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This story has been edited by Chksng19. Any errors in grammar, punctuation or spelling are either an intentional part of the story or the result of Mad Lews mucking about with the text after it was properly edited

Authors Notes:

1. This is a work of fiction and all characters are entirely fictional. If you see yourself in this story you are sitting entirely too close to the monitor.

2. The fictional characters in this story are all at least 18 years old, even Larry.

3. Some may feel the title is a desperate plea for attention

4. OK you caught me; Bruno's only 6 but that's 42 in dog years.

5. A desperate plea for attention is not the same as whining, Alex

6. This is an adult story written, by an alleged adult, For adults.

7. A sense of humor might be useful while reading this story

8. Copyright 2005 all rights in reservation etc. etc.

Hope sat erect on the hard wood stool. She was naked of course except for her red leather collar. Her Master paced behind her, six paces left, then he turns about with a click of the heels, six paces right, turn and click, it was his best imitation of a British military officer with the riding crop tucked under his arm. It was enough to distract any slave from her appointed task.

"Tick tock pet, Tick tock." He said in a low gravely voice. She did not turn of course but she was sure he was checking his watch. Hope continued to stare at the monitor screen as her fingers raced over the keyboard. She had no real training in typing but she could do 45 words a minute if she stayed in her zone.

Snap! The Master's new leather riding crop slapped against her bottom, not very hard but the flap at its tip made a sharp noise. It was his way of reminding her to sit up straight, shoulders back, and ankles hooked around the back legs of the stool, leaving her thighs widely parted.

"Three minutes left luv. You're nearly done, Right!" It wasn't a question; it was a statement. Hope silently screamed as her fingers flew and he resumed his pacing. He did it to distract her and it worked splendidly. A fraction of a second before she finished the last word he cheerfully announced, "Times up!"

She braced herself for the lash of the crop she had earned for typing over her time limit. It did not come. She sensed him leaning over her left shoulder reading the last page. The hand holding the riding crop rested on her right shoulder. He casually (but oh so deliberately) allowed the handle of the crop to slip down to the stool coming to rest between her parted thighs. She shuddered and wiggled forward to brush against the warm leather handle that had so recently been clasped in his hand.

"Tich, tich" Master said not referring to her squirming hips but rather to the words on the screen. Hope glanced up at the last page. He had run the spell check and on that page alone 12 words were underlined in red. She could clean that up in just a few more minutes and then if he let her read through it once and do a quick edit it would be ready to….

He had logged onto the BDSM Library site. " Please! No!" she called out silently to herself. He uploaded the story just as it was. Was he deliberately trying to humiliate her? Hope wanted to cry but she knew better.

Time well spent... Author: Hope

Story Codes: M/f M+/f bestiality size D/s slavery bondage historical humiliation torture Heavy

Size: 15 kb

Added on: March 22, 2005

Total 3487 readers

This month 3487 readers

Synopsis: "Since you can't keep a sivel tongue I am going to leafe you out here hanging by your wrists from the gibblet. Next time you'll hang from that preaty little neck." Bound naked in the center of a medieval city left to be used and abused by the townsfolk for your disrecpest of your Master. You'll be treat like an unruly breast finaly licked by the dogs who are eager to have you.

(If you read this story, and especially if you enjoyed it too, please review it or send an email to author. Authors deserve that. And your comments will encourage them to write more)

Reviewer: SlaveSally (Edit) Rating 2 March 24,2005

I laughed, I cried, I got confused, send me your snail mail address and I'll send you Webster's own dictionary (2/10)

Reviewer: Dapper Dan (Edit) Rating 5 March 23 2005

I imagine that this story might have been readable, eventually. However, the overwhelming number of mistakes made it hard follow the story. Looks like someone sent in a rough draft and left the real story at home. I found portions totally confusing. Perhaps because sentences and words were missing might be a good story - after a proper edit. (5/10)

Reviewer: Laughing Larry (Edit) Rating: 7 March 22, 2005

An interesting story worth reading though that is made a bit difficult by some spelling and grammar errors. The author has a great imagination. Keep writing. It almost seems she gets carried along by her story and rushes through some basic editing mistakes. Rereading it a few days later or finding a proofreader would make it easier to understand and definitely improve the readers enjoyment. (7/10)

Replied by: Hope (Edit) (March 22, 2005)

*Grin* Master won't give me time to proof read or edit, one of my problems with writing is that I get so caught up in details that stories get bogged down and I never end them. My Master gave me very strict timetable now and I could barely follow it. I had to write this one and submitted in the same day .The time frame allowed for nothing else. To date He refuses to proof read or edit my work. Perhaps he hopes to humiliate me. He is always right about these things. I think from your review though I'm now able to reach into my imagination and pull out the stories inside there

I would like to thank you for your encouraging words!

Hope:

Subject: Time Well Spent

To: Hope > hotslut@yahgogle.com

From: Laughing Larry> Leisuresuit@coolmail.com

Date 8:45am March 25 2005

Dear Hope,

Glad you liked the review. You're right about reaching into your imagination but writing is about discipline too. Getting your writing assignment done on time. Winnowing away the minutia, spell checking, and proper grammar all require discipline. That is what a Master is good at. If you ask him politely I'm sure your Master would be willing to take some corrective measures with your writing. I would recommend the following.

Since every word processor in existence has a spellchecker misspelled words would earn you 5 lashes. Sentence fragments, punctuation errors, misused words etc one lash each.

By my calculations your present tale would require 177 lashes with a warm wet tongue. But then I'm just a softy maybe your Master would have other ideas.

Good luck

Laughing Larry

Hope lay face down on the bed. Her belly clenched in fearful anticipation. She tried to squirm but her arms and legs were pulled taut and tied to the bedposts. The ball gag silenced her and made her jaws ache. How could this be happening. She'd deleted that stupid e-mail, and yet Master had found it. He was amused by the idea but angered that she would try to hide it from him.

