A Maiden's Tale (Part Five)
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Posted:Mar 24, 2023 3:20 am
Last Updated:May 25, 2024 7:11 am 7012 Views
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Minutes, moments, seconds passed, how long she could not say. She felt the waves of pleasure start to subside; could hear her own exhausted breathing as her head began to clear. She opened her eyes and looked at him, his jawline, the greying stubble of a beard not two days old, the hint of cruel pleasure at the corners of his smile and those cool blue eyes that pierced her flesh and saw her as she was.
“Who…Who are you, Lord?” she stammered, between awkward, ragged breaths.
He said nothing but leaned in close and slid his palms up over the tops of her thighs, around her hips and took hold of the cheeks of her arse, one in each of those strong hands. The scent of him filled her nostrils and she softly moaned. Without warning, he yanked her forward, sending a flash of pain across her pinned and aching shoulders and forcing her legs wider. She mewled and whimpered as another surge of juices filled her swollen, gaping cunt. He released her from his grip but she remained where he had placed her, balanced on the edge of the bench. He reached out his left hand and stroked her face, brushing sweat-soaked hair from her eyes. He smiled again, and then she threw her head back in a gasp as he plunged his fingers deep inside her throbbing, yearning sex.
He worked her slowly to begin, easing fingers to a tender rhythm within her velvet slickness. Her knees began to shake as she arched her back, pushing out her perfect tits to him, and tried to bring him deeper.
“The village wives are right to fear you,” he said, thrusting his fingers a little harder in her cunt.
“Sire,” she said and tried to say more, but the air was sucked from her lungs as his thumb found her clit and a shockwave rippled through her body.
Again, he worked her slowly. His thumb caressing her, rolling over and around the button of her sex, flicking across her hood while his fingers explored and probed her depths. She tried to meet his gaze, but each time she glimpsed the pleasure of control in his eyes it brought her closer to her climax and she had to look away. She groaned and moaned and whimpered through bitten lips as he teased her hungry, dripping cunt. He pumped her pussy harder and made her cry and beg for more.
“What’s your name, girl?” he said at last, as she was about to succumb once more.
“Hilde, my Lord,” she said in panting words. Her body began to shake. “My name..my name is Hildred…but people call me Hilde.”
His fingers worked her harder, thrusting deep and rough, her clit pulsating under the coarseness of his thumb. He leaned in close and sucked then bit her nipple, and she cried out as she came.
He kissed her tits and moved slowly to her neck as his probing fingers slowed to ease her from her climax.
Twice more he brought her to her peak and then beyond with fingers, tongue and mouth. Her mind was lost, her body floating, her only thoughts of him.
“You belong to me now, Hilde,” he whispered, warm breath against her ear.
Hilde murmured her assent as his lips found hers and he kissed her hard and deep. She lost herself for moment and when her eyes flickered open he was standing over her, his cock swollen hard inside his trousers.
“I belong to you, Lord,” she said, as he untied the leather cord around his waist. “I belong to you.”
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A Maiden's Tale (Part Four)
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Posted:Mar 19, 2023 3:41 pm
Last Updated:Apr 27, 2023 9:32 am 7394 Views
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The sun was already in the sky when she woke, her body sore and aching from the ordeals of the past 24 hours. For a moment she had forgotten he had left her wrists bound in front of her, loose enough to allow her to sleep in comfort but still tight enough to ensure she could not easily escape them. She pulled herself up into a sitting position, her blanket falling to expose the fullness of her tender breasts. The lodge was empty, the fire dwindled to a few glowing embers. He was nowhere to be seen though his mail and armour were on the bench where he had left them the previous night. Her torn gown remained on the floor.
She pulled the blanket up around her shoulders and staggered out of the bed, the feel of his rough hands still on her body. Slowly, the ache in her muscles began to ease and she found that she began to move more easily despite the binding at her wrists. She washed herself in a bucket of cold water and nursed the fire back to life. There was no bolt on the door of the lodge and so she opened it to peer outside. Nothing moved saved the birds in the trees, the air alive with their song. The lodge was set in a clearing, surrounded by oak, ash, beech and elm. A heavy axe was half buried in a chopping block alongside a sizeable pile of logs. She glanced from the gleaming blade to the straps around her wrists, but then turned and went backside. The remainder of the stew began to bubble in the cooking pot. She ate by the warmth of the fire.
She sat staring into the flames and listening to the birdsong drifting through the open door long after her bowl was empty. She tried to recall the events that had brought her to this point, but her thoughts kept returning to the knight, her saviour and her captor, and his hands and lips on her body. She wondered if she should cut the cords at her wrists and run; she wondered if this was all part of the tests he would set her, but always the memories of his touch sent shivers dancing down her spine and she sensed the growing heat between her legs.
“Did you sleep well, maid?” His voice from the doorway roused her from her dream. She felt herself grow wet.
“Yes, Lord Knight,” she stammered, refusing to look at him as a rush of shame reddened her cheeks, an ache of longing growing in her cunt.
He closed in behind her and stroked her hair and neck. Tremors danced across her skin and she gave a murmured sigh. He eased the blanket off her shoulders and caressed her flesh before taking hold of her arms and raising her still bound hands above her head. The blanket slipped away, falling to her waist and exposing the rise and fall of her naked tits as she fought to catch her breath, her nipples swollen hard. She let her elbows flex and bend under his direction as he drew her against the hard back of the bench, guiding her hands behind her head where he bound them tight to the timber frame. He pressed in close and softly stroked her face, her cheeks, her lips, with the fingers he had pushed inside her. She could still smell the trace of herself on him. Though her wrists were bound in place she could still move and twist her hands and she groaned and whimpered as she found his swelling cock through his trousers. He gave her his fingers to suck one by one.
In time, he stepped away and though it was just a moment, it left her wanting.
