The List 18: Its Throat is for Swallowing Piss

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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.

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

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.

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The List 16: Its Back is for Being Beaten

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.

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The List 15: Nipples Are For Being Clamped

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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.

The List 14: Its Chest Is For Being Punched

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.

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

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.

Heroes and Villians

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.

The List 12: Hands are for Being Restrained

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.

The List 11: Fingers are for massaging

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.

The List 10: Balls Are for Being Tortured

Click here to start at the beginning

From part 9: “Oh, and open your eyes. Next we’re going to do something about those balls of yours, and I want you to see it.”

He opened his eyes to see her walking by him, and watched her ass as she shrugged into a robe. He blinked and walked into the kitchen, putting ice in a glass and adding tap water. He took a long drink, then filled it again and walked back into the bedroom.

She was sitting in a chair in front of the bed, sliding a thumb down the screen of her phone. “Sit, and lean back.” She waved her phone at the bed.

He passed her the water and sat on the edge of the bed in front of her, leaning back. She sipped on the water, then sat it on the floor beside her. “Put a pillow under your head. You like to watch, don’t you?”

He dragged a pillow down from the head of the bed, and doubled it over, positioning it under his head. She grinned at him down the length of his body as he licked his lips and tensed his shoulders.

“I think we’ll start with getting everything nicely into position.” She picked chopsticks up from beside her leg on the chair, and placed one on either side of his balls. She pulled his balls up, and used rubber bands to secure the chopsticks. His testicles were trapped on the other side of the chopsticks, and she used them to raise and lower his balls.

She giggled, and lifted them up as far as they would go. “Put your legs together.” He slid his legs together, and she let the chopsticks fall. They hit his legs, holding his balls up and out, keeping them from retreating between his legs.

“And I think we’re ready to start.” She teased a third chopstick, running her fingers along it, then casually jabbed the point into his testicle. He jumped at the sharp, piercing pain in the sensitive flesh, and she casually poked the pointed end into his other ball.

He jumped again, and she licked her lips and leaned in closer. “Oh, I’m really going to enjoy this.” She alternated, poking one then the other, watching his body jerk involuntarily, controlling him like a puppet. Her slim fingers jabbed the end into his testicle, the nerves sending the signal up to his brain and forcing his body to contort and twist itself.

“I have some bamboo skewers in the kitchen.” She jabbed the end of the chopstick into one of his balls. “They’re much sharper.” The end stabbed into his other ball and his body jerked the other way. “I bet I could just push them right through, and roast these.” She jabbed him again between his gasps of pain, and paused to look up at his clenched teeth. “You could have them for dinner. Would you like that?”

He whimpered and forced his brain to turn his thoughts into words. “Please don’t feed me my testicles ma’am.”

She stabbed him again, a quick series of light jabs that forced his breath in and out of his lungs in short, shuddering gasps. “I suppose, since I’ve already thawed something else out.” She casually worked her way around the tight orbs, pushing from side to side and jabbing them in an irregular pattern. “And really, all that hair, I’d have to remove it or the kitchen would smell awful.”

She smiled, and hummed to herself. “Hm, there’s a thought. Stay.”

He blinked tears out of his eyes as she walked across the room, and came back with duct tape. “Boys just don’t take care of themselves.”

Sweat formed on his body as she arched an eyebrow and slowly pulled a piece of tape off. The adhesive hissed as it pulled apart, and she carefully folded one end of the tape over on itself, then placed it on his balls. She watched his eyes as she smoothed it carefully with her fingers, pressing it down on the flesh.

He gripped the covers of the bed in tight fists as she teased him, lifting the tape slowly, pulling his balls upwards, dragging them away from his body until the tape just started to separate, then lowering them back down to his body. She watched him twitch as she dragged them around with her fingers, her eyes getting narrow as she watched his hands clench. “It’s the anticipation, isn’t it, that really sucks?”

He started to nod as she jerked her hand up, ripping the tape. He breathed out in a shuddering rush, and his eyes rolled up in his head. She laughed and leaned in closer. “Well, at least the anticipation is over.” She leaned back and put one hand over her heart. “Because I am a kind and considerate ma’am.”

Her lip curled as she looked at the hair stuck to the tape. “Ugh, that is just awful.” She lifted his balls up and looked them over, pushing the bright red flesh from side to side. “And it didn’t even take all of the hair off.” Her tongue made a disapproving noise against the back of her teeth. “And I missed a spot.” She looked at him and shook her head. “You look like you have mange. Oh well, plenty of tape.”

She leaned back and peeled another piece off, taking her time, her eyes staying on his face as she worked it down against his flesh. She didn’t speak this time, just ripped it off, yanking hair out and sighing at the sight of his thrashing body. She did it again, pulling out more hair, drinking in the sights and sounds, trying to memorize them for later. Every muscle, every bead of sweat, every sound of breath.

She finally leaned back, and licked her lips. A piece of tape hung between her fingertips, and she dangled it in front of him. “Now, I’ve taken care of it this time, but I don’t plan on making your ball hair a priority in my life.” He looked at her through bleary eyes as she arched an eyebrow at him. “So you’re going to do this one, to show me how much you’ve learned about hygiene.”

The sound of his whimper made something throb deep inside her, and her breath quickened as he wordlessly sat up. She could see the fuzziness in his eyes, how his thoughts were cloudy and floaty. He still made the little sounds of a person in pain, but his mind was a mile away.

She smiled and nodded encouragement as he folded over the end of the tape, and began working it against his skin. He pressed down carefully, kneading his fingers across the gray surface, holding it against his skin until he moved on. When it finally covered his stinging, reddened balls, he swallowed hard and looked at her for approval.

She nodded. “Do it. Pull if off your fucking balls for me.”

His hand jerked and he fell back on the bed, a piece of gleaming tape in his hands, his balls pulled away from his body, his legs jerking as the nerves crashed into his brain.

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

Preview: Fingers are for messaging! Wait, no massaging! I meant massaging.

Copyright Jerry Jones. Unauthorized use is prohibited.

The List 9: Cocks are for Fucking

Part 1 is here

From part 8: “Okay, that’s enough. Put the paddle away. I’m tired of waiting, and next up is one of your favorite body parts: your cock. It’s mine too, you know, because it can give me so much pleasure, and cause you so much pain.” She threw the blanket off, pulled the dress over her head, and looked down at his cock as he turned to face her.

“Oh yes, I’m going to have some fun with this one.”

She licked her lips, and let her eyes roam over his body, trying to decide where to start. Her teeth clicked against each other as she made small chewing motions, and she pressed her thighs together anxiously. She wanted him insider of her, wanted to feel his cock stretching her and filling up her cunt, but wanted him to suffer for it just a little bit more. “Close your eyes, get yourself hard. Your cock shouldn’t need to see me to fuck me.”

She leaned back on the bed as he closed his eyes, and started working his hand along his cock. He tried to ignore the pain in his body, the heat from his just beaten ass and the pain from his feet and legs. The burning sensation in his asshole from where she had violated him with the dildo, and the thoughts of what she’d be doing to his balls when they were done here. He shoved all that deep inside of himself, and focused on getting his cock hard for her, and keeping his eyes shut even though he knew she was naked and stretched out in front of him.

“Getting bored, hurry it up.” She forced her voice into a flat monotone, despite her enjoyment of the sight of him getting his cock ready for her use. Finally she sighed and rolled her hips, taking one last lingering look at the sight of him working his cock harder and faster. “Keep your eyes closed, but get over here and start fucking me.”

He stumbled forward, one hand stretched in front, feeling for her body or the bed, any landmark to let him know where she was, the other still working his cock, keeping it hard for her. His hand jumped as it brushed her outstretched leg, her knee hanging off the edge of the bed, and he carefully lined himself up and moved forward. His fingertips slid up her thigh and across her cunt, and she shivered, sweating in anticipation.

