Susan Strict's story thread

[Susan Strict]

At the suggestion of the site admin here, I'm going to put all future stories in this one thread - unless it becomes too long to work properly.

Comments are, of course, welcome - even those from anyone who doesn't like the stories! I hope most of you will enjoy them.


Susan

[Susan Strict]

The following extract is from a novel by Susan Strict - "Her Prisoner - A Twist of Sadism"


It all started for Mike as a mildly kinky game with his friend Jenny. It took him completely by surprise to find that her sexual tastes were far more extreme than he could possibly have imagined, but even then he had no idea just what was happening. As Jenny departed for a week and her friend Eileen was left in charge, Mike was subjected to ever increasingly sadistic torment. Eileen's devious ingenuity meant that there was no chance of escape for him even when she left him to go to work. The arrival of Eileen's mother produced yet another twist, and quite a different problem for the unfortunate Mike

In this extract, Mike has been left tied to Eileen's bed. Eileen's mother has just come in with no idea that he's there.




The bedroom door burst open. “Eileen, you’re not still in bed...?”

She broke off as she saw him, and for a moment, even this strong, forceful, self-assured woman was lost for words.

“Oh.”

She stared, her eyes fixed on Mike’s manhood that, despite his embarrassment, pointed towards the ceiling as firm and rigid as a ramrod.

“Oh,” she said again after a few seconds, her eyes now sweeping around the room to make sure her daughter was not lurking in a corner.

“You must be a friend of Eileen’s?”

“Not exactly...” he stuttered.

Eileen’s mother raised her eyebrows. “She often ties strangers to her bed?”

“I was a friend of Jenny’s,” Mike tried to explain. “And now Eileen won’t let me go.”

He knew it sounded ridiculous, and it was quite evident that Eileen’s mother thought so too. She took a step into the room and closed the door behind her.

“You seem to be enjoying it.” She gestured in the general direction of his hardness, her eyes focusing on it once more.

“I can’t help it,” his voice quavered. “I’ve been like this for days.”

“Days! You’ve been tied to this bed for days? How many days?”

It was clear she did not believe him.

“No, not tied to the bed. Here. A prisoner. And she torments me and won’t let me...”

“Don’t talk such utter rubbish,” she told him. “A big strong man like you unable to get away from my feeble little daughter? Complete tosh.”

“Just untie me, please. I need to go...”

“Untie you? Do you seriously think I’m going to come anywhere near you while you’re quite naked and waving that thing around everywhere. I’m most certainly not. I’m quite sure you can free yourself if you make a little effort.”

“I can’t. I really can’t,” he begged. “Please...”

“Oh you hopeless little pervert,” she stormed angrily. “Let me have a look.”

She strode over to the top of the bed and bent down to examine the leather cuffs holding his wrists.

“They’re locked,” she said. “I can’t just undo them.”

“Break them off or something,” he moaned. “I have to get out of this.”

“Don’t whine,” she told him “I can’t stand whining men, and I don’t think Eileen would be very pleased if I started damaging her things. You’ll just have to stay where you are until she comes back.”

“There must be something you can do,” he insisted, looking up at her ample breasts that strained at her blouse not too far from his head as she bent over the straps around his wrists. “I need to...”

“I told you not to whine,” she said severely, straightening up and adjusting her blouse. “Anyway, you’re still enjoying it, I can see that. So don’t you give me any rubbish about being forced to do it. I saw you staring at my breasts.”

“I wasn’t,” he said apologetically.

“You were,” she insisted. “Which is probably why you’re still excited, you dirty little pervert.”

“I really wasn’t,” he said weakly, now desperate for her to find a way to release him so that he could go to the bathroom.

“Just look at it,” she retorted sarcastically. “It doesn’t just get that way on its own.”

As she spoke she bent down to take a closer look, resting one hand on the top of his thigh and the other on the lower part of his stomach. The result was inevitable. Her weight pressed down on her hand right onto his full bladder, and immediately urine squirted from the end of his manhood in a wide spray made wider and fiercer by his throbbing erection. She jumped back, but it was too late. Her face and clothes received the full force of it.

“You filthy little beast,” she said, wiping her face in disgust. “How dare you do that to me?”

“I couldn’t help it,” he muttered, horrified at what had happened. “I’m so sorry. You leaned on my stomach and...”

“I couldn’t help it, I couldn’t help it,” she mimicked. “Of course you could help it. How would you like it if I pissed all over you? Is that why you’re lying on a rubber sheet, because you can’t control yourself? She should have put you in nappies.”

“I said I’m sorry. I didn’t do it deliberately.”

“I’m absolutely soaked,” she complained, holding her blouse between finger and thumb on a part of it that was relatively dry and pulling it away from her skin. “Ugh.”

He watched in astonishment as she unbuttoned the blouse and took it off. She threw it at him, and then did the same with her skirt. She stood there, hands on hips, wearing nothing but her large, white underwear. Her knickers came up over her hips, heavily elasticated at the waist and with a reinforced panel at the front and underneath; a plain, wired bra that held her breasts in its two solid hammocks but did little to hide the deep canyon between them.

“I’ve got a good mind to piss all over you,” she said threateningly.

“Just find a way of getting me out of this,” he told her, more than a little angrily. “This is ridiculous. Break the damn locks. Cut the leather. I don’t care. Just do something instead of standing there like a fat idiot in your bra and knickers.”

As soon as he had said it he regretted it. It was impolite, certainly. In fact it was downright rude and not the way he would have spoken to a woman of her age in any circumstances, however abnormal. More than that, it was downright foolish when he was tied naked, spread-eagled and helpless to a bed and she was standing in her underwear, hands on hips, heavy, strong and fuming with anger less than three feet away from him. Even so, he was quite unprepared for what happened next.

A low scream broke from her lips. It was a scream of anger, and it rose in pitch and intensity until the room was filled with noise that rivalled the whistle of the most powerful steam locomotive entering a tunnel.

She leapt onto the bed and astride his chest, still screaming. She really was very heavy, and he struggled to breathe as her full weight pressed down on him.

“I’ll show you,” she screamed at him. “You can’t talk to me like that and get away with it.”

“Hey, I didn’t mean...” but he never finished. He was speechless in disbelief as she leapt to her feet with surprising agility for her size, and wrenched down her knickers before pulling them right off and throwing them to the floor. She stood looking down at him, and then as though she had suddenly made a decision she stepped forward, bent, grasped hold of the wooden frame of the bed behind him and squatted over him.

She was only an inch or two above him, her huge, powerful thighs poised threateningly, wide apart as though at any moment they would descend, clamp together and crush his head between them. His eyes were fixed not on those thighs but on the area between them, hovering directly over his face. He could not believe she was doing this, or that she would actually carry out her threat. Then he saw her muscles tense and the first drips of fluid fell on him.

He was shaking his head, about to tell her again that he really had not meant to do it to her, opening his mouth to object, to apologise, to say anything that would stop her, and then the deluge hit him.

It filled his mouth before he could shut it, making him splutter and cough. It cascaded over his face, into his eyes and ran down into his ears, up his nose, forming a puddle all around his head and shoulders in the indentation in the rubber sheet where he lay. On and on it went, gushing out of her and over him in a flood that seemed as though would never stop.

She had her eyes closed, gripping tightly onto the head of the bed and tensing her muscles to force every last drop from her. As the flow slowly subsided, she shook herself to remove the last of the moisture – and lost her grip on the bed frame.