And then he was in front of her, gazing down on her, drinking in the rise and fall of her ripe, round breasts. She saw the fire of lust and hunger in his eyes, could see the outline of his hardening cock take form in his trousers. She knew that he would have her and it made her want him all the more. He pulled up a rough-carved stool and sat down in front of her, her closed knees pinned together between his thighs, strong and powerful from hours spent in the saddle. Her breaths came hard and fast as he pulled open the blanket, removing the last covering of her modesty and exposing her completely to his gaze. He smiled as he slipped a hand under each of her thighs, then lifted and spread her legs over his own so that his knees now pinned her open. He stared down at her helpless cunt and she knew he could see the wetness glistening on her swollen lips. She closed her eyes, unable to look at him as her face flushed hot with shame and wanton desire. He edged his stool closer, the pressure of his knees forcing her legs wider, opening her further. She moaned as she felt her juices flow, dribbling warm and sticky on her skin and down between the cheeks of her arse. She sensed that she might cum at any moment and her body spasmed at his touch as his thumb brushed across her tender nipple. His hands caressed her tits, tracing the curves and contours of her soft flesh, fondling and exploring. His thumbs worked her nipples, around and over them, delighting and tormenting her. Her body writhed at his touch. She groaned and begged for anything and nothing. She felt the tremors building deep within and knew.
“Please, my Lord. God, please,” she whispered.
“Are you a witch, girl?” The first words since he had greeted her from the door.
Her body rocked and trembled, the bindings on her wrists dug into her flesh. Beads of sweat snaked down her back, dripped off her face and raced liked raindrops between her heaving breasts.
“No, Lord, no. I swear it. No.”
His touch turned rough and more demanding on her tits, his fingers harsh and unforgiving on her aching nipples.
“Please, my Lord, I beg you,” she tried to say, but her words were lost in grunts and groans and a cry of naked lust as the waves rose hard and fast to flood her from within. She rocked and bucked against her shackles under his rugged, unrelenting touch towards the pinnacle of orgasm. Her musky juices pooled on the bench beneath her. The air was thick with the scent of her. Her skin bristled with sensation as wave after wave of raw rapture swept over and consumed her.
It was only when the swell and rush within her began to subside that she felt his fingers stroke the inside of her thighs and slide on through her wetness towards her throbbing cunt.
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A Maiden's Tale (Part Three)
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Posted:Feb 19, 2023 12:14 pm
Last Updated:Apr 27, 2023 9:32 am 6872 Views
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He pulled the rope taut, lifting her onto the balls of her feet. Moments passed as she found the point of balance that afforded her the only comfort she could find. She could hear him moving behind her over the sound of her own sharp breaths.
Then out of nowhere she sensed him close and suddenly his hands were on her: on her tits, her arse, her cunt, her throat. Groping, caressing, teasing, fondling, sometimes rough, sometimes tender, shedding any doubt that he had absolute control over the entirety of her. Her cunt longed to have him though he gave it scant attention beyond the occasional forceful finger thrust deep and hard inside her or rolled across her tender clit. But still her juices flowed, hot and slick down the inside of her thighs. She cried out in the isolated blackness of her hood as he sank his teeth into a swollen nipple. As he teased and sucked her; biting, nibbling, kissing, tormenting her with his tongue, her climax came in waves, sending spasms through her body, from scalp to aching calves.
“My Lord,” she pleaded, “have me. I beg you, have me please.”
But he had left her in the moment of the ecstasy of orgasm, and as the waves subsided, she felt lost, alone and empty. She could hear herself breathing in the hood; could feel the wetness on her inner thighs. She yearned for the return of his touch on her skin.
And then another sound: the whoosh of movement through the air. It lasted less than a second and then stinging, burning contact. The thrap of leather on soft flesh. She cried out as it seared the cheeks of her exposed, defenceless buttocks.
It came again, it stung again. She cried out again – and again she felt her juices flow.
He came up tight behind her and kissed her shoulders and her neck below the hood. His arm curled around her and his fingers found the velvet folds of her sodden cunt. His fingers probed her deep and she repaid him with the orgasm he demanded.
And then the sound again. And the blazing fire of contact on her arse.
And then again, and then again, and then again.
And then the tender kisses, and the unforgiving fingers on her clit and in her cunt.
Again and again he tormented her. She lost count of the impacts that scorched the cheeks of her behind; lost count of the orgasms that rocked and shook her to the hidden depths of all she was.
At some point in the night, when she was all but spent, he untied her aching arms and eased them gently to her sides, the rush of blood sent her dizzy. He removed the hood and loosened the collar around her neck before lifting her in his arms and carrying her to a bed of feathers, straw and furs.
“Sleep now, maiden,” he whispered as he covered her raw and naked flesh with a blanket. “You have passed the first test.”
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A Maiden's Tale (Part Two)
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Posted:Feb 19, 2023 12:13 pm
Last Updated:Apr 3, 2023 11:37 am 4219 Views
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It was dark when she woke. She was cold despite the blanket wrapped about her and the strong arm still around her waist. The had slowed to a steady canter, and she could smell its sweat. They were deep in a forest though she could see a light flickering ahead through the trees.
He brought the to a halt in a large clearing. Flaming torches illuminated a small timber lodge and smoke curled from a chimney in the thatched roof though there was no sign of any to tend the fires. All was calm and quiet. The rider climbed down from his and reached up a hand to help her descend. He took her in his arms as she struggled down from the saddle and then carried her to the lodge with no more difficult than had she been a still in the cradle.
Inside, he laid her on a rough bench draped in furs and blankets. The warmth from the open fire felt good on her chilled skin. The lodge was empty, but the tantalising smell of a rich broth drifted from a large pot suspended over the flames. The knight unbuckled his sword belt and removed his plate and mail before handing her a small bowl of stew and taking another for himself. They ate in silence. The food was good, she felt her strength returning.
Finally, he put his bowl to one side, used his sleeve to wipe the juices from his lips, and looked at her.
“They say you are a witch,” he said at last.
“They lie, My Lord,” she spluttered. “I promise you. I am innocent. The women of the village accuse me because their husbands look too long in my direction.”
The knight looked her up and down, drinking in her face and the curves barely hidden beneath her gown.
“I can see why they might,” he said, almost to himself, adding: “But then, I can hardly expect a witch to confess her guilt.”
“I swear, My Lord.”
He got up from his bench and came closer. It was only then she realised how he towered over her, six-foot-two at least, with broad powerful shoulders, thick legs and strong arms marked and scarred by work and war.
“We shall see,” he said, reaching down and closing one rough hand around her throat, firm and tight but without applying the pressure that would hurt her.
