He was blindfolded. He was face down on the table, wondering why there was cling-film under him. There was a slight ‘click’ and he could hear her move. She ran her hand down one side and then the other side of his exposed back, gently caressing him. He could not help but call out when the first drops of the wax hit his skin. The first few drops landed, and then she stopped. She let it cool slightly and then more drops were on him. There was a build-up, of wax and heat until he could not stand it any more, and she poured on the wax, not drip by drip. He sucked in his breath and let it out as a stuttering moan after he couldn’t hold it any more. He felt her fingernails on his skin and then under the edge of the wax. She was prying it off, scraping with her fingernails to loosen and then pulling, taking some of his hair with it. He felt her breath on his skin and he smiled as the sensation as she blew across the cooling area.
After Party Part 2
The red vest was off and I started to work on the lace top. I was almost ready to let the girls out for the night. »Read More
After Party
It was 3 in the morning after a Play Party and I was caught by the photographer as I was putting things away for the night.
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A gift
She looked at the little red box. It had been left on the table along with the envelope with his payment. She had known him long enough to know that he had given her what had been negotiated, never less, and sometimes a little more. The red box was new.
She had not mentioned anything about a birthday or anniversary or even a holiday. He had left something for her, just because.
She ignored the envelope and picked up the box. Not too big and not heavy. It did rattle, though. The red foil top was sealed down with a small piece of tape easily slit with her fingernail. She opened the box and smiled.
Two things were in the box. The practical of the two was gift card for a local store. She had seen him there several times while she was shopping. It was good to know he paid attention. The second item was a key.
It was a small key with a plastic coating on the end. It could have been for just about anything. She couldn’t see the brand mark under the plastic. The brass colored key was obviously new.
The one part of the gift she knew what she was going to do with. She had been eyeing something for a while and now she knew she could afford it. The other... She started to put the box back together when she saw that there was a folded piece of paper in the bottom.
It was his handwriting. All it said was, “for next time”, with a web address written under that. She smiled and went to her computer to look it up. She smiled wider when she saw what they key went with.
The key in it’s box was labeled and put into his file. She nodded to herself and looked forward to using it on him. It was always nice to know what her clients wanted, and this was going to be fun.
Piece of paper
He looked at the single sheet of writing paper I had just handed him from the ream I had brought with me. He was confused and looked back up at me. “Paper?”
I nodded. He looked at it, trying to see if it was more than the plain, store bought lined paper it was. I watched his confusion and frustration grow.
I handed him a pen. “Twenty lines.”
A flash of pain went across his face, but he knew not to argue. “Yes, Ma’am.”
It was a simple sentence, but it took him a while to write it as he was kneeling on the floor with his pants around his ankles. I waited and when he sat back up, I stood and held my hand out for the page. He had rushed on a few of the lines, but it was not the lines that was the point of the punishment.
I smiled, but not kindly. “Stand.” I took the pen from him as he stood, his bunched pants making it difficult for him to stand for a second. I marked the errors on the page and turned so that he could see the marks I put on the paper.
I walked to the open space on the wall and judged his height. I held the page onto the wall with my finger and moved so he could see. “Come here.”
He shuffled over and looked at the paper where I had marked it. He grimaced, but did not say anything. I positioned him and held his forehead against the wall, holding the paper to the wall, his eyes too close to see it, but he knew what was on the page.
“Stay there until I say you can move. And don’t let the page fall.” »Read More
A challenge story
Someone I know challenged me to write this. They had found my Fact Sheets in the old site and wondered if I was into certain things. NO. But then I was challenged to write this because they were not convinced that I could if I were not into it.
***
It felt as though it had been at least a day since she had woken up in the place. The leather was rubbing her wrists and ankles raw where she was straining against it. She had been able to get a glimpse under the mask once. Her keeper had seen her and had pulled a hood over her, enclosing her in utter darkness that soon smelled like her stale breath.
She had been there long enough that she had peed herself several times. The first time, she screamed to let her go to the bathroom. She had heard laughter. That was when the first cock had gone into her. He had not been lubed up and pushed into her pussy. He had been deep and fast and she could not help it when her bladder had let go.
The bench she was strapped to could be moved a little, changing her arms and legs a little. It didn’t matter. Her ass was still in the air, the smell of her own piss bad even through her hood.
