When she returned home, she undressed and lay on the bed. She was wired from the excitement of being led in the restaurant. She had no idea previously how stimulating it could be to demonstrate her submission in such blatant ways. She found her fingers touching and caressing her legs and then moving between them, as she thought about how it must have appeare...
I woke up with the knowledge of who I was fighting. I knew my opponent but not how to beat her. My previous searches about the dress had yielded nothing. Maybe I should just have burnt the dress. I decided against that. If I burnt the dress, I could solve my problems or destroy any chance of resolution. It was too much to risk. I would research the owner of...
The brush glides repeatedly through the length of my long hair, the knobby bristles massaging my scalp, the nape of my neck, my back. The palm of his hand follows the brush strokes smoothing down the hair. My head falls forward, the muscles so relaxed that they can't keep it up. My eyes are closed and my whole body turns to jelly. I am putty in his hands. Wi...
************************* Copyright Oggbashan April 2005 The author asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work. This is a work of fiction. The events described here are imaginary; the settings and characters are fictitious and are not intended to represent specific places or living persons. ************************* It started w...
When she came in the door she called for him. She knew he was home. His car was in the garage and his keys on the table. He did not respond to her first call so she tried again. This time she heard a faint "I'm in the bedroom," reply. She put down her purse next to his keys on the table and made her way to the bedroom. The door was open but the bedroom was...
(This is part of the series of "Silverbridge" stories but can be read on its own.) ********************* Copyright Oggbashan 22 June 2002 The author asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work. This is a work of fiction. The events described here are imaginary; the settings and characters are fictitious and are not intended to re...
Important note: This is NOT my story. I found this on the web a long time ago and kept it. I thought it was cool so I'm posting it. I've searched for it and never found it again. If you know the author or if this offends people, I will take this down gladly. I have not even changed the grammar mistakes. ***** Normally, a friend saying "hello" does not make...
Copyright Oggbashan August 2005 This story is based on a 323-word story in German starting 'freitag abend 18hr' and the author has adapted the basic translation to form a new story. The author asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of those parts of this story that are his original work. This is a work of fiction. The events described here...
Trixie, the 19-year-old, 5'5", adorable, assistant-manager, with big baby-blue eyes, high cheekbones, a cute dimpled chin just like her gorgeous aunt, thick long curly platinum-blonde hair, and an incredible 36GG-28-33 hourglass figure that her too small red knit turtleneck sweater, skintight white riding breeches, and shiny brown riding boots hugged like a...
Chapter 1. You walk into the house and it's quiet. You check downstairs and I'm not in the dining room or the sitting room; in fact, the lights aren't even on. You heard to the stairs, and here there are signs of life. There is a flicker of light coming from the bedroom, and you can hear music. As 48 Hours As Her Plaything Ch. 01 behind my back, they are he...