The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Prelude. Largo maestoso

Dinner was waiting when I came home.

Even in this liberated age, my wife loves playing the homemaker. I make enough that we can live comfortably on just my salary, so she gets to stay home and play mommy with the twins, and with her younger sister, too. Both their parents are dead, so Becky lives with us, and we’re her legal guardians. That gives my wife two babies, one teenager, and one husband to be a mother to, and she loves every minute.

I was feeling a little full of myself. Work had gone very, very well. I’d had lunch with an old pal of mine, Jerrold Martin. We’d met in high school and had gone to college together, getting our MBAs at the same time. I’d stayed with business but he was quickly wooed into politics and was now in the state legislature with rather lofty long-term goals.

We both had ulterior motives for the lunch, of course. There was an environmental bill my company was hoping would pass. Most of our competitors were fighting it, and it looked like the legislature was going to cave. It would cost us, too, of course, but we figured that the PR advantage of being the lone “good guys” on the environment for once would more than make up for it. We had some drudges downstairs working out various scenarios to see exactly how much we would benefit, but it was clearly going to be significant. Jerrold was a key player in the fight over the bill inasmuch as he was well-connected and, as yet, officially undecided.

As for Jerrold, he was starting to build a war chest for a gubernatorial campaign. The senior VP I work under found out that Jerrold and I were old friends and hinted that if I could arrange an “understanding” with him, I might be knocked yet another notch up the corporate ladder. That was fine by me.

So Jerrold and I had had lunch on the company and it had gone very well. He was going to start pushing the bill, and we would help him become governor.

Beyond that, it was fun to see him again. He ribbed me, as usual, for being a straight-laced teetotaler, and I reminded him of the times I’d saved him from a DUI. I made fun of all the girls he’d slept and he made fun of me for staying a virgin until marriage. We went on to talk about our lives since, and he actually admitted he almost envied me for having a wife and family.

I told my wife that when I got home. It’s the kind of thing she likes to hear. I like letting her know as often as I can how much I love her and how happy I am to have her.

Dinner over, my wife vanished into the kitchen to do the dishes. I stayed in the living room to play with the twins. Becky was over in the computer nook in the corner to do some homework and chat online with her friends.

My wife came in while I was changing a diaper. We carried the twins off to bed and tucked them in, then sat down to snuggle and watch “The Sound of Music” together. Becky got off the computer to join us.

Partway through the movie, she started hemming and hawing, then blurted, “Um, so there’s this boy who’d like to take me out on Friday?”

My wife laughed at her discomfort. Her parents had raised her to take dating slow in high school, and as Becky’s guardian, she intended to follow their example. “Well,” she asked, “who is he? Have we met him?”

Becky gave a little sigh of exasperation. “You’re not going to insist on meeting him first again, are you? Why do you always have to do this to me? It’s so embarrassing!”

“Do we really embarrass you that much?” I asked.

“No,” Becky admitted reluctantly. “It’s just so weird. I mean, I am almost sixteen. Besides, it’d be a double-date with Britney. It’s just a couple of boys who want an excuse to see ‘Avatar’ again.”

We knew Britney. She was one of Becky’s closest friends. She was a major otaku and geek but still a sweet and well-behaved girl. That helped set our minds at ease. My wife went into the kitchen and gave Britney’s mom a quick call while Becky fumed. My wife was back in just a couple of minutes.

“She says she knows both boys. They come over sometimes to watch anime with Britney. She’s fine with it, so I’m fine with it.

“Just two things, though,” my wife added. Becky looked wary. “Just ask him to come in for a minute or two when he picks you up, just to say hello. No interrogation, I promise. And invite everybody here afterwards for some pie.” That was sure to be a temptation; my wife’s pies are to die for.

“Sure, OK,” Becky said with more than a touch of enthusiasm, as she dashed into the kitchen. We could hear her call Britney and then someone named Gary, presumably the boy. She was practically skipping when she came back in. “I’m off to bed, then,” she announced, and headed upstairs.

My wife and I snuggled for a while longer. Truth to tell, we started to make out, but we cut ourselves short before it turned into actual foreplay. After all, Becky might come back down.

So I led my wife up to our bedroom and we were about to undress when she suddenly said, “Oh, sweetie, sorry to break the mood, but I don’t want to forget. I have a box of old books in the den that I was going to donate to the charity drive tomorrow. Do you mind having a quick look through to make sure there isn’t anything we should keep?”

She pulled me over with my tie and kissed me seductively. “I promise I’ll be a good girl and make it up to you later,” she said. “Besides, it’ll give me time to get my new teddy on.”

I smiled and swatted her on the rump. “OK,” I said. “But you owe me big time for this!” I found the box easily enough, and there was nothing I wanted to keep, but when I put it back up on the shelf, I saw my senior yearbook and couldn’t help brushing my hand along the spine.

Being horny and thinking about high school always meant one thing to me, and that was Carrie.

I had AP World History with her our junior year and thought she was really smart and cute and fun. We started dating a little after winter break.

She wasn’t the first girl I’d ever dated or even the first girl I’d ever kissed, but she was the first girl I’d ever given more than a chaste peck on the lips. We hadn’t been together long when we started making out. It was both exciting and frightening for me. During one of our make-out sessions, her blouse became untucked and I was suddenly aware that the hook on her bra strap was within my reach. So I unhooked it.

And there I was on first base with the the chance to steal second and the coach waving me in. Her breasts were exposed. I could have touched them. I wanted to touch them, but I couldn’t do it. It would start me down a road that might end up in actual sex, and actual sex terrified me. I pulled back. The make-out session was over.

Our relationship went sour very quickly after that and we had a somewhat nasty breakup. She got over it after a while and was polite if a little cool whenever our paths crossed.

But I never really got over it. She lived on in my mind as a girl I might seriously have had sex with if I’d only had the guts, and I had a huge case of what I think are called “blue balls” over it. I’d spend hours standing by the phone, wanting to call her up, hoping to get back together and pick up where we left off, my penis erect and hard, urging me to do it, to let it feel the inside of a woman. It wasn’t until I met my wife and we got engaged that I ever made it that far with a girl again and actually touched some breasts, and even then only once or twice. And even now, years later, I would sometimes wish that I could turn back time to that winter evening and find out what could have happened.

I left the den and went back up to the bedroom. After thinking about Carrie, I was even hornier than before. Sure enough, my wife was waiting there in her new teddy and she was beyond beautiful. I tried to keep the foreplay slow, caressing her, kissing and licking her nipples, letting my fingers slip in and out to help her get lubricated. It wasn’t very long before she rolled onto her back and spread her legs. That was the signal that she was ready. We always did it the same way—no fancy positions, no sick perversions, nothing like that. We were always content with plain, vanilla, missionary-position sex.

I got a condom on, held myself above her, and slowly slipped my penis in. It didn’t take me long to climax, just a few thrusts, because in my heart I was thrusting with years of accumulated desire, thrusting into another woman. I always felt guilty when I climaxed quickly, but my wife said it was OK, that she just wanted to make me happy. We snuggled together, sweaty and naked. It wasn’t long before we fell into a comfortable sleep.

I. Allegro

I suppose it’s inevitable that I had a dream about Carrie, but this was a very strange, vivid dream. I could even smell things and hear little things like traffic from a block away. There was some soft singing, barely audible, that ran through it all, quiet as a breeze.

