Copyright © 2022 by Left Side Signals

Author’s Note:

I’m sure a lot of erotica writers have thought about what might happen if one or more people who’d read their work approached them about the possibility of somehow joining them for some fun along the lines of one or more of their stories.

The introductory details of casino craps play in this story are present as background color; I enjoy playing craps and I know the mathematics of the game, but there’s absolutely no requirement that readers actually understand how craps is played for the rest of the story to make sense.

I was at my favorite position, to the right of the stickman, at the craps table in my favorite casino. My long-time Significant Other/submissive was at home, as she usually was on the Friday evenings when I played craps; the game was only open on Friday and Saturday evenings.

It was fairly early in the evening and the table wasn’t crowded. A woman came up to the table and took the spot next to me. I noted absent-mindedly that she was attractive, probably in her early 40s, with long black hair halfway down her back, but I was in the middle of a hand, the term hand meaning it was my turn to roll among the players at the table, and I remained focused on the dice that were again in front of me. I picked them up, slid them back and forth along the felt, and then sent them down the table to bounce against the far wall and land in front of the dealer standing at that end.

“Nine, nine, field roll nine,” the stickman intoned, reaching with the stick to bring the dice to the center of the table. The dealers all knew how I bet, so I tossed a white check, one dollar, the word check being casino-speak for what most people call chips, onto the table. The dealer in front of me added a red check, five dollars, to my place bet on nine and put two reds, ten dollars, in front of me. I picked them up and added them to the others in the table’s rail-top rack.

I had to wait before my next roll while the newcomer changed a 20. Then, after fumbling around a bit, she put three whites down on the pass line, a newbie move because the odds are worse for the pass line after a point has been established. But I didn’t say anything; I simply stood there patiently until the stickman pushed the dice to me.

I rolled another number, then made my point. Next I came out big red, casino-slang for seven, an immediate pass-line win in that situation; then high craps, also slang-termed midnight, two sixes showing on the dice. Then the stickman sang out, “Yo, eleven, front line winner yo,” which made the dealers happy, because in addition to my own bet I always made a one-dollar bet for them on eleven coming out.

“What’s this yo business?” the woman asked me. I turned to look at her; she appeared to be a couple of inches shorter than my five-nine-and-a-half.

“The term yo is universal in the craps lexicon,” I told her. “Its use came about because the words seven and eleven can sound too much alike in a noisy situation, so the dealers say yo along with eleven to make clear what the roll of the dice actually was.”

“Thank you,” she said quietly, and I returned my attention to the dice that were waiting for me. My next roll was a point number, ten, and after I rolled several other numbers I missed out by rolling a seven at the wrong time.

That ended my turn with the dice, and the three dealers all said, “Great hand, Harvey,” as they cleared the layout for the next round of betting. I saw out of the corner of my eye that the woman next to me looked up at me sharply when she heard that, so after making my initial bets for the next shooter’s come-out roll I turned to look directly at her.

“Is that your first name or your last?” she quizzed me.

“It’s my first name,” I answered. “Why do you ask?”

She hesitated, then said in a low voice, not a whisper but definitely intended not to be overheard by others at the table, “I ask because I think I’ve seen a picture of someone who looks a lot like you, but Harvey is his surname.”

“Oh,” I said. “That’s sometimes my surname also; it’s part of my pseudonym.”

“Is your pseudonym Pat Harvey?” she pursued.

“Yes, it is. Have you read my books?”

“Yes,” she told me. “Can I buy you a drink and talk with you about them?”

“I don’t do alcohol when I’m playing,” I replied, “but we can sit down in the grill and have a chat if you’d like.”

“I’d like,” she said, smiling for the first time. She picked up her remaining checks and headed for the 24-hour restaurant. I grabbed my checks and started to follow. It was then I noticed that the woman was actually several inches shorter than I’d initially thought; below her knee-length button-front dress she was wearing tall stiletto heels, not unheard of but certainly unusual in the casual Carson City ambiance. Her tight behind swayed as she moved, and the rest of her appeared to be equally shapely. I was intrigued, to say the least.

