Bondage/bedtime7
                                          Sweet Slave
                                  A Writer's Choice Bedtime Story
                     Life is full of temptations. Sometimes you grow by resisting 
                 them. Sometimes you grow by embracing them. Linda was the second 
                                               kind. 
                     Looking back, it's hard to remember just how Linda and I got 
                  to where we are. It's even harder to explain to friends who are 
                  close enough to us to read the signs but not close enough to be 
                part of what's happening. And it would be impossible to explain to 
                 either of our parents or most of the people we work with, so from 
                                      them we simply hide it. 
                        The facts are these: Linda is my slave. I am her master.
                      Those are startling words, even to me, even now, two years 
                 after it became a fact. When I say them, sometimes a little voice 
                   still demands of me, What do you mean, she's your slave? What 
                 about the women's movement? What about the sensitive man? What's 
                                          going on here? 
                    The answer's not simple. I could tell you it's about power, or 
                  freedom from responsibility, or contact intensity. I could tell 
                  you it's about primal urges to take and be taken. All of those 
                                         things are true. 
                                      But mostly it's about love.
                                                                 #
                         We were friends first. That's important. Bondage and 
                   submission isn't a game you play with strangers. If you don't 
                         understand why, you're not ready to play at all. 
                     I can tell you how Linda and I met. I run a little print shop 
                  -- lithographs, silkscreens and the like, small runs, very high 
                  quality. Not much work comes in off the street, but people who 
                                     need me seem to find me. 
                     Roald needed me. He was an illustrator who was trying to even 
                   out the ups and downs by getting his off-the-wall work on the 
                 walls in the graphic art galleries around the city. Linda was his 
                housemate, sometime lover, and informal business partner. She went 
                 to school part time and handled the running around so Roald could 
                                      concentrate on the art. 
                    She explained all of that and more the first time she came in. 
                 Not prattling or chattering. She was just open and at peace with 
                   herself. I felt myself drawn to her, and it was hard to stay 
                  professional. Dark hair, a happy shoulder-length tangle -- dark 
                  eyes, her gaze warm and direct -- an easy gentle laugh. I knew 
                          right then I wanted to know this woman better. 
                     But it's bad manners to hit on your customers, and downright 
                    callow to meddle in someone else's happy relationship. So I 
                 contented myself with enjoying the rush of good feeling that came 
                  when she appeared, enjoying the sight of her, the sound of her 
                    voice. Yes, and enjoying a few fantasies when she was gone. 
                      A month slid by, and she started to linger to talk when she 
                  came in. In time it seemed as though the work we were doing for 
                   Roald was only a secondary reason for her being there, and I 
                wondered where we were headed. Then one day she came into the shop 
                  just before noon and asked me if I'd had lunch yet. There was a 
                 deli down the street she'd been wanting to try, she said, but she 
                                        hated eating alone. 
                     I only hesitated for a moment. "Me, too," I said, plucking my 
                                       jacket off its hook. 
                     She took my arm as we went down the sidewalk, hugged me from 
                 behind while I fought my way to the counter and ordered for us. I 
                felt wonderful, if a little confused. She cleared up the confusion 
                             as we were finishing off our sandwiches. 
                    "Do you know what it does to me when you look at me that way?" 
                                         she asked softly. 
                                              "What way?"
                     "That way. That look that says, `I want to take you and make 
                                            you mine.'"
                    "You're not supposed to see that look," I said, showing a mock 
                                              frown. 
                    "Are you saying that you haven't seen mine? The look that says 
                                          I want you to?"
                                           "You and Roald --"
                     "Roald and I have an open relationship," she said. "Should I 
                                    have told you that sooner?" 
                                            "Yes," I said. 
                     "I like you, Christopher. And you have this way of looking at 
                    me that makes me feel like the only woman in the room. Like 
                 there's just you and me, and the rest of the world has gone away. 
                      It makes me want very much for you to make love to me."
                     I looked into her eyes for a long moment, just that way. Then 
                I took her hand and led her out of the deli. I didn't let go until 
                 we were standing in my bedroom and I needed that hand to unbutton 
                                            her blouse. 
                                                                 #
                     First times are always awkward. That's what my friend Bernard 
                 tells me, and he's had a lot more first times than I have. Before 
                 Linda, I'd have agreed. You don't know how gentle or firm to make 
                  your touch, how to read your new lover's responses, how to tell 
                 them what you like without making it sound like you're coaching a 
                  wrestling team. Not to mention all those nasty little anxieties 
                             rattling around in the back of your head. 
