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My "Images" (a term I stole from Suki) are short ideas, images,
and sketches written for the amusement of and offered as tribute 
to my Liege and Lady.  They were always longer and never so well
crafted as Suki's short masterpieces, and over time, my Images
files began to include various email excerpts and other works
in progress or ideas for works and became more journal than art,
so some juxtapositions may seem odd.


A few selections from my Images files follow.  They are generally 
cruel and nonconsensual and of interest only to sickphuxs, so please 
read no further if such doesn't appeal to you.

The Images are impurely the products of a warped imagination, and
should not be seen as a reflection of the scene, nor should they be 
imitated by anyone not interested in a protracted term as the ward 
of the state.

Steven S. Davis


---------------------------------------------


"A description of a 'Sleep Aid' "

A commonplace enough picture.  A woman standing tied
to a post on what appears to be a back patio.  She's
in garterbelt and stockings with black open-toed high 
heels.  I generally prefer closed toes, but in scenarios
like this open toes are nice because I can imagine that
her toes can be threatened with electricity (or less
often, with pins or matches or bamboo shoots (or with
bamboo shoots that will be lighted by matches)).  She's
also wearing a white shirt, open to show her breasts.
I'd have gotten rid of the shirt, which serves no purpose
I can see save perhaps to protect her back from the
post to which she's tied (looking at the picture again, 
it does look sort of rough surfaced, but I'd rather 
fantasize that the post was smooth enough not to be 
a threat and she neither needed nor had the shirt).

Her wrists, and, I think, her elbows are tied together
behind her (her elbows aren't touching but appear
to be cinched), and then she was stood against the post 
and tied to it at her ankles, knees, neck, and her trunk
above and below her breasts (no ropes touching her
breasts).  She's also gagged, a white cloth inside
her mouth, not really biting into the sides of her
mouth the way it should be (the gag is disappointing, 
since so clearly she's holding it in her teeth).
That the gag wouldn't keep her quiet is quite OK, FWIW;
I don't want women to be quiet, but I do sometimes like
being able to deny that I could understand what they
were saying (the psychological impact of taking away
her ability to communicate is what's desired, as is
being able to hear pain and fear in her voice (and
if I can in fact understand what she's saying through
the gag while being able to maintain that I can't
understand her, that's ideal).

Being a routine enough picture, this one needed 
a scenario.  I started with the idea that she was
a doorprize at a playparty; people coming to the 
part, who could feel and kiss her, would have their
invitations or ticket stubs entered into a raffle
and the winner would be able to take her home at
the end of the evening to do with as they wished
(within the very narrow limits her owners imposed
(I generally assume that a female slave being casually
loaned is not a member of a monogamous pair but
instead is the second girl (I know that it's
offensive to refer to an adult woman as a "girl",
but a female slave always seems to me to be a girl,
rather as, though I'm older than you, I'd think
it understandable for you to call me your boy
if I were submitting to you)) or the slave of
a pair of dominants who can entertain each other
in her absence)).

A fun enough scenario, which FWIW led to what
might seem a very obvious thought - "safe sex"
is especially important to women.  Not "safe sex"
as usually used, but safe sex in the sense that, 
even if she's very scared in some ways, it's
more important to a woman to feel safe about
the man or men around her than it is for a man.
That is, tied to a post and surrounded by 
strange women - ah, women not known to me - who 
might be having their way with me and who were
free to apply their hands and lips and mouths
to me as they pleased, arousal is not an unlikely
response.  But it occured to me that this woman
is probably not aroused by being in a similar
situation (as always, individual variations are
infinite so there are doubtless some women who'd
enjoy the reality (and many who would enjoy the
fantasy), but even among kinky women who like
lots of variety I don't think many would feel safe
enough to feel arousal when strange men are
circling them like a school of sharks and coming
in for a nibble from time to time.