Once we were seated in the restaurant and had ordered coffee, I turned to her. We were in a semi-circular booth, so she was sitting next to me. I nodded, indicating that I wanted her to start the conversation, and she started by introducing herself.

“My name is Amy,” she said. “I was totally surprised to find you this way. I’d read the bio on the back cover of your books, my late husband and I both did, so we’d known you live in Nevada, but we’d always figured you were down south since most of the state’s population is in the Las Vegas metro area.”

“You said ‘late husband’,” I responded. “What happened, if I may ask?”

“Of course you may,” she answered. “He had a heart attack and passed away a few months ago. But to get to the point, he and I had been into power exchange for years. We’d read your books and been totally enthralled by your stories and the way you’d presented dominance and submission and SM play.”

“So you identified with the characters in my books?”

“Definitely. I was a sub and my husband was a dom, so it was easy for us to relate to Karen and Robert, especially.”

“That’s very ... interesting,” I told her. “Is there anything specific you’d like to talk about, from my books or just in general?”

She’d been looking directly at me while she was speaking, but now she lowered her gaze and started to blush. “Yes, Sir,” she whispered. “Ever since I got past my mourning time I’ve been looking for another man so I could reestablish that part of my life, and I’d be thrilled if you would be willing to assume that role.”

“I’m very flattered,” I said, “but you should know a couple of things. Even though I’ve published my books and I still have all my toys, my sub and I have been living pretty much a vanilla lifestyle since we retired. Also, while I have some Sildenafil, generic Viagra, we aren’t sexually active and I don’t know how well I would be able to perform. My sub won’t object to my having outside experiences, but I’m not sure I can live up to my books these days in real life.”

Amy smiled. “I’d be happy to experience your style of dominance and your SM skills, rusty though they might be, and I’ll take the sexual part as a challenge.”

“Are you sure about this?” I asked.

“Yes, I’m sure. Why don’t you take a trial run with me, so to speak, before you decide whether to join me on a regular basis.”

“Okay, I can do that,” I agreed. “When and where?”

Amy looked away for a moment, then turned to face me again, her expression suddenly serious. “May I be candid, Sir?”

“Of course; I would expect nothing less.”

She took a deep breath. “Now, at my house. I’ve been horny for weeks, and I’m so excited about the prospect of a scene with you that I’m sopping wet. I can’t wait for you to play with me.”

“Very well,” I said, using one of my Robert character’s typical phrases. “Let’s go to the cage and then I’ll follow you home.”

“What cage?” She giggled. “Sounds like fun.”

“Sorry, that’s what they call the cashier’s area; we should cash in our checks.”

I accompanied Amy to her car, then started my own, and we drove in separate cars to her house. I parked in the driveway, then joined her in the garage; she pressed the button to close the garage door and I followed her through the doorway and on into her living room.

About three feet in front of a gas fireplace I saw two sturdy-looking plant hooks in the ceiling about four feet apart. Hanging from each was a two-foot length of heavy-duty chain, and at the bottom of each chain was a snap bolt holding the ends of three rods supporting a fern-filled planter basket. Amy strode to a cabinet along one wall of the room, opened its doors, and walked over to me holding a pair of wrist cuffs. She held them out and I took them, and then she walked over and stood between the planters, facing me with her hands held out in front of her.

I walked over to Amy and buckled the cuffs around her wrists. Then I decided to start by undressing Amy and seeing for myself how aroused she was.

“Hands behind your head,” I ordered.

“Yes, Sir,” she responded, and she immediately complied.

I started to unbutton her dress, moving slowly from one button to the next and taking the time to caress her through the fabric between buttons. Her breathing became heavier as I made my way down her body; by the time I had bent down and unfastened the bottom couple of buttons she was practically panting with desire.

When the dress was completely undone but not widely opened I straightened up and returned my hand to her chest, sliding it under the dress to lightly touch her breasts through her lacy bra. It wasn’t quite a half bra, her nipples were covered, but they were standing out very noticeably through the thin material. Amy moaned loudly when I slid my fingers across each of them.

“Hands by your sides,” I directed, and again she immediately obeyed. I pushed the dress off her shoulders and it fell to the floor behind her, leaving her wearing that lacy bra, a tiny matching thong, and stiletto heels.

