The Interview

I know it was just a dream, but it felt so real. The sights, the smells, your weight on me...
The setting was unusual; it was a multi-use community building. Why I was there is irrelevant, as is all the friends I know that were doing various tasks. Because you found me.

I was on my hands and knees scrubbing the floor. I had just swept a clean space, with dust, dirt, and animal fur billowing in clouds as I cleared it from the tile and carpet. I dropped down, holding conversation with a friend that supposedly now lived in Ukraine but was visiting. She spoke in mono-tone as she, too, swept and scrubbed her section of the floor.

Suddenly, I was flat on my belly with a warm weight over my back. I laughed, thinking you were someone else. I continued to work with my arms outstretched in front of me, finishing my train of thought with the friend.

You started kissing the back of my neck, my hair conveniently in a bun and out of your way. I don't remember the words you first spoke, but I was still distracted and did not register who was on me. I continued to giggle and and responded in a playful manner.

Then your voice lowered, your lips finding my ear, "So you are interested in playing or being played with? I'm interested in doing the playing."

A shiver ran down my spine and I wiggled underneath you, closing my eyes to the bright lights reflecting off the white tile floor of the community center.

"I always want to play with you," I responded, still not catching on that you were not the person I expected.

"Oh, I believe that. Such a willing little thing, aren't you?" Your mouth moved in a slow trail across my neck, back to its starting position at the top of my spine. "Tell me," you whispered between kisses, "Am I what you expected?"

My stomach hollowed and my entire body froze. Your lips kept up their languid soft kisses but realization struck me that you were YOU and not the man I expected.

A deep and primal growl echoed in your laugh. You enjoyed the blind encounter and how long it took for me to become aware of just who had me pinned.

"I...um..." I sputtered, squeezing my eyes closed, refusing to break the intimate spell by looking for confirmation.

"Such a sweet little thing, aren't you?" Kisses still accentuated your words, the sensitive zone at the top of my back working against any logical brain function. My body started moving under yours, again; my nipples straining at my bra as my hips tried to rise up to yours.

"Tell me," your voice took on a gravelly edge, "Have you ever explored beyond your basic submission? Are you curious to run until you are pinned," kiss, "just," kiss, "like," kiss, "this?" Teeth sank into the back of my neck and all I could do was moan.

My stomach tightened and my cleaning implements went forgotten as my hands found the edge of the carpeted rug and clenched, bunching the soft pile between my fingers. One of your arms moved, no longer bracing yourself above me. Your hand, large on my frame, skimmed down my side.

"That wasn't an answer," you growled before taking another bite.

Another moan escaped my lips, but with my next breath, I whispered, "Yes, Sir." But then my face flushed as I realized what I had said. "I mean, I..." I trailed off, trying to remember the question you asked and how to answer.

You just laughed.

"How long have you been in the lifestyle?"

Your voice is erotic on its own and I realized I longed to hear you call me 'My Pet'.

"Um, I," I tried to clear my throat, "about 10 years, off an on. And we should discuss honorifics." Breathless. I was blowing this whole interview, I just knew it. "I, um, will need to know what to call you."

A gentle tongue worked across my neck to my earlobe as you laughed again. "All in due time. You will be fun, I can tell."

Your hands, both of them, moved up along my body to my arms, then easily skirted to my wrists. Somehow you kept your body above mine without crushing me. I suddenly felt small compared to you and my belly fluttered.

Ever so slowly, you pulled my arms so that my palms faced upward and my hands rested on my back.

"I do like what I see. Here's a small reward. Feel me," you pressed my hands to your front. I gasped at finding firm muscle covered in thick hair. You were shirtless! My fingers traced outlines of abs, but the body hair melted me. I was unsure if you knew the cause of my lip biting, but I didn't care.

"You, I think, will be perfect." Your hips pressed down and...

"Oh!" My hands stilled on your stomach as my brain processed the hardness pressing into my ass.

"Sadly, I must go. But," like magic, you lifted me as you stood so contact was never broken between my hands and your skin. "I do think, we will talk again soon."

With my eyes still tightly shut, you walked me backwards as you made your way to the door. Once outside, you leaned down to my ear.

"Count to twenty before you open your eyes. Don't look for me. I'll be in touch."

And with that, a cold breeze took your place. I shivered at the loss of your body, but I could still feel you....

The Burglar

Cynthia pulled at the restraints tying her to the wall. They were neither too tight or too loose and held firm as she tugged; the work of a master. She smiled. Her master.

She closed her eyes and relaxed against the solid brick against her bare back. A sigh slipped past her lips as she thought of the fun to come when Sir returned home from the store, just a few blocks away. He would probably walk, prolonging Cynthia's anticipation; he had a tendency to wander off and run errands while she was tied up. She jokingly called it inhumane torture, he called it foreplay.

The sound of footsteps down the hall startled her. Sir had left for the store not too long ago and had very loudly shut the front door. The person walking in her house couldn't be her lover. No, the fall of the steps weren't his, either; they were too soft and too closely spaced. Cynthia's heart began to race. Dare she call out? If it were Sir pretending to be someone else, or someone Sir invited in, she would be punished. Was making her presence known worth the denial of an orgasm? She straightened up the best she could while splayed in an X against the wall, scratching her stiletto heels against the tile in the process. The footsteps stopped.

When silence clung to the air for a full ten minutes, the footsteps started again, headed straight for Cynthia. She carefully slowed her breath, bit her lower lip, and prayed she would be well rewarded for keeping her silence.

"This is unexpected."

