Just a little too tight

Eve had been watching the girl since she’d started working at the firm.

At that intriguing crossroads between girl and woman, she kept to herself, reading Harry Potter books during her lunch break and contributing little at formal work meetings. What Eve notice most was her haughty demeanour and arrogant tone of voice that masqueraded an insecurity betrayed by the up-speak punctuating her sentences.

A few months ago the girl had injured her knee in a game of netball. Eve had observed her stiff legged shuffle as she made her slow and obviously painful way from one end of the office to the other. Weeks passed and there was no improvement in her walk. When Eve enquired whether she would have her knee fixed soon, the girl told her she would wait to do so until the next year. That had been at the beginning of August. It was now late September and the girl continued to gingerly shuffle about the office, heavily restricted in her ability to walk and obviously uncomfortable.

On this particular day, during a drawn out meeting, Eve’s thoughts had drifted. Her eyes had fastened on the girl’s shape, had taken note of a new softness in her facial features and the appearance of a slight double chin. Clearly the enforced sedentary lifestyle was starting to cause the girl to gain weight. Not an excessive amount of weight, but enough over a short period of time to be noticeable. The buttons of her blouse gaped where it strained over her newly fuller breasts. Eve’s gaze drifted down the girl’s form and noticed that the waistband of her black pants was clearly cutting into her round tummy and the fabric of her clothes stretched just a little too tight to be comfortable in some places.

It was not that her clothes were too small—they were at the brink of being tight, such that only a close observer and the girl herself would notice.

Eve was fascinated, taking in every little detail, including the newly pudgy hands. Eve was also quite turned on; turned on by the fact that the girl must feel uncomfortable in her tight clothes; turned on by the suspicion that the girl resented her expanding body; turned on by the thought that the girl might worry others would notice her weight gain.

As Eve was losing herself in speculation she heard a slight painful ‘ouch’ coming from across the meeting room. The girl had banged her injured knee on the edge of the table and was obviously in considerable pain, trying to repress her response to the hurt. Eve watched the range of emotions play across the girl’s face and like the sadist she was, Eve sucked up the pain and discomfort emanating from the girl and transformed it into pleasure and arousal within herself.

Back at her desk Eve watched as the girl teetered past with her stiff kneed unsteady gait. Her small feet formed the bottom of an inverted pyramid that was topped by her swaying hips; the black fabric of her pants stretching a little tightly across the hips and the seam visibly biting between her buttocks.

The next few months would be interesting, Eve thought to herself. It would be interesting to see whether the girl would continue to put on weight, becoming softer and rounder. It would be interesting to see how long she would continue to wear clothes that were bursting at the seams, cutting into her soft flesh and at which point she would accept the inevitable and buy herself a new outfit in a larger size.

Eve smiled to herself as she opened the second drawer of her desk which was filled with the party sized chocolate bars she used to curry favour from her fellow office workers.

Yes, thought Eve, this was going to be fun.

Rough sex, power and male entitlement

‘Single. Bit of a loner. Into my motor bikes and guitar. No kids. Was married for 8 years. Love to fuck more than anything. I like the power.’

I’m currently looking for a new slave and I’m spending some time on dating and fetish sites trying to find a suitable candidate. This is how one prospective candidate described himself. I can’t be sure why, but even before I received this message I had an uneasy feeling about him.

I was puzzled why someone who likes the power he gets from having sex would want to apply for a position as slave. So I asked him why he wanted to get into a dynamic where he doesn’t have the power. He replied, ‘To see how it feels from the other side. Does that make sense?’

It does make sense to me that he would want to experience what a loss of power feels like, but it is not sufficient reason to commit to being a slave. His next question was,

‘Is there anything sexual involved?’

This is a complex question. While not all kinky play involves sex, my experience has been that all kinky play has a sexual dimension to it and very often the power exchange is around sexual desire, need and frustration or control of that need. I told him,

‘Sexual desire is a powerful tool of control.’

I asked him whether he thought he could commit to giving up his power for an extended period of time and whether he realised that this could be mentally and emotionally taxing. He responded that there was no way of knowing unless he tried it and that he deserved it. This caught my interest. He thought he deserved it. The question was why?’ The ensuing conversation was revealing and unsettling.

‘I have been dominant for a long time. I think it’s time the role was reversed. I’ve humiliated a lot of girls in the past and I deserve some pay back. I used them for sex, as cum dumpsters or hard anal without an invite. Rough sex.’

Clearly this was a man who had little respect for women and used them to bolster his own need for feeling powerful in a non-consensual way. I felt that submitting to me would not help him deal with his actual issue – a lack of respect and empathy for women – and that he should instead commit to treating women well and make amends to those he’d injured in the past, and told him as much. Our interaction ended there.

However, the conversation has stayed with me since then. Not only because I feel for the unsuspecting women he abused and of whom he speaks so disrespectfully. But also because he bluntly articulated a power dynamic and lack of respect present in many male-female interactions, one that ‘more enlightened, sensitive guys’ still subscribe to but are often unable to recognise within themselves.

