Enduring Company

By DX

Copyright, 10/2025, all rights reserved.

Having no where to sit, I stood by the window in the drably, tiny apartment.  From my advantage point I could just about see the alley below and the bored constable left to guard it.

The rest of the view was a dilapidated brick wall.

Above, I could hear the distant chug of steam engines on the Airship Goliath as it sailed high over the city, and in my own tedium I calculated its speed and arrival to the air-station against my watch.  It was a half minute late, but factoring current weather, no surprise.

Chastity Bates; however, was a full minute early.

She burst frantically into the room, her skirt fluttering, and dove under the bed.  She retrieved her case, flung it open on the bed, and immediately began scooping out her clothes from the dresser and piled them in.

“Ahem,”  I said.

Her eyes flashed with surprise.  They were stunningly huge and warm like chocolate morsels.  Her hair was blonde and filled with soft curls tucked neatly beneath her pinned hat.  She had a sweet, button nose, pinch-able crab apple checks and round, puffy lips in a startled gape.  She was petite, and elegantly dressed in silk and satin.  Her bustled skirt was just high enough to show off her buttoned boots, and her Spanish leather corset served up her pendulous breasts, distractingly large on her small frame, which her short bolero jacket couldn’t hide.

She was sweet, innocent, and disarmingly beautiful; excellent traits for a viperous villain.

“I am a private inquiry agent…”  I began.

In a practiced move she slipped her hand into the hidden pocket of her corset, retrieved a pistol, cocked it, and raised to fire, her face tightening as she pulled back the trigger.

Mrs. Velt sprang from behind the door.  She seized Bates’ wrist in her iron grip and pointed the gun down to the bed.  Bates struggled fruitlessly against Mrs. Velt’s Amazon strength, but yielded when Mrs. Velt prized the gun from her hand.

Mrs. Velt handed me the gun.  It was a fully pressurized Lucan Mk IV short barrel, capable of launching three, five millimeter iron balls at nine hundred feet per second in quick fire.  It was a tiny pistol, and very deadly at the short range we were at.

Continuing, Mrs. Velt spun Bates to face her, then without leave shoved her hand into the exposed valley of Bates’ bosom, and ignoring the woman’s squeak of surprise and indignation, retrieved the Eastern fist dagger we already suspected to be there.  

Spinning Bates again, her face now crimson from the intrusion, Mrs. Velt burrowed her way under the woman’s skirt and bustle and retrieved a Spenkat trench scatter gun and handed it off to Miss Pett who had been waiting in the corner of the room.  Finishing her task, Mrs. Velt ran her hands over Bates’ body, then arms, and located a flex knife disguised as a humble promise ring; an excellent tool for cutting the ropes or picking locks one finds on one’s wrists.

Gathering up all the weapons and tools, Mrs. Velt stepped back and took a post blocking the door.

Recovering from her assault, Bates casually glanced around the room to see if there was anyone else she failed to notice when she ran in.  Regaining her decorum, she slowly rolled her shoulders back, and let her soft eyes challenge me.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t get your name,”  She said, her voice like syrup.  “or the details of the warrant signed by a Magistrate that allows this intrusion to my private domicile.”

“My name is of no consequence.”  I proclaimed defiantly.  “As for a warrant, admittance was legally attained when I paid the landlord your back rent.”  I explained, slipping the pistol into my pocket.  “You will get a receipt for any confiscated items at the conclusion of our talk.”

“Quite forward of you to think I want to talk to you.”  She said, her pillowy lips firm.

I glanced out the window.  “If you would like, you can spy on the constable in the alley, then check on his comrades now guarding all the egress points of this fine establishment.”  I mentioned, offhandedly.  “You might want to go speak with them in regard to strange intruders in your apartment.”

Her cool demeanor was betrayed by the slight pallor on her cheeks.

“No?”  I queried, my eyes hardening.  “Then allow me to continue.  I have been hired by a Lord, his name to remain anonymous, to observe you and report my findings to the Service.  I suspect the reason you seem keen to rapidly change abodes is your street contacts have already warned you of their newly inspired investigation into your recent accounts.”

She tilted her head and laughed lightly.  “You’ve seem to have mistaken me for some scoundrel.  I’m merely an actress.  My agent has procured a new gig for me out of country.  My booked airship leaves momentarily.”

“I’m not stopping you.”  I said cooly, and fished out my note pad.  “A moment, please, while I write out the receipt I promised you.  For reasons of personal safety, your weapons will be handed over to the Service.  You can reclaim them there.”

