May 29, 2007

Freelancing: A Fantasy

Code, Upload, Refresh, Edit, Code, Upload, Refresh, Edit... and so it goes. That's the life of web developer. The good thing is that this can be done anywhere with an internet connection. Today I was out of the office and at a little web cafe downtown. It was nice to be in a more relaxed atmosphere, sipping my chai latte and making some lovely web pages.

You know that feeling on the back of your neck when you know someone's watching you? It took me a while to realize that it was nagging at me since I was so in the 'zone' working. I wished that I had one of those geeky rear view mirrors on my laptop so I could see who was spying on me without turning my head. Instead, I played it 'cool' and went back to the counter for a refill. Glancing around casually as I could, I noticed a stunning woman.

She had incredibly long legs and I wondered how tall she was naturally. I knew that her height would be boosted by the thick heels of her black boots. Black seemed to be her main wardrobe choice as it comprised her stockings, her skirt, her blouse, and the elbow-length gloves. It was also the color of her wild hairdo that stood out in fronds like an electrified palm tree. The black set off how pale her skin was, as did the blood red slash of her lipstick.

She was reading a Joyce Carol Oates book but I caught her eye when she looked up. Great. Now I looked like the person staring at her, rather than vice versa. I smiled and looked away.

Back at my laptop, she waited a few minutes before striding over and asking if the seat next to me was taken. Indeed, she was very tall. Her voice was higher than I imagined, almost childlike. She had a slight lisp that came from her big smile. I nodded and she took a chair.

She began asking me about web development and asked if I freelanced. She had a site that she needed building. I suppressed a sigh. Web development is typically viewed by the general public as either being hardcore voodoo or so simplistically simple that anyone can do it. I prefer the people that think it's voodoo as they don't start throwing out phrases like, "I build my whole site in FrontPage." However, the voodoo people often think that making a website can be done by some ritual sacrifice and waving a magic wand. It's difficult to the layman but a walk in the park for the high priests and priestesses of the web.

That said, I tend to not freelance much. It's the rare person who appreciates that the lion's share of web development is getting all of the information possible up front in order to create specifications and stick to those. Too many people want to say, "Oh, and I want a page that does this..." when the build is 90% done. And, too many think that web development is all about attention-grabbing. "Can you make that animate?" is the question so many of us dread to hear.

I started giving this attractive lady my spiel about needing to define her business objectives and writing out an outline of all the things her site would need before we even proceeded. To my surprise she took a notebook out of her oversized purse and asked, "Like this?" She laid out an entire site map along with pages of copy that had been heavily edited. I was amazed. And I was more than a little baffled as I started to read what her site was about.

"Yes... something exactly like that."

"I've been working on this site it my head for the last few months but haven't taken the plunge to get it built. Would you be willing to help me? What are your rates?"

I usually work with clients whose product I like and try to work out a favorable agreement in trade. I told her that and added, "But I don't know what you do, yet."

She gave a hearty belly laugh, doubling over and covering her mouth with her hands to try to stifle it. Finally, her laughter subsided and she wiped her eyes of tears. She opened her notebook to another page and told me to look it over and that she'd be back after getting some more coffee.

The page was filled with a lot of terms and acronyms I couldn't get my head around. There were mentions of "Greek," "French," "Russian," and other things that didn't seem like salad dressing though much of the page seemed like a menu. "GFE," "PSE," "BDSM" were listed in one column with numbers in another. Meanwhile, terms like "DATY," "DFK," and "MSOG," were listed in another area. It might as well have been written in Sanskrit for as much sense as I made out of it and, upon her return, I told her as much.

"I know you don't know me yet but if you trust me, I can assure you that you'll figure it all out and will love the way I pay you," she said with a large smile. I don't know why I did it but I shook her hand and introduced her to her new web developer.

Her name is Zoe. She's got a lot of tattoos under those black clothes. I found that out the next day as she sat next to me in her living room. I tend to insist on working with the client around in order to have immediate answers and feedback. I found out about the tattoos from the photos on Zoe's computer that she was sending to me via email. They were of her in various states of undress.

Things finally started to clear up for me when I began populating pages and came across this statement: "Money exchanged is for companionship and modeling services only. Anything else that may occur is a matter of personal choice between two or more consenting adults of legal age, and is not contracted for, nor is it requested to be contracted for or compensated for in any manner. This is not an offer for prostitution."

I read those words and lifted my head to see Zoe already looking at me, a smile playing around the corners of her mouth. I said, "You're...."

