For a complete catalogue of Erotic Fiction…... 103
Pink Flamingo Publications. 103
This is for Master Beren, who has taught me the sweetness of true love and the joys of submission.
She was eighteen and just beginning college. Her dreams were large, full of hopes of a position in a large law firm, perhaps as a paralegal. She didn’t see herself as a lawyer, but an assistant to one. She liked helping people and, although she would not admit it to anyone, she liked being told what to do. It gave her a sense of both peace and purpose.
Her name was Jocelyn Silvers. She had been raised in a progressive Jewish home, with parents who loved her, yet she always felt as if her desires, her dreams were stifled there. They wanted her to marry a lawyer or a doctor. She wanted to marry a powerful man, a strong man with hands like iron on her arms, with a forceful kiss that took her breath away.
She sighed, and the boy on top of her stopped pumping and looked down into her pert face. “Are you okay?” he asked nervously. She restrained another sigh, and forced herself to smile.
“Of course I’m alright; don’t stop!”
He resumed his vigorous but unskilled movement and she returned to her thoughts. They were certainly more interesting than what was going on to her body. His meaty hands found her breasts and squeezed them, kneading them as if they were dough. It was completely without sensuality and actually turned her stomach. When he attempted to kiss her, she managed to avoid his lips. She had heard that prostitutes would not kiss their johns, and she now understood why. It was much too private a thing.
After what seemed an eternity, he grunted and collapsed on her, breathing heavily. She felt almost violated, used … but somehow, that feeling was a good one. She liked the idea of being used.
He rolled off of her and soon his breathing became light snores, leaving Jocelyn staring at the ceiling, without orgasm yet dirty and finding that delicious.
She knew that she must be ill, if her fantasies were full of visions of old, disgusting men on top of her, their mottled faces leering and making her cringe; powerful men who casually alleviated their tensions on her willing flesh and then returned home to their trophy wives; or – most delicious of all – to belong to a man, to have to do everything he said, to be used and given to others at his whim. Frankly, to be his slave.
She felt silly. Slavery, in this day and age? And to willingly give up her freedom to another, to say that he had complete control over her, seemed so … medieval. Wrong.
But oh so, so delicious.
She rose from the bed, pulled on a big white T-shirt that fell to the top of her muscular thighs. The window invited her, and she leaned forward, peering out at the night. It was quiet at this hour; a school-night, and the stars were bright in the dark sky, like little beacons towards her dreams.
It was funny; she didn’t really think much about her career, to tell the truth. She just thought about her sexual partners and, maybe, a husband. She’d like to have a job that paid well, something that allowed her to live comfortably, but things didn’t matter as much as safety. Peace.
She looked over her shoulder at the lump asleep in her bed. He offered her nothing. She padded over to the bed and pushed at him.
“Eh … what?”
“You need to go.”
“What?”
“My roommate’s coming back soon,” she lied. She knew that Corinne was spending the night in her boyfriend’s room, but this loser didn’t know that. Right now, Jocelyn wanted to be alone with her thoughts.
“Um … okay.”
He blearily dressed, then attempted to kiss her. She turned her head so that it fell on her cheek. “Good night.”
He shrugged, his eyes hurt. “Tomorrow?” he suggested in the tone that meant he knew she wouldn’t agree. She didn’t care. There was a coldness towards him, even though they had just shared the most intimate of moments. She took no pleasure, no satisfaction in the knowledge that her actions hurt him, but rather pitied him. That seemed worse, somehow.
He moved towards the door. “Bye,” and it was so plaintive that she almost told him he could stay. Almost. She let him leave, then moved back to the window.
Her imaginings began to take hold, and she dreamt …
She ran across the campus, hair flowing behind her, completely naked. Behind her were three boys from a fraternity, all of them large and muscular. Although she was fleet, they caught up with her at the shore of the lake that sat on the edge of the college grounds. One tackled her, rolling to soften the blow, but ending up on top of her, pinning her down. His handsome, young face grinned down at her.
“Gotcha,” he whispered, then leaned down to kiss her. Despite herself, she responded to his fierce buss, her mouth seeking his hungrily, for she was starving for what they offered. Still, her body struggled under his, her bare skin rasping against the fabric of his shirt and his jeans. His sandy hair was long, longer than she would expect someone like him to have. It brushed against her cheek as he pulled away.
“Hold her,” he told the other two. Her hands were restrained above her head by one, one ankle by the other. She kicked with her free foot as he stood, but she didn’t connect. He stood, looking down at her, and slowly unzipped his jeans. His warm brown eyes never left hers.