Her eyes stabbed me brutally in the chest, but the flicker of her gaze softened like a cloud passing by.  “You’ve gone to all this trouble to see me, it would be rude not to hear you out.”

I feigned surprise.  “Oh, I thought you were in a hurry.”  I continued scribbling.  “Well, if you insist, I’ll keep it brief.  You are an intelligent woman.  You know what you’ve done.”

She put up her hands defensively.  “I’ve done nothing.  I’m a simple actress.”

I flipped a few pages in my book.  “Lady Gantry, Lord Michael, Lady Velma…”  I looked up.  “Shall I go on?”

Her lip quivered as she gave a slight smile, but ice wouldn’t melt on her tongue.  “Whatever you’ve heard, I promise is hearsay and inadmissible in court.”

I flipped another page.  “Bank of Mann.  Bank of Ledshire, Fellows at Harbor.  I imagine their records are admissible in court, and support the testimony of your victims.”

“Enough.”  Her face darkened as she tried to hide her simmering rage.  “State your proposal.”

I let her wait as I finished writing out her receipt.  I then ripped it from my book and dropped it into her open suitcase.  “To be clear, all of my information has been reported to Service.  To be curt, you’re facing the gallows.  Fortunately, you are pretty, and the magistrate is loathed to send a beautiful woman to endure the short drop.”  I winced at the thought.  “Leaving you to dangle, kicking, gasping for air… for such a long time.  As long as twenty minutes or more, so I’m told.  It must feel like an eternity.”  I shuddered.  “Ghastly!”

I watched her swallow nervously as the image of the creaking, tightening rope around her neck flashed before her eyes.  “Is gloating part of your assignment?”  She said, her will shaken.

I nodded an apology.  “Please overlook my self-righteous air.  I just want to lay out all of facts.  In regard to your case, and a good solicitor, life imprisonment at Brentmore is a possible sentence.”

The color ran away from her face and Miss Pett stepped forward ready to catch her should she faint, but she recovered.

“Forgive me for distressing you.”  I flipped through my note pad.  “I see Brentmore is familiar to you.”

“Four years.”  She said, her voice raspy.  “Turning the crank.”

I was curious.  “I’m unfamiliar with that term.”

“It isn’t a term.”  She explained.  “I was sentenced to four years turning a crank.”  Darkness swelled under her delicate eyes.  “Every day, for fifteen hours a day, I turned the crank.”  The weight of her tone was heavy and distressed.

“And what did the crank operate?”  I asked.

“Nothing.”  She said darkly.  “It wasn’t connected to anything.  I just had to turn it, with a trustee standing there to watch me… to make sure I did it.”  She blinked away the memory.  “Two of us: me turning the crank, the trustee watching me turn the crank.  For four years.”

I decided to press on.  “A life sentence, if you’re lucky; however, Banishment to the Colony is also an option.”

The horror on her face flashed as if I had slapped her, but I went on.  “And based on the list of your victims, I wouldn’t be surprised that Banishment is the preferred sentence.  You wouldn’t be around as a continual reminder to the victims.  Out of sight, out of mind, as they say.”  My eyes were cutting.  “It’s not that you never imagined being caught, you’re too clever for that.  It’s just that you thought your victims would never subject themselves to the public embarrassment of a trial, and you would have been right, but you got too greedy, and the list too long.  Now the names shrink on the page, lost in the grand scope of it.”  I flipped through my book.  “You gambled the stolen fortunes in the casinos, or on expensive wines and sex slaves from the Continent.”  My lip twisted at the foul thought.  “The debauchery!”  I didn’t relent.  “I imagine the public will demand your Banishment!”

She shook her head to scatter the specters filling her eyes.  “So I take it you’re here to offer… an alternative?”

I gave a slight nod.  “I am, but it may not be preferable.”

“Anything!”  She said too quickly.

I put up a hand to stop her.  “Know it will be most uncomfortable, and quite humiliating.”

She gave a half smile of relief.  “Don’t be over-concerned with my public standing.”  Her smile became curious, and she glanced back at the two women behind her.  “Are you…?”  She motioned.  “All four of us?”

It took several seconds to figure out what she was suggesting, and my face sagged, abashed.  “No!  Nothing of the sort!”

She nodded.  “That did seem to be a little too easy.”  She peered at me through lidded eyes.  “We could you know.  Maybe as a little…”  She licked her lips as she chose her words.  “warm up to this task of yours.”

