Date: Wed, 22 Mar 2006 20:24:07 +0100
From: Julian Obedient <julian.obedient@gmail.com>
Subject: The Promiscuous Slave

There he was in the distance walking towards me down the long gleaming
steel and glass passage way. Then he was in front of me, his hands on
my shoulders pushing me backwards to get a complete view of me. I
stood like a statue of Adonis for a minute and then I smiled.

Do I please you?

Very much.

Do I look different?

You do.

He kissed me.

Master, I said, beaming with desire. Master.

O, how I burn to give myself to him over and over again, as if each
moment of surrender were the first.

I crumble in his arms.

Let me describe myself for a minute. I have spikey blond hair, green
eyes and a fabulous build. No, really, I do. I'm in the movies. My six
pack is an eight pack. My face has been on magazine covers, gay,
straight, men's, women's. I have modeled on the runways for Versace,
Calvin, and Armani. There is a nationally known ad for an extra-long
cigarette with me in stockings, heels, garter belt, bare chest,
eyeliner, shaved head and a rhinestone earring. Hell, that ad is
circulated world-wide -- now with the multi-nationals. If I didn't
want to I wouldn't have to work for the rest of my life from what I
make on that ad alone, and still go on vacation all year long.

Right now in the middle of the afternoon, in the middle of one of the
chic-er, sleeker terminals at Kennedy airport, I am wearing tight and
skimpy white vinyl shorts, a white Fruit of the Loom wifebeater sized
for a ten year old that I've stretched over my torso and high calf
white leather boots with shellacked white Cuban heels. It's the middle
of summer, and it's been in the nineties for over a week. Oh, yes, and
a white platinum bracelet on my left wrist and a white platinum pinkie
ring with a beryl setting.

Let me describe my Master, too. He is difficult to look at he is so
dazzling. I hardly can see him, the force of energy that emanates from
him shimmers so intensely. It is like the force of an electric
current, and when I touch him the force mesmerizes me, throbbing
through the granite finish of his magnificently muscled physique.

We get in a cab and keep the windows open despite the air
conditioning. Through Queens; two queans through Queens with all its
mess and congestion. Imagine living with a highway running right
outside your living room or bedroom window!

It was good to see Chelsea again: bars, brownstones and bare-chested
guys with pierced nipples nuzzling against guys in leather vests,
boots and hot pants. Everything is simple here. People know what they
want.

We went upstairs. We have a duplex penthouse and a large terrace,
landscaped as green as Vermont in Spring.

A shower would be perfect right now. Please, Sir, join me?

Out of your boots, he said pushing me to the floor and unsnapping my
shorts. Arms up. Off with that wife beater. [Slaps me on the butt. I
tingle.] When did you get it? It's magnificent on you.

It was given to me, I smiled.

Slut, twisting my nipples.

Master, I sighed.

Muscle boy, he said before I knew it, and it hit me before I knew it.
My trigger words, and I was back in a trance. Don't be surprised that
I know my trigger. Doesn't make it any less effective.

To the shower, he said.

The water beat and rolled on us. I soaped him and shampooed his hair
and caressed his steel ball sack. As if commanded by its strength I
kneel before him. With my lips I grasp him and finger the base of his
shaft and take him in deeper and deeper gagging with excitement and
each time feeling freer and more excited, capable of accumulating
energy way beyond any bursting point.

With each stroke of my devotion to his shaft his whole body grew more
tensile until he came to the shattering point, but the instant before
he might have flown off in every direction he retracted all his energy
to his glowing center. Likewise, I felt mine sweep back, and become a
divine muscularity. He grabs my cock and presses it against his. He
squeezes the two together, making their heads taut with muscularity.
We press our bodies against each other and lash at each other with our
tongues, stretching, twisting and grinding our mouths till our nipples
scream and our bodies fire like an explosion blowing up a rocky ledge.

We shaved at the double sink with the faucets shaped like dragons
exhaling water instead of fire, and dried each other. I styled his
hair and made my own extra spikey.

