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The Bleakest of Seasons

By: Deeply_Twisted



Written by Deeply Twisted 10/01/2012

Edited by Captains Siren

*

You never imagined that it would start from an odd post on a message board. 

It was a simple ad in a personals section on a dark little corner of the internet. Authors swapped fanfics back and forth, and wrote smutty tales and stories for each other. Bodice rippers and corny romances, and all sorts of tales starring celebrities and the characters that they played engaged in all kinds of sex and things that would drive a copyright attorney completely bonkers.

His ad was simple. He offered to write a different type of story, featuring the person that contacted him. In the post, the author made no bones about his intentions to write stories for whoever was willing to supply him details. The stories would be violent, brutal, painful nightmares that any normal person would shudder to see. 

His handle was Deeply_Twisted.

His post was disturbing. It stood out.

His next was even more disturbing. He messaged the board to state that he still had slots open for whoever wanted to star in a story.

Who was this... person? Was he a freak? Was he really deranged? What did he mean that he still had slots left? Were people really lining up to star in a story about their own painful, punishing violation?

You had to know more. You messaged him.

'I'm curious... ...about you. With all due respect, are you serious when you post about being violent, etc? I've never met anyone like you before, if that's the case.'

To your surprise, he responded. He did not degrade you, or try to engage you in cyber sex. He did not evade any question that you asked, and he was as open as any man you had ever met. Any question you asked, he answered. He harboured no illusions about himself, and he shared his doubts about his good nature and his soul. He fretted that he was a monster, and he confided in you his darkest thoughts.

You listened intently. (Via chat...) And you learned a great deal about him, and he learned about you. And this whole time, this odd man that would answer any question you asked without hesitation, he struggled to make sure you were comfortable with him. Even when he shared things with you that made your skin crawl, he struggled to ensure that you were not frightened.

The stories were an outlet for him. They mattered to him, because they kept him sated and sane. They mattered to you because they went places you could not imagine, even though you tried.

Oh how you tried.

And he kept updating you on what he was writing. Some girl requested a humiliating rape that had little violence, and he spun his talent to accommodate her. A tale was told of six escaped convicts and a relentless, punishing, humiliating ravishing.... That was surprisingly painless. Another one requests a story that focuses on the torture of her own very large breasts, and he forged a tale with simple words that made your nipples ache in sympathy. 

And it disturbingly aroused you. Why?

Who was this guy? You could not fathom how this person, so polite in chat, with such a wry sense of humour, writes these things? And why were you reacting this way?

It flummoxed you. Sometimes you thought of him at night. Dark thoughts flowed in the darkness as you tossed in your bed.

And he still talked to you. Not one attempt to get sex or satisfaction, or any one thing from you. Gentle jokes mixed with thoughts on evil, twisted torments flowed through your computer and through your phone. He listened to you and learned about your day, paid attention to the things you said, and remembered little tidbits of conversation that you mentioned casually in a way that both impressed and unnerved you.

More than once, you pleasured yourself to the things he described, but even more than that, you started to imagine him with you and doing those things to you.

And one day, it happened. He mentioned that he was heading out for tempura sushi at a local place called Midori's. It struck a bell with you. You knew that name.

Midori's was on Hightower, off Westbridge. You drove by it every day.

You thought about it, and then called up Google. 

There it was, Midori's Sushi bar. Try the Tempura Sushi! The ad exclaimed brightly!

Sweet Jesus, you think, he's here. Right here, in town. The forums let people obscure where they were from to allow them some sense of privacy, and you both had that feature activated. But you've been chatting with him for some time now, and he'd let it slip because he didn't think anything of it.

On one hand you thought, its sushi. You had no desire to be in a place where they served dead anything, let alone raw dead fish. You'd become a vegetarian some time ago, and you preferred your food to come from green plants and your garden. On the other hand, to put a face to this maddening figure, this funny, twisted, painfully honest man, that was maddeningly intriguing.

It was not a contest. A moment later you were primping yourself in front of the mirror. Hair was twisted into a messy bun, snappy shoes with just enough heel to flaunt your calves slide onto your feet. A quick check in the mirror shows your pale skin accenting the shadow of your cleavage. 

It would have to do.

The car ride is quick, there's no traffic at all. And the lot at Midori's is barren with just a few cars.

You walk cautiously into the lobby, head swivelling around to see if you can spot him. There's a couple in the corner sharing sushi (Yuck!), a middle aged man sitting in the back enjoying a bowl of soup justtt a tad too much.... And then you spot him. He's sitting directly at the bar, dressed in an immaculate Armani suit. His dark hair is styled, coifed and perfect. He uses chopsticks flawlessly; ladling raw fish into those soft, nearly perfect lips effortlessly. 

You swoon just a little. He looks like a young movie star. 

You smooth out your dress, and surreptitiously rearrange the 'girls' to show off more cleavage. You let your glasses slide halfway down your nose, partially because the frame isn't tight and never stays in place, and partially because it makes you look like a naughty librarian. 

You strut over to the Sushi Bar and sit one seat away from him and his perfect hair and suit. He gently wipes away a bead of soy sauce from his lips, his perfect, soft, pale lips.

The chef bows to you, and asks what you would like to order. 

'Can you make a twisted roll?' You ask coyly. 'A deeply twisted roll.' 

You lick your lips and turn to smile at the dark, handsome stranger as he recoils in surprise. 

Your smile falters as he continues to shovel sushi into his mouth. A moment ago, that had been almost sensuous. Now it was just irritating. 

The chef looks at you in confusion. He stumbles over his English and apologizes deeply, explaining that he does not know what that is. 

'It's a special roll, the Deeply Twisted roll. Are you sure you've never heard of it?' You ask, with just a hint of exasperation. You look over at the tall dark stranger with the now very gauche suit and the over gelled hair shovelling raw fish into his gullet like some bizarre fish disposal machine. He returns your look with one of confusion.

'Lady,' He says, not unkindly. 'Just try the tempura roll. It's fantastic!'

You roll your eyes and lean over. 'It's me Scott. Addie. Remember? The speculum and the bees?'

The man's eyes widen, as he stares at you. Behind him, the older man chokes on his soup that he had been shovelling into his mouth. The couple continues to blissfully lie to each other and eat as well. 

The dark man continues to stare at you, then he turns to speak to the chef.

'I'll... I'll just get mine to go.' And then he deliberately takes his drink and his sushi and moves to another table, looking over his shoulder at the crazy lady behind him.

You smack your hand into your forehead. Your cheeks flush with embarrassment. This was a bad idea.

Abruptly, you notice the older man at the back table, sitting quietly, staring at you. He wipes away the last fleck of soup that he choked on and you lock eyes.

'Addie? What... what are you doing here?'

You smile. He's not what you thought he'd look like. But he's here.

You ignore the increasingly agitated chef behind you and get up to walk over to his table. 

And with that, your story really began.

He gets up to greet you, and you surprise yourself by giving him a hug. It's one of those awkward no contact below the waist hugs as he refuses to be anything less than formal with you at this point. Clearly you have him taken aback with your sudden appearance. He invites you to sit down and attempts to recover his poise while you gleefully examine your internet mystery man.

He's not at all what you imagined him to be. He's older, late thirties, early forties, and you can see the beginnings of a solid gray head of hair. He's made no effort to hide it, or even acknowledge it, either completely oblivious to it or possessing little vanity.

He has pale blue eyes behind rimless lenses, and a day's stubble. He's dressed simply in a gray golf shirt and some khaki's. His shirt has a couple of dark, damp spots where soup has been spilled in his eagerness to consume it. He has a little bit of a belly, as you'd expect from a man that works at a desk all day. 

And it all looks so different from what you expected. But what did you expect? How exactly is a brutally honest man with intensely violent fantasies supposed to look?

'Soooo Addie.' He says, still struggling for words. 'Uh... hi?'

'Hello, tall dark and depraved.' You respond playfully.

He flushes ever so slightly. 

'Maybe we could lower the volume on that talk kiddo?' He asks, and you squinch up your nose at the comment.

'Why do you call me kiddo?' 

'You feel like a kiddo to me.' He replies honestly. 

'Uh huh. And how is your dead fish?'

'This is actually beef Udon. It's just noodles, meat and vegetables in a clear broth.'

'Ew. Still gross.' You tease at him.

'I'm sorry; I didn't know you were a vegetarian. Or were stalking me.' He teases back with a raised eyebrow and an accompanying smirk.

'Oh please. If anyone is going to stalk anyone, it would be you.' 

'Heh. True. Did you want a drink or something kiddo?' He asks.

You mull that for a second. You just met internet mystery man, closet non-consensual sex and torture porn writer. He's now offering you drinks. Is it really prudent to take one from him?

Hell, is it even prudent to be here? 

'Yes, I could have a drink.' You hedge.

'Wine?' 

'Something dry would be nice.'

'I'll ohdah you a nass a peeno greeeegio then.' He says with a horrible Italian accent. 

You chuckle at him, he smirks back at you. He's kind of funny, in a nerdy, subdued kind of way.

The waiter brings the wine, along with a beer for him and you chat for a while. How life is, how bizarre it is that you both live in the same city, how the weather has been, how work is. The usual banter flows out of both of you. 

You turn it around and around in your head, but you're not sure how to phrase the question, or even if you want to ask the question.

As he always does, he takes the lead in the conversation. 

'Addie, you look like you want to ask me something. Again. Why don't you just ask it?'

'I'm getting there!' You protest, ad spin the words back and forth in your head.

Nothing sounds good. No matter how you twist it or turn it, you don't know how to express it. So you do the only thing you can think of, you blurt it out.

'These things that you write about, your stories...'

He raises an eyebrow.

'...I've been thinking about them a lot ever since I met you...'

He cocks his head at you, eyebrow still raised. You can't decide if this look is charming or ridiculous on him.

'... and I want to try some of these... things. With you. For real.'

His eyebrow is still raised, but his mouth is slightly open. He's stunned.

You shut up. He'll say something and make this less awkward in a moment. Something smooth, something dangerous, yet erotic will spring forth from his mouth.

'That... that is not a good idea.' He sputters.

That was not it, you think.

'Why is it not a good idea?' This was clearly not the response you were expecting. Shouldn't he be jumping at the chance to do... things to you?

'Where do I start? One, those are just stories. Two, they're really violent stories...'

'We don't have to be really violent....' You object.

'Shush. Not finished. Three, you have no experience at all with these sort of things, and four, I actually like you and value your friendship... as bizarre and stalker-ish as it may be. This can only end in disaster.'

'Once again, this doesn't have to be really violent. We can explore this together.' You rebut him calmly. He frowns at you, concerned that something he's been very careful to protect over the last few weeks might be imploding.

He starts to say something, then stops. He glares at you in frustration. You smile back and peer at him over the top of your glasses. You hope you're being charming. You want to try this. You really do. And for some stupid reason, you trust him. The fact that he's balking at all makes you want it even more.

Abruptly, you can imagine yourself, naked, he's gripping your hair, bending you back. Your bodice is torn, and he looks like a shorter, fatter version of Fabio with glasses and a lot less hair. You shake your head and smile to yourself.

'Addie...' He pleads. 'You know me. I can't do the things I do to you. I like you. You don't drive me that way.'

You frown at him. Then you reach forward and poke the tip of his beer bottle, hard. It tilts, then falls over and splashes all over the front of his shirt. He's shocked that you just did that, and it takes him a moment to grab the bottle and set it upright again. 

'Do you still like me now? You ask innocently. Mischievously, you clasp your fingers together and rest your chin on them. He glares at you, so you flutter your eyelids at him for effect.

He clenches his jaw, then runs his hand through his hair. The waiter wanders over to see if he can help and Scott turns to ask him a question.

'Can I get a Tatami room... and a towel?' 

You flutter your eyelashes at him again. He rolls his eyes back at you.

A moment later, the waiter is bowing and ushering you both into a private Tatami room at the back of the restaurant. A very low table fills the center of the room, and comfortable pillows line the benches. A fern sits in the back, and the room is filled with quiet yellow light and calming music. Scott removes his shoes and places them at the door, then he gestures for you to precede him. You look around and then follow his lead, placing your black Tom's at the door, next to his large, black, severe, dress shoes.

Scott offers his hand and you step into the room and sit into the recess. It feels intimate in the room. Scott enters after you do, and plunks down across from you. The waiter motions to close the door, but Scott stops him and asks for an order of green tea for the both of you. The waiter nods, then he slides the door quietly shut. 

Finally, you are alone with him.

'I reiterate. This is a bad idea.'

'It is not.'

'It is. I was nervous from the moment you started asking questions that you were thinking of diving into this. This is not a good lifestyle to explore.' He argues with you. 

'I'm going to steal your own tactic and use it against you. One, your stories and the things you fantasize about fascinate me. Two, I trust you. Three, I know you enjoy and value our friendship and will protect it and me, and four....'

'Yes?' He says quietly.

'Four... if you won't help me explore this, I'll find someone that will.'

He crinkles his nose when you say that. You exult just a little because you're certain you just won the argument. He sighs, looks at the door, then looks directly at you.

His gaze is unsettling. He spoke with you once about how sometimes it felt like there was more than one person living inside his skin, roaming around in his skull. Now you almost feel like Scott left the room and somebody else is driving the bus.

'Fine.' He says. For the first time in the evening, you have no desire to argue or tease him.