I’m thinking of a recent interaction with another man, with whom I’d been texting on and off for months and with whom I‘d gone out a few times. This man considers himself to be an enlightened left leaning thinker. He is in poly relationship, stands for equality of the sexes, is into community development, tantra and the sensual side of kink, where D/s forms part of sexual play rather than a real power exchange.

From the get go I had told him that while I liked him and enjoyed his company I did not feel a sexual spark and, in any case, I was not interested in taking on a submissive role – which is something he was pushing for. This went back and forth for months. I was happy to spend time with him because he always had interesting stories to tell and was entertaining. But I made it quite clear that I was not interested in anything more.

He, however, remained convinced I was deserving of his love and needed it and he was going to give it to me. Somewhere along the way his primary partner weighed in and suggested to him that he should respect my wishes not be become involved with him. This led to a few weeks of silence. Then he started messaging me again. Contrary to my better judgement I agreed to meet up with him once more. I was in a vulnerable place and could use some company I told myself. He came over for dinner and very quickly decided that I really needed comforting – physically and emotionally.

We kissed a few times, but for me things really got out of hand when he took my chin in his hand, looked me in the eye and firmly stated that if this was ever going to work I would have to open up to him and accept his love; as if this was something he could force me to do or had a right to demand. Needless to say the evening ended shortly after that.

My point is that this ‘enlightened’ man had no more respect for my wishes or boundaries than the prospective slave. Both operate from a position of entitlement and power. However, while one is quite clear on who has the power and that he loves it, the other is deluding himself while remaining unable to hear and respect women’s boundaries.

Chastity and consensual non-consent

I’m a curious sort of person. At one stage I was interested in finding out how long people usually remained in chastity. I posted a question to this effect in a chastity forum and received an overwhelming number of responses. One of them stood out. An older slave described in detail his experiences of chastity and torture with his young beautiful Mistress. His description of the milking process especially fascinated me.

This is a very long post, but it is well worth persevering. Here the slave’s story.

I once served a lifestyle Mistress. For about a year and a half she kept me constantly locked in chastity and unfulfilled.

Katherine was in her early 20s, less than half my age, and was beautiful. A petite blonde, probably about 5’3″, tanned and with a hard body. She had the most beautiful feet I have ever seen. Size 5 1/2 – 6 with arches so high she had to wear arch supports when she wore heels. She had a slave her age who serviced her sexually. I never had that privilege. Kissing her hands, feet and ankles was all I was ever allowed.

Katherine required me to stay completely shaved of body hair: crotch, legs, even armpits. I served her by running errands, taking her shopping, to lunch and dinner, and to her monthly manicure and pedicure. While there, she’d have me get a pedicure as well. She’d have them paint my toenails vivid red or pink and also put little designs on them. In warm weather months she made me wear sandals and shorts when we went out to lunch, etc. It was humiliating of course, but I lo619LSBfMu4L._SL1000_ved it.

Katherine had a dungeon in the basement of one of her friends’ homes, who was also a lifestyle Domme. We often played in that dungeon. Like me, Katherine loved elaborate, heavy bondage and S&M, which always involved lots of leather, chains, locks, arm-binder, sensory deprivation hood, etc., as well as my well-worn 8 point leather harness.

Katherine was fond of putting me in various, painful, stressful bondages and then just leaving me there for hours while she went back upstairs and hung out with her friend: hogtied, strappado, spread eagle standing and laying, strung up hands above me, bound to a pole, etc. When she returned it was often not to release me, but rather to torture me and then leave me again.

She frightened me badly a number of times by leaving me alone heavily bound and very effectively gagged.

She would often put me in the sensory deprivation hood I’d had for years and which was custom fitted to me. It was heavily padded with straps across the eyes, under the chin, over the head, and around the collar. All the buckles were lockable. It had only one opening, a small grommet hole over the mouth. She had me get a hard plastic ball gag with a leather covering that also had a hole in it. We cut the strap off of it so it could be used inside the hood. The hole in it lined up with the hood’s grommet hole so I was very effectively gagged. The ball was fairly large but I could breathe easily through it. Before she put the hood on me she would plug my ears with wax ear plugs. Once I was laced, strapped, and locked into that thing it was true sensory dep; I couldn’t speak, see, or hear.

Then she would put me in the bondage of her choice and leave me. With my ears plugged and unable to see she could check on me periodically without my ever knowing. I knew she was doing that, or at least I hoped she was but how could I know? It was very scary. The strap that ran under my chin made it impossible to flex my jaw, but because the gag did not go far into my mouth I could still swallow the inevitable drool. Many of those times I had to fight with all my will to suppress the panic that would rise up in me when the drool started to accumulate. Like I said, scary stuff, but I loved it.

