February 5, 2014

Hiatus

Posted in notes at 2:30 pm by littlesubmissions

Hi all,

Going on hiatus until I figure out what I want to do with this blog. Thanks for reading.

-V.

January 24, 2014

Wired Man

Posted in stories tagged , , , at 6:55 am by littlesubmissions

“Are you sure you’re qualified to do this?”

“Shut it.” She ran the end of the rope through the D-ring on the collar on his wrist, pulling it tight then tying it to the ring of the anal hook firmly in his ass. Rope ran across his body in a jigsaw pattern, through D-rings in leather collars and bracelets wrapped around his wrists, ankles, neck, and thighs.

He moved one arm experimentally, and grimaced as the anal hook jumped and the rope jerked down on the collar on his neck and up on the bracelet on his opposite foot. He tried to follow the network of cord laid out over his body, the disappearing and reappearing lines that made his limbs jerk and interact unpredictably. “When did you find the time to work all this out, anyway?”

“Work it out?” She snorted. “I didn’t work anything out. I just started tying stuff.” She ran another line from one arm through a foot to the other arm, and tested the tension before making a knot in it. She stood back, walked around him slowly looking him up and down, then nodded. “I think that’ll do. I like your flailing, it reminds me of a puppy on ice, and I think this’ll really help you with that.” She stood on tiptoes and kissed him on the lips. “Because I’m a helper.”

He grinned and raised an eyebrow. “So you want me to, what? Try to walk now?”

“No, no, no, no.” She shook her head. “I want you to hold very still while I help you lay down on the floor. She grabbed his shoulders from behind and lowered him to the floor. His limbs jerked and twitched as he tried to balance, and forced himself not to start jerking to try and recover. His ass hit the floor, the anal hook a cold bar between his cheeks running up to the small of his back, then his shoulders.

He looked up at her standing over him as she shucked her shirt off and stuck out her tongue. “What now?” Images of canes on the soles of his feet, icy-hot on his balls, cringing and jerking his useless limbs from side to side filled his imagination.

She grinned down at him, and pulled a feather from her back pocket. “Now I find out where you’re most ticklish.”

Preview: “Don’t you dare fucking stop!”

Copyright Jerry Jones. Unauthorized use is prohibited.

Want to support the author (who is me)? Buy a compilation of some of my favorite stories on this blog for your e-reader at Smashwords or Amazon.

January 22, 2014

The Humor in the Situation

Posted in stories tagged , , , , , , at 11:13 am by littlesubmissions

She stomped around him in a half-circle, turning back and forth, examining him from every angle. His arms were tense, locked and holding him out from the wall. His legs spread wide, the thighs pulled tight as the muscles stretched to keep him in the unnatural position. His head was down as he watched her boots move from one side to the other.

She dragged the end of the flogger up his thigh, and held it just under his cock. He raised up on his toes, then sighed and lowered himself reluctantly, bracing himself against the wall. She pushed his cock from side to side with the leather end, and licked her lips. Her voice was a low, sultry whisper. “Tonight, your safeword is… I want to watch Antiques Roadshow with you.”

He groaned, and turned his head to look at her with a frown. “What if Antiques Roadshow isn’t on, oh Mistress of Mistresses?”

She put her free hand on her chest and thrust it towards him. Another deep throated whisper, Jessica Rabbit after a quart of whiskey and carton of cigarettes. “Oh my, then I guess you’re off the hook. My poor feminine brain couldn’t have possibly DVR-ed six hours worth last week.” She threw in an exaggerated flounce that ended in a pout and mauled her breasts with one hand while she tapped her temple with the crop. “Machines are hard, and I’m just a girl.”

He shook his head. “We’ve talked about the DVR co-topping before, it’s not cool.” Then finally nodded. “But I guess for tonight, although I’m not sure I can imagine a torture worse than that show.”

She laughed and shook her hands to limber them up. “Challenge accepted.” She stepped to one side and lined the crop up with his ass cheeks, then pulled it back. “Knock knock?”

He paused for a second, then slowly, softly asked, “Who’s there?”

“Please beat my ass with the crop.”

He closed his eyes so she couldn’t see them roll upward, and shifted his hips slightly. “Please beat my ass with the crop who?”

The leather slapped into his ass with a whack, leaving a small square of red skin behind that quickly faded. “Please beat my ass with the crop ma’am.”

Silence. She waited, while he breathed and waited for another stroke. Finally, she tapped the end of the crop against her leg. “You didn’t laugh. Wasn’t it funny? Maybe I told it wrong.”

He gave a weak, “Heh heh, very funny ma’am. I was laughing on the inside before.”

“And now you’re humoring me. Wait a minute, I did tell it wrong.” She walked over to the drawer and came back with the heavy wooden paddle. “Knock knock?”

He grimaced and took a deep breath. “Who’s there?”

“Please beat my ass with the heavy wooden paddle.”

A heartbeat before he replied as he closed his eyes and exhaled. “Please beat my ass with the heavy wooden paddle who?”

“Please beat my ass with the heavy wooden paddle ma’am.” It crashed into him, hard, on the last word and he jerked his hips, clenching his jaw and trying to figure out how to ask for warmup.

“You’re still not laughing. Guess I’m still not telling it right.”

He made laughing noises that he hoped sounded sincere as she walked back across the room, and came back with the single-tail.

She carefully judged the distance, and let the whip uncoil. “Knock knock.”

He took a few deep breaths, and fixed his gaze forward. “Who’s there?”

“Please single tail me.”

“Please single tail me who?”

“Please.” A crack and a splat punctuated each word, the leather end uncoiling towards him and hitting him across the shoulder blades. “Single.” Crack-splat. “Tail.” Crack-splat. “Me.” Crack-splat. “Ma’am.” She kept going this time, throwing the whip at him, leaving little scarlet traces of pain on his body.

He tried to breathe in time with her strokes, in as she aimed and threw, out as the pain seared across his flesh. He wondered how long it would go on, and considered his safeword then rejected it. His eyes rolled up into his head and he tried to think of something funny.

The pain built as his mind replayed scenes from The Three Stooges and The Marx Brothers, trying to build up a genuine laugh. Each one disappeared in a flash as the whip hit his body, flickering to another that also disappeared. He kept trying to laugh, and failing, as pain and her presence disrupted his thoughts.

Finally, his thoughts tripped over themselves and into a drive across town with her. A woman on the right running from her apartment building, arms pumping and legs flailing for no apparent reason. Her breasts heaving, looking for all the world like she was desperately chasing them down the sidewalk with the intensity of an Olympic sprinter. Something so totally unexpected that it had jolted both of them into sudden, hysterical, paralyzing laughter.

A snort escaped his lips, and he slumped a little as he started helplessly laughing. She paused, her eyes narrowed, then grinned and nodded. He couldn’t stop laughing, and she eventually chuckled along with him then put the whip down and walked over to hug him from behind. “Come on jerkface, I guess I can watch Roadshow tomorrow while you’re out.”

Preview: “Are you sure you’re qualified to do this?”

Copyright Jerry Jones. Unauthorized use is prohibited.

Want to support the author (who is me)? Buy a compilation of some of my favorite stories on this blog for your e-reader at Smashwords or Amazon.

January 20, 2014

Conversations at the Munch

Posted in stories tagged , at 11:09 am by littlesubmissions

He frowned and watched her walk away. He checked his watch, three women in five minutes, probably a record. He thought about going home, looked at the heavy rain still falling outside, and walked over to a group of people talking instead. He stood there for another five minutes, laughing at jokes he didn’t understand, opening his mouth then closing it, then stomped towards the door.

He was sitting his half-full glass down on an empty table near the door when it burst open and she ran in, holding her purse over her head and skidding to a blind halt in front of him. “Ack,” she ran a hand through her hair, and her wet purse thumped into his chest. “Hold this for a second.” He reflexively let go of his glass and clutched the purse while she dug tissues out of it and dried her glasses. “Fucking bullshit rain weather, parking here always sucks.” She put them back on, and blinked at him then grinned. “Sorry, thought you were someone else.”

She gently lifted the purse out of his hands, and slung it back over her shoulder. “First time here?”

He looked from the door back to her, and shrugged. “Not really, I’ve been here a few times. Was just on my way out…” He stopped and swallowed hard. “Unless you’d like to sit down?”

She flicked water off her fingertips, and nodded. “Sounds good, I owe you something for assaulting you with a soggy purse.” She pulled out a chair and flopped down, then looked at him again as he stiffly sat down by his glass. “Yeah, I’ve seen you here a few times, now that I think about it. You usually leave early, I think.”

He grimaced and nodded. “Yeah. Women don’t seem interested in meeting new submissives at these things very much.”

“Oh.” She nodded and pursed her lips as she signaled to a waitress. “You’re one of those guys.”

“One of those guys? What the hell does that mean?”

She ordered a cocktail and nodded again. “Definitely. You’re one of those guys who think this is a singles bar, and if you just stay around long enough you can leave with a drunk woman for a one night stand, and she’ll tie you up and suck your dick and call you a bitch and wear a lot of latex while she commands you to eat her cunt.” She looked at him through her glasses. “Am I right?”

He took a drink to avoid answering, then held his hands up. “Well, that’s what I want out of a relationship, I’m sorry if I haven’t met the right person yet, but I’m not going to give up and settle.”

She shrugged, and looked over to the bar where the waitress was waiting for her drink. “It’s no skin off my ass, but you’re probably not going to find that here. You should go to a pro-domme, or find a vanilla woman willing to do that for you every once in awhile.”

He took another drink, setting his glass down with a harsh clunk. “I don’t believe that, everyone says if I just be myself and wait–”

“Terrible advice.” She cut him off with a wave of her hand and shook her head, then fished a credit card out of her purse. “Start a tab?” She swapped the waitress the card for her drink, and took a careful sip. “People who want to know how to meet people go to people who have success meeting people. Those people, who are successful, tell the unsuccessful people to be themselves, because those people are neck deep in pussy or cock, sometimes both, just by being themselves.” She took another sip, and raised an eyebrow at his frown. “The problem is, no one adds the all important caveat that being yourself only works if you’re the sort of person that people want to meet anyway.” She sighed, sat down her drink, and leaned forward. “If you’ve been being yourself (and really, who else are you going to be) for a long time, and you haven’t met anyone, maybe it’s time you considered changing who you are, or at least how you act.” She shrugged and leaned back.

He swirled the ice in his glass, and slowly unclenched his jaw. “I don’t think I should have to change.”

She shrugged again, and smiled. “So don’t. But being a partner, not just a top or bottom, usually means changing for someone. The only common denominator in all your failed relationships is you.”

“So just who the hell should I be then?” He over-enunciated the words, throwing them at her. “If I change who I am, would you go out with me?”

“Probably not.” She sighed and gathered her things. “You’re not very bright, but my oh my you are pretty.” She gave him an apologetic grin and a shrug. “Drama was fun in my early-twenties, now I just don’t have the patience for it.” She took another drink, giving him a careful look. “And you are a recipe for drama if I ever saw one.” She walked around the far side of the table and towards some friends.

He stood up and started towards the door with his fists clenched, then turned around. “Hey.”

She stopped, held back a sigh, and turned around.

“Thanks. I’ll think about it. What you said.”

She made a grave salute with her glass, and nodded. “Offer to buy her a drink, if you really want to meet a femdom. Don’t be pushy, always be polite, and desperation is never sexy when you first meet someone. And expect it to take awhile.”

He nodded back, turned around and left.

Preview: He kept trying to laugh, and failing, as pain and her presence disrupted his thoughts.

Copyright Jerry Jones. Unauthorized use is prohibited.

Want to support the author (who is me)? Buy a compilation of some of my favorite stories on this blog for your e-reader at Smashwords or Amazon.

January 17, 2014

Control

Posted in stories tagged , , , , , , at 6:40 am by littlesubmissions

“Go jerk off.”

His hand stopped, a french fry halfway to his mouth. “Huh?”

“Go jerk off. Stop eating, go jerk off, have an orgasm, and then come back.”

He looked at her face carefully, searching for a tell-tale upturned corner of her mouth that would tell him she wasn’t serious. “I thought we were doing the thing?” He rubbed his hands on the legs of his pants and licked his lips.

She took a drink and nodded, then put one finger on the straw and pushed down slightly. It bent a little, ice cubes moving around it. “We are. Go jerk off, and we’ll talk about it.”

“In the restroom?”

She shrugged. “Unless you want to spend the night in jail, I’d recommend the restroom, yes.”

His eyes stayed on her as he stood up and shuffled towards the restroom, waiting for her to laugh and call him back. She was stealing one of his french fries when he turned the corner and she disappeared from view.

He walked down the length of the bathroom, choosing the last stall that wasn’t handicapped. The door swung shut behind him, and he jiggled the flimsy chrome lock until it slid into the frame. His hands were sweating as he unzipped his pants and pulled his cock out. He started slowly jerking himself off, thinking about that morning.

“How would you feel about doing orgasm control again?” He tried to sound casual while he spun the garbage around and cinched a twist-tie down around the top.

“Hm, might be fun.” She flipped the new bag up and down until it billowed open, then stuffed it into the can and set the lid down. “Buy me dinner tonight and it’s a deal.”

A quick hug and a kiss and they left the house, the bass from her car thumping as he dropped the garbage in the dumpster and walked to his own car.

Thoughts flickered through his head the rest of the day. Of not being allowed to orgasm, of fucking her until he couldn’t stand it then begging to eat her cunt instead, of her writhing and shouting mixing with his moans of frustration. Of the firm pressure of a cage around his cock as it tried to get hard.

