The Ultimate Vampire Resource and Directory

The Vanilla Extraction Chapter 5
15:14 Aug 28 2010
Times Read: 952

*Contains Adult themes











“Well then,” Jared began with a smile, “let me show you…”



I watched him pressing keys on his laptop and, then he turned it round, so I could see the screen, as Windows Media Player opened up, with a film seemingly filmed in this establishment…







Chapter Five





Before my eyes: There was a crowd gathered round a small dais, with a low sawhorse in its centre. The chattering group of onlookers hushed to comparative quiet, as a large man, dressed in leather jeans, boots and waistcoat, all in black stepped up drawing with him by leash, a young woman, on all fours: Misha.



Eyes wide, drool dripped from the corners of her mouth, filled with a red-ball, that was strapped in place with a leather strip, which fastened at the back of her head.



I watched the monitor fascinated by this: Fascinated and stunned, I was aroused.



The well-muscled fellow in black, leather turns to the crowd and he briefly explains that the exhibition will start, shortly.



I notice again, there is no liquor, just bottled water. And I can’t help but grin at the idea of a drunk being found wielding a whip, the bloody body of their sub lying quietly at their feet. Well sue-me, I find it funny.



There’s some dry ice drifting across the stage area and, then from the back of the crowd, a small group of scantily clad club-goers begin to chant.

“Master Ben… Master Ben… Master of a celebrity on the local scene, particularly with the ladies.” Ben…” Over the top of the laptop lid, Jared briefly explained: “He’s become somewhat



And with that he turned to his left and the young woman: “Isn’t that right sweetheart?”



“What would I know,” she said indignantly, as she stood, only to have her him old her wrist a moment: “I was only teasing, My Love.”



I ignore them, as she drapes her arms round his neck and they kiss, lovingly: and fascinated, I return my attention to the screen.



The fellow, ‘Master Ben’, was carrying a very whippy cane in his right hand, which he flexed and crack in the air, whilst Misha crawled behind him.



Master Ben spoke to the crowd once more, as she scurried into place on the sawhorse. Each strike of the cane was expertly laid on and, with each blow Misha would arch her now striped back, her pain evidently a pleasure, to judhe from the moans that issues from her mouth.



The swish of the whip and the sound it made on her young flesh seemed to find approval with the murmuring of appreciation made by the crowd round the dias, who otherwise stood in silence.





Amusement showed on the face of the elfin-faced blonde, whilst her Master, friend and colleague grinned widely: “There you go, our regular painslut in action…”



I couldn’t help but wonder if my interest showed, while I continued watching till the end of the video; then straightening up, I looked Jared squarely in the eyes: “That was Misha, wasn’t it?” I asked, already sure that I knew the answer.



I just needed to hear it said.



“Now you already know the answer Mister Shawcross, so why the question?” He enquired of me, that infuriating grin of his seemingly glued to his face.



“Now now,” Alice remonstrated, “play nicely, please?” I felt bruised; and now awkward, such was my progress on this case so far. And, if I could afford any pride, I’d have lost that as well.



But in my game, that’s a commodity I can ill afford. And furthermore, my tastes were plain ‘vanilla’; or so the crowd at Marley’s termed it.



‘So that might be,’ I thought standing, somewhat shakily, already awaiting the bump I might have tomorrow. ‘But there would be the paycheck…’



I looked at Alice and she nodded; she knew I understood a little more than I had. Jared, well, he walked round that desk and, clasped me round the shoulders.



And, that wasn’t the scary bit; and nor was that muscle-head Chevy; naw, the scary bit was the club being in full swing, as I walked out from the office, into the small area behind the bar counter.



Chevy had lifted a hatchway sorta thing and, I’d passed through into a sweet smelling haze, that fell from the stage, onto the crowd, around me.



I looked onto the small stage, which was set-up similarly to that I had seen on the video; only something of the image before me was well out of order.



Looking over my shoulder, I looked at Jared, he of the half-exposed chest and beautiful hair. Ah, they were both so beautiful, both Ben and Jared.