'I'll audition you, right here, right now. You'll do exactly what you're told, without complaint. If you argue, or protest, or refuse, we're done. If you can do everything I tell you in the next little while, I'll let you explore this. Slowly and carefully, and at a speed I think you can handle.'

He takes a breath and continues. You realize you are holding your own.

'This isn't what you think it is. This is not some fucking harlequin romance novel. I'm going to push you hard and test you, and you need to understand that if you quit once or back out, we're done.'

You're still holding your breath.

'And I would have never have asked you to try this. Never. I am *praying* this doesn't fuck things up between us. Because if it does, I will be very, very disappointed.'

He pauses, looks you in the eye.

'Do you understand?'

You nod.

'Speak. The. Words.'

'I understand.' You say quietly. The mood has definitely shifted.

He gives you a good hard look. Then he closes his eyes for a moment. He takes a deep breath, then places his hands flat on the table. 

He doesn't move. You reach forward and tentatively put your hand on his. His skin is rough, and you can see several scars on his fingers. 

He opens his eyes and looks at you directly. You jump slightly. His eyes have gone grayish blue now. 

The room feels chilly now for some reason.

'Strip.' He commands.

'Wh..What?' You stammer after a moment. Your breath catches in your throat.

'Are we done already?' He says with a smile.

You curse under your breath. This wasn't what you expected to be doing tonight. But you'd better be doing it now, or this whole thing is over. A moment later, you set your glasses onto the table and begin disrobing.

Carefully, you pull your dress up and over your head. Your breasts bunch up together and then pop out almost free of your bra. Embarrassed, you start to tuck them back in, then realize that's pointless. You stall for a moment, and he just watches you, waiting for you to try and weasel out of it so that he can call an end to this. 

You shake your head. You want to see more, know more. Understand more. You reach behind your back, unhitch the clasp on your bra, and slowly slide it off your chest. Calmly, you meet his gaze as you extend your arm out to the left and drop the bra on top of your bundled up sundress. Your nipples stiffen as the breeze in the quiet little private room caresses your skin.

He nods.

'Impressive. Underwear too please.' He says.

You groan quietly, half stand, and slide the bikini brief down your thighs. A moment later, you carefully deposit the lacy little undergarment on the pile of clothing a few inches away from you. 

'Tsk. Tsk. Fold those clothes into a neat pile please.' He says with a little shake of his head.

You nod, and unbundle the dress and start folding it into a neat square. As you do so, he picks up a pair of chopsticks, and breaks them open. You watch each other silently. You, naked and chilly, and folding your underwear in this tiny little room in the back of a restaurant. He watching you, rapidly rubbing the fractured bamboo sticks together to remove any splinters. He reaches into his pocket and produces a pair of rubber bands. You finish folding your clothing, and it sits in a neat little pile next to you. You look at him, unsure of what comes next. He smiles at you.

Your nipples stiffen. You blush a little. 

'Lean forward.' He orders.

You do, and he picks up your glasses and slides them back in place on your face. They immediately slide halfway down your nose. An errant hair drops down out of your messed up hairstyle; you blow it back up out of your face in a move that you hope is charming, or at least cute.


The Bleakest of Seasons Pt. 02



 (If you have not read the first part of this story, it is located here.) 

*

Where you end up, surprisingly, is the mall. 

You see it coming up and grin. 

'Are we going shopping?'

'Yep.' He answers with a grin.

'I love shopping.' You say truthfully.

He nods, and focuses on finding you a spot to park. He circles around the lot a couple of times, which you think is odd as he drives past several spots. Finally he spots the entrance to the underground parking. He zips in quickly and through the barely opening garage door, making you clutch at the seat belt in a moment of terror. Then he whirls the rusty old beast around the lot and drives into the very basement level and parks the car in a dark corner with nobody else in sight.

You like this. A lot. It feels like you're a naughty teenager and you're about to start petting. 

You start running through naughty cheerleader lines in your head. Maybe you can tell him to be careful, in case the coach finds out?

As usual, Scott is not in tune with your plan, as the moment the car is in park, his seat belt is off, the keys are in his hand and he's out the door to let you out of the car. You think he's being chivalrous, but a moment later you realize that the door is jammed and he has to hip check it just right to get it to open for you.

'Sorry.' He says with a sheepish grin as he holds the door open for you.

'At least you're not a car guy.' You smile back. You dated a car guy once. It was terrible. You spent an hour on the phone trying to subtly let him know that you were horny, and he missed every cue and just stayed home and buffed the leather seats in his Charger.

You sigh. You did miss the charger. The engine revved and vibrated in jusssst the right way. You didn't miss the driver. He was quicker than a ten second mile and way less satisfying.

He walks with you to the elevators, and you reach out and tentatively feel for his hand. He takes your hand without looking, gives it that same gentle squeeze he always does and keeps going.

He keeps doing these little things, and they endear you to him. He keeps putting the pillow under your head, he keeps squeezing your hand firmly, keeps not being concerned about his pleasure and is dialled in completely on your own.

He's not what you expected at all.

In the back of your head, you expected to be covered with welts and bruises and possibly be bleeding somehow. You're not sure how you talked yourself into even meeting with this man, because the stories that he wrote made you cringe and shudder and even gave you nightmares from time to time. 

That story with the wasps... you shudder. Then you explain it away to him by saying that you're cold.

And naturally, he just puts an arm around you and rubs your back to heat you up. He doesn't paw or grope at you, he just wants to make you warm because you're cold and he parked in a chilly garage.

It makes your tummy flip flop when he does things like that. He cares. About you. 

It feels like a long time since someone has.

You squeeze his hand back and give him a warm smile. The elevator arrives a moment later and you get in and let the little glass box carry you up to the shops filled with clothes and shoes, toys and books and all sorts of other little distractions. And the whole time, as the lift slowly takes you up, you hold his hand like a happy teenager. 

The doors open a moment later, and you're ushered into the rather quiet shopping center. People mill around, but it isn't crowded. You both wander down the aisles and Scott steers you almost immediately into a shoe store so that you can pick up a nice comfortable black pair of Tom's. You gladly slide your feet out of the punishing heels and into the comfy flats with an almost audible groan of pleasure. 

The salesgirl chuckles, and Scott pipes up.

'Do you need some time alone with the shoes?' He asks slyly.

'Maybe just a cigarette...' You say with a sigh and your eyes closed. 

He laughs at that and so does the salesgirl, although her laugh is a little strained.

You slide your high heels into the box the Tom's came in and by the time you get yourself sorted out you see Scott at the counter talking to the Salesgirl. You wonder for a moment if the bitch is flirting with him, then you see him slide his bank card out of his wallet.

You watch in confusion for a moment, then she hands him a receipt. 

'Hey!' You suddenly bark.

'What?' He responds, somewhat startled.

'Did you just buy my shoes for me?' You ask, somewhat vexed.

'Yes?' He says, a legitimate look of confusion on his face.

'Why?'

'Well, I tore you dress to shreds the other night, so I figured the least I could do is buy you a new pair of shoes.' 

The salesgirl cocks an eyebrow but refrains from speaking.

'Ok, I asked you to tear my dress off and it was fantastic! You don't have to buy me shoes every time..'

'WOW!' Says the salesgirl forcefully. 'My stockroom is a DISASTER. I'm... I'm just gonna go clean it. Now. Goodbye.'

And she abruptly turns and marches into the back and behind a curtain.

Scott watches her go with a perfectly neutral expression. 

'Well, at least she got an amusing story out of it.' He says dryly.

'Oh shut up.'

You leave the store a moment later. One hand wrapped around his, and the other holding the bag and the instruments of torture that you strapped to your feet on Friday night.

You both wander up and down the mall for a while, not really doing much but relaxing and strolling. Scott asks if you mind going into a book store for a moment, and you don't, so you both look at books for a while. 

A candy shop tantalizes you both with fresh caramel and praline fudge, and he gets you both a small slab. You recline on a bench together and break the sweet gooey treat open. You slide a piece into your mouth, moments later your taste buds inform your brain that a piece of solid bliss is in your mouth. And it is creamy, and chewy and delightful.

'Oh god.' You murmur.

'It can't be that good!' Scott says skeptically as he pops a slice into his own mouth.

His eyes widen then slam shut as he inhales deeply. 

'Sweet Jesus, that is unbelievable.' He says, then puts his head down and presses his pinky and thumb to his temple, his eyes shut tightly. You watch him enjoy the fudge like you have seen him enjoy little else (Including you...) and you can't help but rib him a little.

'Wow. Now I know how to make you orgasm. Fudge.' 

He laughs, his tongue still wrapped in a coating of caramel and sugary bliss.

You just watch him. He really enjoyed it. He really, really enjoyed that. You like watching him when he has that much pleasure. He seems almost vulnerable and afraid when he's happy. 

It's like he doesn't even know how to process that.

Interesting.

Time passes, and you meander down the shops in the mall. You wander by the theatre and Scott stops to look at the posters. The new Batman film is out, and he's gazing longingly at it.

Sometimes he's like a little boy. 

'Did you want to go see that?' You ask him.

'Yeah, I've been meaning to go for a while now. Stuff just keeps coming up.' 

'Am I stuff?'

'You are not stuff. Despite the amount of times I have... stuffed you.' He makes the goofy smile he only breaks out when he's really having fun.

You blush at him. He's gently mocking you, but he's literally given you more pleasure in the last 48 hours than you had in the last five years. It bothers you.

Then an idea forms in your head. 

'Why don't you go watch it now?' You ask him.

He looks at you with confusion. 

'I was just playing with you Addie. I'm sorry.' He says, genuinely apologetic for something he did that made you very happy.

And suddenly, it clicks into your head. You think you know what he wants. What he actually needs and needs badly. 

You think you can give it to him. 

You stand on your tiptoes and give him a little smooch on the cheek. He watches you warily, unsure what's going on. 

'Please go watch the movie. I'll do a little shopping and we can meet up her in ninety minutes.'

'It's a two hour and twenty minute movie.'

'Please go watch the movie. I'll do a little shopping and we'll meet back here in two hours and twenty minutes.' You say sweetly, all the while thinking happily that this gives you more time to pull off your plan. 

'Addie... I... don't you want to come watch it with me?'

'Nope. I like watching movies by myself.'

'Really?'

'Really.'

He looks at you hard for a moment, then he smiles brightly.

'You really are kind of fucking awesome, you know that?'

You blush. He means it. He really thinks you're fucking awesome. Not because you're having all sorts of kinky sex, but because you're willing to let him go and watch a movie he's been trying to watch for a month now.

You watch him head into the theatre, and it's like a weight got lifted off him. He's happy. 

He wasn't unhappy to be with you, but he felt he needed to take care of you. That's why he kept stimulating you to the point of unconsciousness. That's why he wouldn't take you anally even when you offered, why he bought the shoes for you, why he keeps tucking the pillow under your head, why he stood between you and the drunks at the restaurant. That's why he's always giving your fingers those gentle squeezes. 

That's why he doesn't really want to hurt you.

Because he feels he has to take care of you. 

You'd bet your house if he didn't realize that he'd let his marriage blow up because he didn't take control he would have just driven you home meekly. He stopped you and yelled at you because he knew that that would blow it up if he let it happen. 

You really want to give him one night. Just one night... where he knows that it's all about what he wants and what he needs and that you're there to take care of him. 

You check your watch. The movie starts in five minutes. You should have just enough time to get the things you need.

You hit the liquor store first. You get yourself a bottle of Rye and get one of the clerks to find an exotic dark beer that you know he'll like.

Then you run down to a somewhat hip clothing store that caters to a younger crowd. You grab a clerk and ask for her help finding the sluttiest dress they have. She plucks out several that you would be ashamed to wear in public. You try them on rapid fire, but none of them seem to be giving you the effect that you are looking for. You sigh and tell the clerk that it doesn't look right. She nods, not judging you but thinking hard about what you want, then snaps her fingers and disappears for a moment.

She returns a moment later with some of the same dresses, in smaller sizes. She grins, and urges you to try some of them on.

After about fifteen minutes, you find the one that you know will blow his mind. It's an incredibly tight white spandex tube that keeps sliding up your thighs and exposing your underwear and your breasts threaten to pop out of every five minutes. 

'The only way you could look sluttier would be to lose the underwear.' Says the clerk with a giggle.

She's brilliant. You were going to go and buy some really trampy undergarments, but this is faster and he gets you naked even quicker.

You grin and head to the front of the store to pay for your dress that you've crammed yourself into. A girl and her boyfriend are shopping in the store and he stops dead at the sight of you and your slut-tastic dress. A moment later, his girlfriend sees him ogling you and plants a solid elbow in his midsection. 

The clerk rolls her eyes and nabs a cheap overcoat on the way to the front of the store. She plunks it down on the counter for you and tells you that it's on sale... and it should keep anyone from giving you a hard time.

You smile, whip out your bank card and pay for both items, then slide the overcoat on and buckle up the front. You dart out the front of the store a moment later and head towards your next stop... the shoe store that you got the Tom's at.

You quickly scan the available shoes, and you're disappointed. You wanted some ridiculously high heeled stripper shoes and they don't really have any. 

You do see some very epic gladiator sandals with straps that wrap around the ankle and snake up the calf. Scott told you once that he loved the look of those shoes and this pair looks exotic enough to hold his attention.

