Armor By a.a.johnston   Its feels like silk only it's not -- too much give in the fabric, like a really thin, fine spandex. Even feeling it on my hands, I know it will fit me like a second skin.  "Put it on," Jeremiah says, taking a seat in front of me and I nod, still fascinated by the fabric. I set it aside for the moment, stripping down, doing it slowly because I know Jeremiah likes to see me get naked. Boots first and then my shirt, folding it carefully and setting it aside, before stripping off my jeans and picking up the -- scrap of cloth again. It takes me a moment to figure it out: there seem to be too many openings, but holding it up shows there is no back to it and the legs, well, where the legs would be on a leotard or a bodysuit are really more like thongs and the extra slits make more sense once I step into it. I shiver a bit as I pull my cock and balls through the slit in the front and feel the thin slashed leg piece ride up under my crotch and along the crack of my ass. There's a slit there and it doesn't take a genius to figure out what it's for. The sleeves are short and the neck piece looks like an unrolled turtleneck, a thin buckle holding it in place. The open back will let my tattoos be seen and the rest...I was right: hugs my body like a second skin. With jeans on it would be a pretty sexy shirt. The thong at the back is snug and tight but there's mesh at my chest and it's open at my belly in an inverted vee, showing off my navel ring and the chain around my waist.  Dressed, I turn slowly for Jeremiah, knowing by the look on his face that he's pleased and I smile too because even with the tight pull across my ass, it feels good...I feel exposed and not, a whole lot sexier than I would butt naked.  Jeremiah rises to adjust it a bit, making sure it's high on my hips and tweaking the thin elastic cloth across my upper buttocks in a way that pulls it tight under my genitals and they are pretty happy with the new arrangement. I could tuck them in as well but Jeremiah pats and pinches them a little, getting a response and then rubs his finger along my ass until he finds the slit there.  "Bend over, pet," he says and I do, automatically setting my feet further apart and resting my hands on my thighs.  The fabric pulls a bit, the fine mesh rubbing across my nipples and exciting them as well and I can feel the warmth in my groin start to build.  I don't turn my head to see what he's doing and I don't jerk when he touches me again but my breath quickens a little and I can feel and smell the oil he has and is using. Then his fingers pull the slit in the cloth open and out and I feel it, almost groaning at the first caress of the butt plug as he rubs it across my hole. Then it's sliding in and I am breathing deeper, taking it. Not the largest he has by far but big enough, thick and soft, and I gulp when the tip of it nudges my prostate, then again when he twists it and pulls it out a little then in again, fucking me slowly with it. My cock is rising, interested in the goings-on.  He shoves it home then and I suck air as he fiddles some more, securing it somehow.  "Stand and present, pet," he says, like a drill sergeant giving orders only softer and more seductive. I do, straightening up slowly, feeling the plug shift and move inside me and a flex informs me that it's not leaving on its own. The fabric has it in there pretty tightly.  My cock is high and my balls are starting to pull up when Jeremiah fondles me again, tugging on my PA as I stand, arms behind me. This time I see him as he gets my collar, fastening it around my throat over the cloth, which feels odd; I'm used to feeling the leather on my skin. The heavier chain attaches to the clip at the back of my neck and he has the wristlets, fastening them on me then running my neck chain through the rings. He pulls and I relax, letting him draw my wrists and arms up tight, forcing me to lift my chin as my back arches slightly. He doesn't pull them as tight as he has in the past: he still wants me to present, not submit,at this point. "Very lovely, pet." His hands stroke down over my chest, the cloth hardly a barrier at all but there's just enough there to tug at my nipples again, making then hard, making them peak a little. He tongues one, biting it, sucking it, the fabric remaining moist. "I think we should make the most of those as well -- but not the teeth," he murmurs, not really talking to me at all, just eyeing me, a picture to be framed, a display to be properly set up. He leaves me there, and returns again with a handful of baubles and things he lays on the small occasional table next to his chair. He holds up two small clamps with long dangling chains. They are like little buttons almost, a small gem in each or just a precious stone. Cubic zirconia for all I know. He pulls my left tit, kneading and pinching it until it blooms enough. The clips have no teeth like the alligator clips we usually use but the pads inside are rough and textured, giving them some grip, and I'm panting softly as he fastens the first one leaving the chain dangling, then the second one and now I have what looks like diamonds at my tits, on the shirt. He tugs at the ring at my navel and threads the chains of both through it. Then down and I bite back a moan as he uses a small jeweler's ring to attach the end to my PA, the small ball fixture holding it in place.  