She gave a little squeal as she descended onto him. The impact, although from only an inch or two above him, was massive. It felt as though a wet leather bag with a ton of mud and rocks in it had just fallen onto his face and kept on pressing downwards, forcing the back of his head down into the bed’s mattress. Her thighs came together in an effort to steady herself, and Mike found himself buried in her so deeply that the flesh of her buttocks and her upper thighs actually touched the rubber sheet either side of his face.

Everything went black, and Mike lost consciousness.

*

Mike’s unconsciousness lasted for no more than a few seconds. He came round to find that his nightmare was by no means over. After losing her grip on the bed frame and sitting down heavily on his face, she stayed there for a moment meaning only to recover herself before clambering to her feet. Somehow, that did not quite happen.

As his face was pressed deeply into her, she felt a warmth and a tingling she had not known for many years. It took her by surprise, although she had not pretended to herself when she first saw Mike naked, aroused and helpless that she did not find the sight of him both interesting and desirable. In fact, although seeing a naked man was far from new to her, to have one tied to a bed and completely helpless held a fascination much deeper than she would ever have imagined until she had seen Mike there.

She moved her legs apart slightly and bent her knees, kneeling up for a moment before settling back comfortably onto his face with a little sigh. She reached behind her to undo her bra and fling it away from her. Her large breasts, released from their prison, sprang forward and downward. She cupped them in her hands thoughtfully, content that even at her age they still kept some of their former shape and firmness.

As Mike opened his eyes he could see nothing but a mountain of flesh over him. Her face was somewhere far above him obscured by the bulge of her stomach, although he could just see part of her breasts jutting out like partially deflated basketballs. Her weight was solidly on the lower part of his face, preventing him from breathing and feeling as though at any moment he would be crushed under the huge bulk above him.

He tried to tell her she was suffocating him, but no sound came out. As he opened his mouth it was filled with her bulging flesh that seemed to have a life of its own and a determination to mould itself to the contours of his face. Even his nostrils felt invaded by her, and a steady trickle of moisture ran over him and into him.

She moved, just a fraction, but it was enough for him to suck in the mouthful of the air his lungs were demanding, and then she settled down on him again. His nose was now engulfed and pressed deeply into the wetness inside her, his nostrils forced shut by a hot, sticky, squeezing fleshiness.

Through the thickness of her flesh he felt her trembling, a slight rippling of muscles that reverberated from deep within her. There was a rhythmical pressing on his face, and a squeezing on his nose that became painful as the force inside her took control and even through so much flesh he felt her solid bones against the bone of his nose. Her thighs gripped his head on either side, threatening to crush it as the trembling rhythm turned to a shuddering and then a pounding of her body on his face and her thighs on either side of his head. At least her movements now allowed him to snatch breaths of air, without which he would shortly have lost consciousness again.

He thought she would never stop. Her movements on his face reached what he assumed was a peak of motion and moaning, hammering down onto him so rapidly that he would not have believed she could keep up such exertion for more than a few seconds, but she did not stop. Having reached that peak she continued at it, as though riding in a long distance race towards a winning post that moved away from her as rapidly as she approached it. Fluid squirted from her in tiny spurts over his face as she rode him.

Mike could feel his face becoming sore as she continued to bounce up and down on him, grinding down onto him with a little side-to-side or backward and forward motion that was a little different each time. He felt bruised, and although the space between her and his face each time she raised herself a little should have been more than enough for him to breathe, the wetness between them was making it more and more difficult by the second. He started to choke.

It was only as he reached the point where his breathing had been almost completely stopped once again by the sheer volume of fluid flowing from her that she did stop. It came quickly, with no warning. One moment she was steadily grinding herself up and down on him, and the next she had stopped, shuddering silently but otherwise not moving at all. And her full weight once more pressed onto his face, forming a completely airtight seal over his mouth and nose.

Again Mike was on the edge of unconsciousness, and this time it seemed there was nothing that would save him. Eileen’s mother was planted firmly on top of him and showing no sign of moving at all in the near future. She was breathing deeply, rivulets of perspiration running down her and over him, giving not the slightest indication she realised he was still underneath her and apparently quite incapable of moving for the moment even if she had had any idea that he was steadily suffocating. Her heavy flesh bulged over him and all around him. He was unable to move his head at all, not even a fraction of an inch.

The panic and pain of suffocation rolled over him relatively rapidly, giving way to a most odd feeling that was both terror and tranquillity at the same time. His vision was undoubtedly blurry, but it made little difference. All he could see around him was her solid flesh pressing onto him or overhanging him. His thoughts started to drift far from that bed and from that heavy, powerful woman on top of him.

It was quite a shock when she did move from him. At first, in his stupefied state, he had no idea what had happened. From being buried under a solid, fleshy mountain he felt as if he were floating, as light as air and without a care in the world, until all of a sudden that perfect world exploded in a crash of pain. She had slapped his face.

“Well?” she asked forcefully. “Are you alive or not?”

He felt compelled to admit that he was indeed alive, although only a moment or two ago he might have doubted it. She grunted contemptuously. “You’re a mess,” she told him and slapped his face again, not quite so hard this time.

He realised she was still astride him, kneeling up almost directly over his face. As he stared up at her a single drip of her juices fell from her, landing right on the very end of his nose. He blinked as it splashed.

“A disgusting mess,” she confirmed. “You need cleaning up a bit.”

She swung one leg heavily across him, stepping straight down onto the floor, gaining her balance with difficulty and nearly losing it again as she slid her other leg from the bed. She stood unsteadily with her back to him for a while before turning and staring down at him distastefully.

“I have never seen,” she said in a rather prudish tone, pausing as though she had lost track of what she was saying. “I have never seen a man in such a filthy mess.”

He resisted the temptation to tell her that most of the mess was entirely her doing. “Sorry,” he said meekly.

“You will be,” she told him ominously. She stared intently at him, taking in every inch of him from his head to his toes. “I suppose I have to clean you up a bit?”

“Uh... yes, please,” he said uncertainly, not at all sure whether it was the right answer. Dazed as he was, he had a shrewd suspicion that ‘cleaning him up a bit’ would involve something unpleasant. Even so, this was not Eileen and not anything like Eileen. The motivation that drove this woman, older and quite different from her daughter, were of a different flavour altogether. Agonising and terrifying as her actions had been, after her initial extraordinary retaliation when he had unintentionally urinated at her, everything she had done was purely for her own physical pleasure. When she sat on him it was, as far as he was aware, firstly an accident when she lost her grip on the bed frame and thereafter there could be absolutely no doubt about her arousal, frightening for him as the whole event had been. Perhaps, he hoped, she did not share Eileen’s obvious enjoyment at deliberately causing him pain and discomfort?

Without bothering to put on her clothes, she left the room and returned only moments later with a damp cloth.

“This will do the job,” she told him pleasantly, and before he had time to voice his thought that she would need something rather more than a small, damp rag to clean up properly, she bent towards him and slapped it over his face. She wiped it around his head briefly before standing up with it in her hands and beaming down at him.

“That’s much better,” she said, her eyes checking down his body again and coming to rest on his hardness still standing rigid and throbbing.

“Ah,” she said. “That too, I think.”

With a quick flick of the cloth she wiped his hardness, around the top of his legs and down his groin. He flinched at the sudden discomfort of the pressing of her firm fingers under the rough, damp cloth.