                        But this was different. We undressed each other slowly, 
                    pausing to kiss newly bared skin, to caress soft curves, to 
                   explore the strange and wonderful new texture of each other's 
                 bodies. When we were both naked, she threw her arms around me and 
                pulled herself close, her head resting on my shoulder, her breasts 
                   flattened against my chest, my erect cock pressed between our 
                                             bellies. 
                      "This is right," she whispered, "being here with you. This 
                                         feels so right." 
                       We sat Indian-style on the bed and fondled each other, I 
                  exploring her wetness, her my hardness. There were long kisses, 
                 wet and hungry, her lips soft and pliant. In between the kisses I 
                 could watch her face, a delicious intimacy, and enjoy the little 
                 catch of breath as I pushed a finger inside her silky folds, the 
                  dreamy look in her eyes as my fingertips traced circles on her 
                                               clit. 
                      She gave back in full measure for what she was receiving -- 
                 stroking my cock with long cool fingers, her grip firm but never 
                 rough -- cupping my balls in her hand, tracing the "seam" with a 
                    fingernail -- surprising me by playing with my nipples and 
                   delighting in my response. I returned the favor, rolling the 
                    crinkly brown nub of her right nipple between my thumb and 
                  forefinger, and she closed her eyes as though surrendering to a 
                                          new imperative. 
                    On impulse, I turned the gentle pressure into a pinch, and she 
                   moaned softly. A moment later there was a new rush of wetness 
                 between her nether lips, and she slowly leaned forward until her 
                forehead rested on my shoulder. Her arms went around my shoulders, 
                  and she clung tightly to me as I orchestrated her pleasure, two 
                 fingers of one hand gliding over her swollen clit, two fingers of 
                     the other alternately teasing and squeezing her nipples. 
                     The rigidity in the arms that embraced me spread to her whole 
                body moments before she came, back arching, fingers clutching. She 
                 made the most wonderful sounds, first hard exhalations that were 
                 somewhere between gasps and moans, ending with a pure erotic cry 
                 of pleasure. A moment later, she raised her head from my shoulder 
                           and her lips seized mine in a grateful kiss. 
                    She lay back and tried to pull me on top of her, but her scent 
                had been working on me for many long minutes, and I wanted a taste 
                 of her first, musky and all female. My tongue found her clitoris 
                   and teased it to erection, and I felt her fingers in my hair, 
                             their gentle pressure a plea not to stop. 
                        I didn't stop. The response of her body to my tongue's 
                  probings was all the reinforcement I needed. As her excitement 
                  mounted, I pushed the middle three fingers of my left hand deep 
                  inside her well-lubricated pussy. When she came, crying out as 
                   before, her muscles clamped down on my fingers in a powerful 
                                          rippling spasm. 
                    That was when my own pleasure became the imperative. I climbed 
                    atop her, bringing her a kiss flavored with her own juices. 
                   She spread her legs wider to invite me inside, clutched at my 
                 buttocks and whispered an urgent plea for me to fill her with my 
                                               cock. 
                       I entered her with one smooth thrust and we began to move 
                 together, finding the rhythm that was uniquely ours. There was a 
                 ferocious intensity to her lovemaking such that I had never known 
                before, and it roused in me in turn a need to take her and possess 
                her. I drove my cock deep into her with powerful thrusts that were 
                 almost assaults, riding her hard against the mattress. Eyes wide 
                    with surprise and delight, she opened herself to me fully. 
                      It was a closed circle of passion channeled round and round 
                 between us, ever increasing, ever intensifying. Then her fingers 
                  found my nipples, nails biting deep into the flesh, and my body 
                shook in an electric, convulsive shudder that left me wobbly-armed 
                 and gasping. My cock still deep inside her cunt, I dropped to my 
                   elbows, and we held each other in a tender, peaceful embrace. 
                       Nothing needed to be said. There was a special connection 
                 between us, almost frightening in its power, a recognition of the 
                 self in the other, reality and reflection. We both knew it, just 
                as we both knew that we had just begun to explore what we could be 
                                             together. 
                                                                 #
                    Having -- or being -- a lovely, compliant, responsive slave is 
                    a powerful fantasy.

