Thursday, 31 January 2019

Enosh the Archer

This piece was written specifically for @F.Leonora's #FridayFlash meme.

The picture prompt this week provided by @LasciviousLucy

The Archer

‘Faint heart never won fair lady,’ Enosh reminds himself as he stands on the steps, struggling to remain motionless and hold his pose.  

Yeah, he wishes he’d thought harder about his planned stance. It’s actually agony having one arm extended and the other drawn back, and don’t even get him started about his legs in the semi-lunge position.  The lactic acid is burning! The fatigue in his quadricep and calf muscles builds, crying out for motion or some rubbing to re-distribute it.

‘Oh for pity’s sake!’ Enosh chides himself, ‘don’t start thinking about rubbing when all you’re wearing is a tiny thong to cover your modesty.’

Several students pass him en route to the library, nudging and giggling when they observe him.  He even earns a wolf whistle, causing Enosh to preen, making all those hours in the gym worth it.  But will Claudia like what she sees?  This is the point of the challenge he’d set himself.

'Would beautiful, intelligent, Claudia on whose resplendent breasts and saucy derriere he fixated, notice him and like what she saw?'  If she follows her usual routine of visiting the library before lectures begin, she can’t miss him.

He hears a shriek, then a burble of infectious laughter breaks out.  He dare not turn, but it sounds like Claudia.

“What??”  her voice comes closer.  
“Enosh?”  Footsteps.  
“Are you supposed to be Cupid?”

As a statue he can’t move. Claudia stands in his line of sight.  Enosh smiles widely.

She isn’t shocked, she seems amused.  He exerts great self control to suppress anything threatening to show how pleased he is to see her.

“Claudia, will you be my Valentine?”

Tuesday, 29 January 2019

Lace: Lingerie is for Every Body

Submitted for Violet's Lingerie meme

There's something about lace that is sexy and yet sweet.  It shows what many fabrics would conceal, but shaded or shadowed, so that some mystery is retained.  Hints of peaking nipple can be glimpsed, clefts and valleys are suggested rather than overtly on display.

Monday, 28 January 2019

Twisted Fairytale : Hans & Greta - Finale

This story is based on a Grimms fairy tale, which I have translated to our modern life, but it's still firmly a fantasy.  
Read part 1, part 2part 3part 4part 5 and part 6 of Hans & Greta, 
then continue for this final part.
5 min read

Greta flopped onto him, still zoned out from the extreme sensations she’d experienced.  They clung together, hoping the nightmare was finally over.

“Here, let me take these off.”  Hans released the nipple clamps, one at a time, sucking and massaging each tortured nipple in his mouth to ease the pain as blood rushed back into them. Still Greta squealed with pain.

“Don’t cry baby-girl,” he gentled her like a spooked horse.  “I’m here now.”  

Greta sagged against him, her body trembling with relief and exhaustion.  When she caught sight of Barb tied to the bed her face twisted with revulsion.

“That woman!  That bitch!  Every night, twice a day, she’s fucked me every which way.  She doesn’t care about consent or safewords.”

Once released from the spreader bar, Greta pulled towards Barb’s prone figure on the bed, intent on vengeance, but Hans held her back.

“Don’t Greta.  She can’t hurt you now.  Let her stew in her own juice!”

He studied the pledges and suggestions which continued to scroll on the computer monitor.  

“She deserves a taste of her own medicine.”  He pointed out a request to see anal punishment. “Get me the biggest anal plug you can find Greta. Don’t worry about lube,” he said, still bitter at his cock’s own ill treatment.

While Greta rummaged in the toy drawer, he yanked Barb’s underwear down and let a gob of spit drool from his lips into the crack of her ass.

“Your turn to suffer Witch,” he sneered.  “See for yourself what it feels like to be forced into sex acts.”

He pressed a large, bulbous silicone plug at her anal entrance until the muscle gave and her body welcomed it in.  Barb’s head thrashed from side to side at the invasion, but she could no more resist than Greta had been able to, when tied to the bed with the same restraints.  Then he wrenched the chain from Barb's neck, he needed the tiny key for the padlock to his cock cage.

“They love it!” Greta laughed pointing at the monitor. “This one says punish her more!  What's she done to you my darling?" she surveyed his feminine fetishwear and his punished penis.  "Let's get you out of that!"

Hans passed her the small key which she turned in the padlock, setting his poor tormented manhood free. With a cry of malicious power she grabbed the cane and began spanking Barb’s exposed butt cheeks, making a red stripe with every blow.

“Take that Bitch, like I had to!”

The ratings went up, of course.  Greta looked magnificent in her angry nakedness, wielding the whippy cane. Her high, firm breasts jiggled with each exertion, she looked amazonian.

