January 13, 2014

The List 25: Its Hair is for Being Pulled

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

Click here to start with Part 1

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Copyright Jerry Jones. Unauthorized use is prohibited.

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November 22, 2013

The List 9: Cocks are for Fucking

Posted in stories tagged , , , , at 6:53 am by littlesubmissions

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.

November 20, 2013

The List 8: Its Ass is for Being Beaten

Posted in stories tagged , , , , at 7:22 am by littlesubmissions

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.

October 23, 2013


Posted in stories tagged , , , , , at 7:14 am by littlesubmissions

“Well, that’s hideous.” She held the mask in her hands, turning it from side to side. The vacant eyes stared back at her, and the flesh colored rubber skin sagged. “Are pigs really this ugly? Because that talking pig in the movie was really cute.”

“Yeah, it is kind of awful.” He shrugged, breaking the box down into a flat square and dropping it into the recycling. “It seemed, I dunno, interesting. Something I’d like to try anyway, and it was on sale. If it’s not your thing, that’s cool.”

“I have some ideas, but I’m not sure.” She poked a finger into the rubber snout, then let it pop back out. “Let me think about it.”


That night, she wrapped bandages around his ankles and wrists, pinning them together. He was on his hands and knees, and could feel nervous sweat starting to build in his armpits. The gag slipped into his mouth, and the leather strap held it there.

“Stay.” She patted his head, and walked towards the door. She flipped the light off as she left, and he cowered in the semi-darkness.

He shifted his weight from side to side, moving the pressure from one side of his body to the other. Drool pooled in his mouth and ran down the gag, dripping on the floor. He tried to ignore the feeling of it sliding down his chin, and forced himself to breathe slowly, deeply, and regularly.

He flinched when the light came back on, and flinched again when he saw her standing in the doorway. Her brown eyes stared at him through the mask as she slowly dropped to all fours. Her tits hung down and were covered in red, body paint or makeup, or maybe even menstrual blood, he wasn’t sure. He could see her jaw working behind the mask, making exaggerated chewing motions.

He reflexively tried to back away, and nearly fell over. He saved himself by spreading his elbows and lowering his head, barely keeping himself upright on his hands and knees.

She started crawling towards him slowly, making hideous oinking and grunting sounds as she moved closer. He answered with his own inarticulate sounds, trying to explain through the gag that this wasn’t what he was thinking of.

She read his body language and smiled at the garbled words. “Isn’t this what you had in mind?” She shoved her face in his, the hideously wrinkled rubber skin and snout and the giant, floppy ears filled his vision. He shook his head, and she mockingly shook hers back. “Oh, I know it wasn’t, but sometimes I want to be the animal. Sometimes I want to be totally inhuman and do filthy, disgusting, painful things.” The mask remained still as her lips moved behind it. “Of course, I want to do them to you, not have them done to me.”

“Oink oink arf oink!” She barked out hideous sounds, and he closed his eyes and turned his head, forcing himself to remember eye contact wouldn’t help in this situation. She leaned in and then bit his shoulder, forcing the meat of his muscle through the mouth of the mask. The cheap material smashed into his skin and he whimpered as her teeth sank into his body.

She worried the flesh, jerking her head from side to side, feeling skin, muscle, and the fine hair on his arms against her lips. Her skin felt hot under the rubber, and she could his gasps turn to whimpers. She chewed and bit until she felt him to start to tremble, then pulled her mouth away, licked her lips, and gave his shoulder a shove.

He fell over on his side, reflexively curling his legs. She moved down to his stomach and bit down on the soft flesh there. His arms and legs jerked, and she spread herself over his torso, holding him down, smashing the snout into his skin and sinking her teeth into his flesh. She covered his stomach in small, quick bites, moving in a circle, then leaned back.

The taste of his sweat was on her lips as she slowly licked them. She moved the mask, adjusting it so she could see better, and saw him trying to lie still, trying not to rub his hands on the marks her teeth had left on his body. His fists were clenched and his eyes were tightly closed.

She pushed his body over, arranging it until he was lying flat on his back, then pulled a pillow off the bed. He moaned when she hauled his head up by his hair, and shoved the pillow under his head and neck. She oinked and grunted in his face again, feeling electric jolts travel through her body as he flinched.

She slid down his body until her face was above his cock, and the lifted it out from between his thighs. She opened her mouth and licked her lips, and let him feel her hot breath on his cock. “Open your eyes and watch.”

His eyes slowly slid open, and he blinked and bit down on the gag as he saw the leering mask over his cock. The snout and ears jutted obscenely out of her face, and her the wrinkled jowls sagged as she slowly bit down on the tip of his cock. His arms spasmed and she could feel his legs trying to kick under her as she bit down on his cock, opened her jaws, and pushed her teeth into the flesh again.

She took a little more into her mouth each time, letting him see the horrible creature devouring his cock a piece at a time. Sweat poured off him and his breathing was harsh and quick behind his gag, snot poured out his nose and ran down his skin. She looked up to make sure he was still watching, and he flinched at the site of her eyes looking out from behind that hideous face.

She reversed the sequence, letting a little bit of his cock slip out of her mouth before biting down into it. The pain mixed with the horror of seeing his cock being puked out of a pig’s face, and his eyes got wider, his pupils dilated a little more.

She held the tip in her teeth and worked her jaws, not letting it go as he cried and whimpered behind the gag. She squeezed his balls, and the dull pain mixed with the sharp fire of her teeth sinking into his cock. She finally let it fall out of her mouth, and his whole body jerked as she launched into more howling grunts and oinks.

She dragged her body up his, grinding her cunt into his stomach and chest, her red stained tits hanging over him. Her fingers ground into his face and pulled his eyes further open, and then the face was over him, smashing into his face, alien rubber and her lips against his, kissing…

“Umph! Umph! Umph!” He grunted three times in rapid succession, and despite herself a warm shudder ran down her body. She pushed herself up and away from him, and slid the mask off. Her fingers worked their way behind his head and unbuckled the gag, carefully pulling it out of his mouth. “You okay?”

He worked his jaw and nodded, then blinked several times. “Yeah, just give me a second.”

She nodded and curled up against him, carefully setting the mask aside. “So that was a safeword?”

“I just really panicked there for a second, with the kissing.” He tried to wrap an arm around her, but the bandages held them together. He settled for kissing her on the cheek, suddenly very aware of the spit and snot on his lower face.

“Red or yellow?”

He closed his eyes and thought for a second, trying to remember what had triggered the sudden rush of panic in him. “Lots of yellow? Orange?”

She laughed, and started working at the tape around his arms. “Let’s call it a red, then. Sorry about that.”

He shrugged and worked his shoulders, enjoying the returning range of motion. “No, it wasn’t a hard limit, just a really weird scary place.”

She started to pull the bandages off his legs, and nodded. “Fair enough.”

His limbs free, she lay down on top of him staring at the discarded mask. “By the way, do you still have that fantasy of being topped by more than woman at once? And how much was that mask? Did you order it online? Oh, and what’s the term for more than one pig? Is it a herd? Oh, and…”

Preview: “Do you want to come, or do you want to lick my boots?”

Copyright Jerry Jones. Unauthorized use is prohibited.

October 21, 2013

Time is on Your Side

Posted in stories tagged , , , , , at 4:59 am by littlesubmissions

She grinned, then started and looked around the room. The curtains were still tightly closed, no way anyone could see in. She looked back at him, and forced the words out. “Hey, like my boots?”

