by Violet Blue
Each time I smacked the hard wood against her leg, her body would become rigid, and she would move, ever so slightly, with the force of it, then lie back, motionless, waiting for the next strike. Her eyes were becoming wild and desperate, pleading with me to stop, but her beautiful painted mouth remained silent, unable to form any words. How awful for her, to not be able to stop me, to just have to lie there and take it, pain twisting and whirling inside her head, to have to give over like this. I was so mesmerized by her inanimate limbs, her manic emerald eyes. She was ever such a good dolly, really. I would have been squirming all over the place if it had been me.
Still, I decided I didn’t want to take any chances. I landed a particularly brutal final smack on poor Dolly’s leg, watching with satisfaction as it burnt a furious red next to the crisscrossing random ovals I had already created, and hopped off the bed. I needed to find something to make sure she couldn’t get away from me, could never leave her little girl and all these fun games we were having…. Now, where would Daddy have put it…? Aha! There it was. I wriggled myself underneath the bed, reached out my fingers and finally managed to grab the ends of a tightly wound pile of ropes. I was sure Dolly wouldn’t try to play any tricks on me, but you never know. Better to be on the safe side with these things, especially when your dolly is big enough to overpower you, force you over her knee and dish out just the same punishment you’ve given her.
I scrambled to my feet and began neatly uncoiling them, taking hold of Dolly’s wrists and wrapping the rope securely around them again and again, tying it firmly in a knot. I could feel the rough edges scratching at my fingertips, and thought how it must feel for Dolly to have it digging tightly into her hands like that, how helpless she must feel right now. It made me a little fidgety and excited to think about that. Carefully, I pulled Dolly’s floppy body up so she was sitting, and began wrapping the ropes around her in pretty symmetrical patterns, pulling tight across all the parts that feel nice, admiring the shimmery green taffeta poking through the gaps in the rope and stroking where it cut into her soft arms. She looked so lovely all tied up like that, just waiting for me to decide what to do with her. So vulnerable: my little fairy-tale girl trapped inside her spellbound shell.
Finally, I took the last piece of rope and twisted it around her ankles, just to make extra sure she wasn’t going anywhere, then pushed her up against the head of my bed so I could see her properly. She was looking quite a bit more disheveled now, her dress all scrunched up, her socks starting to fall down a little. She wasn’t smiling so much either. Her panties were still tangled up around her knees, her legs a bright red mess of hairbrush-shaped welts, her torso squeezed tightly beneath twisting ropes. She looked even more beautiful now. I crawled over to her, watching her wince just a little, afraid of what I might do next, and I sat myself snugly on her lap, my legs straddling her helplessly bound body. It almost made me feel guilty for doing mean things to her. Almost.
Instead, I gently picked up my hairbrush and began to delicately run it through her tousled hair, smiling as I felt the tension in her body dissipate. It must be terrible, to not know what’s coming next; to not know if I would make her smile slip even farther down her lovely face, puddling in smears of makeup teardrops on the tip of her chin, or if I would stop and do nice things to her instead. She deserved nice things now, I decided. Even if she might not later.
“There, there, little Dolly…” I murmured soothingly, admiring how her hair shone so prettily as I brushed it. “I won’t hurt you anymore… You’ve been such a good little Dolly… So very, very good.”
Tenderly, I stroked her pale cheek, cool and pliable beneath my touch. I was so near to her now I could smell the delicate rose scent of her hair, inhaling it, burying my face in the folds of blackness; it felt like she was swallowing me up like that, like her hair was wrapping around me and cocooning me in its comforting embrace. I let the hairbrush fall to my side, forgotten, as my fingers coaxed the tangles from it, bringing it to my lips and closing my eyes as the silky strands fell across my face. My body was pressed in so close to hers now, I could feel the knots of the ropes digging into my chest as I pushed myself ever closer, rubbing my cheek against hers, holding her face in my hands and lifting it toward mine, gazing at it with longing and curiosity.