“You’re not that delicate,” she scoffed. “It looks like you could do with a bit of attention down there.”

“Uh... I... “ He was not sure what to say, but at this moment, despite her age and size, there was nothing he wanted more than for her to do something, anything, to relieve the desperate frustration that three days with Eileen had given him. She did not wait for his approval, and to his surprise she was on the bed and kneeling directly over his groin before he knew what was happening. She thrust herself down onto him, her fleshy buttocks slapping down against him as she slid all the way down his hardness without the slightest difficulty or hesitation. He gasped, and so did she.

For several minutes she did not move at all, sitting upright on him as she had done when she sat on his face, and now with her hands resting lightly on his chest and her eyes once again closed. This time, however, he was able to see her clearly without her mountainous flesh obscuring his view.

He was horrified. She was so much older than he was, and her body, tough and muscular as she always appeared, was lined and positively flabby. And yet there was a strength in her, a power and a sense of control that he could see would have been there just as strongly even if he were not tied to the bed and helpless. More than that, there was a desire in her, a lust that showed in her face and in the whole bearing of her body. If someone had asked him to explain it, he would have been completely unable to define it at all, but it was there and it was overpowering.

It was exciting; it was commandingly, irresistibly exciting, and it hit him with a force that shook his body and his mind, overwhelming him completely. He orgasmed.

She opened her eyes and looked at him in surprise. “That was quick,” she said.

She eased herself off him with an expression of disgust at his wilting manhood.

“You’ll regret doing that so quickly,” she told him...

[dark]

Another nice story. I wish I could be Mike The idea being forced to serve a friends mother is really a turn on.

[Susan Strict]

"The Triplets" is one of a collection of published short stories "Strictly Susan - The Second Collection"



“Come in,” they said in unison, giggling like silly schoolgirls.

He almost changed his mind. It was a joke, right? When the three girls told him they found him attractive and all wanted to make love with him, he had laughed and said he was sure he could manage all three of them.

“You couldn’t cope with one of us,” said the eldest scornfully.

“I could,” he had insisted, “You just give me the chance.”

It had all been very amusing, chatting them up and flirting outrageously in the quiet wine bar that evening. They all disappeared at the same time, to powder their noses, they had said, grinning. When they came back they looked more serious.

“You have absolutely no idea what we’d do to you if we had you,” said one.

“I’d take a chance,” he replied, still grinning widely.

They exchanged glances.

“OK. Be here at midnight tonight, “ one of them handed him a scrap of paper with an address scrawled on it, “But don’t say we didn’t warn you.”

They left, and he sat alone for a while quite convinced it was all a wind-up. If he went to that address it would not be the girls who lived there. Maybe they picked a street name and number at random; maybe they had deliberately given him an address of someone who was going to be very annoyed at being disturbed at midnight; maybe the house belonged to someone they did not like. Whatever it was, he was quite certain they were not serious.

But.... just suppose.....

He simply had to find out for sure.

And so there he was and there they were, all three of them in front of him as he stood on the doorstep scarcely able to believe they had actually given him their correct address.

“He’s shy.”

A hand reached out and grabbed the front of his shirt, pulling him in through the open doorway. The door shut behind him.

“I don’t think he’s up to it.”

“I bet he is.”

All three were close to him, so close he could feel their bodies touching him. A hand pressed against the front of his trousers, completing the reaction that had already inevitably started.

“He’s up to it all right. Feel.”

Two more hands slid over him, squeezing slightly and seeming to be checking size and length.
“Not impressive,” said one.

“He’ll do,” said another.

“Do you think he can keep it up?” said the third.

Exciting as it was to have these three touching him, he was beginning to feel this was rather more than he could cope with.

“I think I ought to leave,” he stuttered, although part of him desperately wanted to stay.

“Don’t you like us?” asked one, seeming to be surprised.

“Of course I like you.... ”

“Then you’re just being bad - and we can’t have THAT.”

Two pairs of hands grabbed his arms firmly, and almost before he knew what was happening his belt had been removed, and his trousers and pants had been pulled down to his ankles.

“Hey....” he started to protest, but the rest of his words turned into a gasp of pain as a hand shot swiftly upwards between his legs, grasping his balls and squeezing painfully.

“This way,” she said.

He had no choice. With her firm and painful grasp between his legs and the other two pulling his arms, he found himself moving in the direction she commanded whether he wanted to or not.

Into a bedroom they pulled him as he groaned at the pain of her pulling and gripping him, completely unable to speak. She let go just as they reached the edge of the bed, but the pressure on his arms from the other two was not released, and he was pulled facedown onto the bed.

“I’ll show you what we do with men who are bad.”

He shouted in pain as the riding crop swished through the air and hit him across his bare buttocks, but his cries were muffled as the two girls holding his arms forced his head down into the soft bed. Again and again the crop struck him until he was crying in pain and humiliation.

“Enough. Put him into position.”

Scarcely able to struggle he felt himself being pulled upward, turned onto his back, his remaining clothes removed and his arms stretched towards the corners of the bed above his head. Thick cords were looped around his wrists and around his ankles. He was spread, star-like, and attached inescapably.

“You do realise what we could do to you now?”

He stared up blankly, hardly able to comprehend what was happening to him.

“And you do realise what we’re going to do to you now?”

They were waiting for an answer. He shook his head fearfully.

All three laughed. It was not a pleasant laugh. The girlish giggles had gone, and now he heard only menace in their voices.

“Anything we like!” they chanted in unison.

[Susan Strict]

"The Artist" is a short story from a NEW collection of short stories by Susan Strict "Strictly Susan - The Sixth Collection" published 16th August 2007 and available from A1 Adult eBooks


“I’d really like you to pose for me,” she told him. “You would be a great subject for a painting.”

“Me?” he said in surprise. “Why?”

She shrugged. “Oh, I don’t know. I just think it would be interesting to paint you.”

He looked round the large room where they sat sipping coffee. The walls were lined with her paintings, and many more were stacked against the furniture. There were a variety of landscapes and portraits, but by far the majority of them were of nude women.

“You paint a lot of nudes,” he commented.

She nodded. “It’s more interesting. You can get right to the real character of the subject when they haven’t any clothes on.”

“You weren’t thinking of painting me without...” He broke off, seeing that she was nodding.

“Of course,” she said. “Now don’t tell me that you’d be embarrassed?”

He felt his face reddening. “I couldn’t,” he said firmly.

“Why on earth not?” she asked. “It’s not as if you would be the first male body I've painted, and most certainly not the first one I’ve seen!” She waved her hand in the direction of one corner of the room where there was a group of paintings of naked men posing tastefully.

“No, I know that,” he said hesitantly. “It’s not really that. It’s just...” His voice tailed away.

“What?” she demanded. “Tell me. There’s no good reason at all.”

“It’s just...” again he hesitated, but seeing her face he knew he had to tell her. “You’re a very attractive woman. If I was naked and you were painting me, I’d get... well, you know what I mean.”

“Oh.” She was genuinely surprised.

“Oh,” she said again. “I’m sure you wouldn’t really.”

“I would,” he nodded emphatically.

“Anyway,” she went on as though she had not heard him. “I don’t mind. It’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”

“You don’t understand,” he said anxiously. “It wouldn’t be any good anyway. There’s absolutely no way I could keep still for long enough for you to paint me if I was naked in front of you. It just wouldn’t work.”

