The Naughty Collection

by Ruby City Books

  By the time she was finished with me I looked like a fucking roast with string tied around it, my body pulsing, turning purple all over, hurting like hell, and the pain only beginning, I was certain. I flinched as I felt her hands seize my face, her fingers hooking into my mouth, pulling my lips wide into a perverse parody of a mile.

  “Ohhhhhh, you just look so cute my little whore... Yes you do... Yes you do... Yes you do...”

  I began to cry, the tears streaming down my face from the humiliation, but it was more of an automatic reaction than anything, because I was fucking loving this shit.

  There was a small bed in the room with us, and Deidra pushed me down onto its surface, the natural impulse of my arms attempting to move forward to catch myself hurting like hell as it tugged my taut tit ropes, pulling on them harder, my nipples so erect at this point I thought they might come slicing through my chest when I landed on them. I smacked face down against the lumpy surface of the bed, my ass hanging over the edge, the stiletto footsteps rapidly approaching behind me.

  “It's time for your punishment, my lovely little whore...”

  I braced myself, holding my breath, biting my lower lip, but knowing that it sure as hell wasn't about to do me a goddamn ounce of good.

  KRACK!

  “FFFFUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!”

  The whip came down on my ass as hard as hell, breaking the fucking sound barrier as well as my constitution, and I fought the intense urge to sputter out the agreed upon safe word, “Cucumber,” chosen in honor of my favorite masturbatory vegetable. My body racked with pain, but I found that suddenly I wanted it more than almost anything, almost more than I generally wanted sex itself, the lighting up of my nerve endings of such a different nature than to that with which I was accustomed.

  KRACK! KRACK! KRACK! KRACK!

  Again and again and again the whip came bursting down upon my poor, throbbing body, slicing my ass to a pulp, making it red and raw and overly sensitized, my knotted limbs shaking, beginning to cramp up slightly from the pain, and I found myself moaning like an animal in heat from the pleasure of my agony, my body so sweat soaked and tear-streaked that I looked like a fucking hotdog fresh out of the package.

  KRACK! KRACK! KRACK! KRACK!

  “OH GOD! OH FUCK! OH FUCK! OH YES! OH YES! OH YES!”

  “Yes mistress,” she corrected me, her voice firm but about as calm as the undisturbed surface of a pond, but her beatings grew slightly more horrible, KRACK! KRACK! KRACK! KRACK! KRACK!

  “YES MISTRESS! YES MISTRESS! YES MISTRESS! YES MISTRESS!”

  And there was about a half second window between the time the whipping ceased and her leather-clad hands were on me again, flipping me over on my back like a fucking flapjack. Suddenly, the pain was redirected to my engorged titties, specifically to my hard as steel nipples, to which a set of nipple clamps was being painfully applied.

  “OH FUCK... OH FUCK... OH FUCK...”

  Don't say cucumber... Don't say cucumber... Don't say cucumber...

  The bed was creaking with the addition of the mistress's weight, her thighs spreading, and the lights above me becoming eclipsed by the side of my mistress's pussy. Without a word of warning she straddled my face, and began to slam her pelvis against my lips, her vagina smearing across my mouth in humiliation. “Go on you slut... Eat mistress's cunt... Go on, taste it... Lick that pussy...” I hurried to obey, sticking my tongue up inside of her, suffocating beneath her weight as she hopped and bounced and writhed, pushing my tongue around the juicy pink meat of her vagina, nibbling on the twat, trying to pleasure her as best I could, but getting no signs of response from my imperturbable mistress, no moans or shrieks of pleasure, but just a continued bounding of her ass up and down upon my face, as well as, quite suddenly-

  WHAM!

  I shrieked, momentarily pulling my face from her cunt, much to her annoyance. “Don't stop you whore!”

  I struggled to get back to the business at hand, but it was impossible to concentrate with what Queen Deidra was now doing on top of me. She was licking the palm of her hand, rearing back, and letting her hand swing like an axe through the air, slapping my cunt as she sat on my face, and after so much of this it was impossible to keep going. I had to pull away, screaming “FUCK, FUCK, FUCK, FUCK, FUCK,” but never cucumber, and my disobedience caused her to dismount, and to lead me into the final and most painful act of the entire experience.

  “Alright you fuck... If you aren't going to listen to your mistress, then you're going to have to be shown some real fucking discipline...”

  And shown some real fucking discipline I was...

  Before I knew it, I was being tied from the ceiling like a fucking pinata, an additional rope strung up so that my bound hands were pulled up above my head from behind, cramps radiating through my limbs like a motherfucker. Tears streamed from my eyes as she attached two metal clamps to the slick lips of my twat, digging into my flesh, the pain of their mutilation even greater than that of the nipple clamps.

  And finally, the coup de grace, a big veiny dildo on a metal rod was wheeled beneath me, attached, I noticed immediately, to the body of a machine.

  A fucking sex machine...

  I braced myself, but of course it was no use.

