Message-ID: <15672eli$9809280846@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: <URL:http://www.qz.to/erotica/assm/Year98/15672.txt> From: "Sasha Stephens" <november919@hotmail.com> Subject: ST: Domination of Trent [1/n], m/f femdom Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d Content-Type: text/plain Path: qz!not-for-mail Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam Approved: <usenet-approval@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded <story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Story-Submission: <story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Original-Message-ID: <19980928021650.23661.qmail@hotmail.com> The rest of November's stories are available at November's Erotica, a free site: www.geocities.com/SunsetStrip/Underground/3193 _______________________ Domination of Trent(1/1) by November Tuesday He comes to me quietly, as he is supposed to. I see him on the camera, coming down the hall. A dark figure, dark pixels, walking certain, eyes straight ahead. I go to my mirror and paint my lips. Succulent red. I brush out my hair until it falls long in innocent contrast to the leather that is holding my body tight. He rings the bell. I put a dab of joy in the deep cleft between my breasts and one behind my ear. I pick some music, some African drum pieces, some classical, and set them all to shuffle. I press the button for the intercom. "Come in. " I buzz the door lock and wait for another minute or so. In the mirror I am a study in soft and hardness, my lips look like a painting that is smeared, red and wet below hard blue eyes. He hates waiting. I see it on his face when I peek out, he is standing there with his weight on one foot, surveying the room, dark eyes shifting fast back and forth. Restless snake coiling in my gut. Late afternoon sun slants in, heightening the contrast between his black hair, eyes and clothes, and his pale skin. Yet in contrast to his pallor, there is nothing ghastly about him: the tight legs in his jeans, his strong neck, the way his hands rest. He is all flesh and warmth and human. He is beautiful. None of my other clients has this effect on me, and I take it out on him. Maybe that is why he comes back for more once a week, sometimes more. I step out into the light and pretend to ignore his eyes on my body. He is looking at my breasts and inwardly I smile slyly. I can feel my tits, heightened and aware, cupped and held high, nipples restrained by black leather. My waist is tiny in comparison, and also held tight by leather. I feel its pull on my body as I step toward him. I need to do this, focus on the accoutrements, beause sometimes I need them to feel in control, when desire swells in me. Only with Trent. He stares at the line of my underwear, black against my skin, covered by a smoky sheer skirt that swishes back and forth as I walk. My heart feels as if it is trembling.He is looking at me. Then the battle begins again. he wants me. I could tear down the rules and simply have him, kiss him, a person to a person, rather than mistress and slave. I could. I saw him once outside of my "dungeon," at a bar off Bourbon and our eyes met for a long moment of recognition, and although I was overjoyed to see him I kept my gaze steely as I could. That night I thought of him as I lay on the chair, something I had never done before. That night it made me feel closer to him as I came hard, screaming into the dark room. Like ice shards, my voice. "Take off your clothes and sit in the chair." I turn my back on him and go back into my room. I have an antique butler's cart on which I lay a blindfold, and various other accoutrements. A riding crop. Lubricants. Restraints. I cover all of this with a red velvet cloth and push the cart out. He is naked in the chair. I want to stare and stare at his beautiful naked body. But he is staring at me, again at my breasts, looking in my eyes, even, looking at my incongrously bare feet. His eyes are on me like a man who wants a woman. I can't stand it. It is ironic, I smile to myself. I am being restrained and tortured. His skin is gorgeous, legs dusted with dark hair that emphasizes their tightness, hair on his chest that ends and begins again with a dark treasure trail that swirles around his navel before leading down the dark thatch surrounding his thick cock that is curled like an idle serpent. His feet are exquisite, were the roles reversed I would suck and kiss and rub them for hours. His cock is hardening. I ache to have him on me, above me. "Did I give you permission to look at me?" "No." Eyes cast downward over blushing cheeks. He couldn't look at the wall opposite either, since it was all mirrored and my reflection there was visible also. He didn't have much to contemplate other than his pink erection, and this seemed to embarass him more. I reach for a blindfold, and restrict the smile that tightens the corners of my mouth. Sudden flash of how it would feel deep up inside me. I stop smiling, close my eyes for a brief second, and bring the blindfold stealthily over his eyes, pull back, hard, pulling his head back hard against the padded chair. Gasp and startle shakes his chest. I can hear him breathe. Tiny scratched place on his cheek. It is red and irritated. I want to soothe it and, infuriatingly, to kiss it. I hate myself. I pull his arm straight out and shackle it to the end of a chain. Take up the slack, jerk his body hard. Do the same on the other side. I strap his pretty torso with leather to the chair. I spread the legs of the chair. An old dentist chair, modified. So that he can't thrust up, I tie each of his tight, muscled legs just above the knees with more leather. He is silent and dormant in his chair now. I walk across the room, aware of the punctuated tempo of my heels on the parquet floor. The room is an old studio once owned by the New Orleans Ballet. Then, I turn to admire my handiwork. I do this with all my clients, appraise them, and take time to reflect on what I shall do to delight them. With Trent in however, I enjoy this part. He waits patiently, silently, on the chair, not moving a muscle. Now that he is blindfolded i can loosen my role, allow my fantasy to take flight, stare at him with undisguised longing. Now I had him pinned to the chair, stretched and ready for my ministrations. Taut, pale body, sprinkled with dark hair, pink nipples. I walk back to the chair. I stop and stood between his spread legs. It is so quiet that he can my breathing. His sweet blindfolded face is turned up toward me, as if I was some hovering angel delivering the rapture, blinding in my purity. Where to begin.... Suddenly I decide - I am going to make him come today. I've never done this with a client before - well, not intentionally. No, this will be nothing like that elderly man who came off in his shorts as I spanked him. continued in part 2... _______________________ The rest of November's stories are available at November's Erotica, a free site: www.geocities.com/SunsetStrip/Underground/3193 -- +----------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `--------------+ | <story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us> | <story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us> | | Archive site +----------------------+--------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ | <http://www.qz.to/erotica/assm/>----<http://www.qz.to/erotica/assm/faq.html>