
"SUCK ME, EAT ME, SUCK ME,", she crys

she moan, bucks, hump, and suddenly she is creaming all
over my face. rubbing

her cunt juice all over my face.  Then she looks down
at my hard 9.5" long , hard cock and take her hand and
rub pre-cum all over the head......



and now a word from our sponsor...

If like me, you have been burnt-out on micro-detailed
descriptions of various objects penetrating assorted
orifices with clinical narration on the quantity and
quality of lubrication, like the one above, then you
may be interested in reading:


                           
                        LAYERS
                                                                                
             a love story by: Stroker Ace
                           
                           
                           
M/F D/s NC   Notice:  Adult subject matter.  Definitely
       not politically correct and proud of it.
                           
                        Layers

A love story by: Stroke Ace
Comments welcomed
stroker_a@hotmail.com
                           
                       Copyright
                                                     
This story may be distributed electronically provided
    it is complete, unaltered and with this statement
      intact. The author maintains all rights to this
  story.  Use on file servers is expressly forbidden.
                                (c) 1998, Stroker Ace
                                                     
                                
                           
                     Introduction

First of all, I am not a writer.  I am an auto-body
specialist, one day I will have my own shop.  I do not
know the first thing about writing and don't care what
is politically correct or not.  But if you want a 8
layer clear coat done as smooth as Diane's bottom, then
I'm your man.

You know those beautifully deep candy coats?  The ones
where you can actually look into the paint.  Well, that
is done by stripping the body bare.  Then rebuilding
it, molding every curve to please your eye.  You can
improve on it, but you must have something good to work
with first.  When every panel and face is smooth, it is
built up by ever so carefully putting layer after layer
of clear coat over a perfectly prepared body.  Each
layer lovingly hand rubbed to perfection.  When you are
done, it is your creation, more dear than anything new
at the showroom.  But it's no good to just keep it in
the garage.  You have to run it, feel it push you back
in your seat, hear the tires scream, watch the needle
touch the red, hear the engine howl.  In short push it
to the limit.  Then you know what you have.

That's the way I feel about Diane.



1. Diane

Diane is my woman.  I love her, more than anything in
this world, and would do anything for her.  Anything at
all.  She however, has to do some things for me.  I
make her prove her love for me. I push her to see what
she can take, where the breaking point is.

But it wasn't always this way......



2. The Park

It started in the spring.  I had to beg Diane to go
jogging with me on that Sunday afternoon.  It was a hot
day and we had the trail to ourselves.  She was still
in a bad mood about going jogging on such a scorching
day.  Soon she had fallen behind me, briefly
disappearing as the trail twisted in and out of the big
trees.

I reached the exercise clearing at the half way mark
and busied myself on the sit-up bench while waiting for
her to catch up.  Soon I heard the light steps of a
woman on gravel, followed by a shapely brunette.  She
was startled to see someone but quickly regained her
composure.  Ignoring me, she went directly to the
overhead bars.  A little smaller than I like, she was
still very attractive, dressed in jogging shorts and a
T-shirt tied at the waist.  A sports bra was visible
under her wet shirt.

She sprung easily to the bar two feet above her.
Captivated, I watched her sway from bar to bar, not an
easy task for a woman.  She did not appeal to be have
any great strength in her arms, but catlike she swayed
her body to reach the next bar.  Then using her rhythm
she effortlessly swung to the next.

I called out to her.  Thinking that she did not hear, I
called again.  She dropped to the ground and with her
back to me, jogged away.  There was no need for her to
be bitchy. I stood to say something, I don't know what,
perhaps to call her a name, when a runner came into the
clearing.

"The gentleman is speaking to you," he said quietly
while running in place.

The girl stopped in her tracks, still facing away.

"Excuse her, she has forgotten her manners," then to
the girl, "do you have anything to say to the
gentleman?"

The girl turned and caught my eye for a moment before
looking down, "Please excuse me.  I did not intend to
be rude."  She glanced toward the man as if looking for
approval.

"Tony lets go. I am tired of this!"   It was my
girlfriend Diane.  She brushed past the other girl to
stood in front of me.  "Lets go, the mall is going to
be closing soon," she said, pulling me away.

"I can see, that it is a bad day for manners," the man
said.

"Oh. Ahhh, excuse me, I mean her.  Excuse us, I had
promised Diane that we would go shopping together.....
You know how women are," I tried to joke with him.

