Whippett's 2nd Assignment

[Dragon's muse]

Craft a scene/chapter/story that includes the following elements.

A gallon of lime green, oil-based, semi-gloss paint
A laundry hamper
A leatherbound set of the complete works of Charles Dickens


Happy writing!

[Whippett]

Craft a scene/chapter/story that includes the following elements.

A gallon of lime green, oil-based, semi-gloss paint
A laundry hamper
A leatherbound set of the complete works of Charles Dickens


Happy writing!

Oh frabjous joy! Three of the 12 elements of my most secret fantasy - lol!

And here you had me biting my nails in dread of your second shot across my bow. The Dickens, of course, will be first edition, signed by the great man himself (or not) depending on where the muse leads - lol. Pity the paint is lime green - a hideous colour indeed - but that will only add to the terror I wreck on my humble mother tongue.

[Whippett]

Going Home

Francine stared through the steamy windows of the bus. She watched the rain pelting the sidewalks distractedly as the bus crawled through traffic.

"Not long now," Francine sighed. She couldn't get him mind off Friday. Two days, and her Master would come at last. Her mind a jumble of images: naked, collared, chained, as Master pierced her clitoris her nipples, whipped. She sighed again.

"Whipped, oh yes." She breathed. It was her stop.

Francine pushed through the wet commuters to the door. She dodged aside as groping fingers brushed her thigh. The rain pelted harder, Francine pulled her thin coat tighter against her slender body as she stepped from the bus. The rain soaked her to the skin. She shivered at the chill of the winter rain, and dashed for home, sidestepping the puddles.

A plain white van blocked the sidewalk in front of the six-suite apartment block she called home. Francine stepped onto the grass to get around it.

"Renovations at last?" Francine muttered, "Right, just as I'm moving out."

Thoughts of her move, with Master, across country flashed through her mind. Chained in a cage. Transported. Francine sighed in pleasure as she fumbled for her keys.

"A slave," a thrill ran through Francine at the thought, "possessed, owned. His! Body and soul! His!"

Francine pushed open the door and stepped out of the rain, shaking herself a little, drops flying from her shoulder length hair. She wrinkled her nose at the sharp smell of oil-based paint. The light was out and the gloom inensified as the door closed behind her. Francine's foot brushed against an open can of paint left in the hall. She felt the slop of paint splash her.

"Oh great" Francine thought angrily. "There go a brand new pair of stilettos."

The thought of how long she'd looked before she found a pair of steel-heeled stilettos her Master liked made Francine even angier. She shucked her coat and stepped between two large crates blocking her door partially. Francine had difficulty getting the key to turn in the lock. It turned at last and she shouldered the door open as she bent to take of the spattered shoe.

"Perhaps I can get the paint off," Francine muttered. She flicked the light switch, glanced at her shoe to see how badly damaged it was.

"Puke!" Francine said aloud. "The landlady has no taste at all. Lime green paint! Gross. Bet it's semi-gloss as well."

The spatters were small. Perhaps she could save the shoe after all. Francine glanced down and saw most of the paint had spattered up her leg. Clutching her damaged shoe, Francine tossed her coat over the stool by the door and stepped into the living room.

Francine stopped in horror. The place was a mess. Her books scattered on the floor. Clothing she knew shouldn't be there hung over the edge of a large blue plastic laundry pamper. She heard a noise behind her, started to turn. A hand clamped roughly over her mouth. Francine felt herself pulled backwards.

"Be silent." A deep voice growled in her ear.

Francine froze. The shoe dropped to the floor with a clatter as a hand squeezed her breast. She gasped: mingled pain and fear at the touch. Just one hard squeeze, and the hand stroked down her body, lifted her skirt, pushed against her labia.

The breath was warm against her cheek. The voice insistent in Francine's ear.

"Strip"

Trembling, unable to help herself, Francine fumbled at the buttons of her blouse, shrugged it off and unzipped her skirt. The hand stroked her pale flesh for a moment, parted her labia, pushed roughly into her pussy, then withdrew. Francine felt the hand over her mouth release slightly, tensed, ready to scream. As she opened her mouth a penis gag pushed between her teeth. The hand clamped tight again. The restraining straps tightened the gag.

The hand against her mouth released. Francine's arms were gripped tightly, pulled behind her back. Cold metal closed around her wrists, tight, constricted. Her heart thudded in her chest: fear, excitement too.

"Sweet little slave!" The voice breathed in her ear again.

Francine moaned behind her gag. The voice. She knew the voice! She struggled to turn. A nip of teeth on her earlobe, a softly breathed command.

"Stay still, little one."

Yes! She'd heard those words said just so before. A tremor ran through Francine. "Master! Come early! To claim me!" her thoughts shrieked. Francine melted back against the body holding her.

