New Novel Corporate Slave

Corporate Slave Cover

It’s out. It’s finally here! Fulani’s latest Novel Corporate Slave will be available from Friday 2nd November. After Twelve months of Slaving away over a hot Mac, editing, proofing, then finding a delightful cover, it’s ready for you to enjoy. And I’m sure you will enjoy it. Fulani’s top quality writing (I know I’m biased, but see for yourself) will keep you turning the pages, stopping only to cool down!

You’ll be able to find it at Erotic Book Network initially, but later on Amazon and on lots of other websites such as Smashwords. 

Here’s the lowdown:

Life isn’t easy for Cassie. She’s a sales assistant in a convenience store, in a society where sex is used to sell everything and is one of the main commodities for sale.

When she buys one of the new Intelligent Dresses to wear when she’s out clubbing, it sparks a sequence of events that lead to her being accused of using the garment’s on-board computer to carry out industrial espionage. Her captors assume she’s part of the resistance movement, seeking to bring down the group of multinational corporations that rule the country. She is imprisoned, interrogated and tortured, and ultimately sold as a slave to a senior corporate exec, Mistress NightMaire. She becomes a pleasure slave to be used for the entertainment of guests and clients.

Meanwhile she discovers a friend of hers, Lorne, is also being held by Mistress NightMaire. And Lorne, it turns out, does have connections to dissident groups.

Cassie begins to plan her escape. But will she be able to find Lorne? Will she be able to join up with the dissidents? Can they change the world? And just as importantly, now she knows the capabilities of the Dress can she get her hands on another one?

Don’t miss this one! VelvetTripp

[Edited 1st Nov to add: read a short sample of the novel, which sets out some of the setting and characters, over at Fulani’s other blog – fulanismut.blogspot.com]

Bondage. Question: How does it Feel?

hogtied

Me, hogtied

On a Pagan camp during the summer I was asked ‘how does it feel?’ right after the question ‘are you OK?’ when the audience (we were doing a demo) saw me flat out, face down, hogtied and very, very quiet.

Very good questions. Of course, I was OK. They laughed when the tone of my reply (‘I’m OK,’) was so obviously one of bliss. And that’s how it felt. My introduction to the world of BDSM at the tender age of forty+ was a bondage demo in a club. A Goth club. I watched a man tying up someone and fancied trying it. I was impressed to see he was monitoring his charge as he progressed with the tying. His approach was safety-led, ensuring no tendons or joints were under too much pressure, that arms and legs were in safe positions and his charge could breathe properly.

So I had a go while friends watched to ensure my safety, as this man was a stranger. The club was packed. Big Goth boots walked around me hogtied on the floor. Goth music blared out loudly. Weirdly in such circumstances I felt…spaced out. It was such a strange feeling. Unexpected but really good. Much better than I’d anticipated. As someone who has done a lot of meditation and has had hypnosis, this felt like some kind of trance. I was blissed out! In the middle of a busy club! I still am not sure why this should be. Is it to do with being swaddled as a baby and being tightly bound made me feel safe? Is it that I had always had to be in control in my daily life as a single mother and business manager, so here was a chance to give up control and relax? I think maybe it’s a little of each.

One thing it wasn’t and isn’t is scary. Fulani was that stranger. He is now my partner. I still enjoy being tied up. He still enjoys doing it. My birthday this year will be special, as we’ve been invited to a Rope Bondage party that very day. Fun! Scary is actually something I like when we’re playing, but bondage alone doesn’t do that. Mind-fucks do that. And they aren’t physically dangerous.

Bondage is only one aspect of BDSM, and it would be a while before I gradually found out about some of its other delights. Fulani has many years more experience than I, and has always treated me with the utmost respect. Our BDSM is a game. We do not ‘live the lifestyle’ that some choose to, but still get a lot out of it in terms of pleasure, as well as it making our relationship stronger. That’s because of the levels of trust involved. Trust is a very important issue when it comes to BDSM. As the submissive, I give my power over to Fulani whenever I put my collar on and we play. If I give him my safeword, I know that he will instantly stop what he’s doing and release me or check with me what’s wrong. This is VITAL. I might feel ill. I might feel upset. I might feel that a rope is too tight or pressing somewhere it shouldn’t. Rope can damage tendons if it presses on them for too long. Your top or Dom needs to know what he/she is doing and be able to correct a problem quickly.

