by Sasha Bond
At the top was a pair of high-heels, the same red as my nails and lipstick, together with a huge assortment of shiny thin straps in the same color. I instantly recognized them as the shoes she had designed for her fashion class. I had never seen the finished product, but enough partial drawings of straps and heels to recognize them.
"But those..." I wanted to object, knowing that they should be kept as a memento to her college days, but a finger on my lips silenced me.
"I designed those for you to wear them. Only for you. Don't reject them."
So I carefully set them aside on the table and removed the layer of paper underneath. There I found a matching mini skirt and G-string. The skirt was made from some shiny synthetic material. Holding it in front of my hips, I noticed that it really deserved the name 'mini' - once worn, it would end less than a hand's width below my buttocks. It was shorter than anything - save my gym shorts - that I had ever worn, and with embarrassment I realized that I'd have to be really cautious when I was sitting down or moving quickly, unless I wanted to flash my private parts to the world.
"Go on," Rachel nudged me, before I could voice any form of protest, "have a look at the blouse."
Blouse was a bit of an overstatement, I quickly found out. It was done in the same red color, with a low neckline and not long enough to cover my navel. The sleeves, on the contrary, were full length. There was a wide, heart-shaped cut-out in the back that left little more than a finger width of material holding the fabric together, and smaller hearts on the shoulders. The front had a row of small, darker red and also heart-shaped gems running down in the middle.
"So, what do you think?"
I stared at Rachel a bit shaken. I didn't want to offend her, but the whole ensemble just screamed...
"Slutty?" She asked, picking the words from my tongue and making me agree with a nod before I even was aware that I was doing so. That made her giggle. "Perfect. You're going to be quite embarrassed wearing it, won't you?"
"Y - yes, Ma'am." I had to concede the point.
"Then put them on, I want to see how you look."
"Mistress?" I asked tentatively, taking stock of the clothes laid out there.
"Yes?"
"There isn't a bra, Ma'am."
"Yes."
That was all she said on the topic, making it clear that this wasn't an oversight on her part. So I fumbled my way into the clothes, while she rummaged through her wardrobe for her own outfit and vanished into the bathroom.
I put on the G-string first - it was tiny, barely covering my pussy lips, and I had to pull the string in the back all the way into my ass crack to be able to pull the horizontal one up to my hips. It was followed by the skirt. Despite its flimsiness, it was more than I had worn the last close to twenty four hours. It didn't have a label inside, so had to look closely to determine which side was the front. There were a lot of tiny loops of fabric and what looked like push buttons sewn inside and which I could make neither heads nor tails of. Two zippers ran vertically down the sides. The small pocket next to each zipper finally helped me figure out front and back though.
The top was tight. Really, really tight. If I was trying it on in a shop, I'd probably ask to try the one two sizes bigger. Yet I put it on, and even though it stretched a bit, it ended shortly below my breasts, which were quite tightly enclosed and pressed together. I could see every tiny bump on my nipples through the fabric. The thought of going out like this was almost unbearably embarrassing!
My heart beat like mad when I started to put on the shoes. Once I took a closer look at them, I gasped. The heel had to be more than four inches, but that wasn't the most outstanding attribute. In the place where the strap across the toes was on a normal sandal, they featured an individual loop of leather for each toe. The rest of the straps across the instep were normal. But the most prominent feature was a horizontal steel bar from the heel to the sole, an inch above the tip of the heel, and adorned with a metal ring that had two smaller, oval rings on top. A stylized bunny!
I slipped on the left shoe and wiggled my toes into their loops. A wider strap ran up my heel and wrapped around my ankle, buckling at the back, and two vertical straps went up the front and back of my calves, ending in another horizontal one. They had small silvery protrusions every half inch or so, and the significance of the length of thin straps that came with the heels became clear to me. But before I started to try to attach them, I put on the second shoe.
When Rachel left the bathroom, looking quite the elegant seductress in her green and gold Chinese dress and with her hair done up, I had gotten no further with the straps, and the one I had been fumbling with dropped to the floor.
"You look breath-taking, Mistress!"
She twirled around, big golden hoops with small, emerald green stones in their middle sparkling in the light, and grinned at me. "It's original Chinese, mum had it made for me on their holiday in Beijing.
"I love it!" I declared. Her lean figure was simply made for this style of dress.
"Still struggling with the leg straps?"
"Yes, I've got no idea how to tie them, Ma'am."
"Let me. Hop on the couch and lie on your back." She had them done in a minute on both legs, but they were her brainchild after all. She did pull them quite tight though, but a cautious complaint from me was brushed to the side. "Finished," she declared, "and you're allowed to walk now."
We both got up, and I took a few hesitant steps in my new - and first - pair of high heels. Walking in them went better than I had feared, but perhaps all the ballet training and sports in my youth did give me an advantage. The straps around my toes felt a bit strange, but they looked exciting. Those around my calves encased them rather tight, making me aware of every little movement in my legs while I walked. I felt quite sensuous.
"Let's go." Rachel hurried.
"Let me just fetch my purse, Ma'am," I answered and walked towards the wardrobe.
"You don't need it. I've got everything we'll need in mine."
