My fingers moved quickly across the last of the raised dots.
"Allison" my fingers read "I've been looking all over town for you! You have company at home. A young man all the way from New York.
His name is David Noyes. 'Thank you' cried Allison and waved her hand. She hurried, and when she reached Beech Street, she ran all the way up the block to her house'".
My fingers dropped off the page, and I closed "Peyton Place", my first "naughty" book I'd ordered surreptitiously as a girl.
Years ago, hiding it under "Little Women" when I'd gotten it in the mail from Jennie, my roommate at Perkins. "It is such a sexy book, Kyra!" she'd said to me over the phone "Don't let your Mom find it!"
Not that Mom could read Braille anyway. I laughed thinking about it...
After all, I'd read "Peyton Place" a book from the 1950s, in the seventies, and even then it was tame next to books like "Valley of the Dolls" and whatever Erica Jong was writing..but sadly, those books weren't in Braille then.
But now, that I can read regular print with my Optacon reader, which scans print and sends electronic impulses back to my index finger in the shape of the letters, I have full access to whatever erotic filth I like...
But my my old favorite is still what it was when I was twelve...the Braille version of "Peyton Place".
I leaned over and put "Peyton Place" on the coffee table, feeling to make sure it was not going to knock over the coffee that Kevin had brought me.
Then I'd have to whip him. I giggled. On the other side of the room, there was a cough. "Did you want something, Miss Kyra?" I made my voice cold.
"Did I say I did, Gareth? Are you pushing your nose into the corner? You'd better."
"Yes ma'am." his voice came, mumbling.
I smiled, and tucked my shirt in a bit, feeling my heavy breasts with the hardening nipples. I thought of poor Gareth, who had been standing naked in the corner all morning.
Gareth owned this house, and kept me on a fat allowance, understanding about my various lovers and the other slaves that I have living here, and all the poor boy wanted was some time with his Miss Kyra!
Gareth works so hard, and much of that time he's traveling around the world, hoping for some alone time with Miss Kyra...
So the one weekend he gets at home, Miss Kyra makes him stand in the corner!
And last night, when he took me to dinner, he was telling me how much he wanted to take me on a picnic today, how he wanted to take me jewelry shopping, and maybe go to a play.
He'd bought tickets to a good one "The Music Man" and had gotten us front row seats so I could hear well, and possibly sense the actors moving about on the stage.
And I was going to take these tickets and give them to Deroy, my lover and his other girlfriend, Caitlin.
And poor Gareth was consigned to the corner. Balancing two Encyclopaedia Brittanicas under a cup of hot coffee on his head, no less...if he drops it, I'll hear him, and have another use for mny long white cane.
I could have whipped Gareth, feeling his crotch hardening against my nyloned knees as my hairbrush crashed against his sweaty, wrinkled buttocks again and again...but that would be too much attention.
Gareth must realize that just because he supports me and gives me a nice place to live, doesn't mean he's goiing to get Miss Kyra to focus on him all the time.
In a way he reminded me a lot of Basil, the slave boy who kept me in a wonderful cottage at Martha's Vineyard years ago.
I was just twenty-one, and Basil would work all week in New York, sweating away, getting no relief from the chastity device that held him, and then he'd show up on Fridays.
Getting off the ferry, and gasping at the sight of glorious little me in my bikini. I usually had a darkish tan by June, and would wear a white bikini which, I was told, set my dark skin off.
I don't know what dark and white are like, really...but I know the sound of Basil's strangled gasp as he'd see me, and I'd march right up to him on the dock, toward the voice
"Here Mistress" tapping my long white cane, the stick that has grown progressively longer since I got my first one at age three.
I'd tap my cane, feeling the wood on the dock, hearing other men whispering "There's that hot blind girl...Jesus, those tits...what's she see in that loser?"
Money, honey. I'd tap along and finally stop right in front of poor Basil.
I'd hear his heavy breathing and smell that pathetic Brut cologne, and reach right up at chest level and grab one of his nipples through his expensive Brooks Brothers shirt.
Twisting the nipple harshly, before dropping my nails down to flick his crotch, where the penis was straining against the chastity device.
At home, I'd order Basil to strip and bring me a Long Island Iced Tea.
Then we'd adjorn to the bedroom, where he'd set out the ropes, and I'd move around, tying his wrists and ankles to the bedposts, before using my superior tactile sensation-oriented fingers to feel Basil's entire body...
