Visions in Buttermil Falls

After Fanchon and her graduate student friend, Morse got in the house; Fanchon quickly went and switched on the computer web cam. "What do you think of this, Morse?" Fanchon asked. "This is my Wink's Wanking Web cam! Every night between nine and twelve my friend Theodosius Winkleburger masturbates for three hours in front of the camera, and I get to watch him!"

Morse looked with some distaste at the camera, where a somewhat obese middle aged man was, indeed pulling and tugging on a rather bloated and purple shaft. It didn't look like he'd cum in some time. "I don't watch Wink all the time, you know...but he pays me to monitor him...it's just a few dollars a month, and when he's lucky I let him have a spurtie."

Fanchon laughed at Morse's shocked expression. "Last month I made him bring home a male prostitute and suck his dick before he was allowed to jerk off, and the month before that, I made him jerk off in front of his open window. It was quite hilarious."

As they turned to the web cam, Wink looked hurt. "Miss Fanchon! You have someone with you? Who's that?" Morse felt a bit ridiculous, even though the person doing the asking was whacking off naked in his own house. God, old men have such disgusting stretch marks, Morse thought...worse than pregnant women.

But finally Fanchon lost interest in the web cam and they went to sit on the couch.

"I-I really liked what you wrote, your essay about dominatrixes in history...when I was correcting it, it made me think of-experiences I've had." Fanchon listened to Morse's earnest words with a smile. God, these graduate students had shitty little apartments. But he's so sweet, she thought...short little Asian-American kid, been staring at her tits for the entire semester Fanchon had been working to get the final credit for her long-abandoned B.A.

"Morse, that's great, I'm glad you liked the paper. But why did you bring me all the way over to your little apartment to tell me this? Do you want me to whip you?" Forcefulness was Fanchon's big point, it always had been. And there he was, blushing, despite his brown skin, and look at the little bulge in his chinos! "You may need it...but you have to tell Fanchon, honey."

Morse was blushing and looking at the floor, poor thing. Fanchon could just imagine it...though Asian American girls did very well with American guys, most American women were not attracted to little Chinese

guys...they wanted something macho. But Fanchon, of course, was pressing her long legs together with the excitement of what torturing a needle-dicked little wuss like Morse Wong would be like!

"I-I haven't dated much." NO SHIT. "B-but I've read BDSM magazines for years, and I used to fantasize about seeing a dominatrix, but you know there's not a lot of money in my family—" No shit again. His granddaddy was Sonny Wong, who owned Wong's Dry Cleaning. Fanchon's mom had once kneed Sonny in the nuts for burning her good plaid skirt.

"And.., and I was afraid if I did go to a domme—-it might hurt too much. I did have one dominant friend— Mistress Smallpox, but she's another story." He looked like a calf about to be slaughtered. "I-I think you're so beautiful, Miss Nemirow. I've really enjoyed teaching you—"

"Oh, but you want Fanchon to teach YOU now?" Fanchon laughed huskily and tossed her red curls over her shoulder. She jiggled her breasts at him. As Morse gaped, Fanchon reached over and touched his crotch. "Well you know, Morse, I'm offended that you would be so forward...and I think you need to be punished! I think you'd better take down your pants and shorts and bend over my knee." Fanchon paused, smiling. "But only if you want to."

Morse's eyes filled with tears. Oops! Had she gone too far? But then he stood up and began unbuckling his pants, letting them hit his ankles, and then he stood there, blushing in his shorts. "Take them down, Morsie." Fanchon said with a smile. "It's not anything Mommie hasn't seen before."

Morse pulled his shorts down showing a tiny but quite erect penis. Goodness! The impudence! And then, with a sigh, he lay across Fanchon's leather skirt, his erection probing her legs enthusiastically. And Fanchon raised her hand and brought it down with a medium swat on his bottom. She hit him ten more times. There was a slight murmur, but nothing really.

Fanchon rubbed Morse's back. "I'm thinking that you need a little more force, honey. Let Mommie see what she has." Fortunately she was carrying her large square handled wooden hairbrush, which she'd used the other day in the changing room of a department store on Alfred's ass, her errant husband...it was good to carry the hairbrush around.

"Now try to be a brave boy, Morse. This may hurt just a bit!" WHACK! WHACK! THWACK! SMACK! SNAP! Morse was no wimp, but he began struggling slightly, and as the hits continued, and his ass began turning red and then purple, Morse began crying softly...and then a little louder, but he never left Fanchon's knee. What a good submissive!

