Sunday, December 10, 2017

New Technology Means New Opportunities

Michael Alexander Stories began almost eight years ago, in December of 2009. As technology has improved, we have found our website becoming more difficult to keep operating and up to date. As a result, my webmaster has suggested that we move to a slightly different format. While the blog will remain operating just as it always has, we're trying the new site out on a temporary basis, just to get a feel for it.

We welcome your input and if you'd like to check out what is only the beginnings of a new home at Michael Alexander Stories, then please join us. Click the link below and check out some of the best dark erotica on the internet today!

Passion Servant - By Michael Alexander

It was just after ten o’clock when the carriage pulled up in front of the homes along St. Andrew’s Square. As usual, a light drizzle was falling from the murky London sky and the cabbie hopped down to give the girl a hand. Normally he wouldn’t have bothered, considering the quality of her dress, but she was a right beauty. Her face was almost perfect porcelain, with sparkling sapphires set in cream. Her nose was turned upward just a smidgen, giving her small mouth and thick lips a perpetual bemused expression. Her hair, ringed locks of gold, cascaded down around the sides of her head, peeking out from beneath the veil she wore against the dreary sky.

She couldn’t have been more than eighteen years of age, and a beauty, but her clothing marked her, at least to the cabbie’s well-tuned eyes. He didn’t need to be a “consulting detective” to see that she was unemployed and hoping for work, or that the outfit she was wearing was the single best thing she owned. She lacked the sophisticated grace of a proper finishing school and unless something lucky happened to her… well… that didn’t bear thinking about. Still, there was something about her wide-eyed amazement as she took in the stately row of homes before her that made him want to smile.

She returned the cabbie’s grin and handed out her luggage. It was thick enough to carry perhaps two or three days’ worth of clothing, but from the way it felt in his hand he doubted there was much in it at all. His experienced eye saw that the edges were well worn and the leather was cracking.The handle, which had once been screwed onto the frame, was missing a fastener and had been reattached with a simple scrap of wire. A small detail, barely noticeable, unless one was looking.

She hopped down, a pleasant smile on her face. “Now then sir,” she said brightly. “How much do I owe you?”

“Shilling and fourpence, miss.” He smiled to take the sting out of it. Her eyes widened and he could see her swallow and he mentally cursed himself. She didn’t have it. Then she seemed to steel herself, nodded respectfully at him, and brought out her purse. When she opened the tiny bag his heart fell. She had the fare, but there were only two coins in the small satchel. She fished out the two shillings and handed them over. He didn’t even consider the possibility that she was intending to tip him. He carefully counted out her change and passed it back. She looked at him gratefully and then she curtseyed.

“Thank you, sir.” It came out as a whisper.

He shook his head with a rueful smile. “Whatever you’re seeking here Miss, I hope you find it.”

She smiled again and he felt a sudden warmth in his heart. “I hope so too. Not many options left.”

He touched the brim of his cap. “Best of luck, miss.” Then he climbed back up into his cab and flicked the reigns. The sound of the horses’ hooves were loud against the cobblestone but faded quickly into the London drizzle.

She pulled out the advertisement. It was dog-eared and heavily folded, but her keen eyes were able to compare the addresses. The cabbie had done as promised, delivering her exactly in front of 38 St. Andrew’s Square. A small, metal set of numbers adorned the lintel above the door. She clutched her valise tighter in her hand. She nodded to herself and then resolutely marched up the short set of stairs to the door.

She fidgeted nervously, smoothing down the skirt she wore, wishing she could have afforded a corset. Still, she was trim enough. She checked to make sure the buttons of her shirt were buttoned all the way to her collar, and when she was as ready as she could make herself, she knocked three times. She closed her eyes and uttered a silent prayer to St. Jude, and bit her lip. She didn’t have time for doubts because the door opened.

The man who answered was clearly the butler, or perhaps another servant. He was dressed in dark slacks, pressed tight with a crease, a white shirt with black vest, and wore a close fitting tie. His hair was gray, but he had a kindly face. His eyes softened the moment they fell on the girl.

“Yes?” he inquired.

She opened her mouth to speak but found herself momentarily flummoxed. She quickly cleared her throat. “I’ve come to apply for the position advertised,” she said seriously.

He blinked. “Have you now,” he said deeply. “And are you aware of nature of the position?” His voice was twinged with suspicion.

“Of course,” she said with certainty. “It is for that of ‘passio’ servant’. The advert was very specific,” she chided. “Blond hair, between the age of 16 and 18, fit and resilient.”

He looked her up and down. “You do seem to meet the qualifications,” he acknowledged.

She grinned. “Then I am to be permitted entrance for an interview?” She asked.

He bowed once, a tiny smile forming on his lips. “Entrance. An interview will be at His and Her Grace’s will.” His mouth twitched. "And general disposition," he added wryly.

Her eyes widened and her smile deepened. Grace? His and Her’s? That meant an earl or possibly even a Duke! No wonder they were willing to pay so much money! Fifty pounds for a sixteen week stint of service was unheard of. And with fifty pounds she could buy lodging, fine clothes, even try courting a young gentleman! She curtseyed to the butler and as he stepped aside and held open the door, she waltzed in.

The town-home was exquisitely decorated and she calculated more wealth in the foyer alone than she’d seen in her entire life. At least in one residence. The orphanage run by the nuns had been a stark, cold place and when she rejected the offer of the Abbess to join the order she hadn’t been given much. Fortunately she could read and the strange advertisement in the daily had caught her eyes.

“Wait here and I’ll see if their Graces are available for an immediate audience.”

She nodded and sat down on the small bench that lined the wall. Of course she wouldn’t be shown to the sitting room. After all, she was applying for a servant’s position. She waited patiently, humming under her breath. He returned in less than a minute.

“They will see you,” he said gruffly.

She smiled and stood, picking her valise off the floor.

“You may leave your luggage here. I will take care of it for you,” he said quietly. She frowned, a little quirk of indecision, but then accepted the man at his word. After all, he might be her superior in a few minutes. She set down the luggage and then followed him up the stairs to the second floor.

“We’re not seeing them in their sitting room?” She asked curiously, glancing about.