So if you want to try bondage, you should trust the person who is tying you up, be certain they will respect your limits and have a safeword in case you need it for any reason at all. Communicate with your top. Tell them if something hurts when it shouldn’t. Tell them if you suddenly feel scared or upset.  Of course, if you are playing with pleasure/pain as well as bondage, ‘ow’ will not suffice. Be specific and say ‘The knot on my wrist is digging in,’ if that’s what’s happening, so he can correct if for you.

But as for how it feels, two people at that demo had a go once I’d been released. They both experienced the same blissful feeling as I did. They had never ventured into the BDSM world before. I can’t guarantee you will but how will you know if you don’t try it? And don’t forget to try something twice, just in case it was done badly  the first time!

VelvetTripp

Reviews!

We’ve been pretty lax about updating recently. The reason is we have a pet hedgehog.

Well, not really. But one’s taken up residence in our garden and we give it a bit of dog food each evening. Apparently they do eat the occasional vegetable but their main diet is slugs and snails, which makes them a gardener’s friend. And since their digestion is designed to cope with primarily meat, the ‘traditional’ offerings of bread and milk that people used to give them actually makes them very ill.

Apart from that we found another house we really like, and (just as importantly) can afford. We’re not completely impoverished writers but neither are we unimaginably wealthy… The place we’re after has a large garden, big enough for a dedicated summerhouse/playspace at the end of it, and backs onto fields.

Our current house is now on the market, and getting to that point meant de-perving it. ‘De-perving’ usually means putting the whips under the bed – which we have done, along with the canes, a mile or so of rope, chains, a leather sling and a bunch of other stuff. But in our case it also meant disassembling the dungeon equipment and trucking it back to the lockup. It was a whole big deal and took a while.

Anyway… oh yeah, reviews. Fulani commented a post or two ago that often, reviews seem to take forever to come out. But in this case, apparently not.

Fulani’s novella, Addicted to Rope, is available from Xcite, and on Kindle from Amazon.com or Amazon.co.uk (and a few other places). And it’s been reviewed by Sizzling Hot Books. The reviewer says:

It sucked me in quickly and I wasn’t ready to let go at the end. Fulani is very good at giving Ruth and Leo a lot of depth in a short amount of time. The transformation that overcomes Ruth is quick, but detailed. You can get a good feel for how her mind is working as she accepts and challenges what Leo presents to her.

Addicted to Rope is hot. The pages sizzle with anticipation, fantasy, and intimacy. I would recommend Addicted to Rope to anyone who likes reading a lot of the mindset of characters exploring being submissive and anyone who likes the psychological development of a character in their erotica.

Read the whole review here.

Meanwhile another piece just out is ‘Andi in Chains’, a short story in Lucy Felthouse’s edited collection Seducing the Myth – available on download from Amazon.com, Amazon.co.uk and elsewhere.

This has reviews by NightOwl Reviews, who says of Fulani’s story:

Andi in Chains by Fulani – Re-imagining of Perseus and Andromeda’s meeting was certainly different! Andromeda–better known as Andi–was into bondage and kink, Perseus was a tough son of a gun mercenary and well virgin sacrifice took on a different twist. This story amused me and was possibly my favorite.

and of the collection as a whole:

Overall I have to say I was pretty pleased with this anthology. The stories were on the fairly short side, but were by in large really hot.

It’s also reviewed by Mitnik at Erotic Whispers, who says:

Andi in Chains by Fulani was a tale of bondage and kink and certainly hit the mark with its very unique take on the meeting of Perseus and Andromeda. Full of fire and passion that is sure to get your imagination sparking and ready for the rest of this erotic ensemble.

and of the whole collection,

Overall this is an interesting and varied collection with a variety of tales, a true cornucopia of endings, beginnings and middles with lots of lusty passion, tantalizing intrigue and witty charm to keep you coming back time and time again to dip into this treasure trove and pull out a fresh gem.

