Real Men Scrub Floors

Real men scrub floors

Naked on all fours

Then stay in position to receive their reward.


A moment of anticipation

Then inhalation, intoxication

To make me more receptive, as if I weren’t before.


At first no penetration

Merely inquisition

A very welcome visitor pushing at my door.


Gently, this occasion

Persuasion, not invasion

So gentle every push until I have to beg for more.


Then deeper the sensation

The feeling of elation

Producing an effect that can no longer be ignored.


The harder thrusting motion

Deepens my devotion

Building up to something that I’ve never done before.


The miracle of erupting

Without anybody touching

And there’s another mess, so once again I scrub the floor.


The Hindmost

We soar through the stars, boldly going forward; the glamor and glory of galactic travel. Yeah, for those up front, maybe. Floating around in zero gravity, singing songs and smiling for the cameras. The handsome hunky golden boys from the recruitment films, who will return home to a hero’s welcome, and the chat show circuit, and the superabundant astronaut groupies. That’s the lifestyle I thought I was signing up for. Not this. Encased in a metal tube. It’s a narrow prison. It’s a long tomb. It’s the most obviously phallic symbol anybody could have designed.

There is a clear and palpable hierarchy, or a fronterarchy more like. The officers, the ‘real’ astronauts, are based at the head of the rocket, the more experienced crewmen in the middle, and a collection of green rookies, reviled renegades and tired has-beens after them, the men getting more pathetic and less respected the closer they are to the back. And finally, last of all, the laughing stock of the entire vessel, come me and Jon Rose. The rear dwellers. We have zero gravity too, but because there’s a barely an inch of spare space in any direction, we’re pretty much held fast where we are. The few possessions we’re allowed are held magnetically against the walls. It’s a cliché I know, but I have a poster of that Marilyn Monroe picture from a hundred years ago. You know the one.

Neither of us have seen the officers since embarkation. Orders drift down to us like Chinese whispers, filtered along the chained of command, simplified at every stage because we fucktards at the back need it dumbing down. Our tasks never change anyway; we’re not here to think, only to graft, and sweat, and wait. Mostly the latter, but often we can achieve two of these at once. Yes, we work that hard.

We haven’t seen the officers since embarkation. Did I already say that? Things tend to get a bit repetitive back here. And it’s not just the officers; we hardly ever see anyone, except for meal times when we get to drag ourselves towards the middle and sit at the filthy table. Presumably it isn’t always filthy, but it is by the time we sit down, because we get served last and the table is full of smears and stains and pools of gravy – if we’re lucky. If we’re not, the crumbs, leftovers and spit backs of our superiors float around our faces, splatting into our eyes, noses and mouths, or settling on our heads and knotting into our hair.

Reconstituted who knows what is on the menu today. That’s the forgotten leftovers of the lowliest Earth dweller, mulched into a quasi-pig swill, freeze dried and desiccated, then sealed into airtight foil so some dude can call himself a chef for adding hot water to it. No better or worse than yesterday, or the day before that. There’s probably proper food for the officers, all hot and fresh instead of the tepid, congealing mess that we are given. But meal time is still the most bearable time of the day, because after that it’s back to the cramped quarters and the photon torpedo which sits directly above us. It’s a good job that it’s not primed to detonate on impact, because I bang my head on the bastard every time I sit up too quickly.

I bang my head on pretty much everything back here, to be honest. On Earth, I never thought five foot eight was too tall for anything, but now I have to duck everywhere I go or I’d have a lumpier cranium than the Elephant Man, and I sleep in two pairs of socks because my feet stick out beyond the end of the bunk.


THUNK! Ungghh …

That was a bad one. My head throbs and the world seems to spin around me. I’m dimly aware of the taste of blood, and I think I might have bitten my tongue. What shocked me so much that I should sit up so suddenly?

Rose’s face comes into view, one finger to his lips, “Shh.”

Where’s his other hand? … What’s it doing there?

I don’t want this, at least I’m not sure if I do, but I’m too dazed to stop it and my body reacts as if it’s the most right and natural thing in the world. So I let it happen.

I briefly meet Rose’s gaze. He shakes his head and whispers, “Don’t look at me; look at Marilyn.”

Ah, Marilyn, the gust of the vent sending her white dress billowing, lifting high, showing so much that I’m not allowed to see. But she wants me to see it all. I can tell by the way she looks at me, that coquettish smile, that gleam of invitation in her eyes. This was no accident: she wanted me to see; to provoke me, to entice me. Oh, naughty Marilyn! Naughty! Naughty! Naughty!

As if reading my mind, Rose’s motion quickens with the intensity of my fantasy, bubbling me up until the sweet moment of release. I clamp my eyes shut then, not wanting to see what happens to it all. I can feel it cascading like a fountain, into an enclosed area with no gravity, but in my blissed out semi-conscious state, how and where he gets rid of it all is of no concern to me. I just drift back off into my most peaceful and contented sleep of the voyage.