“Yeah, I think I do.” He laughed a little from across the room, then paused and rubbed the palms of his hands on his slacks. “I mean, yes mistress.”

“Mistress?” Her eyebrow arched, and her voice rose an octave. “I’m not some weekend bang in a rented city apartment full of fake fur. Think of something better.”

He swallowed hard, “Yes, bride? Wife?” His brow furrowed as he tried to think of synonyms. “Partner?” Mike and Arthur from the fantasy football league had used “partner” to describe their relationship, but they got married last month, so he wasn’t sure if it still applied. “Goddess? Ma’am?” He chuckled nervously. “Sir?”

She made a little cooing sound, and tilted her head. “I like that one.” She leaned forward, and licked her lips. “Call me ‘Sir.'” She thrust a boot out, and wiggled it back and forth. “Come over here on your hands and knees, and kiss my boot.”

“Yes sir.” The words felt strange and electric in his mouth as he slid from the chair to the floor. He winced a little as his knee hit the floor, the familiar shooting pain lancing up through his leg.

He started to crawl, and she felt a little thrill each time his knee hit the floor. The look on his face sent jolts of pleasure through her, and made her fingers itch. She forced them around the handle of the riding crop, making her fingers close, ignoring the throbbing pain in her own fingers.

The boot stopped as he crawled up to it, the tip pointed at his lips. Callused, lined hands sank into the carpet as he leaned forward and gently put his lips on the toe. His lips lingered, and his breath rolled across the black leather.

The end of the crop smacked into his left shoulder, then the right. She wasn’t sure how hard to hit him, and the strike made the arthritis in her hand flare, but the jolts of pleasure deep insider her drove them out of her mind. She alternated sharp slaps of the riding crop back and forth from one shoulder to the other until she couldn’t ignore the protests of her hand any longer. “Lick them.”

He had focused on those boots while the stinging pain popped through his shoulders and down into his chest, making his cock twitch. His tongue dropped out of his mouth, and he leaned forward and slid it across the top of her boot. The smell flooded his nostrils, and he felt his tongue slide across the smooth surface. He liked the toe of one, then the other. His eyes were closed, and he was someplace warm and soft.

She was slumped back in the chair, eyes half closed and wearing a dopamine grin. One finger rubbed the handle of the crop, the tip sliding over the rough texture of the leather. She felt it pressing into her leg, and wanted to him again, to make him call her sir again, to see his tongue on her boot again, and to do so much more. But where to start?

She reached forward, and carefully stroked his hair. He sighed, and she knew it didn’t matter where they started, just as long they started somewhere. They had time.

Preview: “Isn’t this what you had in mind?”

Copyright Jerry Jones. Unauthorized use is prohibited.

February 11, 2012

Checks and Balances

Posted in stories tagged at 3:05 pm by littlesubmissions


She loved his little pauses, the moments when he was still trying to decide if he would be better off not asking. How he always took a deep breath and asked anyway. Eventually.

“What’s with the orgasm_account Excel file?” His finger tapped twice. “The password protected orgasm_account Excel file?”

She smirked. “Just what it says. When you want an orgasm, you can have one, but you have to tell me so I can deduct it from your account.”

“It’s that simple?” He frowned at the screen, knowing it wouldn’t be. “Get an orgasm, minus one from the account?”

“Oh, well…” She let the tension build until he looked at her, then dropped his eyes. “If you want an orgasm sure. But if you want to give me an orgasm, there will be a small additional processing fee. But just let me know you want to give me one, and how you want to, and we’ll arrange it as soon as possible. And I’ll note it in your account. At the end of the month, we’ll see how many orgasms you’ve used.”

“How much is in the account now?”

She snorted laughter through her nose, then covered her mouth with her hand.

“When do more orgasms go in?”

She shrugged. “When you’ve been a good boy.”

He licked his lips. She smiled back and waited for him to ask the question on both their minds. He finally did, consenting to whatever she had wanted without saying so.

“The penalty for being overdrawn at the end of the month?”


Copyright Jerry Jones. Unauthorized use is prohibited.

January 30, 2012

The Evolution of the Language

Posted in stories tagged , at 1:41 am by littlesubmissions

Your cock?” One eyebrow and the corner of her mouth flipped up, the lopsided, playfully cruel face he loved.

“You know what I mean.” He sighed and his shoulders rolled from side to side in a series of gentle shrugs, an eye roll he had gotten into the habit of while wearing the hood, but which sometimes came out in other situations. “The most annoying part of chastity play is getting the possessive right. And noun-pronoun agreement.”

She pushed her fingertips into his chest, feeling them sink slightly before stopping, shoving him back against the wall. “Then let me help you remember.”

He could feel her hot, wet breath against his skin as she spat out words. “She pulled down his pants exposing blank cock?”

“Her!” He barked the word, a minion addressing a superior.

Blank cock started to get hard, until it hit the cage it was in.”

“Her!” A sudden feeling of constriction and pressure as his cock pushed against the plastic tube wrapped around it.

“Starting to get it?” She pinned his throat against the wall with her other forearm, feeling his whole body shaking, the tremors running down her body and connecting them. “Anything else to say?”

“No, nothing else to say, thank you for removing her cock…” He was babbling, word salad from a warm, safe place. The safest place to be, knowing your torturer did it because they loved you.

“Removing it? I didn’t know you wanted me to remove it, but never let it be said I’m not accommodating. Lay down on your back, and stay.” She pushed him to the floor. “Think about clarifying that, because I think it’s time for knife play. And some further language lessons.”

Copyright Jerry Jones. Unauthorized use is prohibited.

November 13, 2011


Posted in stories tagged at 9:52 pm by littlesubmissions

“We said we weren’t going to do gifts this year.” He frowned and sighed, shuddering at the thought of the mall crowds. “Now I have to buy you something, it’s pretty much the rule.”

She put her hand over her mouth, trying to contain an unfeminine snorted chuckle. “Oh, I don’t think you’ll have to worry about this being a gift.” A sultry grin followed her words. “Or you won’t by the time you’re done with it.”

The box, garish in colored paper and with a ridiculously over-sized bow on top, sat on the table between him them. He looked at it, she looked at him and grinned. He looked at her, and she pointedly looked at the box and couldn’t help grinning even wider.

His tongue slipped across his lips, and he asked knowing it wouldn’t do any good. “So, what is it?”

Her eyes were wide with innocence as she carefully lifted one corner of the box, letting it fall back to the table. “I think… it’s not a pony. No, definitely not a pony.”

He tried to scowl, but grinned instead. “So when do I get to open it?”

She shrugged. “Whenever you want, actually.” She sat back in her chair, watching him, enjoying the conflict, the way his eyes went from the package to her and back.

“What’s the catch?”

Her eyebrow rose and dropped. “Good question. I will tell you one thing about it: The longer you’ve gone without coming, the easier it will be for you.” She pushed her chair back, stood up and gently kissed him on the head as she walked by. “And the better it will be for me.”

He lifted the corner of the box, and let it drop. No sound or rattle told him what the contents were. And he wondered how long he could wait.

Copyright Jerry Jones. Unauthorized use is prohibited.

November 2, 2011

Eye Candy

Posted in stories tagged at 4:00 am by littlesubmissions

“I’ve laid some clothes out for you. Put them on.”

He walked into the bedroom, and frowned down at the bed. Shirt and tie, black slacks with the belt still hanging through the loops. The shoes he didn’t wear often enough for them to become comfortable. Black socks without the heels starting to wear thin and a pair of boxer briefs with the elastic almost entirely intact. Job interview clothes, funeral clothes, wedding clothes, clothes that itched and scratched. “Are we going out?”

