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A Simple Game of Scrabble (mf, bdsm)
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.
"A Simple Game of Scrabble"
by Lady Anne
Herman was sitting in his favorite bar, the Ball Room, wondering why
he never had any luck picking up women. All around him, myopic
computer nerds and spindly accountants were hauling in women like so
many perfumed fish, while Herman hadn't even succeeded in buying a
drink for the librarian on the barstool next to him. As he toyed with
the ice cubes in his weak vodka tonic, he wondered if he would always
be celibate. He had tried conventional dating, but the women he went
out with always seemed to be attached--a fact they would reveal after
a four-course meal and several bottles of expensive champagne. Once he
had invited a secretary at his office to a romantic dinner at his
apartment, only to have her turn up with an unexpected guest, her
husband. Herman's dry spell was beginning to feel more like a nuclear
winter.
Suddenly the bar fell quiet. A creature of astounding dimensions had
walked in, an Amazon whose coppery hair cascaded to her hips. Her red
Lycra dress offered a postcard-perfect view of the most delectable
cleavage Herman had ever seen, and her red fuck-me pumps emphasized
the muscles in her endless legs. As she strolled through the room, not
a sound could be heard but the click of her heels and the clatter of
dropping jaws. She walked to the end of the bar and slid onto a seat--
right next to Herman.
Herman wasn't surprised. The most beautiful women always sat next to
him, either because they were unaware of his existence, or because
they knew he posed no threat. With Herman, they could enjoy a harmless
conversation and a stream of free drinks, knowing all the while that
such a wimpy man would demand no pay-off. And if some Adonis with an
IQ lower than his age happened to walk by, they could get up and leave
Herman in mid-sentence without feeling the slightest bit guilty.
"Would you like to buy me a drink?" the redhead purred. Acting on an
instinct that he could neither control nor understand, Herman ordered
her a Tequila Sunrise. They always wanted expensive drinks, these
beauties. A simple well drink wouldn't do, and an offer of domestic
beer would blast a hopeful suitor into no-man's-land for the rest of
his pitiful existence.
"So what do you do?" Herman stammered.
"I'm a model," she said scornfully, as if he'd asked her what species
she belonged to. "Couldn't you tell? What are you? Let me guess. A
computer programmer."
Herman was, as a matter of fact, a computer programmer. On any other
night, he would have admitted it, in his characteristically apologetic
tone, but tonight some dark impulse was unfurling in his mind.
"I'm a sado-masochist," he said.
For five long minutes he sat staring at his drink while the woman
laughed. He thought her heaving spasms would send her breasts flying
out of her dress, but they stayed in place, quivering like creamy
Jello molds. When her laughter finally died, she dabbed a rivulet of
mascara off her cheek, turned to him, and asked if he was serious.
"Yes," said Herman. He could tell she couldn't wait to hear more, so
she could enjoy another seizure of hilarity, but he made her wait till
he had ordered a fresh drink, squeezed the lime wedge, and taken a
long sip. "I've played the dominant role in many BDSM scenes. Entirely
consensual, of course."
"You mean women let YOU tie them up?" the redhead shrieked. "You're
lying!"
"No. Many women have humiliation fantasies, but they'd be terrified to
find themselves in a situation in which they actually had to submit to
the desires of a man. I can provide them with a safe, friendly
environment in which they can experience exactly the measure of pain
and humiliation that they want, without having to worry about their
safety. Before we start, we agree on terms that they feel comfortable
with, and we both sign a contract detailing those terms. We have safe
words that they can use to signal when I'm going to far, and I heed
these signals scrupulously. I know it seems odd that a man like me
would do something like that professionally, but I have a thriving
business. For a mere hundred dollars, a woman can have her darkest
fantasies fulfilled."
"A MERE hundred dollars? You've got to be kidding."
Herman shrugged. "To some women, I'm worth it. There's simply no other
way that they could get what they want. If you're interested, I could
offer you a fifteen-percent discount."
