by Willow Sears
Eventually I was able to get from my knees and pull away, the spunk all over my face and in me. I felt maddened and abused but I was too incapacitated to do anything but babble curses. There was nothing for it but to get away as quickly as possible. Still blinking back the stinging tears I blundered towards the door and made my graceless exit, crashing through the rest of the party-goers with my head down to hide my shame, snarling at them when they didn’t get out of the way. It took an age before I was finally out the front door and free from their unwanted attention. I tried to gather myself and go home but the image of how foolish I must have looked wouldn’t leave and there was that one sound playing over and over in my head, the one I had heard as I stumbled swearing from the Cock Room with my mascara smudged and my eyes bleeding spunk: it was the sound of Ariadne’s laughter.
I didn’t come out of my house for two days. All I could think of was the embarrassing way I had beaten my retreat to the sound of her derision. I hated her for teasing and tricking me but hated myself more for being lulled into something I could easily have avoided, of not just being patient and waiting for her to have her fun and then get me alone to do whatever it was she planned to do with me. I was pretty sure that my chances with her were on a knife-edge and I was convinced that I would be unable to face the crowd at SaMmy’s for a very long time. If I hadn’t had a deadline for my current project to get along with I might have gone mad. Even worse I found myself not once but twice lying naked on the floor with a dildo rammed in my mouth as I rubbed my clit, dreaming about those horrible spunking cocks!
I missed X like mad. I was watching her latest video on MTV and thinking how sexy and wonderful she was. I very nearly booked a flight to go and see her but I knew she was busy and I couldn’t spare the time either. I composed a text message for her with the simple words “I love you”. It would have been the first time I had ever have said this to her, but I knew if I sent it she would want me to go see her and I just couldn’t bear turning her down again. In the end the message I sent was “I dream about you always”. That wasn’t strictly true, of course. On the second night I dreamt about Salcie, the Executioner’s Girl. The dream was as vivid as ever and I woke up with a feeling of urgency although I didn’t know what for. I rang Harvey and insisted he cancel his appointments for the morning so he could see me instead.
I barged into his office and the flustered tosspot quickly crossed his legs as always. He seemed excited and expectant, like I was going to demand something of him other than our usual session. I was trying to stay as focused on the dream as possible, mainly to avoid thinking about the fact that Harvey was also Blueberry and thus one of the witnesses to my humiliating spunk-faced exit from Ariadne’s party. I ordered him to get on with it and he duly took me under, and an hour later he was animatedly reporting that Salcie had returned and I had jabbered a full ten minutes of foreign nonsense for the benefit of the tape.
I felt like I had been purged, like Salcie had wanted this rather than me and forced the session. Strangely, I felt a little empty and alone, slightly unsettled. The thought occurred that I had actually lost a part of me, that the spirit of the Executioner’s Girl had risen and left my body, exorcised as I always thought it would be once it was driven from its hiding place within my soul. However, I was unable to find any solace in this and was unsure what good it could possibly do me now. Harvey could sense my disconsolation and again I could see him on the verge of saying something only to then stop short. I told him abruptly to have the tape translated, and then I left. I knew what was on his mind. Blueberry’s words had come back to me over the last couple of days, although I had pushed them aside, not wanting to ponder what he would request from me for any favour granted, or indeed how that fat fuck could ever actually help me.
***
I’m not generally one to wallow in self pity but I did feel like I had shot my one and only golden arrow and missed the target spectacularly. Then the final straw came with me walking into an unexpected and almost surreal situation, less than a week after my ignominious exit from the party. I had been across town, visiting a prospective stockist of one of my collections and I had gone into a store to buy a paper. I didn’t even really see her, my head full of other things. I nearly bumped into her because I wasn’t paying attention.
“Well hello, you,” she said.