“No.” Her disembodied voice floated down the hallway. “Just put it all on.”

He shrugged out of jeans and t-shirt, assembling the clothes on his body. Stuffing, tucking, buttoning, wrapping, twisting, and knotting. Wrapping the tie around his neck, checking the index card in the pocket of the slacks: Wide end goes lower and on the right. Throwing the strip of cloth around in loops and pulling it into a knot. The shoes went on last, leather pushing against his feet in places where the skin was soft and smooth, without callouses.

He found her, leaned against the wall as she walked over. Frowning and finding the ends of his tie, looking critically at the knot. Pulling it tighter, tighter, until she felt the muscles in his throat moving down the silk into her fingers. Smiling and loosening it a little, pulling it straight down his body.

“Stay.” She backed up, looking at him through her phone. A flash and a click, a few more shots, and she slipped it in her pocket. “Sit.”

He moved to the stool she had pointed at, arranging himself carefully on the hard wood surface. She sat down in the large, stuffed chair opposite, flung her legs over one arm, and arranged her computer on her lap. Smiled at him, and began typing and clicking.

He licked his lips. Fidgeted. Swallowed. Rotated his wrists in the starched cuffs on the ends of the sleeves.

She smiled at him, and walked over, straightening his tie again, positioning his hands on his knees, pulling his hair until he sat up straight. “You’re eye candy, and good eye candy stays still. Understand?”

He closed his eyes, nodded, warm feelings of surrender pushing out of his skin and against the clothes.

“I’m going to slap you for moving, and then you’re going to stay very still.”

Another nod as he licked his lips. So much easier to than think about words or talking.

The sound and dry explosion of skin across his face rocked his body, and dragged a gasp out of his chest. He swallowed hard, and focused on staying very still.

“And if you’re very good, we can take a break in a little while. I’ll get a nice ball gag, and we’ll take some more pictures. Red would go very well with that tie, I think. And if you’re very good, you can kneel on the floor while I feed you dinner. But before that, I want something pretty to look at for awhile, and I don’t want it moving around. Understand?”

He started to nod, then stopped himself. Keeping his lips as still as possible, between shallow breaths he slowly pushed out a dry whisper. “Yes ma’am.”

Copyright Jerry Jones, unauthorized use is prohibited.

October 5, 2011

Charity Slave Auction III: Whispered Words

Posted in stories tagged at 12:18 pm by littlesubmissions

“Share me with everyone in the room…” She whispered the words in his ear, drowning out the world. “Quite the little slattern, aren’t we?”

He shuddered and nodded, a reflexive jerk of his head. Obeying was easier than thinking, so much warmer and safer.

“I wonder what it will be like, everyone knows you’re waiting at the end of the night. Do you think the scenes before will satisfy them, or just make them hungrier?”

A shuddered breath, images of being torn apart by their nails and teeth wrapped around his thoughts.

She let it go, decided not to make him answer.

“You’re very lucky you’re bought but not paid for yet. I’ll play by the rules. I won’t make you come now, because that would just make it all so much harder wouldn’t it?”

He knew his body jerked again, but couldn’t seem to attach the sensation to anything that was him. He heard a whimper, but the sound was far off. It was like an echo coming back to him, barely perceptible, the sensation of his body remote.

“But when we start to play… If you don’t want to come first thing, you better start figuring out how to convince me… convince us… because it’s on the menu. The menu you made.”

Part of him heard her words, made himself start thinking. Left the safety of just obeying without thought and started considering, planning, analyzing how to become a part of his own destruction. Actively working to please her instead of passively accepting what happened.

He considered the others, what he would do for them, and then they fell out his thoughts. Whatever they did for a night he could handle, and he was going home with her. Her happiness was what mattered.

Copyright Jerry Jones. Unauthorized use is prohibited.

September 25, 2011

Charity Slave Auction II: Going Once…

Posted in stories tagged , at 12:12 am by littlesubmissions

“Five minutes.” It was announced with crisp precision, but the bland words caught the attention of the room.

She had told him, the two of them sitting in the car by a lake watching the fog roll off the water, that one of her father’s friends had been a salesman. A very good salesman, actually. And he had always said that there really wasn’t much of a trick to being a very good salesman. All you had to do was sell people what they wanted. The toughest sales were to people who didn’t know what they wanted.

Some of the women most certainly fell into that category. At the five minute announcement the men had shucked off their clothes, some more enthusiastically than others, and moved to stand against the wall. Naked except for the ribbon around their neck and the small medallion with their number, they had had looked around the room, trying to focus on anything but the women sizing them up, telling them to turn around so they could see all the things for sale. Six men, twelve acts written on their flesh, and each woman had six colored chips.

“What we need to do is work the middle. Suggest scenarios specific enough to give them ideas, but broad enough that they’ll be able to fill in details and make them even more exciting.” He had shrugged, pitched his voice in its most pompous tone, “A twue submissive would just write ‘whatever my mistress wants’ twelve times.’ In all lower case letters, of course.” She had snorted, and gone back to working on the list.

Black bags at the front of the room started to fill as the late bidders slipped their chips into the bag that corresponded to who they wanted to buy. Whoever placed the most chips in the bag got the use of that submissive, and the twelve offerings they had made. The bags were behind a low partition where only the auctioneer could see allowing privacy in bidding, and not coincidentally making sure the men could not see who was bidding on them, or try to figure out how many chips they had garnered.

“Don’t worry, it’s really just a game, like contract bridge. There are points and rewards and bidding, and you have to guess what the other players are going to do. I’m good at games, I’ll figure out how to win this one.” He had grinned at her, but not entirely comfortably. “And that’s supposed to help me not worry, is it?”

They had returned to sit by the women they had arrived with, still nude. Beside them on couches or on the floor at their feet, kneeling or splayed awkwardly, watching as the auctioneer counted out chips and made notes on a piece of paper. She peered down through her bifocals, an older woman who looked like she should be offering cookies to her grandchildren instead of organizing and participating in what was about to happen.

She had finished the list, and he had agreed everything was within his limits. The piece of paper was neatly folder, and slipped into her purse. “Two helpful hints: Good players play games, great players play the other players. And never let someone else set your victory conditions, because sometimes when you lose the game they’re playing, you win the game you’re playing.”

“I will read the results starting with the man who received the lowest number of chips, and the offerings he has made. Play will then begin with the man who received the highest number of chips, then the next highest and so on.” She cleared her throat, and took a sip of water, letting the tension build.

“Isn’t this fun?” He just swallowed and gave her a wan smile.

“The lowest number of chips, at a single chip…” Every man in the room winced, as the women smiled. “Is number five.” He blinked, and swallowed hard, wondering if all her talk about sales and games had been an elaborate, cruel mindfuck. The auctioneer had continued, reading the words written on his skin from a piece of paper, but he only heard the first one. The one she had changed from the list. “Share me with everyone in the room…”

Copyright Jerry Jones. Unauthorized use is prohibited.

September 16, 2011

Charity Slave Auction

Posted in stories tagged at 3:33 pm by littlesubmissions

Sorry for the delay, had a hell of a time with this one.

He’d felt self-conscious all night, and gratefully sank to the floor in front of her, leaning back against the couch, moaning as she ruffled his hair.

She pulled at the hair at the crown of his skull, dragging his head back, exposing his throat, looking at his eyes. “How’s your head space?”

