The List 26: Epilogue

Click here to start with Part 1

Previously: “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?”

His eyes slipped closed and he leaned against her, exhaling heavily. “I think I’d like to take a shower.”

She carefully kissed his temple, and nodded. “Sounds reasonable.” She fished her keys out of her purse and walked around him to undo his handcuffs. One bracelet popped open, then the other, and he brought his arms around to rub his wrists. She gave his nudity an appreciative leer, taking in the bruises and abrasions, the words written on his chest, the dried saliva and stains on his body, and raised an eyebrow. “You want some company?”

He grinned back and nodded. “Sure.”

They trudged towards the shower, and she shed her clothes while he adjusted the water. Steam started to fill the room as she followed him into the shower, and they stood under the water for a few minutes, letting the warmth fill their bodies.

His shoulders slumped, and she idly ran a wash cloth over his arms, then his back. “You going to give bad advice over the internet anymore?”

He winced as she scrubbed at a bruised shoulder, and shrugged. “Not for a couple of days, at least.”

She snorted a brief laugh and kept scrubbing, then handed him the washcloth and turned around. “I’m pretty proud of you for not safe-wording. That got intense in a couple of spots.”

He started rubbing her back, then frowned and paused. “I could have safe worded? Fuck. I never thought of that.”

She started to ask if he was joking, then just smiled and closed her eyes. She leaned back against his hands and purred, deciding it didn’t really matter. He’d say or do something again, and she’d have another reason.

Not that she really needed it.

Author’s note: So that’s pretty much it. What do people prefer, longer stories with continuity, short stories, something else? Any thoughts or comments welcome.

Preview: “Well, that wasn’t what I was expecting.”

Copyright Jerry Jones. Unauthorized use is prohibited.

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The List 25: Its Hair is for Being Pulled

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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The List 24: Its Head is for Being Stuffed in a Bag

Click here to start with Part 1

Previously: He moaned and leaned closer to her, and she bit down on his ear playfully. “I can’t believe I let something as disgusting as you near my cunt. As a matter of fact, I think it’s time your head went into the bag.”

He was lying on the floor on his side, breathing hard. His knees slightly pulled up towards his chest, his arms wrapped tight around his chest.

One black boot pushed him over on his back, and she grinned down at him. “Time for your head to go in the bag boy.” She kicked his legs down straight and squatted down beside him. “I’d hate to make it too easy for you though.” A short length of rope wrapped around his ankles, pulling them together and cinching down tight against his skin. “Now, for your motivation. This should get you moving.”

He groaned as her hand started massaging cream into his balls and along his cock. His eyes clamped shut and he shuddered as he felt the muscle cream start to heat up on his cock and balls.

“Come on, head in the bag.”

He opened his eyes and looked around until he saw her, dangling the empty pillowcase between her hands, the opening towards him. He forced himself to roll over onto his stomach, and shoved himself up onto his hands and knees. His body sank and drool ran from his mouth to the carpet as the heat started to pour into his genitals, and he forced himself to inch towards her.

She stepped back as he moved forward, teasing him with the empty bag. “Get your head in the bag and I’ll try to wash some of that off.” She took another step back as he inched forward. “Of course, it sinks into your skin, so the longer you take the less good that will do.” He shoved himself forward with a groan, and she stepped back with a grin.

He dragged himself through the house, his whole body feeling like a massive bruise. Pain and contusions raced from one muscle to another, trying to get his attention. Little bursts of endorphins floated through his consciousness as his tears started to run down his cheeks from the pain of dragging himself across the floor and the burning in his groin.

She led him through the house, breathing a little harder as he dragged himself across the floor, memorizing the flickers of pain that rushed across his face for later. The clenched teeth as he he pushed forward with his knees, the twitch at the corner of his eye as he walked his hands forward one at a time. The way his arms moved and the muscles warping the skin of his biceps.

His head slumped as he stopped moving. He pushed his thighs together against his cock and balls, trying to do anything to stop the burning. Sounds gurgled in his throat as the heat remained, the sudden pressure doing nothing to stop it. He forced himself not to just fall down, spit on his hands, and frantically rub them on his cock. He knew from past experience that it wouldn’t do any good.

She smiled and let him rest for a minute, then made him clicking sounds with her tongue until he looked up at her through tear stained eyes. She jiggled the pillow case in front of him, then took another step backwards.

He made a sniffing sound, trying to stop the snot running out his nose, and forced himself to put one hand forward, then the other, then pull his knees across the floor towards her. He tried to ignore the pain and focus on the three simple, repetitive motions, and not think of anything else.

She led him through the house, forcing him to drag his body along the floor behind her. They wound through the bedroom, out into the living room, across the pantry and into the garage. She could hear him whimper a little as he crossed the metal door threshold and his palms hit the cold concrete. He dragged himself to the back of the car, and she popped the trunk lid on the car.

“Get in, and I’ll put your head in the bag.”

He pushed himself to his knees, and held onto the bumper as he pulled himself to his feet. He hopped around in an awkward circle and sat back, swinging his legs into the trunk and curling up in the enclosed space.

“Good for you.” She moved his hands behind his back, and cuffed one wrist then the other, chaining his hands behind his body. “You’ve managed to convince me to abduct you.” The pillow case finally went over his head, and he sighed in the enclosing darkness. He could feel the tape securing the bottom of the pillow case to his neck, pulling it down tight and sealing him in the darkness.

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.

Preview: Hair is for being pulled. Pulllllllllllllllled.

Copyright Jerry Jones. Unauthorized use is prohibited.

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The List 23: It Eyes are for Being Blindfolded

Click here to start with Part 1

Previously: Finally, somewhere, the sensation started to fade. It couldn’t last, never did, but it would be there again. She dropped the paddle on the floor, and moved in front of him. She lifted up the bucket again, but this time worked the clamp loose and pulled it out of his nose. “Ugh.” Her face crinkled and she tilted her head back. “Go wash your face, blow your nose, and hurry back. I need to do something about those pretty eyes.”

He stumbled back into the bedroom with beads of water on his hairline and chin. She whistled and motioned him over. He walked over to where she stood and dropped to his knees, scooting the last couple of feet.

She wrapped the elastic band of the sleep mask around his head and centered the black pads over his eyes, wrapped a scarf over the mask, and followed with duct tape that clamped against itself and pulled the cloth down tighter.

“We’re going to play a game now, it’s called Mouth or Ass. I’m going to hold up an object, and you tell me if you want it used on your mouth, or your ass.”

He leaned towards her, and thought the words over carefully. “Am I allowed to change my mind, ma’am?”

Her laugh floated across the room. “Sure, but I think the more important question is if you are allowed to try to change my mind.”

“Am I? Allowed to try to change your mind, ma’am?” He turned his head slightly, trying to find her in the darkness.

She bit her lip, and looked at him. Scenarios bounced back and forth in her mind. Did she want to control him, or let him make the choices? Which was more appealing, to own his body and inflict it, or let him make his own decisions and suffer the consequences? Finally, she shrugged and cleared her throat. “If you ask very, very nicely, I suppose I might change my mind. I might even be persuaded to give you hints, if you ask very nicely.” The middle ground seemed best, she could always make the choice on the fly and pretend it was what she had intended all along.

She plowed on before she could start to second guess herself. “First up. Mouth or ass?”

He shrugged, paused, and then sank to his knees. “May I please have a hint ma’am?”

“Ooh, on your knees? I like you like that, but I can’t get to your mouth easily. Try another position and ask again.”

He stood back up carefully, then leaned forward and put his hands on his knees. “May I please have a hint ma’am?”

“How do you like the taste of hair?”

He grinned, imagining running his tongue along her slit, the short hair teasing his chin and rubbing against his lips. “Mouth please, ma’am.” His head jerked as the hard bristles of the hair brush slid into his mouth.

Her mouth clamped down on his hair, jerking his head back into place and shoving her hairbrush into his mouth. She explored his gullet and violated his mouth, scraping the hard bristles along his tongue and cheek, letting them push against his teeth. She slid it back into his mouth slowly, letting stray hairs and debris fall off the bristles into his mouth, and waited until it just barely… triggered his gag reflex. His throat convulsed and she let the hairbrush fall out of his mouth, grinning down at him. “Were you expecting something else?”

His tongue worked its way in and out of his mouth, with his face making a sour frame around it. “Yes ma’am, may it please try to change your mind?”

“Ooh, I suppose.” She clenched her jaw, watching his expression and holding the laugh deep inside her. Her hand let go of his hair, and she stepped back, then poked his chin with the hairbrush. He jumped and the laugh escaped, and she took another step back. “Well?”

He sank back to his knees, then his hands, then slowly turned in what he hoped was a circle so his face was away from her. “Please ma’am, use the hairbrush on its ass. It deserves to be disciplined and beaten.”

She ran the flat part of the brush along his ass-cheeks, and hummed to herself. “It’s a start, but I’m not quite convinced. Why do you deserve to be disciplined and beaten?”

He felt his thoughts getting fuzzy, the humiliating words rushing to get out of his mouth, fighting his instincts not to say them. “I watch disgusting internet pornography — Ah!” The hairbrush crashed into his already tenderized ass, and he lurched forward.

