An adult stories – Pity (The Pickup-Artist) by Emmalee_Strict,Emmalee_Strict * – * – * – * – * – *
Hi Kinky Reader! Thank you for dropping in on my first story. Hope you stick around 🙂
Dedicated to a certain one-night stand from several few years ago. We’ll call him “Rich.” He knows what he did. My fantasy spin on how it should have gone. His POV is more interesting than mine, because of how I want him to feel about it.
Honestly, I welcome criticism, suggestions, hearing what you like about my scribblings or don’t. So plzzzzz drop a Comment, it helps keep me motivated :)))
You’ll see, I may be Strict, but I’m sweet,
E.S.
* – * – * – * – * – *
“Pity (The Pickup-Artist)”
by Emmalee_Strict
When the bartender swings back around, I ask for “same-again” for me and for the lady, Bacardi & Coke for me and another of whatever Emma is drinking. A twelve year-old Glenmorangie neat, it turns out, water back no ice. Classy.
I say, “Sounds like you’re particular.”
Emma looks me up and down like it’s the first time she actually sees me, and says, “Very.”
When I got here, she was sitting alone at the bar. I moved in on her cool and smooth. I took a stool next to her, acting nonchalantly unaware of her at first, ordered my drink. After the bartender left, I started chatting her up. She didn’t tell me to get lost. So there was that.
Told me her name is Emma. Emma something, I didn’t listen to her last name. I don’t care. It’s not like I’m looking to change it to mine.
So, the second round leads to another, then another, and by now we both pretty much know where this is headed. So, I don’t feel crude or stupid about pointing out the pink and gold paper bag on the bar in front of her, which any idiot knows is from Victoria’s Secret, and saying, “Is that anything you want to model?”
Pickup-Artist tricks: Embarrass her, see how she takes it. Give her a chance to talk about shopping. “Neg” her about it.
But Emma just shrugs and gets up off the barstool. She smoothes out her skirt, picks up her little clutch purse and the lingerie shop bag and squeeze them absently to her impressive chest. Scanning the Friday night yuppie meat-market on display in the bar, she has a sort of melancholy look, idly biting her lip, irritated or bored.
I wonder if I’ve put her off, if maybe I should say something. My PUA instinct says, If she’s insulted, keep “negging” her, gauge how she reacts…
But at the moment, I can’t think what to say because I’m captivated by Emma’s looks… okay, mostly her boobs. I like how she fills out her black cotton, tanktop-style dress with a mid-thigh length skirt. Tight around her full tits and luscious ass. She’s tall for a curvy chick. She wears her long strawberry blonde hair loose, wavy, kind of wild. Her face is more than passably pretty, complexion peaches and cream, lightly freckled, with dark brown eyes for a sexy contrast. A little on the thick side, but I don’t mind that; big girls like to bounce, I can tell you that. Looking again, I notice a certain athletic power in her arms and legs. Like she works out, she’s fit and all that… just naturally big-boned, I guess.
And again, tall. Almost “Amazonian,” I think, which does something for me. I mean, I’m bigger, taller and stronger for sure, but I like the idea of the tussle we could have. And maybe I like the idea of not putting up much of a fight…?
She looks down at me with piercing brown eyes that could cut glass. “I’ll stop off in the ladies.’ Go out and grab us a cab.”
She says it like it’s more of an order than a proposition. But I mean, if this curvy blonde hottie wants me to meet her out front and go somewhere else, well, I don’t see the need to object to the tone of voice.
I settle the tab and head out front. On my way, I catch sight of my buddy Devin working a slut by the jukebox. I pantomime melon-sized shapes with my hands over my chest, and mouth the words, Great ass. Devin gives me one of those slight back-tips of the head in reply, and turns back to his mark.
It’s a hot summer night. I’ve got a cab running the meter by the curb when she comes out. I’m holding the door, like a gent, but my eyes are down on her shoes — which are black, strappy and shiny, open-toed, four-inch stilettos. She moves in them with easy confidence. I feel a little stirring in my groin.
As she breezes by, ducking into the cab, she glances up at me. “My place.”
I smirk. And it’s not even eight o’clock yet. Slut.
* – * – * – * – * – * -*
Emma hisses breathlessly into my ear, “Rich!”
Which is not my name, actually, it’s Rick, I told her that… but hell, it’s close enough for my present purposes. We were barely in the back of the cab when the necking and groping started. Our mouths and tongues are wrestling while our hands active elsewhere. Me, I’m feeling up her tits, which are large, responsive, and real. She fumbles with my fly, plunges inside the flap, into my tightie-whities, and gets a hefty measure of what she’s doing for me. I moan into her mouth, while her free hand slides behind my neck and drags me deeper into the kiss.
She comes away with a sharp pant and a nip of my lower lip.
“Ow!” I touch the lip. I think she drew a little blood.
Emma slumps back into the seat, turns her head and looks away, watching the street scenes fly by along Springfield Ave. Absently, she finds her purse and lingerie bag on the seat, rests them on her lap, and crumples the bag in her hand. I notice, it looks like whatever’s in the bag is kind of lumpy, which doesn’t seem right.
I look down at my open fly and see the boner inside my briefs half-poking through. What kind of tease is that? Well, I’ll show her later, I have ways to tame a tease.
Emma yawns and half-turns toward me, her fingers snaking out to grip my yellow power-tie. She talks to it, not me. “I hate ties.”
I try and laugh that off. “What can I say, it’s my uniform. I work in finance.”
She shakes her head, disappointed, for some reason, tugs sharply just below the knot, then lets the tie fall. She looks away. “Bad answer.”
“Hey, I’d take it off,” I offer, trying to lighten things up again. “But that’s exactly how I tend to lose these things when, uh…” I trail off.
When I shack up at the bitch’s place, was I about to say? Which begs the question, You mean on your one-night stands? Ones where you forget your necktie and never get it back, because you were always planning to ghost the anonymous pussy attached to that phone number?