I wake to wonder if we might get into trouble for doing this, but soon put it out of my head. No one gives a fuck what we get up to; I doubt many of them even know that we’re here. As far as they’re concerned, the only relevance of the hindmost section is that it contains the boat’s supply of alcohol; all of the beer and bourbon housed in an empty torpedo chute, which I know the crew would rescue before us if there is ever a fire here.


I run my fingers through the thick mat of dark hair. It’s softer than it looks, glossy and surprisingly pleasant to the touch. I still want it gone; there’s no way I’m doing this with all that there.

Every sensation is pleasurable now: the warmth of the water – which isn’t exactly in limitless supply around here – the soft creamy texture and light yet manly smell of the soapy foam, and most of all the firm, muscular shoulders of my bunkmate as I slather it on. And the bubbly globules of foam that drift up to float around, eddying and swirling all about us, make me think of the old Ibiza rave parties that my grandfather once told me about. I wonder if I will ever dance with Rose, in public, or if this is all we’ll ever have. If it is, I’ll make the most of it.

I use a brand new razor blade. Practically brand new at least, having shaved myself with it – my face – just a few moments ago. Rose voices no concern about me using the same one; that would be churlish given what we are about to do.

My hand is shaking, whether through excitement, anticipation or nerves I know not; probably a mixture of all these. My first stroke is therefore faltering and ineffectual, stopping and starting and jarring. As soon as a channel of foam is removed and I see some smooth bare skin, a cluster of little red dots appear in the area I’ve just gone over. They gently rise up in front of my face. Rose is wincing.

“Oh no, Rose, I’m sorry!”

“Shh…,” he says, “It’s okay, carry on.”

I kiss the wounded area better, and lick away the droplets of blood. Rose shudders. In pain? He moans, a happy moan. Not pain. I do it again. The excitement rises in both us; this could escalate right now. But no, not while he’s still so hirsute.

My insides are flip-flopping but my hands are steady. I relax and complete the job with confidence and composure, and a succession of sweeping yet gentle strokes leaves Rose’s back as smooth and hairless as that of any woman. Almost.

I take a moment to survey my handiwork with a strange little mixture of pride and lust, as I feel myself getting ready. I kiss again, I lick again, Rose shudders again, but this time I don’t stop or pull away. I nuzzle my smooth face into that smooth back, smooth like a woman. I embrace from behind, spooning in, my hairy chest becoming one with that hairless back, and I push. Gently at first, timidly, but then with ever greater vigour and reckless abandon, I push. I push.


Even way out here at the ass end of the ship, we feel the buzz of excitement, the muted jibber-jabber from up front carrying the length of this narrow metal tube. We have a sighting, more; a close encounter. We are engaging the cold enemy for the very first time.

We stalk up to them from behind an asteroid, and they have no idea. Our crew, all except me and Rose, are presented with a clear and unobstructed view of the flank and underside of the Alpha Centaurian ship. We shoot, repeatedly, a succession of direct hits, but the cold enemy vessel does not explode, nor show any damage whatsoever, other than the damage to their captain’s reputation. The only shots are with a camera, and our mission is accomplished. Our captain will get yet another medal for this victory; taking photographs of a spaceship that looks pretty much like every other one we’ve seen. This is it. This is the culmination of years of training, billions of dollars, and months in deep space. This is it. A look at a tube of metal not dissimilar to the one we reside in, and rear dwellers like Rose and myself are denied even that glory. This is it.

I feel cheated. Where is the chaos? Where is the fight? I signed up to fight. Oh, do not mistake me for an effeminate man because of what I’ve done; there is no gentleness in me! I am a creature of wrath and rage and I crave the chaos and the fight. You can’t train a man – I am a man! – you can’t train a man to stalk the enemy with a view to kill and then make him ask them to say ‘cheese!’ when he finds them. You can’t keep a fucking tiger – I’m a fucking tiger! – you can’t keep a fucking tiger in a metal cage for months, showing it pictures of a bison every day, and then let it out and expect it not to the rip that fucking bison to fucking shreds! I want to rip that alien ship to shreds, I want to punch a big fucking hole in it and watch it explode!

I imagine the chaos on the photon torpedoed craft as the damage overwhelms them. I see those little green men wounded by the blast, sucked out into cold space and waiting for death. I hear their sobs and them crying out for whatever creatures they call their mothers. I imagine that there is a primed weapon in the launching chute and not just the crew’s supply of booze. I crave the chaos. I have an uncontrollable compulsion to rebel. So I take two cans of beer out of the chute, one for me and one for Rose, a small act of defiance as pathetic and pitiable as anything I’ve ever done.

“Captain won’t be happy if he sees us with these,” says Rose.

I wink, and take a languid, luxurious swig. “Fuck him.”

“He wishes,” says Rose with that coquettish grin of his.

