Nc-Reluct on Gromet's Plaza Archive

Jen’s Predicament

Fri, 26 Jul 2019 00:00:00 +0000

story continued from part 1

Hi, all, I’m Jen. This story is a continuation from Jen’s Predicament. Because it drops right into the middle of a conversation, here’s a quick recap of how we got here.*I’m 26, single girl. I’ve had a thing about selfbondage since puberty. As this story takes place I was living alone in a house with a basement. I’d built a selfbondage x-frame in the basement with an electromagnet for timed release, a stand for a vibrator, computer controls for both.__

The Camel Race

Sun, 07 May 2017 00:00:00 +0000

story continued from Breaking & Entering

Malcolm Pettigrew thanked the driver, nodded the ghost of a bow to the Emir’s guard and strode down the path to the great man’s tent, the silent, light-stepping Henrietta Courtauld just behind him, her hair duly covered. He had been three months in the United Arab Emirates since his arrival as British Commercial Attache, and this was his first visit to the most obscure and traditional of the emirates, Bhagarem. Henrietta, his assistant, was not quite so new to the job, but she had not set foot here before either.

Kidnapped Mistaken Identity 3

Thu, 08 Sep 2016 00:00:00 +0000

(story continues from Kidnapped Mistaken Identity 2)

Part Three

DAY 3

Previous story codes: FFF/m; D/s; captive; dungeon; bond; rubber; hood; catsuits; corset; nurse; maid; tease; torment; force; needles; sounds; cockcage; sendep; chairtie; bdsm; punish; cane; femdom; denial; mast; oral; climax; nc/reluct; XX

I slept soundly then “get up Cretin”; I was awakened with a start from a deep sleep by female voices and a shaking by them. Mistress R and Matron were here to collect me. Both were dressed as usual in themed fetish rubber. This time it was military garb from Mistress R who was wearing patent knee length boots an obscenely short skin tight mini-skirt, a tight buttoned military coat and a peaked cap all in glossy latex. Matron had on her transparent nurse outfit with a long black sinister medical rubber apron.

Essence of Woman

Mon, 13 Jan 2014 00:00:00 +0000

Waking from disturbing dreams of drowning in a pot full of hot water Jane tries to sit up hitting her head on something right in front of her face. Jane tried to move but her body is pressed into something and keeps her from bending or even flexing her thin toned body, even her hands feel trapped, she inhales as deep as she can feeling her breasts press harder on whatever is holding her down, her feet are aching but all she can tell is that they feel like they are encased in very tight shoes with very tall heels.

Lord Oliver

Thu, 27 Dec 2012 00:00:00 +0000

Chapter 1: Purchase.

The floor beneath Lottie’s feet changed from thick carpet to cold flagstone. Trapped in the darkness of the blindfold she could only guess her new location by her other senses – the smell of recently cooked pizza and spilled beer and the hum of a dishwasher. In a room behind heavy rock music roared out played by a band she didn’t know. The firm grip on her arm relaxed.

Jackie and the Tickle Machines

Sat, 01 Dec 2012 00:00:00 +0000

Somewhere near Old Detroit, a program loaded into the Net: 314986970.ANGL. It was time to recapture subject 314-98-6970 for close examination and possible treatment.

In what was once a suburb to the southwest of Detroit, Jackie of the Elm-Streeters poked through a pile of rubble, digging out old cookware. She was a Rat Bastard: A feral human, a mongrel with genes from five continents. In the summer heat, her clothing revealed much of her tan-brown skin, consisting as it did of salvaged cut-off shorts, a halter top to hold her more than ample breasts, and floppy sandals on her otherwise bare feet. Her black hair, cut short in what once was called a pageboy bob, had reddish highlights and framed a face with a generous mouth and dark eyes with just a hint of epicanthic fold.

Go Green

Fri, 24 Aug 2012 00:00:00 +0000

Part One: Arrival

Her eyes open, but nothing changes. It’s just as dark. She breathes in.

When plants are caught in absolute darkness, a substance in them called auxin stretches their stems out, until they die. That’s why when you leave a plant in a closet it turns a ghostly pale, warped and disfigured.

Our plant is stretching; she’s been in the dark for hours unknown. She slowly, progressively becomes more aware of her situation. She first realizes that it is dark; then she notices the cool feel of plastic against her exposed skin (that’s when she deduces her nudity); she then realizes that her hands are tied together behind her back. It is hard to breathe.

Pony Up

Fri, 29 Jun 2012 00:00:00 +0000

There were always little rituals to be observed and even the smallest of goals to be achieved in the space of a day. They were the routines and the mental talismans that kept Hannah’s overactive brain in check and allowed her to manage the obsessive nature of her thoughts from one hour to the next without spinning out of control. Deprived of their comfort and familiar nature she was often scared to imagine what might happen to the complicated interior world that was her own mind.

The Tack Trap

Wed, 25 Apr 2012 00:00:00 +0000

We were all watching her as she went into the tack room. Waiting to see if she took the bait. Suzy Sue, our lovely leggy instructress. Our equestrienne goddess. We had deliberately left the tack room untidy, and amongst the disorder we had left the bait for our trap.

Instead of the shouts and bellowing cries for recrimination we had half expected there was only silence. And silence was good for our plan. Very good indeed.

Spandex Kid vs. Spider Vixen

Tue, 24 Apr 2012 00:00:00 +0000

Once more, The Spandex Kid was out driving late at night listening to his scanner and prowling for an adventure. Even though he had no innate superpowers, he identified with superheros such as Batman, Robin, Superman, and The Flash and even dressed the part every night he was out.

Tonight, he wore a red, long-sleeved spandex unitard that covered him from neck to toe; black briefs for a touch of modesty; black spandex opera gloves; black neoprene boots; and a black spandex hood which masked his entire head except for a ninja-like slit through which one could gaze into his blue eyes. No cape, however. He had seen ``The Incredibles’’ and knew better.

Rubbermaid

Sun, 19 Feb 2012 00:00:00 +0000

Relaxed and finally having shifted down the gears until she felt that she was almost herself again, Tamara Dumas slipped into the booth and across the cracked leather of the seat until she was sitting directly opposite the man in the suit. Her last dance had ended more than an hour before and now there was no need for a performance on her part. It was no matter to her that the attention of a well dressed individual this long after she was off stage always meant the offer of serious money, if the customer was that interested in the goods he could stand to see the person behind the body that went on show every night.

The Freshman

Wed, 18 Jan 2012 00:00:00 +0000

The sound of feet skipping down the stairs caught my attention. It could only be one person. Five o’clock on the Friday before spring break and the exodus was complete. Well, all except for the five girls who were staying - and the woman. I had heard the footsteps three floors up and there was only one tenant on that floor: Morgan Trent, 24, freshman.

Sound was followed by feet, legs, heavy-ish thighs, bouncing tits, a perky ponytail.

Riding Magenta

Tue, 17 Jan 2012 00:00:00 +0000

The door of the limousine finally slammed closed, sealing Magenta inside and the baying hordes of paparazzi outside the car. She flopped back onto the seat and let out a breath of sheer exhaustion and relief that the evening was over and another premiere was behind her. Magenta was always amused by the fact that there were millions of people who would have swapped places with an actress of her fame and glamour, but she wondered if they really knew how much sheer hard work went into it on a daily basis.

The Puppetmaster

Mon, 21 Nov 2011 00:00:00 +0000

It was the music that woke Erica up.

The tune was halting and disjointed, like a music box winding down, but it was there, a pretty jingling melody that roused her from her slumber and let her know that everything was not all right. When she opened her eyes she stared up into darkness, and she felt hard ground under her, and her bare arms and legs were freezing cold.

Mandy's Milk

Sat, 17 Sep 2011 00:00:00 +0000

This story is inspired by Olsen’s Family Dairy Farm and Jane Becomes Livestock. Both great stories in my opinion. I hope you and your visitors are able to enjoy Mandy’s Milk as much as I had fun writing it.

1: Accidental Introduction

Mandy could not believe she was falling victim to her own devices. Had she never pushed her father into the 21st century, she would not be in the predicament she is today. Mandy was born and raised on the family farm. She had left to go to college and had returned after gaining dual degrees in Computer Technology and Financial Accounting. But in the five years since she had left the fourth generation dairy farm; it had become apparent that the farm was in severe jeopardy. As she worked on her accounting degree her father talked more openly about the finances of the farm. As she entered her junior year it was obvious that the family farm was in serious jeopardy. The cost of labor was killing them, productivity was way down, and the profit on their average gallon of milk was breakeven on a good day. She began researching other farms only to find extremely high levels of automation that increased productivity, reduced labor, and lead to a higher grade of more consistent milk. She had convinced her father to completely revamp the farm. It was a huge risk and would cost him nearly everything he had, but she promised the farm would be profitable within two years and could potentially pay for itself within three. He loved his daughter and couldn’t bear the thought that he would be the last generation of farmers and could ultimately be responsible for the demise of the family farm.

A Witches Mistake

Tue, 02 Aug 2011 00:00:00 +0000

Robert Stark (no relation to Tony) slowly pried open his eyes. For a moment, he lay gazing blearily up at the ceiling. Then, with all the effort in the world, he managed to roll over and drag himself to a seated position, legs hanging over the side of the bed.

What a night, he thought, staring at the wall of his room. First time in six months I decide to go to a bar, and I get so totally smashed, I can’t even remember getting home. And to make matters worse, I evidently wound up going to be alone.

Diet Gone Wrong

Fri, 04 Mar 2011 00:00:00 +0000

Melissa was a stunning twenty five year old researcher for a large pharmaceutical company. Her division of the company worked with diet and weight loss products and her companies expected gross in in that field alone would likely exceed one billion dollars for the fourth year straight. Melissa was in a growing field, if you will pardon the pun! She had her degree, an exciting career and a lot of potential with her company. Melissa had got her job because of her looks, but she got to keep it because of her raw talent willingness to “think outside of the box”. Melissa was perfect, except for one big thing, her husband of three years, Tim! Tim was a fun guy in college and one thing lead to another and the two got married without much thought. Her friends tried to talk her out of it because they thought she could do better. It was surprising that some of Tim’s friends tried to do much the same thing, and she didn’t want to hear from them either.

Makes its Own Sauce

Mon, 06 Dec 2010 00:00:00 +0000

He’d heard the owls before but never quite so close. This one seemed to be talking to him. Eventually he spotted her in a tree across from his cabin. She was looking directly at him, moving her head around and occasionally shrieking. As soon as he made eye contact she flew to another tree about fifty yards down the path. He followed her and, once he spotted her in the tree, she flew off to a third tree where she perched, watching him.