My face tightened and I felt the heat on my cheeks.  “No!  Forgive my candor, but there is no coitus copulatio, or actus venereus involved.”  I calmed myself.  

She waited a moment, then asked.  “I’m sorry, did you mean no sex?”

“Yes!  No sex!”  I admonished, nodding to the two other women in the room.  “Mrs. Velt and Miss Pett are chaperones to insure there are no solicitous shenanigans.”

“Solicitous shenanigans?”  She mocked.  “Mr. My Name’s Not Important, you’ve already established I have no money, so what else is there?”

I took a breath to calm the rattle of my nerves.  “Endure the company of my Lordship for a time until he is done with you.  You’ll be chaperoned at all times during.  Once he is done with your company, we will see you to the border and discharged, where I’m sure your wiles and cleverness will see you through customs and out of the country.  If you maintain discretion, you might evade capture and expedition back here.  If anything, you’ll have a fair head start.”

She squinted.  “Endure his Lordship’s company?”  She was expectedly skeptical.  “No sex?”

“No sex.”

“For how long?”

“I can’t say.”

“And what is it I do?”  She pressed.

“Nothing.”  I replied.  “You endure his company until he discharges you.”

She glanced back and Mrs. Velt and Miss Pett, then back at me.  “And then you take me to the border…”  Her eyes studied me.  “and let me go?”

“That is the proposal.”  I said, nodding.  “I will provide you with pocket money for small occurrences to ease your travel.”  I put forth dismissively.

Her head dipped as she tried to hide a slight smile.  She then looked up, her poker face fully entrenched.  “A hundred Crowner… for traveling expenses.”  She put out her hand to shake on the deal.

This was a test.  The amount was clearly absurd.  If I agreed she would know it was all a lie and the plan was to release her into the waiting arms of the Service, or just straight to a shallow, unmarked grave.  

Instead of shaking her hand, I almost spat up a laugh.  “Don’t be silly!”  I barked.  “I had meant to offer a little ease to your task, but if you wish, p’raps you could make a deal with the constable downstairs and see if he has a hundred Crowner to give you.”  I let my anger show.  “No?  Then let us be serious.”  I reached into my pocket and retrieved my purse.  I pulled out some coins and shifted them in my hand to line them up.  “Five Fipen.  Enough to book steerage on a train, a humble meal, and a canteen of tea.”  I slid the coins into her open suitcase.

She tried to dismiss the offer, but her desperation was clear.  “Ten Crowner and I’ll be so far gone you’ll forget I existed.”

I turned my purse over and dropped the last coin into my palm.  “A half Crowner.”

She nodded to her case, and I dropped it in.  A brilliant smile flashed on her face.  “Now, let’s go see this Lordship of yours!”

I held up my hand to stop her.  “His Lordship will have you dressed appropriately.”  I motioned to Mrs. Velt and Miss Pett.  “The ladies will assist you.  I will have my back turned, of course, to protect your honor while you are prepared.”

Her smile dimmed.  “Then we are to do this now?”  She signed.  “Fine, the sooner the better.”  She slid off her jacket and began to undo the buttons on her blouse.

Quickly, I turned my back.  To my unexpected surprise I could see Bates’ ghostly reflection in the dirty window.  I watched Mrs. Velt slip out of the room as Miss Pett helped Bates’ unlace her corset and step out of the ring of her skirt.  By the time Bates was down to her shift, Mrs. Velt returned carrying a wooden casket, manhandling the large, awkward thing with ease.

It was six feet long, two feet wide, and eighteen inches deep.  It was made of stout, heavy oak, stained and polished, with shinning brass caps protecting the corners and edges.  In Mrs. Velt’s powerful arms it looked light, but the sound it made as she set it down in the corner of the room demonstrated its solidity.

Astounded, Bates could only openly gawk as Mrs. Velt removed the lid.

It was an audacious, bordering on gaudy, frilly purple, grey, and pink dress filled with an excessive amount of lace, bustles, and pleats.  Black patent leather button boots rose to mid thigh, ending at the hem of the swelling skirt.  The shiny leather corset would display Bates’ lovely curves, while serving up her copious breasts admirably, with a hole at center mass to focus stares at her cleavage, before slipping up to a lace edged collar.

At the top was the doll’s head.  It had big, perfect bow lips in mild surprise, and expansive safire eyes.  The surface was perfectly smooth and polished, like ceramic.  It was coifed with a scarlet wig that flashed iridescently.  At its crown was a tiny purple top hat with a trailing ribbon for a hat band.

