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| Inconvenience | Back to N | Back to main page |
Collected by Djian
updated march 20 - 2009
The following story is posted for the entertainment of adults. If you are
below the age of eighteen or are otherwise forbidden to read electronic
erotic fiction in your locality, please delete this message now. The story
codes in the subject line are intended to inform readers of possible areas
that some might find distasteful, but neither the poster nor the author
make any guarantee. You should be aware that the story might raise other
matters that you find distasteful. You read at your own risk.
revtrout@hotmail.com
Mind control is a funny thing. If the person controlling you is subtle enough, you won't even know they have their hooks inside you. Not until they want you to know.
I only realized a week ago that I've whole groups of people controlling me. I thought many of them were my friends. I thought I understood the world around me. I never imagined my entire paradigm was a deliberate myth, created with loving care and exquisite detail... all for their own amusement. And after all the things that they've proven they can do, how do I know there aren't a hundred faceless others doing the same thing to me? How many people out there privately or publicly call me their plaything, their perfectly trained little toy? How many hands have gripped my naked hips while I knelt with my forehead pressed to the floor, obediently waiting to be mounted and fucked?
But I'm getting ahead of myself, thinking so hard of what I've learned over this past week. I received my first clues well before then. Two or so years before.
His name was Booker, and I met him while walking home from my soon-to-be-ex boyfriend's house. I was stewing inside, almost quivering with pent up frustration, and giving serious thought to crying. Or maybe screaming. I never saw Booker coming down the sidewalk until I'd almost run into him. One second it was Joel and his perfect grades and his perfect family and his perfect gentlemanly morals and his perfect little life... and then I was stopped short, calloused hands gripping my forearms to keep me from falling flat on my bottom.
"...whoa, girl, I'm sorry...didn't mean to frighten you...look like you're in a hurry." And in the moment's shock, my brain registered what was happening in rapid order. Black man, maybe fifty years old, grey hair neatly trimmed and a kind smile on a tired face. That vaguely unpleasant scent that only the homeless can manage. Already shuffling past me, avoiding eye contact to prove he meant no harm. I thought he looked like Morgan Freeman, only shorter and better built.
"It's okay," I impulsively said to his retreating back, and he turned at once to give me his polite attention. "I'm sorry... I should have been watching where I was going."
"...my fault, my fault...say...you don't think I could manage a cigarette off you? I'm sorry to ask, it's just--"
"No, no, here! Take one for the road, too!" And then I did a very weird thing. As I fumbled in my purse for my cigarettes, I saw that a neatly packaged condom had happened to end up resting on top of the pack. I pretended not to see it and brought the pack out, "absently" letting the condom fall to the sidewalk. At least my blush was real; I could feel it burning across my entire face.
I didn't know then that it was a programmed impulse. I didn't know anything about how my "friends" had carefully booby-trapped my mind. And I didn't have a very clear idea of what to do next.
Booker did. He leaned down, his gentle expression never changing, and picked up the condom. Maybe his smile was a little wider when stood back up, but it wasn't remotely the leer that it could have been. Just the sad smile of an old man who knew he'd never be picked to wear that condom... but who could still take pleasure from imagining what it might feel like.
"It's not what it looks like," I heard myself stammer, and wondered where I was intending to take this explanation. "I thought I might use it tonight, but I probably never will now."
"...awwww, come on..." A touch of warm hard fingertips against my palm as he handed it to me. "...pretty girl like you? You in college, ain't you?"
"Yeah, I go to SCAD. Um,SavannahCollegeof Art and Design?" My blush abruptly blazed ten times hotter as, with a glance, his eyes told me that he knew what 'SCAD' meant. I'd just insulted his intelligence, but he was letting it slide. "Um... I'm gonna be a graphic designer."
"...well, going to school like that, you gonna meet all kind of boys. You'll be fine." He accepted my cigarette and a light. I feared his next move would be to turn and walk away.
