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The Crop
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
Knock, knock, knock, knock.
A soft knocking at my motel door startles me.
I put my magazine & wine down, get up off the bed, and quietly glide to the security
peep hole on the door. I am surprised to see wisps of dark brown hair and sparkling
brown eyes starring up at the peep hole. I have always hated those things from the
outside -- wondering if I am passing inspection or if I even had the right door. But I
am on this side now, wondering what changed her mind to knock on my door.
I unchain, unbolt, and open the door.
"Come in!" I say. "What are you doing here?" (Great conversation, eh?)
The brown eyes flash up at my blue-gray eyes. You say, "Nothing better to do, and I
thought you might want some company."
"Your company is always wanted, dear."
Standing less than two feet away from each other, we both feel a hug developing
between us, pulling us the remaining few inches to each other. Our arms wrap
around each other. Our bodies relax as our chests, hips, and legs touch in a secure
embrace. I can feel muscles relaxing in both of us. My mind records both the scent
of perfume you wear and the softness of your hair, as I am sure your mind records
my cologne.
"That's an interesting way to break the ice," I softly speak into your ear.
You lightly chuckle, give a short firmer hug, and pull your head back.
I watch your glistening lips move the words, "I know a better way to break the ice."
Our lips connect on cue for a secure, long kiss. My knees shouldn't feel weak. I
shouldn't lose control like this. Just after our hug tightens, I release our hold and
step back a little. It's time to be hospitable.
I rapidly fire off host type phrases. "Sheesh, you haven't even gotten in the door!
How impolite of me. Sit down. You want something to drink?"
You sit so smoothly in one of the chairs and say, "Diet coke is good."
"Diet Pepsi??" I inquire. But the look on your face makes me decide to jog down the
hall for your drink of choice. I fumble around for some quarters, tell you that I will
be right back, and slip out the door.
I am glad the inn is fairly empty tonight. Red flannel gym shorts with no underwear
and a T-shirt is not something I normally go jogging around in.
Back at the room, I open the door and find you stretched out on the bed reading my
magazine. I suppress my natural embarrassment reaction. "Interesting reading?"
"Where did you get *this*?"
"I found one of those 'adult' book stores down the street. Pretty sleazy inside, but I
thought this might prove to give some educational reading on how others write this
stuff. After all, I do want to have my name in the mags sometime."
"This is pretty 'descriptive'!" you hesitatingly say. Looking for the right words?
I fill your glass with ice and Coke. "Its ok writing. At least all the sentences have
subjects and verbs, but the writer and editor did seem to go a bit overboard as usual
with the adjectives and adverbs." I am trying to keep the conversation as polite and
innocent as possible. I still don't know why you are here. But this is getting boring.
You take the glass and say, "Since when does the Red Roof Inn provide glasses? I am
used to plastic?"
"I hate plastic stuff." I say as I look at my glass of wine and sit in the chair. "A glass
in my hand, unlike a plastic cup, makes me feel like I am more in control. Besides,
the glass feels cool and smooth on my lips. Plastic is sharp and rough."
Then, the long sound of silence drifts over our conversation. Fleetwood Mac is
singing "Dreams" on the radio. We both start to feel uncomfortable with the long
pause.
I start. "What do you want to do now?"
"I don't know," you say. "Any ideas?"
I'll have to admit to myself that a few ideas came to mind. How can I help to formulate
a few thoughts while looking at a very seductively attractive woman stretched across
my hotel bed reading a porn magazine out in the middle of nowhere.
"Want to go some place?"
"Not really. I have been out all week, and I am beat."
"Well, we could just sit here and look at each other, " I say with just a hint of sarcasm.
You retort, "Or we could play out the shower scene that you told me earlier about." An
embarrassed smile comes over your slightly blushed face. Your brown eyes twinkle
in the room light.
I smile broadly as I sip my wine. "The shower story scared you sweetie. I don't want
you doing something that you have incomplete trust in."
"I trust you."
Oh, great. A soft cooing voice. "Now why should I believe that?"
"Because for the rest of the evening, you can command me to do as you will. I want
you to tell me what you want done."
I smile kindly. "You would like that, wouldn't you. And what makes you think that
you are capable of doing what I ask?"
"Because I trust you. Go ahead. Try me."
