Author Topic: DIANNE - A Walk on the Wild Side by Millie Dynamite  (Read 186 times)

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DIANNE - A Walk on the Wild Side by Millie Dynamite
« on: January 13, 2021, 05:36:26 PM »
DIANNE
A Walk on the Wild Side

by
Millie Dynamite

© Copyright 2021 by Millie 90 lbs of Dynamite

A long time ago, in a place far, far away
A large city next to the Rock Mountains
1982


I’m Dianne, and the thing was one of those things you do on a dare. Like playing spin the bottle, flashing your tits, or kissing another girl. Only no one dared me to do anything. Under normal circumstances, I’d never be caught dead in a place like the Runaway Bar, a ratty dive on the east side of the city.

With Jack, my husband, having moved in with a younger woman, I swore a new life in the deepest despair. Putting my anger and hate aside, I craved something different than television and drinking alone.

I’d make myself happy, perhaps have some fun, you know, of a sexual nature. I carted off my son to a friend’s place for the night while my daughter was away on a speech and debate contest, so I planned on hitting the town.

The parking lot was packed full, so I parked, and being cheerful and hopeful, I went into the joint. Positioning myself in the middle of the bar, I surveyed the patrons with easy access using the back counters mirror. The customers were all young and attractive people, mostly men, who paid no attention to me.

Notwithstanding the lack of interest, I stayed. Why? Because being around a gathering of people is enough to make me excited. The electricity created by people buzzing around, to be specific, handsome young men, fills my mind with potential. But I’m no whore. I won’t throw myself at anyone. And the titillation wore off as the throng thinned, and like a bolt, the thought dawned on me, the men were gay.

I sat and drank. Why I didn’t leave, I can’t tell you. The more I imbibed, the less excited I became. The hour grew late, and now the place, all but empty, except for the bartender, another woman, and me. Only a woman she was not, a female but not an adult woman, a kid, I guessed no older than 18, and using a fake ID. You know, thinking about things, the barkeep might not give a shit how old she was.

The woman-child had beautiful, green eyes, black lipstick, and had light blue hair. Her eyes darted around the room, checking out the fellow behind the bar, in an odd sort of insulting way, when he turned his back. Glances at him, scornful and demeaning, she’d lift her little finger, mouthed the word FAG, and give me a smirking smile. Somehow, this amused me, perhaps more than was necessary.

In between ogling him, she gazed at me, running her tongue over her teeth and lips. She had on cutoff jeans, a tight, torn t-shirt, which covered her breasts, leaving her belly bare, and cowboy boots. She did vodka shooters, smoked one cigarette after another. If I were into tomboy women, this child would have turned me on; I was, at the least, fascinated with her.

Her eyes burned into me. Her lusty glances made me nervous. She wagged her finger at the barman, he sauntered to her, she handed him a ten-dollar bill.

“Give the lady anything she wants,” she turned her attention toward me, and in an afterthought, “Keep the change, sugar.” The youngster patted the barstool next to her, “Come here, sweetie, join me.”

Her comment was direct, her voice authoritative, yet had an enticing sound, with maple syrup sweetness, warm and stick, the vibration worked into my brain drizzled, in a slow fashion, down my spine, trickling into every little pour. I tingled as her voice resonated throughout my body, my intellect, reaching into places no woman had touched.

This woman- adolescent was bold, yet somehow this kid needed something, or she wanted something might be more precise. Her cold green eyes bored into me, with this lewdness in her stair, as if I was meat and she was hungry lynx.

“What’ll ya have, miss,” the barkeeper had already filled a glass with ice and hovered over with his spigot and bottle of vodka.

“Vodka tonic,” I told him.

He pushed the right button, tonic water squirted into the tumbler, and he poured in a generous amount of vodka, sitting my glassware next to the young girl. The joint being a no-frills bar, he didn’t add a slice of lime. I missed the lime, but not enough to complain. After all, the Moonlight bar and grill was a dive.