He kept his eyes closed and carefully moved his cock forward, jerking her legs up with his hands, running his cock up her slit until it slid inside of her. She moaned and arched her back, feeling him fill her, then shifted her hips and used her bitch voice: “You’re just a life support system for a cock to me, so get to fucking. And don’t you dare come, or we start over with the caning, and I won’t be so nice this time.”

He whimpered like a frightened puppy, but started fucking her, sliding back and forth, working his cock into her body over and over, trying to position himself to the sounds of her moans. She leaned back and let him fuck her, enjoying the sensation, the slow build of momentum and pleasure. Her eyes slipped closed and she let herself go, enjoying the ride, rolling her body with the feeling of contact.

Then the sound of his hard breathing woke up the part of her that needed to own, to control, to objectify, and she opened her eyes. She clamped her legs around him and tightened the muscles in her cunt, dragging him up against her and pinning him there. “Don’t you fucking dare come. Do you hear me?”

He instinctively tried to maintain the rhythm, wriggling against her legs, then stopped at the sound of her words. “Yes ma’am. It will fuck you without coming for as long it can.”

“As long as it can doesn’t really interest me. It will fuck me without coming for as long as I tell it to.” She held him there to prove her point, feeling the changes in his body as her words sank in, and then she released a little of the tension in her legs.

He tentatively started fucking her again, short, hard strokes that made wet meat slapping sounds as he pulled back, bounced off her legs, and slammed forward. She gradually moved her legs further out, letting him fuck her with longer strokes, loving the feeling of controlling his body. Loving the look of concentration on his face as he forced himself not to come, feeling him slow down as he got to the edge, then pick up the pace again as he got further away. Teasing himself, torturing himself because it felt so good to do that for her.

His arms were starting to quiver as they held up her up, and the feeling of those brief muscle spasms running from his shoulders to his hands and into her thighs sent her over the edge into a deep, twitching, moaning, back arched and eyes clamped shut orgasm. She wrapped her legs back around and dragged him in close, wanting as much of him insider of her as possible as her body twisted and her muscles spasmed.

“Stay, stay right there.” Her muscles relaxed and she watched him through half closed eyes, breathing hard and grinning. Finally, she blinked her eyes and moved her leg up, putting a foot on his chest and slowly pushing him backwards. “Good boy, good boy.”

His cock twitched at the sounds of her words, and she pushed herself back up on the bed. He waited expectantly, and she shook her head, trying to figure out what to do next. When in doubt, stall, and make it look like a scene. “Go get me a glass of ice water, and something for yourself if you like.”

“Oh, and open your eyes. Next we’re going to do something about those balls of yours, and I want you to see it.”

Preview: Balls are for being tortured! CBT fans, this ones for you.

Is this working for people? I usually don’t do continuity, but thought I’d try it, and this is usually more wordage than I devote to a single kink or sex act. Let me know, one way or the other. 🙂

Copyright Jerry Jones. Unauthorized use is prohibited.

The List 8: Its Ass is for Being Beaten

Click here to start at the beginning.

From Part 7: She was still grinning as she looked down at him. “I could get used to that. But business before pleasure, and now that we’ve violated that asshole of yours, I think it’s time we got on with the list and gave those cheeks some color.”

“Stand up.” He forced himself to his feet, body aching and protesting, and stood there breathing hard. She shifted his body slightly, rotating him a little so he was facing away from the bed, and nodded approvingly.

“Here you go.” She held out a plastic ping pong paddle, the bright yellow handle towards him. He awkwardly took it, and she walked back around him to lie down on the bed. “I need a little break, but that ass of yours still needs beaten, so get to it.” He frowned, and looked over his shoulder at her. “Does this technically make me a switch?”

She giggled and pulled a blanket around her, shifting a pillow to prop up her head so she could watch him. “I’m not really into sharing you, so you better hope not. I’d kind of have to kick your ass if you were seeing yourself behind my back. Your affair with video games is bad enough.”

He widened his eyes and feigned shock. “You know about that?!”

She grinned. “I found the Cheeto stained controller, Mountain Dew cans, and sometimes you mumble die alien scum in your sleep.”

He grinned back. “Earth ain’t gonna save itself. And it leaves time for your liaisons with Benedict Cumberbatch.”

“What can I say.” She rocked her head slightly, and panned an arm down her blanket covered body. “He just can’t resist me. And you’re stalling. Start beating that ass.”

He sighed, and shifted the paddle in his hand, awkwardly reaching behind himself and swatting his ass with the plastic. “Oh please, you can do better than that.”

He twisted slightly and hit himself again, harder. The stinging thud of plastic worked its way through his body, and he frowned slightly. He swung again, and the pain reverberated through his body.

She watched, needing the rest, and enjoying the sight of him torturing himself. “Other side of your ass, please.” She pulled the blanket tighter and sighed, watching the awkward swats from his left hand land with a little less certainty.

She put him through his kinky little paces for awhile, ordering him into increasingly awkward positions. On his knees, face down, balanced on one arm with ass in the air. One leg up on a chair, facing her so she could watch his expression as he beat his ass with the plastic paddle. Bent over, leaning awkwardly against the chair and beating one side of his ass, then the other.

The room was silent except for the rhythmic slapping of plastic against skin and muscles, and her occasional command to change position, or hit himself harder or softer. She worked him like a puppet, imagining how she would beat him then having him mimic those motions. Harder, softer. Faster, slower. Spreading his legs to tighten the muscles across his ass, his cock and balls lewdly displayed between them as the paddle crashed into his flesh.

They both knew this was foreplay, the slight delay between her vocalizing her desires and him hearing them lost some of the immediacy a true connection needed. They worked it in, taking the frustration and building on it, using it to build their passion. Tease and denial for d/s, little stumbling blocks that made it harder to lose themselves in each other.

She happily let him torture himself for awhile, letting her hunger build again. He rolled with the pain he inflicted on himself, enjoying the feeling of being an active participant in what they were creating. Her hunger built, his pain faded, until she couldn’t stand it anymore.

“Okay, that’s enough. Put the paddle away. I’m tired of waiting, and next up is one of your favorite body parts: your cock. It’s mine too, you know, because it can give me so much pleasure, and cause you so much pain.” She threw the blanket off, pulled the dress over her head, and looked down at his cock as he turned to face her.

“Oh yes, I’m going to have some fun with this one.”

Preview: Cocks are for fucking! No way this can go wrong, right?

Copyright Jerry Jones. Unauthorized use is prohibited.

The List 7: Assholes Are For Being Violated

The story starts here.

From part 6: She reached over and dragged an old blanket off the end of the bed, and spread it out in front of him. He leaned forward as she slipped away, and she smoothed a wrinkle in the blanket with her foot. “I think that covers the legs. Hands and knees now. It’s time we fill that hole in your ass.”

He slid down to the floor, wincing as his legs hit the blanket, and shuffled in an awkward circle. When he was facing away from her, he lowered his head to his arms, and gritted his teeth at the pain radiating through his legs.

She gathered the things she needed from the dresser, and the smell of lubricant and latex moved through the air. A glove snapped over one hand, and she brusquely began forcing lube up his ass. She’d beaten him down, reveled in his pain, now she just wanted to use him to get off. To treat him like a sex toy bought from a sleazy store for her pleasure.

She worked one end of the dildo in his ass, slowly pushing until the head slid into his body. He moaned as it pushed inside, and slipped in further by inches. He could feel it pushing its way inside, and tried to relax at the feeling of intrusion, to fight his instinct to clench and tighten the muscles in his ass. She worked it in slowly, further in then back slightly, not fucking him, just working it inside his body.

When half of the double headed dildo had disappeared inside him and the rest dangled out of his ass like a perverted tail, she swatted him on the rump. “On your back, and don’t you dare let that fall out of your ass.” He rolled over onto his side, then awkwardly onto his back, feeling the latex flop and twist underneath him. She picked up his ankles and shoved them towards his face, curling his body until his ass was pointed at the ceiling, the dildo still protruding.