“Ah. I see,” she said, and he could tell she was thinking hard. “Actually,” she carried on slowly, “That gives me another idea. I wonder whether...”

“What?” he asked, apprehensive about what she might suggest next, but at the same time fascinated and wanting to know what was in her mind.

“I’ve always wanted...”

“What?”

“But I’ve never asked anyone if they would do it...”

“What?”

“And you did say you would have trouble keeping still...”

“What?”

“So that would be the answer, wouldn’t it? We could resolve two problems in one go!”

“WHAT?!”

“Oh nothing really.”

He almost stamped his foot in frustration.

“What could resolve two problems in one go?”

“Nothing. Really, it’s nothing. It was a silly idea.”

“I’m sure it wasn’t,” he told her diplomatically. “Tell me. I’ll soon tell you if I think it’s silly!”

“Well,” still she hesitated. “I’ve always wanted to do a series of paintings on the subject of bondage – you know, with people tied up and that sort of thing. And when you said you wouldn’t be able to keep still, I had a sudden picture in my head of you tied up while I painted you, that’s all. Silly, wasn’t it?”

“Yes,” he said vaguely. “Very silly.”

“I thought so,” she agreed. “It would be very silly indeed for me to think that you would let me take off your clothes and then tie you up so you were helpless while I examine you carefully for my painting... ah.”

“What?” he asked again, startled by her sudden ‘ah’.

“I see you find the idea rather exciting.”

“I don’t,” he began to protest, and then realised she was looking straight at the front of his trousers. The growing bulge was obvious. He could not deny it.

“In the bedroom would be best,” she suggested. “We can start with a painting of you tied to my bed.”

He protested weakly, but he made no effort to stop her as she led him into her bedroom. After a search in the drawers she found a number of old dressing gown cords.

“Perfect,” she said, throwing them onto the bed.

“If you say so,” he replied doubtfully.

She stared at him. “Aren’t you undressed yet?” she asked. “Hurry up, or we’ll never be finished.”

Reluctantly he began to undress. “I’m really not too sure about this,” he told her as he dropped his shirt on the floor and hesitated, his hands on the fastenings of his trousers.

“Don’t be silly,” she insisted. “There’s no problem being an artist’s model. Hundreds of people do it.”

“Yes,” he pointed out, “But most of them aren’t tied to a bed when they do it.”

“We’ve been over that,” she said impatiently. “It’s the best way to keep you still enough for me to paint you, and it gets me started on my new project at the same time. It’s perfect. You know it is.”

“Even so...”

“Do you need me to help you undress?” she asked sarcastically, and moved towards him with arms outstretched as if intending to reach for the buttons on his trousers.

“No! It’s OK. I can do it,” he said hastily, and without further delay he dropped his trousers to the floor.

“And those.” She indicated his underpants.

“But...”

She put her hands on her hips, an exasperated expression on her face.

“OK.” He slid them down and stepped out of them, turning away from her as he did it.

“Shy?” she asked.

“Maybe. It’s just that I've got a bit of a...”

She walked round in front of him, looking down towards his groin.

“Yes,” she said quietly, “I see what you mean. Well, that’s all right, and in fact it’s perfect for the paintings I had in mind. Hurry up and lie on the bed, and we can get started.”

He lay on the bed and let her tie his wrists and ankles to the corners with the thick cords.

“You don’t have to tie them so tightly,” he complained as she tightened the knots.

“It needs to be realistic,” she told him. “Otherwise the painting won’t look right.”

As soon as she was happy that he was secured properly, she went to fetch her painting equipment. As he lay there naked and quite unable to free himself from the strong, knotted cords holding him, he was beginning to regret agreeing to this. He hoped it would not take too long.

She started painting. It was less than fifteen minutes before he was squirming and straining in discomfort.

“Keep still!” she called across the room. “I can’t paint you if you keep wriggling.”

“This is very uncomfortable,” he told her. “I think we had better stop. Are you nearly finished?”

“Finished? Don’t be daft. I’ve only just started. A decent painting takes four or five sessions at least, and I usually paint for at least three hours each session!”

“I can’t stay like this for all that time,” he said, horrified. “I had no idea it took so long.”

“Well you’re no good to me while you’re wriggling around like that.” She put down her brush, stood up and walked over to the bed. She stood for a while, looking down at him thoughtfully. She bent down and untied one of the cords from the frame of the bed.

“That’s better... hey!”

Instead of releasing the cord she pulled it tight, stretching his arm far out to the side and above his head. She tied the cord around the frame of the bed once more, tightening it as much as she could.

“What on earth are you doing?”

“I have to stop you wriggling around,” she said as she went around to the other side of the bed and tightened the cord restraining his other wrist. “I don’t think you’ll wriggle so much if your arms and legs are stretched out a bit.”

“Stop! Stop! That really hurts!” he complained loudly as she pulled the cords around his ankles, spreading his legs wide apart.

“Don’t be such a wimp,” she reprimanded him. “And don’t make such a noise. I really don’t want to have to gag you just yet. I want to get the expression on your face just right.”

She ignored his protests and went back to her painting. It was several hours before she finally put down the brushes and announced she had had enough for the day.

“Thank God,” he muttered. “Untie me now.”

“I could untie you,” she said thoughtfully, “But I’d really like to take some pictures that I can work from while you’re not here. It won’t take long. Don’t go away.”

He was almost crying with frustration and discomfort, begging her to release him as she walked from the room and reappeared with a small digital camera on a tripod. She set it up next to the bed.

"You know," she said pleasantly. "You keep moaning, but I don't think you really mean it. If you weren't enjoying this at all, you wouldn't still be aroused like that. I'm quite impressed. You've been there all afternoon and not once did I notice the slightest sign of any drooping at all. How does it feel?"

"Bloody frustrating!" he told her.

She laughed. "I'm pleased to have given you so much excitement. Is it entirely me? Would you react the same way with any woman you find reasonably attractive? Or is it being tied up that does it to you?"

He closed his eyes and groaned.

"All right," she said abruptly. "I don't care what it is. All that interests me is getting the paintings right, and evidently you're perfect for that. I have to say that this is better than I ever expected, so whatever is doing it to you let's keep on doing it. Now, briefly, to explain this camera: this will take a picture automatically every few seconds, so I’ll have plenty to work with in next to no time. You just stay right as you are.”

“Just hurry up,” he said feebly, not really caring what she did so long as she released him soon.

“There’s no rush. You’re not going anywhere just yet,” she laughed.

“It’s not funny,” he said angrily. “I’m in absolute agony here.”

“You’re not,” she said seriously. “You’re not in agony in the slightest. It’s just a little uncomfortable, that’s all.”

“I am,” he insisted. “You have no idea how much it hurts.”

“Rubbish,” she said flatly. “But I’ll show you what real agony is. I was going to do that anyway, because I want some pictures of that too.”

He thought she was joking, and he told her he did not find that very funny either. She was rummaging in a drawer ignoring him.

“What did you say?” she asked at last, holding up a small box with two wires attached to it.

“What the hell is that?” he demanded, his earlier comment forgotten with the nasty suspicion that he knew exactly what she was holding.

“I think it will be perfect,” she said with a note of satisfaction in her voice. “I bought it when I strained a muscle in my arm last year, although I never thought about using it quite this way at the time.”

“What?” He was more than a little confused.

