Sadistic Lesbian (BDSM Gender Play Sissy Erotica) - Submissive Suzy - ebook
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Everyone laughed and started groping Bob's bosom and hips while he fought to keep away the searching hands. A pair of lips kissed his ear lobes, then the lips started kissing his mouth and throat.It was so confusing that Bob did not even know what was happening. He was vaguely aware of Lisa's shrill laugh of triumph as die cried out, "Go ahead-rape the she male! Rape the she male!"Someone tripped Bob. He went over on his back. The room was swirling. Everything was hot and then freezing cold. His heart pounded and slammed in his throat.His dress was being lifted up and hiked so high that the exposure of his crotch made him feel shockingly naked. Hands palmed him, other hands tweaked his nipples; still more hands stole beneath his hips and inside the elastic of the panties and became humiliatingly intimate.*************************Warning: This ebook contains explicit and forbidden descriptions of taboo sexual activity. It may include themes or elements of taboo, forbidden, and adult topics. It is intended for open minded mature readers who will not be offended by graphic depictions of sex acts between consenting adults.XXX Adults Only 18+ Graphic Content

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Sadistic Lesbian

Submissive Suzy

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Copyright © 2016 Submissive Suzy

Darque Taboo Press

DarqueTabooPress@Gmail.com

Search For “Darque Taboo Press” to find more forbidden and taboo erotica.

All Rights Reserved: No part of this publication may be reproduced or retransmitted, electronic or mechanical, without the written permission of the publisher; with the exception of brief quotes used in connection with reviews written for inclusion in a magazine or newspaper.

Disclaimer: This book contains explicit sexual content, graphic, adult language, and situations that some readers may find objectionable which might include: multiple sexual practices, heavy and strong BDSM themes and elements, erotic elements and fetish play. This e-book is for sale to adults ONLY, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase. Please do not try any new sexual practice, especially those that might be found in our BDSM/Fetish titles without the guidance of an experienced practitioner. Neither the publisher nor its authors will be responsible for any loss, harm, injury, or death resulting from use of the information contained in any of its titles. All characters depicted at  least eighteen years of age or older.

Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. All characters, places, businesses, and incidents are from the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual places, people, or events is purely coincidental. Any trademarks mentioned herein are not authorized by the trademark owners and do not in any way mean the work is sponsored or associated with the trademark owners. Any trademarks used are specifically in a descriptive capacity.

Table of Contents

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER ONE

When he first saw her, Bob McGill thought he had flown to Paradise. She was pushing her way through the writhing couples on the floor mats, stopping only to stare smilingly as one mannish looking girl peeled away the blouse of a femme, and then hungrily attacked the pink softness of the girl's breasts.

"Who is that?" gasped Bob, struggling on his floor mat, but the effects of the Scotch were too strong. His companion for the evening, a broad-shouldered foot-ball player was engrossed with the attentions of a slender blond youth with the desires of a female who kept whispering, "I'm better than a woman... come up to my pad and you'll see."

The football player turned drink-bleary eyes to pierce the thick clouds in the cellar club in one of Greenwich Village's more infamous waterfront districts. "Who?" Then, "Oh-that's Mimi DuClos. Lookit them boobs-bet you'd have a feast on them. Hey, she's coming here." He giggled as the slender boy put his hands on his chest and started unbuttoning his shirt to steal inside. "Get a load of them hips. Say, she's wild about guys. No, not you," he said brusquely to the blond boy who had already opened the shirt and was kissing his nipples. "Want me to introduce you, Bob?"

"Maybe," Bob McGill said in a thick voice, feeling the effects of the cellar club, the drinks, and the soon-to-come-out weed. "Let me tackle this myself."

The cellar club had no name. It was a renovated speakeasy from the Prohibition days. It was not an official club with any license or anything. It was private-open only to those who participated. That meant you had to smoke weed, puff pot, and fly straight up to Paradise. And it meant you had to put out-for either sex.

At first, Bob McGill had been embarrassed when he made his way down the steep flight of spiral stairs. There were small alcoves, more like closets, with beaded chains for doors. In each, a separate "party" took place.