Slowly, he pulled her upwards until only her toes remained in contact with the dirt floor. Breathing hard, she saw the fire reflected in his cool, blue eyes, but quickly looked away. He reached out his free hand and gripped the collar of her gown. She gave a gasp as he ripped it from her in a single, unforgiving movement. He let it fall at her feet and she balanced there before him, naked in the flickering flames, her heavy breasts rising and falling as she tried to catch her breath. He spun her round like a top so her back was pressed up against his chest and she could feel the stiffening at his groin through his trousers. Roughly, he jerked her arms back and pinned her wrists together behind the small of her back with one giant hand then bent her forward and wrapped a leather cord tight around her wrists.
“My Lord,” she begged, her breathing sharp and hard as the rough leather dug into her skin.
“Only a fool would leave a witch unbound about his lodge,” he whispered in her ear. “If you are the innocent, the maiden, that you claim to be, then tomorrow I will set you free.”
“Yes, Lord, I understand,” she murmured, but her words slipped into a sigh as he softly kissed her neck.
With one arm wrapped around her waist, he pulled her tight into his chest. His free hand brushed across her shoulder as his kisses roamed across her neck and ear. He found her heaving breast and began to knead and squeeze it. She gave as moan when he rolled her swollen nipple between his fingers, caressing and then pinching over and again.
“My Lord,” she whimpered as his teeth grazed across her soft flesh.
The arm around her waist slipped lose and his palm brushed against her stomach before his fingers started on the slow descent into the bush between her legs. His teeth and tongue continued unrelenting on her neck and her nipples ached and throbbed beneath his firm attentions. She could feel his hardness swell through his coarse leather trousers against the bare cheeks of her arse.
She groaned as his fingers spread the soft folds of her flesh and found her wetness. She feared that she would cum the moment he pushed them inside her, but he worked her slowly and eased his heavy fingers in and out of her with a gentle tenderness that held her growing lust in check. She pressed her arse against him, rubbing hard against his shaft, trying to unleash his want for her. He teased his fingers around the entrance to her hungry cunt and made her quake and tremble as he brushed across her tender clit. He twisted hard on her nipple and she scream a primal yelp.
“Are you a witch, girl?” he whispered while sucking on her ear.
“Please, Lord. No,” she said between her moans as he plunged his fingers deep once more. Her nipples throbbed and her body ached for orgasm. Her dripping cunt longed to feel him inside her. Her hands, still bound behind her, scrambled wildly at his trousers in hope she might free the cock she craved but found no means of access. His fingers worked her harder, at cunt and nipple, and her body tensed as she felt the first waves begin to build. He sensed it too, and suddenly his fingers were gone. Her nipples ached and warm juices tricked down the inside of her thighs. He pushed her forward and she stumbled, struggling to keep her feet. Breathing hard and dizzy; shocked at his denial, her body craved his touch, his kisses, his fingers and his cock. She needed the release of orgasm that only he could give her.
Then she felt the tightening of a leather strap around her throat where once his kisses had beguiled her.
“My Lord,” she gasped. But it only tightened more.
He pushed her across the room to where a rope hung from the rafters and fixed it to some unseen part of her collar. He pulled it tight to hold her in place. He undid her wrists, blood pulsing through her screaming veins, then retied them to the rope above her head. She stood naked on her toes, hands bound above her head, a rope affixed to the collar at her throat, exposed and helpless, incapable of movement.
“Please, My Lord,” she begged him, then a heavy hood was pulled down over her head and everything was blackness.
“Are you a witch, girl?” he asked in calm and measured tones.
“No, my Lord,” she moaned.
“Now we will find out.”
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A Maiden's Tale (Part one)
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Posted:Feb 19, 2023 12:11 pm
Last Updated:Apr 3, 2023 11:37 am 4207 Views
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I began writing this story for a friend a little while ago but came across it once again today so have decided to begin posting it rather than leave it languish in a dusty folder on my hard drive.
I hope others enjoy reading it….
A Maiden’s Tale
She felt the crowd close in around her; could sense their fear and fury.
The flickering flames of the torches threw wild shadows, shapes and faces contorted, merged and separated in a grotesque kaleidoscope. She could not count their number, but she could tell that they were many. Too many. Much, much too many.
Her heart raced. Panic dried her throat as terror overwhelmed her.
“Witch!” she heard a woman scream from somewhere beyond the torchlight.
A fleeting blur came out of the crowd and struck her on the breast. The flesh of the tomato stuck then fell away to leave a pale red patch soaking into her gown.
“She’s a witch!” a man shouted. “Burn her.”
She tried to beg, to plead her innocence, but the words caught sharp and hard in her throat.
“Witch!” they cried. “Witch!”
A heavy blow drove her to her knees. She could feel them closing in, could sense them all around her. She felt punches and groping, grasping hands, could hear the shrieks and screams, and the pounding rhythm of hoofbeats echoing the racing of her heart.
Rough hands pawed her, dragged her, pulled her hair, tore her clothing.
Fear consumed her and she swooned into a semi-blackness, the shouts began to fade and the thunder of the hoofbeats filled her ears. Harsh voices, anger, threats. and that it seemed as if she was floating. She came to high above the crowd, faces twisted ugly with spite and fury. She could smell the , sense its trembling monstrous power beneath her, feel the tension in its form.
The torchlight glistened off the figure wrapped in steel and iron rings standing on the ground beside her.
“There’ll be no burning here tonight,” she heard him shout.
Screams and curses. A man lunged forward from the crowd. A slick, swift movement from the figure at her feet then a flash of gleaming steel followed by the crunch of bones and an anguished scream as the width of a sword blade smashed into the attacker’s face, sending him stumbling backwards, blood and snot pouring from his shattered nose.
“The next will taste the edge,” he roared and raised his sword. The crowd stepped back as one.
And then it was over. The shouts and threats grew quiet.
“She’s a witch, an enchantress. She must be burned,” someone yelled.
The figure sheathed his sword and climbed up on the behind her.
“There’ll be no burning here tonight,” he said firmly.
“You’re safe now, maiden,” he whispered softly in her ear as the crowd began to thin. “There’ll be no burning her tonight.”
“Thank you, Lord,” she murmured as he wrapped her in a blanket and placed one strong arm around her waist.
