Stories

Chapter 8 The first day of the convention started with Kat waking up early and checking her equipment, while Foxy turned around in bed and tried to sleep some more. “Come on Foxy, wake up. Today is the first day, and we need to meet with the organizers.” “Kitten, it is eight in the morning. Our meeting time is at eleven, and the center opens earliest at three. We have time.” ...

Chapter Three: Departure JJ woke up around 6:30 when she heard another loud “Thump” against the door to the room. She called out, “Who’s there?” but there was no response. Instead, a sheet of paper slid under the door. There was enough clearance that whoever pushed the paper beneath the door was able to propel it halfway across the room where it landed, face up, near the end of the bed. ...

Susan knelt in the centre of the dim bedroom, knees wide apart on the cool hardwood floor, the position he had taught her weeks ago: back straight, shoulders relaxed but proud, palms resting upward on her thighs in open offering. The black latex catsuit he had chosen for her three weeks earlier clung to every curve—glossy, second-skin tight, compressing her breasts until they felt swollen and heavy, nipples trapped and perpetually erect beneath the membrane. The faint chemical scent of polish still lingered on the surface. Her gloved hands were steady now, though her pulse betrayed her; her feet remained arched in the ballet boots that turned even stillness into a small, constant surrender. ...

Preparation Bottom Up I surveyed the floor around me, meticulously marking off every item on my mental checklist. Every item was arranged in the order it would be needed. That was one of my pet peeves, a lack of prior planning, especially for unlikely contingencies when Murphy’s Law derails the best of plans. My ideal world was one of methodical progression, one step following another, according to schedule. Even on those occasions I indulged in what could only be called a sexual perversion I still applied the same rigorous procedures as when I was drafting some mechanical design. ...

Campus Canteen It was one of those strange, drifting days at the university, after the exams but before the great escape. The campus was a sprawl of seventies brutalism, concrete and glass baking under the sun, every surface catching the heat and radiating it back. Inside, the canteen buzzed with a slow, restless energy, students in flip-flops and tank tops moving in loose patterns, chasing the last cold drinks or a decent sandwich. ...

The Intruder The house was exactly as she expected. Thank God, she thought. That meant that the several days of surveillance hadn’t been wasted. She normally spent at least a few days planning in advance, split between Internet searches, social media scrubbing and finally, physical surveillance. Renee thought of herself as a professional, and she didn’t like the idea of leaving much to chance. She preferred to target the suburbs, relying on the natural ebb and flow of the middle class to create opportunities for her to do her work, and not too far from major streets in the event she needed a quick getaway. ...

12: Separation “It’s, um… it’s actually kind of a funny story.” Sophie had seen the video from the doorbell camera, and she had some questions. Now we - Rob and I - were sitting in front of her, like a couple of naughty children. It all started - as all the worst stories do - with too much alcohol. Sophie was away for another work trip, and I was alone for a week. Alone in her house. Alone with her toys. And I had some bad ideas. ...

Chapter 7 The Monday morning after her second shoot, Kat woke up normally but in contrast to normal Foxy also left the bed. “Morning Foxy. Something planned today?” “Nope, just wanted to have some fun before you go to work.” “Oh? What do you have in mind?” “Well, how does your tail feel? You have been wearing the same plug for over a week now and you should be used to the size by now, right?” ...

Ever since I was little, I have been coming to Aunt Sally’s farm every summer. I loved seeing the livestock out in the fields, the crops growing, and hearing the sounds of nature all around. It was certainly different from living in the city, with all of the noise and lack of green spaces. Aunt Sally is my Mum’s sister, or so I believed. I just assumed that because I called her my auntie that she was related, though that was never really made clear to me. And I didn’t consider it strange that when my mother stayed at the farmhouse, they would share the same bed. They were sisters after all, and they were very close with each other during the day. I would often see them kiss and cuddle, which seemed like a natural expression of their affection. ...

Chapter Two: A Taste of Things to Come Marcie and JJ stood nervously with their suitcases just outside the front doors of the hotel. The text had not specified what type of vehicle would pick them up. They were hoping for a limo of some sort, but what pulled up was an ancient, rusting, off-white pickup truck with a faded Box M emblem painted on its side. “Bags in the back,” the driver said curtly through his open window. Marcie and JJ waited for a moment, thinking that he would get out and handle the bags for them, but instead he said, “If I drive away, you lose your registration. Bags in the back. Sluts in the front.” ...

