Excessica Anthology BOX SET Winter (49 page)

I
stood there a moment in stunned silence, never having conceived that Alberto
could have known from near the beginning what it took me so long to learn. Yet
the more I thought, the more I could not condemn his action. He had freed me of
the constraints of normal life to pursue what I now acknowledged was my true
calling.

There
was nothing to do but kiss him, one last time, and whisper in his ear. “Thank
you, Alberto, for everything.”

After
my farewell kiss, things moved fast as Sofia took me by the arm and escorted me
from the room to be met in the upstairs hallway by the red-haired house slave.
Sofia dictated instructions for my preparation to the girl. “Have her nose ring
removed. She can’t look like an animal in my office. You may leave her number,
but have my name put on her backside, just above her ass. I want her blonde
hair streaked with pink. It will make her look younger and it’s kinky. In my
room you will find a chastity belt for her, fit it on her and lock it.”

Nothing
Sofia said bothered me until I heard chastity belt and then I looked at my new
Mistress with a shocked expression on my face.

“Oh,
are you surprised, pretty one, well don’t be. What Alberto failed to mention
was I’m lesbian, strictly lesbian, and your days of servicing males are over.
From now on the only things inside you will be strap-on cocks and fists. As far
as your pretty mouth, it will taste nothing but pussy, but you’ll learn to
enjoy it.”

My
head reeled at this new betrayal.
No, this can’t be happening to me
.

ABOUT
JENNIFER CAMPBELL

Jennifer
Campbell lives in a modern log cabin, nestles under the fir and spruce that
cover the mountain her ancestors settled under. She lives with her Master,
Jack, who she serves in an eight year M/s relationship. Not wishing to live
free or die, as the state’s motto suggests, she continues her pure submission.
Jennifer would love to hear from other submissives, especially those who are
touched by her writings about female slavery. Never wanting to forget who and
what she is, Jennifer will sometimes write when she is wearing her collar, or
her nipple chain.

Jennifer maintains
a
My Space page and blog
. You
can also visit her
web site
or email her at
[email protected]
.

Crabs

By
M.E. Hydra

What
do you get the man who has everything? Newman G. Smythe knew the answer to that
question.

A
bigger fucking dick.

He
stood in a fancy hotel room many floors above street level. The room was
familiar, comfortable. Hotel rooms didn’t vary that much. The walls were
covered in plain burgundy wallpaper and decorated with bland prints of modern
art. There were two queen-sized beds. A large television set stood in a cabinet
against the far wall. The door to a large en-suite bathroom was located off a
short entrance hallway. Wardrobes took up the opposite wall of the hallway.

Smythe
had spent many nights in rooms like this.

The
view wasn’t quite so familiar. Smythe looked out of the window onto a chaotic,
sprawling city. Numerous neon signs lit up the maze of streets. Those streets,
the veins and arteries of the city, were clogged up with traffic that honked
like frustrated beasts. It was at once both recognizably human and completely
alien. It was such a contrast to the pebbledash council estates of his youth. It
reminded him how far he’d come.

He
wasn’t here—hadn’t flown all the way out to the other side of the
world—for the sightseeing.

There
was a knock at the door, soft enough to almost be inaudible.

Smythe
was familiar with such knocks. Like the hotel rooms they’d been a regular part
of his life over the last decade. He felt the same anticipation, the same
response—heart beating faster, palms growing sweaty—even though
this time his excitement had a different cause.

* *
* *

“Mr
Smythe, please allow me to express our deepest apologies. At Tor Noire we
expect our girls to be the pinnacle of professionalism and courteousness. Our
client’s pleasure and satisfaction is of the utmost importance to us. I’m truly
mortified one of our girls has given you such a negative experience.”

It
must be serious. Trish had very little to do with the day-to-day running of the
Tor Noire agency nowadays. For her to contact him was an indication of how
seriously she regarded the incident.

Smythe
was flattered but only partially mollified. He was owed some serious
ass-kissing on this.

* *
* *

He’d
known something was wrong as soon as he’d opened the door. He should have sent
her back right then. He didn’t because she was absolutely stunning. Tall and
slender, her dark hair cascaded over dusky shoulders. Her lips formed a full,
deliciously kissable pout. She had an athletic body, but still possessed enough
curves to be sexy. Gorgeous.

Despite
all this, he should have sent her away and requested another girl. He knew it
at the time. Smythe had no illusions about the nature of their transaction, but
he liked the girl to at least feign interest. He picked up no vibe or spark
from this girl. The only thing in her eyes was attitude and boredom.

The
sex was crap. She lay back, opened her legs and did a passable impression of a
lifeless rubber sex doll. If she wasn’t staring into space, she was staring up
at the clock and counting down the minutes. It was about as erotic as fucking a
corpse.

