The Soft Hand of Force

By DX

Copyrighted 7/2025.  All rights reserved.  Story may not be reproduced without author’s consent.

Used with permission.

 I saw her light before I saw her.  

 She was majesty, with dark predator eyes that watched everything hungrily.  She moved with grace and poise as she carried her shopping basket, somehow raising the mundane act of getting groceries at a supermarket to an act of nobility.

 From my advantage point behind the deli counter, I couldn’t help but watch.  She had perfect, warm caramel skin.  Her hair was a controlled explosion of gentle, giggling curls that framed her face with early autumn brown, red, and gold.

 She moved with strength and decision, like a chess master, every play calculated three steps ahead.

 I realized she was aware I was watching and pretended to be doing something behind the counter and look busy.   I set my stare elsewhere, but I continued to watch from the corner of my eye because I couldn’t look away.

 There was something wrong.

 It was in her eyes, the slight narrowing of her brows, the consternation in her eyes, that shouted she needed my assistance.

 The most correct answer would have been to call someone from that department to help her, but I heard her like a siren’s song and crawled out from behind the counter, out from my fortress, to somehow be of service.  I am a slightly built, pale, white presenting guy, and I felt every bit the thrall as I approached this Nubian queen; and although I was silent on my approach, she was well aware of my presence.

 “These have been mis-shelved.”  She wasn’t demeaning or condescending, simply informative, yet her voice was a soft hand of force.  “Please check the price on this.”  She held up a jar of expensive spice.  As she did, she did not look at me.

 She had a soothing, hypnotic tenor voice that curled around my subconscious like a python.  I tried not to act like a fumbling fool as took out my data pad and scanned the item.

 Before I could answer, she put the item in her basket.

 I looked up bewildered, and I caught a glimpse of her eyes as they flayed me open.  It was all a test, a trap, and I blundered into it.  She was Medusa, and now she had turned me to stone.  She didn’t need a price check, she had figured it out before I came over.  She wanted me out of the cave where I was hiding so she could face me on open ground where I had nowhere to run.

 She had me right where she wanted.

 Her eyes flicked to my data-pad.  “I placed an order.”  She said.  “Beatrice.”

 I found my voice.  “Oh!  It’s ready to go.  Its scheduled to be delivered…”

 She slipped her basket from her arm and handed it to me.  “Add this to it.”  Her eyes locked on mine, and held me in her grip, that hand of force.  “I’ll see you at six.”

 She turned and walked away, and I watched her delicious hips sway as she walked like a victorious gladiator.

 My job wasn’t to ring up groceries, or make deliveries, but I did both.  She didn’t tell me to do it.  She didn’t make any insistence how it was to be done.  

 Just to do it.

 So I did.  

 Controlled by her invisible hand of force.

 I got off shift at three and waited around for two hours before I picked up the catering order and her additional items and drove to the listed address: a two story, stand alone building just off the main drag.  Over the years the place used to be a dance studio, then community rec center, then office space, changing identity almost every year.  It’s biggest selling point was adequate parking out back.

 It was now all black, with blackend glass windows, and a black sign splayed across the front proclaiming in even blacker letters that could only be seen in raking light: Queen of Spades.

 I parked out back.  I carried the huge tray and groceries like a circus balancing act and knocked on the back door with my foot.

 A beautiful woman dressed in all shining rubber opened the door.  Her blonde hair curled over her head like a crashing ocean wave as her polar blue eyes speared me like a pig.  Her full lips frowned a smile as she motioned with a nod to grant me access.

 I flattened against the wall to slide past her mammoth, breath stealing tits.  

 I made my way in and someone pointed to a table by the wall.  

 I set the table.

 Again, not my job, but I had all the materials and it was an expensive order and it was good customer service to display our work properly.

 Bullshit.

 As I spread out the paper table cloth and arranged the napkins and plastic forks, I had only one thought: to please Beatrice.  I had met her for ten-seconds and all I wanted was her approval.

