Claiming Melissa

Claiming Melissa

H. Dean

© Copyright H. Dean

The right of H. Dean to be identified as the author of this book has been asserted in accordance with Section 77 and 78 of the Copyrights and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved.

Prologue

Melissa was a tiny thing. Her hair was a lustrous, Stygian black that fell nearly to her waist. She was busty for her size; muscular but curvy in a sort of Marilyn Monroe kind of way. When she smiled her full lips parted to reveal the most perfect set of teeth. I was immediately attracted to her.

It was at a friend’s house over dinner that we met. I had no idea at the time, and neither did she, that it was a setup. My friends, Marla and Tom, knew her from a club called ‘Lock, Stock and Over the Barrel’ that was nestled in the heart of the San Fernando Valley. According to Marla and Tom it was time for us both to meet someone, and they thought we would get on quite well; about the latter, at least, they were right.

After dinner, Melissa and I took a slow walk to her car where we stood and talked for nearly an hour. Before she pulled away, I was the proud owner of a new phone number and a rather friendly peck on the cheek. When I returned to my own car I was greeted by two wide grins and a rather stretched out “So?” from both of my friends.

“I like her,” I said, grinning back.

“Ya got her number, didn’t you?” Tom reached out and grasped my shoulder and pulled me close. “She’s a good girl, Bill, but she likes to be treated like a bad girl.”

“Tom!” Marla nearly shouted, smacking his shoulder lightly and feigning anger. They laughed and shared a knowing glance.

“You’ll pay for that, wench!” he threatened, and then winked.

“Counting on it, Sir,” she replied in a voice that was overly serious. She turned to me and put her hands on my shoulders, then got up on tiptoes and kissed my cheek. “She is a good girl, Bill; the kind of girl you need. So don’t be stubborn and not call her.”

I nodded. “Don’t worry,” I said. “I’ll call.”

I did call the next evening. It was during that conversation I learned all about her; and she about me. There was not much in the way of sexual discussion, though we did gloss over a few things. Mostly though, I learned that I liked the girl. Over the next few weeks we spoke frequently over the phone, getting to know each other fairly well.  Eventually, I decided to take a more formal approach and began courting her.

It was a Friday night and we had been on the phone for hours. We couldn’t get enough of each other, it seemed. As the morning light began creeping into my bedroom, I grew quiet. When she followed suit I said, “I want you to know that I have come to care about you.” She remained silent so I continued. “I would like to be more than friends. I do hope you feel the same.”

For a long moment nothing was said. I could hear her breathing and little more save the sounds of morning birds. I heard her shift and then take a deep breath. “I’d like that,” she said at last.

I grinned into the phone, rather more excited than I had expected to be at this answer, and rather more relieved she had answered as she had. “Good,” I said. Then I lowered my voice so it was at a barely audible level. “You must know that I am different than the men you have been with. The men you knew were far more into physical domination than I. My enjoyment is more emotional sadism. From what I know of you, my brand of BDSM will fit well with yours. But you must know that if we are together I will torture you emotionally and mentally. So if you think it’s not something you can deal with say so now.”

“Damn, you don’t mince words much,” she whispered. “Are you always this way?”

I laughed. “That is no way to talk to someone with my tastes, Mel,” I told her. “I can make you pay for it dearly.”

I heard her shudder. She laughed suddenly. “I know. So what are you going to do about it?”

“Torture you,” I said in the most ominous voice I could conjure.

“I would like to be with you.” Her voice was breathy and it sounded as if she were shivering. “I think...for whatever reason, I can trust you,” she told me. “Torture me all you want.”

Unlike most men who share my interests in BDSM my pace is rather slow. I never jump into bed with anyone, nor do I immediately dive into any sort of activities without truly having control. This tends to be rather frustrating to the women I choose to be with. Just the same, it tends to work in my favor and, if I do say so myself, to my partners favor. The end result is a solid working knowledge of what makes her tick. So, when I told her there would be dates but no sex of any sort in the near future she was quite surprised.

“I need to get to know you,” I told her. “My particular interests lie in control; emotional and mental control. Jumping into the physical side of our relationship too soon could muck that up. So, for now, we will enjoy chaste dates and interesting conversations.”

Thus began our strange, lifelong romance.

Chapter 1

One Friday night, after a very pleasant dinner and night on the town, I walked her to her door and briefly stepped inside. We talked for a few minutes before I excused myself and made to leave.

“I know you said you wanted to get to know me before we got physical, but it’s been two weeks and all you’ve done is give me a few rather pleasant kisses. You aren’t one of those religious extremists are you?” she asked. Her tone was mocking and a bit over the top so it was obvious she was just busting my chops. “You know; the kind that insists on sex only after marriage?”

I grinned and shook my head. “No. Far from it,” I said. “I’ve had plenty of sex and never been married. I would say the best description for me would be that I am controlled and controlling.” I twitched my right eyebrow then winked.

Melissa smiled, then leaned in to give me a peck on the lips before sending me off but I took her in my arms and pulled her to me, kissing her deeply. Smiling, I released her, and enjoying the slight glaze that suddenly appeared in her eyes, I turned and departed. As the door clicked shut I heard a dreamily voiced “Call me so I know you got home safely.”

I had only just started my car when my phone rang. It was Melissa. I took my time in hooking up my headset and then answered my cell.

“I feel kind of stupid telling you to call me when you get home,” she said. That dreamy quality was still in her voice. “We usually talk on your way home.”

“Don’t worry it,” I told her, trying hard to mask the sudden surge in confidence I felt.

The trick about my particular style of romance is to seem as if I want my ‘subject’ (for lack of a better word) to be calm and relaxed. The truth of the matter is that I want them to feel on edge and nervous. I want them to be unsure and frightened, while knowing full well that I offer no danger.

She breathed heavily into the phone, and then asked, “Are you messing with me...with my mind?”

“I will tell you this,” I began, “I am and will continue to mess with your mind. But I am not messing with you. Everything I do, all my actions, the things I say and how I say them as they pertain to our intimacy, are with intention.” I lowered my voice as I came to a stoplight. “But that isn’t the question you really wanted to ask. So I will answer the real question,” I told her. “I am not using you. You are not a fling. I hope to have a lasting and loving relationship with you.”

The light turned green and I continued on, waiting for her to speak. There was a long silence before she spoke. “I...I know. And I trust you. Tom and Marla told me about you...warned me, even.”

I chuckled. “Warned you, eh?”

Melissa giggled. “Yeah, they warned me; said you were funny, smart, and laid back; but almost too intense when it came to relationships.”

“I wonder what gave them the idea I was intense,” I told her.

“They said they met one of the girls you used to date at one of those BDSM get-togethers. I don’t remember the girl’s name. But she told them you got into her head...that you sort of owned her mind and she had trouble thinking.”

“That would be Elyse,” I said. “She is more of a bottom than a submissive. I knew it from the start but she insisted that wasn’t the case. I kind of cleared that up for her, I think.” I laughed, adding, “She hooked up with a guy named Cosmo right after me. Got the living hell beat out of her on their second date and fell in love. I think they got married and moved to Pittsburgh.”

“So you were right, huh?”

“I usually am,” I responded before dramatically adding, “It’s my curse.”

“You aren’t full of yourself at all, are you?” she laughed.

“Utterly!”

She laughed again.

Several minutes later, and after some more light conversation, I arrived home, got undressed and crawled into bed, talking with Melissa all the while. As I reached over to turn out the lamp at my bedside, I decided to get down to more interesting topics. “Melissa,” I started, “it’s time to get down to some things I want to know about you; personal things.”

A long pause was had before she finally uttered a simple “Okay. What do you want to know about me?”

“I want to know what you see,” I told her, then asked, “Do you have a floor length mirror?”

“Yes,” she answered.

“I want you to go to it. Find something to put your phone on and put me on speaker.”

I heard a rustling, the sounds of covers being thrown back. “This is a bit odd,” Melissa told me, “but okay. I’m in front of the mirror now.”

I told her to remove her clothing, whatever she was wearing. “I want you completely nude. So tell me when you’ve done that.”

A change in sounds told me I had been switched to speaker phone. Then there was the distinct sound of a zipper. “I’m naked,” she said.

“First, I want you to give me an overview of what you see,” I told her. “If someone were to look at you and see you for the first time...how they would describe you to someone else.”

She hesitated a moment. “I don’t quite understand what you mean.” There was a shiver in her voice.

“Well, if someone asked you what I looked like, what would you tell them?”

“I would tell them you’re a tall, white guy. You have a ruggedly handsome face, short, brown hair and kind of muscular,” she responded.

I smiled at her description. “Now describe you in the same way,” I ordered, keeping my voice purposefully low and speaking softly. “But look in the mirror and give me a quick, slightly more detailed overview.”

Her teeth chattered for a moment before she started. “Um...I’m short, with a nice figure and a pretty face; but my boobs kind of look out of place because they are way too big. I am very pale and my long, black hair makes me look even whiter.”

“Excellent,” I said. “You sound a bit nervous or cold; are you?”

“Both,” she breathed. “I kind of feel exposed.”

“Yet you didn’t tell me anything I didn’t know,” I pointed out. “I might have described it in a similar manner.”

