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Concha

By: Erica_Gasca



It was Concha's first year as a teacher. Fresh out of college, the only job she could get was working at the adult center and as a substitute teacher. It was hard to make ends meet on a part time salary. She was placed on a waiting list and was told she would get a call when a position became available. Concha ran into one of her old high friends. Dulce was working at a gentlemen's club a few cities down. She told Concha it was ideal because she could work and nobody in town would know. Concha was five foot six inches told and weighed close to 120 pounds. Her long straight black hair and big brown eyes told you she was Mexican. Dulce kept trying to convince Concha because she told her she could make a lot of money because of her natural 28ds and that firm round ass. She had a pair shape figure that men loved. They laughed about how in high school Concha had all the boys and teachers hard. After a few dinner drinks Concha was convince to give it a try. 

Sure enough Concha was hired on the spot. Dulce got her a little naughty school girl outfit because she thought it would be funny for teacher. Concha loved the irony and wore it for her first dance. When Concha got off stage she was still shaking with nerves. The butterflies in her stomach had turned to vultures and Concha thought she would vomit. Everyone hugged her and told her she was a natural dancer. Outside the DJ and men kept calling her back out on stage. Concha needed to rest before she danced again. That night Concha put on two more showed but was excused from working the floor like the rest of the girls. But starting next week she had to do everything. 

Concha was enjoying her life. She had a job that paid the bills and another one she loved doing. One night Concha was working the floor when one of the girls said she had a client that was asking for her specifically. She walked over and her jaw almost fell to the floor. It was her old boss from college. He had hired her to do some tutoring and here he was watching her work. Moreover, her mom was his secretary. He motioned her over and asked her to sit. Concha's face was flush with embarrassment. But she took the seat anyways. 

"Hi Concha, how are you doing? Long time no see," he said. 

"I'm ok. How are you? What are you doing here," she replied.

"We're here for a conference and I decided to unwind," he told her. 

Concha remembered the difference conferences they had attended during her time at the university. Mr. Rodriguez would always disappear after dinner. He would tell them they didn't need an old man to slow them down. Now she knew where he went.

"Is there what you would do when you left us?" she asked to confirm.

"You caught me. Yes, I would come here and relax," he answered honestly.

"You always looked to stern, like you were going to church. I would never have pictured you in a place like this," she told him.

He laughed. "Trust me I had a hard time hiding my boners when you girls were around. You were all very sexy but so naïve and young. I'm glad you never caught me checking you out. Especially when you bent over, I couldn't control myself half the time," he told her. 

Concha went a deep red. Here she used to look at him as a father figure just to find out he wanted to fuck her. Mr. Rodriguez was talking to Concha's tits when she returned from her daydream. The tiny top she had on almost showed her dark brown nipples and Mr. Rodriguez was enjoying the view. 

"Dam mijita you some nice round tits," he told her as he adjusted his crotch. 

He had a huge hard on and he was absent mindedly rubbing it right in front of her. Hearing him curse and seeing him rubbing cock through his pants made Concha blush more. She had never heard him talk like this and would never image this man with a hard on. 

Mr. Rodriguez pulled the front of her tiny little school girl outfit up and stared at Concha's camel toe. 

"MMMm que rico, he muttered. Half the time you used to come into my office in skirt I wanted to do this," he confessed. "Look at that tiny little pussy in that tiny thong." 

Before Concha would compose herself she had slapped his hand away. Immediately she apologized. She was working and he was still a customer. But the pit boss had seen what happened and hurried over. 

"Is there a problem here?" he asked.

"No Jack we're having a great time. Isn't that right Mr. Rodriguez," nervously smiled Concha hoping he would not be too mad and agree. 

"No of course not Jack you know the girls always treat me good when I come here," answered Mr. Rodriguez.

"Well if you say so Mr. Rodriguez. You've been a steady and loyal customer for many years. I just want you to be happy," replied Jack.

"And your girls always do a great job," answered Mr. Rodriguez as he squeezed Concha's upper thigh. 

"Well Peaches (Concha's stage name) will make sure of that. Won't you Peaches," stated Jack more than asked. 

"Yes of course," she replied.

"Jack is the private room ready," asked Mr. Rodriguez.

"For you, yes. Come with me let me show you," answered Jack.

Mr. Rodriguez motioned for Concha to follow Jack. She was sure he wanted to check out her ass as she walked away. Jack closed the door to the private suite when Mr. Rodriguez and Concha entered. Concha felt Mr. Rodriguez's hand on her back and he gently pushed her forward. She put her hands on the table and looked over her shoulder. Mr. Rodriguez couldn't take his eyes off her ass. He put his foot between her and spread her legs. 

"Put your hands on the table Conchita," he told her. 

That was his pet name for her during the two years she worked for him. He stepped back and admired his work. Concha had an incredible ass and it looked so hot under that tiny mini skirt and in that white thong. 

"God you don't know how many times I jerked off picturing you like this Conchita," he told her. 

Still looking over her shoulder she could see him grabbing and playing with his cock over his pants. He placed both his hands on her ass. He grabbed and rubbed it to his content. Again he gave her a gentle shove telling her to put her face on the smooth table and push her ass more in the air. She did what she was told. Mr. Rodriguez was in heaven. One of the prettiest girls he had ever hired in his life was now bent over with her legs spread showing off her ass. 

"Your mom would kill me if she knew what I was doing to you right now mijita," he told her as he massaged her ass. 

Concha then felt him spread her cheeks and he started to grind his cock into her ass. 

"I can't wait to tell her I rammed into you," he said with a chuckle.

"No! Don't tell her you saw me ok? Please? She doesn't know. Nobody knows. Please don't tell," begged Concha.

Mr. Rodriguez spanked her ass. "Oh you bad little girl, keeping secret from your mom," he teased. Smack again. 

"What do I get if I don't tell? Hum mijita? What do I get," he asked as spanked her again.

Concha didn't move, didn't talk. She knew what he wanted and she was too scared to give it to him. She felt him feeling up her tender young ass. Nobody had ever paid this much attention to her ass. His stronger firm hands would spank her every now and again. 

"Cat got your tongue mijita?" he finally asked. 

Still she did not answer. Mr. Rodriguez looped the sides of her thong into his fingers as he slid them off her. She heard the sounds of a zipper being undone; she left his hands on her hips. Mr. Rodriguez placed the head of his throbbing cock on her pussy lips. 

"Look at me Conchita. Look at me when I fuck you little girl," said Mr. Rodriguez. 

As their eyes locked, she left his cock enter her young tight body. Mr. Rodriguez slowly and purposefully shoved his whole cock into her little pussy. 

"MMM. I knew you would feel so tight around my dick Conchita," he told her. 

Concha laid there feeling his cock in her pussy. Mr. Rodriguez grabbed her pigtails and pulled them back so she would arch her back. He started to hammer his cock into her hard. 

"God I can't believe I'm fucking your little cunt," he whispered into her ear. 

He was pounding hard and fast. 

"I haven't had pussy this good in a long time. Oh fuck Concha I wanted to fuck you since I first met you," he continued. 

"Can you feel my big cock in you?" he asked. 

Concha didn't answer. This was surreal. She didn't believe she was being fucked by her old boss. He was old enough to be her dad and he had his cock in her. 

"Answer me before I tell your mom what a naughty daughter you been," he told her. 

"Yes Mr. Rodriguez, I can feel your cock in my pussy," she quickly replied.

"Call me papi," He told her. "Say it again," he commanded.

"Yes Papi I can feel your big fat cock in my tiny pussy," she moaned. 

"Oh that's it my Conchita. Talk dirty to papi. Make me fuck you hard. Keep talking dirty while I fuck you. Keep talking til I cum," He told her.

For the next few minutes Concha said every dirty word she ever heard. She told him to do every dirty act or thing she had heard, seen or read. Mr. Rodriguez played with Concha's young body. He pulled her nipples, spanked her ass, pulled her hair, bit her neck and fingered her pussy with his cock in it. 

"Fuck me with your big fat cock. Shove it in me. Oh yes Papi. Cojeme duro. Put it in deeper. Harder papi, fuck me harder," she moaned. Hearing his prissy little goody two shoes ex student talk like a street whore made Mr. Rodriguez hard beyond description. The more she talked the harder he fucked her. 

"Fuck me harder you dirty old man. Fuck my tiny pussy. That's it. Fuck my ass. Oh yes fuck my ass," she moaned. 

"What?" he asked. 

"Say it again," he continued. 

"Fuck me harder you dirty old man. Fuck my tiny pussy," she replied. 

"After that he," he told her. 

"Fuck my ass," she asked. 

Mr. Rodriguez pulled out of her pussy and ran his fat throbbing cock along her ass. 

"You got it little girl," he said with a smirk. 

"Oh fuck," thought Concha. She was so caught up in talking dirty she didn't know what she was saying. Now he was going to fuck her virgin ass. She thought about fighting it but before she could do anything, Mr. Rodriguez was shoving his slimy hard cock into her ass. 

"Oh fuck yea. I've never thought I would do this to your fine ass. Oh god Conchita. Oh yes, can you feel my cock up your tiny ass now?" he asked with a grunt. 

Conchita was biting her lower lip to keep from screaming. She was being torn apart by his huge cock. Mr. Rodriguez started to pound her. He was not giving her time to get used to his cock before he was fucking her. She was moaning and grunting as he molested her ass. He was fucking her like a jack hammer. 

It was too much for Mr. Rodriguez; feeling that tight hole around his cock, hearing her moaning and talking dirty, seeing that round ass he always craved in front of him feeling, it grabbing, it fucking it, and then his favorite ex student bent over like a slut made him cum. He unloaded gobs of cum into her tiny body. He stiffened and exploded every last drop into Concha. It seems like gallons of sperm went into her ass as Mr. Rodriguez finally collapsed onto her. Both were breathing hard and sweaty. 

"You're just a good little fuck aren't you mijita?" Mr. Rodriguez tease. 

She was too exhausted to answer. 

"I would fuck you every day, if you lived near me," he continued. 

He took a drink from the complementary Champaign Jack provided. They rested in the comfortable chairs in the room. After a few minutes he was hard again. 

"Come over mijita and let's see what a great cock sucker you are," he told her. 

Crawl to me on your hands and knees, get between my legs and start sucking me," he stated. 

Concha did what she was told. He grabbed her head roughly, pulling on her pigtails calling her dirty names as she sucked his cock. 

"That's it give papi great big kisses," he moaned. 

He was gagging her and making her swallow his cock. 

When he was about to cum, Mr. Rodriguez said, "Smile mijita papi's got a nice present for you." He covered her face full of cum. 

Using the head of his cock he smeared it all over her face and made her lick his cock clean. 

A few days later Concha received a call from her mom. She was very excited and had some great news for Concha. 

"Honey, remember my old boss Mr. Rodriguez," started her mom.

Concha froze. "Had he told her already? Dam bastard can't keep a promise. I fucked him for nothing," she thought. 

"Well he finally proposed. Oh I didn't want to tell you we've been dating since you were here because I knew you would not approve. Him being my boss and all. But I'm so excited," continued her mom. 

Concha was in shock. How could this be? She felt she was on a television sit cm and just got "Punked." It was not happening. She just fucked the guy who was going to marry her mom. 

"Here he wants to say hi," her mom told her.

"Hi Conchita. Remember me your old boss from college, Mr. Rodriguez. Well, it's true we're getting married. I went to a conference over the weekend and realized how much I missed your mom. So I asked her to marry me. Now that's we're going to be a family we can see each other more often," he said. 

"Won't that be great coming over to visit and spending the night?" he asked. 

"And don't worry you don't have to call me Mr. Rodriguez any more. You can call me papi. You like that mijita?" he asked. 

"Well hurry cuming home because papi got's a nice present for you. I bet you still look at pretty as the last time I saw you," he continued. 

Concha could see the smirk on his face. She could feel the innuendos over the phone. 

"How could she face the man who used her like a whore? Moreover, how could she face him when he was going to be her new stepfather? What can she do?" thought Concha as she hung up the phone. 

Concluding Nonconsensual Postscript



This is a prequel to Sex Slave Lottery and is probably only for Bolry sex slave lottery fans. Much of it is very harsh. There are introductions to this in the last chapters of the 150th Slave Pt 5 Original Ending and the 150th Slave Alternative Ending Pt. 10. The story teller is Laurel but mostly she relates what was told to her by Irina. 

*****

Concluding Nonconsensual Postscript – A Bolrian Melodrama

Irina's presentation was unearthly. Much of the time she pretended that the person that she was discussing was someone else although she referred to the person as "Irina." In part, this may have been so she would be able to claim that she had never told anyone her story. Also, though, it seemed she did not want to be the Irina in the story. When she was calm, she spoke in English but at some points began shouting in Russian. She broke into tears multiple times and into hysterical laughter twice. 

I. 

Irina began, "This story is completely untrue although maybe 100 people in Bolry have heard it. Of course, there is no backwater former Socialist Republic of Bolry. There is no Svetlana or Irina like the women in this horrid tale. We are all part of the Red King's Nightmare. 

"But once upon time there was the Socialist Republic of Bolry, the SRB. The SRB was watched carefully by Moscow but it leaders were allowed to use methods that were considered severe even by Brezhnev. The ethnic Russians were a minority in a polyglot of steppe peoples, Old Believers, Muslim fanatics and mountain tribesmen. The rulers were mainly ethnic Russians, still a cross between brutal Stalinists and Cossacks at heart. Moscow thought this was fine given the need to maintain control of an impossible province. The Hetman in control of the SRB was Nicolas Orsinov who had a wife and two legitimate daughters. Feeling he was Zeus or Agamemnon, Orsinov also had numerous bastards by women living around the SRB.

"At the time the action in this story begins, Orsinov had separated from his wife who was desperate to get out of Bolry. She was allowed to go to Moscow but had to chose one of her daughters to leave behind as a hostage to assure that she did not talk too much about things that had happened in the BSR. The mother took the older daughter with her to Moscow. You can imagine how the ten year old daughter felt being left with distant relatives in Bolry after being abandoned by the rest of her family. Let's call the younger daughter 'Irina' just to make it easier to relate the story. The Irina of the story is completely fictional.

"Years before in the late 1960s a female child had been born in the SRB. Let's call the young woman into which this child grew, 'Svetlana,' although this young woman is also completely fictional. Svetlana was very smart and very beautiful and thought herself secure. She had done very well in the schools available in Bolry. She had an amazing facility with languages and played the violin beautifully. 

"Svetlana had two older brothers who had advanced far in the Bolrian government. The older brother, we'll call him Protyr although he is a fictional character and no relation to our current Great Leader, had become the Chief of State under Orsinov, who was officially the Secretary of the Party. The second brother, Dimitry, had become the head of the Bolrian Security Police, the BSP, although he was only in his early 30s. 

"Svetlana was very happy that she could go to the University of Moscow where she was doing very well in her second year. She studied Russian and English literature and even had learned much of American and Western European culture and slang while playing Haydn and Shostakovich in a quartet. She was making many friends and popular with young men when her mother fell ill and she returned to Bolry. 

"Great beauty can be a great asset and a great curse. Orsinov saw the young woman during her trip home and decided that she would become his mistress. Most of the Bolrian ruling clique thought that Svetlana had deliberately attracted Orsinov to get ahead. It was a path frequently taken by Bolrian woman, most recently by Irina's mother. In fact, nothing could have been further from the truth. Svetlana had no interest in being Orsinov's mistress. Svetlana told Orsinov as respectfully as she could that she wanted nothing to do with him and wanted to return to her studies once her mother got better. 

"Svetlana was seized, essentially raped by Orsinov and kept in a house outside the Capital with no company except security guards. She thought that her brothers would help her. But her younger brother thought it was good for his career if he supported Orsinov in this and never liked his younger sister anyway. He probably would have raped her himself if he could have gotten away with it. The older brother, Pyotr, perhaps felt sorry for his sister but did not do anything to help her. 

"Agamemnon kept his victim off contraceptives so that he could father more bastards. Svetlana's first child was probably by Orsinov and the baby boy lived a little while with his mother who nursed the baby. But Svetlana was healthy and still full of life. She seduced a handsome security guard. She was very pretty and smart, but not yet careful. She may have thought a woman could not get pregnant while nursing. She got pregnant again, this time at a time that Orsinov had not visited her for weeks and could not possibly have fathered the child. 

"The philandering rapist Orsinov was furious that his victim had failed to remain chaste. Svetlana was sent to the BSP for interrogation. It is said that she never revealed the name of the father of the child despite days of torture and rape. The identity of the father, though, was not too hard to guess. The father of the second child was killed in a manner of which I will not speak. 

"Orsinov's immediate impulse was to do the same with Svetlana but on a whim Orsinov decided that Svetlana should carry the child to term. When the child was born, it would be exposed on a mountain to die. Svetlana could be tortured to death by the BSP. Orsinov could imagine no more cruel way to kill a woman than to force her to carry a child knowing that she and the child would die horribly soon after the child was born. 

"Hearing of her sentence, Svetlana tried to hang herself but was stopped before she could jump off a chair below the pipe over which she'd thrown the bathrobe belt. She was sent back to the house in the suburbs but now no man would help her. Many of the guards went out of their way to be cruel to Svetlana, took advantage of her sexually and made frequent jokes about what would happen to her at the BSP headquarters in a few months. Some gave her a taste of what she would get although they knew she had already had much more than a taste. Understandably, she lost faith in mankind and became cold and sullen. 

"As her belly grew, a middle-aged midwife from the mountains was assigned, in the words of Smerdyakov, her chief jailor, 'to keep Svetlana alive and help her give birth to a healthy child so we can kill healthy victims.' Svetlana's young son was shipped off to Berlin. He was quietly adopted by an East German couple that was moderately important in the party. 

"The midwife, Mariya, pretended to follow orders but privately told Svetlana not to despair. The midwife said that the blessed virgin would hear of her plight and save her and the child growing in her womb. Svetlana, who had been brought up a devote Communist, did not place any faith in the virgin but was comforted by the woman and told herself that there might be some way she would survive. The old woman got Svetlana books. Orsinov had not said that reading was forbidden to the dead woman walking. Svetlana did her best to keep her mind off the future. Frequently, she could not, though, and broke down weeping into the gray sleeves of one of the midwife's traditional nurse dresses. 

"When Svetlana began childbirth, she suffered many times the pain and terror of most other mothers. The midwife told Svetlana to be as quiet as she could be and diverted the guards in various ways from what Mariya and Svetlana were doing in Svetlana's small room. Although the delivery took 11 hours, the foolish men who were guarding Svetlana did not recognize that Svetlana had gone into labor until after the child was born and the midwife had stolen the child and disappeared in the mountains. Never send a man to do a job that has to be done by a perceptive creature. 

"After they discovered what had happened, the guards were not eager to tell Orsinov. It is not known why Svetlana was not killed. Why was Dostoyevsky spared after plotting against the Czar? As it was, in the coming weeks, the guards and Svetlana were fortunate. The coup against Gorbachev was launched and failed, the Soviet Union broke up and Orsinov, his henchmen and the Bolrian Security Police were far too busy working to stay in power as a brutal Russian clique out in the steppes to worry about what had happened to one of Orsinov's ex-mistresses living in isolation in the suburbs. Also, it is said that Svetlana's mother had managed to prevail on Irina's older brother to keep her from being killed now that he could do so without costing himself much. Orsinov may have actually forgot about Svetlana or thought she was dead. 

"Svetlana was sent to a nicer place than Dostoyevsky after being spared. Pyotr decided he had to get her far away from the capital where she might be remembered to the detriment of Svetlana, and much more importantly, to himself. He had a summer home down by the sea, to which he sent Svetlana where she could read, walk on the beach and begin the process of recovering from her ordeal. The midwife found her on the sea and assured her that her daughter was healthy and being raised by a good peasant family. Svetlana began to make some friends in the villages near the resort. She even allowed herself to dally with some of the local men. The strong appetites with which she was born slowly recovered. She could not continue her studies in Moscow but she worked on learning languages the best she could and read a great deal. She read of Theodora and Wu Tian who become empresses after being concubines and, of course, of Katherine Alexeyevna who patiently waited until she could take power from her useless husband. 

II. 

"The daughter that Orsinov's second wife had left in Bolry grew into puberty. Orsinov began to take some interest in her. For a while she appeared with her father in public. It amused him to travel with her. It appeared to observers that she approved of how her father controlled Bolry with an iron fist. Irina became a frequent visitor to the headquarters of the Bolrian Security Police, where she saw some things that she should not have seen. She became well known to a lot of the BSP officers. As Irina's breasts developed and hips broadened, the security police and important officials looked at her with even more interest. At age 15, she had her first sexual experiences with several of the younger stronger agents of the BSP.

"The idea that Irina approved of torture was entirely untrue. During a tour in the country, she saw a village that had been destroyed by the Bolrian army. She suggested to her father privately in a stupid adolescent way that maybe he should retire if staying in power required such acts. He told her to shut her pretty mouth. 

"Months later, on another tour in the country with her father, Irina saw a pretty young peasant woman about her age being taken off to the BSP HQ. She heard her father give orders to BSP men that after they learned whatever they could, they could do what they wanted with the peasant woman before disposing of her. Irina, acting like a passionate girl rather than a scheming wise old Cossack, whispered to her father that the young woman looked innocent and why could they not just let her go. Orsinov became angry and told her that she was right, the peasant wench probably did not know any more about the rebels than a thousand other peasants in the area but it would amuse the BSP to learn that and use her body. "If you are so concerned about this little country bitch, maybe you should take her place." 

"Irina again failed to keep her heart from saying what her brain would have suppressed, and whispered to her father, 'Maybe if the world were just, I would be in her place.' Orsinov smirked and chose to interpret Irina's remark as accepting his brutal offer. He told the young peasant woman that he had decided to spare her although his daughter wanted her for a toy. After ordering the young woman released, he turned to Irina and merely said, 'Done.' 

"Orsinov knew her could not kill her. He could not even send her to the BSP as a prisoner without too many people knowing that his own daughter had turned against him. But he was going to punish her severely. He ordered his three most trusted men, Dimitry, Tsaplin and Andre Utzin, to take Irina out for a ride, take her to 'the shed' and show her what happens to 'stupid girls who question what must be done.' 'Leave no visible marks,' Orsinov said, 'I will be out later for the final ceremonies.' 

"Irina was driven out to what had been a truck repair station, stripped naked and chained face down on part of a hydraulic lift on which trucks had been driven before being raised for repairs. It was raised so that her torso was on the lift, her feet barely touched the floor. She was chained with her genitals and buttocks fully exposed. She was blindfolded, whipped with fan belts and given careful electric charges from various equipment batteries. The BSP did not have the fancy toys it has now, but it had learned to make do with the equipment available. Irina was in great pain horrified and soon beside herself in anguish when the men began to rape her anally. 

"After being left for a time on the lift to reflect on her pain and degradation, she heard her father's voice as the men returned. She was flipped onto her back, and charges were now applied to her nipples for a short while. The belts were used to whip her front. She was left again and it grew dark. After a period that seemed very long, the men returned and she was raped vaginally. She could not see and did not know if her father was one of the rapists. She knew she had been raped five times while on her back. 

"Something happened during the second set of rapes that had more importance than it should have had. Irina had an orgasm noticeable to all present. 

"It is not rare for a woman having an orgasm during rape. When it happened the man who was raping her had penetrated her a long time and had deliberately stimulated her clitoris as well as her G-Spot. But Irina knew little at the time. She was a 16 year old whose female relatives were in Moscow and who had learned about sex from members of the BSP. She never received any counseling. Although the pleasure was momentary, Irina came to believe that she was perverted and had feelings of guilt and self-loathing to add to her feelings of horror and violation. 

"Also, when rumors of what had happened in the shed spread, it was said by brutal ignorant men, that, along with being a vicious sadist, Irina was such a 'whorish slut' that she could enjoy sex while tied to a hydraulic lift and raped blindfolded. When these rumors got back to Irina her, she was further mortified. 

"Irina had endured her torture and rapes expecting she might well be killed. She did not know that Orsinov had ordered his men not to kill her and had heard his order to kill the peasant woman who she thought she had replaced as a victim. As she laid on the lift a puddle of semen, sweat, fear and pain, she heard her father say, 'Now finish the job,' and heard a door close and a car drive off. As she heard men come closer to her she started begging that they not kill her. 'I am only 16, you've taken everything from me, please take no more.' 

"In one of the two times in his life that he did something for Irina, Dimitry took off her blindfold, unchained her and tossed her an oily tarp for clothing. 'We never intended to kill you, at least not until we have developed a more convincing accident than any one we could concoct now," he said. Even Orsinov's reputation would suffer if it were thought he murdered his own daughter for no reason. Maybe sometime when we can pin the death on some group of opponents, rebels or another enemy, yes, that would be good.

"'I was supposed to play with my pistol and a knife around you and maybe turn on a saw or other lethal equipment to you to overwhelm you will fear, but I am to have dinner with an attractive woman tonight. I need to freshen up. I'm sure that I can count on you not to disclose my minor dereliction of duty. Also, if you agree to be a good girl, you can ride in the back seat back to the capital with Utzin. Otherwise, you will have to ride in the trunk. That would be a nuisance because the trunk is full of automatic weapons.' Irina promised to be good and cowered in the tarp on the ride. She was not allowed to sob because the men said it got on their nerves."

At this point, Irina began crying. I felt guilty for having encouraged her to tell all this and Crystal suggested that maybe Irina had told enough for today. Irina, though, said that she wanted to finish this silly sad story and that she did not know why she had started crying. "None of it is true, of course," she said before starting again. 

"During the drive, Utzin told Irina that she should be pleased to learn that they wore rubbers when they raped her anally and that the BSP had recently had all their officers checked for VD. 'So you might not get infected from your fun in the shed.' Irina, who had not even thought about the possibility of infection or pregnancy, was beside herself for days with fear and grief. Fortunately, all of her injuries from the worst day of her life were to her psyche and reputation. 

"With no use for Irina and thinking he had taught her a lesson, Orsinov shunted Irina off to a boarding school in a bleak industrial town an hour from the capital. In the school, she would receive a poor education and many doses of inept political indoctrination. Because of her situation, she could not leave the school. 

"Irina had gone from being the darling of the state to a disgraced victim who could turn nowhere. She could not believe that life could be so awful. Men who had told her how pretty and smart she was when she was Orsinov's favorite had brutally raped her and she had to live with knowing that many still wanted to kill her because they thought she was Orsinov's favorite. She wished she were ugly or dead and felt like there was lead in her spirit and her body. She did not want to move, or think or even feel. She envied the trees and the stones. 

"One of the men who had raped Irina in the shed joked in a bar of Irina's horrific orgasm and let slip to a few others of the BSP that Irina had been tortured for criticizing her father. So, someone learned, who was close to Orsinov, but no longer supporting Orsinov, that Orsinov had a daughter who had cause to hate him. 

"Although Irina did not know it at the time, two different factions of the BSP began watching her. One of the factions did not yet know that the other existed. The loyal faction was watching her loosely but not guarding her. Probably Orsinov, Dimitry, Utzin, and others would have been delighted if some insurgent killed her.

"Irina received an emissary from the other faction. The emissary was not a member of the BSP and had even been tortured by the BSP and almost killed by the army during a campaign of ethnic cleansing. The strange, attractive woman, only perhaps five years older than Irina, had entered the school without notice and motioned to Irina to follow her into an empty classroom. The woman, whose name comes from the Greek word for "wisdom," said only a few sentences. She said that 'some people' had learned what had happened to her and 'some important people' thought she had been treated very unfairly and would try to help her in the future. The woman said also that above all Irina should not lose her sense of self worth, that Irina was a very smart, beautiful, strong and moral young woman no matter what had been done to her or what people said. The woman disappeared quickly leaving Irina with some hope and many questions. 




Concluding Nonconsensual Postscript



"Most people thought Irina had resigned herself to obedient insignificance. The classes in the school were way below her level. She got 100% on all the tests without bothering to study. Irina read a great deal outside her classes including reading of Ester, Judith, Clytemnestra and Electra who killed to protect and avenge. She also worked to find happy books and wondered if there really were any kind men like Mr. Darcy, Atticus Finch and Nikolai Dmitrievich Levin

"Irina now had a profound hatred of her father that grew deeper as she realized that she would never get out of Bolry or have a happy life and that he was ruining the lives of many others. She thought of ways to kill him. She thought that it would be nice if she could survive killing him but that it would be better to die having killed him than to go on living as she was. 

"More months after the rape, Irina recovered an interest in life. She relieved some of her boredom by going to bed with classmates and instructors. This added to her reputation as a bad girl. Only five people knew that Irina had acted to save the peasant girl and had suffered in the truck repair shed for her ill-considered act of mercy. Those four who had been with her in the shed were not talking except to spread horrible rumors when they had had too much vodka. All others believed she was a totalitarian, sadistic whore, a Bolrian she wolf of the Gestapo although she had not really hurt anyone or wanted to hurt anyone except her criminal father. 

"Months after the visit by the unknown woman, a member of the BSP visited. He said little except that he wanted to be Irina's friend. He pretended he was doing normal BSP surveillance business although the BSP would not openly visit a person under surveillance. He continued to visit and even found occasions to take Irina out into the country and teach her how to shoot a German Lugar. Irina did not know what he wanted. Seducing the agent produced a lovely afternoon for Irina, but little information. That the agent taught Irina how to use a gun seemed suspicious to no one. Learning the use of firearms was common in a country in perpetual civil war. 

Vague talk in the school of policy conflicts between Orsinov's loyal followers, such as Dimitry, and the so-called "reformers" came to Irina. She did not understand the deadly games being played. A few years earlier, the Reformers would have been quickly silenced but with Gorbachev in power in Moscow, it was harder for Orsinov to squelch opponents. Pyotr Toltski was never mentioned as a Reformer and it was presumed to be an Orsinov lackey.

"Irina had one close friend in the boarding school, a girl named Elena. Elena told Irina that she was very beautiful. Irina could not see how that could be when she was the daughter of a monster and a mother who'd abandoned her. Irina and Elena were seen together a lot, enjoyed each other's bodies and talked too much about things that were wrong with the Republic of Bolry. 

"The inevitable occurred. Elena talked too much near the wrong people. Elena was out at some party to which Irina naturally could not go. Irina never learned the details, only that her only friend had disappeared. Irina surmised she had been arrested by the BSP and taken into their headquarters. Irina knew the chance of Elena being killed was great. She thought that she could get into the BSP HQ because few knew that she had been disobedient and dishonored. 

