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March 15, 2012
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A tale of Forbidden Erotica by Redbud

This story opens into a room a few words wide and a few paragraphs tall.

Imagine a man, in his early thirties, strapped to a wooden chair.

He struggles to free himself. The chair legs skitter on a gritty tile floor. He wears black slacks, a jacket, tie and a white button down shirt. His leather shoes shine and his dark socks are pulled tight. You can imagine him in whatever profession you choose. Make the room a little bigger if you like, as your imagination takes over.

The writer only wishes you to know that the young man doesn’t want to be there. His cock pokes flacidly through his open fly. He struggles against the ropes that hold him, but doesn’t speak. He glares defiantly at the single door of the room – could be red, or blue, or grey. The door opens.

A young woman, as promised, is guided into the room, two men firmly at each elbow. Her wrists are tied behind her back, wrists to elbows. The men holding her allow the bound man to see her. He refuses to look, but he can smell her. She twists and shudders, as though distracted, her eyelids heavy.

The men spank her, sharply, once. She gasps, utters a quick cry, then quickly looks away when the man in the chair looks up. She’s embarrassed. She won’t meet his eye. While the man in the chair gazes at her, concerned but also defiant, the men yank open the young women’s dress, revealing her breasts. They are large, but not so large that her nipples hang down.

But isn’t she beautiful?

She’s young. She’s as slender as you could desire. She is magna cum laude. She’s responsible. She’s never been late to class and she keeps her dorm room neat as a pin. She has never uttered a foul word. She is a perfect young lady. Her light brown hair falls to her shoulders. I leave it to you to imagine what she is studying.

Her face is flushed. The men abruptly turn her sideways.

They bend her over. Her breasts hang down. Her nipples are distended and thick.The young man sees the round protuberance that stretches the back of her black dress – the end of a dildo. The tightness of the dress, stetched over the curve of her ass, slowly forces the dildo more deeply into her belly. How long has she been like this? How long has the thing been vibrating inside her? They continue to hold her, bent over. She pants. She makes a sound – deep, guttural. The tip of the thing presses somewhere inside and in a way that only a woman is meant to understand. The men straighten her, force her to face the young man again. Her eyelids are heavy. She exhales as the thing slides back out, as far as her thin cotton underwear will let it.

The young man has turned away, but it’s too late. His cock is hardening. He has seen her. He can smell her. He can hear her breath, her struggle and what it tells him. His cock rises and soon stands thick, arching from his crotch.

The women sees what is happening but also quickly turns away. She’s disgusted. The men abruptly force her forward, then to her knees. One of the men forces her forward until her lips almost meet the man’s cock. She glares up at him, heavy lidded, as the dildo is once again driven into her by the tightness of her skirt. But he won’t look at her. He looks to the side. One of them men lets go of the young woman. He takes a leash and collar out of his pocket. He fastens it around her slender neck, not tightly, but matter-of-factly.

The other man begins to spank the young woman with a tawse – or maybe a paddle or switch? You decide. She refuses to open her mouth, but the spanking grows louder and more insistent until, as if she had been holding her breath, she cries out, widens her knees and opens her mouth. She pants. What is she feeling? – a confused combination of pain and pleasure? She gazes downward, gazing at nothing The second man, holding the collar, gently guides her. She utters some garbled objections as her mouth is filled with the young man’s cock but moans as she surrenders to her position.

The leash is fastened so that she can’t lift her mouth off the young man’s cock. There will only be one way for his cock to leave her mouth.

The two mean leave them like that at first, so you can see them.

They don’t move. His cock remains trapped in her mouth. Her breasts are pressed against the young man’s knees. Her lips finally close around his cock, her mouth exhausted from being held open. She gazes up at the young man. She’s helpless. What are you going to do? – her eyes seem to ask. She’s never been with a man. She’s never tasted a man before. Why is his cock in her mouth? She has only heard rumors.

Then, one of the men goes to a small round table, like the kind in a coffee shop. A small wooden chair is next to it. Did I mention these before? I didn’t. He sits down. There is a small book of erotica on the table. He opens the book and begins to read. The other man , still holding tawse (or whatever you prefer) has returned to the young woman. He begins to spank her, every so often striking the end of the dildo that pokes underneath her skirt. She twists and her nostrils flare. Each time her ass is struck, her mouth moves on the young man’s cock. Her eyes are wide with surprise but what can she do. A rhythm develops. He doesn’t strike her hard. He only makes her squirm and move.

