Star Light, Star Bright

Star Light, Star Bright

A fictional Christmas Tale by Breanne Erickson

Why a fictional tale during Christmas?  Because I’m BUSY doing crazy sex things for you guys and then I’ll have to spend the next three months writing them all out!  So this is what you get!  Be happy!

– Love, Bre.

           

“This is totally unacceptable,” I said, my voice harsh.  I stared down at the surprised look on Victoria’s face, her mouth open in incredulity.  “I’d never accept anything of this poor quality in my department.  You’re lucky you don’t work for me on a regular basis,” I declared.

           Victoria’s eyes hardened just as I expected them too.  She glared up at me, her mouth closing to tighten in a firm line.  I knew what she wanted to say, what she wished she could say, but the idea of confronting me here, now, was not a comforting one.  She knew my voice had carried outside of her cubicle and even now her co-workers, all of whom hated me just as much as Victoria, were wondering if she would finally snap.

            I knew she wouldn’t.  She had too much at stake.  I dumped the sheaf of papers I was holding onto her desk, littering the organized piles with detritus.  I could tell her teeth clenched as I disordered her order.  Victoria wasn’t exactly a neat freak, but she had enforced her own little bastion of organization that my antics had plainly disrupted.  Everything on her desk had a place, from the stupid coffee mug that said “life is too short to be anything but happy” to the silver lined picture frame of her husband.  It all was perfectly positioned.  Oh well! She could always clean it up.

            “I want this reprinted, with the appropriate graphs inserted within the text, rather than as appendices,” I ordered.

            She took a deep breath and I had to give her kudos for controlling her temper.  “But Ms. Erickson, that’s the standard format for this report.  I don’t believe that Director Wilkins would approve of…”

            I cut her off, leaning close.  The front of my white blouse fell forward and I knew that my cleavage was in perfect view.  I’d caught her looking a few times, a mixture of both loathing and desire on her face.  I guessed she harbored fantasies of being with a woman and I used this knowledge to needle her further.  My lace bra was practically see through and I saw her eyes flicker downward to find the hard bumps of my nipples.

            “I don’t care.  Now, get it done.  Understand?” I said, sickly sweet, with a tone that broke no argument and was as patronizing as possible.  I whirled around and stalked away from her, my hips swinging, and I knew that if looks could kill, my ass would have been dead.  Or maybe fucked.

            It was a toxic atmosphere to work in, but everyone knew that I was a temporary figure in their lives.  Their regular manager, one Mrs. Jennifer Schwabel, was on maternity leave.  She had been a favorite; a sweet, wonderful woman with a talent for organizing, managing both egos and projects with equal benevolence.  Most of the staff called her friend, and from some of the pictures I’d seen on the break room wall, she had her fist firmly around every heart in the place.  Perhaps absence makes the heart grow fonder, but I’m positive that my contentious attitude and aggressive management style won me no friends.  In fact, I was positive it had made me enemies of practically everyone.  A full forty people on this floor hated my guts and would gladly have helped Brutus had I been Caesar.

            I took a deep breath and strolled out to the mezzanine balcony.  It looked down on the main atrium of the office building, a massive skyscraper that towered upto fifty four stories.  The workers down at the bottom were already putting the last of the Christmas tree together, a conglomeration of fero-steel and plastic that only resembled a common evergreen, since generally they didn’t tower a hundred and fifty feet tall.  Hell, the tip of the thing almost reached to my level. 

            A hammering above my head caused me to look up.  Sure enough, the maintenance staff were fixing the graviton pulse emitter for the coup d’etat, the placing of the star, a giant metallic ornament that spanned a decent five feet in every direction.  The thing was monstrous and sitting in one of the conference rooms, one level down.  All they would have to do is turn on the emitter and the star would rise until it was appropriately positioned.  Then it would light up the tree and the whole world would be able to see it through the plexi-glass siding of the building.

            I sighed.  I wasn’t my usual self this Christmas.  Even the thought of attending the Employee Christmas Party was insufficient to lift my spirits.  Besides, who would I talk to?  It wasn’t like I was going to be able to rub elbows with Victoria and her co-workers, all of whom I had alienated, humiliated, or subjected to teasing that had no release.

            To be honest, I liked the teasing.  At first I had only tormented the men.  Two of them had already complained of sexual harassment, complaining that every time I passed them in the hall, my fingertips had “accidentally” brushed their cocks.  I had denied it, passing it off as false accusations due to their dislike of my management style.  Then I had quietly pulled each one of them into my office, forcing them down into the most uncomfortable chair I could find, and threatened them with my own sexual harassment complaint, making them very aware of the fact that any additional problems would result in their immediate termination.  Both times I made sure to wear something that was borderline indecent and I loved the tension in their shoulders as I drew my fingertips across their back and neck.  Trust me; you don’t have to touch a man’s penis to get him thinking of sex.

            As a result, the male delegation of the department not only hated me, but wanted to fuck me.  I didn’t let them though.  Sex? With an underling?  I had openly laughed and humiliated the one poor fuck who thought he could get away with asking me out.  In front of the entire department I had not only turned him down, but questioned the size of his cock, his ability to get it hard, and most importantly, his gall to even dare to ask me out.  I found a hastily snapped cell phone picture of me on the bulletin board the next day with “fucking bitch” emblazoned across the bottom.  I had torn it down, written a new caption, and photocopied it enough times to put it on every single employee’s desk.  Now it said, “Your worst fucking nightmare!”