"Wrong answer, love. I have dealt with many women like you before. Anyone who
thinks they deserve to be dominated, should not be." I empty my wine glass with two
quick gulps. I set it down hard on the glass table.
You get up, locate the wine bottle, re-fill my glass, and sit again. "How was that?"
you quickly ask.
"That was very sweet of you. But if I wanted a waitress, there are some working in
the restaurant down the street. Besides, I never told you to do that. See, you failed
already."
You hang your head and put on your best pout. "You are right. I can't do this. I just
don't know what to do. I wish I did know."
"That, dear, is the right answer. You do not know what to do. If you want to learn, I
will teach you. But you do only as I tell you. No more. No less. Do you understand?"
Meekly, you say, "Yes."
"Good. Let's review the rules. You do as I say. No more, no less. Should you decide to
vary from what I say, then you will receive a 'punishment.' Understand that no
harm will ever come to you. I am you guide. I am your protector. Do you
understand?"
"Yes."
"OK. Go into the bathroom. Take off all your clothes, jewelry, make-up, nail polish,
anything that is not of you. When you are finished, stand on this magazine that I
have placed on the floor. You have two minutes. I have to go down to my car for a
minute. Stand on the magazine until I get back. Don't move. Now go."
I note the position of my watch's second hand as you scamper into the bathroom. As I
close the door behind me and turn out the front light, I hear frantic rustling in the
bathroom.
I open the front trunk of my black MR2 and take out my crop. I'll need this. The
hood slams shut. I lean against it looking up at the room's curtained window. I see
your back-lit silhouette on the curtain where it should be. Noting the time as close (1
minute, 51 seconds), I lean up against the car and watch your shadow for a few
minutes. But you don't move an inch. Very good, I thought.
Upon re-entering the room, I see the embarrassed look on your face quickly give
way to a look of surprise as your eyes zoom in on the crop under my arm. My eyes are
recording the beauty of your skin, tracing every curve of your body.
"You did well. I watched your shadow on the curtain outside. The crop shouldn't
scare you. I told you, no pain. If you are scared, then we should stop. Do you want to
continue?"
You nod your head.
I walk behind you. "Good. I promised you no pain. Anytime you are scared, you say
so. I will stop." I run the end of the crop down the middle of your back, over your
ass, and down the back of your thigh. I note a shiver.
"Scared shiver?"
"No," you say, "Tingle shiver."
"Lay on the bed face down, with your feet three feet apart. Face your head to the left.
Put your arms at your sides, palms up."
I take the end of the crop and run the outline of your body starting at the nape of
your neck. The leather end runs over your shoulder, down your arm, and across
your palm. It runs down the outside of your right leg to the bottom of your foot. The
leather pad runs up your sole. Ticklish I see. That could be fun for later!
"Now don't move. Not an inch. And not a sound!"
I run the crop's end up the inside of your right leg slowly. I see your breathing
increase with shortening breaths. The crop's end moves up the inside of your thigh
and stops between your legs. I hear you gasp as I give the leather stick one turn
before it moves down the inside of your left leg. I run the end over your foot to see
the same tickle reaction, then up the outside of the remaining leg. At your hips it
crosses your palm and moves up your left arm to your shoulder and face. I tweek the
end of your nose with it.
"Turn over," I tell you. " Hands at your sides, palms up. Feet together. Don't move."
You obey very well, but of course this is easy.
I lay the crop down and walk on all fours over you from your feet up. My body
straddles yours. My face draws within inches of yours. Our lips are just a breath
apart. My eyes stare directly at yours. I feel your hands move up to my sides and pull
me close to you. You kiss me passionately. I allow this, as it is pleasurable, but you
did disobey!
"Awwwww, poor thing," I say. You do have some punishment due, don't you."
A shocked look goes over your face. I get up and sit in the chair.
"I never told you to move. Lay back down."
I take a sip of wine, my mind's tape recording the beauty of your body on the bed.
"Now place your hands in back of your head. Close your eyes."
You hear me tap the crop on the table.
"This is not your punishment, though. The crop is never used for punishment. Your
punishment will be hard, though, so prepare yourself."
After a few minutes, I finish my wine, having been satisfied that you have thought
about it enough.
"I am sorry I have to do this to you. But you do need the training. Your punishment
is the worst I can think of now -- this story is ended. You need to let your own
fantasy travel from here."
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