The French Boys

It’s been a while I know. This post, although exercising the writing muscle, is for the older women. Those of us still able to appreciate the fantasy of something or someone beautiful, uncorrupted. It’s for the middle aged and yet exquisite women who still find the young barista at the local coffee shop attractive, those of us who go to gym and spend an inordinate amount of time just watching a springy bicep curl with tempting appreciation, perhaps a student, if , like me, you lecture (grin…inspiration is everywhere I’m afraid). I wrote this some years ago and it is still a work in progress. Imagine if you will France during world war II. A governess, with a past, in her mid to late twenties, hired to educate two wealthy, elite French boys. One on the cusp of manhood, the other on the cusp of puberty. They are left alone with an abusive mother and absent father. I will place you early into the story where our protagonist, finds herself attracted to the older son…

Days were getting warmer and the gardens had come back to life. Colour had suffused the grounds. Summer had come gradually and groggily like a waking sleeping child, unwilling to let go of the warm bed. The north remained under German control, oppressive, incessant. James had just come from another unavoidable meeting about the noise in the house, with her employer apparent and this time her spirits had been driven to shattering point. She shook from the sheer force of will she had used to control herself. The woman was cruel, there was just no other way to describe it. James left her employer in the solarium where the woman preferred to waste her days.

Needing a release from the suffocating woman, James managed to find a way out of the chateau and as she was preparing to head toward the servant quarters to visit with her aunt, she caught a glimpse of Marcel heading in the direction of the stables. The sight of him always had the effect of stopping her breath mid reflex. She stopped, remembered to breath and then watched. Walking slowly, his hands in his pockets, his swagger comfortable yet his shoulders hunched slightly, protectively, insecure. James couldn’t resist the impulse even if she had tried. She was going to follow him

Things had been difficult between them since she had locked her bedroom door some time ago. She had completely taken for granted the fact that maybe he had been trying to reach out to her, needing the compassion another woman could offer. Someone to smooth the ripples of disease his mother wrought on them. James had remained vigilant about the abuse the woman had inflicted upon her sons, making notes of the kind and extent of it. She had attempted to pry the history of it from the children but had been unsuccessful. Until she had stumbled upon something she would much rather forget, it explained, at least, some portion of the circumstances they found themselves under.

One January morning James had accidentally walked past the solarium on her way to the kitchen when she had heard sounds coming from the room. The kind of ‘ooohhhs’ and ‘Aaahhhhs’ that made one uncomfortable. She was about to investigate when she realised that the door had been deliberately left open. What she witnessed, had become a become a recurring memory, a disturbing and unpleasant memory. The kind of memory you cannot erase and will try to hide from your expression every time you encounter the perpetrator.

Mrs. Du Pont, her skirts pulled up to her hips, was pushed up against the wall by a rather rough looking man. James had no idea who he was or might have been. His semi-naked buttocks and thighs sweating and heaving as he pummelled viciously against his lover. James remembered hearing the slaping of skin, the excruciating expression of painful pleasure crossing the woman’s face with each agonising thrust. The woman was moaning out loud, in ecstasy. James shocked, had to hold her hand to her mouth to stop herself from emptying the contents of her breakfast. James understood all too well the different forms that physical love could take, this was neither loving nor physical. It was beastial. The woman was not only mad but clearly in a state of desperation to do such a thing with the door wide open. If that had been her husband, James doubted that their compromising position would be the same. Oh no, the man had definitely not been the elusive Du Pont but rather, as she would come to learn, Mrs. Du Pont’s lover.

Everybody in the house had, at one time or another, run in on their escapades. It was scandalous but common knowledge. It was even rumoured that that was the very reason Mr. Du Pont had banished his wife to the country estate and to spite him she continued to do as she pleased. James was beginning to understand the reason behind the boy’s constant punishment. Mrs Du Pont was a woman on the edge of madness, troubled by her addictions, her desires and burdened with a sinking weight of children she resented. Punishing him, through them.

After reporting the incident to her aunt, she had been forbidden from ever mentioning it again. She understood immediately, as a servant herself, that things that were observed, were not seen. To James, the goings on of this aristocratic home were becoming more and more troubling but as her aunt had put it ‘The goings on of the rich are no concern of ours’.

* * *

Marcel stopped in front of the stable doors and glanced around cautiously. When he was satisfied that no one was watching, he entered. James watched his weary antics, partially hidden behind a bush when his gaze crossed her direction. She froze, her body tingled like a child in hiding, desperate to urinate. That frightened and urethral excitement spurring her on. She hoped he hadn’t seen her. She waited for him to enter, then she waited some more just to be certain that he wouldn’t come out and catch her on her way there. She decided to walk along the grass as quickly and quietly as she could to avoid detection. Stray leaves and branches crunching beneath her feet with betrayal. She desperately wanted to see what he was up to. Maybe to even talk to him. It would be tempting fate, but she had to know.

She came upon the stables from the rear and waited to hear any sound of activity from within. The hazy fading orange glow of dusk was descending, catching and painting the wooden beams of the stable in a warm amber. The night air was beginning to cool against her skin, yet she remained outside listening. ‘Nothing,’ she could hear nothing. irritated at what she was doing and determined to stay, she crept closer to the windows. Not really meaning to, she peered through the partitions in the shutters and then she heard it. A soft, rhythmic, feminine mewling sound came from one of the cubicles. Instinctively, her body comprehended what she heard. A simultaneous weight dropped in her lower abdomen while a pervading jealousy mixed with curiosity took root. The need to see if Marcel was somehow a part of it overrode all sense. Consumed with a perverse desire, James crept closer with her body now in full view of anyone who might be in the gardens above and behind her.

The all too familiar noises were coming from directly in front of her. For a moment she took note of her shaking hands, here palpitating heart-beat, the restlessness of her thrumming pulse, the gathering wetness between her legs. It was wrong, it was so wrong. James closed her eyes tight before doing what she was about to and she made a quick silent prayer that it might be someone she didn’t know. Her heart stopped beating and then of its own volition it started again, climbing to a voilent crescendo.

