Breathplay

Author's Note: I’ve been writing all my life. But this is my first try at erotic fiction. I wanted to do something kind of different (we all hope what we write is “different,” don’t we?). It’s 100% fiction, but it is inspired by a real break up. It was also inspired in some way by Jack Ketchum’s “The Girl Next Door.” I read it a few months ago, and at first was turned on by the girl being tied up in the basement. But as her torture got worse and worse (and explicit in some cases), I grew more and more uncomfortable. I wanted to touch on what happens when fantasy becomes nightmare. ...

Author's Note: : This story is merely an attempt to put down a fantasy of mine onto paper. Please feel free to share any comments/suggestions you may have regarding this story or future work. Oh, and most importantly: enjoy! ;D It was dark, too dark… I sat there in the darkness unable to move. My bindings felt tight and unforgiving, even though I could not see them. I was lying completely naked on a leather-covered contraption with my legs raised in the air and widely spread. I felt the subtle air movement caressing my exposed and accessible asshole. I was obviously strapped down tightly as I could not move a muscle no matter how much I tried. As I concentrated on my breathing I also realized my mouth was spread wide open using what I guessed was a dental gag. It felt like my jaw would dislocate if my mouth were opened any wider. ...

Author's Note: An extended/alternate ending also exists! You can read it here. It had been the perfect day for running - The sun was shining, but the air was cool and crisp, if it weren’t for the leaves crunching on the ground, Sallem would’ve spaced out a long time ago. The sun was nearly set now, though she was not afraid of the dark, but really wanted to get home, since running in the dark was dangerous - Potholes, cracks in the ground, and various rubbish as well.She’s a package runner - Not like a post worker, but rather, a drug mule to a certain extent. She never knew what she was carrying, the weight and size varied vastly, but it was always in a very non-descript package, and so thickly layered, that there was no inherent scent. After all these years, she figured it was probably drugs, or something illegal, but never had the guts to open one of the packages - Being the head runner for the pack that took her in off the streets, it simply was too important to not anger them. ...

Author's Note: Further updates will be coming - not all story codes are applicable to Chapter 1. Chapter 1 - The Massage Jeff drove to the resort while Gina turned down the radio to talk. “I don’t understand what it is you don’t like about a massage. How can you not like massages when you’ve never even had one?” It was a conversation they had repeated several times over the last few weeks. Gina had been pushing Jeff to join her for a couples’ massage for weeks. He finally agreed, much to her excitement. ...

My love says she wants to try something different… She tells me she wants me fresh and clean, pliable, and horny. The horny part is NEVER a problem. Fresh and clean are easily taken care of with a hot shower. Pliable? Not sure what that is all about. As I scrub away the day like so much dirt, I think about what she said. Pliable?!? What the hell is that supposed to mean? I wash myself thoroughly, maybe a bit too thoroughly if my cock is any indication. Then comes the razor. I shave my head and face, ensuring that they are soft and smooth. I then turn my attention further south, trimming, grooming, and shaving until the base of my shaft and my balls are as soft and smooth as my head. The slight scrape of the razor always feels good over my balls. The feeling is hard to describe, but it does nothing to help relieve the firmness in my groin. ...

I arrive at my Mistress’ house at 9am and she’s waiting for me at the door looking intimidating. Dressed in knee-high boots, stockings, black leather skirt and a tight black corset, her breasts trying to escape from the tight confines of the corset and her long blonde hair in a ponytail, with her impossibly long eye lashes and luscious red lips, she is the picture of power and control. As I walk past her, she catches the cheek of my arse hard with her paddle, the sound of the leather on my jeans echoes around the hallway. ...

Author's Note: Author’s note for the reality challenged: This story deals with breath control. (Duh.) This is a really, really, dangerous activity. One which I’ve read (and I believe) is impossible to perform safely. No one can tell exactly where “the line” is which will result in brain damage or death. In fact, from what I’ve read, the vast majority of people who die from playing with breath control are people who are experienced in it. People who think that, because they’ve done it dozens of times, that that means they know how to do it safely. I tried as hard as I could to design a scenario which was as safe as possible. But I’ll freely admit that I’m not even one of those people who’s done this, and thinks he’s an expert, now. I’ve never done this, which means I’m describing how I think things would feel. ...

Author's Note: Always happy to write more! Brittany woke up on the floor and realized she was blindfolded, her arms were zip tied behind her back, and there were zip ties binding her ankles and thighs together, and a piece of duct tape over her mouth. After a few minutes she felt her blindfold being pulled off, and the light in the room blinded her so all she could see was the shape of a woman who was in good shape but had a very large ass. ...

“I can take anything that you can dish out.” I drunkenly and mistakenly blurted out to my wife. “We’ll see, we’ll see.” She repeated with a knowing smile on her face. Skip to twenty-four hours later and my lovely wife is leading me into the bedroom. First things first she has me strip completely naked. She covers my eyes with a leather blindfold and jams a pair of her panties into my mouth. ...

Author's Note: The villains in this story are loosely inspired by the cult-horror film, “Bloodsucking Freaks”, who are campy by design. This is a “retro” bondage story of sorts that takes place in the 1980s, so this may not be for all readers. It was a balmy late summer evening in 1985 when the three friends arrived in a jeep, loaned to them by one of their parents for the weekend. The three female friends had known each other since elementary school, and were getting together for one last summer weekend at the lake prior to them leaving for their respective colleges that fall. Canoeing, hiking, swimming, and roasting whatever was edible over the fire was but a small sample of activities they planned for the weekend. Each of them was unique and special in their own right, evident in where they were going in the upcoming semester. ...