Smythe
climbed on top and gamely thrust away, hoping the hotness of her body would be
enough to get him off.

It
wasn’t. He felt nothing emotionally. He didn’t feel much between his legs
either. Her pussy was so loose there was barely any friction at all. He kept
pumping away, but it quickly became apparent he wasn’t getting anywhere. His
hard-on was already softening and no amount of coaxing would bring it back to
life.

“You
done, honey?” the girl asked, her tone bored.

“Yeah,”
Smythe replied. He rolled off her and pulled the still empty condom off his
dick.

It
was one of the inevitable downsides to his ‘hobby’. Every so often there was a
mediocre experience. Although it had been a while since he’d had a session as
disastrous as this one. It was surprising it had come from one of Tor Noire’s
girls. Normally they were very good.

Smythe
paid the girl after they both got dressed. He was surprised when she didn’t
leave immediately, instead pausing at the door. Was she waiting for something?

“Do
you have a little extra, honey?” she asked.

Smythe
was stunned. The girls at Tor Noire were not allowed to ask for tips, or even
receive them, not even for the taxi fare home. The Tor Noire agency was very
strict on this. He’d tried to tip a girl before, after a particularly enjoyable
romp, but she’d given him the money back. This girl must be new.

“You
do know that wasn’t a particularly good session,” he said, trying to fathom how
the girl could justify to herself she warranted a tip. “Even if I could tip,
which both you and I know Tor Noire won’t allow, I wouldn’t. Not for a service
as average as that.”

The
girl’s expression soured.

“Well
I can’t help it if your dick’s too small to feel anything,” she huffed, before
storming out of the room.

Smythe
was left stunned, speechless even.

* *
* *

“The
girl was a last minute replacement to fill in for one of our regular girls
after she got sick,” Trish explained over the phone. “Needless to say, she
won’t be working for Tor Noire again. The girl who recommended her has also
been sternly reminded of the importance we place on client satisfaction in
maintaining Tor Noire’s illustrious reputation.”

Trish
was so keen to protect Tor Noire’s reputation she scheduled Smythe a free
appointment with one of his favourite girls.

Smythe
liked Jo. She was loud, rowdy and absolute filth in the bedroom. The previous
times she’d visited him had been a great deal of fun. This time...

“What’s
the matter, honey?” Jo asked, noticing the flaccid state of his manhood.

The
words the other girl had said to him were still preying on his mind. Did he
really have a small dick? He hadn’t given it much thought before. He’d always
assumed he was perfectly average in that regard. Sure, he knew he wasn’t
humongous. He knew he didn’t match up to the porn star studs, but he was also
sensible enough not to try and compare himself against such atypical ideals. He
was a normal bloke with a normal size, or at least he’d thought so. Now he
wasn’t so sure.

“How
do I measure up to your other clients, in this department?” Smythe said,
glancing down to his crotch. “I’m about the same, right?”

Jo
paused. For a moment she seemed unsure how to respond. Eventually she burst out
laughing.

“Oh
honey, you’re not really worried about that, are you?” she said. “You know the
saying. It’s not how big it is, it’s how you use it.”

Not
exactly the most reassuring of answers, Smythe thought later. At the time, Jo
took his mind off it by bending down and gobbling up his cock into her warm and
very talented mouth.

“And
there you were thinking it was only women who obsess about their body parts,”
Smythe joked once Jo had finished coaxing him up to a state of reasonable
hardness with a skilful blowjob.

“At
least we’ve got the good sense to flaunt it when we’ve got it,” Jo said,
pushing her considerable boobs together.

They
both laughed. It was too late though. That insidious doubt had crept into
Smythe’s mind, and once in there had found fertile folds in which to take root.
The thought he might be inferior to other men, that he couldn’t give her proper
pleasure, choked him off down below. His erection subsided to floppiness and
remained that way despite Jo’s best efforts.

Right
then he knew he needed to get it fixed.

* *
* *

Smythe
had fixed everything else in his life with the same implacable, dogged
determination.

Money
had been the first. He’d dragged himself out of a god-awful sink estate with
his own two hands. While his contemporaries had been content to sit back and
blame all their ills on a nebulous ‘system’—the police, the schools, the
government, the bankers, or whatever group they perceived to be oppressing
them—Smythe had been out hawking his services to the local office
buildings as a repairman extraordinaire for all kinds of technical problems. At
first it was him, a push bike and a toolkit. The bike had become a van, the van
had become a shop, the shop had become a chain, the chain had become a brand,
until Smythe was head of one of the most successful electronics firms in the
country.

