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Disclaimer:(standard) Do not screw up. Do not do anything illegal.
This includes specifically (but not limited to) reading on if you are
under 18- 21 in some localities If you are underage you must leave
now. If you're and curious, this is not the place to get the
straight story. You act like this and people will look at you strange
and give you a wide berth. Also, don't try this at home. Some of this
stuff is just plain wrong, most of it is unsafe in the present viral
climate and some of it doesn't work in this universe. They are stories.
They deal with ideas, fantasies and thoughts that might not even be
pleasant in real life. Thoughts are like that. Fantasies are there so we
can toy with the sensations without feeling or inflicting the pain,
despair or humiliation. End Sermon.
MaryAnn and the Professor- the days get strange
FOREWORD
It is only for ironic comparison that they are called MaryAnn
and the Professor. They are not meant to be characters from Gilligan's
Island. It is hoped the kind of relationship depicted will have better
impact contrasted with the relationship between those characters.
She was more of a servant than I would have known how
to mold. She added the attentive squat at my feet when she had no
chores. She asked to serve me when she saw some opportunity. As an
example, I received many needed massages that I did not know I
needed until she suggested them.
She left it to me to know when I needed or wanted to have sex.
And she gave no indication that my needs were too much or too little for
her own desires. She had fallen into her place nicely. I trusted her as
much as I ever would.
I had long since made our bed into a double and opened a door
into her room from the bedroom. It was better than domesticity because
she was a muzzled bitch. It was also better than a master-slave
relationship becauses of her willing domestication and my pure lack of
an authoritative streak.
I was considering dismantling the whipping post when the twist
came. I must have mentioned it in passing. The lazy pace of a castaway
got things done in steps. A mention- then an urge then an intention and
finally action sometime later. I got to the intention part when she shyly
asked me why I was taking it down.
Was it like some weird wedding ring to her? Did it have
sentimental value? I asked her why we needed it.
"You never know when I could turn evil," she said.
Like most such utterances, her real thoughts had little to do with
her words. But I was not to find that out for a few days yet to come. It
was only one more surprise that this island brought me.
"I don't want this fucking fish. Why can't we have something
else," she exploded out of nowhere.
I was shocked. While she delivered her speech, she had the fire
equal to the words, but then she dropped back into what had become
her normal quiet. I didn't know what was happening for a moment.
"Do you think would be better?" I started, trying to find
what had triggered her tirade.
She got an impatient look on her face and waited for me to try
again. I had no idea what she wanted. I asked her what was wrong
the fish.
"Do you like it when I'm a bitch?" she asked, "Isn't that worth a
strike?"
That finally pissed me off. She didn't need to tell me my job. I
also felt stupid for forgetting to reprimand her for her tone. I felt slow
and vulnerable to not have instantly reacted like her lord and master.
"Sure," I snapped, "You've got a strike."
"Two?" she reminded gently, "The one from before?"
"If you want to get whipped, just say so," I burned, figuring to
shut her up, "I'll smoke your hams for you whenever you say."
It was reverse psychology destined to fail. I had no clue to the
workings of her unfettered mind. I was about to get an education.
"I wasn't going to be bad again until noon tomorrow," she said in
the soft tones she had adopted as a servant. "The hot, naked sun- a
helpless form- screams- blood and hopefully a brutal rape- I don't
know where it came from, but it's been in my mind since you said you
wanted to take down the post."
Aren't women unfathomable? Knowing her present position I
could see back to how she arrived, but I would have never guessed her
course. To that end, I banished her that night, locking her in her room
for the first time in months.
I think it had something to do with the Stockholm syndrome
where hostages come to love their captors because their life depends on
them. Except in this case it was the fear of being tied to the whipping
post and brutalized that was her captor. The humiliation, helplessness
and pain had become her friend and, like the hostages, she felt loss
when I was going to tear down that threat.
I didn't know why she reacted to the syndrome that way. Was
she saying goodbye to an friend or was she becoming one with
something she had grown to love? I did know she would feel cheated if
the experience wasn't every bit as terrible as she had imagined all this
time. I wouldn't be doing her a favor pschologically by only going
through the motions.
I gave her a morning-long build up to heighten her dread. I tied
her hands behind her before I let her out of her room in the morning.
She was not allowed to dress. To start the helpless little captive ball
rolling, I threw her down on the sand and knelt over her to fuck her face
for my morning blow-job.
I was also reasonable so she could not chalk this up to a
momentary loss of reason. I was cool and clear as I was brutal. I even
granted her an outburst of her own.