The hard plastic left a bright red imprint, and her words got cold and flat. “Well, keep convincing me. Or I’ll shove this down your throat until you puke.”

“Ugh, I’m a horrible person.” Splat, pain seared across his body again. “I play with my disgusting cock in the shower.” And again. “I actually get pleasure from jerking off that revolting piece of flesh.” And again.

Each sentence, each confession, ended in searing pain. He debased and humiliated himself, cataloging failures and perceived failures, and she administered pain for each one. The beating went on until he was sobbing, gasping the words out between choking sounds. He confessed to being a whore, of fantasizing about women forcing themselves on him, of jerking himself off while thinking of being chained to a urinal where they pissed on him and he licked his food off a filthy bathroom floor, of cleaning the floor with his tongue, licking up mud and piss and the sexual fluids of strangers. Of begging to be spit and pissed on just to wash the taste out of his mouth. Of the chain being unlocked one day, and just crawling to a corner and starting to lick the floor again.

She kept hitting him with the hairbrush, helping him turn the shame and humiliation into a physical pain he could survive, that would fade. His ass turned pink, then red, then black and blue as blood vessels popped and tissue bruised. She listened to him sink lower and lower for her, wondering how far he would go, loving the sounds of his sobs and words, ready to pull him back up if he needed it.

Eventually he couldn’t speak, and she kept beating him to the rhythm they had established. Finally, when he couldn’t even gasp or cry anymore, she stopped and gently ran her hand down his spine up to his head. She jerked his head up by his hair, and leaned down to whisper in his ear. “My god a disgusting animal.”

He moaned and leaned closer to her, and she bit down on his ear playfully. “I can’t believe I let something as disgusting as you near my cunt. As a matter of fact, I think it’s time your head went into the bag.”

Preview: Heads are for being stuffed in a bag. Wasn’t that a Joe Pesci movie?

Copyright Jerry Jones. Unauthorized use is prohibited.

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The List 22: Its Nose is for Being Clamped

Click here to start with Part 1

Previously: She licked her lips, and wiggled in the hard plastic chair. “The break is over, and your nose gets clamped, my friend. My advice: Drive slow and enjoy these errands.”

He wriggled his nose as the clamp bit into his septum, and the bucket swayed underneath him. Finally, with a shuddering breath he let it sink to the floor, clamped his eyes shut and gritted his teeth.

Coins fell from her hand and clattered into the bucket, bouncing off the change already there. She walked around him, planted her feet, and smacked him hard on the ass with the wooden paddle. Her lips were compressed into a hard, tight line, and her eyes were flat and emotionless. The paddle cracked against his ass over and over until he sobbed and forced his spine upright, picking the bucket off the floor by the thin rope that ran from the bucket handle to the clover clamp on his nose.

She stopped beating him when he was finally standing upright, and walked back to the desk, getting another handful of change out of the jar and watching him out of the corner of her eye.

His shoulders slumped, then straightened as she turned and walked back in front of him. The coins rasped between her fingers as she dangled them over the bucket. The pressure built, the clamp biting into the soft inner tissue of his nose, tickling him, begging him to bend over and let the bucket rest on the floor for, relieve the pressure for just a minute.

The bucket sank closer to the floor and she rolled the coins across the palm of her hand. When the tension on the chain finally eased, she dropped the coins in the bucket and started beating his ass again.

The paddle thudded into his body with the wet, smacking sound of wood hitting muscle, and his shoulders tensed. He took several deep breaths, shifting his weight from leg to leg to try to minimize the pain, then when he couldn’t bear it anymore forced himself upright, dragging the now heavier bucket up into the air. She kept hitting him until his back was straight, driving him up the last few inches, stopping mid-swing as his posture finally straightened out.

She walked back to the desk, got some more change, waited, and smiled at the tears forming in his eyes. One finger trailed along his cheek, collecting the moisture, and slid into her mouth. No real taste to speak of, maybe a little salt, but still delicious. “I want to collect a whole bottle of those pretty little tears, and carry it around in my purse. Look at it when I’m bored or frustrated and remind myself of the horrible things I get to do to you. Maybe it will inspire me.”

He forced himself to breathe slowly and deeply, and tried to ignore the claws biting into his inner nose. His tongue came out and slid across the lips.

She wrapped her hand around the chain and lifted the bucket up slightly, then let it fall back down. The claws bit into his body and his knees buckled as he gasped and blinked his eyes. Fresh tears rolled down his cheek, and she murmured softly.

“There we go.” She slid a finger down the other side of his face, and gently touched the tip of her tongue with it. “So tasty. Be glad I don’t have a funnel and a jar, or I’d have you on your hands and knees, seeing what got you to cry the most. I think I’d start with jamming a nice big cucumber up your ass, twisting it and fucking you with it until you broke down and sobbed.” She stood up on her tiptoes and leaned in, running her tongue up his cheek to just below his eye, then whispered in his ear. “Or maybe I’ll just smear some icy hot on your balls and watch you screamed and cried. How long do you think it would take to get a whole bottle of tears?”

He tried to keep the thought of that horrible burning spreading across his balls as he slouched and the bucket sank towards the ground. The paddle crashed into him before the slack even entered the chain, hard and fast. The pain was overwhelming almost immediately, and his back straightened almost as soon as the handful of coins hit the bottom of the bucket.

She kept beating him this time, kept smacking his ass even after his legs were straight and locked and his back straight. The beating was merciless and seemed to last forever. His mind floated away as endorphins floated across the cells, and everything faded but the sense of her.

The muscles in her arm worked mechanically, automatically, her mind totally focused on his reactions and her connection with him. The overwhelming sensations flashing back and forth between them, breaking down walls, tearing them apart and reassembling them into one person. The paddle splatted into his body, the force traveled through both of them, and they both started breathing harder and louder.

Finally, somewhere, the sensation started to fade. It couldn’t last, never did, but it would be there again. She dropped the paddle on the floor, and moved in front of him. She lifted up the bucket again, but this time worked the clamp loose and pulled it out of his nose. “Ugh.” Her face crinkled and she tilted her head back. “Go wash your face, blow your nose, and hurry back. I need to do something about those pretty eyes.”

Preview: Eyes are for being blindfolded. Blind folded. Weird word when you think about it.

Copyright Jerry Jones. Unauthorized use is prohibited.

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The List 21: Its Ears Are for Hearing Orders

Click here to start with Part 1

Previously: He jumped as he noticed her feet, then leaned back and looked up. She was wrapped tightly in her robe, hair still wet, and looking down at him. “It’ll do, until I get you some glass cleaner. But it wasn’t done before I got back, so I’m afraid you’re going to have to suffer. Just remember who wrote ears are for hearing orders on their list during this next part.”

He glared. “This is beyond humiliating.”

She smirked. “Is that why I’m enjoying it so much? Or is it something else? Maybe because you seem to prefer to dress like a hobo?” Her hand slid down the front of the shirt, smoothing it, then she frowned back at him. “Try on the blue one. Ears. Orders.”

He sighed and took the shirt into the changing room, undoing and redoing buttons. She waited outside, sitting cross-legged on the stool for trying on shoes, fingers flicking across her phone.

He came out of the changing room, sighed, and held his arms out from his sides. She looked him up and down, then tilted her head, then finally nodded. “It’ll do. Thirty percent less hobo. In fact, you almost look like a grownup.”

He started unbuttoning the shirt and headed back for the changing room. “Looking like a grownup is vastly over-rated, and their clothes are itchy.”

She dropped her phone in her purse, and stood up. “Pay for it and meet me in the food court.”

He paid for the shirt, grunted responses to the cashier’s attempts at small talk, and trudged through the mall. He walked through the food court, looking from side to side. She saw him first and waved him over, then looked up at him. “Hey cutie, get me a slice of cheese pizza and a soda, and pick up whatever you want.”

He chuckled and dropped the bag on the table, then walked over to the pizza counter. He watched her at the table, probably playing a video game on her phone judging from the way her fingers moved and the look of concentration on her face, and whistled tunelessly as the long line wound its way past the counter. Finally their order was ready and he walked back to her table. The tray dropped on the glossy imitation granite top and he slid it across to her side, then grabbed his own soda and pizza and lifted it towards his mouth.

“Uh-uh, wait until I’m done.” She took a delicate bite from the pointed end and raised an eyebrow as she chewed. “Well?”

He put the slice of pizza back down in the flimsy cardboard container, and raised an eyebrow back at her. “I’m finding ears are vastly over-rated at the moment.”

“The terrible torture of being you.” She ate slowly, but deliberately, enjoying the site of him drumming his fingers on the table, checking his email, and putting his phone away. The last bite disappeared into her mouth, and she took a long drink of soda. “Go ahead, you’ve earned it, surly-pants.”

He took a large bite, chewed, and swallowed. He counted to ten in his head, and then shrugged. “This just wasn’t I had in mind when we started.”

She leaned back, and spoke slowly and carefully. “I know. But these are things we need to do, you looked like you needed a break, I definitely needed a break, and it seemed like a good way to kill both of those birds with one stone.” She looked into his eyes then flicked her gaze away. “Sorry if it’s not sexy fun times for you.”