Slowly, uncertainly, almost frozen with hesitation and shyness, I pressed my lips against her painted mouth. It was so strange; it felt like my breath was sucked into her, her coolness evaporating, like she was real and unreal and something else all at once; like the fairy godmother had come and given her life at last. She tasted like violet sweets and sugary tea, her syrup-like spit slipping across my tongue as I pushed deeper, feeling the sharp pearls of her teeth, the curve of the roof of her mouth. Her movement still surrendered to me, she gave in as my mouth possessed hers; her fragile limbs still trapped, so beautifully bound; so perfectly, motionlessly submissive.
Beneath me, my thighs still crushingly circled her bound torso, the handiwork of my ropes so alluringly abrasive between my legs that just grinding into her made my nerves short-circuit; like I could see little blue sparks darting off of us where our bodies met, except my eyes were closed and all I could see were colors. She seemed to understand this, my Dolly, as she pushed her body up harder against mine, not a sound slipping from her lips as I twisted and turned and squirmed upon her, her intoxicating closeness enough to fill me with such beautiful sensations I would just explode if they weren’t released.
But I knew they would be. I knew if I kept doing this, they would flood out of me like a dazzling flash of white light, dizzying and head spinning and soaringly beautiful, ripping through each of my nerve endings like I was some kind of giant electricity pylon. For those precious few moments, when I could feel myself climbing, when I could see the other side and knew I was on the precipice, when the warm glow emanating from within me started to spread outward; those were the moments I managed to pull my mouth away from hers enough to look into her perfect face and know that she could really, truly see me as it happened.
I wonder if she could feel my chest hammering against hers afterward. I think she probably could, since it felt like it was going to jump out of my throat and into hers. Kissing the lids of her emerald-green eyes, I pulled her closer to lie next to me, cocooned in my ropes, my arms entwined around her body. I knew there were many more games we had yet to play. Together, we slept in dreamless sleep and waited for Daddy to come home.
NO REST FOR THE WICKED
Jacqueline Applebee
Fear and desire have always meant the same thing to me. Roller coasters, scary movies and ghost stories all have the same effect. Fear turns me on.
Phillip was the boy next door. He was fourteen, four years older than me when his family moved in. Phillip was tall and surprisingly strong. I’d invite myself over and then proceed to make fun of the way he looked; goad him with cruel words just so he’d pay me the kind of attention I craved. That usually meant he would pick me up, and dangle me over the railing of the stairwell. I would always scream and laugh. He would always peek at my knickers as he held me by my legs, shaking me until I apologized. I loved it. I used to feel a fluttering as the beats of sensation traveled across my groin. My body used to feel funny ‘down there’ in a time before I had words for sexual arousal: dirty perv or happy little slut.
Phillip soon caught onto my games but he never took it personally. With the passing years my little body grew big and buxom. Philip and I played off and on, our adventures getting bolder as we grew older, but once I put on the extra weight, the dangling over the stairwell ended.
Philip and I remained good friends as adults; each of us had a mutual respect for the other’s depravity. When my friend got engaged to a burlesque performer named Fanny Royale, I wished him all the best. I knew his wife-to-be would have a fine time with my naughty neighbor. I received an invite to their wedding a few months later, which is where I met Ken. As soon as I saw him I felt the familiar tingle over my labia
. The wedding reception was held in a hotel on the Brighton coast. The happy couple celebrated with a disco that ran late into the night. I’d spent most of the evening flirting unsuccessfully with Fanny’s bad-boy friends. I admired long arms decorated with tattoos, hard silver and steel in lips and brows. However, not one of them wanted to have a dance, share a drink or feel me up. It was nothing to lose sleep over, but I was pissed that they wouldn’t at least give me a try.
