Obedience is not understood until tested. Submission is not pure until proven.

Top Hunt Blurb Excerpts



Follow corporate VP Jennifer Campbell down the dark corridors of her deepest desires, in a quest for total submission. Unsatisfied with her current top, she embarks on a sexual odyssey to find a stricter dominant who will give her the thrills she so wantonly desires. Soon Jennifer finds herself as a coveted prize, sought by two Masters, whom she must eventually choose between, but only if she proves worthy to serve both.  She also wants to kneel beside and be a slavish sister to the sublimely obedient Gail, but Gail serves Keefe Murdoch, the Master of a shadowy place called The Mansion where submissive dreams are granted everyday. Jennifer is also confronted by the deeply submissive desires of her flaxen-haired assistant, Donna, who she feels she must mentor in the lifestyle, but Donna longs for nothing less than to be trained as Jennifer's personal sex slave.

Excerpt 1 Jennifer meets Gail and Master Keefe


Shortly after I sat down, I spotted a strikingly beautiful, blonde submissive. Kneeling alone beside a corner table opposite me, she had her legs spread wide apart. Ball-gagged, and wearing a latex bra with her prominent nipples exposed, she wore nothing else. What fascinated me about her was how she periodically masturbated herself in front of the entire lounge. She would frig her gash, as calmly as another woman might adjust her skirt, or apply lipstick. Each time her fingers dove into her slit, her eyes searched the room almost frantically, for her missing Master.

In all honesty, my first thought about her were not about her Master. Feeling powerful, raw envy of her, I mentally saw myself kneeling there, with my wet pussy ready for my Master to use upon his return. Fantasies blossomed in my mind, about what she must be thinking and feeling. How did it feel to frig your open cunt in front of a roomful of people in obedience your Master?

Finally, I came to know I must meet this Master, who commanded such sacrifice and slavish love from this beautiful woman. Gripped by Carpe Diem, I lifted my glass and walked swiftly over to the table, sitting down opposite the ale mug to wait. Sipping at my Chablis, I waited for quite a while, but felt totally unable to take my eyes off the blonde, whose  arousal rose, then waned, with the steady cycle of masturbation she imposed on herself.

Her Master came up from behind me.

“Gail, have you found a new friend? I hope you behaved yourself in front of company.”

He passed by me, as if I were not there, on his way to her. He reached down to feel her wet hole. After ascertaining his orders had been obeyed, he sat down across from me. In his presence, silence was all I could muster as I waited for him to speak. His first words would be so telling. Would he make me wet with his voice?

“Keefe Murdoch, my submissive is called Gail. She is currently in service to me as a live-in slave. Who might you be? Do you have reason to be at my table?”

The self-assured voice of someone used to being instantly obeyed. Yes, it did make me wet, but I wanted to know more before I played my cards.

“Gail behaved very well indeed, obeying what I assume were your orders on a regular basis. She is such a well-trained submissive, I simply had to meet her Master.”

The instant I laid eyes on him, he had passed all my attractiveness standards. His rugged face, framed with curly brown hair, set against bright, blue eyes was truly inviting. A jutting jaw and trim beard added to his look, enhanced by the simple fact he was not clad in fetish wear. A dark blue knit sweater, tight black pants with a worn gray sports coat made him look genuine, standing out markedly from the herd in leather and latex.

 “I’m Jen, for now. Have you been training female submissives long?” The answer would not be important, only the idea of me being a female dominant which the question should plant in his head.

Smiling at me, he seemed well aware I intended to be difficult. By not revealing my purpose, I had started a chess game of sorts. It would play out; move and countermove, until I left, or he revealed my true intentions. Wondering how long I might last against him, I listened while he made his first move.

“Do you have a regular play partner in the club, Jen?” Not even bothering to answer my question told me he knew it to be a ruse.

            “No, I am currently without a partner. Do you allow others to play with Gail?” To remain a mystery to him, I must keep alive the possibility of being a dominant female. Countermove, his play..

Regarding me for a moment, his eyes still made me feel naked in front of him.

“Occasionally, but I always know with whom I allow her to play. Gail’s training must not be spoiled by fools. Can you tell me some slaves you have trained?” A devilish smile crossed his face, for he knew he had me.