2: Believer Brett: 1hr me: kk One Month Later “What a fuckin’ mess.” Listen, I’m not exactly proud of how we met. I mean, I should probably be in fuckin’ jail for what I did. Instead Brett says “want to do it again some time?” Swear to God! Thing is, though, I wasn’t lying when I said I’m not gay. Don’t get me wrong, Brett isn’t a bad looking lad. Bit too pretty, maybe. Probably uses, like, moisturiser and shit. But I just don’t swing that way. But he says there’s no hard feelings, and he says could I maybe do him a favour? He gave me these two keys - one’s to his front door, and the other’s for this box that has all the keys for his handcuffs and padlocks and that. Said he didn’t like how easy it was for him to escape. Careful what you wish for, right? So now, before he ties himself up, he messages me with how long until he wants to get let out. Sometimes I leave him a bit longer. I’ve got my own shit going on, you know? And now I find him lying on his bed, with his arms and legs spread out like a starfish. He’s handcuffed, vibrator’s still buzzin’ away on his soft cock, and he’s fully drenched in his own jizz. I rip the duct tape off his mouth, and he gives me this grin like he’s pleased with his self or something, and he’s like “what took you so long?” I tell him to fuck off, stick the tape back on his mouth, and pretend like I’m gonna just leave him there. That gets him beggin’ (heh). After I’ve undone his cuffs, I decide to stop by the pub; I mean, I was already heading that way. I don’t see my mates there as much as I used to. It is what it is. Another one just had a baby. I’m genuinely happy for him. Bit later, Brett shows up (after he’s cleaned himself up). He gets himself a diet coke, and we talk about some shit - act like I didn’t just see his cock and balls and all that. And, tell you what, that lad can’t half talk! He’s always nattering on about so-and-so at work, or some nerd shit. Can’t get a second with my own thoughts. He tells me about these Japanese cartoons he likes; told me about this football one - fuckin’ mental! Ended up watching the whole lot. Then after last call, we walk home together. “You really need to get yourself some curtains, mate.” “Heh, I keep meaning to, but…” I mean, not ’together’ like that. “Don’t make me drag you round fuckin’ Ikea.” “Ha. Yeah, that’d, um…” We’re just both going the same way, right? “Alright. Night, mate.” “Good night… Darren. Umm… message me when you’re home safe!” I give him the middle finger; don’t even look back. I don’t know why he keeps coming down the pub, to be honest. He doesn’t even drink! Guess he must be lonely. Before It was Carl that told me about this site. That’s what’s fucked up about it. Now Carl’s married to this bird who’s way too good for him, and I’m playing make believe with my cock in my hand. Candice is an American. Platinum blonde, pink bikini, massive tits (probably fake). She can’t see me, but I type what I want her to do. Me and the other lads watching the stream, typing in the chat, giving tips. *ting-a-ling* I give her £5 and tell her to handcuff her hands behind her back, and she’s all “sure thing big boy”. She puts on these flimsy, fluffy cuffs, and she’s rolling around, going “ooh, yeah, punish me daddy.” *ting-a-ling* this other guy drops $25, now her feet are front and center, and the cuffs are an afterthought. Not ideal. That’s how they get you. Nadja sounds Russian, or something like that. She got this bright blue hair, and she’s wearing this black, lacey bodysuit with fishnet stockings. When I join the chat, she’s already hogtied on the bed. It’s just me and her this time. You come home to find your girlfriend in bondage (POV) She’s wearing these fabric and velcro wrist and ankle cuffs, all joined together with this fabric cross thing, with metal clips on each end. I can see a magic wand poking out between her legs. When I join the chat, she looks at me and says something like “honey, you’re home early”. Hard to tell with the silk scarf around her mouth. “Now then,” I say, “looks like you’ve been having some fun while I’ve been away.” This bloke in a black tracksuit and balaclava wanders on screen. I can see a bulge in his trackie bottoms. He unties the scarf, and pulls a pair of panties out of Nadja’s mouth, and she goes “please, Darren, I’m so horny from the vibrator. I want to suck your big cock so bad.” “If you insist.” I whip out my cock, and tracksuit guy does the same. He strokes his cock ’til he’s hard, and I do the same. He picks up the camera, and he’s pointing it down at his cock as he pushes it into Nadja’s mouth. Nadja sucks your cock while hogtied (POV) She wraps her plump red lips around my cock. She looks gorgeous with my cock in her mouth. “Yeah,” I say, “that’s good. How do you like my cock?” She says something like “I love your big cock, Darren.” Hard to tell with her mouth full. She looks up at me, looks me in the eye, and she has this look like she’s begging. Fuck me, it’s hot. I put my hand on her head, make her go faster, make her go deeper. Nadja’s a fuckin’ pro at suckin’ cock. She takes me in all the way and she doesn’t even blink. Then the vibrator