Secret Confessions of a Smart Girl

I fantasize about being an object of mass desire.

It is difficult, sometimes, to resolve this fantasy with my complete and utter obsession with safe sex, but I do what I can*.

In fact, I have concocted an elaborate party favor scenario that is so hot to me that it has become a regular source of masturbatory fantasies. It just will probably never happen because, among other reasons, I have trouble imagining it being equally hot to the anyone else**.

I am naked in a room, blindfolded with cuffs around my wrists and ankles, chained spread-eagled on a bed. Next to me, on a table, are a selection of toys for sensation and toys for sex - whips and canes, clamps and knives, and a whole pile of variously sized, shaped, and textured objects that could be used for penetration.

The rules would be as follows:

1. Anything on the table can be used to hurt me or please me, as long as it can be done safely.

2. My mouth and cunt may only be penetrated with the items on the table or with gloved fingers and hands. Other objects can be used to hurt me with the permission of the minder.

3. No drawing blood or leaving marks/alterations that could affect my appearance in normal clothes.

4. The minder can ask you to stop or leave at any time, and my safeword must be respected immediately.

In my fantasy, my eyes are blocked and I am overwhelmed by hands. They hurt and they tease while they explore my body as an object instead of a person. They use me as an idle distraction, pushing a cold piece of glass into my cunt and walking away, or making designs with clothespins on my skin and then leaving them there to ache. They cane my thighs until I am in agony, and then fuck me with the end of the rod - as a terrible, terrible tease.

The truth is, I want it to be about the sex. I want it to be about hands on my breasts and fingers teasing the line of my labia and threatening to dive in. I want to be given so much sexual attention that it morphs from pleasure to pain and back again. I want to be fucked when I do want it, when I don’t want it, and at every stage in between. I want to be begging for pain to distract from sex while secretly not knowing if I want the people to stop. I want to be begging to come and not allowed to do so or sent over the edge so many times that I honestly plead for it to stop.

I want to be gloriously and degradingly used, like the girls I used to read about in the stories I downloaded from alt.sex with headings like n/c and MMMMF. I want to be hurt and fucked until all I am is a vehicle for desire and pain. I want it to go on until I am so worn out that I can barely beg for it to stop… and I never want to know who touched me***.

I want to wonder who has such intimate knowledge of my body, but never quite be sure****.

–
_{*I recognize that it’s a bit sad that I have to have safe sex even in my fantasies, but they’re hotter if I can imagine them coming true, okay?}

_{**Although I certainly am an enormous fan of fucking girls, so you never really know.}

_{*** Okay. I’m actually not sure if that part is true or not.}

_{****But if it were, I would find it insanely hot to later read about it from their anonymous perspectives. Mmmm. Perspectives*****.}

_{*****And suddenly I think about the possibility of a post-gangbang support/review blog. “I found it was most satisfying to use her when someone was holding her feet up by her chest.” “Her cunt didn’t do much for me, but I had a lovely experience in her mouth.” “It was hot the way she cried while I was fucking her ass. You’d think it was her first time.” “I prefer bigger boobs, but it was fun to make her scream by slamming her cervix.” “Bring a friend, so that one of you can take her from each end.” “After the first three or four men, she whimpers beautifully every time someone new steps up to take her.” “I forgot my favorite lube, but she was very wet so it didn’t matter.” “I recommend being early in line so that you’re ready to take another go. Fucking her is a very different experience after five or six other men have had their turn.” Um. I think I need a drink.}

*_{… or why I love fucking my girlfriend.}

I am developing an understanding
Of why men
Love to fuck.

The appeal of slipping inside someone
Feeling them clasped warm and tight
Around your cock
Around your hand
Is overwhelming.
It can not be denied.

It is extremely hot
In the caverns of a woman
Extremely hot to enter them as well
The journey of working your body into her
Only adding to the thrill
Of the sensations you feel
As she slowly opens around you.

When in presence of a woman
Particularly a sensual, beautiful woman
Who I imagine, or know,
Will be warm and wet and waiting,
It is difficult to think about anything
Other than getting my fingers inside her
Feeling her slick and hot
Against my palm
And finding out how much of me she can hold.

Women make jokes
Snide remarks
Exchange knowing glances
About men who are obsessed with size
But now I finally understand why:
The more of myself I put inside her
The more I want to give.

