Erotic Novels about D/s

 

I enjoy reading erotic novels about D/s, but it seems like they all use the same character and plot model. The Dom is always male, handsome, powerful, controlling and rich. The submissive is always female, young, thin, beautiful, nerdy, innocent, naive, sweet and not rich. It seems like the Dom is the one who teaches the sub about the BDSM lifestyle, not expecting to fall in love with her, but when she gets injured (and it seems like they all get shot, kidnapped, run over, or something), he realizes that he just can’t live without her. They get married, push out a couple of kids, and live happily ever after in a large mansion that includes a kinky playroom.

Maybe I’m not finding the right books, but I’d love to read one where the rich owner of the company is an intelligent, older blond woman who is introduced to the BDSM by a hunky slightly younger male assistant. She is a alpha female control freak who just gets tired of the responsibility and craves the ability to hand control over to a stronger male. Enter hunky male assistant.

I would also love to read a book where both the Dom and sub are in their sixties, still hot for sex, interested in trying new things, but dealing with disabilities that limits some activities. How would they work around that? Actually, I’m working on a story outline for this one myself.

It seems like all Doms and subs in these book are so perfect!! Gorgeous. Healthy. Money galore. At least the sub in the book I’m currently reading as a bad knee, but that’s about as disabled as anyone has been so far.

Do authors write “perfection” because that’s what we wish we were? Much the same way that in porn all of the actors are beautiful, thin, sculpted, and the women all have enormous tits and perfectly colored, hairless pussies? Could both of these be the reason why so many of us who don’t fit thess descriptions feel so insecure?

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Erotic Fantasy

I wrote this several months ago….

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Sitting alone in a hotel room, not knowing what to expect next, I was both afraid and aroused.

It’s not like I didn’t KNOW him. I kind of did, at least online. We had spent a year or two talking, flirting, sexting and had even spent some time on Skype, naked, with mutual masturbation. He was hot, and he thought I was too. A win win situation. So when he finally suggested that we meet, face to face, I was more than intrigued.

When it finally happened, I’m sure we were both nervous. Online chemistry and dynamics can be much different than they are in real life. The first meeting was going to be just coffee, no strings attached, as all BDSM protocols suggest. When we met at the coffee shop there was that awkward moment of not knowing whether to hug or shake hands and ended up doing both. After cups of coffee were brought to us, we settled into a conversation of safe topics; weather, books, mostly mundane vanilla life. And then it got interesting, mostly because his whole body language shifted as well as his expression and voice, which became slower and deeper. He sat up straighter and before when he casually stroked my arm with one finger or touched my hand, he now didn’t touch me at all.

“We need to talk about limits, rules and the procedure.”

I started feel like a medical experiment. It’s not like we’ve never talked about hard limits; we also had exchanged the typical BDSM checklist and discussed it at length. He had prompted me to select a safeword. He quickly ran over all of that again, just to make sure nothing had changed and that I hadn’t changed my mind about a day of play. Yes, I understand, no I haven’t changed my mind. Knowing what he knew of my desires, fantasies, and limits, he then simply asked me to trust him, that he would never do anything that defied my limits or trust of him. Could I do that? I nodded yes.

“No,” he said. “I need to hear you say the word.”

“Yes!”

I then asked him what wanted to me wear and he dismissed the question with a wave of his hand.

“It doesn’t matter, wear whatever you wish.”

And I now knew why, I wasn’t going to be dressed very long anyway.

He listed the steps I was to take the next day; what hotel, what time to arrive, what to bring with me, what to leave at home. I followed the directions to the letter. When I knocked on the hotel room door at exactly 1pm the next day, I was greeted by a woman with brown hair pulled into a bun on the top of her head. She was wearing a red pencil skirt and matching turtleneck sweater and looked like she was someone’s secretary. And she acted like it too. She didn’t smile at me or offer a greeting or a name, just ushered me in the room with hand gesture.

“Take off your clothing and fold them neatly on that chair.”

At first I just stood there. He didn’t say anything about a threesome or about a Domme being part of the play. I was trying to decide if I should just turn around and leave.

“Do I need to repeat the request?”

I turned to glare at her and was tempted to say something snarky, but my curiosity got the better of me and I wasn’t apposed to a threesome or girl on girl action. I stared her in the eye as I took of my jacket and pulled the straps of sundress down my shoulders and let the dress drop to the floor. I wasn’t wearing any panties or bra as I was expecting to strip for him, not her.

