Psyche's Summer

A favorite poem.... It's not erotic per se... but it is very lovely .

2011-10-24T19:33:00.001-04:00

somewhere i have never travelled,gladly beyond
any experience,your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near

your slightest look easily will unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skilfully,mysteriously)her first rose

or if your wish be to close me, i and
my life will shut very beautifully ,suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;

nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility:whose texture
compels me with the color of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing

(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens;only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody,not even the rain,has such small hands.

"somewhere i have never travelled,gladly beyond"
by e. e. cummings

Vote for me!!!

2011-10-21T16:39:00.000-04:00

If you like my stories, please consider voting for my story entry in Literotica's Halloween contest. Follow the link to vote for "Happy Halloween" aka "Master Drake's Mouth."

Thank you!!!

http://www.literotica.com/s/master-drakes-mouth

2011-10-18T21:49:00.000-04:00

Happy Halloween
For Master Drake
From Psyche Summer

I am a woman with strong opinions about which behaviors are in fact becoming for a lady. It is unseemly for a woman to use profanity or to use crude terms like "titties." A lady sends thank you notes promptly and never rests her elbows on the table. And it is never becoming for a woman to dress like a slut on Halloween.

As such my costumes in the past have either been ultra-feminine (geisha-spider) or the product of Kelly's warped brain (a bruise). Now that my Master, Master Drake has asked me to don a costume, my mind is addled, and I am unsure which route to go. In the end I go with stupid because right now I am obsessed with feathers. I choose to be Big Bird with long pink and orange thigh high tights and a shiny yellow dress... and yellow feathers to adorn my hair. But no beak. No... a beak would just get in the way.

Now, I am a girl who is afraid of lots of things: rollercoasters and spiders and fire and failure, but one thing I am not that afraid of is monsters. I am more likely to be disturbed by like the Nothing in the Neverending Story than an actual, credible monster. Still even I have my moments...

So when Master Drake, whose motives I still can't always fathom, answers the door dressed as the ghost clown from Scooby Doo, I am... taken aback.
His dark eyed, leering costume brings me back to the childhood days when I used to cower in front of the tv, hands over my eyes, whispering "it isn't real; it isn't real; it's just TV..."

Still, I imagine we must make an odd sight, me on my knees, my sunny yellow feathers tickling His skin, His clown suit fallen to His ankles as He draws me close.

I inhale His smell, comforting, arousing, familiar, the scent of His body, of His erection, the sting of anticipation, the itch in my throat. I feel His hands on the back of my head, encouraging me, hastening me... Slowly my mouth opens, my lips part, my tongue sinks to the bottom of my mouth... I reach.. forward, reaching with my neck, my jaw, my saliva... pooling in my mouth, expectation hanging on my trembling chin.

But I am slapped back for my efforts, a stiff, smart smack across my cheek that sends me recoiling to the side, a yelp of surprise and confusion.

"As a teacher of young children, Pet, you should know
better than to begin an assignment
without first asking for directions."

I wince and color. I hate it when people use my job against me.

"What are my directions, Master?"
I mumble, then, mindful of my
place, I add "I hope only to please
You." It is the truth.

He explains that as I suck Him tonight He plans to pound me harder than He ever has before, that He plans to use my head for just what it is, His favorite fuck-toy and nothing more. He tells me that if I lift my lips from the skin of His hard cock before He is finished, the consequences would be dire, beyond my worst nightmares.

"Understand Pet?"

I acknowledge that I do.

At His insistence now, my full lips part, and He is between them, expanding against the walls of my mouth, testing my limits. I am rocking gently back on the balls of my feet absorbing Him inch by swollen inch.

Slowly feathers begin to fall, twisting lazily to the ground, like bright Autumn leaves as He begins to push me harder, His cock, groping the furrows of my throat, His head tickling my larnyx, as the sunny, yellow down drifts gently to the floor. My lips are squeezed around Him, my wet mouth, moist and hopeful. I have just begun to sweat, nut hair to dampen...

Then He is gripping me, the sides of my head. He is sliding my head back and forth on His shaft, His cock, three fingers wide, laced with saliva, slick and hard like fossilized stone, beating time against my tonsils. And I am slowly breaking down. There are spots of sweat on my tights from where my ass has been pushed onto my calves, and the fabric of my dress is sodden. My legs are weak; my spine begins to ache.

He has me hard between His hands now, His gripped me up like He promised He would. I can feel the smush of my cheeks against His sweating palms. He drives Himself, His cock like a sword, into me, my mouth, my throat. Faster and harder than I can fathom. As providence would have it, His cock fits my throat quite well, and He can prick it a thousand times and it will just barely withstand. Back and forth like a saber, an insistent saw, cutting into my consciousness, reeking havoc with my respiratory. My cheeks are hollowed, my eyes and nose are burning. He is pounding into me with a new found fury. I am nearly doubled up around Him, His fat cock, stretching my throat, unmooring my senses, my hold on reality is slipping. All I can feel around me is cock. His smell, filling my nostrils, His grunts filling my ears, His hands wrapped around my head like a vise, pushing me harder, harder, until I want to scream. Until there is blood pulsing in my veins and I am dizzy... dizzy... but my scream gets swallowed, smothered by cock and I am moving to a foreign rhythm, a frenetic pace that threatens to spill my innards, to capsize my breath and body, as I lurch forward and back, thrust again and again... and oh! again down on His fury, down til He is past my threshold, past my endurance and sweat and tears are staining my body, my nerves are weak with protest, my body is like a rag doll, heaved between His heavy hands.

Faster... and faster.

And my only lingering strength is the seal I keep around Him, the suck and drag of a moist mouth, fat lips on meat. The lure of my tongue which invites the agony, leading Him further down. my mouth, sliding up and down the protruding veins of cock. Warm and dangerous and fine.

Until in the end, His red clown hair askew, the make-up bleeding from His face, He cums, spilling His churning wad down my seizing throat, racking my body with His spasms of ecstasy. And I feel His hot seed pouring down my gullet, can taste Him on my tongue and in my nose... and He is everywhere, my head beat into His flesh, my senses are filled by Him, overwhelmed by Him. I am overpowered by His strength, by His girth and by His seed... that launches into me so hot and fast that I release... I let go. Too early. Too soon.

So that a long, thin stream of pearly white comes trickling down my chin and down the front of my plastic, yellow dress.

And I look down in shame.

Look down so I do not see how He strengthens in size, how His skin pales ten shades, how His eyes turn into dark hollows. Until it is too late. The ghost clown is upon me! I feel His cold hands sink into my flesh, feel His teeth against my neck, sucking out my soul. My legs go clammy and fall out from under me, my skin assumes a death-like pallor. He is on top of me, on top of me... His gluttonous hands are ripping at me. Tearing. His sinister clown laugh is the last thing I hear as my spirit is relinquished into the cool Canadian air and all that is left of me, the poor pet who failed her Master, is a pile of laughing yellow feathers.

The end

"Tomorrow Never Comes": Tuesday

2011-04-15T18:52:00.000-04:00

A story I wrote for my Master... many months ago... Thank you Master for allowing me to publish one of my favorite stories.

It was past ten already when Master Drake finally pulled into the dimly lit parking lot of the Lucky 13 tattoo parlor. The establishment itself had closed several hours ago, and its doors, unlike the previous two nights, remained sealed. Beside him, on the passenger seat, a crumpled card bearing a simply “27,” and scrawled underneath it, in a careless hand – an equally simple message, an invitation: “Tomorrow.”
In the snowy silence of his idling automobile, Master Drake waits; it’s not something he does too frequently, but he figures it is worth his while. Yesterday he had been surprised… pleasantly surprised… but surprised nonetheless. Being surprised was another thing that didn’t happen to Master Drake too often. And so he was willing to wait… in the warmth of his car, and in the searing hot memory of Willow’s cunt, sleek and swollen, descending on his face, of Mara (her twin?) riding him hard, the twist of nipples, the smell of cinnamon, the twin howls of sheer orgasmic pleasure that had crescendoed as he came, threatening to break his eardrums… and so he waits.
He hears them before he sees them – the heavy thump of the bass line, the rip of tires on asphalt as a tiny black Cabrio peels into the parking lot, shrieking to a halt beside him. Rolling down the window, poking blonde head out the door, Willow is all smiles.
“Getting in Master?”
Seconds later, his senses assaulted by the melodic screech of Quiet Riot, the overpowering scent of vanilla air freshener, Master Drake climbs into the back seat of the vehicle. Seated next to him, her pale, lean legs extended, is Willow’s twin sister Mara. Mara is wearing a tight black miniskirt, and black heels. The skirt is pulled up against her thighs clumsily, exposing the naked spread of her crotch. On top she is wearing a silky, jade-green blouse, pulled taut between her melon-sized breasts. The top reveals the luminous white rounds of her slender shoulders and the smooth length of her graceful arms.
Master Drake doesn’t say anything. There’s a fair chance his words would be lost among the throbbing ache of Willow’s music anyway… Instead, he unzips his pants, extends the length of his pulsating dick, which Mara accepts, in her mouth, with pleasure.
“We’re gonna get rocked tonight”
“…cum on feel the noize”
“Rock it tonight”
“…girls rock your boys”

Over the chorus, repeated again and again, Mara drowns in the taste of her master’s cock, as Willow navigates the twisting alleyways and back streets of Toronto. Mara begins to gag, choking on her master’s shaft – with each “wild,” “wild,” “wild,” and with every hairpin turn, Mara feels the touch of his cock press harder against the stubborn wall of her throat. Her body is careening. Willow rounds a too-rapid corner, Mara’s body is sliding, sliding halfway off the seat, her long legs catching, her bound mouth holding, wet fingers grasping at the stiff bottom of his dick. Beads of sweat gather on her forehead… And she murmurs over and over again –

“Master, Master…”
Her long blond hair brushes his bare thighs.
“Master, Master…”
“AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH, AHHH” echoes the music.
“master,” Mara whispers.
chokes
gags
“cum on…”
“master…”
“cum on…” urges the music
“master,” Mara wheezes, gags, retches. Her eyes pop, her throat collapses, her body crumples as he does… as he cums, in great white streaks across her pale, sweaty forehead, spackling her damp silken hair. So when they arrive at their destination at last, and she is finally confronted with the prospect of polite company, Mara is forced to wipe his seed off of her forehead with the back of her own forearms, lick up the sticky remnants, sliding her lazy tongue across her honeysuckle skin, and borrowing a brush from her sister is forced to comb his semen through the wavy lengths of her halo-blonde hair.

When they get out of the car at last, Master Drake is pleased to see that Willow has discarded with her usual self-imposed uniform of black denim jeans and no-matter-the-weather tank top. Towering in platform stilettos, Willow is clad in black leather pants that stroke the heart of her high ass, a black sequined halter strapped across her breasts and held in place by two slender strings.

They are at a strip club.

Sandwiched between Willow and Mara, Master Drake breezes past the bouncers who don’t say a word. And at the counter, the girl taking the covers winces when she sees them.

“Are you looking for Summer?” she asks nervously.
“Who the fuck‘s Summer?” Mara asks, flicking a few bills in the woman’s general direction.
“Do you mean Rowan?” “Roe-wen? You dumbass cow.” Willow continues. “God you people are soooooo stupid…Why else would be we caught dead in this fucking silo? Do you think I walk around the house calling her ‘Summer?’ Of course we’re looking for Rowan. Where’s my sister?”
Pause.
“She’s doing a bachelor party upstairs,” the girl admits, suddenly sullen.
“Fine” snaps Willow. “We’ll wait.”

Master Drake, Willow, and Mara take their seats among the cauldron of black plush chairs that line the catwalk, watch the decadent cadre of blue and pink lights stroke the distended tits of dancer after dancer. Mara and Willow feed each other food, tugging at full forks with greedy mouths… Willow sits on Master Drake’s lap as shot girls douse his throat with liquor and gouge his eyes with bright hard nipples. A tall brunette offers Master a massage which Willow pays for by sliding the girl a mouthful of dollars… mouth to mouth, as Willow’s playful hands run up and down the girl’s sides, linger on the crest of her thighs… The girl, caressing Master’s neck… his shoulders… and below… while around him angular girls with puffy chests, slowly rotate round and round the silver pole, flashing smiles, crotches, greedy hands… swaying to the techno beat.

Still, after an hour, Rowan does not appear. Rising from the plush caverns of his chair, Master Drake stretches. He has grown weary of foreplay. Willow and Mara glance at each other, read each others’ minds in some sort of preternatural “twin-speak,” arrive at the same conclusion: it’s time to crash a party.

After two, not entirely unpleasant, false leads the trio finally finds the mysterious Rowan ensconced in the furthermost of the champagne lounges. When they find her she is pressed up upon the lap of a young man, presumably, judging by his level of intoxication, the groom. His pants are down, and she, she has enveloped the shaft of his cock in between the supple cheeks of her ass… Sitting, stretched across his body, her muscles contracting leisurely around his dick, her arms laced across his shoulders, her red lips wrapped around the cock of another… his brother…. And she is gorgeous. She is not a duplicate, a doppelganger, a clone of her sisters. She hardly resembles them at all but for her lucid skin, buttery white and soft, cool to the touch, pale and luminous like a clear mountain sky. Her hair though, is not the same golden hue shared by her Willow and her Mara… oh no, it is the color of embers, of oriole wings and autumn days, rippling across her ivory skin, brushing the diagonal lines of her brow… sometimes masking the dark, bright orbs of her chestnut brown eyes.

“Mmmm,” she says when she sees them, mouth still brimming with dick, “company…” and then extricating herself from lap and mouth, she is standing, telling the groom it’s time to go home.
“…but” stammers the best man/brother, his dick still gleaming silver with a thick coat of Rowan’ spit. “we paid for another hour already!”
“Too bad,” exclaims Rowan, unbuckling the strap of her shoe, extracting a wad of tightly folded dollars, peeling away several large bills which get thrown to the groom in a most unceremonious manner. “Consider yourselves refunded.”
“but…” pouts the brother, as the groom reluctantly rises to his feet, wobbling, unsteady on his feet, “this is outrageous!!!”
“Go ahead then” responds Rowan calmly, hustling the group of men to the door “tell my boss… it won’t make a difference,” she concludes with a wicked grin, “I’m irreplaceable.”
And at last, after the hubbub of angry men departs down the back stairs, after the door has been shut upon them, Rowan is able to turn her full attention toward Master Drake, turning to meet his gaze directly.
“And what can I do for you tonight?” she purrs.
“Just one thing…” he responds.
“You can call me Master.”

Willow and Mara hold their collective breath. It is a volatile moment. Rowan doesn’t say yes; she doesn’t say no. She doesn’t say no when Master Drake strokes the entrance to her vagina. She doesn’t say no when he runs his hands along the smooth curvature of her breasts, smells sandalwood in her hair, sees cathedrals in her eyes… tastes butterscotch on her breath… and she doesn’t say anything at all when he, skimming the architecture of her legs, finds a single satin ribbon, black, tied tightly to one ankle.

“What’s this?” he asks, one hand fingering the ribbon while the other fingers her, beginning slowly, three fingers, in and out of the arch of her cunt.
Burrowing her way into his lap, Rowan speaks. “It’s a symbol” she says simply. “A symbol of my desire.”
“Your desire for what, pet?” he asks, nibbling at the knot that holds it close.
“You really want to know?” asks Rowan leaning back as Master Drake seizes hold of her long, pale throat, cradling the pulse of her elegant neck in the palm of his hand.
“Yes Pet, tell me what you desire” his voice is soft, thick.
“The ribbon is a symbol of my desire…” she begins slowly, as her labia begins to dampen, dousing his fingers with the clear juices of her cunt, “my desire is to exchange this ribbon for one of iron. To give this band to …” her voice trailing off… “to the one who can master ME.” And then, lifting her head, looking at him squarely, deliberately, she asks him
“Are you that man?”

And then, like dual narrators, Willow and Mara are at his sides, whispering in his ear
“She’s never cum, master…”
“…in all this time….”
“She’s never had an orgasm….”
“or so she says….”
“It’s hard to believe….”
“but we thought if anyone….
“…if anyone would tame Rowan, satisfy her….”
“it could only be…”
“you…”

Master Drake feels the skin surrounding his dick quicken, tighten, feels his cock harden, stiff… running it up and down the length of her legs he asks her, “What if I am that man, my pet, what if… if I make you cum… squirt even? Then what?”

Her answer is straightforward and much to his liking.

And so then he is upon her, dick lashing her, her legs akimbo… Rowan lying pushed on her back, each sister holding a wrist, her arms pinioned, her legs extended, like an upper-case “L” an arrow pointing to the sky. At first she is resistant, when his mouth teases, grazes the tender flesh of her clit, his tongue caresses, presses, grinds its tiny swirl, his teeth rub in between its surrounding folds, nipping the tender flesh… she is cautious, inflexible… her body holds itself in check… his tongue, his face, smothered in the depths of her womanhood, pressed up against the hot edges of passion…. until his face is saturated with her musky odor and she can smell herself, her scent lingering on him as he bends to kiss her neck, her lips, anointed. Underneath him, her plum colored nipples expand… she is like a door and he has the key. His dick he grasps tight in one hand, steers it, guides it, as it peels away the layers of fatty skin that jealously guard the entrance to her cunt. He teases her with it, kissing the lips of her pussy… in and then out until soon she is moaning for more….

But she will have to wait.

He is hoisting her now, lifting her onto an ottoman, on her hands and knees, her face is flushed as he grabs her hair, pulling her face close to the sweet sweat of his crotch… holding her fast… to the point of his dick which is primed against her lips, and in her mouth, expanding to fill it, pushing her tongue down and her neck back. Her flame-licked hair drapes over her face, getting entangled on the wet shaft that pushes in and out, heaving against her enflamed throat. Her cherry red lipstick is smeared and leaves stains at the base of his abdomen with each of his powerful thrusts. He clutches her on either side of her head, rubs his dick in her hair and over her eyes, her head is nodding, rubbing like a cat, against its stiff warmth. Until then he is pushing her head down, down until her cheek is resting on the cool leather sheen of the ottoman, her arms and hands stretched along the floor, again pinned by each sister: Willow on the left and Mara on the right. And he is behind her now… parting her legs like the pages of a book, her knees sliding easily across the slick leather, whetted with the juices of his lust.

And then Rowan moans as she finally feels the walls of her pussy cave in around the strength of his dick riding her…. riding… riding. The ache at the bottom of her belly swells as he forces his way to the back of her cunt, plunging the heat of his dick into the heart of her core… repeatedly… over and over… until her insides are like an avalanche, falling… like the burning city of Troy…. Her sisters are pulling on her arms, all she can see… smell… breathe… is the scent of sex-stained leather… and from behind, the towering throb and ache of Master Drake, breaking her will with each push of his thick, inflated cock. She feels the first scream welling inside her stomach, rising up through her sternum, forcing itself out, her throat, a prisoner escaping.
“Aaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!”
Her body begins to tremble.
His dick begins to stir.
“Ahhhh, Ahhhhhhhh, ah , ahhh, AaaHHHH, AHHHHHh!!!!!”
He grabs the front of her thighs, pulling her into him, shunting her body, slick with the sheen of sweat, to and fro, savoring the pleasure of her escalating screams that rack her body, making it writhe and convulse under his steady hand…..
Bending over her now, he hisses….
“Say it, pet…. Saaay itt……”
She is panting, her hair is shalacked to her face, her body is trembling.
“Say it.”
And then with a suck of breath as his penis stabs her… again and again…. Without any sign of stopping….. as his practiced fingers pulse against the round of her clitoris…
“M-m-m-aster…”
“again, pet.’
“master.’
“and again….?”
Until she is screaming…. “MASTER!!!!! MASTER!!!!”

She feels the low rumble in the pit of her stomach first, feels it rise with her voice, she senses the build- up, feels the quick, jerky pump, the white-hot release as she squirts a stream of clear, hot liquid which hits the taut leather surface of the ottoman with a smack before running in rivulets down her arms, staining the floor in great wet puddles and soaking the knees of her crouching sisters.

At the sight of Willow and Mara drenched in the slime of their sister’s cum. The sight of Rowan’s blossom of a body shaking under his…. The sounds of her screams as they slowly subside, transition to whimpers… and to great gulps of air…. It is finally enough… with three last, great heaves into the disintegrating depths of Rowan’s wet cunt, he feels the familiar prick, the spasm of energy like a thousand tiny pumps... until Rowan’s pussy is filled to overflowing, bubbling over merrily to trickle down her upturned ass and down the white sheen of her legs.

And then as her kitten-weak body sags into the comfort of her seat, he stoops and with careful fingers untwines the ribbon binding her ankle, letting the black ribbon fall to the ground, promising to bring her a replacement, tomorrow; tomorrow, when he plans to claim his prize, the privilege of her virgin ass, saved, her second virginity, for as long as a twenty-two year old can save anything… waiting for the man who could tame her and now ripe for the picking… waiting for him, tomorrow.

2011-02-09T13:59:00.000-05:00

This is Master Drake. My pet Psyche has decided to concentrate on other things at this time in her life. Enjoy the stories she has written and received permission from me to post on this blog. Do not make any requests for new stories any longer. Women (genuine women who are at least 18 years in age) who are interested in learning what it takes to learn from me feel free to message me privately.

One of the rewards I gave my pet Psyche for being a good pet and writing the stories featured in this blog (as well as the stories she wrote that are for my eyes only) is making her squirt for the very first time in her life.

Sooner

2010-12-13T05:39:00.000-05:00

Sooner
By Psyche Summer

Master Drake’s bar tab had reached an all-time high. But drinking down his wages was a fair price to pay if he hoped to catch the attention of the new waitress at Cooley’s. Besides, there were worse ways to spend a Friday night than in the company of good friends, good Guiness and very good women. Or in this case: woman. Mary. That was her name.

She was a tall girl, slim and pretty. Master Drake could see her easily as she snaked between the crowded tables of the neighborhood pub. She was hard to miss, actually. It wasn’t that she was a knock-out exactly, but there was something amazing about her none-the-less. She was young, perhaps in her early twenties, but she looked a little bit younger. Perhaps it was the way she wore her hair… like a cartoon character, high on her head, a long, spiraling ponytail of light brown hair, a fringe of wispy bangs that despite her best intentions, and her bobby pins’ best efforts, came fluttering across her face and into her eyes. Her eyes themselves were charming; they were the color of luck, and her smile… her smile well, the best thing I can say about it was that it was lovely and sincere. When she smiled, which was often, her smile would light up the room… make you feel special… like you had really made her happy or something.

So that is how it is… why Master Drake is so distracted, ignoring conversations that would normally interest him: the petty squabbles between his buddies, Nate, Nick and Mitch. Furious debates over whether Tron will suck; whether Sandra Bullock is indeed “hot” and the epic battle, a feud to almost end friendships: was Halle Berry miscast as Catwoman? Of course she was, that’s Master Drake’s opinion, but tonight he is not in the mood for the endless prattle of that inane Berry apologist Nick; hands down the role should’ve gone to Elizabeth Hurley… or Heather Graham at least, but the conversation is an old one, and Master Drake has more captivating things to dwell on.

Like Mary’s ass.

He watches it as she roves between the tables, bending now and then to better hear. His blue eyes linger on its supple curves which press as she leans to pick up some glasses, stretching the thin khaki twill of her teeny-tiny shorts. He admires the ride of her breasts, clad under the winking shamrocks strategically placed on her t-shirt. The tiny cinch of her waist… When suddenly it dawns on him: he knows her.

“C’mon Jack” says Nick, nudging Master Drake in the ribs, “tell this moron it wasn’t Halle’s fault the movie sucked.”
Master Drake sighs. “Nothing against Halle. It was the story of the movie itself that sucked. It was 'Catwoman' of DC Comics...but the character and storyline…”
“See!”
But Master Drake is not paying attention. In his mind he is trying to remember where he has seen Mary before.
“You know her bud?” His friend Mitch is leaning in while Nick and Nate argue.
“Yeah…” he begins…
“She one of your… you know….?”
“No.” he responds wistfully. “She is not one of my pets. Though sweet Jesus, she could be a prized pet of mine!”
“Well, don’t look now Jack-o, here she comes.”

Master Drake straightens himself a little as she approaches, willing his eyes not to wander down to her very pleasing chest.

“Another round boys?” she asks, clearing the glasses, her shoulder just brushing his. He can smell her sweet perfume even among the smell of cigarettes and sweat and nighttime.
“I know you.” He says, grabbing her wrist, conscious that this could be his lamest pick-up ever.
“Yes!” she says brightly, turning toward him, her eyes crinkled into half-moon smiles. “I was wondering if you’d remember” she says laughing at his befuddlement. She meets his gaze directly, pleasantly. Her smile excites him. “You’re Jack Drake, right?” She’s teasing him now because he still has no idea….
Finally she relents, her spectacular smile spreading wider across her face. “I met you last summer... at your cousin CJ’s graduation party. You were there with a Hispanic girl.”
He remembers now. Sort of. He had been with Celeste. He remembers that. Had taken her upstairs to his aunt and uncle’s bedroom, had had her in his famous standing 69, ‘til her face had turned purple, ‘til he had cum all over it, a caul of cum dripping down, sticking to the strands of her caramel colored hair.
“You know CJ?” Nate asks, suddenly interested.
“Jailbait.” Nick mutters under his breath.
“Shut up dickhead” Nate hisses. “She’s like 19.”
“Yeah, but she wasn’t three years ago…”
“Fuck you, asshole” Nate says under his breath, casting a wary look in Master Drake’s general direction before adding, “I’m allowed to LOOK.”
“Yep!” Mary chirps over their banter. “CJ and I went to the same high school. I was a year ahead of her, but we played on the same volleyball team.”
“And you were there at her party, and I didn’t notice you?” Master Drake muses…
“Well,” she says blushing, looking at him under lowered lashes. “I noticed you…”
“Hmmmm…” he responds, dropping his head a little to meet her gaze directly, his blue eyes meeting her green ones. “I must’ve noticed you a little too, right? After all, I remembered you.”
“I guess you did…” she replies quietly, turning away, the tray of glasses balanced on her shoulder. “Well, I’ll be back in a minute with your drinks.”
She is only gone a few seconds though when Master Drake rises from his seat abruptly, excuses himself and follows after her.
“Hmm” says Mitch as he watches their retreating figures. “Boys,” he says, “sit back, I don’t think we’ll be getting our drinks anytime soon.”