Finally, JBP Reviews says of the book,

A collection of short stories filled with erotic intent with tons of mystical creatures this book is a great read! I found myself reading each story in earnest and wanting more and more.

So all in all, it’s good feedback on the novella, the story, and the collection the story is in.

And now back to the mundane world of buying and selling houses… and finishing another novella and the next novel, both promised to publishers by next week…

Nu fetish, anyone?

Discovered through a random accident: Nu Fetish.

Urban dictionary says: ‘An adult genre coined by Directer/Producer Christopher Cumingham, and first seen in his GirlsIMetAt.com project in early 2010. Nu Fetish is a unique and rather young genre of erotica, which snowballed into a form that is defined more by its contributors/creators than by its consumers. It is a form of amateur pornographic film which creatively cycles around the individual’s desire. Often it is created by women, with some exceptions (e.g. Christopher Cumingham), and it has an emancipatory and often artistic quality to it, as the entire production is usually done by one person. Female collaborations within the Nu Fetish scene have been done as well. Who exactly consumes Nu Fetish on the net, is still an unclear demographic as very little information is available. It is assumed that creative people are interested in this form of erotica.’

There’s not a lot of public info about Christopher Cumingham apart from his profile on Vimeo, which says: ‘i produce and direct an individual style of pornographic film. My ever-closer forays into a filmic style that scathes close to the bone of personality in a branch that doesn’t normally go much further than the superficial surface of sexuality have brought me upon a playground of fun experimentation and have opened up new exiting possibilities for the erotic film genre.’ And he has a profile on TED, which says: ‘The porn world is full of pimps and people who exploit girls. I know that sometimes it feels that I am walking on a wire above a quagmire of shit, but I have never fallen in. Instead I have fallen into another world, the one where art, sex and money meet. The one where it is much less clear who is doing the exploiting.’

Christopher Cumingham has his own website at christophercumingham.com; there’s a Vimeo page for his stuff at vimeo.com/gim; and he has the site mentioned above, girlsimetat.com. If you want more, by other people, you’re going to have to look for it yourself – let us know what you find!

The Miami Times has a short article about it, though it doesn’t go much beyond the stuff you’ll see on the above links.

So what’s interesting about this? It seems to be pretty much home made, surreal, and on the whole done by and for the people who appear in the (usually short) videos, possibly as some form of self-exploration. It often speaks to fetishes that seem quite outside the general realm of bondage, leather, whips, or more hardcore-yet-somehow-conventional interests. It seems to cast back to the broader, more psychoanalytic sense of fetish as sexual arousal brought about by an object or situation, without any particular assumptions about what the object or situation might be. It seems to poke at the subconscious in unpredictable ways. And it’s probably going to be huge six months from now.

Go have a look. See what you think.

Upcoming bondage suspension demo

For the past few days, our living room has been dominated by the notorious ‘cube’ – a red-painted cube of scaffolding, seven feet on a side, that can be used for bondage in multiple ways. This is because, as you’ll have seen from this previous post, we’re doing a suspension bondage demo tomorrow. Not having done it for a while, felt the need to practice.

The cube is something I put together about eight years ago, and although it won’t be obvious from her profile pic on the left, it’s what Velvet Tripp was suspended from when that pic was shot (by Jon Wilson, more about whom will appear in an upcoming post). It has, perhaps obviously, a great deal of versatility and stability, and fixings can be attached to it at any point along any of the tubes. It’s been used in fetish clubs, with people spread-eagled in the centre and on each of the sides; people tied to the uprights; people suspended from the uppermost tubes; and, in a couple of gay clubs, it’s been fitted with a sling for… well, for things you might use a sling for. I think the largest number of people (subs and doms) playing on it at any single point in time has been 8, four tied to it and four doing nice/nasty things to them.

I thought I’d already posted a pic of it in a previous post, but evidently not: here it is, being used in a fetish performance at a goth event a few years back.