I dismounted each planter in turn, carried it away from the fireplace, and set it down on the hardwood floor. After that I lifted her arms, one at a time, and attached a snap bolt to the D-ring on each of her cuffs. She stood with her feet about 15 inches apart, looking straight at me, and waited silently for my next move.

I reached up and cupped her left cheek in my right hand. “You’re very beautiful,” I said softly.

“Thank you, Sir,” she replied. “But please don’t let my attractiveness keep you from giving me a rough time.”

“We haven’t really negotiated likes and limits, and you tell me you’re really turned on. That’s not the best time for you to be thinking rationally about a scene, so I have to ask; what should I know about you?”

“You should know that my husband was hard on me after we decided to really get into the lifestyle. We were both into the power exchange; I was happy being controlled, being ordered around, being denied release or having my orgasm delayed, even some kinds of humiliation. I will do whatever I’m ordered to do and accept however I’m treated within my D/s limits, but even though I’d love for you to become my new Master that’s not what I need right now.”

I continued to stroke my fingers over her cheek, around her ear, through her hair. “So what do you think you need tonight?”

Her reply was emphatic.”I need to be a heavy SM bottom. I need the pain and the euphoria from the endorphin rush. I know from your books what you can do, and I want as much hurt as you’re willing to give me. I’m sure you’ll give me great pleasure as well.”

“You’re trusting me a lot, Amy. You must have some SM limits as well.”

“I do, but they are very few, mostly the usual, like no scat and no permanent damage.”

“Well, I won’t go to any of those places. Your safewords are yellow and red.”

“I know I’m being very trusting, but I have complete confidence in you. Thank you for the safewords, Sir, but I doubt I’ll need them.”

I gave her my smarmiest leer. “That sounds like a challenge.”

She smiled. “Then do your best to make me use one,” she invited. “There are toys in the cabinet; use whatever you like.”

I walked over to the cabinet from which she’d taken the wrist cuffs and looked inside. There was a good assortment of toys, and I selected several for possible use. I carried them to the fireplace and set them all on the mantle, then returned to face Amy. When I ran my fingertips across the bare tops of her breasts, she shivered and moaned.

“Ohhh, yessss,” she hissed. “I knew from your stories you would have the touch,” she whispered. “The shoulder straps can be unhooked; you can remove the bra without releasing my arms.”

“Is that what you want me to do?” I teased.

“God, yes, please touch me,” she begged. “Your hands are magical and I want to feel them all over my bare skin.”

“But it’s not about what you want,” I teased again. “It’s about what I want.”

“Of course, Sir, you’re right, but I hope you’ll enjoy touching me, and I really want you to enjoy that.”

From what she’d said and her physical reactions, I was pretty sure Amy was already close to the edge, and I decided to let her release some of that tension and then see what she would accept after that. So I tweaked her nipples through the bra and then caressed her flat tummy, watching as the muscles rippled and her body twitched. I moved my hand lower and slid my middle finger up the front of her thong. The material was, as she’d told me earlier, not just damp but fully wet with her secretions, and when my fingertip bumped her engorged clit she shuddered and groaned.

“You weren’t kidding before,” I said softly. “You’re really ready. So don’t hold back, Amy; I want to hear you as well as see you. Now come for me.”

I rubbed her clit through the thong and it took about two seconds for Amy to start voicing her pleasure. “Aaaaiiiiieeeee,” she wailed, her torso twisting and her feet dancing on her high heels as she crashed into a frenzied orgasm. I continued to stroke her pussy with one hand and touched her breasts with the other, and she alternated between loud cries and panting gasps for more than a minute before she started to wind down from that explosive climax. I wrapped one arm around her waist to support her and take pressure off her wrists as her body sagged in response to her release.

“Thanks,” she croaked. “Kitchen, fridge, water, please.”

“Can you stand up long enough for me to release your arms?”

“I ... I think so.”

I used my arm to lift under her rib cage and she stood, still shaking, while I reached up and unhooked the toggle bolts from her cuffs. Then I helped her move haltingly to the closest couch and set her down gently before going to the kitchen and bringing back a bottle of water. I opened it and held it while she drank greedily, then set the bottle and its cap down on the end table and sat beside her. She put her head on my shoulder and leaned into me.