I don't necessarily mind that the woman would
not be enjoying this (nor that she wouldn't
really enjoy the fact that tomorrow she'd
be doing whatever a person yet to be determined
told her to do (nor that the idea of being tightly
tied standing (in high heels) to a post until a 
playparty broke up, knowing how they often break 
up towards dawn, was not fun for her)).  But it 
wasn't what amused me just then, so the scenario
morphed, and she's tied to a post at the back
porch at a play party, being excluded from the
play (which she can hear) because it amuses her
owners.  Who know me (as does she) and they don't
mind if I go out to say hello to her (obviously
a one-sides conversation).

"Hello", in this case (and as her owners knew) 
included running my fingerstips up and down the 
backs of her calves, and over her thighs and stomach 
and sides and around and over her breasts and her
shoulders and her face and hair, and then down her again, 
and kissing her face softly all over and her lips not so 
softly (the gag being in her mouth her lips are available)
and her neck and kissing and licking and sucking
upon her breasts (including establishing whether
they were or were not a mouthful (FWIW, in my
experience more than a mouthful is quite fine;
Nymph didn't seem to find my putting my mouth
over her breast and sucking in a mouthful 
(then playing with it, expelling it, and sucking 
it in again (repeat as desired)) to be unpleasant 
(but sensitivity varies, I realize))), and
kissing down her belly then fingering the
exterior of her labia, and then continuing to
explore her body with hands and fingers and
lips and tongue until she was feeling very much
like she wanted to be able to move her body
more than the very small amount she could move
her hips (and was moving them, as I held my
finger between her legs enjoying her frustrated
squeals).  Being merciful, I untied her knees
(leaving her ankles bound to the post) to be
able to fit more of my hand between her legs,
and began moving my fingers more, both in and out 
of her vagina (a wonderful lubrication source) and 
over her clit, while my other hand and my mouth continued
seeking targets of opportunity (coming, over time,
to concentrate on her nipples and mouth), which
had her squirming and undulating in her bounds
(as much as she could) quite enjoyably.  But one
effect of her undulations was her throat moving
against the ropes around her neck, and as it happens
she wasn't excited by asphyxiation, so this kept
stopping her from being able to come.  While, fortunately
for me, not stopping her arousal.

So for quite some time she was squirming in her bonds
(and on my hand), flushed and aroused but unable to
come despite my unrelenting efforts, and finding it 
all quite torturous, much to my delight, of course.
But when I became concerned that the poor girl might
become exhausted (i.e. when I figured she might outlast
me), I untied the rope around her neck and slipped
my one hand behind her head, grabbing her hair and
giving it a few good tugs before opening my hand and
leaving it bewteen her head and the post so she could
pound her head without harm while I intensified the
work of my fingers upon her clit, and, finally not
being choked, she was able to come, vibratting very
nicely in her bounds for a long moment before she
slumped.

So I hugged her and slipped the gag from her mouth
and stood there with her stroking her and softly
speaking to her and nuzzling her until she started
coming back.  And when she seemed strong enough to
stand again, I put the gag back in her mouth and bound
her knees again, and then tied her neck again, and
left her there, remarking that it was a shame she'd
miss all the fun at the party.

-----
"The Dream (?) "


Hello, N

Not sure what's happening ?  How nice.

How did these cuffs get on your wrists ?
Where are you, this isn't your bedroom,
these posts you're between, where are
they, how could you wake up to find yourself
being pulled up between them ?  Your legs
too, where did those ankle cuffs come from,
how could these chains have been attached
to your wrists and ankles without you awakening ?

So many questions, dear girl.  But first things
first.  First we get your legs spread.  Resist
if you like; I'll certainly like it.  But as you
see, it does you no good, dear.  Your legs are
spread and you're standing spreadeagled between
two posts, quite helpless.

And quite lovely.

Tug on the chains if you like, love.  I'm
afraid they aren't really gold.  They look like
the golden chains a prisoner like you deserves,
but under the paint they're the tempered steel
which will make quite certain you remain where
you are placed.