The cube

The cube

Anyway: the reason we’re using the cube for practice is partly because it’s what we’ll be using tomorrow, and partly because there aren’t many other useful attachment points in the house. Suspension bondage does require secure overhead fixings. We don’t have the luxury of a large place with exposed overhead roof beams (though contributions to our ideal house fund are always welcome!) and lights, electrical ducting, and so forth are clearly not safe places to hang people from, whatever you may see on amateur porn sites.

I’ve occasionally considered putting some fixings across the rafters in one of the upstairs bedrooms. It can be done, preferably not by screwing directly into a single rafter but fixing a plank across several rafters to spread the load, and screwing a long bolt through the ceiling and into the plank. But on the other hand – I have the cube, so why bother?

For suspensions I always use climbing gear as the suspension point. There’s a great deal to be said for throwing a climbing sling over one of the cube’s top poles and attaching a carabiner. That type of kit is well safety checked, and designed to withstand someone falling the full length of a climbing rope, 50 metres, down a mountain and coming to no harm. Force equals mass times acceleration, so these things are strong.

Safety comes first, so we’ve spent a lot of time revisiting issues like how many times the ropes need to go round V’s hips and chest to create enough spread of her body weight that they won’t cut into her or interfere with breathing. Also, of course, so they don’t become too uncomfortable (there’s a certain unavoidable level of discomfort in being suspended, of course, but that’s an essential part of the experience!). We’ve also had to work out the placement of the carabiners – and double up on one set, because it will become a pulley and two sets of rope running through a single carabiner can jam, which would be embarassing. And we’ve looked at different positions, finally deciding face up but with asymmetrical ties to legs and arms is rather pleasing on the eye (I would have said photogenic but the club we’re going to prohibits all photography, including bringing mobile phones with cameras into the building). The finished result will look shibari-like, though largely as a result of some cheating on my part because I’m not a purist about such things.

Incidentally, suspension bondage does take a lot of rope. If you think that a normal shinju-type tie or even a karada won’t usually use more than 10 metres of rope, the tie I have planned will use 55 metres – and even that’s not a big deal for suspension, I’ve done ties that involved up to about 80 metres before now. In addition, I’ve opted to use thicker ropes for chest and hips – 9mm as opposed to my usual 7mm diameter ropes, simply because the extra width to the ropes adds a little to comfort levels without needing additional wraps around the body. Nor am I using hemp – it’s certainly possible to do so and many people do, though tend to use multple suspension points etc. for safety. But I kind of like the fact that my braided nylon polypropelene, apart from being a wonderful vivid red, has a rated breaking strain of 693 kilos. Overkill, certainly. But it’s one less thing to have to be concerned about in a demo situation.

I’ll be talking through the ties as I go, but I’ve also been working on how I do that while continuously monitoring V’s breathing. If someone is suspended it’s a very bad idea to wander off and get engaged in something else, because for the suspendee, being helpless and struggling to breathe can be… well, certainly panic-inducing, and has all the obvious possibilities up to and including death. A face-up suspension is generally easier because the body is largely supported on the spine. Face-down means ropes running across the chest/breasts and without a lot of fettling to make sure not too much weight is taken on those ropes, it can be difficult for the ribs to expand while muscles are pulling against the person’s own body weight. If you’re a fit 20-something yoga instructor and bondage model without any health issues it won’t be that big a deal. But, ummm, neither of us fit into that kind of demographic these days…

[Edited to add – it should go without saying that keeping an eye out for their safety also means having an effective way of getting someone down really quickly. Like a big pair of scissors. And having a plan for what order to cut the ropes in, so they don’t come down headfirst, and remembering to support their body weight so you’re not putting additional strain on their chest while they’re coming down. Plus, since the effect of suspension is often for the suspendee to trance out, letting them lie on the floor for a while and having a blanket to cover them with is generally a good idea.]

So we’re all set.  Including, I gather, two other models on whom I’ll also be demonstrating ties that don’t involve suspension and can be used for very quick restraint.

Finally, we’ve put together a list of useful resources on bondage techniques and issues, which will be available at the demo and posted here sometime, when I have time.