“Stay in the position.” She ripped open a condom while he grabbed his ankles and balanced himself in the awkward position. She slipped the latex rubber over the end of the dildo, and smiled down at him. “I think I’ll get some pleasure while I violate you. In the interest of efficiency.”

She lifted her dress, and stepped over him, steadying the dildo with one hand while she slipped it into her cunt. She was still wet from the caning she had given him earlier, and the fake cock slid into her easily as she lowered her weight. She moaned and let herself fall until she felt herself hit his body, then dragged herself back up and down again.

She forced herself to go slowly, fucking herself on the fake cock protruding from his ass, watching him from behind half-closed eyelids. Looking at the bruised and contusions on his legs, feeling his body twitch and tremble under her as he fought to remain in the position. She could see his cock twitch and his eyes get wider as he watched her fucking herself, and tried to ignore the feeling of the cock in his ass while enjoying the view of her body being penetrated.

She stroked her clit gently, another source of pleasure slowly building inside of her, circling halfway around as she lowered herself, then slowly finishing the circle as she raised herself back up. She ground down onto his body, filling her cunt, then raising herself until the dildo almost came out.

Horrible fantasies flitted through her mind, images of fusing a man’s joints so he was locked in this position forever, feeding him intravenously and using him as a fucking machine while watching madness creep into his eyes day after day. Maybe she’d let him keep movement in his jaw so he could beg her to show him mercy. Listen to the sounds of his pleas and watch his pretty eyes while she fucked herself on the fake cock sticking out of his body.

She moaned at the thought of keeping him in a box while she wasn’t using him, a sturdy gag in his mouth and nothing but darkness around him. Would he eventually look forward to being used by her, just to get out of the darkness and his prison? Would she be interested in him anymore then, or would she want another toy, one who would still look at her with hatred in his eyes while she fucked herself on the dildo sticking out of his ass and his own cock hung in front of him?

She groaned and sighed, finally letting herself reach a slow, warm climax, and slid off the dildo. “Ugggg.” She smiled and licked her lips, letting her dress fall back down. “You can put your feet down, now, and take the dildo out of your ass.”

She stepped aside and his feet thudded into the floor. He rolled over on his side and awkwardly reached behind himself to pull the dildo out. It was slick and wet and glistened as he put it down on the edge of the blanket, and winced as sore muscles protested how long they had been kept in the unnatural position.

She was still grinning as she looked down at him. “I could get used to that. But business before pleasure, and now that we’ve violated that asshole of yours, I think it’s time we got on with the list and gave those cheeks some color.”

Preview: The List Part 8, Its ass is for being beaten.

Copyright Jerry Jones. Unauthorized use is prohibited.

The List 6: Legs are for Being Beaten

The story starts here.

She slid out from under him, and walked towards the bedroom. “Put the vacuum away, take care of any of your disgusting biological needs, and meet me in the bedroom. Enjoy walking, because it might be the last time you do it without pain for awhile.”

She dropped her plate and glass off in the kitchen sink and went to the kitchen. He put the vacuum back in the closet and walked into the bathroom. He forced himself to walk normally despite the electric twitches in his feet from the earlier caning, and leaned back as he pissed. He closed his eyes and flicked the last few drops of piss off his cock, put the toilet seat back down, and strode into the bedroom.

She raised her eyebrows appreciatively as he walked into the bedroom, letting her eyes flicker over his nudity. She could see the little tremors in his muscles, the slightest hesitation before he put his feet down. Things she had caused, and he had done for her.

She sighed and pushed herself off the bed. “Stand there.” She pointed to the middle of the room with a thin dowel rod, and he walked to spot. “The things I do for you. I’d rather sit on the bed and torture you, but I can’t get a good swing sitting down.” She lined up her body, and kicked his feet a little further apart. “Aren’t I considerate?”

Any reply was cutoff by his grunt as the wooden rod whacked into his shin, bouncing off the thin skin and muscle, sending a shock wave into the bone of his leg. He hissed out his pain, and shook his head. “One, ma’am.”

Laughter forced itself past her lips. “Oh, that’s so cute. He thinks how many times I’ve hit him matters.” She slapped his shin with the rod again, sending another wave of pain into his body. “It doesn’t matter how many times I’ve hit you pet.” Another slap from the dowel, an inch below the other. “Because I’m just going to hit you…” Whack! “Until I think…” Whack! “Your legs…” Whack! “Have been…” Whack! “Beaten…” Whack! “Enough.”

He rose up on his toes at the last strike, the skin of his legs glowing red and angry. She stepped around, and started working on his other shin silently, her mouth a hard line of intense concentration. Hitting him exactly where she wanted, exactly as hard she wanted, ratcheting up the pain and sensation for both of them.

She moved from heavy, hard hits to light, stinging taps and back to hard hits, distressing the thin skin on his shins before moving to the back of his legs. She worked him over, moving back and forth across his legs, up and down the heavy muscles. Slapping, hitting, crushing, distorting the skin and muscles, forcing energy into the bones from unnatural angles.

Time vanished, and the world shrank until it was just the bedroom, then the two of the them, floating in a void of pain and pleasure. She moved around his body, focusing on his legs, leaving a spiderweb of red lines and abrasion across the skin. The wooden rod glistened with sweat from his body. Blood rose up near his skin, then peaked out in tiny drops, winking and bouncing as his muscles spasmed.

The sound of wood hitting skin filled their ears, echoing around the pleasure, forcing it into peaks and valleys. The sound of wood hitting skin forcing it higher, his gasps and moans little bursts of percussion that accented the sound of torture.

She kept working on his body, tearing it away, robbing of its vitality little by little, hungry and wanting to take it all until he had nothing left to give. His body jerked in little shocks and waves, and she waited until he started to wobble, then slid a chair from the desk behind him. “Sit.”

He dropped gratefully into the chair, and then dowel slashed down hitting the front of his upper legs. Trapped against the wood of the chair there was no give, and the pain made him jump. He forced his hands to grab the chair seat, holding himself in it while she continued beating him, barely pausing.

The world got a little smaller, and she relentlessly worked her way up and down the front of his legs, bouncing the wooden rod off his body until he was sobbing and gasping in front of her. When his moans no longer sounded human, when they were the desperate sounds of a trapped animal, she finally stopped.

She stroked his hair gently, letting him come down, and slid her breasts across his face. He moaned again as the pain mixed with sudden pleasure, and sank in the chair a little. She let his head rest against the skin between her breasts, feeling his hot, wet breath, and then gently pushed him back.

She reached over the dragged an old blanket off the end of the bed, and spread it out in front of him. He leaned forward as she slipped away, and she smoothed a wrinkle in the blanket with her foot. “I think that covers the legs. Hands and knees now. It’s time we fill that hole in your ass.”

Preview: Butt fans rejoice, next up is part 7: Assholes are for being violated, with dildos, buttplugs, or hands. Possibly extraneous commas, not sure if that first one is necessary.

Copyright Jerry Jones. Unauthorized use is prohibited.

The List 5: Ankles are for Being Hobbled

Click here to start at the beginning.

From Part 4

“Ugggggggggggggg.” An animal sound came from somewhere deep inside her, and slowly, reluctantly, opened her legs and slid away from his tongue, suddenly sensitive but wanting to hold into the sensation as long as possible. “Come here.” She motioned him up onto the bed, and he slid onto it until he was lying beside her. She pulled him hard against her and kissed him. “Good boy.” She stroked his hair, and finally opened her eyes. “Good boy. I can’t wait to hobble you.”

She pushed herself off the bed, and mussed his hair with her hand. “In fact…” She hauled a couple of short lengths of rope out of the dresser drawer, and walked back over to him. “Up on the bed.” He sat on the bed facing her, and she placed the palm of her hand flat against his chest and shoved. He fell back on the bed, and she picked one leg up, and began wrapping rope around his ankle.

She grabbed his other leg, and wrapped the rope around the other ankle. She left him with about four inches of slack, and dropped his legs. “I need a snack, you get to vacuum the living room.”