Jocelyn swallowed, mouth dry. His large member was exposed, and then he dropped back upon her body. She tried to keep her legs together, but it was futile. Between him and the one holding her ankle, he pried her open.
Despite her fear and apprehension, she was sopping wet, so when he plunged into her unprepared depths there was little pain at entry. Her body took over and she matched each thrust with one of her own, her nether regions taking pleasure in the pounding it was receiving. There was something very fulfilling about being used solely for his pleasure, with him taking no concern for her or her needs. His pace was quick, driving, the unskilled sexual ability of a youth. He came with an explosion of breath, then moved aside for the next, switching positions with the fellow holding her foot after rearranging himself.
The second was more brutal than the first, his hands grasping at her soft breast, digging in, and she knew she would be bruised the next day. Despite the outrage at being raped, she welcomed the marks. Honestly, there was little outrage, only pleasure in the thoughtless use of her body. She felt desirable, so desirable, pleased that of all the girls of the party she was the one who had been pursued. She was the one whose clothes came off during the game of strip poker, and she was the one who made these three so hungry for her that in their drunkenness they decided that they had to have her at any cost. Vanity, certainly, but the selfish sensation was no less delightful for it.
She was brought back to her body when the boy atop her bit her lip, hard, hard enough that she tasted blood. The pain alarmed her, and she struggled more honestly now, although it was futile.
“Hurry up,” the third boy urged. “It’s my turn soon.”
The one atop her redoubled his pace, looking down at her. There was a savagery in his eyes that swept her into them, and she felt an orgasm building. She half-wanted it, half-didn’t. It was as if to enjoy what was happening to her was an acceptance of the situation; it was a desiring of the situation.
She didn’t care.
She came, fiercely, and cried out. The two holding her snickered a little at that, but the one fucking her ignored her paeans of pleasure, concerned only with himself. He at last emptied himself into her, burning and hot, a flood of jism that added to that which had been poured into her by the first.
The third was eager, so eager that he fairly leapt upon her body, almost driving her into the ground. The grass pressed against her, cool and damp, and she welcomed his entry. He slid in so easily, because she had been painfully stretched by the two who preceded him, and because she was wet with their and her own juices.
He ground himself into her tender orifice, setting off little sparks of pleasure like fireworks. She sighed, relaxing her body, no longer struggling. She lay there and watched the stars in the deep sky as he had his way with her, relishing in the sensation of helplessness that was brought to her by her hands above her head and her leg restrained. Her breasts ached, and there was a soreness in her snatch brought on by the rubbing of jeans and zippers against her. She didn’t care.
Finally, he finished and then she was released. All three stood there, looking down at her as she lay spread-eagled on the grass, beneath the night sky.
“Damn,” one whispered.
The first boy smiled then, a crooked grin reminiscent of Harrison Ford’s cocky expression. “You liked it,” he told her, almost accusatorily. “You liked it a lot.”
She wanted to deny it, but couldn’t. Her mouth opened slightly, as if she desired a kiss, but she made no move to rise. The first laughed then, a harsh bark, and turned to leave.
“We’ll have you again,” he called over his broad shoulder, while his companions filed away with him. “When you don’t expect it, we’ll have you again.”
As she listened to their laugher and conversation fading into the evening, she moved luxuriantly on the grass, every nerve of her body alight with pleasure.
“I hope so.”
Jocelyn broke from her dream with a start, leaning against the windowsill and breathing hard. She had three orgasms during her reverie, and now her legs were sticky. She drew in a shaking breath, and another.
Just dreams. They were just dreams that wouldn’t ever come true. Worse, they were dreams of violence, of violation; how could she justify them?
Oh, but she could wish, couldn’t she?
And she did. She wished hard.
Once he was gone and from the room, she was left with a sense of emptiness and a vague odor of sex. She sat upon her bed, arms resting on her knees braced on the floor, and reached for the letter on the floor.
It was from her friend Nan, who lived in New York City. They had been closed in high school, but didn’t really get to know each other well until they began to exchange letters and emails. Nan seemed to prefer the old-fashioned method of pen to paper, and her handwriting was smooth and delicate.
It was the contents that made the letters so precious to her. Nan lived a wild, hedonistic life. She was a professional dominatrix and a regular at the Burning Souls Club in the lower East Village. Although she spent her days punishing others to satisfy their craving for release from responsibility, she was herself a submissive and went to the club to be used.