            I went back to my office.  I had work to do.  People to torment.  And Victoria’s day of hell had just begun.

            Two days later it was early Friday evening and the building had been deserted since two.  In a generous mood, Mr. Gibbons, the company CEO, had released everyone early in order to ensure attendance at the Christmas party.  I hadn’t bothered to go home.  I sat at my desk, my evening’s attire hanging on the door hook.  The floor was empty and I was wrapping up a few last minute things when there was a quiet but sure knock on my door.

            “Come!” I said loudly.  The door opened and Joel Gibbons walked into my office.  I stood quickly, smoothing down my skirt.  I nodded politely as he crossed and took a seat in the uncomfortable chair across from my desk.  He crossed his legs and I sat down.  Evidently the fact that he was sitting in the most uncomfortable chair I could find didn’t matter to him.

            “Well Ms. Erickson, you’ve had quite an eventful month as head of this department,” he said politely.  “Tales of your demeanor have spread through the entire company.”

            I smiled warmly. “Thank you, sir.”

            He nodded.  “Our HR department is having conniptions though.   They’ve received a few more complaints and are recommending I terminate you.”

            I laughed.  “They’d like that, wouldn’t they?”

            He grinned.  “I do believe so.”

            I looked out the glass window of my office.  It was an interior view and I could see the Christmas tree.

            “Well, they can always ask Santa Claus,” I replied brightly.

            Joel Gibbons nodded, still smiling.  Then he stood up.  “I look forward to seeing you at the party, Ms. Erickson.  I have the feeling it will be spectacular.”

            I glanced back at him.  “I know it will be, sir.”

            His mouth turned up in a quirky grin, and then he left.

            I took a deep breath.  It was time.

            I stood up and moved over to the door.  On the back of the wooden slab was a hook that held my dress bag.  I unzipped it and pulled out a slinky, stretchy, barely acceptable even in impolite circles, blue dress that flashed with sparkles.  To call it sexy would be like saying a Porsche has nice curves.  As I slipped it on, the material hugged my full breasts, tightened around my thin waist, and swelled along my curved hips to come down to my upper thigh.  I didn’t bother with panties or a bra.  The straps or material would have been visible through the tight material and I wanted everyone’s eyes to be on me, and not my underthings.

            I didn’t bother with hose either.  My legs are spectacular, smooth, and quite delicate under fingertips.  I slipped on the high heels, four inch stilettos that made my calves arch nicely. I clipped back my long red hair to the sides of my head, freeing up my face.  My cleavage wasn’t just nicely defined by the low dipping collar, but became a major facet of my appearance, a dark crevasse that most men would find themselves lost in.  I wriggled a bit, feeling the elastic limberness of the dress, enjoying the tight look but loose feel. 

            A quick refreshment of my makeup finished things off just as the first employees were starting to arrive.  I could hear the hubbub downstairs, the scents of champagne, chocolate, meats and cheeses on overflowing tables.  There was Christmas music playing, bright and cheerful. I tasted the strawberry flavor on my lips and refreshed the vanilla scent between my breasts and at my neck.  It was a special perfume of my own design. Then I opened the door and headed downstairs.

            And imagine.  They wanted to terminate me.

            The party had just started when I arrived and even seeing me didn’t dampen too many spirits.  Perhaps it was because not enough of my department had gotten there yet.  My attire instantly made me popular with those men who didn’t know who I was, but I quickly skewered them, leaving a wide berth around me.  It became clear that I wasn’t some slut to be trifled with, despite being dressed like one.

            It was thirty minutes later when Victoria and her husband arrived.  She studiously avoided me, even though my eyes were locked on hers.  She was wearing a conservative green dress, complete with red scarf and while nice, she looked… homely.  Her husband had caught sight of me, surreptitiously and frequently eye fucking my body until I practically felt violated.  But I waited, biding my time. 

            As the place filled up I saw more and more of my staff.  All of them looked at me, those who crossed my path both flinching and trying to greet me politely.  I smiled and made derogatory comments about their attire, or their date for the evening.  Everyone stiffened and moved away, leaving me in my own little circle of desolation.  I didn’t care. I had bigger things on my mind.

            I had to wait almost an hour for Victoria to finally need to visit the restroom, but when she did, I moved in for the attack.  Her husband, John was politely conversing with another couple, his third or fourth glass of champagne in his hand. I swooped in, interrupting the conversation without a word of apology.

            “You must be John, Victoria’s husband!” I said with a gushing smile.  My cheeks were flushed and he looked at me in surprise, followed by a quick but thorough visual trip down my cleavage. 

            “I’m sorry, and you are?” he asked.

            I glanced at him in feigned shock.  “Seriously?  She hasn’t told you about me?  But she’s told ME all about you!” I said, gushing warmth.  I took his arm and pulled him away from the couple.  He followed, stupidly led about by a beautiful woman.  I only had to pull him down one hall, chattering mindless platitudes about his wife’s opinion of him.  I pushed open the conference room door.  The metal star was there, leaning against the wall, along with a few boxes of Christmas light strands, ribbon, wrapping paper, tape, and other necessities.  John turned and looked at me in confusion.

            “Victoria and I share everything,” I whispered.  Then I took his hands, lifted them to my breasts, and set the palms against the thin material of my dress.  My nipples hardened instantly against the weight of his fingers..

            I could also see John’s hard-on right through his trousers.  My fingers pulled a little on my dress and the material slid out from under his hands, exposing my breasts, the rosy tips pressing into the hands of Victoria’s husband.  He squeezed, kneading me lightly as I moaned.  My own fingers found his cock and I rubbed him delicately, working up and down the cotton covered bulge, knowing that my caress would only make him more desperate. 