With nothing to say to this, as I had not trained any submissives, I opened my mouth and words came out. Finding myself speaking, but not understanding, I knew my subterfuge to be ended.

“Gail is so very beautiful, along with being well train . . . “

The chess game over, Keefe Murdoch’s fist came slamming down hard on the table, making Gail and I jump in response. Having my full attention, he leaned in, invading personal space like he owned it, while giving me a hard stare. His blue eyes never blinked, but I buckled, quickly dropping my head, and placing my hands at my side.

When he spoke next, he extruded a quiet confidence, knowing he had complete control. “Enough of your prattle. You are looking for a Master who will train you well, and use you hard. This can be arranged. Perhaps someday you may be as well trained as Gail is. Your next move is critical, for you must do exactly as I say if you truly desire this dream.” Knowing he had my attention, he leaned back in his chair, his hands beginning to pet Gail.

Gail knelt there as he ran his fingers through her golden tresses; much like you would an obedient dog. Moving to her mouth, he removed her ball gag, sticking his fingers inside her mouth. Without hesitation, she licked them as the obedient dog would certainly do. Grabbing hold of one of her rosy nipples, he pulled it toward himself with such force he made her cleave to him. She uttered not a sound, yet I knew it must hurt her terribly.

“Do you want me to feel your body this way? Are you wet, desperately hoping I will do to you what I do to Gail?”

Soaking wet, I felt sure my silk panties would show it. With nothing left to me than to reveal the truth of my nature, I spoke quietly. “Yes, I am. I need to feel these things, to be your slave.” Laid out now, I bared my desires to him. Clothes still clung to my body, but he had seen inside, and correctly guessed my overpowering craving. The moment of truth had come, I could feel it.

“If your submission is true, you must stand up now, remove all your clothing, drop to your knees, and beg me to inspect your body for potential service. However, if you are but a spoiled dilettante, playing around with BDSM, then you will get up, apologize to me for wasting my time, and leave. I grant you thirty seconds to decide, but you should already know your path.” After he finished, he remained still, eyes boring into my soul, a face of stone forcing a decision from me.

To play the cards I came with was all he left to me, for what else did a slave deserve. There would be no reprieve, no rescue, he would not laugh, and say it was all a joke. No, I would be his slave, or a pretender.

Standing on shaky legs, my fingers trembling, mouth dry, I reached to undo the top button of my silk blouse, but it would require more strength than I could summon.

Excerpt 2 Jennifer serves Grant Farrell

Not wasting time, he pulled a latex hood down over my head to deprive me of sight. There were only two, small nose holes, and a zippered mouth hole, in the hood. “Stand up, slave, and follow along behind me.”

Feeling him take hold of my nipple chain, I stood, stepping forward tentatively. A tug on my nipples let me know I would not be allowed to move slowly. This test, of my trust, forced me to walk quickly behind him, trusting where the chain and my Master led me. Soon, the floor under my bare feet changed from carpet to wood. Assuming we were now in his playroom, I heard a door close behind me.

Leather around my throat came next, a collar, not very wide, but seemingly attached to something. The leather and my neck were pulled down, so I was bent forward at the waist now. Hearing the click of chain to chain, I tested the collar, finding out I would not be standing until released. My hands were taken next, cuffed together behind my back. The cuffs were raised until my arms were stretched up toward the ceiling. Hearing his footsteps walking away, I wondered if he had left me, but in few moments he posed his first direct question to me.

“Listen, slave, tell me, by its sound, what instrument do I hold in my hand?”

The air was cut, seemingly sliced in two, by a whistling noise. The sound, all too familiar to me, came from a cane – a thin rod, with whip-like flex, often made of bamboo, and capable of inflicting stinging pain when used on open skin. The cane left a trail to tell where it had been, telltale red stripes of agony. How did he know this was my nemesis, the pain instrument I feared most? Gentle Ned had introduced my bottom to caning, but his had been tapping strokes, I had no illusions of Master Grant’s being similar in nature.

“A cane, Master.”

“Well done, have you felt its bite before?”

Sensing he actually wanted to know my level of experience with the cane, I wondered why? “Yes, this slave has, but not very hard.”