"Does she speak for you?"  He was still jogging in
place.  I noticed the gold Rolex, in stark contrast to
the old exercise clothes.  He was perhaps 35, maybe 12
or more years older that the girl.  There was something
in his voice, a quiet assurance.

"No. I mean I speak for us."  I stopped and jerked
Diane back into my arms.  I held her lovingly across
her stomach, my body pressed against the firm curve of
her backside.

"Good.  Perhaps we could sit and talk for a minute, I
could use a rest," the stranger laughed.  With that he
sat on the park bench, waving to the brunette to sit at
his side.

"Just a few minutes, Diane, then we will go the mall."
I sat again on the sit-up bench sliding to one end of
the bench to give Diane room, but she stormed off.

 "I am going," she called over her shoulder.

The man stood, "Perhaps this is not a good time.  I
apologize if I have caused any trouble.  My name is
Paul, Paul D'Aquin and this is my, ahh, ...companion."
The girl smiled at this. Without makeup, and her hair
pulled back into a pony tail, she looked plain, with a
beauty that had to be imagined.

I stood, feeling dumb, and mumbled a greeting to the
couple.  To the girl still sitting on the bench I said
"Pardon me, I did not get your name."

"You must give me a chance to make it right," Paul
said, quickly stepping between us.  "Please honor me by
joining us for dinner.  Your young lady, if I am
correct, likes to attend formal affairs, theater,
dinner.  Am I right?"

"Why, yes.  Yes she does."

"And, If you will permit me, she is sometimes upset
that you don't go out enough?  No. You don't have to
explain. You work hard, you are just starting out and
money is tight.  It is perfectly all right."

"What?  How do you know?"

"Oh, forgive me, I don't wish to intrude into you
private affairs.  You see, I am a student of human
nature, I read the little clues, the specs of paint on
the fingernails, for example, her manicure."  He pulled
out a plain business card and in flowing script wrote
his name and address.  "I understand that you are
visiting the mall this afternoon.  Present this at
Elaine's and select an evening gown for your beautiful
lady.  Don't worry, price is no object, they will put
it on my account.  Get something expensive.  I will
have a suit delivered to Elaine's.  You can have it
fitted there, my treat.  A 42 long, should fit nicely.
Then we will meet for dinner at Yesterday's at 8 PM.
Have you ever been there, it is a truly fine
restaurant."

I was eager to catch up with Diane.  I took the card
and with a hasty good-bye ran to catch my lover.



3. Yesterday's

I caught up with Diane at the car.  Fortunately, I had
the keys or I would have had to walk home. I told her
of the dinner and Elaine's before she could get too
mad.  She pouted all the way home but her curiosity
slowly overcame her anger.  We changed and hurried to
find Elaine's boutique.

Elaine's turned out to be a very exclusive dress shop
across from the mall.  There was no way that I could
afford to buy Diane anything from this store. We walked
by the store several times before curiosity got the
best of us.  The saleswoman made a beeline towards us.
I showed Paul's card her expecting her to just laugh.
Instead she greeted us warmly, saying she had been told
to expect us. A tailor was waiting for me in the back
she told me, as she whisked Diane towards the evening
gowns.

The tailor quickly fitted me and handed me over to a
manicurist and hair stylist while he went to make the
alterations. It was 7:30, long after the other stores
had closed when we left by a back door.  Diane was
beaming.  She was gorgeous, her hair and makeup
completely done over.  She wore a lavender strapless
gown, that stayed up in defiance of mother nature. The
saleswoman explained that her heels were call d'Orsay.
It had the thinnest heel that I had ever seen.

We took my partially restored '66 GTO over to the
restaurant, I insisted on parking it myself.  The
maitre d' showed us to Paul's booth.  It was
overlooking the bay, the lights from the other shore
glittering across the water.  He was a gracious host.
He greeted us and introduced us to his companion, the
jogger.  She had used to the time wisely, the plain
face completely redone.  She was elegant, with a
beautiful white dress with gold accents.  Paul
introduced her as Pussy, "a term of endearment."  I
took her hand, a whiff of sultry perfume reached me.

Dinner was delicious, Paul helped us order from the
French side of the menu, while somehow putting us both
at ease.  He engaged us in conversations on
restaurants, and sailing (his passion).  When he found
that I was an auto painter he appeared genuinely
interested in the proper way to apply metal flake.  It
was natural to open up to him.  We told him of our
lives and even how we met.  Pussy, too tried to be
enticing.  If anything she appeared to be trying
perhaps a little too hard, sometimes laughing a
fraction of a second too long at one of Diane's little
jokes.

