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Slowly, he began removing her clothing, his hand gently caressing her soft skin. She moaned lightly as his hands reached beneath her top and massaged her breasts. Her legs parted instinctively as he explored beneath her lacy briefs. She glanced into the mirror above them and studied the immense contrast between her petite body against his naked Adonis form.

Soon her clothing lay in a crumpled pile beside the bed. The room was hot and steamy, and their bodies glistened with moisture. He stood in front of her, held her hands above her head, and told her to kneel down. As she descended, her tongue quietly explored his muscular chest. Lower and lower she went, until her mouth engulfed the tip of his erect manhood.

He moaned with delight as he held her arms apart and shackled them to fur-laced handcuffs dangling from the ceiling. He removed himself from her, took her nylons from the floor, and gagged her. The ankle shackles on the edges of the bed quickly held her legs apart. He then lotioned her body and his with baby oil, his fingers exploring her curves and penetrating her crevices of desire. Her sounds of ecstasy were getting louder, but still muffled by her gag.

He took an artificial phallus from the hot water, and beginning at her mouth, slowly moved it downwards. It moved past her neck, down between her breasts, and past her navel. She closed her eyes in anticipation of the piercing of her womanhood. Instead, he only slightly parted her now moist lips. Slowly but firmly he inserted the warm, pulsating rod into her other orifice. Her gasp of surprise soon turned into sounds of desire as he plunged it deeper and deeper while several fingers of his other hand stimulated her tunnel of love. Her body squirmed in pleasure, but her movements were futile against the chains that bound her.

When she had been filled, he again moved in front of her and positioned himself. He entered her slowly, savoring how easy her juices have made the entry. Her breathing and gasping were getting heavier, in rhythm with his powerful thrusts. His hands roamed her body, squeezing her breasts mercilessly and pulling and twisting the phallus stuffed into her.

Her arms and legs fought a useless battle against the shackles that held her open to his pounding, now faster and deeper. She thrashed about wildly, becoming one with the chains that bind her. She exists only to please as he ravages her with ever increasing intensity. Her screams of joy crashed through the ball tied tightly between her lips.

The room was spinning as she threw her head back and looked up. In the dream-like image above she saw a slave, bound and gagged, under complete control of her master. He was rewarding her virginity with the most sinful pleasure. He too was in a spinning room, his body tight and shone with sweat. All his essence was entering and leaving her. Finally, with a yell of triumph, he shot into her deepest regions, his juice mixing with hers. She let out a last, exhausted moan, overwhelmed by the fires that pierced her.

He held her close for a moment, then withdrew from her. He took the second phallus from the hot water and with one hand rammed it completely into her while the other pushed the first all the way in. Through the gag she begged him to stop. A leather strap was tied around her waist, and a second strap looped from front to back. The rods that continued to heat and vibrate are now held in. With another series of straps her breasts were held up and tied. He then took three small chains, all connected at one end. At the ends of the chains are clamps. Two clamps grip her nipples, while the third grips her clitoris. He turns off the lights and leaves the room, to attend to his next slave.

She is now left in the darkness, still chained and gagged, with the rods moving deeper into her and the clamps tightening their grip. Her body glistened like an angel, her arms and legs held apart as if she was in flight. She writhed and moaned uselessly, feeling the build-up of the tidal wave about to wash over her. As moans of delight drifted in from outside, she closed her eyes to fantasize what must be happening in the other rooms.

–end–

anonymous author

I remember the good old days of flying, when the great 747 fleet first graced the skies. It was the peak of the jet age and the world looked on us as the elite of the elite. We set the standard by which all commercial flying was judged. I recall how honoured I was the day I received my flight attendant wings, my first flight, my promotion to purser. Ahh yes, the past was beautiful. No low budget airlines, no TWA scabs, no imminent fear of bankruptcy. We flew with pride and proved our service was the best. I worked the New York to Frankfurt run as often as I could. Of course, that one day still stands out strongly in my memory.

We were late boarding for the flight. I had gone from the plane into the passenger waiting area. There I noticed him for the first time. He was so handsome — tall, brown hair, high-cheek boned with deep blue eyes and manly tanned face. His mustache accented his perfect smile. Our eyes met. I felt like a school boy who is having the first crush on his teacher. As I walked back to the plane, I glanced back at him only to find him looking at me, grinning like someone with a secret he is aching to tell. I notice he was tall and well framed, even in his business suit.

I returned to my post in the first class cabin and waited to see if he would be seated near my position. Alas, he was not amongst the first class group. I sighed as we closed the doors. One of the stewardess in the aft of the economy cabin called me to come to the rear galley. I carefully checked each passenger as I walked down the aisle, trying to give the appearance that I was inspecting seat belts when in reality I was looking for him. I was perplexed as I failed to find him. The disappointed look disappeared from my face as I walked back towards the first class cabin. There, in seat 23A, was my handsome stranger.

“Excuse me,” he asked, “but what is the flying time to Frankfurt?” I laughed and replied with the 7 and 1/2 hour flight time along with the complete routing that flight 66 would be taking that evening. He thanked me and as I told him I hope I could be of service to him during the flight, he chuckled saying, “I’m sure you will be.”

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Once again Jim found himself climbing the stairs to Carol’s 27th Street apartment. Several weeks ago he had attempted to wrestle Carol, but only ended up submitting to painful holds – the dreaded Boston crab, a combination body scissors/headlock where Carol completely shut down his breathing, and a deadly sleeper that sent him temporarily to dreamland. Despite his poor performance in Carol’s clutches, Jim was thrilled with the experience in retrospect. His life-long fantasy of being physically dominated and tortured by a beautiful woman had certainly been realized in spades. Jim had made a return appointment with Carol on the spot, and today he was keeping that date.