*****

Master Drake follows Mary past the bar where she rests her tray of drinks, and into the dark corridor beyond. He watches her swish through the door marked “employees only” and only pauses a moment before following. She is standing in front of the sink in the employees’ washroom. Her hand is down her pants. She doesn’t turn her head as he approaches as he stands behind her, pushing the blossoming expanse of his heaving erection against the back of her thighs. He can hear her little gasps, bubbling out of her rib cage as her hand moves up and down… He runs his face over her scalp, catches the smell of her… runs his lips across the nape of her neck until all of her downy blonde hairs are in edge.

“Jack…” she whispers his name… her eyes are darting back and forth “Jack, we shouldn’t…” Her voice trails off; his greedy mouth has travelled down to her waist, where under her it is pressed warm to her skin. She is panting harder now, forming little puffs of smeary condensation on the mirror in front of her.
“Jack…” she moans. She is turning, writhing against his plying lips. “Stop; you’re like old… I mean…” she hesitates, blushing. He is unzipping her shorts. Her eyes grow wide as his mouth descends. “I… uh… it’s… I mean aren’t you like thirty or something?”
“I’m thirty seven pet, but don’t worry. It’s not like I’m going to marry you or something. You do want me to fuck you tonight, don’t you Mary?”
He is sucking on her clitoris; her shorts are on the floor, and he can feel the little shivers as they race through her convulsing body. He lifts her, somewhat so that her succulent, supine body is reclined into the well of the sink, the small of her back arched above the tap.
She is kissing the top of his head feverishly, running her hands through his thick, dark hair.
“Yes… yesss….” He has turned on the faucet, a tiny stream of cold water which he scoops into his hand before gripping her right breast, watching her nipple, under the thin white cotton of her t-shirt, expand to his touch. He bites it through the material, watching her mouth form a crooked “O” in a paroxysm of shock and ecstasy, as his fingers simultaneously glide into her sopping wet cunt.
“Ohhh. Omigod” her voice is hoarse, breathless as he slides them in and out. First two then three… the cold water lapping against her. Four. “Jack…” she is moaning, curled around him like a giant letter “G.” “Fuck” she whispers. “Fuck.”
He pulls back from her, unfastening her pants, and in that split second she gathers her thoughts.
“Jack…” she says, pulling away from him. “What about CJ?”
“What about her pet?” he asks drawing her close.
“She’s your cousin.”
“I know she is, pet.” He says with finality as he lifts her complicit body, driving it down onto his cock with such force that her legs curl around him reflexively.
“Ooohhhh Oohh…” her voice is escalating.
His mouth is wrapped around hers, his tongue pushing her head into the mirror, her shoulder blades beating the wall.

Her ass rests precariously on the rim of the sink, his hands grip her hips as he drives into her. Feels her warmth wrap around him, her body rise and fall to his rhythm. Stroking her over and over with his fat, hard dick, her thighs, cold and wet, stung with the sizzle of his sex… while at his feet, puddles of water begin to form. Her long ponytail is dripping as well, splattering him with water with each of his unabated thrusts, his intensity is mirrored in the swirling pools of her Irish eyes. Her legs are splayed, flailing, curving, stung with his touch. He is greedy for her. For all of her. And so that is why, in short order, Mary feels the flow of water slow against her back. Feels strong arms lift her from her roost onto the floor, her knees, grating against the wet linoleum. Master Drake is standing in front of her, his legs spread apart, proffering her his dick still wet with her juice.

She looks up at him, her eyes round with expectation as she slowly lowers her head, enveloping him in the clutch of her mouth. He feels the warmth of her tongue wash over him, feels her cheeks puff out in her efforts to contain him. It feels so good. He has seized her by her temples and is thrusting himself into the hole of her mouth, as the first saline trickle streaks down her cheek onto the flash of his disappearing dick. Her knees are grinding into the hard floor, her hands are shaking. Her quivering fingers wrapped around the beast of his lust. Choking. Unrelenting. He looks down at her, brushing her bangs out of her face so that he can see, unobscured, the roundness of her emerald eyes, raised to him beseechingly, brimmed over with salty, trickling tears. Like a Christmas angel bent in prayer, a supplicant, she hovers over the hot spear of his cock, taking it in her perspiring mouth, again and again, over and over, as he fills her mouth with the breadth of his excitement.

“Faster bitch!” He mutters gripping her head. “Faster!”
She is swaying, her throat contracting against the pressure. “Aaaa caaaaaa” she mumbles, her lips stretched wide with saliva stained cock.
“That’s it, you little slut,” he urges “that’s it. You’re going to make me cum soon. You’d like that wouldn’t you, you little cum slut?”
“Yeeettth” comes her pliant, gagging response. Her lovely eyes are bulging as she speaks.
“Say my name, whore…” he hisses between grated teeth.
“Aaackk.”
“No!” He has once again gripped her, pushing her reeling head down onto the fat head of his dick, arching his back as he feels himself slide deeper down into the wet recesses of her tunneling throat. “No little whore, my little fuck pet. You will call me by my proper name pet, which is ‘Master Drake.’ Do you understand pet?” He can feel his excitement mounting… “Now go ahead and gagspeak my name while I cum all over your pretty face.”
Her heart-shaped face is moist with tears and water and slobber and sweat. She is looking up at him with eyes strained by ardor. Her matted hair frames her loveliness.
“Come on…” he whispers urgently, “say it!!!”
And so with one great heave of energy, one huge spasm of lust, she manages to choke out his proper name: “affuh” [cough, cough, retch] “affuuuhh aaa”
He closes his eyes, feels the rush, her plaintive voice echoing in his ears as he feels himself empty into her, feels her gurgling throat collapsing around him, until he pulls out releasing a torrent of white translucence caking her face with his salty brine.

But he is not finished.

Mary cannot believe it at first. Having risen from the floor, the crisscrossed pattern of the floor tile embedded into her knee-caps, she is amazed to see his erection has hardly diminished. In fact as he reaches for her, rubbing it across her sweaty flanks, she swears it is harder than ever. She closes her eyes as he turns her away from him, placing her hands on the edge of the counter, cupping her ass in his hands. Then he is pressing up against her, running his hands up her back underneath her shirt, pressing his flesh into the crack of her pale, quivering ass. Running his hands down the front of her, reaching for her rounded, naked clit, her open, panting cunt. But when she feels the first insistent probe of his cock against her asshole, she turns to him with fear.

“No please…” she says, her voice a hush. “Not that. Please. I’m not ready.”
“You are a virgin?” he asks, caressing the rise of her ass in his hands.
“Yes” she whispers after a minute.
“Know pet, that it would give your master great pleasure to take your virgin ass.”
Again, a pause, like she is waging an internal battle. “I know, I know…” she pleads at last, squinching her eyes closed, “but please Master, please…. I’m scared.”
He looks down at her shivering, disheveled body, hunched over the washroom sink, the brown blossom of her ass peering up at him, his loins twitching with desire.
“Very well pet” he says at last, positioning his hands across her hips, plunging his cock, to the sound of her stifled gasp, into the depths of her pleading pussy.

And then with reckless abandon, mingled with pent up longing, Master Drake pounds her cunt with great heaving blows, blows that threaten to tear down the washroom, rip down the sky; blows that eventually bring the manager to bang on the door, shouting obscenities… lurching thrusts that loosen Mary’s lungs and cause her legs to wobble, that hasten Master Drake’s orgasm until he is exploding inside her, filling her cunt, then lifting himself to spill his seed out onto the glistening surface of her tight virgin ass. The ass that will soon be his, sooner than its mistress could possibly imagine. Soon.

For Master Drake

The Good Night

2010-10-31T19:19:00.002-04:00

The Good Night
By: Psyche Summer

The dull hum and drone of the photo-copier was giving Thomas a hard-on. Winding through his body like some sort of virus, causing his cock to expand in his lap, hardening as he watched her… the current of electricity that passed through his body, distracting him from his work, as he closes his eyes… trying to force out the thoughts of Natalie… his secretary, who stands before him, young and lithe, bent over the paper-feed, causing Thomas to clutch his desk, imagine ugly things… try… try to avoid temptation.

Thomas knew better. He really did. He was married. Happily enough. And she was getting married too. She had told him so, a month ago, confiding in him one morning over coffee, secrets shared between doughnuts and dossiers. He remembered how his anatomy had first responded to her that morning, flaring as her nimble fingers reached over him, to pluck a sugar packet from the box, her long, charcoal hair just brushing his arm… sending shivers up his spine. How she had taken him into her confidence that day… wrapped her longing around him like a sheath…. shying away at first… until she gradually let her guard down, letting him peel away the skin of her secrets, like an unfurling flower, gradually deeply. Until she is telling him of all of her fears, her hopes and her humiliations… her desire… for anal sex… she blushes as she says it… how she is so afraid that her boyfriend, her affianced will think she is dirty… a whore… so she keeps her desires hidden, blanketed under a vanilla veneer.

And now, as twilight turns to real darkness, as muffled footsteps fade into night, Thomas watches Natalie step away from the copier, watches her approach his desk, her girlish figure… so tantalizing… her warm olive skin…. her beautiful, full breasts…. So lovely. It makes him ache; she is so close… she smells clean… sweet… like daisies, as she casually begins to sort her papers, leaning against his desk, casually unaware that the sight of spandex stretched across her high, taut ass is sending her boss into seizures, raptures of desire. She is like Eve in the garden, her ass outstretched, like an apple in her trembling hand… just one bite of its sweet succulence… is all he wants: just one lingering taste.

So it is that he can hardly help himself in the end; he is an automaton, forgetting hearth and home, so seized is he by the siren’s song of her hovering, lingering ass, suspended in the air before him. So that without hardly knowing how or why, without premeditation (unless you count the hours and hours of self-induced pleasure, cumming into his hands between the sheets of his marriage bed, imagining her, down on her knees, her pleasant, yielding lips wrapped around his cock), he finds his hand, reaching out, touching down on the soft exterior, stroking the fine twin ellipses of her buttocks… feeling her muscles tense just once before they relax into the confines of his hand.

Is she surprised at his forwardness? Perhaps, but if so: not much. For instead of protesting, she bends down further, stretches her face towards his computer screen. Gently placing her hands on the desk before her.

“Don’t move.” He whispers.

Thomas is getting up, his heart is racing, but he calmly pads to the door, locking it against intruders before he returns…. And without preface, without introduction or ceremony, without any words at all, he is pulling the stretch of her pants down to her knees, running his hands over the fine, beehive of her ass, her skin, soooo smooth. He gropes the two halves of her ass, parting them like a carved melon, running his finger between the crack, letting it linger and probe along the meniscus of her hole, staring at its dark, brown kiss… savoring its unblemished innocence. With one hand he is unzipping his pants, letting his drawers fall to the floor, while his other hand feels its probing, winding fingers through the threshold, the entranceway to her ass… enjoying the shiver of her nervous excitement as the brunt of his manhood draws near. A little gasp as he grabs a fistful of her hair before pressing the tip of his dick against the flailing rim. Rubbing slick hands, wet with sweaty anticipation, against the stiff walls of his erection before testing it against the weight of her stubborn, virgin ass. Feelings erupt inside him, the death grip, tightness of her first refusal, the vice-like walls of her warm, throbbing hole as he pushes again… so that just the tip, the very tip… is slowly swallowed…. eliciting the first grit of her teeth, her first sensual, trembling moan. A moan that inspires a fever-fall of lust in Thomas such as he never knew, urging him on as he pushes further into her stain… like a hypodermic needle piercing the skin… pushing further, deeper into the well of her wiggling body. Finally, plunging beyond the collapse of resistant, heaving muscles, into the Elysium of the inner chassis of her ass, feeling the shudder of skin twitch around him, the thick warm velvet of her contracting muscles tensing with each and every wrenching thrust. Until Natalie’s scalp stings with the pain of his pull, her ass weeps as he descends upon her again and again, relentless, like a wakened beast, burying his fingers in the depths of her sopping, soaking cunt. His dick, engorged and bloated, reaching into the pinch of her loins, stretching the flesh around it, bending her bones…

She is capsized on the desk, a hailstorm of pain and joy… as moan after howling moan comes falling from her fevered lips. Thomas can feel his own dick between the walls of her cunt and her ass, sliding to-and-fro within her, his groping fingers pushing against her, increasing the pressure, the pleasure of her breaking in. His dick is fully inside her, plummeting with every heavy thud. His body. Slamming against her tender ass… over and over, until pulling out he cums… frothing all over the ridge of her pummeled, heaving bottom, smearing it over her body, the soapy, white strength of his seed. Before he releases her hair, pulls up her pants, petting her cum-stained ass one last lingering time for good measure… before kissing her once, on the crown of her head…. before, as night falls, he sends her on her way.

For my friend, Thomas

"Wednesday" an excerpt from "Tomorrow Never Comes"

2010-10-27T03:47:00.002-04:00

Wednesday

It was nearing ten o’clock, but Laurel Tennyson was still at work. Hunched over her desk, back aching, blue eyes bleary, Laurel slaved away at the keyboard in front of her, words, directives, scoldings echoing through her word-numbed mind. The debate was tomorrow, the election mere weeks away, which was why it was imperative, just imperative that Laurel master every single detail, down to each stray comma, every fact and quote, statistic neatly referenced, collated and properly stacked… 22 briefings, all to be ready for tomorrow’s morning review….

Laurel’s pace quickens, her hands gliding over the 104 keys, recalling the senator’s disapproving frown, his clucks of dismay when she had presented him with her first drafts earlier in the day. His reproof still echoing in her ears, “amateurish” he had pronounced it, casting three weeks of her labor into the nearest trashcan, all the while making no effort to conceal his lust for her, his eyes lingering on the dimple of material stretching between her rounded breasts, his hands brushing her exposed thigh, his lecherous, sadistic grin, as he lets his hands slide a little higher than they ought, telling her to stay late, to redo them…. redo them all. To stay as late as she must. She can hear him now, above the din of her typing, calling her, summoning her, “fetch me some coffee, miss…”
Wearily Laurel rises from her chair; she has been seated so long that her legs feel stiff, arthritic. The crepe lines of her crisp cream colored suit are run up and down with wrinkles, her pale blue shell hugs her tiny waist, but it has come untucked on one side, adding to her overall unkemptness. Laurel removes her glasses which have left tiny red impressions on the sides of her nose, shuffles to the coffee maker, filling the enormous mug 2/3s full, measuring out exact amounts of sugar and milk, leveling each spoonful with as much precision as her time drained body can muster. She pulls her hair, which she wears in a bun for convenience, down, letting the rich blonde tresses swirl around her shoulders. The senator does not wish for her to wear her hair up. Laurel stirs the coffee twelve times, turns the handle to face her left and rests the spoon gently on the right hand side of the saucer before bringing it to the senator.
He is on the phone when she enters, his back facing her as she rests the steaming saucer next to him and turns to go. “Wait…” he says, grabbing her wrist, turning mouth from receiver and drawing her close so that the edge of her buttocks rests on the edge of his desk, so that as he leans back in his reclining desk chair, his eyes fall level with her crotch. He continues his conversation leisurely while she waits… savoring the view of her nervous body; he feels her tense as his hands, reaching for coffee, brush her thigh, touch her hip, as he leans in, reaching for his rolodex, straining to grasp it over her trembling lap; she can feel his hot breath singe her chest through the thin material of her blouse…. smell the grease of his pomade, his political stench, crinkle her nose. She is sitting perfectly still, afraid that any single movement will be interpreted as a sign, a signal of assent. He hangs up the phone at last, turning toward her too quickly, knocking cup and saucer to the floor with a clatter; she feels the hot spray of liquid splash across the clean white sprawl of her ivory skirt front, hear his expletives as the brown beverage snakes its way down her legs, spreading in large murky puddles across the floor, curving around the ceramic shards of the broken teacup. And so Laurel finds herself on her hands and knees, mopping up the mess while the senator tracks her ass like he has it on radar. Watching the small of her back dip and rise and her fetching, pert ass bob up and down with each menial scrub. And then as she takes water sodden towel to her own stained lap, she feels it. Feels him. His hand, reaching up around the limp folds of her skirt, reaching between her trembling thighs…. Until Laurel is scurrying out of his office clutching her sopping skirt the sound of his quiet laughter ringing in her ears.
Alone at last, in the relative sanctity of her front office, Laurel scrubs at the large brown stain furiously; she feels the hot sting of tears welling in her eyes just as she hears the disturbance at the door. Looking up she is mortified to see her sisters: Rowan, Mara and Willow strolling through the entrance way, escorted by a tall, dark haired man in a black jacket. Mara and Willow are mirror images of Laurel, luxurious blond hair, round blue eyes shaded by rows of black lashes. Large curved breasts that taper into small, elegant waists, long, coltish legs. Rowan, though a year older, is slightly shorter than her sisters, with a fountain of tangerine hair that shrouds her dark, almond shaped eyes, her face a maze of soft angles, her body trim, with two round breasts that point upward, tossed toward the pale length of her graceful neck. Although Laurel, herself, is a mess, she is no match for her sisters, whose levels of dishevelment eclipse her own sorry state. Smears of lipstick tarnish each girl’s face, tracks of burgundies and petal pink, lip strokes brushed across cheeks and décolletages, Mara’s blouse is ripped in the front and a button is missing, Rowan’s skirt is twisted sideways and all of its lively pleats have fallen out. Willow has a large streak of cum a full hand-width’s wide matted in her thick blonde hair. And Laurel can see that, winding around their three slender ankles, each sister is wearing a slim chain of metal snaked around her left leg.
“What do you want? Why are you here?’ Laurel demands, her eyes narrowing into slits.
“See Master,” explains Willow, apologetically, “just as I told you, she’s very uptight.”
“She’s got a porcupine up her ass” adds Mara while Rowan, assuming Laurel’s chair, leans her knees up tight against the edge of Laurel’s desk, letting the loose folds of her red skirt fall back, revealing that her black opaque tights end at her thigh, showing off the nudity of her milky legs and exposed sex.

Master Drake surveys the newest member of the Tennyson family, observes red rimmed eyes, prettily flushed cheeks, heaving chest… swallowing sobs… it is almost too good to be believed. Willow is astride Laurel’s desk, Laurel just in time to snatch away a stack of dossiers before they are smushed by Willow’s descending ass… when Master Drake approaches her, notices her flinch as he grasps her arm.

“We shouldn’t have come tonight,” he begins softly… sees her relax just a little. “I can see that you are very busy.” Laurel nods her head numbly. Freeing herself from his grasp, folders hugged to her breast, she strides to the corner filing cabinet…
“You should all leave… now.” She says forcefully; collecting her composure. “The senator will not tolerate visitors, especially my visitors at this late hour.”
Master Drake approaches her again, cornering her against the wall, speaking calmly. “we’ll be out of your hair soon Laurel. What I want needn’t take long.”

Laurel can see the intensity of his blue eyes running up and down the curves of her figure. It feels different than when the senator had done so just a little while ago. She feels herself drawn and repelled from him at the same time…. Her tired mind is confused as he pulls her toward him, planting his open mouth on her closed one, feels his tongue part the fat of her bee-stung lips…

“You will do as I tell you…” he whispers moving one hand up the thin layer of her blouse.
“No, no, no…” she is murmuring, quietly, plaintively… hearing the senator moving about in the adjacent office, “you have to leave… please… please just go.” Laurel can feel the curious eyes of her sisters revolving around her, smell the stale smell of coffee that lingers, saturating her senses…. But all she can think about is him… the creep of his hand up her leg….. the urgency in his voice as he tells her that he will go. Now. If only she tells him to stop.

“stoooo…” she falters as she feels his fingers fumble between the press of her satin panties, feels her cheeks crimson at his discovery of the damp crescent that awaits him.
He looks at her, her lips are parted now, her chest rises and falls against the press of his body against hers…. His gaze is piercing as he waits for her to continue. When she doesn’t, when it is clear that she has succumbed, he explains to her that tonight he and her sisters will have their way with her. That she is to be a good pet and do as he commands. And that if she is unable to, then he will alert the senator himself to her debauched ways, her sexual proclivities purchased on the government’s dollar. Does she understand, he wants to know. Does she understand?

Laurel colors, clenches her legs shut even as she feels the prick of passion between her thighs, the lips of her cunt moisten ... even more the rise of her tell-tale nipples under the her bra... stiffen harden as he waits for her response.
She thinks, her mind is racing, recalling events that had brought this night's awful deeds upon her. What had she done, what… what had she done? Perhaps it was when she had told Rowan to get a real job instead of sucking cock all night, to which Rowan herself had responded that she hadn't realized their occupations were so similar... or when she had, just the other day, broken up with Willow’s boyfriend for her, assumed Willow’s name and broken up with that loser from the bike shop for her... she had done her a favor really... told him that she needed a man who would take her places....
And with Mara, who knew Mara was just mean, but… Laurel shuts her eyes, feels the stranger’s breath stroking her neck, and the humiliation racks her body… in the palpable silence as he waits... does she understand?
Her palms are sweaty she is quivering, suppressing her panic... She raises her eyes only to lower them again quickly... he is staring at her, the blue of his eyes boring holes into her breasts, into her stomach ... and lower. She feels herself flush, tries to turn away from him, but he is holding her pushed up against the sharp corner of the filing cabinet... She feels the cold metal jut into her spine... she stares at her sisters, at their slinky, slutty selves, masturbating on her desk, shuffling her papers, her weeks and weeks of diligent work... wetting each other’s fingers with extended tongues, before caressing damp recesses... slick holes. Her face burns as she answers. Sullenly, almost silently... “yes.”
Just barely… “yes.”
“That's a good girl” the stranger responds, pushing her gently to the ground, bidding her to follow him, across the office, on all fours... like a dog. Laurel’s eyes water with the sting of humiliation; she averts her eyes this time, not to avoid the intensity of his watch, but so that she can avoid the mockery of her sisters... She crosses slowly, prolonging her pain, but she cannot bring herself to move faster... her humiliation is like a brick, an anchor holding her back. When he arrives at Laurel's desk he signals for her to stop. A low whistle. Laurel feels the heat rise in her face, but as she sees his eyes wander to the wood paneled hallway that stretches out of the back of her office, leading to the senator's office at the end of the hall, she bites her tongue. She stops, pulls up on her haunches and waits. Deftly he slides her between the desk and the chair, planting her hands on the ground, a few feet apart, her head, bowed, facing away from him.
Beside her, her older sister Rowan has a promise to be kept. Rising from her chair, Rowan places each of her feet between the milky white hands of her trembling sister who lies below her on the floor. Over her prostrate body, Master Drake stands, his erect dick, which he removes from his pants, dangling inches in front of Laurel’s downcast face. Forcefully, though not cruelly, he pushes Rowan’s head to the desk, her arms sweep across its smooth surface sending paperclips and election buttons crashing to the ground, so that smiling pictures of the senator surround Laurel, his face leering up at her as she waits for the next command. When it comes, she blushes despite her inner vows not to…

“Your sister… your sister pet, has promised me her virgin ass tonight, pet…” he begins addressing Laurel. “You will have the privilege of preparing it for me.” Guiding Laurel’s reluctant hands up the halves of Rowan’s buttocks, Laurel is forced to part them for him, exposing the tender pink crease of her ass and the tiny brown pucker nestled within.
“Spank her for me, pet.” Laurel reddens. What if the senator hears? She turns her face toward him, a beseeching look, but he pushes her head back gently towards the prone body of her sister. Clasps her wrist, raising her hand for her.
Laurel blanches. And then, quivering, brings her hand down with a thud on the white flanks of her sister.
“Harder” he commands.
Laurel raises her hand again, this time of her own accord, bringing the flat of her hand down swiftly, this time eliciting a smile, a slow groan from the recumbent red head stretched out in front of her.
“Again.”
Laurel feels her ass rub up against the end of his cock as she raises her body off of the plush green carpet of the senator’s office, raises her hand, lowering it with a resounding smack.
Rowan gasps, her head bangs against the surface of the desk. Her hands grip the sides of it…
“Again.”
Another smack, louder than the last. Rowan’s ass is coloring a bright pink. She is writhing in pleasure-pain. Her black clad legs are dancing about with each tremendous swat, the billows of her red skirt pushed above her, her pink ass taut and primed for the master’s pleasure.
“See…???” says the master bending down to whisper in Laurel’s ear. “That wasn’t so bad, now was it?”
Laurel flushes, excitement pulses through the fine muscles of her face, her eyes are bright but glazed…
“Now, lick it for me” he says.
Like a deflated balloon, Laurel turns toward his upright face… “you mean….?”
“Yes Pet, lick your sister’s dirty ass.”