A quick swipe of the bank card and you've got the comfy Toms stowed in yet another box and the clerk gives you a hand strapping the laces around your legs so that you can get moving. You snicker into your hand as you watch the clerk desperately try not to look at your frequently exposed vagina in the tiny, tiny dress.

And move you do, to your last stop, a beauty salon. 

You explain to the receptionist what you're trying to do, and she grins and pages an older woman from the back. She listens to you intently and smiles.

'Honey, when we're finished with you, your man will think he's dreaming.'

Your hair is scrubbed and styled rapidly, the stylist shaping an exotic hairstyle for you that curls down your shoulder and rests on your chest. Then she gets out her makeup kit and with surprising speed turns you from a pale faced girl with no makeup to a pouty lipped exotic temptress. 

You look in the mirror, turn your head from side to side and practice pouting sexily into the mirror. You look fantastic, but you are concerned this is too much.

'Honey, when it comes to men, there is no such thing as too slutty.' She says with a sly grin.

'How did you learn to do this?' You ask, marvelling at how red and bright your lips are.

'Eh, I do the girls up for a local porn producer around here.'

You look over at her in surprise.

'It's a living.' She says with a shrug.

You giggle, thank her and pay for her time and leave a nice tip.

Your bank account just took a hit, but you feel like you're ready now. You scoot down the hallway down to the theatre and then sit on the bench and wait for him to come out of the theatre.

You wait patiently for a few minutes. Most people ignore you, but one older gentleman nearly breaks his neck trying to get a sneaky look at you when he walks directly into a support pillar.

You're never dressed like this before. It's terrifying and exhilarating at the same time.

People start to stream out of the theatre. You see Scott a moment later as he wanders out of the theatre and looks around. He looks right through you, clearly not recognizing you in a different outfit, hairstyle, shoes and made up.

This will be fun. A smile crosses your lips.

He stands by the poster where you told him to go enjoy the film. His head swivels around as he tries to find you.

He's starting to look concerned. His cell phone appears so he can check the time and then slides it back into his pocket.

He shuffles his feet. He looks uncomfortable.

Ok, you think, that's long enough.

You pop out your cell phone and text him.

Addie: Where are you?

He hears the ping, flips open his phone and sees the text. He smiles and fumbles with the keys on his phone.

Scott: In front of the theatre.

Addie: Where?

Scott: In front of the posters.

Addie: Oh. I C U.

Scott: Great! Where are you.

Addie: On the Bench.

Scott looks over at the bench, then looks in the other direction. He rapidly texts back with a confused look on his face.

Scott: I still don't see you. Are you at the outside exit?

Addie: Look at the bench Scott. Look closer.

Scott looks up from his cell phone, then over at you. You give him a sly smile. 

'Addie?'

You look around, make sure that nobody is watching, then slide the buckle on the coat open and lean forward and open your legs so that your cleavage presses forward and he can see clearly between your thighs. You know it's shiny and glistening down there, because you've been thinking about all the things you're going to do to him and for him for the last two hours.

Your nipples peek over the top of the tiny, tight white dress. You let them.

You stand, and walk over to him, bags in hand. His eyes are wide.

'Hi.'

'Hi.' He responds quietly, eyes still wide. You don't know if you've ever had his complete and utter attention this way.

You drop the bags in your hand and reach forward and take his hand. You squeeze his fingers gently and he snaps out of the spell you seem to have him in.

'Addie what is this?'

'I know you Scott. You put everyone in front of you. And you try and make sure that everyone likes you. And your needs never really matter. Do they?'

'I... I don't...' He stammers. 

'They matter to me. You can fuck me for hours and never finish. You figure out exactly what I need and you make sure I get it. And whenever you guess wrong you blame yourself instead of anyone else.'

He just opens and closes his mouth, words clearly failing him. That pleases you on some level, because you've never stunned him into silence before.

'I'm asking you, please, take me tonight and use me however you want. If you want me to suffer, I'll suffer for you. If you want to take my body, it's yours. If you want me to serve you any other way, please just ask me.'

You stand on your tip-toes, whisper into his ear.

'I am your property. Tonight. Tomorrow night. Every night. I chose you. You get to make all the decisions from now on. Let me show you that. Please.'

Scott makes a strangled sound and blinks for a second, then he clears his throat. 

'Do you want to go back to my place now?' He asks.

'Do you?'

'Yes.'

'Then let's go to your place.'

He nods, and for once he seems a little shaken. This isn't quite going like you planned it to. He picks up some of the bags for you and a sigh escapes your lips. For a sadistic dominant, he's certainly polite.

You tuck your nipples back into the ridiculous dress and suddenly feel very cheap. You spent two hours glamming yourself up, and suddenly he's too nervous to touch you.

Your hand slides down and grips his. Your eyes widen as you realize that he's trembling.

'What's wrong?' You ask. You just offered to be his whore, his slut, his slave, whatever he needs. Why is he afraid?

He stops, exhales loudly. His hand drifts up to his face and he grips his temples, massaging them while his eyes close.

'I don't... I'm not... Addie. This is not what we should be doing.' 

'Why?'

'We just started. Literally just started. I know you want to please me but... but we can't do this. Not yet.'

'I think we can.' You grip his hand with both of your own and pull him closer to you. Heat radiates off him like it always does. 

He shakes his head with frustration and concern.

'I trust you Scott. I do. I need you to be satisfied. I need you to get what you need. You've been so attentive to what I need... I want.... I need to do the same for you.'

He sighs and squeezes your hand and looks around. People are staring at you both. This isn't surprising as you're having a heated discussion and you're dressed like a porn star.

'Let's take this out to the car.' Scott says as he looks around.

You both walk quickly to the elevator. The glass box carries you both down to the car rapidly and silently. Scott seems tense. You squeeze his hand silently.

Is he afraid? Why is he afraid?

The elevator reaches the parking garage and you both stride out. His hand grips your own tightly as he strides to the car. He seems almost distressed.

'Scott... please.... I just... please talk to me. Please.'

'Addie. I just... it isn't... it's not time for this yet.'

'But I made myself into... I'm not sure what this is. I think I'm a tramp. Or a slut. Whatever you need me to be and... whatever you need to do.'

Scott doesn't stop walking. He just makes an enigmatic motion with his hand.




The Bleakest of Seasons Pt. 02



You're suddenly very sad. Scott is terrified to take the next step and you feel like you crossed a line that you were not supposed to cross. You're suddenly very afraid that you fucked up. And not fucked up in some sort of weird rule that will get your nipples pinched. You're afraid that what you did ruined something on some level. 

'Scott... please. I... I don't... I just want you to...'

Abruptly, he moves directly in front of you and grabs you by the carefully braided and coifed hair that was artfully darting down your shoulder. He yanks it savagely and you gasp as he bends you backwards and then pins you to the trunk of the car. You feel his elbow land across your throat and he calmly pins you there with his forearm across your throat. You panic a little and the bags you are carrying drop from your fingers and clatter off the ground.

You feel an odd nanosecond of relief when none of the bottles break. You don't know why.

You claw at his arm for a second as fear drives your actions. Then he simply yanks your head up by the hair and bounces your head off the trunk of the car. You see stars for a moment, then your head whips right, then left as he slaps you, then backhands you the other direction.

You stop clawing at his arm and stop fighting him. You're suddenly very afraid. A moment ago you were certain this had all been one very refined act and your direct appeal to his darker side had failed because he didn't really have one. Now you're certain he has one, because your cheeks still sting from those slaps and you can feel a little droplet of blood trickling down your nose.

'I... I'm sorr...'

'Shut. Your. Mouth.' He growls. 

You shut it.

'Addison, you... you do not know what you are asking me. At all.' He says through gritted teeth.

'Yes. I do.' You whisper back. 'You hold it in. All the time. I can see it in your eyes right now. I want to see it. All of it. Stop holding back. Use me.'

'You do not want to play these games with me. I've been... holding this in for so long. I will hurt you. And not in the good way.' He's still angry with you. His grip on your hair, pinning you to the car is like iron.

You shift on the car, uncomfortable in this contorted pose. Your naked leg brushes up against his and you can feel heat radiating off his leg and body. 

You feel cold, like you always do when you feel afraid and your adrenaline surges... and when you're pinned against a rusty, dusty automobile by a much larger man that you have managed to make very angry.

You raise a hand to his face and hold it there. Your cheeks still feel hot from the sudden slaps a moment ago, but you don't care. He's so very angry still, his nostrils are flared wide.

You think about what you say next later, and you don't know why you said it. Maybe you were trying to spur him on. Maybe you really did what him to hurt you. 

Maybe you wanted him to let go. Just for once. 

'Scott. Don't be a pussy. Do it.'

He furrows his brow in disbelief. You grin up at him. 

His free fist smashes into the trunk of the car next to your head, denting the metal. You cringe. Your plan is working, but it's working a little too well. 

You were aiming for anger, and you got rage. 

Abruptly, he yanks you up off the trunk and then jams a key into the slot. The trunk opens with a loud creak, and exposes a rusty old spare tire and assorted trunk junk, from papers to old Coke cans and tools. You just start to notice that it smells a little when Scott yanks your hair and abruptly shoves you completely into the trunk. The trunk lid slams down a moment later and you're left in darkness amid various piles of junk and trash, various things poking you as you lay stunned at this latest development.

You hear him loading the bags into the car, and then you hear the doors slam shut.

He wouldn't.

The engine roars to life, incredibly loud in the trunk no less, and then he peels out of the parking space. You shriek and cover your ears with one arm while you hold onto the rusty spare tire with the other. Scott flies up the series of ramps, and the loose paper and tools and garbage shift and cascade around you. 

The drive home takes about fifteen minutes, although it feels like forever in the pitch black, dirty, smelly trunk. Finally, you hear the familiar crunch of the gravel outside his apartment and hear the garage door retracting. 

Scott gets out of the car, and you hear him retrieving the bags full of your clothes and shoes and the beer and the rye. You wait a moment for him to open the trunk, but nothing happens. A moment later you hear the elevator open and he steps inside. The door closes, and you hear the lift take him away.

Then silence.

Uh oh.

Time passes. And then additional time passes.

Is he not coming back? How angry is he?

You begin to get panicky. It's really dark, the trunk smells funny and you feel really dirty.

You feel around and find the latch. You fiddle with it and try to pop it open until you crack a nail. Then you stop, sucking on your sore cuticle and feel sad for yourself.

More time passes. It's starting to get to you. You bang your fist on the roof of the trunk a couple of times in frustration. After a few whacks, you stop. Your hand and your finger hurt now.

'DAMMIT SCOTT!' You scream suddenly. And suddenly the tears are flowing again. You're jammed into this tiny, dirty, pitch black trunk. Things are poking you. You feel filthy and disgusting and you're certain that the ridiculously slutty dress, the porn star makeup and the tantalizing hairstyle have been ruined. 

Abruptly, you hear the elevator. The engine whirs and the lift slides slowly down to your floor. Somebody, (Scott you hope.) walks over to the car and you hear a key in the lock. The trunk wheezes open and the sudden light punishes your retinas.

'DAMMIT Scott! How could you...'

Slam! You're in the dark again. 

'Noooo!' You wail.

You hear him walk back to the elevator, and a moment later the door slides shut and he disappears back up into his apartment. 

You weep in frustration, but you're pretty sure you know what this is. 

He's giving you a taste. Just a taste. He wants you to know what he's willing and capable of doing to you. Because he wants you to back off. 

You're not going to. You curl into a little ball and try to ignore the various scraps of paper and debris poking and chafing you.

A short while later, the engines whir to life and the lift slides down to your floor again. The same casual footsteps lead out to your car, the key fits into the lock and suddenly bright white light pours down on you.

You force yourself to not scream at him again. The penalty is apparently more trunk time and you're already sick of it.

'You're done screaming now?'

'Yes.' You reply meekly.

'Good. Get out of the trunk and come with me.'

You clamber out of the trunk and stand up in front of him. You're still pissed off at him, but you asked him to play mean and he showed you that he could. 

He looks you up and down, then pulls out his cell phone and takes a picture of you. 

'Why did you do that?' You ask quietly, seething just a little.

'I wanted a memory of this moment.' He says without looking at you.

He turns and heads to the elevator, beckoning you to follow him. You step behind him quietly. Your dress is ruined, covered with dirt and rust stains and something black and greasy. Your hair is messed up, and you feel the makeup the woman spent so much of her time and your money on smeared and stained from your tears.

You both enter the lift and exit into his apartment a moment later. He points towards a small table in the kitchen and two battered chairs. You obediently head towards the table and spy your bottle of rye and a shot glass. There's also a yellow ball gag with a strap and a pair of handcuffs.

'Sit.' He commands. You do.

He lowers himself into the seat next to you. Then he reaches over and pours you a shot of the rye.

'Drink it. Now.'

You take the shot glass and press it to your lips then bang back the shot quickly. 

You shudder. This rye is strong and has a smoky aftertaste.

'Addie, I'm only going to say this one time. And then you get to choose what comes next. I want you to have that choice, not because I'm afraid of what I'll do to you, but because you keep pushing the boundaries and I want this decision to be on you.'

He pours you another shot and orders you to consume it. You do with a little gasp.

'This isn't a fun little sex game you're asking for. I'm going to violate you and do things that you haven't considered. I'll abuse you verbally, I'll hurt you and I'll degrade you. I'll do things to you just to change your expression and just to fuck with your head.'

