Tuesday, February 03, 2015

Enslaved by College Girls - Opening scene

I've been busy and being a slave "for real" rather made it hard to focus on Femdom fantasies, plus I can no longer spend time building up my fantasies through masturbation. However, I have completed the first draft of a chastity and slavery novel. Here's the opening:

Brett hesitated in the lobby, aware of his bare legs under the fake Roman tunic, and the ceramic cage locked around his groin. “I’m not sure I should do this.”

Pippa smiled down on him. “Come on, you!” she said in what must have been her outdoor voice: English, aristocratic — posh! — and more suitable for bossing horses around than for people.  “Think of those poor homeless kittens...”

“It was a donkey charity,” corrected Brett.  The Student Union Charity Slave Auction had seemed like a good idea at the time.

“Those as well,” boomed Pippa. Her big hand caught his wrist and she tugged him towards the stairs. “It’s too late for second thoughts! I’ve paid my one hundred pounds. You’re my slave for the next 24 hours.”

The blood flowed from Brett’s brain to his penis, which stretched the inner sleeve of his Happy Happy Chaste Lover Purity Device(tm) freshly imported from China.  He let the statuesque girl lead him to the foot of the stairs. She released him and took the concrete steps ahead of him, powerful legs taking five  at a time. “Come on!”  She made a double-clicking sound as if urging on a reluctant horse.

 Brett stumbled and tried to clear his mind. But it was no good, she’d pinged his fantasy about her. He had a flash of her striding across the campus in her riding gear, whip tucked under one arm, knee length boots adding to her already formidable height. She wasn’t wearing boots right now. Instead strappy sandals webbed her muscular calves.

Brett followed after her, gazing at her bare legs.  The sight set off little spasms in his chastity device. This had to be better than spending his last hours as a student locked in his dorm room watching porn and getting cheap thrills by toying with the Red Button.

Pippa turned to look down on him from the next landing. “Hurry up.”

Below, the apartment block door banged open and a warm breeze tickled Bret’s  legs. He felt the hem of his Roman tunic lift and clutched at the cheap piece of costume. “You should have let me go home to change.” He could at least have unlocked his chastity device.

Pippa gave a snort of laughter. “Now you know what it’s like being a girl.” Another click-click. She watched him with twinkling eyes until he had almost caught up, then turned and restarted her climb. She passed a window and the afternoon sun rendered her dress transparent, treating Bret to a glimpse of her bra strap and briefs clinging to her statuesque figure.

Head whirling, Brett stumbled after her. That look in her eye… was she expecting sex?  The key to his device was back at his room. And how would he explain the chastity device to posh, clean-living Pippa anyway?

She stopped at what must be her front door and stood there like a goddess.

What the hell, thought Brett. He’d taken part in the charity slave auction because he’d wanted to do something crazy. Seducing posh girl while dressed as a Roman slave with a hi-tech chastity belt locked around his genitals was probably as crazy as it got. He could remember this when he was working a burger joint, or wherever it was Computer Science dropouts ended up. The pressure in his groin returned.

The apartment door opened and Brett followed Pippa inside.

Female cheers greeted Pippa.

Brett froze in the doorway.

The apartment was full of girls in togas, white fabric, bare limbs…

Brett felt dizzy. Then he noticed the silence. All eyes were on him. He blushed, ducked his head, and wished he could climb inside his chastity device for safety.

“I thought it was no men,” said an olive-skinned girl with natural-looking dark hair. She had her arm around the waist of a curvy girl with dyed black hair, tattoos swirling over her bare arms and black and white Gothic makeup and a studded collar above her toga.

Pippa snorted. “Don’t be silly, Bryony,” she said, addressing the olive-skinned girl. “Brett doesn’t count, he’s here to serve drinks and stuff.” She gave him a shove, pushing him into the room. The door closed behind him.

“Hello Brett,” said Katriona, the Scottish red-head from Running Club.

Brett glanced around. There were other faces he recognized. Pretty girls from around campus, a couple from his class.

Brett felt his cheeks burn. His knees trembled. He just wanted to sprint for the door. “I..,” he stammered.

 Katriona paced forward putting one long bare leg in front of the other like a tightrope walker. Her toga was more mini-dress than Roman costume, but then she was taller even than Pippa so perhaps that wasn’t deliberate. She bent one knee so her slender ankles crossed. “What are you doing here?” she asked.