Cynthia's eyes flashed open and locked on the figure in the doorway. Her heart thundered violently in her chest, threatening to escape and building a pressure so great, her attempt to scream failed. Her mouth hung open and her shock showed quite visible. This man was not her lover and would never be one of his invited guests. He was one of Cynthia's coworkers.

"My, my," the man slowly entered the room, approaching Cynthia as he spoke, "when you said you were going on vacation, we all assumed you meant a week away. On the beach." He stopped a few feet in front of the tied woman, "Not hanging around here." He laughed at his own joke.

"Spencer! What?" Cynthia struggled to speak as she pulled at the ropes binding her, "What are you doing here?" Her restraints were too well done, she couldn't release herself. She couldn't cover her nakedness. She couldn't escape the mail room clerk before her.

"What am I doing here? What are you doing here? You are supposed to be on vacation!" Spencer spat at her. "You are supposed to be the darling paralegal off in the Caribbean, spending the money you hoard." He took a step closer, shoving his finger in her face, "You are supposed to be gone so that I can slip in here and take something of yours," his finger slammed into her shoulder to emphasize his point. "Something that belongs to me!"

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Panic never really surged in Cynthia, but anger was a quick blink away. She forgot her lack of clothing in an instant. He was there to rob her. He was going to steal from her. "What do I have that is yours?"

Spencer chose that moment to realize Cynthia's nudity. "Well, you have a lot that I want," he sneered. "I was thinking just a few odds and ends, things you wouldn't miss. But this?" He motioned at her bound state. "This is something better." He took a step back to evaluate the exquisite human form before him.

"Spencer, don't be an idiot. You don't--"

"AN IDIOT?!" Incomprehensible anger lashed out at Cynthia and she froze. "I am no idiot! You stole from me, now I steal from you! But what?" He turned a slow circle through the room, taking in the small space but barely registering anything beyond the woman tied to the wall. He stopped, his eyes narrowed and met hers, "You. I will have you right here, right now, and then take something you will never get back. You took my Alisha from me, my darling baby, so I will take your baby. Your first born will be mine!" His hands flew to his jeans and pulled apart the belt, violently threw the zipper down, and fished out his cock.

Cynthia stood in complete shock. Alisha? She had been the paralegal Cynthia replaced, but it wasn't Cynthia's fault - the woman was a complete idiot and slept around the office. It was her attempt at seducing one of the senior partners that pushed her out of the company. And Spencer blamed Cynthia.

"I didn't take Alisha from you!" Cynthia yelled. "She did it to herself!"

Spencer's hand left his hardening dick and backhanded Cynthia, "LIES! You took her from me!" He returned to pumping himself, staring at her flat stomach, "You took her. You made her go away. And now, I will take your baby." His left hand reached out and stroked Cynthia's waist, tracing over a thin chain tattoo that trailed from her hip to her navel. His voice lowered to that of a man in a trance, "Such a pretty home. Soft skin, yes, soft." Cynthia tensed as his hand traveled higher, "And plenty to eat. Big breasts. Perfect breasts." He lowered his head and pulled a nipple into his mouth. His hand slid over his cock, trapped between their bodies. He moaned.

Cynthia struggled, but no matter how hard she pulled, she could not loosen the ropes. Though she fought, she realized she was getting turned on; the struggle, the nipple sucking, the cock brushing against her hip, all worked in tandem against her mind's wishes. She was too conditioned to enjoy the situation. When his teeth nipped gently, her body froze and a small gasping moan escaped her lips. No! Not this! Proper fear gripped Cynthia in that moment, but her body was lost to her.

Her moan urged Spencer's hand along. His teeth released her nipple and his mouth moved on up to her neck. "Oh, so soft. So sweet," he muttered between kisses. "Just perfect." His lips clamped down on her neck, one hand still stroking between them, the other gripping her waist, pulling her off the wall. Cynthia's wrists and ankles strained in the rope, rubbing against the rough material. Her orgasm was sudden, loud, and wet. Spencer pulled away and looked at his captive. "So perfect. Oh so perfect."

Through a haze, Cynthia watched as Spencer released his cock and grabbed her hips with both hands. No, please no.... Her silent pleas were lost in her post-orgasm mindlessness. She tried to look away, but stared and watched in horror as her would-be burglar plunged deep inside her body. The force of his entry sent shock waves up her spine, throwing her head back and releasing a scream of ecstasy.

Spencer waited until he was ready to burst before taking what he felt was his. The moment he was as fully immersed in Cynthia's warmth, he came. A single thrust released all of his pent up energy; his rage, his lust, his need, everything. Gush after gush filled her with his seed, claiming her womb as his for the next nine months. Cynthia's first born would be his.


Cynthia's sobs broke the magic. Spencer pulled out and away and wiped a tear from her cheek, "Shh, what's wrong?"

"P-please," Cynthia, whispered, "Please, Sir, t-tell me you meant it?"

Spencer looked into the shining eyes of his pet, "Meant what, Darling?"

"Th-the baby? Did you," Cynthia swallowed the lump in her throat, "Did you meant it?"

A smile spread on her lover's face, "Yes, Darling, I did." He leaned in and rubbed his cheek to hers. "Now, let's get you down and off to bed. We can make the official first attempt properly."

An Angry Caress

I can feel your hand now,
The back of your fingers softly gliding down my cheek,
The heat of your anger radiating into my skin,
Fueling the fire burning beneath the surface:
Evidence of my shame brought forth.

Your hand travels a small trail but time stands still.
Your knuckles rake gently and my eyes flutter closed,
Anticipation boils under the shame...