He blinked slowly, considering the question. It was hard to think without pushing away the warm fog. “Okay. Feeling kind of self conscious and nervous.”

She pushed his head forward, leaning over him, looking down at his back and consulting a small notebook in her hand. “That’s normal, you’ve never been merchandise before, as far as I know.” She leaned down closer, whispered in his ear. “You should know that several people have been interested.”

He moaned and slumped down. With her fist in his hair he could only see the lower legs of people walking around the room, mingling in the corners, crossing from one end of the room to the other to pickup snacks and drinks. He wondered which of them had been interested, and what in…

“So very interested in such a cheap whore…”

The people with numbers on ribbons hanging around their necks were the merchandise. Even if they were interested, they weren’t allowed to buy. He watched a woman stop another man, he couldn’t remember his name, and jerk his pants down, inspecting him. She noted the torments he had written on his body, things he was willing to accept, and went off to find who was handling his bids. She had done the same to him, he could remember the feel of her gloves on his skin as she silently appraised him, a cost-benefit analysis of his potential pain.

“I spent more than I should have, to tell the truth, but I so love when I’m paying you for it.”

People were starting to settle down, and the auction would start soon. Each piece of merchandise there had provided a list of twelve things they would suffer, each buyer assigned a dollar value to the torment they wished to buy. Pretty simple.

“Sometimes it’s even better than taking it from you.”

He twitched a little. It had sounded like a good way to quickly get in over his head when she had suggested it, and he had told her so. She had listened, then talked him through it, excited, grinning, helped him put together a list. Only six couples, so at most it would be her and five others torturing him. He knew the tops involved, had met them all at one time or another. Even played with a couple. Told him what they were in to, so he could offer what they would be eager to buy. No competition with the other submissives, everyone would get their turn.

“But I’ll still do that too.”

Eventually it had been her enthusiasm that had convinced him to try it, although part of him still thought the whole thing was way too complicated. Being such an active participant in his own pain had been hard, making a list of such intimate actions to offer to others.

“By the way…”

He remembered the chemical smell and wet scratch of magic marker over his skin when they had arrived as she transcribed the list they had made. The tension over the evening had built, the dehumanizing sensation of being priced, evaluated, and treated like meat wrapping around him. He slumped against her, and heard her start breathing harder.

“One of the things I wrote on your back…”

He could dimly tell the room had gone silent, the results had been added up, announcements would be made in a few seconds. He could feel the heat of her skin, and started to sweat, felt brief pieces of panic tugging at him.

“Isn’t from your list.”

He twitched, shoved hard back against her, twisted his neck to feel her fingers wrapped tight around his hair. A flood of warm sensation washed over him, and he felt safe and calm. Back under her control, it was just what he had needed.

Someone cleared their throat at the front of the room, and he looked up, eager to find out what he had been sold for.

Copyright Jerry Jones. Unauthorized use is prohibited.

September 1, 2011


Posted in stories tagged at 4:33 am by littlesubmissions

“Tsk, tsk, tsk.” She shook her head, looking at him from atop the costume glasses. “You missed three out of the twelve, I’m afraid. Come up here.”

He disentangled himself from the desk and moved toward her, flushed with warmth and anticipation.

He moaned as her hand caught his hair, forcing his face flat against her own desk. The wood felt cold and smooth against his cheek, and he could feel his breath coming out in excited gasps as she forced his pants roughly down to his knees. “Twenty-five percent wrong, so it will be twenty-five swats. You will count.”

There was eagerness and heat in her own voice, and she didn’t wait for an answer before slapping the wooden paddle into his ass. He jumped, but remembered to count, and she measured them out, savoring the sensation of the paddle crashing into his body, watching his skin turn red as capillaries broke, watched him tremble and listened to his words echo the sharp crack.

“Twenty-five…” He felt the vibration reverberate through his body, traveling through the water in his blood, exciting nerve endings and teasing skin and tissue. He kept his face on the desk, hoping she’d continue, eyes half closed.

“Go back to your seat.” She sat on the desk, her hand trailing along the surface, trying to feel the warmth left by his body as he scrunched himself back into his chair.

“We will continue with your math lesson. You will do your best.”

He nodded, pushing his ass down hard into the chair, trying to recapture the feeling of being beaten.

“What is 5 x 6?”

“22.” The word hung in air, a pregnant silence as she stared at him, expression blank and eyes flat.

“I expect your best effort. If you’re going to answer wrong deliberately, it defeats the purpose of the exercise, and we will stop immediately.” It wasn’t her play voice anymore, she wasn’t teasing or tormenting, just stating facts. “What is 5 x 6?”

“30. Sorry.”

She nodded, and gave him a slight smile. “Better.” He flushed, again feeling the warmth of pleasing her, anticipating more pain and pleasure. “What is 2 + 9?”


“What is 9 – 0?”


“Nobody likes a know it all. For showing up your peers, you will be punished. Come here.”

He pulled himself out of the desk, and moved back to the front of the classroom. He tried to hide his eagerness, but moved with her as she shoved his head back down.

“30 + 11 + 9 is 50. What a coincidence, I do love round numbers. Now, Mr. Smarty Pants, since being a know it all is what got you into this predicament, I don’t think we’ll have you do any counting.”

Hard wood smacked into his skin again, over and over. His body rocked, and his thoughts turned into a jumbled haze of pain and pleasure, alternating, the shock of wood transforming his flesh, the roll of his hips against the desk, her presence beside him.

She drove the paddle into him again and again, not bothering to keep count. Just hitting him until she could see his expression glaze over, the warm, peaceful face he wore when the pain turned into pleasure and endorphins and serotonin took over.

He sagged when she stopped, and she pulled him upright by his hair. His pants still around his knees, he looked at her, tears and snot streaking his face.

“Have you learned your lesson?”

He nodded, his breath still coming in short jerks.

“So you know what you did wrong?”

He swallowed hard, and continued nodding.

“I told you no one likes a know it all. Back over the desk.”

He sank down, slowly, trying to decide if he needed to stop.

The dull thud of pain continued, the color of bruised flesh deepened and got darker. The pain was more intense, pushing him further and deeper, his body twitching and breathing like a puppet with half its strings broken.

She beat him again, and he tried to force his breathing to be stable, to focus on the pleasure and not the pain, to smell her near him, to hear the sound of her breath and match his own breathing to hers. To ignore the cumulative effect of the pain, to imagine the pleasure in watching the bruised flesh heal.

His body was still twitching, trying to roll with the force of the blows as she hauled him back up by his hair. “Have you learned your lesson?” He stared dully as she snapped her fingers in front of him, and asked again. “Have you learned your lesson.”

The thoughts sifted through his brain, and his words were slow, confused. “Don’t know.” He shook his head, the hair twisting and pulling in her grip. “I don’t know, please tell me.”

She felt hot pangs of pleasure through her body, and nodded, her breath quickening again. “Good answer. Get down on your hands and knees.”

He let himself fall to the floor, letting gravity take him where she had ordered. His pants bunched around his knees as she stepped around him, and the air felt impossibly cool against his burning skin. The familiar sensation of her grabbing his balls and jerking them back, wood surrounding them, the whirl of metal threads spinning against each other, and some part of his brain sighed as she locked him into the humbler.

She pushed him forward, putting tension on the curved pieces of wood, pulling it taught against his legs as he felt his brain getting fuzzy again. A legal pad and pencil slapped into the floor in front of him, and he heard her voice behind him.

“100 times. Write I have learned my lesson when my ma’am says I have learned my lesson 100 times.”