He fills the shot glass again, then motions at you once more. A moment later it burns in your stomach.

'I'm not going to give you any limits except for ones I choose. I'll fuck you in any hole I choose, punish you in any way I see fit and violate you in whatever way I think will fill you with sorrow and anguish.'

He pauses, looks at you. You're shaking as you listen. 

He pours you yet another shot. You drink it, grateful for the sudden warmth.

'If you want to go back to what we had, I'll do that. We can go snuggle on the couch or take a shower and act like mildly perverted people. Or if you think I've been a complete dick you can walk over to the elevator and walk down to the car and I'll drive you back to the restaurant and you can take your car home and never talk to me again.'

He pours you another shot. You pick it up and toss it down quick, trying to ignore the fact that you've had five shots of alcohol in five minutes. 

'But if you really want to Addie, and I gotta say, I recommend A or B over this option heartily, you can pick up those handcuffs and cuff yourself, and then you can take that ballgag and strap it into your mouth. Just know that when you do that, I'm going to take you into the ladies room and do everything you asked me to do to you and redefine your understanding of the word 'regret' in the process.'

He pours you a shot and then sits back. 

You look at him. He's not angry anymore. He looks resigned. Whatever happens next is whatever happens next and he's going to deal with it no matter what the outcome.

You put your hand on the ballgag, and he says one last thing.

'If you put that thing on, I'm going to break you. And you need to know that when you beg me to stop, I won't. And I won't care.'

You shudder. The son of a bitch is making you choose. He's put your options on the table and let you decide. And he's made no bones about it and what he'll do to you in each scenario. 

Going home is not an option. It never was. You could sooner cut off your own arm than leave him right now. 

But going to the shower and letting him clean you is desirable. He's skilled, knowledgeable and he knows you and what you love. And you know just from your little time in the trunk that he knows what you can barely tolerate too.

And you want it. You want to see him at his darkest.

You pick up the shotglass and down the last shot. The alcohol now surging through your system makes you feel lightheaded and terrified and incredibly aroused. You place your hand on the ballgag and pick it up, looking at it carefully. 

Only Scott would have a ballgag with a bright yellow happy face.

You slide it into your mouth and then slip the straps around the back of your head to tighten and lock the straps in place. The handcuffs follow, sliding easily onto your wrists and then locking down tight. 

It's done. 

He just watches you for a moment, then shakes his head.

'You know what pisses me off Addie? I was content. I liked what we had. I did. It satisfied me. I thought it satisfied you too.'

He sighs, pours himself a shot from the rye bottle and then bangs it back. Then he turns and looks at you and your blood turns to ice.

'Apparently not, because here we are.'

He grabs you by the arm and yanks you to your feet. He marches you towards the ladies room, and as you get there you see he's crossed out ladies and written the word 'HELL' in bright red marker on the door.

The door pushes away and you see the opposite side of the washrooms. You pale a little as you take the place in. 

The front of the area is the same as the boys room, sinks and running water on one side, lockers on the other. More space is allotted to stalls as there are no urinals here. Just past the stalls lies the shower however, and what you see in there makes you pale.

Scott has installed two heavy metal bars into the wall and they jut out underneath the shower heads. A pair of chains with manacles hangs from the ceiling, and a medical stand with an enema bag and hose stand in the corner. A table set away from the showers has several whips, canes, paddles and floggers as well as other devices that you don't recognize. 

Next to the table are a pair of video cameras, one on a tripod, one loose. A plastic bin holds straps and manacles and additional restraints, some of which you do not recognize. 

Holy fuck. This is going to be hard.

Scott lets you take it in for a moment, then leans over and whispers in your ear. 

'Remember, when you break, and you can't take anymore... I do not care.'

You look up at him suddenly terrified. Why didn't you just stick with the cuddling?

'Kneel.' He orders you, and you obey. You bend at the waist, and feel your ruined, dirty dress slide up and reveal your ass. One rogue nipple pops out and immediately turns hard. He looks down at you, then picks up something from the table. It's a bottle of lube. He unbuckles his belt and the pants slide down to the floor, followed by his underwear and socks a moment later. He's behind you immediately, and then you feel his lubed up wet fingers sliding roughly inside you seconds later. 

You squeal. He ignores you. His fingers swirl around inside you and then almost as soon as he withdraws you can feel him penetrating you. As scared as you are and with the inclusion of the lube, your sex is sopping and ready for action. He's fully inside you moments later, and he enjoys himself quickly while gripping your hair for leverage. His pelvis smacks off your behind again and again as he uses your roughly and without foreplay. He only stops when he grunts hard, and you feel him spray his seed deep inside you.

You enjoy that moment, because while he's frozen and still, he's deep inside you and he just used you for pleasure without caring if you had any. It's different, scary and kind of terrifying.

He withdraws from you after he feels satisfied, then starts trussing you up and securing you.

A heavy leather collar fits snugly around your neck, and a padlock seals it in place. Your arms are raised over your head and your wrists are secured to the collar, insuring that you can't do much more than flap your arms. 

He shoves you against the support bars under the showerhead and secures your now immobilized arms to the hard point with snug plastic zip straps.

He returns to the table and then pulls out several lengths of chain and a heavy leather belt. The belt locks around your waist, and then d-rings embedded in the leather attach to a chain that locks your pelvis to the wall.

You think you know what's next. Scott shared a picture with you one time, and he said it was his favourite picture ever. The girl was secured totally, hard tied with chains at the waist, neck ankles and wrists and contorted into an unbelievably exposed position on a dirty mattress. You feel the manacles locking around your own ankles and know that he's attempting to present you in a similar fashion. 

The manacles are attached to chains, and Scott connects them to the top bar through another ring and then forces your ankles up until you have to contort and hang from the bars spread wide and splayed open. Scott checks the tension, then tightens the chains up some more until you squeak from being bent nearly in half with your ankles secured inches from your ears. 

Scott looks satisfied, then he goes and picks up the loose video camera. He also trains the tripod mount camera on your as well, and then moves in with the shoulder mount camera to get a good look at your face. 

'Hey Everyone, this is Addison. Say hi Addison!'

'Mffgerh?' You mumble through the gag.

'Addison is a silly little cunt that wants to see how sadistic I can be. Isn't that true Addison?'

You flush. He's really crawling into your head now. He knows you think your formal name sounds like a porn star, and he's using that to reinforce the predicament you let him put you in. And he's started to talk dirty to you. Cunt will be just the start of his lexicon of filth that he'll rain down on your head.

'Mgghddswed!' You respond.

Scott chuckles, then reaches out and tugs down the neckline of the ruined slutwear you purchased. Your remaining covered nipple pops free and between the adrenaline, the chill in the room and the fear that Scott is building in you it makes it hard as a diamond in seconds.

'You know Addison, I was going to strip you, but I like this look. The dirty slutty clothing just kind of suits you so well.'

You blush again. He knows being dirty drives you insane. He's not pulling any punches, just like he promised.

'And look here folks, we've got some fresh come dripping out of Addison's snatch.'

You blush even deeper. He kneels and gets a close up shot of his semen dripping out of you and sliding down your leg.

'Tsk Tsk Addison, you're a mess. But I have good news for you.'

'Mgfgsffe?' You ask, curious and concerned about what he considers good news.

'Oh Addison, soon you'll be a lot cleaner inside than out.'

You groan, he's going to give you an enema. On camera no less.

You're wrong about that at first, because he heads back to the table and sets down the portable camera, then starts to browse the table with the punishment implements. You watch in alarm as he picks up a stiff, rigid cane and then wanders back to you.

Horrified, you watch him stand to your side and then slowly trace a finger down your thigh. You shudder, he's going to beat you now, and this is going to hurt.

'What do you think Addison? Six strokes each thigh?'

'NRRGTSSGG!' You plead.

'What? Ten? All right Addison, if that's what you want.' He says with a smile. 

He leans over to you and whispers in your ear.

'You silly whore Addison, wouldn't you rather be cuddling on the couch right now?'

You frantically shake your head yes.

'Ten it is then! What a painslut you are Addison!'

'NGGGHHHH!' You scream.

He lines the cane up at the top of your left thigh, places the supple wooden striker against your skin, then rears back and slashes it across your thigh. 

You howl, it feels like he just laid a line of fire across your inner thigh. A moment later he places a finger against your skin a few centimetres below the first strike. 

You beg and plead through the ballgag, but it doesn't help as he meticulously lays ten vicious strikes across your thigh until the last one slashes across your vagina as well. It sears you, and you want to tear yourself off this wall and run away. 

It doesn't happen, you can barely even squirm. And as you wiggle and squeak and cry Scott switches sides and then you feel his same measuring finger against the inside of your other, unpunished thigh.

Swish. CRACK. Shriek!

Swish. CRACK. SCREAM.

He doesn't dawdle, but he measures each strike and when he finishes, you're sporting deep red and purple welts from the back of your knees and almost halfway up your buttocks. You lay stunned against the wall, the pain so mind boggling that you can barely think. 

Scott examines the welts. He nods his head, satisfied that he delivered on the suffering that he promised you. You groan into the ballgag and plead with your eyes. 




The Bleakest of Seasons Pt. 02



He grins back at you. You put yourself into this predicament, he's just following through.

'Well folks, we beat her, now we need to clean this her out.' He narrates for the camera and then he reaches over and pulls the enema stand to you.

You squirm, but there's nothing you can do. He fills the bag with what looks to be hot soapy water then attaches a hose to it and what looks like a black penis shaped latex plug. He slathers lube on it, then turns to you and asks you if you know where this goes.

You clench your sphincter tight. That thing looks uncomfortable, and the fact that he's filming this is worse. 

He chuckles again at your horrified reaction and then leans over and rubs the tip of the plug against your anus. You can feel the delicate, inviolate muscles clench in your most sensitive of flesh. Scott is insistent though, and you squeal through the gag as the plug slowly violates you on film.

It only takes a moment to penetrate you deeply with the plug, and then a firm tug affirms that you can't expel it. Scott nods and turns a valve on the hose. You immediately feel a warm, almost stinging sensation as the water seeps out of the plug and begins to fill you. You groan loudly as your tummy distends a bit and it starts to ache. 

Scott watches for a moment and then wanders away and out the door. 

You boggle at that. He just left you chained to a wall as water fills you up. 

Slowly, the pressure increases with the heat, and a thin sheen of sweat pops up on your skin. It's torturous holding this, and you desperately want to expel it but you can't. 

You make animal whines constantly. Your discomfort fogs your brain and makes it hard to think. 

Scott returns abruptly, can of Coke in hand. He sips on it with enthusiasm, and watches you with an evil smile. You glare back at him and plead silently for him to take it out of you.

Finally, he relents and gives the plug a stiff tug. You squeak again as you feel the water and the plug wedged inside you shift, but another tug immediately after pops the plug out of you and water starts to spray out of your bowels.

'NNNGGGGHHHH!' You scream at the sudden rush of relief.

It takes only two minutes for the full enema to slide out of you. But finally it does, and you're left with a throbbing sensation in your tummy, an impossibly clean feeling in your behind and a deep and humbling sense of embarrassment as the camera just recorded you spraying water and other matter from your anus.

Scott turns on the shower head and washes anything that remains behind down the drain. You're still incredibly relieved to not be full of water though, even though it only means that Scott is prepping to do something else to you as well.

You're unsure what it will be until you see Scott fitting a condom over his fully erect manhood, and then slathering it with lube. 

You know this trick too. Scott told you all about it. 

He already used you once before he chained you to the wall. And while that was quick by his standards, you had to balance on your toes and try not to fall over while he pulled your hair and casually masturbated himself with your vagina.

Now he was sliding a condom on himself and adding lube, which meant he was just going to fuck the shit out of one of your holes. 

He turns to you and confirms it with a smile.

'Are you ready to try something new Addison?' He asks calmly.

You feel your rectum clench. 

Scott walks back to you, his manhood bouncing off his stomach and just about reaching his navel. He's hard and thick and pressing against your tiny rosebud.

'NNMMMGGGHHH!' You protest. Surely he can't be intending to sodomize you for hours.

You feel the tip of his member against your rear orifice and whimper as he starts to push into you. It only takes him a few minutes to slide deep inside you.

You're horrified. He just took your last virginity from you while you were chained to a wall and bearing marks of the cane. You're equally horrified at what started as a moderately uncomfortable violation of your anus has started to feel good as Scott pumps in and out of you with vigor and purpose. 

You feel an intense clenching sensation travel up your back, slip across your neck and pulse in your groin. Your breathing quickens, you feel yourself becoming ridiculously aroused and about seven minutes after he penetrated you, you have your first anal orgasm. It pulses through your body in waves, and you want to scream in pleasure and hug him to you.

Except that he's still pumping away, using you aggressively.

It stays pleasurable for the next couple of orgasms, but after a half an hour of consistent pounding from Scott you start to feel raw.

Then sore.

Then you beg to god to let him finish, because you know full well that if he finally has an orgasm, he's going to consider this a successful session and celebrate for a moment before he moves on to something else. 

After your anus starts to throb, you take desperate measures, you start to clench your little ring around him tighter, hoping that the increased pressure will help him finish sodomizing you. 

Ten exhausting, painful minutes later you feel him tense up, and then he grabs your ankle and grunts loudly.