She didn’t react one way or another and I tried to not fidget. I stood there naked in front of her for a minute or two until she told me to turn around and put my arms behind my back. I did as I was told and she quickly moved behind me, grabbed my wrists and with a click, placed metal cuffs on me. These were much heavier and stronger than my little toy plastic ones, I sensed I wasn’t going to be able to get out these on my own like I could the toy ones. Before I could object, she pulled a ball gag over my head and forced into my mouth and buckled it tightly around my head. The ball on this one was my bigger than my own, and I immediately started to making gagging sounds from it. She ignored me. I was then pushed to the corner of the bed and instructed to spread my legs out. I watched her rummage through my toy box that I was instructed to bring until she found my black satin sleep mask to use as a blindfold. This mask is pretty solid so that it even covers the ears, which makes sound muffled as well as keeping out all light. At that point I couldn’t see, hear, speak and the thought of even moving seemed out of the question. As I sat there wondering what the hell I had gotten myself into, I heard the door open and close. I had no idea if someone had come in or gone out.

So here I sit… naked, cuffed, gagged and blindfolded. Not sure how long I’ve been sitting here. Patience is not one of my virtues. I strain to try to hear anything at all, voices, footsteps, but nothing but silence. Not total silence, but the buzzing kind like insects far off in the distance. But nothing that feels like the human kind sound.

 

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I wonder if I’ve been set up as a joke, a prank of some kind, and I feel both angry and scared at that prospect. I wonder if I’ll be discovered here by a room maid doing her job. Oh, joy. That will be embarrassing.

As I consider my options of how to get out of here with my pride intact, I hear the door open.. Very quietly, but yes, someone had opened the door. The ball of the gag is so deep in my mouth, I can’t even make a sound, much less call out. Duh, that is the whole purpose of the gag and it does it’s job well.

I stiffen and sit up straighter, wondering who has walked in the room. Was it that woman again? God, I hope not. Is it him? It damn well be. Right at the moment I don’t feel very submissive, and he’s very lucky I’m gagged and cuffed!!

I sit still and wait to see what will happen next, and almost giggle at myself. Not much else I can do, considering my circumstances.

I hear and feel almost silent footsteps coming in my direction. It doesn’t sound like the stiletto heels the woman was wearing and it instinctively feels heavier, like a man. But is it the right man or is this another trick?

I’m so busy analyzing what is happening, that I’m startled when I feel the bed depress as the person sits behind me. It causes me to practically hold my breath. Not a good idea when you are gagged. I feel hands lightly touching my shoulders and stroke down both arms and I get chills and goosebumps everywhere. How can such a simple touch be so arousing? It’d definitely a man’s hands and I can’t explain how I know that, but I do. His hands stroke back up to shoulders and around to my throat with one hand circling my neck. Again, I am so focused on his touch, that I unaware of the metal collar he’s placed around my neck until I hear the double click, of it closing and then locking. My first response to this is fear. Yes, we had talked about it and yes, I fantasized about it, but fantasy and reality are often two different things. I am also aware the in the center of the metal collar is the large metal ring that lies against the skin of my upper chest. It feels hard and cold and I shiver.

His hands come back around to the ring and he tugs on it gently, just enough to let me know it’s there and what it’s for, but not enough to yank me off of the bed. Then his hands roam downward to my breasts and I feel one hand, than the other carefully cup each breast. This I am enjoying. The thought of my large tits his hands makes my cunt wet.

I was starting to feel more submissive and controlled, the feelings I crave, and just I was melting into his hands, when I felt his fingers pull, pinch and twist first one nipple and then the other. I gasped. I groaned. And then I moaned as I felt the pleasurable pain go directly to my clit. I pushed my legs further apart and mentality begged for more.

But I was denied…. His hands released my breasts and he left the bed and I suddenly felt abandoned and tears formed in my eyes behind the sleep mask. No, please don’t leave me again, my soul cried out!

As if he heard me, I again felt a hand cup my breast from front and roughly squeeze it. This time my eyes watered for a different reason. As I gasped for breath, I felt a clamp painfully attach to the nipple. This must be the clover clamp I’ve heard so much about. It’s grip is much more intense than any of the clamps I have in my collection. Just as I pulled oxygen into my lungs through my nose, the other clover clamped down on my other nipple. I remember being told by one play partner… “you’ll love it”. I’m not so sure about that. The pain was almost overwhelming and I was tempted to say my safeword, if only I could say my safeword. And then it hit me: Oh shit, I’m screwed. I am totally at his mercy. Will he honor my hard limits? Will he be able to tell when I can’t handle anymore?

I didn’t have much time to worry about my predicament, because the next thing I heard as a click of metal against metal and then felt the cold links of a dog leash resting between my breasts. I had been collared and leashed. Would he make me crawl on my hands and knees too? As I contemplated this new thought, he yanked on the chain connecting the clover clamps on my tits and I felt him pull them together so that my nipples were almost touching each other and then felt the pull of my very own fishing weights attached with an S-hook holding the clamp chain together, which pushed my breasts together in what I was sure was a spectacular cleavage, complete with dog chain down the middle. With that, he pulled on the leash, pulling me to my feet as I practically cried out in pain.. The leash pulled on the nipple clamp chain which pulled the clamps on my nipples even tighter.

