Monday, November 21, 2011

Lena?


About the right age, I think. Grown up, self possessed and elegant.

Monday, November 14, 2011

Whips and Stockingtops: The Flapper and the Fishing Village (cont)

(First part here)
With a whoop, Charli yanks the hand break and hauls at the wheel until her hands cross. As Lena screams, the sports car whirls onto a side road and we pick up speed again.
If my testicles weren't already clamped into their cavities, they'd be trying to crawl there now.
"Crazy bitch!" yells Lena, clutching her hat.
"You ain't seen nothing yet!" Charli puts her foot through the floor. The G-force throws me back into the upholstery. Trees blur past. We're heading inland, faster and faster. The sun's setting behind us, so the trees look like cardboard cutouts--I bet they won't feel so cardboard when we hit them.
And Charli doesn't let up.
We accelerate towards the brow of the hill, the engine making a zooming roar, picking up more and more speed...
And then we take off.
There's a moment of weightlessness, and I get a sickening flashback to being abducted.
Lena screams, long and loud, and we land with a bump. The suspensions takes it, and we chug along slower now while Charli laughs.
Lena twists in her seat and starts flailing her gloved hands at Charli. "Stop. The. Goddamned. Car."
Charli just pulls into a lane.
"We'd better be near my cottage," shouts Lena, checking her cloche hat's still there.
"Better!" yells Charli. She pulls off the lane and onto a rutted track that crosses an open field that's strewn with rocks and rises to a summit, which is where the Vamp finally stops.
She springs out of the car, pulls off her helmet and shakes out black bobbed hair. Her driving jacket and riding britches aren't exactly feminine, but they don't do anything to conceal her broad hips and ample bosom.
I start to pick myself up and get out to open the door for Lena, but Charli gets there first.
Lena steps down onto the grass.
Charli sweeps a jacketed arm at the sun setting over the western ocean. "What do you think?"
Len takes in the view, and for a moment int he pink light they both look like pen and ink drawings from the real Jazz Era; fashionable ladies out for an evening spin.
Then Len turns and slaps Charli hard across the cheek. "Crazy! Bad! Stupid!"
"You have such a way with words, doll," says Charli. She grabs my mistress and kisses her hard on the mouth.
Lena thumps her on the brow-leather covered back. I take a step forward, not that it would do any good; my conditioning stops me raising a hand to anybody.
Then Lena... Mewls; an animal sound that sends a shiver down my spine into my steel-shod crotch.
My mistress's hands shift to the back of the vamp's head and she grinds her face into her own. Just like in the old movies, she bends one stockinged until the calf and thigh muscles press together.
My cock inflates in its prison until it prickles. I've seen this thing thousands of times since I was enslaved--Women together, no men who are free, let alone regarded as human? Of course they're all Lesbians!--I should be used to it. However I've had precisely zero orgasms since they caged me. So now I stand there feeling a wet pressure building up inside my lost penis, a pressure which I can do nothing about.
Stooping so as not to break the kiss, Charli backs off enough to get at my mistress's coat buttons.
Lena twists her mouth half free and says wetly, "Let the slave do it."
Charli gasps, "Sure."
That's my cue. I move up smartly and as unobtrusively as I can and fall to one knee. Lena's coat buttons are tiny. I fumble with them while the damp of the ground soaks into my knee, and the two women make squelching noises with their mouths just above me.
Finally, the coat opens. I scurry around behind Lena to take the coat from her shoulders, revealing a matching burgundy dress.
Right away, Charli's big hands shoot out to grab my mistress's breasts through the dark red fabric.
The vamp's leather driving coat has big chunky buttons. It doesn't take me a moment to unbutton them. As she shucks off the heavy garment, she breaks the kiss. "Lay it on the grass like a blanket then go fetch what you find in the glove compartment."
I drape it over a flat patch of cropped grass and scamper back to the auto. Inside the glove compartment is a leather bag. I know what's in it just from the shape and there's a wet spurt from my chastity belt.
When I return to the women, Lena is already sprawled on the jacket, knees bent so that the skirts of her petticoat and dress have furled around the top of her thighs. Her brown stockings leave off just past her knee, with tight looking garters as anchors.
Her briefs--flimsy cream silk things--lie on the grass where Charli must have thrown them. However, I cannot see my mistress's pussy because the Vamp is kneeling between her feet, head buried between the Lena's thighs, hands still clamped on her breasts.
I kneel down just close enough, the bag on my lap.