Laurel balks, backs up, but the master is right there, blocking her path, forcing her forward again with the weight of his legs, until her face is just inches from the swollen target. Laurel extends a tentative tongue, her hair falls in front of her face, shielding her dismay from the eyes of her grinning sisters. Slowly she begins to lap at the crest of Rowan’s ass. Like a kitten, she strokes it. One lick. Two licks. Three. And now Willow is there too, bending down to suck on her master’s cock. Let its hard intent bend back her head and press upon her throat. Feel it glide between her teeth, filling her mouth with the fullness of him. Willow, Willow, who fondles his balls with tender fingers, whose billowing breasts hug his knees, while in front of him, Laurel, this his newest prize, primes the ass that tonight, will be his. He can’t stand it any longer, impatience rushes over him, withdrawing from the lush mouth of his twenty-seventh pet, he plunges the force of his dick into the nether regions of Rowan’s glistening bottom. Feels her wrench at the first punch… sees her knuckles whiten as they grasp each side of the desk. Her pink ass tightens around him… surrounding him with the tight tissue of her anus. He is pushing against her resistant muscles, straining to break through the barrier of her contracted tissue… into the warm embrace of her ass. The push of his erection, forcing itself into the tight of her ass… sliding further further until at last he has his way…. He feels the muscles around him loosen, fall slack as he works her… the friction giving away to the smooth slide of his cock… in and out… just a little, filling up space where there was none before… engorging her ass with the weight of his fullest potential… seizing the mottled curves of her bottom which wriggle and twitch with his every thrust. Delighting in the twin beauties bowing at his feet and at the third, who bends front-ways over the desk, covering his neck with the adoration of her gentle kisses which fall upon his throat and chest… as he pushes again and again. Hears Rowan’s muffled voice… begging him to take her other hole… pleading as she rides the passion of his pulse, heaving… she feels her sisters pull at her ankles, keeping her rooted to the floor, her arms strap the desk, but still she feels like she could fly away… his fingers are in her now, plunging three and four-fold into the sweet bowl of her cunt. The thin wall of flesh separating her two holes pulsates with pleasure as she is stroked… one and then the other, pummeling her… thrusting in and out… wet juices drip onto the laminate desk top, trickle down her legs, her moans and wild sobs escalate… he is ramming into the meat of her flesh, ripping in and out… his pelvis grinding against the pale moons of her buttocks, his fingers plumbing the tropical folds of her pussy, wet and glistening, sliding through her crimson cunt. His breath labored, heavy… as the hot house of her ass enfolds him, pressing in around him, until it is wringing his cum from him, and he is falling upon her prone body, filling her ass to the brim… as above him Mara warms his back with the soft touch of her caress and under him, Rowan’s body relaxes, the rush of orgasms subsiding, the hot sheen of sweat still glistening on her face.

At her feet, her sister Laurel feels the inner well of envy and longing mingle as she watches her sister in the throes of lust. And while her sister’s passion eventually subsides, Laurel sits on the floor, filled with desire… Looking down at her, from where he is now seated, in her leather backed swivel chair, Master Drake reaches into his pocket, pulls out a slim manila envelope.

Dangling it in front of her, he leans over… “what do you say, Pet?”
Laurel sits up, shifts her gaze to the envelope… “please…” she says hesitantly… “please master?”
Smiling Master Drake lowers the envelope, allowing its contents to trickle into his hands, a slim, metal chain, identical to the ones her sisters wear, which he leans over and fastens to her ankle, saying simply, “now you are mine.”

So when he orders her, a short time later, to take his penis in her mouth, she does not protest. Her tear stained cheeks and red-rimmed eyes rise and fall below him as she takes his cock between her succulent lips, rolling her tongue over its creases, feeling it harden to her touch… feels the rapture of pleasing him swell in her heart. He brushes away the strands of corn-silk hair that hide her face, watching the lightly tinted eyelids that flutter when she moves, the concave hollows of her cheeks as she lowers her face down toward him, as low as she can go… hears the soft retch as he pushes, pushes beyond…

When the senator rings at half past eleven, the phone light blinking like an insistent firefly, Master Drake allows his pet to answer the phone, fingers her cunt, between the thin line of her panties as he hears her promise to review his speech notes, order his car and pick up his dry cleaning. Her servile tone delights him so that before she can hang up the phone, he is standing behind her, bending her over and plunging her pussy with his hardening dick. He hears her gasp into the phone, color as she attempts to explain it away… her voice breaking with each of his thrusts. Behind him he feels Mara slowly circling the rim of his ass, sending shivers up his spine with the luxurious touch of her long fingers against his flesh… her soft hair brushing his legs… Laurel is bent over the desk now, struggling to make sense of the senator’s commands, she can hear him, but all she can feel is the slick, hard dick of her master drilling her from behind. His hands are pressed against the small of her back, her face is practically flush with the desk. Master Drake can hear the senator’s voice, speaking to his pet, hear him reminding her how he wants his breakfast the next day and what tie to bring him for the debate. He has no idea that his intern is getting fucked in his greeting room, that his memos and briefs and campaign posters are slick with her juices… the juices that he, Master Drake, has stirred inside of her… the passion he incited. And so, before the senator can finish, before Laurel can make the call that will summon his car to arrive within the next fifteen minutes, Master Drake has cum, a second time, sending spurts of cum all over the place, covering the sea of campaign buttons that litter the floor with the salty spray of his seed.

*****
Forty minutes later, Holly Tennyson is sitting by her window waiting for her daughters to arrive home. It is late after all, and Laurel has to work tomorrow and Mara has class. The younger children had been asleep for at least half an hour. Holly is an attractive woman though her brown eyes are filled with sadness and longing. In her lap she cradles a photo, old and prematurely stained, it is a picture of Holly from years ago, smiling into the camera, her lush auburn hair rippling down her milky shoulders. She is seated, looking directly into the camera. Her eyes are happy, full of laughter. Behind her, faceless, is a man, or just so, his torso, his hands, resting on her shoulders, his face obscured by the edge of the photo-frame… Holly sighs, lifts her wrist, strokes the lone tattoo embedded in her pale skin. A single number: 10. A reminder of a promise.

Minutes later Holly’s reverie is shattered by the unmistakable sound of her daughters’ approach… a speeding vehicle, a blast of noxious music. It was them. As Holly peers out of the lace bound window, she is startled to see a gray sedan pull up in front of her house. She squints into the darkness. Were all four of her daughters arriving in a single automobile, together? As the car comes to a stop, and doors are thrown open, Holly stares at the tumble of long legs and sea of hair that emerge from the vehicle. Willow, leather clad from the drivers’ side, and Mara, naturally riding shotgun, but then from the back seat, slipping out the door, Rowan her red skirt blowing against her skinny legs in the cruel March wind and Laurel in black coat and white knit hat… And then, last, climbing out of the back seat to resume his position in the front, a man. Holly is squinting, staring into the night. A tall man with brown hair and a black coat…. She watches her daughters swarm around him, bestowing his face with blowy kisses before starting up to the front door.

Withdrawing from the window, Holly’s face is full of wonder… Distractedly she looks again at the number etched onto her wrist, picturing the silhouette of the mysterious man who had tamed her daughters, in the back of her head, humming now as she crosses the room to greet her girls, pulling the sleeve of her pink sweater over the tattoo… for now… it would wait until tomorrow.

Camp Lindenwood Series: The Long Farewell Part 5/5

2010-10-03T14:00:00.003-04:00

Chapter 5: The Long Farewell

Avery

It’s 9:30 pm, and I am making my way… slowly…. very slowly… to the cabin under the hemlock trees. I’m late by half an hour… and maybe 3 or 4 years. Ever since I confided in my supervisor, Donna, the dreadful truth that I was a virgin, well, the status had weighed around me like a brick. You see, it’s not that I’m a prude, and it’s not like I’m 40; I’m 22 though, done with university. I’ve waited long enough. What happened to me, do you wonder? Do you wonder if I’m ugly, why I’ve been ignored? I don’t think I’m ugly. I’m medium built, with a tiny waist. I’m pale, and slightly freckled, I hope you won’t hold that against me! My hair is chestnut brown and curly, my eyes are round, the color of blueberries. I have dimples when I smile. I take good care of myself. So, what happened? Well, I guess, for one thing, I went to an all-girls’ school to start. And then on holiday, well, I have parents who love me; I went on safari, and toured the old palaces of Russia, rafted the Amazon; I guess I just never had time. And then at university, I guess I just kind of got lost. It never seemed like the right time, the right bloke. And I suppose I’m really not that adventurous…. only in my dreams.

My dreams… that’s how it all started… awaking in the middle of the night, in the dark with throbbing genitalia, aroused from my slumber by thoughts of wickedness. I had thought I had sufficiently muffled the ensuing sounds of my orgasm, sprung from my own fingers… my own touch. Thought that no one had heard me writhe underneath my bed sheets envisioning faceless men with their sex exposed, descending on me in a school bus. But I had been wrong. When Donna accosted me the next morning, drilled me with questions until me cheeks burned, I finally confessed. Told her the truth. Told her everything. I was an unhappy virgin. And now tonight, all that was about to change.

When I finally reach the cabin, stand outside it in my skyvvies for 15 more minutes gathering the courage to knock on the door, I am, of course, the last to arrive. When I finally knock, Donna opens the door, hugs me, welcomes me in. She is wearing an ivory silk negligee, one that falls like rainwater over the voluptuous curves of her body. I can’t help but stare. She herds me into the bedroom where the other girls are waiting. Kelly, in a dark blue, silk pajama top and shorts, Simone, in a dove gray bathrobe that ends mid-thigh. Would you believe me if I told you she wasn’t wearing anything underneath? They are both in the bed… arguing quietly. I can’t hear what they are saying. Shoshanna is wearing a tight pink cami and hipster shorts with words that I can’t say out loud scrawled across the front and backside in large, bejeweled letters, and Halla, tall and willowy is wearing a sheer cotton night dress that just grazes the bottom of her… well the top of her thighs. Her hair is done in little pigtails and she is painting her nails a bright shade of pink. Everyone looks up when I enter. They stare at my own modest pale blue nighty, my fuzzy slippers, my wondrous eyes… It’s like they’ve never seen a virgin before.

I am nervous, I admit it. When Mister Drake arrives ten minutes later… when I hear his car tires crunch on the gravel outside, hear the screen door slam and his footfalls on the stairs, my tummy starts to spin in belly flops. The others are more subdued now too. The room, once abuzz with hairspray and idle gossip, has gone suddenly serious. Mister Drake enters the bedroom a few minutes later, setting his brown paper parcel on the floor. His eyes travel to room taking in the sight of the six girls arrayed before him. His eyes linger on me.
“Avery…” he walks over, wraps me in a tight hug, the rise of my breasts collapse in his embrace. I smell his scent surround and overwhelm my senses.
“Welcome to my coterie. I hope this will be a special night for you.”
I smile, surprised, thanking him politely.
“I have a few questions for you first, Avery….” he explains, cupping my pointed chin in his hands, the way a father does a child.
“OK” I relent.
“First, will you call me master?”
I redden. Feel sheepish inside, I look away, but he clutches my chin and forces me to meet his gaze.
“Master?” he repeats.
“Master Drake?”
“No pet, just Master.”
I take a deep breath. “Yes, master” I respond, feeling a chill run up my spine. “What is your next question master?”
“Will you do everything your master says?” he queries. “Do it the first time, like a good little pet should?”
I nod my assent.
“Will you let me tie you up tonight, when I take your virginity, pet?”
He says it like a question, but I realize it is not. I bite my lip, leaving a deep red cut. Once again, I nod my head.
“Say it pet.”
“Yes” and then realizing my error… “yes please”

He rises, turns to Donna “get her ready.” He is out the door, down the steps. The room springs into action. Kelly is lifting my night shirt off; Donna is opening the parcel left by the doorway revealing a bright red panty which she pulls up over my thighs. Simone is dusting my face with scented powder, my face and well… some other places too, applying a dark cherry stain to my lips. Around my wrists, someone, I think Shoshanna, encircling them with leather bonds, cuffing them together behind my back. Donna is leading me to the king sized bed, shackling my hands to its great wooden posts. Flanking me on the bed, holding my feet to the bed, are Kelly and Donna. When master returns,
Simone greets him at the door, “voila!” she exclaims.
He crawls up on the bed. Without saying a word, Shoshanna and Simone begin to undress him, pulling away jeans, shorts, shirt, until he is on top of me, naked. I flex my calves as I feel his breath on my chest, and am surprised at the strength in which Kelly and Donna hold me down.
“A virgin” he says, “in my bed” He has taken his erection, his um, his erect penis in his hands and he sort of drags it along my face, under my nostrils so that I can smell his scent. I can feel my nipples inhale.
“Do you really want me to take your virginity away from you tonight, pet?” he inquires, running his… er, penis, down the slope of my nose.
“Yes, yes” I repeat “yes master”
“Do you want me to turn you into a fucking cunt whore – a whore like these bitches?” he asks gesturing with his … dick…. to the girls that circle the bed.
I nod my head.
“Ask me nice” he replies, rearing up on his haunches.
“please master” I am trembling, shaking inside “please make me a dirty, filthy whore.”
Slowly, he lowers himself into my mouth.
I exhale, long and deep.
His dick fills up my mouth… my cheeks puff out in an effort to accomodate him, his thighs hug my cheeks. I can smell him all around me. Down below my clitoris has begun to flinch.
He is moving in and out of me now, but I remain … motionless, paralyzed.
“use your tongue, slut”
I had forgotten, jolted into awareness, I tentatively run my tongue along the crease of his dick. I feel him pause, momentarily, savoring the sensation. I am emboldened. Gently I begin to rotate my tongue around the smooth ridge that heads his … cock. I fold my tongue into the tiny hole at the top. As he dangles it over me, I lick the base, suck the sack of his balls… ladling them in and out of my mouth.
“she’s a quick study” I hear Kelly snicker.
Now he is sliding his cock, wet with my saliva, down the course of my front, between my breasts and down the center of my abdomen, leaving a thin trail of spittle in its wake. The girls, Kelly and Donna are grasping my knees in their arms and splaying them outward. I feel his cock hit the nub of my clitoris; it feels like someone has pierced me. I yelp. He is at the throat of my vagina, pushing against the baby flesh of my labia. I look down, afraid to look anywhere else… he is pushing past the tension of my resistant muscles now…. I can feel them clenching, tightening… pushing against his entry. I feel the burn as he slides into me… millimeter by millimeter…. I see the centimeters of his cock buried in my flesh. Slowly, grudgingly, I feel my muscles expand, making room for the intruder. He is only halfway down into me yet, but I feel like my stomach will rupture at any moment. He pulls out and then begins again, a little less patiently… a little further in… I feel myself beginning to moisten, feel my juices as they spill out of my labia… feel the walls of my cunt finally release… relax… as he slides his way in. My graceful legs hook over his, held in place by two willing women. My arms are bound and strapped above me. My cunt is free.

In just a while, after my body has succumbed to spasms of pleasure and deep moans of pain, he pulls out of me. His penis is caked in the residue of my cunt. Leaning back on me, he once again fills my mouth, the rotten-sweet taste of my own pungent juices sting my tongue. He is less careful now, tunneling his way through my mouth. I close my eyes, but can’t keep them shut…. He is pushing against the back wall of my mouth, my blue eyes begin to water and overflow. The tears roll down my cheeks and my nostrils flair, struggling for air. I know he feels my body wiggle under his. Kelly and Donna run smooth hands up and down my body, finesse the ridges of my cunt, explore the pinch of my ass. He is grunting himself now, calling me “a dirty whore,” “his fucking cunt.” He is breathing heavily. Suddenly he gestures to Shoshanna who approaches the bed.
“Tell me pet, where should I cum on this bitch?”
“mmm master,” she purrs, fondling my cunt. She bends over and whispers her answer in his ear.
“very well”
Extracting himself from my mouth, he once again takes my pussy, plunging into it with such great force… I moan, try to cover my mouth, but my leather bound hands won’t reach. I feel the expenditure of my vaginal muscles, feel their clutch give way. The thick spurt and the warm trickle as he lifts his cum-laden dick back out and to my mouth. I taste the salt slick as it travels down my parched throat. Feel him finish by dousing my hair and eyes.

After I have been initiated, I am allowed to join the others. We line the wall of the bedroom, shameless in our nudity. Master passes before each of us in turn, caressing erect nipples, groping wet cunts. At times, at his desire, a girl will bend down and suck his cock, lap his balls, tenderly finger his ass. Finally, he directs Shoshanna and Simone to the chair and ottoman set sitting in the corner, next to the bed. Simone grimaces but does not complain. Kelly and Donna get the bed. Halla and I. We are left with the wall.
“Bend over” he instructs me.
Then he reaches over and turns out the light.

Halla

The lights go out.
I can hear the sound of Avery’s breathing short and quick beside me. I wait, bracing myself. Nothing.
I wait as my ears pick up the sounds of movement from the bed and the chair, the ache of bodies coming together, the smack of wet skin touching wet skin. I am bent over, as master instructed, my hands braced against the wall. I can feel the dull thud of the wall against the crown of my head. My two pigtails tickle my ears. I hear the rustle of the bag again, feel the cool weight of a leather band being strapped around my neck. I hear Avery inhale as one is fastened around hers as well. The click as I realize that we are tethered together, collared. roped.

And then again, nothing. From the further recesses of the room, I hear the hisses of girls “eat me bitch” “eat me” followed by sighs, grunts, moans. I feel the cool night breeze through the open window. It makes me shiver. But all I see is darkness. Next to me, I hear Avery suddenly inhale sharply. I am practically pulled off my feet as I feel her body stumble and bump against mine. I feel master’s arm brush my right hip as he steadies her. I feel her slim torso next to me lurch, her spine arches like a cat’s. And then, her scream. It is raspy, feral. She is crying, panting in my ear… whispering “no, no, no… yes… yess. Yessss.” Her hand has gripped mine, her nails dig into it. I cringe, but I do not shove her off. Who knows what solace I may need when it is my turn? I hear the “thwack” “thwack” of skin hitting skin, am lulled by its rhythm… until I feel the sweaty spine of his dick caress my ass. Beside me, Avery’s body is racked by sobbing heaves. She is clammy, whispering “thank you master, thank you.” His hands are under me, pinching my nipples, his cock is poised behind my ass. I think that if we were all quiet enough you could hear my heart beat. And then…. Ufff. I feel him. The hard force pushing against such a small little hole. I let out a small cry. “master” I squeal. His legs hurdle my own, his arms locked above. I feel the slow push of his forced entry, the slow slide of dick pulsating against stubborn walls. Incrementally he enters my virgin ass… unlocking each muscle with each deliberate thrust. I grit my teeth, beads of sweat litter my brow. Behind me I hear the smacks of lips against skin, the wails of girls in climax. My ass is twitching uncontrollably, so much so, that he removes his hands from the wall above and rests them on my ass, enjoying the reflex of my muscle spasms. His dick is pulsing inside me. I hear his breathing quicken. Quicken. Quicken.
“bitch” he yells, and I feel the squirt of cum load my ass and drip to the plush carpet below. I hear the sounds of four other ladies, who answer his shout like a sirens’ song, descending to where I stand, licking my legs, handling his weakening cock with gentle hands and lips. Beside me, Avery sinks to the ground, pulling me along with her.

Donna

A while later, when we are no longer blinded by the return of the light, we finally have our sleep-over. My master lies in the middle of the bed, his cock already showing signs of new life. Around him, tired heads resting on downy pillows, lie six exhausted girls. Each one of us tucked into a comfortable sleeping bag on the floor. I am sure as the night progresses, he will summon us, one by one to entertain him on his bed, but for now I am content to sit, alone with my thoughts. I am increasingly aware that the summer is coming to an end, that in mere days I will be driving three hours south to attend the liberal arts school of my choice. I run my hands over the stain on my crotch. 16. Sixteen. 15 before me, how many after? I lie there, silent in the night, mulling my thoughts. I hear the first girl, rise from her place on the floor to answer his summons as I slowly drift off to sleep.

The next day, as I am packing up my car, I am startled to hear footsteps running up behind me. It is Kelly. She is out of breath. She is wearing a bright yellow sundress with gold flip flops. Her hair is pulled back in a long pony tail. She is gulping for air, when she points to it, can hardly speak: around her neck, a black leather cord, and from hanging a little, silver charm. 17.

The End

A Note to my Readership

2010-09-26T18:36:00.002-04:00

I am a writer, not a storyteller, and thus I need your help. I just began writing at the end of the summer, and am thus, running the course of the writings I am willing to share. So this message is to the vocal among you: please share your ideas with me... I know you have them. I will write just about anything as long as it's among consenting adults. E-mail me, facebook me, share with me...

Thank you,

Your
Pscyhe

Camp Lindenwood Series: Pt. 4/5 Dirty Laundry

2010-09-06T21:13:00.002-04:00

Chapter 4: Dirty Laundry

Halla

Today is Sunday, the last day of a long summer at Camp Lindenwood. In just a few days I will be returning to my small hometown in Finland, a cold little town close to the sea. I have been in America for a year, first as an exchange student and now working at camp. The other girls at camp, Simone especially, are much more sophisticated than I am, much more self-assured, but I do heartily doubt, that any of them are more experienced.

Anyway, I am in the laundry room on a rainy Sunday afternoon. The campers are gone, most of them left after closing ceremony earlier this morning. After that, most of the counselors crawled back to bed… we don’t have to leave for like another 48 hours. Donna, the senior counselor, (though I think she is right about my age, 18) asked me this morning if I would help her go through some laundry, linens and things that had to be cleaned and stored for the season… So, while she was running through each of the cabins, stripping sheets off of beds, I was alone in the laundry room reading a magazine. I hear a creak as the screen door opens. Because I was expecting Donna, I never even looked up from my reading, never noticed that it wasn’t in fact Donna, who entered at all, but it was the man whose name I’ve heard my friends whisper when they think they’re alone: Master Drake.

The first thing I notice, after I notice him at all, is that he is shirtless, the second thing I notice is the significant size of the bulge cupped between his legs. Now, I’m not loud, I’m not ostentatious, but like I told you before, I come from a small.fishing.town…. in FINLAND. There’s not much to do, and I bore quite easily.

Flushing, I put down my magazine and extend my legs which had been haphazardly creased along the chair, exposing my upper thighs under the pale pink of my skirt, a remnant of this morning’s festivities.
“Relax” he says, putting his hand on my knee.
He moves to the small fridge in the corner of the laundry and takes out a coke. Returning to me, pulling up a chair, he smiles.
“You don’t have to be afraid of me” he continues. I feel the spray of his soda mist the ridge of my chest….
“…I know all of your secrets.”
And then, brushing my wavy auburn hair away from my ear, he proceeds to whisper intimate details… of my life, my liaisons…. names: Erik, Anton, Aldo, Mike, CJ…. Intimate acts he repeats back to me… details that make my cheeks blaze scarlet.
“Donna… that bitch.”
It comes to me in a flash, decorating the gym. For the dance. A leisurely conversation… girl talk… that’s what she had said.
“on the dining room table… in the park after church… in your Sunday clothes…”
“two at one time… in the alley behind the school….”
“on my desk… right here at the camp… during the bonfire.”

“in a canoe in the middle of the day” I continue… my voice is a monotone.

“on the laundry room floor” he finishes. Dropping me back, lifting my skirt, his face is soon plastered with the sticky smears of my cunt.
“with my boss…” I trail off….
“no bitch,” he says gently, lifting me off my chair and placing me on the floor,
“with your master.”

I shiver as he pulls off my thin tank top… pulls my pale pink skirt over my head… unsnaps the tiny hooks piecing together my blue bra, and wrestles me out of my lacy thong. I lift my arms over my head, extend them across the hard concrete floor. He is kissing my arm pits, my wrists, my breasts, my electric green eyes. He is scraping the round knowledge of my clitoris with the scratch of his chin. Kneading me.
“Tell me, my pet” he says, pinning my long arms to the cold floor. “tell me about the boys you have fucked. Tell me about them all. Tell me while a real master shows you how to do it properly.”
My mind races… where to start? Where to start?
“Tell me now, pet.”
I feel the tip of his cock probe the wet seat of my pussy. The words are bubbling up inside of my throat.
“Tommy… from Juniper cabin…” I begin breathlessly as I feel the first stab.
“Tell me more… slut” I hear the command, feel it too.
“On his bunk bed, about four hours ago” I moan.
“Go on. Slut”
“Aldo, back at home, in Finland. In the candy shop owned by his parents” I weep.
He is petting my hair, my long auburn tresses. Bending my body into an “L” his wrists clutch my ankles. Pushing himself in and out of the crescent of my cunt.
“Tell me about Aldo” he commands. A pierce. A jab.
My heart is racing; I struggle to recall.
“Aldo?” I whisper. “Aldo his hands were too sweaty and his penis was small.”
“That’s better pet… and Tommy?”
“Tommy… Tommy …. Tommy came very quickly.”
“How quickly, pet?”
“Under a minute” I reply.
“Go on”
“Greg.”
“Greg who loved to cuddle. Cuddle to hide the fact he’d never cum”

He is stopping me now… covering my red mouth with his hand… damming the flow of words. Before I can continue, he lifts me up. He places me on the top of the dryer… I feel the hum and vibration of the hot metal against my flesh. My nipples bend upwards as the sensation courses up my spine.
“Sit up” he commands.
I do.
“Touch yourself for me, slut.”
“Tell me what a dirty whore you really are.”
As the cycles of laundry spin around and around, the strum of the engine and the stroke of my fingers consume me. Thump. Thump. Thump. Sitting across from me now, in the chair I had vacated, he too, is pleasuring himself, moving in rhythm to my words.

And so I tell him. As he pIeases himself, as my own fingers plumb the recesses of my pussy, I tell him the stories: of sweaty nights, cool beaches, park benches and dirty garages. Of boys who came too soon, couldn’t cum at all… boys whose voices cracked in pain with every orgasm. Of older men whose hearts beat faster at the sight of my young girlish breasts, of boys whose manhood was hinged on every pitiful thrust. I tell him about two-at-a-times: mouth and cunt, filled with spicy, adolescent cum. Of girl-on-girl, with Ekatarina after school. He is leaning forward now, hinged on my words. My fingers are drenched in the sweat of my sweetness, puddling on top of the dryer lid.