 When I finished my set up with a satisfied grin, I clasped my hands together and looked up, almost hoping to show off how nice a paper plate arrangement could be, and discovered I was adrift on a raft in a sea of leather.

 I was certainly underdressed.

 Women had arrived through the main entrance, and were chatting, greeting each other with hugs, and pantomiming kisses.  They wore spandex, darlex, latex, PVC and leather in every shade of the rainbow including infrared and ultraviolet.  They walked on dangerously high heels, and brandished whips and polished handcuffs from utility belts.

 In the center of the maelstrom, like a lighthouse in a storm, was Beatrice.  Where black was the prominent color, she wore a long victorian dress of white leather, its train softly sweeping the floor.  Clasped about her waist was a severe corset of deep blood that shaped her perfect body perfectly.  Her white gloves flashed as she shook hands and greeted all the women.

 The only skin she showed was her face.

 My heart stilled.

 So beautiful.

 A woman walked up to the table and I forced to focus on my self-appointed task.  I walked through the menu of the available finger food and helped her build a plate, including the proper sauces and condiments.  As more women made their way over, I assisted then as well, making sure they had whatever utensils and napkins they needed.  I removed empty trays and plates and kept everything neat.

 The women headed over to the seating area by the stage, and with their food on their laps, dined.

 A woman went up on stage and made announcements and talked about up coming events.  Another woman then went over the night’s itinerary.

 I discreetly walked through and gathered up trash.  Someone asked for a cupcake and I fetched it.

 Finally a woman went on stage and said:  “And now someone who needs no introduction, a mistress, a ghoddess…”  she stressed the word, ghoddess.  “Miss Beatrice!”

 Hearing her name, I quickly scrambled back behind the table to get out of the way as the room filled with applause and shouts.  

 The lights dimmed and a spot light followed ghoddess Beatrice to the stage.

 “Pain is a response to stimuli,”  She began.  “as is pleasure.  Only the mind tells them apart.  Pain is a warning, and pleasure,”  Her smile made the audience shiver.  “is a treat.  But is there a difference?”  She tapped her temple.  “Only up here.  Tonight’s period of instruction is the erotic art of spanking.  For some of you, this will be new, for most of you…”  She eyed them playfully.  “a refresher.  However, for one, very special subject, this will be a life changing moment, and lucky you get to watch it unfold.”

 She pointed her finger like a dagger thrust.  “You!”

 The spot light swung over and blinded me.  As I held up my hands to block the unexpected brilliance, I realized that ghoddess Beatrice was talking to… me?

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Copyrighted, 7/2025 all rights reserved.
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The Device

By DX

Copyright, 5/2025, all rights reserved.

 I met my old lover at a tech convention.  

 As I set up my booth, I saw movement out of the corner of my eye, up the row of fellow merchants, and there she was.  It was the curves I remembered, her muscle wrapped amazon legs that went on forever, and the sweep of her battleship breasts.  At first I thought it must be someone else, but it was her, and I instantly remembered the press of her soft lips, the warmth of her body against mine, and the raging heat of her loins as she enveloped my turgid member.

 Like a zombie, I made my way up the row, dodging the press of other merchants scrambling to set up, and walked up to her.  

 Her perfume wrapped me like a warm blanket.

 “Hello, Claire.”  I said, trying to be all cool as she turned.  “It’s me…”

 “Mack!”  She squealed and launched at me.  

 “You remembered… Umm!”  She planted her wonderful lips against mine and suddenly it was twenty years ago when she was an impetuous mustang and I was a goofy kid struggling to keep up with her thunderous charge.  She held me, and I felt her all too familiar breasts against my chest.  When she parted, I gasped.  “I thought you wouldn’t recognize me.”

 “Oh, my Mack!”  She blinded me with her smile and pressed her lips against mine again.  “You haven’t changed!”  She exclaimed as we broke.  “How are you?  No wait!”  She touched my chest.  “You are wonderful!”