            He inhaled the pheromone laden perfume I had doused myself with and I watched as his eyes went glassy and his hands quickly stripped me of my dress.  In seconds I was naked, the fallen cloth of my dress a puddle on the floor.  He pushed me to the ground, his hungry mouth sucking and tasting, trying desperately to consume my breasts.  Somehow we managed to get his pants undone and then his cock was probing my wet cleft, digging into the petals.  I was needful at that point, wanting it even.  But it was not to be.  The door slammed open just as John was about to shove his cock in my pussy and Victoria, the avenging angel herself, exploded into the room, her eyes flashing with burning hatred.  One of Mr. Gibbons’ assistants was with her, eye wide at my state of attire.

            Victoria grabbed John and swung him around.  But as soon as she caught sight of his eyes, she knew he had been drugged and she whirled around toward me, a look of furious hatred in her eyes.  Her hand slammed into the side of my head and I saw stars. I reeled backward, tripping over my own dress. She lunged again, this time with fingernails extended.  Joel Gibbon’s assistant reached for her, which was all that saved me from having my head ripped off.  Victoria swung me downward, claws ripping at my breasts. Red scratches appeared and then the assistant grabbed my arm, tugging me away from the violent vixen.  But it wasn’t to save me, oh no.  It was to make it easier.

            “Victoria! The star!”

            Victoria looked over at the star and nodded.  Together they dragged me over to the giant metal ornament, setting me naked against the steel cutout leaning against the wall.  They grabbed a few loose strands of Christmas lighting and secured my dazed and bare body to the outstretched arms of the star.  In seconds I was bound tight, the Christmas lights digging into my biceps down to my wrists, bound spread-eagled.  I tried moving my legs, but they were wrapped like sausages in twine. A roll of wrapping tape complete with silly holly and berry graphics finished immobilizing me. 

            As my brain cleared, I glared at Victoria.  “So what now bitch?  Are you finally going to fuck me?” I demanded.  Her mouth opened in astonishment and I sneered at her.  “Don’t lie about it, bitch.  I know you’ve wanted me that way.  It’s not just your husband.  It’s in the way you look at me!  Men aren’t the only ones with brains in the gutter.”

            Her eyes blazed and she picked up a pointer that had been left on the nearby lectern.  This was a conference room after all, and presentations were common here.  She didn’t give me time to brace myself. The thin plastic whistled in the air as she swung it with all her might at my breasts.

            Pain exploded through me as the thin plastic rod cut into the soft flesh of my bosom.  It was an accurate stroke as well, hitting both nipples squarely, leaving a bright red line that looked like a Christmas ribbon across my chest.  I screamed as beads of crimson rose to the surface of the brutal welt.  But that didn’t stop Victoria.  She did it again, landing a second stroke an inch above the first.  My breasts felt hot and heavy and I had to grit my teeth to keep from screaming as she whacked away at me. Four more blows followed, turning my chest into a crisscrossed lagoon of steaming, boiling and welted flesh. 

            I’m not sure what made her stop. Maybe it was Gibbon’s assistant.  My vision was scarlet and more than just a bit blurry.  But then I felt a pressure between my legs and when I was able to focus again, Victoria’s knee was pressed against my groin and she had dropped the wand.  Her hands came up and grabbed hold of both nipples, tugging them painfully outward while twisting.  I gasped, shuddering as the hurt exploded through me.  But then she pulled her knee back, only to drive it as hard as possible up between my legs.  My breath exploded out of me as my vision went white, then black.  More pain than I thought possible penetrated through to my heart, and I folded, limp in the bondage.

            Victoria turned away, making a beeline for her husband.  I opened my mouth to protest, but all that came out was a grunt, a shallow moan.  I tried again.

            “He wanted to fuck me.  Why not both of you?” I whispered.  She paused, turning back to look at me with incredulity.  Slowly she came back.  Her eye still blazed with fury and when her lips were close enough she hissed at me.

            “Why would I want to fuck you?” she demanded.  “You are the most evil, villainous, despicable…” she was almost frothing in her hatred.

            I coughed once, and then said “you forgot sexy.”

            Victoria’s eyes widened and she whirled away from me.   Her gaze flashed over the conference table, littered with all sorts of gift wrapping apparel.  She snatched up the tape again and came right back over to me.  Then without a word, she began wrapping the transparent adhesive around each breast, with tighter and tighter circles. Using my nipple as a holding point, she lifted each sore and beaten tit upward, turning them from merely red to something shifting along the purple-blue spectrum.  It didn’t take long, and a few minutes later my breasts were impossibly compressed, the skin taut and stretched, the cane marks viciously apparent, with new streaks of blood marking the bruised and stricken globes.

            It wasn’t very comfortable either.  Once each nipple stood hard and turgid thanks to the bindings, Victoria dropped the tape.  There was applause from the gathered crowd as she moved to my side and I realized that practically everyone in the department was standing in the conference room, watching as I was tortured.  I could see the looks on their faces.   Half of it was pleasure at my final comeuppance.  Another half was the pleasure they were getting at seeing me naked.

            Victoria had the conference room stapler in hand, a large black monstrosity that was sufficient for binding even two or three dozen papers in one single clasp.  With an evil grin she raised it to my left breast and set the lower and upper jaws to the top and bottom of my nipple.  My eyes widened in alarm and I made a low keening sound, pulling hard against the Christmas lights and tape that still held me bound open to the metallic star. 