Amber's New Pet

Sun, 21 Nov 2010 00:00:00 +0000

It is a warm day in Wildaron Forest. Amber Nightwind has been waiting for this day a long time. At last, the stars are right. Life as a Dryadani is a busy one. But lately she has been wishing for someone - someone she can Play with. After much study, she has determined that today will be the day. Stepping into her garden, she begins to pace out a circle. At each quarter point, she lights a small torch, picks a few flowers to weave into her long red hair, then recites a brief invocation. “Ohh, Powers of the East, come if you will, you blow so good! Ohh, Powers of the South, come if you will, you are so-o hot! Ohh, Powers of the West, come if you will, you are so wet! Ohh, Powers of the North, come if you will, you are so-o hard!” By the time she completes the circuit, she has gotten a bit hot herself, so she unbuttons her silken chemise, exposing her full round breasts. Standing in the center of the circle, she balances a little precariously on her red spike-heeled pumps, legs spread, and begins her prayer to Sharalisa. In another part of Wildaron, you, a thin melancholy Gwelfani, are taking a break from practicing your borashan. You are resting against a rainbalar tree, your long blond hair wisping over your shoulders. Although musicians are honored and in demand in Shaharasai, you sometimes feels restless and unfulfilled. Leaning back, you close your pale blue eyes for a moment, pondering your situation. Suddenly, the very air around you seems to thicken, swirl, and hum. You open your eyes, but there is nothing to be seen. You try to stand but your limbs won’t respond to your thoughts. You breathe in deeply, once, twice; trying to understand the situation. On you third breath, the air begins to clear. You find you are able to move, a little. You look down at yourself; your black boots are still visible under the edge of your golden robe. But by looking down instead of up, you are not prepared for what comes next. You are suddenly scooped up in a large hand, whose crimson fingernails form a threatening cage around you. “Ah, by my Lady Sharalisa, the spell worked! It worked!” a musical voice trills out. Looking at last upwards, you behold the face of the Dryadani Amber. She is truly magnificent, towering some twenty-five feet above where you are sprawled in her palm. Her full, ample breasts hang just across from where you sit, though each one is twice your height. “Long have I wished for just such a little toy to amuse myself with,” she continues. “And now I have you. Tell me, my little trinket, what is your name?” “T-Terry,” you stammer out. You have, in your most private moments, fantasized about a similar situation. But now that it is real and you are lying in her huge warm hand, you find the reality of your predicament quite overwhelming. “Well, Terry, I am Amber Nightwind, but you may address me as Goddess’, " she giggles. Her hand shakes a little as she says this, bouncing you slightly. “From now on, you are MINE. I can be a most loving Goddess, but you must do your best to please me at all times, is that clear?” You nod your head a little. You are not sure if you like this situation, but for now it seems best to play along. You cannot even see the ground from where you lie in her hand; who knows how far down it may be? “That’s good,” she says. “Now, for starters, let’s get rid of these clothes - you won’t be needing them anymore.” She grabs your left foot between the index and thumb of her other hand and pulls your boot off. “Hey!” you start to protest. But she is already pulling off the right one as well. “None of that now - you are supposed to please me, not the other way around.” Amber frowns down at you slightly. “Now, how does this robe come off?” She begins to prod at you, lifting the edge of your golden robe with her long fingernail. You struggle a little to keep it down - for despite your trepidation, the sight of the lovely Dryadani’s immense breasts has had its effect on you. You are not ready to reveal this to Amber; besides, your plans to escape will be complicated if you are naked. Still, she is intent on having her way. Grasping the hem of your robe, she succeeds in lifting it over your head, forcing you to raise your arms as the garment is pulled up, and at last, off. You are now completely nude and helpless in her giant hand. “Ahh, and what is this?” she smiles. “I see my tiny captive is savoring this after all!” With one tapered finger the size of your thigh, she strokes your erection as gently as she can. To you, however, this presses your manhood hard against your stomach. You momentarily forget all ideas of escape and lie back, letting her bring you to the height of arousal. “I’m glad you’re enjoying this, my dear. But I am ready for some enjoyment myself.” Amber ends her fingertip massage, instead gripping you firmly in her hand. Her tight grasp nearly knocks the wind out of you and bruises your ribs just a little. You can just manage to peer out over the top of her hand. She is carrying you towards a gargantuan castle whose misty spires you have seen soaring above the western clouds when conditions are just right. She enters a door in one turret and climbs the stairs, two at a time. This rapid ascent jounces you so severely you close your eyes to keep away the vertigo. When things settle enough, you open your eyes, just in time to find yourself being set into a golden birdcage. “Stay there just a moment, my pet,” Amber says breathily. “I won’t be a minute.” She steps over to a washstand and slithers out of her silken blouse. Seeing her standing there, running a moist cloth over her immense torso, you find your arousal returning. But more important, she has turned her back on you - perhaps now you can make your escape. You slowly make your way to the cage door. Fortunately, it is only latched, not locked. Peering out over the edge, you decide you might be able to leap down onto the red-cushioned sofa below. You swing out and down, dangling from the cage bottom to get yourself as close as possible. Unfortunately, just as you let go, the door swings shut with a clank!, alerting Amber. “Tsk, tsk. Didn’t I tell you to stay where you were?” Amber asks a little peevishly just as you drop into the cushions on the sofa. You try to hide behind a pillow, but she is too quick. Grabbing you around the middle, she shakes you a little. “That is no way to behave! Now -” she continues, “all that work in the garden has worn me out. I could use a foot massage..” She sets you down on the floor by her feet. She is wearing bright red pumps; their pointed spikes are as tall as you are. She crosses one huge shapely leg over the other, the sole of her foot hanging just above your head. “Look out below!” she laughs, as she slips her heel loose from the shoe. You narrowly miss being impaled on the spike as it swings forward. Letting the shoe slide off completely, she orders you to start rubbing her foot. “Rub it hard , little man,” she commands, “my feet are sore!” She shoves her foot towards you. It is even larger than you are. She slips off her other shoe, nudging you forward with her other foot. Seeing no way out of your predicament, you begin to rub her foot. She pushes it against you. “My feet are so-o hot and sweaty,” she complains. “Can you give them a tongue bath?” You look around for a way to escape this, but with one foot caging you in from behind and the other waiting in front, there seems little chance of that. “Go on!” she urges impatiently. So you stick out your tongue and begin to lick the bottom of her enormous foot. It smells of leather and sweat and something indefinable. You are soon intoxicated by the heady aroma and begin to lick all over her sole, pressing your slim body up against the wall of soft pink flesh. You are about to be carried away on waves of salty enchantment when she suddenly grasps you between her feet. Leaning back on the couch, Amber raises you up in the air, still firmly between her feet. “Oh-h, that was very nice,” she giggles. “I’m feeling much more relaxed now.” Beneath where you are suspended some forty feet in the air, Amber is a symphony of fire. Her dark red hair spills over her shoulders and onto her creamy round breasts, each capped with a strawberry nipple the size of your head. She is wearing a bright red miniskirt that stands out against the ruby red of the couch under her. With her legs raised like this, that little skirt has fallen back, revealing the sheer black panties underneath. Through them you can make out a tangle of reddish curls. You squirm a little, but not too much, for a fall from this height would surely kill you. Amber laughs up at you “Well, little one, I’m tempted to play’ with you right here. I’ve been waiting so long for this chance,” she says, running her hands over her breasts, squeezing them, making her nipples stand erect. “But I’ve a better place in the other room. Only I better make sure you’re safe for the journey; I’m not sure I can trust you yet” she frowns. With that, she hooks her thumbs into the waistband of her panties, pulling them down to just above where the thick curls begin. She bends her knees, bringing her feet just above where her hands now lie, the left one idly stroking her womanhood through the sheer black silk. With her right hand, she pulls the fabric out away from her body. Then, abruptly, she loosens her foothold on you, dropping you down so you land in the soft deep nest waiting there. With her right hand she reaches in and positions you before pulling the panties back into place. “Get used to it, dear,” she coos. “You’re going to be spending a lot of time there!” With that, Amber stands up, wiggling her hips a little to settle you into place. You are wrapped tightly against her enormous femininity, the moist black silk taut against your back. You are battling against your imprisonment, but there is no place for you to go

Stew for Dinner

Thu, 11 Nov 2010 00:00:00 +0000

How stupid can you be?

I lift my head and stare at my naked body, tightly buckled and spread-eagled on a table. I had heard about grooming on the web; innocent people lured in and abused by perverts pretending to be friends. But that should only happen to young girls, not to a twenty-five year old man.

I am Steward McClure, 25 years old, as I just said, and I am a sports instructor, amateur boxer and closet fetishist.