By desert, the conversation had drifted to his travels
again.  Paul called the waiter over and spoke to him in
French.  He told us that he had arranged to have desert
on the deck overlooking the boats.  In a minute other
tables were cleared from the deck leaving a spacious
table for four, all alone, overlooking the water.

I asked him how he had made his obvious wealth.  Like
with all the other questions that I had asked, he
answered sincerely.  He explained that he had studied
psychology at the University.  Like many students, he
was broke.  During his senior year he needed to raise
money to pay the tuition.  He was already swamped with
student loans.  He decided to apply some of his
expensive training.  He found an elderly woman that
wanted companionship and reassurance of her sexuality.
She gladly paid the tuition in exchange for his
attentions.  We double over in laughter as he explained
that it is not easy for a 23 year old male to make love
to a heavy 75 year old horny woman.  He knew that you
could not do that too often, you burn-out.  He needed
to make it count.  So he found an old woman and courted
her.  He insisted on marriage.  They did, but she got
more and more youthful and active with his attentions.
To a 24 year old, it appeared that she may never die.
But she did, 4 years later.  As her husband he had
already reinvested her savings, increasing the fortune.
He also made sure that the required amount was left to
her children, so the will could not be contested in
court.  At 29 Paul was a millionaire bachelor.

He spent a couple of years enjoying the new freedom.
His fortune continued to increase.  He did the bars and
clubs, had his share of women, but his wealth became a
trap.  He could never trust the women he met.  He knew
they would take him for his fortune at the first
opportunity.  Just as bad he never dared to play any of
the bedroom games that he liked, for fear that they
would use it against him.  He needed something more.

It was late, the restaurant empty.  Paul suggested that
we join him for drinks at his place.  His place turned
out to be a beach house 20 minutes away.  The house was
simple but elegantly done.  Each piece of furniture
lending to an atmosphere of casual elegance.  At his
suggestion Pussy took Diane for a tour of the home
while we talked.

I joined Paul in his comfortable living room as he
fixed drinks from a well-stocked bar.  Paul continued
his narrative, he saw his next opportunity a few years
ago.  The whole world was taking about the civil war in
Bosnia.  Where others saw only death and destruction,
Paul saw opportunity.  He flew into Sarajevo long
before that city was under siege.  From there he went
out in the countryside and just talked with the people.
Most spoke French. It took almost 5 months but he found
just what he was looking for.

He had found a family or what was left of one.  The
father had been killed in battle, the oldest son was on
the front lines, he had not been heard from in weeks.
The mother and grand father were taking care of the two
children still living at home.  The eldest daughter had
married and had lived in Vojske, a small town to the
East.  When Vojske was overrun by Serbs, survivors
reported that she had been gang raped in the street,
her child shot.  She was led away, a belt around the
neck attaching her to a rope from the back of an old
transport.  The guards in back, laughing and taunting
at the curving string of naked women, young and old
alike, stumbling slowly behind with hands tied in back.
It was common knowledge that they were being taken to a
Serb rape and torture camp for "ethnic cleansing".

The mother was scared for her two remaining children, a
6 yr. old boy and teenaged daughter. They had joined
the thousands of other refugees walking the roads in an
endless line of sorrow.  Paul befriended the family and
offered to give them a new start in France.  He offered
to buy their son out of his army contract.  He even
offered to take the 17 yr. old daughter with him to
America.  His price?  Nothing.  The mother was
delighted at saving her family and providing a great
opportunity for her daughter with a rich American.  The
Grandfather, old and infirm said nothing.  He had
fought in the underground against the hated Nazis in
'39 and had no allusions about mankind.  Still it was
the best offer they could hope for.  Paul insisted that
they not bother the children with details.

There was one catch.  They had to pass a complete
physical to get exit papers.  He explained that to go
to America, the girl would also have to see a
gynecologist.  Much to everyone's relief, the girl
passed her extensive physical and blood test.  In
private, the doctor assured Paul that his "niece" was
most assuredly a virgin.

At the airport the mother asked the young girl to wait
in a little room.  In the outer room, Paul slowly
counted out the money to move the family to France and
gave them the forged entry papers.  Over the mother's
shoulder he could see the young girl watching the money
change hands through the window.

The realization of being sold by her mother was enough
to keep her "compliant" during the long trip to her new
home and life.



4. Changes

We could see the girls, glamorous in the warm light of
the patio, through the window that completely made up
one side of the wall.  The girls stood, laughing and
talking by the low wall overlooking the beach before
sitting by the pool.  Paul continued, explaining that
the first year was difficult for both of them.

