By Leviticus



“Write me a romance,” says one.


“Write me a fantasy,” says another.


“Write me something dark, something to make me hot,” says a third.


The women in his life, friends, lovers, think it is so easy to just sit down and let the words flow.  They admire him for his words, his images, but they can’t see the effort it takes him nowadays.


It used to be easy, writing about girls in chains; naked lovers forced by their bondage to submit to their men.  The images were powerful, erotic, emotional, but that was when he had emotion to draw on.  Lately…he feels dry.


He sits on the couch in his living room, laptop on his legs, watching his lover as she reads her book.  She lies naked on a rug in front of the cold fireplace, a steel chastity belt encasing her loins, a long chain attached to one ankle, the other end attached to a ring cemented into the brick of the mantle.  She is naked because he wants her to be, chaste because she needs the discipline, and chained in an effort to please more than anything else.


She lies facing away from him and he can see her ass, redder than the rest of her due to her frequent spankings, with a faint line crossing both cheeks, the remnant of the one time he used a cane on her.


She is beautiful, and she cares for him, he knows, or she would never put up with what he asks of her.  Yet…he feels dry.


“This isn’t good for you,” she’d told him earlier.  “You used to write a lot but now you can’t, why not?” she asked.


He couldn’t tell her why, he wasn’t sure himself, and any answer would only offend when no offense was intended.  He did care for her, but still he felt dry inside.


Exasperated she’d sighed and given him a hug.  “Tonight we’ll spend the evening together; maybe I’ll inspire you.”  So now she lies on the rug reading her book, occasionally glancing back and smiling at him but otherwise leaving him alone to concentrate.


If only he could.


“Write me a romance,” she’d asked.  So he thought he’d have a go.


His kiss was light on the back of her neck, making her jump yet again.  Why did he have to move so silently?  Still, she enjoyed the attention and she smiled at him as he picked up a dishtowel.


“Need a hand?” he asked, his eyes taking her in as she stood washing dishes in the sink.


She raised an eyebrow and lifted her hands from the water, bubbles falling from the plastic cable tie connecting two more cable ties around her wrists.  “This isn’t exactly easy you know,” she said to him with a smile.


“I know,” he replied with a grin, moving closer again.  He stood behind her and passed the towel over her face, tying it in place.


“Now I can’t see, how am I supposed to wash the dishes?” she asked.


“I think you can manage,” he whispered, bringing his hands down on her soft shoulders.


She shivered under his touch, moving back away from the sink, their naked bodies coming into contact. 


“Oh no,” he said, “keep washing.”


“Pig,” she said softly; but did as she was told as he let his hands glide slowly over her body.  When he reached around to cup both her breasts he heard her sigh and he smiled.  She had a very sexy sigh, enough by itself to get him hard, which he certainly was at that moment.  He pinched her nipples and was rewarded with another sigh.


“I can’t get anything done this way,” she said, her voice a little breathless, her body squirming a little in that special way that told him that she was aroused.


“You’re doing just fine,” he replied, before burying his face in her hair, his teeth nibbling the back of her neck and working around to her left ear.


He could hear the clink of the pans in the sink, the swish of the water as she tried to continue her task, but he knew she wasn’t really doing anything constructive and he didn’t mind.  That wasn’t the point.


He ran his hands down her stomach, pulling her to him.  She sighed again and pushed back with her ass, his arousal trapped between them.  Then she gasped as one of his fingers caressed her more intimate folds.


“Please...” she said softly, almost a whisper.


“What, here?” he asked, pretending surprise.


She giggled, but it quickly got lost as she drew breath, his finger probing within her.  Her hands came out of the water, dripping wet, to grasp his own.  “Please!” she said more urgently.


He chuckled.  Off and on all day he had been doing this, touching her, arousing her, teasing her, before leaving her panting without release.


“Pig,” she said once again, but her body said something else, something more basic, more needy.


“I don’t think you deserve it, calling me names like that,” he said, letting go of her and moving away.


“Please…I’m sorry.  Maybe you should spank me for it,” she replied, a smile on her face as she turned to face him, pulling off her makeshift blindfold.


He agreed, and a moment later found the two of them on a kitchen chair with her across his lap as he warmed up her already red ass with twenty hard strokes.  When she was whimpering under his hand he lifted her up and bent her over the kitchen table, pushing into her from behind before she could find her voice.  He stroked her long and slow, his hands never leaving her body as he reached around to massage her tits once more.