Halfway now, I feel the tension bubble through your hand -
- A whimper threatens to tear out my throat -
Will you clench my chin? Will your palm grasp my hair?
Or will there be a bruise I need to cover come morning?

Your whore kneels before you, frozen in time,
A dirty slut reveling in your touch,
Waiting...

The back of your hand draws closer to the end of its short journey -
- A sob sears through my chest, begging for release -
The pain is imminent, I know,
I await the dreadful pleasure with baited breath.

A single tear flows in the wake of your hand,
Tracing the dead space and cooling the flame you leave;
I count the milliseconds until your touch disappears...

You will be rough and I hope for nothing less,
But just once I wish I knew why:
What injustice have I caused to deserve this punishment?

Another Sleepless Night

She sees the bills come in the mail,
Feels the worry and the stress;
She wonders how she will make it alone.
Four mouths to feed ask 'Mamma what's wrong?'

She knows the price she must pay.
She closes her heart and opens her door.
Another soul lost in the dark,
Another sleepless night with little gain

Head in her hands she weeps away her pains,
Bruises lay hidden from sight;
She wonders what this night will bring.
Innocent eyes cry 'Mamma what's wrong?'

She knows this is the price she must pay.
She closes her heart and opens her door.
Another soul lost in the dark,
Another sleepless night with little gain.

Helpless to fight she screams again,
Pinned beneath his weight,
She wonders if she will survive the night.
Little voices echo through her mind, 'Mamma what's wrong?'

She knew the price she must pay
when she closed her heart and opened her door.

Children sleep across town snuggled in bed,
Prayers said down on little knees,
Four voices in unison sang out:
'Keep Mamma safe tonight'

Another soul lost in the dark,
Another sleepless night with little gain.

Slave To The Boss

The floor shakes as his voice rumbles in echo; he has arrived. Vibrations travel up my legs, my resolve to fight shatters. With a client two steps behind, he opens his office door smiling. I sit, spread legged, atop his desk, my stilettos piercing the cushions of the guest chairs, pantiless and bare to view, hair down, glasses bridging my nose, breasts overhanging a bra balcony, nipples announced against silk, biting my lower lip. For all my protests against the rope bindings, I remain where he left me, wet and waiting.

Starvation

Hunger pains dissipate into pleasure
As gentle hands caress every curve,
Searching and probing for hidden treasure,
Igniting fire to dance along each and every nerve.
Day after day for hours on end,
Relentless affection envelopes my body and soul,
Showered down by another captor less foe than friend,
Whose power overwhelms with absolute and complete control.
Soft murmurs and sweet nothings past his lips do slip,
Sure movements and practiced motions declare a master of his art;
Strong fingers splaying and playing along the hip
Send deep emotions along tendrils to my heart.
Under expert touch my body melts like butter,
Warmth spreading as the threatening explosion nears,
Whimpered pleas and moans my hoarse throat beg and mutter.
- His deep strong penetration is swift unlike his peers!
My sudden climax peaks in tears of salty rain!
I lay bound by flesh and rope and cell,
Hunger for lust sated but starvation for food does remain;
My stomach is days empty yet let it not be said I am treated unwell.

Welcome To The Show

This world is a...new world, for me. Never before have I played...with an audience watching...listening - bound, unable to join; gagged, without voice to speak. Helpless and condemned, to just sit...Does the sight please your eye? I have never left a light on when I have played...this spotlight on this stage burns hot. The flush of my skin is unrelated, though my skin is similarly on fire. It's your attention that fans this flame. Just the thought that I, a...submissive...woman, am spread bare before your eyes, and you are the one incapable of stopping me from doing whatever I desire....

It is a power surge.

Addictive.

My nipples harden at the thought. My arms cross under my breasts, red tipped nails pinch along my skin. The tickle spreads goosebumps across my body; my nipples stand even straighter. This is no dream.

A roil of butterflies take flight in my stomach. I close my eyes and tilt my head back, taking a deep breath to still the beating wings. I have no reason to be nervous, I tell myself. It is only you, my captive audience. I smile.

Welcome to the show.

Untitled (pt 1)

Ahksana awoke to a face full of sunshine. It took her a minute to roll over to look at the alarm clock. She groaned, not just from the pain, but from the early hour proudly proclaimed in green: it was barely ten thirty in the morning. A splitting headache made loud protests as she attempted to sit up. She sat still, with her head in her hands, until the room stopped spinning. With eyes half closed, she stumbled off the king-size bed and into the adjoining bathroom. She struggled with the decision to turn on the light, ultimately flicking the switch up to help aid her search for aspirin.

As soon as the bright bulbs lit, her head screamed in agony. Softly cursing the pain, Ahksana fumbled over the counter top, opening each medicine bottle her hands grasped. She finally found the right bottle and popped four small white pills into her mouth. As she did so, she caught a glimpse of movement in the mirror. She froze, pills lodged halfway down her throat. She sputtered and gagged, reached for a glass and blindly filled it with water. She watched the woman in the mirror follow her movements, slowly lift her glass to her mouth as Ahksana did. She gulped down the mouthful of water at the fearful realization: the battered and bruised woman was truly her reflection. Tears welled to the surface of her eyes as she set the glass back on the counter. Tentatively, she raised her hands up to trace the black fist mark that marred her fair skin, the cause of the massive headache. It stretched fully across one cheek and from the bottom of her chin to the bottom of her left eye. The angry red cut at the top of the bruise, left by his ring, managed to brighten her already watery blue eyes.

