As I walked with determined steps toward his office, I thought nothing of what I was about to do.
It was purely animal.
I felt heat — right behind my eyes. My body felt like it wasn’t even my own anymore. The boots felt foreign.
Walking, with heavy steps, toward that door.
My bag over my shoulder. It didn’t matter anymore.
It had gotten to that point, where all reason vanishes, and all I can think about is scratching that itch.
And when he looked up at me, as I slammed open the office door, his eyes showed it all. All that I wanted to see — confusion. Startled. Half-thinking it was a pleasant visit.
Maybe to bring him cookies. Or a sandwich.
But I had no such things in my bag. Nothing.
The door slammed shut. I locked it.
“On the floor,” I said.
And he looked at me, sitting back in his chair, his arms out a little, one holding a pen, the other near his phone. In my state, I imagined he was about to make a reach for it — to grab it, to call security.
Mindless fantasies.
“On the floor. NOW.”
The floor wasn’t suitable. It was all animal now, everything I felt.
This feeling, when I get it, it is like not planning anything. Everything just happens. I am me, but I am watching from outside. I am observing how my passion takes over.
I grabbed him by the back of the neck and shoved him over his own desk. I kicked the chair out of the way and it rolled backward until it bumped into the wall.
I was holding his head down now, shoving it, by the neck, into a pile of papers. His breathing was now unsteady (god how I love that), his fingers outstretched a little. Confused. Not wanting to startle the beast.
Picking up his phone, I held it to his ear and pushed “O”. “Tell them you are in a meeting. Hold your calls.”
He stammered. I was holding the phone to his ear. I pushed down harder on his neck, lifting my knee between his legs, landing squarely, firmly into his groin.
A half gasp, and then he said, “Annie — ho — hold my calls. I have a — a —-“
I kneed him again.
“A — thing –.”
I hung up the phone.
“Oh, god..” he said.
“That’s GODDESS,” I snapped and started with his belt.
There was no time for gags, and I did not care. But I wanted to shut up his whimpering, or to turn it into muffled whimpers – depends on how you look at it. I grabbed a piece of paper from his deck and crumbled it into a ball right in front of him as I was pressed into his back, my arms before him.
He protested, reaching up, starting to speak, as if I had just crumbled up the first page of a contract, or a bid, or something of some major importance. I used it to gag him. Shoved it into his mouth to stop his protests, then pulled his head back to my chest and hissed into his ear from behind, “Don’t make me force you to EAT it, you whore.”
And that, fortunately, silenced him for a bit.
His trousers fell around his ankles. My hands moved at once to the garters on his thighs. I breathed in, entranced, for the moment, with his thighs. His ass, in the thong panties I made him wear. The thigh-high stockings. How pathetic he now looked, how so un-business-like, standing with trousers around his ankles, panties and garters on.
He was whimpering, beautifully, from behind the crumbled paper.
I swung my long hair around my neck and tied it up with a rubber band I found on his desk. Unzipped my bag. Felt for leather straps.
“You stay put,” I said.
Buckles. Jingling of metal against metal. His breathing. People walking past the door that was locked, shut before us. Phones ringing outside. The snapping of medical latex gloves. More whimpering. Shhhhhh.
This time, the cock was mine.
One hand I had at the back of his head, holding his face carefully right down into a mass of his paperwork. I thought, laughingly, maybe he can do some reading while I get what I want here.
My cock. Latex, 8 inches. Strapped on securely, pushing into my crotch how I like it, meeting with the resistance of his newly lubricated asshole.
Spreading his ass cheeks.
His head turned back and forth. Back and forth. Whimpering. Papers flying off the desk, sailing to the floor.
“Shut up,” I said. Pushing. With my hips, little thrusts to open him.
I was watching the clock on the wall. Like a bank robbery, I had planned it. Fifteen minutes, in and out.
In. I pushed,
He gasped.
Out.
His fingers, spread out over the desk, gripping the ends of the table.
He was spread out, his trousers down around his ankles. Panties at his thighs. Still in thigh highs, garters.
Holding the edges of his desk.
Gagged with his own memo, probably.
As I held him by the head, pulling him by the hair back toward me, thrusting my hips at him to take him all the way, I imagined this was the perfect portrait of the ultimate businessman.
And I fucked him.
Sweating. I was sweating, bent over him, caught in the motion. The in, the out, the steady fucking. Feeling my cock, I could feel it, moving in and out of his ass.
His whimpers steadied to gasps, he held tight onto the desk, which now rocked with every thrust.
I heard voices outside the door. “…oh, he’s in a meeting….I…I don’t know…a few more minutes maybe??”
I heard him whimper as he recognized the voices too.
I quickened my pace. Reached under, after slowly peeling the latex glove off with my teeth and licking, sucking my index finger.
Just one finger.
Inside me, I gasped.
Pumping more, I heard him whimper, this time more desperate.
My eyes were shut tight. “Almost…there.” I hissed.
And he was choking back sobs, choking back, probably, ink from the memo in his mouth. Or contract. Or whatever it was.
One hand massaging my pussy, feeling my cock slide in and out of his ass above it, the other hand feeling the tops of the stockings on his thighs. Touching the garters. Feeling the panties around his legs.
Then it happened.
In just three.
Violent.
Thrusts.
And I could have sworn, I heard the office noises subside briefly as if everyone wondered what they heard.
Was it me — my muffled gasp as I came.
Or was it him, whimpering, whimpering what I could have sworn was a desperate “nooo….” when my thrusts became deeper and more relentless.
Putting my things away, I watched him pull up his trousers, gingerly, around thighs which glistened with sweat, his ass still coated with lubricant.
Strangely, it was still not enough.
An appetizer. Maybe.
“Come home early tonight,” I said. “I want to finish where I left off.”
Andrea knew that rookie hockey player Connor Davis couldn’t believe what he saw. Standing there, silent, with a somewhat defeated look on his face, the athlete took in his own reflection in the mirror. His previously athletic body, now shaved in the most inappropriate of areas, now scented with sweet bath oils, and his legs in thigh high stockings and suspenders.
Of course, the leather corset was the final touch, and the most humiliating of all. It took three women, even with him not resisting (he had given that approach up hours before), using all their will to brace his body and tighten the laces. Squeezing his thick, muscled frame into it, creating the sexiest of little waists, even for someone as manly as poor Connor.
Totally emasculating.
Connor was one of the three rookies in her downtown studio dungeon, experiencing a brand new flavor of rookie hazing. “Hazing…with a decidedly feminine streak,” is what Andrea had promised the team captain (and her new main squeeze).
Never had Connor experienced such a thing, Andrea knew this. Sure, rookie initiations in Junior hockey were harsh, she’d heard about that. She’d heard about the bus trips and 8 guys naked in the bathroom (talk about needing lubricant); she heard about the strolls down main street in full women’s garb, flanked by drunken teammates that created even more of a spectacle. But this kind of feminization, a transformation to the core, surely stripped his pride to the core.
And it didn’t hurt that his peers, his teammates, giggled like schoolboys in the back of the room, hanging around but not getting in the way (except for goaltender Chet Watson, who she had to toss for poor behavior, and was apparently in a side studio trying to chat up her young assistant).
Connor’s body filled the lacy outfit well. His legs were long and the muscular tone was creatively diminished behind the lace of the thigh highs. Of course, shaving his legs was a favorite part for Andrea; oh, how he resisted. It took three of his teammates to pin him down for that, but that was at the start of the ordeal.
Now, Connor appeared appropriately defused, standing there, regarding himself with a sense of defeat, perhaps. At least he put up a fight when he could, Andrea mused. She reached up and put her hand on his shoulder, standing behind him and looking at his reflection in the full length mirror with him. His painted lips were in a decided pout, his curly blonde locks, which lent themselves to the task, were tousled. “I look like a fucking fruit,” he said under his breath.