Fetish Hotel has Tons of bondage and discipline with hot xxx pictures and porno movies. bondage and discipline will be sure to give you a hard on your make your pussy wet wanting even more bondage and discipline Goto Fetish Hotel today and get more bondage and discipline you will not be sorry. Thousands of Pictures of bondage and discipline. And hot sexy movies with bondage and discipline

Click Here to Enter Fetish Hotel - #1 Site for bondage and discipline

 It touches deeply-rooted archetypes of 
                masculinity and femininity, suggests a quality of mutual obsession 
                    not attainable in the complex, rule-ordered everyday world. 
                     But it also evokes lurid crime-magazine headlines and invites 
                harsh assessments of your sanity and morality. You admit to having 
                the fantasy at considerable social risk. You admit to desiring the 
                                   reality at even greater risk. 
                     So there is in my library a small collection of books that no 
                casual visitor sees -- classics like "The Image" and "The Story of 
                 O," newcomers like "9 1/2 Weeks" and "Exit to Eden." I don't know 
                 when Linda saw them. She insists to this day that she never did, 
                 that her understanding of what I wanted -- what we both wanted -- 
                 came from some deeper reading of our word games and the energy we 
                               generated together in our lovemaking. 
                        The night it began, we had eaten a dinner we had cooked 
                   together, enjoyed a glass of California wine and our favorite 
                 Thursday evening comedies while cuddled together on the couch. As 
                  it always seemed to, our cuddling progressed to familiar fully-
                                   clothed teasing and touching. 
                     By wordless consensus, we retired to the bedroom. She guided 
                 me to a spot in front of the bureau, then stepped back and began 
                 to disrobe. When I started to unbutton my shirt, she reached out 
                                          and stopped me. 
                              "I want to be the only one naked," she said.
                     There was an erotic fire in her eyes which promised much, and 
                                I let my hand fall back to my side. 
                      There are many ways in which a woman can shed her clothes. 
                Linda showed me a new one. Not coy, not teasing, not flaunting her 
                       curves and treasures. She made herself naked with the 
                    deliberateness of a ritual, as though it were my right and 
                   privilege to see her so, her loving duty to display herself. 
                     Then she came and knelt before me as she unzippered my jeans 
                 and gently fished my erect cock out through the opening. Her lips 
                   parted and her tongue flicked across the swollen crown of my 
                  manhood, then she cradled my cock in both hands and plunged it 
                                  deep into her warm, wet mouth. 
                    A minute or so of this was enough to make my knees weak and me 
                wonder if I could coax her to the bed. Then, with a last lingering 
                 caress, she drew back and sat on her heels with her knees spread 
                                               wide. 
                    "Will you tie my arms behind me?" she whispered, looking up at 
                                           me hopefully. 
                          I could not answer. I was struck dumb with desire. 
                              "There's rope in my bag, on top," she added.
                      I looked for permission in her eyes, found it, and went to 
                 where the bag sat. She stayed where she was, on her knees in the 
                   middle of the floor. When I knelt behind her, she crossed her 
                                  wrists behind her back for me. 
                     "If it pleases you, there's another piece for my elbows," she 
                                whispered as I tied the first knot.
                     It pleased me. Binding her elbows thrust her breasts out and 
                    up in a most flattering way. I stood and walked around her 
                 admiringly, then moved close so she could once again take my cock 
                                           in her mouth. 
                        Her mouth was hungry, her lips and tongue silken on my 
                  hardness. I stroked her hair, cradled her face in my hands. She 
                 was eager to draw an orgasm from me. I did not think I could come 
                  from her oral attentions alone, could not remember even having 
                 done so without the knowing touch of her hands on me. But I rode 
                  the exquisite pleasure she could give and the special thrill of 
                        seeing her that way until I forgot about "couldn't."
                        My eyes were closed, my head thrown back, my whole body 
                 tensing for release, when she paused just long enough to whisper, 
                                  "Can you see us in the mirror?" 
                     I glanced sideways at the bureau. I don't know that I'll ever 
                 see anything more beautiful than what I saw in reflected there at 
                   that moment: Linda on her knees before me, naked save for the 
                white ropes that held her arms severely behind her, her mouth full 
                 of my cock and her eyes looking up at me as though to say I give 
                 you this moment as a gift, because your pleasure is my pleasure, 
                                        because I love you. 
                    It was the picture that she wanted me to see, had orchestrated 
                    free and uncoerced. The sight pushed me over the top in an 
                 explosive rush that left my whole body trembling. I dropped to my 
                 knees and shared a salty kiss with her, then quickly unbound her 
                             arms so that I could feel them around me. 
