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Eve
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
It all began with me sitting in Lafayette Square, basking in the late
spring sun and reading my book. I was so totally absorbed in the
bizarre tale that I had no idea anyone was close by. Suddenly, though, a husky
feminine voice startled me.
"Whatever it is you're reading, it certainly seems to excite you,"
I heard. "Just what book is that?"
Snapping the little volume closed, I angrily started to say that
it was none of her business, but then I stammered to a halt, for she
was truly a regal creature. About thirty-five years of age, I judged,
tall and slender, with raven-black hair pulled back into a severe bun.
But it was her eyes that intimidated me so - dark and piercing, seeming
to bore into me despite the slight knowing smile on her lips. I simply
couldn't bring myself to snap at her. Finally, with an embarrassed
laugh, I told her it was just a silly book I'd borrowed from a friend.
"Come, come, child," she scolded me, although smiling. "I didn't
ask you where you got it; I asked you what it was." I blushed and
gulped, but found myself admitting that it was The Image by Jean de
Berg.
"Ah, yes, no wonder you looked so flushed and excited," she
nodded. "Isn't that the story of Claire and...and what was the name of
her little blond slave? Anne?" I nodded. Yes, that was the book, and
knowing that my inquisitor had read the story somehow embarrased me
more rather than less.
"And just what were they up to?" she went on.
Lowering my head, I said merely that they were doing rather
strange things. I was deliberately vague. She bent over to cup my chin
in one hand and raised my head, forcing me to face her. "What strange
things?"
I was silent for several moments, trying to resist her authority,
but I found myself surrendering. I was too horibly embarrased to name
the actual scene I was reading, so I tried to remember my favorite
part. It was when Anne was kneeling on the carpet, and while Claire was
whipping her, she was made to... to... and I stumbled to a halt, not
knowing how to say it.
Again the knowing smile. "To play with herself?" I nodded as I
blushed again.
She recalled the scene and said she found it delightful - very,
very exciting, whether one associated oneself with Claire or with Anne.
Then she rummaged through her purse and briskly wrote an address on her
card as she asked my name. Handing me the card, she told me to come for
tea at 4:30 the next day so that we could discuss my literary tastes in
more depth. With that, she gave me a dazzling smile, patted my cheek
and was gone without even waiting for my answer.
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WHAT EVE WAS READING
"Here is the perfect place," Claire said. "Don't you think so?" I
said, "it depends what you want to use it for."
"But for the little girl of course."
Anne protested weakly: "But no...honestly..I don't need to
go...trying to get us out to the gardens.
But Claire made the girl stand in front of her and look her in the
eye, holding her chin up with her fist.
"Come on you little idiot," she said, "don't try to fool us. You
know it won't get you anywhere." Then, in a harsher tone, calm but with
no nonsense about it, she suddenly ordered: "You'll do it right now, or
else I'm going to slap you!"
The girl at once bent down and, carefully spreading her white
dress around her, squatted in front of Claire. Claire reached down to
caress the pretty face reddened with shame. With a firm hand she forced
her friend to raise her face to hers and continued stroking it: the
cheeks, the eyelids and the mouth. Then, more tenderly, she said: "Get
on your knees, its much more attractive."
The girl knelt and pulled her skirt in front of her, taking the
white material in both hands to hold it away from her thighs. From
behind, the tips of her shoes protruded from beneith her pretty dress.
"Now then," siad Claire, with a slightly disgusted smile, "is our
little girl going to pee-pee?" She forced Anne's mouth open with her
fingers and began fondling her lips. "Above all, be sure your legs are
far enough apart."
Anne spread her knees further, and her shoes completely
disappeared under her dress.
"There, that's fine. Now lean forward a little."
The girl leaned forward and lowered her head. Under the blond
curls that fell over her face, Claire's fingers continued to play with
her open mouth. "You're very nice like this, you know," she said. Then,
after a moment, suddenly losing her patience: "Well, are you going to
piss or not, little bitch!"
When nothing happenned, Claire gathered the mass of hair in one
hand and yanked Anne's head up, exposing her face. Then she slapped it
with the other hand, as hard as she could, once, twice...
I heard the stream of water, long held in, hit the dry leaves on
the ground with violence.
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Somehow I Knew. I knew beyond all doubt. She was my Claire - and,
if I went to her, I would become her Anne. The idea excited me
tremendously, but it also frightened me. It wasn't the thought of being
humbled and abused that worried me. I'd submitted to such treatment
often enough before, but only at the hands of men, and I'd found them
to be selfish, uncaring brutes. I'd never been submissive with a woman,
and I wondered whether a mistress might be more affectionate and
understanding. Finally curiosity overcame my worries, and I decided to
at least risk a cup of tea. At exactly 4:30 the next afternoon, with a
wildly beating heart, I pressed the bell at the lovely home of Miss
Diana Montgomery (such was the name on the card she'd given me).