But these chains I'm wraping around your soft
sexy body are gold.  Just 14 karat, I'm afraid.
I know you deserve richer but richer means softer
and while your body is soft your struggles may
be hard and we don't want anything broken.

Well, nothing save your resistance, my pretty
prisoner.

What's happening ?  That should be obvious.
Your subjegation is happening.  Your rape
is happening.

It can't be real ?  Are you sure ?  Is this
what you dream of dear ?  Of standing naked
- oh, yes, excuse me, let's get those off
you, I trust you won't mind if I cut them
with this *very* sharp knife; now, that's
much better - of standing naked and helpless,
chained between posts in some strange lonely
place beyond any help surrounded by implements
of pain and tools of pleasure with no choice 
about which will be used upon you or how they 
will be used, with utterly no control over
your fate, over how much you will scream in
pain and how much you will squirm in pleasure,
knowing that your only protection is your
captor's affection for you ?

If you dream of that, my dear N, then maybe
you are asleep in your bed, safe at home, and
this is all a dream.

Or maybe something somehow got into your food
or drink ?  Just enough that you'd sleep
deeply enough not to notice when a stronger
sedative was applied in your sleep, again not
enough to anaesthetize you, just enough that
you'd remain asleep as you were place in a
soft sling and carried to a van, soft plugs
slipped into your ears to keep the noise
from your slumbering brain as you rocked
like a baby lightly bound in your sling
as it hung in the van as it carefully drove
her, and you were carefully brought here and
your wrists and ankles gently placed in their
cuffs and the plugs taken from your ears and
you were left to lay here on this soft rug
until you began to awaken, when you suddenly
found yourself being raised up and the chains 
your cuffed wrists pulling your arms apart.

I assure you this is all quite plausible,
my dear.  It took some planning and effort,
of course.

But you are worth it.

So, yes, dear, you may really be standing
here naked and helpless inside a chamber
of pleasure and pain - your pain and my 
pleasure, perhaps, or perhaps some mix of
pain and pleasure for you, but whichever
it will be, it will be my choice, not
yours, for you, dear N, have no choice.
And yes, your only safety is my affection
for you.

Fortunately for you, that means you are
quite safe.  Well, for a definition of "safe"
which doesn't exclude you dancing to the whip
or your lovely body bouncing from electric
shock or you striving to keep away from
candle flames below and candle wax from above.
If you share that definition, that's your good 
luck and if not, that's your misfortune.  But
whatever this may be, it's not some ASB semantics
thread, and your definition of "safe" doesn't
mean a thing.

Nor does what you want matter in the least.
Just what I want.  So whether you want me
to get behind you and run my hands all over
you - rather like this - doesn't matter.
Nor does whether you like having your neck kissed.
Or being kissed down your spine - hmmm, let me
get a stool; if someone here is going to be
forced to squat, it's going to be you, dear -
or having your ass carressed. Or pinched. Or
slapped.  Or having your crotch softly 
squeezed, or your breasts rolled between
your captor's hands - or caught in cruel claws
and violently pulled and twisted. Or having
a wetted finger gently stroking your nipple
as another softly rubs your clit, then having
the nipple twisted as the clit is rubbed then
the clit pinched as the other nipple is caressed,
or an alternating of pain and pleasure for your
nipple and your clit.  Maybe sometimes pleasure
for both.  And sometimes pain for both.  Pain
which doesn't stop because you scream and struggle.
And which doesn't necessarily stop because you
apologize and beg for mercy.  But maybe if you
are sweet enough to the person hurting you, maybe
you will get soft soft caresses sliding across
your body, and...sometimes...intermittent kisses
...your head turned - imagine that - and your
mouth.... kissed.... greedily.... your throat
.... your soft...pretty... so eminently bitable....
so tempting to the beast to .... seize in his
teeth and ..... twist ....your throat kissed.

And then fingers in your vagina and on your
clit ...lips on your neck....a hand on your
breasts, your nipples softly worked between 
fingers, all soft and slow and gentle but
slowly becoming quicker and then harder but
still gentle then quicker and harder and more
insistent, demanding, impatient, pressing you,
faster and more insistent and when you can
hold out no longer....