"Irina made for the capital, stealing a car by taking car keys from the desk of the school principal. She left notes saying that she was going to the BSP HQ but did not say why. If she saved Elena, it would not help Elena for people to know she'd been arrested. 

"Irina had been to the BSP headquarters many times during the years that it amused her father to take her there. The building security personnel knew who she was. They would not let her in, but a few minutes later security personnel were mysteriously called away from their post. A little way into the building, a man who did not exist pulled Irina into a side office. The man, who did not exist and who does not exist, pressed a Luger into Irina's hand and told her where she could find her father and Elena. He said that after Irina had used the gun, she would be captured. She should make sure that she did not do anything to act like she was resisting arrest because the BSP rarely took prisoners of people who resisted. Irina knew that already. The non-existent man said, that if she identified who gave her the gun, she would surely die. If she resisted doing so and survived for three days, she might live to a ripe age. 'This is Utzin's gun. Utzin gave you the gun and Utzin got you passed security.' Irina went in search of Elena. 

"A man, Tsaplin, came out of the room where Irina had been told Orsinov and Elena were. Tsaplin had been called away by someone who was never identified and never will be identified because Tsaplin died in an accident a few hours later. Irina entered the room to see Elena's dead, or nearly dead, defiled, nude body hanging from chains. Orsinov turned to see Irina. He angrily asked how Irina had got in there. He said it was good she was there. Irina could join the lifeless little strumpet in death. He threw Irina across the room into a wall and shouted, 'Your friend, before she died on us, admitted you are a scheming, disloyal whore like your mother. You will die after everyone in the BSP has had an opportunity to have you, you've suffered twice as much as your friend, and you want nothing more than to die.'

"Irina had been staggered by the sight of Elena, but Orsinov's violence restored her purpose. Orsinov's insults and threats were his last words. I, I mean, this woman in a story we are calling Irina, shot him first in the gut so he could enjoy it before she unloaded the pistol into his torso. Not in the face. Irina did not want to preclude an open casket state funeral." 

At this point, Irina started laughing and crying at the same time. Crystal and I thought Irina had taken leave of her senses. We'd never seen her anything like this. 

After a minute or so, Irina composed herself and went on. "After shooting, Irina did something that added to her notoriety among the small number in Bolry who heard of it or heard rumors of it. She threw the empty Lugar to the middle of the floor, stripped completely, held up one arm above her head with the hand open, used the other arm to present her right breast, and stood with her legs spread enough to reveal that there was nothing like a weapon between her thighs. She posed as innocent of violence and sexy as possible for a woman in an examination room with two dead bodies and an empty pistol. Irina does not know if her pose saved her life. The first two men who entered the room guns drawn could see that Irina was not resisting. They were taken aback. The next three men in the room were Dimitry, Pyotr and Daria. Dimitry and Daria with their pistols drawn; Pyotr walking in like he was inspecting a new apartment for rent. (Pyotr never carries a gun. 'I hire workmen to carry tools and do tasks requiring tools,' he says.)

"Dimitry was not stupid. The dead girl could not have shot Orsinov. Irina was the only other one in the room. Dimitry said that he would immediately take Irina to a different room to see how she had gotten in and gotten a gun passed security. Pyotr said that was a good idea but went his own way leaving Daria to assist Dimitry. Daria was really left there to help Irina stall. 

"For three days, Dimitry and other members of the BSP tortured Irina and used her body. Irina insisted that she had gotten the gun from Utzin. Dimitry did not believe that Utzin had been stupid enough to lend out one of the guns from his collection. Dimitry did not change his view after he learned that Utzin had been killed resisting arrest. Dimitry used every form of torture on Irina to determine who had given her the gun and sexually abused her and let other do so in the hope that the rapes would lead her to talk. 

"Irina's torture this time was less hard than it had been in the shed although the pain was much longer and the tools more refined. This time Irina believed she would not die. Even if she did die, this time Irina was not suffering uselessly. She had justified her life with the Lugar. If she could survive, it was a bonus. 

"Irina soon determined that while members of the BSP were raping her they were not torturing her for information. She needed time. She decided that, rather than pretend to defend her honor, the way to survive was to flatter members of the BSP that they were the greatest lovers on earth. Like Scheherazade, she had to stall under strenuous conditions, but, unlike Scheherazade, had to do so by avoiding talk. Fortunately, Irina only had to stall for two nights instead of 1001. It helped that Daria encouraged Dimitry and the others to enjoy Irina's body rather than to torture her for information. Daria's reputation as a lecher helped, 'There will be plenty of time to kill the shameless wench next week after we have had our fun.' 

"As Irina pretended for days to be enthralled with members of the BSP and worked to please them to buy time, a portion of her initially feigned pleasure became reality. She concentrated all her attention on being a shameless slut, getting as much pleasure as she could from every sensation and penetration, and draining every man that sought satisfaction from her. Irina discovered she had an ability to focus her thoughts and energy to a degree that she would not have thought possible. 

"Pyotr, who almost no one had suspected of disloyalty to Orsinov, was not wasting his time torturing and raping a young woman. All across Bolry, men who had been too loyal to Orsinov and had not supported Lagunev, Lermanov, Speransky and others who sought "reform," were having fatal accidents. The third day after Orsinov's death, Pyotr and his associates were in control. Pyotr sent word to Dimitry by way of 2000 troops supported by tanks that the BSP headquarters was to be opened. BSP agents who wanted to live should agree to serve the new leadership. 

"Dimitry, for the second time in his life assisted Irina, telling Pyotr that he should not kill her. Some day Dimitry would get the truth from her and, if she had an accident, he would tell how Orsinov died. It is doubtful that Pyotr would have killed Irina anyway. The Russian government had communicated that it did not want further murders of prominent persons, which included Irina as well as Dimitry. Perhaps, also, Pyotr felt gratitude towards Irina; that is if he was or was connected to the man or men who did not exist who got Irina passed security and gave her the Lugar. Pyotr probably did not have such feelings. Irina does not know. 

"The Reformers now had the problems of what to do with both Dimitry and Irina. Dimitry was Pyotr's brother. He could not be killed immediately. He also could not remain as head of the BSP. So he was made Cultural Minister, a position that had not existed. No one had thought that Bolry had culture. 

"A few people knew Irina was a patricide. Irina might have had a fatal accident. That would not have pleased her angels in Moscow, might have caused Dimitry to talk, and would have fooled no one. The notes she had left at the boarding school and the open way she had stolen a car and left it double-parked in front of the BSP HQ had let some people know that she had gone there. 

"The official rumor was that Irina was assisting her father in questioning a prisoner when he had a heart attack. This story accorded well with what most of the country already thought of Irina. On the other hand, those few who supported Orsinov who survived the purge learned that Irina had killed her father. So Irina was hated by everyone except by those few men who knew that she had killed Orsinov and believed that Orsinov had to die. Those few did not know whether they were better off with Irina dead or alive. They wanted her silent but silent in a way that did not give rise to still more questions in Bolry or Moscow.

"Irina was stuck in a small apartment in the capital immediately after being released from the BSP and was told to keep her mouth shut. That was easy. She could not safely leave her apartment. 

She did receive one important visitor shortly after being placed in the new even tighter exile. The woman who visited her in the school appeared as a housemaid. The woman told Irina it was not safe for either of them for the woman to visit again but that Irina had to be told that there were those who knew she had been very brave. She must never reveal who gave her the Lugar. If she could keep from doing that, the woman believed that Irina's situation would improve someday. 

For almost a year, the only human contact Irina had was with the people who delivered food and other necessary supplies, and with a few members of the BSP who knew of Irina's location and that the beautiful, proud, evil Irina was desperate for any relief from her solitary confinement. Irina had survived but she had sunk to allowing men to use her if they showed her any kindness, took her to remote locations, and guarded her from the wrath of the people as she walked in the country. To those who brought her books and news, Irina showed special gratitude. 

III. 

"Svetlana was most pleased to learn of Orsinov's demise and Pyotr's rise. She had gone from being a fugitive to being the younger sister of the Great Leader. Her status, though, was unclear. Svetlana was still thought by the ignorant to have deliberately acted to court Orsinov. Very few knew that she was almost executed by him. Also, to rise in Bolry, she had to put she was strong. 

"Svetlana struggled to disclose to the public that Orsinov had raped her and that she was an innocent victim. She could not do this fully, however, without disclosing numerous critical facts that could not be revealed. 

"Pyotr did not know what to do with her. Under pressure from their mother, Pyotr invited Svetlana back to the capital on the condition that she help keep Dimitry out of trouble and keep Pyotr's mother off his back. 

"It did not take long for Svetlana to improve her position. She was very beautiful, witty and highly intelligent. Many high-ranking members of the new government fell for her charms as did foreign businessmen who had known Pyotr before Orsinov's fall and who were eager to sell pipelines, computer equipment, armaments or other goods to the Bolrian government. 

"Svetlana met Sofia who was not a member of the BSP but who was working unofficially for Pyotr, Lagunev or Lermanov or maybe just herself. 

"Svetlana also settled some old scores. There are rumors that she had a dozen or so men garroted who had abused her during the period of her death sentence. I think those rumors greatly exaggerate the number killed. The only one we know she killed is Smerdyakov who she gunned down in the street although he had pretended to be a reformer. Svetlana said it was self-defense and no one liked Smerdyakov enough to say otherwise. Certainly, Pyotr, while he had spared Smerdyakov in the initial purge, knew Smerdyakov was a lying weasel. 

"Now, finally, we have reached some public facts. Only silly stories that I have told you about fictional people who we have called Orsinov, Irina, Dimitry. Pyotr, and Svetlana have been told until now. 

"After several years of pretending to care about Scythian and Khazar artifacts and to like the folk music and dances of the wretched villages, Dimitry came upon a 3000 year old story of people who lived in an area that became part of Bolry practicing human sacrifice of young woman. The victim was chosen through a lottery. Other women were chosen to become temple prostitutes in the same manner. Not having the supply of women to torture and rape that he had had when head of the BSP, Dimitry thought of reviving these ancient practices as part of what Dimitry labeled a 'cultural revival.' 

"Even Dimitry knew that human sacrifice was not acceptable. He thought, though, that the Cultural Ministry could offer money to peasant women to risk becoming playthings for men like him. Poverty, parents with too many daughters, and husbands wanting to get rid of wives they no longer liked could be counted on to force some women to accept the risk. The Ministry could even have participants dress up in ancient customs and sell tickets for a show determining which women became chattel slaves. A new woman every two weeks seemed about right. The ones that survived two weeks with Dimitry and the group of thugs he was assembling at the Cultural Ministry could be sold to some brothel in the capital or abroad. The idea combined the things Dimitry loved most: gambling, misogamy, torture and rape. 

"Svetlana naturally was appalled when she heard the idea but not as appalled as she would have been had she not become a very hardened woman. She, some of Pyotr' friends and foreign businessmen decided to improve and gentrify Dimitry's barbaric idea. What if they used special Internet networks and other technologies of which they knew and broadened the game of chance far beyond Bolry? What if they could offer enough real money to get women to take a small chance more or less voluntarily? What if they could tempt women who did not have close friends or dependents, to participate from around the world and allow them to take the relatively safe risk of becoming comfortable sex slaves instead of surrendering their lives to the likes of Dimitry? They would have to make sure the event was fair and safe. They had to make sure that foreign governments were convinced to look the other way if they wanted to have access to the Bolrian pipelines and make sales to the Bolrian government. Why should the foreign governments care that women had become long-term call girls after accepting big money to risk having this life?

"Pyotr thought the Lottery was shameful and feared that his government would be terribly embarrassed if this sideshow became public. Svetlana's idea of broadening the Lottery, though, was genius. The many multi-millionaires and billionaires involved in establishing the Lottery became just as concerned to keep the Lottery quiet as Pyotr. The fact that Pyotr possessed the secret about them that they participated in the Lottery was a powerful advantage. The billionaire participants could be relied on even to keep the many governments they influenced to stay out of the way of the Lottery and Pyotr's plans. So after initially discouraging Dimitry and Svetlana, Pyotr gave the Lottery the property that he owned by the sea where Svetlana had lived, for a Resort where sex slaves could entertain rich men. 

"It took some time to work out the arrangements but the Lottery was born. To encourage women of beauty and distinction to participate, Svetlana, sister of the Great Leader, participated herself. There were many arguments within the BLC as to how gentle or nasty the conditions and presentations in the Lottery would be. 

"Also, Svetlana knew of Irina. All of Bolry had heard of the infamous Irina. Many wondered where she was. Svetlana learned of her location from Sofia and persuaded Irina to participate in the lottery. For Irina to participate would help make the Lottery a success across Bolry. For Irina, losing a lottery would be no worse than her life trapped in her apartment. Svetlana even gave Irina a luxury space to live in the new facility the Bolrian Lottery Corporation built outside the capital after the BLC made profits from Internet broadcasts, pornography and sex. For Dimitry the chance of getting his hands on Irina again was inspiring. 

"Svetlana did many other things as the Lottery developed. Over Dimitry's objections, the Lottery hired the midwife who had helped Svetlana and her baby survive. Mariya received a salary the equivalent of hundreds of thousands of American dollars. 'If you can't use money to help people who have helped you, what good is it?' Svetlana said. For this money the former midwife works a few hours every two weeks assisting to prepare slaves for their debut and to recover from it. 




Concluding Nonconsensual Postscript



"Svetlana also arranged for her daughter who had been mainly brought up in the mountains, to get out of Bolry and receive the education which Svetlana had been denied. The brutalized Cossack woman did not want her daughter by her murdered lover to have a life like the one she had had. 

"And so, life was in Bolry when the Texas health club women, Crystal, Dawn and Stacy, began to participate in the Lottery two years after it had begun. Only after Dimitry was gone, could Sofia, the only survivor of the Pugachev six, come out of the shadows and begin to work openly for the BLC."

"Do you want to tell us what happened to this Irina after she become a chattel slave?" Crystal asked. "I was horrified watching your debut as a chattel slave." 

"Well, now we are discussing me," Irina said, "it is a public fact that I lost the lottery and became a chattel slave. Films of my debut as a slave are still floating around although the BLC never shows them because Svetlana does not want anyone to think that anything like that happened or could happen again. Dimitry found ways to torture during my debut that I had not yet experienced and for which I was not ready. After that torture and believing I was owned by Dimitry, I really wanted to die. Mariya told me that God and Mother Mary loved me as she lifted me and helped me out of the place I had been tortured and submitted to less considerate sex than any slave has been before or since. It was nice to know that at least Mariya had compassion for me even if God and the Virgin did not seem to have done much for me in the past. 

"Svetlana communicated with me before Dimitry took me off to a prison in the north. She literally whispered through bars that she was doing everything she could, that she did not think I would not die and that, while I would always be a sex slave, she was going to make sure I was treated like a human being. She also said that if I wanted to live, I should not tell Dimitry who gave Irina the Lugar that killed Orsinov. 

"I was taken north and Mariya prayed for me. Less divine forces were already at work. While Dimitry, Ludmila, and many others of the Cultural Ministry were showing no mercy in my initial days as a slave, Svetlana talked to Pyotr. Pyotr apparently told her some things about Irina and agreed that letting Dimitry having a large amount of time with me was not a good idea. Svetlana prevailed on Pyotr to order Dimitry not to kill me or do anything else that would leave a mark. It was too late for that. I have a few scars, fortunately in places only I know. 

"In the north, I was in solitary confinement again except when I was tortured or raped by Dimitry or one of his men of the Cultural Ministry. Dimitry promised to kill me nicely if I would just tell him who had given Irina the gun. I can't imagine what he thought he could have done with that information at that point. I would certainly have been killed before I could have said anything publicly that would harm Pyotr. 

"Dimitry also told me many things about what Orsinov had ordered and done. Ludmila threatened to do things to me if I did not talk that would have made me long for death. She now says that she has nothing against me personally and was only trying to get information that would allow her to survive. How noble of her. 

"After months, I was flown to Berlin to stay with a handsome inexperienced young man about 10 years younger than me. Svetlana said he was a distant relative. If she had told me that he was probably my half brother, there is a possibility that I would not have taken him to bed. As it was, he helped me recover. Does it really matter who his father was?

"Anyway, I soon had more than enough sexual activity as the Lottery was fully utilizing my slavery. I think a major reason that Svetlana was so eager to get me away from Dimitry was so that I could be put into revenue generating service. Svetlana has complained since that keeping me in prison in the north for months cost the Lottery over a million Euros. Once the body formerly belonging to Irina Orsinov was in Berlin, they charged men a mint to abuse and fuck Orsinov's proud, beautiful, evil, sadistic daughter. Many others who knew nothing of Orsinov also paid the Lottery for my body. I heard it said that after you worked over the evil princess a while but not too long or too painfully, she became the hottest bedmate imaginable. They said I was the best. I think that, if that was ever true that I was the best of the Lottery's properties, it is no longer the case. The Lottery has acquired so many other wonderfully beautiful, talented and intelligent slaves."

Looking at her face and into her deep blue eyes, I'm sure Irina was being modest. I felt very embarrassed to have ever complained of what life had handed to me.



Concluding the Wild



THIS IS CONCLUDING PART OF A STORY 'WILD' POSTED BY RUPA

Arun sat down at the breakfast table to enjoy a fresh cup of coffee and the paper. They had enquired and it would still be some time before lunch would be ready. He had already gone through that in the morning but paper is something that can be picked up again. Anytime. He was already pissed at the turn of events and the hard to get attitude of Rupa. A scowl crossed his face. The way she had snubbed him was still fresh in his mind.

A few seconds later Rupa padded into the kitchen. Arun looked at her longingly. He had always liked her. Why was providence playing such games with him? She was so bright, pretty, energetic and arrogant too. She often reminded him of his wife when they were first married. Even dressed in a pair of old flannel pajamas and half-closed eyes she radiated youthful beauty. His frown quickly changed to a smile as she shot him a quick glance and headed directly to the coffee maker. She poured herself a cup and they chatted for a few minutes about the weather and other mundane issues. 

Thank God she was not sour with him. If anything her attitude seemed to be on the positive side. 

When she asked him if he needed a refill he nodded. Then something happened that turned his life upside down. When she leaned over to pour his coffee the neckline of her top hung very low. Now, only inches away from his eye hung Rupa's creamy white breasts. Not just cleavage, but everything including her thick brown nipples. For the five or so seconds the vision lasted he couldn't pull his eyes away. When she stood up he knew she must have caught him staring and started turning red faced. But Rupa just rubbed her eyes, put back the pot and headed out of the kitchen saying how she had to shower and dress. 

She had already planned to leave the door open a crack. Even with only one inch open one could still get a nice view of the shower. As she showered she imagined him watching her and had to fight the urge to slide her fingers inside herself.

Arun's could feel his cock starting to get hard. Rupa closed her bedroom door and started the shower. She stripped off all the clothes and lay naked on the bed. She was so wet she just had to rub her clit for just a few minutes. For 8 years she had been the devoted girlfriend and then wife to Avinash, sharing her thoughts and body only with him. Now, in the span of a week she had allowed her elderly father get a close up look at her bare breasts. But what was the big deal? Breasts of young women are seen by so many strangers when they breast feed so what was the harm if she had allowed her father in law some voyeuristic pleasure? Did he like what he saw? Would he want to see more? Would he have dirty thoughts about her? It was obvious or he would not be making such suggestive gestures. Obviously his sex life was a non starter and that is why he was so desperate.She came hard, suppressing her moans as best she could.

It was apparent that he was making sexual suggestions. She felt outraged and flattered. Outraged because as her father he could even harbour such thoughts. And flattered that she could make a man who was her father in law so aroused that he was willing to take such a great risk. If caught, he would be the object of everybody's ridicule and opprobrium. Still he was taking that risk. All because of her!

Fifteen minutes after Rupa had closed the door of her room, Arun was already stroking himself. The image of Rupa's hanging breasts were entrenched in his mind. He thought that perhaps the free show she had given him was just an accident. Or was it deliberate? For the first time since Avinash had brought home the budding 18 year-old Rupa he tried to picture her completely naked. Shortly a thick stream of white cum began to flow slowly out of his rejuvenated cock.

The day progressed uneventfully except for a message from his son that the vehicle had broken down and that it would not be possible for them to return that night but by early next morning they would be back.

"Would you like to speak to Rupa?" he asked.

"No, baba. Its okay."

Since masturbating that morning Arun felt regret and shame. He decided to order dinner for her and shake off the dirty images that he had conjured. His orgasm took a lot out of him and he hadn't had a sexual thought all day since. 

A few minutes later he decided he 'needed' to get something from his room. As he slowly made his way up the steps he could hear the shower running. Why does she bathe so very often, he thought.When he got to the top he couldn't help but glance left towards Rupa's slightly open bedroom door. He stared at the crack for a moment. He hoped the shower would turn off and erase what he was thinking. It didn't. Arun found himself shuffling slowly towards the door. When he reached the door he carefully peered through the crack. He could see the bathroom and then the shower. Young Rupa was inside soaping herself up. Although the shower door was slightly opaque he could certainly make out all her naked parts. His cock grew hard for the second time that day. Arun stood transfixed watching his own daughter naked in the shower. He wished the glass was clearer and that he was in there with her.

Ten minutes later, behind a closed and locked door Rupa brought herself to another silent orgasm. She couldn't help but wonder if he would fuck her if he got the chance. She began to wonder how she might give him that chance. She dressed in a pair of short cut-offs and a tight tee shirt and spent the rest of the afternoon/evening playing the naive tease.

In the evening as Rupa got downstairs Arun quickly finished his coffee. She yawned and politely asked him if he needed a refill. She poured herself one and came over to refill Arun, giving him his free show again. She then went on to explain how bad she slept in the afternoon with Avinash out of the house. Arun suggested some sleeping pill or something. She shook her head no, then with a laugh added "I don't know, maybe. Its just that they knock me out like a light. I'll stop by the drug store when I go for a walk." 

Her thoughts turned to Arun. If she wanted to give him something more than a close look, something else would have to be thought. From now on she was only going to pretend to be asleep. She knew she could pull it off. 

Arun couldn't believe his eyes when Rupa came out onto the balcony wearing a longish skirt and the same sleeveless T shirt. She was bare footed and she carried a bottle of purple nail polish in one hand and a bottle of oil in the other, He tried to act casual as she plopped in the lounge chair and began to oil her bare arms and feet. He chatted idly about various things and pretended to be engrossed in his magazine. He knew with his tinted glasses she wouldn't be able to tell he was staring at her. When she mentioned about getting a sleep aide his mind began turn. Would she really be out like a light? He watched sweat begin to bead on her body. It trickled down between her breasts. He loved that. He loved her petite little hands too, They would feel so good wrapped around his cock. As she bent down and pulled her foot close to her to start applying the nail polish he got another look at cleavage. "Not too big", he thought, "not too small, just perfect little peaches". He already knew she had little thick brown nipples.

Rupa knew he was watching her intensely. She wished she knew what he was thinking. Evening rolled around and when Rupa went for a wash she closed the door so Arun couldn't watch. "All part of the big tease" she thought. She put on a pair of baggie pyjama and a matching top and went downstairs.

Together Arun and Rupa watched a few lame sitcoms before Rupa announced she was headed to bed. She walked over to the kitchen counter and got her purse. Pulling out some things she announced, "Okay, I got some sleeping pills. Now I'm ready for some deep sleep". Arun laughed. She pretended to swallow some pills with a drink. Her hand was shaking with nervousness. 

Rupa slipped into bed and tried to find the perfect seductively innocent pose. She lay on her back her left hand off the side of the bed, her top pulled up slightly revealing her belly. She pulled up the sheet so it only covered one leg, the other exposed with the skirt hiked up a bit. She discarded the panty. She closed her eyes and waited. Would the gentle old man really come to visit her? Would he be able to muster up the courage to do something. Perhaps he would just look through the door. She closed her eyes and waited for the creaking of the top step.

About forty five minutes later she heard it. She had almost fallen asleep. Laying motionless she listened intently. She knew he must be looking by now. He called her name a few times in an innocent fashion. She then heard the door creak ever so slightly is he opened it. Rupa's mind raced "Oh my god, here we go". A rush of blood streaked through her body.

"What the hell am I doing?" Arun thought to himself as he entered the room. He already had a pertinent question lined for Rupa if she woke up. He walked up to the bed and called her name again. He waited for her to wake up and respond. She didn't. He couldn't believe how gorgeous she looked on the bed, her belly exposed, one magnificent leg uncovered. His son was so lucky to be able to climb on that body whenever he wanted. He shook her shoulder gently. Nothing. His cock had been hard since he decided to come up twenty minutes ago.

Rupa's head just lulled to one side as he shook her shoulder a little harder. He called her name louder. Five minutes of name calling and soft shaking provoked no response. He shook her shoulder one last time but this time he left his hand there.

Pretending to be out seemed to be quite easy. Rupa only hoped he wouldn't tickle her. He didn't. She wondered why he left his hand on her shoulder. She didn't wonder long as she felt it slowly slide down her chest until he was gently cupping her breast. The old man was copping a feel of his daughters breasts. She now knew that he would never forget this night.

When Arun felt her breast he almost came in his pants. He knew how oh so wrong this was but it felt so goddamn good. He felt her nipple stiffen under the thin material. His hand slid to her other breast and he fondled it until its nipple became stiff as well. Then with two hands her carefully grabbed the bottom edge of her shirt and slowly pulled it upwards. Unconsciously his crotch pressed against her hand. Now, bathed in the light from the hallway her bare breasts glistened.

Rupa heard the unmistakable sound of pants unbuttoning and falling to the ground. His warm hand then returned to her bare breast and began kneading it. She couldn't believe this was actually happening. Then, his hand gripped her breast firm but gentle and she could feel a rocking motion to his body. He let out a low moan and she knew he was stroking himself. Suddenly, without realizing it, she moved her right hand down to her crotch grabbing the bottom of her shorts. She hadn't meant to do that but she had instinctively wanted to rub herself.

Arun stopped stone cold. He stood frozen, his left hand still clutching her breast his right clutching his cock. Was she waking up? He stood still for a full two minutes until he felt that it was just an unconscious movement. While he stood he did notice how her hand had hiked up her skirt even more. Slowly he let go of her breast, reached down her body and delicately lifted the loose pant leg. When he saw her neatly trimmed bush he let out a whispered "Wow!". If he hadn't have jacked off early that morning he would have blow his load right then and there.

Rupa felt Arun expose her pussy and then start to stroke himself again. She wanted to see so bad but was glad she had on the mask as she surely would have peeked. She also knew that seeing his wrinkled old body would turn her off so she relaxed and waited for whatever came next.

Arun couldn't imagine what would happen if his son were to walk in right now and see him leaning over his unconscious wife. Just a few more minutes and he would shoot his load on the floor and he would be out of there with a great memory. Perhaps he should have brought a camera.

Slowly he lowered his left hand onto her bush, his right hand returning to her tits. He inched in closer to the bed so that his cock rested in her open hand. He closed his eyes as he cupped her warm cunt, massaged her puffy nipples and rubbed his cock on her petite little hand. Maybe he would cum on her arm.

Rupa moved again, spreading her legs slightly. Arun could now feel her lips part and he felt a wetness he never knew before. He slipped his finger in her.

His finger felt so good inside her. She moaned slightly and whispered "Oh Avi". At the same time she let her fingers wrap around Arun's cock. It was short and stiff. She knew where Avinash had inherited his 6 and half inches from. Arun was even smaller. She didn't care.

Arun was scared now. Rupa was in a state of semi-consciousness and she thought he was Avinash. He almost decided to leave but her hand had a grip on his cock. He didn't move except that his finger kept moving slowly in and out of her pussy. He watched as she began to breath a little heavier. He began to hump her hand.

Rupa knew he was about to shoot his load on her arm. She wanted to give him a greater thrill than that. If he was going to get away with molesting his daughter he should have the royal treatment. She licked her lips.

Arun heard "So good Avi" come from her lips as her hand clasped over his. She pushed his fingers further inside her. Then he watched transfixed as she shifted her body towards him caught hold of his cock and directed it towards her pussy. 

"Oh Avi! It has been so long." She said. Arun did not know how to react but decided that in the circumstances it was best to remain quiet and be led. Slowly and steadily he started pushing. Rupa was already wet and as her pussy held Arun's foreskin back, his cock slid in smoothly. The head forged a path to spread her outer lips allowing his shaft to follow. He started moving his cock back and forth.

Arun felt his knees buckle as he began to cum. It felt as though her pussy was sucking it right out of him. He was surprised by his own loud grunt but Rupa seemed oblivious to it. One last shiver sent his last drop inside her. Slowly he pulled his already deflating cock from her pussy lips. She had stopped moving, laying her head back down and releasing her grip on his hand.

Arun stood and watched her for a few minutes as she seemed to be in a deep relaxing sleep. He carefully pulled the sheet up over her.

Shortly after Arun closed the bedroom door Rupa slid her fingers deep inside An intense orgasm ripped through her body. She had done the unthinkable. It was so wrong but had she not done the old man a big favour. How successful he must be feeling. She wanted to scream.



Concluding Unscientific Postscript



Dr. Percy Stanley detested etiological, or so-called explanatory, myths, the lies that ancient storytellers had told to gullible audiences to explain--supposedly--how such-and-such an island came to be, why there are seasons, or how the world began. Nowadays, mothers had inherited the role of the ancient liars, it seemed, for Percy had just heard one of them answer her young son's query as to what causes thunder with just such an absurdity as those that the ancients had made up, telling him that thunder was the sound of angels bowling in heaven, and, a week before, another mother had "explained" to her daughter that the sea is blue because God ran out of green after he'd painted all the grass and leaves. 

Why couldn't mothers tell their children the truth? Was it so hard to understand that thunder is caused by the shock waves that result from the sudden release of the tremendous energy associated with the electrical charge of cumulonimbus clouds or that the sea looks blue because it reflects the sky? It looks green, the mother might add, where an abundance of underwater plant life overwhelms the effect of the reflected sky. (Of course, these explanations would entail further explanations of optics, the affects of atmosphere upon ultraviolet radiation, and the phenomenon of color itself.) Before Percy, a physicist, got hold of these kids in college, his students' minds were full of such nonsense. Sometimes, it took half a semester to disabuse them of the foolishness they'd learned at their mothers' knees. Telling lies to one's own offspring was immoral, Percy believed; he also believed that it should be outlawed.