She welcomed me at the door with a radiant smile. "I'm so glad you
could come Eve," she declared. With that, she took me in her arms and
kissed me. But this was not the perfunctory cheek-to-cheek kiss in the
air with which women often greet each other. It was warm and lingering,
directly on my lips. I gasped and my knees felt weak when she finally
released me - never had I'd been kissed so intimately by another woman.
But she seemed not to notice my confusion. With an arm about my waist,
she led me to her spacious bedroom where the tea service was laid out
before a divan. As she poured, she asked me to tell her why I'd found
The Image so exciting.
My emotions were in such turmoil that I welcomed a chance to
discuss them with someone, and somehow it seemed easier with a
stranger. And so it was that I told her quite candidly of my
fascination with dominance and submission and of my long, harrowing
voyage into the realm of slavery.
I went on to tell her that one of my masters had even loaned me to
his friends, and that I'd obeyed without question. After all, I said,
if you owned something - a book or a tool or even a girl - you can use
it as you wish, or lend it to others. But then by chance I'd found out
that he wasn't just lending me - he was renting me out! I was his
whore, and he was nothing more than a pimp. I explained that that was
whatfinally brought me to my senses. I'd grown to despise men, all men.
And now I wanted nothing to do with them.
She patted my knee sympathetically, and I went on to tell her that
another man had even had a tiny rose tatooed on my upper thigh to show
that he owned me. His name was Rose. Carl Rose. I paused then found
myself giggling. "It's really quire attractive, though," I admitted.
"Then show it to me."
I got up willingly enough and was about to raise the hem of my
dress when she interrupted me. "On second thought," she said languidly.
"I think it would be a much better idea if you simply undressed
completely."
"Undress?" I gasped. "You mean here and now?"
"Oh, stop being such a silly little prude," she commanded me. "You
know exactly why I invited you here and you know exactly why you came.
Yes, child, I want you to undress. Right here and right now!"
This is my crossing of the River Rubicon, I thought. There'll be
no turning back if I obey her now. The time has come to decide.
I undressed.
Soon I was standing before her, my eyes downcast, my clothing
strewn haphazardly about me on the floor. I was mortified to find that
my nipples were already hard and pointed and that my slit was moist
from the mere thought of the picture that I presented, and I avoided
her eyes as she studied the tattoo on my thigh and then went on to view
my other features. She ran her hands boldly over my body as the
inspection went on, cupping my breasts, tweaking my nipples and patting
my bottom. She evn trailed a finger back and forth between my nether
lips, making me gasp and flinch, and she laughed when she discovered
how moist I'd already become.
Still toying with the curls at my thighs, she commented on how
startled I'd seemed when she stroked me there. Hadn't I ever had a
woman caress me before? Silently I shook my head. But had I ever
wondered what it would be like? When I blushed and nodded, she stood up
and casually untied the belt of her robe; with a shrug, she let it fall
to the floor. She was a raven-haired Aphrodite, absolutely exquisite!
Her breasts were full but firm and her slender waist gave way to
rounded hips and tapered thighs. Her beauty thrilled me.
Then she led me gently to her bed, stretched me out there and
lay down beside me. She was so self-cofident, so much in command, that
it never occurred to me to resist her. She kissed me tenderly; she
fondled my breasts and sofly nibbled on their jutting nipples. She
murmured endearments and massaged my buttocks lightly. I'd been as
tense as a bowstring at first, barely daring to breathe. Bur she was
unhurried and undemanding for the moment, and gradually I began to
relax in her arms. Then she trailed a hand down over my body nad cupped
my mound. She paused there, not advancing or retreating, letting me
slowly accustom myself to the feel of a woman's hand simply holding me so
intimately, in that secret place.
I found myself thrusting slightly against her hand. only then did
she resume her sensuous journey. As she kissed one nipple and then the
other, I felt her part those moistened, burgeoning lips and glide a
finger into the very core of my being. I responded with a moan of
rapture as that finger glided back and forth, and soon my inner wells
were flowing like never before. She was so gentle, so patient, so
loving! It was completely unlike the brutal, plundering ravishments of
a man intent only on his own selfish satisfaction.
All the while she was kissing me pationately, her lips trailing
ever downward over my body. She paused to tease my navel and then
turned completely about in order to bring my widespread thighs within
range of her lips. Then her tongue joined her tantalizing finger in
exploring my depths, and I shrieked aloud at the voluptuous sensations.