He chewed, swallowed, took another bite, and chewed. “It’s just that, if we’re going to take a break, I’d like to take a break. This is weird, it’s very mixing vanilla and d/s, and I’m not sure where to go with it or how to process it.” He took a drink, and glared at the ceiling. “The music doesn’t help, either. Never in the history of d/s, with its long and gloried list of monumentally bad decisions, has someone thought John Denver’s Christmas album would help them get their kink on.”

She laughed and the tension eased out of her shoulders. “Okay, fair enough. You’re off the hook. I’ve got three more errands I need to run, and you can be your usual surly, snarky, horrible self until we get them finished and are back home.”

“Thanks.” He smiled and offered her the last bite of pizza, and she shook her head. He popped it in his mouth, chewed around the words, and tried to look innocent. “What happens when we get home?”

She licked her lips, and wiggled in the hard plastic chair. “The break is over, and your nose gets clamped, my friend. My advice: Drive slow and enjoy these errands.”

Preview: Noses are for being clamped? WTF was I thinking when I wrote that? The nose is like, the least erogenous zone ever.

Copyright Jerry Jones. Unauthorized use is prohibited.

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The List 20: Its Mouth is for Being Gagged, Silencing it and Letting Drool Fall Out

Click here to start with Part 1

Previously: She watched him in the small screen on her phone, and drifted off into a soft haze, thinking about what she’d be doing with that mouth next.

She woke up from half sleep to the sensation of his tongue gently circling her ass. There was an appreciative murmur before she reluctantly raised her head and looked back at him. The words written on his stomach slipped in and out of view, and her eyes narrowed.

“All right, you can stop now.” He slid to his knees at the end of the bed, watching her as she rolled over onto her back, yawned and stretched, and sat up. She rolled off the bed and scratched the smooth skin under her breast, then frowned. “Ugh, I need a shower, and you need to keep working on your list. Take the sticks off your face.”

He slid the rubbed bands off the ends of the wooden rods keeping his tongue out of his mouth, and pulled his tongue back into his mouth, breathing hard and enjoying the sudden freedom. He was working his jaw and running his tongue along the roof of his mouth when she clamped one hand on his jaw, pried it open, and slipped the o-ring gag behind his teeth.

He exhaled as she buckled the strap behind his head, his jaw forced into another unnatural shape. She walked out of the room and came back with the small mirror that hung in the hallway. It went on the desk while got the marker out of the desk drawer, and started to write.

“Turn around, I need to see what you’ll be for the foreseeable future.” He rotated around his knees until he was facing her, and she nodded in approval and went back to making big, block letters on the mirrors surface. “Boot-licker. Cunt-licker. Piss slut. Hole. Slave. Cum dumpster.” She sang the words in a high voice, then sighed happily and went over each letter again, darkening it.

She put the mirror on the floor in front of him. “Hands and knees, please.” He leaned forward, and drool slid out of his mouth onto the mirror, coating his reflection in spit.

“Clean the mirror, and think about what each word means.” She frowned, and then pursed her lips. “Hm.” She reached over into the drawer and found a plastic drop cloth, which landed by him with a thud. “Put this down, I don’t want you getting ink on the carpet.” She stood up. “Meanwhile, I’m going to take a shower. Be finished before I am.”

He tore open the plastic packaging and worked the drop cloth under the mirror, making sure he had plenty of room to rest his hands. She walked into the bathroom and he heard water starting to run. His reflection stared back at him, “piss-slut” written over his eyes. Drool poured out of his mouth, and he moved his head back and forth across the mirror. He balanced on one hand while he used the other to smear the spit around, getting it on all the letters, letting them soak up the moisture while he started working on the first letter of the first word.

Boot-licker. His reflection stared back at him as he worked his finger along the first letter, scrubbing it away. Of being down on his knees, working his tongue along the leather. The slightly acrid smell, the taste, the deep blackness shining back at him. The warm, soft feeling of having a task to complete that he enjoyed. His tongue slipping into his mouth just long enough to kiss the toe of each boot before he moved to the other. Of her, being there, taking in and accepting his act of obeisance, of loving him and creating a place where he could do this and feel safe.

Cunt-licker. Tasting her. Pleasing her. Working his tongue against her body until she lost control and came with thunderous jerks and starts. Breathing through his nose, focusing on her pleasure until she came, working his tongue against her, the feeling of he legs wrapping around his head and jerking him closer.

Piss slut. Being on his knees with his head tilted back, waiting for her. Her grinning face above him, teasing him, pulling her labia apart and positioning her hips perfectly. Letting her piss spray across his face until it found his mouth, saturating his taste buds. The sensation of consuming her, of swallowing her piss, of feeling it slide down his throat until there was a horrible warmth in his stomach. The knowledge that some part of her was seeping into his cells as the piss flowed through his body.

Hole. Violation. Things entering his body. His mouth and ass stretching, his throat convulsing. She loved his triggering his gag reflex, the wet choking sounds that came from him as she worked a dildo further into his mouth, pushing it as slowly as she could and trying to pinpoint the exact moment his muscles would convulse and retching sounds would pour out of him. The intimacy of changing his body and invading it, of penetrating him, of testing his mental strength as his internal organs were pushed and rearranged.

Slave. The warmth of trust from letting control go. Not worrying, not knowing, obeying and being rewarded. The joy she radiated when he loved her enough to let her make decisions for him, knowing she wouldn’t hurt him. Permanently, anyway.

Cum dumpster. The disgusting sensation of his semen sliding down his tongue, working its way into his throat until he grimaced and swallowed. Knowing she would love him after even the most degrading acts. Doing those things for her, the little murmur of appreciation, the way her fingers twitched a little when she was excited, urging him to clean his mess up off the floor or lick it out of a dog bowl. Of her forcing him just a little further than he would go himself, of taking him to a part and chaining him to the glory hole, inviting the guests to spray hot, sticky semen in his mouth. Of her helping him put himself back together when he was done.

The words were gone from the mirror, and his reflection stared back at him. It was slightly distorted, the mirror still wet, traces of magic marker still on its surface. Drool continued to seep from his mouth, and he shifted his hips to catch it in his hand.

He jumped as he noticed her feet, then leaned back and looked up. She was wrapped tightly in her robe, hair still wet, and looking down at him. “It’ll do, until I get you some glass cleaner. But it wasn’t done before I got back, so I’m afraid you’re going to have to suffer. Just remember who wrote ears are for hearing orders on their list during this next part.”

Preview: Ears are for hearing orders. And making ear wax.

Copyright Jerry Jones. Unauthorized use is prohibited.

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The List 19: Its Tongue is for Licking Boots, Cunt, and Ass: Part 2

Click here to start with Part 1

Previously: She let it go on for awhile, until it was time to push deeper. “On your knees. That tongue has other uses.”

His tongue reluctantly rose up from the leather of her boots, followed by his head then his shoulders. The wooden rods held his tongue out from his face, a pulled, distorted muscle dragged out of his mouth and held there.

She shifted her weight and the fingers of one hand wrapped around his hair, pulling his face into her cunt. He scooted forward on his knees, and frowned, shifting to get used to the angle. With his tongue held in place he had to move his head, running his tongue up and down her slit by using his neck to work his entire head up and down.

She flipped one leg over his shoulder, pulling him in tight against her body and pinning him there, balancing on her other leg. He scooted in closer, shoving his spine upright and bringing his chin hard up against her body. His neck continued to make little jerking motions, rubbing his dry tongue between her labia.

She was already wet, and he used his tongue to push the moisture up to her clit. Digging his tongue into her vagina, dragging his tongue up her slit, wetting her labia and running his tongue over it.

Her eyes slipped closed, and she enjoyed the unusual sensations. It wasn’t the typical pattern, it was a short session of tongue fucking followed by a long lick up to her clit, then his tongue rubbing over her until it slipped back down for more tongue fucking.

Little electric jolts washed through her body as his tongue ran across her clit, and she jerked his hair as he started to move his tongue downward. She held him there, keeping his tongue on her clit, while he tried to pull his head down, enjoying the sensation of her fingers pulling his hair up from his skull.

They struggled back and forth, enjoying the push and pull, their bodies working against each other. The sensation of muscles being worked in different ways against their will, his hands clamped tightly against her legs and holding her up but his head trying to slip back down to tongue fuck her, her leg pulling his face tight against her body but her hand clamped in his hair holding his tongue up against her clit.

He jerked his head back and forth, frantically working her clit with the tip of his bound tongue, begging with his body to be allowed to slide his tongue down and inside her. She clenched her fist tighter, wanting him to work for it, until his frantic licking sent a small orgasm through her. She let her arm drop, let his tongue slide back down her until it slid insider of her body.

He rammed his tongue inside her as far as he could, feeling her pubic hair rubbing against his face, tasting and penetrating her body. The orgasm slowed then stopped and she was dragging his head upwards again until his tongue found her clit. She held on, forcing him to stay in that spot, to work his tongue over that sensitive piece of flesh until the orgasms exploded behind her eyes and she slumped over.

She held him close against her while he held her up, both of their eyes clamped tightly shut, sweat running down their bodies and mixing together. She finally pushed him away and planted her foot back on the floor, then sat down hard on the bed.

She fanned herself with a hand while he slumped back to his hands and knees, both of them breathing hard. Finally she pushed herself further up onto the bed and rolled over on her stomach, stretching her arms out and letting her entire body go limp.