catches her, and she gets all distracted in this way that’s so fuckin’ precious. “Fuck, I want to cum on your face.” I pull my cock out of her mouth and she goes “oh yes, please cum on my face, Darren.” You cover Nadja’s face with your cum (POV) Tracksuit guy turns off the magic wand, unclips her cuffs, puts down the camera, and leaves. I give Nadja an extra tip for a job well done. She sits up, and smiles with cum still dripping down her face. But her eyes aren’t looking at me, they’re looking at her laptop screen. “Please rate 5 stars!” [CHAT ENDED] Katie’s a local girl. I mean, not down the road local, she’s probably in fuckin’ London, somewhere posh. But she sounds like home. She’s got this light brown hair, wavey and down to her shoulders, and she’s right pretty. Proper girl next door type. While she’s setting up, we make small talk about this amusement park we both used to go to as kids, and joke about how we might have even met back then. Listen, I’m not a fuckin’ idiot. I know it’s not real. But what’s the harm in pretending for a bit? She takes off her robe, and she’s wearing this pink rope shibari thing, that squeezes and pushes up her perky little tits. Takes my fuckin’ breath away. “So… what would you like to do to me, Darren?” She showed me all her toys while she was setting up. I tell her I want her to put on the nipple clamps. She gasps, then makes this fuckin’ adorable pouty face, and all I can think is this bird is going to bankrupt me. She pulls at her nipples to make them stand up, then slowly squeezes the rubber tips onto her nipples, wincing as they bite down. The clamps are joined together with this metal chain, and she does this sulky “you’re so cruel, Darren” as she playfully tugs at it. I tell her I want to handcuff her. I tell her I want to fuck her in handcuffs. She sticks this dildo to a table, and angles the camera just right. She puts the handcuffs on slow, makes a real show of it, like she’s scared and hesitating. She carefully climbs up onto the table, and gets on her knees. Katie rides your cock in bondage (POV) She holds my cock with both hands, eases herself down onto it. She starts slow, resting her hands on my stomach, and wiggling her hips. The nipple clamps jingle and dance. “Do you like having my cock inside you?” “Mmm, it feels so good, Darren. You’re so big.” She picks up the pace, starts bouncing. I tell her to pull on the nipple clamp chain. She pants as her nipples are stretched, and the clamps are slowly dragged along… then lets out a little scream when one of the clamps pops off. She looks me in the eye and pouts as she rubs her sore nipple. I give her this evil smile, and I tell her to pull off the other one. She licks her fingers, and moves her hands between her legs, starts rubbing her pussy. Her arms squeeze her tits together. “If you want to cum,” I say, “you’ve got to ask permission first. You’ve got to beg.” “Yes, Darren.” She slows her hips, and she closes her eyes and throws her head back. She’s moaning, and she says “ooh, please let me cum, Darren, I want to cum so bad.” “Not yet.” She stops rubbing herself, moves her hands to squeeze her tits. She pinches her nipples. Her mouth hangs open, and she’s purring like a kitten. She’s bouncing hard on my dick, and she says again, “please, Darren, I can’t take much more.” “Not yet.” She drops her head, and looks me dead in the eyes. She looks desperate, pleading, like it’s actual fuckin’ torture. She bites her lip, and she begs, “please…” You fill Katie with your cum (POV) She lets out this loud orgasmic scream, and we both cum at the same time. She collapses down onto my dick, sweating and breathless. Her face is red, and she looks at me and she says “you were amazing, Darren. That was the best sex I’ve ever had.” I give her a massive tip, everything I won on the fruit machines. She’s worth every fuckin’ penny. She leans in close and she whispers “thank you, Darren.” Katie kisses you on the cheek (POV) [4K] It’s not hard to see why Katie’s so popular. It’s not exactly surprising when her prices go up. That’s how they get you… until there’s nothing left to get. What you might call a ‘come to Jesus’ moment, that. Couple of weeks later, I’m down the pub, catching up with my mates, and I tell Carl about what happened, and how it’s all his fault. He has a right old chuckle about that, and goes around telling anyone who’ll listen. I nearly decked him. “Easy, mate,” he says, “listen, our Gemma was saying she’s got this friend, right? Wants to settle down, have a couple of kids and all that. But it’s fuckin’ grim out there, she says, can’t find a decent bloke, not for love or money. So I says to her, ‘well, what about our Darren? He’s at least half decent’.” I give him the side-eye. “Anyway, I gave her your number. So when she calls, you’re gonna pick the fuck up, yeah? ‘Less you want to be a sad wanker the rest of your life.” Your best mate sets you up with your future wife (POV) Doesn’t sound that bad, to be fair. Me and Carl have been mates since we were in school. He can be a bit of a cunt, but he wouldn’t fuck me about with something like this. “Yeah, alright.” “Oh, and