"I guess so, but that's not gonna get me laid tonight." I knew what I was doing. I knew exactly where I was trying to lead the conversation. But for the life of me I couldn't imagine why. How could I even be contemplating--
"Aw, come on, now." His voice was still calm, comforting, but his eyes had become very intent. I held his undivided attention. "Any man would wanna give you that, whenever you wanted it."
"You're sweet. My name's Megan. What's yours?"
"Booker."
"Booker...?"
"Yeah, like Booker T. Washington. And Megan, I wasn't trying to be sweet. It's true. Any man would wanna get together with you."
"Any man? What about yourself? Would you want to fuck a tiny little white girl like me?" I gave him a winsome smile, and continued listening in shock to my out-of-control mouth.
"Hell yeah I would, if I thought I had a chance to."
"Where would you take me?" I glanced around the quiet neighborhood and vaguely wondered if anyone was listening to us through their window. Maybe watching us. "My place is just around the corner..."
"We could do that," Booker said immediately. "If, uh, you don't think we'd be bothering anybody."
"Oh, no. I live alone." I slid my hand into his. "Come on."
He followed me home, all the time glancing around with a hunted look, as though he wondered what the catch might be. It was a strange thrill to let him know exactly where I lived, to know that he might visit me again whenever he wanted. If this night went as I planned for it to, he'd be wanting to visit me very often indeed. And I'd have to let him in, let him have me again and again... he'd know too much about me to dare make him mad.
But only if I went the distance then, on that first night. So as soon as we were inside I locked the door, turned, and sank to my knees before him. My hands fumbled at the fly of his trousers, and within seconds I had his warm cock hardening in my hands.
It was huge, even semi-flaccid. Nine or ten inches long and getting thicker each passing second. My brain yammered in semi-coherent alarm, trying to get my attention, to pull me back from this crazy thing that I was doing. I thought I might start listening to it at any second, so before I could back out, I leaned forward and took Booker's cock into my mouth.
"...oh lord..." he breathed, and rested his fingertips on my head. I began to bob up and down, taking in as much of his enormous size as I could, letting my tongue caress the underside of his shaft with each stroke. Incredibly, it continued to swell in my mouth until it was finally rigid, my lips stretched taut around it. It was huge, with a head so thick that I couldn't (yet) fit it into my throat no matter how badly I gagged myself trying.
His fingers put on a gentle pressure, encouraging me in my attempts to deep-throat him, urging me to go deeper and deeper. When I balked, gagging, he waited until I had my breath back and then pressured me forward again. My own hands began to move quickly, unbuttoning my blouse and jeans, stripping away my clothes as quickly as I could. When I was naked down to my socks, I took down his trousers for him. Never letting his cock out of my mouth, I let him rest his hands more firmly on my head for balance while I lifted one, then the other, of his legs. When I was finished, his trousers and shoes were in a pile on top of my own clothes.
Booker was very excited by this point. His thrusts were becoming harder, more aggressive, and I tasted pre-cum. He muttered steadily under his breath as he face-fucked me, things like "...suck that dick...yeah...naked on your knees...big dick in your mouth...suck it..."
I dug the condom out of my purse by feel, tore it open and tried to take my mouth off Booker's cock so that I could put it on him... but he surprised me. His hands tightened, grabbing fistfuls of my hair and holding my head in place while his cock continued thrusting into my mouth. I knew at once that he wasn't going to stop face-fucking me until he'd squirted right down my throat. Rather than fight it, I let my hands sink into my lap and relented, kneeling submissively while his cock slid in and out between my lips.
At last he thrust deeply enough to make me gag again, and didn't relent. Ignoring my instinctive effort to pull back, he held me pressed there. And then he came, great hot gouts of fluid spurting into my throat. I had to swallow convulsively, several times, just to keep from choking. My brain was numb with shock; I was drinking this man's come!
Booker's legs went weak and for a moment his weight leaned in on my head, the head of his cock lodged all the more firmly in the back of my throat. Another squirt of his warm come into my belly, and he recovered himself and slowly withdrew his cock from my mouth.
