This erotic eBook is a collection of submitted stories by my fans for your pleasure. This is the first of many Erotic Fan Collections that I will be releasing over the 2015 year. As always here is one of the stories you will find in Volume 1.
“I’m afraid that I’m going to come,” I whimpered.
“You should be,” came her calm, patronizing reply.
I strained against the leather straps holding my body spread-eagle against the wall while this blond leather-clad goddess vigorously rubbed my erect cock.
“Don’t you come until I give you my permission, or I’ll paddle your ass.”
“Oh, mistress, I’m afraid I’m going to come.”
“You should be …”
Two hours earlier I had been led into the basement by a man who had instructed me to remove all of my clothing. I placed my monetary offering in the wooden bowl and knelt to face the doorway, waiting for my mistress to arrive.
As I knelt there on the floor, I glanced around the dimly lit room. There were large contraptions of wood and leather against the wall. I started to wonder what I had gotten myself into, when I heard voices and the sound of hard heels on the step. Then she came to stand in the doorway.
She gave me a cursory glance, then looked around the room. I felt strange kneeling there, naked under her gaze. She was tall with long blond hair and wore only black: an opened vest that allowed glimpses of her otherwise bare breasts, a skirt with heavy metal zippers on both sides, high-heeled black boots.
She stalked past me and sat down in a throne like chair, demanding that I turn toward her. I pivoted awkwardly on my knees and came to sit at her feet as she started to read the letter of application I had sent her. She asked me questions to which I was allowed to answer only yes or no. When I nervously responded “yeah” to one question I got a warning sting from her riding crop.
“You will address me as Mistress or Ma’am. Is that clear?”
I looked down at my nakedness and said, “Yes, ma’am.”
“That’s better. Now stand up. Now turn for me—very slowly.”
I did as she told me, allowing her to view my body at her leisure. When I was halfway around she told me to stop. I heard her move in her chair, then felt the light touch of her gloved fingers run up the back of my leg. I shivered as she touched my buttock and felt a thrilling stir in the end of my penis as it started to swell.
“Keep turning,” she commanded. I turned the rest of the way until, once again, I faced her.
“Well,” she said, eyeing my semi-erect cock, “you’re quite sensitive. That’s good.” She reached up to stroke my nipples, and I shivered again as they immediately stiffened. She gave a small smile.
She left the room for a moment and returned with several leather straps. I watched as she handled the instruments of bondage and discipline—my bondage and my discipline.
“Did you bring any panties?”
I was taken aback. “Just the ones I wore,” I answered, not used to thinking of my underwear as panties.
“Let me see them,” she commanded harshly.
Without turning my back to her, as I was instructed earlier, I retrieved my briefs from the hook I had hung them on. They were designer briefs of sheer white stretch nylon. I handed them to her.
“Hmmm,” she murmured, holding them up. “These look like a man’s panties. Put them on.” She watched as I fitted them over my ass.
She reached out and lightly felt my ass through the smooth, tight nylon, then stroked the bulge in front, which expanded at her touch.
“You like how they feel anyway?”
“Now come here,” she demanded, positioning me in the middle of the room. She roughly fastened broad leather straps on each of my wrists. Turning me around, she fastened my wrists together behind my back, then turned me to face her again. I felt a twinge of fear as I stood there, feeling even more naked with my hard-on so obvious in my sheer nylon briefs. With my hands shackled, I was completely vulnerable.
She smiled and grasped the elastic waistband of my pants and pulled the briefs down under my balls. She squeezed the sensitive tip of my cock between her thumb and fingers. Flicking it, she laughed as my cock jumped. I felt helpless.
She took a strap of rawhide and bound my genitals so that my balls protruded in a tight little hairy package and my cock seemed even more swollen. She spread my legs as she buckled leather cuffs on each ankle. “You have nice legs,” she said. “How do you think they would look in nylon stockings?”
I was shocked, but I knew better than to protest. “Yes, mistress,” I managed to utter.
Grabbing my cock, she led me to the other room, nearly yanking me by my swollen handle.
I whimpered, “It hurts, mistress,” in a voice I hardly recognized as my own.
“You don’t know what pain is. What you feel now is just a little discomfort.” She led me to the far wall that housed an ominous wooden frame and unhooked my hands, only to refasten them to the rack. She tied them above my head, then reached behind me to hook a finger in the top of my briefs, slipping them down off my ass.
“Now,” she said, stepping back, “I want you to wiggle out of your panties.”
I attempted to twitch my hips and thighs in order to get the tight nylon to slide down. The motion caused my protruding genitals to bounce and jerk obscenely in front of me while the mistress, amused at my humiliating predicament, stood by watching me.
“Keep wiggling. Get those panties off.” She was laughing now. I finally managed to get the nylon garment to slide down my legs. “There. Wasn’t that fun?”
“Yes, mistress,” I said.
She pulled a thick belt around my waist and attached it to the frame.
“Suck your stomach in,” she demanded as she pulled it tight, securing my torso to the wall. She spread my legs and fastened them to the rings on the frame.
I felt like a toy as she pulled a stool in front of me and sat down. I was naked, vulnerable, completely immobilized, and exposed to this aggressive woman. She settled herself in her seat, level with my swollen balls that protruded from their leather bindings. She stroked the smooth skin under the head of my erect shaft until I squirmed.
“Do you like that?”
“Yes, mistress,” I gasped.
“Well, you can like it all you want, but don’t you come until I give you permission. Understood?”
She stroked my shining cockhead faster and harder. I felt myself straining against my bonds.
“Okay, you can come,” she said while she continued her rubbing. My body moved rhythmically despite my tight bonds. She stopped abruptly.
“I changed my mind,” she cooed.
I sighed, and she laughed as she started her stroking all over again.
“I’m afraid I’m going to come,” I whimpered.
“You should be,” came her calm reply as she stroked my aching member. “If you come before I give my permission, I’m going to paddle your ass.” Her strokes were brisk and on the mark. My balls ached.
“Ohhh, I’m afraid I’m going to have to come, mistress.” I was begging.
“You should be,” she replied once more, the threat of the paddle an unspoken promise.
“Okay, you can come,” she relented. I felt my relief building when she again released my cock. Then she said in a mocking, singsong voice, “No, I changed my mind.”
My purplish erection strained against the leather binding and the strap around my waist constricted my breathing, but she tightened the belt even more.
She resumed her vigorous assault on the bulbous head of my cock, and I was responding physically, fearful of losing control but unable to hold back my building excitement.
“Okay,” she said again—I was beginning to dread that word—“now you may come.” I felt myself building, but all the time I was waiting for her to stop her hand and deny me the relief it could bring. She continued stroking and, with a twitch of her wrist, released the leather string that bound my cock and balls. With a moan, I shot a series of white streams, ecstatic in my orgasm.
“I like a man who shoots,” she said nonchalantly as she wiped my come off her leather skirt.
She released the binds that held me to the wooden frame, and I sighed out loud. She slapped me sharply on the face.
“Stop that sighing,” she said.
I had to sit alone in the cold basement for a long time before she returned and allowed me to dress. As I prepared to leave, she commanded me to kneel down and kiss the pointed toe of her black leather boot. She smiled and bid me to rise as she said good-bye. I backed out of the dungeon and up the stairs.—N.E., Battle Creek, Michigan
| END |