He sits so calm and still, my sexy hot man, to me his body is the sheer essence of man. I slowly take in his naked, finely tuned torso, so relaxed and casual, yet his muscular frame oozes just the right amount of youth and desirability. My dirty voyeur. I want to touch his flesh and feel him so much as he sits there before me, just looking. His presence I find so intoxicating I struggle to not look, I just want to breath in his persona, his body, his scent. I want to be his, I want him to have me.
As I look across at him, I feel the moment, there is that wicked glimmer in his eyes which reaches deep within me. It feels and stirs deep in my muscles. Ah how does he do this to me? How can he sit there, with such a dispassionate moody look and seem so in control, throwing me into such a delicious giddy spin. I look at his eyes to try and see what he’s thinking. Sometimes his brooding looks and cool demeanour it is so hard to tell, but I believe I see that little twitch of a smile. There is that glimmer, that confirmation of his dirty thoughts that I so love to know. His eyes seem to scan over me consuming my body with just that look. Ah how I find him so heavenly.
I know his game too. Those inviting signals he sends to me, waiting for me to react, to respond. He knows I can’t help myself, seeing him so deliciously horny relaxed in his chair, his hair just slightly damp from the shower, a delicate fresh scent mixed with his. I have to show him what I am thinking and see what reaction I get. See my cool man a little ruffled by arousal. My arousal as I masturbate.
I let my fingers slip beneath my blouse and work their way down my body towards my panties. It’s subtle at first but I know he catches my intentions and notices my moves. Trying not to show too much I carry on, determined to force him to glance down and watch my fingers teasing my body. I slip them sensuously into the side of the lace, just a little, and then edge them in more. I look again at his eyes, what signs they offer, while getting gently seduced by my own hand. A little more pressure and I feel my lips starting to twitch and pulse, sending those messages straight to my brain, a heady concoction beginning to build inside.
His head tips back and I glance down his lean body and question that twitch I faintly see under the fabric of his trousers. Hmm my suggestive moves have incited his sexual interest and I deliberately pull the delicate fabric of my panties to the site. Air flicks on to my moist pussy as I expose my sensitive flesh for him to see. Fingers still playing and caressing, getting bolder and firmer all adding to how wonderfully mischievous I feel.
My inner goddess is pleased, and nods her head. Yes he’s concentrating on me now, taking his eyes lower to see my swollen pink flesh flashing out of my panties. I am feeling so liberated that I continue with my tease, my personal pleasure so evident as I watch his mood lifting and reacting in tune with mine. I can feel my sexy naughty body is coming alive in my hands and the watchful guise of my lover. I see his hand now reach down into his trousers. Yes he is feeling horny too. Wanting to feel his cock’s reactions and the sensation of its pleasure.
I stand up and move my body closer, closer to him. Closer so there is nowhere else other than my body for him to see. I turn with a cheeky shimmy and flaunt what I am before him. Flashing my body in its shear lacy lingerie and barely covered bottom, tempting his eyes with all I have. I make sure this moment is felt and I writhe my body from its panties, parading my smooth puffed pussy and my sensuous rounded bottom. At that moment I turn to catch his eyes burning with desire, eating my body with his vision. He shifts within the seat struggling to compose himself as he continues to devour me, his trousers now clearly bulging with force, waiting to string free.
Feeling so aroused, I quickly reach for a toy I know is somewhere in my bag. My perfect toy of choice, a large black dildo, which I waste no time rubbing against my clit. Ah the blissful satisfaction as I move it into my pussy guiding it to the ultimate location where it instantly sends muscular quivers deep inside. To feel the cool silicone as the sensation is multiplied, and I cum sooner than I thought, loosing myself for those sweet moments of such pure personal bliss.
As I come back from my moment, he’s there on me, kissing my lips with such tender desire. My horny smouldering boy melting in my arms.

You’re missing me, you always do when I take annual leave—you hate it when I’m not there. Is it because I’m so good at the job—or is there another reason you breathe a sigh of relief, every time I return from a stint spent at my tropical timeshare?
The sunshine feels so good on my skin today. I wish you were here to indulge in me and my desires. At times like these when I’m alone, when I feel sexy and uninhibited, I always think of you—only you. When I masturbate it’s to you, your what my body responds to. I’m holidaying with my lover but she has no idea—it’s really only you I want. Larissa’s at the spa having a massage and I’m savouring this precious time, my mind centred on you. You’re sat at your desk, imagining me. Say you are.
You’re shackled to your work, I know, but have you ever stopped to wonder who the sheer blouses are for? Not to mention the crippling stilettos. I never go a day without matching underwear either, just in case. Maybe my thoughts might reach you to soothe the strains of your day?
The temptation to touch my warm skin is overwhelming and on the chair opposite where I lay, I imagine you sat, watching. My personal voyeur. My eyes closed, I feel your dark-green stare, scanning every inch of me. With hesitant fingers I slowly slip the triangles of my bikini top to the sides, releasing my dark pebbles, aching for your tongue, flicking and licking, your teeth gently grazing my puckered nipples.
My hands drift from my breasts and slide over the soft contours of my stomach, beyond the delicate female hips I regularly slide into pencil skirts and shift dresses, just for you. I’ve noticed you checking my arse out in tight, high-waisted trousers hugging my neat butt, the pinstripe ones with braces my favourite. I love to see your eyes light up as I walk in with your morning coffee, every time I strut in pinstripes and white blouse, Louboutins.