“Follow me to the office in few minutes, I’m going to find Barb’s account details.” Hans whispered in Greta’s ear.

Hans made his way back up the hall to rummage in the drawers again.  Typical of many older people Barb kept a book in which she’d written all her account names, logins and password details.  Hans took that and when he couldn’t find a flash drive, he unplugged her laptop and tucked it under his arm.  There was a wallet with cash too, Hans scooped out the wad of notes.

“C’mon Greta, we’ve gotta go!” He called.  It was opening time soon and customers might wonder what was up when the Sweet Treat didn’t open for business.

Minutes later Greta followed, dressed in clothes she’d hurriedly grabbed from Barb’s wardrobe.  They hustled out to the car park and jumped into the SUV. Checking the fuel gauge and seeing it nearly full, Hans felt a sense of relief.

“Where can we go?” Greta turned to Hans, always the big brother. “Could we see if Theo wants us back? His family situation might have changed by now.”

“We could Greta darling, or we could set up in business on our own.”

Hans was driving so he could not see the expression of puzzlement on her face.

“But what could we do?  What sort of business?”

“We could run our own dungeon. Being trapped by Barb at her place made me realise how easily we could do something similar. Or if you want we could both do cam work - you made a mint back there! You’re very popular my lovely girl!” Hans stroked Greta’s thigh lovingly as he drove.  “Now we have all Barb’s customer contacts - we stole her treasure!”

“I guess it could be fun ... We’d only create the scenes that we actually want to do.”  Greta sounded thoughtful.  “I quite liked having a female mistress …”

“We’d employ one!”  Hans slapped the steering wheel, excited as a plan began to take shape.
“Whatever you want!  We’ll empty Barb’s account to buy ourselves a decent premises.  I think she was onto something being out of town.  People can visit as long they want and their comings and goings aren’t overlooked.”

“We could have pole dancers!” Greta was excited, bouncing in her seat.

“Maybe,” Hans waved at the glove compartment. “See if there’s a map in there baby-girl.  We need a town with a diner and a store.  I can’t walk about like an extra from the Rocky Horror show!”

Greta giggled.  “You look fantastic.  What did she do to you?”

“Eugh,” Hans shuddered remembering his enforced celibacy.  “Nothing I’d want to do again. Well - apart from wearing this corset. I’m quite open to recreating the ‘sweet transvestite’ look, but cock-caging, no thank you!"

“Geez,” Greta gasped, in sympathy. “This though,” she purred, stroking his stocking tops, “I kinda like it.  Thanks for saving me Hans.”  She leaned over to kiss him on the cheek, her lips gently brushed past his ear.

“I’ll always look out for you Greta.” 

They held hands until he needed to operate the gear stick. Hans smiled as he drove on, putting as many miles as possible between them and the Sweet Treat Inn.

This is submitted for the #WickedWednesday meme.  Click the link to see who else is participating - the theme is Celibacy.  My image is sourced from Pixabay.

Sunday, 27 January 2019

Twisted Fairy Tale : The Great Escape

This story is based on a Grimms fairy tale, which I have translated to our modern life, but it's still firmly a fantasy.  
Read part 1, part 2part 3part 4 and part 5 of Hans & Greta here then continue ...
4.5 min read

There must have been big pledges of money coming in for Greta’s live sex show, because Barb went directly to the keyboard to type in responses.  Luckily for Hans she became instantly absorbed in upping the competition between viewing fans.

In the office Hans rifled through drawers and file cabinets looking for a means of escape. He found a set of keys to an SUV, which the camera watching the back door showed was parked close by.  Yanking the silicone ‘chicken fillets’ out, he secreted the keys in the cup of his boned basque.

Scanning the rest of the monitors he established that the Sweet Treat Inn was empty, the closed sign hanging at the door.  Further inspection convinced him that he and Greta were alone here with Barb, which should make a take-down easier.  He found a tub of prescription sleeping tablets in the top drawer, so he stuffed them in his bra cup just in case.  The office laptop was linked to that in the room with Greta so he could see Barb’s profits mounting.  The viewers wanted to see Greta strung up and flogged. No wait! More votes were coming in for lashing.  Horrified, he studied the screen, his window on what was happening to his ‘sister’.

The cruel clamps were still biting onto Greta’s nipples, a heavy chain hung between them which had to be dragging, tormenting her with every movement.  Barb had released her from the bed restraints, but the leather cuffs remained fastened round Greta’s delicate wrists.  She seemed to be lost in sub-space, barely aware of Barb manhandling her into a standing position before raising arms above her head in order to hook her up to a suspension device fixed in the ceiling.  

