Another erotic story from the FLOGMASTER!Copyright 1985-2016 by the Flogmaster. All Rights Reserved. Free distribution via electronic medium (i.e. the internet or electronic BBS) is permitted as long as the text is _not_ modified and this copyright is included, but _no_ other form of publication is allowed without written permission. This document _may_ contain explicit material of an ADULT nature. ***READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!*** Anything offensive is your own problem. This story is for **entertainment** purposes only, and it does _not_ necessarily represent the viewpoint of the author or the electronic source where this was obtained. All characters are *fictional* -- any resemblance to real people is purely coincidental.
About the Fantasy Series"What is your deepest, darkest, most secret fantasy?" Those words bring a chill to anyone. To reveal something so private, so personal, is difficult. Yet that's exactly what we have here. In each story, a narrator reveals his or her most private sexual fantasy. In the grand tradition of such things, it is a *fantasy* -- it may not be realistic or even physically possible. It's not necessarily something he/she would want to experience in real life, but the illusion can be appealing. But no matter how bizarre or incomprehensible, fantasies reveal something intimate about ourselves. So . . . learn and enjoy. And send me your fantasies! The Flogmaster
(***, M/F, Intense, slavery, whipping)
A woman dreams of being a wealthy television star with dozens of lovers but none can match her true love. (Approximately 814 words. Originally published 1996-03.)
I am a glamours TV star, yes. Beautiful, young, and wildly popular. I'm on one of those evening soap opera stars. Yeah, and my character is vicious and naughty, always teasing the men and getting away with murder. Everyone wants me, both on the show and in real life. When I go to the supermarket my face is on all the tabloids with rumors of me dating my 18-year-old co-star.
My days are filled with people fussing over me, touching up my make-up, arranging my hair _just_so_, and fitting me for elegant clothing I would normally never have the good taste to wear. I am photographed and pampered, and everyone tells me I am beautiful, radiant.
I have plenty of money. I have a beautiful house, huge, and lots of cars with an elegant, handsome chauffeur who also wants me, but I treat him like dirt. Yeah, and he doesn't mind at all, but grovels willingly, eager for just an ounce of pleasure from my lips. I let him kiss my feet and then I kick him away, laughing at his troubled expression.
I have many lovers. All of them handsome, many of them wealthy and powerful. Men used to being obeyed. But they crawl to me, begging for just the sweet touch of my hand, my casual caress. They are from all over the world, my lovers, handsome men from South America, Africa, Europe, and the East. Each is unique, like different types of wine. I bed them all, sometimes several at a time. If it bothers them they do not complain; they would not dare.
I let the men live at my house. Yes, that way they are waiting for me when I come home. They are not permitted to wear clothes in my home but must remain naked all day. They must remain hard, too. If one of them greets me and his cock isn't hard I punish him cruelly, whipping his ass and legs with a riding whip and making him stand on display out by the pool, where all can gawk and giggle at him.
I will sometimes let one of the men undress me. He will help me out of my clothes and into something casual for the evening. He is not permitted to touch me, only to look and lust, to smell my panties, perhaps wearing them on his head for the rest of the evening.
My lovers are only to desire me, nothing else. I monitor them strictly and severely punish any disobedience. If I see one of them is hungry he is beaten until I am the only food he needs. If one is thirsty, he can only drink my juices from my private fountain, nowhere else.
During the days I am a goddess, all-powerful. All I have to do is speak and someone is punished, whipped into a frenzy of pain and unsatisfied lust. No one dares to contradict me.
Except for my husband. Ah, yes, I am married. He is a wonderful man, a genius, incredibly handsome and vibrant. Though my lovers do not bother him, I must obey him when he wants me or he punishes me soundly.
My nights with him are filled with nothing but terror and heart-pounding excitement. If my lovers or my fans could see me at night, bound hand and foot in my bedroom closet, naked except for the stiff leather collar studded with steel beads and the long black high heeled boots, my back, legs, and thighs crisscrossed with thin stripes of red from a narrow lash, I wouldn't know how to blush enough.
But they are not here. I am alone with my husband, my love. He loves me so tenderly, so fiercely. I cannot express how I adore his cruel whip caressing my body so lovingly, the occasional harsh bite drawing deep gasps of pain and delight from my soul. My tears are not tears of pain but tears of love and compassion. My body hurts for him, it aches and stings and throbs for him.
Outside I am nothing but a careless vamp, a walking wet dream who can have any man she desires. Inside I am simple and contrite, a little girl that only needs a loving embrace, a firm spank, a tender kiss. That is the real me, a girl with needs, not the rude woman who lives only to abuse people's affections.
But you understand, don't you lover? You are my husband, my twin soul, my eternal partner. You know exactly what I need and you provide it willingly, without a thought to the cost.
Oh, take me now, dear husband, ravish me quickly, in blessed violent heaven, beat my flesh and bring fire to my soul, consume me with your wild passion, and let me abandon all I am into your all-enclosing arms.