Fucking and Being Fucked

With a groan I slowly unfolded myself and sprawled flat on on my front, mashing my udders into the bed. I had been on my elbows and knees for a long intense fuck: my hair pulled hard so I would rise up and tense my muscles; my cunt rutted in forcefully, followed by shallow teasing and then more deep plundering. I was feeling aches in all sorts of places – most of them very good.

I wanted to make the most of the break I’d begged to have, so I rolled over to one side, propped myself up on an elbow, and watched the continuation of play with interest. m’Lady called out: “Turn over, fuckpig, and take the same position. I’m not done.” The fuckpig’s face was shiny, showing where I had constantly dripped lubrication and ejaculatory juices onto her as I was fucked. I leaned in to nuzzle her ear and smell my umami aroma on her skin, my owner grasped her buttocks to open wide her holes for plundering. Earlier I’d had my tongue buried in the lovely arsehole now on show, and as I leaned back I could see that it still glistened damply. But that was not the hole m’Lady wanted – yet – and the fuckpig cried out as cock thrust hard into her cunt, and ey began the same forceful fucking I’d been receiving just a minute earlier.

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Auctioned

The story below was written by m’Lady Tethys as a birthday gift for me – I was thrilled to wake up and find it waiting for me in my inbox, along with an audio clip where ey read it aloud to me (as you can probably imagine, I wanked my brains out listening to it). It is with permission and with great pleasure that I share the words with you now, after keeping it to myself for a month.

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In the Shed

Trapped.

The door swung closed, locked on the outside.

Hot.

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Waiting at the Studio

“I’m sorry, but you’ll have to wait out here. The red warning light is on.” I came to a halt as he pointed at the sign above the door that said Recording Quiet Please in large letters.

“Oh! I guess I’m here early. You’re part of the crew for the documentary as well?”

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S.I.R.

She touched the little box in her pocket and smiled. “This is our most recent creation,” she said to me as she pulled it free from her white coat, maroon contrasting brilliantly. “Not yet for release – but ready for home testing. And while it doesn’t have an official name, just a designation, I’ve decided a very good title for it is S.I.R.”

“Sir?” I asked, confused, watching her as she stroked along the rectangular length of box with one fingertip and ruffled the nap of the velvet. I could not help but think of her stroking my skin in that way.

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At the Door

It was my evening home alone – Apollo was out gaming – so I made the most of it and indulged in some wanton and wicked self-care (also known as revelling in nakedness and masturbation).

Which meant I was extremely surprised when there was a knock on the door. I reluctantly removed my hand from its happy place, and just as reluctantly put my book of erotica aside. Still naked, I walked to the door. I could, after all, choose not to open in.

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Sodom: Remembrance

Everyone comes to Sodom for something different. What are you looking for?

**

Nadica doesn’t talk. Nadica doesn’t play. Nadica takes her photographs, and takes them exceedingly well. And that’s all any guest ever sees her do.

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Sodom: What’s in a Name?

Would Sodom have the same air of mystery if it was called ‘The Club of Arse’? ‘Stick ‘em Up’? ‘The Booty Bumper’? What something is named can make a difference – something that the Doyenne, and some of the staff, know very well indeed.

**

 

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Sodom: Midnight

Midnight is the witching hour – and at Sodom it’s no different. There’s something about the movement from one day to the next. Endings and beginnings. Whether you’re aware of the changeover or not, it still leaves its mark.

**

As the clock turned midnight, Caroline was wide open and welcoming a strangers cock into her arse. Tied to the stocks, blindfolded, well-lubricated, and profoundly aroused, she didn’t care who it was fucking her, as long as she was fucked.  Her cheeks burned from slapping, her tits from mauling, and her ankles from the pull of the rope, but she didn’t care. Sir had arranged this. Sir was watching her be used, at his pleasure.

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Sodom: Well Stocked

What do you want? At Sodom everyone knows what you want – or what you think you want – it’s why you’re all there. Still, you don’t always get it. Chances are pretty high, instead, that you’ll get what you need.

**

The evening wasn’t going quite as Linus had planned. True, Caroline had looked good enough to fuck, all wide-eyed in her cage; and sliding that heavy metal plug into her arse beforehand had made his cock hard and wanting. But knowing that the person who’d stopped by the cage to talk to her was the owner of Sodom – the Doyenne - someone he’d never seen in all his visits, was somewhat disconcerting. Why now? Why her? Was it a good sign?

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