Melissa laughed. “You probably would. But I bet you think my boobs look better than I think they do.”

“You will get to like them substantially more as time goes by,” I replied.

“I’ve had them a long time. I’ve had this cup size since I was in seventh grade,” she informed me. “I’m twenty-four now, so I’m not counting on it.”

I chuckled. “Trust me; much as you don’t like them you will come to like them even more,” I told her.

“We’ll see. I just wish they were a bit smaller.” There was another shiver in her voice, and then she asked if she could get back in bed.

“Is it cold in your apartment?” I asked.

“No. But you make me nervous,” said Melissa. “This, whatever it is you’re doing, makes me nervous and that’s making me cold.”

“We will be done soon. But I have a few more things for you to do for me before you can get into bed,” I informed her. “By the way, were you still in the skirt you were wearing on our date?”

She seemed incredulous. “How did you know?”

“I just knew,” I lied. I was not going to tell her I heard her unzip it. Some mysteries are better kept secret. It tends to increase the thrill of it all. Then I said, “I want you to describe yourself to me again. This time I want more specific details. Start from the ground and work your way up.”

“You’re really enjoying my discomfort aren’t you?” asked Melissa.

Knowing it would keep her on edge, I remained silent.

“Okay...um...well...” she stammered.

“Stop playing with your hair and get to telling me what I told you to tell me,” I ordered.

She gasped. “How did you...are you in my apartment?”

Melissa had a habit of playing with her hair. She had done so on every one of our dates, most especially when she discussed things that bothered her or made her nervous. So it was not a jump for me to assume she was doing so now, especially considering the level of tension she was feeling.

“From the ground up,” I repeated.

Again, she started stammering. Finally she began describing herself as I had ordered. “My feet are small; size four. My toes, which I think are cute, are painted with a pale pink polish. I have tiny ankles, too. My calves are well-shaped but a bit too thick, so I don’t really like them. I have really nice thighs, though. Everyone I know, all my girlfriends, have told me they wish they had thighs like me. They’re kind of big for my size but they have almost no fat on them.” She gave a brief hesitation, then asked, “You want me to tell you about my...um...”

“Your sex?” I asked, sensing her inability to find a word that was proper but not overly crude or clinical.

“Yes. You don’t want me to tell you about that, do you?” she sheepishly inquired.

“Of course I do,” I answered. “Everything you see; in detail.”

“Oh, lord,” she whispered. “Okay, my...my sex is shaved. You can only just see a slit, and you can barely see that. My belly is flat and there is a hint of a six-pack but I am a little soft, so I don’t look like a bodybuilder. My breasts...”

I cut her off. “Your hips and waist,” I said.

“Oh, my hips are kind of wide;” she began, “really wide, actually. I have a tiny waist, too; makes me sort of look like a wasp to me. My breasts are...well, my bras are ‘E’ cups so my breasts are about all you see from just above my belly button. But they’re perky, not saggy like most girls with my breast size.” Her teeth chattered again. “I have narrow shoulders and kind of muscular arms. I used to be a cheerleader and it still shows. I have small hands and my fingers are painted the same pale pink as my toes.”

There was a long pause before I put in, “You do have a head, don’t you?”

“Sorry,” she blurted. “Um, I have kind of a normal size head, at least, for my body size. My face is pretty, but not beautiful. My lips are full and, thanks to my complexion, I don’t need to wear lipstick much. They always look very red. My nose is small and straight but slightly upturned and I have big, green eyes. My eyebrows are black and so is my hair, which reaches down almost to my waist,” she finished.

“Excellent,” I said. “Now, I have a statement to make that will require your absolute attention. If you have issue with it I want you to speak them. But it is important you understand my intentions fully.”

“Okay...”

“It is my intention, assuming our preferences match up enough, to make you into a sex toy for my pleasure. I will take away all your choices and remove your will to resist any commands I give, no matter how much you might personally object.” I was keeping my voice carefully modulated, low and soft, forcing her to be attentive to my every word. “If this comes to pass I will treat you lovingly and take care of your every need. But, and this is important, you will find it increasingly difficult to think for yourself. My tastes are why I am single. Most women cannot handle this sort of relationship, the emotional and sexual neediness, the lack of will, and of thoughts beyond serving.” It was an exaggeration of my wants, to be sure. Still, it was a fair measure of my fetishes.

There was a long silence. She was breathing hard and shivering. I could hear the occasional chatter of her teeth. Quietly, I waited. Finally, I heard a sniff and I knew she was crying.

“Kneel for me,” I whispered into the phone. “Clasp your hands behind your back and spread your legs wide as you can.”

Her crying became far more audible now, almost childlike. “I’m sorry,” she sobbed. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“It’s alright,” I said, comforting her best I could. “The reason you’re crying is that you are entirely exposed. Describing yourself as you did was probably more intimate than it would have been to simply remove them...”

“Yes,” she whispered.

“...and the intentions I expressed were probably the exact things you have always wanted...”

“Yes,” she whispered again.

“...but were never able to express.” I said. “My statement was a discovery, too, of what you have wanted your entire life...”

“It is,” she whispered more loudly.

“...but were too afraid to admit to yourself because of what it denotes...”

“I was afraid,” she stated firmly.

“...and how demeaning our society has deemed them to be.”

“It’s true,” she cried. “All of it. It’s what I want...what I need. I want my choices to be taken away, to be taken care of...to be a...a toy. But I don’t know if I want to lose my ability to think beyond serving. I’m a smart girl, and I like being smart.”

“And if your thoughts were simple, with no worries, no cares but for the pleasures you would give and receive...if all your day revolved around pleasures would it be so bad?”

“But what about the pursuit of something better? What about the thrill of achievement, the knowledge that you have succeeded?” she asked. “Isn’t that important, as well?”

“Reach between your legs,” I commanded. “Start rubbing yourself. No fingers inside your sex other than as you might need it to lubricate your fingers. Rub your clit.”

There was a sigh, a brief moan, then a whisper. “I’m rubbing.”

“Why do we do these things we do?” I asked rhetorically. “Why are we in pursuit of achievement, why do we compete? Tell me if you disagree with me that the reason is simply for the pleasure we get when we win or achieve. You work. Every day you work. You get paid. Then you pay for something: for food, gas, necessities, for televisions, computers, books, magazines. Some of this is purely for the sake of existence. You have to do these things simply to live. Most of them you do for the eventual pleasure they provide, whether it be a weekend out of town, a vacation, a day at the amusement park. If you don’t do them for existence you do them for the eventual pleasure they allow you. Am I wrong?”

I heard Melissa moan. Then she whispered, “No, you aren’t wrong.”

“Then how can you find error with living a life of pleasure?” I persisted.

“But what about others?” she asked. “What if my pleasure comes at the expense of another?”

“And whose expense are you speaking of?” I inquired

“In this case...” her words were a virtual moan, “your expense.”

“But what if it gives me as much pleasure as you? Is it wrong to then simply live as I have described if doing so gives me greater pleasure than otherwise could be achieved?” I asked.

“No,” she moaned.

“What would you give to find inner peace?”

She was quiet for a moment, her breath uneven. “Everything.”

Melissa had answered exactly as I hoped she would, but I wanted one more key admission; so I asked, “Could there be a greater peace than thinking only of pleasing the one you loved and who loved you?”

“No,” she said.

“How does it feel to rubbing yourself for me?” I asked.

She let out a shallow moan. “It feels good,” Her voice had taken on that dreamy quality that I had so recently experienced when I left her apartment.

“You are not allowed to orgasm,” I told her. “Not without my command. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” she answered.

“From now on,” I continued, “your orgasms belong to me. You will cum for me. You will cum when commanded and never otherwise. Understood?”

A loud moan escaped her lips followed by a breathy “Yes.”

“Who do you cum for?” I asked.

“I cum for you,” she breathed.

“When do you cum?” I asked.

“I cum when you command it.” There was an ache in her voice now. She was growing needful of the release she was nearing.

“If you need to cum what do you do?” I had not given the answer to this question and I knew it would likely throw her and pull her away from the impending orgasm.

“I...I wait for you to tell me to cum?” she asked. Her voice retained that dreamy quality but suddenly lacked the need.

“I didn’t tell you to stop rubbing,” I said.

A staccato “Oh” sounded from her end of the phone and she asked, “How did you know?”

“Never mind how I know things,” I said, “It is not for you to know anything. You are simply to do as you are told; understood?”

“I understand,” she said weakly.

“When you need to cum you are to ask me for permission,” I instructed. “And you are only allowed to cum when I allow it.”

“I...,” the ache had returned to her voice,” can I cum?”

“No,” I answered, my voice stern and commanding. “You may stop rubbing.”

I was met with a moan of frustration, then the sound of sobbing. A moment passed before I ordered her to rub herself again.

“The next time you ask me if you can cum,” I began, “you will do so using proper grammar. You will also replace the word ‘cum’ with ‘sonar’ and, if I so choose, I will order you to cum or sonar. At that moment you will orgasm. If you fail to orgasm upon my command you will suffer the refusal of your next requested orgasm. Do you understand?”

“May I sonar?” she practically shouted.

“Cum for me,” I ordered.