“That was wonderful,” she said softly. “You were wonderful.”

“It was a great pleasure to take you there.”

“I really needed that release,” she continued, “but I hope that’s not all we’re going to do tonight.”

“Hell, no,” I told her. “We’re just getting started. But I wanted to take the edge off so you can ramp up to the pleasure-pain.”

“I’m ready whenever you are,” she whispered. “The more pain, the more pleasure.”

I helped Amy stand and walk back to the dangling chains. When we got there, I unhooked her bra and threw it across the room to land by the plants. I could have told her to take it off, but I wanted her to remain aware that I was in control. Her breasts dropped half an inch or so, but they were remarkably firm for a woman her age; she had obviously kept herself in very good shape over the years. I cupped her round mounds in both hands, feeling their weight, then had her face the fireplace and raise her arms so I could reconnect the toggle bolts to her cuffs. I didn’t mind that she could see the toys I’d placed on the mantle; in this case, rather than surprise her, I wanted her to see what was coming, no pun intended. I figured it would heighten her anticipation to know how intense the scene was going to become before it was over.

Once she was secured, I pushed her long hair down both sides of her neck and onto her chest, leaving her back completely bare. Then I picked up the softer of the floggers I’d selected, one that appeared to be made of light-weight cowhide, and walked around her several times, flipping the flogger’s fall, the collection of half-inch-wide leather strips that made up the tails of the whip, lightly against her legs, her butt, and her upper back as I went. After multiple circuits her skin was starting to turn a nice shade of pink, so I stopped beside her. I put my hand on the back of her neck, both to protect it from a stray tail and to stay at the proper distance to keep the tails from extending beyond her back and wrapping around her side, and I began a serious flogging.

After working on her shoulder blades and her back down to about four inches above her waist to stay above the kidney area, I shifted my aim and started on her ass. By this time her hips were swaying from side to side in response to the flogger’s strikes, and I shifted my aim every few strokes between her butt cheeks and the backs of her thighs. I gradually swung harder until the sounds of the flogger landing on her skin were being matched by an oof sound from Amy. At that point I stopped swinging; I walked around to her front and leaned forward to first lick her ear and then breathe gently into it. Amy responded by pressing her ear against my mouth.

“Are we having fun yet?” I whispered.

“Yes, Sir, I certainly am, and I hope you are too.”

“Oh, yeah, I am also. Ready for more?”

“Absolutely.”

I set down the flogger I’d been using and picked up another from the mantle. This was a seriously more-intense implement; instead of half-inch-wide leather tails, the fall of this flogger was made of thin plastic laces that would sting a lot when they made contact. Amy’s eyes widened when she saw what I was holding, but she didn’t say anything as I walked around her and assumed my flogging position again. When I began swinging the flogger, again alternating between Amy’s ass cheeks and her thighs, her reactions, both oral and physical, were immediate.

“Ouch,” she cried, then, “Ow, ow, owww, Sir, that really smarts.”

I stopped flogging her and asked, “Haven’t you felt this toy before?”

“Yes, Sir, but it was not as well used as you’re doing.”

I paused to take that comment in, then asked, “Do you have any particular word to say to me?”

Her reply was immediate and emphatic. “No, Sir, definitely not, I was just giving you feedback on your technique.”

She smiled mischievously, and I said to myself, Smart-ass, we’ll see about technique.

“In that case,” I said aloud, “I’ll give you another opportunity to let me know how I’m doing.”

I started flogging Amy again, and this time I used full-strength strokes. Her body gyrated as she instinctively tried to evade the stinging slashes, and the bright web of red lines on her lower cheeks and thighs was matched by the brightness of her squawks and other noises.

“Owww, damn, that really hurts ... please, Sir, ouch, please, more, give me that rush ... oh, God, yessss, oh...”

Suddenly she was quiet. Her body stopped moving and I could see her back and legs flush as the endorphins flowed through her, easing the hurt and giving her that opiate-like natural high. I moved around Amy again and wrapped my arms around her from her front, feeling her tremble in reaction to both the sensations she’d been feeling before and the rush she was feeling now. She crushed her breasts against me and pressed her groin into my thigh.

