The mystery guy made Cassie wait while he opened the hotel mini-bar and poured a generous nip of gin into a cut-glass tumbler that looked like it would hold a liter without filling it. Like the rest of the room it had an ambiance of dated luxury.
“Drink. You need to relax a bit.”
“I’m not on edge. I just need to cum.” Her wrists were sore in the cuffs. It was an act of willpower not to squirm in an attempt to make them more comfortable.
“Best of luck with that. I don’t care whether you do or you don’t.”
She chinked her wrists. “How am I supposed to drink?”
“I should have brought a dog bowl.” He chuckled to himself. “Come here.”
She stumbled closer. He unfastened her coat and threw it on the bed, a single king-sized mattress, unusual for hotel rooms. His hands found her breasts, and he dug his fingers deep into her flesh.
She let out a long sigh.
He stopped and flicked her nipples through the dress. “At attention,” he said. “Turn around.”
She shuffled round and he uncuffed her. She rubbed her wrists, trying not to look resentful.
Next to the bed was a hotel luggage trolley with two large suitcases on it, one gray, one pink. Pink? What was that all about?
He followed her gaze. “I see you’ve spotted my toys. Drink up. Make the most of your freedom. Once you’re done, get undressed. Everything off. There’s space in the wardrobe.
In the bright lights his eyes were more hazel than golden. They were still the sort of eyes that girls in romance novels drowned in. Cassie wouldn’t make that mistake. Romance was not on her agenda and even if it had been, this guy obviously wasn’t the one.
The room was generously sized. A room like this had to be over a thousand a night, and that was a lot of money to spend on a hook-up, wasn’t it? Surely, he could have found somewhere cheaper if he’d wanted. Why was she thinking about it? She should just get on with it. After the weeks of being on top of her boyfriend, she needed this.
She’d been right to pick this guy. He really seemed to know his stuff, and money was no object. What sort of things might be in those cases?
The gin left a warm glow down her throat, and the tension in her belly started to unknot.
“Hurry up, get rid of those clothes you little slut.”
“Sorry.” She bobbed her head submissively. It felt good to get into the role. It wouldn’t take much to slip into the headspace. She was a slut, a slave, obedient property, devoid of responsibility. Yes. She had to hurry to obey her master.
She pulled the dress over her head, and hung it and the coat in the wardrobe.
“The stockings too.”
“Sorry,” she said, again.
“Apology isn’t good enough. I expect immediate compliance.”
She stepped out of her shoes and stripped off the stockings. His cum had dried in a crusty trail down the inside of her leg. Anyone could have seen it, though probably nobody had. She hadn’t worn panties, and so she was completely naked. She glanced down at her hairless sex. The inner lips peeked out, darkened and puffy.
She balled the stockings and tossed them into the bottom of the wardrobe. After hesitating, she picked up the shoes and put them in there too. Odd. She’d been expecting him to tell her to keep them on.
“Come here,” He’d got something from the gray suitcase. The lid was back down but the tip of a leather strap was sticking out.
He took her right hand and slid a soft spandex mitten over her hand. It stretched tight over her fingers and her thumb slipped inside a compartment inside. He unrolled the cuff up her wrist and closed the zip, a delicate little thing. With a twist, he snapped off the pull tab, leaving no way to unzip it.
She swallowed. The rising feeling of losing control was making her wet again. The material was thin and stretchy, but her fingers were still bound together, her thumb was still useless, and he clearly didn’t plan on removing the glove any time soon. If she wanted to back out, she should do it now. Or was it already too late? Would he let her?
Keeping her body still, she turned her head to face him. “Just a second. I’m not so sure about this.”
She couldn’t move freely. He was still holding her wrist.
“Be quiet or I’ll gag you. Good girls know not to use their mouths for talking.”
She pressed her lips tight together. Should she argue? Should she resist?
“Give me your other hand.”
“Now,” he said, pitching his voice a shade harder. “I know what you’re doing. There’s no need. Things will be hard enough for you as it is. You don’t need to make me punish you.”
She was getting so wet. This was what she wanted, but not what she wanted. Wasn’t that the point? She had to obey. No. She could be just as firm as him.
“I told you. Wait a minute. Please.” Her voice was firm, it didn’t waver. It was a lie, like everything she did. Could he see through her?