The other man reads. “The master is ready to breed his youngest slaves – slaves who have newly come of age. When it is time, the slavemasters – burly men who are themselves slaves – bring in the slavegirls, nude and wrists bound at the flat of their bellies.

“The first one is brought to a stone platform.

“Another slave, a young man, is tied and stretched on a wooden platform, itself on the larger stone platform. His wrists are tied up and back, and his ankles are tiedso that his legs are slightly parted. A copper ring is fastened round the base of his cock. He is stretched.

“The slavegirl is a raven-haired beauty with dark eyes. She is slender, lean and healthy. She struggles mightily as the other slaves lead her to the bound young man. She kicks. She bites. She would claw if she could. The burly men lift her over the young man. They lift her tied wrists over her head and secure them to a rope hung from the ceiling.

“She tries to keep her thighs together, but they force her knees apart. She twists and squirms. They secure her knees, apart, on either side of the young man’s hips. She is open and the gathered slave masters, who come with their wives and lovers to watch the ritual (and themselves have sex and orgy while the slaves are bred) can see that her pussy is parted. She has been shaved in preparation and so has the young man. Her clit has been pierced and a short silver chain hangs from the piercing. Her tight breasts heave and strain as she struggles. Her nipples have hardened and are upright. They are also pierced and two pearls hang from them, like drops of milk. She is ready to be pierced and inseminated.

“As she struggles, the two burly slavemen begin to lash and whip her.

“They are careful not to draw blood. Oh no, they only sting. The men know that whatever harm they cause the slave girl, they themselves will suffer.; and so they are very careful and very skilled. They have never failed in their task. Every slavegirl brought to them has been fully and deeply inseminated – their young wombs warm and rich with milk.

“The slave girl writhes as she she feels the sting of the lashes.

“Her movement – sinuous, wild and youthful – causes the young man’s cock, the cock of the slave beneath her, to rise and finally press, just the head, into the nook of her pussy. The slavegirl pants. She doesn’t dare move. She stares down at the slave boy in surprise. Even so, her own strange wetness warmly glazes the head of his cock.

“She is distracted. She cries out when the tiny silver chain, attached to her pierced clit, is fastened to the bronze ring around the slave boy’s cock. The young man exhales at the feel of the slave girl’s belly-heat enclosing the head of his cock. She too cries out, her head falls back and her brows furrow as a man’s width, for the first time, enters and stretches her. She has never felt this before. She doesnt’ dare move. She is confused. She doesn’t feel pain. She feels something else. Her breasts rise and fall with her breath. She can hear the sound of cocks being stroked as she is watched. She hears the soft mewling of women who take cock, willingly, even as she, the slave girl, takes cock for the first time. They are all watching her.

“She can’t lift herself off the end of the young man’s cock. The chain that fastens her clit to the base of his cock isn’t long enough. She has been told only one thing: The stings of the lashes and the whips will only stop when she brings herself to orgasm.

“The lashing and the whipping start anew. She doesn’t want to move. She doesn’t dare. She can feel the broad knob of the young man’s cock just piercing her. She knows it’s meaning, but the stinging lashes are becoming unbearable. She hears the moans of those watching. How often have they seen this played out? Do they delight when the slave girls hesitate? Do they relish how she teeters on the edge of indecision? They watch, then collectively moan when the slavegirl chooses, when she descends, the first time, always the first time, taking the length of a man’s cock fully upward, impaling herself, filled and panting. They celebrate as the wild slavegirl cries out, as her fingers, bound above her head, open like butterflies and she obeys.

“The lashes and the whipping continues. If she can only orgasm, then she will be freed. She rises up and down. She descends and holds herself still. The slaveboy’s cock is fully inside her. She grinds her clit against the brass nubbin that chains it to the young man’s cock. Her mouth is open. The young man’s cock is like a spear, rigid and long.

“The young man resists but is helpless. His cock is trapped inside the wild young woman, inside the pleasurable torment of her midriff as she twists and writhes above him. He begins to cry out. His back arches. His eyes widen as he stares at the ceiling. His mouth opens, now without a sound. The sound of orgasms fill the room as a dozen or more men and women wait for the slavegirl to be inseminated.