It started with Carrie and me kissing on her front porch. There were no lights on inside so I guess her parents were out. It was hard to stop; the frenching was keeping my penis rigid, and my penis was doing its best to keep blood away from my brain. I wanted to at least press it against Carrie’s leg or—something—but was too scared. Realistically, though, she must have known about it. Somehow, I managed to wind things down. I was about to leave when she stopped me and said, “Hey, would you mind coming inside for a bit? I have something I want to show you.”

I was a little uneasy, but I said, “Sure.” She unlocked the door and led me inside.

I never went inside her house in real life, but there it was in my dream and it somehow all looked right: living room, TV, couch, kitchen, table, chairs, fridge, phone, dining room through a door, hallway leading back to the bedrooms. The furniture was a little old and well-used, but it was all clean and tidy. Carrie first stopped so that we could take off our jackets and make out some more before heading to the hallway. “C’mon,” she said, holding my hands. “It’s back here.” The dream made a sudden transition and I was at the doorway to what was obviously my girlfriend’s bedroom.

I hesitated. “Carrie,” I said, “I don’t think it’s really proper for me to be alone with a girl in her bedroom.” My heart pounded. I really wanted to be improper.

She laughed and pulled me in by my hand. “Oh, don’t be silly,” she said. “It’s not like anything’s going to happen.”

I gulped as I stepped inside and looked around. The bedroom didn’t look particularly “girly,” but then Carrie wasn’t really a “girly” kind of girl. There was no dresser, but the desk was built-in and connected to some drawers that made a dresser unnecessary. She had her own TV and a couple of bookcases filled with all kinds of books, including normal stuff like Lord of the Rings and weird stuff like astrology manuals. Lion and tiger plushies were on her bed. Her closet was half open and I could see some blouses and skirts inside. There were no posters or pictures on the walls. The moon was shining through venetian blinds on the windows.

I moved to turn the light on, but she held her hand over mine and stopped me. “Best to see it in dimmer light first,” she explained.

She squeezed my hand. “Like my room?” she asked.

I chuckled. “It’s a lot nicer than mine, that’s for sure,” I said.

Carrie smiled. She had a delightful twinkle in her eyes when she smiled. “Now then,” she said, “close your eyes. I want this to be a surprise.”

“Sure, sure,” I stammered and closed my eyes. There was a rustling sound and the squeak of bedsprings.

“Can I open my eyes yet?” I asked.

“Almost,” she said. There were a couple of quiet noises I couldn’t identify. The dream singing seemed to get louder. “All right,” Carrie finally announced. “You can look now.”

“OK,” I said, opening my eyes and blinking in the dim light. “What was it you want to show—” I froze.

She was lying on her bed, moonlight shining on her. The plushies and bedspread had been pushed out of the way, and she had draped the sheet artfully over herself to get the maximum impact. There was not a stitch of clothing on her, only a thin silver necklace with a small white stone. “Just me,” she said, smiling. One hand was was tracing lazy circles on one of her—her breasts. My knees were on the verge of buckling. Those were her breasts. Real breasts. Her other hand was stroking up and down her thigh, close to the triangular patch of her pubic hair and what it guarded.

My heart was in my throat. I could hear voices floating through my head. Soft, low, seductive. “She wants you,” one whispered. “You want her,” said another. “Do it. Giver her what she wants. Take her, take her now.” That last was almost hissed like a command. It was like I had a devil on one shoulder and an angel on the other, only without the angel.

I stumbled forward. Carrie undid my belt and pulled my pants and boxers down. I was terrified because I had a boner and a girl was looking at it. A girl with breasts. And then she touched me. I had a boner and a girl with breasts was touching it and stroking it. “Mmmmmm,” she said, like an antique dealer examining a new find. “Very nice. Better than I expected.” She kissed it playfully and licked the tip. Then she pulled me down onto the bed and unbuttoned my shirt. It was gone before I knew it. She took my hand and put it on her breast.

“See?” she said. “Nothing to be afraid of.”

I was dizzy. My penis was harder than I had ever felt before. There was a vagina waiting anxiously for a playdate with a friend, and my penis knew it. The singing had become a siren song, and the voices never stopped whispering to me, urging me to my doom. I leaned in. I kissed her. I touched her breast and felt her nipple, erect and hard. Our tongues intertwined and all resistance vanished. Before I knew it, there was a tight wet heat around my shaft, and then suddenly there was nothing but pleasure as my whole body exploded. I could feel myself pumping something deep inside her, and her vagina was giving me approving, rhythmic squeezes. On some instinctive level I knew that she was climaxing, too. I was vaguely surprised. I hadn’t known that girls had orgasms.

The orgasm passed. I pulled out of her, semen dripping as I did. I collapsed onto the bed next to her. I was shivering. What had I done?

Carrie smiled at me. She stroked my chest and kissed my cheek. “Good boy,” she said. “Thank you. Thank you so very much.”

Interlude. Andante con espressione

I jolted awake as the alarm rang and silenced it quickly. My wife didn’t stir. It wasn’t particularly early, but she liked to stay up late and sleep late. As quietly as I could, I showered, shaved, and dressed. I glanced in Becky’s room as I tiptoed past. There she was, fully dressed, sprawled on her bed, as usual. My cock twitched.

The twins did not wake up, which is good. If they had, my wife would have insisted that I start their day so that she could get more sleep. I was able to make it to the front door and quietly shut it without anyone stirring.

I was still a little light-headed from my wet dream—only, why had the sheets been dry? Had I fucked my wife in my sleep? I’d heard that happened to some people but I had trouble believing it’d actually happened to me.

I got some coffee at Stardeer and sipped it as I finished my drive to work. It was a little on the early side, so I was able to find good parking, near the executives. I always liked pretending that I rubbed shoulders with them.

I went inside and hurried to my cubicle. There was my huge pile of profit projections to go through, not quite finished. Upper management wanted them last week, I was told—something about how well we could do under various scenarios if we improved our image by supporting some law. I didn’t know the details, but then I wasn’t important enough to know details.

I spent the day at my desk, even skipping lunch. I nearly handed my work in before double-checking. Good thing I didn’t. There was one real hell of a mistake up front. Fixing it and triple-checking took the rest of the afternoon, and it was nearly seven before I was finished and started home.

With only coffee for breakfast and no lunch, and with the projections finally behind me, I was a little light-headed, elated, and horny, and I needed a good fuck. Even a blow job would do if that’s all my wife was in the mood for.

Becky was dashing out the door as I came in. She was wearing hot pink platform sneakers, tight PVC pants, and a bright t-shirt that left her midriff bare and didn’t even attempt to hide the boob job my wife had bought her. Her nipples could be seen through the fabric of the dress and her breasts were bouncing as she ran. I had an uncomfortable stirring in my pants, the kind I always got when looking at Becky. “Hot date,” was all she said. A convertible was pulling up to the curb. A couple of jocks and that slut Britney were in it. Becky hopped into the back seat and waved. “Don’t wait up!” she called.

I went inside and scowled at my wife. “I wish you didn’t let her do that,” I said to her.

“Do what?”

“Dress like that. Go out with boys like that.” I didn’t bother to explain why I didn’t like it.

