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    <title>Katherine Travis on Utopia Stories Library</title>
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    <description>Recent content in Katherine Travis on Utopia Stories Library</description>
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    <item>
      <title>Katherine&#39;s Torment</title>
      <link>/stories/27248/</link>
      <pubDate>Mon, 01 Jan 0001 00:00:00 +0000</pubDate>
      <guid>/stories/27248/</guid>
      <description>&lt;p&gt;_&lt;strong&gt;Author&#39;s Note:&lt;/strong&gt; Comments and feedback are always welcome. I do read them and find your words very inspiring. _This is the first story I&amp;rsquo;ve submitted here that is based on an actual experience.**&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;When you&amp;rsquo;re a self bondage addict and haven&amp;rsquo;t taken the time for a good fix in a while, you tend to get carried away.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;First, the outfit. I wanted stimulation this time, so my latex double dildo panties went on first. Well lubed they&amp;rsquo;re fun just to squirm into. I don&amp;rsquo;t orgasm easily, so, while they felt good, I wasn&amp;rsquo;t ready to come yet.&lt;/p&gt;</description>
    </item>
    <item>
      <title>Resale Shop</title>
      <link>/stories/26576/</link>
      <pubDate>Mon, 01 Jan 0001 00:00:00 +0000</pubDate>
      <guid>/stories/26576/</guid>
      <description>&lt;p&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Author&#39;s Note:&lt;/strong&gt; Feedback is always welcome, as are story ideas and possibly requests.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Chapter One&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;The creaky uneven wood floors make a staccato counterpoint to the click of her heels as she crossed the room. Dim shadows and whispers of passing cars on the snow-covered street add to the feeling of being alone and helpless. A few hours ago several customers had sorted through the racks of second hand clothing, but the doors were locked now and the old building had only one inhabitant.&lt;/p&gt;</description>
    </item>
    <item>
      <title>The Black Dress</title>
      <link>/stories/41094/</link>
      <pubDate>Mon, 01 Jan 0001 00:00:00 +0000</pubDate>
      <guid>/stories/41094/</guid>
      <description>&lt;p&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Author&#39;s Note:&lt;/strong&gt; The outfit in this story has been on my mind for many years. I&amp;rsquo;m not sure if I will continue this stroy-line or not, so please offer constructive crtitisism if you enjoyed it.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;_&lt;em&gt;Update (09/11/01):&lt;/em&gt;* Thank you all for the wonderful feedback and support. Knowing that my fantasies are being read and appreciated certainly makes it more fun to write them down.*&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Chapter 1&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;I&amp;rsquo;m not a huge fan of garage sales, but once in awhile I will let my friend drag me to a few. A couple summers ago we had wandered further from home than usual when we found a sale at one of those U-store-it places. While Alicia wandered through the stacks of mismatched dishes and old books I spotted a box with a few leather belts dangling from it. I had never hidden anything from her so I wasn&amp;rsquo;t surprised when she snickered. &amp;ldquo;Find something interesting?&amp;rdquo; she asked in her best coy voice. Actually I had. The box contained several plain black straps, too short and too wide to be belts. Right away I noticed that they had holes punched in them almost all the way up to the buckle. They looked old, but in good shape, so I took the entire box over to the folding table where the two ladies attending the sale sat in the shade. Alicia rolled her eyes as I asked how much they wanted for the whole box full. &amp;ldquo;Ten bucks and you can keep the box&amp;rdquo; replied the younger of the pair. Alicia stage whispered over my shoulder as I took two fives from my wallet &amp;ldquo;can you wait until you get home to use them Em?&amp;rdquo; The young woman grinned at us but the older lady pretended not to hear.&lt;/p&gt;</description>
    </item>
    <item>
      <title>The Meaning of Desperation</title>
      <link>/stories/55416/</link>
      <pubDate>Mon, 01 Jan 0001 00:00:00 +0000</pubDate>
      <guid>/stories/55416/</guid>
      <description>&lt;p&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Author&#39;s Note:&lt;/strong&gt; I read all comments.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;If she could have spoken she would be berating herself, loudly. The thick rubber phallus filling her mouth stopped almost any sound, and it was held in place by the stretchy vinyl hood that covered everything but her nose and eyes, her long blonde hair poking through a hole in the back. The most noise she could make was an exasperated huff. Carrie&amp;rsquo;s thoughts were a blur, as they usually were for the first half hour or so after her tormentor finished with her, but one kept coming to the surface. Why do I keep letting her do this to me?&lt;/p&gt;</description>
    </item>
    <item>
      <title>The New Mistress</title>
      <link>/stories/32036/</link>
      <pubDate>Mon, 01 Jan 0001 00:00:00 +0000</pubDate>
      <guid>/stories/32036/</guid>
      <description>&lt;p&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Author&#39;s Note:&lt;/strong&gt; As always I enjoy any and all comments.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&amp;ldquo;So, you think you&amp;rsquo;d like the position I&amp;rsquo;m offering?&amp;rdquo;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;I was standing in a trendy bar next to a high table late on a Sunday evening. There were plenty of seats, but I didn&amp;rsquo;t dare hop on the stool. On the phone she&amp;rsquo;d told me to dress as erotically as I could, and that the offer depended on her being impressed. So there I stood, in a body stocking covered by a leather over-bust corset that laced in back, long black gloves and a latex miniskirt that just was not willing to cover my rear, let alone allow me to sit down.&lt;/p&gt;</description>
    </item>
    <item>
      <title>Twenty Days</title>
      <link>/stories/26198/</link>
      <pubDate>Mon, 01 Jan 0001 00:00:00 +0000</pubDate>
      <guid>/stories/26198/</guid>
      <description>&lt;p&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Author&#39;s Note:&lt;/strong&gt; Feedback is always welcome. Feel free to send me ideas for continuation as well as polite criticism.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Chapter 1&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;I&amp;rsquo;m not sure where to begin telling this story, so I&amp;rsquo;ll just jump right into it. I&amp;rsquo;m not much of a writer so you&amp;rsquo;ll have to excuse me.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;For the past few months I&amp;rsquo;ve been a prisoner in my own home. Dad left me the building in his will. It&amp;rsquo;s worth a decent amount of money I suppose, but there isn&amp;rsquo;t much to see from the outside. It&amp;rsquo;s just a brick office building with three stories and so old it doesn&amp;rsquo;t have an elevator. The neighborhood is pretty quiet, a couple of tenements of about the same age, an abandoned church, some newer offices and one of those U-store-it places on the same block. I moved in when I started my business, prefering to be close to my work. Years ago someone had leased part of the basement for storage and they made Dad install a backup generator in a shed on the back of the building. It still worked, I had a guy service it every few months, some of my equipment needed to stay powered up, or bad things could happen.&lt;/p&gt;</description>
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