"I owe you a strike still," I told her as she lay naked in the sand
with my jizm on her face. "You might as well make it a good one
because I have planned a particularly nasty punishment for you. You
ought to at least get your money's worth."
She obviously had plans of her own. Perhaps she thought that
the closer the outburst came to the punishment, the more sincereity I
would put into it. She was a good bound slave that morning. And I was
a good stern master. I found quite by accident that one genius of her
subjugation was her awkward attempts to with her hands tied
behind her. She was funny as she tried to balance in a squat and I
watched and laughed at her clumsy attempts as she finally had to kneel
straight up and let loose the stream.
But this was playschool compared to the ordeal I had planned.
When the sun reached noon, I had the accoutrements already concealed
at the edge of the scrub in anticipation of her outburst. She instead chose
the quieter way of sarcasm and disrespect.
"Well, my Casper Milquetoast master, what mild little
punishment do you have planned," she egged me on, "I should have
known aggression is linked to dick size and that your tiny little dick
predicts you would be a balless Dom."
I didn't know and frankly didn't care what had brought her to the
appreciation of and desire for our master/slave relationship. I knew she
wanted and I was ready for this escalation. Whatever she desired in this
sense, I was ready to provide. I snarled to set the tone of our play.
"Strike three, you silly little bitch," I told her and pulled her
toward the post.
I threw her to the sand on the shadow of the arch and tied her
ankles to the posts at the level of the sand. Then I lifted her and held her
up while I released her wrists. Let her struggle and fall face down into
the sand. But she saw how ineffectual she would be and allowed me to
tie one wrist and then the other to the frame.
Then I got out my toys. The seeds had been planted in many
single events during our life on the island. It took the imminent prospect
of this punishment to make me furiously assemble all the things I had
mused about.
She gasped as much with surprise as pain as I fixed the bamboo
clamp to ther left nipple. I clamped the right to another sharp intake of
breath and then I forced her teeth apart and put the bit in her mouth.
"Just a little preparation to put you in the right frame of mind,"
I told her.
She, of course, was muffled by the bamboo bit holding her jaws
apart. It was less inhibiting than a ball gag would be, but the horsey feel
of being my beast of burden that it gave made up for that. I didn't need
to muffle her in any case. Who was going to hear miles from nowhere?
I was on a rock when I walked in front of her. I spit it
out into my hand and showed it to her. It was water-smooth and a little
smaller than a ping-pong ball. I reached down and pressed it against her
slit. With a little rolling, I found her sheath and pressed the stone inside
her.
"Home made ben wa balls," I told her before popping the next
rock into my mouth, "And they better be there when we're through."
In all, I pushed three of the rocks unto her pussy. Her toes dug
in the sand as I made sure the third was well seated inside her. Her face
was a mask of concern, but I could still see the hunger in her eyes for
more of this treatment.
I didn't know why she had come to crave this debasement, but I
knew I was going to fill her need. Whatever made her see the thrill in this
kink, I was going to feed her desire. And the hardest thing was going to
be out the punishment enough for her because all I wanted to
do at that moment with this naked woman tied helpless for me was ram
my cock inside her hot confines.
My cock was already throbbing as I picked up yet another bit
of bamboo. It was a finger size stick about a yard long. She wanted a
whipping, I was going to make an impression.
When the first blow snapped across her back, I could have
sworn I hear the stones click inside her. It could have been many things,
but it was certain she was reacting violently to the blow. I moved to her
buttocks for a few licks, but I made sure to stripe her back from time to
time. She danced to the switch as it cut her flanks, but she was launched
into the grip of her bindings every time the switch cut across her back.
I hit her until the blows weren't having the effect. She was worn
out and the pain was no longer having the same affect on her fatigue
fogged mind. I dropped the bloody bamboo and smeared the little
ribbons of blood over her back and butt.
As I leaned up behind her with my straining cock resting in the
crack of her ass, I was struck by the sound of her panting. Passion and
pain sound remarkable similiar and I wasn't sure which had her in its
grip. Perhaps she was the slave of both.
"Now I'm going to put you to the purpose God intended," I
said menacingly in her ear.
I gripped her hips by the pelvic bone and bent my knees to slide
the head of my rod down the crack of her ass. The head of my cock
found her asshole and I pushed up. She had become accustomed to my
cock burrowing up her ass by her own preference, so I sank in fairly
easily. That is not to say without resistance. But this wasn't supposed to
be pleasant for her.
