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My "Images" (a term I stole from Suki) are short ideas, images,
and sketches written for the amusement of and offered as tribute 
to my Liege and Lady.  They were always longer and never so well
crafted as Suki's short masterpieces, and over time, my Images
files began to include various email excerpts and other works
in progress or ideas for works and became more journal than art,
so some juxtapositions may seem odd.


A few selections from my Images files follow.  They are generally 
cruel and nonconsensual and of interest only to sickphuxs, so please 
read no further if such doesn't appeal to you.

The Images are impurely the products of a warped imagination, and
should not be seen as a reflection of the scene, nor should they be 
imitated by anyone not interested in a protracted term as the ward 
of the state.

Steven S. Davis


---------------------------------------------
"The Dinner"


I've been picturing a man going to a very conservative group's
dinner (note: not militantly conservative; I'm think of some sort
of group which is very much mainstream family values, but not hostile)
to accept an award on his company's behalf (the boss delegated this 
dull task).  His Mistress, having heard him say how boring this would be,
decided to come to town and surprise him, and arranged tickets from
local contacts.  So through the event she's chatting pleasantly with
various people, but always manuevering to be in his line of sight.
Her outfit of a very well tailored women's business suit over
silk blouse and pearls stands out, but not in an bad way, little about
it being overtly provocative (it fits very well, but no one could call
it tight; the slit in the skirt is unusally high, but it's only seen
occasionally (but those men who see it can't help but keep their eyes
on her in hopes of seeing it again) and only when she wants it to be
seen, and her classic black pumps may have heels bit higher than most
women at the dinner would wear, but not enough to be considered odd).

Few people notice the handcuffs keychain she sometimes twirls, or
the flogger keychain she briefly dangles, in both cases when he can
see it.  And none of them could know that the one key she so
often casually jingles is the key to her toybag.  And while some of 
them will notice the way he looks at the stranger, no one thinks
it so odd for a single man to look over a pretty stranger, though
the women who after talking to her slide up to him with her name
and some particulars wonder why he doesn't approach her (and get
her away from their escorts).  They didn't catch, of course, the
way she shook her head "no" when he first saw her and started her 
way.

So through the evening they stay seperated, but she makes sure 
never really apart, keeping in his sight, making sure he sees
the suit he so likes, and gets brief glimpses of thigh, and
sees the shoes and the keychains and the special key while she
smilingly chats and discreetly flirts, and sending him enough 
arch looks to make him know she has plans for him.

And the fact that five days ago, two days after she learned of
this event, she ordered him not to masturbate but made it a point
to call him nightly and speak to him very sexily, combined with
the way she's working him tonight, are driving him mad, and his
state of excitement is obvious to women even when he can stay
hidden behind tables, and to everyone when he cannot.

So as he's sitting at the table he's really wishing that she'd
not gotten a front row seat and wasn't letting her crossed
leg move that way, or staring at him so intently while fingering
the key to her toybag, because much too soon he'll have to
stand up in front of all these good vanilla people and make a
walk to the relative protection of the dais, and right now those
few feet seem like a mile.

But he knew she wouldn't stop, and he knew that he couldn't
not look or not imagine, and that he wouldn't be able to avoid
the spectacle she wanted to create.  Which didn't make it any
easier, once he'd reached the dais, sure that everyone had seen
him (and been shocked and appalled) to decide whether to say
a few words of thanks and then flee as decorously as he could,
or to drag out his speech in hopes he would be able to step
away from the dais with some safety.  But the way she crossed
and uncrossed her legs, discreetly stretched, and kept
flashing him evil grins and more evil stares would allow him
no such escape, nor did it make giving his speech any easier
(especially given her skill at exploiting that slit in her
skirt and her way of using it at key moments in his speech).
But then, he'd known she'd show him no mercy tonight.