Marcel was lying on a bed of straw, naked, on top of a young maid James knew as Margot. His entire body exposed to James’ view. He was moving slowly and powerfully between the girls’ widespread legs. Every muscle of his young taught body, contracting and easing with the snake-like movement. Margot’s eyes were shut intently, her sweaty blond head thrashing from side to side, from the throes of passion, her legs wrapped possessively around his hips. Angry at her possession, he parted her legs and spread them wider, she moaned out in pain and he didn’t care. He continued to move, to thrust. The whimpering seemed to motivate him. Too soon his actions became rapid, aggressive. His expression appeared almost painful. James couldn’t, wouldn’t breathe, her fingers tightened white around the window ledge. She clenched her legs, one hand moving involuntarily over the joint of her thighs. She felt his every thrust deep with in herself. It was like watching herself beneath him. She watched how every muscle glistened with sweat and how every muscle strained and relaxed against under his warm skin. She imagined that she could smell him, taste him from where she stood. A sexual musk infusing the air with sweat and female arousal heightening the senses and intoxicating the mind. Knees buckling and lightheaded, James crashed to the dirt painfully. Wave after wave of drugged dizziness swept through her. Her hand still cupping her crotch, her entire body convulsed. James reached for and gripped the sill once more, hoping to find stability in the structure. This was sinful and wondrous.

The noise outside had been so slight that Margot hadn’t even noticed, Marcel had. His eyes rose to the open shutter sill slowly, not once letting on that they might have been seen. He ground harder into the maid beneath him, punishing himself and her, for not being who he wanted her to be. Instead her moans turned into agonising cries of ecstasy. Marcel smiled to himself, triumphant. He knew who was out there and it gave him even greater pleasure to know that she had been listening, perhaps watching. God, he hoped she was watching. When his eyes found the sill empty, his pleasure was short lived and he abruptly extricated himself from the girls’ tight wet hold. She simply wasn’t who he wanted her to be.

“What’s wrong,” asked Margot sobering instantly. “Nothing, dress yourself,” he commanded coldly. She reeled with the force of his words tears brimmed in her eyes. “Didn’t I please you,” she asked pathetically, reaching out to touch him. “Leave me,” he said harshly throwing away her hand. She rose to her feet quivering, her legs feeling the after effects of their lovemaking. She dressed hastily and left the stables weeping. James watched her leave. James was still sitting on the grass outside her own body descending from what she had undergone. Tears were beginning to sting her eyes.

James had never thought it possible again. It was insanity, a torture far worse than she remembered. She tried to get up but couldn’t. Her body had gone through the act of consummation from simply watching it and she was numb and languid from it. James had the sinking sensation that things would never be the same for her. Marcel was going to prove a difficult drug to resist. One she now wanted more than anything in the world.

Marcel sat on the hay, his back to the sill. Cold air sweeping his skin, calming his nerves. He wept silently. His eyes burned with it and his heart ached with it. He had long ago fallen in love with his governess and it was getting worse. Not even the milkmaid satisfied him anymore. The only sobering thought was that he would never be able to have her because she wouldn’t let him. He had far too much respect for her to even voice the issue. He wiped the back of his hand across his eyes. Running fingers through his hay strewn hair, he got up and got dressed.

James stirred and got to the sill again. Marcel was crying with silent desperation. She watched him wipe his eyes and run his fingers through his hair. She wanted to comfort him but wouldn’t dare. Instead she turned and ran.

Marcel heard her run and half dressed, he followed.

He ran as fast as his legs could take him. Desperation was his motivation. He had to do something. He reached her on the path to the forest where they had first made eye contact. Marcel reached out and grabbed James’ arm forcing her to stop, she almost stumbled in the falling darkness.

“Don’t do it, I beg you,” she pleaded through sobs. “I can’t resist it,” he said pulling her to him. Marcel wrapped his fingers around the back of her neck and drew her to him. Her breaths came in short sharp gasps, her eyes were pleading with his. If he kissed her she would die. When their eyes were almost level he looked into hers and said, “You’re mine.” Then he slammed his lips against hers so hard that his lips began to bleed. The kiss was hungry and desperate, each devouring the other. James had put her hands up against his chest in protest and with one powerful heave she shoved him away. She wiped her lips with the back of her shaking hand in disgust. She could still taste his blood, his lover’s scent still clung to him. He was breathing heavily and looked furious enough to take her right there on the pathway.

“You have no shame,” she said crying. “Right now that poor girl could be carrying your child and you want me,” she shouted. Tears were sliding down his face unrestrained. “It’s you I was making love to,” he whispered, defeated, vulnerable. James’ body began to shake violently. She walked backwards and he followed, prowling. His eyes glowed with a predatory gleam. “It isn’t right,” she said wiping her eyes. “You feel the same and don’t dare deny it,” he accused forcefully. “I need this position,” she said as her back hit a tree. Marcel closed in and pressed her hard against the bark.

He closed his eyes and came close enough for her to feel his hot ragged breaths. He inhaled her, running his nose softly against the length of her neck. From nape to jaw. Lightly, he pressed his face to hers and touched her gently with his skin. His hands slid slowly up her arms, leaving shivers in their wake. “I can’t do this,” said James trying to shove him away again but her body didn’t respond to her commands. Her eyes began to close and instinctively she arched her back to press herself against him. “For goodness sake, I can smell her,” she pleaded trying to regain some sanity. Something about the fact that he had just lain in another woman’s arms added a queer eroticism to the moment. She had watched after all, imagining that it was her. he body began to pulse, liquid.

Marcel brushed his lips across hers lightly ignoring her words. James cried but her arms came automatically around his neck. He touched her gently with his fingertips. At first just touching her rib cage and then her stomach. Then her neck and then her breasts. His fingers barely touched her nipples and they burned. Her senses came alive when he finally cupped and squeezed her breasts. James wanted to scream. His manhood was harder than she ever imagined and it was pressing possessively against her own femininity. His gentle rocking rwas almost her undoing and her hips arched to meet his.

Marcel’s hands grabbed her hips and pulled them toward him. It was sweet agony and though the lunacy might not end, at least today she would be his. His hands reached behind and grabbed her buttocks. James moaned. Her body had surrendered. He began to open the buttons of her dress and he slipped his hand inside. James gasped. She hadn’t been touched like this in years. The reminder and the memory acted like a bucket of ice being poured over her. She stopped abruptly and stilled his hands. She leaned her head against the bark and waited for her heartbeat to slow. Resting his forehead against her, Marcel studied her wearily, but he seemed to understand. He held her pinned to the tree while she wept in his arms. He simply held her, comforted her. He didn’t touch her anywhere else except around her shoulders. He hugged her so tightly to him she thought she would collapse if he let go.