A certain softness about the young man confirmed, at least to me, his gayness. Handsome, lacking any ruggedness to him, it’s odd how some of those men exude feminity, catnip to a top on the prowl. This notwithstanding, the man glanced at the lady-child often. I sensed a particular dislike for me vibe from him. Most evident with the girl’s action toward me, a slight change of expression, as if he believed he was tossed-over in favor of me.

Sliding off the stool, I strolled, with shaky legs due to my having drunk more than usual, toward the young one. This girl had an air about her, some appearance of knowing her eyes, eyes wiser than her years. Despite her youth, she struck me as quite strong. Her biceps were hard, not overdeveloped, but firm, while her exposed body sported a rippled midsection.

While the minx stood under five feet, and in spite of her being short, her leg appeared long, shapely, like a chorus line dancer, which captured my attention. She sat with her feet together on the bottom rung of her stool, her knees open and far apart, and a new cigarette dangling from her mouth. With the still smoldering butt of the previous one, she lit the new smoke.

“You’re lovely,” she told me. Leaning toward me, she picked up the shot glass and downed her drink. “Gorgeous woman, why are you alone?”

“My husband moved out on me.”

“So, you want to take a walk on the wild side, right?”

“No, if I was, I wouldn’t be in here.”

“So, you’re straight?”

“Yes,” I held up my left hand, wagged my fingers to show my ring.

“You’re not married and happy, far from satisfied. You’re hitched and pissed, pushed to your limit.”

“Yeah, sure, well okay, true enough, if you say so. But I do have my children, my son, and daughter, make my life.” I said. Trying to laugh off the situation. I believed the thought of this girl, so young, and me so old, together ludicrous. I should have been repelled at the lesbian overtures. I’d never been with, nor desired to be with, a woman. And yet, this child’s solicitation of me … beguiled me. Besides all those things, she’d read me, like a poker player with tell, this grownup-teen, gleaned my secret. For her insights were genuine, and I couldn’t laugh them off, try as I might.

The Lolita laughed, tossed her head back, and ran her fingers through her short-cropped, dyed blueish hair. “But, I think you want to do things you’ve never done before, admit the truth.”

I chuckled, shook my head, and sipped my drink. While beautiful in a raw, rough, untamed manner and bold as brass, the child enthralled me. The fact was plain as a pimple, to anyone looking, this kid thought herself tough, and I had no idea how right she was. With an unceremonious plunge, she plunged to the floor. Her boots hit the ground giving off a sharp clunk. She took the two steps to me.

She ran her index finger up my silk blouse, flicking open each button as she passed them — her hand slid inside my bra, over my left breast, cupping with an incredible light touch. Her hand sent little shards of electricity through my chest. Let out a hushed moan, I tried to move away from her. She clenched my tit with a tight, forceful grasp.

“No, no,” the woman snickered, “I’m not letting you go this easy.” She let loose of my breast, withdrew her hand, and gazed into my eyes. Her stare intimidated me as if she dared me to try and escape. While the spitfire scared me, she also intrigued me. At any rate, I couldn’t move; fear, anticipation, one of those held me in my place. Her hands were smooth as silk and as strong as they were soft. The teen bit her lower lip; I couldn’t take my eyes off her face.

“I’m Bree,” she stepped up on the bottom rung of my stool. Her legs straddled mine, the lass bent to me, ran her lips over my earlobe, her tongue flicked across my ear, and she whispered in a muted, breathy burst, “I peg his ass.” She pumped her first a few times as she said it.

Spunky Bree put an arm around me and took my right arm in her left hand, pulling me to her. Bree’s mouth parted, and the girl pressed her firm lips to mine. A wave of arousal rolled through me, sweeping me into her embrace. I moistened as she pulled my body into her hard fame. I resisted, trying to pull away, but she restained me tightly in her arms.