He sank down to his elbows, shoving the pad in front of him and picking up the pencil. Warm and bruised and restrained and free.

Copyright Jerry Jones. Unauthorized use is prohibited.

August 18, 2011

Ransom IV

Posted in stories tagged at 3:04 am by littlesubmissions

The distorted, animal sounds filled the small room. She looked down, enjoying the moment, watching him contort his body for her. Her blank expression filled his vision as she knelt down in front of him, watching. Glancing from his eyes to the mirror behind him, the curled end of the plug bouncing from side to side as he jerked his hips.

She let herself take in the sight, felt the cold hungry sensation taking over. Let herself see him as something less than human, a thing to give her pleasure.

Her tongue slipped over her lips, and she moved around beside him. Her fingers wrapped around his bouncing balls, feeling the tension of his skin as he moved his hips. Her other hand slipped down her pants, found her clit, and started to rub slowly.

Her fist clenched around his balls, his body jerked, her cunt twitched against her fingers, and he screamed.

“I’d try harder if you want me to stay entertained.”

The animal sounds pouring out of his throat got louder, more frantic, and his hips gyrated harder. She let his balls pull her hand along, rubbing her fingers in time to his grunts.

She felt her fingers slowing down, heard him pause long enough to swallow and draw in a deep breath before she clamped down again.

He could hear the lust in her voice. “You shouldn’t stop. I get bored when you stop.”

Spit ran down his chin and beads of sweat formed on his skin as he grunted and twisted. She waited patiently, enjoying the feelings traveling from her fingers wrapped around his balls, through her body, and down her other hand into her cunt. Inevitably, he tired, or slowed, or choked on the drool pooling in his mouth that he was too afraid to stop and swallow. Inevitably, she crushed flesh between her fingers, tearing pain and pleasure out of meat.

The sounds of his oinking filled the room as she came, her hand clamped around his balls, both their hips twisting. She sat back, pushed him over on his side, and offered him her fingers as he twitched and curled up into a ball.

He sucked on them greedily, and she enjoyed the warm glow while they rested, waiting to start again.

Copyright Jerry Jones. Unauthorized use is prohibited.

August 9, 2011

Ransom III

Posted in stories tagged , at 3:52 am by littlesubmissions

He could hear footsteps moving down the hall behind him, forced his mind to become blank, not to wonder about what she would come back with. His eyes focused on the opposite wall, counting his breaths and ignoring the sudden sweat on his skin as her footsteps returned.

“Down on all fours.” The sudden softness of her voice startled him, and he shifted backward as he sank down to the floor.

She rolled her jaw, the voice changer forgotten. The time for theater and make-believe was over, and she just wanted to someone to be torn apart for her pleasure.

He jumped as she jammed her finger in his ass, impatiently twisting and jerking it back and forth. She could imagine the jerks in his hips rolling up his back and twisting his face, forcing his eyes closed and grinding his teeth against each other. The plug slid in, stretching him further, making his lungs collapse and force air out in a gasp. She pushed it in holding the base hard against his skin until she felt his muscles relax. The curly tail twitched with his breaths, and she licked her lips.

“Wag your tail piggy. Aren’t you happy to see your ma’am?”

His hips slowly rolled to one side and then the other as he gasped. “Do pigs do that? I’m pretty sure that’s dogs, I know cats don’t…”

His arms collapsed and his face landed on the floor as the toes of her boot caught him in the balls, and his legs jerked. The plug bounced and swayed, a pendulum tracking his painful spasms.

“I don’t really care. We can discuss it if you like, but you WILL wag your tail.”

He jerked his hips from side to side, felt the plug moving inside him, the weight of the protruding tail jerking it back and forth as he blinked his eyes and tryed to ignore the pain in his balls.

Only her eyes moved as she tracked the muscles moving under his skin, imagined turning them into a bruised, aching mass of discolored skin. “Well, would you like to discuss it further?”

His hips reflexively twitched to one side, expecting another kick. “No ma’am.”

“Good.” She watched his hips roll, smirked down at his sudden silence. “Such a smart boy, with so little to say… if you’re not using your mouth to talk, you should use it to oink, like a happy little piggy.” She watched his back stiffen, pushed him a little further. “Turn around first though, I want to see those pretty eyes while you oink for me.” Watched his shoulders tense, and drove the humiliation deeper. “And point your ass at the mirror so I can still see your tail wiggle.”

Licked her lips, and fed her own hunger. “And your oinking had better be very entertaining, because as soon as I’m tired of it, the screaming is going to start.”

Copyright Jerry Jones. Unauthorized use is prohibited.

July 22, 2011

Ransom II

Posted in stories tagged at 2:20 am by littlesubmissions

She followed the sound of his footsteps into the bathroom, staying just out of sight. Leaned against the wall outside and watched him strip under the bright lights, evaluating him, mentally dissecting him and turning him into a list of body parts to control and hurt.

The snick snack of the scissor blades sliding over each other, the bend of his legs as he leaned down over the toilet and pulled skin one way and then the other. The harsh buzz of the electric razor as he pulled it across his skin, wincing as it caught the hair and pulled. She watched the muscles move under his skin, imagined them writhing and clenched in pain. She walked towards him.

“Turn around.” The distorted voice was louder in the small room, and reverberated off the tile walls and smooth floor. “Hands behind your head, lock your fingers.”

He turned around as she started to kneel, then locked his hands behind his head as she stepped back and nodded. “I have a better idea, climb up on the toilet. You can use your arms long enough to do that.”

He shuffled around carefully to face her once he was on the lid of the toilet, and wrapped his hands back behind his head. She pulled a marker out of her pocket, popped the lid off, and looked up at him, smirking. The tip was cold across his skin as she dragged it in a vertical line. Letters formed across the freshly shaved skin, turning into words.

“Property of MAAM?” His cock twitched.

“That’s right.” She smirked up at him and nodded, not bothering with the voice disguiser.

“You realize that, as an Agent of PEEG, it is my duty to escape you?”

“PEE-IG?” A bounce of her head to one side as she said it.

“People Exhibiting External Genitalia.”

She laughed, and poked him hard in the stomach with the end of the marker. “We at MAAM have ways of dealing with PEEG agents. Get down from there, and turn back around. I think I have just the solution for your PEEG’ish insolence…”

Copyright Jerry Jones. Unauthorized use is prohibited.

June 27, 2011


Posted in stories tagged at 12:38 am by littlesubmissions

Steam and sudsy water pooled around her arms as she scrubbed a plate. “Huh. Well, thank you for asking me.” A pause as she ran the plate under cold water and passed it to him. “How badly do you want it?” He had won the coin toss, and she washed while he dried.

Sometimes winning had repercussions.

“Pretty badly?” He kept his voice light, hesitant and vague as he ran the towel in lazy circles around the plate. Uncertainty better than a firm line for her to try to move or cross just for the challenge.

She snorted and flicked a bubble at him off the end of her middle finger. “You’re playing it safe. Which is cute, and might even help you out a little.” She jerked the plug out of the drain, and turned on the cold water. It slid over her hands while she thought. “Hm. I’m not really in a strap-on head-space lately, but I’ll tell you what: Make my cock happy enough, I mean be really nice to it, and I’ll shove it in your ass. Deal?”

He licked his lips. “Deal.”

She reached around him, laughed when he flinched, and grabbed another towel off the counter. “Relax.” Her lopsided smirk focused on his face as she dried her hands, and she tossed the towel on the counter when she was done. “Come on, let me introduce you to your new best friend.”