make sure your passport’s up to date,” he says, “we’re gonna do Amsterdam for your stag-do, yeah? Yeah? Ah, you’ll love it.” We get well pissed, talking about Amsterdam, and Carl being best man at my wedding, and our kids being best mates like us, and shit like that. Then after last call I walk myself home. I pass by the house with no curtains, and I notice a light on inside. You see a woman in bondage… She wants you to come inside. Now “You like getting fucked in the arse, don’t you, you little whore.” Brett likes it when I wind him up. “Look how fuckin’ hard it’s making you!” I like that embarrassed look he gets. I like making him squirm. When I come in, he’s on all fours, arse to the door. His wrists and ankles are cuffed to these spreader bars, about a foot and a half wide. He’s got this rubber bar gag in his mouth, with a little padlock on the buckle. And there’s a chain coming off his collar, padlocked around the leg of the settee, pulling his head down. Oh, and he’s wearing that pink wig, and this, like, Japanese school girl sailor dress. On the floor next to him is a bottle of lube. He’s so obvious… “What d’you expect me to do with this, then?” The bottle of lube looks brand new. Reckon it’s probably his first time. It’s not mine. I mean, I hadn’t done it with a bloke - but, end of the day, a hole’s a hole, right? And I gotta say, he is getting me a bit hard, not gonna lie. He tries to turn his head, and he’s looking at me all innocent and he just says “please…” Can’t even bring himself to say the rest of the words. “Yeah, I know what you’re after,” I say. “And what, is my spit not good enough for you, princess?” He lets out this scared little moan, all like ‘oh no, please don’t put your big cock in my tight little virgin arsehole without lube’. Too fuckin’ easy. I always keep a rubber in my wallet. I mean, you never know, right? And it’s not like he’s gonna know the difference. But I don’t use too much of the lube. Don’t want him thinking I’m being soft on him. I knee between his legs, resting my weight on the bar between his ankles. Between that and the chain, he ain’t going anywhere. “Right, mate, deep breath.” I push into him and, fuck, he’s tight. I hold onto his skinny waist, and I start going at him, and it feels fuckin’ incredible. “How does that feel? How do you like my cock?” He goes all shy, and mutters something like ‘I love it, Darren.’ I like hearing him say my name, especially when he’s begging. Guess that’s why I’m feeling generous. I reach a hand under him and grab his cock. “Bet you like getting wanked off while you’re being fucked, don’t you, you greedy slut?” I hold onto his shoulder for balance, and I can feel him trying to move his hips to fuck my hand. And he’s making these proper dirty noises, like a bitch in heat. “Listen to ya! You’re fuckin’ loving it. You’re such a– Gah!” The little fucker cums all over my hand. It’s just pouring out of him. “Who told you you could fuckin’ cum?” I wipe my hand on his dress, and the cheeky bastard starts giggling. He’s gonna regret that… To be fair, though, the way his orgasm is squeezing me feels pretty nice. And I’m not that far off myself. Fuck, he feels good. Punishment can wait. I pick up the pace, and he’s moaning again, like ‘No, please, it’s too much.’ He loves it, really. “What, you thought I was gonna stop, just cause you’ve had your fun? Nah, mate, I’m not done with you yet.” We have a safe word. “No use beggin’.” He doesn’t use it. Doesn’t take me much longer to cum. And when I say cum, I mean I fuckin’ EXPLODE inside him. I nearly knock the poor bugger to the ground. He probably isn’t gonna be able to sit for a week. I can feel him shaking. Shit, I mean, I’m trembling too. Takes me a minute to catch my breath. “Not bad, mate.” I give him a pat on the back, “not fuckin’ bad”. I pull out of him slow. “How does it feel to have another man’s cum inside you? Not a pure little virgin anymore, eh?” I mean, I came inside the rubber, if we’re being technical. But he doesn’t need to know that. I tell him to sit tight, and I wander upstairs. Gives me an opportunity to get rid of the rubber for one. He showed me where he keeps all his pervy toys. Time for those consequences, I reckon. I come back and I grab his soft dick, and I say “time for you to learn some fuckin’ manners.” I pull the chastity cage onto him, and when he realises, he starts rattling his chains, and pleading, and I’m like “sorry, mate, can’t understand you.” Heh. He’s not laughing now. I undo all his other locks, and I leave him to it. Clean up isn’t my problem. Not like I’m gonna hang around for a cuddle. Later Sally’s gorgeous. I love the way she laughs, proper dirty. Her tits are amazing. And she’s actually fuckin’ real! Not some girl on a website, but actual flesh and blood, in my bed. Definitely owe Carl a pint. Crazy thing is, first time I meet her I says, “how do you feel about being tied up?” And maybe I was trying to scare her off a bit with that. But her face proper lit up, swear to God. Like, I think I can see myself actually marrying this bird. Brett: you up? ;) I haven’t told her about Brett. me: omw She wouldn’t get it.