Touching my panties, I sigh to discover warmth, instigated by you. Thoughts of you, always, you. You’re my insanity, my need, my want, my ecstasy.
Watching me, you ask me to slowly untie the strings of my bikini knickers and I do, teasing out the garment from under me so you can get a good look at the desire I have for you. Spreading my legs, sunshine through the window touches my most delicious place and stokes my kindling lust. How’s your view? Can you see enough? I’ll lift my hips just slightly so you can see all of what belongs to you.
“Ruben, Ruben, look at me laid here, wanting you.”
I call to mind your tousled, foppish brown hair, the way it falls across your forehead. I love you in charcoal suits but I love you most of all in running shorts and tight t-shirt. Your long, lean legs. Hmm. Slim calves below rigid, stocky thighs. Sometimes I arrive early at the office just to catch you striding into the building before you hit the men’s showers, your run to work having made you all sweaty—your thigh muscles popping and all those ropes of masculinity in your arms. If there were a peephole to the men’s, I would spy just so I could find out whether it’s boxers you wear or jocks or briefs. Twice since we worked together, I’ve spotted your pleated charcoal trousers housing a livid erection and both times I wondered if it were me you were hard for. The first time we sat in court, side by side, and beneath your barrister’s gown, I spotted the thick column of your arousal jutting against your thigh. Thank goodness the gown covered you whenever you stood up. I wondered if it was your command of the case that had you excited that day—or if it was me sat by your side wearing pinstripes. The second time I caught you with a huge erection was that one time I spilt your coffee and you stood up from behind your desk to pat me dry with your handkerchief. What fun you must have under your desk most days and I felt overjoyed that day, wondering if your cock was really mine.
Letting my hands wander lazily over my skin, I hear the low snicker in your throat as you watch, rubbing yourself slyly, still sat opposite me. Trying to drown out all my thoughts of you stuck in those chambers, alone and without me, I picture you really are here with me right now, watching and expectant.
I tease the tips of my fingers over my landing strip and wriggle my hips, the fanning heat of arousal coating my sun-drenched skin in more lust—giving me yet more confidence to perform. My breasts ache, my nipples crying for succour from your gentle tongue. You demand I lick my fingers and touch myself and I happily accede.
Licking my middle and index fingers, I think about what you want to see, what you expect. I reach for my sex and gently circle my clit and toy with the slippery nubbin. My walls begin to pulsate and my heart beats through my pussy as I scrape a nail gently over the tip of my clit, my nipples hardening to such stiff points I have to massage them.
I taste myself and moan, knowing you want this—you want to see the slut I want to be for you. I lick my fingers, swirling the tip of my tongue over and around my manicured nails, tasting the tang of arousal from my own sex.
I spread my legs wider, wishing other people could see us now. You, watching me and me, pleasuring myself for your pleasure—a bystander (maybe even Larissa)—also getting a kick out of this. I suck and gorge on more of my own scent, licking it from my fingers.
I press two fingers inside of me but as I work my upper wall, I feel the onset of orgasm too quick and I want to savour this. I want to enjoy your enjoyment as much as possible and make myself come harder than ever before. You want to see how much restraint I have and you need to see me begging for it before giving me the signal to come.
I use just one finger instead, swirling my juices, making myself wetter. My walls cling to my digit and tug and I know if I make myself come already, I’ll ruin the display I have in store for you. I have to draw this out and linger, make it so you want to come back for more.
When I let you know I have a dildo in my Louis Vuitton, your eyes darken and you give a slight nod, your hand still resting gently on the rigid, stocky length sitting in your trousers there—starving for me. Maybe you want me to show you how I like to fuck or else you’re not intimidated by my toy.
I take the ample pink dildo and show you how I might lick your length, my tongue swirling over your sticky head, my hand around your trembling shaft, my teeth gently grazing the underside. I groan, the taste of your salty pre-cum delicious, your foreskin so pink and bloated as I take you between my soft, wet mouth, my tongue the first thing to explore your weighty glans.
I tremble for your entry, to feel you slide between my hot folds, to graze my clit as you stretch and fill me, your balls hitting my aroused pucker as you pound me.
The more I moan, the more you rub your fingers over the cock still shackled beneath your trousers and so the harder I work. Tugging on my clit as I slip the dildo inside of me, I buck against the toy and feel the raised ridges of tender wet flesh inside of me grab and knead at the plastic which will never match up to you. Desperation inside of me quickens. I need to come so badly; rising heat in my pelvis the only thing I can think about.
You pull yourself out from your fly to reveal you don’t wear underwear and I revel in the sight of you masturbating yourself, too.
An orgasm starts to quake my sex and with or without penetration, I am going to come soon. I’m so aroused, so wanton. You’re gorgeous and you want me. You’re finally with me and it’s not just me who’s feeling this way.
I’ve held out for as long as possible but just a couple of thrusts has me squeezing against the rigid texture of my plaything, testing out its dexterity. My body tenses as I come, my sex clinging to the purple flesh of the dildo.
You still sit in the chair opposite, pleasuring yourself as I rest a moment, your eyes gazing down on me, wanting me. I turn around and kneel, showing you my behind, teasing you with a different view.
I groan as I taste the dildo and take the taste of sex inside me, reigniting my passion. I bend slightly, one hand on the cushion beneath me. For your pleasure I push the dildo back inside so you can see how tightly I grip it from this angle, my body bowed and squeezing, the intrusion starker as I’m bent over, my body able to take it deeper.