            She squeezed the stapler and I screamed as the most intriguing pain of the night exploded through the tip of my breast.  Victoria pulled back and I glanced down.  Sure enough, there, caught between the crushed metal slivers was the little nodule of flesh.  It was bright red now and I knew I’d need a screwdriver or some other tool in order to pry the staple open, releasing my nipple.  Victoria flicked a finger at the stapled nub and I cried out again.  The cheer sent up by my first scream was almost dwarfed and then Victoria put the stapler to my other breast.

            There was another burst of pain and then my right side matched my left.  It felt as if she had stuck a flaming hot needle through both nipples, burning them inside and out.  I shook like a leaf and the only thing that kept me from collapsing onto the floor as a blubbering, begging pile of tormented girl was that I was tied to the star.

            I couldn’t see.  My tears blurred my vision and my hair hung down.  I could hear shouted suggestions: open the stapler and puncture her tits!  Cut her more!  Where’s a pair of scissors?  Stuff her cunt!

            But what Victoria did next wasn’t even suggested.  I should have seen it coming of course, but I didn’t, not at least until the stapler came down between my legs.  I squealed as the metal end of the stapler slid through my petals.  Then Victoria turned the desk top tool around, and shoved the back end of the stapler as deep into my pussy as possible.

            Hard edges and unyielding metal do not a dildo make.  I cried out, my body protesting at such a penetration, such an intrusion.  It hurt like the dickens, at least until she began fucking me with it, working the stapler in and out until every inch of my insides were as bruised as my breasts.  It wasn’t a gentle fuck either.  It was a wild ride, a penetrative, straining screw that had me crying out with every thrust.  Even now, I’m surprised I wasn’t bleeding considering the way Victoria was pumping that stapler through my insides.

            And then the games began.  Victoria tugged the stapler out of me, tossing it onto the nearby conference table.  She stalked away to her husband, who had finally managed to get dressed.  They disappeared into the crowd just as another face blocked my view.  My vision blurred as a male voice hissed at me.

            “And now let’s see who wants to get fucked!”

            My breasts were slapped, hard, back and forth.  Someone taped open my labia, only to poke at my clit and inner sex with the end of a wrapping paper roll.  A thin ribbon was looped and tied around my clit and then the stapler was hung from it.  As each person from the department stepped up to take their turn my body suffered worse and worse.  Candles appeared from the main party room and hot wax, really hot wax, was splashed on my bare skin.  In short order I looked like I had spent a month as a slave girl in a middle-eastern country.  There were makeshift whip and cane marks from knee to neck.  Red angry blotches of color were splashed all over my loins, my arms and legs, and my breasts looked as if they were two giant blue-red balloons, about to pop.

            Then several of the men picked up the star and set it down. I found myself looking straight up at the ceiling, still unable to move.  A heavy body lowered down and then I felt the first cock of the evening slide up into me, thrusting rapidly and with little concern to my needs or comfort.  I fought back a wave of dizziness and then felt the thick spurt of white cream fill me completely.  The pressure eased and then I was empty.  For about five seconds.  Then another cock impaled me and we began again.

            The hardest part was dealing with the pain in my breasts.  I could have lain there happily, letting every stupid man from the department fuck my brains out, but the damned staples crushing my nipples, not to mention the overly tight tape that was cutting off what little circulation was getting to the tips of my breasts, all of it dimmed into one painful throb.  It didn’t help when every few thrusts someone would grab a tit and squeeze or swat it.  During one fuck the guy between my legs had a partner who stood at the other end and tried to cut my nipples with a piece of wrapping paper. 

            And then it was over.  No one else was there.  My thighs were dripping wet, slovenly, covered with the spooge of over two dozen men.  Every part of me hurt, especially my back, where the center point of the star still dug lightly but incessantly into my body.  I was practically catatonic, at least until the next pain roused me.  I opened my eyes to see Victoria above me.  Her dress was hiked up to her hips and her bare and shaven pussy loomed above me. 

            “Now behave, or I’ll hurt you so bad you won’t have to worry about working here again,” she said softly, dropping down to straddle the arm of the star that held my head.  Then her sex was at my mouth and I stuck my tongue out, tasting her nectar and lapping dutifully and obediently at her slit.  She settled, swinging her hips, rocking up and down as she fucked my face, using me for her own pleasure, which came soon enough.  She came with a groan and flooded my mouth and nose, splashing down my cheeks to soak me thoroughly.

            And when she got up, another got on.  One of the secretaries maybe. I’m not sure. All I know is that after Victoria was willing to let me tongue her, a dozen or more women from my department moved to collect what they felt was their due.  And while I sucked and licked and tasted orgasm after orgasm, someone pinched and tugged on my clit.  The ribbon that had been tied there had come off during the marathon round of sex and I was being teased mercilessly.  Whoever was down there would bring me close to orgasm, then pinch and slap my clit until I was once more at rock bottom, desperate and in agony.  Then I’d be brought back to the upper edge, only to be dropped off the orgasmic cliff in a rapid descent that had nothing to do with relief.  It was pure torment.

            I gasped for air as the last one came up off me.  I barely remember it.  It was a thick hairy pussy and she walked away with a smirking smile of release. My face looked as if I’d splashed it with goo, covered with girl cum and even a few splatters of white gunk as one or two men added to the mix with hand-beaten cocks.  I licked my lips and tried to swallow, but all I tasted was pussy and I had had enough of that.  Then the star shifted beneath me and rose smoothly up into the air.