“Rest now,” he whispered. “We have a long ride ahead.”
“Yes, Lord,” she said, already drifting.
“Then I will see if you are witch or not.”
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Saving Grace (part one)
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Posted:Nov 17, 2022 9:21 am
Last Updated:Feb 20, 2024 9:24 am 5281 Views
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I’d been thinking about Grace for a while, but my over-riding view of her was mainly wrapped in sympathy.
She was in her early 60s and in great shape for her age, maybe five-foot-five, blonde still, and slim with great proportions and curves in all the right places. Her husband John was in his 80s, massively overweight, and had been seriously ill for the entire 15 years I’d lived just up the road from them.
From the moment I’d arrived in the village, I’d been warned that my neighbours thought the rest of the village was beneath them, and for the first ten years I lived here they did nothing to alter that impression. It was maybe five years before Grace even said hello and for the better part of the next decade our contact never got much beyond that. I’m not sure I exchanged more than ten words with John in all that time.
Then, about 18 months ago, a had a phone call late one evening. It was Grace – I had no idea that she even had my number. John has collapsed again, but this time she couldn’t get him off the floor and he was refusing to let her call an ambulance – the paramedics had been there a couple of times in as many weeks already.
I pulled on my boots and ran down the lane to help. I knew he was a big man, but damn, he was heavy. I’m no lightweight myself, 6-foot-2 and nigh on 200lbs, but anyone who has tried to lift 22 stone dead weight off the floor will know exactly what I mean. I only realised then just how ill he really was, but what made it worse was the way he spoke to Grace. I knew he was frustrated, angry, and understandably embarrassed that she’d had to call me for help, but there was an undercurrent to his words that I could see straight through. The guy was an arsehole, even to his wife – especially to his wife. An arsehole and a bully. I could sense her humiliation at being spoken to in such a way in front of me, but he didn’t seem to care. I often wondered whether his abuse had gone beyond just words in the days when he had been more mobile.
And so it continued for the next few months – John would have a fall, I’d help pick him up and all the while he’d treat Grace like shit. If it hadn’t been for Grace, I’d have left the mean old bastard where he was, but I just couldn’t do that to her.
As time went on, Grace and I became more friendly. Well, not friendly exactly, but I’d come home from work to find a freshly baked cake on my doorstep or a pot of stew or something similar. I guess it was her way of showing her gratitude – not just for my help with John, but more for keeping her daily torment secret.
Things took a forward step last summer - you’ll remember that heatwave. Damn, it was hot. I was doing some work on the edge of my property with a brushcutter one morning before the heat got too intense, but even so it was roasting and I had had to take my shirt despite the flying twigs and nettles. The sweat was pouring off me.
“You can come and do mine if you like,” I heard a voice say above the noise of the machine.
I turned to see Grace standing in the lane. It struck me as odd as I’d never seen her walk up this way before, but then people were breaking their normal routines just to avoid that endless heat.
I laughed and she smiled.
“Everything ok?” I asked. “Is John all right?”
“He’s fine,” she said, the smile fading. “Well, same as ever.”
I nodded.
“And you?” I asked.
“I’m ok.”
We stood in silence for a moment or two and then she said something about letting me get back to work and walked back towards her place. I watched her go and saw her glance back over her shoulder once or twice.
And that’s how things continued for a while: I’d help with John when needed, she delivered cakes and other treats, and we’d chat a little more. Then one autumn evening I was coming home from work and spotted yet another ambulance in the driveway outside their house. I heard a few days later that John had been taken into hospital and then been transferred to a care home, it seemed unlikely he’d be coming home – at least not any time soon.
I saw Grace briefly once or twice and exchanged a few words here and there over the next couple of weeks. Maybe I was imagining it, but it seemed to me that as the days passed it a weight was slowly being lifted from her shoulders. Then I saw her in the village shop one afternoon and she asked if I could help her in the garden for a couple of hours later in the week.
The work was easy enough even in a light rain - just clearing some branches that had come down in a storm, but by the time I was done my clothes and hands were wet and muddy. She invited me in to wash up and have a coffee so I followed her into the kitchen. The house felt completely different without John’s sick and overbearing presence.
“I’m so grateful for all you’ve done for me,” she said as she filled the kettle. She had her back to me so I couldn’t see her face, but I sensed an uncertainty in her voice.
“Think nothing of it,” I said, admiring the curves of her arse in her jeans as I waited for her to leave the sink so I could wash my hands. “Anything you need, anything at all, you know where I am. “
She put the half-filled kettle down on the worktop and paused. I could almost hear her heart beating.
“Anything?” she asked, still not facing me.
I took a step closer towards her so I was just a couple of feet behind her. I sensed her body tense.
“Anything at all.”
The only sound was the ticking of the clock on the kitchen wall.
“Will you have sex with me?” The words fell from her mouth as if a dam had been broken and they gushed out uncontrollably. Her fingers gripped the edge of the sink.
I stepped in behind her and slipped my muddy hands onto her hips. I could feel her body trembling.
“I’d like nothing better,” I whispered close to her ear, pulling her tight to me so she could feel my cock hardening in my jeans against her arse. “But…”
She froze.
“But?”
“I might want more than you’d expect in return,” I said, sliding my right hand up under her clean white t-shirt until I found her breast. She moaned softly as I ran my fingers over her nipple, already stiffening inside her bra. “I can be….” I paused as my fingers earned a reaction, “…more demanding than you might realise.”
“I know,” she said, as my left hand snaked around her hip and opened the button and zipper of her jeans. My fingers, still cold and wet and muddy for their outdoor work, eased behind the waistband of her knickers. I pulled her tighter to me so she could feel the hardness of my cock then let my fingers ease on through the bush of her public hair towards their destination. I could feel the warm wetness that had soaked her knickers and then the hot folds of her lips.
“I know what you are,” she whispered through a groan as I pushed my finger slowly inside her. Her lips parted in a grateful welcome and she moaned again as I eased deeper into her. She was soaking wet.
“Is that so?” I whispered, then gently kissed her ear.
“Yes,” she whimpered as my finger found her clit. “Yes….Yes, Sir.”
