. I hung my head in shame.

"Strip."

Surprised, my pout disguised my glee, but, as I removed my clothing, my body was betraying me. There I stood, like a penitent, head bowed, hands behind my back, and my legs spread slightly apart.

"Name each one of them and describe their features. Don't skip a single detail."

Michael fixed his twinkling eyes on my face. He didn't want to miss a word as I began my descent into disgrace.

"May I sit?"

He nodded.

Sitting cross-legged, as if sharing my toys with a friend, I laid them out in rank, from favorite to least favorite. I stumbled through the features of each item with growing difficulty.

"What do you use this for?" he questioned, as he pointed to a jiggley double dildo.

I didn't answer fast enough, for he pulled a rope out of the pile of toys. His eyes narrowed when he realized I was squirming. I stopped. My pussy was flowing like a faucet.

"I can't hear you," he said, arranging a little bottle of rosemary oil, lubricant, and an ice pack on the side table.

My eyes clouded at the prospect of a nasty admission. The toy I used with Cindy was almost destroyed.

"Mm, uh," I stalled. He tapped his foot impatiently. "Cindy brought it home one night. We were bored . . . and. . ."

I couldn't look him in the eye. He knew what we did with it.

"And . . . " he waited, as I was compelled to lie but couldn't.

"I'd stick one end in me and the other end in Cindy," I said, running the words together so he wouldn't understand them.

"And who enjoyed it most?"

"Cindy."

It was a fib.

Then, he picked up the long-handled vibrator with the hefty head. It was my beloved Hitachi, but it looked like a weapon in his hand. He shook his head solemnly.

"And whose is this?"

"Cindy's." I answered belligerently.

Michael knew that all the rest of the toys would be Cindy's.

"What does she do with it?" he asked, putting his hand over his mouth to stifle a laugh.

"She plugs it into a socket," I yielded, "It makes a LOT of noise."

"I bet."

"The big head vibrates my pussy until I pop." I confessed and was miserable at this personal revelation.

"Okay, let's see how it works."

Using his long, strong arms, Michael ensnared me.

~Lessons in Obedience~

"Kneel."

Never having seen him like this, I was scared. Once he fastened my collar and cuffs, I had just enough spirit to struggle and continue to piss him off.

"Little gamine, you are a frustrating bitch."

Michael laid me face up on the oversized coffee table and tied my ankles to my thighs, leaving me painfully exposed. I looked like a trussed turkey ready for stuffing. My face was a picture of a cat being held against its will, my lips peeled back from my teeth, fangs glistening. An evil laugh erupted from him as he secured the flailing wrists to my torso with a wide leather belt.

Offering the wand in one hand and my favorite riding crop in the other, he started a favorite game.

"Choose."

I knew if I chose one, he'd use the other. We've played this game a number of times and he was very predictable. But THAT was what Michael wanted to shatter, his predictability.

"The wand." I said meekly.

"We aim to please!"

He spread my labia and gently blew warm moist air on it. My eyes were closed and cat-like smile danced on my face. He flicked all around the labia, alternating with the clit using his long, pointy tongue. I was totally relaxed and into the oral stroking, and soon, my pussy had reddened.

Michael applied rosemary oil on the head of the wand. With the expertise of a sadist, he applied the wand directly on the stubby nub. I had never experienced the sting of rosemary oil on my tender bud and it took a few minutes to take effect. I acknowledged it with a piercing scream. Tiny shards of electrical pulses sluiced through my nether lips.

He cooed at me, removing the wand to watch my face as tears of pain flowed like a fountain over my now distorted face. My body convulsed for several minutes and cries turned to whimpers. It must have melted his heart. Perhaps he had been a little harsh with me. An ice pack was applied to my burning hole. The shock sent me into a series of spasms that ended in mewls. Then I rested, with the ice pack firmly ensconced between my legs until my breathing returned to normal.

"Let's try this little fellow," he said, wiggling the dildo menacingly.

As he slicked it up with rosemary oil, I moaned at the anticipated burning.

"Oh no, not again!"

I tried to roll my hips away, but it was useless.

Michael pulled my bubble butt to the edge of the coffee table. Cold, viscous lubricant cloaked his condomed cock and he moved his steely rod against my bum.

Understandably delirious, I wasn't quite ready for him and he'd been looking for that moment. He wanted to see my face as he forced me to yield to him. Slowly, he pushed the head inside my sphincter and paused until both rings gave way, one after the other. I grimaced in a concentrated effort and my back arched as I opened to him, forgetting everything except the natural inclination to be frightened of my Achilles heel, letting loose.

He saw the beads of sweat between my breasts and dew on my upper lip.

"Face me. I want to see your eyes. Now!"

Drowning in the sea of green eyes, he pushed in an inch at a time with practiced self control. It hurt a little on every thrust as I sucked air. I hoped it would always be that way. I pushed back against him. As he moved deeper, my eyes looked through him, thoroughly ensconced in the feeling of his hardness sliding in.

"Please." I whimpered, as he removed the interfering dildo and threw it aside.

Michael strummed the apex of my mons, stopped at every third stroke, then began again. My eyes were fixed on his with intensity, visibly begging for release. Gently twisting my nipples, he started my ascent.

"Don't break contact with my eyes," he panted.

I knew he would stop. The very thought briefly struck a masochistic chord. I hissed at the transition between pain and building ecstasy. Michael reveled in the sensation of firm resistance against his firm cock as he continued to plow my asshole.

"I need it to end . . . please!" I begged with tears in my eyes.

Lifting me off the table, he grabbed my hips to steady his target. He looked at me, his weeping slut, and nodded. I heard a piercing scream that sounded like a wounded animal and realized it was me. Then, he gently rocked me on his pole as I rode the waves.

It was just a matter of will, his will. I learned to submerge myself to it and he spoiled me just a little, to keep me wanting more. And I wanted a more, a lot more.

Walking on the Wild Side

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