Short Takes

[Chuckdom19]

Old swordsman get to be that way by being very good?

Mad

He who fights and runs away lives to fight another day.

Chuck

[Mad Lews]

Two pairs of hands guide me forward, and I mount the stairs leading to the stage. The blindfold is still in place but I know what lies ahead, it was already set up when we arrived, the eight-foot high tripod commands the center of the stage. The hands stop me and unhook the cape that covers me from neck to thigh. It carelessly drops to the floor. My breath becomes shorter, faster.

They applaud though they have seen me naked before. They saw me transformed as I knelt naked at your feet. Now, nearly naked in just a garter belt, stockings, and my ever so sensible Cuban heels, I am on display for them. They applaud in appreciation.

This is more than a private transformation for my lover; this is panic filled breathing as strangers drink in my nudity. Their eyes claim me. I feel a trembling dread as I become theirs for this moment, prey to their whims. The applause slowly fades. They are ready. I'm not sure I'm ready but I vow I won't embarrass you.

The two pairs of unseen hands turn me away from the impatient crowd and I feel the heat of spotlights on my back. They walk me forward until my feet nudge the metal crosspiece that braces the long legs of the tripod, The rod is about three inches off the ground which allows me to slip my feet underneath it, two points of support, a hard piece of reality. It's comforting.

My thoughts are coming in quick gasps now, rapid and scattered like my breath. All too soon these flickering thoughts will be forcefully driven away and I will only feel. Now I can feel a sheen of sweat forming along my back even as I shiver. The fur-lined cuffs that have held my hands bound behind my back are uncoupled, but only to bring my hands forward. The two men separate. The one in front of me gathers up my hands pulling me forward as he raises my arms toward the chain that dangles from the peak of the tripod. I'm forced forward: my balance shifting, breasts swaying and my upper body tips downward only to be pulled up short by the length of chain. The other man steps behind me, his hands grasp my naked hips, but his only interest is to steady me, to keep me from falling forward.

It is disconcerting to have these two men handle my body with such indifference. A woman should be lusted after when she is naked and helpless in the hands of men. If their Mistress gave them the slightest signal they would both instantly ravage me, pummeling my depths with enthusiasm while my helpless body is buffeted between them. They would do this to me, not for their own pleasure and certainly not for mine, but only for the enjoyment their Mistress might derive from my plight. I shudder. It is not something that I really need to fear. You would never allow it. I'm not sure if my shudder is actually for the ephemeral desire, or the guilt for the cravings that pass through me.

I envy these two men that bind me. I envy them the discipline they possess and the discipline they endured to gain it. I smile inwardly knowing that I envy two slaves as only another slave might. My wrists are secured and the men move away.

The chain is attached running up along the front of each cuff. I grasp the cold links pulling them hard against my palms. The chain supports my upper body's weight. It becomes another bit of cold reality. This too is comforting. I adjust my footing keenly aware that my torso and hips rock seductively as I sway.

There will be forty lashes; I've handled that before. The club has its rules. Only my shoulders and bottom will be struck. I wish it were happening already. Why do you make me wait?

Chairs scrape against the hard wood floor, more people gather to watch me perform, someone coughs. They wait impatiently too. Are they eager to hear my anguished shrieks as the flogging makes me writhe in agony? Undoubtedly. Will you want to wring those screams from me as I twist and turn under your lash? Dark panic and thick sickening fear engulf me as I realize I don't know.

I will not, I can not, fail you.

A recollection of my lovers' words "You will follow my lead. It is up to me to show them your beauty." Relief, a weight is lifted with the memory. A flicker of a smile crosses my face with this newfound certainty. No need to worry. You will lead me. It is another present you've given me, like my safe word. A precious gift that you bestowed for me to cherish but I know I will never need to use it. I hope you chooses the crop, it will hurt a little more than the nine-tailed cat but the crop is much more accurate and precise, a far easier lead to follow.

The crowd is making restless noises, I strain to hear your approach but I can only hear my own ragged breathing and the wild beating of my heart. A hand, your hand, reaches over and brushes against my swaying side. I gasp joyfully. You are beside me now, so close I can feel your body's heat. Your hand brushes along my back and over the curve of my squirming bottom. Unbidden, moisture seeps between my lower lips and my body quivers at your touch. Surely you can smell my desire as you bend closer. I feel the flat leather straps casually caress my thigh. Your free hand is beneath me now running along my quaking belly, smoothing, petting, and preparing as it descends.
It is too much; I want you, no need you, to begin. My heart thumps louder and I can barely hear your whisper before you step back.