The butler shook his head. “Their Graces keep the second story of the residence open as a lounge, to better suit their interests. They are both there currently and bade me to bring you to them.”

“I see,” she said, though she didn’t. They arrived at a closed door at the top of the stairs and the butler turned toward her.

“Answer any and all of their questions, and for your sake I hope you ask some of your own,” he urged her quietly.

Her eyebrows dipped. “Ask my own questions?”

He nodded. “You seem far too innocent of this world.”

That put a bit of spark back in her and she glared at him. “I beg your pardon, but I am an educated woman, well-traveled, and quite informed.” She said distinctly.

The butler sighed, shook his head, then knocked.

“Enter,” came a commanding voice through the wooden door.

The butler twisted the knob and led the girl onto the second floor.

The room she found herself in was strange. That was all she could muster in the way of descriptive adjective. The walls were covered from floor to ceiling in Asian tapestries and silks and the entire floor, except for a staircase leading to the third floor, was open. The furniture in the room, at least those pieces not covered with white clothes, as if to protect them against a chimney cleaning, were positioned in odd little groups. There were settees, chairs, benches, and loungers, none of which matched. The room reeked of both tobacco and opium and the girl wrinkled her nose at the contrasting scents.

“The girl, your Graces,” the butler said, bowing once.

“Ah yes. Thank you Wordsworth. You may leave.” It was a woman’s voice and the girl had trouble locating the source, only to spot an attractive woman in her mid-thirties lounging on a nearby sofa. A cigarette in a holder dangled from the woman’s fingers, but what immediately shocked the girl was the state of Her Grace’s attire. The woman wore only the flimsiest of robes and while it did cover her more salient parts, large swaths of bare skin, from throat to… well… her unmentionables, were quite exposed. The robe parted again, showing the woman’s shapely leg. The girl stood there in astonishment, never having seen anything so wanton and inappropriate in her life.

“My dear girl, you look like you’ve swallowed a magpie,” the woman said. “Close your mouth directly.”

The girl closed her mouth obediently, still blinking is surprise.

“Very good. There is chair, there between his Grace and I,” the woman said, pointing to a single wooden chair, without arms, that sat in an awkward place. “Please sit.”

The girl, still feeling very disconcerted, moved forward and sat down, resolutely looking away from her Grace’s state of attire.

“Very good. I see you fit our physical requirements for the position quite well. Tell me, child. What is your name?”

The girl swallowed. “Chastity Valwood, your Grace.”

The woman suddenly burst out into rich laughter. “Oh? Chastity is it? How droll!”

Chastity gave the woman a corkscrewed glance of confusion. “You find my name funny?” She asked, slightly offended.

“Oh no dear. Not funny. Ironic. To the British sense of humor that is an essential element.” The woman cleared her throat. “Harold. Harold!”

A rumbling grunt from another part of the room caused Chastity’s head to swivel and her eyes widened as a man wearing nothing but trousers, suspenders and a bowler cap suddenly sat up, toppling a pile of blankets onto the floor. The fact he wasn’t wearing a shirt seemed to have escaped him as he blinked, then swept his fingers along his waxed mustache.

“Yes my dear?” He asked, blinking either sleep or stupor from his eyes.

“Rouse yourself, you cretin. We have an applicant. Her name is ‘Chastity’.” Her Grace said the name with a certain emphasis.

He grumbled and coughed as Chastity looked away, appalled at seeing him in such a similar undressed state as his wife. It just wasn’t proper. Though… at least he didn’t look so… so… she glanced back at her Grace for just a second. Sexual.

“Oh. I see,” he muttered. “Now where did I put my shirt?” he mumbled.

“For heaven’s sake, Harold. It’s on the back of the sofa behind you,” her Grace spat.

Chastity just stayed quiet, wondering what the hell she was doing there.

“Please forgive his Grace,” the woman said. “He’s a bit of a hedonist and when we’re between Passio Servants he falls prey to the more chemically minded hobbies those of his ilk engage in.” She said it in a disapproving tone, glaring once more at the man. He didn’t seem to care, finding his shirt and sliding it on. Chastity felt a bit better as the man buttoned up the front, but he didn’t seem to realize that his collar was turned up on the left and so he looked a bit ridiculous.

Her Grace thought so as well when she caught sight of him, but rather than informing him, she snorted and rolled her eyes, both of which she meant Chastity to see, so that the girl could feel a little better. A tiny giggle escaped from between her lips. She’d been told that the rich could be… well… eccentric. But she’d truly had no idea.

“I’m curious, Chastity Valwood, about the nature of your name,” her Grace began.

Chastity blinked. “My name?”

“But of course. You seem to be an educated young lady. Do you know your name’s meaning?”

Chastity frowned. “Yes. It means ‘purity’ and ‘innocence’.”

“Ah yes, but from what?” The man suddenly rumbled.

That confused the blond girl sitting on the chair. “I’m sorry, your Grace?”

Her Grace laughed. “Never mind him. You clearly know the meaning behind your name, but are you aware that it happens to be a word in the common idiom as well?” Chastity’s eyes narrowed. She had only been interviewed twice before and neither had gone like this. She’d been asked about how hard a worker she was and what skills she had.

“Um, no ma’am,” she replied, becoming flummoxed.

“The definition of the word chastity is the state or practice of refraining from extramarital, or more accurately, from all sexual intercourse.”

Chastity’s eyes widened and the scarlet blush on her cheeks made her feel hot. She didn’t reply to such a scandalous statement.

“Where were you born?” Her Grace asked firmly, changing the subject.

“South Hampton, your Grace,” Chastity said, clearly relieved to be discussing something other than the source of her name.


"Common, your Grace, and I regret to say, dead. They died of fever when I was five. I was taken in by the Nun’s orphanage.”

There was a long pause. “The Nun’s Orphanage?” The man finally asked in disbelief.

Chastity blinked. Had she said something wrong? “Um… yes your Grace?”

There was another long pause and it seemed as if the lady and man were both privately considering her words. Chastity fidgeted on the chair.

“Why did you not choose the nunnery?”