“Actually,” she whispered into his ear, making certain the bad boys in the back of the room, who were busy hooting and hollering, didn’t hear. “You look fucking hot.” Andrea wasn’t kidding, either. Something about the sight of a fully masculine man, after being transformed into a sort of cheap prostitute, really made her wet.
She lost herself for a moment and didn’t really care much about the potential audience, sliding her hands down over his chest, over the beads of the corset, and down to the front of the sheer panties that struggled to cover his crotch. Just the slightest touch of her hand created an immediate bulge in the panties, causing him to wiggle out of her reach and blush a little, tossing his head over his shoulder to make sure no one was looking.
They – the boys – were three sheets to the wind, Andrea knew, and weren’t paying any attention. In fact, a mini-card game had broken out in the very back, as the guys became restless and wanted to just take their tart out on the town. “Please,” he whispered back, closing his eyes as he gently took her hand and moved it away from his crotch. “Don’t let them take me out like this. I can’t handle that….You have to do something. Look, I was good, I …I became good.”
Andrea laughed. She laughed because Connor was anything but good.
When he got there, that afternoon, flanked by his teammates, he was belligerent, arrogant and defiant. Typical, she mused. He knew he was going to be the center of attention and the victim of some sort of stunt, but when he saw the three latex-clad divas in the downtown dungeon, followed by the wardrobe he was going to be forced into, his words were fairly simple and straight forward.
“No. Fucking. Way.”
This, of course, made his guy friends just go nuts with excitement, setting them all off. This was the reaction they dreamed of. They took great pleasure in overpowering him, manhandling him, and moving the kicking and screaming athlete into separate quarters where the ladies had them strip him down, restrain him on a table (legs spread wide) and then exit the room so they could privately begin the procedure.
There were many groans and a variety of expletives, in many languages, when his teammates were informed that they had to leave the room for Connor’s “prep.”
No, Connor was not good. Andrea and her girlfriends, Nina and Lindsay, took turns shutting him up (with gags, with their hands, and with balled up lingerie) and holding him still as he was lathered up, shaved, and beautified.
Andrea found his struggle to be valiant but vain, and she took great pleasure in his final surrender, when he promised he’d behave because the restraints were digging into his skin. “See,” Andrea teased him, “You’re really just a fragile femme thing under that tough boy, big mouthed exterior, aren’t you?
He scoffed and looked right at her, his serious tone somewhat ridiculous as he’d just had lipstick and blush put on him. “Whaddayou know about my big mouth?”
There was some accent there, one she couldn’t pinpoint, but it was interesting only for a second. Sure, the captain had told her enough about the team’s on-ice strengths and weaknesses, of which Connor’s big mouth was a little of both, depending on the situation.
“I think your big mouth probably needs a big cock in it to shut you up,” Andrea said to him, a comment that shut him up for a brief second, but then made him erupt in laughter.
“Fuck that,” he said, and then he watched her reach into a drawer and take out a tiny plastic clothes pin. “What’s that?”
“That’s the fuck tax,” she said, reaching down and affixing the tiny, biting device to the tender flesh of his inner thigh, close enough to his crotch to be dangerous. He shrieked, both in shock and anger, and his voice cracked.
“Every time you say ‘fuck,’ you get another one,” she warned him, reaching for the mascara. “And by the way, you scream like a girl.”
**
Cock sucking certainly may not have been in Connor’s future, but it definitely was in his teammate’s.
Bryan Roth, the other rookie on his line, was the one that seemed doomed to the fate. In reality, there was nothing new about homoerotic overtones on rookie initiations; hell, Bryan had an experience in Juniors that was quite unthinkable, but he’d long forgotten it. This time, it was something he was certainly not going to be forgetting any time soon.
Standing in front of him, as he was forced down onto his knees, was the most beautiful woman he’d seen. In her early 20s, a body to die for, dressed to the nines in nothing but high heels and a lace bodysuit.
And a big, huge dick.
Now, at first, Bryan burst out laughing, laughing and looking at the other two ladies in the room who stood there at his sides to make sure he didn’t stand up. He was laughing hard because he didn’t know what else to do, probably, because there was no denying that as he knelt there, in nothing but white briefs, that his own cock was swelling up despite his best efforts.
The vixen before him was Maya, and she knew a thing or two about rubber cocks. The one she was wearing was her favorite, held comfortably at her hips in a fine leather harness, the base of the cock pressing into her crotch. She stood before the kneeling athlete, looking at him with what appeared to be an appetite, one hand on her hip. When she walked closer, her latex cock swayed a little, and she reached out to wrap her hand around the base.
Bryan was still laughing, looking to each side, as if waiting for someone to laugh with him. Perhaps he was trying to mask the fact that he was, apparently, incredibly aroused by this situation. His hands moved, casually, to hide what was going on in his briefs.
The girls that flanked him reached over, grabbing him by the wrists, pulling his hands behind his back as Maya waved a warning finger. There was a clicking of metal handcuffs behind him and he started to blush in embarrassment, realizing he couldn’t so easily hide what was going on.
“No, no, no,” Maya warned. “You can’t just pretend that your dick isn’t hard because of what you’re seeing,” she smiled. “I see it. I see it clear – “she stepped over, leaned way down and poked her latex cock into his briefs, running the tip of it along the lines of the bulge, “Clear as day.”
Now Bryan was really uncomfortable. He looked away and shut his eyes and shook his head and was going to say something – probably come up with some logical explanation – Maya had heard them all. All reasons to explain away why a totally straight guy would get a huge erection when looking at a nine inch dick that was in his face. Maya took her cock and stood up straight, putting it in his face.
That was enough for him. Bryan recoiled and spat out some obscenities, started to struggle, and had this remarkably disgusted look on his face, glaring at her, almost threatening.
Her girlfriends reacted coolly and swiftly, shoving a bright red ball into his mouth and pulling the straps tight around his head, infuriating him even more, causing him to shake his head and resist, growling and making all kinds of angry faces.
Meanwhile, the action in his briefs also died down, but Maya just smiled, reaching down with her fingernails to tug at the waistband. “Oh, look here. Suddenly you aren’t hard anymore, now you’re too angry to be turned on. That’s ok, Bryan, I like it this way. I like it when a man fights so hard to deny he’s completely turned on. No matter how hard you try, you won’t be able to keep it soft. I promise you that.
Bryan was looking up and away, breathing hard though his nose, his eyes searching the ceiling for something.
“I know what you’re doing, you’re thinking about everything you can to not get hard. Just like you do when you’re trying to not blow your load right after you stick it in that hot young thing you’re fucking. It won’t work, Bryan, you can’t deny that you want to wrap your lips around this big cock.”
Maya had her hands in his hair but he tried to wrench free, and she was pushing the latex cock closer to his face. This struggle went on for a few minutes, him not looking, him closing his eyes, him occasionally growling at her. Meanwhile she just smiled, fingered his hair, pushed the head of her cock closer, and sometimes reached down to stroke it.
“Make him look,” she ordered, backing up and away from him. Her girlfriends braced his shoulders and forced his head her way, but of course he resisted. “Come on, you are such a pussy,” she laughed. “You KNOW you will get totally turned on just by looking at me. Are you afraid, Bryan? Are you that much of a pussy? You are giving up already?”
The challenge worked with ease, and he turned to her defiantly, staring forward with intent, almost settling down for what appeared to be a competition. Maya smiled and again swayed her hips, reaching down and wrapping her fingers around her cock, knowing that no matter how straight a man was, he could not deny the erotic power of a woman, so beautiful and feminine, wearing a harness with such confidence and pride.