"...damn, girl...damn..."
By this point you, the gentle reader, must believe that I'm just one of the nastier versions of sluts that exist out there. But I've learned that it wasn't my fault. It was never my choice. Someone else was pulling the strings.
I'm instructed to amend that last paragraph. It was my fault. I made my choice when I decided to go through life as an uptight backstabbing bitch. And my Mistress has not yet begun to pull my strings.
I wasn't done with Booker that night. It's hard to explain the emotions that drove me, and that drive me still. On some passive level I was completely aware and completely stunned. I'd already done something unthinkable, unimaginable. Sick humiliation washed through me in cold green waves.
But there was no fear to go with it. Naked on my knees, alone with this stranger off the streets and preparing to give far more of myself to him, I wasn't even worried. My Mistress has explained to me that they edited out my fear, replacing it with lust in equal quantities. It was, and remains, a very effective means of manipulating me.
That night, all I knew was that I needed more of Booker's cock. I needed it now, I needed it regularly, and I especially needed it to never go away. Casting about for the best way to have all these things, I spotted my camcorder. Perfect.
"Booker..." Still on my knees, I turned my face up to give him puppydog eyes. "If I let you keep the tape, would you film us fucking?"
His eyes regained that intent look, fully alert to threat and opportunity. "Um... I keep the tape for you?"
"No, man, you keep it for you. Or for your friends, or for whomever you want to see it. As long as it doesn't reach my mom." I dimpled. "Want her address?"
"Um... well, I... Why, you want to give me your mama's address?" Now he bore the guarded look of someone who wasn't quite believing his luck. You'd think his cock in my mouth was convincing enough.
"Well, yeah. See, if you had that tape and her address, then I'd have to put out for you anytime you wanted it," I explained. "You could invite your friends to use me. You could be my pimp, and I'd have to do everything you said, always. Or my mom might find out. See what I mean? I'd have to be your slave, Booker. What do you think?"
"You, ah... you want that?"
"Yeah. Do you?" I leaned forward, taking the slippery head of his enormous cock back into my mouth. At once it responded, beginning to swell between my lips.
"Uh, yeah. Yeah I do. But can we start the tape with you, ah... maybe asking me for it? You know, so no one ever thinks..."
"You want me to beg you to fuck me on tape? That's fair, coz I want something too." I found the condom where it lay forgotten on the carpet, and gently pressed it into his palm. With my other hand I continued to stroke his quickly hardening cock. "You gotta wear protection, okay? Neither of us wants me pregnant yet, do we?"
"Oh. Oh, no..." His eyes told me otherwise, but he wasn't about to quibble.
"Then we have a deal. Gimme just a second to set it up to film us." I got up, turned the room light on, and scurried naked over to the camcorder. The awareness of his eyes on my bare flesh was enough to raise goosebumps. I put in a blank tape, then positioned the camcorder where it would catch a nice, open side view of the space in front of the couch. It would have been better with someone else to run the camera for us, but I imagined we'd have that soon. Enough for now to catch a good, identifying profile of myself taking it doggie-style from Booker.
To keep Booker entertained, I made small talk with him while I worked.
"So hey... whatcha gonna do to me when you own me?"
"...ah, well, what do you want me to do?"
"No, but that's the thing... it won't be about what I want. Once you own this tape, it's only gonna be about what you want. Like... you gonna share me sometimes? Let your friends have me? Maybe charge them? Make a little money off me? Are you gonna be my pimp, Booker?"
"Well, ah, yeah... if you want me to, I mean. If you like dick, I know a lot of boys who'd wanna hang out with you."
"Sweet! That's too cool. Ever gonna tie me up? Spank me when I'm disobedient?"
"...I could do that..."
I had the camcorder positioned to my satisfaction by this point. All that was left was to turn it on and get busy. But then an inspiration hit me, and I had to go to my room for supplies.