Her sight blurred from the tears, the full memory of the night before playing once more through her mind. She knew better than to refuse him, especially when he had been drinking, but the thought of bedding him after he had forced her to watch as he took a willing Celest to his bed....



Celest lay satisfied, smiling lazily at Ahksana, thrilled she looked sick. Though Celest enjoyed being rubbed in Ahksana's face, she despised being thrown out of the room. Ahksana would have rather traded her places; instead she was cornered shortly after Celest's departure.

Ahksana feared the man she called her husband. She learned to be afraid the day he took her from her parents all those years ago in the Czech Republic. She knew he was evil from the beginning, when he held her arm in his grasp and killed her parents in cold blood. She found out just how evil he could be the first night he raped her. In all the years since, he had not let her forget her slave status.

When he had tossed Celest out the door, dressed in nothing but her stage heels, Ahksana knew there was nothing she could do. She was alone with him. She backed away from the bed, slowly sunk into the shadows; a small thought flittered through her mind, giving her hope that she may escape his attentions if he were already satiated from Celest and as drunk as he appeared.  But her thin light of hope vanished as she struck the wall with a noticeable thump, snapping his hungry eyes directly to her half naked body.

She had not been allowed to change after working the stage at Europa, the high end gentlemen's club her husband owned. Her costume, by the end of the night, consisted only of gold, seven inch platform heels that strapped up to her knees, a brown leather thong with a mini-frill skirt, studded leather wristcuffs, and two leather ribbons: one worn as a choker, the other wrapped in her hair. Her lack of clothing made her feel more vulnerable, which fed his desire to feast upon her soft skin.

His advance blocked the doorway to the hall, but the cornered vixen is always alert for an escape from the hound. She knew he was enjoying her fear from the proud bob of his growing member; he was still nude and his rather rotund and repulsive figure was highlighted by Celest's juices. Ahksana's eyes darted around the room and found her solution: if she moved carefully, slowly, he might not notice as she made her way around to the bathroom door. For every one of his steps toward her, Ahksana made a half-step shuffle to her left, hands still behind her back, running along the wall.

Determined to make her escape, and too focused on watching her husband, Ahksana did not notice the scrap of Celest's discarded clothing that she tripped over. She did not fall, but she stumbled and turned into the wall to catch herself. She was only a few feet away from the bathroom door, and in her mind she knew if she were to make a quick dash, she would be free until he slumped in a drunken stupor. Her near fall pulled her husband out of his tunnel vision hunt; he realized she had been trying to slip away and his anger surfaced. He lengthened his steps and caught Ahksana seconds after her stumble. Her body was pinned to the wall beneath his, with her arms outstretched above her where they landed when she turned. Her frill of a skirt gave no protection against the very obvious and disgustingly sticky erection pressed quite firmly against her. Her wrists were held in his large and balmy hands, while his unshaven cheek rubbed down the right side of her face.

His rough German voice, breath reeking of cigar and alcohol, reverberated through her head, his mouth barely above her ear, "My pet thinks she can run away? How stupid can she be? Where can she go?"

Desperation to get away gave her strength. Instead of falling limp, her usual response, Ahksana struggled against his grasp, bucking back at him with her shoulders. She grit her teeth and forced her words to not betray her fear. Her sweet voice escaped her painted lips in a thick Czech accent, laden with ice, "Every pet runs free in the end. How long do you really think you can keep me?"

He transferred both of her hands under his left fist and ran his right hand gently down her cheek, under her chin, and further still to the tender skin trapped by the wall. Her struggles became more intense as she tried to jerk away from his traveling hand. "I will never let you go. Even after all these years, you still give me pleasure to own."

Ahksana turned her face back over her shoulder, facing him the best she could in her position. Her face distorted in revulsion, his very firm penis offering a contrast to the bulging soft body pinning her. "All you own is what you take by force! I curse you, Boris!" She ended her angry burst by spitting in his face.

Boris pulled back in surprise, his left hand still gripping her wrists. She arched back, trying to keep her balance, attempting to twist out of his grasp - the bathroom door was so close!

With her wriggling in his grasp, and with her spit still dripping fresh on his cheek, he pulled his hand back and hit the defiance off her face. The force of the blow knocked her to to the floor, the pain bringing tears to her eyes. She cowered in a crumpled heap, her left hand trembling as it tentatively held her cheek. Her chance at freedom for the night was gone, she was trapped. But just as the vixen cornered by the hunting hound, she refused to give in. She gathered herself and crawled backwards, stumbling with a newly broken heel.

He walked toward her and glared down at her with a mix of anger and hunger dredged across his pitted face. She once again hit the wall as he towered over her, his bulk appearing twice as large from her position on the floor. He reached down and grabbed her by the hair, pulling a fist full out of the leather tie. Ahksana was dragged to her feet and held firmly against his bear-like furry body by one arm, Boris' right hand still clenching her hair. He pulled back on her head, straining her neck, forcing her to look him in the face. In his native tongue, he snapped down at her, "Bitch! Worthless good for nothing bitch! I will have obedience from you yet!" His mouth came down hard on her mouth, forcing her lips to open for his tobacco flavored intruding tongue; his left thumb hooked through the frilly excuse for a skirted thong and ripped the thin fabric away, disrobing Ahksana completely. Boris's hand groped greedily at her bare flesh, kneading her skin with his rough hand, and grasping her tight against his grinding hips as he began to fuck the space between their bodies.

Ahksana, with her head still pulled back, could barely breathe. She supressed her instincts to struggle for fear of snapping her own neck. In her mind she knew there was no use; she was trapped. She fell pliant in his arms; she submitted to her defeat.