I could feel the rocks on the other side of the thin membrane, so
I knew she hadn't dropped them. I could feel the edges of all three as
my cock slid up the narrow way and my belly came up on her bloody
ass. I nudged her a couple of times.
"Now I want you to drop the stones," I told her, knowing the
sweet contractions that would be necessary for her to accomplish that.
She cried like a kitten as I fucked into her ass every time she
squeezed in her attempts to eject the stones. But there was something
in her mewling that made oxymorons leap into my head- soothing pain,
good grief, healing cuts. She had taken her station more than to heart.
She had absorbed the mental outlook and topsy-turvey psychology of
the slave.
But that musing quickly was overcome by her tight, clenching
asshole and the deep welcome of her hot bowels. I had reassured
myself enough. Now it was time to ravage this butt and give her the
punishing fuck her ass deserved. I let go of her hips and grabbed the
post just inside her tied hands. She swayed precariously as I rammed
into her ass, now free of my steadying grip.
There was a little more panic in her gasps as I slapped my belly
into her ass and she swung in her bonds. She was in ass-fuck free-fall
now, completely adrift and deprived of even the small comfort of my
steadying hands. I was only the force making her scramble helpless in
her suspension. My input was a hard cock in her ass.
Her feet struggled to find a place to plant and help right herself,
but she had kicked and pushed the sand away where she could reach
and now her toes only drew worm trails in the holes her feet had dug.
She was held only by the bonds on her wrists and ankles and moved
only at the impact of my belly driving my prod up her ass.
That musing was not for her benefit. Her helpless body dancing
to my ass-fuck made my cock swell and the thrusts come hard and fast.
I had planned to grab the homemade nipple clips and toy with her
breasts, but the urgency of my balls put that off for another time. I
could only hump her bloody butt with deep, quick stabs as the need to
fill her bowels with my seed grew to fill my entire attention.
"Oh yes!" I exploded with very un-master-like glee as my balls
jumped and the first- almost painful- gush of wracked my body and
jetted deep into her colon.
I had the impression I was fucking her ass even more
vigorously as the pumped out of my balls into her ass, but in truth
I was jerking unrhythmically and spasmodically as I came. Then it
was all I could do to keep my balance after the knee-rattler.
Then I had an excuse.
"Damn it! I told you to drop these," I said with disgust as I
dropped to my knees in the sand and reached up to push a finger up her
snatch.
I moved the rock toward me and pulled it out of her. She gave a
half-grunt as it dropped out. I pushed on her belly to help dislodge the
the other two and her commotion grew louder as each dropped out of
her slot. I think she thought I was done.
"While you're here, I guess I better add a lesson in following
orders," I said as I stood up. "I told you to drop those rocks."
"Yes sir!" she shouted out. "I promise to learn my lesson."
I couldn't tell how much of her outcry was panic and how much
was pleasure. I was pretty sure it was a mixture of both. I rubbed my
hand over her tender ass roughly and then got the flash.
We were less than 100 feet from the sea. I ran down and
soaked her dress in seawater. She howled terribly when I slapped it on
her wounds and cleaned the blood from her, but I was only cleaning her
up. I did hope that the saltwater would leave a little numbness in the
wake of the blaze of pain. Maybe it would cure her hide a little.
That would make it better for her when my hand landed on her
butt with the first crack of her added punishment. I don't know if it was
a numbness or just her becoming accustomed to having her butt beat,
but she didn't cry out as I whacked her rear with my hand.
Her cries were more the flinch of the hero as he suffers
unbearable pain without cracking, muted and deep in her chest. It was
very easy to hear them as grunts of lust. I strippped the clips from the
nipples of my well-paddled servant and took her down.
But as the extended punishment had also rekindled the fire in my
crotch, I didn't free her for an instant. I lay her down with her feet still
bound and tied her hands behind her back. Then I released one ankle at
a time, only to bind it to her thigh with her knees fully flexed.
I could feel the blood rushing back to my dick and I knew it
wouldn't be long until I was cashing in on the availability of this helpless
little cunt. Then I picked her up to put her on her back and I felt how
wet she was. She was so dripping wet that I felt she must have
just from my firm handling. Then, boy, was she going to like the way I
was going to take her.
I pushed her feet under her to make her arch back in an
awkward, cramping position and present her some eight inches off
the beach. I looked at this nowhere-near virgin sacrifice and I was ready.
Hard and fast was the way I wanted it and I was in charge. I
moved against her and stuck my cock to the root in one hard jab. She
was a living sex doll except she quvered more realistically as I fucked
her. Her awkward kneeling was just a bit lower than my kneeling so I
had the distinct feeling of fucking down into her sopping as I
pistoned my cock in and out of her just as fast as I could.