What he'd not expected was that he'd be loudly commanded
to "Meet me outside" for much of the audience to hear.
Nor that when she did come out she'd be in the company
of a very vanilla widow he knew slightly - though even 
less well, it seems, than he had thought he knew her.
Nor had he expected his Mistress to slowly drive through
the city streets, seemingly trying to get stuck at traffic
lights - she *had* clearly avoided a green light so she
could stop alongside a police car - while he and the
very vanilla widow sat in the back, her smile very ladylike
and the movement of her hand very womanly, while he sat
there torn between his standing order to defer to his
Mistress's female friends, and his fear of public exposure.
A fear which, when his Mistress stopped to buy ice cream
at an outside stand, which have had him scared stiff were
he not already as stiff as he could be, and fearful he
couldn't remain that way much longer and dreading to
violate his mistress's command by coming without permission.

Nor had he known that he would spend the rest of the night
in a standing spreadeagle between the posts at the foot
of a four poster bed in a lovers getaway hotel some miles from
town, nor that he would be watching his mistress and a woman
he'd thought to be a very vanilla widow cavorting happily in
the big bed, or that they would each delight in touching and 
stroking his naked body until his penis swelled into the Kali's
Teeth Bracelet locked around it, and the nasty teeth bit into
him till he groaned in pain, and the two women giggled and fell
back into each other's embrace (when they were enjoying each
other's embrace too much to want to part even briefly, and
quick grab/squeeze/pull/twist of his balls was enough to give
them the groan or screetch of pain that spurred them on).
He had some hopeful moments when Mistress told him to strip,
and still some hope when they tied him standing between the
posts.  But when the two women sat back to slowly lick their
ice cream cones while eyeing each other lustily and eyeing
him evilly, he began to fear, and when he saw the bracelet
he so hated laid on the bed, he knew he was in for a very
long, hard night.

-------------------------------------
Brushing

During a correspondence in which I'd been happily
threatening a femsub friend and her friend, she
turned around and started discussing how she and
her friend would corner me and make me submit 
(subs these days ;-&gt; ).  To which I had this
response.

 [Regarding being cornered and made to submit]

Well, I'm not sure two femdoms is optimal for this,
but it could work, especially if I'd been properly
prepared....

One scenario I've fantasized about has several
dommes (the setting might be after a community event
which I've volunteered to work on (and have actually
been somewhat helpful at) and we've just finished
cleaning up and I and a few female dominants (including
the event organizer) are the only ones left and I
say goodbye and go so leave, and one of more women
block my path) sort of herding me by getting in front
of and around me and moving their bodies to guide
me along, sometimes also putting hands on my arms
or shoulders or back and lightly pushing me in the
direction they want me to go, all while being very
friendly (if smiling evilly) and warm and reassuring
as the herd me and tell me that they don't want me
to leave and will not let me go, that they have plans
for me - plans that are theirs to know and mine to
find out - and they *are* going to have their way with
me.  There's no actual force or violence, just a gentle
relentless crowding of me; if they did try to grap me
and wrestle me into restraints that would trigger
resistance, but because they are not being violent
and because I've been feeling somewhat deferential to
them and because (odd as it may sound coming from me)
I have been trained from childhood not to use force 
against women so I'm disinclined to shove one of
them aside, and, also, last but far from least, because
I like the feeling of women claiming and controlling me
and even if my mind is saying "no" and my rational self
is saying "this is both unwise and nonconsensual and this
is not an example of a proper beggining of a BDSM scene"
my emotional self is saying "yes... yes, please claim me"
and they know enough about me to know this and to work
on my ambivalence, my inability to say "yes" to this but
my unwillingness to say "no" to it, and if they remain
gentle and unprovoking (though not unprovacative ;-&gt;)
then I won't be able to resist.  And they herd me into
a corner where some restraints are in place, and, blocking
me in, they gently stroke me and say it will be OK and
take my hands and slowly move them to the restraints,
kissing my hands when I do finally resist and repeating
that it will be OK, perhaps one leaning in to kiss my face
and hug me and say again that it will be OK as the pressure
on my hands increases, overcoming my weak resistance, and
then the cuffs are placed on me and locked and they have
me now helpless in their power, with no safeword or limits
and no negotiations, just at their mercy and subject to
whatever use they wish to make of me.