“The slavegirl is so close.

“Her own eyes widen as she lifts herself as far as she can go, as far as the short chain will let her. The short chain is taut  but the broad flange of the slaveboy’s cock remains just inside her. The burly men continue to sting her ass and belly. Her head falls back as her body tenses and strains. She shakes.

“The slaveboy’s stomach heaves and his buttocks clench and release.

“The slavegirl feels him, just the tip of him – the tip she is helpless to rise from – burst again and again. She can feel the strong jets, the flowing pulses soak her womb. How many times before has this happened? How many slavegirls have been seeded just like this? The sting of the whip and the lash continue even as the slaveboy’s inseminate flows into her taut abdomen. The slender silver chain tugs rhythmically at her clit with each of his spasms. Her eyes roll. Finally, her mouth opens soundlessly. She hangs from her wrists. Her slender waist snaps like a sheet in wind as she orgasms, still unable to rise from the pulses that splash within her.

“The stinging stops.

“She hangs from her wrists, head down and exhausted, her beautiful wild hair falls over her face, her narrow back arches as she sits on the slaveboy’s pelvis. His wet cock is still hard and imbedded in her womb.

“She has been bred and the orgy continues. The slaves are left like that, as always, until the slavemaster and his guests are finally satisfied.”

The reading man puts the erotic book back on the little round table.

He watches.

The other man continues to spank the kneeling woman even as she stiffens with the first spurt of semen in her mouth. Like the slavegirl in the story, she tries to lift her mouth from the bursting cock, but the leash and collar won’t let her mouth escape. He lifts his ass as far off the chair as the ropes will let him. The chair scrapes against the stone floor with each spasm. His hands and fingers are red as orgasm takes him, forcing his fluids from his body.

The young woman gazes up at him in shock, lips tight, briefly coughing before she turns her focus downward and begins to swallow. Then there is only the sound of her swallowing.

Just like the slavegirl, as the man behind her continues to tawse her, she too stiffens. Her eyes also roll as she swallows and orgasms. The end of the dildo twitches beneath the taut fabric of her dress.

“A fine young lady,” says the reading man. “That’s it. Fill her mouth with cum. Make her swallow. Make her a good young woman.”

When she has swallowed the last of him, when her mouth and belly, for the first time, are warm with the taste of a man, she is released but doesn’t move. Her swollen nipples jut to either side. She remains on her knees. Her hands move listlessly at the base of the chair. She rests her head, askant, on the young man’s lap. Her lips are parted. Semen slips from her parted mouth. Semen falls from one of her nipples.

The young man’s hands are untied. He remains in his chair, head back, mouth parted and gazing at the ceiling, as though shocked by what he did to the young woman. She too, who has swallowed his cum, seems to gaze at nothing in disbelief.

The two men collect their belongings and walk out the door.

Was that so terrible?

Were you the young man? Were you the slavegirl? Were you one of the them?

Was it fun? I leave them all to your erotic imagination as the door to this little story closes with one, final sentence.

33 Comments leave one →
  1. vanillamom permalink
    March 15, 2012 5:13 pm


    a tale within a tale, within a tale.

    The taste was strange, different, ….. new.



    • March 15, 2012 5:34 pm

      I hope not in a bad way. I debated as to whether to publish this in obsidian lens. I decided not to.

      I guess I’m trying to make a point, sort of (what with all the politics going on right now): That there’s nothing really non-consensual about it. It’s just a story, no more real than the story within the story – meant to be enjoyed as a piece of erotica and nothing more. In a sense, the story is consensual since, if anyone is reading it, they did so consensually.

  2. paul1510 permalink
    March 15, 2012 5:56 pm

    a point well made, and also well told, thanks.

  3. March 15, 2012 6:09 pm

    A point well made.

    I found it interesting that this was a “second person tense” story in the denouement even though it was ostensibly third person.