"Make yourself at home, man," I called over my shoulder. "There's wine and orange juice in the fridge. I'll be right back."
In my bedroom I found what I wanted, a bottle of massage oil that I'd bought on a whim only the day before. I had this sudden image of oiled flesh in my mind, and had to know if it felt as good as I imagined it to.
Most prominent was the thought of that cock of his, that monstrous black battering ram, sliding frictionlessly in and out, in and out between pussy lips stretched taut to accommodate him. A hot, urgent spike of lust glowed between my thighs, hurrying me back out to where he waited nervously in my living room.
"Here," I said breathlessly, handing him the bottle. He still absently held the condom in his other hand. I hesitated, knowing that I was about to dive into a dark abyss of repercussions. Then I switched on the camcorder, dropped to my knees in front of him, and got to work.
Part Two of I've-No-Idea-How-Many
It was an improvised move... I really didn't know much yet about creative positioning. But it wound up being perfect. The edge of the couch caught just under my hips, elevating my ass, while I was able to sink my head and breasts deep between the sunken, dilapidated cushions. On an impulse I grabbed two throw cushions and tucked them under my hips, lifting my ass higher. Then I gave the camera a sweet, sweet smile before saying a word.
"Please, Booker... use my massage oil on me? Please?" I slid my feet even farther apart than my widely spaded knees, clearly inviting him to explore me.
"...uuhhhhh, sure...where you want it, girl?"
"MMMMmmm, pour it all over my ass and rub it in, Booker. Please? I'll do anything you want. Just please massage my ass for me?"
He'd sank to his knees behind me before I'd finished the third sentence, an enormously endowed black man that I'd literally found on the street, centered between my completely nude legs. An involuntary shudder rippled through me, turning into a gasp as my naked bottom was suddenly bathed in cool, slick massage oil. Booker hadn't used the handy little spout on the massage bottle; he'd just unscrewed the cap and half-emptied it on my ass. The oil flowed down the lines of my body, a healthy river of it channeling straight down my ass crack. It was trembling bliss.
Then he touched me, hard calloused fingers and palms barely allowing themselves contact with my naked bottom. I moaned and thrust my ass up to meet his touch, begging him for more. At once he overcame his hesitation and began to massage me in earnest.
"...you like that?" His voice had dropped to a hoarse, almost gentle whisper.
"...mmmmm, yeah, Booker. Squeeze me, baby. Touch me. Mmmmm, more to the middle."
His hands at once began to round the curves of my oil-slicked asscheeks, sliding intoxicatingly over the hypersensitive flesh between them.
"Use your thumbs on me, Booker. Right in the middle. Massage me there... please?"
His thumbs were instantly there, rubbing side by side over the surface of my asshole. My whole body went rigid in response while a hoarse and very sincere gasp tore through my lungs. I remained paralyzed for a long moment, frozen beneath the exquisite shock of his hard thumbs sliding up and down, up and down over my most private place.
Except that it wasn't that. Not until he was safely away with that film. Until then, there was nothing at all sacred about my anal virginity. It was one thing only... a well-oiled, virginally pink point of entry.
One of his thumbs slipped into my bottom, the most brief penetration before he snatched it back. My paralysis was broken instantly by a fresh, tearing gasp. At once my body responded, writhing in the grip of explosive lust. I had to feel that again!
"Harder, Booker!" I pleaded instantly, before he could become scared that he'd gone too far. "Pleeeeease, rub me harder!"
Booker wasn't stupid. A half second hadn't passed before one of his thumbs had penetrated my ass again. And then his other thumb, squeezing in beside it and causing me to moan and desperately grip the cushion beneath me. This man was inside me from behind... hard flesh moving, sliding inside my ass. And I knelt there, presenting it meekly for his further exploration.
Once his thumbs were inside me, they continued to massage. Just as I'd asked, they massaged me hard, pressing outward against the rim of my ass, relaxing taut muscle beneath a firm, constant pressure. Anyone could see where he was going with this.