When I breathe I can feel the tug, from my nipples to my belly to my cock and back again, like there's a live current running through the chain itself. He tugs it a little and my body gives and trembles at the shock of pleasure rushing through me. I can feel heat in my cheeks and the ass plug feels like its getting bigger and trying to worm it's way deeper into my body. Christ, I don't really need anyone to touch me. My own body, my own breathing, is providing plenty of stimulation. He's not done though and he fetches a cock ring with leather strappings, securing it around the base of my cock and  then binding my balls, separating them almost painfully then pulling them up tight. His touch makes me harder, pulls the rushing flood of sensation through me and I sway, jerking slightly, orgasm started and aborted in the same moment, then back again and he smiles and kneels in front of me to lick at my cock, wiping away the traces of fluid that have escaped the ring with his tongue, then sucking me. His tongue wraps around the PA, around the chain, and his fingers rub the underside of my cock.  The clamps on my tits are beginning to ache, the small movements I'm making tugging at them starting to make them hurt. Jeremiah stands again and hooks his fingers in the ring on my collar at the front. "Kneel and present, pet," he says kissing me softly, moistening my dry lips. He holds on while I do -- getting to your knees with your hands bound behind you isn't easy, but his fingers in my collar steady me and I go down, end up on my knees looking up at him. I spread my knees wide, to balance myself and he steps back, obviously pleased with what he sees.  It's pathetic how much that pleases me. How his gaze makes me squirm, which stimulates me further, which just makes me squirm harder. He walks around me and then returns and picks up the hair brush then begins to brush my hair until it's silky and neat, spreading it, then running his fingers through the crown of it to get the curls off my forehead.  He's hard too -- I can see the bulge in his pants, the leather stressed and molding around him. I want his cock and he knows it, stroking himself, watching me lick my lips. "Is this what you want, pet? You have dressed up prettily. Do you think you deserve a reward? To suck me. To suck my cock and feel me in your mouth, your throat?" "If it would please you, Master," I say softly, eyes riveted at his fingers where they are touching his dick through the leather. "If it would please you, Master, to give me a reward." "I think it will." He wants this too. He pulls the buckles at his hip, the front panel pulling back to expose his cock, hard and large and already moist and leaking, dark blonde curls surround it, glistening with his own juices and it makes my mouth water. He comes forward, holding his dick and touches my head, my hair, rubbing his cockhead over my lips, spreading that bitter-sweet juice on them. "Then it pleases me, slave, for you to suck me. Open your mouth." I do. It's half open already and then he's in, just the head of him and I'm licking and sucking, moaning softly around him because he tastes so good and feels wonderful and my own cock leaps in reaction. I take him deeper, sliding my tongue around him, over him, licking and sucking as he presses and pulls. I can only use my mouth and I want more -- moaning when he pushes deep inside my mouth and then pulls back.  "You are so good at this, slave. So talented, so sweet and hot," he's murmuring. He strokes my hair, my shoulders and I like that too, a lot. I really do like to please him, make him feel good, make myself feel good. I like it better when his fingers tighten in my hair, one finger hooked into the ring at my throat and I go almost still, relaxing my throat as he holds me and starts fucking my mouth in earnest, controlling the action and the speed. I fall into the rhythm of it like I am hypnotised, feeling his cock across my tongue, rubbing against my hard palate and Jeremiah is panting now too, gasping and groaning a little, pulling my hair and wrenching my head back a little. I'm sucking air when he pulls back. I hear this sound he makes, like he's dragging it from his balls which are tight and hard where they hit my chin. I take a breath and then he's coming, grinding his crotch to my face, blasting his come into my throat and fucking me still until I really start to feel the lack air, but I hold on until he pulls back, his hands shaking a little as I swallow and breathe, his fingers wiping at the come around my lips that I didn't get quite in time and I suck it off his fingers, until he has better command of himself. He hauls me to my feet, none too gently, and I suck air again because his mouth is all over mine, tasting himself on me, sucking my tongue, cleaning my teeth. Our cocks are rubbing together by accident rather than design and I can't do anything except lock my legs because they are jelly. My  hands clench and unclench but I can't touch him, can't return the manhandling he's giving me.  He's still hot. Some guys fall back in a dozy haze of satedness after they come: Jeremiah seems to get hyped by his orgasms and he's gonna leave bruises on me. There are times when I'm certain he does drugs or takes something because he seems to recover even faster than I do -- and denies himself a lot more often than he denies me. Domination is his thing but this is where it gets a little dangerous and yeah, way more exciting...when his own needs are met and he can concentrate entirely on me -- on what I need, and what he wants to see and how far he can push to get it. We both know what he's pushing for -- to get me to ask for it -- or rather beg. He wants me to beg so he can deny and finally grant what I want. What he wants...but I freeze at that point. I kind of understand it and then I don't, but I won't beg. I'll ask, I'll agree with him when he asks if I want his cock or his fingers or the whip or to be fucked and sucked at the same time, I'll ask for pain, I'll ask for more. But I won't beg...I won't say "please, give it to me..." And when I'm really past the point where I can stand anything more -- when I'm going to pass out...I won't beg him to stop. I can't.  Because what if he doesn't? Right now he wants more from me -- he gets off from watching me, knowing it's his touch and his words and his commands that make me shake and gasp and heave, when my body is demanding release and he has the power to deny it to me. It can be, at both its best and worst, a vicious, ecstatic cycle. He gets me all worked up, it makes him hot, he gets off, comes on me or in me, and he wants it again until I'm too exhausted to move. Too spent to do anything but twitch and moan and bite back the urge to beg him to stop. And not just stop the pain, but the pleasure. That can be a kind of pain in itself and way too often anymore, the lines blur and I'm as likely to blow my load when he slaps me as when he fucks me. I don't know if it's Jeremiah or I was like this before -- back when I thought that the rest of my life would all be about sex and giving it and getting it not primarily for my own pleasure, but for the men and women I serviced. Somewhere along the line I decided I'd better enjoy it or I'd hate it and then where would I be?  I always had pretty good recovery time, come up hard and fast, could take a lot, give more. I could fake it if I couldn't make it, and faked it a lot when I realized the real money involved more than fast fuck 'em or suck 'em quickies in an alley or a car or a hotel room. That I could use my body and my mind and my mouth in ways that made men want more -- give them more and they'd pay for it without thinking twice. Make a forty year old man think he's 18 again and he'll give you the moon. Make a room full of guys think that every one of them is the hottest trick going and they'll shove fifties in your hand just to be allowed to shave your cock. In a lot of ways, women are easier. They want to be flattered made to feel good, feel special and they are way more generous, easier on me, body and soul, in some ways. But I have to work harder too -- the hard wiring's not there. I think they are beautiful and mysterious and that every woman should be treasured, but it's the way I feel about my mother or my sisters and women in general: they appeal to me on that level and not any way else. I don't look at women, no matter how beautiful or sexy, and automatically go to the "hot babe, I want to put my dick there," place the way I do with guys.  