He looked at her, and rubbed his jawline. “Vacuuming? That is so hawt.” He hit the a and w hard, leering at her.

She chuckled and rolled her eyes. “Don’t worry, I’ll find a way to make it fun. For me at least. In the mean time, you need to show me those ankles are for being hobbled, and the carpet needs to be cleaner.”

He stood up and started to lean in for a hug, then stumbled and sat back down. She laughed and nodded. “And you thought vacuuming wouldn’t be hawt? I’m going to enjoy watching you, I think it will have that kind of baby horse taking its first steps sort of cuteness.”

She leaned over and kissed his forehead, then went to the kitchen. He stood up again, and minced across the bedroom to the closet. Short, inefficient steps, the ropes jerking his legs to a stop far sooner than he would have liked. His feet ached from the caning, a dull burning every time he took a step. He sighed, pulled the vacuum cleaner out, and shuffled it towards the living room.

She wolf whistled as he bent over to plug in the vacuum, and grinned around her peanut butter and jelly sandwich as he shimmied his ass in mock seduction. The vacuum roared to life, and he started moving across the room, etching parallel lines in the carpet, back and forth.

She sighed and took a sip of water, watching his awkward gate as he moved across the room. Controlling him, taking away his strength and speed, leaving him vulnerable, where she could…

He yelped and stumbled as she kicked him in the ass. He forced himself upright using the vacuum as a kind of cane, and turned it off. The dull roar died and he turned his head to frown back at her. “Was that necessary?”

She raised an eyebrow and he hobbled a few steps further from her, rubbing his ass. She giggled and shook her head. “No, but it was entertaining. Expect more as you clean in front of the couch, for I have decided I like to pounce.”

He rolled his eyes but turned back on the vacuum and slowly worked it across the carpet, enjoying the activity in spite of himself. It wasn’t a big challenge, but it was something physical to overcome, a feeling of mastering his body and pushing it in new directions for her, accomplishing something tangible and useful. Pushing through the pain of the soles of his feet from the caning, and forcing his body to continue when it wanted to stop. He turned around and crossed the room again, letting the vacuum cleaner thump against the couch, and sighing as he turned around. He considered waiting for it but knew that wasn’t the game, and started shuffling forward again.

The heel of her foot caught him in the fleshy part of his ass again, and he dropped his knees to lower his center of gravity, then stood back up, recovering his balance. Working his way across the carpet and back again, each time her foot thudding into him, watching the floor get cleaner and feeling his body get more confident in the short, restricted steps.

Finally, he worked the cleaner around the perimeter of the room and shut if off near the couch. He hopped over and she curled her legs up under her as he flopped down on the cushion, sighing as his aching feet signaled their relief. He raised his legs and dropped them over the end of the couch, letting them hang, and putting his head in her lap, looking up at her. “All done ma’am.”

She set aside her water and used her hands to smoosh his face into different shapes, squeezing his cheeks and pulling on the skin. “Not a bad job, even. Too bad you’d make such a hideous woman, or I might turn you into a maid.”

He laughed, and arched his neck to look up at her. “You’ve seen the pictures from when I had long hair and put in pigtails. It was not pretty.”

She winced, and nodded back. “Yeah, no cross-dressing for you. I think you personally destroyed the Catholic Schoolgirl Fetish for every single person at that party. Even for the women who were actual Catholic Schoolgirls.”

“I’m still kind of proud of that actually.”

She sighed. “Of course you are, because what’s a day without destroying some part of a person’s life that gives them pleasure, you malevolent jerk-face.”

She smashed his lips together with one hand before he could answer, and finished her glass of water with the other. “If you need to use the bathroom, I suggest you do it now. Meet me in the bedroom for, remind me, what’s next on the list?”

He winced, remembering how writing the words had seemed like a good idea at the time. “Its legs are for being beaten, ma’am.”

She smiled, and looked at the ceiling. “You’re right, I’d forgotten that one. I was going to go straight to shoving things in your ass. But that sounds like a lot more fun when you can’t get away, when your legs are so sore you can’t even stand let alone walk.”

She slid out from under him, and walked towards the bedroom. “Put the vacuum away, take care of any of your disgusting biological needs, and meet me in the bedroom. Enjoy walking, because it might be the last time you do it without pain for awhile.”

Preview: Legs are for being beaten! 🙂

Copyright Jerry Jones. Unauthorized use is prohibited.

The List 4: Knees are for Kneeling

Click here to start at the beginning

From Part 3:

He stopped and carefully lowered his body to the floor, laying on his side, his knees and hands still raw and burning from where the rice had gouged its way into his flesh. He looked across the room at her and smiled, until…

“Besides, next up is kneeling, and you’re going to need the breather.”

She flopped over on the bed, tired and warm and satiated. Momentarily. She played back over the events in her head as her breath slowed, and thought about what was going to happen next. Her skin started to tingle, and she rolled over to look at him and smiled. “Okay, I’m ready now.”

His head raised slightly and he grinned back at her. “Are you sure? I wouldn’t want to wear you out.”

She hopped off the bed, her dress fluttering down around her legs, picked up the trash can by the bed and walked over to him. “Smart-ass. I appreciate the concern, but I think I’ll manage. Give me your hand.” She took his hand and started working the tape loose. The sharp hiss of adhesive coming off skin matched his sudden inhalation. She pulled it off slowly, letting him feel every hair that was ripped off along with the tape, enjoying the looks playing over his face.

She slipped the glove off, dumping the rice into the wastebasket and setting it aside. Her fingers slid across the dimpled flesh on his palms, plucking out bits of rice and dropping them in the wastebasket. His fingers twitched and she imagined the pain from fresh blood bringing oxygen to the damaged cells, and felt the damp warmth of his skin. She ran her fingers along his palm, then let go of his hand. “Other hand, please.”

The tape ripped off again, more hair and skin latched onto adhesive and deposited in the waste basket. The rustling sound of uncooked rice falling out and hitting the plastic trash bag. She picked out the few grains that remained in his palm, and felt herself getting hungrier. She paused for a second, considering. “Okay, down on your stomach. Let’s go those kneepads off. As much as I enjoy them, I’m going to need you on your knees for awhile, and uncooked rice is a little bit much.”

He shifted over so he was laying on his stomach, and felt the velcro bands coming undone. She lifted one leg out of the plastic cup, and brusquely ran her palm along his knee, knocking off the hard grains. They fell into the kneepad, and when she was done they were dumped in the trash, the kneepad carelessly tossed aside.

Her hunger was growing, and she didn’t feel like waiting anymore. She picked his other leg up herself, ripped the fastener in two, and scoured his knee with her hand. The rice went in the trash can, the kneepad bounced across the floor. She stood up, letting his leg fall to the floor with a clunk. “On your knees now, that’s what they’re for, after all.”

He pushed himself up and shuffled around to face her, then rose up on his knees. The air felt cool, and the carpet was a pleasant sensation after the gouging sensation of the rice. Her fist wound itself into his hair and clenched, and he followed awkwardly as she dragged him along and positioned him facing the bed, several feet away. “Stay.”

She growled the word, while she pulled her dress up over her head and off, then folded it and set it aside. She pulled a book off the shelf, something thick and bulky, and set it carefully on top of his head. “Don’t let that fall off. If I have to stop and put it back on, I’m going to be pissed.”

He forced his back a little straighter, and tried to feel the weight of the book on his head, anticipate which way it might shift and fall. She hopped back on the bed, and grabbed a pillow. She shoved the pillow under her head so she could look at his eyes, and sighed. The vibrator hummed on and she started gently working it up and down her slit.

He started to lean forward and felt the book begin to shift. He swallowed hard and slowly moved back, keeping it in place on his head. She licked her lips and pushed the vibrator against her clit a little harder. “Ah, you remembered. If you can get over here without the book falling off before I come, I’ll let you finish me off with your tongue. If not, too bad.”