The back of his legs tightened and he felt his back begin to arch. He pulled a handful of toilet paper off the roll as his cock started to jerk, and held it in front of him as semen spilled out. He waited until he was done, then dropped it in the toilet and waved his hand in front of the sensor. The toilet flushed with an anemic roar, and he zipped his pants up. He paused at the door, turned back, washed his hands, and dried them on his pants as he walked back to the table.

The black vinyl folder with the check was waiting on the table, and she was standing by the exit, flicking a finger across her phone. He opened the check, figured out the tip, and dug through his pockets. A few bills and he dropped the folder back on the table, sighing at the spot where his plate had been. He walked over to the door and leaned against the wall next to her. “Ready Freddy?”

She smiled and nodded. “Yep, let’s go.”

They pulled out into traffic, and she hummed along to the music as he looked from her, to the traffic, and back. She was going to force him to bring it up, and he knew that after the first few minutes. He would open his mouth, then close it, until finally they hit a long stop light on red. “Well, that wasn’t what I was expecting.”

She rolled her shoulders to the music and mimicked his slow, careful words. “Well, I am the M. Night Shyamalan of kink.”

“I just thought we were doing orgasm control?” It was only half a question.

She grinned at him and nodded. “We are, but control isn’t denial. You’re going to come when I say, and how I say. What you do on your time is your business, but you better come when I tell you to.” She leaned over and punched his upper leg, hard. “And if you can’t, because you’ve been jerking off, things will be very unpleasant until you do have an orgasm.” She raised an eyebrow, daring him to challenge her.

He nodded and frowned, looking for traps and loopholes. “May I please wear the chastity cage to help me keep from jerking off ma’am?”

Traffic crossed in front of them and she looked up at the clouds through the windshield. “Hmmmm…” The song ended and another began. “No, then I’d have to unlock you or find a key when I wanted you to have an orgasm, and that would inconvenience me. I prefer to just be able to tell you.” She looked back at him, poker faced. “Is that all right?”

She moved her hand towards the console to skip the song and he flinched. She laughed and pushed next, then put her hand back on the wheel.

“Yes ma’am, thank you ma’am.”

“Oh…” She melted a little, and reached over to pat his cheek.
“Maybe after you’ve proved you can control yourself for awhile, I’ll lock your cock up. But only very good boys get that privilege. So if you’re very good, and come when I say promptly and without complaint, maybe I’ll reward with you a nice cage. Does that sound fair?”

“Yes ma’am, thank you ma’am.” The words were the same, but they could both feel the change in tone, the barter of dominance and submission working.

Someone behind them honked. The light had finally turned green and she slowly pulled back into traffic, keeping him in her peripheral vision. “Poor boy, he’s going to have to learn self-control. How many times can you come before your dick can’t get hard anymore?”

He shuddered and thought carefully. “Four or five times, depending ma’am.”

“Good. And you’ve had one today. So when we get home you’re going to jerk off, hm, I’m feeling generous, three times, and then you’re going to come fuck me. Understood?”

He nodded groggily, and spoke a few seconds later. “Yes ma’am.”

She punched his leg again, and her voice flattened out. “Do you? I want your cock to be sore and tired when you fuck me, I want you to have to make sure fucking me is the only thing on your mind to keep it hard, and when you come, I want to know it’s the last possible orgasms you could have. I want to feel like your life is falling out of your cock into my cunt. Do. You. Understand?”

He rubbed his palms on the legs of his pants and nodded again. “Yes ma’am, I understand.”

She reached over and jerked on his hair. “Good. I think I’m going to like controlling your orgasms.”

“Me too ma’am.”

He grinned at her, and she grinned back, then sped up to make it through a light on the yellow. They couldn’t wait to get home.

Preview: “You’re not very bright, but my oh my you are pretty.”

Copyright Jerry Jones. Unauthorized use is prohibited.

Want to support the author (who is me)? Buy a compilation of some of my favorite stories on this blog for your e-reader at Smashwords or Amazon.

January 15, 2014

The List 26: Epilogue

Posted in stories tagged , , at 5:50 am by littlesubmissions

Click here to start with Part 1

Previously: “Come on, get up.” She helped him to his feet, and reached around to shut the trunk of the car behind him. She carefully led him into the house, grabbing her purse and shutting the garage door as they walked by. She walked him into the bathroom, and raised an eyebrow, looking at him one last time before raising the pillow case and pulling it off his head. He blinked at the sudden light as she pursed her lips and shrugged. “That’s it, end of the list. What now?”

His eyes slipped closed and he leaned against her, exhaling heavily. “I think I’d like to take a shower.”

She carefully kissed his temple, and nodded. “Sounds reasonable.” She fished her keys out of her purse and walked around him to undo his handcuffs. One bracelet popped open, then the other, and he brought his arms around to rub his wrists. She gave his nudity an appreciative leer, taking in the bruises and abrasions, the words written on his chest, the dried saliva and stains on his body, and raised an eyebrow. “You want some company?”

He grinned back and nodded. “Sure.”

They trudged towards the shower, and she shed her clothes while he adjusted the water. Steam started to fill the room as she followed him into the shower, and they stood under the water for a few minutes, letting the warmth fill their bodies.

His shoulders slumped, and she idly ran a wash cloth over his arms, then his back. “You going to give bad advice over the internet anymore?”

He winced as she scrubbed at a bruised shoulder, and shrugged. “Not for a couple of days, at least.”

She snorted a brief laugh and kept scrubbing, then handed him the washcloth and turned around. “I’m pretty proud of you for not safe-wording. That got intense in a couple of spots.”

He started rubbing her back, then frowned and paused. “I could have safe worded? Fuck. I never thought of that.”

She started to ask if he was joking, then just smiled and closed her eyes. She leaned back against his hands and purred, deciding it didn’t really matter. He’d say or do something again, and she’d have another reason.

Not that she really needed it.

Author’s note: So that’s pretty much it. What do people prefer, longer stories with continuity, short stories, something else? Any thoughts or comments welcome.

Preview: “Well, that wasn’t what I was expecting.”

Copyright Jerry Jones. Unauthorized use is prohibited.

Want to support the author (who is me)? Buy a compilation of some of my favorite stories on this blog for your e-reader at Smashwords or Amazon.

January 13, 2014

The List 25: Its Hair is for Being Pulled

Posted in stories tagged , , , , , , , at 6:41 am by littlesubmissions

Click here to start with Part 1

Previously: The trunk lid slammed close, and she walked around the car to the front. Her purse hit the passenger’s seat with a thump, and she hit the garage door opener as she started the car. They pulled out of the garage, down the drive, and onto the street. She hit play on the CD player and started driving, thinking about what she was going to do next.

She drove around in circles with him in the trunk, flipping the CD player from song to song with short, impatient jabs. Scenarios ran through her mind, vignettes of torture and degradation that she considered and rejected. Finally her eyes narrowed, and she made a U-turn and headed back to their house. She opened the garage door from the street so he wouldn’t hear the noise and drove by, going around the block and pulling slowly into the garage.

The pillow case on his head trapped his breath, turning the skin on his face hot and clammy while his body shivered in the trunk. His cock and balls still burned with the steady chemical heat, and he flexed his shoulders to work out the tension from having his hands chained behind his back. He tried to imagine what might happen next, his cock twitching in spite of the pain still radiating through his body as he imagined being forced to suffer and do horrible things until her hunger was sated on his torture. Of humiliation and degradation that would end when she was done with him, and not before. His head thumped against the back seat as the car came to a stop, and he wiped the sweat off his palms.

She grabbed her purse and slid out of the car, then walked around to the trunk. She pulled the strapon from her purse and balanced on one foot as she fed a leg through the harness, then jerked the straps, cinching them down tight and buckling them in place over her clothes. She found a place on a clean shelf to put her purse, and got out the small pair of scissors she carried. She walked over to the trunk, slid the key in, took a deep breath, and gave it a twist.

He jumped at the sound of the mechanical clunk and shivered as cool air flooded the trunk. “Stay still, I’d hate to cut anything off accidentally.” Her voice came to him through the cloth and he froze in the act of turning his face towards the back of the car. Her hand slid down his face, molding the cloth to his features, going down over his nose and stopping at his lips. The cloth moved away from his face, and then flattened and tore. Metal jaws appeared through the cloth and with small chewing motions tore through until there was a hole in the pillowcase. The scissors disappeared and then he felt the hand back on the top of his head, pulling the pillow case away and cutting another hole in the top.

“Get out.” She tossed the scissors in the trunk and guided his awkward movements over the lip of the trunk and onto the concrete floor. She purred in pleasure as he automatically sank to his knees, both of them gasping as they hit the cold concrete. “Oh, fuck it.” She reached through the hole on the top of the pillow case and grabbed a handful of hair, turning her wrist and wrenching the filaments tight, pulling his scalp away from his skull. “I was going to do a mindfuck, but…” She moaned, trying to remember the elaborate plan. “Tell you the person you gave such bad advice to was here for an apology blowjob, but you know what? I don’t want to share you, I just want to fuck your face.”

She fed the dildo through the hole in the pillow case, pushing it past the slight resistance as the latex tip slid off his cheek and into his mouth. Her hand jerked his hair towards her and his head followed, the dildo filling his mouth, then her hand shoving his head back, dragging it across his lips. Drool ran down his chin as she sawed his head back and forth on the cock, fucking his face, sliding it in until he started to gurgle then jerking it back out.

His muscles slumped every time she pulled on his hair, signs of resistance evaporating under her control. “I could do just about anything to you, as long as I pulled your hair, couldn’t I?” A long gurgle came out of the pillow case, and she nodded back. “Oh yes, you turn into a complete slut when someone pulls on your hair.” She flicked her hand back and forth, jerking his hair one way then the other, to confirm it, and then sighed and tried to keep her hips perfectly still as she worked his mouth up and down her cock. “I could drag you down this street on your knees with my cock in your mouth, and as long as I pulled your hair, you’d be the happiest little slut in town.”

Happy sighs murmured past her lips as she raped his face, making him gag on her cock and dragging spit out of his mouth. She closed her eyes and suddenly stopped, holding his head in place with the cock halfway in his mouth, prying his lips open, disappearing into the white cloth that left him a little less than human. A perfect moment of contentment washed over her, and the tension ran out of her muscles. She stood there silently enjoying it until it washed away, then reluctantly pulled the cock all the way out of his mouth.

“Come on, get up.” She helped him to his feet, and reached around to shut the trunk of the car behind him. She carefully led him into the house, grabbing her purse and shutting the garage door as they walked by. She walked him into the bathroom, and raised an eyebrow, looking at him one last time before raising the pillow case and pulling it off his head. He blinked at the sudden light as she pursed her lips and shrugged. “That’s it, end of the list. What now?”

Preview: The grand finale! Or more of an epilogue really. Maybe some sort of closure? Were they dead the entire time? What a twist that would be!

Copyright Jerry Jones. Unauthorized use is prohibited.

Want to support the author (who is me)? Buy a compilation of some of my favorite stories on this blog for your e-reader at Smashwords or Amazon.

January 6, 2014

The List 24: Its Head is for Being Stuffed in a Bag

Posted in stories tagged , , , , , , at 10:27 pm by littlesubmissions

Click here to start with Part 1

Previously: He moaned and leaned closer to her, and she bit down on his ear playfully. “I can’t believe I let something as disgusting as you near my cunt. As a matter of fact, I think it’s time your head went into the bag.”

He was lying on the floor on his side, breathing hard. His knees slightly pulled up towards his chest, his arms wrapped tight around his chest.

One black boot pushed him over on his back, and she grinned down at him. “Time for your head to go in the bag boy.” She kicked his legs down straight and squatted down beside him. “I’d hate to make it too easy for you though.” A short length of rope wrapped around his ankles, pulling them together and cinching down tight against his skin. “Now, for your motivation. This should get you moving.”

He groaned as her hand started massaging cream into his balls and along his cock. His eyes clamped shut and he shuddered as he felt the muscle cream start to heat up on his cock and balls.

“Come on, head in the bag.”

He opened his eyes and looked around until he saw her, dangling the empty pillowcase between her hands, the opening towards him. He forced himself to roll over onto his stomach, and shoved himself up onto his hands and knees. His body sank and drool ran from his mouth to the carpet as the heat started to pour into his genitals, and he forced himself to inch towards her.

She stepped back as he moved forward, teasing him with the empty bag. “Get your head in the bag and I’ll try to wash some of that off.” She took another step back as he inched forward. “Of course, it sinks into your skin, so the longer you take the less good that will do.” He shoved himself forward with a groan, and she stepped back with a grin.

He dragged himself through the house, his whole body feeling like a massive bruise. Pain and contusions raced from one muscle to another, trying to get his attention. Little bursts of endorphins floated through his consciousness as his tears started to run down his cheeks from the pain of dragging himself across the floor and the burning in his groin.

She led him through the house, breathing a little harder as he dragged himself across the floor, memorizing the flickers of pain that rushed across his face for later. The clenched teeth as he he pushed forward with his knees, the twitch at the corner of his eye as he walked his hands forward one at a time. The way his arms moved and the muscles warping the skin of his biceps.

His head slumped as he stopped moving. He pushed his thighs together against his cock and balls, trying to do anything to stop the burning. Sounds gurgled in his throat as the heat remained, the sudden pressure doing nothing to stop it. He forced himself not to just fall down, spit on his hands, and frantically rub them on his cock. He knew from past experience that it wouldn’t do any good.