“You’re my student and the son of my employer. You’re only seventeen,” she whispered. Marcel was about to protest but didn’t. He stood back and allowed her to move away. James sniffed loudly and looked to the sky in frustration. “I think you should go home,” said James. It was more of an order than a request. Marcel didn’t say a word. He stood there for a brief moment of indecision and then he began to walk away. James hugged herself, weeping softly.

to be continued…


The Princess and the Wolf Part 2

Alicia had healed too quickly for anyone to believe she had been assulted. She didn’t truely believe that she had been raped yet she held firm to the absolute certainty that she had had sexual intercourse of some sort. Her mind endlessly relived the first hours of her experience and she felt nothing but calm serenity.   A week to the day had passed with no recurring incident. Her mind had refused to settle on any explanation. She had arrived home, made dinner, put a load of washing in the machine. Following her normal routine and not thinking about anything in particular, when a slow deep chill crept up from the base of her spine. The same window she had first seen open that evening, was now wide open. She hadn’t left it open in the morning.

Her breathing shallowed to a loud pumping thunder in her ears, the surrounding silence was suffocating in the paralysing fear.  

“I will not hurt you,” assured a masculine voice from behind. Alicia swollowed hard but as quickly as the fear had set in, it had disappeared. “Who are you?” she asked tentatively before daring to turn around.   “My name is Viktor Trevelian. I am your guradian,” he stated. It wasn’t an explanation or reply but more of a statement of fact that she was not allowed to question. Alicia took a deep breath and turned around. At first sight she was left breathless and speechless. The man before her was at least 6ft tall, with warm honey coloured skin, pitch black hair kept neatly trimmed.

His general appearance, if it had to be put into words, would be a cultured and restrained animal. He was or appeared to be, ferral, dominant, alpha. Why those words presented themselves before him was a mystery and his entire bearing was ancient and regal. He seemed to be an anachronism.

He grinned at her, mocking what must have been her gawking open mouthed appraisal. He was a man used to getting female attention, or in the very least getting these types of reactions.   Alicia closed her eyes, gathered her thoughts and took a deep breath. “I’m a little old to have a guardian and I don’t recall inviting you in Mr Trevelian. What are you doing in my house, again and univited,” she had taken a chance with that last comment as she still wasn’t entirely certain about the events of the other evening.

He lifted his impressive chin, indignant that her tone carried an accusatory implication. He pursed his full lips as if trying to put the facts into an explantion she would accept.   Finally he replied. “You called for me.” Alicia blinked at the unlikely and unexpected reply. “You will understand in time,” he added.  

Alicia remembered the same comment from the night of the incident. Latching onto the fear and confusion of before, she asked ” what did you do to me?”. Viktor held her gaze, she could have sworn there was a glint of remorse in his eyes. “I did what I had to to protect you. I placed you under my protection,” it was not what she had hoped to hear and she wanted to push the issue when he approached her. Towering over her, supressing the urge to fight or fly. She felt weak and helpless and what was worse, she liked it.  

He touched her cheek with an impossible gentleness for a man his size. It was soothing and comforting in a way that made her legs shake. She suddenly wanted more of his touch. She caught herself and moved away from him. “Excuse me but I dont even know you,” she said attempting to regain control of herself.   Viktor seemed disappointed in her reaction, she saw a pain that she could not understand. “You do, you always have.” with that, he disappeared before her eyes. The only evidence that he might have been there was the soft flowing of the curtaining over the window she had not opened from a breeze that did not blow outside. She instantly rubbed her shoulders, suddenly cold with a preternatural chill. She could still feel the warmth of his touch on her skin.  

Sleep would not come easily, as she now had  a new obsession. Had she known him? Had she met him long ago? She had never been one to remember people. She was too logical to accept his sudden appearance and disappearance, yet he had been there. Something else lingered on the edge of her memory, it was the scent that hovered where he had stood. It was familiar, comforting, masculine.

It was a scent she remembered but couldn’t recall from where or when.  She fell into a deep sleep, a dreamless sleep. Alicia woke up feeling refreshed for the first time in days. The thoughts and doubts from the day before were omnipresent. Glaring at the offensive window she decided to ignore it and go to work.

The Princess and the Wolf


Something in the darkness stirred. She couldn’t see it, but it was there. It had woken her from a dead sleep and fear had left her momentarily paralysed. The scent of wet dog and something else hung in the air, thick and musty and clawing at her nostrils. It was a revolting smell and her gag was instant. Alicia bent over the side of the bed and vomited.

She’d clean that up in a minute. She lay back down gathering her senses, trying to swallow the taste of bile away and trying to remember what, exactly, had woken her. Her mind clutched on the present scent in the room. Carefully looking around the room, as best she could in the dark, didn’t reveal anything out of the ordinary.

Her eyes landed on the partially open bedroom window, off to the right of the bed. She couldn’t remember if she had left it open. She wouldn’t have, it was the dead of winter, and it had been opened from the inside.

Her mind was desperately trying to alert her to something new and she resisted it, while she stared nervously at the window.

Her body ached. Not painfully, but more the dull ache that came from a night of passionate love making and then it dawned on her. The scent of wet dog was strongly coupled with the scent of human shit and vaginal fluid. Her own, she realised darkly.

Prodding gently with her fingers, she found that her vagina had indeed been soaked and perhaps even played with. The mere light touch of her fingers brought forth a sharp pleasurable spasm, a lingering reminder of an orgasm she might have had recently and hopefully in her sleep.

It was her vulva that drew her attention next. She could feel the dull ache of a stretched anus as she explored the area. There was no way she could have fingered herself there, not in her sleep. One more smell rose from the mess beside her and the scent in the room…it was the bitter tang of blood.

Alicia lay there bewildered. Trapped in a post aroused state of confusion and pleasurable agony. Had she been raped? Her fingers fumbled for the switch of the bedside lamp.

‘Don’t!’ came the deep masculine command.

Alicia paled and froze mid-movement.

‘Who…what…’ She stammered.

‘You will know in time my pet. For now, rest,’ he ordered.

J Baker and the Tales from the Dark Side, Chasing the Tiger Part 3


, ,

Cassandra blinked at the speed at which she felt the fire and the ice. She watched him leave the elevator, the comfortable swagger of a man. No, a dominant. How long had it been since she had been owned, beaten black and blue and then nourished back to health? How long had it been since a man had wanted her like that?