I was going for quick and good or good and quick, whichever.
Her experience as the vessel for this selfish fuck was less important than
it had ever had been as I tried to get off in record time. That pursuit led
me to fall over her onto my hands to lessen the difference in level
between our genitalia.
Then I could survey her face and see the hard glisten in her eyes
as I stabbed into her twat with rape-like thrusts. Crow's feet of
discomfort crinkled the edges of her eyes and her mouth was twisted in
a soundless cry, but the look in her eye was fire. I could see it as hate or
desire and I chose hate for the moment.
It made the thrusts that rocked her body in line with the rape
fantasy I was having as I rippped into her helpless body with my
maurading cock. Helpless- oh yeah! Mine to use as I want- oh God!
Any way, any hole, any time- oh Baby! I jammed on in my power trip
for a full 45 seconds before I tried to lift her up on my cock as I shot off
my load inside her.
It wasn't the biggest load I had ever fired, but that was hardly
the point. In this case, my climax wasn't the top priority. In truth, it was
only a symbolic finish line, indicating that I had sullied her with my male
domination of her helpless femaleness. The elation went on as I pushed
back to my knees and looked down to watch my still-rigid cock pull out
of her cum-leaking pussy.
There was MY cunt. There was my joy hole, pleasure pit, fuck
spot. It was right there in the middle of MY lump of submissive joy toy.
And I had taken it and used it the way I liked. It was a orgasm-like
burst of power that lasted far past the bright splash of my physical
climax. I was king of the hill.
I am sure that feeling would have been eroded by a creeping
shame at my neanderthal attitude if I hadn't seen the mirror image of my
joy reflected in her eyes. Her eyes were more white than pupil as she
stared up at me with a Bette Davis look of madness. It was so stagey
that I could sense that she was in the throes of the opposite feelings of
being my possession.
She had bought the whole sex doll scene with an eager heart and
seemed to be experiencing even the pain of her unwieldy positioning as
a sexual stimulus. I didn't really understand it, but the evidence was in
her rough panting and the quaking of her powerless flesh. Her joy had to
be coming from being the vessel I was so elated to abuse.
It signaled quite a change in our days in paradise. In some ways
I missed the easy way we fell to fucking when the spirit moved us, but I
also appreciated the heightened passions of our elaborate scenes. And I
still had her whenever I wanted.
It was just a difference in attitude to stop on a trail and order her
to her knees when I wanted her to suck my dick. She would drop
immediately as if in fear, but we both knew it was her greed to play the
submissive slut that drove her to take me all and take me deep into her
mouth and service me like sex slave she imagined herself to be.
It was a side with which I had little experience, but time and
complete domination gave me the tools to become the master she
desired me to be. My error came in my tendancy to be kind. But she
had found ways of shrinking and moping to let me know when she was
being bored with my generic bossing.
I guess it is a kind of caring and devotion to give someone the
abuse they crave. I know it is as hard to keep the life and interest in
punishment as it is in any other form of sex life. And boredom was the
one punishment she could not stand.
I at least owed her the occasional sleepless night holding herself
off a blunted bamboo stake twice the diameter of my cock aimed
straight up her asshole. How long could she hold out? How far could she
endure sinking down? I rewarded her answers to those questions in the
morning by fucking her before I took her down from or off her
perch.
The very tie her and forget her nature of the punishment added
the abandonment to her fate and left her in the limbo of having no
safety valve. It left her no option but to strain her arms and fight her
cramping legs to last the night without being impaled on the stake.
But that was not my favorite. For that, the only thing she had to
endure was the numbing sameness. She didn't complain as much as I felt
she would, but I suppose I was leaning heavily on the unwilling
submission button as I bent her double and tied her wrists and ankles to
the crossbar of our punishment arch.
I liked the fuck swing as her open and available bottom swung
cock-high from the bar. Any I choose, any way I choose and she
swings back each time I bounce her off with a thrust. It was my favorite
by far.
She hid her desires in a sameness of snarling passion at
whatever scene I could concoct. It did not seem to hold true that she
became more interested as the scenes grew more bizarre, nor that she
was any less engaged by simply being thrown down and assaulted.
But all in all, I came slowly to regret to course we had taken.
In quiet musings, I began to think that she had won out after all. While I
had so carefully and successfully guarded against her rebellion to my
order, she had most insidiously substituted the game we played.