She smiled and let him rest for a minute, then made him clicking sounds with her tongue until he looked up at her through tear stained eyes. She jiggled the pillow case in front of him, then took another step backwards.

He made a sniffing sound, trying to stop the snot running out his nose, and forced himself to put one hand forward, then the other, then pull his knees across the floor towards her. He tried to ignore the pain and focus on the three simple, repetitive motions, and not think of anything else.

She led him through the house, forcing him to drag his body along the floor behind her. They wound through the bedroom, out into the living room, across the pantry and into the garage. She could hear him whimper a little as he crossed the metal door threshold and his palms hit the cold concrete. He dragged himself to the back of the car, and she popped the trunk lid on the car.

“Get in, and I’ll put your head in the bag.”

He pushed himself to his knees, and held onto the bumper as he pulled himself to his feet. He hopped around in an awkward circle and sat back, swinging his legs into the trunk and curling up in the enclosed space.

“Good for you.” She moved his hands behind his back, and cuffed one wrist then the other, chaining his hands behind his body. “You’ve managed to convince me to abduct you.” The pillow case finally went over his head, and he sighed in the enclosing darkness. He could feel the tape securing the bottom of the pillow case to his neck, pulling it down tight and sealing him in the darkness.

The trunk lid slammed close, and she walked around the car to the front. Her purse hit the passenger’s seat with a thump, and she hit the garage door opener as she started the car. They pulled out of the garage, down the drive, and onto the street. She hit play on the CD player and started driving, thinking about what she was going to do next.

Preview: Hair is for being pulled. Pulllllllllllllllled.

Copyright Jerry Jones. Unauthorized use is prohibited.

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December 30, 2013

The List 23: It Eyes are for Being Blindfolded

Posted in stories tagged , , , , , at 6:56 am by littlesubmissions

Click here to start with Part 1

Previously: Finally, somewhere, the sensation started to fade. It couldn’t last, never did, but it would be there again. She dropped the paddle on the floor, and moved in front of him. She lifted up the bucket again, but this time worked the clamp loose and pulled it out of his nose. “Ugh.” Her face crinkled and she tilted her head back. “Go wash your face, blow your nose, and hurry back. I need to do something about those pretty eyes.”

He stumbled back into the bedroom with beads of water on his hairline and chin. She whistled and motioned him over. He walked over to where she stood and dropped to his knees, scooting the last couple of feet.

She wrapped the elastic band of the sleep mask around his head and centered the black pads over his eyes, wrapped a scarf over the mask, and followed with duct tape that clamped against itself and pulled the cloth down tighter.

“We’re going to play a game now, it’s called Mouth or Ass. I’m going to hold up an object, and you tell me if you want it used on your mouth, or your ass.”

He leaned towards her, and thought the words over carefully. “Am I allowed to change my mind, ma’am?”

Her laugh floated across the room. “Sure, but I think the more important question is if you are allowed to try to change my mind.”

“Am I? Allowed to try to change your mind, ma’am?” He turned his head slightly, trying to find her in the darkness.

She bit her lip, and looked at him. Scenarios bounced back and forth in her mind. Did she want to control him, or let him make the choices? Which was more appealing, to own his body and inflict it, or let him make his own decisions and suffer the consequences? Finally, she shrugged and cleared her throat. “If you ask very, very nicely, I suppose I might change my mind. I might even be persuaded to give you hints, if you ask very nicely.” The middle ground seemed best, she could always make the choice on the fly and pretend it was what she had intended all along.

She plowed on before she could start to second guess herself. “First up. Mouth or ass?”

He shrugged, paused, and then sank to his knees. “May I please have a hint ma’am?”

“Ooh, on your knees? I like you like that, but I can’t get to your mouth easily. Try another position and ask again.”

He stood back up carefully, then leaned forward and put his hands on his knees. “May I please have a hint ma’am?”

“How do you like the taste of hair?”

He grinned, imagining running his tongue along her slit, the short hair teasing his chin and rubbing against his lips. “Mouth please, ma’am.” His head jerked as the hard bristles of the hair brush slid into his mouth.

Her mouth clamped down on his hair, jerking his head back into place and shoving her hairbrush into his mouth. She explored his gullet and violated his mouth, scraping the hard bristles along his tongue and cheek, letting them push against his teeth. She slid it back into his mouth slowly, letting stray hairs and debris fall off the bristles into his mouth, and waited until it just barely… triggered his gag reflex. His throat convulsed and she let the hairbrush fall out of his mouth, grinning down at him. “Were you expecting something else?”

His tongue worked its way in and out of his mouth, with his face making a sour frame around it. “Yes ma’am, may it please try to change your mind?”

“Ooh, I suppose.” She clenched her jaw, watching his expression and holding the laugh deep inside her. Her hand let go of his hair, and she stepped back, then poked his chin with the hairbrush. He jumped and the laugh escaped, and she took another step back. “Well?”

He sank back to his knees, then his hands, then slowly turned in what he hoped was a circle so his face was away from her. “Please ma’am, use the hairbrush on its ass. It deserves to be disciplined and beaten.”

She ran the flat part of the brush along his ass-cheeks, and hummed to herself. “It’s a start, but I’m not quite convinced. Why do you deserve to be disciplined and beaten?”

He felt his thoughts getting fuzzy, the humiliating words rushing to get out of his mouth, fighting his instincts not to say them. “I watch disgusting internet pornography — Ah!” The hairbrush crashed into his already tenderized ass, and he lurched forward.

The hard plastic left a bright red imprint, and her words got cold and flat. “Well, keep convincing me. Or I’ll shove this down your throat until you puke.”

“Ugh, I’m a horrible person.” Splat, pain seared across his body again. “I play with my disgusting cock in the shower.” And again. “I actually get pleasure from jerking off that revolting piece of flesh.” And again.

Each sentence, each confession, ended in searing pain. He debased and humiliated himself, cataloging failures and perceived failures, and she administered pain for each one. The beating went on until he was sobbing, gasping the words out between choking sounds. He confessed to being a whore, of fantasizing about women forcing themselves on him, of jerking himself off while thinking of being chained to a urinal where they pissed on him and he licked his food off a filthy bathroom floor, of cleaning the floor with his tongue, licking up mud and piss and the sexual fluids of strangers. Of begging to be spit and pissed on just to wash the taste out of his mouth. Of the chain being unlocked one day, and just crawling to a corner and starting to lick the floor again.

She kept hitting him with the hairbrush, helping him turn the shame and humiliation into a physical pain he could survive, that would fade. His ass turned pink, then red, then black and blue as blood vessels popped and tissue bruised. She listened to him sink lower and lower for her, wondering how far he would go, loving the sounds of his sobs and words, ready to pull him back up if he needed it.

Eventually he couldn’t speak, and she kept beating him to the rhythm they had established. Finally, when he couldn’t even gasp or cry anymore, she stopped and gently ran her hand down his spine up to his head. She jerked his head up by his hair, and leaned down to whisper in his ear. “My god a disgusting animal.”

He moaned and leaned closer to her, and she bit down on his ear playfully. “I can’t believe I let something as disgusting as you near my cunt. As a matter of fact, I think it’s time your head went into the bag.”

Preview: Heads are for being stuffed in a bag. Wasn’t that a Joe Pesci movie?

Copyright Jerry Jones. Unauthorized use is prohibited.

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December 25, 2013

The List 22: Its Nose is for Being Clamped

Posted in stories tagged , , , , , , at 4:28 am by littlesubmissions

Click here to start with Part 1

Previously: She licked her lips, and wiggled in the hard plastic chair. “The break is over, and your nose gets clamped, my friend. My advice: Drive slow and enjoy these errands.”

He wriggled his nose as the clamp bit into his septum, and the bucket swayed underneath him. Finally, with a shuddering breath he let it sink to the floor, clamped his eyes shut and gritted his teeth.

Coins fell from her hand and clattered into the bucket, bouncing off the change already there. She walked around him, planted her feet, and smacked him hard on the ass with the wooden paddle. Her lips were compressed into a hard, tight line, and her eyes were flat and emotionless. The paddle cracked against his ass over and over until he sobbed and forced his spine upright, picking the bucket off the floor by the thin rope that ran from the bucket handle to the clover clamp on his nose.

She stopped beating him when he was finally standing upright, and walked back to the desk, getting another handful of change out of the jar and watching him out of the corner of her eye.

His shoulders slumped, then straightened as she turned and walked back in front of him. The coins rasped between her fingers as she dangled them over the bucket. The pressure built, the clamp biting into the soft inner tissue of his nose, tickling him, begging him to bend over and let the bucket rest on the floor for, relieve the pressure for just a minute.

The bucket sank closer to the floor and she rolled the coins across the palm of her hand. When the tension on the chain finally eased, she dropped the coins in the bucket and started beating his ass again.

The paddle thudded into his body with the wet, smacking sound of wood hitting muscle, and his shoulders tensed. He took several deep breaths, shifting his weight from leg to leg to try to minimize the pain, then when he couldn’t bear it anymore forced himself upright, dragging the now heavier bucket up into the air. She kept hitting him until his back was straight, driving him up the last few inches, stopping mid-swing as his posture finally straightened out.

She walked back to the desk, got some more change, waited, and smiled at the tears forming in his eyes. One finger trailed along his cheek, collecting the moisture, and slid into her mouth. No real taste to speak of, maybe a little salt, but still delicious. “I want to collect a whole bottle of those pretty little tears, and carry it around in my purse. Look at it when I’m bored or frustrated and remind myself of the horrible things I get to do to you. Maybe it will inspire me.”

He forced himself to breathe slowly and deeply, and tried to ignore the claws biting into his inner nose. His tongue came out and slid across the lips.

She wrapped her hand around the chain and lifted the bucket up slightly, then let it fall back down. The claws bit into his body and his knees buckled as he gasped and blinked his eyes. Fresh tears rolled down his cheek, and she murmured softly.

“There we go.” She slid a finger down the other side of his face, and gently touched the tip of her tongue with it. “So tasty. Be glad I don’t have a funnel and a jar, or I’d have you on your hands and knees, seeing what got you to cry the most. I think I’d start with jamming a nice big cucumber up your ass, twisting it and fucking you with it until you broke down and sobbed.” She stood up on her tiptoes and leaned in, running her tongue up his cheek to just below his eye, then whispered in his ear. “Or maybe I’ll just smear some icy hot on your balls and watch you screamed and cried. How long do you think it would take to get a whole bottle of tears?”

He tried to keep the thought of that horrible burning spreading across his balls as he slouched and the bucket sank towards the ground. The paddle crashed into him before the slack even entered the chain, hard and fast. The pain was overwhelming almost immediately, and his back straightened almost as soon as the handful of coins hit the bottom of the bucket.

She kept beating him this time, kept smacking his ass even after his legs were straight and locked and his back straight. The beating was merciless and seemed to last forever. His mind floated away as endorphins floated across the cells, and everything faded but the sense of her.

The muscles in her arm worked mechanically, automatically, her mind totally focused on his reactions and her connection with him. The overwhelming sensations flashing back and forth between them, breaking down walls, tearing them apart and reassembling them into one person. The paddle splatted into his body, the force traveled through both of them, and they both started breathing harder and louder.

Finally, somewhere, the sensation started to fade. It couldn’t last, never did, but it would be there again. She dropped the paddle on the floor, and moved in front of him. She lifted up the bucket again, but this time worked the clamp loose and pulled it out of his nose. “Ugh.” Her face crinkled and she tilted her head back. “Go wash your face, blow your nose, and hurry back. I need to do something about those pretty eyes.”

Preview: Eyes are for being blindfolded. Blind folded. Weird word when you think about it.

Copyright Jerry Jones. Unauthorized use is prohibited.

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December 23, 2013

The List 21: Its Ears Are for Hearing Orders

Posted in stories tagged , , , , , , at 6:36 am by littlesubmissions

Click here to start with Part 1

Previously: He jumped as he noticed her feet, then leaned back and looked up. She was wrapped tightly in her robe, hair still wet, and looking down at him. “It’ll do, until I get you some glass cleaner. But it wasn’t done before I got back, so I’m afraid you’re going to have to suffer. Just remember who wrote ears are for hearing orders on their list during this next part.”

He glared. “This is beyond humiliating.”

She smirked. “Is that why I’m enjoying it so much? Or is it something else? Maybe because you seem to prefer to dress like a hobo?” Her hand slid down the front of the shirt, smoothing it, then she frowned back at him. “Try on the blue one. Ears. Orders.”

He sighed and took the shirt into the changing room, undoing and redoing buttons. She waited outside, sitting cross-legged on the stool for trying on shoes, fingers flicking across her phone.

He came out of the changing room, sighed, and held his arms out from his sides. She looked him up and down, then tilted her head, then finally nodded. “It’ll do. Thirty percent less hobo. In fact, you almost look like a grownup.”

He started unbuttoning the shirt and headed back for the changing room. “Looking like a grownup is vastly over-rated, and their clothes are itchy.”

She dropped her phone in her purse, and stood up. “Pay for it and meet me in the food court.”

He paid for the shirt, grunted responses to the cashier’s attempts at small talk, and trudged through the mall. He walked through the food court, looking from side to side. She saw him first and waved him over, then looked up at him. “Hey cutie, get me a slice of cheese pizza and a soda, and pick up whatever you want.”

He chuckled and dropped the bag on the table, then walked over to the pizza counter. He watched her at the table, probably playing a video game on her phone judging from the way her fingers moved and the look of concentration on her face, and whistled tunelessly as the long line wound its way past the counter. Finally their order was ready and he walked back to her table. The tray dropped on the glossy imitation granite top and he slid it across to her side, then grabbed his own soda and pizza and lifted it towards his mouth.

