Who's the Bigger Fool?

Once a month, or whenever the need for a taming hand arises, powerful men visit me in my apartment. I'm not like them at all; far from being a banker, lawyer, doctor or army officer, I'm a totally average guy who works a drone job and earns enough to rent a nice apartment by myself. If that's the case, how do I draw in such influential men? Why do they leave my home with shaky knees, broken bodies and weights off their shoulders? Here's the secret: I'm a healer, and milking is my medicine. It isn't even really about the sex. Sex is just a metaphor. I enjoy their bodies, and they certainly enjoy the paces I put their bodies through, but what we're really in it for is release. It's tiring to be strong. You have decisions to make, people to manage, corporations resting on your broad shoulders. Even worse - and you'd be surprised how often I see them - the dads. Crushed by their responsibilities, these men have no choice but to be okay. They have nowhe

I'm definitely settling in to the open marriage thing. I'm having fun looking at men, hell, and girls, who have matched with me on Tinder, even though I don't match back with anybody. Well, other than my first match, and the guy I work with. Speaking of the first, Darren messaged me and asked when I was available, as he'd like to see me again. I assumed that some sort of sex was part of "see me," because that's all we were to each other. I'd told him I was pretty busy at the weekend, but he could join me on one of my pre-planned activities. Yoga? No, he wasn't interested. The gym? No. Running? Here, he'd perked up, and we'd agreed to meet in an out of the way wooded area where we could probably have some fun. That's the thing with Tinder - hosting. I didn't want him knowing where I lived, and I'm assuming he was the same. Maybe he was married (don't care - that's on him for not declaring it) or maybe he lived with his

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Fae's Pov: I was kneeling in a puddle. It smelled like piss that had sat in one place for days. In fact, I knew this to be the case, as it was my own, and I hadn't been able to move from this spot for longer than I could remember. I felt sick, itchy, cold, hungry and tired. I had begged for at least a full day to be set free. My voice was nearly gone and my throat was raw but no relief was ever given. My arms were chained behind my back and the chains dug into my naked skin, leaving deep marks that ached. Suddenly, the mind numbing silence was interrupted. I felt my heart begin to race as footsteps echoed in the nearly empty room. I flinched, violently, when I felt a heavy hand grip my small shoulder. I was unable to see his face, due to the blindfold I'd been made to wear, but it hardly mattered. I didn't even know if it was day or night or for how many days I'd been here and all I wanted was to be back at home, safe with Ms. Luna. I'd just become an adult, a

Sandy was sitting with her dorm mates at a long table over another mediocre lunch in the dining hall. She was a twenty year old college junior. Their all-girl dorm -- it was the 1960s -- ate their meals together in one large room. Bored by the never-ending tales of boyfriends, Sandy wondered whether the food would have been better if her family could have afforded that private college. At least the dorm weight she put on here at the state university had transformed her skinny girlish figure into the more voluptuous womanly figure the guys were noticing. Her meandering thoughts were interrupted by a minor commotion at the far end of the room. Someone called out her name. She stood and walked over to see what was going on. All the girls' eyes followed her, keen for some interesting gossip. Standing with his back to her as she approached the door was a tall, dark, young man. His hair was long, just reaching the shoulders of his jean jacket. He wore hiking boots and a weathered bac