My wife rolled her eyes. “Oh, like you were a tower of virtue in high school,” she scoffed. “Besides, she’s covered. She has condoms in her purse, she’s on the Pill, and she knows better than to fool around with dangerous stuff like meth.” She popped a pill and washed it down—“Headache,” she said—then grabbed her purse and headed for the door. She was wearing a black lace-up dress that exposed her back down to the top of her ass and was barely long enough to cover the bottom. Her legs were wrapped in dark hose, and she wore stilettos that made her nearly as tall as me. New, no doubt. And expensive.

God, she was hot.

“You missed dinner, but there are leftovers in the fridge. I’m outta here. Girls night out.”

“Oh, come on!” I complained. “You’re not going to leave me alone with the kids, are you?”

“Hey, they’re your kids too,” she snapped. “They’ve been fed and you aren’t so stupid that you can’t change a shitty diaper. Don’t be such an asshole.” Then she smiled and turned seductive, her hips swaying as she came over to me. Her perfume was making me dizzy. She gave me long, deep kiss and squeezed the tent pole in my pants. “Besides, we both know why you want me to stay home, don’t we? And it’s not the kids.” Then she suddenly let go and dashed through the door.

“Cock tease,” I muttered as she left.

Almost immediately she re-opened the door and poked her head back in. For a second I thought she’d heard me, but she hadn’t. “Don’t wait up,” she smirked, and then she was gone.

I sighed and looked around the quiet house. No blow job tonight, that was for sure. My one consolation was that my wife always came back drunk on girls nights out. At least I could get a fuck out of her, even if she just lay on her back like a rag doll. Maybe I’d fuck her ass for once and see if she noticed.

I grabbed a beer from the fridge and popped it open. My good mood had evaporated, but the horniness hadn’t. If only I hadn’t married the bitch. I should have divorced her and tried for Jane.

Jane was a girl I’d met in college who was everything my wife was not. She was bright, charming, witty. She liked light jazz instead of bubblegum pop and PBS instead of MTV. She didn’t go to wild frat parties, but got together with friends every now for a game night or a book club over a bottle of wine. She didn’t have a neurotic need to pretend she was still seventeen.

She was also sexy as hell, the kind of natural, unstrained sexiness some women have. Nice curves. Larger than average breasts that hadn’t required the intervention of a plastic surgeon. Tight, round ass. Firm, shapely legs. She dressed not to show off her assets but not to hide them, either—usually something like sensible flats, well-fitting jeans, and a comfortable t-shirt. Silky, naturally wavy, jet-black hair that went down just past her shoulders. Brown eyes to drown in and lips made for kissing.

All the men we hung out with wanted Jane. And we all knew that I was the only one she was at all interested in herself. We never said anything when she was around, but when she was out of earshot, I got a lot of ribbing and encouragement from the other guys. But what could I do? She was married and I was married. That meant something to me, at least it did in college. And my marriage was still reasonably happy, even if every night I when went to bed with my wife I was fucking Jane in my mind.

Jane had been married only a few months when we met but her marriage was already hell. The guy was a grade-A prick who only cared about himself and how much money he was going to make once he graduated. I think he hit her, too. They got divorced while she was still in school, and since he refused to move and she didn’t want to be anywhere near him, she transferred to a school on the other coast, and I lost track of her. I missed her a lot, and not just because I still carried something of a torch for her.

I chugged my beer and grabbed another. At least I could have an evening with some nice racy DVDs or internet porn to keep me company. I had a sudden thought that I could go into Becky’s bedroom and use her computer. She was sure to have some interesting sites bookmarked. The thought of lying on the bed Becky used to fuck boys or jill herself while she looked at dirty pictures or sext her friends made me harder. I managed to ignore it There were some lines I knew to stay well away from.

In the end, I didn’t get my fuck. I was surfing for nymphet porn when the twins started crying. Maybe it took me longer than it should have, but I did get in to change them eventually. It wasn’t more than ten minutes, fifteen tops. And, yes, both diapers were full of shit. By the time I changed them, popped bottles in their mouth, and got back to the computer I was irritated and frustrated and even hornier than before. I decided to abandon beer, switch to whiskey, and get good and pissed. At some point, I ended up jerking off. I must left a mess because the world was getting really fuzzy and swirly, and when I went to grab a cloth to clean up, I ended up falling down and vomiting in the toilet instead. (At least, I’m pretty sure it was the toilet.) And then I didn’t feel like doing anything, so I crawled naked into bed and passed out.

II. Lento dolce e legato

I don’t usually dream after drinking too much, but this was an exception. It was a really weird, vivid dream, too. I didn’t know you could feel the things you were touching in dreams. And there was a soft singing barely loud enough to hear, like sand blown by a desert wind.

I was standing on Jane’s porch, holding a bottle of what appeared to be very nice wine in one hand and some French bread and cheese in the other. It was pleasant spring afternoon. The air was sweet and refreshing, the trees were turning green again, and birds were chirping as they searched for mates.

I must have rung the doorbell, because the door was swinging open and Jane was standing there in sweats and jeans. She looked a little bedraggled and her eyes were red. She was obviously surprised to see me.

“Sorry to drop by unannounced like this,” I said gallantly, “but when I saw you in class today you looked like you could use some cheering up.”

“Um, thanks,” she said, sniffing. “Come on in.” She stood back from the door to make way and I stepped in.

I’d been in her house a couple of times and knew what to expect, but my expectations were a bit off. Bits and pieces were conspicuously missing.

Jane saw that I’d noticed. “Yeah,” she said, then headed for the kitchen.

“Hey, are you OK?” I asked, genuinely concerned, following her. She got some wineglasses down and motioned me over to the table as she dug through a drawer for a corkscrew. She didn’t say anything until she sat down and looked the wine bottle over.

“Oh, my,” she said. “Fancy, fancy. That’s quite a vintage to bring to a casual visit.” She smiled at me and gave a little laugh. “Sorry if I’m a little inhospitable tonight,” she said, “but it’s been a hell of a day.”

“Oh, I understand,” I said as she opened the wine and poured out a glass for each of us. “I’ve had one or two of those myself.”

“You, too, huh? Oh, my, this is good.” She put her wine down and cut off a bit of cheese to nibble.

“I’m glad you like it,” I said, smiling at her. We started chatting. Rotten spouses (specifically hers) were the main topic of conversation, but we touched on school, politics, philosophy and God knows what. The wine was starting to run low when Jane suddenly stopped in mid-sentence and looked at me seriously, like she was evaluating me or something.

“You know, it just occurred to me,” she said, slurring her words just a little. “Jug of wine.” She lifted the bottle and waved it around. I could hear what was left sloshing back and forth. “Loaf of bread.” She held up what was left of the bread, and then she looked at me intently again, waiting.

“And thou,” I said tenderly, “beside me singing in the wilderness.” I blushed. I hadn’t meant to say it that way.

She stood up and hurried out of the kitchen, crying. I stood up and followed her. I felt awkward and didn’t know what to do. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m just so sick and tired of it all.”

I let my hand caress her shoulder. “You deserve better.”

She looked at me and sniffed. I wiped a tear from her cheek.

“Maybe I do,” she said, and then suddenly she was in my arms, pressing herself against me, and kissing me hungrily.

