NAME (and Twitter if you have one) Hannah Lockhardt but please call me by my human name as it makes me much less nervous. Every…
Lessons in Kate Posts
His moustache caused consternation, but it was integral to the act. She was entrusted to wax his moustaches before each performance; stand close to him with her own downy upper lip trembling with unspent lust as her nimble fingers twisted and twisted.
Miriam was selected from the periphery of Max Hardinger’s Wonder Girls – a little stouter, a little more wide-eyed than her pretty peers who kicked and twirled, she nonetheless caught Rhydian Hart’s attention almost immediately. It would be ten years more before she caught his heart.
Though they lived in close quarters; and only a painted screen separated their naked bodies in the cramped dressing rooms they shared; lustfulness seemed far from Rhydian’s desires.
Still, she quickly learnt the necessities of her role as his assistant – to fool the eyes of the audience, and make his act more wondrous, and he would clasp her hands after they had exited the stage, his eyes alight with excitement, but nothing more.
Her sole intimacy remained stroking the dark hair of his upper lip, warming the wax between her fingers until it was malleable. The scent of clove and sandalwood would linger on her skin until she bathed; but before the oils had truly vanished, she would trace her fingertips around her lips, circling over and over. With the light waning and her touch just so, she could imagine Rhydian was kissing her. Sometimes she circled the fingers lower, just above her right breast, and could almost feel the weight of his mouth there.
This she desired more than anything.
Part I Here
puppy’s tender nipples were so stiff they ached under the gaze of these twelve strangers. For the first time since she had received her confirmation letter, her heart dropped to her stomach and she wondered what was about to occur. It was only knowing Mister was nearby that steeled her as The Chair approached.
He curled his finger under her collar and yanked her forward, chin jutting upward and her eyes widening.
“Stand up straight, puppy.” He admonished, punctuated by a slap across her cheek.
To his peers, he said the following.
“My fellow lovers of the vile, vivid and virulent, welcome. Your dedication to the club’s aims of sensual, consensual desecration is appreciated and celebrated. It is midday; time for fresh meat.”
He placed his hand on puppy’s back and pushed her forward.
“Joining us today we have puppy, a stupid slut with no morals whatsoever. Touch your cunt, puppy.”
She reached between her thighs without a second thought and fingered her sodden slit, already blushing. As she masturbated, The Chair spoke again.
“This fat little lump appears innocent and plain at first glance, but as you can see she has no issue debasing herself for strangers on a single instruction.”
It was a sharp, painful truth – she had bent her knees, for better access to her slippery cunt but also to better show off that cunt to her audience. Her fingers disappeared inside and she fucked herself the way Mister had asked her to a hundred times. And yet this was nothing compared to what was to come. Nothing at all.
Left to her own devices, puppy sometimes got herself in hot water. She went looking for trouble and Mister had to rescue her. Or at least keep close by, ensuring her safety.
The Library Club met each month on a Sunday afternoon. For an hour. Only an hour. They were an elected committee – six masculine, six feminine, and they invited pliant, pretty, precocious submissives to their lair to indulge their wicked and salacious desires.
Submissives would have to prove their worth before they were permitted to attend; prove they knew their own minds, loved themselves and understood their own needs before a Committee member would engage with them. They would be interviewed over the course of days, or weeks. Observed in their daily interactions. And if all was well, their invitation would follow.
puppy had discovered them all on her own, without the help of Mister or Claudia’s sarcastic guidance. In her online community of Dominance and submission, there was a man who told stories online. He drew crowds of stricken admirers, and puppy was among them.
She stands in the conference room, defiant in spite of it all. The long list of her misdemeanours. The growing heat of the space crammed with bodies. The blinds are open and the room is filled with beautiful sunlight. She is naked, dimpled and freckled. Blushing, embarrassed. Damp between the thighs and watched by a dozen men, each one old enough to be her father.
Comeuppance, I supposed you’d call it. A year of teasing, teasing, teasing had finally caught up with her. A year of thigh skimming skirts paired with hold-ups. A month of shirts and blouses with the top three, four, five buttons undone. One day of ‘accidentally’ changing into her gym kit with the office door open, and here she is.