When we left the flat and Rachel locked the door, I felt like she was locking away a part of my past at the same time.
She took my trembling hand in hers and led me down the hallway. What would our co-eds say if they saw me like this? Any moment I expected one of the doors in the wall to open and a pair of eyes staring at me in shock. But, luckily, that didn't happen, and by the time we were outside in the parking lot the sun had begun to settle and I was able to enjoy the warm breeze and the colorful sky.
I hopped onto the passenger seat of Rachel's old black pickup, and with her war cry of, "Let's hit the road, Beth!" we were off into the sunset.
UNCHAINED
PART ONE
I wasn’t sure there was a clear distinction between love and sex. I’m still not entirely sure. I just know that I never expected to meet HIM and I never expected to lose myself so completely. It was just supposed to be wild fun. Passion. Letting go. Complete and unadulterated submission. But then all this happened and I’m not sure if I know who I am anymore. In fact, I’m not sure I ever really knew. What’s even better is that I don’t care. I get to live out my wildest sexual fantasies, day in, day out…with HIM. He will be home soon, so let me take you back to the moment this beautiful madness began…
My name is Emma Stone and, according to everyone I’ve ever spoken to regarding this subject, there is no middle ground. The thought of being surrounded by a dozen or more naked men either makes a girl feel scared and horrified…or weak at the knees and wet where it matters most. Through no ‘choice’ of my own, I’ve always found myself pitched firmly in the latter camp. At the relatively late age of twenty, I saw and held my first real penis and, from that moment, I was secretly hooked. Gary Pearson was his name; the first guy. I gave him a drunken handjob in a local nightclub toilet. He tried to finger me, but it was awkward and painful so I knocked his hand away. I’d always been a ‘good-girl’ on the outside. I went to church on a Sunday, studied hard at school…all the usual ‘good-girl’ stu
ff. I even play the violin. But after that four minute handjob, some thirteen years ago, I was instantly fascinated with the male form. I watched porn for hours when I got home at 2.30am that morning; just looking, transfixed. I wanted to touch, hold and stroke men. Personally, I think that just makes me human; and honest. We spend our lives pretending to be other people; performing our jobs, our roles in society and ignoring that persistent itch to live out our primal desires. The truth of the matter is that most guys bore me and I had yet to find a boyfriend who was kinky enough to truly satisfy me. When my boyfriend of three years left me for another woman, I decided throw caution to the wind and treat myself to my ultimate fantasy. Not wanting friends to ‘talk me out of it’ or label me some kind of ‘slut’, I kept it to myself. In the world of online anonymity, I decided to advertise myself on a certain popular website page; exposing in the way that I had always secretly longed for.
Three days later, my ad appeared:
" Lonely, horny, desperate girl is tired of normal guys and needs to be fulfilled (in all way imaginable) by at least twelve men. 30-something, tall, slim, athletic: 5' 8”, 34B, 115 lbs. Send pictures of you and your friends. If your group is selected, you pay for a nice hotel suite. I show up and you do as you please. BDSM encouraged, safe-words must be respected... I have a second Dan black-belt in karate and am more than capable of defending myself. But I want to used. I need to be vulnerable. I’m all yours. Come. Use me.
Yours for a night, ‘ME’ "
Within twenty four hours, I had a flood of replies, most of which were unnecessarily graphic (which turned me on even more). Part of me wondered if I could really go through with this, but I silenced that timid voice. People do this stuff all the time and there is nothing ‘wrong’ with sex, I told myself. ‘But it’s dangerous’, a little voice in my head said. Yes, but so is everything…and I have a second Dan black-belt in karate…
That little mind-argument made me chuckle. I was bullied at school for all the typical reasons. Until I was around fifteen, I was short, chubby, wore glasses and never stood up for myself. Upon receiving a beating in the summer holidays, my dad enrolled me in karate class. The instructor said I was a ‘natural’. After the holidays were over, I arrived back in school. No glasses, thirty pounds lighter, a more upright posture and the beginnings of a feminine six-pack. Over the next six months I grew to be the second tallest girl in school. My mousey brown hair grew long and needless to say that nobody picked on me anymore! In fact, as few of the guys in the year above kept making rude remarks about my ass and what they’d like to ‘do to me’. I just ignored them. Boys had never interested me at school and now they were drooling over me, I just enjoyed watching them.
Checking over the email replies on the train journey home from work, I chose a group of fifteen guys, mainly because that was the largest number, they were all fit, handsome and toned and their email reply made me shiver.
" Dear Lonely, horny, desperate girl…
Our fifteen male bodies ache for you. We are a group of handsome single guys who play soccer together. We will strip you down and treat you the way you wish to be treated. We won't stop (unless you use the safe word "RED LIGHT"). Unless you use that safe word, prepared to be fucked like you never imagined possible. You will be whipped and degraded for the whore that you long to be, and you will love every minute of the attention. You know you want us.