            I blinked.  “What the fuck?” I stammered, trying to understand.  There was cheering, and not just from the assembled audience of the room.  I saw Victoria, standing off to the side, her husband in her arms, as I drifted past her.  I struggled against the Christmas lights binding me, my naked body hanging from the metal star.  Then the star rose up even higher, clearing the banister rail of the mezzanine balcony and I saw the tree.

            It glittered, a thousand million lights sparkling on the limbs.  A soft glow of light spread over me as the graviton pulse emitter above us took over for the small hand held unit one of the maintenance men held.  I caught sight of him grinning stupidly, adjusting his pants and I thought I recognized him as one of the men who screwed my brains out.  I rose up even farther, close to the top of the atrium, even with my own office.  Then the star moved slightly.  I glanced down and there was a docking inset, a thick metal spike that stuck up, clearly made to hold and support the star.  It was too big for me to worry about, but I froze as I saw the second spike, a smaller, more diabolical looking one.  I glanced around, looking for someone to help me, when I spied Joel Gibbons standing at the rail, exactly opposite of me.  Dark shadows spilled around him.

            “I took the liberty of changing the docking port, Ms. Erickson.  The large post will no doubt support the star, but I wanted to make sure you were well taken care of as well. After all, you’ve improved morale quite a bit.”

            I looked down frantically.  It was very clear to me where that second post was intended to go.

            “This wasn’t in the agreement, Gibbons!” I said, my voice high pitched.

            He shrugged.  “But you’re a nympho humiliation pain slut.  It’s not outside the limitations of your profession.”  He watched as the last few inches disappeared.  The Star settled and then slid downward, mounting the tree.  I trembled and then felt the thick probe enter my own “socket” driving upward into my body with a penetration saved for criminals and victims of crazy Romanian warlords, usually named Vlad.  The star settled and then blazed to life as the light emitting diodes behind and beneath me came to life.  I felt the heat and then the socket in my pussy began to vibrate, to spin, and then something wet was injected into me. 

            I hung there cumming.  The first hour wasn’t so bad.  The second was worse..  There was no relief.  No stop.  I was bound too tight and the non-stop fucking was almost worse than the pain in my breasts.  The party went on, the drinking and cheering and wining and dining going on below me, the star decoration, the perfect Christmas Ornament.  Sometime that evening I heard Joel Gibbons giving a speech, announcing bonuses and of course, a promotion.

            It was close to three in the morning before the night crew switched off the lights and used the graviton pulse emitter to bring me down.  My pussy looked like I had been screwed by a freight train, rather than merely a fucking machine with non-stop vibrations.  I was too exhausted to stand, and instead I was carried and dumped, naked and practically unconscious on the floor of my office.  One of the men brought me my dress, but took the opportunity to flip me over. His pants came down and he forced his cock into my ass.  That went on for several minutes until he exploded, filling my rear end with white cream.  He tugged a pair of needle nose pliers out of his work bag and pried open the staples that were crushing my nipples.  I remember screaming, holding my hands to my breasts while he stood, the lights were turned off, the door was shut, and I was left to sleep my agony away.

            Victoria opened the door without knocking.  I looked up and smiled warmly at her.  There was a large box on my desk and I was quietly packing away a few of the knickknacks I had brought to personalize the space.  She didn’t look angry, which surprised me, until I realized what had happened.

            “Gibbons told you,” I said, just a tad bit disappointed. I was moving rather slowly since just about every part of me hurt and it was entirely possible I was going to need to see a doctor about some of my injuries.

            She nodded.  “I went to him and confessed.  He told me you were a professional nympho humiliation pain slut and that you weren’t allowed to press charges.”

            I grimaced.  “Well, not exactly.  But you can’t rape a nympho humiliation pain slut, or abuse her as long as she’s still alive with no permanent damage.”

            Victoria nodded.  “What I don’t understand is why.”

            I blinked.  “Why a nympho humiliation pain slut can’t be raped?” I asked, still just a little out of it.

            “No!  Why you treated me and everyone else like dirt!” Victoria said harshly.  “I checked out your online profile.  You seem to be a sweet, sentimental, lovely person.  So why act like a temperamental bitch for the last four weeks?”

            I sighed.  “It’s what I was hired to do.  Gibbons found out that Jennifer Schwabel wasn’t coming back.  She wanted to be with her new baby.  But he also knew that if he just promoted you, the rest of the department wouldn’t work together like they had under Jennifer.  His goal was to give you all a common enemy. And that was me.  I was to focus on you, Victoria, because you would become the leader of the rebellion.”

            Her eyes flashed with understanding.

            I looked deep into her eyes.  “And last night, you led that rebellion.  Now when I leave, your people will see you as the righteous boss who ousted that villainous Breanne, and returned things to normal.  Even Schwabel’s decision to leave the company won’t be enough to destroy the morale of your troops now.”

            She took a deep breath and looked at me.  I was wearing the previous day’s blouse and gray skirt, but I had kept the front of the shirt unbuttoned down to almost my navel.  I wasn’t wearing a bra either.  My breasts hurt too much.

            “I see,” she said.  “Well, I guess I can understand that, but you have to realize that you made my life a living hell for four weeks.”

            I smiled sadly.  “Yes, I know.  I’m sorry about that.  It was a job.”        Then I grinned and said brightly, “but at least you got to punish me for it, right?”

            Victoria suddenly laughed.  “You ARE a nympho humiliation pain slut, aren’t you?”