He slept with the hard plastic cock under his pillow that night. A joke that maybe the dildo fairy would come and leave him a quarter had put him on his knees, apologizing to the life-like phallus.

“You should never joke about friends going away.”

Her foot slapped against his balls from behind, and his body jerked up. The dildo jiggled in front of him like an obscene altar as he asked its forgiveness between sobs.

When she finally announced it was mollified, he had crawled into bed and slipped it under his pillow, still gasping and sweating, the hard lump reminding him he had asked for this. His own cock twitched.


He was choking, gagging, drool from his mouth mixing with tears and snot that ran down his face as the plastic rod scraped along his throat. The dildo stuck up proudly in the center of the plate, suction cupped in place, chunks of half chewed pasta and a cheese and bile slime sliding down the black veins. He licked along the length, chewing and forcing his face back down on the cock.

She watched, cunt twitching, forcing herself to stay poker faced as she took a bite of her own mac and cheese. “It was very nice of you to cook my dildos favorite meal.” She dabbed her lips as he smeared his tongue down the cock, a pool of slime and white chunks collecting on the tip before he wrapped his lips around the cock again. “And you’re doing a lovely job of feeding it.” Deep, twisting sounds from inside him made her pause, and look carefully. “Puke and you’ll be eating that as well.”

A sip of water, the sound of his gagging slowing down, getting quieter, but still pushing against something deep inside of her. “Of course, sometimes my dildo likes to go out to eat. We’ll be do that tomorrow.”


The khakis were the only pants he owned with pockets deep enough to hold his new friend, and he still made sure to position his arm carefully as he walked to their table. She followed along smirking, watching him watch her, wondering what she would do.

They had just finished ordering when she took a deep breath and looked at him with flat, dangerous eyes. “My cock is very thankful, but to tell you the truth, its motives were less than honorable. It just wants a blowjob.” She watched him start to look around and could see his breathing get harder, his hands clench the edge of the table. “No, not here, unlike a whore like you my cock has a sense of decency. Take it to the bathroom, get in a stall on your knees, and give it a blowjob. Send me some pictures, and I’ll text you when it’s satisfied. You can come back then.”

She watched him wordlessly walk away, both arms positioned carefully now. When he rounded the corner she got up herself, went to the ladies room, and walked with long, hurried strides to a stall.

Her skirt and panties were pulled down, and her phone chimed. A picture of him on his knees with a mouth full of plastic dick, his head over the toilet bowl, the top half of his head out of frame. She came hard, jerking and spasming, burying the sounds deep inside of her.

She fixed herself, enjoyed her meal, the phone on her lap flashing pictures of his defiled face every few minutes. When he got the text and came back she was standing by the table, his meal in a neat cardboard box.

They walked out together, and made small talk on the way home.

He finished his meal, the dildo beside his plate, while she went in the other room and woke up the computer. His stomach rolled when she came back with a picture frame. The picture showed his eyes tightly closed and his cheek distorted from the head of the plastic dick in his mouth. The blue of a bathroom stall wall and corner of a toilet paper dispenser just behind his head. A trace of drool that had slipped out of his mouth and caught on the balls of the dildo glistened in reproduced color.

She propped it carefully in front of him, and leaned over to whisper in his ear. “I thought you should have a picture of the two of you together.”

She walked out of the room, and he put the rest of the meal in the fridge, not hungry anymore.


The dildo was chained around his neck, a bulky padlock holding it tight against his skin.

It had “missed him” while he was at work. He also suspected it had been seeing his girlfriend behind his back, but knew better than to make the accusation out loud. It was best to stay on the good side of the fake cock.

He was already naked and had shaved his crotch clean, or rather “dressed like you two are twins!” Best not to push things further.


The dildo had wanted to play, and had easily won the game of Hide and Go Seek. He had wasted precious time, convinced it was in her cunt, or taped to her leg under her dress, while it had lurked under the couch.

The penalty for losing was watching it fuck his girlfriend, slapping into her cunt while she laid on her back on the bed. The rope and handcuffs held him to the chair, clothespins worked into a zipper ran from his tongue to the tip of his cock.

She had already told him she’d be pulling the zipper off when she came. He shifted restlessly, watching her slide the fake cock back and forth, hoping she would come soon.


He was on all fours. He sucked in deep breaths and blew them out raggedly, scrambled animal sounds and deep moans coming from between his lips.

He had come home with cake, ice cream, a birthday card, a gift wrapped package, and balloons. The balloons floated above them in a shining silver halo as he opened the box to show her the cake. A chocolate icing on chocolate cock with “HAPPY BIRTHDAY” scrawled down the length.

She finally stopped laughing, fanning herself with her hand, deep breaths and more laughter until she looked at him, face flushed and smiling. “Okay, I have to now. You threw a birthday party for a dildo. I pretty much just have to fuck you in the ass now, not as a top, but as a member of the human race I just have to.”

They shared cake and ice cream off the same plate after dinner, watching television and smooshed against each other, wrapped even tighter in the shower afterwards. She had pushed him to his knees, and pulled his face tight against her cunt, letting him lick and suck on her clit until she was hot and ready.

Shoved him down to the floor and worked the harness around her waist, pulling the straps tight, and licked her lips. She paused just a second, and then shoved.

“I knew you two would hit it off.”

Copyright Jerry Jones. Unauthorized use is prohibited.

June 17, 2011

A Few of Her Favorite Things

Posted in stories tagged at 2:52 am by littlesubmissions

“Most of your clothes… they’re in the way.” She wiggled her fingers, a shooing motion flicking at the cloth over his skin.

“Most?” He frowned, looked down, paused, started to pull his shirt over his head. “Just tell me when to stop then…”

The thin cotton muffled the sound of her laugh. “If you pull your skin off, I’ll be very surprised.”

“Me too.” He slid his pants down and nodded.

“Kneel in front of me.” She slid the hood over his face, smoothing it, fussing with it, black nylon erasing his features, turning his eyes into two large, flat pools of smooth black cloth. Fussing with it, pulling it down over his nose, erasing his face and obliterating his identity. “I want you to just be an anonymous thing tonight.”

She looked at him, felt the nagging sensation of empathy melting down her body, a warm flush on her skin. “Back up, down on all fours.” The words were more curt, short and terse.

The wood and steel became just another part of this thing to her, spinning the wing nuts around the bolts, metal cold on warm fingertips. “Spread more.” Dragging his balls back between his legs, positioning the wooden jaws over them, tightening it until the humbler held them back and away from his body. Just a modification to a thing, a wooden stitch altering a displeasing hem on his body.

She looked down, and he was more of a thing. Balls dragged back between his legs, the skin of them pulled tight enough to show dimpled flesh turning a darker color. Her own jeans hit the floor, and she shrugged her panties down.

It was hard to look away from the thing in front of her, this bestial abomination forced to crawl on all fours, blind and without a face. The plug slipped into the wall, the buzzing running through her arm as she sat on the bed, propped one leg on the things shoulder, and spread her legs.

“Look up.” The black sphere raised up, unseeing. No emotion written on the blackness, an anonymous thing crouched on her floor, a piece of meat for her to jerk off to. It was a long, slow fuck, pushing the vibrations through her cunt, twisting her nipples, rocking her hips, forcing her eyes to stay open and look down at the trembling neck muscles and the pitch black hole on top of them, filling her up with lust, orgasms, and some of her favorite things.

Copyright Jerry Jones. Unauthorized use is prohibited.