Brett tried again.

Pippa interrupted.  “The Charity Slave Auction had a Roman theme this year.” She grinned. “So I thought; Why not buy us a slave?” She threw up her hands. “This is our last Girls Together Toga Party ever. Let’s make it authentic!”

“Hurrah!” said another girl. “Well he can start by fetching me another drink.”

Pippa ducked down to hiss in Brett’s ear. “Go on, slave. I have to change. Wine and nibbles are in the kitchen. Just keep circulating them. You’ll be fine.”

Brett nodded dumbly and headed for the kitchen. He kept his eyes lowered, at first out of embarrassment, but then so he could feast his eyes on the forest of female legs, some curvy, some sleek, and all those delicious feet, painted toenails peeking out of sandals of every kind. This wasn’t going to be too bad after all.

Somebody smacked his bottom sending shock waves to his caged groin. He yelped and stumbled.

“Watch your step…,” said Bryony, the olive skinned girl. There was nothing playful about her smile. “…slave.”

Brett leaned over the back of the sofa and offered the wine bottle to two girls. They held up their glasses for a refill without breaking their conversation; Summer Internships and Brad Pitt’s declining charms. Brett might as well have been invisible—which suited him fine. From where he stood, he could see down the front of their togas and get a good look at their cleavages. His chastity cage seemed to ripple around his cock. He smiled to himself. Being a slave wasn’t too bad.

“So Brett…” said a Scottish voice.

He turned.

Katriona towered over him, trapping him against the sofa back. She’d unbound her hair. Now carrot-red tresses draped  over her loose toga which left one freckly shoulder bare and exposed the top of a creamy breast.

Brett stared and imagined sliding his hand inside the toga. His cock heaved and rippled inside its cage.

The Scottish girl blushed, shifted weight from foot to foot setting her breasts quivering.

Brett squirmed. He’d been caught leering.

Katriona flicked back her long red hair and set her chin. “So Brett.  I’ve not seen you at Running Club for ages.”

Brett coughed and felt suddenly aware of the way his tunic left his legs bare down to his cheap sandals.. “I…” What could he tell her? That he’d been busy failing his degree and surfing Internet porn.

“Ah there you are, slave!” boomed Pippa.

Brett blushed.

 Now wearing a knee-length toga, his statuesque mistress for the evening steamed through the crowd, a head taller than all the others except Katriona. “Come help me finish off the volovants.” She half turned then twisted back to put a hand on Katriona’s skinny arm. “You’re not meant to talk to him, darling. He’s just a slave.

Brett bowed his head and navigated through the shifting forest of legs towards the kitchen. A foot shot out — he recognized Bryony’s olive skin — but he skipped over it and fled after Katriona. Behind him, Bryony said something that made the girls around her giggle.

When he caught up with Katriona, she was bent over the kitchen table piping filling into volovants. “At last,” she said without looking up. The position made her ample breasts swing forward so that the v-neck of her toga framed a long cleavage just waiting for him to reach out and… He remembered fondling her bosoms that one night back in First Year. His penis swelled to fill its cage.

She grinned at him. “What do you think? I did the puff pastry myself. They’ve only just cooled enough.”

“Great,” said Brett. He licked his dry lips. “What you want me to do?”

“What to you want me to to, mistress,” she corrected.

Cheeks burning, he repeated her words while his caged cock twitched wildly beneath his tunic.

“I’ll do the fillings,” she said. You lay them on the dishes as I’m done.”

They worked in silence except when Pippa had afterthoughts and got him to dig out ingredients from the fridge. As he handed her a jar of olives, she smiled down at him and touched his cheek. Her hands were slightly clammy, but the contact made a tingling sensation spread out over his face. His penis heaved inside its cage.

“I could get used to this,” she said casually but with a warm look in her blue  eyes.

Brett’s penis twitched against its prison. What had possessed him to lock himself in that thing? Now he had to fend her off. “A bit late for regrets, mistress” he said, still clutching the olives.

She snorted. “I was too busy for what you had in mind back then. Actually I’m too busy right now.” She stooped and kissed him on the lips. “Thanks.”

“For what?”

“Being a good sport about being my slave,” she said.

The last two words seemed to echo inside Brett’s chastity cage.  Head whirling, he stared up at the statuesque blond, .