I stared at her, nonplussed. I vaguely knew her but couldn’t place her. The smile was familiar but the dark-rimmed glasses were not. She was relaxed and assured and dressed in a sharp pinstripe business suit, automatically suggesting that she was no slave that I had once abused. She was no former girlfriend and I couldn’t place her as a friend of a friend. I caught a whiff of her perfume and she smelt wonderful, an aroma I knew well and which sent fragments of clues spinning around my head. Then, almost with horror it started to dawn on me. The eyes gave her away, of course. Hidden behind her frames I hadn’t really looked at them but once I did she was unmistakeable.
You might think me mad but in my defence I had never seen Ariadne without a face full of make-up before. I didn’t even know that she had a short brunette bob underneath whichever brightly-coloured wig she chose to wear to the clubs. One thing I knew was that she looked even more beautiful like this, so much purer and stronger. I had a million things to say but couldn’t get any one of them out of my mouth. The more she just stood there calmly smiling and enjoying catching me off guard, the less I could formulate any kind of strategy. In the end I stammered, “I need to see you.”
“Well you are seeing me, honey,” she replied.
I didn’t need sarcasm. I needed her to hold me and kiss me and tell me everything was alright and that she still wanted me.
“No–I need to see you alone.”
“Do you know,” she smiled, completely ignoring my plea, “the last time I was alone with someone I took a whole ten inch cock up my arse? It nearly came out of my mouth!”
It was hardly the answer I was looking for and had me buzzing with jealousy, even though I suspected she was lying just to unsettle me further. Whatever the truth her statement totally flummoxed me and I couldn’t even begin to think of a way to bring the conversation back around. She calmly stood and smiled, looking into my eyes as if trying to read my next thought, which would have been difficult because none were forming. In the end she had to speak again.
“Have you grown a nice big ten inch cock yet, Sweetie?” she said.
I understood the inference and it emptied me again of any thoughts that might have been coming. I just felt lost and ridiculous, standing there like an airhead with my jaw opening and shutting and nothing coming out, all the while feeling the horror of the slow crash and burn, the inexorable dripping away of any hope of resurrecting my power over her. And when I wasn’t feeling crushed I was being taken over by the angry realisation that she enjoyed playing these fuck-awful games with my life. I wanted her and she was pissing all over me. I was trying to forge possibly the most important relationship I would ever have and she was just casually frittering it all away. All this going through me and yet I couldn’t summon a single word to say. I think she guessed that she had pushed it too far but now she had nowhere to go but in for the kill. With me rendered mute she had to fill the silence once more.
“I guess I’ll see you around then, honey. Come and see me when you’ve grown that big cock.”
I could have lived with the first part but not the last. It was like a door slamming in my face, a permanent reminder of what she was looking for and what I could never give her. It finished me. I had nothing to say even as I saw her walk out the door and give me one final long look over her shoulder. Come back, I thought, but was unable to say it out loud. Come back and hold me and let me tell you how you fill my mind and my dreams. By the time I could make my legs move she was long gone and that was that. I went away in a daze and by the time I got home it all seemed like some mad hallucination, with me lost in some unfamiliar place being asked by an approximation of Ariadne whether or
not I had grown a ten inch cock.
I wandered about trying to separate fact from fiction but the underlying thought was that I had lost her and there was no going back. I just couldn’t understand why I had crumbled so easily. Never in my life had I been so spineless and clueless. No wonder she had simply walked away. We used to spar for fun. She had probably anticipated some sexy banter and teasing leading to suggestive witticisms. These would be followed by open propositioning and then, finally, the hottest, most urgent fuck of her life. Instead she got to see a grown woman doing a poor impression of a goldfish in the middle of a grocery store. Where had my strength gone? Where was my grit and backbone, my fight and ruthlessness? Where was the Executioner’s Girl inside me? And, of course, that’s when it hit me. The irony was almost laughable. The thing I had sought to rid myself of because I thought it would damage my relationship proved to be the one thing I most needed when the chips were down, and it had deserted me.