“All I have to do is tell you how bad I want to fuck you, Bryan,” she smiled. “That’s right, me – fucking you. You, on all fours, face pressed into the ground. You, so helpless, as my cock filled you up, filled your mouth first and then your ass. You know you want to feel me inside you, feel me take you, feel me turn you into a total whore.”
That did it. Bryan turned his head away and growled something that sounded like “Fuck!” as his cock popped right out of his briefs, the head of it glistening. The girls holding him giggled, like they’d seen this before, and tightened their grip on him.
When Maya stepped forward he shut his eyes tight, his face wrenched in a sort of self loathing, self hatred, and she felt compelled to console him, because he seemed so helplessly conflicted. “Don’t take it so hard, Bryan,” she said, again putting her hand in his hair. “You’re not unusual. Just accept it. Don’t fight it. Look at it. Look at me.”
Bryan shook his head, eyes shut tight, now biting down so hard on the rubber ball that the paint was starting to flake away.
Maya smiled. She knew it was going to be a long process. But oh, what a process.
**
Rookie Connor, meanwhile, was resigned to his fate and despite himself almost seemed to be enjoying the attention his new feminized persona was receiving from his teammates. In fact, one of his friends had to leave the room, and the roving joke was that he was uncomfortably aroused by the new, femmed out Connor.
He asked Andrea about the fate and his teammate, because all he knew was that the young athlete was in the studio next door. He was musing what decidedly masculine Bryan would look like in such garb (not nearly as pretty as him, was the compliment he was seeking from the ladies, obviously) and he wanted to know.
“Oh, he has a totally different torture,” Andrea told him, going through her jewelry box for earrings that would complete Connor’s outfit. The guys, lingering in the background, were still whining about going out, but Andrea seemed to be doing Connor a favor by putting it off. And for that, he was clearly making all kinds of small talk to stall. And it hurt to walk in the heels, he confessed to her, quietly under his breath, making sure no one was listening.
The devious idea came to her as a way to rescue Connor from his fate but introduce him to an even crueler one, simply to see the look of terror in his eyes. “I’ll tell you what, I won’t let them take you out like this, but instead you’ll have to accompany me into the next room with Bryan. Your teammates will soon drink themselves into oblivion and forget about you.”
“I don’t know about that,” he said, glancing over at them. He was somewhat hopeful, it seemed, and for some reason seemed almost resigned and comfortable in his fate; as long as no one else had to see him that way.
Andrea took him by the arm and looked over to the group of athletes, excusing the two of them. “I’m taking Connie here over for the final touches,” she announced.
The statement drew tons of hollering, laughter and wolf whistles from the group, with screeches of “CONNIE!”
“Fuck you!” he groaned loudly back at them, giving them the middle finger, knowing that nickname would follow him into the locker room.
When Andrea affixed another small plastic clothes pin, this time to his ass cheek, he shrieked once more.
“How soon you forget.”
**
Bryan was covered with sweat in no time, using all of his will and energy to fight the simple, undeniable reaction his body was having to Maya’s presence as she strolled around him, flaunted her sexy frame, talked about how she liked to use her cock, and occasionally made him look at her.
She told him all about it. All about how she used her own juices from her arousal to coat the tip of the latex cock before making a man lick it. About how she once came on a man’s face as she fucked his mouth. About how she fucked her girlfriend with the cock while making her victim watch helplessly, only to make him crawl to her to clean the latex cock of the juices.
All the licking, sucking, and fucking talk was clearly getting to him, yet he seemed defiant and determined to concentrate his way out of arousal. There were times, when she talked, her hand brushing his face, that he would literally start shaking visibly. He was trembling all over, and she couldn’t tell if it was from anger, fear, or simply trying to hold it all in.
“Maya,” her girlfriend called to her, apologizing for the interruption. She was in charge of holding his left shoulder as he knelt there helplessly. “Come look at this.”
Maya stepped over and peered at the situation her assistant was referring to, leaning over his shoulder. His wrists, while in handcuffs, were clearly more chaffed than they should be. Her girls knew what they were doing; the handcuffs were double-locking and would not tighten once in place. Bryan, apparently, was deliberately pressing the metal into his own wrists, as hard as he could, to create a painful distraction.
“Unbelievable,” Maya exhaled as she stood up, taking him by the chin. “Are you so afraid of your own arousal that you’d do that to yourself? Ladies, let’s put him into leather shackles. No, wait, let’s have his teammates come in here and do it. Let them see how hard his cock is when I wave my dick in his face.”
Bryan struggled at this idea, but he wasn’t in any position to negotiate obviously. She turned away to make her way into the next door, and much to her surprise, saw a statuesque, yet clumsy, blonde making her — or his — way over. It took a second for her to realize it wasn’t a tranny client who had lost his way, but it was Connor – from the next studio, led in by Andrea.
Bryan didn’t even recognize his teammate (and, arguably, best friend) at first which was hysterical to both Andrea and Maya. Connor, on the other hand, was shocked and uncomfortable at what he witnessed, and appeared to be overcome with a combination of anger and sympathy for his friend. It wasn’t until he opened his mouth to speak that Bryan recognized him.
“What the fuck are you doing to him? OUCH!” he hissed, as Andrea had the next plastic clothes pin ready. Nearly a dozen were hanging off of various parts of his body at this point. He stumbled on his high heels to move forward, nearly tripping, and the shoe fell off.
Bryan, meanwhile, appeared totally dejected, his shoulders now slumped, the resistance gone. He had his head down, he was catching his breath, his eyes closed. It was as if being seen that way, right then, by his friend, was devastating. Which is ironic, considering Connor was the one dressed like a street hooker. And apparently not having much of a problem with it.
Andrea held Connor back by the shoulder. “Connie,” she said. “Stay back.”
When Maya turned around so Connor could see her fully, he saw for the first time that the gorgeous exotic beauty was sporting a glistening nine inch fake cock. “Holy shhhhhhhhhhhh….” he trailed off, pursed his lips and looked at Andrea, who had a clothes pin at the ready.
Maya smiled, and walked around the kneeling Bryan, taking his head by a fistful of hair and wrenching it back, his head up so Connor could see him. “You are his best friend, right, his brother. Perhaps you can shed some insight into his little pea brain.”
Connor was clearly shocked – off guard, confused – by the sudden flurry of activity. Once again he was totally unsure of what was going on or why, and he’d thought he and Andrea were getting along pretty well (after all, she helped him get out of going out into the street dressed like that), but now she was hustling him, after calling over the help of another girlfriend, over toward his teammate. Her fingernails were digging into the flesh of his arm in a no-nonsense way, and the speed with which she was pushing him toward his teammate was unsettling.
“Wait wait wait, what’s this, hey, stop, easy,” he said, tugging his arm away and looking at Andrea, “What’s this?”
Bryan grimaced and wouldn’t look Connor’s way, probably mortified that his fate would be compounded by similar feminization, either before or after the cock activities Maya so eloquently described.
The women made Connor kneel down next to Bryan so they were side by side, shoulder to shoulder. Connor looked at his friend sympathetically and then toward Maya, and even though nothing was choreographed, it was as if these women could all read minds.
The girls that flanked Bryan moved to hold Connor, leaving the bound and gagged rookie free enough that he immediately inched away a bit, distancing himself from the prettified Connor.
Maya, meanwhile, didn’t hesitate a bit before she grabbed Connor’s golden locks of hair and unceremoniously shoved the head of the latex cock into his mouth. He struggled, and despite his feminine appearance, only a fraction of the strength of the athlete was required to pull free from the ladies and remove himself from the situation. Almost comically, he reached out and took Maya by the hips, actually lifting her little frame off the ground a few inches when he pushed her back.
