A.M. Wyckid's Erotic Word-Forge

Rules suck, so Jack breaks them all!

The kind of sex-club that Jack runs could never be allowed on the books. Name any fantasy, and Jack will do what it takes to make it come true. Here are six of those fantasies.

Length: ~41,000 words

Attributes: B&D, D&S, S&M.

Available on Amazon.com for 99¢

Deep in the bowels of the mouldering city, in a decaying part of the shrinking industrial sector, is a boarded up warehouse that I own. It was there that I brought my prey. I deposited her in the center of the maze I’d constructed that occupied the entire basement floor. It was a maze of “twisty little passages — all alike.”

Too dramatic?

No doubt, but what’s the fun if you can’t at least pretend to be evil. To be a predator. There is a little of that in even the most timid of us. More than a little in me, but I’m not irrational or out-of-control enough to think that I could be a real sexual predator. That I could do any of this in real life. Stand to inflict actual and lasting physical and emotional trauma. Not to mention the legal consequences of getting caught. But, it is fun to pretend and after all that’s what this business is all about …

Interlude: two women

“How was your vacation, Jenny?”

“Five days and four nights in paradise.”

“Was it really,” Cathrine said with a sigh. “I never really seem to enjoy myself on vacation.”

“Of course you don’t, Cathrine.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Now, now. Don’t get defensive. I just mean … really Cathrine … you went to Cancun and laid on the beach and got a really great tan while dreaming about meeting a guy. Several men approached you but you gave them the brush-off …”

“I never told you about them.”

“You didn’t have to. I know you Cathrine. You won’t allow yourself to take any risk. Consequently, you never have any fun and you certainly don’t ever get any. At least none worth getting.”

“Come on Jenny, I’ve been with a man.”

“Been with a man,” she quipped derisively. “You told me once that it’s never been great, earth shattering, or mind blowing. Well that’s what it is supposed to be like. Really. ‘Earth … shattering.’ ‘Mind … blowing.’ There’s a reason that those phrases exist.”

“I always thought it was just propaganda the guys put out so that we’d sleep with them.”

“No,” Jenny said flatly. “It’s not.”

“Hmm. Well tell me about ‘paradise.’ Maybe I’d like to go.”

Jenny sighed. “I’m not sure it’s for you. Unless … if you could let go …”

“What are you talking about? Why won’t you give me any details?”

“Look Cathrine,” Jenny said, looking around to be sure they were not being overheard. “I went to a private club I know,” she continued in low tones. “A sort of fantasy sex club.”

“Really? And you slept with men there?”

“That’s not the point,” Jenny said. “Hmm … Look, we’re trial lawyers and when we’re in court the most important thing is always …”

“… be the one in control,” they both finished in unison.

“The down side is that it can take over your life. It had taken over mine. I went to the club to give up control. Completely. I checked into the club to be … a sex slave.”

“Wow, really.… I think you’re right: that’s not for me.”

“Jenny, I can’t stop thinking about that club you were telling me about. I’m not sure I’m ready to go where you did, but maybe … How does it work?”

“Look, Cathrine, are you sure? There’s no point in doing it if you’re not willing to …” Sigh. “All right,” she scribbled something on a post-it and said, “Go to this website, use this code phrase to login and look over the application.”

“Application?”

“Yes, and I’ve heard a good many are flatly rejected. So don’t be surprised if that happens.”

“My application was rejected,” said Cathrine, handing the pages to Jenny.

“And it’s no wonder, you said No to everything. Look, why do you want to go if you are not going to take any chances? It’ll just be Cancun all over again.”

“Jenny, please help me out. What would you do?”

“That won’t work for you, but how about if we change …this… add this… and allow this and this? They might accept it, but can you do it?”

“Really? Wow, I don’t know?”

“Submit it and see what happens. You can always decide not to go. You are not committing yourself, though that really is the problem.”

“Okay. I will.”

“It was accepted. Then I tried to change it; to make it a little easier for me, but any change I made got it rejected. I think you have found some minimum criteria.”

“So … essentially, you tried to negotiate with him?”

“I am a lawyer. I was just looking for the best deal I could get.… And what do you mean: with him? Do you know the owner or something?”

