Harder by ed cantor

A bit "harder" than my usual, below is the text of one of ed cantor's first attempts at Twitterotica. Enjoy!
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getting on a plane to be teased and tormented and used

arriving to be picked up by you, immediately taken, stuffed with the plug, bound helpless, and taken to where the use REALLY begins

sun so bright after the trip in the trunk, blinking as you guide me in, handcuffed, plugged, gagged

i can see you tormenting me with your desire, blindfolded now, you make me strip and i can't see you, can't know who is there

but you come so close, teasing me once you've got me restrained helplessly immobile, keeping me inches from your thrilling arousal

now totally at your mercy, i groan at the tightness of the ropes, the cursed inflatability of the stretching plug, drooling around the gag

she pulls the blindfold off and, seeing her, despite everything, my body tingles with arousal at her striking and powerful beauty

my admiration is cut short, not just by the ominous surroundings, but by the more more immediate concern about the thin cane you held

my legs are spread wide, ankles held open by the roughly welded spreader bar and its steel shackles, my wrists pulled so high over my head

you move close, a briefly soft touch at my bared chest turns into you marking me with four parallel lines from your sharp fingernails

you are dangerously intimately close to me, i curse my reactions, growing erect as you start surrounding my cock and balls with thin leather

i moan in pain, as you've hung something from my swaying balls now...i look down to see a small empty tin pail

distracted by this new torment, I am shocked to screaming when the thin cane slices across my ass.

and again when you drop some leaden weight into the dangling pail, pulling painfully at me. "that's what happens when you don't thank me"

"thank you?" he stammered, tortured by the way the damned pail was now swinging. "yes, for the kiss of my sweet cane." and again it struck.

there was no point in resisting... "thank you" i gasped. your fingernails dragged down my back. "thanks for what, fucktoy?"

"thanks.. thanks for whipping my ass" i was guessing, in some kind of strange shock." "oh honey, that was just the cane, not the whip...yet"

you kept striking me with the cane, over and over, marking and torturing my ass, my own jerking making the weighted pail swing

but each time, even when reduced to sputtering groans, a strained "thank you" exits my lips

i feel like i'm about to lose consciousness, always waiting for the next strike, when you stop. you set the cane down on a shelf.

to replace it you pick up a wide leather paddle. you walk up in front of me, turning it so i can see all of it. your smile is dangerous.

My breathing coming in ragged panting, i look at it, at you. you use it under me to lift up and display my bound cock and balls to me

my balls, trussed in the thin leather, are red, almost purple, tight, the agony visible... you tease me with those painted talons again

your nails drag up and down the length of me, and you slide the paddle, like you're using a frying pan under me. when you squeeze i scream

you let the paddle down, leaving me at the mercy of the pail again, pulling another groan from me as your heels click behind me again

i'm nearly sobbing, knowing what is coming, and sure enough the paddle slams like like a truck, reigniting the fiery stripes of the cane

you cast a wider spread with the paddle, and soon the whole of my ass as well as the backs of my thighs are burning and glowing red

without being reminded, i am gasping thank you's out to you, even as the pain grows, narrowing my vision to a shadow-framed tunnel

you stop once more... i'm panting, and it takes me a moment to realize it is over, at least for now. you are moving again, arranging things

there is heavy scraping, big things sliding, but all i can do is revel in the reprieve from the paddle. then i feel the edge against my ass.

you've pushed a large, cold metal table up behind me. you free my ankles from the spreader bar. you lower my wrists, still bound together.

you pull me back, onto the table, securing the chain from my wrists somewhere behind my head. laid back, the cold surface is almost soothing

you free the dangling pail from my trussed cock but you do not release it. you pull my legs up, securing each doubled with a buckled strap

you push my frog-tied legs apart and it is the first time i see the ominous strap-on you've affixed to its harness at your hips

the harsh lights above me gleam in the slick coating of lubricant you've already prepared it with. "oh god, please don't, please" i stammer

your smile fades, and my throbbing balls are i your grip "i like the begging, but you're doing it wrong, fucktoy."

"beg me for this, beg me to take you like the dirty whore you are, or you'll feel that whip you were asking about, and i'll skin that ass"

i can tell by the look in your eyes that it is no bluff. i swallow hard, trying to make myself believe this isn't real. "please..."

"please what?" you demand of me. "please.. please use that on me, in me. please, please don't whip me." "slut, you'd better make me believe"

"please, oh god, please... please take me, please fuck my ass, please fuck me, please please take me and fuck my ass please"

i realize i'm nearly screaming. your smile is wickedly crooked. you ease the tip of the purple rubber monster to me, pushing open my rosebud

i groan as the thing pushes into me, even after i'd been stretched by the plug. and then you're really fucking, your hips driving forward.