The dream shifted. We were in her bedroom, half dressed, standing by her bed. “Just one thing,” she was saying. “Before we...” and she nodded towards the bed. “Tell me the truth.”

“Of course,” I said. “Always.”

“Did you plan all this? Did you—” she hesitated. “I mean, when you look at me—and I’ve always—” She took a deep breath. “Please tell me you didn’t come here tonight just to get inside my pants.”

“No,” I said, shaking my head. “Seriously, no. I really just wanted to be there for you and see you happy. I’ll leave if you want me to.” I was having a bit of trouble standing steadily. The wine and the realization that I had nearly cheated on my wife were making me dizzy.

I started moving to the door but the dream music was getting louder, and now I could almost hear voices. “Stop. Do what she wants,” one whispered. “Give her what she needs,” said another. “Wait for her. Let her tell you when and how.” I stopped and turned back to face her, standing there in her panties, the setting sun shining into the room and illuminating her face and breasts. The small stone on the necklace she was wearing shimmered in the dying light. There were bruises on her arm. Strange to say, my attention really was focused on her face.

There was a moment of silence while she just looked back at me, some emotion I couldn’t identify in her eyes. Finally, I smiled wryly. “I will admit, though, that I was never adverse to the possibility.”

“Never?”

I shook my head. “Never.”

She gave a sad little smile. “I love you, too,” she said, and then she kissed me again, a long, desperate kiss of unsatisfied desire mixed with urgent need.

Our remaining clothes were somehow off. We were kissing and exploring each other with our hands. She rolled me onto my back and knelt upright. My cock was hard and at full attention. “I hope you don’t mind,” she said, straddling me, “but this once at least I just want to feel like I’m in charge.” She got a condom from a drawer and rolled it onto me. I nearly came at her touch. The voices in the air were singing their approval as she lowered herself slowly and her pussy swallowed me whole.

She rocked herself gently back and forth, her eyes closed. I reached up and caressed her firm, round breasts. She moaned softly and then suddenly stiffened. She held herself tense and still as her pussy began squeezing my cock in a slow, strong rhythm and her orgasm reached its peak. I could feel her pussy relax and she sighed, trembling, satisfied. “Good boy,” she said. “Thank you. Thank you so very much.”

Then she smiled at me and said, “Your turn now.” She started pumping herself up and down my cock more vigorously than before and I was filled with a sudden desperate desire of my own. It spread from my cock through my body. I heard one of the dream voices say, “It’s time. Cum for her now.” She climaxed again, and as she did, I came and came, harder and longer than I ever had before.

Interlude. Allegretto

I was suddenly awake. I was in my own apartment on my own bed. I felt around but my sheets were dry.

I looked at the clock. Eight thirty. Shit, I was going to be late. Ms Johnson already had it in for me, and I didn’t want to give her an excuse to get rid of me. I couldn’t afford to lose another job.

I showered in record time, threw clothes on, skipped breakfast, shaved in the car, and came damn close to running people over once or twice, but I made it with minutes to spare. I was even able to catch my breath before Ms Johnson arrived to unlock the store. She didn’t say anything to me, but shook her watch and held it up to her ear. “Damn thing must have stopped,” she said to herself.

Work was hell. I had to spend the day either dealing with customers who were even stupider than usual and couldn’t tell a cat from a dog, or with Ms Johnson bitching about me, wondering how long it would be before I started diddling some of the stock, or speculating on how small my cock was and what I could fit it into.

I wanted to say, “Fuck you, fuck this, fuck everything,” and walk out, but I needed the money. My ex took me for everything I had when we split and the alimony was steep. I think she wanted me to pay for her cocaine and her whore of a sister’s legal fees. It didn’t help that I’d been through five jobs in eight months and was reduced to doing unskilled labor. It was always the same thing. I’d get caught with my pants down at the wrong moment and be kicked out on my ass. Hell, that’s even what started it all and made my marriage go south—my wife walking in to find me fucking that slut Becky. As if Becky hadn’t been begging for it. As if I’d never noticed my wife’s panties missing and something sticky dribbling out of her cunt when she came home too stoned to stand after a “girls night out.” It’s always the guy’s fault, isn’t it?

My car died on the way home and I had enough. I couldn’t afford to replace it, but I couldn’t afford to keep it running. About the only break I got was that it broke down near an auto shop, and the owner said he’d give me a hundred bucks cash for it. What the hell, why not?

I knew the busses well, since I’d had to take them before I scraped enough together to buy that pile of junk. I had a couple of blocks to walk to get to my apartment from the bus stop. It wasn’t a nice neighborhood, but a guy like me would be OK so long as it wasn’t too late. I was even feeling a little flush. I decided to do some bar hopping to see if I could pick someone up, but I had no luck. I never did anymore. My old lines had started sounding hollow even to me. I knew I needed a fresh approach but I couldn’t figure out what it was.

It was evening before I decided to just go home and call it a night. I was a little woozy from the alcohol, but not what you’d really call “drunk.” Just a bit unsteady. The crisp autumn air helped that fade. There were several hookers who did their business on my street, congregating on one corner in particular. I’d had to walk back and forth to the bus so much that we got to know each other quite well and were on pretty friendly terms. It seemed like they were the only women left you’d give me as much as the time of day. Some of them looked really nice, too, and I was really tempted. I still had most of the hundred left. That should get me something.

In the end, I shook it off. Yes, my life was going to hell and yes it’d been too long since I really had a good fuck, but I wasn’t quite desperate enough to start paying for affection. Instead, I headed home and nuked some dinner, then surfed internet porn for a while before jerking off and going to bed.

III. Andante scherzando

I had a weird dream. It was almost like it was real. The colors were bright, the sounds were clear. I could even feel the wind blowing down the street and smell the exhaust from the cars driving past. And there was singing, beautiful singing, so soft as to be almost impossible to hear, like a river flowing slowly to the sea.

It was a warm summer evening, the sun just about to set. I had on the suit I wore back when could still get decent jobs, not long after the divorce became final. I was standing on the sidewalk on my street, just a block or two away—the corner where the hookers hang out.

“So is tonight the night, honey?” one of them asked. She was a pathetic meth head with stringy hair and bad teeth. What was her name—Téa? Tina? She was on the corner a lot, but I think that was mostly because she had trouble getting johns. The others were starting to realize that I was a look-but-don’t-touch kind of guy on a budget.

There was a new one there, one I hadn’t seen before. She looked young, maybe in her early twenties but probably not even that old. She looked healthy, too: long golden hair, smooth clear skin. Not a mark on her anywhere, not even a freckle. Tall, confident, and strong and yet so very feminine. The kind of woman you’d expect to see as a high class call girl and not some cheap street slut. She wore thigh-high fuck-me boots, a tight faux leather skirt and matching halter top. Her boobs were threatening to rip the halter open. A small white stone on necklace she was wearing only made it harder to look away from her tits. My cock hardened instantly.

I must have been staring, because she snapped her fingers in my face and said, “Hey, there, sport, you want something?”

All the girls laughed. “He’s the one you’re gonna go for?” one of them asked. “You ain’t gonna get nothing from him!”

“Well, hon?” the new hooker asked.

“Yes,” I blurted, “yes, I want something. I want you,” and the hookers laughed again.

“Finally!” one of them said. “Must have come into his inheritance at last. Although I’d give you a better time, you know.” She lifted her breasts and shook them at me, pursing her lips and making kissing sounds.