“Uh-uh, wait until I’m done.” She took a delicate bite from the pointed end and raised an eyebrow as she chewed. “Well?”

He put the slice of pizza back down in the flimsy cardboard container, and raised an eyebrow back at her. “I’m finding ears are vastly over-rated at the moment.”

“The terrible torture of being you.” She ate slowly, but deliberately, enjoying the site of him drumming his fingers on the table, checking his email, and putting his phone away. The last bite disappeared into her mouth, and she took a long drink of soda. “Go ahead, you’ve earned it, surly-pants.”

He took a large bite, chewed, and swallowed. He counted to ten in his head, and then shrugged. “This just wasn’t I had in mind when we started.”

She leaned back, and spoke slowly and carefully. “I know. But these are things we need to do, you looked like you needed a break, I definitely needed a break, and it seemed like a good way to kill both of those birds with one stone.” She looked into his eyes then flicked her gaze away. “Sorry if it’s not sexy fun times for you.”

He chewed, swallowed, took another bite, and chewed. “It’s just that, if we’re going to take a break, I’d like to take a break. This is weird, it’s very mixing vanilla and d/s, and I’m not sure where to go with it or how to process it.” He took a drink, and glared at the ceiling. “The music doesn’t help, either. Never in the history of d/s, with its long and gloried list of monumentally bad decisions, has someone thought John Denver’s Christmas album would help them get their kink on.”

She laughed and the tension eased out of her shoulders. “Okay, fair enough. You’re off the hook. I’ve got three more errands I need to run, and you can be your usual surly, snarky, horrible self until we get them finished and are back home.”

“Thanks.” He smiled and offered her the last bite of pizza, and she shook her head. He popped it in his mouth, chewed around the words, and tried to look innocent. “What happens when we get home?”

She licked her lips, and wiggled in the hard plastic chair. “The break is over, and your nose gets clamped, my friend. My advice: Drive slow and enjoy these errands.”

Preview: Noses are for being clamped? WTF was I thinking when I wrote that? The nose is like, the least erogenous zone ever.

Copyright Jerry Jones. Unauthorized use is prohibited.

Want to support the author (who is me)? Buy a compilation of some of my favorite stories on this blog for your e-reader at Smashwords or Amazon.

December 20, 2013

Guillotine Penis

Posted in notes at 6:53 am by littlesubmissions

For whoever found this blog by searching for guillotine penis: The British television show Coupling actually has a penis guillotine. It’s also funny as hell, and I forget which exact episode, but I highly recommend it.

I recommend Coupling that is, not penis guillotining.

http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0237123/?ref_=fn_al_tt_1

-V.

The List 20: Its Mouth is for Being Gagged, Silencing it and Letting Drool Fall Out

Posted in stories tagged , , , , , , , , , , , at 6:43 am by littlesubmissions

Click here to start with Part 1

Previously: She watched him in the small screen on her phone, and drifted off into a soft haze, thinking about what she’d be doing with that mouth next.

She woke up from half sleep to the sensation of his tongue gently circling her ass. There was an appreciative murmur before she reluctantly raised her head and looked back at him. The words written on his stomach slipped in and out of view, and her eyes narrowed.

“All right, you can stop now.” He slid to his knees at the end of the bed, watching her as she rolled over onto her back, yawned and stretched, and sat up. She rolled off the bed and scratched the smooth skin under her breast, then frowned. “Ugh, I need a shower, and you need to keep working on your list. Take the sticks off your face.”

He slid the rubbed bands off the ends of the wooden rods keeping his tongue out of his mouth, and pulled his tongue back into his mouth, breathing hard and enjoying the sudden freedom. He was working his jaw and running his tongue along the roof of his mouth when she clamped one hand on his jaw, pried it open, and slipped the o-ring gag behind his teeth.

He exhaled as she buckled the strap behind his head, his jaw forced into another unnatural shape. She walked out of the room and came back with the small mirror that hung in the hallway. It went on the desk while got the marker out of the desk drawer, and started to write.

“Turn around, I need to see what you’ll be for the foreseeable future.” He rotated around his knees until he was facing her, and she nodded in approval and went back to making big, block letters on the mirrors surface. “Boot-licker. Cunt-licker. Piss slut. Hole. Slave. Cum dumpster.” She sang the words in a high voice, then sighed happily and went over each letter again, darkening it.

She put the mirror on the floor in front of him. “Hands and knees, please.” He leaned forward, and drool slid out of his mouth onto the mirror, coating his reflection in spit.

“Clean the mirror, and think about what each word means.” She frowned, and then pursed her lips. “Hm.” She reached over into the drawer and found a plastic drop cloth, which landed by him with a thud. “Put this down, I don’t want you getting ink on the carpet.” She stood up. “Meanwhile, I’m going to take a shower. Be finished before I am.”

He tore open the plastic packaging and worked the drop cloth under the mirror, making sure he had plenty of room to rest his hands. She walked into the bathroom and he heard water starting to run. His reflection stared back at him, “piss-slut” written over his eyes. Drool poured out of his mouth, and he moved his head back and forth across the mirror. He balanced on one hand while he used the other to smear the spit around, getting it on all the letters, letting them soak up the moisture while he started working on the first letter of the first word.

Boot-licker. His reflection stared back at him as he worked his finger along the first letter, scrubbing it away. Of being down on his knees, working his tongue along the leather. The slightly acrid smell, the taste, the deep blackness shining back at him. The warm, soft feeling of having a task to complete that he enjoyed. His tongue slipping into his mouth just long enough to kiss the toe of each boot before he moved to the other. Of her, being there, taking in and accepting his act of obeisance, of loving him and creating a place where he could do this and feel safe.

Cunt-licker. Tasting her. Pleasing her. Working his tongue against her body until she lost control and came with thunderous jerks and starts. Breathing through his nose, focusing on her pleasure until she came, working his tongue against her, the feeling of he legs wrapping around his head and jerking him closer.

Piss slut. Being on his knees with his head tilted back, waiting for her. Her grinning face above him, teasing him, pulling her labia apart and positioning her hips perfectly. Letting her piss spray across his face until it found his mouth, saturating his taste buds. The sensation of consuming her, of swallowing her piss, of feeling it slide down his throat until there was a horrible warmth in his stomach. The knowledge that some part of her was seeping into his cells as the piss flowed through his body.

Hole. Violation. Things entering his body. His mouth and ass stretching, his throat convulsing. She loved his triggering his gag reflex, the wet choking sounds that came from him as she worked a dildo further into his mouth, pushing it as slowly as she could and trying to pinpoint the exact moment his muscles would convulse and retching sounds would pour out of him. The intimacy of changing his body and invading it, of penetrating him, of testing his mental strength as his internal organs were pushed and rearranged.

Slave. The warmth of trust from letting control go. Not worrying, not knowing, obeying and being rewarded. The joy she radiated when he loved her enough to let her make decisions for him, knowing she wouldn’t hurt him. Permanently, anyway.

Cum dumpster. The disgusting sensation of his semen sliding down his tongue, working its way into his throat until he grimaced and swallowed. Knowing she would love him after even the most degrading acts. Doing those things for her, the little murmur of appreciation, the way her fingers twitched a little when she was excited, urging him to clean his mess up off the floor or lick it out of a dog bowl. Of her forcing him just a little further than he would go himself, of taking him to a part and chaining him to the glory hole, inviting the guests to spray hot, sticky semen in his mouth. Of her helping him put himself back together when he was done.

The words were gone from the mirror, and his reflection stared back at him. It was slightly distorted, the mirror still wet, traces of magic marker still on its surface. Drool continued to seep from his mouth, and he shifted his hips to catch it in his hand.

He jumped as he noticed her feet, then leaned back and looked up. She was wrapped tightly in her robe, hair still wet, and looking down at him. “It’ll do, until I get you some glass cleaner. But it wasn’t done before I got back, so I’m afraid you’re going to have to suffer. Just remember who wrote ears are for hearing orders on their list during this next part.”

Preview: Ears are for hearing orders. And making ear wax.

Copyright Jerry Jones. Unauthorized use is prohibited.

Want to support the author (who is me)? Buy a compilation of some of my favorite stories on this blog for your e-reader at Smashwords or Amazon.

December 18, 2013

The List 19: Its Tongue is for Licking Boots, Cunt, and Ass: Part 2

Posted in stories tagged , , , , at 7:19 am by littlesubmissions

Click here to start with Part 1

Previously: She let it go on for awhile, until it was time to push deeper. “On your knees. That tongue has other uses.”

His tongue reluctantly rose up from the leather of her boots, followed by his head then his shoulders. The wooden rods held his tongue out from his face, a pulled, distorted muscle dragged out of his mouth and held there.

She shifted her weight and the fingers of one hand wrapped around his hair, pulling his face into her cunt. He scooted forward on his knees, and frowned, shifting to get used to the angle. With his tongue held in place he had to move his head, running his tongue up and down her slit by using his neck to work his entire head up and down.

She flipped one leg over his shoulder, pulling him in tight against her body and pinning him there, balancing on her other leg. He scooted in closer, shoving his spine upright and bringing his chin hard up against her body. His neck continued to make little jerking motions, rubbing his dry tongue between her labia.

She was already wet, and he used his tongue to push the moisture up to her clit. Digging his tongue into her vagina, dragging his tongue up her slit, wetting her labia and running his tongue over it.

Her eyes slipped closed, and she enjoyed the unusual sensations. It wasn’t the typical pattern, it was a short session of tongue fucking followed by a long lick up to her clit, then his tongue rubbing over her until it slipped back down for more tongue fucking.

Little electric jolts washed through her body as his tongue ran across her clit, and she jerked his hair as he started to move his tongue downward. She held him there, keeping his tongue on her clit, while he tried to pull his head down, enjoying the sensation of her fingers pulling his hair up from his skull.

They struggled back and forth, enjoying the push and pull, their bodies working against each other. The sensation of muscles being worked in different ways against their will, his hands clamped tightly against her legs and holding her up but his head trying to slip back down to tongue fuck her, her leg pulling his face tight against her body but her hand clamped in his hair holding his tongue up against her clit.

He jerked his head back and forth, frantically working her clit with the tip of his bound tongue, begging with his body to be allowed to slide his tongue down and inside her. She clenched her fist tighter, wanting him to work for it, until his frantic licking sent a small orgasm through her. She let her arm drop, let his tongue slide back down her until it slid insider of her body.

He rammed his tongue inside her as far as he could, feeling her pubic hair rubbing against his face, tasting and penetrating her body. The orgasm slowed then stopped and she was dragging his head upwards again until his tongue found her clit. She held on, forcing him to stay in that spot, to work his tongue over that sensitive piece of flesh until the orgasms exploded behind her eyes and she slumped over.

She held him close against her while he held her up, both of their eyes clamped tightly shut, sweat running down their bodies and mixing together. She finally pushed him away and planted her foot back on the floor, then sat down hard on the bed.

She fanned herself with a hand while he slumped back to his hands and knees, both of them breathing hard. Finally she pushed herself further up onto the bed and rolled over on her stomach, stretching her arms out and letting her entire body go limp.

A happy sigh came from her lips, and she pulled a pillow down under her head. “Well, come on. One more use for that tongue before I give it back to you.”

Her words energized him, and he scampered up onto the bed, lying his torso down and gently placing his lips on one ass cheek. He alternated back and forth, pushing against the chopsticks holding his tongue out of his mouth, burying his lips in the flesh.

Her hips wiggled excitedly, and her lips pulled into a smile. She flipped open her phone and turned on the camera, propping it against the headboard until he came into view. As he moved from side to side she caught glimpses of his face, and could see his eyes were closed.

Her butt-cheeks clenched and her back stiffened then relaxed as the tip of his tongue touched her asshole, and she exhaled slowly. With his face distorted by the wooden dowels pulling out his tongue, he still looked at peace as he started to run his tongue around in small, tight circles.

She watched him in the small screen on her phone, and drifted off into a soft haze, thinking about what she’d be doing with that mouth next.

Preview: Mouths are for being grmrmphhged.

Copyright Jerry Jones. Unauthorized use is prohibited.

Want to support the author (who is me)? Buy a compilation of some of my favorite stories on this blog for your e-reader at Smashwords or Amazon.

December 16, 2013

The List 19: Its Tongue is for Licking Boots, Cunt, and Ass: Part 1

Posted in stories tagged , , , , , , at 10:15 am by littlesubmissions

Click here to start with Part 1

Previously: She shrugged. “I just wanted to see you sweat, and it worked fine for me. Go dump this in the toilet, and meet me in the bedroom. I think I have a use for your tongue.”

He frowned and trudged to the bathroom, holding the red cup of cooling piss in front of him. He swished the contents a little, trying to figure out if it was his or not. He poured the noxious yellow liquid down the toilet, rinsed the cup in the sink, and tossed it in the trash.

He turned and caught his reflection in the mirror. The words written on his stomach in big block letters stared back at him. Boot-licker. Cunt-licker. Piss slut. Hole. Slave. Cum dumpster. All words he had asked to have written on his body, all things he had begged her to turn him into. He exhaled and caught a whiff of his own breath, making a sour face at the acid smell of urine. “May I please rinse my mouth out, ma’am?” He shouted the question across the house, and awkwardly swallowed.

Her nose crinkled as she tried not to imagine the smell. “Ugh, god yes, please do.”