I can fuck her for hours
Tease her with my fingers
Until she takes my whole hand
And then, with one fist
Trapped inside her
Start wishing I had more.

Running the fingers of my other hand
Across her clit
Down to the soft and slippery place
Where my wrist enters her body
I slowly slip one inside
And we both come.

Overwhelmed by the sensation
Of having both hands trapped
In our passion and her heat
I am grateful for coming to
A better understanding
Of the desires of men
And still more thankful that
As a woman,
I feel no need to stop.

–
I wrote the title, subtitle, and first stanza of this poem a few months ago but let it go fallow. Then, this morning, I decided that finishing it would be a nice way to spend my Valentine’s Day. It’s not perfect, but it’s getting there. It is, I think, at least solid enough to be seen.

“The advantage,” he said, “of running a kinky porn site is that no one cares whether or not you have sex at work.”

I raised my eyebrow at him, “and I suppose it’s your duty to make sure that all of the equipment stays in working order?”

“Exactly. I’m glad you understand.” He started walking towards me with a look on his face that was either going to get him jumped or send me running towards the hills.

I stood my ground.

“You,” he continued, reaching towards me and beginning to undo the buttons on my dress, “are wearing far too much clothing to help me in my maintenance tasks.”

“I’m so sorry,” I replied, “I didn’t realize I had been recruited for janitorial duty.”

“Not so much janitorial,” he said, ripping the dress the rest of the way off and making me gasp, ” as high maintenance.”

I started to protest and had the air knocked out of me as he flung me over his shoulder and carried me naked down the stairs.

“I think you can manage it.” he said and I cursed to myself as ribald catcalls from the few employees who still remained at work followed us from his office down to the basement.

“I am not high maintenance,” I said as he dumped me onto the cold concrete floor and went to rummage around in a supply closet.

“Of course you’re not, darling,” he responded without bothering to look at me where I sat pouting on the ground. “Be a dear and make yourself comfortable on that spanking bench while I find the equipment I’m looking for.”

I stood up, walked over to where he was rummaging in the closet, and bit him on the ass.

“OW!” he cried, turning around to look at me in surprise and consternation.

“I am not high maintenance.” I repeated, smiling at him in a way that I knew would simply egg him on.

“You are also not obedient,” he responded mimicking my tone. “Would you like it better if I grabbed you by the hair, dragged you over to that bench, forced you down on it, and tied you so tightly you won’t be able to move?”

“Why do you think I bit you on the ass?” I answered in my best innocent tone, and squeaked and protested in amused and feigned outrage as he proceeded to do just that.

Tied to the bench, legs spread, ass in the air, with a lovely view of nothing even remotely interesting, I listened as he went back to rummaging through the closet.

“You’re the boss,” I commented, “You’d think you’d know where things were.”

“I do,” was the mumbled reply, “when other people put them back where they belong.” I heard a crash and a curse and then the sound of someone digging himself out from under a pile of what I could only imagine were either chains or a nest of pissed off metal snakes. “Oh! There they are.”

My view changed to one of his leather clad feet and denim covered legs. In his left hand was a group of what looked like rubber covered C clamps of various sizes.

“What,” I said, “You’re worried the furniture is coming apart and have to hold it together with those before you play with me?”

“Oh no, my sarcastic little moppet,” he replied, “I have something much better in mind for these.”

Dumping all but one of the clamps on the floor he continued to talk while unscrewing the device he still held to open it wider. “I remembered that you really like pressure point play, and I thought to myself ‘How can I hurt her horribly without having to tire out my hands the way I did last time.’ Then it occurred to me that we had these. I don’t think anyone’s had the chance to test them out yet. You’ll have to let me know how they work.”

At that point he stepped up to me and began prodding the muscles of my arm looking for the place that, when he pushed on it, would make me gasp. Finding it, he took the clamp he had just opened and screwed it down tight enough to produce amazing waves of pain.

“How’s that?” he asked.

I moaned.

“I rather thought you’d enjoy it,” he continued, “weird little masochist that you are,” and then he continued to place various other clamps on my other arm, my legs, and my ears until I was overwhelmed with the constant, unrelenting pain.

It was incredibly intense, but blissfully so. With no impact to shy away from, I could just let the waves of agony wash over me and take me out of my head.

I zoned out for a while, simply enjoying the sensations, and then started back to myself when he knelt down before me, grabbed me by the hair, and raised my head to look in my eyes.