The blonde joined the laughter. “Aw, but isn’t that sweet, though? He probably just wants to take me out for a quiet, romantic dinner.”

“Well then, hey, tiger, she’s not the only one hungry around here.”

“I got a place just a few blocks away,” I suggested awkwardly. Another round of laughter.

“You got a car to get me there?” the blonde asked.

“Oh, he doesn’t have a car,” another hooker said, “not one you’d want to ride in. He just got dumped by his wife and she got the car. He takes the bus.”

It was a little exasperating that even the local streetwalkers knew details about my divorce and transportation problems, but it was even more exasperating that here was the sexiest woman I’d seen in goodness knows how long, and she was willing to let me fuck her even if only because I would pay her, but it was all about to fall apart.

“Never mind that,” she said, much to my relief. “I’m sure he can spring for a room at the Hilton ‘round the corner.” She pushed herself close to me and whispered in my ear, “Can’t you, sweetie?” She licked my ear and I couldn’t suppress a moan.

“Sure, sure,” I said. After all, my credit card wasn’t quite maxed out yet.

“Come on, then,” and she put her arm in mine and waved to the other girls as we walked around the corner to the Vista View Inn, a seedy dump where not even cockroaches wanted to stay. All things considered, it probably had an exclusive and specialized clientele. “Hey, don’t forget that I’m next!” one of them shouted after me.

“Say, you’re not a cop are you, hon?” the blonde asked me as we walked. Her boots made clicking sounds with each step that just made my cock get harder and harder.

“Me? No, not at all. If I were, I’m sure they would have known and told you back there.”

She laughed. “I suppose they would,” she admitted.

“How about you? You’re not a cop, either, right?” I was more trying to make conversation than to get information but I wasn’t doing at all well. The only part of my body still capable of thinking was the one throbbing in my pants.

“Li’l ol’ me?” she said, batting her eyes. “If I were a cop I’d have arrested you by now.”

I laughed. “I guess you would have at that.”

We got to the motel, and she waited outside while I went in to get a room. My cock wanted to burst through my zipper like the monster from “Alien.” The clerk glanced at my crotch and openly leered. “I don’t know why I bother to ask, but—any luggage?”

“Well, no,” I said, trying to think. “My wife and I—I mean, it was just kind of a spur of the moment thing...”

“Yeah, your ‘wife.’” He chuckled. “Everybody’s got a wife. OK, bud, I need to see some ID, and no luggage means you pay in advance.”

“Um, sure,” I stumbled, trying to pull my wallet out. “Oh, and, I don’t suppose you have an ATM, do you?” This time he laughed out loud.

“Yeah, I’ll bet your ‘wife’ will be needing some cash, won’t she,” he said. “Maybe she’ll want to go out and buy something pretty. Over there in the corner, bud.”

“Thanks,” I said. He handed me my credit card and drivers license back and I signed the receipt. As I stepped over to the ATM, he called after me, “Make sure you get enough to make your wife happy. She looks like she’s in a spending mood. You’d better have at least a hundred.”

“Thanks,” I said. I was embarrassed, absolutely mortified, but every time I glanced out the window and saw that woman standing there, my knees weakened and my cock throbbed and I stopped caring. I didn’t even care if cops showed up and dragged me off, so long as I got to finish first. I prayed desperately that I had enough left in my account to pull out a full hundred, just in case. I’d live without eating for a bit, and I didn’t have to pay for gas anymore. The god of ATMs must have been listening because the money popped out almost instantly.

We made our way to the room and I let her in. “Phew,” she said as she stepped through the door. I had to agree. But it had a bed and some privacy, and I really didn’t care about anything else.

“So, what are we going to do, anyway?” she asked. “Suck and fuck? Straight fuck? Some particularly athletic position or perverted kink?”

I was so horny I could hardly think straight. My cock was screaming, “Anything, anything! Just get me inside her!”

“Suck and fuck sounds good,” I said.

“OK,” she said. “One hundred sixty-two, then. And thirty-seven cents. Cash in advance.”

“Cash in advance,” I echoed, a little chilled. After using the ATM, I had eight twenties, two ones, one quarter, two nickels, and two pennies. How had she known that? I pulled the money out of my pocket and handed it over.

She counted it quickly. “Very nice,” she said. “You get undressed then, and we can get started.”

I pulled my shirt off and was starting on my pants when she said, “Oh, and by the way...”

“Yes?” I asked, and suddenly something hit me hard and bowled me over. My hand was grabbed and arm forced up. Something cold and metallic wrapped itself around my wrist and held it tight.

She was sitting hard on my chest, making it hard to breathe. She was grinning. “I lied,” she said and held out a badge. “I am a cop.”

“Shit!” I exclaimed, not so much because of being arrested—after all, with the way my life had been going an arrest was hardly a ripple—but because it meant that I would never get to put my cock inside her.

She stood up and casually handcuffed my other wrist to the bed, then pulled the rest of my clothes off. She produced rope from somewhere to secure my feet. I was left spread-eagled, naked and helpless on my back. “Fortunately for you,” she continued, “I’m a nice cop, and I’m not going to arrest you. Maybe.”

She unfastened her halter and let it drop. She breathed deeply and I could not help myself staring at her breasts, which were somehow even larger than I’d expected. The areolae and nipples were large to match. And the nipples were hard.

“If you’re a good little boy,” she said, “I just may let you go.” She unzipped her skirt, let it join the halter, then pulled off her boots. She stood looking at me, hands on hips. “After all, you were very sweet and you have already paid. No point in letting that money go to waste.” She stepped out of her panties and tossed them in my direction. They landed on my face, covering my nose and mouth. “Ooh, nice aim. I’m on a roll tonight.”

The panties were wet. Very wet.

The dream music was getting louder. I wanted to speak, but the smell coming from the panties was driving me crazy. I had to taste her. Even if I died, I had to at least taste her. I pulled the panties into my mouth with my lips and teeth and sucked on them.

I’d managed to live my life without ever tasting a woman’s juices, and I was surprised at how wonderful it was. It was just a little acid but somehow sweeter than honey and more intoxicating than wine. A sense of warm satisfaction flooded my body.

She laughed. “You see, that’s what I like about you,” she said. “You seem to have the proper appreciation for a woman.”

She climbed onto the bed and straddled my face. She reached down and spread her lips open, exposing her clit and her pussy, pink, hungry and wet. Her clit was a hard little nubbin the size of a pencil eraser. I wanted to touch it so very much. She plunged a finger into herself and pumped it in and out, just inches from my face, making little satisfied noises in her throat. Then she removed her finger and held it up in front of my face, just far enough away that I couldn’t reach it with my tongue or lips. It glistened wetly. She laughed again.

“So here’s the deal,” she said. “We will, indeed, be having a suck and fuck. Only I won’t be doing the sucking. If you do a good job, then I’ll let you have your fuck and I won’t arrest you. If you don’t—well, I’ve got a nice little strap-on that I can use to fuck you. And after your ass is nice and red, I’ll haul that bleeding ass into jail for solicitation and maybe some other charges I think up along the way. And you can try crying foul all you want because nobody will believe you. They like me down at the station. Like me a lot. Judges like me, too. You got all that?”