Charli doesn't seem to notice me. Mixed with the sound of the wind is the distinctive scratch-squelch of tongue on clit.
Lena shimmies against the coat. Her fingers slide into the back of Charli's hair.
Charlie bob's up from the other woman's crotch. Without looking at me she says, "Do you know how to insert a joystick?"
I nod. "Yes ma'am."
"Get my pants down and do it." She dives back onto Lena's crotch. Still licking, she shuffles her knees back until she’s on all fours.
There are a row of buttons on the nearest. Gingerly, I undo them and slide the pants and briefs over her ample hips and down to her knees. Then I take the bag and move to kneel behind her.
Charli spreads her thighs until the pants are taut between them and tilts her hips. Now I can see her rosy anus and her thick-lipped vulva, glistening shamelessly from a clearing in its forest of dark curls.
I unlace the bag and take out the "joystick". It's a J-shaped double-ended dildo, with knobs and ridges in all the right places.
With shaking hands I position it between her thighs, the tip of the short end against her vulva. She shoves against me and I push it in. My fingers touch the rubbery outer lips and there's another squirt from my chastity cage.
Abruptly, Charli crawls forward and pushes her hips between Lena's spread thighs.
I duck low just in time to see Lena's red inner lips pouting from behind her mousy blond bush. The dildo slides in and now the Vamp's buttocks are in the way.
I kneel back forgotten.
Charli takes the weight on her elbows and kisses my mistress's throat while slowly twitching the dildo in and out.
Each movement earns a cry and a squirm from Lena. Her bare hands--Where did the gloves go? Christ, I'd better remember to find them--untuck Charli's blouse. The red painted fingernails vanish inside. The vamp gives a little cry, then a grunt; those knobs and ridges are doing the job for her too.
Now the two women undulate together like practised performers. Each grunt from Charli triggers a gasp from Lena, and a grunt in return. The grunts and cries tumble on, one hard on the heels of the other.
The pressure builds in my chastity cage until it's unbearable, like a wasp scuttling over the tip of my cock—not that I can really remember what the tip of my cock looks like. I did once get a vanity mirror and inspect it, but all I could make out was a shadowy pink behind the surgical steel mesh, and the staring at the places where the spidery bars pierced my flesh to anchor in the bone made me queasy…
And the two women subside.
Charli rolls off and stares up at the sky her hips and thighs white in the dying light. "Stars." It's true, the stars are coming out, but I have eyes only for the pale strip of flesh between Lena's stockingtops and the skirts furled at her waist. Her pubic hair is slicked back and wet, her lips bruised as dark as her dress. If only I could--
Lena stands up and brushes down her skirt. "It's called the outdoors, Charli. You know, Mother Nature." She holds out an arm and I spring into action with her coat. "Now take me to my cottage, please."
"Sure!" Charli plucks out the joystick and tosses it to me. I catch it on reflex. It's hot and sticky to the touch and I fancy I can smell their juices. I shudder. I could almost have an orgasm if only--
But no. The two women are relaxed and sated. I'm still hard in my cage. That's just the way this hellish alternate world works.
I put the thing away. By the time I've located and returned my mistress's gloves and undies, the vamp is dressed and back behind the wheel, engine growling, headlights casting beams over the fields.
"With care," says Lena, getting in. "You may have a death wish, but I do not."
Charli laughs. "I guess you have a novel to complete. Journalists always end up trying to write novels. What's it about."
Lena says nothing.
Despite Charli's mirth, we we trundle through the darkening roads more sedately. Each bump causes my cock to throb against its cage and I start drifting into an erotic trance...
...and suddenly we've stopped.
"Can I help you... unpack?" asks Charli.
"Certainly not," replies Lena as I open the door for her. "I have a slave for that and other things."
She strides off towards the gloomy bulk of the cottage. There's a crack of light coming under the front door.
I heft the luggage out of the trunk and slog along after her like a henpecked husband on a second honeymoon. If only there were a warm vagina waiting for my cock.
Charli calls something, but her words are lost in the crunch of gravel under the wheels of the heavy case.
Lena locks the door behind us and leans her back against it. She looks drawn and sad. "Right," she says. "Forget the luggage for now. Go do whatever it takes to run me a bath."
As I scamper off, I realise that I am shortly going to see her properly naked, with no predatory vamps around to spoil things. By the time I have the furnace stoked up, my chastity belt is throbbing like a second heart.