I put on a pair of low slung white ducks. Before I pull on a
sleeveless skin tight apricot colored muscle shirt ending an inch
above the navel, Master gives me a pair of jeweled nipple rings to
insert in my pierced nipples. There was a matching cock ring. I opened
my pants and secured it around me, zipped up. It fit perfectly. So did
I. My mind was wiped clean. I was breathing with my ass-hole and ready
to be fucked. I wore the white platinum choker that matched the
bracelet, and a small diamond ear pin.

Master slipped on a pair of exquisite pepper black silk trousers, snug
around the butt, but falling loosely. He wore a torso hugging burgundy
brown silk sleeveless muscle shirt and a black double breasted jacket
with narrow lapels and a burgundy brown handkerchief in his breast
pocket. His belt and the mid-calf tapered boots that the cuffs of his
trousers brushed against were of the same brown burgundy. His hair was
almost black and it was thick; in the back it fell just above his
collar; in front it kept threatening to tumble all over his forehead.

We had martinis in Crazy Benny's, but we didn't stay because it was
simply mobbed since it had been featured a week ago in the Talk of the
Town section of The New Yorker. I was groped a half a dozen times
before we got out of there. We took a cab uptown to the eighties and
Riverside Drive. You could sense the river reflected in the air; the
sky was a crisp blue. The night had cooled. We began our game.

We called it Playing Risk. The risk is that at any point it can stop
being a game and become the real thing. There would really be a winner
and a loser. And, of course, it involved sex.

A knock out stud, muscular and bronze wearing a silver lamée thong
greeted us at the door,

He shook my hand and said how glad he was to meet me. He kissed Brad
on the lips.

You're on your own kid, Brad said to me putting his arm round this
creature. In the voice of Groucho Marx he said to him Show me your
etchings. They walked into a crowd and by myself I flowed into the
miasma.

Here he is, Drake Harkin trumpeted pointing to me, a joint in his
fingers the way a cigarette used to be. Muscle Boy!

I felt dizzy but managed to smile.

A stunning young woman -- sheath black velvet dress, low cut, tight
bodice, skirt slit up both sides -- speaking to him, looked over at
me, caught my eye. Slender ankles strapped into high heels; strong
square shoulders, arms to enrapture a gym bunny, succulent breasts on
a well-muscled chest; beautifully exposed flesh fragrant with youth.
She placed her palm over my half bare midriff. Muscle Boy, she said in
a voice that crossed a purr with a growl.

It won't do you any good. He's gay and taken, Harkin said.

I get what I want, she said.

Or daddy buys it for you.

Wanna go to the back room with me and I'll tell you how much he'll pay?

But she kissed me with her open mouth before I could answer.

Don't cha get a hard on when I kiss you? She said like a cheap whore
in a noir film.

It's not up to me, I said imitating Bogart.

You mean I don't turn you on because I'm a woman. You don't think I
have enough power.

Her Bacall wasn't bad.

I hesitated to speak, not wanting to be rude.

You'll be on your knees begging to lick my cunt before we're outta
here, Muscle Boy.

As I looked at her I began to get dizzy. She didn't know it was my
trigger, Muscle Boy. It didn't matter. I was going under, and it
wasn't Brad.

What's the matter?

I can't move.

She smiled. Follow me, she said.

She closed the bedroom door, took off her dress, and showed a pair of
perfect legs in shiny black heels and tinted black stockings held up
by garter belt over silky black bikini. She left on the bra. Black
silk seductively filled, a well defined chest, muscles, abs. She was
magnetic.

Kneel.

I did.

Bow.

Lick my feet.

I was unable to resist. I worshipped her.

I kissed her calves and caressed her thighs. She slapped me. Hard.

Not for you.

That aroused me the most, that and my be-ringed cock pressing against
the restraining tightness of my ducks.

She slapped me again, and I bent down and kissed the instep of her
foot. She kicked.

Muscle Boy. She mocked.

I understood.

She was the Mistress provoking me to make her the slave. I was the
slave who must serve by being Master.

