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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.


Some of my Images 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


---------------------------------------------
Something perhaps hot



I've been having some discussions about peppers, oils, and other
irritants (purely academic in nature (well, there are a couple
places calling themselves "BDSM Acadamies")), and this developed,
which I thought you might perhaps enjoy.  Some very small adjustments
might be required depending on the anatomy of whom you want to be
in that chair.

------------
That seems wise.  If one were going to use peppers jalepenos would
be more than adequate, I imagine (my reading says that those are only
about 2% as hot as are habeneros).  

Now, one might perhaps have a pile of habeneros on the countertop
as she's working on the peppers (wearing gloves and goggles and 
maybe a mask) after having tied her slave to a kitchen chair
(if like me he wasn't much of a gardener or a greengrocer and wouldn't
immediately recognize the real nasty peppers, perhaps she would send 
him to the produce store to get some, and wouldn't it be convenient
if her friend at the produce store would make it a point to give
him some consumer information about the peppers he was buying) so
she could get him really worried about what was going to happen
to him.

I've been working the essential oils side of the story, and
seeing my domme mixing oils from opaque unlabelled bottles.
I don't know what's in them, but I do know that some of her
oils are horrible in contact with skin.  She finishes, and 
takes off her gloves and goggles and washes her hands, and asks
me if I want to go home now.  I don't want to leave her presence,
of course.   She tells me to strip, and then to sit in a 
hard wooden chair.  She takes her time - and her liberties
(which is fine with me) - in carefully and thoroughly tying me.
When she's done, I'm tied down tight and I'm not getting loose.
She asks me to try to get loose, partly because she enjoys my
straining futilely, partly because she wants to test her knots
and fix any that are loose, mostly because she wants me to know
that I can't get free.  She plays with me a little, kisses me
some, and asks me again if I want to go home (we both know
that she knows that I know that she knows that with her hand
stroking my head and my lips just having tasted hers I would
never say "yes" to that question).  I'm scared but I need her
too much and say "no" (proving, as she smilingly says to me,
that I can say "no" to her).  She brings out an IV unit, and runs
some saline through the tube, squirting some on me with a smile.
Then she strokes my cock for a while (longer than she needs to
for her purpose; perhaps she even says "sometimes I stroke your
cock just because I enjoy stroking men's cocks, and because
I enjoy stroking you" (which would be great to hear even if
I realize even then how pathetic is my craving for stroking
(ah, ego stroking, every man craves the cock stroking))) and
then tapes it to a board and then takes a small piece of
tape and tapes the IV needle to the head of my cock.  And then
adds the solution she was working on to the bag in the IV apparatus,
and then toys with the wheel squeezing the IV tube which keeps
anything more from moving smiling at me with such a mix of sweetness
and evil as I sit there trembling and tensing and maybe even whimpering
a little (but just a little; the main sound heard is creaking wood
from my squirming and tensing, not my little whimpers).  Then she
bends down and gets her face very close to mine and smiling so sweetly
asks me if I want to go home and I do so want *not* to have happen what
I think is going to happen but I can't refuse her and I can't stand to 
be sent home after disappointing her, so squirming and fearful I squeak 
out "no".  "Can I do what I want to do with you ?", she asks, her lips
almost touching mine as she asks me and her eyes so close to mine and
I know she can see my fear but how can I possibly tell her "no",
especially since I do want her to do what she wants with me, I just
don't want her to do this to me, and I whimper out a "yes", and she
stands back sneering at me triumphantly and toys with the control
some more, then opens it just a little, and it starts dripping and
the flow through the tube starts and the liquid starts coming from
the needle but it's just saline solution now, I know that, I know
it's going to take some time for the slow drip to push out the
saline in the tube and replace it with whatever she put in the bag,
but whatever it is, it's the same color and I can't tell from
the tube, which I'm trying to watch (pointless as I know that to
be) while also watching the dripping bag and her face which is
flushed and gleaming yet on the brink of laughing watching me
fearfully watching all this while unconsciously pulling at my
restraints, I can't tell when it's going to start and I'm breathing
hard like I'm trying to process pain though none has started yet
and I'm waiting...waiting ...waiting ..... and there's no pain
and I look at her surprised and she cracks up laughing and I feel
a flood of relief and she kisses me and with a happy smile asks
me if I want to go home now and I happily reply "no" and see smiles
even more happily as she says "good" and kisses me, once, twice, 
a third time for a very long time, and then steps back and takes
another bottle and pours it into the bag and I start and look
at her questioningly as she sits back with her hand going into
her panties and smiling evilly at me as I see the bag turning darker
and the darker fluid beginning to work its way through the tube
and I whimper "Mistress ?", as we both wait for the solution to
start pouring over the head of my cock.