She grunted and sighed as he pumped her, her hips pushing back with each thrust until she started to jerk, her rhythm lost in orgasm.


He quickly followed, cuming hard, his fingers pinching the dark buds at the tips of her breasts as he closed his eyes and lived in the moment. 


Alas it didn’t last though, and soon both lay still across the tabletop, their bodies glistening with their passion.  Her hands were trapped between her and the table, but she was able to turn her head and they shared a kiss, sweet and tender.


“I love you, you know,” she whispered, looking him in the eye.


He took a deep breath.  “I know,” he replied.


Her eyes narrowed a little.  “Do you love me?” she asked, a familiar look of concern flitting across her features.


“Yes,” he replied, hugging her to him.


“Then why don’t you ever say it?”


He said nothing for a moment, instead just holding her, before eventually letting her go and stepping away from the table.  “You should finish those dishes,” he said, moving away.


He couldn’t answer her.  He knew she wanted to hear the words, but he couldn’t say them, not yet.  He left her to finish.


He looks at what he has just written.  Why did that moment come to mind when he was supposed to have been writing something romantic?  He thinks about erasing it and starting over, but the idea of his honest thoughts coming out without censorship appeals to him, so he decides to leave it.  Still, how romantic is it to say you can’t say those words to someone with whom you share bed and board?


But he has his reasons, if he could ever get them straight in his head.  The biggest being that he isn’t quite done with his last love yet.


“You have to move on,” his friends tell him since his wife passed away.  “She’d want you to be happy, to be with someone.”


It was true she most likely would want that; yet he couldn’t help but feel a sense of betrayal whenever the urge to get close to someone else came forward.  Lord knows he had lots of opportunity, but given that he couldn’t take advantage of a woman like that, leading them on without telling them that their relationship would go nowhere, he instead labored to form friendships with them.  It was safer that way for all concerned, his current lover the exception.  How this particular woman had gotten close to him was complicated and not something he wants to go into now; but she’s here and he is glad.  Loneliness was even worse, but he counts himself lucky to have friends who keep him from feeling like that.


One such friend he had known for years, first just in passing as he wrote stories for her to pass on to others, but slowly more intimately, sharing short but precious moments together whenever they bumped into each other online.  She had always loved his writing, or so she said, and had even helped him out a few times when he needed information in her area of expertise.  She too was concerned about his being unable to write, and had a suggestion for him.


“Write me a fantasy,” she said, “about two online friends who finally meet for the first time and get together.”  He chuckled when she suggested names for the characters that turned out to be their very own, and not for the first time wondered what it might be like if fantasies come true.  Would it be anything like this?


The flight arrived a half hour early and as she waited to deplane she looked once more at the instructions he had sent her.  She was going to spend a week with him, seeing him in the flesh for the first time and she had to admit to feeling nervous about it.  So many times in the past the reality of a man had never measured up to the image, at least in her case, but she had known this man for a long time.


Her instructions, read over and over again so they were pretty much memorized, told her to bring whatever she would need for the next week as far as clothing and toiletries, something casual, something dressy, etc…but her one restriction was that it had to be packed in one bag of certain maximum dimensions.  When she asked him why the size restriction, he simply told her it was a surprise, and that she had to trust him.


It was strange, because although she had never met him in person, she felt she did trust him.  She knew his stories and his thoughts from their conversations.  He’d helped her when she needed advice and she had helped him in return.  After so long, you had to know the mind of the person at the other end of the modem, right?


So, trusting him she did as she was told and upon exiting the terminal of the small airport  she hailed a cab and gave the driver the address he had given her.


The house turned out to be a large one-story affair with a gabled roof, set in a neighborhood dominated by large trees.  So wooded was the effect that it looked to her like a forest was trying to reclaim this part of town.  Yet it didn’t look overgrown, just very green.  She paid the cabbie and with her bag walked to the front door, keeping her eyes open for the next part of her instructions.  He’d told her he probably wouldn’t be home when she got there, and if he wasn’t he would leave instructions under the cat in front of the house.  Again he wouldn’t elaborate, and she was curious as to what he meant.  But when she got there she saw that the cat in question was a ceramic lawn ornament lying next to the bottom step.  She ignored it for the moment and knocked on the front door; but he evidently wasn’t home when no one came to answer it.  So, disappointed, she went to see what her new instructions were.


