Maddy Sheridan smiled down at me, as I knelt on the stone patio outside the ballroom and dabbed the wine from her skirt with my tie. I worked fast, terrified someone would walk out the french doors and catch me there. I worked fast, I felt my face red with shame...but my erection was straining my black dress pants, and I couldn't tear my eyes from her knowing, pleased expression. Her gray eyes dug into me, hooked me and kept me. I felt the moan grow in my throat but fought it. "Don't look at me, Tom, look at your work." I immediately bent my head and stared hard at the spot of red wine on her gray skirt. Steel gray to match her eyes, I thought, and had to fight not to look back up at them. The moan did escape when she began to stroke my hair. I leaned in against her hand, but kept rubbing. Maddy laughed. "That's a good boy, Tom," she crooned, and her fingernails grazed the nape of my neck. I fought the feeling that came over me whenever Maddy focused her attention on me - she was the only woman who'd ever made me swoon like that - and leaned ...

My name is Mark Otter, and I'm the advertising manager for Impact Enterprises. I was having a fairly normal business meeting with Todd Klass, the account representative for Bombshell Distribution, the company who did 60% of our printing and mailing. Todd and I had done business for a long time, and considered ourselves professional friends. We often had long business lunches, and occasionally we played golf. As advertising manager, I was entitled to a fairly large and well-decorated office. We were sitting in two couches that occupied one corner or the room. I never liked talking to people across a desk; it just seemed impersonal. Todd wanted to see the drafts for a new promotion we were planning, so I called my secretary Rochelle and asked her to bring them in. When she did, Todd's jaw dropped right through the carpeting. "Everything OK?" I asked. "That was Rochelle, wasn't it? She's been your secretary for about five years now?" "Yeah, that's her." "What's with that skirt she's wearing?" It was a fairly conservative black, knee-length, fitted skirt with one unusual feature. "You mean, what's with the fly in front?" "Well yeah. I mean, she isn't, uh." "Yeah, she got herself an implant a little while ago. I guess it'll start showing soon." "Oh, that's a shame. I always thought she was such an attractive girl." "She still will be. ...

We all tend to blame others for our misfortunes; in my case, I blame Sandra Foxley. Sandra and I had a great affair for three months but she called me on a Thursday night and said we were finished. This left me with nothing to do Friday night so I went bar hopping and that's how the trouble started. I was at the Shanghai Bar; the third stop and the fourth beer of the evening. Oakland was playing the Yankees on TV when the alien approached me. He didn't look very odd at first, although I noticed later that his eyes were more purple than blue and had no lashes. He mostly kept his hands in his pockets; otherwise, I would have noticed right away that his palms had thumbs on both sides. "You look like a guy with time on your hands," he said. "How about a beer?" I replied, "Sure, why not? My girl dumped me yesterday, claiming I don't satisfy her any more. Pretty damn depressing, don't you think?" "Well, I can help you pass the time and offer you a new experience, if you're interested," said the alien. "Would you be willing to take a harmless medical exam for research? It won't take long and we pay triple." Oakland was losing anyway. "Sure, why not? ...

Central University was just another private college with declining enrollment. The school had discontinued football three years earlier, and basketball seemed next to go. The team had lost five straight games and it's overall record was 4 and 12. The nation was at peace; the economy was rolling; and medical science had eradicated all sexually-transmitted diseases, including AIDS. Social mores were relaxing. In that climate, the CU cheerleaders desperately proposed this incentive: After every victory, they'd cheer the next game topless. The effect was immediate: Central University won its next game. As the final buzzer sounded, all seven cheerleaders threw their sweaters and bras to the players, performed a five minute drill, and followed the players into the locker room. As promised, they cheered the next game bare-breasted, then another. The team was on a 3-0 streak, so to speak. Tickets promptly sold out for the rest of the season. Everyone was happy except, of course, the local guardians of morality. A coalition of conservative groups quickly sued the college, demanding an immediate cover-up. Pending trial, the judge issued a restraining order against the cheerleaders and the team went 1-3 over its next four games. During preparation, the judge spent many long hours reviewing video tapes and other evidence of the alleged crime. Then, at trial, the judge asked that the evidence be displayed in the ...

I had parked the car in the usual spot, the middle of the carpark out front of her office, the car pointing straight at the double glazed doors. The doors were dispatching dozens of smartly dressed office workers, some secretaries, some directors. But all heading straight for their parked cars and eager to get home. Eventually, as usual, out she came, Debbie my wife. A young guy in a smart suit and a tan holding open the door for her. She briefly smiled back at him, then trotted down the three or four marble steps before walking straight towards her waiting husband sat in the family run-around. As she approached the car I could see she had a smile she simply could not remove, diminish or hide. She was beaming. Her long black hair swished in the breeze of the evening and she removed her pinstripped jacket, folding it carefully, before opening the door to sit inside. As she did I leaned forward to offer her a loving peck. She quickly put her finger up to stop me, so she could first place her jacket on the back seat, beore turning back to face the front and quickly kissing me on the ...

Desire wandered its domain like a cat. It had been frustrated since Dream and Death kept messing up it's games. "There must be some way I can get AT them. Some way to make them leave me alone." Desire thought on this a long while, then she smiled as an idea started to form. If you asked anyone if Death liked what she did most would say yes. She always tried to be compassionate to those she helps along the road between life and death. Today wasn't to busy a day for her. It was sunny and pleasent around the world and people weren't so malicious or depressed. Oh yeah car accidents, robberies gone wrong and other things still kept her busy, but not as busy as winter or long bouts of rain or even halloween. She decided to walk amoung people today to see how things were going. She visited hospitals and car shops, churches and drive-in's, bowling alleys and bars. It was at a bar she met a lady. Since she was there to chat she decided to walk over and talk. As it turned out the lady was a lesbian who had just been dumped by her lover and was in the bar they used to come to when they dated. Death nodded and listened ...