All of us for a night, ‘Fifteen’ "
Fifteen guys. I became instantly wet just at the thought of it. I was going to be a porn star for a night. This was my show. I read that reply over and over again as the train pulled away from the station. Even though I knew the guy opposite was watching, my inhibitions flew out of the window and, as the train picked up speed, I slid my hand under my skirt. I could see the bulge growing in his trousers as he simply smiled at me. Staring at his groin, I traced a finger around my glistening clit and, as I watched his bulge begin to twitch a little, I slid my index finger deep inside my aching thirty-three-year-old clean-shaven pussy.
“No one is watching” I mouthed to him, peering around the empty train, my finger now hooking inside me, searching for my G-spot. He looked over his shoulder, before extending his neck to check the cabin was completely empty. He coughed a little nervously.
“Don’t be shy, we’re all just human. We all have…needs…” I whispered, sliding my finger out of my aching vagina and popping it into my mouth. He reached for his fly and began to unzip his suit trousers. Raising my short skirt and lifting my left leg onto the chair, I pulled aside my black thong, giving the stranger direct sight of my pussy. I edged two fingers inside myself as he awkwardly fumbled with the buttons on his boxers. I guessed he’d be about fifty to fifty five years old and, as his long, thin cock sprung into view, I gasped. Just as I could feel my pussy begin to tighten and contract around my finger, the rear door of the cabin opened. The ticket inspector stared ahead. As I pulled down my skirt the guy opposite looked panicked.
“It’s okay, you still have time” I whispered, holding out all five fingers on my right hand. He gripped his rigid cock in his fist. I nodded, urging him to continue. “Trust me” I whispered, lowering my thumb, leaving four fingers now extended. Slowly, he began to work his shaft again. Up and down. Head to balls. Tip to base. Up and down. His nervous breath became frantic as I kept one eye on the approaching ticket inspector. I nodded again, lowering another finger as the inspector checked the empty seats half way down the cabin. Ten seats away now, I lowered another finger. The guy frantically fisted his penis. The head of his cock was now leaking sticky pre-cum onto the whites of his knuckles. Seven seats away, I lowered another finger, now holding up only one. I nodded, and as the rhythm of his wanking few fever pitch, I lowered my final finger. As I clenched my fist, pumping an invisible dick in time with his, the red-faced guy shot a boat load of cum high into the air. It splattered across the floor, around a metre in front of him. The inspector was only now three seats away, as another thick wad of spunk flew from the guy’s helmet, landing on the left knee of his suit trousers. A final spew of milky cream projected upwards, seeping down onto his hand as the inspector walked one seat behind.
“Tickets?” he asked, appearing next to us in the aisle. I fumbled in my bag, handed him my ticket and he stamped a hole in it with a machine. As he turned his eyes to the guy opposite, his eyes fell upon a thick white blob spunk in the middle of the floor.
“Someone spilled something. Probably drunk students messing around…” I said, shaking my head in mock-disapproval and pointing at the floor. The guy opposite had covered his cum-soaked trousers with his large green jacket. I knew his semi-hard cock was still under that coat as, breathing heavily, he handed his ticket to the inspector…
***
I was text messaging a guy called ‘Carl’ (the captain of the soccer team) and it was he who arranged for a suite at the nicest hotel in town. All I had to do was show up horny. This was not a difficult task considering that I could barely even think straight in anticipation. In our pre-meeting text negotiations, he only ordered that I do not touch my own pussy or tits for anything sexual for at least forty eight hours prior to arriving at the hotel. I loved that domination, but between that and my sexual frustration, I was all but ready to blow.
I washed myself carefully, and applied some glitter dust to my tits. A little stubble had grown back, and I shaved it was so difficult not glide my fingers over my clit. I wanted this to be right, I wanted to be a good mistress, so I resisted. I used a dark red lip stain, figuring this would look good as they watched my lips slide up and down their shafts. I put on a red leather corset with black fishnet stockings held up by garters, and long, zip up gloves. I really loved the bondage look but Phillip, my ex, was too much of a ‘gentleman’ to treat me like a whore. The corset made my already perky breasts even firmer, and barely covered my pert, pink nipples. It cinched in my waist with delicious pain. My ass was bare except for the elastic straps from the garters, and my pussy was totally
exposed – they had instructed me not to wear underwear. I threw on a long coat, took a deep breath and hailed a taxi.
“To the Casabian Hotel” I half-whispered to the driver; my stomach churning and my heartbeat growing ever quicker.
***
Carl told me the room number in advance, so I swept into the elevator and found myself at the top floor. The Penthouse suite. I knocked eight times, as ordered, paused, and then knocked seven times. Fifteen knocks in total; one for each eager cock that awaited me in that room.
From inside, I could hear conversations and laughing and, as I knocked for a fifth time, the room fell silent. After a moment, a gorgeous, toned guy with long wavy dark hair and deep blue eyes answered the door. I was soon to learn that this was Carl, the guy I'd been corresponding with prior to my arrival. He invited me in and slid behind me, gently slipping the coat from around my shoulders, revealing me in my bondage finery. Suddenly, I felt shy, vulnerable; and I wasn't at all sure how this fantasy would begin, let alone how it may end.
Carl had told me he'd done this a few times before, but none of his ‘team-mates’ had. He put his hand on my back and guided me to the first guy and introduced him.