It was almost comical.

Transfixed, Bates took down the head and examined it.  “You want me to wear this?”  She found it opened into two halves and she noted the interior was completely smooth and austere.  She looked at me.  “How do I see?  Or breathe for that matter?”

“All that will be seen to.”  I said.

She weighed it in her hands and found it only slightly heavier than air.  “What is this made from?”

“Ah!  That is a newly discovered material harvested from the ocean; woven seaweed fibers we call Sea Silk.  It looks like silk, feels like silk, but far stronger than silk, and a little more expensive than silk, so it won’t take the fashion world by storm.  It also has no elasticity, so it doesn’t stretch in the least, so its wearability is very specific, but when layered together with an epoxy harvested from oyster shells, a hard version is made.  Less than a quarter inch will stop a bullet.”

She held up the mask to her face and found it would fit her entire head perfectly from crown to chin.  She tried to open her mouth but found it impossible.  She then handed it to Miss Pett.  “Whatever conversation his Lordship wishes to have will be one sided.  I won’t be able to speak or hear a thing in that doll’s head.”

“Which will suit his Lordship.”  I finished.  “Shall we begin, Miss Bates?”

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Copyrighted 10/2025, all rights reserved.  Story may not be reproduced without written author consent.

Death Is No Laughing Matter

By DX

Copyrighted, 9/2025 all rights reserved.

 “Wakey, wakey, Super Secret Agent.”  Her voice curled around his ear like a python as her breath tickled him.  “Time to die.”

 Super Secret Tim Deth struggled awake.  Using his trained super secret skills, he pushed back the curtain of unconsciousness, and peered blearily around.  Grey cave walls, in a combination of rough rock and poured cement, surrounded him.  Lighter patches indicated equipment had been recently removed—hoses had been uncoupled, conduit clumsily torn away exposing shining copper wire.  Old rusting steel lampshades, once new during the war, dangled like old fruit above him.

 For someone, it was moving day.

 He could smell dampness, taste dust, and hear the incessant dripping of water, and his super secret agent trained instincts told him he was in an old abandoned underground bunker.

 He tried to rouse, but could feel hard clamps on his limbs.

 He couldn’t move.

 “Ahhhh, the sleeper awakes.”  Her voice purred.  “Now would be a good time to try and escape your death trap.”

 His eyes flashed in mild panic as the too perfect face of Evil Doctor Syn filled his vision as she leaned over him.  She had laser sharp brows, sinisterly arched like a growl over her cutting eurasian eyes.  Her lethally keen cheek bones flowed smoothly to her soft, full lips, locked in a perpetual, petulant smirk.

 “Come now,”  She cooed.  “you call that a struggle?”

 He pulled sharply on his limbs but found them utterly pinned.  He tried to retrieve his super secret lock-pick from the hidden space of his sleeve, but to his horror, he couldn’t move his fingers.  He tried to activate the super secret blade in his shoe, but his toes were completely restrained.  He tried to look around but he could not move his head.  “Agh hah hwo!”  He tried to curse, but his mouth had been jacked wide open, and his tongue was pressed down to the floor of his mouth.

 Evil Doctor Syn leaned back on a main frame console, and pretended to do her nails with his super secret lock-pick.  “Ohhh,”  She pouted with her succulent, kissable lips.  “Did someone loose something?”  She set the tool on the dais, and walked slowly around the room.  She moved easily on her black patent leather en-pointe shoes that rose to her mid-thigh.  Arterial blood red latex gripped her callipygous form, interrupted by a black leather corset and utility belt clasped at her waist.  Her latex clad marvelous zeppelin breasts swayed casually as she walked.  Her latex surrounded her head, leaving only her face, her too perfect beautiful face, and her tar black ponytail exposed.

 Her eyes smiled hungrily.  “I see you’re back to full consciousness, so I’ll let you know what is going on.”  Her teeth flashed as she exposed her fangs.  “Welcome to your Death Trap!”  She giggled.  “This is where you will die.”  

 Super Secret Agent Tim Deth pulled on his restraints again.  Nothing gave, nothing moved.  He could feel binders on his fingers and toes, his arms and legs, neck and head.  He was pinned fast.