Standing up, he pushes my head down, so that the front half of my body leans over his. He pushes my head down, down, down to suck the first drops of pre-cum off of his penis which throbs purple and red under the fluorescent lights.
“Tell me about your ass, pet-slut”
My lips are still stretched around the circumference of his dick.
“Who took your ass?”

“No one hath” I mumble, coming up for air. The heat of the dryer is dampening the hairs around my ears and neck, they stick to my throat in little dark orange swirls.

“No one?” he repeats, his eyes big, round with anticipation. Excitement. I feel the sudden hitch rise up in my mouth. I feel the sudden squirt of his passion squeeze down my throat. He clenches my jaw.
“Ask me”

As my mouth bubbles over with the taste of his seed, I do.
“Master Drake, will you please be the first to take my virgin ass?”
“Tomorrow.” He responds. “I will.”

For: Master Drake

Meet my Newest Character: Pandora Jones

2010-09-04T12:43:00.003-04:00

Hey Everyone,

Please meet my newest creation, Pandora Jones. Like all of my characters, there is a little bit of me inside her. Pandora is in her young thirties with dark hair and dark eyes. She has a petite frame, belied by large, round breasts. She has a compassionate heart but a lazy tempermant. She, like me, is a school teacher.

Pandora is married to her high school sweetheart, Cory. She married quite young, thus curtailing her sexual experiences with other men. They have been married for 10.5 years, but have recently entered into terms of "negotiated infidelity." Pandora;s stories will revolve around her escalating hijinks as she is suddenly free to explore what she has been missing for the past ten years.

Hope you enjoy!

~Psyche

Pandora's Box: A Hot Wife Story

2010-09-04T12:30:00.003-04:00

Pandora’s Box: In which I lose my Wifely Virginity
By: Psyche Summer

It all began with the kitchen sink.

And the small leak that spread like melting butter: a small puddle that pooled along the base of the cupboard until it eventually expanded into puddles on the floor, tracing the treads of the ceramic tiles until I knew it was time to call the plumber.
I don’t know if… well, maybe subconsciously…. whether the whole thing had been planned in the back of my mind or not. My husband and I had recently had “the conversation,” a talk, or series of talks, really, in which, after more than a decade of marital fidelity, we had decided to take a “time out from monogamy.” But deciding to do something and actually doing it were two different things, and so that’s why it’s hard for me to say, in truth… what was planned and what happened of its own accord.
Jayson arrived at 11:30 that morning, his tall frame stopping to get through my doorway. Jayson had been tending to our family’s plumbing needs for many years… I had always been attracted to him… to the physicality of him… his tall, lanky body, his wide, agile hands… the curlicues of dark hair winding their way up his arms…
“Alright, Mrs. Jones,” he said, following me into the kitchen “what seems to be the problem today?”
Sidestepping puddles on the floor, I open the cupboard under the sink. He squats next to me, twisting his head to peer into the dark recesses of the cabinet.
“Ahhh, see here Mrs. Jones…” he is gesturing for me to bend.
I sink down on my knees next to him, dampening the hemline of my lemony yellow skirt in an accidental puddle, shift to follow where his finger points, my large breasts shifting, knocking against each other, threatening to spill out of the too-tiny v-neck in which they are bound.
“You have a leak right here at the base” he is explaining, guiding my finger to where a slow leak of water is cresting against the cool metal… “I can use some putty… patch it up right now?” he murmurs, turning toward me, brushing up against my body, so that I fall back a little on the balls of my feet, exposing the tops of my tanned thighs against the soft, bright hue of my skirt.

Sunlight pours through my kitchen window, dousing me in its gaze, I am not wearing panties. Does he notice, did he? I wasn’t sure at the moment, but something must have happened, because right then and there he takes his hand and rubs it along the base of my ankle, following the line of my calve, up, up, up… There’s no way, it was an accident.

“So…” I respond… leaning back onto the flat of my forearms… “you can plug up my hole?” A wink, nod of assent, a not so clever pun…. Is all the permission he needs to mount my lap, stroking my hair, bending my head back, hands feeling up my shirt, unsnapping the hooks of my bra, there on my kitchen floor. I can feel my heart beatg up against my rib cage... feel the rush of excitement... mount.

I roll back onto the cold ceramic, spread my naked feet. He is lifting my shirt off of my head, pulling off the stubborn tug of my bra… letting my large, round breasts respond to the touch of his large hands, rolling them back and forth, enamored of their resiliency as they loll and bump against his playful swats. His mouth is bending down, sucking at my hard, pink nipples. His hands now reaching into the gathers of my skirt, fumbling in their folds, until he finds the wet, warm invitation of my cunt. Pressing his thumb against my rough, he spreads the lips of my labia with one hand as he unharnesses his cock with the other. I guess what they say about guys with big hands is true….

First he rubs his dick between my breasts, letting it push its way into the perimeter of my face, its tip just brushing my half-way opened lips. Squeezing my breasts together, almost to the point of pain, forming a mountainous sheath for his rock hard cock, as it threatens to saw off my neck… his gritty abdomen folds against my nose, I taste… smell the stench of his pre-cum as it dribbles onto my lips.
He is entering my pussy… my marital reserve, filling my loins with the thick of his penis, engorging my cunt with his foeign fat... it feels strange... delicious...to feel him there... shoving his strengthening dick against me... when I hear the bang of the screen door, the familiar footfalls… My legs are curled up against his torso, pushed into twin sideways “V”s when Cory enters the kitchen, my mouth twisted in the early stage of ecstasy. I can feel the throb of Jayson’s cock inside me, the thunder of my pulse as I wonder what Cory will say.

He doesn’t say a word. I am at a bad angle, can’t even tell if his face registers the shock. I hear him set his bags down with a thump. Hear Jayson pull up as Cory comes to collect me, extract me from Jayson’s embrace, grabbing me by my wrist, lifting me off the cold, wet floor. Giving my now bare ass a smack as he pushes me out of the kitchen, leading me up the stairs and into our bedroom where he pushes me, face down into the bed, my legs, dangling over the edge.

He pulls my hair back as he unzips his pants, calls me a slut as he pulls out his dick. Standing behind me, savoring the red flush of my face and of my behind as he smacks it again, with the flat of his hand as he enters me, feels my muscles in spasms around him as he lays his hands on me again, sees me writhe against the sheets I had just put on the bed this morning. He watches my dangling legs dance with each of his thrusts until the room spins, reverberating with the mixed stereo of his low groans and my high, piercing yelps… until Jayson is thundering up the steps, entering uninvited… climbing into my bed to arrest his desire… filling my mouth with his unsatisfaction, his hot, vein-y cock cutting off the thrill of my screaming, muffled in its enormity, while behind me my husband is pushing… so hard, so far… his fingers pressed into the soft core of my flesh as he forces his way into the narrow furthest reaches of my cunt, his excitement driving him to extremes…

My body is stretched between them… feels like it is going to be ripped in two. Behind me, my husband’s fingers probe my ass as his dick wreaks savage on my cunt, the dull ache of his first thrusts giving way to the all out, lungs-exploding passion of my orgasm. And in front of me, I am blinded by pubis, the thick, dark hairs, matted against his pelvic bone, the hard smack as he rockets against my face, the damp smell of sweat and dirty water… mix, mingle, blur in my mind… my body is twitching… pushed and pulled between their fevered touch. Until one after the other they cum, jetting their cream into my body, one then the other, filling my face, my pussy with the spent of their stamina, their salty seed dribbling out of my open mouth and down the length of my thighs.

Cory wipes his hands in the smear of his stain, running it through my dark hair, strung with fine lines of copper. Jayson, following his lead, does the same, running long fingers against my chin, catching droplets of his cum, running his fingers through my tresses, until my hair is mangled stiff with the mingled juices of their bodies… as the sighs that have racked my body slowly subside…. as the time clock beckons and the men rise to their feet, one by one leaving my room. I hear their footfalls on the steps, indistinct words… the opening and closing of the door, the start of engines… until I am alone…

My wifely virginity taken, I am alone now with my Pandora’s box: my mind is racing… the plumber, the butcher, the lawyer…. His best friend Mike, our neighbor Frank…. As I get up to shower, to wash the twin shots of cum out of my hair, I see the next few years of my life unfold before me… I am ready for the ride.

For: Eammon

Camp Lindenwood Part 3/5 Of Clowns and Other Costumes

2010-09-02T21:10:00.004-04:00

Chapter 3: Of Clowns and other Costumes

Donna

The next day is Saturday. Together with Halla, Avery and Simone I am decorating the gym for tonight’s grand finale, the homecoming dance. This year’s theme? A costume party. As we hang streamers and inflate balloons, I watch each of the three girls that remain from my master’s selection. I survey each one’s body, temperament, preferences and habits, making mental notes. Instead of painting banners I
study the way Simone paints her lips a deep crimson to contrast her light red hair. Instead of testing the sound system I quiz Halla on the sexual conquests she experienced as an exchange student earlier this year. And instead of covering the 15 round tables scattered across the gym with 15 little gold tablecloths, I observe how Avery covers her body with the loose folds of her flowery sun-dresses, hiding the graceful figure that lurks beneath.

As night descends the cabins are a-bustle with campers and counselors readying themselves for the evening’s festivities. In the girl cabins, which I head, carefree adolescents, independent of their fathers’ watchful reproaches are bedecking themselves as scantily clad geniis, French waitresses, and other assorted stereotypes. I would like to say that the counselors took a more mature approach, but that would be a sad little lie. I myself, knowing what is on my master’s agenda for the evening, have selected a cowgirl costume. In my tight blue plaid shirt knotted at the waist, short dark tan shorts, cowboy boots and ten gallon hat, I am hardly the picture of modesty. My hair is braided into two little braids, much as it was on that very first day: the day I became pet number 16; the buttons of my blouse can barely contain the cups of my overflowing bra. The other girls are no better.

When I enter the crowded gym, I feel like I have been displaced inside a thirteen year old’s wet dream. Everywhere I look, I see skin. Pale skin, tanned skin, dark skin, green skin, floating about me in an orgasm of tulle and satin, spandex and paper mache. Costumes, a flimsy mask… a poor excuse for a chance to abandon inhibitions for the night. In the middle of the room I see Simone and Halla. They are dancing across from each other, playfully tapping each other on the shoulders, on the breasts… laughing, caressing each other’s hips… kissing the air that floats between them. Simone, is a Neko style cat of some sort. As usual, she has not expended too much effort, letting the sleek lines of her svelte body speak for themselves. She is wearing a tight, leopard print, corset style dress. The dress hugs her small chest into little, cupcake sized orbs. Orbs lined in edges of fine black lace. She is wearing slender black kitten pumps and two furry cat ears part her wave of red hair. Across from her Halla is draped in… what appears to be just a long white, v-necked t-shirt… it’s a little sheer… and clings to the curves of her body. She is wearing white go-go boots and tiny feathery wings (I thought I saw her and Emma Bixby working on them in the craft shack just the other day) which are pinned to her back. Through her auburn hair, across her smiling face … and on her chest? She has dusted a fine gold powder. An angel.

I watch them for a minute or two, the rhythm of their bodies, tapping each other, bumping and rubbing under the rotating party lights is mesmerizing. Hypnotic. I make a mental note to myself before moving on, snaking my way along the edge of the gym, nodding to buff Trojans and pleather clad firefighters…

In the corner I see him. My master. Master Drake. He is wearing a samurai costume of black embroidered silk, two swords, the diasho, are clapped behind his back. I have my suspicions about what is really sheathed in those two bucklers, but I am sure my curiosity will soon be satisfied. Wrapped around my master’s neck, by wrists she has shackled together herself, is Kelly. Kelly, in a strategically shredded black and white striped tank top and black cut-offs, her hair braided into a whip.

Kelly

In the corner I see my chance. There are so many fucking hormones floating around this room right now… no one would notice a little funny stuff in the corner. Still, I’d have to act fast or I’d have to give the other girls the flick. Oh shit. Donna just walked in the room and I know Sho’ won’t be far behind. Pressing my crotch up to Master Drake’s silk-covered erection, I rub my breasts against his chest. Ask him if he would be so kind as to notice my tits. He bends his head down to watch them bounce around a little as I grind against his fat cock. My arms circle his neck; I rub my long fingers along his hairline. Open my mouth. He sees that it is not empty.
“A present, for me, pet?” he asks, leaning in.
“Yeth,” I grin, spreading shiny pink lips.
As I feel him dip in, part my lips with his hungry mouth, suck my tongue and extract my gift, I swell with pride. He reaches into his mouth, spits the hard, metal object into his hand. Lifting my handcuffed arms above his head…. And in his hand. A key.

Simone

When the music stops I drop my arms to my sides and walk off the dance floor. Halla follows. There are waaaayyyy too many people in here. I make a beeline for the door. I would like some air. As usual, when I pass through the throngs, people step aside, make room for me. I am used to that. I ask Halla if she will go get me something to drink… I tell her a chardonnay… (ha!) and wind my way over to the door. I am dying to leave.

On my way out the door I pass Shoshanna, who has, apparently, just arrived. She is costumed as Harley Quinn, the sociopathic psychiatrist from the Batman comics, but I bet she doesn’t know that. She just thinks she’s a clown, and in my estimation, she’s not too far off. The French, however, are comic book connoisseurs, and I am no exception.
“You must’ve got here early” she says to me, the tiny bells she has tied to her wrists and ankles tinkle with every remark.
I roll my eyes.
“I got here early so that I could leave early”
I move on.
Where is Halla with my drink? I vacate the gymnasium as quickly as possible, preferring to wait for my drink outside away from the mooobbss of people, but when I get outside I find that under the single street lamp illuminating the door, I am not alone.

Under the light, by the door, sipping a huge glass of water, is Drake, the head of the camp. My mouth waters.
“Pardon…” I try to squeeze by his frame, “excusez m….”
“Leaving so soon?” he is staring down at me, not exactly friendly, but not so bad, really, either. He has this magnetism…. that I had not noticed before. I squirm a little under his gaze, then shrug it off. He is dressed in a black silken costume with red and bronze dragons crisscrossing his chest and back. His eyes are blue.
“Are you going to dock my pay if I do?” I ask. I smile up at him. Let my splash of red hair fall away from my face…
“Oh, I am sure there are plenty of ways you could make up any lost wages…” He is laughing too. Laughing as he palms my ass with his hand.
“Stay” he insists. “Stay until the end.”
I sigh. Try to avert my eyes. I am really thirsty.
When I turn back to the door, I run into Halla. She is carrying two cups of a sickening red punch. I breeze past her. “We’re staying.”

Donna

The girls are all here, all here now that Simone has re-entered the gym. I know Avery, it’s not her time yet. I see her serving food in her pleated skirt and blue checked apron, her little red hoodie, her loose Boticelli curls framing her round blue eyes. “Little Red Riding Hood, how well will you ride HIM?” I wonder to myself. I know she will, we all will soon enough.

Shoshanna has now taken over Simone’s spotlight, in the middle of the dance floor doing the limbo. Her black, white and red leotard stretches over the span of her breasts and her hair, done up in pigtails tied with coordinating ribbons, sweeps the floor as she arches backwards, her nipples, apparent against the sheen of spandex, just touching, not quite tipping the metal bar stretched over her. Everyone is watching. Everyone is laughing. I am waiting… waiting… waiting.

Finally, at like 12:30, when the adolescent libido begins to lag, the revelers begin to disperse. Kelly and Shoshanna have, of course, already volunteered for clean-up crew… knowing full well what that would entail. But I am shocked as hell when I see Simone kiss Halla on the cheek, wave her off and stay behind as well. It is dark, late when we begin the tedious work of stripping the tables and throwing away the piles of debris that litter the floor. Kelly is no help either as she says she has lost the key to her handcuffs. Instead she just sits on the bleachers, waiting. We are all still waiting.

Simone

Drake is sitting by himself at one of the chairs that skirt the dance floor. I feel his eyes surveying my body as I slip by him, feel his appraisal of my tiny breasts, my French curves, my fine ass. I bend down, reach under his seat, gather the fallen napkins that lay prostrate on the floor. As I lean back into a standing position, I feel his hand, firm on my arm. He is looking at me directly. He takes my right breast. Strokes it with his fingers.
“Tell me” he says “what do you do?”
All around me, the bustle has stopped, three girls await my response.
“I do everyzing” I murmur, my voice low. I brush strands of saffron colored hair out of my eyes.
“Now you tell me…” I continue, settling against his knee… “what iz it zat you do?”
“I zee all deese guuurls… they are soo enthralled by you… what iz it about you that makes all zee girls cum?”
He snaps his fingers with his spare hand, the one that hasn’t lit onto my right tit, burrowed under the stiff silk of my top and begun to pinch my nipple. Soundlessly, all three girls are at his side.
“Would you like to find out?” He is looking at me, earnestly, placing one of my small hands against the swelling in his crotch.
I stand up, turn around to face him. “I will admit…” I say, straddling his lap with my two lithe legs, the slip of my dress riding up my thighs, “I am curious…” my voice trails away… “curious to know…. will you make me cum?”
“You should rephrase that, pet” he says, rising from the table, letting me tumble from his lap. The other girls follow him to a long, oblong table, the one where Halla had retrieved my punch several hours before.
“How” he says, indicating that Donna should sit cross-legged at the head of the table.
“…how will I make you cum.”

Shoshanna

Master Drake has settled himself on the table. His head rests in Donna’s naked lap, his dark hair is bedded by her cunt. She is all naked now, except for her hat and boots. I too have peeled away my body suit, and at master’s command, have mounted the table next to him. Fingering my ass, gripping the fat flesh of my cheeks, leaving hard, red imprints, he lowers me onto the heart of his erection.
“Thank you Master Drake” I gasp, as I feel his head burrow into the recesses of my pussy.
“Touch yourself, cunt” he demands. I begin to fondle my clitoris, but he is impatient, grabbing my hands and moving them up and down up, on me.
“Match my rhythm” he demands “do it now.”
I ride him vigorously, trying to match the escalating violence in which he is groping my clit, pulverizing its tiny red swirl with his palm. My tumescent breasts are knocking against each other like two harnessed balloons. The tinker-bells strung to my ankles and in my hair jangle with every heave and thrust. My back is arched into a backwards “C” of contorted passion.

Donna is pulling me forward now, pulling me by my arms and by the rounds of my chest. She is lowering her head against my nipples, licking their airy plumpness, like rose colored gum drops that stiffen under the nips of her small, white teeth. Then she is kissing my mouth, licking my eyelids… returning again to sip on my bosom.

Master Drake is pulsating against the weight of my body. I am beginning to cum. Too soon, I moan. The transluscence of my wetness soaks, streaks my master’s legs…
“MASTER DRAKE… MAAASTTTEERRR DRAAAkkke….” My eyes are closed, my mouth is dry. My head is rattling with the force of each thrust.
Behind me, Kelly has wrapped her long, handcuffed arms around my neck. She is licking my ears, kissing my throat.
“You’re making that bitch cum already, master” she moans above the increasing volume of my shrieks.
“Puh-leeaaseee…” she continues, rubbing her head up against mine, touching his abdomen with her long fingers… “let me be next. Let me have your cum.”

Kelly

I know Shoshanna’s my friend and everything, but hey, “all’s fair in love and war” and this was one war I intended to win. Even with my wrists bound together, I am at least 4 inches taller than Shoshanna and much stronger. I push her, with all of my weight, cradling her in the circle of my arms until she has toppled off of the master, capsized onto his chest, her tits wrapped in his hands. I ignore her look of rage and fall upon his dick. First, hungry, I lick of Sho’s juices. I finger his ass hole, I kiss Shoshanna’s which pricks at my touch. I finesse my master’s hungry dick with my shackled hands.
“Tell her to turn around, master” I say, indicating Shoshanna who looks like she is ready to kill me.
“Do it yourself” he responds calmly, parting the lengths of his silken tunic so that I can better service him with my mouth.
“Turn around Shoshanna,” I say, “you’re gonna lick my fucking ass.”
Shoshanna ignores me.
Sitting by herself, on a folding chair a few feet from where we lay, Simone is watching us. Her face is blank; I can’t tell what she’s thinking, but she is watching. She is definitely watching.
“Yo, Sho-ee,” I urge, “I’m turning around, turn around, rim my ass…”
Shoshanna doesn’t budge.
“Do it.” I hear him tell her, his mouth close to her face. “Listen to her.”
I see Shoshanna’s chin jut out, she is mad as hell, but she does what she is told. Extending her tan legs, she pivots as I swivel around on the table and ask my master to take me, like he did my sister pet… only I will do him backwards.
I feel him, probe, push, insert himself into the narrow tunnels of my cunt. I feel him slant against the natural curve of my body, and then slam against the rough of my g-spot almost immediately. I hear him grunt with pleasure as Shoshanna grudgingly bends and licks the entrance to my ass, her turned up nose rubbing the thick of my crack.
“Aww gawd,” I pant as the addictive flush comes rushing upon me. My body crumples as I plunge over him, again and again… My hands are useless, balled up in front of me, grabbing the edge of the table. My long, gazelle-like legs are the only things that keep me up, they are squeezed around my master’s legs. In back of me Shoshanna is tonguing my ass. Licking me, suckling my skin. And he in turn is tonguing hers…. Probing the dimple of her ass with the stiff of his tongue. An appetizer, and sitting next to me, reclined in her chair, the straps of her dress falling down her arms, is the main course.

When I am done, when I can’t take any more, my energy spent when his is still hard, I grudgingly slither off the table. It’s awkward because my damn hands are still bound and my master has not decided that he is ready to release me. Shoshanna is also a fucking mess. Her one pigtail is all crooked. Her red lipstick is smeared across her face and down her neck so that she really does look like a fucking clown. She too dismounts.

Turning his head, master tells Simone “your turn.”

Donna

She stands up, slowly, languidly, shrugging off her dress, slithering out of her rose colored, lace panties. Master Drake bends over and hoists her onto his lap before reclining back onto his human pillow. Me.

Unlike the other girls, Simone takes her time. Doesn’t rush. She lifts her legs on either side of master, stretches them out, then tucks her still heeled feet underneath his knees, shifts her weight, plants her hands on his abdomen. She lifts her body, and slowly lowers it back down.
“Tu l’aime comme ca?” she whispers as his penis disappears into her flesh.
“Do you like it like this?”

Shoshanna

I am watching Simone waiting for her eruption of energy. Every hair on my body is primed, waiting to hear her scream….
Kelly

… but she doesn’t scream. She doesn’t yell. She hardly moves at all.

Donna

Her hands are planted firmly, squarely on master’s pelvis. I see the muscles of her stomach twitch and underneath her, suddenly, the unmistakable groans of my master.
“bitch” he calls her.
She still hasn’t moved.
“bitch….” he says it again, spits it. I can see the muscles around Simone’s ass, clench and unclench…. slowly, quickly… like a heartbeat.
She is speaking to him in her low, throaty voice, her red hair curtains her face.
“Qu’est ce je tu satisfait?”

Simone
“Do I satisfy you?” I whisper, bending over his prostrate form.
“Do I?” I have asked the question a million times, of a million different lovers, but never before had I cared about the response.

Inside of me, in the depths of myself, I feel his penis begin to twitch. My muscles surround him, wrap themselves around him, soft, warm, velvety muscles coil around his shaft. The corners of my labia unfold for him, the hot, moist walls of my vagina stretch and engulf him. Flank him like a thousand pink lips swallowing him whole.

I feel him inside me, his pulse and swell, his response to each palpitation, each clench and release. My muscles are strained with the effort, my orgasm stirring his own as my muscles convulse, collapse around him like the falling walls of Jericho.

“May I please…”
“have your cum…”
“s’il vous plait?”

To answer swiftly, he rises from his repose, knocking my ass to the tabletop, upending my legs. He is ripping himself from the tight grip, the confines of my sweetness, and soon he is ejaculating… in great, huge doses along the concourse of my stomach, spraying my small chest and along my arms.

As the two vampires draw near to suck his lather off of me, I lean close, my berry red lips to his ear.

“Face it Tiger, you just hit the jackpot.”

Shoshanna

That was the night I finally lost my virginity for the second time.

It wasn’t a very dignified picture. After Master Drake came all over Simone, after she made a big production of wiping it in Kelly and my hair, of rubbing our faces in it, literally until my nose stung with the salty burn, after Master was satisfied that not a single drop was wasted, he beckoned Kelly to undo his swords. Sheathed in them, instead of metal, were two dildos, a long, rigid one and a shorter thick one. Pulling a folding chair a few feet in front of him, he bids her sit. Beckoning Donna closer to him, he unfastens a chain from around her neck, upon which, I now notice, is strung a key. Bending down in front of Kelly’s expectant frame, Master unlocks each side of the cuffs; I hear the click as they fall away. Placing a dildo in each of her hands, he motions her to pleasure herself… one to her mouth and one in her cunt. As she begins the rhythm, the solitary salsa, he bends down and refastens the cuffs, one around her ankle and one around the center bar of the chair.

For me, another chair. I begin to sit.
“Not for you pet.” He says. He motions for me to crouch under it, my face obscured by the seat, my virgin ass pointed upward. On top of the chair perches Simone, she spreads her legs, revealing the downy fluff of fair hairs lining her entrance way. Her knees point upward, her feet wrap around the edge of the seat…
“Like zees, mastair?” she asks, smiling up at him
And so, like a clock being wound, our gears begin to shift, and our intricate quintet begins.