I'd run my fingers over his Adam's apple, his broad shoulders, running my hands over his chest, tweaking the nipples again and again.
I'd hear Basil's breathing getting heavier and faster as my nails marched along his belly, feeling his navel.
I'd smell the sweat pouring down his forehead as my little hands finally reeached his chastity device.
"I don't know where the key is" I'd say.
"I think I lost it...I can't see anything, you know."
I'd hear the mingled sob..and that was ridiculous.
We both knew that I had the key. Finally I'd go into my purse and get the key out and unlock the poor bastard.
I'd have an exaggerated feeling of Basil's legs, pretending I couldn't find the chastity device, but finally I'd unlock it, pulling it out from under his legs.
Then I'd feel for my marvelous lubricant and squirt some on my hand and begin my tactile trot across his balls and shaft.
Touching the full, throbbing shaft, running my fingers carefully across the swelling veins of his engorged penis.
I don't know whether sighted women are as fascinated with the various bumps and paths surrounding the average penis, which is incredibly covered in lines, veins and wrinkles.
The circumsised penis is not quite as intricate, but it is indeed bulbous, and Basil's was cut and huge...and I'd rub it carefully, whistling between my teeth, hearing him pant as I moved my long nails up and down the shaft oh so carefully.
I generally polish my nails red, as my sister says that's a good color for me. Red is a good color, gray isn't...they're all just words to Kyra.
At some point I'd lean over and carefully rub my nipples across Basil's chest until he appeared to be begging oh, begging for me to let him cum, and then I'd leave the room for a while.
I really enjoyed spenidng the entire weekend torturing poor Basil, and quite often locking him back up again with no orgasm, and sending him back for a long week of chastity in New York.
If he bitched "I didn't get to cum last week either, and I'm so good to you..." Then I'd have Basil grab his ankles, bent over and lash his bottom with the cane, and not let him visit me for a fortnight.
What a riot that was! Especially since he would be locked in his belt for all that time.
Then there was Jaques, who I kept in a cage in his apartment in Monaco...he'd taken me all over Europe in a car, and I hadn't had to tap around with my cane at all.
I could just be whisked about in Jacques' limo...or Kent, the rich deaf-mute.
I couldn't see his hand-signs, and he couldn't make any noise...all the communication we seemed to have was when he'd thump to the floor as I whipped his butt cheeks.
Or I'd feel his body vibrate as I stimulated his frenum with my expert tactile fingers.
Or Bruce, a whining baby who I kept in rustly petticoats, hearing him raise them and pulling down his panties for yet another correction.
What an amazing creature ran the U.N...what would they think?
Or Mustafa, from the Sudan...who had a dungeon so intricate I would have to move carefully through the tunnels.
I'd be using my facial vision to feel the change in the air pressure between the body and the stone walls before arriving to where Mustafa was cuffed to the ceiling.
Feeling through Mustafa's rack of whips for a long one with spur ends that would give me that satisfying sound of slashing!
But enough of that...we had visitors coming. My old friend Simone and her novice domme Sheila were going to spend a few days here, and we had to prepare.
"Gareth!" I called. Thump!
"Ow!" I giggled silently. The coffee must've fallen on his bare belly as the books dropped on his feet, the poor clumsy thing.
"Gareth, you must prepare...we have visitors coming..but first I think I'm going to have to execute my cane on your buttocks for your clumsiness."
A long sigh. "Yes ma'am."
An Hour Later
"Jesus, Simone, I haven't laughed so much in years...since I was at the Castle with you." Kyra smiled.
"You were a Castle Domme?" Sheila asked in astonishment. "After only a three year internship as a dominatrix in New York State!" Kyra said triumphantly.
"Ky's title was Lady Grandison, but she was known as Lady Fingers" said Simone with a smile. "She had the power to make any man jump at her touch."
Kyra snorted, feeling around for her Budweiser.
Kevin, Kyra's brother and apparently a slave also, quickly put the can in her hands, and she took a long slug,
She was the most beautiful woman Sheila had ever seen.
Watching Kyra as she conversed enthusiastically with Simone, Sheila was just amazed. That shoulder length sandy hair, clear, luminous though quite blank hazel eyes.
Though Sheila had to admit, Kyra was much better mannered than the blind people who Sheila had been around previously.
Most stared into space as they spoke to you. Not this girl. When you spoke to Kyra, she turned her head as if to look at you, though of course, she couldn't.
"How is the fat old Castle director?" Kyra inquired. "The last time I heard from him, he sent me some begging letter.