“Yes, pretty well. What I did was send him an email from a satisfied customer. I said you were a friend and I’d consider it a favor if he’d give you every break he could. I suspect that without that you’d be out. I’m just not sure what you were thinking, but he is tough. … Look at it this way: he doesn’t need to negotiate with you; he has more clients than he can handle as it is. In effect, you don’t have anything he wants and thus no way to bargain with him.”

“I’m not use to being in that position. I guess I tried to push it.”

“Yes you did.” … “Look. The more I think about it, the more I think you should just forget it.”

“Why?”

“Well, your scenario is pretty vanilla. No physical contact, no restraints … there’s not much there and it’s hard to see what he’s going to do with it, but he must have an idea and that scares me. He’s not just going to let you lay around for twenty-four hours. I’m a little concerned that you are just going to yell your safe-word the minute anything gets the least bit dicey.”

“‘Safe-word’?”

“Don’t you know anything?” Jenny said exasperated. “He will give you a word or phrase that’s unlikely to come up in conversation, like ‘metronome’ or ‘the rain in Spain’ or even ‘safe-word.’ If you want to stop, you say the safe word and he’ll stop.”

“That’s reassuring. So, in a way, I’ll always be in control.”

“Yes, in control, which is exactly your problem. The way you have to look at it is this: using your ‘safe word’ means you lose. It means that even within the narrow confines you’ve arranged, you couldn’t cope.”

“So if I use it, he stops, but then what?”

“Depends. If he’s been pushing you, he’ll just pull back, but if he thinks you’re a wimp, he’ll probably just refund your money and ask you to leave and never come back. A lot of this is about pushing limits. If you give it a chance, you’ll probably see they are not where you thought they were.”

Dossier

Subject     : Cathrine Eddings
Scenario    : Abduction (unspecified reason)
Description : 5’9“, 140 lbs, brunette, brown eyes
Age         : 37
Profession  : Lawyer
Prohibited  : Physical contact, Restraints
Allowed     : Coercion, Confinement, Nudity
Goal        : Release of control
Safe Word   : ‘Safe-Word’
Duration    : No more than twenty-four hours

The subject is by action and independent report, a basic control freak. I love breaking them, so I’m inclined to accept. She is also physically beautiful; an obvious, additional reason to take the commission. The scenario is so over-constrained and minimal that it will be a challenge and may be considered worthwhile strictly on that basis. Also, the subject was referred by a good client who urged me to accept her, giving a public relations component as well.

As the subject was very inexperienced, has no previous exposure to ‘scenes’, she required a more detailed pre-briefing. She was told to pretend that she’d been drugged and brought to the first stage. We used a minimal amount of nitrous oxide to simulate the drugged state. Further, that she should, as much as possible, try to imagine that she really was in the situations in which she found herself.

Session

She awoke … groggy at first … then startled at her unfamiliar surroundings, and her almost complete lack of clothing; nothing but her black bra and panties. She sat up, held her head which must have ached and then stood up and walked a few paces.

“Hello,” she said weakly, voice cracking from disuse. Then again louder, “Hello. Is anybody there.”

I opened my mic to a speaker just over her head and said, “Hello yourself, Kitty.”

She looked up right into the camera, crossed her arms and said “My name is Cathrine. I don’t like to be called Kitty, or Kat or anything like that. In fact you can call me Ms Eddings.”

She was starting to get angry, she tapped her bare foot and continued, “And while you are at it call me a cab because I want to leave now!” She was practically yelling by the end.

I laughed. “I wouldn’t count on getting out of here soon, or easy,” I said.

“So what’s the game: I screw your pathetic little cock and then I get to get out of here? Because if so, get over here and let’s get it done.”

She just doesn’t know when to quit, does she I thought. “As I said Kat, not soon, or easy.”

“Well what’s next then, you prick. It’s your move.”

And I made it: I killed all the lights.

“Ooo, it’s dark. I’m scared,” she said, her voice dripping sarcasm.

The cameras auto-adjusted to infrared and I watched her for several minutes as she first fumbled about, then swore and finally began wandering around in the near-total darkness.

Twenty minutes ought to just about do it. Plenty of time for coffee and a sandwich.

I put the cup on the desk and the plate with the sandwich next to it and checked the running chronometer. The game had been on for twenty minutes, ten since I put out the lights.

She’d moved farther than I’d expected. She was trailing her left hand along the wall. Very good. You know that trick. That will take you right where I want you.