1: Daydreamer “Now then… Not a bird after all, eh?” I don’t recognise his voice. Or maybe… I dunno. He sounds drunk. I can’t see with the blindfold, but would I even recognise him if I saw his face? “You really did all this to yourself, didn’t you, you little perv.” He really knows how to push my buttons, whoever he is. I should be scared. This stranger just broke into my house! Why aren’t I more scared? Instead, I feel embarrassed; I really did do this to myself. I feel ashamed; I really am a pervert. It’s all so… God, why is it so arousing! “Hello there, little fella,” I feel his finger tap my vibrating penis, ever so lightly. I almost orgasm on the spot. I hear a quiet chuckle, “sorry mate, you want to cum, you’ll have to earn it first.” My heart sinks. The vibrator stops. He pushes his fingers under the straps of my gag, and pulls the pink rubber ball from my mouth, trailing saliva down my chin. I want to say something, I SHOULD say something… But I can’t find the words. “Tell me to stop.” His hand is strangely gentle on my cheek. His thumb taunts my lips, smearing my lipstick. “You want me to leave?” The thumb probes at my mouth, trying to drag my lips open. “Tell me to leave.” I imagine he’s dangerous. I imagine he’s a monster. This is so messed up. Just say the words. You don’t want this. Right? I imagine he has a knife. Just tell him to leave. He might actually go. I imagine he stays. I imagine he hurts me. “Come on!” He almost sounds like he’s pleading, “just ask me to leave,” like he actually wants me to send him away. I imagine him leaving… “Please.” I finally force the words out of my mouth. “Don’t,” my voice is quiet, shaking. “Don’t… leave.” His voice relaxes. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.” His voice is cold. “Open your fuckin’ mouth.” Before The previous owners took the curtains with them. I keep meaning to replace them. The living room window faces out onto a main road, so pedestrians, passing cars, people in the houses across the street, they could see right inside. Sometimes I imagine them looking in and seeing me tied up, doing something perverted. God, that’d be so embarrassing. The first time I tied myself up in that house, it was 4am, and I sat right under the window, tight against the wall. No one was going to pass by at that time. And even if someone walked right up to the window and looked in, they wouldn’t have been able to see me. But the idea of it… imagining it could happen, imagining that it DID happen. But I knew that I was safe. I knew no-one was going to see me. And that was the problem. I got more daring, more dangerous. I needed the thrill of the threat. I started playing my games earlier, moving deeper into the room, making myself more visible to the outside world. This one time, I hogtied myself dead centre of the living room. Around 2:00 am. I heard laughter, a group of women. Maybe a hen-do passing by. I imagined one of them spotting me. They gather round my window, and they’re looking at me all naked and exposed. I imagine they’re laughing at me. I imagine the flash of their cameras. The bondage, the vibrators, they get me close. But it’s the fantasies that finish me off. 1:00 am, I tie myself to a chair at the far end of the room. I imagine leaving the front door unlocked. I imagine wearing a sign that says “come in and fuck me.” And I imagine her, I imagine this woman, she climbs up on the chair. She holds my head, and she pushes my face into her pussy. And I can’t fight it. She doesn’t let me fight it. She won’t let me orgasm until I’ve made her orgasm first. She won’t untie me until she’s satisfied. I’m her prisoner, and I have to do what she wants me to do. She doesn’t give me a choice. I had this rough week at work, and I needed something to take my mind off it. I needed something intense. I hung a key from a chain over the living room window, on a split ring. I got undressed. I put on a chastity cage. I inserted a fluffy, dog-tail butt plug. I wore a dog collar, and a bone-shaped gag, both locked in place with small padlocks. I wore cuffs on my wrists and my ankles. The keys to the cage, and the padlocks, and the cuffs were all in a locked box in my bedroom. The only way to get them back - to set myself free - was to retrieve the key that was hanging over the living room window. To stand up, naked, in bondage, in full view of the outside world. It was 12:30am. I started in my bedroom, and forced myself to crawl like a dog to my goal. Awkwardly, cautiously I backed down the stairs. So far so good. Then rising up on my knees, with my hands held together, I pulled the living room door open. I froze. It was just now sinking in what I’d done, what I was about to do - and that I didn’t have a choice if I wanted to get free. I glanced out, careful to stay out of sight. The windows across the street all had their curtains drawn, most had their lights off. Every few minutes, headlights would flash by. But they were passing fast enough that they probably wouldn’t notice me; and if they did, they probably wouldn’t know what they were seeing. I sat for a while, my eyes fixed on the pavement, like a loyal guard dog - until I’d convinced myself no-one would walk by. And I stood. My heart was pounding a thunderous beat that made my whole body shake. I’d gone too far this time. Too reckless. I was exposing myself to the world in this shameful state, and I had no other choice. God, my penis was pushing against the chastity cage with all its might, and there was nothing I could do about it. Not until I got that key. My fidgeting was wagging my stupid tail like an excited puppy. It was so embarrassing! I imagine the woman across the street looks out of her window. I imagine she knocks on my door the next day. I imagine she has photos. I imagine she has demands. My fingers were trembling. I could barely get a grip of the key ring. I tried to slide my finger nail into the split ring, so that I could get the key free, but it kept slipping. I’d messed up so bad. I couldn’t get the key to budge. And the more I fumbled, the longer I was exposed. And I was starting to panic, which made my hands shake even more, in a vicious cycle. Then I heard it - drunken singing, getting louder. Getting closer! It sounded like one person, a guy. And he was singing a football chant, I think. I dropped to the ground, pushing myself tight against the wall, like I used to do. Nobody could see me, I was sure of it. I was pretty sure of it. I felt dizzy. What if he already saw me? This weird, naked… DOG-boy. The singing was right outside my window. Had he… had he STOPPED? Was he looking in through the window?! It was too much. Too real. I felt like my penis was about to explode. No. He couldn’t see me. There was no way he could see me. Oh God, why wasn’t he singing anymore? Was he still there? How was I supposed to check without being seen! I cowered there, hugging the wall, for what felt like an eternity. And when I finally crept up to peek through the window… just an empty street. The first thing I unlocked was the chastity cage. God, it was the most intense orgasm I ever had. Today It wasn’t until the clocks went back, that I realised something important. See, in cop shows, when they show interrogation scenes, the interrogation room is brightly lit, and the observers are in an adjacent room, in the dark. That’s