There's several ways the scenario could go.  Another pure
mindfuck, perhaps.  Or I could be screaming very quickly.
Or, what I think I like best (well, as an external observer;
the man in that chair would want more mindfucking with his
domme then strongly needing physical relief), initial relief
that there's no pain, but then the distant awareness of pain,
one that becomes less and less distant as I realize that she's
made the solution dilute enough that a little doesn't hurt,
but more than a little has dripped across my cock, and a lot
more than that is still in the bag, so this *is* going to hurt
(and, in the way of irritants, it's going to keep hurting for
a long time after the bag empties), I just don't know yet
how much it's going to hurt.

But it's pretty likely that I'll be squirming and whimpering
a lot over the next several hours.  Usually the idea of
watching my domme undress and lay down on a sleeping bag
(it being sort of awkward to move me now, she needs to take her
pleasure where she find it) and some pillows to pleasure herself 
would be delightful (if something of a frustrating delight),
but now it just reminds me (as it's meant to) that I've a long
ordeal ahead of me.  Which also means that my dear domme has
a lot of pleasure ahead of her, long hours of my moans and
whimpers and sometimes tears with the accompaniment of creaking
wood, all for her pleasure.  Which is something I'm not yet
too far gone to appreciate and part of me is grateful for this
chance to serve her.

But as I know she'll understand, with each drip from that
needle that gratitude is fading, and it won't be long before
I am too far gone and I won't care about her pleasure or
how much she might want me now, all I'll care about is that
I'm in pain and I want it to stop, I just want to get away.

But the ropes are very well tied, and despite the creaking,
the chair is sturdy, and I'm not going anywhere, I'm just
going to sit here and help my Lady go where she wants to go.

------------------------------------------------------
"Pushy sub"

He sat/knelt at her feet, leaning against the sofa, body lightly
against her leg, head intermittently resting on her thigh and
sometimes raised to gaze on her in utter amazement that he could
be hers.  Usually she'd happily endure his adoration for a while
- he was pleased that she seemed able to endure it longer now,
and was more accepting of her just fate as the target of his 
veneration, or so her smile, which always found its way out from
behind any attempts at a cool indifference, and the fact that her
blushing had almost stopped, so these seemed to indicate - and then
she put a finger on his head and lightly put it back on her thigh.
His hands bound behind him and ankles bound together, naked save
for the "Corrigan cloth" - a "wrong-way" loincloth falling behind
him (save when she decided to move it for direct access to his bare
buttflesh) - and serving as a butt towel when she kept him nearly
naked in her home for hours at a time, there was little more he 
could do for her.

But there is always more that a submissive can do, and a proper
submissive knows that he never has done and never can do enough 
for his domme (a burden which she may sometimes force him to
bear byhaving him remain passive or by refusing his services, 
which is always her right, but she had shown him the favor of 
letting him know that trying to serve her would always be OK,
even if she made him stop).  He knew she was feeling the lust 
to use her power over him to cause him pain, but a lifetime's 
conditioning against either hurting or using people, and her 
own fear of her crueler desires, these were still holding her 
back.  He didn't mind not being caused pain; he'd quite happily 
stay like he was, head upon her thigh as she stroked his hair 
as they shared some quiet time.  But he didn't want to withhold 
anything from her, nor did he want her denying herself any 
pleasure - or denying him the joy of being the instrument of 
her pleasure or the target of her lusts, painlust included.