It was the same in every scientific subject, his colleagues complained. "The ignorance of youth about sex is truly astonishing," Dr. Hugh Lyme confided in Percy once, as they were lamenting of their respective students' general ignorance and naiveté concerning scientific topics. "Romanticism is not dead," he concluded, "despite Poe's 'Sonnet--To Science'":

Science! true daughter of Old Time thou art! Who alterest all things with thy peering eyes. Why preyest thou thus upon the poet's heart, Vulture, whose wings are dull realities? How should he love thee? or how deem thee wise, Who wouldst not leave him in his wandering To seek for treasure in the jewelled skies, Albeit he soared with an undaunted wing? Hast thou not dragged Diana from her car? And driven the Hamadryad from the wood To seek a shelter in some happier star? Hast thou not torn the Naiad from her flood, The Elfin from the green grass, and from me The summer dream beneath the tamarind tree? 

The poem to which his colleague had alluded was one of a half dozen or so that Percy enjoyed--in part. He liked the way that the poet admitted the triumph of science over mythmaking and poetry, but, at the same time, he detested the verse's lamentation at the loss of the simple-minded faith upon which a belief in deities--or, for that matter, Deity--was based. Rather than a lamentation, the poem should have been a celebration of such a triumph. Poets, even of the stature which had been accorded to Edgar Allan Poe, never seemed to get anything completely right, especially when it came to science. (Poe's Eureka! Was truly ludicrous.) Still, he had to admit, if grudgingly, that the poem did at least admit science's truth and the falsity of myth or, as it had been understood in its day, religion.

As he sipped a daiquiri at his umbrella-shaded table atop the balcony of the beachfront restaurant that, in the evening, doubled as a nightclub, looking through his sunglasses at the spectacle of human folly that occupied the beach below, he watched the pounding surf roll in from, and out to, sea. The ocean had once been said to have been full of monsters, he mused. Even today, most people had no idea, really, as to why there was a surf or tide or waves. One woman, an especially annoying evangelistic type, had insisted that the tide was an effect of "original sin," adamant that, had Adam and Eve not eaten the forbidden fruit, the ocean would be as placid as a lake today, as it had been before the "fall." There'd been no sense arguing with such a fool, Percy knew, and, wisely, he'd replied, "Interesting." Had the woman never heard of Galileo? Did she never read about the scientific revolution? Did she not know that science had landed a man upon the moon? No, it was unlikely. He'd bet anything that she knew her Bible by heart, though, every scripture.

Percy consoled himself with the knowledge that, for truly educated, modern people, science had replaced myth and religion as the explanation for the universe and everything in it. Such men (and, less often, women), he knew, believed that, at most, such superfluous disciplines as were represented by the dying dinosaurs of the humanities--philosophy, art, and the like--were, if anything, tentative explorations of the inner self, the subjective aspect of the conscious being that was mankind (and, less often, it seemed to Percy, womankind). The human soul was, in the words of the idiot Soren Kierkegaard, science's "unscientific postscript." The self itself was "left over," to use the philosopher's words.

So be it, Percy thought. If some people wanted to retain the ghost in the machine a little longer, the way a frightened child holds onto its teddy bear in the dark of the night, let them. Children, after all, eventually grow up, and, when they do, they set their toys aside.

"May I get you another drink, sir?"

The blonde bimbo in the thong bikini, showing her buttocks to secure tips from her ogling male--and, increasingly, if sexologists' studies could be believed--female customers, paused at his table, baring her teeth in a fairly believable smile, as if she really did care about her "guest" and what Percy might want.

"No, thanks," he said. He'd had quite enough of the world for one afternoon. "Just the check."

"Yes, sir." In a moment, she brought it. He paid the bill, without adding a tip, and started for the sanctuary of his home, a beachfront condo a half a mile away.

En route, he heard a boy with a helium-inflated balloon on a stick ask the woman with whom he strolled the boardwalk, hand in hand, "Mommy, why don't girls have pee pees?"

The sea was darkening. Afternoon was deepening into evening, and the horizon wore pink and purple clouds, edged with gold.

This ought to be good, the scientist thought.

"They do," the mother said, smiling. "They just have a different kind of pee pee."

Percy shook his head. The boy, who was, perhaps, five, might be too young to hear the complete details concerning the sexual differentiation of the species, but his mother could have explained that boys have testicles (and, as part of the sperm's delivery system, a penis) while girls have ovaries, the former organs existing for the sake of fertilizing the latter, and that the resulting offspring, as a mammal, is born alive after its nine-month-long gestation inside the womb.

The boy asked, "Why does sand ripple?"

Percy hurried ahead, not caring to hear the mother's preposterous answer. He was no longer interested in human folly. At the end of the day, he had other things on his mind.

An hour later, at home, Percy, naked, stepped into his bathroom's shower stall. Beneath the steaming needles of water, he soaped his body, luxuriating in the feel of the hot, hammering water. As it sluiced down his chest and belly, over his cock and balls, along his thighs and calves, coursing over his back and following the curves of his buttocks, he felt as if the water were somehow washing away the stupidity and the ignorance of the general public. The water seemed to carry away with it, down the drain, notions of angels bowling, of God at an easel upon which his work in progress consisted of a blue sky and green grass and leaves, and of boys and girls who had sexually differentiated "pee pees" instead of procreative genitals.

People were such fools; their absurdity of thought and belief, born more of emotion than logic and of desire more than reason, were exhausting and, often, seemed unclean. A long, hot shower made Percy feel better, though. After toweling himself dry, he stepped into his bedroom, to dress.

He'd laid his clothing out on the bed.

He sat, still naked, on the bed and, after peeling and rolling one leg of the sheer pantyhose down upon itself, he inserted his foot into the gathered leg, methodically easing it up, and unrolling it over his shaved calf, over his dimpled knee, and up his smooth thigh. He repeated the same procedure with his other leg, before, standing, he pulled up on the waistband, so that it fit snugly around his hips. Then, he donned the brassiere. Next, he put on his blouse, slipped into his skirt--the pink and purple one, edged with gold--and added a complementary bracelet and pair of earrings before applying his makeup and fixing his hair. Finally, he eased his feet into the sexy high-heeled shoes he'd bought just last week. Like the skirt, they were also pink and purple, edged with gold. He picked up his gold purse.

Now that she was dressed--or armored--Phoebe could face the maddening crowds who inhabited the same establishment he'd just frequented, the one that, in the evening, changed from a restaurant into a nightclub, the same way that he changed from Percy into Phoebe, from a he into a she.

Feeling just the slightest bit absurd, Phoebe checked her reflection in the full-length mirror and decided that there was nothing foolish in the least about her appearance. In fact, she looked stunning! 



Conclusion of an Online Love affair



She sat there, listening to the waves of the lake, sipping on her wine. It was all so quiet and peaceful, but her mind was racing. How could he know she was there, but not come and see her? Where was he, what was he doing? Or worse, did she even matter to him in the first place?

She had to get out of there, go on a walk or something, clear her head in the northshore breeze. She grabbed her sweater, checked to make sure her sister was sleeping, and slowly closed the door behind her. Outside the hotel, she started to walk the boardwalk, trying to run all of their conversations through her head. Six weeks of constant talking and laughing. So many things in common. Did she miss something? There were a few red flags, but nothing that his explanations didn't make sense for. Damn he was good! A very good liar. A player. She opened up so many doors to him, doors she swore she would keep closed and locked forever, she told him everything. He promised it would always be between them only, but was that just another lie? God, who else knows her secrets now?! Of course the worst of it was that she genuinely cared for him. Almost even loved him. She had told him she did, but she never really felt it until he was gone. She was no horrible person, would never hurt anyone intentionally, she didn't deserve to be treated like this, betrayed like this. But she had been.

She noticed she had taken the turn to the lighthouse, and suddenly stopped. This is where they first met. Where all those butterflies came that she hadn't felt in years. They had hugged, and she didn't want to let him go. Finally, maybe a piece of happiness! He was taller than she had imagined, skinnier too. He was sexy as hell. She turned back the other way though now, because the lighthouse brought back too many memories, too many feelings. She shuffled along, hitting the sand and pebbles beneath her feet. There were just a few other people walking the boardwalk, couples mostly. Some you could tell were rushing up to their rooms to be alone, others were just simply holding hands, enjoying their time together. She imagined walking with him like that. Once they passed, she found a tear rolling down her cheek. Then another, and another. She stopped to sit on some rocks that made a wall in front of the lake, and it all came pouring out of her. All the sadness, the anger, the hurt, the lonely nights she now lives with. She missed his voice, the way he would pretend not to be looking at her when he really was, the way his eyes smiled, the way he held her, his kisses. Oh, enough of this! Does he deserve any more of your tears after what he's put you through? She wiped her eyes and her face and angrily got off the rock. Asshole.

Now, instead of the sadness, she had to walk off her anger, so she kept going the opposite way of the hotel. She remembered there was a small beach on the other end of the park. She'll just walk there and back, before her sister wakes up and starts to worry. Her mind wandered to him again...his laugh was contagious, he made her smile every day, even in her dreams. They sent pictures to each other, nothing intimate, just their smiling faces, each knowing the other was missed. He gave her songs to express his feelings (God, did THOSE even mean anything?), songs she couldn't bring herself to listen to now. "You don't have to throw back your pretty pink lemonade shooter and lean a little closer..hmmmmmm...You don't have to keep me falling like this But it'd sure be cool of you did". She never should have confessed her feelings for him. 

"Hey there." A voice coming from the side of her in the distance. She knew that deep, sultry voice. He came out of the darkness with his hands in his shorts pockets. She couldn't find anything to say, let alone her own voice, so she stared at him, confused. Where did he come from?

"Figured you'd be down here somewhere." How? Was he following her? No, because she never told him what hotel, or even what part of the city.

"How...?" She couldn't even ask him.

"Cuz I know you, remember?" he giggled. God she missed him.

"What are you doing out here?" she finally asked, somewhat with an attitude. 

"I told you, I knew I'd find you."

"What do you want? Why you lookin for me?"

"Cuz I wanna talk to you." Well good for him. She'd been trying to talk to him for a few weeks getting nowhere, now HE'S ready?

"Well what do you want? I gotta get back."

"No you don't." He was right. "We both know your sister is up there sleeping, and IF she wakes up, she'll just think you're out looking for me."

"Well aren't you cocky?" He grinned, and it almost made her smile too.

"Listen," he said, "I know I...ahh...hurt you and all, and I just wanted you to hear it from me that...I'm sorry."

"Could've wrote that in an email or something." she replied.

"Ya," he sighed, still with his hands in his pockets, "But then I wouldn't have been able to see that sexy ass of yours, and you know how I like that sexy ass of yours."

She smiled. Either he really WAS full of himself, or he could still make her laugh. Like magic. She looked up at him, and almost started crying. She wanted to ask him so many questions. When, why, how many others?

He walked closer to her, but she took a few steps back. "Now you know better than that," he said, as he came up to her and pulled her face up with his hands so she was looking right at him.

"I do love you," he shrugged, "Guess it just wasn't our time."

"Well you made sure of that, didn't you?" she almost barked at him. She stepped away again and wiped one single tear from her cheek. "I'm sorry, I don't wanna fight." she said.

"We never did, and we're not gonna start now," he told her. Holding her face in his hands again, he repeated himself, "I do love you, my sweet rose, and I am sorry." She knew this was it. All the closure she would ever get, had come down to this single moment. No questions asked, no questions answered. She hung her head and grabbed the waistline of his denim shorts. Don't leave, she whispered to herself. They stood there like that only for a second, until he wrapped his arms around her and hugged her tight. "My rose," he kept saying it over again. She realized now she was crying.

She let go first and quickly took the sleeves of her sweater to her face. By damn, the last thing he saw of her was gonna be her smiling face. With his hands still on her shoulders, he looked at her. Oh no, she thought to herself, don't you do it. Don't make this worse. He did. He kissed her. Ever so softly, their lips barely touching, but she could feel it, she could feel his lips brush hers. Damn it! Ok, that was just a goodbye kiss. Everything's fine, just stay on your feet. You can collapse when he leaves.

He looked at her, pierced his lips like he was gonna say something else, but didn't. She tried to give him a fake smile, like she would be alright now, but knew it would still take time getting over him. He turned to walk away. Again that whisper in her head, please don't leave.

He stopped and turned around to look at her again. What now, she thought, we were doin so good with this goodbye thing, I can't do it again, now you HAVE to go. She felt like her heart was being tortured. As if something were wrong, confusing her, he marched back towards her and kissed her. Kissed her good. She could feel the butterflies all come back to her stomach, her legs getting weak once again. He stopped and simply said, "I can't let you go." He kissed her passionately, their lips pierced together so hard, then his tongue, ever so gently circling her mouth. She wrapped her arms around him, and he lifted her up into his. 

"Don't start...," was all she could say.

"Too late," he stated. Gees, just like him to say that!

They kept kissing, as if they were next to a nuclear bomb and the world was about to end. Then he gently laid her down on the sand, and started kissing her neck. She wanted to say his name, tell him to stop, but she couldn't. She wanted this. She wanted him. Even if it was only once. Even for a goodbye. She wiggled out of her sweater, and he slowed down. HE wanted to remember every minute of making love to her. He slowly pulled her tank top away and kissed her breast, licked her nipple, before going to the other and doing the same. He went back up her neck with his tongue and placed it in her mouth. He was such a good kisser. Not too hard with his lips everywhere, like a high schooler getting some for the first time. 

They sat up briefly as she reached to take his shirt off. He started to only lift hers, before she took it off herself. He stared at her for a second, and in that second, she thought this was a joke, like she was getting punked or something, and he was gonna laugh and take off running. "God, you're beautiful," he said, as he kissed her some more, before going down to her chest. He touched her and caressed her like no one before him. His hair was long, and it felt good, in some sort of weird way, to finally run her fingers through it. He licked her stomach and her back arched, so he slid his hand up her breasts, to softly touch her cheek, and she relaxed back down. 

They kissed and enjoyed each other like this for quite some time. She could hear footsteps in the distance every once in a while, but for once, she didn't care. She wasn't scared.

He gazed in her eyes at some point, as if to ask her if she was ready. She was. He slowly undid the button on her jeans. Her heart took a leap, knowing he was going to see every part of her now, yet excitement lurked over her. He kissed her belly button, which made her smile, then with one lick, went from her stomach, as far down as to the top of her panties. He took each side of her pants and pulled them off of her, panties included. He stood up, and took off his shorts, and threw both pairs off to the side of them. He seemed to lay on her at first, hugging her, then commenced to kissing her, and her body, from mouth and down. 

He placed his hands on her waist, and kissed her hips, down her legs a little, and then to her inner thigh. He rolled her over and repeated this act, including kissing and nuzzling his face in her bottom. He rolled her back over, and she sat up on him, and they sat there, just like that, holding each other. She looked up at the moon, gave a little thank you, an extra hug, and she laid him down. As to her, she kissed his body from top to bottom. Finally, she got to run her hands over his chest, got to place her hands on his small, tight butt, and finally, simply, saw all of him. She ran her fingers slowly up and down his thighs, then, in surprise to both of them, placed her mouth over his penis. It felt as good to her as it did to him. She moved her tongue all around, and then would take it fully for a minute, him never knowing what she'd do next. Through his moans, she figured out what he liked best, and sometimes would make him wait for it. She could feel his big hands run all across her back, and she tried to focus there, because she didn't want to forget what it felt like to be touched by him. 

As his moans became more often, she stopped and slowly kissed up his body, especially his chest and shoulders. She ran her fingers up and down as far as she could reach on him before he grabbed her and put her on her back. He smiled at her, and went right down to her inner thighs again, though he didn't stay there long. She felt his tongue in between her legs, and she immediately groaned in pleasure. His tongue went all over her. On top of her, on her sides, and even inside her. He licked her clit slowly, and when she thought she was gonna cum, stopped him. "Not yet," she whispered. He smiled at her again, and continued eating her out. Oh, she was gonna cum, she knew it, but she didn't want it to be over. She tried to hold it in, but when he softly told her not to, she let go. Her juices flowed, and she let out this exasperating, almost sigh of relief. Though to her astonishment, he didn't stop. He buried his tongue and his mouth inside her already incredibly wet pussy, and continued the act, even lifting her legs higher. She tried to hit him on the shoulder to get him to stop, because she knew from experience she would soon start to laugh out loud. He must have gotten the point, because he slowed down fast, but didn't stop completely.

"I wanna make you cum again," he said.

She kind of laughed and replied, "Good luck with that. Can't get me twice."

"Challenge accepted," he said. Oh, now she remembered all those so-called challenges he would try to take her up on. She laughed.

"No," she said, "I want you to." Seemed only fair. So she climbed on top of his lap, and gently put his hard cock inside her. They slowly began to move, her hips this way, his hips that way. They found their rhythm, and put their arms around each other. She buried her head in his neck, she was so comfortable with him, it felt so good, and everything seemed to go exactly right. Nothing wrong with placements, movements, does this, does that, do you like...nothing. It was perfect. Even the romantics of being lakeside under the moon was perfect.

Not done yet, he laid her down, and did her missionary style. She just saw the simplicity of holding him in her arms, while his cock moved in and out of her. Sure, it felt amazing, but she just wanted to remember his eyes, his touch, and the sound of his breathing. As she was drifting into these thoughts, he flipped her onto her knees, got underneath her, and started to lick her again. "Seemed a little dry," he told her. She could see his head just moving, and felt every feeling she could down there. She moved her knees down to the sand and sat on his face. Oh, what a feeling! She was holding him down now, almost powerful, not letting him go until she was ready.

"Come on baby, do it again," he breathed.

"No, I can't again. It's your turn," He stopped, and she could picture the look on his face. Alright, she thought to herself, it's not about fair. Just enjoy! "Ok ok," she said. He started again, and she relaxed. She got off her knees and went into a splits move on his face. They both groaned at the excitement. She let him go for another minute, then slowly sat up, looking at him as if to ask what was next. 

He smiled in a sly way, and took her hand, leading her out to the water. It was so cold as her feet and legs hit! She couldn't believe she was doing this, thinking about the steaming hot shower she'd have to take upstairs just to warm up. As he grabbed her and held her body close to his though, she got warm. It was like being wrapped in a warm comforter, and he just held her for a while, occasionally swirling around in a circle. He kissed her neck, then her lips again. She loved kissing him. He was gentle, yet passionate. She wrapped her legs tighter around him in the water, even feeling him slip his dick into her from time to time, and again, said a little thank you to the One above. She was completely in sin, but for some little reason, or maybe excuse, it was worth it.

He stopped and dipped under the cold water. She was confused again until she felt his hands spread her legs and his tongue go in her. Oh my good God, she thought, how phenomenal! She knew she'd have an orgasm faster than before, but she didn't care, almost because she knew well enough now he wasn't going to stop. She was right. She came so hard, she almost screamed. She hit him on the shoulder, as to tell him, but of course he already knew. His head bobbed up and he was smiling so big. "Now I'm gonna make you squirt," he told her. Before she could reply, he was in the cold again. His tongue moved all around inside her, and then to her clit. The waves coming in somehow made it even better, until he put his finger in her pussy. This had to be the most incredible feeling she had ever felt. Nothing, and no one, had ever made her feel like this. She wanted to enjoy it for as long as she could, so she laid back on top of the blue blanket of the lake. His head came up as she did, and she watched everything he was doing. She was extremely turned on watching his tongue move across her clit and his finger moving inside her. He looked at her a time or two, but she was determined not to lose these feelings of pure pleasure and weakness. 

He started to move a little faster though, and she could feel the orgasm creeping up on her. "Come on baby," he whispered. After just a few more seconds, she did. The art of squirting though, was a mystery to her. Only one other person in her life had been able to accomplish it, so the uncertainty of did she or didn't she crossed her mind. Apparently she hadn't. He kept eating her out, licking her pussy, and finger fucking her, and she was squirming so much, she thought she was the one making waves. Then it happened. The biggest, hardest orgasm of her life, she felt every fluid flow out of her, she thought she had peed. A couple little more licks, and he came up for air. He whipped his long hair back and wiped his face to get the water, and probably her, off. He was so sexy. He sort of laughed, as he noticed she wasn't moving.

"You ok?" he asked.

"Yeah," she was so out of breath and she couldn't feel any part of her body.

He picked her up and held her again, hugging her tightly. She had a feeling this was it, it was over, and the goodbye would commence. Wait though, she thought, he never came. As if to read her mind, he kissed her softly, then slowly inserted himself into her. He was big, and still hard, she thought with a smile. He started slowly to see how she would react, but after not being turned away, he went a little faster. There they were, in the cold nights lake, both sweating, as he thrusted her. Slow, fast, gentle, or hard, it didn't matter, she loved fucking him. She wished on a star it go on all night. He starts to throw his head back, moaning a little louder now. As he faces her again, he's biting his lip, and she knows he is about to cum. He does, but without a sound, he looks like he might bite his lip off. Instead, he kisses her. Hard. Lips, tongue, everywhere in her mouth. He finally seems to settle down, as do his kisses. He smiles as he looks at her. That smile she fell in love with. The one, not only with his mouth, but with his eyes. 

He picks her naked body up and out of the water, running back to shore with her. He almost falls, plopping her down on her sweater they used before as a make-shift blanket. He wraps her up and rubs her arms and tries to get her warm. 

"Too bad there's no fire out here," he seemed to be looking around for one.

"It's ok," she shivered. 

He put his clothes back on, and sat down next to her, putting his arm around her, pulling her head down towards his shoulder. She wondered how long he'd stay. Should she start a conversation? Maybe the one she'd been trying to have with him for weeks? Probably a worthless one now, better just let all that go. Part of her even wanted to start crying because she knew he wouldn't stay long. She knew him too. She was right on the latter. He raised her head, ran his hand down the back of her head, smiled, and simply said, "My rose."

She knew that was his goodbye. That they must never speak of this wonderful night that finally had happened between them. He took his arm down and held her hand for a minute, continuing to stare at her. Her mouth started to quiver. He just shook his head no, as to tell her not to cry. She nodded in agreement. She didn't want his last memory of her to be a blubbering idiot. He stood up, still holding her hand. Then slowly he slipped to just her fingers, and then just standing next to her. He smiled at her as he slowly started to walk away. She wanted to yell at him not to go, please don't leave her, she loved him too, but nothing came out. Before he turned to go up towards the street to go home, he stopped and looked at her one last time. She thought for a moment, just under what light there was, she saw a tear in his eye. That can't be though, she thought, he doesn't cry, Mr. Macho. She decided what she saw was his love for her. No lies, no games, just them, and love. 




Conclusion of an Online Love affair



He never waved, or said another word. Just walked away into the darkness from which he had come earlier. Her mouth started to quiver again. Her heart sank. Bye, Stud.



Concrete Submission: First Night



First Night

It was a beautiful night in October, a night full of cool chills blowing on the wind, a night that possessed the scent of passion and mystery. I could smell Halloween approaching as I drove my car into the newly finished subdivision on the east end of town. The houses where all original, none were like my cookie cutter house. I passed several beautiful houses that were still becoming homes; one even resembled a log cabin. 617 Wood Trail Drive was my destination; it seemed like an eternity before I finally saw 617 etched into a mailbox at the end of the dead end street. 

Pulling into the driveway, a Victorian style house with a stunning wrap around porch greeted me. I had never met him before; we met online and had only been talking on the phone for a few short weeks. He was the master I had been longing for, one of great intelligence of the lifestyle and patience for a fresh submissive like myself.

My attire included a leather mini skirt, a purple tube top, and black stilettos. My makeup was painted dark on my porcelain face, thick black eyeliner coated my almond shaped eyes, deep green eye shadow accentuated my hazel eyes. My long black hair was pulled up high into a messy pony tail; I felt vulnerable, just the way he had asked me to in his email.

Upon approaching the front door, I couldn't help but notice how his lawn looked. It had lean remnants of flower beds on both sides of the stairs leading to the door. The lawn was not just taken care of, it was manicured with pride.

Ringing the doorbell was a challenge, "Carmen, you can go back home now and continue to keep this fantasy online." I couldn't, I had to experience this for myself. My mind was nervous, but my body didn't budge an inch.

"Hello, come on in." I didn't even realize he was standing with the door open, welcoming me in with a warm smile. My body has caught up with my head now, I fight off shaking. I don't even know his name; I just know to call him sir. He stands at six feet tall, shaggy blonde hair the color of sand, skin that had been caressed by the sun.  

Stepping inside, I caught a smell of his cologne and pumpkin spice candles that lit his home. Every light in the house was off, flames danced on the walls and on him, making his eyes shimmer with desire. He wanted me, every part of me, just the way I wanted him.

"You have a lovely house." The words were forced out of me to break the silence as the door behind me was being shut and locked.

"Thank you. Now, as you already know to address me as sir, you have much training and that will be the first task you perfect. When you are in my house, you don't need your clothes. I want you to always be open and ready for me. Is that understood girl?" His eyes seemed to speak to me more than anything else. I couldn't take my eyes away from his without a fight.

"Yes, sir." The words left my mouth so naturally. I pulled my clothes off of me setting them on the floor. Bending over to unbuckle my shoes, I felt his hand on my shoulder, how soft his hands are. 

"You can leave those on," he spoke with such confidence, "come into the light so I can inspect you." He slid his hand down my arm, taking my hand in his and led me to the center of the living room. Standing in front of him, I felt vulnerable. Every particle of me had a tingling sensation.

He was looking at all of me, from head to toe, touching me with his masculine hands, feeling my soft skin. He spent a good amount of time touching my breasts, making me feel so little, yet so proud. I was slightly intimidated by him, embarrassed that he was spending so much time on my breasts, they're not very big. 

"What size bra do you wear?" I was astonished; it was as if my thoughts traveled into his. 

"32 c." He left them alone and began traveling down. 

"Spread your legs, girl." He said with dominance as I obeyed immediately. Feeling his warm hands touch my clit and discover its piercing, I couldn't help but become unimaginably turned on. He was rubbing his fingers over it, making me spread my legs further apart. He stopped as I began to breathe heavily and finished looking me over. 

"You've done well, girl. On you hands and knees, that's how you will walk in this house unless I tell you otherwise. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir, I understand." I said smiling once again. Before I knew it, I felt him slip something around my neck. It was a dog's choker collar, and it began to tighten around my neck. 

"Come on, girl." He had me on a leash, leading me to the back of the house. My knee hurt from crawling through the kitchen, keeping up with him was a challenge. 

Approaching stairs that led to the basement, he pulled me to my feet. I followed him down the stairs and to a back wall. The lights were off down here as well, and candles perfumed the room. There were racks which held things that I could not make out well. We stopped at the back wall, two hooks in the ceiling held ropes that draped down to my feet. I let him tie my hands up apart from each other. The ropes held my wrists tight, almost lifting me off of the ground. A blindfold was slipped over my eyes to prevent me from seeing what was next.

"You smell so sweet, girl." He began to run his fingers up and down my body as he kissed my neck and shoulders. Everything tingled, my clit longed to be massaged, I wanted him to take me and cure this feeling of such strong desire. Finally, his hand entered me, massaging my g spot. As I began moaning, he stopped. Pulling his hands up and touching my backside softly, then it began to sting. It was repetitive, stroking my back and ass, and then the sting. I felt humiliated that I was being spanked by this stranger, but I longed for it. Again. And again. Again.

"Thank you, sir." The words escaped, and before I could even think, he was no longer behind me. Feeling pressure on my breasts, feeling them get harder and more firm. A rope was binding them, and there was nothing I could do about it. Suddenly, I felt a hard pinch that made me scream out. Something has grabbed onto my sensitive perky nipples, something cold and merciless. A chain linked the two clamps on my nipples.

"Please, sir, you're hurting me, plea-." A hand covered my mouth while his other hand traced along my tits. This pain was almost too much, but something in me longed for it and wanted to see if I could take it just a little while longer. He kept tugging at the chain which made the clamps become tighter with each pull. I could feel the wetness between my legs growing stronger, and he was gone again. 

Behind me, I could hear his footsteps on the concrete floor. He moved swiftly, placing a gag in my mouth to keep me from talking. Something soft on my back, something I would learn to love and hate at the same time with such a deep passion. I knew right away it was a leather flogger.

Each swing made my backside hotter, growing with small welts and bruises, varying between his hand and the flogger. Each time I felt something touch my skin, I couldn't help but let noise try to escape, a small scream, a moan. This went on for a time, eventually I began to go numb, and somehow, he knew this. My hands dropped beside me and the blindfold was ripped off. Before I could have time to move around, my hands were being bound behind my back and I was being led to a dark space on the opposite side of the basement.

"You've been such a good girl, now I will reward you for taking it so well." I tried to force out words from behind my gag but did not succeed. As we reached the dark corner, he turned me toward him and hugged me. I was sore from the beating, but his warmth felt delicious on my cool skin. His hands were exploring me once again, with more passion than before. They found their way to my neck as I was pushed backwards. Falling, falling, on to a soft bed. His hands, soft, so delicate and remorseful, touching me everywhere. The lightness of his fingertips caressing my skin as if they were soft feathers hugging at my body making hair on my arms stand up and making me shiver with pleasure.

His tongue traced down my body, from my neck to my breasts, I felt the clamps being removed, and the rope leaving my breasts sore and sensitive. His tongue drew lines across my breasts. Never before had I felt such delight. I felt every touch, every warm breath that he took drew onto my skin, making my nipples harder and harder until it hurt with such a painful bliss.

It wasn't until now that I understood the rope and clamps uses, as much as they hurt me, they gave me such a pleasant gift of sensation. His fingertips running up and down my sides, bringing me to arch my back and push myself into him; feeling helpless with my hands still cuffed behind my back. 

Tracing my body with his tongue, still following down the middle of my body, he hits my clit ring with his tongue. Licking my clit, shoving two fingers deep inside of me, again massaging my g spot. Dragging his tongue up and down along my clit, lashing his tongue against my ring. I cannot help but to moan loudly though the gag, arching my back, feeling everything inside me come so close to exploding with a pleasure and excitement that I had never known.

As my legs begin to lightly shake, I feel him pulling me up towards him, and turning me 

over, shoving me down into the bed face first. Laying on my stomach, my back side is exposed to him. Undoing the gag and tossing it to the floor, I hear a loud pop. He has awakened the feeling of his hand on my ass. Smacking it repeatedly, bringing the burn to the surface once more. Instead of screaming, I find myself moaning, and begging, 

"Please, sir, spank my ass harder."