She teased her clit with the vibrator, running it in tight circles over the flesh, pushing against the nerve endings. He swallowed hard, and began inching forward, his knees still aching. She teased herself as he tested how fast he could go, short, careful movements that placed his knees a little closer to her each time. She watched his progress and moaned, teasing him, driving him on, one eye on his face the other on the book perched on his head.

He shuffled forward, moving faster, desperate to get there before she came. He slid one knee forward, then the other, sliding them across the carpet, ignoring the irritation of the already tender and bruised skin, one knee, then the other–thud. The book hit the floor and her eyes narrowed. She stood up while he trembled, then grabbed him by the hair and dragged him backwards to his starting point.

The book slapped down on top of his head and he winced, then flinched as she slapped his face. One cheek, then the other, back and forth until the book tumbled off again. “I told you to keep the book on your head.” She slapped him, hard. “What?” Slap! “Part?” Slap! “Of?” Slap! “That?” Slap! “Did you not?” Slap slap slap! “Understand?” A final slap left his ears ringing, and he pleaded with his eyes. “Sorry ma’am, I was trying.”

She slapped him one more time, then turned and walked back towards the bed. “Get it right.” She picked the vibrator back up, dragged herself onto the bed, and rubbed her palm on her cunt. The heat from his face melted into her body, and she ground her palm down into her labia, stimulating the sensitive flesh. He started shuffling forward again, and she shifted her hips and spread her legs a little further.

The vibrator pushed against her again, and he started his awkward, painful, shuffling march across the floor, his back locked straight, the book pushing down on his head. His eyes locked on the lewd display in front of him, he carefully moved one knee then the other, ignoring everything but the sight of her and the feel of the book on top of his head.

She ratcheted up the pressure and the pleasure, and he ground his teeth and forced himself to move at the careful pace that kept the book on top of his head. One knee moved in front of the other, inching across the carpet as she pushed herself closer to orgasm. She was panting and breathing hard, short gasps that made her chest heave, as he finally got to the bed, and kissed her thigh.

She shoved the vibrator in his mouth, letting him taste her, and threw the book aside with the other. “Oh god, I thought you’d never get here. Get your mouth on my cunt or I swear to God I’ll kill you.” His lips eagerly locked onto her pussy, the short, stiff hairs brushing against his lips as his tongue worked its way over her clit, pushing against it, rolling back and forth across it, tracing circles around it over and over.”

Her back arched and the blood pounded in her head as she wrapped her thighs around his head, smashing his face tight against her, holding him there. She could feel his tongue and his breath against her cunt, and her hips rolled, jerking his face along until she erupted, coming on his tongue, her thighs trembling and her legs jerking.

“Ugggggggggggggg.” An animal sound came from somewhere deep inside her, and slowly, reluctantly, opened her legs and slid away from his tongue, suddenly sensitive but wanting to hold into the sensation as long as possible. “Come here.” She motioned him up onto the bed, and he slid onto it until he was lying beside her. She pulled him hard against her and kissed him. “Good boy.” She stroked his hair, and finally opened her eyes. “Good boy. I can’t wait to hobble you.”

Preview: Part 5, Ankles are for being hobbled! Aren’t they?

Copyright Jerry Jones. Unauthorized use is prohibited.

The List 3: Hands and Knees are for Crawling

If you’re just starting, here’s part 1 of the story

From part 2… His hand shook as he scrawled out the big, block letters on his other foot. She nodded when he was done, and thought about the list. “Next is crawling, I believe.” She chuckled then, and smiled. “Maybe you’re smarter than I thought.” One eyebrow bounced up. “Or maybe not.”

“Stay.” She patted him on the head as she walked by, and added a little extra wiggle as she left the room. He slumped a little, and tried to ignore the burning pain in the soles of his feet as he forced himself to take deep, slow breaths. He could hear her rummaging around in drawers, and tried to block out everything but the memory of warm, fuzzy pain and submission. His eyes slid closed.

“Off the bed.” He opened his eyes and slid forward. Her back was towards him, and she was fiddling with something on top of the dresser. When she turned, he raised an eyebrow at the sight of the knee pads they had bought last year to redo the floors. She squatted down and set them carefully in front of him. His breath hissed through his teeth when he saw the grains of uncooked rice in each plastic cup.

“Lay down, face on the floor.” He looked up at her with pleading eyes as he lowered his nude body to the floor. Her hands grabbed his legs one at a time, lifting them up and slipping the pads under his knees. The nylon straps wrapped around his legs, cinching down tight. She curled his leg up and pushed down, testing the tightness. He gasped as the hard grains but into his knees, and she smiled. “And to think not that long ago you thought people used cooked rice for this.”

He grunted as she repeated the process with the other leg. “You have to admit it does help get rid of left overs.”

She snorted and slapped his ass. “Not if you order extra fried rice with every meal, it doesn’t. Roll over and sit up.”

He turned over and did and awkward situp while she retrieved more items from the dresser. “Put these on.” She carelessly tossed him two heavy leather gloves stained with sweat and varnish, leftovers from the same project, and walked back over with the box of rice and a roll of tape.

He pulled the gloves on each hand and held them out. She pushed his hands down, pulled the wide mouth of the gloves open, and dumped a generous portion into the gloves. She grabbed the leather palms and pulled them out so the rice could settle between his skin and the leather, and then picked up the roll of tape. “I don’t need you wasting my good rice spilling it all over the floor, and I certainly don’t feel like running the vacuum later.”

She started the tape and began wrapping it around the opening of the gloves, sealing them against his skin. The adhesive pulled the glove down tight against his skin. She stood up and grinned down at him. “Well, you said your hands and knees were for crawling. Crawl.”

“Yes ma’am.” He rolled over, wincing as his knees hit the floor and grains of rice dug into the thin skin and hit bone. He pushed down with one hand experimentally, and grimaced as the rice ground into the meatier flesh of his palms. It wasn’t as bad, but still an annoyance, a reminder that each movement would cause pain.

Her foot hit his ass and he rocked forward and back, hissing as his weight shifted and the rice found new spots to torment. “From one side of the room to the other, until I come. Then you can stop, but not before.”

He nodded and started a slow, shuffling crawl, forcing himself to pick up one knee and move it forward, the extra weight on the other knee bringing a sharp twinge of pain. Then a hand as he balanced on his knees and other hand, then the other side of this body. She grinned down at him, then shimmied out of her panties. The green cloth slid down her thighs then her legs until it emerged from the bottom of her sun dress. She raised one ankle and pulled them the rest of the way off, and considered carefully.

“What the hell, you were good through the caning, I’ll give you a little reward.” She caught up to him easily and pulled the wet cloth over his face, letting the crotch dangle over his face. One eye looked up at her from a leg hole, and he grinned. “Thank you ma’am.”

She grinned back and put one foot down on his hand, slowly increasing her weight, driving the rice into his hand further. “You’re not crawling.”

He turned his eyes back down and started a slow shuffle forward again. She hopped on the bed, lying on her side, and pulled her dress up around her hips. Her hand started to play with her clit, rubbing gently in a small circle. She watched him crawl across the room, his hesitant, jerking motions as the pain shifted across his body from one point to the other.

The rice bit into his knee when he moved his opposite leg forward, and she pushed down a little as she saw the pain in his eyes. She let up as he moved his hands forward carefully, testing carefully before he put them down. She rubbed faster as he turned around and she saw his semi-hard cock hanging below him as he tortured himself for her. Despite his protestations, he was getting off on this, and the thought made her smile and slide her fingers up and down her slit.

He could hear her gasps and the wet, fleshy sounds of self-pleasure as he forced himself to move across the room. When he wanted to fall over on his side and let the pain fade he listened to her breathing, getting faster and more out of control, and focused on that as he forced his limbs to keep moving. He tried to block out his pain and focus on the sounds of her pleasure, to catch glimpses of her from the corner of his eye, to memorize every detail of her half-closed eyes and her fingers working on her cunt as he reached a wall and turned around in an awkward semi-circle.