"keep begging, whore. i know you want it, i know you love it!" "yes, please, please" i'm begging with all that i am as you impale me

the feeling of the thing inside me is completely new, like it is splitting me in half, but also something more

i can feel your pleasure. your bliss and fucking me so full is electric in the room. it isn't just better than the cane, it's something more

but i still blush at the words that are flying from my mouth, from some depraved core of me "fuck me! fuck my ass! fuck me! i need it! fuck"

my head thrown back, your rocking me on the table. my mind is numbed so much that all i can do is repeat "fuck me i'm a whore" over and over

my mind buzzing, and i realize something strange is happening. i'm starting to enjoy this. but how? i look and my cock is rock hard.

it is straining at its bondage, but rigid and upright and its purple head is glistening with precum. "i knew you were a whore, slut."

your smile shames me. my face is burning red. but still you fuck me and still i beg. you grip my shaft, hard. your nails curl around to bite

but still i love it. i want it. i want you to fuck me and stroke me. your touch makes my body electric. i feel like i'm a foot off the table

your hips are rolling, getting your own pleasure from the base of the strap-on, and you are ramming hard into me, but the pain is offset now

my begging is more than real now. i want it. i need it. i crave for you to fuck me, to take me with all you have.

your hand on my cock and your dildo in my ass is making me a pavloviansubject. this pleasure like i've never felt is because i'm yours now.

i'm begging in earnest, my voice almost gone, rasping, "fuck me please, oh god please fuck me, take me, i'm your fucking whore to use"

"tell me you're a whore" you command and i do it, aloud, "i'm a whore!"

"tell me you're a slut" and i scream it "i'm a slut, i'm your slut!"

"tell me all you want is to fucked and beaten and fucked some more, you fucking tramp!" i do, and i am. i am what you are making me.

"yes you are. cum, you ass-fucked whore." and i don't even think, i just explode. cum forcing itself past the bondage, to spurt up my chest

you fuck me a few more thrusts, and the pressure seems to push even more cum from my throbbing cock, you unlace it now, and it is still hard

it is super sensitized from is use and its bondage, my balls feel like theyve been kicked over and over.

i'm still helpless, not that i would have the energy to move if free. your fingers, in rubber gloves, are scooping up the thick white cum.

i'm almost beyond shame, but still i feel this humiliation as you slowly feed me every oozing drop of my own orgasm

once you are satisfied you retreat for a moment. when you return, you're holding a heavy collar, hinged steel, which you lock around my neck

only then do you you release my legs, free my hands. i turn slightly and i feel it and hear it. the chain from my collar to the wall.

you're moving away, dropping a bowl of some gruel on the floor, next to another filled with a splash of water. the door closes heavily.

you speak to me though the slit in the metal door. "you are mine, whore. and it is just beginning." i shudder. I can feel the truth of it.

One Day Sunday: Epilogue by debee

One Day Sunday: Epilogue

[Previous installments: http://www.inherservice.com/search/label/debee]

I left work two hours early and I still had to scurry. It was our One Year anniversary and I wanted to be completely changed and ready when my wife came home. It wasn’t our “girl week” yet, but this was a special occasion.

We’d eventually settled on a “one week on, four weeks off” schedule. We agreed to stick to it regardless of our ‘moods’. Discipline in such matters being an important element. A week was enough for plenty of playtime. Dressing games, undressing games, shopping games, public games, in the bedroom games. A week of sating our desires.

Four weeks off kept things fresh, with time to whet our appetite, time to plan, share new ideas, dream up a new variation on the theme.

And there were so many lovely variations. Male lesbian, domestic maid (the house was never cleaner), role reversal, rape play (I recalled with a thrill the time my wife slapped me around, because I ”looked and acted like a slut all day long,” which was quite true. She tore my clothes the then and forcefully and painfully entered me with her strap-on), various forms of bdsm, femdom…

As I heard the front door open I timed my peek in the oven so that I would be bent over when she came in the kitchen. I was rewarded with a hardy slap on the ass. “Welcome home dear,” I said turning. “I’ve started on some wine, can I get you one?”

She walked to the ‘fridge and took out a can of beer and cracked it open. She held it up in toast and I clanked my stem glass against the aluminum rim. “To the wife beaters,” she said.

“And the sluts that deserve it,” I returned. We smiled at our familiar toast and drank. “Funny, I was just thinking of the first time we invented that toast.”

“You’ve changed already. Gawd, how can you stand those confining clothes?”

“…price of fashion.”

“Well, I can’t wait to get out of these.” She took her beer and headed for the bedroom and I followed behind with my wine. “And it’s not yet our ‘on’ week, is it?”

I watched her change into a t-shirt, gray sweat pants, white gym socks. “Well I thought… that the occasion called for… a bit of … festivity.“ My wife stood looking blank. “Do you recognize my outfit?” I had since acquired much to fill my wardrobe. I hadn’t, until now, repeated the exact same combination as I wore home from the mall that evening.

