The ancient laptop gave another dying wheeze. Hal was used to this noise — the computer had been making it for five years now. But if you knew how to baby it, it still worked just fine. Well, it worked okay, at least. He jiggled the lid to make the screen brighter and flicked a long strand of black hair out of his face, licked a bead of sweat off the corner of his mouth. His people lived in this swamp long before the Cajuns ever got here, so why didn’t he have some sort of immunity to the heat? He’d read somewhere that Native Americans weren’t bothered by heat or cold, didn’t get sunburn, and weren’t ever bitten by mosquitoes. Now that was just purely bullshit. Goes to show you that you can’t believe everything you see on the Internet. Hal twisted his long hair up off his nape and grabbed his tee shirt by the collar, pulling it up over his head and wiping his face with it before tossing it to the foot of the bed.
The website he was browsing was simple, informative, and full of eye-candy. He’d been online for almost three hours, sifting through pages and pages of absolute crap before arriving here. All he’d learned for sure was that BDSM stood for bondage and discipline, domination and submission, sadism and masochism. Now, browsing this site, he felt like he was getting somewhere. His real-life introduction to this world had been informal and brutal. He didn’t even know most of the terminology, and he hadn’t cared. All he’d wanted to do was escape. But now he was here, trying to learn more, for the sake of a woman. He loved her, and he had to find out how to give her what she needed.
Slave positions — now that was a topic. And there were pictures. Hal looked hard at the beautiful slave girl with the creamy white tits and the legs that went on and on. Her hands looked long and elegant coming out of those thick black cuffs, with that pearly pink nail polish. There was a picture of her kneeling demurely with her hands on her knees. There wasn’t a mark on her smooth pale skin, and Hal could see the cords of muscle just underneath, running up her legs, her hips, to the soft slope of her belly. The indentation of her navel and hollows of her palms seemed painfully erotic, hinting at some hidden truth that he couldn’t quite see. The lace thong she wore hugged her pussy, hinting at something else that he couldn’t see, but could imagine pretty well. He bet that pretty pink pussy was shaved clean under that black lace. He imagined running a finger down the strap at her hip, pushing the soft stretchy lace aside. Had she gotten wet, posing so explicitly for the camera? A slow warmth trickled down his stomach and settled in his groin.
He shifted the laptop to one knee so that he could tug at the crotch of his blue jeans. Damn, his cock rubbed against the fly, and it hurt. He worked a few buttons loose and freed himself. His cock sprung out, halfway erect already. He couldn’t resist scrolling down to the next picture — same girl, on her hands and knees, ass presented. Despite the heat rolling in the open window, Hal shivered, remembering his girl, how his palm stung against her ass cheek as he spanked her, how her throat vibrated around his penis as she tried to cry out in pleasure. She’d swallowed him whole, until he could feel his balls brushing her chin and he could fuck her mouth. He ran the tips of his fingers up his swelling cock, remembering that. Would his girl get on his hands and knees for him, present her her ass and her pussy, beg him to fuck her? Would she, if he asked?
Would she if grabbed her by the throat and commanded her to do it?
He had begged on his hands and knees, once, a lifetime ago. The thought angered him, but made his cock twitch hungrily. Twisting, he reached into the end table drawer for some lube, squirted it into his palm. His hand wrapped around his dick right under the head, and he began to pump his hand slowly, dragging it over his flesh. After ten agonizingly long strokes, he fisted the head and rolled it in his hand lightly. The sensation made him pant and twist on the sweaty bedsheets.
None of the pictures showed the girl’s face — it was either obscured by a spirals of camel-colored hair or a black silk blindfold. Dammit. He clicked on the credit link. Hmmm, the model for the pictures was also the webmistress. She was the submissive of the website’s owner, Daddy Max. Her name was topaz. That had to be a pseudonym. But, then again, who went around calling themselves Daddy Max?
Frustrated, he clicked on a random link. Discipline. Dear God. He pulled his foreskin back, stared at the milky drops that dribbled down his swollen dick onto his hand. The mystery girl, topaz, was stretched toward the ceiling, feet spread wide for balance, her back and ass mottled with pink. The black lace of the thong framed the twin curves of her ass cheeks, accented the hand prints on them. Hal took a big deep breath, his hair falling back over his face in a dark curtain as his head bowed forward. The very ends swung across the head of his penis, a whisper of sensation. He shifted his grip on himself, twisting gently up the shaft, palming the head and rolling his hand in slow circles. His dick felt hot and hard as a pirogue pole, little tendrils of sensation shooting down both legs until the muscles shivered in his thighs. He thought about what it would be like, to string his girl up, make her helpless. Would she struggle, plead with him? He could almost see her, her white breasts with their blush-pink nipples swaying as she struggled to keep her balance, her haunches bunching, waiting for the first blow. She might moan, waiting for him to strike her, or she might cry, or whine. Hal’s balls tightened, still trapped in his jeans.
He closed his eyes then, the callouses on his hands rasping against the ridge on the underside of his cock, moving until his hand made a muted slapping noise from the lube and the pre-come. He threw the mouse down on the bed, guided the laptop down off his knee and onto the quilt. Linking both of his hands, Hal rolled his cock between them, his hips making little twitches before settling into a short, hard thrusting rhythm, fucking his clasped hands. He whined in his throat, groaned out loud as he came. He reached for the dirty tee shirt, rubbed the sweat and the semen off his chest and belly with the soft cotton, sighed. He was still horny, even with his hard-on going soft. A trip across the swamp was out of the question, in the dark like this. And what would he do once he got to his girl’s house, anyway? Climb the trellis? Throw rocks at her window until she came out and followed him out beyond the cedar trees to have a fuck in the grass? Not likely, not in the dark with the gators and the clouds of stinging insects.
Then something caught his eye. The mouse had fallen off the bed, making the page he had been on scroll to the very bottom, to the last picture of Daddy Max’s girl topaz. Her hair was pulled to one side to accept a collar, showing the long, pale, vulnerable curve of her nape under all that hair. She had a small brown birthmark shaped like a butterfly just below her hairline. He had seen that mark before, as he raked his teeth gently over his girl’s neck. He had remembered her satisfied purr when he did that, and he had noticed her birthmark.
Topaz’s real name was Claudia, and Hal knew her. He knew her very well.