Andrea was quick to intervene, taking him by the hair and hissing to him as Bryan continued to quietly, under the radar, move away little inches at a time, probably hoping to disappear entirely. “Listen Connie,” she hissed. “You either cooperate, here and now, in front of us, or I get your friends in here to hold you down. You know they’d just LOVE to watch you do THIS before your night on the town.”
Connor looked at her, his expression strained, his eyes angry. It was clear he couldn’t believe what was happening. “You can’t be serious.” He looked over at Bryan, who was now a couple of feet away, clearly sporting a “better you than me, bro,” look on his face.
When Connor got no support from his helpless friend, he turned back to Andrea. “Not with him here.”
The girls liked that; there was some giggling and whispering. Maya folder her arms across her chest and looked at Andrea, raising her eyebrows. “Afraid of what your friend might think? Tough guy here has been on the brink of losing his load for a half hour just LOOKING at my dick. Trust me sweetheart, he’s gonna love the show.”
“That’s just too f’d up,” Connor hissed. “I said EFFED!” he spat at Andrea when he saw her reaching into her little pocket. He looked at Bryan and said, “You owe me for this, man, if this is saving your ass.”
Maya made a gesture to her girlfriends and gave Andrea a nod. The ladies went to Bryan and took him by the arms, guiding him toward the door, but not letting him get up off his knees. Maya had never seen a guy hustle so fast while kneeling, with not so much as an apologetic look back at his blonde friend. So much for blood brothers, she mused.
When the door clicked signaling his exit, Andrea looked at Maya with a smirk. “Ironic thing is him jacking off every night for months thinking about what could have been,” she said. And she knew it; she knew she was right. “Now he’ll never know what it’s like.”
Maya moved over and took Connor by the chin. His eyes were on the door that just shut, signaling his fate. He looked up at her slowly. Maya smiled. “I’m sure you’ll tell him all about it.”
**
The two girls that were alone with Bryan didn’t say anything to him. The adjacent room was small and had nothing but a couch and a small table in it. He was still on his knees, eyes closed, breathing in what seemed like relief.
The blonde girl, Chelsea, unlocked the buckle that held the gag in place and pulled it from his mouth as Karen removed the leather shackles from his wrists. He breathed a long sigh of relief, panting a little, falling forward to the couch with his elbows propping him up, his face in his hands.
The ladies exchanged knowing looks, attending to their own business, one getting him a glass of ice water and the other putting something away. He was keeping to himself, not facing them, reaching down in freedom to shove his erection back into his briefs as best he could.
Karen handed him the water and he reached for it, feeling his jaw with his free hand and muttering about the gag. “Do you feel guilty?” she asked him.
He took the water and gave her a dismissing look. “No. The fucker’s probably enjoying it,” he said, meaning to be sarcastic in a way, but the ladies knew better.
Chelsea leaned over and said to him, “He will. And you – you will always wonder.”
**
The entire following week, no one said anything about what happened. Apparently that was some sort of code they followed, the captain told Andrea over dinner one night. She shared with him only the vaguest details, and the somber athlete confessed that he didn’t really want to know the rest.
He did, however, confess that there was some ribbing between Bryan and Connor, but Connor would share no details of what happened between him and Maya in the room. The fact that they were dating now, though, pretty much said it all.
Copyright 2020 Akasha@akashaweb.com All RIghts Reserved
Five crisp one hundred dollar bills rest on the faded brown surface of the hotel bedside table.
**
It’s always the same with Billy. A little over an hour, and few, if any, words are spoken. It’s sixteen steps from the elevator to the room, room 214, his favorite room because he’s superstitious like that.
He leaves the deadbolt open so the door doesn’t shut all the way, and I walk in casually and drop my large leather duffel on the floor. The room is disorganized, disheveled, typical of a bachelor; you’d think he lived there, but this tornado was only left behind during a one-night stay.
It’s just an Ayres Inn not like the Ritz that I am used to, hell, not even like the Renaissance I use for travel. It’s a simple, messy Ayres room and he’s a simple, messy boy anyway – so I ignore it all, and get to what I have come for.
Billy is already kneeling, and he’s already naked. I can’t tell you how many habits I have trained and untrained from him, over and over again, until his meticulous habits become less annoying and more stimulating to me. I used to hate his need for protocol and rules and structure. God knows how such a slob could be so strung out on rules, but that’s Billy – a walking contradiction.
Or crawling. Billy crawls to me obediently and on time, greets me with a kiss to the top of my boot. Just another silly ritual that I find kind of needless but it helps in the cock-rock department, so I let it slide. And it gives me time to admire the shape of his back, the tone of his flesh, the outline of the muscles that frame his body.
No words with Billy this time. Not that we have anything to say, anyway. Billy’s eyes do most of the talking, or the signals that come with the shakiness of his breath. His fingers curl into the cheap carpet of the Ayres Inn as I bring out the first flogger, then the paddle. If I were not in boots I could feel his breath coming in ragged pants across the tops of my toes.
Instead, I just keep beating him, and watching what seems like a gloss appear over the top of the black patent leather. His body is shaking and he starts to collapse, just a little, his shoulders slouching as he tries to find the strength to stay upright for the continued necessary beatings.
I don’t beat Billy because I like beating. I beat Billy because I like what it does to Billy.
By the time I am finished with the flogger, and the paddle, his body is covered with a thin film of sweat and his cheeks have turned a beautiful sweet shade of pink. His ass cheeks. Without a moment of hesitation, though, I take him by the chin and haul him up to look at his face, to confirm that the cheeks of his face are equally flushed, and indeed they are.
It’s one of the finer mysterious of life. How come after the aerobic workout of a ruthless eleven minute beating, he is more out of breath than I am. And clearly he is in better shape than I am, as evidenced by the definition in his arms. He’s the one shaking on ragged breath, his face covered in sweat, and his lips nearly quivering, but not quite enough.
“Bitch,” I say, and it ends up being the only word I speak to Billy that day.
“Yes,” he agrees, obediently, and of course, that’s the only word he says that day.
I slap him, once, across the face, and he stumbles from his knees to the floor, probably more melodramatic than anything. I didn’t hit him that hard, after all. I never do. I just find myself needing to take a swing at him after calling him a bitch. It reminds him of his place.
Billy holds still, naked, in his pile on the Ayres floor, as I investigate the contents of my leather duffel bag. It’s always fairly random, what I toss in the bag. Billy never knows, and never is told anyway. I see the clock in the corner of the room, but damn me, I forgot to look at it when I came in, so I have no idea how much time we have left.
I take longer than I need to. In my bag. Because Billy’s just softly, sweetly, barely whimpering there, and he’s doing it for my benefit, I think. I hate to use the word “whimper” because Billy doesn’t really whimper – he just makes a sweet sound when he exhales, if he’s in pain, a sound that makes me so incredibly wet. It’s one of the few sounds made by man that makes my pussy literally ache; with every exhale, with every soft trace of the sound, I feel a pounding inside my crotch that makes me want to drop everything in that moment and merely wrestle his head between my legs and order him to use his tongue.
Clearly, that’s not part of our agreement.
I quiet the aching between my legs by letting my fingers wrap around the familiar, rigid form of the large latex cock. My fingers trace it as I listen to Billy’s breathing settle, and when I peer over at him to see what he’s up to, I realize he’s kneeling forward, close to the ground, his hands behind his head and his face pressed into the carpet.
For my benefit, he’s intertwined his fingers. Luckily, Billy remembers these important details.
Observing him in this vulnerable pose makes strapping into the harness an even more enjoyable process. Sometimes I make him watch, but this time, I take some pleasure in knowing that he can hear me and must know what is going on, while his face is pressed hard down on the floor. He doesn’t dare look; the beating put him into the perfect frame of mind, the one that curbs his otherwise uppity attitude and strips every last shed of false confidence from his core.