The beautiful Carol greeted Jim warmly and ushered him into the apartment, which was equipped with wrestling mats as before. This time the six-foot blonde was dressed in a shiny spandex “catsuit,” which left little concerning her anatomy to the imagination. She was so luscious that Jim’s palms seemed to itch in his eagerness to get his hands on her.

“You like?” she cooed, turning and showing off her body. “I just got this little number last week. It’s great for wrestling – guys get so involved in looking at me that they forget what we’re doing. Makes it real easy to trap ’em!”

Jim gulped, imagining how he would soon be trapped that way!

“You know, Jim,” added Carol, “you really didn’t do very well against me last time. Were you really trying?”

“I sure was! You’re just a damned good wrestler. Anyway, what excites me the most is being forced to submit to your holds. I’m not really into defeating a woman – I enjoy being dominated.”

“Well, you’ve certainly come to the right place! Like I think I told you last time, I really get off on using my body to make a man beg for mercy! Tell you what – I’ll stress really punishing you today. How’s that?”

“Sounds great! Just don’t kill me!”

“What? And lose a good customer – No way! What I will do, though, is pour on the pressure until you say the magic word. Let’s use ‘mercy’ as a safe word. Don’t forget it!”

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It all started when I was working for the City Department of Corrections, where the corrections department only took young adults under the age of 19 years old. Needless to say, there were some really nice looking girls coming in to stay awhile, and my job was to supervise these girls and try to keep them out of trouble.

One night I had the 12:00 am to 8:00 am hell shift (some of the staff hated it) but that night I loved it. There is a policy that we have to abide by which say we have to check all the rooms every hour to make sure everybody is in bed, asleep or at least in their rooms. Since I came in at 12:00 am, I waited until 1:00 am to check all eight rooms. It doesn’t take very long to walk the halls and peep in the rooms.

I proceeded to walk down the hall and checked the first three rooms on the right side of the hall and then worked my way back up the left side. Once I got to the left side, I opened the door of Amber Halls’ room. I peeked in and noticed that her bed was empty. Not a soul was there. I flipped the light on and searched behind the door but still no Amber. I became nervous real fast since this was my shift and I couldn’t see having a runnaway on my shift.

I closed the door and walked up to the staff office and was going to make a call to the Director. As I opened the door, I saw Amber – 18 year-old sweetheart with sandy blonde hair, aqua blue eyes and this wonderful slender body – all muscle – not an inch of fat on this girl. She was standing there with her head cocked to one side and her tight little panties riding her ass. She just looked at me and rolled her tongue around the edge of her lips like she really wanted to suck my already hard cock.

She approached me and gently grabbed the seam of my zipper and unzipped my bulging pants. I was so hot that I could have shot my load in my pants. The experience was too much to handle. I reached around her waist and clutched her tight little butt and rubbed her smooth virgin ass. She was making moaning sounds and whispering under her breath -“fuck me, ohhh, fuck me.” I knew right then I had to slide my sausage in her tight box and fuck her brains out.

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Unlike so many of the bawdy houses of Amsterdam, the building bore no signs. In fact, as I stood in front of the chipped, black door marked #12, I almost thought it was all a practical joke. What did I know was that Hazraj, the strange Turk who, in drunken friendliness at the hotel bar, had insisted, “A whore’s a whore all over the world. You don’t need to visit Amsterdam for that. But…the Anal Sex Circus! There is not another anywhere.”

I rang the bell. Was this really the place — or was he having a joke at the expense of a white British tourist? When the door slowly opened, I realized that he was indeed a friend! Stepping into the interior of the townhouse, it was a though I had stepped through tent flaps and into the most opulent carnival ever.

There was actual sawdust on the floor. The air smelled of beer and popcorn. The big main room had concession stands where they were selling popcorn — delicately laced with hashish – and white cotton candy, also drugged. Beer and liquor were being sold by men in straw hats, red vests, and white striped shirts.

Garish rotary lights whirled a dizzy array of greens and reds into the air. Semi-nude women — black, Asian, and white — escorted the various men as they ate, drank, and laughed uproariously. In different languages, a barker in a derby hat shouted at the back of the room, “Hurry, hurry. Step right up! Come, Come, Come to the Anal Sex Circus!”

If the mad Turk Hazraj had not been so explicit in his description of the place, I don’t know what my reaction to this bizarre spectacle might have been. A beautiful Eurasian girl glided up to me. I ordered a cafe pousse at the bar. In American money, it cost me about $20. I was going to order one more for my “hostess” but reconsidered: “You wouldn’t drink, would you? Just water one of these plants with it.” I slipped her $20 cash instead. “Let’s call it a contribution to the continuing survival of horticulture.”

She dutifully explained the “play” at the Anal Sex Circus. After I finished the drink, I walked back to the back of the room where a man, dressed in imitation of an American carnival barker, guarded the entrance to the upstairs rooms. I bought two tickets ($100 each) which entitled me to see two “shows” of my choice. The tickets were actually more like plastic credit cards.

With insane calliope music blaring down the corridors of this two-story townhouse turned madhouse, I made my way upstairs. In the old carnival midways, you’d walk along seeing the posters for the midgets and fire eaters and freaks. You’d pay to go into the tent to actually see them perform. Here, there were rooms. On each gold-curtained door was a picture of the girl within.

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