‘Now where did that come from?’ I muse, still staring ahead at the stage, where Master Ben stands, wearing boots, with strapping that is convenient, to cover modesty and little else. His thrall was none other than the Contessa di Cartinelli, her oiled body shiney beneath spotlights that playing on her naked body, as she crawled after him, wearing collar and leash, her green eyes alight with passion.



I turned, away from the crowd; and interests that the Contessa, or should that be Dianna, as in the Huntress; had helped point me toward, that would not be ignored. That was for sure.



‘But, right now,’ I thought, opening the A5 manila envelope, folded in half, to be stuffed inside my battered windcheater.



The retainer wasn’t much, but it’d pay the bills and maybe, just maybe I’ll be able to pay off my tab at Michael’s Bar & Grill. Scratchin my chin, as I open the doors and I look back and wonder at the lessons I might have learnt at that club.



I look into the night, the noisy busy traffic-filled night and raise my arm, as I let loose an ear-piercing whistle through my teeth, that I’m told only dogs can hear.



An, fascinating as it all looked; it all looked like hard learnin, to me.



If nothing else, this has taught me on thing: ‘my tastes weren’t as plain as they thought. And whereas that was somewhat of a surprise to me, or not; it was most certainly interesting.’



A taxi stops by the kerbside and, opening the door I look back at Marley’s: ‘can’t help but wonder how well di Contessa takes the whip. Now that I’d like to see.’



I close the door and pay the driver off with a twenty.



‘Hey, maybe she’ll be pleased to see me?’ I think with a grin, as I walk back to Marley’s and Chevy, standing outside, arms crossed.

Zizi's Over Exposure ~ Complete
15:28 Aug 21 2010
Times Read: 969

*Contains some Adult Material







She woke up that morning and looked out through the window... the day was grey... she felt unexplainably sad... slowly went to the shower and left the hot water to relax her muscles... she had planned her day carefully ... for weeks... she needed this.

She went to her room and selected her clothes... sexy black lingerie, a garter belt and sheer black stockings... a black satin blouse and a black mini skirt.

She contacted the best photographer in town... she wanted to be photographed artistically... naked...

The first set she had intended for 'her friend' had led to a misadventure she'd rather not recall: and now she had ensured that there would be a second chance, a present for him and, for her to affirm her femininity, which she really needed, right now.

She looked in the mirror... she wasn't totally sure about the reasons why she was doing this... but she was clear on something... the need of being the object of desire... with that thought in mind, she left...

And, although the journey was short, she spent much of it filled with tremulous anxiety. After all, much had changed and, she no longer felt as she had.

Yet, she wanted so much: and, this would help.

So it was, she reached the photographers, at ten after one; and she pressed the bell to his apartment cum studio on the second floor, the butterflies in her stomach now wearing hobnail boots.

Finally long seconds passed and, a voice issued forth from the intercom near the series of bells to the block.

"Hello.. who is it?" His voice asked, a rich mellow voice, that she liked.

"It's ZiZi, I rang the other week..." she responded, hoping that her voice didn't sound as bad to him, as it did to her.

A buzzer sounded, then a click to the door.

"Just push and come on up. I'm on the second floor, on the right."

She pushed the door and, entering the block stared at the imposing staircase, which showed signs of disrepair. It was steep, wide and curved round.

Eyeing the first step, ZiZi sighed; then she began to walk up the staircase.

She felt her heart heavy ... every step was increasing her uncertainty... until she got the door...

She knocked the door ... the man opened it and looked at her ... up and down...

Zizi looked to the hand he extended, noticing how well he kept his nails.

"The name's Marcus Bryant," he told her in greeting, a broad smile on his face; and he gestured for her to enter.

And, as she did so, Zizi was very aware that as he turned from closing the door, his eyes would be on her derriere, which she hated. 'It was so-big.'

"But then you know that, don't you ZiZi?" he added, pushing her ahead with one hand on her right should, guiding her through the long corridor, festooned with twelve by eighteen prints of his favourite photographs.

Her heart sank, as her eyes glanced at his work, as she compared herself with the waif-like models in the pictures, with baleful eyes.