“Are you enjoying yourself, little girl?” he asked.

I nodded.

“Would you like more?”

I nodded again.

“Would you like me to fuck you?”

I nodded vigorously.

“Good,” he said, unzipping his pants and pulling on a condom, “then suck my cock.”

I moaned around his cock as he held my head and pushed it deep in my throat. It was an awkward angle, but the combined motivation of the pain and the thought of him fucking me the way I so desperately wanted drove me on. I choked and gagged, but kept working on his gorgeous cock, hoping that my efforts would be rewarded, and they were.

“Gods,” he said, “I think I’m going to have to fuck you now,” and he walked around behind me to stand between my spread legs.

Reaching his hand out, he found me already wet and ready, and when he asked, “Do you want me to remove the clamps before I fuck you?” I shook my head.

“Do you want me to make them tighter?”

I hesitated, and then nodded.

“Good girl,” he said, and, after tightening the clamps on my arms to the point of agony, pushed himself inside.

I moaned, as I always do, at the feeling of his cock inside me, rubbing against me, bringing me wave after wave of pleasure. The combination with the pain was incredible.

“You like it, don’t you,” he said, “when I fuck you like this? When I bend you over, hurt you, make you beg for it, and then use you like the series of holes you are?”

“Yes,” I moaned and pushed back against him as far at the rope would allow.

He continued talking while he fucked me, his words and the sensations pushing me closer and closer to orgasm, “You’re just a little slut, aren’t you? You’d probably love it if I turned the cameras on, and invited my employees down to give me a little show.”

I whimpered a little at the thought.

“Just think about it. All of them looking at you, seeing you like this. Using you, two or three at a time. You couldn’t do anything about it, tied down the way you are, and you’re such a little whore, I bet you’d like it. One guy in your mouth,” he reached around to start playing with my clit, “another using this soaking wet cunt, and maybe a big fat dildo up your ass”

I orgasmed at the thought of it, jerking the ropes tight around me, and then collapsing back onto the bench as he continued to fuck me, saying, “I could sell the tapes all over the Internet, and invite strangers to come use you anyway they liked.” He increased his pace, “Or I could just hurt you more,” he finished, and, grasping the front of my pubis so hard I knew I would have bruises for a week, fucked me to completion.

After we both got our breath back, he released the clamps, untied me, and carried me over to the black leather couch that sat in the corner of the dungeon, sitting down on it and then pulling me into a little ball in his lap.

With his hand stroking my hair, we sat in contented silence for what could have been minutes, or could have been hours, until I finally got my voice back.

“Just so you know,” I muttered sleepily, nuzzling my head into his chest, “I think they work.”

“I noticed,” he responded, cuddling me closer. “I was just wondering what we should test next.”
–
_{Note: I have no idea if this would work in real life, but it was inspired by a torture scene in a science fiction book I just read where the bad guy screwed clamps onto a series of pressure points to give intense pain without causing any damage. I really like pressure point play and the scene made me want to experiment… or get violently beaten and fucked… or something.}

In celebration of reaching my 100,000th page view, I decided to write some porn.  Then, when I got halfway through writing it I got distracted and had to write a different story instead.  It only makes sense, I suppose. One story for 50,000 views, two for 100,000. I’m not sure where all of you came from, but thanks for reading.  My second thank you will probably be up sometime later this week.

–

He enjoys the fact that I can’t get enough of his body.

Whenever we’re alone together, it’s all I can do to keep my hands off of him. I am constantly restraining the desire to ask him to fuck me or beg to suck his cock.

It’s hard to be near him without thinking of sex, without thinking of his hands hurting me, his teeth on my throat, his cock inside me.

It makes it difficult to go on more traditional “dates.”

Still, I can control myself. I can be calm, relaxed. I can sit across from him with my back straight and my eyes open and have a conversation about the weather or about the current economic crisis. I can talk to him without staring improperly at his hands or his lips and imagining them on me.

I can be good.

Except when I can’t.

He asked me to dinner. Just the two of us. Someplace where we’d both have to dress like adults. Someplace where I’d have to behave – quiet voice, still hands, innocent gaze.

I thought it sounded nice. We could act like grownups. We could, possibly, even have a conversation that didn’t include any discussion about how much I wanted his cock shoved down my throat or how I was imagining what it would feel like for him to beat me until I cry. It would be interesting. An experiment. I agreed.