So, taking a chance on being bold and brazen, he lifted his head
again and gazed at her until he saw the smile break through, and
then asked "May I bring you your whip, madame ?".

She smiled quizically at him and asked "And how do you propose
to do that, boy ?".  The new whip he'd made her from a bicycle
inner tube was on the shelf across the room.

"I can crawl for it, my Lady", he said.

"All right", she smiled at him, laughing at herself as she
imperiously flicked her hand and finger out (she did seem to
be enjoying the royal mannerisms more than she had) "Crawl".
So he slipped down to the ground and began a slow slither
across the room, one slowed only very briefly when she whipped
the corrigan cloth away to better see his ass as he slithered.

Brazen bravado has its charm, but it has its cost too. Crawling
bound is very quicky tiring, and a thick soft carpet very soon 
seems very thin and very bristly, and well before he was halfway
across the room he was getting tired and sore.  But he didn't
dare stop before he got to the whip, and so kept struggling
until he was across the room and got up on his knees and took
the whip in his teeth, and then turned around slowly and started
back.  Now, he thought, she might not mind if he sometimes
stopped and laid panting and gleaming, whip in his mouth, bound
on her floor.  She actually seemed to like the view, so he took
advantage of this to stop, briefly, a couple more times on his 
way back to her.

Finally making it back to her, he struggled up and laid the whip
in her lap, then rested his head on her leg again.  Making it a
point to look over at the whip from time to time.

"For someone who claims not to like pain you seem very determined
to get a whipping from me", she said.

"I don't like pain, my Lady", he said, nuzzling her thigh and daring
to kiss it.  "But you do, and I want what you like".

"Very proper of you", she said laughingly, pressing his head down as
she stroked his hair with one hand, and fingered the whip with the
other.  After awhile she lifted the whip and flipped it a few times,
then pushed his head down so he was kneeling head on ground as she
dragged the whip across his bare back and craved laying the whip
hard across the smooth flesh and watching welts rising and her
submissive squirming and screaming and she felt such heat and yet
still some guilty resistance to hurting him for no reason other
than that she could and that she liked to.  But as he lifted his
head very slightly and let his forehead rest softly on her foot
and said softly "I want to be yours, and if I am yours you can use
me for your pleasure", she both eagerly and hestitantly flicked
the whip softly back, and then brought it down across his back.
Not very forcefully or painfully, but after he said "thank you"
she hit him again, and then again, and again, and he squirmed 
a little and she liked that and hit him again and pulled the
whip back again and hit him hard and he gasped ever so slightly
but she heard it and smiled and said "Hurts, eh " and hit him
again and he squirmed more and gasped and slightly raised his
head as she leered at him and the lovely lines starting to appear
but she hesitated and then he brazenly kissed her foot and she
struck him hard and he kept kissing her foot and she started hitting
him harder and faster and he kissed her feet more passionately
and she kept hitting him, more fully enjoying his pain and waiting
happily after he would gasp and jerk for him to put his lips to
her feet again, and though neither of them would say it each knew
that his kiss would bring more whipstrokes which would come harder
and faster until he shuddered and started and stopped kissing her
feet, when the whipping would stop but the whip would stand ready
until his lips touched her feet again, only his lips, his face on
her feet and his tears pouring over them would not start it, but
when he kissed her feet again the whipping would resume, now more
slow, measured, but very severe strokes, waiting between each stroke
- well, sometimes, when her heat rose, between two or three or four
strokes - to let him gasp and them resume his kisses, the gap between
kisses being longer now as she watched his body shuddering beneath
her even when not beneath her whipstrokes, until deciding that he'd
had almost but not quite enough, she held the whip ready for a long
time as he knelt at her feet before he could kiss her feet again,
and then she started whipping him hard and fast w/o waiting for his
kiss as he cried under her whip before sobbing "Mercy, Mistress"
and hot as she was to hurt him she was only to happy to drop down
a top him and stroke and kiss his hot red flesh and hug and cuddle
him and roll him over and wipe his nose and face and kiss him
long and hard and then hold him until his breathing settled while
her heart still pounded.