He laughed. “Alright, play it that way if you want. All the same to me.”
He reached over and took her other wrist. She fought against him, but it was useless, she might as well not have bothered for all the difference it made.
“Stop that. Let me go. I told you to wait.”
He didn’t seem to be listening. Soon, he had her other hand bemittened and the zip-tag broken off.
He let go of her and she jumped to her feet. What could she do? She could hardly run out into the hall. She couldn’t open the door in a hurry, and she was naked. Maybe she could get her dress out of the wardrobe and put it on while he was searching through the suitcase.
How did the wardrobe door even open? Now she looked at it, it was completely flush with the wall. Should she slide it, or push, or pull?
He grabbed her from behind, one hand on her breast, twisting the nipple. She opened her mouth to yell a complaint. With the other hand, he forced a foam ball into her open mouth. It was tough and inflexible. It wouldn’t fit. He kept on pressing, harder and harder. Her jaw felt as if it was about to crack. All at once the ball slipped in and lodged behind her teeth, filling her cheeks. He settled it properly into place.
She tried to spit it out. It wouldn’t move. Her tongue was nowhere near strong enough to shift it. She tried to blow it out but that didn’t work either.
She tried again, but he pulled a strap tight and buckled it behind her head. A second strap buckled under her chin. She couldn’t move her tongue at all now. Immediately, drool started pooling, trickling back into her throat and making her choke. She tipped her head forward and it ran out between her teeth and down her chin, leaving it cold and slimy.
“I guess you’re not a good girl after all. That’s fine. I enjoy improving the attitude of dummies like you. You come on all hot and wet, get a bloke interested and then want to back off, wait a minute, powder your nose, or whatever you do, just to prove that you’re in charge after all.”
She shook her head.
He held her arms behind her back and wrapped bondage tape around her elbows until they touched. She winced at the pain. She wanted to make some snappy retort, but all she could manage was a sniffle.
“By the way, if you make a mess on this hotel carpet, you can pay for it. I draw the line at subsidizing stupidity.”
He lifted the suitcase up onto the bed and flipped it wide open. She glimpsed spreader bars, leather straps, ropes, cuffs, mittens, gags, plugs, dildos and numerous plastic zip-close bags with folded rubber clothing inside.
He picked up a leather tube with straps hanging off it. It was powder blue, fine, soft leather. He held it up so she could see it properly. It dawned on her, it was an arm-binder, a work of art, nothing like the cheap one she’d used on Gabe.
He moved behind her and slipped her arms into the sleeve, then pulled it up. It felt stretchy, soft and clingy like rubber, but it was leather, thin, butter-soft leather. He hooked the straps over her shoulders and tightened the buckles. He loosened the bondage tape and pulled it away, only to slide up the sleeve to replace it. He tightened it around her arms, gradually increasing the pressure.
She cursed into the gag at the pressure. Then he tightened it some more. Her arms were forced hard together up to her elbows, her hands squeezed palm-to-palm in a prayer. The stretch was gone from the leather. Now it was a second skin. She pushed her hands around her side so she could see them. It was so fine and it fit so closely that she could see the knuckles pressing through.
She wriggled her shoulders, but the straps didn’t slip off. There was no way out of the glove. It had her completely in its grip.
“You think that color suits you? To be honest, any slut looks hot in it. You’re nothing special.”
He showed her another leather tube, the same soft blue leather, but this one was covered in laces and d-rings.
He pushed her back onto the bed and raised her leg up in the air. The leather tube slipped on over it, a stocking. No. A boot as soft and long as a stocking. It would reach to her crotch.
He tightened some laces near the ankle and it gripped her foot. She could see, not a boot, but a stocking after all, the foot and ankle lined and boned with steel to hold her foot dramatically en-pointe but without the kind of support the flattened tip of a ballet boot would offer. If she tried to stand in this, she’d be balancing on her own toe, unassisted, with it taking all her weight.
A similar stocking closed around her other leg. Standing was no longer an option.
He folded her leg up and laced her thigh-to-calf, her foot pressed against her bottom. Then the other leg. She strained against the tight fold, the leather and laces creaked but didn’t give at all. Her breath hissed through her nose. Her muscles tensed and strained against her bonds but it was perfectly futile.
