(a.l.s.) Between Mary & Mr. X

Mr. X was a wicked man. Full of wicked ideas and ones amplified perhaps by his way with words.

Indeed he had a kind of "serpent's tongue" at times, when talking to women, in effect, because his strong steady masculine voice alone had a seeming hypnotic power over them. He was not afraid to say things which might shock them. He could not help but say things which excited them, and stimulated their own sometimes dark imaginations too.

When he was "recruiting" Mary -- a stunning young woman who *claimed* to be from Kansas, though whether it involved Oz before or after The Tornado she left unclear -- over the course of some period of time and over many meetings first online and then in person he would also send her little stories, here and there from time to time. They were stories meant to serve as proposals and previews for the type of utterly kinky and deeply erotic and arguably rare and even Elite lifestyle he wished to give the young American woman. The kind of life he wished to share, together, with her right by his side.

However, *only* if she said YES to him. Said yes in full -- and enthusiastically -- to ALL the terms of the deal, and without any doubt or hesitation on her part.

Here is one of the imaginary little scenarios he used to entice her:

"There is a party at my place," he wrote to Mary, once, in a so-called E-mail.

"I have about a hundred guests over for the night.

You are there too.

You are nude. Totally nude.

Clean and perfumed and with red rouged cheeks and expensive bejeweled nipples with silvery shiny dangling bits. They have many little diamonds and golden teardrop shapes which hung heavy and themselves caused a pulling pressure downward on each of your beautiful small breasts. And they made your *every* movement or shift in posture a kind of heaven and hell, ones both anticipated and feared -- a kind of exquisite microcosm of how the best and most pretty girls deserve to live. In my opinion, anyway.

I know you don't like anal intercourse so my way of "reminding" others of that fact is to ensure that "my girl's" anus is penetrated by a small metal buttplug with a large green jewel. Its flared flange is so wide it stays inside your tight dirty sphincter easily. Plus I want you to feel even more vulnerable and submissive, both to myself and to all my guests. Tonight you are merely a little Doll and puppet and therefore all that is implied: the complete lack of right to say NO to anything which I decide (solely) that you must endure and experience. In effect I am the Puppetmaster and control all your strings tonight. And so I decide when, where and how all your holes are penetrated, if ever, and certainly by whom.

You are nude totally except for the red make-up, fancy nipwork and the big green jewel between your buttocks, and one more thing -- perhaps the most important one: a hood.

It is black, made from a thick cloth and has leather straps and metal buckles. It completely hides your face and therefore your identity, while also preventing *you* from seeing anyone else -- helping to preserve my guest's privacy as well. The hood has one big hole located near and thus intended for your mouth, and several smaller ones near your nose -- so that my Doll's head can be used for fellatio on demand, if any guests desire it, while still allowing the Doll to breathe.

A living Doll is much more fun than the *other* kind -- those plastic Barbie ones we used to play with. And you, my pretty little Mary, are one *very* special doll I plan to "play" with for quite a long time, perhaps for decades ahead. And so while I will play "rough" at times with my Doll's body I do intend to stay relatively sane and be sustainable about it, and ultimately to protect her and keep my perfect pretty toy safe from those who might, through their own selfishness perhaps, *truly* try to cause her harm.

For example, I might carefully slap my Doll's innocent face for being a mouthy brat, or beat my Doll's big bare butt or straying pussy, or her swollen impertinent clit, at times, but if I learn of *anyone* who truly tried to hurt Her the offender would be lucky if they were *merely* beaten to a bloody pulp, at my hand, and then obviously exiled from polite society forever afterward. I protect my people.

I protect what is Mine.

Nude, rouged, jewel-plugged butt and hooded...

And also you are "strung up" like a puppet, by four chains, to the high ceiling of the party's main event room. Cuffs on your wrists and ankles connect to these strong chains which have then been pulled up and tied to sturdy rings on anchor mounts on the ceiling -- anchor mounts which double as the candelbra decoration and wrought iron-sculpted holders for lights, of course. I might be a wicked and perverted man, I know, but I do sometimes have "innocent" guests over for vanilla events and try not to startle them or make them wonder salaciously too much.

You would be facing downward. While in chains like this. So as you hung suspended there, up so high far above the crowd of guests that night it meant that they *all* could see your bared tits and hairless pussy. You were totally exposed to their gaze. Many no doubt would wish to take them all in hand, in order to fondle them or squeeze them, first chance they got, or to lick them or even nibble on them, taking those two dainty nips between their teeth or even your engorged clit.

They *could* not touch you, however, because you were up so high. And though in a way someone might feel like a prisoner in that predicament -- in bondage and having been stripped nude -- for you it would surely be the exact opposite. If anything it is *you* who are the one who is free. Nothing to hide, and proud of her clearly very adult, mature & Needy body then, and offering up your *entire* beauty's story to these strangers as a sensual gift.

In that moment you are an Object of Desire, yes. You are the One Thing they want and yet they cannot have, no matter how hard they might try.

In fact there is only one being in all the world right then who can, if he wishes, take you down from that sublime perch and bring you into his strong and tightly gripping arms, and then in one swift motion -- and without any further consent sought or seduction needed -- he could stuff you with his thick long cock and fill you full of His virile seed right there on the floor. Assuming he did choose to fuck his horny-yet-frustrated little Doll on the floor there, right away, perhaps while all the rest of the guests surrounded us and watched that shameless rutting. Perhaps they would record it and take pictures. And thus, my Doll was hooded, in advance.

There ie only one man then, at that party, with *that* Right. And by serving as this powerful and living display of erotic high art you have served Him in a way beyond all discussion of price or obligation. They say that, "Woman wants above all things to be Wanted." And some also want to feel Owned or at least to be Under Control and by an ideal and perfect Man. Perhaps only when it *is* just the right man, for them.

Along with the other guests I end up standing somewhere in an informal circle on the floor just beneath you, and we are all looking up at your beautiful and angelic form -- like a painted illustration with "angel wings" spread: her arms and legs. For this mythic Angel is now in flight! A pampered Doll who has shared along a glimpse of some perfect Heaven to the poor gritty barbarians down beneath her on the Earth. And this Angel/Doll I'm sure has only the most pious and innocent thoughts in that moment, of course.

"Jesus, is that what I think it is? Look!"

A man points a finger up towards you.

"She's wet!" says another. Clearly a newb.

"Well, duh!" says a lady guest near me. "Hell, I know *I* would be."

A few of us laugh. Though it is not *at* you. And it becomes clear that all the women in the party that night have become jealous of you. They all wish they *were* you.

But only one out of this collected assembly of Tarts, Tramps, Strumpets, Harlots and/or garden variety Sluts present that night in my home would ultimately get released from the powerful bonds holding her back. Only one would be taken into bed with me. Would be ruthlessly explored by *me*. Would find herself bodily plundered by a man with a Serpent's Tongue in more ways than one. And then only one of these ladyfolk would wake up the next morning, right beside me, with the sun's rise.

...

Did Mary and Mr  X ultimately "get together" and stay together for the longterm? Good question. One whose answer may need a story of its very own, though on another day.

TO BE CONTINUED?