'GRRRRHGGGGHHHH!' he growls in exhaustion and withdraws from you. Sweat dripping from his nose as he does so. And then he casually removes the condom he was using to extend his stamina while he took you anally.

He holds it up in front of your face, then turns the tube sideways and squeezes all the semen out of the prophylactic and it splatters across your face and starts to drip down your neck.

You fell mortified. And messy. Mostly messy.

Scott looks at you, then picks up the loose camera. He walks back from the table and then crouches down and starts shooting video of your freshly violated anus. 

'Take a look at that folks, that is one gaping asshole.' He says with what can only be called a filthy voice. You feel your anus spasm and trying to contract to it's previous size before your hour long encounter with him.

You lay against the wall, and you realize that Scott kept all his promises to you. He made you suffer, he violated you and he made you embarrassed as he denigrated you with his tongue.

And as you watch, he walks back and sets the camera on the table. Then he picks up a towel and wipes the sweat from his face. His chest heaves from pounding away on your behind for an hour.

Then he walks to the door.

He's leaving?

'HYYYYSCTTT! WHHDDABBDDMIIi?' You yell into the gag

Scott turns and looks at you with a smirk. 

'Don't worry Addison, I am not done with you yet. I'm gonna watch a little TV and recharge and then we're really going to make you sing.'

Scott turns to the door again and puts his finger on the light switch. 

'Hang around ok?' He says with a smile, and then he flicks the light switch, plunging the room into darkness.

The door slams closed and you hand there on the wall, gagged, splayed, welted and violated.

And it does look like Scott is just getting started with you.

What's next has never felt so terrifying to you.

You hang there in the darkness for a long time.

You don't know how long. There's no clock. It's dark and you can barely move.

The marks from the caning throb and start to burn. Your muscles start to knot up from the ridiculous position he's put you in. And your jaw aches from the ballgag that he had you strap onto your own head.

This is misery. 

Why did you ask him to do this with you?

You know why. You had to see him at his darkest. You wanted to know all of him, and he was trying to lock this part away so you couldn't see it. He practically begged you not to do this, but he wouldn't deny it to you. And now that you're here, chained to the wall, dripping with his seed, aching and sweating and afraid, you know that he's only just warming up.

And he shot all that video of you. You shudder to yourself. If that ever got online...

Don't even think of that. He wouldn't do that. He just... wouldn't.

At least, that's what you tell yourself.

So you wait, and occasionally cry when the misery gets to be too much for you to endure. But mostly you wait.

Finally, you hear him bang on the door and slap the light switch, the lights flicker, then blaze on brightly, and you groan as your retinas scream at you. It takes a moment to adjust to the sudden light, but once you can finally focus your eyes, you see that Scott is turning the cameras back on. He's still naked, but he'd got what looks like a long whip draped over his neck and he's rummaging through a locker and retrieving gear. 

He sets a bottle of lube on the table, followed by a long thick dildo... and then a power drill.

You blanch at that. What in the hell is he planning?

Scott looks over at you with a grim look on his face. 

'Welcome to round two. Are you sorry you asked me to do this to yet?'

You nod sadly, this is not what you hoped for. You somehow imagined that this would be deeper, more intense, more savage. This is not it. This is just pain and misery and degradation and... you feel like you're going to cry again.

You can't blame him. How can you? He gave you every way out he could imagine.

So there's only one thing to do. Endure it, and then decide if you want to keep going. He'll have to stop at some point. 

Won't he?

And more importantly, can you get the slightly aggressive, sort of dominating but incredibly gentle and sensual and just unstoppable sexual animal back? 

You sigh, then there's a loud crack and a line of fire slashes across your thigh and your left breast. You howl into the gag as the pain rules your brain for a moment. When you can open your eyes again, he's standing a few feet away staring at you. The lash hangs loosely from his hand. He flicks it again and another agonizing line of fire traces itself across your stomach and left thigh. 

You gasp and now the tears do come, whether you want them to or not. It's too much. This is not what you wanted and there's no way out. 

'WAGG. WAGG!!!' You yowl through the gag.

Scott snorts, then steps closer.

'Is there something you want to tell me?' He growls.

You nod your head frantically. 

'Tell me.' He orders.

'Hawavdemoogy?' You ask in all seriousness.

He furrows his brow. 

'Say that again Addie?' He says quietly. 

A little voice in the back of your head notes that he just called you Addie. Another voice tells you to ignore that. You need to endure, and hope doesn't help with that.

'Ha wavv demoogy?' You say slowly, the gag impeding your speech.

Scott stares at you with a bleak look on his face. Then abruptly he drops the lash and starts fumbling with the straps securing the gag to your face. A moment later he slides the saliva slick ball out of your mouth and he drops it uncaring to the floor.

'Say it again. Please.' He asks with the most intensity you've seen from him.

You have to flex your jaw to get your mouth to work right, and as you do, he starts to massage your jaw and mandible. You groan at this tiny little mercy, not daring to hope for more.

'How... how was the movie. At the mall. Did you like it?' You ask finally.

Scott just stares at you. A look of horror is creeping across his face.

'What?' He sputters finally.

'The movie. Did... did you like it?'

'Yes. It was good. The... the director played a switcheroo and set up a sad ending... but it ended up being a ... happy... one.' He trails off slowly. Then he stops and puts his hands to his face for a moment.

'Well... I'm glad you had a good time. We... we can keep going now.'

Scott looks up from his hands with an incredulous look. 

'What?' He asks you.

'We can keep going. Thank you for answering my question.' You respond in a resigned tone of voice.

And then you close your eyes and open your mouth so that he can slide the ball gag back in. And you wait.

And you wait some more.

And then you can feel him pulling at the chains that have you locked into this humiliating, ridiculously overexposed position. The lock pops off and clatters to the ground and your ankle suddenly swings forward. You gasp at your seized muscles as they protest this sudden movement and Scott catches your leg and gently, slowly lowers it to the ground. You moan at the pain that the motion brings you; it's intense after what you're certain is at least three hours of immobility after a fairly punishing beating. 

'Easy Addie, take it easy. Slowly.' He whispers in your ear. 

'What are you doing to me now?' You groan. He sounds like gentle Scott from before, but you know that game is over.

'I'm getting you off this fucking wall Addie, just give me a minute.'

The chain releases from your other ankle and Scott helps you slowly lower your leg. His hands rub and soothe and try to decrease the throb from your locked up muscles.

'Wait... why are you... why?' Your voice ringing with startled confusion.

'I need you off this wall.' Is all he will say.

'Did I do something wrong?'

'You didn't do anything wrong. At any point.' He says, and you can hear his voice cracking.

The belt pinning you to the bar is unshackled next and dropped to the floor with a clatter, and then you feel the zip straps pinning your arms to the bar being cut loose and you start to buckle forward. Your legs are so weak from the prolonged chaining that you can't stand by yourself and you start to crumple to the ground. 

Scott scoops you up and hugs you to him, and then he turns and walks towards the door. On the way to it, he brushes against the video camera and it totters and then slams into the floor with a crunch.

'Your camera!' You murmur, head tucked into his shoulder.

'Fuck the camera.' He says with a surprising amount of intensity. Then he hooks a finger around the door handle and pops it open. He inserts his shoulder between the door and the frame and slides you both outside and into the main apartment again. 

He crosses quickly to the messy bed and lays you gently onto it. He grabs one of the big fluffy blankets that he stows on the bed and wraps you up in it. 

You're terrified this is another mindfuck. He's just cut you down so that he can get you into a calm state and then start brutalizing you again. It's scary how quickly he found your vulnerable spots and exploited them.

Scott rubs your back through the blanket and you groan at how sensitive the spots on your legs are from where he beat you. It feels like the skin is savagely welted and incredibly tender.

'Just lay there and rest Addie, I'll be right back.' He whispers into your ear.

You hear him rummaging around in his cupboards and then he grabs something out of his fridge.

He sits down on the bed next to you and motions for you to sit up. He holds out his hand and a pair of red tablets lay in his palm. You look at him apprehensively. You've read his stories. Is he drugging you now?

'It's ibuprofen, extra strength Addie. That's all. Please take them.'

He holds out his hand. You try to pick them up, but your fingers are still numb and clumsy from the prolonged restraint. He sighs and holds the tablets to your mouth.

You dip your head and let him tip the tablets into your mouth. He cracks a bottle of cold water and holds it to your mouth so that you don't have to dry swallow the pills. Then he continues to hold the bottle of chilled water to your mouth and urges you to swallow.

'Drink please Addie. You need the water right now.'

So you drink, and try to figure out what just happened. What changed? Why is gentle Scott back and demented sadistic Scott gone now?

What the hell is going on?

Abruptly, the tears come. You're just too confused and sore and brutalized to process everything and your body demands release. As soon as you start to shed tears, Scott sets the water aside and then hugs you tight, his hands running up and down your back in a soothing motion as he keeps you wrapped up in the warm blanket.

'What... what just happened? I don't know what happened.' You finally manage to get out between intense sobs.

'That makes two of us.' Scott says morosely.

And despite the tears on your face, and the aches and pains streaking through your body, you smile. 

This isn't a game, or a mindfuck or anything else. This is Scott trying to soothe you and process something himself. 

Time passes, you let it all go, releasing all of the fear and pain and grief that he poured into you. You legs and behind still hurt, but he holds you and runs his hand up and down your back and through your hair. He soothes you, and the water and the aspirin and his gentle touches bring solace to you slowly. 

Eventually, you're just spent, and you lean into him fighting sudden exhaustion. He hugs you and lays you down on the bed with surprising delicacy. 

And he holds up your head so that he can slide the pillow underneath.

You smile a faint smile, but you don't even have the energy to open your eyes right now. You just let him take care of you.

The blanket slides away from your legs and you groan at the intrusion of the cool air on your naked skin. Scott runs his hands carefully down your legs, his fingers carefully tracing the punishment that he inflicted on you. You wince and let out little moans as he does so.

He leaves the bed for a moment and you hear him rummaging in another cupboard. He returns to the bed quickly and then he starts massaging a cream into your welts and bruises. You groan openly as the cold cream stings for a moment and then numbs the pain.

He's thorough, he massages every bit of your legs carefully, and then his hands are between your legs as well. Not sexually, but just to rub the cream into the areas that he punished.

Even now, as savaged and exhausted as you are, you feel yourself responding to his touch. You stifle a moan, not wanting to start something you're unsure you can finish.

He carefully applies the cream to any part of your body that he feels he punished. As he rubs it into the welt on your breast you without thinking reach up and clasp his hand over your aching flesh and hold it there. He stops and then slides in beside you. He cuddles you tightly. His hand gently cups you. His warmth seeps out of him and into you.

'Why did you stop?'

'I don't know. I had to.' He says after an awkward pause.

'You didn't have to do anything.'

'I know.'

'I was ready to go as far as you wanted to. I was. You were scaring the ... I was just really scared but I wanted to keep going.'

'I know.'

'So what happened?'

'I... I just... I wanted to stop. I was done.'

You squeeze your hand over his, forcing him to grip you tighter. He obliges and begins to softly palpate your nipple and aureole. You sigh contentedly, this is what feels good.

Well, almost. 

'No you weren't. You had the whip and the lube and the ... dildo and that... ' You remember and suddenly you feel a chill. He had a power drill on the table.

You shudder.

'What's wrong?'

'What were you going to do... with ... what was that tool doing on the table?' You ask, afraid to hear the answer.

'Oh. I was going to connect it to the dildo and lube you up real good and then work you with the dildo until you felt like your brain was going to melt.'

You slowly turn your head and stare at him with wide eyes.

'You cannot be serious.'

'I am serious.'

'Where did you... how did you even come up with that?' You ask in disbelief.

'Addie, it's all over the net. You just have to look for it.'

You shudder. You just about got to experience that when...

When what exactly?

'Why did you stop? I... you were just... so angry with me. I didn't understand what I did wrong.'

'I wasn't angry with you Addie. You wanted me to show you how far I could go. I showed you.'

'But you stopped.'




The Bleakest of Seasons Pt. 02



'Yeah.'

'Why? What changed?'

He takes a deep breath, struggling to find words for what he needs to say. Frustration spills into his face and he just agonizes over what to say.

'You did. You just... shut me down.'

'No I didn't. I was ready to keep going. I knew it was really going to hurt and I wanted you to keep going until you were satisfied.'

'You did Addie. You really did.'

'How? What did I do?'

'You asked me about the movie. You wanted to know how it was and if I enjoyed it.'

'So because I asked you about the movie you stopped?'

'No... because you wanted to know if I had a good time. And then you wanted to keep going.'

'That makes no sense whatsoever.'

'Addie... you asked me about that, and then you just opened your mouth and waited for me to gag you and start up on you again. And then it all just evaporated.'

'What?'

'I just didn't want to hurt you anymore. I wanted you off that wall... right then and there.'

'You know you broke your camera, right?'

'You know the camera doesn't work right?'

You sigh, relieved. Then you turn and whack him on the shoulder. 

'God you were freaking me out with that. I was terrified I was going to end up on the internet!'

'Addie... I'm a sadistic, twisted, perverted son of a bitch. But I will never, ever do something like that to you.' He says with all sincerity.

'Hey now,' You turn and purr into his ear. 'I wouldn't call you a son of a bitch.'

He smiles. Then he reaches up and puts his hands to your face and pulls you in for a kiss. You turn over completely and pull yourself on top of him. 