She grinned and shifted her hips, putting on a little show for him each time his eyes wandered over. “Faster, crawl faster, or I’ll go take a cold shower and order a pizza. You’ll be doing this for an hour before I come back.” She made her hand slow down then stop, linger over her pussy without touching it.

He groaned but forced himself to move faster, move less carefully. The rice drove itself into his skin and bones as his hands and knees came down harder, and the pain came in hot spikes that wracked his entire body. The kneepads made lot cracking sounds as the hard plastic collided with the floor, and the leather gloves made meaty slaps as they hit the floor and drove the grains of rice into the palms of his hands.

She moaned and started jerking herself off faster and harder. He lurched across the room, and she saw the spasms of pain cross his face faster, each one distorting his features a little more. His movements got awkward as his body started to instinctively flee the pain, and it became harder for him force himself forward. He flailed and slapped his way across the room like a crippled animal, and she sighed and rubbed her clit a little harder.

“Ugggghhhhh…” She moaned and came, timing it as he was halfway across the room. He turned his head as far he could and rushed forward, nearly colliding with the far wall before he started turning in a slow circle, eager to see her come.

She carefully pulled her fingers away and let her dress fall. Her body slumped on the bed, and she listened to her heartbeat and gasping breaths, and the sounds of his crawling in the background. “Oh, take a break.” She smiled magnanimously at him, and rolled over on her back. “Lay down on your side. You earned it.”

He stopped and carefully lowered his body to the floor, laying on his side, his knees and hands still raw and burning from where the rice had gouged its way into his flesh. He looked across the room at her and smiled, until…

“Besides, next up is kneeling, and you’re going to need the breather.”

Preview: The List 4: Knees are for Kneeling

Copyright Jerry Jones. Unauthorized use is prohibited.

The List 2: Caning

This story starts here:

The First Part of The List

He was waiting for her in the bedroom, naked, sitting on the bed with his feet outstretched. She nodded in approval at the towel under his ass, and the cane in his hands.

“You don’t like the cane much do you?”

He shook his head. “No ma’am.”

She shrugged. “No point in warmup then. I think I’ll do one foot, then the other. That way it can last a little longer.”

He grimaced and she slammed the cane into the sole of his left foot, watching the meat and skin distort with the force of the blow. His leg jerked, the force traveling up his body in a spasm. He exhaled sharply, forcing the air out of his lungs, trying to breathe through the searing flash of pain that erupted in his foot.

She felt a sudden warmth travel through her, and her eyes slid half closed as she watched the pain travel through him. “Do you want to count them, or should I?” She pitched her voice several octaves higher, and tilted her head to the side. “Because I’m such a silly billy sadist, I might make a mistake.”

“One!” He breathed in and clenched his fists. “One ma’am.”

She nodded. “Smart boy.” Then she hit him again.

His body jerked and his breath rushed out of him, more pain erupting in his foot and traveling along every nerve ending in his body to his brain. Somewhere in his chocking pain he croaked out, “Two, ma’am.”

She pushed him as hard as she could, her own excitement building, barely letting him recover before hitting him again. The cane whipped through the air, the sound a charming prelude to his sounds of torture. The meaty slap as it hit his flesh, the shock that coursed back through the cane and down her arm to some place deep inside her, the sound of him counting out the strokes.

“Three, ma’am.”

The cane slashed through the air, and his body jerked again. “Four ma’am!” The pain started to pile up faster than he could deal with it. “Five ma’am!” He wasn’t trying to breathe through the pain anymore, just to breathe. “Six ma’am!” His body jerked further and harder with each stroke, and her breaths got faster. “Seven, ma’am!” His hands were balled into fists, holding tight to the towel, and she could feel her fingers itching to play with her cunt. “Eight, ma’am!” His eyes were clamped shut, trying to block out the pain, and she licked her lips at the sight of his contorted face. “Nine, ma’am.” He was holding his leg down with his hands now, forcing it to stay flat on the bed, and her thighs were trembling at the sight of how hard it was for him to submit to this torture for her. “Ten, ma’am, fuck!” The last blow bounced off his foot, ten angry red lines across the bottom of his left foot. She loved the contrast, the sight of the horizontal streaks on his skin. She wanted to run her tongue across them, to taste and feel the broken skin and popped blood vessels.

She exhaled sharply, and smiled at him. “Good boy. I’m very proud of you.” She watched him rock back and forth slightly, looked at his still clamped shut eyes and his posture. He needed a break. For that matter, she needed to get herself a little more under control as well. “Go get the black marker from the dresser.”

He nodded and slid off the end of the bed. She watched him hobble over to the dresser, favoring one foot, hopping slightly each time it hit the floor. She slid the cane through her hands, itching to make his other foot match, to restore symmetry to him. He hobbled back, wincing with each step, and held out the marker. She shook her head. “Oh no, that’s for you. I want you to write what your foot is for on your foot, the top I think, and then we’ll start on the right.”

He nodded then sat back on the bed and pulled his foot up to himself, sitting half cross-legged. He pulled the lid off the marker, and awkwardly scrawled “For caning” on the top of his foot in blocky, jagged letters. His hands still trembled slightly in pain, and her fingers twitched in pleasure. He put the lid back on the marker, and set it down on the bed, then looked up at her expectantly.

She grinned back, and stepped to the side, lining up her body to start working over his right foot. The cane smacked into him, and he started counting again. It happened faster this time, both of them were closer to the edge, more eager to get there. The initial doubts and hesitations, the uncertainties about whether they were in the mood for this sort of thing, if they’d be able to connect, if there were too many other things going on had disappeared.

She inflicted pain on him, and it reflected back onto her as pleasure. He saw her pleasure, and it made him want more pain. His hands still held his leg down, his body jerked and spasmed and complained regardless of what his mind wanted. Nerve endings frayed and fired, and he began to sweat. She swallowed hard, almost drooling at the sight of him suffering, and forced herself to set a deliberate pace and not just hit him as hard and quick as she could. To let the pleasure build rather then gorge herself on it all at once and swallow it as fast she could, let it run down her chin and splash on her tits.

“Ten, ma’am!” He counted out the last stroke, and her breathing was as hard and fast as his. She waited for his eyes to flutter open, and pointed at the marker. “Write it down.” She tried to think of a way to make it funny, to add a joke or a comment, but all she could think of was the wonderful feelings bouncing around her body and mind.

His hand shook as he scrawled out the big, block letters on his other foot. She nodded when he was done, and thought about the list. “Next is crawling, I believe.” She chuckled then, and smiled. “Maybe you’re smarter than I thought.” One eyebrow bounced up. “Or maybe not.”

Preview: The List 3: Crawling

Copyright Jerry Jones. Unauthorized use is prohibited.

The List 1: Making the List

Some last minute rearranging of posts, so previews will be a little out of whack until I get them fixed. I’m also experimenting with writing longer stories, so this is a first parter. Of a many parter. Parter.

She groaned and leaned back in her chair, slowly counting to five. He disabled another oxygen system and watched the tiny crew of the spaceship on the screen panic and being frantically working to fix their air supply. Finally, she shook her head and looked over at him. “You are not allowed to give internet advice anymore. Ever. In a million million years.”

He pushed more power to the shields and looked over at her with a frown. “Why? What did I do wrong?”

She turned back to the computer and started to read. “NewSubHawksFan asked how he could best approach a dominatrix, and you suggested that he taunt her, in the hope that she will become so cross she’ll make a mistake. Those are words, that you made in your head, and sent to someone else, who was looking for help.”

He tried not to laugh and failed, then forced his expression into a somber stare. “It’s a classic movie, she might go for it, you never know.”

She shook her head. “I really don’t thinks so.”

“Buy you a Coke if she murders him?” He tried not to grin, but not very hard.

She forced herself to count to five again, and then sighed. “I’ll tell you what, since you have time to dispense internet advice, and you’re an absolutely horrible person, you can make me a list.”