And then push him onto his back and let him gaze at her hot flushed
face all he wanted, well, not really, since she soon climbed onto his
face and growled out "Now, you got me this way, boy, so you'd better
get me off, *now*, boy", and gazing at his Lady wasn't on the agenda,
but the flush that met his gaze this time wasn't in the slightest
from embarrassment.

----------------------------------------
A hair raising experience ?

[comment about hair clipped up for relief from heat]

*smile*

Sort of a no-lose situation for the submale (what a rarity).
He can admire his lady's long hair falling over her shoulders
or, when her hair is up he can enjoy the unobstructed view of 
her neck.  Maybe even be so daring as to kiss the back of her
neck without permission.  Perhaps after having her neck kissed
for several minutes and slipping off her robe so he can kiss
her all over her shoulders and back and up and down her spine
she might take him by the hair and say "Impudent boy, I'm
putting you over my knee for that"  (FWIW, wouldn't be OTK
in my case, since causing my domme's legs to go numb isn't
something she or I would want; maybe I'd go over the ottoman)
and giving him a good long handspanking, one in which she
rests her hand sometimes playing with his cock and balls.
Perhaps after awhile she takes her hairbrush and alternately
beats his ass with it and runs it's bristles over his red
swollen butt and sometimes over his cock and around the head
of his cock, until she shoves him unto the floor and sits
on his face and says "do *me* do-me boy".

And when she's done, after laying atop him with his face
covered in her hair, she'll sit up and make him sit on a 
hard chair beside her and hand him another hairbrush and
tell him to put this to good use, and enjoy a nice long
brushing of her hair.

Hmm, interesting thought.  Leading a male slave by having his
hands tied in front of him with a woman's long hair.  This
would probably be painful for the woman (even though he'd
try very hard not to pull on her hair), so maybe the ideal
sitution is, if a woman had both a male and a female slave,
to make her female slave grow her hair very long and when
the femdom wants to make an entrance she can bring two
long hanks of hair forward and bind them together and
then fasten the end of her leash to them, and tie her
male slave's hands in the hair hanging down the back of
her female slave, and come in leading the woman by her
leashed hair with the male slave hobbling along behind them.

Or maybe the domme would just thread a ring in her hair
and fasten her male slave's heavy handcuffs to it, knowing
that he's going to have to follow her very closely with his 
hands kept high in order not to cause her any pain (all the
more piquant if she has very long hair but chose to put the
ring high up on her head to make him keep his hands high).

Especially piquant if the one time she lets him have some rest by lowering
his arms is when she runs across a male lover and asks how he'd like a
blow job, and she gets on her knees to fellate him, requiring her slave to
stand behind her and move his hands in sync with her head movement while
the lover smirks at him (well, until she makes him forget everything
except what she's doing to his cock) and, if she opted to make this public
enough, while other partygoers stand around envying the lover and the
domme and viewing the submale with a variety of attitudes, some, very
obviously, utter scorn and disgust.


----------------------------------------
Some Ramblings inspired by mention of wet panties


I can't say that I've ever had sopping panties stuffed
in my mouth, but if I ever did find myself in the
circumstance some of my friends have, of sending emails
back and forth from PCs in the same house, I think
it'd be rather nice if periodically I heard sort
of angry footsteps approaching my desk and saw my
dominant walking in with wet panties in her hand saying
"open" and then pushing them into my mouth and walking
way saying "third pair today, and I've only got two more
clean pair".

After which I would, of course, start working on two more Images.