At which point one of them starts treating me both
triumphally and somewhat scornfully, a "we've got you
now and you are going to get it you silly boy" sort
of attitude.  And another remains gentle and reassuring
(sort of doing good top / bad top on me).  And then they
proceed to what they have in mind, as for example when
they say "you did a lot of snacking tonight, which is
fine after a long day spent helping, but I notice that
you didn't brush; you *really* should brush after
every meal" and then pull down my pants (if I haven't
already been stripped) and start kissing and stroking
and fondling me until my cock is hard (or harder) and
then one of them takes a firm grip on it, and then they
brandish a pair of brand new tooth brushes, and two
of them begin, gently at first but more insistently
as time passes, to brush the head of my cock all over,
happily disregarding my squirming and struggling and
shrieking (well, laughing at me might not actually
being "disregarding", but they certainly do not respond
in the affirmative to my pleas to please stop).  Until
they figure I've gotten worked up enough and stop to
allow me some recovery, during which they squeeze my
head between their fingers and scrape and flick it
with their fingernails, to establish how sore it is,
and the they say time to brush again, this time holding
up a tube of toothpaste for me to see before putting
the toothpaste on the brushes and saying "so you've
gone away; that's OK, we'll bring you back" and two
of then get on either side of me and kiss my face and
neck while gently fondling by balls, until I'm erect
again, and then they start brushing the very sore, abraded,
head of my cock again, and again without any mercy.


 [regarding tests of endurance]

I hope you would enjoy that.  I wouldn't, I think,
actually like standing with my wrists tied above
me and on my tip-toes as you and she take turns
holding the point of a knife to my groin, sometimes
pressing it upwards and saying "up, up, all the way
up" to me and enjoying the trembling of my legs
(my ankles bound to fixed points to make me stay
in place and keep my legs apart) then letting me 
come down enough to allow me to continue (sometines
even letting me stand flat-footed when my legs badly
need rest, perhaps because the pain from the stretching 
my arms and shoulders suffer when I do so is entertaining
to you, as is my groan when you again play with the point
of the knife against my scrotum and say "up, boy".

----------------------------------
Another thought experiment

I've been trading some thoughts with a femdom.
In the course of these discussions she hit upon 
a scenario that did hit a bunch of my buttons,
and I mentioned how it had great potential
for either pleasing or tormenting me.  She asked
how it would be a torment, which caused me to
run this thought experiment, which I thought
might perhaps be of interest (all words below 
are mine).

*******

&gt; &gt; It sounds quite heavenly to me.  You asked earlier about what 
&gt; &gt; I would consider a treat, and that scenario could certainly 
&gt; &gt; be a great treat. 

&gt; &gt; &gt; &gt; And it could also be a great way of tormenting me.


&gt; &gt; And if the touch was being offered then withdrawn then held so
&gt; &gt; close by, so available if only you opt for the smallest movement
&gt; &gt; - it probably is requiring much more exertion on your part to
&gt; &gt; stay so close without touching than it would to touch - well,
&gt; &gt; his need for your touch is going to become quite overpowering.


I ran a "thought experiment" (slightly different from a fantasy
because I'm guessing at what my reactions would be).  A highly
suspect form of inquiry and all the more so when the amount
of relevant data one has to use is small, but at present all
I have to go by.  And this thought experiment is especially
suspect because I have no experience of ever having been as
raw and emotionally open (aka defenseless; the fact that I
thought of it first as being defenseless and vulnerable rather 
than open and receptive probably says something about me).
But assuming that I had reached the point of being so raw
and unguarded....

Anyway, here are the results of said experiment (and I realize
that my perception of the scene you were describing may not be
what you were imagining, yet another defect with the experiment).

By the way, I'm certainly not saying that you would do this
to me or to anyone.  But it serves as an example of how the
scenario you set up could be used to torture me.

****

I'm in a state of very heightened need after a night in which
you've teased and tormented me and played quite skillfully
with my buttons (among other things).  I'm physically aching
and emotionally stripped raw and vulnerable and I'm in a
state of need that I would generally find humiliating but
tonight I'm beyond shame.