While a bound, bruised and used woman may not seem to hold
the power, I felt that she had in fact won on another playing field- that of
our minds. Her physical body was in thrall to me, but that very fact made
me its slave. My role was cast. My duties were many and hers were only
to persevere and endure. And that drove me to find more and better
scenes for us to act at the demand of her passive endurance.
And I frankly missed her devotion, which could only have
meaning when freely given. Certainly there was a bond, a contract of
sterling strength and of the highest order, but legality was a cold
companion in lieu of the warmth of a partner cuddling up because she
seeks your love.
-----
We were a sight when rescued by dumb luck almost a year to
the day she washed up on the beach.
Based on our experiences in those waters, the captain was an
idiot, but sometimes you have to thank the Lord's protection of drunks
and fools. Some female on board had been tracking our island because
the twin palms atop the bluff reminded her of her vision of Treasure
Island. Then she saw what had become a veritable mini-mall of buildings
we had built and wanted to go shopping, or trading, whatever.
I take it she was one of the captain's women- acknowledged or
private- and he anchored off shore and put down a boat.
They were horrified and impressed by our condition. Tan,
strong and skinny because of our life in the open, the woman was
instantly suspicious of the bruises and marks on my 'MaryAnn'. The
men were more impressed with her bold unconcern for her nudity.
We were hustled off to the ship and separated as the woman
seemed convinced this would be vital to 'MaryAnn's' well-being. In the
joy of returning to a rat-race I appreciated more now, I didn't think
much about it.
I will say Ben Gunn vastly overestimated the marvel of cheese.
I was, or course, asked what I wanted and I replied, because I couldn't
think of anything else, cheese. It did become an interesting addition later,
but at first taste I didn't think it was worth leaving isolation for.
Warm and clean, fed and dressed, I regaled the company with
my of survival. I left out the intimate details of our life and
concentrated on techniques and ingenious work-arounds I had found. It
was then I noticed that she had not re-appeared. It would be days later
before I would see her again.
She shrank back when we first met by the rail that night. That,
and her avoidance in days past said many things.
"They couldn't make me accuse you," was the thing she said for
herself.
According to her story- which she had to interrupt several times
for animated conversations with another of the women before returning-
she had been whisked away to the ship's doctor when we boarded the
ship. As he treated her bruises, abrasions and whatall, the women
started in. They felt they knew her better than she did.
"I fucked up," she blurted out. "I tried to lie at first."
Like many another woman with bruises, she concocted wild
tales to explain her injuries- accidents, clumsiness. They clucked
knowingly and then would not believe her when she came clean.
"I gave up," she said. "I could see there was no way they could
understand what went on between us. They didn't understand anything.
There was no way I could describe how it went, how it was really a
game and how it just built up and built up. I'm not sure I understand it
myself."
She remained silent and refused further comment as they
worked every ploy they could think of to put their 'monster' theory on
her lips.
"That is what they're doing now," she said of the constant
interruptions, "They don't want me talking to you because I'll slip back
into the 'abusive' relationship. They don't understand."
That stood in sharp contrast to the warm camaraderie I was
getting from the on the ship. I felt like somewhat of a hero among
them. I wondered if that was based on the same thoughts as the women.
"I do see their point," I offered. "At the end there we did slip into
a reality that has nothing to do with the life where we're going."
She was crying. Silent tears were sliding down her cheeks.
"I've had to think about that," she said in a breaking whisper.
"It will be so different now. I have to go back to an world that has
gone God knows where without me."
I may have a brute in me, but I wasn't stupid enough that I didn't
see where this was going. It was all 'I' and not 'we'.
"Don't cry for me," I offered again, "I know what you mean. I
am the one person that can understand. That island was outside so many
things. We both have had a look inside our hearts and I think that is
always a disturbing insight."
I couldn't say it either. After depending on each other for that
year, it was like a betrayal to say good bye. After the things that had
passed for good and ill, it was like a coward's exit before the final act
had been played.
I reached out for her hand and she didn't pull away. It was the
first contact since we had been standing there. I held one hand between
mine and she held one between hers.
"I know," I soothed. "Different planets. Maybe someday. Let's
leave each other a trail and if the day comes, perhaps it will all go
differently. For all we know, we are the only ones that will ever
understand the truth about anything."
There was no kiss. We didn't even see each other again until we
had escaped the watchful eyes on board. I thought she had decided it
was better to disappear completely. Then she flagged me down in a cafe.
It was a year to remember. And, as I said, maybe someday. I
already feel like the lone survivor of some elder race destined to walk
among with scales on their eyes.
###