One sandwich and a cup of coffee later she found the door of iron bars that let into the center room of the maze. She groped for the handle, found it and pulled it open. She stood in the doorway and peered into the darkness. I assume she was trying to judge what kind of space she was entering, but in the total darkness she could tell nothing. She groped inside the room.

Yes, it’s a trap. What else would it be?

But the novelty of the door, and sameness of the twisty passages (all alike) behind her pushed her forward.

I put my finger on the switch. Almost there.

She entered the room and began probing the darkness with both her feet and her free hand, the other she used to keep the door from swinging shut driven by heavy springs.

Wait for it.

Once she was fully through the door, I closed the switch —

“Owww!”

Bang! Click! The lights came brightly up in the room.

The switch sent a small, but mildly painful electrical current through the door, her body and into the conductive strips in the floor. When she reflexively pulled her hand away from the pain, the door slammed shut and locked.

She stood blinking in the light. Then reached for the door handle, and brushed it to see if the current was still present. Finding none, she seized the handle and turned it futilely. “Fuck!” she swore and looked around the room.

It was small, six feet square with the barred door as the only way in or out. In the center of the room were two short, posts; two-and-a-half inches in diameter, one foot high and two feet apart.

“So what do you think … so far?” I asked.

“What do I think?” she growled still blinking in the bright light. “I think you are one sick bastard.”

“Obvious, and a given,” I replied levelly. “But what about your situation?”

“There’s not much I can do. Though it pains me to admit it. Is that what you want to hear? I’m powerless against you?”

“Well, I knew that. I just wasn’t sure you had arrived there yet. In fact, I’m not sure you have even yet.”

I pressed another switch, briefly, and she jumped off the floor with a yelp as current surged through her feet via the closely spaced, conductive strips in the floor.

“Owww!”

I pressed it again.

“Fuck.”

And once again.

“Fuck it, stop. Please.

“Stand on the posts,” I said and hit and held the switch.

“Ouch,” and she turned, and jumped, cursing, over to them and put one foot up on each. She teetered there with uncertain balance for a moment and stepped one foot down to the electrified floor. “Ouch,” and got her self back onto the posts. She took a deep breath and caught her balance.

“Very good, Kat,”, I said. “Very good. Do you see the red light in the wall in front of you?”

“Yes,” she whined.

I let the switch go and the light went out. “No current,” I said, then pressed the switch again and the light came back on, “Current.” I locked the switch in the on position and watched her for a few minutes. It was easy to see that she was tiring from the unaccustomed activity.

“So, how long do you think you can stay up there?” I asked.

“Bastard,” she whispered then louder, “Please just stop. Let me go.”

“No. I’m having too much fun with this game. You’re not having fun?”

“No. … Look, what do I have to do to get out of this?”

“Who says there is anything you can do to get out of this?” I responded.

“There must be something you want? Just tell me?”

“Nothing, except to watch you struggle, hear you whimper and beg.”

“But, …”

I watched her maintain her balance for a few minutes.

“You know, I’d really like to help you out, but I’ll need something in return. If you give me your bra, I’ll help you. What do you say?”

“You could have done that yourself when I was unconscious. If you wanted it off, why did you leave me with it?”

“Obviously, because I wanted you to take it off for me.”

Cathrine unhooked the bra, pulled it off her shoulders and threw it across the room. Her sizable breasts heaved in time with her breathing. “There. Have it. Now help me.”

I killed the current in the floor and the light blinked off. “Throw it through the bars,” I commanded.

She looked at the light, stepped one foot down gingerly; making sure the light was telling the truth then got down off the posts. She picked up the bra from the floor and tossed it through the bars and into the hall beyond.

“It’s done. Now keep your part.”

“I always do,” I said.

The “robot” was something more out of those robot fighting T.V. shows than something from science fiction. Just a remote controlled box on wheels with still and video cameras and without spinning blades or any other weapons.

Since the floor-plan never changed, the computers could pilot the robot anywhere in the complex without my help, but I could take over if necessary.

I sent the robot up to the outside of the barred door. On it’s flat top was a black patent leather boot, with an upper that went a few inches up the ankle. It had a six inch stiletto heel and a one inch platform.

“This is it?” she asked picking up the boot. “That’s your help?”

“Put it on,” I said. “Or I’d get right back up on the posts and quickly.”

She sat down on the floor and pulled on the boot and began lacing it up. “Do I get the other one? For my panties I suppose?”