You've fastened me to a bed, securely but not painfully
(you don't want anything distracting me from what you will
be doing to me). We're both naked; you've pinned your hair
up so none will touch my skin unless you want it to.  You're
holding yourself over me, so close but not touching me
anywhere.  You bring your face very close to mine, moving
your head around mine, your lips so close to my face but
not kissing me (a head harness assures that in my weakness
and need I won't raise my head and kiss you) and my need
for your kiss finally overcomes my lifetime conditioning
and I weakly croak out "please kiss me, mistress".  At
which you lean back a bit and smile at me, sweetness and 
cruelty mixing deliciously in your smile, and say "You'll
have to do better than that, my proud piggy"  and then
lower your body to briefly rub it against mine, putting
as much of your skin against mine as you can and briefly
granting me almost all my dreams, and then you raise 
yourself away from me after showing me paradise.  All that
I want and need at this moment when I want and need more than
I ever have is yours to grant or deny me, and you've just 
allowed me a taste and then taken it away from me, making
me even more franticly, desperately needy, and I start
begging and begging and begging, but you keep seductively
telling me that I must do better, that this was better but
not good enough, that was sweet but I must try harder,
sometimes giving me a brief kiss or a quick feel of your body
against mine to remind me what I can have, what you can give
me, if only I say the right words the right way.  And though
begging is not something I do and not something I'm good at,
I keep trying desperately to say the right words the right
way because I so terribly need to feel your body against
mine and your lips on me, I so crave your thighs rubbing 
rubbing against me and your breasts pressed to my chest and
your hips grinding against me while your lips seek to softly
devour me.  At this moment I would give anything, give up
anything, betray anyone, do, say, or sign anything if you would
merge your body with mine and whisper in my ear (before kissing
me again) that you want us to be merged forever.  And all I
have to do is say the right words the right way, and ghod(dess)
how I am trying to do that.  Right now you are my deity and
you can grant me salvation or keep me in hell by granting or
witholding your favor, and until I say the right words the
right way you are going to keep me in hell while allowing me
the briefest hints of heaven whenever it appears that I'm
about to despair (OK, if I haven't yet despaired I'm not really
in hell but at this point theological subtleties elude me since
nothing in the universe matters save will you please touch me).

And then you get off the bed and slip on a robe as you say
to me "I guess you just don't have it in you" and turn and
walk away as I'm crying out "Please don't go, I'm sorry Mistress,
I'm sorry, I'll do better, let me try again, please don't go"
and as you reach the door you stop briefly and my heart soars
for a moment, but you slip on a pair of heels and walk out
the door, leaving it open as you walk down the hall and I can
hear the sound of your heels receding from me while I scream
out "PLEASE DON'T LEAVE ME, COME BACK PLEASE, PLEASE, I'M SO
SORRY, *PLEASE DON'T GO*" before I break down in sobs, which
I would hope you were listening to and enjoying on a baby
monitor in another room.

I'd hope that you really enjoyed my sobbing and whimpering, 
perhaps were taping it to listen to at other times.   Because
it would be a very long time before the scene could be repeated,
if ever.  Oh, it would be quite possible (well, if you did the 
right kind of aftercare to keep me from leaving you) to put
me through all the same preparations and then have me tied to 
a bed in the same way and hold yourself just out of reach in an 
identical manner.  But I'd not again lower my shields enough
to be that raw and that needy, not for a very long time, if
ever.

-----------------------------------------

Martyr

A correspondent mentioned having had martyrdom images, which
I fond interesting, and added this to a later reply.  