I took her thighs, pulled her to the floor held her legs apart, each
hand grasping her inner thighs, and pulled at her bikini with my teeth
until my tongue was in the thick warm liquid of her salty lust and I
was lost in service. She struggled and then cracked, gyrating and
moaning, my head and her cunt made one.

She pulled at my hair as if she were trying to hold on, terrified as
she plummeted in free fall.

Meanwhile Brad and his silver-thonged Ganymede had gone out on the
balcony where Ganeymede was entranced, kneeling before my Master and
worshipping him. At this moment sucking his balls. Had I known about
it at the time I was staring into Allison's eyes and the two of us
were wrenchingly rocking inside each other exchanging power, it would
have given the excitement I was experiencing a divine mixture of pain
and loss mingled in my gut with pleasure and possession.

Allison had put her dress and heels back on and was tenderly glancing
at me on the couch. We were getting joints passed from all over the
room.

Your belly and your bowels are on fire. Your muscles are on fire.
Orgasms inside you are screaming for release. Gently she was dragging
her finger over my lips my nose, my cheeks, my eyelids.

Harkin came over and warned me I needed to get some sleep. We were
leaving at noon.

I told him I looked sexier when I'm sleepy.

Allison said I was about to go to sleep.

I wouldn't do that, Harkin said. It could be dangerous.

What do you mean?

He already is hypnotized.

He already is hypnotized?

I told you he wasn't available.

I'll sell him to you for a good price, Brad said coming into the
circle from elsewhere, having just entered the room and overhearing
the last part of the conversation.

Brad put his head next to mine and whispered in my ear, Muscle Boy.

My head spun, mind went blank and I collapsed on the couch. A moment
later I sat up. The rest of the night I moved like an automaton, and
my ability to speak was shut off.

How about you rent him to me for a week?

With an option to buy?

I'm not sure I could afford him. He looks expensive.

I don't want to spoil your negotiations, Harkin interrupted, but I
have a signed contract, and he's due tomorrow at noon at JFK to fly to
Panama, and he's mine until the picture is finished.

Fair enough, said my Master, and turning to Allison: I'll lend him to
you for a week when shooting is finished.

Allison thought quickly as she agreed. She could accomplish what she
needed to do in a week, and then all his conditions would become
superfluous.

ii.

THE POWER OF MY WILL/ THE WEAKNESS OF YOUR DESIRES was shot in Panama,
doubling for Colombia. Derek plays Jimmy, buff, cut and ripped, a SEAL
on leave in Ohio drinking one night with a buddy who took a different
direction.

What's this army shit, man, you goin' through.

It's the Navy, I told you, and it's not shit. There's a mess in this
world, and you need someone to clean it up, and keep it from happinin'
again, I want to be part of that someone.

Makin' more mess, huh?

Cut the bullshit man.

You gonna make me.

Sure, let's go outside.

Horse play.

Outside.

Friendly wrestling.

Shot of a man across the way watching.

Cut to next shot: Jimmy solitary on a golden beach in a ripped pair of
shorts and the blue scrap of a work shirt clinging to his bronzed and
gleaming muscled torso. He is running away from the ocean towards the
camera. There is the music of freedom, and then silence. Then he
speaks. God Damn, he says.

Cut to next shot, Jimmy with nothing on his chest, but a rope across
it, and just covered by his shorts which have become skimpier, tied to
a chair.

Tell us what you know.

Silence.

You survived.

Several blows coolly aimed, causing as much a sense of what worse
might come as well as the present pain delivered.

They realize though that he will not talk, and if they incapacitate
him he will not be able to. They look meaningfully at each other and
say Hypnosis.

A very sinister man peculiarly handsome and ugly at the same time
approaches, is handed a box by a nearly naked zombie servant and
removes a jade pendant. It sends out sparkles of light.

He begins swinging it in front of Jimmy's eyes. Jimmy struggles
against it, running away from it with his eyes, struggling to shut
them. The camera offers a huge shot of Jimmy's seductive watery jade
marble eyes. They fill the panorama of the movie screen. Then we see
them begin to follow the swing of the pendulum, the pendulum swinging
in front of his eyes and in front of ours, too, from one end of the
screen to the other.