“Looks like what you wore that first…” I watched the dawn break. “Has it been a year?” I turned my back and folded my arms in a pout. I normally pretended to be womanish and petulant for fun, but my feelings were really hurt.

“A year,” my wife repeated, “well in that case… there’s something on your vanity for you.” She cracked a grin. I spied a small gift wrapped in newspaper and string.

“You knew all along, you prick,” I laughed. “Oh, what is it?” I tore at the paper.

“Don’t break it in your lust for booty. I think you’re greedier when you wear a skirt. I wonder why that is…?”

“You darling. Oh, I love her! Whoever she is,” and I kissed the glass on the frame, leaving a lovely red kiss mark.” Under the glass was the girl in the ad from the magazine a year ago. My wife had found it and framed it. Jotted at the bottom was “ The Girl that Started it All xxox”

“That’s so nice. You’re a darling. But really,” I said looking at the picture, “don’t you think that top’s cute? Eeek!”

My wife threw me on the bed and climbed on top. “I want to fuck!” and she smeared my lipstick with hard kisses. She liked doing that. “Come here my little shemale. The ‘she’ is sexy to kiss, but right now I need the ‘male,’ down here. Let’s free it up!”

I exhaled and made my body limp in mock exhaustion. “I can’t. The tie’s under my corset and I’m not getting all undone. I want to stay nice for dinner.” I made weak fists and pounded on her chest.

“Fuck the dinner. I want an appetizer right now!” and she started to unbutton my blouse.

“Don’t pop the button, you clumsy. Let me.” I sighed. “ If you must, you must. But I’m not getting all undone. Take those sweat pants off.” I removed my blouse and unzipped my skirt and let fall to the floor. I walked casually to the dresser where we had our special drawer of things and pulled out her strap-on.

“Hey, that’s mine.”

“I know. You always get to wear this. My turn.” I strapped the holder around my waist and the thick black dildo hung in the place where my own manhood should have been.

“That’s hot. That’s a good look for you, Hun.” She was right, I thought as I gazed in my vanity mirror. Black spike heel boots and stockings, pink panties, black ‘cock,’ pink garters, black corset, pink bra, all in an hourglass package. She reached over and grabbed my “cock” and pulled me to her. “Yum,” she said. I crawled on the bed and flipped to my back.

“Mount me, please.”

“With pleasure.” As she started to roll on top, she hesitated. “But what about you? This is so selfish.”

“We both like a good fast fuck sometimes. I just like pleasing you. Use me, I’ll enjoy that.” I held my big black ‘cock’ steady while she slowly settled on it. She gasped as she pushed in the last two inches and my body took her weight. My wife looked down at me lovingly, smiled and closed her eyes. She slowly began to gyrate. I studied her intense expression as I counter pointed her movements with my pelvis.

You know we’re “on” next week?” I said, almost conversationally.

“Um hum” was the dreamy reply.

“I was thinking ‘school girl.’ A plaid mini, white blouse, Mary Janes. all easy stuff to get. Except the stockings… When did you last see opaque white stockings?”

“Humph.” She picked up the tempo a bit.

“Of course there’s always knee highs. Or tights,” I said.

She opened her eyes to say, “Boring.”

“Well in a perfect world, I’d wear…”

“This is a perfect world,” and she bent down and kissed me tenderly. She closed her eyes again and settled back into her motion. “Amy Catlin was a cheerleader in my class.”

My ‘school girl’ idea apparently triggered a memory. “What a bitch.” She continued, ”they all were, really. The cheerleaders. Big clique. All bitches. Snots.” The eyes remained closed, the motion steady.

“I never dated one,” I said. “Always wanted to.”

“You didn’t want a cheerleader. You wanted to be a cheerleader.” She giggled and continued her rhythm. When I moaned, she reached behind and down to rub my clit, but the position was awkward and she broke her stride. “Here, let me.” I slid my hand under my ass and took over the massaging. She smiled, relieved, and resumed her rhythm.

“So true,” I admitted. “But you are right. Snots and bitches all. But cute outfits. Bare legs though. I better get another wax.” I united our trains of thought. “The cunts, with their wool pleated mini skirts. Wouldn’t you love to teach one a lesson? Hold that cunt down and give it to her? Give it to her hard like she deserves?” The motion picked up tempo. ”You know how she wears that shit. Twirls around just to show her panty ass to the crowd… rip those fuckers off and teach that snotty cunt a lesson… wearing little sneakers… tight sweaters… hair spray… flavored lip gloss… bare legs… the fucking endless boyfriends…”

She was really was starting to thrust.

Another variation, I thought to myself.

“Fucking pompoms,” my wife said and pumped faster

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For more info on debee, check out her Fetlife profile: http://fetlife.com/users/41213