Several of them had girls making love to girls. One had a blue jeaned girl wearing a man's rough work-shirt, who was lifting the skirt of the trembling partner, then bending down to caress the sleek expanse of white thigh. Moments later, the bull dyke's head disappeared beneath the skirt. From the expression on the girl's face, she was in heavenly ecstasy and kept moaning, "More... more... "

Now, Bob McGill stared around him. A few of the girls were wearing leather jackets, motorcycle boots and skin tight leather pants. Some were like men-with the sensuous appetites of men. Other girls were so feminine, you would never believe they were lesbians.

"Hi," Bob said thickly as the girl called Mimi DuClos, nearly tripped to get over to him. "Having a good time?" He did not know how else to start it off.

Mimi looked haughtily down on him; but when she took in Bob McGill's handsome looks, his youthful face, the short cropped blond hair, the sinewy strength beneath his T-shirt, and the way his blue jeans fitted his lean but hard muscled thighs, her attitude changed.

"Not especially." She searched the dank area for a place to squat. "That is... not until now."

She had midnight black hair, worn loose in a swinging pony tail; she was not especially beautiful or considerably pretty, but in her black capri pants and pink sleeveless blouse, she was a symbol of raw passion. Her breasts were large and uptilted; the pointed nipples were like sharp needles against the blouse. Her hips were custom designed for lovemaking. They were round and gyrated even when she stood still.

Mimi's tummy was flat and hard. Glancing upward, Bob McGill saw her lips-they were thick and full and eager to be kissed. But her eyes, they were green-as green as a hungry tigress, thought Bob. He could feel his heart slamming up in his throat. He knew he had to have her.

"I haven't seen you here before," Mimi squatted. The black capri pants became skin tight around her soft hips, outlining her delicate panties. The tight elastic band must be biting into her thighs. "Are you an artist, writer or what?"

Everybody in the Village had to be creative. Most of them were artists who had not an ounce of ability but to label themselves as canvas dabblers, or no-talented sculptors, was a status symbol.

"I write," admitted Bob McGill thickly, but he had no interest in his typewriter antics. He was even for-getting the letter sent from his folks in Iowa, telling him that since his classroom attendance record was "deplorable" and his grades even worse, they were no longer footing the bill for his educational escapades at New York University. "Come home," the letter demanded. "A hundred dollar check for your expenses is enclosed." And Bob promptly tore up the letter, then cashed in the hundred, sold his textbooks, and decided to live it up. To hell with school and writing.

"I'll bet you can come up with some real weird ideas about kicks," Mimi was snuggling close to him. Her green eyes took in his masculine strength. Her hands strayed, running up and down his broad chest, then toying with his khaki web belt "Are writers supposed to be sex machines?"

Her pink tongue darted out, ran over her thick, pouting lips. "Want me to wind you up?" With that, she moved closer, suddenly wound her arms around him.

It was sensational.

* * *

Her sharp pointed breasts pierced his hard chest; her lips sought his own and then the moist tongue licked at the roof of Bob's mouth. He started trembling when he felt her small, soft hands tracing lines on his broad back. Her hands went lower, then stole around to the hard flat of his stomach... and strayed lower.

His heart was pounding.

The blood roared in his ears. A moment later, she was unbuckling his belt. Her soft hands reached inside.

Bob McGill almost reeled. The shock was like explosive dynamite. He pulled away. His face was flushed. The thick acrid odor of smoke was making him dizzy. "Hey," he gasped, "easy... easy... "

"I thought you'd wake up," she smiled, but her hands were busy until, before he could even help it, she had pulled down his pants, exposing himself lewdly.

The football buddy unwound himself from his own love affair with the slender blond boy. "Say you're really built," he managed to say. A strong, hairy arm shot out and examined Bob who kicked him away. "Save it for your lover. I don't dig that queer bit!" Just then, from the swirling fog like mist, two girls appeared, arm in arm, they were exploring each other. One girl's sweater was unbuttoned in front, exposing the lush swell of her rich breasts. The other girl was colored, as dark as chocolate, and her glossy black hair had been straightened, so that it hung in smooth waves down her back. "Nothing like chocolate and vanilla," she said as she lifted up her blouse and let everyone see her ebony breasts, smooth as chocolate pudding, with the most red tips ever seen.