“Electrical pulses,” she told him. “Really excellent for killing the pain in a damaged muscle. It feels ever so nice when it’s on the really low settings, and...” she blushed, “I must admit I’ve used it a few times on parts of my body it wasn’t really meant for.”

“I...” He had a good idea what was coming next.

“As I said,” she went on, “It’s really quite exciting on the low settings. It only starts to become uncomfortable when the dials are turned about halfway up. I think it will be just right to produce the sort of effect I want, particularly if I use the full power. It’s funny, I’ve never had the nerve to try that on myself, so it really will be fascinating to see how you react to it. I wonder whether I should gag you first?”

“Don’t!” he said in alarm, but she was already pressing the sticky pads onto his hardness. He gasped as her fingers touched him.

“So it is me exciting you?" she asked, a little startled. "I wouldn't have thought I'd be the type who gets you going, but I must say I'm really quite flattered. Perhaps we could explore that a little more some time?"

She gazed at him, a slightly bemused look on her face. He closed his eyes and tried to think of something else, half expecting her to lean over and kiss him. Instead, she stepped back away from him.

"This is going to be really good,” she said confidently. “The expressions on your face will give me enough material to work with for weeks.”

He had almost forgotten the camera, which was still clicking every few seconds. He groaned, and as she stepped back and turned up the dials on the control box his groan turned to a shout of pain.

“It’s not even a quarter of the way up yet,” she told him in surprise. “I know that doesn’t really hurt. I’ve done it on myself much further than that, so I know what I’m talking about. You’re just being silly.”

"I'm NOT," he moaned. "You're not the same as me. You're a woman. You have NO idea what it feels like for a man to have that thing on there. Take it off me!"

"I think I have a very good idea what it feels like," she said confidently, "And I'm certainly not taking it off you until I've finished with it. You really are just being silly. Look, you're still excited. It can't be hurting you that much or that thing of yours would have gone down long ago."

His discomfort increased as she slowly turned the controls higher and higher. He writhed helplessly, and squealed at the feelings that were not exactly pain but that started as more of a dull thumping and steadily became faster, stronger and more insistent. It reached the point where it was a continuous vibration of electrical pulses, tensing his muscles in his stomach and his legs, and the sensation in his hardness was indescribable.

"Stop! Stop! Stop! Stop!"

"Why?" she asked vaguely, bending over the camera.

"I'm going to… aaaagh!"

"Oh. Good heavens. I didn't think it would have that effect on you, certainly not on those settings anyway. Not unless you were trying to do it…?"

"Turn it off! Ah! Ah! Ow! Oh! For goodness sake turn it off!"

"Hang on a moment," she told him calmly, checking the camera again. "These are the most wonderful photographs. I never thought I'd be able to take anything as good as these."

It was a minute or two before she did turn it off and carefully removed the sticky pads from his wilting manhood.

"Yuck," she commented. "You have made a mess. I must say I'm really surprised. I had no idea. It's a pity really, because now I know that it's me who excites you, I was considering whether to… well, you know, give you some attention. You've been so co-operative, and I'm really very grateful for your help. Not only that, I suppose I have to admit it's rather nice seeing you naked and excited that way. Even artists like me do respond to that sort of thing, if you know what I mean."

"What?" He was panting and shaking all over. His voice was faint, and he had absolutely no idea what she was talking about.

"Sex," she said bluntly and very loudly. "I want to have sex with you. Do I have your attention now?"

"Yes! I mean no, I can't," he wailed.

"I can see that," she said in a tone of disgust. "So knowing that you really did want it with me, what am I supposed to do now? All dressed up and nowhere to go, so to speak."

"I don't know. Just let me go. Please let me go."

"Oh that's right. Just like a man to think only of yourself. You've had your fun," she snapped.

"I hurt all over," he moaned.

"Do you, or do you not want to have sex with me?" she asked, a dangerous glint in her eye that he missed completely.

"Of course I do. Some other time or something. YES I WANT TO HAVE SEX WITH YOU." He tried to control his shaking limbs and to steady his breathing. "Tomorrow. Any time. Just not now. NOT NOW."

"Any time but not now?" she nodded. "Right now, I think. If you can't manage it with that sorry little thing, you'll just have to satisfy me another way."

He was not looking at her, and he completely missed her taking off the overalls she always wore for painting. He did not see her remove her blouse nor kick off her shoes nor remove her old trousers. He was staring straight at the ceiling, just managing to calm his shuddering and to bring his breathing under control when she unclipped her bra and slid down her panties. The first he knew of her nakedness was when she leapt onto the bed and straddled his face, pressing down onto him and her desperate command "lick me!" was ringing in his ears.

For a moment he lay motionless without reacting at all, stunned and bewildered.

She was not inclined to wait for him. She pushed forward and then back, concentrating on the sensation of the contours of his face underneath her, then positioned herself carefully and pressed down more firmly.

He was smothered. His mouth and nose was completely covered by her soft, damp, clinging flesh, his nose virtually inside her. Automatically he opened his mouth to shout, and although some air escaped from it around her, all he could breathe in was her soft resilience that seemed to invade and fill him.

She sat motionless for only a few seconds, and then began a slow rocking back and forth. It was more than enough, in her already excited state, to heighten that excitement and, after no more than a few brief seconds, it was enough to take her as close to her climax as she usually only managed after many minutes.

It surprised her more than a little; shocked her, even. From the moment he had allowed her to tie him to the bed she had felt the faintest stirrings of arousal deep inside her. As she painted, she had sensed an excitement within her that was more than either the thrill of working on a new project or the natural interest she so frequently found awakening within her when she was studying a new, nude, male subject. When she had set up the camera and attached the electrical pulse device to his hardness, it was then that stirrings within her became deeper and definite. She knew then that this was something special, something unusual, and something she had never experienced before. As he squirmed in helpless discomfort her excitement had been mounting, and when finally and unexpectedly he produced what was for him an earth-shaking ejaculation, those stirrings within her were at a crescendo of sensation that demanded satisfaction and completion.

Even so, the explosion of climactic pleasure that hit her now was far beyond anything she expected or anything she had previously known.

She screamed, shuddered, screamed again, and fell back onto the bed beside him, gasping and quite unable to move for several minutes.

When, finally, she sat up and looked at him still lying there restrained and helpless, their eyes met and locked. Neither of them said a word.

*

"Tomorrow?" she asked as he left, half an hour after she released him from the bed.

"Of course," he said. "You need to finish that painting."

"I do," she agreed. "I need you in the same position."

"I know you do," he said.

[snook]

Your stories are so erotic and well wriiten. I've enjoyed them all. Please send more. Thanks again; snook

[Susan Strict]

Thank you, Snook.

Now here's something a little out of the ordinary: "The Flinker" is set in an alternative society where men, the flinkers, are no more than objects for the pleasure of the females. This extract from the beginning of the novel sets the scene for the rest of the book, which follows the misfortunes of one female, a "matogle", who starts to worry about the fate of the flinkers but whose efforts to do anything about it lead her further and further into deep trouble. Her own particular sexuality and desires become her overriding consideration, and finally prove to be her downfall. The full book is available from A1 Adult eBooks



It was his turn to be the flinker.

He had been dreading it for months, although he knew perfectly well it was inevitable. He also knew that it was likely to be worse than last time, for now there were fewer males there would be more women at the scortium.

He dragged his feet as he walked, knowing that to be late would be unthinkable yet still reluctant and wondering if there was any way he could avoid it. There was not, of course.

