SEXY_CRUISER CAN HELP, LADIES!

Date: Thu, 26 Jan 2006 20:00:30 -0800 (PST)
From: “tanmyass!”
Subject: You really are the greatest slave trainer
To: sexy_cruiser
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When I 1st saw your words in the Dungeon 5 that you are, “Sir Sexy Cruiser, a Professional Slave trainer and Mistress Mentor…” I thought you were a JOKE” But, Let me tell you, you was worth every penny!

I know you deal with alot of Slavette that you train for Bunny Ranch and modeling online. But, I want you to show me how it would be to submitt to a male. Thank you, let me refresh you memory of me …and tell you want I got from your lesson.
This story is for you and you are very special tutor. You will understand the references and the bliss of climaxing in my ass in a strange bedroom. Thanks for being my friend, this one’s for your blogs.

“Don’t let the fire go out.
Please let me come to you.
Let’s take a hotel room, which we can make ours.
Give me twenty-four hours of your life.
One day.
One night….and enter the lifesytle..”

A small ceiling light casts a dim glow along the narrow corridor. Pausing before the door, I glance up and acknowledge the room’s number - 101. I smile at the converging universal codes, cyberpunk meets every sacred mythology the world has known. Ironically I know you care little for either thread but faith nudges a recognition that the ‘one’ embracing ‘infinity’ tonight has an entirely different connotation.
You’d cautioned me to relish these timeless moments outside the door and to ask myself one last time, if this is what I want.

Your e-mail read:
“..enjoy the odd realisation that an everyday act of knocking on a door is very likely to result in me ejaculating in your rectum”

And so my hand trembles as I raise it to knock. I pause, breathe deeply and lower my arm. I know you are waiting on the other side, that you are supremely aware of the struggle I must endure no matter how much I desire this. Lifting my hand again, I knock hard before the possibility of changing my mind hits and I wait.
The door swings open easily and I look up and into your deep brown eyes. All else is eclipsed. All thought. All action. For an indefinite time you hold my gaze, and then extend your hand. I know that in giving you my hand in return, I am granting you my full consent. Our fingers weave as you pull me gently into the room, pushing the door shut behind me.
You bring my hand to your lips, and as you kiss my fingers your eyes flash to mine. ‘Are you sure?’ they ask one final time. I nod my assent and the climax of our long correspondance begins.
My underwear is the last item of clothing I remove.
“Give me your panties”
A command I expect, we had discussed this but upon hearing it I shake. I hand them to you.
You turn them over in your hand for a while, letting the lace slip between your fingers, seeking out their wetness, and then you slip them into your pocket. Silly really, how that almost casual gesture sends a jolt of obediance from my brain to my cunt. My vulnerability is flushed with shame, as I feel your eyes venture over my flesh, taking an inventory. The information feeds into your mind, a complex of practical equations and lascivious possibilities.
Moving to a chair, you grasp the back and pull it to the centre of the room. I watch your muscular arms work and in a reciprocal gesture learn that the chair is heavy and that your body is strong. We are collating the final elements of necessary information about the other. Realities that our extensive online communications could never yield. We are learning about dimensions and complimentarity, scent and chemistry and soon the bloom of taste and the truth of touch.
“Come here”, your voice thick with a whisper that I am not yet familar with. That momentarily too long processing time provides you with the excuse you need. I know you are a patient man and that you won’t hurt me. And since we both crave this flashpoint, the key to my surrender and your control, this is sufficient justification.
Swinging my body around, you seize both of my wrists in your hands. The room flashes with vivid luminosity as I concede cognitive control. My body reverts to a primal instinct and I struggle but you manhandle me to the chair and we collapse into a prime position. I am sprawled across your thighs, with my arms pinned behind my back.
Spreading your legs slightly, you perfect my position for your own pleasure. I whimper with the realisation that this is the first time you have seen me this exposed. Certainly we’ve exchanged many photographs and in that frozen in time sense you know every aspect of my body but that revelation was free from shame. This is not. Adjusting your hold, you clasp my small wrists in one hand. With the other you begin to strike me.
Hard spanks with no warm up. A fierce, ruthless volley of blows aimed low, striking me in the most sensitive of places. I cry and moan, writhing and twisting in futile attempts to escape. My skin is so hot it burns. Releasing my wrists, you pull me farther onto your knees and my hands fall to the floor to regain my balance. Taking advantage, you cup one cheek with your hand, pull it back and deliver a series of hard strikes to the tender skin around my anus. I howl at the indignity but you continue.
Stopping as suddenly as you started, I suspect because your hand must hurt, you allow your palm to rest and soak up the heat of my tender backside. Your fingers travel, tracing, contemplating the imprint your hand has made over and over. A heavy knock to the door slices into our warm cocoon and I start. You lift me and issue a simple command.
“Go and stand in the corner”
I freeze. The knock comes again.
“Now, Angela” and you grab my arm and force me there, before walking back to the door. In a jumble of panic and shame, I am so confused that I stay where I am. You answer, and the conversation reveals room service have made a mistake. As you close the door, I turn with a laugh bubbling. You meet my relief with a smile and the instruction to turn back around.
Snaking your arms around my waist, I feel your lips tenderly kiss my shoulder.
“Place your hands on your head Angela, but sweep your hair up as you do”.
I do as I am bid, and the trail of gentle kisses mitigates the flush of humiliation this immodest posture awakes in me. Your hands leave me and I hear the distinct sound of your belt unbuckling, followed by the swoosh of leather running through fabric loops. Stepping away from me, you stand back and I feel your eyes admiring your handy work. One second later, the leather cracks through the air and contacts my ass hard. I stumble and almost fall, and so you instruct me to spread my legs wider.
I do, having time only to register the cool breeze between my thighs and increasingly exposed pussy as the belt whips through the air again. You deliver twelve lashes and then you stop. The agony in my flesh passes, changing from brilliant sharp pain to a throbbing, pounding ache. My skin burns. But more acutely I am drenched with utter shame, a psychological torment that physical pain cannot eradicate, only enhance.
Then you return to me, and I feel your warmth. Pressing into my back, you encourage me to relax into you, a mercy to my weak knees that have struggled to retain balance. Reaching around you caress my nipples, pinching but not too hard. Subtlely the mood is changing. Your hands glide across my belly, spreading out to fan over my hips and then returning to my centre to find my molten sex. My cunt lips are wet, the outer lips swollen and slick with my juice. This is the real expression of my need and desire. Again you turn me around, but this time much gentler and we connect in an intoxicating kiss. Hot mouth to hot mouth.
My last act of submission is about to be given and claimed. Guiding me to the bed, you force me to adopt a doggie position, my reddened ass raised high for you. As I lift my hips, the scent of my own sex hits me and I know you can smell my heat too. I remain in this position while you undress and then come to kneel between my open, receptive thighs. A cool stream of lube hits my scorched ass, undulating down the cleft and pooling on my rosebud. You tease and caress my anus, gently sliding an oily finger in, and then out. Repeating this taunting gesture until you feel my sphincter yield and welcome you with ease and appreciation.
The seconds of slow and unstoppable penetration are never easy for me. I have to consciously breathe deep, harmonising breath with insertion, relaxing into the filling pressure. Depth is less of a challenge, the pain comes from the fragility of my screaming muscular ring as it fights this unnatural act. Finally I have taken the full length of your cock, and you celebrate this tender impalement by holding me still and safe for a few sacred moments. And then you resume making love to my ass, my reddened and full ass, while my fingers passionately care for my empty pussy.