A chuckle, a kiss on the side of her neck. "Yes, little one." Her Master said softly. He turned her to face him. "Ready to go home?"

Francine nodded, eyes shining. Her master stepped back. Francine drank in the sight. Not tall, but taller than her, the charcoal pinstripe he favoured impeccable as always. Master opened his jacket, unclipped a quirt from his belt. He smiled at her. Tapped the leather against his palm. A quick movement and the leather tongue reached out, stinging against her nipple. Francine closed her eyes, lifted her chin, pushed her breasts forward a little to meet the leather. She trembled, week kneed. The strokes came a little faster, a little stronger, stinging her. Nipples, breasts, aflame with the beat of the leather.

A pause. Francine opened her eyes at the gentle touch on her nipples, stroking, flicking lightly. Master unscrewed the terminals on her barbell piercings, drew the metal out of her nipples.

"A present, pet." He said, eyes twinkling.

He drew two longer bars from a pocket, each threaded through a stainless steel shackle. He slid the bars through her nipples, screwed the terminals back in place. The shackles tugged lightly at her skin. Master touched her pubic mound and Francine opened her legs for him. He knelt. Kissed her lightly on her clitoris, then unfastened the barbell there and attached a new bar and shackle. Another quick kiss, his tongue gentle against her, and Master stood.

Master reached into his pocket again, drew out a thin length of chain, clipped the ends to her shackles.

"There! He breathed. "Almost dressed properly".

He turned her by the shoulders - led her into the living room. A snick, and Francine felt the cuffs around her wrists release. Master turned her to face him again.

"Position 3, sweet pet." The fondness plain in her ears.

Francine dropped to her knees, head bowed, arms reaching to him. He took her hands, kissed the backs lightly, and closed wide steel bands around her wrists. Francine trembled again.

"His cuffs," Francine sighed.

His feet moved out of her view as he stepped behind her. Francine felt his hands stoke her ankles lightly. Cool metal, ankle cuffs, closed around her.

"Your collar will stay chain for now, dearest slave." he said.

The quirt kissed her back, her ass, with his words. Francine moaned.

"Thank you, Master." sighed from her lips.

Another pause. A hand tangled in her dark hair, tugged lightly, lifted her to her feet. Francine lowered her arms. A pressure on her shoulders turned her to face him. A kiss, long and deep, fingers teased her pussy.

"Thank me properly, slave." he said.

Francine sank to her knees, unzipped his trousers, drew out his cock. She felt excitement rush through her. Her lips closed over the head of his penis. She drew him deep into her mouth. And as he came, Francine responded with her own orgasm, intense, sharp.

Master motioned for her to take the hamper. It was heavier than it looked. She glanced at Him. He smiled.

"Just a few of your prettiest things, pet," he said "and the autographed first edition leather-bound collection of Dickens works your grandfather left you."

He clipped a leash to the chain connecting her nipples and clitoris and led her from the apartment, down the hall, out into the rainy dusk. Master opened the back of the van. He took the laundry hamper and slid it to one side. At his gesture, Francine stepped into the van. She climbed into the open padded box bolted to the floor.

"Lets go home, pet." He said.

Francine looked back at the building where she'd lived. She had no regrets, no fears. Free!. Her final sight of her old life - one partial, lime green footprint on the damp dark concrete.

"Going home, at last!" She sighed.

[H Dean]

Well, this was a good little piece you put together. There are a bunch of typos you missed that the Level Boss will get to, no doubt. I will skate most of those and just offer a few stylistic comments. I get to these a little bit harsher in the higher levels. At any rate, a few suggestions on phrasing and keeping things live...

"Not long now," Francine sighed. She couldn't get him mind off Friday. Two days, and her Master would come at last. Her mind a jumble of images: naked, collared, chained, as Master pierced her clitoris her nipples, whipped. She sighed again.

In this bit I would suggest throwing a "was" into her mind being a jumble of images. I would also add an adjective...or is it adverb? An "excited jumble" would have brought more life to that sentence. You also have a tendency to use pronouns to start a sentence. You need to get out of that habit. "She" starting a sentence more than once in a paragraph sort of dulls things. The final sentence in the quoted paragraph worked quite well because it flashed the longing in a simple and concise form.

"Whipped, oh yes." She breathed. It was her stop.

Comma after the yes and no capitalizing "she" would be correct. Also, "It was her stop" was sort of middling as far as a phrase to close on. Maybe she should "suddenly realize" that her stop was at hand. Maybe she should be "jerked into the now" when the chime for her stop sounded. It would certainly point out that she was day dreaming about her master.

Francine pushed through the wet commuters to the door. She dodged aside as groping fingers brushed her thigh.