There was nothing she could do to get herself free. She couldn’t even get down off the bed without hurting herself. She couldn’t complain or scream for help. The only thing she could do was wait and be used however he wanted. She could let go completely. Scream, shout, thrash about, but it wouldn’t do anything at all. She had complete freedom in her imprisonment.
She was at his mercy in a way she could feel intimately. If he wanted to put her in stricter bondage, he could. Easily. If he wanted to fuck her, or torture her with a vibrator, he could. If he wanted to leave her, moaning in frustration into the gag, he could. There was nothing she could do to change his mind. He could stuff her in a sack and carry her off, never let her go. Anything could happen.
She was dripping wet with the thought of it. Her nipples tingled. Oh please, let him fuck me now, was all she could think, over and over.
He flipped her onto her belly, and grabbed a handful of her hair, dragging her head up, raising her face off the mattress. He leaned over and whispered into her ear. “You can’t pretend you don’t want this you slut. You’re leaking onto the sheets.”
Then he fucked her, exactly the way she wanted.
And then afterwards, he did it again. *
Cassie was alone. He’d left her helpless and face-down on the bed. No matter how she squirmed there was no way to escape. Her hands were bemittened and trapped inside a single-sleeve that was laced so tight that she’d lost her arms to numbness long ago. With her legs doubled up and laced calf-to-thigh, she wasn’t going anywhere.
She was drowning in desire. Her sex was sore from three hard sessions. His cock had been at least as big as Gabe’s. The muscles of her vagina had that feeling of being stretched and re-stretched over again, a kind of ache but not unpleasant. As soon as she got worked up it wouldn’t matter that she was tired, she’d just want something inside her, stretching her again.
In the beginning, she’d had this with Gabe. It had been fantastic. Why was she trading it away? She didn’t want to be some bossy mistress, always worrying about overstepping some invisible limit. Was it what he wanted? She didn’t want to spend her time worrying about whether she was doing the right thing or not. Why couldn’t she just relax like this? Like it used to be? He could give up the chastity thing easy enough, couldn’t he?
The door opened and she twisted to look. It wasn’t easy. Her neck hurt when she tried to turn it. Lying on her front wasn’t ideal, but if she flipped over, all her weight would be on her arms. If he’d stayed away a bit longer she might have experimented with rolling onto her side. That could wait not what he was back.
No. The person framed in entrance was a woman. Cassie’s mind missed a gear and spun for a moment. Then it clicked. The girl from the bar. She’d changed her sexetary outfit for purple flares and a cream silk blouse. There was a seventies vibe about her hair and makeup but Cassie couldn’t say exactly what it was.
Cassie would have started with non-stop questions, except the huge foam ball completely plugged her mouth.
The girl stopped in front of her and leaned forward, putting them eye to eye. “Hello. I’m Octavia, but you can call me Mistress. If I ever let you speak.”
Octavia? Really? Fake name or not, it was as good a handle as any. Octavia unfastened the gag, lifted Cassie’s head up then pulled on the straps. The ball popped out more easily than expected. Cassie’s jaw was cramped up so badly she couldn’t move it, couldn’t speak despite being ungagged. It was still a relief and she sized the chance to suck in great lungfuls of air.
Cassie was still gasping as Octavia rolled her over onto her back. It clearly wasn’t easy for the girl. She was smaller, and wasn’t unusually strong for her size either. Hardly the obvious candidate for the job of mistress, but she had the upper-hand nonetheless.
Octavia fondled Cassie’s breast, with the tenderness an owner might devote to a pet. Her touch was confident, firm but not rough.
“Simon must have liked you. Just look at all the stuff oozing out of your holes. Are you on the pill? It doesn’t matter. He’s had the snip you know? So don’t worry about getting pregnant.” She raised her eyebrows in a purposeful expression. “He’s a bit slack with the bondage though. He doesn’t care that much about it. Don’t worry, we can fix you up. Let’s get you into a decent corset to start with.”
Octavia crawled onto the bed, and straddled her. She leaned down and administered a soft kiss, sucked on her lip and nibbled. Despite expectations, Cassie felt the beginnings of arousal. She wasn’t into women, hated their yielding softness. But physical pleasure didn’t care who administered it. It wasn’t as if she could do anything to stop it.
She had to face it, this girl Octavia could probably make her cum longer and harder than Simon the stud with his big cock. Octavia would know where to press, where to tease, where to tickle, where to rub. Octavia wouldn’t show any mercy or cut her any slack, wouldn’t feel sorry for her. She’d know damn well just how much she was enjoying herself.