The redhead studied him for a moment. She pursed her luscious lips and
looked him up and down, from his bald head to his spreading waistline
to his shabby sneakers. Haughtily she ran a taloned finger from his
knee up to the growing bulge in his crotch, as if she were testing a
strip of carpet.
"So it's entirely safe?" she asked suspiciously. "Because if a wimp
like you actually hurt me, you would be so dead you wouldn't believe
it."
"It's as safe as a simple game of Scrabble," said Herman with a smile.
* * * *
Herman's apartment was in its customary state of filthy disorder. His
plaid Ethan Allen sofa was littered with pizza boxes and back issues
of "Hustler," and the floor was carpeted with a layer of dirty socks
and underwear. Ordinarily, if he had unexpectedly brought a woman back
to his place, he would have begged her to wait outside for a few
moments while he desperately tried to make the living room, bathroom,
and bedroom look presentable. His heart would have pounded as he
filled trash bags and rinsed out the sink, wondering if his lovely
guest would deign to wait while he cleaned.
Tonight he didn't care. He didn't even apologize for the mess as the
redhead tiptoed in, holding her nose.
"God, you're a pig," she said. "How can you live like this?"
"I'm a busy man," Herman replied calmly. "I've had so many customers
these past few weeks, I haven't even done the dishes. So. First things
first. Before I draw up our contract, I'll need your eighty-five
dollars."
"No way. I'm not giving you any money till I find out whether this SM
stuff is worth it."
"Suit yourself," said Herman, holding the front door open.
The redhead paused, her hands on her hips. For the first time in his
life, Herman had no doubt what would happen next. His pulse didn't
quicken in alarm; his erection didn't wilt. With an irritated sigh,
the redhead opened her purse and withdrew the money. Herman pocketed
the bills and led her into his study, where he switched on the
computer.
"I'm going to draw up our contract," he explained. "Now, tell me what
sort of things you like and don't like. And give me a couple of safe
words. You can pick anything you want, but it's best if the phrase has
nothing to do with your typical response to pain. For example, a lot
of submissive women like to scream 'Stop!' or 'Please don't!' or
'You're hurting me!' as part of the drama. So those phrases wouldn't
work as safe words. It should be something that I'll instantly
recognize as a sign of genuine fear. Something you'd never really say
if we were in a real-life situation together."
"How about 'fuck me'? I know I'd never say that to you," smirked the
redhead.
"That's an excellent choice." Herman sat down at his computer and
pulled up a copy of his latest tax return. He pretended to type busily
as the redhead detailed everything he could and could not do to her
beautiful body. Then he printed out the document, scribbled his name
at the bottom, and asked the woman to read it, then sign.
"I don't want to read all this," she whined. "I just watched you
typing it. What do you think, I want to spend the whole night in some
smelly, dirty apartment with a computer geek?"
Impatiently she snatched the paper and scrawled her name underneath
his. Herman thanked her, took the contract, and led her into his
bedroom.
* * * *
Herman owned an impressive array of bondage equipment which he'd never
had the opportunity to use. He loved the smell and texture of the
leather, the cool smoothness of the metal, the efficient complexity of
the gags and restraints. When he caressed any item in his collection,
a sensation of power made his fingertips tingle. Now, as he selected a
leather corset with cut-out nipples, a variety of clamps, and a pair
of wrist and ankle cuffs, his erection grew so hard that he could
barely stand it. He told the redhead to go into the bathroom and
change into the corset. She could leave on her stockings, garter belt,
heels, and panties, but everything else would have to come off. When
she began to complain, Herman unfolded his tax return and read aloud:
"Section 1, Paragraph A stipulates that the submissive partner will
don whatever attire the dominant partner feels is appropriate for the
scene that is to be enacted. If the submissive partner feels this
attire is unacceptable, please refer to Section 1, Paragraph B.