"Judging from your voice on the phone and, you being ten minutes late, I was starting to think you weren't coming..." he said to her breathlessly, still hurrying her onward and into the bright, spacious apartment.

"It's just two minutes after," Zizi assured him, glancing to her wrist.

"Uh uh you're watch must be wrong," he admonished, "It's twenty past the hour, nearly twenty-five past. That's why I thought you weren't coming."

Feeling suitably abashed, Zizi stood quietly, looking at the toes of her heels, as she clenched her hands and sighed: 'What next?' She wondered.

"Please take off your coat and have a seat," he said courteously... "and, let's talk about what you have in mind..."

She sat on a beautiful couch, crossing her legs and Marcus offered her a cigarrette, which she accepted. When he lit her cigarrette, she looked into his beautiful blue grey-ish eyes: "Thanks," she muttered... "well, I don't know..." she started... "I was thinking of some pictures of me... light and shadows, like the ones you have in the corridor... " Zizi finished her cigarrette, and he led her to another room, were there was a beautiful sofa there and the camera and lights; her heart stopped for a second.

She was already there, 'so what to do... go on? go back?...'

"Take off your clothes then and let's started..." he invited.

Zizi stared around, quite surprised at the size of the studio; which had little colour to it, other than white.

The set that Marcus had illustrated was the only colouful furniture in the room: the chaise covered in red velvet, a green leaved fully-grown Yucca behind it.

"As you can see, I have a set made out for you," Mark told her.

"Very nice," she murmured, looking at her toes yet again.

Her action was not lost on Mark.

"So c'mon Zizi, take off your clothes then and let's start..."He added.

Briefly she panicked; here it was, 'the moment of decision.'

"Where can I go get changed?" Zizi asked, stomach churning.

"Hmmmm..." he said thoughtfully, thumb and forefinger resting on his chin a moment, as he considered some very interesting possibilities. Finally after long silent seconds passed, Mark looked to her and said, "There's a bathroom over there. If you feel more comfortable there...?"

"I would like to check my make-up and..." She began.

Marcus grinned; "No problem. We're on your time now. So you go get ready, for me and the camera." As he spoke he pointed across the room, to a closed door.

"Why thank you," Zizi responded, in a very quiet manner.

And, even though every nerve in her body screamed aloud 'run'; she did not. After all, she'd paid the deposit; and nervous she might be, this was something that she wanted.

As she walked across toward the bathroom, Zizi quickly looked back to Marcus as he set up his equipment. With his swarthy looks and athletes body, she though him handsome: and briefly she wondered, if he thought so as well.

She walked to the bathroom, slowly... and took off her blouse... and her skirt... she looked in the mirror... and took the white terry-towel robe that was hanging there...

He was preparing everything when he saw her...

"Perfect" he said... "I'm ready... please come here, take off the robe and sit on the couch.." she did as she was told...

He looked up and saw her ... his eyes laid on her for a long time... she felt nervous... He walked towards the couch...

"Let's see... lay on the couch, and place your arms over your head... raise your legs and let them rest on the back of the couch..." Marcus told her, as he went to the camera and looked at her through the lens... "Look at the camera..." he ordered... she did so...

"Lick your lips... " he ordered again... and she did so...

"Take off your bra... " he said... she doubted for a moment, but she unhooked it and took it off... covering her breasts with her right arm, conscious that her nipples were bullet hard.

And Marcus smiled a little, in realization: He was right; Zizi was compliant to his instruction. 'That was interesting.'

"Okay," Marcus told her, leaving his camera to fall to his chest by its strap: "That was a start. Now..." He adjusted the light and reflectors, so that shadows heightened the contours of her breasts.

"Now lose the panties, but keep the garter, hose and heels. And I want you to turn and sit facing me, left leg crossed over the right, your left arm across your belly, hand supporting your right elbow; with the index fingertip of your right on your chin, as you blow the camera lens a kiss."

Zizi blanched at what he had told her. 'From arriving at the apartment, to being naked in less than half an hour?' She thought, finding herself standing to fulfil his instruction.

And, as she slipped the filmy panties down her thighs, she half-turned, so that when she did turn back, to face Marcus and his lens, he might be interested to learn that she had shaven well, prior to meeting her appointment.