The Premature Burial

Wed, 30 Jun 2010 00:00:00 +0000

A thump, like something soft but heavy hitting wood woke her up. It was followed by another and another, in quick succession. Groggily, she considered turning over to get more comfortable; she was lying on her back, and usually she didn’t sleep on her back. The thumping kept coming; it seemed very close, but she was sure now that it was receding, and she dozed. She was irritated at being woken, and her position wasn’t the most comfortable, but right now she just wanted to go back to sleep. The thumps were getting quieter and more muffled now, ans she realised that her irritation was not helping her doze off again. Slowly, her head began to clear. She opened her eyes but no light entered them. She lifted her head, trying to get her bearings. Her forehead bumped into something hard immediately after leaving the pillow. Her hands, which had been clasped together just below her breasts, flew upward to investigate, meeting a solid panel, mere inches above her body. Frantically, she explored her surroundings with her hands. Above her was a solid ceiling, timber from the sound of it, and it didn’t sound hollow beyond. Cloth enclosed her to the left and right, padding underneath her, but again what sounded like timber and solidity beyond. Suddenly realisation took hold. She was in a coffin. And the thumps, now that she was able to process the sound properly, were those of dirt being shovelled on top of her. The sound was barely audible now, very soon there would be only silence. The silence of the grave. She panicked, desperately hitting the lid of the coffin with her hands, knees and feet. It was no use; there was insufficient room to get a good swing, and the sound of her fist-falls seemed to be deadened by the weight of the dirt above. Her desperate shouts seemed too to be swallowed up in the earth that had taken her. Several times she stopped to listen for the sound of a spade on the coffin lid, and each time she was disappointed. Trying to hit the sides and lid of the coffin hard enough to be heard was wearing her out, and her knuckles felt raw. She was growing hoarse from shouting as well; her chest was heavy; her ribs sore. She told herself to get a grip and stop panicking. She realised she would run out of air soon, and she needed to figure out what was going on. First she started to properly survey her surroundings. Feeling around, she learned little that she hadn’t already established; it was definitely shaped and upholstered like a coffin, narrow at the feet and head, wider at the chest, and quite small; there was very little spare room. Figures, she thought. No expense wasted. She struggled to remember anything that had led up to finding herself here. The last thing she could recall was being at her boyfriend’s house on Friday night, having a quiet glass of wine before dinner. At least the boy could cook. Oh my God, she thought, did I drive home drunk? What happened to me? She started to examine herself. Touching her head and face, nothing seemed to hurt. Her arms and legs, within the confines of the space she was in, all did what they were asked without protest. The only pain she could feel was that inflicted in the panic of the last few minutes. Surely, an accident capable of making her appear dead would have caused other injuries? Surveying her body brought another surprise. She was laced tightly into her favourite leather corset, the one that went low over her hips and high over her shoulders, covering her breasts. Well, that explained her shortness of breath; in her panic she hadn’t even noticed that her chest was so confined. Tight, high-waisted jeans that she had bought especially to go with a corset, covered her from her waist down, belted firmly around the thinnest part of her waist. Her hands could not reach past her tightly clad thighs in the confined space, but she could feel that her ankles were held down, by what she figured must be her highest heeled boots. Tapping the heels against the sides of the coffin confirmed this suspicion. Oh-kay, she thought. Surely her parents would not have dressed her like this for her own funeral? It would have been as the pretty, innocent thing they would like to imagine her as, not as the darker, kinkier character she actually was. Parents can be so self-deluding, she thought. Slowly the pieces started to fall into place. She remembered how she had locked herself into small closet many years ago, and how even though the door was far from airtight the air had got stuffy within a few minutes. She had panicked, and broken the latch to get out. She was sure that closet was bigger than the space she currently occupied. And if this really was her funeral, the lid would have been on the coffin for hours or even days. Yet, although slightly clammy, the air was cool, and once she’d calmed down and stopped fighting the corset, she was having no difficulty breathing. Suddenly, she recalled the conversation she had with Dave, her boyfriend of the last year. It had been over a month ago; it was late in the evening, and they had both been a little tipsy at the time, but not so drunk as to not take it seriously. They had been talking about their deepest, darkest fantasies and fears. Her fantasy, and fear, had been to be buried alive, to feel that there was no possibility of escape. She didn’t want to die; the death part wasn’t part of the scenario, but the possibility, or even inevitability of it was. Many times she had tried unsuccessfully to reconcile what she considered her morbid, self-destructive fantasies, with her strong will to live and real concern for the welfare of other people. Her obsession with danger had formed an itch that needed to be scratched; climbing trees, and later cliffs had provided partial relief; the danger was there, but she always felt she had the choice at each point to take that next step or not. What if she couldn’t get down? From a young age she had tied herself up, even suspending herself by the wrists, ankles or both. Always she loved it, and always she wanted more. But always, that sense of self preservation prevented her from achieving what she wanted, to really feel like she could not escape. A couple of times, her self-bondage had gone wrong, escape mechanisms had failed and she was left fighting for her life. Each time, that will to live had kicked in, and once she had control over her panic, she had been able to escape, finding a weak point in her bonds to break out of, or discovering the inner strength to stand the pain of pulling out of what she had previously assumed was an inescapable cuff. Those events had both thrilled her, and disappointed her. The disappointments were two-fold and contradictory; she could not genuinely feel the despair of a truly inescapable situation, and yet she was angry at herself for failing to properly ensure her own safety. Then she had met Dave. After several unsuccessful relationships, she had finally met someone who understood her needs. They had started with simple bondage during sex, and as they had become more comfortable playing together, she had convinced him to bind her more strictly and for longer periods. But still, she felt safe. Too safe. Now that sense of safety was returning. Of course this was Dave’s work. Who else would have done it? Or could have done it? She was in her own clothes, and Dave was the last person she’d seen. He must have put something in her drink. And yet, she had heard the earth being shovelled in on top of her; the sides and lid of the coffin sounded solid from the pressure of the surrounding dirt. There was no give in any direction, not that she could get much leverage. Yet there was air. She could feel a slight draft around her face, or was she imagining it? But it was clear the air was not getting stale, despite how long she had remained down here. Again she relaxed. An air supply meant that, barring accidents, she wasn’t going to die here, at least not from suffocation. This must be just another bondage scene. Now she started to examine the parameters of her incarceration. While she had air, there didn’t appear to be anything else. Obviously, the coffin was vented in some way, but the other elements of life support didn’t appear to be present. Food, water and waste collection would be required for an indefinite stay, and these didn’t appear to be present. That must mean that she would be released soon, before dehydration took its deadly toll. Or perhaps it meant that Dave was out of his depth, and she really was in danger. Maybe this was a drunken stunt. What if he didn’t know what he was doing? What if it wasn’t Dave at all? Again she panicked, yelling and thumping on the lid. She called on Dave to let her out, calling him all sorts of names. Only the silence replied. Soon the panic attack subsided, but she was still scared. And thrilled. Torn between these two visceral emotions, another stirred. She was getting aroused. She started stroking her body. Her breasts were enclosed by the heavy structure of the corset; she could squeeze them a little, but they were already well compressed. Her hands drifted own between her legs. Her fingers reached the waist of her jeans, but the belt was too tight to admit more than the tips. She started to undo the belt, only to discover that the buckle would not let go; feeling around, she felt a thick plastic loop, probably an electrical cable tie, alongside the buckle prong. Without tools, there was no way to open it. Pressing on her crotch, she found that there was more than just her jeans covering her most intimate parts; the denim itself was thick, but there was more, some kind of padding. Her rear was similarly covered. Realisation dawned; she was in some kind of diaper, held in place by the corset and jeans. Further investigation revealed what felt like the edge seams of a heavy, long-leg pantie-girdle beneath her jeans and corset, adding extra security to the diaper. Worse, there seemed to be something hard between the girdle and diaper, reducing any movement applied to the sensitive spots she most wanted to reach right now to a dull pressure around the whole area. She reached up to her waist again, this time seeking to unzip her fly and put her hand under her jeans; she wasn’t hopeful of any kind of success even if she could get in, and was not surprised to find another cable tie wrapped around the base of the button, firmly capturing both the corresponding button hole and the end of the zipper pull. Defeated, she tried again to reach her breasts. She was surprised to find that the zip that closed the corset at the front was secured with another tie through the pull and two small, freshly installed grommets at either side of the zip. The corset was scoop-necked, but sat high over her breasts; without a shirt, cleavage would be visible, but her sensitive nipples were far inside the enclosing leather. That cleavage was formed by pushing her breasts up as far as they would comfortably go; there was no real hope of lifting them further. Even if she couldn’t get a hand to her nipples, maybe she could massage the bare flesh of the tops of her breasts, currently protected by the fabric of the tight, long-sleeved turtle-necked top underneath the corset. Sliding her hand under the neck of the shirt, she discovered that the base of the neck had a thick line of some sort threaded through it, no doubt knotted somewhere under the corset. It wasn’t tight, but there wasn’t going to be enough room to reach in. The other way of getting past the corset was to undo the laces. She twisted her body, struggling to get an arm behind her in the confined space. There wasn’t quite enough room to rotate her shoulders to lie on her side, let along roll on her stomach, so she had to hold the twisted position and arch her back. She felt up and down the lacing for the knot, expecting to find it at the small of her back. Instead, the lacing continued uninterrupted down her spine and into her jeans. Through the denim, she could feel a small knot at the bottom of the corset, safely out of reach of any probing finger. From the size of the knot and the lack of other bumps, it seemed the loose ends of the laces had been cut short after being tied off. That route too was barred. Before removing her arm from the its uncomfortable position underneath her, she felt the laces. These felt different to what she remembered, thinner, but more slippery. They had been replaced, probably with some kind of nylon cord. She sliced at it wit her fingernails, but feeling no sign of abrasion on the taut fibres, brought her arm back out in front of her. Frustrated, she reached back down over he crotch and rubbed vigorously, trying to get some relief from the arousal she now felt. She so wanted to put her finger on her clitoris, circling it gently while squeezing and playing with her nipples. She wanted to slide her finger in and out of her love tunnel until her body convulsed in ecstasy. If only these activities were not denied from her by the sturdiness of her own clothes and the shield over her mound. Harder and harder she rubbed, trying to get enough vibration in her whole lower region to put herself over the edge. Her other hand alternated between wrestling with the leather covering her breasts, and banging on the lid of the coffin, shouting obscenities at whoever may or may not be listening. Now she just wanted to get out of the box, out of the ground, and out of these confounded clothes. And again, she was to be denied. Eventually, she tired and calmed down, and again took stock of her situation. Her stomach grumbled. The rat, she thought. The reason she couldn’t remember anything after that first glass of wine was that she must have been out cold soon after. Dave must have spiked her drink. And that meant she wouldn’t have eaten; in fact she hadn’t had much for lunch either. Since she’d had a bowel movement that day, it did mean she wasn’t going to need to go number twos any time soon. Number ones would be taken care of by the diaper, for a while at least. It also meant that she didn’t need to be released any time soon. Food and water were her remaining concerns. She was not wearing a watch, and couldn’t read one anyway in the pitch darkness. She tried to track the time; surely she had been here for nearly an hour now. She had no idea how long she was out, but figured that Dave must have worked reasonably quickly; surely he wouldn’t endanger her life by keeping her drugged for too long? He must have prepared this, the only things remaining being to get her changed, and put her in the hole, an hour tops. That meant it was maybe around nine or ten p.m. Friday, with the weekend ahead of her. He wouldn’t keep her in here for two whole days? Would he? She tried to relax, telling herself there was nothing more she could do, and she would just have to wait it out. Just try to sleep, make the time go faster. She was tired after all the exertion; if only she could turn over, get more comfortable. Not that she was too uncomfortable, as the bottom of the coffin was padded, but she was not used to sleeping on her back. Actually, she really wanted to curl up into a foetal position right now. She laid her hands by her sides, allowed her head to flop to one side, and tried to sleep. Sleep came, but it was fitful, and full of frightening dreams. Once, she was sure the lid was collapsing; she woke in a cold sweat, screaming. It was an hour before she could drift off again. Other times she tried to turn over, bumping her shoulders or head against the lid. She fought the unyielding casket, until she woke enough to get a grip on herself. And so the hours passed. She had no idea how long she had been there when she started to notice her mouth was dry. Cold sweats and frightened bouts of anger and fruitless yelling and thumping on the coffin lid had taken its toll. The air was moist, which had kept dehydration at bay for this long, but now she was losing that battle. She realised she would have to relax if she was to last until she was released. If she was released. The only indications that this was anything other than a true premature burial was the continuing supply of cool, moist air, and the clothes she was wearing; the latter had other possible explanations. It had been hours since she had heard the last distant thud of earth being shovelled into the hole, and maybe she had imagined that. She was only assuming that because they had discussed burial, and not even at great length, that this was a bondage scene and not something much more sinister. Dave