Chastity frowned. There were a number of reasons, mostly personnel. She hadn’t like the rules and lack of freedom. And there were mysteries in the world she wanted to examine. She wanted to find a man, to make love, to perhaps one day be a mother…

“I felt it wasn’t right for me,” she said finally.

Her Grace hummed curiously. “In what way?”

Chastity considered her answer carefully. “I felt it was too restrictive. I’m a free spirit. I want to experience things for myself, to see them and taste them and understand them. The nuns were very nice, but the idea of locking myself away in that way seemed unconscionable.”

“Do you consider yourself to be athletic?” the woman asked a moment later.

“Athletic? You mean like able to carry and lift and climb, your Grace?”

“To endure!” his Grace interrupted, startling Chastity. His voice seemed to roll across the room like far away thunder.

“Harold! I swear,” her Grace said in exasperation. “Please cut the theatrics. The poor girl is terrified enough without you shouting at her.”

Chastity stared at the exchange. She wasn’t fearful of the man, but more dumbstruck by his behavior. And the duchess seemed not much better. “I’m not frightened,” she quickly assured them both. “But yes, I consider myself athletic. At the orphanage I could sweep and clean and make the beds faster than any of the other children and when the pigs escaped I was one of the few girls who could run them down,” she declared proudly, only to realize how unladylike that actually sounded. “Except, that was when I was a child, very young,” she amended, hoping they wouldn’t take exception.

“Well that does sound very athletic,” Her Grace said approvingly. She sat up straighter and Chastity had to glance away as the woman’s robes fell forward, revealing a well-rounded bodice. “And what do you know of love, Chastity?”

Chastity bit her lip and stared over at the man, who had settled with his arms crossed, his fingers idly twisting his mustache. “Your Grace?”

“Surely a beauty such as yourself as been wooed before? Some young man from the church choir perhaps? An altar boy who fancied you? Have there been dalliances in quiet corners or secret shadows?”

Chastity gasped and flashed a look back at the woman, a flush of anger giving her a bit of moxie. Beneath her long skirt she pressed her knees even tighter together. “Of course not, your Grace. And I don’t take kindly to the implication. I’m not that sort of girl! I’m respectable.” The last bit was more of a reassurance to herself, than any sort of declaration.

The woman smiled warmly. “I take you selected to apply for this position because of the money it paid, instead of because of special knowledge pertaining to the services you would be rendering?”

Chastity opened her mouth to deny the accusation, but she faltered. That was exactly the case. She hung her head and nodded dispiritedly. A sweeping sense of failure settled over her and she knew that she’d already lost the job.

“Don’t despair, child. You still fit the requirements of the job, but let me explain exactly what a Passion Servant is.” Her Grace stood up and Chastity realized that the woman was actually nude beneath the robe. Her eyes widened in alarm as the woman drew closer, her voice molten sensuality.

“As a passion servant, you would be required to sexually service both myself and his Grace, using your entire body; but most especially your mouth, cunt, and arse. You would not be allowed clothes and your pubic hair would be shaved daily. You would be subjected to a variety of sexual torments, inflicted upon you by us. You would be forced to orgasm, as well as bring us and possibly others to the same climax. As a Passion Servant you would be frequently bound, chained, or manacled and forced into indecent positions, exposing the delicate lines of your body to our eyes, and for our amusement and entertainment. You would be directed to complete sexual acts, difficult and possibly outrageous ones, with inanimate objects or even animals. You would also be punished, usually by tawse or the leather sap, upon your genitals, twice per day, regardless of wrongdoing. Your bottom would be frequently spanked and there would be few moments when you were not impaled with some sort of sexual novelty. Your days would ricochet from one sensual, mind-numbing pleasure to another. You would beg for more, for less, for anything we liked, and like the others, you would find yourself pleading to be allowed to stay, even to the point of being willing to give up the money in exchange for the hedonistic delights of debauchery.”


Chastity stared up at the woman, her mouth open, her face a terrified mask of horror. Her Grace’s robe had fallen open, the sweeping depths of her d├ęcolletage exposed. The woman’s nipples were pierced with tiny silver hoops and her belly button sported similar dressage. A dark tattoo, unlike anything Chastity had ever seen, seemed to spiral along one side of her Grace’s torso, drawing the eye toward the woman’s sex. A trimmed triangle of hair stood out in dark contrast above a darkly pink and obviously wet slit, the petals of the woman’s sex open and inviting. Her thighs were milky white and smooth, the curve of calf and ankle both delicate and sweet. Her Grace leaned forward and ran her finger along Chastity’s temple, tucking a fallen strand of gold behind the girl’s ear and leaned forward, the scents of cinnamon, cloves, and allspice. Her skin glistened.

“I’m hungry, my dear. And you? You are a beauty of unconscionable worth. Every bit worthy of devouring.”

Harold loomed closer, his eyes dark and brimming with need. Chastity felt a strange sensation as his eyes lingered upon her, a tingling against her skin, and then a strange dampness she couldn't explain. Her heart thudded in her chest and then she felt the light touch of her Grace's fingers along her neck, sliding down over her shirt, finding the tip of Chastity's breast. The nipple hardened instantly and the poor girl sucked in a hard breath of air.

Chastity jumped to her feet, away from the woman, spinning toward the door. She struggled for a moment against the knob, somehow thinking it might be locked for a moment, before the portal swung open against her flailing fists. She thundered down the stairs, tears forming, and she found herself back in the entrance foyer. She stared up the steps, half expecting the demonic woman to come flying down on batlike wings, her eyes blazing like coals. Chastity racked in a quiet sob and buried her head in her hands as she sat down on the bench. She wanted to collect herself before she stepped out the door.

A moment later she sensed a presence and she jerked her hands away from her face to see the butler, standing nearby. He didn’t say anything to her, but stared in pity at the girl. Finally he sighed.

“The way I see it, you have two choices. You go out that door; no skills, no money, no prospects. You might get lucky, but more likely you don’t. Either you get sick, starve, and die, or you end up selling what most women in your position always seem to have." 

Chastity was no fool. She knew what the butler meant.

"Your threadbare clothes won’t rate you men of quality, despite your fresh face, and you’ll be used by gutter trash who are little better than animals. You’ll catch disease from them and your time on this earth will be measured in months instead of years." He gave her a meaningful look.

