EXTRACT FOR
Daphne Says
(Paul Moore)

                                                                1

   

   Daphne descended the cellar stairs with rapid, quiet grace .  I had been alerted to her return already, by the crunching of the carriage wheels on the lane. I had heard the clop of her shod ponies stamping away the flies that stung their sweating haunches. I was listening and waiting while Daphne unharnessed them and sent them off to the stable. 

	I was waiting for her in the center of the cellar floor. The top of the stairs was above my line of sight. So I was  seeing her only in the eye of my mind at first, imagining her sweeping the low crowned, wide brimmed hat from her head to wipe the sweat from her brow and shake out her auburn hair before  Hanging the hat on the shaker peg in the entry hall. I imagined her lacing her fingers and flexing them before she stripped off the driving gloves ,  her blue eyes narrowing and her delicate lips curling upward with expectation as she thought of me, waiting below.

	Then she was trotting down the stairs, her boot soles barely tapping the steel treads, striking a light bell like tone .  Her tight knit breeches were hugging that perfect ass. Her jacket was unbuttoned to display the bare flesh beneath.  She paused two steps from the bottom and stood smiling, arms akimbo to lift and open the bodice and frame all of that perfection between the  lapels. Her breasts, golden from the sun, elegantly formed fruits that could fill my mouth with their ripe succulence, should she choose. It was my treasured hope that I might earn the privilege of tasting those perky nipples before the day ended. I looked forward to feeling them stiffen and swell with arousal under my tongue. She stroked them with one hand to tease me as I watched her other hand absently fondle the small key that hung from a chain between her breasts. She regarded me there, looking down upon me. I was waiting for her. naked and chained, kneeling, attempting a smile, but managing only a sort of grimace as I drooled around a rubber bone.

	"There's my good boy, Reginald!"

	I wanted to run to her and throw myself at her feet, to nuzzle her leg and confess my adoration. I am too well disciplined for such wanton display. I wouldn't even if I could. I remained as I was, kneeling, with my bottom on my heels; knees well apart with my hands on my knees, back straight. I was forbidden to look her in the eyes, unless commanded to do so; but she would gaze her fill of me, checking my posture, studying me for signs of poor attitude. I aimed my gaze at the floor, and strove to communicate to her telepathically the depths of my utter adoration and gratitude.

      I wore only my chastity belt, a metal cage around my cock, and a rubber bone wedged into my mouth by a locking head strap. The belt and cage were stainless steel, the locks securing them were brass, the key that opens them dangled between those exquisite, perky breasts as she bent down to examine me. 

     "is it me that you are so happy to see,"  She tapped the key with one of her flawlessly manicured nails to make it chime. I am very careful to meet her high standards where nail care is concerned. She prefers that I leave her claws a bit long, with sharp points- the better to scratch me with.

     "Or this?" She made the key chime again.

     It was a rhetorical question, of course. I was forbidden to speak that day , even to mumble around a rubber bone. I was only permitted to scream. Could I speak, I would have whispered, "You, my Goddess!" I hoped that my eyes said it for me, and believed that I was answered by her slow smile.

     "Perhaps later I shall open up my toys and play with them."

     A stainless steel strap was connected at the back to the stainless steel band around my waist, hooking down to divide my ass cheeks and anchor a large plug deep inside me. The plug was there to enlarge my anal opening and keep it opened wide. It had been an intentional message to me when she worked that monster into me four hours earlier. It was her not so little clue that I would be getting shagged good and hard later on. I had spent the entire morning wearing a constant reminder of this inevitability.

      I wasn't going anywhere. Cock cage and belt were joined with a padlock to two meters of chain bolted into the stone wall. In the most literal sense, she owned my ass and had me by the balls. 

  She knows that I am more responsive if I am already sore when she begins fucking me. Sometimes I am too responsive, and she must stifle me with a fat leather gag that is secured to a leather strap and buckled tightly at the base of my skull. It is equipped with "D" rings should she wish to attach reins. She uses the reins when she is inspired to hold my head up high while she rides my ass  in the manner of a ruthless jockey, her riding bat urging my flanks.

 "Look at me." She dropped to one knee in front of me and locked her eyes on mine. I felt the heat of her fingertips encircling my caged cock, the unexpected stab of her claws finding the narrow spaces between the bars. 

 During my long morning wait, my internal muscles had inevitably tired of resisting the hard shaft having its way inside of me. Sometime after the first hour or so, they had surrendered to the impossibility of expelling it and gone slack. Exhaustion had brought me a bit of relief.

  The points of her nails on my hungry cock made me tighten reflexively against the shaft within  and rekindled the aching soreness inside me, as my cock quickened and strained against  the bars of its prison. The space between the bars is too narrow for a finger to enter, but her long nails were busy spiders, stinging here and there. Her index finger poked into the end opening that I ordinarily piss through to seek the tip of my cock, the pointed talon threatening to become a catheter. My hands remained upon my knees, where protocol required them to be, though they wanted to clench into fists of frustration, or reach out to caress. My aching anus clenched tightly around the shaft again, and my cock shamed me by yearning toward the impalement.

  How far I have fallen in love.

 

                                                                                    2

 I remember our first meeting, accidental, I thought at the time. I usually played a few games of tennis on Saturdays against Maggie, who was past her prime, but could set up a wicked serve. We were well matched as opponents, and  I occasionally bumped into her and her husband, Edward, at social occasions on the Island. That was about as well as we knew one another.

