"Lexie's Story"
Night Fun
"The Contract"
A proleptic upshot
Power of Attorney
You last the envelope up to the pale, as if to see through it. You focus it over, weighing it in your hands. Holding it to your nose, you can almost perceive a scent of perfume, vanilla with a tip of amber, hot yet sweet..... It appears precise in its legal form and jargon, a well-written, obscure kind of "property agreement." The origins of such a document must date back to another instance and place. The someone of the first knowingly signing over all privileges to the crew of the minute for one weekend. You will be the master, and I, your committed subject. Attached in calligraphic furnish, is a mention that reads in part-"This is your feast gift. I will turn up tonight to complete the terms and obligations of' The Treaty.
Air of Respect
Although we have never met, our intimate conversations, and my gentle, locked away voice have an captivating effect. Your imagination is ripe with the possibility.
The doorbell disturbs you from a transitory flight of be keen on. Your first impersonation, I look dim and sweet, a vulnerable, spotless presence...long, obscurity, curly-a protective coat. Most out of the ordinary, an unlined look defies age. There is almost no noticeable make-up... except to make out large, entrenched, brown, soulful eyes and skin blistering with a fit glow touched by the sun. This features (of average height) dressed in casual clothes seems strong, levelheaded, tenacious, intense--yet still somehow fragile.
Your eyes go along the design of my suspended necklace, casting your consideration downward to a chest of ample relationship. The rest of my mass is hidden beneath fabric that only suggests well-defined feminine curves. This is the 'Ivory Teenager,' the 'daughter next door' with a slur hint of the performer, the unconventional, uttered in accessories and a ?cool, proud carriage. You see an unstructured incidence with playful, smiling eyes and full, without a glitch shaped lips that beg to be kissed.
Crime and Punishment
It is a quantity meant for punishment. And, all your thought is focused on the force you will rapidly wield...the provocative clothes you will force me to do, the humanizing of an animal to your whim, the contravention of a will. Your incline aches at the the makings of the play about to unfold, the plot of your universe, a curtain about to enlargement...
"Faustian Fervor"
First, the educated protocol of banquet...a preprandial libation, a toast to encourage or exorcise the demons-one inclination satisfied, while another is grind. The pretense of discussion, foreplay to the forbidden, good wishes flow as freely as the alcohol. For the concluding course, a symbolic treaty with the devil sealed with a passionate kiss. I can refinement the aged bourbon. There is an tacit understanding, as our tongues hunt for answers.
"Let the Sports Meeting Begin"
Comfortably seated in a control the discussion, you admire your extra prize. Suddenly, your relaxed tone becomes imposing.
Blushing, I achieve it is one machine to sign a enter into, it is reasonably another to be in this world up to it. Your language becomes coarse-a new personality emerges...present them to me," is thought with a vicious anxiety.
My hands shake from edginess. I am not accustomed to being on put on show. My obvious self-consciousness only heightens your excitement. Finally, the cloudy white globes are naked.
"Lift them up and squeeze them together"... an offering to a Divinity, and you are the Supernatural Being.
"The nipples are not testing enough," you in the region of reproachfully.
From a nearby bucket you remove an ice cube, demanding that I position the gelid substance on the tips until entirely erect. You wish for to see how generously proportioned you can promote to the teats spread, using thumb and forefinger as forceps, tongs of terror, the extrusions become rock-hard minuscule mountains, a evidence of your fit to bust cock. You connect with under my skirt, silken underwear, the fabric protector of the grotto. Matter-of-factly, you tell me that I am to put my cunt exposed, available to you at all era, accessible to your invasion.
"Underwear is not acceptable," and with that you cleave them off, just about running your hands between the cut.
I am to have no name, from now on be referred to as "cunt" or "pet." You further debase me by pointing out the wetness between my legs. My quantity has betrayed me.
"Prolocutor Twisted Executioner"
"Stand by the interface," I wish for to see you masturbate."
My dilly-dallying turns to boldness.
"Suppose someone sees me," I imploringly respond.
You smile condescendingly. I try, but cannot result in myself to such a alongside of exhibitionism.
"Then, you shall be punished"...
I have broken the contract, a behavioral flouting of the convention.
"Lift your skirt, show me your ass, bend over my knee," you say in a contumelious method.
There can be no skepticism to my movement. I must be quite an incendiary observe.
Your cock requires consideration and release. My mouth, lips and tongue are a moist, tight, sheath...desperately judge to please. I am overcome by your range. I struggle not to gag. You choose not to close in my mouth, but rather on my breasts and collar, so I can attend to as you spill your seed, along with profanities. I am saturated in your maleness, and aware that this is merely the beginning of my servitude.
"A Darkness on the Town"
"Get dressed, we are obtainable out. The clothes I have special for you can be found in the bedroom."
There, carefully organized I find...a push-up bra (which will only give out to exaggerate my breasts and cleavage), black sheer blouse, very short skirt and high spike heels (of course of action, no panties). I can feel the air between my legs. I must look like a hooker, I believe cheap. Somehow it never occurred to me that the narrow would include off-premise pursuit.
We march a short expanse to a hinder. You deliberately drop something to the ground and ask me to retrieve it. There is no doable way for me to bend in such a small skirt without instructive my naked ass.
"I slang do it," a tremor in my tone, not wanting to invoke your wrath.
In disgust, you grab me, almost dragging me as we put. There will be revenge for my noncompliance.
"Act of Contrition-
Obedience Training…Once back in your apartment building, I plead for your pity, ask you to grasp my predicament. Words fall over on deaf ears. One so brawny and proud needs to be made known her place...
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