Thornn sat quietly in the tunnels under New York. She had been here for a long time, how long she couldn't really say since she only came out at night and never bothered to check what day it was. Soon time just seemed to flow from one dark night to the next. She started to forget about the world, her family whom she had run away from when her mutation kicked in, her friends, her boyfriend.... Thorn shook her head. that was the past, before her "gift" showed up and ruined the party. Now she lived off what she found in the garbage behind restraunts, which wasn't as bad a people think considering a couple places had guessed that a animal was going through things and had started leaving out plates of food. Tonight she had just gotten back from "breakfast" at a nice little mom and pop place that usually left out some old ham and bacon. She was sitting somewhat less than comfortably under one of the main drags lost in listening to the world above when her nose picked up another scent. She had been alone under here for so long she almost didn't notice it, but the familiarity ...

This was turning out just like every other night, lonely. It had long ago ceassed to bother Rahne weather or not she had a home. Over the past few months she has gone out on numerous missions with her "friends" the New Mutants lead by someone she thought was a criminal in Magneto. They are currently on call upon hearing that someone called the Beyonder, whoever that might be, was wandering the globe occasionally getting into fights with super teams. So now Rahne is laying back in her room looking at the ceiling and wondering when, if ever, the alarm would sound. She wishes it would so they could fight and rest. Staying on alert is taking its toll on the team of youngsters. As she laid back she heard a knock at the door. "Query:Is Self-friend Rahne awake?" Rahne chuckled. Warlock's mode of speech confused a lot of people, even the ones who had been around the Phalanx for a while. He often wandered around looking to talk with people trying to learn more about humans. "Aye Warlock, come in." The techno being came in and Rahne sat up in her bed leaning against the wall. "What are ye up to tonight?" Warlock shrugged "No need for ...

The next morning Mystique woke to find Squirrel Girl still out cold on the bed. ~poor thing~ she thought as she stretched. ~~I probably gave her the best orgasm she'd had since her first.~ She smiled at the thought and then moved t o the stool over by the treehouse window. She could see why her friend won't leave this place. During noon (which Mystique guessed by where the sun currently was) the park was alive with people. Joggers, businessmen on lunch break, families picnicking, It was very peaceful. As she looked around for her clothes she started to wonder. Last night she felt better than she had since loosing Irene. She knew enough about love to know it didn't hit like lightening all the time, but there were moments you just couldn't ignore it. She should be happy, after all to the world she no longer exists, but she is a mutant and dare say one of the most wanted in the world. She would be uncovered eventually. That thought made her frown. Why couldn't people leave her be? She was a criminal, she knew that. Even if some of her "jobs" were for the greater good how could she convince people ...

Mystique walked down the alleys of New York with not much on her mind. She wasn't afraid, who would be when their form is big enough to take on a semi? She had been on her own for a while now, not yet ready to make her appearance public again. It would be good to operate in secret again. Now she could do stuff people wouldn't expect her to do. As the night wound down she started thinking what kind of company she should try and round up for herself tonight? She liked men and women, though women seemed more her style lately. She didn't want a "human" though. It may sound odd but she preferred mutants who were at least on a par with her genetically. She decided to take a walk in central park to try and get some ideas. Shifting to her "normal" appearance since it was close to 11pm and few people were in the park she wandered trying to think of ANYONE to fit the bill. After some thinking she started to feel odd. She didn't think she was alone any longer and smirked. ~Maybe some over eager boy who wants some involuntary action?~ As she turned she ...

Rahne sat in her Muir Isle room. Like the rest of the world she was watching Captain America, Hulk, Storm and others fight for what sounded like their right to exsist. She wished she could help even if she wanted badly to be with Havok She would even give that up for her friends. She thought hard about this, hard enough she didn't seem to notice a glow behind her as the DC brother sent Catspaw to grant Rahne's wish. Rahne spun around. If she wouldn't have know better she wouldv'e thought she was looking in a mirror. Catspaw for her part stumbled from the shock of being "displaced". Rahne offered her a hand "here sit down, it'll pass quicker." Catspaw nodded and sat on the edge of Rahne's bed trying to pull herself together. "Apparently the brothers dont believe in warning you before yanking you" Catspaw said. Rahne giggled "apparently not. I take it you also felt left out?" Catspaw nodded. Of all the Legionairres people seemed to dismiss her the fastest, despite the fact she was a very worthy opponent. She looked at Rahne and wondered why she was brought here. Rahne looked at April (Catspaw's name). "I take it your not in a ...

Rahne sighed, she is really getting tired of days like this. The day today had been the same as many before it lately with X-Factor being stuck at headquarters with nothing to do. Things have been unusually quiet and while most of the team took the time off in stride it only served to remind Rahne of how much she has isolated herself since being bonded to Havok. She really hates that. Something had gone wrong in the bonding process and Rahne ended up feeling literally every emotion and some physical reactions as well that Alex experienced. There were times in fights that enemies would double up on Alex knowing that every blow he felt she did as well so they were in effect taking out two members of the team. That worked until Alex realized that he could push the pain from himself onto Rahne. While she understands that he is the more powerful of the two she still hates it. She would take it all day though if it would prevent her from experiencing another night like tonight. Alex and his girl friend Lorna have come home after a night out on the town. Just thinking of that kind of ...