We stood in all but silence, save for the moans and gentle sighs slipping from her lips, as my dirty fingers slowly worked her clit and nipple. Her breathing grew harsh and sharp, I could feel her body tense and tremble, her knuckles white as she gripped the sink edge
“Are you going to cum for me, Grace?” I whispered. “Right here? Right now? In front of your kitchen window?”
“Oh God,” she moaned. “Oh God.”
I worked her clit a little harder and a little faster.
“Yes,” she cried out. “Yes. Yes, Sir. I’m going to cum for you. Oh God! Oh God! I’m cumming for you now, Sir.”
I felt the spasms in her pussy and her clit, the gush of hot, thick juices as her body shook under my unrelenting fingers. My right hand had to leave the pleasure of her breasts to wrap around her waist and hold her up as for I moment I thought her legs would give way underneath her.
“It’s been so long, so, so long,” she mumbled as the tremors began to ease and I slowed my fingers so she could catch her breath. She still hadn’t looked at me since before making her proposal.
I held her for a little while more, my cock throbbing hard inside my jeans, and then stepped away and pulled a chair out from under the table. I sat facing her in the middle of the kitchen.
“Look at me, Grace,” I said at last.
Slowly she turned, but kept her eyes fixed on the floor. Her white t-shirt was smeared with mud, her nipples showed proud even through her bra. Her jeans were still wide open with a large damp patch between her legs. I could glimpse the traces of my dirty handprints on her skin beneath her t-shirt and down into the pubes. I could see that her face, though turned to the floor, glowed red.
“Come closer, Grace,” I said, beckoning her forward. She did as I instructed and came to a halt about two paces in front of me.
“Was that what you wanted?” I asked.
Slowly, she raised her head and looked me in the eye.
She said: “I want more,” then added, “Sir.”
She removed her t-shirt and jeans when I instructed and stood before me in just her underwear, nipples still erect despite the warmth in the kitchen and the wet patch on her cotton knickers was clearly visible.
“Are you sure this is what you want, Grace?”
“Yes, Sir,” she said, “but…”
“But?” I asked.
“But…please be gentle with me, Sir. I know what you are, and what you’ll demand, but it’s been a long time since I was with a man, any man, let alone a man like you.”
“You’ve nothing to fear, Grace,” I smiled. “I’ll take good care of you. Now take off your underwear.”
She unclipped her bra, stepped out of her wet knickers and stood before me naked in the middle of her kitchen. I eyed her slowly and deliberately from head to foot and back again, pausing at the growth of hair between her legs, at her breasts and on her face, making sure she realised my close attention. My cock twitched in my jeans. When I told her to turn slowly so I could see her from behind, she did as ordered without a word. The curves of her arse looked all the more delightful without the covering of her jeans. Once she had turned full circle and again stood facing me I sat in silence to enjoy the sight of her. I could see her nervousness lifting; could see her discovering the pleasure of being the subject of my gaze.
“When was the last time a man saw you naked?” I asked.
“A long time, Sir,” she said, “not for many years”.
“And how does it make you feel?”
“Excited, Sir. It’s making me wet again.”
I summoned her forward and told her to lift my shirt off over my head. I could feel the trembling in her fingers as she ran her hands over my bare chest and shoulders. Her perfect tits rose and fell in front of me, but I resisted my initial urge to kiss them. She removed my boots and socks as requested and I reached out and stroked her hair as she kneeled at my feet and I could tell that she was smiling. I pulled her back up and guided her onto my lap, pulling her astride me to sit on my thighs though my jeans were still damp from the morning’s work.
“Unbuckle my belt and unbutton my jeans,” I told her. She paused a moment as if considering whether this might be her final chance to step back, but instead she reached out to do what was required. She jumped and gave a muted moan as my cock moved beneath her touch, then eased my jeans down slightly over my hips. My cock tried and failed to stand in the cramped confines of my boxers. Grace’s eyes remained fixed on the bulge.
“You know what to do,” I said eventually.
Tentatively, she slid her hand into the waistband of my shorts and grasped the swollen shaft of my cock.
“Oh, Sir,” she sighed, holding it tight.
I inched my backside up off the seat and pushed my boxers down, allowing my cock to spring out hard and fully formed. Grace eased her hand along my full length and around my head, exploring the totality of my cock rather than stroking it for my pleasure.
“Do you like my cock?” I asked.
She nodded wordlessly without ever taking her eyes off my member.
I slipped my hands under her arse and lifted her up off my lap. Wide-eyed and breathing hard she looked into my eyes as I lifted her closer to me, her hand still gripping my shaft. I manoeuvred her into position until my head brushed against her wet velvet lips. I could feel the anticipation surging through her and so paused to suck each of the nipples in front of my face. She moaned and whimpered with each gentle suck, and then I held her eye as I slowly lowered her down. Her hungry lips parted to receive me and her soft groans grew louder and more ragged as she took me inch by inch into her wetness. She had only taken half of me when I felt her start to clench and spasm. Her arms went around my shoulders and she leaned her head into me as another orgasm awoke her long dormant desires. I kept giving her more of me until she had me all, and then I left her rest, my swollen, throbbing cock lodged deep inside her as her climax slowed.
Once her breathing had recovered and she’s managed to reclaim something of herself, I took hold of her wrists and eased her arms behind her, pinning them behind her back.
“Now fuck me, Grace,” I ordered. “Ride that hard cock inside you.”
Her face flushed and she nodded then slowly used her legs to slide up my shaft, each movement causing moans and groans and whimpers. She started slowly, awkwardly, but soon she found a rhythm to slide her soaking pussy up and down the fullness of my length.
Sweat trickled down her face and I did nothing to help her ride me, beyond holding her pinned arms behind her back.
“Is this what you wanted?” I said as my cock filled her again.
“Yes Sir,” she moaned, her eyes closed tight.
“You wanted to feel my hard cock inside you.”
“Yes Sir. Oh God, yes. I’ve wanted it so long, Sir.”
I could feel her speed increase with every word she uttered and knew another orgasm wasn’t far away.
“And you know today is just the start of it.”
Her eyes opened wide and her pace increased again.
“Oh God, yes please Sir. You can have me every day, any time you want, any way you want.”
