“Go jerk off.”

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

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

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

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

“In the restroom?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes ma’am, thank you ma’am.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Me too ma’am.”

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

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

Copyright Jerry Jones. Unauthorized use is prohibited.

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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.

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.


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.


Sometimes she didn’t know what she wanted. There were just too many choices. Like his body was a menu with infinite options, written in a foreign language she couldn’t decipher. There were just pictures that gave her a general idea, but didn’t tell her how anything would taste. She had so many choices, but she could only experience a few, or one. And the hunger wouldn’t go away until she figured out what she craved, and consumed it.

Ink always aided the discovery.

She would strip him naked. It would be a rough, businesslike, curt removal of his clothes. They were in the way. She would put his hands on his head, make him hold his arms out of her way. She couldn’t write anywhere that wasn’t covered by a short sleeved shirt anyway, so his arms weren’t needed. Once he was naked, arms locked on top of his head, she would get out the ink pen and start writing.

She started where she wanted to start, scribbling ideas, suggestions, thoughts, notes to herself on his body. “Cane” written across his ass. “Zipper” across the soft skin of his stomach. “Single-tail” across his back. “Candle wax” across his chest. When she had a dozen or so ideas, or just couldn’t think of anymore, she would start erasing them. She would spit on her hand, and scrub away the ink. Sometimes she would punch him, distorting the flesh and warping the words, seeing how they looked before and after.

Seeing if they became clearer when he was gasping and in pain.

She would circle him, looking over her words, adding and subtracting options until there were only a few left. Until they formed a sentence in her head.

She would pause, put the pen down, and look him over carefully. “Read.”

She would close her eyes and he would read the words, twisting his neck to see them all and angling his body to see his back in the hall mirror. She would correct the order, the inflection, how loudly or softly he said each word. And when he got them all correct see would see if his words described what she wanted.

If they did, that was the scene.

If they didn’t she would tell him to stop, and pick the pen up again.

More ink.

It would tell her eventually.

Preview: “Oh my, you are one hell of an optimist.”

Copyright Jerry Jones. Unauthorized use is prohibited.

Choose Your Own Adveture 5: More Suffering!

Probably make more sense if you started at the start… Chapter 1

Finally he whimpered and fell over, pulling his legs up to his chest. “Please, no more…”

She arched an eyebrow, and hefted the cane in her hand.

She swung it above his body like a pendulum, looking down at him, clinically observing his reactions. Trying to determine if he really could take a little more, or if his body couldn’t be pushed any further without breaking.

“Well Navaux, it seems the rumors overstated your passion for corporal punishment. Get back up on your hands and knees, and take five more strokes, and I’ll let beg me to suffer in some other manner.”

He groaned and took a deep breath, but slowly pushed himself up to his hands and knees.

She didn’t hesitate, and the cane smacked hard into his body again. He barked a short yell, and his body jerked.

“What do we say Navaux? I would hate to think you weren’t grateful.”

His eyes blinked, trying to clear the tears that were flooding them. “Thank you Citizen Ma’am.”

The cane thudded into his body again. “Thank you for what, Navaux?”

“Uhhhhh… Thank you for letting me suffer in some other way, Citizen Ma’am.”

Again the cylinder tore into his flesh, nerve endings sending signals of damage and harm to his brain. He tried to push them aside, to focus on the words. “Thank you for punishing me Citizen Ma’am.”

“Hm.” She murmured a happy sound, and hit him again. “You’re welcome.”

“Thank you for punishing me ma’am.”

His body slumped, and she smiled. “You can beg to suffer in some other way now.” Red welts were already forming, and she ran a finger lightly along one scarlet line. She dragged her finger along his spine, walking around to stand in front of him, and kneel down to look into his eyes. “You need to beg to suffer some other way now.”

He nodded, and his lips moved, but no words came out.

She nodded back. “Start with the word ‘Please.'”

“Please…” He swallowed and tried to focus. “May I suffer some other way?”

She nodded. “That will do. On your back, hands at your side.”

She waited for him to roll his body over, feeling a tremor work its way over her body as he flinched when his skin touched the floor. She settled herself carefully over his chest, then lowered her weight onto his sternum. His breathing became shallow, and sped up as her weight kept his lungs from fully inflating.

She started to punch him, her fist crashing into the meaty part of his pectoral muscle, high on his body. She watched him flinch, felt him trying to breath, and smiled as his eyes rolled back into his head. Her fist hammered into his body until he was twitching in time with the blows, little tortured gasps working their way out of his lips.

She slowed down, lifted herself a little, let some of the fog clear from his head, then patted his cheek. “Navaux? I let you off easy last time, but I’m going to need you to beg me and tell me how you’d like to be tortured now. And if I don’t like your suggestion, it’ll be off to the guillotine.”

He took a deep breath, and blinked his eyes, trying to clear his head. He wasn’t thinking about trying to win the game anymore, or worrying about the storyline, he just tried to imagine what would please her.

“Citizen ma’am, please torture my cock and balls…”

…and here’s the voting part…

1. Citizen Ma’am accepts that and tortures his cock and balls.
2. Nope! Off with his head!

Preview: Ink always aided the discovery.

Copyright Jerry Jones.