how two-way mirrors work, the dark room makes the window act like a mirror for the bright room. So when I got home from work, in the dark, and I saw myself reflected in the living room window as I walked up to the front door, I realised - the bright streetlight near the front of my house meant I was basically invisible to the outside world, even without curtains. That was when I had a really bad idea. Because the only way you can see through a two-way mirror is if you get right up against the glass… or if you turn a light on inside the dark room. I dress in a pink, pleated skirt; thigh-high, stripey socks; no panties. I wear a choker, and a pink, baby tee, with the word ‘slut’ in glitter cursive (God, I’m so cringe). And I finish the look with pink lipstick, and a pink wig. There’s a standing lamp, in the far corner of the living room. I kneel under it. I have my toys prepared. First the ball gag (pink, obviously). Then I use a rubber cock ring to press a vibrator against my already stiff penis. I try to cover it with the way-too-short skirt, but it keeps pushing its way free - like it wants to be seen. I move my feet behind the lamp, and cuff them there. There’s a safety latch on the cuffs, so technically I can let myself out any time I want. But I challenge myself to stay there until I orgasm. No matter what. I blindfold myself to protect my eyes from the bright LED light, shining right above me. It also means I won’t see if someone walks by, so I can’t chicken out. By now, I’ve started to notice patterns in the movements outside my window; the same shapes passing by at the same times, like clockwork. If I don’t orgasm quick, one of those shapes is sure to find me. It’s midnight. I turn on the vibrator at a low speed. Enough to tease, but if I want to orgasm - if I want to orgasm FAST - I’ll have to work for it. I turn on the lamp. I pull my hands behind my back, and loop the hand cuff chain around the ankle cuff chain. And I squeeze the cuff closed around my wrist. Oh jeez, I’ve really done it this time. Now I really am on display, like some perverted art installation, ‘Spotlight on Deviant, in Pink’. Here to be pursued by a curious public. The vibrations feel so nice. Now “Don’t you dare fuckin’ bite me.” I don’t know what I’m doing. I’ve never given a blow job before. And he’s so big! My teeth keep accidentally brushing his penis. I try my best, but it’s kinda hard to do with your eyes closed and your hands behind your back. I keep losing him. But mostly I’m just trying to keep my balance. “Aww, yeah, that’s good… You’ve done this before, haven’t you, slut.” He holds my head with both hands. I feel my wig slipping. He’s gripping me so tight, holding my head still while he makes love to my mouth. His penis bounces against the back of my mouth, and I can’t help making these lewd sounds. Ugh, this is so embarrassing. I’m so gross. He takes his penis out of my mouth. He lets go of my head, and I hear a slapping sound, and he’s breathing heavily, and he lifts my chin, and oh God, is he about to… “Fuck… I’m going to cum on your face. Tell me you want my cum on your face.” “Please…” Don’t say it. “C-cum…” Don’t say it! “…in my mouth.” “Ah… fuck, you… fuckin’…” His sperm hits my tongue. It splashes messily around my mouth, on my chin. I even feel some hit my forehead. God, this is so humiliating. I’m dressed up like a girl, and I have another man’s sperm in my mouth - and I asked for it! What the heck is wrong with me? He shoves his penis back in my mouth and says “go on, get every last drop.” Why is this turning me on so much? “Yeah, good girl.” Why am I like this! He pushed the ball gag back into my mouth. Some of his sperm gets squeezed out of the sides of my mouth, and drips down my cheeks. Most of it gets pushed to the back of my tongue. I think about swallowing it, but the gag has my tongue pinned down. I hear his footsteps moving about, getting quieter, moving around the house. Is he… is he going to burglarise me? After he just did… that? I start to panic, start feeling for the safety latch on my cuffs. His footsteps come back, and I freeze. He roughly pulls my baby tee up to my neck. I feel him scratching at my chest, or… no, writing? The vibrator turns back on, and he says “well earned,” and he pats me on the head. Then the door closes, and I’m alone again. Like the whole thing was some messed up dream. Just another one of my perverted fantasies. But I can still taste him on my tongue. Later me: hi, i’m brett me: from last night Darren: (✓read) me: can we talk? Darren: (·…) Darren: (.·.) Darren: Darren: (…·) Darren: Darren: pub? This is his regular, he says. The Dog and Pony. His walk home just happens to go past my house. “Your window always caught my eye, you know? ‘Cause it’s the only one on that street without curtains. I used to think it was abandoned or something.” Sometimes he meets friends here. But his friends have wives and girlfriends; some even have children. Sometimes he drinks alone. We find a quiet corner, and he tells me about this one time, a few months ago, when he “won 50 quid on the fruit machine”. He’s avoiding the subject. I have to force him. “Yeah, I was gettin’ to that. So as I was sayin’, it was my lucky night. And as I’m going past your house, I have myself a cheeky peek, yeah? And I see this… naked… you, I guess. And you had, like, a tail? And there was all this metal and shit.” He doesn’t look like what I was imagining when I was blindfolded. A little rough around the edges, but not exactly ugly. I’m not sure if that’s a relief. He might even look handsome, with a little self-care. But he doesn’t seem like the type. “And I kept catching these glimpses, like almost regular. Until it got too dark to see anything. But then last night, I see that light, and I see you - like, properly see you for the first time - and it’s like, fuckin’… some shit I dreamed about. But in real life! Except, erm… I didn’t know you were a bloke.” As he’s talking, I idly rest my hand on my chest; over where he wrote his name and number. I didn’t want to wash it off. It feels… I dunno, meaningful? Like he claimed me. Like he marked me as… Oh God, I can feel myself blushing. “Shit, sorry. I didn’t mean to embarrass you.” “No, it’s…” I can’t tell him. That’d be too much. “Go on.” “So yeah, I’m looking at you, and it’s too fuckin’ perfect. And I get it in my head… you know, with the light… I’m thinking… It sounds fuckin’ stupid now, but I was thinking, like, you wanted me to come in? I mean, I was pretty pissed, to be fair. But it made a fucked up kind of sense, you know? So I’m like, okay, just try the door. ‘Cause obviously it’s gonna be locked, right? And that’ll be the end of it.” Suddenly my throat feels very dry. “But it wasn’t locked,” he says. I take a big gulp of my coke, and almost choke when the bubbles hit my throat. “You alright?” I nod, coughing and trying to catch my breath. He goes quiet for a moment. Then he says “I’m not… gay. Just so you know.” I can’t tell if he’s being serious. It almost sounds like an apology. I let out a nervous laugh. “Yeah,” I say, “me neither.” But then, I’m not so sure if I’m being serious either. We sit there in that uncomfortable silence for a while, taking awkward sips and avoiding each other’s eyes, until our glasses are dry. “So, er…” he finally breaks the silence. “Another round?”

