Sara Salzman and her prize winning stories
Frog3
> My Master holds the rope just so.
>
> He knows me. Knows my moods. Knows the fear behind my eyes, both real and
> imagined.
>
> Those eyes widen as he gently lays the rope down, as he carefully,
> methodically, systematically, lays the toys down on the bed.
>
> Soft moans escape from behind gagged lips. I have been told to watch.
> To see each and know that soon each will touch me.
>
> He looks up briefly as he lays each down on the bed. Checking reactions.
> Watching.
>
> The short whip. A sigh.
> The deerskin. The suede.
>
> The small braided thong, the one that stings. A short moan.
>
> The horsehair that stings but never marks.
>
> The canes. The paddles. A pause.
>
> I wait, knowing.
>
> The small velvet bag that holds clamps. Clamps too severe for my breasts,
> yet applied anyway.
>
> A gasp. And then his smile.
>
> He knows me. He knows I will take the pain to please him. He knows the
> sacrifice I make to his Gods of Pain. He sees the torment in my eyes. The
> desire to please. The love. The fear of the pain.
>
> My Master holds the rope just so.
>
> Through his fingers, around my wrists, making delicate rings softer than
> steel. Stronger than steel. One on each wrist, a gentle bracelet that is
> soon pulled tight, stretched to the bedposts and wrapped tightly. One on
> each ankle. No matter how I tighten my muscles as he wraps the rope, still
> it is perfectly tight. The circulation moves.
> The ankle does not.
>
> I lie face-up on the bed, my body a perfect X. Face up. Oh, Goddess, he's
> going to whip my breasts.
>
> But first, two small wooden clothespins bob before my eyes. I turn my
> head, remember I am instructed to watch, turn back. The clothespins bite
> the delicate flesh of each nipple. Grasp. Sting. Burn. He waits.
>
> My Master knows me. Knows he can whip me, clothespins and all. Knows the
> pain, where it will hurt the most, what I can and cannot take.
> He waits.
>
> The burning increases as the pins are removed. Ah, he will not whip me
> with clothespins in place. But the moment when I was unsure, when the
> blood pounded in my temples and the fear covered me like a shroud, then he
> watched my eyes.
>
> The whip falls. Which one is it now? I cannot turn my head to see which he
> reaches for. But I know them all. I arch my back, try to stay still.
>
> My Master knows me. Knows I will hold position as long as possible, before
> the pain forces me to writhe, to turn, to try in vain to shield my
> breasts. Knows the moment when I can no longer stay still. And precisely
> then, says gently, "Don't move."
>
> My Master holds the rope just so. Gently tugging at the knots, to release
> arms and legs from bondage. Gently unwraps each wrist, each ankle. Rubs
> each, and kisses the places where the rope has left its mark. The gag is
> removed. I swallow.
>
> "Kneel."
>
> I crouch on the bed, head down, ass up, as he mounts the bed behind me.
> His hands caress my ass softly, then spank sharply. Slowly, quickly, his
> hand falls upon my ass. I wait for the moment, the pain/pleasure as he
> will enter me. But not yet. First a gentle tapping, soft touch, as he
> marks the place the cane will fall. I brace myself, plead with myself to
> hold position, knowing each stroke brings a fire hotter than any flame.
>
> Five strokes. Six. I have not moved. As the pain from each begins to
> subside, a soft, half-sob. "Thank you, Master."
>
> Eight. Nine. My knees give out, and I fall to the bed, sobbing. But
> immediately back on my knees again. "Thank you, Master."
>
> Ten. I am aware of nothing, save the pain. And his voice, as I am
> commanded to orgasm, not from stimulation, not from his fingers or his
> cock, but from pain alone. My body responds without hesitation. My
> pleasure is screamed out for his pleasure.
>
> Later, I will feel his cock inside me. I will feel the force as he thrusts
> deep into me, bruising the tender flesh with his strength. Later I will
> come, and come, and come, but only by his command. Later, we will lie
> back, exhausted, as he cradles me in his arms, strokes me gently, whispers
> in my ear.
>
> But not yet.
>
> Now he rises from the bed, returns to the toys so carefully laid out before
> me.
>
> My Master holds the rope just so.
John Morris
Hash: SHA1
In <RJ6DQTU33742...@Nyarlatheotep-frog.org> in
alt.revisionism, on 15 Jun 2002 22:56:06 -0000, Frog3
<FrogRe...@bigfoot.com> wrote:
> by Sara "the fist" Salzman
Oh gosh, was poor Pat Blakely justly ridiculed as a fool again?
[temper tantrum snipped]
- --
John Morris <John....@UAlberta.CA>
at University of Alberta <Multi pertransibunt & augebitur scientia>
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Sara Salzman
John Morris <John....@UAlberta.CA> wrote:
> -----BEGIN PGP SIGNED MESSAGE-----
> Hash: SHA1
>
> In <RJ6DQTU33742...@Nyarlatheotep-frog.org> in
> alt.revisionism, on 15 Jun 2002 22:56:06 -0000, Frog3
> <FrogRe...@bigfoot.com> wrote:
>
> > by Sara "the fist" Salzman
>
> Oh gosh, was poor Pat Blakely justly ridiculed as a fool again?
>
> [temper tantrum snipped]
>
> - --
I assume so. It's his usual modus operandi. Whenever I make him TILT, he
tried to "retaliate" like this.
He's SO easy to TILT.
Sara
Black Knight
The only prize you'll get for this is the booby prize.
Bruno
reekard
"Black Knight" <kni...@indystart.com> wrote in message
news:594c8e48.02061...@posting.google.com...
> Frog3 <FrogRe...@bigfoot.com> wrote in message n> > My Master holds the
rope just so.
>
(deletia)
> The only prize you'll get for this is the booby prize.
>
>
> Bruno
You can always tell when the Don/Pat entity is feeling beaten, which now
seems to be all the time. Subtract the sexually perverted, degenerate spam
concerning Megan Ellis, Doc Tavish and Sara from this newsgroup and he has
nothing to say. Don/Pat is a psychosexual loser.
den...@tanstaafl.zipcon.net.invalid
forth, saying:
>You can always tell when the Don/Pat entity is feeling beaten, which now
>seems to be all the time. Subtract the sexually perverted, degenerate spam
>concerning Megan Ellis, Doc Tavish and Sara from this newsgroup and he has
>nothing to say. Don/Pat is a psychosexual loser.
>
Erm. "this newsgroup"?? Must be alt.revisionism to which you refer.
Keep the tripe there, please. Us sexual degenerates in a.s.s. don't
need it.
--
-denny-
nocturnal curmudgeon, editor
Never try to outstubborn a cat. - Lazarus Long
Black Knight
This ng has become a verbal cesspool. If I had my way, I would include
it in those devices or filters that prevent children from viewing
pornography on the Internet.
Bruno