might not even be involved. Nightmare scenarios again flooded her mind. Perhaps she had been kidnapped; her parents were well off, as were Dave’s; they might be good for a ransom. Worse, they might not be as well off as they appeared; they worked hard at businesses that looked prosperous, but could just as easily be on shaky financial ground. After all the recession had taken many formerly successful business people down. What if they couldn’t pay? Perhaps Dave was lying right beside her, in his own nameless grave, the also victim of a kidnapping, or worse? Perhaps Dave wasn’t all he appeared? Maybe he was a psychopath, enjoying making his victims suffer before cutting off their air? She told herself to calm down, resisting the urge to again scream and bang on the lid. Worrying was useless; it didn’t matter what the true situation was, she just had to survive as long as possible. Eventually, she was able to drift off again into a restless sleep. A splash on her temple awoke her abruptly. Confused, she lifted her hand to her face, feeling the remains of the drop below her ear, and licking the dampness off her finger. As she did so, another drip hit her squarely on the bridge of her nose, splashing her eyes and cheeks. She put her hand to the lid of the coffin above her face; it was damp. More drips came, again splashing on her face, before she realised that she needed water, and opened her mouth to catch them. Soon the drips had become a weak but steady stream. The water seemed sweet to her parched mouth, and she swallowed the water hungrily. Maybe she was being watered deliberately. That was the obvious thought as it continued to stream into her mouth. She put her hand up to the lid above her experimentally, sensing what she thought was a crack, or a hole where the water was coming through. She didn’t know if it had been there before; she hadn’t been looking for such detail when she first explored her surroundings. Again, the alternatives filled her mind, building on their earlier constructions. What if it had started raining; waterlogged earth could collapse the lid of the coffin, blocking her air supply and crushing the life out of her. The water was showing no signs of abating; she felt she had to get as much of it as she could, just in case it stopped. What if it didn’t stop, and the coffin started to fill? As she thought this, the flow started to dribble. She was still a little thirsty, and she desperately reached up to the source of the flow to lick away at the last drops. She had been expecting disaster from drowning, and now the water had stopped before she was satisfied. It meant a longer lease of life, but how much? Would there be water again? And would it stop? Now she knew death from dehydration was several days away. And she wondered if the sweetness was just due to the how welcome the water was in her parched mouth, or if there was something in it. But that brought another fear. She had heard of hunger strikers going for over a month without food. She had to hold onto the belief that this was just Dave giving her what she asked for, but a supply of water as well as air meant that he could keep her here for weeks. They had discussed a fantasy, not a scene, and they had not set any limits. Again she had to work hard to calm herself. Boy, was he a dead man when she got out of this hole! And damn it, how could he give her a scene this long where she could not get herself off? It was inhuman! Her arousal and frustration were building again. She reflected that the fact this just made her hornier. If she had got off the first time she reached down there, so many hours ago, she probably wouldn’t even be thinking about it now. Hours? How many? How she wished she had some way of tracking time. Sleep, when she could get any, was good for passing the time; there wasn’t much else to do except think of ways things could get worse, or to rub fruitlessly at the clothing covering her sensitive parts. She she had no idea how long she had been asleep, and therefore no idea how long she had been in the coffin. In fact, she didn’t even have a handle on how long she had been awake. As the hours, or days, ticked past, she could measure time only by water; she had no real idea how often the water came. She was thirsty all the time, and the brief drinks of water she was getting were enough to get her back to the state she was after the previous one, but she was always thirsty. And increasingly hungry. It left her feeling utterly more powerless; she was totally dependant on outside agencies for her very survival, and she couldn’t even be sure who or what those agencies were. The water might still be from passing rain showers; logic said they were too regular for that, but logic also said that in the monotonous stillness of the coffin, she had no real indication of what “regular” was. And still she was being made to suffer. The constant thirst was one thing, her hunger another. Keeping the same position hour after hour in the small space was taking its toll as well; her buttocks were starting to hurt, and the rigidity of the corset, and especially the impressions formed by the rear boning and lacing, were making their presence felt. She was starting to feel dirty. She had urinated into the diaper several times, holding onto it as long as she could before letting go. It felt clammy around her; she imagined the urine pooling under her; probably most of the feelings of dirtiness were in her mind, but it didn’t feel good. The creases in her body felt like they were filling with gunk, and she craved a hot bath. Her feet had been sweating since not long after she first woke up; the stiff, lace-up boots were patent leather, not known for being breathable. Or its flexibility; she struggled against the firm leather to rotate her ankles and keep her calves from cramping up. She worried that her sanity was also going to suffer. Of course prisoners kept in solitary confinement don’t go crazy immediately, she told herself. But still, in the absence of any real stimulation, she worried. She was now sure that the water was artificially sweetened; this meant that she was getting energy as well as liquid. It also meant that possibly, hunger wouldn’t be the limiting factor on how long she stayed here after all. She shuddered at the thought. Malnutrition would get her in the end, but that could be months away, especially if there was more than just sugar in the water. She would be a gibbering, emaciated wreck by then. Infections were a likely cause of an earlier, lingering and painful death, if she didn’t lose the will to live sooner. And yet, amid all this morbidity, she was as horny as Hell. It kept her awake when she craved oblivion. Damn it, if she could just get enough movement into that shield! The sensory deprivation was getting to her too; there was nothing to see, and all she could hear was the sounds made by her own body. Her breathing and heartbeat, normally so quiet and easily ignored, seemed to fill her small cavity in the earth. The only identifiable smell was her own sweat, and she was soon used to that. Her only option was to squirm around; rubbing life back into the pressure points of her buttocks and shoulders, difficult to manage in the small space. If only she could just roll over! The pressure points from all the tight clothing was starting to get a bit raw too, and there was little she could do about that. She felt she was getting more sensitive; she pulled her sleeves up and stroked her forearms. Damn, that tickled! But maybe she could stimulate parts of her body other than the obvious ones, maybe she could even manage an orgasm. Please! She played with her earlobes, pretending it was the hand of a lover; the nape of her neck also afforded a certain sensuality. Closer to convention, she tried rubbing her inner thighs through her jeans and the girdle beneath them; that afforded a small but unsatisfactory reaction. She couldn’t help but to put her hand back on her crotch, and shake the unyielding shield violently again. With her other hand stroking her neck and earlobes, she was getting more stimulated, but that all important release still seemed so far away. Now she fought the coffin as well. She pulled her knees up so that they banged on the side of the coffin, while her heels connected with the other side. He shoulder contacted the lid. She kicked both sides of the coffin, tearing the fabric with her heel. Harder she rubbed herself; as she felt she was making headway. Just as she was feeling as if there might possibly be a chance of success this time, water splashed onto her neck from above. Damn it! Not now! Still, she had to stop and drink, lapping the water from the lid of the coffin. This time the water did not leave her unsatisfied. She kept drinking, until she could feel that she was no longer thirsty. As she lapped at the point where the water was coming through, a drop hit her squarely between they eyes. The flow diminished from the previous point, but kept dripping, but now it was dripping from other points above her face and around the head area of the coffin. This was different and it worried her. What if it didn’t stop? Worse, there didn’t seem to be anywhere she could go to avoid at least some of the drips. Had something broken? Or was her assumption that the water supply was artificial been wrong all along? Why change now? She shuddered; the violence of the last few minutes might have broken something. Perhaps she had weakened the lid; might it collapse on her at any moment? The dripping was unpleasant, unavoidable, and utterly frightening. She resolved to stop banging or pressuring the coffin’s sides and lid, lest she upset anything else that was keeping her alive, and try to relax. That was difficult with the water dripping on her, and the pillow and mattress under her head and shoulders was getting quite damp. It seemed to be slowing though, and she thought that now she had relaxed, the problem had sorted itself out. Now the drips were just occasional, sometimes up to a minute apart, but seemingly random.; she was reminded of the so-called Chinese water torture; there was no way she would be able to sleep like this. She was getting more agitated by the moment, frightened at the change, angry at the drips for being just so persistent, and angry at herself for possibly damaging whatever arrangement was keeping her alive. The longer she tried to control herself, the harder it was. Again, she tried to distract herself by playing with herself, trying to get a sensation stronger than the that of cold water on her head and face. It was no use; after nearly an hour of struggling to control herself, she lashed out again at the wooden enclosure, getting a grip on herself a few moments later, before breaking down in tears instead. She just wanted this to stop. She wished she had never mentioned her fantasy to Dave, wished she had never met him, wished she had never tied herself up. She would do anything to live a normal, kink-free life, if she could just get out of this infernal box. As her tears dried, she noticed that she hadn’t been dripped on for a while; the lid was still damp, but no new drops appeared to be forming. She also noticed that it was getting noticeably warmer. Now what, she thought, had her latest outburst damaged the air supply? As time passed, the temperature rose; now she was sweating, and starting to breath heavily. The air was definitely stale too. The air supply that had sustained her for so long was no more, and now she knew this was the the beginning of the end. She was fighting the corset for every breath now, her chest was heavy, her ribs sore. It was just a matter of time before she passed out. And yet, her arousal was making its presence known again. She had heard of auto-erotic asphyxiation, and maybe this was her last chance for that release that had been denied her for so long. She reached to her privates and breasts again, rubbing and squeezing for all she was worth. Her chest was screaming, breathing faster and faster, trying to get far more air than the corset would ever allow. She couldn’t tell if the roaring in her head was from her own building sensations, from lack of oxygen or the endorphins from the pain of suffocation; probably all three. Still she rubbed herself for all she was worth; probably the act was doing more than the actual sensation induced, but it was all she had. Then suddenly, it arrived. The orgasm crashed over her, seemingly for several minutes. She had done it, she could stop breathing now, as if she had any energy left to do so. Her head lolled to one side as she waited for death to claim her. Her head snapped forward again moments later, as suddenly her still, silent world was filled with noise and violence. Her last thought was that the coffin must have finally caved in and it was finally over; she felt only relief as her consciousness departed. She awoke in a bed. Soft pillows, proper bedding, a night dress. Light, curtains pulled, but definitely daylight. Her body hurt, but it was a good hurt, one of old pain diminishing, not of serious injury. Dave was there. He put his hand on her head to re-assure her. It felt comfortable, for now. “You’re OK,” he said, “Just relax.” She pulled herself up. “You’ve got a lot of explaining to do, Buster,” she said, trying to be angry but not quite getting the venom into her voice. “And I will, later. Now you’re awake, I’ll get you some breakfast.” “What time is it?” she asked as he turned for the door. “Tuesday.” “Thanks.” It was all she needed right now. She would miss days of work, but didn’t care. She would worry about that later. It was a serious breakfast. She hadn’t eaten for over three days, and she wolfed it down hungrily. Dave refused to serve her more, telling her that she would get a good lunch, but right now she needed to digest what she had just eaten. “So,” he asked, “did you enjoy your little fantasy?” She wanted to kill him right now. Painfully. Messily. But the answer that passed her lips surprised her. “Yes,” she said quietly. “But promise you’ll never pull something like that again. I could have died.” He promised. But then he invited her to see exactly what her situation had been. In the middle of the garage stood a large but low metal skip, filled with earth. The skip had an angled end to allow its contents to be tipped out, and this end faced the garage door. Just beyond that lay the coffin, attached to a kind of sled, still connected via a steel cable to Dave’s four-wheel drive in the driveway where it had been dragged from the skip. The lid lay to one side. The garage was at the back of the house, and hard to see from the neighbours, so Dave hadn’t needed to clear away the mess after getting her out. Dave pointed out the various attachments to monitor the temperature, oxygen and moisture content inside the coffin, and to ventilate and control gas mixture. A gas cylinder lay alongside the bench with the computer and monitoring equipment. “I’m proud of that,” he said. “I never cut off your air at the end; I just increased the carbon dioxide level to around ten percent and upped the moisture content and temperature. Did you know your suffocation reflexes are triggered by excess CO2, not a lack of oxygen?” She muttered that she did know that. She had to accept that it was clever, though, and she really had thought she was suffocating in there. Dave continued, “you see you weren’t really buried in a hole; we just heaped the dirt on top, and kept things very quiet. So we were sure we would be able to just pull you out quickly if anything went wrong. And there is an infra-red camera and microphones in the coffin, so we could see and hear you.” “What do you mean by ‘we’?” she asked, suspiciously. “Patrick.” A good friend of Dave’s, and a pharmacist. That explained the drugs. “He’s a bit kinky too. We were both here the whole time, in case something went wrong. If one of us needed to sleep, we slept in that camp bed there.” “OK, well done. But what about my job? Did you call me in sick or what?” “Better than that, I arranged a vacation for the week. And I asked your boss not to tell anyone, as it was to be a surprise. She’s a good sport, you know.” “But a week?” “Yes, are you up for more play? Or how does a holiday away sound?” “You complete and utter bastard,” she told him. “You scare me out of my wits, keep me locked up, frightened and hurting for three days, and then you expect me to come away with you as if I’m going to forgive you? You’re completely crazy. “But, yes, let’s go. Can I bring some toys?”