Her orgasm was loud, and only moments after it had subsided she requested another. After allowing her the second I denied her a third, ordering her to stop her masturbation. Then I ordered her into bed where I continued from where I had left off. In the midst of several of her orgasms I ordered her to bring them to a halt and to stop rubbing herself. By the night’s end she was exhausted and quite unable to speak coherently other than to alternately beg to stop and beg for more. She was not allowed to rest until the early morning sun began its fast creep over the horizon.

I am an early riser. In fact, I am one of those rare and irritating people that does quite well on five to six hours of sleep. Thus, after waking only a few hours after putting Melissa to bed I was well-rested, wide awake and ready for the day’s activities. Melissa did not fare as well as my 10AM call attested. It did not deter me, however, from what I planned.

The voice greeting my call was full of sleep. Despite her obvious state there was a pleasure filled sound in her voice and I could almost see a broad smile cross her face. “Last night was amazing,” she told me, then yawned. “But I need to sleep. I ho...”

“I want you to get up and take a shower,” I interrupted. “Then I want you to put on a casual dress...a sundress if you have one. I prefer light blue. No panties and no bra. I’ll be by to pick you up in an hour. Be ready.” Melissa made a brief attempt to garner more sleep time but I denied it, insisting she get up immediately. To my pleasure she agreed without further resistance.

After getting off the phone I called Tom. “The package is ready,” I told him. “I’ll be there in about two hours with Melissa. Got brews?”

“Nice,” said Tom, “I got brews. How much I owe ya?”

“Consider this a freebee. After all, you guys introduced me to Melissa,” I told him.

“Things are going well, eh?” he asked. “I knew you would like her. Don’t blow it, man.”

I grinned. “Hey, I don’t blow things. The other girls couldn’t deal with me and how I operate. This one is another story entirely. And, Tom...I really dig this gal. She’s smart, attractive and sweet. With any luck this will be the one.”

“No fucking way!” Tom exclaimed. “You think that already? I mean, what’s it been, two, three weeks?”

“Something like that,” I agreed. “But there are sparks; big time sparks between us. Not only that but she is very, very susceptible to my methods and, what’s more, her needs and wants are right in my wheelhouse, man. I really have high hopes.”

I picked up a yawning Melissa from her apartment at 11AM on the button then headed over to Tom and Marla’s place. As expected, Melissa was wearing her blue sundress, sans panties and bra. She looked quite sexy with a hint of slutty. More importantly, she seemed a tad self-conscious.

“How did you know I had a blue sundress?” she asked as I opened her car door. “Hey, this isn’t the same car as our other dates. Did you get a new one?”

I grinned as I closed her door. After letting myself in the driver’s side of the car I turned and grinned at her. “Second date; we talked about favorite colors. Mine is blue. You said your favorite dress was a blue sundress. Also, this is not the same car. I have four cars. The other was a 1985 BMW 635 CSI this is a 1980. I also have a 1967 Shelby Cobra 427 and an Aston Martin DB5. Well, I have a pickup truck too. But that’s my junker for hauling stuff.”

Melissa gave me a look as I fired up the car. “Are you rich?”

I grinned, checked for cars and pulled out of my parking spot. “Not rich – just well off,” was my answer.

Several minutes later, after she had apparently processed the information and let out a few yawns, she turned to me and asked where we were headed. I reached out and placed my right hand on her thigh and squeezed. She smiled and settled her own hand atop mine. “Melissa,” I began, “last night was fairly intense, would you agree?”

“Yes. More intense than any night I can recall,” she told me.

“After what you agreed to, would you agree that we’re an item?” Taking my hand off the wheel for a brief moment I made air quotes.

“I wouldn’t have done that...let you control me that way if we weren’t,” she said.

“Then, from now on,” I pulled up to a stop light and looked at her, “wherever we go and whatever we do, unless I tell you about it, you are not to ask questions. Any simple conversation is fine but there will be no questioning. I take you where I take you. I do with you what I wish to do with you.”

Her brow wrinkled and I could tell she wanted to know why I made this edict. Too, it was obvious I had made her rather tense, and that she was quite unsure of what she should say or how she should react. But as the light turned green and I hit the accelerator, she agreed with a slight nod and a meek, “Okay.”

“You want to know why?” I asked.

Suddenly Melissa seemed more relaxed. I saw her take in a deep breath and then let it out before answering, “Yes,” in a low voice.

“The other night, you agreed that you wanted your choices taken away,” I told her. “If that is so it doesn’t matter what I am doing or why I am doing it. With no choices there is no need to know anything other than what I wish of you.” Melissa nodded as I spoke. “Essentially, if you have no choices the what, why and where is immaterial. Does that make sense?”

“It does to a degree,” she said. “But I can see where it might be a detriment, as well. Are you saying this should apply to everything?”

“That would be foolish,” I said. “I would say it depends on the context. For instance, if I am taking you some place there is never a need to know. You also have no need of knowing my motivations for doing things. On the other hand, if you are making dinner and want to know what I want you to make you should ask.” I paused for a moment then thought of an important addendum. “This doesn’t apply to asking me to stop something that is negatively affecting you or if you are afraid of something.

“Okay,” she uttered.

“Amendments to all I say can be made if the need arises,” I told her. “Nothing is absolutely set in stone and some of what I said might not be as thought out as I would like. But we will cross the necessary bridges when we come to them.”

“That works,” she told me. “I was worried you were going to be very rigid. I think that might cause some problems if you were.”

I glanced at her and smiled. “Don’t worry. This is a work in progress. We will work out everything that needs to be worked. Now, pull your dress up, spread your legs and start rubbing yourself.”

Red faced, Melissa complied with my order. By the time we reached Tom and Marla’s she was thoroughly worked up and needful of a release I was not ready to allow.

After shutting off the car I told her to remain seated. “From now on,” I ordered, “your door will be opened for you. If I do not open your door you are to remain seated where you are and wait. Understand?”

Melissa flushed then smiled and nodded. “I understand.”

I reached out my hand to help her from the car. “And continue answering questions the same way,” I told her. “Complete answers. Okay?”

“I will,” she said, flushing ever more red. “I will try to always use complete answers.”

I grinned, pulled her to me and kissed her, then offered a pleased “Good girl” that garnered a wide, embarrassed grin.

After retrieving a large, heavy box from my trunk we walked up the road to Tom and Marla’s drive and then to the house. After ringing the doorbell I turned to Melissa and smiled. “This is going to be an interesting afternoon,” I told her, for which I received a quizzical gaze. “You’ll see.”

Marla had a tendency to wear rather exposing clothes. It was not uncommon, even in colder weather, to find her in the shortest of cut-off, denim shorts and a t-shirt that fit far too snugly; today was no exception. Soon after ringing the doorbell she opened the door. “Come on it!” she greeted, smiling broadly. Taking note of the box, she said, “That’s a mighty big box you have there. What’s in it?”

I flashed a grin that garnered an “Oh, no,” and then a mothering, “It’s always something evil with you two boys,” from Marla that made my grin even bigger. As she turned and invited us into her living room then heard a quiet “Crap, this means I’m spending the majority of the night suffering.”

As Melissa and I sat on the couch I said, “Who knows, he might start your suffering early. You might even spend the afternoon that way,” I chuckled, “depending on his mood.”

Marla stopped and turned towards me, “This isn’t going to be like the poker party is it?” There was a look of exasperation on her face.

“Could be,” I said. “I did suggest he invite the guys over,” I fibbed. I guess he didn’t tell you, eh?”

“Crap!” Marla exclaimed. “Okay, I’m gonna go get Tom out of the pool room. You guys want anything to drink? I have coffee, tea, lemonade, wine and other adult beverages.”

“Lemonade for both of us,” I answered. “Get Tom first then get the drinks.”

“K.” Then she rushed off to the pool room to notify her husband of our presence.

Tom was quick to join us, and even quicker to take the box from the coffee table where I had placed it. “It’s heavier than I thought it would be,” he said.

“It’s filled with steel, man,” I laughed, “what did you expect?”

He looked at me for a moment, and then nodded. “Yeah, guess I’m not thinking. Do I need any instructions?”

“It’s pretty obvious how it all goes together. I guess the main instruction would be; don’t lose the keys,” I said.

He laughed. “Good plan.” Tom turned his gaze towards the kitchen as Marla brought our lemonades. “How long will it take to put them all on?” He turned back to me.

“Ten minutes at most,” I informed him. “So long as the measurements you gave me were right. Otherwise they just won’t fit right.”

“Would you mind if I...?” he gave a wink and a grin, leaving his sentence unfinished.

“Go ahead,” I said. “We have no other plans and I figured it would be amusing to see the results.”

Tom turned to Marla, who let out another staccato exclamation designating her anticipation of an unknown torture, then back to me. “Here or in the bedroom?” he asked me. “I mean, you and Melissa are sort of new.”

I turned and faced Melissa who seemed utterly lost by the events at hand. “Melissa,” I said in my most formal of tones, “the box is filled with some rather exotic bondage equipment. Tom intends on applying the items post haste. What Tom wants to know is whether it would be offensive to you if he did it in front of you or if he should do it in the bedroom. She will be nude, after all. Since we are a new couple and you are unaccustomed to our familiarity, I cannot speak for you. So, would you prefer they do this in private?”

