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Copyright ©2007 by Torquere Press

First published in www.torquerepress.com, 2007

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Table of Contents

Definition and Etymology

Mouthing Off, a Big Enough for Five vignette by Willa Okati

Shh by Megan Rose

Ballin’ the Jack by Kiernan Kelly

Contributors’ Bios

Definition and Etymology

Definition:A gag is a device designed to cover or be inserted into the mouth to prevent the wearer from

talking or crying out. In BDSM, gags have a very strong symbolic value. They prevent the submissive

from talking or communicating with the dominant in anything but the most basic way. This enhances the

loss of control that the sub experiences in a scene which in turn can magnify the D/S dynamic between

the players. The gag might also be an invasion of the sub's body which is another strong D/S signal. For

many fetishists, the Freudian symbolism is part of the bondage ritual—the mouth is very intimate space,

and controlling verbal control as well as the movements of the tongue and jaw can be very erotic for

some subs.

There are myriad other ways to silence someone—lingerie casually stuffed in the mouth, with care taken

that the fabric doesn't obstruct the airway; medical tape, applied in layers; cleave gags wound around the

submissive's head very tightly. Many BDSM practitioners, however, prefer the stringent look and feel of

leather mouth gags.

Source: Wipi: www.londonfetishscene.com/wipi/index.php/Gags

Etymology:c.1440, “to choke, strangle,” possibly imitative or influenced by O.N. gaghals “with head
thrown back.” The sense of “stop a person's mouth” is first attested 1509. The noun is 1553, from the

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verb.

Source: Online Etymology Dictionary: www.etymonline.com/index.php?term=gag

Mouthing Off

a “Big Enough for Five” vignette by Willa Okati

"...the whole mess, and I'm talking nine-car pile-up on the freeway, overflowing landfill kind of mess,

wouldn't have exploded in our faces if you'd kept your mouth shut."

Ryan stomps ahead of Baz, who trails behind, doing his best to play ‘penitent'. “All's I did was ask him if

he'd pose for a few stock photos. You know how folk like to see a good, hard body."

"Naked. You specified naked."

"Not entirely!” Baz protests. “I said he could have his naughty bits covered by a fig leaf or a Speedo or

a sock, his preference."

"And then you said you'd airbrush out the ‘fig leaf'. Ergo, we're back to naked."

"Naked's not such a bad place to be ... anyway, he'd no call to get so upset."

Ryan rounds on Baz and gives him the evilest eye he can muster. “Priest, Baz,” he enunciates slowly,

because this key fact has apparently zoomed right over this particular lover's head. “He was a priest. "

"How was I to know?"

"Golly, let me see. Cassock? Crucifix? Collar? These are pretty tell-tale signs, Baz."

Baz blinks, innocent as the driven yellow snow. “Thought he might have been in costume."

Ryan stares at Baz, raising his forefinger a few times, then shakes his head and continues down the steps

leading to their basement suite. ‘Theirs’ meaning the set of rooms they share with Marcus, Aiden, and

Nicholas.

Some people think five-way relationships are less relationship, more orgy. Some think the idea is insane.

Some think it's all proof that dreams can come true.

They're all more or less right.

That doesn't mean they don't have their squiffs. Everyone's got one or two habits that drives the rest of

them batshit insane. The particular quirk and its perpetrator right now are Baz and his utter, total inability

to know when to zip his lips.

Ryan shoves his key into the suite's lock and gives it a savage twist. Kicking the door open, he stomps in

and flings his keys at a side table. His aim's off, the keys clattering to the floor. Baz meekly picks the

offending objects up and places them where they belong, adding his own set, but Ryan's not about to let

a little bit of making nice get Baz off the hook.

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Despite their stormy entrance, neither Marcus nor Aiden nor Nicholas look up from what they're

doing—reading a newspaper, killing aliens on a handheld game system, and sorting through

approximately one million teeny tiny puzzle pieces.

This does not please Ryan. The situation warrants everyone's attention. And maybe some concern. He

wouldn't say no to sympathy, either. “For those of you just now joining our broadcast, Baz's landed us in

deep shit. Again. Details at eleven."

"We heard you coming down the stairs,” Nicholas murmurs, eyeing a fragment of puzzle that might or

might not be an end piece. “Really, Baz. A priest?"

"I thought you were going to see the wannabe model twins,” Aiden adds.

Marcus simply shakes his head and turns to the classified ads.

"We did see the twins. They're more than happy to pose for anything. Problem is, after they left the café

meeting spot, Baz here wanted another shot of espresso."

"Dear Lord. You let him consume caffeine?"

"Not really any wonder he went after a priest, then."

Marcus flips to the job listings.

"Not just caffeine, Ryan. Espresso? You might as well have injected him with PCP.” Nicholas drops the
puzzle piece and crosses his arms over his chest, clearly disapproving. “Why didn't you add chocolate to

the mix for good measure?"

"Oh, I had a lovely fudge brownie,” Baz chips in cheerfully. “Soft and chewy, none of your over baked

or dried-out stuff. Dark chocolate and cream cheese swirls. Gorgeous."

"How does he stay so skinny?” Aiden wants to know.

"It's all the sex.” Baz kicks off his shoes and wiggles his toes on their cool wood floor. “Right, so I

insulted a priest, whomightbetakingaction, ‘nuff said, and I'm off to the shower. Anyone care to join me?"

Aiden pales. “Jesus fuck, man, what did you say?"

"Taking action?” Nicholas pushes his glasses up his nose. “Baz, you bastard!"

Marcus winces and turns to the comics, which he stares at as gloomily as he would obituaries.

"Taking. Action.” Ryan's decided short, simple, pointed words are best suited to the situation. “Why?

Baz and the Mouth Heard Around The World. Gentlemen, I rest my case. Let the jury decide his

punishment."

Baz pauses in the middle of stripping off his shirt. “Eh? Punishment?” Startled blue eyes peek from under
his collar at Ryan, who crosses his arms and glares back, then at the other men for help. “Come on, lads.

It's not like I asked the priest for a quickie in the confessional or anything."

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"You would have, given time."

Baz's blush confirms the truth behind Ryan's accusation. “I'd have shared him roundabout,” he mutters,

pulling his shirt completely off. He starts popping open the buttons of his fly.

Nicholas pushes the glasses back down his nose to study Baz over their rims. “If I might ask, what are

you doing?"

"I'm buggered, aren't I?” Baz answers, resigned. “I figure I'm in for the worst from every man jack, so I

thought if I got naked you might be distracted until you let this little faux-pas pass."

It's not a bad strategy. Baz without clothes is generally enough to improve everyone's bad mood. As the

jeans come off, Baz kicking them into a corner, even Marcus pries himself away from the paper to cop

an eyeful. Ryan can feel his resolve weakening at the sight of attractively unclothed Baz-flesh.

This will Not Do.

Fortunately, despite Ryan's weakening willpower, they have a Marcus, and Marcus is not only head

honcho upstairs but de facto boss of the fivesome in their home. He doesn't say anything as he stands

and heads for a not-so-small chest in one corner of the room. It's where they keep their overflow sex

toys and those bought but not yet used.

Baz brightens a bit. He waggles his pelvis at Marcus. “Got something better in mind than scolding me?"

"You're mad,” Aiden protests. “Baz's mouth has dipped us all in the deep end of crap creek, and you've

a mind to play? Oh, wait.” He brightens. “Are you meaning for all of us to have a go and leave him out?"

Marcus doesn't answer. He kneels in front of the chest, levers its top open, and starts digging through

the assortment of plastic casings like a miner back in forty-niner. Ryan, at a decent angle to get a look in,

spies everything from oh-my-God sized dildos to an ostrich feather to padded leather cuffs to things he

can't identify but which probably feel really, really good.

Finally, Marcus locates what he's been looking for at the very bottom. He stands, dusting the cardboard

packaging off, and holds the toy up for everyone to see.

A ball gag. Really nice one, too, with a genuine leather strap and a sparkly red business end.

One by one, starting with Ryan, minus Baz, the men slowly develop evil grins. They glance at each other

and nod.

For his part, Baz pales and stumbles back. “You're not serious.” He looks at each man, pleading with

them. “Come on !” He looks and sounds for all the world like a man who's been ordered to the chopping

block, but Ryan can't help noticing the way Baz's cock is perking up.