Both of the girls fell to the ground, oblivious to the bleary eyed stares of the others, and started making Sapphic love to each other.

The last that Bob McGill saw was a pair of bronzed buttocks flashing in the dim floodlight that was about the only illumination afforded in this cellar joint.

From somewhere, a blare of a trombone sounded the signal; following was a horn and then a bass player joined in a weird harmony that was like a deafening intoxication to their ears.

Mimi DuClos snuggled closer to her new discovery. "I like blond Vikings. That's you," she fingered his chin and pushed her breasts up higher so that he could be within reaching distance. "Guess you're the bashful type. Good. Makes it all the more exciting."

Then an intruder came in their midst. He was a thin fellow, wiry, looking like an overgrown college boy. "Mimi," he stared at both of them-letting his eyes go over Bob's strong frame-"where've you been?" He pulled at her wrists to get her on her feet. "Come on, let's you and me dig this crazy jazz... "

She resisted and pulled free. "No... no... Henry-I found someone I want to use in my mural."

So she was a painter. Bob McGill was learning more about her. With those enormous breasts, how could any male model keep from getting excited.

She made speedy introductions with a flick of the wrist. "Henry Weiner, this is... oh, what's your name?"

He mumbled his name and in a few seconds, they were all on a first name basis.

Henry was annoyed. "You got the stuff?" he asked Mimi.

She smiled cat-like. "Believe it, baby. I got enough to make everyone turn on at least ten times."

Henry was feverish with excitement. "Are the rest of the cats ready? I can't hold out much longer. You know I never carry it on me. But I gotta have it."

"Sure, sure... I can see it in your face. I know it's time to start the pot rolling." She turned to Bob who was at a loss for words. The thick smoke, the dank cellar air, the crag-slimed walls, the weird assortment of characters, all made him dizzy. He knew they were all on the junky habit. It was no surprise to him. But this petite girl-petite in the sense that she had a trim figure but it was full busted and full blown.

The music came to a crashing halt with a resounding echo of the cymbals. The snares faded and the murmuring stopped.

"Baby," she turned to Bob, "let's you and me get high?"

"I... I don't know... " he swallowed thickly. He was not a big smoker, to begin with. He never took any drags on the weed. But the way she invited him.

"Henry," the girl looked wickedly at the now-kneeling slim, dark-haired young man in neat Ivy League shirt and form fitting continental trousers outlining his rounded buttocks. "If Bobby doesn't fly, we both don't fly."

A nervous twitch erupted in Henry's forehead. "Bobby, you better listen to the lady."

He felt irked. He did not like to be pushed into any-thing. But the way Mimi was fondling him and how she was bringing him alive, made him weak. "Well... maybe just one."

"That's the music I like to hear," he felt relieved. "Come on, Mimi, you're holding!"

She laughed throatily. "I'm always holding-that is, when the mood hits me. We're no stupid junkies, you know."

Everyone was getting excited. They started moving closer together. Henry Weiner crouched down low. A few others came into the semi-circle.

Bob was seated right beside Mimi and became the center of attraction. It made him feel self-conscious. It was so hot in this creepy place. The noise was getting louder. One young man with a short cropped beard crouched into sight. He was bare-chested, wearing just a pair of hiking shorts. He had a gleaming body, with dark nipples. His arms were thick with muscles. Beside him was a girl-she wore a man's shirt that was open all the way down-exposing the shadows between her well rounded breasts. She had a dimpled (naked midriff and below... all she wore was a G-string.

Bob felt his face flush at the sight of so much flesh. The half-naked bearded Beatnik smiled amiably. "Let's start... I'm so charged up now I'm ready to explode!"

Bob McGill had heard that smoking marijuana was "the thing" just as having an occasional cocktail. While the weed was not as habitual as cigarettes, it was a refreshing kick.

"It's no sweat," remarked Mimi DuClos coolly, as if relishing the power she had over them. "Just wait until Bobby takes out the little joy stick. I've got it hidden, you all know where."

"Me? I don't know where it is?" He could feel his emotions becoming sensitive. He was conscious of a painful longing at the bottom of his flat stomach. Luckily, he had drawn up his pants. He was not an exhibitionist and disliked having others looking at his man-hood.

