A Publisher's Pleasures

Author's note: Montrealers, or people familiar with this lovely Canadian city, will know that the tallest building there tops out at 51 storeys, but since this is a fantasy about a publisher of pornography I could not resist putting her offices on the 69th floor. And if there is a Dufresne Towers in Montreal, I'd love to think that such wicked games go on there.

*

I looked out of my office window from the 69th floor of Dufresne Towers. As founder and publisher of Clitoral Climax, a risque, raunchier-than-most erotic book publisher, I had insisted on being on that floor. It looked so good on our letterhead. Beneath me Montreal spread out under a cloud of flurrying white snowflakes.

I had read somewhere that 50 per cent of the city's budget goes on repairing the roads after the ravages of winter each year, and could quite believe it. The snow was coming down in heavy clumps now, the flakes from where I sat looking almost as large as snowballs.

I parted my legs and felt under the hem of my scandalously short miniskirt and fingered myself. I was randy. Nothing new in that. Although I am 37-years-old, I'm often randy. I think it's reading all those erotic manuscripts that I often insist on checking after my two chief acceptance editors have done it.

As my fingers delved into the wonderfully wet warmth of my semi-shaved pussy, I debated. There were two opportunities open to me at 4pm on a Friday afternoon. Opportunity one, the simple one, was to buzz my blonde assistant Monique and get her in to "service" my needs. The other was to get her to call Gino and we could both play with him.

The latter was, after some consideration, the option I chose. Gino is a dark-haired, part-Italian, aged 28 and a handsome hunk of a man, with flashing light brown eyes and startlingly jet black hair which almost falls to his shoulders.

He is, according to my assistant, Monique, "the spitting image" of a man named Maldini, who plays for a football team called AC Milan. Monique, although Canadian, is part-French and part-Italian and is a football fan. I'm not, so I wouldn't know, but all I can say is if the entire AC Milan squad is as good looking as Gino, then I would happily entertain them one dark, dreary Montreal evening.

Gino is, by the way, the male "persona" of Clitoral Climax, which specialises in two types of books.

The first are female-oriented, in which women pleasure other women. There's not a man in sight, which is often the way I prefer it. The second genre is also female-oriented, but with a male who takes the part of a submissive, obeying every whim of his mistress, or mistresses. And when it comes to men, that is very definitely the way I prefer it.

The men, while not limp-wristed wimps, definitely display a masochistic streak – a streak that I, personally, look for in my men. Sometimes interviewers for the newspapers and magazines – all of whom have this

huge

fascination for erotic publications – ask me what is the best place for a man.

"On his knees," I always say, but I always laugh when I say it, just in case they think I'm kinky. Mind you, they only need to glance through our titles in the Clitoral Climax Collections to know that, but who's counting?

Gino appears on the covers of our titles which deal with a male being subjugated by a woman. He is often on his knees, looking up adoringly at some dominatrix-type clad in erotic leather clothing. I swear he beds most of them.

He's also got a fabulous body, well muscled, but not overblown like those appalling body builder types. He's nicely tanned – I think he spends half his life under some sun lamp or other – and is very well endowed down there. Well, well enough endowed to satisfy me, although I can be hard to satisfy.

And then, as Monique is often fond of saying: "Karla, you're

very

hard to satisfy."

To which I always riposte: "Nonsense, darling, as long as the man is very hard, I'm

easy

to satisfy."

Gino, as I said, is well endowed. He tells me he's eight and a half inches when his nicely shaped, uncircumcised cock, is fully aroused. Which suits me fine. Any more I think would be overkill. No, eight and a half is fine by me.

"Mon," I said, buzzing the lovely blonde, "what say we get Gino around for some teasing?"

My 30-year-old blonde beauty laughed a deep, throaty laugh. Sheeet, she's so sexy when she laughs – oh, all right, she's so sexy, full stop.

"We've haven't made him suffer for at least a week, Karla," she said. "I'll get him around right away."

I put the phone down and looked out at the darkness over Montreal and resumed stroking my snatch. A session with Gino was always a lovely way to let off steam – in fact, a steamy way to let off steam.

I loved the way I had my deliciously blood-red hooks into Gino. He was well paid by me for his modelling work, but he was also well paid for his "extra curricular" work, if you get my drift. He took Monique and my teasing because he was a sweetly submissive masochist and also because afterwards he enjoyed us in a far more conventional way.