Jackie was exited. This was her first day on campus and she wanted to look around. She had moved up a couple weeks early because she wanted to have a chance to get to know the campus before she would have to elbow her way through the crowds. There was another reason. A group her mother used to belong to when she was in college had opened a chapter there and tonight was sort of a grand opening. While her mother said she would be there Jackie had not seen her yet and assumed her to already be around or late as usual. As Jackie wandered the halls she noticed very few kids had made it up to the campus yet. The whole time she was up there she saw at most 30 people. She had run into a couple of girls going to the same event as her. One was Irene who looked like she could live happily in a library, The other and polar opposite was Rachel. Rachel looked like someone who would be at home in a mosh pit. How these two got together Jackie didn't know. She was pleased to learn where the party was to be. apparently ...

Everyone at some point has to admidt that they fantasize about someone. Weather it be a co-worker, best friend or someone you happen to catch sight of in the mall, It's bound to happen. For me it was with a women whom I consider my true confidant. Her name is Clair. She usually can be seen on her family's farm tending to the rabbits she breeds or feeding the other animals. She isn't to big, in any fashion. Her height is about 5'8", if she's lucky she weighs 150 and her breasts are just right to cup in your hand. Often we would tease each other though for this lifetime it has been pretty much proven we will never be together. The fantasy that seems to stick is when I would come out to help her with her rabbits. We would often take a half hour checking on them all, feeding and watering and sometimes coupling them up. I could tell by her body she had often used rabbit breeding to lure her lovers in. She would put the two in and chuckle while she would watch. Usually when I was with her during this it would start to turn me on ...

This is a kind of what if...what if blink hadnt been rescued from the pens? Clairce had lived in the pens for years. Though she hated to think of such a disgusting place as home it had indeed become just that. She hid in her "stall" untill feeding time, and curled up in it at night. She had been here since she was a kid. She lived ver quietly, mostly because lot of the "normals" reguarded her as a mutant and a enemy. She knew she was different, but they were all there together, couldn't they see that? Clairce grew older and as she did she grew more numb to her surroundings. People came and went, somehow she managaed to survive various cullings. After one Culling a guard went up to her and asked what she was doing there. The suprise scared her so bad she felt a surge through her like adrenalin. She thought at the time it must be adrenalin because she felt weak after that and passed out to the site of guards heading for her. When Clarice woke up she was in quite a different setting. She had some sort of gadget on her neck, which didn't feel at all comfortable ...

She has to admit this is good money. Dress up in latex for a hour or so and let someone get her off, then collect a couple hundred. Not many deals like that around anymore. She wasn't even nervous anymore. In fact according to the studio (who ran a fetish web site) people are begging for more of her, to the point Micheal and Martin (the owners) are thinking of drawing up a contract for her to work as a regular. that being said it shouldn't be to hard to understand when Andi showed up at the studio that she was excited. She had moved out to the area because she had tried to break into the adult business on her own and made a moderate success. Her site is still up and run by her, and she has a very steady flow of members. She suspects it's those same members who found out she was working for this company and are now demanding more. Fans, gotta love their loyalty. As Andi pulled into the parking lot she had to snicker. The name of the company left little to the imagination as it was "Willing to be bound". Granted there would always ...

There was blood on the sheets. It was the first thought through my mind after waking up. I had probably even been thinking it while I was asleep. It must have been one of those subconscious things. I saw it while I was awake, but didn't really see it. Oh God, there was blood on the sheets. How could I have been so stupid? I had been drinking. We both had. But surely I would have noticed, wouldn't I? Maybe it wasn't really there. Maybe my mind made it up as penance for last night. Maybe... All it would take would be a quick glance down. Just open the eyes and look. LOOK dammit! Surely it wasn't that bad. Okay, so I remember things getting a bit rough. And hot. I do remember the heat. Smooth skin sliding against rough. Things are so confused. I remember hot kisses, long licks on salty skin, and nails pressing into flesh. Then a scream. A high C on the musical scale that seemed to echo before choking off abruptly. I know it was wrong. I know it. So why does my body still feel so good? Why is my nervous system still jumping like hot grease? Mama always said sex was ...

Dear Santa, How's it going? Sorry about the sugar-free cookies and 2% milk last year. Bob (that's my husband - but I'm sure you already knew that) said that you were getting a bit pudgy and he thought your heart wouldn't be able to handle the added cholesterol. Don't worry. I'll sneak in some real cookies and milk this year. Speaking of last year, I'd like to talk to you about last year's present. I appreciate the fact that you were thinking of me and don't want to seem ungrateful, but I must admit to some confusion. I just don't see how the 150 pairs of jockstraps could have possibly been intended for me. I just know that somewhere in the world there is a football team running around commando. Perhaps there was an error in the elf processing center or something. In order to head off such an error, I've decided to write a little earlier than usual. Did you like the bunny stamp I used? It's so hard to find one this time of year that isn't wearing shamrocks while fireworks burst over a pumpkin patch. At any rate, here's my most wanted list for this Christmas. I'd like to begin by ...

“That does it!” That statement was followed by the loud bang of a frying pan hitting the countertop. I would have jumped if I weren’t so amused. Hey, when the person wielding the frying pan is only a bit over 5’2” and you stand a whole foot taller...well, lets just say that I wasn’t exactly afraid for my life. Besides, Sheila couldn’t hit the broad side of a barn when she was aiming. Lord knew she’d taken enough swings at me throughout our lives for me to know. I also knew that her temper had the life span of a mayfly. Right on cue, Sheila became quiet. She was gripping the abused counter tight enough to turn her knuckles pale, but at least she wasn’t swinging the pots and pans again. “Nat, you know I love you, right?” Sheila sighed before squaring her shoulders and looking back up at me. I nodded cautiously. When Sheila got that look in her eyes, she was more stubborn than a Missouri mule. Her brother Todd used to say that once Sheila got her back up about something, only a direct missive from God, handwritten in triplicate, could get her to change her mind. Having been best friends ...