Her legs shook involuntarily, her breathing would not slow down, her body was alight with arousal. It had been too long.

She fumbled in her hand bag for her car keys, found them and opened the door. Giving the parking lot a quick scan, she spread her legs, pulled her panty aside and slid her fingers into the apex of her wet cunt.

It was instant. Her body climaxed from deep within her womb. She lost all sense of time and direction and thrust harder into herself, drawing out another three convulsions.

When the desire had abated, the tears began to pool and flow freely. She reflected on how it had all happened, this is how she had lost the only thing that had mattered to her. Her position in the counsel, her life, her career. Everything she had worked her entire life for, had been ripped away by a far more cunning bitch. They had toyed and played with each other. Cassandra had complete faith and trust in her. They had been lovers. The betrayal and bitterness was the worst pain she had ever experienced and after that day she had vowed to never again give in to her impulses.

Passion was her weakness and Alysa had exploited it. How Cassandra had allowed her self-control to slip, she did not know. She wouldn’t allow it again. She wouldn’t fall again.

She released a sarcastic chuckle looking at her hand still in her wet panties. He was intoxicating and if she had to be honest he really had nothing to gain professionally from fucking her…she chuckled again. ‘Better keep my eyes open,’ she warned herself.


She had been truly soaked. Her scent lingered in his nostrils for hours arousing him to madness. His cock strained painfully against his trousers and he had the inclination to call his current sub and fuck her hard.

Instead he unzipped himself and imagined all the things he suddenly wanted and wanted to do. She was a shot of adrenaline in his mundane existence and she reacted perfectly. She’d be the ultimate submissive, the perfect pet.

He fisted himself, massaging up and down at the thought of her bound to his bed face down, ass in the air, vaginal fluid coating her thick labia. There was something primal about taking a strong-willed woman from behind. It was a power play that he revelled in and her surrender would be his reward.

He fisted faster, the pre-cum coating his cock head. He took mental stock of her size and the toys he’d use one her. He didn’t want rope on her….he wanted silk ribbon, black. A blind fold. Her in black stockings, black lace panties and a black silk corset. Heels, yes, black stilettos. A collar and leash. He would enjoy having her on her knees begging.

The idea of ripping off the panties and fucking her hard held a powerful appeal but he held himself in check. Paul knew he wanted to draw it out, make it last all night until they were both too exhausted  and ended up in that state of sweet slow love making.

The idea of her alone, submitting to him made him cum.


Monday began like any other day. The weekly projection meeting, then the managers meetings and so on. It was lunch time before he got his first real glimpse at her.

She had avoided him, she wouldn’t make eye contact and she did not attend any meetings. For some reason she wore trousers today and functional heels. Her white top was buttoned to the neck and even her sleeves were rolled down.

Had he scared her on Friday afternoon? Paul doubted it, she was no novice. Was she making a statement? Probably, trying to ward him off. He stopped himself from overanalysing and attempted to focus on his work.

Another meaningless day had passed, everyone else had gone. He stared at the office wall clock deciding on whether or not to finish the report he was busy on or head home. He looked over at the frosted glass of her office, separating her from him. She was still in there, alone, banging away at the keyboard from what he could hear.

He wouldn’t chase, he wouldn’t say goodbye. She would come to him….. and he was right.

A moment later he caught her opening her office door to scan the emptiness of the open office. When her eyes landed on his, the instant attraction was hard to deny. Paul didn’t say a word, he relaxed into his chair and spread his legs for her viewing pleasure. He had grown hard just looking at her.

Cassandra bit her lower lip and kept her head down.

He wasn’t that far away from her, for her not to see his erection. He wasn’t that far away that she couldn’t feel the want and need ebbing from him. She wanted an order. She craved an order.

Paul watched the struggle on her face with amusement. There was nothing to fear and her restraint was endearing.

“Crawl to me,” he said firmly.

Cassandra’s breath hitched in a thrilling shock.

“I don’t ask twice. Get on your knees and crawl!” he ordered.

Cassandra shook from head to toe. Her body sliding down the door frame beyond her control.

“I want to see your face. Head up please,” Paul commanded.

Cassandra did as ordered and reached him slowly. She was a tease, Paul thought to himself.

When she reached his knees, she looked down again. Cupping her chin he lifted her face to meet his. Her eyes were wide with arousal, her lips swollen and parted with need, her heartbeat loud in his ears.

“Undress,” he commanded.

With shaking hands and on her knees she began to unbutton her shirt. Then her bra. Paul gasped at the site of her full luscious breasts. Her perfect damask nipples. He dare not touch them, yet.

“Now the rest,” he ordered, touching himself for her viewing pleasure.

Cassandra stood, took off her shoes and unzipped her trousers.

“Stop. Turn around and bend over as you take them off,” he instructed.

Cassandra was mindless and ready to beg. Her hands continued to shake but she did as she was ordered.

Paul rolled his chair closer and touched her hips lightly. He felt her shiver.

“What do you want,” he asked her. She mumbled something and quickly recalled their episode in the lift.

Paul buried his face in her ass and licked her from vagina to asshole. Cassandra’s knees buckled slightly.

“What did I tell you on Friday,” he asked more gently.

“To speak up,” she whispered,  loud enough for him to hear.

“So answer the question please,” he ordered.

“I want….I want you to punish me,” she said weakly.

Paul got up behind her and ground his cloth covered cock against her ass. Cassandra buckled to the floor.

“Ah, we need to take care of that my pet. I can’t have you collapse every time we touch,” he leant over her caressing her with the words.

He helped her up and leant her, face forward, over his desk.

Pressing his torso to her back and wrapping an arm around her hips, Cassandra began to undulate against him, whimpering.

Paul slapped her ass cheek. She groaned. He did it again, She groaned louder. The more he hit, the wetter she got. The scent of her filling his senses like a drug.

“Will you submit to me?” he asked in a slightly wavering voice as he unzipped himself. He unhooked the arm around her hips to better insert his fingers in her pussy. Cassandra was lost, her clit throbbing and her body pulsating. Paul was hungry and desperate for her. Pinching her clit firmly when she didn’t answer right

“Yes,” she said loudly. “YES, YES, YES!” She screamed. It was all Paul needed, he slid in hard and fast. Her hot, tight, wet, pussy was almost his immediate undoing. Grabbing her hips he began to thrust. Cassandra grabbed the outer edge of the desk and held on, bucking back in return to his thrusts. She could feel her first orgasm.