Barb bent to fasten the spreader bar to the cuffs already on Greta’s ankles, but as she straightened her gaze fixed on Greta’s swollen labia salaciously.  She leaned in, inhaling the sweet tangy fragrance which intoxicated her.  Her greedy tongue protruded from her mouth and she commenced licking, not gently but probing and hungry.  Greta gasped, her pleasure evident.  Barb had total control of her, able to grasp the sub’s buttocks and pull her hips in closer, burying her mouth and nose in the copious juices which flowed.  She began to work the dildo in and out of Greta’s pussy, the lips were engorged and her clit swollen, but the pummeling and pounding from the silicone phallus soon had her hips thrusting as a climax began steadily building.  Greta’s wordless sounds of appreciation brought cam-show pledges pouring in. Hans watched the older woman pleasure her sub, transfixed.  He felt an inexorable stiffening in his ladies’ underwear.

Hans had to drag his attention away from the on screen girl-on-girl action. This was the ideal opportunity to ambush. He hurtled out of the office, silently traversing the hall to the door he’d identified as leading to Barb’s bedroom.  Any sound of his entrance was masked by Greta’s lusty groans. For a moment he stood mesmerised, taking in the view of his sweet friend strung up like a carcass in a butcher’s fridge, being lustily eaten out by her Mistress.  

Greta’s body, sheened with perspiration, hung straining from a ceiling hook. Her feet could barely touch the ground, her joints must be crying out for release.  Her high breasts, which were pulled taut by the restraint, bore the red tracks of a wartenburg wheel and were still trapped in the teeth of clover clamps.

Barb continued avidly licking and sucking Greta’s pussy, obscuring his view somewhat, but when Hans spied the long plaited leather whip, furled but ready for use, he knew he had to get Greta out of this situation swiftly.

He ran at Barb, head-butting her in the middle of her spine to knock the wind out of her. Unfortunately the impact transferred to Greta too. Her eyes jolted open in shock as she was set swinging like a car mirror ornament.  

Utilising the element of surprise Hans grabbed Barb by the hair to pull her arms behind her back.  He grabbed cuffs from Barb’s drawer of sex toys and quickly secured the older woman using a padded leather pair.  While she still gasped for breath, he roughly shoved her face down on the bed and fastened her feet into  the restraints which Greta had recently vacated.

Barb was furious! Yelling and screaming, she made all kinds of threats that, in her current bound state, she could never carry out.  Hans located the ball gag she’d previously used on Greta and pushed it none too gently in the old witch’s mouth to quell the noise.

Moving to rescue Greta from her suspended predicament his eye fell on the escalating pledges flashing on the computer screen.  Many viewers were aroused by the fighting, asking for more!  Wry laughter bubbled up in his throat. He captured Greta’s waist with his strong arms, lifting her body a little so that he could release the cuffs from the hook above her head.

“I got you,”  Hans crooned.  “I got you baby-girl.”

To be continued ...

This story is submitted for the #MasturbationMonday meme, but unfortunately doesn't follow the prompt.  My image is from Pixabay.
Click the link to check out who else is participating.

Fur Coat No Knickers

#Sinful Sunday

 I expect you've heard the saying "all mouth and no trousers" - the British idiom which refers to someone boastful who cannot back up their boasts with actions in the, er, trouser department.
The rather wonderful Dictionary of Slang defines the phrase as "boastful and without just reason, eg 'you shouldn't pay any attention to him, he's all mouth and no trousers'."

It seems as if there is a parallel with another idiom "all fur coat and no knickers", which it defines as "of a woman, all superficial appearance and no real substance beneath".

Now until I checked this out I thought the term meant a saucy woman, who knows what she wants and how to get it.

Decide for yourself, I'd love to hear your thoughts - this is my image for  week #407

Friday, 25 January 2019

Enchanted Valley : Guest Post #SoSS

This is an extract from a time slip romantic novel.  You join the action in the thirteenth century. Lady Margaret is betrothed to an older man to to secure her father's position.  She and her ladies-in-waiting are wiling away a cold afternoon in the castle:

Fiona Macpherson, a lady in waiting, looked up from the brightly plumaged bird she was embroidering.  "Everyone knows strange things happen in forests."

"Especially this one," Cecilia said darkly, "the Forest of Ettrick is an awful chancy place."

"What sort of strange things?"  Lady Margaret was ready to be beguiled.

Fiona said in a low voice, "Did you know that near here there's a well guarded by an Elfin knight?"

Moira crossed herself, fearful yet deliciously intrigued.  "Why does he guard the well?"

Fiona leaned forward and whispered, "The roses that grow round the well have magic powers for women.  But don't even think about picking one - 'tis said a terrible fate befalls any maid who does so."

