The Blue Cantina: Anna’s Surrender by Paul Blades
The lovely Anna is just 27 and the founder of a social service agency, providing a safe haven for displaced and abused young woman. She’s put heart and soul into this agency, but when her best friend Carol, a former addict, suddenly makes off with the quarterly operating budget for the agency, over $250,000, Anna’s entire world comes crashing down. She has nowhere to turn but to Miles Devlin, a somewhat shady backer of the agency, and the president of the board of trustees. Devlin does no favors without demanding something in return, and Anna has little room to bargain. The cagey Devlin suggests she make up the deficit of funds by agreeing to serve as his sexual plaything for a year. Of course, she recoils at the very suggestion, but Anna realizes that she has little choice, and in desperation she agrees to his terms.
Devlin requires Anna draft a written confession, taking complete responsibility for the missing funds, then submit to a trial weekend at his house. Once there, Devlin demands her complete surrender, and she suffers a host of humiliations and rigorous treatment as she’s turned into a lowly sex toy. She’s trained and punished by the servant Vincent, and is at Devlin’s beck and call day and night. While suffering the demeaning treatment, her own rough sexual past comes back to haunt her, and she struggles with her lustful reactions to Devlin’s use of her. Although Anna has the option of backing out of the year long agreement, she realizes that her alternatives are few, and submitting to Devlin may the only way to save herself and her beloved agency.
Paul Blades leads the reader through Anna’s harrowing sexual misadventures as she’s forced to suffer debasement, bondage, whipping, slave training, exhibitionism, gagging, oral, anal, straight and lesbian sex, and a good deal more. This story is not a romance, and not for everyone…but for those who enjoy a well told story graphically depicting the extremes of female surrender.
In a subterranean lounge in a large, converted mansion on the outskirts of a major, metropolitan, American city, three men sat around a small table, their glasses filled with top shelf booze. They were relaxed, enjoying the show. The men were all either approaching middle age, or had just crossed that amorphous, ill defined border. They were all dressed in sleek, well tailored suits, seemingly, in the dark light of the nightclub, all cut from the same cloth. On their wrists were expensive, elegant wristwatches. Their hair was clean cut and well trimmed as befitted men of substance, with a tinge of grey here and there. They were in a celebratory mood.
On the stage in front of them, highlighted by several strong, small spotlights, about four feet off of the floor, a pretty, young girl, outfitted only in a pair of glittering, sapphire earrings and a pair of bright red high heels, had just begun her routine. A slow, rhythmic beat was being emitted at high volume from the club’s sound system playing one of those forgettable tunes that combine a dulsatory vocal track accompanied by an underlay of unidentifiable instruments. The beat was, however, appropriately languorous for the slow, enticing movements that the girl was making on stage. She stood with her legs spread, her hips undulating and her hands wandering her body as if on a voyage of discovery.
She was obviously aroused, as the glistening of the gaping slit between her hairless love lips indicated. From time to time, she would point a dainty finger at her stiffened clit and give it a loving massage. Each time she did, her eyelids fluttered and her face slackened. She had the men’s full attention.
The nightclub was small, with seven round tables covered by light blue tablecloths and with seats for four or five around each one. The floors and wall were colored a dark navy blue. The short service bar, behind which a heavy set, bearded man dispensed drinks dressed in a crisp, light blue sports shirt and a matching tie, was also blue. Even the small, round paper coasters under the men’s drinks were colored a shade of blue. It was as if, when the below ground level establishment had been constructed, there had been a sale on blue somewhere and the designers had taken full advantage of it. Above the bar, in script, were the words, ‘The Blue Cantina’ in, of course, bold, blue neon lights.
The lighting in the club was low, just bright enough for the men to be able to make out the features of the other men at their table. It was early yet, and only two of the other tables were inhabited, one by a trio of men attired and of similar aspect to the first four. At the other table sat a lone man nursing a neat brandy in a cavernous, elegant snifter. He was tall, a little older than the rest, and seemed put off by the loud, insistent music. A waitress, wearing only a frilly blue thong and matching blue high heels, stood nearby waiting for a signal from any of the men to fulfill their desires.
The stage itself was small, maybe about seven or eight feet all around. It had a runway that led back to a large, steel door from which the girl had first appeared. Sitting on a stool next to the door, his presence obscured by the low lighting, was a tall, well built man in his early to mid thirties. He was clean shaven and wore a dark blue t-shirt, jeans and work boots. His demeanor was harsh and observant as if he were waiting for some faltering in the young girl’s efforts for the opportunity to spring forth and correct her.
The girl on the stage looked about 22. She had ample, but not oversized breasts, clearly all natural by their easy sway and graceful arc. Her head was adorned with mid-length, curly brown hair done up in ringlets. Her lips, painted a deep red to match the shiny polish on her finger and toe nails, were thick and moist. During her routine, she kept them pursed as if inviting their use. On her belly, three or four inches above the top of her excited puss, was tattooed in bright blue ink an ornate, cursive ‘D’.
