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. <small laugh> 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