ZiZi was however quite disappointed, when he made no comment, as she adopted the pose that Marcus had described.

"Now, uncross your legs," he told her, "with one hand covering yourself; then look down, as if you're surprised that we are interested..."

Zizi's heart suddenly fluttered, with her bubble of anxiety bursting.

"There it was," she mused, 'the big reveal... well, nearly.'

The shots one by one, and the poses one after another... Mark arranged her body as he wanted, moving her arms and legs as chess pieces... his hands lingering on her skin every time.... now she was on her knees, giving her back to the camera... both hands with fingers interlaced on her back too..."turn around slowly... looking over your shoulder..." he ordered... so she did... "now bend over a bit... " and so she did again... and as it was... her arms on the back of the couch, she felt his presence behind her... she didn't cared much ... "another pose" she thought... but his hands touched her differently this time... his touch was tender, yet insistent; he would not be denied.

Then abruptly, Marcus stood back, telling her, "I won't be a moment."

And Zizi waited, her breath caught in her throat, until his return; thankfully just seconds later and, his left hand sought her left shoulder, his right on her right hip.

He leant forward and, using his left hand to brush hair from Zizi's neck Marcus pressed his lips to her neck, "I adore your curves." He told her, moments before he began to suckle on her right ear-lobe, his left hand drifting down to caress her full left breast.

"I don't..." she sighed.

He smiled, "You're opinion doesn't count lover, you're biased."

'Lover', Zizi mused, her eyes closed, skin all a flutter.

His hands left her body a moment, as he drew her lobe into her mouth, lathing it gently with his tongue a moment, before he drew back once more.

"I won't be a second," Marcus told her: and she heard a top pop open and hands rub together, then his hands gliding over her flesh, warm from the lights.

"Lean forward," he instructed and, she did so readily, as they knew she would.

The lightly perfumed oil spread easily on her skin, as Zizi put a cushion beneath her head, which she rested her hands on, then her face upon her hands.

He worked his hands on her upper back and, she dipped her back, raising her haunches, exposing herself to him: 'if he were interested', Zizi thought with a half-smile, eyelids fluttering, as his hands continued to glide over her flesh, covering her back with a light sheen of the massage oil, that glistened beneath the lights.

Her eye still closed, Zizi relaxed to his touch and groaned softly...

'Marcus has strong hands,' she mused, as his fingers worked the muscles in her back, leading down, to her hips, where they rested.

'Marcus, it's Mmmm...' she murmured beneath his touch, 'it's such...Mmm, a strong name.' He leant forward, his shirt miraculously gone, his powerful chest against her, as he whispered in her right ear, "Shall I continue?"

His words and Zizi's anticipation whirled in her head.

'Continue?' she thought; 'Oh please don't stop this sweet pleasure...'

Each hand had cupped a buttock, the oiled thumbs teasingly on the tender skin between and Zizi moaned aloud, nodding her assent.

She felt his hands on her ... his breathe on her back, and for a moment she didn't care what would happen; she just wanted to allow herself to enjoy this moment...

"Open your legs..." he said in a whisper and, she did it. Then there was his hand... his strong oily hand moving between her legs...

Zizi could feel his fingers... moving... slightly touching her pussy... feeling him doing something with his right hand... she was wondering what was that... until she felt it... hard... hot ... making its way through her pussy.... now both hands on her hips... he was slowly penetrating her... with no rush.... almost playing... she was moving now slowly... back and forth... let him in and out...rubbing her... she couldn't remember when she had last felt this lustful.

"You move well," Marcus told his compliant lover; "so tight and warm."

He caressed Zizi's back, then her hair with his left hand, as he pumped his hips back and forth, the heat from the lights warming their bodies.

He reached below with his right hand, searching with his fingers, as those dextrous digits ran up from where his manhood entered her, through moist folds till he found what he sought; and Zizi arched her back, groaning.

Marcus rubbed his middle fingers against her throbbing nub of flesh, creating sensations she found a delight, that rippled from within, reaching to Zizi's toes and her groans that timed with each thrust became an incessant moan, as the fingertip flicked at it, again and again.

