Dark Erotic Fiction

I lay in chains. Morning sunlight hit the windowpane and scattered onto the white sheets of my bed. Two weeks since Jack had left me. I still suffered a deep sense of shock. Naturally submissive, I enjoyed a good, firm spanking. The thought of being tied up got me hot. But I wanted to be Jack’s submissive, Jack’s slave. Honestly, I had thought it was a game.

We’d return to England in a year or so, our love confirmed, deepened by this experience. Now I had given up my citizenship. Granted Jack control of my trust fund. But then he walked out.

A moment later, Master Rick entered the room and shattered my morning reverie. After Jack left, I was told to call the man I thought of as slaver, Master Rick. And if I referred to Jack, I was to call him, Master Jack.

I started to sit up, but Master Rick said, “Stay Suki.”

Suki was my slave name. Master Rick said I was lucky not to be “Slut” or “Cunt.” I didn’t feel lucky. But I froze. I had learned that Master Rick demanded absolute obedience. “Good girl,” he said.

Master Rick squirted an oily substance on his hand. By now, I knew what was to come. Like Pavlov’s dog, I could already feel myself getting wet. At least, thank God, he’d stopped routinely beating me.

When I lay still and let my legs fall open, Master Rick reached down and began to gently rub his hand across my labia. I gasped. Because of the vertical hood piercing, I now had a curved rod that drove me a little nuts. The sensation of it pressing against my clitoris. I tried to relax. I almost wanted to close my legs, but if I did, Master Rick would instantly correct me.

He manipulated the hard nub of my clit, his hands hot and slippery with the oil. A hot warmth took control of my body. I bit my lip and tried not to flinch as he thrust a finger into my vulva. Master Rick pressed and manipulated my body, causing pleasure to mount. Finally, I cried out, “Oh God,” and my body jerked with an intense orgasm.

“Good Suki, good Suki,” Master Rick said while continuing to finger fuck me. At the same time, he twisted the nipple of my left breast with his other hand, hard enough to bring pain. But the spasms of pleasure he was bringing below blocked it out.

“Truly beautiful slave,” Master Rick said. His eyes raked my naked form. I sensed he was a little enamored with me. He certainly loved my thick, strawberry hair. Even as I had the thought, he reached down and grabbed a handful of my hair and pulled me painfully to my knees. I tried to help, but the chains made it difficult.

I knelt naked before Master Rick and held perfectly still. “What do you say,” he asked.

“S’ank you Master Rick. Thuki happy.” The swelling of my tongue had receded. But the tongue piercing had left me with a slight lisp when I spoke. Master Rick said that would likely disappear soon. As for the baby talk, Master Rick wasn’t big on conversation.

He let go of my hair and patted me on the head. “Good girl,” he said and unzipped his pants. He was a bigger man than Jack. Physically, he stood over a foot taller than me. Something like 6′3″ or 6″4″. And his cock was commensurate with his size.

I opened my mouth and began to lick his cock, wetting it and being sure to use the tongue stud to enhance Master Rick’s pleasure. After I wet it thoroughly, I tilted my head back, opening and relaxing, as Master Rick shoved his cock down my throat. He fucked my face, thrusting to the point where I couldn’t breath before pulling out for a moment and then going back in.

Master Rick said I had improved at cock sucking these last days. And I felt an obscure sense of pleasure when he pulled throbbing from my throat, semen spraying over my cheeks and lips. Master Rick did not allow me to wipe away his cum unless he said too.   “Lick your lips darling,” he said.

I felt a tear run down my cheek, but licked away as much of the salty semen as I could. He unchained me from the bed. “Up Suki.”

Clipping what could only be described as a leash onto the leather collar around my throat, he led me into the dining room. “Sit!” He commanded.

I quickly sat on my haunches. “Spread your legs slave,” he said. “I want to see your cunt open for use.” Flushing, I spread my knees as far as I could, exposing my naked pussy. He reached down and clipped my wrists behind my back.

A moment later, a door I had yet to be through opened and my eyes widened when Jack walked into the room. I flushed from my face down to my breasts, knowing that he saw me with another man’s semen drying on my face and my legs spread. Unconsciously, I started to close my legs. “Jack …,” I started to say when I felt Master Rick’s hand grip the back of my neck, pressing me down.