“Oh Lord, won’t you buy me a Mercedes Benz? My friends all drive Porsches, I must make amends.” Dear God, she was at it again. I never could understand what Jason saw in that girl. For some reason, Cynthia (never Cindy, as she was quick to point out to the unsuspecting) felt that everyone else was put on this Earth to pamper her every request. And my dear, beloved, lunkheaded GUY of a best friend continued to perpetrate the myth. I knew more about Jason than he probably knew about himself. Being best friends and next-door neighbors with someone since 2nd grade would do that for a person. I knew that he could shoot free throws alone for hours when he was upset. I knew that he liked cold spaghetti sandwiches. I even knew when he lost his virginity to Jane Matheson in the 7th grade. The attraction to Cynthia I did NOT understand however. Okay, that’s not fair. I *did* know what part of the attraction was. Cynthia was one of those cute, tiny little women that men feel the automatic need to pick up, cuddle and protect from the big bad world. Cynthia, of course, played up to this with ...

It was the meowing of the cat that first got my attention. It was the girl standing under the tree looking up at the meowing cat that received my second attention. And third. I probably would have stood there gawking all day if the very real distress in her voice hadn’t diverted my attention. “Loki, come down! You know you don’t like heights.” A cat that didn’t like heights? Now there was a new one on me. I did have to agree though that the cat really was looking miserable up in the tree. Despite the furry face, this cat’s demeanor was ‘Get me out of this. NOW!’. Now, I’m a dog person, but no way could I ignore this pretty girl’s plight. I always was a sucker for a damsel in distress. Even one with a hissing black cat. I went to stand next to her. “Hi. I’m Adam. Adam Williams. Need a hand?” That was when I was introduced to the most gorgeous pair of slate gray eyes I’d ever seen. These were the kind of eyes that poets wrote about. As a newspaper man (feature writer in the school paper thank you), I was used to cataloging things. No way would ...

Karen was naked. Quite naked. She trembled slightly at the thought of what was to come. She bowed her head and looked down at her naked body. She looked longingly at her heavy, full nippled, breasts, her tits, as she always thought of them. Not as firm as when she was younger, but she thought that the fullness, the heaviness, the slight but undeniable sagging, only added to their desirability. After all, having turned thirty she could hardly expect to be as pert as when she was eighteen. And, of course, when she was eighteen she was not as worldly-wise as she was now: everything comes with a price after all!. Her gaze continued over her softly rounded belly to her mound. Her smooth, shaven, mound. She wondered just how long it was since she had had any pretensions to a bush of any kind. Certainly the years of shaving, of waxing had given brief discomforts but the inevitable effect of the continued assault on her lower regions had finally had the effect of giving her a very minimum growth. A low maintenance growth, she thought, and smiled. After all, she loved to feel her smoothness and she knew that her partners ...

We left the restaurant around ten and went back to my apartment.. I would have liked to undress her myself, but I didn't want to rush things and allowed her to change in one of the dressing rooms by the pool where she hung her suit and carefully folded her underwear. She had no problem relaxing with me in the tub where we sat with our shoulders companionably touching and our brandy balloons held just above the gently steaming water. I felt my own well-exercised body compared favourably enough with her soft, almost flabby tawny quality. We were both women, both naked and a little more than half drunk - just what I would call an ideal situation.. We chatted a little about the office, although I don't discuss personalities with my staff. Sexual pleasure is never allowed to influence my business decisions, but, all other things being equal, the memory of lips fluttering under mine, or a successful skirmish in my bed, might be to the advantage of an ambitious girl. And this one was ambitious. She had had to wait for my invitation, of course, but when it came she was ready for it. In fact, I had an uncomfortable sensation of being charmed into making the approach before the three months probationary period I normally ...

When you come back from the powder-room you sit down at the table and hand me something. The waiter is poised over us with his pad, and I realise I'm holding your panties, still warm from your body and you're looking at me with a mischievous grin and your tongue flicks out to absorb a bead of red wine from the rim of your glass. I wonder if I should try to hand them back to you, then scrabble in confusion for my purse. You are grinning and my face is on fire and I am suddenly aware that something enormous has happened that frightens and delights me at the same time.. We decide to share one dessert. But my bladder's straining now and I stumble out from behind the check tablecloth. I have to wait in a tiny corridor. Then an overweight woman comes barrelling out, pushing past. After I've peed and washed my hands, I open my purse to look for my lipstick. I take your white cotton panties out. They are faintly damp but scrupulously clean, no trace of you visible on the fresh white material. I press my nostrils deep into them and at first there is just that faint, far-away, country girl after her bath scent you have, then your distinct female, animal odour. And ...

" Do it yourself," I said when my aunt asked me to re-pin the flowers in the buttonhole of her jacket. I could see my mother's startled look. Though she disliked my aunt and knew I was difficult to control at times, she had thought that on Aunt Kitty's wedding day, which at last looked like passing off without too many recriminations, I might have behaved myself. But I had been awkward at the church, difficult at the meal and had refused to dance with the groom's brother afterwards. The groom was in his sixties, pale and ill-looking after my aunt had nearly danced him off his feet to the guitar, bass guitar and saxophone trio hired for the evening. My father had originally refused to accept the idea of this marriage, because of the groom's advanced age. Only relentless pestering by my mother had caused him to submit and turn up to give his sister away. As her eighteen-year-old bridesmaid, I was being much too obvious about being angry with my aunt Kitty and the funny thing was that I wasn't quite sure why I was angry now. I had been sent down from Dublin a couple of days early ...

