The following story was written by leatherangel ( leatherangel@bondage.com
). He's a professional writer and I think he did a most amazing job. 
Feel free to drop him a line if you like it. 

Helen







	You meet me at the airport as I exit the plane. The red of your hair,
framing your elegant face, spilling across your shoulders, makes you
instantly recognizable among all of the others waiting there. The looks on
their faces are all expectant and hopeful as they await reunion. Your
visage stands out in contrast to all the others; it is aloof, imperial,
discerning. I detach myself from the thong and head towards you, my stomach
filled with butterflies, my knees actually weak. In the space of a second,
I hope that the flight has not left me rumpled and unappealing. Your eyes
lock onto mine as I approach; I feel like prey drawn to a predator. I could
pass by, capitulating to cowardice, and you might never know, but my will
is no longer my own. And we have not yet met.
	"Leatherangel?" you ask as I slow before you. I nod, jitteringly nervous.
You are more captivating in person than you were in your photos. You are
wearing a white silk blouse and a black leather skirt, black stockings and
high heels. The look, unmistakable in its implications, makes me feel as
though I am going to faint.
	"Hi," I say, filled with an electric adrenaline that leaves me all but mute.
	"I'm Helen," you say, offering me your hand. I want to kneel before you,
feeling that this cordiality is undeserved on my part, but this is not the
time or place. Instead, I take your hand and gently kiss it, bowing as I do
so. You nod, pleased. The look in your eyes, when I life my head once more,
is the look of acceptance when one is satisfied with a purchase. I know
that I am handsome, but I have never been proud of that physical
fact...before now. Now I am glad that you find me attractive, as a pet
desires to be wanted by its mistress.
	"Let's go," you say, and you turn and walk. I follow.
	
	We ride in your car out of the airport. You ask me about my previous
experiences in B&D, and I tell you about the few Mistresses I've served,
the clubs I've been to. You are particularly interested in the Mistress who
met me in her hotel room in San Francisco, who put a collar on me and then
took me out to a beauty parlor to have my nails done. I was wearing
lipstick at her behest, something subtle but certainly present. I wore the
collar all that night, although I was mortified to have it peeking out from
beneath the collar of my shirt. You laugh.
	"Take your pants off," you say.
	"Here?" I ask.
	"NOW," you say. I lean forward, remove my shoes and socks and struggle out
of my pants.
	"Nice boxers," you remark. "Take them off too." The silk boxers follow the
pants, and I am sitting next to you, naked from the waist down. I wish I
was hard, thinking that it would please you, but the exposure and the
traffic and the world going about its mundane business all around us are
too great a distraction. You, thankfully, don't seem to care. You take my
pants from me and toss them in the back seat.
	We arrive at your house. In the garage, you relieve me of my shirt as
well. You take all my clothing and lock it in a box, fastened with a
padlock. Now I am hostage to you. As I've been since I got off the plane.
	"Come on in," you say.

	Inside your house, you have me stand at attention, naked for your inspection.
	"Nice," you say, as you trace my jawline with a laquer-red nail. "Good
lats...biceps...nice veins." My muscles are firm but not huge; veins stand
out diagonally across my biceps and through the joint of my elbows. My
forearms have been sculpted by climbing, and I resist the urge to flex for
you. "Fantastic legs, leatherangel."
	"I used to be a bicycle racer, Mistress Helen." You smile, sweetly.
	"Just Mistress for now," you say. "You're damn hairy, leatherangel."
	"I know. I'm sorry, Mistress." Just as I refuse to be proud of my
features, I refuse to be ashamed of my fur. My chest is hairy, as are my
legs and arms, and even my upper back. Fashion dictates that men have
smooth backs; I will not be ruled by fashion. But right now, I wish that I
was smooth, so that I might please you more. You deserve pretty slaves.
	You take a wide, leather collar and slip it around my neck, fastening it there with a tiny padlock.
	"Down," you say, pointing at the floor. Gravity alone cannot get me there
fast enough. I am on my knees, head down. I can see the tips of your shiny
shoes. I realize that I hope that you will fuck me then and there, without
preface or explanation. Of course, you know this, and I am not there for my
pleasure...you will have yours first and foremost. I feel a cold weight on
my back and hear a click as you fasten a leash to the collar you have
placed on me. With a sharp tug, I follow you inside.