Master Drake, kneeling on the floor, his body erect, is massaging the pucker of my ass, it’s brown button is winking up at him. Underneath my chair, I shut my eyes and wait. Beside him, Kelly sits, chained to her seat, with a dick poking her throat and another pricking her belly. Every now and then, master reaches up to stroke her legs, sample the sour juices that she excretes with each pull. Behind him, his pet, his favorite, Donna, rims his ass with the confidence of having done it dozens of times before. With her hands, she pleasures herself, injecting her pussy with a flat fingered rush and then alternately inserrtng her fore-finger, like a corkscrew, into the ass of her lover. Simone, on her chair, has opened her legs like a book and Master Drake has buried his face in the warm comforts of her lap.

As for me, I am down on my knees and I am aflame. As I feel the weight of his dick, puncture the surface of my ass hole I almost collapse from shock and shame. Stubbornly, it refuses entry. I feel the slap, the smack of his hand, the sting of his reproach on the top of my ass.
“Don’t you want this, cunt?” he asks, lifting his face from Simone’s loins. He is teasing me, wiping his dick on the back of my thighs, bracing his legs for another go. “Maybe I should make you beg.”
“Please Master Drake…” I whimper; the humiliation, the attention, the desire all intermingled
“please… my ass is yours.”
He is probing my hole with his finger, his thumb, digging his nail into its tender skin, bracing me, testing me.
“How do you want it pet?” he demands I answer.
Through tears I respond “hard Master, please fuck my ass hard.”

And so, because I asked, that is what he does. Pulling the sides of my bottom apart with his hands, he plunges into my nether regions without a thought to my pain. I feel the sides of my anus tearing away as his cock parts them… rips them aside. I feel the nauseating burn as his dick slithers further and further. I am wriggling uncontrollably. I moan unintelligibly from under the chair. Simone’s foot is pushing down on my backbone; I finally hear her yell… almost, for her cries are drowned out by my own.
“You love it you little cunt, admit it, you love it” I hear him urge, he is covered in perspiration.
“Tell me…” he moans as he shudders…
“I love it. Master Drake” calls my muffled voice. “Please, please may I take your cum in my ass.”
Yet once I again, I am denied. As the moment of climax nears, Master Drake pulls away and proffers his filth covered dick to Simone who licks it daintily with round, raspberry lips, murmuring how good he has been to her, thanking him profusely while driblets of moisture run down her chin.

Donna

As Master Drake’s body lounges against my torso, his head on my shoulder, watching Simone lap up his mess, I run my hands along his temples, smooth out the crumples in his dark hair. Shoshanna has uncurled from her fetal position on the floor and Kelly has been released. Master Drake absent-mindedly runs his finger along the swirly pattern of the 16 engraved on my crotch. But before the post-coital glow can completely fade, I lean in, bend down and whisper four words in my master’s ear:
“Halla: laundry room: tomorrow.”

For the incomparable Master Drake

Camp Lindenwood: Chapter 2, PowderPuff

2010-08-21T08:30:00.004-04:00

Chapter 2: Powder Puff
by Psyche Summer

Shoshanna

Maybe it’s because I’m Taiwanese, that I’m such a fighter… that I refuse to listen to common sense. Good judgment. Reason. My country is in a constant fight against domination by the neighboring Chinese; my parents, in solidarity with the West, chose all anglicized names for their three daughters: Megan, Alyssa… and me, the youngest: Shoshanna. Shoshanna who is also in a constant fight against domination… by anyone, everyone. Who never met a word she liked better than “no.”

So maybe it was the rebel spirit in me that gritted its teeth when my good friend Kelly told me what happened to her the other night at the pool. It’s not that I was jealous exactly, but I am an attention whore, and all of her revelations about her “master Drake” left me unsettled, and frankly, quite horny.

So when Camp Lindenwood’s end-of-the-summer festivities rolled around on the hottest weekend in August, I decided it was my turn to get in on the fun. All that week I had tempted fate, wearing dresses and shorts that would drive most men to distraction. I flaunted my assets: perfectly tanned skin, round full breasts, eminently grab-able ass, long dark hair and my signature, mega-watt smile, but to no avail. Mister-Master Drake did not even say one little word to me.

I complained to Kelly who laughed and asked me why a girl, like me, who could have her pick of any bastard at the camp, wanted the one man she couldn’t have. Like that didn’t answer itself…. I tried to get in good with Donna, the head counselor for girls, who according to Kelly had Drake’s name inked above her ass, but she just gave me extra caf duty. Ugh. So when Friday night came along, I decided to pull out all the stops.

It was powder-puff football, an annual tradition in which the girls play touch football and the guys cheer on the sidelines, a little friendly gender reversal. The younger kids couldn’t play, of course, too much of an insurance risk… so they sat in the stands… Now most of the girls aren’t really serious about playing. They run up and down the field a few times, but me, well, like I said before, I am accustomed to my fair share of attention, and nothing gets a guy’s attention better than the sight of a full on female-to-female body slam.

For the event in question I wore some fine tight, white booty shorts. I cut my red football jersey to graze my navel, showing off the shiny diamond stud I always wear beneath. I chose the number 69. Subtlety has never been one of my charms. When Kelly saw me she told me I looked “like a fucking moron.” I told her as long as I looked like a “fuckable moron” I didn’t care.

Kelly and I arrive at the field a little late. Donna made us carry the equipment. The guys are already acting stupid on the sidelines, building human pyramids, and writing swear words with lipsticks on their chests. Remind me to never date boys my age, please. Ugh. Grouped in the field I see girls, lots of girls. Girls dressed in blue for campers and red for counselors. I see Simone’s flaming red hair, she is talking in one end zone to her friend Halla, from Finland. She looks super bored. She cut her jersey to fall off her shoulder though; it looks real cute in a Flashdance-y kind of way; wish I’d thought of it. Avery is off to the side trying to coax two girls into participating… she is pretty good with the kids. She’s cute too. If you like that nice girl look. I am still searching though… still looking. Finally, I see Mr. Drake sitting on the bleachers with Donna, first row, front and center. I start to walk over. Kelly groans and starts to follow me, but I shake her off.

So, I saunter up to the man, flashing what I hope is my best smile: “Hi Mr. Drake” I drawl, flashing my 69 clad chest right in his face.
The man doesn’t bat an eye-lid. Donna whispers in his ear.
“Oh, hello there Shannon,”
Ugh. “Shoshanna” I correct him.
“Right, Shoshanna…. How’s your evening?” He is so not looking at me.
Taking a deep breath, I reply, “swimmingly. My night is going swimmingly.” I arch an eyebrow.
I think Donna is stifling a giggle. Or a snort. I am mortified. But I try not to show it. Instead I toss my hair about and trot off.

Back on the field Kelly tells me I act like a fucking fruit loop and that I better not embarrass her anymore. She then waves to “Mr. Master” in the stands and THEN makes a way too big of a production of bending over to tie her shoe. Geez. I am relieved when the whistle finally blows and I can start tackling people. By half-time I have mostly forgotten my rejection, and by the end of the game: two touchdowns and one interception later, I am feeling good. Kelly and I jog off the field, there’s a sweaty sheen on my face; we’re all ready for campfires and s’mores when we are stopped by Donna. She is holding a clipboard.
“Oh no,” she says “not you two. You have equipment duty.” I groan.
“What?????” I am soooo annoyed.
To my surprise, Kelly just shrugs her shoulders and begins to circulate around the field picking up stray flags and junk.
I start to protest, but Donna, that bitch, she just turns on her heel and walks away.
“IDIOT!!!!!” I yell at her departing back.

So that is why we are the last two to hit the showers. It is why the locker room is empty when we arrive.
Alone in the shower, I let the frustrations of the day… of the week really, wash away the grit and the sweat. Reaching down, I rub my clitoris with one hand; it was inadvertent at first, but soon I get into it, letting the hot water spray my face and chest and thighs, while palming, grinding my clitoris. I feel its tiny swell blossom in my fingertips, feel my passions reignite. I gasp in time with the little spasms of pleasure my fingers elicit. Pinching my puffy nipples just the way I like. Drops of water catch in my lashes and along the ridge of my mouth. Get stuck between the twin hills of my breasts, are beaten down by the fingers that knead and caress. Just as I feel myself about to climax… just a little, I stop. I feel the beating in my breast slow down, I reach up, cup my nose with my hands and inhale. I smell the deep dusky scent of myself mingle with the perfumes of soap and shampoo, lilac and jasmine.

It is not until I am done drying my hair, reapplying my lip gloss, that I realize that Kelly and I are not alone in the locker room. Kelly, I realize, has known this for quite some time. When I round the corner to get my clothes, I see her. And her. And him. They are pretty hard to miss. I feel my nipples stiffen at the sight. Kelly. And Donna. They are leaning, side by side. Master Drake is facing them, his left hand is buried deep in Kelly’s cunt. His other hand is wrapped around Donna’s waist, his mouth buried in her tits. When Donna sees me, notices me standing hypnotized, the towel I had wrapped around my torso, long since fallen to the floor, she motions Kelly to follow her lead. Slowly, watching me the whole time, both girls drop to their knees on the hard tile floor. I see two pairs of lips part and two heads, one blonde, the other dark, bend toward Master Drake’s erection. Like clockwork, like twin pistons, they take him, first one and then the other. Donna holds Master Drake’s penis at the base and Kelly licks him up and down. Sucks him off, engorges herself on the fat of his cock. Kelly runs her hands up and down his shaft as Donna forces herself down on him as far as she can go… following Kelly’s rhythm, strands of saliva spooling from her mouth. They speak to each other… I can barely make out their words,
“Uhnh.” I hear Donna grunt. I hear the smack of suction as her lips wrap around his cock. I see the involuntary reflex of her jugular, the irregular rhythm as he pushes past her tongue and into her throat. I don’t think she can breathe.
“Tell me what you want, pet.” I hear him say between gritted teeth.
“Furda… furda…” I hear her moan…
“How do you ask, pet?”
“Pllleeaattthhhhh Mather Drake… pleatheee” I see the tears well in her eyes. See Kelly watching intently. Donna is reaching for her hand. She is like a clumsy drunk. But she grips Kelly’s hand and pulls her in so that her fingers are running along the rim of Master Drake’s ass. Kelly does not need any further guidance.
“Oooh Master Drake” she coos. “Do you like it like this? Does this feel good?” she purrs, inserting just one finger into the cusp of his ass hole. She begins to bring a second finger, closer… closer, but alert now, Donna shoves her finger away, withdrawing from Master Drake’s mouth.
“no” she says breathlessly, “not like that…” She beckons to me. Finally.
I feel like time has been standing still. I forgot all about me honestly. I walk up to the threesome. Master Drake does not address me at all. He wags his cock in front of my face and I bend down in Donna’s place.
“Just don’t pull back” she instructs me.

Master Drake places his hands firmly on each of my temples, and pushes his penis, still drenched in the honey of Donna’s saliva, into the hot recesses of my mouth. I tumble back on my knees from the force, but he lifts me back up. He is relentless. I am gagging almost immediately. Faces and figures begin to blur… I feel like I have to pull back, I am fighting him, but then he pushes the weight of his entire body, flush against his face. My nose is buried in the curls of his pubic hair.
“Is this what you wanted, bitch?” I hear him ask.
“Ask me for some more.”
My words are garbled, unintelligible. All I can do is nod, my head shaking up and down.
“I can’t hear you, pet” my nose is pushed flat against his body.
I am retching, my eyes bulge, my throat collapses upon itself.
“ehhffghh” is all I can mutter. All I can muster in response.

From behind him, Donna has shown Kelly how to enter his ass, with just one finger, how to caress its rim with the tip of the tongue. How to please him best. They are taking turns, lapping milk like kittens, probing and tonguing while I am pinned against his dick. And over and over again they are thanking him. Thanking him for his kindness, for his big cock and his hard sex. They run their hands along his torso and his back. They sigh his name, with breathless voices… they kiss his ass and cradle his sack against their lips.
“Say my name pet,” he says to me. A challenge.
“efffa ache.” I whisper. choke. gag.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch that,” with a hand in my hair, a tug to my scalp.
“say it again. Pet.”
I am hurting, my throat is sore, my cheeks are stained with sweet saline tears.
“affa jake.”
He laughs at my effort.

Now he is pinching the brown puffs of my nipples. Bending down to see me wince in pain. I can hardly breathe at all. My hands scrape the linoleum, trying to keep from falling… falling… He is savage with me. I pray that he will cum…. I pray that he will like me... I pray that he will cum.

He does not.

When I have sated him though, he withdraws. He kisses Donna and Kelly on the tops of their heads. Me he ignores. Instead he whispers desires in Donna’s ears. Obediently she disappears and returns in mere minutes, carrying a large exercise mat which she spreads of the floor for her master’s comfort. With her head resting in Donna’s naked lap, I watch my friend Kelly bend down, reach back and spread the cheeks of her own ass. I watch Master Drake take her there, with the same energy he had taken me. Kelly’s long, taut body struggles with each thrust, she is gripping Donna’s knees with white knuckles. But she is in ecstasy. When Donna reaches her arm down and begins to massage Kelly’s clitoris, I am momentarily afraid that Kelly is going to combust.

I sit next to them, alone on the tiled floor, the acolyte. In a huddle, I touch myself, feel my dripping loins, rue that I have not yet been touched. Kelly’s breathing is faster now; she is looping her tongue, her teeth around Donna’s labia, touching her with extended fingers, returning each of Donna’s caresses. Master Drake is rubbing his hands hard through Kelly’s long hair, pushing her head against Donna’s, watching their tresses intermingle. He is telling Kelly to bite, bite harder. Kelly is trembling; Donna is wiggling, writhing under the grip of Kelly’s teeth. She is wailing, begging her to stop, begging her for more. She fondles her own nipples, groping her pale breasts. Master Drake withdraws from Kelly, proffering his sloppy sex to Donna who licks him greedily, thanking him between great, slurpy gulps. When he enters her again, I can feel his intensity. Kelly’s body is shaking. She is shouting curses into the air. They echo off the lockers… fill my ears with wonder. I am moaning myself. Gripping my clitoris until it is raw with desire. I cum when he cums, filling Kelly’s ass with his cream. It is then that he summons me again. Donna and me.
“For you.”
We lick his cum off of Kelly’s firm ass. Sucking it off her thighs… Donna is thanking him, kissing his slowly deflating cock.
“Thank you master, thank yooouuu.”

I am sitting on the floor, wiping cum of my cheeks. I have been humbled. But I am still hungry. As he gets up to leave, to return to his duties in front of the camp fire, to sing the songs, do the head counts, conduct the weekly staff meeting, he looks at me for the first time. Gesturing for me to bend over, he runs his finger over the round curve of my bottom, letting fingers linger on my own virgin hole.

“next time.” He says. “next time."

For Master Drake

The Birthday Feast

2010-08-18T04:48:00.002-04:00

The Birthday Feast
Written by Psyche Summer

From across the western hemisphere a plane is circling the Toronto-Pearson airport, as it sweeps across the cloudy March sky, a singular passenger -- seated as she is in first class, long, pale legs tucked up beside her -- is growing restless. Jade Everson smoothes the folds of her red, satin trench coat, glances at her wristwatch; the long flight from out West was almost complete. After 4 hours and eighteen months Jade Everson is done with waiting.

It is late morning by the time Jade arrives at the Drake hotel in downtown Toronto. Standing outside the white brick edifice, she shivers. Satin and Canada are not a good mix, especially when one’s undergarments are as scant as her own. Still, she does not enter the building just yet, pacing the sidewalk of the metropolis in black suede pumps instead, her raven tresses bolstered by blustery gales. It is just as her bones begin to ache from cold, her joints begin to stiffen, that the long awaited text arrives; peeking at her slim cell phone, Jade reads “room 306, pet.”
Cheeks still flushed and breathless from their northern exposure, Jade knocks on the door to room 306. Her green eyes are alight with expectation and her billowy chest rises with each escaping breath that pushes against crimson lapels. The door is opened by a tall, blonde reedy girl with a chest like upturned apples. Her wavy hair ripples down her shoulders, landing just above the inking of a tiny bi-plane etched into the curve of her back. Around her neck she wears a slender charm, fastened to a thin leather band: a number, 17. She is nonchalant, turning from the door by means of invitation, shouting to the unseen corners of the hotel salon, in a husky Australian drawl, “master, it’s for you.”
Jade follows the lithe blonde into the expanse of the room. There, reclined in the middle of the overstuffed bed, is the sex-stung body of Jade’s master: Master Drake. You will kindly pardon Master Drake if he does not immediately welcome his new guest, for he is currently incapacitated. Above his recumbent body, two figures crouch, each one ladling their mouths with the taste of fat dick. The first, a buxom latina with hair the color of shiny pennies. Celeste, whose breasts are the size of melons and whose lips taste like sugar. On the left, is a woman Jade knows well, Kitty, whose lean, limber body, entangled in bed sheets, stoops low to caress meaty cock with swollen lips, whose tender, small breasts are cupped, with eager kisses by her female companion, whose sheen of jet black hair masks the spasms of pleasure that contort Kitty’s ice blue eyes. One after the other they bend, like swans, to engulf his upright cock in the warm recesses of eager mouths. Resuming her position at the top of the bed, Kelly, the Australian, pants as Master Drake reaches scratchy face and roving tongue into the depths of her slitted thighs. Above him, her body gyrates, gesticulating her orgasm with every jerky movement. Her raspy wails throbbing in the morning calm…. until at last he explodes…. splashing warm, creamy foam down her front with heaving abandon.
As the ménage-a-quatre winds to a close, as cum soaked skin is saturated, Jade patiently waits her turn. While she waits she pulls out of her handbag, a small camcorder. Turning it on reveals snapshot after snapshot: the history of her submissive fantasies. Jade pauses, mesmerized, video after video, the pictures turn before her eyes. Pictures of Jade in varying stages of undress, of Jade up against a wall, with a dildo buried deep in her cunt, with chains bracketing her slender wrists, videos of Jade in the throes of orgasm, obeying all of her master’s commands. As Jade scans each photo, her eyes become increasingly transfixed… picture after picture swirling before her bright green eyes… Jade with two men, Jade fingering a woman, Jade being eaten out… Jade is so hypnotized, mesmerized by the swirl of photos in front of her, that she does not immediately notice, until firm hands are planted around her waist, until camera is removed from her hands, that she has made her master impatient.
Setting the camera to record, Master Drake slowly untwists the belt fastening Jade’s red coat. Button after button is plied open to reveal porcelain pale skin, soft, overflowing breasts with nipples of the faintest pink. Jade is naked but for the thin silk stockings that rise to the middle of her supple thighs.
At the sight of her silk skin, the long-awaited hungry cunt, Master Drake’s cock re-ingnites. Grabbing fistfuls of hair, he shoves his prized pet to her knees, forcing throbbing head and shaft, through half parted teeth into the thin alleyway of Jade’s sweet throat.

“hoppy birfday mafttherrr” Jade gasps through dick-filled mouth.
He is clutching her by handfuls of hair, clenched in fists that entwined with dark ribbons of black tresses, yank Jade’s head back and pull hard against her scalp.
His inflated erection… he is ramming it into her gullet, down her throat, stabbing at her rib cage, even.
There is turmoil now in her brilliant emerald eyes, tinged with gold and laced with fire, which roll back in her head, which well up with tears at the urgency in which her master is taking her.
“tell me what you want, pet” he orders, his feet spread apart, his back arched against the warm tug of her lips, the suction that threatens to overcome…
“pet” he repeats stroking her long black hair, “tell me how you want to cum.”
“EeeEcchh” Jade is gagging, retching. Her lips move but no words come out. Her arms are flailing as webs of spittle course from her mouth, dribbling in streaks down her front.

Still he hangs onto her, keeps her on her knees, using her hair like a harness, riding her face like it’s a thoroughbred. Jade’s knees press into the pale, pine wood of the floor. Silk stockings splinter into a thousand garish shreds. Her head tilted backwards, exposing the long crescent of her pale throat. She grabs onto her master’s pelvis, grinding dark nails into flesh…. His knees buckle.

Dragging her on all fours to the bed, faces twisted toward video lens, Master Drake summons his pet Celeste, who starts the music dock on the bedside table. As the first bars of the tinkling piano begin to thrum, Jade mounts her master. Catching the cushions of her chest in one hand, Jade clutches the ache of her clitoris in the other… feels the fire in her belly swell as Master Drake enters her, as the throaty vibrato sings:

“The boys who kiss and bite; they are the brilliant ones”

Feels the walls of her cunt caving in….

“Oh how my knees go wee-ak to be the one…”

The pound of her clitoris echoing the rush of blood in her eardrums…

“She kicks and bucks… al-ways quick to fol-low… the boys are toooo reefineeed…”

The insatiable groans as his dick grows harder… harder. Harder. Jade is pressing feminine flesh into the flat of his groin. Rubbing herself as the cabaret keyboard winds on… bending down to plant passionate kisses on chest and face, billowing breasts knock together… sway to the beat of the pounding piano. Heave against each other like two barely moored boats in a seawater storm. Until the haze of her large pink nipples is all he can see floating above him.

“Always quick to follow…. I let myself be taken … just.. for.. the.. thrill.”

Rolling her over, Master on top. Shoving hard penis into the furrowed recesses of Jade’s ferocious cunt. Slamming into her body, two rough thumbs taking over where she left off, probing the cowlick of her clitoris in ungodly ways that Jade cannot explain. Master watches as emerald eyes glaze over, as pupils refract until mere pinpricks in two shiny green seas.

“fuck… fuck” he repeats, gripping target sized nipple in one giant fist. “I want to be inside you… so fucking deep. I want to bury you in my cum until you drown.” Thrusting in and out, moaning… “spray my cum all over your body… , make you squirt the way a good pet should…”
“Master Drake…” her voice trails off as a series of gasps and sighs and dreadful moans escape
her pleasure-prone body.
“Master Drake….” she begins again, “please. Pleeaseee let me have the privilege of your cum… lace it through my hair and in my mouth….” Her voice it trailing off as Master Drake lifts juice soaked fingers to her lips, rubbing them across her cheeks and against her long, elegant neck.

Jade stiffens at his touch, clit goes perfectly rigid, body mounts in seizure as drenched fingers caress the pulse of her quivering throat. Jade’s back arches in pleasure; stomach muscles unfurl; her breasts loll to each side, exposing the fine white line of her porcelain clavicle. It feels like her insides are melting, that her heart is on fire… that phantasms lurk before her very eyes. Clutching her own throat in ecstasy, feeling the combined forces of four thumbs encroaching upon her windpipe, pressing… all around her blackness, blackness except for the red hot flame of dick, rock hard dick piercing stomach, sternum, soul. Rock hard dick, primed to the sound of her orgasm, to the sight of the blackness overtaking her eyes, to the flow of her clear, wet juices that soak the bedclothes just seconds before… finally erupts, overflowing, withdrawing just in time to plaster heaving chest with the white stain of his load.

Exhale.

And after that, after that, the trio of angel-whores, done pleasuring themselves to the heat of her passion, they come, they cluster around her, writing his name, with long painted fingernails into the swirls of his cum on her chest:

“Master Drake’s Pet.” The girlish letters are swirled in the glistening slime, embedded in video form before it is sucked away by three pairs of craven lips.

They suck it off her in great noisy slurps, their knees drenched in the puddles she has left behind. They feed it to her on honeyed lips, soak their faces in its wet sheen. Faces that they bury against each other’s asses, shared between sisters. From slick mouth-to-mouth, the salty taste, until it is gone.

****

Hours later a convoy of taxi cabs winds its way north, out of the city. Ensconced in the second car, with black, silk blindfolds masking their eyes, Kitty and Jade are in the middle of a conversation.
“you mean you’ve never done it?” Jade’s voice is incredulous.
Underneath her mask, Kitty is blushing.
“not even with Alex???”
Kitty shrugs “he just never really wanted to…”
Jade is ingesting the news, processing the dilemma. Kitty was an anal virgin? No way. Before her mind can wrap itself around this surprising tidbit of news, both girls are startled as the car lurches to a halt. The back door opens and the girls feel a third body slip in next to theirs.

“Where to, officer?” queries the cabbie.
“I’m with them” comes the smooth response.
From underneath the lip of her mask, Jade can make out slender legs, wrapped in straight, black slacks, see two shiny black shoes, smell the lingering scent of warm cocoa on her breath…
Minutes later the cabs arrive at their destination. Three sets of doors open and one man, six blindfolded women and one female police officer, all exit their vehicles. They are in front of the Lucky 13 tattoo parlor. As their masks are lifted, one of the women, a petite brunette, in a camel colored coat, emits a soft groan: she has been here before.
Willow, the blonde receptionist cum piercer is sitting at the desk, boots propped up on a chair, filing her flaking black nails when the door swings open with a cough of cold air and the party enters. Lifting round blue eyes fringed in inky black lashes, Willow smiles her electric smile when she sees Master Drake make his way through the throng of flashily dressed women. Despite the cold, she is wearing a thin grey tank top stretched over her size EE chest and her signature black skinny jeans ride low on her slender hips, her long blond is curled into a sloppy bun at the nape of her neck. Hard gold studs gleam from lip and brow.
Master Drake looks down at Willow’s ripe chest, clears his throat. “yes, I believe I have an appointment?” Smiles knowingly.
Willow stretches her cat-body and slowly uncurls from her chair, dropping long legs to the floor, bending over her appointment book with exaggerated flair, enjoying the attention of the hungry eyes that follow.
“mmm, yes,” she murmurs… her long finger tracing the markings on her tablet. “I see you’re going to be keeping Angel quite busy today….” she murmurs, “too bad he’s still on his lunch break… why don’t I take you ladies to the back so that you can make yourselves comfortable?”
she asks, “or isn’t comfortable on today’s menu?”

And then turning to the little brunette, as she leads the rest of the coterie to the small curtained partition in the rear of the building “back for more, l’il pet?”