She fought to get the words out as another climax hit. harder than before. Her entire body shook and still she worked my shaft. I could feel the ripples riding through her pussy, massaging my cock deep inside her. Her breathing was fast and sharp. Her legs began to buckle. Sweat dripped from her face onto her tits as she rode the waves of her own pleasure as I erupted inside her. She screamed as the first jet of my hot cum filled her and rode harder and faster with each wild spasm of my cock.
We sat entwined, exhausted, once the last of my cum had pumped into her and her orgasm began to fade. She rested her head against my shoulder and I could feel her body shaking. Her breathing slowed and I could sense the pleasure of her contentment.
Eventually, I lifted her off my lap and carried her to the chair where I’d so often placed her monstrous husband.
“Thank you, Sir,” she smiled, completely spent.
“I’ll see you very soon, Grace,” I said. “We’ve only just begun.”
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Katy: Hoping to Impress
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Posted:Nov 8, 2022 3:32 am
Last Updated:May 25, 2024 7:11 am 4621 Views
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Katy eyed herself in the ladies’ room mirror and tried to brush away the nerves and any the hints of tiredness. Her colleagues had already gone home; one or two offering a final “good luck” before departing. They knew - as she did - that what followed would likely shape her future, and either they were on the brink of burgeoning friendships or would never see her again. Katy prayed that she had done enough to impress. She only wished she had had more time, but now it was too late. In the next few minutes she would learn her fate.
“What will be, will be,” she told the woman in the mirror. “It’s only a job.”
“Yeah, but it’s a job you really want,” her reflection replied.
After touching up her make-up, she tidied her hair and straightened the collar of her crisp white blouse. She picked a non-existent speck of dust from her skirt and tugged at the hem while wriggling her hips to ensure her stocking tops were hidden. Finally, she took a deep breath and set off down the corridor towards Mr Jackson’s office. The sunshine of the day was beginning to wane.
As she neared his office she could hear his deep, rich baritone through the open door. He was talking on the phone. Mr Jackson’s door was almost always open – shut only when confidentiality required it. Mr Jackson inspired loyalty amongst his team. The men respected him and the women, whatever age or inclination, were all a little in love with him. Even in the short time Katy had been there, she too had developed a secret crush on her boss. She desperately wanted to keep this job. The work was interesting – exciting even, the pay was very good, and there was Mr Jackson.
She glanced at her wristwatch - it was almost 6.13pm. She hoped her punctuality would help her cause. She knocked gently on the open door and waited on the threshold.
Mr Jackson was seated at his desk, deep in conversation, but looked up and shrugged a kindly apology. Katy gestured that she would come back later, but he shook his head and beckoned her to enter. Once she was inside he put his hand over the mouth-piece and whispered “take a seat”.
She looked around the room, searching for a chair without success. Mr Jackson mouthed another silent apology and gestured for her to perch on his desk.
“This won’t take much longer,” he said, his hand muffling his words from the person at the other end of the line.
Katy smiled awkwardly and did as instructed, resting her buttocks on the edge of desktop.
Their intimate proximity in the otherwise empty building unnerved her, but Mr Jackson returned his focus to the call while his free hand moved a mouse, flicking between spreadsheets, graphs and text documents on his screen. Katy glanced around the room, at the charts and diagrams pinned to the walls, the certificates and letters of endorsement, photographs of the team with champagne glasses raised and others of Mr Jackson smiling alongside suited men she didn’t recognise. As her eyes drank in the symbols of success, she let the one-sided flow of the conversation wash over her: “turnover”, “net return”, “short and long-term forecasts” mingled with figures ranging into millions.
She desperately wanted to keep this job.
Her two-week trial was over and she hoped she had done enough. She had tried to be efficient and proactive, and for the briefest moment her cheeks flushed at the thought of the other things she’d done to make an impression, and she actually thanked God that those efforts had gone unnoticed.
“I’m sorry Katy, please bear with me,” he said, finally putting down the phone. “I just need to send this email - I’ll only be a minute.”
She watched his long smooth fingers play across the keyboard with the grace of a concert pianist.
“So,” he said, still typing and without looking up from the screen, “your two weeks here are up.”
“Yes sir,” she said, shifting awkwardly on the edge of the desk. Her heart beat a little faster. She tugged the hem of her skirt down a millimetre or two over her thighs.
He looked up from the screen for moment.
“Have you enjoyed yourself? Has it been worthwhile?”
“Oh yes sir,” she said quickly. “I’ve loved it.”
“That’s good,” he said. “Then it seems then we both have a decision to make.”
He typed a few more words, then said: “The first question to consider is whether you want to work for me. There’s no point continuing if you think this isn’t for you.”
“Oh God,” she spluttered. “Yes sir, Mr Jackson. I really want this job. I’ve learned so much these past two weeks and I’ve really enjoyed working for you. I, I’d love this job sir...” she trailed off, feeling foolish.
He paused, and turned to her and smiled. She felt her cheeks flush, embarrassed at how childish she must sound. She brushed an invisible speck off her skirt and tugged the hem down a fraction once more.
“I mean to say, sir” she said, regaining her composure, “I mean to say, I would very much like the job permanently, if you consider me suitable, sir.”
“I see,” he said. There was a pause and he typed a few more words.
Katy saw the final characters of the message appear on screen before the tell-tale whoosh of an email disappearing into the ether.
“Suitable,” he said, as if to himself, before swivelling his chair to face her, brushing her leg with his knee as he turned.
Her pulse quickened.
“So, tell me, are you suitable?”
“I, I don’t understand sir,” she stammered. “I think so.”
“So what have you done,” he said seriously, all pleasantries now gone, “to prove yourself suitable?”
Katy felt her cheeks flush once more.
“I’ve fulfilled all the duties given to me to the best of my ability,” she said, stumbling. “I’ve managed your diary and dealt with all your calls. I have excellent word-processing and computer skills, I’m keen and work hard, I have...”
“I don’t need a repeat of your resume,” he said sternly.
“I have worked extremely hard to....”
“To what?” he snapped. “What you have done is come here in a tight little skirt, hoping I might look at you.”
Katy’s cheeks burned hot.
“No sir,” she stuttered. “No, I haven’t, I promise, I...”
“What you have done is wiggle your arse in my direction whenever you thought I might be looking.”