“Your lips are cold,” Octavia said. “Now let’s get you dressed the way a girl should be.”
Octavia took a powder-blue leather bundle from the pink suitcase and unrolled it. A corset, leather on the outside, plain white cotton for the lining. Before she knew what was happening, it was wrapped around her and Octavia was hauling her back onto her front to get at the laces.
Silently at first, the laces tightened. Cassie sighed as the reassuringly hug. Octavia pulled and pulled, a little bit at a time. Her fingers darted up and down the back of the corset, pulling and testing, adjusting the tension through each pair of eyelets, with expert speed. The pressure built up until it was beyond a comfortably secure sensation of support. It was insistent, impossible to ignore but always there, somewhere. Her insides were shifting and submitting to the corset’s demands, taking on their new shape, pressing up under her diaphragm, making it harder to breathe.
She wished she could see how she looked. She’d never laced this tight before. If it looked as good as it felt she wanted to at least have a memory of it. This session was special. She’d probably never get to play with such expensive toys again. She’d probably never play with a woman again either. There were so many new feelings, so many new thoughts. Some she didn’t like, but many she did.
It was turning her on, being stuck like this, laced-in whether she wanted it or not, whether she could endure it or not. It was turning her on, in a big way, enough to start the tension building. What would it be like to be kept like this and permanently changed by an item she couldn’t choose to remove? To know all along what it was doing to her? To know what she was becoming in response to its grip?
She was adrift, just in the idea of it. Was it a fantasy, or something she could make real? She could if she dared. The idea of becoming that person, a person who’d choose that path was so alluring. It would be madness. Just thinking of it was making her run like a tap.
Octavia unbuttoned her blouse and slipped it off, revealing the swirling filigree patterns of a cream and gold corset underneath. “I love corsets. You too?”
The petite mistress’s hourglass figure was extreme beyond realistic, a photo that had been edited until it looked fake. But it was real. Seen from the side it held her in an S, her body curving forward and up, her bum sticking out behind, her boobs, which weren’t small, enhanced into a looming overhang.
How would it feel to look like her? An object of desire. To have no choice in the matter, no way to hide it. What would it be like to endure the stares of men, wanting to possess you, and of women, despising you? Or would they feel pity? Or something else, like disgust, or fear?
Octavia probably didn’t go about dressed that way all the time. In fact, she definitely hadn’t been wearing a corset when she’d had her sexetary outfit on. She’d looked wrong in a different way back then, like she’d stepped out of a porn movie and didn’t quite belong in the real world. Maybe all that had changed was the movie she belonged in.
No matter what Octavia looked like, the pressure of the corset was real, as real as the cramp in Cassie’s shoulders. It was something they shared, a kind of bond. Octavia would feel that same relentless pressure, the sensation of her insides with nowhere to go but up or down. The corset plunged low and didn’t allow for much give in the downward direction.
Cassie heaved a breath of air into her chest, fighting the laces, feeling how much she could stretch them. It was liberating to push as hard as she could against the confinement, knowing that she could, and that it would always win. She tried to ignore the bitter envy bubbling up inside her. Octavia was younger, prettier, and kinkier. It was oddly humiliating to be so much at the mercy of a younger woman. She ought to be more mature and know not to get in such humiliating situations.
Somehow, Octavia’s beauty made everything alright. Octavia had that and she didn’t. They’d never be on the same footing, never could be. The rules were different for the beautiful people.
She worked her mouth, feeling some sensation returning. There were so many things she wanted to say to Octavia, but would she be permitted? If she started talking would she be silenced again? She was just an object, a slave, a toy, any wisdom she’d gained in life meant nothing here. All her achievements were boring or irrelevant. She was just a wet hole at the mercy of a Mistress who could make her squirm in pleasure, or scream in pain or frustration, just a living sex toy.
Her face was pressed into the mattress. She twisted her head so that she could see, and breathe easier, though it strained her neck. Octavia was waiting right there, looking into her eyes.
“I was saying to Simon, we should put you in a little doggy cage, load it onto one of those hotel trolleys they use to move baggage and hang a few coats over it. We could roll you out of here and you’d never be seen again. I doubt anyone saw you come in.”