  4. Dana permalink
    March 15, 2012 10:23 pm

    I have long been a lurker, but I can’t keep from reaching out to comment that this piece gave me a new perspective on non-consensual sex. I think it’s an interesting tool to bring up discussion about such a controversial topic. This was fun for me, and it turned me on in a weird way that I liked. There’s something about the realization of one’s sexuality that is so arousing. To me, that’s what this is more about… When the girl really realizes it here and enjoys it, and seems to have possibly changed her mind about what she was forced to do unwillingly before, would she now retract what she previously had thought?

    I put forth this proposition: what if the act wasn’t sexual? What if we put this in the context of love — a forced blind date (omitting that sex and love are usually entwined, for those people identify as asexual, though they probably wouldn’t be reading this, haha)? Where the woman and man were forced to meaningfully spend time together, and suddenly realized that they were soul-mates? I’m not sure how accurate a model that is for this situation but it’s clear that there would be a change of heart.

    What if I were wrongly jailed for something of which I were innocent, as a woman, and shared that cell with a man of similar circumstance, and we fell in love? Would we be happy about having gone to jail? (That’s probably a better example.)

    I imagine that this kind of argument is difficult to carry out in a real-world kind of setting, for the stigma associated with non-consensual sex is real and legitimate. I imagine this in a world where there is no stigma, which is often a picture that you have painted as an author in past stories that you’ve posted on this site.

    I also think about the forced orgasm aspect of it. There’s always something ironic about forcing someone to feel pure pleasure. I think I take some kind of naughty pleasure in the subversiveness of the idea – that despite that someone is technically doing you wrong by forcing you to do something without your consent, it’s still something I would ordinarily be happily do, without anyone having to force me to do it!

    • March 15, 2012 10:46 pm

      Wow. What a thought-provoking comment. (And I just corrected a slew of typos in my own story.)

      Interestingly, you bring the fictional into the real world. What if this actually happened? I think that, in small ways, these sorts of scenarios happen to us all the time – and I tried to enact that in the story. Right? I liked that the story aroused you. I think that was really the point. In a sense, I wanted the reader to realize that they were like the young man or woman. They begin the story, knowing what it is about (but not sure they will like it); and when it was over, like them, they’re maybe just a little surprised? — and maybe they too have had an orgasm? I also loved it when you wrote that “the realization of one’s sexuality that is so arousing.” That’s something I so enjoy trying to capture – that delicious difference in just being a man or a woman during sex. It’s OK. We are equal but in such different and complimentary ways.

      It’s OK to imagine situations like these because what we’re really talking isn’t non-consensual sex, in stories like these, but that surprise in our own sexuality — that we are who we are.

      //There’s always something ironic about forcing someone to feel pure pleasure.//

      But, in truth, isn’t almost all sex like that? Isn’t the most delicious part knowing that you can make another human being orgasm with your own body? – that you can bring them this incredible pleasure? – that you can persuade their body with yours and sweep their will along with it? The best non-consensual stories, in my view, are delicious metaphors for the act of consensual sex itself.

  5. March 16, 2012 1:03 am

    What if I tied someone up and forced him or her to listen to me read this story aloud? ;-) Curiouser & curiouser & very topical. Bravo! I’m twitter friends with Raz. This is the first I’ve read you. I loved it. Found it very erotic. I don’t generally get off on noncon but there was something so civilized about the reading. Thank you for posting.

    • March 16, 2012 8:43 am

      Thanks Wyeth. I appreciate hearing from any friend of Raziel’s. I like that you thought the reading was ‘civilized’. Maybe I should add that he sips a cup of tea as he reads?

    • vanillamom permalink
      March 16, 2012 8:47 am

      I look at all these thoughtful though provoking comments and sigh. Yesterday I was not in right mind…cloudy with cough meds and antibiotics, I can see I was not making the sense I wanted to.

      I was drawn into the tale. I could feel the pull, the tug, and was that girl, tasting a man for the first time.

      The drama of it, fear, dread, and acceptance. It is what must be done, yes? Submit. Accept. Take.

      It was a brilliantly executed work, Will.


  6. Marie permalink
    March 16, 2012 2:56 am

    The first sentence to the story was the perfect way to set the tone of the story. It was a lovely surprise to have the story created around the reader’s imagination. How do you manage to come with the right phrases and sentences to give enough detail to encourage the reader’s imagination without overtaking the story as a writer? It’s a rare skill to have. Bravo.