The song slowed to a finish and the girl paused momentarily until the next one began. The men remained silent during the brief interval, no one wanting to break the lascivious spell that the dancer had exuded into the room. The next song had a sharper, more lively beat and the girl’s ministrations to her body and the wriggling of her smooth, enticing hips gained energy.
There was a gleaming steel pole behind her, and she turned her body towards it. Placing her hands on the pole above her head, she spread her legs and slowly slid down it, her well toned rear cheeks keeping time to the rhythms of the tune. Her feet slipped out as her torso went lower and lower, jutting her derriere out deliciously and creating more room between the upper half of her body and the pole. When she was bent horizontal to the stage, her legs spread widely, her breasts swinging lustfully from her chest, she took a small, delicate hand and slipped it between her thighs. As her hips rocked back and forth, she used her hand to spread the engorged lips of her pussy, revealing an expanse of soft, pink, wrinkled skin within. She plunged her two longest fingers in the tiny hole and began to stroke herself wildly.
All eyes were riveted on her frenetic self pleasuring. Glasses found their ways to lips without sight. Several of the men shifted themselves as if making room for their hardened cocks in the pants of their well tailored slacks.
When the third song began, a return to the luxurious beat of the first, the girl reached down to the side of the stage and produced a six or seven inch long simulacrum of a male member. It was pink and had a wide base. She knelt at the front of the stage and inserted it into a slot so that it was standing straight up. Eyeing her appreciative audience, the girl commenced a languorous stroke of the faux penis. She bent over and, holding the bottom with her two hands, spread her tongue and then her lips over it. She was clearly well practiced in the arts of fellatio and her efforts at stimulating the pinkish prong induced several of the men to engage in casual, surreptitious strokes of their stiffened pricks.
But it was the fourth song that they all were waiting for. Its rhythm, like the second, was hard and fast. The pink prong was now wet with the girl’s saliva. Looking up at the men, who she could barely see due to the glare of the spotlights on the stage, but who she nonetheless knew were out there, she gave her weighty chest a shake, sending her plump mounds into motion and then, slipping forwards and rising to a crouch, she placed the head of the thick penal substitute at the fulcrum of her thighs and slowly lowered herself on to it.
The attractive, naked, young girl let the object fill her. Her knees were spread widely and the men could see the plastic surface push aside her soft labial lips and disappear within her. Placing her hands on the insides of her thighs, the girl began to thrust herself up and down on the faux cock energetically. Her passions were obviously rising fast. One hand drifted to the apex of her distended crevasse and rubbed furiously at her stiffened clit. The other ascended to her jumping breasts and stroked and pinched her hardened nipples. Her lips were parted and her eyes had closed to slits. Her head alternated from leaning back, revealing her graceful, pale white throat and leaning forward, her curly, brown hair hanging down and forming a curtain around her impassioned face.
The music came to a halt. No new tune replaced it. The room was filled now with the sounds of the girl’s developing lusts. She was moaning as she pleasured herself before the men. A rosy aura had spread over her chest above her breasts. Perspiration was beading all over her lithe, shapely, young body.
When the girl’s crisis came upon her, she gave out a loud groan. Her body shook and her thighs quivered. She called out “Oh! Oh! Oh!” as her pussy’s spasms drove her to ecstasy. She seized her breasts and squeezed them harshly. Her eyes rolled back and her lips spread open to allow her utterances of pleasure to escape.
When the paroxysms of her pussy finally faded, the girl took a deep breath. She looked up anxiously at the audience, appearing to her only as dark, male forms. An appreciative round of applause broke out and her anxious aspect turned to one of relief. She rose from her pinioned perch and removed the cum-coated instrument of her pleasure from the stage and tossed it into a bin behind it. Giving the men a respectful bow, she retreated hurriedly back up the runway. She paused before the large, ominous door and placed her wrists together and in front of her, presenting them to the man who sat there on the stool. He took a pair of bright, steel manacles and placed them on her wrists, joining them. She opened her mouth and he inserted a bright red, round ball into it. The ball had long, leather straps affixed to each side and he tied them behind her head.
When the girl was properly outfitted, the man pressed a buzzer next to the door. The door opened from the interior and the girl darted in past it.
One of the men at the first table, the group of four, announced to his friends. “I know which one I want.” The other men laughed.
“You may have to wait your turn,” another replied.
The tall, elegant, older man had finished off his brandy and risen from his seat. He walked slowly and assuredly to the side of the stage and advanced to a large, oaken door. From his pocket he produced a rectangular piece of plastic that looked like a credit card. He slipped it along an electronic device next to the door and its lock clicked open. He pulled the door towards him and entered.
A moment later, a tall, thin, young girl, not much more than nineteen, with long, strawberry blond hair done up in a ponytail with a bright blue ribbon, emerged from behind the large, steel door. Her mouth was distended by a bright red ball gag. She stopped by the man outside the door and raised her manacled wrists to him. Taking a small key, he unlocked the shiny confinements and then removed her gag. The girl then hurried down the runway towards the stage.
When the music started again, the long legged, naked, blond beauty began her undulations.