He was met at the door by two of them, and instructed to disrobe. Miserably he left his clothes in a pile, and entered the benglion.

As he expected, there were more of them than ever. At least, he told himself, the majority were vixlings which would make it easier for him to keep the slambold when they demanded it, but there were a fair number of matogles and nagolds too. It made little difference, he told himself, the energy of the vixlings always seemed inexhaustible and although the matogles and nagolds might be less energetic their requirements were always quite as demanding.

All of them turned to look at him as he walked in, some of them rising from their comfortable chairs to see him more clearly.

He heard a voice, “Not very pleased to see us, is he?” A ripple of unpleasant laughter went round the benglion, setting the tone for the session.

A vixling asked “What first?” so this was clearly her first time. He heard a matogle reply in a low voice, but could not catch her words. He did not need to hear them anyway, he already knew.

Four of them advanced on him, two took hold of his arms while the other two stood in front and behind him. Why they bothered with the ritual was always a mystery to him. He knew where he needed to go and what he needed to do without them forcing him. He had done it many times before, and would continue to do it until, one day, at one of these sessions… he shuddered and put the thought out of his mind.

He heard a nagold giving instructions. “Harlia, watcher. He’s not to lose consciousness. Jilnira and Manglia, lifters - just in case. Make sure you listen carefully to Harlia’s instructions. Granchen, scramper. If Harlia instructs you, and ONLY if Harlia instructs you then make him scream once and then stop. Are we all ready?”

There was a question from the back of the room.

“Ah yes,” said the nagold. “Time limit.”

There was complete silence in the room.

“I think,” said the nagold slowly, “That on this occasion there will be no time limit.”

There was a gasp, an excited gasp from all of them.

“We’ve waited some time for this,” continued the nagold, “And I don’t intend to rush it. If we’re here for days, weeks, then so be it. Let it commence.”

No time limit! Surely, with so many of them, they could not possibly do that to him? Surely he would not survive it?

He had no more time to think about it. He was, as he knew he would be, pulled down onto his back on a wide padded table in the centre of the benglion. His ankles were buckled into place, and then his wrists. Granchen grabbed his gelkins and squeezed painfully in demonstration and to test what pressure would be needed to make him scream. She recited the rules: “Teeth, and you scream. Lack of effort, and you scream. Any attempt at avoidance and you scream. Make the required effort and all will be well.”

The first, a vixling, was already clambering eagerly onto the table. Kneeling with her legs either side of his head, she raised her short skirt and lowered herself gently onto him. Obediently he started to kiss and lick, well aware that Harlia was watching closely and ready to give Granchen instructions if he failed to perform in any way.

“Don’t rush it,” advised a nagold who was standing close to the table. “You’ve got all the time in the world to enjoy it, so make the most of it.”

The vixling pressed down onto him, smothering him completely for a few seconds but no longer. Yet. He knew, as she did, that Harlia was watching for that too, and that Jilnira and Manglia would lift the vixling immediately on her command if he started to lose consciousness - although he also knew that it would only be long enough for him to breathe enough to remain conscious, and then it would continue. He knew too that feigning unconsciousness simply was not worth the risk with Granchen holding him ready to squeeze at Harlia’s command.

The vixling started a slow back and forth motion on him. Slow. Very slow. She had taken the nagold’s advice not to rush. It was not going to be quick.

And there were at least fifty of them in that room...

[Susan Strict]

"Only Her Plaything" is a new novel from Susan Strict. The extract below is from some considerable way into the book.


She eased herself forward and slid the nightdress over his face before moving right up against him. Her bare thighs were on either side of his head, squeezing and pressing him down. He tried to raise his head to kiss her right between her legs, but found himself unable to move.

"Kiss me," she commanded, her voice muffled as the soft flesh of her thighs covered his ears.

He tried. He put out his tongue and tried to reach her. The very tip of it touched her, but no more than that. She must have felt the slight touch, because a shiver went through her. He strained to make more contact with her, but it was impossible.

"I can't," he said. "I can't reach."

A tiny sound of frustration came from her. She lifted from him a fraction, and then descended gently onto his face. He kissed the flesh that pressed between his lips and pushed his tongue into her before he realised she was covering his nose too. He could not breathe at all.

He tried to tell her she was suffocating him. His voice, now, was muffled, and his urgent message failed to reach her. All she felt was the movement of his mouth underneath her. She wriggled, squeezing her thighs together and enjoying the pleasurable sensations.

For nearly a whole minute she did not move her position at all, the muscles in her thighs flexing and gripping. He strained to move from under her, desperately trying to twist his head in any direction to find the smallest space with some air to satisfy his screaming lungs. The more he moved, the harder she pressed on him and the more difficult it was to make any movement at all. She was not a large girl, and could not by any stretch of the imagination be described as heavy, and yet with his arms and legs restrained there was nothing he could do to move her even a fraction.

He could have bitten at the flesh that pressed into his mouth. Without a doubt that would have moved her, and without a doubt she would have been furious. For some reason it did not even occur to him at the time to do that. Perhaps, if she had not moved before he started to lapse into unconsciousness some instinct would have taken over and his teeth would have given her the signals his voice could not. Or perhaps when he stopped moving she would have known what was happening and would have given him the air he so badly needed. All he knew in those moments when he was convinced she would suffocate him totally was that her pleasure was uppermost in her mind and not likely to be overturned by the mere knowledge that he was unable to breathe for a while.

He drove his tongue as far into her as he could, hoping the feeling it might give her would be enough to move her. He pressed it up against her flesh and withdrew it slowly and steadily, feeling the unevenness of that part of the inside of her body. He heard her muffled squeal and he did it again, and again.

She lifted from him a little, and immediately pressed down once more. It was so quick and so unexpected that he did not take the breath he needed. She lifted again, and this time he was ready to snatch a little of the air his lungs demanded. When she began a rhythmical up and down motion, pushing his head down into her soft bed and using its springiness to help take her up and nearly off his face completely, he took advantage of those brief gaps in being smothered totally to breathe the air that was becoming damper and more humid by the second.

He would not have believed that any woman, let alone this small, young woman, could have kept up that movement for so long. To him, underneath, feeling crushed, still half suffocated and now bruised by the force with which she pressed him down over and over again, it seemed like hours. It felt impossible that anyone could have such energy to continue with such unflagging enthusiasm; yet continue she did and with steadily increasing force onto his upturned face.

He was sure that it could go on no longer; that she must tire soon. He was only partly right. Sure enough she did eventually stop bouncing on him, and immediately she started to push herself backward and forward on his face without breaking contact with him at all as she moved. Although he still managed to grab an occasional breath of air as she moved one way or the other, her movement was more erratic and not allowing him to anticipate her rhythm.

This, too, went on for what seemed to him to be forever, in one impossibly long sustained burst of energy. His whole face was wet and slippery.

Finally it stopped. She squealed, and broke contact with him completely. He took breath after breath of cool air as her squealing went on and on, and then suddenly she descended onto him covering his mouth, his nose right inside her and her body shuddering and shaking.

Her thighs crushed together on the sides of his face. Her muscles contracted, squeezing him painfully. His nostrils were pressed together, closed. Her whole body shook, and fluids came from her in what felt to him like a flood that filled his mouth and ran into his eyes half blinding him. It was no rapid climax. It went on and on, her body continuing to shudder and squeeze, her squealing turning to gasps and moans; his nose crushed and feeling as though it would break at any moment; his breathing blocked completely. He was very close to passing out when finally she did raise herself from him, her contracting muscles tugging convulsively at his nose as if trying to take it with her, and she sat back onto his chest breathing heavily.