37: The Convent of Sins I Lance kicked in the door to his old home. His hotel was just a dusty ruin. A victim of vandalism and nature. He had expected nothing less. Leon City was a shithole, and the way it treated his property was proof enough. He hoped that at least the inside of the hotel was still untouched. “Sir, we need to hurry,” said one of his men who had freed him from the prison. ...

The Beginning Mark and Elena’s arrangement was supposed to be the gold standard of roommate professionalism. They shared a kitchen, a hallway, and a landlord, but their private lives remained locked behind heavy bedroom doors. They were strangers who simply shared a roof. They were polite, distant, and intensely functional. Then the weekend nights started. Through the thin drywall, Elena began to hear things. It was not just the typical muffled thuds of a college hookup, but the distinct, heavy clinking of metal. She heard chains rattling. She heard the unmistakable, sharp intake of Sarah’s breath, followed by low, helpless moans. In the mornings, Elena would sit at the kitchen island, staring at the red, raw imprints encircling both of their wrists over morning coffee. She could only guess at what happened behind Mark’s door, and the guesswork was turning into a torturous, obsessive itch. ...

The air inside the private development bay of Halcyon BioTech always smelled faintly of burnt ozone and industrial solvent, a sterile baseline that you had spent three years breathing alongside Dr. Marcus Chen. To the rest of the facility, the two of you were an eccentric, highly insular unit—you, the twenty-four-year-old prodigy who had accelerated through a molecular engineering PhD only to realize you were entirely unequipped for the social friction of the ordinary world; Marcus, the senior mentor whose casual brilliance and validating nods were the only currency that truly mattered to your intellectual arrogance. Together, you had birthed the fluid. ...