I down the rest of my can in one, a proper frat boy chug a lug, and after that macho gesture my craving for chaos is sated, my masculinity restored. I no longer feel any obligation to act in a manly way, so I lie down on my front on Rose’s bunk and pout as I look over my shoulder at him. “I’m ready to let you be the boy this time.”

We soon learn that both Rose and I like it even better this way. For him that’s to be expected; he has a wife and two children that he’ll return to after we get back to Earth. It’s more of a surprise to me, and makes me re-evaluate just who and what I am. I am still a man. I am still a tiger. But I am so grateful to Rose for assuaging my anger, for chasing my hatred out of me. I l-. I l-. I like him very much for doing that. I like him very much indeed.


Rose is writing a letter. Such a quaint and endearingly old-fashioned form of communication, when everyone else contacts their loved ones by video link. Except me; I don’t have any.

I’m too nosey not to look over Rose’s shoulder when he writes. It’s a letter to his wife. I can’t expect him not to write it, but it still sends me into a jealous rage. I snatch it away and tear it up, and Rose is livid. He takes a swing to slap me – slap me! – but I’m bigger and stronger than he is. I grab his arm and twist it behind his back, then push him down on to the bunk, where I punish him with short-arm digs in the ribs. But he takes it without a whimper, and despite being the aggressor, it’s me who is crying. I step away and Rose sees that I’m in need of comforting, which he then provides, in the usual way.


It’s nearly over. No matter how big and strong you are, or how many times you’ve been into space, this part is always terrifying and deeply uncomfortable. The heat within our spaceship rises to unbearable levels as we scorch through into the Earth’s atmosphere. Rose and I have stripped down to our underwear, not for lustful reasons this time, but because we feel like we are melting, burning alive. The only physical contact between us is to hold one another’s hands for reassurance.

A little bit of light permeates the vessel. “Sky!” someone shouts, but can’t elaborate. All dialogue is quickly curtailed, G-force ramming any further speech back down his throat. My stomach lurches as the feeling of heat is superseded by the sense of incredible speed. The rocket is in free fall, hurtling towards the surface at terminal velocity, and despite all the calculations and promises, it feels like we must surely die.

I squeeze Rose’s hand, and he squeezes back. I turn to him and our eyes meet. There are tears in his, and I realize, mine too. And then the impact: massive, jarring, violent, but not fatal. The rocket plunges into the Pacific Ocean, the only target big enough to entrust our navigator to hit. Our space rocket turns into a submarine as we sink into the depths beneath the waves, and the disorientation of the sudden change is made tolerable only by the presence of my soul mate. And as my equilibrium gradually restores, I become more aware of my and his near nakedness, and the fact that these could be our last moments together. It will be hours before we arrive at the coast.


We rise to the surface, and I don’t know if it’s the motion that makes me feel sick, or the thought of this tour of duty coming to an end. Those at the front whoop with joy that they can see the sky, and the shore, and that big fucking tower, and endless crowds of thousands of people. I don’t want to see them. I don’t want to get off. I think I might be crying, but Rose says nothing. Ever the gent, he also tries not to look too happy and excited about our homecoming, but I can tell he is. He will go back to his Earthbound family and his Earthbound life, and if we are deployed on different star ships for our next tour, he will find another me. But I do not know if I will ever find another Rose.


Was my house always this big? How did it get so huge and imposing? It looms over me like a colossal brick behemoth, somehow furious and not in the least bit welcoming. I scuttle through the door, aware that it looks and feels like the edifice is an insatiable predator, and that I am being ingested through the creature’s mouth. Inside, all the fixtures and furnishing are in the same place but somehow different. There is no sense whatsoever that I own anything here, they are merely objects occupying space, much like myself, only everything else, even under a layer of dust, seems more at home than I do.

The night-time is okay, I never was afraid of the dark, but the ghosts and monsters haunt me with the rising of the sun, the daylight scorching my retinas and exposing vast swathes of emptiness all around me. I cannot face it. I will not face it.

Snug now. Comfortable. Safe and warm, down the stairs, losing myself in the inky blackness, finding solace in the pressure of walls, doors, and the underside of the stairs always touching me. They will never abandon me, they hold me tight, squeezed into this tiny little alcove where nothing bad can ever happen because there isn’t the space for it to do so. I think I’ll just stay here. Yes. I think I’ll just stay here. Down in my basement, like the back of the rocket. It’s the only way I can feel safe and secure.


I usually ignore the door, preferring to stay in my subterranean airtight haven, but something compels me to respond to the bell this time. Nevertheless, I prepare myself for a religious fanatic or an unscrupulous salesperson, trying to decide whether to greet them with veiled sarcasm or outright hostility. Instead, what I see when I open the door turns my world upside down. It’s the man I love, my Rose, with a single suitcase and that smile I could never resist. Before I know it, he is in my arms, my mouth meeting his, and all my isolation and agoraphobia lifted away. Finally, we are home.