  She flipped the switch, and the penis sprang (ha) to life, pumping up into my pussy from below, pounding, pounding, pounding between the gouged lips of my twat, the effect of such a furious jackhammering between those two metal clamps tearing me to shreds, and behind me-

  KRACK! KRACK! KRACK! KRACK! KRACK!

  Mistress whipped my ass to shreds, and the combined effect of absolute agony, between the whipping, and the numbing lack of circulation through my limps and titties, and the nipple and twat clamps wrenching me apart, and thumping of that robotic cock like a piston into a shaft, set me over the edge with sensation, and my body fucking exploded-

  -Literally, in a certain sense...

  The orgasm ripped through me like wildfire, burning me to my core, a supreme and glorious mingling of pain and pleasure and agony and ecstasy, tearing me the fuck to shreds, my screams ear-piercing, and my eyes growing wide as I saw what was happening down below, much to my immense surprise.

  So thorough was my humiliation and so great were the depths of my sexual fury that I began to ejaculate a clear stream of fluids from my vagina, for the first time in my life squirting during orgasm, all across the floor of Mistress's dungeon.

  Mistress made me lick it up afterward...

  But holy fuck...

  By the time it was all over I could barely see straight, utterly satisfied by what quite possibly may have been my most depraved Fuck-It List experience to date.

  I made sure to write an online review for Deidra's Dungeon afterward, proponent that I am of small business ventures such as hers.

  “10/10- Had a lovely time. Very discreet. Good clean family family fun. Would submit again.”

  TO BE CONTINUED......

  Con Job

  Chapter 1

  My persona, throughout my years of high school and college, was astounding in some ways. Frankly, it was more of a disguise than anything, a false facade I displayed to the world, hiding my true motives and tendencies with elaborate care. Dawning overly large sweaters for instance, concealing the fact of my being a woman from view, and making me appear every bit as androgynous as it was possible to be. Or else, wearing my hair in the most outdated, fun-free hairstyles, often frizzy and unkempt, but always in such a way that I seemed as out of touch with current trends as it was possible to be.

  But whatever means I utilized of making myself so, mine was the general guise of a sexless, prudish young woman under normal circumstances. As abstinent and as absent physical desires as it was possible to be, perhaps straight-laced and religious, or otherwise simply harboring a general disdain for the act of intercourse and all that went along with it. A Bible thumper, in a world of bed thumpers. The female equivalent, more or less, of a damn eunuch.

  But the key word
here, I might remind you, is “facade.” This was the version of myself that I presented to the world, the safe, vanilla me that they saw on a routine basis. But this was far, far, far from the real me. The real me and the presented me were as opposite as night and day, on any number of levels.

  And that isn't to say, either, that my adoption of this guise was a wholly voluntary one. I can assure you that I didn't overtly choose to be this way. My passions ran so contrary to the way I presented myself that it sometimes drove me up the flipping wall, made me absolutely crazy. I would never have elected to live that way, were the choice mine to make, and the fact that I did live such a life should give you a clue just as to how intensely the issues holding me back truly affected me.

  Truth be told, I was simply a shy little vixen. Shy as hell, in fact. Half the time, I dared not look other people in the eyes as they passed by me in the halls or on campus, and for that simple fact alone I think they were largely tempted to pay me as little real thought as possible.

  This, on the surface, was my desired effect, but I had conflicting emotions about it to say the least. I savored being left alone, the prying eyes of the people around kept at bay my mousy, frightened demeanor. But I wished so desperately that I could display the sort of craving for other people that I truly felt deep down. That I could send that mask of mine flying, and shock the hell out of the world with the raging sexual creature that lurked deep below my surface.

  It didn't help, I supposed vainly, that I happened to be so god damn attractive. I know that sounds conceited, but really it was true. My mousy, insecure self-concealed a radiant bombshell, a girl who couldn't suffer all the attention she would have received otherwise, and thereby went about un-prettying herself to the extent possible as a means of self-preservation.

  The real me was a frankly stunning creature. With dirty blonde hair, a tight, curvy little body, fine tits, and a splendid, cushiony ass. Had I had anywhere near the constitution or demeanor for such a thing, I honestly believe my looks could have landed a reasonably successful career as a model were that my ambition. I was one fine as hell young lady...

  But of course, my fear of having anyone's eyes on me at all largely nixed that plan outright, I suppose...

  Most of the time, I kept to myself. I didn't go out, I didn't socialize, and I felt so much inhibition around others that it became almost crippling at times. Genuinely, I was a sexual demoness, with a filthy imagination and such lurid, intense cravings that it drove me wild. But given my fear of being around other people, I found myself without any real means of indulging such passionate cravings.

  I substituted the thrill of sex for that of watching anime, reading comic books, unlocking every last damn achievement in every damn video game I owned. I masturbated vigorously to hentai, as well as to whatever genre of more traditional porn that you could think to imagine. Of course, no matter what thrills I might have sought from such sources, nothing seemed at all capable of comparing to the real deal, and at the end of the day I found myself inevitably left high and dry, wishing for more than I knew could ever be a reality, and ending up so sexually frustrated that it practically made me cry.