He led my awkwardly from the bed around the room… without eyesight, without the use of my hands, and unable to speak when it occurred to me that he had not said one word to me. It was like I wasn’t a person, but truly a toy.. A fuck toy. As much as that should have angered me, outraged me, it did just the opposite, which surprised me. I was incredibly excited on by this idea. I’ve always hated being ignored, but this totally turned me on and I could feel my pussy juices trickle down my inner thighs. He led me in circles around the room and I silently prayed the kink gods that he would not open the door and parade me naked and bound down the hotel hallway. In my fantasies that would have been desirable. But in real life, oh, please kink god… don’t let him do that!!

I soon realize he is walking me in circles within the room and I start to relax a little, until suddenly we come to a stop and he spins me around and pushes me against a table or desk or something. I wasn’t able to get the lay of the land when I first came into the room, so I didn’t notice what other furniture was in the room or what all was on the furniture. Now this next part causes me a huge embarrassment… I am a plus size girl, with a saggy tummy to match my saggy tits. While I’ve come to appreciate my tits, I can’t say the same about my tummy, and I could feel my face turn shades of crimson when he reaches down to lift my belly up and place it on the table. Damn! It’s my ass that I want shared of red, not my face!! It doesn’t help that my tummy is damp and it literally glues my body to the table top. If I wasn’t blindfolded, I would close my eyes and cringe at this thought. He next grabs the hair on the back of my head and yanks on the leash which pushes and pulls chest down to the top of the table and jams my tits down on… on what? Could it be? Finally something I really really want? Oh, fuck yes,.. It is!! On the top of the table is scattered thumb tacks with the points facing up. This is my favorite tit torture of all time. With my nipples still squeezed by the clover clamps, he shoves my breasts hard down onto the tacks and I can feel the tip of each nipple being embedded with the tip of a tack. I practically cum just from that excitement alone. He then pulls on the leash and I can hear him wrap the chain around the table leg in back. After that he quickly cuffs each ankle of my leg to a table leg using my black velcro cuffs. I am immobile, attached to the table and I’m not going anywhere fast.

Now this is my idea of bondage, but I have no way to telling him how much I approve. Then I remember, it doesn’t matter if I approve or not. I’m his fuck toy, to be used anyway he wishes. This is for his pleasure, not mine. So I’ll just keep it to myself about how much I’m enjoying all this.

Just as I breathe a satisfied sigh of relief, I feel a WHACK on my backside. I flinch, jump and fall back onto the tacks harder this time, which makes me gasp loudly… just about the only noise I’ve been able to make. Okay, NOW my ass will be as red as my face! Are you happy, girl??

I try to brace myself for the next assault on my butt, but, 🙂 with my hands cuffed tightly behind me, that’s nearly impossible to do. He also varies the strikes, sometimes they are hard and painful, other times they are softer, almost stroking my ass. Strike and stroke… makes so a girl can’t anticipate what is coming next (other than me that is). By now I have lost track of time and the count of spanks I’ve received, but I am just starting to settle in a rhythm and beginning to enjoy this, seeing the door to subspace in my mind’s eye, when spanking stops. He seems able to gauge when I want more and stops it like a form of orgasm denial.

It’s quiet for a few seconds, maybe minutes and then I feel a hand pull the ball gag away from my mouth and down around my neck. There is drool all along my chin and on the tops of my boobs, but no saliva in my mouth, or so it seems. I lick my lips a bit and feel a slight cramp in my jaw, when suddenly the blindfold is ripped off my head as well. I blink in the bright light and when I can finally focus again, I see the tip of a very hard and very erect penis just an inch from my mouth. And finally he speaks…

“I thought you’d like to see what will be rammed down your throat… but before that happens… lick the tip.”

Being the dutiful sub that I am, I obey and do as I am told. I licked the tip of his dick and then I licked it again. I love the taste of a hard cock. Who am I kidding. I love the taste of a soft cock. I love the smell, the feel, everything about having a man’s penis in my mouth. As he held on to my hair at the back of my head, I wrapped my lips around the head of his dick and could taste the beginnings of his pre-cum. I sucked him deeper into my mouth and let him slide back out again, and sucked him back in again. My mouth was the only part of my body that I had any type of control and I was determined to enjoy every minute of it. I felt his cock slide back into my hot, soft, now very wet mouth, and slide back and forth along my tongue, bringing him in deeper and deeper each time. I wanted to move my head around as I sucked him, but his hands tangled in my hair wouldn’t allow me that privilege, so I tried to be content with just in and out, in and out, oh my god, I was enjoying this probably more than I had a right to. Until at one point, he shoved his cock all the way in and down my throat and held my head there. My gag reflex kicked in and I gagged and panicked, my eyes watering. I willed myself to breathe through my nose, but all I got was the musky smell of his very aroused crotch.