Minutes later the energetic Angel enters the room; he is grinning from ear to ear. He knows he has good reason to be. Crouching low, over the first prone body, he turns his head toward Master Drake who is conferring with the police officer, Officer Mercy Rose, in the corner of the room.

“The usual, Senor?” he asks deferentially, stroking the downy hairs that line the girl’s cunt.
It is the brunette, young, just nineteen… with blossoming breasts, doe-like hazel eyes and a mouth turned up in a whisper. As she strips, it is apparent that she has already been marked, along her backside, in large, gothic letters: “My master’s pet.”
She is trembling though, for she is sensitive to the pain.
Officer Rose approaches the fearful girl, runs polished fingers through her curling hair, whispers in her ear and then stoops over her, directing Angel, the inker:
“here” she says pointing to a spot over her left thigh, directly across the flat of her front… “number 15…. School colors… purple and gold.”
Angel smiles, runs smooth finger tips over the designated spot…
“May I?” he asks.
Officer Rose nods her assent.
But before he can lift loaded needle to trembling skin, there is one more thing that must be done. Shivering the young girl, Robin, looks toward her master’s direction. With great tears already rolling down her cheeks, she manages a slight smile, hiccoughs in a barely audible whisper:
“h-happy birthday, master.”

As the others watch, Angel bends his body over the waif, thrusting fingers inside to calm the tremors that rock her body, to sate his own desires. As Officer Rose has given him permission, he sometimes stops to lick said fingers or, in turn to nip her two fuchsia areolas that protrude from the buds of her chest. Robin is moaning in pleasure and pain, solacing herself with thoughts of how much her ache will please the master. When he is done, when Angel finally looks up, stands up with a triumphant flourish, a neat, violet number decorates Robin’s side. The ache in her belly subsides as her master approaches, and examines the handiwork, permits her to kiss the pleasure that has been growing in his pants.

Next is Kelly, who delivers cheerful birthday wishes before succumbing to Angel’s prick. Before long a brilliant blue 17 is inscribed on her skin. She turns, offering Angel her ass before he tags it with her master’s ownership. Angel, again waiting for the nod of consent first, happily obliges.

Next Celeste: “Feliz cumpleaños mi dueno” as scarlet ink bleeds into her fragrant flesh. 22.

Ashley, with short brown hair cut and almond shaped eyes, whose southern drawl masks a will of iron:
“happy birthday…” number 25…. and then again, the mark of ownership detailed along the perimeter of her derriere…

And Kitty. A happy birthday purr… Angel buries his nose in the folds of her labia, inhales her smell as he works, her statuesque body quivering in the air above him.

Jade watches the procession with eager eyes and a hot swell in her heart. As Kitty submits to the marking, a scarlet 26, a scrawl of letters across the fat of her ass… Jade waits her turn. Waits as Willow, the piercer re-enters the room, sidling up to Master Drake, whispering,
“I hear it’s somebody’s birthday…”
Watching as Willow bends and tugs at the zipper fastening Master Drake’s pants, watching as Willow takes Master’s cock in eager hands in salivating mouth as above her Angel writes his name on Kitty’s burning flesh. Watches the bumper of Willow’s chest ricochet off of his knees, watches her throat tense, fingers curl… hears her gag on his name, on the spit of his dick…

Officer Rose is watching now too, slowly unbuttoning the small clear buttons of her pressed blue blouse, bending to rub her caramel breasts against the nape of Willow’s neck, letting blond hair tumble down her back, running her face, nose, lips along its silky length. Digging up the length of Willow’s shirt to clutch and grab at the balloons of her breasts that bounce in and out of her grabbing hands.

At last it is her turn. Jade approaches the table, the panting inker, removes the layer of crimson silk that protects her modesty, offering Angel the clutch of her naked skin… his final canvas of the day.

Angel looks at her, at her flashing green eyes her swollen breasts…
“numero 27?’
Jade smiles a secretive smile, lowers herself upon the table as she hears her master respond.
“27? No,” Willow is sliding her tongue along the ridged edge of his shaft. Officer Rose is tearing at Willow’s pants… “she’s not 27…. She’s …”
“she’s number… six.”

Jade smiles. Sees the startled looks on the faces of the other girls, even on that of her own dearest friend, Kitty. Sliding back on her elbows, she coos “happy birthday Master” and then inhales sharply at the first cruel pinch. And then it is over. A serpentine 6, blazes in emerald over the still sore strip of Jade’s white flesh and matching throbs of embedded green ink tingle along the rim of her backside.

Robin… Kelly… Celeste… Ashley… Kitty…. Jade. All eyes turn to Officer Rose, who like Kelly, now wears a crest of white across the crown of her smooth black hair. Rising, Officer Rose looks at the semi-circle of women, each looking back at her expectantly. And then, rolling down her black trousers, stepping out of sleek black hipsters, Officer Rose… Mercy Rose is naked, but for the whip-black three that decorates the curve of her crotch.

Before he partakes in the ensuing fracas on the floor… on the table, the counter, the collision of bodies that upends ink and sends needles scattering, Master Drake removes a small manila envelope which he hands to Willow. She opens it, peeling back the flap, opening the printed card that rests within, before she too joins the tumult on the floor. On the card, a simple question, a request, a command: 27.

******

And then alone with him, at last, in the cab, speeding toward their final destination, Jade rubs wet lips against his jaw, whispers her desires in his ear, feels the passions in her awaken when he whispers his response:

“Pet, I am going to fuck you… fuck you to your college and fuck you in the your washroom; let me tell you how I am going to tie you down and how you will not be released… not until I have fully spent myself covering you… covering you with my cum…” he begins.

A wild look begins to simmer in the dark green depths of Jade’s eyes, her nostrils flair as he continues...

“and when you have slept with your master's seed all over your pretty face, your breasts, your hair.... then I will parade you, by leash and by collar, by me alone, all around the neighborhood before you are allowed to clean your master's cum off of you and out of your hair.”

But he is not finished, pulling Jade close, grabbing her hair, speaking just above a whisper, he continues… promising that he is going to

“have you be the front of a 'conga' line and your sister pet is going to fuck your ass with a fucking strap-on as I fuck your sister pet in her own ass... and a second sister pet is going to fuck your pretty wet mouth with a strap-on and make you gagscream my name until your throat becomes raw…”

Snuggling down in her seat, listening to the soothing refrain of his voice “feed on nothing but my cum for weeks and weeks, shove it down your throat with a spoon…” Jade hopes that wherever it is they are going, it takes a looonnngggg, long time.

*****
Jade is startled however, twenty minutes later, when they actually do pull up to the entryway to the University of Toronto. She fingers her neck, wondering if she would ever dare to be paraded down the cold streets of Toronto, an object lesson in sexual servility. She is relieved when, instead of heading to dorm rooms, Master Drake steers the burgeoning group to the New College Library at the heart of the university. Breezing through the doors, Master Drake heads straight towards the circulation desk which is being helmed today by a young student librarian, a small, Asian girl, no more than a freshman.

Donna looks up from her desk work to see Master Drake striding toward her, followed by a parade of what must now be seven or eight women. Donna tries to avert her eyes, find some sanctuary behind a rolling cart of books, but it is too late.

“Excuse me, miss…” Master Drake begins. “I’d like to check something out if I may…”
Donna looks askance at his empty hands.
“No, not a book, pet” continues Master Drake, meeting her eyes directly, causing her to color… placing restraining hand on her tiny wrist. “I’d like to check out the librarian.”
Donna pulls back, out of his grasp, her face is burning. “I’m working” she hisses….
“It’s my birthday pet,” he replies calmly “and you should be punished for trying to deny me…”
Gulping, Donna composes herself, gathers her dignity, so that she is able to calmly respond
“What do you desire, master?”
“Second floor, mythology, fifteen minutes.”

Exactly thirteen and a half minutes later Donna is trudging up the stairs of the library, placing one foot in front of the other, tugging at the short hem of her hounds tooth skirt, smoothing the lines of her tight black sweater. She finds them, as promised, in the mythology section: section 292 of the Dewey Decimal System. The women are arrayed along the aisle, each one facing the shelves, each one with a book in hand, the stories of Loki, Zeus, Freda, Coyote, Isis, Leda and Aphrodite spread out on pages before them. At the far end of the shelves, Kitty is standing, her face to the wall, her pants pulled down to the ground. Master Drake, is caressing the round puckered entrance of her ass as Jade stands behind him, whispering secrets in his ear.

In the quiet hush of the library Donna approaches her master. Master Drake, finishing his brief conversation with Jade, turns to her with sympathy in his eyes.

“Pet,” he says, stroking the line of her cheek. “It’s my birthday… and all of these ladies,” he gestures to the women, whose averted eyes are obediently buried in legend “have come from all over the continent… to wish me a happy birthday…. But you, you” he says, placing one hand under her skirt, in between her black opaque tights and the soft skin of her crotch, “you alone have refused me.”

Donna lets out a muffled whimper, the precursor to a barely suppressed sob.
“I’m sorry master” she mumbles almost incoherently.
“Apology accepted pet” he replies as beside him Jade removes her coat.
“…but you must still pay for your impertinence.”

On cue, Jade grabs Donna by the hair and drags her to the cold tile floor. Donna falls clumsily, legs splayed out on the floor.
“Strip, strip for your master, bitch,” Jade hisses.
Mutely Donna obeys. Sliding her mouth close to Donna, Jade wraps her teeth around the skin of Donna’s labia and bites down. Pressing merlot colored nails into the fat of Donna’s smooth belly.
Donna emits one strangled cry, a cry that pierces the silence of the library… feels Jade’s hands covering her mouth, entering the slit between her legs…

Master Drake watches the scene before him with some interest, the two dark haired women that writhe at his feet, the kitten yelps as his pet Jade pinches rosy nipples and leaves purple teeth marks, like stripes down Donna’s side. Sees the familiar slick of fluid moisten Donna’s cunt as his pet Jade punctures her pussy with the thick ball of her fist.

Then at last he turns his attention to the pet before him, the newest, the one whose virgin ass is just for him. He hears her quick panting breath as he approaches her, feels the sweat of her arousal. Running his hands up and down the length of her long, muscled body, kissing the neck which her short hair just grazes, rubbing the head of his dick between the overlapping cheeks of her firm ass. Probing the hitherto untouched area, unplunged, ripe… with fingers and with tip. He stoops, rubbing hands in the juices of Jade’s slick venom and in the wanton flood of Donna’s wet thighs, lathers his dick which he then pushes… slowly… into the well of Kitty’s ass. He hears Kitty’s low groan as he taps the first ring of muscles. Feels their tight clench repelling him. Feels the warm suck of skin that drags him inward, pushes him out… He is growing harder by the minute. Kitty’s eyes are clenched shut; the top of her head is hitting the wall in slow, rhythmic thuds. Inch by inch her ass gobbles down the length of dick, smothering it in the heat of her pain. He is moving faster now, now that the tip of his penis has plummeted into the farthest depths of her body. Her body is sweating when the first pricks of pleasure rush upon her, when her unbending muscles finally bend around the stiffness that is inside her. She is grabbing for her own pussy now, heaving, shaking, whispering his name “Maaasssterrr Drakkke” in a desperate, violent hush.

Behind her, six pairs of eyes, studiously bent on the escapades of Anansi, hear her. Hear the dull thump of his body hitting hers, hear the mad scramble of her legs as she tries to keep balance, the stifled orgasms ripping at her rib cage. And lower, the muffled cries of Donna, the poor pet that refused, the muffled pleas for “more please” as on top of her, Jade lashes at her body, leaving pink handprints along the tops of her thighs and across tear-stained cheeks.

When Master Drake finally feels the tell tale signs, feels the wash of fever flood over him, the white hot release, he is careful. Spilling himself into Kitty’s upright ass, he yet manages to save some seed for the two spent bodies repined on the floor beneath him, bending as the last surge of passion is upon him to fill Jade’s crimson cunt to shower Donna’s face with the last remaining drops.

*****

As Jade leaves the library a short time later, she can still feel the sting of his seed inside her as she has selfishly denied anyone the privilege of sharing. And although she feels the hot wetness trickling down her legs, leaving smeary tracks on the marble tiles behind, she is content in the knowledge that as she wings out of Toronto and heads home, he will still be there warming her thighs. A smile lights her face as she exits the building all alone, and notices that above her, the gray clouds have gathered. It has started to snow.

For Jade

Camp Lindenwood: Intro and Ch. 1 of 6. Swim Club

2010-08-18T04:46:00.003-04:00

The Lindenwood Series
By Psyche Summer

Introduction

Alone in Master Drake’s cottage under the hemlock trees, I am being punished. Down on my knees, in just my cotton panties, I am waiting. I have been poised for the cock that hasn’t come for at least twenty minutes. Master Drake fully clothed… from the waist up…. is exasperated.
“You’re late, pet” he repeats for what must be the tenth time in the past hour. He holds his
rock hard cock just inches from my face; I can smell his strong familiar scent warming me,
feel the familiar electricity that rattles my gut, sets my loins on fire.
“I’m sorry, master…” I murmur… the college orientation session I had been attending had run over; my mother had requested my help at the last minute. I had been late: late by one day, three hours and twenty-seven minutes.
Withdrawing from me again, Master Drake instead runs his hand down the line of my jaw. Whispers my name. Tells me how I will make it up to him.
Five names he whispers, touching me on my right shoulder with his extended dick. Five girls. I will bring to him, shape them, teach them, as he has taught me. He explains, resting his penis on my other side. He has chosen them already… and as he finally pushes his way deep into my mouth, forcing me to the ground, he whispers each of their names.

Kelly. Simone. Shoshanna. Halla….. and Avery.

Chapter 1: Swim Club
Kelly

“Mooother Fuck!” I hiss as my knee hits the pebbles that line the fucking pathway leading up to the mother-fucking pool. I feel fire as the stones shred skin; my hands fly up in front of me to break the fall. It does no good. When I was younger, my brothers used to call me “Daddy Long-legs,” I’m tall and all leg, and now one of them was a bloody, fucking, mess. Literally.

I sat on my ass and sucked the torn fibers of skin clinging to my knee. “Damn that little ankle-biter, Missy Morgan and her damn cell phone, and damn that Donna, fucking bitch, for sending me to go fetch it at 3 fucking am.” She should’ve sent Simone, I raged to myself. Simone and Missy painting their toe-nails perched on chaise lounges… Simone with her fucking French nose stuck high in the fucking air.

I sweep my long blonde hair out of my face and struggle to my feet. I brush gravel off my ass and trudge along to the top of the hill. When I get up to the pool you can bet that I am bloody shocked to find the gate open and to hear voices coming from inside… and will you believe, when I get up close, there in the nuddy, in the fucking pool, is Mister Drake, the fucking head of the camp. And there, beside him, dippin’ her toes, is that bitch. Donna.

Mister Drake is just swimming around, laughing at something Donna said, doesn’t cross his mind that he is stark naked. She’s just sittin’ there like a fuckin’ bludger, waving her fingers in the water, letting it splash up on her little white silk pajama top…

He stops when I enter, swims up to the step.
“hi there, Kelly, right?” he says, all formal and shit.
I can’t help looking at his donger, it’s huge, even there in the water.
“why don’t you join me…?” he continues, all natural.
I look over at Donna; she’s reclining along the side of the pool, cool as a cat. She waves that damn pink cell phone in my general direction….
“found it over near the chairs” she says all innocent.
Now, I’ve worked at camps in my life, and I’ve seen… and participated in my fair share of “goings on,” but I’ll admit, I’m a little rattled. I hate that feeling. And all the time, Mr. Drake, he’s just swimming back and forth, every now and again, he looks up at me with his blue eyes… all patient and shit.

Part of me wants to wheel around right there and hitch it back to my cabin, to my bed. Go back to messin’ with boys who keep their dongers in their togs, but part of me is… well let’s just say I get a little hot, when I see Donna slip into the water and wrap her body around Mr. Drake. She didn’t even take off her fucking pajama shirt, so after he tongues her mouth and swims her back to the wall, I can see the shape of her tits underneath the wet fabric. Now, Donna, she’s like 5’2. Me, I’m almost 5’9; in my head, for a second, I imagine me, all of me, wrapped around that man, slipping over his body… at 3 am. In the swimming pool. Now one thing you should know about me, I don’t keep thoughts in my head too long. I either do them, or don’t do them.
So, in just about a minute I am slipping off my flip flops and sliding into that pool, myself. The cool water and the night air, it knocks the breath out of me for a minute, and the chemicals in the water sting my knee. I feel the fabric of my sky blue cami and knickers weighed down with water. They’re sticking to me, driving me fucking insane. Mister Drake comes gliding toward me in the water. He grabs me around the waist and turns me away from him…. I can feel his bulge against my ass, his hands reaching up my knickers. Soon they are off, floating away in the water.

He whistles, a low summons, and in seconds Donna is at his side, peeling away my wet camisole, cupping round firm breasts in naked hands. He is behind me. I can’t see him much, but I feel him. Feel him rub against me, feel the drag and suck of the water as he enters me. The walls of my pussy close up around him. I moan. My legs float out from under me. He shakes the bitch loose and grabs each of my tits in his hands, massaging me against his dick. I feel his damp skin, chilly against my naked back and it sends shocks of passion through my spine….
“Oh god, oh god” I start to moan as my ass bumps against the top of his thighs.
“harder… harder” I pant.
My fucking stomach feels like it’s gonna explode… like there’s a snake in my belly doing somersaults.
I can feel his hands gripping the bottom of my thighs, tearing, pulling me in… harder and harder. His mouth is on my neck. Biting at my skin. It’s like an animal. I feel the heat rising in me…
“Fuck.” I moan, and then shout “Fuucckkkkk”
“I’m not done with you… not yet” he grins.
I am so loud I am sure the whole camp can hear.
“Fuuucckkkkkk meeee”
I wrap my hands around his neck, around his head. I don’t know why. I can’t stop him. He is tapping the edge of my cervix with his fucking hot head. His hands are rubbing the inside of my thighs. He is leaving marks, dark purple marks along the back of my neck. He is like ALL the way inside me. I am panting in the water… And before I know it I am cumming… and cumming and cumming….

Donna
As Master Drake commanded, I am taking notes, so I can personally attest that Kelly had exactly five orgasms that night in the pool. Master Drake, on the other hand, did not cum at all. At least not right then. And after an interval, in which Kelly’s feet finally came to rest, weak-kneed on the floor of the pool, I was once again summoned. I dart from my post at the side of the pool, bringing a nice soft white towel for my master. Leaning over him, I wrap the towel around his body, wipe the drops off every inch. Kiss his cock. Make sure he is satisfied. Once he is dried, I spread a new one down on the cool, dewy grass. On this one, I sit Kelly. She is still wet, and the drops of sweat and beads of water glisten, silvery in the moonlight. Under the dim lights of the lamps that surround the pool’s perimeter I can make out tattoos scattered across her body. A freckling of stars along her side… a kiwi bird, (she told me it was a kiwi later, I didn’t know it that night) on her wrist, and on the small of her back, a biplane, a reminder, she told me later, of her first lover. I stretch her out, face down on the towel. I know she is cold, I can feel the goose bumps rise on her arms… Master Drake, sitting next to me on a chaise chair, is watching me work.

I myself have been naked for some time, ever since I entered the pool. Kelly though, has not noticed my own tattoos, the bold black number that scars my front or the tag of ownership that guards my backside. But I am sure, however, that she can feel the cold, hard metal of the twin hoops that puncture my nipples, as I bend down over her back and brush the tips of my breasts against her spine. Her long, blonde hair is wet and coils around her back and arms. Spreading it to one side, I bend closer and begin to kiss each vertebra, one by one. My hand reaches down tracing the contours of her thighs. She is still breathing heavily, isn’t thinking straight. It is easy for me to part her legs and to begin to run my fore-finger along the ridge of her asshole. She is still unaware, grateful to be recumbent…. I rest my cheek against the flat edge of her muscled ass and begin to kiss her there… gently. In the shadows, I see that Master Drake is pleased.

Slowly, with my fingers, I part the cheeks of Kelly’s ass, with my tongue, I slide over the entrance. She has noticed now and her muscles have stiffened. I see her toes curl as my tongue lingers on its target. My tongue, just entering the passageway, providing the lubricant for the finger that follows… Kelly winces as I enter… did she just call me a “bitch?” I tell her to relax, run my free hand down the stretch of her back, and push… just a little deeper. I push past the first ring of muscles, clenched and armed against my entry, and just a little further until I hear her exhale… just a bit. I feel her muscles contract against me, rebel against my presence, but below, I feel her pussy moisten in anticipation. I pull out slowly. I look at my master sweetly, and slowly, intentionally put my finger to my mouth, wrapping my tongue along its sticky length. I bend down and whisper to Kelly to rise up on all fours. She does what I say.

Kelly

It’s so fucking quiet. All I can hear are the damn crickets and bities chirpin’ in the night. I was cold, but now I am hot. I am fucking sweating in fact, on all fours, waiting. Out of the corner of my eye I see Donna rise up and kneel beside me. She is waiting too. Neither of us waits too long. After she has settled down on her knees, Mr. Drake gets up; I see his feet move behind me. He’s checking me out. I follow his feet with my eyes. Now he is in front of me…
“Kelly,” he says my name all serious now, not like earlier in the pool. I can feel his warm breath on my face.
“Mr. Drake?” I know it was a dumb thing to say; we’d just fucked like rabbits…
“Not now, not Mr. Drake, Kelly, not anymore” he responds…
“…Master Drake.”
Well that was unexpected.

He tells me that I am his pet, that now he is my only master, that I cannot hesitate to do his bidding. He tells me that I am not to ask questions; that I am not to fall for him…. I start to stop hearing him…. just waiting for his touch. At last he asks “Do you understand? Do you accept these terms, pet?”

I nod. Yes.

Soon then, he is upon me. His muscles flexed, his hands pressed down on my hips like a pommel horse, his thumbs wrapped around the tight of my ass. When he pushes into me at last, it feels like I am on fire. I clench my eyes shut. My torn up knee presses into the ground as he drills into me. I can feel the walls of my uninitiated ass closing in around him, hear his grunts of pleasure. Feel his rhythm, too quick for my comfort at first, as he takes me again and again. I let out a fierce yelp. Pain mingled with pleasure. Underneath, he is groping my clit, stroking it with wild fingers, entering my pussy, three fingers at a time.
“Uuuufff” I grunt as the strength of his thrusts forces my face to the ground. “uuuuuuffffff” my muffled screams are trapped inside the towel. I am sobbing. It hurts. It feels so good. With his other hand he is grabbing my hair, pulling my face upward so that my screams, my grunts and moans of satisfaction, can all be heard.
“Fill me, fill me” It’s all I want.

In minutes, hours, days, who knows? He has released me, let go my hair, my cunt, my ass. I lift my head and see that Donna is bent over him now. His donger is in her mouth. She is savoring it like candy: licking it, sucking it, rolling around in it. She is stretching her lips wide for him, lowering her fucking mouth to his crotch… I see her eyes begin to tear as her throat contracts… He takes it out, rubs it against her nose and eyes, teases her with it, makes her beg for more.
“Please,” I hear her say. “feed me more Master.”
He gives her what she wants. Again and again.

The stars are fading from the sky when it’s my turn again. When Master Drake bends me over for the second time, he means business. He is so hard…. It feels so good. This time my muscles don’t resist him for long. And as they relax around him, I feel like my whole world is opening up inside of me. When he finally spills his seed, lets it trickle down the inside of my legs, lets me thank him with feeble voice, feeds it from fingers to his other pet who still sits patiently by his side, I am ready, ready to call him Master.

For Master Drake

Another sketch....

2010-08-15T00:21:00.001-04:00

Just to pass the time...

The Field Trip, part 3: Tattoo Parlor

2010-08-14T22:19:00.002-04:00

The Field Trip: Part 3
Authored by: Psyche

There is a chill in the night air now as we cruise along. Maybe it’s because Master Drake, my 12th grade English teacher is driving with the windows down, possibly, well… probably, so that he can admire the full effects of my stiff nipples that are erupting from the taut pull of my tiny green t-shirt.
It has been a long day. My body is tired and limp from the numerous … countless really… stirrings, longings, the probings and thrustings, the eruptions… ejaculations that my tiny body has sustained. I am winded, but happy. Master Drake reaches over and caresses my neck, gently pushing away damp tendrils of hair. He whispers that I have been a good pet… so good today. So good.
He is going to buy me a souvenir.
Ten minutes later we pull up at the tattoo store. My muscles clench as I realize… I am a tattoo virgin. Guiding me into the store, Master Drake informs the girl at the counter that I am here to sample an array of the boutique’s services. He stresses the word services, but the girl at the counter hardly notices. She is a tall woman and reedy, a slender blonde with round blue eyes, pouty lips accentuated with a shiny metal stud. As she bends over to check my ID, her pillowy breasts catch my attention. She is wearing a tight, white tank top over a thin black bra. Her chest is huge. It reminds me of the Lara Croft video games my older brother Patrick used to play before he went off to college… Up and down, her arms are peppered with tattoos: scribes and flowers, initials and runes whose meanings I do not understand. As she skirts the counter and beckons us to follow her, I can feel Master Drake’s eyes travel the course of her waif-thin body, up and down her long, coltish legs, over her tight round ass, slender waist and graceful frame. I can tell he is impressed by her inkings, her smell… a mix of roses and patchouli and sweat…
She hardly glances at him though as she leads us to a partitioned area in the back of the room. She grabs me by the wrist and leads me to a reclining table, kind of like the doctor’s office. I tremble, just a bit, remembering my last encounter with a “doctor,” and smile a little too, as I am sure my master is recalling the same. She beckons me to climb up on the table, but as Master Drake approaches, she abruptly turns, drawing the curtain, indicating that he should wait, instead, on a chair just on the other side. We are alone.
“sit down” she says, “make yourself comfortable.”
I can’t imagine how I could ever be comfortable surrounded by so many strange looking implements. Soon she brings me a selection of studs and hoops…
“which one, hun?” she asks, disinterested, she is all about the business, this one is.
Since I don’t even know what part of my body she intends to pierce, I am uncertain.
“ummmm,” I stutter, “what do you think?”
I think my sheer stupidity has finally caught her attention, for she stops what she’s doing and looks at me. Like I’m an idiot.
“weeeellllllllll,” she says real slow, like I’m dumb or something… “since you’re getting your nipples pierced, I should think you’d want a ring.”
I gulp. My nipples…
“so, all I’m really asking you, sweetie,” she’s being sarcastic now, “is… silver or gold?”
Master Drake’s wife… her wedding… engagement ring is platinum.
“Gold.” I respond, like I mean it.
She selects a small, wire thin set of hoops off of her board and, turning her back to me, she sets to work, sterilizing… preparing… “Take off your shirt,” she says, without turning around. I do.