My chastity device was a cb-3000. She made me wear two of the base rings. At the time it came with 4 different rings running from an 1 to 1 ¾ inches. The outer one was the 1 ¼ inches, the inner one 1 inch. I had to use lube or soap and be totally soft to get myself into it. It was a challenge with her looking so good and watching, but mind over matter you know. In front of the inner of those two rings she’d have me place one of the points of intrigue – the one with the longest and sharpest spikes. Then the cage was put on. She used the longest of the pins. With over an inch of plastic encircling me it required the smallest of the little spacer rings to be completely secured. When it was on, there was absolutely no movement between the plastic pieces.  The soft the end of my cock was right at the tip of the opening of the cage which was there for urination. The captive bead PA piercing I had stuck through the end, and she placed a small padlock on that as well.

It was totally, horribly effective.

The points of intrigue were the hardest thing to endure, and would sometimes cause a burning sensation around the bottom part of the base of my cock from the movement of the rings. Over time though my skin toughened a bit and the pain relented.

The final touch in the whole contraption was the hole we bored out the hole in the pin just a bit up towards its end. This allowed the cock cage to accommodate the 4 digit combination lock she used to secure it. Not only were there 10,000 possible combinations, but she was able to change the combo any time she wanted.

We were never able to find a metal pin for the cage, which is what she really wanted, and I was unable to make one. I suppose I could have used a box cutter to cut the pin at it’s thinnest portion around the hole, but I never tried. The fear of using a razor edged blade around that part of me was an effective enough deterrent. Believe me though, I thought about it a few times.

The worst part of the ordeal was when we played and I became aroused. That’s when the points of intrigue were brutal. When we’d go out to dinner she’d tease me by dangling her heel from one of her exquisite little feet knowing full well the effect it had, and delighting at how the points made me squirm in my chair. She was a very wicked young woman.

In the early mornings when I awoke with a morning woody I’d have to get out of bed and walk around to distract myself. In cold weather months I’d walk out on my deck barefoot. That always did the trick. In warm weather I’d take quick cold shower.

Katherine was determined that I be completely chaste during the time I served her. It was an insidious lonely torture. I saw her often during that period, usually 2-3 times a week. At least once a week she would let me out and allow me to thoroughly clean and shave myself; always with her watching me. It was terribly humiliating.

And now to the milking which occurred once every 4 to 5 weeks. She always had me self-administer an enema before this procedure. She’d lube and insert a large electric butt plug into me. The plug was a large black, hard plastic one with shiny metal strips down two of its sides. It was 8″ long, probably 1 1/2″ in diameter, and was totally rigid. It was tapered at the bottom so I would close over it and the crotch strap to my leather harness would hold it in place. She would turn the plug so that one of the metal strips was against my prostate.

If you never done anal play, the only way I would describe it is stuffed.

Katherine had a number of ways of binding me, but her favorite was standing me with my back to one of the metal poles in the basement. She’d pull my arms behind it and lock my elbow and wrist cuffs together. She’d lock my ankle cuffs together with the lock behind the pole. I could still stand, but it definitely made it more difficult. Then she’d wrap a chain around above and below my knees, and lock it behind the pole. She’d use another chain around my chest and my hips. It was rigid, but reasonably comfortable bondage which I could be left in. She had a small music stand with a single leg and a four pronged base to stabilize it. It was adjustable. She would lower the top part of it to be horizontal like a small, flat table, and adjust the stand until my caged cock and balls rested on it. Then she would go to the kitchen and retrieve a zip lock baggie which was filled with small ice cubes and crushed ice. She would take that baggie and place it between the top of the stand and my cock and balls forcing them into it. Then she would tie a cord around it so that the ice surrounded the cage, and my balls. In a matter of just a few moments my cock and balls would become numb from the freezing cold. I absolutely hated that ice, and the pain it created.

She had a small, simple, medical use tens unit which she’d attach to the plug. Of course one of my jobs was to ensure the unit always had a new 9 volt battery in it. The device had two jacks, each with their own power control. There were also two other controls. One varied the frequency of the current, the other the strength of it. One of its limitations was that those controlled both jacks. In this case though she was using only one. It had 3 modes: normal, frequency, and burst. In normal mode both controls worked. In frequency mode one could adjust the frequency, and the power, in burst mode the power could be controlled, but not the frequency. She preferred burst mode. Set like that the plug emitted 5 distinct power bursts, each stronger than the previous, and then repeated. The burst knob controlled the power of the thrust. She’d switch on the unit with the burst control at its lowest setting and then gradually increase the overall power. Once that was clearly having an effect she’d begin to turn up the power of the 5 bursts. Slowly, over 10 minutes or so she would crank both of the controls all the way up to full power.

Turned all the way up like that my hips would visually quake harder each time with each of the 5 bursts. It was very much like being fucked in the ass with 5 successive thrust over and over and over. Such is the nature of electrical play. Relentless. What was key about the burst mode was the varying of the thrust. If it’s set to one continuous power setting the body adapts over time. With it constantly varying and repeating shocks it could not. The main point of the whole ordeal was that the current was constantly massaging my prostate over and over.

Even with my cock caged, and it and my balls wrapped with ice, pre-cum would inevitably start to leak out of me.