Soon she found my throbbing bud and licked it intensely as I thrashed
about, completely out of control, coiling, writhing, undulating like
the lithe figure of an Oriental snake. I was sweating, gasping for
breath, buffetting her face as the exquisite torture went on. Then I
exploded. I shattered. I fell apart as I had never done before. The
sensuous waves swept over me again and again, ebbing and surging,
retreating momentarily only to advance again. It went on for the
longest time.
It was the most beautiful experience of my life - I felt truly
loved and cherished for the first time. I adored her for her tenderness
and patience, and I tried to explain to her the seething cauldron of
emotions that was filling me. But I could do no more than stammer and
stutter, it was so complex.
Suddenly I realized that I could show my devotion much better with
deeds than words, and I impulsively rolled over and buried my face in
the ebony fleece at her thighs. It wasn't that I felt obliged to return
the carnal favor. Suddenly I wanted to, I yearned to, and so I began to
apply the lesson I'd been taught.
I was very timid, very tentative, at first, not at all sure of
myself. But then I savored the briny, citric taste of an impassioned
woman. Enveloped in that musky aroma, I became bolder and more
confident as she began to thrust and moan. To prolong her pleasure, I'd
pause briefly to run my tongue around her jutting nipples or trail a
finger lightly up and down the crease of her rump. But I was quick to
return to that mossy, moist grotto that so fascinated me.
Soon she was rolling her head back and forth with her eyes closed,
her lips parted, her clenched fists grasping the sheet on either side
of her. Her legs were as rigid as the oaken masks of a ship, and her
back arched upward to meet my kisses. It thrilled me tremendously to
find that a neophyte like me could arouse this haughty creature to such
heights. But it was more an act of devotion to her than an act of lust
on my part, so I continued to flick my tongue up and down that perky
peak of womanhood.
Suddenly she cried out. Her hands and her thighs drew my face
deep into her essence, and I thought I'd smother there, so strong was
her grip on me. Her heels beat on my back, and the hands knotted in my
hair were painful. She pounded my lips with her mound, and she filled
my mouth with her nectar. Then, with her hands still knotted in my
hair, she raised my head, smiled down at me and whispered, "Again!"
She was insatiable.
Such was my introduction to sisterly love, and I was overjoyed
with it. For the first time I felt cherished as well as possessed, and
I treasured those feelings. But on my second visit it was quite
different. She beat me. She beat me until I cried. I was naked again
and my wrists were chained over my head, and she calmly flogged me as
she explained that I was not being punished. Rather, it was to
establish once and for all that I was her slave and must submit to
any treatment she wished to impose.
As the whipping went on, the heat of my tormented flesh seemed to
envelop my loins as I again experienced that strange link between pain
and passion. My nipples were tingling and my thighs were soaking by the
time it ended with a single excruciating slash across my tender
breasts. But when she ordered me to kiss tghe whip and thank her for
the flogging, I obeyed without hesitation. The beating had indeed made
me feel that she owned me completely, and I was truly grateful that she
wanted to possess me.
With that she began my training. My duties were to attend her and
please her, in public as well as in private. So she took me to fashion
shows, cocktail parties, gallery exhibits and restaurants. Her
instructions to me were quite clear. I was not being taken out to be
amused and entertained; I was there only to serve her. I was to be
close at hand at all times, following her about meekly wherever she
went and paying no attention to whatsoever to the others present. I
would light her cigarettes, fetch her drinks and tend to her wrap. I
was forbidden to wear anything under my gown except for a garter belt
to support my hose. Above all, I was to appear docile and submissive,
going about always with downcast eyes and speaking only in a soft,
whispering voice.
"Everyone will know at a glance that you're a slave," I remember
her saying casually, "so I suppose it will be very humiliating for
you. But that's quite all right in your case - you're no longer
entitled to feelings of pride and self-respect." And it certainly was
degrading, for she sometimes compelled me to wear a black
rhinestone-studded dog collar secured about my neck with a tiny silver
padlock. But if I was a slave, I was a cherished one. When I'd been
particularly pleasing, we'd spend hours at home stretching out on her
huge bed or on pillows before the hearth, kissing and caressing each
other far into the night.
My duties about the house were much the same as in public, except
that I was kept either naked or dressed only in a see-through blouse
and a miniskirt. But one time she outfitted me in an elaborate maid's
costume that was designed more to display the body than conceal it. It
consisted of black mesh hose held up with floral garters, three-inch
spike-healed pumps, a lacy, transparent apron and black shoulder-length
gloves. Finally I wore a cameo at my throat and a perky maid's hat on
my head. Then she handcuffed my wrists together in front of me and
hobbled my ankles with a short length of chain, compelling me to walk
with tiny, mincing steps.