"Reach in... it's snug in my panties." She shifted her body and extended her torso. "Go ahead, it won't bite."

With fumbling fingers, he reached in beneath her skin tight black capris. Her flesh was as smooth as silk and just as delicate. Then he found the elastic band of her panties. He could even see them as the capris were peeled down a half inch.

Coming in contact with the black mesh panties was like touching an electrical live wire. He felt the moisture of her body, the smooth slopes of her flat belly with just the slightest little rise. But Bob McGill was more fascinated with the feel of the warm, moist panties.

He had a sudden wild urge to rip them from her hips, to hug the panties, to kiss them, to wrap them around his own hips and fly straight to heaven.

It was his secret longing and none of them could possibly be aware of it. He had a fetishistic fascination for feminine lingerie. It was an aphrodisiac to his senses just to look upon a pair of worn undies. Silk stockings drove him wild.

Black leather boots made him a stallion. Not a powerful stallion since it humbled him into voluntary humiliation when a girl wore black leather boots. He willingly performed degrading acts if only to be given permission to love the boots.

He had come to this cellar club, hoping to find others with the same interests: it was a blind hope, but it was something to look for. But everyone was obsessed with their own pursuits and he lacked courage to reveal the slightest inkling of his secret desires.

He had another, more pronounced longing.

Bob McGill was a transvestite. He would wear feminine clothes, assume the personality of a female, and become a sexual stallion! Without this cross-dressing, he was shy, introverted, unhappy.

"They're all waiting," gasped Mimi DuClos as she flattened her curvaceous body and started sighing as she felt Bob's fingers stroke her intimate pride, then go down even lower to the crotch of her silky panties. "Ooooh," her eyes became glazed. "I love that. You have such... s-t-r-o-n-g fingers." Gasps escaped her pouting lips as she wiggled her hips to accommodate his searching fingers. "I love it," she said huskily.

Bob was as nervous as a cat in a seafood store. He could feel his own condition. With his tight blue jeans, it was obvious the others knew he was aroused. "Hold still," he said. Then he felt it. A rounded object. He held it tight, withdrew it.

Impulsively, he brought his hand up to his face. The heady scent of the panties made him swoon with excitement. He was all choked up.

"Let's have it!" Henry Weiner snatched the round object from his fingers. He was feverish with anticipation. The others crowded around and watched Henry unroll the slender square of cellophane. He extracted a cigarette and held it up. Everyone was chattering at once.

A long haired girl called out, "A drag for each-just a drag." They were all so excited, they could hardly control themselves.

They gathered around in a closely-formed circle; this meant that the "joint" as the weed was called, could be passed from one to the other.

Henry Weiner lit a wooden house match with his fingernail. The glow was blinding. Then he lit the joint; he was, an expert as he took a deep drag, but keeping his hands cupped around the joint so the precious smoke would not escape. He inhaled deeply and held his breath with a gasp. He let the smoke bathe his lungs. Then, with some reluctance, he passed the joint to the person on his left-She repeated the process and turned dizzy with a glazed expression; she turned to the person on her left and that was how the process continued. Soon, the joint has boiled down to a roach. This, Bob McGill learned, was a short little butt. No waste, though. Henry Weiner inserted a pin, held it, and then took a drag.

"Whammy!" he screeched.

The roach was the most powerful segment of the joint. Just one drag and you hit the ceiling or the cloud!

Henry was so wild and flying so high, he could not control himself. He ripped off his shirt, showing a thin muscled chest, then fumbled with his form fitting continental trousers. "I'm hot!" he yelled in delirium. "I'm hot."

A big lipped Negro swished right up and lisped, "I'll cool you off, darling." He then pulled Henry's trousers down around his knees. The Negro kneeled before him and in full view of the laughing and "high" entourage, made him feel as hot-and then as cool as he would ever feel.

"It's good," chirped Henry, dizzily swaying and not caring about the way he was being mauled by the Negro who was kissing his chest, going down around his hips and then kissing his inner thighs. "Oh... it's REAL good!" was Henry's ecstatic exclamation.

Bob McGill, who had taken a deep drag of the joint, was exhilarated himself, but not enough to permit him-self to be made into such a spectacle.