******************

A number of them, but so far I'm especially fond of the one with 
you and &lt;X&gt; (who was foolish enough to speak in your defence when 
you were denounced) are stripped naked and hung by your chained wrists 
from opposite arms of a large standing cross, and the townpeople are 
told they must all pass by you and must each beat you (and the word is
passed that anyone seen as less fervent in the beating then his or her 
neighbors will come under suspicion (and your friends hear the whispers
which they were meant to hear, that they are already under suspicion 
and will be watched especially closely)), and so one by one one all 
the healthy men and women (and any children big enough to reach your
bare bottoms with a cane) pass by each of you and wale away on you, 
with those of your friends who are fighting back the tears hitting you
hardest (and as the people move along, the tendency is to hit you harder
and more often to try to outdo the people before and escape review by 
the authorities - a review that does come, and those not active enough 
in beating you both are given a second chance (an hour after the first 
beating ends; you continue to hang in the hot sun, of course) to beat 
you and show their faith and loyalty, and when the beatings are done,
straw and faggots will be placed around the base of the cross and set
ablaze, leaving the two throughly tenderized pieces of meat hanging
from the arms of the cross (volunteers will be requested to take
long sticks (with sharp points) and turn you both so all sides of
you roast) to cook while the stone of the cross burns and cracks
and the cross finally falls and shatters, dumping you on the ground
where no one is permitted to help you, or to interfere with the stray
dogs (the ones that were captured and starved and then released back
on the streets as the townspeople watched you roasting) as they
nose about you wondering if it can really be OK to bite into what
still look like people, but being so hungry and so afraid the others
while eat and leave them nothing, lunge forwards....
****************************

"A wintry scene"

We had a bit more snow last night; just an inch or so.
But it was a nice snow which stuck to the trees and bushes
and covered them quite prettily.

Walking through the snow to my car last night I had an interesting
experience/feeling.  I suppose I just don't often find
myself walking through almost pristine snow when few others
are out and about, which is probably why I've never had this
happen before.  But as I'm walking along I encounter a set
of tracks.  Unmistakably high heels, and they don't look like
the comfortable or stable kind.  Not very filled in by the snow
which was falling fairly briskly at that time.  Female not far
ahead, on a slick surface in the wrong kind of shoes for moving
over this surface, moving through an empty night.  Strong predatory 
feeling.

Of course, there are lots of people around the base at that time
(and any other time, as people live on this base).  And she was
almost certainly in her car and long gone.  But with a few mental
adjustments the scene become one of a set of tracks moving away 
from a disabled car on a lonely road, meaning a vulnerable woman 
alone on a lonely night with no one knowing where she was (if she 
had a car phone to call anyone with she'd have stayed in the car
to help arrived).  Find her, and watch her relief turn to shock and 
terror as she's attacked and stripped and bound, her panties stuffed 
in her mouth as she's rolled through the snow, fucked doggie style (if 
the canine bitch had its paws tied behind it the way the human bitch's
hands are bound (her poor bound hands are so cold, between the lack
of circulation and the exposure of bare skin to cold wind)) my 
partly open coat partly shielding her hips from the cold but theq
front of her feeling the wind in addition to feeling her face 
and chest being rubbed across the roughest, iciest patch of snow 
I could find), then all her naked flesh exposed to the icy winds 
as a belt crashes down on her cold bare skin again and again and 
the tears pour down her face, freezing to her cheeks, and then 
she's trussed up nice and snug and buried in a snow drift to freeze 
to death, buried deep enough that it will be a while before her body 
turns up.

Maybe I'll bury her so the first things that stick up through the 
melting snow are the heels of her shoes, the only thing besides
rope and chain she's still wearing, and the things which brought her
to this place (well, figuratively; she'd have been wrapped in a tarp
and tied across the trunk of my car for a certain distance, to make
her track colder).

***************************

************************************
"You Wouldn't Do That"

After all, if you tied a man up (his hands laced behind his head,
wrists connected by rope looped a couple times around his throat
and through a ring, such that if he struggled he'd choke himself,
and then, to be sure he didn't struggle, a web of rope tied
around his hands and head; his legs bound at the knees and a 
short hobble between his ankles) before making him hobble to
a waiting truck, caning his ass as he hobbled for not walking
faster, then pushed him into the truck and drove with an
accomplice to a secluded spot, where the truck pulled off the
road onto grass before you pushed your captive unto the ground 
and made him kiss your boots for a while before you and your 
associate helped him to his feet, and you slapped and poked and 
prodded him for awhile before grabbing and kissing him.  And 
then pulled out a knife, held it in front of his face, and 
taking a grip on the crotch of his pants, thrust the blade into 
them, several times.