“If you leave position,” I’ll beat you to a bloody pulp,” he snarled. “If you say one more word, I’ll rip out your tongue.”

I started to snivel. But I stayed silent and did my best to spread my legs out.

“You look lovely … Suki,” Jack said, pausing over my new name. He pulled a chair up and sat in front of me. “I’m going to ask you a question. And I would prefer that you answer honestly. It’ll determine your future. You may speak.”

Oh God, I thought. Freed to speak, I quickly said. “Jack whath happening. Why did you ….” Before I could say another word, my head was ringing from a brutal slap by Jack.

“What the fuck,” he said. “Is that how Rick taught you to speak.”

When I got control of myself, I said. “No, Thuki thorry.”

Jack shook his head. “You’re an embarrassment. Look what you’ve done.” If possible, I turned even more crimson as I felt a wet puddle dampening my thighs and buttocks. “Never mind Suki,” he said. Gripping my jaw, he forced me to look up into his cold eyes. “Do you still want to be my slave dear? This is an important question. Your answer will determine what happens to you new.”

I sat frozen. The truth is I didn’t want to be his slave. I wanted to go back to playing. I wanted my life back. But I knew without a doubt, if I said no, Jack would not hand me back my life. “Thuki be Master Jack’s slave,” I croaked.

“Good girl,” Jack said with a smile. “Now grab a towel and clean up your mess.”

Rick pulled me to my feet, unclipped my hands. “Towels are over there.” He said and pointed. After I finished cleaning up, the men allowed me to enter a restroom and rinse off. After I stepped out of the shower and dried off, I took a moment to look at myself in the mirror. What happened to the smart, successful university graduate. Scared, lisping and talking like a baby. Even now, I felt the curved ball pressed against my clit. It kept me constantly a little on edge. I thought about trying to run, but I didn’t want to be hurt anymore. Reluctantly, I stepped back outside.

Rick waited. He now carried an emerald green ball gag. Jack watched as Rick placed it around my head. As I opened my mouth, I threw a desperate glance Jack’s way. He merely watched as Rick secured the gag’s little buckles behind my head and forced my mouth open, pressing the ball in. Unable to help myself, I tried to protest, but could only moan through the gag a bit. Rick grabbed my wrists and he and Jack led me into the bedroom.

Rick bent me over the bed. And then he and Jack each took an arm and chained it to a hook so that I was stretched and immobilized. Suddenly, I couldn’t stand it anymore. I struggled frantically, uselessly against my bonds, making little inarticulate cries.

Jack reached over and gently caressed my head. “Shh, it’s okay,” he said. “Keep in mind that you love me and you’re doing what I want. You’ve given me the gift of yourself. Just tell yourself that whatever happens is what your lover Jack wants. And that it’s too late to change your mind now.”

Strangely, his words calmed me a little. I felt myself relax, but only for a moment. For just then, I felt Rick step behind me. “Lovely ass,” he said. And then I felt him spread my cheeks and a cold, lubricated finger plunge into the rosebud of my asshole. I leaped and Rick slapped me on the ass several quick hard blows that brought tears to my eyes. And then, his hands were on my hips and I felt his cock pressing inexorably against my ass. As the pressure built, I frantically shook my head.

“Relax your muscles,” Jack said. “You’re giving Rick your last virginity. And it’ll hurt less if you just let it happen.”

Behind her, Rick groaned. “Wow, these petite girls are tight.” And he slid further in and then pulled slowly out, before thrusting in again. Suddenly, his hands bit into my ass and he thrust forward all the way to his balls. I screamed against my ball gag as the weight of his body pressed me against the bed.

I felt Jack stroking my face. ‘Good Suki,” he said.

Shara I tried to say through my gag. Couldn’t you at least call me by my name. Even though Jack couldn’t understand my words. He seemed to understand the message I wanted to send. He just shook his head. “You’re a slave now Suki. Glory in it.”

