Venom on Utopia Stories Library

A Dance in the Cage

Mon, 01 Jan 0001 00:00:00 +0000

You know the girls dancing in those cages at clubs? Sometimes on a pedestal, sometimes suspended over the raving crowd? Ever wondered how they ended up there and what makes them move all night?

Despite the allegedly soundproof glass Bianka felt the vibrations at her eardrums, in the pit of her stomach, in the tip of her pen. The bass pounded its way through every structure, item and living being in the whole building. It was the heartbeat of the club, and with the small hours of the night being near it was hammering wilder than ever. If the owner, manager and icon of Club Noir were to turn around from her desk, she would be able to overlook the main floor through the glass wall of her office. She would see the fetish folk celebrating its own depravity, loosing itself in the dark world the legendary Bianka Schönfeld provided. A world of masks and collars, of monogloves and hobble skirts, where leather was the new lace and black the new black. To the left the long cool-lit bar ran in a wide arc alongside the clubbing area, which in turn bordered at the right on the VIP lounge. Further in the back the entrance to the lower levels awaited those in search for more titillating activities. The rooms for this spicy kind of entertainment were soundproof, for sure.

A Good Pony

Mon, 01 Jan 0001 00:00:00 +0000

Today, Mirage was particularly longing for her handler to arrive. As soon as the first rays of sunlight had lit up the barn, she had awoken with that deep urge. The same urge that was bothering her for days on end. But today was that day again, when she might be granted release from her hardship.

Pressing her haltered head against her stall’s door, she was just able to see the gate of the barn. But no matter how much the ponygirl whimpered and pawed, it remained closed. What took him so long?! Didn’t he know what day was today?!

A Tough One

Mon, 01 Jan 0001 00:00:00 +0000

Author's Note: Although I submitted it as my second work on this site, this story is somewhat older than “Dorei”.

She wasn’t exactly pretty. Attractive, yes. Intriguing, sure. Some – most – might even say beautiful. But pretty? There lay a kind of hardness in her features, making it difficult to connect her to terms such as “cute” or “twee”.

I would call her Rho, for her real name is of no consequence anymore. ρ, the sixteenth letter of the Greek alphabet. Or, minding that it was to be a proper name, the capital form: P

Dorei

Mon, 01 Jan 0001 00:00:00 +0000

Author's Note: I’m a twenty-something from Europe, writing short stories and narrations (erotic and non-erotic) for several years.

A longer narration of mine deals with certain Japanese elements. To get in the mood for a sequel, I wrote this short story.

Box

The box had arrived just in time. Nakamura’s two “gentlemen” went to work unloading it as soon as the garage’s roller shutter had closed behind the inconspicuous white delivery van. One of them I knew by name: Tanaka, a ridiculously muscular bloke in an ill-fitting jacket. He was beyond any doubt capable of dragging the box alone. Hence his scrawny new colleague was rather latching onto the wooden crate while it was pulled out of the van.

Endurance

Mon, 01 Jan 0001 00:00:00 +0000

Foresightful as I was, I had a small towel at hand as I removed Patrizia’s gag. It was a standard three inch ball gag. Defined by me as standard, that was, because I knew how Triz loathed huge gags. How they put unbearable strain to her jaw muscles. For ball gags – or ring gags not sitting too deep – three inches was the absolute limit she and her talented mouth could take.

Fashion Faux Pas

Mon, 01 Jan 0001 00:00:00 +0000

Bianchetti had always been her first port of call during window shopping, and on today’s spree the exclusive boutique near the city’s financial quarter was confirming its status once again. Behind the glass façade, amidst LBD’s, designer clutches and outré court shoes Lorena discovered the short-sleeved top on one of the highly stylised mannequins. At first glance the item didn’t awake her interest. But then her eyes wandered back, and it intrigued her due to its unusual material. It was made of latex.

Khisara’s Last Walk

Mon, 01 Jan 0001 00:00:00 +0000

Never before had Khisara witnessed such splendour. Even in her distressed state the Great Hall made her marvel in utter awe. One hundred and twenty cubits the numberless columns reached into the air, and upon entering the hall, one’s eye could not fathom its far end. The palace guards marched her along, keeping the chain to her high gold collar free of slack, but felt no need or inclination to drag at it. Whither could she flee? How could she form the mere concept of defiance in such overwhelming manifestation of unquestioned power?