***

In other news: Velvet Tripp’s latest story is, we’ve heard, to be released on the 26th and I’ve just had confirmation my own collection of short stories will be out by the end of the month. More on those as we have cover pics to crow about, and URLs and suchlike to direct you to. And word has also reached us that Velvet’s review of  the Fun Factory vibrator was not only picked up by Fun Factory but reposted on their Facebook page. Ah, fame at last…

The plastics factory – free erotic fiction from Fulani

I did a previous story, Burnout, on an industrial theme and got some good feedback from it. Here’s another one. Pics by Velvet Tripp; the factory is quite near us.

Here’s a Twitter-sized summary:

Burned-out factory. Naked, gagged, wrists tied to a blackened overhead beam, open to the sky. He’s gone to fetch his whip. I’m euphoric.

***

The old plastics factory burned down a couple of months ago. Arson. Kids set a fire they couldn’t control.

I drive past it every day, going to work. Some of it is a lunar landscape, melted plastic like solidified lava flowing over the ground. Some of it looks like a war zone. At first there were security guards, fire investigators, like ants toiling in a post-apocalyptic world. Then, no one.

In a month or a year, someone might clear the site and rebuild. In the meantime, I’m curious.

When I mention it, you’re interested too. So we drive out there, one Friday evening.

And I know exactly what’s in your mind, because it’s in mine too. That’s why I chose the clothes I’m wearing, and it’s why there’s a bulge in your jacket pocket.

The stream on one side of the site flows grungy and dark. The trees surrounding it are as blackened as your soul. The metal fence as twisted as your imagination. We slip through it easily. Crunch, crunch. The sound of our feet on rough cinders, until we come to the slightly spongy melted plastic.

‘It’s a great shame,’ I say. ‘The place contributed to the environment by recycling plastic, and now the trees are gone and the chemicals polluting the water.’

‘Yeah. But despite the destruction we carry on. We even create our own amusements.’

We walk towards the shadowed entrance to the factory building. It’s not supposed to be an entrance – just where a wall collapsed. Inside, blackened unfathomable machinery. There’s a long girder there; it was a roof support and still rests on the remaining wall but is angled now to touch the ground on the other.

I just know you’re going to whip out what’s in yourpocket.

And you do. Twenty meters of rope.

‘Hold your hands out.’

I offer them to you, gleaming in the shadow. I offer my submission like a jewel. Because it is a jewel. You know it. I know it.

You secure my hands. Practiced ease. Throw the other end of the rope over the girder. Haul on it until I’m on tiptoe. Ties it off on a stanchion. Anything I try to do with my feet spins me round, out of control. Not, of course, that I want to be in control at this point.

There’s a reason I wore the halter top and the button-through skirt. It makes it easy for you to remove them. You throw them casually on the sooty ground, making them unwearable. My thong becomes unwearable because you rip it off. I have, now, no clothing, no protection, until we get home. Knowing this claws at the inside of my belly, pulls and strokes my clit.

After that I open my mouth automatically for the gag.

You stand back and watch me for a while, as I watch you watching me. I’m getting excited. I watch you getting excited. Breeze from outside excites my nipples. The breeze carries scents of oil, burned wood, fire smoke. Why is that a turn-on? What repressed memory makes me juice up at smell of heavy engineering and disaster?

After a while you produce a blindfold.

‘I need to get the whip,’ you say casually. ‘I may be a while.’

Normally I can still my racing mind, but being bound and exposed in a place like this… There’s always a risk, and risk is something I get off on. I’m restrained by the ropes, my imagination flies free, I’m own euphoric.

When you, or someone anyway, crunch back towards the building I’m hanging helplessly, liquid desperate dripping anticipation.

The whipcracks are loud in my ears, echoing in the cavernous space. The noise is more scary even that the impacts and stings. You – or someone – don’t spare me. You never do. While I know you care about me, for me, you also know that in this situation I must feel you have no mercy, no compassion.

And it feels exactly that way as stripes and welts form on my body, some overlaying bruises I still have from four days ago.

Despite the gag I yelp, and the muffled yelps bounce, amplified, off the metal surfaces. They come back to me as the sounds of sex.

Which they are.