Silently looking at me, mouth agape and pupils dilated, she seemed at an utter loss for words. More noticeable was the bright red hue of her exposed skin and the sweat that now beaded upon it. Only slightly less noticeable were her hardened nipples that appeared ready to burst through her sundress. She was, quite obviously, highly aroused.

“Maybe it’s best if you do it in the other room, “I said, turning back to Tom.

“It’s okay!” Melissa blurted. “I’m okay with it.”

I grinned at Tom and Marla. “You heard her,” I said.

Tom returned my grin, and then looked at his wife. “You heard the man, get out of your clothes.”

Marla slipped her cut-off shorts and panties from her body first, and then pulled off her t-shirt. Her large breasts bounced as she lowered her arms. Then she smiled at us all and giggled. Having worked hard to keep herself in excellent condition she was proud of her body, and rightfully so. Being an exhibitionist she was also quite happy to show it off at nearly every opportunity.

“So, what’s in store for me?” she asked, then flashed Tom a mock look of fear.

From the box, Tom withdrew a two-piece metal belt that closely resembled a bikini save that where a bikini would normally pass between her legs. In this case what should have passed between her legs ended with rather large, metal balls that had been drilled out and threaded. Once the belt had been fasted around Marla’s hips the intent of the balls was quite obvious.

“Nice,” Tom muttered.

“There’s a bag,” I said to Tom. “That’s the next bit you will want.”

The bag, Tom discovered, had two silicone coated dildos, each with a shiny threaded base and one was longer by several inches. Tom grinned and looked at his wife who nervously smiled back.

“Look at the bottom of the dildo,” I said to Tom.

He inspected them, noticed the hex nut and gave me a questioning look. “Really?”

“Yup,”

He was quick to rummage through the bag for the hex wrench. Then, experimentally, he applied the wrench to the nuts in the bottom of the dildos and began turning both dildo and wrench. As expected, the dildos expanded.

Tom looked over to me again. “How big?”

“Bigger than your wrist,” I answered. “Use the short one up front and the long one in back.”

“Gotcha!” Tom seemed the proverbial kid in a candy store.

After returning the dildo to its natural state, Tom pushed the shortest of the pair into Marla’s mouth, ordering her to “Get it good and wet.” A moment later and it was pushed through the threaded ball between her legs and screwed into place. Tom smiled menacingly as he pushed the hex wrench into the nut and began turning it. Once satisfied with the dildo’s expansion, and after listening to Marla gasp and groan more than once he relented on expanding it further.

“Now for your ass,” Tom said excitedly. “Best get this one even wetter. I won’t be gentle.” Then he grasped her ponytail and jerked her head back roughly. The dildo was forced down her throat, making it swell fairly dramatically.  He fucked her throat for a few seconds then pulled the dildo out and ordered she bend over.

“Bill, is this right?” Tom asked, indicating the belt’s anterior ball. “It isn’t up tight against her ass like the other was against her pussy.”

“That’s intentional,” I told him. “It’s made to barely nestle between the cheeks of her ass. That’s why that dildo is so long. Put it in. I think you’ll get a big kick out of it.”

Tom went back to work installing the longer of the two dildos after which he began turning the hex nut that expanded the dildo. It was met with a rather unexpected reaction as Marla gasped and blurted “No! It’s stretching my hole!”

Tom laughed. “It’s supposed to,” he said, then gave the nut another couple of twists.

“You don’t understand!” Marla nearly screamed, “It’s not like the inflatable plug, Tom! This is stretching my hole. My hole! It’s not just inside. It’s the...my sphincter...it’s being stretched as big as it is inside, too!”

Tom gave me a questioning look then cocked an eyebrow.

“She’s right. It’s made to stretch her actual sphincter.” I told him. “I remembered how you said you were interested in seeing if it was possible to lose control. You can find out now.” I must have looked the spit and image of the Cheshire cat I was smiling so broadly.

Tom returned the grin as Marla began complaining. “I don’t want to lose control, Tom. I don’t. Please take it out. Please.”

He gave the nut a few more twists then said, “Slave mode, slut.” Instantly shutting her down and silencing her but for the sad little whimpers she was unable to contain.

Tom pulled Marla’s ponytail back, making her stand upright then returned his attention to the box and ignored Marla’s tears. “Are these the breast rings?” he asked, pulling two circlets of metal from the box.

“You need to unlock them. There’s an envelope inside. “Don’t lose them or you’ll never get her out of any of this shit,” I told him.

He nodded, found the envelope and withdrew the keys. After unlocking the circlets which, like the belt, were made of two inch wide, quarter inch thick surgical steel he began applying them. When he was done it appeared as if she had two large snow-globes attached to her chest.

“Nice,” he said, turning to me. “What’s next?” he uttered, rubbing his hands together like an evil genius then dug into the box.

By the time he had finished, Marla nearly looked as if she were as much steel as flesh. A wide collar around her neck held her head up stiffly and her wrists were bound behind her back with a single, four inch wide cuff that attached to a metal bar that fastened to her collar. Her ankles were bound similarly and held eight inches apart by another metal bar. No one could keep their eyes from the girl.

Breaking the silence, I noted to Tom that there was one piece missing. Curious, he looked into the box and found the piece I was speaking of; a mouthpiece with a large hole through the middle that he was quick to install.

“Where is the strap to lock it in?” he asked me, staring at his terribly uncomfortable wife.

“Oh, she can’t eject it,” I told him.

Tom glanced at me then back at Marla. “You sure?”

I nodded then told her to try to spit out the mouthpiece. A few moments of struggle confirmed my statement. 

For the next hour or so the four of us remained in the living room. Melissa barely seemed able to pull her eyes from Marla, who sat quietly, occasionally whimpering her discomfort. Meanwhile, Tom and I engaged in a rather pleasant chat about how long it might take for Marla to actually lose control of her sphincter muscle. We ended with a minor bet, my own totaling eight weeks after she became accustomed to wearing it and his own was six.

Finally, I decided it was time to leave. Tom walked Melissa and I to the door and said our goodbyes. Just to be a bastard I yelled into the living room how pretty she looked ‘all decked out’ as she was.

Melissa was quite silent after leaving Tom and Marla’s. Her eyes were wide and she was trembling. Finally, just as I pulled into the parking lot of a small cafe she found her voice.

“That was scary,” she said. Tears flowed from her eyes, down her cheeks and then fell to her bosom. She turned to me and offered a weak smile. “I had no idea it was going to get that scary.”

I parked the car and shut off the engine. “What was so scary about it?” I asked.

“The intensity of it all,” she said. “The...the control he has over her, the way he shut her up, what he is going to do to her....what he did to her. It was all...so...intense.”

I smiled and adjusted myself in my seat. “Did you like it?”

Another weak smile was flashed. “That’s the other scary part,” she told me. “I did like it. Worse, I wanted him to do more to her. I wanted there to be more to do...more of the metal, more suffering...more humiliation.”

“Are you wet?” I asked.

Melissa nodded her head. “I don’t know.”

“Find out,” I said softly.

Melissa gave a smile that was almost a frown at the same time. Her face blazed red and she began sweating again as her tiny hands began moving slowly, pulling the fabric up from between her legs. She felt between her legs, moaned lightly. “Yes, I’m wet,” she whispered.

“What do you taste like?”

“I don’t know.” I stared at her for a long moment, waiting for her to provide the answer I wanted. Her forehead wrinkled and she slowly brought her fingers to her mouth and tasted her wetness. “I taste sweet but kind of tart.”

“Good girl.”

The cafe was only moderately full. The sounds of clinking silverware and low conversation filled the room. A tall, blond haired and brightly smiling waitress came by, gave us our menus and took our drink order. As we both read the menus I heard a small voice ask “What was the poker game?”

The bright, smiling faced waitress came by to take our orders, then left. I smiled at Melissa. “You want to know about the poker game?”

Chapter 2

The poker game started near 6PM. Tom and Marla had laid out a huge spread of food of varying varieties and lots of beer - good beer. There were four of us, not counting our girls who expected a simple night of chick-chat while we played. It began as a simple game; penny-ante stuff. But as the beer altered moods it altered the state of the game.

The first change came from James (you’ll meet him eventually), who had a penchant towards the sadistic. Both Tom and I had folded when James bet Colin (you’ll meet him too), a hot pepper in his girls ass. Both Tom and I laughed. But Colin called his bet and promptly lost. That’s when things took on a whole new outlook.

Brenda, Colin’s girl, was called over to the table and ordered to strip, which she did with more than a little hesitation. She was informed of the bet and its consequences and after a bit of resistance got on hands and knees, ass up, and took the pepper in her ass. It was decided, after another hand of poker in which Colin’s girl got another pepper in her ass that there needed to be a time limit for such things, as well as a limit as to how much pain any one girl should be forced to endure. By this time all eyes were on Brenda. She was crying and sweating terribly, begging to have the pepper pulled from her ass. It was also decided that all the girls should strip down, have their arms bound behind them and await the outcome of each hand. None of the girls was pleased but being slaves, they all complied.

After Brenda was relieved of the two peppers the games commenced; she was given a soapy enema to ease her pain. Peppers were then banned from the betting and the game recommenced in a more standard manner. But after a few more hands were played it was decided the girls should service us while we played.