They had to take a long circuitous route to smuggle her
into the country.  They flew to Greece with forged
papers, then she was smuggled by ship to Sicily.  From
there she was taken on a six week voyage to Mexico.

"You will excuse me if there are some details that I
still cannot talk about.  It was expensive but the
beauty of it is that the girl does not exist. There are
no records.  I had put all my energies, as well as a
small fortune, into finding the right girl and getting
her into the country.  I didn't have a clue on what to
do with her once I succeeded."

"At first I kept her chained in the play room.  My
perfect little slave. Come, I will show you."

Captivated, I followed Paul down the hall through two
doors to a large almost bare room.  Aside from a few
hooks in the ceiling and walls, the room was typical of
the others in the house.  Large windows dominated two
of the walls. Through an open door I could see a
bathroom, the counter full with the distinctive shapes
of women's makeup and perfumes.

"She spent the entire first few months here," Paul
advised me.  " She was partially drugged when she first
arrived, but it soon wore off.   I would come in here
to play with her or just admire her as she hung in the
center." Paul stood, under a hook and held his arms up,
hands spread even with his shoulders.  "I was her
Master.  She lived to please me.  I would whip her if
it pleased me, or give her pleasure if I choose.  She
ate or went to the bathroom only when permitted.  Once
I kept her awake for 75 hours straight, bound all the
time, just for the fun of it.  She went weeks with out
wearing clothes.  The sex was great.  I had her every
conceivable way, at my whim."

He pulled a wooden chair from a corner while I sat on
the edge of the small bed.  The bed was neatly made but
leather restraints permanently anchored to the four
corners exposed its true purpose.

He leaned forward, "Every way except one.  I didn't
take her pussy.  That's right, I kept her a virgin.
That one thing so bewitched me that I named her for it,
Pussy.  That is the name I gave her, and therefore her
only name."

I was startled by a knock on the door.  It was Pussy
leaning in the doorway to ask if she could show some of
her clothes to Diane. Paul nodded his consent and Pussy
skipped down the hall like the little girl that she is.

Paul leaned forward in his chair, and confidentially
continued,  "It didn't turn out the way I had expected.
She was a fighter.  She fought and struggled like a
tiger for weeks.  Then one evening I came to play with
her and she was broken.  Her sprit was gone.  She would
absently surrender to anything asked of her.  I tried
the most outrageous things and she did everyone of them
with out even raising and eyebrow, not even a whimper.
She had stopped wearing makeup or perfume three days
before.  At first she was completely fascinated with
all the make up available.  Young girls could not get
that where she had grown up. I ordered her to eat and
she did.  I ordered her to wear lipstick and she did,
but you can't order a girl to wear lipstick or makeup.
Even if she is a captive.  A girl must want to look
good or it will show."

The man was lost in his thoughts.   He was talking out
loud, but I got the feeling that I could have left the
room and he would continue the tale.  He was trying to
tell me something.

"What would you ask of her", I just had to hear.

Mr. Paul D'Aquin, paused deep in thought, considering
what was suitable to confess after confessing
everything.  He found something, either so innocuous or
so outrageous that he could speak of it.

In a low voice he started, unsure of where to begin.
As he went on, perhaps reassured by my non-judgmental
silence, he spoke louder.  He told of fantasy that
occurred to him, but now he had the means to fill it.
It was her third day at the house. He started by
depriving her of her morning meal. A small girl under
enormous stress she ate little, mostly fruits and
salads.  Paul would fed her and give her time to use
the bathroom in the morning and evenings.  It must have
been difficult for her to miss a meal.  Paul continued
to abuse her, tying her up for hours, raping her mouth
or ass when he felt like it.  Paul confided how
thrilling it was to return from his stock broker to
find her exactly as he left her, tied and gagged on the
bed or against a wall, her thigh muscles fluttering
against the strain.  That afternoon he again deprived
her of food or drink.

The following morning she was again deprived of a meal.
For two more days she went without food or drink. The
girl was obviously weakening. That was what he was
waiting for.  He tied her sitting against the wall.
Without explanation one arm was left free, a strap
dangling free from a leather cuff.  He taunted her with
a fresh salad. I can only imagine what it must have
been like to be starved of food and water, while
straining in your bonds for three days, then to be
enticed with food. The little drops of cool moisture on
the lettuce and crystal bowl must have been pure agony
for the famished girl to look at.  Paul had her
masturbate him with her free hand, shooting his sperm
over the food, which he then fed to his starving
captive.

