Pretty Things - Thank You, Tom Ford

Some of the best erotic photography these days is high-concept fashion advertising. The designer Tom Ford, in particular, has explored a theme that is near and dear to my heart: the vulnerability and beauty of the nude female form coupled with elegantly-clothed males. My favorite in this set is the wedding picture on the stairs. So, thanks Tommy.

Relish Her Tears

"Keep me rather in this cage, and feed me sparingly, if you dare . . . It is only when you make me suffer that I feel safe and secure.  You should never have agreed to be a god for me if you were afraid to assume the duties of a god, and we all know that they are not as tender as all that. You have already seen me cry. Now you must learn to relish my tears. And my neck: is it not charming when, filled with a moan I am striving to stifle, it grows tense and contorted in spite of my attempts to control to it? It is all too true that when you come to call on us, you should bring a whip along."

Pauline Reage

The Plastic Maiden

Once the ropes are set I stand back to admire my handiwork.

She is bent over the end of the table, cuffed at the wrist and ankle. It is a big, sturdy country-style supper table, painted and stained lacquer black. Ropes tie each of her limbs to the four legs, pulled taught, unyielding and pitiless. I can see the strain in her shoulders, back, the long quadriceps quivering. I have positioned her high on the table, the edge bisecting her perfectly at the hip joints and pussy. She is long-legged but can barely reach the floor and only then up on her toes.

She has worn a black latex hood for the past hour while I spanked her and warmed up her nipples with small hair clips.  When I led her blindly into the back room she knew what was coming and trembled visibly while I prepared the ropes.

This table is my own special creation, custom-designed for suffering and pleasure. When I made it, I went to an office supply store and bought a simple plastic office floor mat, the kind with a flat surface backed by sharp teeth for gripping carpets.  I cut it into strips and then glued them, teeth-up, onto the table in two spots: the edge at one end and then another series of strips at the midpoint.  Craftsmanship is important; I carefully measured my submissive and the table to make sure she would feel exactly what I wanted her to.

And now, as I watch, she lays with the weight of her body hitting the rows of cruel points at her pussy and hips on one end and her tits on the other. She whimpers with the effort of trying to keep herself off the teeth. It is impossible, of course. Her arms are stretched so far in front of her that she gets only limited leverage with her elbows to ease the agony in her nipples.  Only when up on her toes can she bring at least some relief to her pussy and even then in only short bursts before her toes slip on the tile floor and the full weight of her hips drops back on top of the torture strips.

The Plastic Maiden, I call it. The mere mention of it brings dread into her eyes and quickens her breath. She fears it and craves it in equal measure.

The sides of her pale breasts as they pillow out from beneath her are stark contrast to the ice-colored plastic teeth and I know that her brown nipples, so prominent and sensitive, are trapped beneath her. It feels like being stung by ants, she had told me. I admire the calf muscles cording with effort and that ass, already striped red, bobbing as she tries to keep her pussy off the cruel points. She moans with the exertion, then cries out when she falls flat.

Her pussy? No. My pussy. Just watching her torment makes me hard.

Eventually I will flog her again but for now I don't want anything to distract from the stinging in her pussy and tits.

And after she is flogged and the burning in her shoulders, cheeks and thighs have begun to distract her from those endless, infinite rows of needlelike teeth, I  will lean over and whisper into her ear what's going to happen next.

"I'm going to fill that ass," I will whisper, tender as a lover. "I'm going to fuck it and fill it completely and I'm not going to stop."

But not yet. Right now I watch her squirm and sob softly in her helplessness and feel the blood rush into my cock.

Pretty Things - Simple Pleasures

Complication has it's place but in the end I always return to simple classicism: a submissive and her vulnerability. Nude, bound, blindfolded. True vulnerability and exposure. Intricate ropework and limb positioning can be lovely but what I want is accessibility.

Saturday Morning

            Saturday morning -- the best part of any week and the girl is still sleeping. Never an early riser, the one aspect of her training that has never taken is for her to wake first. I forgive her this because she has otherwise responded so eagerly to everything else I’ve demanded and because I love her but forgiveness does not evade consequences and she is reminded of this flaw on a regular basis.  She lays on her stomach, arms tucked under the pillow and face beneath a tangle of hair turned towards me. I draw the sheet back, all the way down the length of her body and her skin glows softly in the light streaming through the window. 

She is nude, as she has been since I came home from work yesterday and as she will be until I decide otherwise and I admire my handiwork: the long lines of her legs, firm ass, toned shoulders and back, the smooth even tan.  She is beautiful but dismissive when I tell her so – “You see me with special eyes,” is her usual response.  But she learned long ago to accept my opinion as the only one that matters and dutifully swims, goes to yoga and has (mostly) discarded her smoking and Krispy Kreme habit.  I am quite proud of her.

Her skin feels good beneath my palm as I trace the soft velvet curves and her ass moves against me. I love the cool flat of her back where sweat gathers when I am fucking her and the delicate arch of the trapezius between her shoulders and neck. I kiss here first then bite gently on my to her neck where I breathe in her scent and feel myself respond, growing hard against her hip. 

She is more awake now and moans softly, one hand coming up behind her to slide through my hair, gripping tightly. I nuzzle her neck, kissing and biting, then capture her wrist and flip her over bringing both wrists up above her head and pinning them to the mattress and at this she moans out loud and before the maneuver is even complete she has spread her legs wide, inviting, pleading. I gaze down at her: her half-lidded eyes, hard-tipped tits, the swell of her hips beneath her flat belly.  I can smell her already; she has been on restriction since last Sunday and for a girl who used to masturbate in her car on her lunch break to relieve her tension she has felt every one of the past five days.   I squeeze her tits and she arches against me and when I roll a nipple between my fingers she cries out loud.

Now her eyes are open, cloudy with need.

“Please, Master . . . “ she breathes.

I roll away from her onto my back pulling her over with me, directing her hand to where I want it to go.  She sits up, straddling my leg so that I can feel her wet against me and lowers her mouth to my waiting cock. I lean back and watch her serve me.  Her hair spills across my belly and she grips the shaft with one hand while her head bobs up and down, making a soft mewling noise with every stroke as if she were being fucked. The orgasm she gives me is as close as she’s going to get to an orgasm today and she knows it.  If I am happy with her this weekend she’ll get to cum for me tomorrow night. If I am happy. 

I live for these weekends when the days are scrubbed clean of mundane  demands and for two days we do not have to compromise who and what we are. If I want her nude and collared all day and night, so she shall be. I don’t have to share her in any way with jobs, chores, errands and even in our interactions with the outside world I set all of the terms.  Some of my vanilla friends know her as my leggy girlfriend who never wears a bra and I take perverse pleasure in that; for these two days, she is all mine in every conceivable.

As she sucks and grinds against me with increasing desperation I think about what I have planned for today – a trip to the nude beach and then dinner out – and what she will wear or not wear, where we will go what we do. A vision flashes before me: we are at dinner tonight on South Beach and she is a in a wispy dress that clings to her curves and highlights the color of her eyes, hair tumbling softly to her sun-kissed shoulders.  She looks at me across the table and I see the slight furrow in her brow and the seeing-not-seeing stare that means she is in a desire-fuelled haze of submission and I know that she belongs completely and unreservedly to me.

I cum instantly and hard, hands tangled in her hair.