Marcus holds out the ball gag and inclines his head. Green light! Baz howls as Nicholas, Aiden, and

Ryan abandon their stations for a three-way full-body tackle. He fights and kicks, but between the three

of them they manage to pin his arms and legs, and carry him into the bedroom. Tossing him onto the bed,

they keep a firm hold while Marcus approaches slowly and solemnly with gag in hand and a slightly

alarming glint in his eye.

"You bastards,” Baz breathes while his cock continues to rise. “You strap that thing on and once it's off

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I'll have all your nuts for lunch."

"Threat or promise?” Ryan asks, grabbing Baz by the ear and lifting his head. Nicholas helpfully holds

the noggin in question steady. “Bring it on, Marcus."

"Dead men, the lot of you, dead mmm mmph!"

Marcus moves damn quick when he wants to. The ball gag is strapped into place and the sparkly rubber

ball jammed between Baz's lips almost in the blink of an eye. Baz hisses, sizzles, and spits garbled curses

at Marcus, but that tell-tale wiener wags happy as a puppy dog's tail.

A sinister grin from Marcus is their next cue. While they aren't naked, which would have been a plus but

is, on the other hand, niftily kinky, Ryan and Nicholas and Aiden attack Baz as enthusiastically as

PFLAG members on rainbow buttons.

Nicholas takes the ticklish hot buttons on Baz's legs, tickling his fingers behind Baz's knees until he

hollers through the gag, then applying both mouth and tongue to the oddly-placed erogenous zone on

Baz's shins. Weird, yeah, but Baz has never been what you'd call “normal".

Standing at the foot of their bed, Marcus watches.

Aiden goes after Baz's nipples with the zeal of a Texas Titty Twister pro. Pinching and wrenching are

followed up by slick tongue tracing and carefully directed streams of cold air on the now-wet skin. He

goes the extra mile and takes one nub between his teeth, tugging up until the skin stretches and Baz

shrieks like a little girl.

Marcus watches.

Ryan's left with the middle ground, AKA “ground zero", and no good reason not to go for the gold. He

doesn't play around, sucking Baz's cock into his mouth and sliding down to the base. Not to forget Baz's

own set of balls, he's extra-special careful to cup the heavy sac and squeeze. Baz's eyes roll back in his

head and this time the garbled sound he makes is a deep, heartfelt moan. His cock releases a trickle of

salty pre-come which Ryan is happy to draw back and catch, rolling the fluid around without releasing his

mouthful of dick.

Baz whines, pumping his hips against Ryan's face, writhing back and forth under Aiden's ministrations,

and thrashing his legs fit to buck Nicholas off. He rattles off more incomprehensible threats, now mixed

with what sound like pleas for more.

Ryan pauses as he torments the head of Baz's cock by probing the come-slit with the tip of his tongue.

There's always a moment, in a fivesome, where the decision has to be made: who's fucking, and who's

getting fucked? He's pretty sure Baz'll be the one taking a good eight inches up the ass, but who gets to

do the honors?

Marcus watches. He smiles ever so slightly. And he undoes the buckle of his belt. With a mere twitch of

his fingers, he gives a signal for Ryan and Nicholas and Aiden to flip Baz over on his stomach. Baz's eyes

go wide as saucers as they all draw off, albeit regretfully, and turn him like a pancake—done on one side,

ready to cook on the other.

Baz's doubly muffled now between the gag and a pillow, but while he may be down, he's not out. The
man turns into a bucking bronco, heaving and tossing almost ferociously enough to get free of the three

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other men in play.

As if he's really mad,Ryan thinks. Baz gets off on this kind of stuff and everyone knows that for a fact.

Proof positive: Baz raises his ass and flexes the muscles in his ass cheeks. Ryan smacks one of those

well-shaped glutes, drawing a yelp. Nicholas and Aiden pop Baz a few good whacks of their own,

warming his butt a nice shade of pink. By the time they're done playing pin the slap on the tuchus, Baz is

dry-fucking the mattress and whining in an attempt to sound pitiful, a pretty bad attempt, coming out

more like a demand that they do it again.

Ryan looks to Marcus for direction. Marcus nods slightly toward their bedside table where they keep
the really high-quality lubricant Nicholas found for an ungodly price on a cottage industry sex toy shop

online. Goes on smooth as butter, slick as Crisco, clear as water and smells of cinnamon.

Saluting, Ryan rummages through the drawer and comes out with their Grade-A quality sex aid. A quick

wave of the bottle, quirkily shaped like a dolphin—cottage industries, what are you gonna do?—at

Nicholas and Aiden, and they clue right in. Nicholas flings himself across Baz's legs, Aiden pins Baz's

shoulders, and Ryan gets to work. Parting the cheeks of Baz's ass with both hands, he uncorks the bottle

of lube with his teeth, spits it to one side, and happily pours an obscene amount of slick on Baz's hole.

Baz hollers Holy Hallelujah. His emphatic snarl can, Ryan decides, probably be interpreted as “You

fucker, that's cold !"

Baz looks so tempting, all wet and trembling, that Ryan can't resist a taste. He changes position for

optimum angle and dives for treasure. When his tongue touches Baz's pucker, the howl Baz lets rip with

could probably shatter glass. As Ryan rims away, thrusting his tongue past the ring of muscle to the

earthy-tasting inside beyond the lube, Baz mewls and whimpers and curses. He doesn't use his fingers

because he knows that's exactly what Baz wants, what he likes, and the whole point of this is punishment,

right? Or at least it was. He's not too sure now.

Either way, good fun for the whole polyamorous family.

A hand on his shoulder brings Ryan to a halt. He looks up to see Marcus standing behind him, black

shirt unbuttoned and charcoal jeans undone, pushed just far enough down to attractively frame his cock,

crimson and wet. Ryan takes the initiative and douses said cock with slick from their dolphin bottle.

Time for the main event.

Although they were having fun, Ryan and his fellow men make way for their leader. Baz, still playing

Help Me I'm Being Ravished, the big faker, tries to make a faux break for freedom.

Too slow, grasshopper, too slow. Marcus uses his freaky sex-propelled powers of speed, vanishing

from on the ground, into the air, and landing spread-eagled on Baz in impressive and record time. He

raises up, plants one massive palm between Baz's shoulder blades, and presses him flat.

Baz shivers and goes still. Loving it. Loving it.

Marcus cocks an eyebrow at Ryan. Ryan does some quick guesswork and shakes his head. All he'd

done was eat Baz's ass, not stretch him out.

Marcus grins.

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Hand still firmly anchored on Baz's back, Marcus uses his other arm to shove Baz around into the right

position. Nicholas helpfully shoves one of the pillows under Baz's pelvis, raising him a few inches. Aiden

adjusts Baz's head to make absolutely sure he can breathe easily—which he's doing in sharp, quick

bursts. Ryan whaps Baz's ass one more time because hey, it's fun.

All systems go.

Marcus pushes his cock through Baz's clenched butt cheeks and just keeps on going. If Baz's look of

mind-numbing shock is any kind of indication, he's just been spitted like a pig and now he's about to start

squealing like one.

Lovingit.

The only sounds that escape Baz are deep, guttural groans as Marcus pounds his hole without mercy.

The sight of the big man's cock disappearing and reappearing, slick with cinnamon-scented oil, rivets

almost all of Ryan's attention. The rest of him is focused on the way Baz has started humping the pillow

beneath him, bumping and grinding in search of friction.

Marcus lets him get away with it. Ryan's not going to say Marcus doesn't notice, because he's pretty

damn sure Marcus isn't missing a thing. Even in the middle of this kinky fuck, his face is set in hard lines

and his eyes dark but sharply clear.

Ryan feels the shock waves when Marcus comes, the weight of his body shaking the bed while he jerks,

snaps his hips, and shoots. Baz howls, fingernails scrabbling against the sheets, bucking back into

Marcus's groin for more, more, more.

Done, and only a smidge shaky from the exertion and climax, Marcus withdraws his gleaming cock and

flips Baz back over himself. He pushes Nicholas, Aiden, and Ryan away and rivets his gaze on Baz.