I dance for you, for the whip.

By the time you’re done laying burning welts on me I’m in my own dreamworld of torture. This is a good thing. I like my dreamworld. I like the way my dreams become visible on my skin. When you release the rope I stand unsteadily, holding onto you for balance. Even with the blindfold I know whose arms they are. Through the gag I’m pleading, demanding, making my need for orgasm clear. Orgasm now. Right now. Please. Any way you want me. Do I have to say that magic ‘Master’ word? I say it anyway.

‘Not yet, lover,’ you murmur. Use the rope as a leash. Take me outside, walking nude across the broken wasteland. Tie me somewhere. I don’t know where. I’m bent at the waist, legs apart, arms up above my head. Perversely now I’m in the cold evening air, the welts feel even hotter. I feel even hotter.

And you take me from behind, the buckle of your belt pressing into my reddened ass with every thrust, until I scream.

Afterwards: my clothes are trashed. We leave them. The rope is sticky with oil, tar, ash. You string it along the fence as a symbol: we were here. I know I’ll see it, every morning on the way to work.

I’m nude in the car on the way home. All I have on my body: my sneakers, the gag, and the whipmarks. I’m in the darkness, feeling cool car seat leather on hot skin. That’s the way I like it.

Submit! – free erotic fiction from Velvet Tripp

I don’t know how long I’d been there. Waiting. He’d not be far away. He could be standing right in front of me. I squirmed at the thought. As much as I could anyway, bound as I was to the chair. His, I mean my dom’s, special chair. Blindfold and gag deprived me of two of my senses. Headphones played a track that blocked out sound from the room. Taste, sight and hearing impaired. Let me tell you, that really does sharpen your remaining senses. Touch. And smell.

All I could smell at this moment was the freshness of the night air drifting through the open window. There would be no-one around for miles. That’s why he chose this place. No one can hear you scream. As for touch. That’s what I was waiting for. That’s what I wanted. But he knew that. He knew I was impatient. It amused him to watch me, knowing I would only be hotter if he left me to endure anticipation for a while.

I felt something then. A shiver over my skin. Did he touch me? Has a bird flown in? I can’t hear anything but the music. Strange, Germanic type stuff. They’re singing about ripping clothes off. Hmm. That happened a while ago, now. I think the disk is called Eevil Young Flesh. That would be a good description of me, then.

I feel warmth to my left. He’s here. My heart races. My pussy dampens. I know he’s going to be a bastard tonight. Because he wants me to call him that. When he’s earned it. He considers it a compliment. And he knows I’ll resist using that title because it’s what he wants me to do. I can’t help it. That’s how I am. He’s decided I need to learn the true meaning of submissive. One lesson at a time. I know tonight will be a challenge for me. To submit. To do as I’m told. To take what I’m given.

His hand cups my crotch. ‘Good,’ he says, flatly. ‘You’ve shaved. I like easy access, slut.’

My heart is pounding now. My crotch even more damp. I shiver as I feel cold steel on my thigh. Then the other thigh. A knife. That’s my thong gone. I wondered why I’d been allowed to keep it on before he bound me with 30 feet of rope. Legs splayed by the special chair, arms firmly bound to the armrests, breasts bound until they throbbed. Then left to ‘contemplate my fate’. Now I meet it.

‘Now, I know you’ve had to wait, so I’m not going to mess you around any longer. I promised you would learn to call me by my favourite name and that I would earn it. Here we go. I start to earn now.’

Searing pain shot through my left nipple. I squealed through the gag, found it hard to catch my breath. A clamp. The really bad ones, I think. The pair connected by a chain… He waited moments for me to relax, and then my right… I gasped, almost screamed. But the rebel in me didn’t want to give him the satisfaction.

‘So that’s easy for you, eh, pain slut?’

I nodded. Stupid.

‘In that case, I think we’ll have to make you work harder. I can’t have you slacking, can’t have you being wilful. I control you now.’