Thursday, November 10, 2011

It's Love Our Lurkers Day!

According to the Domme Chronicles, it's Love Our Lurkers day.



Lurkers are the Internet's voyeurs - you just like to watch, well, read, without commenting.

That's OK, actually. But comments can be anonymous, and I'd love to hear from you all.

Love Giles

Wednesday, November 09, 2011

Whips and Stockingtops: The Flapper and the Fishing Village

(No promises about follow up. Just tinkering really.  Enjoy.)

The conductor opens the slave van door. She barks, "All out for Saint Eves." I dodge past her and jump down to the platform.
This is the first time I've been out of the city since I was enslaved, but I can't see much. The vapour from the engine hangs in the air like the steam in my last mistress's bathroom.
Clutching my busboy cap, I hurry down the length of the train. I check each carriage as I go. My new mistress is behind one of the grubby windows, but will I recognise her?
I glimpse a bell-shaped cloche hat through sooty glass and hurry to heave open the door. The low platform puts her bosom at my eye level. I recognise her burgundy dress and matching jacket and relax enough to note that she is fashionably small breasted - whether by nature or foundation garment, I'll soon find out.
Like a good slave, I hold out my arm and lower my eyes. The waistless dress hides her figure, but it stops at her knees so I can feast my eyes on her stockinged calves tapering down to her tightly laced ankle boots. She takes my hand--
--Did I say stockings?
Yes. Don't ask how this could be, but this is the Jazz Era with a twist. There are Flappers and Vamps, racketeers and jazz singers, but they're all female. There are men, but they are like me; abducted and cloned from our own worlds to serve as slaves in this alternate 1920s. The Gynarchs tolerate our existence because of some ancient religious edict. The pretty young things take us for granted. To them we're part domestic servant, part sex toy.
--and the touch of her warm leather gloves sends a thrill down to my chastity cage. The mesh clamps around my lost penis. My collar feels too tight. I have the urge to put my finger under it to loosen it, but it's made of seamless stainless steel. It's not going anywhere, and not getting any looser. I am a slave.
Lena steps onto the platform. Intelligent blue eyes briefly fix on me, then she glances left and right making her wavy hair flick. She smiles with rouged lips, then seems to remember something. Her gloved hand lashes out and my cheek explodes. The sudden pain sends a jolt into my captive groin, but I can't help think how like a Femme Fatal she is from an old movie.
"Get the luggage," she says without malice. In her dippy looking cloche hat that looks like an upturned flower pot, she just seems sweet and lost.
I jog back towards the far end of the train. Despite my uniform, I feel naked. It's the lack of skyscrapers. This little seaside station is in the open air with only seagulls above second storey level.
A middle aged slave in railway company is already dragging crates out of the guards van.
I blush. Whether it's conditioning or embarrassment, I don't like talking to other slaves. "Hi, do you have a bag for Lena White?"
"Right here," he says. He drags a case out and pauses to glance down the platform. "Is she that foxy dyke?"
At this distance, Lena is just a sleek form, like a manikin in a shop window. I frown. "There's only one passenger on the platform."
"So, what's her story?"
He shows no sign of moving, so I lean past him and haul the case out myself. As it bumps onto the platform, I say "No idea, mate," I don't want to be rude. Slaves have ways of making trouble for each other. I add, "She bought me on the way to the station."
He chuckles suggestively. "Probably wants to enjoy a dirty week of tongue service, eh?"
My penis pulses in its cage, but I flush. "She's come a hell of a long way from New Womb if that was all she wanted."