He glanced back at the screen and paused the game. “What kind of list?”

She fished a notepad and a pen out of the desk, and tossed them over to him. “I want a list describing what each of your body parts is for. You can get to work on it now.”

He saved and exited the game, then flipped open the notebook and found a blank page. He leaned back against the couch, and started to write.

Its eyes are for being blindfolded.
Its ears are for hearing orders.
Its mouth is for drinking piss.
Its neck is for wearing a collar with a leash attached.
Its back is for being beaten.
Its nipples are for being clamped.
Its chest is for being punched.
Its hands are for being restrained.
Its cock is for being tortured.
Its ass is for being beaten.
Its legs are for being beaten.
Its knees are for kneeling.
Its feet are for being caned.

He cleared his throat, and she looked up and held out her hand.

He walked over, and handed her the pad of paper. She plucked the pen from his shirt pocket, and chewed on the end while staring at the computer screen. He stood there for several minutes, waiting patiently, until she minimized the screen and slid the keyboard back. She dropped the notepad on the desk and pulled the lid off the pen.

“Hmm… let’s see.” She went down each line, crossing them off one by one. When she was done, she handed it back. “That list isn’t specific enough. You can use it as a reference, but start over. I’m also surprised, are you sure your cock is only for torturing?”

Its eyes are for being blindfolded.
Its ears are for hearing orders.
Its mouth is for drinking piss.
Its neck is for wearing a collar with a leash attached.
Its back is for being beaten.
Its nipples are for being clamped.
Its chest is for being punched.
Its hands are for being restrained.
Its cock is for being tortured.
Its ass is for being beaten.
Its legs are for being beaten.
Its knees are for kneeling.
Its feet are for being caned.

He looked down the crossed off items and nodded, then met her eyes. “No ma’am, I mean yes ma’am, I mean…”

She nodded and handed him the pen. “Get back to work.”

He looked at the previous list carefully, considering each item, then started writing again.

Its hair is for being pulled.
Its head is for being stuffed in a bag.
Its eyes are for being blindfolded.
Its nose is for being clamped.
Its ears are for hearing orders.
Its mouth is for being gagged, silencing it and letting drool fall out.
Its tongue is for licking boots, cunt, and ass.
Its throat is for swallowing piss.
Its neck is for wearing a collar with a leash attached.
Its back is for being beaten.
Its nipples are for being clamped.
Its chest is for being punched.
Its stomach is for having degrading words written on.
Its hands are for being restrained.
Its fingers are for massaging your sore muscles.
Its balls are for being tortured.
Its cock is for fucking.
Its ass is for being beaten.
Its asshole is for being violated, with dildos, buttplugs, or hands.
Its legs are for being beaten.
Its ankles are for being hobbled.
Its knees are for kneeling.
Its hands and knees are for crawling.
Its feet are for being caned.

He looked over the list again, then a second time, and put the lid back on the pen. He stood up and walked back over to her. She took the pad of paper, tapped it against the desk, and started reading. “Interesting additions. I note that you didn’t mention your cock was for having orgasms or coming. That seems like an unfortunate omission.”

He leaned over, and scanned down the list. “Was that an option? Because I could…”

She cut him off with a wave of her hand. “No, this list looks fine without any revisions. We’ll start going through it now, although I think I’ll start at the bottom of the list. A good caning across the soles of the feet always focuses your attention wonderfully.” She looked up at him. “And we will go through the entire list, or we’ll start over at the beginning until we do.”

She grabbed his belt and dragged him closer. “I bet your balls are going to be really full after you fuck my brains out and don’t come. It’s going to be so much fun torturing them with your cock all hard and frustrated, dripping pre-cum, and you fighting not to orgasm. Maybe I’ll milk you before and after just to see how much come they make while fucking me. It ought to be nice and cold by the time we get to your tongue is for licking.”

He shuddered and closed his eyes, leaning back just far enough to keep pressure on the waistband of his pants, to feel her grip on his clothes. “Yes ma’am.”

She let go and watched him stumble backwards. “Take your clothes off and wait for me in the bedroom in the cane in your hands and your feet out. And what did we learn?”

He tried to keep his thoughts fuzzy while still processing the question. “Not to give bad internet advice?”

She nodded. “When we’re done, you’ll write something about the merits of taunting dominatrices and hoping they’ll become so cross they’ll make a mistake.” She stood up, and smashed her lips against his. “Because a mistake might be that I forget where I am on the list, and have to start over. Now go.”

He moaned and licked his lips as she pulled away, and then shuffled towards the bedroom. She saved her document and shut off the computer, grinning to herself. His horrible ideas really made it easier to do this, and she loved him for it. Not that she’d ever tell him that.

It would ruin all the fun.

Preview: The List 2: Caning

Copyright Jerry Jones. Unauthorized use is prohibited.

For Science

He winced when he saw the lab coat.

She grinned when she saw him wince. “Something wrong?”

“That damn coat.”

She smoothed the white cloth, forcing it against her tits, down her stomach, and against her thighs. “My mad scientist coat? But I have so much fun in it.”

He shuddered. “Wax, electricity, and ‘how much icy hot can go on balls’ isn’t fun.”

She waggled a finger sternly. “Don’t forget shoving metal rods up your dick hole.”

His hand reflexively jerked towards his crotch. “Oh. I was blindfolded for that one, but I’ll add it to the list.”

“Don’t be such a spoil sport.” She sidled up to him, rubbing her tits against his body. “It’s not like I’m going to kill you and reanimate your corpse as a mindless cock slave for my own pleasure.” He could feel her breasts through the layers of fabric, and stubbornly tried not to look down. “Not even a little bit. In fact…” She laughed and ran her fingers along his ribs. “Today’s science lesson: magnets!”

His lip curled, but he felt his cock twitch in spite of the pain and humiliation he knew was coming. “Magnets?”

“Magnets.” She waggled her eyebrows, and wiggled her fingers at him. “Remove your clothing, it interferes with the science.”

He swallowed hard and started to take off clothes, piling them in the corner of the room. When he was naked, hands at his side, she motioned him over to the couch where she was sitting. She spun him around roughly, the handcuffs clicking over his wrists, pinning his hands behind him. She spun him back around, and grabbed his balls, pulling them away from his body and looping the rough twine around them, pulling it down tight. The black metal disc dangled from the end, pulling his balls away from his body, swinging back and forth.

“Magnets are, shockingly, attracted to other magnets. Let’s demonstrate.” She tossed another magnet across the room. It bounced and rolled across the floor, then stopped. “Well, go get it.”

He shuffled carefully across the room, his hands behind his back, the magnet swinging between his thighs. He stood over the magnet, leaned forward, and carefully lowered his body until his upper legs were parallel to the floor. The magnet hanging from his balls swung in a lazy arc until it got close to the magnet on the floor. The string jerked slightly and with a loud click the magnets snapped together.

She let out an excited “eek!” when the two magnets joined, and licked her lips. “But a key part of the scientific method is reproducibility. Isn’t it?”

He straightened back up, and drew a long, ragged breath. “Yes, ma’am.”

She threw a pair of magnets to opposite corners of the room, and slapped his ass, hard. “Come on, I’ll never get government funding if my assistant is slow. Move it.”

He shuffled towards the closer of the two, the magnets pulling harder on his balls. She walked along behind him, slapping his ass. “God, I’d love to do research for the Federal Department of Mad Scientists. I’d need a cooler acronym, but I think I’d have a few hundred men marching back and forth across the dessert, a nice hard packed mud landscape, pulling magnets out of dispensers with their balls.”

She moaned as he lowered himself again, and a third magnet clamped itself to the other two. “Back and forth all day in the sun, their feet bleeding, their balls aching. Hundreds of big, tough men, wincing as they walked back and forth with all that weight hanging off their balls.”

He felt his cock twitching as he shuffled across the room and got caught up in her fantasy. “You could consider a reward, for whoever did best.”