She hears the click of his boot heels on the hardwood floor. He is standing over her. She mews into the gag begging for forgiveness. A leather clad finger runs across her trembling bottom.

She can do nothing but squirm; she cannot even raise her bottom offering to surrender herself to his whip. She is already his, with nothing to offer except her acceptance. She can only wait. The finger nestles lower tracing the outline of her pouting lips. The hand moves away, she shudders and he begins.

Subject: You Asswhole!

To: Laughing Larry> Leisuresuit@coolmail.com

From: Hope > hotslut@yahgogle.com

Date: 11:12 March 26, 2005

You Fukin Asswhole,

What gives you the right to brustt into my fuckin life and fuck it up! Ya Say a feww nice things on thestupid web page and you men thing you own me. Well I already have a Master and he dosen't need any stupid Ideas from you asswhole. I mean I'm knelling infront of the keyboard, I won't be able to sit this week and I'll be sleeping on my belly for a week two. Do you have any idea what 200 lashes from a flogger does to a girls tush! I hope your happy asswhole

Drop Dead

Hope

S he kneels with her back is pressed up against the iron column. Her ankles are crossed and bound behind it. Her arms are behind it as well, bound hand to elbow with a solid coil of rope wrapped tightly around her forearms. She is pulled snuggly against the cold metal pole. A thick butt plug is firmly lodged inside her, the master patiently explaining to her that there is no W in asshole. She feels the tip of the new crop against her lower lips and curses herself for being so damn wet.

"Thirty nine for the appalling spelling and grammar and then you can write a proper apology." The crop snaps and she yelps as the welt forms across the tops of her breasts.

Subject: Please Forgive me

To: Laughing Larry> Leisuresuit@coolmail.com

From: Hope > hotslut@yahgogle.com

Date: 16:31 March 26, 2005

Master Larry,

Please forgive this impertinent slut. I am so sorry. Master read my last e-mail to you and is furious with me. He tells me there is no w in asshole. My own is now quite thoroughly stretched so I will remember this. I misspelled seven words and made four additional errors. My breasts and belly received 39 blows with his new riding crop. It has a fiberglass rod encased in hand sewn brown leather. The stitching on the seam leaves an interesting crosshatch design in the middle of my purple welts. I will not be sleeping on my belly either. Please forgive me Sir. Master would be pleased if you would review my next story.

The miserable slut

hope

Larry hopped up from the computer and locked his bedroom door. He'd had classes from 10 till 4 and stopped at the library before heading home. He read the two e-mails again.

Hot dam that freshmen English Comp course at the community college was already paying off. God, it was so cute the way she couldn't write or spell worth shit when she was pissed.

He slid off his pants and absently fondled his growing member. He read the second e-mail again. Master Larry sounded oh so right. His fingers wrap around his throbbing and nearly average 5.87-inch cock.

She is blonde in his mind's eye with gigantic firm breasts that bounce and wobble as the riding crop strikes again and again. Her pitiful yelps urge him on and he strokes faster. Serendipity leads him to explode exactly on the thirty-ninth stroke. He comes in great spurts splashing both his screen and keyboard.
"What are you doing in there!" His mom yells, rattling the locked door. Larry leaps up from the chair knocking it over backwards. He tries to pull up his pants without falling over as he breathlessly shouts. " Just doing some homework Mom. Can I have a little peace for Christ sake!" He finds some tissues and begins smearing away the glob on his computer screen while he cursed silently under his breath.

" Don't you swear at me young man." His mom yells back. "Just cause you pay some rent and go to college doesn't mean you can sass your Mom. Dinner will be ready in a half hour."

The Pirates of Baskerville Author: Hope

Story Codes: M/f M+/f Bestiality/f D/s slavery bondage historical humiliation torture Extreme violence

Size: 25 kb

Added on: April 19, 2005

Total 6483 readers

This month 6483 readers

Synopsis: Samantha, a professional dog sitter takes her hounds out for an evening stroll on the Scottish moors where they are surprised by a randy band of landlocked pirates.

(If you read this story, and especially if you enjoyed it too, please review it or send an email to author. Authors deserve that. And your comments will encourage them to write more)

Reviewer: SlaveSally (Edit) Rating 7 April 24,2005

I laughed, I cried, I peed my pants. This is a hilarious spoof for the fun at heart. If you're down in the dumps it's a must read.(7/10)

Reviewer: Dapper Dan(Edit) Rating 8 April 22,2005

What an incredible improvement over your last offering. I could read this one all the way through. Quite an imaginative story line. While I'm not really well versed in animal play I don't think you can do that with a parrot, still all in all a fun read. (8/10)

It was a lie of course. Not that Dan knew much about what could and couldn't be done with parrots, but rather how well versed he was in animal play.

Dan owned the largest sheep ranch in Dry Spring Station, New South Wales. Dry Spring Station had a population of 84 souls but only three of them were women (assuming you didn't count the two inflatable ones). In point of fact Maggie the 43-year-old bar maid, postmistress, and general shopkeeper was the only single woman within a hundred miles. When she spruced herself up and used the depilatory on her upper lip and chin she could make a man forget all about the cute young ewes, but that only happened around the holidays.

Dan really did prefer women and had even purchased a mail order bride from Thailand, he spent over 7,000 dollars (Australian) plus shipping and handling but she had run off with the immigration inspector from Sydney before she ever made it out to the ranch.