A Treat for You

Be a good girl and get on the bed. Lie nice and flat for me pet. I’m going to tie you down now.

Ohhh, I see you like the thought of that. And you like the thought of obeying me even more, don’t you? Even before I start, the acts of submission and obedience bring you such pleasure, don’t they? You probably even think that’s the greater part of the pleasure. But by the time I have finished with you sweet pet, you will know what pleasure really is.

I shouldn’t really need to tie you down at all, if I simply tell you to keep still, you will try. You will try so very hard to keep still, sweet pet, but these restraints are to keep you in place if you lose control of your body, and buck and writhe in unendurable pleasure. And you WILL buck and writhe in unendurable pleasure, sweet pet, when I have a treat for you.

Ah, there you are, all strapped in, arms and legs splayed, completely at my mercy. You look so heavenly when you are completely at my mercy, sweet pet. I think I shall enjoy this almost as much as you do.

You do not have permission to speak. But you do have permission to make noises, to emit gasps, and sighs, and moans, and screams of pleasure. And you WILL emit gasps, and sighs, and moans, and screams of pleasure, sweet pet, when I have a treat for you. Even though I’m not even going to touch you at first.


I bring my face close to yours, so that our lips are so nearly touching. But not quite. Instead, the delicious electric spark of mutual desire crackles between us. I look into your eyes, fall into them, drown in them, and see my own adoration reflected back. But I do not touch you. Not yet.

My hands circle millimetres above your heaving breasts, massaging the aura of your arousal. Your nipples harden so thoroughly, grow so big, that they seem to be stretching up to try and reach my hand. But instead they are gone, replaced by my face, which excites you further. I breathe in your scent, that intoxicating cocktail of perfume and arousal, and breathe out onto the bullet-like buds of your nipples. Your reaction makes me furiously hard, but I pull away. One of us has to have some self-control.

I continue to blow on your divine body, pursed lips distributing cooling air all the way down to your belly button. I linger there for a few tantalising moments, before I move further down and find myself gazing enraptured into the inviting paradise of your pussy, so close I can already taste you. The tiniest flick of my tongue would drive it into you. But instead I penetrate you with air, blowing firmly and evenly into you. And I penetrate you with tone and vibration, humming and growling at your entrance, and your pussy twitches and gurgles with every low, deep rumble.

You moan again, with frustration, as I move away. I did not give you permission to moan with frustration, only pleasure, so that transgression will require a spanking. Had I access to your backside I would put a handprint on it right now. Instead your punishment will be deferred, but rest assured sweet pet, you WILL be spanked for this.

But for now I settle for teasing and tormenting you still further. I hum and blow my down your gorgeous legs, tickling your skin with my breath and tantalising you with my proximity. And then I arrive at your feet. Such cute and dainty feet! I purse my lips again and blow ever so gently on your soles, almost a whistle. You curl and crunch your toes, it’s a slight movement, but it’s about as much as your restraints will allow, so I know you’re feeling it.

I feel it too pet, that urge to touch. And I can now, having gone all the way down your body without touching, I can take the hands-on approach on my way back up. Or a tongue-on approach. Oh pet, I have a treat for you.

I lick the soles of your feet, savouring the flavour as you squirm and purr to my touch. I suckle at each perfect toe as I run my fingertips up and down your shins and calves, luxuriating in the silky smooth sheen of your skin, before tickling the back of your knees, drawing a whimper that makes me grin.

I finish with your feet and look up to watch each hand scuttling up your inner thighs like two five legged spiders, leaving trails of tingles as they plot their inexorable course for where you want them to be.

I run my fingers in an arc around your eager pussy in ever decreasing circles, a hypnotic spiral of pleasure for us both to sink into, until I reach the middle, that sweet, inviting entrance. And when I get there, I have a treat for you.

I continue to circle, but now it’s just on that one sweet spot, fingertips teasing and tweaking on that sensitive clit, rubbing the nub, rubbing rubbing, teasing tweaking, over and over. I am in no hurry, sweet pet.

And finally I sink my fingers deep into that dripping pool, probing, exploring, finding every sweet spot and giving it my full attention, maximum stimulation, rubbing pinching thrusting, teasing tickling thrusting, stroking poking thrusting, thrusting thrusting thrusting, thrusting thrusting thrusting, thrusting thrusting thrusting.

I revel in the sweet joyous aria you sing to me, a symphony of ecstasy. It makes me forget myself. I bring my fingers, soaked in you, to my mouth, and suck. You taste like heaven, sweet pet, like hope, like joy, like love. And even though it’s you who lies there bound and compliant, it is me who is weakening.

I can no longer fight the urge to suckle. I need to sample this nectar straight from the source. I bring my face in close, breathe you in, and kiss. A kiss on the lips, so gentle, a mark of my devotion. And then a furtive flick of my tongue, a lightning raid into your inner sanctum, an all too brief taste of paradise. It’s not enough.