Boris growled when her struggle ended and dove deeper into her reluctant mouth. His right hand released her hair and wrapped around the back of her neck, possessively cradling her to his face. His left arm scooped her thin frame up against his large body. He grunted with the effort, but showed no other signs of being out of shape. He crossed the small bedroom and threw her onto the bed. Ahksana let out a cry of pain as she landed on the old matress; springs dug into her skin, slick with the night's earlier activities.

Released from his grasp, the urge to run returned. Ahksana stumbled backwards on her elbows while her shoes caught no traction on the lumpy cushions; her broken shoe marked her retreat with freshly poked holes in the fabric. Boris chuckled, a deep gutteral reverberation that sent chills down Ahksana's spine. She stiffened and halted her crawl. She knew what came next, and had learned that it was best to succumb to his wishes, no matter how disgusting or degrading.

She lay propped on her elbows and stared in horror as he pumped himself in anticipation; his large hand wrapped around his rather thick appendage and consumed the length, the grotesque display resembling a fat toad trying in vain to lick its nose. The sudden thought of imagery did nothing to quell the trembling that took hold of her as he moved forward onto the bed. With his free hand, he reached out and slid his rough calluses up her right leg. He parted her legs and crawled between them, still obscenely stroking his stiff, stump-like erection. She lay back and closed her eyes as he drew nearer.

He covered her, snarling his triumph as he entered her. She gulped down a cry and bit her lower lip, her eyes squeezed tight. Boris bucked atop her, roughly groping her body with his large hands. She rolled her head to the side in an attempt to escape his alcoholic breath, but only managed to draw his attention to her face. While still thrusting to the beat only he could hear, Boris reached down and grabbed Ahksana's chin and twisted her neck to face him. He pulled her head off the mattress and panted, "Look at me, bitch! Such disrespect to ignore me!" An audible sob escaped her throat as she slowly opened her eyes. He smiled down at her, a menacing evil smile. His movements increased in both tempo and force, causing the tears to finally run down her bruised face. She turned her head once more to stare across the room, her body shaking from the crying as well as the man atop her.

He finished with one final push, his growl of pleasure echoing throughout the room. He pulled out and away from Ahksana and collapsed on the mattress beside her. Ahksana, too ashamed and bruised to move, half rolled onto her side and let the tears fill her vision completely.



Those tears were the same tears that met her eyes in the mirror. She had cried herself to sleep the night before, she knew, but Ahksana had no recollection of Boris leaving. She was thankful he had not bothered her when he had left; there were nights he was relentless and would not give her much rest.

She knew he had no real emotion for her; he thought of her as simply his property, a vessel to carry children and bear him sons. A piece of chattel. A brood mare. She had been fortunate to have survived without becoming pregnant, but she also feared that the longer she stayed, the less likely she would remain lucky.

Ahksana dried her tears with a washcloth. She had to get away. She would figure the details out later, but the knowledge that she would one day be free gave her the strength to pull herself together mentally. With a clearing mind, she showered, gently cleansing herself of Boris' rough possession.

How I Became His

I had never met her husband, but I had known all about him from everything she told me. He was more than a simply controlling bastard, he was a subtle abuser, attacking her emotionally and mentally, using the kids as leverage to get whatever he wanted. Such beautiful children, a brunette boy of four years and a lovely blond girl of six years. Neither she nor her husband was blond, which fueled his fiery temper. Though he had never hit her, she was afraid one day he might. Finally fed up with it, she asked for my help - he would be out of town on business for the weekend and nearly begged me to assist her move out.

Little had I known how hard the simple task would be.

He was to leave Friday afternoon, so we had made plans to meet after work and get her children first off to her mother's and then begin packing everything up to be moved into a temporary storage until she could find an apartment of her own. By eleven o'clock we successfully had all the boxes put together and labeled and all the furniture that was decidedly hers marked for removal. She was anxious and could not sleep, though we were both exhausted, so her minivan and my car were quickly laden with boxes of clothes and toys and small electronics. The storage unit would not be open until morning, so I volunteered my small single-bedroom apartment. By two in the morning, my place looked like a jungle of boxes and small odd furniture clashes. I offered her my bed while I took the floor (the couch was buried somewhere in the front room) and we both slept fitfully until our alarms sang out at six-thirty.

The dawn light filtered through the windows, odd shadows lay across the barely visible carpet floor. Over a quick cup of coffee we decided it would be best to get the furniture out of the house and into storage, allowing easy access to the boxes that would be carted over later. We immediately got to work, calling in a favor from a guy who owned a truck and trailer. Sworn to secrecy, he showed up at eight o'clock and we began hauling her half of everything into a little storage unit on the outskirts of town. By five in the afternoon, we were almost done. The few little nick-knacks that remained from the previous day, unsure then if we would have time to box them up, were gently tossed into a few spare baskets and small boxes. It would be the last time she saw this house, so we both made slow but thorough passes through each room.

I marveled at the house, finally able to stop and inspect for more than just items marked with her name on a sticker. A solid single story corner lot, three bedrooms, two living areas, a dining area and a breakfast nook. The kitchen and the breakfast nook overlooked the expansive back yard. The grass had not been mowed in a week, but with recent rains it was not the only yard on the block to be over ankle high. I saw something glint in the yard - red, shiny, and half-buried in the grass. Curious, I opened the back door from the kitchen and walked out. I gasped; she had forgotten to pack the kids' toys that remained in the yard! Looking about, I saw nearly two dozen small army men, a red wagon, several toy shovels and digging toys of various plastic sizes. I called out to her, told her to wait long enough for me to throw the items over tall wooden fence so she could toss them in her van on the last trip away from the place she once called home.