Reviewer: Mixmess(Edit) Rating 8 April 20,2005

More funny than really erotic but an enjoyable read none the less. (8/10)

Reviewer: Amber(Edit) Rating 2 April 20,2005

Yuck! I mean I'm pretty open-minded I can understand the dogs and if they don't mind why should I. But what kind of sick degenerate would do that to an innocent parrot. You disgust me (2/10)

Replied by : Hope(Edit)(April20,2005)

Amber, let me assure you the story was fictional and no actual parrots were injured in the writing of this story. *Grin*

Subject: Parrot Abuse

To: Hope > hotslut@yahgogle.com

From: Amber> mailto:Giasown@earthline.net

Date 18:45am April 20, 2005

Dear Hope

You might think animal abuse is a laughing mater but I don't. Even if you personably haven't abused birds your story will doubtlessly lead to hundreds of parakeets, pigeons, and parrots being injured, psychologically traumatized, and painfully humiliated by teenage boys and other sick perverts! You should think before writing stuff like that. There are dedicated people out here who care about what happens to the earth and our animal friends. Watch yourself because we are watching you.

Amber

This seemed a bit threatening to both Hope and her Master. Master decided to personally answer Amber and assure her that Hope would be properly chastised for her thoughtless outburst on parrot usage and no future descriptions of avian abuse would occur.

Subject: Re: Parrot Abuse

To: Amber> Giasown@earthline.net

From: MasterA > Aman@yahgogle.com

Date 8:23am April 21, 2005

Amber

Please rest assured that Hope will be properly disciplined for her outrageous suggestions on the use and abuse of a parrot. Speaking for myself as her owner and teacher I can assure you that she wasn't considering all of the consequences of her actions when she wrote those words and I will see that she suffers those consequences now. Rest assured this type of incident will not be repeated.

Master A

Master decided a lesson in breath control would be appropriate. Hope was very good at this and she found it mildly euphoric. Master held her roughly by the sides of her head and plunged into her mouth. He thrust into her deeply, blocking her throat. Hope could easily swallow him especially after he had given her a few glasses of wine, which helped her with the gag reflex.

What Hope enjoyed most about this type of play was that it gave her so much control. You might wonder about what kind of control a kneeling slave girl might have when her Master is holding her head in place and forcing himself deep into her throat until he decides to let her breath.

Well actually by continuously swallowing she was able to constantly stimulate his cock and when she used her tongue on the juncture between the base of his cock and his sac she could make him come in less than thirty seconds. This was something Hope was very proud of though she was always punished for it immediately afterwards.

Such is the life of a sub, punished for your own lack of control, punished when your Master loses control. Nobody said a sex slave's life was going to be easy. Both Hope and her Master thoroughly enjoyed their little game but only because they failed to take Amber very seriously.

Reviewer: Laughing Larry(Edit) Rating 8 April 19,2005

Now that's funny. You definitely have no problem with your imagination. The story is fairly well plotted, if not totally believable. The editing problems that plagued your earlier works are nearly non existent. I count nine misspellings and five grammatical errors. Watch those split infinitives. Hey comes out to an even 50 (8/10)

Master broke into an evil grin as he read the words "split infinitive". She could hardly imagine his plans as she lay on her back, her arms already spread and bound to the headboard. He had her raise her legs pressing her knees toward her chest while he tucked a pillow against the curve of her ass. Then he pulled her ankles up to the headboard binding them to her already outstretched wrists. Her sex was spread, pulled wide open, and pointing straight up toward the ceiling. She watched wide-eyed as he pulled on his leather gloves. She shuddered as his leather-clad fingers delicately teased her gaping lips forcing the moisture to bubble up as she began to pant. She tried to listen as he patiently explained the problem with split infinitives. How her left and right legs were like two parts of a verb phrase, broken apart and separated by her pulsing little clit, making her whole sentence structure awkward and hard to follow.

Hope shrieked, his tapping finger punctuated his point and made her come without his permission. He picked up his crop and began.

He alternated between her left and right thigh. Working his way down toward the pulsing center of her being. The blows were not excessively severe; her Master wasn't cruel.

What was she thinking, here she was bound in a completely vulnerable position, her most intimate flesh being whipped, of course he was cruel. It was just that he was only as cruel as he needed to be. That was why she loved the man so.

After delivering twenty swats to each stretched thigh he delivered ten more to her aching clit. They were really more taps than swats, the leather flap at the tip of the crop snapping against her throbbing flesh forced her to come again and yet again.

Maids Night Out. Author: Hope

Story codes M/f M+F+/f f bestiality D/s slavery bondage historical humiliation torture serious nc heavy

Size 36kb

Added on: May 12,2005

Total: 8756 readers

This Month 8756 readers

Synopsis: A serving maid is caught tasting the pate. She is placed in the stocks on the village green and stripped from the waist down. The village men have their way with her before she receives her caning. Before nightfall the master has his valet pack "Pate' de foie gras" into her most intimate openings. Then they release the hounds for the evening.

(If you read this story, and especially if you enjoyed it too, please review it or send an email to author. Authors deserve that. And your comments will encourage them to write more)

Reviewer: SlaveSally (Edit) Rating 9 May 16 2005

Bow-Wow oh wow! That was hot honey. I cried, I cringed, I creamed my jeans.

Keep em cummin' Hope(9/10)

Replied by: Hope (Edit) (May 16,2005)

I'm always pleased to know my stories are enjoyed Slave Sally. Please just don't send me the laundry bill * Wink*

Subject: Maids Night Out

To: Hope > hotslut@yahgogle.com

From: SlaveSally> Hisslave@giggles.com

Date 21:31pm May 16, 2005

Dear Hope,

You can lick my panties anytime girl. You are soooo hot. Your mind is so full of deliciously nasty stuff I could just eat you up. No, I'm serious, can we get together? Do you live on the West Coast? I'd do anything to spend a little time with that perky quirky imagination of yours. Hell tell your Master I'll give him a long slow blowjob and then he can watch us play. Interested? E-mail me Please Hope!

Hope's Master read it and chuckled. Hope found the e-mail vaguely intimidating but of course she would do what her Master wanted. " She sounds desperate." He said, " I don't think she has much of a master."

"What do you want me to do?" Hope asked. "Ignore her." He ordered, and Hope was grateful for the command.