He used his hands to scoop water into his mouth, swished it around, then spit it out. He tried it again, then finished with mouthwash and walked back to the bedroom. He stood in front of her, and she raised an eyebrow. “Knees.”

He dropped to his knees, looking up at her. She was still naked except for the socks and boots she had pulled on earlier, and his eyes wandered from her cunt up to her tits to her face. She let the eyebrow drop, and nodded. “Tongue out.”

He stuck his tongue out, and she grabbed it with one hand, pulling on it until it was out as far as possible. She used her other hand to put bamboo skewers on the top and bottom of his tongue, against his mouth. She stuck her own tongue out and waggled it at him, then laughed. “Its tongue doesn’t belong in its mouth, now does it?”

“Nuh if dozent ma’uhm.” He mumbled the words, too many consonants and not enough vowels rolling off his trapped tongue.

“No it doesn’t ma’am.” She sang the words back to him, pronouncing them carefully and clearly. “Because its tongue doesn’t belong in its mouth, its for licking boots, cunt, and ass.” She paused for a second, enjoying the sight of him on his knees, his tongue stretched out just for her, the bruises and lacerations on his legs, the words written on his stomach. “Well, get started.”

Drool ran out of his mouth as he scooted back and leaned down to run his tongue across her boots. The wet skin crawled across the black leather slowly, starting at the tip until it reached the laces. He switched from foot to foot, more drool falling out of the corners or his mouth, squeezing down further on his knees to push his tongue harder against her boots.

She took a step back, then another, making him chase her around the room, crawling on his hands and knees with his mouth open and his tongue hanging out. After a few steps she let him catch her, take a few desperate licks, then stepped away again. She moved faster, and he crawled faster, keeping his head down, trying to reach her boots as quickly as possible.

She stepped away and spread her legs, making him shuffle from boot to boot. “Is your tongue getting dry?” His answer was an unintelligible growl, a tangled mess of consonants and grunts, which she took to be more or less an affirmative. “Head up, look at me.”

He gave her boot one last lick and pushed himself up so he was on kneeling, looking up at her. She grabbed his chin with one hand, and leaned over. Carefully, she spit on his tongue, letting the saliva drop from her mouth onto the protruding flesh. With one finger she worked the puddle of spit in a circle, rubbing it down the length of his tongue from the tip to where the chopsticks sank into the muscle and forced it to remain out of his mouth.

He dropped back down to his hands and knees and started running his tongue over her boots again. Working along the sides, chasing her around the room like an animal, smashing the side of his face against the carpet to reach the soles when she rocked back on her heel and raised the toe.

She let him lick her boots until she could see the tension slump from his shoulders, until there was no hesitation between her moving and his following. Until they were connected, until they felt like one person moving, reacting to the same impulses.

She let it go on for awhile, until it was time to push deeper. “On your knees. That tongue has other uses.”

Author’s Note: Hi all! I am slammed this week, so this will be a two-parter. That way you get something, and I don’t have to be behind on the things I do to make my Benjamins.

Preview: Mouths are for being grmrmphhged.

Copyright Jerry Jones. Unauthorized use is prohibited.

Want to support the author (who is me)? Buy a compilation of some of my favorite stories on this blog for your e-reader at Smashwords or Amazon.

December 13, 2013

The List 18: Its Throat is for Swallowing Piss

Posted in stories tagged , , at 5:00 am by littlesubmissions

Click here to start with Part 1

Previously: She fanned herself with one hand, and gasped until her breathing slowed down. “Good boy.” She patted his head, and closed her eyes for a few seconds. When she opened them the string was still pulled tight but not broken, and he was smiling at her.

She smiled back, and licked her lips. “So, your throat was for swallowing piss, yes?”

He scooted back towards the dresser, letting some slack into the string, and nodded. “Yes ma’am.”

“Stay.” She walked out of the room, and he heard cupboards then drawers banging in the kitchen. She walked back past him carrying two red cups and went into the bathroom. “Take the collar and leash off and come in here.”

He sat up and pulled the collar around his neck until the knot was in front of him, and worked the string loose until it fell apart. He shoved himself to his feet, ran a hand through his hair and tried to ignore the aches in his legs and across his back.

He followed her into the bathroom, and she handed him one of the cups. “Pee in it.”

“Seriously?”

She nodded. “Oh yeah. Pee in it.”

He held his cock with one hand, and positioned the cup in front of it with the other. He closed his eyes, and relaxed his bladder. Piss splashed into the cup, and slowly filled it. The stream slowed, then stopped, and he shook the last few drops off his cock.

“Put it down there.” She pointed to the sink.

He set the cup down on the sink, and she made a shooing motion with one hand. “Okay, scoot. Wait outside, I’ll just be a minute.”

He stepped out of the bathroom, and she shut the door behind him. He stretched and scratched his stomach, rocking on his feet, looking around the room, waiting.

The door opened, and she came out with the two cups. “Come on.” She walked into the kitchen, and he followed her with a frown.

She sat the table, put one cup in front of her, and the other in the chair opposite. “Sit.”

He sat down, and she grinned. “Now, the battle of wits begins. It ends when you choose a cup, and we both drink.”

He raised an eyebrow, and tilted his head at her across the table. “Am I the princess in this situation, or the Sicilian?”

“Definitely the princess.” She nodded with mock seriousness. “Definitely.

He pointed to the cup in front of him, then the cup in front of her. “And the iocane powder is what in this scenario?”

“One cup is your pee, one cup is mine. Very simple.” She tried a British accent that was broken up by a giggle, and let it go. “You have to choose which cup to drink.”

“And you drink the other?”

She laughed. “God no, the other gets dumped in the toilet.” She smiled, an evil glint in her eye. “Well?”

He frowned, and looked from cup to cup. “Can I see the other cup?”

She slid it towards him, and he compared the two. They both held the same amount, and looked about the same. They smelled the same, the sour, acrid reek of urine. He slid the second cup back towards her, and leaned back in the chair.

He drummed his fingers on the table, and and licked his lips.

She tried to keep a serious look on her face, but kept breaking into giggles. “God, you like drinking my piss, but put a cup of your own in front of you and you act like it’s the most horrible thing in the world.”

His eyes kept moving from one cup to the other. “Yeah, well, drinking your piss makes me feel like you’re inside of me, invading every cell as my body breaks it down. Like internal bruises I can carry around for a week. Drinking my own is just gross, unless I’ve been trapped in a coal mine for three days, in which case still gross, but society will give me a pass.”

She snorted another laugh, enjoying his anxiety. “I totally understand. A well reasoned and astute observation.”

He gave up on looking at the cups, and looked at her instead. She liked to watch him deny himself for her, so she’d probably put the cup with her piss in front of him. She’d know he’d know, but she enjoyed the familiarity they had with each other, so no reason to switch it. But she also liked the mental aspect of domination, the contest of wills, the mental strength rather than the physical struggle, so she’d want him to pick the wrong one, so he should go for the one in front of her. But she’d probably be more comfortable with her own piss than his, so she’d put hers in front of herself.

He added things up mentally.

“It’s getting cold,” she sang in a lilting voice, smiling her not trying to help smile.

Two points for being on her side of the table, one for being on his. He pointed back to her cup. “I’ll take that one.”

She kept her face neutral as she slid it across the table to him. He paused, then lifted the cup to his lips, and drank it down in several long gulps. He put it back on the table, and looked at her. “Well?”

“What?”

“Was that your piss or mine?”

She shrugged and snorted a laugh. “I honestly have no idea, I lost track in the bathroom when I was evening out the amount in them.”

He narrowed his eyes and shook his head. “Not cool, I’d like to know if I should be enjoying this or not.”

She shrugged. “I just wanted to see you sweat, and it worked fine for me. Go dump this in the toilet, and meet me in the bedroom. I think I have a use for your tongue.”

Preview: Tongues are for licking boots, cunt, and ass. So I’ve been told anyway.

Copyright Jerry Jones. Unauthorized use is prohibited.

Want to support the author (who is me)? Buy a compilation of some of my favorite stories on this blog for your e-reader at Smashwords or Amazon.

December 11, 2013

The List 17: Its Neck is For Wearing a Collar With a Leash Attached

Posted in stories tagged , , , , , , , at 5:22 am by littlesubmissions

Click here to start with Part 1

Previously: She nodded, and took the plate and glass from him. “Like I said, you probably just stood up too quickly. Luckily, the next item on your list is pretty low impact. I’ll put these away, you take a breather, and then I’ll get your collar and the leash.”

He nodded and smiled at her, glad they weren’t stopping.

She came back into the room with a pair of scissors and the light string they kept in the kitchen, the white cotton kind that always unraveled at the end. She sat down in the chair, and motioned him over. “Scoot over, and face away from me.”

He slid across the floor and spun around, facing away from her. She made several loose loops around his neck with the string, then cut it with the scissors, and tied the ends together. She watched his fingers start to move, to fidget as he started to wonder what was going on.

“I know, you’re confused.” She patted his head, and pulled about six feet of string off the roll, cutting it again with the scissors. One end went around the loop of string already around his neck, and she walked over to the dresser with the other end. She wrapped it around the leg, and tied it with a simple knot. “Don’t worry, I’ll explain.”

She dropped the string and scissors on the dresser, then went over to the closet and pulled out a pair of socks and boots. “Leashes are to teach restraint, so I’m going to teach you to restrain yourself.” She sat on the edge of the bed and pulled on the socks, then slid the boots over them and started cinching down the laces. “Your job is to not break the leash. Pretty sure you could, so you’re going to have to be careful.”

She knotted the boot laces, and then slid off the bed to sit on the floor with her legs stretched in front of her. “Whatever you can reach, you can lick.”

He looked at her boots, and then over his shoulder at the string running to the dresser. He slowly moved towards her, inching along as the slack came out of the string. As the string tightened he lowered his stomach to the floor and slid along, stopping when he felt it pull tight. Her boots were still a good foot away, and the string was pulled tight.

She raised an eyebrow, then laughed. “I wasn’t going to be that much a bitch.” She inched herself closer, watching the look of anticipation on his face, slowly bringing her boots closer until he took a deep breath and stuck his tongue out as far as it would reach. She dragged the toe of one boot along his tongue, slowly, sliding the leather across the pink flesh until the black gleamed.

She pulled that leg back, and he stuck his tongue back in his mouth to moisten it, then pushed it past his lips again as her other boot snaked forward. She dangled it just out of his reach for long seconds, then started to rub it across his tongue, back and forth in short strokes.

She sighed and leaned back, letting him reach more of the leather, to lick along the top and sides. He moved his head and ran his tongue eagerly along the leather, growling in frustration when the string pulled taught and wouldn’t let him reach any further. He forced himself not to jerk against it, not to break it and grab her boot with both hands and work his tongue over every square inch.

She switched feet, then dragged her boot back and forth, slowly letting him lick more than less, watching his tensed muscles as he fought to keep himself in place. She pointed her toes at the ceiling, only letting him touch the soles of the boot with the very tip of his tongue, watching him carefully move his head up and down, straining to get as close as possible to her without breaking the string.

She sighed and laid down on her back, half closing her eyes. “You do know how to make a gal feel appreciated, I’ll give you that.” She started to wriggle herself closer to him, her legs spread to either side of his body. She jerked when she felt his lips on her leg, gently kissing her skin. She relaxed and purred, the sensation of his lips moving up her body making it hard to move slowly.

Finally, his lips reached her inner thighs, and she forced herself to wait as he kissed and one leg then the other, her cunt just beyond his reach. He gently bit one thigh and she jumped, then laughed, and deliberately paused… then slowly slid a little closer.

Her ass clenched and her hips rolled as his tongue worked its way past her lips to her clit, and started to circle it. Electric jolts of pleasure spiked through her body as he flicked his tongue against her clit, pushed the very tip of his tongue against it, ran his tongue around and across it, pushing her towards an orgasm.

She slid her hips away, teasing both of them, letting the orgasm slip away, forcing his lips and his tongue back down her thighs, away from her cunt. He whimpered, then growled in frustration, kissing her thighs and working his tongue in small circles on her skin, trying to convince her to come closer.

She let him seduce her, let his tongue draw patterns on her skin until she found one she liked and slid her cunt towards him. Her hips rose up off the floor, pushing her clit against his lips as he ran his tongue up her slit again.

Her orgasm built again, and again she slid her hips away. His lips attacked her thigh as her cunt slid away, pulling her skin towards him, trying to drag her closer. She made herself wait, then slid her body towards him as slowly as she could.

The first faint flicks of his tongue against her skin made her moan. The tip of his tongue could barely reach her, and the sight of the string pulled tight made her moan again. She let him tantalize her with the tip of his tongue, then slid down a little further, let more of his tongue run across her clit, let him apply more pressure to her trembling flesh.

Her hips slid further down, and she let his mouth cover her cunt, burying his face in the space between her legs. Her thighs trembled and her hips rose off the ground again as he worked his tongue frantically, desperate to get her off before she moved away again. She grabbed his head with both hands, smashing his face against her body as the orgasm built and exploded inside of her.

He felt her legs wrap around his head, her thighs clench, and heard the sounds of her coming somewhere in front of him. He stopped, then kissed gently, trying to time his kisses with her moans and gasps. “Oh, okay.” She slid her hips away carefully, the nerve endings suddenly too sensitive to touch, and pushed herself to a sitting position.

She fanned herself with one hand, and gasped until her breathing slowed down. “Good boy.” She patted his head, and closed her eyes for a few seconds. When she opened them the string was still pulled tight but not broken, and he was smiling at her.

She smiled back, and licked her lips. “So, your throat was for swallowing piss, yes?”