I take my time with the buckles and stand close enough so that they jingle where he can hear them. I pull the harness straps tight, deliberate, and see his body tense and flinch at all the right times. Once again, his breathing starts to shake, and I even see the hint of a tremble in his otherwise steady, talented hands.
For a moment, it’s very easy to discard the knowledge that he’s quite strong, quite capable and quite desirable to so many women. For the moment, he’s merely a bitch for my amusement, and the aching in my pussy demands that I push him to completion. To my completion.
This time, I won’t make him suck my dick, or beg for lubricant. As much as I long to see his eyes water, his cheeks turn even more read as he gags on it, I fear that time has been lost and I really am behind schedule. All I can do is use my boot to kick apart his legs, give him a nudge with the toe of my boot to force him to raise his ass for me, and coat the head of the dildo with the moisture from my pussy and nothing else.
It doesn’t go very easily.
There’s a fine line between stifled, painful humiliation of an ass that’s simple too tight, and real terror or danger of physical harm, and I know Billy can walk that line. Hurting him, for real, simply isn’t an option, but if at any time in our relationship he felt the fear of potentially being hurt, it is now. To say he is tight would be a huge understatement. But with the help of a lubricated condom, my cock finds its way.
Fucking Billy from that point is fairly inconsequential, except for the fact that it drives me close to orgasm three times from the mere thrusting, only because I watch him clench his own fingers in his thick hair and try to muffle his cries by biting into the carpet, using all his physical strength to keep his hips positioned and ass elevated, knowing that collapsing on the floor would have serious consequences.
He knows I want to ride until I am done.
Without my clock as a guide, with no real concept of time, I ride him dangerously close to our cut off time. I visualize the crisp one hundred dollar bills on the brown nightstand table of the Ayres hotel and something inside me aches, a different kind of ache. An ache of sadness, of longing. An ache for closeness.
I imagine deep, romantic and sensual kisses that I know will never happen; I imagine the feel of his thick, almost curled locks of hair between the flesh of my finger tips. I imagine the scent of his cologne, closer, as I curl against him in the Ayres bed and listen to his breathing when he sleeps.
Such closure is simply not possible. I push those thoughts out of my mind as I feel my emotional release peaking as much as it possibly could, as I look down at him and hear the kind of honest, vulnerable sounds I need to hear to know he’s been pushed as far as he is going. At least for today.
I leave him to clean up himself, and listen to the sounds of his ragged breathing as I put my things back in my bag. Billy doesn’t help; we both know that after the act, he needs emotional and social distance even more than I do. I never confess to him my fantasies of curling up in the bed next to him and holding him, allowing him to comfort me as I reconcile my sadistic thoughts and process the token guilt.
On the nightstand, next to the ashtray, he’s left a torn page of a calendar with a date for next month circled. I take the paper and fold it in half, sliding it into my pocket; we’ll never talk about it, we just both know what it means.
Since this time there’s no words, I say nothing to him before I exit his room at the Ayres Inn. I quietly remove the crisp one hundred dollar bills from my purse and place them next to the ashtray as usual, and force myself not to steal one last glance before I go.
Copyright 2020 akasha@akashaweb.com
I don’t know what it is about you.
What is it about you that makes me want to tie you down? You come home to me in your expensive suit and tie, exhausted from your day in the office, and all I can think about is how you must look on your knees. Naked. Begging.
You just need it. I mean you need it, because I see that you need it. You need to be tamed. To be restrained. To be objectified.
I want to strip every last bit of that corporate snob out of you and leave you at my feet. Shaking. In something nasty. Panties, a corset. So desperately humiliated.
In your place.
I see you at these work functions you drag me to. I dress up in a hot black mini dress and you are quite proud of me, flaunting me around. And they all admire me, oh so beautiful, how cute a couple.
But do they know?
Do they know that I have shoved a plug into your ass?
That before this work party I bent you over the dining room table and performed a degrading ritual?
Do they know how you look in thigh high stockings?
How little they know.
I am hungry tonight. Can you tell?
*
Are you ready to show me how devoted you are? I have been thinking about this. Thinking about taking you. About really using you for a night, to bring you back to reality.
You have been much too cocky lately.
You forgot how suffocating the pussy collar is.
You forgot how suffocating it is to be trapped under me. Forced to lick.
Me masturbating on your face.
Your cock in a cage. To get any harder makes you throb, and whimper. But those whimpers make me wetter. That wetness drowns you. I am sitting on your face.
No air to breathe.
Forced to stick your tongue in my ass.
Do you realize how far I want to send you?
No. You do not.
This is it. You will serve me, or be gone.
*
No pleasure for you, and no release.
After your speech on Thursday, I will enjoy the biggest thrill of all. You will be standing there, preaching the world, admired by hundreds. Applause. Your charming smile. That amazing suit.
Only I will know what is waiting for you.
And under that suit. Ahh, our dressing ritual.
5:00 pm at my place. You dress in the black crotchless panties. I keep them down around your thighs as I insert the plug. It is larger than what you are used to, and your gasp in shock gets me wet.
I love those sounds.
“I will be watching you.”
It makes me wet, more than anything, when I can sit back and play the proper girlfriend as you make your appearances, and no one has any idea what is going on underneath.
About the plug in your ass.
About the panties riding up your crack.
And what will happen later.
***
Because after your big night on stage, you are mine. You are my nasty little bitch toy. You become my “sandi.”
Sandi the whore. The nasty bitch.
The moment we are in the room, alone, you are mine.
Pushed over the couch. It thrills me to reach around and start with your belt, to hear your breathing. Even a little resistance on your part gets me wet. Go ahead, fight it. You know you will still end up with my dick in your mouth.
The trousers come down. The shoes and socks go. I take off your jacket and shirt and leave you standing there in panties,thigh highs.
I make you kneel. Just to feel your breath against my legs, then my feet. Breathing hard. I know you want it, but you cannot say anything. It is too hard to articulate.
It is so *not* *you*.
And that is why it is a delight for me.
Let the games begin.
*
It never ceases to amaze me.
The look in your eyes when you see me with my cock.
Ahh, my cock. All 9 inches of it, as I strut around you, in high heels, stroking it. The leather harness holds it in place, and I am wonderfully erect at all times.
So I stroke. And I stroke. It is natural. It feels good. It feels good to run my hand up and down my big shaft, and it feels good to watch you watch me. Watch you with your meager flesh dick.
Poor little pussy whore.
I lick my hand. Slowly. Then I stroke some more.
I pace around you like a predatory cat.
You dick gets limp. This is not an insult. This is your male reaction to my larger dick which you know will end up in your ass or mouth or both.
“Get hard,” I order.
You can’t.
Typical. It does not matter, because I still revel in having you crawl to me on hands and knees, admiring that fine corporate ass, wrapping your lips around my shaft.
“Get it nice and wet,” I order.
Indeed you do. Deep throating all of it. I have trained you well.
Still, it is always like the first time. Holding your head as I pound my cock into your mouth. Hips moving in steady motion. Hearing your gagging.
Worst of all, I make you look at me while you do it.
Eye contact.
One word.
“Whore.”
*
The sucking of my cock.
You — on your knees — my latex dick plunging in and out of your mouth. How nasty it all is. How hot.
So hot that I cannot resist masturbating at the same time. Fingers between my legs. Pausing even to shove them under your nose.
My big latex cock slides in and out of your mouth with ease as I hold your head, and I watch it between your painted lips. This is when you look your best. This is how I like to see you.
Does it bother you that I like to see you in such nasty positions?
It doesn’t matter to me.
This is what I need. And when I am done with your mouth, I will move to your ass.
This is only the beginning.
His abduction had been planned for a month.