Please, Cate," you beg. "I'm insisting on this," I say. "Cate, I'm begging you - maybe in a year or two," you plead. "In a year or two you may be too old," I insist. "You've lived the life of a selfish, feckless bitch up to this. Shall we just sleep together tonight and then part company in the morning? Is that what you want, Katie?" "CATE," you shriek, "I need you so much, please, love me, love me..." You are agitated and push forward to put your arms around my waist, pushing against my tight skirt. I stand up and start to undress and you get up and walk to the bed,. For a moment I stop undressing, watching the way the chain from your neck-collar swings against your magnificent hips, the sway of your buttocks as you turn to sit on the bed. You swing your legs up, then lie down and wait for me.   After we have made love, I explain as patiently as I can that this is all very well, but it is not enough for me. "You're getting a bit carried away, Cate," you say. "Your child? I mean, are you serious?" "That's what you're to call it," I tell her. "Please shut up, Cate," you say. "Shut up yourself," I say "You're going to ...

Bratby was talking about the native tribe in the remote African valley where he had been studying mountain gorillas. "If the woman has several lovers, and most of them do," Bratby observed, "the child has many fathers and one main father. Simple people, they think all the men have had a hand in making her pregnant." He sniggered and sucked deeply on his cheroot. "No reason why you shouldn't be one of the fathers for your own kid," Bratby said. I made an unidentifiable sound. "Your wife's kid," Bratby said with a guffaw, "Eh?" Sometimes Bratby let me pull away and answer him, other times he got angry if I didn't continue to suck his engorged penis. He was contentedly smoking his cheroot and had a glass of whisky on a table a few feet away. He reached for the whisky and I had to move slightly on my knees and turn my head with him, sucking harder to keep the swollen cock from twisting away from me. It was one of the dozens of little tests Bratby had devised for testing my submission. "Not so cocky now, are we?" he said contentedly, sipping his whisky Not that he needed to test me. A month ago he had made me strip naked, here in this room in the little gate-lodge. I ...

Sharing a cheap apartment building with half a dozen other women, I had long ago perfected the art of silent masturbation, but this time I almost cried out. I was lying on my face in my own bed, my wrists tied behind me, my nipples and my bush painted with the lipstick she had specified, and with her panties clenched in my teeth.. This woman came to me when I was at a low ebb, recently divorced and just beginning to realise that all the men I met now, at work or in singles bars or clubs, who were around my own age, or older, were either married or had been married and had fucked up, fucked around or fucked off. Don't get me wrong, I would have preferred, at least at first, if it had been a man, but then maybe I would have been more wary and it would have stuck to being a telephone thing only. But then, why should I supply telephone sex to a man? - I was hardly the type. Educated, a good job, pretty particular really. So why was I doing this? Did I think it was safer with a woman? The first night she ...

She had on a grey wool bathing suit, one piece, and was lying on her face with the bathing suit pulled down to her waist, showing off her beautiful back with the beauty spot on the shoulder. It was hot with just a faint breeze blowing from the lake but getting towards sunset. I had just showered and changed into a dress and I walked over to Katie and stood over her, my shadow falling across her back. "Want to come to the club?" I asked. "No," she said, squinting adorably against the sunlight and shading her eyes with one hand, her two plump peaches of breasts hanging engagingly beneath her. " They're presenting the cup for the ladies doubles," I said. "You pick it up - you won it on your own," she said. "Nonsense, you were good at the net." "Nothing HAPPENED at the net" she said sulkily I would have loved to kneel down beside her, could almost feel the pine needles through my stockings, just maybe put my arm on her shoulder. But she was still so defensive, keeping me out. My sister Jane was dressed casually, sitting at the bar and she looked mockingly at my conservative dress, stockings and heels as if ...

The two sisters went out to the kitchen where a pizza and freshly poured glasses of red wine awaited them on the scrubbed pine table. Although Jennifer Armstrong was twenty-seven and Emily twenty-two, they were only permitted a single glass of wine each on special occasions. Their mother had retired early, saying she was not in the mood for conversation and, as she would be watching television in bed, they should be careful to make no noise to disturb her. "Oh Mother, Mother - sometimes I really do hate her," Emily said. She had auburn hair and pleasantly freckled skin and wore no makeup.. Jennifer had her hair pulled back in a severe bun and she also wore neither lipstick nor eye shadow, although Emily knew she could look quite glamorous when she got the chance. "I told you she'd win," Jennifer said, frowning slightly and blinking as she moved position on one of the kitchen stools. "I had all the arguments," Emily said. "I'd even spoken to Dr Mappamundi about it. It was she that urged me to give it a whirl. I mean, this is the twenty-first century, isn't it?" "Your Philosophy professor, right?" Jennifer said. "Still got a crush on her?" Emily ...

I awoke to the movements of torches discomforted, the flame disturbed by a breeze. Languidly, I curled my toes, stretched, and smiled through the blur of that half-dreaming vision at what I looked upon. A young girl in training rested there, her mouth between my thighs blissfully smiling in her dreamscape just as I had left her. An intricate corset had been slowly, carefully wound, tightened about her waist the night before. Warm oiled leather had slipped over her skin like melted butter. I remembered growing wet, even as I had dressed her in that garb. The scented skins it was made of were irresistible, and you found yourself relaxing, even before it touched you. Dark, and black, thin and provocative, it was also impossible to let your thoughts stray from how you would look within it. How each strap would cinch about your stomach, flatten it, accent your beauty, and your sexuality. How Isis would think of you in it. The girl had stayed still, perfectly as trained, as I had done this to her. I knew the ritual well, for many times I had played the part for other girls, and - for my Goddess. I was very aware of the importance ...

I was just *seething*. I had certainly put up with my fair share of her shit. First, I'd been cajoled into taking the smaller bedroom right from the start. I didn't necessarily mind it, at the time. I mean, she *did* have more stuff than I did, so it was only fair, right?. Then, I'd been tricked into staying at the apartment when I'd already had a date, so that Jennifer could go out on hers. Someone had to be here when the cable tech arrived, and it had be unscrupulously dumped on me. I was the only one who ever cleaned around the place. Heaven forbid she ever vacuum, or even clean up the strewn-about-Sunday-paper after she was done reading it. If I didn't do the dishes in an effort to try to get her to do them, *I'd* end up being the one who'd find no clean dishes to use at my next meal. When I was doing laundry, Jennifer's clothes would 'accidentally' find themselves mixed in with mine. And now, Jennifer had the leave me a note, telling me that it was okay to go ahead and clean her goddamn room? I'd absolutely had it. I could feel the heat in my ...