" Shall we dance?"


© 2005 Mad Lews

Well it's actually ripped out of a story I'm working on but no one else was posting here so why not?
Mad

[Chuckdom19]

Mad,
Excellent short-short. Builds to the peak of emotion, and leaves you wanting more.
Anxious to see the whole story!
Like the new avatar, too. Looks like the way I picture you in my mind.
Chuck

[Chuckdom19]

Too Much, Too Soon

Dian had yet another drink paid for. That was why she came to bars; not for the drinks, but for the control her beauty gave her over men. And she knew well of the effect, as she had developed it over many years.
The child of a strict religious upbringing, Dian had walked away from her family and faith at 18. She had been Class President, Head Cheerleader, Valadictorian, and Team Mascot. She had also been voted by her female peers as the "Girl Most Likely To", but by her male classmates as "Class Tease". Although she acted and dressed the part of most likely to, she never had.
That changed, of course, when she struck out on her own. Her six-foot frame carried a mane of red hair which shifted on the breezes down to her waist. Her vivid green eyes looked with disdain at the men appreciating her 42C-25-38 figure, especially when she wore the leather outfits she preferred. They attracted men; men who thought they could control her.
She was 25 now, and nobody had ever controlled her. She invited them to her home, tripped them and slid on the cuffs and gag. Teasing them with her body, pulling the zippers down just so far, she would display her deep cleavage and a whisp of red curls while she spanked them and cropped them, promising the moon, but never delivering. Then, when the victims were hard-cocked and begging, she would film them masturbating in front of her, laughing all the time. Concerned about the videos, the men would never return.
Dian would venture out again the next night, to once again get her jollies teasing the men. But tonight she made a mistake, for she had played the game once too often. She walked into the bar, and it fell silent. Preening herself, thinking she was in the spotlight of a room full of anxious men, she inched the zipper down yet again, ready to engage in her personal diversion once more.
The bartender flipped on all the cleaning lights, and began to close the shades. Near the door, the lock was flipped and two men stood to block it. All the other exits, even to the toilets, were blocked as well.
Her victim from the night before, a broad-shouldered blonde giant with a beard who she had said looked like a goat stood in mid-room, facing her. Other men gathered, and she realized with a start that all had been her victims in the past.
"Hello, Dian," he said softly. "Tonight it will be the men who direct the game, not the tease. We're ready to make you finally pay up on all the promises you've made with your words, and with your body. Now strip!"
Odd, she thought. The "Now Strip!" had been echoed in unison by the rest of the men, just the way she said it to her victims. Not that they would see her, of course, tonight or ever. Nobody ever did. She turned and tried to leave, but the two men at the door grabbed her by the upper arms and made her turn around. Another, one she had especially humiliated because he was sunken chested, weak chinned, and had a tiny cock, reached up and pulled her jacket zipper to the waist. She tried to kick him away, but he had expected that and danced out of range of her feet.
A dozen or more grabbed her by the leathers and tore them from her. Her underclothes were torn away and she was taken over to a table where several ties had been used to make bonds for Dian. Bound quickly on her back, her arms were bound straight out, while her legs were tied so her heels were against her bottom cheeks, then spread widely. All the intimate secrets she'd hidden since menarche were displayed for all the lusting, angry men she had victimized.
The little man who had unzipped her was given first crack at her, and he was shocked to find his cock red with virgin blood. He was followed by all the men in the place, raping one hole or the other until they were played out.
By this time, Dian was deep in shock. She'd never experienced intercourse before, and certainly not anal! Hoping that it was over, she held still as the men lifted her from the table. But no, they retied her hands and hung her from the hook they used for the punching bag or tackling dummies that decorated the place for sporting events.
Two men approached her; one with a heavy whip, one with a stiff cane. They began to beat her with it, continuing until their arms were tired, and turning the weapons over to another pair who kept on, and so forth. Repeatedly asked if she surrendered to them, she said, "Where are the real men who want to hurt me? You weaklings just tickle!" Her attitude stayed with her to the last, eventually she could answer no longer, as the damage from the rapes and beatings had killed her.
Dian's soul, of course, spent no time waiting for St. Peter: her lifetime of cruelty had long ago condemned her to become a minion of Hell, suffering all the torments of the damned.
The Imps and Demons enjoyed their work with her, as she had brought her attitude along and sassed them without stop. Finally, the Chief Tormentor was called to make this soul suffer, and he presented her with the worst he could imagine (far too evil and horriffic to describe, gentle reader; you must use your imagination).
The deeds were done, and yet she resisted. Satan was summoned himself.
King of Liars, Eater of Souls, he approached her soul in all his fearful glory. Even the Chief Tormentor fell back, awed by his terrible visage.
"How do you resist the surrender you must make here?" he asked.
Her response? "Where's the real torment? This just tickles!"