Monique entered, just as I was removing my fingers from my pouring-wet pussy and looking out over the snow-cloaked city. As usual, she looked stunning. She is a tall woman, almost five ten, I guess, with short-cropped blonde hair, it makes her look a bit butch, but what's wrong with that?

Monique bats from both sides of the plate, if you get my drift. Men, women, as long as the Big Os are

big

she's happy. Her figure is a mouth-watering 36-24-36 and she dresses like a fashion model.

"Gino was in a strip club and seemed to be enjoying himself," she told me, "but I told her you were insisting on his presence." Since I pay his mobile phone bills, Gino is under orders from me to

never

have it switched off.

Then, as Monique emptied my out tray, she asked: "What do you plan to do with him this evening, boss? Torment him like crazy, then fuck his brains out?"

I laughed. "My darling, we've had him in bed so often I'm sure we've already fucked all of his brains out," I joked. "But yes, if he's a really good subby boy this evening, then sure, we'll fuck him."

"Great," said Monique, peering at the manuscript on my desk, "because I've been reduced to fantasising all week. I've finally dumped my boy friend and my little sub lady's gone to the fucking Bahamas for a fortnight. I could do with some action."

"Well, before the action, there's some games I want to play with poor old Gino," I said, flicking the manuscript over to Monique. "We'll play one of the torments I've been reading about in 'Orgasm Denial for Oscar'. Sounds like they could be fun."

Monique picked up the well-thumbed manuscript and looked through it with interest. "Shit, I just love orgasm denial," she said, "but 'Orgasm Denial for Oscar'?"

"I know," I laughed, "it's possibly the worst title I've ever come across, pardon the pun, but I'm glad to say the words inside are better than those on the cover. In fact, I'm thinking of publishing it."

Monique smiled: "But, as usual, you first want to try out some of its passages with poor old Gino, eh?"

I grinned back at the sexy blue-eyed beast. "Hey, Mon, it's me, Karla you're talking to," I reminded her. "You know you enjoy punishing him every bit as much as I do."

Monique, swept out carrying the correspondence I'd just signed. "If you insist, you perverted publisher you," she sniffed, in make-believe high dudgeon. It's a good job I know her and love her – after all, she's been my trusted assistant for five years.

When she had gone, I stepped into my large en suite, which runs along the entire length of one office wall. Like my office, it also has an unfettered view out over Montreal thanks to a large double window, and as I stripped nude to prepare for Gino's arrival I savoured the sight of the snow scudding across the skies. I love being inside the warmth of my office when the Canadian winter is doing its worst.

When I was naked I looked at my figure in a full-length mirror. My breasts are large, closer to 40 than 39 inches, with full, dark brown nipples and large areolae. My lesbian lovers can't get enough of my tits. Oh, that's silly – my "straight" lovers can't get enough of them, either. They're full and lush, and they have a little sag, as you'd expect on a 37-year-old, but they're damn fine tits, even if I do say so myself – and I often do!

My hips are full – what they sometimes describe as "child-bearing hips", only I have no intention of having children, well, not yet.

My ass is not large, but it's not small either. As one woman who works for an erotic magazine is fond of telling me, "Karla you've got tits and legs to die for, but your butt is

beautiful

!" I think she's right. It's what another of my perverted friends describes as "eminently spankable", only sad to say for poor old Pierre, who's really into spanking mature bums, I'm not a catcher when it comes to spanking, I'm a hitter, if you follow my baseball analogy.

I checked out my minge – it was moist, of course, because I was really looking forward to pleasuring myself on Gino's magnificent masochistic body, but it was also nicely shaved. There was just a small, narrow splotch of dark brown hair on my mons, the rest was shaved clean, my lips looking thick and inviting.

I pulled on black silk stockings, kept them up with a shiny black satin garter belt, then stepped into a pair of French high heels, which do wonders for my calves and buttocks. I cantilevered my breasts up into scrumptious uplift, courtesy of a black quarter-cup bra, which matched my garter belt. I pulled my longish brown hair back into a severe pony tail and clipped it into place, so it hung just down past the nape of my neck. A dab of lipstick – nothing too gauche – and I was ready.

Back in the office, I went to a locker in one corner and removed from it what I thought we'd need. Item one was a spreader bar, to keep dear old Gino's feet an almost uncomfortable four feet apart.