Cassie tried to stop the expression of terror and arousal from showing on her face. She was probably failing.
“How would you like that? To be our full-time pet? No more boring nine-to-five, no worrying about saving for a house or finding a husband. We’d keep you dressed up so nice and pretty, and take you to all the best parties. What do you think? You could say yes.” She leaned in close. “Just say yes. It’s what you want isn’t it?”
“No. Please no. You must be kidding.”
Octavia smiled, even white teeth, eerily perfect. “Am I?” She gave a girlish laugh. “We’ll see.”
Cassie shook her head, emphatic. “Please don’t joke about it.”
Octavia leaned over and clipped a spreader bar between Cassie’s knees, then forced it wider, until the inside of her thighs were stretched to their limit. Her hands were pulled back, lifting her shoulders, then clipped onto the bar by the d-ring on the tip of the glove.
Her body was bowed under tension, harsher than a hog-tie. The corset-boning wouldn’t let her bend her back, so instead, her hips had to give. Her head hung forward and she could look down into her cleavage.
Octavia grabbed a handful of her hair and pulled her head up, showed her a hood. More of the soft powder-blue leather, devoid of eye-holes. She showed the inside, with its breathing tubes, the plugs to push up into her nostrils so they’d be kept open. The mouth had a zipper. There were laces down the back to close it up and straps to make it tighter. A heavy collar could be fastened with three hefty straps. It wasn’t a thing to wear, it was a thing that took control of you, ruled you, made you feel things you didn’t want to.
“Please. Not that,” Cassie said.
Octavia smiled a big smile. Then there was darkness, and Cassie’s breathing got a lot more difficult. She screamed, the sound swallowed up by the hood.*
Cassie had no idea how long she was in the stress position, with the arm-binder pulling her shoulders back and her legs wrenched apart and back, her calves laced tight to her thighs.
She was kept in darkness and the hood muffled sound. It was hard to judge time, who was there or what would happen next.
Sometimes her arms were unclipped from the spreader bar and she was put on her back, but the bar was never removed. Her thighs ached unrelentingly. The rest of the time she was on her front, glove clipped to the spreader bar, taut like a bow.
Sometimes it seemed like it was Octavia working on her, sometimes Simon. She lost track of whether the cock inside her was real or just a rubber fake. Sometimes they used her ass instead of her pussy. She didn’t know whether it was a man or a woman pulling on the clips that tormented her nipples.
Sometimes things were put in her mouth. Other times a ball was forced in and the zip closed on the hood. Most of the time there was a ring gag that jammed behind and between her teeth and strapped tight in place.
Various sweet and bitter fluids were poured into her mouth. She could choose to swallow or to choke. Some were warm, some cold. For all she knew Octavia was pouring in urine with a funnel, or it might have been some wretched aloe vera vitamin drink. She had no idea. She swallowed it all in preference to drowning. She was hungry and thirsty, and much of it was not unwelcome.
A couple of times they held her upright, balanced on her knees, and ordered her to pee. On each occasion she was bursting to go, but it was a humiliation beyond the pain and sexual use to pee on command while held in position by human hands, and she couldn’t let go. They were watching but she couldn’t see them.
In the end, each time, she did it for them, and afterwards they gave her a little round of applause. On balance, that was more humiliating than urinating on command.
There was no mistaking when the powerful mains vibrator was used on her clit, but anyone could have done that. She thought it was Octavia, but she couldn’t be sure. It could make her cum no matter what she was thinking or how tired she was. She’d lost all control of herself.
The darkness, the isolation, the uncertainty, all those things created an overbearing intensity. Every minute that passed she was sure she couldn’t cope with another, but she did. The hood was the best and worst thing she’d ever experienced. She’d never let anyone hood her like this again. She felt so helpless, so used. Everything else would seem anticlimactic in comparison. Would she ever be able to cum without it now?
Afterwards, when all the toys were removed, she lay on the bed, stripped naked, too stiff, too exhausted to move. Stuff that they’d put in her oozed from every orifice. A basic pair of handcuffs locked one of her wrists to the bed-head. At last, she could see and hear, breathe normally again. But it was too bright, and too loud, and the air was so sweet, so unbelievably sweet.
“If you want to do this again, or something else, look up my profile on the site,” Octavia said. “I know you loved it. I’ve been where you’ve been. I know what a trip it is. There are plenty more things to do.”