It's not your best idea. The ibuprofen has numbed the pain but you're still pretty tenderized from playing with Scott earlier. What was supposed to be a kiss turns into Scott trying to support you delicately while you groan.

'Hold still.' He whispers in your ear, and he gently lifts you up and stands and then heads towards the bathroom. You cringe at the site of the room where you suffered at his hands but he doesn't head into that door, he just nudges open the door to the men's room and carries you to the bench. You groan under your breath as he sets you on the bench, your behind and thighs complain loudly to you.

Scott nabs a couple more fluffy towels and then he grabs a blue bottle and what looks like a shower poof. You raise your eyebrow as he sets them on the bench next to you. He moves to the shower and starts up the water. He measures the temperature with his skin, and when he's satisfied he turns to you and offers his hand.

Your muscles are still very unhappy with you, and they complain loudly as you stand. You groan as Scott helps you up and brings you into the shower and lets the hot water and steam massage and provide succour to your throbbing body.

You whimper and then you feel his hands on you. His grip is firm and he starts with your head and works down. First he runs his hands through your hair, gently pulling the strands away from your scalp and seeming to release a chunk of tension with each strand of hair he tugs on. His hands drift down to your jaw and he massages your mandibles with fingertips, applying just enough pressure to feel good and stretch out your muscles.

You feel like you're melting. You lean back into him and let him carry your weight. 

He continues to massage your body under the water, his grip drifts down your neck and across your shoulders, and then he moves your forward and gets you to brace yourself against the wall so that he can massage your back. His fingers meticulously work down your spine and seek and destroy knots and tension. You gasp and arch your back as he works on you and you feel your buttocks brush against him.

He's engorged and hard. Rubbing you down and pressing against you in the shower has had an obvious reaction.

Without thinking, you bend at the waist and shift your legs open for him.

'Really?' He asks you.

'Really.' You reply with just a hint of lust.

'All right.' He says. His hand slides around your hip and he pulls you to him. A moment later you feel the tip of his erection pressing against you. You shift your hips, open yourself to him and then he slowly begins sliding inside you. 

You press your forehead to the wall of the shower and brace yourself as you savour the sensation of him filling you completely.

Finally, he's inside you as deep as he can manage, and you concentrate on just... being. You feel him inside you, pressing firmly against you and your sex, his scrotum draped across your little bud. You feel the persistent stinging from the welts on your thighs, and the water dripping down your skin, sliding down your chest and dripping off your nipples and down between your legs.

You feel his hand holding you firmly in place, and then he reaches forward and slowly grips your hair, pulling your head back.

You ease up off the wall and lean back into him again, throwing your weight back against him fully. He shifts his footing, but doesn't move an inch otherwise. Your body increases the angle of penetration and forces him firmly inside you and against your clitoris. 

You draw air between your teeth with a hiss. His hands start exploring your body aggressively. One hand cups your breast firmly and the other dips down between your legs and starts to manipulate you from a different direction.

This is beyond lust. There's pain from the earlier play and the aftermath of the earlier stimulation and the sheer sensation of him over stimulating you from both inside and out. It builds up in you like pressure and you tilt your head back onto his shoulder and pant.

The water blasts down into your face, he pumps into you, gropes you, works you with his fingers and grips you with his hand. 

The first orgasm comes so suddenly that you can't even brace for it. It just explodes out you with a shriek as you fling back your arms and grip his hair.

He does what he always does, and he picks up the tempo. Thrusts become faster, harder, more aggressive, his hands grip you firmly and he slides his other hand up from your vagina and grips your other breast. 

Without thinking, you slide your hand back and encourage him to grip you harder, he responds and you gasp as he sinks his fingers deep into the tender flesh.

He keeps thrusting, faster, ever faster and you feel his hands shift from mauling your bosom to a firm grip on your nipples. You know what's coming and you want it. The fingers grip tightly and twist hard, and the pain is the perfect counterpoint to the relentless pounding of his flesh into you. 

You come hard yet again, whining and holding onto him, but as you spasm your foot slips and knocks his leg on the slippery floor of the shower and you both fall back wards into the shallow pool of water with a thud.

'Dammit. I need to put some bloody no stick pads in this thing.' He mutters.

You lay limply on top of him, his manhood still half inside you and your breast still gripped firmly by him.

Abruptly, you sit up, then carefully lift your leg and spin with him still deep inside you. That sensation alone nearly paralyzes you for a moment as you feel him twisting inside you. You wheeze out an animal whine quietly and then you finally shift into position on top of him. 

You place your hands on his sternum as he stares up at you then you slowly lower yourself down until you're resting your head on his chest just under his chin.

He leans his head back and wraps his arms around you.

You lay there for a while, joined at the hip, words not required. The water keeps pounding down and keeps you both warm.

Exhaustion claims you for a little while. The day has taken its toll. Scott let's you lay there until the water starts to turn chilly before he finally rouses you from your fatigued slumber.

He helps you back to your feet and turns off the water. Then he gets a fluffy towel for you to wrap yourself in. You dry your hair and rub down your skin with the soft towel and generally just malinger quietly in the shower. 

As you move towards the door, you catch your image in the mirror. The welts are turning into ugly little uniform bruises running down your legs. Where his hands were gripping and crushing your breasts dark purple bruises linger.

You stand and stare. You should feel traumatized, horrified. 

You don't. You feel something else.

Scott walks up behind you and admires your flesh in the mirror as well. He snakes a hand around your belly and drags his lips around your neck. You feel him still erect against you and realize that you once again did not feel him finish inside you. You also know that it's not that important to him.

But as he wraps his arms around you and you gaze at the mirror, you know what the feeling is.

You feel owned. Wanted. Adored.

And you like that feeling.

You stand like that in front of the mirror for a while, and just stare at the two of you. His arms snug around you, his lips nuzzling your neck. His beard is getting rough and it abrades your skin. 

You don't mind that at all either.

You run your hands up across your chest and rub your own shoulder. Your fingertips brush across the sensitive little bruises that his fingers left on you. You like those bruises, despite the discomfort. It's like you can still feel his hands there, squeezing and taking and pinching.

You like the fact that he left his mark on you. You want him to leave more. 

It would be nice if they hurt a little less when he left them. Maybe. Maybe not. Would they mean less if he just left a hickey?

He brushes up against your leg, still mostly erect. You shake your head. How does one man, one forty year old man no less consistently do this? You've had twenty years olds that could barely last ten minutes. He shrugs off an hour or two like it was nothing. He's never quick. It drives you crazy that sometimes he never gets off.

You like it when he gets off. On you. In you. It feels so satisfying.

'Do you still want to... hurt me?' You ask, a little afraid of the answer.

'A little bit. Not like before.' He whispers into your ear. 

'Define a little bit.' You ask.

He smiles, cups your breast roughly, starts to squeeze. You hiss as you suck air through your teeth, then you say something that surprises you both.

'More.' You say with a groan.

Scott raises an eyebrow, then whispers in your ear.

'Are you sure?'

'Yes. Harder. Please.' 

His grip intensifies, pulls at the sensitive flesh. You gasp and start to involuntarily rise up on your toes. Your hand flutters, reaches behind you and finds him, now hard and full and rigid. Your fingers wrap around him and gently stroke him as you whine at the pressure he increases on your girls. 

You stand locked like that for a moment in time, you struggling to give him pleasure while he carefully gauges just the right amount of pain for you. You arm aches at the awkward angle, and your teats start to throb at the pressure. 

There will definitely be more bruising now. At least you hope so.

You tilt your head back on his shoulder, surrendering to it, wanting it. You gasp at the pain and something else that's building in you that you can't even define. Your hand pulls him closer to you, between your cheeks, to the spot that he cleaned and used so harshly. 

He doesn't hesitate, and lets you guide him inside you. You gasp as he slides into the still slick entrance, and as he fully penetrates you a wave of intense pleasure roars out of your pelvis and rocks your body. You shriek as it consumes you fully for a moment and leaves you shuddering, tears leaking out of your eyes.

'Uh... wow.' He whispers in your ear.

'Blrgh... gahh...' You mutter, momentarily robbed of speech.

He just nuzzles your neck, kisses away a tear forged from pleasure.

'Don't... stop. Don't you... stop. Finish. I need you to... finish. Please.' You manage to beg him while panting.

He doesn't say anything, and just nuzzles your neck but you feel him start to slide in and out of you again. You tilt your head forward and see yourself in the mirror.

You barely recognize yourself, your delicate, pale skin is welted and bruised. Your long hair is tangled, wild, unruly and messy. Tears of pleasure stream down your face and his hands squeeze and twist your breasts and nipples. Your sex glistens with your own lust, and your own hand drifts between your legs to manipulate your own flesh and jack your pleasure up to another level. 

He continues thrusting into you, but with caution. He knows you still feel delicate back there and while you wish he would pound away with abandon, you're certain you would regret that later. 

Besides, this still feels forbidden, or at least it feels forbidden when you're not paralyzed by climaxes so intense it feels almost like a seizure. 

You just let everything go and ride it for a while. Your fingers and his hands and his member build orgasm after orgasm in you and your body convulses with each one. 

Finally, after what feels like forever, you feel him start to stiffen. You squeeze tighter around him and abruptly he grabs your hair and shoves into you fully and hard. 

You gasp, feel him impale you fully and seconds later feel him release inside your bowel. 

He's hot, and wet, and you feel dirty and violated and thankful at the same time. Sweat literally drips from you both at the end of this frantic, intense coupling. 

You slump forward, exhausted. You arms rest on the counter. Your forehead drops onto your forearms with a limp splat. 

You can't stop gasping for air. You make a superhuman effort to lift your head and see him behind you, eyes still closed, still inside you. Sweat trickles down his own pale skin, and his chest heaves like he just finished running.

How long were you two like this?

You feel Scott start to withdraw from you, and you can't help but whimper as he slides out of you. You feel raw back there, slippery and impossibly open. Your anus spasms. This level of penetration and raw powerful sex is a new thing that your body has not quite adapted to. 

Scott gasps in air and then finally speaks.

'We... we really do... have the best showers... ever.'

There's a moment of silence and suddenly you cannot stop laughing. It's true, you've had more sex in this room than you have in his bed. Your throat is raw from all the screaming, but you can't help yourself, you need to let this out.

Finally, Scott runs his hands up your back and grasps your hair. He gently tugs on it and you reluctantly stand back up and lean against him. 

The mirror displays you both, slick with sweat, panting and spent. Scott slides his arm around your ribcage and cups your teat firmly. 

You can feel his seed sliding out of you, slipping through your still violated rosebud. Tiny little drops of his pleasure start to leak down your leg. Your nipples and breasts throb from the abuse you practically begged him for and it's starting to be difficult to see pale skin among the many bruises on your sensitive globes.

You look trashy, used, like a well fucked porn actress.

You'd feel terrible if you hadn't secretly longed for this for so long. 

'What are you?' You murmur.

'What do you mean?' He responds quietly, his own chest still heaving.

'How do you get me to do these things? Nobody ever even... touched me there before and I can't wait for you to take it. You bruise me and welt me and I can't stop staring at your marks. You're hard as a rock and you never seem to finish... I have to beg YOU to finish and you know how to get more pleasure from my body than I do.'

He just looks at you over your shoulder and gently massages the breast in his hand.

'What the fuck are you?'

'I'm just... just a guy Addie. There's nothing special about me. Really.'

You shake your head with frustration. You don't know if this is mock humility or if he believes it. 

'Liar.' You whisper. 

He shrugs and gives you an odd little smile. 

'Come on, we should clean off.' He pauses for a moment. 'Again.' He says with a wry smirk.

You nod and let him lead you back to the shower, stealing one last look at the very defiled, bruised, battered and supremely sated woman in the mirror. She smiles back at you.

He washes you again, and this time it's just gentle cleansing with no sex. You don't think even he could manage to start another round of coupling at this point. He takes the poof and lathers it up and gently clears all the sweat and grime from your skin. You groan as he washes your chest, the bruising seemingly getting tenderer by the second.

He's thorough, and the poof slides down your back and between your legs and you're surprised at how completely raw and battered you feel. Sex with this man is like wrestling with an alligator it seems. He finds ways to tenderize areas you didn't even know you had.

Still, his hands are gentle, and he cares about what happens to you. It's enough. More than enough really.

After he finishes washing you, you rest on the bench and watch him shower. 

He doesn't look like a rampaging sex machine. His hair is thinning, his midsection is thick and his skin has a pallor that is only worn by people that deliberately avoid the sun. Even his hairstyle is short and unaffected. He barely uses any products at all except when his hair is so unruly he concedes defeat by plastering it flat.

He's the antithesis of everything you dreamed of.

He's also everything you want.

You could watch him shower like this for hours. He's so unconcerned with appearances that it's almost comical.

Finally, for the second time this evening, he turns off the water and gets you both a pair of towels to dry off with. This time you carefully brush out your hair and then tie it into a tight braid, the towel tucked around your torso and keeping you covered while you do so.

Scott disappears out of the washroom for a moment, then returns with a fluffy, overly large pair of men's pyjamas for you.

He hands you the warm sleepwear and you grin at him. 

'I can't. I should really get home. We both have to work tomorrow.'

'You should take a sick day Addie.'

'Why?' You ask seriously.

