Once upon a time, I thought you had to be alone to masturbate. Nope, apparently masturbation is anything that involves touching of genitals for sexual pleasure – whether you’re touching yourself or someone else.
Color me tickled. By that definition, I masturbate three or four times a day.
Around age twelve, I discovered that some books had sex scenes. The impact of reading about people touching each other was, um, explosive. From then on, I made up sexy stories as a mental masturbatory soundtrack.
Every few months, my fantasy preferences swing in a new direction. Right now, the soundtrack is set to an endless loop of “being controlled.” Having one or more others do what they want to another person. For extra spice, I’ll include an element of force, though always pre-arranged and consensual. (I’m a control freak. Even in my fantasies, I have to control how I give up control.)
Sometimes I’m in the fantasy. Sometimes I’m not.
Have you ever analyzed your masturbatory practices? It’s weird to deconstruct something I started doing as a kid, before I had the language to articulate the why. Why do I need a story to get off? Why can’t I simply tune in to my body, to my nerve endings?
Likely there’s more than one reason. I’ve figured out a couple of them. My mind has to be engaged at the same time as my body, or I get bored. Possibly it’s the same reason I’m crap at meditating on my own, but I’m a whizz with guided meditation.
The other reason has to do with the hyper-realism of words. Reality can be bland and boring, but a story tells a…well, a story. It’s supposed to be extra-ordinary.
Words form sensory bombs that scatter-shot vivid fragments into memory craters.
So. I decided to share one of my masturbatory fantasies. This one is the starting point of what developed into a whole series of stories. I spent several nights developing the arc, playing out various scenarios, at one point even hitting the refresh button to start over. I also developed spin-offs featuring secondary characters.
A couple of caveats: Minimal backstory or character development, just a bunch of sex. (Duh. It’s for jilling.) Also lots of head-hopping, but that’s because I’m the omniscient narrator.
She tiptoed downstairs. It was late, nearly midnight. Ears pricked for the sound of lurking servants, heart racing, feet cold on the flagstone floors, white nightgown billowing, she crept to the closed double doors. Carefully, carefully, she pried at one of the heavy doors until it opened the tiniest bit.
Holding her breath, she pressed an eye against the crack.
Her guardians stood on either side of a woman. Lily couldn’t see much. The men’s large bodies obscured her view. The woman’s arms were suspended overhead with rope, and she wore a blindfold. Her arms and legs were bare.
She struggled to make sense of the scene. What were they doing?
Lily heard deep, masculine rumbles, and the woman’s voice, high and breathy. She couldn’t make out the words. They stood inappropriately close to her. Connor’s back pressed against the woman’s back, Samuel against her front. They pulled away then pushed forward.
Watching them made her tummy flutter, generated a damp heat between her legs, and she didn’t know why. Lily pressed closer, every sense focused through that narrow gap.
A firm hand on her shoulder startled her into a shriek. Tom Butler pulled her away from the door and glowered down at her.
“What are you doing downstairs so late, Miss? You’ll catch your death of cold. Go on now.” He turned her toward the stairs and gave her a push, ignoring her protests, standing with arms crossed, watching her.
Lily sighed and trudged to her bedroom. Foiled again. She so wanted to know what Connor and Samuel did with their late-night lady visitors. They refused to tell her, and even forbade her coming downstairs after bedtime. Which was silly. She wasn’t a child any more. Burning curiosity and prickling jealousy drove her to get answers.
If Connor and Samuel didn’t want her to know what they were doing, they shouldn’t do it at home.
The men pulled back until only the tips of their cocks remained inside pussy and ass. Connor gripped Rissa’s hips, forcing her to stillness. “Say yes.”
Licking dry lips, she shook her head. “No, I can’t. No.”
“One more chance, Rissa. You know what happens if you say no.” They bulled their way in, enjoying her moans, the tight grip of her flesh. Connor bit her neck, licked the red mark, savored her salty, sweaty taste. “You knew what we planned tonight.”