In fact Hope's Master was correct. Sally didn't have much of a Master. She hadn't had any master at all for over a year now. Mark, the man that had claimed her, had found her too demanding for a sub. Whether it was her constant need for assurance, punishment, encouragement, or attention from others, she always craved more.

"Your just too damn high maintenance for a slave. If I wanted to put this much effort into it I'd get a girl friend." He had told her as they broke up.

They did part on the best of terms though. He threw a party for her inviting ten of his best friends. She found it amazing that their parting was really the best part of their four-year relationship. It had been the day of the NCAA Championship game. She had greeted each of them at the door on her hands and knees. She wore a black leather collar with a short leash attached. Other than that she was naked, even her mound had been shaved for the party. She served them beer and snacks shuffling between the kitchen and the living room on her knees. Afterwards she served them all on her hands and knees, most of them several times.

When the game was over and all the wagers settled Mark had auctioned her off to the highest bidder. She fetched the ignoble price of $138.00. Any self-respecting woman would have been insulted and even Sally was a little miffed.

If we wanted to be fair to Mark's friends we would note that those who weren't college students were recent graduates with student loans and money was a bit tight for all of them. The other factor for the low price might have been that they weren't exactly sure of what they were bidding for. In fact Dave, the high bidder thought he had won a long weekend with Mark's girl, maybe a week at most. He tried to return her the following Saturday but Mark told him there were no refunds she was his problem now. Being a fair-minded chap Dave gave her $50.00 and told her to get lost.

Sally wasn't even technically a slave now. At least not according to nineteenth century common law, which was probably about all that would apply to this situation.

It was not the kind of thing she was willing to broadcast on the web, it was a bit embarrassing if your screen name was SlaveSally. In any event she was pretty sure she was going to swear off men for a while.

It was a shame Dapper Dan didn't know of her predicament he would have gladly flown half way around the world to persuade her that not all men were hopeless and Sally had always wanted to see Australia. It might have been blissful being a lone female slave on a ranch with 14 brawny well tanned ranch hands who could all say" G'day Mate" with a straight face and not sound the least bit phony. Then again Sally's latent wool allergy would probably have ruined everything.

Reviewer: Dapper Dan (Edit) Rating 8 May16 2005

Hot Damn that's a wild one. The Author's uncanny grasp of details especially as they pertain to canine anatomy leads to a few legitimate questions about her personal relationship with her owns domestic pets. Not that there's anything wrong with that.

Great story one of your best (8/10)

Reviewer: Messymix (Edit) Rating 10 May 15 2005

Definitely the hottest story I've read in months. You have an absolutely marvelous imagination. You need to write a sequel. Please! (10/10)

Reviewer: Lord Molestest (Edit) Rating 7 May 14 2005

More or less your typical humiliation, abuse, gang rape, whipping, and bestial rape story. A little more graphic than some, but can you really call it non-consensual? I'm sure the bitch was definitely asking for it. (7/10)

Reviewer: Amber (Edit) Rating 6 May 13 2005

They really do that to geese? Do the livers explode? No wonder the French are so fucked up. Well at least the puppy's had a good time. (6/10)

Amber was deeply disturbed though she tried not to show it. The continuing theme of avian abuse was unmistakable. Amber loved all the earth goddesses' creatures but she always felt especially protective of birds.

When she had been a senior in high school she was the acting secretary for a junior cell of the Animal Resistance Front. ARF was a radical splinter group of the more mainstream ALF. In a yearly right of passage she and a dozen other teenagers had piled into a yellow VW van, gotten very stoned, and driven to the Vermont Raptor Center. On that dark moonless night they crept into the center and used bolt cutters to open each of the bird's cages. Then they had all hooted and hollered and made enough noise to drive the startled birds off into the woods.

The birds were very upset by this disturbance but most of them waited for the teens to leave and then returned to their cages to wait for breakfast. UncUnc, the centers lone specimen of a Golden Eagle was suffering from a flu like sickness that left him a bit disoriented. Unlike the other birds he took off and just kept going. This was good and it was bad.

It was good in that the goal of the ARF junior cell was to liberate these majestic birds of prey from the human bondage they had been forced to endure. It was bad because UncUnc was more a carrion feeder than a hunter by nature and years in captivity had only increased that trait. I-91 passed within twelve miles of the Raptor Center and was an excellent source of animal carcasses. UncUnc was plucking away at the flattened remains of a skunk at seven thirty the next morning. He had never really considered why the highway yielded such a variety of decaying bodies until the tractor trailer truck doing seventy-five miles an hour was about ten yards away from him.

If UncUnc had been a wee bit slower he would have been flattened under the grill and entered the food chain as a tasty crow snack. The world, and Amber, would have been non-the-wiser, and Hope's life would have turned out so much simpler.

The Golden Eagle managed three powerful stokes with his wings rising nearly ten feet before he smashed through the windshield of the truck. The driver lost his right eye, and control of the truck. The truck slid across three lanes of oncoming traffic and crashed through the guardrail before coming to rest on a boulder overlooking a very scenic gorge.

Traffic was tied up for most of the morning. The Vermont State Police found the body of UncUnc, which was easy to identify as he was still wearing a Raptor Center tag on his right claw.

A traffic jam in Vermont is always news and the dramatic picture of a tractor-trailer teetering on a precipice assured a page one story. This was how Amber came to read of the fate of UncUnc in the Burlington Banner. She felt a bit guilty but Brad the cell chairperson told her she needed to balance the noble intentions of their actions against the somewhat messy results.