“Argh,” I screamed again and Rick continued to pound again my cheeks. His cock feeling huge, buried deep within my ass. He thrust forward several more times and then I felt him shudder in orgasm. When he pushed himself off me, I felt bruised and ashamed.

The Mistress (Part 1)

Professor Jack Neil and I first met at Oxford. A dashing black-haired man in his early forties, he once served as a Member of Parliament. But he lost his seat when the conservative party fell from favor and accepted a professorship at Oxford.

Something of a prodigy, I—Shara McCray—entered Oxford at fourteen. The same year I turned seventeen, I matriculated with a double first in economics and mathematics. Acting as an academic advisor of sorts, Jack recommended I obtain an MSc in Financial Economics.

Over the next few years, I earned my MSc while Jack taught me ever so many lovely aspects of sex, including bondage and the joy of being utterly dominated by a man who knew his way around a woman’s body. I lack the words to describe how infatuated Jack had me. The mere the sight of him dampened my panties. I happily became—to be blunt—his submissive slut.

Because Jack was married, I was more or less his mistress. And let me tell you, I loved sex as his mistress, the feel of his body against me, atop me , and inside me. On those times when he spent prolonged time with his family, I would masturbate several times a day while thinking of him. In some ways, it felt like worshiping at the feet of a god.

Although he was more than twenty years older than me, Jack had an attractive, athletic body. His dark blue eyes and tousled black hair shot through with streaks of silver drove me wild. He liked to mix up our sex, sometimes soft and romantic; other times, he’d take me rough and hard. He loved tie-up games, always with me tied to the bedpost and him basically doing anything he wanted to. And I confess, I found it thoroughly thrilling.

Frankly, I found Jack exciting whether he tied me up or not. Several times, he came up behind me in the student lounge where I might be wearing a tiny pair of shorts, and a minuscule tank top cut off just below my breasts. His arms would wrap around me and he would kiss the back of my neck, while sliding his hands up to cup and squeeze my breasts. Oh yes, other students might stare jealously, faculty would frown, but no one questioned Jack.

The year I finished my MSc, Jack left Oxford to take a position with the Foreign and Commonwealth Office (FCO). It meant going abroad to America: the land of savages and slavery. When he told me that he was leaving, I felt crushed. It was as if my heart had died. I couldn’t stop crying.

And I’m afraid, I behaved rather badly. I threatened to tell his wife if he left me or maybe go to the tabloid press. I contemplated suicide and I made sure everyone in the vicinity knew it.

In the end, Jack came through. He got me a position as staff with the FCO as a trade analyst. I would be posted with him at the new consulate in Eastlake, Oklahoma. It was always his intention for me to join him, he explained.

Six months later, we sat in the kitchen of the studio I rented outside the British Consulate. I wore a yellow blouse and pleated skirt and looked demure and a rather young twenty. I’m petite with a fair, heart shaped face, green eyes and thick, long auburn red hair that now spilled in loose curls over my shoulders.

Jack laid my copy of the “Story of O” on the glass tabletop. “The O of this story was truly committed to her man,” Jack said in a flat voice. “She placed no artificial limits on her relationship.”

“Jack,” I cried out. “I would never stopped you from anything. I love you.”

He smiled and stood. “Stand,” he commanded.

Readily, I stood and moved into his arms. He slid his hands down to where they rested on my bottom, squeezing and kneading it through my skirt. Pulling my skirt up, he slid his hands underneath my silk panties, fondling my buttocks directly, groping hungrily at my soft skin. I sighed when he pulled me fiercely against his chest. He moved from underneath my skirt and ripped my blouse open. Unhooking my lacy bra, he bared by firm breasts and began to stroke and fondle me. My breasts weren’t the biggest he would have felt, but they were firm, young, and well-shaped. I had no shyness and began to gasp a little as he stroked me further.

Dropping my own hands, I undid his belt and then pants, feeling his cock throb. Easily lifting me, I straddled his body with my legs. I felt a quick tug as he ripped my silk panties and shifted me slightly before thrusting inside me. I had already started to pant my arousal when I heard his voice as if from a distance.

“O consented to be her lover’s slave,” he said.