She turns from the wide expanse of glass and faces her audience. A dozen men, tending to their cocks. A dozen slabs and slivers of meat that thicken under her gaze. Or not.
Franks has been touching himself through his trousers all afternoon. He used to do it a lot during company meetings, cup his balls and massage the length of his cock and she would watch intently, her eyes occasionally flickering to his face. He never even tried to hide how he was enjoying his actions. No one else seemed to notice. She’d undo a couple of buttons on her blouse and let him spot the flash of white or red lace, the dark of her areola, and enjoy the widening of his eyes and audible catch in his breath.
Now he stands, stroking himself, and advances on her, leering.
Claudia was an engima, unknowable. Everything about her was abstract – Mister described her body in great, unending detail, but brown eyes, black hair and a smile lighting the way for years didn’t paint a clear picture in Puppy’s mind.
Until one day, when everything changed. She answered her door at 8pm that night, and he was on her doorstep.
“Run upstairs and slip into that nightie I bought you. The one a size too small that shows your tits and belly. And put make up on. Red lipstick and lots of eyeliner and mascara. You have ten minutes. No bra, no knickers.” and he stood on the doorstep, watching her scamper to the bedroom.
She looked beautiful on her return – a different beautiful to her face when she opened the door. A different beautiful to the way her lips distorted with his cock in her mouth. A different beautiful to her sleepy morning selfies.
She stood before him proudly, hands clasped behind her back. The darker skin of her nipples highlighted behind the white chiffon-y material. Her belly protruded and he couldn’t help reaching out to stroke her. She smiled wider. Mister smiled wider, too.
He smiled as he spat in his palm, reached out and smeared her hastily made-up face into a red and black halloween mask.
“Coat on; come with me.”
I wanted the Toblerone. The boy was just collateral damage. A means to an end with an erection pushing into my hip, the heavy bar…
Sometimes she wanted him to go down on her because he wanted to, not because she wanted to come. Not because the thought of his handsome face, his stubble burning her inner thighs made her melt and shudder, though it did. Of course it did.
She wanted him to go down on her and eat her cunt and not care if she came or not. Actively avoid the things he knew would make her climax. Though her clit ached and her cunt grasped, his face nuzzled possessively between her thighs was powerful enough. She wanted him to press the flat of his tongue against her vulva and lick her with fury, not delicacy. With taunting, grim determination to taste every inch of her; her enjoyment irrelevant.
Swipes would be made at her pulsing, reddening nerve endings but only enough to make her twitch, and this was an excuse to hold her tighter, place the full weight of his body against her parted thighs and raise his head long enough to hiss “Keep still you little bitch.” before descending to torture her once more.
And so that Wednesday night she sat with her scissors and a book in her lap, reading through the middle chapters of a slight paperback from Grandad’s stash. A sub-Bond spy novella where the hero ended each chapter balls deep in a beautiful woman. All fucking, all cock in cunt action; the occasional bitten nipple or slapped arse but nothing more intriguing.
Still, as she read the passages, and cut around the dirty words, she thought of her Mister, who was somewhere, nibbling Claudia’s tender skin. She pulled up her t shirt and snapped a photo of her tits, not artistic but laced with urgency, and sent it to him, knowing he wouldn’t reply. A reply would break the spell.
The first in a series of short scenes from an imagined cuckquean relationship
She has sat on her hands until they are numb, willing herself to leave him be. He has not asked her to. He hasn’t asked her for anything, Today is Wednesday; he’s seeing Claudia. Claudia is being taken to dinner and Puppy is sitting at home in her room. She is not allowed to know where they are going. Last week they went to the theatre; it was only four days later he told Puppy what they had seen, how he had enjoyed it.
He had told her how she had brought him off during the second act – how he spat in her palm as the crowd laughed and she worked it around his cock with glee. When he came, he wiped the resultant mess over her face and walked her brazenly out into the street with white splashes of semen adorning her otherwise unremarkable face.