Katy’s heart sank in her chest. The thought of running from this room, this office, this building and never looking back raced across her mind. She tugged the hem of her skirt.
The man behind the desk watched the nervousness in her fingertips.
“What you have done,” he said at last, “is come to work each day wearing a short skirt and no knickers, flashing your little pussy at me every chance you had.”
“I would never, I...I…I’m sorry, sir.” She had never felt so stupid or humiliated.
Her mind flashed back to Tuesday afternoon when she had purposely, deliberately, crossed her legs in front of him. And when last week she had sat opposite him with legs a little wider spread than felt right in hope she might catch him trying to sneak a glance. She recalled the disappointment when she thought he had not even looked.
She felt ridiculous, a schoolgirl being scolded for flirting with a teacher.
“Was that how you thought you’d get the job?” he said.
“No, sir. Oh God I’m so sorry.”
“Is that what you thought Katy? A little flash of pussy and I’d do whatever you wanted?”
No words came, but her face burned with shame.
“So tell me, Katy,” he said after a long and painful pause. “What is so special about this little pussy between your legs?”
His hands were on her knees, she sensed their warmth through her stockings. She felt her growing heat.
I’m sorry. Mr Jackson...I never meant to, I never meant...” Words failed to come. Her breathing turned short and fast and sharp with the dawning realisation.
“Show me,” he snapped, forcing her legs apart.
The sharpness of his movement took her by surprise and her short tight skirt rode up over her thighs, exposing her completely. Hot juices seeped between her lips.
“My, my,” he said whispered as if to himself. “That really is a pretty little pussy.”
Katy’s knuckles turned white as she gripped the edge of the desk.
He forced her wider, opening her up.
“Oh God,” she murmured, her breathing turning deep and slow. The cool conditioned air teased her hot wetness.
“Is this what you want to show me, Katy?” he asked.
“I’m so sorry,” she pleaded, humiliation and arousal coursing through her body to send shivers down her spine.
He looked up and grinned a wolfish grin, then plunged his head between her legs.
Katy gave a deep and earthy moan as his tongue delved deep inside her. Her body squirmed and her back arched as he teased and cajoled her throbbing clit, flicking fast then slow across her swollen sex. She gripped the desk edge ever tighter as he lapped her flowing juices before to her aching, needy clit.
“You taste so good,” he said, before pushing his probing tongue deep inside her once again.
Katy rocked and moaned, the hard edge of the desk digging in to her arse cheeks. She pressed her hips forward, spreading herself wider, offering him ever more of herself. His tongue explored her deeper, probing and devouring, French kissing her pussy with greater expertise than any boy who had yet kissed her mouth. She heard herself moan from some place deep within as his tongue made its way back to her aching clit before delving deeply back inside her.
Her legs began to tremble. It was impossible to resist the urge to thrust herself forward for him, her desperate trembling hips giving him her sex, fucking his tongue as it fucked her. Pleasure rippled through her as she clenched and released her cunt for him. She bucked and rocked and squirmed, finding a rhythm to match that of his unceasing tongue. Her moans grew harder, sharper in the silent office as he worked her.
He pushed her harder, deeper, more exquisitely, than she had ever known or thought possible. She rocked and moaned; her body shook as wild tremors shuddered through her; her pussy pulsed and throbbed. She gripped the desk so tight her fingers ached, nails digging deep into the wood, as her pussy spasmed into orgasm and her body exploded on his tongue.
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Scarlet...a short
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Posted:Nov 1, 2022 1:25 pm
Last Updated:Apr 4, 2023 9:31 am 4016 Views
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The rope scorched her wrists like salt tears; her ankles too. Her calves, bowstring taut, hummed with an ache’s promise; a doorstep kiss, offering a taste of things to come. The table’s edge gnawed the tops of her thighs
All was black in the perfect night of her velvet hood. Time slipped on ice in the rhythms of her breathing and the ticking of some unseen clock. A log crackled in the hearth; the scent of mountain pine warmed the room.
“I am Scarlet,” the voice inside her head repeated.
A movement of air kissed her skin. A wave of goosebumps rippled over naked flesh like the dancing horses of an incoming tide on a sandy shore.
A hint of aftershave. A sigh escaped her lips.
The knowledge of his presence warmed her like whisky on a winter’s night. She felt herself grow wet.
The clock ticked on, relentless.
Her senses strained for sign of him. She could feel his gaze on her flesh. Her body ached for contact.
“I am Scarlet.”
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First steps into a brave new world.
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Posted:Oct 28, 2022 6:59 am
Last Updated:Nov 7, 2022 11:27 am 6011 Views
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I’d just turned 19 and was back home at my parents’ place for the summer.
I grew up in a small village out near the coast and though I was loving my new life as a student in the city, it had been good to return home for a few weeks to see my family, meet up with friends and catch up with the comings and goings of rural life. But summer was almost over and soon I’d be heading back to university.
I’d been for a night out drinking with friends at what passed for a nightclub in the nearest small town, but by 2am things were quietening down and I decided to head home – there were no local taxi firms in those days and so I faced a four-mile walk under the stars.
As soon as I left the club I realised a storm was blowing in off the sea. Thick clouds filled the sky, blotting out the moon and stars, but I’d made this walk so many times before I knew I could follow the road with my eyes closed if I had to.
I’d barely reached the outskirts of town when the heavens opened and a heavy rain began to fall so I decided I’d stop for a smoke in the remains of a derelict cottage we – like generations of before us – had used to hang out in when we bunked off school.
I’d barely lit my joint when I heard hurried footsteps rushing up the path to the cottage door and soon made out a figure pushing through the doorway.
“Hey there,” I said, keen to not startle the new arrival too much. “Escaping the rain too?”
“Shit!” she said. “Sorry, I didn’t think there be anyone else here.”
It was too dark to make out anything beyond vague shapes, but I could tell from the sound her voice that she was an older woman – 30s, 40s, 50s, I had no idea.
“No problem,” I said to reassure her. “I guess we both had the same idea.”
“Damn, I’m soaked,” she laughed.
“Here, try this – it might warm you up a little,” I said, offering her the joint, it’s end glowing in the dark.
