A bit of background…
Some characters stay with you long after you think their story might be done.
Maisy Porter, a supporting character in SUBMISSIVE DESIRE, is one of those characters. She’s the kind of girl who doesn’t let you off the hook easily. She’s a rebel, she’s a punk, she’s a dirty little deviant and I love her all the more for it. As soon as Submissive Desire was finished, Maisy was there, tapping me on the shoulder. I had, after all, denied her an orgasm, bastard that I am.
What you’re about to read is what happens to Maisy as soon as she vanished from the pages of the other story… It’s also the opening chapter of a larger story set in the world of Pulse. That’s somewhere down the line, once some other projects are finished. But Maisy wanted this out in the world, because she’s an exhibitionist slut and wants you to know it…
Whether or not I had her in mind when I wrote the character to begin with, or whether it’s just a wonderful coincidence, I think altporn queen Misti Dawn is a cracker of a match for Maisy in body and soul – and I know that’s exactly who Maisy would want to play her in the deviant story of her sexual life. That’s who you’ll find in the images below.
Without further ado, here’s the next chapter in Maisy’s story. She promises it won’t be the last.
It was the longest shift of Maisy Porter’s life.
What had started as an uneventful day at Pulse, the region’s classiest and most high-end sex shop, had become alive with sexual excitement, all due to an appearance by Madame Veronica, who had been shopping for toys and an outfit with which to pleasure a mystery client. Maisy was filled with jealousy at the thought of Veronica with someone else, a ludicrous notion since her Madame was a professional cam-queen, mistress, dominatrix, or whatever one paid her for, but it still riled her to think of the exquisite strawberry blonde goddess working her unmitigated magic and skills on another eager patron.
Maisy, five foot three of boundless energy, a punk-pixie with shoulder length hair vibrant with neon red dye, pale skin glowing with the colour of dozens of tattoos, could concentrate no longer, not since she had ventured into the changing to assist her Madame, lacing up a leather corset, then to have the domineering princess pin her against the wall, cup Maisy’s seeping wetness through her jeans and flex fingers that had given Maisy so many crippling orgasms before. Her knees had almost given out, heart racing, mind flooding with submissive thoughts and the need to be taken there in the cubicle, in the ever-dwindling spiral of the infinity mirror, but Veronica had denied her, planting kisses on her throat and lips and insisting Maisy come visit her soon.
She had served Madame Veronica her goods and watched her walk out with her usual confident stride, and Maisy knew she would see her this week. Her panties were moistened so that every step she took was a reminder of the power the lady had over her; her febrile labia brushed against the sodden gusset within tight denim, swollen clit rubbing against moist material. She needed release; it wouldn’t be the first time she had done so at work, but the world conspired against her and seemed determined to keep her on the precipice of joy.
Customers kept appearing, emerging from the cold to tread the hardwood floors and peruse the racks for a new tool or garment that would fill their life with excitement. Maisy couldn’t believe it. Didn’t these people have jobs or homes to go to? How dare they come here, to a shop, with the intention of buying things? With her own needs to attend to, theirs seemed selfish. She caught the thought, giggling at her own fuzzy thinking, blurred by the desperate need to come, but it didn’t change the fact. From the moment her Madame had strutted from the emporium there was never a moment where she was alone; customers came and went, always overlapping. At three PM a large order arrived and Maisy spent the rest of her shift, between serving a diverse parade of men and women their lingerie and handcuffs and lubricants, processing, cataloguing and shelving the new stock. Every new toy she hung she pictured vanishing into her pussy; it now thrummed with a distant ache, desperation having gradually faded as the hours wore on, but it was ever-present, humid and deprived.
The shift ground endlessly on until the clock closed in on five o’clock. She had eaten a swift lunch at the counter and hadn’t even had time for a coffee or cigarette break all day; it wasn’t rare that she worked Saturdays alone, but her lack of a good orgasm when so desperately required had left her feeling hard-done to and likely to complain to Maxwell, Pulse’s owner, when next she saw him.
Don’t be silly, girl. You’ll have bust your nut a dozen times before then and you’ll be thinking straight.
She thought less of Veronica now and more of Reece, who would be coming to meet her as soon as her shift ended, and they’d head out for food, drinks and a night of abandon. Saturday night was always wild, just the way she liked it, filled with drinking, dancing, and throwing herself open to pleasure, vice and sin.
Reece arrived three minutes early. He had a tousled mop of jet black hair and piercing blue eyes, rimmed as usual with eyeliner to make them pop irresistibly. Ever the emo poster-boy, he wore a tight fitting band T-shirt that hugged his skinny, fatless frame, every muscle like a knot in wire. He had spiked leather straps around his wrists and black fishnet gauntlets up to his elbows. Stick-like legs were wrapped in tight black jeans, ripped across the thighs and calves, and through the frayed tears she could see more black fishnet criss-crossing his pale skin; Reece was always wearing hosiery, for fashion purposes and to indulge his own kinks.
Maisy flashed him a quick smile and finished up serving an attractive woman, bagging her lingerie purchases. “Have a pleasant evening.”
The look the woman gave her was one that suggested ‘pleasant’ was not strong enough a word to describe the mischief she intended for tonight. “And you.”
Maisy ushered her to the door and Reece held it open for the woman, who thanked him and disappeared into the darkening evening.