Fanchon continued the spanking, and when it looked as if Morse might be ready to jump off her lap, she gently but firmly took his right hand and held it behind his back, so he was quite powerless, and continued operations with the hairbrush for the next half hour, hitting Morse over 250 times.

As the hairbrush came down further...the blotches on poor Morse's asscheeks were getting more and more purplish, and he was screaming louder and louder. Fanchon stopped for a moment, and rubbed Morse's back, and then his blistered cheeks.

"I want you to be a man, and take this spanking without a lot of weeping, Morse. I know you have a difficult time because it hurts." Fanchon watched his head tremble.

"It-it does hurt, Miss Fanchon...It hurts so much!" But Fanchon could feel Morse's penis pressing into her nyloned thighs. She knew she had him!

"Be a brave boy, Morse. If you can withstand a few more with the hairbrush, and maybe a few with your belt—and—is that a fraternity paddle on the wall? Oh my." Fanchon was fucking with him. She was going to stop after about ten more swats with the hairbrush, but she was a heartless and merciless tease. "If you can take a few more, Mommie will caress you and make you feel better.

Years ago my Italian father would take my jeans and panties down, yes right in front of my brothers and whip me with the frying pan for using the Lord's name in vain...you like that? I feel your dickie getting hard when you think of little Fanchon being spanked. But I didn't give Daddy the satisfaction of crying...and if I can be tough, so can YOU Morse. I know you've had a tough life, honey. Your gramps owned Wong's Laundry, and your father is a prison guard, your Mom teaches elementary school and you've had to work your way through Buttermilk State for your BA and your Master's...you want the good life. And you'll get it. But it will take some punishment honey!"

And she resumed his paddling!

Finally, she let him get up, and she pulled Morse into her lap and began kissing his pretty black hair, and kissing the tears out of his eyes, petting him gently...letting one of her boobs out of her tight top for Baby to suck...and eventually she began stroking Morse's cock...faster and faster until there was a little mess, which she fed him off her fingers.

"It-it was—you were wonderful, Miss Fanchon!" Morse said, his eyes still quite wet. "You're so good for me, but it hurt so much...Can we...can—" But he was at a loss for words, and it was then that Fanchon decided to invite him to the party she was having Saturday night.

A PARTY!

Clarence Thibodeau staggered, as Blythe yanked heavily on the chain that was locked on his testicles. Women in evening gowns and fellows in tuxedoes smiled at him, though Cleary noticed that Blume, the plumber that replaced his water heater last year, was almost naked, except for a loin cloth and nipple clamps.

It was hell to be led by the balls naked at a party, especially by a beautiful girl like Blythe, who was resplendent in a little black cocktail dress. Cleary's hands were cuffed behind his back, and Blythe ignored his lack of balance, as she tugged on his testes none too gently. This was so embarrassing, even if it was an S&M party.

As Cleary passed groups of people talking, he bit his lip as he listened to the joyous conversation of dominant women." I control a young man in Belgium" a short redhead commented. "He keeps his keys in a strongbox, and had his sister set up a combination, the code of which she sent to me. I have a marvelous time giving Francois various line-writing and exercise assignments...it's too fun!"

The woman standing next to her, who was a bit pudgy laughed. "I am so frustrated with Louis because he is able to stay thin effortlessly, and as you know, I've been limiting my sugar intake to one piece of Hershey's Miniatures a week. My favorite is Mr. Goodbar. So if I reach into the bag with my eyes closed and take out a Mr. Goodbar, that puts me in a great mood, and I'll take off Louis's chastity belt and let him fuck me. After a week of denial, that makes Louis quite happy!"

The redhead with the Timelock chastity slave laughed and nodded.

"If I get a Krackel miniature, which is like a Nestlé's Crunch, I'm happy enough, and I'll let Louis take off his chastity belt and jerk off and then he's locked up again. I keep my clothes on, and it's very brief for him. If I take out a regular Hershey's mini, I give Louis a kiss on the cheek...hey, that's his thrill for the week, he

doesn't get to cum, and all I get is a plain Hershey's bar until my calorie chance next week. But if I get one of those gross Hershey's Special Dark chocolates, which I can't stand, not only do I not give Louis an orgasm, but I whip his ass with my bullwhip and send him to bed with no supper!"