I didn’t really know what to do so I did what I usually did when faced with troubles of a sexual nature and used masturbation as my refuge. I stripped from the waist and looked at my pussy in the mirror, noting with my usual disgust just how small it was. It was certainly no ten inch prick. I sat on the floor with the mirror opposite (almost a self-hate measure on my part) and I took the strongest vibrator I could find and forced myself to press it to my clit. I wanted quick oblivion and exhaustion. I wanted to think nice things but I could only think of her–beautiful her that is, not the tarty, naughty Ariadne of the clubs, but the strong, sophisticated real-life Ariadne.
I pictured her on her knees with the skirt of her business suit pulled up to reveal her bare arse. I was going to get behind her and lick her bum-hole to show that I was prepared to do anything for her, but one of the Ten Inch Brothers beat me to it, crouching behind her with a cock the length of a baseball bat, slowly pushing it into her and making her beg for more, giving her the whole shaft and then pulling it out to shove it straight back up her. Then Blueberry was there too, tugging his silly cock in her face as I’m sure he had done that night of her party. Even he had got more from her than I had managed.
The whole thing made me sob, the images and the unrelenting power of the humming vibe at my clit, but still I had to press on until the bitter end. I was crying out and in my head so was she, the cock ramming in and out of her, Blueberry’s spunk splashing onto her gleeful face. As she turned to look at me and laugh, I let go and pissed all over my wooden floor.
I lay in a wet heap, breathing deeply, the last image refusing to go. Just before it faded Blueberry put his cock away, crouched down as if talking to me through a low-set camera and said, “I can make her yours if you want. But I want one thing in return.”
He would want to fuck me, that was for certain. You make a deal with the devil you expect to pay a high price. No doubt he had spent hours thinking of being inside me, of somehow tricking me out of my clothes so that he could plumb my slippery virgin cunt. I knew he thought about me all the time. I knew his stick prick was already rigid whenever I walked into his room. Stealing my secrets would have only made him more desperate to feel me on his little thing, to finally be in a tiny tight pussy that didn’t find him inadequate.
Unquestionably he would be able to sink right into me. Even with my small proportions he would find himself taken to the hilt so that my warm juices bathed his groin and trickled over his balls. I would grip him for sure but I am so slick he would be able to slide in and out with ease and jam himself with short, sharp strokes against my soft shaven mound. He could muster a lot of come for an older man and he would doubtless want to ensure that my first ever spunk-load was a hefty one. Which position, I wondered, did he picture taking me in most often? It could be that he had a plan in place from the very first time he suggested hypnotherapy for me, or maybe it only grew once he had emptied the thoughts from my defenceless brain. My pussy on his mind all that time, and now he reckoned on a way to make me give it to him.
The thought of his fat body against me sent shivers down my spine. At least he might have to keep his clothes on though, if he wanted to maintain the secret of his identity. Why was I even contemplating these things? There was no way I was going to let his ghastly prick inside me, not one attached to such a snivelling bubo of a man. Not one that had no doubt been up whores’ bums and inside blubbery, smelly old cunts. Although, of all the pricks in the world his was one I might be able to take. All I would have to do is have a quick ride in the dark in exchange for a lifetime with Ariadne. I wouldn’t have to look at him or kiss him and if that was part of his demand then I would beat him down and force a better deal. He wasn’t going to turn down my puss for the sake of some add-on niceties. It might even do me some good. It might break me in gently so that I could work up to bigger cocks and then maybe to huge ones that I would share with Ariadne, when we weren’t too busy making each other come, of course.