“Yes,” I gasped as I squeezed his body with my legs, his cock with my pussy. “I’m your willing slave.” I felt a heat deep in my loins and my heart pounded with excitement as he shifted me so that my bottom sat on the glass of the kitchen table. I ran my hands through his hair and then scratched my fingernails down his back, rippling across the black silk of his shirt.

“Here in the United States,” he said, “you literally could be my slave.”

I blinked at the thought. “Only while we stayed in this country,” I said slowly.

“True,” Jack said. “But you’d be at my mercy while here in Eastlake.”

I shuddered at the deliciousness of the thought. “Would you agree to limits,” I asked struggling to focus even as my lover’s cock drove me wild.

“No limits,” he said. “My slave totally and completely.”

As I said yes, he drove into me, pulsing within my vagina, his seed spilling into my womb as I screamed out in orgasmic submission to his will. I still felt sticky between my thighs when, less than thirty minutes later, I found myself dressed and being driven to a gum-chewing, mid-fifties woman who would notarize my agreement to submit to voluntary enslavement.

I shivered as I signed the paperwork. I’m supposed to be this incredibly bright woman. But it was like my love of Jack had shut down my brain. I wanted to be his slave. And the mere thought of it terrified me. But the thought of losing Jack terrified me more.

Once I signed the enslavement form, Jack bundled me back in his car. “We need to go to a registered slaver next,” he laughed. “You can’t directly sell yourself to me. After he accepts your voluntary enslavement, he transfers ownership of you to me. That way, there’s a licensed slaver at each end of the transaction.”

I smiled nervously and he kissed me hard on the lips. “I love you,” I whispered to him.

“Then prove it,” he said as he pulled to the curb outside a private house. “Follow me.”

The man inside wore a lawyer’s pinstripe suit. But he looked hard. I had to provide a urine sample. And then I signed another form all the while shooting nervous little glances at Jack. I sat sipping a glass of water the man had given me while we waited for results of the test. Moments later, the man smiled at Jack. “We’re good,” he said. “Now if you’ll hand me a five dollar bill, I’ll transfer ownership of Shara to you.”

I felt woozy. And I couldn’t quite understand when Jack stood and said, “I’m sorry. I forgot to bring American currency. I’ll have to return another time.” It was about then, I felt terribly cold in my chest. Then I passed out.

I woke in a small red walled room. It was semi-dark, but I could see it had two doors, one led out—I presumed. The other door was slightly ajar. I suspected it led to a bathroom. I sat in a bed that rested flush with the left wall. The only other object visible in the room was a thick steel ring set above the bed. A long steel chain descended from it onto the bed, its links forming a little pile. I was naked, but for a pair of leather bracelets and, I later learned, a leather collar. Even as I looked around and caught my bearings, the outside door opened and the slaver entered.

He no longer wore the clothes of a wall-street lawyer. He now wore a casual pullover sweater and a pair of faded blue jeans. “Morning lovely,” he said as he reached out and hooked the chain through rings in my wrist bracelets. I felt strangely passive and the-morning-after as he laced the chain through a hook on the bed. “Please stand,” the slaver said.

Shuddering, I tried to stand, but could only get to my knees. With one hard calloused hand, he took me by the elbows and helped pull me straight. I now stood on the bed with my face to the wall. I felt him pull the chain tighter, my wrists rising above my head. “Where’s Jack, ” I managed to ask just as I heard a whistling sound behind me and a lash of some sort cut into my shoulders.

I screamed. And I continued to scream as the slaver beat me across my back and shoulders. I lost my footing and hung there by my wrists as he continued to beat me. Sobbing, tears streamed down my face as the lash bit into my ass, waist, and even once hit my neck and wrapped around my cheek, leaving a line of pain on my face.

Eventually, I felt his hands on my hips and he turned me to face him. He was a tall man. But I could look into him face to face. He had cruel grey eyes and held a leather whip with a soft, leather flexible lash. He stepped back and I flinched as I saw him bring his arms to continue my beating. The lash fell on my thighs, my belly, my breasts. And when he finally stopped and unchained me, I fell moaning to the bed, slight stains of red staining the white sheet where the lash had cut particularly deep.