"Hmm." I hear him grunt as he delivers a hard hit to my backside, he is delighted that I am enjoying myself as well as serving him. 

"You like this little girl, don't you? Do you like your master taking advantage of your exposed ass?" He sounds amused with himself.

"Yes, sir, very much, sir." I don't even have to think anymore, feeling the blunt smacks of my masters hands torturing my ass, it all comes to me with great recreation.

"What else do you want? Tell me, little slut, what do you want from your master?" It takes very little effort and little time to cry out to him.

"Master, I want you to fuck my cunt hard, please!" At the exact moment the words escaped my mouth, master grabbed the chain between the cuffs and pulled me back onto my knees and onto his engorged dick. Holding me up from leaning on my shoulders and using my chain to thrust into me harder, with each entry I screamed, louder and louder. He fucked me harder and harder, finally dropping the chain and letting me fall to me shoulders for support. 

Holding onto my hips, pulling me up and shoving his dick into my swollen pussy, "Is this what you want, little girl?"

"Yes, sir, thank you sir!" I forced the words out of me in between moans. Feeling him along my walls, feeling him growing inside of me and using me as his fuck doll, everything in me went off like fireworks. A rush, such an amazing eccentric rush I felt as the warm secretions dripped down my legs and onto the bed. Staying inside me, master leaned onto me, laying his body against mine, kissing my neck like he had done when this adventure started. 

"I am very pleased with my new slut."

"Thank you, sir."



Concrete Submission: Rose



SheRose

Everything in me was burning; the satin sheets licked my skin with their soft touch. My skin was hot, no doubt scarlet in color. I had fallen asleep with him so easily after we finished the previous night. Surprised on how soundly I slept, I slipped out of bed, leaving him to sleep alone. Half way up the basement stairs, he must have felt me leave. 

"Girl, where are you going?" His gruff voice thundered through the basement in a demanding tone.

"I was just-." I trailed off, not being able to think of an appropriate answer to give to him. 

"You didn't ask." He was out of bed, making his way towards me. "On your knees, little one. Do you drink coffee?" To him, I was to be on my knees even when we were not playing. 

"Yes, sir." Following him up the stairs on my hands and knees was somewhat of a challenge. My knees were sore; I wasn't accustomed to crawl everywhere. At the top of the stairs, I followed him down the hallway to the kitchen and pulled myself up into a chair at a table. 

"On the floor. We have things to talk about." Confused, I sat myself in the floor next to the chair while he started a pot of coffee for the two of us.

"Sir, I am lost. What do we need to talk about?" He took a seat at the chair directly in front of me. 

"I feel like you are lost, do you know what you are? Or what you want to be?" He said this looking at me with such adoring eyes.

"What do you mean, sir?" He had my dedicated attention.

"Do you know what the difference between a submissive and a slave is? From everything we talked about in our emails it sounds like you prefer to live in, having a 24/7 relationship."

"Yes, sir, I am interested in that. I don't know the difference between a submissive and a slave." I felt my face flush, I was slightly embarrassed to be sitting before him, naked, and have very little knowledge of the lifestyle.

"I will tell you everything you need to know. You can't be expected to know everything from the beginning, everyone learns from someone. A submissive is a girl who submits herself, who has feelings, and limits. She sets how much authority is taken over her, she can control how much control she gives to her master. A submissive makes many choices. A slave is many steps past a submissive. It is the last step of submissive. She only makes one choice to submit. She gives everything to her master, her mind, heart, and her body. She gives her master the gift of power over her. If her master gives her an order, she cannot say no, she must give in all of herself. A slave commits to obey. While both submissive and slaves are owned and considered property, a slave is literally property. Do you understand?" 

"Yes, sir." He was right. Maybe I am out of my league, got more than I bargained for. I don't know what I am.

"You are a submissive, with slave tendencies. You would be a phenomenal slave. Last night, you submitted without hesitation and trusted the situation. Although, I do understand that trust is earned and that does take time. I don't expect anything to become something new overnight. That takes time and practice. A decision like this, to become a slave, takes time as well. I want you to think about this clearly. You'll know if it's what you want or not." 

With this, he stood to fetch the coffee. Something in me changed, it developed into something new. I could not lose last night; I wanted it so badly I could taste it. Without thinking, I was crawling after him. Reaching him, I hugged his leg, wanting to be his. 

"Sir, please, this is what I want. I know this is what I want; I would be lying if I said otherwise. I feel so strongly about this, please, I want to be your slave." At this moment I looked up and found his eyes, they were focusing directly on me. 

"I think you should think more, have time to reflect on yourself, find out who you are." The words left his mouth so easily, like he was reading from a script.

"Sir, please, I want this. I want to be yours. Please. I want to give myself to you, everything about me, my life; I want you to take me as your own. Train me, show me everything there is. I will do my best to obey your every order, to serve you the best way I can." I couldn't let this go.

"Begging suits you well, Carmen." It was beautiful; the first time I've heard him speak my name since I arrived. "And you did well, I wanted you to beg. I refuse to take someone for nothing, and you obviously do want this. You have the rest of the afternoon to get your clothes from your house, anything you need, bring it here." I've done it; I am going to be his. 

Stooping down to my level, with such adoring compassionate eyes, he spoke to me. "Would you like sugar with your coffee?"

That morning was the beginning of my new life. He offered me a change, a new view on life, and he made me beg him for it. Begging him to take me as his slave felt more proficient than being given something for nothing. After moving all of my clothes and personal belongings from my roommate's house to his, my life forever changed. I am still the same person, but these eyes are like a mirror, I see things completely different. 

Naked, sitting in his living room floor on the plush carpet, I felt overwhelmed with pride. Sir is hard for me to read, thought he seems passionate enough. Standing in front of me, sir pulled a collar out from I don't even know where. It was like it appeared from no where, or I wasn't paying attention very well.

"Girl, this collar is a symbol. Much like a ring, it is never ending. You cannot take it off, you cannot even touch it. It is mine, as you are mine, only I can touch it. You are giving me a great gift. You are giving yourself to me, handing over all control of you, your life, and your body. You are my property. From here on, your name will not be Carmen. I will call you Rose; it is the name I am giving to you." He said this with a passionate voice as he walked around behind me. 

Pulling the collar around my neck and locking it somehow with a tool that looked almost like a screwdriver. The collar, when closed, looks like a steel ring, simple yet so powerful. Walking around to the front of me again, he looked at me with great care.

"You are my slave, girl. You are mine, and I will teach you everything you need to know while keeping you safe. I will build you into an obedient girl, mold you into the perfect slave, and build our trust, our relationship."

"Thank you, sir. I trust you with everything."

The man was so cunning; he always knew the perfect words to display. "I know you do." 



Concubine



Once upon a time the Emperor of China had a concubine. She was not the chief concubine of the Emperor's harem, but she was high in the Emperor's esteem for a time because, though she was not much skilled in matters of love, she was very beautiful. She was limber and willowy, with shining blue black hair; eyes, which smoldered and smiled, and smooth, ivory colored skin, silkier than the finest cloth. Her breasts were small round orbs with pink blossom nipples which always seemed to strain up for gentle kisses or the caresses of a hungry tongue; and between her legs, enclosed within plump folds of woman flesh, and enticingly adorned with shining curls was a delectable lotus temple. 

For many weeks the Emperor would call for Dove's Wing, (for that was the girl's name), three or four times a week, and Dove's Wing's maid would bathe her with perfumed soap, anoint her with oil of sandalwood and comb and dress the hair of her head and the silken curls between her legs. Then, dressed in a fine silk Kimono and wearing nothing beneath, Dove's Wing would present herself to the Emperor.

The Emperor would command her simply to lift her Kimono and come and straddle his proud tower, which was already hardened, and waiting. She would dutifully lift the layers of her kimono and, because her womanness had not had time to lubricate with desire, she would wet her own fingers with her own mouth then rub the fingers between the lips of her lotus flower, paying special attention to the jewel as the Buddhist Mantra om mane padme om instructed. She would have liked to caress her jewel longer, for her own touch sent shivers of ecstasy through her, but she could not keep the Emperor waiting so she only took time to make the opening of her flower slick enough to allow the Emperor's tower to enter her without pain. 

These times were not satisfying to Dove's Wing for the Emperor would not even touch her. She would simply come and squat as though to empty her water over the up standing flesh sword and lower herself so that the imperial wand entered her. Then, with up and down motion, she would slip the Emperor's flesh column in and out of her lotus until the source of all goodness erupted into her with a warm gush. She would then remain squatting with the Emperor inside her until he commanded her to go. 

During this after time the Emperor would gaze between Dove's Wing's legs studying the way his Proud Tower caused the tender flesh of her to swell with his filling and how the cords of muscle of her thighs swelled and quivered with the strain of holding her weight lest she actually sit on the person of the Emperor. During these times Dove's Wing also had to hold the muscles of her sweetness tight closed around the Emperor's column for to allow a drop of the Emperor's essence to roll out of her and dribble back onto the Emperor would have shamed her. Sometimes it seemed as though the Emperor held her squatting a long time, as though he wanted some of her wetness mingled with his own to escape, but Dove's Wing never let that happen though holding the opening of her lotus tight closed was difficult as the Emperor's tower softened and shrank. The muscles of her legs would quiver and those of her lower belly would begin to ache if the Emperor delayed his dismissal too long. 

When The Emperor would at last dismiss her she would rise, step back, allow the hem of her kimono skirts to drop back to the floor and would bow many times as she backed out of the royal chamber. This was the best time of these encounters for as she bowed and backed the tortured muscles of her thighs and lower belly relaxed and some of the Imperial essence oozed out to coat the insides of her thighs and rub between the cheeks of her bottom. This smooth slickness was almost enough to bring her to the physical paradise called clouds and rain as she walked back to her chamber, and when she removed her kimono the way the Emperor's essence had been rubbed to lather between her legs never failed to excite her so much that she called her maid to pleasure her with her fingers.

One day, after Dove's Wing had been in the harem for many months and was not called so often to the Emperor's bed her maid asked if she was happy with the arrangement as it had come to be.

"It is not bad this way," Dove's Wing said. "But I do miss the feeling of the Emperor's essence as it squirts into me, and I do miss the slickness of it as it runs out of me."

"I can help you to find your way back into the Emperor's chamber mistress, if you will let me." Said the maid.

"And how is that to be done?"

"I know a sorceress who can help you, but you must pay for her help."

"Very well then, I will see your sorceress, but I warn you-- if she is not true and cannot help me I will see that she loses her head and that you lose yours."

"She will not fail you Mistress, nor will I."

A few days later Dove's Wing's maid brought an old woman to her mistress' chamber and Dove's Wing asked, "Can you give me some potion to make the Emperor call for me again?"

"No Mistress, I have no potions or powders. I have only these." And with that the sorceress held out two smooth balls of gray marble. They were perfectly round and silky smooth and they were the size of large chestnuts, but heavier by far.

Dove's Wing took the balls into her hands.

"What good are stone balls to me? What magic is in them?"

The sorceress grinned a toothless grin that gave some idea of how beautiful she must once have been when she was young, then she passed her hands over the balls which were still in Dove's Wing's hand. The balls disappeared.

"Place these within your Mistress's Lotus Temple," the sorceress commanded and dropped the balls into the maid's hand. The maid looked from the balls to her mistress and received a nod of approval so she knelt before Dove's Wing and began to open the kimono. She gently ran her hand up between her mistress' silky thighs and stroked her lotus gate with practiced fingers. Dove's wing glanced at the sorceress who continued to grin and motioned for the maid to continue. 

Soon Dove's Wing's womanness was wet and she was near to clouds and rain and that was when the maid popped the balls, one after another, into the heart of Dove's Wing's carnal temple. The sorceress smiled at the look of surprise on Dove's Wing's face. "The magic of the balls will show itself to you if you hold them tight within you," she said. "Especially when you walk".

 "And this will bring me back into favor with the Emperor?" Dove's Wing asked, gasping with a strange excitement and feeling a peculiar heavy wetness between her legs.

"This will prepare you to please the Emperor more than any other," the sorceress cackled. "I will make sure the Chosen of Heaven calls for you, but not until you can hold the balls within your Lotus temple all day and put them in and out through the Heavenly Gate without hands."

Dove's wing looked away with disbelief, and, though she could hardly speak because of the intense bursts of pleasure the Ben Wah balls were causing, she asked, "How can I ever learn such an impossible thing?" 

With that the old one brought two more balls from some secret pocket and put them on the low table near by. She then did the most astonishing thing Dove's Wing had ever seen. The old woman lifted her kimono to show that she wore no under clothes. Her thin legs, child stretched belly, and withered Lotus temple with its thin fringe of gray hair was not at all attractive, but when she turned herself with her temple above the two balls and lowered herself as though to sit upon the table with the strength of her legs, her withered looking lotus seemed to come alive. First the old woman put her lotus over one ball, and when she rose only a small wet stain was left behind on the table. She moved to the other ball and, without releasing the first ball from her glorious slit, she stooped and brought the second ball in. Then she stepped up onto the table and squatted as though she were going to make water, but instead the other two women watched the muscles around the old woman's temple flex and quiver as though they had a life of their own. A clicking sound came from the two balls as they rattled like dice inside the ancient womb then one of the balls came to the front and held visible between the flaccid and faded inner lips. She held it visible for a moment then drew it back in and brought it back into view. After a few moments the old woman gently set one shining wet ball and then the other side by side upon the table. Then, from another hidden pocket the sorceress took an ebony wand, no greater in diameter than a little finger, but as long as a hand's span from thumb tip to little finger tip. She placed it on the table lengthwise beneath her slit then lowered her Lotus flower, which was no longer flaccid or faded, onto the end of it. As though jumping of its own will the end of the wand leapt into the opening of the old woman's womb and, as the other two watched the wand disappeared inch by inch into her. When it was gone from sight the old woman looked at the two of them and smiled her toothless smile then looked down between her legs once more. Dove's Wing and the maid watched open mouthed as the wand slowly reappeared to almost its full length before stopping and being pulled slowly back into the old woman's temple.

"When you can do that my girl, the Chosen will never call another to minister to his proud tower," the sorceress cackled, then shot the wand from between the inner lips of her lotus flower with such force it traveled almost to the far wall of the chamber.

"But how. . ." Dove's wing began.

"I was once the greatest hetira in all the land, but even one as skilled as I cannot forever avoid the passing of time. So I teach pretty young girls," She said taking Dove's Wing's perfect chin in her hand, and as she looked into the girl's eyes she slipped her other hand between her pupil's legs to cup her sex, even letting her middle finger slip into the girl's wet slit. 

Dove's Wing gasped at the forwardness of the old woman, but because the ben wah balls were still inside her, and because the sorceress's thumb was pressing and circling on the jewel within her lotus she did not try to pull away. The caressing pressure brought her to the thundering crash of the clouds and rain; effecting her so powerfully she could not hold her water and dribbled urine into the witch's hand.

The witch removed her hand and looked at the golden liquid still in her palm. She put her hand out and poured the urine onto the floor. "Practice my girl, practice. The Emperor will soon call you to his bed again," she said, then held out her still wet hand. "Now you will cross this palm with a more spendable, if less delicious bit of gold. 

Dove's Wing began to practice with the Ben Wah balls and soon could carry them within her temple for hours, and pick them up from the table without using her hands. More difficult was controlling the reaction of her body to the movement of the balls. At first she was in a constant state of excitement. The balls would roll and tumble within her, touching and pressing against a place inside that was like lightning, sending waves of pleasure radiating out through her whole body. But after a time she could separate her mind from the reactions of her body and that was when she began practicing with the wand. There was little pleasure in the ebony wand. She never learned the trick of picking up the wand without hands, but after days of practice and many aching muscles in her lower belly and bottom she learned to draw the wand into her lotus temple, hold it and release it with equal slowness. 

The sorceress returned one day and commanded Dove's Wing to demonstrate her new skills. Dove's Wing, though resentful of the old woman's presumptuous manner, did as she was told. She was pleased when the old woman nodded and smiled. "You are almost ready," the sorceress said.

"But the Emperor has yet to call me," Dove's wing said. "He has never delayed so long before."

"Patience," the old woman said. "The Chosen has been away for many days and will be away for more. It gives you time to practice so that when he returns he will never forget you. You will become his favorite concubine." Then the sorceress removed an ivory phallus from one of her hidden pockets. She sat down upon the table and called Dove's wing over. "Lift your kimono again," she commanded imperiously.

The girl did as she was told.

"Come closer," The girl again did as she was told and when she approached, quicker than thought, the old woman's finger slid between the lips of Dove's wing's lotus temple. The girl gasped, but the finger went so accurately to the explosive spot within her that she began to be wet and ready in a moment.

"Now girl, begin squeezing my finger from the tip to the knuckle," the sorceress commanded. 

Dove's wing tried to do as she was told but was not sure she had accomplished it when the old woman's finger crooked within her and began stroking and pressing the spot within that caused growing excitement. In moments Dove's Wing was so excited that once again her juices flowed down the old woman's hand, and when the earthshaking clouds and rain were again upon her she once more lost control of her water and that wet mixed with her lotus dew to run down the insides of her legs. 

The sorceress nodded her satisfaction and withdrew her finger. She picked up the ivory phallus and rubbed the wetness over it so that it was slick. "Put this into your Lotus Temple and squeeze it as you did my finger. From the tip to the base, then back up from the base to the tip. When you have learned this well, you will be ready." Once more the old woman held out her hand which still glistened with Dove's Wing's glistening honey and her palm was crossed with gold.

Dove's Wing began her practice and in a few days she could manipulate ben wah balls, ebony wand, and ivory phallus with great skill and it was then that she did indeed receive the call from the Emperor. As usual her maid prepared her with bathing and oiling and perfuming and Dove's wing went to the Emperor's chamber. She found him lying with his proud tower at the ready but this time she did not need to lubricate her lotus flower with saliva. At the first call Dove's Wing's Lotus Temple had begun to flow so much with anticipation that she feared she would leave a trail of drips behind her as she made her way to the chamber. She lifted her kimono and stepped astraddle the waiting emperor, but when she began to lower her self she saw the emperor's eyes open very wide and, for the first time ever, he said, "You are very wet. I see your woman cum has drenched your Lotus and even your thighs."

"Yes my Lord," Dove's wing answered. "I have desired you for so long that when I was called I began to be wet."

The Emperor smiled that one of his concubines should be so taken with him that she would become wet just at the thought of him. "Continue," he said.

Dove's Wing lowered herself and took the tip of the royal wand between the lips of her lotus then tightened her temple chamber so that the feeling was as though she were once again a virgin. Again the Emperors eyes opened in surprise, for he knew this one was not a virgin. 

When Dove's wing had engulfed the Emperor's entire proud tower she did not lift herself to let it slide out again. Instead she began to squeeze from tip to base and base to tip and, with no up and down or in and out movement, the Emperor's Royal wand was milked and stroked and caressed in such a way that he cried out when his essence burst forth like a spurting fountain. 

The gush of warm, slickness filled Dove's Wing and caused her to find the clouds and rain also, and, as with the sorceress, Dove's Wing was unable to control her water. Some golden drops escaped to mix with the Emperor's essence, her own woman essence, and the perfume with which her maid had anointed her. The four liquids combined to make a deadly poison, just as the sorceress had intended. It was absorbed into the skin of both the Emperor and Dove's Wing and they died still linked together. 

The Emperor's son became the Emperor and his mother, the Dowager Empress who had planned his ascension, sent a squad of the palace guards to bring the sorceress and her daughter, the maid, before her throne. The Dowager Empress smiled down on them. "You have done well," she said.

The sorceress and her daughter bowed low, then the sorceress boldly said, "I know your mind oh magnificent Empress. You would be rid of us so that your part in the ascension will never be known, but you have no need to fear us. Only reward us as you promised and you will never hear from us again."

The Empress also could see into the sorceress' mind. She knew that if she did not keep her bargain her son would not long reign, even if the sorceress had to reach from beyond the grave. The Empress smiled and delivered the weight of gold and gems equal to the weight of the sorceress and her daughter and had the palace guard escort them from the Forbidden City. 

The sorceress and her daughter kept their bargain and were never heard from again during all the new Emperor's long reign.



Concubine



I hadn't been home in nearly three weeks and it felt good to be alone in my beach house finally, as I lazily began to strip off my clothes and make my way to the staircase that led to my bedroom. Past all the unopened mail that lay scattered across my pool table without a second glance at it, I flung my clothes haphazardly as I peeled them off sending my grey tee across the leather chair in the corner and my bra somewhere behind me as I reached the staircase 

My cell phone continued to ring incessantly as I climbed the stairs, I pulled it out of the back pocket of the leather pants I had on before turning it off and carelessly tossing it across my king-size bed. 

Stretching languidly I assumed that whoever it was on the other end could wait, I had handled my problem of a greedy drug dealer in the Bahamas, and someone who had thought he could steal from me and get away with it.

So, as far as I was concerned there was absolutely nothing that I could possibly need to handle this late at night, glancing at my Rolex I checked the time and it was just past midnight.

I stopped long enough to turn on my iPod , and let the raspy, jazz soaked voice of Macy Gray filter throughout the room before making my way to into the bathroom and to a much needed shower.

I let the near scalding water flow over my achy, tired muscles, before turning up the cold and relishing in the warm soothing spray. A million thoughts raced through my mind as I stood under the pulsing spray, the past weeks had been non stop and hectic, long meetings and even longer waiting games, coupled with quite a lot of traveling by both plane and boat.

It took a while for me and the few loyal members of my crew who I had brought with me, to track down the drug dealer after he had stolen my money and my client's product, both of those choices had proven to be bad for the small time thug. After years of providing shipping services to my clients, my reputation had preceded any thoughts of easy money for the new hot shot dealer and would prove entirely futile on his part.

After tracking him to a hotel on the south side of Nassau with the help of local street dealers looking for credit with me, he had been delivered to me in the middle of the night and in a run down, dark warehouse just near the port. There, I, with the help of one of my crew convinced him to give up my money and my client's product. 

I expedited the shipment of cocaine that was now weeks behind schedule and got back most of my money and left the crooked dealers fate up to my client, as a good will gesture between long time partners. 

Once things were well wrapped up, I didn't wait around to see that justice would be delved out appropriately, of that I had no doubt and I was on the next plane back to Miami and then home to savannah.

Slowly all of it that darkness of the past weeks had began to fade away and I could feel myself begin to relax as I slowly soaped my body washing away the violent images of the past weeks that were lingering there. 

. 

My thoughts drifted to Rachael Harris, the engaged gorgeous banker who laundered money for me, and the torrid affair we had been having. 

I hadn't intended to run into her when I planned to meet Caroline Carson at my brother's restaurant earlier in the evening, to handle one last bit of business before I could finally go home. 

I had walked out of my brother's office after giving Caroline her money for the diamonds I had moved for her and Caroline in all her scandalous glory had quipped as we walked out together. 

"As usual Jordan, you know exactly what I like." She had then kissed me softly on the lips, smiling at me deviously before turning around and bumping into Rachael. 

The anger that flashed across the beautiful brunettes face was obvious, her glare directed solely on me.

I had been avoiding her in the last few weeks, not intentionally it was just how things had played out.

"Go easy on her dear, she's a creature of habit." Caroline had offered as she stepped casually past the clearly angry woman.

Leaving the two of us alone in the narrow hallway and me not in any mood to deal with anything else tonight from anyone.

"The last time I saw or spoke to you Jordan, was three weeks ago!" she growled stepping closer to me and out of the way of the servers shuffling by.

I was exhausted and in no mood for any attitude from her, but I knew full well she would be angry with me and that I probably deserved her wrath.

"I'm sorry, I wasn't aware that I needed to check in." I said sarcastically.

My comment only seemed to piss her off more, the look in her eyes dangerous as she glared at me.

The tension growing between the two of us in the narrow corridor was suffocating to me, and I moved to step past her only to be stopped by her hand on my hip.

"We need to talk." she said her voice a whisper so none of the patrons or servers heard her.

"I'm sorry, but I don't have time for a quickie in a storage closet, I'm exhausted and I want to go home." I snapped rudely as I stepped past her.

Rachael's look said she was clearly taken aback at my attitude, and stood quietly fuming as I left her standing there, still very angry with me. 

My cell began to ring the moment I stepped outside the restaurant, ignoring it I had climbed into my Porsche and headed home.

As I stepped out of the shower and toweled off, I knew that I had handled the situation with her wrong, that I had let what tiredness I felt overtake my rationality and that I was being selfish with my time.

It would take me a while to decompress from the things I had done over the past weeks and a few days of Rachael being angry with me wouldn't hurt anything and I would call her in a few days a smooth things over.

I finished drying off, slipped on a pair of black boyshorts and brushed my teeth before turning off the light and walking casually out of the bathroom, singing along with Pink as I strolled casually into my dimly lit bedroom only to stop mid stride.

The fact that Rachael was standing in my bedroom waiting for me after my shower made me furious at being caught off guard, and the fact that I was only wearing a pair of tiny shorts and the various tattoos that covered my nearly naked body made me feel vulnerable. 

Rachael had changed clothes since our encounter at the restaurant earlier, into faded Levis, sandals and an old worn Aerosmith concert tee. 

God she was stunning, either dressed for banking or just casual like tonight she could take my breath away.

The way she was hungrily staring at me, taking in my exposed body with those intense green eyes only added to my anger at her intrusion.

I made no effort to cover myself there was no need for modesty, as I stood there defiantly staring at her in disbelief. 

"What the fuck are you doing here?" I snapped harshly at her.

Rachael advanced on me slowly, not put off by my obvious displeasure at her invasion of my privacy.

"You gave me the alarm code weeks ago remember, you said use it whenever I wanted." she said, her tone flippant.

She was standing just in front of me now within arms length, her gaze wandering lazily over my breasts, as a devious smile grew at the corner of her luscious lips.

"Is there something you want?" I asked her again, trying to keep my temper in check.

As I moved to step past her, suddenly needing clothes to shake the vulnerability I felt, she stepped with me blocking me between her and my king-size wrought iron bed.

" I clearly think we have a misunderstanding , when I saw you earlier tonight it wasn't about having a quick romp in a back room, as much as I do enjoy that side of you." she began continuing to take in my naked body, not caring that she was being blatant about it. 

"Then what did you want, it's late and I'm exhausted?" 

Rachael paused a minute before continuing , her hand softly brushing the hair out of my face, making me step back from her only to be blocked by the bed.

"As business partners, I expect a certain amount of courtesy and respect from you, so when I call you repeatedly to handle our transfer schedule I expect you to answer whether your in town or not." Her tone was almost threatening as if she was telling me what I was going to do.

"Is that..." I began but was cut off quickly by her sharp growl of a warning, the dominant tone in her voice and how she now spoke to me, controlling me and the situation made my anger at her turn into something else.

"Shut your damn mouth I'm not finished ... no money drops for two weeks and all of a sudden I'm supposed to clean a half a million dollars for you overnight!" Her voice began to raise, her anger with me clear.

Rachael was angrier than I had ever seen her and the way she was glaring at me now made me shiver. I was never questioned by anyone, and never second guessed in how I handled my business, and no one spoke to me this way, not ever.

Not without repercussions.

As I moved away from her, needing a little space, she reached out grabbing my forearm and pulling me back to her, bringing us face to face.

"I am not one of your thug clients, you need to do business with me but I certainly don't need to do business with you." she leaned in closer to me and I turned away from her slowly. 

Not wanting her to realize the effect she was having on me, to see how turned on I was becoming simply by her chastising me, her fingers on my forearm felt as if they were searing into my skin starting a slow, deep burn .

"Do you understand me, Jordan?" she asked.

The soft way my named rolled off her tongue mesmerized me, just like it always does. She had asked me something I was sure of it, but the only sound I heard was the blood rushing through my ears and the hitch of my labored breathing.

Rachael's other hand slid into my still damp hair and tangled her fingers through it at the back of my neck firmly, turning my head slowly forcing me to look at her.

The instant I connected to those hypnotic green eyes of hers a sly, knowing grin followed her instant realization, and she gripped my hair a little tighter before she leaned in just inches from my lips.

"I want you to say it, tell me you understand me?" she asked against my lips in a whisper.

"I understand." I said quietly.

" You understand what?" she asked, letting her free hand slide up my arm slowly ,letting the back of her hand brush against my nipple softly making me gasp.

I didn't answer her right away; I was savoring the feeling that was coursing through me.

"I'm waiting!" she growled lower, pinching my hardened nipple enough to make me moan against her lips.

My haste in answering her only seemed to frustrate the gorgeous brunette more, Rachael was barely touching me and I was literally throbbing at the idea of being taken by her, being controlled by her.

I wanted this, needed it badly.

I spent so much time in total control that I wanted someone to take it from me; the thought of being possessed completely by her was intoxicating to me.

"Do you want more?" her question a whisper as she ran her thumbs softly across my aching nipple.

I nodded slightly, knowing it would push her even more by not answering her.

With her firm grip at the back o my neck, she spun me around and pulled me back against her, pinning my arms behind me and between our bodies. 

With one hand around my throat tightly, but not enough to harm me she slid her other hand slowly down my stomach. 

Making me squirm against her , my breathing becoming faster as she gripped the waistband of the tiny black shorts I wore , pulling upwards slowly making me moan and grind back against her. 

The feel of the thin material moving back and forth across my clit was making me dripping wet for her, pulling me into a place I hadn't let myself go in a very long time.

"Tell me what I want to hear Jordan and I promise you'll get more, so much more" her whispered offer was followed by a gentle slap against my pussy, making my clit throb even harder.

I cried out at the shudder that went through me, as Rachael's throaty, confident chuckle reverberated through my back.

"I'm sorry." I mumbled trying to form words but her fingers circling my clit ever so lightly through the thin cotton was making it very difficult for me.

"I don't believe you." Another soft slap, followed by the same throaty chuckle from her

The hand at my throat moved to my left breast, cupping it gently before pinching the nipple forcefully. My fingers dug deeply into her thighs as I cried out, the sensation amazing as she ran her tongue up my neck before biting at my earlobe.

"I'm sorry; I understand I was out of line and it won't happen again." I said breathlessly, pushing against the hand teasing me wanting more.

I was turned around and shoved roughly back onto my bed, my breathing quickening in anticipation as she stood over me, a triumphant smirk on her beautiful face .

"Good girl." she chimed, praising me as she took in my near naked, waiting body, slowly she peeled off her clothes and tossed them casually to the floor.