Which begs the further question, So, you have a lot of them? Which I do. But I leave it at that. Anyway, she doesn’t seem to notice or care.
“Hey,” she looks back at me, refocused and smiling mischievously at me. The sudden cheerfulness is a little unnerving. “Has it occurred to you, maybe you’re going to regret you ever met me?”
“Uhh…” I’m stunned at the question, but I recover, PUA-confident. Hand on her leg, I purr, “Baby, that’s the farthest thing from my mind.”
“Hmm.” Ignoring my hand, she turns away to look out the window, the scenery passing by. Finally, she sort of shrugs.
“Pity.”
What does she mean by that?
* – * – * – * – * – * -*
Emma’s house is out in the toney suburbs, set back from the street behind a brick wall, wrought-iron gate and a line of sycamores. As I pay the cabbie, she is well ahead of me, already on her way up the brick path. She disappears inside. When I catch up and enter, she shuts the door and throws the deadbolt.
I catch just a glimpse of the long front hall — Oriental runner stretching past side doors toward a dim light from the living room — before Emma grabs and shoves me against the foyer wall and locks her lips on mine.
She’s surprisingly strong. I almost think she’s trying to push me around, take charge of things… We’ll see about that. I put my legs into it and drive her back. We take a couple of spins, and when the dance ends, it’s Emma who’s got her back to the wall.
“Ooof!” she grunts. “Ahhh, Rich –”
I think she likes that, a little male dominance — am I right? Her mouth is all over my neck and throat, breath hot and steamy, working her pelvis against mine, hands mauling at my collar. The big slut is hot and bothered and good to go. How far, that remains to be seen.
She likes things rough, I can see that. Maybe she wants to throw in a little kink? I’ve done that before. Maybe she likes a little restraint, spanking, name-calling, what have you…?
Which is okay, I can swing that way too, if she wants to be a good sport about it.
Her hands drop to my belt buckle, I step back a little to give her room to work, and she whips my belt out of its belt-loops. She undoes my pants and pushes them down over my hips. I feel the fine worsted wool of the Canali suit pants slide down my legs and bunch around my ankles. I try to kick and step out of them, but my Ferragamo loafers are in the way.
Her hands on my shoulders are strong. She pushes my suit jacket back over my shoulders. With my pants around my ankles putting me little off-balance, it feels like she’s got an edge of control over me. I kick and flail uselessly at the pants in my way.
She pushes the jacket down over my upper arms When she’s got it down to my elbows — she stops.
There, she grips the coat tight. Her hands are strong.
Shocked, I open my eyes. At first, what I see isn’t Emma… but a dead-eyed face in the glass-framed portrait hanging on the wall beside her head, and superimposed over that, the darkened blur of my own face reflected in the glass…
My eyes just as dead, I think for some reason.
And right here, I remember what Emma said in the cab.
Something about “regret.”
* – * – * – * – * – * -*
Emma is stronger than before. She pushes me back from wall, still gripping my jacket behind me, and spins me a quarter turn. She’s quick, too, quicker than my response time, as she continues the the spin and ducks to my side, and —
And I’m not sure what happens next. She either pushes or pulls me — I can’t tell where her hands are — and tripping over my own pants, I pitch forward. My knees fall onto the runner — “OOF!!” — which is mercifully thick, but the crash-landing jolts my whole body and knocks the wind out of me.
At the end of her graceful turn, Emma is back in front. Athletically throwing her right leg over me like a rider mounting a horse, she straddles my chest. When her meaty thighs tighten, I feel my chest and shoulders pinned between her legs, arms trapped behind me, arching me backward…
I regain a little composure, tense up and struggle, trying to rear up and push her off me. I manage to slide my jacket off my arms, but it doesn’t help. With her big-boned frame and strong thighs, she easily has all the weight and leverage over me.
Fuck! Pinned!
And all of this happens in a second. Before I can even think of resisting.
She takes her Victoria’s Secret bag from the little foyer table beside us, and she reaches inside.
Breathless, I look up at her. “Emma, what the f –?”
Her hand comes out of the bag and wads a large ball of black cloth into my open trap. ” Nooo-NNGH! Mmmfff!!”
Panties, as expected. Satin. Not so expected — they aren’t new, but used.
“I’ve been looking forward to shutting you up, Rich,” Emma laughs, “since the minute you started talking me up at the bar.”
Something else comes out of the bag next, and it’s not lingerie. It’s a large, red rubber ball connected to straps with rings and buckles. She forces the ball between my teeth, using the heel of her hand to jam it in good.
What is she doing! Is she insane!?
“Bitch, hold still!” Emma barks.
She buckles the main strap at the back of my head, then loops a thinner one under my chin. As he tightens this, I feel my teeth clamping tightly on the ball, which is huge, my lips stretching around it. Packed behind the ball, the satin fills my mouth. I can taste it: Fresh pussy juices, with a hint of piss. Fuck… now I see why she stopped off in the bathroom before we left the bar.
“MMHHH!?” I test my voice, which is hopelessly muffled, feeble, and… I admit, scared.
“You’re doing just fine, Rich.” Smiling down at me, she giggles and winks. I realize then, her skirt is hiked up, and while flexing her thighs, she’s also grinding her bare pussy into my chest. I feel her hot pussy juices seeping through my shirt onto the skin of my chest. “Stay nice and cooperative like a good boy, and I’ll let you in on my plans soon enough.”
She picks up my belt from the floor, eases up her thighs a little, wraps it around my upper arms, and buckles it over my chest, squeezing my arms tightly to my sides. Next, she opens the drawer of the foyer table, reaches in and takes out… handcuffs? No, it’s two pairs of cuffs. What the fuck? How kinky is this bitch?
She eases off my chest and slips behind me. Restrained by the chest-strap, I can’t fight her as she closes the cuffs around my wrists and ratchets them tight.
Click-click-click.
“Mfff!” I protest.