This would be better served with your preferred comma and put into one sentence, making it "dodging" and not dodged. It would certainly liven it up and make it less passive. It would also eliminate another pronoun.

The rain pelted harder, Francine pulled her thin coat tighter against her slender body as she stepped from the bus.

This should be two sentences or it should have a modifier in here. "The rain pelted harder, prompting Francine...". This is also a great opportunity to describe the rain and enhance her forlorn longing for what was to come. Rain is an excellent metaphor for so many things like that. Maybe you could tell us about the "great sheets of rain adding to her melancholy" or some such.

The rain soaked her to the skin. She shivered at the chill of the winter rain, and dashed for home, sidestepping the puddles.

This was a fair treatment but it could have said so much more. It peters out on "puddles", though. Also, it could do with a bit of rearranging. My penchant would be to show her shivering and then to tell why. Then give something more of the puddles. These, too, could reflect her mood.

A plain white van blocked the sidewalk in front of the six-suite apartment block she called home. Francine stepped onto the grass to get around it.

This sentence seemed more of a means to an end than something that fit in with the story. It also petered out with her stepping on to the grass. It could have been one sentence and she could have been irritated at having to step into wet grass.

"A plain white van blocked the sidewalk in front of the six-suite apartment block she called home, forcing her to step into the water bearing grass to reach her domicile" Then give a note of irritation or frustration at having to do so.

Anyhow, that's it.

[Whippett]

thanks Dean - comments duly noted and a reworking is happening now

[Whippett]

First revision:
__________________________________________________ ______

Going Home

Francine stared through the steamy windows of the bus. She watched the rain pelting the sidewalks distractedly as the bus crawled through traffic.

"Not long now," Francine sighed. She couldn't get her mind off Friday. Two days, and her Master would come at last. Her mind was a roiling jumble of images: naked, collared, chained, as Master pierced her clitoris her nipples, whipped. A sigh escaped her parted lips.

"Whipped, oh yes," she breathed. The bus lurched, bringing her back to the present, it was her stop.

Francine hurriedly pushed through the wet commuters to the door, dodging aside as groping fingers brushed her thigh. Driving horizontal sheets of rain off the harbour lashed her as she stepped down from the bus. Shivering in the winter chill, Francine pulled her thin coat tighter against her slender body. The maelstrom of her thoughts echoed in the pounding rain. Soaked her to the skin, head down she dashed for home.

A plain white van blocked the sidewalk in front of the six-suite apartment block she called home, forcing Francine to step onto the muddy grass to get around it. Frustration picked at her as the mud swallowed her heels. The pretty red shoes she'd bought to please Master, muddied and wet.

"Renovations at last?" Francine muttered, "Right, just as I'm moving out."

Thoughts of her move across country with Master flashed through her mind, sweeping the clouds and rain of winter from her awareness in their glow. Chained in a cage. Transported. Francine sighed in pleasure as she fumbled for her keys.

"A slave," a thrill ran through Francine at the thought, "possessed, owned. His! Body and soul! His!"

Francine pushed open the door and stepped out of the rain, shaking herself a little, drops flying from her shoulder length hair. She wrinkled her nose at the sharp smell of oil-based paint. The light was out and the gloom intensified as the door closed behind her. Francine's foot brushed against an open can of paint left in the hall. She felt the slop of paint splash her.

"Oh great" Francine thought angrily. "There go a brand new pair of stilettos. First wet, then mud, now paint!"

The thought of how long she'd looked before she found a pair of steel-heeled stilettos her Master liked made Francine even angrier. She shucked her coat and stepped between two large crates blocking her door partially. Francine had difficulty getting the key to turn in the lock. It turned at last and she shouldered the door open as she bent to take off the spattered shoe.

"Perhaps I can get the paint off," Francine muttered. She flicked the light switch, glanced at her shoe to see how badly damaged it was.

"Puke!" Francine said aloud. "The landlady has no taste at all. Lime green paint! Gross. Bet it's semi-gloss as well."

The spatters were small. Perhaps she could save the shoe after all. Francine glanced down and saw most of the paint had spattered up her leg. Clutching her damaged shoe, Francine tossed her coat over the stool by the door and stepped into the living room.

Francine stopped in horror. The place was a mess. Her books scattered on the floor. Clothing she knew shouldn't be there hung over the edge of a large blue plastic laundry pamper. She heard a noise behind her, started to turn. A hand clamped roughly over her mouth. Francine felt herself pulled backwards.

"Be silent." A deep voice growled in her ear.

Francine froze. The shoe dropped to the floor with a clatter as a hand squeezed her breast. She gasped: mingled pain and fear at the touch. Just one hard squeeze, and the hand stroked down her body, lifted her skirt, pushed against her labia.