On the back of my first flourish, I feel another orgasm growing, a different one this time. I fuck myself harder, working back against the dildo. I contemplate attaching the toy to the window but I don’t think I have time. Larissa will be back soon.
Working the cock hard, a second orgasm rips through me, tumbling through my body. My clit buzzing, I can keep coming like this now for a while. My legs slightly cramping however, I turn over once more and sprawl out, fucking myself missionary again. I lazily fuck the purple cock and cling to every contour, every curve, licking my dry mouth because I’ve lost so much moisture from my body—so constantly aroused. My pussy is a little dry in fact so I idly rub the dildo up and over my clit.
In the three years we’ve worked together there have been so many times I almost asked you out for a drink and it’s with bittersweet emotion I come a third time, thinking of your arms around me as you finally finish, pumping your cum deep inside of me even though you shouldn’t.
I’m tired and feel wrecked but I have to try for just one more orgasm, just one more. I’m insatiable when it comes to you, I always want more. I have at least five minutes before Larissa comes back but my time with you, Ruben is so precious.
I slide the cock back inside me, the lubrication of my last orgasm aiding penetration. For the finale of all finales, I’m thrown over your desk, case files and pens tossed overboard, my skirt hiked up to my hips and the thong between my suspender belt yanked to the side. You’re pumping viciously inside of me and I’m fucking you back, trying to help you get as much of your huge penis into my tight hole as I possibly can. We’re grunting even though anyone could come in, right now. You push my knees to my chest, spreading me wide open. You manage to reach the hallowed place so deep inside of me, the A-spot, and I squirt, coating you in my rich liquor. Hmm.
I’m sated, for now.
As I gently rub down my clit to work out the over-stimulation, I realise it’s the night for you where you are and no doubt you’ll be tucked up safe and warm with your wife. I wonder how happy are you, how happy is she?
Maybe when I get home and you shine those grateful eyes on mine again—your most supportive, intuitive clerk returned—I’ll ask you out for that drink finally.
The End

I didn’t hear him enter, but I sensed his presence. Closing my eyes, I listened as he stood watching me. I imagined the thoughts running through his mind as he looked across to where I waited, crouched low against the bed, bottom raised high in the air like a stretching animal like a cat waiting to pounce. Wearing only my mask, bra and suspender stockings, I was naked where it mattered. My vagina displayed for his approval, my anus waiting and ready. Take me, I’m yours, I prayed. I imagined that the breeze from the open window was his cool breath on my skin. My ice-cold BDSM lover. Still, he waited and watched. The anticipation was pure agony and pleasure.
Three days earlier, I had thrown some clothes into the Aston Martin and left my life in a cloud of summer dust. The engine roared my frustration out across the countryside as I tore my way southward. I didn’t leave a note. I didn’t care. Kids, husband, none of it mattered. I needed some time away, needed to vent and live as a woman again. The hotel was expensive but perfect, a luxurious getaway, spa treatments and champagne.
But more than that, it was within easy reach of a truck stop diner with greasy food and dirty coffee.
“Is everything to your satisfaction?”
I grinned and swayed my hips, shifting my bottom back and forth. He didn’t reply, and a little thrill went up my spine. I heard the clink of ice as he lifted the glass I had left for him. Dutch courage, perhaps, or just a little aperitif while he surveyed the toys I had selected. In either case, it was only a moment before I heard him approaching the bed.
I tensed and waited and then felt his fingers lightly brush my buttocks. I mewled, desperate for anal sex, but he remained as silent as ever. I couldn’t even hear him breathing. I stayed in position as his hands moved across my bottom, back and forth, sending shivers through my body and making my breath come in fits. Then I gasped as his fingers settled into the cleft of my buttocks. I waited for them to move down and stroke my sex, but they stayed still.
“Please,” I said, my voice high and breathy. “Please don’t be gentle.”
Did he chuckle, just a little, as he lifted his hand away? My body relaxed, deflated, and I breathed a sigh. I heard him cross the room as I closed my eyes and gulped air.
I had known he was the one as soon as I saw him. Young, certainly, but his face was hard like he’d seen too much of life already. He climbed out of his cab and said nothing to the other drivers as he walked past them into the diner, jeans and skin dirty with engine grease. I watched him through binoculars, parked across the road where the car would be less conspicuous. He sat at a table alone and waited to be served. I knew he was the one.
What did he think, I wondered, when he found the envelope slipped under the wiper blade of his truck? Did he look around, puzzled, trying to find the person who’d put it there? I was long gone by then, standing under the shower in my hotel room, revelling in the hot jet that prickled my skin. Did he puzzle it over in his mind as he opened the envelope to find a keycard and a room number? Did he even have a moment of doubt?
“You want this,” he said, making me jump. His voice was deep, a bear’s low growl.
“Yes,” I said. “Yes. Take me.”
He chuckled. “Poor little rich girl.”
My stomach tensed as I heard the creak of leather scrunching together. The whip. I resisted the urge to lower my bottom kept it presented for him as he sauntered closer, his footsteps deliberate and soft. I gasped at the sensation as a multitude of tiny tips were drawn up over my pussy, tickling and stimulating the sensitive nerve endings. I wanted to squirm, but I held my ground even as one of the tendrils found its way inside my anus to lick against the wall before being dragged out and away.
I could almost hear my own heartbeat. My breaths came in gasps, my chest rising and falling against the soft bedclothes. I waited. He didn’t make a sound. My mind raced with thoughts. What was he waiting for? Why didn’t he just –
The jolt of pain made me yelp with lust. It was a wonder I didn’t squirt right then as the whip drew burning lines across my bottom. I grinned and licked my lips.