A happy sigh came from her lips, and she pulled a pillow down under her head. “Well, come on. One more use for that tongue before I give it back to you.”

Her words energized him, and he scampered up onto the bed, lying his torso down and gently placing his lips on one ass cheek. He alternated back and forth, pushing against the chopsticks holding his tongue out of his mouth, burying his lips in the flesh.

Her hips wiggled excitedly, and her lips pulled into a smile. She flipped open her phone and turned on the camera, propping it against the headboard until he came into view. As he moved from side to side she caught glimpses of his face, and could see his eyes were closed.

Her butt-cheeks clenched and her back stiffened then relaxed as the tip of his tongue touched her asshole, and she exhaled slowly. With his face distorted by the wooden dowels pulling out his tongue, he still looked at peace as he started to run his tongue around in small, tight circles.

She watched him in the small screen on her phone, and drifted off into a soft haze, thinking about what she’d be doing with that mouth next.

Preview: Mouths are for being grmrmphhged.

Copyright Jerry Jones. Unauthorized use is prohibited.

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The List 19: Its Tongue is for Licking Boots, Cunt, and Ass: Part 1

Click here to start with Part 1

Previously: She shrugged. “I just wanted to see you sweat, and it worked fine for me. Go dump this in the toilet, and meet me in the bedroom. I think I have a use for your tongue.”

He frowned and trudged to the bathroom, holding the red cup of cooling piss in front of him. He swished the contents a little, trying to figure out if it was his or not. He poured the noxious yellow liquid down the toilet, rinsed the cup in the sink, and tossed it in the trash.

He turned and caught his reflection in the mirror. The words written on his stomach in big block letters stared back at him. Boot-licker. Cunt-licker. Piss slut. Hole. Slave. Cum dumpster. All words he had asked to have written on his body, all things he had begged her to turn him into. He exhaled and caught a whiff of his own breath, making a sour face at the acid smell of urine. “May I please rinse my mouth out, ma’am?” He shouted the question across the house, and awkwardly swallowed.

Her nose crinkled as she tried not to imagine the smell. “Ugh, god yes, please do.”

He used his hands to scoop water into his mouth, swished it around, then spit it out. He tried it again, then finished with mouthwash and walked back to the bedroom. He stood in front of her, and she raised an eyebrow. “Knees.”

He dropped to his knees, looking up at her. She was still naked except for the socks and boots she had pulled on earlier, and his eyes wandered from her cunt up to her tits to her face. She let the eyebrow drop, and nodded. “Tongue out.”

He stuck his tongue out, and she grabbed it with one hand, pulling on it until it was out as far as possible. She used her other hand to put bamboo skewers on the top and bottom of his tongue, against his mouth. She stuck her own tongue out and waggled it at him, then laughed. “Its tongue doesn’t belong in its mouth, now does it?”

“Nuh if dozent ma’uhm.” He mumbled the words, too many consonants and not enough vowels rolling off his trapped tongue.

“No it doesn’t ma’am.” She sang the words back to him, pronouncing them carefully and clearly. “Because its tongue doesn’t belong in its mouth, its for licking boots, cunt, and ass.” She paused for a second, enjoying the sight of him on his knees, his tongue stretched out just for her, the bruises and lacerations on his legs, the words written on his stomach. “Well, get started.”

Drool ran out of his mouth as he scooted back and leaned down to run his tongue across her boots. The wet skin crawled across the black leather slowly, starting at the tip until it reached the laces. He switched from foot to foot, more drool falling out of the corners or his mouth, squeezing down further on his knees to push his tongue harder against her boots.

She took a step back, then another, making him chase her around the room, crawling on his hands and knees with his mouth open and his tongue hanging out. After a few steps she let him catch her, take a few desperate licks, then stepped away again. She moved faster, and he crawled faster, keeping his head down, trying to reach her boots as quickly as possible.

She stepped away and spread her legs, making him shuffle from boot to boot. “Is your tongue getting dry?” His answer was an unintelligible growl, a tangled mess of consonants and grunts, which she took to be more or less an affirmative. “Head up, look at me.”

He gave her boot one last lick and pushed himself up so he was on kneeling, looking up at her. She grabbed his chin with one hand, and leaned over. Carefully, she spit on his tongue, letting the saliva drop from her mouth onto the protruding flesh. With one finger she worked the puddle of spit in a circle, rubbing it down the length of his tongue from the tip to where the chopsticks sank into the muscle and forced it to remain out of his mouth.

He dropped back down to his hands and knees and started running his tongue over her boots again. Working along the sides, chasing her around the room like an animal, smashing the side of his face against the carpet to reach the soles when she rocked back on her heel and raised the toe.

She let him lick her boots until she could see the tension slump from his shoulders, until there was no hesitation between her moving and his following. Until they were connected, until they felt like one person moving, reacting to the same impulses.

She let it go on for awhile, until it was time to push deeper. “On your knees. That tongue has other uses.”

Author’s Note: Hi all! I am slammed this week, so this will be a two-parter. That way you get something, and I don’t have to be behind on the things I do to make my Benjamins.

Preview: Mouths are for being grmrmphhged.

Copyright Jerry Jones. Unauthorized use is prohibited.

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The List 18: Its Throat is for Swallowing Piss

Click here to start with Part 1

Previously: She fanned herself with one hand, and gasped until her breathing slowed down. “Good boy.” She patted his head, and closed her eyes for a few seconds. When she opened them the string was still pulled tight but not broken, and he was smiling at her.

She smiled back, and licked her lips. “So, your throat was for swallowing piss, yes?”

He scooted back towards the dresser, letting some slack into the string, and nodded. “Yes ma’am.”

“Stay.” She walked out of the room, and he heard cupboards then drawers banging in the kitchen. She walked back past him carrying two red cups and went into the bathroom. “Take the collar and leash off and come in here.”

He sat up and pulled the collar around his neck until the knot was in front of him, and worked the string loose until it fell apart. He shoved himself to his feet, ran a hand through his hair and tried to ignore the aches in his legs and across his back.

He followed her into the bathroom, and she handed him one of the cups. “Pee in it.”

“Seriously?”

She nodded. “Oh yeah. Pee in it.”

He held his cock with one hand, and positioned the cup in front of it with the other. He closed his eyes, and relaxed his bladder. Piss splashed into the cup, and slowly filled it. The stream slowed, then stopped, and he shook the last few drops off his cock.

“Put it down there.” She pointed to the sink.

He set the cup down on the sink, and she made a shooing motion with one hand. “Okay, scoot. Wait outside, I’ll just be a minute.”

He stepped out of the bathroom, and she shut the door behind him. He stretched and scratched his stomach, rocking on his feet, looking around the room, waiting.

The door opened, and she came out with the two cups. “Come on.” She walked into the kitchen, and he followed her with a frown.

She sat the table, put one cup in front of her, and the other in the chair opposite. “Sit.”

He sat down, and she grinned. “Now, the battle of wits begins. It ends when you choose a cup, and we both drink.”

He raised an eyebrow, and tilted his head at her across the table. “Am I the princess in this situation, or the Sicilian?”

“Definitely the princess.” She nodded with mock seriousness. “Definitely.

He pointed to the cup in front of him, then the cup in front of her. “And the iocane powder is what in this scenario?”

“One cup is your pee, one cup is mine. Very simple.” She tried a British accent that was broken up by a giggle, and let it go. “You have to choose which cup to drink.”

“And you drink the other?”

She laughed. “God no, the other gets dumped in the toilet.” She smiled, an evil glint in her eye. “Well?”

He frowned, and looked from cup to cup. “Can I see the other cup?”

She slid it towards him, and he compared the two. They both held the same amount, and looked about the same. They smelled the same, the sour, acrid reek of urine. He slid the second cup back towards her, and leaned back in the chair.

He drummed his fingers on the table, and and licked his lips.

She tried to keep a serious look on her face, but kept breaking into giggles. “God, you like drinking my piss, but put a cup of your own in front of you and you act like it’s the most horrible thing in the world.”

His eyes kept moving from one cup to the other. “Yeah, well, drinking your piss makes me feel like you’re inside of me, invading every cell as my body breaks it down. Like internal bruises I can carry around for a week. Drinking my own is just gross, unless I’ve been trapped in a coal mine for three days, in which case still gross, but society will give me a pass.”

She snorted another laugh, enjoying his anxiety. “I totally understand. A well reasoned and astute observation.”

He gave up on looking at the cups, and looked at her instead. She liked to watch him deny himself for her, so she’d probably put the cup with her piss in front of him. She’d know he’d know, but she enjoyed the familiarity they had with each other, so no reason to switch it. But she also liked the mental aspect of domination, the contest of wills, the mental strength rather than the physical struggle, so she’d want him to pick the wrong one, so he should go for the one in front of her. But she’d probably be more comfortable with her own piss than his, so she’d put hers in front of herself.

He added things up mentally.

“It’s getting cold,” she sang in a lilting voice, smiling her not trying to help smile.

Two points for being on her side of the table, one for being on his. He pointed back to her cup. “I’ll take that one.”

She kept her face neutral as she slid it across the table to him. He paused, then lifted the cup to his lips, and drank it down in several long gulps. He put it back on the table, and looked at her. “Well?”