"Oh, oh, please..." she exclaimed between her tight lips, spittle forming on her lips, as a wave of sheer pleasure rippled through her body, again.

"Please what, Lover?" Marcus asked, one eyebrow raised, stilling all movement.

"Oh puh-lease, don't stop!" Zizi entreated loudly, eyes wide, head back.

Marcus smiled, she was his, to enjoy and pleasure.

And to her great relief, he thrust forward, his fingers resuming their movements and Zizi sighed, as the ripples began anew; ripples that became waves, which swept through her body.

Then Zizi's back arched again and again, as the waves crashed down and with ragged breath she fell forward, with her lover still embedded deep within her.

After a moment, he laid on the couch with his pants down... she could see that his sex still seemed hard and willing, their combined juices glistening on the hard flesh. He looked at her; with his right hand started touching himself... and she bit her lower lip...

Zizi moved towards him, laying on her stomach, and looking up into his eyes, her mouth opening, to let him into her mouth... her tongue dancing all around, up and down, from the base to the top, sucking slowly, playfully...

And, his sighs touched the room, his fingers running through her hair, his other hand slightly pressing her against him, his hips moving up and down, letting his sex enter her mouth completely.

Marcus knew that he wouldn't be able to hold out too long, so when he was about to cum, he tried to make her stop; but she wanted otherwise...

Zizi looked up to him, her eyes smiling with rapacious delight, as her hands on his thighs felt the trembling begin. And then he groaned, clutching at Zizi's head, as he pumped his creamy, salty seed into her willing mouth.

Kissing upward, Zizi swallowed his gift and moved up his body slowly, till she wrapped her arms wrapped his neck and they kissed.

Briefly their lips parted, just briefly, while Marcus to caress Zizi's sweat-shiney body, as she sought to catch her breath.

"I look forward to you coming to collect the prints," Marcus told her with a gentle smile, caressing her right cheek softly.

"Why?" Zizi asked, feigning innocence.

In answer, Marcus took her in his arms once more; and they tumbled to the floor amidst the drapes he had left aside for use on the set, their lips seemingly fused as one.

And deep inside, a tremor of pleasure rippled deep inside Zizi: she felt wanted.

The day had gone well for her and she closed her eyes, cuddling her lovers body a smile on her face…

Zizi's Over Exposure
12:07 Aug 13 2010
Times Read: 981

*Contains Adult themes







She woke up that morning and looked out through the window… the day was grey… she felt unexplainably sad… slowly went to the shower and left the hot water to relax her muscles… she had planned her day carefully … for weeks… she needed this.

She went to her room and selected her clothes… sexy black lingerie, a garter belt and sheer black stockings… a black satin blouse and a black mini skirt.

She contacted the best photographer in town… she wanted to be photographed artistically… naked…

The first set she had intended for 'her friend' had led to a misadventure she'd rather not recall: and now she had ensured that there would be a second chance, a present for him and, for her to affirm her femininity, which she really needed, right now.

She looked in the mirror... she wasn't totally sure about the reasons why she was doing this... but she was clear on something... the need of being the object of desire... with that thought in mind, she left...

And, although the journey was short, she spent much of it filled with tremulous anxiety. After all, much had changed and, she no longer felt as she had.

Yet, she wanted so much: and, this would help..

So it was, she reached the photographers, at ten after one; and she pressed the bell to his apartment cum studio on the second floor, the butterflies in her stomach now wearing hobnail boots.

 Finally long seconds past and, a voice issued forth from the intercom near thee series of bells to the block.

 "Hello.. who is it?" His voice asked, a rich mellow voice, that she liked.

 "It's ZiZi, I rang the other week..." she responded, hoping that her voice didn't sound as bad to him, as it did to her.

 A buzzer sounded, then a click to the door.

 "Just push and come on up. I'm on the second floor, on the right."

 She pushed the door and, entering the block stared at the imposing staircase, that showed signs of disrepair. It was steep, wide and curved round.

 Eyeing the first step, ZiZi sighed; then she began to walk up the staircase.