Moira's eyes were round with interest.  "What fate?"

"He takes a forfeit!" Fiona said.

"What forfeit?" Cecilia's eyes were wide.

"Can you not guess?"

"Not that?" Cecilia was shocked.

"Yes,"  said Fiona, "that!  He casts a spell and takes her maidenhead!"

"Margaret's heart beat even faster.  "How did you learn of this?"

Fiona said, "My waiting woman had it from an old crone who comes to the kitchens for broken meats and tells tales by the fire."

"And what would a maiden get by picking the roses if the Elfin knight didn't stop her?"  Cecilia asked.

"Her heart's desire, of course:  beauty, riches or a handsome lover.  I'd choose the lover, every time."

Margaret thought the others must be able to hear her heart beating, it seemed so loud to her.  "Did the old crone say where this well can be found?"

"Aye, in Charters Wood, but to get your wish you must go there at dusk."

"We'll not be going then," Moira said, "No sensible girl would dare to go there in the gloaming;  she'd be in danger from wolves, wild boar and the outlaws who roam the forest."

"Meggie would dare," said Cecilia.  "She's brave enough to ride alone and to defy an Elfin knight."

"I wonder what he's like?" Moira mused.

"Handsome, I'll warrant.  Have you ever noticed that everything desirable is forbidden to women?" Fiona said bitterly.

"You would dare to go, wouldn't you, Meggie?" persisted Cecilia.

Margaret laughed shakily.  "I might if I'd a mind to, but I doubt I'll be seeking the Elfin knight."   She crossed her fingers under her embroidery.

The next day, the weather improved.  In the afternoon, Margaret pretended to have a headache and retired to her chamber.  She swore her servant Janet to secrecy and bade the girl to dress her in her best green riding gown.  She made Janet brush her long auburn hair until it shone.

"Don't braid it," she said,"put that gold filet on my brow and leave my hair loose."  She took her dark frieze cloak from Janet, put up the hood to cover the glint of gold and wrapped herself in the cloak's anonymity.  She paused at the door.

"Mind now, Janet, you're not to let anyone in my chamber whatever happens, not even the Earl himself.  You're to say I'm sleeping and cannot be disturbed."

She slipped out of the castle and across to the stables unobserved.  Once again, young Jockie Scott took Margaret into the Ettrick Valley and pointed out the edge of Charters Wood.  She dismounted and handed him her reins.  "Wait for me whatever happens and however long I'm gone," she commanded.

The dark forbidding trees in the gathering dusk gave Margaret a feeling of foreboding:  once she slipped between the trees she would be committed.  But to what?  Remembering Fiona's tale she shivered.

The grass and moss underfoot were wet with evening dew;  long shadows fell across her path.  As the dying sun slipped below the horizon, the trees were stark black against its crimson glow.  An owl hunting early flapped out of a tree startling her and making her heart race.  She calmed herself and pressed on deeper into the wood.  At last, she came upon the well standing in a glade, encircled by a low stone wall.  Over it arched an iron hoop wreathed in roses.

The light was going fast as Margaret, her heartbeat like thunder in her ears, stepped forward.  Boldly she snapped the stem of a rose and held the crimson blossom before her like a talisman.

A shiver ran down her spine and the hairs on the back of her neck rose as she heard the sound of hooves and the chink of a bridle.  Through the trees came a silvery horse that looked as if it had bathed in moonbeams.  Astride the horse was the handsomest man she had ever seen, sitting tall in the saddle, his long legs encased in fine leather boots.  His shoulders were broad, his tanned face framed with blue-black hair.  Wide grey eyes looked at her sternly. 

"Why did you pick my rose?"  His voice was deep and cultured.

Margaret was trembling but she returned his look with a haughty stare.  "Yours sir?  Who are you to claim them yours?"

"I am Tamlyn, knight of the Queen of Darkness, guardian of the well."

Margaret, daughter of an Earl, straight backed, chin in the air matched his arrogance.  "The Forest belongs to the King of Scots:  the roses are no more yours or your queen's than they are mine - Lady Margaret Dunbar."

He dismounted lightly, threw his reins over a branch and came to stand insolently close, looking down at her.  "They do belong to my mistress, pretty lady, because they are magic.  Did you pick a rose to have a wish granted?"  There was amusement in his voice.  "And what was the wish?"

Margaret sensed that he knew her wish and that he was only too willing to make it come true.  This infuriated her: faery or mortal he was male and like every man she knew, arrogant.  He would not take her easily like a village girl.  She would not stay and bandy words with him.  She tried to turn and leave but she couldn't move:  her feet were stuck fast as if she were caught in quicksand.  When Tamlyn, who had been watching her closely, laughed at her struggle, she lost her temper.

