15 February, 2009

Two Sides of the Same Coin

This story is in response to Pocket Secret's "Voracious". And continues with events in my tale 'The Photographer's Eye." Please feel free to go and read "Voracious," I won't mind. Take your time.

The story was written to answer a couple of different questions. The first, what happens when the photographer finally meets up with the woman in "A Picture Is Worth a Thousand Words...." and my "The Photographer's Eye." Second, in the comments for "Voracious", I commented about 'the same hands that gently caress your breasts tonight can be the ones twisting your nipples until you whimper tomorrow." She called my bluff, "Do tell."

I told, and was not happy with what I wrote for the Gentle part. The characterization of 'A. Secret' that I used was not canon, it did not match the authoress's writing. The character would not be swayed by a few caresses. So I thought where to go. After consumption of too much coffee and listening to Stone Temple Pilots, vintage Jimmy Buffett, and Kraftwerk, I came up with the changed tale below. I rewrote the 'It Continued with Gentleness' section. I think that the female character that I'm portraying is a better match to A. Secret's than the character that I had before.

I also changed the title of the first section. A had commented to me that using the word 'Blackmail' in the hearing of infidelity bloggers was in bad taste.

SO777


IT STARTED WITH A DEAL WITH THE DEVIL.

Looking down at grainy monochrome pictures of you fucking and being fucked by a well known politico, you whisper, “I have to have these.” Looking up at me, I can see the plea in your eyes. It might not be the first time the tabloids had published nudes of you, but he was an up and coming politician who’s career would crash and burn if he was caught in flagrante delicto. “I’ll pay,” you say, reaching into your purse. Doubtlessly you would have brought your checkbook or an bundle of expensive portraits of Her Britannic Majesty.

“I don’t want your money,” I growl. “When I saw you with him, I said that I would make you mine.” The last word came out as a growl.

Your eyes go as wide as they were when he buried his cock in your ass. You lick your lips and nod.

“Twenty-four hours, Noon to Noon.” I name a date, time, and boutique hotel in close by city.

You stand up straight and give me a slight nod before turning and walking away. My eyes watch until you disappear into city’s crowds.

IT CONTINUED WITH GENTLENESS.

Sitting with hips touching. Gentle kisses on lips colored BlowJob Red. Hard lips, unmoving lips. I understand that you don’t want to be here, I think. I sit back. “Did you bring any hand crème?“

You start, that was a question that you were obviously not expecting. “Yes.“ You reach into your purse..

I take off my wristwatch and start rolling up my sleeves. I hold out a hand slightly cupped. A squeeze, and a little puddle of Oil of Olay rests in my palm. “Thank you. Now if you’ll take off your rings, I’ll rub your hands.”

Raised eyebrows proceed you following my instructions. I notice a variety of rings, but no engagement or wedding band. You tuck the rings into a pocket inside your purse. Your eyes follow my fingers as they start to rub and massage your hand. By the time I’ve finished the hand, your eyes have closed.

“Some more hand crème?” Your eyes open as you are quite willing to squeeze more expensive moisturizer into the palm of my hand. And stretch your other hand for it to be rubbed and massaged. You sigh and close your eyes as I ply a skill practiced long ago on a woman with long braids.

When I’ve completed the hands, there’s a quandary. Arms and shoulders would be next, but there is a very nice navy linen suit coat in the way, and my hand crème soaked hands would stain. And Oil of Olay is great stuff, I used to give it to my grandmother, but it is a moisturizer, it soaks into the skin too quick to be used for large scale massage. “You seem to be enjoying the massage.”

A nod.

“I want to continue the massage, but you need to take the coat off first.”

You nod acceptance and start loosening the coat‘s buttons.

“And I need to get something a bit better for massage than the hand crème. Are you allergic to almonds or any of the tree nuts?”

“No, I‘m not,” you say standing up from the sofa.