Chapter 6 July and Lily were sitting on a couch, watching one of their most chaotic and erratic friends calmly sit on the one opposite of them, petting the young woman, who had her hands in one of the most strenuous positions bound behind her back enjoy the attention, fully relaxed with her head in the other woman’s lap. Bouth had watched this picture for the last ten minutes, but still could not believe it. ...

Part Ten After my recent episode with the contractors moving me from the storeroom to the container and leaving me locked away overnight, I thought it best that I didn’t push for any further time as a meatgirl, in case Ollie would not be too happy after what happened. There always seems to be something that doesn’t go to plan when I indulge in my meatgirl fantasy, well, at least some of the time anyway. ...

“Honey, the hell is that?” The “that” I was referring to was obvious: a half scale steel drum on a hand truck that she was wheeling into the house from the garage. She grinned in a way that spoke of triumph and mischief. And Cupid’s arrow pierced my heart like it did every time she smiled at me. Yes, I’m a fool for the love of her. “A surprise. Get the spray booth and the sprayer set up in the play room.” ...

PART ONE ~ 1 ~ 2 ~ 3 ~ Some consider it a travesty, of course. The fate of the human races pinned in stasis, demons and demiurges sat at a pinnacle never intended for their ilk, that sort of thing. True as far as it goes, but not my concern. In fact, I think there’s a beauty in it. The closest to a closed causality the Center of Everything and its hundreds of Attendant Universes has ever known, the center raised above the edges, terrifying cliffs only scalable by those who can adapt to the new reality, order imposed on every world, for ever… beauty in stasis, that’s more in line with my thinking. It’s worked out for me personally, at least in comparison with the previous thousand years of my existence. For all the irreplaceable cultural treasures lost to pillage, some things deserved to be overturned. ...

I struggled not to visually roll my eyes or audibly sigh at what the woman was saying. Despite the bar being full on a Friday evening, and a large collection of voices being all that I could hear, somehow her whining tone seemed louder than anyone else’s; despite not yelling or straining her words. This was the last thing I wanted to do after a full week of work. With the weekend fast approaching and my entire frame aching, all I wanted was to return to the comfort of my home, curl up and read a book, or maybe watch a few movies. I wanted to push out the rest of the world, avoid any forms of human connection and just…relax. As I was leaving work, my plans were interrupted by a text from my oldest friend, a woman who I had known ever since we were at school together, Melanie. She was drunk, already intoxicated by the time I had reached the bar. She had texted me the address with almost no choice but to spend the evening with her and listen to her sorrows. ...