Teeth biting into the back of your neck
and holding as you shriek in pain and buck
against the grasp that holds you firmly
and makes your struggle futile.

Then soft kisses on the bite, and your breasts
and clit softly, slowly, gently worked, so
patiently, your captor has all the time he needs,
and you, well, you aren't going anywhere, are you ?
And when you start melting, when you skin is so warm
and your bones so fluid, and the stroking begins to
get quicker and then hard and then quick and hard and
insistent and demanding and when you can't help but
respond... then teeth and pain and screaming and struggle.

And then .... soft kisses ... and soft fingers, and you know 
what's going to happen, don't you dear ?  And you know there's
nothing you can do about it, your body isn't yours any longer,
you're not in control.  It may take longer, but you know that
it will happen, you know you'll give in, you can't help it,
you can't stop your body from responding, if you don't 
respond to one touch another will be tried and then another
and your body will respond and the person holding you will
know and then more of what you respond to and then more and
more and for all your fear of the pain to come you'll respond
and the anticipation of the pain is even adding to your
excitement and you're waiting...waiting... so close, so
close almost there.... is it going to happen... you're so
close...you're almost there almost there almost almost
almost...

*PAIN*

You cry so prettily, dear; well, except for that, but let
me wipe your nose for you.  The rest is quite lovely.  
Your chest heaving against the hands holding your breasts.  
So nice.  So nice to just rock you while the pain passes.  
And now we start again.  Struggle if you will dear...refuse 
if you like.  Neither your struggle nor your refusal matters.  
What will happen will happen and what you want doesn't 
control what will happen or when.  Your anger doesn't matter.
Your fear doesn't matter.  You are not in control.
Go on, try to control yourself.  Try not to give in.
Try not to respond to the wet touch, to the fingers
taking your own moisture to use against you.  You're
going to respond, dear, you know you will.  You're
cute when you're indignant.  Even more cute than usual.
But your pride won't matter either.  It's going to happen.
How long do you think your body will resist the slow
steady rhythmic stimuli, the patient, persistent, relentless
touch, the fingers that detect your response before you
know you've responded and change to give you more of what
your body wants whether you want it or not, the slowly
escalating touch which reminds you how much you're a
doubly a prisoner, you're a prisoner within your captive
body, the body you can't control but its captor can 
and does.  Could you stop your hips from trying to 
press harder against the fingers tormenting you ?
Could you stop from rubbing your body against the
body enwrapping it ?  Could you stop the moans or
the babbled pleas ?  Are you in control, dear ?
You know you aren't.  And you'll soon be more out
of control... that's good, move your hips ...thrust
grind ...your body wants more, dear, and for now
your body is getting what it needs, what it demands
yes, dear, beg for more, beg ...here's more ... more... 
more.... scared, dear ?   waiting for pain ?  you're
so close... close here's more ...more ...close   ...more
more.  more... more... MORE yes more beg for more
here's more ...yes... so close so close more more 
yes dear yes yes yes dear yes go for it dear yes you
can have it dear yes now now now....

You see, dear, sometimes this doesn't bite.

Though it may not be fair that you're just barely
conscious when you're so happy.... go on, dear,
go to sleep.  And when you wake up in your bed,
try to decide what happened tonight.