And in that manner I was forced to wait upon her and the three
ladies she'd invited for bridge. It was the most humiliating experience
of my life! The costume not only did nothing to conceal me, it actually
seemed to focus attention on my quivering breasts, the cleft at my
thighs and my bared rump. Her guests boldly fondled my taut nipples as
I bent before them with my tray of drinks, patted my bottom as I moved
about the room and commented laughingly about the welts that were still
faintly visible from my most recent whipping.
I wouldn't have minded appearing like that before my mistress -
that's a tribute she deserves whenever she wishes. But being displayed
as a naked slave before strangers is entirely different, and there were
tears of shame in my eyes as I went about serving them. Yet,
perversely, when Diana called me to her after the party, she barely had
to touch my dampened cleft before I exploded in a violent orgasm. I
guess humiliation as well as pain excited me.
And so my bizarre life went on, with each outrage being followed
by an even greater one. In fact, Diana was fiendishly clever in
thinking up new torments to impose on me, and I never knew what to
expect from her. One evening, for example, she had me kneeling naked
before her with my arms raised over my head as she idly flicked me all
over with a long, thin switch. The strokes were light, but even so they
cut into me painfully, and I was close to tears. Suddenly, though, she
paued, her face lit up with a wicked little smile and she commanded me
to spread my legs wide apart.
"And now," she announced, "my brazen little slut is going to play
with herself. Tease your nipples with one hand and fondle your mound
with the other." I was completely shocked and started to plead with
her, but I was cut short by a sharp slash on my thigh.
"Don't argue with me," she said fiercely. "Do it now! This very
instant!" Moving as if in a dream, I began fondling my breasts with one
hand as I lowered the other to my thighs. I found the lips there
already parted and moist, as if some invisible lover had just that
moment withdrawn from me. Then, with tears blurring my vision and
gasping for breath, I probed deeper as she resumed switching me all
over.
Suddenly every nerve in my body was awake and tingling. I'd never
experienced anything like it before! There I was, lewdly and openly
masturbating before her amused eyes, crushed with shame at my own
depravity and suffering the torments of the whip. Yet I'd never been so
aroused in my life. My nipples stood out boldly, my entire body seemed
flushed and my sex was pulsating as if it had a life of its own.
Then Diana raised my chin, making me face her as she kissed and
licked away my tears. "Haven't you ever heard of a lovely naked slave
girl being abused like this?" she whispered. I was in such an emotional
turmoil that I couldn't imagine what she was talking about, and I
numbly shook my head. Then it suddenly came to me - The Image! - She
was recreating my favorite scene with Claire and Anne. She saw the
signs of startled recognition in my expression and asked me if I
remembered what else Claire had forced Anne to do.
I thought for a moment, and then it came to me. Anne had been
compelled to probe her bottom as well as her slit. Surely she wouldn't
expect that of me! But she could see that I'd remembered, and she
nodded slowly. "Do it," she ordered. Loathing myself for such an
obscenity, I nevertheless moved one hand behind me, found the puckering
little gateway and slid a finger in.
I was wild with lust in an instant. The twin penetration before
and aft was unbelievably voluptuous, and the whipping seemed to
heighten the erotic effect. I was sobbing from the pain and humiliation
at the same time that I was gasping from the sensuous tides that were
threatening to engulf me. Without thinking, I thrust even deeper into
my rump, while my other hand found that hardened little pearl of
pleasure that was jutting from between those drenched lips. I don't
think I could have stopped.
And then I came. Good Lord, how I came! I collapse onto the carpet
where I writhed about, flicking my throbbing clit in an absolute
frenzy. Diana dropped her whip and was upon me immediately, kissing me,
caressing me, telling me how adorable I looked in the heat of passion.
I thought my tremors would never end. Gradually, though, calm returned
to me, and I looked up at her with love and awe. She understood me
better than I understood myself.
Then, cuddled in her arms, I softly told her of the emotions that
had swept over me. I confessed that I was very easily aroused by the
slightest fondling of my sex. Being degraded also seemed to excite me,
and even that dreaful whip awakened all my erotic senses. But never
before had I experienced all three - caresses, humiliationa and pain -
at the same moment, and it was devastatingly beautiful, absolutely
overwhelming.
I went on to admit that thoughts of rebellion had sometimes
crossed my mind when she'd been particularly abusive. But now I had no
will to resist her in any way, for she always knew what was best for
me. Then I impulsively kissed her and whispered that I hoped her
demands would keep on becoming more and more outrageous so that I could
prove how obedient and submissive I'd become. I wanted nothing more
than to be her absolute slave.
And that is what I am today.
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