Sometimes her friend would come down to look at what she was doing to me. The first few times she did it I truly and sincerely begged her to stop. She never did. Her final touch was to lace and strap me into the sensory dep hood gagged. She would lock the back of the collar to another short chain wrapped around the pole so that I was forced to maintain a straight posture throughout it all. The collar would be loose enough not to choke me, but tight enough I could feel the pressure on my neck. It all made a very nice visual image for her to enjoy. My body bound to the black painted pole in locking leather cuffs and chains, my head covered in thick leather, my hips bucking constantly from the power and burst of the plug, my caged cock and balls surrounded by the small bag of ice with the tens control unit sitting next to them it’s light blinking on and off.

Then she’d leave me that way for a couple of hours. By the time she decided to end the whole predicament the ice would be completely melted, and a large pool of clear semen would be on the platform. When I was released I was forced to clean it with my tongue. This was how she milked it out of me, and I obviously never felt any pleasure from it. I couldn’t feel anything except the constant, relentless powerful pulses in my ass, and the rigid restraints binding me to the pole.

The only word that comes to mind to describe the whole ordeal is evil.I understand and believe in the concept of safe, sane and consensual , but I’ve long gone a more risk aware philosophy and the concept of consensual non-consent. I had agreed to let her do this to me, and she was going to do it. In fact she took great pleasure in it usually laughing at and ridiculing me. She was fond of fetish wear but often she was just in jeans or shorts and barefoot. Somehow that just made it more real. This wasn’t a game we were playing with time limits or a safe word. I was her chastised slave to do with as she pleased.

Katherine released me when she got her master’s degree in mathematics and moved out of state to take a job. I hated seeing her leave, but I sure masturbated a lot to the memories of all those ordeals in the months after.

I still wonder if someday Katherine will move back to the area and contact me again. She’d be 29 now. It would be interesting to see how she’s matured seeing as she was so cruel and sadistic in her early 20s. It’s hard to imagine how much more sadistic she would have become as she grew older. I feel for, but also envy, whoever it is she has enslaved now.

Curry Palace

Eve was slipping away from work; slipping away a little early to escape the soul deadening atmosphere of the office. Her desk had a view of the rail yards that only came to life around 4:30 p.m. when the trains started converging on the station to carry commuters home. This rush hour pow wow inevitably ended in a protracted traffic jam. Would be travellers were not in fact speedily conveyed to their waiting family and friends, but were forced ignore the presence of strangers on blustery train platforms. This is why Eve preferred the bike.

In the office toilet she donned her black cycling pants, worn out runners and a black t-shirt. She hoped that no one had seen her carry a bike bag with her to the toilet as this would be a dead giveaway of her intention to leave. She opened the heavy green door that led to the piss smelling stairs that were the fire escape. Holding her breath to avoid the stench she exited through the door that led directly to the underground car park where she stabled her bike.

She started to feel freer as she pedalled up the steep hill that led away from the office.

After a few blocks she felt woozy, the familiar sensation of muscular weakness and light-headedness indicating that she must eat something soon or risk low blood sugar and the associated shakiness. She’d tried to ride out the sensation once or twice before hoping it would go away but it never did. It just got worse. So it she must.

Eve scanned the upcoming city block for a suitable food outlet. Curry Palace screamed a large sign next to a 7/11.

‘That’s the place for me,’ she thought and pulled over. A curry would be just the thing. She entered the small restaurant and walked up to the counter.

‘Could you make me a small serve of curry with rice?’ she asked the girl behind the counter.

The girl held up an enormous white plate and pointed at a sign that read ‘3 curries with rice $12’.

‘That’s more than I want,’ Eve replied grumpily, not willing to spend that much on a meal she needed rather than wanted.

‘We only have this,’ the serving girl gestured at the offerings in the Bain Marie, still holding the plate in her other hand.

Eve was beginning to lose a temper.

‘But I only want a small serve.’

‘We have 3 curries with rice. Eat in or takeaway,’ countered the serving girl unphased.

A queue was forming behind Eve and customers were watching the exchange curiously.

‘Fine,’ Eve spat. She spun on her heels and pushed past the other customers out of the door.

Eve marched into the 7/11 next door and purchased a lukewarm pie for $4.20 and two miniscule packets of sauce for 20 cents each.

Back outside she plopped onto the bench on the sidewalk that was facing the glass wall that was the entrance to the Curry Palace. She shared this space with a young Japanese man who was furiously typing into his smartphone while drawing deeply on a cigarette. The smoke drifted over to Eve and the man apologetically waved his hand trying to disperse it. ‘Sorry,’ he said.

Eve began to eat the pie in a determined act of duty. It was at this moment that she felt something heavy and warm drop into her lap – a white plastic bag.

‘There you go,’ she heard a male voice. She looked up and saw a suited male figure walking away from her. Puzzled she inspected the bag. Inside was a takeaway container of rice and 3 curries.