“Yes, ma’am,” I said, letting go of her finger.

“Aw, you even know how to talk to a woman,” she gushed.

“It’s just that—” I hesitated.

“Yes?”

“I just, just never—”

“Ate a woman out before?” she asked. I nodded. “Well, then, you’d better hope you’ve got a natural talent,” and with that she lowered herself and covered my face.

I could hardly breathe, and what little air I got was permeated with the smell of an aroused woman’s pussy. It was driving me mad. I knew I had to please her, make her happy. Between the lack of oxygen and the scent of her desire I was dizzy and on the verge of blacking out. The dream music was very loud now, and there were voices in it, soft and seductive. “Give in to her,” they were whispering urgently. “Surrender to her. Make her cum. Give her what she wants.”

I hesitantly stuck out my tongue and managed to slip it between her lips. It was greeted by her clit. I traced my tongue around it slowly and carefully. She purred and said, “You’re off to a good start.”

My tongue seemed to know what it was doing and kept itself busy, playing with her clit or plunging itself deep into her snatch. I forgot all about my hungry cock. I just wanted to please her, if I could just please her, if I could just make her cum.

Then suddenly she spasmed and something hot squirted onto my tongue. She gasped and struggled to hold herself upright as her body shook and shook and shook. I couldn’t breathe at all and nearly blacked out, but I could feel myself cumming in response to her orgasm. It was the hardest orgasm of my life.

She finally finished and lifted herself off of my face. I gasped for air. She patted my cheek. “You did good,” she said, panting a little. She just sat on my chest for a while, enjoying the afterglow, then she got a curious look on her face and rubbed her hand over the small of her back. “Eeew, yucky. What a mess. Well, it looks like you’re not going to need that fuck after all, are you?”

I shook my head. “No, ma’am,” I said. She went into the bathroom and grabbed a cloth. “Now, be sure about that,” she said as she wiped my cum off her back. “You absolutely sure? You know, I should make you lick this off me, but that would probably hurt my back.”

I was satisfied. Despite its earlier desperation, my cock was exhausted and not up to another round. It was content to have simply cum in her presence. “I’m just fine, ma’am.”

“So you’re OK if we conclude our business now?” she asked.

“Yes, ma’am. Whatever you want, ma’am.”

“Good,” she said smugly. She dressed herself quickly then walked over to the bed. “I may as well make you comfortable before I go.” She stuffed her panties deep into my mouth and draped the semen-stained cloth over my nose and chin so that I could smell nothing but mildewed linen and my own jism. She dropped some keys on the table near the door and opened it. My eyes went wide with fear. She was going to leave me like this. She looked back at me and laughed. “I just said I wouldn’t arrest you,” she told me. “I never said I’d let you go.”

She took a step out. “But don’t worry,” she said. “The maid will be by in the morning. Assuming they have a maid. Maybe they don’t, and if that’s the case, you’re hosed. But if they do, you may be able to convince her to unlock you. If you’re nice to her the way you were nice to me. Bye!” She waved at me and was about to close the door but stopped herself short.

“Oh, and one more thing,” she said. “Good boy. Thank you. Thank you so very much.” Then the door clicked shut.

Interlude. Allegro agitato

The world came into a blurred focus. I was in my own apartment on my own bed, my head throbbing with a bad hangover. There was nothing around my wrists, in my mouth, or on my face. There was no sign of semen in the bedclothes. Not fresh semen, anyway.

I looked over at the clock. Eleven a.m. Good time to head over to Hits and Misses and get a hair of the dog before pretending to look for a job. I did a perfunctory shower and shave, pulled my clothes on, and headed off.

The strippers waved hello as I came in. I grinned and said hello back. I no sooner sat down in my usual spot than the bouncer set a pitcher of beer and bowl of peanuts in front of me. I paid him and did a surreptitious count of my ones. I figured I could last an hour or maybe two before my money ran out. I vowed that I wouldn’t stay longer or use the ATM, because my reserves were really getting dangerously low. Unemployment doesn’t provide very much, I was running out of things to pawn, and I was behind in rent, alimony, and child support. For all I knew, I had library fines, too.

I didn’t keep the vow, of course, but fuck that, I was happy. Eat, drink, and be merry for tomorrow we die. Nikki was there. She had a bright, playful personality, beach blonde hair, and beautiful wide eyes that more than made up for her tits being on the small side. She was, bar none, the most popular stripper the place had, and I was her favorite customer. I even had some of her used panties at home. I never could tear myself away until she ended her shift. Yes, she probably had a dozen “favorite customers,” and I spent a lot more on her than I could afford, and she probably only pretended to like me because I paid her, but that was as much as I’d had from any woman for nearly a year—a purchased affection. But sexy and fun though she was, happy though she made me, and pleasant though the slow swelling of drunkenness was, it wasn’t what I really wanted and in the end I was left hungry.

As I stumbled to my apartment, well into the afternoon, I grabbed Tisa, the skinny whore with the bad teeth, and pulled her along with me. She knew the drill. Ten bucks to let me eat her out, and she was glad for it. She couldn’t pass up any chance for money, and I didn’t want to spend any more than I had to, not while there was still Nikki to suck up my cash.

I was almost too drunk to walk, and Tisa had to help me unlock the door. We got to the bed somehow and I practically tore her clothes off. I had to taste her, taste some woman, any woman. The instant her panties were off my tongue was inside her and I relaxed.

Tisa knows I like it if she takes a long time to cum, and that I cum when she does. It seemed to take even longer than usual, but that just made the release all the more wonderful. I collapsed, a happy addict who had just got his hit. My cheek was against a sticky spot on my sheets, stained with ejaculation after ejaculation.

She got up and dressed herself silently, then stole out of my apartment. Sometimes she took things when she left—small things, never anything really valuable, just stuff she figured I wouldn’t miss. She wanted to be invited back in, after all. I didn’t really mind if she gave herself the occasional tip, so long as it wasn’t too often or too much. She gave me what I nobody else would, after all.

I was lethargic and just lay there at the foot of my bed, cheek resting against my cum while it grew cold. The shadows lengthened. Finally, as the street lights came on and the buzz from the beer started fading, I stirred and got up. I was getting hungry again. I needed—something. I wasn’t sure what.

I fired up my computer—the only thing of real value I had left. Internet I got by hijacking my neighbor’s WiFi. I went to my favorite sites but they seemed somehow unsatisfying and I quickly clicked away.

And then I saw a link that said, “Mistress Darla’s House of Domination.” I clicked it eagerly.

The Web page came up far, far too slowly. “Mistress Darla’s House of Domination,” it said. “Femdom for the select few. Forced feminization, sissy training, humiliation, spanking, discipline, golden showers, hypnosis, foot fetish, Goddess worship, pony and puppy play. No sex.” Each option was accompanied by a picture with a different woman, each sexier than the last, and there was a large image in the middle of Mistress Darla herself who outshone them all. She was a magnificent woman in a tight leather catsuit, whip in hand. Her dark red hair framed her face, her lips were the same color as her hair, and her green eyes were looking right at me.

There were no previews, no members-only areas, no other pages, no links. Just a paragraph at the very bottom. “By appointment only. Mistress Darla will hand-select the proper Domme for you.” There was no address other than one of the smaller cities in the area. My city. There was a 1-900 number to call for an appointment. I had no phone. I’d need to find one. I managed to find a piece of paper and the stub of a pencil. I scribbled down the number.