---

Very little chance, I suppose, that I could keep my
most unfortunate and most sorely put upon dominant so
often in such a state that wringing out her panties
would fill up a shallow container of fluid, and she
could bring it and set it down, and then set me down 
by it and - perhaps some days after binding me, and other 
days with me unbound (I'd prefer bound, as I would trust
her more than myself) she'd make me lower my head and
then press a toe to my head to put my face in her fluids
and hold it there.  Initially with just the lightest
pressure from her toes, but she might come to find,
my nerve not being all that great, that she needed
to press my head down harder to keep me from raising
my face to breathe before she allowed it.

I'd like to think that I'd keep it there, squirming a bit
as my air grew short, until she lifted her foot to let
me breathe and would put my face back with just her
slight pressure, and we'd keep this up until she decided
to put her foot hard on the back of my head and tell me
"You want to breathe again, boy ?  Drink it all."

And perhaps if I were able to be this good for her,
a number of her friends and guests would walk by and
(maybe a close friend would allow me the honor of 
offering her feet to me to kiss), and wring their
panties out into the container, filling it again.

Which I suppose safer sex would probably require
that it not be used the same way again.  But perhaps
my dominant and her friends would get a kick out of tying
me to a chair and leaving me with their juices dripping
unto my head, perhaps telling me that if I'm going
to insist on getting them wet they're just going to
have to reciprocate.

Or perhaps they'd prefer to make me kneel with my balls
in their juices, and run a light electric current through
them and see how long I can stay there.  I'd hope that
my wish not to disgrace my dominant would keep me there 
squirming and trembling until my Lady took mercy and
turned off the juice to the juice and then mentioned 
that she liked torturing me in front of her friends
because I was too vain to give up then.  And several
women opined that they were glad to help.


Maybe at that point I'd have been pleasing enough to
be played with gently from then on (if, of course, my
Lady didn't mind her friends fondling and pinching me
(with the proviso, perhaps, that she'd have to get nasty
with me if I were to come under anyone else's ministrations;
and maybe getting me punished would seem like a fun goal
to her friends.

---

Perhaps the punishment that would amuse them is one that
I've been toying with for a bit.  It combines an old classic
with one of my "oh no... tell me more" nightmare tortures,
the butterfly board, and an idea I saw on a submissive
woman's website.  The standard is something very basic,
put something, in this case a man's penis, between boards
and compress.  The idea from the website was for "spiky
shoes".  The woman who runs the site is both a masochist
and very foot erotic.  I've previously seen shoes with
prongs in them, but she has an interesting twist, a pair
of shoes with holes in the bottom and a set of matching
boards with projecting spikes.  The shoes are put on and then
the spiked boards are applied, and the spikes pushed in as
far as needed to get the desired effect.

So perhaps the man tied to a chair and being played
with so lovingly and carefully by his dominant's
friends, who's also under orders that he's not to
come, is attracting so much attention not simply
because his dominant's friends are his friends too
and they like being nice to him (but being sadists
they also like being cruel to him), but because they
know he's going to be punished if he can be made to
come.  So the already pleasant task of *making* a man
come despite his best effort to resist is made more
pleasant by knowing that he's really going to get
it after he comes, and they want to see him hurt.

So after he does come - there are limits to what
even the best intentioned (and most frightened)
submissive can resist - his dominant gets out
twin boards with number holes in them and after
allowing some recovery time and playing with his
cock herself, as she herself says "trying to call it
out when it's trying to hide", and getting him hard
enough to be interesting, she puts his cock between
the boards, fits the vise onto the boards, and cranks
the vise till his cock is being squeezed very tightly
between them.  Then two other spiked boards are brought
out and fitted over and under the original boards,
spikes fitting into the holes, and a vise fitted over
those boards and the vise cranked pushing the spikes
in so they meet the bits of flesh sticking up into
the small holes, and push into his cockflesh.  These
aren't quite sharp enough to puncture, though they hurt
a lot.  Especially after she's loosened and tightened 
the vises a couple times.  Rapping on them with small
hammers also makes his situation worse.