“Holy crap, Sir, that was fantastic.” She turned her face up, I put my lips onto hers, and she pressed the kiss back with open-mouthed ferocity. I pushed my tongue out and hers answered, inviting me inside her sweetness. After a minute or so she pulled back just far enough to whisper, “Do you have more for me, Sir? I want anything and everything you’re willing to give me.” She paused, then added, “My husband was very, very good, and so were some of the tops I’ve played with in the past, but you, Sir, are incomparable.”

I don’t blush, but if I could I would have. Amy’s compliment was overwhelming, especially since I hadn’t done a serious scene for a while. We resumed our kiss, but now it was more sensual, more promising of what was to come, pun intended this time.

I had initially intended to use a crop on Amy next. But at this point I thought her back side had gotten enough attention, so I decided to mix things up and do something different instead. After ending our kiss, I went to the mantle and picked up a small toy that had a leather handle about four inches long and a fall that comprised a dozen thin leather laces about six inches long. Such toys have a variety of names and they can be used on lots of different parts of a bottom’s body, but since I’m a man who likes to use toys on women I call it a pussy whip.

I turned to face Amy and slowly dragged the fall down over her right breast. Her pink nipple was fully erect, probably a quarter-inch in full extension, and her surrounding areola was a paler pink and puffy. Amy hummed her pleasure as the laces rubbed across and against that nipple and the rest of the sensitive surface of her shapely breast. I marveled again at how well toned her body was; her breasts were a bit pendulous but the nipples were pointing up at me, not drooping downward.

I dragged the whip’s fall down her other breast, then slapped it gently back and forth against the outer sides of her breasts, letting the laces slide across their fronts and keep stimulating the nipples. Narrow objects like canes and some kinds of crops can cause compression injuries to the underlying mammary glands, but that kind of flogger, used properly, won’t cause that kind of damage, and the last thing I wanted to do was harm my beautiful bottom.

I steadily increased the speed and force of the flogger’s impacts. Amy’s breasts turned a solid pink and her breathing became faster and shallower, but she was still humming, sometimes interspersing a soft moan, and her face glowed with a light sheen of perspiration on her cheeks and forehead. Without stopping my swings, I reached down with my other hand and slid her soaked thong down her thighs. Her pussy lips gleamed with her juices, and when I slid my finger between them Amy closed her eyes, uttered a long uhhhh groan of desire, and bucked her hips forward.

I leaned towards her and whispered, “Are you ready to come again?”

“Oh, yes, Sir, I am for sure.”

“You’re going to have to earn it,” I said with my command voice.

Amy smiled at me. “I’ll do whatever I have to.”

“Whatever?” I teased. “That covers a lot of possibilities.”

“I know,” she replied, and then she gasped as my finger bumped her swollen clit. “I’ll do anything you demand of me.”

“Anything?” I teased again.

“Yes, anything,” she whispered. “Please, please, let me come for you.”

I moved around to stand beside Amy, then pushed my hand between her legs and sent my middle finger into her pussy from behind. As I moved my finger around inside her to get it thoroughly wet I began flogging her pussy, making sure the laces hit her exposed clit on every stroke. Amy started panting, and each time the flogger landed she let out an oh of combined pain and pleasure, and then she started chanting in time with each strike.

“Oh ... yes ... oh ... yes ... more ... more ... close ... close ... oh ... God...”

I pulled my finger out of Amy’s pussy and jammed it against, and then into, the opening to her back channel, and she exploded into a massive orgasm.

“Eeeeeeaaaaaahhhhhh,” she screamed, her body jerking and writhing in a stunning display of ecstasy. I dropped the flogger and rammed three fingers into her steaming cavern, curling them to reach her G-spot, and the explosion became a nuclear detonation. She screamed again, even louder, and took off for heaven; her arms yanked repeatedly against the chains holding them up, and then her knees gave way and her body went completely limp.

