A Storie Collected by Djian

Tales From Subspace

Collected by djian
updated feb 11 - 2010

M/f, D/s, humiliation, slavery, spank, voyeurism, exhib

These stories contain descriptions of bondage and sex acts. Please do not download them if you might be offended by such adult material. Just because I write it doesn't mean that I'd actually want to do it, although there is some faint correlation. I write these stories because they get me hot, I hope they get you hot too! *warm smile*

There is a difference between fantasy and reality. Please don't attempt to actually do everything you read about here. Extreme fantasies can be fun while extreme reality is usually a bummer. I've heard it said as 'extreme fantasy and mild play is the very best way.'

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"Put me in you, honey." Her fingers found the organ and she slid it into her tight little well. I pushed home hearing her gasp at the size of it. I pumped her, my hips easily finding the rhythm. My legs tight together and the feel of the thing bouncing against my own clitoris very exciting in its own right. I could come this way very easily. Her legs wrapped around my waist. When she did so I sat up bringing her hips with me. Still humping her, but able to get to her clitoris with my hand. I pulled the labia wide, just a little roughly. Manipulating the wet knob with an agile flicking motion of my fingers. The organ grinding into her hot sex. I could feel pleasure sweeping me as well. I leaned back over her quickly, clutching at her and rolling my hips in an ever-increasing tempo.

She was all small noises and grasping hands. Hard kisses and sweeping passion. I could feel her pulse going up in the soft spot on her neck. Her damp hair flowing over my face. I rotated us both, putting her on top. She didn't miss a stroke. Rising above me to pound down unto my hips. I touched the junction of her thighs and she stiffened into climax. Cresting on top of me and driving herself beyond it. Head back, hands on my stomach, shoulders shaking. I rubbed her cleft to draw out every tremor she could give me. My left hand on her hip to steady her. Smiling at the fact that I could do this to another woman. She collapsed on top of me and I felt my own passion hit a low-level buzz. Almost pleasure, but more like symmetry. I was satisfied by her climax, her response. She rested and crawled over my body to lay on the bed to catch her breath. "Did I please you, Mistress?" I asked and she pulled me near to embrace me. Smiling into my hair, practically purring with contentment.

"Please me? As if you couldn't tell you did." I chuckled, pulling her closer. We lay like that for several long moments as her body quieted. I listened to her breathing return to normal. "Is there something you want to do now? We have a few minutes of free time before I have to give you back to Jon." I looked at her. Curiosity warring with uncertainty. "I want to see what another woman looks like without having to worry about satisfying her. I want to see the mechanics. Can I look at you, Mistress? I'll pleasure you after, but can I just look?" She immediately propped some pillows behind her back and opened her legs. She was so understanding of my curiosity I wanted to weep. Moving down to open her was a strange experience. I found myself identifying the parts that I remembered from anatomy class in High School. Clitoris, Urethra, Vagina, Perineum, Anus. Soft secret parts that were hidden in tissue so velvety yet tough. I gazed down in wonder.

"Haven't you ever looked at yourself?" She asked of me. I shook my head, answering her truthfully.

"No, never seen myself. Didn't seem to be relevant. Mistress." I added as an afterthought. "Are these the average?" I found several little holes for piercings and, surprisingly enough, found myself playing with them.

"No, I have larger openings, there are some interesting little games that require that." I looked up at her in surprise. `What kind of games were those?' She touched my hair, and sat up. "That's enough for now. Jon will give you back to me sometime soon. I have to clean you up for him now. Your night is far from over. Adam has something planned for you." I already knew that, been warned. I stood up slowly. My body tiring even as my mind did not.

How many orgasms can one woman have in one day? It looked like I was about to find out.

COFFEE KLATCH

I had showered again. Feeling a little revitalized by the mundane activity. I was now very hungry for food and I was surprised that the next place she took me to was a small kitchen. A simple supper awaiting me of salad and a sandwich. I was beyond grateful for this courtesy. She must have realized that I had come immediately from work without having time to eat.

"Traci, thank you so much. I wasn't sure how I was going to be able to concentrate on the next ordeal without some food. My stomach growling at the wrong moment would ruin the mood." She laughed at the relief in my tone. The quips falling easily from my tongue.

"How did you know that you could speak in here?" I shrugged and dug in. Speaking softly through the food.

"It just seemed logical. The bathrooms are clear, except for the bath chamber and you did not make me kneel or eat from a dish on the floor, so I figured we were in a cool room." She nodded at my logic. Sitting next to me.