Arms full of toys, intent on my mission, I did not hear her frantically yelling my name, only looking up when I heard a car honk and her tires drive off. Standing in the threshold of the backdoor was a tall man with severe features, horn-rimmed glasses, and dressed in a well pressed, tidy business suit. Shock and fear froze me in place. We stood staring at each other for what seemed an eternity.

A small smile quirked his lips. Unblinking, he took a step toward me. I paled, more afraid than words can describe, and still unable to move. I was like a rabbit face to face with the hawk, one move and I was sure I would be torn to shreds, if not literally, then at the very least figuratively. His footsteps were silent on the grass as he drew nearer and nearer. He stopped less than two feet in front of me, the smile still present on his austere face. With slow deliberate movements, very like the walk of a few moments before, he reached out and grabbed toy after toy from my trembling arms and tossed them over the fence, watching my face intently for a reaction.

For a second, his arrogance gave me strength; I blubbered out, "Your wife told me everything, you bastard. She's leaving you and you can't stop her!"

His small smile grew to a near bubbling laugh, maniacal enough to tighten my throat with terror, turning my already frozen feet into ice cold blocks of concrete, heavy and unmoving. He leaned over, without touching me, and whispered in my ear, "My wife can do whatever she wants now. How about you?" As he stood straight, he plucked the last toy out of my hands, and without glancing at it, threw it in an arc over the wooden fence that seemed to suddenly be ten times as high.

"Come, it's getting late and I need to eat."

As if in a trance, I followed him back inside the house, careful to stay no more and no less than five steps behind. Once in the kitchen, however, he turned sharply and grabbed my shoulders, slamming me against the wall. Again I became afflicted with a standing paralysis, unable to move or control the trembling he invoked. I could not speak and the lump of fear in my throat made it hard to breathe. He was nearly six foot seven, I was merely five foot, having worn sneakers to better move the boxes instead of my normal four inch heels. Though he was taller, he had no trouble leaning his face to within inches of my mouth, asking softly, "Would you have any objections to replacing what you helped escape?" His breath caressed my lips, and an involuntary shiver ran down my spine, snapping tight an invisible chord low in my stomach and I gasped. The small smile quirked his lips once more. Without another word, he straightened, released his hold on me, and turned toward the remnants of the main living room. Again, I unconsciously followed him, five steps back.

The main living room had been grand, boasting a gorgeously deep-set couch with matching chairs and a love seat and an expensive little home theater system; after his wife had moved her half out, however, it looked desolate and empty, with a lone recliner in the corner and the television mounted on the wall with wires drooped everywhere. In the center of the room sat a single suitcase, a new item for my eyes to see. It was small, barely larger than the attaché case by the door. He stood beside it and looked expectantly toward me. Without thinking, I walked forward and knelt down to open it up. Inside, on top of his overnight packing, I found a small negligee neatly folded. It was soft and light to the touch, and with a horrific gasp, I dropped it as if it burned my skin. I fought to stand up and back away, but he had maneuvered himself behind me and held me down with his hand on my shoulder. A low chuckle erupted from his throat, his voice low and gentle slid across my body, "Now, now, no need to get all excited just yet." His voice seemed to calm me down, put me back in the trance, and I sat still once more. Satisfied with my compliance, he allowed me to stand. I turned, head bowed, eyes downcast, and stared at his feet before me. My mind was the only thing truly mine and whatever he was doing made it hard to think clearly. His left hand rested on my shoulder and prompted me to look up into his glass covered grey eyes. The smile had left his lips; there was no visible emotion on his face, just a blank expression I could not decipher. Again the lower regions of my stomach fluttered.

I was bespelled. My lips parted ever so slightly, a soft gasping moan of longing escaped. My nipples tingled, begging for my breasts to be cupped, and still the wings of butterflies danced around the tight muscles low in my body, sending shivers up and down my spine, turning my knees to trembling jello. Those same chills claimed my neck, my pulse pounded and ached just under the surface for a mouth to cover and nip my skin. As if he had read my mind, the smile returned as he bent toward me. His left hand remained on my shoulder as his right arm encircled my waist and his lips pressed into mine. I melted into him, still unable to move my own body, but content to let him hold me and kiss me.

He pulled away all too soon, watching my face as he stood straight once more. His face again wore a blank expression. He withdrew his arms and turned toward the second living room, a room half the size of the main room we were in, and halted five steps in, which left me standing in the doorway. This room once held family portraits and a lovely clock above the mantle of the fireplace, but it only held the sleeper sofa his wife did not want and a rag-tag jumble of toy chest / ottoman combos, empty of everything they once held. The walls were once again white, the large poster-size frames gone. If he was hurt by what little he saw, he did not show it. Again, he stood watching my face. Suddenly I was very aware of my new position; I was the replacement to what escaped, I was to be his next victim, I was now his prey! With that thought, I tried to turn and run - the front door stood wide open in the next room, my car sat out on the curb just beyond the short sidewalk outside the door. Barely had my mind had that single thought when his eyes glinted behind the black frame glasses and his right hand pulled a short key ring out of his pocket, flashed my keys, and put them back. My small spark of hope died, though still without complete control of my body, such a plan to escape would hardly have worked.