I watch your graceful movements as you hang up your suit coat in the armoire, catching the brief flash of skin as the silk cami rides up a bit when you reached up for the hanger.

I call the front desk and order a bottle of almond massage oil and a piece of heavy plastic sheeting. They assured me that it would be delivered in 10 minutes. I turned noted you watching what I was doing. You will soon learn. “I’ve ordered massage oil and some plastic to cover the bed. In the mean time, we’ll improvise.” As I’m talking, I grab a bath sheet from the bathroom, partly unfold it and drape it over the back of a chair, “Please sit facing the back of the chair,”

You hitch up your skirt and sit as directed. The good side of sitting like this, you could relax against the back of the chair. A side effect is that your skirt rode way up. I got a nice view of hose tops, garters and fair skin. Yep, good side for me, bad side for your modesty. Your eyes take inventory of what’s exposed and then look up at me. I smile and start kneading shoulders. Forehead gets rests quickly against the chair back followed by a moan.

A knock on the door interrupted the rubbing. I draped a towel over bare shoulders before answering the door. The front desk had even put the bottle of oil in a basin of warm water. Very thoughtful. I tipped the bellhop and brought the tray into the room.

“Now, A., we have a dilemma. For us to continue, you are going to have to strip naked.”

I’m afraid that the comment spoilt the mood. Your head shot up, one hand tucking blonde hair behind your ear. The words were mischosen. “’Undress’ would have been a better choice, ‘strip naked’ has a sexual connotation and bumped up the tension a bit.

You are, however, logical, and when faced with a no alternatives, does what has to be done. You rise and start unbuttoning the cami.

“Perhaps a hot shower would help relax you?” I ask. “Alone.” I get an honest smile at the last word. The beauty seen when your face lit up reminded me why you are so popular as a companion with the moneyed, politicos, and the intelligentsia. I swallow, taking a moment so I wouldn’t sounds like a 14 year old the first time they see a woman’s nipple. Images of attractive, even stunning, women are common in glamour and fashion photography. But every so often, you come across a woman, never a girl mind you, who just kicks you in the balls and whacks you up beside the head with her purse with her appearance, an appearance that is a couple of quantum leaps above stunning. And one of those was 4 yards away scrubbing her skin with a loofah. Fuck, I didn’t know who was going to be screwed more, me or her. But, I was going to find out.

The bed was covered with plastic and a bath sheet, gentle classical music on the radio, dim lights, heat pushed up a bit. the stage was set for the next step,

The bathroom door opened, the warm moist air spilling out into the bedroom. You walk out wearing one of the hotel’s signature terrycloth robes. Looking me dead in the eyes, you disrobe. You were challenging me, I’d have to break eye contact to ogle. I’m male, my eyes traveled from blue eyes down to red-laquered toes, and enjoyed everything inbetween. A figure painted by Vargus, and proof positive that your hair color was natural. I look back into your eyes and smile.

A shake of the head that set blonde tresses moving and a single word, “Men“. And a smile.

“Madam,” I said, half bowing, and gesturing towards the bed. “Please lay on your stomach.” A quick glance at the tight body I going to be anointing with warm oil, and I poured a spoonful of oil into a palm and rubbed my hands. Starting with a full body stroke from fingers to toes, I began massaging. An activity made up of vigorous kneading of muscles on my end, and moans and ’Oh yeahs” on your’s.

“Time to roll over, babe.” Eyes flutter half open and I help you roll over. What I see is delectable, soft breasts with brown areolas, trim flat abdomen, long legs. Definitely done on one of Vargus’s better days. I start with the long body strokes, bypassing the nipples. Soon you’re lying there, half melted. I ever-so-gently touch the mons and inner thighs. A few strokes and your pelvis starts arching up. I kiss your stomach and murmur that I’d be right back. A quick washing of the oil from my hands, and I grab the bottle of water-based lube to continue the seduction.