---------

"The Sofa"


An interesting scene would be to take a woman who was
very happy with her nice new cream colored couch, even
though she'd been forced to settle for something less than
the couch of her dreams, then raid her home (a "raid"
by a person or persons she knows and trusts and is willing
to submit to) and make her strip and dance naked in front
of her big picture window (on a road without much midday
traffic or much view into the window save from the house
across the street, occupied by a kinky friend, and, today,
by some of her friends who have drawn up chairs by her
big picture window to watch, and with spotters to alert
the home invader(s) when vehicles are passing by (including
the truckers who are in cohoots, and will pass while she's
shimmying by the window, then back up to watch in amazement)).
Then they bind her and beat her, bend her across her new
prize and rape her, drip lots of wax on her (and on the couch)
and then enemize her and bind her on the sofa and leave her
struggling to get loose.  Well, after her certainty that they
wouldn't leave her there begins to fade, after she sees the people
across the street depart (to come back in the back way and take 
up another view).  She can't believe they'd do this to her;
sure she's been tied to a bed with rubber sheets and refused
toilet privileges, and other times she'd been required to use
a commode in her bedroom instead of being allowed to use the
bathroom, and even required to piss in front of an audience
at parties, until her embarassment about the subject had, ah,
passed, and most of her kinky friends had stopped finding it
amusing to make her release in public (save for a couple who
were genuinely into seeing a woman piss and she'd learned to
enjoy squatting over a vase for them).  But they knew how much
and how long she'd wanted this couch, how important a part it
was of the redecorating she'd planned and talked of and saved
for for so long and that she was sooo happy was now a reality
even if she had now depleted her savings and run up as much debt
as she could manage now.  They couldn't possibly be doing this
to her; they'd at least used big thick towels when raping her
- it wasn't the use she'd imagined for her new guest towels
when she bought them, but she knew how to launder semen and
vaginal fluids - and the wax had mortified her but she knew
they knew that she could fix that.  But this, she couldn't
fix it if one and three fourths quarts of soapy shitty water 
emptied onto her beautiful new sofa.  It'd be bad enough if
it emptied on her new matching "Stephen Underwood standard"
carpet, she could clean that and maybe put something over the
spot, but they'd tied her so she couldn't get her away from
the sofa, however much she struggled.  How could they be doing
this to her ?  Beat her, bind her, rape her, exhibit and humiliate
her, well, of course, she'd send them cookies and a thank you note
afterwards.  But this, how could they do this to her ?  

She'd have wept if she weren't afraid it would make her shit
sooner (and if she weren't worried about snot on the pillows).
She tugged and struggled and squirmed but she could get nowhere
with these ropes.  They must be coming back, they must be
watching, she hoped they knew how little time was left, she was 
ready to burst and these struggles weren't making it any easier
to hold it in.  She she stopped and held very still and tried
to be calm while holding tight and hoping they saw and knew
how close she was to bursting (they did, and they did, and they
like it) and would arrive soon.  She lay there, trying not to 
squirm more, trying to hold it in, trying not to scream in anger 
and pain and frustration while her muscles screamed at her,
finally shouting out "I can't hold it anymore !" hoping that
someone would see her even if no one heard her, and calling
again as the fluid dribbled out and her muscles began to fail
and then screaming in shock and horror when it came flooding
out leaving her laying stunned in her waste and her betrayal,
and then the held back tears burst lose and she sobbed and
sobbed, her pretty face red and twisted.

Hours later, other friends arrived and untied her and she
took to her bed and tried to understand how people who
knew her and claimed to like her, whom she liked and trusted,
who she knew were cruel but thought were kind and decent
and caring and to whom she'd happily entrusted her life
many times, how *they* could have done this to her.  How
could they have found in a day of such happiness for her 
an opportunity to be so vicious to her, to trample a dream,
even if some of her less domestic friend's found it a
silly one, it was hers and it mattered to her and she'd
thought she mattered to them and nothing they'd ever done
to her had hurt her nearly as much as this did.

Finally, late the next day, she dragged heself from her
bedroom to examine the damage to her sofa and see what
she could do to repair it.   How she could repair the
damage to her trust she couldn't possibly imagine.

And she found a new pristine cream colored sofa, the
one she'd drolled over (figuratively, of course) and
schemed to buy but just couldn't find any way to afford,
in the spot of the place of her torment.

**************

"Winging It" (A "Strange Woman" Image)

Hello, slut

I've not seen you in awhile.  Too long.  I assure
you I'm sorry about that.  Not because you might
be feeling neglected; I like denying you.  But
I've not yet figured out a satisfactory way to deny
you that doesn't also deny me - and I don't like being
denied my pleasures.  One of which is you, dear.

