It was with some frequency that James Hartman returned to his old stomping grounds in the ATL for job related responsibilities. Atlanta held many memories for James, good times, pleasant reflections and melancholy longings. It was a trip he always took with much anticipation because it presented itself with the hope of exploring his deepest, darkest, most perverted desires. James had a dark side that hadn't had an outlet for quite some time.
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Jonathon J. Pierce was neither a morning person, nor a Monday person, and this moment happened to be both. Amy, his primary partner, devoted submissive and beloved pet, had been away since Thursday on a company trip to a marketing conference in Atlanta, GA and would not return until the coming weekend. While he missed her terribly, he got so little personal time that he jealously guarded what he did manage to scrounge up, so he'd had all weekend to himself and he was very "not ready" for this work week to begin.
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He obeyed so well. It was one of her favorite things about him. Her other favorite thing about him? The way he disobeyed.
Tonight she'd push him to his limits and test his devotion. She had to. If he succeeded, she would collar him.
She'd searched for weeks for his collar, the one that would fit him perfectly. One that fit them perfectly. It was black leather, dark, soft and supple.
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The mittens didn't make the crawl very easy, but she followed as best she could. The tile floor hurt her knees a bit, but she focused her mind on the deed her master laid before her. They entered a room at the end of the hall, and it was rather large. A cold silver steel exam table laid in the middle, and along two conjoining at the corner walls were lined with cabinets. A counter top lined underneath the cabinets.
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Week 1: They tell you to be careful in what you wish for.
As usual, I awoke with an erection. Or, more correctly, my attempt at an erection woke me; the feeling of my cock trying to grow, to stretch and swell was hampered by its confinement in a steel cage which was firmly anchored to my swollen balls by a hinged stainless steel clamp ring, and secured with a small brass padlock, which was, of course, securely locked.
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I needed a vacation and a tropical island was the best remedy for the mid-winter blues. Any island would do, as long as it had warm, sandy beaches. So I booked a trip to Jamaica and before I knew it, I was on a plane headed south away from the snow and the cold.
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“Come closer.”
She stood by the doorway, teetering slightly on the outsoles of her heels. Peering towards the corner, she made out the silhouette sitting casually in the leather sofa in the corner. Her eyes had not yet adjusted to the light, but the shaggy mane and the scent of clean musk were enough to tell her he had managed, yet again, to enter her home. She knew it was pointless to ask how. More important was why.
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A single lock of hair half-clings to your sweat-soaked forehead. I've fucked you with an untapped rage for the past hour, simply daring you to cum before I'm satisfied. Your lips, swollen from my savage kisses and the bottom split from a passionate bite, beg me to let you cum.
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"You know what we are?" asked Alexis, taking a drag on her cigarette and leaving red lipstick on the filter. "We're high class whores. That's all we are."
"I don't think so," remarked Michelle. She hated these little meetings with the chairman's wife. Hated this conversation. She wanted to disagree, yet she didn't very well want to say anything that would offend Alexis.
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I was excited beyond words, I had been told of this place by many but never dreamed I would actually go myself. And it was considered a gag gift from my best friend when she handed me the ticket for entry on my birthday.
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