"This is your doing!  Release me at once!" she cried, beating with angry fists against his chest.

Tamlyn grinned, he put out a hand and stroked her russet hair.  "Ask nicely little fox."

"I'll not say 'please' to you!"

"Then here you'll stay , young vixen."  Still laughing he began to walk towards the moonbeam horse.

At the thought of being left alone in the darkening wood, Margaret's defiance collapsed.  "Wait!  Please, sir knight, release me."

As soon as she said 'please', he plucked a white rose and handed it to her.  When she touched it, the spell broke and she could move again.  

Tamlyn looked down, smiling into her eyes.  "You are free to leave."  He moved closer until their bodies were touching.

Margaret's knees were weak, she had no desire to go, she desired only him.

As if he could read her thoughts, Tamlyn picked her up and carried her to a bower among the trees where he laid her on a bed of bracken.

"You're beautiful," he said sitting down beside her and taking her in his arms.  As he covered her mouth with his, her eyes closed.  This was bliss, she savoured his touch and her lips parted as the kiss deepened.

"Your mouth is warm, your tongue is sweet: you're mortal!" she murmured in wonder when his mouth moved from her lips to her ear and he began to nuzzle it.

He laughed and spoke softly and intimately.  "As warm and mortal as you, my lady, as you shall see."  He unlaced her gown and slid his hands over her body, finding all the secret pleasure spots upon which he lingered, giving her sensual enjoyment so intense that she could hardly breathe.  Dexterously he removed his clothes and lay naked upon her, flesh on flesh.  "Shall  I make you mine?" he whispered.

"Yes!"  Margaret felt as if she were a harp expertly played by a master harper.  Never had she wanted anything so much.  She held him close and pressed her lips to his, tasting his sweetness.

The consummation surpassed anything she had imagined.  As he thrust deep into her body, moving rhythmically, she felt as if she were flying like a bird, gliding through water like a swan and dancing like a firefly on the marsh.  She clung to him, she a limpet and he a rock:  never did she want to let him go.  At last, delirious with delight, she reached the final chord then lay at peace in his arms.

"So, Lady Margaret, you're mine now - now and forever."   He covered her face with gentle kisses like a butterfly alighting on a flower.

"If only it were so," she said sadly, reluctantly rolling away from him and reaching for her gown,  "I am to marry Sir Nigel Douglas and you - did you not say you belong to your queen?"

Slowly Margaret put on her gown and turned for him to lace it.  He said nothing as he did so, then he dressed himself.  It was nearly dark now but still light enough for Margaret to see that he was frowning.

"I spoke the truth when I said I was as mortal as you.  I am called Elfin knight but I promise you I am mortal.  I was lured away from human haunts by the  Queen when I was just a boy.  I've served her since, guarding the well, claiming forfeits from maidens who pluck roses."

Margaret felt a stab of jealousy.  "Was that a forfeit you took from me?"

His smile was loving.  "You know it wasn't.  The moment I saw you I fell in love, even as you did.  Can you deny it?"

She shook her head.  "Why don't you leave the Queen and come back to the real world?"

"Would that I could but she has cast spells to hold me in thrall."

"Can these spells not be broken?"

He shrugged then smiled.  "Why don't you leave the world and come and live with me?"

She sighed.  "I too am bound, I have to do my father's bidding:  I owe him that.  I love you, Tamlyn, but our case is hopeless!"

He lifted her to her feet and enfolded her in his arms, her head against his heart.  "I love you, sweet Meggie;  we have to be together.  We will find a way."  He kissed her lingeringly, "When will I see you again?"

She clung to him, not wanting the glory to end.  "I'll come if I can."  Margaret wished it were true:  she did not expect she would ever see him again for her wish had only been to know true love once and that had been granted.

Taking a last, long look at the man she knew she would love forever, she tore herself away and ran through the wood to the place where Jockie was patiently waiting  to take her home.
As it is Saturday, I want to share some posts which also have a historical erotica theme:

Lascivious Lucy : Iron - in which a blacksmith is attracted to a faery
                        : Salem's Charity - a series set in Salem about a young, scandalous witch

Cousin Pons : The Handkerchief - a story which inspired by a work of art and the model who sat for the artist
                    :  The Shoemaker - recounting a cobbler's passion for a refined lady

May Moore  :  Craving Absolution - a two part series (for which Cousin Pons wrote the male PoV and May reciprocated with the female) which features an unhappily married lady and a gentleman who offers her absolution while yearning to assisting her sin.