And soon my own sizeable breasts are tumbling out of their t-shirted prison, bouncing around in the flickering, fluorescent light. The girl turns, as if on cue… and for the second time tonight, I have caught her attention. Master Drake had dressed me in a balconette bra (he doesn’t always pick out my clothes, it was really just for today) and my breasts protrude like targets from the sleek black shell of the bra. Pale white-ish gold orbs, framed in black satin. My dusky nipples look pinker in the light, they are like eyes, looking up at her.

She bends down over me, runs her fingers across me, the tips of her breasts are touching mine. I can feel her breath on my face. It smells like spearmint. Her hair tickles my cheek. She examines my breasts with her fingers, feeling their firm, sinewy curves. She twists and blows on my nipples, pinching them, between her long slender fingers. She lets them linger, once or twice.

Her name is Willow, she tells me like it’s a peace offering. She tells me that she has 9 piercings and 14 tatts. All the while she is preparing the tools of her trade, and I am breaking into the cold sweat of anticipation.

Soon she has grabbed her piercing gun and has straddled my hips (I wonder does she always do that…?).

“That your daddy?” she asks, “as she inspects her instrument before lowering it to my right breast.
“uhhhh, no…” I am spared from having to explain any more than that, for at that moment, I feel the white hot, fire of the needle as it pierces my tender skin. I shriek and jump about a mile. I am sure outside, my master is hardening at the sound of my yelp.
“Don’t worry baby,” she says, touching my cheek, “almost done.” She holds a swab of gauze to my breast as my inner sobbing, the racking in my chest, slowly subsides.
“You know,” she says, resetting the piercing gun, “most girls like you, they come in for a l’il bit of a belly ring or something like that. You starting off on your breasts, like you did? That’s pretty extreme.”
I smile weakly. My brain stumbles over itself trying to think of what to say…
“I am extreme,” I falter, unconvincingly.
Willow raises an eyebrow, cocks her gun…
I continue, a flood of words: “No, really. I am extreme. This is extreme. If I had worked up to it, like you said… with a belly ring say, or a nose piercing or something… that would’ve just been a cop out. I would look extreme, but I wouldn’t be extreme. “Getting it done like this?” I say, looking at my swollen, throbbing tit, “…is extreme.”
Willow laughs at my proud little speech and pushes me back against the table. I shudder, the second time is worse than the first, now that I know what to expect. I moan and wriggle, but she pins me to the table with her body while she does her work. My nails dig into her black denim clad knees. When she is done, she holds a mirror in front of me. Through watery eyes I see my two perfect breasts, red and bloated now, and two golden rings, hooked to each one…

I am in shock, not mentally, my physical body… I feel like I am in a dream. I feel like it is no longer part of me. I hear, but don’t listen as Willow informs me that soon Angel will be in to finish the job. I feel light-headed, dizzy. My mouth is dry. She pulls back the curtain and leaves me alone, nursing my wounds. A few seconds pass… before Master Drake interrupts my reverie… slipping aside the curtain, he is at my side, kissing my neck, tonguing my mouth, inspecting his handiwork with obvious pleasure. I smile weakly and let my hand drop to his crotch. Under the fabric of his pants, I can feel the throbs of happiness my obedience has elicited. A tremor of pleasure wraps around me and I stretch my body taut under his watchful gaze. I hear voices approaching, Master Drake, taking my hand in his, guides me, points out two places on my body, whispers his desires in my ear, before disappearing back behind the partition.

So that is why, when Willow re-enters a minute or two later, she finds me in much better spirits. Behind her follows Angel. “Aun-heeel” he pronounces it. I like him at once. He is shorter than Master Drake; about 5’9, spry, lithe, warm-skinned with smiling eyes and broad shoulders. He is wearing a light blue polo shirt that fits him snugly, baggy cargo shorts and bright white sneaks. He has curly hair and an easy grin.
“Hey there sweetie,” he shakes my hand; his eyes don’t linger on the massacre of my chest. Instead he meets my gaze directly as he asks “what we gonna do for you tonight, little princess?”
I smile.
He smiles back.
I ask him if he is an inker, where are all of his tattoos?
He looks at his bare biceps, which ripple under his shirt, and grins.
“I’m an artist, honey, you’re the canvas. Now, what’ll it be?”
I blush a little as I unbutton my skirt. Willow, who has made a huge production of cleaning and straightening the implements on the table beside me, stops to look.

I remember what my master had told me… just minutes ago. “16 years, I’ve been a teacher for 16 years Pet. 16 years” he repeated meaningfully, “16 pets.”

“here,” I say gesturing above my clitoris, on the clear, bare patch of skin that I shaved early this morning. “a number: number 16.” “… and on the other side…” I begin.
Angel does not let me finish. Shushing me, telling me “one at a time, senorita, one at a time.”
As he gathers his equipment, sits on his stool, Willow saunters over. As Angel loads his ink, Willow’s finger circles the area of my skin that will soon be permanently marked.
“16….” she murmurs… “you look older than that…”
“That’s because she is, stupid,” Angel bats her hand away and pulls my skirt down a little further. His hands are warm and comfortable against my skin. “Who tats their age on their clit, dummy.” He continues, peering at my crotch. I wonder if he can smell the lingering odor of sex. Then he smiles at me, rises from his stool… “it’s a sign between lovers, that’s what it is… right, little princess?”
I smile.
“We’re not lovers.”

And with that tiny confession, the flood gates are open. As Angel bends over me, pricking my sweet skin with his damned needle, with Willow, hovering over me, transfixed, her hands caressing the hairs that rise on the top of my thighs, I speak. I tell them about Master Drake, how he caught me writing fantasies about him one day in class, how he had knowingly let me write them for weeks and weeks before he took me… how he took me… on his lap and on his desk… in his car and in his house… on the bed he shared with his wife. I told them about how he has shared me with his friends, used me to extract favors from small business men… I told them about the park, how today I had taken two men, down on all fours in the hall of mirrors, and how I had just now, only hours ago, been fucked by a female cop on the side of the highway.

I know my words have had an impact, for the room is silent now, but for the buzz buzz of Angel’s slack-jawed needle. I look down at myself in triumph. There emblazoned below my abdomen is a great black “16;” I know it means that I was not his first, and implies that I won’t be his last, but I do not care. While Angel and Willow remain motionless, I sit up, lean over, and kiss Willow, slowly, then harder, on her puffy-lipped mouth. It seemed natural. Felt right, and soon Willow is returning my heat, rubbing her tongue along the sides of my mouth and down my throat. Our naked arms wrap around each other… Willow is bending in toward my neck now, biting my throat, but she is tender, remembering the pain she has caused me already, when she finally lowers her lips to my breasts. I kick off what’s left of my clothing and sit up, I admire Angel’s handiwork against my skin. I let Willow remove my bra and kiss me my waist and breasts again. When Angel reaches for me though, I stop him, see the rejection in his puppy-brown eyes.

“not yet,” I tell him, shoving my ass toward his face. “Right here,” I motion to the delta of skin right above my ass, “here,” I gesture, “write ‘My Master’s Pet.’”
“do it,” I insist, pushing my ass closer to him. Meanwhile Willow is stripping, tearing at her thin tank top, jacking it over her blonde head, whipping her breasts out of their shackles so I can suck them, wriggling out of her skinny black jeans to stand naked in front of me.

She has taken my place on the table now, leaning back against it, and I am in the middle, bent down on top of her. It is nice to be the aggressor for once, and I feel my sexual energy roar inside me. Although I am younger, I am not shy. With my teeth I tug at the thick rings that encircle her own large, pale pink nipples, they are quite large really, the size of the small saucers that cup my mother’s tea set. I bite at the flesh of her tattooed belly, kissing the name of each male conquest that is inscribed on her skin. She is smiling broadly; she has a wide, toothy smile like a movie star, a sly, deep throated, giggle as I lower my mouth to her clit. There I find another ring, one to match the others. I take it in my mouth, twisting the skin that holds it fast, rub my face, my nose in her juices. All the while, Angel, is staining my master’s ownership onto my skin in dark purple ink.

I am gripping Willow’s hips in my two hands, shoving my tongue in her pussy, letting it sting my lips and nose. Behind me, Angel, with the patience of a saint, is laboriously finishing his task. He stops every few minutes, resting his needle on his knee, to grab his own shaft between his sweaty fists. He had long ago unzipped his pants, proffered me his long, slender dick… begging me to take it in my mouth… I had ignored him then, letting him stroke my ass with his glans for just seconds before shaking him free and demanding that he return to job at hand.

Willow’s legs are spread wide, my hands are splaying them apart. The crown of my head is damp from her excretions. She is swaying and laughing, her throaty moans must be audible beyond the curtain… when Angel finally finishes. Without saying a word, without missing a beat, he lets the needle fall to the floor, mounts the table, pushes Willow off and humps my ass with abandon. Caught off guard, I fall forward, my head bangs into the table as I feel Angel slide into me. He grabs my freshly inked fore-front and I scream in pain. He pushes harder with each moan I emit. He is muttering now, in Spanish, words I do not know; Willow, regaining her footing, climbs back to where she had been. Cradling my face in her lap, she kisses Angel furiously, her mouth meeting his with every violent thrust. She is laughing, he is cursing, cumming…. he grunts. It was too fast… he is not done. Again he offers me his dick… to suck… to lick. Lifting my head from Willow’s thighs, I assent, licking the crevices of his shrunken cock, working it, slowly back to size. Angel, his hands gripping Willow’s chest, rolling her breasts between his hands, is the first to notice that we are not alone.

Master Drake stands in front of me, fully clothed. He stoops down and everyone freezes. Willow meets his eyes for the first time all night, then quickly turns away. Master Drake reaches for me, extracts me from the human tumble and bids me stand before him. He examines me, inspects the piercings, the tattoos, the cum swollen ass, the lipstick stains on my waist and legs.

“Undress me Donna” he says.
Mutely, I remove his shirt, lifting it gently over his head.
I kiss his chest and then squat down, loosen the drawstrings that fasten his shorts and let them fall to the ground. I kiss the loose skin on the front of his cock, swish the head along the front of my teeth… I open my mouth wide, wider, wider, stretch my throat to absorb the approaching blow. I rock back on my knees with its force, lean forward, trying to suppress the gag. My eyes glaze over; I am in heaven.

I hear Willow inhale sharply.
He beckons her closer. As she steps toward him, he grabs her, by the ring attached to her front and drags her closer. He grips her pussy with his hand, dousing his fingers with her wetness which he then smears across the top of her bosom. He leans in hungrily, sucking the juices off of her tits in loud, hungry slurps. Willow isn’t laughing now. Instead she is bowed over me, her hands braced on my back while Master Drake tears at her hungrily. Underneath her, the back of my head flush with her abdomen, I am servicing my master. My tongue sliding along the line of his cock, pushed, in part by the gyrations of Willow hunched above me, whose sullen breasts, master cups in his hands, whose mouth he is kissing, whose pussy he returns to again and again, gripping, massaging, pleasuring.

Angel, who is not content to once again be a designated bystander, approaches Willow’s back. He, like she had done before, waits for my master’s acknowledgement, and approval before he puts his hands on Willow’s tiny waist, lowers his now re-ignited cock and waits for contact. Together we are a human gyration. Angel is pounding Willow’s ass, Willow, whose wails ricochet across the walls of the still populated shop. His force threatens to topple her over on top of me, only she can’t. For on the other side, is my master who returns each volley, shoving fingers, hands, fists… again and again into the soft cushion of Willow’s cunt. Her hands are slipping off my back now, sweat and pleasure intermingle. Willow is crashing against my back and against my ass, she is practically humping me herself as she is pleasured by two men. Her yells have reached a fevered pitch; no longer low and deep, her orgasms reach operatic heights. With a free hand and a fierce grin, my master reaches out and parts the curtain, just a foot or two, but it is enough… to expose us all to the remaining customers… and technicians… three or four silent observers of our heated refrain.

And at the bottom of the pile, pushed to all fours, body racked with pain and sweat, I am happy. Holding my master’s enflamed dick between the roof and belly of my mouth. The weight of the others, the crush of their passion means nothing to me. I am bolstered alone by the fire of his dick inside my mouth. When he cums, I let the warm fluids flow down my throat, trickle into my tummy. I cry for more.

Breaking the hold of the others, he tells Angel to take me… on the table. Anyway he likes. As Angel mounts my face, Master Drake leads Willow to my undercarriage, bends her over. She cooperates and with seeming relentless energy is soon returning, blow by blow all of the nips, bites and tongue-ings that
I had so recently bestowed on her soft pussy. Standing now, behind Willow, I see my master pleasure himself while watching her ass bump up and down. Its smooth round shine is hypnotizing. Soon he can contain himself no longer…. Reaching underneath her to fondle her clit, he caresses her sides. He fucks her ass as he once fucked mine… tenderly, fervently, whispering words in her ear, words that turn her face varying shades of red and pink. His cock swings smoothly, rhythmically, in and out of her; if I listen closely, I can hear the suck of her breath each time he enters. I know that as he reaches his fingers inside her again that he can feel his own hard cock shifting behind the thin walls of her cunt. I cannot see them; all I see is Angel, his naked, athletic form is built for this; he tackles my face, and his long whip of a dick lashes my throat until it is course and sore. His belly is pressed up against my eyes, his hands are planted above my ears. My senses have been stolen; all I see is dick… it is all I smell and taste until again he is overcome, spilling his seed across the bridge of my nose, admiring its wet sheen across the ridge of my cheeks… Master cums a short time later, unloading into Willow’s ass with a grunt of pleasured relief. She is shaking, she is crying. She collapses into me in an anguished heap, resting her cornsilk head on my abdomen. Master kisses the ridges of her spine. Leaves teeth marks on her shoulder blades. Souvenirs, I think to myself.

In just minutes we are ready to leave. Master parades me, clothed but disheveled through the cluster of onlookers perched outside our room. My hair is lashed with Angel’s seed and my master’s own cream slides down the thick of my legs as we exit the building. I do not meet their eyes, nor do I look away. I am ready to go home, but as we depart, I smile; I can still smell the faint scent of rose and patchouli, wafting in the warm night’s air.

The End

For Master Drake

The Song of Psyche

2010-08-09T12:05:00.000-04:00

Raindrops on the rooftop
are distracting as I lay awake and wait.
In the slumber of the night, I listen,
marking time,
waiting for the rush of wings to o’er take me

And so I wait each night. For the lover without a face. Who comes to me smelling of mountains, To light with age-old grace. To perch upon my bedside, consume my naked breast. I feel the power of fire… A wave that’s reached its crest.

The hush of night is upon us as he parts the doors of my loins, grasping, sucking, cleaving, He pushes away the thighs of fading resistance… And learns of my most intimate places.

Night after night, he has come to me. Rested curling head upon my heart. Each night he has taken me… lit bonfires in my belly… plumbing the aching barracks of my surrender… hearing my shrieks, breathless in the still of time. Feeling my body wriggle, tense like horses, racing under the sheets. Until the sun rises, passion is spent, and he is gone.

Yet in the glare of cold sunlight, jealous sisters swarm. Carrying rumors wrapped in barbed whispers: monster…. demon….. minotaur: this man without a face.

And so my night is shaken… the earth beneath me burps… and uncertainty gnaws at the folds of my love. And so, this night I come armed against uncertainty, protected against all doubt, and when at last darkness hugs me, this time I am content to wait. Wait through the fever of passion that has long fingers bring spasms of joy, pressed as they are in my womanhood, erect, steadfast… encroaching on the untouched roundness of behind… content to wait as hot honey splashes my inner thighs until, at last, sleep… like a drug, enfolds him.

Then the hot heat of my lantern blazes fast. In the halo of its rays, I see his slumbering form, lift it to see his hidden face… monster… demon…. ….minotaur. It is the face of a god, whose hyacinth locks curl around his slumbering head. Eros. And then, heat, a splash, a smear of hot wax… a startled gasp of pain. A furious look of betrayal. In the echo of the wind, I hear the trace of his departure. He is gone… forever.

Moonlight in the window…
…is distracting as I lay awake and wait
For the lover whose face …too soon seen…
Refuses to come again.
The moonlight in the window
Casts its pallor over me….
It is a shroud of snow

A little sketch

2010-08-09T10:37:00.000-04:00

When I was younger, I used to sketch all the time. It's been some years though, now, since I've picked up a pencil; I guess old habits die hard. Time permitting, I would like to post some more sketches sometime, what do you think?

The Field Trip: first of three parts

2010-08-07T14:50:00.001-04:00

The Field Trip
Written by: Psyche Summer
Well, it’s not a field trip actually. Not in the literal sense. Today it’s just me. Me and my teacher: Mr. Drake. It has been close to six months now that Master Drake, as he prefers to be called, has been giving me almost daily detentions. Almost daily doses of him… but not just him… inside me, on top of me… all over me. In my ass and down my throat, slick in my wet cunt. He has been taking me this way since mid-November; it is May now, and we are on a field trip. Our first. He told me it was to celebrate the fact that I had, much to his dismay, utterly failed his course and would have to repeat it next year. And here, I always thought English was my best subject.
We are at the amusement park; it’s a water park actually. I am clothed in a dark blue string bikini dotted with tiny silvery stars and very snug white shorts. I am normally a more modest dresser, but today, Master Drake picked out my clothes. I am small, in most places, lithe and trim. My dark hair is pulled in a pony tail. I wear a tiny, silver, key charm around my neck. The charm hangs pointing downward towards my breasts, which are uncharacteristically large compared to the rest of my compact frame. They are 34DD and today they are overflowing the confines of the two meager blue triangles that are trying, unsuccessfully, to hold them in place. Master Drake, who is wearing a t-shirt and red ball cap, is holding my hand… not out of affection per se… it’s just his way of reminding me who is in control.
We try the merry-go-round first. Master Drake leads me to a painted tiger close to the center, right by a mirrored panel. As I lift my leg to mount the animal I feel Master Drake’s hands reaching up to touch me underneath my shorts. He runs his hands between the cotton stretch and my skin, running his palms along the curve of my ass and the back of my leg. He lowers his gaze and watches my tits harden. His mouth is level with them. He smiles. Rather than choosing his own animal, Master Drake prefers to stand next to mine, between me and the mirror. He is facing me and with his left hand he is fingering me… I raise my body slightly in the saddle, as he probes my inner recesses. As the music plays, Master Drake is running his middle three fingers in and out of my pussy. I can feel his nails as they scrape along the bottom of my cunt. I try to look at him, but he won’t meet my gaze. Instead he shifts his eyes to the mirrored hub of the carousel. When I follow his lead I see my own reflection: my mouth shaped into a crooked “O” of pleasure, my eyes already beginning to glaze. Looking through the mirror, I see Master Drake’s manhood begin to stiffen. He withdraws his fingers and runs them up and down my dangling calves and along the contours of my naked torso. My body shudders as the ride begins to slow, as the children clamber down from their horses and dragons and elephants; Master Drake reaches up and pulls me down off the tiger. His still wet fingers leave damp imprints on my arms, together we step off the carousel into the glaring sun.
Next we ride the sky cars: hooded seats, built for two, suspended on wires that travel through the park. Master Drake is aroused by what happened on the merry-go-round. He has taken off his cap to obscure the bulge that is now rocketing out of his pants. Master Drake is a public school teacher and appearances are important to him. I know, however that he will soon demand to be sated. I was right. On the sky car, he begins at once. He first removes my bikini top. My swollen breasts come tumbling out; their paleness is luminescent in the glare of the sun. We are high above the crowds, and he is biting my nipples, pushing his face against their firm cushiony roundness. My dark, dusty rose colored nipples fall in and out of his gaping mouth. His tongue covers them with his saliva. His hands are at my hips, jerking and pulling my shorts, my bathing suit. He cannot undress me properly; the safety bar blocks his way. But I am exposed, at least, for his pleasure. He is fumbling now with the strings of his board shorts, revealing his throbbing penis, which after he bends me over so that my head rests on his crotch, he inserts into my mouth. I can feel the tense muscles in his thighs relax. His pubic hair rustles against my cheeks, tickling my nose. I can smell his dry musky scent. My lips are puckered tight around his dick… just the way he has taught me, the way he likes it, my tongue rigid inside my mouth, flushed hard against the staff of his cock. I bow my head over him and plunge over and over him…. again and again. I can hear his sighs, his groans as he succumbs to my touch. He pulls out of me. I kiss the tip of his cock and ask for permission to resume. He nods his head. He is enjoying this. He is fondling my nipples carelessly, he is not even attempting to reciprocate my passion. I ply him with kisses before taking him again. And again. When I feel his body go rigid, feel him grip my hair… I stop… waiting for just seconds. He pulls out of me, touches the tip of his cock to my lips and then changes his mind… unloading his cum all over my breasts. He grabs my hands and rubs them along my heaving chest, smothering my pale white globes with his milk. He catches drops of his own cum as they roll off my nipples. I suck them, as he has taught me, off of slick fingers. The ride grinds to a halt as I readjust the straps of my halter, pull up my pants that were lowered just for his amusement. We hurry to our next stop. Mr. Drake wants a swim.
In the wave pool, we find a nice corner. I do not enjoy sex in public, but Master Drake insists. Among the throngs of people who bob atop the synthetic waves, Master Drake is about to take me again. Leaning me up against his torso, he is pulling down the back of my bikini bottom. The tepid water splashes against my stomach as he levels himself against my body. I feel his dick, hard again (already!) against my ass… searching, probing… finding its target. I shudder again as I feel him enter me. I will never get used to that first untimely shock. He is crouching in the pool, pulling and repelling my body. My legs float up in front of me. Master Drake has me gripped by the torso, the back of my legs face the floor of the pool. He is moving in rhythm with the waves… I fight to suppress the great groans that are welling up in my lungs. I think a man in sun glasses is looking at us. Master Drake has his arms around my waist and his hand down my front. He is rubbing my swollen clit, daring me to remain mute. As the waves smack against me, I let out a hoarse scream… one that I hope gets lost among the squeals of children in the crowded pool. The man in sun glasses is definitely staring now. I cover my mouth as I feel Master Drake buck beneath me. I feel his cock inside my ass, twitch; I hear him grunt in my ear. The water foams around us… as he relaxes inside of me. I exhale… but not for long. For as we make our way to the steps of the pool, I turn to see the man in the shades is following us.
At the concession stand Master Drake makes me eat a hot dog in one long delicious bite. He buys me a lemonade and is content, for the moment, to watch my plush lips wrap around the red straw. He is relaxed, enjoying the field trip. We are sitting together on a bench, my legs crossed at the ankles. His arm is draped across my back. My shoulders are slightly sunburnt, when the man in the sunglasses approaches. He is older than Mr. Drake I guess by a few years, his hair is graying a bit. He is largish, maybe Italian, shirtless, wearing black trunks that are still damp from his swim. He sits down on the other side of me. I try to slide over… to make room, but Master Drake has not budged. I am wedged between the two men. Neither of them seems to mind. Master Drake casually unfastens my ponytail letting my long hair cascade down his arm. He leans over and adjusts my bathing suit strap… strategically. The other man, the Italian, is watching, not turning away as Master Drake begins to kiss my neck… to run the tips of his fingers along my collarbone. He takes my hand and places it squarely on his cock. The Italian does not avert his eyes. He turns toward me, rests his arms on his knees: watches. Watches my nipples inflate under my top… my master’s penis harden at the sight. The man’s arm brushes my knee. I slide it away. Master Drake frowns. I think I just got an “F.” (again). He takes his hand, places it on my knee and slides it back so that it is well within the man’s grasp. Soon the Italian is licking the rims of my ear, parting my hair away from my face and rubbing my nipples, underneath my silvery starry suit, with his hairy fist.
We go to the hall of mirrors. It is housed in a little children’s park on the outskirts of the park. It is a hot day and the building is holding the humidity. We have it to ourselves. Master Drake is feeling generous. He gives the Italian first go. The Italian is all over me. With his meaty hands he is at my throat, unknotting the strings of my top so that it falls to the ground. His heavy breath, I can feel it in my ears. Feel it against my throat as he pushes his mouth up against mine, pushing my body against one of the mirrors, grabbing my legs and hoisting me up, to rest on his knee which he has pinioned under me and against the mirror upon which I recline. My palms sweat as I push them against the grimy glass. His pants are at his feet. His dick is in my suit already. My feet flail under me, kicking the air as I absorb his thrusts. My head hits the back of the mirror. The man’s thick fingers find my ass hole, they rub my hair, find their way into my mouth. All the while he is striking me… letting his heavy torso fall upon me, his dick, shorter, but thick fills me, the walls of my cunt are squeezed around him.
Master Drake stands behind the Italian. He has also removed his clothes. He holds his fully erect cock between his hands. He rubs some pre-cum between his fingers… approaches me. He feeds it to me. My head has rolled to one side. I lick the beads of moisture off his finger tips… let his finger linger in my mouth. The man is grunting now… heaving, but Master Drake will not let him cum so soon.
They are facing each other now. I am on my knees between them. Holding each cock in each sweaty hand… I am shackled by dick. I take each cock in my mouth… squeezing the other with my fist. First one and then the other. Both men are strong, forceful. They run their hands up and down my naked body. They look at their distorted reflection in the mirror. They wipe their dicks in my hair and along my breasts. When they cum, one just after the other, they spray my hair and my face. I have cum, but who knows whose, streaked across my face. It stings my nose and eyes, it collects along my brows and in my lashes. Drips of my chin onto my quavering breasts.
They are not done.
On all fours, Master Drake takes my ass again. He is on his knees, but the rest of his body towers over me. His hands span my bottom and reveal pink impressions when he moves them aside to grip me under the arms and lift me up upon his shaft. From that position I am also able to service his friend. Who runs his only somewhat deflated cock along my throat. The pressure of his dick going down my gullet sends my body into convulsions. My ass muscles grip my master’s cock harder than he has ever felt. My body twists and contorts itself and the men grapple to maintain control. Strands of saliva pour from my mouth, spool around the Italian’s chin. My toes are curled and my palms and nails dig into my master’s thighs. The Italian cums first, shooting rivulets of cum down my throat until it bubbles up out of my mouth. Master Drake slides his hand across my shiny neck, his other arm is braced across my breasts. The entire length of his dick is in my ass. I scream, at last, my mouth is freed. I choke on the cum and stumble to the floor. As I do my master cums again, and so it seems, again and again. My entire body is bent amongst a sea of cum that pools on the floor. As he gently lifts me to my feet, nourishes me with the salty licks of their combined juices with the tips of gentle fingers, my lover whispers in my ear… that it is time to leave… but not… to go home.