                                                                 #
                    Six weeks later, after much talk, a private shopping trip, and 
                 some further explorations, Linda formally became my slave. It was 
                  all symbolic, of course, yet very real. Symbols are real, after 
                  all. They speak for things that can be expressed no other way. 
                      It was sexual theater, very simple, yet very powerful. The 
                 room was lit only by candles. She came to me naked, unadorned by 
                   jewelry, and knelt before my chair. I placed a black leather 
                   collar on her neck and secured it with a silver padlock. She 
                 looked up at me and her eyes glowed. Somehow, the collar changed 
                                                her.
                    "I have something I want to give you," she said. "May I go get 
                                               it?" 
                      I had her bring me a glass of wine first, watching her move 
                 and enjoying her beauty. Then she left the room for a moment, and 
                returned carrying something before her. Until she was very close I 
                                    could not see what it was. 
                     It was a short-thonged many-stranded whip. She offered it up 
                 to me on her open palms. The black leather strands were soft and 
                supple, the wooden handle shaped like a cock. It was almost a work 
                                              of art.
                                 "You know I'll use it on you," I said.
                                          "Yes," she answered.
                    I reached down and explored the cleft between her legs. It was 
                 wet and fragrant with her sweet nectar. "Get on the bed," I said. 
                    It took only a few minutes to make her ready. I bound her face 
                  down and bottom high over the low round rail of the footboard, 
                 legs spread wide and tied to the legs of the bed. Then I stepped 
                  back to enjoy the sight, as I knew she wanted me to. Her bound 
                 hands were between her legs, her fingers already working against 
                her swollen clit. Her cheek was pressed against the bedspread, the 
                   bright red cloth of her gag deep in her mouth. Her eyes were 
                         closed, and yet communicated her blissful state. 
                      I raised the whip and brought it down on her buttocks. She 
                 jumped and gave a little cry that was muffled by the gag, but her 
                  fingers never slowed. I varied the time between strokes, varied 
                the target -- left cheek, right, upper thighs, full across the ass 
                   -- never letting her know when to expect the next fall of the 
                 whip, until I marked the familiar signs of her approaching orgasm.
                        Then I began to lash her ass briskly and rhythmically, 
                  alternating between left and right cheeks, using the cushion of 
                 her self-pleasure to push her to more intense feelings. When she 
                 came, the moans and cries could not be contained by the gag, and 
                her convulsive movements stressed the knots I had tied. I moved to 
                 the side of the bed and removed her gag. She raised her head from 
                 the bedcovers for a kiss. I have never kissed softer, more pliant 
                                               lips. 
                    I freed her and made long, slow love with her there on the bed 
                                     where I had whipped her. 
                                                                 #
                     We have many more bondage toys now, have become fond of some 
                 and found others wanting. We have explored different shadings of 
                  the dominant/submissive dynamic, tested our joint and separate 
                            fantasies, even reversed roles on occasion. 
                     Every variation is a celebration of our diversity and unity, 
                 for the one essential is the feeling between us. She gives to me 
                  her trust, a precious gift never to be abused. The trust comes 
                  from the love that we have, a love that is fully mutual, never 
                                            one-sided. 
                     For all the liberties she allows me, my greatest pleasure is 
                    to pleasure her. When Linda comes, moaning and grasping and 
                  arching, I am in awe. There is nothing more compelling, nothing 
                   more gratifying than to know that it is by my touch that she 
                                      achieves such rapture.  
                         After an orgasm, she floats for several minutes on an 
                 exquisite high, and I love to push her higher. Bound, she has had 
                   more than a dozen orgasms in a span of a half-hour, each more 
                 shattering and draining than the last, until the sheets are damp 
                       with perspiration and her body limp with exhaustion. 
                      Linda's magic is that she gives me, willingly, what I could 
                 not and would not dare demand. I give her in return the means to 
                surrender to her body's imperatives and fully experience the world 
                                           of sensation. 
                     It is the happiest of contracts, with both parties enriched. 
                    There aren't many games with two winners. I consider myself 
                                blessed to have found one with her. 
                 ==================================================================
                 A version of this story was published by VARIATIONS in June, 1989 
                  as NAKED OFFERING by Daniel Hart. This is the original unedited
                              text, as the author meant it to be read.
                 ==================================================================
                                                  
                                                   
                                                  
                                                  
 

Sexy bondage and discipline - Hot bondage and discipline in these Xxx Pictures and Porn Movies at Fetish Hotel