Trick of the Light

This entry is part 7 of 16 in the series 2013 Apr/May

“Start small,” Hammond said to himself. He placed his machine on the bathroom sink. He reasoned that in the tiled room, auras stayed in the air longer and were somewhat less likely to dissipate than they would in a larger room that had more porous walls.

He switched on the machine, which about the size of a microwave oven, and pointed it at the wall above the bathtub. Flecks of water materialized and then, coming into focus, a three-dimensional hologram of a nude girl standing under the water, running her soapy hands over her lithe body.

“Awesome!” Hammond gasped. The naked girl turned his way, her slippery hands covering boobs that formed vivid cleavage as she continued to soap herself. Foamy trickles skittered down her slim belly and fizzed into her amazingly full patch of pubes. Hammond was so shocked, so afraid the lifelike woman would shout at him for peeping at her, that he turned off the machine.
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Last Ho On The Left

This entry is part 6 of 25 in the series 2013 Mar

“A house of prostitution . . . specializing in a ‘supernatural’ fetish. Well, considering the location,” Mr. Atwill said, easing himself back in his chair, “the unnatural seemed natural.”

To avoid complaints from nosy neighbors and outraged citizens, he’d taken over the old Aubert mansion, which was next door to a long-dormant cemetery recessed behind a quiet dirt road.

“Only dedicated men drive up here from the city,” he said, “ones with a lot of money and a taste for the bizarre. The girls here must know their specialties and look supernatural as well, without relying too much on makeup.”

Atwill took inventory of the woman in front of him with the white-blonde hair and the plain black dress. She was a bit bony, and maybe she could use some implants, but she was interesting around the eyes, and had luscious, full lips, perfect for blowjobs. He thought that he might even audition her himself. “I shall give you a tour. Uh, what’s your first name?”
“Eleanora. You bought the mansion,” she said, “to turn it into a whorehouse of horrors? That is the . . . spirit behind it all, is it?”
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Laying Down The Law

This entry is part 5 of 22 in the series 2013 Feb

She slipped out of her robe and draped it over the wooden chair behind her desk. Her white underwear looked beige in the dim candlelight; the camisole that made her breasts swell, the linen drawers that reached down to her ankles. She blew out the candles and dark wisps of smoke slithered upward, disappearing into the gray shadows that now dominated the room on this late summer afternoon.

In the dim light, she could barely see the painting on the wall of Esther Hobert Morris, the first woman to serve as a Justice of the Peace. It happened in 1870, and here in Laramie, just 20 years later, many still believed that it was a sin for a woman to pass judgment on a man. Wyoming was tough territory, and living outside the law was part of the reward. Those who pushed Indians off their land were “settlers,” not lawbreakers. Men took the law into their own hands, took women as they pleased and were considered Gods and heroes for it. Billy the Kid, Jesse James and . . . Lewis Paine?

Paine was known to be the most evil man in Laramie. Crude, violent and terrifying, arrested but never convicted. It was human nature to feel sorry for the prisoner in the dock and not the victim in the ground. She knew this, and admitted to herself that Paine was good-looking, dynamic, and maybe some who crossed him had it coming. In a God-forsaken territory, you have to believe a bad man has a spark of good and he’ll change his ways if given a break. Either that or be sure that justice means he won’t get out of jail and grow even worse. Every lawman, jurist and judge felt guilt over punishing someone for only being as tough and as brutal as this frontier land itself.

Lewis Paine gave three short knocks, then a fourth. Despite the candles being out and the room bathed in shadow, the air was still oven-hot. Her skin was burning and her brow feverish, but she had to do this. She knew she had to experience Paine for herself.
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The Cleavage Show

This entry is part 10 of 19 in the series 2013 Jan

The action on the dance floor was fierce, and it didn’t take more than a few beats for everyone having fun to get sweaty. The floor was throbbing from the heavy bass, and she only moved the top half of her body, her huge natural breasts chugging up and down. She wore a beautiful Lycra top, hot pink against her dark brown skin, the material deliberately ripped down the neckline, not only to show her affluence and disregard for money, but to expose more cleavage.

Her Chantelle Eternelle bra, obsidian black, was a size 36C and frankly too small for her, pushing her breasts upward, creating a dark chasm of exposed cleavage and bubbling boob flesh. Every movement caused her soft, jiggly breasts to wiggle and sway, which drew the attention of the feverish circle of sweaty men who danced around her. She could feel thick cocks grazing the crack of her ass or rubbing up against her thigh for a few nasty seconds. Each time the laser lights flashed, men tried to make meaningful eye contact with her. But that wasn’t what she wanted. She cupped her boobs, squeezed them, pushed them up to balloon them and make her cleavage even more of an enticing chasm. That’s where she wanted the attention.
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The Mannequin Makeover

“Right in my face! Do it right in my face!” she cried, her eyes fixating on her man tugging his tool. She loved being fucked, but she never wanted to be deprived of getting a load where she could see it, taste it or feel it. Especially feel it. How she wished he could cover her entirely with his cock cream!