That is when I knew that he was telling me the truth,
it was in his eyes and it scared me, truly scared me.

"Why are you telling me this?", I asked.  He knew that
I meant everything.

"You asked me too.  Oh, you are serious", he added.  "I
hope that I can be honest with you.  I saw something
special in you and your lovely Diane.  Let me continue.
You will see."

Yes, I was concerned.  I even considered leaving.  But
in the end my curiosity won out.  Maybe I felt indebted
to the mysterious Paul D'Aquin after all he bought the
fine suit and dress that we wore and we drank his
vintage wine.  I told myself that if he proposed a
group sex thing, I would leave.  That's not for me or
Diane.

Paul stood looking out the window. I could hear Diane
giggling from a distant room. I had to interrupt Paul
to get him to speak louder.  He continued to talk into
the window, only slightly louder this time.

"It took a month and she was broken.  Completely
broken.  She had lost the will to fight, even to
protect herself, she had lost the will to live.  She
wouldn't eat, even if fed.  He eyes grew dim.  She
would not wear make up, or even shave her legs, her
skin was ghostly her hair dull and believe it or not,"
he turned to me for emphasis, "her hair down there, you
know, the pussy hairs, they became limp, flat, no
curls."   He turned again to look out on the beach,
quite for a while as if he was contemplating on why
that should be.  "You know I could tell her to do
anything, and she would do it with out hesitation or
fear.  Anything.  She just did not care if she lived or
died.  Oh, it was fun for a little while see her do the
most outrageous things but not for long."

"So you gave her, her freedom," I interjected.

"No.  What I did was to think about it.  For days I
considered what to do.  I knew she would commit suicide
if she could, so I left her tied to this bed while I
studied my old college text books on psychology, I
consulted with the leading psychologists.  I would only
have one more chance, I had to get it right.  You know
psychology is much like chess, for every input into the
human mind, the patient counters with a move of his
own.  The psychologist must be prepared for every
possible counter move, with another counter move of his
own."

He sat on the corner of the bed, invigorated as if he
had just now solved the problem. "I did the only thing
I could.  I did the opposite."  He was talking fast
now.  "I developed an exercise and education routine.
Every minute of her day was organized.  It took some
experimentation to get the times right but I finally
decided on waking her at 5 am sharp.  A half hour for
her toilet and complete make up and to make the bed.
She was to be ready for inspection at 5:30."

"I made a big show of it to let her know that I took it
seriously.  I would unlock the door exactly at 5:30. I
expected her to be standing nude in the center of the
room.  The room and bath was to be clean and neat.  She
was to have her hair brushed and all bruises or marks
were not to be covered with powder.  I checked her
mouth, to make sure she had flossed.  I, of course
checked between her legs to make sure that there were
no traces of my semen from the night before. Her period
had stopped, now doubt from the stress, but I still had
her take a birth control pill every day.  Her nails
were to be done in clear lacquer.  Lipstick had to
exactly match to the color of her vagina every
morning."

"At first she resisted, but I was relentless. I don't
believe in demerits, the best punishment is done
immediately.  Any infraction was treated the same,
three lashes with a whip.  Immediately,  as hard as I
could, anywhere I felt like on her exposed flesh.  She
would never be hit for my own amusement.  She learned
that she could trust me.  After a month, she started to
respond.  At last I could trust her not to harm
herself.  I had her fix breakfast every morning. Still
nude, she would busy herself in the kitchen, while in
an adjacent room, I planed the days agenda.  At first I
told her what to cook, but latter after she took
cooking classes, it became her choice.  It gave her a
way to express herself.  Then there was some free time
to do whatever I felt like that morning.  I would take
her scuba diving or back here for fun and games."

"I enrolled her in English classes, cooking classes.
She spends two hours a day exercising at the gym.  I
chart her weight and progress.  In the afternoon she
takes fashion, and health classes, for I want her to
look good and her body to be hard."

"It took a several weeks for her to fully recover," he
said.  She slowly came to accept her new reality as a
sex slave.  "Now I enjoy playing with her both at home
or in public.  For fun, I ordered contacts for her with
the wrong prescription. Everything she looked at was
out of focus.  Sometimes after a bruising session I
would make her wear the contacts to the beach.   I have
her disrobe to her bikini and walk on the pier showing
her marks.  The guys on the pier would just love it.
Of course she was not allowed to speak to anyone.  It
was after she 'was reborn' that I took her virginity.
Pussy's pussy", he laughed at his little joke.