A single note and another envelope.  “Go around to the back of the house and only then open the envelope,” it said.


Smiling, and feeling her heart pumping a little harder, she did as she was told.  She hoped this would be the start of something for her, a week when she could finally give over control of herself to someone she trusted, someone half-decent at the very least.


The back of the house looked like it was under construction.  Posts had been set in the concrete patio and the basic framework of a roof extension was laid out above her head.  The rest of the yard looked clear though and she looked around with interest before opening the envelope.  She’d heard a lot of things about this yard.


Time to see what he had to say, so she moved on and got a surprise.  It was another note and envelope.  This time the note was more personal and it was giving her a choice.


“This is the point,” it said, “where you choose what kind of week we will have.  Choose one way and we will have a great time together, seeing the sights, eating at my favorite places, and further strengthening our friendship.  You won’t be disappointed.  Go the other way and we will also have a great time together, seeing the sights, eating at my favorite places and strengthening our friendship, but in a much more personal way.  If you chose the safer route, then just put down the next envelope unopened and let yourself in through the French doors.  Make yourself at home and I’ll be along real soon.

“If you chose the way I believe you will, then open the next envelope and follow your orders.”


She paused, thinking.  She wanted to commit, she knew that at some point during the week they would be playing their kind of games, with her giving herself to him for their mutual pleasure.  But she had hoped to meet him first, to at least get a look at his face, his eyes, to see for herself what kind of a man he was in person.  But now she had to choose to play now or not at all, and she knew him to be a strong enough man to stay committed to whatever course of action she chose to accept at this moment.  If she chose not to play, then, for this week at least, they would never play.


So, trembling, she made a decision and opened the next envelope.


It wasn’t a complete surprise, but still it was a shock, and she wondered if she could do what it asked of her.  Had he been here to order her to do it himself, she would have attempted to stall him into doing something else.  She had warned him that she could be difficult.  Yet by not being here, he had taken that strength away from her.  There was no one to argue with, no one to plead with or gain sympathy from; she had just the note and her orders.  Well, at least she found out why her bag could only be so big.  But first she had to check something out.  She took a quick tour of the yard and found what he had said about it to be true.  It really was well-screened from prying eyes.  All the trees and bushes, plus a high wooden fence, prevented the houses on all sides from even being able to overlook the yard.  She saw a few roof peaks, but that was about all for the neighbors.  Whatever else would happen, she wouldn’t be seen.  So she swallowed her fear and took her bag, placing it in the open wooden chest on the patio.  The bag was just small enough to fit.  Then after a moment she started to remove her clothes.  


Stripping for a man had always been difficult for her, she knew she wasn’t a supermodel type and was very self-conscious about her height.  But she had been told that she sold herself short, and while she didn’t believe it she felt better for the confidence others had in her.  But standing here in a strange State in a strange backyard about to lock her clothes away, she couldn’t help but feel very nervous.  But given his tastes, she knew this would have happened eventually.  She had read all his stories, both the fiction and the factual, so she wasn’t completely surprised.


Naked, and feeling very exposed, she toughened her resolve and put her clothes in the chest on top of her bag and, after a moment’s hesitation she closed the lid and locked it with the padlock provided.  Now she was committed, at least this far.  She could escape into the house and maybe find something to wear until he got home.  Maybe he would forgive her, or discipline her in some way and that wasn’t an entirely unpleasant proposition. 


But what if he was disappointed in her?  Would it wreck their week together before it even started?  No, she had to finish and that meant doing one more thing.


Now she really was shaking, but she turned and moved away from the house, stepping out onto the grass and into the sunlight.  She couldn’t remember the last time she had been out naked in the sun, and it was an odd yet exhilarating experience – if only it hadn’t been so scary.


She padded out to where a lone wooden post stood upright in the middle of the lawn, and bent low to where a chain lay on the ground, fastened to the post.  At the other end of the chain was a metal cuff, and after taking a very deep breath she closed the cuff around her ankle.


There, it was done, no going back, no getting out of this at least.  She felt a bit of panic and tried to pull the cuff off again.  But it was on to stay.  She moved away from the post and saw that the chain was only a couple of feet long, nowhere near long enough for her to reach any kind of cover.  She wondered what the hell she had been thinking and for a moment was angry at him for making her do this.  What if she got into trouble?  What if someone saw her?  How safe was this neighborhood anyway?  She felt cold and alone despite the warm sun, and she hugged herself as best she could, crouching down to hide her nakedness.