 I let out a laugh.  “I’ve a few more miles on the odometer.”  I took her in.  “You look wonderful.”

 She gave me a side glance.  “Do I?”  She reached down and brushed her hand subtly against my fly and felt for my stirring member.  “Oh, yes!  I’ve still got it!”  She took my hand and held it up.  “No ring?”  Her eyes flickered.  “Excellent.  Is it too early to make dinner plans?”

 Desperate to take some control back I laughed nervously.  “So what have you got going here?”

 She glanced dismissively at her booth.  “We’re selling As Seen On TV crap.”  She sneered, glancing at the items being put on display.  She then looked up at the man behind the table.  “Oh, Mack,”  She said remembering.  “This is my boyfriend.”

 There I was, one arm draped around her waist, her arm around mine, and the boyfriend right there.

 I shouldn’t have been surprised.  Claire was intelligent, charming, and explosive in bed.  Her beauty was disarming and cutting.  Her smile could flay a man’s soul.  Of course she would have a boyfriend.  

 Claire never slept alone.

 Trying to act as if I wasn’t just making out with his girlfriend, I held out my hand.  “Hey, I’m Mack.”

 In the din of the convention all, I could barely hear his response.  “I’m George.”  He grinned at me.

 I saw his smile didn’t reach his eyes.

 He clasped his hand in mine and I gave it a congratulatory shake, a bit of; man to man, you got a hell of a woman and I envy the fuck you are about to receive, but his grip was a little lackluster, and I might have over done it.

 He was clean shaven, his hair a little thin, and a bit of baby fat to his cheeks.  He wasn’t a bad looking guy.  He was young, younger than me by a decade at least.  Claire and I were the same age, so I guessed that his dry toast aura magically changed to a hopped up street racer full of youthful exuberance in bed.  Let’s face it, if he didn’t, Claire would chew him up and spit him out.  Claire wasn’t one to waste time and was unapologetic.  If you didn’t measure up, she moved on.  Claire was a radiant lighthouse of seething sexuality, guiding many to her rocky shores, and there was always a line to take your place.  

 I decided not to make things any more awkward.  “Well, I gotta go finish setting up before the crowd comes in.”  I glanced at Claire.  “I’ll see you… ulp!”

 She planted her lips on mine, and her tongue flashed in.  I gently pushed her back, cognizant of her boyfriend standing right there, and broke the kiss.

 I went back to my table, my lips still warm, and yes, my cock still stirring.  When you were with Claire, you were with Claire.  When you were not with Claire, she was a free, sexual, and very wild spirit.  She was a goddess, with long curly hair, suave skin, and polar icecap eyes.  

 It was a little weird for her to be that open in front of her current boyfriend, and I couldn’t help but fantasize they were on the way out and she was thinking of rekindling an old flame, but it was just that: Fantasy.  Claire didn’t need a middle aged couch dweller like me anymore.  She needed a stallion.

 I grinned, and decided to live vicariously through George.

 “Go get ‘em, kid.”  I whispered my encouragement.

 But as the convention began, and the crowd shuffled in, I couldn’t help but peer up the row and watch Claire work her magic.

 She stood in front of her table like a temple of beauty, beguiling customers in.  She didn’t have to sell anything.  She left her aura to do that.  She only had to smile, admire someone’s watch, or tie, and they would linger, and then buy something as an excuse to stay a little longer.

 At my table, I handed out some pamphlets, explained the tech, and got some positive nods, which was to be expected.  My goal was to get my name out there and hopefully drum up some future business.

 As I talked to one potential customer, I noticed Claire walk over and pick up my brochure and carefully began to read it.  This caused other potentials to slow as they passed, step back, and pick up a brochure.

 Then she began her magic.

 It took her less than a minute to grasp the tech, analyze the market and customer base, learn the lingo, and line them up.