"Mmm. You say you'll do anything I want for this? Anything for me to massage your butt like this?"
I was breathing too hard to answer immediately, but in time I gasped out a weak "...yes..."
"Look at that camera and say it." Still his thumbs kept moving inside me.
"...anything..." I turned my head to stare hungrily into the camcorder's impassive lens, feeling it absorb the image of my sweat-damped bangs, my half-lidded eyes. "...please Booker take me...anything you want if you'll please...just put on that rubber right now and fuck me..."
"You want me to fuck you?" He murmured it absently, indulgently. Teasing me.
"Yes! Please! Fuck me, Booker..." I felt my body thrashing, trying to thrust back and impale myself against the penetration of his thumbs. But he moved easily with each thrust, continuing to focus his attention right there at the point of entry.
Then he did something that almost caused me to orgasm right there and then.
He laughed at me.
It was only a chuckle, but it was enough to send the realization home to me. He was enjoying himself, kneeling behind me, his hard thumbs calmly and obviously stretching out my ass for its first fucking. He couldn't know how he'd managed it... how could he, when even I didn't yet know what was driving me? But he'd finally relaxed and begun to enjoy using me without reservation. Had I a change of heart, then and there, I don't think he'd have let me back out of it. One way or another, this man was about to fuck me.
Still meeting no resistance, his confidence continued to grow. The fingers of one hand turned downward, eliciting another gasp as I felt his thumb turn inside my body. The fingers began to explore my sopping pussy, at first only curious... probing, tickling. Then two of them thrust easily into my channel, enjoying the advantage of copious lubricant over the instinctive tightening of my sex. They drove into me, exploring inside me, making themselves at home while his thumbs continued softening up my bottom.
By this point I was absolutely wild. Bucking, moaning loud enough to scare any prowlers... completely out of control. So much so that I might have spooked Booker a little, because suddenly his digits slid out of my flesh and he stood behind me. Leaning forward, he got a handful of my hair and guided me in turning around until I knelt facing him, his massive cock pointed right between my eyes.
"You want this, you gotta prove it. You gotta kiss it. Show me how much you love it." And he let go of my hair and thrust it expectantly forward, waiting.
I took it gently into my mouth, caressing it for only a moment between warm wet lips and tongue before letting it slip out to press, slick and wet, against my face. I gazed up at him, my eyes begging, then took his cock back into my mouth and began sucking in earnest while the camcorder whirred on.
A long time passed, immeasurable. Half an hour? An hour? I still don't know. He changed our positions a few times, but my mouth never left his cock throughout. Once he sat back on the sofa while I knelt between his knees, industriously slobbing over his upthrust shaft. At another point he had me on my back, my head rested against three pillows on the floor, while he knelt low over me and thrust firmly into my mouth. Sometimes he was harder as I did something just right... other times softer, but I was learning quickly from the mistakes that caused those.
The touch of my teeth against his cock was bad, I discovered. He would soften under too much of that. So I tucked my lips up under my teeth at one point, "gumming" him while I sucked. He loved that, and demanded often that I return to doing it between other varieties of sucking.
Another of his favorites was to have me force my mouth as wide open as possible, my lips alone sliding soft and wet along his length while he probed into me. Sometimes I took liberties with my tongue, letting it alternately tickle and massage along the underside of his cock. He didn't seem to mind.
It lasted so long, my steady slurping over Booker's shaft, that I eventually became numbed to anything else. There were no distractions, no expectations, nothing. Just the singular focus of my mouth and his cock moving together, the one devoted to pleasing the other. So when he suddenly pushed me back so that his cock popped out between my lips, I was taken completely by surprise.
Then he turned me around and crawled forward on his knees, positioning himself behind and between my instantly splayed thighs. I braced myself for his thrust into me, even as it flashed into my numbed mind that the condom lay forgotten somewhere around us. Booker wasted no time in responding. For one brief instant there was a pressure, slick and warm against my pussy... then I felt the indescribable stab of entry as that massive cock thrust its way into me.