She had to shit. She had to really shit. She knew what they had done when she had wanted to pee. She kept her mouth as closed as she could when the need to poo became strong. »Read More
If only Penthouse was actually like real life, would people believe it?
Story for Leathermines
Naked Cheerleaders.
Hooker Day.
Adulterous Lawyers.
Just trying to get a good hook for the next story. All have some glimmer of a plot, some steamy scenes and a twist or two. That is all you need for erotica, right?
If only the real life things that happen to me were believable. Sometimes it sounds like a story out of Penthouse Letters. This for example, the anonymous sub-
****
I went into a grocery store on the way to a play party, just a little late, but those things don’t really start until it has been dark out for a while. I was dressed fairly conservatively with a long black wrap dress over my corseting and fishnets. The platform heels were still quite striking and I know that the lacings along the outside were catching the silky fabric along the hem on occasion, but I just needed to get the cookies I had not had time to bake. Typical for events like that.
Deciding between extra chewy and chocolate chunk in the snack isle, I noticed that there was a kid almost at the end of the isle staring at me. I chose the chewy cookies and started for the check out. I had to go past the kid and as I did, his eyes snapped to the shelf in front of him. My skirt opened to show the top of my laced boot and I stopped right as I past him to adjust things before going to the register. I knew his eyes were on me as I did so.
There were a few other times in the last month that I think I had seen this 18 or 19 year old in this store. He was fairly bland, furtive with his glances. Even when I had been wearing regular clothing, not the fetish wear I was wearing right then. Some kids are just too nervous around women.
I stopped momentarily to look at a display of some vapid dvd’s and I saw out of the corner of my eye the kid scooting to the register. I went to the only open one as he did and waited. He glanced back nervously, his slightly long hair slipping into his eyes. His hand wavered for an instant over the potato chips he had on the belt and then reached back and moved up the cookies I had set there.
I was... intrigued. »Read More
Mistress 12B: Secrets of an Afternoon Dominatrix.
This is an autobiography. This is a work of fiction. This is erotica. This is apocryphal.
This is my story.
Over the last twenty years, I have been many things. Out of high school, I went directly into a job at a retail outlet. I took a few classes while I was working and brought myself over from clerk to management. I met my husband and we were married. We had a daughter and I was happy.
I put my family first, my career second. Because of that, when my daughter was in an accident, I lost the best managerial job I ever had. I was spending time with my family, not with the store. I lost the job just three days after I buried my daughter.
I was devastated. My husband had a good job and he was able to hold us together both financially and emotionally as I worked through the crap that was in my head.
I want to make one thing clear. I am not a good housewife. Yes, I cook. Yes, I can do laundry. But the staying at home thing just isn’t for me. It took about a year for me to get back on my feet and by that time, the job market had fallen around my ears. So I was forced into being a housewife.
Several years went by. I ran my house like it was a business to keep my skills up. I had spreadsheets for the shopping. I made YTD reports on plantings and maintenance around the house. I... I was fooling myself into thinking I was being happy. But I kept busy.
I did not let myself slide into watching t.v. all the time. I found that I had the urge to turn to a certain channel at a certain time during the day and I stopped myself. I grabbed my laptop and found a coffee shop. The resumes were still going out, the rejections piddling in, when they thought to send one at all. I started to use the time away from home keeping myself away from the television to do research. About the jobs available to begin with. Then the skills I would need to catch up. And then about just about anything that caught my fancy that day.
I was able to get my husband off to work, do the chores that needed to be done that day and head out before lunch most days I didn’t have something actually scheduled. I would use several coffee shops, a few book stores and the library while I was out, trying to not go to any one more than once a week. I was still vain about not having a job and tried to make it look like I was just working on a project away from my office.
In the afternoon, I would get something to make for dinner and bring it home. I was very good at throwing things in a pot or pan and making it reasonably tasty. By the time my hubs was back from his commute, I was settled in with dinner ready, a show picked out and a willingness to listen to what he had to tell me about his day.
That didn’t change. Much.
I remember one morning when I was very agitated about something. I think it was about a problem with the car that had to be fixed, but the money had gone into something else. He left as usual, oblivious to the fact that I wanted to tear his head off. I fumed. I sat and looked at the dishes that needed to be done. I turned my back on the plants that were drooping by the window. And then I picked up my computer bag as usual and left.