            “Tried and true,” I replied. 

            “So your contract is up?” she asked.

            I nodded.  “Yep.”

            She stood up and paused, looking at me.  “You know, I really enjoyed punishing you,” she said, her voice a little thicker than usual.

            I glanced up at her face, noticing the energy in her gaze.

            Victoria smiled.  “You know, my husband and I are decorating the tree this Tuesday evening.  Why don’t you come by?”

            One eyebrow went way up on my face.  “For dinner?” I asked, somewhat surprised by her offer.

            Victoria’s grin was filled with wicked promise.  “Oh no.  An official engagement seeing that your current contract is up. You see, I got a promotion last night and that came with a hefty pay raise and a bonus.”

            My look of incredulity changed to one shock and Victoria Swanson smiled wickedly.

            “We’re decorating our tree and I think you deserve another round of punishment,” she said, taking a step closer to me.  She reached out, cupping my cheek.  “Except this time it will be in private.  Just you, me, and my husband.”  Her hand slid down my throat and touched my sore breasts.  “You may think last night was sufficient to repay me, but I don’t,” she said.  “Come prepared to suffer.  You can get my address from HR before you go.”

            I licked my lips.  There wasn’t much to say, was there?  I’m a nympho humiliation pain slut, licensed and legal. I put the last of my belongings in the box and nodded carefully.  “I’ll be there,” I replied. I waited just a moment longer to add the last word and delivered it with a smile.

            “Boss.” 

Michael Alexander and Breanne Erickson wish you and yours the happiest yuletide season!  Stay tuned with us as we bring you the best BDSM erotica available!  

Merry Christmas, and a Happy New Year!

"i love my Master and i think He loves me!" - Grammar Issues?

I will use proper grammar or be punished.

While browsing this morning, I came upon this excellent post at Bondage Blog about Submissive Written Erotica and the grammar adulterations used by newbie authors. 

It is time for a small grammar rant that has building within me for most of ten years now.
There are many many many blogs out there written in the voice of submissive persons who wish to emphasize their submissive status (or even their notional dehumanized, objectified status as a slave or a pet or a piece of furniture) in their prose. It’s an understandable impulse, and since English rules of grammar don’t have a lot of status signifiers built in, the human language response (inevitably) is to invent some.

So far, so good. That’s what we monkeys do when you give us a language. We evolve it to fit our needs of the day. Gives prescriptivists fits, but oh well, they can suck it.

How do we see this expressed in submissive writing? Well, in lots of ways; but the subject of today’s rant is the use of non-standard capitalization. A submissive or slave will often refer to a dominant by a title like “Master” or “Mistress”; and these will be capitalized just as we have long capitalized references to deities and royalty, to emphasize their exalted status relative to the speaker. The related personal and possessive pronouns will then usually be capitalized as well, for consistency and emphasis. Thus: “After breakfast my Master ordered me to fellate Him and then to lick His boots.”

We’re still solidly on the well-traveled road of language speakers evolving their usages to fit their present needs. Awesome. If a non-standard usage is not only clear, but actually does a better job of transmitting the speaker’s intent than standard usages would do, I have no beef. Again, prescriptivists will squawk, and may suck et cetera.

Read the rest of this excellent post (which echoes my opinions exactly) by clicking here.

Cum For Me Again - Michael Alexander

She was stretched out on the bed, eyes closed, breathing softly.  Her skin seemed to glow in the candle light and the warm air caressed her bare skin.  The sheets had been pulled all the way down to the foot of the mattress, folded with precision and she waited patiently for him.  To be honest, it felt good to lay there, relaxed, shut away from the other stresses of her life, but the little kernel of expectation, of imminent need, was more than enough to keep her alert.

When he entered the room she did not even need to open her eyes to know it.  He made no sound, she just knew.  When he touched the sole of her foot it did not surprise her.  He loved every part of her, but the soles of her feet were special.  He loved the arches and his fingertips slid up and down, caressing the tender curvature of her heel all the way to her toes.  It tickled, just a bit, but years of practice had given her the strength to endure it.

His hand grasped her ankle, again softly, but with eager anticipation.  With a gentle pull, he drew her leg outward to the corner of the bed.  She heard the quiet whisper of the satin cord and felt it loop around her limb, just above the foot.  He didn't tighten it and instead she knew he had moved to the other corner.  Sure enough, his fingers again tickled her, though she didn't laugh or even flinch.  She merely shivered as the light touch sliding against the bottom of her sole sent sparks of sensation swirling up through her spine.  It was as if he were priming a pump, using her own weaknesses against her, so that when the true torments began she would be helpless against them.

Another length of cordage was wrapped around her ankle and she did not resist as he opened her.  She knew, even without opening her eyes, that he would be staring hungrily at the light pink slit, freshly shaved, partly open, already glistening with arousal.  His eyes would caress her smooth thighs, right down to the delicate spots behind each knee.  And then he would move upward, just as his hands were doing, sliding across one hip, up her side, and then allow his fingertips to lightly graze her nipple, five little ridges that caused her stomach and sex to tighten even as she swallowed in expectation.

His fingers took her hand and held it for just a moment, two lovers, married in every way.  She was his friend, his wife, his lover, and when she could, his submissive.  Had their lives allowed it she would have spent her days kneeling before him, excepting every caress and torment as if nothing else in the world mattered.  The ring around her finger bound her as surely as the rope did and he wrapped it firmly around her wrist, drawing her arm upward, binding it to the headboard.