Paul sensing his own rapture and hers whispered “Cum for me.” As she began to cry out in ecstasy he felt his ball sack tighten. He was lost. He thrust wildly and forcefully into her. Somewhere in the back of his mind he heard her beg for more and he gladly offered it to her. Exploding madly into her, he collapsed on top of her, both bodies still in spasm.

He leaned back to inspect his handy work….her ass was a bright puffy pink, his cum and her juice flowed slowly down her thighs, their breathing rough but stabilising.

“We can’t do this again,” she said struggling to get up and dress herself.

“We’ll see about that,” he shot back catching a glimpse at her read skin and the bruise from the desk at her pussy. Their chemistry was undeniable and he was certain they would repeat this many times over.

To be continued…

I Saved My Last Dance…Part 6


Phoebe woke slowly with a smile on her face. Cracking one eyelid open at a time the full force of where she was and what had happened hit her like a bucket of ice water. Her head snapped in search of him.

Wes sat on a stool facing the bed. He was dressed in black denim skinnies and a chequered red and black lumber-jack shirt. He was watching her sleep. Phoebe was tongue tied and too embarrassed to say a word, this hadn’t played out the way she hoped it would when she was thrusting against him. ‘MAN, what if she had passed out through the main performance,’ she looked away. She couldn’t remember!

“Don’t do that,” he said coming to sit on the bed. “Don’t look away from me. I know what you’re feeling and what’s probably going through your head right now,” he said reassuringly rubbing her back. “Shit, this shouldn’t have happened,” he said.

“I’m not the type of person who would do this,” Phoebe attempted to explain what she couldn’t remember. Wes smiled sympathetically. “Don’t worry, we didn’t go that far,” he grinned, like he regretted that they hadn’t. Phoebe blinked quickly. “You don’t look like the type of person to frequent these joints anyway,” he added. Phoebe nodded quietly.

“I shouldn’t have pushed you that far,” he said with clear regret on his face. Phoebe began to protest but he wouldn’t hear it. “I should have known better,” he said firmly. “You deserve better Phoebe Khan,” he said getting up off the bed to put his shoes on. Phoebe was speechless. Not only had she never thought this evening would happen, she had never imagined that he would have felt that way and about her.

Later that evening, when she had washed the evidence of their foreplay away, she found herself roaming the house aimlessly. She ached for him. The unfinished act had left a gaping hole she never knew could exist. She wanted him, she craved him and she now suffered with a very real need for him. If he couldn’t give it to her freely, as she had seen earlier, she would pay for it. Anger and rejection took the place of her emptiness, how could he not finish? How could she not have begged for it? Phoebe wept.

*    *     *

“Here. I’m done,” Wes spat at Joe, handing her the piece of paper she had scribbled on many weeks ago. She glared at him. “Is that any way to treat a friend that helped you out,” she asked self righteously. “You disgust me,” Wes whispered harshly. He was shaking and he could feel the sting of the tears coming. “Yeah, I thought it would be a good laugh. Good money,” he nodded sarcastically. “I made what I needed. Pay me what you owe me. NOW,” he shouted when she didn’t move quickly enough.

Joe could see that Wes was on the verge of a breakdown, whether because of her she didn’t know but she was beginning to feel guilty. She reached under her desk and pulled out the petty-cash box. Throwing three thousand rand at him, she whispered threateningly “You’re done and so am I. You can tell your boys to thank you.” Wes didn’t think, he automatically reached over the desk and grabbed her throat, squeezing hard. Joe laughed. “That’s more like it,” she said lasciviously. “Take your club and shove it,” Wes let her go roughly.

Outside, he decided to walk the few blocks to his car. Running his hands through his hair and lighting another cigarette. ‘It wasn’t right’ he admonished. He was wired with anger and unfulfilled lust. But there was something else burning softly in the pit of his stomach. A need for completion. A need for a healing intimacy. He looked at his phone and punched in the numbers.

“Oliver,” Wes asked when the man answered.

“I need a favour,” he continued.

“I know it’s late man, but I need someone’s address urgently,” he said.

Chasing the Tiger, Part 2


, , ,

The day had dragged. Nonsensical items of work had been placed on his desk and later removed only to be added to in some equally stupid manner. He was restless and had kept his eye on her the entire day, like a tiger hunting its prey.

She had gotten in before the rest, had attended several meetings and spent most of the day locked in the office. He would not have known that she was there save for the odd bobbing of her head in and out of the door to summon her victims.

Her orders were sharp and concise, sometimes demeaning but he knew it was all a facade.

Paul had had enough of the numbness in his lower back and decided it was time to go, her office and his imagination could wait a day or two. He packed his things and headed for the lift.

Stepping in he heard the voice…. “Hold the lift please”.

“Good evening,” she said and smiled cordially, turning to face the doors as most people did in a lift. Paul relaxed into the back and waited a fraction of a second for the doors to close, it was now or never.

He came up behind her close enough to smell her perfume and almost close enough to hear the thundering of her heart beat.

She didn’t look at him and began to shake…she knew what was coming.

He turned her around to face him. He pressed her firmly against the wall of the lift.

“Shhhhhh, I’m not going to hurt you. Tell me what you want and I’ll give you what you need,” he said slowly circling her neck with his big palm and holding her immobile.

Whether through instinct or training, she shoved her hands behind her and grabbed the rail, forcing her breasts out to him in silent invitation. Squeezing her neck slightly, he licked her from exposed collar bone to collar bone. Her head fell back in surrender, light whimpering noises escaping her parted lips.

“Are you wet,” he asked. She mumbled a reply. “Oh no my sweet, that won’t do. When I ask you must reply,” he demanded and a single tear escaped her eyes. Holding her firmly in place he cupped a full breast and squeezed until she winced. She didn’t want to bend just yet. Through the fabric of her clothing, Paul bent his head and bit the nipple until she whispered.

“I’m fucking soaking.”

The doors opened, he released her and walked out. Satisfied that the game had began and content that he had asserted his position.


J Baker and the Tales from the Dark Side…Chasing the Tiger, Part 1


, ,

Paul leant against the frame of the cold glass overlooking the city he loved. His latest lover lay exhausted on his bed, his cum still staining the sheets and her ass. He looked her over, completely disaffected by what they had done. His mind was elsewhere this evening.