Seeing me struggling for words she finished my sentence, "An escort. No moral objections, I hope?"

"No, none at all. I find that rather admirable and, well, rather intriguing."

"Go ahead and ask me anything. I'm going to take notes and see if there's anything I can use for my Frequently Asked Questions page," she chuckled.

I spent the next hour or more haranguing her with questions; everything from safe sex to protocol to troublesome clients. Zoe answered everything with candor. The last question I had for her was the toughest of them all.

"So, when you said that you were... how did you... we talked a bit about payment?" I asked, fumbling over the words, afraid of being gauche.

Zoe smiled. She took the gum out of her mouth and put it on the rim of her coffee cup. She stood up--looming over me, even without her heels on--and came over to my chair. She swiveled me to face her before dropping to her knees. She looked into my eyes as her hands worked my belt, pants button, and zipper. By the time she took my penis out of my underwear it was already completely hard. She kept her eyes locked with mine as she started to stroke me.

"Do you want the nice French or can you take more?"

Not exactly sure what she meant by that I volunteered a fact that I hadn't shared with anyone else before, "I... I don't mind some teeth."

Her eyebrows raised and she smiled widely. "Okay, you tell me if it gets too intense. And, before you ask, you're allowed to cum in my mouth if you want."

She lowered her mouth to my cock and took it all into her mouth. She began getting it as wet as she could, taking it out and spitting on it before licking it up one side and down the other. I'd never been spit on but I found it vaguely erotic to watch as she lubricated me this way. Normally I felt self-conscious watching as I received oral sex but I knew that Zoe not only wanted me to watch but that she enjoyed being looked at as she worked my cock like a pro.

She stuffed so much of my cock into her mouth that she also put my balls inside. She breathed through her nose as I felt her tongue slipping under my balls and back over them. She slurped and gagged a bit before taking it out again. She looked up at me as she slipped just the head into her mouth. I felt the slight bite from her teeth. I nodded and she bit down harder. I nodded again and she slid her teeth down the length of my cock, scratching and biting all the way. It felt painful but, oddly, pleasing at the same time. Down at the base of my cock, Zoe bit hard and sucked harder, creating a vacuum around me that caused her cheeks to sink in.

I never usually do this, but I put my hands in her dyed black hair and held her in that position. She began to gag and I loosened my grip. She reached up quickly and pushed one of my hands against her head, letting me know that I was okay. I held her down as she gurgled and bit harder, I knew that she was telling me that she was still in charge of the scenario even though my cock was down her throat. She nodded her head a bit and I let go of her hair as she came up for air. She winked at me and we did it all again; the only difference was that I held onto her hair tighter and pushed harder, getting even more of me down her throat.

I could feel myself getting closer to the brink of orgasm. I remembered her words about it being okay to cum in her mouth. I was so glad that she gave me this permission as it relieved the stress--not knowing, holding back, wondering. I also knew that she didn't expect reciprocation. I'd never had a blowjob that didn't require some kind of "payback." This time, however, I knew that I was paying her back by building her website. With that, I leaned back and groaned, allowing myself to enjoy every sensation as she coaxed an orgasm out of me.

I held her down as I came inside of her mouth while she sucked every last drop of it out of my spent cock. She kept her head in my lap, licking at the oversensitive head of my cock for a few minutes, lapping up the last few drops. I stroked her hair and smiled. She went to her bathroom and came back with a warm washcloth that she wiped me off with before saying, "Thats the kind of payment I'm willing to give. At least one of those per page of my site. Does that sound fair?"

"Was that just the home page?"

"No, that was just to see how you reacted. We'll talk about the homepage more tomorrow.

Working for Zoe ended up being the best job I ever had. She gave me a whole new perspective on freelancing. After her site was done, Zoe gave me a discount for her services for life and passed my contact information along to a number of her friends who were looking for a similar deal. Needless to say, I was grateful for the work.

May 22, 2007

A Line of Thigh

There's just something so sexy about a woman's thigh when it's "out of context." The naked thigh surrounded by material. I think that's why I love stockings so much -- there's that bare area between the top of the stocking and the bottom of the underwear. This picture sent my mind reeling when I first saw it. Not only is it Parker Posey, looking like she's about to kick some butt, but her bare thigh is the center of the picture -- at least it is for me as my eye can't help but focus on that first.

Just for good measure, here's another nice photo of Ms. Posey.

May 14, 2007

The Houseguest: A Fantasy

I was going through a rather awful divorce and had to move in with my sister and her family. Coming from the big city to this suburban shithole was quite a change for me but the quiet did me good. It gave me some distance from the turmoil of my former home and soon-to-be-former husband.