Jocelyn lay back on the bed with her favorite part of the letter:
… So i went into the club on a leash held by Dominick. He had me strip at the door, and i had to enter on all fours. There were people who, after securing His permission, would slap my butt as i moved through the crowded club. There were others like me there, serving slaves, sexual slaves, both male and female. Some were dressed beautifully and others, like me, had no clothes at all.
He motioned, and a drink was brought to Him. He led me towards the back of the bar, where the cries of the beaten could be heard over the rhythmic music. i felt a chill in my stomach that was a combination of fear and anticipation. Oh, Joce, i had no idea of what to expect. i guess that’s the most difficult part of being His, the fact that i can ask no questions, only do what He tells me to do.
He approached the racks, and i shivered. No, not the racks. He delicately helped me to rise, caressed my cheek and lay a soft kiss on my forehead.. i warmed with pleasure while He removed the leash and left the collar on my throat. He raised my hands above my head and affixed them into manacles that were attached to an eyehook. It was so high that i had to stand tiptoe.
Then He pointed, and two women pulled my legs apart and manacled each ankle, and attached them to strong eye-screws in the cement floor, creating a “V” with my legs, exposing my sex and breasts for all to see.
And they did more than see. Dominick turned to the watching crowd, lifted my chin with his finger, and announced, “This is my slave. Tonight, i feel generous. Her snatch is open to any Master or Mistress who wishes their submissive to partake of the delicacies within.”
Despite myself, i was wet immediately from His command. my mouth went dry, and my eyes sought His desperately, pleadingly. He approached me, revealing a swatch of black silk in His hands, which He affixed so that i could not see.
my breathing quickened as He stepped away and I hung there, open for all. my senses seemed to heighten; i could smell people around me, their excitement, the sharp odor of sudden sweat. Their breaths blew upon my skin, and light fingers touched my breasts.
“No,” Dominick’s voice cracked like thunder. “I have told you what may be done. That is all.”
As always, He looked out for me. Still, i tensed when i felt the first small hands on my thighs, the long nails caressing the flesh and raising goose bumps. A tongue flicked out, lightly, and i shivered. There was the sound of flesh being struck, and then my lower lips were parted and the unknown person began to lap at me. It was amazing. i came within seconds, my body convulsing, crying out. All around me, i heard applause and knew that i was on show.
Somehow, that didn’t upset me too terribly. There was a delicious languor about me, as another pleasured me, then another. All in all, i had seven women taste me, and all brought me to orgasm. Some were delicate and gentle, and others were rough and passionate. But Joce, i’ve never been so satiated as i was at that time.
When Dominick took me home that evening, He took me so savagely, so fiercely, that i knew that i had pleased Him. There’s such a peace in that…
Peace. Jocelyn sighed, holding the letter to her full chest. Peace. Would she ever be lucky enough to experience the same peace her friend did? Or was Nan just lucky, able to have everything that she sought in life, while other people had to be content with sharing their juicy lives vicariously?
She thought back indifferently to the boy who had just recently been atop her, and sighed. What she sought wasn’t going to be found in people like him. But where to find it?
Jocelyn Silvers, as usual, was bored. Her hand crept to her full lips as she failed to stifle a yawn, and then returned to its customary position in her lap. She sat at her cubicle, hazel eyes faltering, lids difficult to keep open. She shook her head in a vain attempt to awaken herself, the brown curls of her hair bouncing about her shoulders. It was much shorter than it had been in college, but she was no longer a young girl. She was still full of dreams though, all of them unfulfilled. The incessant ringing of the phones in the center jangled her nerves to breaking, but despite the noise she felt that she could take a nap.
“Tired?” beside her, Billy interrupted the stillness of her lack of reverie, and she turned to him with irritation, and then forced a smile. At eighteen, he was ten years her junior – thin, skin not quite yet clear, but with an engaging grin and bright blue eyes that seemed misplaced in his natural coloring. He was cute in a sweet way, and he reminded her of one of her lovers in college. So open, so fresh. At the time, it wasn’t at all what she wanted, but she was willing to try anything now. She had been through a dry spell sexually, and while masturbation took off the edge, there was no substitute for the feel of someone inside her, someone creating a rhythm of passion that drove her to ecstasy. She didn’t know if she could expect that with Billy, but there was a part of her willing to try.
Amidst the loud buzzing of the phones, she snuck a look at his profile as he answered his. Hers rang and she answered it. She began the rote speak, at then made a moue with her lips when the caller hung up in her ear. She hated that.