Several hands and several beers later James and Colin were, once again, in a showdown. That’s when James said he would wage his ‘cocksucker’ against Colin’s. Colin lost again and Brenda was made to join in pleasuring James under the table with express orders to pleasure James however he wished. She was not happy. She was even more unhappy when James came in her mouth and forced her to snowball it with his own girl, Tina, for several minutes while everyone watched. Tina was not particularly thrilled, either.

After a short break in which Tina and Brenda were allowed to clean up, we returned to our game. Things were running smoothly. Betting had returned to normal and each of the girls was hard at work under the table. Frankly, I was relieved by the seeming return to normalcy as I had no intention of using my girl as a bet. It did not, however, remain normal for long and I was quite surprised to hear Tom throw Marla into the mix on the first round of bets and, judging by the thump under the table, so was Marla.

“I see your dollar and raise you a golden guzzle,” Tom announced.

“She drinks from our sluts or from us?” Colin asked, more than intrigued by the bet. “And if we lose who do our sluts drink from?”

I threw my cards on the table and looked at Tom, who was grinning like a fool. “I guess Bill is out,” he announced, “So I guess if you two lose I’ll fill a glass and let them each drink half.”

Tom was right. I folded while both James and Colin called. They lost, Tom emptied his bladder into a beer mug, filling it about two thirds full, and Brenda and Tina unhappily drank down the hot, frothy results of several beers.

The game went well into the early morning. I had refused to bet my girl’s talents the entire night save for one occasion when I was certain of a win. Colin lost most of his major bets, while Tom and James won the majority of theirs.

Sadly, for Brenda, the consequences of Colin’s poker skills had taken a huge toll on her system. Several breaks had to be taken, and the girls released from their bondage, so they could help her into the bathroom, either to relieve herself or throw up. She had been forced to eat and drink various foods and drinks out of the ass of one girl or another, forced to drink what Colin referred to as recycled beer (his most popular bet) on at least ten occasions and also had to deal with the humiliation of filling her own ass with a full beer bottle (thick end in) and keeping inside her for the majority of the night. She could barely walk by the time the poker party broke.

As for the other girls; Michelle only serviced me. Marla only had to drink a bladder of recycled beer from James and join in servicing Colin once. Tina spent most of the night servicing James or Joining Brenda on Tom.

And that was the poker party.

Melissa seemed both disgusted and aroused by the recounting and had uttered not a sound until its completion.

“Why didn’t you bet your girl more than the one time?” she asked.

“My girl is my girl,” I told her. “I may have her pleasure other women but I’ll be damned if she is going to service another man; especially it will not be on a whim. I don’t play games with my girl.”

Melissa smiled. “Okay,” she said.

We ate in relative silence. Melissa seemed far away and most of the times I talked to her I had to repeat what I said. Occasionally she did ask a question about the poker party, but mostly she was silent.

After leaving the cafe I decided to take her home and, once we were buckled into our respective seats Melissa asked “Do you think he will do it?”

“Who will do what?” I queried.

“Sorry,” she murmured, shaking her head. “I seem to be a bit out of it. I meant, do you think Tom will make Marla lose control?”

“Do you hope he succeeds? I asked.

Melissa blushed. “Part of me does. Is that wrong?”

“It isn’t wrong,” I told her. “They are a couple in a BDSM relationship. It’s part of what they do. And, yes, I do.”

“You do what?”

“I think Tom will make Marla lose control,” I said, then turned and leaned in, adding, “He is going to get her accustomed to having something in her ass twenty-four hours a day, except for when he gives her enemas. Then he is going to keep her in that belt with the dildo lodged in her ass. He will expand it every other day until it reaches its maximum size.” I lowered my voice and leaned in closer, almost touching her ear with my mouth. “After a few weeks her sphincter’s muscle memory will accommodate to being open – it won’t close automatically. Then her sphincter will lose elasticity and begin to atrophy. After a few more weeks she will have no control. Once she has it in for a few months it will be irreversible and she will have no control whatsoever. Then she will be forced to wear a full time plug or adult diapers.” I pulled back and stared at her.

“That’s horrible,” she whispered. “Why does it turn me on?”

“Do you wonder why you are heterosexual or why you like certain foods but dislike others?” I asked.

She looked at me and tilted her head like a puppy hearing a new sound. “No. I don’t.”

“Do you control whether or not you are heterosexual or like certain foods?”

“You’re saying it’s out of my control, aren’t you?” asked Melissa.

“I am. Now, let’s get you home,” I said.

It was not a long drive to her apartment, and when we arrived she was deep in thought, and seemingly somewhat addled. I walked her up to her door, and after watching her fumble with her keys I took them from her and unlocked her door. Upon entering her apartment I decided it might be best for her to take a nap. It was relatively early but her lack of sleep and addled state of mind led me to believe it the best course of actions. Melissa was quick to agree.

I was about to leave when Melissa surprised me by pulling off her sundress and kneeling in front of me. “Stay with me?” she pleaded. “Please.”

I lifted her from the floor and embraced her, kissing her forehead. “I’ll stay,” I said, then led her to her bedroom and, after removing her sandals, put her in bed. After pulling her comforter over her I kicked off my shoes and lay down, draping my arm across her body.

“I need...,” she whispered, “I need...so bad...please let me...”

“Rub yourself,” I whispered back.

Still whispering but in a high, sad pitch, she said, “I can’t. Not with you here. It’s too embarrassing.”

“I will make you do things more embarrassing than that,” I told her. “Things that will make masturbating in front of me seem mundane.”

She inhaled deeply, sighed and turned her head towards me. “I know. But I can’t do it now.”

Shortly thereafter, Melissa fell into a deep slumber. Sometime after that I took my leave, writing her a short note and leaving it on her nightstand.

Later, as I was in the midst of making a light dinner I heard my cell. The voice that greeted me sounded groggy, desperate and sad. “Come over, Bill,” she begged. “I need you to fuck me. I need abuse.”

I refused her and she quickly fell into silence. I quickly explained to her that I was making dinner and that I would call her as soon as I could. Though disappointed she accepted this and we said our goodbyes. “Don’t forget me,” Melissa said, sounding as if she were crying.

As I sat down to enjoy my dinner I mused on how the day had affected Melissa. She had slipped into a near mindless headspace simply by watching Tom and Marla and had done it again when I had told her about the poker game. There had been a little head start when I made her masturbate in the car, but most women I knew would not have been affected so deeply or easily.

After dinner I headed to my shower, got clean and then climbed into bed. Looking at the clock I saw that it was almost eleven.  That’s when I finally called Melissa.

“I thought you forgot about me,” Melissa said, her voice low.

I chuckled. “Is that how you answer the phone?”

“Sorry. Today was kind of traumatic. I was upset that you left,” she told me. “I expected you to be there when I woke up.”

I smiled into the phone. “I am sorry to have disappointed you. It won’t happen again.”

Melissa sighed. I heard a ruffling and suspected she was in bed. “It’s okay. I was just...I don’t know...I think I miss you.”

“Good to be missed,” I told her. “I see you haven’t gotten out of bed.”

“Do you have a camera at my house or something,” she gasped.

Again, I smiled to myself. I liked keeping her on edge and the mysterious aspects my observations allowed me. “I just know things,” I said, arrogantly.

“Sometimes you creep me out,” said Melissa. “It’s weird how you seem to always know what I’m doing or what I have done.”

“I’m good at being creepy. It’s part of my charm,” I laughed. I had only done this to her a few times; momentarily I reflected on the how so few such occurrences could affect a person.

“How do you know these things?” asked Melissa. “I mean, you know when I am messing with my hair, when I’m in bed. It’s like you’re watching me.”

“I’m an observant man, Melissa. I watch and listen. Also, I have an eidetic memory,” I said. “Few things get past me.”

“What’s that mean? Is that like a photographic memory?” she asked.

“Something like that, yes.” She seemed to relax at this revelation. “I see words, faces, things. Anything that happens around me, even the subtle things, I can remember in exacting detail; every action you make, everything you say or do, every nuance of your personality is recorded in my brain,” I told her, then added, “But I am surprisingly bad with time sequences.”

“So,” she began, dragging out the word, “does that mean you can predict the things I am going to do?”

I heard a minor rustling from her end and grinned as a moment of deviltry overtook me. “No one told you to rub yourself,” I said.

There was a quick zipping sound. “Oh, my God!” she exclaimed. “How did you know? No, I know how you knew. But...I mean; it’s just scary!”

I laughed and so did she. After a bit of small chat we reviewed the day’s activities, including the story of the poker party. Only after that did she think to ask me how it was that I brought the bondage gear to Tom and Marla.

“In my younger days I had been somewhat of a gearhead,” I began. “As a consequence I developed an interest in vintage and classic automobiles. Unfortunately there is a dearth of parts for many old cars and I was forced to improvise. Before I even knew it I was reconstructing parts from old scraps and machining what could not be remade, then selling them at car shows to needy classic car enthusiasts. My reputation for exacting standards and quality work grew quickly.”

“Cars to BDSM?” she asked, doubtfully.

Ignoring her question, I continued my explanation; “Later, after delving into the BDSM community, I noticed a rather sad trend; the sale of low quality bondage equipment for exorbitant prices. Ever one to buck a trend, I was soon adapting my skills to the manufacture of high quality BDSM equipment.”