He’d fucked her for a long time, and his balls were full of hot juice, ready to spurt. Now he was steadying himself while straddling her, and the way she lay on the bed, crying out for that load, he felt a demonic desire to drown her with sloppy spurts of jizz. He jerked his tool right in front of her eyes, and then he began erupting with such intensity that the strength of his gush surprised them both.

He could almost hear the stuff sizzle out of his cock and explode against her face. A hot rocket of come smacked her right between the eyes and another flung wildly on top of her head, and a few gobs splashed past her neck and clotted in the shimmering black hair that hung down to her shoulders.

She dabbed some fuck juice off her forehead and rubbed her slippery fingers around her clit. She couldn’t help but giggle as rivulets of come trickled down the side of her face. She touched the back of her hand to her cheek, but the puddle that had formed above her collarbone and was dripping slowly down her breasts distracted her. She stopped masturbating when her hair swept her shoulder and she noticed her new “hair product” clumped in the ends.

“Ewww,” she said. “Can’t you aim that away from my hair?” She stood up, went to the bathroom, and began to bitch and moan. “It’s hard to get come out of my hair!”

She saw his reflection in the bathroom mirror as he came up behind her. He had a grin on his face, proud of having given her such a tremendous load. And he was hard again. He nudged her ass with his thick prong and pulled her cheeks apart to wedge it right against her hole. With all the juices from her pussy having leaked into it during the long fucking she’d taken while on her back, her asshole was already pretty moist. He was able to stuff the mushroom cap of his long cock right inside her without much effort.

“No,” she said, “you don’t deserve more. Look what you’ve done!”

“You asked for it, remember?”

“I never said to come in my hair.”

He nudged his prick deeper up her ass. She was asking for that, too, with her contrary complaints. He knew she was just testing the limits, and he had to remind her that there were none.

He gripped onto her thighs with his strong hands and gently but firmly held her cheeks apart as he started up his rhythm, working his dick in and out.

“I’ll make your asshole suck up the next load,” he said.

“At least you don’t have to worry about aiming when it’s in my ass,” she teased. “Look at all this stuff in my hair. Maybe I should wait and let it dry,” she continued, talking almost to herself by now. “Then it might be easier to get all that come. . . . ”

Her words were a little too distracting. “I think what you need,” he said between his long, punishing slams into her pliant, ever widening butthole, “is to shut the fuck up.”

He reached out and found a pair of scissors as he fucked her wet asshole. “What if I just cut off your hair? Then you won’t have to worry!”

His grip on her hair was strong, but not at all unpleasant. As he masterfully eased his greasy cock in and out of her ass— and she bent lower to make sure it went all the way in where she wanted it— she felt a flush of shamed lust as she stared at herself in the mirror. She was in no position to do more than beg him to stop. Only, in the madness of the moment and with her passion building, she didn’t want him to stop. A real man wouldn’t stop, anyway, and every time she tested him, he showed himself to be a real man.

“You want to cut off my hair? What would I be without it?” she asked.

“You’d be a mannequin,” he said. “There isn’t a man alive who hasn’t stopped in front of a store window and stared at a bald, naked mannequin, propped up and ready for anything.”

“Oh, right. And— ”

“Shut up, mannequin! Sex dolls do not speak.”

He drove the point home by slamming his cock all the way up her butt and keeping it in there. He grabbed her by the hair, and she heard a rip as the shears bit into her tresses. Again and again he let the scissors slice through her hair, sawing until he could hold up the pelt in his hand like a trophy.

“You better even it out,” she said.

“I told you to shut the fuck up!”

Warming to his task, he grabbed smaller handfuls of her hair and scissored them off in quick chops, matching his cutting to the rhythm of his thrusting cock. As he pushed in, he grabbed a handful of her hair. When he pulled out, he made the cut. Within minutes, her head was just a mottle of tufts. She felt the hair against her body as it fell away, tickling her back, her butt and her legs. It had her tingling with excitement, and she slipped a finger down to frig her clit as her ass got plowed. Her sphincter clenched and choked the dick up her ass.

He began to fuck her harder than before, breaking her sphincter’s hold on his cock. He rammed her brutally, his balls slapping against her, and she went limp with submission, her head lowered, staring at the piles of hair that had collected in the sink.

“You could get a job as a punk hair stylist,” she called out.

“I said shut up,” he replied. “If you don’t shut up, you don’t get dick!”