Baz manages to glare once before mashing his head deep in the pillow and grabbing his own cock,

jacking for all he's worth. It's like watching someone add air to a balloon and waiting for the thing to pop.

No one can look away from Baz's hand flashing up and down, whacking off with evangelical zeal. His

back arches and he bellows when he comes with a shower of projectile jizz that, damn him, splatters

everyone with the creamy goo.

Panting, he lowers himself back onto the bed and gives them all a dose of an evil glare that promises dire

vengeance.

Marcus speaks for the first time. “Have we learned our lesson?"

Baz snarls fiercely, then sighs, rolls his eyes, and nods. He raises one come-sticky hand to trace a cross

over his heart and the other to tug his gag off. But before he can speak, Marcus puts a finger over his
lips. “We're not done yet. If you'll take a look around, you'll notice that while I crossed the finish line,

Ryan and Nicholas and Aiden are primed for ready, set, go."

Ryan flicks a glance at Nicholas and Aiden to see that, yep, they're both sporting boners to equal his

own. Funny how his hard-on hadn't registered—probably too caught up in the live-action sex show—but

now that he's aware of the swing in his schwing, he's thinking he likes the sound of Marcus's speech.

"If you say a single word before we're all done, you'll wear that gag for a full day. And you are never,

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ever to say a single word to a priest again except ‘Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned'. Are we clear?"

Baz bites Marcus's finger. His eyes sparkle as he parts those ever-moving lips and says, ever so sweetly:

“Crystal."

Shhh

By Megan Rose

Julia's Story

I relax on the bed and begin to breathe deeply. The breeze from the open window skitters across my

naked breasts, causing my nipples to harden almost instantly. Not that I wasn't already aroused. These

Friday evenings with my beautiful woman of mystery are fast becoming addictive. The anticipation that I

feel in my mind is nothing compared to the urgency that dwells within my body. I constantly spend the

whole of the week looking forward to these evenings. By the time Friday night comes, my body is a wet,

pulsing core, ready to accept whatever my lover demands of me. These evenings are the one thing in my

life that are solely mine. No one else knows about these assignations, no one else can touch them or taint

them. They are mine. Hers and mine. For me they are the ultimate pleasure. The one indulgence to

myself.

It all began five months ago, when I agreed to meet the woman on the other end of the overtly sexual

emails, which I had been writing for several weeks. We'd met through a chat room on the internet, a risky

business, I know, but it had paid off. I've been burnt before. There was just no way that I was ever going

to entertain the thought of a real relationship again. The internet afforded me anonymity. It provided a

screen to hide behind, a barrier against the real world, if you like.

Like me, the woman that I corresponded with wanted a no strings affair. A pleasant way to pass the

time, she called it. Her life was too demanding to be bogged down with relationships, but she told me that

she would happily correspond with “Foxy", my internet name. On a very sexual level, of course. Yes, I

do realize the name sounded a little ridiculous for a woman in her thirties, but hey, I was trying to sell

myself, so to speak. On a good day, I have to admit that I do feel like “Foxy". She has become my

friend, my alter ego. She is the sexy other self that I never knew existed. Since these Friday night

meetings began, she has become more and more a part of my life. “Foxy” has given me the confidence

that I thought I would never regain. She has made me strong.

Initially I chose the name in order to protect my identity. A friend had warned me about picking up

partners on the internet. I knew I was taking a risk. But what greater risk was there than losing one's

heart? That had already happened to me. I brought “Foxy” out in order to protect myself. In order to

protect my heart. Some people might say that “Foxy” is cruel. I have to defend her. She is protective of

Julia. She wants what is best for Julia. Julia has been deceived once before and it almost ... almost

destroyed her. With “Foxy” by her side, she is now a force to be reckoned with. She'll show you a damn

good time, but she wont cook you breakfast. She'll look dirty, play dirty and keep you high all night. But

she won't make demands on your time, or your soul. She expects the same from a lover. With this in

mind, I had gone one step further when agreeing to finally meet my potential lover for the first time. There

would be no verbal communication between the two of us. None what so ever.

In order to ensure that this was so, on our first physical meeting, I tied a pale blue silk scarf around the

mouth of my lover. I knew that my own resolve would be strong. But there was no way that I could risk

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the possibility of my lover speaking. I wanted no part of the week when we weren't together. I didn't

want to hear if she had managed to fit in the grocery shopping before coming to meet me. I shut both my

ears and my mind to the possibility that my lover could be a happily married woman. You see, I had been

there before. And the damage was possibly too great to ever repair. Deceit can be a killer in a

relationship, when one partner refuses to admit their true sexuality. When one partner would rather keep

the other at the back of her heart and the back of her mind, simply because it doesn't suit her suburban

lifestyle.

I'm seeking an uncomplicated life now. A life that will keep both my work and my personal life in two

very separate compartments. After all, what I don't know won't hurt me. By the time we were ready to

meet, I knew nothing about my companion, other than her name of “Sprite” and the fact that she could

get me off quicker than any woman I had ever known before. At first, I worried that it was just a mental

thing. Had I perhaps fallen for the image that I had created in my mind? I worried in case “Sprite” had

lied about her appearance. It was all well and good having sex with someone on the other end of an

instant messaging system, but what happened in the real world? What happened when you finally had to,

needed to, see the woman in reality? I had been very pleasantly surprised.

And now, here I am, five months later, waiting in our regular room at the motel. I arrived here earlier

than usual tonight taking the time to bathe in the ensuite bathroom. The sweet scent of the Jasmine bubble

bath and body lotion that I used still hangs in the air around me. I turn my head to look at the box beside

me and smile. To those who see the box from the outside, it is simply an old-fashioned hatbox. A

remnant of my childhood. For me, it holds the key to my security. It holds the methods of control that

give me the power to walk away from my “Sprite” each Friday evening and look forward to seeing her

the next. I slowly lift the lid and peruse the contents. Each gag holds a memory. The red satin ribbon
reminds me of the night we bathed together and I sipped champagne from her delicious breasts. The

horse bit reminds me of the night I spanked her pert little ass, as she lay across my knees. But as I go to

touch the blue silk scarf, I can only recall the true, true pleasure that one experiences when you make

love to someone new for the very first time.

I had stipulated in our emails that we would only ever exchange sexual banter in the instant messages.

But even this would be forbidden when we were together. I couldn't bear the thought of her voice

haunting my dreams each night that we were apart. I wanted one thing from her and one thing only.

Conversation was forbidden. She knew my somewhat strange stipulations and yet still she came to meet

me.

I had arrived at the motel room first and had taken the liberty of bringing some Californian wine with me.

God knew I was nervous enough about meeting her. If she came and then fled, at least I would be able

to drink myself into a stupor and try to forget about the whole situation. I remember hearing her soft,

tentative knock at the door as I poured the wine, and my hand began to tremble as I placed the bottle

down on the dresser. I was still fully dressed, not wanting to seem too eager, despite the sexy negligee

that I had packed into my bag. As I opened the door to her, I felt as though my heartbeat could be heard

for miles around. It was almost thundering in my ears and pounding out of my chest. She simply stood

there and smiled. I began to tremble inside at the thought of rejection. She was beautiful.

Her business attire told me she'd come directly from work. The calf-length skirt and discreet heels,

accentuated her shapely legs. The silk shirt was open slightly, revealing a long neck and seductive

décolletage. The loose bun of black hair at the nape of her neck had my fingers itching to release it and

run my fingers freely through the thick mane of hair. She was so exquisite. And she had come here for

me.

I stood aside and she came into the room, bringing with her the scent of the fresh outdoor breeze and a

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sweet floral perfume. Even to this day, I don't know what it's called. I could have written down the

question, asking her the name, but that would have been far too intimate an act. No doubt I would have

tortured myself by purchasing the sweet, delicious aroma and spraying it on myself, or even worse, on my

bed linen. How I would have craved her each night, driving myself to distraction. But that could not ever

happen. This relationship was all about control. My control. Not over her, but over myself. Over my

heart. She turned to me, her deep blue eyes fringed by thick black lashes and in that instant I knew that

despite my restrictions my life would never be the same again.