“What?”

“Was that your piss or mine?”

She shrugged and snorted a laugh. “I honestly have no idea, I lost track in the bathroom when I was evening out the amount in them.”

He narrowed his eyes and shook his head. “Not cool, I’d like to know if I should be enjoying this or not.”

She shrugged. “I just wanted to see you sweat, and it worked fine for me. Go dump this in the toilet, and meet me in the bedroom. I think I have a use for your tongue.”

Preview: Tongues are for licking boots, cunt, and ass. So I’ve been told anyway.

Copyright Jerry Jones. Unauthorized use is prohibited.

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

Click here to start with Part 1

Previously: She nodded, and took the plate and glass from him. “Like I said, you probably just stood up too quickly. Luckily, the next item on your list is pretty low impact. I’ll put these away, you take a breather, and then I’ll get your collar and the leash.”

He nodded and smiled at her, glad they weren’t stopping.

She came back into the room with a pair of scissors and the light string they kept in the kitchen, the white cotton kind that always unraveled at the end. She sat down in the chair, and motioned him over. “Scoot over, and face away from me.”

He slid across the floor and spun around, facing away from her. She made several loose loops around his neck with the string, then cut it with the scissors, and tied the ends together. She watched his fingers start to move, to fidget as he started to wonder what was going on.

“I know, you’re confused.” She patted his head, and pulled about six feet of string off the roll, cutting it again with the scissors. One end went around the loop of string already around his neck, and she walked over to the dresser with the other end. She wrapped it around the leg, and tied it with a simple knot. “Don’t worry, I’ll explain.”

She dropped the string and scissors on the dresser, then went over to the closet and pulled out a pair of socks and boots. “Leashes are to teach restraint, so I’m going to teach you to restrain yourself.” She sat on the edge of the bed and pulled on the socks, then slid the boots over them and started cinching down the laces. “Your job is to not break the leash. Pretty sure you could, so you’re going to have to be careful.”

She knotted the boot laces, and then slid off the bed to sit on the floor with her legs stretched in front of her. “Whatever you can reach, you can lick.”

He looked at her boots, and then over his shoulder at the string running to the dresser. He slowly moved towards her, inching along as the slack came out of the string. As the string tightened he lowered his stomach to the floor and slid along, stopping when he felt it pull tight. Her boots were still a good foot away, and the string was pulled tight.

She raised an eyebrow, then laughed. “I wasn’t going to be that much a bitch.” She inched herself closer, watching the look of anticipation on his face, slowly bringing her boots closer until he took a deep breath and stuck his tongue out as far as it would reach. She dragged the toe of one boot along his tongue, slowly, sliding the leather across the pink flesh until the black gleamed.

She pulled that leg back, and he stuck his tongue back in his mouth to moisten it, then pushed it past his lips again as her other boot snaked forward. She dangled it just out of his reach for long seconds, then started to rub it across his tongue, back and forth in short strokes.

She sighed and leaned back, letting him reach more of the leather, to lick along the top and sides. He moved his head and ran his tongue eagerly along the leather, growling in frustration when the string pulled taught and wouldn’t let him reach any further. He forced himself not to jerk against it, not to break it and grab her boot with both hands and work his tongue over every square inch.

She switched feet, then dragged her boot back and forth, slowly letting him lick more than less, watching his tensed muscles as he fought to keep himself in place. She pointed her toes at the ceiling, only letting him touch the soles of the boot with the very tip of his tongue, watching him carefully move his head up and down, straining to get as close as possible to her without breaking the string.

She sighed and laid down on her back, half closing her eyes. “You do know how to make a gal feel appreciated, I’ll give you that.” She started to wriggle herself closer to him, her legs spread to either side of his body. She jerked when she felt his lips on her leg, gently kissing her skin. She relaxed and purred, the sensation of his lips moving up her body making it hard to move slowly.

Finally, his lips reached her inner thighs, and she forced herself to wait as he kissed and one leg then the other, her cunt just beyond his reach. He gently bit one thigh and she jumped, then laughed, and deliberately paused… then slowly slid a little closer.

Her ass clenched and her hips rolled as his tongue worked its way past her lips to her clit, and started to circle it. Electric jolts of pleasure spiked through her body as he flicked his tongue against her clit, pushed the very tip of his tongue against it, ran his tongue around and across it, pushing her towards an orgasm.

She slid her hips away, teasing both of them, letting the orgasm slip away, forcing his lips and his tongue back down her thighs, away from her cunt. He whimpered, then growled in frustration, kissing her thighs and working his tongue in small circles on her skin, trying to convince her to come closer.

She let him seduce her, let his tongue draw patterns on her skin until she found one she liked and slid her cunt towards him. Her hips rose up off the floor, pushing her clit against his lips as he ran his tongue up her slit again.

Her orgasm built again, and again she slid her hips away. His lips attacked her thigh as her cunt slid away, pulling her skin towards him, trying to drag her closer. She made herself wait, then slid her body towards him as slowly as she could.

The first faint flicks of his tongue against her skin made her moan. The tip of his tongue could barely reach her, and the sight of the string pulled tight made her moan again. She let him tantalize her with the tip of his tongue, then slid down a little further, let more of his tongue run across her clit, let him apply more pressure to her trembling flesh.

Her hips slid further down, and she let his mouth cover her cunt, burying his face in the space between her legs. Her thighs trembled and her hips rose off the ground again as he worked his tongue frantically, desperate to get her off before she moved away again. She grabbed his head with both hands, smashing his face against her body as the orgasm built and exploded inside of her.

He felt her legs wrap around his head, her thighs clench, and heard the sounds of her coming somewhere in front of him. He stopped, then kissed gently, trying to time his kisses with her moans and gasps. “Oh, okay.” She slid her hips away carefully, the nerve endings suddenly too sensitive to touch, and pushed herself to a sitting position.

She fanned herself with one hand, and gasped until her breathing slowed down. “Good boy.” She patted his head, and closed her eyes for a few seconds. When she opened them the string was still pulled tight but not broken, and he was smiling at her.

She smiled back, and licked her lips. “So, your throat was for swallowing piss, yes?”

Preview: It’s throat is for swallowing piss. SPOILER ALERT: This one will probably involve pee, probably won’t involve asparagus.

Copyright Jerry Jones. Unauthorized use is prohibited.

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The List 16: Its Back is for Being Beaten

Click here to start with Part 1

Previously: “Stay right like that, because I’m going to start on your back now.”

He groaned and shook his head. “I shouldn’t have put down so many body parts for being beaten.”

She laughed and rummaged through the top drawer of the dresser. “Aw, aren’t you having fun?”

“Yeah, but I didn’t think you would go through the whole list at once.” He shifted his weight from knee to knee to try to relieve the pain, the skin and think flesh under it still aching from earlier.

She pulled a leather belt out of the drawer, and slid her hands over it. “I try to be unpredictable, Cosmo says it keeps your man interested.”

He snorted. “Cosmo thinks relationships are Stockholm Syndrome with occasional oral sex.”

“Aren’t they?” She grinned and licked her lips, doubling the belt over in one hand.

He frowned, and then shrugged as best he could on all fours. “Fair enough.”

She turned around and brought the belt down across his shoulders, purring at the wet sound of leather smacking skin. “Time to torture the hostage.” She hit him again and giggled.

His teeth ground together at the arm pain radiating across his shoulders, and he flexed his arms, trying to let his body move a little with the blows. The belt hit him again, and again, and again. His body started to sink until he shoved his arms straight and held himself back up.

The sound of leather hitting skin echoed in her ears, and she licked her lips at as the skin on his back turned to mottled red. She fell into a rhythm, hitting him at a deliberate, steady pace, watching as he twitched and his body tried to move while his mind tried to make it stay still.

The thudding continued and filled the room until she paused and walked around to the other side of his body. “The marks were getting uneven. I hate it when you’re not symmetrical.” He didn’t comment, just took the brief respite to take a couple of deep breaths, and brace himself before the beating resumed.

The beating resumed, and she felt her passion building again, the deep burning inside of her body getting hotter. He felt his thoughts getting fuzzier, endorphins flooding his brain, his body melting away with the hot pain and force radiating down through his chest.

The belt slapped into one side of his body, then the other. She watched his skin turn from pale white to pink to crimson, listened to his breathing grow more and more ragged. She watched his eyes as she moved from side to side, catching the end of the fluttering eyelids and the wide pupils as she walked around him.

His thoughts got hazier and hazier, just a series of warming pain and the sensation of floating, the occasional sight of her walking in front of him a reminder that quickly faded of what was happening. The pain in his knees and the palms of his hands faded away, then the pain in his back, and finally all his thoughts were gone.

“Stand up.” He felt her hand pulling on his hair and his limbs responding, slowly forcing him upright. He swallowed hard and frowned at the bright spots appearing around the room, and his stomach started to twist and roll. He closed his eyes and tried to concentrate. “Uh, I think…”

He opened them to see her leaning over him, watching him carefully. “Hey…” He smiled, happy to see her, and noticed he was lying on his back on the floor. “Hi.” His brain tried to puzzle together what happened, and he blinked as she grabbed the pillows from the bed and propped his feet up.

One side of her mouth grinned down at him as she put a hand on his chest. “Don’t try to get up. Do you know where you are?”