That night, when he picked me up at my apartment, he looked at the knee length dress I was wearing and said “Are you wearing underwear with that? You really don’t have to. In fact. I don’t think you should.” Then he sent me off to change.

That’s when I knew I was in trouble.

Just taking off my underwear made me hot. The thought of going out, naked under my dress, made me want to get down on my knees and beg to take his cock in my mouth. It made me want to beg him to fuck me just to take the edge off. I was soaking wet by the time I made it back to the living room.

“I’m not sure,” I said, “that this is a good idea.”

“What, going to dinner?” he responded.

“Going to dinner, without underwear, when all I can think of is your cock. I don’t suppose there’s time for you to fuck me first? Otherwise I’m going to spend the entire night running to the bathroom and worrying about dripping on the seat.”

“You want me to fuck you?” he asked. “You want me to bend you over the couch right now and take you like the slut you are before whisking you off to dinner? You want me pull your dress up over your head, smack your ass until it’s bright red and then shove myself inside you until you scream?”

“Yes, please sir, yes,” I begged, my hands going to the front of his pants and my lips to the base of his throat.

“No” he said pleasantly, taking my hands from his zipper, and wrapping them around his neck. He kissed me and finished, “you’re just going to have to wait.”

“You, sir, are an evil son of a bitch.” I responded.

“I know,” he replied. “That’s why you like me.”

I went to put on my coat when he called me back.

“Oh wait,” he said, “I forgot something,” and he pulled a remote control vibrating egg out of his pocket, bent me over the edge of the sofa, and unceremoniously shoved it deep inside my cunt. “Don’t lose that during dinner,” he continued, and then wiped his fingers on a tissue he pulled from his pocket and turned and walked out the door.

I was cursing when I caught up to him, and muttered nasty things under my breath all the way to the car.

As we reached its doors, he grabbed me by the hair and shoved me up against the side of the vehicle making my eyes go glassy and my head go light. “You should be quiet now,” he said firmly. “We’re going to have a nice dinner, and no one is going to know that anything whatsoever is going on.”

“Yes, sir,” I replied meekly, and that’s what we did.

We had a lovely dinner.

The food was amazing. The conversation was not, since every time I’d get distracted enough from the awkwardness of my situation to try and talk about something other than the weather he’d turn the egg on and force me to spend all my attention on trying not to squirm.

Then there were the innuendos.

I won’t repeat them.

I will simply say that, to an outsider, nothing about our conversation would have been in the least remarkable, but to me every other word was complete torture.

I must have excused myself to run to the ladies room at least 15 times.

The waiter probably thought I was on drugs.

At last, it was the end of the meal. When the waiter asked if we wanted dessert, I don’t think I’ve ever said “no” quickly in my life.

He flicked the vibrator to on and asked for a dessert menu.

I crossed my legs tighter to keep from squirming, bit my tongue to keep from cursing, and simply said, “Please.”

He asked for the check.

I pulled on the coat I’d been sitting on all night (I get quite chilly, I’d said) and followed him to the car.

“How are you doing?” he asked, as we pulled out of the parking lot and started to head back home.

“With all due respect, sir, if you do not find a secluded spot, pull over this car, and fuck me mercilessly, I may never speak to you again.”

“Is that any way for a proper young lady to act? I just took you out for a nice dinner,” he said. “You should thank me, or at least ask nicely”

“You want me to ask nicely?!?!” I raised my eyebrow at him.

“Well that is how good girls get what they want.” Stopping the car at a light, he turned to look at me and said in the voice that always  sends shivers down my spine, “Besides, you know I like it when you say please.”

“Please, sir, will you please pull this car over and let me have your cock?” I begged, “Will you please use me, sir? I don’t care how, I just want your cock inside me, and I don’t want to wait any longer.” He flipped the vibrator on and turned his head to the front as the light changed to green. “Please, sir. Please fuck me. I’ll do anything you want. Anything. Just use me. Please, sir. Whatever you want. Anything you want. Just please give me what I need.”

“As soon as we get home,” he said, not even turning to look at me,  “I’m going to shove my cock down your throat and then take you so hard you beg me to stop. Until then, however, you’re just going to have to wait.”

So I did.

And he did.

It was a very nice dinner.

