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SOME CALL IT PLAY

By Charles E. Campbell

This story is dedicated to Master David, for His generosity, and to His slave girl diana, for her openness and candor in researching this saga. It was not written with the intent to portray them in any way, but there were a number of coincidental aspects of the story that turned out to have an uncanny similarity to what they share, both as a couple and as a Master and His slave. It was my intent, however, to attempt to describe the depth of their commitment to each other as they make their mutual journey. I am profoundly renewed by their relationship and all that it signifies. My gratitude to them both is heartfelt and sincere.

I had done her up pretty well. Naked. Wrist and ankle cuffs buckled securely. Her legs spread uncomfortably wide, locked to a three foot spreader bar. Her arms hoisted high over her head, held fast by a steel cable on an electric winch, pulling her into a tenuous position up on the balls of her feet. The cold concrete floor useless in relieving the building pressure in her shoulders. A symmetrical pattern of sixteen thick needles piercing her right breast. The outside of her left breast the current object of My attention. The slap of My hand, the short flogger, the crop, a wooden spoon, all seeking out the same target. What was once pale white, soon becomes pink, then deeper reds begin to appear, raised welts, and even hints of dark blues. She twists and dances, squirming to the staccato rhythms I perform. She sings out, accompanying Me. A duet? Or is it really a solo? Never does she try to duck or dodge, even though I have left her eyes uncovered. She sees/knows, accepts what is to come.

Respites are frequent. Soothing caresses. Kind encouraging words praising her efforts to please/serve Me. Water is proffered. Courteous, I ask if she will accept more. She acquiesces, knowing that each assault will be all that much harder, more severe, than the previous ones. She requests a gag, in order that her screams will not distract Me from My purpose, or even worse, cause Me to hold back. It is granted. It is, after all, her limits I seek to abolish. Her soft tender flesh bearing witness to her devotion.

It isn?t long before tears are freely flowing from her eyes. Her mascara is ruined, streaking down her cheeks, creating a macabre mask that does nothing to hide the expressions on her pain-filled face. Of course none of this brings even the slightest degree of leniency as the attack on that most obviously feminine part of her body continues, unabated. Her mind is wracked by the relentless stabbing pain. ?My poor breast,? she thinks to herself. That most feminine part of her, responsible for sustaining new life. The universal symbol of comfort, succor, giving, gentleness, now being reduced to a? battered and bruised swollen source of intense pain and suffering.

SOME CALL IT PLAY

By Charles E. Campbell

This story is dedicated to Master David, for His generosity, and to His slave girl diana, for her openness and candor in researching this saga. It was not written with the intent to portray them in any way, but there were a number of coincidental aspects of the story that turned out to have an uncanny similarity to what they share, both as a couple and as a Master and His slave. It was my intent, however, to attempt to describe the depth of their commitment to each other as they make their mutual journey. I am profoundly renewed by their relationship and all that it signifies. My gratitude to them both is heartfelt and sincere.

I had done her up pretty well. Naked. Wrist and ankle cuffs buckled securely. Her legs spread uncomfortably wide, locked to a three foot spreader bar. Her arms hoisted high over her head, held fast by a steel cable on an electric winch, pulling her into a tenuous position up on the balls of her feet. The cold concrete floor useless in relieving the building pressure in her shoulders. A symmetrical pattern of sixteen thick needles piercing her right breast. The outside of her left breast the current object of My attention. The slap of My hand, the short flogger, the crop, a wooden spoon, all seeking out the same target. What was once pale white, soon becomes pink, then deeper reds begin to appear, raised welts, and even hints of dark blues. She twists and dances, squirming to the staccato rhythms I perform. She sings out, accompanying Me. A duet? Or is it really a solo? Never does she try to duck or dodge, even though I have left her eyes uncovered. She sees/knows, accepts what is to come.

Respites are frequent. Soothing caresses. Kind encouraging words praising her efforts to please/serve Me. Water is proffered. Courteous, I ask if she will accept more. She acquiesces, knowing that each assault will be all that much harder, more severe, than the previous ones. She requests a gag, in order that her screams will not distract Me from My purpose, or even worse, cause Me to hold back. It is granted. It is, after all, her limits I seek to abolish. Her soft tender flesh bearing witness to her devotion.

It isn?t long before tears are freely flowing from her eyes. Her mascara is ruined, streaking down her cheeks, creating a macabre mask that does nothing to hide the expressions on her pain-filled face. Of course none of this brings even the slightest degree of leniency as the attack on that most obviously feminine part of her body continues, unabated. Her mind is wracked by the relentless stabbing pain. ?My poor breast,? she thinks to herself. That most feminine part of her, responsible for sustaining new life. The universal symbol of comfort, succor, giving, gentleness, now being reduced to a? battered and bruised swollen source of intense pain and suffering.

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Hannah caught Jade’s eyes and held them, then turned her gaze out over the river, both their bodies facing the edge of the bridge while people passed by behind them. Without a word, Hannah’s hand brushed against Jade’s thigh. Jade sighed involuntarily, sinking against her soft touch. Hannah leaned over, whispering in Jade’s ear “I need to touch your pussy now”. Jade caught her breath as Hannah’s hand traced slowly, further up her inner thigh. She looked around, people continued to walk...

At my friends playing playstation

My name is Chris, i'm 18. One day, I went over to my friend Alex's place, because his dad was out and he was feeling bored. Alex is a small guy with curly blond hair, and he loves to play playstation more than anything. So I knocked on the door and it was quickly answered by Alex. He was standing there in a plain white t-shirt and jeans. "Hey man", "hey Chris" he replied, "come" he beckoned for me to come inside with him, so we went inside and I stood in the middle of his living room while he...

Gaby Part 6 Cosplay

Copyright 2003 by Madeline Bell. No part of this work may be distributed as an original work by another person or group. Permission is given to redistribute this by electronic means, as long as the entirety of the work is distributed, and credit is given to the original author, me. Any resemblance between the writings in this work, and any actual persons or places, living or dead, are purely coincidental, except when used for satirical purposes. All rights...

Playing the GameChapter 26 The Playoffs

We entered the conference playoffs as the team favored to win. Our local paper was helping to fuel the interest by featuring pictures and biographies of each of the starters in the week prior to the first game of the playoffs. I got a lot of razzing at school the day after my picture and bio appeared. I was pretty uncomfortable with all this attention, but I was in the minority from my teammates. Most of the rest of the guys on the team were really enjoying their moment in the spotlight. We...

The Playmate

Hello Little Miss This is the second of my "Little Miss" stories. Poor old Nathan. Love, and stay safe KT Pel xxx The Playmate "But what on earth is it?" Nathan was positioned cross legged on the living rug, just as I had instructed. It was Christmas morning, though there was little spirit of the season in the air. "It's a doll," I replied coldly, as I warmed my hands on the mug of hot chocolate Nathan had made for me. "Yes, I can see that Tabitha. It's the same...

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