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Message-ID: <42758asstr$1054465805@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: bonkgirl <bonkgirl@NO-SPAMyahoo.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} Serendipity Says ... Buttplug - by bonkgirl (M/f, blackmail, anal, toys)
Date: Sun,  1 Jun 2003 07:10:05 -0400
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Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
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=========================================================
Hello,

The story you are about to read is a work of fiction. Certain elements
are loosely based on real people and real events however they've been
embellished for dramatic effect and all names of people, places and
other identifying details have been changed. This and many of the
stories I write contain themes of non-consensual sex and forced
submission along with blackmail and other activities which are illegal
in real life. Please note that the real events surrounding everything
written by me were all entirely legal and all people participating did
so within the framework of "safe, sane and consensual" as defined
within the BDSM scene to which I belonged when the events took place.
I hope you enjoy my tales. All feedback may be addressed either to
alt.sex.stories.d or by email to bonkgirl@[NO-SPAM]yahoo.com

Adrianna
(c) 2003
=========================================================

Serendipity Says ... Buttplug

Mr C's punishment demands forcing me to perform things from the
Humiliation Poll before it's even been voted on seems like cheating to
me and cheating - where nobody except me is compelled to play by the 
rules - is something I find extremely arousing! As soon as I saw his 
post earlier tonight I couldn't wait for my husband to go to bed so I 
could sneak back to the computer and accept my punishment.

I locked the door and undressed completely. My mind reeled with a kind
of delirious rapture as I prepared myself, imagining I was not safely
alone in the privacy of my home behind locked doors but rather
somewhere much more public. Perhaps it's a bizarre internet cafe; a
dimly lit, small underground room like the Korova Milk Bar in the 
movie A Clockwork Orange. It's a surreal feeling to picture myself 
walking nakedly onto the small stage there to the computer sitting in 
readiness for me. The buttplug in my dream is large and sturdy, not 
small and delicately slender like the finger sized one I'm about to 
use in reality.

The sickly sweet smell of Vaseline petroleum jelly hangs thickly in 
the warmed air of my computer room at home. I press the tip of the 
buttplug into it, pinching its base firmly between my thumb and 
forefinger as I twist it deeply in the semi-solid slipperiness. Once 
greased and poised ready against the warmness of my anus, its first 
touch against my skin makes my naked body break out in a rash of 
goosebumps. The effort required to press it firmly enough to break 
the seal of my ring makes penetrating myself difficult but once that 
resistance is overcome it slips easily inside my back passage, taking 
my breath momentarily away.

I gasp lightly under my breath and feel slightly repulsed at the
sensations of the pungent smelling grease getting on my fingers and
knuckles as I push the buttplug deeper up between my cheeks. It feels
much larger than it looked, particularly the final flared half inch
right before the tapered stem of the base slips quickly into place
locking it firmly inside me. It's only a matter of taking three small
steps to move into a position where I can sit but even the slightest
movement makes me acutely aware of the small rubbery invader lodged in
my behind. Sitting cautiously, feeling the weight of my body press
down on the base of it, is a tantalizing shock of the strangest,
unfamiliar pleasure.

Once my impaled anus has had a chance to become comfortable with the
peculiar zapping of nervous energy through me I find myself
impulsively bouncing up and down gently in my seat. It no longer 
feels as large as it first did although the gentle bouncing motion is 
enough to make it feel just uncomfortable enough without making it 
impossible to operate my computer.

I open the folder of pictures containing the image I plan to use to
comply with Mr C's demands. My feet drift apart on the carpet floor;
me imagining myself back at the bizarre internet cafe with a crowd of
anonymous strangers watching me bounce gently on the larger buttplug
of my dreams.

Spreading my legs widely slightly changes my seated position so that
the plug now feels like it has more lateral movement. It's a weird
feeling that I've not ever experienced before. So weird I feel an urge
to drop my hands between my legs and grope myself. My pussy is already
wet; the odor of it mixed strongly with that of the Vaseline tingles 
my nose. I'm staring at my pussy in the picture; me blindfolded; 
wrists and ankles shackled to the heavy block of wood between my 
spread legs.

My fingers fumble as I crop the picture to size and position it to
appear like a Polaroid. There's something about the look of a Polaroid
instamatic picture that always makes me think wonderful thoughts of
being blackmailed. I tap out the message Mr C has ordered me to spread
around the net. I feel so excited by the thought of the consequences
of this that I can hardly breathe. Once the message is in place I even
consider sending a copy of it immediately to all the people on my
'Serendipity' list. I sit in my chair, legs spread and frigging myself
wildly, staring at the email send button. My trembling fingers are
poised above it - the slightest slip could send it unstopably on its
way. It feels like an anticlimax to retype the address:

basement_captivity@yahoogroups.com

I can tell by the way I'm shaking that the waves of orgasmic pleasure
are going to linger long after you receive this. I may have to wait
until tomorrow now before checking to see what else Mr C wanted me to
do as punishment for forfeiting whatever it was I forfeited. I can't
even remember right now...

--
ser-en-dip-i-ty (n) The faculty of making fortunate discoveries by
accident.

"Serendip is not reached by plotting a course for it. Instead you must
set out in good faith and lose your bearings serendipitously" - from
The Sinbad Saga

http://profiles.yahoo.com/bonkgirl

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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