Cassie shuddered, her eyes screwed closed against the light. More? What on Earth could that be? Octavia had to be kidding.
“I have a boyfriend.” Cassie said. She opened her eyes, blinking awkwardly.
Olivia was wearing a padded coat, about to leave. “Oh. Is he your top?”
“My bottom.” Cassie kept trying to blink the stickiness from her eyes. She couldn’t focus properly.
Olivia giggled. “I should have known. Never mind. Bring him too. A pair of slaves should be twice the fun. Or you can be top, if you’re any good.”
Octavia’s offer might be tempting in the future, but Cassie was too tired to think about it now. She gave a long sigh.
Olivia pushed a giant plastic cup on the bedside table closer on the way out. “The key’s in this thick-shake. Once you’ve drunk enough you’ll be able find it. Don’t spill it. We gave them your credit card for the bond and paid the bill in cash. Make sure you get it back on the way out.”
She left, laughing.*
Cassie released herself and showered, but no amount of washing could remove what they’d put into her, in the dark of the hood. Washing away all the gunk and spunk, the sweat and crust, made no difference. The thing they’d inserted wasn’t something that could ever be removed, it was intangible, an idea, an experience. It was changing her from the inside out and she’d never be able to go back to how she was.
It was daylight by the time Cassie got out of the hotel.
After going home to change, she was stupidly late to work. She went through the day in a daze. Everyone assumed she was hung over. In a way she was. The come-down from the adrenalin rush was crushing. Every muscle, tendon, ligament and bone in her body ached, and was at the same time utterly relaxed. Every little bit of tension had been fucked out of her body.
She felt so loose. Maybe if she forgot to concentrate she’d fall into a heap of disconnected parts on the floor, then melt into a puddle.
She left work early, blaming illness. When she got home she called Gabe.
“Come over now. We need to talk.”*
Gabe took the indicated place on the sofa but didn’t relax, instead sitting upright. “Am I to be punished again?”
“No games tonight,” Cassie said. “This is real. We need to talk.”
His expression sagged. “So this is the talk? Damn. I thought we were good.”
She looked away, but there was nothing else to look at. There was nothing but him, the sofa, and beige curtains.
“It’s not you, it’s me,” she said. Yes. Him, and beige curtains. Good grief, he was hot. She could order him to strip and go down on her right now. He’d probably do it. Or she could stop all that, and maybe lose him, or would not stopping make that happen? What was right?
He sighed. “You can’t be serious about using that cliché to break up. Give me more credit than that.” He sighed again, slumped forward and propped his head in his hands.
“Wait. You’ve got it wrong. I’m not breaking up. I’m... I just want to know where we are. Where we stand.”
He looked up at her, but his gaze wouldn’t meet hers. “Where we stand? I don’t even know what that question means. This still feels like a break-up talk.”
“I mean, how much are you into the chastity game? Is it what you wanted? Would you prefer to be on top?”
“Does it matter? I didn’t think it was going on much longer either way.” He hesitated. It looked like cogs were finally in motion inside his head. “Right…” He paused again, leaving a weighty silence that dragged on.
At last, he answered. “I mean, sure, it’s kinda hot to imagine it going on for a while, getting deeper and deeper. But imagining and doing… Not the same.” He looked up at her, into her eyes. “So basically, I was expecting that in a couple of weeks we’d flip, or take a complete break from the games for a while.”
She released her breath. She hadn’t even realized she’d been holding it. “Fine. Right. What a relief. That’s exactly what I was thinking too,” she lied. “I’m burned out on being a mistress. A couple of weeks is the most I can do in one go. We can swap now, if you’re ok with it?”
His expression changed, brightening, as if he were suddenly seeing her in a different light. “Where’s this come from? No forget that. Let’s not overthink it. So what do you want to happen?”
“Well… I guess the scenario is that I’ve been bad. Gone too far. I need to be put back in my place.”
“And what place is that?”
“Oh, you know. Surprise me. Treat me how I deserve.”
“How you deserve?” He chuckled to himself. “This is going to be good. You raised the stakes last time. What if I escalate? Can you handle?”
She felt her face heating up. “Yes. I can take it. But remember, when we change back again, what comes around goes around.” She gave a grin, hoping it looked naughty, suggestive.