Money
enabled Smythe to fix his own physical shortcomings. He’d fixed his
teeth—getting them straightened and whitened for a smile an American game
show host would be proud of. He’d fixed his body—procuring the services
of a svelte fitness trainer to halt and turn back the tide of his expanding
waistline. He’d fixed his eyes—finally ditching a pair of bottle-bottom
spectacles for laser surgery. More surgery had fixed his receding hairline.

Newman
G. Smythe was Mr Fixit. He’d fix this too, whatever the cost.

* *
* *

It
had brought him here, to a hotel room on the other side of the world, above a
sprawling city that was bright, chaotic and fundamentally alien.

He
heard the soft knock and opened the door. For a moment he could have fooled
himself it was the exact same usual scenario. A tall, extremely exotic Oriental
girl stood in the corridor outside. She was dressed in a long, flowing black
silk robe. The snakelike bodies of sea serpents were stitched into the fabric
with golden thread. A black case stood on the floor next to her feet.

Smythe
was a little disappointed it wasn’t the usual scenario. The girl was strikingly
beautiful. Unlike most other Oriental girls, she was tall and there were
noticeable curves where her breasts swelled outwards against the tight-fitting
fabric of her elegant robes.

“Mr
Smythe?” the girl asked.

“Yes?”

“I’m
Xie-Mu Huang. I’m the representative from the Ye-Xie Clan.”

“Do
you have it?” Smythe asked, feeling his blood rush through his veins.

Xie-Mu
smiled. She picked up the black case and carried it into the room. Smythe shut
the door and watched expectantly as Xie-Mu placed the briefcase on a table and
flipped a catch. The lid swung open to reveal an exotic little casket held in
place at the centre of the case with black foam padding. The miniature chest
was about the same size as a jewellery box and decorated with complex, exotic
carvings of serpents, squid and other marine life. The box looked like it must
be worth a small fortune, but it was its contents which most interested Smythe.

His
eyes shone as he walked over and opened the ornate little box. It was filled
with white spherical pills. They looked like pearls or maybe even eggs. Smythe
estimated there were maybe a hundred or more in the box. He picked one up and
examined it between his thumb and forefinger.

“This
is the treatment?” he asked.

“Yes,”
Xie-Mu replied. “Take three a day—one in the morning when you wake up,
one at lunchtime and one in the evening before you go to bed.”

“What’s
in it?” Smythe asked.

Xie-Mu
tapped her nose. “Secret clan recipe,” she said. “All natural ingredients.”

“Powdered
rhino horn and that sort of thing,” he said.

Xie-Mu
smiled and said nothing. Her face was completely inscrutable.

And
beautiful.

“How
can these little pills...” Smythe held one up to the light. It was even
slightly translucent like a pearl. “...bring about a physical change in the
body?”

“You
know how Viagra works?” the girl asked. “It loosens the muscles around the
blood vessels entering the penis. The vessels open wider and more blood flows
into the penis. This gives the man a longer lasting erection.”

Smythe
wasn’t interested in generating regular erections. He wanted bigger erections,
whopping great erections that would have girls gasping and moaning in pleasure
at the sight of him. He couldn’t see how a little pill would achieve this.

“These
pills work in a similar manner,” Xie-Mu said. “Your penis...” She stepped
forward and placed a hand flat against Smythe’s crotch. He was surprised by her
sudden invasion of his personal space, but pleasantly so. “...is like a bag of
blood. When it fills up, you get hard. Increase the size of the bag and you
increase the volume of blood it can hold. The more blood it holds, the larger
an erect penis can get.”

She
ran her fingers up the outline of his dick as it lay in his pants. Smythe
shivered in pleasure, feeling his cock start to strain against his underwear
for the first time in a while.

“The
pills contain a hormone that acts on the tissues lining the blood vessels in
the penis. It causes them to loosen and increase the capacity of blood your
penis can hold.”

Her
fingers pinched him through his trousers.

“Sounds
fantastic,” Smythe said. “Why haven’t you found a way to mass-market it? You’d
make billions.”

Xie-Mu
looked away. “The raw ingredients are rare and difficult to obtain. There is a
reason the treatment is as expensive as it is.”

That
was true. This was a luxury far out of the reach of most individuals.

“Aren’t
you going to try it out?” Xie-Mu said, extra meaning in her eyes as she glanced
sideways at him.

Smythe
looked at the pill between his thumb and forefinger.

Why
not?

He
popped it into his mouth and rolled it around on his tongue. It was
sugar-coated and tasted sweet. Smythe knew most medicine tasted foul once the
coating dissolved, so he swallowed it and washed it down with his cocktail.

He
waited for something to happen. The fear this might all be a highly expensive
scam was still lurking at the back of his mind.

Wait!
He felt something. A twitch in his trousers.

Xie-Mu
turned to him with a seductive smile and rubbed a palm against his crotch.