“Again,” I said, but the second time came too quick, forcing me to flinch. I laughed and gasped, listening to his retreating footsteps as he returned to the table. Somehow I knew what would be next. I raised my bottom further, opening up my anus, ready for the plug.
Earlier that same day I had bought it. A little present for myself. Something new, something I’d never dreamed of before. Anal play had never been a feature of my marriage to Dominic. I’d never even considered it. Yet, browsing the dildos and vibrators, my eyes settled on the plug and I couldn’t get the idea out of my head. What would it feel like? Would I enjoy it?
Taking it out of the little drawstring bag back at the hotel, I’d felt incredibly naughty. I masturbated with it first, enjoying the feel of a new shape inside me. Then I tried it inside my anus and the sensation made my jaw drop open. I let it slide in and out, in and out, and I knew that I wanted him to use it. Yes, he would know what to do.
I flinched as he stroked the tip against my bottom, teasing me with it making me wait. I raised my head and turned but could only see him from the corner of my eye. I waited on a knife edge, my jaw quivering with anticipation as he drew a wide circle around my bottom.
“Do it,” I begged, but he ignored me, not even bothering to answer.
He stroked the plug against my pussy, parting the lips but not pushing it inside. He pressed it against my hole, but then withdrew it. I heard the wet, sticky sound of him licking it, making it ready, and then gasped as it pushed its way inside. I expected him to pull it back out, readied myself for it, but he left it there. The sensation was a strange mix of slight discomfort and sensual bliss. The contrast only served to heighten my pleasure as he began to rub my pussy with the palm of his hand.
“You’re very damp,” he said.
“I want you.”
“Not yet.”
He grabbed the backs of my legs as he leaned down to lick my pussy, going slowly upwards towards my bottom. His tongue parted my lips as the plug had done only moments before, stimulating my clitoris and making me want him more. His hands moved to my buttocks as he continued to lick, caressing me through the soft fabric of my stockings.
I felt the bed move as he climbed onto it, his hand never leaving my skin, the plug remaining in place. Then without warning, his finger was entering my vagina and I mewled again with pleasure at the double penetration.
“Don’t stop,” I said.
He laughed, and his finger slid back and forth inside me. He was so cold, so disconnected, that what happened next came as a shock. I felt his lips against my buttock and shivered as he kissed the skin.
“You’re beautiful,” he said.
“I want you.”
I rolled over slowly, the plug moving inside me, changing the experience but no less pleasurable. Finally, I saw him, my trucker. He was dressed in torn jeans and nothing else, his strong torso exposed, his eyes hungry. I smiled at him, and he lay down beside me, pressing against my back. He moved his hand between my legs and massaged me until he slipped his fingers inside. I gasped and laughed, and he grinned, then he leaned forward and kissed me, and I kissed him back, my mouth going wide as he caressed my vagina. He smelled of sweat and grease, pungent in the sweetly fragranced room.
“Your cock,” I whispered, and finally I was in control.
He shifted to obey, unbuttoning his jeans eagerly and slipping them down, still lying beside me, not moving to place himself between my legs. He let his penis fall free and grabbed it, then rubbed the head against my pussy. He continued until it started to turn red with excitement, then slipped it inside me. I felt it moving in and out, and I turned my head to kiss him as he fucked me, the plug still sitting inside, making each thrust that much more.
“Now it’s my turn,” I said and pulled away to force him back onto the bed.
His cock was long and I savoured the view of it standing proud and tall before I bent to suck it. I let it slide in and out of my mouth, gently holding it with my lips until he started to moan. I didn’t stop. I lapped at the underside of his penis and sucked hard against the head until I let it go with a kiss that made him grunt.
I laughed and stroked the head with a fingertip. “I think you deserve to get it wet. You’ve been a very bad boy.”
Swinging my leg up and over him, I shifted around to straddle him, pushing my breasts up close to his face. Then I leaned back and felt his penis enter my vagina, making me gasp with ecstasy as it slid inside, pressing against the back wall where the plug still remained, the sensation almost too much to bear. I shivered and felt the sweat breaking out on my skin, but kept rubbing myself up and down his shaft as I listened to him grunt as he fought the urge to cum.
I shouted without words, just the wild noises of pleasure. I had no more regard for the open window than a forest creature has for the whisper of the wind through the trees. In that moment, sex was everything. Pure pleasure like the stab of pins.
He gulped and leaned in close to my ear. “Why the mask?”
I’d brought it with me when I jumped into the Aston Martin. There was nothing random about my decision to leave, no mindless need to get away. I knew what I was doing and how I planned to spend my time. Though the hotel was new and the trucker a complete stranger, it wasn’t the first time I had run away to find pleasure in the arms of another man.
The mask makes me feel safer, because there is always the vague possibility that I might be recognised. I’m no celebrity, nor am I royalty or the wife of a notorious businessman, but nevertheless you’ll find my face occasionally in the background of a photograph in a newspaper article. There I’ll be, smiling and chatting behind while somebody far more famous is snapped leaving some venue with a new lover.
“Take it off,” I said. “Look at me.”
I clenched my stomach, wondering what he would do if he recognised me. I told myself that I could just deny it. Nobody would ever believe him. But then again what if I admitted it? What would people say? He pulled the ribbon slowly and the mask fell away, but there was no look of recognition on his face. Just a smile and a laugh as I sat astride him.
“What are you thinking?” I asked.
