Part 1 It’s a beautiful warm mid summers day in a quiet secluded parkland. Trees are providing shade and protection from the harsh sun rays. I look around only to see trees all around me, a drive path just ahead of me that passes me from left to right, a large shelter on the left side with park benches in it with a car park on it’s left side. The drive path is made of gravel like a country homes driveway. ...
Author's Note: It’s my first time writing a story involving bondage of any kind, please tell me if anything is wrong. Also openned to suggestions for the following part It was the beginning of summer, and Ilia was watching through her window, anxiously waiting for her package to arrive. It had all started about 6 months ago, You see, Ilia had a Bondage fetish, she loved everything about being wrapped up in leather, latex or even just bound by ropes, sadly she had yet to find someone that shared her enthusiasm for it, so she lived alone on the house her parents left to her before they passed away. It was a nice house in the suburbs, the neighbors were really quiet and never actually made contact with her, she thought maybe they had something against her, since she worked as a ’entertainer’ at a club downtown, since she looked amazing,(having blonde hair and DD cups, accompanied by a very well endowed ass) and the people in the suburbs don’t really find those acts very…elegant. ...
Author's Note: A fictional story for fantasy and enjoyment only. A sequel exists if there is interest, and of course feedback is always welcome! Cheri, Laura, and Gwen were best friends but almost nothing alike. Gwen was aggressive and passionate. She’d competed in gymnastics as a child and still practiced a little for fun and exercise. She also captained the university’s debate team and was bound to be a high priced lawyer someday, which got her into trouble when she contradicted her professors a little too much. The short-haired brunette hardly went a day without talking about her next hiking trip to the mountains. ...
Author's Note: Self bondage can be dangerous so please be aware of this fact. Please do not try to imitate the scene. A few weeks ago Peter measured, cut, sanded and made me a lovely long spreader bar for me to play with. It’s a thick wooden dowel rod five feet long with screw eyes in the ends and one in the centre of the bar. He painted it black for me and it has been drying in the garage all week, ready for me to play with. Now this spreader bar is only four to five inches smaller than me. So it would be a challenge how I was going to use it. ...
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: This is the first multi-part story I’ve worked on in some time. Please read, enjoy and leave a comment. Part 1 It was something of a truism that, if you dug deep enough every neighborhood, no matter how small, had its mysteries and a rare few of those were even actually mysteries. Famous crimes, strange disappearances, spooky occurrences and unexplained phenomenon, the kind of things that might even draw in tourists or a television crew if the neighborhood was insistent enough in promoting itself. Of course, most neighborhood mysteries were completely mundane. Little more than housewife gossip, the type passed around church pews and barbecues, or wildly exaggerated stories that became little more than urban legends, if they were interesting enough. Hickory Lane could not even claim that much. Oh, there was certainly plenty of gossip, that seemed to be something of a universal constant, but most of it was of an utterly mundane sort. The Emerson divorce had been the biggest news in a while, but that ended up being too painfully amicable to make for a good story. No, the real enduring mystery of the neighborhood was a house. Not a haunted house, nothing so interesting, just an old house. It was a nice house, most would agree, a small two-story affair at the far end of the block right next to a thicket of hickory trees that had given the development its name once upon a time enclosed by a wooden fence in the back. Now, who had built the house and when was something of a mystery. No one in the neighborhood was entirely certain just how long it had been there, though most agreed that it had to have been among the first homes built here and certainly the oldest still standing, but that was hardly the sort of mystery that got tongues wagging. Nor was the house some rundown and abandoned ruin of an earlier age. The building itself was clean and well kept, the shutters painted, the yard and the gardens in the back were neatly tended and the pool was cleaned regularly. That was no mystery either since the house was occupied and had been for years. No, as was also traditional the true mystery of 137 N. Hickory Lane was its residents. ...
Author's Note: A special arrangement by ’normal’ hotels worldwide allows BDSM travellers to live the lifestyle completely. This is a first story in that conceptual universe. Here we encounter the travails of a slavegirl as her mistress climbs the social ladder. Chapter 1 kinkhotels.com was created by group of business people who also made BDSM part of their lifestyle. They recognized a lapse in the market where high standard, BDSM friendly, luxury accommodation was not available to the discerning BDSM traveler. Participating hotels set aside special floors and/or whole areas within their premises that were inaccessible to non-BDSM guests. They also offered associated services and facilities. Of course, BDSM guests could avail themselves of the other, vanilla services and facilities with a proviso of keeping their activity covert. Checking in was through the normal counter but attended by a specially designated receptionist. Having booked through the site, the booking would be flagged as requiring special attention. The special receptionists would normally be lifestyle practitioners themselves, mostly slaves working the reception desk for their masters and owners. ...
Author's Note: Before you read this story you should understand that it is a work of fiction and total fantasy. Its main themes are of non-consensuality and human degradation of an uncompromising sort. If this does not appeal then PLEASE DO NOT READ IT. I would also like to emphasise that the events described in the story would be completely abhorrent to me if carried out in reality. Nor is it my intention to offend any particular group, preference or orientation with what I have written. It is simply my first attempt at writing a BDSM story in which I have tried to give full rein to the darker corners of my own sexuality and I have to admit to a degree of shock and surprise at the result. I hope the result is erotic in its own grim way for others and would be very interested in any (constructive) thoughts or criticism. Thanks for reading. -Honorius ...
Author's Note: I hope you enjoy reading this story as much as I enjoyed writing it! Please feel free to comment below. My slave, Ai was kneeling in front of me, facing the corner, naked of course, ankles crossed, and hands behind her neck, wearing a collar, and leather wrist and ankle restraints, which was her standard slave “uniform”. It was the one year anniversary of our first bondage session. And tonight I had special plans for her - very special plans indeed. ...
Author's Note: Been reading stories on this site for years and thought I would try to write my own. I’ve never been much of a writer, but what the hell, right? It’s all in good fun. Chapter 1 “This place looks as good as any,” Caleb thought to himself as he pulled into the truck stop around 2 a.m. He had been on the road now for nearly three days, having been assigned to take the goods he was hauling from San Diego, California all the way to Boston, Massachusetts. Caleb had dropped out of college six years ago after failing most of his classes sophomore year, and had taken on the truck driving career, thinking it would be a good way to see the country. ...