Usually I have a plan for you when I summon you.
But what with all that's gone on and mutual unavailability,
now that I have some time and you're available I needed
to get you in my clutches again as soon as possible.
So I trust you won't mind if I mostly make this up
as I go along.

Not that it matters if you do.

No more than it matters if you don't like this knife.
Oh, yes, you could flee or fight, there's no rope on
you yet.  Theoretically you could run away or take
away the knife.  But we both know you can't resist.
We both know you want this too badly to ever defend
yourself, no matter what the risk.  No matter how scared
you are that one of these days one of these knife
thrusts into your crotch will be a bit too high or
how much you'd rather just take your pants off, you'll
just going to stand there with legs spread and your belt
pushed down some - you certainly don't think I missed
the reason you do that hands on the hip thing when you
see the knife, do you ? - and let me cut.  And buy more
pants extra large through the crotch.

That's why I've bought you several sets of bicycle pants
which I want you to wear when you visit.

Just kidding.

These will do fine.  See ?  The blade didn't touch
anything.  Let's try that again.  Still fine.  One
more time.  This must be boring you, dear.  I guess
I'll stop now.  Ah, one more time.  &lt;small laugh&gt;
That's a nice whimper.

Now let's finish cutting away your clothes.  I do
enjoy cutting your clothes off you.  I think this
time perhaps I'll let you find your way home naked.
Or maybe allow you to select from some mumus to
wear home. Pity that your dress size is just a
wee bit larger than mine.  I suppose with all 
the new clothes I've made you buy, my buying
a couple dresses for you would be only reasonable.
Perhaps one of those Afghan burka type things,
and an "Al Quida Forever" button ?  Maybe a green 
burka and an "Al Quida Go Braugh" button for you ?
Your Orange ancestors will certainly roll over
at that, wouldn't they ?  Hmmm, well, maybe if
we ever visit Ulster I'll keep the green burka
in mind.  

And I do know about the clothes in the car,
so don't just say "Whatever pleases you" figuring
you'll change clothes down the road, slut.  If
today I decide you are going home naked, you're
going home naked.

The way you'll be after a couple more cuts.
There.  Another set of clothes ruined, and
not a scratch on you.  Pity.  Well, here's
a scratch for you.

Now, take your shoes and socks off and follow me.

Stand on the metal strip.  Slip your arms into
this shoulder harness; let's tighten this up; good.
Now let's get your hands in these leather cuffs and 
get them well above your head.  Good.  Usually I'd
be satisfied with your arms above your head - ah,
well, not really, dear, raising your hands above your 
head like this does some very good things for me, but
it doesn't satisfy me - ah, usually tying your hands
above your head would be sufficient, but today I need
some extra protection in case you faint.  I don't want
you getting any shoulder dislocations.  Well, no,
accidental shoulder separations.  

I know you won't mind my tying your balls; especially not 
if I take my time handling them, like this.  Now let's tie 
the cord from your scrotum to this ring behind you. And now
I'll just handle your cock for awhile.  For strategic
purposes, of course.  Not because I enjoy handling
your cock.  I do, of course.  But I don't oil my hands
and stroke your shaft or gently drag my fingernails
over your head just cause I like it, or because I like
the way you react - though I do love your squirms and
whimpers - I do it for a higher purpose.

Namely getting your cock well tied, which I'll do now.
Nice and tight with this nice rope,  which I've spent
a lot of time getting bristly on one side while leaving
the other smooth.  I hope you enjoy the fact that I
spend so much time getting things ready for you, dear.
Almost as much as I hope you don't enjoy this rope.
A few more times around, it takes longer when I have
to be so careful with the rope, but I don't mind.