June 10, 2011


Posted in stories tagged at 2:43 am by littlesubmissions

“Now ma’am.” His voice was thinner, higher. His breath shallow and ragged.

She looked at her watch and made a note on a scrap of paper. “Longer than I expected. Good boy, now hold still.” She carefully opened the clamps, watched the blood rush into the flatted meat of his nipples and heard the sharp hiss of his breath. When his breathing had slowed, she jerked her head towards his crotch. “Pull down your pants and boxers.”

A sharp flinch and a grunt of conflicting desire. “You said you’d take them off when…”

A nod. “I did take them off. Now I’m going to put them back on your balls, and you are going to tell me when you can’t take it anymore, again. After that I think I’m going to put them on your tongue, so if you want to go out, I’d suggest you plan carefully. Now. Drop. Your. Pants.”

A moan and a sob, and the sound of his zipper coming undone. They went about their day, reveling in the sensations they were causing each other, touching each other briefly as they walked by, enjoying the little submissions.

Copyright Jerry Jones. Unauthorized use is prohibited.

May 24, 2011


Posted in stories tagged at 1:26 am by littlesubmissions

Author’s Note: Felt like experimenting a little on this one.

She could feel the weight of the pistol in her hand. Her muscles were clenched hard, her knuckles white to keep the barrel from trembling. Anticipation was boiling inside her, filling her and pouring out. He was

on his knees, waiting

he could hear the clink of footsteps in front of his plastic cage. It wasn’t tall enough for him to stand, too narrow to lie down, or sit, or do anything but kneel. One of the prisoners across the concourse stared back at him mutely, reminding him of his own nudity with

his mouth hanging open

as the cock forced its way between his lips, sliding along his teeth. Wet gagging sounds as it forced itself down his throat. The gun wasn’t for him, it was for the man he had arrested. The terror of the West, a murderer, horse thief, and rapist. The man whose cock he was sucking, because she had said

to swallow every drop

that gushed out of the plastic feeding penis. Sensors in the floor activated if a drop was spilled, and electric shocks screamed through their body as they twisted and contorted to reach the wet, slimy, fluid with their hands. It gushed out faster, and audience members snickered as they choked, blowing long ropes of cum out of their noses, forcing it out the sides of their mouths, catching it in their hands, rubbing it on their skin when they were full, anything to keep it from

hitting the floor

Seeing him still gasping, his throat raw and sore as he licked the cum off the dusty floor of his own jail. Imagining how she would take him back to the East, where he would be her docile western lawman, a creature she kept in a cage like at the zoo. A beast that would beg to be ridden, and thrashed with the cane. Her vision filled with a white hot iron descending towards his flesh to brand him forever as hers and

she gasped, and he looked up at her, and they smiled.

Copyright Jerry Jones. Unauthorized use is prohibited.

May 13, 2011

The Consequences of Advice Columns

Posted in stories tagged at 1:12 am by littlesubmissions

I had to wait in the line at the grocery store today, you know? They had one of those magazines for women with 10 tips to spice up your sex life. One of them suggested that a blindfold could heighten sensation during sexual intercourse.

It sounded like good advice.

So, I won’t be able to use the whips or floggers. I’ll need you to be very still so I don’t punch or pinch you somewhere I shouldn’t. Or bite something that shouldn’t be bitten. You’ll have to move your face to catch my spit. Have to squirm and wiggle on your back, chasing my piss stream with your wide open mouth.

But if you scream and whimper and beg for mercy so beautifully I can’t stand it anymore and just have to take a peak… I’ll give you a reward.

Maybe I’ll even let you wear the blindfold next time.

Copyright Jerry Jones. Unauthorized use is prohibited.

May 5, 2011

Little Negotiations

Posted in stories tagged at 2:46 am by littlesubmissions

The buzzing stops with a mutual sigh.

“S’morning. Do not want.”

Pause. Neither moves. “You want the shower first?”

“No. Set the alarm for fifteen more minutes.”

Pajamas rustle, his feet hit the cold floor. “May I jerk off?”

Covers twist and rearrange themselves around her. “You don’t have to ask.”

“It’s hotter when I do.”

“Then no, you can’t.”

“Thank you.”

Copyright Jerry Jones, unauthorized use is prohibited.

April 28, 2011

What That’s Like

Posted in stories tagged at 1:12 am by littlesubmissions

One of my goals for this summer is to get the previous “book” edited and done. Might turn this into a second one when that happens. Thoughts on extending the storyline, both positive and negative, much appreciated. It’s kind of an unusual concept (as far as I know, and as far as anything on the internet is unusual).

Idle thought. “Some days I just feel so orgasmed out and zen that I can’t even bring myself to beat you…”

Sloppy grin. “Yeah, I know what that’s like.”

Feral glare. “Not yet you don’t. But you will.”


“What the fuck is that?”

Her hips wiggled as she shimmied her pants down. “You don’t recognize it? It’s a chastity belt.”

“Yeah, but…” He cocked his head. “Wait, can you even pee in that thing without getting it all over?”

“Yep. Cleanup is a little more complicated, but it’s doable. I’ve been wearing it off and on for a few weeks to get used to it.” She plopped in his lap, wrapped her arms around him. “If I’m thinking about something else, I don’t even notice it’s there sometimes.”

He leaned back to see her face better, and raised his eyebrows. “Okay. And maybe I should have started with this question, but why are you wearing it?”

“You want to know why?” Her hair bounced around her eyes in time with her quick, jerking nods. “Because I have this boy who thinks chastity is great. And I once told him that I wouldn’t do anything to him I hadn’t done. So I started to feel like a terrible ma’am, for having locked up his cock but never having had my cunt locked up.” She batted her eyes with the false sincerity of a cat pretending not to notice it’s prey limping slowly away. “I want to know exactly what it’s like to always be hungry. I want to have to work out this sexual frustration in a thousand little painful, creative ways.”

A sharp smack across his face, and she wrapped her hands back around his neck.

“No getting fuzzy now. You’re going to consent to this with your dick soft and your head clear. Because I want you to know that from now on you’ll be jerking off every day, more if I feel like it or think you’re starting to get horny. I want a victim, a meal I can eat but never finish.” Her teeth flashed, snapped against each other. “I want to see how cruel I can get when you never get me off. I want to see how much I can hurt you when I know you’re cumming all the time and I’m climbing the walls.”

She pushed herself off his lap, leaned in over him, rubbing the crotch of the chastity belt in a sexless parody of masturbation.

“I want you to wake up every morning with an insatiable cunt next to you. I want you to fall asleep afraid of what it will do to you the next day. I want to feel like I could beat you forever, and that it would just make me hungrier.”

He swallowed hard, and nodded.

“What is the longest you’ve gone before?”

“Thirty-two days.” He licked his lips. “Thirty-two days.”

Her eyebrows rocked up, stayed there. “Well then, get your pants off, and let’s get started. Thirty-two days starts with your first orgasm.” She licked her lips. “I’m hungry, and I can’t wait to see what I’m willing to do to you in thirty-two days. To be so hungry… I can’t wait to see what that’s like.”

Copyright Jerry Jones. Unauthorized use is prohibited.

April 20, 2011


Posted in stories tagged at 1:19 am by littlesubmissions

“I need this…” Hard, desperate words hissed at his flickering eyes.

“You want me…” He’d seen her like this before. It was intense. Hard. Painful. Liable to get out of control. His words tumbled out faster. “To wear that?”