Each time Rissa visited, they took her farther. Each time she left, Connor explained what they would do to her next time. She always had the choice to say no. But if she chose to visit, she accepted the consequences of refusing them.
“Please,” she begged. “I can’t take you both there. He might notice.”
“We’ll stretch you, but you’ll tighten again. Besides, isn’t your husband busy fucking the stable boy?” Connor rode smoothly in and out of her tight ass, timing it so that he and Samuel filled her at the same time.
Samuel pressed a finger into her cunt alongside his dick, ignoring her flinch. “You gave him an heir and a spare. You told us he’s lost interest.”
Her wrists were bound with thick rope extending above her head, looped around a hook in the overhead beam. Her shoulders burned, the sensation blending with the heat from her paddled ass, the ache of a well-fucked ass and pussy, the soreness from tender, abused nipples. She had come several times. Wetness streaked the inside of her thighs, droplets slicked the floor below her.
“He’s heard a rumor. People think he’s not manly.” The words rasped from a too-dry throat.
Connor signaled a pause and Samuel nodded. Connor held a glass of water to her parched lips. After she finished the water, Connor withdrew from her body, ignoring her disappointed moan.
“So he’s visiting your bedchamber again?” He dipped three fingers in the crock of lubricant and inserted them in her rectum, then slicked more of the viscous liquid on his cock.
“Ye- oh God yesss.” She moaned when he pressed his length deep inside.
He went still. “How often?”
“Once a week. Fridays.”
“Today is Wednesday. You’ll tighten by then.”
For emphasis, Samuel crammed a second finger inside.
Her cry held equal parts pain and pleasure. “Too much!”
“No, Rissa. Not quite enough.” Connor gripped her hair and pulled her head back, hips thudding against hers.
Rissa wanted to be taken to the edge, forced to accept ever more. Unless she used her safeword, they would ignore her protests.
Connor pinched her sore nipple and she gave a shrill cry. Earlier, Samuel had used a triple set of clamps, one for each nipple and her pearl, all connected by a delicate set of chains. He had tightened the screws gradually, constantly tugging on the chain while Connor fucked her from behind. Her cream had soaked his shaft and balls even as she begged for mercy.
Rissa enjoyed pain in pursuit of orgasm. Saying no tonight wasn’t out of fear, or concern that her husband would find out. No, tonight she wanted the punishment that came with her refusal.
Connor asked formally, “Yes or no, Lady Rissa?”
A moment of silence, and then, in a little girl’s voice, she said, “No.”
Connor’s cock surged. Samuel, less interested in spanking, sighed in disappointment. They removed themselves from her body and stood behind her, appraising her bound form.
“Won’t your husband notice the marks?”
Connor raised the question out of politeness, not because he really cared. For all her seeming helplessness, Rissa was a cunning, capable woman who chose how their evenings together would play out before she stepped foot in the manor.
Rissa snorted. “No. He does it in the dark. As is right and proper, so sayeth the Church. But my maid will notice any marks you leave on my back and legs.”
“Mm. We’ll concentrate on your ass, then. Any other marks will fade by morning.” Connor cupped her already-pink buttock and squeezed. She twitched but said nothing. “Shall we start with the leather belt, Samuel?”
An assortment of spanking implements were laid out on a nearby table. Samuel lightly caressed a flogger, two crops, a rattan cane, and various leather straps. He finally selected two wide leather belts and gave one to Connor, cracking the other against his palm.
The long silence followed by the crack of sound unnerved Rissa. She flinched when large, strong hands lifted her off the floor. Her arms slowly lowered. The men draped her face-down over a spanking horse, legs spread, arse presented. They massaged her aching shoulders and arms for a few moments, positioning a pillow under her chest.
Samuel tied her arms to the bench and reminded her, “Don’t move.”
They alternated strikes, moving from the backs of her knees, to her ass, to her mid back. The blows fell with metronomic precision and varying intensity, harshest on her well-padded ass, lightest on her back. When she had been well-tenderized, they moved to the cane, concentrating now on her ass.