Cara Thereon  :  She'd Learned a Lot from Books - a series featuring young lovers who slip into kinky scenarios depicted in books.

Tuesday, 22 January 2019

Twisted Fairytale No. 4 : Comfort Break

This story is based on a Grimms fairy tale, which I have translated to our modern life, but it's still firmly a fantasy.  
Read part 1, part 2part 3 and part 4 of Hans & Greta here then continue ...
6 min read

Hans slept fitfully.  Having his cock trapped in the confines of the cage was bad enough during the day, but at night his natural tendency to become erect meant that he woke frequently, disturbed by great discomfort.  

Barb had been increasing the length of time she kept Hans padlocked into the cage, but she didn’t trust him not to touch himself at night, and she was right.  Hans didn’t trust her right back - she had neither earned his respect nor had his best interests at heart. She would be shot of him as soon as she’d turned him into a chastity slave; once she’d broken his spirit.

Hans intended to keep fighting back, to keep resisting until he could break free. He wanted to see Greta, to reassure himself that she was happy, or offer her the chance to leave with him.  He didn’t know where they would go, as they had almost run out of fuel when they stumbled across the Sweet Treat Inn, but in his waking hours each night he tried to figure things out.

Every morning after breakfast Hans was released from his room and his cock cage to shower and shave his skin smooth.  Starting to enjoy his silky, buffed state, he luxuriated in massaging moisturising lotion into his skin.  It resulted in his tormented cock getting hard, but as Barb hadn’t installed cameras in the shower he usually got away with it.  Today he wasn’t so lucky. Just as he was fisting his length, stroking his foreskin up and down, glorying in the intense sensations, he heard the clacking of Barb’s heels. Hans was forced to pinch the tip of his cock and think ugly twisted thoughts to make the rising sap recede and his erection wilt.

“Hurry up!” Barb’s voice, shrill but stern, certainly banished sexy thoughts from Hans’ head.

She hung around to lace his corset tightly and fit the cock cage and padlock, before she inserted another plug firlmly into Hans’ butt.  He now wore three sizes bigger than at the start of his training.  

Today Barb selected a parody of a maid’s outfit for Hans to wear - a frilled short skirt with netting underskirt flared out from his hips adorned with a white starched apron at the front.  He wore fishnet stockings fastened to the suspender straps and Barb tucked 2 chicken fillets into each cup of his black satin corset. Hans could hardly see past them to the pointed toes of his patent high heels.  Frills provided the finishing touches to his outfit - a frilled white organza collar at his throat and panties with frothy white frills.

Hans made his way slowly  down the hall, hobbled as usual by ankle cuffs.  He had mastered walking in heels, but he masked this new skill so he could look inside any doors which Barb left open.  He wanted to locate Greta. 

Barb brought him into a reception room furnished with sofas and chaise longues, then equipping him with a feather duster, spray polish and cloths, she left him with instructions to clean.  Hans set about his task, but used his time to look for anything which might help implement an escape plan.  

At intervals Barb returned. She made a routine of stopping him each time, pulling his panties down to operate a pump in the butt plug, which increased its girth.  Hans never knew if she'd pump it up or deflate.

The swell within his anal canal made Hans ache and groan, tormenting him with sensations of stretch and fill.  Soon he was panting and sweating, trying to dust and clean to Barb’s expectations while avoiding too many bend or stretch movements.  He was throbbing as desire tried to build, but his caged manhood had no room to unfurl or harden.  On the contrary it induced pain when stiffening began, any engorgement was agony.

Not for the first time Hans looked back fondly on his days with their previous Dom Theo, who was stern but loving.  Punishments with Theo almost always resulted in pleasure.  Disobedience might earn beatings or orgasm control, but there was always some kind of threesome at the end of it all, with sweet Greta as the bratty sub she was born to be.  

Feeling lightheaded he daydreamed about spitroasting Greta between himself and Theo.  It was so vivid he could hear her grunts and whoops of pleasure, the galactic whore … or could he hear her in reality?  Scuttling to the door as quickly as his bonds allowed he pressed an ear to the gap.  Yes, she was nearby, probably in the room across the corridor, he recognised her guttural grunts and gasps.  At least Greta sounded as if she was enjoying her treatment at Barb’s hands, which was great consolation.

Hans stood at the door listening to Greta’s sex noises build to a crescendo. When a gasping, groaning climax was wrung out of her, his cock tried to twitch in sympathy, only making him moan miserably.  He shuffled quickly away from the door, returning to dusting & polishing the room’s surfaces.  Hans had already spotted the concealed cameras in this room, but figured Barb was too busy servicing Greta just then to supervise his chores but he didn’t want to be caught and risk punishment.  Consequently the room was dusted and polished when Barb came to collect him.  