The pudgy woman continued. "Now my daughter-in-law has a very different system with my son, as she is not a compulsive overeater like I am. Shenandoah keeps a bowl of 100 little pieces of paper—five of them say 'Normie jerks to orgasm' 30 of them have chores for Normie to do, and another 25 say 'Normie services Shenni's lover before Shenandoah gets fucked', another 20 have various punishments for Normie like whipping, torture etc...And I forget what the rest are. But if Normie does a lot of things that Shen likes, he can put one or two more slips in the bowl that say "Normie gets to jerk off' He has only masturbated four times in the past seven years under this system, poor boy, thank God that Shenandoah gives him jack-off presents, or freebies now and then!"

Ignoring further conversation from the middle aged ladies, Cleary looked with disgust at a particularly beautiful "woman" in a little cage being poked by interested men. Who is Cyrus kidding? He's in a cage, called Claudia? How could Cleary's younger brother have had a sex-change operation? Cleary and Cyrus had been raised by a psychotic governess who had mind-fucked them, and turned them into submissives...but poor Cyrus/Claudia had gone a bit too far!

Cleary had tried therapy, different religions, Lifespring, Scientology, Transcendental Meditation, Rolfing, personal coaching, four years in the Marines, but nothing had rid him of the desire to be a slave boy. He could only respond sexually as a subbie...and like it or not, he was quite thrilled to be submitting to a hot chick like Blythe!

Blythe had short, spiky black hair and very pale white skin, almost an involuntary Goth. Her 36CC boobs pushed the little cocktail dress's neckline out...every man, and a few women in the room were staring at her hungrily. When Cleary had first met Blythe, she'd been quite deferential to him, as one of her real-estate clients.

And she'd had tremendous respect and slight awe for the man who had built the shopping center that she was going to lease out, store by store. He'd given her lots of sexist jabs about female incompetence, and Blythe had laughed good naturedly. But then, as Cleary had been staring at Blythe's INCREDIBLE tits, nearly spilling out of her conservative black jacket, he'd noticed the necklace...he'd seen it before, at the PainCafe's gift shop!

He knew he shouldn't say anything but...

"What a curious piece of jewelry" Cleary had begun. "Is that a little gold rhinestone studded whip on the end of your chain?" Of course he knew what it was! Cleary and Cyrus had been sneaking over to the PainCafe's Dungeonopolis gift shop since they were in high school...they could describe the inventory by heart!

Flushing, Blythe had said "Um, Mr. Thibodeau, it—yes it is a little whip. An-an old boyfriend gave it to me. I hope you don't think it's too inappropriate." She coughed, and covered the necklace with one delicate hand. "I won't wear it if you think it would upset our clients, of course."

And then Cleary had made his error. Or not a mistake...oh Jesus. "My-my first wife was the Dungeonopolis purchasing agent years ago—"

"Oh your wife was Imogene, right? She knew the guy who designed that necklace!" Blythe had said excitedly. And then Cleary had noticed that Blythe's eyes went from appreciative and admiring of him to a sort of cool contempt...not in a nasty way, just like she was a camp counselor or babysitter, and Cleary was a brat she had to deal with...she could be nice, or she could be nasty!

"Oh my God, you're Imogene's sub-pig Weary Cleary...when I was about nineteen, Imogene led the Female Led Relationships seminar at the PainCafe Ballroom! She kicked the shit out of you, right there on stage! My girlfriends and I were like, God, she's so sexy for someone who's like thirty-eight years old.

And she really—we loved it when she told us about how the alarm went off in the morning and shocked your nipples and genitals and you screamed from your doggie bed until she was ready to wake up? And then she'd hit the Snooze button, and then it would shock you again ten minutes later?"

They'd had quite a talk...Cleary explained that he'd divorced Imogene when he'd gotten "therapy" but then his second and third wives, normal, non-S/M types had just not done it for him...so he was now quite single, and occasionally dated dominant women he met at the PainCafe, or at the Tawse Club in the next state.

"And no one is holding your chastity keys?" Blythe had said, smiling. "You poor man."

Cleary had gasped. "How-how did you know I was into chastity?" Cleary had asked this quite puzzled.

"Honey I can tell you're a compulsive jack-off boy. You need to be locked up, BADLY. Imogene had you in chastity, and I bet you've been running wild since you two divorced, right?"

They'd gone to dinner that night, and Cleary had hinted that she should invite him up when they pulled up to her apartment, but Blythe had demurred. But she'd kissed him deeply on the mouth, and Cleary had felt her little hand unzipping his pants, and pulling out his hard cock. Massaging it expertly, Blythe had whispered in Cleary's ear.