The breath was warm against her cheek. The voice insistent in Francine's ear.

"Strip"

Trembling, unable to help herself, Francine fumbled at the buttons of her blouse, shrugged it off and unzipped her skirt. The hand stroked her pale flesh for a moment, parted her labia, pushed roughly into her pussy, then withdrew. Francine felt the hand over her mouth release slightly, tensed, ready to scream. As she opened her mouth a penis gag pushed between her teeth. The hand clamped tight again. The restraining straps tightened the gag.

The hand against her mouth released. Francine's arms were gripped tightly, pulled behind her back. Cold metal closed around her wrists, tight, constricted. Her heart thudded in her chest: fear, excitement too.

"Sweet little slave!" The voice breathed in her ear again.

Francine moaned behind her gag. The voice. She knew the voice! She struggled to turn. A nip of teeth on her earlobe, a softly breathed command.

"Stay still, little one."

Yes! She'd heard those words said just so before. A tremor ran through Francine. "Master! Come early! To claim me!" her thoughts shrieked. Francine melted back against the body holding her.

A chuckle, a kiss on the side of her neck. "Yes, little one." Her Master said softly. He turned her to face him. "Ready to go home?"

Francine nodded, eyes shining. Her master stepped back. Francine drank in the sight. Not tall, but taller than her, the charcoal pinstripe he favoured impeccable as always. Master opened his jacket, unclipped a quirt from his belt. He smiled at her. Tapped the leather against his palm. A quick movement and the leather tongue reached out, stinging against her nipple. Francine closed her eyes, lifted her chin, pushed her breasts forward a little to meet the leather. She trembled, week kneed. The strokes came a little faster, a little stronger, stinging her. Nipples, breasts, aflame with the beat of the leather.

A pause. Francine opened her eyes at the gentle touch on her nipples, stroking, flicking lightly. Master unscrewed the terminals on her barbell piercings, drew the metal out of her nipples.

"A present, pet." He said, eyes twinkling.

He drew two longer bars from a pocket, each threaded through a stainless steel shackle. He slid the bars through her nipples, screwed the terminals back in place. The shackles tugged lightly at her skin. Master touched her pubic mound and Francine opened her legs for him. He knelt. Kissed her lightly on her clitoris, then unfastened the barbell there and attached a new bar and shackle. Another quick kiss, his tongue gentle against her, and Master stood.

Master reached into his pocket again, drew out a thin length of chain, clipped the ends to her shackles.

"There! He breathed. "Almost dressed properly".

He turned her by the shoulders - led her further into the living room. A snick, and Francine felt the cuffs around her wrists release. Master turned her to face him again.

"Position 3, sweet pet." The fondness plain in her ears.

Francine dropped to her knees, head bowed, arms reaching to him. He took her hands, kissed the backs lightly, and closed wide steel bands around her wrists. Francine trembled again.

"His cuffs," Francine sighed.

His feet moved out of her view as he stepped behind her. Francine felt his hands stroke her ankles lightly. Cool metal, ankle cuffs, closed around her.

"Your collar will stay chain for now, dearest slave." he said.

The quirt kissed her back, her ass, with his words. Francine moaned.

"Thank you, Master," sighed from her lips.

Another pause. A hand tangled in her dark hair, tugged lightly, lifted her to her feet. Francine lowered her arms. A pressure on her shoulders turned her to face him. A kiss, long and deep, fingers teased her pussy.

"Thank me properly, slave." he said.

Francine sank to her knees, unzipped his trousers, drew out his cock. She felt excitement rush through her. Her lips closed over the head of his penis. She drew him deep into her mouth. And as he came, Francine responded with her own orgasm, intense, sharp.

Master motioned for her to take the hamper. It was heavier than it looked. She glanced at Him. He smiled.

"Just a few of your prettiest things, pet," he said "and the autographed first edition leather-bound collection of Dickens' works your grandfather left you."

He clipped a leash to the chain connecting her nipples and clitoris and led her from the apartment, down the hall, out into the rainy dusk. Master opened the back of the van. He took the laundry hamper and slid it to one side. At his gesture, Francine stepped into the van. She climbed into the open padded box bolted to the floor.

"Lets go home, pet." He said.

Francine looked back at the building where she'd lived. She had no regrets, no fears. Free!. Her final sight of her old life - one partial, lime green footprint on the damp, dark concrete.

"Going home, at last!" She sighed.

[Whippett]

By the way Muse - no guarantees I can always have such a flash of inspiration - lol - as you well know.

The story is drawn from late night pillow talk - the bare bones of a kidnap scene. It's a little late for my girl, perhaps - but I gave her the fantasy in this story today. So this is for someone very special to me

Now - let the meat grinders roll - lol

[H Dean]

Well, the meat grinders may have something to say about some technical items but your changes - well, you ran with what I offered and it gave it a lot more feel. The rain - the environment was much more alive.