The gal-boy proved much stronger than I had thought. In a heartbeat, Bree broke our kiss, jumped to the floor, put her hand in the waistband of my skirt, and plucked me off the barstool. She turned from me, clutched my skirt, with little effort, tugged me as she took a step. With her free hand, she grabbed her smokes and lighter.

“Hey, peacock, we’re using my room,” she smiled at the bartender. “Don’t you fucking dare come in, or I’ll hurt you.” The last words to him were a rough snarl.

He turned to us, with a sheepish nod, he grinned in a sad simper.

I tried to stop, but Bree yanked me hard, and I followed behind, unsure why. I followed her, all the while, my heart pounded in my chest. My mouth dried, but I became wet elsewhere. She led me behind a door, down a hallway, to the back of the bar. She opened a red door with the word “PRIVAT” printed in black letters, slipped her hand out of my skirt.

“Okay,” my guide stepped into the room, turned back to me. “Rules are this, I’m the boss …”

“You’re a child,” I quipped.

She closed the distance between us in four quick steps. Her hand came around, meeting my cheek with a stinging blow, which made me take two steps sideways.

“I’m in charge, understand me, bitch?”

I rubbed my bruised cheek, a pang of humiliation gnawed at my tummy, and I nodded my agreement.

“You don’t have to come into my room. If you do, I’m your boss. My age isn’t a fucking issue; neither is yours. I don’t care what your name is. I’ll call you, Puppy. You’re my puppy, understand?”

My head bobbed one time.

“You call me Mistress or Mistress Bree. You’ll do what you’re told, or I’ll hurt you. You’re to be naked, you crawl on your hands and knees, I’m the master, you’re the fucking puppy. If any of this isn’t acceptable, take your giant white ass and get the fuck out of my joint.”

I hung my head, my blonde hair fell over my eyes and face, my shoulders shrunk. She thought I had a giant ass. Her words stung me.

“Is it awful?”

“What?”

“My ass.”

“You’re getting up near forty,” youngster’s smile turned to smirk. “Yeah, you have a fat ass. Most old bitches, like you, do. If your staying, strip, do so in a delightful, slow manner. Act like you’re sexy.” Opening her cigarette case, she removed the lighter and a smoke from inside, lit up, tossed the closed case into the room onto a table.

I worked out of the blouse, letting the top fall to the floor. The blouse landed in a heap behind my feet. Unzipping and unbuttoning my skirt, I worked the tight material over my hips, let the skirt fall, and stepped out of the fabric.

“Leave the heels on,” her eyes roamed my body, Bree’s sneer grew, and she sucked in smoke. “Not bad, for an old — CUNT.”

I should’ve grabbed up my clothing and run. The insults burned into my brain. I fought tears — the shame and humiliation of being schooled in, sexy, blistered across my emotions, made more challenging by the nature of this child, being my teacher.

“When I give you a compliment, you say thank you, Mistress, understand?”

A compliment, she thought being called, an old cunt, to be a compliment. No, the praise, if you can call what she said praise, were the words, ‘not bad.’

“I’m sorry. Thank you, Mistress,” I gandered into her eyes. Her scowl made me uncomfortable, and I stared at my shoes. She controlled me. I had an ungodly need for her. the humiliation of thanking her, the insult, yeah, I understood the meaning, I’m worthless. I thanked her for the horrid word she used. Somehow, as dreaming and ugly as the appellation was, the use of the expression turned me on, with only by her calling me the nasty thing.

“Now, the high heels,” Bree sucked in the smoke. The fire on the cigarette made a sizzle. She appeared as a cherub as she exhaled, a hot as hell sex cherub, and the blue haze wafted across the room to me.

I couldn’t tell what overwhelmed me most — the heebie-jeebies spinning around in my head or the electricity awakening inside my pussy. The moisture built, slicking me, making me ready for something she didn’t have. I hankered for her to take me.

Oh, good lord, how wrong am I, needing this kid to control me, own me, use me?