Without looking away, Pippa took the olive jar from him and set it on the table. Then she caught him in a bear hug, crushed him to her soft bosom and ground her lips into his. Her mouth opened. Her teeth scraped his lips, then her tongue slid out and pushed into his mouth.

He gripped her waist feebly feeling the curve of her hip through her flimsy toga. Panic rose up in his chest. His pelvis twitched involuntarily as if it could drive his rock hard cock free of its prison.

Pippa’s hands stroked his back. One reached down under the hem of his tunic and caught his buttock. She twisted free of the kiss and he felt her hot breath on his ear. “I’ve got condoms in my bedroom.”

Ice water seemed to flow down Brett’s spine. “I’m not sure slaves are supposed to have sex… mistress.”

She pushed away. All expression left her face “Of course. The rules of the Charity Slave Auction.”

Brett’s shoulders slumped. A stone settled in his stomach. He couldn’t think of anything to say to make things right.

The kitchen door swung open, letting in the shrill noise of the party. “Where are those volovants?” asked Bryony. Her thick eyebrows lowered. “Did I interrupt something.”

“Nothing at all,” said Pippa brusquely. “Go on Brett, do your duty for charity.”

Brett grabbed a tray and headed out into the party. One of the pastries tumbled. He caught it with his forearm. At least he could not drop Pippa’s precious volovants.

The hem of his tunic lifted. Cold air swirled around his thighs.

“Take a look at his briefs!” said Bryony.

A circle of girls hemmed him in. They giggled and pointed.

“Hey!” said Brett, but there was nowhere to put the tray.

“Those are disgusting,” snorted a blond in a cut-glass accent.

“In the bin with them!” said the Goth girl he’d seen Bryony with earlier.

“Bin! Bin! Bin!” chanted the ring of girls.

He felt nails nip his waist. “Get off!” He tried to back away, but there was nowhere to go, and still nowhere to put down his tray.

The boxer shorts slid down his thighs leaving his caged groin naked beneath the tunic. They  pooled around his ankles. Bryony kept tugging, trying to get him to lift his feet.. .

Katriona appeared through the throng. She looked down at his boxers. Her green eyes twinkled.

Matt pushed the tray at her. “Take it, please.” As she took the volovants, he squatted down to to grab at his boxers.

The plump Goth girl appeared in front of him and gave him a shove.

He rolled backwards, bumped into some legs, and found himself looking up a girl’s toga. Slender legs rose up to bracket a skimpy red thong.

His boxers came away from his ankles, taking one sandal with them.

All at once the girl stepped back, somebody screamed and Bryony remarked, “Kinky.”

The circle of girls were now pointing at his caged groin and laughing all except Katriona whose green eyes became as wide as dishes. She dropped the tray of volovants and fled.

“This isn’t happening,” said Brett. He rolled over, somehow got to his feet and fled through the laugh crowd until he hit a door. He slipped inside and slumped against it.

The door bumped a few times as people tried it. He heard Bryony’s voice, harshly amused. Then the laughter died away and the party went on without him.

Slowly, his eyes got used to the light. There was a cluttered desk with laptop, a big double bed, and in the corner a pair of tall riding boots. He was in Pippa’s bedroom.


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Wednesday, April 30, 2014

Getting Her to be a Vanilla Dominatrix 3rd Edition is finally up on Kindle!

They're still showing the old cover but the text appears updated.

I'm exhausted!

Tuesday, April 29, 2014

The Chastity Belt is back on Amazon

If you're following this blog, you probably read my debut novel years ago. Last year, Amazon pulled it due to, I suspect, an automatic tool not liking the use of virgin or girl in the product description.

Heart in mouth, I rewrote the blurb, added a new cover, then resubmitted it. Here's how it now looks:


A kinky erotic novel about male chastity and Femdom at college! 

Which would you choose? Erotic adventures beyond your wildest dreams, or being able to have an orgasm again... ever? 

Mark is surrounded by delicious but messed-up young women. Despairing of ever bedding one, he agrees to wear an experimental chastity belt, only to discover that the ladies quite like the idea of a man without a penis! 

His chastity belt unlocks the libidos of ice queens, pathological teases, timid wallflowers, and super bitches, opening the way for a spectacularly dysfunctional love triangle. 

Unfortunately, the more he gets turned on, the longer the hi-tech device remains locked...