He moved around to the other side of the bed and repeated the process, again sending a riot of stimulation through her body with just his fingertips.  She tested her bonds when he was finished and was surprised that he hadn't tightened the ankle ropes.  She could still bend her knees and usually he preferred her close to immobile.   Sometimes that scared her, but never in a bad way.  She knew that he loved her and would take care of her.

His weight moving onto the bed was enough to make her open her eyes and she was surprised to see him laying between her legs, his face and hands mere inches from her open sex.  A small bottle of his favorite oil was in his hand and he uncapped it, pouring the glistening lubricant over her clitoral hood.  He closed the bottle and then set it aside.  Gently, with both hands and propped up on his elbows, he placed his fingers on her labia, and began to rub.

Instantly she stiffened.  The caress was gentle, almost non-existent, a light fluttering that she knew would drive her mad.  It felt so good, so ephemeral, as if butterflies had swarmed against her, their wings the instruments of her torment.  His fingers slid upward and downward, caressing and touching, rubbing the petals of her flower with almost carefree delight, not even responding to the obvious arousal and instead testing her, torturing her with need.  She felt the light touch on her clitoris and arched her back, thrusting her pelvis forward.  The moment she did so she felt his hand move lower, spreading the oil over her perineum and around the sensitive opening of her bottom.

Twisting back down with a gasp, she tried to control her breathing.  Her chest began to heave as his touch became more incessant.  Not heavier per se, but more intense, as if he were testing the texture of her flesh.  He pulled her labia open and then caressed the inner parts of her sex, sending ripples of exquisite pleasure through her.  Again he touched her clit and she couldn't help but arch.  Her pelvis tilted upward even as her knees bent and he slid one finger into her well.

The penetration itself was a torment. She wanted it, needed it, but a single finger itself was not enough.  It was merely  torture, more tinder thrown upon coals, threatening to burst into flame.  His other fingers continued to flutter across and over her petals and clit and it was her own movements that did the most to sensitize her.  Each thrust and arch caused her to impale herself on his extended finger.  It drove her mad.

And then he extended his pinkie.  It danced around her bottom and she gasped.  Now she began to clench her buttocks as well and when the tiny fingertip penetrated, due to no motion of his, but of her own twitching hips, she gasped at the intense pleasure.  She was not a fan of anything anal, but this - this was too much.  It was too soft, too light, and with one thumb pressing and rotating over her clit while the fingers slid up and down her labia, and then to add the single finger penetrations, was more than she could bear.  Her movements became urgent, and her loins danced.  Again he did not move to penetrate her, allowing her the freedom to control depth and speed and she gladly impaled her rump in order to drive his forefinger as deep as possible.

When he added the second finger to her sex she thought she was in heaven.  Beads of perspiration formed upon her brow as she worked herself into a froth.  The very fact that he wasn't even moving his fingers in and out of her was lost in the desperation of her desire, her mind and body working toward a single goal.  It was an elusive one though, as if he knew just how much to give her.  Her chest heaved with the exertion of seeking release and just as she thought it was within her grasp, he stopped the fluttering caresses against her clit and labia, and instead pushed, driving all three digits buried in her depths up to the knuckles.

Was it enough?  She clenched her teeth and let out a moan.  No! She shook her head, trying desperately to work her hips enough to climax.  But he held her there, holding her mere inches away from the finish line.  Slowly the pressure began to ebb, the tide to turn.  She let out a choked sob, some part of her aware that he had only started.  She squirmed as he wiggled the fingers inside her, the sensation of his pinkie in her ass marvelous.  She never would have thought she would willing take anything in her bottom, but she was more than willing to try it now.  Her mind reeled at the possibilities and she admitted to herself that if he wanted, he could roll her over and work his thick manhood into her rear if he'd just let her cum first.

But she didn't give voice to that desire.  She knew that it was merely a bargain, and he didn't like her bargaining.

"A good submissive doesn't bargain with her master," he had told her.  "She accepts what he gives her willingly, out of love.  If I want you to cum.  You'll cum.  If I want you to stew in your own juices, you'll stew.  And if I want to haggle like a used car salesman, I'll go buy a car."

She had laughed at that, but the concept was clear.  He gave.  She accepted.  Her arousal was a gift from him.  All this went through her mind and then she groaned.  The emptiness was almost a pain as he pulled his hand out of her depths.  Her bottom clenched first and that shocked her.  But then she felt him shift and her eyes widened in absolute ecstasy as his tongue began lapping against her clitoris.

He must have used the flavored oil.  The idea went through her brain like the endorphin and adrenaline had.  Then, as her clitoris swelled and he suckled and licked at it, his hands slid up her body to her breasts.  Every part of her tightened as his fingers, still slick with her juices and oil, began rubbing at her nipples.  The tiny points hardened instantly, swelling to the same size as her clit.  She blinked as her brain began shutting down, unable to process any thought not directly related to his stimulation.  She began shuddering, pulling at the ropes, her thighs trembling.  But he kept lapping, his tongue sliding and dancing along her sex.  He would stab at her clit, only to lick down one side of her sex and up the other.  He would suckle her clit into his mouth, rolling his tongue across it, only to let it go and the move lower, sucking in the folds of her flower.

She was beyond desperation and she couldn't control herself.  The word "please" wheezed out of her, half gasp, half whisper.  With each movement of his tongue her desperation became stronger, a pleading whine that came as she was driven half mad with need.  She clenched her teeth, trying to hold herself back, but finally she thrashed, her body no longer under her direct control, but his - which it always had been, and she let out a loud cry.