“That the plug has had all the fun.”
He was strong, turning me over in a single movement so that I lay prone. Gently he slid the plug out of my anus, the sensation every bit as stimulating as it had been on the way in. Then he replaced it with his cock. I gasped as it pushed inside, opening me wider than the plug had done, feeling tight and firm. Then I turned my head and kissed him as he slid back and forth, tasting the salt of his sweat and the perfume of my own lipstick.
Finally, he whispered in my ear, “I’m close.”
“Cum on me,” I said.
He leaned back, pulling himself out of me, and I watched as he masturbated. Then I raised my bottom in the air one last time to catch the string of semen as it shot out. He moaned and I laughed, enjoying the sensation of hot, wet fluid over my skin.
***
I left him to sleep in my bed when I headed downstairs to the bar. I sipped a gin and tonic and waited to be found. I didn’t have to wait long. Although the man was new, he was easily recognisable by the way he was dressed. The long coat in summer, the boots. I joined him at the bar and bought him a drink.
“Tell Dominic I’ll be home tomorrow,” I said.
“Your husband said to take your time. Get it out of your system.”
“I’m done,” I said, and he nodded.
He stayed to finish his drink, not saying a word, and then he stood and walked away. When I got back to my room, the trucker was gone.
I left the window open, lay down, and fell into a deep, sound sleep.
The End

Where does pleasure end and pain begin? During the build-up to my session with Steve, that was the question that occupied my mind. The one he’d left me with at the end of our email chat and the beginning of my BDSM story.
We’d begun by discussing limits, preferences, experience and all the practical things that you need to cover off with someone before you step inside a dungeon with a commitment to submit. Steve tends to play in absolute silence—or as close to silence as one can get, at any rate, when you throw in the involuntary noises that people fucking are liable to make and the frequent cracks from whips, paddles and the palm of a dominant’s hand. So we corresponded about the session before it happened: I laid out my hard limits, and Steve took careful note. So far, so much to be expected. But it was the end of our email exchange that really fired up my imagination—I’m sure that was exactly his intention. He is very skilled that way.
Steve’s final email to me began by acknowledging everything I’d said in my last, assuring me that he’d heard what my limits were and wouldn’t push me beyond them. But then he switched tack, and the change of direction took me by pleasant surprise.
“Onto more important matters,” he wrote, “for me the most important matter: pleasure. We’ve talked about your dislikes and your limits and the things you don’t want me to do, and that’s vital. Your consent is paramount, always. But now, let’s look beyond consent and towards desire. Want. Need. In your final email to me, I would like you to lay out a series of desires. Tell me what you want. Tell me what you think about when you’re touching yourself. When we originally arranged this session, what did you hope might happen? Tell me your dirtiest dreams.”
It hit me like a jolt of electricity, zipping straight from the base of my skull down my spine to resonate in a pulsing thud at my clit. My dirtiest dreams. He wanted me to give him guidance on the things that kept me awake at night. The fantasies that had been playing around and around in my head ever since we’d booked a date to use that fabulous dungeon.
Somehow, even just sitting at my laptop in my sweatpants and a loose t-shirt, I felt naked. My nipples hardened against the soft cotton and I crossed then uncrossed my legs.
“Tell me your dirtiest dreams,” Steve had ordered. And I complied very willingly indeed. Two thousand words of compliance, in fact, pouring out the ‘I’d love it if’s and ‘maybe you could’s that had occupied so many of my waking thoughts. “Where does pleasure end and pain begin?” He’d asked in his final paragraph, and so I set my mind to that as well—detailing my yearning ache for that delicious moment when he might pull his hand from my dripping pussy, spasming with ecstasy around those lovely thick fingers, then land a sharp smack on my arse by way of contrast. Pleasure and pain—the latter so much more intense for the wetness on his fingers from my cunt. I barely noticed the time flying by as I laid out ideas—floggings and fingerings and the thought of being restrained while he fucked my mouth—and by the time I was done, not only was it dark outside but there was a growing damp patch on the inside of my knickers.
Where does pleasure end and pain begin? I had re-read my email so many times since I wrote it and squirmed with anticipatory glee as I studied Steve’s reply (a two-word message simply reading ‘good girl’) that by the time we met, I was practically trembling with desire to see where he would take the scene.
As always, I begin by dressing up. By the time I enter the dungeon, you could be forgiven for thinking I am playing the part of the femme fatale in a Bond movie. Stocking-clad legs, dark red lace suspenders, bold dark lipstick and earrings that sparkle under even the dim lights of the play space. Naturally, Steve starts by inspecting me. Walking around me as I stand in front of a piece of heavy wooden equipment, admiring every curve of my body so stunningly presented in that lingerie.
Inspection had been on my original list of requests and he fulfills this desire with aplomb. As he circles around me, tapping the paddle against the palm of his hand, I can feel the blood rushing to the surface of my skin, as if eager for the next part to begin. But Steve isn’t one to be rushed—he takes his time. Building that intensity by stroking me oh-so-gently. Cupping my tits in his palms and running his thumb delicately over my lips as he looks into my eyes. I have so much time while he’s doing this to ponder our discussion from before. Asking myself again that age-old question: where does pleasure end and pain begin?
I breathe faster and deeper as he runs the paddle over my body. Tapping it lightly against the crotch of my knickers (definitely still pleasure, it resonates along with my heartbeat, and I am so so desperate to take these panties off). He still doesn’t smack me, though. I’m almost itching with a need for him to do so, but he wants to take his time. He makes me press my lips against the paddle gently before kissing me himself—deep and intense and powerful. Moving the paddle itself to my tits just to let me know that I might get smacked there if I’m very lucky. I feel so wanton in that moment that I almost groan.