I spent a few hours every day pounding the pavement in search of new employment; hoping to find a job that wouldn't insult me in terms of pay or duties. Plying my masters of psychology was a bit easier in the city where therapists grew on trees.

I also "paid my rent" by helping my sister keep her house clean. I don't want to say that she lived in a pig sty but it was a far cry from my austere apartment.

Things really got interesting for me approximately six weeks after I moved in. I was running a vacuum through my nephew's room when I made a fascinating discovery--I discovered his porn stash.

Every young man keeps a supply of pornographic material on hand and Michael was no exception. However, what he kept was truly exceptional. I expected Playboy, Penthouse, or even a Hustler. What I found was Nugget, DominaExpress, and Prometheus. My nephew was a fetishist! And, judging from the extensive markings in DominaExpress, he was actively seeking a partner to explore his desires.

I couldn't resist. I started going through this magazine; seeing which ads he had circled, which words he underlined, which ads he had replied to and what responses he got (he kept the letters with their respective ads--he was pretty darned efficient for an eighteen year-old). The words flooded over me, awakening feelings that I had long since thought dead--desires I had allowed to go dormant while married to my vanilla husband. Though I felt so right I also knew what I was thinking was wrong. I stuffed the magazine back in its proper place and tried to go on with housework like Molly Fucking Maid to no avail. It was less than five minutes later that I was in my bedroom, door locked, with my vibrator imagining some pretty outrageous things as I came hard.

That night at dinner it was difficult to wipe the smile off my face as I sat next to my nephew, knowing secrets about him that he'd probably rather die than admit out loud. I had been in the position he was twenty years before and knew the confusion of bearing such "unusual" desires. I nearly choked on my meal when the thought popped into my head, "I wonder if he's wearing panties tonight."

An idea came to me that night that I was determined to carry out. If anyone was going to initiate this poor boy to the ins and outs of BDSM then it was going to be me. Damn the consequences and the implications. That night I sat down with pen and paper and started crafting the perfect lure.

I thought I was going to go mad as I watched the progress from afar. I saw the new issue of DominaExpress appear in his stash. Saw the markings on my ad and couldn't wait for my mail forwarding service to deliver a letter from my nephew. When it arrived I was truly impressed by his candor, his penmanship, and his use of language. Having written a number of these "cover letters," he seemed to be reluctant to pour out too much of his heart as most of the responses he had gotten were simple form letters asking for money.

I wrote back, making sure to write my response and not type it. I wanted to show him that I would give him the time of day. This already would set me apart from most of the responses. And, knowing more of his hot buttons than he admitted to me gave me some perfect fodder to guarantee our continued correspondence.

How strange it was to see my own letter show up in his stash a few days later. He had gone through it and underlined certain key phrases that I knew would set his loins on fire. They worked. From the tissue in his wastebasket I knew that my next missive would contain a schedule for his masturbation. Perhaps I'd see how well he stuck to it by walking in on him during a scheduled self-abuse session. I grinned slyly to myself and knew I'd have to play it smart and make me the only Domme he wrote, though it was too early to demand exclusivity. I'd have to prove that I was going to be worth pursuing.

At dinner I could barely contain myself. Soon I knew for sure if he was wearing panties to the table. I had ordered him to and found them tucked away in his underwear drawer when he was out. I watched as my letters stacked up. When the next DominaExpress came out the new issue didn't find its way into his stash. I knew he was mine.

This possession came none too soon as I had managed to find a well-paying job and knew it was time to move out of my sister's place. This took away my conduit to checking on Michael but I knew he wouldn't stray from his newfound Mistress, Lady Jessica. My new employment also helped as I hired a photographer to build Lady Jessica a portfolio with which I could tease my hapless submissive. Keeping my face hidden, I would include a new picture every second or third letter. He was always begging for more.

I had Michael in panties seven days a week. I had him admitting fantasies to me that undoubtedly shocked him. I pulled information out of him that he hadn't admitted to anyone, including himself. I pushed and pushed until I knew that a meeting was required to go any further.

I borrowed a friend's van and picked Michael up in a rather remote parking lot. He was instructed to get into the back of the van, lay down on the floor and put on a blindfold. I knew he had to be incredibly nervous but he did very well. He even fared well as I led him up to my apartment, blindfold still on. Thank goodness for early evenings in Autumn, otherwise leading around a blindfolded teenager might arouse suspicion in my new neighbors.