I walked around restlessly. How could I afford this? “Femdom for the select few”? That meant “femdom for the ones who can pay through the nose for it,” and there was no way I could do that. Even the phone call—a 1-900 number? Who could I convince to loan me a phone so I could make a toll call? And who knew what the toll would be? I looked at the computer again, entranced. But this was what I needed, this was where I had to go.

It may have been hours before I finally made up my mind. I had to at least try. I went into the bathroom to clean up, but as I passed my bed, my foot got tangled in the sheets and I tripped. My head cracked against something hard and I blacked out.

IV. Lento misterioso

I had a dream while I was out. I didn’t know that was possible. Maybe it wasn’t a dream, it seemed so real. Things felt solid when I touched them. The air smelled crisp and leaves were dropping from a near-by tree. The breeze was gentle and cool. There was music in it, soft but plainly audible and so very, very beautiful—mermaids singing by the sea. A man could die listening to such music.

I was standing on the porch of an unfamiliar house in a nice but not overly respectable part of town. My finger was pressing the doorbell. I was sober, dressed better than I had been in months, and (when I checked my chin) even clean-shaven. This had to be a dream. While I waited for the door to open, I checked my pockets. They were empty.

The door swung open and a woman was behind it. Tall, statuesque, something beyond beautiful. She was wearing a tight, black latex catsuit. It was cut low so the tops of her large breasts were visible. A burgandy corset was buckled on her waist, a whip on her hip. Her boots matched the corset and went up to mid-thigh. They were secured by buckle after buckle in a long line and lifted her up so that her face was above mine.

She looked me over with obvious contempt. She was the woman in the picture.

“Mistress Darla?” I asked timidly.

“You’re late,” she said. “You should have been here a long time ago.” She opened the door and motioned me inside. “Come along, we have a lot to do.” Her voice was a low contralto as smooth as her skin. It demanded obedience. I gave it.

She lead me down a long hallway into a large, dark room. The sound of our footsteps echoed hollowly. She strode up to a large chair, the only thing illuminated. Nothing else was visible, not even the door we came in.

The music was getting louder. My thoughts were getting fuzzy and my eyes going in and out of focus. The room seemed to be spinning slowly. I was confused. Wasn’t she going to ask for money in advance? Wasn’t she going to ask me what I wanted her to do? For that matter, what did I want her to do? And how could I possibly pay?

“Out of your clothes and on your knees,” she said. I hurried to comply, and as I knelt I noticed that my clothes had somehow vanished. I looked around to see where they might have gone. She noted my bewilderment and simply said, “You won’t be needing them again,” as a flat declaration.

She stood and picked up a riding crop. She started walking around me, looking me over carefully. Her catsuit squeaked as she walked.

“Why are you here?” she asked.

“Well, because I...” The riding crop came down hard on my back.

“No,” she said. “It has nothing to do with you or what you think or what you want. You are here because I summoned you. Do you understand?”

“Yes, ma’am.” But I didn’t really. She struck me a second time.

“You are to address me as Mistress Darla.”

“Yes, Mistress Darla.” Another blow.

“And you are to speak only when answering a question.” I nodded and she circled me again.

“What did you think you were going to get from me?”

I hesitated. “I didn’t come here to get anything in particular, Mistress Darla,” I said. “I only came because I knew I had to.”

Her eyes widened a bit in surprise. “Good boy,” she said. “You’re learning. Maybe you’re not as hopeless a dick as I thought you were.”

She sat down and crossed her legs. The riding crop she tapped thoughtfully against her thigh. “You are here,” she said at length, “to bring your life to its proper climax. You are here to finish what was begun long ago.” I swallowed and nodded, still uncomprehending.

“Has your life been a happy one?” she asked. What kind of question was that?

It was hard to think. There was now incense in the air mixing with the divine music. The room seemed to be spinning faster. My childhood had been happy, yes, but from my senior year in high school onward, things had changed and gotten gradually worse and worse. I told her so, and she slapped my cheek hard with the riding crop.

“You have it exactly backwards,” she explained and intoned: “‘The Way that can called “the Way” is not the Way.’ Even a male should be able to comprehend that.

“The happiness you felt was a shallow and meaningless one, empty and void. You have spent your life striving for the wrong things and trying to fight against your true nature. The whole course of your existence had to be bent to bring you into alignment with your ultimate reality. Once you give in to that reality and cease to fight it, your life will be forever free of true pain, because you will know what to do and do it. Physical pain you will still feel, but only because it will be right and proper. Anguish, uncertainty, doubt, confusion, loneliness—all will be be forever banished.

“Do you want that?”

I was about to say a simple, “Yes,” but then I thought and instead replied humbly, “I want what you want for me, Mistress Darla,” and she actually smiled.

“That,” she said, “was the right answer. We can begin.”

Three women appeared. Two wore black cloaks and hoods that hid their eyes and hair. The third wore the same in white. They were otherwise naked. The two in black were singing. I knew their song very well. It was the music that had been haunting my dreams for as long as could remember.

I looked back at Mistress Darla. She was now dressed only in a hood like the others, red like her hair. The hood was thrown back. She wore a silver necklace with a large white stone that dangled between her breasts, which were large, the areolae dark. The nipples were pierced and joined by three delicate silver chains. Three tattoos formed a triangle around her navel. Her public hair was a patch of flame, and a Venus sign dangled from her clit.

The chair was gone. In its place was a wooden St. Andrew’s cross and burning brazier. The cross was flanked by large joss sticks, burning slowly, their smoke ascending to the unseen ceiling. The women in black, still singing, lifted me to my feet and I found myself strapped to the cross, my arms, legs and head all held firmly in place by straps. The women forced something between my teeth and buckled it in place. It tasted of rubber. In its center was a tube that extended back into my mouth almost all the way to my throat. I gagged.

The woman in white was now holding a large goblet and took it to Mistress Darla. She stood between the brazier and me with her back towards me and lifted the goblet over her head, chanting something I couldn’t understand. She lowered it and turned to the woman in white, who held out her hand, small and delicate. Mistress Darla had a dagger in her right hand and pricked the woman’s finger. A dark drop of blood welled up. The hand was turned over and the blood dripped into the goblet. I heard a quiet plunk as it fell into whatever was inside.

“Your blood,” Mistress Darla said, “which is the life inside you.”

Mistress Darla then leaned over and kissed one of the woman’s nipples. It was a long, long kiss. It almost seemed like she was suckling. As she lifted her head, the nipple glinted wetly in the light. Mistress Darla squeezed the breast. A drop of milk formed on the nipple and dripped down into the goblet.

“Your milk, which is the food you give to others.”

Then she reached down and began rubbing the woman’s clit, all the while holding the goblet against between her thighs. The woman started to squirm and moan. My cock hardened as I watched her arousal build and I very nearly came when she did. Mistress Darla used her finger to rub inside the woman’s pussy then to stir the liquid in the goblet.

“Your womanhood, which is your power over all.”

Mistress Darla then strode over to me. The woman in white knelt behind me. The other women spread my ass cheeks. Mistress Darla pushed my still-hard cock painfully down until it was a little under horizontal and held the goblet against the tip. I squirmed, but one of the women in black dug her fingernails into my flesh and I stopped.

