Sinful Tales
One Hour
She didn't know why he made her do this, but every week she did it. Their car was pulling into a large, circular driveway, and she gazed out at the rolling expanses of lawn surrounding the stately home. Her husband was silent, as he always was on this drive. She didn't know who the man was that lived here, or what sort of hold he had over her husband. It dawned on her that she didn't even know the man's name.
To her it was just 'Sir'.
She was twenty-three years old, and they had been married for a year. She was a striking woman: 5'4" tall, short-cropped brown hair and bright green eyes. Her firm, 38D breasts thrust out from her chest above a tight, narrow waist. Her skin was alabaster white, and her large brown nipples made a striking contrast against her white body. She had no pubic hair. Her husband paid to have her waxed; he thought she looked more naked that way.
They had been involved in a d/s relationship from the beginning. The first time she had been tied up and spanked, she loved it. Their bondage and discipline scenes had progressed a long way since that time, and even though he sometimes truly hurt her, she loved submitting to him, and she loved the intensity of the sex that followed. He, on the other hand, loved to see the resulting marks on her white skin; proof of her submission to him.
Then, a month ago, he brought her here, with instructions to do exactly as she was told. That was all he said, he wouldn't discuss it any further.
The sun was just disappearing behind the distant trees and she shivered. She wore a short, silk robe that came to mid thigh, tied around the waist and high heels. Nothing else. It was the way HE asked her to dress. They stopped in front of the brick walkway that led to the front door. She sat with her hands in her lap, staring straight ahead. He shut off the car. Leaning over to her, he kissed her on the cheek and told her,
"I will see you in one hour."
She opened the door and got out. Her short robe opened in the slight breeze that she created as she walked, and her heels made a rhythmic clicking sound as she approached the front door. This was where she first began to feel the flush of shame on her cheeks. It always started here. The door opened as she approached it, and an older woman stepped back inside to let her enter, as she always did. She never knew who this woman was, the man's wife perhaps; she was not dressed as a servant.
Now she followed the woman across a huge entryway, her heels clacking on the slate tiles. She always felt like a fool, standing there mostly naked, while the woman knocked on some massive oak doors. When the knock was acknowledged, the old woman simply opened the doors, let her pass, and closed them behind her; never once glancing at her, for which she was grateful.
The lighting in the room was dim, except for a bright light that shone down on a low oak table in the middle of the room.
"Ah, you're here, very good."
His voice came from behind a desk in the shadows, and he rose. As he came into the light she could see that he held a snifter of cognac or brandy in his hand.
“Let's begin, shall we?" he asked, and now she saw him clearly.
Dressed in an elegant maroon robe with a black collar, his mane of wavy grey hair cascading over the back of the collar. He was, truly, a magnificent specimen of genteel manhood.
"Approach the table, please," he said. She knew what to do. She walked forward until the table touched her at mid-thigh.
"And the robe, if you will," he said, ever so gently.
She untied the short robe and let it slide from her shoulders to the floor. She stood, naked in her high heels, before this man, the burning of shame inflaming her cheeks again.
"Hands atop your head, please."
She placed her palms flat on the top of her head, elbows out, and she stood quite still. He stood behind her and kept her like that for a full minute.
"Spread your legs," he said. She spread her feet apart, her well-formed legs making a wide V. She felt the tip of a leather riding crop snake up the back of a thigh, and she shivered. She felt her nipples harden. The leather continued its trace up to her ass, gently circling the white globes, then down the back of the other thigh. He slowly tracked it up the insides of her thighs, and then softly stroked the length of her bare slit. Her breathing quickened slightly, and she could feel herself beginning to moisten.
"Bend, and spread your cheeks for me," he said. She bent slightly at the waist. She could feel her face redden in shame, but she dropped her hands from her head, reached back and lewdly parted her ass cheeks…
Read more stories like this at >Sinful Tales…
Posted: Wednesday 16th February 2005, 12:02 PM
A Shot of Brandy
The pure Hell of a long workday, a miserable boss and not much money to show for having to suffer through it all could be fixed by one thing and one thing only. As Stan put the key into the lock of his front door, he hoped and prayed his sweet new bride would be in the mood to soothe his soul with some good old-fashioned fucking.
Brandy was 10 years his junior, gorgeous inside and out and Stan felt more than lucky to have won her heart. Still rather inexperienced in the ways of love, the only hurdle they had to get over was bringing lovely Brandy out of her shell.
So far, it had been slow progress at best but he knew they had the rest of their lives to work on it and so he continued to look at the challenge with an open mind and a joyful heart. Each time Brandy got up the courage to try something new with him it got better and better so who was he to complain?
“Brandy?” he called out as he put his paper and briefcase down.
“Yes?” came the seductive reply.
He whirled around to find her moving about their living room, lighting candles that she had placed on every available spot. Oddly, she was wearing a long coat and for the life of him, he had no idea what was going on. She walked to the CD player, pressed play and the rhythmic beat of a popular club tune filled the room.
“Brandy?”
Turning around and facing him, she threw off her coat and asked him a question he never thought he’d hear coming from her sweet lips.
"Ever have a lap dance?"
To read more click here...
Posted: Tuesday 11th January 2005, 5:21 AM
The Aftermath
The Aftermath
Thanks to - Taboo
Stories and Bondage
Stories
This was written for a girlfriend of mine many years
ago. She chose the motif for me to write about. All flames should be directed
towards her. Alas, I know not where she is.
Her eyes adjusting to the faint glow of the monitor's lights, she awoke.
Every inch of her skin was cold, but that was to be expected after ten years
in thermo freeze. The room was not as she remembered it. Once shiny metal
cabinets were now covered with dust; debris littered the floor.
She glanced over at the three other thermo tanks in the room, there lights
were out. This meant that her companions had already evacuated or more likely
that they were dead.
Slowly, she lifted herself off the bed on which she lay, ducking her head
to avoid the glass cover which had protected her for the last ten years.
She walked stiffly over to the next tank. Commander Barton's body was still
inside, while her pulse and respiratory indicators showed her to be dead.
The other two tanks, which were reserved for the two men of the crew, also
contained bodies with no detectable respiration or heartbeat. She was the
only surviving member of her squad.
There were nearly a hundred squads of four in isolated control rooms like
this. They were separated by several hundred miles. The rational behind
this was that when the bombs started to fall at least one-third of the control
rooms were expected to survive.
After the nuclear winter had eliminated all human life the chosen ones would
emerge from suspended animation and start over; at least those who survived
would.
Her name was Jessica Martin, an architect, art historian, construction engineer
and most important a fertile female. By her acceptance into the Savior's
program, she had agreed to become the mate of one of the members of her
squad.
He was a loathsome man with a genius level I.Q. This requirement had almost
made Jessica reject the program's offer, but she had wanted to survive the
holocaust. It was almost a relief that his life support system had failed.
Unfortunately, the only two other members of the Saviors program who could
help her were also dead.
The story
continues...
Posted: Monday 3rd January 2005, 2:44 PM
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