Section 1, Paragraph B stipulates that--"
"Oh, shut up, you idiot," grumbled the redhead. "This is such a
fucking bore. I can't believe I paid for this. I must be out of my
mind. I knew I shouldn't have broken up with my boyfriend this
morning. For God's sake, I could be on his yacht right now, drinking
champagne. Instead I'm sitting here playing some kind of SM Scrabble
game with a guy who looks like a Smurf."
She grabbed the corset, flounced into the bathroom, and slammed the
door. As soon as the door closed, Herman hastily masturbated. He
wanted to make sure he had the staying power to make this scene last
for hours. When he was done, he carefully selected a gag. He had a
feeling he would need it.
When she finally came out, Herman was glad he had relieved himself
beforehand. She had laced the leather corset tightly around her waist,
and her breasts spilled over the top. The garment's triangular cutouts
revealed a pair of nipples, firm as pink gumdrops, that made Herman
salivate. Her lacy silk panties were a delightful anomaly to the
sinister bondage gear, and her legs, in thigh-high stockings, were as
flawless as a thoroughbred's. For a second, Herman wondered if he
would be able to take charge of this scene, but the dark force that
was guiding him this evening soon reassured him that everything would
go as planned. He instructed his victim to lie down on the bed, then
he restrained her wrists and ankles to the four bedposts. Immediately
she began to complain.
"What the hell are you doing? I never said you could stretch me out
like this. Those handcuffs are way too tight. I feel like a piece of
meat! This is totally unacceptable, and it wasn't in our contract. Who
do you think you are, the Marquis de Sade? You're just a worthless
computer programmer. Do you know how many men would kill just to buy
me a drink? I cannot believe I let myself in for this. You'd better
take those cuffs off now, or I'm going to--"
Herman stood over her, watching her flail and heave like a halibut on
the bottom of a fishing boat. Then, with a resigned sigh, he silenced
her with the ball gag, which held her lovely tongue in such a position
that she couldn't flap it no matter how she tried. She continued to
emit muffled shrieks, but they were only background music to the
torment that was to come.
First he applied clamps to her luscious nipples. The instant the
instruments closed over the sensitive nubs, her hips rose off the bed
and she screamed through the gag. Herman shook his head.
"Your protests mean nothing," he said. "Our contract allows me to do
anything I want, remember?"
His victim shook her head violently, causing her silken hair to ripple
in a most provocative way. Her emerald-green eyes shot missiles of
contempt, but as Herman told her what he intended to do with the other
clamps he held, those eyes widened in fear.
"But not yet," he said. "For now, I have other things in mind." From a
drawer in his bedside table, he withdrew a pair of shears.
"What should I do with these, my beauty?" he mused. "Should I snip a
souvenir off your head? A copper tress that I could wind around my
erection as I think of you in the nights to come? You'd hardly miss
it, with that luxurious mane of yours. On the other hand, I could
shear you like a sheep. You wouldn't be so haughty with your head
shaved like a Marine's, would you? Would you prance into bars the way
you did tonight, knowing that you wouldn't have to touch your
pocketbook a single time, except to take out a compact and admire
yourself? Knowing that all those pathetic slobs would 'kill,' as you
so crudely put it, to buy you drinks?"
A tear fell from the redhead's eye as she shook her head and moaned
piteously.
"I'll start with just a strand," said Herman, "because I couldn't
possibly get turned on by torturing you if you were bald. You wouldn't
be nearly as beautiful, you know. You'd be lucky to get a second
glance from me, in fact. And you could forget dating millionaires.
Isn't it disturbing to know that your attractions are so tenuous?" He
yanked a skein of her hair and severed it emphatically.
"There. Now you're not as confident, are you? Are those clamps
starting to hurt? I certainly hope so. Or maybe your pretty nipples
are numb by now, in which case, I would have to relieve you of your
panties and apply the same devices elsewhere to give you a fresh dose
of pain. Shall I do that now? Go on, shake your pretty mane. Your
powers are fading rapidly. Only two hours ago, you could have had me
at your knees with a fractional lift of your eyebrow. Ah, how times
change."
