July 16, 2008

Building It.

Posted in stories tagged at 12:33 pm by littlesubmissions

She kicked the door shut and juggled bags while landing her keys on the hallway table with an overhand toss. “Sorry I’m late, the bridge was backed up and 34 is still…”

The blue string winding its way across the floor stopped her, and her eyes followed its crooked trail as it disappeared down the hall. A grin flickered across her face, and she licked her lips.

“Honey?” Silence. The blue string lying there. Asking her to follow. She stood her ground. “Hey, come help me with the bags. I got Chinese.” Still silence. She played her trump card. “And good beer…”

The air conditioning kicked on, a smirking hum that made her frown at the absence of his footsteps.

Her teeth clicked together, and she wondered what he was up to. Shifted the bags to get the tingling out of her fingers and followed the string down the hallway, stalking it with long, slow strides.

The blue cord traipsed through their apartment, taking detours to hop across furniture and forming a crude rope dress around the wooden bear by the bookcase until it crossed the living room and ended in the kitchen. The end was taped to the remote control for the almost antique TV/VCR combo, with a note that said “Push play!” in his small, block style writing.

She set the bags on the floor, flopped down in a kitchen chair while shaking her head, and leveled the remote while her thumb pushed the triangular center button.

Blue screen flicked away and his face filled the screen. She smiled at the slight frown he had when his mind was somewhere else.

“Hey.” His eyes wandered around the screen, not sure where to focus, and he licked his lips before he began. “I wanted to make you something, so uhm, I thought I’d try this.”

He backed away, and she saw a pile of boards neatly stacked in the center of their basement. One of her hands snaked down into a bag and pulled out a beer. She leaned back and wrapped the bottom of her t-shirt around the cap and twisted, took a drink while he selected two long boards and laid them on a sawhorse.

He measured quickly, leaning over and making neat, straight lines with a square. She let out a long breath and watched through half closed eyes, but tilted her head and leaned forward when he picked up the old fashioned hand tools he bought sometimes at flea markets or auctions. The tools he never used because he had electric ones, but liked the way he liked vacuum tube radios and other things whose time had passed.

He started to drag the saw across the penciled line, his thumb holding the blade in place until he had a groove started. Then his strokes picked up speed, and the saw started to disappear into the wood. Slowly.

He was panting, leaning over by the time he was done. Several times he’d slowed down, rested a little, then sped up, but he hadn’t stopped. He grinned at the camera as he picked up the stub of board off the floor and threw it in the scrap box. “You, uh, might want to fast forward. This may take a little longer than I thought.” He grinned and set the next piece up, leaned over and started making more careful lines.

She took a drink and set the bottle down on the table, pushed the fast forward button while her other hand teased down the front of her jeans. She watched him make another cut, sawdust flying and distortion lines breaking up his image. She pushed play again when he picked up the brace and bit, started winding the handle to force the metal screw through the lumber and bore out a hole, shoving down hard with tiring muscles being used in unfamiliar ways.

She rewound the part when he looked longingly at the electric drill on the workbench in the background, but gritted his teeth and picked up the hand powered brace again. The snap on her jeans came undone when he ruefully picked at a blister forming on his palm and her own fingers snaked down into her pants.

His gift to her started to take shape, a base with a t-shape extending out of it, three holes cut in the center of two joining boards that formed the top of the T. A larger hole in the center, smaller holes to the left and right.

A pillory.

She dropped the remote and got up, walking to the basement while he was putting screws into hinges. She hopped down the steps two at a time, and inhaled hard when she saw him leaning over, his back to her and his hands and arms in the wooden restraints.

She smelled fresh sawdust and sweat and surrender, and she licked her lips hard.

He’d stiffened when her shoes hit the concrete floor, and she walked up behind him slowly, giving him time to wonder if she’d taken a step and he hadn’t heard, or if she was just standing there watching him.

“Hey.” She heard the faint hesitation and hard swallow he did when he was nervous, and stepped in front of him.

He rolled his eyes to look up at her, and she dragged a finger across his lips before he could speak again. “Shush.” His mouth closed, and she traced a line from his lips to his neck, to the smooth wood wrapped around him, across the seam where the two blocks joined, down to his hand. Their fingers locked together and she leaned in to kiss him, pulling away when they were both gasping for breath.

His fingers stretched towards her as she moved back and circled behind him, leaned in tight against his back and rocked back and forth. Her sharp teeth nibbled on the tight muscles of his shoulders and neck, and she felt tremors run through herself when he gasped.

She bit down hard while she unsnapped his pants and hot lust flooded through her as his yelp of pain turned into a moan of pleasure when she forced her hand down the front of his jeans. She felt his breath getting faster, his warmth flooding into her breasts as she continued to nibble and bite across him, to stroke slowly and sensually, then suddenly squeeze down hard on his cock and balls.

Both of her hands planted themselves on his hips and shoved his pants down, taking his underwear with them. On the floor beside his useless trousers was a long, broken off piece of wood that had torn into a sharp point, and she slid down his body until she could pick it up.

She dragged the point up the back of his leg, making a lazy line as she smirked at his hard-on. The point traced an arc across the cheeks of his ass, teasing the crack and swooping down the other cheek to circle towards his cock.

She took it away, let him wonder where it would go, then carefully placed it in the very center of his testicle. Her breathing got faster as he pushed himself up on his toes to escape the pain, and she could feel herself getting wet as she made the wooden spike follow his flesh.

“Feet flat on the floor, hon.”