“Yeah.” He nodded and kept blinking. “Did I pass out?”

She nodded back. “For about three seconds, yeah. You probably stood up too fast.”

“Huh.” He had a strange urge to giggle, and shut his eyes to block out the too bright light of the ceiling fan. “I’ve never passed out before.”

“I wouldn’t make a habit of it, if I were you. I caught you, but it was kind of a surprise. Stay here, don’t get up, I’ll be right back.”

He casually took note of the sensation of his body, noting the carpet on his back, the heat and pain still radiating from where the belt had hit him, and the assorted other aches and pains. He heard her coming back and opened his eyes to see her holding a glass and a small plate. She sat down beside him, and arranged the kitchenware to her side. “When you’re ready, you’ll need to drink and eat. Water and salty food should help.”

“Yeah, think I’m good.” He slowly pulled his feet down and sat up, picking up the glass and taking a long swallow of ice water. “Oooh, chips.” He grabbed the plate and threw a handful of chips in his mouth, crunching and chewing vigorously. He alternated with swallows of water, and worked through both quickly, licking the flavoring off his fingers when he was done.

“You feeling okay?”

“Yeah,” he stretched and grinned at her. “It was just kind of weird.”

She nodded, and took the plate and glass from him. “Like I said, you probably just stood up too quickly. Luckily, the next item on your list is pretty low impact. I’ll put these away, you take a breather, and then I’ll get your collar and the leash.”

He nodded and smiled at her, glad they weren’t stopping.

Preview: Necks are for wearing collars with leashes attached.

Copyright Jerry Jones. Unauthorized use is prohibited.

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The List 15: Nipples Are For Being Clamped

Click for the first part

Previously: Her hand traced a line down his throat to one nipple. “Oh, don’t thank me yet.” She gave the sensitive nub of flesh a violent twist, and laughed at the shock that ran across his face. “We’re only about halfway through the list. I’ve still got to do something about these nipples.”

“Come on, get up.” She pushed herself to her feet, and leaned over to grab his hand. She hauled him up and they stood in front of each other, both still breathing hard. She walked over to the dresser, and pulled out a pair of nipple clamps.

She tossed them underhand, and the metal jaws glinted in the light as they flew through the air. He caught them by the chain between them, and groaned when he saw they were the clover clamps. He put on his best puppy dog face, wide eyes and slightly trembling lip. “What are you going to do with these, ma’am?”

She laughed and gave him the finger. “I’m on to that one, you know. There’s such a thing as being too sincerely submissive.” She dropped her hand back to her side and straightened her posture, still smiling. “Besides, I’m not going to do anything with those. You are.” The smile dropped off her face, and she licked her lips. “Put them on.”

His fingers slid down the chains to the clamps, and he grimaced as he opened them and slid the jaws over one nipple then the other. He hissed in a deep breath, and tested them with the chain. The jaws bit further into his nipples, and he nodded. “They’re on ma’am.”

“Good boy.” She winked at him and turned to the closet. “Here are the rules.” She opened his side, and pulled out a dress shirt. She shrugged her arms into the sleeves, and started doing up the buttons. “You can take the clamps off whenever you want.” She left the top two buttons open, and pulled out a tie. “But when you do, I stop dancing.” She put the tie around her neck, and ran it through itself, tying it into a knot. “Keep them off too long, we go to the next item.” She cinched the tie up, then pulled the knot a little loose, and grabbed a pair of two-inch black heels. “Pull on them harder, and I’ll dance sexier.”

She slipped her feet into the heels, and her posture changed, tits pushing forward and ass pushing out. “Understand?”

He moaned, and forced his eyes from her heels, lingering on the hem of the shirt which just hid her cunt, up to her tits pressing against the fabric of the shirt, further up until they finally reached her face. “Yes ma’am.”

She gave her hips a wiggle, and giggled at him, then raised her eyebrows. “Well?”

He shifted his feet, moving them a little further apart, then took a deep breath and pulled on the chain. The clamps bit down and he winced as the jaws pulled on his nipples, stretching them out from his body and starting the sharp, biting pain.

She rocked her hips from side to side, humming happily as his jaw clenched and he pulled on the chain attached to the clamps. He blinked his eyes, and she started to move her hips more aggressively, to drive her pelvis towards him as he pulled on the chain harder, torturing himself more.

He ground his jaw, teeth rubbing against each other as she danced, and noticed she had slowed. He whimpered as he realized he had moved his hand back, taking pressure off the chain and his nipples, then pulled on it again.

She danced in time to the beat of that chain. He pulled on it harder, she danced faster, more lewdly, the hem of the shirt bouncing and showing glimpses of her cunt. The pressure on the chain lessened, and she danced slower, teasing him, driving him to torture himself some more.

They both breathed harder, and she undid a button. His arm jerked and the chain leaped forward, the clamps biting painfully into his nipples. His legs spasmed from the sudden shock, and he dropped the chain as his hands clenched.

She pulled the shirt open as his hand jerked, her tits leaping into view, then disappearing just as suddenly when he dropped the chain. She took a step towards him, breathing hard, willing him to pick up the chain and torture himself some more, willing him to start the dance again. “Are we done?” She over-enunciated each word, biting them off and spitting them out.

His trembling hands picked up the chain and put pressure back on it, and he shook his head. “Not yet please, ma’am.”

“Good. Get on your knees.”

He sank to his knees, and put more pressure on the chain. She locked eyes with him, and started to dance again. Moving forward, teasing him until he couldn’t stand the pain anymore, then dancing back. Letting him see more of her flesh every time he got to the point where he couldn’t stand any more pain, but managed to hold on for a few agonized breaths.

She danced to the rhythm of the pain he inflicted on himself, and he tortured himself to the beat of her pleasure. The clamps bit into his flesh until tears rolled down his cheeks faster than he could blink them away, and she rolled her body in front of him, pushing him further, letting him take himself to the very edge of his limits.

Her shirt was unbuttoned, hanging off her shoulders with the tie scoring a red line against her skin. Her hips swayed, jerking her tits from side to side, lewdly displaying her cunt as she danced towards him when he fell to his hands, the chain dangling in the air.

“Sorry, I can’t… anymore…” He gasped out the words, and kneaded the carpet with his hands, desperate for any sensation that wasn’t pain.

“That’s okay, you did really well. Good boy.” She squatted down, knees together, and ruffled his hair with her hands. “Of course, it’s going to hurt when I take them off.” Her hand snaked under him, and her legs trembled when he sobbed as she removed the first clamp. She sighed again when the sound repeated itself as the second clamp came off. She wanted this sensation to last forever, but knew he needed a break, or maybe just a change.

“Stay right like that, because I’m going to start on your back now.”

Preview: Backs are also for being beaten. Lots of things are for being beaten, apparently.

Author’s note: I had a lot of fun writing this, more fun than I usually do. Hope you liked.

Copyright Jerry Jones. Unauthorized use is prohibited.

The List 14: Its Chest Is For Being Punched

Click here to start with part 1

Previously: She let her eyes roam over the words written on his body, and felt a warm sensation run through her body. This had been foreplay, and the anticipation was delicious. But hitting his chest, punching him, listening to his little gasps and moans as she injured his flesh with her hands, that was immediate gratification. And she wanted him well rested, so it would last awhile.

She loomed over him, grinning at the words on his chest. “Those are going to be there awhile. Good thing swimsuit season is over.”

He tilted his head and looked down and over his body. “Those look like the world’s worst jail-house submissive thug tattoos.”

She punched his chest in the meaty part of the pectoral and frowned with mock seriousness. “Do not insult my artistic abilities.” Then her face broke back into a grin despite her best efforts, and she punched him again.

His body spasmed, a jerking contortion running down from his chest to his legs, and he found himself grinning back. Her hand smacked back into the same spot, knuckles driving down into his body, his muscles involuntarily jerking. He rolled his shoulders and put his hands on her hips, holding her close while she punched him and his body jerked under her hands.

“Hm…” She arched an eyebrow, and rocked her head from side to side, then punched him again. His hips jerked, shoving their bodies together, and she nodded. “Get your cock hard.”

His eyes narrowed as she raised herself up on her knees. His hand slid down between them, and he started jerking himself off. She poked his shoulder with one finger, absently tracing designs in the skin with her nail while his cock hardened. He nodded and let his hand drop back to his side.

She shifted her hips and slid her cunt down his cock, then sighed. “Remember, no coming.” Her eyes were flat and hard, and he nodded and licked his lips.

He started to say something, then the words died in his throat as she punched him again. Hard. His hands clamped around her waist again as his hips spasmed and she felt his cock jerk in her cunt.

She murmured a happy sound, and started punching him in a slow, steady rhythm. She moved in time with his jerks, the feeling of control washing over her. She leaned forward and drove her fist into him harder. His body slapped against her clit this time and her eyes fluttered with pleasure.

She experimented, punching his chest slower, then faster, leaning forwards then backwards, shifting her hips, punching him harder then softer, on one side of this body then the other, slapping both hands down on his chest. His body jerked beneath her and endorphins started to flood his brain, pain and pleasure mixing.