Kicking off my heels, I turned my back to her.

“Peel them pantyhose off, come on, puppy, do as I tell you.”

I worked the hosiery over my ass. Careful to go slow, I swayed my hips as I worked them over one cheek, followed by the other. My flesh crawled with ants, her eyes explored my body, the intensity of her glower had an exhilarating effect as she drank the view of me in, insults, or compliments aside, I wanted her attention, her approval.

“Delightful, puppy, wiggle your ass. French cut panties, you’re a girly girl, aren’t you.”

Gazing over my shoulder, I bobbed my head to her. Lifting one leg, I removed my foot from the hose. I pushed the other side off, turned back to her, careful not to make eye contact. Her body silhouetted in the light from the other room captivated me. She had stripped her clothes off in the time I took to remove my intimates. Bree’s breasts were small, with tiny nipples and areolas, her framework chiseled by a master sculpture, and she sported a wispy patch of red hair at her crotch.

“I’m 15,” the word hit me a landslide. “Been on my own since I was 10. Lose the fucking bra.”

I removed my brazier, holding my right arm over my breast, I dropped the bra to the floor. I was horrified at the thought of showing this girl my saggy tits. An angry leer spread over Bree’s lovely face. Her eyes fixed on mine, Bree stood statue-like, frozen in annoyance.

With hesitation, I moved my arm away. My tits sagged as soon as the support left them.

The leer transformed into a lusty appearance. Bree smiled, clapped her hands, “You’ll do.”

I smiled back at her, pleased at her pleasure with me. Licking her lips, she moved toward me, slow, deliberate steps she came to me. Reach up to my breast, she cupped them, one with each hand, caressing my nipples. Shards of energy rushed from breast to crotch.

My body itches from head to toes, wanting her touch. Gooseflesh rises, and again, her beautiful tongue snakes out, runs over her sensuous lips, her tongue retreats inside her luscious full mouth. Bree’s left hand roamed from my breast, ran down my abdomen, slipped inside my panties, and down to my crotch.

“Daddy’s bad, makes mommy shave her hoochie.”

Her hand cups further, her fingers linger on clit, slide over my lips, and a finger runs inside me. I let out a long moan, tossing my head back. Fires of yearning break out over my body, searing my flesh with a desire for her. I want to touch her, hold her, but no, I don’t have permission.

Bree traced around my throbbing clit, tiny circles over the tender flesh around the nub. And explosion ran through my body, starting at clit, tremors found their way around my nerves racing every direction, from head to two, my body was alive.

“You’re a sopping wet puppy, aren’t you?” Bree fingers me with an intense furry for a few moments, and a wave of pleasure overtakes me. My hips buck into her hand, I clasp my hand together behind my back. I never have, in my life, orgasmed so with so little effort. I sink, she grabs me with her other arm, holding, fucking my hole.

“Nasty puppy,” she hisses in my ear. Her tongue traces my ear, my neck, and the trembling continues. I’m so weak, so alive.

“Yes, Mistress.”

She pulls her hand from my pussy, she seizes the lace and satin French cut panties, with a hard yank, followed by another, she rips them from my body. She pushes me down, forcing me to my hands and knees. Stepping away, she glances back at me.

“Heal.”

She saunters toward the room. I follow, waging my ass like I had a tail, eager for what might follow. Her hips oscillate with an alluring, provocative swish one direction, in an instant, the other. Her lovely, small, round mounds of perfect ass flesh swinging in front of my face, plump enough to give some resistance to a loving squeeze.

Before reaching the bed, she squatted, pointed to her anus, “Be an obedient puppy girl, lick me clean, right there.”

My stomach lurched — her finger pointed right at her asshole. She expected me to preen her. Over her shoulder, Bree glared at me with the nastiest frown. Moving closer, thrilling anxiety entrenched in my tummy, bubbles boiled in my guts. I moved my mouth closer, closer, my tongue extended, and licked over the object.