I flinched as he smoothed a cool ointment into the worst of the cuts. He tipped my head up and gave me water to drink. I wanted to resist, but he cruelly forced my head around and commanded that I drink.

Time blurred. I woke intermittently to random beatings, less intense somehow than the initial beating. But still, he always left me in agony. My mind a blur of pain and confusion. Did hours pass? Or was it days? Even weeks? I had no idea. My tormentor would feed me bits of fruit and cheese from time to time. On occasion, he took me to the adjoining bathroom and helped me as needed with my personal needs.

At some point, he began to end the beatings with a demand that I take his cock in my mouth. I desperately wanted to resist. No matter how wild and decadent I might have been with Jack. He had remained my only lover. But the slaver resisted my pleas and with a skilled application of pain forced my mouth open.

I found my lips wrapped around his his thick cock. His grey eyes coolly stared down on me. He thrust into me and used me as mere tool, forcing his cock down my throat. I had learned to deep throat Jack, but I still found myself gagging as he jerked my face back and forth against his groin. When he finally gasped and came in my throat, he softened and pulled out. “You’ll have to do better,” he said and then left me curled in a ball of pain on the bed.

Now, I woke to beatings and then after, trying to please him with my mouth. He always seemed angry. “Your don’t even try,” he would yell.

And I blubbered, “I don’t know what you want.”

He shook his head and used ties to secure me to the bed. “Playtime is over,” he said. He forced my mouth open with his left hand. And my eyes widened when I saw he had what looked like a pair of pliers in his right hand. “Struggle and I’ll make you wish you were dead,” he utter in a low, forceful voice.

My green eyes held dread and fear as he pulled my tongue outside my mouth. “I’m using a ten gauge needle,” he said. Surprisingly, the pain when he pierced my tongue felt minimal. So many other areas of my body hurt more. Until now, he had not caressed or otherwise touched my vagina. But now, I felt him spread my legs. I whimpered and felt something wet and cold as he cleaned me.

I wanted to see what he was doing, but couldn’t. I felt a strange sensation as he slid something under the hood of my clitoris. And then a sharp biting pain. “It’s a beautiful vertical piercing,” he said. “You’ll love the look.”

The pain that night was worse. He set ice chips by my bed and after awhile, he brought a towel wrapped bag of ice for between my legs. He acted almost gentle. When I woke in the morning, there was no beating. He unchained me, though, I still wore a leather collar and bracelets. And he then gave me a filmy white robe. I tried to talk, but my tongue was too swollen.

He led me to another room where I sat uncomfortably at a table. When Jack walked in with another man—someone I recognized from the British Consulate—I began to cry.

“It’s okay darling,” Jack said. “Do you still want to be my slave?”

I hesitated and he started to turn as if to leave. Maybe it was my imagination. This was my true love, Jack. So I nodded and mumbled through my swollen tongue something meant to be a yes.

“Wonderful,” he said with a smile. Mr. Worrick is here to witness your signature on a few documents. “It turns out, a British citizen can’t own another British citizen.” He set a three page document in front of me. It was already filled in with my name and identifying information. Mr. Worrick leaned over the table and said officiously, I’ll need you to sign here and here.

My hand shook as I scrawled my signature on the page. “Now darling,” Jack said. “You’ll execute this document. It transfers the trust left to you by your parents to me. I felt like dying. But I signed the document. I had to trust Jack. I had no choice.

Jack turned to Mr. Worrick. “You’ve witnessed Shara’s signature renouncing her British citizenship and transferring the trust. Any questions regarding her mental state?”

“No,” Worrick burbled. “Sharp as a tack, I’m sure.”

“Well then,” Jack said as he pulled a five dollar US bill from his wallet. “I’ll take her.”

The man I thought of as “slaver” signed a document and handed it to Jack. “A pleasure doing business with you,” he said with a smile. “It’ll be a few weeks before she’s wholly healed up.”

Jack sighed. “I can’t really deal with it. Can you keep her until she’s fully healed?”

“Of course,” my captor said. I was screaming through the pain of my swollen tongue as Jack and Mr. Worrick walked out.