He was remembering the way she looked when she walked in, all domineering, barking orders and stirring shit on purpose.

Everyone hated her!

His new boss, Cassandra Cross. A senior advocate at the Cape Bar, no nonsense bitch from hell. Rumour had it that the 45 year old had been yanked from her throne by a younger advocate, Truth was, she had been beaten at her own game and a younger, smarter version had replaced her. No woman liked it and certainly wouldn’t admit to it.

There was something in her eyes, the way they looked away from him the second he looked her way. He felt the pleasurable discomfort immediately. She wasn’t afraid of him…on the contrary, she was attracted to him. Ever the professional, she would treat him with the proper decorum. She greeted him every morning and deferred to him in company matters, but she could never hold his gaze as he would hold hers on purpose.

Paul would deliberately bait her with conversation and force the look he wanted, that sweet submissive look. The one that held promise and obedience, the one that always looked down first.

He would sell his soul to the Devil if he was wrong about it, but he wasn’t. He was absolutely certain that she was a Submissive and he wanted her!

J Baker and the Tales from the Dark Side….for Mr T, Part 3.


, ,

“It’s ridiculous,” she admonished, looking at herself sternly in the rear-view mirror. Somewhere behind her Tom Carson waited in his Audi for her to pull off. “It’s not like you’ve never been intimate with anyone,” she talked herself into it. Feeling like a school-girl now she began to think about how he would react to her overly large breasts that had already began to droop. She wondered if he’d mind about her not being clean-shaven, she thought about the glaring cellulite on her much too large thighs. Then it hit her, what if she couldn’t take him? What if he was too big. The most she had ever had inside her were one or two of Jess’ fingers. What if it hurt and she had to stop him and send him home? How would she face him in the office? How would she face him anyway? Would her life become a succession of quickies in the bathroom at lunchtime?

Knock! Knock!

J jumped. Tom knocked on her car window reading her face instantly. “Second thoughts,” he asked. She could see the sympathy and understanding in his eyes. There was no disappointment just compassion. “NO,” said J, feeling braver than she actually did. “Follow me,” she asked more than stated. He nodded, a wide toothy grin from ear to ear was her reward and she began to feel hot all over. It didn’t matter whether her boobs were too big, her thighs too dimply, she wanted him inside her.

They pulled up into the high-end complex, the guard let her in first and Tom followed. She pointed to where he should park and then she proceeded to her front door. She saw him walk slowly toward her, the man oozed sex appeal, how had she missed that before. She walked inside and left the door open. He walked in a few seconds later and politely shut the door behind him.

Was she supposed to offer him something to drink? Was she supposed to slip into something more comfortable? She had never had these problems before, she usually led and they usually followed. That was it, she had been leading. Feeling more comfortable in this role she looked him deep in the eye without saying a word.

He stood awkwardly a few paces away in her entrance hall, bracing himself for what was to come and allowing her to do what she needed to. He had played this game a million times but never with a lesbian. It was uncharted territory.

J lifted her top slowly over her head revealing her strained breasts in a neat black lace bra. Tom didn’t say anything but he prepared himself to watch. J turned around and undid the hook allowing the bra straps to drape over her shoulders. Holding the fabric in place she turned to face him again. She pulled her arms away taking the bra with and letting it fall to the floor. A deep sucking in of breath was all Tom could manage. She could see his blush mounting and he was growing hard.

She turned and walked slowly to the lounge, he followed. There she stopped and began to take her skirt off, bending all the way to her toes, affording him full view of her naked behind and swollen labia. She could hear his breath coming in hard laboured gasps.

She walked boldly to the patio doors and opened them. Tom’s left brow rose quizzically. He noticed quickly that the back walls were high and there was a small splash pool just beyond the doors. He didn’t mind doing it in the water but he wasn’t in the mood for it.

J walked toward him. He was about to say something and she stopped him with a kiss. She parted his lips like she had many a young girl and thrust her tongue, this time, into his mouth. He had never been kissed like that, like he kissed. It was unusual but he liked it. J’s tongue toyed with his, she sucked on it and drew it back into her mouth. Tom’s hands began to explore her generous hips, her buttocks again. He flattened his palms on her back and slid his fingers into her long dark hair. He gently massaged her neck and pulled at her hair so that she would break the kiss and he could continue his exploration of her body with his mouth.

J allowed him to kiss her neck, and her shoulders but he was moving far too slowly for her taste. She felt hot liquid pool between her legs and if he had a chance to get to her fat damask nipples she would come undone embarrassingly. She wanted to come with him firmly inside her.  She began to fidget within his grasp and she pulled at his shirt not bothering to undo the buttons. She pulled the shirt up over his head and threw it to the floor. He chuckled at her enthusiasm. He preferred a nice slow swive but she wouldn’t allow it.

His belt went next and then she slid the zip down. The backs of her fingers barely skimmed the fevered flesh of his erection. J took one look and stared. Tom understood and let her get her fill of it. He was hard, long and thicker than she had imagined. She wouldn’t be able to close her fingers around it and she was tempted to try. Instead she noticed how shinny the skin was on the head and how a small dewdrop was forming on the tiny hole there. The skin below was stretched and very pink. The veins protruded abruptly everywhere. J couldn’t resist. She palmed him gently and heard his breathing deepen.

Tom was going to be the teacher and he didn’t mind it one bit. J attempted to wrap her fingers around his penis and failed but she tightened her hold and instinctively began to massage it up and down. Tom’s eyes closed and his head fell back at the sensation. He knew that he should stop her that it would all be over in a matter of minutes if she continued, for the sake of her education he allowed it for a few more seconds.

The temptation to taste him was foremost in J’s mind, she fell to her knees, looking up at him for permission. Tom placed a hand at the back of her head and drew her face forward, it was all the permission she needed. “Gently,” he whispered hoarsely. J wouldn’t let her inexperience deter her. She took the tip of the head into her mouth and closed her lips around him. It was pulsating. She kissed him, tonguing the hole gently as she would a female lover. She circled the head with her lips and tongue. Tom moaned erratically. Slowly she took the whole head into her mouth while her hand massaged the sack beneath his penis. Her other hand continued to massage him rhythmically. He was grunting loudly now.

A cool breeze wafted in from the open patio doors. Tom registered it vaguely but it gave him an idea. “J,” he said. “What do you say if we take this party outside,” he asked. J reluctantly let go of his cock. It was a good idea and it was far cooler there than it was indoors.