Item two was a throat collar, with attached D rings.

Items three and four were cuffs for his wrists, which could either be clipped together or hitched up to his collar, thus keeping his hands away from any attempt to interfere with whatever Monique and I decided to get up to with him.

But it was item five which was my favourite. A single-stranded, thin leather lash, with a lovely pleated grip, it was quite a stiff implement, not very bendable at all. It left lovely thin red marks across his beautiful brown skin. It didn't really hurt him, the way I wielded it, but it certainly stung. I swished it through the air a couple of times, delighting in the hiss it made. Then my phone rang.

"He's here and I've made him strip down to his thong. Shall I bring him in, boss?" asked Monique, in a low, husky voice which betrayed her excitement at the thought we were soon to start bossing poor old Gino around – the lucky bastard!

"Sure, darl," I replied, "only make it a sufficiently humiliating entry for him, eh?"

Monique obliged. The door to my spacious office and into the room, on all fours, came the lovely Gino. His hair shone lustrously, falling to his shoulders in a totally unfashionable style, but shit it looked good! Seated on the middle of back was my lovely assistant.

Mon had chosen sheer, see-through red lingerie for work today, obviously. The bra was so sheer that her lovely large nipples were clearly visible through the material of the tautly-stretched cups. At her pussy was a sheer red thong, and if you looked closely you could make out her fair thatch of pubic hair just above her pink pussy lips, which were flattened against the pressure of the silk at her snatch. On her feet were blood red high heels.

Gino wobbled slightly as he entered the room with Monique aboard his back. As I said, Mon is very tall – an inch or two short of six feet, so she's not the lightest rider in the world. Gino's lovely muscular body was rippling as he rode her to just in front of where I stood in the center of the office, slapping the lash lightly against my silk-stocking-covered right calf.

"Hi, Gino," I said warmly, tracing the tip of the lash softly against his cheek – his face cheek, his buttock cheeks would have to wait for its caress. "So glad you could join us. You were at a strip club, Monique tells me. Which one?"

Gino's handsome young face looked up at mine. "La Maison Diabolique, mistress," he said, quietly.

"Oh, I'm so sorry to drag you away – that's where all the young ladies wear shiny PVC and rubber outfits and carry whips, isn't it? Were you enjoying yourself there?"

I just love tormenting him after I've dragged him out of those lovely little places when I have a whim to punish him. He's got this thing about strippers – well, a lot of men have, haven't they?

"Yes, I was mistress," he said, somewhat glumly. Poor old Gino!

"Well, perhaps Mon and I can make up for your disappointment," I said, cheerfully. "Now let's see, what did we play last time – golden showers and golden cocktails to research some shocking piss story I'd been reading, wasn't it?"

"Yes, mistress," said Gino, very, very softly, half-dreading that I was going to inflict a repeat dose on him, I expect.

"Well, I hope you've managed to get your mouth washed out now, my darling," I said, again putting on a cheerful tone. "But don't worry, today it's going to be orgasm denial. That'll be fun, won't it?"

"Yes, mistress," he muttered, hardly the tone of voice you'd expect from someone who was about to receive some lovely teasing and humiliation. Ungrateful young wretch.

"Right, now Mon you can get off him and while I get him kitted out, you go into the en suite. You're going to be the masturbatrix, so you'll need a pair of rubber gloves and some baby oil," I told my assistant, who climbed off a relieved Gino and entered the en suite.

While she was getting her gear there, I ordered Gino to his feet and admired his beautifully built body. His muscles gleamed in the high lights of my office, giving off a ruddy, healthy glow. Despite his foreboding, he couldn't hide his excitement – he was wearing a gleaming black satin thong cut high on his strong hips and there was a large bunch of muscle thrusting beneath the shiny material which spoke of a lovely hard-on.

"Strip," I snapped, and Gino pulled down his thong and handed it to me, one of our little rituals. Rituals are so

important

in femdom, I think, don't you agree?

I now had something more to admire. Gino's cock is dark brown, darker brown than his fake or otherwise suntan, and it's thick and has a lovely fully-fleshed foreskin at its head. He shaves the pubic hair from his shaft and scrotum, leaving just a trim strip across his pubic bone. I like that, it's so much nicer for fellatio I think.