“Originally, my operation was quite small. However, as my reputation amongst classic car enthusiasts and BDSM aficionados grew I found myself needy of more spacious accommodations. Of utmost importance, I now had the means to expand and improve on my garage based business,” I told her. “It was this that led me to purchase a small, abandoned business complex I had converted to both workspace and home. Since then my car-based business has sort of been converted to a BDSM-based business. From time to time Tom – he’s my business partner - will come to me with an idea for a bondage device. If I think it’s feasible I make it. Though, most of what I make is my own design.”

Melissa seemed intrigued and began asking questions about the devices I made. She seemed particularly intrigued when she learned I could make three dimensional computer models of people as an aid to making custom equipment. “Are you going to make one of me?” she asked enthusiastically.

I laughed. “I had not thought of it,” I admitted, “but it is a distinct likelihood.”

There was a long silence and then a breathy, “I would like that.”

Melissa continued asking questions about how such a thing would be accomplished and what the possibilities were. Finally I squelched her inquiries. “Enough about me and my so-called business,” I said. “I have a few questions about your sexual past.” Then I ordered her to rub herself and commenced my questioning.

“How old were you when you first had sex?” I asked.

She inhaled deeply, and then answered, “Seventeen. It was with my boyfriend. Er, you mean vaginal intercourse, right?”

“Yes,” I confirmed. “Now tell me how old you were when you were when first you performed oral sex on a man.”

“That was at sixteen,” she told me.

“What about anal sex?” I asked.

“I only had anal sex once and it was almost over before it began,” Melissa revealed. “He started to put it in and it hurt and I wouldn’t let him try again. I don’t know how some girls, like Marla, can do it.”

“But how old were you?”

Her breath was somewhat ragged and I could tell she was close to orgasm. This was obviously a topic Melissa liked to talk about. Finally, she told me she was twenty at the time of her first anal encounter.

“All right,” I said, “what about when you received oral sex the first time?”

“I was about nineteen, I think,” Melissa answered. “It was the only time. I get too self-conscious to enjoy it.”

“Last question regarding your past,” I said, getting ready to take our conversation on a turn I suspected would set her off. “When did you begin having sex on a regular basis?”

“I’ve never really had it on a regular basis,” she told me. “At most it was twice a week for a period of about two months. But we broke up.”

It was time to see if I could tip the apple cart. I found what she didn’t like and I needed to know how she would react to the possibility of being forced to endure and live with something she didn’t want. So I said, “Melissa, slow down your rubbing and listen closely.” I paused to make sure she was listening. “I want you to hear what I have to say and I want you to understand that I mean every word I speak.”

The brushing sounds of her masturbation slowed and she uttered a breathy “Okay.”

“I am going to fuck your ass.” My tone was slow, low and very deliberate. “I will fuck your ass often and I will fuck your ass hard. There will be days you are ass fucked three and four times. There will be months when your vagina may as well not exist; when you will be an exclusive anal slave. You should know, too, that after every ass fucking you will be expected – no required – to suck my cock clean. There will be no exceptions to this rule, Melissa.”

There came a tortured moan; a cry of desperation as I completed my last sentence. Suddenly she was begging, “May I sonar? Please! I need to sonar. May I sonar? Oh, God, I need it so bad!”

“Cum for me,” I whispered.

Melissa screamed out her pleasures, and as one orgasm subsided another was requested, granted and followed with another request. On and on it went; cries and moans turned to screams as she climaxed time and again, still begging for more. When I told her to stop I was met with pleas for more, and then tortured sobs when she realized I would allow no more orgasms.

“Pull your hand from between your legs,” I ordered. “No more rubbing.”

Her whimpers increased and she begged me to allow her to touch herself. “Let me rub my pussy. I don’t need to cum, but please, please let me rub it. Please!” she cried.

“Why should I allow more? I asked. “Have I had even one orgasm?”

“But I need it so bad!” she begged. “I need to rub myself. Please let me.”

“Cum for me,” I said. There was a sudden gurgling, a groan and a cry as her orgasm commenced. I ordered another as the first subsided and received a similar result. Then I said, “Sonar!” in a commanding voice, and Melissa exploded once again.

Melissa was not the first I had trained to cum to a word, though she would be the last. I had trained the women before her to cum to a word; usually a word seldom spoken. In all my experiences, however, I had never managed to train a woman so quickly as I had Melissa. I could own her, I mused, body and soul. Susceptible as she was to my methods there was nothing I could not do.

For nearly an hour I kept her in a state of near constant orgasm. From time to time I allowed her a moment to catch her breath, though those moments were short lived. Finally, as she tried desperately to catch her breath her want for more came to a halt; “No more,” she cried out, “I...can’t take...any...more.”

I made her cum several more times, sometimes demanding her orgasms cease mid-climax. It was obvious she hated those moments but she did her best to comply with my orders and I marveled, once again, at the ease with which she had been trained. Finally, seeing she was near to passing out from lack of breath, I ordered a halt to her orgasms. “Pull your hand from between your legs,” I told her. “You’ve had enough for the night.”

Her voice was ragged and hoarse when she thanked me, in shallow, barely audible words. Soon as her words of gratitude had reached my ears I heard her whisper a desperate sounding “Oh, no!” It was followed by a grunt and another, though un-whispered, exclamation. “No!” she cried out.

I listened, entranced by her sudden, desperate sounding cries. A grunt made its way to my ears, followed by a slight high pitched whine. “May I sonar?” she ejaculated.

Before I could respond to her request I could tell she was in the midst of another orgasm. At its completion there came another grunt, then a growl and a cry. “I can’t stop it,” she cried, then climaxed again. “Please make it stop!” she begged as soon as she found her voice again. But I could not stop it any more than could she.

There followed a long series of orgasms; each accompanied by grunts and growls as she helplessly fought against them. Many times, in between waves of tormenting pleasure, she begged me to bring them to a halt; and though I tried, it was no more in my power than hers. So I waited and listened. There was nothing else I could do.

Eventually, her orgasms grew further apart. Conversation returned to a more normal state but for the occasional grunt followed by another orgasm. Then, mid-sentence, she stopped speaking. A light snore told me she had fallen asleep, exhausted from her ordeal. I clicked off my phone and rolled over to ponder the possibilities a woman of Melissa’s abilities presented.

A phone call woke me from my sleep. It was, of course, Melissa. Peering at my clock I could see it was nearing 4 AM. Only slightly concerned, I answered the phone to hear a crying Melissa.

“I’m sorry,” she cried. “I tried to stop. Really I did. Please don’t be mad. I tried. I tried to stop. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t. I tried to stop but I couldn’t. Please believe me. Please...”

“Hush,” I said, in as soft and soothing a voice as I could muster. “I know, baby. I know.” Melissa quieted, but I could tell she was crying. Relax. I know you couldn’t stop. I know how hard you tried to stop. It’s okay. So calm down and take a deep breath.”

“You aren’t mad?” she asked, sobbing.

“Don’t worry, Melissa,” I told her. “I know you tried to stop and I know you couldn’t.”

She sniffed and hiccupped. “You know?”

“I know. Now, I want you to go take a shower,” I told her. “When you’re done I want you to climb back into bed and call me. But know that I am not mad. Not even a little. Now, go shower.”

There was a soft “okay” then the line went dead.

As usual, I woke fairly early. That Melissa had failed to call me was not terribly surprising. Considering her exhaustive night I would have been more surprised if she had called. My first thought was to call her, but I decided it might be best if I waited. So I showered and shaved, then made breakfast, only calling her as the clock ticked 11 AM.

It was a groggy voice that answered the phone, and it took a fair amount of time before she seemed able to clear her head; even then much of the night was little more than a blur. Most especially she seemed to have difficulty remembering any conversation that had taken place after her fit of orgasms. Nevertheless, I pushed her to leave the comfort of her bed, take a shower and get some food in her stomach. “You need to eat,” I told her. “Then I want you to get on a pair of shorts and a t shirt – no bra – and be ready to leave by one. We are going to have some fun. Oh, and wear sneakers, too.

I picked her up at the specified time and headed down to Malibu. Our first stop was a surf shop where I purchased a couple boogie boards, dive masks and snorkels, and two pair of swim fins. Much to her chagrin I also bought a blue thong bikini that was far too small for her attributes. To say she was self-conscious while wearing it would be an understatement, and there were several occasions when she fell out of it.

After spending the day boogie boarding and diving in shallow water I took her to a little place in Santa Monica for a sumptuous seafood dinner. Then we headed back to her apartment. We were both rather worn out and she was also quite sore, though more from the previous night than the day’s activities. It being Sunday night and knowing she had to work the next day I was determined not to stay too late. But Melissa had other plans.

“Why don’t you stay the night?” Melissa asked. “I would really like it if you did.”

“I would,” I admitted, “but I think I shouldn’t. There are a few more things I need to ensure before we get physical.”

She pouted, looked at me pleadingly with her large emerald eyes, and then asked if I was sure.

“Trust me,” I told her. “If we wait two more weeks things will be far better than if we jump into bed tonight.”