“If you insist,” I said.

When she finished lacing up the boot, she took off her panties and threw them out into the hallway to rest alongside her discarded bra. When the robot returned with the other boot, she laced that one up as well.

She rested on the floor for a moment.

“I’m going to turn the juice back on,” I said.

She scrambled unsteadily to her feet and the red light came on. She was now insulated from the floor by the boots. She tottered over to the wall, finding it difficult to walk in the odd foot-wear and looked closely at it. She brushed it with a finger tip. “Electrified too and the bars no doubt. Now what?” she asked.

“Now we wait.”

“For what?”

“For you to get tired.”

And wait we did.

She paced, yelled and cursed. I said nothing. She begged, whined, and pleaded. Still I said nothing. She took one boot off and tried sitting on it. No good, too small. Getting it back on without being able to sit was painfully comical, and I told her so. She tried sitting on one of the posts, but it was too small for any kind of comfort.

Finally, after eighty-seven minutes on the clock, she squatted down in front of one of the posts, put her elbow on the top and rested her hand in her palm, her other hand resting on her knee.

“That’s a fetching pose,” I said. “Mind if I take a picture?”

“Bite me!”

“Thanks for the offer … maybe later. Can I take your picture?”

“Why are you asking? Just do it if you want to. I can’t stop you.”

“Can I take your picture?” I asked slowly with a pause between each word. “Yes or no.”

“Yes,” she said, resigned.

I ran the robot up to the bars where they wouldn’t get in the way of the shot.

“Turn this way,” I ordered, and she shuffled her feet until she was looking straight at the camera.

I clicked off a series of shots and made a few minor posing suggestions which she followed wordlessly.

“Play with yourself,” I ordered.

“No … Maybe … Tell me your name and I will.”

“Call me Jack,” I said.

She put her hand between her legs and stroked her lips with her fingers half-heartedly.

“Come on, you can do better than that,” I insisted.

“Fuck you, Jack. You just don’t get that I’m not here to amuse you.”

“No …you don’t get it: you are here to amuse me. That’s the only thing you will have to do for a very long time. Think about it. I’m going to go have something to eat. Talk to you in a couple of hours.”

“No, don’t go!”

The game had been on for one hundred and eighteen minutes.

I did get something to eat and returned to the monitors to watch her. She cried for a while. Paced some more. Yelled. Cried more. Cursed me. She tested everything again. The floor, walls, bars. She was getting really tired. The shoes were hard to stand or walk in and there was nowhere she could sit or lean without getting a shock. Squatting by the posts was only a temporary relief: if she stayed too long her legs would go to sleep or even cramp.

Finally, at 198 minutes on the clock she said, as I knew she eventually would, “Jack? … I have to pee.”

“And?” I said, breaking silence.

“Well, do you want me to go on the floor?”

“If you do, you will be licking it up,” I replied.

“Ugh!”

“Besides, it’s possible the current might flow through the …”

“Oh? …Oh!… Owww.”

“Yes, so hold it,” and I went back to waiting.

A few minutes later, “Jack, please. I really have to go.”

I said nothing.

“Come on Jack,” she whined. “Please.” She had her legs crossed. Obviously her need was growing acute.

Still nothing.

“I’ll do …anything.”

“Anything?” I asked.

“Yes.”

I ran the robot up to the bars. On it’s flat metal top was a plastic bucket.

She carefully reached through the bars and retrieved the container from the robot and squatted down over it. As she relieved herself I triggered the camera.

“Jack, no!” she said at the sound of the shutter and sight of the flash, but she couldn’t do much since her bladder was in the middle of a full on discharge.

When she finished, I said “Put the container back on the robot and I’m going to have it bring you an outfit to wear.”

“Really?” she said. “Some sexy little nothing no doubt.”

“Not at all. You said you’d do anything so you have to wear it or you are a liar, but it will be full coverage. You’ll see.”

The robot returned with a full body suit in black spandex. She held it up and examined it. The suit had four zippers. The one in back was functional, without it the suit could not be put on. The others were clearly for access: one for each breast and one for the crotch.

“I’ve killed the power so that you can take off your boots and put it on.”

“No,” she said and folded the suit carefully so that none of the zippers were exposed, laid it on the floor and sat wearily down on it with a thump. She loosed a sigh of relief and cracked a smile.