“Hi, sexy,” Reece said to Maisy as she hurried past him to the door. She poked her head out into the cold evening air, glancing up and down the street to ensure there were no potential customers approaching. Satisfied, she pulled the door closed, locked it, pulled down the blind and flicked off the neon ‘open’ light. Reece pretended to be offended. “You not speaking to me?”
She clutched him by the wrist, his spike-studded gauntlet digging into her palm, and she hauled him through the empty aisles, their shoes thundering against the polished floorboards. He was swept along, all the way to the back of the store, to the raised podium on which sat the store’s most expensive item. It was a vibrating saddle mounted with a lifelike moulded rubber dildo, and a speed setting dial with so many positions it was astounding. Maxwell had bought it as much for decoration as anything; he was unsure that anybody would ever pay the hefty pricetag, but it was certainly a piece that added an air of refined debauchery to the place.
Maisy pushed him back against the door was on her knees and unbuttoning his jeans. “I’m so horny I think I’m going to explode.”
“Don’t let me stop you,” he said, and she tugged his trousers down to ruffle around his boots, exposing the black fishnet holds ups he was wearing. It turned her on to see him in hosiery; she loved guys who were willing to experiment, and Reece was like pioneer in the field. She tugged down his tights boxers and his seven inches of white meat was already primed and stiff for her; Reece never let anyone down when they needed a hard tool.
Maisy sucked saliva into her mouth and lashed her tongue across the underside of Reece’s cock before taking the fat head into her mouth and plunging it to the back of her throat. Years of practice had reduced her gag reflex to minimum and all of her conquests were left with incredible stories of her deepthroating expertise. Her hands had yet to touch him, focussing in her self. One hand pinching at her nipples through her flimsy vest, tugging at the silver ring piercings, each pull a barb of pain and pleasure; the other unclasped her jeans and vanished from view, foraging into her panties, wet again with lust, and sought the moist folds of her sex. She zeroed in on her clitoris and worked it harshly, subtlety and care the last thing on her mind, washed away by the desperate need for orgasm.
Reece’s hands were in her hair now, balling to take a handful and use it to lever her head even deeper on to him. He brought her lips right to the shaven root of his dick and held her there, savouring every muffled moan she gave. He knew her limits and threshold for holding her breath now and drew her off him at the perfect moment. She sucked down air as hungrily as she had taken his lance, never wavering from her own ministrations. Her eyes sparkled behind a film of strained tears and a bead of black mascara ran down her cheek.
He bent and kissed her hungrily, a passionate, wet clinch, licking each other’s tongues. He knocked her hand away from her breasts and delves his hand across tattooed flesh to grip her breast firmly, fingers seeking her erect nipple and the steel ring. He rolled them between thumb and forefinger, squeezing to make her suck air through clenched teeth.
“Fuck me,” she said. “Make me fucking cum.”
He pulled her to her feet and resumed their kiss, his hand delving into her panties and coating two fingers with her hot, clammy musk and bringing the digits into their clinch so they both tasted her heat and that deliciously tangy fluid. He turned her away from him and rolled her jeans down to her knees, limiting her movement, placing her at his mercy. She knew to bend over, peachy ass ready for him, and no sooner was the sticky gusset of her panties wrenched aside with little tenderness did he split her eager wet pussy with his cock.
She couldn’t contain the sonorous cry of pleasure as he buried himself in her, holding himself there long enough to hook her arms with his. She was trapped in his embrace, impaled upon him; she couldn’t move save for an awkward waddle, but she had no intentions to escape. They were interlocked as they had been so many times before; not slaves to such a limiting thing as a steady relationship, but fuck buddies, explorers of desire and kink. He was standing perfectly still now, and she could feel his teasing smile.
“Don’t tease me, asshole, I’m not in the mood. Fuck me.”
“Oh, aren’t we cranky tonight?” he chuckled, and she bucked back against him; if he wasn’t going to play, she’d use him. Her aggression was all he needed, and he thrusted into her with long, quick motions.
“Oh fuck, that’s it, keep that up you bastard,” she panted, finally on her way to the climax the day had denied her. She squeezed her thighs together to put more tension on cock reaming within. “Pull my fucking hair.”
Reece didn’t need to be told twice, keeping one of her arms wrenched back and clutching her hair, arching her back. She belonged to him now, her toy, a willing hole to be used and satisfied. She felt incredible, her whole body alive with fizzing static, a burning tightness focussed at her nethers. The emo boy in his fishnet holdups and the tattooed punk princess fucked like the world was about to end, with total disregard for propriety or romance. It was swift and intense and neither wanted it to last.
Maisy shuddered and shrieked as the orgasm she had craved for hours finally dawned, shattering her into pieces. She bucked and flopped with each wave of pleasure but Reece wouldn’t let her go until he was done. With a squeeze of her forearm that would leave a handprint for several hours and a final pull of her hair, he grunted his own climax and flooded her. They collapsed then, orgasms still blazing, still entwined. Two sets of knees hit the bare floorboards hard but the pain only added the pleasure. Reece’s body pushed Maisy’s to the deck, holding her flat as he burrowed his face into her neck, biting softly. They breathed in unison as he pumped his last drop into her.
“Oh fuck, I needed that,” she cooed softly.
Wordlessly he withdrew, holstering his spent weapon and pulling up his jeans. He helped her to her feet and she did the same, letting his seed spill into her panties; she’d feel used and slutty until she changed and it would be wonderful.
With barely a word spoken she floated through the final lock up procedure, finalising the day’s tally, bring down the remote-shutters and ensuring all the lights were off. They floated out into the night like air, appetites already building for more fun.