My only answer is Emma’s soft, breathy laughter as she pulls off my loafers and socks, then yanks off my pants. That done, she cuffs my ankles, click-click-click.
I don’t have a second to process my growing helplessness, before she takes hold of my boxers and yanks them down my thighs. Twisting the crotch-part of the briefs, she ties off a knot that binds my knees together. Dammit, I shake my head, struggling uselessly, she knows what she’s doing. She’s got me good!
I feel the force and motion behind me suddenly cease. A breathless pause. Then, when Emma walks around in front of me, all the urgency in her coiled frame gone, replaced with casual, no, arrogant cool. She’s right to feel that way, too, because there’s nothing I can do about my predicament, pretty much, except wrestle with my bonds until I fall over. And I’m not going to give her the chance to laugh at me for that. Fuck that, cunt!
So I lower my face, denying her the satisfaction of seeing a frightened or pleading face.
“NNGH!” I grunt defiantly.
When she pulled down my drawers, I discovered the painful way that my penis was still full-on engorged from our making out a few seconds earlier. It still is now. I should be terrified at what she plans to do with me in this state, but the fear is overpowered by the red-hot outrage and humiliation of my predicament, and more than that, at how my dick won’t calm down despite that. Made helpless in seconds flat, by a girl? I’ve never knelt at a chick’s feet in my life. Picturing that through her eyes scalds the skin of my face with impotent humiliation.
Mostly, I am pissed off that despite the way Emma has taken me down and humbled me, I’ve still got a boner for her.
From the way she laughs, I guess she is thinking the same thing. But she doesn’t say so. Instead she says, “Stand up.”
“Nngh?” I snap my head up, shooting her a hateful look like she’s crazy or stupid.
“Do it,” she purrs, “pet.”
Pet? Stubbornly, I convince myself I’d rather be on my own two feet, facing her, than kneeling at hers. So I try. I get the balls of my feet under me, and try to squat back so I can push off the carpet. But as soon as my knees leave the floor, I lose my balance, overreact, and tumble heavily onto my side. “Mfff!”
“Clumsy little boy,” Emma scoffs, and I can practically hear her eyes rolling. She moves behind me, plants her foot on my arm and kicks me onto my front. Ouch! The scratchy wool runner scrapes my still-hard penis. Why won’t the little fucker take a hint that it’s not fun and games anymore?
Emma rests a foot firmly on my upper back, and I feel the dig of a stiletto-heel between my shoulder blades. “Looks like you’ll need my help,” she laughs, “if we’re going to get you up.”
The pressure of her heel abruptly increases as she bears all her weight on it, stepping over me. Next, I see her feet strolling around in front of me, coming to rest under my face.
“You need to do something for me, though, if you want my help.” She extends her right foot, placing her big toe just beneath my ballgagged mouth. “Kiss.”
I groan. I confess it, when I first saw those open-toed pumps on her — back outside the bar, before my evening plans went, um, sideways — I’d fully intended once I got her alone, to lick and suckle each and every one of those toes, see what that did for her, and for me. But not like this, bitch, no way.
“Tsk,” she scoffs, irritated. “For hesitating, pet, you just made your job a little more demanding.”
“Nngh!” I snort.
She lifts her other foot and plants her heel on the back of my neck, gently, for now. “Oh, I haven’t forgotten about the ballgag in your yappy, yuppie mouth. But your lips are available, aren’t they? Use them, pet. Both lips, all five toes. I’ll be counting….”
I grumble and begin. I touch my lower lips to her big toe, then my lower, then move on to the next one down. The truth is, she has gorgeous, sexy feet, her toes are immaculately manicured, with the nails painted fire-engine red, and the sight of them fill my eyes as I acquiesce and give her what she wants.
“Oooh, that’s it, pet…” she breathes, deeply aroused, whispering, “worship me… ooh!”
There’s a motion above me, and I can tell she’s stroking her pussy through that tight skirt of hers while she looks down on me degrading myself.
“Five… six…”
Slowly, I realize I’ve been unintentionally grinding my junk into the carpet as I slobber on her toes with my ballgagged lips, and for just a second, I consider getting myself off that way. I think I could. That way, my emptied, satisfied cock would finally settle down, and she’d lose the fun of ogling and snickering at the unwanted arousal of her humiliated captive.
But then, I imagine the heartless way she’ll mock and scold, even punish me, for leaving a mess on her fancy Oriental runner. So I quiet that urge and hold my hips still.
“Seven… eight… nine…”
Emma doesn’t bother with the “ten” as I finish her pinky toe. She reaches down, grabs my shoulders and lifts me back up on my knees. Showing me a cruel grin, she crouches in front of me and takes hold of the belt buckle at my chest… and my penis.
“Ready or not,” she winks.
Using both handles, she hoists me upright. Between my bare feet and her four-inch stilettos, I have lost my height advantage, and she is staring me level in the face. She lets go of me, and I teeter a little, before she reaches out and steadies me. Again, with my penis.
“Mfff.”
She licks her lips. “Follow me.”
Turning on her heel, Emma starts away. I freeze, panicked.
She stops and glares at me back over her shoulder. “You hesitate again, clumsy boy, and it’ll be your balls I use. Don’t be stupid and boring, pet, you know how…” She gives my penis a little shake to demonstrate. “Hop,” she giggles.
“Nngh?”
“Hop like a bunny. Like my cute little pet bunny-toy.” Emma shifts her hand and cradles my balls, the tips of her nails digging lightly into my scrotum. “Don’t be a difficult toy, and make me wind you up.”
“Nnngh” I groan in frustration, seeing no other way out.
So I hop. Following Emma’s irresistible lead up the hall toward the living room, I hop on bare feet, the links of my ankle-cuffs clinking with each little jump. I try not to picture the pathetic sight I am, but I can’t help it: cuffed hand and foot, ballgagged, my own belt strapped across my chest, briefs tied around my knees, stripped naked except for my dress shirt and tie. My manhood in her hand and at her mercy.