And kept thrusting... and thrusting, slow and steady, inch after inch riding up into my body while I knelt wide open to catch it all. His hands slid over my hips, sliding warm and smooth as they sought purchase against my oil-slick flesh. They finally dropped to hook against my thighs, gripping me firmly and spreading me open even wider for his next thrust.
He was fucking me. God, how that man fucked me. Again we ran through a wide variety of positions. Once he had me riding him, bucking my hips while he simply reclined and enjoyed the sensation of my fucking myself on his cock. Once he had a fist in my hair, forcing my spine to arch deeply backward while his cock continued its steady thrusts into me from behind. He moved me into new positions often, displaying a stunning variety of tastes.
The most riveting moment was when he had me flat on my back upon the carpet, my legs trapped underneath his weight, bent back so firmly that it seemed my toes might at any moment press into the pillow on either side of my head. That moment stands out, a landmark, a changing of the seasons in my life. Because that was when he finally penetrated my ass. And that was when he finally covered my mouth, to muffle the screams of my orgasm.
And still he continued to fuck me.
At length he was gone, our first home movie completed and tucked safely into his jacket. I lay naked (but for my sodden socks) on my living room floor, an unused condom clenched in one trembling fist. My entire body throbbed, thoroughly used until it twitched with shock and exhaustion. Booker's semen drooled from my pussy and ass, mixing with body oil to create a tingling slick between my asscheeks and thighs. My belly knotted around the memory of the come that had poured down into it.
My eyes intently watched the digital clock on top of my television. I wanted Booker to have a solid hour to do whatever he liked with that tape. I trusted him to follow my careful instructions, to leave it with a trusted friend and make sure I never, ever got my hands on it again. To be honest, I entertained no doubt that he understood perfectly. When he'd left my house, his was the grin of a satisfied wolf.
I waited patiently until the hour was passed, Booker and the tape safely lost into the surrounding night.
Then at last I was able to weep.
Part Three
I missed nearly all of the following day, a Saturday. I remember little of the night before, after Booker left me curled up and leaking his juices in the middle of my living room floor. I don't know how long I lay there. I don't know how many times I paced from room to room, double- and triple-checking every door and window to be sure that they were locked. I don't know how often I nearly called my mother, or how long I stood trembling in the shower, ineffectually scrubbing myself.
I did make one phone call that night, reporting in vivid detail the evening's events. But I wasn't allowed to remember that call until very recently.
At some point I finally slept. Morning, afternoon... I only know that it was daytime when I at last sank into a fitful slumber. There was no peace to be found in my dreams.
This went on until 10:32 pm, when a hard rapping on my window jarred me wide awake. It wasn't an unusual thing to happen; my small handful of friends were frequently beating on my window at odd hours, seeking anything from crash space on my couch to a late-night study partner. Once it was my boyfriend with a nearly empty bottle of wine, desiring yet again to leave tear stains on my shoulder while he angsted away to me about whatever.
The rapping was so normal, so blissfully familiar, that in my waking confusion I was able to forget for a brief moment all the things I'd done the night before. I crawled across the bed, only then becoming aware of the throbbing ache between my thighs, and peeped through the blind.
There stood on my driveway a total stranger, a blond-haired blue-eyed man who looked about my age... which is to say barely old enough to be out of high school. His dress and bearing marked him as something completely different from my art school peers. He wore the tailored suit and cutting edge haircut of a vastly successful young Republican, and his palpable aura of relaxed confidence might first have been coined by Alexander the Great. He was smiling at me, his expression open and friendly.
"Megan! Hi. I'm Nathan... a friend of Booker's." These words instantly triggered open a trapdoor under my stomach, letting it fall away into a dark, swirling abyss. "May I come in?"