"I want you naked!" she demanded, and I moved quickly. 

Without hesitation the shorts were pulled off and tossed aside leaving myself completely naked for her.

Rachael crawled slowly up the bed over me, straddling me and grinding slowly against me, making me writhe underneath her.

Lightly her spread fingers moved up and down my stomach, teasing every muscle making me move under her again and moan. 

Her grin was lascivious, her eyes dark and lust filled as she moved slowly against me disregarding my efforts for more contact. Each time my hips rose off the bed to push against her she would push me back down with both of her hands pinning me to the bed as she continued to move. 

Rachael was using my body however she wanted, starting a slow, sensuous grind that would surely leave me begging for release.

My hands moved to her hips again gripping them tightly, trying to keep her in just the right spot. Only to have my hands pinned back down again roughly over my head and told not to move. 

She leaned into me, warm naked flesh against warm naked flesh as she teased me into a greedy, starved kiss. Rachael moaned into my mouth as she shifted to slip her thigh between mine, the sensation almost too much against my swollen pussy.

Her full lips continued their onslaught, her warm tongue teasing me as the kiss deepened and she began to grind just a little harder.

I moaned breaking the kiss, arching my hips into her as she ground down against me, picking up a perfect rhythm with her. 

Our moans and gasps coming in unison as we moved together, each delicious touch making me shudder under her. I wrapped my leg around her hip changing the angle and making her cry out and sit up, grinding harder into me as she worked her pelvis back and forth. 

I was so close I was shaking with the need for release, my breathing becoming harder with each thrust. 

Rachael leaned back down over me, and slid her right hand between us, pulling away as she did giving herself more room.

"Spread your legs!" she commanded and I instantly obeyed.

Those warm lips claimed mine in another searing kiss as she slipped two fingers into me.

"Oh... god yes!" Rachael moaned at the feel of how wet I was for her.

My entire body shuddered at the feel of her fingers as they began to slip easily in and out of me drawing a long slow moan from me.

Rachael broke our kiss and pulled back, her fingers now sliding faster, my hips moving on their own meeting each of her thrusts.

As she pushed deeper into me I arched up into her, my hands tangling in her hair pulling her down into me, and back into another heated kiss. 

My hands were at her hips again holding on as she thrust deeper and harder, I closed my eyes and gave myself up to her completely as she continued to pump her fingers in and out of my dripping, quivering pussy. 

Rachael ground against me breathlessly, sliding back and forth on my thigh as she moved, I could feel my orgasm begin deep down in the pit o my stomach a coiling mass of pleasure that was about to explode. 

I grabbed the hand between my legs pulling her deeper into me.

"Deeper..." I moaned arching into her hand again as spasms of pleasure began to shoot throughout my body.

My moans of more and don't stop were met with an intensity that I rarely give into and Rachael curled her fingers slightly as she felt my muscles tightening around her fingers.

"Give it to me Jordan, show me how bad you need this." she growled into my ear.

As if on command I went right I've the edge, my body shaking as I came, flooding her fingers with each pounding thrust. Gasping for air as the contractions continued in a wave throughout my entire being as I rode out one of the best orgasms I had ever had.

The contractions were slowing and my body was becoming mine again, I tried to regulate my breathing as Rachael continued to move her fingers inside me.

My entire body was shaking as she stroked back and forth agonizingly slow, before slipping her fingers out and trailing them up my body before slipping them between her full lips, and sucking them clean.

"Mmmmmm I'm not done." she grinned as she began to trail light kisses down my neck, stopping at my breast to take one of my nipples into her mouth and sucking on it hard before releasing it with an audible pop.

"Fuck!" I gasped as she continued her slow descent down my body.

I began to shake again and grabbed onto the comforter under my fingers as she slid her tongue gently through my soaked folds .The satisfied moan that came from her rattled my entire body as she began to bite gently at my swollen lips.

Both of Rachael's hands pushed my knees further apart, spreading me open for her as she licked the entire length of my pussy slowly, making me cry out.

"Oh fuck Rachael!" I arched into her warm wet mouth as she sucked my clit between her lips and held it there, teasing me by barely sucking at the aching little bundle.

My breathing suddenly changed as the throb between my legs became almost too intense to take. My legs shook each time she sucked just a little harder, and I couldn't stop my hips as they pushed up into her talented mouth.

"Yes yes yes... "I chanted as she started making tiny circles around my clit.

My hands went to her hair, tangling through it and gripping it tightly as I ground harder against her face.

"Don't stop...please don't stop ....please..." I begged, over and over again.

I lurched violently against her as she slipped two fingers into me again and twisted them before pulling out and plunging back in deeper.

My grip on her brunette locks tightened as I felt another orgasm building deep in me, as Rachael alternated between sucking hard at my clit and making soft, lazy circles I became a mass of shuddering flesh and ragged breathe as I came.

The sounds of pleasure poured from me continuously chanting her name over and over and over as if it were my mantra, echoing throughout the room mixed within the thumping beat of the music.

As my shaking body came down Rachael slipped her fingers out of me and crawled slowly up my body, straddling me again and sliding her wet fingers between those damn sexy lips of hers.

"Mmmmm I do love the taste of you." she teased as she ground against my stomach.

I could feel how excited she was, how wet and ready she was. 

My hands began to move on her body, over her full breasts tweaking her nipples and making her gasp. I could taste myself on her lips as she leaned in for another kiss before she sat up giving me a pleased with herself smile.

"I want to come all over this beautiful face." she purred, her fingers tracing my parted lips.

I moved quickly, sliding lower and pulling her hips with my hands until her knees were on either side of my head and her waiting sex just inches from my mouth.




Concubine



I slid my hands around to the small of her back, around her hips and up her toned stomach and cupped both her full breasts, squeezing them as I slid my flat tongue against her throbbing pussy.

"Oh fuck yes Jordan!" her throaty moan, rumbling through her as I softly started to suck at her clit.

Both of Rachael's hands went to the headboard, grasping the rails tightly as she began to rock gently against my lips and tongue.

"Yes baby, suck my clit ...yessssssss!" she hissed, her tone commanding and firm.

I did exactly as I was told, alternating between sucking on her hardened clit and slipping my tongue as deep into her as I could go.

Rachael began to move faster as I worshiped her, devouring her and intent on making her come for me. My hands held her hips as she rocked back and forth against my greedy mouth, her breathing coming in short gasps mixed with breathless cries of pure pleasure. Taking a firmer grip on her rolling hips, I started making tiny flicks with my tongue that made her cry out loudly.

Rachael's entire body began to shake, every muscle tensed as she grew closer and closer.

With one hand sill on the headboard she tangled the fingers of her other hand in my hair guiding me where she wanted me, grinding harder as I sucked deeply on her clit, letting it slide through my lips before sucking at it again.

"That's it ...don't stop, ugh Jordan don't stop!"

Her words became incoherent through her gasping for air as her orgasm overtook her, racking her body with spasm after spasm as I kept sucking hungrily at her clit, my hands pulling her hips into my mouth as she came.

The site of this gorgeous creature above me was intoxicating; I let my hands wander her body lazily as she rode out the waves pulsing through her. Over her toned tan skin, cupping and pinching her breasts and nipples as she began to slow her grinding and tried to control her breathing.

Rachael pulled away from me, moaning as she did at the loss of contact and slid down my body as she straddled me and pulled me into a long, slow lazy kiss.

I didn't give her a chance to recover, as I sat up and pulled her with me, her weak body still shivering from her orgasm. I kept kissing her as I sat us up, wrapping those long tan legs around my waist and slid one hand between her legs.

Rachael broke our heated kiss, at the feel of my fingers sliding lightly back and forth in the wetness I found there.

"Jordan, mmmmmmmm." she moaned.

Tangling my hand in her brunette locks I twisted and pulled her head back roughly, I wanted to consume her and she was more than willing to let me.

I slid three fingers deep into her, making her cry out once more in pure pleasure.

Warm, wet walls spread and throbbed around my slippery fingers as I pumped into her. Rachael quickly lost control again, shaking and gasping as another orgasm built within her.

Twisting my fingers inside her, I bent my thumb and let it bump against her clit as she began to pump harder on my probing fingers.

I kissed slowly down the column of her exposed neck as she leaned back and opened even deeper for me.

I tightened my grip in her hair and pushed my fingers deeper into her, and let the palm of my hand grind against her clit. I ran my tongue over each of her nipples lightly before biting at them which made her grind harder against my hand, l pulled her backward changing the angle of my fingers and making her slam against my hand roughly at the new contact.

Rachael threw her arms around my neck and held on tightly as she began to shake with every deep pounding thrust I gave, relishing in the feel of her.

Her whole body was shaking uncontrollably as she continued to move, her breathing shallow and her eyes glazed over with lust.

Pulling my fingers out quickly, I pulled her back on top of me straddling my face again and sucked her clit between my lips and stroked it softly with my tongue as sucked her off.

My named escaped her lips again as she came, grinding against my face with each jolt of pleasure her orgasm gave her and I took in every delicious drop of wetness as it flowed from her. As her orgasm subsided Rachael slid down the length of my body and pulled me into a deep slow lingering kiss.

I woke a few hours later, face down on my king-size bed to find Rachael gone and my best friend of twenty years and business partner Becca standing over with a disapproving look.

"I told you to come home and get some rest, not party all night ...dammit Jordan! She snapped.

"We have to be in Atlanta by noon, or did you forget we have that car deal to work out?" She asked.

I sat up slowly trying to get my bearings; I had only been asleep a few hours after practically passing out from my night with Rachael. 

"What time is it?" I asked as I stretched and ran my hands through my hair.

"Almost eight thirty, so move your ass!" 

I was hit with a pair of jeans flung at me from the other side of the room, followed by a shirt and my boots.

I stood slowly, my body tired and pleasingly sore from the night before and slipped on the jeans before turning to face her.

"Please tell me that is not a new tattoo?" becca asked, as she pointed at my chest. "Jordan you have got to stop banging the strippers from the club, I mean really?"

"What?" I asked confused and a bit groggy still.

"If it is, you had to have been drunk because it's a hideous tattoo and who the hell gets the word porcupine tattooed on their chest?" She quipped before turning and walking toward the stairs.

I turned to the full length mirror, laughing at my best friend's silliness as I finally saw what she was talking about.

She had clearly misread it, and her assumption of who I had spent the night with was clearly wrong too. 

It wasn't the word porcupine it was the word concubine written in red lipstick between my breasts and down the length of my stomach.

"I gotta shower!" I yelled, only to be answered by more grumbling from downstairs.

I looked at my reflection again smiling at the words written in red across my chest, and pondered their meaning.

Concubine, lover, paramour, however you said it the meaning was all the same, I grinned again at the idea that Rachael had labeled me as hers before she left. 

Our torrid affair was changing, developing past random encounters here or there whenever we had a chance, to something that neither one of us wanted to deny.

A need that I wanted to fill and a ride I was going to take with her no matter the consequences, I was addicted to the gorgeous banker and had every intention on feeding my habit for as long as I could.



Concubine



This is a dominant hot wife, submissive cuckold husband story. If these types of stories offend you I strongly suggest that you to find something else to read.

*

My entire body tingled excitement as I nestled myself between my wife's legs. My face was inches from her smoothly shaved cunt. I took a moment to study her. This was something I always did. Jennifer didn't mind, in fact she found it both provocative and amusing that merely be allowed to look at her sex was such an intoxicating thrill for me. My wife loved me, so she always granted me this simple pleasure. 

The lips of Jennifer's pussy were moist. Her large clitoris arrogantly protruded from it's protective hood of soft flesh. She was already aroused. I'd spent the previous fifteen minutes kissing and licking her asshole. She relished this simple pleasure so it had become a compulsory prelude to every session of our lovemaking.

I wanted to kiss her engorged clit, but I knew that wouldn't yet be allowed. First I would have to lick and kiss her soft moist lips and thoroughly tongue the entrance to her womb.

It was time to begin. I'd dawdled long enough. Jennifer was waiting for me to pleasure her and I didn't dare test her patience. My wife gasped when she felt my lips gently brush the moist cleft of her pussy. She purred as I covered her sex with soft kisses. Her breath caught when I extended my tongue and started licking her. 

I closed my eyes and made passionate love to my wife. My excitement grew with hers. I needed to please Jennifer. I was desperate to please her. She was my goddess. Pleasing her was the sole reason for my existence.

I pressed my face into Jennifer's sopping cunt and pushed my tongue into her womb. This was now the only way I was allowed to fuck my wife. It had been over a year since I'd last been permitted to enter her with my tiny penis. I understood. It was better this way. My lack of size and my tendency to ejaculate prematurely had been much too frustrating for Jennifer.

My wife responded to my efforts by grinding her crotch into my face. An electric thrill surged through my body. We were fucking. I pushed my tongue as deeply into Jennifer as I possibly could. If I couldn't satisfy her with my penis, I would do it with my tongue.

I heard Jennifer's breath quicken. That was my signal. It was time. I pulled my tongue out of her pussy and moved up to her engorged clitoris. I kissed it for a moment and then I wrapped my lips around it and sucked it into my mouth. At the same time I pushed my middle finger into my wife's cunt.

I passionately sucked Jennifer's clit while I fucked her cunt with my finger. She squealed with delight and yelled. "Yes Dusty, that's right! Do it! Suck my clit! Give me head! Be my little slut!"

Jennifer's lewd provocations excited me and spurred me to even greater efforts. Suddenly her entire body stiffened and then she screamed. I kept sucking on her clit and fingering her pussy while she shook and cried out from the pleasure of her orgasm. 

Finally my wife's cries turned into whimpers and she began to relax. I stopped sucking on her clit and lay between her legs, my head resting against her thigh, my face glistening with the moisture of her arousal.

After a few minutes my wife sat up and smiled at me. "Dusty, you really are an artist at giving head to a woman."

I beamed with pride.

Jennifer pulled me up to her and kissed my cheek. "Now it's your turn."

She pushed my head down so that I could suckle on her large breast and then she picked up my tiny erection and started masturbating me. My wife used to give me a slow sweet blow job as my reward for pleasuring her, but about a year ago she decided that sucking my cock was too demeaning so she started using her hand instead.

It didn't take her long to make me cum. It never did. As soon as I was finished ejaculating Jennifer made me lick my semen off of her fingertips. When she used to give me blow jobs my wife would let me orgasm in her mouth. As soon as I was done she would tell me that a man's semen was too great a delicacy to waste, then she would kiss me and push my cum into my mouth with her tongue. Now that she jacks me off instead of sucking me, Jennifer continues to make me enjoy that little treat, but she no longer indulges in it herself.

Once I was finished licking her fingers clean Jennifer glanced at the clock on her night table. It was 6:15. She pushed me off of her and sat up on the edge of the bed. "Dusty, go draw me a bath. I have to get ready to go out. Kendall will be here at seven. He's taking me to a dinner party tonight."

I climbed off of our bed, scurried into the bathroom and started filling the bathtub.

Kendall Madison was a financial tycoon. He was also a very handsome middle aged man and was considered to be one of Chicago's most eligible bachelors. Whenever I saw him I was struck by his distinguished appearance. He was tall, maybe 6'2" with a trim athletic build that was rare for a fifty-five year old businessman. He had a full head of long black hair that he wore combed straight back and his penetrating blue eyes seemed to be constantly taking in everything around him. He was always expensively dressed. He favored hand tailored suits and expensive Italian loafers. All of these factors combined to make him an extremely imposing figure.

He was my wife's boss.

Jennifer Watson and I met while we were both sophomore's in college. We were students at a small liberal arts school in central Ohio. Jennifer was an economics major. I was an English major. We were taking a biology class and were assigned as lab partners. We immediately liked each other and became close friends. Gradually that friendship turned into a romance and by the time we were seniors we were engaged to be married.

When we first met Jennifer was a shy, retiring, almost mousy little girl. In high school she'd been regarded as an intellectual and a nerd. Her self esteem took a beating. College was good for her. It was an environment that valued intelligence and creative thought. Her self esteem grew and at the same time her body filled out. By the time she was a senior, Jennifer Watson had blossomed into a beautiful woman.

I'm Dustin Klein. Everyone calls me Dusty. I'm a slightly built man just over 5'7" tall. I have mildly effeminate features and the two spinster aunts who raised me often commented that I would have been a very cute girl.

I'm sure that you can imagine that high school was also a trying experience for me. Skinny little boys don't get to date cheerleaders, in fact they often don't get to date anyone at all. My plight was confounded by the fact that I had a tiny penis. This shortcoming was discovered by my peers during a ninth grade gym class and I quickly earned the nickname, stubby."

College was also good for me and my self esteem grew as quickly as Jennifer's. In my case however, that was all that grew. By the time I was a senior in college I was still a scrawny little kid with a tiny penis.

Fortunately Jennifer had already fallen in love with me. Two weeks after we graduated from college we drove to Jennifer's hometown in eastern Wisconsin and this scrawny little kid from northern Iowa married his now ravishing brunette. 

In college I'd been a good student, but Jennifer was a great one. I finished with a 3.25 grade point average. Jennifer's GPA was 3.95. She graduated Magna Cum Laude and was selected for membership in Phi Beta Kappa. She also had two papers published in elite economics journals. 

During the spring of our senior year in college, Jennifer was heavily courted by several prestigious investment firms. One of them was Madison Investments. Kendall Madison was the president and sole stockholder. He offered Jennifer a very enticing package that included a generous starting salary and solid opportunities for rapid advancement. The firm's location in Chicago made it even more attractive. It was close to both of our hometowns. A week before our wedding Jennifer accepted a position as a financial analyst for Madison Investments. That summer we moved to Chicago and bought a small bungalow three blocks from Wrigley Field and five blocks from lake Michigan.

Unfortunately I quickly found out that my employment prospects were much more limited. Outside of teaching, the opportunities for English majors were very sparse. After a month of searching I was finally offered a job as a clerk in a Michigan Avenue book store. I jumped at it.

The job didn't pay much, but Jennifer made more than enough money to support both of us. The hours were also not good. I frequently had to work evenings and weekends. This actually turned out to be an unexpected advantage. It freed Jennifer to throw herself into her job. By the beginning of September she was regularly putting in twelve to fourteen hour days.

While my hours were irregular, I generally only put in about thirty-two hours a week so the responsibility for maintaining the house quickly fell to me. We never discussed it, but by the end of September all of the household chores had informally become my duties. This meant that I was doing all of the cooking, all of the cleaning and all of the laundry.

Because Jennifer was in the investment industry and because she earned eighty-five percent of our income, she took over the financial management of our household. 

By the end of the year, there wasn't any doubt in either of our minds that Jennifer had emerged as the dominant partner in our marriage. 

As time passed we both gradually recognized that Jennifer enjoyed taking the dominant role in our relationship and I enjoyed being submissive to her. Jennifer started exploring Internet websites that discussed topics like wife led marriages and female authority. Soon she was reading books on the subject and emailing web site links to me.

We had a few casual discussions about the subject, but we never made any official decisions. Everything was informal. It just happened. By our first wedding anniversary I'd become my wife's maid. 

Jennifer climbed into the bathtub. She sighed as she lay back in the hot soothing water. I picked up a loofah and began washing her.

I'm not exactly certain when bathing my wife became one of my established duties. Like everything else, it just happened. It started as a prelude to sex, but that changed almost immediately. Jennifer quickly realized that it was a luxury that she truly enjoyed. Now it's just one of the myriad of ways that I'm expected to pamper her when she's at home.

I will admit that I enjoy it every bit as much as she does. Jennifer has a voluptuous body and washing her is a labor of love.

As I was bathing my wife I casually asked, "Where is the dinner party tonight?"

"The Traver's house."

I raised my eyebrows. The Traver's House was one of Chicago's most exclusive restaurants. "You're dining in style this evening."

Jennifer nodded. "Kendall is entertaining several important clients. You know how he is, in this situation he only wants the best."

My wife's abilities and her dedication to hard work were quickly recognized by the firm. Eighteen months after she started working for Madison Investments she was promoted to the prestigious position of senior financial analyst and six months later she became Kendall Madison's personal assistant.

The job as Kendall's personal assistant was an unbelievable stroke of good fortune. Jennifer now collected a base salary of nearly nine hundred thousand dollars a year with the opportunity to earn additional bonuses. Her fringe benefits included an expense account that allowed her to shop at Chicago's most exclusive women's clothing stores. And of course there was the Lexus.

Naturally, these rewards came with a price. Kendall Madison was a workaholic. He regularly put in sixteen hour days and as his assistant Jennifer was expected to be by his side for most of that time. 

As I mentioned earlier, Kendall Madison was a bachelor. He'd never married. He didn't have any interest in having a wife. Business was his passion. It consumed his life. Because of this, one of Jennifer's job duties was to be available to be his escort in social situations. This wasn't just a matter of convenience. It was done by deliberate design. Since most of the social situations that involved Kendall were business related, it was extremely advantageous to have a date who was also his personal assistant and a skilled and knowledgeable financial analyst.

Once I was finished bathing Jennifer she stood up. As she stepped out of the bathtub I wrapped a large towel around her and patted her dry. As soon as she was dry I draped a plush terry cloth robe over her shoulders and accompanied her back to the bedroom.

My wife sat down at her makeup table and started combing out her long brown hair. While she worked she said, "Dusty lay out that new black cocktail dress that I bought at Saks Fifth Avenue last week and pick out some lingerie for me. Since my dress will be black the lingerie should also be black." She thought for a moment. "The dress is very low cut, so I'll need a strapless shelf bra."

I found the dress and laid it on the bed. As I was searching for a suitable brassiere my wife said, "Find me a nice pair of black lace panties and I want to wear stockings tonight, so I'll need a garter belt."

I looked at my wife with a puzzled expression. "Why aren't you going to wear pantyhose?"

Jennifer turned around. She stared at me for a moment. There was a hint if irritation in her eyes.

I started to get nervous. I quickly retreated. "It's all right. I mean what you choose to wear is your own business. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to pry."

She smiled at me. "It's okay Dusty. You're my husband. You have the right to ask me about what I choose to wear. The truth is, Kendall enjoys seeing me in a sexy outfit. He likes it when I occasionally flash a little stocking top while were sitting at a dinner table or riding in his limousine and he absolutely loves it when my dress shows a little cleavage. Sweetheart, he's my boss. He pays me very very well. I think that making him happy is extremely important to both you and me."

I nodded. "Yes Ms. Watson, I understand." Recently I'd started calling Jennifer Ms. Watson with increasing frequency. It seemed to please her when I used her formal name and she often said very encouraging things to me after I did it.

Jennifer smiled at me. "That's a good boy, now go find the rest of my outfit while I put on my makeup." She looked at the clock on her makeup table. "Kendall is going to be here in fifteen minutes."

I laid out the rest of my wife's outfit. After applying her makeup she dressed quickly. It was obvious that she didn't want to keep her boss waiting. While she was getting dressed I noticed that she slipped her panties on after she'd put on her garter belt and nylons. I knew there could only be one reason for that, but I was afraid to challenge her. I'd already risked provoking Jennifer's ire once that evening. I didn't dare do it again.

As soon as she was dressed my wife checked herself in her full length mirror, then she twirled around and asked me, "How do I look?"

I smiled. "You look absolutely gorgeous. Kendall is going to be enchanted."

I immediately regretted the comment. It may have been true, but it was still inappropriate for the situation.

Jennifer stared at me for a moment and then she smiled. "Dusty, I'm glad you feel that way. It shows me that you're being very open minded about the demands of my job."

She walked over, wrapped her arms around me and kissed me passionately on the lips. After a moment she whispered into my ear, "Dusty you do know that I will always love you don't you?"

I quietly answered, "Yes Ms. Watson, I do." 

Jennifer glanced at the clock on her makeup table. My eyes followed hers. It was two minutes to seven. 

"Dusty we'd better move into the living room so we can watch for Kendall's limousine. I don't want to keep him waiting."

I nodded in agreement.

Jennifer grabbed a small black satin clutch purse and hurried out of the bedroom. I quickly grabbed a light sweater from her closet and followed her. It was June, but the night breezes from Lake Michigan could be chilly. I didn't want my wife to get cold. 

As I walked into the living room Jennifer said, "There he is now. Dusty I have to run."

I rushed over to my wife and handed her the sweater. "This is just so you won't get chilly on the way home."

She smiled at me. "Thank you Dusty, you're a wonderful help." She gave me a quick peck on the cheek. "Don't wait up for me. You know how these business dinners are, I'll probably be quite late." 

I watched through the front window. Kendall was waiting on the curb next to his Rolls Royce. As soon as my wife walked up to him he gave her a peck on the cheek and then he opened the door for her. Jennifer got into the limousine and Kendall slid in next to her. Kendall's chauffeur closed the door behind him, walked around the car and got into the driver's seat. The rear windows of the limousine were slightly tinted, so it was hard to be positive; but as they drove away I think I saw Kendall put his arms around my wife and give her a passionate kiss on the lips.

I sat down on the living room sofa and took a deep breath. I was quite certain that my wife was having an affair with her boss. The circumstantial evidence was overwhelming. I know I should have been angry, but I wasn't. I was worried, a little jealous and afraid. Strangely, I was also excited by the idea.

Over the past year I had become increasingly comfortable in the submissive role I was taking in my relationship with my wife. The thought of Jennifer having an affair with another man didn't make me angry because I now viewed it as one of her rights as the dominant partner in our marriage. Also, I loved my wife. I realized that while she enjoyed what I could do with my tongue, she had to long for the pleasure that only a strong virile man like Kendall Madison could give her. I did not want to deny her that pleasure.

I was afraid that Jennifer might leave me for Kendall. After all he was handsome, exciting and a very wealthy man. I was certain that even though she might still love me, the possibility of becoming Mrs. Kendell Madison had to be very attractive to her.

My hope was that Jennifer's assertion that Kendall never wanted to get married was accurate. If that was the case I would be very happy to be my wife's cuckold husband while she carried on a torrid love affair with her boss.

I went into my bedroom, turned on my lap top computer and started surfing through the cuckold websites. Over the past few months they had become my favorites. I spent several hours reading stories and then I masturbated while I imagined Kendall and my wife making love. As I stroked my tiny erection I had a wildly masochistic thought. I fantasized that Jennifer stopped giving me blow jobs a year ago because she'd decided to reserve that pleasure exclusively for her lover.

That was all I needed to put me over the edge. I caught my semen in my fingertips and when I was finished ejaculating I obediently licked it all up. I knew that if my wife had been here she would expect me to do exactly that.

I looked at the clock. It was just after 10:00. I wasn't sleepy so I went into the living room and turned on the television. The Cubs were playing the Dodger's in Los Angeles. Because of the time difference they were only in the second inning. I sat down and watched. It was almost midnight by the time the game finally ended. The Dodgers won three to two. I turned off the television.

Sitting alone in the dark I started thinking about Jennifer and Kendall again. The idea that Kendall might be fucking my wife at that very moment got me wildly excited. Somehow I had to let Jennifer know that I didn't care that she was having an affair with her boss.




Concubine



Suddenly I thought about the possibility that Jennifer might be planning to leave me for Kendall. It was late. I was tired. The idea terrified me. I convinced myself that it had to be the most likely outcome for this situation. How could it not be? Jennifer was young and beautiful. Kendall was rich and sexy. He had to be attracted to my wife and I couldn't imagine how I could possibly compete with him. 

I fought off my despair by grasping at the faint hope that Kendall really didn't have any desire to get married. It was possible that his only interest was a casual relationship with my wife. That would be fine with me. I smiled to myself. No, that wouldn't be fine, it would be wonderful.

I closed my eyes. I had to rest for a moment. I fell asleep. 

I was abruptly awakened by a set of headlights and the noise of an automobile engine. I realized that a car had stopped in front of our house. I tried to shake the cobwebs out of my head, but it was difficult. I'd been sound asleep. 

I looked at the clock on the mantle over the fireplace. It was 1:30. I heard the click of Jennifer's high heels on the sidewalk. I could also hear someone else walking with her.

I recognized the sound of Jennifer putting her key into the lock and then the lock clicked.

The door opened. I heard my wife say; "Goodnight Kendall, I had a wonderful evening." There was silence. I realized that Kendall had walked my wife to the front door and now he was kissing her goodnight. Several seconds passed. It was a long kiss.

Finally I heard his voice. "I wish I could come inside." 

"I wish you could too, but we both know that you can't. If Dusty were to wake up and catch us together it would devastate him. You know how much I love him. I'll never do anything that might jeopardize our marriage."

Kendall sighed. "I find it ironic that as wealthy as I am, I'll always have to play second fiddle to a bookstore clerk."

Jennifer snickered. "What are you talking about? You know very well that even if I did leave Dusty you'd never agree to marry me."

"Yes that is true, but you would make a wonderful concubine."

"A concubine?"

"Yes, all the great kings of Europe had them. They were women they loved, but would never marry."

My wife laughed. "Are you comparing yourself to the great kings of Europe?"

"No I'm comparing you to the great concubines of Europe."

There was silence. I could tell that Kendall was kissing my wife again.

After a moment Jennifer breathlessly said, "Can you imagine how wonderful it would be if I lived with you as your concubine and Dusty lived with us as our slave."

"I can't imagine that he would ever agree to that.'

"Yes, I know; but it' still a wonderful fantasy."

"Yes it is."

There was silence again. Finally Jennifer said, "It's late. I'd better go inside and you'd better go home. I'll see you in the morning."

"Yes, yes you will. Goodnight Jennifer."

"Goodnight Kendall."

Jennifer stepped into the house and closed the front door behind her. For a moment she stood still and listened while Kendall walked back to his limousine. We both heard the car door close. The engine started, the headlights came on and then Rolls Royce pulled away from the curb and sped down the street.

My wife walked into the dining room. The interior of the house was dark. As she crossed the living room she didn't see me sitting on the couch. When she passed me I noticed that in addition to her purse and sweater, she was carrying several other articles of clothing.

As soon as she entered the dining room Jennifer turned on the light. She had her back to me so she still didn't know that I was less than twelve feet away from her. She set her purse and the clothing she was carrying on the dining room table. Her brassiere, nylon stockings and panties were all piled next to her sweater.

When my wife turned around I was surprised. She was normally very fastidious about her appearance; but now her hair was disheveled, her makeup was smeared and most shocking of all, the top of her dress had been pulled down and her large breasts were freely hanging out in front of her. They must have been fully exposed the entire time she was talking to Kendall on our front steps.