'You... are going to be sore tomorrow. Seriously sore.' Scott responds honestly.

'Oh.' You hadn't thought of that.

'Stay the night, call in during the morning and get some sleep. I'm going to focus on not touching you for a bit.'

'But I like it when you touch me!'

'I don't mean like that, I mean like touching you touching you.' And he sets a hand on your thigh and slides it up between your legs. You gasp as his finger slides inside your still slick opening with next to no resistance.

'I... am not sure how I feel about that.' You murmur as you waffle between wanting him to continue and agonizing over how drained you feel.

'I know.' He says and he slides his finger out of you, accompanied by the little squeal you emit. He raises his finger to your lips and you take his finger in without thought, your tongue cleansing the salty sweetness of your own sex from his skin. 

'Will you stay with me if I call in sick?' You ask dreamily, already imagining yet another day of frantic, intense, punishing coupling.

'Of course I will. You think I'm going to miss a chance to play hooky with you?' He says with a smile.

'I'd like that.' 

You stand and slip the towel off your torso, revealing yourself to him fully and then you slowly slip into the warm flannel pyjama top he brought you. You take a look at the pants, but the waist is built for him and won't even attempt to stay on your waist.

You sigh, and hand him back the pants. 

'Looks like I'll have to be half naked.'

'Not something I'm likely to complain about.' He says with a smile as he slides into the pants himself.

Scott tosses the multitude of damp towels into the hamper and then takes your hand and leads you out to the comfy couch. He browses channels until he finds a mindless comedy for you both to watch and then he orders vegetarian Chinese food for you both again. 




The Bleakest of Seasons Pt. 02



The food arrives, and you snuggle up on the couch with him and eat sautéed vegetables and fried rice with a sweet and sour sauce. Scott keeps getting you to drink water, which would be annoying if you weren't finding yourself ravenously thirsty. 

You watch the movie wrapped in one of his warm blankets and snuggled up against him.

It's not a particularly well written film, and sleep claims you quickly, which is probably what he had in mind. You feel him lift you off the couch and carry you to the bed then set you down and tuck you under the covers. It's blissful, but doesn't feel quite right. 

Moments later you feel him shake your shoulder and he gets you to sit up so you can take another pair of extra strength ibuprofen and some more water.

You toss back the pills and take a long pull of the water and hand it back to him. He turns and takes the glass back to the sink, and as you watch him you make a quick decision and pull the pyjama top up and over your head and toss it to the floor. 

He turns back from the kitchen and spies you reclining on the bed, then shakes his head. 

'Addie... we really need to give your body a rest now.'

'Then get over here and cuddle up. I want to feel your skin against me.' And in me, you think to yourself.

He nods and then slides off the pyjama bottoms he had been wearing and settles into the bed next to you. You turn and face him, then slowly slide a leg over him and then slide on top of him.

'Addie, come on!' He protests.

'Shush Scott. You want me to sleep, yes?'

'Yes. You need rest.'

'Well, I'll relax better with you inside me.'

He sighs. You slip a hand down and massage him, your fingernails tracing over his skin and tickling the head of his manhood. He responds like he always does, and his little monster stirs to life. It takes only minutes of gentle manipulation to bring him fully erect and hard and then you calmly hold yourself open and then guide him inside you. Your hips slide down his pelvis until you're both pressed directly against his groin and he's buried deep inside you.

You freeze like that for a moment and revel in it. This man, this strange, twisted chubby little man, he satisfies you. He more than satisfies you.

You'd tell him how you feel, but you're afraid this is just passion and lust and if you say that word too soon you're afraid he might run. 

So you stay silent, and bite your lip, and try not to buck and start something that will just lead to more sweat and exhaustion. Because at this moment, you just want him inside you and nothing more.

And as impossible as it is, he doesn't push for it either. He's just content to stay inside you and not use you for pleasure. He knows you're looking for something else a little more delicate right now, and he's trying not to ruin it.

You gently lean forward, your breathing deep and controlled and slowly rest your head on his chest. He wraps an arm around you and slowly pulls the blanket over you both with his free hand, removing the chill from your skin and making this intimate moment even moreso.

If you could freeze any one moment and keep it forever, this would probably be it. His body is warm, almost hot, and his flabby body surprisingly makes for an excellent pillow.

You drift, sort of conscious and kind of dreaming at the same time. 

Finally, to fight off the urge to say that word, you shake yourself out of your haze for a moment and twist your head up and place your mouth on his own. 

It's a tender kiss, and you both say things to each other that words are not required for. 

And after you finish this quiet discussion that uses no words, you lay your head on his chest and let sleep take you.

When the dreams come, they are odd, strange things. But you still feel safe, because you can feel him holding you, inside you, underneath you even while you sleep.

And that feels right.

Like a relentless force, the sun slowly attacks your slumber. First it starts to creep into the windows, and sneaks across the floor. Slowly, deviously it stalks you as you lie in bed wrapped in a warm cocoon of blankets. 

It waits and shifts in place for you to show a moment of weakness and vulnerability. And just when you think you're going to sleep forever, it attacks and sunlight splashes across your eyelids.

You groan and snuggle into the pillows, waging a mighty war with consciousness. Your struggle is valiant, but it's a relentless opponent and finally, your eyelids crack open and you look around.

First of all, you're no longer on top of Scott and he's not inside you. 

That's not surprising. It couldn't have been that comfortable trying to sleep with you draped overtop of him. Nor was it feasible to maintain an erection for eight hours while sleeping... even for him. 

But the fact that he slid you off of him gently without waking you and disengaged himself from the bed is interesting. Where is he?

You slowly sit up, then gasp. Everything aches or throbs when you move. Your stomach feels like you spent a day at the gym doing crunches. The welts on your thighs have turned to bruises and they complain loudly about every move you make. And your chest looks like... bruised fruit. Deep purple and green spots cover your ivory skin and all the twisting and pinching has left your nipples incredibly sensitive.

You groan and gently lay back down, afraid to rub against the sheets. Or move. Or breathe.

As you do that, you hear tapping. 

Is he on the computer again?

Cautiously, wary of starting another argument with your body that you know you won't win, you look over at his bench. He sits in a pair of cotton sleep pants and studies a screen intently. Numbers scroll by in a little window and he taps a couple of commands rapidly into a second command line prompt.

You watch him for a moment. You like computers, but you probably know more about your car than how computers and the internet really work. Scott treats computers almost like some sort of arcane art form. He runs music through his stereo from his phone via voice command. He digs up arcane information in minutes and runs servers in other cities through black screens of text.

The chubby little nerd has some skills, you have to admit that. 

You watch him for a moment, then remember that you needed to call into work and let them know that you weren't feeling well. You lurch up out of bed and then freeze as your body yells at you for moving at all.

Good Christ, you certainly like getting and wearing his marks, but this is going to take some time to get used to. You remember him firmly insisting you to take the ibuprofen yesterday and keeping you hydrated and you shudder to think how you would feel if he hadn't bothered with that.

You limp over to your pile of clothing on the floor and retrieve your purse from the bag it had been stuffed into when you both returned from the mall. Your cell phone is out and in your hand as soon as you dig it out and you call into HR to let them know you need a personal day. 

As you leave the message, you imagine that between your shredded vocal chords and intermittent groans that at least you'll sound authentically ill.

The message left, you stand there for a moment. Sore and cold, you place a hand on the counter and lean against it for a moment, focusing on your breathing.

You just feel sore. You've done yoga and pilates and felt a little tender the next day, but this is far worse. Your flesh just feels savaged, and you still feel exhausted after a deep and almost dreamless sleep.

If it hadn't felt fantastic you'd be really pissed at him. 

You hear him slide the chair back and walk towards you. You'd like to look up and smile at him, but you can't find the energy.

'Holy shit Addie! Are you all right?' He asks as he eyes your battered body. His hands slip over your shoulders and start to knead the flesh.

'M'better now...' You murmur.

'Hang on, let's get some more ibuprofen into you and some more liquids.'

'Sounds fantastic.' You say with less enthusiasm. The hands on your shoulders felt great.

Scott pulls open the fridge and pulls out a small bag of oranges. He grabs a manual juicer out a cupboard door, then grabs a large French knife out of a drawer and proceeds to cut the oranges in half. You watch with interest as he quickly crushes the flesh of the oranges on the metal rims of the juicer and then extracts the juice into a glass for you.

Two things spring to mind. 

First, you've never had anyone go to the effort to get you fresh squeezed orange juice, let alone do it themselves. (And judging by the amount of effort Scott is putting into this, it's a pain in the ass to do this manually.)

Two, you can identify with those oranges. You rub your chest and groan and wonder if he might have been more delicate with the fruit on the table as opposed to the globes on your chest.

He finishes up the last of the oranges and pours the liquid into a tall glass, then sets it on the counter for a minute so he can rummage in his fridge freezer. A moment later he tops up the glass with ice cubes, grabs the anti-inflammatory in his other hand and brings it to you.

The pills are small and coated, and they vanish down your throat with a gulp of the fresh orange juice. It's impossibly sweet and just delicious. And Scott pulls up a chair for you to rest on while you savor it and he cleans up the mess. 

It doesn't take him long and you watch him putter around his little kitchenette cleaning it up. The board and juicer go into the dishwasher but he manually cleans the knife under hot water and then dries it and puts it away.

He sees you eyeing him and smiles.

'Gotta take care of my knives.'

'Are they expensive knives?' You ask, genuinely curious.

'Not really, they just work better when you take care of them, clean them and sharpen them.'

You rest your face in your palms and watch him. He's kind of adorable. 

Dammit, you're getting aroused again.

You shift on the chair, clasping your legs together. A little groan escapes your lips. Scott smiles and walks around behind you. His hands are hot on your shoulders a second later and he's rubbing and kneading them gently.

Dammit! You don't think you can take another Olympic level sexual marathon. And yet here you are, groaning and squirming under his fingers.

You sit there quietly and try to meditate. His touch makes it difficult. His fingers are gentle and deft and he slowly draws the ache out of your shoulders and back. His hands slide down to your lower back and your resolve slowly crumbles to dust. 

You grasp the ice cold orange juice, and pour the last of the absurdly sweet juice down your throat. It's cold, delicious and the sensation of the near freezing, sweet liquid sliding down into your stomach is ridiculously glorious.

It isn't enough however.

Slowly, you turn around on the stool and face him. He raises and eyebrow, and in return you slowly part your legs wide, revealing your glistening sex waiting for him. You pull his hands to your breasts and you feel your nostrils flare and breathing pick up as he touches you.

'Addie. We shouldn't.'

'Why not?' You whisper back huskily. Fuck restraint. You want him now.

He leans in, nuzzles your ear gently. His hands carefully massage your breasts. The bruises ache as he touches them. You don't care. Every ache comes with a little memory and each memory is a little delight to recall. 

You can't stop gasping for air. You make a superhuman effort to lift your head and see him behind you, eyes still closed, still inside you. Sweat trickles down his own pale skin, and his chest heaves like he just finished running.

'You need rest girl.'

You shiver when he calls you girl. It makes you want to do things for him and to him. He knows it too. Sometimes he whispers it in your ear right in the middle of taking your body again and again and again in the most delightful form of conditioning you have ever experienced.

'We could rest together. After. If we were gentle...' You ask in a little girl's voice, almost like you are asking for a cookie. A very naughty cookie.

'Addie, we're a lot of things, but we are not gentle with each other.' He whispers back.

'No, we aren't.' You acknowledge, you lack of argument surprising you.

'And even if we could be gentle, would you want me to be?'

'No.', You whisper, again with a certainty that surprises you.

'Go back to bed girl. I have to do some work, then we'll go out and find something to distract you. Ok?'

'Scott... I ... Scott...' You're whining. Why are you whining?

'Girl. Listen to me. Get of the chair. Go lay down in the comfy bed. Nap for a little while.' He leans over and whispers into your ear. His hand slips down between your legs and he slides a finger inside you. You inhale and press into him, hopeful that this is just the start.

'If you're a good girl, daddy will give you a treat.' Another finger slides inside you. You shudder at the sensation and try to spread your legs wider for him.

'What if I'm not a good girl?' You whisper back.

'Then, Addison, we can go back into the ladies room until I am convinced that you will be a good girl.' He says firmly.

You freeze, uncertain for a moment. You don't want to go back into that room with him. Yet you do want to go back in there with him. He let's out his darkness in that room. And you want him to let it go. 

He was terrifying in that room. He hurt you and scared you and did things to you that you are almost terrified to remember. But you also remember your heart pounding and your blood rushing and the brutally intimate moment you shared after he chained you to that wall.

You suck on your lower lip. You're afraid you have no limits with this man. Worse, you're afraid that you don't want him to have any limits either.

You hesitate as long as you can, knowing that the moment you make your decision, he's going to send you back to the warm comfy bed and go back to work. 

'How long do you have to work?' You whisper in his ear.

'Just an hour or so. I have to synchronize some sequel servers on the west coast, that's all. One database is a little corrupted so it's taking longer than I thought.' His index finger twitches inside you, you unconsciously squeeze it in return.

'I'll be a good little girl.' You whisper back, despite your fervent desire to be bad. He does have work to do. Everything still hurts. You're certain you'll have more fun with a treat than if you go back in that room.

Liar, you think to yourself.

Scott smiles and slowly withdraws his fingers from you, deliberately dragging them across your clitoris. You gasp as he does so, and he takes advantage of your open mouth to insert the same fingers.