"Or, you can stay. You can remove your clothing, march back up those steps, and allow his and her Graces to use you as they see fit. It will be the most intense experience of your life. After sixteen weeks of which you will be hale, healthy, infinitely experienced, wiser, worldlier, and richer by fifty pounds sterling.”

Chastity looked up, tears streaking her cheeks. “What about my soul?” She cried, her tears now streaming.

The butler shrugged. “I doubt God will love you any less if you engage in the act of sex. He told us to be fruitful and multiply, did he not? Though you will drink a medicinal herb here that prevents pregnancy. And if he really didn’t want us fucking, wouldn’t it have been one of the commandments?”

She hiccuped, eyes rimmed with red. “His Grace is violating the seventh!” she whimpered.

The butler laughed. “In front of her Grace? Oh not to worry. Neither of them are married,” the butler scoffed. He came closer and then sat down next to her. He reached into his coat and pulled out a handkerchief. It was white and quite clean. He handed it to her and she took it willingly, trying to dry her eyes and then dabbing at her nose.

“Do they really,” she hiccuped again. “Hurt people?”

The butler sighed. “Not like what you’d imagine I expect. But yes. They do inflict small amounts of pain. They do it in such a way, at such times, that the Passion Servant always seems to like it. Or want more.”

Chastity shook her head. “I don’t understand. How could anyone want to be hurt?”

“His and Her Graces have made a study of such things. I couldn’t begin to answer. But I have seen girls, such as yourself, so overcome with desire and need, that the touch of a whip, not brutally or viciously applied, but sparingly and lovingly, is the only thing that can help her achieve the next level of spiritual and sexual consciousness. I’ve seen a girl as wholesome as you, screws applied to her bosom, beg for them to be tightened in order to feel her desire more strongly. I’ve seen girls as pretty as you, offer the bottoms of her feet, her thighs, and breasts and bottom as targets for the switch, because the reward of what came next would be enhanced by the pain now. So no, I have no answer for you. Why do we find it hot or cold? Why is the sky blue? Ask me instead how to find fresh avocados in the middle of a dreary London spring day.”

Chastity blinked. “What’s an avocado?”

The butler smiled. “Stay and find out. There are other pleasures besides carnal in this house.” He rose carefully, then smiled to her. “I hope you can find your own way out, miss.” He smiled. “Presuming you aren’t staying.” He turned and headed down the hall, obviously toward the kitchens. Chastity watched him go. Torrents of emotion seemed to be sweeping through her. She swallowed hard, resolution etched upon her face and she grabbed her aging valise and stood. She went to the door, yanking it open, fully intending to throw herself out of that pit of sin...

Into the rain. She paused, staring out at the myrk. She'd be soaked in seconds. And cold. She shivered on the doorstep, her mind churning through everything she'd just seen and heard. Her Grace's touch, the beauty of her skin, even his Grace's booming voice. But it was the butler who had spoken hard truth. He was right. She had barely any money, and no place to stay. She was at the end of her limits. A fresh sob of grief overwhelmed her and she cried. She didn't even have the means to get back to the nunnery! 

Slowly she closed the door, stepping back into the foyer. She realized she had made a decision. She knew what she was going to do. A wave of sweeping anxiety swept over her. She was so afraid!

Still, if she were going to do this, she had to do it right. She took a deep breath and turned back to the small bench. She placed the bag on the seat, and with one eye on the door and the other on the empty hall, she quickly began to unbutton her shirt. All she wore beneath was a white colored breast band and with a growing sense of resignation, she slipped this off as well. Her fingers worked fast at the cord that held her skirt closed and then it too fell free. She stepped out of the material, folding it quickly and placing it next to her shirt. She removed her boots and stockings, and last of all, her underclothes. Everything she set into her case and was surprised there was still room to spare.

Barefoot and naked she cast her eyes up the stairs and set one foot before the other. She climbed, her heart thudding hard beneath her ribs, her skin tingling. The carpet felt strange under the bare soles of her feet. Her hands kept fluttering across her loins, one arm tightly bound against her breasts. She bit her lip and had to tell herself to walk normally, to relax, but in the end she couldn’t. The door at the top of the stair was still open and she pushed back through it into the half-lit, otherworldly demesne of his and her Graces. 

“Ah, she returns,” Harold intoned. “And appropriately attired.”

Chastity blushed crimson, but it was sufficient enough to make her drop her hands. It exposed the thick and stubby bush of hair between her legs, but also the sweet and delicate curves of her young breasts. Then her Grace swirled into Chastity’s vision. The robes were open even more now and there was a slickness against the woman’s thighs, glistening in the candlelight.

“Child, you have anticipated the final question, the need for us to see your body. And you are perfection indeed. Easily one of the most stunning of specimens. I offer you the position of Passion Servant, for the duration of sixteen glorious weeks, for sum of fifty pounds sterling.”

“I… I accept.” Chastity said, her voice crackling with tension.

Her Grace reached out a hand and Chastity took it. Then, much to the young girl's shock, she was drawn into a passionate embrace. Her Grace's skin was warm and slick and smelled like everything good that had ever come out of a baker’s oven. Her Grace began sliding her hands up and down Chastity’s body, sending shivers through the young girl. It felt so wrong, and yet so right. Chastity moaned as waves of pleasure danced along her skin. Then her Grace put both hands on the girl’s bare shoulders.

“How…” began Chastity, but her Grace quickly placed a finger against the girl’s lips.

“No. Don’t speak. You have no voice. No questions. You will do as you’re told.” The woman began to walk around the girl, still touching her with gentle fingertips. “I will prepare you for your first duty, your first torment, your first desperate cry of longing. I will set your nerves afire with so much need so that when you finally beg me to take you, to give you what you’ve longing for, the pain will be nothing.”

Chastity swallowed. “I’m afraid,” she whispered.

Her Grace smiled. “I know. But first, pleasure. Pleasure unlike any you could imagine.” She took Chastity’s hands and drew the naked, defenseless, barefoot waif forward, past the hulking form of his Grace and his hungry eyes, into the darkness… and corruption.