Jennifer looked into the living room and saw me sitting on the couch. She gasped. After a moment she nervously said, "Dusty I didn't realize that you were still up. How long have you been sitting there?"

"I fell asleep on the couch after the baseball game ended. I woke up when I heard Mr. Madison's limousine pull up in front of the house."

My wife nervously asked, "Did you hear our conversation on the front steps?"

I nodded. "Yes."

"All of it?"

"I think so."

Jennifer stared at the floor. She was obviously trying to think of something to say. Suddenly she realized that her breasts were exposed. She instinctively tried to cover them with her hands."

I smiled at her. "I'm your husband. I think it's all right for me to see them."

Jennifer grasped the significance of what she'd just done and started to cry. After a moment she looked at me and said, "Dusty I'm so sorry. I never wanted to hurt you. I've always hoped that you'd never find out."

I patted the spot on the couch next to me. "Why don't you come over here and sit down."

My wife smiled. "Would you mind if I put myself back together first." She glanced at her exposed breasts. "I'm feeling a little uncomfortable about this right now."

I nodded. "Go ahead."

Jennifer pulled the front of her dress up and stuffed her breasts back inside. After she was done she walked over to the couch and nervously sat down next to me.

As soon as she was seated she said, "I guess you know don't you."

"Yes I think so. Did the two of you do it tonight?" Considering my wife's appearance I suppose that it was a stupid question, but I still had to ask.

Jennifer nodded. "Yes."

"Where?"

"In his limousine. We were parked along Lake Michigan."

"Couldn't his chauffeur see you?" Again I suppose it was a stupid question, but in this situation strange things occur to a person.

"No, Kendall has a privacy curtain."

"Did you let him fuck you?"

"Yes."

"How many times?"

"Just twice."

"Just twice? What does that mean? Does he sometimes do it more?"

As soon as she recognized the implications of how she'd worded her answer Jennifer bit her lower lip and buried her face in her hands. After a moment she quietly said, "Dusty please don't do this."

I shook my head. "I have to know."

She looked up. "All right. Sometimes Kendall can do it three or four times in an evening."

I was silent. I needed a moment to absorb that information. Finally I asked, "How long have you been having an affair with him?"

"It started about a month before I became his administrative assistant."

"That was over a year ago."

"Dusty, I'm so sorry."

For a minute we just sat together, both of us staring at the floor. Finally Jennifer said, "Please Dusty, you have to understand. With Kendall it's just sex. I don't love him. I only love you. He's a wonderful lover and his dominant personality excites me, but you're the only man I want to be with for the rest of my life."

"That's not what you said to him on the steps tonight."

"What do you mean?"

"You offered to leave me so you could marry him."

Jennifer frantically shook her head. "No! No! That's not at all what I meant when I said that. I was just trying to point out to Kendall that even if I did leave you he'd never agree to marry me."

"You told him that you'd be willing to be his concubine."

My wife sighed. "Please Dusty, you have to understand. That's only a fantasy and you're a central part of that fantasy. Before I would ever consider agreeing to become Kendall's concubine you would have to agree to come with me as my slave." 

Jennifer shook her head. "When I actually say that it sounds so venal and self serving. Dusty, you have to believe me. That's only a fantasy. I would never dream of leaving you. Baby, I will do anything to make this up to you. I don't love Kendall, at least not in the same way that I love you. He's fun and exciting and I enjoy his power and wealth; but if it means losing you I'll throw it all away in a flash. Dusty I'll quit my job and go to work with you at the bookstore. I'd much rather be poor and insignificant with you than rich and powerful without you. I promise that I'll never see Kendall again, please just don't leave me."

My wife was upset. She was frantically trying to convince me that she really did love me. She'd been speed talking for over a minute. Her concern made it obvious to me that she was telling the truth. She really did love me. That was all I needed to know.  

The moment she stopped to take a breath I whispered. "It's my fantasy too."

She started talking again. "Dusty, you have to give me another chance. I got caught up in the glamor of my..." Suddenly she stopped in mid sentence and looked at me. "Dusty, what did you just say?"

I quietly repeated myself. "It's my fantasy too."

"What is? What's your fantasy?"

"To live as your slave while you're Mr. Madison's concubine."

My wife stared at me. She was totally amazed. "Dusty to you understand what you're saying?"

"Yes I think so." I smiled at my wife. "What I don't understand is why you're so surprised. Everything we've done since we got married has been leading us to this moment. Think about the amount of time the two of us have spent studying books and websites about female authority and wife lead marriages. Consider how excited we both get when we read cuckold husband stories together. Ms. Watson, your noble dominance and my humble subservience now define our marriage. I do all of the household chores and you manage our finances. Earlier tonight I bathed you and laid out the clothes you were going to wear for a dinner date with another man. Jennifer, I already am your slave."

She shook her head. "Dusty I'm so sorry, I didn't have any idea that I was being so selfish."

"No! No! You weren't being selfish. This is what both of us want. It's your nature to be dominant and it's mine to be submissive. Jennifer, I was born to be your slave and you were born to be my mistress. I firmly believe that it's my destiny to serve you."

"Dusty, are you sure?"

I answered emphatically, "Yes, I am. I've never been so sure about anything in my entire life." Then I paused and added. "You have to promise to love me and treat me with respect and kindness."

Jennifer grinned at me. "Dusty that will be so easy. I promise you that I will always be a kind, considerate and loving mistress."

She thought for a moment and then she excitedly said, "This will be wonderful. Kendall has a large mansion in Lake Forest and a very luxurious penthouse in a Michigan Avenue high rise. I'm sure that he will give us our own bedroom at both residences."

"Won't you want to sleep with him?"

Jennifer looked at me. "Would that be all right?"

"Of course it would. You'll be his concubine."

Jennifer shook her head. "It would be nice to be able to sleep with him once in a while, but I'll want to sleep with you most of the time. I think that will probably be fine with Kendall. He likes to sleep alone. It's one of the reasons he doesn't want to get married. I suspect that most of the time I'll start the night in his bedroom, but after were done making love I'll join you in our bedroom. Would that be okay with you?"

"It would be wonderful."

"Actually living with Kendall will make your life much easier. He has a full household staff at both his mansion and his condominium. You won't have to do any housework. If you'd like, you could keep your job at the bookstore, or you could write. I know you've always wanted to do that. You'll have to find something to occupy your spare time. You already know how many hours Kendall and I put in working and I'm certain that he's going to want to spend quite a bit of alone time with me. Kendall really does love sex."

I smiled at Jennifer. I was enjoying her obvious excitement about all of this. 

She smiled back at me. "Dusty I can't wait to tell Kendall. He's going to be so excited."

My wife took a moment to enjoy that thought and then she turned to me. Suddenly her demeanor changed. In a voice dripping with nobility she said, "Slave I believe it's time for you to get down on your knees."

I obediently slipped off the couch and kneeled at Jennifer's feet.

"I would like you to demonstrate your willingness to serve me by kissing my feet."

I submissively removed my wife's high heels and gently cradled her feet in my hands. As I pressed my lips to her bare toes I understood that I was symbolically surrendering all rights as Jennifer's husband and officially accepting my new position as her slave.

Jennifer allowed me to kiss and lick her toes for a minute and then she pulled her feet away. "That's enough slave. Now I have another duty for you." She slid her hips forward and spread her legs. "Kendall doesn't like to use condoms. Tonight he came inside me two times. He left a mess. As my slave it's going to be your duty to clean up his messes."

A bolt of excitement surged through my loins. This was one of my most secret fantasies. My wife's panties were lying on the dining room table so I was looking at her naked cunt. I could tell that she'd recently been fucked. The entrance to her womb was still stretched and raw. Her lips glistened with the remains of Mr. Madison's dried semen. 

Suddenly a question occurred to me. I looked up at my wife. "Ms. Watson is this the first time I've ever done this?"

She smiled at me. "Yes Dusty, it is. In the past I always made sure that I bathed before I allowed you to make love to me."

I nodded and then I leaned forward. As I kissed my wife's recently fucked pussy I realized that this was the first of many times that I would taste Kendall Madison's semen.

Jennifer was very excited. I licked her clean and then I sucked her engorged clit into my mouth and brought her to an explosive orgasm. 

As soon as she recovered my wife reached down and pulled me up onto the couch next to her. She unzipped my pants and took out my tiny erection. 

As she started masturbating me I said, "Ms. Watson may I ask you a question."

She nodded. "Certainly, what would you like to know?"

"Do you suck Mr. Madison's cock?"

Jennifer stared at me for a moment. Suddenly she grasped the significance of my question. She smiled at me and answered, "Of course I do, Kendall is a man. I could never deny him that pleasure."

I nodded to my wife and then I closed my eyes and enjoyed the gentle touch of her fingers as she masturbated me to a wonderful orgasm.



Concubines



By Ezra Zane

I met Prince Mohammed, first son and heir of a sheik, my junior year when he transferred to The Petroleum Engineering School at The University of Texas. We discovered we both liked hunting, golf, fast cars, a good laugh and women, as well as the oil business. We became best friends.

Attracting women wasn't a problem for me. My family wasn't in the Sheik's class but my grandfather was a hell-for-leather wildcatter and left us rich. Dad added to the pile and I was hoping to expand it yet again when it was my turn. The truth is when you're big rich and good-looking, the women swarm like bees on honey. 

Attracting women wasn't a problem for Prince Mohammed either. He had two wives, Nudara and Sara, and a concubine named Hasna. Nudara, first daughter of another sheik, married Mohammed when they were both fourteen in an arrangement to bind the two sheikdoms together. She was smart, sincere, and tough enough to be the primary wife of a future ruler. Sara, the shy and sweet daughter of a wealthy, westernized Arab businessman, became his second wife when he was eighteen and she sixteen. They were polite, intelligent, and demure women, devoted to their shared husband without a hint of jealousy or discord. 

Hasna, a gift to Mohammed from his father, was a beautiful woman with an open and ripe sensuality that she mastered in all its nuances. Seeing her made a man want sex in the same way that smelling fresh-baked bread made a man want to eat. 

The Prince told me Hasna descended from a line of beautiful women bred and raised to please men. Ten generations ago, a fierce warlord began the process in a mountain enclave. Careful selection of men and women over the years enhanced the breeding process. Hasna was proof of their success.     The Prince and I opted to enroll in the MBA program after we received our Petroleum Engineering degrees. The week before school was out for the summer, an amateurish assassination attempt was made on his life. I responded to the situation and, fortunately, no harm came to the Prince or me. I didn't think I was doing something heroic. In fact, I didn't think at all. I reacted. But the Sheik saw it as heroic and credited me with saving his son's life. 

At the Sheik's request, I accompanied Mohammed to the Sheikdom. I met the Sheik in a large, open room he used for meetings. He sat on a large, ornate chair some might call a throne. Prince Mohammed was seated to his left. The Sheik motioned for me to sit in the chair opposite him. 

A woman in a white burqat knelt on a small Persian rug beside the Sheik's chair with her head bowed. The burqat is both a head covering with an eye screen that allows its wearer to see but be unseen, and a full costume consisting of the head covering and, in essence, an outer dress. The tail of the head covering falls to cover the breast. 

"Michael," the Sheik began. "I can not thank you enough for saving my son's life. I want you to accept a small token of my gratitude." His white teeth shone brightly against his dark face when he motioned to the woman next to him. "Your first concubine. Her name is Kamilah." 

I was too shocked to respond. Mohammed said, "I knew he would be speechless. Mike, my friend, she is Hasna's full sister, every bit as beautiful and well-trained."

For me, a westerner and commoner, to be given such a woman was a unique honor. To be given a woman like Hasna was blessing upon blessing. "I am truly thankful, Your Highness. You've honored me beyond imagination." The Sheik heard my hesitation.  

"Mohammed said you'd fear accepting because of your government's official policy toward slavery and the ridiculous mores of your culture," the Sheik said. I nodded dumbly as I stared at the tiny white form beside him. "I have a plan to discuss with you when the time is ripe, but now you should enjoy her. Go to his quarters, Kamilah, and prepare for your new master."

Silently, she rose and glided from the room like a ghost, accompanied by the faint tinkling of bells. 

We three men sipped tea and talked for another hour or so before the Sheik adjourned us. I went to my quarters, a luxurious room containing a large bed, a desk and chair, sitting area, and an adjoining modern bathroom. On each side of the bed was a Persian rug, a coverlet, and several small pillows for women to sleep on as they waited for their master to call them to his bed. 

When I entered my quarters, Kamilah scurried to her knees. The all-encompassing costume trembled as I stood beside her. When I touched her head covering, she gasped and her hands clenched into tiny, glove-covered fists. I removed it to find she wore a hijab, or head scarf, and a veil. I pulled them away, revealing lustrous raven hair. 

"Look at your new master, Kamilah," I said quietly.

Her head jerked upward and I stared into the magnificent face of a sensual woman. Wide, bright green eyes shone at me from round eyeholes beneath heavy, black, slightly-arched eyebrows. Nose straight from the bridge. High cheekbones. Straight jawline. Full lips. Her skin tone wasn't the olive of an Italian or the dark-brown of an Arab. It was a lighter brown, with no hint of black or green hues. More a light pecan color. 

She studied me as I studied her. Her eyes softened. She smiled, showing straight, bright-white teeth, and a dimple on the left side of her mouth. 

"Stand," I commanded, and she sprang to her feet. "Remove your gloves." She didn't understand so I assisted her. Her small hands trembled in mine. I removed the outer dress. She wore an abaya, or dress, under it. She trembled with anticipation as I removed the abaya and her underclothes. 

About five feet tall with hair reaching her knees, she was a living doll, an hourglass with large, ripe breasts and a prominent rump that demanded a man's attention. Her full, dull black bush lay below the Venus mound pooch of her belly. Her only adornment was a silver chain with eight small, silver bells around her left ankle, like the one Hasna wore.  

"Turn," I said, and she didn't respond. I made a circle motion with my hand. She turned on tiptoes. "You are beautiful, Kamilah," I said honestly. 

I didn't expect a reply because I thought she didn't speak English, but she said, "I no understand." 

"You please me."

"I happy please master," she said with a soft sultriness. 

"Undress me," I said. 

As I watched her face so alive with sexual promise and felt her trembling fingers as they grazed my skin, I wondered how she was trained. What did they do with her to make her so eager to please a man? How did they teach her to make each nuance so erotic? Most women learn modesty and propriety. Maybe Kamilah was untrained woman, raw and visceral, alive and sensual, as God made Eve before she met the snake. 

She removed my boots. I stood to let her remove my trousers. When she tugged down my jockeys, my erect cock popped in her face. Eyes wide, she stared at it before turning red and slowly pulling my briefs down my legs without taking her eyes off it. She knelt with her knees together and her hands folded primly in her lap.

"Why do you keep staring at my penis?"

"I no understand."

"Looking at this," I said, making my cock bounce up and down. 

"Cock. Master say 'looking at cock.' I not see live. Only dead." 

"Dead?"

"Not man. Toy. Not big like you."

"Are you a virgin?"

"I no understand 'virgin.'"

"Has a man put his cock in you between your legs?"

"In my pussy?" she asked horrified. "No. I no have man." She was indignant that I should think such a thing, but her sexuality flared like oxygenated coals and the heat covered me in waves. 

"Do you want a man?" I asked. 

She blushed in mahogany hues and smiled shyly with her head down-turned. Those brilliant green eyes never left mine and her slightly arched back offered her breasts to me. 

"I want please my master."  

I extended my arms. She smiled widely as she rose. When I cupped her breasts and felt her hard nipples, she moaned. I slipped my hand between her legs. Her plumped, oozing pussy and her whimper when my finger grazed her slit testified to her readiness. 

I pointed to the bed. She crawled on it and pulled her hair forward to rest over her left shoulder like a bride adjusting the train on her wedding dress. With elbows on the bed and hands against the wall, she spread her knees wide to offer herself dog-style. No doubt we would fuck that way one day, and the tiny winking bud of her anus between the rounds of her asscheeks would receive my attention, but not tonight. I rolled her on her back. She brought her legs up and held them open with her hands behind her knees. 

I watched her face as I rubbed my cockhead up and down her slit, lathering it with her copious juice. She looked frightened for an instant before unrestrained sensuality burst forth like sunshine. I nudged my cock against her opening, pushed her legs up, and pulled her hands down by her head with my fingers around her wrists. 

I was in no hurry to fully penetrate this rare prize as she became accustomed to the first man in her. Her face told me she couldn't believe what was happening to her or the sensations she felt. She twitched and moved as her muscles accommodated me. I fought my desire to hurry, slowly building the tempo toward an excruciating crescendo. She began to sweat. Her face signaled her surrender to her passions and muted groans heralded her approaching climax.

Her first orgasm exploded like a geyser and she bucked and screamed. Her pussy spasmed on my cock, but I fought my own reward and increased the force and tempo. She came again, astonished by her own pleasure, then again as an unending stream of orgasms overtook her. Her pussy pulled my cock deep into her and held it there, massaging it, and drawing my seed to her awaiting womb, before I collapsed on her.

After recovering from her own pleasure, she started to inch away from me. Concubines are taught to slip out of their master's bed without disturbing him when their master's pleasure is complete, return to their mat, and await his command. I grabbed her and said, "Stay."

"Yes, Master," she whispered. 

She lay beside me as I floated in that semi-comatose post-orgasmic state. She didn't touch me, but her eyes caressed my face. "I touch, Master?" she asked. I nodded. She silently slipped under the heavy comforter and disappeared from view. 

Her hands were on me, her breasts brushed against me. Fingers slid down my leg. Lips brushed the top of my foot and a leg lay across me. The softness of a breast grazed my thigh. The tip of a tongue touched my cockhead. She stopped and I could feel her heart pounding against me. Her tongue traced the underside of my cock, stopping to lick the base with her little hand around the shaft, before gently licking my balls. 

I tugged her hair. She flowed up my body until her head emerged from under the covers, revealing a broad smile and dancing eyes. I guided her over my cock. She knew what I wanted and quickly impaled herself. The fruit of her breasts swayed over my lips. I nibbled as she rode me. 

She tried to control her rhythm, but her instincts quickly consumed her. Her face contorted in the sweet agony of orgasm and she threw back her head. Droplets of sweat fell on me. I had not moved, letting her do all the work. 

"Pleasure me," I demanded. 

She humped faster. I massaged her breasts, stroked her thighs, and tickled her clit, which was a hard and prominent knob of pleasure. Orgasm after orgasm wracked her, leaving us soaked in her sweat and love juices, until she sagged on me too exhausted to move. I rolled her on her back, pinned her knees by her head, and released all my energy I had so carefully contained, driving into her with hard, deep strokes. Her heat rose. Her pussy throbbed around my cock until we came together and I fell limp on her. I commanded, "Stay," before I rested with my head in the swell of her breasts. 

It was the best fuck of my life. 

**

The brilliant sun streamed through the glass door and awakened me. Kamilah's body was pressed against me with her hair tangled around us. She mumbled in Arabic when I awakened her and tottered into the bathroom with me to bathe and dress.

Breakfast was with Mohammed as Hasna and Kamilah, each dressed in an abaya and hijab, served us. That day, we met with several of the Sheik's advisors to discuss the potential of a water-flood injection in an older field.

That night at dinner, I ate with the Sheik and Mohammed. Wives were absent and concubines again served. Kamilah never spoke and her eyes were always downturned, never meeting mine. 

After dinner, the Sheik said, "Since you have but one woman, I've arranged for another to join you tonight, Michael. No woman should be taken every night. They need their rest. Your little Kamilah still feels the effects of her first surrender as you can see by her movements." If she knew what was said, she didn't show it.  

When I returned to my quarters that night, Kamilah was on her mat by my bed. Muna, who had served us at dinnertime, was on the other mat. Kamilah's eyes flashed at me, piqued with a haughty, uncontrolled jealousy she made no attempt to hide. Quickly, she looked away, but her tiny hands were clenched in her lap. I lifted her head to look at me. Jealousy gave way to fear and passive acceptance.  

I didn't speak to her. I undressed and made my toilet before climbing into bed. "Muna, come," I said. She crawled into bed and pleasured me. I commanded her to stay to tweak Kamilah's jealousy. I wasn't angry with Kamilah, but she would learn to accept what I did without resentment.  

I ignored Kamilah in the morning and that night when I returned to my quarters. She seethed on her mat as Nada, a buxom Slav, warmed and pleasured me. The next morning, Kamilah's anger was cool, but I ignored her again. She needed to learn. 

I dined with Mohammed, Nudara, and Sara that night. Hasna, Kamilah, and Muna served us. When dinner was over, the Prince dismissed Muna to my room. 

Sara glanced at her husband and he nodded. "Michael," she said to me, "May I command your concubine?"

"Certainly," I replied. 

"Girl! Come," Sara said with a snap of her fingers. Obviously frightened, Kamilah hurried to kneel by her. Mohammed pointed to the floor by his chair. Hasna dropped to her knees. 

"Sara will translate all that is said for Kamilah," Mohammed said. Sara whispered in Kamilah's ear. "I have learned your concubine was jealous and petulant. Is this true?"

"Yes, it is, Mohammed," I replied.

"Hasna filled her ears with stories that American men have only one wife and no concubines. Kamilah wishes to be that one woman to you, and they have conspired to manipulate the situation." As Sara translated, Kamilah's skin turned cherrywood red and her hands trembled. 

Mohammed continued, "Both need punishment. There are hierarchies of punishment as these bad girls are aware. Punishment in private by their master is the least form and punishment in public by the harem master is the worst, with gradients in between." Tears slipped down Hasna's cheek as the Prince calmly sipped his tea. 

"May I make a suggestion?" Nudara asked.

The Prince nodded.

"They have embarrassed us. Private punishment is not in order," Nudara said. 

"Continue," the Prince said.     

"I should punish Hasna in front of Michael, and he should punish Kamilah in our presence," she said. Her jaw was set and her eyes angry. 

Nudara's suggestion was a special humiliation for Hasna. I would see her naked and punished. In the hierarchy of women, wives, like Nudara and Sara, are always concealed from the eyes of men except their husbands and certain family members. Concubines, like Hasna and Kamilah, are shown or not shown at the pleasure of their master, but never shared with another man. For example, I had only seen Mohammed's wives fully clothed. I had seen Hasna in a bikini, but not naked. Slave girls, like Muna and Nada, were seen and shared. 

Mohammed and I agreed with her suggestion. He led the way, with his wives escorting the wayward concubines, to a part of the Sheik's castle I had never seen-the harem, the guarded and secluded area where the women live. He led us into a small room used for punishment. Shackles and chains on a pulley system hung from the ceiling. Holding rings were embedded in the walls and floor. Against one wall was a flat table with a cage underneath it.   

Nudara didn't wait for further permission. She spoke to Sara. Together, they stripped Hasna as she cried. The shackles were wide steel cuffs. Sara secured her ankles and Nudara her wrists. The ankle shackles, attached to rings in the floor, held her legs open so widely Hasna might have lost her balance, but her wrist shackles, attached to chains dangling from the ceiling, pulled her arms above her and held her upright. 

Nudara selected a whip with three strands of braided leather, barked fiercely at Hasna in Arabic, and began. The blows were well-spaced for psychological and physical effect. Nudara admonished her between each blow. Hasna received ten blows before Nudara released her, and held her in her arms to whisper in her ear until the harem master arrived to lead Hasna away. 

"What did you say to her?" I asked. 

Nudara exhaled loudly and relaxed, her fury spent. "I told her she was an embarrassment to her master the Prince, her ruler the Sheik, our family, and all womanhood, and I would not tolerate her embarrassing my husband. I said this was for her own good, to remind her to behave. And that I loved her."

"Have you ever been whipped, Nudara?" I asked. 

She glanced at her husband and her eyes flashed sensually. "Am I not a woman?" she said. Sara blushed and giggled.  

Mohammed asked, "Have you disciplined a woman, Mike?"

"Yes," I replied.

"Then you know the whip is key. This one will burn, but not tear," he said, handing me the whip his first wife used on Hasna. 

"Please translate, Sara," I said. She agreed. "Kamilah," I said as I took her face in my hands, "Your spirit and body please me, but I am your master and I will have your mind and your obedience. I promise you nothing in return except that your improper behavior will be severely punished. Bind your hair on your head."

Kamilah sobbed, "Yes, Master," as she began to coil her hair on her head. I bound her as Hasna had been bound, in an exaggerated Y. Seeing such a magnificent female helpless before me was a turn-on, but there was no turn-on like seeing her face flare with passion when she was under me. I wanted to secure her loyalty and her obedience.  

I whipped all of her, front and back, except that fragile flower between her legs. She wailed and screamed. Between each blow, I took her chin in my hand and brought her eyes to mine. When I was through, I asked Mohammed to call for the harem master to treat her wounds before delivering her to my room. 

Mohammed, his wives, and I retired to his sitting room where we discussed women and men and culture. Sara said, "Mike, Kamilah never asked you to stop or lessen the blows when you punished her. She only begged for forgiveness."

"A good sign," Mohammed commented, and I agreed.  

Two hours later, I returned to my room. Muna lay sleeping on the mat on one side of my bed. Kamilah was on the other mat with her hands bound behind her and her right ankle shackled to the bed. I released her bonds before climbing into bed.  

"Come, Kamilah," I commanded. 

Kamilah slipped into my bed and squirmed against me. She tried to ignore the pain remaining from her whipping, but she moved gingerly and winced when a particularly tender spot was touched. "Forgive me," she pleaded.

"I forgive you." I kissed her softly for the first time. 

She was stunned and thrilled, returning my kiss with abandon as tears of joy streamed down her face. As she well knew, a master kisses a concubine like that that way to tell her she is cherished and special to him. We fucked until we both were satiated and exhausted. She was the best.    




Concubines



The next day, the Sheik returned from his trip. He explained the plan he had to scam the government of the United States into supporting my owning a concubine. Of course, I readily agreed for the memory of Kamilah under me kept my blood simmering. I boarded his plane that night to take me home. I left a teary-eyed Kamilah with the promise I would return for her.    

When I got home, there were phone calls from my parents, several friends, and six women. I called Nancy first, but she was out of town. I then called Estella who came over and spent the night. 

I received daily reports from Mohammed or Nudara about the progress of negotiations between the Sheikdom and the United States concerning my insulting the Sheik. I hadn't, of course, but that was his scam. On the fourth day back, Mohammed told me the State Department wanted to interview Kamilah. We granted the interview, but Nudara, concealed by a burqat, would pretend to be Kamilah. 

On the sixth day, Nudara called from the Sheikdom. She said, "The interview went very well, Mike, and there was a plus. A woman named Abigail Beavers represented your State Department. You need to meet her."

"Why?"

"She's beautiful and intelligent. Most importantly, she has the heart and soul of a concubine."

We talked a bit more before we disconnected. I thought about this woman I'd never met, and women in general and relationships, personal, family, and otherwise.

Mine was not a normal family, if normal means having a husband and wife who live together and raise their children. My grandfather, "Big Mike" Price, was married and divorced seven times. To Granddad, marriage was an estate and tax planning tool rather than a commitment. Each wife received part of his millions upon divorce, with her wealth ultimately going to the children she bore by him. Divorce didn't mean abandonment. Every wife had a house in Granddad's compound. Each night, all the wives and children ate dinner and spent the evening together at his mansion before returning to their own houses. 

My father's home wasn't "normal" either. There was my father Patrick, my mother Elizabeth, and me, Aunt Maria, her two children by my father, Patricio and Eva, and Aunt Charlene. We children had the second floor. The four adults shared the master bedroom downstairs. 

I never intended to have one wife forever and ever. Two women I dated suggested marriage and plainly stated I was welcome to play around. Another said she liked women as much as I did and offered a multitude of options. Something was missing with all of them. Now, things were starting to come into focus.  

**

The State Department called the next morning. They wanted me in Washington and the FBI would provide an escort. As I hung up, there was a knock at my door. Two men in dark-blue suits flashed their badges, waited as I changed and packed, and took me to a private, unmarked plane. Once onboard, they gave me a cold sandwich, a bottle of soda, and an old magazine before ignoring me all the way to Washington. A limousine whisked us to the State Department Building. 

My silent guards ushered me into a large office with a huge desk. A man and a woman sat opposite the desk silently waiting. A little man about forty with a combed-over pate marched from behind the desk and extended his hand. "I'm Cecil Potter Wainscot the fourth, Deputy Assistant Under Secretary for Middle Eastern Affairs," he said smoothly. "Thank you for coming, Mr. Price."

"I didn't have a choice, did I?" I replied neutrally. 

He grinned. "You didn't. The President personally asked me to handle this situation to his satisfaction. This is Phillip Carnegie McReynolds the third, and Amanda Abigail Beavers," Wainscot said. McReynolds, a slightly taller, younger, paler version of Wainscot rose and pumped my hand twice as he gave me a tepid plastic smile. 

Nudara was right. Miss Beavers was a beauty. I extended my hand to shake hers. When our fingers touched, electricity crackled. She jerked and her eyes widened. 

"Miss Beavers," I said as I smiled at her.

"Mr. Price," she said with a soft sensuality. 

"Please, have a seat," Wainscot said. I took the empty chair on the end, turned it slightly so I could keep Miss Beavers in sight, and sat. "Let me get right down to the problem, Mr. Price," Wainscot continued. "The Sheik offered you a gift and you refused, which is a great insult to any Arab. The Sheik and his country are vitally important to the economic and strategic interests of the United States. The President wants you to make the Sheik happy and he wants it now."

"I've talked with Prince Mohammed," I said. 

"What did the Prince say?" Wainscot demanded.

"Exactly?"

"Exactly," he commanded.

"He said, 'Mike, you're being an ass. Take the girl and enjoy her.'" Amanda Abigail Beavers reddened and her hands trembled as she looked down and away. 

"Those were the President's words, too," Wainscot said. He sat back in the large, overstuffed chair. "And I agree. You're being an ass, Mr. Price. You saved the Prince's life and his father wants to reward you. He wants to give you a woman and an allowance that will maintain you and her. Only an idiot would turn that down."

"Did it occur to you that slavery is illegal in the United States?" I asked. 

"I know that," Wainscot replied testily. His fingers drummed his desk and he scowled into space. 

Miss Beavers and I studied each other. Big, submissive, blue eyes behind oversized, round, black-framed glasses pleaded with me. Her hands twisted in her lap. Unknowingly, she was confirming what I had been told about her. In that instant, the game plan changed. I knew the Sheik wouldn't mind. 