“How rude,” she murmured, almost inaudibly.
Her gaze slipped to Billy again. Her imagination, always vivid, began to come to life as she watched him handle his customer with aplomb and an ease that belied his young years. There was something arresting about him, beyond his youth. Her fantasies took over and her eyes clouded as she allowed herself the luxury of daydreaming.
She rose, approached him. “I can’t stand it anymore,” she whispered as she leaned down and unzipped his pants. He sprung forth, hard and huge and ready for her. She was already wet, and pulled her skirt up around her waist, revealing her lack of underwear as she straddled him. He slid into her with ease, and she gasped at the full sensation and almost pain of such a large penis entering her. Shocked, yet obviously not objecting, Billy placed his hands around her waist and began to move her, up and down.
She leaned down to kiss his wide mouth, her tongue exploring his. He was remarkably talented as a kisser, and she felt her passion rise. As she continued her movement, his hands rose to grasp her full breasts, pinching the nipples hard, then caressing the soft, heavy globes.
Around them, her coworkers gathered, watching the show. Some laughed in derision, others stood in disapproval with their arms crossed and eyes hard, but most enjoyed the spectacle of their fellow telemarketer being ridden by the woman who sat next to him and said very little to any of them.
“Whore,” one woman condemned, as Jocelyn quickened her pace, feeling an inescapable sensation rising in her, bringing her closer and closer to completion. “Filthy whore.” The word drove her towards her goal.
“Oh, yes I am,” and then she came, crying out. Billy was brought to the brink by the tightening of the muscles of her vaginal walls around him and her vocal expression of pleasure, and he poured himself into her, fingers digging into her breasts, leaving delicious bruises that would be there for at least a week or so.
Jocelyn sat a moment, the boy still inside her, catching her breath and leaning against his thin chest. His heart was pounding. Finally, she rose, allowed her skirts to drop and faced her coworkers brazenly.
“Nothing more to see here,” she told them, “unless one of you wants a turn?” Her gaze fell on the woman who had called her a whore, a woman who was devoutly religious and critical of everyone around her. “You, Cathy?”
Cathy licked her lips. “I …” Her lusty desire was written on her face, but she couldn’t bring herself to say anything. After all, she wasn’t supposed to feel that anything existed between her legs; of course the heat there was just imaginary. The man closest to her pushed her forward and Cathy gasped as she fell at Jocelyn’s feet and looked up at her. Jocelyn, with Billy’s juices dripping down her thighs, motioned and reluctantly, the woman came forward, her hands reaching upwards under the skirt …
“Hey, Jocelyn, are you alright?” Billy tapped her shoulder, and the woman broke from her imaginings. Ah well, Cathy would have to wait. Many things waited for later. She should write this down, so she could visit them whenever she wished. Other people wrote this stuff, why not her? Of course, her grammar was not the best, nor was her spelling. Maybe she could dictate it to someone. Ha. Like she could afford that.
“Are you alright?” he repeated, and his eyes shone with concern.
“I’m fine, Billy.”
“That’s good. Hey, I have a date tonight!” he was so proud of himself that it was charming, even though she envied him the date. It had been so long since she had one
“That’s nice,” she forced herself to smile brightly, encouraging him. He was a sweet boy. He deserved his date.
“What are you doing tonight?” There was hope in his tone, as if he wanted her to come back with something exciting, something that would equal his date.
Jocelyn sighed ruefully. What did she ever do? She went home, she watched something on the television or a VHS – she couldn’t afford a DVD player on her salary, much less purchase the DVD’s she’d like to have – and then went to bed after masturbating. She got up the next morning, came to this mind-numbing work, and did it all over again. Weekends were more of the same; just insert mind-numbing housework for the mind-numbing work. “I’m just staying in,” she told him. “I don’t have any plans, really.”
“Gee, that’s too bad. You need to get out more,” and then thankfully, his phone rang and he had to answer it. It kept Jocelyn from saying what she wanted to say in response. Get out more? Oh sure, like she wanted to roam around the city by herself, one of those pathetic woman at whom no one looked twice. She could envision herself at the movie theatre, alone, finding solace in a tub of popcorn, or sitting at the bar nursing a drink and looking around hungrily at the men who ignored her, the men who would move in, shark like, to capture the younger and slimmer women who laughed loudly and wore too much lipstick. Ugh. No thank you.
Billy’s practiced answer to his phone was professional and older-sounding than his true age. “Hello, thank you for calling Sell Cell. How many plans will you be purchasing today?”