I bit down on the gag, unsure of his next move. My nipples throbbed, transmitting their protests down to my clit, where somehow it got a pleasure signal, and my now exposed pussy was positively wet. Then my nipples exploded. Again. Bastard! He has some little weights to hang off the chain of the clamps he especially liked to use when torturing me. I could feel that weight on them, pulling, tugging and making every nerve ending in them scream. But I still didn’t. My clit stubbornly refused to accept what my nipples were telling it. I began to drip. I was breathing hard; absorbing the pain, letting it change my chemistry, flood me with endorphins.

My minds started to float away. I was high. He was getting off on me getting high. I could now smell his muskiness and the leather of his trousers. Leather, pain, pleasure and imagination. Oh, yes, I was sky high.

Suddenly he whisked the headphones off me.

‘Now slut, you have two choices. A or B. Which do you choose, I wonder? Raise a finger on your left hand for A, a finger on your left for B.’ I sat, paralysed, high, confused. I heard him step away. The leather of his trousers as he moved. A or B? But I didn’t know what those meant. What choice was that? Then I got it. That was the point. Whatever I chose, He chose. He decided what happens next. Clever fuck! He just want to make me submit!

Smack! I flinched, the clamps swayed, tugged. I squealed through the gag. He chuckled evilly. A flogger. On the inside of my thigh. I should have raised that finger… Smack. Now I screamed. I dripped. I lifted my left finger. OK. A. I do submit. I do.

I waited. He moved away. Fuck! What had I done? What now? My heart pumped blood and adrenaline and endorphins round me so fast my head was spinning. My pussy drooling.

‘You should know I’ve got a quick call to make, then you’ll have my full attention again,’ he said abruptly. ‘Hi, yes, she’ll be ready for you in about ten minutes. Ok, yes, I’ll make sure of that, don’t worry.’

If I could have gulped, cried out to be released, I might have. I still had my hand signal, but I wasn’t going there. Pride wouldn’t let me. I wouldn’t let me. I wanted this. I got this. I’ll see it through.

I hear him moving things, some clicking kind of sound. Then he untied me, deftly, dragged me by the collar across the room, juices trickling down my thigh as I walked. He carefully lowered me to my knees and cuffed my wrists, pushed me forward. I found myself face forward on a sofa or bed of some sort, ass exposed, legs as far apart as he could push them. The clamps bit my nipples. He bit my ass. He ran his finger over my soaking, exposed clit.

‘Huh. You are a pain slut, aren’t you. My little pain slut. I can do what I like when I like, can’t I?’

I nodded. He grabbed my hair, pulling my head back. ‘Now the clamps. You know they have to come off, don’t you?’ I did. He took them off, one at a time. Blood flooded back into squeezed and tender flesh, nerve endings flashed into overdrive and I yelled through that gag. Did I yell!

Then a loud buzzing sound. Not like a vibrator, more like a chainsaw. There wasn’t time to think. Suddenly that sound made contact with my pussy. It was a vibrator. It felt more like a jackhammer. My instinct was to try and wriggle away. But he had me pinned. My pussy went straight into rocket-assisted launch mode. I gasped and gasped and gasped. I creamed and screamed. I came so hard and so fast my brain went stratospheric. My pussy exploded over and over. He carried on. I couldn’t come down. The only way was up. I screamed again. I came again, tears escaping from behind the mask, and again, forced to orgasm until I didn’t know which way was up.

It stopped. I stopped. He stopped. I collapsed, flying; waves of incredible ecstasy still rippling through me as he stroked my hair now, kissed my back.

‘It’s not over. You know that, don’t you?’

I was incapable of responding. He just laughed. He took out the gag. My jaw trembled.

He got up and left me draped over what I could now see was a leather covered storage box all padded out. I heard him open the door. ‘Come in, Janine’.

My lover. He’d invited my female lover over. The bastards had planned it all. I smelled her perfume as she came closer. ‘Now, my pet, now we both have you. Now you’re ready for us,’ she whispered. I turned to him, smiled shakily and said ‘Fucking bastard, thank you.’

***

More from Velvet? There’s a short story in a different vein, Tropical Paradise, in a short collection of five stories and simultaneously in a full-length 20-story collection, both by Xcite. And more to come soon from the same publisher…