Good job.

[Whippett]

Thanks Dean - you do good criticism

[Dragon's muse]

Off for a training marathon this morning, this afternoon, i will get to this.

smooches,
rose

[Whippett]

Thanks rose - hugs and the birch for you

[H Dean]

Thanks Dean - you do good criticism

You say that now. When you get up into the higher levels I get good and mean. We shall see how much you enjoy it when looking through blood colored glasses. <insert blood chilling laughter here>

[Dragon's muse]

Very nice. And quick, too. Fear not, i know the "muse" is not always so fast off the mark, and she gets cranky if you try to rush her. (Actually my muse is a male, a dead ringer for a young Billy Bob Thornton, but that is another story)

Your next assignment will be posted today or tomorrow. i do hope your pig latin skills are up to speed.

First revision:
__________________________________________________ ______

Going Home

Francine stared through the steamy windows of the bus. She watched the rain pelting the sidewalks distractedly as the bus crawled through traffic.

"Not long now," Francine sighed. She couldn't get her mind off Friday. Two days, and her Master would come at last. Her mind was a roiling jumble of images: naked, collared, chained, as Master pierced her clitoris her nipples, whipped. A sigh escaped her parted lips.

"Whipped, oh yes," she breathed. The bus lurched, bringing her back to the present, it was her stop.

Francine hurriedly pushed through the wet commuters to the door, dodging aside as groping fingers brushed her thigh. Driving horizontal sheets of rain off the harbour lashed her as she stepped down from the bus. Shivering in the winter chill, Francine pulled her thin coat tighter against her slender body. The maelstrom of her thoughts echoed in the pounding rain. Soaked her to the skin, head down, she dashed for home.

A plain white van blocked the sidewalk in front of the six-suite apartment block she called home, forcing Francine to step onto the muddy grass to get around it. Frustration picked at her as the mud swallowed her heels. The pretty red shoes she'd bought to please Master, muddied and wet.

"Renovations at last?" Francine muttered, "Right, just as I'm moving out."

Thoughts of her move across country with Master flashed through her mind, sweeping the clouds and rain of winter from her awareness in their glow. Chained in a cage. Transported. Francine sighed in pleasure as she fumbled for her keys.

"A slave," a thrill ran through Francine at the thought, "possessed, owned. His! Body and soul! His!"

Francine pushed open the door and stepped out of the rain, shaking herself a little, drops flying from her shoulder length hair. She wrinkled her nose at the sharp smell of oil-based paint. The light was out and the gloom intensified as the door closed behind her. Francine's foot brushed against an open can of paint left in the hall. She felt the slop of paint splash her.

"Oh great" Francine thought angrily. "There go a brand new pair of stilettos. First wet, then mud, now paint!"

The thought of how long she'd looked before she found a pair of steel-heeled stilettos her Master liked made Francine even angrier (you're telling me she's angry. Show me instead. Does she press her lips together in a thin line? Does she mutter a curse about the inconsideration of the painters? The devil is in the details and so are the angels.). She shucked her coat and stepped between two large crates blocking her door partially. (Just a touch awkward here -- "partially blocking her door" flows a little better.)Francine had difficulty getting the key to turn in the lock. It turned at last and she shouldered the door open as she bent to take off the spattered shoe.

"Perhaps I can get the paint off," Francine muttered. She flicked the light switch,(and) glanced at her shoe to see how badly damaged it was.

"Puke!" Francine said aloud. "The landlady has no taste at all. Lime green paint! Gross. Bet it's semi-gloss as well."

The spatters were small. Perhaps she could save the shoe after all. Francine glanced down and saw most of the paint had spattered up her leg. Clutching her damaged shoe, Francine tossed her coat over the stool by the door and stepped into the living room.

Francine stopped in horror. The place was a mess. Her books scattered on the floor. Clothing she knew shouldn't be there hung over the edge of a large blue plastic laundry pamper. She heard a noise behind her,(and) started to turn. A hand clamped roughly over her mouth. Francine felt herself pulled backwards.

"Be silent." A deep voice growled in her ear.

Francine froze. The shoe dropped to the floor with a clatter as a hand squeezed her breast. She gasped: mingled pain and fear at the touch. Just one hard squeeze, and the hand stroked down her body, lifted her skirt, pushed against her labia.

The breath was warm against her cheek. The voice insistent in Francine's ear.

"Strip"

Trembling, unable to help herself, Francine fumbled at the buttons of her blouse, shrugged it off and unzipped her skirt. The hand stroked her pale flesh for a moment, parted her labia, pushed roughly into her pussy, then withdrew. Francine felt the hand over her mouth release slightly, tensed, ready to scream. As she opened her mouth a penis gag pushed between her teeth. The hand clamped tight again. The restraining straps tightened the gag.