 I was starting a new side gig.  In the city were hundreds of manufacturers operating machines built during the industrial revolution that currently ran held together by bent paperclips and a prayer.  I had dumped all my savings into a fabricator that when programed properly, could take a hunk of metal, steel, iron, aluminum, and carve it into whatever you needed; meaning I could produce replacement parts for hundred plus year old machines.

 I had spent all day with casual glances and handed out four pamphlets.  Claire had them signing up and placing orders in minutes.

 By the end of the day I had to stop taking sales as I was now on six month back order.  

 I blinked, stunned.  “I owe you dinner!”

 She smiled devilishly.  “George is securing our booth,”  She looked at my table.  “and you don’t have any actual merchandise,”  She looked up at me, her blue eyes peering through her long lashes.   “Walk me up to my hotel room and let me change.”

 I looked abashed.  “Oh, I think I’m going to need adult supervision.”

 “Why?”  She leaned slightly and showed off her cavernous cleavage.  “We’re both adults.”

 I glanced nervously up the row where George was.

 She leaned close.  “He can get his own adult.  I already told him I was going to fuck you.”

 I blushed.  “I should get condoms.”  I murmured in a half joke.

 Claire almost laughed.  “I know you, Mac.”

 We made out in the elevator.

 She took my hand, slipped it under her skirt, and plunged my fingers up into fiery snatch as she sucked deep on my tongue.  The doors opened for another floor and we unhitched and stood there while someone boarded.  They took one look at us standing against the back of the elevator, and decided to take another car.

 We went at it when the doors closed again.

 On her floor, we ran to her room giggling like teenagers.  Once inside, we stripped off our clothes before the door closed.

 Claire grabbed me, pushed me down in to the chair and quickly mounted me.  She slid her glistening snatch against my throbbing manhood before sliding me deep within.  She shuttered, her nails digging in, and I felt her warm tunnel spasm.

 “Don’t move.”  She commanded, and rocked her hips ever so slightly.  She leaned forward with her pendulous melons and pressed her nipple into my mouth.

 I sucked like a starving man and she came hard as her powerful body clenched tightly against me.  She screamed like a thunderstorm.

 “Oh, fuck!”  She panted, shivering.  “That was… fuck I missed you.”  Shuddering, she climbed off me.  “Give me a moment, let me finish you.”

 I opened my mouth to speak, but she shushed me with a kiss.  

 “You be quiet now.”  She whispered.  “Oh, I needed that.”  She shifted to her knees and held my cock.  “Just as I need this.”

 I felt her lips ring around me as her talented tongue went to work.  She slowly nodded her head, pushing just to the point of gagging, and I clutched the arms of the chair as I felt my wave build.

 Her lips, her hot tongue curling like a lizard, her soft cheeks like a cave to the center of the Earth, Claire touched the all the points using the map she had made of my dick so long ago.

 I grunted like a raged bear as I came.

 I laid back in the chair, amazed and stunned.

 Claire got up, a little shaky, and glanced at me with a dubious look, her cheeks a little bulging.  She gave me a casual side glance, then slipped over to the door of her connected suite and opened it.

 Sitting on the edge of the bed was George.

 She walked up to him, grabbed his face, and pinched his jaw until it opened, then threw her mouth over his.  When he gagged from the sudden, salty brine she spat into his mouth, she held onto him.  “Don’t you dare spit it out.  And don’t you swallow it!”  She barked.  “Hold it on your tongue.  I want you to taste a real man’s cum!  You hold it there until I come back.”

 She came back into the room, and closed the door behind her.

 She was smirking.

 I didn’t know what had just happened, but I was hard as a rock.



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Copyrighted, 5/2025, all rights reserved.

The Perfect Bride
By DX
Copyrighted 8/2024

Adam signs up for a three month stint as a perfect date, but Barbra might have other plans.
Permanent bondage, Bimbofication, permanent chastity, 
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