Stashing the paddle in his belt for later, Steve delivers a few light smacks to my bottom. Then a few more to my crotch. He manages to weave these little warning taps so skillfully in between kisses and caresses that I almost don’t notice he is sliding down my knickers and angling me towards the huge wooden stocks that dominate that dungeon. The stocks I am so eager to be locked inside…
Even as he guides me to the right position—kneeling and bent over so my neck rests against the wood and my wrists are clamped tightly either side of it—his movements are dripping with care and kindness. Scooping my hair out of the way with gentle hands. Kissing and touching my lips, my tongue. It’s almost as if I am a delicate doll, being positioned for his amusement but ultimately incredibly valuable. Precious almost.
That sense of being precious carries through to the first whack on my now-naked backside. I know that sounds strange, but this is all part of the pleasure/pain dichotomy: the first smacks that he delivers to my pale skin are unquestionably pleasurable. Just hard enough to register, shaking the flesh of my bottom as he delivers them, but gentle enough that the sensation causes my face to crack into a smile of delight. He kisses the places he’s just hit, but at this level of softness, the smacks themselves are kisses of a kind, anyway. Little brushes of agitation across my flesh.
Now comes even more of what I desire—his thick fingers, wet with spit, massaging the folds of my labia and delving deeper as he works his way towards the centre of my lust. Rubbing gently at the skin that’s exposed now I’m kneeling and vulnerable before burying his face into me and licking more. Sliding his thick, solid big dick from the fly of his trousers and pressing it against me, almost like he’s testing to see if I’ll wriggle towards it and try to persuade him to enter. Vigorous fingers and that tempting cock plus that insistent tongue… it’s enough to almost make me cry out, but I’m a good girl as per the email so I bite my lip and smile and sigh. Steve alternates these delicious treats with the trick of a hard paddle smack, and now I’m beginning to see where the line between pleasure and pain might lie.
In my email about desires, I had asked him to fuck my mouth. So when he moves around to the front of the stocks and that powerful erection bobs into view, I’m sure you can imagine the eager throb of longing that resonates in the pit of my cunt. As he slips the taut head of his prick between my wet lips I begin to tease and suck on it gently, like I’m taking my time. Clearly, far too much time, though, because it doesn’t take long for him to take over—removing yet more control from me as he thrusts it deep into my mouth. Bracing himself by gripping the heavy wooden stocks with both hands, I can hear the chains jangling with the stress of movement as Steve focuses on shoving himself nice and hard into my open throat. His dick is so fat, it stretches my lips wide. Gripping those stocks good and tight, Steve fucks upwards into my wet mouth, and I yawn as wide as I can to accommodate the girth of it.
Pain or pleasure? This one’s pleasure, for sure. Though the wood of the equipment bites into my neck and wrists and the head of his prick hits the back of my throat, the overriding sensation is one of pure pleasure—being used as a hole for his twitching cock, just pure spit and warmth and willingness. Sighing with pleasure, fucking harder into me, he lets out these gorgeous little moans and sighs and gasps. He’s controlled, as always, but I feel a kick of pride as I sense him start to lose a little of that control—not much, just the tiniest bit—as he grabs my hair with one hand, closes his eyes and murmurs, “Yes. Oh yes.”
Perhaps that loss of control is a little too much for him, because the next thing I know, he’s pulling out, letting trails of saliva slide from my lips to the meaty girth of him, breaking and running down my chin as he retreats. Kneeling on the floor, he kisses the hole where his cock has just been, and suddenly I feel precious again. How miraculously swift that switch can be! I am almost giddy with the joy of it. From ‘slutty’ to ‘special’ in mere seconds.
Moving around to the rear of the stocks, where my naked bottom is presented on a glorious show for him, Steve clearly decides that the time has come for a little pleasure of his own. And who am I to deny him? After all, not only did I write ‘restrained and fucked, pretty please’ right there in black and white on my list of desires, but it’s not like I’m going to escape any time soon: my wrists and neck are firmly secured in place, so all that is left for Steve to do is decide from which angle and how hard he will fuck me. He toys with me for a while first, pressing the head of his cock against the ache at the entrance to my cunt, then slightly deeper in my slit until I’m almost melting with a need for him to push it all the way in. When he straddles the spanking bench and slides in, right to the hilt, I can feel it satisfying my pussy more and more with every single inch that slips inside. He gets one knee up on the bench for better purchase, and I moan greedily for as much as he can give. Fucking me with short strokes interspersed with slaps, he rattles those stocks hard enough that I wonder if anybody outside might be able to hear. I love the way his dick feels inside me, and I’m so desperate to be able to fuck back. But I’m chained into immobility, so completely at his mercy, that all I can do is moan and gasp as I accept as much of his big cock as he’s willing to give me, while he smacks and grunts and moans ‘oh yeah’ with a vigour that makes my cunt pulse. Getting more energetic now, ploughing me with even greater force and power, Steve plants both hands on the small of my back to form an arch as he drives downwards, causing my tits to jiggle and the stocks to clank at the sheer force with which he pounds me.
It’s enough to make a girl’s head spin. Even a good girl’s head. And of course we’re still firmly in the land marked ‘pleasure’. I can see the line that represents pain, but it’s still a way away—more whip marks and animal fucking is required before I set even one foot over it. I’m confident that Steve will take me there, though, and as he switches up the position, I can already see that my desire to take as much of his cock as possible will be fulfilled… eventually.