Brad was a sensitive lad who joined ARF for a number of complex and nuanced reasons. First because, as every high school boy knows, chicks dig environmentalists. This was a point Amber had demonstrated on a number of occasions and sometimes twice in a single night. The second reason was that a career as an ARF activist would allow him to blow up power lines, burn down condos and logging camps, and destroy expensive equipment all for a very righteous cause. There was even a rumor about an ARF hit squad for really obnoxious animal abusers. It was a win/ win situation and if Amber was posing some tough questions there were plenty of other chicks that were into brave young eco-warriors. Amber weighed the noble intentions and the messy results and concluded they had all done UncUnc a grave disservice.

Over the next six years Amber learned a number of important life lessons. She learned that men became possessive creeps if you let them stick their cock in you. She studied the matter thoroughly using fourteen different subjects but the results were always the same. It didn't seem to matter where they stuck their cocks, if they came inside you they treated you like their personal property until they tired of you.

Naturally she moved on to women. She was becoming a quick learner. It only took four women, Janice, Aunt Sara, Anne, and June, for her to learn the lesson this time. She was quite convinced that while women were rarely as crude or boorish as men they were in the end equally demanding. They needed much more support, reassurance, and general attention than the average male.

When her Aunt Sara passed away leaving Amber a 58-acre farm She used the opportunity to move in with her true friends. Three Lamas, two goats, a dozen cats, four dogs, a gerbil and a mare now cohabit with her in a wonderful, protected, 58-acre ecosystem.

Because of a severe backlash from the religious right Vermont's civil union laws had never expanded to include platonic intra-species relationships. Technically she was the owner of their home and her animal companions were legally her possessions. Despite the nasty rumors in town all of her relationships with her companions remained strictly platonic. It wasn't because Amber had any moral reservations about inter species sex. It was just that she had never had a successful long-term sexual relationship and she didn't want to screw things up in her shared habitat.

It wasn't as though like she never thought about it. Bruno the Harlequin Great Dane was a handsome brute and she had seen him eyeing her tush on more that one occasion.

Presently her home served as a safe house for ARF and ALF operatives when needed. She was also assigned to monitor a number of web sites for tell tale signs of animal abuse. This included the BDSM Library, which had come under scrutiny on a number of occasions.

Reviewer: Laughing Larry (Edit) Rating 9 May 12 2005

Wow that was a great read. You're really hitting your stride. I think you could have cut back a bit on the whipping scene. You're not competing with Mel Gibson you know. All in all this is your best story to date. Oh yeah 7 misspellings,7 grammar errors not including the three dangling modifiers, and you used the word though for thought 5 times ( that's the trouble with a spellchecker) that comes out to uh 50. You're messing with me right, or has he turned you into a little pain slut? (9/10)

Hope sat in the straight back chair, naked of course, her arms bound to the arms of the chair. Three pillows were stuffed between her buttocks and the chair's back forcing her hips to rest uncomfortably on the very edge of the seat. Once again her mouth was stuffed with a ball gag so she couldn't interrupt the lesson on " Dangling Modifiers" She was tense, she knew this was bound to be a painful lesson but she still had no idea what Master was up to.

The doorbell rang and Master gave her an affectionate kiss on the cheek before he hopped up to get it. He returned with a longhaired bearded man with tattoos over every inch of visible skin.

Hope was not particularly upset about being displayed naked before a complete stranger. Master had cured her of that long ago. This fellow looked like he belonged in a motor cycle gang but he smelled ok. He was carrying a thick briefcase. He sat on the stool in front of Hope his hands grasping her nipples without a word of introduction. He pinched and rolled her sensitive nubs while she squirmed in discomfort.

"Master Phillip is an expert at piercing, Hope and I felt you deserved the best."

Hope could only express her dismay by shaking her head and mewing loudly behind the ball gag. " Yes I know it will hurt a bit but it will remind you to keep those pronouns in their place. In a few months you'll hardly notice the ones through your nipples. The other one will always be a bit more intrusive."

Master Phillip was teasing her frightened little nub of nerves from it's fleshy hood and her eyes widened in horror as she realized where the third "Dangling modifier" would hang. Master had brought a tray table over and the two men were arranging the needed tools on the tray. A bowl of ice, alcohol, metal rings and a hollow needle that looked to Hope about as wide as a ten penny nail. Her eyes widened as her Master steadied her shoulders and Master Philip cleansed her brutally stretched nipple with alcohol. He picked up the needle and pressed it to her sensitive flesh. She screamed into the gag feet beating helplessly against the floor as the needle pushed through her right nipple and blood trickled from the wound.

She was fortunate in that she fainted away during the next piercing and wasn't conscious when they pierced her clit's hood. They placed thin golden rings into the three piercing and then they rudely woke her with smelling salts. Master Phillip gave her strict instructions on how to care for the wounds. Surprisingly the hole near her clit healed quite quickly while the nipples were sore for months.

Three Rings for the Master. Author: Hope

Story codes: M/f D/s slavery bondage modification torture consensual romantic Scfi heavy

Size: 112kb

Added July 2,2005

Total Readers 12596

This month 12596 readers

Synopsis:

Two rings pierce my snow-white breasts,

with iron links that chain me.

from hooded flesh the silver ring hangs

with which the master claims me.

With trembling lips I kiss his whip

which in the darkness tames me.

(If you read this story, and especially you enjoyed it too, please review it or send an email to author. Authors deserve that. And your comments will encourage them to write more)

Reviewer: SlaveSally (Edit) Rating 10 July 10 2005

Jeez.. the hits just keep on cumming. I've learned to strip down before reading any of your stories but come on. I came three times before I finished the first chapter. Looks like I'll need to bring a towel from now on. * Blushes as she mops the puddle from the chair*(10/10)

Reviewer: Dapper Dan (Edit) Rating 10 July 8 2005

Eat your heart out J.R.R. Tolkien, This is the story he could have written if he had more guts and a better imagination. Have a hard time getting around the consensual bit but perhaps it will become clearer in later chapters. You have some interesting Ideas about female elfin anatomy, and your Orcs are, well, just awesome. We anxiously await your next installment.(10/10)

Reviewer: Kilgore Pike (Edit) Rating 5 July 4, 2005

Science fiction? You call that Science Fiction? SCIENCE FICTION IS ABOUT ROBOTS AND RAYGUNS AND ROCKETS, NOT ELVES AND ORCS AND WIZARDS. Story wasn't that bad, BUT STOP LYING ABOUT SCIENCE FICTION! ok(5/10)

Replied by Hope (Edit) (July 5, 2005)

Sorry Kilgore, the story is really fantasy not Scfi but that's not an option in the story codes so Scfi was as close as it got. * Grin*

Subject: Three Rings

To: Hope > hotslut@yahgogle.com

From: KilgorePike > Kveinagut@yahgogle.com

Date 21:31pm May 16, 2005

AS CLOSE AS IT GOT?