Preview: It’s throat is for swallowing piss. SPOILER ALERT: This one will probably involve pee, probably won’t involve asparagus.

Copyright Jerry Jones. Unauthorized use is prohibited.

Want to support the author (who is me)? Buy a compilation of some of my favorite stories on this blog for your e-reader at Smashwords or Amazon.

December 9, 2013

The List 16: Its Back is for Being Beaten

Posted in stories tagged , , , , at 4:01 am by littlesubmissions

Click here to start with Part 1

Previously: “Stay right like that, because I’m going to start on your back now.”

He groaned and shook his head. “I shouldn’t have put down so many body parts for being beaten.”

She laughed and rummaged through the top drawer of the dresser. “Aw, aren’t you having fun?”

“Yeah, but I didn’t think you would go through the whole list at once.” He shifted his weight from knee to knee to try to relieve the pain, the skin and think flesh under it still aching from earlier.

She pulled a leather belt out of the drawer, and slid her hands over it. “I try to be unpredictable, Cosmo says it keeps your man interested.”

He snorted. “Cosmo thinks relationships are Stockholm Syndrome with occasional oral sex.”

“Aren’t they?” She grinned and licked her lips, doubling the belt over in one hand.

He frowned, and then shrugged as best he could on all fours. “Fair enough.”

She turned around and brought the belt down across his shoulders, purring at the wet sound of leather smacking skin. “Time to torture the hostage.” She hit him again and giggled.

His teeth ground together at the arm pain radiating across his shoulders, and he flexed his arms, trying to let his body move a little with the blows. The belt hit him again, and again, and again. His body started to sink until he shoved his arms straight and held himself back up.

The sound of leather hitting skin echoed in her ears, and she licked her lips at as the skin on his back turned to mottled red. She fell into a rhythm, hitting him at a deliberate, steady pace, watching as he twitched and his body tried to move while his mind tried to make it stay still.

The thudding continued and filled the room until she paused and walked around to the other side of his body. “The marks were getting uneven. I hate it when you’re not symmetrical.” He didn’t comment, just took the brief respite to take a couple of deep breaths, and brace himself before the beating resumed.

The beating resumed, and she felt her passion building again, the deep burning inside of her body getting hotter. He felt his thoughts getting fuzzier, endorphins flooding his brain, his body melting away with the hot pain and force radiating down through his chest.

The belt slapped into one side of his body, then the other. She watched his skin turn from pale white to pink to crimson, listened to his breathing grow more and more ragged. She watched his eyes as she moved from side to side, catching the end of the fluttering eyelids and the wide pupils as she walked around him.

His thoughts got hazier and hazier, just a series of warming pain and the sensation of floating, the occasional sight of her walking in front of him a reminder that quickly faded of what was happening. The pain in his knees and the palms of his hands faded away, then the pain in his back, and finally all his thoughts were gone.

“Stand up.” He felt her hand pulling on his hair and his limbs responding, slowly forcing him upright. He swallowed hard and frowned at the bright spots appearing around the room, and his stomach started to twist and roll. He closed his eyes and tried to concentrate. “Uh, I think…”

He opened them to see her leaning over him, watching him carefully. “Hey…” He smiled, happy to see her, and noticed he was lying on his back on the floor. “Hi.” His brain tried to puzzle together what happened, and he blinked as she grabbed the pillows from the bed and propped his feet up.

One side of her mouth grinned down at him as she put a hand on his chest. “Don’t try to get up. Do you know where you are?”

“Yeah.” He nodded and kept blinking. “Did I pass out?”

She nodded back. “For about three seconds, yeah. You probably stood up too fast.”

“Huh.” He had a strange urge to giggle, and shut his eyes to block out the too bright light of the ceiling fan. “I’ve never passed out before.”

“I wouldn’t make a habit of it, if I were you. I caught you, but it was kind of a surprise. Stay here, don’t get up, I’ll be right back.”

He casually took note of the sensation of his body, noting the carpet on his back, the heat and pain still radiating from where the belt had hit him, and the assorted other aches and pains. He heard her coming back and opened his eyes to see her holding a glass and a small plate. She sat down beside him, and arranged the kitchenware to her side. “When you’re ready, you’ll need to drink and eat. Water and salty food should help.”

“Yeah, think I’m good.” He slowly pulled his feet down and sat up, picking up the glass and taking a long swallow of ice water. “Oooh, chips.” He grabbed the plate and threw a handful of chips in his mouth, crunching and chewing vigorously. He alternated with swallows of water, and worked through both quickly, licking the flavoring off his fingers when he was done.

“You feeling okay?”

“Yeah,” he stretched and grinned at her. “It was just kind of weird.”

She nodded, and took the plate and glass from him. “Like I said, you probably just stood up too quickly. Luckily, the next item on your list is pretty low impact. I’ll put these away, you take a breather, and then I’ll get your collar and the leash.”

He nodded and smiled at her, glad they weren’t stopping.

Preview: Necks are for wearing collars with leashes attached.

Copyright Jerry Jones. Unauthorized use is prohibited.

Want to support the author (who is me)? Buy a compilation of some of my favorite stories on this blog for your e-reader at Smashwords or Amazon.

December 7, 2013

Top 100 Sex Bloggers of 2013

Posted in notes tagged , at 12:32 pm by littlesubmissions

I am #15 on the Top 100 Sex Bloggers of 2013!

Thanks to Rori of Between My Sheets for putting together the list, which can be viewed at http://www.betweenmysheets.com/top-100-sex-bloggers-of-2013#, to Appy, Argentum, and Lillith for nominating this blog, and everyone for reading.

-Vague

December 6, 2013

The List 15: Nipples Are For Being Clamped

Posted in stories tagged , , , , , , at 6:59 am by littlesubmissions

Click for the first part

Previously: Her hand traced a line down his throat to one nipple. “Oh, don’t thank me yet.” She gave the sensitive nub of flesh a violent twist, and laughed at the shock that ran across his face. “We’re only about halfway through the list. I’ve still got to do something about these nipples.”

“Come on, get up.” She pushed herself to her feet, and leaned over to grab his hand. She hauled him up and they stood in front of each other, both still breathing hard. She walked over to the dresser, and pulled out a pair of nipple clamps.

She tossed them underhand, and the metal jaws glinted in the light as they flew through the air. He caught them by the chain between them, and groaned when he saw they were the clover clamps. He put on his best puppy dog face, wide eyes and slightly trembling lip. “What are you going to do with these, ma’am?”

She laughed and gave him the finger. “I’m on to that one, you know. There’s such a thing as being too sincerely submissive.” She dropped her hand back to her side and straightened her posture, still smiling. “Besides, I’m not going to do anything with those. You are.” The smile dropped off her face, and she licked her lips. “Put them on.”

His fingers slid down the chains to the clamps, and he grimaced as he opened them and slid the jaws over one nipple then the other. He hissed in a deep breath, and tested them with the chain. The jaws bit further into his nipples, and he nodded. “They’re on ma’am.”

“Good boy.” She winked at him and turned to the closet. “Here are the rules.” She opened his side, and pulled out a dress shirt. She shrugged her arms into the sleeves, and started doing up the buttons. “You can take the clamps off whenever you want.” She left the top two buttons open, and pulled out a tie. “But when you do, I stop dancing.” She put the tie around her neck, and ran it through itself, tying it into a knot. “Keep them off too long, we go to the next item.” She cinched the tie up, then pulled the knot a little loose, and grabbed a pair of two-inch black heels. “Pull on them harder, and I’ll dance sexier.”

She slipped her feet into the heels, and her posture changed, tits pushing forward and ass pushing out. “Understand?”

He moaned, and forced his eyes from her heels, lingering on the hem of the shirt which just hid her cunt, up to her tits pressing against the fabric of the shirt, further up until they finally reached her face. “Yes ma’am.”

She gave her hips a wiggle, and giggled at him, then raised her eyebrows. “Well?”

He shifted his feet, moving them a little further apart, then took a deep breath and pulled on the chain. The clamps bit down and he winced as the jaws pulled on his nipples, stretching them out from his body and starting the sharp, biting pain.

She rocked her hips from side to side, humming happily as his jaw clenched and he pulled on the chain attached to the clamps. He blinked his eyes, and she started to move her hips more aggressively, to drive her pelvis towards him as he pulled on the chain harder, torturing himself more.

He ground his jaw, teeth rubbing against each other as she danced, and noticed she had slowed. He whimpered as he realized he had moved his hand back, taking pressure off the chain and his nipples, then pulled on it again.

She danced in time to the beat of that chain. He pulled on it harder, she danced faster, more lewdly, the hem of the shirt bouncing and showing glimpses of her cunt. The pressure on the chain lessened, and she danced slower, teasing him, driving him to torture himself some more.

They both breathed harder, and she undid a button. His arm jerked and the chain leaped forward, the clamps biting painfully into his nipples. His legs spasmed from the sudden shock, and he dropped the chain as his hands clenched.

She pulled the shirt open as his hand jerked, her tits leaping into view, then disappearing just as suddenly when he dropped the chain. She took a step towards him, breathing hard, willing him to pick up the chain and torture himself some more, willing him to start the dance again. “Are we done?” She over-enunciated each word, biting them off and spitting them out.

His trembling hands picked up the chain and put pressure back on it, and he shook his head. “Not yet please, ma’am.”

“Good. Get on your knees.”

He sank to his knees, and put more pressure on the chain. She locked eyes with him, and started to dance again. Moving forward, teasing him until he couldn’t stand the pain anymore, then dancing back. Letting him see more of her flesh every time he got to the point where he couldn’t stand any more pain, but managed to hold on for a few agonized breaths.

She danced to the rhythm of the pain he inflicted on himself, and he tortured himself to the beat of her pleasure. The clamps bit into his flesh until tears rolled down his cheeks faster than he could blink them away, and she rolled her body in front of him, pushing him further, letting him take himself to the very edge of his limits.

Her shirt was unbuttoned, hanging off her shoulders with the tie scoring a red line against her skin. Her hips swayed, jerking her tits from side to side, lewdly displaying her cunt as she danced towards him when he fell to his hands, the chain dangling in the air.

“Sorry, I can’t… anymore…” He gasped out the words, and kneaded the carpet with his hands, desperate for any sensation that wasn’t pain.

“That’s okay, you did really well. Good boy.” She squatted down, knees together, and ruffled his hair with her hands. “Of course, it’s going to hurt when I take them off.” Her hand snaked under him, and her legs trembled when he sobbed as she removed the first clamp. She sighed again when the sound repeated itself as the second clamp came off. She wanted this sensation to last forever, but knew he needed a break, or maybe just a change.

“Stay right like that, because I’m going to start on your back now.”

Preview: Backs are also for being beaten. Lots of things are for being beaten, apparently.

Author’s note: I had a lot of fun writing this, more fun than I usually do. Hope you liked.

Copyright Jerry Jones. Unauthorized use is prohibited.

December 4, 2013

The List 14: Its Chest Is For Being Punched

Posted in stories tagged , , , at 7:03 am by littlesubmissions

Click here to start with part 1

Previously: She let her eyes roam over the words written on his body, and felt a warm sensation run through her body. This had been foreplay, and the anticipation was delicious. But hitting his chest, punching him, listening to his little gasps and moans as she injured his flesh with her hands, that was immediate gratification. And she wanted him well rested, so it would last awhile.

She loomed over him, grinning at the words on his chest. “Those are going to be there awhile. Good thing swimsuit season is over.”

He tilted his head and looked down and over his body. “Those look like the world’s worst jail-house submissive thug tattoos.”

She punched his chest in the meaty part of the pectoral and frowned with mock seriousness. “Do not insult my artistic abilities.” Then her face broke back into a grin despite her best efforts, and she punched him again.

His body spasmed, a jerking contortion running down from his chest to his legs, and he found himself grinning back. Her hand smacked back into the same spot, knuckles driving down into his body, his muscles involuntarily jerking. He rolled his shoulders and put his hands on her hips, holding her close while she punched him and his body jerked under her hands.

“Hm…” She arched an eyebrow, and rocked her head from side to side, then punched him again. His hips jerked, shoving their bodies together, and she nodded. “Get your cock hard.”

His eyes narrowed as she raised herself up on her knees. His hand slid down between them, and he started jerking himself off. She poked his shoulder with one finger, absently tracing designs in the skin with her nail while his cock hardened. He nodded and let his hand drop back to his side.

She shifted her hips and slid her cunt down his cock, then sighed. “Remember, no coming.” Her eyes were flat and hard, and he nodded and licked his lips.

He started to say something, then the words died in his throat as she punched him again. Hard. His hands clamped around her waist again as his hips spasmed and she felt his cock jerk in her cunt.

She murmured a happy sound, and started punching him in a slow, steady rhythm. She moved in time with his jerks, the feeling of control washing over her. She leaned forward and drove her fist into him harder. His body slapped against her clit this time and her eyes fluttered with pleasure.

She experimented, punching his chest slower, then faster, leaning forwards then backwards, shifting her hips, punching him harder then softer, on one side of this body then the other, slapping both hands down on his chest. His body jerked beneath her and endorphins started to flood his brain, pain and pleasure mixing.

She played his body, fucked herself with his cock and used the pain to control him. He was an imprecise, messy, unpredictable instrument and it usually took more than one try to get the right spasm from his body. She would punch him over and over trying to get him to react a certain way. Frustration and rage built up until she finally hit the right spot at the right time with the right amount of force, his hips jerked and his cock drove itself a little further inside her. The frustration and rage would explode into pleasure, and the process would start over.