Applying two more pumps to his butt plug, Barb ushered him from the room.  Hans wasn’t faking this time, he made very slow progress down the hall, panting like an expectant mother during labour.  When they drew level with the office Hans stopped.  Barb became impatient and she operated the valve on the pump so he felt the plug deflate, the pressure on his sphincter abating.  

Tears of relief brimmed and that’s when Hans saw his opportunity, he was able to hook the bunch of keys from Barb’s pocket.  He continued his hobbling progress up the hall back to his room, then announced that he needed to relieve himself.  Although she tutted, Barb  allowed him to visit the shower and toilet area where he peed and cleaned himself, hiding the bunch of keys underneath his fake boobs.

Barb ushered Hans into his room and shut the door behind him. At this point she must've realised her keys were missing.  Hans stood with his ear to his cell door waiting for her distinctive heel taps as she retraced her steps, then he ducked out of his room swiftly and silently.  He’d kicked his high heels off in his cell so was able to move more freely.  He counted doors until he got to the office which he quickly unlocked to let himself in. Scanning the flickering monitors he easily spotted Greta’s room as Barb entered it in search of the missing keys.

Greta lay stretched out on a bed with straps extending from each corner which held her arms and legs in the spread eagle position.  Nipple clamps hung from Greta’s firm breasts and a large dildo was sunk deep in her labia so only the flared base was visible.  Her hair was in girlish plaits but her fringe was damp with sweat, in fact her whole body was sheened with perspiration.  Barb drew close to tug on the chain between the nipple clamps; Greta’s head thrashed from side to side, a bestial moan wrenched from her lips.

To be Continued ....

This episode of my serialised tale is submitted for the #WickedWednesday meme.
Click the link to see who else is participating - the prompt this week was 'Explore'
My delicious image is provided by Floss who not only blogs here, 
but also hosts a kinky podcast

Sunday, 20 January 2019

Twisted Fairytale #4 - Hit Me Baby

This story is based on a Grimms fairy tale, which I have translated to our modern life, but it's still firmly a fantasy.  
Read part 1, part 2 and part 3 of Hans & Greta here then continue ...

6 min 40 read

Greta wasn’t sure how much time had passed in the service of their harsh new Mistress Barb.  She rarely saw daylight and fell asleep exhausted after being put through her sexual paces.  Food came fairly regularly but meals were always light because Greta was a money-making commodity, her slender girl-like build proving popular among the cam-girl choices.  Barb supervised Greta’s shaving routine, a smooth pubis kept her looking younger than her years. 

Currently Greta was dressing in a schoolgirl themed outfit Barb had selected.  She pulled long white socks up to her knees before slipping feet into high heeled sandals.  There was a navy checked kilt which was short, it barely hung below her butt cheeks, with a white blouse of flimsy material so the lacy bra worn underneath was visible.  With the top buttons left undone, she fastened a striped tie at half-mast and secured her brown hair into high bunches.  No make-up was required to keep the illusion of youth except for a little pale pink lip gloss.

Waiting for Barb, Greta’s thoughts turned to Hans. She hadn’t been allowed to see him since they got caught in this spider’s web.  She hoped he was safe and happy. She’d asked Barb if she could see him, suggesting ways they’d play together and pleasure her, but the woman always flew into a rage.  Concern for him gnawed in the pit of Greta’s stomach, but she was kept on her toes pleasing Barb with audience ratings.

Barb entered the room and Greta’s heart thumped while her pussy dampened.  She couldn’t deny enjoying her dynamic with the older woman, who tapped into her kinks and pushed her buttons.  The exhibitionist side of Greta got off knowing people were watching her get fucked and punished, she loved the feedback.

“Stand up girl, come over here.”  Barb’s tone, as always, was harsh.

She prowled around, surveying Greta, her high heels rapping in the silence.  She carried a cane, which she used to tap in between Greta's knees to coax them wider.  The sub stood waiting with eyes lowered but her tension was palpable. Using the cane, Barb lifted the back of the pleated skirt then made a tutting sound.

“Dirty Girl.  You aren’t wearing any knickers.”

Greta bit her lip. She was quite capable of being bratty, but they both knew Barb hadn’t provided any panties for her.

“Why did you think it was OK to wear nothing under your uniform?”

“Because I’m a dirty girl Mistress.”

“You are.”  Moving closer Barb drew in a breath through her nostrils.  Her hand reached under the kilt and swiped through Greta’s labia.  Barb directed her gaze towards a wall-mounted camera, ostentatiously sniffing her glistening fingers.  

“A dirty, slutty girl.  You’re already wet.  Have you been touching yourself?”