I grab at your ass, each peachy cheek gripped in one strong hand, and I lift you towards me as I press my face into you, tongue fully extended and drinking you in. I lap and lap and lap, a sinewy serpent sliding into you, reaching deep, arousing you, stimulating you, tasting you, loving you. I start to alternate between those long, loving licks, and rapid fire quick flicks on the nub, over and over, lick flick, lick flick, lick flick, until I feel you shudder and hear you moan as you squirt so hard into me, hitting the back of my throat, and I drink it down so greedily and gleefully.

I continue moving up, my tongue circling your belly button, before I lick a trail up towards your breasts and allow myself an awestruck gasp of appreciation when I get there. Forgetting myself, I bury my head in between them, and it feels like home. I lose myself in the soft warm darkness, but bring my hands up to knead and caress them, the thumbs working away at the nipples for your pleasure. And when I finally manage to pull my head away, it’s so I can take those beautiful breasts in my mouth, sucking hard, suckling hard, adding in sharp little nibbles and gentle bites, little bursts of pleasure pain for your delectation. And then I so the same up your neck, licking kissing biting, licking kissing biting, licking kissing biting, until we are face to face once more.

Oh, that face! On my tour down and up your body, I’d almost forgotten how beautiful you are. That face I can’t resist. That face I fell in love with. I get caught in your gaze and want to stay there forever. Your eyes draw me in, closer, closer until our lips meet. And we kiss. Gently at first, almost incongruously sweet and shy, little rosebud pecks to ramp up the anticipation. And then with ever greater passion and energy, need rising in both of us as our tongues intertwine, and we go at one another with ravenous ferocity, deep, longing kisses, an exchange of auras, a meeting of souls.

I am desire, distilled into its purest form. I must have you. And above all, I must give myself to you completely. I have a treat for you.

I finally pull out my hungry, desperate cock. It is larger than I’ve ever seen it, pulsating and raging, the head so engorged that I can’t see how it will fit into you. I look into your eyes and see my own need reflected in them. You crave this as much as I do, don’t you pet?

I push my cock very gently at your opening and your lips eagerly clamp down on my throbbing helmet. I hold it there while my fingers play with your nipples again, and I lean in for another kiss. Our lips meet, our tongues meet, and it feels so right.

And I push my cock in. Firmly but smoothly, I push my cock all the way in. Reaching so deep, filling you so completely, wanting you so much. The time for gentleness is over, sweet pet.

My instincts take over, my self-control in tatters, and my push turns into a slam, a thrust of lust, all my power, all my energy, all my aggression, every ounce of strength I have, every muscle in my body, concentrated on propelling my cock into you with awesome force and velocity. Ram slam, ram slam, ram slam, in out, in out, in out, hitting you hard, hitting you deep, hitting you places you’ve never been hit before.

And you thrust your body back at me with equal force and voraciousness, fighting so hard against your restraints that I think you might break them. But you are held, dear pet, bound to me, and it is I who will bring you pleasure. Ram slam, ram slam, ram slam, so deep, so good, so close. Ohh god, so close!

I feel you shuddering to your own earth-shattering orgasm, and it triggers mine. Your pussy clamps round my aching cock and squeezes, squeezes, squeezes. I throw my head back and let out a feral, stentorian roar as my cock releases, oh that incredible release! A jet, a torrent, a tsunami of cum shooting into you in ecstatic waves, over and over, pumping my seed into you, filling you so completely, so deliciously, so deliriously. I hear music, I see colours, I see Heaven, and after a moment when my head clears, it’s even better. I see you.

I lean in and we kiss again, keeping it gentle this time as we both bask in the afterglow, before I pull away and catch you in my gaze.

You have permission to speak now pet, but only to thank me.

Thank me pet.

Thank me.

To Serve Her Better

For she’s the girl that rules my world and keeps me in my place

Sits regally upon the eager throne that is my face

I lick her till my tongue goes dry, to make her; make her wetter

I would do all this and more to serve her; serve her better


To be restrained, all bound and chained for hour after hour

That urge to spill, and all free will, devoured by her power

My cock that’s locked in chastity ensures I can’t forget her

I would do all this and more to serve her; serve her better


And every day I will obey that longing to submit

She’s my queen, my dominant dream, and I’m her little bitch

So if she wants to strap it on and be the boy; I’ll let her

I would do all this and more to serve her; serve her better

This is what I’m living for: to serve her; serve her better



This poem came from the charity anthology, Coming Together: In Verse. Amazon link below, and look out for Volume 2 coming soon. Coming Together.jpg

Massaging the Mistress

I walk in to find you naked, lying on your front. Needless to say, I’m naked too, as I have always been in your presence since you claimed me. I harden instantly, and enjoy an all too brief moment of drinking in your beautiful body, memorising every curve before you issue your command. “I need to relax,” you say, “relax me, slave.”