She was not sure whether to feel ashamed of herself or be pleased. The kind stranger must have witnessed her tantrum at the Curry Palace and felt sorry for her. Perhaps he had thought she couldn’t afford the meal and wanted to do her a kindness. Or maybe, she thought, he was a sub at heart and could not stand to see a superior female be denied her wish.

She packed the meal into her bike bag and rode home with a smile on her face.

Formicophilia or how to enlarge a penis with a wasp sting


Increasing the size of the penis is an age old endeavour. Compared to the many remedies peddled by suspect spammers theses days, one method from the Kama Sutra stands out. Supposedly the increase in penis size and girth resulting from the treatment is permanent, though I can’t see how this would be possible, nor is there any evidence to support this.

To increase the size and potential of the penis: Take shuka hairs – the shuka is an insect that lives in trees – mix with oil and rub on the penis for ten nights…When a swelling appears sleep face downwards on a wooden bed, letting one’s sex hang through a hole.

Shuka insects are a form of wasp and the hairs are the shuka’s stingers. This method is clearly not for the faint hearted – I cannot begin to imagine the pain caused by being stung in the penis.

Consistent with my belief that there’s always someone crazier than oneself out there, someone has actually tried this (or claims to have tried it) and has posted instructions online (do not try this at home).

After reading the text for the Kama Sutra I have come up with a plan to increase [the] girth [of my penis] using the common paper wasp… To catch and manipulate the wasps I use a type of lab tweezers that are spring loaded in a x shape and are 8 inches long. Once I find the nest I select a worker that is alone and catch it by the wing with the tweezers. Then I place it in a small jar with small holes in the lid … After I have three wasps I can rotate them out in a sting session.

This is how I do it. Achieve a partial erection and use a pen to mark 1/2” circles every 1” around the base and a second ring of circles 1” apart just above your circumcision scar. These are your targets. Put the jars in your fridge for a minute or two. NO LONGER! You want to slow them down not kill them.

Take all of the jars out at once. Select your first wasp and grab her wing near the middle with your tweezers. Only females can sting you. When you first grab her she will be mad so be fast with your aim. Manipulate your wasp/tweezer combo to target the circle. Once you have a single sting move on to the next circle target. When she does about two stings she will have calmed down so put her back in the jar and move on to the next one.

When you finish you WILL jump around for a while, but the reward is worth the five minutes of discomfort… The sex during the swelling phase is AWESOME AS IT GETS!!!! Good luck.


While the whole thing seems completely crazy, the technique sparked my imagination and I wrote this piece:

The slave was secured to the bed so he couldn’t move. Hands and feet each chained to a different corner of the massive bed. He was taut with anticipation. His Mistress had hinted at a special surprise. He turned his head to see what she was doing.

As she came into his field of vision he noticed an empty plastic water bottle in her hand. Or so he thought. She approached him and held the bottle to his face. “What do you think? ” she queried.

Inside the bottle was a solitary wasp angrily seeking escape. His breathing quickened. If he was right this was going to be very painful. She smiled an evil smile.“This will be fun for me. Perhaps less so for you.” She turned and while he could not see what she was doing he felt his dick being inserted into the opening of the water bottle and then being secured into place with tape.

“I’ve always wanted to know what it feels like to be fucked with a ridiculously swollen cock. I want to find out today.”

He could feel the wasp crawling over his cock in it’s frantic attempts at escape. His anxiety increased and he broke out in a cold sweat.

She stroked his balls and flicked the bottle with her nails every now and then to make sure the wasp stayed angry. He could feel the caged animal bump against him as it became ever more frantic. Then came a white hot searing pain as the wasp stung him on the underside of his penis. It was unlike anything he had ever felt before and he screamed and tore against the restraints. To no avail. He couldn’t get away. Could not escape his Mistress’ s crazy experiment. He could feel himself begin to swell, the wasp still moving about in the bottle and then it stung again. It was absolute agony and he screamed.

“Shush,” she admonished. “What will the neighbours think?”

He could hardly think for the pain, but to his relief he felt her beginning to cut away the bottle from his rapidly swelling cock.

“What have we here? Lifelike in every way except for size and the angry red colour.”

She giggled before crueĺly beginning to stroke him. He writhed and moaned and tried to pull away but it was no use.

“Stop. Please, please stop. I’ll do anything you want,” he begged. “You are already doing what I want.” she replied and continued to stroke him firmly. The pain was almost unbearable.

“Look at how huge you have become. I can barely wrap my hand around your girth. Let’s give it a try.” She hiked up her short skirt and straddled him. Then she lowered herself onto him. “Oh. It’s quite a novel sensation to feel so full, so stretched.” She sighed and began to fuck herself with his cock in earnest. He didn’t know how long it continued or how he got through it but eventually she climaxed with a satisfied moan and rolled off him. She turned to face him and kissed him deeply. “That was quite an experience, was it not?”

Bee-rotica: A beginner’s guide to insect sting fetishes is an interesting article on insect sting fetishes and can be found here.

Do I suck cock?

“Do I suck cock? Really? You want to know whether I suck cock?”