(A long overdue distraction.)

“Does it bother you,” I asked as I took off my clothes, “that I’m just using you for sex?”

“Not particularly,” he smirked, “although I rather think it’s more a matter of me using you.”

“Potato, potahto. ” I folded my clothes and put them on the chair by the bed, “Because for me it’s all about…”

He smacked me hard across the face, making me gasp and then grit my teeth to finish the sentence, “getting exactly what I want.”

I gathered myself together, looked him straight in the eye, and challenged him, “Do it again.”

“You’re in a mood today,” he told me, a glint in his eye, as he ran his fingers across my jaw line, the touch making me press my cheek against his hand.

“Me?” I quipped, “In a mood?”

He raised an eyebrow and smacked me again gently, fisting his other hand in my hair to keep my head still.

“Mmm.” I purred happily, holding his eyes with mine. “No, if I were in a _mood_ I’d say that you hit like a girl.”

“Really?” he asked tapping his fingers against my slowly reddening cheek, “That’s really what you’d say?”

He backed me up until I was against the bed, and then pushed me down onto it and climbed up so that he was kneeling above me.

“How about this, then,” I asked, feeling my eyes going dark and the space between my legs growing wet. “Do it again, please. Harder.”

“Well…” His eyes began to gleam, “if you’re going to ask so nicely,” and he smacked me again.

“That’s what I like about you,” I said, breathing harder. “You’re so obliging.”

He fisted his hands harder in my hair, pulling my head back and making me close my eyes and gasp.

“You say the nicest things,” he said, and as he his hands from my hair I heard the sound of a zipper opening and felt his weight leave me as he removed his pants. “Now let’s see what else you can do with that mouth of yours.”

It was an awkward angle for cock sucking, but you can do anything if you’re motivated, and I certainly was, both by my own desires and by his hands at the back of my head moving me into position or holding me still so that he could fuck my throat.

I love sucking cock. It’s so delightfully undignified, and I gasped and choked on my own saliva as he used my mouth the way he wanted to, moaning my own desire around him.

When he pulled out of my mouth I made a sad little sound of disappointment.

“What was that?” he asked, pushing me back down when I tried to sit up and follow him.

I whimpered up at him wordlessly, trying to figure out what I was supposed to be answering, but as usual having sex with him had turned me into a puddle of incoherent need.

“Disappointed, are you?” he asked, his hand traveling down by body to grab between my legs and make me simultaneously scream and moan. “You don’t want me to fuck you?”

I shook my head, hard, in negation, and said quietly, “Please.”

“Please what?” he said, his hand alternating between causing me pleasure and pain.

“Please fuck me,” I writhed under him.

“Beg,” he demanded as he positioned himself above me and waited.

“Please.” I whimpered, “Please fuck me. Please use me. I love the way you fuck me. Please. Please. I want you inside me, please,” and I gasped as he finally, slowly pushed himself in.

It felt incredible. It always feels incredible, and then he found the angle that pushes him deep against my cervix and makes me writhe in pain.

“Oh god,” I whimpered, as he did it again, simultaneously loving it and wanting to push him away, holding his arms as though I could somehow keep him from hurting me so deeply inside but at the same time not wanting him to stop.

“Yes,” I gasped.

I forced myself to open my eyes and give him both my pain and my desire. It was hard to keep from closing them, but I love the look in his eyes when he hurts me. The fact that it’s a turn on to him to make me ache, make me scream, is insanely erotic. I often feel somewhat selfish as a submissive, and a masochist, just wanting to be hurt and used, so to see in someone’s eyes that hurting me works for them is a powerful drug.

He put his hand over my nose and mouth and took away my air as he continued to push himself inside of me. As always, the action made me go completely still – a combination of fear and submission, my body’s way of saying “Yes. Anything. You have the power over me. Show me. Use me,” and the focus it gave me was incredible. For long seconds, my world was nothing but fear, sex, and the look in his eyes that said he knew exactly how much power he had over me and how much he wanted to use it, nothing but long moments of sensation and terror and wondering if I’d tap out or surrender to my desire to let him do whatever he wanted, even unto insanity.

I tapped out, and gasped for air as he continued to fuck me. It was still so good, but I wanted that look back, that feeling of utter and complete control. I wanted him to fuck me the way he wanted to, and not care about me as anything other than a vehicle for his pleasure, a toy to be used exactly the way he wished. I wanted to give him everything that he wanted and keep nothing for myself. I wanted to put my life in his hands*.

