The Mouse, the Witch and the Wardrobe…
Guy had been chatting with Mistress Beverly for many years – over 12 now and throughout that time had been through several relationships. Lucy was different though – they had finally got married this year after 4 years together and although he often felt he wasn’t good enough for her he really hoped he could hold on to her and they could grow old together. She was incredibly accepting of his increasingly strange sexual behaviour and played along with many of his fantasies, but there was plenty of stuff he hadn’t told her, because he knew if she knew the worst bits she would find it difficult to stay with him.
Guy’s fantasies had developed a lot over the years. When he had first started chatting to Mistress Beverly they had mostly involved him beating himself, a little anal, women’s underwear and saying humiliating stuff. Over time time his tastes (like those of many silly boys looking for thrills) had become more and more depraved. Mistress Beverly had tried not to encourage some of his more bizarre behaviours, but had to admit to herself that the more bizarre he got the funnier it got! Over the years she had made (or helped, depending on how you looked at it) him do a variety of humiliating and/or painful things such as going out onto his street at night dressed as a slutty sissy, hung weights off of his balls, left him tied up for long periods, and many more things so depraved that they are unmentionable even in this account of his story!
In recent years his behaviour had become rather more unruly, erratic, annoying and OTT. Continue reading
Mother and daughter, stood facing each other. Mother in a black dress and Louboutin pumps; her blonde hair pulled up in a classic French pleat. She took her daughter’s hand and there in the palm firmly placed the gold gun.
Her daughter, a younger image of her mother: haughty, blonde, blue eyes, lean and statuesque, slipped the gun down between her breasts, the barrel rubbing tight against the leather as she pulled the zipper up to her neck. The soft leather catsuit was tight around her torso before flaring out at the leg over her favorite Louboutin biker boots. She had been waiting for this moment–the opportunity to put all the training to good use.
They hugged, mother giving daughter a light kiss on the lips, before stepping back to watch her daughter take her leave out of the door. It was time.
The mother poured herself a drink, Macallan Whisky, straight up, and sat down on the chair; two mobile phones were on the desk in front of her; she reached for the cheap throw away phone to make the call.
The man answered on the second ring. No greeting, just a distinct and familiar voice brusquely informing him a girl was on her way over. The phone disconnected before he could say one word. The call itself did not surprise him, but what did is that it was she who had made the call. She had always been obvious in her disdain for any contact with him. He grinned in the thought of her actually having to procure a girl for him. The usual arrangement was that some minion would arrange for a whore to come to his hotel. He had made no secret of his proclivity for certain sexual perversions, and one of the provisions when he was first ‘turned’ was that he would expect certain favours be granted him. The exchange of documents and cash had taken place earlier that evening. Now he was wanting the whore. Continue reading