There's some chauvinism in there too -- opening doors, carrying bags, lots of touching and kissing. Eating pussy is weird but okay -- but it's too soft, and while I've know some truly wild and even brutal women, it's still not quite right. I'm too aware of my own strength, too aware that they are soft in all the wrong places and that a dildo in my ass, no matter how pleasant, isn't a cock. Luckily for me, when I was doing this for more than Jeremiah's pleasure, guys don't have to worry too much about getting to the point of no return. Pretty mouths and soft hands and wet pussies work just as well as big hands and demanding mouths and tight asses.  Jeremiah plays that a bit, but not as much as I think he almost wants to. He likes me submissive, as submissive as I can get, but put me with a woman, even for his pleasure, and he sees more dominance in me, in just the socio-cultural norm, than he likes. But give him a kick-ass babe in leather and boots and who shoves a riding crop up my ass and he's a happy man.  He's pretty happy right now and I'm somewhere past happy into mindless. That tongue of his is still fucking my mouth and he's got hold of the plug and fucking me with that too. His cock is bumping mine and if he had another hand he'd be pumping me for all he's worth. He's got a handful of my hair knotted in his fist and my legs are so much rubber right now.  I can feel the build, the pressure in my dick building, the electric shocks of my prostate being worked for all it's worth. He lets go of the plug, slamming it home. Then snatches at one of the chains, yanking the clamp off my tit and I scream in pain and pleasure as he bites down hard through the cloth like he's going to bite it off. I'm bucking against him, my dick jumping and pumping and wringing me dry. I'm cursing too, which he could take exception to -- me speaking without permission -- but at the moment he's more concerned with driving me out of my fucking mind.  I've got more control when we're scening, but this is about that too -- about getting me ready and wringing me dry, a private show just for him and I let loose for him because we both want it. I'm coming hard and dry and he grips my collar again, pushing me down, keeping me from hitting the carpet too hard, but on my knees. He pushes me back, arching me, so I'm almost laying against my own calves and lets me go, standing over me and wedges the toe of his boot between my spread legs, pushing down on my cock and balls, squeezing them, and I do scream because it hurts so good. I come dry and hard, flopping like a fish out of water and he steps back and watches me, his cock at attention, his skin sheened with sweat and his chest heaving.  It takes me long minutes to calm down, to be able to take a deep breath. "On your knees, pet," he says silky soft and he's tucking himself back in and stripping off his shirt which is sweat soaked and has blood on it although I'm not sure if it's his or mine. Just a spot or two. I roll to my side and do as he tells me, still breathing hard, my cock still throbbing and stiff.  He steps behind me and undoes my hands, pulls the chain free, then finds alcohol and a swab and wipes my tit, smiling as I hiss. My blood then. He holds up the clamp in front of me and I lick my lips but nod. It hurts like hell. I want to nuzzle his chest, and he sees it and nods, pulling me to my feet, and into his arms. "Thank you , Master," I tell him, still shaking and burying my face in the blonde hair of his chest, smelling sweat and sex and male-musk and he pets me, strokes my hair and kisses me on the lips softly.  It's not enough but I don't protest when he pushes me back. "Get dressed, pet. Your leather pants, your anklets and boots. Leave the wristlets on and don't bathe. Return to me and I'll brush your hair again." "Thank you, Master," I whisper and do as I'm told, wincing a little at various tugs and pulls and twinges. But I'm warmed up now, ready for anything. I get a look at myself in the mirror as I pull on my leather pants, the ones that are slashed along the outside exposing my legs. My lips are swollen, my eyes glassy and huge, there's a flush to my cheeks and my throat. I smell like him, like sweat, every inch of my skin is alive and sensitized. My nipples ache in time to my heart and I feel a little lightheaded.  I look totally desireable and I know it.  I smooth the shirt down over my chest and my stomach and twist to see how it leaves me bare, shivering a little when I realize that when he's ready, he's probably going to whip me with this shirt on and that the dark material will hide the blood, that he can lance my nipples through the shirt, that I can be fucked wearing this or fuck someone else. That by the end of the night this shirt will probably be covered in sweat and semen and blood and oil and God knows what else.  He doesn't know it, or maybe he does, but it's not a shirt...not any longer. It's armor and I wonder how I will feel when he makes me take it off.    © 2001 a.a.johnston:  comments? a.a.johnston [ @ ] gmail.com