“I want to fuck that.” Her eyes flickered between him and the mask. “I want to hurt that.” The picture, carefully molded and glued to the rigid plastic face slid under her fingertips. “I want screams to come from that.” She dragged a nail along the jawline, scoring it. “And I want you to be wrapped up inside all the hurt I’m causing that.”

The doubts were always there, at the beginning. He nodded, got to his knees in front of her. It was so much easier than saying it.

She shook her head, and snarled down. “No, not like that. Turn around.”

Awkward shuffling in a little circle, the denim of his jeans scraping on the carpet.

The face fell to the floor. She yanked his pants down, kicked him forward so he was on hands and knees. Wrestled his pants down further until he was exposed. Slapped a roll of tape on his back and slid her finger through the mouth of the mask, lining it up with his asshole. Holding it in place with her hip while she started the tape, and started rolling it around body, pinning the mask to his ass.

The tape made the picture look even more surreal. Lines of clear plastic criss-crossed it, giving it the look of drowning victim wrapped in cellophane, the too still eyes glaring back at her accusingly.

She groaned and pushed herself to her feet, jerking her dress up and off. She’d been wearing the strapon, imagining this moment all day, feeling it slap against her thigh while she printed out photo after photo, jerking them out of the printer, until she found the perfect one. Glued it to the mask and stared at that face, getting hungrier.

Squirting lube on the fake cock was the hardest thing she had ever done, a few seconds of considerations she thought would drive her insane with hunger. She lined the cock up with the mouth, looked deep into the perfect, dead eyes, and pushed.

The lips folded and pushed back under the girth of the cock, a cadaver parody of a blowjob. Her fingertips sank into his shoulders, forcing his head to the floor so that the face stared back up at her. She pushed harder. He whimpered, she ground her hips. He whimpered some more, and with those lips wrapped around her cock she jerked his hips up and slammed them down, thrusting forward, using his body to drive the base of the cock into her clit.

She heard his animal gurgles, imagined they were coming from the mouth wrapped around her cock. The choking sounds of strangulation and vomit. The glazed eyes sinking into unconsciousness from lack of oxygen. She slid the cock out, to let the face under her breath. If it wasn’t awake, it couldn’t hurt.

Shit stained lubricant pooled and dribbled down the bottom lip, a degrading trail winding its way downward. Something inside her twitched and her hips slammed forward, specks of filth flying off the base of the cock and splattering on those perfect cheekbones, disgusting freckles that stank of silicone and human filth.

She fucked it, felt the face buck and roll beneath her. Heard the sobs and cries, then the dull, broken whimpers. Knew he could take more. Ripped into his body harder.

Felt herself getting hotter, wetter, closer to that ecstatic moment of divinity. Ground her body against the meat underneath her, violating it, feeling it rip and tear. Sank her thumbs into the eyes of the mask, pushing them forward, feeling it tear beneath her. Saw those eyes fall apart into shreds, and turned her hands into claws, tearing, ripping, shredding.

The face under her disintegrated. She came. Fell to the floor, twitching, shredded pieces of paper falling around her. She’d be grateful later, tell him thank you, laugh and joke about it, they both knew that, and they both knew why she didn’t do it right now. Right now, she needed this.

Copyright Jerry Jones. Unauthorized use is prohibited.

March 23, 2011


Posted in stories tagged at 4:29 am by littlesubmissions

The note said, “Prepare your ass…” A bright yellow scrap of paper with curling, careful letters filling it, centered on the power button to the computer monitor, hanging there, the bottom curled up slightly. A warning? A reminder? A promise? All that and more?

His head got woolen and fuzzy as he played out scenarios, wondering what she meant. How should he prepare his ass? What about the rest of him?

Should he strap himself into the humbler, the a heavy switch that would cut and raise welts balanced on his back, waiting? A box of salt close at hand to turn the fiery lines of pain into scorching stripes of fresh agony? Was that prepared. He pulled his pants down, and felt his cock twitch as he slid the toy drawer open and looked inside.

Did she want a well-lubed ass, ready to take a plug or strap-on? Was that “prepared?” A vibrating plug shoved in his ass that she could control the tempo of his tongue with? An inflatable plug she could punish him with, quick pumps and a growing nausea in his gut telling him to try harder, to put the clothespins on his balls faster, to lick her boots faster or slower?

Usually she told him not to help, to just concentrate on obeying, and the unfamiliar territory was exciting, and frightening. The image of disappointment flashing across her face gnawed at him as he tried to figure out what she meant. What should he prepare for? How should he prepare for it? Was the whole scenario just a mind fuck, to make him sweat and worry, let him slip into a head space for something she was bringing home?

Was the colon considered part of the ass? Did he even have time to go to the store to buy an enema kit?

His briefs and shirt slid off, and he stood on the end of his socks to pull them off one at a time. Naked, he still wasn’t sure what to do. She should be home soon. The toys sat in front of him in neat rows, too many possibilities to consider.

He played past scenes out in his head, trying to find some clue to her intentions. His cock got harder as he remembered the sensation of her hands tearing at his skin, crushing his body into itself, dragging and throwing him around as he whimpered and snarled. The internal toys were used in the bathroom, it was easier cleanup than putting plastic down in the living room. They went on the back of the toilet, a neat row of geometric shapes and a bottle of lube designed to turn him into a plaything.

The humbler and two paddles went with him into the living room, the light one she liked to warm up with on one side, the heavy one for when the pain was a warm of thud of torturous pleasure on the other. A sudden thought, and he opened the drawer of her craft desk, a snip of the scissors and a length of red ribbon was in his hand. Three small bells, their tinny chimes rattling as he worked the knots hanging off the end. He wrapped the other end around his balls, circling them, pulling the skin obscenely tight and letting the balls hang below him.

Head down on the floor, the humbler tightened so he couldn’t stand, the bells swaying with each twitch or shift of his weight, he breathed hard and waited for her to come home.

His eyes closed as he heard the key in the door, her steps come in and then a pause.

“Is this your subtle way of saying you’d like to play?”

He twisted his head, saw her standing there with bags and a the line above her nose that appeared whenever he did something incomprehensible. “Your note said…” He trailed off, his breath pooling on the floor and washing back over his face.

“Yeah, for volcano tofu and thai curry and oh my god you didn’t read the back!” Her hand flew over her mouth as she half-stifled a laugh, the package hitting her chest as she turned away, gasping and breathing for air, trying not to laugh. Finally she gave up and just laughed, happy peals of mirth. “Oh my. You didn’t read the back.” She started laughing again as he scootched around to keep her in view.

“Who writes on the back of a post-it?”

She shook her head and leaned against the wall, gasping. “Well, who tries to debate with a ribbon and bells tied to their balls?”

He tried to glower, but ended up grinning back at her, and then laughing along. She shoved herself off the wall, and he reached back for the bolts to the humbler.

She shook her head and grinned, “Leave it. Come.” She walked past him, flopped down on the floor in front of the couch, and started to spread out containers on the coffee table. “It seems a shame to waste the effort, so just stay like you are and I’ll feed you.”

He leaned against her, feeling her muscles move under her skin. “You should probably ignore what’s in the bathroom too then, just FYI.”

She picked up a piece of food in the chopsticks, slid it past his lips, and grinned. “Maybe I will, maybe I won’t. I mean, I could have written absolutely anything on the back of that note, and you wouldn’t have any idea, would you?”

He closed his eyes and breathed hard as he chewed. Swallowed hard. “That’s right ma’am,” he murmured, suddenly glad he didn’t read the backs of notes.

Copyright Jerry Jones. Unauthorized use is prohibited.

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