Don’t mess with the author – new free erotic fiction by Fulani

I haven’t had a chance to blog much, being in mid-flow of the next novel.
The thing is, my lead character’s a bit unruly. She keeps asking awkward questions, like “Why do random people want to keep torturing me?”
“Well,” I say, “think of the bigger picture. You’re collateral damage in a political game you didn’t understand. That’s why you’re a prisoner. And for another you’re pretty and attractive. All the key players in the game are ruthless and perverted. The kind of people who tore the wings off butterflies when they were kids. So their idea of fun is to leave whip marks on your body, see you suffer and hear you scream.”
“I thought really powerful people were often submissives,” she protests. “You know, submission as the way to balance out the responsibility that comes with power?”
“Well, that can happen.” I stop typing and put by elbows on the desk, fingertips pressed lightly together. “But these people feel under threat. The system they manage is collapsing, they’re looking at a state that’s failing because it’s been hollowed out. You must have read Mark Davis, Naomi Klein, all those people?”
She laughs hollowly. “I live fifty years in the future. Those people wrote books, right? No one reads books any more. It’s all very well saying I’m living in a failed state – all I know is I got recruited as a stripper straight after leaving school, and the place I live, if you’re female, a blowjob is just a form of currency except you never get rich giving them.”
“Look,” I say, “just jump back into that screen, will you? I need to write another thousand words by this evening.”
“Yeah? What’s that going to be about?” She poses dramatically, hand on forehead, pretending I don’t know what she’s going to say next. Seeing as she’s naked, with cuffs on her wrists and ankles, it’s a cute pose. “Maybe for a change it’ll be a scene where someone from the ruling class is a masochist, for a change, and I get called in to torture them!”
“That’s three chapters further on.”
“You’re the writer, just cut those parts and get me to a good bit.”
Well, no. The proprieties of the plot have to be observed. I cuff her wrists and ankles in a hogtie, load her into the back of my pickup truck and take her out to a secluded part of the estate where there’s an old tree. A chain hangs conveniently from one of the overhanging branches. I attach her cuffs to that and drive the pickup away, leaving her dangling about three feet off the ground, arms and legs stretched painfully. Muscles in her shoulders and thighs are tensed, stand out under her skin. I like it when she looks that way.
“What the hell are you doing?”
“Just trying an experiment.” I reach into the cab of the pickup where there’s a paintball gun, stand back far enough that she makes a good target.
“The paintballs are loaded with a gel that includes an aphrodisiac,” I tell her. I don’t know why I bother, she’ll find out soon enough. “It’s reactive against skin, so if I’m a good shot, you’ll feel very aroused in a couple of minutes.”
“Fucking writers! Too much imagination for your own good!”
“Believe me,” I chuckle, “I could have come up with much worse…”
But she keeps up the tirade, which is boring and would take a lot of typing. So I step over to her and pull a ballgag out of my pocket, where I keep it handy for emergencies with spontaneous character dialogue. It has the inverted Y piece that runs over her cheeks to meet at her forehead, then run over the top of her head to buckle at the back.
Her eyes flash wildly at me.
“Ukk rrr ttrrrs!” She flexes in her restraints, which I notice results in a very delicious bounce of her firm breasts. Maybe… no, never mind about the nipple clamps…
Back in position I fire the first shot. It hits her right leg, making her yowl in pain while imparting a gentle circular motion. I hit the same point again, and she’s swinging around now. She does half the circle, and I try for a shoulder but get her high up on the ribs instead. However, with three doses in her system she’s already reacting to the aphrodisiac. Her breathing is harsher, her belly trembles as she tries to lift it and push with her hips. She’s hanging in midair, there’s no resistance, it’s fruitless.
By the time I’ve put the paintball gun away and come back to her, she’s definitely hot and bothered. I look at the bruises caused by the gel-balls and enjoy the way they’ve bruised her skin. Bruises that will flower in the next day or two before fading. I part her knees and note the way her labia glisten at me. I don’t bother to take her down, release her, because I can fuck her exactly in that helpless position.
She tries to move against me but I have the control.
She did know she’s capable of multiple orgasms, I think. At any rate she definitely knows now.
She’s an exhausted, sweating, dripping, limp and sexually played-out wreck by the time I’m done with her.
I hit “save file” in the knowledge she’ll be coming back for more in a few hundred words.

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