You are in a deep sleep now and must obey every command I give you and
answer every question I ask you.

Even in his vulnerable sleep, interrogation was fruitless. They are
satisfied that he really knew nothing.

Can you hear me? the sinister master hypnotist asks.

Yes, Jimmy groans.

You will always say Yes, sir, with the same devotion as you do as a SEAL.

Yes, Sir, says Jimmy snapping to attention.

Very good. I am pleased, the master, smiling.

Thank you, Sir, Jimmy speaks, his voice sharp. He has been stripped of
his identity and is completely obedient.

I'm going to bring you out of this trance. When I do, you will do
exactly what I tell you to. You will be unable to resist me.

A few days later Jimmy is drinking a beer in a Bogata café. He is
wearing a cheap American cowboy hat, a wife-beater, worn, well fitting
jeans and cowboy boots. He smokes a thin panatela.

Mr. Jackson, a little man in a pin stripe suit and flanked by two
bigger men. He says, I am Mr. Jackson, slowly and hands him an
American dollar. You know what to do, he says. I will tell you. The
Forest of the Virgin Gods.

After a lot of plot shenanigans and intrigue which I will not bother
to relate, including a whole Zulu War and a pastoral interval by a
pink and blue lagoon, Jimmy winds up deep in the jungle, called the
Forest of the Virgin Gods, tied to a tree waiting to be sacrificed,
along with a beautiful native girl, in a primitive fire ceremony.
Jimmy manages to scrape the bindings against the tree enough to
frazzle them, gets free, releases the girl, and they run away into the
jungle night.

A year later. Night. A café in Antibbes, overlooking the
Mediterranean. We see the bustle of the waiters, each wearing trousers
as tight as a Roxy usher's and little white double breasted bell boy
jackets tightly buttoned over gorgeous torsos. Shoe polished hair. The
camera closes in on a sultry vocalist singing "Just in Time," then
swirls through a floor full of dancers until it finds and isolates
them, lost in each others arms, he in a white-jacketed tuxedo, she in
a floor length black sheath, slit high up the side, dancing, dreaming.
Black out!

iii

Allison and Brad sat on facing chairs in our upstairs living room
staring at each other. Ganymede was there too, now in a russet thong
with a chain round his neck.

As long as you're away so much I thought I'd get a dog to keep me
company, my Master said in mock dejection.

Woof, woof, I said, and shook my bottom like a dog's tail and didn't
spill the two martinis I was handing them.

Good boy, my Master said.

I bowed. He rubbed my head.

As we left, he embraced me, kissed me like a branding iron and
whispered in my ear an overriding command, a fragment that would keep
exploding in me like a time release medicine, "Love cock."

I already did. I adored it. I worshipped it.

iv

Allison lived with Julia, now her secretary, off Central Park on Fifth
Avenue in a four story town house.

I say "now her secretary," because this was not always the case. Upon
graduation from Bennington, they had been best friends, and their
confidences, late at night after they had become Greenwhich Village
roommates brought them even closer. They spoke of their rape fantasies
and complained about how exciting they were despite the fact that rape
was actually horrible and their fantasies vile, seeming in some way to
grant acquiescence to rape. They also spoke of the dreariness of the
men they saw, how lacking they were in masculinity, in power,
authority, confidence, sexual savagery or even money.

They wanted men who could control them, who could make them melt,
overpower them, make them -- despite their strength and their
determination to be independent and whole -- surrender body and soul.
No matter what their daily accomplishments, nor how sure and elegant
and cold they seemed to colleagues and passers by, Allison and Julia
agreed they were only really sluts thrilled to obey a man who could
command them.

Eric was the man. They met him when a five-minute tropical rain hit
the summer streets of the hot Village and these three were among those
who ran to the doorway of The Paperback Dragon.

Minutes later in the sun, over already dry pavements they accompanied
him to his studio off Hudson Street. It looked like an airplane
hanger.

In explanation he told them he was a photographer.