Copyright 2005 chksng19

[Mad Lews]

Too Much, Too Soon

The deeds were done, and yet she resisted. Satan was summoned himself.
King of Liars, Eater of Souls, he approached her soul in all his fearful glory. Even the Chief Tormentor fell back, awed by his terrible visage.
"How do you resist the surrender you must make here?" he asked.
Her response? "Where's the real torment? This just tickles!"

Copyright 2005 chksng19

Nice story, no I guess nice is the wrong word...Good, nope well I'd have to say we're witnessing the dark side of Chucky Who would of thunk it?
Mad

[Mad Lews]

Mad,
Excellent short-short. Builds to the peak of emotion, and leaves you wanting more.
Anxious to see the whole story!
Like the new avatar, too. Looks like the way I picture you in my mind.
Chuck

Well Chuck when I write like that, female 1st person present tense I tend to slip up on the tense occasionally. Something deeply Freudian there I suppose, so I suspect a cheap editor might get to see it first.
Volunteers?
Mad Lews

[Ruby]

Great stories, sirs.

Mad Lews - you did fine writing as a female. Very fine. The pacing was excellent, the tension just right, the tease...oh, you naughty boy. I am so ready for that dance!

Chuck - whoa - what a surprise. Not about your darkside, but in this tale of temptress who I thought would break and fall, but surprised me all the way through. They say revenge is a dish best served cold, but I'm not sure that you could get much colder than this be-itch.

Encore, Encore!

[Mad Lews]

Great stories, sirs.

Mad Lews - you did fine writing as a female. Very fine. The pacing was excellent, the tension just right, the tease...oh, you naughty boy. I am so ready for that dance!

Chuck - whoa - what a surprise. Not about your darkside, but in this tale of temptress who I thought would break and fall, but surprised me all the way through. They say revenge is a dish best served cold, but I'm not sure that you could get much colder than this be-itch.

Encore, Encore!

Well shucks Ma'am
I thank thee for your kind words but perhaps we might persuade you to add a short tale of your own when time permits Ruby.
Not that we are greedy or anything...
again thanks for the high praise
Mad

[Ruby]

Mad Lews - Since you asked so nicely. :-)

Readers of Blood and Betrayal: Taking an Amazon will remember that Danielle spoke of a shadow master in her past. This excerpt is from the series that tells her story and isn't ready for publication. Enjoy!

Danielle's Shadow Master

“Pet!”

Her master’s voice boomed across the small cottage. Danielle trembled with fear. She couldn’t hide from his anger. It reached out for her, surrounding her and she gasped for breath.

“Come to me!”

Danielle crawled out from behind the kitchen table. She was hungry and he had forgotten to feed her again. She’d almost made it to the kitchen, where her bowl of water and food were on the floor. Almost wasn’t close enough and he wasn’t asleep like she thought. She didn’t ask for permission and he would find that an excuse to punish her. Not that he needed an excuse.

Her stomach growled and he laughed in understanding. The laugh was ugly, hurtful. In the last few weeks, she had come to hate the laugh of her shadow master. Wearily, she crawled across the wooden floor. It was difficult, because her wrists were bound with a thick leather strip and she had little space between them. Walking was forbidden and another punishable offense.

“Faster, Pet. You will beg for your dinner.”

Danielle caught a quick glimpse of herself in the full length mirror and almost spoke aloud. That would not have been a good thing. She was frequently beaten for speaking, because her master didn’t like the sound of her voice. How she looked astonished her. The bruises and welts on her naked body weren’t much of a surprise, but the unhealed bite marks on her neck, back and shoulders made her shudder. He was drinking from her, yet he had stopped healing her as a further punishment and reminder that she would never be good enough for him.