The dining room with the massive breakfast nook was his next destination. The only items missing from this room were the pure silver tea sets his wife collected and her great-grandmother's China set, which left the hutch bare of anything except dust. A smell of cooked vegetable oil caught my nose and my eyes caught sight of a bag of fast food on the dining table. So strong was the smell of the French fries, I momentarily wondered how I could have missed the scent when I followed him into the house. Then he pulled a chair out and stood behind it, telling me with his eyes that I should sit. Weak kneed, all thoughts fled my brain, and I obeyed. I ate what he served in silence, barely conscious of his eyes on me the entire short meal.

With the small burger and fries finished, he kept watch as I cleaned the trash away, tossing the paper cups as well as the paper wrappers. On my return from the trashcan, he turned his chair out from the table and rested his left hand on his thigh. I knew without hearing any words he wanted me to sit on his lap. Screaming inside my head, I tried to stop my motions. I succeeded for one small faltering step and halted a single step away from the front of his chair. Triumph lit my face, and I glared down at him, wishing I could speak. His left hand lifted off his thigh and wrapped around my waist as the small smile played along his lips again, a glint of humor hovering in his eyes. Immediately at his touch, my will faded and he pulled me into his lap. His right hand stroked the side of my face, grasped my chin, and forced my face even with his. A low growl emanated from his chest, "I will be compensated for what I have lost." My brain screamed at my arms to struggle, but my body remained limp, even as the fear his words evoked traveled through my veins, sending shivers along my skin. A satisfied look crossed his face. He stood, with me in his arms, and, never losing eye contact, carried me into the first bedroom along the hall.

The first bedroom was a little girl's room. Pink wallpaper decorated the empty walls; pink lace trimmed the only window illuminating an empty room. Closet doors hung open to reveal a desolate and bare interior. He mentally surveyed the room, turned, and continued on to the next bedroom. The second bedroom was the little boy's room, blue and green and just as void of signs of life. His arms grew tense as they held me, his jaw clenched tight; the only visible clues to his emotional state. Out and down the hall to the master bedroom we went. The massive four poster bed remained, but little else survived his wife's departure. With a gentleness unlike his mood suggested existed, he deposited me on the bed and stood over me.

With precise movements, he untied my shoes and tossed them out into the hall, splattering dried mud on the carpet where they landed. He sat next to me and removed his own shoes with the same stiff motions. I managed to pull myself to a sitting position in the middle of the bed and watched him meticulously place each shoe on the floor of his side of the closet. When he turned around, the corner of his mouth tilted slightly at the sight of me half huddled on the bed. I had temporarily regained my senses but did not know how long it would last; I did not like being limp in another man's bed, unable to control my own body. He seemed to sense my determination not to allow him to control me, which only amused him more.

"Come here."

A simple command, voice neutral and low, but effective nonetheless as it slid like syrup over my skin. I shivered and crawled toward him, stopping just shy of the edge of the bed to sit with legs folded under me, curious what he would do next. I did not believe he would outright rape me, else he would have done so by now; no, he seemed to be biding his time making suggestions I was compelled to follow. I did not understand how he controlled my body; how he was able to coerce me to do things against my brain's protest, and fear that it really was me doing so of my own free will kept me from inquiring.

His right hand once more caressed down my cheek, shivers of anticipation at such a slight touch danced down my spine. I leaned into his hand, half moaning through my sudden breathlessness. Never before had such a powerful response been elicited from a simple touch. His left hand trailed down my shoulder, along my arm, and rested on my waist. He leaned down and gently kissed my lips as both of his hands traced their way up my sides, dragging my shirt up over my breasts. His mouth released its hold on my lips as his hands pulled my shirt over my head. He stayed bent over, inches from my face; his breath flowed over my lips, while his hands resumed their place on my waist.

"You now belong to me."

It was not just a statement, it was fact. I knew deep down in my core his words were true. And it scared me even more. I managed to suck in my breath, in an attempt to protest, but my words caught in my throat as I was thrown backwards onto the bed. He lowered his mouth to my stomach, hands still on my waist, and kissed a small trail around my bellybutton and down to the top of my jeans. My head fell back and my pent up breath escaped in a long drawn out moan. His hands quickly unbuttoned my pants and pulled them down slowly, his lips not far behind the waistband. I drew ragged breaths, unable to focus on anything but the sensations left behind by his hot breath.

Then it was over. I laid panting, breathless, staring at the ceiling as he stood and undressed himself with swift, sure movements. A noise at the closet turned my head; he stood there naked, his clothes hung. He turned to me, in all his glory, and held up a length of rope. That smile quirked his lips once more, and when he spoke, his voice was a mere low growl, "I do not think I will need this, but just in case...." He walked back towards me as I tried to get my balance on my elbows to pull myself back to the head of the bed. The rope helped raise me out of my confused state; the adrenaline pumped through my veins and allowed me a small measure of control over my body once again.

What little control I had was not enough to out run him. I had barely pulled myself backwards two feet when his hand grabbed my ankle and pulled me down again. My fear kicked back in, but at his touch I lost the ability to move; I trembled in his grasp, frozen underneath his curious gaze. He gently laid the rope down beside my head as he crawled atop me to straddle and pin me in place. He drew my arms above my head, held them in place with one hand, and halted with his mouth over my ear. I whimpered, both from fear and wanting to feel his teeth biting at my neck. I heard his guttural growl in response.