Saturday, November 25, 2017

No Right To Shoes - Part Eight

This is Part Seven of a multi-part series. If you haven't already read  Part One, Part Two, Part ThreePart FourPart Five, Part Six, and Part Seven please do so.  

Part Eight

I was sitting at my desk, typing, trying very hard to ignore the looks I’d been getting from the half dozen people who had walked through the atrium over the last twenty minutes, when Kari came into my little lobby area. She looked down, her mouth curling up into a wide smile.

“Oh yes. How appropriate,” she murmured to herself. “This I can work with.”

I felt a little thrill of excitement at hearing that, but it was purely a physical response, my body reacting to the idea of Kari touching me, rather than an emotional one. In my case, being the subject of Kari’s “work” was sort of like staring in a pornographic “torture and abuse” film.

Just with a more limited audience.

Still, I understood what she was talking about. I felt like I was practically naked, because for all intents and purposes, I was. My bare toes stuck out at the end of a pair of nine inch tall platform sandals, with heels that arched my soles into something that bordered on back-breaking. I’d washed my feet of course, and even put some lotion on them, but nothing was going to make wearing my stripper shoes any easier.

The mini-skirt that went with the shoes didn’t border on “decent.” The skirt violated the concept like a passenger on a bus groping some innocent little school girl who doesn’t know enough to say anything when someone sticks their finger into her panties and then up her slit. Blue, loose, short, and ruffled, the skirt barely covered my ass and sitting down meant my buttocks being directly in contact with whatever I was sitting on. And since I wasn’t wearing any panties…

The top? I’m sad to say I was wearing my white peasant blouse, the one I’d gotten a few years before and is my number one, top hated shirt of all time. Mostly it’s because it isn’t a shirt. It’s a curtain, a short one at that. If you know window treatments or watch the Home and Garden Television Network, you probably know what a valance is. If so, imagine a very short one, stretched across the middle of sternum, barely covering my breasts. If I leaned over, even a little bit, I could literally allow my tits to fall out, exposing my nipples. God help me if I leaned over, or back, or stood someplace with a health breeze. And let me assure you, there was nothing under the blouse but my bosom, both nipples pierced with tiny, gold hoops, one of which served as the attachment point for a gold, charm-sized padlock.

I have issues.

The most important thing though, was that the bottoms of my feet weren’t soaked in cum, or being beaten. And my poor ass was no longer the target of Kari’s punishments. She couldn’t hurt me, not for what I was wearing. So all I had to do was keep from cumming - and I knew that even if she turned the vibroballs all the way up, I’d be fine. For awhile.

Kari looked down at me. “I know I only enforce this rule occasionally, but I think today would be appropriate,” she said softly, seductively, even wickedly. I glanced up at her in suspicion.

“For the rest of the day, you will abide by my rule about keeping your knees apart. If I see your knees closer than eight inches at any time, then you will be punished.”

I blinked even as my mouth fell open. “Kari! I’m wearing the blue skirt!” I protested. She knew damn well that there was no way to keep anything under the skirt hidden unless I kept my knees tightly together, or better yet - crossed.

Kari reached down, slipped her hand up the front of the peasant blouse, grabbed my breast, twisted the nipple, and repeated herself as I whimpered. “Keep your knees apart. Spread them. Now.”

So I spread my legs.

The skirt did exactly what I expected it to. It rode up my thighs and revealed, with absolutely no difficulty, my sopping wet slit. The petals were flushed a dark pink, still colored from the cropping Kari had given me. My clitoris was extended, slightly swollen, and an even darker, more inviting color. And since Kari had pushed my chair slightly back, the illumination from the overhead light made my entire sex entire visible. My eyes flickered upward as movement caught my eye and I saw Jonathan Wilcox waving at me, eyes bright, a big smile on his face. I felt my cheeks go hot and Kari looked, then nodded toward Jonathan as he gave her a thumbs up. Then off he went.

“Lunch time,” Kari announced in a sing song voice. “Come along. This is your opportunity to cover that sweet spot of yours.”

I stood up. Fast. But I was still careful not to let my knees touch. Kari gestured toward the door and I went through it quickly, my hands brushing at my skirt, trying to get it to cover more than the material was designed to handle.

Then, much to my surprise, Kari knelt down and locked the door. You should have seen my eyebrow go up! Why didn’t she have me do it? It would have been an opportunity to humiliate me even more. My ass would have been hanging out, my tits would have fallen free from the peasant blouse as I leaned down… I gave her a confused look but she just smiled. Then off we went. I made it to the door before I realized what I’d left behind.

My options.

“Kari! Wait!” I exclaimed. “I forgot my bag!”

Kari rolled her eyes. “Hardly. You won’t need it,” she declared and pushed out of the atrium. I didn’t have my purse, or my keys, so I had to follow her. “Kari!” I hissed. “What if I need a condom or something?” I asked furtively. She shrugged.

“I have a few to loan you if needed,” she replied, heading toward her convertible.

There was no choice. I had to confess. “Kari - what if I want to change shoes?” I demanded. It was my way out. If she did something to me I couldn’t handle… at least I could change shoes… and the accompanying attire.

That stopped her and she whirled, her keys in her hand. She gave me an icy stare. “You have decided on the stripper shoes, and the outfit that goes with it. When we return you may change footwear, and thus clothing. Until then, this is what you get to wear.” It was a declaration. A decision. And I knew when I heard that imperial tone, there was no appeal. Crestfallen, realizing that I’d fallen right into her trap, I shuffled along behind her to the car.

Kari drives a red convertible and the roof was already down, folded up into the compartment by the trunk. With my bottom lip caught between my teeth, I opened the door and slid in, silently wondering if she’d be able to catch me if I ran instead. I fell into the bucket seat, my skirt sliding up to my waist, and it was only by the grace of God that I managed to jerk my knees apart before she saw them touching.

“Wider please,” She said as she sat down next to me. I gave her a wilting look, but she just smiled cruelly, so I spread my legs until one knee was jammed against the console and the other was pressed to the door.

“Excellent. Now lean back. Push your hips forward. A bit more. There. Perfect,” she instructed.