Herman held the shears aloft, so that their blades glinted in the
light of the overhead lamp. It shed its unrelenting beam on his
hapless subject, illuminating the silk-covered mound between her legs.
A shame to slice up those panties; they looked expensive. A woman like
this would think nothing of spending thirty dollars on a single scrap
of silk to clothe her pussy, so she could prance through the streets
in luxury and comfort. What a thrill it was to be able to deprive her
of that luxury! Such a thrill that he didn't want to indulge himself--
not yet. Instead he slid his finger underneath the delicate garment
and inserted it between her swollen lips.
"Now, this is a most curious surprise," he said. "Despite your
protests, despite your scorn, and now, despite your fear, you, Miss,
are quite thoroughly wet." The redhead's eyelids fluttered as he
pulled his finger slowly in and out of her vulva, then insistently
tickled her clitoris. "Whatever could be the cause of such arousal?
Surely it's not I, the gentleman you described not long ago as 'a guy
who looks like a Smurf.' What would your friends think--all of whom, I
suspect, are as beautiful and as successful as you--if they could see
you sprawled out on my bed, helpless as a trapped deer? Perhaps I
should photograph this scene for your portfolio. Do you think it would
help you in your modeling career, to have images of you lying
spreadeagled on a computer programmer's mattress, your breasts
heaving, your vulva swollen and exposed? If only you weren't so
excited, you could pass it off as a blackmail effort, say I kidnapped
you and held you at gunpoint and made you assume this degrading pose.
But such a ruse wouldn't work in your case, my beauty, because any
examination of your plump, glistening labia would reveal that you are
enjoying yourself immensely. Aren't you?"
Again the redhead shook her head and screamed so loudly that Herman,
who was nothing if not a gentleman, removed her gag.
"Fuck me!" she cried. "Fuck me! Fuck me!"
"No, I don't think so," said Herman with impeccable politeness. "I'm
afraid you don't deserve to be fucked by a pig, much less by me."
"That's my safe word, you bastard! I've had enough! Where's our
contract? Show me that contract! Now!"
"You mean this?" Herman held up the sheet of paper. "My 1993 tax
return? I'm afraid it won't mean a thing to you, dear. The only thing
this document tells me, as I peruse its contents, is that I am owed an
impressive refund."
"Oh, God," the redhead sobbed. "Please let me go. Just take the
handcuffs off and let me make a phone call. I could have my boyfriend
here in twenty minutes with a suitcase full of money."
"You mean your ex-boyfriend?" Herman asked. "The man you scorned this
very morning? And how exactly would you phrase such a request? 'Hi,
Bucky. I'm tied up in a computer programmer's apartment, and I need a
million dollars or he's going to cut off all my hair, apply clamps to
my vulva, and make me come against my will. So could you forget about
how I called you a dickless wonder twelve hours ago?' Somehow I don't
think that would work. And how would you explain to your ex-boyfriend,
who's probably found someone much prettier and much nicer by now, that
you PAID to be in this precarious position?"
Before she could reply, Herman put the gag back on. He was truly
enjoying himself now; his cock was painfully hard again. He unzipped
his fly--much better--and stroked his erection as he watched tears
slide from his victim's eyes. Her position was hopeless, and she knew
it; she was almost broken. What a surge of power he would feel as he
watched her heave in ecstasy! He took up his shears again and made
short work of her panties, which were soaked with her own juices. Yes,
she could protest. She could scream. But a pussy cannot lie. Her lips
were so slippery that he could barely hold them between his fingers as
he applied the labial clamps. As the devices' teeth sank into her
flesh, she arched her back and released a howl of agony.
"I haven't even started yet," said Herman accusingly. "This pinching
sensation is nothing compared to the shame you'll feel when I bring you
to a climax. A shorn head will seem like a pimple in comparison."