It was only moments later as he lay stunned and silent that she spoke.

"Did you say you wanted to go to the bathroom?" she said as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

"Yes, please," he murmured.

[galruch2]

As always the extracts are superb, please keep them up.

[Susan Strict]

"Wetsuits" a new, very short story, not much more than a "vignette" - based on a fantasy told to me by one of my friends...




They clustered round him in excitement, wearing their wetsuits still wet and glistening from the surf. Their strong, young, shapely bodies, curves accentuated by the tight, smooth wetsuits, had an immediate effect on him.

"Oooh, look," said one of them. "He likes us."

It was obvious, and wearing only his thin shorts there was not much he could do to hide it.

Their hands were on him, touching his chest, his nipples, his buttocks, the bulge at the front of his shorts, and then finding their way inside his shorts and pulling them down.

"Stop it," he said weakly and without any conviction in his voice.

"Silly," said someone. "He doesn't mean it," said another.

The hands fought briefly to gain possession of him, one of them winning and clasping firmly around his hardness. Another closed around his testicles, not squeezing or hurting him but holding him securely. He could not have pulled away now even if he had wanted to.

Their lips were against his skin, kissing, tasting and sucking. How many of them there were he had no idea. He felt as though there was not a square inch of his body that was not receiving attention from strong young fingers or exploring tongues.

"You mustn't do this," he muttered, and as he spoke one of them thrust her tongue deep into his mouth, effectively silencing him.

The fingers around his hardness squeezed, tightening and relaxing rhythmically. Other fingers and tongues caressed, rubbing and stroking wherever there was space for them to reach his bare skin. He had no idea where his shorts had gone. At that moment he did not care.

He did not remember lying down or being pushed down onto the warm, soft sand. Now, with less of his body available to them, he could feel several hands burrowing around and a little underneath him to find a space on him that was not already occupied by one of the others.

His legs were lifted, soft lips running up and down the back and insides of his thighs. A tongue pressed onto the very end of his manhood, circling and licking. He closed his eyes, and tongues licked his eyelids at the same time as others thrust into his ears.

The hand on his manhood started a slow up and down movement, still squeezing at the bottom of each stroke.

"Don't do that!" he pleaded, managing to push the probing tongue from his mouth for a moment.

"Why?" asked a voice.

"Because you'll make me... It will go everywhere."

There was laughter. "It doesn't matter," came the reply. "We're all wearing wetsuits!"

The fingers began to pump more vigorously. He knew it would not be long before he reached an orgasm, and he could not have stopped it however hard he tried.

His muscles tensed. He held his breath. They must have known the signs, and suddenly everything changed.

The caressing, stroking fingers pinched; the soft lips and licking tongues became sharp teeth that nipped and bit at his flesh; the hands on his buttocks forced between them, a finger and then two fingers pressing into his rectum as far as they could go and thrusting painfully in and out; the tongue in his mouth withdrew, and over his face the wetsuit-covered buttocks and closed thighs of one of the girls covered him completely, trapping him in a rubbery, airless prison, smothering him completely.

He did it, and at once they left him as he moaned, wriggled and squirmed in discomfort on the hot sand.

He heard their happy giggles as they rushed back towards the rolling surf.

"See you again tomorrow," called one of them.

There was no sign of his shorts.

[Susan Strict]

Gemma's Torture

"Gemma's Torture" is a short story from a collection of short stories "Strictly Susan - The Fourth Collection" available from A1` Adult eBooks



“He doesn’t mind being tied to the bed,” she said. “As long as there’s a woman on the end of it.”

Neil laughed. “I’d never have thought he liked that sort of thing,” he told her.”

“Well,” Gemma admitted, “I don’t think he does, really. He just tolerates it because I like it, although he’s a lot less keen than he used to be since I put on a bit of weight.”

He looked at her critically. “You’re not skinny,” he observed.

“Are you calling me fat?” she asked angrily. Neil was unsure whether her anger was serious or just in fun. After all, it was she who had mentioned that she had put on some weight.

“No, no,” he backtracked quickly, “Cuddly. Nice and cuddly.”

“That means fat,” she said.

“No,” he insisted, “Cuddly is nice.”

“It doesn’t make any difference what you call it,” she said unhappily. “He doesn’t like me sitting on him now I’m more cuddly than I used to be.”

“So...” Neil was working it out, “You used to tie him to the bed and sit on him?”

“Among other things,” she agreed. “I like to have him like that.”

“Yes...” Neil was trying to think of something appropriate to say. He had the picture in his mind of being tied to her bed with her sitting on him.

“You wouldn’t object, would you?” she asked. “You wouldn’t care that I was a bit cuddly if it was you tied to my bed?”

“I think he might object if you started tying other men to your bed,” Neil told her with a smile.

“He won’t be back until this evening. He wouldn’t know.”

He stared at her with the sudden realisation that she might be serious. She stared back, as if daring him to ask her.

“You wouldn’t like it,” she said quietly. “You wouldn’t like being tied to my bed.”

He said nothing. She put out her tongue suggestively, and looked slowly from his feet until her eyes met his, as it she were licking all the way up his body in that one slow movement of her head.

“You wouldn’t like it,” she repeated. “I might do all sorts of things to your naked, defenceless body.”

“I’m sure you wouldn’t do anything nasty,” he said hesitantly.

“I might,” she told him. “You might be struggling desperately to get away after the first few minutes, and of course you couldn’t because you would be tied too tightly.”

“I don’t think...” he started to say, but she interrupted him.

“I don’t think you would actually scream,” she said, “And if you did I could always gag you or sit on your face so that no sound came out. You’d probably like that, if I sat on your face. I bet there’s nothing you would like better that to be right up between my legs and underneath me.”

“I could suffocate,” he said weakly.

“You might,” she agreed. “Perhaps that’s why he doesn’t like it so much now. Perhaps now I’m a little bigger he is scared he won’t be able breathe at all when I’m on top of him. I do get rather carried away when his face is pressing against me. I tend to lose control, if you see what I mean.”

“Yes. I see what you mean.”

“Of course,” she went on, “There is a lot more to it than just sitting on you. There is nothing I like better than to have a man squirming with frustration while I tickle him or lick him for hours and hours and hours...”

She saw his reaction, and she knew he was doing his utmost to control it. He was trembling slightly, his face was a delicate shade of pink, and he shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

“Sometimes,” she said seriously, “I have to be a bit rougher when he needs punishment. Sitting on a man is all very well, but if he isn’t well behaved then he needs a good whipping and he needs to feel my fingernails and my teeth. A scratch, a bite or a hard squeeze in just the right place can do wonders for encouraging good behaviour, particularly if it is repeated over and over again and there’s nothing you can do to stop me.”

‘You’. She kept saying ‘You’. She really did mean to do it to him. His excitement was growing, but also his concern. He found her attractive and exciting, but he had no particular desire to be tied up much less to submit himself to any of her ‘punishment’ as she called it.

“I wouldn’t like that,” he said as firmly as he could. He was aware that his voice was shaky and uneven.

“Like it?” she raised her eyebrows. “You aren’t supposed to like it. That’s the punishment if you aren’t good. If you are good then it’s all quite different.”