I wanted to make him as vulnerable as possible. I had him strip down to his panties and left him in my "dungeon room" while I went to change and don a Harlequin mask.

I had worked on my voice for months previous, working up a husky tone that I knew would appeal to Michael's latent bisexuality. I didn't want him recognizing me... at least not yet.

I put him at ease, removing his blindfold, talking to him gently, barely above a whisper. He knelt on a rug and I could see him shiver--not from cold but from anticipation.

"I know why you're here. You're here to serve. You're here because every waking moment for as long as you can remember you've felt like a nail, waiting to be hammered. You're part of an incomplete equation... I'm the other part of that equation. I am here to complete you. I am here to help you fulfill your purpose. I will control your body and, eventually, your mind. You long for this."

He nodded. Rather than tolerate bad behavior, I hit him on the flank with my crop.

"You don't have a gag in your mouth. You may speak... with permission.

"Yes, Lady Jessica.

"Much better." I had him lean down and kiss my feet. I swear I almost orgasmed right then. It had been ages since I had had a man at my feet, his soft lips and snakey tongue dancing between my toes. It was heavenly. I sat down on an ottoman and allowed him to worship my feet completely. I knew that this was the first time he had ever had his mouth on a woman's feet and he performed wonderfully. He truly was a natural. As he sucked on my big toe I thought I'd give him a thrill and said, "That's right. Suck it like a cock."

His cock jumped in his panties.

I allowed him to pleasure my feet for a while longer--perhaps longer than I should have but it was so pleasant--before having him stand before me for inspection. "You look so pretty in your panties, dear. I'm going to have to have you buy a matching bra and high heels." Again, his cock jumped. I had him remove his panties to show me his engorged cock.

I used the end of my riding crop to manipulate it. lifting it, smacking it, running along his balls. He moaned slightly. I began rubbing the soft leather end along the underside of his cock. He swayed a bit on his feet.

"I know all of your secrets," I told him. "Even those things you wouldn't admit to me in your letters. I'll introduce you to your own desires. I bet you never thought you'd be dreaming about sucking a woman's foot but you'll be dreaming of mine tonight. You'll also be dreaming of my ass."

I stood up and turned around. I kept my skirt down, despite wanting to left it up and feel his hot breath of my rosebud. "Kiss it, boy. Kiss your Lady's ass."

He got down on his knees again and kisses me on both cheeks; one and then the other. Had my skirt been up I would have felt his hot lips on my flesh. I knew that he was beyond turned-on. Despite wanting to see him cum all over my feet and feel him licking it up I thought it'd be better to wait on that for now.

I wanted to see his tolerance for pain. I led him to a table where I tied him down, face down, and went through a wide array of implements to redden his behind. If only his mother could see him now, I thought, as I made him whine out. Still, he wouldn't use his safe word and that made me so proud.

I let him cool down while I went to get my digital camera to take some snapshots of my handiwork. It had been at least a decade since I had beat a submissive and found it to be just like riding a bicycle.

Knowing that this was his first time out and that I'd have to drive him back to our "neutral ground" and that this was a school night, I decided that he'd had enough. I hoped, in future, that I could provide my sister and brother-in-law with excuses for Michael's evening absences but I wasn't ready to break it to the boy that his Aunt was now his owner.

I had him roll over on the table and told him to jerk his cock for me. Oh, how delicious it is to see someone who's only ever masturbated in private do it in front of another person. He kept his eyes locked on my masked face as he reached down and began stroking himself. His eyes became heavy-lidded but he refused to close them, as if he was afraid that I'd disappear. No way in hell. I was having too much fun watching my nephew abuse himself before me. I had only ever listened to him do it before. That helped give me cues when he was getting ready to cum. I reached out and pinched his closest nipple. This set him off. He exploded, four weeks of pent-up sexual frustration (per my orders) coming out in a torrent of milky jism. I scooped up a handful and fed it to him. "Get used to it," I thought.

He licked my fingers clean, like a good boy, and I gave him a wet rag to clean himself up with. I gave him ten minutes to get dressed and put his blindfold back on. Before we left I had him slide down his pants and panties to place a greased plug up his ass. It was small, about the size of my index finger, and I told him that he was taking his first step into a much larger world.

When Michael got home he wrote me a long letter describing all of his feelings and sensations that he experienced during our first time together. I literally laughed out loud when he wrote, "I feel like you've known me all my life."

I wonder how he'll handle it when he finds out who I am but don't really care. By then I'll have quite a photo album that I can use to blackmail him, if need be.