Spy Damn It

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Just a heads up, I'm freaking out from the whole coronavirus hysteria and the lockdown/self-quarantine that follows. I'm really fearing a lot of power abuse from whoever enforcing the measures and/or whether the measures are really going away once the pandemic fades out (which I think would be by summer).
That's enough to induce a writer breakdown in me that might recover when I return to writing out of boredom. Take care y'all, and stand up to anything you think unjust during the whole chaos.

The Queen, Part 1

Jeff barely looked up. The whole flurry of the more-animated-than-usual office was bewildering. He knew not looking up meant “not attentive to team-working”, but his irises were wobbling around the blurry grey and black blobs that was his office. He wanted nothing to do with this, nothing, none. He decided the best way for him is to fade from the scene, to drop dead on his cubicle, not that the higher-ups were around to tend or even observe the mess. A few more clicking of the keys, pretended or not. The smell of damp paper, springtime it was, but still chilled by the blasting air conditioning, and suffocating sniff by sniff, draining your arm’s strength until his back was sucked onto the chair. That’s the life of a soul-crushing cubicle worker, and every workday had been like that. In work days he could have gone to the bar for a soothing drink washing through his brain and emptying the self-pity, but lately all the overtime work punched a hole in his little leisure time. Now what? Bite the bullet, what else? Reality was pitched against him until he gave up.

At least he still has the weekend. On his way back he’d read through a few of the private chats, nothing alarming to him. And after them – It’s Friday, finally, and he finally could take his own time back. He had an address for Saturday, and it was on his phone. He had a few friends lightly touching on it, saying almost nothing about it, except “all your most depraved and twisted desires can be fulfilled. Nah, do any fucking thing there as you wish.” Fucking everything! Jeff could imagine nothing barred, of course – anything. Anything without decency. He could guess anything with bodies and objects, anyway, and anything was right. That was the only tip he needed before searching for the directions of the club.

Granted, it was remote, and it took a few hours of drive out of town to be there – not the place for those trekkers, hobo or not. He looked back – no one else was with him. No one to witness whatever faux pas he would have, or little rumors to be spread by those coincidentally there to witness him. The gates were over there, and in front of it was an almost underage girl – no reason why she would not be illegally employed if it was famous enough for the twisted orgies. “Welcome to Juxtaposition, our new master.” He could easily look down on her, not idiomatically, with her average, unboosted height and a slightly drab glow over the bunny form. “How can we best serve you, master?” Those words startled him, even on a vantage point over her. “Huh… Um… I’m new to this place, so what can this place offer?” Jeff has less courage than the usual reserved self. The whole free-for-all image in his mind wimped him, and it showed. The girl in front of him turned back and turned the door knob, the 2 panels creaking as they made their entrance into a new world.

Even in the corridor leading up to where he would wait for things to be prepared, he was already bombarded by all the sensations he could never feel in the cubicle, or the confines of his home. Not even him sitting in the bar, with a few close contacts, could compare. All the flickering positions and places, some visible and some half obscured; whorish moans and testosterone-filled shouts; scents of flesh and fluids. This was no normal club, and those were quite a lot to bear. From the assault on his senses, the seconds by bits, and each slide beside him, faded from the mind…

“Go this way and just wait”, the bunny half pushed and half commanded him. Jeff’s body said “no way” to his mind, wanting to slip out of like a mirage, but every way his body fell, the bunny just righted him, sort of like a cosmic choreography. The dancers slip by swiftly… Like a few moments later (he didn’t know), a pair of penetrating mallow eyes stared from the opening of this otherwise dark, cushioned room, into the depth of camera obscura in him. The first thing he knew, perhaps entrancingly, was “I wanna be that girl, I wanna get excited”. And then, he asked, what girl was this? As more and more of her figure entered into his eyes, the second greeting from her was the waves of her rolling, coarsely strapped butt. Rhythmically her spine spun along her way onto him, every step the jiggling boobs swung by the dotted leather bikini. Inches and feet of shining skin, once belonging to the sun, but now radiating sunlight on its own. And hell, the devilish, imposingly sly smile under the equally demonic lavender hair, every corner protruding an aura imposing and overwhelming him, locking the limp body in place. Not to say the crown - and from this he instantly discovered her appellation: “The Queen!” Speechlessly, from her wavering entrance and firm stance, a leg was ready to be raised - and off the thick, purple sandal came that, onto his face. A light peek at the unzipped shorts and zap-

“Out of yourself! out!no dumbing down with my majestic body! This a command!” With a sharp quirkiness in her words, his whole body was zapped by the boot on his face, crushed-

Crushed is his face, the nose pointing back gently to the Queen’s right foot. The plushy ass of her coiled back when she released her new slave. A private first session, getting started by the way the real Jeff never expected - clamped in her regal body. Like strings pulling a puppet, her blood pulled his spirit, bound to his Queen’s body, and returned to the one-leg-up-front pose she asserted on the floor. “Your Matronic Majesty… your slave’s humble body… submits to Your Majesty…” with this said his eyes barely meet her exalted presence. “Your slave… presents here… your perfect Queendom… for your enlightened pleasure…” As this obstinate slave mumbled. A great service to the (unweary) Queen. Jeff knew this would be a place of depravity, not a place to be with a twist. And this first time, his body submitted, a nobody, under the radiance of Her Majesty. And for a new slave, “he” has shown a total bowing before her, unwilling to rise above even her navel.

“Your Majesty… your slave… will lead you into the hall…” and The Queen knew she had, from the pressing sensation on her butt, a lash. Sleekly from the belt she drew the lash, and harshly it fell on the slave, once and twice, each lash firmer and firmer as The Queen regained the momentum of subjugating this new slave. Not just a little implement - to rhyme with it, a servant handed a velvet plate. On it was a leash, a pitch black cord cuffing at one end and handled at the other. Nimbly and swiftly the slave’s neck was tied to her gloved hand, and a pull almost choked him with a red, twitching face. Like a battered horse pulling her invisible chariot, the slave, little drips on his back, started fumbling as he tried to crawl across the room towards the exit. Small gracious steps and unrelenting lashes followed him.

The hallway was glowing purple and spotty with the shadows - some of those waiting for her glory. And lo, from one of those hallways, the new slave announcing her path. “Uh… *flap* Hail to the Queen!... *flap* Submit to the Queen!... *flap* Let no ill be spoken of Her Majesty!” With each lash, and each streak on the drenching shirt, the slave cleared his throat and stuttered with the announcement with a barely audible whine. With the loud shouts entering rooms and reverbating in the little chambers filled by lust and pure lust, a great many in the rooms peeked, not taking a second out of whatever sensual pleasures they reaped and Her Majesty’s presence would sanction. The Queen had come! All Hail the Queen!

This is a commission for someone on DeviantArt. But who'll care?

Mask Season

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Extra Day, Extra Twin

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