"Please! Michael! Please! OH TAKE ME!"

He rose up like a tidal wave, gloriously naked and he moved atop her, his thick manhood straining.  The tip glanced against her clit just as his tongue had and then slid downward.  He impaled her with one smooth thrust, a sword in its scabbard, ramming home.  She cried out as his hardness, his length, his very essence entered her and his mouth came down on a nipple, suckling hard.  He pinched at the other breast, not to create pain, but to create sensation and what might have hurt if delivered on its own, was merely an added spice, the pepper to the soup.

He moved quickly, thrusting himself into her loins, his pubic hair rubbing at her clit.  She shook and wished with all her might that her hands and legs were free so that she might curl up around him, locking his hips to hers, driving him deeper.  Her fingers tightened into fists and her toes curled, the arches of her feet rippling.  She threw her head back as the tsunami he had created crested on the shoreline, exploding with white froth and washing away every last footstep on the beach.  Exquisite and unadulterated pleasure blasted through her, opening her veins with heat and she mewled in that sensation that wasn't quite agony, and wasn't quite pleasure, but the biological mixture of them, where sexual heat blossomed. 

And then he matched her, even as her tides began to recede.  He groaned, his face grimacing with the same mixed pleasure.  She felt him stiffen inside her and throb. She knew that the white ribbons of his release were exploding out of his shaft into her depths, swirling and fusing.  He thrust again, and then once more, before his energy ebbed.  He collapsed atop her, still inside as was his habit, his mouth nuzzling her breast, as they caught their breath. 

When his cock had softened he pulled out, rolling over, one leg draped over hers.  She took a deep breath, still lost in the sexual euphoria, the afterglow of release.  She had a sleepy smile on her face, her eyes blank and slightly dazed.  After a few minutes lying together, she wished he would untie her so that she could wrap herself around him, to cuddle him and hold him tight against her.  She wanted to press her breasts to his chest and feel the roughness of his skin.  She lifted her head and looked at him, hoping he could see that desire, that need in her eyes.

"You want to hold me, don't you?" he asked her softly, planting a kiss that tasted of sex on her lips. 

She nodded plaintively.  "Please?"

He smiled warmly, his eyes filled with love.  "Of course my darling.  But you'll have to do one thing for me first," he said softly.

"Anything," she promised with a smile.  He moved, sliding down her body, crossing over until he was once again lying between her legs.  Her eyes widened as he moved his fingers against her sex, staying away from the sensitized clit for the moment.  She felt the fluttering, the caress and she let out a whimper.  Her breath caught in her throat as she felt his pinkie against her bottom, and his forefinger slide into her depths.

"Cum for me again, Jenni"

In The Dark II (A BDSM Anthology) Now Available!

Michael Alexander Productions is pleased to announce the release of In The Dark II (A BDSM Anthology) now available in e-book format from Amazon.com and Barnes&Nobel.com.  In The Dark II is Michael Alexander's latest foray into the short story and novella world and brings his exquisite talent for dark erotica to very forefront.  This collection of tales is no doubt one of the best yet, including several never before read tales including "The Shop," "Calibration", and "The Hunter."  Are you ready to sink into a warm chair before the fire and delve into the wicked tales of Michael Alexander?

Check out the free sample at Michael Alexander Stories! 

or get it now at Amazon.com!

A One Horse Open Sleigh

Eat your heart out Keri.  This is your fault, and yes, I blame you. 

            It was unseasonably warm for December when I knocked on Kari’s door, and to be perfectly honest, I was totally fine with that.  Usually I prefer the cooler temperatures that come with winter, even in South Texas. A heat wave had pretty much baked Houston to the point that I was not only comfortable standing there nude, but liked it.  The late afternoon sun sparkled in the distance and since I was well hidden behind the massive oleander bush that blocks the view to over half of Kari’s front stoop, I was cool.

            It was a little unusual though for Kari to answer the door herself.  I’m used to Robert, her live-in boy-toy, sex slave, and dare I say it, house-husband, coming to the door, his muscular and very naked body on display.  I like grabbing his cock when I come in, squeezing it and giving him just enough nookie to keep him straining.  Call me cruel, but it sometimes comes naturally to me.

            But it was Kari and she smiled at me with this wicked look that had me mentally saying “uh oh,” before she even reached out, grabbed the golden, rose emblazoned padlock that hung from right nipple.  She twisted it a half turn to the right, sending shards of discomfort up through my breast and pulled me and my canvas bag into her condo, all without a word.

            She had decorated for Christmas.  There was a designer tree in the corner all in blue and white, which I thought looked ridiculous.  My family’s tree is multicolored and all our ornaments are little toys that we’ve collected throughout the years. Lots of great memories.  Kari’s tree looked like one decorated for a department store.  It was pretty, but lacked the personal touches that make a tree special.  Of course there were three ornaments on the tree that were well hidden, but unique.   All three I had given her and I was pleased to see them.  One was this beautiful crystal snowflake that I had fallen in love with one day while we were visiting Fredricksburg.  The second was a cast resin, but hand-painted model of a Texas Cowgirl, with long red hair, wearing a short, short denim skirt, a plaid shirt tied up at the midriff, with large breasts, boots, cowgirl hat, and if you were naughty and turned her upside down, some nineteen year old nympho humiliation pain slut had actually painted in a rather obvious anatomically correct slit, clearly stuffed with a vibrator, with a small but diabolical clothespin strategically attached to her clit.

            Yes. I can even make Christmas naughty.