When I finally had him there before me, cowering, there was nothing that would stop me. I knew what I wanted, no matter how ruthless and degrading. I knew I had to do something to him to truly prove to him what he was to me.
Perhaps he was trying to make me feel sorry for him. I felt nothing, though, because I had planned for that. I had planned for those big, innocent eyes and the careful, calculated shifting of his shoulders.
This time, I used my new black straitjacket – an item that delighted me because of its sinister simplicity and complete functionality. Only four simple buckles made him so helpless.
The black hood, this time, didn’t render me so completely distracted. I had taken time to get used to it prior to his abduction. I had done so by sitting, quietly, in my dimly lit bedroom while holding it between my fingers.
I had masturbated with it, the first time cumming quickly, the second time with a little more precision. Desensitizing myself to its ominous essence.
It smelled wonderful.
I wondered, as I paced around him, if he could still smell my scent on the inside.
*
I had him sprawled there on concrete ground. We were in a parking garage. He was in the black straitjacket and black hood, and so there were no weapons. I had disarmed him.
He tried. There is no doubt he tried. First by the way he tilted his head, trying to place it against my thigh for mercy. Then, how he breathed – purposely, deliberately. Loudly.
“Are you hyperventilating?” I observed. Casual. There was no sympathy from me this time.
“You’re getting into the trunk of my car,” I told him.
This, I assure you, he was not ready for.
*
It had taken some research and investigation, but I certainly enjoy planning a kidnapping. Only a few models of cars had a trunk that could safely be used for transporting a human being. I knew how much air he had.
And, remarkably, he cooperated. He did not want to upset me, I think, because he had seen a glimpse of the high heels. The painful spiked pumps. He had seen the black leather gloves. He knew I had removed all of my rings, deliberately, and that meant that slapping him, hard, was not going to be difficult for me.
Maybe it was my scent surrounding him, comforting him, that led him to step willingly into that dark place.
Or maybe he was already accustomed to the darkness.
*
The drive was about ten minutes long. I’m sure it felt much longer to him. When I lifted the trunk and eyed him there, I was surprised and pleased that I still felt no guilt, no fear, and no hesitation about what I had planned to do to him.
He had his knees tucked up close to his chest, his head down. Still covered with the black hood (which was so beautifully designed), I was not faced with pleading eyes, dampening of the lips or a clever announcement to distract me from my plans.
I wrapped leather around his neck. It wasn’t a collar, really, as I never really pictured him as the type to wear a collar. I suppose because I never really imagined him as a slave, or even a submissive. He was simply someone I longed to dominate.
The leather around his neck was functional. Its purpose was so that I could yank him up, out of the trunk, to the floor, and direct him up the porch. It made it just difficult enough for him to breathe to keep him alert.
And he stumbled, just a little, trying to shake it off.
I imagine all he heard as we moved up the walkway was the sound of my heels and a slight hint of the wind in trees.
He still had no idea what was in store for him.
*
As part of my own little ritual, I took time watching him before I even began to remove the restraints.
I will admit, I enjoyed seeing him there, on the floor, straitjacketed and hooded. I knew he must look even better underneath all of that; his hair stuck to his face from sweat and tears, his eyelashes slightly wet.
I enjoyed watching him try, just once more, to see if he could find a way to make the straitjacket budge. I knew it frustrated him because he had found it, originally, not to be entirely too threatening.
After all, it was not white canvas. It was not real. Nor was it leather, covered with buckles, the metal jingling off of it ominously.
No, it was simple. It was so simple that he allowed himself to be put it in, much like the first time he playfully agreed to let me tie his wrists behind his back. After all, he probably thought, I could easily get out of it.
He couldn’t.
And he couldn’t now, either. No matter how much he twisted his shoulders, no matter how deeply he drew in his breath and held it.
But I certainly enjoyed watching him try. I enjoyed a single glass of wine, reclining in a big leather chair. I had my legs swung over the side, letting a single heel dangle from my toe. I sipped, tilted my head, and sighed softly to myself.
*
I snapped out of my pleasant daydream and decided it was time to get busy. When he heard my heels approaching he cowered a little, crouching down low, close to my feet.
Using the toe of my shoe, I pushed him, by the shoulder, so that he fell back onto his side, then eventually his back. Then, just for amusement, I placed that same heel right at the base of his neck, pushing through the hood.
“I could end your life right now,” I commented.
The reason I said this, I still don’t know. I wasn’t really considering it, after all. I think I just wanted him to know that such sheer cruelty was even capable of entering my mind.
He tried to ease backward, and I could see the black fabric tightening over his chest with ever labored breath he took. Goddamn, I thought to myself, I love that fucking straitjacket.
“You probably want to know why I brought you here,” I said to him.
He nodded. Carefully, gently. Cautiously.
“I brought you here,” I told him. “Because I am going to rape you. Three times.”
I don’t know which affected him most. The tone of my voice on the word “rape” or the clarification that it wasn’t going to just be one time. Or maybe it was that same heel, now angled right into his crotch.
“Three very different ways.”
That definitely got his attention. And he tried to get away. He actually tried to get away. My boy sat up, fast enough to push my heel aside, and tried to get to his feet. I prevented him with ease and ended up sitting on his lap on the ground, my legs wrapped around his hips.
I felt his breath, even through the hood. It was tainted with the scent of my own pussy. I had no idea I’d soaked it so thoroughly. I imagine, for him, it was like being locked in a room with a pair of my wet panties duct taped right over his head. An idea for later, I pondered.
I nuzzled my face against the black fabric, closing my eyes, imagining where his mouth must be. It didn’t matter, really, because he was wearing a black latex ball gag. I felt the dampness, though, and for a moment just enjoyed the pounding of his breath, through his nose, as it hit my face through the material.
“Do you want to see?” I asked him. “Do you want to see what I have brought to rape you with?”
Remarkably, he nodded. But it wasn’t an encouraging nod, or a nod of excitement. It was a nod of trepidation, fear and hopelessness. It was a nod because he knew, based on how well he knew me, that anything other than a nod would get him beaten, beaten until he begged for the privilege of being able to nod.
He was, indeed, a very good boy.
*
I had the tools – the harness, the dildos (in several sizes), the leather contraption, all spread out on a small table in front of him. When the hood was removed, he actually didn’t look at them.
Instead, he looked at me. I was surprised to see that he hadn’t been crying; the wetness was from sweat. He was strong. Nervous enough to be visibly shaking, but only a little.
He looked at me, and I easily crouched down to give him eye contact. “It won’t work,” I told him. “I’m completely in a different place. You can save your strength. Do yourself a favor.”
Then his attention turned to the tools, and he looked at them only briefly before closing his eyes and swallowing.
“Three times I’m going to rape you,” I told him. I was walking to the tools, unzipping my skirt. I stripped down to lingerie and my heels only. I intended to be comfortable.
“Would you like a glass of wine, first?” I asked him. Just one glass, I added.
To my surprise, and disappointment, he declined.
*
I explained to him that the gag would be removed under the condition that he did not speak. The only words I allowed him to say were “yes” and “no.” Even so, I warned him not to use them too much.
“Do you understand?” I asked as I unbuckled and removed the gag.
“Yes,” he said. In a different state of mind, I’m certain he would have been a smart ass, and used his only other word instead.
Before starting with my project, I crouched down and applied some lotion to the corners of his mouth. He backed off, eying me suspiciously, confused by my demeanor.
I was watching my own fingertips. “Your skin. It’s chaffed from the leather straps of the gag. I had it on too tight.”
“Yes,” he said, looking at me, now holding still.
But then I put the lotion away, and I picked up a leather harness. I said to him, “Which way shall I rape you first?”
*
I’m sure he knew I wasn’t asking for his opinion. After all, with only having “yes” and “no” in his vocabulary, there wasn’t really an appropriate response.