Other couples were in various stages of nudity on the floor. Cushions were all askew. Chairs were over-turned. The air was so fetid with the burning grass odor of the marijuana, that Bob's eyes started to water.

He put his arm around Mimi DuClos who was laughingly disentangling herself from an anxious blonde girl who had peeled her silken sheath down around her waist and was cupping her breasts, shaking the soft bulgy beauties and saying huskily, "They're yours, Mimi-love them. Please."

From behind, a happy cry pierced the gloom and a husky man bounded forth. "Let me love them." He leaped onto the girl, flattened her down on the floor. The two of them writhed in the throes of ardor. The girl tried to fight him off, but he was already pulling her dress down lower, exposing her white tummy, then the forbidden triangle.

It was too much for Bob McGill. He had come here on the invitation of the football hero who was an old hand at such "tea" parties, as the weed smoking fetes were called. But Bob was still shy at such exposure of the raw passionate urges. He felt his heart pounding. The way Mimi was holding him, made him even more pained with desire. But he had to be alone. Completely alone with Mimi DuClos.

"Feel hot... feel real hot, sweetie?" Mimi was snuggling closing, pushing his hands on her blouse, guiding his fingers until they encircled around the rounded globes, tweaking the needle sharp tips. The breasts were soft and mellow. "Take off my blouse," she begged.

Mimi could not control the fanning warmth as it spread up through her loins; nearly always, just one little whiff of pot, and she was real high. Her thighs became hungry for naked flesh to invade her. She wanted moist lips to kiss and love her-to make her burn into a blaze.

She stretched out both arms, wanting some flesh. It mattered little whether it was male or female. She wanted as much as she could get. As long as it quenched the gnawing fire, she wanted it.

A new girl now came into the picture. She, unlike Mimi, was like a pixie, small and rather olive skinned. She had a woolen skirt, black stockings, with a form fitting turtle neck sweater that was so pink, she appeared to be naked.

"Mimi," sighed the girl. "Mimi."

She recognized her, "Lisa! Love me, my dearest. Oooh, look at the nice boy I've got. Let's all three... " Then her open mouth was seized and Lisa bore down heavily, flogging the roof of her mouth with her tongue.

Lisa's hands strayed, molding and fingering. It was passion in an erotic sensation but it was so good. Mimi just closed her eyes. She felt, in a dream like trance, the way Lisa was pulling up her blouse, peeling it higher, then wrinkling it just above the arm pits.

Her naked breasts plunged forth. They were creamy soft, with tips as thin as needles, puncturing forth in hot ecstasy. Mimi loved the way Lisa's mouth was devouring her breasts. Mimi kept gasping, making moaning sounds, while her body undulated and trembled with desire.

Bob McGill fell under the spell. Already, the effects of the joint began to seize his senses. His eyes were bleary and bloodshot. Fire coursed through his veins. He felt a throbbing at the base of his temples. At the bottom of his hard, flat belly, there was an agonizing pain that could not be repressed much longer.

He fell upon Mimi, waiting for the girl called Lisa to kiss her down below... and then Bob kissed Mimi's still-warm lips, warm from Lisa's mouth. Bob felt an aphrodisiac at the thought that he was kissing the lips that had just been kissed by a girl.

"Higher, baby, higher," he urged her to lift up her enormous bosom. The breasts were huge. The dim light was in a strange focus. This may have made them larger.

Bob did not know. He did not care. He loved the soft hollow of Mimi's throat. Then he kept kissing her down, tweaking the moist nipples until they were swollen with urgent desire.

"I love it," was Lisa's shrill cry as she seized Mimi's capris and peeled them down around her knees. Facing the panty covered torso, Lisa fondled her so intimately that Mimi began to twist and twitch. Her lips sought Bob's; her hands struggled with the buttons of his shirt, pulling them open, then stroking his broad, masculine chest.

From somewhere, hands unloosened his belt and pulled down his trousers. Man's hands. The same hands explored him, from behind, then stole beneath the upper region of his hips and seized him so intimately that he almost screamed.

Bleary eyed, he turned to see an older, white haired man with a flushed face. He, too, had been smoking pot and he was high-high as a cloud.