Distracted by the exquisite vision before me, it takes me a little while to realise that you want, no, demand a massage, You don’t like to be kept waiting, and tut at me. It shakes me from my dreamlike reverie, and I fear that you will remember this mistake and punish me for it. Not the spanking or pegging ‘punishments’ that you know I crave, but the far worse censure of denial, or exclusion, or being ignored. But I push that thought out of my head: right now I have a chance to touch you, to feel you, and I hope, impress you enough not to banish me.

I place my hands on the small of your back, and gasp my appreciation at the divine softness of your skin. I start to knead my palms into your yielding flesh there, but my eyes are fixed just below, on the luscious curves and contours of your bare ass. I see movement there, twerking – for me! – and lose myself in that hypnotic rhythm before resuming the task in hand. Even I couldn’t miss that hint.

So I cup that ripe, juicy peach, one smooth, soft cheek in each grateful hand, and resume that kneading motion. I push the cheeks together and pull them apart, all the while working in each finger, and probing with my thumbs. I see the bottle of baby oil you’ve laid out alongside you; it’s new and completely full, so I don’t need to be sparing with it.

I raise it high to tip it over above you, so the oil cascades down and splashes on your bare exposed backside, and from the way you writhe and moan under the stream, it’s clearly a pleasurable sensation. I rub it in, working it with my fingers, while the thumbs one by one, accidentally on purpose, just push a little teasing way into your asshole. You moan again, and this time gasp my name. Not my title, not ‘slave’, but my actual name. My cock, already achingly hard, bobs wildly in appreciation, and my helmet pulsates wishfully.

I reluctantly move my oily hands from your butt, but I have a plan in mind. I drizzle a long, thick line from your butt crack all the way up to the back of your neck, and then slowly follow it up with my hands, rubbing the oil around, into your skin, relaxing the muscles.

By the time I reach your shoulders I am leaning over you at such an angle that my chest has picked up a slick sheen of the oil, the wisps of hair flattened down to glide smoothly over your back. Down below, my cock is also glistening with oil, and perhaps a little pre-cum where it’s been rubbing teasingly over your butt cheeks. Oh god, I can’t take it anymore, I need you so fucking much!

I’m taking such a risk that I’m trembling with fear as much as desire, but I’m too lost in you to stop myself. I hold the throbbing head of my cock against your hole and push; gently, but enough to make my intentions perfectly clear. I expect a furious reaction, but instead you moan lightly and push back against me and I am in.

It feels like I am home, that I’ve finally found the place I truly belong. I start to push, so very gently, tentatively. “Don’t fucking tease me, slave,” you say, “And don’t start something you can’t finish.”

Responding to your words, I push again, working up a good rhythm; harder, faster, thrusting from my hips and muscular thighs and reaching deep inside you.

“Ohhhh, fuck, that’s good,” you purr, “But don’t you dare cum until I have!”

I try to reply that I promise I won’t, but all that comes out is a frantic, garbled gasp. I so desperately want to cum, and you know it so well. You must want an excuse to punish me, because you start to work and twerk at me, your ass gripping and releasing, teasing me in a way that takes me right to the edge in seconds. And then you tell me how much I love this, and how badly I ache and yearn to shoot my load. I already know this, but you telling me so brings it even closer.

This is the sweetest, most exquisite, most agonising torture I have ever known. But I push back harder and faster, racing to the line and trying so hard to take you with me. And I know I’ve found somewhere in you that really works, because your tormenting words have given way to a succession of short, fast panting, and I know you’re close.

But oh fuck, so am I. Every fibre of my being wants to propel my seed into you, to give myself to you even more completely than I already have. But I fight it, oh so hard, for now at least. Every muscle in my body is tensed, teeth grinding, eyes bulging. A shudder sets in and wracks through my whole body, and you feel it too. Only knowing how close you are gives me the determination not to give into the feeling just yet.

I push and push, on and on. I close my eyes and see swirls and colours in my mind, and your moans and gasps of pleasure are the sweetest music I have ever heard. “Ohh,” you murmur, “Oh fuck I’m gonna cum!”

Your volume increases, I luxuriate in in it. “Oh yeah, slave! Oh shit … oh … oh fuck, so close! Oh! Yes! Now, slave! Cum for me, cum, cum!”

You don’t need to tell me three times. I give into that carnal need, that ultimate desire, with a release I feel throughout my entire body. All that I am is here to pump into you, reaching so deep within to fill you up as we both soar on the ecstatic wave of mutual orgasm, and ride the ripples of continuing after-pleasure, before we both sink back, sated and soaked, into your luxurious feather bed.

I lay a gentle kiss on your neck. “Thank you Mistress – are you relaxed enough now?”