“No,” he said. He said it when my back was turned to him, when I was picking up a bottle of clear lubricant and pondering it.
When I moved to him, he flinched and cowered, expecting to be slapped. Instead, I took him by the chin, lifted his head, and stared into his eyes.
“I think I’ll start with your mouth.”
*
Raping his mouth was a longer process than I’m sure he expected. Because I wasn’t just shoving my strap-on dick into his mouth; that was merely the warm-up.
The raping of his mouth as I stood, making him kneel to accept it, was merely the warm-up for what I really intended to do with his mouth.
But he accepted the first part a lot better than I had expected. At first, understandably, he gagged and pulled away, shook his head, and used one of his two words. He said it many times, even as I grabbed him by the head and turned him back to face the latex cock that sprung out from between my legs.
“You know you like it,”
He said it again, his second word. “No,” he shook his head.
“That’s enough with the words,” I hissed. Then I pried his mouth open with my leather-clad fingers, held his jaw that way, and pressed the entire length of my cock into his mouth.
I fucked him that way, actually making him look at me. Look right up at me as he knelt, arms still trussed over his chest in the beautiful black straitjacket. I imagine he was confused and bewildered, his mouth still sore from the gag, because he had no idea how long I might let this go.
My right hand alternated between holding his head still (or by the hair) or reaching to the base of my dick, and my left hand wandered between my legs from behind. I slid my fingers under my panties and massaged myself, still forcing him to keep looking right at me.
It was, for me, a very beautiful, nasty moment. Watching him struggle to accommodate all 7 inches of my cock, making him strain to stay upright.
When I pulled my dick out of his mouth I heard him let out his breath in relief. He thought it was over; the first rape, that is.
But that was just the warm-up.
*
I locked the same dildo on one side of a leather gag harness. This time he tried to pull away again, shaking his head from side to side.
I had to grab him by the hair with one hand, growl at him to look at me, then slap him hard across the face. When I made him look at me again he shut his eyes hard, flinching in pain.
This time, when I pried his mouth open, I’m sure he tasted the wetness on my fingers. Maybe that helped him to cooperate even more. Once I had the cock in his mouth I locked the leather harness over his head, then mounted a red, jelly dildo on the other end, facing out.
“This is your first rape,” I told him.
And when I mounted him, spread out on the ground what he could in a straitjacket, I heard nothing but a quiet, painful whimper.
*
Raping him that way felt better than I thought it would. It felt better because I could feel him trying to hold still, but trying to breathe at the same time. The cock in his mouth prevented him from breathing at all that way, and I found that when I lowered myself completely onto the dildo it prevented him from breathing through his nose.
Convenient, I pondered, taking longer, more luxurious thrusts. I would lounge, momentarily, feeling the fullness of the dick inside of me, feel the slight twisting of his body as the desire to breathe started to consume him.
When I had received my fill of his tortured inability to breathe between thrusts, I dismounted and reclined back, opening my legs and holding them by the ankles.
“Come here,” I ordered. “And make me cum. You have sixty seconds. Then we start adding pain to the equation.”
He inched toward me, off balance, and I imagine that he would have been able to do a much better job if he had the use of his hands – even if to just balance himself on all fours.
It gagged him, painfully, every time he pushed forward to try to get that dildo deep into me. I made it hard for him, on purpose, by shifting slightly enough to make him have to move his head.
He was remarkably unsloppy.
But, alas, I did not cum.
And even though he didn’t have a clock in front of him, he knew when his time was up. And he knew when I pushed him away, pinning him back down on his back, he had failed.
And even though he had a huge cock in his mouth, I could make out the word.
“No,” he was trying to say.
And I picked up my riding crop.
*
Sitting on his face again, full with the wonderful feel of the jelly cock, I enjoyed the bare, tender skin at the insides of his thighs. I’d removed his pants and re-tightened the straps at the bottom of the straitjacket, and while sitting on his face he could do nothing to get away from the sting of that crop.
It did not take long to cum this time. I came mostly because of the whimpers he tried to get out when my ass and pussy didn’t prevent all sounds. His face, I noticed when peering over my shoulder, was coated, literally soaked, with a mixture of sweat and my juices.
And I think he was on the verge of tears when I straddled his lap to face him again, this time sliding my tongue up the side of his face just so I could have a taste.
*
I could tell he was exhausted.
“But we haven’t even gotten to the second way, yet,” I said to him, picking up my strap-on harness again. He knew, even with the slightest glance, what the second way would be.
I used my heel to nudge him, standing over him as he cowered. “You’re going to take it either on your knees, shoulders to the ground and ass in the air, or you’re going to take it on your back with your legs up. I’ll be kind enough to give you that small choice.”
The decision, of course, only tortured him more. He had no idea which would be worse. He knew it would be painful and degrading no matter how the cock ended up in his tender ass. He was shaking his head now, close but not quite saying, “No.” He bit his lips. He was afraid to say it again.
I just stood there, hands on my hips, briefly reaching out and lubricating my 8 inch dick a little bit. I enjoyed watching it bob in response. I saw him regard it for a moment, then roll over onto his stomach, pulling his knees up a little and trying to position himself comfortably with his face to the ground.
Using my feet to pry his legs apart more, I placed both hands on his ass cheeks. “This should make you feel like the whore you are,” I told him. “And I know you’ve been wanting this a long, long time.”
He used the other word. He said to me, softly, “Yes.”
And when my cock pressed into him, he screamed the other word. He screamed it loudly.
*
Perhaps he never took the word “rape” seriously. An act of cruel penetration, a thrusting, merciless, opening him up and filling him completely.
“You love my dick,” I said to him. “Say it,” I ordered.
And I honestly expected him to fuck up (maybe I wanted a reason to hurt him).
But he just said, “Yes.”
I said, “Say IT.”
He said, “Yes!”, and he was gasping.
“I give you permission to say the entire sentence,” I hissed, watching all 8 inches disappearing into his soft flesh.
He said it, painfully. He said it once, then I thrust harder and told him to say it again.
The next time, when he said it, his voice cracked. I felt I could cum from this penetration. I felt I could cum from his violation. I shut my eyes, and I concentrated on the feel of my dick inside of him. It felt a part of me. The pressure against my pelvis was driving me insane. I wanted to cum, but had no desire to cut his rape so painfully short.
“Do you want me to cum?” I asked him.
“Yes,” he gasped, and I imagined if he had his hands free, he would be clutching – grasping for anything to hold onto. The pressure of my body pounding into his made him shake.
“Do you want me to cum with my dick in your ass?” I asked him.
He didn’t reply. So I thrust harder, this time holding his hips for leverage. It was painfully deep, and he gasped, and he hissed “Fuck!”
And he immediately knew he had spoken an inappropriate word.
So when I gagged him, tightly, giving his ass only a few moments to rest, he did not resist and didn’t try to beg desperately with his eyes. He took the second half of his fucking without the ability to even cry out.
And when I came, his entire body was trembling.
*
I let him rest, but not for very long.
Taking off the harness, I watched him shivering there, breathing hard, his eyes shut tightly. I’d removed the gag when I was finished with his ass, and I saw him catch himself before saying, out of habit, “thank you.”.
“Now, what about the third way?” I pondered out loud.
I could see he was spent. His mouth – so precious, because his skin was so soft – was bruised from the various things I had shoved inside. The straitjacket, remarkably, seemed to almost be soaked through in some areas with sweat. He’d been in it for so long, it did not surprise me.
As I went through my box of toys, I noticed that he was unable to see around the lid. He could not tell what I was getting. I’m sure he could not guess what the third way would be, because the first two had been so ruthless.
*
I enjoyed talking to him cryptically about the third way as I reclined, legs open and my favorite vibrator placed lightly at my thigh.