There.  Now take the strands hanging loose and tie a
secure knot in this ring, and use the cord on the
other side of the ring to tie you tautly to a fixed
ring in front of you.  Now whichever way you move
you're going to tug on something you don't like
tugging on.  Ah, well, not in this way, anyhow.
But it seems to me the scrotum is sturdier than
the penis, so to compensate, let me me take these
clamps and fasten them on your balls, so nicely
highlighted by the rope around them.  A few more
turns and I'll have the left one.  Now the right.
Whimpering already, toyboy ?  We've not even started
yet, dear.  But that's OK.  There.  Now pull the
chains from these clamps - I spare no expense for
my slut, these are silver plated steel chains;
yes, dear, I knew you'd know that silver is the
most conductive metal - and secure them tautly
to the ring in front of you.  Now you pull on
your scrotum if you move forwards or on your
cock and the individual balls if you move backwards.
I suspect you'll be quite Zen like and still for
awhile.  

But I have some cures for that.  But first let's tie
those ankles.  I know you won't deliberately kick
me, but if you are in severe enough pain who knows
what you might do.  A spreader bar would be good
enough, but I like wrapping rope around your ankles
and tugging them apart and making sure they are tied
securely to the rings in the floor.  And I'm in no
hurry.  You're going to be here for a long time,
my dear.

Now that the prelims are done, let's get to the
torture.  Well, one more prelim - kissing you
while your lips aren't twisted in pain.  I trust
you won't mind if I take my time with this.


And now....

I think we'll start with some simple clothespins.
Nothing fancy, just several bags of fifty from
the dollar store.  I don't plan to get them all
on you, of course.  I think a gross will be
enough.  Perhaps a baker's gross, 13 times 13 ?
I think 13 by 13 will be nicely unfortunate for
you.  So why all the extras ?  Well, they are
cheap, and some loosen when they'd been opened
and closed many times, and I certainly don't want
any loose or otherwise defective clothespins on
you.  You do deserve better than that, boy.

Do you by chance want to know why they'd be opened
and closed a lot ?  Good.  Though you'd find out
quickly enough.  You see, I'm going to put this
first pin on your left nipple.  Wait a moment.
There, that's better, a little licking made it
much nicer.  Now, here's that first clothespin.
Not so bad, is it boy ?  Cheap clothespins, not
a lot of bite to them.  Flick it a few times,
tug it a little, a couple twists.  Now for the
right nipple.

What a nice gasp.  You didn't think that pin'd
be coming off so soon.  Now it goes on again,
on your right nipple.  And a new pin goes on
your left nipple.  Flick them a few times, tug
them a little, a couple twists.  Maybe a couple
more twists and a few more flicks.  And now
pin number three.  I think I'll start with
the soft skin inside your upper arms.  Take
the clothespin from your right nipple, squeeze
a nice thin piece of skin on the inside left
upper arm, and put the pin there. Now take the
pin from your left nipple and put it on the right.
And now a new pin on your left nipple.  Good.

And now to fill up your arms.

And yes, dear, tedious as it may become - see
what I'll do for my precious toy, the long tedium
I'll endure for you ? - each new placement of a
clothespin is going to be accomplished by moving
each of the previously applied pins, ending with
putting a brand new pin on your left nipple. 
Naturally some of the the first pins used will
loosen from being taken on and off so often
- don't you like the idea of a long session of
on and off with me, boy ? - and so when they
loose their bite they'll have to be replaced,
which is why there are so many clothespins
here when only 169 are going to end up on your
body.

I'm sorry I didn't have a more worthy plan for
you than just putting clothespins on you, but
as I said, I'm sort of winging it today.

And speaking of winging it, your arms do
need attention.  I must get to it or I'll
never get all 169 pins on you before tomorrow
morning.

***************************

-- 
Steven S. Davis *  sd@magenta.com  *  ssdavis@netaxs.com
Homepage, kinky  : http://www.magenta.com/~sd/sd.html
Homepage, vanilla: http://www.magenta.com/~sd
Stories archive  : ftp://ftp.asstr.org/pub/Authors/sd