Wainscot's drumming stopped and he stared at me. "No one needs to know she's a slave," he said. 

"True," I answered. "But, the gift of the woman is conditional. If I don't want to keep her, or if she causes problems, the Sheik will take her back, by force if need be. The women's groups would scream if they found out. Or, some overzealous do-gooder in the Attorney General's Department could raise an issue." 

"The woman won't complain because she wants this. Doesn't she, Abigail?"

"Yes, Mr. Wainscot," she replied. "She understands the situation and its ramifications."

"How do you know?" I asked. 

"Abigail is fluent in Arabic. She had eight uninterrupted hours with the woman and returned only yesterday. What's her name?" Wainscot said.

"Kamilah," Miss Beavers said. "She speaks highly of you, Mr. Price. She wants to be your concubine." 

"She may say she wants to be my concubine, but how do you know what's in her woman's heart?" I asked of Miss Amanda Abigail Beavers. 

"I know, Mr. Price," she replied softly. 

McReynolds missed her real meaning, but Wainscot didn't and neither did I. Miss Beavers flushed and her lower lip trembled. Her eyes, wide and soft and almost transparent, never left mine. From the corner of my eye, I could see Wainscot watching intently, his eyes flicking back and forth between us.

Wainscot was a pro and hid his feelings well. "What can we do to get this off dead center?" he asked. 

"You tell me," I replied. 

"We'll provide official protection for the Sheik and for you relative to your acquisition of the woman, and his reacquisition, if need be," Wainscot said. I didn't reply. "And appropriate documents to bring the woman here and keep her with you in whatever relationship you want. I'll even throw in a State Department plane to take you there to pick her up."

"May I make a suggestion?" Miss Beavers asked. 

"Go ahead," Wainscot answered. 

"I think if I'm assigned to Mr. Price, I can ease the transition and grease some wheels along the way."

"Carn, would you excuse us," Wainscot said. McReynolds left the room. 

Wainscot dropped his professional veneer. A smooth, tough, and savvy man was underneath. "You want to be assigned to Mr. Price and receive your orders from him, don't you?" he asked. 

Amanda Abigail Beavers straightened her back and folded her shaking hands in her lap. She was perched on the edge of the chair with her feet and knees primly together. She looked directly at me. "Yes, Mr. Wainscot," she said with unwavering assurance. 

"Please excuse us," Wainscot said. After the door closed behind her, he said, "I wondered what turned her on. There were some signs it was submission, but when I tried taking her down that path, she rebelled and pulled up short."

"What can you tell me about her?"

"Professional and competent. Smart. Well educated. A fabulous body under those conservative clothes." Wainscot grinned lewdly. "And a good, but not great, fuck."

"Does she do that a lot?" I asked.

"Not as much as I want, but what woman does? She's picky, not what I'd call promiscuous, but she's no reluctant virgin either. I can name half-a-dozen guys she's done." His fingers did a rapid tattoo on the desk. "No anal sex. Her cocksucking is half-hearted. But she humps with the best of them." His fingers drummed again before he said, "I've always felt she was holding back, that there was a depth she didn't let any man touch."

"Maybe I can find it," I said.

"Too true." His fingers danced a quick staccato. "Well, good luck, not that you'll need it."  

"Thanks," I said.

"You're welcome," he replied. He stood, came around the desk, and shook my hand. "State will deliver on my promises. It's up to you, Mr. Price, to make the Sheik happy. That will make the President happy and that makes me happy. Your gift and Miss Beavers should make you delirious with happiness."

I called the Sheik to inform him the arrangements were complete and Amanda Abigail Beavers would be coming with me. Miss Beavers was waiting for me in the outer office. I told her to pack and rejoin me here because we were leaving tonight. After she departed, I read her dossier Wainscot gave me.

Amanda Abigail Beavers was born and raised in Bucks County, Pennsylvania, the younger of two daughters of a prominent Philadelphia attorney and his wife, who had been a professional model. Her older sister, formerly a model specializing in lingerie, was the wife of a New York industrialist.  

The dossier said Abigail was five nine, one hundred thirty-four pounds, and in excellent health with no identifying scars or tattoos. She did all the standard things in high school like cheerleading, tried modeling but didn't like it, and enjoyed skiing and dancing. She was twenty-four, which was my age. She graduated from The University of Pennsylvania with highest honors in Asian and Middle Eastern Studies with a double concentration in Modern Islamic Nations and Arabic. 

Because she excelled at languages, The State Department schooled her in Arabic, Farsi, and Urdu before assigning her to the Middle Eastern Department as a translator. She had been there almost two years and worked directly for Wainscot. There was nothing negative in her files. Each evaluation and report glowed with comments on her intelligence, poise, competence, and dedication to duty. 

I observed she was beautiful, with a heart shaped face, big blue eyes, and a slightly scooped nose of a perfect size for her face. Her skin was pale. Her shoulder length hair was light brown with a glimmering mixture of red-blonde highlights. Her lips were feminine and of medium thickness. She had narrow wrists and ankles, patrician hands and feet, and a stately elegance of class and breeding.

When she returned to the State Department office with suitcase in hand, she wore a knee-length, loose-fitting black skirt and a pink blouse with long, puffed sleeves. The blouse buttoned to her neck and had a pink bow under her chin, creating a package waiting to be unwrapped. The State Department limo whisked us to the State Department plane, which took us away. 

Once airborne, we sat next to each other in the rear seats and talked at length. I learned about her family and her life, but not her sex life. Except for a tingling undercurrent of sexual tension, she was at ease with me, as if I was an old friend, but she called me "Mr. Price" even though I called her "Abby." 

"You haven't asked any questions about me," I said.

"I know about you," she said. 

"How?"

"When this problem arose, Cecil ordered me to investigate. I started with the FBI files on you. You've been under surveillance because of your friendship with Prince Mohammed. I re-interviewed some of your old girl friends. They were quite open with me. A government badge and sympathetic ear can have that effect. I learned a lot about you."

"Such as?"

"All the standards things - intelligence, sense of humor, what you like to eat or to do. We talked a lot about your sexual qualities and preferences."

"Such as?" I asked again. 

"They all said you're a demanding lover, not cruel but strong and commanding like a sheik or medieval knight, and that you treat a woman well. All of them commented on your endowment," she said with a knowing grin. "One of the married ones said she was having an affair with you."

"Patricia or Nancy?" I asked. 

She was surprised. "I didn't know about Patricia," she replied. "I guess our investigation wasn't as thorough as it should've been. Tell me about her."  

"She likes a hard hand occasionally," I said. 

She had been relaxed, her face soft, eyes twinkling, and hands animated. She visibly tightened and her eyes asked a thousand questions before she continued. "Ah, yes. A hard hand. Most of them said you could be a gentle lover, but somehow you knew when they wanted a hard hand, as you call it. Then you became a master in the dominance and submission sense. A master who demanded of them and gave them great pleasure." The smile disappeared. "Only one said she didn't miss you in her life. She said what you wanted from her scared her."

"That would be Carla Chambers," I interjected. 

"Yes, it was. Why did you want to have her pierced and tattooed?"

"She was playing a game, a surrender game, but I wasn't playing a game. I wanted her actual surrender."

"Why?" she asked.

"It makes no difference. It's the way I am. Let me reverse the question. Why are you submissive?" 

Her expression said she was deciding whether to tell the truth or turn the conversation in another direction. "It makes no difference," she whispered hoarsely. 

"That's what this is about, isn't it?"

"Yes," she whispered.

"If I take you, Abby, I will have your surrender."

Abby took a long time before saying. "And if I don't surrender?"

"Our relationship will be over before it's begun. But you will." I cupped her left breast through her blouse. She froze, neither blinking nor breathing, as beads of sweat oozed out on her forehead. "Have you played dominance and submission games?" I asked.

"Yes," she gasped before sucking in a bushel of air.

"With how many men?"

"Two."

"But they didn't give you what you needed." A tiny shake of her head. "When you learned about me, you sought me out, hoping I was the one." One tiny nod of her head. I opened the button on her blouse nearest her waist. "In the games, submission is usually mild at first. Gradually, it grows."

With the second button undone, I slipped my hand in her blouse, pushed her bra above her breasts, and rolled her hard nipple between thumb and forefinger. She quivered and licked her lips. "There's a safeword to say if you want the games to stop. Did you have a safeword?"

She nodded. "Marigold," she whispered. 

I slowly increased the pressure on her nipple until pain showed in her eyes. She made no move to grab my arm. "We won't be playing games. Your submission will be real." I released her and sat back. She didn't move.

"No safeword. No stopping or going back. Complete submission and unconditional surrender. Tomorrow this plane will return to Washington without Kamilah or me. You can return to Washington tomorrow, or you can stay with me and I will train you to be my concubine."   

"What if I want to end it? I mean, end the submission but not the relationship?" she asked.

"They are one and the same."

"All right. What if I want to end the relationship?"

"You can end it now. Get back on this plane tomorrow and go home." She shook her head and blushed. "No, you don't want that. You want me to bring out the true submissive in you, don't you?"

She nodded and I commanded, "Speak!"

"Yes, Mr. Price. That's what I want."

"If you stay, I'll give you one more chance to end it. At the end of the summer. Not before. And if you stay then, it will be at my pleasure and only I can end it."

"I demand the right to terminate a relationship at any time." She was testing me.

"Not with me."

"Then I don't want it," she said defiantly.

"Liar. What you want is to be taken. Now. Grabbed by the hair and made to submit." 

I grabbed her hair, yanked her to me, and kissed her hard. When my fingers touched her thigh, her legs opened instantly. She wore panties and thigh-high stockings. I slipped two fingers under the elastic and thrust them deep into her throbbing pussy as my thumb raked her clitoris.

"Come for me, girl," I demanded. Miss Beavers orgasmed on my hand. "Do it again and don't fight it this time. Let it go," I commanded. Mouth agape, lips wet, eyes diffused, her face contorted as she dug her nails into my arm. She screamed against my hand covering her mouth and went limp. 

I stuck the fingers that had been in her pussy in her mouth. "Suck them clean," I said, and she sucked like a baby at its mother's breast. "You didn't let go, but I think I can teach you if you stay." I kissed her and stood up. 

"Wait," she said, grabbing my arm. 

"Think, Abby." I unwrapped her fingers from around my wrist. "I want your answer when we land," I said. I sat down two rows further up and on the other side, covered myself with a blanket, and went to sleep. 

She awakened me about a half-hour before landing. She'd been crying and looked distraught. "I'm frightened, very frightened," she said.

"Of what?" I asked.

"Of submitting to you." She sat down by me and I held her hand. Her grip was fierce. "One of your girlfriends said she fully submitted but you rejected her." 

I knew who she meant, but I didn't say. "Do you know why?" I asked.

"I can guess."

"Then guess."

"Chemistry. A woman can meet many men, even if they're all special men, without clicking with any of them. She might go to bed with some of them. She might even let them bind and whip her, or share her with their friends, but something will be missing. When she finds the one for her, everything clicks. Think of a safe with a combination containing ten numbers, or fifteen or twenty, to complete the combination and open the door. As each number is tried, the lock clicks and the tumblers fall. Most relationships reach a point where there is no click. But with the man for her, all the combinations click and the door opens. It's the same for men. I suspect she didn't make all your tumblers fall."

"That's an excellent analogy," I said. "I hadn't thought of it in that way, but it's true." 

"I didn't ask to be assigned to you because I'm a good little bureaucrat, or a bimbo wanting a quick lay, or a gold-digger after a rich husband. And it's more than finding a master. Much more. I asked because what I learned about you clicked in me, and I learned more about you than any man I've ever dated." She shook her head unbelievingly. "When I saw you, I thought I'd lose my mind I wanted you so much. And talking to you? My God, Michael, my tumblers and I are in free fall."

I didn't reply. "That's part of what scares me. I can't read you. I don't know what's going on behind those cold blue eyes of yours," she said. I didn't move a muscle. "Bastard." She moved back to her seat. I joined her and waited until she looked at me. 


She smiled sheepishly. "Well, your eyes aren't always cold. Sometimes they're hot and sexy. Sometimes they're gentle and caring. Look, I'm not frightened of belonging to you, or of your sexual demands."




Concubines



"My demands may be severe."

"Will I be bound and whipped?"

"Of course."

"Pierced and tattooed?"

"Maybe, or branded, or whatever else I wish, but you will be brought to heel like a well-trained bitch."

Her eyes softened and she gave a half-smile. "Have you been reading my mind?" She blushed. "Of course, you haven't," she said quietly. She was lost in her thoughts. When she spoke to me again, it was with a gut-wrenching honesty. "What scares me, Michael, is that you will be 'the' man for me, the one who makes the door open, and then you'll reject me. I don't think I could take that rejection." 

"I won't make any promises," I said. 

"I don't expect any from you." Her sigh reverberated in the air. "It makes no difference. I have to know how many more combinations you open in me even if you throw me away like an old shoe." 

Her lips touched mine, but I tangled my hand in her hair and pulled her head away. "Tell me what you want?" I demanded. 

"To be your concubine."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes." 

"How many men have you had?"

Beet red, she said. "That's none of..." She stopped and looked away. "Seventeen," she said when she looked back at me. 

"How many at a time?"

"The most was three."

"Have you had sex with one man on the orders of another?"

"Yes. Michael, I don't." I yanked her hair, which stopped her in mid-sentence. 

"Women?"

"Yes," she whispered. 

"Animals?"

"God, no," she said.

"You're a slut."

"No, Michael, I'm not," she said intensely. "I'm a woman looking for the man to bring her joy and happiness. If that man tells me to fuck someone else, I will. If he tells me not to, I won't."

"A true concubine belongs to only one man. For her, having sex with another man is the equivalent of a Puritan wife committing adultery, and her penalty would be banishment or death. A slave girl is shared with other men at the whim of her master. Maybe you should be a slave girl."

"I know the difference and the penalty. I want to be your concubine, not your slave girl."

"And if I'm not what you want?" I asked.

"I'll end our relationship at the end of the summer, but you are what I want. I'm not wrong about you."

"Your fantasies and reality won't be the same."

"I know, Michael. I want the reality with you."

Miss Amanda Abigail Beavers' body language reinforced her words. She exposed her innermost feelings and thoughts to me. That required either great strength or great desire. Both are desirable and unusual qualities. I raised the seat arm between us and pulled her into my lap.   

"Your concubine name will be Samirah. It means a woman who entertains. You will entertain me."

"Yes, Master," she whispered. She blushed and buried her head in my chest with her arms tightly around me as I held and stroked her. She stayed there until the fasten-seat-belt sign lit. 

When we landed, I told the pilot to return to the states without us. One of the Sheik's limos drove us to the palace. The Sheik and his family were asleep, but the captain of the guards was expecting us. He admitted us and escorted us to my room. Kamilah was asleep on her mat by my bed. She knelt, sleepy-eyed but quivering in desire, when she awoke. I opened my arms. She ran to me and buried me in kisses. 

"Kamilah, this is Samirah, my new concubine," I said, indicating Miss Amanda Abigail Beavers, formerly of Philadelphia and Washington. 

"Western women are no good, Master," Kamilah hissed as her eyes burned into Samirah. 

"No jealousy, girl. Have you forgotten your last punishment so quickly?" I snapped. "To your mat." Kamilah spun and twitched to her mat, her ass saucily holding the eyes and inviting the hand. She knelt primly and her hot, jealous eyes never left me.

"Come," I said to Samirah, and she stepped to me. "Concubines sleep in the harem or at their master's bedside. You may not enter my bed unless called. You will be taught the rules - how to dress, when you may speak, and so on." I had unbuttoned her blouse and untied the bow. I tossed it, and unfastened and discarded her brassiere. She shivered. I unzipped her skirt and she wiggled out of it. I pushed her panties down and she kicked them away without hesitation.

Wainscot was right. There was a fabulous body under those conservative clothes. Long-waisted with large, firm breasts, and long shapely legs, she was an appealing and beautiful woman. 

"Sit," I commanded, pointing to the floor. "Give me your left leg." The sheik had the harem master leave concubine bells, like Hasna and Kamilah wore, on my bed. I fastened them around her left ankle. She grinned and shook her leg to make them tinkle. "Crawl to your mat." When she crawls, a woman gives a delightful picture of her rump. Samirah's rump was smaller than Kamilah's, high and hard as if she exercised regularly.

I shackled her to the bed by her right ankle, tossed the coverlet over her, and said, "We begin tomorrow. Good night, Samirah."

"Aren't you going to use me?" she asked hotly. 

I gave her a dirty look, climbed in my bed, and called out, "Kamilah. Come."

Replete and satisfied by her heat, I dozed off with Kamilah's body on mine. The tinkling of a bell and a woman's groan awakened me. I peered over the edge of the bed to see Samirah masturbating. Her eyes were pinched shut and she didn't see me. Her left hand squeezed and twisted her clitoris while her right thrust in and out of her pussy as she humped the air. I rolled back over.

Kamilah whispered in my ear, "Good girl no do that. Master gives pleasure."

"We'll train her, little one," I replied. She reached for my cock. "Don't touch. Sleep now." Kamilah put her leg over mine and snuggled with her breasts against my side and her head under my chin.

Samirah groaned and gasped on the floor beside us. 

**

I awakened at dawn, the time the household normally arises. Three hours had passed since our arrival. Since I slept on the plane, I had adequate rest, but Samirah hadn't. I roughly shook her and said, "Get up, lazy girl." 

"No, Mike," she whined, trying to pull her coverlet over her head. 

I called for the harem master. When he arrived, I said, "Bind her so she can't pleasure herself. I'll deal with her later." He flipped her on her stomach, bound her wrists and ankles, and threw her over his shoulders like a sack of potatoes. Samirah's hot eyes stared at me as he carried her away.  

"Come," I said. Kamilah's ass twitched arrogantly as she pranced into the bathroom where she bathed me and helped me dress. She put on her abaya and hijab and reported to the harem master for the day. 

I joined the Sheik, the Prince, and the Sheik's younger brother for a business breakfast that lasted until mid-morning. That meeting was the start of a long and mutually beneficial business relationship between the Sheik's family and mine. 

I had considered several ways of disciplining Samirah for the first time. The old rule was she would be severely whipped, not to bring pleasure but to punish, for first-time masturbation. Her clitoris would be removed for the second offense. The old timers did that often. Why? I don't know. But fortunately for her, the old rules didn't apply. 

Samirah had been bound for three hours when I reached the punishment room. She was on the padded table with her arms by her side and her legs spread. Shackles and chains kept her that way. She was comfortable but unable to sexually stimulate herself, although she tried by rhythmically thrusting her pubis in the air. 

"Master," she said happily and her eyes danced.

"You may not speak to me unless spoken to," I replied curtly. 

"Yes, Master," she replied without remorse.

"Have you ever been whipped?"

"Once, but he didn't know what he was doing."

"I do," I said. She grinned happily. When I unshackled her from the table, she threw her arms around my neck and kissed me with her naked body grinding into mine. I suspended her by her wrists from the cuffs dangling from the ceiling in the center of the room, leaving slack for her to turn and twist as she enjoyed her bondage. I shackled her legs to the floor a little more than shoulder width.

I massaged her body with sesame oil from her toes to her hairline. My hands were rough or gentle, demanding or teasing. She trembled and twitched and moaned her appreciation. "My master's so good to me," she purred. 

I fastened a shock collar around her neck, with the electrodes snugged against her spine. This collar didn't give the strong, quick charge of pain like a dog training collar. It emitted a low energy charge lasting approximately three seconds to block the signals of pleasure coming from her body to her brain. I selected a whip designed for pleasure not punishment, with a single strand about a foot long of thick, flexible, rolled leather.  

Samirah couldn't be still as she swayed and twisted, enjoying her restraints, relishing her availability as she imagined what was to come. I stood in front of her and she struggled to touch me, but her chains kept our lips apart. 

"I've changed my mind. I'm not going to punish you," I said.

She stared at me until she realized I was kidding. Her face was wild and sexy when she said, "But your girl has been so bad, Master. She intentionally disobeyed you when you ordered her to get up this morning. She called you by a nickname. Surely such a girl needs whipping."

"Not if whipping is a reward instead of a punishment."

"True, but you already punished her by not letting her pleasure you last night. She's earned a reward for wanting you so much she was delirious with desire."

"She rewarded herself by masturbating, which is a grievous sin I won't tolerate."

"She won't do it again, but now she deserves a whipping for her misbehavior." I didn't reply. "Please, Master. Your concubine needs the taste of your whip," she begged. 

I whipped her as she danced in her chains. I whipped her as she moaned and whimpered until her skin was on fire and her sweat pooled on the floor and her love juices dipped from her pussy. The first time I activated her collar she froze when the persistent current numbed her body. 

"Oh, God, no, Master. Please let me cum," she pleaded. 

I used the whip to stoke her fire and the collar to cool her down, to keep Samirah, the concubine, simmering just below the boiling point. When her tears of frustration wouldn't stop, and her quivering was as much exhaustion as desire, I flicked the whip between her legs. Its leather landed across her pussy and clitoris. 

"Yes," she hissed. "Yes. Yes!"

I whipped her there again and again until she exploded in an orgasmic fit, screaming and writhing in ecstasy before she fainted. I released her, lay her on the floor, and called for the harem master to bring me Kamilah. When they arrived, I told him to have Samirah bathed and oiled and brought to my quarters. 

I grabbed Kamilah's hand and raced for my quarters. I had been with Samirah over two hours and my balls were navy blue. Kamilah's ankle bells sounded an urgent call as she ran to keep up.

Kamilah had two joys in life - pleasing her man and sex. She stripped and ran to stand beside my bed when we entered the room. I threw my clothes away, walked to her, and wrapped her hair around my left hand. She would've come willingly, but I dragged her into bed and brutally took her. That's the way an animal would do it. I was an animal. And so was she. 

I vaguely remembered the harem master bringing Samirah and laying her on her mat. A servant awakened me to ask if I wanted dinner. I told him to bring food for three. When I awakened my concubines, both were sore and slow moving from their sexual battles. I had them kneel naked on the bed on either side of me and facing each other. Using my fingers, I fed the three of us from the tray across my lap. 

They studied each other as they ate and signals were silently passed. We were down to the sweets at the end of the meal when I said, "Samirah, translate everything I say, including my instructions to you, for Kamilah."

"Yes, Master," she said softly.

I explained about my grandfather's and father's multiple women and how those things really worked in the west. I said I would have three or four. Kamilah might be one, but only if she wasn't jealous because I expected all of my women to be "as close and loving as sisters." She thanked me for explaining and asked if she could ask questions. I agreed. The three-way conversation in two languages became confusing, primarily due to Kamilah asking rapid fire questions before Samirah had a chance to translate for me, but we worked through it. Kamilah seemed content now, knowing there was going to be more than one woman in my life.   

We took a break and cleared the tray from the bed. When we returned I sat cross-legged and they kneeled. Without the barrier of my legs between them, they sat slightly further apart. 

"I enjoy seeing women make love to each other," I said. Samirah blushed as she translated. Kamilah smiled knowingly, which surprised me. "You two will be lovers, but, as with all things sexual, only with my express permission. Ask her if she has had other women," I said. 

The rapid-fire answer was translated as, "Of course. We know men like to see us please each other, and we are trained to please men. Learning a woman's body makes us better lovers, too."

"How many?"

"About twenty," was the reply. Samirah blushed and looked away from Kamilah's hot eyes. Kamilah started to reach for her, and stopped, folding her hands in her lap. 

"There will be time for that later," I said. "Samirah, ask Kamilah what we did this afternoon."

Samirah gasped at the answer, and translated as, "You had sex three ways." 

"Anal sex isn't a turn-on for me, Samirah. It is an act of dominance and having you submit definitely is a turn-on. That's why I'm going to take your ass now and whenever I wish."

"Yes, Master," she replied. 

"Go prepare yourself." 

Taking Samirah's ass was a pleasant task, but it was a task, something that needed to be done rather than something I wanted to do. It was painful for her, as ass-fucking often is. In spite of the pain, she orgasmed as she whimpered and called my name. 

I called for the harem master, which surprised both of them. 

"The Prince and I are going to Paris and London on business. We'll be back in ten days. You will sleep in this bed together while I'm gone, but you may not pleasure each other." I waited while Samirah translated. "You will spend every moment together. To make sure you do, you will be shackled together day and night. Every waking moment will be spent on English. Samirah will teach. Kamilah will learn." 

They looked at each other and Kamilah giggled. She said something in Arabic. Samirah responded. A few babbles later, Samirah looked at me in astonishment. "She suggested you put us in chastity belts so we couldn't pleasure each other."

"I thought of that, but I want to see if you're strong enough to resist masturbation and Kamilah," I said. 

"I am," she replied.

"But do you want to?" I asked. 

With flashing eyes, she said, "No, but I will."

A knock heralded the harem master's arrival. I shackled Kamilah's left wrist to Samirah's right one, connecting them with a chain two feet long. Both are right-handed. I selected the wrists to put the greater pressure on Samirah since she would have to use her left hand for everything. I kissed them each and told the harem master to take them away. 

**

The Prince, two other men, and I left that night. Don't think we were equal partners. It was his trip and I was an "advisor." Traveling with Mohammed wasn't all work. At night, we each had an expensive call girl to keep us company. In Paris, mine was a redhead about five six with huge tits. But the red-hair, the tits, her orgasm, and everything else about her were fake - not the real thing like Kamilah or Samirah. In London, the woman was a "model" who was beautiful, rail-thin, and bubbly. The bubbles came from champagne and cocaine. The next night, I got a new woman, who was forty-two, had an average figure, and was well-used, but she knew how to please a man. I kept her the rest of our stay there. 

The Prince and I agreed that the call girls were a diversion and hardly an adequate one. We both missed the women waiting for us at home. I'd lost track of how many women I dated, or how many I screwed, which was all but a few, or how many I bound for our mutual enjoyment. I did know how many felt the sting of my hand or whip and how many proposed to me.  

Now, during two weeks in June of my twenty-fourth year, for the first time I thought about keeping a woman with me forever. 

The Prince and I called our respective fathers from London, scheduled a new round of meetings in Paris, and extended our trip by five days. When the meetings were concluded, Dad hopped on his Gulfstream and went home. The rest of us returned to the Sheikdom in the Sheik's Boeing 727.

"I'm going to be with my family," the Prince said. 

That was fine by me. I wanted to be with my family, too. That's what Kamilah and Samirah were becoming. They didn't know I was returning because I wanted to surprise them. The harem master told me they were in my quarters. Silently, I slipped in to find them sitting cross-legged on the floor, face-to-face with their knees touching. They were working on Kamilah's English. They saw me, Kamilah squealed, and they ran to me, hugging and kissing and completely forgetting the rule requiring them to seek permission first. I overlooked their slipup. 

The looks on their faces confirmed what I remembered. Kamilah was ecstatic to see me. No reservations. No games. No guile. No equivocation. Samirah was happy to see me, too, but with something held back, and tonight a hint of the devil flickered in her eyes. 

"I want to enjoy each of you tonight, but one at a time and slowly," I said.

Kamilah's face screamed "pick me, pick me," like a child being chosen for a neighborhood game. A touch of a smirk curled the corner of Samirah's lip and that devil in her eye twinkled. I kissed Kamilah softly on the lips and said, "To your mat." 

The light in her eyes dimmed with visible disappointment, but she said, "Yes, Master."

I undressed Samirah. She was haughty, with an "I-knew-you-wanted-me" expression. I turned her around, slapped her on the ass, and said, "To your mat, Samirah." She glared at me and stomped to her mat with her fists clenched. She grumbled, dropped to her knees on the mat, and crossed her arms petulantly. 

Kamilah gleamed with happy anticipation. "Undress me," I said. She did with caresses that made my skin tingle. I climbed on my bed, lying in the middle with pillows behind my head. Kamilah went to her mat to await my further command. From the corner of my eye, I saw the kneeling Samirah watching angrily. 

"Pleasure me, Kamilah," I ordered. 

She crawled on the bed, kissed my lips, and slowly worked her way down my body to my toes before returning to my cock to lick and suck it. I enjoyed her talents until I was ready for more. I touched her leg. She mounted me. Her lifetime of training produced the desire to please a man and the knowledge of how to do it. That coupled with her natural desires, beauty, and voluptuous body, made Kamilah an ideal lover. 

I sensed more in her. I felt, had she been given the opportunity of choosing a man rather than being given as a gift to him, she would have chosen me. The summer would tell. The question wasn't whether I'd keep her. The question was would she be wife, concubine, or slave girl, with those words in the middle-eastern sense. The western words would be wife, mistress, or party girl.

As I rolled Kamilah over, my eyes met Samirah's. I knew I had not yet won her. Her face told me the decision time was near. 

"Yes. Master fucks good," Kamilah moaned.




Concubines



I lost myself in Kamilah's heat, letting her passion blow away thoughts of anything else, letting her words of joy fill my ears, until we came as one. The movement of the bed seemed unreal as I floated in the afterglow. Hands pulled me on my back. I stared into hot, angry blue eyes.

"Did you have a nice trip?" Samirah asked. I couldn't respond. "I asked you a question, Mike. How was your trip?" Kneeling on the bed peering down at me, her voice was brittle with a phony lightness.

"Fine. How have you been?"

"Better than Kamilah. She was a good little girl while you were gone, but I wasn't. I masturbated every day."

"Oh? Show me." 

"All right. I will," she hissed. She spread her legs and parted her pussy lips with her left hand.

I stopped her. "You didn't masturbate while I was gone. You're telling me you did to accelerate your discipline."

"That's not true," she replied, but she lied. 

"I'm ready for Miss Amanda Abigail Beavers to disappear and only Samirah, the well-trained concubine, to remain. Are you?"

"I have until the end of the summer," she said.

"But you're ready now."

She sagged and locked eyes with me as we held hands. Hers were big and blue and passive, tinged with doubt and moist from anxiety. 

"Do you masturbate, Kamilah?" I asked.

"If Master says." 

"Have you ever masturbated?" I asked. 

Kamilah looked at Samirah and Samirah translated my question and Kamilah's response, which was, "Yes. At the farm where I was raised, we masturbated at least three times each day. Often I did it four or five times. We were taught to have many orgasms. An eager girl pleases her master."

"Do you lie?" I asked.

"To master? No," Kamilah answered emphatically.

"What is the punishment for lying?" I asked. 

"Very hard. A girl give no answer if must lie."

