January 22, 2014

The Humor in the Situation

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Please beat my ass with the crop.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Please single tail me.”

“Please single tail me who?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Copyright Jerry Jones. Unauthorized use is prohibited.

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September 9, 2013

The Tyrant and the Subject

Posted in stories tagged , , , , , at 6:00 am by littlesubmissions

“I kind of like it when you just take things.”

She shrugged, and threw another book in the donate pile. “I appreciate that, but sometimes I also appreciate it when you just give me things.”

“Sometimes I just give you things because I think you’ll just take them if I don’t.” He put the book in a box and rearranged another pile of “Keep” before it fell over. “Hope that doesn’t ruin it for you.”

She shrugged again. “Not really, I mean, let’s face it, you always have your safeword, and if you really wanted to stop, you’d use it. I know on a certain level that everything we do you want to do, your occasional screams and protests aside.”

He looked at the book and frowned. “Bellows, those are more like bellows.”

She grinned and threw a book at him. “You need original material, you’ve used that quote before. And I’m pretty sure you got the wording wrong anyway.”

He nodded agreeably. “I’ll try to think of some. About the taking thing?”

“Uhm-hm.” She looked from pile to pile, finally sighed and threw another book in the donate pile. At the rate the author was writing she’d be long dead and civilization would have crumbled before the series ended anyway.

“What if we compromised? For every one thing you just took, I gave you one thing?”

She mulled the idea over. “I think it could go very badly for you. Give me an example?”

“Well… I don’t think you could take everything, I’d still not into the 24/7 mistress/slave uber-BDSM lifestyle. But maybe tyrant/subject?” He flipped through a book in the keep pile and pulled out an old grocery list. “I figure a good tyrant would get about 1/3 of a subject’s productivity, that’s 1/3 for the subject, 1/3 for the tyrant, and 1/3 for God. So what if I gave you 1/3 of my orgasms? Wore the chastity device for 1/3 of each day?”

“You want to give me your locked up cock for eight hours a day? To be honest that sounds really inconvenient. I think I’ll just take one-third of your cock. I want the third on the end, you can have the rest. I’ll be generous and still let you piss out of it, but if you want to jerk off, no touching the last third. And if I find the urethral sounds, I’m going to do some renovating.”

He thought it over. “Okay. What do you want to take?”

“You need about 1100 words of vocabulary to have a decent conversation. I want one-third of your words.” She frowned as she did the math. “So I’ll be taking 366, starting with yellow and red. I’ll let you know the rest as we go along.”

“Hey! Those are my safewords!”

“Tyrant.”

“Seriously?”

She nodded and started on another shelf. “If you seriously want to do this, yeah. So far I own one-third of your cock, that’s the third furthest from your balls, which I’ll let you keep all of because I’m not at all interested, and one-third of your words, including red and yellow. Oh, also the word ‘no.’ I’ll take that one as well. Agreed?”

“Well, yes, because I can’t say the other word.”

“I look forward to making you scream ‘Antonym of yes’ over and over by the way.”

He laughed along with her. “I look forward to screaming ‘Crimson, Ruby, Barn Red’ if things get too heavy.”

She walked over and sat on the floor beside him, leaning back against the wall and putting her hand on his leg. “See? That’s my point. Even if I took away your safe word, I’d still respect it if you used it. So I can only do so much taking before it all feels fake, and like I’m just telling you what to give me, and I prefer it when you find things on your own. You surprise me, and it’s nice to know you just gave me those things, because you wanted to.”

He rubbed the top of her hand with his own, and listened carefully. “I see your point. Worst tyrant ever, but I see your point.”

She smiled at him. “Worst? Or best?”

He frowned. “I’m really not sure, but it seems to be working out well for both of us.”

She kissed his cheek, and got back up. “It was working out well for you. One third of your books would have cleared a lot of space on these shelves. And I definitely thought about it.” She walked overt to the shelves and frowned.

He smiled too and stood up, walking over to hug her from behind. “How about a fifth?”

She nuzzled into the crook of his arm, and purred. “See? I’d rather be given a fifth than take a third.”

“Best tyrant ever.” He kissed her neck and started sorting his books.

Preview: She laughed again, appreciating his caution, not impatient. Yet.

Copyright Jerry Jones. Unauthorized use is prohibited.

August 28, 2013

Kid Games

Posted in stories tagged , , , , , , , , at 5:13 am by littlesubmissions

She grinned up at him. “That’s two for flinching.”

He whimpered and she brought her knees up into his balls, letting him almost recover than doing it again. He sagged against the bonds, his thighs trembling. The spreader bar held his legs shoulder width apart, and the raw sickness of pain in his balls filled his stomach.

She brought her knee up again and his body jerked, then slumped as he realized her knee had stopped right before impact. She laughed and patted him on the arm. “Two more for flinching. This is almost too easy…”

Her eyes locked on his as she slammed her knee into his balls again, then again. The way his entire face contorted, the brutal honesty of the pain flickering across his features.

She waited for his breathing to slow back down, and then jerked her knee up again. He exhaled, but held his body still, forcing himself not to move.

“Good boy, you didn’t flinch.” He nodded, then she brought her knee the rest of the way up into his balls. His body jerked then fell back against the ropes.

She shook her head as she laughed. “That wasn’t really fair, was it? Okay, I suppose you win that one. But I can still win at… purple nurple!” She grabbed his nipples and twisted, pinching the flesh and jerking it one way, then the other, contorting it with pain.

His body writhed in front of her, bouncing back and forth, bucking like an animal trying to escape the pain. She leaned in close, rolling her body and keeping her hands still, then twisting further with her wrists. She was relentless, twisting and turning his flesh.

He felt the searing pain in his chest, tried to move his body with her but couldn’t, and finally gasped out “Uncle! Fuck! Uncle!”

She gave one last twist, and then let go of his chest. “Damn, that looked really painful.”

He nodded wearily. “Yeah, it definitely kind of sucked.”

“I’ve got something that will take your mind off of it.” She walked out of the room, and a few seconds later he heard water running. He hissed out of his teeth when he saw her return, a wet towel twisted along the diagonal in her hands.

She raised her eyebrows and grinned at him, then flicked it at his thigh. The wet cloth slapped into the sensitive skin leaving a stinging, burning pain. She worked methodically but without any set pattern, covering his body, sometimes hitting the same space several times in a row, sometimes jumping from spot to spot seemingly at random.

But they all hit him.

It was a sharp, stinging sensation. Not painful, but incredibly annoying, especially with his hands bound. She started circling his stomach, working around it, bring the towel closer and closer to his cock.

Finally he cleared his throat, and through gritted teeth growled out the word “Uncle.”

She hit him one last time and did a little dance, “I win. I win. Who wins? I win!” She was still chortling when she grabbed the velcro around one of his wrists and pulled it loose. His arm fell to his side, and she wadded the towel up in her hands. “Two out of three bitch, you take out the garbage this week.”

He grinned and started getting himself loose, trying to ignore the aches and dull thudding pain he still felt. “I am so not letting you pick the games next week.”

She shrugged. “I’ll still win.”

Preview: Tune in for the next chapter of the Choose Your Own Adventure Story!

Copyright Jerry Jones. Unauthorized use is prohibited.