I knelt there, parts of my brain paralyzed while other parts went bouncing through several conflicting thought fragments. I wanted to recoil, to make this not be happening, to shut the little slit in the blinds and make him disappear. I knew I couldn't; I clearly remembered explaining to Booker the significance of my mother's home address. I wanted to wake up from this terrible nightmare. I knew with sick certainty that no such thing would happen.
"I'm not accustomed to waiting, Megan." He said it quietly enough that the neighbors couldn't hear, but just barely so. His voice remained as friendly and open as his smile, in chilling contrast to his words. "It would upset me to walk away. But if you don't let me in, I'll have to do that. Ready...?"
I knew he meant it. In an instant I saw exactly what would happen if I didn't act fast to stop him. He would leave, just walk away, and then very soon I would hear from him again. And I would regret it terribly. I could see it all too clearly.
He was already turning to go.
"Wait!" I blurted. He looked back at my window, his smile now openly expectant; I flashed on what it was that he ultimately expected of me, and my cheeks burned with humiliation. "Wait, I'll come unlock the door..." And I hurried out of my bedroom, instinctively taking my bedsheet with me to hide my nakedness.
He swept through the kitchen door as I opened it, his confidence thrust out ahead of him like an invisible shield, pushing me back to make room for him. He marked the air around him with the faint, clean scent of aftershave. I felt the nudge of a countertop against the small of my back, and realized he'd backed me completely across the room, having paused only to close and deadbolt the door behind him. Standing in my kitchen with the air of a man who owned the place, he studied me with obvious interest. My face became prickly hot beneath his frank stare.
"Let go of the sheet," he said, his voice as intent as his gaze. His smile was gone, replaced by an expression of calm authority. "Let it drop to the floor."
It was an impossible order to obey. It was unthinkable not to obey. I whimpered as the sheet puddled around my ankles, leaving me nude in front of him. Slowly his smile returned, and the heat of my blush redoubled in response.
"You're terrified," he observed, unable to miss the trembling of my body. "Come here. Right here in front of me... come on. Now turn around..."
I jumped as his arms came around me, drawing me into a gentle hug. I felt a nearly overwhelming urge to resist, to cringe away from the touch of this young man... of any man. But I was able to fight it down, to grudgingly yield to this soft whispering touch of expensive fabric against my flesh, this warm soft squeeze that was his embrace. I could almost imagine taking comfort in the clean, minty breath that tickled its way past my ear. There was a muffled clink, as of something metallic shifting in one of his pockets. Then I felt the hard weight of his erection pressing between my buttocks, and at once my body became rigid again.
"...no," he whispered. His soft hands alternately squeezed and caressed my shivering arms. "No. You're doing so good. You understand your situation, or you'd never have let me in the door. You know all the alternatives. So take that extra step now. I want you to relax against me, Megan. Don't be afraid... just relax. Just surrender to this. Surrender to me."
I couldn't.
It was impossible. I had just been violated. No matter how clearly I understood my choices and their potential repercussions, I couldn't just yield to another stranger's touch, especially not this stranger, this well-dressed man who'd already made me display my naked body for him in my own kitchen. This friend of Booker's.
For a fleeting moment I felt the insane wish to experience again those strange and terrible compulsions that had driven me the previous night. I wanted to give up all responsibility, to once again be nothing more than a stunned passenger inside my own body. That other me, that horrible nasty slutty other self, wouldn't have hesitated to give this man -- Nathan -- what he wanted. But whatever had driven me the previous night, it was now gone. I was just myself... numbed with shock and paralyzed with fear.
"This isn't working." Gripping my shoulders, he gently but firmly turned me to face him again. "Let me help you with this, Megan. It's quite simple. I want you to make one of three choices right now. First choice... you can tell me to leave. Just like before, when I was outside your window. Yes, there will be a terrible price. Forever afterward you'll wish you hadn't made that choice. But at least tonight I'll be gone.