My gut settled down, I moistened, and some virginal fluid leaked from my crotch, running down my leg. Darting my tongue around her shithole, up the crack, over her checks. I put my teeth to her succulent flesh, and with ever so light a touch, I bite, licking again. My heartbeat rose, the anxiety ferment into excitement. I slobbered over her ass, asshole, kissing and lapping my Mistress clean only to cover her with more slaver.

“‘At’s a girl,” she rubbed my head, petting me. Standing, she turned toward me, spread her legs, put her hands on her hips. “Sit.”

I mimicked the sitting position of a dog, ass on the floor, knees pressed to my chest, my hands on the floor. I stared up at my Mistress. Turning, she left me sitting. I edged up, viewing her. I let out a small whimper.

“Stay,” she snapped her fingers and pointed at me. She got something from a drawer, turned, and sauntered back toward me. While she wore no clothes, she still had her boots on her feet. The boots made a distinctive clunking as she moved across the hard floor.

Stood over me, bending down, she worked a choker over my head. She pulled up on a leash, pulling me over her leg. The toe of her boot found my vagina. Yanking the collar tight, she dragged me up against her leg.

“Dirty bitch, fucking my boot.” She didn’t admonish me; she ordered my action.

Rolling my hips, I simulated a dog humping a person’s foot. My juices flowed, my nipples stiffened to hard, plump pebbles. The roughness of the boot sent splinters of pleasure over my pussy. My clit found a knobby bit on the boot, rubbing, rubbing, the pure delight washed through my body.

I undulated on her boot. All the threads, the embroidery, in its brutal harshness, grappled with my clit, my lips, my hole. Ragged, jagged sensation sprang on my flesh, deep inside me, and over my body. Like thousands of needles jabbing me, my flesh exploded in tingling tremors.

Tighter she pulled the chair, the choker dug into my neck. I couldn’t breathe; my body spewed in pleasure as my mind reeled from fear. My heart threatened to explode. Bree’s hand clutched my hair, forcing my face into her crotch.

Her hips lurched, faunched, driving my face into her hot, wet pussy. I licked, kissed, and stuck my tongue into her. All the while, she tugged the chair tighter and tighter. A thousand critters crawled over my skin, under my flesh, in my guts, my brain, as I climaxed. I tried to breathe as I ate her, humped her, and she hunched her pussy into my face. All the time, I came and came again; my body shuddered.

I died.

A sharp pain stung my ass.

“Up, bad puppy, up off the floor,” she scolded me. Bree smacked the chain leash over my ass again, “Up, I said.”

The steel stung my ass, and I jumped to my knees. I wondered how long I’d be unconscious. I moved in a foggy haze, my body alive to a flowing tingle of exhilaration. Sensations danced in my mind, emotions, and through my insides.

A river raged inside me, a flood of emotions, experiences I’d never imagined, much less experienced. This child guided me. How was this possible?

Dropping my lead, Bree paced away from me, agitated, her fingers snapped. She stopped, peeked over her shoulder, glowering at me. She snapped her fingers again, point to the floor at her feet. Rising, I waddled on all fours to her, assumed the sitting position at her heal.

“Your Mistress didn’t cum. Bad puppy, do you understand, bad puppy.”

Picking up my lead, she knelt, positioned me on all fours. Before I realized what was happening, she slapped my ass hard, again and again; with her bare hand, she whacked my ass cheeks — first, the right, followed by the left. Four times, five, six, I lost count somewhere after ten. Standing, she moved away.

She walked about, her boots clunking a kind of angry music. Moving to a dresser, Bree opened a drawer, pulling out along, rubber doubled ended dildo. One side was a massive eight inches of hard rubber, the other barely four. She turned to me, worked the shorter end into herself, right to the pudgy, round balls.