 Evil Doctor Syn stepped closer.  “Our little, Super Secret Agent/Evil Super Villain game was fun, but your, ‘kill the hostage first’ attitude was getting… well, rather messy.  For goodness sake, you blew up an entire shopping mall to try to get one guy!  And you didn’t even catch him!  He escaped disguised as a firefighter, by the way.”  She said dismissively.  “Walked right passed you.  So anyway, the Cabal of Roguery said you had to go, so here you are.”  She pressed her finger tips together as she smiled.  “I’ve decided your death will be… dramatic pause… a laughing matter!”  

 She brushed her rubber clad finger across his ribs and he quickly tensed.  Her eyes flashed.  “Oooo, look at that.”  She whispered, a little impressed.  “See, when my lackey, dressed as a firefighter, brushed past you, as I saw your reaction on my super villain snoop camera, I learned something rather odd: you are ticklish.”  She snorked a laugh.  “How random is that?”  Her eyes softened as she regarded him.  “It’s probably your super secret reflexes making you overly sensitive.  So, that is how you will die.  Tickled to death.”

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World Dominatrix

By DX

Copyright, 7/2025 all rights reserved.

 We ‘met’ on an on-line dating website.  She was Hollywood beautiful, with long blonde hair and crystal blue eyes, and a lean, supermodel’s body, and when she pinged me on the app, I immediately knew it was fake.

 As an astro-physicist, I spent my life pouring over blurry images of the distant cosmos searching for trace signs of life, and not enough time on a social life on this planet.  My main exercise came from pedaling my bike up the long sloping hill to the observatory to gaze unblinkingly at the stars to ponder the universe with the sole hope that there was someone, lightyears away, gazing back.

 I was alone.

 And alone sucked.

 A colleague suggested the dating app and helped me set up what I would like in a friend—and on a dark, cloudy night, while waiting for spectrograph images, I opened the app and there she was: Amanda Winters, PHD.

 She literally took my breath away.  Her intense, fjord blue gaze was mesmerizing, as if she was calculating the depth of a black hole.  She had soft, kissable lips, and a tiny, slightly turned up nose.  Her magnificent breasts could not be hidden by a lab coat.

 All fake, it had to be.

 My first instinct was to hit ignore.  It was a scam.  I was not the kind of guy who got the pretty girl, but my hubris beckoned, that maybe, just maybe, she was pretty AND smart AND interested in me. 

 I decided to prove she was fake.

 It was what a scientist did.  Question everything.  Gather evidence and prove a theory.

 So I sat on the bench outside the observatory and searched on-line.  Instantly articles she had written on topics of theoretical physics appeared.  There were videos of her academic lectures, lists of her awards, references to books she had written on quantum theory.

 She was a fucking genius!  

 I noticed she had recently been on staff with an old friend who I hadn’t seen since post-grad, so I gave him a call.  As we caught up on current events, I slipped her name into conversation and he instantly regaled talks with her about ion fusion drives for spacecraft.  He then mentioned a partial attempt at getting to know her better, but she was only interested in his mind.

 While we talked, I realized Amanda was an intellectual butterfly, touching briefly on every science she could find.  She must have read my latest article on non-faster than light craft and space exploration and wanted to discuss the idea further with me.  She wasn’t looking for a ‘date’.

 But it was a dating app, right?

 I pinged her back.

 What harm could there be?  I was just an astro-physicist, and a boring one at that.  What could possibly go wrong?

 World conquering Supervillain was not on my list, but seriously, who would have thought that?  Scam artist?  Yes.  End of the World?  No.

 We chatted on the app.  Then chatted more off the app.  We fired theories back and forth, sent each other articles and equations we were working on.

 We hit it off.

 We finally met face to face at a lecture at University.  

 I was tongue tied.  Her beautiful radiance was stunning.  I did managed to joke, “You’re so bright, you have exceeded the SPF rating of my sunblock!”

 Her laughter was like crystal chimes.

 Amanda thought my joke was funny.  MY JOKE.  That should have been a clue she was evil.

 But it wasn’t.

 After the lecture we did lunch, and we talked about warping space, and science fiction, and movies, and non-sciency things.

 Like normal people.

 After that we saw each other regularly, and lunches turned to dinners, and conferences turned to get togethers, and one night, as we left a symposium of pre-dinosaur life, she suggested I stop by her place for a night cap.

 I was lost in her lidded eyes and coy glance, and I stared at her stupidly.

 “This is a subtle word suggestion,”  Amanda explained.  “to signal you my wish to participate with you in a non-work, intimate coital,”  She blushed.  “that may include physical contact, like touching, kissing, and possibly other interactions of mutual affection.”  She smiled awkwardly.  “If you’re interested in such things.”