I felt a finger against my anus. Then Mistress Darla nodded and the finger plunged hard and deep inside me. I couldn’t help crying out as it my ass was violated, my prostate was squeezed, and a white drop of fluid spurted from my cock and against the goblet’s lip.

“His sterile seed, which is all he is.”

Mistress Darla lifted the goblet over her head and began chanting again. The women in black began stroking me, running their fingers up and down all over my body but with particular attention to my crotch and thighs. They stroked my cock gently and it quivered. The chanting and singing continued.

The woman in white took some tongs and picked up a glowing coal from the brazier. She dipped it into the goblet and there was the sound of hissing liquid, but when she took it out it was as hot as before. She held it to her lips and kissed it. There was the sound of burning flesh, but she trembled as if cumming and when she pulled it away, her lips were unscarred. She then held the coal next to my chest. Mistress Darla held the goblet up to close to my mouth. I could smell it and it was foul.

I was having trouble breathing and the tube in my mouth made me want to gag again. I was terrified. My body was being overwhelmed by sensations and emotions, but over them all was my intense arousal and the throbbing of my cock.

Mistress Darla spoke. “When she burns you, you will be consumed outwardly; when you drink, you will be consumed inwardly; and when you cum, you will expel yourself from yourself, and all will be at an end.”

The singing stopped. The room was silent. Then Mistress Darla nodded and the four women sang a single word loudly together, their voices blending into a divine chord.

The woman in white pressed the coal home hard against my chest. I could feel and smell my skin burning and I tried to scream, but Mistress Darla was pouring out the foul-smelling liquid into my mouth and it flooded the back of my throat. I had to swallow it or drown. It burned like acid as it went down.

And the women in black squeezed my cock and I came and came and came. There was an incredible burst of pleasure that ripped through me, overwhelming me. My cock was pumping, pumping, pumping. It felt like it would never stop but the pleasure grew and grew until it emptied me and there was nothing left but ash. The world turned black.

Postlude. Andante con vivo

My eyes shot open. I don’t need an alarm clock; I’ve been trained to wake at the proper time each day.

I hurried to check for any signs of ejaculation. I remembered having a wet dream, and if I had actually cum without advance permission, I would have to submit myself for punishment. I was happy to see that there was nothing.

I hurried to my feet. The concrete floor of my room was cool to the touch. I relieved myself at the urinal near my bed and began filling the metal tub I’m permitted to use. The water was lukewarm. Mistress was pleased with me. When I’m being punished, I’m only allowed cold water. Mistress let me have hot water once, but I got so excited that I came and had to lick up the mess. I’ve never been allowed anything warmer than tepid since.

I quickly spread shaving cream over my body and shaved everything I could. I must shave everything I can reach daily. Maid waxes the rest once a week. After shaving, I used a sponge to clean myself. It’s a little tricky cleaning and shaving the areas underneath my collar and chastity belt, but there’s no removing them and I’ve learned to manage.

I hurried upstairs to the kitchen. Maid was already there, beautiful in her tight latex uniform. “You’re very late,” she said as I came into the room.

I was mortified. “I’m sorry, Miss,” I stammered. “It won’t happen again, Miss.” She laughed.

“I was just yanking your chain, sweetie,” she said. I winced. I don’t have a name, and I’m not permitted to use the names of women. Maid may call me whatever she wants, but I’m always uncomfortable when she calls me “sweetie” or “honey,” so she does it a lot.

Maid had already made the breakfast and was setting up two trays. “She’s not alone this morning, Pinky,” she said. “I caught a glimpse of the woman she’s with and my pussy’s been watering ever since.” She likes to say things like that in front of me to embarrass me and turn me on.

As she finished with the trays, she said, “Oops, it looks like you missed a spot! I can see some shaving cream!”

“I do? Where?”

“Right there!” she said, then leaned in quickly and kissed me. Her hand squeezed my balls through the chastity belt. “Mmmmm, you smell so nice when you’re clean and freshly shaved.” Maid wants me to fuck her and doesn’t try to hide it. She knows she will never be permitted to be fucked by any other male. Mistress has promised her it will be permitted someday.

I want to fuck Maid, too. I know I will never be allowed to put my cock anywhere inside any other woman. I want to fuck Maid hard, to plunge my cock deep inside Maid’s horny cunt and fuck her and fuck her until she screams. I shouldn’t think things like that, but I can’t help myself.

Maid picked up one of the trays. “Come on,” she said. “We’d better get these up there or we’ll both be late and in hot water.” She grinned at me. “Or, in your case, cold water,” she added, then turned and headed out of the kitchen. Maid does not walk quickly. Her ballet boots make it hard to balance the the hobbles keep her footsteps small. But I’m patient. I don’t mind. I like watching her.

Maid was right. Mistress was in bed with another woman, a beautiful redhead whom I thought I should recognize but didn’t. They were awake, just quietly enjoying each other’s company, stroking each other and talking softly. We placed our trays a table in the corner of the room then knelt quietly, waiting for instructions. I had to help Maid to her knees.

Mistress spoke first. She sat up in bed, stretched and yawned. The sheet fell away, exposing Her perfect breasts. I lowered my eyes quickly, desperate though I was to see them. My cock reacted involuntarily, and I winced as it was kept from hardening by the chastity belt. I knew Mistress was smiling.

“Well, good morning, houseboy,” Mistress said. My heart leapt, but I did not speak. I may not speak without permission.

I could hear the other woman moving in the bed. “Is this really him?” she asked, a little surprised.

“Oh, yes,” Mistress said. “Yes, it’s him.”

“I hardly recognize him,” the other woman said. “And is he really worth all the trouble we went to?”

My cheeks burned. I could hear Mistress moving. Her beautiful feet came into view, just below my eyes. The smooth, strong legs stretched skyward out of my sight. I started to breathe faster. Then She touched me. Her hand stroked my bald head. I could not help but tremble as She did.

“Seeing him kneeling before Me like this, our creation and My utter possession—Oh, yes. He’s very, very worth it.”

She moved Her feet apart and spread Her legs. I could smell Her arousal. My cock strained helplessly to break free. I could picture in my mind the fountain of Her womanhood, exposed for all to see but me, and I rejoiced at being so close to the heart of what I worship.

“Come, houseboy,” Mistress said peremptorily. “This morning, you may have some breakfast yourself.”

I gulped but could not hesitate. I shuffled forward on my knees and closed my eyes before lifting my head. I could feel her thighs brushing my skin. The smell of the wine I was being permitted to taste left me dizzy.

“You may look at Me,” Mistress said. I opened my eyes and was dazzled when they looked into hers, smiling down at me. I could see the soft mounds of her breasts, the prominent, round areolae, the large nipples hard with anticipation. I nearly cried, but managed to keep my focus. I moved my face forward, stretched out my tongue, and delicately slipped it between Her lips, my eyes never moving from Hers. I was rewarded with the most delicious taste I have ever known.

She lowered Herself back onto the bed, Her delicate hands stroking Her breasts and pinching Her nipples as She did. She wanted to give Herself in to pleasure, and it was my duty and my joy to bring it to Her. “Maid,” She said, “you may service My friend.”

“Yes, Mistress Carrie,” Maid said, and she got to work.