“A joint? Oh, what the hell,” she said. “I guess we’re going to be here a little while.” Our fingers brushed as I handed her the smoke in the darkness and I felt a strange crackle of electricity between us. I wondered if she felt it to.
As we shared the joint and exchanged small talk, it seemed a tension began to grow in the darkness of the cottage. When she went to pass me the last glowing ember of the joint, my hand reached out but instead of taking the smoke, my fingers ran across the curve of her ample breast, much larger than I had expected, and brushed over her swollen nipple. There was an intake of breath followed by a moment’s pause when I expected her to tell me to back off, but she said nothing.
“Damn,” I said after a few seconds passed, “your shirt is soaking.”
“Uhuh,” was her only reply, but I could sense a change in her tone.
Growing up in a small rural village doesn’t offer much entertainment to the young so from our mid-teens all we really did was drink, fight and make out. By that point, I think I’d fucked maybe six or seven girls, but all my own age and always with the awkward fumblings of teenagers discovering the joys of the human body for the first time.
“Take it off,” I said, surprising myself by the sudden unfamiliar firmness in my voice.
“Yes Sir, as you say, Sir,” I heard her murmur softly in the darkness.
I cupped her heavy tits in my hands, gently flicking and caressing her nipples with my thumbs. Her skin was cold and moist from the dampness of her shirt. I could hear and feel her breathing sharpen, but she remained otherwise motionless.
“You have beautiful tits,” I said, not entirely sure what else to say.
“Thank you, Sir,” she murmured. “You make them feel beautiful.”
My hands continued to caress and explore her tits, the silence only broken by her tender moans and whimpers as my fingers grew more demanding on her nipples. My cock grew hard in my jeans.
My hands slid up over her tits until I found her shoulders and I gently pushed her down onto her knees in front of me. I could sense her looking up at me even though I knew she could no more see me than I could her.
“You need to make me, Sir,” she whispered.
I unbuckled my belt and undid the buttons on my jeans, releasing my hard cock into the cool night air. I could feel her warm breath on my shaft. I felt her hands find my thighs then ease slowly upwards. I thought she was about to take hold of my cock, but instead she found the buckle of my belt and pulled it free from my jeans. I was breathing hard but I sensed a wave of calm sweep over her. I could hear her working my belt in the pitch black and then felt her press the loose strap of leather into my palm. I gave it a gentle tug and heard her moan as I felt the resistance. Even though I could see nothing I knew she hand looped the belt and place it over her own head, creating a collar and leash around her own throat.
“You need to make me, Sir,” she whispered again.
I felt my cock throb harder than I had ever thought possible.
“Suck me,” I said harshly, firmly tugging the belt strap in my hand and almost pulling her off balance. She moaned and stumbled forward under the pressure of her leash. I felt my hot cock against her cold cheek.
“Yes Sir,” she mumbled as she wrapped her warm lips around my cock head.
She sucked and kissed my head for a minute or so until I gave a sharp tug on the leash, pulling her closer and forcing much more of my cock into her mouth. She groaned and trembled.
“Show me what you can do with a hard cock,” I demanded.
She took the instruction gladly and began to work harder and deeper, taking as much she could in long slow movements. Every time I tugged the leash she let out another whimper and worked her mouth harder on my shaft.
Eventually I realised that I would not be able to take much more and so used the leash to pull her to her feet, lifting it just high enough to ensure she was forced onto her tiptoes. She whimpered and moaned.
“Take down your jeans,” I said aggressively, leaning in close to her face and feeling her panting breath on my skin.
“Oh God, yes Sir,” she whispered. “Thank you, Sir.”
With one hand still gripping the leash tight to keep her on tiptoes as she struggled with her own belt and zipper, I used my free hand roughly on her tits, pinching and twisting each nipple and offering a gentle slap as she moaned and groaned. When she had worked her jeans down to her ankles, I shoved my hand between her thighs and let my fingers explore her shaved cunt. Her pussy was soaking and her juices oozed down the inside of her thighs as I pushed two fingers roughly inside her and began to pump with hard, fast thrusts. I kissed her hard, my tongue deep in her mouth as my fingers alternated between massaging her clit and fucking her. When I felt her knees start to buckle under her own weight. I eased the pressure on the leash and slipped my cunt hand around her, pulling her close to ensure she didn’t fall.
I waited until she had caught her breath and regained her balance, then spun her around so her back was up against me. I could feel the top of her arse pressed against my balls and my hot, hard cock in the small of her back. She managed to grind herself against me and gave a mournful sigh as she managed to work against my cock. I pushed her forward and, reading my mind, she got down on all fours in front of me. I knelt behind her and tugging hard on the leash teased my cock into the mouth of her dripping cunt. I found her clit and worked it with my cock head until she could bear it no more.
“Please fuck me, Sir. Please, I’m begging you.” The need in her voice made my cock twitch and I thrust myself deep into her. She moaned and I felt her shoulders sag, tightening the pull of the leash.
She orgasmed within just a few thrusts, filling the cottage with the sounds of her grunts and groans of pleasure, but I managed to hold off my own climax and keep fucking her deep and hard for as long as I could. I felt my cock begin to spasm and she gave a guttural yell as she orgasmed again when my hot cum exploded deep inside her. I kept on thrusting until I was spent and she was filled with all I had to give. I had long since dropped the leash. Eventually, I slid my softening cock out of her and we both staggered to our feet. She came in close to me and we shared a long and passionate kiss.
“Thank you, Sir,” she whispered as she removed the belt from around her neck and handed it back to me.
We dressed as best we could in the silent darkness. The rain had stopped and the storm has passed. Dawn was perhaps an hour away. We lingered in the doorway of the cottage for a moment and shared another brief kiss. Again she whispered “Thank you, Sir,” before we parted and went our separate ways.
That was more than 30 years ago and still to this day I have no idea who that older woman was. It’s a relatively small community and though I moved away after college, I have returned hundreds of times and still know almost everyone there. Did I know her then? Do I know her know? Was she in the club that night? Was it really just the chance encounter that it seemed back then? I wonder whether she knew who I was – either then or sometime later.
I went back to university a few days later and even now her identity remains a complete mystery to me. All I know is that she set me on the first few steps of my journey into BDSM and for that I will be forever grateful. My life has never been the same since.
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