Rissa loved the belt. She floated on a sea of sensation, each solid thwack riding a direct current to her sex. The cane, though, was a different matter. Its thin surface meant all the pain concentrated in a single line of fire. She held out for three strokes, then the noise began. Yips, screams, and moans interspersed with pleas for mercy.
When she asked them to stop, they did. Connor bent to her face, a thumb stroking from tear-streaked cheek to bite-swollen lips.
“We can stop anytime. Use your safeword. Or agree to do what we want.”
She whimpered a “No.”
After twenty strikes with the cane, they switched to floggers. A suggestively-shaped handle ended in multiple braided leather strands. Each strike raised a lovely pink tint and elicited a hoarse groan from Rissa. The flogger was her favorite. The marks quickly faded, but her skin would be tender for days. Even the softest fabric felt like sandpaper.
Wetness glistened between her legs. She lost count of time, coming at least once. Finally, Samuel turned his flogger around and thrust the long, thick handle into her still-slick rectum, fucking her while Connor began spanking her with his hand.
“You horny slut, you’re dripping all over the floor.” Connor drew back and delivered a final, hard strike. Rissa convulsed around the whip handle, screaming her orgasm into the pillow.
Once again, they suspended her from the hook and took their places front and back. Connor gripped her burning bottom, enjoying the welts, the heat rising in almost visible waves. Samuel cupped her mound, massaging, pressing three fingers into the wide-open slit.
“She’s so wet. She could take us both right now.”
Rissa moaned and twisted her head, “No, no.”
“Not to worry, my sweet, you paid the price for tonight.” Connor squeezed hard and got a yelp. “Next time.”
The men resumed their fucking, eager to orgasm after two hours of play. Samuel slid in quickly, easily. Connor took his time, working himself against her.
Both men were still fully clothed. Connor ground his pants against her raw buttocks, rubbed his chest against her so that his shirt scratched her tender back. She moaned a rising series of yesses, begging for more.
Connor finished first, emptying into her clutching channel. Samuel followed seconds later, a French letter taking his load.
Afterward, Rissa sagged passively into Samuel’s arms. He carried her to a leather armchair and cuddled her on his lap, removing the rope and blindfold. He gave her a drink of water, folding a soft blanket around her shoulders while she drank.
Connor rang for Tom Butler. While they waited, he served as ladies maid, helping her into her clothes.
Tom came in and stood at attention, ignoring her state of undress. He had seen her naked, had helped with some of their more creative endeavors.
“Roust her coachman,” Connor said. “She’ll be ready in five minutes.”
Tom nodded and left.
Connor put a hand on Rissa’s chin, lifted her face to make sure she paid attention. “You know what we want. You’ll take us both next time. If you say no, the whipping tonight will be child’s play.”
Rissa nodded. Her eyes fluttered closed in pretended fear, but the corners of her mouth quirked up in anticipation.
They handed her into the carriage. Her servant prodded the horses into motion the instant they stepped back, eager to get home to his bed.
Afterward, Connor asked Tom, “Did I hear something from the hall earlier?”
“Lily.” He growled her name. No secret that Tom thought they’d been too soft on her. “Spying on you. Don’t think she saw much.”
“Perhaps it’s time to have a talk with her.” Samuel glanced up the stairs, picturing their nubile ward chastely asleep, white ruffled nightdress up around her hips.
“Time to do more than talk.” Connor’s chest tightened at the thought.
She had moved in a year ago and driven them mad with her voluptuous curves and innocent sensuality. She took every opportunity to touch them, tease them. She hounded them with questions about the women who visited. Lily had a crush on both men, though they didn’t encourage it. They struggled not to show they noticed her as a woman, to give her room and time to grow up and decide what she wanted.
Now she was eighteen, and insisted she be treated as an adult. She had broken the rules. Perhaps it was time to show her their version of punishment.
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