Some of the women are glad, at this point, that he's not 
their submissive.  Not because they don't think he's
done well.  Rather because they'd feel obliged, if their
submissive was saying "please, madam, mercy, please,
please don't hurt me any more, please, please don't do this
to me, I'm so sorry, I'm sorry, please, mercy, please...."
to stop torturing him.

Fortunately for them, his dominant doesn't feel that way,
so she puts him through a few more rounds of releasing
and compressing and playing her favorite music instrument,
the cock-block.  And then she points out that not *all*
the holes have been used, and takes out several long 
sharp needles, and disinfects them, and then she loosens
the vise grip again, the surging of blood back through
his terribly tortured cock causing him considerable pain,
and she waits for circulation and feeling to return and
for the pain that accompanies them to subside some.  And
then, one by one, taking her time, she hammers the needles 
through the holes till the bloodied points are sticking
out the board on the other side and the blood is dripping
from the side of the boards (till a spray of alcohol clears
it away, temporarily).  There are ten holes not used
in the board.  She won't use all of them, of course.

He won't stay conscious that long, and she doesn't see
any reason to continue after he's stopped pleading for 
mercy and screaming in pain and fear.

----------

Perhaps another day, a visit from a special friend
of both the man and his Mistress.  And a new game,
one of his dominant's endless efforts to turn around
his fantasies.  She knows he likes to have women
preen and pose for him.  She knows he forces women
submitting to him to do this, even - especially -
when they find this difficult to do, when bearing
admiration is a trial for them.

And on another day she'll put him through that,
since she also knows what an intense trial it 
would be for him to bear.

But not today.  Today he'll get just what he wants.
Not that he'd ever ask for it.  He would not ever
ask a dominant woman to dress in ways he liked nor
to preen or pose for him - though he'll find all
sorts of ways for her to learn what he enjoys.

Which he may regret doing.  It's what he as a
submissive should do, of course.  But as he knows,
no good deed goes unpunished.

And today he finds his dominant and their mutual
friend (a femdom he's quite attracted to - as his
dominant knows) confronting him like images from
one of his dreams, from the top of their careful
coifs to the pointy toes of their shoes/boots
(his dreams contain some variety).  Being told
to strip is not an indicator that he's awake.
Being told to walk back and forth and turn around 
slowly shows that he is.  He's relieved to be told
to sit in his dominant's favored bondage chair;
being tied and tortured will be easier to bear
than being displayed.  Well, it usually is.   There
have been some times when....

It's on the table.

It wasn't there before.  It must have been quickly
put there when he was turning.

It's there now.

He's got a pretty good poker face but he knows
he showed his dismay when he spotted it.  His
Mistress and her friend have good poker faces
too, but they aren't bothering to conceal their
amusement at his dismay.

They know how much he fears and hates it.

His mistress knows that if she were to use it
on him too often he'd leave her, even though
to do so would break his heart.

She also knows, much better than he does, how
often too often would be.  And they both know
that using it today won't be using it too often.

Calculating bitch.

As she rises to bind him to the chair, asking
her friend if she'd like to help and she happily
agrees, they all know that as much as he wants
to flee he won't do anything.  

But the sooner they get him securely bound the
better off everyone will be, because he *does*
want to run away but he doesn't want to disgrace
his Mistress or himself.  Maybe that's part of
why their friend is here for this, it makes him
less likely to make a scene about this scene.

Be that as it may, it's on the table, literally 
and figuratively, and he's in the chair, quite
securely, and there's nothing he can do about
it now.

And they placed a plastic tube over his cock
and secured the tube in place. And then put
a mouthpiece in his mouth and tie it in place
to serve as a gag and keep him from biting his 
tongue (though it would be a bit late for him
to do so).

"We're going to play a game with you, dear.
We're going to see how much self-control you have,
and whether you're such a horny hound that you can't
control yourself at all.  Which, of course, we know
is *exactly* what you are, boy, but I never stop
delighting in demonstrating this fact.  I know
how much you hate it.  I know that you're terrified
of my using it on you.  You know how much I enjoy
using it on you.  But I'll forgo that pleasure.
All you have to do is show you can resist me.
Not my touch.  That won't be any sort of contest 
at all.  You have to keep from getting aroused 
by the sight of me."