	I am blindfolded. Cuffs are fastened around my ankles and my wrists. The
Leash is hooked to the ankle cuffs and my wrists are bound behind my back.
I am left alone like that, my ass up in the air, exposed. Some time passes.
I long to see you, to feel your touch. I hear footsteps approach, and the
blindfold is removed.
	"You will address me as Mistress, You will answer my questions promptly
and, of course, you will obey me, won't you. pet?"
	"Yes Mistress," I reply.
	"Good. Look no higher than my knees." My head down, I see your feet come
into view. You are wearing glossy leather boots, bound up the front with
criss-crossing laces. My cock is hard. You have yet to touch me, and
already I want to be used like your slut, your sex toy. I quiver, waiting
for a command from you.
	"Every good slave should worship his Mistress' feet, don't you think?"
	"Yes, Mistress."
	"Then get to it, pet." I lean forward and delicately lick the toes of your
boots. The smell of the leather excites me, the feeling of my tongue on the
cool hide, the knowledge that you are standing over me. You lift one foot
off the ground, and I suck on the boot, happy to be debased in this manner.
You sit down so that I can reach more of your fetish footwear, and you
slide the spike heel between my lips. Having anything in my mouth makes me
even more submissive than I usually am; its a trigger for me. I imagine
that I am wet for you, and already I am impatient to be filled by bigger
things than a stiletto heel, but you are enjoying this captive chase. I
lick and suck your wonderful boots until you are satisfied.
	"Look at me," you say. I do.
	You are resplendent in a shiny PVC dress ending in a brutally short
miniskirt. The dress is snug over your hips and waist, and is laced up the
front with shiny buckles. You are wearing long, shiny black garters
connected to sheer silk stockings, the tops of which barely protrude from
your thigh-high boots. Leather gloves cover your arms up past your elbows,
and even though I am not terribly into pain, I want so very badly to be
spanked by you while wearing those gloves.
	Your crotch is covered by a pair of latex panties with a single, shiny
zipper running down the center. I smile, stupidly. I want to dive between
your legs, to pull the zipper down with my teeth, to feel you grow hard in
my virgin mouth until I am filled with you, to suck until you flood me with
your release.
	You smile, wickedly. We both know that you will deny me this lust...until
you are ready.



			TO BE CONTINUED...




"Do you like what you see, slave?"
	"Yes, Mistress!"
	"Why?" This question is hard to answer. I have been wondering about it for
many years.
	"Because you are beautiful, Mistress. Because the shiny buckles and PVC
look so sexy, and the boots make you look so powerful. I love garters,
Mistress. And I love that zipper in your panties."
	"I thought you'd like that little touch, slave. Why do you like it so
much?" I hesitate; as a slave, am I allowed to discuss my Mistress'
secrets? I recieve a slap on the back from Mistress' long whip for my
indecision. The pain is not harsh, but it serves to remind me of my
position.
	"Because of what's behind it, Mistress." You stand swiftly and walk behind
me. The whip comes down on my ass three times in rapid succession. The
leash in your hand yanks my head back.
	"And what's behind it, pet?" You whisper in my ear.
	"Your cock, Mistress."
	"That's right." I am released; my head drops once again. My embarassment
exites me; I have never so much as touched a penis that was not my own. To
speak me need for my Mistress' cock is liberating beyond words. How ironic
it is to be bound this way and yet to feel so free!
	"I am going to whip you now," you say in cool tones, as though you were
telling me you were going to the store for a newspaper. "Not because you
deserve punishment, but becasue it will give me pleasure. To be whipped is
a priviledge, don't you think?" you ask.
	"Yes, Mistress," I reply, wondering what is in store for me. The switch
comes down on my ass, stinging me more and more with each crack. I can hear
you breathing, and I hope that my pain is bringing you pleasure. I do not
submit for my own joys alone; it is the thrill of being used for other's
pleasure that truly gratifies the submissive's heart. I know that as you
whip my ass, standing above me, you are being washed by waves of pleasure,
and it makes me want even more.
	"I am going to keep whippng until your erection subsides," you tell me.
The blows do not stop; I can feel my ass getting redder and hotter. I
wonder is my body is about to enter a vicious circle, but soon, the blows
bring tears to my eyes, and even my eager cock knows when it is beaten. I
feel my penis shrink, and the blows soften and then stop.
	"Relax, slave," you tell me, and I realize how rigid and tense my body has
become; I am quivering, shaking with energy. Tremors start in my forearms
and travel up through my shoulders and down my back, like a dog shaking
itself. I exhale, and let my body slump forward, my chest and face into the
rug. "I'll be right back," you tell me, with a hint of mischeif in your
voice.
	When you return, you gently help me sit up on the couch. My feet are still
bound, as are my wrists. I am so naked, and you look armored, sexy, lethal.
I am captivated by the garters striping down your upper thighs, by the
gleam of light on silver buckles, by the fullness of your panties. You sit
beside me, stroking my face with your gloved hand. I relax.
	"Open," you say, and I close my eyes and open my mouth. A leather-clad
finger traces a delicate path around my lips, then probes the inside of my
mouth. You have not commanded me to suckle it, so I remain slackjawed,
being inspected. The finger is removed and replaced by a ballgag. The smoky
taste of hardened rubber fills my mouth and nose. You push my head forward,
buckling the gag into my mouth with one strap around the back of my head
and another between my eyes, over the top. It is hard to pull the second
buckle taut, since my hair is long. I feel a few strands ripped out when
you cinch the leather strap down.
	"Sorry," you say, and I am filled with renewed lust for this Mistress who
whips my ass and then apologizes for tearing out a few hairs. I about to
say 'It's alright,' but the ballgag is filling my mouth. It is all I can do
to swallow fast enough to prevent saliva from running out of the corners of
my lips. I feel your gloved hands wrap around my penis, and I start to
harden instantly.
	"Stop that." A quick switch-stroke across my thighs puts an end to the
erection. Something cold and metal is being pulled over my cock, and things
are being wrapped around my balls. I had not fantasized about penis
bondage, but now the feeling of having somebody else manipulate my manhood,
to bind it for their own amusement is tremendously exiting. Soon my prick
is sheathed in a ringed bondage device; the metal and leather feel
wonderful.
	You push be back on the couch.
	"Watch," you say. I do. You walk about the room, langorously, weaving a
spell of motion around your literaly captive audience. Your fetish attire
is so enticing, I start to shake again. You bare your shoulders from
beneath the PVC dress; their smooth whiteness makes me think of ice. The
contrast of white skin, blue eyes and red hair is so dramatic and
synergistic; it makes me want to serve even more. You turn and stretch one
long, booted leg out, like a cat waking from a nap. I am being teased, and
I am helpless to stop it. When you bend over, your zippered panties bulge
out from beneath your miniskirt. Finally, you straddle me, your chest in my
face, filling my nostrils with the scent of PVC and you. You reach behind
my head and unfasten the ballgag. It comes out, wet with saliva.
	I am pushed down on the couch. You squat over my face, and your fingers
pull the zipper on your panties...around to the back. Only then do you open
the zipper.
	"Lick me," you say as you lower yourself onto my face. I thrust my tongue
out and lick, tasting the salt of sweat as it runs down your perfect,
smooth ass. I lick and suck, rewarded by your slow gyrations as youpush
yourself down onto my tongue. I am melting, I am nothing but a licking
tongue for your use. I can feel cool air on my cock, and I know that I am
erect, that my cock is betraying my exitement at being used in this manner.