Friday, August 30, 2013

Jim Lyon reviews "Seafood" and gives it 4 stars!

Inspiration for the
main character...
Jim Lyon who has an excellent review blog has reviewed my Seafood novel! Among other things he said:
In this world slaves have permanent chastity cages fastened on their genitals and public whipping posts and benches are commonplace, even in locations such as churchyards and resorts. Mistresses matter-of-factly utilize these public conveniences for routine discipline, but not before requiring their slaves to publicly milk themselves with a self-lubricating dildo. Absolutely, these are hardcore femdom fantasies, and they would seem way more over-the-top if presented in contemporary and conventional circumstances. Somehow the unreal setting provides them with a degree of plausibility that even evokes a little humor as the narrator frets about his combined arousal and dread when facing this sort of punishment/humiliation.

Tuesday, August 27, 2013

Excerpt from my "Sex Slave of the Lesbian Flappers: Seafood"

A world of Lesbian Flappers
The churchyard was home to a whipping horse rather than a post, not that it mattered much. Nearby, there was a bench with a wooden locker attached. Flaking paint spelled out, “HONESTY BOX AND EQUIPMENT”.
“Put my shopping there,” said Lena.
As I put the brown paper bag down on the bench, the locker creaked open. Lena produced a leash and what they call a prod - a disposable hooked dildo.
My buttocks clenched at the sight and I felt a thrill of fear. If she made me ejaculate first, then the whipping was going to really hurt. Bitch! I thought, and tried to hold onto that word.
“Strip off,” she said, not turning away, but not looking at me either. She arranged herself on the bench and stretched out her slender stockinged legs.
The grass looked wet and it was covered in sodden brown leaves. I shifted to the paved path and peeled off my slave livery - footwear, the jacket, the knee britches, the shirt - and folded everything up neatly on top of the shoes.
Now I was naked except for the steel bands around my neck, wrists and ankles, and the chastity cage embedded in my neutered groin.
.. and ignored slaves who
see everything!
A seagull squawked and I felt out-of-place in this ancient churchyard. Sure, if you went inside you’d see icons of the Sun and Moon Goddesses. However, from the outside, the church looked Norman. I could be back home in the Real World.
“Hurry up,” barked Lena.
I scurried over to kneel at her feet. The wet grass was icy on my bare knees.
Lena lent over and clipped the long leash to my collar. She handed me the prod. “Five minutes,” she said, glancing at her watch.
Wincing, I lay back. The thick grass cushioned my spine even as it leached away my body heat. I brought up my knees and reached around with the prod.
The rubber dildo was cold and hard on my anus. Gradually, the soapy surface melted into a lubricant. The dildo slipped into my rectum, inch my inch until I had that glorious prickling sensation of fullness. My cock flexed inside its cage. A sigh escaped my lips.
“In silence,” barked Lena. She was reading a paperback novel, but still had one hand on my leash — without that, my conditioning wouldn’t let me stimulate myself.
I worked the dildo in and out of my ass, aiming it so it did not hit my prostrate. I so wanted to come, but I needed the shield of arousal to cope with the whipping. Even so it was soooo very tempting just to let go. Julia was always lax about sending me to the milking parlor and I had not ejaculated for months.
Birds chirped. Insects buzzed me. Lena turned a page of her book, and the dildo slurped in and out of my ass.
Then there was a creak of hinges. Two women emerged from the church’s side porch; a vamp about Lena’s age in a close fitting flying helmet type hat with a camera about her neck, and Daphne the statuesque artist with her wild blond hair.
The vamp touched Daphne’s shoulder and said, “Just a few pictures. They’d be artistic.”
The girl blushed and squirmed but did not pull away. She pursed her lips, showing off big front teeth. “I…”

