Author's Note: The Foundation holds it’s yearly convention for it’s clients. What follows is a week of sadism and debauchery. Chapter 1 Evan barely managed to suppress a moan as the object slave’s moist lips slid over his hard cock. Her tongue caressing his frenulum as his cock passed through her warm mouth. He tilted his head back as she made the return trip back to his tip and then down again. ...
Author's Note: Another story in the on-going “Foundation Chronicles” stories. A young senator tries to gather political momentum to do something about all the women going missing. The Foundation is forced to take action against this potential threat. Anne watched as ten, collared, and recently trained, slaves lined up for inspection. They stood straight at the shoulders, but with eyes downcast, as they were taught. They were naked, except for the metal collar that slaves of all ranks wore, even trustees like herself. Their bodies still bore the bruises and welts of her intense training program. A program, that chief of staff to the Prime Dom herself intended to scrutinize. ...
Author's Note: A short story intended to introduce a world that I hope to write more stories in going forward. This is a complete story describing the process of training a slave for the service of a secret organization called The Foundation. Chapter 1 Haley’s eyes fluttered open, her vision going from a grey fog to a watery blur before finally coming into focus. She saw only a cement wall in front of her. Her head was pressed against a hard backing by a tight restraint making it impossible to look around. ...
Author's Note: A strange little tale. First piece I’ve ever posted anywhere. Hope you enjoy. Chapter 1 It had been too simple. She had watched the scholar have his home built in her woods almost half a year ago, fists clenched in envy. The scholar’s property was immense, high walls of stone and sprawling gardens of loam and lush that made her quiver. She had tried to put it out of her head. Finally, she gave in. She could eat from such a garden without such things drawing notice surely? Why should she not? It was her forest she smouldered and her tail tensed like a briar at the thought of some stranger eating rich fowl by a crackling fireplace as she huddled under a fir and gnawed on pinecones mournfully. It had been too simple. A single green-eyed jump from the overhanging willow into the stranger’s gardens under the veil of moonlight. She picked herself up and stood suddenly weary. The walls startled her as they flickered and danced with bright shapes all around her like a constellation of fiery snowflakes. She covered her eyes with her arms just before the shapes flared like exploding stars in her eyes. She felt fine gravel greet her as she fell like a bird stunned by a thunderstorm. ...
Not bad for being forty four. Other moms at my age are fat, puffy-eyed, semi bald and depressed. I was fit, B cups, dark brown eyes one meter sixty-five. I keep a good tan as I use an UVA sunbed on a beauty parlor. My dark brown hair was very short, boyish, with a very short fringe. Like a young Kate Beckinsale in Uncovered. Dian is the name. The key is keep doing exercises. I was thinking about thess things while I looked at my reflection on the mirror. ...
Author's Note: Thanks to Jennifer Harrison for her assistance, and for letting me read her great-great grandmother’s diary. I write stories with bondage, not bondage stories, so this story isn’t just a collection of tie-whip-rape scenes with a little bit of filler. If that’s what you’re looking for you’ll be disappointed, so go elsewhere. My father, Sir Charles Harrison, FRS, DPhil, was dying. He had been dying for months, but now, in this first week of June, 1889, the end was near. He was wracked by another spasm of coughing, and the cloth he held to his lips was stained with blood. “Jenny, come closer,” he whispered. ...
Part I This is my first time writing about my bondage experiences, although I’ve been a bondage enthusiast and practitioner since childhood. I was always fascinated by bondage, and I loved to see a girl or boy tied up on the TV. I also noticed that on TV most captives weren’t tied very well, and I figured that I’d be able to escape from each of those tie-ups and how I could do a better job of tying. Bondage so filled my mind that I was constantly thinking about ways to tie people and ways to escape from those ties. When I finally started actively participating, it was as if I had years of experience. This is a recounting of my first actual bondage experience. It’s a long story that I’ll tell in several parts, but looking back at it I can see how strongly it shaped my bondage life since. Come to think of it my brother’s life was rather strongly influenced as well. ...
Author's Note: A highwayman robs a lady’s coach on the turnpike at Southwark in 1697 and takes a rich prize; a Nazi interrogator extracts information from a captured British spy; Emily Cavandish recalls other encounters too, recounting them to a student psychiatrist in the sanatorium in which she is held. Is it possible that we can be reborn or is this just her delusions ? If we are reborn then can some lives be linked through time, intertwined across the centuries ? If memories live on, can love be eternal and hate continue so that revenge be served in future lives ? ...
Talk about being handed a gift on a platter or an offer I just couldn’t refuse. It was only three weeks since I had cleared my workshop of the last project. My bank accounts were in a very healthy state and I wasn’t even thinking about a new project until, that is, I saw the hiker. She didn’t blatantly have her thumb out, but was obviously looking for a ride. Standing on the edge of the sidewalk with her, I guessed 5'2", body screaming for attention. I ran the picture through my mental computer. Pale blue flowered halter top, very tight denim short shorts, new looking running shoes and a small white box purse. Over her left shoulder a half empty backpack completed the picture of an elfin like girl in her late teens or early twenties. ...
“Harder!” Marie screaming as I thrust into her, “Fuck me harder, goddamnit!”. Her body writhed beneath mine and her outstretched hands pulled at their bonds, rocking the wooden headboard against the sheetrock of the wall. If the neighbors hadn’t already been woken by her screaming then they were certainly awake now. “Choke me; cover my mouth so I can’t scream!” She implored. I pounded her as hard as I could; I could feel myself approaching climax; then suddenly a bright light turned on and I heard a familiar voice from across the bedroom. ...