Stupid little shit. I look down at the slave who is naked in front of me in the wait kneeling position. Heels touching, knees spread, body upright with his hands resting on his thighs. His head is bowed. Not looking at me.

“For starters that should be ‘Do you suck cock, Mistress?’ I think you are forgetting your station.”

The slave does not move; says nothing.

“I suppose by implication you want to know whether I would suck your cock? Well here’s a reality check. You get what you are given. You wait to find out whether you are deserving. You wait to discover whether I would suck your cock – or not. As things stand now you can count yourself lucky if I touch your unworthy appendage.”

I notice that the slave’s cock is hard and straining against the bars of the cock cage that I have had him wear for the past week. The slave remains motionless; does not give any indication that he heard me.

“What are you trying to achieve? Are you trying to deliberately piss of your Mistress by asking questions you have no right to ask? Am I boring you with my lecture?”

I grab a fistful of the slave’s hair and yank back his head so he is now looking at me, but his eyes remain downcast. I draw back my hand and slap him across the face, hard. The slave winces. Red marks outlining my fingers appear on his cheek. I can see precum dripping from the tip of his engorged caged cock.

“Look at me you worthless fuck.”

The slave raises his eyes to me.

“Open your mouth.”

The slave opens his mouth. I spit in it.

“There’s your answer. Now shut your mouth and swallow.”

The slave does as bidden.

“Be a good boy. Get on all fours and be a foot stool for me.”

The slave does as ordered. I sit on the couch, put up my feet on the slave’s back and turn on the TV to watch a mind numbingly stupid show that is sure to annoy the slave.

Who is Evangeline? Or a lesson in female desire

Why did I choose Evangeline as my name? What does Eve mean to me? I am asked that often.

Evangeline sounds so sweet and pure. Evangeline is also the pen name of one of my favourite smutty authors. Or so I thought.

Some years ago I was holidaying with my then young child but without my partner. I was staying at my parents’ place and felt very sexually frustrated. I had time on my hands and began to discover the treasure trove of pornographic writing available on the Internet. It was possible to download whole libraries of smut. Hundreds of pieces of writing in one single file. Unedited. Uncensored. Un-vetted.

I voraciously devoured these writings which ranged from Mills and Boonish to fan fiction to pornographic writing and erotica, to the debauched, depraved and downright fantastical. In the process my mind was opened to the enjoyment of all kinds of possibilities I had never before considered. Sex with aliens, animals, dragons, groups. Violent plyamorous sex. Vampires. Many, many alpha men. What appealed to me about these writings was that unlike most visual porn, they were written by women for women. And while I have reservations about the portrayal of gender relations and sexual power in many of the stories, it is undeniable that they are designed to tap into women’s psyche to give them pleasure and fulfill their as yet unimagined desires.

One short story in particular caught my imagination. It was about a young woman being trained to be the sexual partner and mate of a mysterious and authoritative man. I can’t remember whether he was a king or something else. The training involved her presenting herself daily to practice receiving ever larger dildos up the arse. The story detailed her fear, her desire to please her master and her arousal at pleasing him despite the pain he demanded from her. In the climax of the story she is once again in the training room viewing the array of dildos lined up on the table in ascending sizes. She knows it is the last day of her training and that her test will be to receive the enormously large dildo at the end of the table. She preps herself and waits for her master in fear. He finally arrives, and as expected selects the huge dildo, described as being as thick as his forearm. She bends over and presents herself and he slowly works the dildo into her. The pain is excruciating and she has tears running down her face as she submits to this ordeal. Finally she manages to take it all. Her master smiles at her lovingly and tells her she has passed the test and that he loves her and that she is irresistible to him. He then holds her in his arms for the first time and kisses her.

I don’t know what it was about this story, but it simultaneously repulsed and aroused me. I was fascinated by the huge dildo and the young woman’s fear of it but longing for it. Maybe it was the idea of someone enjoying pain as a token of their devotion the joining of love, pain and power that drew me to the story.

The author of the story was identified as Evangeline Anderson. It struck me as a delicious irony that such a sweet name should be used by such a smutty author. I loved the name and was fascinated with her writings. They were at the extreme end of BDSM and submission, with the woman always being the submissive, tortured, humiliated and ultimately redeemed by a mysterious, all powerful yet loving master.

There was just one problem. Reading all of this porn made me incredibly horny and I had no way to bring myself to orgasm. Why? When I was a young girl, about 8 or 9 I discovered that when I was hanging from the monkey bars, if I crossed my legs and attempted a pull up, the tension generated in the internal muscles was enough to make myself cum. I did not, of course, at the time know that it was an orgasm, or even what an orgasm was. But I liked the feeling and perfected the technique over time. As a result I never learned to bring myself off using my hands. At my parents’ place I did not have access to suitably private monkey bars. I would try to get myself to cum with my hand and would get close but I just couldn’t figure out how to send myself over the edge.