Finally, as I stopped gulping in oxygen as though it were water, I looked him in the eyes and in terror and acceptance told him, “Do it again,” and he came inside me just as I was reaching the point where I had to decide whether to give up or let go. He held his hand there for a few seconds more, reveling in the moment of pure power, before collapsing down on top of me and letting me breathe.

I lay underneath him and made happily burbling noises until my brain slowly began to function again.

“You were right.” I said, as he snuggled me closer.

“Hmm?” he replied.

“It should have been , ‘do you mind that I’m using you to use me for sex?’” I mumbled contentedly and then, after he stopped biting me as silent commentary, slowly drifted off to sleep.

–

_{* I must admit I creep myself out writing stuff like this, but there’s an edge there that is both terrifying and intoxicating. It’s the control, and the feeling that both of us wonder, just a little bit, about taking it too far. I have these fantasies about being fucked with a blade to my throat, by someone who’s as into knives as I am, and I think about walking that line. I think about what it would feel like if the control slipped, and then I have to slip off to my room to touch myself with cold steel and hot thoughts of blood, danger, and sex.}

Once again, my mind and my body have two entirely different thoughts on the issue of a sex toy. I got an ad in the mail today for a series of electro-stimulation sex toys (specifically electrostim dildos), and reading the description made me wish that I was the sort of person who would drop $250 on a sex toy she might or might not like, because man was the description of the sensations hot.

The thing is, though, that I don’t like electrical play. Which is to say that the one time I tried playing with a tens unit I found it incredibly unpleasant. Involuntary muscle spasms were not my idea of fun. And yet… that very sensation might actually make for a really _interesting_ experience with an insertable electrical toy.

Involuntary vaginal muscle spasms. A sensation that ranges from tickling to pain. I can’t imagine why I might think that sound hot… particularly not if the whole thing was out of my control. My brain wants to turn it into  a science fiction torture story…

–

I woke up to an aching brightness. White lights shone into my eyes, blinding me to my surroundings, and I realized that I couldn’t move. As I gathered my wits about me I realized that I was lying naked upon a hard metal table, to which my wrists, ankles, and forehead were tethered by wide metal bands.

I was trapped. My body could move, but not enough to have any hope of attaining freedom. I could clench my fists and wiggle my toes, lift my hips and shrug my shoulders, but that was it. I wasn’t going anywhere unless my captors released me… whoever they were.

I tried to damp down my worry, but it was no use. As the extent of the situation in which I found myself began to dawn on me, I began to sweat and twitch with fear.

“Oh good,” a voice said from somewhere behind my head, “you’re back with us.”

“Who are you? Why am I here?” I tried to sound calm, but even I could hear the edge of panic in my voice.

The voice laughed, “As if you didn’t know. You were instrumental in shutting down our sex slavery operation on 3 planets. You freed hundereds of our well trained products and cost me, personally, millions of credits. It’s time for me to have my revenge.”

Oh god. They’d broken my undercover identity. “Fine then, kill me. At least all of those men and women will remain free, and when my agency finds out what you’ve done to me no one will ever fall into your clutches again.”

He snorted. “Your agency turned you over to us. The director is one of my best customers. Once we get you out of the way, we’ll be back  up and running in no time. You may have cost me dearly, but you didn’t stop me. No one can stop me. Not when I have what everyone wants. Willing and untraceable victims.”

I heard him stand and then felt the warmth of his body as he came and stood next to the table, just out of my sight.

“Besides,” he said as he roughly grabbed my breast and made me cry out, “who said anything about killing you? You’re a beautiful young woman. I’m going to make you into my newest product.”

“Never!” I strained against the bonds and felt them cut into my skin. “I will never let any of your customers violate me.”

“It’s sweet that you think that” he said, while stepping away to rummage through what sounded like a drawer full of tools and equipment, “I already have an owner waiting for you. Your former boss is very excited at the thought of being able to use you however he wishes after your work almost ended up getting him sent to jail.”

“Besides,” he continued, “It’s not like you have any choice. When I’m done with you, you won’t want to do anything other than what I ask of you.” He stepped up to my head to shove what felt like a penis shaped gag into my mouth, “and in the mean time I have absolutely no interest in hearing you scream.”

