I’m beginning work on another quick little story about a niece who is turned through mind control into a personal servant of her evil mad scientist uncle…
The cotton material of her tank top was stretched thin over her firm young breasts. She was still in that awkward stage getting used to their weight as she ran through her yoga poses. She was beginning to feel warm and thought that it was from the lights in the studio her uncle had made down here in the basement of his house. They were bright she thought… as she continued stretching she felt flushed… she saw her reflection in the mirrored wall. It was the wall that separated this space from her uncle’s office which occupied the other half of the basement.
The space he had made for her had the mirrored wall and a dancer’s ballet bar running the length of another wall… there was thick padding on the floor which was perfect for her workouts… and an audio system with good quality speakers. Her uncle was an audiophile and the acoustics in this room were perfect. He even made a mix tape of Hindi music for her to listen to as she went through her routine.
But the lights were definitely making her hot. She could feel the sweat building.
Before she started into a headstand, she stripped off her tank top and tossed it to the corner. As she posed on her forearm with her feet pointed straight as an arrow to the ceiling, she could feel the weight of her breasts. They strained against her tight sports bra. Tight, contained, confined, she thought that this wasn’t right. A thought occurred to her that they really should be free, unrestrained, natural. That’s what a healthy workout should be, natural.
The thought occupied her mind. She rolled out of the headstand and sitting on the floor she released the clasp on her bra and tossed it on to the top she had just discarded. Her hands roamed over the newly freed breasts. A sensation rolled through her, soft, sensuous, rippling through her and gently ticking the pleasure center in her mind.
She watched her reflection as she continued caressing her breasts. Her breathing was heaver. Her nipples hardened as her fingers tweaked them. She watched herself. Yes, it must be the lights in here making it so hot she thought as her hands continues their teasing. Yes, it must be the lights indeed she sighed.
OK! I got up this morning and put the electronic pen to paper and working a piece… or peace… either way I’m happy with it
I’ve finished a 1100 word M/F encounter vignette.
Its posted over at writing.com for the full text but here’s a brief peek…
Two fingers? No, two fingers of jack were not going to pacify him, not this man. It wasn’t the cold steel of the colt in his hand, aimed at nothing in particular, that compelled Daphne to comply, but the look of arrogance in the stranger’s face. The smooth glass in his other hand was waiting for her to ‘show a little more hospitality’.
“You’re not a half bad looking woman to be working a bar this late into the morning” he said, flipping the drained glass back to her with a nod. “But you could do with showing a bit more smile to your patrons”. She hated these arrogant men, both of her ex’s were arrogant types.
Humph ‘patrons’ she thought, walking back to the bar and dutifully refilling the glass. There weren’t any left after they heard the shot from the men’s room. Not that there had been many to begin with late on a Tuesday. Three semi-regulars at the bar trying to pick her up and a younger couple at a table opposite the stranger’s.
‘Not half bad looking?’ Who the hell does he think he is? Pushing forty Daphne still passed for thirty something. She had a lean build with sandy-blond hair, blue eyes, and toned arms from this job three nights a week. She still fit perfectly into her ten year old Levis, and with a black suede vest over her white buttoned shirt she brilliantly displayed her b-cup breasts. Right where they should be, for a lady of thirty, she knew.
She brought him his ‘hospitality’ refill, and placed it in his firm grip, while displaying her best fake smile. Walking back to the bar she made sure that she gave her best ‘rear view’ walk. She wanted him to know she had a higher opinion of herself. It didn’t go unnoticed.
Yes, we are moving forward on this story… this is slated to be an opening to a large ‘revenge’ style story…
[sung to the tune of: “theme to Brady Bunch”]
its a story, of a girl named Candice, who was working in a lab with just four guy, all of them had hair of gold…
oh well so much for lyrics… here are the opening paragraphs…
Her playful lips are wrapped around a peppermint candy stick. She occasionally stops sucking and twirls her wet, pink, tongue around the sweet, sticky, shaft and lets a purring moan of contentment escape those pink, pouty, lips. Her dreamily half closed eyelids shield her deep blue, baby doll eyes while she’s lost her thoughts in sucking the sweet sticky shaft around and around as she drifts quite mindlessly now on a wave of snow white bliss. Her curly golden blonde hair now protects a once bright mind now hopelessly addled by ‘candy-canes’.
The ‘candy-canes’ were my gift to her for our office Christmas party. They are my custom creation gum drops dusted with a sweetened powdered version of ecstasy. A secret Santa gift to the hostile young watch dog in our lab. Just the right prescription for getting that stick out of her ass.
We are a cozy little group of four food chemists toiling away our time and developing various food additives for our corporate overloads. Sometime during last year there was some corporate cost-cutting summit and we were assigned our own personal cost accountant watch dog. That’s when Candice, sorry, Ms. Johnson (emphasis on the ‘Ms.’) entered our happy group and turned everything gloomy. Trimming expense and curtailing our perks was her mission in life. With a cut-cut here and a cut-cut there, here a cut there a cut… well you get the picture. She even cut our Christmas party. That was a cut too far for the four of us. We then decided that we would just it ourselves and the company would suffer no cost. She still had a problem with that, we think she has a problem with fun in general, but at least as far as the party costing too much she didn’t have a leg to stand on, and the party was on as far as we were concerned.
What follows is a brief opening to a story I’m working on… a little something on the slab so to speak. Its a story of two girls taken and indoctrinated in the ways of an affluent household.
As I’m still polishing the Caitlin story, lining up an editor and working through some snags in that story’s continuity issues this ‘maids’ story is still in the developmental stage.
Lets see what it looks like while its waiting in the wings…
any feedback is appreciated
Their hearts were pounding in their chests now. Adrenalin was surging through their legs. Their race started with them slowly backing out of the room. Then hustling down the stairs, rushing across the great hall, and then out through the large french doors which opened onto the terrace. Then, once on the edge of the garden, it was a race for life and limb!
Just a couple of days ago they were two bright eyed and bushy tailed young shoppers at a Victoria’s Secret sale. Now they were running to save what precious little was left of their minds. Terri and Ashley were not yet fully incorporated into the household and as such they still had a tiny piece of the old fight or flight self-preservation, but that would soon be overcome. The two fleeing maids were more like chickens running without their heads than actual people, with any objective or target in mind for their escape. ‘Escape’ as a concrete concept was probably beyond their understanding at this point in the process they were undergoing.
The long, lean, legs were slowing now. The aerial drone near the garden was activated and it dispersed a fine mist into the path of the fleeing maids. As they encounter the mild narcotic, the contact high helped to reconnect them to their programming, and back into household control.