He was still, unmoving above me, and the nearness of him began to drive me crazy. I knew I should fight back, but my will was beginning to fade. The very idea of belonging to someone, specifically him, did not enrage me as it had when he first mentioned it; it began to turn me on as no thought ever had before. I writhed beneath him, barely aware that my body and my mind were on the same wavelength. He sensed the change in me and pulled himself up to look down in my eyes. His grey eyes were black now; our eyes locked together as his free hand slid up my body and under my bra. My breath hissed in when his hand attempted to fully encompass my breast. He pulled his hand out slowly, but stopped when his fingers locked on my hardening nipple; I closed my eyes and threw my head back, gasping.

"That's it," he growled, his breath hot on my neck. He took advantage of my arched back, reached around and unclasped my bra and drew it up over my head and tossed it across the room. His hand caressed down my body while his mouth latched on to my neck. My head spun, colors whirled around behind my closed eyes. His hand slowly traveled down to my hips and his mouth released my flesh. Instead of pulling off my panties, he slid his fingers around and underneath the thin fabric and halted, held still against my body. His colorless eyes watched me slowly come back to my senses.

My thoughts raced, I admitted to myself I was his, freely and willingly. His lips curled in a knowing smile. With deliberate slowness, eyes locked on mine, he pushed his fingers inside me, one by one.

"Cum for me."

I obeyed. Again and again.






I jolted upright, confused, and afraid of what had just happened. I was disoriented in the dark, the bed too hard to be mine. I reached around to find my phone and immediately bumped my hand on a table leg. Too confused to curse at the pain, I looked around again, forcing myself to look harder into the blackness. I was not in the half empty bedroom of a controlling dominant, but on the floor of my bedroom in my small apartment with my coworker asleep in my bed. It was just a dream!

I heard again the sound that woke me: a banging on my door knocker. I quickly found my robe and gingerly made my way through the sea of boxes and looked through the peephole as I called out an inquiry of welcome at four in the morning. I froze with my hand on the door chain. HE stood outside my door, "I know you have my wife in there. Tell her when she wakes, we need to talk."

Minx And Her Master: It Begins

She was rather shy,
Kept to herself mostly,
And yet, somehow,
She had every man's attention,
Most especially all the men at work.
She worked a small corporate cube,
Rather proud of her position,
Very conscious she was the only female,
At least the only one in her field at the company.
Being shy, she saw herself as bland,
Unknowingly making her even more desirable.
Though she thought this,
She didn't hide in bland clothing;
Quite the contrary, she showed what she had,
Cunningly showcasing her chest,
Flatteringly hiding her wide hips,
And wore heels to accentuate her thighs.
This isn't how she got her job,
But it was how she manipulated to keep it;
She didn't sleep with her boss,
She had no need to.
Eye candy and deal maker often described her;
She kept the vendors returning,
Kept the customers interested,
Kept the cross-Atlantic corporates off the VP's ass.
VP rewarded her with her job.
Content, she was.

Content, he was not.
He, not on the VP's pet project,
Envied her.
It should be his work, not hers,
He thought, eyes snarling at her.
Young, beautiful, poised, and quite defiant.
He knew her well, studied her often.
He rather enjoyed her flaunts,
But his angry jealousy bred revenge.
It wasn't unnatural for coworkers to mingle,
Or to run off to long lunches together.
A green rope snaked around his gut,
Giving him courage to approach,
Her, a young college girl,
He, a married father of four,
His second oldest her age and deceased,
Car accident the same day she came to work.
Double the anger boiled in him.
Miraculously she accepts the invitation;
Lunch, the next day, in his Dodge Diesel,
Out to a roundabout place, the other side of town.
Or so he says, his plans are different:
Roundabout way, yes, but not for lunch.

Lunch, food, her stomach growled,
Demanding nutrients now,
Clawing her sides as she climbs step sides,
His truck is huge, she struggles up.
Wide eyed, innocent, naive,
She stares out the window at the planes,
An airport is nearby,
International by look of the flights,
Both package and passenger.
Empty airport freeway packed,
Lunch's rush hour.
Construction blocks exits,
But opens dirt paths,
One is taken under a bridge near a creek,
Around in a U to the Frontage Road,
Nearside of a cemetery.
Eyes wide, she squirms uncomfortable,
"Cemeteries creep me, tombstones so cold"
She squeaks as they turn in.
"Nothing to fear, my son is buried here"
He half moans with grief,
Somewhat else catches her attention,
Was that anger? Resentment? Nervousness?
Her usual quick mind can't decide.

But decide he had.
Passed the cemetery was a gravel parking lot,
Surrounded by tall pines, skyscraper height,
Beautiful scenery for any purpose,
The trees let in enough light to diminish gloom,
Yet hid even the sound of the wind,
Silence is a most effective weapon.
Her unease fed his desires, he smiled into space.
Could he pull this off? He had no doubts.
"You, my dear, are a tease to us all"
He muses under his breath,
glancing at her from the corner of his eye.
He had been quiet, but she had heard and was afraid.
He saw her fear in her eyes and smiled.
A hand slithered forth, reaching for her knee.
She inched away.
But she was too slow.
The hand grasped her firmly, but not hard.
"Don't fight me in this, you invited it"
Saucer size eyes met his stern gaze.
Fingers traced up the inside of her jeans
-Contractors had relaxed dress code-
Resting just beneath her most sacred place.
"From now on, all that comes from your lips,
Are the words 'Yes Sir' and 'May I Sir?'"
Her slow, tentative nod earned her the smile of ownership.

Sweet Intoxication

Punishment you call it,
Denying me what I need.
I am pinned,
Immobile,
Yours to command.
Lips tease my skin,
Fingers leave fire in their wake,
Sensations grow inside,
A sweet intoxication.
So close,
Then nothing more.
Punishment you call it.