 She felt her heart heavy ... every step was increasing her uncertainty... until she got the door...

 She knocked the door ... the man opened it and looked at her ... up and down...

Zizi looked to the hand he extended, noticing how well he kept his nails.

“The name’s Marcus Bryant,” he told her in greeting, a broad smile on his face; and he gestured for her to enter.

And, as she did so, Zizi was very aware that as he turned from closing the door, his eyes would be on her derriere, which she hated. ‘It was so-big.’

“But then you know that, don’t you ZiZi?” he added, pushing her ahead with one hand on her right should, guiding her through the long corridor, festooned with twelve by eighteen prints of his favourite photographs.

Her heart sank, as her eyes glanced at his work, as she compared herself with the waif-like models in the pictures, with baleful eyes.

“Judging from your voice on the phone and, you being ten minutes late, I was starting to think you weren’t coming…” he said to her breathlessly, still hurrying her onward and into the bright, spacious apartment.

“It’s just two mintues after,” Zizi assured him, glancing to her wrist.

“Uh uh you’re watch must be wrong,” he admonished, “It’s twenty past the hour, nearly twenty-five past. That’s why I thought you weren’t coming.”

Feeling suitably abashed, Zizi stood quietly, looking at the toes of her heels, as she clenched her hands and sighed: ‘What next?’  She wondered.

"Please take off your coat and have a seat," he said courteously... "and, let's talk about what you have in mind..."

She sat on a beautiful couch, crossing her legs and Marcus offered her a cigarrette, which she accepted. When he lit her cigarrette, she looked into his beautiful blue grey-ish eyes:  "Thanks," she muttered... "well, I don't know..." she started... "I was thinking of some pictures of me... light and shadows, like the ones you have in the corridor... "  Zizi finished her cigarrette, and he led her to another room, were there was a beautiful sofa there and the camera and lights; her heart stopped for a second.

She was already there, 'so what to do... go on? go back?...'

"Take off your clothes then and let's started..." he invited.

Zizi stared around, quite surprised at the size of the studio; which had little colour to it, other than white.

The set that Marcus had illustrated was the only colouful furniture in the room: the chaise covered in red velvet, a green leaved fully grown Yukka behind it.

"As you can see, I have a set made out for you," Mark told her.

"Very nice," she murmured, looking at her toes yet again.

Her action was not lost on Mark.

"So c'mon Zizi, take off your clothes then and let's start..."He added.

Briefly she panicked, here it was, 'the moment of decision.'

"Where can I go get changed?" Zizi asked, stomach churning.

"Hmmmm..." he said thoughtfully, thumb and forefinger resting on his chin a moment, as he considered some very interesting possibilities. Finally after long silent seconds passed, Mark looked to her and said, "There's a bathroom over there. If you feel more comfortable there...?"

"I would like to check my make-up and..." She began.

Marcus grinned; "No problem. We're on your time now. So you go get ready, for me and the camera." As he spoke he pointed across the room, to a closed door.

"Why thank you," Zizi responded, in a very quiet manner.

And, even though every nerve in her body screamed aloud 'run'; she did not. After all, she'd paid the deposit; and nervous she might be, this was something that she wanted.

As she walked across toward the bathroom, Zizi quickly looked back to Marcus as he set up his equiptment. With his swarthy looks and athletes body, she though him handsome: and briefly she wondered, if he thought so as well.

She walked to the bathroom, slowly... and took off her blouse... and her skirt... she looked in the mirror... and took the white terry-towel robe that was hanging there...

He was preparing everything when he saw her...

"Perfect" he said... "I'm ready... please come here, take off the robe and sit on the couch.." she did as she was told...

He looked up and saw her ... his eyes laid on her for a long time... she felt nervous... He walked towards the couch...

"Let's see... lay on the couch, and place your arms over your head... raise your legs and let them rest on the back of the couch..." Marcus told her, as he went to the camera and looked at her through the lens... "Look at the camera..." he ordered... she did so...

"Lick your lips... " he ordered again... and she did so...

"Take off your bra... " he said... she doubted for a moment, but she unhooked it and took it off... covering her breasts with her right arm.