“Follow me, funny bunny,” Emma giggles like a schoolgirl. “Hey, you should be used to following your dick around everywhere. Huh, Mr. Pickup-Artist? I mean, think about it, that’s what led you here.”
“KK-huhh!” I scream into the ballgag. Cunt. Although I doubt I’d say that if I thought she could understand me.
“Who’s a good bunny? Come along, let’s get comfortable so we can have a talk.”
Like, a gag-free conversation? I wonder hopefully.
She glances behind at me with a wink, “Or, in your case, more of a ‘listen.’ Oooh!”
Shit, I huff. As I hop, fighting for breath with my mouth stuffed, I snort through my nose. Tightly bound hand and foot, it’s a tough and frustrating effort to keep my balance… and truth be told, I really am depending on Emma’s firm grip on my erection to steady me. I’m furious and ashamed at myself for giving Emma that eager, engorged handle to use against me. But the little fucker doesn’t seem to know when to quit.
Huff! Huff!
A couple hops later, I’m looking at a view the living room. It’s spacious though dim, lit by a single floor-lamp next to the sofa. Modestly luxurious. Large Persian area rug, redwood ceiling beams and matching the interior trim on the doorways, bookshelves and fireplace, antique furniture, a desk next to the heavily-draped windows. Looks like this Emma bitch does pretty well for herself…
Next I notice a couple things that don’t seem to belong. First, on the rug by the desk, there’s a big black canvas duffel bag, and spilling out of it are several coils of rope, something like a dog-collar, except it’s thick black leather, and a leather-handled chain leash.
Second, lined up on the carpet next to the bag — a riding crop, a wooden cane and a thin, coiled leather whip.
Oh….. fuck.
“Oops.” Emma stops suddenly. “Silly me, I almost forgot my own rule.”
Leaving me teetering at the end of the hall, she goes over to the duffel bag and comes back holding a pair of medical shears, which she eagerly works in her hand, snip-snip-snip. “Rule one: No boytoy of mine enters this room wearing anything at all. Which means you, bunny-pet, are not quite up to code.”
She crouches and, snip-snip, cuts the briefs off my my knees. Small mercy.
Playfully, she rattles the links between my ankles cuffs. “Anything, I mean, except their chains.”
Emma gets up and undoes my chest strap, lets the belt fall to the floor. She rips my shirt open, buttons flying off, then methodically slices away every shred of my two-tone, tab-collared Hugo Boss dress shirt. She trails her bright red nails up my pelvis, abs and chest, until they stop at the knot of my necktie. My last stitch of clothing.
“Told you I hate neckties.” She tugs it playfully, eyeing it with amusement. “Hmm, pale yellow with navy polka dots, classic power-tie.”
Snip-snip.
“Oooh!” Emma coos.
Letting the ruined silk fall to the floor, she looks up at me with her lips parted, her brown eyes seething with desire. “Tell me, pet, who’s got the power now?”
* – * – * – * – * – * -*
“So, you have a lot of these, do you, Rich? These one-night stands?” Emma asks cheerfully.
She’s got my hips pressed against the desk in the corner while she works behind me, binding my arms with her ropes. I’m annoyed at the friction of the varnished wood desktop against my rigid cock. But since Emma has already tied up legs, with tight loops around my thighs, knees and ankles, I’m glad for the stability of something to lean against.
“Not many like this, I bet.”
Finished tying up my wrists, Emma removes the handcuffs and lets them drop to the floor.
“For one thing,” Emma purrs, “I bet you’re never the first one who’s all the way naked, while your ‘barfly slut’ still has all her clothes on — hmm?”
“Mfff!” My face heats up at the taunt.
“Well, most of them.” She taps the ballgag to remind me where her panties are.
“Grrr.”
“Clothed Femme, Naked Boytoy,” she giggles. “The natural order of things.”
Emma weaves a rope harness around my arms, chest and shoulders. I groan at the feeling of my bondage tightening. I feel my aching hard-on bobbing with the jerky motions of her hands. Due to how tightly Emma has bound my thighs, all my junk is pushed forward, my balls feel huge and full, and that tireless boner of mine is ramrod-hard, thick and tipped up. Although my urgent need mortifies me, I can neither tame it or relieve it.
“Ooh, pet, you were so easy to capture, too. I didn’t even have to use my tae kwon do. That’s got to be a little embarrassing for you, huh?”
“Grrr!” This bitch has a real knack for twisting the knife.
“Well, it was hot for me, anyway. Bet you don’t know, I’ve had three micro-orgasm since I took you down.”
‘Micro-orgasms?’ I’m not familiar. But maybe that explains the little ‘oooh’s’ she’s been making.
Emma’s rope harness secures my hands at my mid-back — leaving my bare buttocks strategically undefended. I’m red-faced with impotent frustration and shame, and high-alert fear.
“Yeeah, baby…” Emma says in a breezy voice while she works. It unnerves me how cheerful she is while she’s roping up a man. “You know, steel is quick and effective for a surprise capture like yours, pet. But for me, it’s got be 100% natural Japanese hemp on all my playthings,” she explains happily while the ropes whir in her hands. “That’s what makes the games I play feel more, you know, intimate.”
Emma finishes off by tying my elbows, twisting them in close, looping off the narrow space between my arms. Her rope work is firm, intricate and obviously inescapable. The feel of it gripping my flesh tells me I have no way out of this, until Emma chooses to let me loose.
Taking my shoulder, Emma turns me around to face her.
Emma places a firm hand on my chest, holding me still at arms-length. The edge of the desktop bites into my butt. I feel especially vulnerable facing her. Emma, in the tight black minidress that hugs her thick curves and the four-inch sandal-pumps that enable her to tower over me. And me, acutely aware of my nudity and how tightly my arms are trussed up behind me. Involuntarily I tense and scrunch in my body, a futile effort to protect my exposed, erect manhood.