YOU STUPID COW!

SCIENCE FICTION IS ABOUT NOBILITY AND PURITY AND GOODNESS, ALL THOSE THINGS THAT ARE EVER TRUELY WORTH WRITING ABOUT. IT WARNS MANKIND OF THE DANGERS THEY FACE!! IT PREPARES US FOR THE DANGEROUS FUTURE WE ARE ALL FACING NOW!! I KNOW WHAT SCIENCE FICTION IS!!! I WRITE SCIENCE FICTION…The tripe you write is just a slimy excuse to take pale virginal elfin maidens, strip them naked, chain them in dank dark dungeons and allow huge sweaty green skinned monsters to abuse them in every imaginable hole while slavering packs of wolves pace in the background impatiently waiting for their turn to OH! OH GOD! SHIT!!! NO!!

Kilgore leapt from the chair tearing off his gray stained bathrobe as if it were on fire. He tossed it to the ground. As his arms flailed he accidentally double clicked on the send icon and his incomplete message galloped off into the ether. Kilgore had more immediate problems to deal with. He scuttled off toward the bathroom peeling off the soggy boxer shorts as he went. He carefully hung them, sticky side out, on the towel rack and selected a freshly dried crusty pair to replace them.

Quite suddenly a movement in the bathtub drain seized his attention. He watched fascinated as a midsize cockroach emerged from the drain and began to climb the soap scum and lime scale caked shower wall. Stunned Kilgore knelt down and began to pray for the little fellow's success. An hour and fifteen minutes later Kilgore began to tremble as the roach fearlessly climbed out onto the slimy shower spout. As the bug teetered on the edge Kilgore pleaded with it, to think of it's wife and kids, to believe and hope for a better future. It was all to no avail as the bug slipped and plunged antenna first the full six feet two inches onto the cold enamel surface far below.

Through tear filled eyes Kilgore watched in amazement as the bug rolled over and scurried back down the drain. Surely there was a lesson for mankind in this but Kilgore couldn't quite grasp it yet. Shrugging he wandered back toward the computer.

Kilgore had always had time management issues. It was one of the reasons for his spotty employment record. To his thought process a few seconds had elapsed since he started the e-mail to Hope and he picked up almost exactly where he left off.

And another thing. Who told you elves have a second clitoris between their vagina and anus?

He then proceeded to compose a six thousand word dissertation on just how unlikely it would be for the necessary vascular and neurological tissues to develop embryologicaly in that particular location as well as the inability of the available tissue to provide the structural support for a second clitoral process. It was a brilliant piece of deductive reasoning and he ended his missive with this perfectly rational thought

I think you made the whole thing up, bitch. If you can't come up with some supporting documentation I think you owe the whole damn world an apology.

Yours

Kilgore Pike

P.s. actually historic may have been a more accurate code than scfi

Kilgore sent the message only to have the screen blink impatiently for two minutes and then inform him it was unable to connect with his ISP. Unknown to Kilgore when he sent the first portion of his message Hope with the consent of her Master contacted yahgogle.com and asked that all future messages from his account be blocked.

Yahgogle.com had accumulated a number of such requests in the two years Kilgore had employed them as his ISP in fact of the 527 emails Kilgore had sent 499 had resulted in request that further communication be blocked. He was not a prolific user of email, which he quaintly called ether mail, but those he did send tended to be umm passionate. Hope's was the 500 ^th such request and that was a magical number to the machines at Yahgogle. His account was suspended.

In a pique of rage Kilgore tossed the 60 megahertz Pentium 2 out the second story window where it joined an accumulating pile. Unfortunately the twin 20 megabyte hard drives shattered and erased the last evidence of Kilgore's tenuous grasp on what we all like to think of as reality. Kilgore sat down in front of his 1978 vintage IBM Selectric typewriter and banged out an angry letter to the editor about the dangers that monopolistic communications companies pose to free expression.

He used both index fingers for increased speed and emphasis. The letter was posted that very day.

Ordinarily when the New York Time receives a letter containing that many expletives, invectives and oblique references to elfin anatomy it ends up in the shredder. However an alert editor noted that this particular letter also contained a number of threats to the health and well being of the Govoner and a very specific threat to the Mayors thirteen-year-old daughter. Appropriate agencies were contacted and Kilgore was soon host to a social worker, a court appointed psychiatrist, and three burly officers who accompanied him to his new residence. He became a guest of the state and teams of tireless psychiatrists started working to find a pharmaceutical solution that would return Kilgore to the ranks of the gainfully employed.

Reviewer: Amber (edit) Rating 3 July 4,2005

First parrots, then geese, now crows and wolves. You've been warned you sick pervert.

BUT THEN YOU DON'T LISTEN! DO YOU?

By this point both Hope and her Master were becoming concerned. They had no way of knowing that the authorities would be taking care of Kilgore for the foreseeable future and to be quite frank Amber was beginning to sound like a nutcase.

Hope and her Master were not the only ones concerned about Amber.