But, after a while, she began to relax, her fear fading a little as time passed.  The warmth of the sun, the silence of the neighborhood, the feel of the soft grass under her feet and the gentle breeze against her naked skin, all served to calm her.  Also, the lack of anything bad happening to her right away helped her feel more secure.  In fact, she slowly sat down, enjoying the unique feel of grass under her bare butt, and began to giggle.  Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all…


But still she wondered where he was, and how long he expected her to stay out here like this, and she began to worry about what would happen if he didn’t come home.  Good feelings turned sour again as she fretted.


Then the patio door opened and a man came out.  Tall, dark, handsome, his eyes on her body, his mouth smiling slightly, he looked much like she had pictured him.  Still, she crossed her arms in front of herself again, ashamed at her nakedness and wishing he hadn’t asked her to do this.


“Hi beautiful!” he said.


She looked up at him, still afraid, yet…not.  “Hi,” she managed to reply.


“Stand up,” he ordered, his voice soft yet certain.


She did as she was told, aware of his eyes upon her.  She didn’t know if she liked it or not, and words of protest came close to being said.  But she couldn’t deny that now that he was here, she was excited.


“You are beautiful, you know,” he said with a smile, making her blush and look away. 


She was normally so strong, never fearing to look a man in the eye.  Yet with this man her strength seemed so faded.  Then she heard the jingle of keys.


“I’m happy you chose to open the envelope,” he said.  “So, are you ready to start your vacation?”


“Yes Sir,” she replied, smiling.


“Good,” he said, and he moved toward her.


There, that’s better.  Certainly it was a fantasy along the lines she wanted, and it had come out easily which was a surprise.  Maybe he wasn’t as stuck as he thought.  Of course it helps to have such a lovely lady to gain inspiration from, and the one in front of him is inspiring too.


He pauses in his typing to look at her for a while, stretched out naked on the rug, and he resists calling out to her to come to him.  Do that, and he won’t get back to writing for the rest of the evening.  He is also tempted to start a fire, to see her body in the firelight, sweaty and glistening in the heat.  But again that would only result in no more writing for the night.


She moves a leg and there is the jingle of chain.  Absorbed in her book she uses one foot to gracefully scratch the back of the opposite leg, and the chain attached to it jingles as it moves back and forth.  It’s an unconscious, yet feline move that betrays the grace that all women seem to possess.  Women are living works of art, but not to be hung on walls…well, not often anyway.


He smiles, the image of her bound to a wall, arms outstretched, chest heaving, sweaty from the exertion of the multiple orgasms forced upon her, echo through his mind.  It is a raw, powerful image, not unlike the type of story another special woman in his life recently urged him to try.


“Write me something dark,” she said, “something to make me hot!”


Her pitiful whines were coming fast now through her ring-gagged mouth as she humped the dildo behind her.  Trapped on her hands and knees by leather straps that cruelly bound her body, she could do little else but obey the whims of her new Master.  Her legs were doubled up, the straps biting deeply into her soft flesh, forcing her to stay on her knees, while thick leather mittens took her hands away, leaving her with nothing more than paws which suited the bitch she had now become.  A thick chain was locked around her neck, the other end attached to a cable stretched between two trees.  It gave her the run of most of the yard, but that was all.  For three days she had been trapped this way, and she couldn’t see the end of it.


A streak of lightning shocked her back and she screamed before doubling her efforts to fuck the painful dildo.


“Keep going you lazy slut!” yelled her Master, his well-used whip held at his side.


She held back a comment, not that it would have been understood anyway, and tried to ignore the mosquito biting her left tit.  They were outside in her backyard, a place she seemed to be living in lately, and she was humping a dildo on the end of a stake set at an angle in the ground.  The angle was just perfect for her to fuck while on her hands and knees, which was what he had planned.


Suddenly there was a painful shock inside her as the dildo electrified itself and she squealed and pulled herself off it.  She looked around desperately at the other five dildos around her yard, all set up the same way on stakes, until she saw the one with the little light at the base of the phallus.  This was the next safe one, the rest all charged like the one she had just been riding, and she struggled to crawl across the grass as fast as she could to her next lover.