He then pulled out just long enough for me to take a deep breath and rammed his dick back in my mouth and down my throat again, repeating this measure three times before holding my head still, until I felt his cock throb in my mouth just before he shot his load down my throat in several strong spurts. Then he let go of my head and slowly pulled out of my mouth. With tears running down my cheeks and his cum dribbling down my chin, I looked up at him.

“Good girl.”

Oh, man, does every submissive live for those words, or is just me? I blinked away the tears and smiled.

“Thank you, Sir….” I croaked out.

By now I had totally forgotten that my tits were stuck to tacks and that my nipples no longer had any blood in them, I had pleased a Dom, and I was happy. But apparently he wasn’t done with me yet.

Once he regained his equilibrium, he moved back down to my ass, and I laid my cheek against the tabletop. I then felt his finger running up and down the crack in my butt and realized it was wet. When he then pushed the finger into my little rosebud (what an old boyfriend use to call my asshole), I knew why it was wet… lube. Oh, fuck… what is he going to do now? He pushed his finger up to the first knuckle and then the second. I moaned, I groaned, I whimpered. When he wiggled his finger inside of me, I gasped. He pulled out his finger and then pushed the bigger of my two glass butt plugs deep into my ass. Now I love the smaller one, it’s exciting, arousing and it’s comfortable. The bigger one is a challenge as it stretches me out more and is more painful and I realized that was the whole point.

Once the plug was securely installed in my ass, I could see out of the corner of my eye that he was surveying my butt.

“You have a nice ass, slut… big, round, soft, but it’s missing something. Oh, yeah, it’s not red enough!”

I then noticed he something in his hand… it was a tan suede flogger with wooden beads on the end of each strand. OMG! Now that isn’t mine. While I had been flogged in the past with leather, never with one that had beads on it. Could I handle this? I guess there was only one way to find out. Since I was no longer gagged, I knew I could use my safeword if I had to, but I was bound (slight joke there) and determined to not use it.

“You will count each strike and if you lose count, we will start all over again. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Sir”

I braced myself for the first strike. I knew this would be worse than the bare handed spankings earlier.

The first one hit and I felt stunned.

“Well?”

“O-o-one”

Another hit.

“T-t-t-two”

Only two hits and I was ready to say enough.

“Th-th-three”

And then it seemed like the hits were softer, lighter.. Was he taking it easier on me or was I getting use to strikes? With each one, I craved another one and then another, and before long the counting was automatic and felt myself slip into subspace. I have no idea when the flogging stopped and when I finally re-entered my body, I heard him say…

“Now you little whore.. I’m going to fuck you so hard….”

All I could do is smile….

What If Food Was Dirty And Sex Was Clean?

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When you think of it, there are only two things you need to make people. You got to have sex. You got to have food. That’s it. You don’t need clothing, shelter, or TV. Okay, maybe TV, but otherwise, it’s sex and food.

But for some reason, sex is “dirty”.

Somebody said, “All right, you want to propagate, go ahead, but only late at night, with all the doors closed, the lights off, the man on top — once a week, and that’s it.”

But not only can you eat the charred decaying flesh of other major mammals, you can do it in broad daylight and invite all your friends to watch:

“Hey, Chuck, why don’t you come over on Sunday? We’re going to kill a pig, cut him up, burn him, and eat him. Bring the kids. We’ll have a hell of a time.”

What if they had been switched around? What if, through a simple twist of fate, sex was clean but food was dirty? Our entire culture would change. Food would become a four-letter word.

When people got angry at you, they’d yell out “Oh yeah? Well, food you. Suck cheese you Popsicle slurper.”

Punks in passing cars would flip you the fork.

Flashers would have pizzas strapped to their chests. “Ohmigod. It’s a pepperoni.”

Locker room talk would change. “Hey, man, how’d you do this weekend?” “Two burgers and a bag of fries. Crinkle cut.”

“Ooooohhhhhhh, sweet!”

Garlic would be illegal in most Southern states.

Supermarkets would check I.D.’s and charge admission to the poultry section.

Frederick’s of Hollywood would feature peekaboo napkins and day-of-the-week paper plates.

Foreplay would be listed as a menu selection.

Vice squads would conduct raids on backyard barbecues. “All right, put down your meat. Just back away from the buns, mister.”

Vegetarians would be prohibited from becoming teachers and a lot of them would move to the Bay Area.

Hookers would become cooks. You’d be accosted on street corners by plump ladies in day-Glo aprons. “Hey, big boy, looking for a hot meal? Wanna crack some crab?”

Many sexual positions would be found to be carcinogenic.

Parents would tell their children not to play with their food or they’ll go blind.

And most of all…

Kids would remember the first time their mother caught them marinating.