He slid his cock out of her ass, and she almost whimpered in disappointment. She was so close to coming! She wanted him inside her again! She shut her mouth tight and pounded her fists on the bathroom sink, hungry and desperate for cock meat.

“Okay, mannequin,” he hissed. “I’ll fuck you some more, but let’s make sure you’re perfectly smooth and hairless. My living doll.”

He opened the cabinet and got out his shaving cream and razor. Then he ordered her to sit on the toilet.

“Let’s do this right,” he said, running the hot water in the sink until it billowed puffs of steam. He washed his hands and even washed his dick, which was still bone hard. He stood in front of her, ordered her to bend forward a bit, then stuffed his dick down her throat. “That’ll give you something to steady yourself,” he said.

She felt almost humiliated as the shaving cream was spread all over her head. The white goo splattered all over her skull as if she was the star of a bukkake video. Then she heard the sound of the razor scraping away what was left of her hair.

She dumbly stayed on the pot with her mouth impaled on dick meat and her legs spread wide. She reached down slowly and rubbed her slippery pussy folds, moving her finger faster each time he scratched at her scalp with the razor.

She felt literally light headed now. He pulled his cock out of her mouth and said, “You’ll be rewarded with more hot loads all over your head and face, but not till you do something about that hairy bush of yours. Get to work! I’m watching.”

For a long time she had regularly trimmed her vulva for his pleasure, leaving a rather neat triangle of hair just above her clit. But now she had to be a mannequin, perfectly shaved. She held out her hand, took a blob of shaving cream into it, and smothered her pussy hair. He handed her the razor and as he stood there, his dick pointing at her, she spread her legs wider. With a strange sense of shame and desire, she began to shave herself in front of him, as if she truly was a dirty girl who needed to be clean.

“That’s it, shave it down,” he said.

He moved to the bathroom sink. He dumped something into it and turned the hot water on until steam began to cloud the mirror. As she passed the razor over her bare, eerily smooth flesh, the sensation sent shivers all along her spine. She was done.

He was jerking his cock, telling her to spread wider to show off her shaved crotch. He started to fuck her face as she sat on the toilet, and she began to dig her fingers into her pussy again.

“Don’t say a word,” he reminded her. She was going to beg him to come on her face, but he wanted no distraction or encouragement, just silence. She shut her mouth, closed her eyes, and felt his hot load spatter against her raw skin. Her mouth trembled as she let out a few soft groans. More come landed on her tits and thighs.

“Here’s some more for you,” he said, grabbing the bottle that had been floating in the hot water of the bathroom sink. It was lotion, and he used the bottle’s pump to splatter it all over her shaven head. It felt like a dozen men were coming on her at once.

“You sit there and take it, mannequin,” he said.

She shivered and found herself climaxing again and again. The instruction to not talk or move was delicious torment.

After it was over, he hauled her off the toilet, and with her knees aching and her body exhausted, she moved like a broken doll, tottering toward the bedroom as he held her hand.

He made her squat slightly in front of the mirror that was on the back of the bedroom door. As she squatted, he parted her pussy lips, which were engorged and hot and slippery, and inserted a brand new tube of toothpaste almost to the clipped fin at its end. “Now you stay down there and keep that thing up your cunt!”

She squatted down more and the tube stayed inside her, just its pleated edge showing. She looked up and saw her reflection. It was shocking and yet arousing to see herself shaved bald. She stayed that way, a frozen mannequin posed by her owner, for 10 minutes, 20 minutes. . . .

Then he began tugging on his cock. He told her not to move again, so she stayed in position, even though it was going to take him a long time to come. “Once you get the loads, you can finish yourself off. But don’t move a muscle till then!”

Her body remained rigid, her heart pumping wildly and her skin shimmering with sweat. Eventually he jerked out another series of hot, gooey loads onto her shaved head and rubbed the slippery stuff into a lather that coated her smooth dome.

Finally allowed her own release, she pressed her finger against her clit. In just a few seconds she had another shattering climax as she clenched her pussy muscles on the tube in her twat. She could barely keep herself steady as she felt her nipples tighten, her chest flush pink, and her throat let loose her gasps and cries. But, her mouth trembling, she did not speak a word.

Finally, slowly, she rose and crawled humbly into bed, exhausted.

She was so tired that she couldn’t sleep. Instead, her mind somehow held the image of a movie she’d seen about Samson, the Biblical strongman who had lost his strength after being shorn by Delilah. Now she understood. Getting her head shaved had somehow changed her. She was aroused when it was happening, and now she was, gratefully and humbly, her lover’s mannequin. People would be startled to see a bald woman on the street, and she knew she would have to explain that it was all her husband’s idea.

She drifted off to sleep, feeling a sense of security and serenity at having him in charge. From now on she would indeed be his mannequin.