Play Time

Mon, 01 Jan 0001 00:00:00 +0000

Author's Note: This is a short fun story I wrote within two days. Enjoy! ~ v1.1, venomstories.wordpress.com, 2013

“I’ve got special plans for this weekend,” Biri purred.

It didn’t take too much imagination for Leif to determine what those plans would be. His girlfriend’s outfit made some very clear statements in that regard.

“Can you even breathe in this, sweetie?”

“As long as I don’t laugh,” she chuckled and let her latex-gloved hands slide along the skimpy rubber dress and tightly-laced corset. Kneeling in front of him in their living room, Bérénice was a picture of enthusiastic submission, ready to have her photo printed in a BDSM textbook.

Ponygirl Rescue Centre

Mon, 01 Jan 0001 00:00:00 +0000

Mirage was in a bad shape when we rescued her. There was literally no spot on her that hadn’t been whipped, flogged or cropped savagely. And the beatings had only been one facet of the mistreatment the feverish ponygirl had been forced to endure at the hands of her former stable master. Her shoulders were sprained and inflamed from the reverse prayer bondage her arms had been kept in almost constantly. Her feet showed first signs of misalignment, and she obviously suffered from pain in her knees – both evidence to ill-fitted hoof boots. She was also dehydrated, sadly a very common occurrence. An isotonic drink from a bicycle bottle took care of the worst.

Selfie (a.k.a. Rogue Tie)

Mon, 01 Jan 0001 00:00:00 +0000

You are always so good at making lists, Becca!

This is a compliment I hear a lot from colleagues and friends alike. Always meant sincere, it does have a backhanded element to it. It labels me organised, bureaucratic, predictable. Rebecca, the Excel Queen. Rebecca, mind you. Not Bec or Beckie. Not Becca, either. But people are so quick with shortening my name. Just as quick as with making list-related compliments.

Spoiled Rotten

Mon, 01 Jan 0001 00:00:00 +0000

Author's Note: Although featuring several characters from “Endurance”, this is a stand-alone story. You do not need to read “Endurance” first, but of course you are very welcome to do so.

“If you are a real painslut, you will be spoiled rotten tonight.”

I had made it very clear to Portia that the members of my depraved little circle were committed to the darker ways of BDSM. Marks that would last for weeks were a must-have, safewords a no-go. Portia emitted an affirmative grunt from behind the gag. Any intelligible sound was permitted by the huge rubber orb, and nodding would have interfered with my tightening her head harness.

The Office Horse

Mon, 01 Jan 0001 00:00:00 +0000

“We run a tight ship here, Ms Dremmer,” the bald department head lectured from the front, and in the same pace he was storming along the corridor. Mr Wicklebimm couldn’t be bothered to hold any door open for the young woman struggling to keep up.

“Do not think of your first day at work as a first day, but as work. There is no need for idleness just because your notepad still has all its sheets blank.”

Trophy Wife

Mon, 01 Jan 0001 00:00:00 +0000

Looking pretty in case her husband brought home his new business partners.

Mercédès’ schedule for today could be summarised by this. Being a beacon of beauty whilst striding otherwise pointlessly through the contemporary residence, or, like now, biding in the technocraticly styled conservatory. After all, her husband was known to be a connoisseur of decorative objects, a collector of everything pleasant to behold.

And wasn’t it her sacred duty as a wife to fulfil his standards?

Visiting the McIntoshs

Mon, 01 Jan 0001 00:00:00 +0000

Author's Note: (Some wee spoilers ahead): Meet Alistair and Riona McIntosh, who have got nasty plans for each other. And three burglars, who have got no plan at all… This is not a full-fledged BDSM-story, so you can keep your trousers on. Yet you will find a good deal of bondage with a general tongue-in-cheek overtone. ~ v1.0, venomstories.wordpress.com, 2013

He was with her. She knew it. Riona knew the cheating bastard was doing that blonde slut this very second. Like he did for the last couple of weeks.