The thing curved down, hanging like a sizeable, semierect prick. Somehow the sight wasn’t at all peculiar. In truth, Bree was hot as hell, with the fuck rod hanging in front of her like she was a ladyboy. She rubbed the fat fucker, stroking the thing like a man, and moved toward me.

“Does daddy fuck your throat?”

I shook my head.

“You don’t blow daddy’s schlong?”

Again, I shook my head.

“Why?”

I shrugged my shoulders. Sat back on my haunches, gazing at Bree as she rubbed the hulking, fake schlong. I lifted my hand, extend my little finger.

“Daddy’s got a wee wittle peepee?”

I bobbed my head with some measure of excitement as she smacked the massive cock against her hand.

“I’m going to gouge your throat with my beefy girl dong. Bree’s words trickled into my ears, running into my brain, slow like molasses over a pancake. The sweetened my thoughts. No one had been rough with me, not in all of my forty-three years. In fact, I had only fucked one other person than my husband. This woman child opened my soul with such ease.

I’d only kissed another girl, and we were 12 when we did. Bree would fuck my face, but I wanted this. Her angry, rough touch pleased me. Bree sauntered to me, smacking the rubber meat missile on my cheek, my mouth, and laying the massive thing over my head, measuring how far the dork would go down my throat.

“I bet I fuck you like a man better than your man does,” her green eyes stared into my soul. “Open wide.” Her hand holds my mouth open, the fake whang inside her is slender and short. The monster at my lips, fat and long. She rocks her hips, forcing the shaft inside, past my lips. My lips stretched to allow the massive thing access.

My tongue darts around the long, wetting the mushroom helmet. Bree rocks forward again, pushing past my molars, the pecker rest at the back of my tongue, short of gag point. The saliva built in my mouth as Bree puts her hand on the back of my head. She rests the johnson in place, smiling at me with an evil sort of smirk. She reaches down, taking the leash in her hand.

“Deep,” she orders me.

I work my mouth down the rubber boner more. I gag, coughing with spittle spraying out around the shaft onto Bree’s tummy. She yanks the chain, pulls my head toward her, forcing me forward. The head tickles my throat in the nastiest yet pleasing manner. Bree tugs the leash. I resist. Bree tugs again. I relent, moving closer to her belly. The peter glides into my esophagus; I convulse, expelling more drool over her taught sixpack.

Her laughter glides into my brain, down my spine, dances in my pussy. Funny thing, her laugh, her hateful words, her cruel or kind touch, they all, somehow, someway, find their way into my most intimate of places, tickling me in such a salacious way.

The cold links of the chain leash fall on my legs, Bree’s hands clutch my head. Her laughter turns to a merciless chuckle. Her hips thrust forward, she yanks my head to her, my nose nuzzles against the wispy, soft hairs of her steamy crotch.

“Face fuck time, bad puppy,” her tone is foul. She pulls back, the dick helmet bumps the back of my teeth. She spits a thick loogy on my lips and again thrust forward. In rough deep jabs, she drives the pecker balls deep into me. The sweet aroma of nether regions fills my nostrils — a breathtaking metallic freshness mixed with a savory and saltiness, heady and intoxicating. The next few minutes are a blur. She thrust into me, shivers run down my spine. Bree jerks back until the back of the head touched her lips.

Picking up her pace, she takes hold of the leash, tightens the choker around my throat. My eyes tear. She holds my head in place, hunching her hips into me with fury, animalistic and raw she pumps. I want to touch her, run my fingers over her, to please her with my efforts. For this, I must wait until she has satisfied herself, and me, and for permission to do so.

Her body trembles, her legs quake, as waves of ecstasy pass over Bree, but her assault continues. She grunts, groans, and moans. Bree calls me nasty things as her entire being rocks through a massive climax. She shudders, pushing the dong as deep in my throat as the monster might go, pulling the chain tight, tighter, tighter till breathing is impossible. She glares down at me with an odd, angry, domineering expression.

