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The Continuing Saga of
Sir and lindsey
by D. J. Herda
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Opening:
I didn't know what had gotten into me. My friends all thought I had
gone mad. And perhaps I had. I couldn't imagine ever having
done such a thing before, and I wasn't sure what prompted me to do it now.
I did know, however, that there was nothing on the face of this earth or
in Heaven above that could have stopped me.
I clicked back on the
name. I liked it. It had a nice, masterful, yet benevolent ring
to it. David Lord Lionheart. I wondered if he actually were descended from
royalty.
Ridiculous! I watched as his image came up—a man in his
early Fifties, perhaps younger—very distinguished looking, with dark hair
graying at the temples and salt-and-pepper beard, neatly trimmed (of course!),
blue-green eyes, a nice complexion, chiseled features. He was sitting in a chair, a pipe resting
easily between two firm lips, dressed in a blue blazer, holding a riding crop
on his lap and smiling faintly … the kind of smile that told you there was more to the
picture than met the eye.
I clicked on a second photo,
and another image unfolded—this one charged with the allure of promised
sex. It showed a man from his neck to
his knees, wearing only a gauze-thin smoking jacket that did little to disguise
the excitement raging within him.
"He is fucking enormous..." I felt myself, felt between my
thighs, felt the dampness I found there.
Within seconds, I was wet, flushed with the desires of my own sex. Slowly, carefully, I felt the hand in the
photo move out from the screen, stretch across to me, slide down between
my own thighs. I felt the hand stir, felt my own
growing torment. It paused to nibble
lightly at my labia—up one side, down the other—before retracing its path. It slipped down suddenly between my lips, then
reached up to toy with the button of love I had only recently learned to
play. Encircling it, flicking at it,
pressing down on it ... hard.
Oh, my God.
I struggled to pull myself
upright.
If a picture can have that
effect, what could the real man do?
I pushed the thoughts from my
mind and began working on creating my own Erotic Profile. It took me the better part of an hour, but
when I had finally completed answering all of the questions, I clicked on “Submit”
(how appropriate, I thought), and the form went racing off to Alternative
Partners. I slid back behind my
keyboard, squirmed restlessly in my chair, and slowly began to scratch out my
letter.
From "As You
Wish"
Urbana, Illinois
My
Dearest David Lord Lionheart,
I
hope that you will not think me foolishly presumptuous, but by chance I
happened to come across your personal profile at AlternativePartners.com, and I
could not help but be impressed. Not
only are you a very handsome and distinguished looking Dominant, but you are
truly an accomplished gentleman, a Renaissance man, and a talented artist, which
is something one finds so rarely in this day and age. I am very impressed.
Although
I am sure you are besieged with responses from submissives far more experienced
and wiser in the ways of our lifestyle than I, I nonetheless wished to write
you to tell you of my admiration and to make myself available for further
correspondence, should you care to indulge me such. Although my on-line experience is limited and
my real-time experience even more so, I am an ardent student of alternative
lifestyles, and I have known for years of my submissive nature and my desire—my
genuine need—to serve.
I
sincerely hope that you will forgive my boldness in writing to you in this
manner and for expressing my innermost feelings, but I felt that I could not
possibly let slip away such an opportunity to touch hearts with so intriguing a
Dominant as yourself. I am emboldened by
your profile to send you a copy of my own in the hope that it may touch you in
some small fashion, as yours has greatly touched me. In this, I remain, for now and always, yours,
in the hopes that I may become --As
you wish ...
I held my breath as I moved to
hit the “Send” key, and then I stopped.
What if this were all one big mistake?
What if I were about to embark upon something I simply couldn’t handle,
take on responsibilities I honestly couldn’t meet? At the very least, I would walk away with my
tail between my legs, looking like a perfect fool. At the worst ... I trembled to think.
But
I knew my feelings. I understood
perfectly well the desires that raged within me, the eternal furnace, the Hades
of my soul. Wherever they might lead me,
whatever I had to do to quench this feeling, I could no longer ignore
them. The urge to action, the swell of
anxiety within me, the pain in my heart—I had gone without acknowledging it for
far too long. No, nothing could be worse
than doing nothing. Not when it came to
who I was, to what I needed, to where I had to go.
I
sat back in my office chair and instinctively reached for that spot again. Somewhere along the line I had become wet once
more…I
don’t know when. I hadn’t felt it coming,
not this time. I hadn’t felt stimulated at all,
except perhaps of the heart. Yet my cunt
was burning so wildly that, without another moment’s hesitation, I opened my
bottom desk drawer—the one that I usually keep locked—and removed my favorite
carry-on device and, pulling my shorts to one side, looked down at the neatly
trimmed fur ringing my cunt lips.
Ummmm.
I touched the tip of the vibrator against my pussy, which parted on its own
as if by magic. “Ohhhh,” I groaned out loud. I
slipped the head of the tool inside of me, only an inch or two, and paused.
I
looked at the letter I had drafted on my computer screen, shoved the vibrator
as far into my cunt as it would reach, and clicked on the “Send” icon. While I waited for confirmation, I turned the
vibrator on and let out a sudden moan. I
couldn’t believe what I was doing. Fantasizing…
masturbating…over someone I’d never
even met, someone who didn’t know I existed.
I felt wicked. I felt
embarrassed. Then, as the simple
computer-generated note popped up, I felt relieved. I read it out loud: “Your e-mail message to
David Lord Lionheart has been sent.” I
spread my legs wider.
“Too
late to turn back now,” I breathed out huskily.
And it was. All I could do now was
sit back and wait…and, of course, pray.
And pray I did, right then and there.
“Oh,
God, yes,” I moaned, lying back in my chair and separating my pussy lips with
one hand while massaging my swollen clit with the other. I looked at the image reflecting off the
glass covering of a photograph on my office wall. The woman in the reflection looked back at
me, her mouth wide open, her cunt exposed shamelessly, the very image of wanton
depravity. “Oh, God, yes, take me, my
Lord David. I want to be yours forever. I want to give myself to you freely. I want you to own me. I want to be your slut.”
I closed my eyes as I felt
the very first shudder tremble deep inside of me. I closed my eyes and
removed the vibrator from my cunt and pushed its head hard up against my
clit. I felt another shudder, and another, larger, stronger. And
suddenly I heard my Master telling me to come, granting me permission to
accept my approaching orgasm, and I felt David Lord Lionheart at my side,
felt his gentle hand on my head, felt his long, thick, pulsating cock
pressing demandingly against my face.
“Oh, yes, my Lord,” I
shouted suddenly. “Oh, yes. Your fucking slut is going to cum!”
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