This is the femdom hypnosis induction scene from my future release, Shagnasty Submits …


Oh poor you; you look so tired, sweetie! Tired but cute, I mean. You deserve to relax now … come, lie on the couch and I’ll look after you. Your muscles are all so tense and weary from the flights, but I’ll soon massage all that tension away.

Yes, this dim lighting will help you unwind. It’s all candle light, and so sweetly scented just for you. These other glowing embers are burning incense. Breathe them in honey, because these soothing smells, my soothing hands, and my soothing voice will soon chase all your cares away.

That feels good, doesn’t it? My touch and my words make you so relaxed … my touch and my words feel so good … my touch and my words are taking you under.

Oh look at you now, fighting to keep awake, trying so hard to keep your eyes open. Don’t fight it sweetie. You will give in. My persuasion is stronger than your resistance. You will give in, and that’s when the pleasure starts.

Is it because I’m so pretty? Is that why you’re so desperately aching to keep those eyes open? That’s okay then; take a nice long look at my face, at this face you’re already starting to love. Stare longingly into my deep brown eyes … lose yourself in my deep brown eyes … lose yourself … you are lost now, lost in my eyes forever, and you never want to find your way out again.

Close your eyes now sweetie, and you’ll still be able to see me in your mind’s eye. I’ll be there behind your eyelids, guiding you, taking control of you, taking your worries away.


Now that your eyes are closed, my words have deeper resonance, my touch sends tingles of bliss throughout your entire body, and it’s so difficult to open your eyes back up again.

Give it a try. Try for me, sweetie.

Are you trying yet? Oh yes, I think I can see some movement. But it’s so hard … your eyelids are so heavy … you just want to close them again. Close them tight. Keep them closed. You don’t want to open your eyes again, and even if you did, you couldn’t.

That’s better. Let go of your conscious mind, and just focus on my words, and my touch. Your body craves my touch. I’m going to take my hands away now sweetie, but you will still feel them. You will feel them massaging your mind, and taking you deeper down. Surrender to that feeling. Surrender … surrender.

Now picture yourself on a beach, with beautiful golden sand, and a sea that is the clearest blue you have ever seen. I want you to step slowly across the sand, to the water’s edge. Feel your bare feet sink into the sand as you walk, sinking into the sand just like you’re sinking into a trance. Step towards the water … keep going … nearly there … and now you get to the water’s edge.

Take one little step into the sea, and feel the cool, blue water flowing over your feet, washing away all of your stress, washing away all of your thoughts, washing away all of your resistance.

Look out over the ocean, and see me in the water waiting for you. I want you to come to me. I want you to come to me and belong to me. Walk towards me.

Good … good.

With every step you take, the water washes away your control. With every word I say, you can feel your free will ebbing away. By the time you reach me in the water, you will be all mine.

You’re nearly there now. Sinking into the water just like you’re sinking into a trance, until all you have left is your devotion to me. You’re nearly ready to submit to me completely. Only five more steps until you come within reach of me … four … three … two … one … and you’re here. I’m so close you can touch me. Touch me. Reach out and touch me, and give yourself to me willingly.

Good. Ohh, good. Sleep for me now. Obey. Sleep for me. Obey.

You’re mine now, in a trance so deep that my every word will imprint itself indelibly on your subconscious. My mind is your mind. My thoughts are your thoughts, and everything I say is the undeniable truth to you.

You are helpless to resist. You are powerless to disobey. From now on, you only live to serve me. Submitting to me gives you a warm and comfortable feeling all over. Obeying my orders gives you an erotic surge that feels like an orgasm. But you can never ejaculate without my permission.

After you awake, you will be strongly influenced to obey my commands, to believe whatever I tell you, to try to please me in any you can. But when I put on my boots, you will become even more submissive. Whenever you see me in my boots you will become incredibly aroused. You will instantly gain a solid, throbbing erection, and you will retain it until I allow you to ejaculate, or order you to become soft.

Whenever you see me wearing my boots, you will address me as Mistress Bossy Boots. You will yearn to worship me. You will yearn to worship my boots; to lick their fragrant leather, and suck on their high heels like you wish I would suck your cock, but you know I never will.

You will be unable to disobey any command I give you, however difficult or impossible it is to carry out. You will accept my every suggestion as indisputable fact, however unlikely it may seem to be true. My approval will mean everything to you, and give you a pride and sense of achievement greater than anything you have previously experienced. But my rebuke will cause unbearable feelings of loss, grief and remorse until I choose to forgive you.

These commands are ingrained in you now. They supersede your own thoughts, and they will always be there, without fading away. But you will never consciously remember me telling you this, and you will never have any awareness or realisation of having been hypnotised. You will never understand how you came to feel this way; in fact you will believe you have felt this way forever.

I’m going to bring you back soon, and when I do you will know that you belong to me, and your only desire is to serve and obey me. I’m going to count you down from five, and when I snap my fingers you will awake, but drown once more in my hypnotic brown eyes and want to worship me forever.