Like most Great Danes, Bruno had learned to always follow his nose when it came to matters of the heart. It was obvious to him that Amber had a crush on him. He was an adventurous soul and willing to push the envelope. Truth be told, for a tailless, furless bitch, he felt Amber had a foxy little butt. He couldn't help but notice this because she was in the habit of bending over in front of him and wagging it at his nose four or five times a day. It wouldn't take a bloodhound to figure out she was hot for him. Life should be so easy.

Usually (but not always) she kept a layer of cloth on her butt while she waved it in the air but any one could smell her desire. Still every time he went to mount her she would push him away and start into the same old spiel about sex leading to messy emotional entanglements and "can't we just be friends". He'd been around the barnyard long enough to know when bull was being flung in his direction.

He was never one to make sweeping generalizations but it seemed to him that bipeds went out of their way to make life complicated. She wanted him, he found the thought of his belly slapping against that smooth furless rump, as he pumped into her tight wet slit, exciting in a kinky but nice sort of way. He wasn't buying into this sex and emotional turmoil bullshit. He was a patient creature and when Amber figured out what she wanted he'd be there for her, in the mean time there were other bitches in the barnyard. Life really was quite simple if you lived it well.

Reviewer: Laughing Larry (Edit) Rating 10 July 3,2005

Wow Hope, you've really come a long way. This is probably the best story posted on this site for years. I don't see how you can make the next two segments as good as this one, but I wouldn't bet against you. If your Master ever tires of you let me know cause I'm sure I'm in love. Oh and find your own damn mistakes, I'm too enthralled with the story to bother looking.

It was a nice sentiment but of course his Mom would never let him keep a slave girl (or any other female) in his room. The cracking whips, rattling chains, and moaning would have ruined Mom's beauty rest and she tended to get cranky without eight solid hours of sleep. Little did Larry realize how tenuous Hope and her Masters relation was about to become. If he had he might have moved out and gotten an apartment of his own.

Subject: Three Rings

To: Hope > hotslut@yahgogle.com

From: A.M.Quim > JGQcorp@pussypress.com

Date 09:31am July 16, 2005

Dear Ms. Hotslut,

The offices of Jackman, Geurkoff, and Quim Purveyors of Fine Internet Erotica since 1997 have taken note of your recent submissions to the BDSM Library.

Your latest contribution " Three Rings For the Master." Has considerable commercial potential.

We would be interested in offering you a $3000.00 advance for a 75,000 word, three segment story, in addition you would receive 5% royalties on any sales in excess of your advance payment. We would require that you remove the present story from the public domain for editing and revision and refrain from posting additional chapters.

We await your reply, Ms. Hotslut.

Sincerely

A.M.Quim

CEO

Jackman, Geurkoff, &Quim Inc.

They say that money is the root of all evil. That would make contractual agreements a wellspring of most iniquity. Hope read the letter and was ecstatic. Her Master felt more apt to perform due diligence.

I would never presume to understand the heart or mind of a woman. Still Hope's Master was completely blindsided by how events turned out. Why a woman who would allow herself to be whipped, chained, pierced, tattooed, shared, used and yes abused in every imaginable and a few unimaginable ways would then draw the line at the control of her intellectual property is a bit puzzling.

Then again everyone has some line that can't be crossed.

Master A explained that the firm of JGQ was a bit of a fraud. Their recent public stock offering had netted less than $10,000 and the chairman Mr. Jackman had taken that and run off to a Caribbean Island Nation that had no extradition treaty with the US. Hope didn't care, she wanted to be a real writer, and she wanted it now.

It would have been inappropriate and immature to say "I told you so." When the electronic funds transfer for the $3000.00 advance was declined for insufficient funds. Men, Master A included, have always been renowned for their inappropriate and juvenile remarks. Hope decided that she really couldn't stand Master A any more and she needed some space.

With fresh as well as fading whip marks she had no problem gaining admittance to the local women's shelter. They urged her to prosecute the bastard but Hope assured them she had a much more devious plan. Five weeks later she sold the publication rights for her first novel to "Simian and Sholar" a renowned publishing firm.

" Three rings for the Master" was the heartrending autobiographical account of a tormented and shattered young woman in love who had suffered for years at the hands of a cruel sadistic bastard before finding the courage to set herself free.

With a week on the morning talk show circuit and a tear filled hour on the "Opearha Whinefre show", her book easily climbed to the top of the New York Times best seller list.

Some of our concerned readers might be feeling a twinge of pity for poor Master A who was so abruptly cast aside at the pinnacle of Hope's success. It might ease your agitation to know that he had been carrying on an online affair with SlaveSally ever since she first offered him her oral services. They will soon meet in real life and I'm sure the two of them will live happily ever after if he can keep her away from the keyboard.

Now that Hope was a renowned writer, her name and whereabouts became a mater of public record. This facilitated Amber's plans and within a week of Hope's taking up residence in a penthouse apartment in midtown Manhattan an ARF operative visited Amber's farm for his new assignment. Brad and Amber's reunion was briefly torrid before they got down to business. It took Brad only two days to remind Amber exactly why she so preferred the company of beasts.

In the meantime the ACLU had taken an interest in Kilgore Pike's plight and arranged for a court hearing into his legal status. The court security officer watching over the patient assumed Kilgore must surely be catatonic because he had sat on the courthouse bench staring out the window without even blinking for over four hours. He saw no problem in leaving Kilgore briefly during his lunch break and there probably wouldn't have been a problem if the pigeon hadn't decided to fly away at just that point. Kilgore rose up and followed.

From an Internet café in downtown Boston He contacted a service tech at Yahgogle.com and explained to the sympathetic gentleman from the subcontinent that he was recently released from a hospital and had forgotten his home address. He gave his username as Hotslut and of course easily guessed the password (wetslit) The service tech who understood most English words from a long colonial history was only too happy to provide Kilgore with that accounts current Manhattan Address and phone number. If Kilgore needed any further assistance he need only call or log on. Kilgore struck out traveling west by southwest while reviewing his recent lessons in proper elfin anatomy.