When they asked him to see things he'd done, first he showed them
several covers for Vogue, Elle, Vanity Fair. There was the already
famous six page spread of photos of Derek Madison that had appeared in
The New Yorker. But there was more, he told them, if they wanted to
see it, but it was tougher stuff.

They wanted to see. Whips, chains, leather, spiked heels and vinyl
boots, thongs and chastity belts for women and men, pierced nipples,
shaved and bound men and women submissive and tortured. Powerful,
bronzed shining, Masters and Mistresses posed in their glory. Stripped
and humiliated, slaves bowed and served. All posing for the vast
readership of the many magazines that paid Eric for his work.

How do you get them to do all that? the girls asked.

They like it, Eric replied smiling.

You must pay them a lot.

On the contrary. They do it to please me. As I said, they like it.

They like it, the girls repeated, incredulously and simultaneously.

Enough.

What's enough?

Enough for me to get them to go the extra distance for my camera.

The girls shuddered.

You couldn't get me to do that if you hypnotized me, Allison joked.

Amen, said Julia.

You want to try? Eric said very quietly.

Are you serious? said Allison.

Are you? said Eric.

Go ahead, she said.

Relax he said.

I am, she said.

Shush pussycat, he said.

Breathe easy.

Relax.

Breathe

She fell into his power quite quickly. It excited her to obey him.

Julia had fallen meanwhile into a trance of her own and realized how
she had never realized until this minute how beautiful Allison was.
She desired her.

He used them in several different poses on several covers, but the
relation was always the same, Allison some sort of mistress and Julia
ecstatically suffering humiliation, servitude and inferiority as her
labia were being tongued or her ass hole teased by an exquisite girl
whom she had never met whose wrists were tied behind her back. Allison
stood over them, haughty and holding a whip, ready although at rest.

After the session he played with them while they still wore their
skimpy leather posing costumes. They pretended to be kittens, licked
and pawed him and took him into them. They called him master, and when
not serving him sexually did domestic service.

He saw Julia's submissive attraction to Allison, and before he
released them from the trance, readjusted her and Allison. From then
on, it was understood that Allison was her mistress. To give their
relationship a social face, so that they could have the added
pleasures of engaging in a secret relationship and also being great
matter for social gossip and innuendo he suggested that Julia become
Allison's paid secretary.

v.

When I got there that relationship had worked itself out in all its
details and their roles were defined very precisely. They lived them
every minute they were together, and they were just about inseparable.

Allison stripped me bare, put my cock and balls in a silver cage with
a lock to which she had a little silver key, and locked me in. She put
clamps on my nipples and told me to slip on the black thong she gave
me.

We weren't alone, but a group of her friends were there. I was
entirely compliant and obedient, as I'd been hypnotized to be.

I noticed her friend Sam immediately. He was astonishing and it pained
me not to look at him, but looking at him caused me anguish too, for
my captive cock was so caged it could not extend itself in gratitude
for such beauty, but was hurt just by perceiving it while immobilized.

Later I was in a bedroom with the two of them, my cock uncased up his
ass as he rammed up and down into her.

Everything was burning. I was about to explode. He was holding my
thighs, stretching his arms behind him like he was going to make a
swan dive.

And then we all crashed with a clanging reverberation of our parts
until we buzzed out beyond the last tingle to stillness, our heads all
melted together.

She wore me out.

Slowly I found myself losing ground to her, until, after it was
totally beyond anything I could do about it I was entirely in her
power. I was obeying her every command as if it were an impulse of my
own. Then I had no memory of anything but the time I spent in her
presence. The rest was blank, non-existent. I became non-existent
without her.

I knelt before her, worshipping, in heels, well muscled firmly shaped
hairless legs, sun bronzed and gleaming, and I put my head in her V
and with my tongue did homage to her magnificence.

I had become so enthralled by my mistress that I had forgotten
entirely about my master. I remembered him only after I found myself
between him and my mistress, his cock up my ass and mine nuzzling
inside her. We eased each other aloft, both of them whispering to me;
she with that cross between a purr and a growl saying muscle boy; he,
taking me to a profoundly joyous elevation, repeatedly pouring out the
words Love cock.