She played his body, fucked herself with his cock and used the pain to control him. He was an imprecise, messy, unpredictable instrument and it usually took more than one try to get the right spasm from his body. She would punch him over and over trying to get him to react a certain way. Frustration and rage built up until she finally hit the right spot at the right time with the right amount of force, his hips jerked and his cock drove itself a little further inside her. The frustration and rage would explode into pleasure, and the process would start over.

His eyes were clamped shut and he ground his teeth as her hands smacked into his body, sharp spikes of pain jerking through him. He twisted and thrashed blindly until he felt her cunt spasm. His eyes would fly open then clamp back shut with the next punch, little snapshots of her riding his body filling his mind. Hair flying, her eyes half closed with pleasure, biting her lower lap and gasping, her tits jostling as she rode his pain.

She twisted her hips, feeling him inside her, and pulled his head up by his hair. She punched him again and his body smacked down into the floor sending tremors of pleasure through her. She squeezed her legs around him tightly, pulling his chest up with one hand clamped in his hair, punching his chest with the other, groaning as he fell back and his hips convulsed, twisting and driving his cock insider of her.

He clenched the muscles in his ass and focused on the pain, trying to think of anything else and not to come. She responded to his pain with her own spasms and clenching, writhing on his cock as she beat him mercilessly.

Finally, the built up pleasure and sensation exploded inside her, waves of pleasure overwhelming her. She fell forward, hands on his shoulders, pinning him to the ground while her hips bucked and she screamed. Her eyelids clamped shut, she felt him underneath her, the hot, bruised skin where she had beaten him, his cock hard inside of her. She sat there, breathing, letting the pleasure slide away, and finally opened her eyes.

“Good boy.” One hand stroked his hair, and she murmured it again. “Good boy.” She winced as her sensitive flesh slid off his cock, and scooched forward to sit on his stomach. Afterglow filled her and she licked her lips as her breathing slowed.

He groaned as she slid off his cock, the pleasure fading as his cock softened in the cool air and pain radiated in from his beaten chest.

She laughed, and ground her palm down into his shoulder, feeling the little tremors travel through his body. “Ah, you want to go again?”

He tried to figure out an answer that wouldn’t result in more pain, and she grinned at the confusion on his face. “Don’t worry, I’m still a little sensitive.” She leaned down and kissed him, and he brought his knees up, scooching her a little closer. “But I think we’ll make that a regular part of our naughty times. It was kind of awesome.”

His head came up as she leaned back, catching a second kiss as her lips retreated. “Thank you ma’am.”

Her hand traced a line down his throat to one nipple. “Oh, don’t thank me yet.” She gave the sensitive nub of flesh a violent twist, and laughed at the shock that ran across his face. “We’re only about halfway through the list. I’ve still got to do something about these nipples.”

Preview: Nipples are for being clamped. I mean, what else are men going to use them for?

Copyright Jerry Jones. Unauthorized use is prohibited.

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

Click here for part 1

From part 12: She grinned down at him, and licked her lips with exaggerated sensuality. “Now, about your stomach.”

She hopped up long enough to get the keys and a magic marker, then squatted down to undo the cuffs. She let out a soft, happy sigh as the cuffs opened and his hands slid down to his sides. She tossed them under the bed where neither of them would step on them, and stood up. Her foot nudged his side. “Roll over, that stomach isn’t being put to very good use.”

He sighed back and rolled over, stretching his arms and putting his hands behind his head. He grinned up at her, and she lightly kicked his leg. “I wouldn’t be so happy if I were you. There are… consequences to the writing this time.”

He frowned. “Consequences? What kind of consequences?”

“Yep.” She grinned and licked her lips. “We can write anything you want, but I get to make it happen until the writing fades away.”

His frown deepened. “So if you write cum dumpster, wait, that’s not cool.”

“I know.” She sat down beside him, and pulled the lid off the marker. She gave him an innocent look, and let the tip of the marker hover above his stomach. “So what do you want me to write? You want to be a cum dumpster for a few days?”

“Give me a second here.” He tried to think, to remember how long it took the magic marker to fade away to illegibility. Could he scrub it off sooner? She moved the pen in a circle over his stomach, and started making ticking noises. Signs she was getting bored, and might start making decisions for him. He thought quickly, and decided to chose something safe. “Please write boot-licker, ma’am.”

She snorted and rolled her eyes, but started writing down the side of his stomach. The pen stopped, and she looked back at him. “Well?”

He licked his lips, still trying to work through all the implications, trying to think of the usual words, but consider what it would mean if they became reality. “Cunt-licker?”

She sighed, and started writing the words just above the others. “Someone is playing it safe. My advice would be to make it interesting, or we can start over and maybe by the time we get to your stomach you’ll have some good words for me.”

He flinched, the pain in his feet and legs, the raw, hairless skin on his testicles reminding him how the day had gone so far. “Piss slut, ma’am.”

Her head nodded slightly. “Better.” He could feel her pressing down on the marker harder, going over the letters twice, making them darker, making them last longer. “I do enjoy peeing on you, and I imagine I could find some friends willing to piss all over you, or at least collect a few jars. I mean, a slut should really want all the piss he could get in his filthy mouth, shouldn’t he?”

He felt his cock twitch, and wondered if she was bluffing, but knew that asking or arguing would only push her further. “Yes, ma’am.”

She dotted the i with a little heart, and looked poked him between two ribs with the end of the pen. “Come on, I’ve got lots of space left, and you’ve only got three words.”

His jaw worked, but no words came out. All the possible consequences of the words written on his body coming true, of being unable to stop them for days, until the writing faded, overwhelmed him. His thoughts retreated, and all he could think of was the conflicting humiliation and desire of being treated like a sex toy, a cum dumpster, a fuck pig, a hole.

She started to get up. “We started with caning the feet, didn’t we? Why don’t I just get the cane.”

“Hole ma’am, hole.” He blurted out the word, trying not to think of the consequences, and she slowly sat back down.

“All right, if you want to be a hole, we’ll make you a hole.” She shifted her weight slightly and wrote the word just above his navel, the felt tip tickling as it moved across his skin. “Next?”

“Ugh.” He groaned, and forced the word out. “Slave, ma’am.”

“Oh, I like that one.” He could feel her making large, block letters on his stomach. The tip of the pen moved back and forth, making the letters darker and bolder, making sure they would last longer. “I have a lot of chores that need doing, and the perfect little burlap bag for you to wear while you do them. And of course I’ll be punishing you harshly for any mistakes or delays in getting them done.”

She hummed happily as she pushed the marker down hard into his skin, making him, making sure the word would last as long as possible. She looked her work over critically, then darkened in a curve of the s and smiled at him. “I think we have room for one more word, and some of these aren’t even degrading. I mean does licking my cunt really degrade you? It’s probably more degrading to me, wouldn’t you say?”

His head jerked, his brain desperate to stay safe in warm fantasy where consequences could be ignored, and he gasped out the words. “Yes ma’am.”

“So what do we think the final word should be?”

He whimpered, caught between his desires and his fears. Finally, he forced the words out. “Cum dumpster ma’am.”

Her nose wrinkled, and she tilted her head. “Oh really? You’re sure?”

“Yes ma’am.” He whimpered.

She thought for a second, then decided to drive him down a little further, force him to participate in the obscene ritual. “Say please.”

He exhaled and then inhaled, trying not to think about the words. “Please make me a cum dumpster, ma’am.”

She smiled and patted his head gently. “Since you asked so nicely, I’ll do that for you. On your side, so I can write legibly.”

He rolled over, and she leaned one arm against him and carefully began to write. “Such a nice cum dumpster. I suppose that will mean regular milkings, with you licking your cum off the floor.” He shivered, and she waited for him to stop before she continued. “Or maybe we’ll save it up, and just before the letters fade, you can drink it all down for me. How long do you think it’ll take for the letters to disappear? How much of your cum do you think I can squeeze out of your balls in that amount of time?”

His cock twitched. She smiled at the sight, put the lid back on the marker, and licked her lips. “You stay there, and let that get nice and dry.”

She let her eyes roam over the words written on his body, and felt a warm sensation run through her body. This had been foreplay, and the anticipation was delicious. But hitting his chest, punching him, listening to his little gasps and moans as she injured his flesh with her hands, that was immediate gratification. And she wanted him well rested, so it would last awhile.

Preview: A chest is for being punched, aye, isn’t it?

Copyright Jerry Jones. Unauthorized use is prohibited.

The List 12: Hands are for Being Restrained

Click here to go to part 1

From Part 11: She locked eyes with him, her chest heaving from her breaths, her face froze in an animal snarl. “Remind me, what are your hands for?”

His voice was a muted whimper. “For being restrained, ma’am.”

She nodded, and her lips curled into a rictus grin. “Then lets get some use out of them, shall we?”

She grabbed his shoulders and spun him around, frog marching him over to the dresser. She reached around him and dragged the drawer open, letting it smack against his legs. Her eyes panned over the contents, grabbing the first usable thing she saw: nickel-played handcuffs.

She yanked his hands behind him, ratcheting one cut onto his wrist, then the other. “That’s what they’re for, right? Being restrained?”

“Yes ma’am.” He stumbled to the center of the room as she used the cuffs to spin him around and fling him that direction. He recovered his balance and stood there, breathing hard, licking his lips, and watching her with wide eyes.