Tom grabbed her shoulders and pulled her up against him. He couldn’t and wouldn’t control himself any longer. With her body pressed to his, he kissed and laved and suckled his way to her thighs. He lowered himself to his knees between her legs, kissing her hips. J was struggling to breath. She wanted him everywhere at once. When the tip of his tongue slid between her wet pussy lips she lost sensation in her legs and fell awkwardly on top of him.

“I’m so sorry,” she apologised, embarrassed at her weakness but it only seemed to motivate him more. “Don’t be. Sit on me,” he ordered. It was the moment of truth. Could she? Would she?

His hands on either side of her hips he slid the head of his penis into the wet folds of her dripping labia and found the spot he was looking for. J leant forward and braced herself against his chest, her breasts a breath away from his mouth. Tom eased in slowly feeling how tight she was. J bit her lips it was quite painful this invasion but she could feel her muscles relax and her body expand to accommodate him. Tom went slowly until she was almost sitting on his pelvis. Tom lifted her again and set a pace. The sensation was incredible. She couldn’t breath. He was being careful and she didn’t care, J took over. She lifted herself slowly until she could feel the head of his engorged cock at her opening and then she allowed it to slide back in again.

Tom was lost, groaning and grinding his teeth. Neither heard the front door click shut. J continued. “This feels so good,” she whispered taking his hands to her breasts. Tom would have said the same, but couldn’t she was deliciously tight and he was on the verge of cumming.

The Immortal Chronicles


Egypt, a Roman outpost near Alexandria, 100 BC:

“General, General,” shouted the young officer opening the animal hide flap used as a door covering. “What is it,” asked the General patiently still facing his work-laden table. “General there is an invading force from Gaul docking on the eastern shores,” breathed the young man heavily, standing rigidly, as he delivered the terrible news. He had run from the nearest watchtower perched on the outer rim of the city; all the way to his General’s comfortable residence well within the fortified walls of the military-run city.

General Marius Andreaus, twenty years the younger man’s senior, stood without a single expression of worry on his handsome patrician face. He plotted silently in his head and gave nothing away except for the keen gleam in his intelligent blue eyes. His armour, polished to a clear shine, shimmered, in the early morning light. Outside the desert stirred with restless anticipation, as did his soul. ‘Finally,’ he thought. A worthy adversary, he smirked, then suddenly, his expression died. He faced the boy. “What would the Gauls be doing here?” he remembered his rank and began to jog in a sudden panic, out the door and into the busy sandy street. He didn’t fear for his life or even for the lives of his men, it was, after all, the call of their kind, he feared for the other inhabitants of the city. Freeman, Roman and Egyptian alike.

“They attack Rome’s weakest outpost. We are unprotected, sir,” explained the officer nervously running to catch up. “Caesar is not going to be pleased about this,” said the General. “I warned him,” he said more to himself, clenching his teeth. “To arms,” he ordered. The younger man burst into a sprint. Like a well-oiled machine every soldier within listening or running distance was placed on alert. A well-manned troop of soldiers was placed on the outer periphery of the city and more were placed along the walls.

“Archers at the ready, wait for my signal,” ordered the General as he marched stiffly up the gatehouse steps. He held his sword aside and his crimson skirt swished with the motion. A steward handed him his helmet. Marius put the helmet on and fastened it himself.

“Where are they,” he whispered to one of the officers standing near by. “On the horizon, sir,” replied the man. Marius strained his eyes to see but all he could see was a ship moored silently on the coast. There was nothing but desert between his men and the ship bouncing on the water. It was a Germanic ship. It had the characteristically stripped sails and shields adorning the sides just above the oars. “I smell a Trojan Horse,” remarked the General. “Has anyone gone to find out whether there are more or even whether there are men aboard,” he asked impatiently. The officer he addressed looked sheepishly up at him. Marius saw all he needed to see in the young ignorant eyes. “Send a scout,” he barked. The younger man flinched at his tone but moved into action. The order came too late; the Gaul force was already upon them. The ship had been a decoy.

Marius had never seen death like that in all his many years as a soldier. Men fell like flies. So many bodies punctured by an arrows’ deadly wound and so quickly. Soldiers and mercenaries alike clashed against the walls of the city; somehow the city had been breached. Hundreds of Gaul’s finest marched through the city to the horror and destruction of all of its citizens. Children’s screams could be heard above the cries of battle. That day was a dark day like none of them had ever seen and most of them ever would again.

Marius’ sword had slain a hundred or more, he had lost count and yet his arm continued to drive the blade through several others. He was blinded from human compassion and he showed no mercy to those that had the misfortune to come before him.

The icy coolness of a steel blade bit into his flesh and still he continued to move forward like one that had gone mad, swinging his sword wildly. A young boy, no older than thirteen winters held a sword almost as tall as the boy himself, it dripped with blood. He held the blade nervously and shook with the fear he had just tasted. The young boy had mortally wounded his first ‘Roman Legionnaire’ perhaps his first human ever and he had picked the General upon which to loose his military ‘virginity’. Marius stared at the boy dazed with his own madness and confused that this body would not respond to his commands. A gashing wound, the size of his fist lay open and bloody at his side. He looked at the boy and then again at his wound. He was suspended with incredulity. The way the boy was staring up at him was a clear indication that the boy had dealt the deadly blow. Marius dropped his sword and fell to his knees, weak and nauseous.

A seasoned warrior of his calibre had just been dealt a deathblow by a mere boy. What justice was there in that? In dieing at the hands of a child? He didn’t have time to think. As he fell to the floor his life flashed dizzily past his eyes. Many had been killed and raped by his hand or at his command, it was fitting that he should die at the hands of the boy. It was just in a way he couldn’t understand. The sound of the battle continued in a distant and narrowing buzz. The boy, which Marius had not noticed, had dropped his sword and began to run. Marius gave into the blackness that consumed him. Without thought he murmured a prayer to Aries, his god of war, and soon he was dead.

Some time later Marius awoke to the stench of rotting flesh. His head ached and his side burned. He rubbed at his eyes groggily. Marius ached from every bone, every muscle every organ of his body. He studied his surrounding carefully. It hit him like another wave of madness. Hundreds of bodies as far as the eye could see, lay partially covered by the desert sands, all around him. If he had somehow survived the massacre the Gauls surely would still be around. It was their way to pillage the bodies of the dead and then burn them in a massive pile. With that daunting thought Marius glanced at his fingers. The golden ring that had been gifted to him by Caesar himself, was gone. His sandals had been ripped off of his feet and his armour had been taken. Suddenly remembering his apparent wound Marius touched his side tentatively. It was dry and solid.