Walking over to the dresser, I handed her a glass of the wine. She sipped at it delicately and as she did

so, she slipped off her heels, beginning to relax. She placed the glass down and looked intently at me as

she did so. I knew the weight of her actions. It was time to begin. Her lips parted slightly and I held my

finger to my own mouth. “Shhh,” I instructed. Reaching for the scarf on the bed, I knew exactly what I

wanted to do before placing the impromptu gag around her luscious mouth. Inhaling her scent, I leaned in

closer to her and touched her lips softly with my own. Her moist flesh was warm and tinged with the

sweetness of the wine. One simple touch was not nearly enough.

I was surprised to see my own urgency mirrored by my lover. She kissed hungrily and thoroughly,

leaving me with no doubt at all that she wanted me just as much as I wanted her. The kiss deepened and

I revelled in the delight that her mouth afforded: moist, rich lips, a velvety tongue and a taste so sensual it

should have been bottled. She was everything that I desired. Everything and the promise of so much

more.

Reluctantly I pulled away, knowing that it would only be a matter of time before one of us broke the

rules. And despite the old adage, I firmly believed that the rules were meant to be followed. Taking the

scarf, I held it up to her mouth. She parted her lips and bit down on the pale fabric as it settled against the

red sheen of her lips. I was mesmerized. Tying the scarf firmly at the back of her head, I marvelled at her

obedience. What kind of woman would place such trust in me? Looking at me directly, she held her chin

up firmly, but not defiantly. She wanted me, but wanted me to take charge. I felt the thrill of power

course through my veins.

Yes, I admitted to myself, I wanted to dominate her, to show her that I was the one in control. But I also

wanted her to see that I had the power to make her do anything. To make her obey me and my silent

commands. My hands moved deftly to the buttons on my blouse and I noted with pride how her eyes

widened. I nodded toward her, indicating that she follow suit. She obeyed me perfectly. With each

button that I undid, she did likewise, until there we stood, our blouses undone; a gift waiting to be

unwrapped. I shrugged out of my top and carelessly threw it onto the floor, my eyes never leaving hers.

She smiled at my semi-naked form and then she too removed her covering. Her skin bore the soft glow

of a woman who takes pride in her appearance. She wasn't overly tanned, but neither was she pale. Her

breasts were small and high but looked so amazingly firm, that I had to reach out and touch her through

the delicate lace of her bra. Her dark pink nipples were just too tempting to resist. She responded

instantly to my eager fingers. I could feel that surge of total control overwhelm my being again. I realized

then, that I had the power to give and take away the pleasure that she sought. I had total control and

knowing that fact felt so damn good. There she stood, clearly enjoying the feel of my hands against her

nipples, but unable to tell me so. I prided myself on how the gag prevented any discourse from her. There

would be plenty of time to discover ways of communicating. But speaking would never be one of them.

I dipped my head and began to suck on her left nipple, while still teasing the other with my hand. She let

her head drift to one side, seeming absorbed in my touch. I closed my eyes, concentrating all my emotion

into my working tongue and fingers. Each flick and lick was to tell her how I wished to worship her. Each

tiny pinch was a substitute word, to let her know how much pleasure I was already finding in her

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exquisite perfection.

I smiled inwardly as my sweet Sprite began to reciprocate my desire. With her own mouth bound, she

was only able to use her hands. But dear God, what sweet and gentle perfection was to found in her

teasing fingers. Just the simple act of touching my shoulders had me aroused. I lifted my head and saw the

darkness of desire and want flood her eyes. She opened the front clasp of my bra and I inhaled sharply

as my breasts became exposed to her gaze. It had been too long since another woman had looked at me

like that. I felt my knees tremble at the thought that soon we would be consummating this silent

relationship. Already I felt myself falling inexplicably in lust with her.

Though I had enjoyed her undoing my bra, I had to remind myself that I was the one in control. I had to

have the power, the choice. I reached for the waistband on my skirt and pulled the clasp apart, letting the

fabric slither down my stockings and fall at my feet. I stepped out of the skirt and kicked off my shoes,

hoping, no, praying that she liked what she saw. Again, I saw the defiant lift of her chin. It told me that

though she was gagged and seemingly submissive, she was still, very much her own woman. As she

reached behind her back to unzip her own skirt, I felt the wetness pool between my thighs. The image

that she presented, a helpless and yet sexually strong woman, was an arousing juxtaposition.

With a swift whisper, her own garment fell to the floor and I felt humbled by the beauty that stood before

me. The nude colored bra and panties carried just the correct amount of sexy demureness that I required

of her. They were the perfect foil to my own black briefs and stockings. I felt her gaze roam lazily over

my body before she came and knelt at my feet. It was the perfect show of obedience. I was fascinated

that she could read me so well; already she seemed to be anticipating my needs, even before I had.

Again, I felt myself begin to tremble as she teased the silken stockings away from my thighs and down my

calves. She eased each stocking slowly over my feet, until I remained standing in only my panties.

We may indeed have been relative strangers, but already I felt so close to the edge with this woman.

Was it because of our previous cyber sex that she could read me so well? Was it because I could still

recall all those words she had written in previous chats? I remembered her telling me about teasing my

pussy with her mouth, working me until I thought I would die. Was she remembering it, too? I reached

down to her head and pulled the clip from her hair, allowing the rich blackness of it to run over her

shoulders and spill down her breasts. She pulled my panties down to my feet and pressed her face,

feather light against me. Her hand reached my clit and pinched playfully at me. She knew how ready I

was. She slowly pushed one finger and then another into my wetness. I spread my legs wider, allowing

her greater access. I needed everything that she had to offer tonight. Everything. But still, I mentally

refused to allow myself to remove the gag. Her fingers and her fingers alone would have to bring me the

release that I craved.

Bending my knees, I let myself grip her delicate shoulders as she worked those nimble fingers in and then

out of my eager body. Her thumb was busily taking care of my clit, making me dizzy from the sweet

sensations that she was conjuring.

I had never known such passion, such willingness to serve and give me all that I required. I prayed that

tonight would not be our only meeting. There were so many things that I was suddenly desperate to

experience with this woman. With her and her alone. I already felt addicted to her. Biting hard on my

bottom lip, I gasped at the delirium that she seemed to be building deep within my core, as she worked

those fingers in and out of me.

Deeper and faster she pumped. I teased my own nipples, rubbing my hands swiftly in circular motions

across them. Within seconds, they were hard as stones and responding to my touch. Stronger and

stronger I felt the rush of ecstasy overwhelm me, until I stood there quivering at the strength of my

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orgasm. Sprite kept pumping and pumping until I could take no more and moved away from her. As I

stood there gasping for breath, she knelt before me, her mouth still bound, her head bowed before me as

if I were her Goddess. I don't think I ever felt so cherished in all my life.

I return the scarf to its box with fond memories of our first night together and take out the gag that I

purchased for tonight. My fingers caress the soft black leather and shiny buckles. The ball at the front is

soft and small enough to fit into Sprite's mouth. It is the ultimate device of control and power for me.

Tonight I want to bring her to the brink, again and again. But with this little baby in use, she'll never be

able to utter a sound. I will have total control. My very being depends upon it.

As I return the gag to its box, I hear her knock at the door and despite my nakedness, I rush to answer.

When I open the door, she stands there before me, more fragile looking than I've ever seen her before.

The vivid blue of her eyes is brighter and more intense than usual, the sheen of her loose hair is almost jet

black. Her sweet perfume is subtle, yet above it, I can still detect her own delicious aroma. She steps

quickly into the room and my anticipation is rewarded. As she slips fluidly from her summer coat, my

gaze is drawn quickly to her sheer perfection, encased in a deep blue, velvet corset and black stockings.

Her garter belt is decorated with minute blue-black ribbons, which match the front details on her corset. I

don't think I have ever seen her look more beautiful.

Returning to the box, I bring out the new gag that I purchased for her. She nods and bends her head. I

slowly begin to attach the straps and fasten the buckles, ensuring that the ball is placed securely in her

mouth. I smile as her full lips surround it. She is the very essence of a subservient lover. She is all that a

submissive should be. She is mine.