Five …

Four …

Three …

Two …

One …




The Sub-Way

Going through this subway after working late is always nerve-wracking, and tonight is no different. I spot someone else in the dull semi-illuminated underpass, heading towards me, but give a little sigh of relief as I realise it’s only a girl. Her facial expression is stern, but to me, alluring. I can’t stop myself smiling her way.

“What are you looking at?”

Her words stop me in my tracks. I try to reply but can’t find my voice.

“Rich boy in a posh suit gotta pay to look at me. And you gotta pay to go through this subway too.”

I mumble some kind of incoherent apology and turn to retrace my steps and choose the overpass. But I find my way blocked by another girl, young and attractive, but looking mean and moody in leggings and a denim jacket.

“Where you going?” And then to her friend, “He don’t wanna pay us!”

The first girl steps forward, closing the distance between us, so close I can smell her perfume. It’s intoxicating. I wonder how I smell to her; a heady cocktail of fear and arousal, probably.

“Give me your wallet, rich boy.”

She doesn’t raise her voice; she doesn’t need to. She whispers the words, purrs them, yet her tone is utterly commanding as it reverberates around the subway. I hand over the wallet, without a shred of resistance.

Her eyes widen in surprise at my instant capitulation. She adopts a wicked smile, but it’s not for me; she exchanges knowing looks with her friend. And it’s the friend who says, “Now get down on your knees!”

I do, berating myself for my surrender. Why am I doing this? I could have pushed past either of them and ran away. But I handed over my wallet and got on my knees simply because they told me to!

The humiliation and shame burns within me. To my surprise, and further shame, I find myself liking it: as I bow my head I see that my rock hard cock is pitching a massive tepee in the front of my suit trousers. My captors also notice.

“Ooh, rich boy likes being bossed about!” says the first girl.

“Dirty pervert,” sneers her friend, “We should cut it off!”

“I’ve got a better idea. Let’s put that thing to good use. Pants off rich boy, let’s see what you got!”

I hesitate momentarily, but the looks I receive compel me to obey. I take off my trousers and boxers, and my hardon springs free.

“Now lie down on your back, rich boy!”

I do, and my vision goes black. Something has been thrown over my face, and I only realise it’s the friend’s leggings when they’re removed, and I see her standing naked over me. My cock bobs, pulsing its appreciation, and the next thing I know the first girl has it in hand. She squats down, lowering herself onto me and guiding me into her, while her friend makes herself comfortable sitting on my face.

She grinds herself against me; I’m already lapping and she seems to like it. I alternate between driving my tongue as deep as I can, and rapid-fire flicks over her sweet little nub. She tastes divine.

My sensations are heightened by the first girl riding my cock. She’s none too gentle, bouncing up and down like an Olympic trampolinist and slamming my naked backside into the pavement. I can feel it grazing and scratching my soft cheeks, but I don’t mind. The pain is lost amidst all the pleasure responses I’m experiencing.

I can only see ass and thighs, but I can hear what’s going on above me. The two girls are kissing, and playing with each other’s tits as they ride my face and cock. The sounds of their smooching and squelching drive me crazy; being so close but unable to see it is the most exquisite torture. And as the first girl picks up the pace she can sense that I’m ready to cum.

There’s another jolt of pleasure-pain as she digs her nails into my thigh. “Don’t cum yet, rich boy! If you do it’ll be your last time ever!”

They grind and writhe against me with ever greater vigour, each of them building so close to their own climax. I work my tongue furiously, thrust my hips, and fight to hold in my own eruption. The cries and moans of the two girls echo through the cavernous underpass, until finally, mercifully, the first girl reaches her glorious climax and allows mine.

“Cum now! Cum now, rich boy!”

And I do. It’s the most intense release I’ve ever had; spurt after incredible spurt, trying to throw my head back in ecstasy, sandwiched as it is between the cold hard pavement and the soft soaking pussy of the second girl as she screams her own rapturous orgasm.

And then there is stillness, and relative silence, save for our heavy breathing as we try to recover. I am wrecked, I am ruined, and I love it. I lie there, groggy and exhausted, dull ache in my head, burning sensation on my arse, still not quite sure whether I’ve been a victim or a willing participant.

I raise my head, and am rewarded by the sight of the two girls kissing and groping one another with reckless abandon and manic fervour. It seems their pleasure isn’t done yet, and maybe mine isn’t either, because somehow my just-emptied cock finds new life on seeing this, and begins to harden again.

“Oi, don’t watch us, you pervert!” shouts the second girl, “Get dressed, and fuck off!”

I do so, hesitantly, so disoriented that I’m not sure which way is home and which way is work. But as I start to leave, the first girl calls me back.

“Don’t forget this,” she says, handing back my wallet.

I stare at it, dumbstruck, and she answers the question in my eyes.

“Because we’re gonna mug you for it again, this time tomorrow.”