  And that was when I made the decision to go to my first con...

  In so many ways, that decision was one that impacted my life to an untold degree, cracking me out of my shell to an extent that I'd never really believed before to be possible.

  I had had my fair share of inhibitions about going from the get-go. It was, after all, a room full of people, the precise sort of venue that I struggled on a daily basis to avoid to the extent possible. I won't pretend the very notion of going didn't make me absolutely nervous as all hell, but at the same time I was decidedly torn on the subject. As much as I may have been inclined to hesitate, I was nonetheless pulled by the desire to get the autograph of the Japanese author responsible for penning one of my favorite manga series.

  Eventually, the decision to get the signature in question won out over my fear, and I decided that, given careful planning, I could figure out a way to make it through my very first con emotionally intact.

  It was a comic con, after all, and everyone around me would be dressed up in costumes of their favorite characters. It was the perfect opportunity for me to blend in in every way, to enjoy all the fun of the con without having to subject myself to the sort of social pressure I so desperately dreaded.

  And Lord, what a liberating decision that first donning of a costume proved to be...

  It had taken me some time to settle on a costume of some random chick from an anime series I'd recently gotten into. I wouldn't call it an especially revealing costume, but it did to emphasize my, ahem, feminine assets with far greater clarity than any other damn outfit that I possessed in my entire wardrobe.

  For once, I was actually allowing myself to show off my stuff, even if I was wearing a mask in the process and continuing to make myself invisible.

  But I had to admit it to myself all the same- I looked awfully damn good...

  I was pleasantly surprised, too, upon my entry into the convention center, with just how very easily I seemed to blend into the crowd, for once without any need to hide myself intentionally. I didn't have to duck into a corner, or retreat from view or anything. People simply accepted my presence, and the fact of them swarming around me didn't seem to trouble me in the least.

  I was, frankly, stunned, my head light with this newfound sense of liberty.

  Even when I passed guys there, guys who were clearly interested in me and checking me out shamelessly, sometimes even whistling in my direction as a means of displaying their attraction- even amidst all of this, I managed to keep my cool. It was true, the modern feminist in me seemed to display a slight bit of indignation about being objectified, but given the circumstances, this normally objectionable aspect of things actually proved something of a boon to my self-esteem.

  I was attractive to men, and I wasn't afraid of the fact of my being attractive...

  This was, above all else, a landmark for me, a milestone.

  And I couldn't effing wait to get out there and enjoy it to the absolute fullest extent.

  Not only did I end up coming back home that evening with the autograph I'd come out seeking, but I'd even managed to establish myself amongst a short-term group of friends, and participated in a couple of the con's many activities before the day was over. There had even been one moment, when I was especially giddy and swept up in the presence of one of my male companions, that I allowed myself the indulgent luxury of exchanging a kiss with the young man- at age twenty, the very first kiss of my life.

  It was a wonderful kiss... Hot and sharp, wet and sweet. It left my head spinning, and set my body on fire with such feelings of arousal that I might have pounced the poor bastard, right there in the middle of the fucking convention.

  It was at that point, unfortunately, that I suddenly came snapping back to my senses, filled to the brim with terror at how far I'd let my defenses fall. As wonderful as that moment had been, in every way, it somehow seemed to serve as a sudden, immediate sort of wakeup call. My old inhibitions all came flashing back to me with relentless fury, and I found myself darting from the scene, panicking after an entire afternoon of having remained calm, cool, and collected.

  It was, I have to admit, a rather humiliating defeat...

  But still... The fact that things had gone as well as they had up to that point largely served to encourage me. It made me believe that the plethora of self-doubts that I routinely felt could possibly be overcome, and that the aid of a mask to keep me invisible to the people around me could serve to vastly simplify my life. There was, hopefully, still a chance for me to be able to unleash my inner vixen, and enjoy the pleasures of life that had so long eluded me...

  Of course, I couldn't go around on a day to day basis wearing cosplay garb... I mean, reasonably I could have in this day and age, and I'm sure that few enough people would have batted an eye at it. But I didn't want to build any sort of reputation
for myself as a weirdo, and I still, of course, had my many inhibitions to contend with on a regular basis.

  The comic con was the date which I truly awaited, my equivalent of the Super Bowl, and after a year of preparing myself emotionally and physically for it, I felt as though I was finally ready.

  I intended to screw my way through that sea of cosplayers like there was no damn tomorrow...

  Chapter 2

  The date had at last arrived. I sat idly in my car for several minutes, watching as guys and girls dressed as characters from every bit of media ever walked past in my rear-view mirror. It was a very different sort of anxiety that now filled me than that which I'd felt during my first visit to the con the year previously, and it was hard to deny the constant fluttering of butterflies in my stomach.

  I kept pulling on my outfit, particularly on the breasts and ass, feeling perpetually as though I was being pinched in either direction. Still, though, I didn't want to risk tearing it in the event I pulled too hard on the damn thing- after all, it did feel like the fucking thing was painted on, and I didn't imagine it would take all that much to damage the thing for good.