A couple of gentle rubs of the mons and you arch again. Gently squeezing the outer lips, my fingers slide up and down gently stroking these important bits. A glance at your face rewards with blue eyes and a hesitant smile. I take my time massaging both inner and outer lips.

“Breathe,” I remind as a fingertip gently touches and rubs the little man in the boat, the clitoris. “Relax, breathe,” I say slowly sliding my right middle finger into your vagina. I move it around gently, varying pressure, movement, depth. You moan softly. I slide in the next finger and start moving the fingers in a ‘come here’ motion.

Blue eyes come wide open, hands with red nails grab handfuls of bed linens. A gasp is added as I start rubbing the clitoris with the bad of my right thumb.

My left hand has not been idle. Rubbing over where the right hand has been busy, rubbing up and down the torso, playing with breasts and nipples. “Breathe slowly, relax,” I keep repeating as if it was a mantra. Soon your body tenses, as a moan escapes your lips. As you lay there recovering, I keep rubbing. I watch your body tense again, your hands cupping your breasts, fingers tweaking your hard nipples. Your eyes open wide, searching for my face as my right little finger now starts gently massaging your anus. You open your mouth, I cannot tell if it is say stop or harder.

Finally, as your lay there panting, tears at the corners of your eyes, you go rigid, arms wrapped around your self, a high keening sound ripping from your throat, you climax hard. “Enough. Please, I beg you, stop,” you gasp out. I slowly withdraw my right hand from your Yoni.

My shoes already off, I crawl into the bed with you, taking your quivering, sobbing body into my arms. Soon you calm down, “What did you do to me?”

“Held one of the mysteries of the universe in my hand,” I answer.

You look up, I see the tracks of tears in your eyes, you wanted more explanation. “Tantric yoni massage.”

A nod and your tongue darts out moistening your lips. Your left hand comes around and caresses the back of my neck. After pulling my mouth down to yours, a kiss that was not cold, one where our tongues got introduced. “Now let me show you what I can do with fingertip and tongue, lover boy.”

I could hardly wait.

A SLIDE INTO HARSHNESS

Eyes open. The bedroom, windows covered in heavy drapery, is in twilight.

And now, I wake up with major wood. Driving nails wood. A better use for this minor miracle would be pleasuring myself with the girl laying asleep beside me.

I roll you over onto your back, your breathing remains slow, your eyes closed. You ‘re still asleep. A bit of lube to reduce chafing and I slowly spread your legs. You are now exposed, vulnerable. And I plan to take advantage of that. One good thrust and I’m in deep. It feels different than the night before. You’re dry, but still warm and tight. I grab your forearms and trap them above your head, and pull back to just the crown of my cock is inside you, and thrust deep again. You start to stir, and I move again.

“What the?” Half asleep mumble. Another thrust and eyes go wide as the penetration registers. “Get off of me. What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

I’m hard, you’re female and mine. Do the math. “Fucking you,” I whisper into your ear, your breasts pushed against my chest. You struggle, but my knees keep your legs too spread for you do get any leverage with them. And I have got a good hold of your arms. So I keep moving, slowly pleasing myself with your body.

Your cries have changed to No’s and Please stop. And whimpers as you continue to struggle.

“Who’s bitch are you?” I ask.

“What?” A whimper as I bury myself deep. “Fuck you. I’m nobody’s bitch, you . . . Aww!” You’re a petite thing and I can restrain both of your wrists with one hand. The other hand grabs a nipple and twists.

“I’m going to repeat the question. Who’s bitch are you?”

“Get off of me, you fucking . . . Aww!” Another twist.

I push in deep. You’re starting to get wet. So to change things around a bit, I pull your breast up to my teeth and I start to gnaw. And get another cry of pain.

“OK! I’m your bitch,” you cry out.

“What was that?” I stop my gnawing for a moment, but keep violating your body with my hard cock.

“I’m your bitch,” you whisper.

“What what does that mean?”

“You can fuck your bitch anytime you like.”

I chuckle and keep moving. “Start responding then.”

