N Morley: Packing Heat: Femdom Strap-On Stories

Though she’s quite femme, Mistress Juliette always keeps the fingernails of her right hand trimmed short—as if that strange variation between right and left hands flags to anyone smart enough to pick up on it. I’m sure more than a few girls—and boys, as well—had felt a quiver in their loins when they noticed the difference between Mistress Juliette’s fingernails.

I had felt those fingers inside me, two of them at a time. That’s how she started me off—two fingers, thickly coated with lube. I moaned and surged forward, rattling even this heavy table, a table built for the debauchment of sluts just like me. I felt my cock pressing against the cold vinyl. Mistress Juliette sank her two fingers into me and gently caressed my balls with her other hand.

“This will be a stretch for her,” said Mistress Juliette in a sensual stage voice. “She’s never been fucked before.” She was basking in the attention of the crowd, which would have made me admire fondly how much of an exhibitionist slut my Mistress was—which, most certainly, I would do later. But at the time I was occupied with the feeling of her third finger joining the first two, opening me up. It made my eyes go wide, and a muffled moan came out of my panty-stuffed mouth.

“Have you ever seen such a hungry little slut?” said the Mistress, and her fingers, having done their duty, slid out of me. She was eager to see me take her cock, to feel me stretched and savaged around her. She stood graceful and delicate against me, her high heels giving her just the right altitude to guide her cock into my upthrust ass.

The first pressure of her cockhead made me gasp; what had felt small and arrow shaped in my mouth and down my throat now felt enormous and powerful. She worked the head in a circle, letting my ass get used to the idea… and then she thrust, gently at first, more firmly as I opened up for her.

I squealed, which made her thrust deeper, lean forward, and purr into my ear: “Like a pig, Kerry. Squeal like a little slut pig.”

Her hips completed the thrust, driving her cock deep into me. Though the first stroke of her dildo had made me tense, I now relaxed—from tingling toe to wide-apart lips. Pleasure pulsed through me as her cock filled me up. I was stretched, opened around her shaft, fucked . My eyes rolled back in my head. My panties fell, dank and spit-soaked, out of my mouth to glisten on the dungeon floor.

She began to fuck me, long even strokes going as deep into me as had ever been gone. I pulled against my ropes—not trying to get away, but endeavoring to shove myself back onto her cock. Mistress Juliette approved, and she pinned my shoulders to the table so I would have to use my hips. That is one thing a slut knows how to do , she’d told me. Use her fucking hips .

Then I was moaning, my thrusts a shuddering arrhythmic dance as my cock rubbed against the table. When I came I screamed louder than I believe I have ever screamed in my life. Mistress Juliette met my orgasm with a shove of her dildo as deep as it would go, and a gentle caress on the back of my neck—with the long-nailed hand. I think she would have grabbed my hair, but of course that would have made it come off.

I was lost in the pleasure, hungry for her cock. I barely even felt the hunks returning alongside me, quickly opening my bonds, setting me free from the table. But I definitely felt Mistress Juliette’s cock, sliding out of me, leaving me dripping and gasping in pleasure.

She guided me to my knees, and I obediently licked the vinyl table, cleaning it of my own come. The taste, tart and pungent, filled my mouth and opened my throat. I swallowed myself eagerly, and begged for more with my eyes when I turned my head to see Mistress Juliette watching me, pleased by my lapping.

“What do you think?” she asked a few of the revelers watching us, some of them engaging in their own grope sessions, plainly aroused by our display. “Is Kerry a real slut?”

They answered with applause, and I felt my face growing hot as I basked in their approval. Like Mistress Juliette, I was an exhibitionist slut—or, rather, I was becoming one.

And, like her, I knew that this was far from what makes a slut a real slut. What makes her a real slut is—well, it’s whatever makes her one in the moment. And I was quite sure that by the time the evening was over, Mistress Juliette would find a few more ways for me to become one.

She wore them on purpose: those goddamn shorts . They make her ass look amazing. They drive me crazy . They would at the best of times, even if I hadn’t been spending my every waking hour for three weeks contemplating that perfect ass with its perfect curves and its perfect shape and its perfect texture and that perfect little hole, tight as can be—never entered, barely even touched. Trina’s shorts would make me go nuts with desire even if she was just my garden-variety girlfriend this week. If these seven days in Lake Tahoe were exactly like any others, she would just be my saucy tart of a lover, nothing more. She’d be the girl who cuddled up against me in the mornings and purred, “I want you to fuck me every way a girl can be fucked” (except that way) or sprawled out in bed and murmured softly, “Yes Sir, Master, this slave lives to do whatever you want, Sir” (except that ), or grabbed me and threw me down on the bed fresh from a night out and still smelling of smoke and scotch and dug her fingernails into my chest and growled, “Tonight I wanna do everything ” (except that ).

Even then, Trina’s ass in those shorts would make me drool. If this week was just a week like all the others, just a wiggle and a stretch, and I’d be crossing my legs and tucking my business out of the way—or trying to, before somebody noticed.

But this week isn’t like any other, because it’s the week… the week she’s giving me her ass.

Trina knows this; she’s been tormenting me the whole week in Lake Tahoe. It’s a game for her, and I’m always the loser, and the winner, and something in between. This game is the Tahoe Tease—making me wait until exactly halfway through the week-long vacation… halfway to the minute . Exactly .

Which is exactly tonight at midnight, and then the Tahoe Tease can finally end… and I can have my sweet baby’s ass.

For her it’s a game, the Tahoe Tease. How many boners can I give him, and not have him disintegrate into a puddle of goo ? The answer is “ lots ,” but I come pretty close. The answer is “ plenty ,” with plenty more to come. The answer is that eight weeks into the Tahoe Tease, Trina owns me. She knows how to work that Tease like a stripper craving green stuff, and my tongue is a hundred-dollar bill.

All it takes is a wiggle of Trina’s perfect ass and I’m putty in her hands.

Just a sashay of that derrière… and I’m on my knees .

I run up behind her while she’s mounting the path toward the cabin. I can’t resist. I reach for her from behind and she just melts into me, knowing I’m there without looking. It’s not just that she can hear my footsteps; she senses me. Witchy little Trina knows exactly where my hands are going—her ass—and exactly where my lips will end up: that perfect slope of her neck, right by her ear, the place where a softly-growled “ I wanna fuck ” can make her as wet as I am hard.

But she’s already wet. She’s wet from teasing me all up and down the mountain paths surrounding Lake Tahoe. She’s wet from showing me the ass I want so very badly to fuck, then keeping it locked away in camel-toe shorts for another twelve hours. In those tight shorts, she’s simply dripping —at least, I think so. I’m guessing, I’ll admit, from the posture of her body and the way she rubs her ass against my hands.