“So some fool tapped at you, rather than truly caning you?”

Bristling at him calling Ned a fool, I realized he was taunting me, and letting me know a simple fact. His cane strokes would hurt like nothing I had ever felt before. “Yes, Master.”

“Would you like to be warmed up first, with a nice flogging?”

Again I sensed sincerity, his offer made to help me cope. In the mental helplessness of the submissive mind, I found myself considering what he might desire me to say. Would he think me weak to ask for a warm up, or did he desire to inflict addition punishment? My dominant side had to rescue me from wallowing in the situation. “Yes, please a warm up, Master. May this slave also be gagged, as if you cane her, she will scream.”

“Wonderful, a willingness to take the punishment, and a concern for previous instruction.”

Happy my response had pleased him, I found my joy ended quickly, as he pushed a jaw-stretching, hard-rubber ball into my mouth then zipped my mouth hole closed. Inside my dark, silent, rubber head prison, I started the slow, steady breathing I knew would help me withstand the approaching anguish.

The flogging began, slow heavy strokes falling on my firm rear globes with regularity. Immediately, I wished for more bondage, as in this position only my head, hands and arms were restrained. My feet and legs could move, to dance, trying to avoid the pain. The squirming, writhing dance had no effect on my pain, but it required more of my energy and air, so I would rather not have done it. Try as I might, I could not stop. In truth, I felt certain he enjoyed the display of my body squirming under his lash. His failure to bind my legs did not happen by accident.

At the landing of his first stroke of the cane, despite my breathing and the warming up of my bottom, I screamed like a spanked child. The jaw-stretching ball and zipped mouth worked well to muffle me, as Master Grant continued to rain down cane strokes on my bottom, and all along the back of my thighs. Each time a stroke landed, I imagined my skin forming the red stripe, which would mark the spot to his eye. The stripes would sting, burn into my nerve endings, until he stopped and like Ned had, he got intimate with his work. Perhaps I would pass out from the excruciating pain, but if I did, I would only feel it when I awoke. A symphony of whooshing cracks filled the air, even audible inside my hood.

No question, this was the worst ordeal I had ever felt. As the searing pain penetrated through me, I wondered how to describe it to Donna. Words might fail me, causing me to break down sobbing, but tears on my cheeks, coupled with an inability to speak of it, might be the best description I could provide to my submissive.

The vicious caning over, I felt the mouth zipper run back over my lips then his fingers helped my tongue dislodge the ball. With another avenue of breathing open to me, I hung my head panting openly, like an overrun dog.

As expected, Master Grant wanted to touch his work, but he did it in a most unusual way. His tongue began to roam over my tortured skin.

Literally, he licked my wounds.  

With Ned, I had thought of the touching as an affirmation of his power of me, but I struggled to understand this licking. Could it be an apology for hurting me?

When his bottom licking stopped, I felt weight being added to my nipple chain. The weight put downward pressure on my tits, making me groan at the additional torment. As the weights swayed, I felt him grab two huge chunks of my skin along the sides of my hips.

“I do enjoy a pounding more when the slave’s ass is well caned.” With those words, his powerful shaft came roaring into my fuck tunnel.

Thrusting deep inside me in a brutal impalement I had no time to prepare for had me struggling not to scream. With the muffling ball now gone, I let out a low wail, at the taking of my gash. A frenzied reaming, deep, powerful, unconcerned for my needs, best describes the next few moments. His thrusting strokes, against my backside, added pressure to the butt plug giving the experience a delicious mix of pleasure and pain. Had he touched my clit, I would have come spasmodically, unable to control my climax, but he did not.

“Got your attention, I see. Well, it wouldn’t do for you to be bored.” His voice, somewhat flippant, let me know he enjoyed me. My body gave him pleasure.

He slapped my flanks, reaching around to bat the weights hanging from my nipple chain. Grabbing my hair, he pulled my head back painfully. Reveling in his deep thrusts, I felt ridden now, a beast used solely for his pleasure. As I had hoped, my mind began to form a clear picture of Master Grant as a dominant. Pain, unrelenting in its nature, formed the basis of his play. His submissives must grab the pleasure they could, as it might fall from his rough use of them. A slave would never be his pampered pet, rather she would be his toy, to be used roughly, and then tossed aside when his interest faded.