Hannah walked quickly down the street, trying hard to hurry, and yet not get knocked down by the enormous rushing river of people that she was swimming against, most of whom were bigger than her. She was a little thing, barely a hundred pounds, even when soaking wet. She was going to be late for work. Again. Her boss was going to *kill* her. Clutching her satchel close to her breast, she ducked, and swerved around the oncoming pedestrian traffic. At least she was in good shape, and she was making good time. *Maybe I won't be late after all. Maybe all that time at the track will pay off.* A flash of silver caught her eye. It looked vaguely familiar, for some reason. She paused, and glanced at it in a completely human manner. *The buzz of noise around her slowly filtered itself out, into a soft whisper of buzzing static that caused her mind to whir. Time slowed, the people around her coming to a slow stop, as if their batteries were dying. She was floating. The silver flashed again, the source of it an ordinary woman. Except for the fact that she moved at normal speed in a world where time ...

I could feel the hard-thumping heavy music pounding in my ears, resonating through the floor. It was a living, pulsing thing that swept over the strobing club in a lust-inducing haze... just like the cock that gorged my dripping cunt again and again as I drove myself down on it. The orgy of sexual heat on the dance floor disguised as dancing was the perfect stimulus, and the perfect distraction. Cory always had such wicked ideas. The primal bumping and grinding of couples and threesomes made our liaison of me on his lap seem but a trifle to be discarded. The uncontrollable moans of lust that slid out of my lips were drowned out by the deafening industrial rock. Our table was mostly hidden in the darkness, just like his piercing cock that was currently reducing my mind to orgasmic cinders was hidden beneath the tiny little pleated schoolgirl skirt he'd begged me to wear. My hard nipples slid in their freedom against the white silk blouse I wore. The scream of the guitar vibrating through the speakers seemed to be alive in my body, vibrating, and my own outcries of pleasure created a perfect unison. There were a hundred people around us, ...

A delicate hand slipped between the edges of the curtain. It was made of thick velvet and surrounded the entire room in a sea of disorientating patterns of red-on-black. Somewhere, behind the unending folds a single paneled door allowed passage to and from the bed chamber. A slender female figure followed behind the hand and slipped within the room. The fabric quietly rustled behind her as it closed. Her eyes took notice of the figures in the room, before she bowed her head in submission, waiting until she was noticed, as was her place. In the center of the room, a trio of oriental vixens that seemed too busy flesh-worshipping each other to take notice of anything else lent an exotic atmosphere to the room. The female figure watched them with a dispassionate gaze, though she'd had each of them between her legs more than once in the last few years. It was the waft of the air that caused the dark-haired man on the bed to open his eyes. His strong hand wrapped itself around the lustrous mound of blonde hair between his legs, and pulled upwards slightly. Beyond the soft moans of the three women writhing on the floor in the lustful pool of quivering flesh at the foot of the bed, the noise of a quiet ...

The moan from Sandra's lips reverberated against the pristine white walls. Her back arched in an almost automatic response to the warm tongue that probed her inner velvet walls. Intense sensations assaulted her as the woman between her legs paused, withdrew, and began planting soft kisses upon her folds and clit. Painted toenails dug into the silken sheets beneath her as her lover's tongue batted her clit back and forth in cunt-watering pleasure. She pinched her own nipples between her fingertips and arched her back again, this time a surprised gasp passed her lips as the blonde between her legs slipped a few fingers into her sopping wet heat. Closed eyes fluttered open in a rush of overwhelming sensation and caught the image of a bright rainbow shining in the mist outside her bedroom window. Roughly, she twisted her nipple, pulling on it in synch with the exquisite abuse her labia took. She moaned heatedly, pressing herself into her lover's ministrations all the more. A warm licking against her shaven cunt intensified her sensations as her lover laughed, mouth still glued to Sandra's sopping snatch. The smell of arousal was potent, hanging heavy in the room. Sandra could smell her own scent and that ...

Over the course of several months, my anticipation had built up. From the moment we'd started sending each other e-mail and silly flirtations outside of it all, I just *knew* that she was going to be mine. I *had* to have her, and I didn't even know what she really looked like. But none of that really mattered--she was my type. Clay, begging to be molded. Everything was going exactly like I wanted to, each detail had been painstakingly thought through, pre-arranged, and replayed in my head obsessively. Time was crucial, now, and I couldn't afford a mistake. I finally convinced her to visit me despite her protests of not having sufficient funds to drive, or fly out. So I played the role of the Good Samaritan, and offered to purchase them myself. I even arranged for her hotel accommodations. Despite her insistence that she'd pay every cent of it back and repeatedly telling me that she couldn't accept it as a gift, I knew she was more than grateful. She was in my debt. She knew it. The game was starting out perfectly. Her flight arrived in the early afternoon, a few days later. A taxi picked her up at my request, and drove her ...

Tyler jarred Dylan out of his concentration with a prod of his elbow. "Hey. Check out 'Indiana Croft'." Nadia rolled her eyes in exasperation as yet again the poker game was put on hold for their libidos. She folded her arms and waited for their attention to turn back towards her, and the game. Dylan looked up from the pair of aces in his hand, and squinted his wild green eyes towards where his friend nodded. A plume of dust was settling back upon the dune. Three figures sat inside the jeep that had pulled to a stop near the entrance of the camp, but it wasn't hard to see which one Tyler was talking about. Forgetting the poker game, he leaned forward and squinted a little more to make sure he caught every dick-hardening curve in the small Asian girl. 'Indiana Croft', indeed. Her hair, a healthy and glossy black, was kept in a long ponytail that swung down the small of her back. A beaten leather fedora kept her face from the scorching desert sun and a pair of Ray Ban Aviators shielded her eyes from the distraction of the blinding light that would glare off of the desert sand. She rose out ...

Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, and welcome to the annual Preteen Girls' Invitational Disciplinary Softball Tournament of the Worldwide Group Family, held here in sunny ******* City in *******-land. I'm John ****, and with me here in the booth is Sandra ******. Thank you for joining us, and thanks on behalf of the Family Charitable Foundation, which we'll talk about in more detail later, the beneficiary of the generous amount you paid to receive this program by pay-per-view. Just a note about the Worldwide Group Family, for any of you viewers who've not tuned in to us before. There are branches around the world, in every country that legally allows polygamy and underage marriage. All children born into the family are given the option of marrying in, in which case they are given in marriage to some other branch of the family to avoid consanguinity. Many children are brought in by adoption, and then given the choice of marrying in or not. Besides all the amenities of a loving home, education, church, plenty of toys, vacations, etc., every girl and boy is given strict, intimate, but gentle discipline, usually starting from eight or nine years old and up. Bondage ...

[SMACK!] "AAAAA!" Pik heard the snap of a whip, and the anguished cry of a young girl, even before he got a good view of the slaveyards. As he rounded the corner of a building, he saw the punishment platform, and the young teen suspended by her wrists from the crossbar, her ankles fastened to a spreader bar. One of the slavemasters was disciplining her sternly, bringing the singletail to bear smartly on her buttocks, thighs, and even her little pear-shaped breasts, as she wailed and sobbed. Pik found the sight disturbing, yet entrancing at the same time. He had come to the slaveyards almost against his will. He had not started out intending to acquire a slave. He had won a contest, successfully guessing the author of some silly s.f. series or other; a little sleuthing on the ether-Net gave him the answer. He was amazed to discover that he had won the Grand Prize, and even more amazed at what it was: an all-expenses-paid trip to Center Prime and first pick of the next crop of preteen slavegirls to be brought in from recently-conquered Tau Ceti. Even though he took the trip, and reluctantly accepted transportation to the slaveyards, he ...

I had a big problem. I was lusting after my daughter, Sally. She was only ten, and very cute. Her mother had abandoned us both when Sally was just a toddler. Fortunately I was fairly well placed due to some family money, and I was able to earn even more through computer consulting from home. So I raised Sally by myself pretty well. I even home schooled her. Sally was a good little girl, and never gave me any fuss about eating her vegetables, coming to church, or going to bed at night. But it seemed the natural thing to do to spank her whenever she misbehaved even a little bit, although I never spanked her very hard. I guess it sort of crept up on me. As she got a little bigger, I began to make sure she got a spanking nearly every day. Of course I still didn't spank her very hard. And I got in the habit of rubbing her little bottom afterwards, which seemed to soothe her. Eventually her spankings sort of...migrated, until, by the time she was 8 or 9, I was spanking her regularly, not only on her bottom, but also her thighs, front and ...

"Oh, won't someone help me? Please, somebody help me, please, please!" The little girl's cries went ringing out, but in the hubbub and commotion no one answered her. She could hear the crackle, and feel the heat of the flames. She felt her way along the brick wall. The wrong way; she could feel the increasing heat of the bricks. She turned around, but quickly hit a cul-de-sac. She was desperate, and, despite the risk, she decided she would have to strike out into the open, away from the meager comfort of a wall she could touch. She wished she had her cane, but in the rush out of the orphanage, it had been knocked from her hand, and no one had paid any heed to her pleas that it be returned to her. Once outside the building, she had been quickly left behind, no one caring about the little blind girl who couldn't keep up. She had always been too much trouble to them anyway. *****-ia had little money to spare on orphanages, and less for 'special needs' children. If the staff had been able to work her more than they did, they would have. As it was, she was ...

Dear Diary, I've never kept a diary before! My Daddy says that most people who keep a diary write in it like they were writing a letter to someone named "Diary". Isn't that funny? I guess I'll do that too. So, Hello, Diary! How are you? I am fine. (Ha ha ha!). If I'm going to be writing a letter to you, I guess I should introduce myself. My name is Lisa Michelle ----- . I live in ----- . I am nine years old. I like to ride my pony Stubby and play with my dog Jimbo. I like all my teddy bears, but especially I like Mr. Bingle. I sleep with him. I like music. I love church and Sunday School. And I love my Daddy. I wasn't born in ---- . I was born in --- . This is how I came to be with Daddy. Daddy went as a mishunary to --- . While he was there, he heard about an "auction" where some little kids were going to be sold. Daddy says that they weren't all going to be sold to nice parents, either! Some of them were going to be bought by mean men who would ...

I finished work and went upstairs to see my little girl. She was in my bedroom, lying on her tummy on the bed, facing the wide-screen, playing some version or other of Mario, I don't know which one; I lost track of them after Super Mario World for the 64. She was naked, of course. I never put clothes on her when we're at home alone, and since I work at home and she's home-schooled, that means she's naked all day almost every day. I sat down on the bed next to her and looked her over. I couldn't see any marks on her little bottom, for which I was glad; we'd had quite a 'session' the night before, and I have no intention of damaging her skin. Every now and then there might be a small welt, but I'd rather avoid even that. Cindy is about ten. We don't know exactly; I found her abandoned on the streets of ****** City when she was probably five or six. Some money in the right hands made it possible to adopt, and then marry her even though she was underage. Ever since then I've been her 'Daddy' and 'Master' and she's my little ...