This went on for 3 weeks while I got increasingly more horny and frustrated.  I would think about sex all the time. Fantasising about all manner of things. It was a delicious agony. When I finally, finally worked out how to cum, the orgasm was out of this world. And the lesson about abstinence and tease and denial was instructional.

In retrospect I think that identifying the author of these stories as Evangeline Anderson may be a false memory, as I have never been able to find the stories on my computer (or anywhere else) again using those search terms. As it is, Evangeline Anderson is the author of the infamous Planet X. Either way, the name stuck, and ultimately I became Miss Evangeline.

The Number

Lilly had been perpetually shy her entire life. She had been a little frumpy as a kid and was often teased, underpinning her fragile self-esteem. She had grown in to a very attractive woman, though she hid it under layers of baggy loose fitting clothes. She often garnered attention from men, but she would always fob them off. “I’ve got a boyfriend” “I’m just too busy” “I’m gay” were her go to retorts, and she would always berate herself for not having the courage to receive the advances more openly.

Typically Lilly would be dragged out for after work drinks on a Friday, in her colleagues never ending attempts to loosen her up a bit. One particular Friday while at the bar a typically handsome man, tall, athletic and adorned in the thin woollen sweater of the time made his approach, only to be suitably halted by the well-worn boyfriend line. He politely wished her well and went about his business.

While Lilly was in the depths of her standard self-delivered lecture she was approached by a man who did nothing more than place a card in front of her. No conversation, no contact of any kind. Lilly wasn’t even certain that she saw his face. The card was blank except for a phone number. Lilly was preparing to throw away the card when it dawned on her that even though she didn’t know what he looked like, he had jumped the first hurdle. The line of communication was possible without the abrupt nature of a cold approach. Lilly tucked the card in to her handbag.

Lilly didn’t call the man. But, it had awakened a part of her mind that had been laying dormant her entire life. She started fantasising about what might have been. Her first thoughts were defensive, what if he meant her harm? After a while this dissipated and she started wondering what an encounter between the two would be like. These thoughts began to consume her. She would lay awake in a state of ponderous arousal. Lilly had never been comfortable enough in herself to masturbate, but there was no diminishing the life that had sprouted between her legs. Waves of pleasure overcame Lilly time and time again but it just wasn’t enough to send her in to the stratosphere that she now thought she was capable of.

It finally became too much. Lilly, in the midst of another solo carnal mission knew that if she was to get any further she needed the man that started it all. So she defied her instincts and made the call.
Every note of the dial tone pierced Lilly’s soul. It rang, and rang, and just as she thought it would ring out, silence. This was it, there was someone on the other end of the line. “I knew you’d call.” Lilly was taken aback, “How did you know it was me?” “It doesn’t matter” the voice replied. “There is a sexual being inside of you and if you want someone to wake her up you need to meet me at Windsor Hotel, room 304 at 9 tonight. Wear a long coat and nothing else.” Silence, the call was over.
Against her normally conservative judgement, Lilly knew that if she didn’t go, this endless frustration would haunt her for the rest of her life. Before she had time to over think it, she draped a long grey coat over her naked body, slipped on a red pair of heels, and made her way to the hotel.

Face to face with the timber panel door, there was no thought of turning back, but Lilly was nervous. She gathered herself, and raised her trembling hand and knocked. The door opened.
The room was dark, the curtains were drawn and all the appliances had been turned off. Lilly was ushered in, “Just stand in the middle of the room.” Lilly replied, “Who are you?” The voice, hidden in the dark returned, “I am your guide.” Lilly questioned, “My guide for what?” The voice, “This is the last you will hear of me speaking.” Lilly then felt his warm breath just behind her ears; he must be a little taller. He reached around her waist, and started unbuttoning her coat. Lilly trembled as his wrists gently brushed her breasts. His movements were slow and deliberate, the arousal heightening with the loosening of every button, until the last. The coat eased its way apart as it was slowly lowered from the shoulders until it dropped on the floor. Lilly was completely naked but for the heels, and as the voice pushed himself against her back, she realised that he was naked as well. She was in, her soul had submitted to his. She began to visibly shake as she felt his hands roaming around her. His touch was gentle, using just his fingertips as he explored her quivering form. She visibly convulsed as he brushed the area between her navel and now sopping groin. He raised his hands to her arms. His grip firmed, and he directed Lilly to the wall.

Lilly’s hands were placed shoulder width apart on the wall. The voice had broken contact and proceeded to gently blow on her neck. The goose bumps were unbearable, Lilly screamed, “I can’t take any more” pushed her behind outwards, and grabbed the throbbing phallus behind her and slid it inside her. “Fuck me you evil cunt!” she cried, and he duly obeyed. He obeyed? Lilly now knew that she was in control. “Deeper!” she cried as the strained breath of the other was becoming more evident. “Harder!” “Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me!” Waves were crashing in Lilly’s mind. One orgasm after the other, she was too far in to stop in between. She had never known such power and bliss. She threw him on the bed, climbed on top and continued. She had truly reached ecstasy. Lilly was not of this world any more. On the crest of one final climax she felt a violent shudder from underneath. Now it was he who was convulsing uncontrollably under her. As a gesture of gratitude, Lilly climbed off the pulsing cock and stroked until he exploded all over her hand.