"Jon's pretty impressed by you." I grinned impishly. Chewing carefully. "He's half in love with your diary. Almost couldn't put it down." She smiled, asking another question that had me blushing softly. "You liked being a man in my bed?" I told her about High School and slipping into the `role.' "Is that how you do everything? By slipping into a role?" She appeared truly interested, so I told her the truth.

"I try to put myself into a place were I can feel, but not become emotionally involved." I ate a piece of buttered bread with obvious enjoyment. "Emotion is an almost useless endeavor as far as I can see. When you allow that part of your spirit to rule your life it just seems to clutter up everything. I don't like disarray, so I avoid it." She appeared surprised by my answer, so I elaborated. "I slept with one of my friends one time. It was wonderful and we enjoyed it immensely. It was so much better than with a lover, because we both needed it and wanted it to be good because we would be seeing each other afterwards. I was able to keep my perspective, but he couldn't. He changed and I didn't appreciate it. He lost sight of what was truly important." She cocked her head.

"What was important?" Traci was curious about what I would say. The interest shining in her eyes.

"The physical was important, not the emotional flotsam that guides almost everyone in the world. I was into the release. He wanted the depth. We were all but diametrically opposed on ever opinion that we had."

"How do you feel about Love?" How was I to answer, she obviously loved Jon, but who in this world did I love? Was there anybody? Janie? Mary? My closest friends? I `loved' Adam, for his cruelty and his beauty. Was that really love? I shrugged again.

"I don't have any. In the last five years, since my divorce. I have loved no one. I was afraid to end up in another abusive relationship, so I avoided lovers." "Your husband beat you?" I nodded grinning, knowing what she was going to say. "Why do you do this? How can you stand it?" She stiffened in misunderstanding. "How can you stand us?"

"Blue." She looked surprised. "That's it, right there. I read this book one time that talked about the differences between literal and ritualized violence. I like to be subjected to pain. I get off on it, but when I tell a lover that I want it. They make me feel like a freak, or some kind of deviant. In the `normal' world. I have to marry someone that beats me bloody to get what I can get here safely. The service you do here is vital. This is the difference between rape and making discordant music between two consenting adults. A rapist doesn't get you off, he treats you like a toilet." She almost smiled at the analogy.

"Don't you miss emotion?" I almost shuddered in distaste. Why would I want to feel someone hurting me, or making me do the dishes, or making me feel like an idiot? It just made me sad.

"The last real emotion that I felt was anger and that was just before I broke my ex-husbands nose and told him to get out. I'm encased in ice and I'm almost afraid of what would happen if I thawed. I like you. I liked watching you orgasm under me. I enjoy sucking cock and screwing. I enjoyed making love with Jon and having him hold me, but that was a rare occurrence. I don't know why I suddenly couldn't stand the aloneness any more. Why I had to reach out for something more than the sterile little world I lived in, but I had too. I did it and I agreed to three months. I'm a very cold, clinical woman. It’s what makes me a success in the world of business, but it’s also what makes me such a miserable failure as a human being." She shook her head sadly. "Don't be sad. I'm basically a good person. I have some people in my life that I do care for. All women and I think I'm a good friend. I'm dependable, loyal. I can keep a secret. I'm good to my family. I read voraciously. I'm quick on my feet and I spend a lot of my time laughing." I finished up, wiping my hands on the napkin set out for me. "I just wanted more and came here to look for it." I drank the water provided for me in quick gulps. I followed her lead when she stood back up. Going down the hallway behind her.

TOOLS OF THE TRADE: HARD LESSONS

"Pick one." Jon said, slowly. His eyes watching me closely. Sitting in a blue velvet wingback chair. His legs were crossed and his hands draped over the carved armrests loosely. "Pick the one you would like me to use on you, if I allow it." He motioned for me to stand up. I was as graceful as my rubbery legs would allow. Striving for some kind of dignity in this new place. The punishment room.

It was as all the other rooms in this house. Warm enough to be naked in yet opulent enough to catch your eye. This place was blue. The carpets, the flowered wallpapered walls and the dark plush leather furniture. It had a Victorian feel to it. Lace curtains on the walls. A low functional bench in the heart of the room. Subtly frightening in its covert elegance.