 “Yeah.”  I mumbled.

 I followed in my car.  It was a twenty minute drive to a part of town I never went.  Science isn’t a wealth driving endeavor, and yet she lived in the part of town where all of the houses were hidden behind tall privacy hedges and ivy, and police officers wore white gloves and saluted when you drove by.

 Her mansion was the posh one.

 As her car approached, the tall wrought iron gates silently swung open, and we drove past the rooks and down the winding driveway, and through the opulent garden filled with nouveau art sculptures.

 We parked out front of the palatial doors.  “I made shrewd and calculated stock market investments.”  She said bashfully, explaining her amazing and obvious wealth as she stepped out of her car.  “It wasn’t hard, really.  I just used a little science.”  She then smiled shyly.  “I, uh… took the liberty to give the staff the night off.”  She shrugged.  “So we’ll have to fend for ourselves.”

 “I’m sure we can manage.”  I mustered as I followed her in to her beautiful, and perfect trap.

 Roman columns of marble towered around me, as haunting paintings by Dutch Masters loomed on the walls, their eyes magically following as we passed.  We entered the living-room, if you could call it that, a grand and spacial arena filled with pomp and circumstance.  It was a great palace, complete with a baby grand piano and a trickling water fountain of a little cherub endlessly taking a piss.

 My head was on a swivel, my face slack, as I took it all in.

 Most notably were the modern sculptures artistically arranged among the classic works, all of a repeating theme: Aged bronze, about two meters tall, maybe seventy centimeters wide, and forty centimeters deep.  They were rectangle, and maintained sharp ninety degree corners and edges, but they were twisted and spiraled, swooping and sloping into odd, sweeping shapes.  There were dozens of them all spread about the room, some in recesses, some as a main display with bright, focused spotlights trained on them.

 “I see you’re admiring my art.”  She said, handing me a glass of wine.

 “Elegant and understated.”  I said, sipping at my wine.  “The casting alone must have been challenging.”

 She nodded.  “Your mind is so quick.”  She chided.  “You’re already thinking of engineering, instead of the art form.”  She read my abashed expression, but dismissed it with a smile.  “You’re a scientist.  I would expect nothing less.”  She approached one of the statues and touched it.  “The rectangle is a defined, basic space.  It represents man.  I break the rules and make it pliable, flexible, contoured.”  Her eyes roved over the piece.  “In my hands, man is transformed, malleable.”

 As I sipped at my wine, I watched her breath deepen as her cheeks flushed.  Touching the sculpture was an erotic experience for her.

 She looked at me, and took my hand and pressed it to the sculpture.  “Hard, yet soft, unyielding, yet passive.”  Amanda explained, her breath a hot whisper.

 She kissed me.  Warm and wonderful.  She turned me around and pushed me against the sculpture, and there we were lip locked, tongues dueling, breath quickening, hissing as out passions grew.  She took the glass from my hand and flung it somewhere, the sound of it breaking was distant.

 Amanda’s fingers worked furiously to unbutton my shirt.  She then dragged me over to a couch and threw me down.  She climbed over me as she attacked my pants, and any attempt I made to talk she silenced with her lips.

 With our mouths merged as one, she freed my member, and it happily and quickly sprouted up.  She hiked up her dress, and dragged her glistening mons over me and stroked my cock to full with her labia minora.  When I was rock hard, Amanda enveloped me in her warm, wet lust.

 She moaned as her fingers became talons.  She gripped and pulled me into her as her hips shifted and bucked and rode me like a stallion.

 Amanda rose up, her hips astride me, and rocked easily back and forth, then as her passion flew madly, she put her fist to her mouth to stifle her building scream, while her other hand reached over and touched a sculpture mounted on the wall.

 As her fingers caressed the surface, I felt her heart flutter as her body broke and shifted and spasmed into a hard orgasm.

 She stilled, trying to catch her breath.  I was seconds behind, but she only patted my chest and peeled off me.  She sat on the couch edge and eyed my turgid, spasming cock.  “Oh, you were so close.”  She whispered.  

 I was primed, if Amanda touched me, I would have spewed like a fountain.  

 She only regarded me sadly.  “How unfortunate for you.”  She said.  “That was your last chance.  How sad is that?  Your last time ended in denial.”  Her cold eyes took me in.  “Yes, that is your world now; denial.  You’ll never orgasm again.”

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