And then proceeded to cut away his clothing, leaving him 
unharmed.  Until you decided to run the blade of the knife
all over his naked body, when you inflicted a few small nicks
here and there.

Then you pushed him down on the ground and removed the leg
ropes, and told him to spread his legs, and after he did
so stood for a time between his legs, a foot resting, usually 
lightly, on his balls, before you took some more rope and
tied his widespread legs to attachment points on the opposite 
sides of the truck, then sat in the open back door of the truck, 
your feet playfully kicking his thighs, before signalling to your
accomplice to start driving, and you sat and watched as your
captive was dragged across the grass.  Not for long, but
long enough for him to have some nice friction burns and 
a few bruises.  The alcohol you sprayed on the burns may
have done him some good, but you definitely enjoyed it.

And the you put his legs in a spreader bar, before taking
another rope and tying it around his cock and balls, then
tying the end of that rope to a ring which was already tied
to the end of a long coil of rope, and after setting the coil
on the ground in front of your captive, tied the other end
of the long coil to the trailer hitch on the truck, and then
played with your prisoner for a while before getting up,
cutting the ropes holding his ankles to the truck, stepping 
clear of the rope, and waving to your partner to start
driving, and zie pulled away while your prisoner watched
the large coil of rope rapidly shrinking and you enjoyed
the fear in his face as it got smaller and smaller, and
then his cry of relief when your partner slammed on the
brakes and brought the truck to a stop with a few feet
of rope to spare.  And you hugged and kissed and cuddled
your trembling prisoner until he was calm again, and then
stood up and waved to the driver, who began inching the
truck forward until the rope became taut and ....

Well, if you did that, and let the man's cock and balls
be badly stretched, then his equipment would be damaged,
and you prefer your men functional  (though fingers and
tongue can provide a lot of pleasure if some parts aren't
working), so you wouldn't do that.

***********************
"Vanity ?"

Perhaps it's just vanity or some fantasy projection for me to 
think that maybe you got to thinking about tying me to a table with 
my balls bound and the rope from my balls tossed over a pulley
and supporting a large dangling bag into which water is slowly
dripping, while you lay propped up on pillows slowly fingering
your way through several magazines, and sometimes fingering
yourself, enjoying my increasing pain and taunting me by saying
that there's a small chance the bag being filled with water might
rip before my scrotum does, and getting more hot the more pain
I'm feeling and the more fear you see, getting really hot when
you hear me begging through my gag, perhaps taking a pole and
poking the bag to make it sway from side to side and make me
moan more, and then getting really hot and coming and laying
there warm and happy listening to my whimpers while I wait for
you to recover enough to release me, and then you get up and
stretch and languidly wander over to me and tug on the cord
a couple times while smiling happily at me, and say "That's was
nice, but I've things to do, so I'll be saying goodbye to you for
now", and start to turn away, then turn back and reach down and
finger my discolured scrotum and say "And you'll be saying goodbye 
to these forever", then turn and walk away, leaving me with that
bag getting inexorably heavier, until at your desk in the other
room, where you've been enjoy my moans and please, you hear a series
of screams and then a loud splash, and then pop up and trot in
to where I'm bound and say, "don't worry, I'll take care of you"
and bring over several hot pokers to cauterize me.


**************************************
"News Stand"

So you don't like being used to sell newspapers, eh ?

How nice.  I'm sure that we can find a way to use that.

So....

We take you to a BDSM gathering, and bring you to a frame.
Not an X-frame, for a few reasons, some of which will become
clear, and one being that I don't want your arms above
your shoulders for such a long period of time So the frame 
needs a single bar across your shoulders to which we'll tie 
your arms.

We'll start by wrapping your wrists then binding them to
the arms of the frame, the binding being with large diameter
black-and-white rope (to simulate newsprint).  We'll open
your hands and tape your fingers to the bar, leaving your
palms open, exposed, and vulnerable.  We'll find a way to
tape down your thumbs.

