The images were pieces I wrote years ago. Some didn’t get published, and occasionally I write them again. For now Images 1-40 can be found on my ASSTR site .

I’m currently rewriting Girl #16180 part six. This is where I always hit a hump on the longer stories, but I think I’ve got this one. For now I offer this image, a story about a BDSM relationship, and one of the shorter images. It certainly falls under our adult policy, so decide on the link based on where you sit.

Image 0043

She peed on the stick.. As she waited, she bit her nails. Master would be furious at her and not just for the nail biting. She was late, four weeks late. He knew, of course, he’d known that day that it could happen.

“I missed my pill,” she’d said.

He’d looked at her with the cold stare, the frown that said he was disappointed. “That means punishment,” he’d said.

“I can take two tomorrow, catch up,” she’d demurred.

“That’s not good enough,” he’d replied.

He had beaten her that night. He used their toys just to warm her up, to get her so she could take more. More punishment, so the message would last longer. He’d whipped her until her ass was red, her back a deep red-purple. Then he’d pulled out the barber’s strop, only this one ended with a three inch band of studded leather. The toy she couldn’t take.

It was for punishment.

He hit her and she cried out. The leather slap was like a line of fire across her thighs, the sting fading quickly, except in the places where the metal studs contacted skin. He worked his way up her back until her back felt like it was all welts, and her vision was blurred by her tears.

In play, she would have used her safeword after the first slap — no — before it. Instead, she only begged him to stop, pleading with him to have mercy. He wasn’t moved.

She took it. She cried out in pain, but she took it for him, and because she had failed him. Fifty times she took the beat of that studded leather strop. Fifty times he struck her leaving rows of purple bruises, a network of marks across her back, ass and thighs.

And then he had oiled her back, forgiving her. Her back ached with pains, but she knew he loved her, knew he would care for her. Knew that she had atoned for her failure. He kissed her tenderly and he made her ride him. It didn’t take much encouragement.

She remembered how relief flashed through her as she moved on him, feeling his hardness inside of her. How tears of regret had run down her face, and down his too. She had kissed him then; he had caressed her breasts, smiling up at her, touching her tenderly, lovingly.

Slowly they had made love. She had two powerful orgasms before he came inside her, and then came again, as he shuddered beneath her her. They’d smiled at each other in love, as they realized he hadn’t used a condom.

She took two pills the next day, “catching up”, but it hadn’t mattered. Her next period was late. And now, the one after that. The stick didn’t lie, the box claimed incredible accuracy.

She bit her nails, knowing he would be furious. Hew would punish her again. He was a meticulous man, and he claimed children were too chaotic. Yet, she thought, running her hands over her belly, seeking out the life within. Perhaps he would make an exception for his — their — child.