At least the customers called in instead of the workers having to call out. However, the customers were suckered with wild promises for a cellular plan that was useless unless they purchased the upgrades, the phone and a yearlong service plan. It was Jocelyn’s job to make them buy those upgrades and be happy about it. She loathed her job. People were short with her, and it wasn’t in her nature to push them. In fact, she preferred being told what to do, rather than encouraging people to do something, especially something they didn’t want. She also hated when they snapped at her, or hung up on her. Even though she knew she shouldn’t, she took it very personally.
Get out more. Ha. There was a lot she needed to get, and “out” wasn’t necessarily part of it. Get it in. Get something, get her hunger satisfied.
Her glance fell on the petite Cathy of her fantasies, and her mind wandered yet again …
The older woman came over to her and pulled Jocelyn’s woolen skirt up a bit to reveal her knees. “Open your legs,” Cathy demanded. A slight trembling in Jocelyn’s thighs preceded her following this order, and then the woman crawled under the desk of her cubicle. From there, Cathy ordered, “Turn your chair around – and don’t let anyone know what’s happening.”
Jocelyn did as she was told, then felt Cathy’s hot mouth moving up her legs, past her knees. She drew in her breath, sharply, and Billy looked over at her.
“Quiet …” Cathy hissed, biting the inside of her thigh hard as punishment, her teeth bruising the delicate flesh. Jocelyn almost jumped from the pain, but managed to control her urge to escape.
Her phone rang just as Cathy reached the hot core between her legs and used her fingers to spread the inner lips. “Thank you for calling Sell Cell,” the brown-haired woman said mechanically as she felt a tongue glide along her clit. “How may I help you?”
“I was interested in your special I heard about on the radio.”
“Oh, the buy one get one free?”
“Yes. How long of a service contract does that entail?”
As the man and she discussed the particulars of the offer, Cathy continued her lapping and sucking, inserting a finger into the brown-haired woman’s wet center, twisting it around. Jocelyn felt herself building to climax, tried to control her voice so that it remained even with the man with whom she spoke.
“No, that’s part of the service contract.”
Just then, Cathy sucked hard and Jocelyn went over the crest into paroxysms of pleasure, her hips bucking. Billy looked over knowingly and reached to her breast, twisted the nipple. His touch made her orgasm even more powerful, and she fought to maintain composure as she completed the transaction.
“Thank you for your business,” she concluded, as Cathy crawled out from under the desk and patted her on the head.
“Good girl,” the woman’s lips were glistening with Jocelyn’s juices. “Next time we’ll add the butt plug. You’ll like that.”
Her phone rang and Jocelyn returned to the present. “Thank you for calling Sell Cell.”
“I have a complaint.”
“Let me give you the number to the complaint department; they’ll be able to help you with any problem you have.”
The man’s voice became stringent. “This is the number I called the first time, and I want to talk to the person I talked to then.”
Jocelyn’s sigh was audible. “I understand, Sir, but there’s nothing I can do to help you. This is the sales department. The complaint department is …”
“I don’t want to be transferred again. I’ve already waited over fifteen minutes to get a person.”
Her tone became testy. “I understand that you were in queue for a while, Sir, but that’s not my problem. I can’t help you with a complaint. You’ll be wasting your time and mine. All I can do is transfer you or hang up. It’s your call; it’s your choice.”
“Listen to me, you little bitch, I have rights …”
His voice thankfully faded as Jocelyn hung up on him. She knew that was not the way to handle the situation, but she couldn’t bring herself to listen to him, not when there were such steamy thoughts in her head.
Billy noticed. “Wow, did you hang up on that guy?”
“He called me a bitch,” she told him. She didn’t add the fact that she had been rude, but the guy had asked for it. Didn’t he know that her time was valuable? She couldn’t waste her precious breath on some idiot who wouldn’t listen to reason. At least, that’s what she told herself. It helped to ease the nervousness of what she had done. If her call had been monitored, she was in big trouble.
His voice cracked a little, “That’s not nice. They’re not supposed to call you names. People are mean, sometimes.”
Of course, her call was monitored. Her supervisor came over, his face dark and foreboding. She looked up at him, flashing him a tentative smile that wasn’t returned. His mouth was pursed and he was breathing heavily. Billy’s eyes were wide with sympathy as he turned to answer another call. He knew that she was about to receive another reprimand. So did she.
“Sign off, Jocelyn; we have to talk.” Her supervisor’s voice was curt and no-nonsense, expecting no conflict. She gave him none.