The hand against her mouth released. Francine's arms were gripped tightly, pulled behind her back. Cold metal closed around her wrists, tight, constricted. Her heart thudded in her chest: fear, excitement too.

"Sweet little slave!" The voice breathed in her ear again.

Francine moaned behind her gag. The voice. She knew the voice! She struggled to turn. A nip of teeth on her earlobe, a softly breathed command.

"Stay still, little one."

Yes! She'd heard those words said just so before. A tremor ran through Francine. "Master! Come early! To claim me!" her thoughts shrieked. Francine melted back against the body holding her.

A chuckle, a kiss on the side of her neck. "Yes, little one." Her Master said softly. He turned her to face him. "Ready to go home?"

Francine nodded, eyes shining. Her master stepped back. Francine drank in the sight. Not tall, but taller than her, the charcoal pinstripe he favoured impeccable as always. Master opened his jacket, unclipped a quirt from his belt. He smiled at her. Tapped the leather against his palm. A quick movement and the leather tongue reached out, stinging against her nipple. Francine closed her eyes, lifted her chin, pushed her breasts forward a little to meet the leather. She trembled, week kneed. The strokes came a little faster, a little stronger, stinging her. Nipples, breasts, aflame with the beat of the leather.

A pause. Francine opened her eyes at the gentle touch on her nipples, stroking, flicking lightly. Master unscrewed the terminals on her barbell piercings, drew the metal out of her nipples.

"A present, pet." He said, eyes twinkling.

He drew two longer bars from a pocket, each threaded through a stainless steel shackle. He slid the bars through her nipples, screwed the terminals back in place. The shackles tugged lightly at her skin. Master touched her pubic mound and Francine opened her legs for him. He knelt. Kissed her lightly on her clitoris, then unfastened the barbell there and attached a new bar and shackle. Another quick kiss, his tongue gentle against her, and Master stood.

Master reached into his pocket again, drew out a thin length of chain, clipped the ends to her shackles.

"There! He breathed. "Almost dressed properly".

He turned her by the shoulders - led her further into the living room. A snick, and Francine felt the cuffs around her wrists release. Master turned her to face him again.

"Position 3, sweet pet." The fondness plain in her ears.

Francine dropped to her knees, head bowed, arms reaching to him. He took her hands, kissed the backs lightly, and closed wide steel bands around her wrists. Francine trembled again.

"His cuffs," Francine sighed.

His feet moved out of her view as he stepped behind her. Francine felt his hands stroke her ankles lightly. Cool metal, ankle cuffs, closed around her.

"Your collar will stay chain for now, dearest slave." he said.

The quirt kissed her back, her ass, with his words. Francine moaned.

"Thank you, Master," sighed from her lips.

Another pause. A hand tangled in her dark hair, tugged lightly, lifted her to her feet. Francine lowered her arms. A pressure on her shoulders turned her to face him. A kiss, long and deep, fingers teased her pussy.Did i miss where he took out the penis gag?)

"Thank me properly, slave." he said.

Francine sank to her knees, unzipped his trousers, drew out his cock. She felt excitement rush through her. Her lips closed over the head of his penis. She drew him deep into her mouth. And as he came, Francine responded with her own orgasm, intense, sharp.

Master motioned for her to take the hamper. It was heavier than it looked. She glanced at Him. He smiled.

"Just a few of your prettiest things, pet," he said "and the autographed first edition leather-bound collection of Dickens' works your grandfather left you."

He clipped a leash to the chain connecting her nipples and clitoris and led her from the apartment, down the hall, out into the rainy dusk. Master opened the back of the van. He took the laundry hamper and slid it to one side. At his gesture, Francine stepped into the van. She climbed into the open padded box bolted to the floor.

"Lets go home, pet." He said.

Francine looked back at the building where she'd lived. She had no regrets, no fears. Free!. Her final sight of her old life - one partial, lime green footprint on the damp, dark concrete.

"Going home, at last!" She sighed.

[Whippett]

Going Home

Francine stared through the steamy windows of the bus. She watched the rain pelting the sidewalks distractedly as the bus crawled through traffic.

"Not long now," Francine sighed. She couldn't get her mind off Friday. Two days, and her Master would come at last. Her mind was a roiling jumble of images: naked, collared, chained, as Master pierced her clitoris her nipples, whipped. A sigh escaped her parted lips.

"Whipped, oh yes," she breathed. The bus lurched, bringing her back to the present, it was her stop.