"Well then, brother, I hope you can make it worth her while."
I shrug and start dragging the wheel trunk towards my mistress.
"Be like that," he calls after me. "See you around."
The case is heavy. I arrive before her puffing and panting.
Lena slaps me again. "Don't dawdle." Then she turns on her elegant heel and heads for the station exit.
I follow her clip-clopping boots, my cheeks throbbing in time to her step, eyes on the seams of her stockings. The cage prickles around my captive cock and I wonder; was the other slave right? I've been a slave for more than ten years--ten years while my other self was no doubt living my life in the 21st century, going to college, losing his virginity--I shouldn't be this excited by a new mistress.
Lena stops to speak to the station mistress - from the signs she doubles as a post mistress - and I check out the street.
The sheer normality hits me like a bucket of ice water. To a guy from England's Midlands, New Womb with its Art Deco skyscrapers is exotic. In a city like that, it's easy to forget you were ever anything but a slave, and that there are places... worlds... where women actually want to have sex with men. Here though... I shudder.
I guess seaside town look the same anywhere in the multiverse. The street is lined with quirky shops and cafes, most already closed up for the season. I shrink in embarrassment, suddenly ashamed to be a collared slave. This could be back home... except for the odd oldfashioned automobile rattling down the gritty street.
Not just that, I remind myself. None of the passersby are younger than eighteen. They're all in skirts or dresses. Gloves and hats are de riguer. No denims, a lady does not walk around in work wear. Instead, every single woman is wearing stockings... Seamed stockings that come to an end somewhere beyond all those swishing hemlines. Then bare thigh webbed by garter belts. How could I have taken all this for granted?
The blood drains from my brain into my groin. My penis inflates against its bars and I sway on the spot.
"So, there is no taxi?" says Lena, sharply.
"Sorry miss," says the station mistress. "End of season, you see. Marcia always visits the Mother Lands."
"So how," asks Lena. I detect a brittle edge in her voice. "Am I supposed to get to my accommodation?"
"Ask at the inn, they have a van." The station mistress slams down her shutter.
"Shit! Shit! Shit!" says Lena. She sniffs. "Right, this way." She sets off at a stride.
I drag the case after her, struggling not to fall behind. The pressure in my groin subsides and I just feel sweaty and abused.
A open topped car skids up to a halt making both of us jump.
A vamp in a leather pilot's helmet leans out of the driver's seat. "Say Lena, want a lift?"
Lena stiffens. "Charli! What the hell are you doing her?"
Charli shrugs. "I felt like a break."
"I'm the one taking a break. From women like you."
"Then you don't want a lift?" The engine roars.
"Hey! I didn't say that," yells Lena, laughing
Charli pulls a lever and the boot opens. "Hop in. Plenty of room for luggage in the back."
I drag the luggage to the rear and heft it into the boot. By the time I'm in back seat, Lena is already sitting next to Charli. She wraps a burgundy scarf around her hat. "I suppose you already know where I'm staying", she shouts over the din.
"Sure, doll, Clifftop Cottage," says Charli. The car lurches forward. "But let's take the scenic route!"
So we hurtle up the street. I glimpse a main street with an inn and fish brokers and chandlers, and strong armed sailer women. Then we're out of Saint Eves and whizzing along a cliff top with a view far out to sea.
With the wind in my face and the back of the car to myself, it's easy to pretend I'm a free man, and the woman in the passenger seat is my girlfriend. I stare at the nape of her neck and wonder what it will be like to kiss it.

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