Leading her by the hand, I take her to the bed. Our bed. It is always my sweet Sprite who pleasures me

first, but tonight is different. I still demand the vow of silence from her. But tonight I shall bring her

pleasure first. I shall give, rather than take. She lies serenely upon the covers and the gentle breeze blows

softly against her hair. Kneeling between her legs, I remove her panties and reveal her beautifully trimmed

pussy to my greedy eyes. Her scent, her image is so intoxicating, that I can hardly breathe. For me she is

everything that a woman should be. She is beauty and she is strength. She is all that I could desire. It's my

turn to bow to her, to worship her and to delight her in ways that we have not yet explored. Though she

wears the gag tonight and I once again prevent her from speaking my name, it is I who will bow down

and worship. It is I, who shall adore and love, yes love this beautiful woman before me.

I begin to gently lap at her already pulsing sex. She tastes sweeter than any nectar and smells richer than
any flower. The experience is delightful. My hands find her sexy little ass, so firm and taut. Gently I begin

to knead away at her ass cheeks as my mouth finds her clit and I begin to suck it hungrily. She starts to
writhe under my touch and I begin to feel my own excitement wet my thighs. As I hold her clit between

my teeth and tongue, rubbing it rhythmically, she bucks excitedly beneath me and I can't help but part her

ass cheeks and place my finger deep within her. I can tell that she's biting down hard on the ball in her

mouth, that the straps are restricting her and holding her in check and it fuels my excitement even more. I

push my finger deeper into her ass, as I nibble harder upon her swollen clit. I never knew that loving her

could be so sweet ... I never knew.

I continue to thrust my finger and suck her harder, and she writhes in a tormented state of ecstasy

beneath me, before finally giving herself up to the release of her orgasm. Never has she come so

beautifully or so exquisitely for me. My Sprite is perfection indeed. She is a mystery, an enigma, a

wondrous creature who allows me to share her body on these sweet, sweet evenings. I never felt so

contented before. I go to her and hold her within my arms and for a long while, we share the silence of

the experience. I can think of nothing but the sheer perfection that she brings to my life each week.

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We must have fallen asleep, as I open my eyes to find her at the foot of the bed. She is wearing her coat

and shoes. The gag is still tied about her face. I move to untie it and look questioningly at her. There is a

tear shimmering in those deep blue eyes of hers. An unshed tear that brings a feeling like cold steel to my

heart. It suddenly feels like the end. The end of the most beautiful experience of my adult life. She holds

my face within her hands and kisses my forehead. I know that it is a farewell kiss. But my own rules have

imprisoned me from questioning her. I am trapped by the restrictions that I have imposed. I am

powerless to stop her from leaving.

She turns away from me and walks toward the door. With one last surge of breath, I find myself

breaking the most scared of all my self-imposed rules. “My name is Julia,” I tell her. “And I love you".

She continues toward the door.

Sarah's Story

My mother takes great pleasure in telling me how many grandchildren my sisters have provided her with.

My father takes pleasure in telling me that I'm a lone woman in a man's world. I take pleasure in telling

them both that despite the apparent handicaps of being a lesbian and a businesswoman, I earn more

money now than any of my fertile sisters and successful brothers-in-law. Having your own business can

do that for a girl. It can also isolate you; leave you absent from many family gatherings and without a

significant other on more nights than I care to remember. That's why I went to the chat room. I guess that

I was just looking for some company, nothing serious, perhaps a little flirtation, but nothing heavy. How

wrong can you be?

Foxy arrived a few months after I did. I could tell from the way she messaged, that she had been burnt

before. She never told me so, but she always seemed to hold a part of herself back from things. It wasn't

long before we were instant messaging each other and much to my joy, I was getting her off over the

internet. I guess that I've always had a way with words. Which is pretty ironic really. But we'll get to that

later. I couldn't afford a serious relationship. Not now, possibly never. Foxy was offering me a chance to

share one night a week and my body. Nothing more, nothing less. She wanted no conversation, no life

history. It took me two minutes to agree to meet her.

And now, here I am, five months later, standing in the hallway of the motel where we regularly meet. It's

become our place. It's not cheap, but it's not pricey either. But it's the closest thing that we have to a

home together. What goes on here each Friday evening is our business and no one else's. These nights

are the one time in my life when I can get away from being “the boss". In fact, being with Foxy gives me

the opportunity to be the exact opposite.

I wanted tonight to be special. Special for both of us. In fact, I even went out and purchased a very sexy

corset. When I stood in the dressing room at the boutique, I couldn't believe it was me in the mirror. In

the five months that I had been meeting Foxy, I knew that emotionally I had changed, but I hadn't

realized that physically I had changed, too. My reflection looked sexy, confident and dare I say it ...

beautiful. She had transformed me. She had given me so much more than any woman ever had or ever

could. For that, I would always be grateful.

I knock tentatively at the door to our room and she comes to greet me, naked and ready. The delicious

scent of Jasmine carries around the room and I can't help but think that it will always hold bittersweet

memories for me from now on. My restlessness has been burning away at me for six days. Now that I've

seen her, I don't think I can wait much longer to enjoy her delectable body. Within moments, I have

removed my coat and am ready for whatever my mistress desires. She goes to the box and brings me a

new gag, shiny and black, with a ball to smother my cries of delight. Her green eyes are shining with

pleasure already. My pleasure is her pleasure. I am ready to do her bidding.

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She places the ball in my mouth and fastens the soft leather straps against my face. They feel tight, but

are not restrictive. She wants me to know my place, not to cause me pain. I am more than a little

surprised when she takes me to the bed and I find myself lying down and awaiting her attention. Usually I

satisfy her needs first. It seems that we both want this particular evening to be memorable. Slowly she

eases my panties down my legs and I feel the first tremor of my excitement.

As she places her head between my thighs, the only things I am aware of are her tongue and the gentle

evening breeze that is carried through the window. As the wind glides across my corseted body, her

tongue glides swiftly and expertly against my clit, causing it to swell and harden. She begins to

rhythmically massage my ass cheeks, her hands working in complete harmony with her tongue. In and

out, she pushes her tongue until I begin to move to the rhythm of her mouth. She nibbles at me and places
her finger deep with my ass. God, it feels so good to have a part of her body buried deep within my own.

I move to accommodate more of her finger and thrust my pussy into her face. Unable to communicate

with speech, I must communicate my wishes to her with my body. I must silently instruct her to bring me

the release that I crave.

This is the way it has always been between us two. From our first encounter over the internet, to the first

time she bound my mouth. I knew that she was the one who needed to be in control. She needed to feel

that she held the reins. For me, it was a refreshing change to hand over the power. After spending all day

with the weight of the business on my shoulders, I was only too glad to give up the dominant position. But

it wasn't until she tied that silk scarf around my mouth that I realized just how grateful I was. Foxy, with

her sleek auburn bob and emerald green eyes, is the perfect mistress. She keeps her distance and yet

gives so much. She is a never-ending contradiction, who keeps my mind and my body in an almost

constant state of arousal.

As each thrust of her finger brings me closer and closer to the edge, I can only think of the pure joy that

this woman has brought me. And as my orgasm builds deep within me, before exploding from my body, I

can remember with love and delight all that we have shared together. After my release has ended, she

holds me and soon she falls asleep within our embrace. But tonight, I can't stay. I can't even close my

eyes. I know I have to leave my Foxy. Some things are just too painful to endure any longer.

As she sleeps, I slip quietly from our bed and begin to dress. I leave the gag in place, knowing that it is
not my place to remove it. She is my mistress and she has the control. She will always have the control.

Slowly she awakens and I fight to keep the tears from my eyes. Without words she knows what is about

to happen and yet still she does not speak. As she removes the gag, I bend to kiss her. Our last kiss will

be the sweetest. Turning, I head for the door, leaving behind my beautiful girl.

My hand reaches for the handle but I take courage. I promised myself that I would give her the letter.

She has to know the truth. She has to know, that although the outward rules were never broken, I failed

her never the less. Placing my hand in my purse, I take out the letter that I had composed the previous

evening. To all intents and purposes, I'm giving her my heart and soul. But I must take courage. I will take

courage. I return to the edge of the bed and hand her the letter. Her face holds a bewilderment that I had

not seen before. And then I realize why. She is speaking to me. I indicate toward the letter as my reply

and she opens it before me. I see the realization of our situation slowly dawn upon her face as she reads

my letter and I'm helpless to stop the tears from falling.