Francine hurriedly pushed through the wet commuters to the door, dodging aside as groping fingers brushed her thigh. Driving horizontal sheets of rain off the harbour lashed her as she stepped down from the bus. Shivering in the winter chill, Francine pulled her thin coat tighter against her slender body. The maelstrom of her thoughts echoed in the pounding rain. Soaked her to the skin, head down, she dashed for home.

A plain white van blocked the sidewalk in front of the six-suite apartment block she called home, forcing Francine to step onto the muddy grass to get around it. Frustration picked at her as the mud swallowed her heels. The pretty red shoes she'd bought to please Master, muddied and wet.

"Renovations at last?" Francine muttered, "Right, just as I'm moving out."

Thoughts of her move across country with Master flashed through her mind, sweeping the clouds and rain of winter from her awareness in their glow. Chained in a cage. Transported. Francine sighed in pleasure as she fumbled for her keys.

"A slave," a thrill ran through Francine at the thought, "possessed, owned. His! Body and soul! His!"

Francine pushed open the door and stepped out of the rain, shaking herself a little, drops flying from her shoulder length hair. She wrinkled her nose at the sharp smell of oil-based paint. The light was out and the gloom intensified as the door closed behind her. Francine's foot brushed against an open can of paint left in the hall. She felt the slop of paint splash her.

"Oh great" Francine thought angrily. "There go a brand new pair of stilettos. First wet, then mud, now paint! Fucking painters!"

Her lips pulled back in a silent snarl of frustration. The thought of how long she'd looked before she found a pair of steel-heeled stilettos her Master liked made Francine even angrier. She shucked her coat and stepped between two large crates partially blocking her door. Francine had difficulty getting the key to turn in the lock. It turned at last and she shouldered the door open as she bent to take off the spattered shoe.

"Perhaps I can get the paint off," Francine muttered. She flicked the light switch, and glanced at her shoe to see how badly damaged it was.

"Puke!" Francine said aloud. "The landlady has no taste at all. Lime green paint! Gross. Bet it's semi-gloss as well."

The spatters were small. Perhaps she could save the shoe after all. Francine glanced down and saw most of the paint had spattered up her leg. Clutching her damaged shoe, Francine tossed her coat over the stool by the door and stepped into the living room.

Francine stopped in horror. The place was a mess. Her books scattered on the floor. Clothing she knew shouldn't be there hung over the edge of a large blue plastic laundry pamper. She heard a noise behind her, and started to turn. A hand clamped roughly over her mouth. Francine felt herself pulled backwards.

"Be silent." A deep voice growled in her ear.

Francine froze. The shoe dropped to the floor with a clatter as a hand squeezed her breast. She gasped: mingled pain and fear at the touch. Just one hard squeeze, and the hand stroked down her body, lifted her skirt, pushed against her labia.

The breath was warm against her cheek. The voice insistent in Francine's ear.

"Strip"

Trembling, unable to help herself, Francine fumbled at the buttons of her blouse, shrugged it off and unzipped her skirt. The hand stroked her pale flesh for a moment, parted her labia, pushed roughly into her pussy, then withdrew. Francine felt the hand over her mouth release slightly, tensed, ready to scream. As she opened her mouth a penis gag pushed between her teeth. The hand clamped tight again. The restraining straps tightened the gag.

The hand against her mouth released. Francine's arms were gripped tightly, pulled behind her back. Cold metal closed around her wrists, tight, constricted. Her heart thudded in her chest: fear, excitement too.

"Sweet little slave!" The voice breathed in her ear again.

Francine moaned behind her gag. The voice. She knew the voice! She struggled to turn. A nip of teeth on her earlobe, a softly breathed command.

"Stay still, little one."

Yes! She'd heard those words said just so before. A tremor ran through Francine. "Master! Come early! To claim me!" her thoughts shrieked. Francine melted back against the body holding her.

A chuckle, a kiss on the side of her neck. "Yes, little one." Her Master said softly. He turned her to face him. "Ready to go home?"

Francine nodded, eyes shining. Her master stepped back. Francine drank in the sight. Not tall, but taller than her, the charcoal pinstripe he favoured impeccable as always. Master opened his jacket, unclipped a quirt from his belt. He smiled at her. Tapped the leather against his palm. A quick movement and the leather tongue reached out, stinging against her nipple. Francine closed her eyes, lifted her chin, pushed her breasts forward a little to meet the leather. She trembled, week kneed. The strokes came a little faster, a little stronger, stinging her. Nipples, breasts, aflame with the beat of the leather.

A pause. Francine opened her eyes at the gentle touch on her nipples, stroking, flicking lightly. Master unscrewed the terminals on her barbell piercings, drew the metal out of her nipples.

"A present, pet." He said, eyes twinkling.