Ken was different. He looked straight-laced, dressed as he was in a cream linen suit. Unlike most of the other men, Ken had no visible piercings and no tattoos on show either. His floppy brown hair was the only thing relaxed about him. He was the complete opposite of the kind of man I’d usually be attracted to. He moved slowly and gracefully like he was about to start a waltz. But his brown eyes never stopped moving, darting this way and that. Of course he made a beeline for the dance floor.
There was something about this man, something hidden that made the flutter intensify, like ice being rubbed across my nipples. I was intrigued to find out what it was about him that made me tingle with fear.
Ken, for his part, was unsure of me: a big woman radiating fuck-me-now vibes with every heave of my bosom. He sauntered over to me, keeping time to the music. He was intrigued too. A waitress scooted past with a tray of little cakes. Ken swiped two, passed one to me, and then licked his fingers. “Sweet.”
I held the cake out at arm’s length.
“Not hungry?” he asked. “You gotta love cake.”
“I’m allergic to milk.”
“That must be a pain.” He looked a little embarrassed.
I shrugged, passed the cake back to him. “I can handle it.”
“Does that mean if I kiss you, you’ll go into shock?”
“You’d have to have a mouthful of cream for that to happen,” I said with a wink.
Ken grinned at me. “Kinky.” He ate the second cake in a few quick bites, and then he held out his hands, drawing me farther onto the dance floor. Standard wedding reception music played; power ballads and soft rock, but we danced anyway. The music suddenly changed just as I got into the rhythm. The tune that played was a fusion: old school jazz mixed with a techno beat. I latched on to the trumpets and clarinets and moved sensually, undulating like there was no one else in the room save for Ken and me. I felt his eyes on my body as he danced close, but not too close. His gaze traveled up and down though it kept returning to my breasts, trapped as they were in a laced-up bodice. I swung my big round arse an inch from his crotch. After a moment’s hesitation he took hold of me; firm hands pulled me back so I could feel the solid mound that pulsed just like the track that played. We moved together, reckless, dancing like it was foreplay, although I received a couple of nasty looks from the skinny bridesmaids in their frilly dresses.
By the time the third tune ended, my dress was stuck to me in indecent places, but I was still hesitant to move away. I could feel Ken’s sure hands with fingers that were certainly making an impression. It was time for me to take it further or stop and walk away.
Ken saved me any worry. “Let’s get out of here.” He was smooth and willing too, but I wondered if he really had the sharp flash of danger that I needed.
I led Ken up to my hotel room. I shut the door behind us, flicked on the small table lamp so we weren’t in utter darkness. Ken swayed his shoulders; at first I thought he was dancing to the remnants of the tune that I could still hear playing if I strained my ears hard enough, but he was simply taking off his jacket. He turned, caught me looking at him. I grinned and started unlacing my top. That was when I felt the mood change. Ken was still, probably for the first time the whole evening.
“Problem?” I slipped the garment over my head and reached back to unhook my bra. Ken reached out a hand to stop me.
“You sure about this?” He gave me a long look. “You don’t have to prove anything.”
I gave him a sideways look. “You’ve never had a fat girl before have you?” I caught the rise of color that blossomed and then disappeared almost immediately. “There’s just more to play with, that’s all.” I slid my arm around him trying not to sound desperate, but I was so horny I couldn’t help myself. I circled him, pressed the swell of my belly to his back, danced around to his front. “What do you want to do, lover?” I drawled. “I saw you gazing at my tits all night.” Ken’s eyes dropped to my breasts. His dark hair flopped down. “Do you want to come on them?” He visibly swallowed at that. “You could push me to my knees, make me suck you off, and then you could decorate my skin with globs of your thick white come.” I swept my hands to his crotch. It felt like a wedge of steel was stuck there. I smiled to myself as I continued. “Or do you want to pinch my nipples, make me cry and then beg you to soothe the pain with your spunk?” I unclipped my bra, held both hands above my head and swayed to and fro. “Like I said, there’s plenty to play with if you want to be really naughty.”