“Shhh, calm down, my skittish little pet. Hurting you comes later. Right now, I just need you to settle down…and listen.”
I try settling down like Emma says. But when she brushes her fingertips along the underside of my shaft, that makes it a little, um, harder. I moan into the gag in my mouth. Her eyes light up at my response. She moans a little too. I can tell from the husky, breathy tone of her voice and warm scarlet flush in her ample cleavage and freckled cheeks that Emma is deeply aroused by what her view commands, and itching to do something about it.
Standing close in front of me, she looks my bound body up and down appraisingly. Her fingertips lovingly caress the hemp strands she has woven around my legs, arms and chest. Roped and gagged as I am, all I can do is perch bare-assed against the desk, try and look calm… and listen.
“Pet, the bondage you’re wearing now is just the first stage your submission. I call it the ‘post-capture’ stage.”
Her voice has changed. Now lower in volume and tone, it is breathy, mesmerizing and dangerously seductive. “But once you’re broken and trained, you’ll submit to me unbound. Your naked, subjugated body is going to kneel, cower, beg, and serve me with gratitude and a burning, unquenchable need to please me…
“Please, serve and obey me…
“You’ll gladly sign over your financial life to me. And I’ll manage your money well — I mean, my money — just as I do for a half-dozen other boytoys like you. I mean look around, how do you think I arranged this ‘early retirement?'”
Impossible, I think. But then, looking around, I have to wonder…
Emma goes on, purring like a jungle cat, “You’ll accept my natural superiority. You’ll be my expertly trained, perfectly willing and obedient body-servant, house-pet, pain-toy and sex-slave. You’ll admit that out loud, thank me gratefully for my training, and mean it with all your heart.”
“Nnn-nrr!” Never.
Through the sexual miasma that clouds her eyes, Emma gives me a superior smirk that says, We’ll see about that.
“Oh, look at yourself, pet, the helpless state you’re in. Obviously, I can take whatever I want by force. And I’ll enjoy that, don’t you worry! Ahhh, but for me, the deeper erotic thrills come after I’ve tamed a man… from watching him freely and wholeheartedly submit to my will.”
Emma’s fingertips slide lightly up the length of my shaft. I moan. She nestles up alongside me, like she’s snuggling with her favorite stuffie, her bare inner thigh caressing my roped-up legs. Looking into my eyes, she absently teases my penis with varying strokes. And I can see, with her other hand, she is fingering herself through her skirt. She lets out a long sigh of contentment, like this bizarre scene is her most comfortable and serene happy-place.
Emma strokes. I moan. She eases off.
I groan. It’s more than clear by now, Emma’s expert hand knows its way around a man’s cock, and she is playing mine like a Stradivarius. She has me breathless, confused, on an erotic knife’s edge. Thinking back, I realize I’ve been desperately engorged since the necking in the front hall, and even through the ordeal since, my erection has never slacked, even for a second. I know her game. She’s going to tease me relentlessly, but never let me cum. Even knowing this, though, I can’t stop my lustful, heavy-lidded eyes from begging hers for release.
Emma ignores that, leaning close to purr into my ear, “Think about before, in the foyer, when you reluctantly kissed my feet. How sweet will that be when you do it, not under my threats, to spare yourself pain… but at my casual whim, just to please me?”
Involuntarily, my hips jerk and thrust at the breathy sibilance she gives the word, “please.” Her hand senses my erection has grown overexcited, and eases all the way off.
“Mmffff…”
“But you already know this, pet. You worshipped my toes. I can tell the difference between grudging acceptance and true erotic inspiration, and I saw it in you… in the the softening of your shoulders, the movements of your hips, the bend of your neck…”
Two fingers sweetly graze the tip of my penis. My hips spasm. Her fingers dance away.
“I’ll admit it freely, sweet pet, that was my first micro-orgasm, watching how obediently you debased yourself for me. Doesn’t it please you to know that? Search your heart and you’ll see that it does, and you’ll also see, doing it pleased you too.”
“Nngh!”
“Shhh, don’t fight me on this, pet. You have it in you. Can’t you feel it? However dimly for now…now in this moment, in your confused state… still you can see a future of peace and contentment for yourself, and sensual fulfillment, too… in a world where you receive your Goddess Emmalee’s instructions… and eagerly, you obey.”
“Nngh?”
“I know, right? The question really is, how do we get you from here,” she runs her fingers across the ropes hugging my chest, “to that world? The one where you are my slave?”
No! The word “slave” galvanizes me. My shoulders twist back and forth, my trussed-up arms strain behind me, and legs and feet flex and wriggle in their ropes. I feel the knots press back in on me, though, groan in frustration, but keep squirming in my bonds. I grunt a string of muffled, angry curses into my gag. I tense up, showing her with my eyes that I’m going to fight her all the way.
This just amuses her. She’d pulled back to carefully study me and my eyes during my outburst, pointedly removing her hand from my penis. Now, satisfied at what she sees, she sighs happily and settles herself back alongside me with her hand poised over my erection, waiting. Her smoky brown eyes query mine. With a faint sob, I nod. She laughs softly, triumphant, and her hand gently cradles my balls, then shimmies up the shaft.
“But see, pet, I can’t free you just yet. No, I see the resistance burning in your eyes. I feel it coiled up tightly in all your muscles…”
She slides a hand from my chest to shoulder and down my to my bicep, coming to rest on a loop of tight rope, then returning it to my twitching erection. She chuckles, teasing herself lustily with her other hand, showing me that all the struggles of my body, mind and desires are just an amusing sexual game to her.
A puzzle to unlock. Maybe not an especially challenging one…?
“It’s the need to fight me, defy me, show me that you, your body and your stupid male ego believe you still have freedom, will and choices. And it’s a hateful desire, frankly, to do me violence — admit it, sexual violence — if you could. So yes, we’re still a long way from that world of willing submission. I can see that. And that road is going to run through degradation, fear and pain for you. Lots of it. Sorry, spoiler,” Emma chuckles evilly.