	I do not know how long this goes on, but I think that you reach a small
orgasm. When you stand up, my face is covered in saliva and sweat. My
tongue and jaw are incredibly sore from the workout.
	"Poor little pet," you say. "Is your mouth tired?"
	"Yes, Mistress," I say.
	"Good. On you knees again." I slide off the couch, onto the floor.
	"Face me," you say as you sit down on the couch. I do.
	"You won't need your mouth muscles for a few minutes," you say. "Because I
am going to feed you my cock, and you are not to suck, but to swallow it!
Is that clear?" I nod.
	"Yes, Mistress," I add, remembering my instructions.
	Slowly, you spread your gartered legs, and reach between. You tug on the
zipper, and as it parts, your beautiful she-cock spills out. It is as
smooth as your skin, and half-erect. I open my mouth as you grab the back
of my head and pull me to you.
	Your cockhead passes my lips. I have never done this before! Careful to
cover my teeth with my lips, I feel your penis slide into my mouth. I try
to make its resting place as comfortable as I can with my tongue, to
surround your cock, to take it all. Its heat fills my mouth, suprising in
intensity. Then it is buried in me, filling me. I cradle your penis in my
mouth and swallow it as I have been commanded to. It swells slowly, filling
me even more. I look up, past the crisscross lacing on your minidress, past
the swellings of your breasts. You are reading a magazine. I concentrate on
holding your cock in my mouth, tasting it, worshipping it.
	Minutes pass. You put the magazine aside, look down at me and smile.
Without saying a word, you place your hands on the sides of my head and
start sliding my mouth up and down on your rigid shaft. Now I lick and
suck, obeying the unspoken command. I want to milk your cock, Mistress.
Fuck my face.
	Your hips start thrusting, at first in little jerks, then in full pelvic
thrusts. Your perfect cock fills me again and again,and I hear your
breathing quicken. Finally, I am rewarded; you back arches, and your penis
shudders in my mouth. You push my head all the way down onto you as you cum
in my mouth. I feel the salty fluid gush out along the back of my throat
and run forward along the sides of my tongue. I tighten my lips, desperate
not to make a mess of my first-ever cumshot. You hold me there, jetting
semen into my mouth until your orgasm subsides.
	"Don't spill," you caution as you slide your deflating prick from my
mouth. I am left with a load of your Mistress-cum in my mouth. I want more.
	"Now swallow," you command, and I gulp it all down. "Don't move." You get
up and leave, returning in moments with an instant camera. The picture os
taken, and you hold it in front of my face as it delelops. There I am, on
my knees, with a glistening trickle of cum dripping from the corner of my
mouth, my lips and chin glazed with it. I have the contented look of a baby
that has just been fed.
	"That was excellent, pet," you tell me. "Believe me, before the weekend's
done, you'll taste that again."
	I can't wait.

  ... to be continued