He drew two longer bars from a pocket, each threaded through a stainless steel shackle. He slid the bars through her nipples, screwed the terminals back in place. The shackles tugged lightly at her skin. Master touched her pubic mound and Francine opened her legs for him. He knelt. Kissed her lightly on her clitoris, then unfastened the barbell there and attached a new bar and shackle. Another quick kiss, his tongue gentle against her, and Master stood.

Master reached into his pocket again, drew out a thin length of chain, clipped the ends to her shackles.

"There! He breathed. "Almost dressed properly".

He turned her by the shoulders - led her further into the living room. A snick, and Francine felt the cuffs around her wrists release. A quick tug at the strap holding the gag firmly in her mouth and it was free. Mischievously, Francine caught the gag lightly between her teeth as her Master withdrew it. Her joy at his arrival making her giddy. A light tap on her bottom, and Francine released her grip, letting the gag pop out of her mouth. Master turned her to face him again.

"Position 3, sweet pet." The fondness plain in her ears.

Francine dropped to her knees, head bowed, arms reaching to him. He took her hands, kissed the backs lightly, and closed wide steel bands around her wrists. Francine trembled again.

"His cuffs," Francine sighed.

His feet moved out of her view as he stepped behind her. Francine felt his hands stroke her ankles lightly. Cool metal, ankle cuffs, closed around her.

"Your collar will stay chain for now, dearest slave." he said.

The quirt kissed her back, her ass, with his words. Francine moaned.

"Thank you, Master," sighed from her lips.

Another pause. A hand tangled in her dark hair, tugged lightly, lifted her to her feet. Francine lowered her arms. A pressure on her shoulders turned her to face him. A kiss, long and deep, fingers teased her pussy.

"Thank me properly, slave." he said.

Francine sank to her knees, unzipped his trousers, drew out his cock. She felt excitement rush through her. Her lips closed over the head of his penis. She drew him deep into her mouth. And as he came, Francine responded with her own orgasm, intense, sharp.

Master motioned for her to take the hamper. It was heavier than it looked. She glanced at Him. He smiled.

"Just a few of your prettiest things, pet," he said "and the autographed first edition leather-bound collection of Dickens' works your grandfather left you."

He clipped a leash to the chain connecting her nipples and clitoris and led her from the apartment, down the hall, out into the rainy dusk. Master opened the back of the van. He took the laundry hamper and slid it to one side. At his gesture, Francine stepped into the van. She climbed into the open padded box bolted to the floor.

"Lets go home, pet." He said.

Francine looked back at the building where she'd lived. She had no regrets, no fears. Free!. Her final sight of her old life - one partial, lime green footprint on the damp, dark concrete.

"Going home, at last!" She sighed.

[Whippett]

Very nice. And quick, too. Fear not, i know the "muse" is not always so fast off the mark, and she gets cranky if you try to rush her. (Actually my muse is a male, a dead ringer for a young Billy Bob Thornton, but that is another story)

Your next assignment will be posted today or tomorrow. i do hope your pig latin skills are up to speed.

Eyay opheyay osay ootay usemay

Inemay siyay lendersay nadyay unettebray

And no - you didn't miss where the took the gag out - I did - grin.

[Razor7826]

You say that now. When you get up into the higher levels I get good and mean. We shall see how much you enjoy it when looking through blood colored glasses. <insert blood chilling laughter here>

[Dragon's muse]

Eyay opeyay osay otay usemay

Inemay siyay lendersay nadyay unettebray

And no - you didn't miss where the took the gag out - I did - grin.

i know -- i was just trying to be diplomatic.

[Whippett]

i know -- i was just trying to be diplomatic.

As I said - I can't proof my own stuff - lol

[H Dean]

Give it a week or two and then proof it. You will be astounded how much you suck compared to how good you could be. Then, a year after you were proud of your work, do the same. Yup, you will have sucked even worse than before. Tis a writing curse.

[Whippett]

Give it a week or two and then proof it. You will be astounded how much you suck compared to how good you could be. Then, a year after you were proud of your work, do the same. Yup, you will have sucked even worse than before. Tis a writing curse.

Lol - that part I know from the serious stuff I write Dean - which is why I always pay a copy editor to go through it for me - if I get good enough at fiction - I'll find me a good copy editor for this as well

I need paper to edit properly - and yes - a couple of weeks from now I'll print off the two I've done so far and edit the hell out of them - and try not to over polish them

[H Dean]

I need paper to edit properly - and yes - a couple of weeks from now I'll print off the two I've done so far and edit the hell out of them - and try not to over polish them

You said the same thing about your pecker when you were 15. Do you think it will work this time?

[Whippett]

You said the same thing about your pecker when you were 15. Do you think it will work this time?

Didn't then - figure it won't now either - lol. But then a nicely polished pecker seems to catch girls' eyes - so - it worked