She walked back to him with long, urgent strides, and kicked the backs of his calves until he crumpled to his knees. She shifted her balance and planted her foot between his shoulder blades, then gave him a shove.

His face smacked into the carpet and he lay on his stomach, trying to see her from the corner of his eyes. Her foot found its way back to the spot between his shoulder blades. He felt the pressure increase on his body.

“So the question that’s really on my mind is, now that your hands are restrained, how are you going to get me off?”

He turned his head and spit carpet fiber off his lips, then took a deep breath. “With my tongue, ma’am.”

She nodded and arched an eyebrow. “Really? How you gonna do that with your face all the way down there?”

He tried to roll over, but she dropped her weight and kept him pinned to the floor. He tried to scoot his knees up under himself so he could lever himself to his knees, but pushed down harder until he gave up. He tried twisting to roll over again, and the pressure increased again.

“You want me to cut your tongue out and use it like a dildo? Was that you meant?”

He clenched his jaw in frustration. “No ma’am, please don’t cut my tongue out.” He tried to roll over again, and again she pinned his body to the floor. “I can’t get up with your foot on my back.”

“Oh, is that the problem?” She let out a fake giggle, and stepped off his body. “Silly me.”

He shoved his knees under his body, and was starting to lever himself up when her foot collided with his balls. His body spasmed and he was on the floor again, gasping in pain and blinking tears out of his eyes.

“Well?” Her voice cut through the pain and he forced himself to roll over. He was still on his back, gasping, when her foot clipped his balls again.

He felt bile and vomit rise up in his throat and swallowed them back down, trying to ignore the horrible ache in his stomach as his balls throbbed.

“Looks like you can’t do much about protecting your balls without your hands either.” She let her foot hover over him as he curled up into a ball on his side, trying to protect his aching testicles with his legs.

“Well?” The inquisitive tone forced him to think again, and he groaned in pain and frustration. “I don’t know how to get you off ma’am.”

She kicked him in the ass, letting the toes of her foot bounce off the heavy muscles there. “So you see the problem? Before you say your hands are for being restrained, you better think about how you’re going to get me off with your hands restrained.”

He nodded, his cheek scraping against the carpet, and looked up at her from the corner of his eye. “Yes ma’am, sorry ma’am.”

She shoved with her foot, rolling him back on his stomach. He braced himself for another thudding shock of pain to come from a kick to his balls, and shuddered in relief when he felt her weight settle on his lower legs instead.

He moaned and started to tremble when he felt her teeth sink into the soft skin of his fingertips. He forced himself not to jerk his hands away as her jaw bit down and the pressure increased.

She imagined herself devouring him, eating his body inch by inch, chewing until blood erupted from his skin and meat slid off his bones. Owning his body utterly and completely. Her muscles started to tremble with lust, and she took a deep breath and licked her lips. “Your only purpose is to get me off, and if you a part of your body can’t do that, I don’t see any reason for you to have it anymore. Understood?”

Her teeth sank back into his fingertips, and his arms jerked. “Yes ma’am, I understand.”

She clamped her hands around his wrists, just above the cuffs, and worked her way from fingertip to fingertip, feeling his body try not to twist and jerk beneath her, a steady pleasure building inside her, then spiking when he lost control and his muscles spasmed.

She pictured his eyes rolling up back in his head, and breathed slowly and deeply, enjoying the perfect control she had over him. His pain and whimpers, the taste and feel of his controlled body, knowing part if him couldn’t live without being treated like this. Knowing that part of him would be hollow without her filling that empty aching place with her pleasure in his pain and degradation.

She let the smallest finger on his left hand slide out of her mouth, and lifted her weight just enough to roll him over. She crawled up his body until her face was hovering inches above his own. He felt her weight on his body, her breath on his face, and slowly opened his eyes.

She grinned down at him, and licked her lips with exaggerated sensuality. “Now, about your stomach.”

Preview: Stomachs are for having degrading words written on! Like shovel, and bulldozer. Or not…

Copyright Jerry Jones. Unauthorized use is prohibited.

The List 11: Fingers are for massaging

Click here to start at the start

From part 10: She sighed and leaned back. “Good boy. I wonder how quickly that hair will grow back? In the mean time…”

She stood up and hauled him to his feet by his hair. He slid off the bed and stood hesitantly, testing his posture, checking carefully to see if his balls would be pulled painfully away from his body. She laughed and slapped his ass, falling face down on the bed. “Take the chopsticks off, and make with the massaging already. I’ve been looking forward to this.”

He spread his legs and carefully pulled the rubber bands off one end of the chopsticks, opening them like a pair of scissors and letting his balls fall back to their natural position. He sighed at the sudden relief of stretched skin returning to its normal state, and the cool air rushing over the hot flesh.

Assorted aches and pains radiated through the lower half of his body as he got the massage oil off the nightstand and smeared it on his hands. He shuffled up the bed, wincing as his weight came down on his knees, and settled his hands on her shoulders. They took three deep breaths together, then he began working his hands against her muscles.

Her muscles were hard knots under his hands, and he leaned forward and grunted. “Fuck, how do you get so tense?”

She turned her head and sighed. “Got lots of shit going down, yo.”

He leaned into her body and started working his hands down her back, trying to force her muscles from tight knots into looser strands. “I think you need less shit going down, yo.”

She closed her eyes and shrugged with her eyebrows. “No choice, yo.”

He sighed and let it go, working his way back up and back down her body, trying to force the tension out of her body with his hands. He shuffled down her body on his knees, letting out a small gasp as his shins reminded him of the abuse they had recently suffered.

She made a happy sound and wriggled, her thoughts wandering over what she had done to his body. He ran his hands over her ass, sliding off the bed and leaning over to bite her lightly on one cheek. She giggled and kicked him lightly, shimmying forward a little. “None of that, or someone will be getting me a gag.”

He grinned and started working his way back up her body his cock twitching at the sight of her naked body underneath him. His hands carefully kneaded skin and muscle until they reached her shoulders, then worked their way across her scalp. They sank into her hair and pulled, gently increasing the pressure until she let out a little moan of pleasure.

She moaned and her legs slid apart a little. Her limbs felt soft and lazy, and the bed was warm under her. The desire to slip into sleep competed with the desire to hurt him again, the gentle nap of peace and sleep struggling with the hard dance of violence and human wreckage. Her eyes felt heavier and heavier, until finally she forced them closed, then grinned.

“Fuck me, right now, but no coming. You come, you’re dead.”

His jaw clenched and he shoved an arm under her stomach, dragging her body up, lining his cock up with her cunt. His other hand stayed in her hair, pulling her neck backwards, increasing the pressure as his cock slid inside of her. Her thighs spasmed and she moaned as he started to fuck her, the feeling of his cock inside her and the pressure on his scalp awakening something deep inside her.

She let him fuck her, let him feed that feeling while making it hungrier, let his cock build up her desire. Her eyelids fluttered and she felt the sleepiness melting away, felt the hot aggression and desire to hurt something, to see it suffer for her pleasure. “Faster.”

His hips slapped against the back of her legs, and she imagined what it was doing to his damaged body, to be forced to perform like this for her. She moaned and forced her ass back against him, trying to drive him deeper into her body, grinding herself against his thighs.

She let the pleasure wash over her, directing him, telling him to fuck her faster or slower, pushing her towards orgasm then grinding her teeth and forcing herself to slow down, to let the pleasure build rather than exploding and fading. Finally, when she couldn’t take it anymore, she snarled at him. “Stop!”

He halted, panting, his hips mashed against her ass and his cock inside of her. He leaned forward slightly, then stepped back as she pushed herself up. She stood and turned to face him, and he slid backwards a step when he saw the look in her eyes.

She locked eyes with him, her chest heaving from her breaths, her face froze in an animal snarl. “Remind me, what are your hands for?”

His voice was a muted whimper. “For being restrained, ma’am.”

She nodded, and her lips curled into a rictus grin. “Then lets get some use out of them, shall we?”

Preview: Hands are for being restrained? Of course they are.

Copyright Jerry Jones. Unauthorized use is prohibited.

The List 10: Balls Are for Being Tortured

Click here to start at the beginning

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Copyright Jerry Jones. Unauthorized use is prohibited.

The List 9: Cocks are for Fucking

Part 1 is here

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Copyright Jerry Jones. Unauthorized use is prohibited.

The List 8: Its Ass is for Being Beaten

Click here to start at the beginning.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Copyright Jerry Jones. Unauthorized use is prohibited.

The List 7: Assholes Are For Being Violated

The story starts here.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Copyright Jerry Jones. Unauthorized use is prohibited.

The List 6: Legs are for Being Beaten

The story starts here.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Copyright Jerry Jones. Unauthorized use is prohibited.

The List 5: Ankles are for Being Hobbled

Click here to start at the beginning.

From Part 4

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Preview: Legs are for being beaten! 🙂

Copyright Jerry Jones. Unauthorized use is prohibited.

The List 4: Knees are for Kneeling

Click here to start at the beginning

From Part 3:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Copyright Jerry Jones. Unauthorized use is prohibited.

The List 3: Hands and Knees are for Crawling

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Preview: The List 4: Knees are for Kneeling

Copyright Jerry Jones. Unauthorized use is prohibited.