She looks up at me from the bed, her naked beauty revealed to me in more ways than one. Looking

deeply into my eyes she speaks slowly and clearly. “I love you,” she says.

As the tears fall, I drop my purse and move my hands slowly, “I love you, too,” I sign to her.

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Ballin’ the Jack

by Kiernan Kelly

It was Jack's favorite time of the day—early afternoon, when several hours stretched lazily ahead of him

before the evening rush with nothing to fill them but daydreams. The bell over the door was silent, the

register hadn't started clanking and clattering and spitting up receipts, and the soothing quiet in the store

was like a warm, fuzzy blanket.

Damn, but his dogs hurt. He'd be restocking shelves since eight that morning, and his new shoes

pinched. Removing his shoes and socks, he wiggled each toe in relief. Sighing, Jack leaned back in his

chair and put his bare feet up on the counter, folding his arms behind his head.

Such was life for Jack McGill, proprietor of The Sensuous Shopper, the one and only erotic supply

house in town—not that the lack of competition was surprising. The town wasn't much more than a

flyspeck on the map, located in the middle of God's hairy ass, with a population of less than what a

good-sized stadium would hold. What was surprising was the fact that from the day he'd bought the store

a year ago, business had been booming.

He didn't even really understand why he'd bought it in the first place. If he thought about it—which Jack

tried not to do, since it gave him a bastard of a headache—purchasing an erotic supply store smack dab

in the middle of nowhere should not have struck him as a sound financial investment. But when Bill Miller,

the balding investment broker Jack had recently met in a club, had shown him the sales the shop had

generated over the previous six months, he couldn't resist.

"Now, Jack,” Bill had said, stabbing at the figures on the paper that lay between them on the

table, “you need to move on this quick. It's not going to last on the market. Once it gets into the

Realtor database, it's going to be gone."

He hadn't had much time to think about it, barely forty-eight hours. Bill had said that the owners were

anxious to sell, some problem with immigration or some such, and that time was of the essence. Jack had

written out a deposit check that very afternoon.

As it turned out, it had been a very healthy move for Jack's portfolio.

One wouldn't think that there were so very many horny people in and around the tiny backwater hamlet

of Weesaw, Florida, but his sales receipts told a different story. Maybe, as Jack had often theorized over

the past year, it was something in the water.

Every Monday through Saturday, nine a.m. to eight p.m., Jack sat behind his counter and sold condoms,
sensual oils, dvds, corsets, g-strings, whips, dildos, edible panties, anal plugs, and a plethora of other aids

and devices to blue-haired old ladies, frog-voiced old men, housewives, mechanics, farmers, bankers,

police officers, postal workers, and sales clerks. His customers were ordinary, everyday, average

people, some as bold as you please, some blushing and not making eye contact, but all buying.

Why, just last week he'd sold an oversized jelly dildo aptly named “Fat Boy,” to the reverend of the

First Baptist Church.

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Jack had noticed during the next Sunday's services that the good reverend was walking with a bit of

hitch in his get-along. Perhaps he should have talked Reverend Jenkins into purchasing something a bit

less ... stout.

Then there was Mary Wilts, the librarian of the tiny Weesaw Public Library, who was single, lived with

her mother, and had purchased so many boxes of condoms that Jack figured she was either a

nymphomaniac, or was using them to build a latex hot air balloon.

Frank Wilcox, full-time Sheriff and co-owner of Frank and Bill's Bait and Tackle Shop, had custom

ordered a corset for his wife, Esther. Of course, he'd ordered it in a size 44, while Esther wore a size six,

but who was Jack to question his customer's needs? Jack supposed the corset went with the size XXXL

pink lace thong and size fourteen black stiletto heels Frank had picked up last week.

Macy Lees, choir mistress at First Baptist and owner of the Cut ‘n’ Curl on Main Street had bought a

life-sized, anatomically correct man doll, complete with a fully functional penis and a tongue that vibrated

with three different speeds.

As Jack recalled, she'd named him Moses .

Pheromones, Jack decided, must saturate Weesaw to its very foundations, from one end of Main Street

to the other. But for all the money spent in Jack's store, for all the squeaking mattresses and hoarse cries

of ecstasy that floated from open windows all over town round the clock, Jack McGill himself had a

painful, never-ending case of blue balls.

And he couldn't, for the life of him, figure out why.

It wasn't for lack of trying. He'd put himself on the market as soon as he'd moved into town, letting it be

known through casual conversation that he was single, looking, and not particularly fussy. But it seemed

that as eager as the townsfolk were to purchase his wares, none were the least bit interested in using

them on him .

Jack had always considered himself bi-curious, ready, willing and able to explore relationships with

anyone who could claim two things: that they were over twenty-one, and that they were human. Lately,

things had been getting so bad that he'd conceded that the last part might be negotiable. Hell, at this point

the pockets in the billiard table in the Dew Drop Inn were beginning to look damn attractive.

He knew he wasn't superstar material. Jack had never claimed to be handsome, knew that his body

wasn't anything to write home about. No six-pack, no bulging biceps, or rock-hard thighs. He'd never

grace the cover of a romance novel, he'd never be a centerfold, never have his own month in a beefcake

calendar.

But he wasn't exactly roadkill, either.

At five foot nine, Jack was of average height and weight. He still had all of his hair, mousy brown though

it was, and all of his teeth. Jack's skin was clear, no pimples or extra facial features sprouting anywhere.

He made a habit of showering regularly, using deodorant, and scraping his tongue after brushing and

flossing.

He just couldn't understand it.

Marvin Sweetwater, the janitor for the municipal building, was almost wider than he was tall, had a mole

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on his cheek that grew more hair than he had on his head, and always smelled like a combination of

mothballs and oregano. And yet Jack had seen him slipping into the janitor's closet at the town hall with

Marybeth Wilson, the town clerk. Jack's guess, from the bangs, moans, and groans that had issued from

the closet shortly afterward, was that they hadn't been taking inventory of the cleaning supplies.

Now, if Marvin could get laid, why the hell couldn't Jack?

Maybe he wasn't drinking enough of the water.

The bell over the door jangled, startling Jack out of his musings. He jumped, nearly falling out of his chair

as he brought his bare feet down off the counter, striking his ankle painfully on the way. Hopping on one

foot, he bit back a curse and looked toward the door, wondering who was in shopping during the time of

day when most folks in town were either working or watching All My Children .

"Good Afternoon.” The speaker was a pleasant looking man in his early thirties. Nattily dressed in a

nicely tailored suit and open-throated white shirt, he carried an oversized briefcase with him. Dark blue

eyes twinkled with good humor, and a smile dimpled his cheek.

Not bad, Jack thought, over twenty-one, and human. He's got the right résumé. He blinked, forcing

the thought away. The man was obviously a salesman, wanting no more than to sell Jack a new line of

lingerie, or a couple dozen glow-in-the-dark penis-shaped key chains.

"Mr. McGill? Might I have a moment of your time?"

"Yep. That's me. What can I do you for?” Jack asked, deciding to let the man make his pitch, even

though there wasn't room on Jack's shelves for anything new. The man's voice was smooth, rich, like

melted chocolate, the kind of voice that could recite the tax code and make it sound sexy. It was doing

things to Jack's nether regions that were making his khakis unbearably tight. Sadly, it was more sexual

stimulation than he'd gotten from anyone other than himself in the past year.

"My name is John Smith, and I represent Acme Novelties."

"Is this some kind of joke? Did Bob Anderson over at Weesaw Hardware put you up to this?” Jack

asked, snorting. John Smith? Acme Novelty ? Surely even Bob—who had about as much imagination

as a can of tuna fish—could think of better names than those .

"No, I'm afraid not,” John answered, looking slightly puzzled. “I have some very interesting items I'd like

to demonstrate for you.” He slid his case onto the counter between them. “May I?"

"I guess so,” Jack answered, blushing. Crap. That was the man's real name. Way to go, Romeo.

“Um, sure. It won't get busy in here for another couple of hours."

"Great! Okay, if you'd just remove your clothes, we can get started,” John smiled, shrugging out of his

jacket.

Jack dug a finger into his ear, rooting around for whatever had flown in and scrambled his hearing. Did

the cute salesman with the absurdly common name whom Jack had managed to insult within the first five

seconds of their meeting just ask him to strip? “Come again?"