I found myself slouched in the seat, bent at the small of my back, with my entire pussy in full view. My blue skirt was wrapped around my waist in a two inch band and the petals of my sex were glistening with moisture. Kari smiled, started the car, and put the gear into reverse. I sat there, closing my eyes, praying that she was either going to put the hood up, or let me sit up straight. But as we started going forward, I gasped as I felt her hand move between my legs, away from the gear shift. Her middle finger gently stroked my inner labia, rubbing the moisture upward until she found my clit and the noise I made went quite a bit beyond “feeling good.” It was pure bliss. I gasped as my pussy tightened around the still silent vibroballs.

As the car moved, so did Kari’s finger and waves of exquisite pleasure left me breathless. Kari kept her hand there, cupping my sex, essentially hiding it from view, even as she endlessly stroked my kitty. Forget the vibroballs. Who the hell needs that kind of stimulation when someone is lightly caressing your clitoris? I felt the wind pickup and I had to wrap a hand across my chest to keep the peasant blouse from fluttering up, exposing my tits to every other driver on the planet. I glanced over at Kari, opening my eyes, only to see a self-satisfied smirk on her face. I wanted her to push her finger into me, and I thrust my hips lewdly, signaling my need, but she kept on just fondling my petals. Within minutes, or miles maybe, I was a pile of wet, quivering, desperate nympho humiliation pain slut, my blouse was flapping in the wind, and I didn’t even seem to care that the occasional truck driver was getting a spectacular show of just about everything..

But all good things have to come to an end and Kari removed her hand from my groin when we pulled up into the parking lot of one of our regular restaurants. I sat there, trying not to hyperventilate, or worse, grab her hand and push it back down between my legs. I looked up at her as she licked once at the tip of her middle finger, gave me a look that sparkled with mischief, then climbed out of her car.

“Come on,” she said. “Let’s get something to eat.”

Still trembling, I got out of the car

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Saturday, November 18, 2017

No Right To Shoes - Part Seven

This is Part Seven of a multi-part series. If you haven't already read  Part One, Part Two, Part ThreePart FourPart Five, and Part Six, please so so.  

Part Seven
I managed to keep the flip flops on through the next hour, though it got dicey for a bit. The vibrator pendant was arousing me to the point where I was seriously wondering if I was going to have to sneak out for another orgasm, or just go and confess my sins and accept the punishment. To make matters worse, Kari had turned on the vibroballs, just to low, but the combination of vibrations inside and outside my sex left me feeling as if I were edging on thin ice, waiting for the crust to break and drop me into the cold water.

That happened long before the cum in my thongs dried and I’m sure I looked quite fetching, sitting there in my chair, legs spread wide enough so that the stupid, little, white skirt rolled up my thighs, showing off the slick, hot, pink folds of my sex, the clamped and throbbing clit, not to mention how I brought both hands up, cupping my breasts, squeezing them even as the clover clamps chewed on my nipples. My ass tightened around the jeweled anal plug and I bit my bottom lip, closed my eyes, and shuddered through explosion number two.

Of course Kari heard me.

“You were instructed not to explode,” she said in heated satisfaction a moment later, standing beside me and looking down at the wet, sodden mess I’d made of myself.

“Sorry,” I replied breathlessly, feeling really, really good and not worried even a little about what she might do to me. At that point, I figured she’d leave my feet alone. She would hardly want to work through the disgusting mess I was technically standing in. She lifted a small key fob looking controller and I groaned as the vibroballs inside me suddenly increased speed. I looked up at her in concern, well aware that she was basically just tormenting me into breaking the rules again.

“That’s my punishment?” I asked, resisting the need to tremble in response to the increased stimulation.

She smirked. “Hardly.” Then she opened the top drawer of my desk. I watched, first with calm coolness, then with alarm, as she plucked two, black one inch binder clamps out of a little tray there. And not the kind that I’d deliberately damaged so that the pincer ends wouldn’t quite close. She set the pair on the desk right in front of me. “I think these would do quite well attached to your labia.”

I swallowed. Gulped really. Sure, I’ve had my pussy clamped like that, but I knew what it was going to feel like.


Kari stood there, waiting patiently, so I spread my legs even wider. Had there been anyone standing out in the atrium they’d certainly have gotten an amazing, well lit show. I reached for the clamps, and only then noticed my fingers were trembling. Oh God the vibrators felt good!

Kari didn’t say a word as picked up the first clamp and then pushed my fingers of the other hand through my slit. I gasped, hips thrusting a bit, as I pressed on the vibrator pendant. It tugged on my clit and with the vibroballs roaring, felt amazing. I pinched open the first binder clip and tried to get my outer pubic lips between the metal. From experience, I knew that the most important part would be opening the thing up as much as possible. When it closed, it caught a good portion of my labia, squeezing it, but with a tolerable pinch instead of something that hurt.

Well… something that didn’t hurt as much. I put the other clamp on shuddered.

“That appears satisfactory,” Kari declared. “Again, no cumming.” Then she turned and started down the hall.

“Kari!” I called out after her. She paused. “How am I supposed to not cum when you’ve turned up the vibroballs?” I asked. “I’m already dealing with the vibrating pendant on my clit.”

She shrugged. “It’s part of the punishment. You know that.” She started walking again as I muttered under my breath.

Right. I forgot. Part of the punishment for cumming is setting me up to cum again, even more frequently, so I’m in this neverending cycle of torment. Yay me.

So I sat, shuddered, struggled with the sensation, and felt the cum in my flip flops drying. I didn’t want to change into another outfit, especially the black dress and stilettoes, since my ass was still smarting from the spankings I’d gotten the other day, and despite an entire night of no abuse, the bottoms of my feet were still quite tender. At about nine forty, I stood up, smoothed my skirt back down, ignored the wetness of my thighs and the fact that the binder clamps were digging into my legs with each step, and made my way upstairs to blow that tax attorney up on the second floor. It wasn’t a bad thing at all, though he did give me a skeptical and somewhat disgusted look when I grabbed his cock and aimed it at my upraised shoe. As I expected, he didn’t really give me enough, so I went and found Jose, who was more than willing to give me an opportunity to suck him dry again, all while I shuddered, moaned, and then creamed myself to the vibrations of Kari’s punishment. Then, still grinning stupidly from the third unauthorized orgasm of the day, already feeling the next one building thanks to the vibroballs and vibrator pendant, I squished and slid myself back downstairs, entered the tiny lobby of Kari’s office, and found my boss standing in the hall, arms crossed.