The Premature Burial

Wed, 30 Jun 2010 00:00:00 +0000

Jessica Darling Chapter 18: Soft on the inside...

Fri, 30 Apr 2010 00:00:00 +0000

LEGAL NOTICE: This is purely a work of fiction. All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. continued from chapter 17_

Chapter 18: Soft on the inside…

As the goo covered her hands and feet, Jessica-kitten noted that it was hot but not uncomfortably so. It was very sticky with a consistency not unlike a very thick hair gel or grease, and smelled incredibly sweet, sugary sweet. Jessica-kitten couldn’t help herself and became wet at the thought of her being encased in the sweet, gooey material. It was only the image of Brulée staring at her through the front wall of the mold that kept Jessica-kitten from fully enjoying the experience of the hot candy gel slowly gobbling her nude kitten-body. If her eyelids weren’t glued open, Jessica-kitten would have closed her eyes and fantasized of Bobbi the Songbird’s supple body as the goo oozed up her breasts and claimed her face.

The Ship's Pleasure 2

Sat, 13 Mar 2010 00:00:00 +0000

(story continues from The Ship’s Pleasure)

Chapter 2

I was beginning to wake up, my body ached all over, I was hot one minute and had the chills the next. I looked around and began to remember that I was in my slave’s cell and what I had turned in to then I saw a Doctor taking my blood pressure and realized he was the enema guy, the one that forcibly took my virginity.

Capture

Sun, 17 Jan 2010 00:00:00 +0000

Episode One

It was a cold, misty morning in March and Anna was on her way to work. She caught the Bus most winter mornings, but on this occasion she had decided to walk. Gazing lazily down at her small feet as she strode forwards, she pulled her handbag further up onto her shoulder. Suddenly she felt her body stiffen as she sensed someone behind her. She glanced fleetingly behind her, but saw nothing but an empty street. Still worried, she quickened her pace and tried to convince herself that it had been merely her imagination playing tricks. It was only one minute later however, that the feeling of being followed by a mysterious stalker returned to her. This time she looked more subtly behind her, only to see a hunched figure receding behind his thick green jacket walking about ten yards behind her on the other side of the road. Relieved and finally feeling safe (the man looked small and non-threatening) she exhaled strongly and continued her walk. It was only at this time, when she expected no attack that it came. She saw nothing but a blur of silver, and then darkness.

Mistress

Wed, 23 Dec 2009 00:00:00 +0000

One player always stayed after team practice working on her moves, dribbling the ball up and down the field, shooting on the net. I didn’t know much about field hockey and really wasn’t that interested in it. It was the player that had caught my interest.

Sometimes someone stayed and practiced with her, most times she was alone. She was very fast and coordinated and had a coltish way of running that made her look awkward at times. In a one-on-one situation during a game on practice, she was tenacious and unshakeable. It was obvious that she loved the game and wanted to excel. She always left the field when it became too dark to see and only after she had spent all her energy. Some nights she could barley lift her equipment bag and drag it to the parking lot.

Giantess Neighbor

Wed, 16 Dec 2009 00:00:00 +0000

I write this in the hope that someday someone will read this and know the great pleasures and great pain that all men will experience in the near future. One Saturday night while sitting at home watching television I suddenly was startled by the ringing of my telephone. I picked up the phone and said “hello.” It was my beautiful neighbor Christine on the other end. She said, “I noticed you were home on Saturday night. I don’t have anything to do either, why don’t you come over and we’ll watch TV together.” I said, “Sure, I will be right over.” I cannot believe that she would call and invite me over. I have always had a crush on her because she is so beautiful. I walked over to her house and knocked on the door. When she answered she was standing there dressed in a black lycra mini-dress with black stockings and black high heels. I asked, “Why are you all dressed up if you are just watching TV.”

Alicia's Birthday Treat

Thu, 05 Nov 2009 00:00:00 +0000

Alicia gives me a piece of candy. The next thing I realize, I am only 4" tall and looking straight up at a beautiful monument. She picks me up and hides me in her lunchbox, telling me she’s taking me home to celebrate her birthday. She gets me home and tells me to strip.

I tell her to go to hell, bitch. Wrong move!!!

The next thing I know I am picked up in front of her huge staring face. She blows her hot breath on me and then starts pulling my clothes off with her teeth as I am kicking and pounding at her lips in complete terror, begging her not to eat me.

Bill's Ordeal

Thu, 05 Nov 2009 00:00:00 +0000

Bill Johnson woke up on a typical Saturday morning expecting to do typical Saturday morning activities. He knew his wife Kelly and her sister Sarah were going shopping for the day. This would allow Bill some time to do his own thing. He rarely had free time anymore. He usually worked long hours during the week and slept late during the weekend. Kelly would always patronize him to do work, which he did on occasion, but it was plain to see that Kelly was the one who did all the house work. Kelly was a real prize. She had shoulder length brown hair, long legs, and a beautiful body. She had a killer smile that had melted Bill’s heart long ago. Now, 2 years later, Bill and Kelly were finding themselves more distant from each other, what with Bill’s new job and all. Kelly had taken to the internet and was constantly on it surfing the net (What she was surfing Bill never quite knew).

My Daughter & I Part 11: At the Asylum

Thu, 09 Oct 2008 00:00:00 +0000

(story continues from My Daughter & I Part 10: Hunted)_

Part 11: At the Asylum

_Emma has started to scream now. And it’s not making the slightest difference to the two rather attractive nurses who are hustling her away down that gleaming white corridor. She’s fighting them all the way of course, but her actions are rather limited at the moment. You see, this is my revenge for what she did to me and my boyfriend (Check out part 10 of my rambling tales if you want the full details), and I had been watching from a secret little booth as those two sexy nurses came to her bedside and had their wicked way with her.

Maxine's Misfortunes

Sun, 23 Mar 2008 00:00:00 +0000

“Can one of you give me a hand please, I seem to be having some trouble with the lacing”

Fateful words that would lead to my ultimate downfall. My name is Maxine, or Max to my friends, and I work in the local college. Well, I call it a craft college, but I think the term is something like Vocational Skills Centre. You know the sort of place, hard academic subjects are replaced by more practical subjects for those who prefer them. So alongside the more usual classrooms we have a woodwork shop, a craft shop, dressmaking rooms and even a distant leatherworking shop that sees very little use these days. Or so I thought.

Close Your Eyes

Fri, 22 Feb 2008 00:00:00 +0000

It had been a very long year. Sarah had just closed the deal on a huge merger with TSO Inc. for her company and was awarded with two months in the Caribbean paid vacation. Not to mention the 0.4% of the profits to her company which turned out to be about four million dollars in her pocket. No more talk about mergers or transactions or dividends, all she wanted was to just sit on her couch and vegetate for a week.

Prey For The Huntress

Mon, 21 Jan 2008 00:00:00 +0000

Author’s Note: This story is dedicated to the real Huntress, a true and cherished friend who has always been there, from that first day when she made this old Wolf feel welcome in a new and strange place.

In our world of information, he was a mystery. Even his name was unknown. Some even suggested that he’d lived under so many assumed names that even he couldn’t remember the name he’d been born with. To those who sought his services, he was The Hunter. As in hunter of men. He was among the highest priced assassins in the world. He had never missed a target; he always came through. This job, however was different. For one, the target wasn’t a high profile personality. For another, the client demanded an unusual payment option.

Programming Error

Sun, 18 Nov 2007 00:00:00 +0000

It was the worst storm of the past fifty years. Howling winds and pouring rain pounded southern California for two days. Late on the second day, a Saturday, lightning struck several power substations, causing massive power surges that blacked out hundreds of buildings and pretty much fried many computer systems without sufficient surge protection. One of those systems belonged to Serendipity, Inc, California’s largest producer of sexual androids.

While not totally destroyed, Serendipity’s computer did lose large blocks of data due to the surge. When power was restored late on Sunday, the computer rebooted and began trying to piece together what remained of it’s data stores. Most seriously damaged was the file of human sexual preferences, from which the specs for new androids were developed. Originally containing almost every possible sexual preference, only one now remained:

Kaylee's Professor

Sat, 15 Sep 2007 00:00:00 +0000

It felt cold at first, the leather bench that found my bottom when I was ordered to sit. The cold surprised me and made me let out a small gasp, but it felt good on the welts I knew the wooden cane had left on my backside. The cool surface lessened the burning sting, if only for a moment.

SMACK!!

My top of my breasts exploded in pain from the unexpected blow. “Slaves do not sit on furniture, slaves are furniture, slaves are things. You are a thing.” He whispers in my ear.

Janitor's Garbage

Fri, 14 Sep 2007 00:00:00 +0000

He could see her coming out of the office, the last member of the varsity volleyball team locking up the equipment. Every practice, the team took turns locking up the gym and leaving last. Tonight was her turn, and he was more than ready. There was no one else on campus, even the coaches and most devoted teachers had gone home. The sun had set, the lights were almost all out, and they were the only two left.

Champions at Last

Mon, 26 Mar 2007 00:00:00 +0000

It was the last day of the Cheerleader Championships and, as a member of the press, I had a prime view from my seat in the stands. Things worked out perfectly when the team I had my eye on came in fourth place. That would take them out of the spotlight while everyone focused on the winning three teams.

The program told me their names were Nina, Panni, Anita and Laura and they were from a college on the East coast. My phony media credentials also got me in the closing dinner and it was no problem working things to end up sitting at their table.

Champions at Last

Mon, 26 Mar 2007 00:00:00 +0000

The Mass

Sat, 10 Mar 2007 00:00:00 +0000

The wriggling mass of tape lay in the corner of the factory with now and then soft moans coming from either end of it. Nobody who saw it or heard it took any notice of the wriggling bundle that occasionally rolled over and continued on its way around the factory. It was because of them, the bundle was now doing its own thing.

Now and then, it would roll over into one of the women working at the factory. She would kick it about three quarters of the way along and it would scream out and roll over again!

The Helpful Janitor

Mon, 06 Mar 2006 00:00:00 +0000

The Helpful Janitor by Handyman M/f; bond; bagged; kidnap; nc; X

Sarah was a typical product of high society city breeding, a self obsessed willowy blond (dyed) who measured people not by their deeds or personality but by which label their clothes had stitched into them, by which car they drove or the size of their bank balance. Anyone not having the most expensive clothing, a 500bhp sports car to nip to the shopping mall in or a six figure bank balance was hardly worthy of attention, and as for the ordinary people, well they were not even worthy of the effort required squandering to show contempt. They were just ignored or trampled on if they dared to get in the way.