"I'll need you to be naked, please."

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"Naked."

"Yes, sir."

"As in ... no clothes? That kind of naked?"

"That would be the one, yes,” John said, unbuttoning his shirt. He had a fabulous chest. Nice pecs, tight,

rose-colored nipples. Smooth bronzed skin.

"Might I inquire as to why you need me naked?” Jack asked. Are you crazy? Jack's inner voice

screamed, as he mentally shook himself. What's wrong with you? It doesn't matter if he's nuts—he's

the first human being in a year to ask you to get naked! For God's sake, take off your clothes!

"I've found that demonstrating my products on the buyer is a much more effective sales tool than merely

describing them, or handing over a sheaf of dry advertising pamphlets,” John smiled, slipping off his shoes

and socks.

"Ah, well that makes sense,” Jack said, nodding slowly, still making no move to undress even though his

inner voice was throwing apoplectic fits inside his head. “What sort of merchandise is it?"

Under any other circumstances Jack knew that a stranger walking into a store and asking the proprietor

to get naked would have been absurd, and certainly would have warranted a call to the police, but

Weesaw seemed to run by its own set of rules whenever sex was concerned. After selling the town's

oldest resident, Arthur Devins, a vibrating penis ring on the occasion of Arthur's 92nd birthday, Jack

figured anything was possible.

"Oh, it's top of the line stuff of the highest quality,” John said, unzipping his fly. He stepped out of his

pants, standing only in a pair of black silk jockeys. “You really should be naked in order to experience

the full effect of the merchandise, Mr. McGill."

"I suppose you should call me Jack. Feels weird for you to call me Mr. McGill when you're dressed in

only your boxers."

The boxers were the next to go.

"Or, you know ... in nothing at all,” Jack murmured. He couldn't help staring at John, or rather, at John's

naked flesh, especially at his exquisitely formed, surprisingly large, dangly bits.

Reverend Jenkins’ “Fat Boy” had nothing on John.

"Very well, Jack. So, if you please...” John made a motion toward Jack, obviously meant to hurry Jack

on his way toward nakedness.

Jack may not have been a rocket scientist, but he wasn't stupid, either. He knew when to take a hint. He

stripped out of his shirt, khakis, and underwear fast enough to leave skid marks. Standing naked behind

the sales counter, he waited eagerly for John to open his case.

"Come around the counter, if you don't mind,” John ordered, crooking a finger at Jack.

Jack tossed a look toward the front door of the shop, grateful for once that the windows had been

blacked out. Still, someone could walk in at any time. While the townsfolk were a horny bunch, he wasn't

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certain that they'd appreciate the sight of their neighborhood smut merchant standing starkers in the

middle of his store. “Maybe we should do this in the back room..."

"Nonsense. This is really no different than a salesman demonstrating vacuum cleaners or Ginsu knives."

"You don't need to be naked to get a demonstration of Ginsu knives."

"Heavens, no! That would be dangerous."

They both took a moment to flinch, hands automatically cupping their privates as each visualized the

dangers of Ginsu knife demonstrations and certain delicate parts of the male anatomy. It slices, it dices,

it makes crinkle cut potatoes. Ouch.

"If you would be so kind as to get down on your knees, Jack?” John asked, unsnapping the clips on his

case. He popped open the lid, but Jack couldn't see what lay inside.

This is definitely shaping up to be the most bizarre sales pitch in history,Jack thought as he lowered

himself to the floor on his knees. From his new perspective, he got a mouthwatering view of John's

oversized cock and furry balls. Bizarre or not, the scenery was definitely worth the trip to the floor.

For a moment Jack wondered if John might be more than a little crazy. What if he had a weapon in that

briefcase of his? Maybe he was a serial killer. Jack wracked his brain trying to remember if he'd ever

read about a murderer who targeted sexually frustrated erotic storeowners.

Jack relaxed as John removed a simple length of bright red leather from the case. In the center of the

leather strip was a small, dark brown ball. Whew. He was only a salesman after all, Jack thought.

"Um, I've got ball gags already,” Jack said, nodding toward the display against the back wall. “Right

over there, between the crops and the feather ticklers."

"Not like this one,” John smiled, fitting the leather around Jack's head. “Open wide, please."

"But..."

"Open!” John commanded in a stern voice that sent a delicious ripple through Jack's balls. Against his

better judgment, Jack's mouth popped open. Wide.

John wedged the ball between Jack's teeth. Instantly, Jack's mouth filled with the flavor of rich, dark

chocolate. Unable to swallow because of the ball lodged between his teeth, Jack drooled.

How attractive.

"See? It's flavored. We call them Tasty Balls . This is one is our Swiss Dark Chocolate model. It also

comes in Milk Chocolate, Strawberry, Watermelon, Kiwi, and Cherry,” John said.

Jack heard the clink of metal, and felt John's warm hands at his ankles. Before he could blink, John had

Jack's feet bound, and was pulling Jack's arms behind his back. Cold metal snapped around his wrists.

'Mmmf ... mmm ... mfff?” Jack asked, eyes widening. In his head, his voice asked, “ What are you
doing?"But the ball between his teeth disallowed articulation beyond a muffled, rather wet, grunting

noise.

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"Tsk, tsk. No speaking unless spoken to, Jack,” John said, waggling a finger in front of Jack's face.

“Don't interrupt my sales pitch again or I'll be forced to punish you."

"Mmff, mmm!” Jack cried, shaking his head. This was taking the term captive audience way too far.

Jack's eyes bugged out of his head and he yelped when the flat of John's hand slapped his ass. More

than his flesh, it stung his pride. He hadn't been spanked since he was a kid.

Funny thing was, it felt sort of good, too. The stinging was accompanied by a tingling of sorts, thrumming

in his balls. The ball gag stifled his cry of surprise, but not the lower, throaty groan of pleasure that

followed it.

"Now, as I was saying, our Tasty Balls are the perfect sex aids. One size fits all. They're expertly made

of strong, hand-tooled leather and foam rubber. And the flavor is guaranteed to last through up to six

months of casual use,” John said in his studied, salesman drone.

Honestly, Jack couldn't care less if the gags were made by Elves and flavored by the Easter Bunny. He

wanted more of John's hand on his body. Frowning, he grunted behind the ball gag again, wiggling his

butt for good measure.

Smack!

Oh, sweet Christ on toast!John's hand had landed a little lower on Jack's cheeks than the last time,

precariously near Jack's balls. The resulting sting zapped through Jack's balls directly to his cock. It

lengthened and filled, aching sweetly. He wanted to stroke himself, but having his hands cuffed behind his

back made that impossible. Houdini, Jack wasn't. He whined behind the ball gag, shooting John a

mournful look over his shoulder.

"You really must learn to have a bit of patience, Jack. Now, I want you to take a moment to appreciate

the fine, smooth texture of the ball. Not too soft, not too hard, it's flexible enough to sink your teeth into

it, but not so much so that you can take a bite out of it and possibly choke,” John said. “Plus, it really

does make for a pretty picture. Why, look at what you're doing to me, Jack,” he smiled.

Jack watched John wrap his hand around that thick piece of meat that hung between his legs, slowly

fisting himself. Watching him was torture. Jack wanted that hand on him , wanted to put his hands on

John. Stymied by both the ball gag and the cuffs and chain that bound him, Jack growled low in his

throat.

"See what a difference our flavor-drenched balls make over the usual rubbery-tasting ball gags? Who

would want something that tastes like old tires in their mouth, when they can have chocolate or

strawberry, instead?” John asked, still stroking his hard-on. It was at full power now, grown ramrod

straight before Jack's eyes.

Jack bared his teeth around the ball, his growl intensifying.

"Exactly! Now, suggested retail price on these lovelies is $24.99. Your cost is a mere $15.00 per piece,

two dozen minimum,” John said, grinning. His hand worked his cock expertly in long, languid strokes.

Smiling. John was smiling , while Jack was sporting a hard-on that could split logs. Get down here.

Put those lips to better use than reciting a stupid sales pitch. Suck me, dammit! Jack thought, his

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teeth biting into the ball. More decadent chocolate flavoring filled his mouth, causing his drooling to

intensify. A line of wetness snaked down across his chest, pooling in his belly button. He bounced on his

knees, hands and feet jangling the chains, frustrated that he couldn't get the words out around the gag.