What if I actually enjoyed it though? I knew how wonderful a hairbrush handle felt and to have something no bigger but in flesh and blood, something that wouldn’t stop thrusting because of the intensity of my orgasm, but carry on through to force out my pleasure in full. How could I not enjoy that? And my climax was not one that I could disguise. The smug fuck had undoubtedly learnt of my squirting ways and so I couldn’t just pretend that I had pissed on him out of contempt. Plus my cum-gush was silken and sweet, not like urine at all. He would know his triumph for sure if he brought me such wet delight. I would see his smiling fat face everywhere. I wouldn’t be able to live with the knowledge that this carbuncle on legs had taken my innocence and made me wet myself. The nagging memory would have me constantly looking for tall buildings to throw myself off and even then he would haughtily chisel onto my gravestone the bare facts: that he was my one and only, and that he had made me come. I couldn’t think of a more embarrassing epitaph and even if I did resist the urge to leap under a bus then the history would still live with me, unable to be erased: him, the first I ever had, and taken by choice. It was a horrible, laughable thought and totally unthinkable. I would rather die than have his bare cock inside my body. There had to be another way to Ariadne and there was no way I would ever, ever, let that man fuck me. No way.
***
I don’t usually spend my time skulking in dark shadows looking for blobby men in fruit suits but that’s exactly what I found myself doing. I had gone to the club with bold intentions but all this had evaporated once I stepped out of the car. I had worn my dildo hot pants with the effigy of X sticking out at the groin, an added comfort to have her with me in some form as I went to claim my prize. It only took a sighting of one of the slaves who had been at the party that fateful night to have me veering away from the door and seeking the cover of darkness. Again I cursed my lack of strength and sassiness (or Salcie-ness to be more precise).
I had got there early for once so I knew I hadn’t missed him and that he was still to arrive. I also knew that he would definitely come to find me. I hadn’t been sure myself about coming, but somehow he always seemed to know more about me than I did. That’s why I reckoned his claims to be able to give me Ariadne were not to be taken lightly. He was a little bit of a wizard in that respect–a podgy and sweaty one, granted, but a wizard nonetheless. I don’t know how he would do it but he would, just as he had got me to wank him off. Unless he was very good then he would obviously have to get to her somehow, but then there was that half hour or so unaccounted for at her party, when he was alone with one of the most voracious Dommes since records began and yet he had walked out of it apparently scot-free, claiming nothing had happened. So what had happened?
I spied his approach. All sorts were turning up along the street in cars and taxis, often getting as close to the doors as possible (going to fetish clubs in costume is great until you have to consider the logistics of getting there without turning too many heads). I had missed him alighting but caught him when he was still some distance down the street, fastening the little zip at the nape of
his skin-tight suit which allowed him to slip the full head mask on and off. He removed his long dark coat and folded it over his arm and hey presto! he was ready: one minute plain old Doctor Harvey, just going about his innocent business, the next Blueberry, Arch Frequenter of Fetish Clubs! God bless him for only having the one costume, it made him so easy to pin down. As he approached I sprang out, grabbed him by the throat and dragged him back into the shadows. I had him up against the wall, my face set in a snarl, my dildo poking hard into his groin.
“I want that girl, Blueberry,” I said, “and you’re going to tell me how to get her. Do you understand?”
He did. I already had my car waiting by in case my courage faltered, so once I had called it up I pulled him across the road and bundled him into the back. I stayed silent on the journey, trying to work out the best way to extricate the information from him with as little cost to myself. I decided that beating it out of him was probably favourite. I took him to my Scold Room and sent the car away. I could see his wonky eyes bright behind the mask but he was cowering and nervous. He had bitten off a little more than he could chew trying to deal with me and I think this was sinking in. I made him stand in the centre of the room so that I could silently walk around and glower at him and make him even more ill at ease before I sauntered over to the rack of weapons and took my time to select a long thin cane to use on his sorry arse. I crossed back to him, took him by the arm and bent him over one of my spanking couches, securing his wrists into the cuffs on either side. He didn’t try to fight, although he drew his hips forward in trepidation as I laid the cane across his shining blue buttocks.
“Listen carefully, my fat fruit,” I said. “I need to know how to get Ariadne. You said you could make her mine, so I would like you to tell me how.”