Mandy's Road to Submission

Mon, 26 Sep 2005 00:00:00 +0000

Mandy’s Road to Submission by Ian Rogers Chapter One

The girl stood trembling as he studied her, she was squinting because of the sudden brightness of having the blindfold removed, but she could not rub her eyes as her hands were cuffed behind her. Her mind raced with the events of the last few hours, she had been asleep in bed when he had come for her and she had had little chance to scream for help as he pinned her down and put his hand over her mouth. He had pinned her arms to her sides with his legs then produced a roll of duck tape and with lightning efficiency she found herself gagged. She had tried to struggle but she was no match for him and he soon had her hands cuffed behind her back. This accomplished she had had little choice but to go with him as he firmly led her downstairs and to his car…

The Auction

Wed, 31 Aug 2005 00:00:00 +0000

The Auction by Rbbral

“Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for coming, please be seated, and welcome to our bi-annual auction. I’m pleased to see some familiar faces and a couple of new ones. I’m sure, as always you will not be disappointed. Today we have three young fillies on the block and, as a special treat, a young stallion.”

There was a murmuring in the audience; this was exciting, this had never happened before. Some bidders smiled approvingly.

Evil Step Sister

Sun, 22 Jun 2003 00:00:00 +0000

Evil Step Sister - Part I by Hershel Shaeffer Evil Step Sister by Hershel Schaeffer

My name is Sean. When I was sixteen we lived in a middle class home in a small town in Indiana. There are five of us my mother, my step-father, my 20 year old sister Sara, my 17 year old step sister Darcy and of course myself. Yes, my stepfather was an asshole. My Mom was nice enough. Sara attends the community college. She was very sweet, absolutely gorgeous, and was one of the most popular girls in high school. Her senior year she was even selected the homecoming queen. Darcy on the other hand was a freaky nasty bitch on her best day. It gave her great pleasure to make me as miserable as possible. She was tall, even a little taller than me at 5’9”. She wasn’t unattractive. It was just really hard to tell, because her style was so freakish. She would always dress in black accessorize with studded leather collars and bracelets, dark make-up and nail polish, an array of piercings and an assortment black wigs of varying lengths. A whole morbid-punk-goth sort of thing that fits right in with the group of freaks she hung out with. At home or at school we generally just tried to avoid each other.

Worst Nightmare

Mon, 05 May 2003 00:00:00 +0000

Worst Nightmare by Nikki Saindon Worst Nightmare By Nikki Saindon

It was a stormy night and due to his wives fear of driving in the rain John was home alone tonight. His wife Amanda was scared to drive in the rain after having that terrible accident many months ago. She decided to stay with her girlfriend Linda at her house. John received the call around 8:35 P.M. from Amanda stating she would stay over Linda’s as long as the rain continued. He knew this was his chance. It was supposed to rain all night.

Bound to Return

Wed, 26 Mar 2003 00:00:00 +0000

12th September.

The surgery waiting room was deserted. The two men stood in the surgery itself, shaking hands and swapping envelopes. The deal was done.

John Rose walked out of the doctors’ surgery with a smug, contented expression. He was a very rich man, but money couldn’t buy him the things he had wanted, until now.

The doctor, Jamie, was a lifelong friend of John’s, and one of the country’s top surgeons, although only in his mid thirties. He was financially well off, but didn’t have the millions his friend John had in the bank.

The Intruder

Tue, 10 Dec 2002 00:00:00 +0000

She lives in a beautiful old building in Vancouver’s West End. Her apartment is a warm, sunny refuge on the fourth floor, overlooking a school playground below. She loves to lie back on her sofa, basking in the sun’s warmth as she reads a good book. Often she’ll stay like this for hours, losing all track of time as she abandons herself to the fantasy of the novel, only surfacing back to reality when she becomes aware that the light is growing dim, and only then to pull the chain on her lamp.

A Demonstration

Mon, 01 Jan 0001 00:00:00 +0000

Georgia’s friend, Janine had been working on her engineering project for almost a year now. It was finished and she’d asked Georgia to come to her workshop and take a look as she thought Georgia would appreciate her project. She was eager to see what was so special as she arrived. ‘Wow’, Georgia thought as she entered the workshop, Janine had constructed some sort of huge assembly line. Janine stood nearby at some computer controls next to what appeared to be the start of the line as she entered.

A Nice Massage

Mon, 01 Jan 0001 00:00:00 +0000

Laurel was tired after a long week of work managing the cosmetic company she owned. She rubbed her neck as she slowly drove her car to her favorite health resort for a well deserved weekend of pampering and relaxation. When she had acquired the cosmetic company last year, she never knew that ownership would require her to take such a hands-on role in the day-to-day operations. In fact, the time she spent working at her business had affected her personal life as her husband Matt Hardy had recently left her with no note as to where he was moving to. The fact that she didn’t even notice he was gone till three days after he had left spoke volumes about the total immersion she had taken in her business. “Hmmmm… maybe I’ll try and track down Matt after the fall line is launched and see if we can patch things up. If not, one of the beefcakes who work here can more than fill his shoes …” Laurel thought to herself as she drove into the resort’s parking lot and parked her Ferrari in a spot near the private member’s entrance. She hopped out and strode across the parking lot noting how the lot seemed deserted right now which usually wasn’t the case for the resort. Laurel took out her membership card and swiped it across a panel next to the entrance door. A few seconds later, there was a loud BEEP! followed by an audible clicking noise. Laurel pulled open the door and walked inside the luxuriously furnished area set aside for the wealthy members of the resort. She walked up to the reception desk and greeted the woman behind it with a familial tome as she signed in. “Janice, I really need a massage in the worst way today. If Mario or Luigi are available today, it would be great,” Laurel said hopefully to the platinum blonde receptionist. “Hmmm… Mario’s out helping a friend move into one of those new condos built by Koopa developers but I think Luigi will be available in about an hour or two. If you want to do a little exercising till then, I think some of the climbers are available over there,” the receptionist said cheerfully while pointing over to the left towards the equipment she mentioned. Laurel smiled as she headed towards the change rooms. “I’ll give ’em a try for a little while though I have to save something for Luigi’s expert hands!” she called out happily to the receptionist before going in to change her outfit. Laurel emerged shortly thereafter wearing a tight fitting white mesh bodysuit that emphasized her voluptuous figure from her ample breasts to slim waist and shapely legs. She went over to where the exercise machines were lined up and started on one of the stair climber machines that lined the far wall of the exercise area. She exercised steadily over the next hour and a half stopping only to take a drink and to fend off the advances from muscular men looking to start a relationship or have a romp in bed. After finishing her workout, Laurel wrapped a towel around her neck and walked back to the receptionist area hoping to hear good news. Wiping the perspiration off her forehead and chest, she noted by the clock on a nearby wall that it was very close to the time where the spa would shut down for the day. The receptionist looked up as the buxom woman approached her and nodded slightly as she stapled some papers together. “Good timing, Laurel! Luigi is back and waiting for you in room number 3. He’s even agreed to stay past closing to make sure you get a full massage at no extra charge,” Janice said happily as she motioned towards the area where the massages were given. “Thanks, Janice! I appreciate the effort you’ve put in for me. Talk to you soon!” Laurel called out as she hurried off for the massage she longed to start. Once in the nearby change area, she stripped off her clothes she was wearing and wrapped a large white terry cloth towel around her body. She headed down to the area where Luigi set up for his clients and entered into the room where the massage table was. Unwrapping the towel around her, Laurel tossed it on a nearby chair and climbed up on the table where she laid down pressing her breasts into the soft leather covering as she fell into a light sleep. She dreamed of having a man looking allot like Luigi caressing and making love to her over and over again in a highly erotic atmosphere. Laurel’s sleep was interrupted by the feeling of hands going up and down her back and shoulders in a wonderfully pleasant manner. “Mmmm…. Luigi, you have such a wonderful touch…. you must keep your wife very happy….” she murmured as a feeling of euphoria swept through her body. After a few more minutes of massaging that spread to her legs, neck and arms, Laurel was almost purring in contentment as she felt so good… so light…. just like in her dreams. However, the wonderful feelings she was experiencing came to an abrupt halt when she turned her head and saw her reflection in a nearby mirror. The reflection she saw in the mirror shocked her and snapped her out of her daze. Her body was rapidly changing from flesh to rubber and latex with her skin was becoming smooth and shiny with no signs of freckles and blemishes anywhere. Her breasts rapidly changed into mounds of plastic capped by bright pink nipples that seemed to be erect.

An Ensign's Fantasies 3

Mon, 01 Jan 0001 00:00:00 +0000

(story continues from An Ensign’s Fantasies 2)_

Part 3

The following narrative is that of a retired Starfleet commander. At his request he will remain anonymous and all names used throughout are changed.

After the episode Diana2301 where Janet was forced into prostitution, I wondered if Diana2302 might be a sequel. At my next session in the holodeck, I donned a VR cap and commanded,“Computer start Diana2302.”

—————————————————————————————————————–

It was the Tuesday evening following my weekend advent as a prostitute. The communicator showed “Jerry”. I considered not responding, but I was afraid he could get to me through my collar. I responded, “What do you want?”

An Ensign's Fantasies 4

Mon, 01 Jan 0001 00:00:00 +0000

(story continues from An Ensign’s Fantasies 3)_

Part 4

The following narrative is that of a retired Starfleet commander. Though many of the narrated details did actually occur all names are fictitious and locales and dates are changed to prevent individual identification.

As I had surmised, the programs in the Diana2300 series continued the tale of Janet’s profession of prostitution. I eventually surveyed the whole series. Through the VR helmet I was not only in touch with what Janet felt physically but I was fully aware of what she thought along with her feelings and emotions. I was surprised at how she thought about her slavery and forced prostitution by Jerry and his collar. She definitely detested Jerry but she was not obsessed about it. I was sure that if I was forced into the same circumstances I would be obsessed with revenge and I would have little thought for anything else.

Beauty & the Beast

Mon, 01 Jan 0001 00:00:00 +0000

The air was cold on my breasts, and my nipples tingled, hard points. Staring into the darkness of the velvet hood, I tried not to shiver. I could hear the man pacing around me, inches away, moving so quietly, and yet there was a impression of size, of danger about him despite the silence with which he moved. I was acutely aware of my nakedness.

�What do you think?� asked the precise tenor of my stepson. The bastard.

Beauty & the Beast

Mon, 01 Jan 0001 00:00:00 +0000

(story continues from Beauty & the Beast)_

_Part 2 (click here for Part One)

One minute I was pinned in Jack�s arms while Milord dripped wax on my hard nipples and twin dildoes thrust inside me. The next I was free, standing halfway across the room. And the Beast was kneeling in front of a tall, redheaded woman I�d never seen before. He was naked, and I saw with a shock that thick, silver chains bound his arms behind his back, wrists lashed to elbows.