I went to the cabinet that Adam had opened and looked inside. There was every kind of whip, crop, quirt and paddle, in the neatly ordered recesses. It was astonishingly awesome. I could practically feel my fingers twitch in apprehensive anticipation. Something to use on me, well let's see. I immediately disregarded the crops and quirts. They are only good on one spot and I couldn't take any more welts on the inside of my thighs. They were sore enough, in all the right places, just as they were. The paddles were more a connoisseur type of thing and I was not one of them. If someone was going to warm my buns I prefer they do it over the knee, using their big hard hands. I had no idea how to use the bullwhip, so I passed them over as well. It was the multi-tailed cats that I looked at. They were true works of Art. All black, but the variety of shapes, hefts and lengths, was astonishing. Every single shape that I could think of was in that cupboard. I reached for one and turned around to Jon smiling shyly.

"Can I try it on the pole, Master? It will help with my decision." He nodded, amused at my eagerness. I reached for one that I knew would be perfect. Twenty-inch tails of half- inch by quarter-inch black leather. Weighted at the head end. I held it in my hand, running the tails through my suddenly shaking fingers. Swinging it over the floor to check the sweep of the cordings. Nice, easily the finest piece of its kind that I had ever held. Neatly sewn, with no rough edges so it could be used for penetration. I kept my eyes on the sway of the straps and wandered leisurely towards the marble pole in an erotic fog. My eyes blazing with concentration and forbidden passion. I let it build lazily inside me. Sighting my swing on the thick dark column. I took a deep breath and let my passions explode from me in sudden violence. My arm swinging effortlessly. The heavy sound a persuasively powerful reverberation up my arm, well into my shoulder. It landed with a solid snapping crack. Nice even heft and fluid motion. Not too stiff, but not too much slack either. It would sting like a son-of-a-bitch, but not leave real deep marks. I swung it again and liked the feel of it. I liked it a lot. I came back to where I had been before and quickly made my decision. I turned back to Jon falling gracefully to my knees. My entire demeanor respectful. My hands suddenly quaking with frank intimidation. I held it out to him. Jon took it from my hands. "Is this what you've chosen?" I licked my suddenly dry lips. Hoping to generate some moisture in my mouth so my tongue would move unimpeded against my teeth. I nodded and spoke.

"Yes, Master." I said easily. His face whimsically inquisitive as he asked me; `Why?' I blushed with mortification. Surely he already knew, why? Did he have to hear me say it? He was waiting for my response. "It is heavy enough to hurt without leaving welts." I felt my voice go soft. Painful to be so exposed before both of them. "So you can beat me longer, Master." He reached over to touch my breasts, lightly. Making them swell with craving under his hands. Heaving with the search for air.

"I could leave welts on you with this, Anne." I listened to his gentle, confident voice. Cowering near his boots with fear. I answered in a pitifully small voice.

"If you so wish it, Master." He pulled his hands away from me. I almost moaned.

"Why did you pass up the other things? The quirts, the crops?" Don't make me explain that. Not in front of Adam. It would bring to light too much of me, make me too naked. To visibly exposed. "Explain to me, now." He did want me too.

"The quirts and crops are for the insides of the thighs, and across the buttocks. I am sore already on those places, and wished to avoid punishment to them. The paddles, never feel as good as the Master, or Mistress', hand. The bullwhips have the potential to do emergency room level damage. They terrify me, Master." I twisted my hands together in desperation. Miserably aware that I was showing my true soul openly with my words and it made me very uncomfortable. "I have no wish to be hurt so severely it will transcend the pleasure I get from the lash. I do not want to ruin the experience." I fell into a distressed uneasy silence. Waiting for his response to my words.

"Pick out a quirt, a crop, a paddle, and a bullwhip." No! My heart cried out inside me, but went I do it slowly. Procrastinating in wretched foreboding. Looking at the selection in the cabinet. I had no idea what to look for in those things. I had never really had them used on me. They had always been picked out by Rob. I went pale and stood before the doors in alarm. Teardrops forming on my lashes. I did not know what to do. My uncertainty a palpable feeling in the air. I did not look at either of my tormentors, but I gulped thickly around the knot of terror in my throat to grab the first things my fingers fell on. Turning to rest my forehead on the floor before Jon in mute obedience to his command. Hands above my head, offering him the instruments of suffering he would use to torture me. His hands removing the items from my nerveless fingers. "So hard for you to obey me, willingly. You put-off whatever you find distasteful. Anything that terrifies you, or excites you, beyond what you consider acceptable. You did not take the same care in choosing these things as you did the other. You will be corrected for that." I whimpered, keeping my head near the floor. Crouching near the soft black gloss of his boots. I felt his toe press on the back of my neck, forcing my head to the carpet. "I want instant obedience without hesitation. You are not giving it to me willingly and quite obviously need a lesson in it. Adam put her on the bench. Legs up." I did not resist Adam's taking me to the bench, nor him tying my legs almost straight up from my hips. Did not protest the wide belt he buckled at my waist holding me tight to the bench. I kept my eyes at the level of his belt or below. Feeling handles at my hips that I clutched for support.