I stared at Samirah as I said to Kamilah, "What should a master do if his girl keeps part of herself hidden away from him?"

"I don't understand," Kamilah replied. 

"Translate," I said to Samirah. She did. 

Kamilah answered in English. "Whip her or get a new girl." 

"Did you masturbate while I was gone, Samirah?" I asked. She didn't answer, which was answer enough. I said, "Go to your mat, Kamilah." Always the good girl, she eased down to her mat. 

I pulled Samirah down beside me and we screwed the old fashioned way. Wainscot was wrong. She didn't hump with the best of them. And she did hold something back. When I was finished with her, I sent her to her mat. I suspected something untoward would happen, so I had made plans. I called the harem master to tell him we were ready before I dressed in robes and left the room. 

When I arrived at the Sheik's chambers, he and the Prince were talking. I joined them and we visited for an hour or so before the Sheik led the way toward the harem. 

We were going to witness the ritual punishment of a concubine named Samirah. 

Technically, the harem isn't a woman or group of women. It is a section of the palace that contains the sleeping, eating, and entertainment quarters for the women belonging to the master, in this case the Sheik. I had only seen the room used for punishment. Even that was a rare honor because men were not allowed in the harem except for the harem master and his staff or with the express permission of the Sheik.

Tonight, we were going to the water room, which, as I discovered, contained a small indoor swimming pool, several hot-tubs, with broad areas for relaxing around them. There were only three chairs. One was a throne for the Sheik. The smaller chairs were for Mohammed and me.

All the women were present because they were required to watch this punishment of one of their own. All were completely covered, including the burqat. Three women were around one of the smaller chairs, with two on mats and one on the tile of the floor. I knew the mats were for the wives and the purple figures perched there were Nudara and Sara. The third one was Hasna. 

Four mats lay around the Sheik's throne. On them were his wives. His other women spread from his throne in a carefully planned order with concubines nearest him with the nearest concubine being his favorite. His women, like Mohammed's, were in purple.

By my chair was one lone figure in light blue. It was Kamilah.

Opposite us was a heavy Persian rug covering the woman to be punished - my Samirah. She had been taken from my quarters, bathed, oiled and perfumed with jasmine, bound and gagged, and left under the rug to contemplate her fate. The harem master and his two assistants, their heads covered in black hoods, stood behind her.

The Sheik spoke and Kamilah whispered the translation in my ear. He said, "The woman to be punished has displeased her master. All of you watch and learn. All women who displease their masters will be punished this way. Or worse!" 

He motioned to the harem master, who yanked the carpet from Samirah and tossed it aside, freeing her from the stifling heat. She was covered in sweat and gasped to breathe. The smell of jasmine wafted in the air. She was bound with ropes, arms folded behind her back, heels tight against the back of her thighs, and body encircled to hold her motionless. A rope around her head ran between her lips to gag her. 

Even her hair was bound, braided around a rope that ran between her legs, separating and chafing her lower lips, and holding her head back, forcing her to look upward. 

The harem assistants quickly unbound her, leaving only the rope braided in her hair. Steel shackles, wide and with a rasp closure like handcuffs, were fastened around her wrists and ankles. Her legs were spread and secured. A hoist was attached to her wrist shackles to lift her to her tiptoes.

The harem master selected a sturdy whip and began on her back. Samirah watched me when her eyes weren't closed in pain as she writhed and suffered under the flogging she sought. She seemed proud she earned a whipping and of her ability to withstand the pain. Samirah was so different than Kamilah, who was mortified she deserved her whipping, and the pain of her humiliation hurt more than the whipping itself.

The harem master didn't rush. There was no hurry. Again and again, the whip fell on her tender flesh. But even a woman who wants to be whipped has her limits. A low, animal groan escaped her and her eyes begged me to make her punishment stop. The harem master laid a vicious blow across her breasts. She screamed and cried out, "Please, Master. No more." 

Quickly, he exchanged his whip for a smaller one with three strands of tightly wound leather each no bigger than a pencil. A woman in the crowd gasped and the Sheik demanded silence. The harem master's prior whipping had not touched between her legs. With a flick of his wrist, he whipped her there and she screamed. His blows were quick now, as fast as he could wield his instrument, flagellating her sex and the tender areas around it. 

Her screams were constant. She wet herself as she passed out and sagged in her bondage.

An assistant doused her in cold water. Another held smelling salts to her nose. The Sheik motioned to me and I stepped forward to take a riding crop from the selection of whips. Samirah revived to see my eyes inches from hers.

"I'll never again command a ritual punishment of you, Samirah," I said coldly. "The next time you intentionally anger me, I'll sell you to a whore monger in Zanzibar."

"Yes, Master. I'll be good. I promise," she said, as she begged for mercy. I touched the riding crop to her lips and she ceased.

"You will remember the pain long after the marks are gone except for the mark I give you now."

"Oh, no, please, no," she babbled as I stepped behind her. 

I swung the crop once, landing it squarely across both cheeks of her ass. The welt burst out and blood oozed from her skin. An assistant held smelling salts under her nose to forestall another faint and let her body suffer the full effect of the whip. We stepped away from her, letting her scream and twist in her agony. The harem master took Samirah's head in his giant hands to hold her still.

Several women gasped and a murmur fluttered through their number when I held up a piercing tool for them to see. The Sheik smiled as he called for silence. There was a body piercing the women considered to be the ultimate humiliation - a ring through the nose. In a society that hides its women except for their faces, a nose ring stands out like a sore thumb. It shouted the woman who wore it was a disobedient and worthless wench who greatly displeased her man. Such a woman was worthy only of scorn and derision from men and other women. 

Samirah's eyes were completely submissive. Hiding the hope they would always be that way, I nestled the point of the tool inside her nose and pressed. Her eyes watered as pain shot through her and blood trickled down her face as she screamed. I slid the gold ring through the hole, closed it with pliers, and washed the wound. I attached a four-feet long gold chain to her nose ring and dropped the end. 

"Release her," I said to the harem master. He looked to the Sheik for confirmation and the Sheik nodded. The harem master undid her shackles and she collapsed at my feet. 

I ordered her to beg our hosts for forgiveness. She crawled toward the Sheik on her knees and elbows, which made her nipples graze the floor. Her knees were parted, allowing all who saw her an unobstructed view of her well-punished sex and ass. She groveled at his feet and received absolution before repeating the process with the Prince. 

She crawled back to me and knelt at my feet. Without looking up at me, she said, "Your girl begs for forgiveness, Master."

"Look at me," I replied.

I saw complete submission and deep humiliation, tinged with a pleading prayer for forgiveness, in her expression. She laid the golden chain across one hand and lifted it to me with palm up. "Please, Master. Please forgive me and let me stay with you," she said. When I took the chain, she crawled to my left side and knelt there, heeling like a well-trained bitch. 

I thanked the Sheik for allowing me to punish her in the confines of his harem. I called Kamilah to my side before slowly walking away to allow Samirah to crawl without tightening the leash through her nose. Once we left the water room, I sent Kamilah for a blanket, covered Samirah with it, and carried her to my quarters. 

In my quarters, I ordered Samirah to her mat and called Kamilah to my bed. Kamilah happily exhausted me before we fell asleep. 

I heard Samirah groaning during the night when her endorphins wore off. By morning, she was in agony and had a slight fever. When I called for the Sheik's physician, she begged me not to let him see the ring in her nose, but I ignored her pleas. The physician gave her an injection of painkiller and she slept the day away.

That night, I ordered her to dress and assist in serving the meal. She begged pitifully to be veiled so her nose ring wouldn't show. I attached a three-inch chain to her ring and a small, shiny, metallic bauble to the chain. The bauble shimmied with her every movement. She served our dinner as we talked about her and how she enjoyed her humiliation and punishment. That night Samirah slept on her mat with her arms bound behind her and her right ankle shackled to my bed.     

Over the next week, Samirah rested and healed. She taught Kamilah English, served dinner with a dangling bauble attached to her nose ring, and was bound and shackled at night. We didn't have sex and she didn't masturbate. Her wounds healed and her pain diminished. Only the stripe of the riding crop on her ass and the ring in her nose remained sore and visible to remind her of her punishment. 

Kamilah continued to be a joy, but I quickly saw the wisdom on having more than one woman because her eager sexual participation diminished a little each day.

On the eighth day after Samirah's punishment, I said to Kamilah, "I'll have Samirah tonight. You will prepare her for me."  Kamilah's training by those who bred and raised her included the ritual preparation of the concubine. In the old days, the great sultans and pashas had many concubines, often collected as tribute or spoils of war. Oft times, he had so many that a woman might only sleep with him every two or three years. To her, that night was as important as her wedding day to a Western woman. The preparation ritual, where the other concubines carefully prepared her to earn her master's pleasure, was a serious and important part of her night with her lord. 

"We were taught that each master has his own thoughts about his women coming to him. You haven't told me how you want her, Master," Kamilah replied.

"What do you need to know?" I asked.

"Naked or clothed? Her hair loose or braided? Bound or unbound? With bells or not?"

Samirah watched me from under her lashes. A tiny smile graced the corner of her lips. Each day, her sexual need had grown. She needed a man. She needed me. Every look she gave me, every movement around me, confirmed it. She was eager to please.     "I want my initials here," I said, stroking Samirah's right cheekbone. She blanched in fear, fear that I would do it, and fear that I wouldn't. "Her hair loose. Remove all the hair on her pubis." Samirah quickly translated to make sure Kamilah understood. "I'll leave the rest to you. I'm sure you will please me."

"I please you, Master," Kamilah replied.

"I want to watch the preparation, but pretend I'm not there."

"Your initials here?" Kamilah asked, touching Samirah's cheek. I nodded. "In henna?"

"Yes," I replied.

"Can we start?" 

I nodded. Kamilah took Samirah's hand and led her into the large and ornate bathroom. I sat on a chair in the corner to watch. 

Kamilah faced Samirah, took both her hands, and said, "Listen to me. I ready your body for him. You ready your mind. He is Master and you must please him. Start now. Think of him. His body on yours. Your pleasure when he is in you."

Samirah's eyes were soft and passive, with a tiny, sexy twinkle. 

Kamilah continued, "When you feel my hands, think of his. When you feel my touch, dream of his. Spread your legs. He soon will be there. Close your eyes. Think of him."

Kamilah gently kissed her on the lips. Samirah jerked back and her eyes flew open. "Don't pull away, girl. Think of master's kiss. Close eyes," Kamilah said quietly. Samirah's eyes cut to me for an instant before her lids fluttered closed. 

Kamilah kissed her again and Samirah's mouth opened. Kamilah's hand caressed her breast, tugging on her nipple. The kissing became more intense as Kamilah's hand slipped down her stomach to nestle between her legs. Samirah twitched and opened wider. Kamilah's finger slipped into her pussy.

"Good girl. Wet for Master," Kamilah whispered. Samirah groaned as Kamilah pulled her hand away. "Lay back. I shave you, then we bathe. Think of him." Samirah nodded. Her eyes were heavy with desire.

Kamilah used lather and razor to quickly dispatch Samirah's pubic hair. She turned on the water and they stepped into the tub. Kamilah lathered a sponge and began washing her. Samirah stood like a statue with her legs spread and her eyes closed as she enjoyed the hands on her, even when Kamilah penetrated the entrance to her nether hole to cleanse it. They sat in the water to rinse, stood to dry, and stepped out of the tub.

From her bag of supplies used in the ritual preparation, Kamilah retrieved a dildo about four inches long and narrow in diameter. She slipped it up Samirah's slew, making her gasp. "Sit here," Kamilah ordered. Samirah sat in on the small, backless bench. Kamilah spread her legs more widely and tucked her feet behind the front legs of the bench. She guided Samirah's hands behind her back and fastened them with a short piece of rope. 

Samirah looked lustfully at me. 

"Close your eyes," Kamilah said. "Think of him. Master pleased when he sees beauty and heat." She drizzled perfume on Samirah's hair and began brushing it with long, smooth strokes. 

Samirah was feeling the effect of her preparation. Her hips moved, feeling the dildo inside her, and she tightened against the ropes. "Stand," Kamilah demanded. Samirah groaned and stood. Kamilah removed the dildo and ordered her to sit. 

"No pleasure you," Kamilah said softly. "This is for him."

"For Master," Samirah whispered. 

"Yes. For Master. What you like about Master?"

Samirah's eyes were closed, as they been since she sat. I wondered if she remembered I was there. Her face was relaxed with a soft happiness. "His face when he's in me," she said lovingly.

"Me, too. He good master give girls pleasure." 

"I know," Samirah replied.

"Sometimes girl come back to farm. She talk of pain and fear of her master. Not our master. He is strong and loving." Kamilah placed the brush on the counter. She looked at me full face, with bright eyes and an endearing smile. She bowed to the waist before she said to Samirah, "Stay. I get henna." 

Kamilah allowed the henna to sit and started applying Samirah's other makeup. With shadow and liner and lipstick, she quickly finished Samirah's face except for the final touch. "Be still," she said. With the henna, she put MAP, my initials, on Samirah's cheek. 

"Stand. I oil you," Kamilah said. Samirah stood with her legs spread and eyes closed. Kamilah unbound her arms, drizzled the scented oil on her body, and began rubbing it over her. 

"Master be pleased with your body," Kamilah said as she massaged the oil into Samirah's breasts. "You please with mind?"

Samirah's eyes slowly opened. Her lids were heavy. "Yes," she said so softly I could barely hear and her eyes closed again. 

"When you go him," Kamilah said as she knelt to oil Samirah's lower body. "Don't hide. Be proud. Oh, I don't know the word." She spoke in Arabic. 

Samirah translated. "Prance like a mare for a stallion."

"Prance like mare for stallion. Head high. Breasts raised. Toe walk. Dance. Dance until his heat calls you to his bed." 

Kamilah stood. Her breasts rubbed against those of Samirah as she put a finger into Samirah's pussy again. Samirah whimpered. "See. You ready for master," Kamilah said teasingly. "Good. Open eyes. Turn."

Kamilah oiled her back, even oiling the inside of her puckered anus. Kamilah retrieved a spectacular, diaphanous hijab and covered Samirah's head, carefully hiding her throat but leaving her breasts fully exposed. She fastened a veil across her face so that only her eyes showed.

"Wear this and dance," she said, holding up two large scarves. Each scarf had two elastic bands, one each for elbow and wrist, to hold the scarf to an arm. She slipped them on Samirah. "Don't show all. Tease. Play with him."

"I'll make him as wild for me as I am for him," Samirah said. 

"Yes. Now jewelry." 

She put a ring of bells on each of Kamilah's wrists. "Look," she demanded, facing Samirah toward the mirror. "No man push you away."

"I only want one man," Samirah replied. 

"Yes. Our Master. You please him, my sister." She kissed Samirah gently on her veiled cheek. "He calls to bed. You, like bug."

"Crawl," Samirah said.

"Crawl to him. Wait his touch. Be woman please her master." She turned and walked to kneel at my feet.

"She ready, Master," she said. 

"Well done, my faithful and loving Kamilah," I said. I kissed her on the lips. "Go to your mat and watch," I ordered. She glowed as she bounced up and ran to the bedroom. 

Samirah had not looked at me in some time. She stood with her head fully bowed and the dangling veils from her crossed arms hid her body to below her knees. "I will call for you when I am ready," I said.

"Yes, Master," she murmured. 

Kamilah was on her mat with only her eyes showing over the edge of the bed. I undressed, crawled on the bed, piled all the pillows against the headboard, and reclined against them. My cock was so hard it hurt, and my balls throbbed. My heart was pounding. 




Concubines



"Come, girl," I yelled.

The bathroom door opened. A shapely leg with toes pointed slowly came into view. Then a veil dangling from an arm. She stepped out of the bathroom to be behind the veil. Did I catch a glimpse of breast or was it my imagination? 

Her head was bowed. Slowly she raised it until wanton, excited bright blue eyes shone on me like beacons. 

Samirah danced. God, what a dance. Twisting and turning, swaying but sheltering her charms with the veils. Always eyes flashing. She danced until I saw sweat on her brow and felt my sweat bead on my own face.

"Come."

She dropped to the floor and crawled, wiggling on my bed to lay beside me with her arms crossed and the veils across her body. With fingers on her wrist, I uncrossed her hands and moved the veils aside, exposing her glistening nakedness to my gaze. Her breasts heaved from her exertion.

Quickly, I lay across her, my hands around her wrists to hold her down, my mouth against the lips of her pussy. Kamilah gasped. Samirah groaned. I licked Samirah's pussy from bottom to top, driving my tongue between her lips to taste her nectar. When I sucked her clit and flicked it with my tongue, she screamed and drove her pubis against my face. 

I moved up her, lifting her legs up and out, and ripped off her veil. I drove into and felt her body shake in another orgasm. I came, too, breaking the unbearable tension. I continued to piston and my cock stayed firm, bringing her uncountable rewards before I came again and collapsed on her. 

I loved watching her face as she watched mine. I loved her squirming and sweating body, her murmurs in my ear, her animal sounds when she came. I loved everything about her. But most of all, I loved when she said in the heat of passion: "I love you." She said it twenty times or more and I relished each one.

I rolled off her and gasped for breath. When I turned my head, Kamilah's bright eyes were still watching. 

"Come," I said softly. She squirmed up to kneel beside me. I brought her lips to mine before gently pushing her head toward my crotch. She knew what to do and did it well. She cleaned and caressed my cock with her mouth until it was ready again. I touched her arm. She swung her leg across me and buried me in her.

Kamilah was a master at manipulating a man's pleasure, but I was well spent. She reached her own orgasm first and rested before continuing until we both came. She lay down beside me with her hand on my chest. Samirah rolled against me on the other side. 


"Samirah?" Kamilah whispered. 

"Ummm?"

"What love mean?"

"That you want to spend every moment of every day for the rest of your life with him. Pleasing him and caring for him." She signed contentedly. "And that you want to have his babies."

"Babies?" Kamilah asked. Samirah translated. "Oh. Babies," Kamilah said reverently. She squirmed harder against me. "Master, I love you," she whispered.

I slipped off to sleep.

The bed moved and someone was pulling the covers back. "What?" I groaned.

"We're cold."

"I'm not," I said.

"We're keeping you warm. Let's get under the covers."

I grumbled but helped them pull the covers from under me. They nestled against me and covered us over. I was back asleep in seconds. 

**

The rest of the summer zipped by in a flash. 

I removed Samirah's nose ring the day after her ritual presentation to me, telling her it was no longer needed.

"I'd like to wear your ring elsewhere, Master," she said shyly.

"Where?" I asked. 

"Wherever you like," she replied.

"Tell me," I demanded.

"In my pussy," she whispered. 

The Prince and his women met the three of us in the punishment room. As they all watched, I tied Samirah to the table with her legs widely spread, pierced her labia, and inserted a gold ring. She cried, but didn't cry out, and she thanked me repeatedly for marking her as mine.

I had no doubt Samirah had surrendered completely, that whatever she had been holding back was gone forever. She had no doubt either. Kamilah, as always, was a sexual and emotional delight. Besides pleasing me every moment of the day with their happy and sexy natures, each of them told me every day that she loved me. One night in the privacy of my quarters I told both of them I loved them, too. We talked into the wee hours about what our life would be like. Samirah could easily envision that life. It was a fantasy world to Kamilah, but one she was eager to see. 

We met Julia Biggs, an Englishwoman of twenty-one, who converted to Islam and became Prince Mohammed's third wife. We three were discussing Julia when Kamilah asked, "Will we be your wives or your concubines?"

"Since I can only have one legal wife in America, I won't marry. Both of you will be my mistresses," I replied. 

Mistress was a new word to Kamilah, so Samirah explained it. Neither of them seemed to be bothered by being a mistress, but Samirah had explained to Kamilah that a mistress was part wife, part concubine. 

"Who will be your other mistresses?" Kamilah asked.

"Others?" I said.

"For a man to have less than four is...." Kamilah struggled for the word, chattering in Arabic with Samirah as they tried to put her thoughts into English. They finally decided. "It is an embarrassment, for you as a man and for us as your women. Any important man must have at least four women, whatever they are called," Kamilah said assuredly. 

I just smiled.

"Do you have someone in mind?" Samirah asked. She grinned. "We really want you to have more, Master," she said.

"No more talk about this," I said, ending the discussion. 

Samirah had kept in touch with her parents throughout the summer, and she had talked to Wainscot once. Two days before we returned home, she called him and resigned from the State Department. She called her parents and told them she was moving to Texas to be with the man she loved. 

The Sheik's 727 transported us all back to school-Prince Mohammed, his wives and his concubine, and me with my two delightful women. On board, I told both of them I wanted them to dress in the middle-eastern style, although they would wear western-style clothes on occasion. Kamilah practiced calling me Mike instead of Master, but she insisted I was her master and that was the way she wanted it. 

This would be my last year of school. Samirah had called the University Language Department and was hired as a full-time instructor in Arabic. Kamilah had no formal schooling. However, Mohammed arranged for documents showing she graduated from a Sheikdom high school. She enrolled in the university, but I limited her to two English courses, American History, and Texas History. Everyone has to "Remember the Alamo."

We cleared customs, said goodbye to Mohammed and his entourage, boarded our limo, and went home. The place was spotless since the maid service had been in that morning. 

I fired up my Jag and took them shopping. We spent a ton in Victoria's Secret on everything from panties and bras to dresses before going to the western wear store for jeans, boots, and the works. Samirah loved her clothes. Kamilah was in shock. She couldn't believe a man would allow his women to dress in clothes as revealing as jeans and western shirts. 

We went to my father's ranch for a few days, where Dad, Mom, Maria, and Charlene welcomed us warmly. One day, we lay by the pool. I ordered them both to wear the French bikinis I bought them. Those bodies left no doubt as to why God made women and Victoria's Secret made bikinis. 

The day before our first classes, we went to a steak house for dinner. Samirah and Kamilah were each dressed in a jilbaab, or pants suit, with a hijab. I was in slacks and a polo shirt. As always, I had reserved a back table in a corner. The waiter seated us and took our drink orders. I had a Jack Daniels and water. My women had tea.

My usual crowd of friends was at the bar. Three months earlier I would have been with them. One of them was a beautiful woman with long blonde hair and blue eyes. She was five four, with an excellent body as the jeans and tee shirt she wore disclosed. She smiled at me when we walked by. 

"Who was the blonde?" Samirah asked. 

"Cathy Wayne," I replied. 

"I thought I recognized her. I interviewed her for the State Department." She hesitated. "I remember now. She was your girlfriend who said she surrendered but you rejected her." 

Suddenly, I knew why she was asking. "I don't need help finding other women," I said. 

Kamilah put her hand over mine. "Master," she said sweetly. "We love you and we are proud that you own us. We don't want people to doubt your manhood because you have less than four women. We're thinking of your honor." She leaned over and whispered conspiratorially. "Besides, the longer the wait, the more eager the woman."

"Why did you stop dating her?" Samirah asked.

"Something about tumblers and doors," I replied. "But things were different then. I was thinking of a wife."

"What do you think if she were a concubine?" she asked. 

"She'd do nicely," I said.

Cathy was standing at the dining room entrance to better see us. Her breasts were larger than I remembered. Her hair was a lighter shade of blonde. When I motioned for her to join us, she wound her way between the tables. I stood, took her hand, and kissed her lightly on the lips. She wanted a stronger kiss, which I gave before holding her chair to seat her opposite me. When I introduced her to Samirah and Kamilah, Cathy was nervous with a sweet shyness. 

"I missed you, Mike," she said softly. 

"I missed you, too," I replied. "I like the change."

"I'm glad you noticed. I did it for you." There was no sound for "for you." Her voice petered out and she blushed brightly, but she arched her back to give me a better view and her eyes begged for my approval. 

"What did you do?" Kamilah asked innocently. 

"She had her breasts augmented," I said, causing Cathy additional embarrassment. 

Kamilah looked confused and Samirah translated. "Oh. I didn't even know my size until Master, I mean, Mike, took us to buy brassieres. Samirah is a C-cup and I'm a double-D. What are you?" she asked. Cathy's mouth dropped open and her hands shook. "Did I say something wrong?"

"In the west, women don't discuss those things in public," Samirah said.

"I meant no offense," Kamilah said contritely.

"What did you call him?" Cathy gasped at Kamilah. 

"Mike," she replied, but we all knew she lied. Lying was not a skill taught by those who raised her. 

Samirah put her hand over Cathy's and said, "She called him 'Master.'"

"I know you," Cathy said. 

"You knew me when I was Miss Amanda Abigail Beavers of the United States Department of State. Now I am Samirah Price, a concubine owned by Michael Price. He is my master. I obey him completely and bring him pleasure with my joyful heart and eager sexuality."

"He told us you pleasured him, too," Kamilah added. "Don't you love his face when he cums in you?"   

Cathy almost fainted. Samirah and Kamilah grabbed her arms to keep her upright and clucked consolingly until she recovered. I gave her my Jack Daniels and she downed it in one gulp. I asked a few questions to let her gain her mental balance and have time to think about my women and me. 

We talked about unimportant things until Cathy asked, "What's going on, Mike?" 

"May I answer her, Master?" Samirah asked. 

"After she answers Kamilah's question," I replied. 

"D-cup," Cathy whispered.  

"Kamilah and I are his concubines. Do you know what that means?" Cathy nodded. "We do everything a concubine does for the man who owns her. Most of all, we eagerly have sex with him," Samirah said. 

Cathy seemed catatonic. Finally, she looked at me.  

"Join us and we'll talk about it," I said. 

"I'm with a group," Cathy replied. 

"You're with us now. Tell them goodbye."

Cathy stared at me for the longest time. Then she stared at my women before looking back at me. I saw the moment she understood my relationship with Samirah and Kamilah, and how she would fit with us. I saw the moment she surrendered to me and her own desires. She nodded once. "Yes, Mike," she replied submissively.

"What did you call him, girl?" Samirah asked sharply. 

"Yes, Master," Cathy said as a smile grew from ear-to-ear and her eyes danced. She almost bounced as she walked away to speak to her friends.   

"That's number three," Samirah said with smug self-satisfaction. "Only one concubine to go."

"That's Master's decision, my sister," Kamilah said emphatically. "A man such as he may want six or seven or more."

I laughed until I cried. 

The End



Concupiscence:  An Orgasmic Dessert



"Melt the chocolate in a heavy saucepan over water. Add the egg yolks, espresso, and creme de cacao." 

I love the moment when the moistened folds deep inside of you become like heavy cream beaten, soft and thick, concupiscent, your pussy the bowl, my fingers the beater. 

As I go down on you, I am reminded of all the desserts I love best, the ones of luscious ambiguity, neither liquid nor solid, but a combination of both: mousse, Key Lime pie, vanilla ice cream, soufflé, a banana split, creme brule, raspberries. 

"Stir together till smooth."

I dip my finger into your bowl. Your pussy holds me in rapt attention, and I want to suspend time, luxuriating inside of you, Ulysses remaining on Circe's island. I stir gently, no desire to depart.

"If the mixture hardens, warm gently and stir till smooth." 

As I feel you starting to firm, I start warming you gently, one hand over your heart, caressing your breast, the other smoothing you out, palm over labia, a finger stroking each lip, deliberately, persistently, then up inside, circling in the come hither motion, a spatula stirring inside the bowl. 

"Then let cool."

I look at your face, and I listen to your breathing, slow at first, then quicker. I pull out my fingers and let you lick them like a father giving his child a spoon of cookie dough behind the mom's back. You are ravenous. You lick fervently. 

You have taken me beautifully today, waking me with a kiss, feeding the morning hunger of our skin and heart, gorging on me, then straddling me, letting me drink from your cup of morning juices. It's my solace, my joy, to reciprocate. 

"Beat the egg whites with salt till they hold soft peaks."

I love raspberries. They are my favorite dessert, just eating them straight. I love to watch nipples become taut, berried up, on the peak of a bosom. I tongue and twist and bite-love your nipples. They hold their peaks.

"Add the sugar, a tablespoon at a time, beating after each addition. Continue beating 5 more minutes, or until stiff." 

I grab you by your heels, spread you apart, and admire. I stroke myself before your eyes, flaunting my hardness, my thickness. 

I kneel before you, reverently, and enter inside, gradually. 

I go deep, rise up, go deep again, and repeat, the ancient leitmotiv.

Fold the whipped cream into the egg whites and then fold in the chocolate mixture.

We rock and undulate together, primally, soulfully, folding ourselves into one. 

"If you have time to be fancy, serve with a sauce made by blending 1 cup heavy cream, whipped into soft peaks, with 1/2 cup sour cream."

Our dessert is almost complete: My heavy cream whipped until stiff, folded into your ½ cup sour cream. Only one step left.

"....add 1 teaspoon vanilla extract"

I pull back, almost out, then bury myself deep inside of you, my most manly stroke yet. As we kiss, I still myself, letting you clench me again and again, eventually extracting my cock into ecstasy. The vanilla spills into the bowl.

"Pour into a large glass bowl or a soufflé dish with a waxed-paper collar (or covered jar if it's just for late night fixes) and store in the freezer until 15 minutes before serving." 

We spoon together into the dessert, feeding it to each other's lips. 

Later in the night, we remove the bowl from the freezer, giving ourselves a second helping.

*

Recipe for Chocolate Wickedness

The most sensuous dessert I have ever tried is something called Chocolate Wickedness, an intense mousse-like concoction where the chocolate is intensified with espresso and creme de cacao. Here's the recipe for Chocolate Wickedness

1 1/2 pounds semisweet chocolate 4 egg yolks 1/2 cup espresso coffee 1/2 cup creme de cacao 8 egg whites Pinch of salt 1/4 cup sugar 1 cup heavy cream, whipped

Melt the chocolate in a heavy saucepan over water. Add the egg yolks, espresso, and creme de cacao. Stir together till smooth. (If the mixture hardens, warm gently and stir till smooth. Then let cool.) Beat the egg whites with salt till they hold soft peaks. Add the sugar, a tablespoon at a time, beating after each addition. Continue beating 5 more minutes, or until stiff. Fold the whipped cream into the egg whites and then fold in the chocolate mixture. Pour into a large glass bowl or a soufflé dish with a waxed-paper collar (or covered jar if it's just for late night fixes) and store in the freezer until 15 minutes before serving. (It's great frozen, too.) If you have time to be fancy, serve with a sauce made by blending 1 cup heavy cream, whipped into soft peaks, with 1/2 cup sour cream and 1 teaspoon vanilla extract.