I’m dreaming.   It’s dark, or I’m blindfolded.  I’ve just had an intense session with Juan, where he whipped my breasts for an hour or more with that awful thin plastic whip.  Never too hard, but all over.  My tits are on fire, and my whole slag hole area is sore from cumming.

I’m not dreaming.  Someone has taped over my eyes, and there’s a lot of something wrenching my jaw too far open, tape holding it in.  I’m still tied to the bottomless “chair” where Juan put me.  Arms stretched tight and roped behind, legs folded up over the sides of the chair and strapped in place so my bare feet wiggle behind the chair.  I hear nothing.  Where is he, god dammit?  I start to panic.  “JUAAAAAAAN” I try to scream, but it just comes out as mush. 

Maybe he left me a way out, and he’s watching to see how I do?  My hands grasp and twist furiously, but find no loose ends, no loops, no knots.  My legs heave against the straps, but the leather just digs into my skin viciously.  I’m stuck on this chair.  And the side rails are digging really painfully into my thighs.  This isn’t sexy.  I scream some more.  Silence.

After what seems like a long time, I hear the door open.  The murmur of voices.  More than one.  Uh oh.  What is he up to?  It’s always just been him and me.  That’s the deal.  No sharing my helpless body with his twenty buddies.  (It’s a nice fantasy, but doesn’t work for me in real life.)

I can hear breathing, feel they’re near.  Hands start touching me - and not just in the usual places.  How many of them are there, anyway? They take their time exploring me everywhere but where I want - on my breasts and cunt.  What’s going on?

Suddenly something is tickling my ear, and a voice whispers, “Hold still, fuckhole.”

Hands start massaging my breasts.  Ah, now we’re getting somewhere.  Mouths, too.  Licking.  Sucking.  Getting them nice and wet. I like this.  They know what they’re doing.  My big, dark nubbins begin to throb pleasantly.

A hand squeezes my boob tight, too tight, and I complain through the gag.  Something hard is touching my nipple, settling around it, pushing hard into my softness. Biting down viciously on my swollen skin.

no no.  NO.  NOOOO!!   Take it off.  TAKE IT OFF!

When a second clamp goes on my other nipple, my body goes into survival mode, heaving against the ropes, my legs straining.  I shake my chest what little I can, but it just hurts more. 

Something is brushing my belly.  Something thin and flexible.  

Wires.

(to be continued)

If you like this, check out my new book, “Asha has been Taken” and read some for FREE!

www.smashwords.com/books/view/420206

It has been said the the brain is the most important sex organ.  Here is what I know.

I just came.  Again.

There is that small moment just beforehand, when you know you’ve crossed the divide, that it will happen whether you’re ready or not, and in that moment I’m so thankful, so glad I can trust in it.  And then all is obliterated by the shuddering carnage between my legs, all sense of self reduced to that thundering pulse, nothing left.  Distant restraints hold my feet and hands, but the rest of me plunges and leaps wildly, every muscle straining like a thing possessed.  Cries in an ancient, unknown tongue escape my mouth.

When it eventually recedes, I lie there wasted, muscles limp.  Sweat pours everywhere, over me, between parts of me. The afterglow makes my sex hole spasm and clench, sending shivers of delight through the hard little buttons on my chest.  They let me lie there for a while, sucking air through my nose.  Shuddering.

Eventually the soreness at wrist and ankle, the ache in my jaw and the pressure over my eyes remind me once again that I am completely helpless, and a shimmer of delight ripples over my unseen but oh so naked flesh.  They must be aware of it, because hands begin touching me again, smoothing, raking, gripping, twisting and slapping all my soft parts.  All of them.

NO, NO!  I can’t!  No no no no no no no no no, I try to say.  It’s not possible. I have nothing left for you.

But my little nubbin has already begun to heat and  throb, betraying me once again.

I’m in hell.  I’m in heaven.

People sometimes ask how I can possibly condone the terrible things I write about.  And of course the answer is that I absolutely DON’T - in real life.  But this is fiction.  

Ah, you say, but people believe it really happened - at least in “Asha has been Taken”.  To which I say “Thanks!”  I take it as a tribute to my (admittedly not large) writerly skills.

To my mind the question is whether any “real people” were harmed in the making of this book - to which the answer is obviously “no”.  A trickier question is whether people reading it will take it as an excuse to do the same things in real life.  And there is something to that: politicians do TRULY terrible things to large numbers of people, based on their reading of some documents.  Ditto religious organizations throughout history.

My own sense is that, if someone is disposed to do harm to others, my writing probably isn’t telling them something they haven’t thought of already.  (Though hopefully I do it in an engaging, sexy way!)

What do YOU think?

I’m just now getting going on ImageFap and it looks like a lot of fun.  Looking forward to seeing what YOUR fantasies look like.  You’ll see mine soon enough!

Now, what to use for an avitar?!

Ever hear of Faye Kane? If you like the stuff I write about, check out her book at Smashwords!

IMHO it's an outstanding frigging book (in all senses of the word). Faye takes us past our own mental compartmentalization of "sex" and "nice" and gets comfortable with the animal within. Avoiding the worn out cliches of "he had a twelve pack" and "she had tits out to here", it hews to real life and hits like a truck because of it. With an extra frisson for it apparently having actually happened. Faye is a very brave women, and you should give her book a read. Or several. 

Here's a picture (not of her) to give you an idea of what happened.  Enjoy!

My new book “Asha has been Taken” is now out on Smashwords!  (And should be out on many commercial venues this week).  Take a look and read the first part of it for FREE here!  And if you like it, you can have it for only $2.79 - then tell all your friends.

Here’s the blurb:
In a deserted middle eastern city, late at night, a bound and brutally tortured woman was taken out of a limousine and dropped on the road.  And I had to be the one to pick her up.  To care for her.  To hide her all these years from the men who want her dead.  And bear witness to the terrible things they did to her. 

I’m excited about it!  And busy working on a full length novel, “Plain Sheelah” that will come out later this year. 

Plus I plan to use this forum to do two things:

1) elicit your deepest, darkest ideas for new stories

2) discuss why the heck people feel some of the things they do

 More later!

My earliest sexy memory is of discovering one of my father’s paperbacks that opened with a scene of a woman being tied to her bed by a detective – recreating the woman’s rape so he could photograph it “for evidence”.  It made me SO wet – and I wasn’t really even sure how sex worked yet.

Later on, I would tie myself up when my parents weren’t home, rubbing my crotch on the bed until I came.  It wasn’t until after college that I got up the courage to look for a bondage partner for real.  And discovered that in most cases the real thing is a pale imitation of what I imagine.  So I took up writing about my sexual fantasies.  Wrote extensively for a now defunct website, StoryBondage.com.  And now, here, for you.