Her new Master had set all this up, wiring the dildos together and explaining the game.  Each dildo would vibrate and be safe to fuck in turn, but the turns were random as was the time she could spend on each one.  She had to keep going until he ordered otherwise and no slacking off, or she would feel the bite of his whip.  So the poor girl hurried as best she could, easing her painfully-stretched cunt over the dildo before forcing herself to thrust it into her.  She yelped as the whip landed again.


“Faster next time, bitch!” he yelled, and she began fucking herself once more.


It was only moments before she got another shock and the tortured woman pulled free as fast as she could.  She looked around for the next dildo but saw no lights.  This time her Master had dropped his pants and was waiting for her, fuckstick at the ready.


“Come here, cunt!” he said, his smile cruel and cold.


She whimpered, her eyes on his dick, but obeyed knowing what would happen if she hesitated.  She crawled quickly over to him and turned to present her well-worn pussy to him, dropping her shoulders and tits to the ground.  She felt him kneel behind her and she held her breath as he began to enter her.  He was bigger than the dildos that had already stretched her by half; she held back a scream as he forced his way into her.  Yet once in she began to shudder with pleasure as his long deep strokes rubbed her tiny insides in a way no dildo could.  It was almost, almost, worth the torture he put her through, but one thing kept her from enjoying her lovemaking completely -- her neighbors.


Her yard wasn’t private by any means, and it was a rare moment when she was out here without being seen by somebody.  Even now, as she was being taken from behind like the bitch dog he treated her like, she was being openly watched by the old couple next door, people she had lived next to for years before her new Master showed up.  When he came, he paid off or blackmailed everyone on her street so he could openly torture her without fear of anyone telling on him.  She had been openly humiliated in front of friends and near family, and she was helpless to stop him.  He had even taken her for walks on the end of a leash, forcing her to do her business in the street in front of disbelieving eyes.


She cried at the humiliation of it all, the pitying looks from the women, the hungry lust evident on the men, and she wondered how long it would be before her new Master opened up her legs for them to use as well…


But for now she kept her eyes down, enjoying the cock in her cunt while trying to ignore the fact that anyone who wanted to watch could do just that.  Her humiliation didn’t last long though, as he grabbed her by the hair and pulled her head up, forcing her to look her neighbors in the eye as he came gushing in her loins.


She gasped at the hot rush, hotter than any man she had known in the past, before being cruelly robbed of her own orgasm as he pulled out of her.  Her abused cunt was in so much pain that for her to cum now took a lot of priming, and he rarely let her get there.


“You’re a worthless fuck,” he said to her, dragging her around to face him by the hair.  He stuck his dick in her open mouth and waited for her to start cleaning him off.  “I think you need more practice, cunt.  You could have done a lot better!  Maybe I ought to let old Rolly Jensen there fuck you for a while.  WHAT DO YOU SAY TO THAT, JENSEN?” he said with a laugh, taunting the old man over the fence.  The man grew red, as did his wife, but both didn’t otherwise move or say anything.  Her new Master required an audience for his bitch, and they knew it.


He pulled away and turned her around again, and she felt something cold slapped on her cunt before she felt his fingers probe deeply into her.  Almost immediately she felt the burn and desperately wanted to touch herself down there.  It was enough to drive her mad.


“There you go, cunt, that should keep you going for a while.  You can get back to fucking the lawn ornaments.  I have to go do something else for a while,” he said, standing up and swatting her ass.  “By the way, I turned the little lights off so now you have to figure out which one you can safely fuck all by yourself.  Have fun!”


She began to cry as he walked away, hoping for pity, for any kind of warmth from this man, but knowing there was none to be had.  He had come into her life by her own invitation and now he was here to stay “…until the wind changes direction,” like some sadistic Mary Poppins.


And so, her loins burning brightly, she resumed her task, shocking herself twice before finding the right dildo and fucking it once more.


He looks at what he had just written.  Certainly it’s darker than his usual efforts, but is it any good?  Is any of this any good?  Despite the fact that he’s written more this evening than he had over the past month, it still didn’t change the way he feels inside; he still feels dry.


He sighs, looking at her once more, seeing her smile.  She asks how he is doing and he shrugs. 


What was he to do with this now that he’s written it?  Dare he post it on his site?


He hated feeling blocked but when he did write he wanted to show it to people.   But could he do that?


Would his lover understand why he couldn’t tell her the words she wanted to hear?


Would the fantasy be good enough to please?


Would the darkness be dark enough to make her hot?


Should this be for other eyes?


He sits and puts his hands over his face.  Another headache is coming on.  Time for bed.