Then we criscross b&w rope along your arms to your shoulders
to pin your arms to the bar (a diamond pattern or something
close).  Then some more of the rope around your chest just
under your breasts and then criscrossed across your chest 
and over your shoulders and finished off tied just above 
your breasts.  Then some tied around your waist, brought
between your legs (but not inside your labia) and then 
circled around your waist again.  Then your ankles are spread
(not terribly far; we need sustainability) and wrapped and
tied to the legs of the frame, and then we criscross ropes
up each leg to your hips (on the criscrossing ropes on both
your arms and legs we may cheat some to preserve the pattern
by using tacks to keep the rope in place (not, of course, in
your flesh, but behind and on the open sides of the frame).

A posture collar and head harness, each with multiple O-rings, 
go on your neck and head, and both are securely fastened to
the frame (your head is fastened to a padded headrest
on the frame).  I don't want any part of you moving except
your eyes, and your toes (if we can get them to curl), and,
of course, your chest enough that you can breathe.

An option I've not decided on is a soft bit in your mouth.  
It won't stop you from speaking, but will give us an excuse
for not understanding what you say (unless we want to understand
you, of course).

Now, to turn you into a newstand, we bring in the donated
newspapers which we're going to sell, proceeds going to
the group holding the event (and, of course, holding you).
The pile of newspapers (on the floor on or small tables,
depending upon how many are available, but the pile needs
to top out above your shoulders at the start) need, of course,
weights on them so the papers don't blow in the wind (well,
yes, it's inside, but there are some of us who are windbags).
And we don't want the weights - being pretty things - to
walk away (I'm very much in favor of keeping pretty things
tied down (or up)).  So we fasten them to the newsstand
(that would be you).  We do this with a row of heavy beads
with strong clamps on both ends, one attached to the weight,
on to the newstand.  Specifically, to the newsstand's nipples.

Then we attach little trays of gum, lifesavers, and mints,
to a clamps which we clamp onto the flesh of your arms,
and small trays of cigarette boxes (we can have something
else in the boxes if the tobacco is an issue) which are clamped
to your sides.

To avoid damage, every 15 minutes all the clamps will be moved
slightly (well, the initial change for some will be after five 
minutes, so each five minutes some clamps will be moved, but no 
clamp will be on the same piece of flesh for more than 15 minutes;
ah, make that not for more than 15 consecutive minutes).

The people taking their gum, lifesavers, and mints, and those
taking their cigarettes, will, I expect, cause some tugging
on the clamps.  Especially since I think that they'll have some
problems extracting them from the small trays (being so small,
they will need to be frequently refilled).

The newspapers will naturally be pulled from the top of the
pile, and as each newspaper is removed a few beads will fall
and add to the weight pulling on the nipple clamps (which
part of the time will be breast clamps, when the clamps
have been relocated to allow circulation back to the nipple
(note, nipple; one clamp will always be on a nipple, and if
people prefer taking their papers from that pile, that's just
fine).  When all the papers have been sold, the weights will
hang freely (the bead chains will *not* be long enough to
reach the ground).

Oh, and since there's always a cup collecting change for
some good cause or another, we'll have a couple of those,
one hanging from a clamp on each labia.

And there'll be lottery sales, of course (perhaps raffling
off the chance to take crops to your palms, or perhaps
something else).  To get a ticket one will put 50 cents
into a device which will   1) produce a numbered ticket
2) switch on the current to the vibrator we have positioned
on you.  Of course, the current will only be switched on
for a short time with each purchase.  I would like to
think that you'll soon be begging people - through the
bit in your teeth, which I definitely want - to buy more
tickets, though I suspect that the "on and off" (so to
speak) action of the vibrator will be more irritating than
arousing to you, and that's not an unacceptable result.


I think you'd make a quite fine news stand, and that you
would help us sell many newspapers.

But I don't imagine that you'll enjoy it very much,
or at least won't be enjoying it by the end.


**************

-- 
Steven S. Davis *  sd@magenta.com  *  ssdavis@netaxs.com
Homepage, kinky  : http://www.magenta.com/~sd/sd.html
Homepage, vanilla: http://www.magenta.com/~sd
Stories archive  : ftp://ftp.asstr.org/pub/Authors/sd