With that he walked out of sight. I heard a motorized whirring sound and the bottom half of the table slowly began to split into two pieces, spreading my legs wider apart. I tried to scream and fight, but the bonds were unforgiving and the gag muffled the noises I made into futility.

“First things first,” he said, rummaging through his tools again, “I like to make certain that all of my work is instructive, so we’re going to have to confuse your body until it no longer knows the difference between pleasure and pain. For that, I think we need…. ah! there they are.”

I felt him step in the space between my legs and tried to squirm and writhe to get away from him, but it was to no avail. I felt his fingers reach between my thighs and spread my outer lips apart. Then two cold, pinching clips were placed on the delicate skin covering my clitoris. I gasped at the pain, and then moaned again in fear as he lubed up a large, cold, metal rod dildo and slid it deep within my cunt until I could feel the head pushing up against my cervix. I clenched my inner muscles around it in fear and found it bruisingly hard and unyielding. If he were to fuck me with it, he could..

He stepped away again, and for a moment I began to relax. But then, the sensations started. First, a tingling spreading from the clips he had attached near my clitoris, almost like someone was tickling or pinching it lightly. It actually felt… good. The  intensity of the sensations increased until they were more of a throbbing feeling, and it was incredible. Relentless, bordering on painful, but really really good. I could feel myself becoming aroused, and just as I began to relax around those sensation a new one began. This time, the tingling was inside me. It felt like little bolts of lighting were running up and down my cunt, and that was when it hit me. He was electocuting me from the inside. I began to moan in fear again and I heard him laugh as he recognized the realization on my face.

“So I see you’ve figured it out. I have electric current running through that juicy little hole of yours and across your little clit. I can give you the most intimate forms of pain, or pleasure, and I can also do this.”

He laughed and suddenly my internal muscles were contracting against their will. Strong  rythmic pulses like the best orgasm of my life, only I didn’t want them and they were contracting around that unyielding metal rod. It hurt, and it was exciting, and it was horrible and wonderful all at once.

“In a few hours, your body won’t know the difference between orgasms and the sensations I am giving you right now. I will condition you to crave the most horrible degrading things that only I can give you, and when I’m done you will do anything I want to have me torture you again. You’ll hate me, but you won’t be able to stay away, and I will win. Everything.”

And then, even as my body shook with horror and pleasure, tears began to run down my face… because I knew it was true.

–

Not the best porn ever, but you have no idea how many projects I’m behind on. While I go work, I highly recommend reading about the latest homophobic corporate failure -  this time from amazon.com.

This is what I asked for:

Come in.

Take me with urgency -  feigned passion or real.

Rip my clothes off, shove me up against the wall, bury your teeth in my shoulder, and fuck me hard.

When you’re done, let me slide to the floor, take the cash off the table by the door, and leave.

When push comes to shove, I always end up paying for what I want. Sometimes it’s easier to do it in cash.

It was a quality of life issue.

The company was known for the many benefits it provided its employees - video games, free food, places to nap - but there was one area in which its services were lacking…. sex.

It was a strange oversight, really. Engineers spend a lot of time tensely staring at their screens waiting for code to compile and processes to run. A system of frustration relief could only benefit the company’s bottom line. After all, the longer you can keep a programmer at his workstations, the more coding that actually gets done.

It only took the right person’s vision to see oversight as opportunity, and, in a moment of brilliant inspiration, Project Underware was born.

I was one of the first hires. I suspect I was an obvious choice. Big brains turn me on. All it takes to get me on my knees is a facility with problem solving and an elegant use of command structure. In my experience, programmers have an enormous facility with commands.

The workers of Project Underware provide a multitude of services: A cunt to fuck, for quick release. A back to whip, meditatively, while searching for an answer. An ass for reaming, literally, on a frustrating day.

My favorite days, however, are those spent on my knees in the dark, deep wells of computer laden desks. I wait, patiently for the sound of a zipper being opened or fabric being raised and the feeling of a hand fisted in my hair drawing me towards service. I love the sensation of a cock growing hard in my mouth or a cunt growing wet under my tongue, feeling the urgency of their arousal wax and wane as they are drawn over and over again into the intellectual stimulation of their work. It thrills me, being an invisible mouth, a silent pair of hands, urging them to distraction, to completion, or to genius. I love that is is my work to bring them joy with theirs.