Melissa tilted her head; the image of a puppy questioning an unknown sound. Then she flashed a smile. “I do trust you,” she said. “And this has been more exciting than any relationship I have had, and it’s only been a few weeks. Two more won’t kill me. Then again,” she started laughing, “a repeat of last night might just drive me insane!”

I took her in my arms and gave her a hard kiss on the lips. I pulled back and grinned wickedly, saying, “If another night like that drives you insane there is a good chance you will be committed and re-committed by the time I’m through with you.”

Melissa grinned widely, “Mmm, threats like that will get you everywhere, mister.” She put her arms around me and gave me a kiss. “I’m gonna go take a shower and call you when I get out, kay?”

“That’ll work,” I said. I decided then to gauge the work I had done, so I added, “When I get home we can find out how much sonar you can take.”

Melissa’s eyes went blank for a brief second as she stepped back from me. A pained look came over her that quickly changed to one of worry. She grunted and bent forward slightly, placing her right hand on my chest. Then she let out a slight, high-pitched noise somewhat reminiscent of a dolphin call. When the moment passed she looked up at me. There were tears coursing down her cheeks and she looked utterly stunned.

“You okay?” I asked.

Melissa stumbled back, eyes slightly glazed. “Yeah, I’m fine,” she said; an obvious lie. “I...uh...I think the sun must have taken more out of me than I thought. That’s all.”

The entire drive home I must have been smiling as wide a smile as I had ever smiled. I was so self-satisfied I felt as if I were about to explode. Melissa had climaxed without any stimulus beyond the trigger word. Already she had surprised me with her easy suggestibility. But this was beyond my hopes, and I found myself greatly looking forward to the possibilities. Quickly, my mind headed to the places I would take her when she called tonight. Unfortunately, my plans and hopes were dashed when she failed to call.

I had assumed, wrongly, that her failure to call was a result of fatigue. It was entirely likely, I reasoned, she had fallen asleep as soon as she got into bed. The weekend had, after all, been rather taxing for the poor girl. However, when my call to her the next day went straight to voicemail I knew something was amiss. By Thursday, after my calls had gone unanswered, I decided that she, like so many others, had found my methods to be beyond her abilities to cope. She simply was not the girl I thought her to be, nor, I knew, was she the girl for me.

I was out working in my shop late Thursday night when Melissa called. Immediately I ceased my work and headed into the house so I could give her my full attention. It was then that I realized the true depth of my feelings; that I was rapidly falling in love. For when she revealed her own feelings; that she too was falling in love, I found my vision clouded by tears of joy.

We spoke for a long time; of the past, the present and the future. Then she revealed to me how frightened she was of her feelings and the level of control I had over her body. “I have trouble thinking when I’m with you,” she told me. “That’s scary as Hell. And the other night, when you said...when you said...that word...it triggered an orgasm. I tried to stop it and I couldn’t.” Melissa paused, and then took a deep breath. “All night long I stared at the phone. I wanted to call but I couldn’t.”

“I think I can understand why,” I told her. “It must have been pretty odd having an orgasm that way for the first time.”

“It gets better,” Melissa said. “Monday, I was sitting at the front desk doing my job and thinking about how awful it was that I didn’t call you. Then one of the guys in the office starts talking about bats. Who talks about bats?” she laughed. “Anyhow, he started talking about echo location; only he used the other word for it. Suddenly I was having an orgasm. Only he didn’t say it just once. He said it again and again and it was all I could do to maintain my composure. Finally, I had to run to the bathroom to get away from him.”

“Oh man,” I said, “that must have been interesting, to say the least.”

“It gets even better, Bill,” she told me. “It was like the other night when you made me cum over and over and I couldn’t stop. I must have been in the bathroom for a half hour having orgasm after orgasm. It totally freaked me out.”

Melissa gave a little laugh. “In retrospect it’s kind of funny. But it sure wasn’t funny then.”

“It is a bit funny. But I can understand your uneasiness with it all,” I admitted. “It has to be strange cumming to a word.”

“Anyhow,” Melissa continued, “I got to thinking of how you talked about making me think of only pleasing you. Then I got to wondering if you would be disappointed to learn I don’t actually think of anything when I’m with you. I mean it, Bill; it’s like I’m a blank slate waiting to be told what to do.”

“It’s not a disappointment,” I told her.

“Then I got to thinking about Marla and how Tom is going to make her lose control and I wondered if you would do that to me. You said I might go a long time just having anal and oral sex and that scared me. I don’t like anal sex, and I don’t want to do it but I know that I would if you wanted it. I mean I just go blank, so why wouldn’t I? Then there was all that steel Marla was in – and it was you who made it.” Melissa was rambling now, and I had no intention of stopping her. “Are you going to make something like that for me, too? I mean, it’s erotic and it turned me on watching it. But I don’t know if I would want to live that way. But then I don’t know if I would care or if I did care if I might like it because you like it. When you told me about the poker party you said you could never see yourself sharing your girl with another man but that left open the possibilities of sharing me with a woman. And I’m not gay or bi and I don’t want to be with a woman but I think I would be if you wanted it.”

I listened, rapt by her non-stop monolog; waiting to hear something that might help guide my future actions.

“And I am so very sorry I didn’t call you or answer your calls,” she continued rambling. “Also, when I didn’t call and then didn’t answer your calls or call you back would you be mad at me? I just got scared and that made me not answer more calls. I mean...you know...I’m still scared; but I really, really like you. I want to be with you. So bad, I want to be with you. Bill, I just don’t know if I can do it - be what you want me to be. But what if I can? What if I can be just what you want me to be? I mean, you said you would make me a sex toy. Would it be a good thing or a bad thing?”

“Hush!” I ordered, worried she might spiral out of control. “I told you awhile back what I wanted and what I expected. I gave you specific orders for things. But I also told you nothing was set in stone. Do you remember that?”

“Yes. I do remember that. But I also know what you want and I don’t want to disappoint you. What if...”

“Hush!” I ordered again. “Relax. Take a deep breath and calm yourself.”

There was a moment of silence before she gave a mousey “Okay.”

Then I told her I was going to ask her questions and she was to provide only single word answers. To my delight, she agreed with a single word.

“Do you want to be my girl?”

“Yes,” she breathed.

“Do you like how I treat you?”

Melissa gave another breathy “Yes.”

“Do you like how I make you feel?”

“Yes.” It seemed evident she wanted to say more but I continued.

“Does the idea of being a mindless sex toy turn you on?”

“Yes.”

“Would you like to be my mindless sex toy?” I finished.

There was a long moment where I could only hear her breathe into the phone. “Yes,” she finally answered.

“Good,” I stated. “Because that’s what I want of you. Now, would you like the answers to your worries?”

Melissa sniffed, and I suspected she might be crying. “Please.”

“All of those things are possibilities, the likelihood of which I do not know.” I told her. “But you must know this; I never want to do anything that would truly injure you. I may cause you pain and distress but I never want to cause emotional, mental or physical injury. I want you happy. You should feel confident in knowing that I will happily bring to a halt anything that makes you truly unhappy or sad. Your happiness is of utter importance to me. Always remember that.”

Melissa let out a heavy sigh. “Thank you. I think I needed to hear that.”

“Now tell me how you feel,” I told her.

She took a few moments before answering. Then she said, “Relieved and happy. I think I feel good; thankful at how understanding you are, too.”

I wanted to cement the deal with her; lay down a precedent, if you will; and clarify our ongoing relationship. Unable to find a more concise manner in which to do this I asked her, “Are you my sex toy; an object to do with as I please?”

To my surprise her answer was given with no hesitation; “Do with me as you will. I am your sex toy,” she said.

My heart nearly leapt from my body, so elated was I. I could think of little to say at that moment, knowing only my tremendous feelings of joy. Suddenly I heard myself laughing. Then I blurted out my love for her and she reciprocated.

“Okay,” I said, “I need to lock up my shop and shower. I’ll call you in about thirty minutes. I want you naked and in bed. I have plans for you.” I wiped my eyes and discovered I had been crying. “I’m really happy,” I told her.

“Me too,” said Melissa. “Go shower. I’ll be ready for you.”

About thirty minutes later we were on the phone; laughing at her retelling the story that came to be known as the ‘Bat-Man story’, even laughing at the name it was assigned. Then we assigned it further indignities, ending with, “Bat-Man, the world’s cummiest hero!” to which we laughed even more.

“I have to tell you,” she said, “he must have said that word something like six times in five minutes. I thought I was going insane! The next thing I know I’m in the bathroom having multiple orgasms and wondering if I would ever be able to stop!”

“That must have been one slick bathroom floor,” I laughed. “Anyone slip?”

“You’re a bad man!” she exclaimed, laughing at my joke. “Thank goodness I’m not a squirter!” Melissa burst out laughing at the notion. Had she known what her words portended she might not have laughed so hard.

As was usually the case, our conversation varied from daily life and into the realm of the sexual. Before long she had her hand between her legs as I exerted control over her mind. Then there came a confession of sorts.

“It’s time to tell you a few things about me,” I said. “I have a particular set of fetishes. Things you will find erotic, exciting and a bit worrisome. It’s nothing bad but you will find it interesting.”

“What is it?” asked Melissa. I could practically see her chewing her lower lip.