“Oh right,” he said sarcastically, “Like, you just sit on my face and smother me to death?”

“Now you’re being silly,” she said. “It wouldn’t be that bad. That’s what I keep telling him. You wouldn’t believe how good it would be once I really get turned on, and having a man tied up and under my control does that to me. I just love to be on top and have him kiss me underneath.”

“No.” Now he was quite firm about it. “It wouldn’t be good.”

“It would,” she insisted. “And he knows it. He always loved it before. He just doesn’t seem to want it now.”

Neil shrugged. “I can’t understand it,” he said feebly.

“Look,” she said, “Come and have a look. I’ll show you some of the stuff I use and all that.”

She was half way up the stairs before he realised. She turned. “What are you waiting for?” she asked. “Come on.”

He followed, nervous and apprehensive, but feeling more excited than he could remember ever feeling in his whole life.

“Look,” she said as he came into her room.”

He looked. The large wooden framed bed nearly filled the small room. “Very nice,” he said.

“No, look properly.” She bent down by the side of the bed and reached underneath, pulling out a long strap with a leather cuff attached to the end of it.

“Four of them,” she said proudly. “One attached to each corner. Once they’re buckled round your wrists and ankles there’s absolutely no way you can get free until I unbuckle them.”

He examined them. He was sure she was right. If he was stretched out on the bed with his arms and legs firmly attached to each corner and those cuffs buckled tightly, it would be virtually impossible to undo them. He shivered.

“Here,” she said as she delved into the drawers in the corner, “I have some great things here, although there are some I’ve never used. How about this whip?”

She waved a short multi-tailed whip.

“It wouldn’t hurt a lot,” she said seriously. “It’s too short to get any real force into it. It just stings a little, but it is quite effective when it’s applied vigorously to the groin area.”

“I’m sure it is,” he said apprehensively, yet no less excited. Would she really start whipping his genitals with that once she had him tied to the bed? He hoped not.

“I have lots of things,” she told him, picking them out of the drawers and showing them to him one at a time.

“Gloves,” she said. “Furry ones, tight leather ones, rough, spiky, latex, rubber, lace, abrasive, surgical, woollen. Lots of different sensations for you, depending on my mood at the time.”

“Condoms,” she announced, waving a packet at him. “Normal, of course, not that we need them. Flavoured. I don’t bother with those either. If I want it to taste different I’ll spread some food on it. Tingly. Those are good. You’ll be squirming after a while if I leave one of those on you, but strong minty toothpaste is far more effective. You will be begging for me to release you or wash it off after only a few minutes, and after an hour or so you would be in absolute torment. Spiked. Spikes inside, of course. Those are rather special. I’m not sure if I’ll ever be able to buy any more of them. The shop that sold them isn’t there any more. Put one of those on you and I only have to touch you ever so lightly for you to be yelping and groaning. If I actually did it to you, I mean did it, with one of those on you then I don’t think you would be able to touch yourself for a month without being in absolute agony."

She dug deeper in the drawer. “Gags. Various and assorted gags. I won’t bore you with all of them. Obviously I wouldn’t use them all the time. I do like to hear a few moans and groans and, as I said, there are uses for your mouth and tongue even when you are tied and helpless. Or should that be particularly when you are tied and helpless? Anyway, I like this one, shaped like a man’s thing. Somehow it’s far more satisfying to have a man at my mercy with, as it were, a man’s thing rammed into your mouth and held there by those straps round the back of your head. Even better, I can attach another one on the outside of it and enjoy myself on it if that’s what I feel like doing. Do you understand what I mean?”

He nodded, completely taken aback by her frankness.

“These are more interesting,” she continued. “Ball squeezers, lots of different types. It’s amazing how obedient you would suddenly become when there’s a bit of pressure on your most precious parts and the threat of a lot more pressure if you don’t behave, quite amazing. And cock crushers, squeezers, restrainers, and loads of different rough and spiky things for pricking and causing all sorts of interesting sensations. They can all hurt, but most of them don’t have to hurt. That’s the beauty of them. I can choose whether it is the most sensual arousal for you or the most agonising torture.
Here’s my favourite, see? This one is entirely up to you whether it’s tolerable or torture. It’s only an inch-wide hinged, metal band with a good solid lock, but just you take a look inside. It’s called a KTB, a Kali’s Teeth Bracelet. See all the sharp spikes? It fits you perfectly comfortably before you become excited, but once you get bigger those spikes are going to be more than a little uncomfortable. You could wear that round the house until I’m ready for you. It really would be too wicked to keep it on you while I’m playing with you, wouldn’t it? Although, I’ve always wanted to keep a man in one of those full time, only letting him out when I want some fun. I wonder if you would cope with something like that? It would be like I was controlling your thoughts as well as being in control of your bits, wouldn’t it? You couldn’t even think about sex without it reminding you most painfully that you can’t possibly consider it without my permission.”

“Is that the lot?” he asked weakly as she paused and looked at him. She shook her head.

“Not nearly all,” she said “But it’s certainly enough to give you some idea. Would you like it? Would you like to be tied to my bed while I do all sorts of things to you? I’m sure you would enjoy most of them, even if there are some that you wouldn’t like.”

“Yes,” he said thoughtfully. “Yes. OK. I agree.”

“You agree?”

“Yes,” he confirmed. “It’s very exciting. And if you only do the painful stuff when I’m bad, then of course I’ll try not to be bad. I can trust you to keep your word, can’t I?”

“Of course you can trust me to keep my word.” She seemed puzzled.

He nodded. “OK. Do you want me to take my clothes off?”

“What?”

He pointed at the bed and the restraints. “Do you want me to take my clothes off?” he repeated.

“No. Of course not.” She was a bright pink colour.

“What do you want me to do?”

“Nothing. Nothing. I don’t want you to do anything at all. I was just asking.”

Now he was puzzled. “You were just asking what?”

“Just asking whether you thought he ought to find it exciting. Whether he ought to want me to do it to him. Whether there was something wrong with what I was doing. Whether any normal man would find it exciting.” Her voice rose to a high-pitched squeak. “I was not offering to do it to you!”

“I’m sorry. I misunderstood.” He could not look at her. He could not meet her eyes.

“You couldn’t really have thought I would want to...?”

“No, of course not.” He turned and started downstairs. She followed.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I had better be going.”

“Yes,” she agreed. “I think you had better.”

The day seemed grey and overcast as he drove away from her house. How could he have been so stupid? he asked himself. Obviously she was not suggesting that she would do any of that to him. It was a ridiculous idea, absolutely preposterous.

He shook his head sadly. It really was the utmost stupidity for him to have imagined there was the remotest possibility she would want to do anything like that with him. It was daft. It was completely unthinkable. He shook his head again, as if to clear such a ridiculous idea from it.

His mobile phone buzzed. He answered it. It was her.

“You had better come back,” she said. “I forgot to lock the KTB on you before you left.”

[pleezz]

i like the stories..gee thanks
do you write all these stories?

[Susan Strict]

Yes, I write them all. I have some help from a friend who calls himself "sneaker" or "varlet" on various Internet forums. He helps me understand the male perspective I need for some of the stories and which otherwise I might miss completely.

[galruch2]

The newest one is my favourite so far, I love the stories where either the guy or girl is inexperianced. I have to take my hat off to you and say your one hell of a writer.

[dark]

i like the stories..gee thanks
do you write all these stories?

Yes