Samantha McGillis was an average 30 something girl with an itch she couldn’t scratch. She had enjoyed sexual partners and had enjoyed great sex but something was still missing. So now she stood at the door of a bar, looking at the worn wood, knowing that once she stepped through that door something may happen to change her life forever. Then again, she could step through that door, meet no one and come home in a few hours to masturbate to thoughts of a strong man in her life, taking charge. Continue reading “The New Adventures of Sam McGillis – The Beginning”
Part 2 (Previous)
Marcus moved into the room and untied her. He then grabbed her by the hair and guided her off the bed with his fingers still firmly buried in her hair. As long as she kept up she was not going to be hurt. He pulled her over to a set of shackles and, letting go of her hair, grabbed her wrists, raising them above her head to attach them in the thick leather cuffs. He then pulled out a wooden block about 8 inches wide, 5 inches deep and 7 inches high. He put it by her feet then tapped on her feet until she stepped up onto it, her feet close together on the narrow surface.
He hadn’t told her. Well. No that was a lie. He just hadn’t been straight forward. He had left out the whole loving, desiring and needing rough, hard, almost brutal sex. He had left hints, pictures up on the computer, articles out, even porn magazines “hidden” in his bedside drawer.
He had even bought sex toys for bondage, gags, etc for her to wear for him. He had given her oral like she liked, he had played with her, driven her insane with his tongue, all that good stuff that she loved. He had asked her to fulfill one of his fantasies and she had agreed. Warily. But she had agreed.
So now he stood, looking down at her upturned bottom, three pillows under her waist pushing her ass up, her legs secured to the outer corners of the foot board, her wrists spread wide and bound to the headboard.
So many things had changed. We were married now. I was not only his slave but his wife. We had nights where we were just a loving husband and wife and those nights he was so attentive. And now in the painful Dom way but in a loving husband way. Continue reading “To Please My Love Pt 1”
She took her favorite position – on His lap. She wore His favorite clothing – a red and black check short pleated skirt that hardly came to the mid of her thighs along with a white blouse folded around her breasts. Not quite something one would see woman in her age wear, but she did n’t mind, at home in His lap she was a love slave. Moreover, she had been freshly spanked. So she was bouncing with joy. Her whorish instincts were into play. Though forbidden, she was touching His cock or part of His hairy chest that peeped out of the loose shirt He was wearing. She had sucked Him off not less than an hour ago, but she could not keep her hands off Him.
She was looking into His eyes and He into hers. Their eyes were playing mischief with one another. It was as if they silently spoke of lust. It was anyway a holiday. They either spent a lot of time on bed or on the couch. She was feeling very fresh and energetic. Earlier this morning He gave her that wonderful body massage from neck to toe with oil and then a bath. She could not ask for anything more. But wait, she always could. She wanted that tiny droplet of sweat coming down His chest. Without caring for permission, she bent over and licked it. She needed His body salt for nutrition.
‘You can not just keep yourself calm, can you – girl?’
‘Not unless you help me focus!’, she tried to sound innocent.
‘What do you mean?’
‘You know like the arm binders or handcuffs or the ropes or the cage or the …’
‘Enough of it slut, what are you trying to do, tease me to be hard on you?’
She did not answer directly and looked away, smiling, barely able to hide her mischievous smile. Her pussy was clenching at the thought of His cock, though she lost track of the number of times she was fucked the night before. He was probably dry by now but she could take an attempt to find out if He really were or not.
‘What was that, answer me, are you never ashamed of being such a slut all the time? Being such a whore? Where is your self control?’
In a flash her skin felt the shock of burning pain searing through her whole body as she shuddered in the memories of the night before – when she was tightly bound, exposed and danced in pain for hours. The images of her own tear stricken face with a mess of cum and piss and welts all over her body came in front of her eyes.
A drop of tear came to her eye involuntarily and fell on a feeble whip mark on her breasts, that was now fading after hours of torment. She did not know if it was a tear of joy or sorry.
She put her arms around His neck, looked at Him into His eyes, ‘Who would I be a whore for, if not you?’
At that very moment, they both felt proud for each other and jumped on to each others arms once again, almost ripping their clothes. No one remembered who made the first move.
[This is my first post on this blog and I could not think of anything better than this to start with. In the very few words, it tells a great deal about us]
[Thinking how it all started? May be we will retrospect on that sometime. ]