Steve flips me over and puts my wrists in the stocks behind my head. My neck is definitely grateful to be free, though I’m already eager to be trussed up a little more—a need that is fulfilled almost instantly when he locks my ankles tightly into straps which attach to a spreader bar. One or two more deft movements later (he really does know his way around this dungeon), and my legs are hoisted up—splayed open and ready to receive whatever pain or pleasure he decides I deserve.
I do, so I hope it’s both.
Lying on my back, my view impeded by my thighs spread above me, I can’t tell if I’m in for punishment or gratification until the moment when his tongue touches me. The thrill of it zaps through my core just as it did when I first read Steve’s words ‘tell me your dirtiest dreams.’ He begins by tonguing my ass, then slides upwards over my cunt to where that electric sensation resonates in my clit. But I am not subjected to this delight for long, it’s time for a whipping. And gleefully, I relish the sting of the flogger as he swaps out literal licks for licks with those thin leather fronds. Thwack, thwack, thwack, one after the other landed perfectly on the meat of my bottom, making me squirm and sigh. Steve alternates teasing, gentle brushes with more intense, genuinely agonising smacks, and I know now that we’re dancing on that line between good and bad, pleasure and pain, joy and … well. I almost said ‘sorrow,’ but it’s not really, is it? I love the pain—I yearn for it. It’s this which I’ve been hoping we’ll build up to. It just so happens that he’s done it so cleverly I barely notice the point at which we dance over that line and into the darkness.
Alternating between eating me out, whipping me, and finally sliding the thick head of his prick between my eager pussy lips, Steve has me dizzy with need. And he needs now too, I think. I can hear him moaning ‘oh yeah’ as I crane my neck to watch him wet the head of his cock against my dripping cunt.
Oh yeah indeed. I almost gasp ‘please’ but remember my instructions to stay silent if I can—I plead with my eyes instead and he plunges in. Then out again, maddeningly, to tease my clit with the shaft. Then back in again, relieving the ache of desperate want. That is all I can think of right now.
Leaning forward to grab my hair for purchase, Steve gives me the utter brutality I think he knows I’m craving. He fucks me so fervently that my tits hurt when they jiggle, so intense is the power of each thrust. In and out, each stroke punctuated by a rattle from those chains or a thud from the joints in the wood. A gasp from me or from him, I can barely tell which now—my brain is muddled and confused as I lurch closer and closer to the ultimate catharsis.
Steve senses I am almost there, pulling out just before I come so he can bring me to the peak of my climax with his fingers—shoving inside then pulling neatly against my g-spot so that I squeal and clench tightly around him. I feel each wave of my orgasm as if he’s yanking it out of me. One wave after another, being tugged from deep within me by those powerful hands. Over and over again. Shudder after shudder. But there’s no time to rest. Instead, he plunges in again—this time with one hand lightly resting on my throat, reminding me that I am still restrained and his until he’s done with me. Fucking viciously and hard, alternating gripping the spreader bar to yank me down to the base of his cock, and taking swipes at my vulnerable, tender bottom with that lovely leather flogger.
Then, as soon as I think he’s about to come, he changes tack—releasing me from the spreader bar with a gentleness that stands in stark contrast to the aggressive power of his fucking. Softly, he removes the ankle straps and then unlocks my wrists from the stocks. I am back to being that doll again: cherished and adored. Treated with such reverence that I almost forget the wanton slut who was—just two minutes ago—spreadeagled and flogged and fucked while she gasped and moaned with pure need. Now he looks into my eyes as he fucks me. One hand on my throat to remind me that I’m his, but this time it’s mostly his gaze that pins me in place. Until I try to touch myself, that is, when he clearly decides I’ve had too much pleasure for one day and straps my wrists back up and behind me to prevent me from misbehaving further.
Straddling the bench, thrusting in and out of my cunt with determination and power, Steve looks at me like I am a precious treasure, and I stare back at him in turn. I realise by now that I’ve forgotten which parts are meant to be pleasure and which parts are meant to be pain. The cuffs bite my wrists, but I barely notice the thrill of satisfaction in my pussy. My bottom smarts from the whipping earlier, but the pulsing urgency of his thick cock sliding in and out of me cannot fail to distract me from something so inconsequential. Grabbing the stocks, Steve fucks me firmly and steadily, angling himself so that each stroke makes me gasp as it reaches full depth.
When he comes, it’s like he’s shoving the first squirts of spunk right up against the walls of my cunt, and I close my eyes in ecstasy. Pulling out, he allows the final drops to fall on the twitching wet slit of my thoroughly-fucked body before toying with me by sliding in and out a couple more times.
In the aftermath of this all-consuming scene, I run through my list of desires, noting which of those he ticked off and which ones he’s saving for next time. And still, I think, as he releases me reverently from my final bindings, I haven’t been able to pin down the answer to his question. Where exactly does pleasure end and pain begin? Maybe, for me, those two things are one and the same.
The End.

This is for you.
You are watching me. You are watching my every move. My voyeur.
You watch as I run my hand over the leather BDSM harness you helped me strap to my body. You wanted me to wear it. I wanted to please you. I always want to please you.
You have noticed the words on my body. I wrote those. They were not there when you dressed me. I added them while you waited, patiently in this room for me to arrive. Yes, I am ‘Sir’s Toy’. Your toy. You are to do with me as you please.