And Marcus smiled a little, in realization: He was right, Zizi was compliant to his instruction. 'That was interesting.'

"Okay," Marcus told her, leaving his camera to fall to his chest by its strap: "That was a start. Now..." He adjusted the light and reflectors, so that shadows heightened the contours of her breasts.

"Now lose the panties, but keep the garter, hose and heels. And I want you to turn and sit facing me, left leg crossed over the right, your left arm across your belly, hand supporting your right elbow; with the index fingertip of your right on your chin, as you blow the camera lens a kiss."

Zizi blanched at what he had told her. 'From arriving at the apartment, to being naked in less than half an hour?' She thought, finding herself standing to fulfill his instruction.

And, as she slipped the filmy panties down her thighs, she half-turned, so that when she did turn back, toface Marcus and his lens, he might be interested to learn that she had shaven well, prior to meeting her appointment.

ZiZi was however quite disappointed, when he made no comment, as she adopted the pose that Marcus had described.

"Now, uncross your legs," he told her, "with one hand covering yourself; then look down, as if you're surprised that we are interested..."

Zizi's heart suddenly fluttered, with her bubble of anxiety bursting.

"There it was," she mused, 'the big reveal... well, nearly.'



tbc?

eMistress
12:36 Aug 08 2010
Times Read: 989

*For Adults Only









Still wearing the beige cotton shirt and jeans I had worn all day, I walked through the house, ensuring all the locks were locked. There was no-one else in the house and, I’d wanted to play. And besides, I’d told myself, “I think My Lady might light like it!”



And with that in mind, I had been eager to start.



I turned off all the light and, retreating to my back room rooted in my draw to find what I was looking for.



With that draw as it is; it is a wonder you ever find anything.



I found my camera and then relit the heavily leaden spliff I had been smoking five minutes earlier.



Placing it in the ashtray, I dotted a few lights around my room, to augment the scant illumination provided by the two laptops, facing one another; the one on the left, the word processor, the one across from it running Stoik Video recorder.



On the centre of the converter was two-thirds the image displayed and, a naked Asian lovingly service two well-endowed Black gentleman and truth be told, I liked what I’d seen, as I briefly looked to the screen.



She was so lucky, I mused, setting up my shaving mirror on the side nearest my pillows, with the wood-veneer headboard at back.



Then, looking around, I found what I was looking for, a suitable ‘spec, to show the lens what I could do.



And. As I set the lip-stick next to my coffee-cup, I thought of her, wondering if she would like what I was about to do. It certainly paused to think, for a mille-second, as I got the wooden clothespins out of my pocket; the one’s I’d taken from the kitchen earlier.



I relit the smoke and inhaled strongly on it’s sweet acrid fumes, before setting it aside, to turn the timer on the camera, which I’d set to make a film, for Him.



Then breathing deeply I’d lowered my head, which I lifted slowly, as I looked toward where I had set the lipstick, a vibrant red, of a shade I found enticing.



I’d drawn that tip, languorously across my top lip and then across, the other side and, I just couldn’t resist the action on the third stroke.



Call, it an impulse, but I’d taken that small cylinder between my lips, with a slow seductive movement and, accompanying sounds of pleasure. Of course.



I’d shaped my lips, drawing it it, as I slid it back and forth with my right hand, as with my left I picked up the first of the two wooden clothespins, ass my nipples were to be attended to, as I hoped she might like.



I slid each other my flesh, eliciting a sigh of painful pleasure through my lipstick-covered lips and for a moment I turned to the screen, still sucking lasciviously, on that lipstick.



I thought of her lips, as I watched the Asian astride one of the two Black men, her long slim back arched, hair flowing and, I turned to the camera as I massaged the bulge in my jeans and, blew Mistress, a soft lipstick-coating kiss, before turning the camera off.



I then turned to the word processor and began to write of this all, before sending the email with the film as an attachment, to prove my devotion, to them.

A Porthneal Day
15:00 Aug 01 2010
Times Read: 1,002




The row of white-washed terraced cottages ran from High Street, down toward the road that led to the old town square and the promenade.