Captured Escort 6

Mon, 01 Jan 0001 00:00:00 +0000

(story continues from Captured Escort 5)_

Part 6.

After my long ordeal that day i slept very well in my cage. I didnt even hear my Mistress enter the dungeon or open my cage. The first thing i remembered was being dragged out by my hair. Before i could react or cry out Mistress had me on the latex covered bed. I felt her pulling my little pink latex knickers down and without a word i felt her hard cock at my ass. Without any ceremony she rammed her now rock hard cock into my ass making me cry out in pain as she began to pummel my helpless ass. As she thrust in and out deeper and deeper i found myself begging her to fuck me harder. I could hear the rattle of the chains on my cuffed ankles and wrists as Mistress thrust deep into her slaves hole. I felt her thighs slapping against my ass as she thrust harder and faster until she exploded into my ass filling me with her hot cum. As she withdrew a trickle of her cum ran down the inside of my thigh. Standing up Mistress looked down on me in my tiny latex baby doll with my knickers around my ankles.

Captured Escort 7

Mon, 01 Jan 0001 00:00:00 +0000

(story continues from Captured Escort 6)_

Part 7

I knelt on the hard floor head bowed waiting for my captor and Mistress to return. After having the enema forced on me and the humiliation of not only Mistress but Nina and Lisa watching as i emptied myself in front of them all i could think about was trying to escape. Last time i failed and was harshly punished but i had to try again… i just had to! It wouldnt be easy as i was shackled at the neck, wrists and ankles not to mention i was naked! It seemed like an eternity before the door unlocked but it wasn’t MIstress who came in it was Lisa. She wore a little black mini skirt not too short and a white blouse with 5" heels. She stood before me looking down at me.

Double or Nothing

Mon, 01 Jan 0001 00:00:00 +0000

(story continues from Part 2)_

### Chapter 3

Even though they were far from delivering the twins, Janice felt as if a huge load had been lifted from her shoulders. The abduction part was done and it was time now to savor part of their efforts. She shrugged out of her jacket and unbuttoned her blouse. The belt came next, along with her holster and fake gun. She noticed one of the twins had noticed it when they went to pick them up and she was sure that part of her costume helped convince the twins that they were indeed detectives and needed to talk to them. Janice stripped out of her pants next, laying them on the bed. She would hang them up later. Right now, she wanted to get back downstairs to have a little girl time with the twins. She selected a wonderful black leather teddy with a plunging neckline. She really didn’t bring along a lot of this type clothing, only a few pieces that screamed dominatrix. It was important to Janice to set the stage correctly and look the part. Ray and she didn’t know who the client was, including the client’s sex, so training had to include a dominate female aspect. Janice was more than willing to oblige with that part of it. The blonde slipped out of her bra and panties and into the figure-hugging teddy. Looking in the mirrored closet doors, she thought she looked almost like a blonde Vampirella. Janice fought to keep a trim figure by jogging and working out at the gym with her husband. Looking at herself now, with her long, platinum blonde hair cascading down her back, her narrow waist, and long legs, she knew that she was a stunning woman and most of those genes had passed on to her teenage daughter Stephanie. Janice picked up a pair of black thigh-high boots and slipped them on. She was comfortable with the 5-inch heels they had and it made her look that much taller. The black opera gloves were last. One more glance in the mirror before she headed down to teach the twins a few more things. “God, every time I see you in that outfit reminds me why I married you.” Ray smiled, giving his wife a warm hug before he climbed out of his detective’s costume. “It wasn’t my personality?” Janice pouted. “A little bit, but mainly the outfit.” Ray held his wife tight against him, feeling her familiar curves as he kissed her, their tongues dancing around each other. Despite seeing and using many young women, Janice still made him as horny as the first day he saw her. Reluctantly, Ray let her go. They both had work to do and really not very many days in which to do it.

Double or Nothing

Mon, 01 Jan 0001 00:00:00 +0000

Chapter 1

Janice glanced in back of their rental van to make sure that their targets were still soundly drugged. The heavy canvas bags that contained the twin blondes still weren’t moving much and she hoped that they wouldn’t until they were safely inside their rented house. It had been a difficult job, Jan reflected. Their client wanted these two girls specifically. The fact that they were minor celebrities because of their ads for Double Barrel Ale didn’t help. The girls, Cassandra and Amanda, did have a paid body guard with them at the shoot as well as both of their parents. However Ray, her partner and husband, had come up with a workable plan that went off like a charm. Janice had taken the lead this time, being the head police investigator. The badges and ID’s were nearly perfect and by the time anyone deduced that Ray and Janice weren’t real cops, they had already switched cars twice and had the girls sedated, stripped and bound in the back of their van. “Do you think we should call the kids?” Janice asked her husband. “And what, spoil their vacation?” Ray grinned, “Look, I am sure they are all right. Jeff has a level head about him and even though Stephanie is a bit of a free spirit, she has common sense. God, what I would have given to have three weeks without my parents looking over my shoulder.” Janice smiled a faint smile, “Your right.” There was a slight noise in back and Janice looked at the sacks again. One of the bags seemed to be moving. Of course, it wouldn’t be moving very far. Ray was a wiz with rope and both girls were tied in a very strict hogtie. They also had several thick straps of Duct Tape sealing their lips and a tightly knotted crotch rope to keep them company. Both Ray and Janice were glad to see that their long blonde hair matched the soft curls between their legs. To Amanda, it felt as if her brain was wrapped in a huge cotton ball. She tried to move and focus, but her limbs remained pinned in back of her. She tried to say something, but her mouth wouldn’t move. Slowly, the fog her mind was in wisped away and she realized that she was bound and gagged.

Double or Nothing

Mon, 01 Jan 0001 00:00:00 +0000

(story continues from Part 1)_

### Chapter 2

Amanda’s heart sank as she heard her sister Cassandra starting to sob through her gag. Neither of their captors had moved. The man was holding a riding crop, tapping it into one hand. The woman just held her crop by her side. Both were looking at Sandy as her tears made dark trails from her eyeliner. “Now, I don’t know who is who,” the man said, talking with a slight southern accent, “and I really don’t care. You, young lady. . .” The man pointed his crop at Amanda, still bound naked above her sister; her hands bound behind her back and her mouth gagged with an obscene gag with a black gel dildo protruding out of it. “. . .you are going to be known as number 1.” The woman, Mistress, turned and went over to the armoire and removed from it a red leather collar. On the front, a big chrome number 1 was emblazoned. Without a word, the woman Amanda knew as Mistress fastened the collar around her neck, locking it into place. “Now, 1, you have pleased us with your performance here. You made your sister here cum and that means you aren’t going to be whupped. However, your sister there isn’t going to be as fortunate. She’s going to learn firsthand not to disappoint us.” Ray smiled, listening to Cassandra’s renewed sobs. Both young blondes were gorgeous, being bound in a ‘69‘ position and glistening from their sexual efforts. Number 1’s breast dangled down over her sister, jiggling as she caught her breath. The other twin lay on her back, her eyes closed and her head turned away from the couple.

Kidnapped Mistaken Identity

Mon, 01 Jan 0001 00:00:00 +0000

Part One

I had booked a few days off work that were overdue and owed to me; I needed the rest. I had recently broken up with Sarah after two years together and thought I would just chill out on my own at my holiday retreat in Wales and catch up on some reading maybe do some walking and try to get my head straight.

It was Friday evening around 11.00 pm and I was due to travel Saturday morning. I had been out to a hotel, had a couple of pints and I reflected on a great evening I just had, having met some old school friends at a hotel nearby. We’d had a good chat about old times, a few drinks, renewed acquaintances, and I was now on my way home via a short cut down a side street to catch a late local train back home as I didn’t wish to drink and drive. It was early November and the temperature had dropped somewhat just lately, there was a distinct winter chill in the air. I walked quickly to keep out the cold air having been in the warm hotel all evening. It was fairly dark and quiet in this street with no one around and just a couple of parked cars. A dark coloured people carrier with blacked out side windows slowly passed and pulled up a few yards in front of me.

Kidnapped Mistaken Identity 2

Mon, 01 Jan 0001 00:00:00 +0000

(story continues from Kidnapped Mistaken Identity)

Part Two

A clip- clop of heels was heard and the door opened. My stomach churned and the Matron entered; this time she was dressed from head to toe in a loose fitting, pale blue rubber medical theatre shirt and loose trousers topped with a head matching hair covering medical mop-cap. She pushed in her medical trolley containing an array of fearsome looking instruments made of glass, stainless steel and rubber; it clinked as she approached her rubber clothing rustling erotically as she moved.

Mummy Burglar Alarm

Mon, 01 Jan 0001 00:00:00 +0000

His name was Vandervecken, and he was a stickler for security and for many reasons. Some were obvious, some were not. He had spent the afternoon as he had spent every Friday afternoon for the last three months getting really stoned and having sex with his secretary, Kathleen. Kathy was a temp, and he didn’t trust her at all. He was in his fifties, and she was just in her twenties. She came onto him right away when the temp agency sent her over. She wore super high shoes and super short skirts and made sure he got a glimpse of her garter belt on occasion, and finally she just asked him for sex.

Night of the Living Dolls Chapter 2: Bright Sky, Dark Changes

Mon, 01 Jan 0001 00:00:00 +0000

(story continues from Night of the Living Dolls Chapter 1: The calm before the storm)

Author’s note: This story is based loosely on the classic horror film Night of the Living Dead with an ASFR spin to it now. There are themes of sexuality, profanity and nudity throughout this tale so if this bothers you at all, please move onto another story or site.Otherwise, enjoy !

Chapter 2: Bright Sky, Dark Changes

On French Soil 1 - Unto The Breach

Mon, 01 Jan 0001 00:00:00 +0000

Disclaimer: This is a work of amatory fantasy. Any resemblance to people living or dead is purely coincidental. If you are under the age of 18, please stop reading here. If you are a bit squeamish about graphic depiction’s of rape, bondage and sex, please stop reading here. The author takes no responsibility for those who wish to reenact anything written below. Permission is granted for private use. The author wishes any agencies that wish to publish this work, to please contact him at FESSELN1@aol.com. Any comments are gladly accepted and encouraged.

One Slip

Mon, 01 Jan 0001 00:00:00 +0000

Ashley was surprised that she even got the job at Greenland Milking. Fresh out of college she had no experience however the company was eager to hire the young Manufacturing Engineer. It also helped that her husband had already been working for the company for a few years. She had met him during her freshman year of college, and his senior year. They had fallen helplessly in love and married before she even finished college. It only seemed logical for the company to hire the pair as they worked well together.

Real Bondage For Anne! Part 2

Mon, 01 Jan 0001 00:00:00 +0000

(story continues from Real Bondage For Anne!)

Authors note; Though the characters in this story are real people, this story is pure fiction and never really took place. I wrote this story especially for my friend Anne Woolsey, who is also an excellent fetish writer in her own right! You can find some of her stories right here on Gromets Plaza. I would also like to give a special thanks to KobeLee for allowing me to use her as a character in this story. You can find Kobe at her home page, www.kobelee.com There, you will find links to her other modeling sites too, including her profile and lots of nice pics!