You know I have always been a natural giver. I have always tended to do what I am told and follow the orders of others. If someone asks me to do something, I do it. If I am asked to get something, I get it. If there is no tea, milk, bread, booze, I buy them.
I’m the same when it comes to sex. I am also a giver rather than the receiver. I guess it just comes naturally to me. I give; someone else receives. They ask for a hand job, I give it to them. They ask me to adopt a position they want, and I adopt it. And that is true for you, I would do anything you ask me to do. You want to take me from behind – you go and take me. You ask me to take your come in my mouth, I take it.
You watch as I run my fingers over the leather straps, held tight against my body. I lick my finger as you sometimes ask me to, and rub my nipple until it hardens. You like it when my nipples become erect. That’s when you sometimes bite them. That’s why I added the word. The hardening process mirrors that of your cock and I can see that yours is beginning to awaken from its soft slumber. It’s stiffening. I saw it when you didn’t think I was looking. You didn’t tell me not to take a peek at you, did you?
You know me better than anyone else. You get me even more than my lover before you. She knew how my body worked like no-one else. She was masterful with a dildo. She could make me come again and again. But she didn’t understand my mind as well as you do. She didn’t dictate the moves as firmly and precisely as you.
You are telling me to rub my clit. Not that you need say anything, Your eyes tell me to. Very slowly I touch it. I can sense that you want me to touch my breasts again and stroke them. And then your unspoken command directs me back to my clit again.
You are making me tease myself, and by teasing myself I am also teasing you. You want me to come and take you, but you also want me to hold off. Well I am certainly going to do that. I wrote ‘Fuck me’, but the irony is that you are not fucking me right now. You are too far away. And the holding off turns you on. Your cock twitches as you watch me, and you shut your eyes absorbing the pleasure that you, me, we are giving each other. I can see a bubble of pre-cum on your glands – proof that this is every bit as good for you as it is for me.
You sensed I needed to be dominated pretty soon after we met. I don’t know how but you kinda read it in me. It was probably after three or four fucks that you suggested that I dressed in leather. We started with tight leather trousers. Then came a quarter cup bra and briefs to match. Then the thigh boots. And now this harness and bondage set. You chose it. I bought it. We both adore it.
You know I like being restrained. I like the way the harness holds me tight and squeezes my breasts. Most of all I like the way it centres on my pussy, whose lips peak out of the leather straps on my groin.
You also shackled my ankles. They are part of this bondage set. There are some matching handcuffs and gag, too. I like it when my movements are limited. I cannot move freely. The more I am constrained the greater the intensity of touch. So my linked legs add further to my pleasure. And to your pleasure, too.
You are now gazing at the paddle. I pick it up. You love to spank my arse with it. We love to use it on my pussy. I tap my inner thigh, just as you sometimes do. And then, oh so gently, I lightly slap my cunt until it starts to tingle.
Your look tells me that I am now ready. I put the paddle aside. It has served its purpose. I am now ready for penetration. But not by you. Not now. Normally you would tell me what to do as we make love. You would tell me to lick the underside of your cock. Or to take me from behind. Or to hold my nipple in your mouth. Or to rub my clit as you lick it. But today you are silent. Today, for once, it up to me. But the silence – your silence – commands.
I can feel you inside me now. Though it is my fingers doing the thrusting, in my mind it is your cock. It is thrusting hard and rhythmically. Your thick cock is rubbing against my tightening cunt. I am working hard on my clit and even though my eyes are closed to your gaze, I can sense you are hardening even more.
I am close. You are close. I take a quick look and see a line of your own lube dangling from the tip of your prick. You are desperate to have me. To enter me, through that slit in the leather straps. To feel the rub of leather either side of my lips and on both sides of your shaft.
I cum as I think of it. The intensity shakes me. I ride it, enjoying it. Almost milking it. It is not big; a small one. Hors d’ourvres. There will be others later. But you have not cum. That’s because I haven’t let you. You sit staring at me, I am sure, even though my eyes are closed. I am still enjoying the after quakes of my cum. And I will enjoy yours, but not for a while.
You are surprised. I can sense it through my closed eyes. This isn’t the usual narrative. The path to our orgasms is usually your journey. You lead, I follow dutifully. Now you are expecting me to satiate you. And while I have always liked to follow, today I have lead the way. I have cum first. And though I am all trussed up ready to be shackled, it is you who are the one who is really restrained. My ankles may be shackled, but it is you whose hands are cuffed: tied behind your back, fixing you to a chair. It is you who has the gag on and it is you who are being controlled by me.
Yes, my dear, I can switch. While I usually play the sub, today I am the dom and I have rather liked it so far. You didn’t expect your restraints to be in place for more than a minute or two, did you? You thought it was just a part of the opening act, not the main performance. You thought that my self-pleasuring was for you. Well in a way, of course, it was. But it was also for me. I was in control and I decided just how much to cum. And it was a good, light cum. But I have saved a lot more for later. So now I need to think about what I am going to do next. Now I need to decide what I am going to get you to do for me. How I am going to command you to satisfy me. That’s because, my love, I am now the master.
Your cock jerks, anticipating me waking up from my post-orgasm rest. And when I open my eyes I will see it. I will see it pulsing with desire. I will see your eyes, intense – almost in agony – needing the release of a fuck. But it is not going to happen for a while. Oh, no. I want to do so much with you first. And I am going to start by observing the tiniest twitch in your body, arms, legs and cock.
I will watch you. I will watch your every move.
Because this is really for me.
Ends