“It’s ten after,” she said crossly. “Your shoes better be filled with cum.” Her look was dangerous, but I smiled anyway.

“Totally,” I told her, giving her a smug grin. I wiggled my toes and the sound of the cum squishing around my little piggies was loud enough.

Kari frowned and grunted. “And how close are you to cumming?” Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. Perhaps it was the flushed color of my cheeks, or the brightness of my eyes, or the lack of any immediate desperation when I should have been going nuts with the desire to cum. Maybe she noticed that my hips weren’t thrusting lewdly. Or maybe the blush on my face deepened.

Kari crossed the small space and brought her hand up between my legs, grabbing hold of my pussy, mashing the pendant vibrator into my slit. My eyes widened in surprise, even as I was pushed back against the glass, my skirt riding up. I felt her fingers dig into my slit, pressing wetly through my folds and I sucked in a sharp breath as she cupped my pussy.

“Kari!” I gasped.

“You seem awfully wet,” Kari hissed, her fingers churning around inside me. Her fingernails found the vibroballs, still rumbling away, pushing them deeper. A fresh surge of immediate lust overwhelmed me and all I wanted was to strip off the silly tube top and the white skirt and let Kari use me.

“I… I… don’t know what you mean,” I whispered, barely able to think. Now my hips were pumping. Her palm had captured the vibrator pendant and the clamp was tugging on my clit. Her whole hand was shaking and in hindsight, I’m fairly sure she was trying to make me explode. Her breasts touched mine and her left hand came up, grabbed the front of my tube top, and yanked it downward. My boobs sprung free, hanging like ripe fruit in front of my mistress, and her fingers found my right nipple. She grabbed the padlock and twisted it, sending a shard of pain down through me, right to my pussy. I squeezed her fingers tight in response even as my knees began to buckle.

“Want to cum?” She asked me, still fucking with me.

I nodded frantically.

“Then cum. You have five seconds,” she said.

Five seconds? I wasn’t quite that ready. My eyes widened and I frantically pumped my ass against her hand. The idea that anyone in the atrium would be getting quite a show, especially since I was feeling the cool, smooth surface of the glass against my bare butt, only heightened things. Except… I’d just cum. Not five minutes before!

“Four,” she said softly, her finger swirling. I groaned, rocked my hips, and shuddered.

“Three,” came Kari’s voice as I brought my hands up and cupped my tits. She still had a hold on my right nipple, but I pinched my own left breast, even as my fingers kneaded the heavy globes. It felt amazing.

“Two.” It filled my ears and I realized that it was just too much. I wasn’t going to make it. She’d done it deliberately, knowing that if I’d just popped, I might not be able to do it again so soon. Worse, it would leave me in such a state…

“One,” she said finally, yanking her hand out from between my legs. She let go of my breast and stepped back, letting me slump forward, barely catching myself on my own desk. I stood there shaking like a leaf in the wind, the vibroballs, the pendant, and my own hips dancing. For almost half a minute I panted, and then the vibroballs slowed and went silent, my evil mistress looking at me with a grin as she held up the controller.

“You came,” she said with total conviction. “Didn’t you?”

I nodded, a look of almost apoplectic apology on my face. “When I was blowing Jose. It just happened! I couldn’t handle the vibroballs!”

Kari sighed. “Straighten your skirt, slut. You’re mooning the atrium.”

I glanced over my shoulder, horrified that someone might be out there, but the atrium was still empty. Still, I ran my hands down my ass, pushing the skirt back into place. It certainly didn’t cover much. Bent over my desk I had little doubt that the wet, pink petals of my sexual flower were still very much in view. I straightened, hoping that would help.

“Punishment Closet,” she said strictly. “And leave the tube top and the skirt here.” She turned away and headed down the hall. So she didn’t see my mouth gaping open in shock.

“You just told me to stop flashing everyone!” I said loudly in protest, glaring at her retreating form angrily.

“Just do it, Bre.” Then she rounded the corner.

I turned toward the glass, furious. The atrium was, thankfully, empty. So I peeled off the tube top complete, dumped it on my desk, and then followed it with the skirt. Naked, except for my flip flops and vibrator pendant, I hurried after Kari. It wasn’t easy. With fresh cum in my shoes, I had to place every foot carefully to keep from literally slipping in my own shoes. It wasn’t easy!

Kari was in her art room, so I gave her a dirty look and went past, all the way to the end of the hall. I opened the punishment closet and stared down at the new toy, the kneeler, and wondered just how Kari intended to punish me this time. The angled, rubber coated prism was still on it, right in the center, and relatively high up.

“Straddle it, legs apart to either side, facing the door please,” she said from right behind me. I jumped, startled, but then nodded. I stepped into the closet, turned my back to the kneeler. Looking down, I could see about four inches of the rubber mount.

“Lean back and put our hands on the top of the support,” Kari said, moving beside me, helping me get in position. Since the thing was so high anyway, with the kneeling pad at my knees as I spread my legs wide, my arms folded and I found myself leaning back against it. Mike must have weighted it down with three or four hundred pounds, because my slight frame didn’t even rock the thing. Kari grabbed a leather thong from one of the hooks in the wall, and next thing I knew, my wrists and forearms were being tied down. So I stood there, leaning backward, my hips thrust forward, legs spread, boobs pushed outward.

And once secured, I heard the crank behind me. The rubber coated prism rose between my legs, first touching, then pressing, then biting. I groaned and went up on tiptoe to soften the pressure, thrusting my pussy and boobs out even more. Kari circled back around to my front, reached down, and removed the vibrator pendant. I gasped, relieved of the sensation for the first time in hours.