 One week she called me up to say that she had other obligations, but offered to send a young niece in her stead and assured me that the lady would give me "a good thrashing" if I was off my game.  Nevertheless, I felt a bit miffed at the substitution, though I agreed to it. I was expecting to be paired with some spoiled princess who would burst into tears if I wasn't playing badly enough to allow her to win. Her rude act of arriving ten minutes late didn't improve my mood.

 Then Daphne bounced onto the court and all of my resentment evaporated. She was a vision in a knit sleeveless top and shorts.  Her breasts were not overly large but (were those nipple bumps showing through that thin cloth?) high and well formed. She had long legs and muscular thighs, a body that was strong and tanned overall. She moved with a sensuous, catlike insouciance like a hunting lioness.  I thought of the Goddess Diana, fresh on the hunt. Even her smile was feral. Atop all of this was the dark flame of her hair.

 Her eyes sealed the deal, intelligent with a hint of playful cruelty and irony, a deep hypnotic blue. She extended her hand at shoulder height for me to take.

 "Hello! Name's Daphne, and you would be Reginald.  Shall we play for balls then?"

  A handshake at that elevation was obviously out of the question, I bent forward gallantly and took her hand to kiss. When my lowered eyes fell upon those carefully honed talons, , I was struck with the most vivid mental images of how these potential weapons might seek and gnaw at tender places during the sexual act.  My cock stiffened against my will, creating a bulge in my shorts that drew her gaze

 "Balls?" I said

 She looked up again, freezing my eyes with hers. I had a moment of terrible apprehension, certain that my accidental double entendre had offended. Then she flashed a grin of genuine amusement.  Whether or not she thought my reply was a crude joke, she must have found my confusion amusing. She was so vivacious, so captivating.

  " Don't be a silly boy!" Her laughter was full throated, nearly bawdy. "I'm talking about the spare balls. It's likely that there is a can of three in your gym bag isn't there?"

  "Yes, of course." I blushed. Every serious player knows that packing extra balls is a must. Even the balls that don't get lobbed over the fence and into the woods  tend to lose their bounce eventually. Hard players simply beat them to tatters. 

 "Three games," she predicted. "I shall have them all."

 I hate to admit it. Her confidence psyched me out, the thin, hard smile that flashed as she delivered the challenge. I lost everything in that moment, the game, my heart, my self -respect, my freedom, and my soul. 

 Not that she couldn't play! She was a demon on the court, swift, cunning, and ruthless. The question of allowing her to win never came up on my list of options. I got the good thrashing Maggie had warned about. The first, as it turned out, of many.

 So after  my first defeat, when my nod of the head and a gracious "Good game!" failed to satisfy her; that was when my breaking began.

 "I'll be having that ball now."

 "You mean, in your hand?"

 "No. you should put it in my bag for me, sweet buns. I'm already holding the ball that I shall use to  give you a second trouncing ." she bounced it on the ground and caught it one handed before holding it aloft to taunt me.

 Her tone was so amiable and so cheerfully infectious that I was grinning like a schoolboy back at her as I opened my bag with a flourish and shook a ball out of its tube.

 "Do hurry lad," She chirped. " I'm eager to lay claim to a pair of your balls, and your poor attitude has already been noted." 

 Chagrined, I dropped the grin and broke eye contact as I followed her pointing finger toward the bench off court. When I opened her bag to put the ball in, I glanced inside. Nestled between her hairbrush and a clean pair of socks , incongruous as the devil in a pew,  I saw it. A short, heavy strap of leather, folded over and stitched to an unmistakable leather sheathed handle. 

 "It's a riding bat," she giggled, noting my reaction. "I have ponies at home. Sometimes a mount needs a bit of encouragement." 

 When we resumed play I was determined to even the score. Her obvious psyche outs and exquisite, confident beauty could not be allowed to distract my injured pride or intimidate me. Yet playing tennis with a semi erection certainly put me off my game.

 She was flirting with me, I was sure of it. I've never been considered much of a catch. I am short of stature, slight of frame, and shy by nature. I had a small trust fund, nothing grand, no titles or outstanding talent to offer on the sexual market. Women of her caliber were generally beyond my reach.

Yet all the signs were there to be seen, the way she tossed her hair to make it shine in the sun,

her fierce, challenging grin, the way she stroked her hands upon her thighs while waiting for my serve, or tapped the racket into her palm, as though she were delivering a coded threat.

 To have the attention and affection of a prize like Daphne was beyond price, certainly worth eating a bite of crow and enduring a bit of teasing. Her cruel smile was more of a promise than a pose.  

   So it was that at the end of the day, she held her bag open for me as I sheepishly dropped in the last of the three balls. We were both a bit breathless and perspiring freely by that time, and the hard points of her nipples thrust aggressively against the damp fabric of her top. A slow and quite impossible to ignore rivulet of sweat flowed down that swan like neck and disappeared into her cleavage. I took a small comfort in the evidence that she had at least been compelled to earn her victory.

   We were both shod in tennis shoes, but she needed to bend a bit to kiss me briefly on the lips. She studied my eyes a moment, assessing me, my chin poised on her fingertips. I felt the light stab of her thumbnail on my cheek.  She flashed that smile again, her eyes narrowing slightly as I winced.

 She tapped the seat of my tennis shorts with her racket playfully, suggestively.

 "Do stop by tomorrow at ten! I have the most interesting diversion planned."