By the time she made it to the bed, he was standing. His naked body was hard and thick with his lust. Her shadow master always wanted her and his cock could be as punishing as any other weapon. His body was strong, muscular, a warrior’s body shaped to perfection.

Perhaps in another time and place she would have found him attractive. Maybe she used to. He was certainly handsome, she remembered that, but Danielle wasn’t allowed to raise her eyes or look at him. Pets had to earn the privilege and she wasn’t a good pet. She could never please him.

She kissed his feet and put her face to the floor. She was prepared to beg, but even that required permission. His cool hands touched her back and she shivered. Not enough food combined with the constant blood loss caused her to have a difficult time maintaining any body heat. Danielle felt as if she had been cold forever. Maybe she was becoming as cold as his heart. Her master sighed.

“Should I beat you for that thought, Pet? Do you hate me so much?”

Quickly, she shook her head in denial. She hated the things he did to her, but not him.

“I think you want me to beat you.”

“No, please,” her thoughts begged. “Master, please forgive me. Please let me eat something.”

“You can eat after I hear you scream.”

He wrapped his hand in her long auburn hair and tugged. Danielle saw the carpet beater in his other hand and had two choices. She could try to fight him again or give in. The latter was more attractive, because after he punished her, he tended to be kind for an hour or three. It all depended on how well Danielle submitted to his punishments.

She followed his lead, hugged his thigh and prepared herself for the inevitable. The large carpet beater was a nasty spanker, but it was better than his riding crop. When he used the riding crop he often struck her with the braided middle instead of the tip, raising welts and drawing blood. She took a deep calming breath and then another.

“Ready, Pet?”

She nodded. Seconds later, the beater connected with her bottom and made a loud smacking noise. The flat surface covered most of her butt cheeks and she moaned into his leg.

“Not a sound from you until I reach thirty. Then you may scream. Understood?”

Yes, she understood. She’d never make it. Another blow and she couldn’t hold back the whimper. Her eyes were tearing from the force of the blow and her shadow master laughed.

“You’re not trying, Pet.”

He hit her again and she gripped his leg too hard. A ragged fingernail scratched him. He pulled her hair in anger. Hastily, Danielle licked the wound. Her shadow master moaned in pleasure and she nuzzled herself into his leg. Sometimes, if she could get him aroused enough, he skipped the punishments. Not this time.

The beater came down again and again. Her bottom felt swollen and bruised, too sensitive for even another blow, but he didn’t slow down. She lost count and began to squirm in his grasp. The hits were coming faster and harder. She was making too much noise, but she couldn’t stop herself. She hated the pain.

“Thirty, Pet.”

Her master sounded pleased with himself and his erection was pressing against her cheek. Boldly, she kissed it in apology and to appease him. At the moment, she would do almost anything for a bit of food and water.

“Not yet,” he yelled as he slapped her face.

The violent act was yet another reminder of the curse that was eating him alive. Before she had been forced to serve him, he’d always been overly gentle with her, treating her with the respect of her title and position in his family. But that seemed like an eternity ago and he certainly didn’t treat her that way any longer.

She lowered her face to the floor. It left her bottom up, exposed and vulnerable. Snarling like a wild animal, he sat down on the large bed. His feet were near her head and Danielle was afraid that he would kick her, but she didn’t move to protect herself. She forced herself to think of sunny days and rainbows, of laying in the cool grass looking up at white clouds in the sky. Her vampiric master often lost his anger when he read those thoughts, her memories calming the demon within.

“Crawl up,” he ordered. His voice was softer now, soothing. Perhaps, his need to hurt her was over for awhile. Hearing her thoughts, he laughed. Danielle cringed at the sound.

“Come, girl. I want you to lay across my lap and then I will finish your spanking.”

He wasn’t done! She hadn’t satisfied him. Crying, she tried to back away from him. It was no use. He picked her up as if she was a small child and forced her into the position he wanted. It was humiliating to be across his thighs, to feel his erection poking into her belly and his hand on her reddened bottom.
“You disappoint me, Pet. I would have used my hand for your next thirty, but you must learn to do as your told. I want to hear you this time. Scream for me.”

He swatted her again with the carpet beater. Danielle did scream. She screamed for his pleasure, for her sanity and for her life.

(C) 2005 Ruby Bloodstone and Spice and Sugar Publications. All rights reserved.