Paul leaned back and called for Pussy.  "I am coming,"
she immediately replied.  To me he said, "Quickly,
before your beautiful lady arrives, do you want her to
be your woman.  I mean, really your woman.  Not a woman
that just happens to live with you. If you do, I can
help you train her, help with money, whatever it
takes."  Pussy entered the room.  I knew Diane would be
here soon.  Paul told her to take off her clothes and
she did.  No fuss.  She glanced at me for a second, and
immediately started to unbutton.

"I won't interfere with her, just help you."

"Hey, what are you guy's doing in there?".  Diane was
coming down the hall.

"What is it going to be?"

"Tony, you cheapskate, why don't you buy me a place
like this", Diane was just around the corner.  Pussy
was to my side, stepping out of her underwear, looking
for approval from her man.

"She has a job, friends, family..."

"What?   Tony, speak up!"

"It doesn't matter.  I will take care of all that."

"OK.  Yes, do it", I heard myself speak.

That was a long and hard, fifteen months ago.  I went
the whole time without seeing or even speaking to
Diane.  I never knew how much I loved her till then.
At times, I thought Paul had killed her.  Nightmares
filled my few hours of sleep with images of Diane
bound, tortured, crying my name.  Paul assured me that
she was safe and still undergoing training.  His
promises grew from "only a couple of weeks" to a month,
then another and another.

I would rush over to his beach house after work, always
to hear the same explanation.  "She is OK, be patient,
it is just taking longer than I thought to change her
'reality'."  I was not permitted to see her for fear
that she would regress, he would explain.

My visits every afternoon were a way to reaffirm my
trust in Paul, a man that had told me everything that I
knew about him. Still, I trusted him, largely from the
sincere way he had arranged for Diane's disappearance.
He paid for tickets to Europe, had photographs
doctored, innocent having a wonderful time letters,
were forged.  No one expected a thing.  Only Paul, the
ever obedient Pussy and I, knew.

Three months into the training, to reassure me, he lent
Pussy to me for a weekend. His  instructions were to
"treat her as if she was your own."  After such a long
time without sex it was a great relief to have a woman
to play with.  But Pussy knew to whom she belonged.
Try as I might she would not tell me where Diane was
being kept, for it was not at the beach house.  Maybe
she just didn't know.



5. Diane

Summer slipped into winter.  I cursed myself for
blindly trusting this stranger. What else could I do
but wait.  When Paul sensed that I was at my limit, he
would offer me the services of Pussy for relaxation.  I
decided to restore the GTO.  That winter and spring I
stripped it down to the bare metal and ever so
carefully layered on cleaner, prep coats, sealers,
adhesion promoters base color coats.  I lovingly hand
rubbed every layer for days.  Finally it was ready for
8 layers of hand rubbed clear coat.  While I made the
body over, a friend put in a glove leather interior.  I
sent the engine to a NASCAR team in South Carolina for
engine work. That summer was spent fitting it all back
together.

By the time school opened, it was ready.  All traces of
the original was gone.  Its replacement had the same
size and shape but was totally new. It looked new, felt
new, ran harder.

Diane was waiting for me that Labor day weekend.  I
stood in Paul's beach house that I had come to know so
well, as she stood across the room.  A black cocktail
dress accented what it only barely covered.  She was
beaming, skin radiant, eyes sparkling.  Paul dotted
around like a butterfly, immensely proud of his
creation.  Even Pussy smiled.  Without moving her head
Diane kept constant track of both men in the room, I
could not tell if she even saw that Pussy was there.

She stood there, relaxed, back straight, the only sign
of nervousness was one shinny black pump rocking
slightly on its heel.

"Come here", it sounded much harsher than I wanted, but
an order was a relief to Diane.  She knew what she was
to do.  Her smile brightened, she may have said
something.  She flowed across the room, a champagne
glass could have balanced on her head.  Stopping inches
away from me, she obviously suppressed an impulse to
kiss me.   She murmured "Please excuse me.  I did not
intend to be rude," and took a step back.

I scooped her to me.  My Diane melted in my arms, her
body trembling itself into mine.

Paul gave me some last minute advice, "Do not talk
about her training, that is behind her now.  She is
yours completely, her only purpose is to please you".

And as we went out the door, "Don't mistreat her.  She
lives for you".



-Stroker Ace-
stroker_a@hotmail.com