I guess I'd been pretty naughty. 'Daddy' said I was gonna really get it. I knew he had a pretty big dissplin session planned for me, but I didn't know how big it would really be! He kept me waiting for a whole week. He wouldn't tell me how I was going to be punished until it was time. That day he told me that I was going to be gang-raped. I didn't really know what he meant. It sounded pretty...intense, so I just kinda stared at him, and said stuff like, "O please, 'Daddy', do I haveta?" He made me dress in a special gown. 'Daddy' says it's called 'diaphanous' (I asked 'Daddy' how to spell it. I hope I got it right!). What that means is that it's like totally see-through. It's even more embarrassing to have to wear that than having nothing on at all, I think, 'cuz every time you move or anything anybody can just look and see right through it and see my nipples and cleft and...everthing! I stood with 'Daddy' in the hall. He said we were waiting for some 'guests'. Pretty soon the doorbell rang and 'Daddy' opened it. It was 'Daddy'-Buzz! My 'Daddy' had ...

Most of the day she acts normally. No one would be able to tell, unless they listened carefully to the things she says to me, and the tone of voice she uses. They might seem a little...child-like, perhaps. But then, so many young women are immature these days, they might not even notice. If they noticed her manner of dress, they might wonder at the pattern: mostly jumpers, sailor suits, short plaid skirts with sheer white blouses over lacy bras. Saddle shoes or loafers, and knee socks. If they were able to see her panties, they would really be surprised! Always cotton, lacy trim, with little hearts, teddy bears, or flowers on them, even cartoons, sometimes (Cinderella, Jasmine, or Ariel, maybe; no Taz or Power Rangers, that's for sure!). You see, no matter how old she is in "bio-years", my wife will always be ten years old to me. And although we're legally married, she will always be my little "daughter", and I'm her "Daddy". We went through some rough times, when my...predilection was first revealed, but she wisely decided to try and satisfy it as best she could, and hope that helped to keep me on "the straight and narrow", as ...

[THWAP!] "AAAH!" Patience cried out as the tawse snapped onto her bare bottom, and, "OOO-OOO-OOOH!" she wailed as her tormenter punished her again and again with the leather tool. She was bent over the 'punishment stool', as it was called in the workhouse, bare naked, a little nine-year-old girl being 'disciplined' by the headmaster. Her infraction had been having the temerity for asking for another bowl of the meager gruel the children were given as their daily ration, gnawing hunger outweighing her fear. She regretted her momentary boldness now, as he strapped her repeatedly, bringing a red flush to her buttocks, then shifting his aim to the backs of her thighs, [SMAK-SMAK-SMAK!]. "AH! AH! AH!" she moaned miserably. Her legs were widespread; bitter experience had taught the little girls of the workhouse not to press their thighs together during punishment. Even involuntary motions in that direction brought even harsher strokes upon their nakedness. So she bared herself, shivering at the knowledge that her private parts were so exposed to the view of a grown man. Even as she blushed at the thought, the headmaster brought the tawse to bear directly on her anus and immature, unfledged cleft, [WHAP-WHAP-WHAP!] "AAAAAAH!" she ...

There I was, an eleven-year-old girl, naked, bound and gagged, waiting for the strange men to whip and rape me. My writing teacher said that you should always try to start a story with a 'grabber'. She said that's a sentence that 'grabs' people and makes them want to read the rest of the story. So I hope that my 'grabber' worked! Anyways, that's how it was. Only I wasn't really 'gagged'. I had this kinda thing in my mouth that holds your mouth open so you can't bite down, but I could still talk, sorta. I was sitting on a padded platform thing, with my bottom hanging way out over the edge of it. I was leaned forward some, and my wrists and neck stuck through this padded board kind of thing that opened up and closed down on three holes, two small ones for my wrists, and one larger one for my neck. Right above my knees my legs went through the same kind of board, so I was stuck there, I couldn't pull back or move my hands or legs anywhere. I was there because my 'Daddy' had taken me to this party. There were other 'Daddies' there, too, with ...

I finally decided to go to one of Mr. D's annual get-togethers. I'd been meaning to go for some time, but something had always come up. It was very nice, great food and lots of fun folks. It was quite thoughtful of Mr. D to give everyone name tags, and the authors had the option of putting either their real names, or their 'nicks', or both on the tag. I just went with 'cc'. I milled around, tried all the food, had a few nice conversations. There was a kicking rockabilly band playing, very entertaining. I was pleased to see the number of women represented there. I've always been somewhat surprised to find a woman interested in almost any of the kind of stories represented at Mr. D's and similar places; I've always figured it was more of a man's predilection. I've learned better through the years, but still. Then a woman came up to me. She wasn't young, but she certainly wasn't old. She was probably in her 40's but looked 10 years younger. Not a stunner, but not hard to look at. Not slender, she probably thought she could lose a few pounds, but really she was reasonably attractive by any ...

"Don't you mess this up, you little baby!" hissed Sela. "I won't! I won't!" exclaimed little Melinda. She had tagged along with the young teen more out of boredom than anything, and now was being roped into a food-stealing scheme. The booths of the vendors at the Festival lay before them. Tantalizing smells wafted through the air. Melinda vaguely knew that she shouldn't be doing this. She had spent some time in the company of a missionary who had come out of the Imperium to minister on this backwater planet. Under that devoted soul's guidance she had even converted, but she was, after all, only seven. Bad company and temptation are hard to avoid at seven. Melinda was a street girl in a provincial town, in a war-torn country, on a minor planet in a corner of the galaxy that the Imperium had not yet gotten around to annexing. She still had some semblance of a family: an aunt who, when not soused, at least provided the girl with a place to sleep and a crust of bread to eat, the money for which was earned by turning tricks for the soldiers that passed through town. But most of the time the girl ...