Pleasure crashed in on her when he whimpered but lowered his feet to the floor, sinking the point of the splinter painfully into his testicle, pulling the skin tight and distending it. She left it there, let him feel her breath on his thigh, know that she was watching and taking in every detail.

“Good boy. Now keep them flat while we do the other one.”

She slowly pulled the splinter away, then moved it into position, brought it up and into his skin. Tremors passed through her when the point dug deep into his flesh and his knees locked but he obeyed, his feet staying flat on the stone floor.

The trembling in her thighs wasn’t entirely from crouching as she stood up and leaned in against him. “Good sub. Now we’re going to do your cock.” She traced lines down the length of him with the sharp point, made circles around the head, worked it across his slit and traced designs with his precum into hard, sensitive flesh.

By the time she was done her head was fuzzy with her arms draped over his shoulders, leaning against him and breathing hard, wondering what she should do next. She kissed gently at the outline of his spine, murmured to him as his whimpers faded and his cries of pain turned into sweet memories.

“Thank you, but what if something had gone wrong? Locking yourself up like this… kind of dangerous. Not just because of your wife, either.”

He turned his head as far as he could, trying to look at her. “Huh? No, I explained at the end of the video. You have to use that bolt over there to lock it, otherwise…”

She looked over at the bench, saw a long bolt with a nut and washer screwed on one end as he casually lifted one arm and the hinges swung, opening the pillory. He set his arm back down and the hole closed around his wrist.

“You mean you could have just let yourself out, any time you…” Her vision collapsed until his body locked into the pillory was all she saw, and raging joy crashed through her. She pulled herself tight against his back as spasms ricocheted through her chest and she rubbed her crotch against him with short, frantic jerks and hard gasping breaths poured out of her mouth, using his bound body to masturbate against.

“Are you ok?” He started to stand up again, but she slammed her hands onto the top of the pillory, holding it closed with her weight while she leaned into him hard.

“Yeah, fuck, I think I just hit topspace…” Her face screwed up and contorted, and some semblance of reality began to return.

She took her hands away slowly, made sure the top of the pillory stayed down, and wrapped her arms around his chest. A low purr came out while she spoke. “I’m going to go get some toys. The whip I think, those delicious clamps you hate so much. The ball crusher and… I’ll leave the rest to your imagination. You’re going to bring the television down from the kitchen, put yourself back in this lovely present, and narrate your video for me while I do evil, nasty, horrid things to you. There will be no fast-forwarding, and if I think you’re not doing a good enough job we’ll just start over from the beginning.”

Her hands snaked up to his nipples, pulled and twisted. “And I won’t need to lock you in, will I?”

“No, you won’t need to…” He gasped as she pulled harder and tried to shove himself further down, to make sure not even the slightest gap formed in his prison. The prison he built and would stay in for her, without locks or chains, just her love holding him there.

Copyright Jerry Jones. Unauthorized use is prohibited.


  1. littlesubmissions said,

    While I always enjoy hearing people’s comments, and many people have been very generous about leaving them, I’d be especially grateful if people could tell me how I did portraying topspace. Good, bad, or indifferent, I’ve never been there so I don’t know, and it doesn’t seem to be written about nearly as much as subspace.

    Thanks much.

  2. Ferns said,

    Hello J,

    I absolutely loved this story. I adored his giving of the gift and her reaction to it.

    About the topspace, the vision closing until there is only him is just about perfect… I wasn’t keen on the frantic reaction, I find time slows down, it feels like my heart is going to burst out of my chest and the joy and lust rise like a wave from there. I feel like I am not even consciously thinking anymore, just feeling and doing, it is completely instinctual, like my essence knows what I want even though my mind is so high it isn’t really engaging.

    If I get into topspace, there is no way I would interrupt it or answer any questions from him, he becomes a tool to feed the space and while I will never feel a connection or a love as strongly as I do at that time, I also never feel *his* place in relation to me more strongly.

    I come down from it like a drug, slowly. So there is no quick return to normality, and once it’s gone, play is over.

    I hope that helps.

  3. Vague said,

    Hi Ferns-

    That helps a lot actually, no one seems to write about topspace much (that I could find anyway). Hm, if you’ll pardon the terribly geeky analogy, it almost sounds like the Bullet Time camera trick from the Matrix movies.

    Which makes me wonder if that’s what they were going for…

    Anyway, thanks very much, glad you liked the story even if the technical details were off, and thanks again for sharing the feeling of topspace.


  4. Verity said,

    I also love this story. Getting into topspace is almost like being in another body. It’s like being on drugs and yes, one does come down slowly, sometimes not slowly enough. :-))

  5. littlesubmissions said,

    Thanks Verity, just out of curiosity about how long are we generally talking here? Minutes, hours, or is there some variation?

    And glad you’re liking the stories too.

  6. devastatingyet said,

    For me, topspace is often a bit woozy, like having a little pot (though I haven’t done that in years, so I could be mistaken). I might not realize I’m out of it until I try to stand up and walk around.

    And sometimes, instead of that, or in addition to it, I get a really strong feeling that is exactly like fury except without any anger to it. But the heavy breathing, the feeling of wanting to rip limbs apart, etc.

  7. littlesubmissions said,


    Thank you, the altered consciousness thing definitely seems to be a common thread. And how have I missed your own wonderful weblog so far? Looks like I have something to read over the weekend now…

  8. Verity said,

    Like everything else, great variations. Ain’t it grand!!!

  9. devastatingyet said,

    Hey, thanks!

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