“That’s why I’ve got you tied up, pet.” Emma’s face comes around she sweetly kisses the rubber ball in my mouth. “And gagged.”
Suddenly inspired, Emma’s mood changes.
She steps away, facing me. Her hand comes away from my penis, and my hips jerk, following after it. My face heats up and I moan involuntarily. God, I want the hand back!
Emma’s voice brightens, she gives me a quizzical look, and asks cheerfully. “Say, pet, do you want the gag out?”
My eyes widen and I nod my head frantically, Yes! Yes!!
“Oh, of course you do, silly!” Emma chirps playfully, mocking me like I walked into her clever trap. She stands in front of me, hands behind her back — making it clear my aching boner isn’t going to get any more attention for now — bouncing playfully on her red-painted toes.
“Hahaha! You always do — all my wide-eyed, freshly captured playthings do. Men, so predictable! When everything else about you is helpless, vulnerable and exposed, all your crushed male ego can think to do is try and blabber-blabber your way out of it. ‘Reason’ with me. Whimper, bargain, and beg. ‘You can’t get away with this!’ ‘Can’t we talk it over first?’– you know, before the whip falls. ‘Please, Goddess, I’ll be good and do whatever you say!’…”
Emma sighs wearily. “Boring.”
I shake my head, seriously trying to convince her I have something more meaningful to say than that pathetic shit. “Leee-eth…” I groan. Please… begging her to ungag me.
“What’s that, pet?” she smirks, eyebrow arched. “See, that’s why I keep all my new playthings gagged at first, pet. And strictly. So I can’t make out a single weak, tedious word.”
Suddenly, her attitude is no longer playful, but angry and scolding. “In your case, the gag stays in because if your mouth is free, your tongue will lie. Sure as night follows day. All you want is a chance to chat me up and sweet-talk me all over again, like in the bar. That why you’re not permitted to speak.”
For long moments after this, Emma is quiet. My heart sinks and I feel a chill rushing through my body. The cold and the warm mingle in my groin, blending an unsettling brew of anticipation, dread and erotically-charged fascination.
As her silence drags out a few moments more, the dread takes over.
“It’s because I see you, pet…” Emma begins in a tone that is soft, but menacing. “I know you.”
* – * – * – * – * – * -*
“That’s right, I know you,” Emma repeats. “You’re the ‘big swinging finance dick’ who likes to go out on the town, hit the happy hour meat-market circuit, and fuck.”
“Oh, I can see how you get all the tail you want, stud. Tall, dark and handsome, great bod — workout-warrior, am I right? Charming, in a way, if your barfly victim doesn’t have the radar for narcissism and lies. Dress sharp, got a good job, apparently.
She looks down approvingly at my boner. “And you know, pet, I like to laugh at men’s small penises whenever I can. But in your case, I don’t think I can quite pull that off.”
She sighs. “So, I bet you’re just knee-deep in barfly pussy from Friday night happy hour to Sunday brunch — fucking, fucking, fucking, all weekend long.”
She moves closer, our eyes are locked, and so are my erection and her hand.
“But you know what, Mr. Stud-Muffins Pickup-Artist Player? Turns out you’re just working a playbook, nothing you say is true, and you’re going to make promises you don’t plan on keeping… just so you can get under that skirt,” she hisses, giving me a lingering stroke. “And keep on fucking.”
“Hmmmm…”
“Blowjobs too. You always manage to sweet-talk your barfly into a hummer, don’t you? Promise it’s going to be a ’69. But you never make good on that. Do you?”
Shit, she’s not wrong about that.
Emma moves closer and tickles her tongue around my stretched-out lips. “That’s why I decided you need the feeling of having your mouth stuffed.”
I shudder at those words. She’s right, I deserve it.
Shit, did just think that? It’s eerily familiar, the story she is telling, and it shames me to see it through the barfly’s eyes. But somehow that shame excites me, too, as I feel the arousal Emma takes from taunting my ballgagged mouth with her fingers, lips and tongue, which she’s done a few times. She obviously delights in it, and knowing how it enflames her, enflames me. Fuck. Is she starting to get to me?
“Then there’s the anal…” She slides her other hand around my hip and I feel her exploring the crack of my ass with wet, sharp-nailed fingers. “Somehow, you coax her into that, which she’s never done. But she’s a pleaser, and you’re a talented sweet-talker, so all of a sudden she’s game to give it a try. But you don’t warn her, once you’re inside, you don’t know how to be gentle about it. Do you, Player?”
“Nnnngh…” Does Emma plan to show me how that feels? On the receiving end…?
“Do you?” she nods thoughtfully, her eyes briefly lost somewhere else. “No you don’t. Left her with nothing but a necktie, and a… yeast infection. No, your type doesn’t know the first thing about empathy… or caring.”
Oh no. This is coming a little too close to home. Please, stop.
“Or commitment.”
Emma’s eyes are down, fixated on the swollen boner that her hand sweetly torments.
“Now your ‘barfly slut,’ she likes her one-night stands too! Just as much as your average single, liberated, sex-positive urban female. Doesn’t make her a bimbo. She’s entitled to like sex. So, fuck that.”
She pumps me rhythmically and seductively, licking her lips, studying my face closely.
“Did it occur to you, Player, that there’s a difference between fucking and getting fucked? That there might have been a certain ‘barfly slut,’ on a certain weekend, who felt like with you, she just got fucked?”
I start to rock my hips in time with her hand, but she places the other one firmly on my pelvis, taking away my involvement in her maddening, edging handjob. But that thrills me in another way: the firmness of one hand, controlling me; the seduction of the other, driving me wild.
To show her what’s inside me, I surrender a desperately pleading look to her that I can’t help, hate myself for, but know its gives Emma the sweet suffering that she wants from me. She takes satisfaction in my despair, but gives me no relief. Her fingertips collect the precum from my glans and smears it down the length of my shaft.