I should also make clear that because we had to deal with just one car and he drove into work most days, I went to places that were either within about a mile of the house, or I took the bus. It is not unusual for people who work in the city to take the bus, so I did not feel odd doing this during the week.
The morning I wanted to rip off his head and see where he kept the pea-sized brain, I didn’t bother to put on the facade. I had my black yoga pants on under an oversized black shirt. No belt. No make-up. I had my hair up in a severe pony-tail and my shoes... Well, even before the rest of this story, I had this thing for shoes.
They were some of the last good shoes I had purchased before I was fired. $350 Sonja and Phillip stiletto strappy things that made my legs look gorgeous even if I felt as though the five inch heels were being rammed through the bottom of my foot within an hour of my wearing them. I had never stopped giving myself pedicures and the bright red toes showed through the Italian leather straps like a ruby among jet.
I brought out my punch card and had the luck that day to have a free coffee. After having a one-sided argument, having something go right made the day just a little better.
My ass was on one of the rickety wooden chairs, the laptop on the faux marble table in front of me. I had my legs crossed, the top foot flexing and circling as I had the first few sips of the thick coffee. It was not the best coffee, but the shop was only about a ten minute walk, even in those heels, so it was good enough.
A man moved through the coffee shop and sat near me. He had been near the front of the storefront and I had sat near the back. It is not unusual for people to wander around coffee shops and book stores, changing their seats to get better plugs or air-conditioning. I thought little about it, except he sat so that he could see me.
I have had years now of watching people in coffee shops. When people move to adjoining tables, the usual thing is to take the seat that looks away from the closest table, or to at least turn the chair so that it is looking at neutral territory, such as the order counter.
He did neither.
I ignored him. I was not in a mood to deal with strangers. If I had still been working, my assistant would have put a small red post-it note on my door to warn people.
My daily round of resumes and rejections only took a few minutes. That was actually nice. There were some days when corporate websites would take close to an hour to make me go through their hoops and accept the stuff I could have just mailed to their HR department. A simple email off to an ad I had seen in a local pulp paper and one turd in my IN box and I was done. I had run out of unemployment at least a year before, but it was a habit I did not want to let slide.
I hit StumbleUpon and looked at random things until something caught my attention and curiosity. At this point, I don’t even remember what it was. I started to delve into it, making notes and going deeper into the internet with each click. I was not paying attention.
I stretched after a while. I had been scrunched over the fake rock table long enough that my back was telling me to move. I reached up and back slightly, feeling things move and relax. My eyes met his and he smiled.
I don’t know why I smiled back. I moved in the chair and changed which leg was on top. I went back to the random research but paid more attention to him than I had.
His eye went down and stayed down. There was a small motion of his legs going together and apart. He looked around as if he were checking to see if someone was watching him, though his eyes did not go back up to mine. I moved my foot and he was riveted.
I sighed. I looked at the screen of my laptop and tried to look bored. I knew I had some sort of a pervert looking at my shoes and wanting to... At that point, I did not know what could be done with shoes, other than wear them.
I was feeling frustrated. I leaned back and crossed my arms over my chest. I motioned with my toe and his eye went up to mine again. He seemed to be more excited than embarrassed at my catching him. I was flippant and said, “Either kiss them or go the fuck away.”
By all that is holy, I swear he came in his pants when I said that.
He looked towards the front of the storefront and had big eyes when he looked at me again. He stood and I could see that he was pushing the fabric of his pants out, and not with something in his pocket. He dropped a pen which rolled conveniently under my chair. He knelt. There was a pause and his lips were on my shoe.
I was stunned. He was gone out the front of the Coffee shop before I was able to actually react.
I turned back to the table and stared at my laptop. I wasn’t actually seeing whatever was on it. I was trying to work out what had just happened. I could not think of anything else. I tried to concentrate on things, but couldn’t.
I made it home early that day. I was able to put something into the oven to slowly cook before I just sat on the couch, staring at the blank television.
My husband didn’t even notice that the dishes had not been done when he came home.
Amazon Pictures
Yes, I love being an Amazon. And not all Amazons wear skimpy leather and chain maille.
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Soon, you will be able to download full size images of this and others from the Leathermines. Keep watching as things grow and change.
Never say…
"You messed up, Mistress."