Tales From The Psych Ward 4: Cassandra

Mon, 01 Jan 0001 00:00:00 +0000

(story continues from Tales From The Psych Ward 3: The Mind of a Witness)

Part 4: Cassandra

I was “in house” after a security guard went ape shit and called 911 when I went catatonic while standing in a clothing isle in the store. Maybe if I had been in the men’s section, or at least not in front of a full display of female thong underwear, he wouldn’t have been so upset. The fact that most of my clothing suddenly disappeared may also have had something to do with it. I came out of it totally OK and lucid, but once the EMTs and the police were involved, a short stay at the ward was inevitable.

Thanks, Miss Laughton

Mon, 01 Jan 0001 00:00:00 +0000

Based on an idea by Strand Ankler

Part One: Shock

Sarah Laughton woke up and looked round her bedroom. It was daylight outside but she didn’t know what the time was. She panicked; thinking she’d overslept. She glanced at her clock and saw it was late morning. She’d have to ring the school and apologise for being late.

“Just a minute,” Sarah thought, “They’d have rung me to find out what had happened, so why haven’t they?” She lay still and eventually realised she didn’t have to go into school today. It was the summer holidays.

The Adventures of Raika Élan Esq Chapter 4: Leela’s Ordeal

Mon, 01 Jan 0001 00:00:00 +0000

(story continues from The Adventures of Raika Élan Esq Chapter 3: Aimee’s Javert)_

The Adventures of Raika Élan ESQ.: Hostage of the Year (Runner-Up) Chapter 4: Leela’s Ordeal

DATE: JULY 28TH, 2006 TIME: 9:00 am LOCATION: Undisclosed Location, Kinked Wrist Indian Reservation

She could sense another one rising from deep within her. This would be the fourth. Or was it the fifth? A paroxysm of fulfillment besieged her nucleus accumbens. Born in London to strict Indian parents, Leela Rashir exploited the opportunity for sexual experimentation upon attending boarding school. A curvaceous girl with an ample bosom, an adorably small nose, full lips and dark inviting eyes, she attracted many suitors. Despite coupling with numerous partners, both male and female, she never reached an ecstatic state. Therefore, she lost interest in sex and concentrated on her studies.

The Adventures of Raika Élan Esq Chapter 6: A Little Withdrawal

Mon, 01 Jan 0001 00:00:00 +0000

(story continues from The Adventures of Raika Élan Esq Chapter 5: Colleagues)

The Adventures of Raika Élan ESQ.: Hostage of the Year (Runner-Up) Chapter 6: A Little Withdrawal

DATE: JULY 31TH, 2006 TIME: 2:00 pm LOCATION: MASON STREET TOWNHOUSE

Raika Élan Esq. inch-wormed her way across the floor. She was bound yet determined. More precisely, she was strictly hogtied, a position she became quite accustomed to during the last forty-eight hours. Her captor often confined her to this posture to limit her interference, but the resolute patent attorney painstakingly proceeded in her captor’s absence. Ms. Élan’s ankles were crossed and tied, which further hindered movement and forced her to negotiate mobility with gyrating hips. Her normally protruding ass was accentuated by this movement. Each gyration produced inches of progress and ounces of perspiration. Her forehead glistened with sweat and ran down into her deep brown eyes. Discoloration around her eye attested to a right cross two days ago. Her breasts were compressed against the floor as she shimmied to her destination. Occasionally, she scuffed her cheek on the hardwood floor. “Oomphs!” emitted through the copious packing in her mouth accompanied each writhing advance.

The Bronze Horse 3

Mon, 01 Jan 0001 00:00:00 +0000

(story continues from The Bronze Horse 2)

Part 3

Many of the villagers were about their business and would stop and look at me. I found it most embarrassing walking thru the village to the fields being bald with green paste between my legs and on my head even if my head was covered with a leather hood. I was bright red the whole way. Of course as time went by I would have to get use to being naked in front of people and learn to accept it. I could see that but it did not make the situation any easier now. What was I thinking, I could not give up hope of escaping this madness and going back to my old life.

The Bronze Horse 4

Mon, 01 Jan 0001 00:00:00 +0000

(story continues from The Bronze Horse 3)

Part 4

I had worked very hard that day and was looking forward to a nice leg massage from Minnie. The Mother had met us when we arrived at the stable and sent her off on another job. She had told Minnie that she would put me away. Other than to feed me she had done nothing. I was still dirty with the hood and the blinkers were closed. I did not hear the old woman arrive but jumped when she spoke. I will not remove the hood she said but here is your drink.

The Bronze Horse 5

Mon, 01 Jan 0001 00:00:00 +0000

(story continues from The Bronze Horse 4)

Part 5

Fred and Minnie both returned from the house carrying things I could not properly see and my ordeal continued. Fred went behind me and knelt between my legs. Minnie untied the cord around my stomach so the tail was only held by the plug. I could feel Fred’s hands on the tail and the Butt Plug. With a press and a twist he then pulled the tail free of the plug and handed it to Minnie.

The Bronze Horse 6

Mon, 01 Jan 0001 00:00:00 +0000

(story continues from The Bronze Horse 5)

Part 6

The work load had dropped off as most of the trees had been sawn up into lumber and the field crops were yet to be harvested. The good thing about the mill area was that people, both women and men would come and talk. As I went around and around I could hear the conversations and follow what was going on in the village. It had not rained for some time and water was getting to be a problem. I had overheard several men talking about using the cart and me to go to a stream some miles away to collect water for the people. But this would not solve the problem of watering the crops. So if it did not rain soon they would die and the village would be faced with famine for the rest of the year.

The Great Marvolo Part 2

Mon, 01 Jan 0001 00:00:00 +0000

(story continues from The Great Marvolo)

Part 2

Author’s Note: Thanks to Jennifer Harrison for her assistance, and for letting me read her great-great grandmother’s diary.

When I heard the Inspector say, “You are under arrest” I was momentarily shocked into immobility. Then I jumped to my feet, but before I could move the policeman pulled my arms behind my back and the Inspector locked handcuffs on my wrists. As I was dragged to the door I shouted, “I’m innocent! You must believe that, Lady Agnes!” Then I was hustled outside and down the corridor. If she replied I did not hear her.

The Ship's Pleasure

Mon, 01 Jan 0001 00:00:00 +0000

Chapter One

When I was a pre-teen, we lived in Porto Rico for 5 years because of Dad’s work, and Mom believed that lots of milk should be a part of every child’s diet so; my sisters and I had to absorb a lot of the white liquid. In those days the fact that female hormones where given to cows for better and more quality and quantity of dairy products, was not noticed by the appropriate government departments, this caused an irreversible effect in many children such as, 6 or 7 year old girls developing breasts prematurely and the same was happening to boys which affected my physiological appearance I developed breasts that could almost qualify as female, my skin was smooth and my body hair was very thin plus, my buttocks where rounder and my hips wider than they should be however, I was a boy mentally and practically physically.

The Summer Project Part 12

Mon, 01 Jan 0001 00:00:00 +0000

(story continues from The Summer Project Part 11)_

Part 12

There was a whirlwind of thoughts racing through Michelle’s head as she climbed into the shower and let the hot water drench her in its warm embrace. ‘Is 10 o’clock at the Bennigan’s on 7th Street okay?’ the man had asked over the phone and she had responded in an enthusiastic ‘yes’. The whole of her being felt as taut as a bowstring with all of the wanton feelings that coursed through her. Everything else he had said was nonsensical hum.

The Summer Project Part 13

Mon, 01 Jan 0001 00:00:00 +0000

(story continues from The Summer Project Part 12)_

Part 13

Jeff eased himself down onto the carpet and drank in the picture of his stepsister Stephanie. Her lithe body was glistening with the efforts of the last hour or so: the effort of being hung forward as she was; the effort of trying to cum and not being able to and the effort of giving Jeff a wonderful blowjob. Her head was still encased in a white latex hood with her long, blonde hair pulled through the back in a ponytail. Little strings of drool dripped off of the steel ring gag fastened in her mouth. The nipple clamps, chain running between them, still pinched her nipples firmly. Stephanie’s wrists were locked behind her with a pair of leather handcuffs and her fingers would flutter and clinch as she hung there.

Tomorrow I Break You

Mon, 01 Jan 0001 00:00:00 +0000

Entry from the S(A)X Leather Bondage Story competition 2005

It had all started innocently enough about 8 weeks ago, but things were different now. much different.

Chris was 28 years old, 6 feet tall with a muscular build, short messy dark brown hair and bright blue eyes that girls almost always commented on. He was quite handsome, but very down to earth, he took pride in his apperance and did his best to exercise and run. This gave him great endurance, which would serve him better than he could have ever known.

Trouble in Fairyland 7: Red Riding Hood's Fate

Mon, 01 Jan 0001 00:00:00 +0000

(story continues from Trouble in Fairyland 6: A Tour of the Cellars)

Chapter 7: Red Riding Hood’s Fate

The moment the door crashed closed behind me the heat and humidity hit me so hard it was almost a physical sensation. Dragged away from the squealing Bo Peep in the tormented mechanical embrace of that evil machine my clothes and collar had melted away before the crackling magics of the Evil Queen and now I stood naked beyond a heavy iron-studded door. I felt and heard the bolts being shot home as I stood there with my shoulder blades pressed against the rough woodwork.

Violet

Mon, 01 Jan 0001 00:00:00 +0000

Violet thought she had found a happy home. An adopted member of the Reed family, her friend Jenny and Jenny’s stepfather had taken her in several months ago when her parents had died in a car crash. It wasn’t hard to get along with those two. They also had been through a lot after losing Jenny’s mother to cancer. But Violet wanted more than just family status.

She knew that Mr. Reed was very wealthy, with no living relatives other than Jenny. She also knew she could use her looks and brain to lure him into signing over his share of the wealth to her. Jenny wasn’t the problem. Having attended private schools most of her life in another state; nobody really knew her well in the small town they now lived in. If she where to disappear, little would be said by anybody other than her stepfather, and their where ways to distract him from complaining.

Violet

Mon, 01 Jan 0001 00:00:00 +0000

Wrath 1

Mon, 01 Jan 0001 00:00:00 +0000

Chapter 1

‘O-T-H-E-L-L-O’

Rachel penciled in another answer to her crossword puzzle. Right now she should have been enjoying the company of her husband, sharing breakfast and fighting over who would read the morning comics first. This was to be their first morning of a full week off for them just to enjoy themselves for once. A week of just selfishness between her and Bill. However, some emergency came up at Bill’s law firm and he had to take a flight to Pittsburgh, leaving her alone with a week of nothing planed and nothing to do. Just then, the phone rang.

Wrath 2

Mon, 01 Jan 0001 00:00:00 +0000

(story continues from Wrath 1)

Chapter 2

The vibrator hummed within Rachel as she leaned forward, her hands taped behind her back. She could smell her friend Cindy’s arousal; Rachel’s nose was mere inches from her friends’ pussy. Rachel could feel Cindy grind her hips against the chain that held Rachel down. Even blindfolded, Rachel knew that the chain that ran from her collared neck was somehow lasciviously connected to her blonde friend’s slit.