His eyes were clamped shut and he ground his teeth as her hands smacked into his body, sharp spikes of pain jerking through him. He twisted and thrashed blindly until he felt her cunt spasm. His eyes would fly open then clamp back shut with the next punch, little snapshots of her riding his body filling his mind. Hair flying, her eyes half closed with pleasure, biting her lower lap and gasping, her tits jostling as she rode his pain.

She twisted her hips, feeling him inside her, and pulled his head up by his hair. She punched him again and his body smacked down into the floor sending tremors of pleasure through her. She squeezed her legs around him tightly, pulling his chest up with one hand clamped in his hair, punching his chest with the other, groaning as he fell back and his hips convulsed, twisting and driving his cock insider of her.

He clenched the muscles in his ass and focused on the pain, trying to think of anything else and not to come. She responded to his pain with her own spasms and clenching, writhing on his cock as she beat him mercilessly.

Finally, the built up pleasure and sensation exploded inside her, waves of pleasure overwhelming her. She fell forward, hands on his shoulders, pinning him to the ground while her hips bucked and she screamed. Her eyelids clamped shut, she felt him underneath her, the hot, bruised skin where she had beaten him, his cock hard inside of her. She sat there, breathing, letting the pleasure slide away, and finally opened her eyes.

“Good boy.” One hand stroked his hair, and she murmured it again. “Good boy.” She winced as her sensitive flesh slid off his cock, and scooched forward to sit on his stomach. Afterglow filled her and she licked her lips as her breathing slowed.

He groaned as she slid off his cock, the pleasure fading as his cock softened in the cool air and pain radiated in from his beaten chest.

She laughed, and ground her palm down into his shoulder, feeling the little tremors travel through his body. “Ah, you want to go again?”

He tried to figure out an answer that wouldn’t result in more pain, and she grinned at the confusion on his face. “Don’t worry, I’m still a little sensitive.” She leaned down and kissed him, and he brought his knees up, scooching her a little closer. “But I think we’ll make that a regular part of our naughty times. It was kind of awesome.”

His head came up as she leaned back, catching a second kiss as her lips retreated. “Thank you ma’am.”

Her hand traced a line down his throat to one nipple. “Oh, don’t thank me yet.” She gave the sensitive nub of flesh a violent twist, and laughed at the shock that ran across his face. “We’re only about halfway through the list. I’ve still got to do something about these nipples.”

Preview: Nipples are for being clamped. I mean, what else are men going to use them for?

Copyright Jerry Jones. Unauthorized use is prohibited.

December 2, 2013

The List 13: Its Stomach is for Having Degrading Words Written On

Posted in stories tagged , , , at 7:26 am by littlesubmissions

Click here for part 1

From part 12: She grinned down at him, and licked her lips with exaggerated sensuality. “Now, about your stomach.”

She hopped up long enough to get the keys and a magic marker, then squatted down to undo the cuffs. She let out a soft, happy sigh as the cuffs opened and his hands slid down to his sides. She tossed them under the bed where neither of them would step on them, and stood up. Her foot nudged his side. “Roll over, that stomach isn’t being put to very good use.”

He sighed back and rolled over, stretching his arms and putting his hands behind his head. He grinned up at her, and she lightly kicked his leg. “I wouldn’t be so happy if I were you. There are… consequences to the writing this time.”

He frowned. “Consequences? What kind of consequences?”

“Yep.” She grinned and licked her lips. “We can write anything you want, but I get to make it happen until the writing fades away.”

His frown deepened. “So if you write cum dumpster, wait, that’s not cool.”

“I know.” She sat down beside him, and pulled the lid off the marker. She gave him an innocent look, and let the tip of the marker hover above his stomach. “So what do you want me to write? You want to be a cum dumpster for a few days?”

“Give me a second here.” He tried to think, to remember how long it took the magic marker to fade away to illegibility. Could he scrub it off sooner? She moved the pen in a circle over his stomach, and started making ticking noises. Signs she was getting bored, and might start making decisions for him. He thought quickly, and decided to chose something safe. “Please write boot-licker, ma’am.”

She snorted and rolled her eyes, but started writing down the side of his stomach. The pen stopped, and she looked back at him. “Well?”

He licked his lips, still trying to work through all the implications, trying to think of the usual words, but consider what it would mean if they became reality. “Cunt-licker?”

She sighed, and started writing the words just above the others. “Someone is playing it safe. My advice would be to make it interesting, or we can start over and maybe by the time we get to your stomach you’ll have some good words for me.”

He flinched, the pain in his feet and legs, the raw, hairless skin on his testicles reminding him how the day had gone so far. “Piss slut, ma’am.”

Her head nodded slightly. “Better.” He could feel her pressing down on the marker harder, going over the letters twice, making them darker, making them last longer. “I do enjoy peeing on you, and I imagine I could find some friends willing to piss all over you, or at least collect a few jars. I mean, a slut should really want all the piss he could get in his filthy mouth, shouldn’t he?”

He felt his cock twitch, and wondered if she was bluffing, but knew that asking or arguing would only push her further. “Yes, ma’am.”

She dotted the i with a little heart, and looked poked him between two ribs with the end of the pen. “Come on, I’ve got lots of space left, and you’ve only got three words.”

His jaw worked, but no words came out. All the possible consequences of the words written on his body coming true, of being unable to stop them for days, until the writing faded, overwhelmed him. His thoughts retreated, and all he could think of was the conflicting humiliation and desire of being treated like a sex toy, a cum dumpster, a fuck pig, a hole.

She started to get up. “We started with caning the feet, didn’t we? Why don’t I just get the cane.”

“Hole ma’am, hole.” He blurted out the word, trying not to think of the consequences, and she slowly sat back down.

“All right, if you want to be a hole, we’ll make you a hole.” She shifted her weight slightly and wrote the word just above his navel, the felt tip tickling as it moved across his skin. “Next?”

“Ugh.” He groaned, and forced the word out. “Slave, ma’am.”

“Oh, I like that one.” He could feel her making large, block letters on his stomach. The tip of the pen moved back and forth, making the letters darker and bolder, making sure they would last longer. “I have a lot of chores that need doing, and the perfect little burlap bag for you to wear while you do them. And of course I’ll be punishing you harshly for any mistakes or delays in getting them done.”

She hummed happily as she pushed the marker down hard into his skin, making him, making sure the word would last as long as possible. She looked her work over critically, then darkened in a curve of the s and smiled at him. “I think we have room for one more word, and some of these aren’t even degrading. I mean does licking my cunt really degrade you? It’s probably more degrading to me, wouldn’t you say?”

His head jerked, his brain desperate to stay safe in warm fantasy where consequences could be ignored, and he gasped out the words. “Yes ma’am.”

“So what do we think the final word should be?”

He whimpered, caught between his desires and his fears. Finally, he forced the words out. “Cum dumpster ma’am.”

Her nose wrinkled, and she tilted her head. “Oh really? You’re sure?”

“Yes ma’am.” He whimpered.

She thought for a second, then decided to drive him down a little further, force him to participate in the obscene ritual. “Say please.”

He exhaled and then inhaled, trying not to think about the words. “Please make me a cum dumpster, ma’am.”

She smiled and patted his head gently. “Since you asked so nicely, I’ll do that for you. On your side, so I can write legibly.”

He rolled over, and she leaned one arm against him and carefully began to write. “Such a nice cum dumpster. I suppose that will mean regular milkings, with you licking your cum off the floor.” He shivered, and she waited for him to stop before she continued. “Or maybe we’ll save it up, and just before the letters fade, you can drink it all down for me. How long do you think it’ll take for the letters to disappear? How much of your cum do you think I can squeeze out of your balls in that amount of time?”

His cock twitched. She smiled at the sight, put the lid back on the marker, and licked her lips. “You stay there, and let that get nice and dry.”

She let her eyes roam over the words written on his body, and felt a warm sensation run through her body. This had been foreplay, and the anticipation was delicious. But hitting his chest, punching him, listening to his little gasps and moans as she injured his flesh with her hands, that was immediate gratification. And she wanted him well rested, so it would last awhile.

Preview: A chest is for being punched, aye, isn’t it?

Copyright Jerry Jones. Unauthorized use is prohibited.

December 1, 2013

Heroes and Villians

Posted in stories tagged , , , at 11:24 am by littlesubmissions

This story originally appeared in the Erotica Readers & Writers Association Story Gallery, November 2013. It was revised with some very helpful feedback from the kind folks there.

Most people pay professionals to fill their evenings with artificial and gratuitous violence, nudity, and bad dialogue. Some people prefer to make their own.

She saved her spreadsheet, shut down the computer, and headed for the exit. Moving across the parking lot a co-worker waved, and asked if she was going out for drinks. She waved back and smiled, but shook her head no. “Can’t! Movie night!” She grinned brightly and bounced across the asphalt to her car, sliding behind the wheel and slamming keys into the ignition. The bright orange toy gun rode along on the floorboard beside her.

He slipped into the elevator just as the doors closed, stepping to the side and putting his back against the wall. After a moment of silence his supervisor asked him if he had plans that night, with the monotone voice of someone who has the same plans every night. He grinned and nodded at his boss. “Movie night!” The elevator dinged, the doors opened, and he strode quickly to his car, taking his tie off and throwing it in the back seat. It landed on a plastic pirate sword.

He came in through the garage, holding the pirate sword at his side and walking into the kitchen. A soundtrack was playing, something with a lot of percussion and brass. Heavy and thudding and designed to create an adrenalin rush. She was already sitting at the small table in the corner, wet hair wrapped in a towel and wearing a bathrobe. She pointed the toy gun at his chest.

They stared at each other, grinning. She slowly stood up, moving away from the table and keeping the gun on him. She licked her lips, and finally spoke. “So…”

He arched an eyebrow, and struck a pose he deemed sufficiently manly. He brought the pirate sword up, and inhaled sharply to inflate his chest. “Bruce Freedom is my name! You’ve probably heard of me, the world’s most famous spy and criminal detective, retired, but back in the game after my former partner was killed two days before his retirement.”

She smirked and answered in an atrociously heavy and thick Russian accent. “Ah, Bruce Freedom, we meet at last American-pig-dog capitalist assassin swine. I assume you are here to attempt to steal my country’s plans for glorious Communist doomsday device, no? Well, Super Agent Pushitin Buttockskis, who is me, shall thwart your plan to save puny planet. I shall kill you, just as I killed your partner.”

“Now lookie here…” His sudden and hideous Texas drawl made his words slow. “Missus Pushitin Buttockskis, that doomsday device cannot be allowed to fall into the godless commie hands, talons, tentacles, or other appendages of your government, with its known penchant for freedom destroying and liberty hating.”

They started to circle the kitchen, slowly, warily, keeping their eyes firmly locked on each other. The microwave clock was the counter on the doomsday device, the blender an elaborate torture instrument.

She snarled at him as she slipped between the table and the wall, still circling. “Miss Pushitin Buttockskis, actually. I turn my husband over to beloved cruel totalitarian dictator for exploiting the proletariat. Traitorous husband offered neighbor boy five dollars to rake leaves. Of course he was decapitated to death, for glorious revolution, as was neighbor boy for listening to offer.”

He stepped around the microwave cart, and doffed an imaginary hat. “My condolences on the passing of your late toolbox of a horrible nightmare regime husband, ma’am. But I’ll still be needing those plans.”

She moved towards him with an exaggerated step. Her knee poked out of the worn green bathrobe before it fell back around her body. “But I have gun and this is totalitarian secret science base. Thousands of KGB guards will pour through door at slightest sound, and even you will not survive, Bruce Freedom. So tell me, how do you think you will take plans from me, who is elitist evilist superist agent of entire evil world government?”

“With this, ma’am.” He dropped his plastic pirate sword, kicked his shoes off and pushed his pants and underwear down in what he hoped was a dramatic motion, then stepped out of them while thrusting his hips forward. “DUN-DA-DUN!” He thrust his hips back and forward again. “The world’s most freedom-loving penis.”

“Hah!” She threw the gun to the floor and her bathrobe followed. She jerked the strapon hanging from her waist up with both hands. “Evil totalitarian regime penis is much superior! Is strong like bull, and sexy like tractor!”

He laughed in spite of himself, then forced his face back to deadly seriousness. “Well, I have to give you credit for commie unpredictability, Miss Buttockskis, I was not expecting to see that kind of tackle on your hips.”

“Really?” She arched a shoulder and raised an eyebrow. “Because name is kind of… big hint. You know what I say, like, dude, spoiler alert.”

“I was blinded my love for freedom ma’am, but now I see how diabolical your evil is. I shall have to take your penis from you, to protect lady liberty from unwanted vaginal penetration with a foreign object. Or any other penetration.” He made the last word into at least six syllables, then moved towards her.

She snarled back at him and kicked the bathrobe away. Her arms spread wide she growled, “Come and get at me, imperialist social safety net hating swine bro!”

He grinned at her and grabbed her shoulders, trying to twist her around so he would be behind her, with her bright red cock pointed the other way. She grinned back and clamped her mouth down on his bicep, pushing her teeth together, worrying the muscle with her jaws.

“Fuck!” His drawl forgotten he loosened his grip on her shoulder, trying to move his arm with the jerking motion of her head and lessen the pain.

“Muhahahah.” She let out a cartoon villain laugh, muffled by the mouthful of skin and tissue wrapped around her lips. She jerked her shoulder out of his hand and stepped in closer. She opened her mouth and let him pull his arm free, then punched him in the upper leg one, two, three times, hard.