Ignoring the sympathetic noises he was making as he tied me. I was not afraid really. I had been tied before. All part of the head trip right? Jon bent over me and laid the things on a table beside me. His eyes were hard.

"There is nothing on this earth that will make me angrier at you, Anne. Than any show of open reluctance. Procrastination is a form of rebellion and I cannot allow you, or any other slave I deal with, to consider it respectful or proper." Across the room I saw Adam taking off his shirt. The well-muscled chest with its thatch of dark curly hair revealed for viewing as he lay the garment over a dark blue velvet chair. Adam touched the inside of my thighs. My legs growing rapidly uncomfortable as they hung over me. "You will learn what it means to rebel and it is a hard lesson." Grief flooded me, as I realized I was in a lot of trouble. "I will expect to only have to treat you this way once, Anne." He stood up and turned to Adam. Voice flinty, imperturbable. "Beat her until she says her safe-word." I went cold. "If she makes it a least fifteen minutes, make her come and put her in your bed. Anything less, clean her up and send her home." Fifteen minutes? I bit my tongue to keep from begging. "Pay particular attention to the insides of her thighs. I want to see some welts in the morning." I tried to still the hammering in my chest. Tried to catch some easy breaths, because I was hyperventilating badly. Beat me until I said my safe-word? Send me home? I had been that bad?

Rebellion will not be tolerated, that was in the rules for me to see. It was something I knew by heart and not scrambling to do as he bid was considered rebellion? I saw Adam swinging the door closed behind Jon and realized that we were alone. He turned back to me, smiling.

"I knew that you would get the beating. You had to blow it on your first day here. Balky little Prima Donna. I don't know which I'll like more. If you make it, or if you fail, so I can go back to being on my knees." That explained a lot about his hostile attitude. He was jealous of my lowly status. I kept my mouth shut prudently. "Close your eyes, bitch. Prepare yourself to speak in less than five minutes." I stiffened and growled. It sounded like words and the words were `fuck you.' He laughed, picking up the small quirt and tapping his leather-clad leg suggestively. "Same to you." I clenched my jaw and closed my eyes as he swung the little quirt at the soft inner part of my thigh. I jumped at the sudden agony. It had no effect; Adam just continued his work methodically. Ignoring the little signs of discomfort and the inevitable tears of remorse. Ignoring even the louder cries that he tore from my burning lungs. All the things that I had done in the past to stop the pain, tempt a master to give in and pleasure me. Checking the burgeoning moisture between my open thighs whenever he changed to the whip, or the paddle, or the cat.

He stood over me, after I did not know how long. Stroking the fiery redness and pinching the pulsing welts. My face crimson, my legs quivering with submissive softness. Eyes hot and head aching with unshed tears. Head rolling helplessly on the bench. My hands holding the bars by my waist so hard my knuckles were bloodless white with strain. It was a litany in my head, over and over. A chorus inside me. `I would never, ever, do what ever I had done to anger Jon again, promise. Just, please, don't make me say my safe-word. Anything but that.' Adam made sure that I was watching him and very deliberately picked up the second-to-last thing he had to use on my insulted, wounded, excited body. He picked up the Bullwhip. I moaned out loud with terror.

I was in Hell. Adam was the devil and he followed Jon's instructions to the letter. Ignoring anything I did that was not what he was instructed to respond too. Giving me bare seconds to catch my breath, before starting in again on some new horrible punishment. He very deliberately swung the whip. It hit the already sore flesh of my inner thigh, making me call out. Arching into the tight bonds. Every single stroke he laid on me with it, made me cry, groan, moan, or beg him to stop. `Please, stop.' I would not use my safe-word. Not now, not ever, if I could help it. He kept going until I was so sore that the lightest touch of his fingers would cause me pain. The slightest brush, much less continuing blows of the hard braided leather. He stopped suddenly, and looked down at me.

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