"Second... if you want to keep me happy, but haven't yet regained enough strength to surrender to me over an extended period, then I give you the option of letting me tie you up." Seeing my eyes widen, he chuckled. "Think of it this way. You'll only have to relent for a few minutes that way. Just long enough to see you bound and at my mercy... which you are anyway. But bound, the moment-to-moment responsibility will be largely off your shoulders. I'll continue to hold you accountable for any attempts at resistance, yes... but how much will you be able to attempt? So. The risk of truly angering me will be negligible, a quite solemnly assure you.
"Finally, you've the choice of willingly giving yourself to me. Total obedience. I may still tie you up at some point tonight. I may do any number of things to you... but you will at least enjoy the benefit of making me extremely happy with you. The only catch is that if you make this choice, then renege, I will leave at once. And I will assuredly be angry with you beyond your ability to endure. Therefore... Megan... I assure you that it's a bad choice. You're terrified. At some point you'll hit a limit that might not be there later, when you've had time to truly surrender to your fate. But if you think you can in fact give in now, then by all means. I welcome the attempt.
"Choose now, Megan. Right now." The smile was gone. He held me once again with the force of his penetrating gaze.
"...tie me up..." Don't ask me how I managed to say it. As it was, all I could produce was a faint whisper.
"You want that?" His own voice became a purr. "More than any other choice I give you, you want to be tied up?"
"...yes... tie me up."
"Then turn around. And ask me nicely. Say please."
It was easy to turn, to avert my gaze entirely from him. His grin was so wide. He was having so much fun with me, with my naked body and beaten mind. "Please... please tie me up?
"Of course, my pet." I heard again the clink of metal somewhere on his person, this time louder as he drew something from his pocket. I knew what it was, well before he pressed my trembling arms firmly behind my back and locked the cold steel bands about my wrists, pinning them together.
One of his hands gripped my hair from behind, then twisted hard, securing a firm handhold. He drove me down to my knees, then knelt softly behind me and bent me forward a little. There was a wet, sucking sound; I knew it was some of his fingers, or perhaps a thumb, slurping out between his wetted lips. And then, without warning, he drove two hard, wet fingers into me from behind. A brief, sharp cry ripped out of me, and at once my breaths became ragged gasps.
"Tell me five things about your present circumstances, Megan. Five details about what's happening to you right now." His fingers moved inside my ass, twisting and thrusting. "Tell me now."
"I'm... I'm naked!"
"Good. Another one, now!" The demand was punctuated by a series of hard thrusts.
"I'm kneeling! Bending forward!"
"We'll count that as one more." Mercifully, the thrusts into my bottom became more gentle. "Continue."
"...You... you have... your fist in my hair?" It was hard to think beyond those fingers, still penetrating me, still moving inside me. My mind and body both shuddered, paralyzed in the grip of such a terrible sensation. But I had to think, had to search desperately for the details he wanted, or the fingers would start thrusting hard again... and that was beyond endurance.
"Good, good, keep going. Just two more."
Oh! It was right there! Obvious! "You've your fingers... you're..."
"My fingers are ass-fucking you. Say it that way." And when I hesitated, they began to ram into me again, eliciting another involuntary yelp.
"Your fingers... your fingers are ass-fucking me! Ah! Ahh! They're ass-fucking me!"
"Great! Megan, for your progress so far, you get a kiss." He leaned around me and nuzzled into my freely swinging left breast, his lips finding and locking around the nipple. His teeth and tongue explored the tip, and for a moment my mind went blank. Then the fingers gave another violent thrust, reminding me that I wasn't finished. And suddenly it was easy.
"I'm handcuffed." In a rush of further insight, I decided to earn extra brownie points. Because my next words were entirely true, after all. "Helpless. At your total mercy. You're a complete stranger, and you can do anything you want to me, and my best choice now is to cooperate fully."
"...oh, good..." His voice had become a whisper now. His tongue, between sentences, drew warm wet circles around the circumference of my swollen nipple. "Megan, that's wonderful. Are you ready to prove it to yourself? Are you ready to suck this stranger's cock...?"
I was.