Ken took off his shirt, glaring at me the whole time. I saw an intricate tattoo that curled in a circle around his right nipple in a pattern of red, blue and black.
“Nice,” I said, nodding to his chest. Ken crossed his arms looking self-conscious. “Does it signify anything?”
“Ancient history,” he muttered.
“Oh, did you use to be a bad boy?”
“Yes,” he whispered. “You wouldn’t have liked me back then. I was a different person.”
I laughed and hit him on the arm. “Silly, I love bad guys. Where’s the thrill in being safe?”
I hardly had time to think before Ken’s hand was on my shoulder. “Get on your knees.” He pushed me down.
“Oh, I’m a lucky girl. You didn’t even spank me first.”
Ken froze with one hand on his fly. “Get up.”
I stifled a laugh as I stood. Ken whipped off his belt and doubled it in his hand like a pro. I shimmied out of my skirt and knickers and then bent over the bed. Sensation, I thought. Life is all about sensation. Make me feel present, make me feel alive. Make me feel something I can remember when you’ve long gone.
The first crack sounded incredibly loud. It was swiftly followed by another and another. There was no warm-up, no gentle swats, just intense blows of his belt on my arse. It was fantastic.
“You’ve got a dirty mouth,” Ken crooned. “But I’ll put that to use later, just you wait and see.”
I arched my bottom higher. “Promises, promises,” I sang from the bed, but then I stopped as I felt his hand on the back of my neck. My clit screamed as the air diminished. I gasped and wriggled. Ken let me go.
“Why did you stop?”
“I don’t want to kill you.”
“You aren’t going to kill me.” I sighed with disappointment.
Ken gaped at me. “What the hell are you on?”
I wanted to tell him that I was high on life, or some other new age shit, but I held his hand instead. I place his palm flat against my throat. “This feels good. This turns me on.”
He said nothing as he pressed me to the bed again. His hand returned to the back of my neck. I felt a pressure, but not too much. His hold was restraining, not threatening. The other hand was also busy; he continued to use the belt to beat my arse hard. But after a while that wasn’t enough. Ken used his bare hands. I appreciated the difference between cold animal hide and warm human flesh. I could feel the sting where five tips of his fingers had made their mark. It’s not often that I enjoy being a voyeur, but at that moment, I’d have done anything just to see his hand-print, a scarlet shade on my pale flesh. I’d have loved to see how my ample bottom jiggled with every spank delivered. My face pressed into the mattress instead. My hips bucked up, wanting more, wanting him. My wish was granted when I felt Ken’s fingers press into my cunt that was hot, sticky and hungry. My internal muscles squeezed and clenched around the invasion.
“I ought to just shove my whole hand inside you,” he said with a snarl in his voice. “You’d scream then, wouldn’t you?”
I
struggled beneath his hold, nodding my head fractionally.
“You think you’re so bad. But I’m gonna show you.”
The hand on my neck was suddenly gone. He twisted me around so that I lay facing him. Ken gave me just a second to gasp in a breath before he knelt over my wide hips. I was aware of the solid weight of him. I could not move an inch.
“When was the last time you did sit-ups?” he asked with a grin. His cock was free, pointing straight at me. I eased myself up with difficulty to plant a kiss to the head of his cock, relishing the salty goodness that collected at the tip. “This isn’t going to work.” He climbed off me, but in a flash, he dragged me off the bed to kneel on the floor. I felt Ken’s hand as he gripped the ends of my curly brown hair, pulling my head back. A slice of pain shot through me. My mouth opened without a second thought. Ken stifled my cries with his cock, pushing it all the way in on the first go. I gagged around it for a few seconds, and then I welcomed that bad boy home. I wasn’t blowing him, I didn’t get a chance to use any technique, but I let myself be face-fucked until my lips burned, my tongue ached and I was ecstatic with pleasure. Ken slammed his hips against me, his cock deep inside my mouth. We both held ourselves still as he came. I gulped him down. He tasted wonderful.