THE END

For Master Drake

The Field Trip Part 2

2010-07-30T20:53:00.001-04:00

The Field Trip: Part 2
Authored by: Psyche

Alone in the locker room, I do my best, with the limited resources at my disposal, to rinse the cum out of my hair, splash water on my face, disperse the odors of bodies and sweat that seem to permeate the very pores of my skin. I open the bag that Master Drake has left for me: “a change of clothes” he said. We do not share a similar fashion sense. In the bag, I find some leather panties. They are not a thong, but they lace up the back, and they are slitted. From the privacy of my changing stall, I am appalled. “Oh well,” I figure, “I probably won’t be wearing them for long anyway,” and on they go. They are snug, hugging the curves of my ass. Next up? A balconette bra. I roll my eyes. My nipples protrude garishly from the “cups.” There better be some actual clothes in here I think to myself. Further investigation reveals a very short cut-off denim skirt, its frayed edges hover just beneath the cheeks of my ass. And the coup de grace? A t-shirt. A Christmas tree green, GREEN LANTERN t-shirt. It is very small. When I pick it up, I actually emit a groan. I check the tag. It reads “youth: medium.” I yank it over my head. The circular green lantern logo stretches to an oval across the span of my tits. The hem falls just above my navel. I run a brush over my hair, leaving it fall in waves across my shoulders, as if it could somehow restore an iota of my modesty. I slip on some tennis shoes and dart out the door.

In the locker room, I see the gazes of other women. They are shocked by my scant outfit. I do not stop long enough to tell whether it is jealousy or judgment I see in their eyes. I yank open the door, and rush out, scurrying to the parking lot where Master Drake is waiting.

I find him parked in his car, a dark gray sedan. He is eating some dinner but he offers me none. Instead as I open the passenger side door, and slip in beside him, he runs his hands along the bottom of my breasts and later down the fronts of my thighs. He reaches over me, buckles me in. He unbuttons my skirt and pulls it down, just a little, revealing the smooth sheen of the kid leather hidden beneath. He kisses my mouth, and I can taste the salty grease of carnival food.

“are you ready, pet?” he asks, as if my answer mattered… I nod, and we are off.

Soon we are speeding down the residential streets, leaving the twinkling lights of the park behind us. Master Drake is driving haphazardly. I can personally attest that he has nothing to drink, still his driving is erratic for someone typically so controlled. We careen across corners with abandon until… inevitably… I see the flash of red and blue. We are being pulled over. I rush to pull up my skirt, restore my decency, button my fly, but Master Drake puts a restraining hand on mine. He tells me it will be alright. I trust him.

The officer is a woman. A tall, compact woman with skin the color of caramel apples. As the flashing lights swirl around us I see far set, almond shaped eyes, a long, sleek nose, a mouth like a just opening flower. Her body could stop traffic, but her voice is no nonsense as she asks Master Drake for his ID. He meets her directly, with a gaze that has stopped me a million times. He holds her in his sight as he reaches over me to open the glove compartment. As he hands it to her, he lets his hand rest on my lap.
I feel her eyes drop. She is looking at where his hand has fallen, on my exposed thighs, she doesn’t say anything as my master, my teacher, pushes my skirt down past my knees and pushes his middle and index finger through the slit in my panties and into the slit that waits above. I wriggle a little at his touch. The lights, still rotating, bounce off the curvy outline of my cleavage. He is speaking now, explaining to the officer how sorry he is… how embarrassed he is to be caught speeding. He promises it will never happen again. All the while he is finger fucking me. I don’t know how else to say it… from time to time he pulls his fingers out and feeds them to me, placing them in front of my nose so that I smell my scent and against my tongue so I can savor its tangy flavor. The officer’s voice is rote as she explains she will have to give him a ticket. He tells her that’s a damn shame and asks her for her name.
“Officer Rose” she responds, her dark eyes watch my every spasm; her eyes never leave me.
“Well, Officer Rose,” my master says soothingly, reaching over and opening my car door, “perhaps we can work something out.”
Master Drake undoes my seatbelt with his free hand and slides my body around in my seat so that I am facing Officer Rose. He runs the side of his hand between my breasts and then between my inner thighs, spreading my legs as he does.

Officer Rose lowers her body to a crouching position, her eyes are level with my… well you know… where. She snaps off her flashlight. In the dim light of the car’s dome light, she instead bends over and touches my inner thigh. Her hands are smooth and gentle as she massages the muscles and the span of my legs, her hands inch closer and closer to my crotch. Her dark eyes reflect the flashing lights of her squad car as she leans her face in close to me… she takes a long, deep whiff of my scent, exhales like she has sniffed some fine wine. Master Drake is watching her, expectantly. She nods her assent.

In seconds it seems like, my shirt is off, my hands are shackled above my head. My panties, as expected, are off, and lie on the side of the road. Officer Rose’s face is pushed flat into my pussy. She nips and bites the skin around where my legs form a V. She kisses my clitoris and sucks it between her teeth. Before she can completely climb in the car, before she can begin to recline my seat, Master Drake is unbuttoning her crisp blue blouse. He is tugging at the clasp of her lacy cream bra. Before I know it she is on top of me, her caramel breasts are floating above me. She is sitting on my legs, her long arms bending down, her gentle hands are no longer so gentle. Now HE has climbed over my seat, is cramming himself into the back seat, his arms outstretched in front of him as he lowers himself toward my open, panting mouth. He rubs his rigid cock along my nose, across my cheekbones. He holds it in my mouth, against the fat of my lips but he does not let the tip pass my teeth just yet. Officer Rose is fingering my master’s ass hole… it makes me color to see her. Her arm extended across my front. Her other still pumping and probing me, still she reaches, she circles his ass hole, running the tips of her long fingers across the rim. She leans into him, kissing the top of his back, between his shoulder blades. Meanwhile he, becoming more excited, has parted my teeth with his dick, he is moving quickly, but jerkily. His balls smack me against my chin and neck. The top of my head is shoved over the back of my seat. He is taking me hard because, in back of him, Officer Rose has entered his ass with her finger. She is rotating it, pushing, exploring, removing. She takes her finger and runs it along the center of my torso, between my breasts down to my naval. She leans in and begins to rub her breasts against mine. Her head rests against my master’s back, it is being jolted each time he presses down on me, but she sways to his rhythm. With her other hand she continues is touching herself, and then touching me. Our juices mingle. She covers my master’s mouth with her hand and he licks her fingers, one after the other. Her screams. They are higher than mine, louder. My master is grunting as the thwack thwack sound of his balls hitting my chin becomes faster and faster. My body is being pressed in on all sides. I can barely move at all. My eyes are watering and my nose is running. I am gagging. Officer Rose can feel my heart racing under hers, feel my rib cage rattle as I gasp for air. I think I am cumming. I think I am dying. Then, suddenly, there is an explosion. My mouth is filled with the familiar sting of salt as it is filled. The two lovers stroke my hair and exchange kisses above my head. They lick the cum off of my face and catch the little droplets that roll down the sides of my mouth with their fingertips. They feed each other. I am their plate. I am their meal.

When it is over, Master Drake watches appreciatively as Officer Rose dresses me. Like my mother used to do for me years ago, she pulls my shirt over my head, buttons my skirt… She kisses my breasts, strokes the round edges of my ass. She kisses Master Drake once on his dick before she dresses herself and steps out of the car. As she turns to leave, she stops. Bending over, she picks up my panties, black kid leather, which had been abandoned on the road. She looks at me. I reach out, she pulls back her hand, smiles past me, meeting my master’s eyes once again, and sticks them in her pocket before she disappears into the night.

The End

For: Master Drake

The Sharing

2010-07-28T09:19:00.001-04:00

..so I'm standing a few feet in front of you... you're hard and
eager... my clothes are about to come off, when BAM, your front door
flies open. In walks... my husband. Yes. He strides across the floor
and grabs me by my hair. You don't know what to expect.

*He pushes me to the ground, then he looks at you and smiles

*He grabs the sides of my face, whips out his cock and shoves
it down my throat. I am on my knees, my back is to you. My husband
lifts the back of my skirt and exposes my ass to you. He spreads my
cheeks and invites you to help yourself.

*You are frozen to your chair.
*He is thrusting his cock in and out of my mouth, ramming it
down my throat. I am gagging, choking, my eyes are bugging out, my
body is trembling.

*Suddenly, forcefully, he cums... he sprays my face and my
hair. He fills my mouth.
*Then he gently turns me over. He lays me across an ottoman
at your feet. He undoes the buttons of my dress.

*My back is arched over the low seat. My wet vagina is
beckoning to you. My husband straddles my chest. He turns away from
you.
*I squeeze my breasts together and he humps my chest.

*Relentlessly.

*From the outside, people can hear him groan. He asks you
again, to partake. People can hear me begging you to fill me up. I
call your name. Surrendering, please, take me.
*Cum and sweat begin to trickle down my body. They pool in my
navel and slide down into my crotch. My body is slick, my nipples are
erect....

*My husband comes again, this time sending a fountain of cum
down my body.

*Then he gets up.

*He dresses.

*He leaves me spread upon your ottoman, begging you to finish the job.

*He tells me to be home by dawn.
*Then he gathers his stuff and walks out your door.

What will you do next?

For Cormack

Virgin Voyage

2010-07-26T21:38:00.001-04:00

Hello and welcome to Psyche's Summer, a web log dedicated to chronicling the fantasies and intrigues of men and women across the internet. I hope you will enjoy the stories I have written. Before we get started, I would like to dedicate this site to two men.

Master Drake. I do not know your real name; I have never seen your face, but yet this site is dedicated to you for the many ways you have already impacted my fantasies.

And to the other man in my life, a man whose face I know well, but whose name will remain shrouded. My fantasies are always for you

The Assignment

2010-07-26T21:33:00.001-04:00

The assignment:
It was 8th period… the end of the day. I was sitting in Mr. Drake’s English class… my favorite, and I was being bad. Of course no one knew this. You see I am the type of girl who doesn’t stand out. I was sitting on the side of the classroom, closer to the windows, two rows from the back. I was supposed to be writing a short story… well, I was writing a short story, but not the kind I was supposed to be…
Do you see me? Ignore all the bright and shiny girls with their glossy lips and too-tight blouses. I am the girl in two French braids, the one studiously bent over her work. The cuff of my white blouse is wrinkled over my black sweater… my pleated skirt is slightly askew. There is a rip in my tights, a long narrow run, but it is up by my thigh… so no one will see. As I said, I am bent over my work, my pen flies across my page. My lips are parted slightly as I write. I am so engrossed that I do not notice that Mr. Drake… Oh, Mr. Drake! ….he has stopped by my desk… he is reaching for my paper.
I try to cover it, to rescue it… but it is too late. It is in his hands. I flush as he reads:

It was the hottest day of the summer. Too hot for amusement park rides. Too hot
for the little white dress Donna was wearing, for sweat and sunlight were beginning
to mingle and now the thin faint line of her areola was just apparent through the light. Donna noticed but didn’t mind. She was hoping that it would be just enough to entice him: her lover… her secret lover.

On the ferris wheel with her lover, while the other students ambled about. Donna
was alone with the divine Mr. Drake, who had indeed noticed the dark circles that were becoming more and more obvious under the damp, sweaty fabric. Donna leaned forward eagerly, maybe too eagerly, for she was much younger, much less experienced
than Mr. Drake… too ready to please. Slowly, gently, Mr. Drake touched Donna’s arm,
pushing her gently to a recumbent position. Letting his hand linger, while his other hand inched up the loose folds of her dress… then touching, pressing her dark hair to her head,he bends over, and as their car begins to ascend, he bows his head and kisses the top of her breasts. First one, then the other.

Donna exhales with the force of bottled up anticipation and in her panty-less nether
regions, she can no longer distinguish her sweat from other juices. Mr. Drake is caressing Donna’s body which lays reclined. His hands are flat, running down the length of her body, and now, up and under the folds of her skirt. Donna’s head tilts back and there is a gasp as Mr. Drake’s cool hands enter her. Slipping in and out… rubbing her own juices up and down her girlish thighs.

Mr. Drake looks at Donna, and she knows what he wants. Disregarding park regulations,
Donna slips out of her safety harness and bends down on the hot metal floor of the car. Unzipping her teacher’s pants, Donna parts her mouth, inhales, and plunges downward.

As the ferris wheel begins to spin, Donna’s mouth moves up and down Mr. Drake’s
long, hard cock. Perspiration breaks out on his brow as her warm, soft mouth embraces
him…. Up and down…. Around and around… Her saliva, moist… her tongue firm, her
teeth, gently grazing the ridges of his cock. Mr. Drake wants it faster though. Now he grabs Donna’s head, one hand on each side; he is pushing her, harder and harder. She is beginning to retch, to gag and convulse. The wheel is spinning faster… Donna’s world is going in circles…. Mr. Drake is grabbing her hair, forcing her down, further and further… his palms are sweaty… as the ride begins to slow, Donna emits a guttural cry, a rasp as Mr. Drake fills her mouth with his frothy white cum. Donna is sucking, licking as….

I look up. My face red. I cannot read Mr. Drake’s reaction. All I know is that my secret is out. My fantasy, long harbored, of fucking my English teacher, is no longer a secret. The bell rings, I am ready to run out of the classroom, but as I stand. He is there. Oh God, his hand is on my arm. I look up at him, for he is quite taller than me. My eyes are watering so I can barely see…
“Stay after class a minute, Donna” he says… barely audibly.
I sicken, in the pit of my stomach. I want the ground to swallow me whole, but somewhere, inside of me, I am excited too. My clit. I can feel it stiffen… I try to ignore… the wetness between my thighs… the familiar stirring… longing.
“Donna” he says…. He is sitting at his desk now. I am standing on other side, my head still bowed in shame. The other students have left, the door is closed.
“Donna….” He repeats my name. I try to quench the inner desires rushing up on me… act like the flush of my face is just embarrassment… a tear… I can’t make it stop… rolls down my cheek…
In a flash he is beside me, cupping my chin in his hands. Forcing me to look up at him. And as I watch, his head lowers, and then, he is fondling my mouth with his. Gently at first, then harder, he is pushing his tongue into my mouth. My arms flail in surprise, I drop my books which clatter to the floor unnoticed. He lets me go. My eyes meet his. He is smiling.
Artfully, like he has done this a thousand times, he pulls off my cardigan, leaving my thin, white blouse with the wrinkled cuffs exposed… he guides me around to his side of the desk, sits down in his chair and gestures for me to do the same…. to sit with him… on him. As I awkwardly perch on his knee, I can imagine he can hear my heart beat. It’s almost like that man can read my mind because at that moment he pulls me, my body, close to his chest. But it’s not his heart beat I feel… no, it’s the stiff, hard, throb of his dick, poking me in the hip as he slides my body close to him. I can feel his breath on my neck, feel his hands as they untuck, unbutton my blouse and slide up my shirt. All the time he is whispering my name.
“I, I….” I don’t know what to say….
In a second, his hand is to my mouth, hushing me as he bows his head and begins to kiss my neck. He is not doing this at all gently. I do not know how I am going to explain the marks he will leave to my mother… I can feel him, his hands, they have reached back and unfastened my white bra. He is touching my nipples, rolling them around in his fingers and kneading my breasts. He pushes my head down with his chin, so that all I can do is watch. I am mesmerized as I see my large, pale breasts, my rosy nipples, soothed and plucked by his rough hands.
“Donna. How long have you …” his voice trails off as he turns me to face him, burying his face in between my two breasts. Pinching and squeezing… groping like a blind man, he continues… “how long have you been writing?”
“Writing?” I ask innocently, pulling away.
“Writing” he responds knowingly, pulling me back to him “about me.” I color, wondering how long he has known my secret… He has made short work of my blouse and bra which are lying in a heap on the floor. I feel his hands again, his mouth is still cupping my golden breasts, but his hands have moved downward. He is reaching between the waistband of my skirt, stretching the elastic of my tights, and pushing aside the flimsy material of my cotton panties. I feel his hands touch me. Touch my clitoris. It is electric. I stiffen. My nipples harden. He bites them. I am wiggling on his lap.
“I want to see the other stories, Donna” That’s what he says as he unbuttons the single button fastening my skirt. It too falls to the floor, a pleated puddle at my feet.
“I want you to bring them to my house”
“But aren’t you married?” I gasp.
“That’s not your concern” he responds.
With that he lifts me off of his lap, standing me up in just my tights and kitten pumps.
“or to my faculty meetings” he says as he pushes me to my knees.
“or even right here in the classroom” he grunts as he gestures for me to unfasten his belt.
I do as he says, clumsily. I fumble with the clasp of his buckle. He grasps the crown of my head in his hands and rises to his feet.

…his cock. There it is. What I had dreamed of, written about. It is long, longer than I had anticipated in my girlish inexperience, reddish-purple, veined and ridged, it has a life of its own. He doesn’t need to speak, I know what is expected of me. I am scared. I feel his warm hands on my scalp. I know I cannot get away. I lean in, I spread my lips, my teeth part… his dick fills my mouth. He does not tease or bother to ease me in. He pushes my head so that my nose is buried in his pubic hair. One loonnnggg awful-wonderful drag. The cords of saliva fall away as he releases, allows me to pull back for just a second… a second to just inhale before he pushes in again. Beads of sweat break out along the underbelly of my breasts, across my brow… he is rocking as he pushes me deeper. The words I had written come true. I am gagging as I feel the tip of his cock hit my throat. I stumble on all fours, my mouth slips off his cock. He lifts me up off of my hands and resumes. He is relentless. Over and over, his cock grazes my throat, my eyes are bulging out of my head, my small body is in spasms…. shaking and writhing… My head is tilted back, my nostrils flared, I have to remember to breathe…. He pushes the weight of his entire body against my face. The back of my head is pushed back against his desk… breathe…. It is too much… I feel a well of visceral pleasure and pain rage up inside me…. I try to push him away… but he is pushing me hard… harder… when suddenly, he stops. He lifts my chin, and caresses my face. He picks me up off of the floor. My black clad legs are dusty on the knees. The run in my tights looks like a scar. Mr. Drake tells me to strip. I do as he says. I peel away the hose, the little pink panties. I wait. Mr. Drake goes to the window. He looks out. He returns to his desk and takes a drink. He takes off his shirt and drapes it over his chair.

I stand, stark naked, next to him, but he ignores me… for more than ten minutes. My nipples are erect; I don’t know whether from the cold or the heat. My face is drenched in sweat and saliva. My cunt. My cunt is ready for what it knows is to come.

After a period, in which Mr. Drake reads his paper, calls his wife and eats a candy bar, he finally sits down. He tells me to pick my books up off the floor and set them out of the way. As I bend over, I feel his eyes linger on my tight, pink ass. I do as he says. Of course.

Finally he takes my hand. My tiny hand in his much larger one. He leads me back to his desk. He tells me how smart and pretty I am. He kisses my breasts, touches my thighs. He lifts me up and sits me on his desk. I am facing him, my naked legs just barely spread. He sits at his chair. He strokes my calves. The hairs on my arms stand up. He runs his fingers across the inner ridge of my thighs. My muscles tense. Then Mr. Drake grabs each of my legs and slides them apart. I want to explain to you at this point, that I am not a virgin. I lost my virginity… like most girls my age do, to an under-experienced boy whose mouth was stuffed with pretty promises. I had not regretted it; although I had not really enjoyed it…. I had been 16. Since then I had had a boyfriend, well…. I have a boyfriend, I guess I should say… Bobby. He was… I mean, he is a nice boy. My parents like him ok. We had done it too… a few times. First time on a Sunday afternoon while Mom was still at the grocery and dad was downstairs watching the game. That was last year. But now we were getting ready for college… things are changing… and I had never had sex like this.

Mr. Drake is talking to me now. He is telling me that I am in danger of failing. I do not see how this is possible I say, as I have the highest average in his class. He smiles as he slips his fingers into my…. cunt. He says that I USED to have the highest average in his class, but due to my woeful job on the short story assignment I will require extra credit just to pass. He withdraws his fingers and proffers them to me. I am confused. He tells me to lick them. I do.

He continues. In order to pass he thinks, I must do some after school study sessions. With him. Once or twice a week, he thinks. Also, he says, I may need to do an independent study. Assignments tailored just for me. He slides his thumb and forefinger back into me, but this time is different. I feel his other fingers stretch… reach, his pinky just brushes my ass hole. I shiver. He leans forward. He is intent. Do I agree to his terms, he wants to know. He removes his fingers and after I lick, this time he places just his thumb inside my wet wet cunt. His index finger he puts up my ass. He pinches me together like a clamp as he waits for my response. I nod mutely. He asks me again.
“yes… yes. I agree to your terms.” I manage to croak.
“yes whom?” he asks me, applying more pressure.
“yes, master… I mean Mr. Drake” I am lying back on my elbows on top of his desk. His torso lowers over me. He laughs and tells me that I should indeed refer to him as Master… Master Drake during these after school sessions. He asks me what I want. I tell him to fuck me. He makes me say please.
“please Master Drake”
“please what, pet?”
“please fuck me and make me cum.”
Master Drake pulls me off his desk. I can see where my wet juices have left a moist imprint on his desk calendar. He lies my torso across his desk, my ass in the air. And he takes me. I can smell my own heat… my juices on the wet paper against which I lie. He takes me first in my cunt. He grabs my hands and holds them behind my back. He is pounding me, taking me so hard, my feet lift of the floor and push against his legs and chair. He is palming the cheeks of my ass now, pushing up against my writhing body. I am groaning. I can hear people pass in the hallway. If they notice what is going on in room 213, they do not say. My toes and fingers curl as I feel his rock hard cock glide through my tight pussy, hitting my cervix. Again and again. I am cumming… over and over. My muscles wrap around him, damp and smooth. His dick glistens with my wetness. I can hear his breath though I cannot see his face. I can feel his hands and fingernails leaving imprints on my ass. Back and forth, harder and harder. I am screaming. I reach up with my hand to try to muffle the sound, but he pulls it away. I let out a hoarse cry with each thrust. He is on the desk now himself. Pulling me up beside him, pushing my head down so that only the bottom half of my body is extended to him. He fingers the rim of my ass. He caresses it. He licks the sides. I am lying on my haunches. I am trembling. The juices of my body spill down his thighs. His dick is wet with it. Straddling my legs. He grabs my belly, forcing my ass closer. Master Drake. He pushes his cock, his stiff hard dick, right into my ass hole. I bellow from pain. He is immune to my struggles. I can feel the walls of my ass hole refuse to give way, but Master Drake does not give up. He doesn’t push so much as pull me closer, by my belly… by my will.

Soon he is in me, and his fingers are in me too. I can feel them rubbing against each other. My teeth are clenched. With his other hand he has grabbed my hair, entwined it through his fingers. He is riding me. The sides of my ass shake with each tremendous push. He is grunting with pleasure. My unpracticed holes are now opening wide for him. Wider and wider, harder and harder. The pain and pleasure wash over me in waves… with each push I am cumming. I can feel his cock begin to twitch inside of me. His great, veined dick. It seems like time stands still for a second. I can see the hands on the clock. They read: 6:22. Then he cums. It squirts all over my ass and down my thighs and pools in thick puddles on the now ravaged desk. Master Drake runs his hands through the puddles and lets me lick it off of him. He runs his sticky hands through my hair and over my breasts. He lets me clean and massage his tired cock with my pillowy lips. He sucks the last juices off my clitoris and then stands, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

I lay in a weak kneed heap. He lifts me gently to a standing position. He strokes my breasts and dresses me. My panties and bra. My gray little skirt and wrinkled white blouse, my ravaged tights and my girlish shoes… He whispers that I made him proud today; that I have a gift. He looks at me and tells me that gifts like mine are meant to be shared. He reminds me that I have promised to bring him more of my stories. He opens his classroom door and gently pushes me out. Wait for my instructions he whispers. I nod, look back, but he has already shut the door.

The End

Written for Master Drake