I let her rest in triumph for perhaps ten seconds before I turned the current back on.

“Ouch,” she jumped up.

“Conductive fabric and you are a lying bitch.”

She was weeping again.

“I’d hoped to have you out of there soon, but I don’t think you’re ready.”

“I’ll put it on,” she said. “Please Jack. I will.”

“No, it’s too late for that. Just put it back on the robot.”

“No, please. I’ll do it,” and she began taking off one of her boots.

“No,” and I killed the lights.

“No, please Jack. Please master. I’ll do anything.

“You said that before. Why should I believe it now?”

“Just give me something really hard to do and I’ll do it no matter what it is. Just let me prove myself to you, Jack.”

“I will think about it. For now you can rest.”

The red light went out and she took off the boots and began putting the cat suit on, weeping a little the whole time.

I killed the lights and soon she slept.

It was late and I slept as well.

“Good morning,” I said after I’d reviewed the video of the last eight hours at high speed. Pretty boring since she’d spent over seven of them sleeping and the last one sitting.

“Finally, I’ve been waiting for hours.”

“So?”

“Jack, I’m hungry and thirsty.”

“Some dog food perhaps?”

“Yes, please,” she whined.

The robot came up to the bars and I said, “First we have to get one thing straight. Pick it up.”

She reached through the bars and picked up the dog collar with the round metal tag fastened to the ring in front.

“Read it,” I ordered.

“‘Lying Bitch.’”

“And who does that refer to?”

“Me,” she whispered.

She fastened the dog collar around her neck.

The can on the robot said “Dog Food” but the contents were oatmeal which she consumed quickly with the plastic spoon. She downed the bottle of water and then used the plastic container to relieve herself. She returned everything to the top of the robot which took them away.

I let her rest for about fifteen minutes after which she began to get restless.

“What now, Jack?” she asked.

“Now I turn the power back on.”

She scrambled back to her feet before the red light came on.

She paced the room over the next hour trying to engage me in conversation, but I ignored her. Her emotional state shifted quickly from anger to resignation and back again every few minutes.

When I judged that she’d had enough, I sent the robot up to the bars.

“Do you know what this is?” I asked referring to the object on top of the robot.

“A dildo,” she whispered.

“Yes,” I replied. “You said you’d do anything. You said ‘give me something really hard to do and I’ll do it.’ We’re you lying yet again?”

“No,” she husked.

“Pick it up.”

She reached through the bars tentatively and picked up the long, cherry red, silicone thing. It was covered in nubs and ridges and coated liberally with lubricant.

“Unzip,” I ordered.

She pulled the ring on the zippers at her chest and spilled out her shapely breasts. Slowly, she pulled the silver ring on the crotch zipper down between her legs and the stretchy fabric parted to reveal her pussy.

“Squat by the posts.”

She complied.

“You know what to do.”

“Tell me,” she whispered.

And I did.

I ended the session about an hour and two orgasms later.

During the debrief she said, “If you had told me a week ago that being imprisoned, shocked, and humiliated was a great vacation, I’d have said you were crazy, but it really was … Do I get to meet you in person before I go?”

“Next time.”

“It’s a date.”

Interlude: two women again

Her cell phone rang and Jenny picked it up, looked at the caller id and answered it.

“Cathrine. Hi. Was it great?”

“It was great sweetie. I get it now about letting go. I found it difficult, but Jack doesn’t really give you a choice.”

“No he doesn’t. I’m really curious, what did he do with you? I mean you weren’t allowing much.”

“I wasn’t allowing anything until you got involved … but I’m really glad you did. Thanks.”

“So what are you going to tell me?” Jenny asked.

“Everything. I started in this maze …” and Cathrine told the full story.

“Wow. That’s pretty ingenious since he wasn’t allowed to touch you, or use restraints or whips or anything. I really wondered how he was going to be able to do anything with you.”

“I only regret I didn’t get to meet him,” said Cathrine.

“He probably didn’t want to be in the same room with your hotness. Probably thought he wouldn’t be able to keep his hands off.”

“You really think so?”

“Look babe. You are just so hot. I wish I could see the pictures.”

“I have them here. I guess I do look pretty good in this one.”

“Oooo. I’ll tell you about my first time at Jack’s if you let me have one of your pictures.”

“Deal,” said Cathrine.

“I asked him to kidnap me out of my hotel …”