I don’t usually start out naked.

It’s not because I’m shy, although I am.

I have a reasonably nice body. I just don’t usually feel comfortable showing it unless a beating is imminent, or I am happily glowing after some violent attention.

I’m fine being naked in public after I’ve been playing, or in private after I’ve been thoroughly fucked, but… there’s a utility to that. It feels justifiable. It feels wanted.

Starting out that way just feels deviant.

“You’ll spend the party naked, kneeling at my feet, doing whatever I ask of you, and nothing more.”

Both terror and turn on to think of being so exposed.

It makes me an object.

It’s difficult to be self possessed when I’m clad solely in my hair, and so my self belongs to her. Which, when it comes down to it, I suspect is rather the point.

It makes it hard to talk.

I can’t be naked in public like this and not in subspace. I can’t be in subspace and engaged in neutral conversation. Instead, voices buzz around me like bees. They drone, they spin, and they rarely do anything that requires a response.

It makes it impossible to say “no.”

That word that was stripped away from me hours earlier along with my clothing. Having agreed to provide service, my own choices become subservient to her own.

I serve.

As a vehicle: for food, drinks, and whims.

As a vessel: to be filled with fingers, needles, and desire.

As a target: for whips, canes, and words.

As an audience: for someone else’s destruction.

As a prize: in a somewhat unwholesome bet.

I am exposed.

As vulnerable

As willing.

As someone who takes pleasure in being told what to do.

Which is how I ended up here.

Even though I don’t usually start out naked.

–

This was inspired by a conversation a few weeks ago, and then finally got off the ground when a friend said, this morning, “I don’t usually start out naked, but when I do it tends to be memorable.”

I’m not one of those people so comfortable in their skin that I can go to a play party, shuck off my clothes, and wander around happily nude. I, quite often, fail to have any desire to put my clothing back on after it has come off for a scene, but that’s different than having the balls to remove it up front.  But, because of that awkwardness, my lingering discomfort, and my excessively Western association of nudity with sex, it’s a really hot concept to me to be denied the safety of clothing in a circumstance where I don’t know if that physical vulnerability is going to be taken advantage of or not.

I wish I could remember whose blog I was reading the other day when she was  talking about how she couldn’t wait for spring so that it wouldn’t be stocking weather anymore and her partner could just put his hand under her skirt and reach inside her.

I have fantasies about that. Having a partner who assumes access to my body, and takes it because they want it.  The sort of relationship where they feel comfortable saying “don’t wear anything under your clothes tonight,” or pulling me into a dark alley to fuck my mouth. Where we feel so much heat for each other that occasionally we stop in the middle of a conversation to have violent, passionate, sex on the floor.

I just like the thought of being wanted by someone who feels free to, and wants to, take. I like it, particularly, because I enjoy feeling secure enough in someone’ s desire to express my own desire for them.  Asking for sexual things is hard for me. I’m happy to be made to beg, but it’s nice to know that sometimes they are going to say “yes.”

I’m on my knees.

That’s always how it starts. Head bowed, striving for stillness, impatient with longing from only the touch of your eyes.

I shiver when you don’t touch me. Hands behind my back, spine straight, breasts thrust forward,  legs apart, your patience makes me mad.

I’m torturing myself.

If I move, you’ll touch me, but stillness is a point of pride. I will not purposely fail when I have been requested to succeed.

I hear you moving, gathering objects, gathering yourself, who can tell. It’s a game to you, I know. Which of us can control our desire longer.

Sadist.

I feel you step up close before me. The heat of your body is too much temptation. In trying not to lean forward, I pull back instead.

The crack of your hand across my face feels so right. I want you to do it again, and grabbing my hair in your fist to pull my head back you oblige me. Twice. Three times. Make me cry. Please. Just one more.

You step away.

You say if I want you to touch me, I have to crawl.

I do.

You say that if I want your attention, I will hold my legs open wide, wider, so that you can put alligator clips on my labia.

I beg, please.

You tie them to my thighs. Pain, control, and exposure, all at once.

What, I wonder, would it be like to be fucked like this: raw, exposed, and unbearably open.

I wonder if it would hurt beautifully or awfully.

I wonder if I’m going to find out.

Later. Both spent. Thoroughly fucked, violently used, sore of jaw and hip and places deeper, touched and violated, I ask.

Will you beat me now?

Please?