He winced and stepped back. She followed him across the room, punching him in the same spot on his leg with short, hard jabs until his back slapped the wall.

“On your knees pig.” She kept the accent, punching him between his sharp exhalations and profanities until he held his hands up in surrender and sank to his knees. She spread her legs and positioned herself above him, sneering down. “Now, let us see how you like taste of glorious authoritarian cock.”

He opened his mouth and she shoved the dildo between his lips until he gagged, choking as it hit the back of his throat. She pushed his head back against the kitchen wall, holding it there and fucking his face, reveling in the control. She could distort his face by shoving the cock into a cheek, sawing back and forth and watching his jaw bulge obscenely. She could make him gag by sliding it to the back of his throat, or suffocate him by pushing a little further.

She played his face like a broken orchestra, pulling all the sounds a person makes to indicate wrongness out of his mouth, one at a time, then in combinations. Gags, wet sloppy snorts, coughs, hacking sounds, retching, bile filled gasps, and congested moans.

Drool poured from his mouth, coating the fake cock and running down his chin. It dripped onto the floor beneath them, and left streamers of glistening wetness from his mouth to her cock when she pulled it out. Her breathing was hard and fast, and she slapped him across the jaw with the fake cock, one side of his face and then the other.

“Swine, you give very sloppy blowjob, but glorious revolution saliva is much better.” The accent was less outrageous now, and she forced his head back, making him look up at her as she leaned over. Her spit splattered across his forehead, running down into his eyes. “Open wide, pig whore.” She could have wrapped her fingers around his jaw and forced his mouth open. She wanted him to do it to himself.

He took a deep breath and his jaw fell open. She let the spit dribble out from between her lips, and hang between them, then worked her jaw muscles. It fell into his mouth and she smiled down at him. “Disgusting. Swallow and tell me how superior my spit is.”

He closed his mouth enough to swallow, and she felt his head try to flinch in her grasp. “Your spit is very superior, Miss Pushitin.” His Texas drawl was completely gone.

She dragged him away from the wall by his hair. He followed her on all fours like an animal, his throat sore and his face still wet, liquid running it across it in new directions and dripping as his body changed positions.

She dragged him to the center of the room, and pushed his face down with her foot until it hit the floor. She paused for a second to enjoy the view of him, naked from the waist down, on all fours, back already arched and legs spread and vulnerable. Then she walked around behind his prostrate body.

Her foot kicked his legs a little further apart, just to prove she could, then she lowered her body until the strapon lined up with his ass. She spit on his asshole, and jammed a finger inside of him hard. She was eager now, and hungry to violate him, to see him hanging off her cock like a spitted animal.

They both groaned in anticipation as she pushed the tip of her cock against his ass. His body tensed until he forced himself to relax, to accept the penetration as the plastic slid inside. She felt the pressure building against the outside of her cunt, mashing nerve endings together as her hips slid forward.

Centimeter by centimeter it slid further inside of him, relentless, until he raised his head and moaned. A deep, despairing animal sound that made her pause. “It’s almost all the way in.” Her voice was her own again. She spit on the cock protruding from inside him, and waited for him to take a deep breath. Then she shoved again.

His breath whooshed out, but she felt her hips rubbing against his skin. She held him there, savoring the feeling of control, twitching her hips just enough to remind them both of the pressure between their bodies. She pushed the palms of her hands up his back, then dragged her nails back down.

He moaned at the sensation, trying to ignore the protests of his asshole.

She massaged his back and dragged her nails along his skin until she felt the muscles relax, then started to fuck him. Her cock slid out and back in, pushing against her clit in rhythmic bursts. She could tell when he remembered to try to relax, and when he involuntarily clenched, and it made delicious changes in the sensations washing up to her from her cunt.

Her hips started to thrust faster, blending it into one long, delicious hammering of her clit until she was slamming her body against his, desperately needing to get off. Sweat plastered her hair to her forehead, and she growled down at his body, determined to use it to satisfy herself. Finally, one leg thrust out behind her and she shoved herself against him, hard, crashing into him and holding herself there. A deep moan poured out of her throat, and she held herself on top of him, resting on his back.

She rode out the orgasm, then slowly slid her cock out of his body. He felt cold air where hard plastic had been seconds before, and flopped down on his side. She lay down on the floor behind him, and wrapped her arms around his body, pulling him close. The linoleum was cool against their skin, and they lay there until their breathing slowed. She kissed the back of his neck, then moved her lips close to his ear. “Well, world is fucked, audience is pissed, and critics hate movie. But there is always chance for sequel, no?”

Copyright Jerry Jones. Unauthorized use is prohibited.

November 29, 2013

The List 12: Hands are for Being Restrained

Posted in stories tagged , , , , at 7:18 am by littlesubmissions

Click here to go to part 1

From Part 11: She locked eyes with him, her chest heaving from her breaths, her face froze in an animal snarl. “Remind me, what are your hands for?”

His voice was a muted whimper. “For being restrained, ma’am.”

She nodded, and her lips curled into a rictus grin. “Then lets get some use out of them, shall we?”

She grabbed his shoulders and spun him around, frog marching him over to the dresser. She reached around him and dragged the drawer open, letting it smack against his legs. Her eyes panned over the contents, grabbing the first usable thing she saw: nickel-played handcuffs.

She yanked his hands behind him, ratcheting one cut onto his wrist, then the other. “That’s what they’re for, right? Being restrained?”

“Yes ma’am.” He stumbled to the center of the room as she used the cuffs to spin him around and fling him that direction. He recovered his balance and stood there, breathing hard, licking his lips, and watching her with wide eyes.

She walked back to him with long, urgent strides, and kicked the backs of his calves until he crumpled to his knees. She shifted her balance and planted her foot between his shoulder blades, then gave him a shove.

His face smacked into the carpet and he lay on his stomach, trying to see her from the corner of his eyes. Her foot found its way back to the spot between his shoulder blades. He felt the pressure increase on his body.

“So the question that’s really on my mind is, now that your hands are restrained, how are you going to get me off?”

He turned his head and spit carpet fiber off his lips, then took a deep breath. “With my tongue, ma’am.”

She nodded and arched an eyebrow. “Really? How you gonna do that with your face all the way down there?”

He tried to roll over, but she dropped her weight and kept him pinned to the floor. He tried to scoot his knees up under himself so he could lever himself to his knees, but pushed down harder until he gave up. He tried twisting to roll over again, and the pressure increased again.

“You want me to cut your tongue out and use it like a dildo? Was that you meant?”

He clenched his jaw in frustration. “No ma’am, please don’t cut my tongue out.” He tried to roll over again, and again she pinned his body to the floor. “I can’t get up with your foot on my back.”

“Oh, is that the problem?” She let out a fake giggle, and stepped off his body. “Silly me.”

He shoved his knees under his body, and was starting to lever himself up when her foot collided with his balls. His body spasmed and he was on the floor again, gasping in pain and blinking tears out of his eyes.

“Well?” Her voice cut through the pain and he forced himself to roll over. He was still on his back, gasping, when her foot clipped his balls again.

He felt bile and vomit rise up in his throat and swallowed them back down, trying to ignore the horrible ache in his stomach as his balls throbbed.

“Looks like you can’t do much about protecting your balls without your hands either.” She let her foot hover over him as he curled up into a ball on his side, trying to protect his aching testicles with his legs.

“Well?” The inquisitive tone forced him to think again, and he groaned in pain and frustration. “I don’t know how to get you off ma’am.”

She kicked him in the ass, letting the toes of her foot bounce off the heavy muscles there. “So you see the problem? Before you say your hands are for being restrained, you better think about how you’re going to get me off with your hands restrained.”

He nodded, his cheek scraping against the carpet, and looked up at her from the corner of his eye. “Yes ma’am, sorry ma’am.”

She shoved with her foot, rolling him back on his stomach. He braced himself for another thudding shock of pain to come from a kick to his balls, and shuddered in relief when he felt her weight settle on his lower legs instead.

He moaned and started to tremble when he felt her teeth sink into the soft skin of his fingertips. He forced himself not to jerk his hands away as her jaw bit down and the pressure increased.

She imagined herself devouring him, eating his body inch by inch, chewing until blood erupted from his skin and meat slid off his bones. Owning his body utterly and completely. Her muscles started to tremble with lust, and she took a deep breath and licked her lips. “Your only purpose is to get me off, and if you a part of your body can’t do that, I don’t see any reason for you to have it anymore. Understood?”

Her teeth sank back into his fingertips, and his arms jerked. “Yes ma’am, I understand.”

She clamped her hands around his wrists, just above the cuffs, and worked her way from fingertip to fingertip, feeling his body try not to twist and jerk beneath her, a steady pleasure building inside her, then spiking when he lost control and his muscles spasmed.

She pictured his eyes rolling up back in his head, and breathed slowly and deeply, enjoying the perfect control she had over him. His pain and whimpers, the taste and feel of his controlled body, knowing part if him couldn’t live without being treated like this. Knowing that part of him would be hollow without her filling that empty aching place with her pleasure in his pain and degradation.

She let the smallest finger on his left hand slide out of her mouth, and lifted her weight just enough to roll him over. She crawled up his body until her face was hovering inches above his own. He felt her weight on his body, her breath on his face, and slowly opened his eyes.

She grinned down at him, and licked her lips with exaggerated sensuality. “Now, about your stomach.”

Preview: Stomachs are for having degrading words written on! Like shovel, and bulldozer. Or not…

Copyright Jerry Jones. Unauthorized use is prohibited.

November 27, 2013

The List 11: Fingers are for massaging

Posted in stories tagged , , , , at 2:32 am by littlesubmissions

Click here to start at the start

From part 10: She sighed and leaned back. “Good boy. I wonder how quickly that hair will grow back? In the mean time…”

She stood up and hauled him to his feet by his hair. He slid off the bed and stood hesitantly, testing his posture, checking carefully to see if his balls would be pulled painfully away from his body. She laughed and slapped his ass, falling face down on the bed. “Take the chopsticks off, and make with the massaging already. I’ve been looking forward to this.”

He spread his legs and carefully pulled the rubber bands off one end of the chopsticks, opening them like a pair of scissors and letting his balls fall back to their natural position. He sighed at the sudden relief of stretched skin returning to its normal state, and the cool air rushing over the hot flesh.

Assorted aches and pains radiated through the lower half of his body as he got the massage oil off the nightstand and smeared it on his hands. He shuffled up the bed, wincing as his weight came down on his knees, and settled his hands on her shoulders. They took three deep breaths together, then he began working his hands against her muscles.

Her muscles were hard knots under his hands, and he leaned forward and grunted. “Fuck, how do you get so tense?”

She turned her head and sighed. “Got lots of shit going down, yo.”

He leaned into her body and started working his hands down her back, trying to force her muscles from tight knots into looser strands. “I think you need less shit going down, yo.”

She closed her eyes and shrugged with her eyebrows. “No choice, yo.”

He sighed and let it go, working his way back up and back down her body, trying to force the tension out of her body with his hands. He shuffled down her body on his knees, letting out a small gasp as his shins reminded him of the abuse they had recently suffered.

She made a happy sound and wriggled, her thoughts wandering over what she had done to his body. He ran his hands over her ass, sliding off the bed and leaning over to bite her lightly on one cheek. She giggled and kicked him lightly, shimmying forward a little. “None of that, or someone will be getting me a gag.”

He grinned and started working his way back up her body his cock twitching at the sight of her naked body underneath him. His hands carefully kneaded skin and muscle until they reached her shoulders, then worked their way across her scalp. They sank into her hair and pulled, gently increasing the pressure until she let out a little moan of pleasure.

She moaned and her legs slid apart a little. Her limbs felt soft and lazy, and the bed was warm under her. The desire to slip into sleep competed with the desire to hurt him again, the gentle nap of peace and sleep struggling with the hard dance of violence and human wreckage. Her eyes felt heavier and heavier, until finally she forced them closed, then grinned.

“Fuck me, right now, but no coming. You come, you’re dead.”

His jaw clenched and he shoved an arm under her stomach, dragging her body up, lining his cock up with her cunt. His other hand stayed in her hair, pulling her neck backwards, increasing the pressure as his cock slid inside of her. Her thighs spasmed and she moaned as he started to fuck her, the feeling of his cock inside her and the pressure on his scalp awakening something deep inside her.

She let him fuck her, let him feed that feeling while making it hungrier, let his cock build up her desire. Her eyelids fluttered and she felt the sleepiness melting away, felt the hot aggression and desire to hurt something, to see it suffer for her pleasure. “Faster.”

His hips slapped against the back of her legs, and she imagined what it was doing to his damaged body, to be forced to perform like this for her. She moaned and forced her ass back against him, trying to drive him deeper into her body, grinding herself against his thighs.

She let the pleasure wash over her, directing him, telling him to fuck her faster or slower, pushing her towards orgasm then grinding her teeth and forcing herself to slow down, to let the pleasure build rather than exploding and fading. Finally, when she couldn’t take it anymore, she snarled at him. “Stop!”

He halted, panting, his hips mashed against her ass and his cock inside of her. He leaned forward slightly, then stepped back as she pushed herself up. She stood and turned to face him, and he slid backwards a step when he saw the look in her eyes.

She locked eyes with him, her chest heaving from her breaths, her face froze in an animal snarl. “Remind me, what are your hands for?”

His voice was a muted whimper. “For being restrained, ma’am.”

She nodded, and her lips curled into a rictus grin. “Then lets get some use out of them, shall we?”

Preview: Hands are for being restrained? Of course they are.

Copyright Jerry Jones. Unauthorized use is prohibited.

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