I realized that Daphne has somehow shaken off the trashy Felicity, only to snag the attentions of an older woman.
Lena rose from her bench and called across me, “Claudette? What the heck are you doing here?”
The vamp - Claudette - spun on the spot making her long cashmere coat fan out. “Lena! Just taking a holiday! I hear the seafood is good.”
The Amazonian girl glanced at Lena and her face went bright red.
“You’re Daphne Brown,” said Lena. “We met at the station, but we weren’t properly introduced. I’m Lena White.”
“Lena White?” Daphne took a step closer and put a hand to her wide mouth as if shocked at her own forwardness. With her muscular bare legs and sandals, she looked like some kind of wild child. But she had no idea how to move her statuesque body, or how to speak without sounding young and gauche.
I wondered how she would be after a licking or fingering from Lena… A wet pressure built up in my cock. I rolled my head to look at the whipping horse and moved the dildo as slowly as I dared. I must not ejaculate.
“That’s me,” said Lena.
“The… the famous journalist?” said Daphne. Her blue eyes widened. “Are you working on a story?”
Beside her, Claudette frowned. She did not like the competition.
Lena laughed. “Right now, I’m inducting a new slave.”
Daphne’s gaze falls on me. “Oh - I haven’t really seen one of these close up.”
“Be my guest.”
…and there I was curled up obscenely at her feet, caged penis dripping, fucking myself up the ass with a disposable prod. My cheeks burned, my collar constricted my throat. Of its own accord, my hand worked faster making the self-lubricating dildo slurp in my ass as if this could get the experience over with.
The vamp appeared next to her. “You’ll get used to them. Though they have their… uses.”
The blond artist giggled and squirmed. The new position let me see between her muscular legs, right up the skirt of her faded floral dress.
My eyes adjusted to the poor light under her hem. She wasn’t wearing any panties. Glistening inner labia protruded like a sea creature from her ash blond pubic hair. The pink flesh shone wetly like rubies in a darkened room and the some of the curls had been slicked back. Either she had been masturbating, or somebody’s lucky tongue had been at work between those powerful thighs.
Pleasure spiked in my ass. My hand must have drifted, and now the prod bumped my prostrate with every stroke. I was so close… so very close to a real orgasm. Eyes fixed on the blond artist’s pussy, I pounded the dildo into myself. My spine curled. My knees crushed my chest. My face burned. My collar shrank to squeeze my throat and—
—there was a sensation like peeing, and a splatting from my groin.
My leash jerked. “Get up,” ordered Lena. “Dispose of the prod then prepare yourself on the whipping horse.”
I struggled to my feet and felt thick semen drip down my thighs, taking with it the warm cushion of desire that normally shielded me from the worst mistreatment.
I glanced at the whipping horse and shuddered. This was going to hurt.
“Oh,” added Lena. “Get a gag from the equipment box.”
Bitch! I thought.

Read the rest: [Kindle][Kindle UK][Epub][iTunes]

Wednesday, November 28, 2012

Soundtrack for Chastity Planet

I'm mostly writing to this wonderful lady:

Tuesday, November 13, 2012

Sex Slave of the Lesbian Flappers "Seafood" now on iTunes


So, Sex Slave of the Lesbian Flappers "Seafood" is now on iTunes! (I'd be very grateful if somebody who has iTunes would click the link in the sidebar to make sure it works.)

Of all my kinky story worlds, Femdom Flapper World is closest to my heart.

I just love the fresh style and classy elegance of flappers and vamps of the 1920s and 1930s, and, most of all,  I love the fact that they are all wearing stockings.

Femdom Flapper World lets me take my retro voyeurism one step further, to step into the picture.

The slave is there, gets to watch, touch and... taste... but he's dehumanised. Nothing that happens is for his benefit, not even the beatings and permanent chastity. And yet he lives in a constant state of teasing and denial, of erotic tension heightened by real fear.

Mmmmm.

And because the flappers are all vanilla lesbians who think nothing of owning a permanently chaste male slave, I can make them as realistic as possible, give them hopes and dreams, vulnerabilities, and have the slave see them all.

You see, I'm one of those subs who genuinely likes women. I want to be the mistreated slave of a likable, lovable woman. (Actually, I've achieved this.) Femdom Flapper world gives me morally good women who don't think twice about owning a slave, because that just happens to be the culture.

Plus, did I mention the stockings?

I remember realising - one day - that all those women in all those films were bare-thighed under their skirts or dresses, with garters or garter belts keeping up that sleek hosiery.

Throw in femdom and I am lost! Lost!

However, I have other stories to tell.

The next visit is to Chastity Planet, a tourist destination where all the men wear chastity cups. In Femdom Flapper World, slavery is normal. On Chastity Planet, male chastity is the norm. Different dynamic, different stories.

But, if the people like Sex Slave of the Lesbian Flappers "Seafood" then I'll be glad of the excuse to return to a world of stockings and whips and vamps and flappers.