He stood up, took a step towards her, and another, then stopped. “Thanks for not freaking out. Look… I can guess what’s really on your mind. I’m not a complete idiot. Girl stuff. Commitment. Am I serious about us? Are we really a couple? Are we moving in together? Am I going to propose? Do I want kids?”
She gave a tiny shake of the head, trying to underplay it. “Not really. I mean…”
“Yeah. I’m right. That’s what you really wanted to talk about.”
She looked down, as if her feet in her plain black tights were suddenly fascinating. There was a lump in her throat. “Maybe,” she whispered.
“I admit, I’ve been thinking about it some, but it’s not like one day you just wake up and you have everything all planned out. She’s the one… All that shit.”
She stepped closer, whispered right into his ear. “Yes it is.” Her voice came out thick and heavy, the most assertive she’d ever been, more real than any of her fake mistress lines. Why had she said that? It had come out of nowhere.
He didn’t respond, so she ran her hand down his chest and popped the button open on his jeans, dragged down the zipper.
He dropped his jeans and shorts in one move.
She looked down, reaching for his cock, hesitated, confronted with the printed-plastic cage. She’d actually forgotten it would be there.
He tore apart the plastic of the chastity with his bare hands. It shattered into a dozen pieces.
His cock started to harden immediately. “What a fucking relief,” he said.
“Oh.” Her cheeks flushed hot. “I’m an idiot.”
He kissed her softly, put his hands on her bum and pulled her against him. “Alright. I’ve been thinking, we would have more time for fun if we moved in together. It would save money too.”
“Alright, but not your place. We have to find a new flat, somewhere convenient for both of us. And with a space for a play room we can keep visitors out of.”
He put his hand on her shoulder, pressing her down. “It’s a deal. But that’s enough talking. On your knees and mouth open. I’ve got a job for you, one that’ll keep you quiet.”
She sank to her knees and tipped her head back, looking up at his rampant cock.
“It’s been a tough few weeks.” He chuckled. “I think you need to start making it up to me.”
“Of course,” she whispered. She wrapped her hand around his cock-shaft and guided the tip into her mouth. She could taste the sweat and the plastic from the cage.
He twisted her hair around his hand, taking control of her head. “Undo your top and get your tits out. Play with your nipples while you do it. So I can see.”
Her fingers fumbled hurriedly at the tiny buttons of her blouse. She couldn’t look down without pulling her hair.
“You should try it sometime, the chastity thing. I’ve never thought so much about sex in my life. I’d love to see you that desperate for it, literally begging for it. That much appetite for dick would be so fucking hot.”
Don’t I have enough appetite already? Some women would say there was something wrong with her, but there was nothing she could do about it. Was her need really so arousing to him?
She slipped her breasts out of her bra, resting them on the collapsed cups, and began to pinch and pull on her nipples. The feeling of being in his control was making her excited, and her nips were already past the point of gentle teasing. Her gaze met his, he was looking down at her doing it, grinning like crazy.
She didn’t have to suck on his cock for long. She knew when he was ready to cum by the tightness of his grip. He pulled her head back at the last moment and sprayed into her face like in a movie. It was a massive load he’d been building up for over a week. It went onto her forehead, into her hair and all over her face. She closed her eyes barely in time. She felt spurts hit her again and again. The stuff dripped off her face and onto her exposed breasts. It trickled around them, following the curves, and plopped onto her thighs, thick, sticky, raindrops. She licked her lips and caught the taste.
She tried to rub the stinging stuff from her eyes without much success. Even though she’d screwed them tight closed, they were still burning.
She settled back, sitting on her heels. His cum was running down her belly now, staining her blouse. It was all over her bra too.
“Stay there and don’t move.” He stepped out of his pants. He was naked from the waist down and his cock was still erect, full of fierce potential, though softer than when she was sucking it.
He went into her bedroom. She could hear him opening drawers, sliding wardrobe doors, rummaging through things. He was rifling through her most private possessions and she was sitting quietly, letting him do it, while his cum dried on her face.
Thinking about the situation was making her so wet and horny. Simon and Octavia hadn’t done anything as intimate like this. They hadn’t looked through her secrets, her private world. She’d let him in, without hesitation. Was this love?
If it was, then he really had more control over her than she’d wanted to give up.
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story continues in Pretenders 4