The redhead shook her head again, as if to insist that she would never
yield him an orgasm. She squeezed her eyes shut and clamped the gag
between her teeth. A stubborn creature, she was going to make his task
difficult. Herman pulled his video camera out of a closet, made sure
it was loaded, and set it up on a tripod.
"With this instrument, I'll be able to record every one of your throes
of ecstasy," he said with satisfaction. "So if you ever feel the need
to reveal your shame to your dearest friends, or to the police, I'll
have everything I need to make sure that they know just how much you
enjoyed being treated like a whore this evening. Perhaps you'll even
recommend me to your bitchy friends. I'm sure they could use a lesson
like the one you're getting."
While the camera rolled, Herman straddled his victim and brusquely
inserted three fingers into her vagina. With his other hand, he began
to rub her clitoris. Her body tensed--she was resisting with every
fiber in her body--but he could tell she was excited. Over her pearly
skin, an apricot flush began to spread, and her pussy was so wet that
she was soaking the mattress underneath her buttocks. Just as her body
began to move in the soft, rhythmic undulations that precede orgasm,
Herman yanked at one of the damp coppery curls between her thighs, and
she screamed.
"Pain and pleasure are so closely intertwined," Herman sighed. "Isn't
it miraculous?"
His victim sobbed. She was nearly broken now. What could be more
humiliating to an exquisite bitch like this than to have a computer
geek apply his tongue to the quivering pink pearl between her thighs?
But he'd have to be careful. She was perilously close to orgasm; he
wanted to delay it as long as possible. Spreading her lips, he leaned
over and delicately licked the overstimulated clitoris, then yanked at
her pubic hair. After a dozen repetitions of these dichotomous
activities, his victim was so terribly confused that she no longer
knew the difference between ecstasy and agony.
Herman ceased his attentions and sat up. He had an idea. Something
foul, wicked, and thoroughly degrading. He left his lovely subject
suspended among the sensations that wracked her body and went into the
kitchen, where he dug an empty Budweiser bottle out of the garbage.
Ah, to come with a domestic beer bottle protruding from between her
silken thighs--that would be the pinnacle of shame. She'd probably
never had a bottle of Budweiser between her lips, but now she would.
He returned to the bedroom, where the redhead was moaning and
squirming, begging to be released from the tension that held her bound
on the brink of orgasm. When she saw the beer bottle, her eyes flew
open in horror. The shame! The agony! She would never recover from
this debasement! Herman knelt over her again, and with enormous
relish, inserted the bottle between her slick lips.
"I'm sorry I couldn't offer you Dom Perignon," he said sarcastically,
"but bottled beer was all I had. Don't tell me; I know what you're
thinking. Couldn't it at least be Heineken? I'm sorry, but you don't
deserve that, either. I only wish I drank Thunderbird."
Again the redhead was approaching climax, but Herman thought it would
be rude of her to come before he did. Leaving the bottle tucked firmly
between her legs, he straddled her chest and unlaced the corset,
releasing her lush breasts. He then unclamped her nipples so that he
could observe them in their splendor. How lovely they were, those
shivering mounds of creamy flesh, topped by cherries made hard by the
cruel clamps! He stroked his erection, firmly but slowly--this pace
would torment her further. At last he came, shuddering, spouting gouts
of hot come over her bosom. As he came, his spasms shook the bed,
providing the final stimulus necessary to bring his victim to a
devastating orgasm. Her breasts surged toward the ceiling, her hips
bucked wildly, and her inner muscles clamped so hard on the beer
bottle that it went flying across the room.
As she lay, limp and breathless, on his bed, Herman calmly dismounted
her and switched off the video camera.
"That, my dear," he said, as he ejected the cassette and placed it
carefully in a bureau drawer, "is what you get for a fifteen percent
discount. Imagine if I had made you pay full price?"
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