I tip back my head and inhale sharply through my nose.
“But your ‘barfly slut’ never gave up on one-night stands. She wasn’t going to let narcissistic, prick users like you take that away from her. It’s just, you know, after a certain point she decided she was going to have them her way, with her rules… on her terms. She decided she’d had enough of being fucked, and from then on, she was going to be the one doing the fucking.”
“Nngh!”
Emma spits into her hand and returns it to my penis, expertly working the saliva down my shaft. Stroking and easing, stroking and easing… edging and denying, edging and denying. I whimper, sobbing into my gag, desperate to thrust my hips into one hand, but held at bay and controlled by the other.
There’s a terror growing in me, though, alongside the lust. That’s my brain reminding me, if I’m hearing her right, hers is a story full of deceit, abuse and heartache, edged with bitterness, with an implied subplot of emasculating revenge. I should be terrified of where this is headed. Because, I don’t fool myself, her hand isn’t pumping me to give pleasure, but to torture me…
And because, I am sure of it, her sweet, stroking hand is only the softer side of the tortures to come.
Lined up on the carpet — the riding crop, the cane, and the whip.
I know it. I deserve it.
Emma knows it too, and she is working it.
“Cocks don’t fuck me anymore,” she growls. “No, after I’ve taught them obedience and respect, I fuck them.”
Oh God! My balls stir and contract, my penis pulses in her hand. My eyes clenched shut, I am panting and squealing through my nose, chest heaving, fighting for breath. So close. God, one or two more wet, wonderful strokes like that, and —
Click.
I feel Emma’s fingers on my nutsack, a constriction around the top of it, cool, encircling steel. Tightening. Click-click-click.
“MFFF!!” My eyes pop wide open.
Another steel ring ratchets around the base of my twitching, engorged cock, cool and smooth but unyielding.
Click-click-click.
And then, one more — click.
“MMMGHH!!” I scream uselessly.
“Oooh!” she trills.
She looks into my terrified eyes and hums with contentment. She presses her chest into mine, so close that I feel her breath hot on my face. Her eyes not wavering from mine, she teases her fingertips along the shaft of the penis between us, confirming it’s just as hard as she had it before.
Emma nods with approval. And though I don’t feel it, I hear it once more, a tiny – click.
She shows me the small, shiny key strung on a slender silver chain, which she puts around her neck. The key drops into her delicious cleavage, where it is swallowed, out of my sight.
“There.”
Smiling and flashing her white, wet teeth, she licks her lips. “Now I own it.”
I look down. A polished silver ring tightly grips my rigid, agonized erection. Beneath that, but unseen, a second ring encircles the base of my bloated red balls. The two rings meet at a beveled joint, where there is a keyhole. A tiny black void into which all the fight in me has disappeared.
“Now, it’s only a matter of time before the rest of you falls in line.”
Emma steps back to make room, smiles grimly, and points at the carpet.
“Kneel.”
Half in a daze, I don’t hesitate to obey. I slide my buttocks off the edge of the desk, my bound hands briefly steady my descent, and my knees drop to the floor. The soft carpeting welcomes them like it is their natural place. I settle my hips, soften my shoulders, and bend my neck.
Emma’s hand grasps my chin and lifts my face to gaze into hers.
She collars me, drawing the supple leather around my throat, padlocking the buckle. I feel tamed.
Standing over me, Emma lifts her skirt of by its hem, pulls her black dress off over her head, revealing her black satin brassiere. Naked at the waist, her hips are wide and commanding. Her skin is freckled but flawless, her tummy is soft but flat, and I see the grace and power in her arms and legs. I see viscous, glistening trickles of the pussy juices slicking the insides of her thighs.
She unstraps her pumps and tosses them aside.
During this, she doesn’t speak. It’s weirdly striking to me that Emma, who was so talkative before, has fallen silent. But in a dream-like way, I understand it. Before, she used her voice, along with her touch, to kindle and fan my lust for her control to the edge of combustion, before she captured it, like lightning in a locked, steel bottle. Now, she has no use for those words. Everything she wanted from them is accomplished.
And to me, everything is clear.
She stands astride my roped, kneeling thighs, her vulva and its groomed tuft of curly blonde pubic directly before my eyes.
She sinks down, straddling my hips, but holds her sex teasingly clear of mine. I could strain my hips and try to reach her, but I don’t want to. This is a thing Emma wants to control.
Settled, she reaches behind and unfastens her bra, slips the straps down her arms, and sets her breasts free. Gravity does its job and lets them freely drop, jostle, and bounce back up, firm and proud. They are large, soft, rounded, and beautiful. Her areolae are large pink circles capped with nipples as hard and large as rosy pearls. The tawny freckles on her dĂ©colletage highlight how white and perfect the skin of Emma’s bosom is.
Reaching down, she trails her fingernails up from my balls and the length of my shaft.
In a muted sense of panic, I realize in the most sensitive parts of me are nearly nerveless, anesthetized, or like meat hanging in a cooler. My penis and balls, and with them the near-climax they still contain, are trapped. Shackled. Like a snapshot of my lust held in suspended animation.
Held by my Goddess Emmalee and her steel proxy. I take blind faith and cold comfort in that, in my Goddess’s control. In that erotically mesmerized state, my panic subsides.
“I even warned you, didn’t I, pet? That you might regret you met me. And you didn’t believe me. Pity. Pity for you.”
She licks her lips.
“Not that I’ll show you any.”
Looking up I see in the cleft of her breasts, a glint of metal, the cock-ring key.
And that’s the last thing I see.
“You’re on display for me, pet, not the other way around.”
The slick, black spandex snakes over the hot skin of my face, blotting out all light. “I take away your face, just as I took away your freedom and your voice, to make you more of a thing. It’s to remind you, while I torture, humble and break you, that to me you’re only an object.”
The next moment, she lowers her hips, claiming the head of my erection inside her firm, tender walls. She exhales heavily, “Haahhh!”