Shocked at his discovery he looked at his side with an expression akin to horror. He had been wounded. The blood caked ripped cloth was evidence enough but the skin beneath was completely smooth, like it had never been touched. He stood abruptly and almost lost his balance to the nauseous dizziness.

As he studied his surroundings, all his comrades lay dead and rotting along side him. The city gates still smouldered where they had been burnt. Carefully he walked over his dead soldiers down the streets and into the city. Parts of the city were black with ash and soot. Not a soul could be heard. He frantically searched the stalls and houses that remained, but nothing, nothing had survived the wrath of the Gaul.

He fell to his knees in desperation. “Why was I spared?” he shouted to the unrepentant sky. He concluded quickly that it had been a few hours since the massacre and that he had some how survived. By what magic or power he did not know, he did not want to know. He could not return to his home, how would he explain this to his family or worse, to Caesar? He had no choice but to run and make his living as he could for now.

Present day:

“After the third time you begin to realise that it is not a blessing but a curse in disguise. All too soon you discover your own kind exists and you fear nothing but them. You cannot make a friend and everyone is your enemy. Your goal? Huh, your goal is to survive,” he chuckled conceitedly.

Lillian’s Sin…Chapter 2



John didn’t know what to make of it. Once he had returned to his quarters it was already time for the early morning mass. Sleep would have surely evaded him should he have tried to sleep. The day was going to be long; he felt it in his bones.

Who was she? He kept asking. Someone from the parish? Someone from his past? Perhaps it was a childish girl from the village that had somehow gotten herself infatuated with him, he hoped. That would be easier to deal with. No, it would have to be someone of marriageable age so that would mean she would be older and perhaps have known him before he entered the priesthood. He couldn’t recall having misled any young girl by way of flirtation except for the years preceding his entry into the seminary. And then of course, there was that one time which was worth remembering, but so trivial was the memory that it had almost escaped him. After the Elizabeth scandal he vowed never to love another and directly made the decision to enter a life in service to God.

He remembered Elizabeth with vivid accuracy. Tall, slender and exquisitely beautiful. She was the envy of every girl in the village and the searing crush of every lad. By some distasteful fate she had chosen him above all the others to be her beaux du jour. It was fitting that she broke him the way she did for they committed countless sins in the name of what they called love. ‘Well what did a sixteen-year-old boy know about love,’ he questioned?

She was his tutor in more than one subject of life and he, the willing student. They were to be married as soon as he graduated from the university. They never did reach that blessed event.  Before he had had a chance to profess his undying devotion she had moved on to her next unsuspecting victim, a young girl named Alice.

Right under his nose, Elizabeth betrayed their love and went on to break not only Alice’s heart but many a man in the village before being asked to leave by the town’s unofficial counsel. That was a  dark cursed day.

It was raining. As dark-foreboding clouds hung in the sky and as rain pelted at him he watched her slip away.

John had begged her to run away with him. Foolish as he was he didn’t realise that she no longer felt anything remotely close to emotion for him. Yet he begged and wept. She turned her back and walked swiftly toward the train that would forever remove her from his life. Sometime later he received the painful news that she had passed on.

The village had soon recovered and thrived without Elizabeth, ‘The Vixen’ as she was now remembered. John went on to become a priest and that was the end of that, or so he thought.

The village was about to be plagued with yet another scandal. A young priest and a woman! He wondered fleetingly why God had chosen to test him this way. After Elizabeth he had never once succumb to any type of dangerous temptation. Besides he had no idea whether the woman from the confessional had confessed this sin to anyone other than him. He was free from gossip for the moment.

The thought of her stayed with him throughout the morning. Breakfast was served warm and inviting and yet he hadn’t the appetite for it. Mrs Beasley had even commented on the fact that he might be ill, never before had the parish governess seen him without an appetite, especially in the morning. He smiled and thanked her for her concern. All he could think about was the woman in the confessional.

He had but one silent request and that was to see her face, at least to remember. He even questioned whether the entire experience was some strange dream. There had been no one in the parish that night and he didn’t actually see her. For all he knew she could have been nothing but an apparition. He certainly wasn’t a mystic yet apparitions were part of his religion. Although, he now recalled, Father Barney waking him to hear the confession, he still had his doubts. John planned to ask him about the woman, later. He also decided to check the register of marriages for possible and future marriages to be held in the chapel. She might not be from his parish, he realised, but it was worth the try.


Lillian ran as fast as her legs could take her. She ran and ran until eventually exhaustion overtook and she collapsed on the side of the dirt road that had brought her to this place.

The morning sky was about to bloom and the colours of night were fast fading in the distant horizon. Bright pink hues of piercing sun sprayed the morning sky in contrast to her mood. It wasn’t fair that the day would celebrate her sadness in this way.

She should have felt relief. She should have felt happiness and redemption. She did not. Her confession was left incomplete. He didn’t even recall her voice. She would have to go back and finish she realised with dread.

He might not remember her and that thought alone bothered her more than any other. If that were true that would mean he felt nothing for her and he surely wouldn’t consider himself her soul mate. No matter, she decided. At least she knew and at least she had told him. She had to enter her marriage with a relatively clean conscience.

Simon would never forgive her for this and that’s why she had decided long ago not to tell him but rather to tell the direct source of her predicament. Any way she chose to look at it she would be absolved and she would finally have closed that chapter of her life. Certainty would be obtained only once John gave her the go ahead, but John wouldn’t because he didn’t even know who she was. Would he even remember who she was at all, she sobbed.

In two short months she would be happily married. Only two left. It wasn’t nearly enough time to jog John’s memory but she had to try. By tomorrow she would become the newest villager at Cragstone and the newest parishioner at St. Paul’s chapel. She had to try her future with Simon depended on it and she did love him. She knew that she had no future with John and she was strangely dissatisfied with that truth. Simon was going to be a good father and husband. She would be comfortable with him and yet she was prepared to risk it all on the hope that the priest would release her form her obsession. What would she do then if he didn’t? She didn’t dare think about that possibility, it wasn’t realistic. Why would a priest give up his vows for someone he didn’t even remember? She obviously didn’t mean anything to him for him not to even remember.