"I remember Imogene telling us—this was like, eleven years ago, 'cause I was nineteen then, and I'm thirty now—that she had to keep your sorry ass locked up in a belt ALL the time, because otherwise when you guys went to dinner at some girls house, you'd sneak off to her bathroom and pull your pants down and sniff panties while you jerked off in a strange woman's bedroom...Imogene said that she had to lock you up and let you cum about once every thirty days...and when you were bad, about once every NINETY...'cause you're a total loser perv, right?"

Cleary had looked briefly away from Blythe's heaving cleavage, where the little whip-necklace rested to where her bright red nails were rubbing and toying with his stiff cock...he gasped as she rubbed and stroked it, feeling the little metal circle that was embedded in his glans. "So this is your piercing...you moved on from chastity belts, huh, Cleary? Some smart girl put you in a Prince Albert piercing...but you're running around loose, playing with your dingie..Someone has to do something about that."

Blythe had jerked Cleary's dick faster, and plunged her tongue down his throat, and then pulled out one of her nipples for Cleary to suck, and suck he did, quite greedily. And then, just as he was about to cum, she SLAPPED him. HARD. "Do you have the key to your piercing, asswipe?" Blythe had asked severely. "Give it to me NOW." She pulled her hand away. "Or, never see me again, outside of a business relationship."

Luckily, or unluckily, Cleary DID have the keys to his piercing. And he handed them to her wordlessly. She apparently knew a great deal about piercings, because she made him pull his pants completely down in the car, so they were around his ankles near the gas pedal and the brake, and Miss Blythe had pushed back his dick, connected the links, and locked on the tiny padlock quite briskly.

"Okay, I can't see you for about a month." Blythe had then said, as she dropped the keys to Cleary's belt in her purse. "Except of course for work-related stuff. But I hope to have dinner with you thirty days from now, when we'll talk."

ELSEWHERE

The difference between chastity fantasy and chastity reality has always been painful for the submissive male, and of course poor Cleary had been on a great little diet of dommes, hookers (for he liked vanilla sex a bit) and pornography, jerking off five to ten times a day while eating Viagra, and all of a sudden, he had to distractedly play with his piercing, which had not been locked in over a year...and he got hornier and hornier...And Blythe was a woman of her word...no dates for thirty days!

There had been numerous chaste lunches, and Cleary kept trying to bring up the subject of the key, and the locked rings. Because of course now he couldn't masturbate at ALL. On one chaste lunch, Cleary had mumbled something about how it wasn't hygienic for him to wear the piercing without cleaning it, and how he should be unlocked. Amazingly, Blythe had asked the waiter to use the private employee bathroom, and to borrow some Witch Hazel, and she doused his poor dick with the alcohol as soon as they got in there.

Blythe unlocked the piercing, rubbed it vigorously (and painfully) with the rubbing alcohol, and then locked him up again...and then KICKED HIM IN THE BALLS for trying to "manipulate" her...what a girl!

Then they had their first "date"...he'd been sending her flowers and little gifts, and she was appreciative... Blythe, what a girl! Finally she let him come up to her little apartment, and, after having Cleary do her cleaning, laundry, and ironing. She'd unlocked his chastity piercing and bound Cleary's hands behind his head...and then she'd brought out this vile thing...

Six foot long strands of barbed wire wrapped at the end with hockey tape! "I call this my Booster. Don't be a bitch, Cleary" Blythe had said cheerily. "I know you can take it!" Cleary had left Blythe's apartment four hours later—she'd alternately teased his dick, rubbing her boobs against it, and stroking him to near-orgasm, and whipping him with The Booster. All over his cock, balls, inner thighs...and then his shoulders, back and buttocks...

And then she'd stripped off her little frock and she'd allowed Cleary to kiss her entire, beautiful body...the pale white full breasts, and her perfectly flat stomach, and the V shaped pubic hair...he'd licked her to five orgasms, and then attempted to stick "it" in...And she'd grabbed his balls, twisted them, and kicked him off the bed!

...and then she'd locked Cleary up again and sent him home, sans orgasm. Then there had been more dates...

For one date, Blythe asked Cleary if he'd like to go camping! Cleary had been an avid backpacker in his early twenties, and thought it might be neat to hang out in Buttermilk Falls National Park...but she'd brought along her BOYFRIEND, a lunk called Trent. Blythe and Trent had made passionate love in the tent while poor Cleary had had to stay outside and stoke the campfire, and then he'd been invited into the tent to "clean up" the lovers with his tongue...