She eases off, then dips back down, capturing more of my cockhead.
She leans forward, clasping my face and latching her hungering mouth on mine, kissing me through the hood and gag. Down below, her hips slowly begin to churn faster, swallowing and claiming more of my flesh with each increase in tempo.
My blood is thundering in my head so loudly, I can’t tell if it’s her whispered voice, or her earlier words branded on my mind. Cocks don’t fuck me anymore… after I’ve taught them obedience and respect, I fuck them.
It’s the stark truth. I’m nothing but the fixed, nerveless rod of meat she rides. I have just enough sensation in it, that I can feel the intense muscular constriction of her inner walls as they gobble up
I feel hopelessly used, objectified, degraded. But inside, I surrender myself to that use. It fulfills me. I am a thing she fucks.
“Ahh, ahh, a thing!” Her mouth is next to my ear. Panting, her words slurred by gasps of carnal hunger, Emma babbles, “Nothing. But. A. Fuck-toy. Peg-hole uhh! uhh! uhh! Whip-meat! OHHHH!”
And at last, in my solitary darkness, I feel her hips cascade down and engulf me.
“UHHNNHH!!” Her thunderous exhale explodes around me.
My frozen erection splits the hot sheath of her pussy, and the impact of her groin shuddering into mine splits me inside, too. The tsunami wave crashes over me and the riptide sucks me away. Her ecstasy unbridled, Emma screams next to my ear, terrifying me.
The next thing, It’s not just my cock that feels it, but all of me.
There is a shivering spasm low in her belly that builds like an earthquake, shaking me too. Her thighs tighten around me. I hear her breath held in suspense, a delicate tittering in the back of her throat, a soaring escape of air from a gaping mouth…
…and then, her climaxing wail, “Mine! YES! MINE!”
Ecstatically, Emma clutches my shoulders, frantic nails digging into my flesh with all their strength.
Her hands on my shoulders are strong.
The pain is exquisite.
And I am abjectly grateful for something to feel.
“MINE! MINE!! MII-IIIIIIIIIII–!!!”
* – * – * – * – * – * -*
Her hands on my shoulders are strong. She pushes my suit jacket back over my shoulders. And right here, I remember what she said in the cab.
Something about “regret.”
I open my eyes.
At first, what I see isn’t Emma… but a dead-eyed face in the glass-framed portrait hanging on the wall… superimposed over that, the darkened blur of my own face reflected in the glass… the dead-eyed face of a Pickup-Artist.
A happy hour predator, a deceitful prick… and a weak, lost narcissist terrified of commitment.
* – * – * – * – * – * -*
Her hands are strong. Pushing back on the lapels, Emma’s thumb gets accidentally caught in my tab collar. In her lusty carelessness, she pops the top four buttons of my shirt, pop-pop, one after the other.
“Ooh!” Her eyes widen, seeing the damage she’s done. Her expression is abashed, and the scarlet blush of her arousal is fading to an embarrassed pink. “Oh! Shit, sorry! Look what I did –”
I stand there, stunned, rooted at the spot where I previously had Emma pinned to the wall. My pants are around my ankles. There’s a boner straining to the front of my tightie-whites. My belt is on the floor. Her clutch purse and the Victoria’s Secret bag are on the foyer table beside us. There’s a surreal sense in my vision of all this, but despondent, like I am coming down from a high.
“No worries, baby,” I brighten up, or try to. Something is nagging at my mind, distracting me.
But I let that go. “Seriously, I’ve got plenty like it. It’s not hard to fix –”
“I even warned you, didn’t I? That you might regret you met me,” she giggles. “And you didn’t believe me…”
Pity, I think. But I’m not sure why. I can feel my dick shrink.
Why does that feel like a relief?
I shrug. Clearly, the mood is gone, at least for now, so I figure what the hell. I hoist up my pants and button them. “Umm, should we get a get a drink or something, sit down and talk some more? Get to know each other. Or…?”
“I’ve got some Sauv Blanc in the fridge,” she says with a wistful air.
I think she knew what the “Or?” meant, but she was hesitant to bite. She’s as aware as I am, we can put the mood right again in a heartbeat, hightail it it to the bedroom, and get on with doing the nasty. But she’s looking to me to take the lead. I know how to do that. So why don’t I?
It’s the same question as, why did I say, Get to know each other? I fucking never say that, if the pussy is already secured and the screwing is imminent.
The answer to both questions is the same: Emma seems like a really nice girl.
I look at her face, and I find it really charming, the changes it’s gone through since she messed up my shirt. Genuinely surprised, adorably apologetic, playfully self-deprecating, and plain horny. I love what the flush of desire does for her round, peaches and cream cheeks, and how her freckles accent that. Her dark brown eyes, when you really look into them, are kind of mesmerizing. I’ve got now idea how I didn’t appreciate it before, she’s actually gorgeous.
I like her adorable smile. I like her body, the size and stamina of it, a real woman. I want to wake up with her tomorrow and go out for brunch, then spend the rest of the day in our shorts at the park. Have dinner.
I like her.
Nuzzling up to me, Emma looks down at my shirt, makes a pouty-face, and says it again, “Sorry.”
“Hey, I’ve already forgotten about it, Emma.”
“It’s just, that was so clumsy.” She puts her pinky finger to her lips, biting on a bright red nail, and her eyes give me a look that’s mock-contrite and seductive. “Aren’t you mad at me? Sure you don’t want to… spank me?”
“Hey, I got my collar in the way of your finger,” I joke. “Maybe you should spank me?”
She laughs, showing her white, wet teeth. Then looks at me with her nose scrunched up, quizzically. “Why would I want to do that?”
Why indeed? I shrug my shoulders, trying to laugh it off. “I was only saying, I can swing that way too, if you want to be a good sport about it.”
She eyes me more quizzically. I look back at her. With regret, I realize she’s not going to swing that way at all.
Pity.
> The End