“Would you like to climax, slave?” Shocking me, he asked a direct question about my needs, just as I had assumed he had no interest in them. Had I misjudged him?

“Yes, Master, I would love to. If you would rub my clit for me?” Hope welling in my mind, I would love to have a shattering climax with his cock deep inside me.

“Yes, of course, you want your button rubbed. You want me to seek out your engorged bud, grind it until you shake, quiver, and gasp. Sorry, slut, it’s not your time to come yet.” Renewing his hold on my abused hips, he seemed to thrust deeper, harder with his shaft, as if to punish me for thinking I would me allowed climax.

Now I knew his question to me had been a ruse, to raise expectation so it could be dashed. Mind games were clearly part of Master Grant’s repertoire.

His man juice soon spurted in my hole, then I felt his shrinking organ on my lips, and I knew what he required of me. To add to my plugged bottom hole, the sheen of sweat on my body, and my stretched, semen-filled pussy, I now felt well fucked, a used bitch. What more can a submissive slut ask for?

Unfastening my cuffs from high above my back, he released my collar, actually assisting me to stand up. However, when I did, I groaned to fresh pain, as it changed the orientation of the weights to my breasts.

“Move about, stretch, flex your sore muscles, slave. We will continue in a few moments.”

Doing as instructed, I wondered, as slaves do, what would come next.

“I’m going to free your hands now. If they come anywhere near your clit, you will be caned again. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Master.” Testing me again to see if I would disobey, he wanted to see if the raw need to orgasm would overwhelm me. Hearing his feet moving away, and then the door opening, I wondered if he had truly left me alone in the playroom. Making me think he had left would be just the sort of trick he would play. Not a long time passed before I heard his feet again, but without the sound of the door, confirming my suspicions he had never left me.

“Lie down on your back with your arms and legs in the air.” His command, crisp and clear, meant to be obeyed, summoned my slavish instincts to action.

Feeling his touch, my left forearm was pressed to contact with my left shin, then leg and arm were strapped together tightly. Two straps, feeling like leather, one just below the wrist-ankle connection, the other just above the elbow-knee connection. He repeated this binding on my right arm and leg. The straps were uncomfortably tight, simply secure, but my attention to them faded as my feet were suddenly pulled apart. Spread impossibly wide now, I became helpless, a blind, bound slave waiting for use.

Again, I heard his footsteps pad away. They faded to nothing as the door shut. Undoubtedly, I truly had been left alone this time, as I could no longer touch myself. Still his leaving would not be without purpose, as he allowed me to simmer and stew about what he had in store for me. If you want to keep a submissive in an excited state of anticipatory anguish, then blind her, bind her, and walk away.

Finally, I heard the door and his thumping footsteps again. The waiting was over.

There is nothing quite like the bad-good, immediate-cumulative effect of hot wax on a slave’s body. Like a light rain shower of burning, sting drops which eventually form a warm soothing shell over your body. Ned and I had experimented with it, I imagined, as with the rest of his actions, that Master Grant would give me a deeper, more fulfilling experience. 

Perhaps he used those big, glass-bowled candles I had seen in his front room, but whatever he used, he seemed to have a sea of hot wax at his disposal. Starting with drops raining on my breasts, drop after drop of the melted bee secretion covered my mounds, moving briskly so as to always be searing new flesh. A side trip, up my body, he drizzled drops on my neck, which I knew would be felt for hours, similar to the sting of a sun-burn. Then he moved back down, dripping as he went, to cover my tummy, until a shell formed there.

Master Grant displayed his marksmanship next, letting loose with a singeing storm on my helpless clit. The scalding agony had me rocking to try to ruin his aim, but I only succeeded in getting the wax all over my pussy. Groaning, from the stinging intensity, all I could do was take it, stoically. My fear-fueled mind imagined the hot wax leaking down into my hole burning the inner lining of my slit. My fear almost made me call out my safe word, but just as I considered it, he stopped. Now the warm shell of wax, cooling on my pussy, made me feel good. A slave tormented to satisfaction.



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