Amber, Brad, and Bruno climbed into an aging bright yellow VW van for the long trek to Manhattan. Amber was the getaway driver, Bruno was the muscle, and Brad carried an Egyptian Naja Haje cobra coiled in a leather satchel. Amber parked two blocks from the apartment and the males took the service elevator to the penthouse.

Kilgore arrived in his rumpled hospital uniform unshaven and smelling a bit rank after three days on the road. In short he looked every bit the part of a Hollywood movie producer. The doorman asked for his autograph before sending him up to the penthouse in Hope's private elevator.

Thus it came to pass on a fateful September eve that Kilgore, Brad, and Bruno met quite suddenly in the foyer of Hope's apartment. Brad being an impulsive lad flung his satchel's charge at the befuddled Kilgore. Kilgore expired clasping a coiled asp to his breast, as he had always known he would. Brad panicked and turned to flee.

Bruno was a sensitive creature and he tore Brad's throat out for a number of subtly nuanced reasons. It had nothing to do with the fact that the slimy bastard had waltzed into Bruno's home banged his dream bitch for two days and then left her in tears. Bruno felt that was between Amber and Brad and would never stick his nose into other peoples business. It was just that Bruno hated senseless death and destruction. The incompetent sleazeball, Brad, had killed an innocent luckless lunatic using a hapless snake to do his dirty work and now the coward wasn't even going to stick around and rescue the asp. Is it any wonder Bruno snapped?

With an authoritative growl Bruno sent the asp slithering toward the heating duct. From there the snake easily fled the scene of the crime and disappeared onto the streets of New York.

The doorman later told the police that a black and white spotted werewolf had burst through the front lobby door, and fled north on Fifth Avenue. The bodies of an escaped lunatic and a wanted ecoterrorist with a mutilated throat told the rest of the story. The Egyptian Asp was the signature weapon of an ARF contract killing. The detectives soon determined that Kilgore was not the intended target and advised Hope to leave New York, change her name, run like hell, find a hole, and climb inside. The ARF was known to be a persistent group.

When Bruno arrived back at the van breathless and with blood on his snout Amber knew there had been some complications. With a paw on the stick shift Bruno urged her to get the hell out of New York City. One look into his huge brown eyes told her that Brad wouldn't be joining them, ever. She followed Bruno's suggestion and headed north on the FDR. They drove in silence up the Taconic Parkway. Amber kept glancing over at Bruno. She knew he was a gentle creature but as he leaned out the open window his muzzle pressed into the wind and ears flapping in the breeze He looked so resolute and fiercely protective. Bruno knew how to play the strong silent type and his nose told him the ploy was working. The scent of her desire permeated the van. She squirmed fitfully on her seat, he was really getting her hot and bothered. He turned back to the window and took a deep breath. This time he was sure that if he was patient he would have her. By the time they reached the Connecticut border she couldn't keep her paws off him any longer.

At the first rest area on I 84 eastbound she pulled over and the two of them tumbled into the back of the van. Bruno watched in awe as she peeled off her jeans and dropped onto her hands and knees. He licked that divinely hairless rump for a few tantalizing moments before hopping on top of her. She whimpered as he pushed into her tight wet opening. The VW suspension bounced and creaked while passing truckers honked and hooted but the two lovers were oblivious. Amber was everything Bruno had ever imagined and so much more. They came together and then collapsed into a panting sweating tangle of limbs.

She rolled over underneath him and threw her arms around his muscular neck. He gently licked away the salty tears of joy that trickled down her cheeks. Ten minutes later the van was rocking and bouncing again. They both were wearing huge grins when they pulled into the farmyard four hours later. They disappeared into her bedroom and weren't seen till noon the next day.

Hope completed a Lexus-Nexus search of the least likely hideouts in the world. Of the top 146 places were someone was most unlikely to be found, there was only one where English was the common language. She slipped away on a private jet that same night. When she arrived at the airstrip in Dry Spring Station, New South Wales she was greeted by a very dapper and wealthy rancher named Dan. He owned the airstrip, a large sheep ranch and had 14 well-tanned and very randy ranch hands. They got on famously and in fact are considering nuptials in the coming fall.

Larry cuddled up to the sexy blonde with the humungus knockers. He casually draped an arm around her shoulders and reached down toward her right breast. Playfully he twisted her erect nipple. With a click "Sassy Sally began to hum in anticipation. She was the deluxe model with "Vibro-Magic" internal massage. Sure she had a few stains and a tiny patch on her left buttock but to Larry she truly was nearly new. You could always get the best bargains on e-bay; He had only paid $75.00 Australian for her. That was less than $40.00 in real money. Even with postage she'd been a real steal.

Now he'd be able to just deflate her and roll her up in the morning and throw her in a pillowcase. Mom was none the wiser.

Dan used the $75.00 to have Hope's rings chromed and polished. He hoped she'd appreciate this thoughtful gesture. He wanted her to look bright and sparkly when he and the boys proposed. Some of the ewes are still a bit grumpy but you can't please everyone.

Hope now writes under an assumed name. (LH is the only clue I'll give) her works are a series of very mundane and mostly vanilla mystery/horror/romance stories about a female detective and her werewolf lover or was it a Vampire. You know the genre, the type of paperbacks that get churned out 4 a year and are scooped up by bored housewives. She and Dan seem happy and ARF is none the wiser so I guess we should leave well enough alone.

Author's postscript: Any story as convoluted and rambling as this one must contain a moral. I seem to have misplaced it. I've read through it twice and I'm sure it has to be buried in there somewhere. If you should happen to stumble across it please contact me immediately as I'm really curious as to what it might be.

In remembrance of the late Kilgore Pike perhaps we might persuade Jinn to add Fantasy to the theme codes for future stories. Imagine the number of senseless tragedies that might be avoided.