I quickly pulled my hands away from her openings and wrapped my arms around Amy’s slim waist to support her. When I was sure she was secure I again reached up with one hand to unfasten the toggle bolts so I could bring her back to the couch. She collapsed in a heap on the cushions and I sat next to her with one arm around her shoulders as she wiped tears and smeared cosmetics from her eyes into my shirt.

A few minutes later Amy sat up and then pressed her lips into my neck. I felt her tongue lick lightly in small circles, and then she backed away far enough to whisper, “Thank you, Sir, thank you for giving me what I so desperately needed and wanted.”

“You’re welcome,” was all I could say in response. It had been an incredible scene, and I was overjoyed by what I’d been able to do for Amy. It was always a great pleasure to be able to bring such thrills to a bottom under my control.

“How may I serve you?” she asked quietly. “I want, really want, to please you in any way you desire.”

In truth, I wasn’t particularly aroused sexually. As was usually the case for me, I’d been so focused on what I was doing in the scene and so attuned to what was happening to Amy that I hadn’t gotten an erection, and when she’d come that last time I’d felt what seemed like a kind of psychic orgasm. I’d often had that feeling when I’d been able to bring a bottom to such ecstasy, and I was in that state with Amy at that moment.

“You have already served me by yielding to your pleasure,” I told her. “I’m in a state of top-drop right now, the draining away of all the challenge and excitement of the moment, and I’ve had all the pleasure I can handle for this evening. So just be close and let me know how much you enjoyed what we did, and I’ll be completely satisfied.”

Amy snuggled against me, pressing her warm and undeniably sexy body against mine. “I cannot begin to describe how wonderful, how unimaginably wonderful, this evening has been for me. I had high hopes when you told me you were the author of those books, but you so far surpassed my hopes that I’m at a loss for words to express my gratitude. I so want to give back to you; are you sure you won’t take me to my bed and let me pleasure you?”

I was, needless to say, terribly flattered by her generous words of praise for my efforts and by her offer of sexual delights. But I felt that I was too wiped out to perform and I was unwilling to see her fail in her efforts to please me.

“I sincerely appreciate your offer, Amy, and I’ll be happy to take you up on it when I feel capable of responding and reciprocating. But for now, I think it’s best that we just end the evening on this high note.”

Amy’s face showed her disappointment, but she didn’t argue. After another few minutes of mutual aftercare we exchanged phone numbers before I left her house and drove home.

Complications arose almost immediately. Amy called me two days later and requested a meeting, so I went to her house and we sat down in her living room.

“What’s up?” I asked.

“I have some things I have to tell you,” she replied.

“Okay,” I acknowledged. “Is there a problem?”

“There are two problems, I’m afraid,” she answered. “I have two children, both grown and living away from the house. My son, Johnny, is 19 and away at college, living in a dorm at UNR, but he’s asked for clarification about something he’s read. He reads a lot of science fiction and fantasy, and he’s found the Gor books.”

“Uh oh,” I commented. “I can imagine the kind of problems that can cause.”

“I’m sure you can. In the brief conversation I had with him he said he had a lot of questions, and I don’t know that I’m the right person to answer them. I know very little about the Gor stories, and it might be better if he gets answers to his questions from a dominant rather than a submissive.”

“That makes some sense,” I allowed. “Do you want me to talk with him about it?”

“I’d be really grateful if you would.”

“All right, I’ll do it. When will that be possible? I think it had better be in person rather than over the phone.”

“He’ll be home for a visit next weekend; will that work for you?”

“I’ll make it work. Now what’s the other problem you have?”

“My daughter, Laura, is 22 and has been living with someone since she graduated from college. But she told me she’s having problems with her relationship.”

“What kind of problems?”

“Like me, Laura’s always had a very strong sex drive. When she first had sex with the guy she’s living with he held her down in a simulated-rape scenario, and that really turned her on and stimulated her desire for rough sex. But after a few more attempts her live-in lover wouldn’t continue in that vein; he said what she wanted wasn’t something he was comfortable doing more of. So, as you can imagine, she’s unhappy; she’s ending that relationship and she wants to move back home to live, at least for a while. I’d like to help her, but it sure would screw up my own interests; my husband and I were always very careful to keep our sex life a secret from the children.”