"Oh, and resist her.  I certainly don't mind that
you lust for my friends, but I certainly will use
that against you, the way I'll use anything against
you, boy, anything that gives me an advantage and
keeps me in control of you.  And when it comes to
controlling you, dear, I will *not* play fair."

"Anyway, dear, if you want to avoid having it used on you,
just keep your cock from elongating until the tip touches
the end of the tube.  As you'll find out, the end of the
tube is electrified.  The reason isn't to hurt you, it's
to record a touch.  Your tip touches the tube and a buzzer
goes off.  Which we probably won't hear because you'll be
screaming.  I mean, hurting you isn't the reason for 
electrifying the tube, but it's still fun and I'm not wasting
an opportunity like that.  Now, dear, we know you are much
too weak for one touch to be any sort of challenge.  We
weren't certain whether we should make it "three strikes
and you're out" or "five touchs and you lose".  But we
were thinking that Peter betrayed his master three times
before the cock crowed.  Well, Peter there will betray
you three times before your cock... ah, well, I can't
think of how to extend the conceit, but your peter will
betray you three times dear, and then I crucify you.
My conceit is extended enough that I think I could make
you touch the tube five times, but I know I can make you 
touch the tube three times, and like I said, dear, I do
not play fair with you.  I play so I win and you lose."

"Oh, dear ?  One more thing.  Close your eyes and you
lose by disqualification.  You can look away if you like;
we know you won't look away long.  But no closing your eyes".

With that she glanced down at him, smiled, and flicked
a switch, and he screamed through the gag.

"That's one.  You aren't going to make this too easy
for us, are you ?"

He hoped not.  After the shock his cock had shriveled.
But his Mistress and her friend had started talking
quite happily, seeming to ignore him.  But their
every turn and smile and gesture seemed aimed at him,
every laugh and giggle and look, each shift of their
hips and turn of their shoulders and bend of their
feet seemed calculated to get his attention, and they
were succeeding and he cursed all his stories describing
the wave of feet and the pushing back of hair.  He'd 
very often thought women were trying to drive him crazy
but knew that they weren't bending and turning and leaning
just to inflame him, it was just that he was such a horny 
hound that everything they did got to him.  But now, now
he was sure they *were* considering every gesture and look
and movement and position, the way every detail of their
clothes and hair and makeup and jewelry was perfect to
rivet his attention; his Mistress was right, despite his
efforts to look away or think about something else, he
couldn't help watching them intently, couldn't help
thinking about how lovely they were.  They must have
studied him very carefully to make it all so right.
It wa actually quite flattering.


AAAARRRGGHHH

At his scream they both broke out in laughter.
Two times already in scarcely no time.  Oh, damn, 
he thought, it's good I'm all shriveled again, their
laughter is so pretty.  


One more time, and it happens to me again, he
thought.  And he tried turning his eyes toward the 
table, and remembering the last time she'd used it
on him, the long agony, the futile pleading that only 
made her hotter, the way she started up on him again
after her orgasms, when he thought it was over.  The 
fear of waiting for it to start again after subsequent
orgasms, watching her sleeping so peacefully and
contentedly and seeing her warm smile when she awoke, 
and seeing her eyes turn hard and the smile turn cruel 
as she'd start on him again, being in so much pain 
from previous tortures and knowing how awful it was
and waiting for it to start again, wondering if she'd
ever be sated.  The way she glowed when she hovered 
over him and prepared to use it on him.... no, don't
think about that, don't see her looking so hot and
happy, don't think about her smile, don't think
about it.

Which left him again looking at her, seeing that
knowing smile, so smug and secure, so certain
she owned him, so determined to never let him go.

AAAARGH !

"Never had a chance, did he ?", her friend asked.

"You think I'd ever give him one ?", she said,
and they both laughed.

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