“No Mistress.”  Greta shook her head for emphasis, jaunty bunches brushing her plump cheeks.

“Concentrate on your studies.  You’re always thinking about hard cocks.”

She lifted the back of Greta’s skirt, pressing at her lower spine till she bent over.

“You need punishing.”  Then she drew her arm back to deliver the first smarting blow to Greta’s delectable, curvy rear.

Greta yelped.  “Thank you Mistress.” 

Five more blows rained down, Greta counting each one, taking deep breaths to steady herself in between.

“What do you think?  Has she been punished enough?”  

Barb spoke to her invisible audience. She turned her sub so the cameras could capture the warm pink stripes which decorated her rear.

Greta knew there would be more, she was hoping for more.  The tingle she craved had only just begun.

“Twenty stripes it is!” Barb said triumphantly while Greta smiled to herself, taking another deep breath.

Greta’s mind was soon spinning out in subspace, distancing her from the heat and bite of the cane’s impact, she counted like an automaton.  Blood danced in her veins until her pussy swelled with yearning. When Barb reached twenty stripes she helped her to the bed on legs like a newborn foal’s.  She was barely aware of her mistress’ hands rubbing soothing lotion into the red and purple blooms which decorated her butt and tops of her thighs.

The heat and throbbing was both external and internal, Greta’s pussy clamoured for attention. Through a fog of lust, she felt Barb’s strong fingers massaging and pulling apart the flesh of her butt, both arousing and displaying her wares.

“Which plug shall we use?” Barb asked the cam audience.  Greta luxuriated in the effects of her aftercare knowing things would get intense pretty quickly.

The viewers having voted and pledged money, there followed the ooze of lube drooling over their selection.  She pushed her rear up in a tilt, offering herself to be plugged. Soon enough Barb nudged a cold hard plug  against her anal whorl.  A breathy groan of pleasure escaped Greta’s lips as her muscle flexed to welcome in the bulb of glass.

“Always the slut.”  Barb’s remark held a trace of approval. Greta preened with delight.

“You want more don’t you?”

“If you think I deserve more Mistress.”  Greta’s obedient tone was breathy.  This was how she loved to play.

“You want something in every hole don’t you, Slut?”

To demonstrate her point, Barb sank a finger into Greta's pussy, pushing deep to massage her g-spot.  Greta groaned loud and long, her lust evident.

“Which vibrator should I use?” 

Again Barb addressed the cam show audience.  Greta heard her rummaging in the drawer and imagined her setting out two or 3 vibrators of varying girth and shape.  She knew Barb would make her come at least twice before the show was over, so the choice of vibe wasn’t  important to her.  However she couldn’t help hoping for one with a clitoral arm, as those delivered her strongest orgasms.

Whilst the votes and pledges came in via the internet, Barb fastened a ball gag behind Greta’s head, to hold her mouth wide open.  The feeling of total helplessness played into the sub’s need to surrender her will, providing a blissful release.

A droning buzz began and suddenly Greta felt it against her labia, jolting her with intense sensation.  She groaned around the muffling gag while drool crept down her chin.
As her muscular walls grasped at the silicone vibe, Greta moaned with mounting desire.

The glass plug nestled in her back passage was heavy and filling and her pussy felt tight around the buzzing vibe that Barb was pressing in and out of her with a pumping rhythm.

“So dirty,” her mistress crooned, showing the vibe to camera now it was liberally coated with juices.  Plunging it back in she altered the pulse pattern causing Greta to moan with anguished excitement.

“You want more?”  

Greta nodded, widening her leg stance so Barb could penetrate her more deeply.

“Always the greedy slut,” Barb’s voice carried a note of pride.

The drool was running round Greta’s lips now, She was pretty sure clear strands of it were also stretching from her pussy. The intensity was building, like a rolling ball of fire within and pretty soon she was spinning apart in throbs of ecstasy.  Her hips ground down. Greta fucked herself on the vibe while Barb held it still.  

The aftershocks still held her in their pulsing grip when Barb switched to pressing the vibe against her sensitive clit.  A moan of pleasure/pain wrenched from Greta, despite the gag and the tightness and colour waves of joy began building within her again.


Barb delivered a resounding slap to her left butt cheek and the ripples made the glass plug jiggle, bouncing waves of pleasure towards her core.  She thrust her hips more, knowing another would follow.

SMACK!  There it was, on the other cheek, just as intense despite being ready for it.  Another climax washed over her which pulled all her sensations in before sending them out in a throbbing rush of pleasure.

“Look at her greedy pussy throb.”  Barb’s voice was shrill with excitement, whether sexual or from thinking how much money this show was making, Greta couldn’t tell.  

To be Continued ...