“Sleep, bitch,” she tights the restriction more. I can’t draw air. I pound my hands on her legs and belly, wanting to breathe. Bree twisting my hair, she smirks at me, pushed my head into her more, and tightens the choker. The links dug into my neck.

I die.

A thickness muddles my brain. My thoughts swim hard, getting nowhere. I cough, hacking up phlegm, which spatters over the floor. My eyes flutter open, the room floats in front of me in shimmering swishings, like gazing through a waterfall. My throat aches, and I touch the tender spot, which makes the pain throb all the more.

Pushing up, the room settles in, and those waves of whatever dissipate, the view solidifies. I hold myself up, trying to regain my senses. I cough again and once more spray the expectorant onto the already wet, faded, blue, and white tile floor. Shit, where is Bree? Did she leave me?

“Have you ever had a man fuck your face like I did?”

Her voice is like a familiar song, playing soft and sweet, off somewhere out of view. You can’t quite make out where the sound comes from, but the refrain is welcome, and you want more. Unsure where Bree was, I assume my doggy position. Shook my head no.

“Well, I have, and the bastard’s all forced me. I’ll tell you this, the bastard got his. No, you’re not my puppy anymore. You’re my cunt, my sugar cunt, who will be my slave bitch. So come to bed.”

My God, the ‘word’ again, burning my ears, destroying me. The foulest word ever created. I bowed my head, cut to the quick by one, solitary word, CUNT, a term of worthlessness, hearing CUNT, applied to me, shattered me, invaded me, sliced through my self-worth, right down to my spirit.

“Cunt, don’t make me hurt you,” Bree said, her voice cold as ice, demanding me to obey her. “Come to bed, perform your cuntly duties, NOW.”

My eyes followed her voice. Bree laid on the bed, on her side. Changing position, laying on her back, spread her legs, and patted the space between them. Bree pointed an index finger at me, waging for me to come to her.

Mounting the bed, I positioned myself between her legs. Her brilliant, green eyes locked to mine with an intensity I’d never seen in man or woman. She patted her pussy, raising her knees. I sensed her order, for Bree needed no words to command me.

I lost myself in the churn of the strange, new, and yet familiar scent and savoriness of her. Bree reacted to my tongue. My efforts, like I hoped, aroused the girl. Her aroma and flavor unraveled my inhibitions as I eased into a feverish feast of her lusciousness.

Small gushes of lubrication burst into my mouth, on lips, drizzling down on my chin. I relished every tasty drop, touching her legs, running my hands over the taught woman-child’s gooseflesh covered form. In long, slow debauchery, I brought her closer to me, nearer the edge.

Bree complimented me, my new skill at pleasing her. She still put me in my place, giving herself credit for my awaking. After all, Mistress deserved the honor. I grew more agitated as she became more aroused.

Clutching my head, she pushed me into her. Her hips rolled in a wild, unrestrained manner as the climax approached. Both her hands held my head to her, my nose nestled on her clit, my tongue lapping her sap. She bucked and haunched like a horse throwing a rider.

Letting loose of me, Bree laid on her back, legs twitching, her belly trembling, her arms flayed about, and her pussy shuddered. The juice oozed from her in a thick stream. Bree didn’t speak, her breathing was ragged, and her eyes rolled about in her head. Soon, Bree stilled, eyes shut, running her hands over herself. She spoke in a lusty, husky voice.

“Who do you serve?”

“You.”

“Lay beside me.”

Obeying her, I lay next to her. she turned me on my side, Bree wrapped her arms around me, holding one of my breasts. Clutching me, protecting me, she kept me still and safe until we drifted into sleep.

I dreamed of Bree, wild dreams of wilder, more fantastic, sexual activities. When I woke in the morning, Bree, already awake, sat up in bed and smoked. After a few moments, all of the night before to flood back. I smiled at her. She snubbed out her smoke, sat the ashtray on the bedside table. With a scowl, and in harsh, angry terms, she ordered me …

“Lay like a dog on your back, submissive, content, ready for whatever your master will do to you, Cunt. I am eager to ravage you.”