You glare up at me, but start moving your hips in time to my thrusts and stop struggling.

I release your wrists, which was a mistake because you push yourself up and away. I‘m still bigger then you are so I grab your hips and hold you down while I penetrate you again. Your hipbones fit nicely into the palms, my fingers digging into your skin. I‘m going to leave bruises but, hell, who cares. I‘m about to cum so I pull out and spray my seed all over your stomach and tits. “Hey, you wanted me to pull out.”.

I sit back on my heels and look down at you. You are a mess. Cum all over your heaving chest and abdomen. Hair in disarray. Legs obscenely spread. You looked like you had been fucked, and fucked well. I wanted a camera.

I wasn’t paying close enough attention to you, a pissed off woman is a dangerous thing. And I got slapped. It hurt.

“You bastard, you just raped me,” you said pulling your arm back for another swing. And stopped.

You saw my glare and paled, a touch of fear in your eyes. “You are mine to enjoy for 24 hours. That was the agreement. Come over here.” I crooked my finger at you.

You swallowed and stayed out of reach.

“Don’t make me come after you,” I growled.

You shook your head again. The bed room wasn’t that big, and you hadn’t moved that far. I was able to jump up and grab your arm and pull you back to the bed. It took a bit of struggle, but you ended up bent over my lap. SMACK!

You stopped moving, looked back at me and “Aww. That hurts.”

“No shit, Sherlock,” I replied. “Start counting. You‘ve been a bad bitch and need some disciplining.” When I raised my hand to swat your tight and delectable ass again, your hand was in the way. “You don’t want to do that. I’ll just swat your hands too. And that will really hurt.”

You hung your head and crossed your wrists in the small of your back. “Hold them then so I can’t try.”

I held them and swatted. “Count?”

“Two.”

“Wrong. One.”

That earned me an over the shoulder glare and “One.”

I caressed your ass before swatting it again. Eight more caresses, eight more swats, and I was done. You quickly get up and scurry away rubbing your butt when I release your wrists.

“I need to clean up,” was all that you say. I can see where the tears had run down your face.. You go into the bathroom and close the door.

THE ELEVENTH HOUR.

We had broken our fast and was finishing getting dressed and packing. I was leaning against the wall watching your brush out your long thick hair. It is beautiful hair.

“There is something else I want from you.”

You stopped brushing and looked at me, eyebrow raised. “You’ve eaten me out, I’ve deep throated your cock, you’ve fucked both my cunt and ass multiple times. You’ve fondled my breasts in the Opera Hall. You’ve all but raped me. You even spanked me. What’s left?” You went back to brushing your hair.

“I want a lock of your hair. A souvenir.”

You stop and look at me. A slight almost sad smile and you take a small lock of hair by your left ear and start to braid it.

“There were so many moments that I wish that I’d had a camera with me,” I started to say, thinking of all the Kodak Moments that the past hours had brought. You lounging on the bed nibbling on a croissant and reading the morning Times, nude. How your mouth opened the first time I penetrated your ass. Your face as the curtain went up for ‘The Marriage of Figaro.’ The look in your eyes as my cock slid down your throat. “But taking pictures of you when the whole idea of this . . .“

“Blackmail,” you chime in.

I shrugged. “Blackmail was sex in exchange for pictures of you in compromising situations. It did not seem cricket for me to pull out the Nikon and start snapping.”

You finished braiding. Fishing out a pair of nail scissors, you cut the braid close to your scalp and presented it to me.

“Thank you. I also wanted to mark you in some way. And a trip to a tattooist or body piercer would take away from other activities that were more enjoyable.”

“As well as me protesting.”

“That too. And a tat or piercing might detract, rather then add to your considerable beauty.”

A smile and “Thank you“ was my reward. I refrained from mentioning that she‘d have to explain the missing hair for family and lovers for years, let it be a surprise. “I‘m planning a tabletop book, ‘New Nude City. You would be perfect for it.”

