Archive for the ‘lesbian bondage’ Category

Bobbi Starr dominates her office boss and fucks his ass

Wednesday, September 17th, 2008

When a gorgeous but bitchy intern gets a lousy work review from her stuffy supervisor, she decides to visit his office in her hottest short skirt and stockings. She attempts to seduce him into re-grading her review, but when he refuses her solicitous advances her demeanor turns from sensuous to sadistic.

Bobbi Starr's beautiful ass is licked, kissed and worshiped, her delicious pussy is fucked to satisfaction, and her boss is left with a reamed and stretched asshole from a hard dick on a stick butt fucking, and a pain hangover that makes him wish he'd just called in sick that day.

Submissive lesbian

Thursday, June 5th, 2008

We took the highway early in the morning to our weekend’s destination. My
slave girl and I in a nice rental car. Our costumes were in the trunk, the
fresh coffee was aromatic in the car, we shared a muffin while Mina drove. My
private property… She was wearing white lacy garters under her pants. I
passed my hands along her smooth neck and through hair every once in a while
and she would turn around to give me a pleasant smile of deep contentment
within…

After passing through the U.S. border which was guiding us along our way
to New York — the city of opportunities, I ordered her to stop at a gas
station, I took her to the restroom, unbuttoned her pants, lowered them, and
then inserted a butt plug — gliding it against her clit — nice and smooth
while I cleaned up the excess of Jelly… Then kissed her bum and gave her a
slim sexy skirt which exposed her beautiful legs. As we left the restroom a
couple of men waiting for their own woman to come out commented on her legs.
They wished they could enjoy her for at least the evening. I felt proud. (more…)

Female Dominatrix

Thursday, April 24th, 2008

She looked down at my raging hard-on with a smile and said,
“It looks like you enjoyed the show.” I nodded in approval. She
smiled a wicked smile as she untied me from the chair and removed
the gag. “The fun’s not over yet little slave.” She said. “Now
go get on your knees at the edge of the bed.” I hobbled, as
before, over to the edge of the bed, not knowing what could
possibly be in store for me now. When I got into position she
walked over and sat on the edge of the bed in front of me. She
then opened her legs and stuck her finger into her still sopping
cunt. She then grabbed my balls with her other hand, eased her
gooey finger out, and held it up to my mouth. “Lick it slave!”
she commanded. I licked her finger like a lollipop until it was
clean.
I could taste the cum of the young stud that had just
serviced her, mixed with her own sexual secretions. She giggled
as she offered me another gooey finger to lick clean and said.
“We’ve got to make sure we get every last drop, huh?” I nodded,
and continued to lick and suck her finger. When she finished
feeding me she looked down at my crotch and said, “I’ll bet you’d
like to relive some pressure.” “Yes.” I gasped, as it was all I
could do to keep from cumming at this point. She just giggled and
said, “Well, I don’t want you to make a mess all over so just
wait here a minute.”

German Mistress Claudia

Friday, December 14th, 2007

This encounter was the result of my answering an ad placed
by a Frankfurt couple in a contact magazine. They were looking for
male or female sex slaves or couples. I was staying alone in
Frankfurt on a business trip, so I thought, “what the hell? I’ll
give it try.” I gave them a call and arranged to meet them one
Saturday afternoon.

Claudia is not a real young woman, probably between 35 and
40, perfect age for her role. She seemed to be well educated, and
spoke faultless English (my German is not perfect, by any means).
She is a tall woman, with blonde hair that was pulled up tight and
fastened in kind of a bun on the top of her head. She was darkly
tanned, and had an athletic look. She is definitely a dominant
female. Michael is even younger, maybe in his twenties, good-
looking, but did not take an active part in any of this. He was more
like her servant. What followed will probably seem like some wild
fantasy to you, but I can assure you that “it happened to me”. (more…)

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Tuesday, June 27th, 2006

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Teachers Daughter

Saturday, May 6th, 2006

Ask any teacher what the worst day is, and surprisingly few will remember the first day of work. The rumble in their tummy as they stand before a blackboard for the very first time, alone and without a supervisor seems to fade for them. It has never faded away for me, and I recall it vividly.
In my case it was even worse than average. I had come back to my hometown after graduating college; disappointing my parents who had expected me to move out and be a big success “away” somewhere. I explained that I’d come home to “give something back to the community”, but it was complete balderdash. What I was really doing was burying myself in my work, trying to avoid admitting something that no-one else knew.
In college I had become Mistress to a lithe blond tart named Jacqueline “Tennisball” Turner. In some way, we’d been very much in love. I’d revelled in every whipping or spanking I gave her. She gloried in the loving abuse I heaped on her. But eventually I’d convinced myself that this wasn’t what I wanted.
I was a “normal” woman, with normal desires. I wanted a husband and kids and. . . .And I wanted Tennie, or piggy, as I’d sometimes called her, crawling to lick a pair of black leather boots with four-inch heels that clung so tightly to my legs that my slave often had to yank them off me while I broke the suction with a shoehorn. I wanted her head bobbing vigorously between my thighs as the little electric shocks of pleasure shot from my clitoris. I wanted to hang her from the ceiling beam of my little house and beat her ass raw for breaking dishes, to set her impossible tasks and punish her for failing at them.
But I wanted other things too: the touch of her breath on my neck when I let her sleep in my bed; the soft look in her eyes when she knelt at the foot of that bed with my morning coffee; the contented hum of her when all the happy violence was over, the sweat and sometimes tears dried, and she cuddled into my arms during decompression.
And I wanted all of this while leading a June-Cleaver-with-a-career existence? It was too much, and I knew it. But while I sorted all this out I still had rent to pay, first to my parents, then to a landlord, and finally to a mortgage company. I found a job at a high school in town (not the Catholic school I’d attended, but a newer secular school called Park West Secondary).
On the first day of classes, I was way too early. Only the school custodian was in the hall as I entered the Old Building (the one built in 1976 was the New Building) and made my way to room 108 West. The classroom was empty, and I unlocked the door but left the light off. Instead I went to the door at the back of the class. In other days it would have been a storage space. The teacher I had replaced, one Mr. Carruthers, had been in the habit of smoking a pipe quietly in there while grading papers, and the room had that lovely “gentleman’s club” smell of old leather armchair, shoe polish, and pipe tobacco. It’s a smell I’ve always associated with luxury.
There was a little narrow window facing the soccer field, and long shelves of dusty textbooks along the wall with the door in. I put my necessary things into the desk and cupboards, my clipboard, a pack of marking pens, chalk (any teacher will tell you, you bring your own and hoard your supply), and my coffee mug.
My coffee mug.