I followed her command. Laying on my back, I glanced over at her.

“Head back, offering your neck to me, to do with as I please.”

As ordered, I obeyed.

Bree forced my legs apart, putting her left knee under my ass, my right leg she pressed up to her shoulder. Bree leaned toward me; our crotches were crushed together. Her right and reached out, clutched my throat, her left snatched my right hand, she intertwined our fingers, and she thrust my arm above my head.

Bree humped me, rubbing our vaginas together, our erect clits rubbed pubic bone, each other, slicked when they went lower, both our bodies grew frantic with her efforts. She pounded me like a man raping a woman. She held me, thrusting her hips against mine.

I attempted, in vain, to getaway. Bree’s domination of me signaled something deeper. Try as I might, I couldn’t escape her grip. When I fought back, her fingers tightened on my hand, my throat, and she humped harder. With this hateful scowl, she leered into my eyes.

“You’re too week, Cunt. You belong to me.”

She took me, forcefully, with skill. Bree broke my will. Like a rider breaks an unruly horse, she dominated me. Until I belonged to her. for over an hour, we wrestled on the bed. With each heart-pounding, violent orgasm, Bree became more my master, and I became more her slave.

Once her insatiable lust had been, for the moment, satisfied, Bree lit a smoke. She sat with her back against the headboard, with my head on her lap, she stroked my hair. Occasionally, she’d pinch me here, squeeze one of my breasts, with a rough disregard for my pleasure, or tenderly rub me.

“Who’s cunt are you?”

“Yours, Mistress Bree.”

“Say it, proper, or suffer.”

“I’m your cunt, Mistress Bree.”

“I’m going to fuck your boy tonight. Treat him as I treated you. I’ll make him mine,” Bree’s fingers wrapped around my hair. She twisted, forced my eyes to hers, and with a gawking glare, “Or do we have a problem, CUNT?”

My heart pounded in my chest, my body trembled, and I understood, somehow, I agreed or died. Fear was a great motivator. As her fingers clenched around my throat, tighter, tighter, till I couldn’t catch my breath, I croaked out the answer she wanted. Clutching one of my hands with her free hand, she crushed my fingers and knuckles in her tight grip.

“No problem, none a’tall. I live to serve.”

“Your families mine, you help not hinder?”

“Anything you desire is my command,” I told her.

Bree’s fingers released my throat. She clutched my hand tight, gawking at me, the leer turned to a smile, her fingers released mine, and Bree moved away from me. Her mood changed in an instant. Bree, once more, stroked and fondled my body. This continued for some time until, at last, she spoke.

“I want new clothes. Take me shopping. Your treat, of course.”

“Of course, Mistress.”

At this point, weird for no alarms sounded in my brain. You see, I had no idea, Mistress Bree, would take over my family, my life, my marriage, his young girlfriend, and be all of our Mistress.

But then again, I have learned, happy Mistress, happy life.
« Last Edit: Yesterday at 03:44:04 PM by 90lbsofdynamite »
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Offline 90lbsofdynamite

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Re: DIANNE - A Walk on the Wild Side by Millie Dynamite
« Reply #1 on: January 13, 2021, 05:50:28 PM »
This is my entry in the January Writing Contest please read all of the entries and vote for your favorite story when it comes up. This is the story thread, which will be populated with the most wonderful links to the most fantastic stories as the month goes by, January 2021 Writing Competition
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Online carhamgrater

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Re: DIANNE - A Walk on the Wild Side by Millie Dynamite
« Reply #2 on: January 13, 2021, 06:16:46 PM »
Oh yeah you had this hetero urging on Bree to make you wither in pleasure. No a big one for lesbian fiction but the was well written and hot as hell. Even more now i can confidently say you you are the contest winner! Merit from me!
Real rape is wrong fictional rape can be fun!