“I want you to roll to your side, first,” I told her. “Then I want you to start rubbing your fingers over your other hole. Do not put any fingers inside. Just rub over the hole.”

I waited while she readjusted her position and then told me she was rubbing her asshole.

“I have a rather large member,” I said. “It’s as big around as my wrist and it’s been measured at nine-inches long.”

Melissa was silent but for the slight gasp she let out.

I let this information sink in then said, “I also have an anal fetish. It’s not entirely a fetish but it’s still a fetish. You see, most women cannot take the full length of my member vaginally, but after a bit of work they can usually take it anally. But there are few things that excite me more than seeing myself buried deep inside a woman’s ass.”

There was another long silence and I waited for her to speak her fears. Finally, she asked, “What if I can’t do it?”

“You will,” I said. “You will because you’re my sex toy and it’s what sex toys do. When I told you there might be times when your ass would be the only hole used for lengthy periods I was not joking. My fantasy is to use your ass and mouth exclusively and it’s a fantasy I intend on carrying out.”

Melissa gasped. “This is very important to you, isn’t it?” she asked.

“Very much so,” I answered.

A moan made its way to my ears.

“It’s also likely you will find yourself plugged a great deal of the time, and I have not ruled out one of your greatest fears, either, and I...”

She moaned again.

“...think you know what it is.”

“I don’t know,” she said, but I knew she was lying.

“Tell me the truth,” I ordered.

Another moan escaped her. Then, in a whisper she said, “You might make me lose control,” and moaned again.

“Which means a lifetime of daily enemas and constantly being plugged,” I said, knowing it would increase her level of arousal.

“I don’t want that,” was her response.

“But you want to be forced. Don’t you?” I inquired.

“Yes,” she hissed.

“How does it feel rubbing your asshole?”

“It feels...damn it...it feels good,” was her answer.

I told her she could push in a finger. When she told me she didn’t want to I explained to her one of the rules she was going to have to live by. “When I give you permission to do something it should be taken as a command; and you will obey it.”

“I understand,” Melissa said, moaning into the phone. “It’s in,” she told me.

“Get it in as far as possible,” I told her. “Then slowly fuck your ass with it.

Melissa moaned again, hissing out her increased pleasure, and as her moans increased I spoke the word that would bring her bliss; “Sonar,” I said, launching her body into its first orgasm of the night.

“Push in another finger,” I told her after her second orgasm.

A brief moan made its way to my ears. “Okay,” she said, “I have two fingers in my ass.”

“Good girl,” I praised. “Now fuck your ass.

“I am. I’m fucking my ass,” she moaned.

“Does it feel good?”

Mellissa spoke in a whisper, “Yes,” she hissed.

“Would you like to cum again?” I asked.

“So much,” Melissa replied.

“Sonar,” I whispered.

I allowed her two more orgasms before making her remove her fingers from her bottom. There was a reluctant sigh that greeted my ears, though not so reluctant as the sound that came from her when I ordered she suck her fingers clean. “Lick them good, Melissa,” I commanded, “and understand that you just had your first anal orgasm.”

For several moments after we remained in silence. I assumed she was still licking her fingers. Then she said, “That wasn’t really fair.”

I chuckled. “What wasn’t fair?”

“I don’t really think those count as anal orgasms,” she told me. “I mean, you used the word. I didn’t cum from having my ass used.”

Grinning inwardly I determined that her next anal venture would be very much different from tonight’s.

Friday found the two of us out on the town. After a pleasant dinner we took a drive down California’s Pacific Coast Highway, parked just off-road at Leo Carrillo beach and spent a few hours alternating between conversation and light physical exploration. She wanted more but I refused. Then I promised her we would consummate our love the following weekend if things worked out as planned.

“What do you mean by ‘planned’?” asked Melissa.

I chuckled. “Have you failed to recognize the fact that I’ve been training you?”

To some, in fact to most of my friends and acquaintances, the word ‘training’ is used exclusively in regards to positions and specific commands, excepting for those into more extreme forms of BDSM-type play. In the case of emotional and physical responses the word is very often replaced by ‘conditioning’ as it sounds less demeaning. My choice in using the word is specific; to make absolutely clear my intentions. I want my girl to have full understanding and acceptance of my intent. Doing so makes her far more pliable in the long run. To be frank, it would be far easier in the short term if I went along with the more common vernacular. After all, mentioning training in the manner I do tends to lead to a rather interesting moment of temper. Melissa was no exception.

“So I’m a dog then?” Melissa demanded, her tone a clear indicator that she was both shocked and offended by my effrontery.

I laughed, utterly prepared for her reaction. Then, with a well-thought comment ready, I responded with a terse, “You are my sex toy, Melissa. I will train you, punish you, and use you in whatever fashion I see fit. Taking exception to facts is illogical and immature; far from what I expect in an adult.” I waited for a moment, allowing my words to take effect, and then softened my voice. “So far, Melissa, you are proving to be exactly what we have both indicated we wanted. But I want to make it clear to you that I will not tolerate you taking such a tone with me.”

She flushed red and looked down at her lap. Then she nodded her head and apologized. “I’m sorry. I just…,” she never completed her sentence.

I reached over and cupped her chin with my index finger, smiled at her and nodded. “Okay,” I said. “Now tell me whether or not you want to be my sex toy.”

A tear rolled down her cheek and she gave a wan smile. “I do want to be your sex toy,” she said. “I’m sorry I got mad when you said you were training me.”

I leaned in and gave her a deep kiss. “Then you want me to train you?” I asked when our lips parted.

Melissa hesitated for a few moments before nodding her head, telling me, “I want you to train me to be your sex toy.”

I kissed her again.

A few hours later I dropped her at her apartment, and after a few minutes of kissing and groping I headed home. As usual we talked on the phone while I drove. She had a few questions to ask and wanted clarification of my expectations. I was only too happy to oblige, with one caveat; “You must rub your finger over your bottom hole,” I told her. “In fact, any time we are on the phone and you want answers to questions I will expect you to announce you are doing so. Only then will you be allowed to ask questions.”

Melissa gasped at my demand but failed to put up any resistance. By the time I had pulled into my drive, and after only a few questions, she was begging for me to allow her to put her finger ‘in there’; a term I found quite amusing.

Melissa rarely used crude terms. In fact, she tended to avoid them entirely. In so doing she created for me a vehicle to increase her level of arousal quite significantly. When she began begging to put her finger ‘in there’ I determined to make her state it in the most crude terms available.

“Where is there?” I asked.

Moaning, she answered, “In my hole.”

Undaunted and enjoying her reticence, I pushed on. “You have two holes down there,” I told her. “You must be specific.”

This game went on for a few minutes. Eventually she caved and blurted, “Please may I push my finger in my butt hole?”

I could have let it go at that; something I had no intention of doing. I take pride in knowing well how to torment a girl into heightened sexual frustration and need. Moreover, I enjoy it significantly; and since she intended on avoiding crude terms I was intent on making certain she used them.

“By butt hole,” I said, “I assume you mean your asshole. Am I correct?”

Seemingly near to tears, Melissa said, “Yes; that’s what I mean.”

“Then say it,” I demanded.

“May I push my finger in my…in my asshole?” she asked.

“You may do so,” I said. “But you are not to move it. Just put it in and leave it there. No motion whatsoever is allowed.”

Melissa let out a frustrated squeal. “But...but I need to...,” she pleaded, “…I need to move it. Please let me move it.”

“Ah,” said I, enjoying her suffering, “then you want to finger fuck your asshole?”

A hissing, “Yes!” came over the phone.

“Then you should state as much,” I told her.

I exited the car and headed to my front door while I waited for her will to break. As my front door swung open there sounded one of the saddest sounds I have heard in a person’s voice. It was as if Melissa had let go her last gasp of life. “May I finger fuck my asshole?” she begged.

Permission was granted. It was followed by a terrible, low, rumbling moan that slowly transformed its way to an equally low and rumbling word of gratitude; “Thank you,” she growled.

I was careful to close my front door as silently as possible, wanting nothing to disturb the moment. Quick and silent as I could be I threw the lock and headed to my bedroom. There I disrobed, plugged in my phone and lay down on the bed.

Enthralled and excited by the sounds coming forth from my phone’s headset I found my hard member and began to slowly masturbate. That she would request release soon I had no doubt. Whether I could contain my own enthusiasm, however, was in severe doubt. To my relief that request arrived even more quickly than I had anticipated.

“May I sonar?” she growled.

Grinning, I said, “Sonar.”

Melissa’s cries were sudden, loud and guttural. She had crossed the last line I needed of her; and with that crossing I was ready to give her the pleasure of hearing my own orgasm. Soon as her cries and whimpers died down I ordered she pull her finger from her ass. “Would you like to hear me cum?” I asked.

Excitedly she admitted she would; and I was quick to oblige.

For long and long we remained in silence: two lovers waiting for the other to speak. At long last she broke our silence, thanking me for allowing her to hear my orgasm.

“Thank you for being my sex toy,” I replied.

There was another long silence. Soon we resumed our conversation, talking until the need for sleep became too great; forcing us to bid each other goodnight, though not before issuing promises of love.

Entire story published at http://www.a1adultebooks.com/ebooks/b6265-claiming-melissa.htm