"You're being a bad boy, Jack. Haven't you learned your lesson yet? If you keep interrupting me, we'll

be here all day,” John said, arching an eyebrow. Jack yelped behind his gag as John delivered a series of

several sharp blows to Jack's butt. “Your ass is turning the same color as our Cherry flavored Tasty

Balls, Jack."

Jack moaned again, his cock twitching pitifully. The tip was swollen and nearly purple with his need,

glistening with drops of precome. All day? If John swatted his bottom just a few more times, Jack

figured wouldn't last but a few more seconds.

He'd never felt as helpless as he did then—unable to talk, to ask for what he needed, unable to take

care of the problem himself. Totally and completely dependent on the whim of a man he'd just met, a man

who probably hadn't even given Jack his real name. John Smith. Ri-ight.

Jack had also never been quite as turned on as he was at the moment. His cock felt like iron, his balls

swollen and hard against his thighs. Chances were good that a year ago, when Jack had had a normal sex

life, John would never have been able to get him to this point so quickly. But after more than three

hundred and sixty five days of celibacy, Jack was more than ready to shoot off like a high-pressure fire

hose.

John had walked around to face Jack. Eyelevel with Jack was John's heavy cock, long, thick, and

looking every bit as ready as Jack's own. The smooth rounded head was reddened, and wet with the

evidence of John's desire. He could smell the musky scent of it, the maleness of it. Jack swore silently,

desperately wanting to taste John's flavor instead of the chocolate ball gag.

Jack closed his eyes and groaned as John's cock traced his cheek, leaving a streak of wetness along his

jaw. His moan sounded suspiciously like a purr behind the ball of the gag as he rubbed his face against

the heated skin of John's erection.

"That's a good boy,” John murmured, and for some unfathomable reason, his little compliment made

Jack blush and feel inordinately proud of himself, as if he'd mastered a difficult skill. “You deserve a

reward, I suppose. After all, you did allow me to make my sales pitch and demonstrate my product. Lie

down, Jack, on your back."

Eagerly, albeit a little awkwardly, Jack fell to his side and rolled onto his back. It wasn't as easy a

maneuver as he would have thought since his hands were still bound behind his back.

His breath hitched in his chest when John lowered himself to the floor, spreading Jack's bent knees wide,

feet held immobile by the cuffs at his ankles. “Shall I make you come, Jack? Have you been a good

enough boy for that?"

Jack nodded vigorously, whimpering behind the gag. His hips lifted toward John, pumping his cock into

the air. Please. Touch me. Give me just a little lick. Hell, just breathing on the fucker will be

enough. Do something, anything for pity's sake!

John crawled forward between Jack's spread knees, aligning their cocks. Velvety foreskin rubbed

against Jack's erection in a long, blisteringly hot stroke. Precome slicked their organs as John slid against

Jack's flesh. Once. Twice. Three times’ the charm.

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Jack came hard, teeth biting deeply into the ball as his hips thrust up against the hard length of John's

cock. A guttural cry tore at his throat, the ball gag doing little to suppress the volume as he screamed his

release. Jack's head snapped from side to side, the tendons in his necks bulging like steel cables. His

climax seemed to go on forever, every muscle in his body contracting with its power.

Only after he'd ridden the monster to its end, lying boneless and sated and still drooling chocolate spittle,

did Jack realize that at some point during his record-breaking orgasm, John had joined him.

John was smiling as he removed the cuffs and ball gag from Jack, freeing him. He had good reason to

smile, Jack thought. He'd just put in a helluva performance—a sales pitch for the ages.

"I'll take four dozen,” Jack managed to rasp, returning John's smile.

* * * *

The room snapped to attention as the general, polished eagles winking in the overhead lighting, walked in.

Armed guards stood sentry at the door, expressions hard and cold, weapons gleaming darkly at their

sides.

Small blue eyes scanned the bank of video cams as he accepted a clipboard proffered by one of the

men. A quick inspection of the data confirmed what he already knew—the experiment looked to be at

least a partial success. Weesaw, Florida had been a perfect choice of location. Secluded, low

population, water derived from a community well, it had fit the criteria to a tee. The real challenge had

been in installing the surveillance equipment.

Darting back to the video screens, his eyes alit on camera 157. A small, neat white label under the

monitor read, Sensuous Shopper, Subject 709, Repellant.

"I take it that there's a problem with the repellant?” he asked, his voice gruff, used to be immediately

obeyed.

"Not really a problem, sir. The repellant lasted nearly one year to the day, but as you can see, it's

apparently worn off.” The speaker was a bespectacled man in his forties, balding, dressed in a white lab

coat. His nametag read Miller, William. “ However during that period it was completely effective. No

one wanted anything to do with him sexually. He seemed frustrated, but not enough so to do anything

other than masturbate."

"Maybe we should try something other than injecting it into his laundry detergent. Maybe it needs to be

taken internally, like Lot 889.” Lot 889, cheekily dubbed Screw Brew by the team overseeing the

project, was the most potent aphrodisiac known to man. They'd found that it was most effective when
dispensed through the town's water supply. Lot 890, on the other hand, administered to one Mr. Jack

McGill, acted as both a repellent and an immunization against the effects of Lot 889.

"That's the next step in our protocol, General."

"It's imperative that we nail down the most effective way to administer the repellent. We want our

enemies banging each other on the battlefield, not our troops."

"Yes sir. Understood."

"Is that Captain Smith?” he asked, squinting a bit at the small screen. “I almost didn't recognize him out

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of uniform."

"Yes, sir. He did a commendable job."

"His father was a door-to-door salesman. I'll keep your recommendation in mind when his evaluation

comes due.” His eyes swept briefly across the other screens, wincing at Cam 320, which showed an

obese man with a large, hairy mole doing obscene things with an older woman and a life-sized male

mannequin. He shuddered, handing the clipboard back to Miller. “Keep me updated."

"Yes, sir."

The general took his leave, followed by his entourage. In a much better mood than when he'd arrived, he

almost smiled. He'd have good news to report at his meeting at the Pentagon that afternoon. The

experiment in Weesaw looked to be a success, and the Brass would have their new chemical weapon.

Contributors’ Bios

Kiernan Kelly

Kiernan Kelly lives in the wilds of the alligator-infested U.S. Southeast, slathered in SPF 45, drinking

colorful tropical, hi-octane concoctions served by thong-clad cabana boys.

All right, the truth is that she spends her time locked in the dark recesses of her office, writing gay erotica

while chained to a temperamental Macintosh, drinking coffee, and dreaming of thong-clad cabana boys.

Sigh.

Kiernan's webpage is: www.kiernan-kelly.com/

Willa Okati

Willa Okati lives by the quotation: “When I have a little money, I buy books. If there's any left over, I
buy food and clothes". An avid reader since she was able to pick up a book, she spends just as much

time writing stories about men, women, and the fun they get up to together. Physically, she lives in North

Carolina, but mentally thrives in a world where each adventure is bigger and brighter than the next. She is

also owned by far too many cats, but she insists that they serve as emissaries from the Muse and can't

spare a one of them.

Please feel free to visit her web page at www.willsheornillshe.com/

M Rode

M. Rode loves winter, being a canuck and watching boys of all sorts rub together. M. has edited various

anthologies for Torquere Press.

Megan Rose

Megan Rose lives in England, somewhere between the peaceful countryside and a bustling town. Since

discovering erotic fiction her life has changed dramatically. By day, she is a mild mannered librarian. But

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as darkness falls she sits at her computer and delves deeply into the passions and seductions of the many

characters that she writes about. In her spare time, Megan also reviews romance books and interviews

authors, for two prominent romance sites. When she's not writing, Megan enjoys nothing more than a

quiet night at home, watching a romantic comedy and enjoying a good bottle of wine.

Visit www.torquerepress.com for information on additional titles by this and other authors.

This eBook is published by

Fictionwise Publications

www.fictionwise.com

Excellence in eBooks

Visit www.fictionwise.com to find more titles by this and other top authors in Science Fiction, Fantasy,

Horror, Mystery, and other genres.

This eBook copyrighted. See the first page of this book for full copyright information.

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