She smiled a dreamy grin, and slapped his ass again. “I suppose I could, but random rewards seem more fun. Maybe I’d keep a bucket of water in my nice shaded observation platform, and let whoever I liked from the day before lick my boots all day.” She tossed another magnet and slapped his ass again, the electric jolt of contact traveling up her arm and down into her stomach.

“Hm, I like that. I think I’d have them go in a circle in front of me, picking magnets up from timed dispensers, and every time they passed they could get down on their hands and knees and get a drink from the bucket and thank me.” He squatted down to get another magnet and she put her hands on his shoulders, holding him in the awkward position until she saw his thighs start to tremble. She left him that way a little longer, then hauled him to his feet by hair.

He let out a breath of thanks, and started mincing towards the next magnet. “You’re very kind to give them water, ma’am.”

She chuckled, picking up on the cue, and decided to play along. “Oh, I’d piss in it as the day went on. We might as well study how magnetism affects thirst while we’re at it. You know, for the taxpayers. I personally would get no pleasure from a group of men hobbling around in a circle with bloody, broken feet and magnets pulling on their balls drinking my piss out of a bucket and thanking me. I’m a professional scientist.”

She leaned down and attached two more magnets to the column hanging from his balls, just to see the skin stretch a little more. “Of course, some filthy boys might enjoy that.” She wrapped a hand around the chain on the cuffs as he got to the next magnet, and held him up so she could whisper in his ear. “Maybe at the end of the day, I’d let anyone who wanted to jerk off into the bucket. Of course, it’d still be there the next day when they wanted a drink.”

He closed his eyes, feeling the weight pulling down on his balls, the dull ache of the twine sawing into the sensitive skin. The cuffs chafed his wrists, and left him hyper-aware of his helplessness, his utter inability to prevent hurt and degradation. He imagined himself on his knees, his skin tortured and raw from the sun, faced with a bucket of diluted piss and cum, and still so thirsty he would shove his face into it and drink, and thank her. He felt her let go of his cuffs, and sank down until the magnet latched onto the others in the column.

He stood up with a wince, and she reached around him to fondle his cock. “Does that sound like a good reward?”

“Yes ma’am.” He whimpered the words, his eyes tightly closed.

She nodded, feeling her breath get faster. “Go get the bucket from under the sink then, and if you’re very good, and you pick up all the magnets, you can be my bucket bitch. You might even get to eat dinner out of it, if I can think of something that goes well with cum and piss.”

He nodded and shuffled off towards utility closet where they kept the bucket. She wondered if the handle had enough metal he could pick it up with the magnets, and then shrugged. If not, he could wear it around his neck while he picked up the rest of the magnets.

She unfastened the top button of her lab coat, and felt her chest getting hotter. Her hand flitted towards her cunt, but she made it stop. She wanted to keep herself on the edge, desperate to see him suffer a little more, until the experiment ended.

For science.

Preview: He glanced back at the screen and paused the game. “What kind of list?”

Copyright Jerry Jones. Unauthorized use is prohibited.

Learning to Crawl

She stood in the doorway, watching him slowly read the titles on the spines of her books, thinking about last night. She imagined what the bruises looked like under his shirt, and wondered how long they would take to heal. Finally, she whistled to let him know she was there.

He turned away from the bookcase, saw her, and grinned. “Hey, you feel like breakfast?” He glanced at his watch. “Or brunch? My treat.”

She shrugged. “Sure. There’s a few good places within walking distance.”

They pulled on shoes and shuffled around each other in the doorway, walking down the hall, each glancing at the other, opening their mouths then closing them. The elevator arrived and she saw the ghost cutout on the back wall looming above them, and cleared her throat. “You going to be anything for Halloween?”

His nose crinkled. “Yeah, a grown-up.”

She tried not to laugh, and snorted instead. “Oh, so sorry if I offended your dignity, mister maturity.”

He rolled his eyes. “Halloween is a totally fucked up holiday. If it were late March and I told you to dress a kid up in a costume, bring them by my apartment, and I’d give them some candy, how would you react?”

She punched the meaty bicep of his arm once, twice, then again. He flinched and laughed each time, leaning away from her in the small enclosure but always moving his body back before the next punch landed.

She frowned, but stopped punching. “See, this is why I like you. I don’t feel bad about hurting you because you say the most god-awful things. I feel like I have a duty to hurt you just for the horrible things that come out of your mouth.”

He adjusted his jacket and shrugged. “Luckily, I like being hurt.”

The door dinged and they stepped out of the elevator. She bit her bottom lip, then raised one eyebrow. “So you’re okay with what went down last night?”

“Yeah, totally.” He slipped an arm around her and gave her far shoulder a squeeze. “Did you have a good time?”

“Oh yeah.” She sighed and closed her eyes, counting the steps down the hallway to the door.

*thud* *thud* *thud*

The flogger smacked into his back, over and over. “Having trouble?” She shifted her weight back, putting more pressure on his lower legs which were trapped in the space behind her knees. “I thought I told you to crawl?”

He pushed forward with his elbows as his hard he could, but with her added weight only succeeded in dragging them a few inches further across the floor. The flogger thudded into him again until his straining muscles collapsed and he hit the ground with a sharp exhalation of breath. She started hitting him faster.

“I’m definitely sure I told you to crawl. You get beaten more if you’re not even trying to crawl.”

His brain got soft and hazy as his muscles burned and protested. He shoved his body off the floor again and dragged it another few inches. He could feel the heat and friction scraping at the skin, wearing it off.

She slowed down, letting the blows fall more slowly as he pushed against their combined weight. She could feel him under her, feel his back pressing against her cunt, felt his need to crawl across the floor for her, even when his body tried to refuse. He collapsed and she started hitting him harder and faster, driving him across the floor.

His body flattened out on the floor and she could hear his hard, gasping breaths. Finally, he pushed himself up and dragged them a few more inches. She slowed down her strokes but inevitably he collapsed again.

She hit him harder and faster again. “Come on son, you’re never gonna make it to my bed that way!”

She lurched as he suddenly shoved his body forward, then shoved again and again, blinking sweat out of his eyes, forcing his body across the floor in a series of rapid jerks, dragging her along. Her body bounced with the frantic jerking motion, and she felt herself getting warm and fuzzy as he collapsed at the edge of the bed.

“Not bad, but I think you need a little more practice.” He groaned and lay perfectly flat as she grinned and stood up. “And motivation.” He felt the cool, wet sensation of lube being spread on his ass, then the tip of a buttplug violating him. He whimpered and she slowed, twisting the plug, pulling it out and pushing it in a little further each time.

She pushed a little faster than was comfortable, enjoying his yips and whimpers. His ass cheeks clenched and relaxed as he fought the instinctive reactions of his muscles until the widest part of the plug was inside him and his asshole was clamping down on the narrower neck of the plug. “Come on.”

She grabbed him by his hair, and dragged him across the room to his started point in the doorway. She settled back down on her knees, clamping his lower legs between her own legs, and sighed happily. She ground her palm into the butt plug once, pushing it firmly against his skin, then picked up the flogger.

“Crawl.”

He dragged himself across the room again. Then back across with nipple clamps attached, pushing into his body every time his chest hit the floor, then with an O-gag in his mouth, prying his lips open and leaving a trail of spit that he pulled himself through. Finally, when the muscles in his arms were spasming and he couldn’t move another inch, she picked him up and threw him on the bed.

His body was spent and helpless, except for his cock. She had ridden him, enjoying the feeling of control, knowing she could do anything and he was helpless. His arms were useless, weakened appendages he could barely control. They fucked until they were both exhausted, then collapsed into an exhausted, satiated sleep.

She opened her eyes just as they got to the door, and saw him smiling at her.

She smiled back. “This could really get of hand.”

He opened the door for her. “God I hope so.”

Preview: “Today’s science lesson: magnets!”

Copyright Jerry Jones. Unauthorized use is prohibited.