The exchange of power was complete, with that warm seed still dripping Lilly was in control now. The nervous shaking woman that entered that room put her coat on and strode out, never again to deny that which had been ferociously awakened.

By Magnus Andersen

Finding a Mistress

You have inspired me to become a woman’s CFNM slave locally!!

I got this message from a man in New York city, who has been writing to me, wanting to be a slave. Naturally I was curious, so I pressed him on the details. After giving me a fictionalised slave-fantasy account of his first meeting with his new Mistress at a cocktail party, which I rejected, he offered this.

I was at a vanilla cocktail party when I noticed a woman wearing a long, ankle length dress with a high neck. It was sexy because it was artfully draped. She sat down and when she crossed her legs a high slit in the dress opened. I could not help staring at her feet and shoes from across the room. She noticed me looking at them, met my eyes, and I looked down and away. Later she was sitting down talking to another man. I could not keep from staring at her feet and shoes again. She caught me looking again and I turned away. Later I was at the bar and she came up to me and said hello. I suppose I blushed. I could not say anything. She said she saw me looking at her feet and shoes twice. I said yes I was looking because they were so beautiful.

She said that she has found an alpha man looks into her eyes. A submissive man looks at her chest. And a slave looks at her feet.

She said she dressed the way she did to separate men into those three categories. She then asked me what category was I. I did not say anything.

“Tell me.” she said in a commanding voice.

“I am a slave.” I answered.

“Self knowledge is a good thing.” she replied.

Then she asked me if I had a small cock. I was pretty shocked. I did not know what to say. She then slapped me with her gloved hand. Not hard, but enough to make people stare. I was very embarassed and humiliated but also felt myself getting aroused.

“Tell me.” she said. ”

“Yes.” I replied.

She looked down at my pants and said, “Clearly you get off on being humiliated. I don’t date small cocked masochists but if you want to clean my apartment while I am out with a real man I might let you if you beg. Here is my card.”

I called her later.

“Hi this is Brian. Is this Laura?”

“Did I meet you at the party yesterday?”

‘Yes Ma’am.”

“You are the small cocked sissy faggot who wants to clean my apartment while I am out.”

“Yes Ma’am.”

“And why do you want to do that?”

I was not expecting that question. I had to think how to express how I felt.

“Because it excites me sexually to serve you.”

“Why does it excite you? Do you like being humiliated by a woman who will never fuck you?”


“Have you masturbated about me?”


“To orgasm?”


“That was rude to do without my permission. The next time I see you I want you to be wearing a Mature Metal Jail Bird. Find it on the Internet. Put it on, lock it, and call me again.”

She hung up.

When it arrived I called her again.

“Hello, this is Laura.”

“Hi Laura. This is Brian.”

“Hello slave. Are you wearing the Jail Bird?”

“Yes Ma’am.”

“Good boy. I have a hot date on Thursday. I want you to arrive at 7pm so that I may instruct you in your tasks before I leave. My address is [address]. Do you have it?”


“Good. Goodbye.”

I went to see her at the appointed time and things went from there.

Public transport fantasy

Do you ever sit on the tram and wonder how your fellow passengers like to have sex?

What about him, the meek looking balding guy reading the paper, spectacles on his nose? Does he like to be dominated by a woman with big strong thighs as he kneels naked and vulnerable on the floor? Or is he a secret sadist who pinches his wife’s nipples just a bit harder than she likes, as he gets a kick out of hearing her cry out in pain? He never admits this to her because he can’t admit it to himself.

Or him, the man with the broad face and hooded eyelids. Caramel coloured smooth skin and an army green cap over his short hair. Does he love his wife? Is he faithful to her? Or is he on his way to see his mistress while her kids are at school and her husband at work. Will he go to her place and they’ll steal an hour fucking in the marital bed or will they meet at some cheap motel that smells of stale sweat and carpet deodoriser?

The young guy, tall and lanky, his curls a wild mess. He’s a man, yes, but there is still much boyishness in his smile. Is he aware of his appeal to girls who are drawn to his awkwardness and cherubic looks? Does he take them home and fuck them up the arse? Or is he shy, stealing glances out of the corner of his eye when he is sure she is not looking? At night he sneaks into her garden to watch through her living room window as she kisses another and takes off her white cotton bra in the warm glow of the imitation Tiffany lamp.

This one is standing, holding onto the pole. A business man is my guess. Confident bright eyes, short clipped blonde beard and hair. He looks straight at me. I don’t smile back, but return the stare. Does he like to be in charge? Does he know how? Or is he only after a quickie in missionary position before rolling over and going to sleep? Who knows, perhaps he is a secret romantic who likes candlelit dinners and giving gifts of expensive handmade chocolates.

The next stop is mine. I get off and merge with the business of the crowd. Losing myself.