On the underside of his shaft, running from his engorged scrotal sac, was a narrow line of almost black skin, which went all the way up to his foreskin lips. One day I

must

get my doctor to tell me what it's called – that's if I can find a way to introduce it into the conversation.

I was about to remark on Gino's mighty erection but Monique returned, on her hands a pair of red rubber gloves which prettily matched her red lingerie, and carrying a bottle of baby oil and she beat me to it.

"Fuck, that's such a pretty prick, I'm gonna love playing with that, you naughty, naughty boy, Gino," she said, standing provocatively beside him.

"Right," I said, rather more snappily than I'd intended, "then we'll get on with it. Now while I'm reading up on the rules for this game from our author's manuscript, you my dear Gino may start stroking yourself – but nice and slow, mind. You're in for a long, slow wanking, my lad."

And I stepped behind my desk and as Gino placed his right hand on his shaft and took it between his thumb and middle finger and began to manipulate his quivering cock, I opened the story to the section which concerned Monique and I and our "wank research".

"Now the story, such as it is," I said, looking at the single spaced typing, "is all about a rather exclusive club where middle-aged women pay to watch naked men being masturbated by gorgeous dominas. They have to try to resist the manual manipulations as long as they can. The shorter they last, the more strokes they get when it comes to the punishment section of the game. Fun, eh Gino?"

Gino looked a trifle pained, in fact, as if he didn't think it was going to be "fun" at all.

"Do we have to have rules, Karla?" Monique inquired, cheekily, because she, as a long-time partner with me in domination, knows darn well there have to be rules, regulations and so on in male domination. Well, in any domination, I guess.

"Most certainly, Monique," I said crisply, keeping a stern eye on Gino to make sure he wasn't stinting in his masturbation. "It's all part and parcel of the fun. And speaking of 'parcel', I think it's time we got him tied up. Get that spreader bar on his legs, then the cuffs and the throat collar."

As Monique bent and started strapping the spreader bar to his ankles, I reminded Gino: "Keep stroking, slave!" He

loves

it when I call him "slave" – at least, I think he does. And even if he doesn't, I

love

calling a man a "slave", such a delightful word to roll off the tongue, isn't it?

When Monique had his legs spread wide, she handed him his cuffs and ordered him to stop stroking himself. "I don't see why I should do all the fucking work, get these on while I attach your throat choker," she said. She loves bossing him around, too, of course.

Finally, Gino was ready and Monique made him place his cuffed wrists up to either side of his collar, where she snapped the D rings onto the metal links in the throat choker. Now he was ready, cock swaying stiffly in front of him, naked and ready for his torment.

But I dragged out the start of the game – naturally! I looked at the manuscript, although I knew the rules by heart, and informed Gino what lay in store for him.

"Righto, Gino," I told him, "now this is an orgasm denial game. All you have to do is refrain from coming for an hour. Get past the 60 minutes time control and you win."

Gino looked pained. Sixty minutes must have seemed like a fucking long time to him – and yeah, I guess it is.

"Now for the first 10 minutes," I informed him, "Monique is only allowed to use her hands on your cock and balls. She mustn't touch you with her breasts, her ass or her pussy. Just hand contact.

"For the second 10 minutes, she is allowed to add her lingerie to your body as a little tease – panties and bra, if she wants.

"After 20 minutes, she is allowed bodily contact with you – she can rub her breasts and buttocks against you, press her pussy against you." And here I paused.

"Speaking of pussy, Mon, are you nice and wet?" I asked, seeing Gino's obvious discomfort at the teasing lying ahead of him.

"Like Niagara Falls in flood, Karla," announced my assistant.

"Lovely," I said, then continued with the "rules of engagement", as it were.

"And from the 30-minute point, Monique is allowed to suck your cock. That'll be lovely won't it, Gino?"

Gino sighed and murmured "Yes, lovely, mistress" although I knew and he knew that when that happened he would be on the verge of ejaculation, especially after the previous 30 minutes' teasing.

"And from then on," I grinned, "all you have to do is hang on until the 60th minute without coming and you've won. Simple, eh?"

Gino disagreed. "It seems almost impossible, mistress," he moaned.

"Well then, we'll call it Mission Impossible, shall we?" I joked, a small joke and one which produced only a slight smile from our slave.

"And if he fails?" asked Monique. "What then, Karla?"

"Um, let's see," I said, dragging Gino's torment out, although I knew, of course, exactly what his penalty would be.