“The third way,” I told him, so casual that one would not know I was nearly naked with the tip of a vibrator inches from my pussy, “Is the most meaningful. The most painful. The most unnatural for you.”
I saw such pain and exhaustion in his eyes. I know he wondered to himself what could be more intense than having his mouth used like a dildo and his ass raped with a dick 8 inches long.
And I saw longing in his eyes, too. Longing to kiss me right where I’d placed the tip of the vibrator. Longing to be held and comforted, and to be taken away and freed from the straitjacket that undoubtedly seemed like part of him now.
I saw recollection in his eyes. I saw behind them what he was thinking; he was expecting me to harness a latex cock around his hips and fuck him that way. Because I never let his cock inside of me; he knew that was off limits. He knew his cock wouldn’t be in my pussy, for one, because he had not submitted completely in my eyes, yet. And secondly, because I told him, in fits of cruelty, that his dick just was not adequate.
This, of course, was a simple act of cruelty just like any other toy I used to torture him with, but he always took it quite literally. In the heights of passion, when I made him lay on top of me and fuck me with an 8 inch latex dick while his own throbbed helplessly and painfully fastened away, I could see the pain in his eyes. Unfortunately, he never quite understood the insincerity in my observation, and that his dick, in reality, was more than sufficient.
So as I watched him, I noticed that he was concentrating on something else. Probably trying to lose the erection because the device I made him wear during those sessions was excruciatingly painful if he was hard.
He was still looking to the side, solemn, lashes slightly damp, concentrating, when I crouched down and lifted the black hood back over his head.
Even though he didn’t resist, I knew he did not want to be back beneath it. It was bad enough he was about to be used in what he considered the most painful, degrading way. Now, I was making sure it would be completely dehumanizing.
Just the sight of him that way, again, did wonders for readying me for another orgasm. I felt cruel and heartless as I prepared my tools. “You look so hot in black,” I said to him. Black straitjacket. Black hood. Black and blue.
Almost inhuman, now, he was there before me on his back, naked except for the straitjacket and hood. When I straddled his lap I leaned down to tighten the laces on the hood, making sure he would not be tossing it off. I wanted to look at him the entire time when I raped him the third way.
He whimpered when I took his cock into my hand. He whimpered because he knew how cruel I was, and he knew I wanted him hard before I locked on the harness that would push his painfully hard dick aside and support a stiff, 8 inch piece of latex, complete with balls.
I used lubricant to make sure it felt even better, and smiled, approvingly, when he stiffened in my grasp. I saw him squirm to try to get away. I saw him breathing, painfully, under the hood.
And he gasped, lifting his head, the hood pressed tightly against his face when he felt what I did next. I mounted him, slowly, letting out my breath when his cock entered me. I wondered, eyes closed momentarily, if he would cum from the mere shock of being inside my tight, warm pussy.
But I knew him better than that. And he knew not to disappoint me after giving him this gift. Still, it was to be a rape, and for me, that meant making him endure the entire time.
So I held his head tightly by a fistful of hair, right through the hood, and I fucked him like he was nothing more than a mounted dildo for my use. All covered in black, he could not even move. He squirmed beneath me but I did not let him move more than a few inches.
“Don’t cum,” I hissed.
He whimpered.
“Don’t cum, or I’ll hurt you.”
I felt his body tense, I felt him pull all of his strength together. I enjoyed the feel of his cock inside of me, leaning down, gasping against his neck as I tightened around him.
I came, for the third time. I came without letting him cum at all; I came as he squirmed beneath me, covered in black.
Afterward, I collapsed on top of him, arms wrapped around his neck. Exhausted. “Did you like the third way?” I asked him.
“Yes,” he let out his breath. I could hear him, somewhere, behind the black hood.
“Did you expect that?” I asked him.
“No,” he replied, still breathing shakily.
I fingered the material of the straitjacket, staring at his throbbing cock, at the bit of precum that had formed on the tip. “None of them are quite as intense,” I told him, “As the third way.”
“Yes,” he agreed. And we remained that way for a long time.
I had a dream this afternoon that you were kneeling in front of me, ready to suck my dick.
It was so clear. I could see you there naked. I was wearing my favorite leather harness with the bobbing 9-inch flesh colored cock. The tip of the dildo was coated with white, creamy precum I had scooped off the head of your hard cock.
I took a lot of pleasure in making you go down on my huge dildo. I held you by the back of the head and pumped my hips forward slowly at first, then started picking up speed and really pounding your face. My latex balls were slapping against your chin. I could hear you gagging again and again on the length and width of my beast. It just turned me on more.
The best part was that my girlfriend was there watching. She had been curious and asking me what the big deal was about using a strap on, and why it was such a turn on. She had said she thought it would be gross or weird. But she was standing there, with a very curious look on her face. She was stroking the strap on cock I had her wearing, the black leather harness with the pretty 7-inch pink dick. She was sliding her delicate hand up and down it as if getting used to the feel of it, and I could see a sort of realization in her eyes as she watched your head bobbing up and down on my latex cock.
But I just kept fucking your face. The rhythm and pumping were turning me on, I could feel my panties heating up and soaking up warm moisture from my pussy from the constant pressure and suggestive thrusting.
I stopped fucking your mouth with my cock and said, “Get down on all fours.”
You did as told.
I moved around to get in position behind your ass, my latex cock slick with your spit and ready to enter your tight asshole. “Go ahead and take him from the front,” I told my beautiful, petite blonde girlfriend.
I watched her pink cock bobbing as she moved around toward your face and held it up delicately in the palm of her hand, offering it to your lips.
Then we took you together.
It was a good dream
Akasha’s Web is the original, all-authentic femdom erotica website. I have written more than 1,000 exclusive femdom stories and online trainings, in addition to the internet’s most shared no-nonsense guide for curious and reluctant women dipping their toe in the waters of BDSM. Now and then, I’ll add a humorous commentary or pop culture observation.
So you want to be my sissy So you want to be a little slut, do you?
Sometimes I have to wonder if you know who you are dealing with. If you know how cruel I can be. Sometimes I wonder if you will try to back out once you see the tools I lay out that I plan to use on you.
Are you feeling even more girlie? The panties, the shaved crotch, the pantyhose – all of these tasks make you more and more feminine and move you closer to perfection. Perhaps you will be my little cheerleader bitch, my bimbo whore, my sweet little lesbian sissy or my cocksucking cunt. I suppose it just depends on my mood?
I have no limits on the evening. I plan to let my girlfriends have their way with you. No matter what they want to do. I will tell them – the sky is the limit. I will show them how to fuck. I will show them the best positions. I will show them how we can take you, two at a time.
I had to inflate it about half way to get it into your tight hole, and I had to loosen you up with two fingers because you did not wear your training plug long enough before I arrived.
If it’s a pair of my moist panties, you will worship them and adore them, kneeling to lick the crotch, to suck on them, to wash them clean with your mouth. I know you’ll spend even more time on this task, because you enjoy it so much. I could include a cute little bullet vibe for you to strap to your pussy and endure the relentless vibrations that make you so hard, unable to cum, while my panties are over your face and you are sucking in my pussy scent.
You do NOT have to be a bitch! I think most men are attracted to different types of dominance, far more than they are to the stereotypical "cruel bitch" that is common in literature and porn. I'd like to offer a few alternatives to the "cruel bitch" that I think is just as effective - and much more natural and fun - for women to embrace.
I know you’ve got plenty of experience serving me in front of one of my friends, or serving a girlfriend of mine while I give direction. You’ve even had the pleasure of having a cock both in your ass and in your mouth at the same time, but I bet that memory is almost a blur. You’ve been dual fucked, and you’ve been used by me and a friend. You’ve proven that you are capable of serving two demanding women at once – both orally and anally.