You look over at me. Despite spending almost 24 hours with you, I can‘t quite read your face. “Do you seduce all of you models?”

I grin. “Only the pretty ones.”

You chuckle, a rich throaty sound. “I won‘t say no,” you comment, finishing your lipstick, still bright ‘Blow-Job Red‘. “But don’t call me, I‘ll call you.” The last delivered looking me at me in the mirror. The subtext is obvious.

We were both dressed and the bags were packed. I rung for a bellhop.

It was a silent trip down to the lobby. We were in the middle of the lobby when you say, “The pictures?”

“Ask for an envelope at the front desk.”

You gave me a quizzical look, then went to the front desk, “Is there an envelope for A. Secret?” A fat one is handed over to you. You tuck the envelope safely under your arm..

The bells of St Mike’s tolled 12 times when we got out the door. You pick up your suit bag off the bell hop’s cart and chastely kiss me on the cheek. “Good bye.”

I echo the words and we shake hands. I watch you walk down the street, past the tapas restaurant where we had laughed, past the Opera House where you had first watched Mozart, until you got lost in the crowds. You never looked back.

“Monsieur,” the bellhop said breaking into my reverie.

“A cab.”

“Yes, monsieur.“ In seconds, my bags were in the back of a cab and I was heading to catch a plane.

One thought did cross my mind, “Would A ever wonder if I have a scanner?”

THE END

01 February, 2009

An unexpected gift

I walk around the figure kneeling on the blue cushion. I admire and want to run my fingers through the natural blonde tresses. I know she is a natural blonde, the dusting of freckles across her nose and fair curls her sex hide behind are evidence enough.

I do not say anything for two circuits around her. She doesn't move, she's been well trained. Her legs were tucked underneath her, back straight, head bowed. A faint sheen of sweat makes her skin glow. "Who is your Master," I bark.

"You are the slave's Master," she said, her head still bowed. She licked her lips.

"How did you get here?"

"Master Samuels brought the slave here. The Master ordered the slave to tell the new Master that he acknowledges his debt to you and the slave is presented as payment on the interest."

"Stand." She rose gracefully and soon stood up straight, shoulders back. One pleasant surprise, a long dark tail came from between her butt cheeks and fell down to her knees. A nice ornament on her body. I went behind her and unlocked the handcuffs and slave collar.

Her hands went up to her throat as the collar came away from it. "Are you manumitting me?"

"You are really too pretty to free," I told her. "But I need to know what limitations there are on your enslavement. And those are not questions that can be asked of somebody wearing a collar."

A nod and nervous licking of lips, "There were no limits."

"None?" I asked surprised, there are should always be some limits.

"None," was her whispered reply.

That is almost scary. With no limits, I could do do anything I wanted to her and she couldn't stop me. Bigger breasts, Knock her up. Rent her out as a prostitute. Just as long as I was willing to pay the medical bills. "Duties?" There were some places even I did NOT want to go to.

"Warm his bed. Cooking. Cleaning. He had me go to Pilates three times a week, Yoga twice a week."

Samuels liked his toys trim and limber. For that matter, so do I. "I will add weekly belly dancing to that."

She nodded, but then, what else really could she do.

"And schedule a trip to the piercer," I say pinching a nipple. I think a slave just does not look right unless the nips and umbilicus have the glint of gold or silver in them.

Eyes went wide. Another nod.

"Kneel."

A brief look of sadness in the bright blue eyes and she gracefully knelt. Her hands went immediately behind her back. I found her neck amazingly slim as my hands went around it. I took a moment to feel her pulse. She froze when she felt my thumbs on her throat. I gently squeeze to remind her what I was and what I could do to her. I locked the slave collar around her neck reclaiming my property. "Follow me," I told her. It was time to see what carnal pleasures my new toy would bring me.

----------------------------------------------------

This came to mind this afternoon while NOT watching the Superbowl.

SO777