Washing-line strung across the street ran from a hook below the bedroom window, it’s shutters fastened open and to another on the other side.



Similar washing-lines ran from several houses and across the narrow street



The tall slim woman with blonde hair cascading down over lightly freckled shoulders smiled gently, as she strode down the narrow cobbled street, brushing aside the sheets that were in her way.



She wore a calf-length white cotton summer dress, which billowed out as she walked; that had a four-inch wide belt cinched in tight, to emphasis her slim waist, wearing red-highs heels, that matched the vivid lipstick she was wearing as she smiled gently, on a blue-sky day, a light breeze pulling at the skirt of her dress, that she held down as needed.



The blonde knew that it would taken little to scandalise the old dears with their curtains that twitched, as her heels tippity-tapped on the cobbles; and, she tossed her hair, running long fingers through it; fingernails well-manicured as usual, painted to match her lipstick and heels.



It was early in the afternoon and, one of the two pubs in was shut to visitors, as the manageress had errands to run, before re-opening at five thirty.



Finally she reached the promenade with a view across the small bay, with water so clear that a few of the recent influx of visitors to the small former fishing village would swim, much to the amusement of the locals.



She noticed that there were three small boy’s sitting on the small jetty, built of Yorkshire stones, piled one on the other; their poles hopefully held out, lines dangling into the shallow water, as they hoped to fill the buckets at heir side with crabs.



And, as a few people passed by, with the occasional man nodding, or tipping his hat, to the annoyance of his wife who held his arm a little lighter. She was well-known by many and, in a village like this, that was a good for some; but provided a reputation that had dogged her since she had arrived five years earlier.



Everyone thought they knew her business and they did anyone else in the village: divorced, with enough money to move in straight away to The Pub With A View.



But, they knew only as much of her, as Mrs Field would allow, as she valued her privacy,



There were many opinions about the woman striding down the promenade, that led to the base of the headland, with the old rusting, it’s black paint peeling.



Such were the narrow minds of many of the villagers, there were very few people in the village that did not have an opinion of her: some were good and some bad.



The building had stood empty for many years; and now it’s light extinguished for the last time, when the coast guard had taken over the safety of this stretch of water surrounding the bay and it’s coastline.



She walked off the promenade and found the old gravelled path that led up through the dense gorse bushes, toward the lighthouse.



Mrs Field’s smile widened, as she felt the wind on her shoulders, bringing forth goose-flesh on the back of her arms.



Night was approaching and, she reached for the key, old and rusty, that she had tucked between her belt and dress.



With a shaky hand, she reached out and slid the key into its match, a lock that appeared as old and rusty, whilst its mechanism was oiled and working well.



Mrs Field opened the worn-looking iron door, aware that soon the sun would set and all that she had worked toward, since returning to Porthneal would soon come to pass.



And, as she made her way up the staircase, that spiralled upward, Mrs Field felt the light downy hairs on the back of her arms rising.



Having abandoned the old ways, she knew who she was, finally. That was why she had returned, to be ready, for this date.



She reached the top of the lighthouse, then disrobed; her body seemed to take on the hue of the setting sun, as she walked through a doorway and the veranda surrounding the lighthouse.



Lois Fields held the rail, looking down to rocks and, the foaming waters below.



“There is a dark-side within us all,” she thought smiling, “and tonight mine shall awaken and bring forth mine.”



Lois reached up, toward the rising full moon, that appeared almost blood-red and closing her eyes, she began to chant, words that had not been spoken for decades.



She gave a snort of derision at the behaviours of people, which she had little understanding of. ‘Yet, after tonight,’ she thought, ‘that will not matter.”



And, as the moon raised higher, light glistening on her toned curvaceous body, she began to change, the fingers fusing, her limbs lengthening and, her flesh morphing into something new, yet something so-very old.



Though she had left Porthneal as a child, Mrs Fields had returned to be herself and it was during that transition that the hideous fusion of flesh, bone and teeth slid over the rail and into the waters below.



Blood would flow and fishing would return to the waters around the bay; as The cult of Cthulhu had a new Queen and, all would be well.