  7. vanillamom permalink
    March 16, 2012 8:47 am

    thoughtful AND thought provoking (see what coughing during responding does to a woman?)


    • March 16, 2012 9:18 am

      You crack me up… :-) You have no business being around erotica in your condition.

    • vanillamom permalink
      March 16, 2012 9:44 am


      Have you been having Convo’s with my Master? Sheesh.

      If i can’t read it, i dream it…very disturbing, erotic things.


      You know…the good stuff.



  8. saucywriter permalink
    March 16, 2012 2:40 pm

    A great story, well-told and extremely erotic – a definite winner of a tale!

    Thank you for sharing your wonderful talent for erotica with us.

  9. Mark permalink
    March 16, 2012 11:19 pm

    Very good stuff. Helplessness and the sliding towards the inevitable end is sexy.

  10. March 17, 2012 4:36 am

    Oh lord… this is perfect. THIS made me stop and touch myself, and read over and over and over… THIS… is my fantasy. (I am the slavegirl.)

  11. March 20, 2012 5:52 pm

    I adored this! I’ve always fantasised about forced insemination, and this was… perfect. I also loved how cleverly written it was, with a story within a story, the participants being turned on by hearing about the very thing they’re already physically engaged in! It raises some interesting questions about the interplay between written/aural/visual/physical sex… Personally, I like to hear or imagine words while I’m actually having sex, it raises my arousal levels. I’ve always felt a bit guilty about that, however. I always think I should be more in the moment, just the physical sensation should be enough.

    The comments so far are also very thought-provoking. For me, I love nonconsensual fantasies as I love the idea of being so turned on I’m held hostage by my desire. And I love to provoke the same impulse in him.

    Great writing!

    • March 21, 2012 7:38 am

      //I adored this! I’ve always fantasized about forced insemination…//

      And, you know, it took me years to realize that it wasn’t just men who fantasized about forcing and being forced. Seems to me that sex education should be about more than just the mechanics of sex, but fantasy and the imagination.

  12. May 30, 2012 5:19 pm

    attention all slave girls, i am free any time.. ha ha.. a fantastic story really enjoyed it.

    ‘They bend her over. Her breasts hang down. Her nipples are distended and thick’

  13. Windowbox permalink
    November 12, 2012 9:21 am

    Great story, thank you.
    Fantasy about forced insemination are so erotic. You write with great skill.

  14. Paul Thom permalink
    January 3, 2013 9:20 am


    Superbly written, I have to agree with others here, forced insemination is ultra erotic (from the perspective of both sides,albiet one by fantasy proxy only). I’d like to read more of you

    • January 3, 2013 8:26 pm

      Thanks Paul, I agree. There’s something very compelling about the fantasy, isn’t there. I’ve written more and will write more. :-) P.S. You should buy Monocle’s Nightmares and Visions (or read some of them).

  15. January 22, 2013 4:51 am

    1)Yes I was one of them. 2) Yes it was fun :)
    Wow, a very clever and thought provoking naughty story. I read it 3 times so that each time I could play different parts. I too like debutantedilettante, love non consensual fantasies,so this was right up my street. The only thing missing was…..the cup of tea (civilized earl grey of course) I think maybe a rewrite is in order ;)

  16. ladyjadeite94 permalink
    January 30, 2013 10:35 pm

    I have to confess right now that firstly I couldn’t take my eyes away from the post until I had thoroughly digested every word, and secondly it got me very hot. You write beautifully, and your words are sexier than sex itself. For that I’m awarding you with the Fabulous Gutter Blogger Award!

    • January 31, 2013 8:31 am

      Thanks Lady Jade. =) I’m not into the whole ‘chain e-mail’ meme, but I do appreciate your giving me a nod. I’m going to check right now and make sure your blog is listed under our friends and readers blogroll. There! Just added.

    • ladyjadeite94 permalink
      January 31, 2013 7:10 pm

      Thank you so much!! I really appreciate it :)

  17. September 30, 2013 6:58 pm

    You’ve got my imagination running riot with what if’s, and unfortunately a few I should have’s.
    But that’s life, is it not?

    • September 30, 2013 7:39 pm

      Yes, that’s life; but when writing erotica, we’re allowed to make up for life’s glaring deficiencies. What did you have in mind?


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