Kari clipped it to one of the shelves as she turned it off. Then she brought down a short crop with a wide, leather head. I gulped as she lifted it toward me, only to tap it gently against my left breast with several taps. I tried to shift, but the cum in my flip flops just made me slip harder down upon the edge between my legs. I felt the rubber straps straining against my feet and I had no choice but to widen my stance even more. More of my weight rested on the hard, biting edge digging up into my crotch. I whimpered loudly.

“You have been a bad, little girl, haven’t you?” Kari asked, increasing the force of her taps. Her voice changed from stern to seductive, teasing even. Each little whack of the leather crop’s head made me jerk a little. My pierced nipple danced and I sucked in a sharp breath through my teeth.

“Yes, ma’am,” I whined. “I’ve been bad. I’m sorry.”

Kari’s eyes flashed with amusement. “And how should a bad little cum slut like you be punished?” She flicked the crop against my other breast now, a little sharper. I squirmed and slid in my cum soaked shoes as the ridge dug up into my perineum and pussy. I could feel my petals spreading and the only way to relieve the pressure was to rock my hips, thrusting my pussy outward.

“My pussy,” I gasped. “Punish my pussy?”

Kari laughed and the crop flicked down and this time struck my pudenda, slapping the wet bump above my swollen clit with enough force to make a nice sounding cracking noise. I squealed, hips twisting, and bucked hard as she left two or three more swats on my clitoris itself. Panting, I worked myself to a strange brink.

“You do realize that you are literally standing in cum?” Kari asked, the crop coming back up to my breasts. She began striking them, first one, then the other, and the hardware jiggled. I grit my teeth and closed my eyes as the pain began to grow into something beyond discomfort. “It's rather appropriate, don’t you think? Your shoes filled with spunk?” She hit me harder, switching back and forth between each breast, and I let out yelp.

“You are definitely a cumslut,” Kari announced. “And for cumming when you weren’t permitted, I’ll be taking it out on your perfect, little twat.” With that announcement, the crop dipped down and the leather bit into the soft parts right above the stupid rubber ridge I was riding. I closed my eyes tight, gritting my teeth as I squealed and tried to rise up on tiptoe, only to have my feet slide out. I felt the actually baseboards of the closet walls against my feet and while it gave me purchase, they were to far apart to give me any kind of leverage to lift my pussy off the ridge.

And Kari spanked me. Aiming for my clit.

I didn’t count, but if the redness afterward was any indication, I’m thinking maybe fifteen or twenty sharp, hard, little strokes. I know it stung like the dickens. The vibroballs inside me made little difference. It was punishment. I didn’t even come close to orgasm. Not one bit. And I couldn’t figure out, at least at first, why she did it. And when I was close to crying, she hung the crop back up on its hook, hugged me, then bent down and sucked my left nipple into her mouth. I gasped as her hand came up between my legs and she found my clit, rubbing me roughly. Sexual energy surged through me and some of the pain was forgotten.

Kari smiled as she pulled back. Then she began freeing me and a moment later I groaned as I lifted myself off the rubber coated edge. My pussy felt bruised.

“God, that hurt!” I exclaimed roughly, stepping away from the kneeler I’d been straddling. I could still feel the goo in my flip flops and I slipped a bit, only to have Kari catch my arm.

“Steady,” she warned me. “Are you sure you want to continue this foolishness with the flip flops?”

I gave her a wry grin. “Prefer to beat my feet?” I asked.

Kari shrugged. “Your feet, or your ass. I know you’ll still cum when you aren’t supposed to, thus giving me the opportunity to punish you in any way I like.”

I snorted and stepped out into the hall. “Because half of your punishment is always taking me back to the edge so I’ll cum again.”
Kari laughed. I gave her a sour look. Then she glanced down at her watch. “It’s only fifteen till eleven. We will be going out to lunch today, so if you want to continue wearing the tube top and skirt, then you will need to reapply your…” her voice trailed off and she looked down at my feet. “Your foot lotion.” She reached out, patted my rump, and then pushed past me, heading toward her office.

“I’m looking forward to spanking you at lunch,” she called out. Then she turned, disappearing through the doorway. A moment later, the vibroballs inside my pussy went still, leaving me with a wet, wanton, aching slit.

For several long moments I just stood there, then I went into the conference room. My flip flops were actually drying out and I could feel the remnants of cum still slimy between my toes. I checked the clock. Kari had been right. It was a quarter till eleven. I wasn’t even sure I had time to get the necessary blowjobs. There was only so much I could suck out of Jose. The poor man. Besides, it took two blowjobs to fill my flip flops and while I hadn’t exactly depleted the supply of men in the building, it generally took between fifteen and twenty-five minutes to give a blowjob. Privacy and opportunity were both issues.

That meant it was time to change.

For a long moment I thought about going barefoot. There were some definite pros to that idea. It meant I could wear whatever I wanted, but it also meant that I’d be subject to Kari’s punishment of my soles. And she’d have no hesitation about doing it in a public place, in the most demeaning way possible. Besides, my feet still hurt from the previous day. Of course, the worst part of it was that all I had was a pair of gym shorts and a tee shirt. That’s what I’d worn this morning. Stupidly, I hadn’t planned ahead. Kari would not be happy going to lunch with me dressed like I was at home. She has style.

Then I considered wearing the black dress, but after the spankings Kari had given me the other day, the thought of subjecting my ass to that kind of abuse, especially in public again, just made me tremble. No way. The thought of me leaning over something, baring my alligator clamped breasts, her lifting up the back of the dress, exposing my alligator clamped clit, all while spanking the bejezus out of me? In front of a crowd? No thank you!

That’s when I realized, that what I really wanted, for just a little bit, was not to be hurt. I know. It’s odd coming from me, right? But seriously. I just wanted some time where the bottoms of my feet and my nipples and my ass and my pussy weren’t being spanked or abused. For just a little.

And that meant the stripper shoes.

Wild, witty, and totally sexy, Breanne Erickson is the author of “Tales of a Nympho Humiliation Pain Slut,” series. Known as the “goddess of dark erotica”, her humorous outlook on life, her incredible urges, and sexual escapades are the stuff of legend. Each tale is like an entry into her personal diary - the long, thick, and hard “ins and outs” of a girl who can’t ever seem to get enough deviant sex. Check out her amazing work at