You refuse to break his gaze as you clean your own juices from him. You make promises with your tongue that you will keep as soon as he gives you an opportunity.

His hands grip your hip and he slides you off the chair and you press into him. All aches and pains are now forgotten. You want him. You want him inside you all the time. It's been so long since any man made you feel like this. And it's never felt this intense.

'Bed Girl. Now.' He says in your ear, firmly but not unkindly. 

Reluctantly, you pull away from him. He has to work. Then you get a treat. 

As you slide back under the covers and artfully obscure some but not all of your body to him, you think one thing.

You really like treats.

The dream sneaks up on you like it always does.

You've never discussed it with Scott. You chatted about it once with him, and he knows, but he never knew the exact details.

You sneak home early from work. You're excited. There's planning to do, and the invitations need to get done and you need to set that appointment with the wedding planner... although you are sorely tempted to just do it all yourself. 

Brad's jacket is on the hook, his boots are by the door. He's home too! You giggle with glee. Maybe you can slip a little private time in with him before you really get cracking.

Quietly, you sneak up the stairs, hoping that you can surprise him.

You hear him first. He's gasping for air. 

Why is he doing that? Is he exercising? Is he hurt? 

Why do you hear a woman moaning?

Your stomach twists. He couldn't possibly be doing that. Not here. Not in your own bed.

Quietly, you push the door open and neither of them notices you standing there, stunned silent as he thrusts away into her.

You can't remember her face. Does it matter? 

Your mouth tastes of copper. Your teeth have bitten down on your lip so hard the skin has broken.

He turns to look at you and smiles?

'What's wrong Addison?' He says calmly.

How could he? Who is she? Does he even care that you just changed the sheets for fresh sheet Sunday? 

Does he care that he just shattered every mote of you?

'What's wrong Addie?' Someone else says.

And you struggle with it. You hate the dream, but you don't want to leave it. You loved him, the bastard. You think at times you still love him, but how can you love anyone that cares so little for you?

Someone shakes your shoulder. 

Disoriented, you open your eyes slowly. 

Scott leans over you, concern on his face. 

'Hey kiddo. Are you ok?' 

You try to talk but you can't work your mouth yet. The blanket is tangled around you and hot and your skin is slick with sweat. 

He reaches out with his hand to stroke your hair and instinctively you bat his hand away. Abruptly you flail about, feeling constrained by the blankets and your own messy hair. 

Scott recoils slightly, surprised by your response and then he pulls the blankets away from you so you can squirm free. Abruptly you rip yourself out of the snugly cocoon and roll away from him until you smack into the wall. You scuttle yourself back into the corner and just hug your knees to your chest then bury your chin in your chest. You refuse to cry, but your chest heaves and you let one little whimper creep out.

That fuck. That bastard. That son of a bitch. Why? Why did he have to do that to you?

Why did you have to see it? Did he want you to see it? Was he just that... stupid?

'Uh... ok. I'm going to assume that was a bad dream.' Scott says quietly.

You just nod your head.

'I'm sorry.' You say, and hope he'll let it go. It's embarrassing and painful and you hate the fact that this stupid piece of mental scar tissue has intruded on this moment when you actually have felt happy in what feels like a very long time.

You both sit still for a moment, Scott confused and you embarrassed. Then he slowly sides over the bed. He reaches out to touch your foot. 

You curl it away from him. You're still embarrassed, you still see... Brad obliterating everything you thought you knew. Leaving a hole in you.

It's never fun watching your whole life become ashes. It leaves a mark.

You look up at Scott, his face is filled with concern, and for once he doesn't look confident and sure of his next move. 

Huh. So all you have to do is freak out and he's putty in your hands. Good to know.

'Listen... I just... I mean... if you want to talk about it...' He starts.

'No. I don't.' You respond flatly. 

He nods, still not breaking your vision.

'Then we don't have to talk about it. Ever. Whatever you need.'

You nod. Maybe you will talk with him about it one day. Maybe not. You want to trust him, but your track record with people you trust is not great.

He slides over against the wall, opens his arms to you. 

'C'mere.' He says.

You sit for a moment, then slide up against him silently. He wraps his arm around you and gently starts massaging your head and straightening out your hair with his free hand.

You sigh. This day had started so well, with such promise and that stupid dream derailed it. 

'Hey.' He says, his hand still rubbing you gently.




The Bleakest of Seasons Pt. 02



'Hey.' You say back, no other response coming to mind.

Scott just rubs you and holds you and lets his touch do all the talking. He just relentlessly massages your neck and head and skull until the sadness starts to drip away from you.

You sigh. Maybe you're still just too... fucked up for this. Maybe it's still too soon. Maybe you need to just give up on finding your happiness and your hopes and your trust.

Scott leans forward and nuzzles your neck, then he whispers in your ear. It isn't what you're expecting to hear.

'I have more oranges. Would you like another glass of fresh squeezed orange juice?'

You smile. That orange juice was really tasty.

You look back at him and smile. He squeezes your shoulder and nudges you towards the counter and you both walk over to his little kitchenette.

A glass is retrieved, ice is inserted, and fruit is viciously murdered for your thirst.

It's delicious. 

He pours himself a coffee, sits with you at the kitchenette on a tall stool. He runs his hand up and down your back as you drink, which is nearly as pleasant (Although still a distant second...) to the juice he just made for you.

If he put vodka in this, you think you might have to marry him. Except you think that, and you remember, and it makes you sad again.

He sees your expression change and the smile leaves your lips. 

'Hey, you know you still get a treat right?' He says hopefully, trying to distract you.

You think about that for the moment.

'Ok.' You whisper.

You pull the glass to your lips and slug back the rest of the orange juice in a sweet, refreshing deluge that slides down your throat effortlessly. It feels kind of wasteful to slam it back and not savour it, but you suspect that all you have to do is ask and more will be made for you.

You take Scott by the hand, and pull him away from the kitchenette and back to the bed.

'Uh..' He says, and you shush him.

You point to the bed.

'Lay down.' You order.

'Hey now, you don't call the shots.' Scott argues.

'You promised me a treat if I was a good girl. I was. Did you lie?' You say, waggling a finger at him.

'No... I did not lie...' He starts, a little confused.

'Bed. Now! Addie wants her treat!' You stomp your foot like a petulant child.

Scott gapes at you for a second, then throws up his hands in mock surrender. You point at the bed firmly, and he sits down on the bed and then reclines back with his hands under his head.

You nod, then lean down and yank down the cotton sleep pants he's been wearing as he worked on servers and networks and IP stuff that kept him away from you and what you wanted earlier this morning. How dare he be responsible and remain employed while your needs were not met? 

'Don't you move Scott! You just lay there and relax.' 

He starts to protest and you silence him with one word and a pointed finger. 

'Treat!' You bark at him, and he chuckles and the mock surrender appears again.

Wow, you really can mold him like putty when he thinks you're sad.

You wish you'd taken a moment to clean yourself up, fix your hair and run a cloth over your face. But you'd decided to seize this moment if possible and he let you have it, so your mind is spinning with what you want to do.

There's really only one thing you want to do though, and you decide to do it.

You climb on top of him, suddenly hungry for him. He reaches out for you and you stop him with that stern finger and that all powerful word. 

'Treat! Don't make me tell you again old man!' You say with sternness that you didn't think you could ever invoke.

'I gotta say... I want you pretty bad right now.' He says with passion. His nostrils flare and you can feel him stiffen below you.

You lean down and whisper in his ear.

'Don't move. This is my treat. If you move or stop me or ruin this I'll consider this a broken promise.'

You pause, almost afraid to ask the question, but you have to.

'Do you want to break your promise?'

'No.' He says quickly in a strangled voice.

You smile. He's yours. 

He's a dominant, sadistic, vicious fucking machine and he hates giving up control. But he's giving it to you. Right now. 

You cautiously drag yourself over his groin, your lips parting to allow the sudden slickness within you to slide easily down his shaft. You lean down while doing so to nuzzle his chest and gently kiss and nibble on his nipple.

His mouth opens and closes and you hear the tiniest gasp from his as he literally claws at the pillow. It's taking everything he has to do what you asked and just hold still for you.

You decide to reward him for that. You slide forward and wrap your hands around his face and hold him still so that you can press your lips to his and kiss his stubbled face. He kisses you back with a surprising intensity. 

You work your way back down his chin and drag your lips across his neck and just lightly drag your nipples across his chest. His skin prickles with goose bumps and he pulls at the pillow. 

You feel him against your leg, he's rock hard and throbbing.

Good. 

You continue your downward path, kissing and nuzzling his chest, savouring his scent and exploring his body. You tease and torment him, exploring his body and learning the things that drive him into frenzy.

He nearly breaks the one time, his hands thrusting into the air as you slide your tongue around his navel as your fingers tickle his pulsing manhood. He reaches for you, and you slap his hand away and bark the all consuming word of power that he cannot help but obey.

'TREAT!'

'Chrisssssssst!' He pants, and then he grabs the pillow and pulls it over his face so that he can scream without it shattering the windows.

You grin. You could get to like this. If this is what it's like for him when he plays your body like a violin then you completely understand it.

Abruptly you slide fully down his body, dragging your diamond hard nipples across his unbelievably erect phallus. You press it to your face and drag your fingernails up and down his sensitive skin. The tip flexes at your ministrations and a drop of clear sticky fluid slides out of him. 

You can't help yourself, your slide your mouth onto him and take as much of him into you as you can. You tongue slides around him and you start to felate him skilfully, forcefully, mercilessly. 

Sometimes you lack confidence in things. Sometimes you doubt yourself. Sometimes you wonder if you're ever going to be whole again.

But this, this act, this one thing, you have no doubt in this. You've made men beg before for your tongue and your touch. Scott for all his prowess is proving no different.

Due to the fact that for once he is not controlling the situation, he may be even easier to manipulate this way. 

And you continue to do so, using your lips and tongue skilfully to extract every last once of pleasure from him. Your fingers cup his genitals gently, squeezing and massaging and you let copious amounts of saliva spill from your mouth as you bob up and down on him.

It almost feels cruel using him like this. He has no defence against these kind of ministrations and you're just relentless. You drag him again and again to the brink of release and then ease off until he shudders under your touch and fights not to buck and howl. 

After a measly ten minutes, he's reduced to a gibbering, panting wreck, and you decide to hang him out on that limb for another five minutes. 

You're not angry with him, or even spiteful, but you do want him to feel, just once, what it's like to have no control as someone drags every ounce of pleasure from your flesh.

Also, it's really fun. 

As he lies on the bed, gripping his hair with his eyes screwed shut and teeth gritted, you finally decide to release him from this. You take him fully into your mouth and press your tongue against the base of his shaft and drag it slowly up until he's nearly out of you entirely, then you abruptly start to rapidly bob up and down upon the head of his manhood while your hand rapidly strokes the shaft.

It takes less than a minute. He goes rigid and fights not to buck as he emits an animal sound.

'GGGNNNNNRRRRGGGHHHHHHH!' tears out from behind gritted teeth.

At the same time he erupts in your mouth, and the thick white seed explodes across your tongue and oral cavity. His taste is heavy and musky, and you swirl him in your mouth for a moment before you swallow him. 

You slow down, and flick your tongue over the tip of his penis and continue to stroke up and down with your fist, extracting the last drops of his orgasm from his still ridiculously hard member. You delight in rubbing your face against him, literally painting your own face with his ejaculate.

He's hot and sticky and trembling on the bed, eyes still slammed shut and his hands pulling at his hair.

You begin to creep up his body, the same tongue and mouth that you used on him so skilfully now extracting little gasps and moans from his as he lays there and twitches, still trying to be your Treat as you demanded.

Finally, after fully exploring his body with your tongue and mouth, you creep up his chest, tasting the thin film of sweat that he exuded while you worked him without respite. 

His heart pounds in his chest. It satisfies you to feel it so.

Finally, you've crept all the way up his longish, soft frame and gently pull his earlobe between your teeth and nibble.

He sighs, exhausted.

'Was that a good treat?'

'That... That was... fantastic. Holy... mother of... God... that was .... Intense.' He pants as he tries to speak.

'Was that not what you had in mind?' You purr into his ear.

'Was... just.... Just gonna... take you out to break... fast.'

You laugh in his ear. Clearly he had not been expecting this.

He chuckles as well between gasps, and then says the magic words that finally push away any lingering sadness from the stupid dream.

'Your idea.... Was .... Was way better.'

You laugh again, and he finally snakes an arm around your head and pulls you to him. You kiss him passionately and he returns the favour as he fights for every bit of oxygen he can suck in.

And as he gasps and tries to kiss you back, you think one thing.

Treats. You're going to need him to give you more treats.

Lots more.

You lay with Scott for a while, relaxed and comfortable and enjoying the sensation of having turned the tables on him for once. There's no conversation, just you enjoying him sprawled on the bed with you.

You have a small urge to ride on him, but you repress it and just cuddle with him. He let you encroach on his realm once; you don't want to try it again. 

Not just yet anyways. 

After a time, you both get out of bed and get dressed. You slide into another oversized t-shirt and slide the comfy toms on, as well as a pair of his workout shorts. He slides into some battered jeans and a short sleeved button shirt and futzes with his hair until he gives up in frustration and just plasters it flat with some gel and a sigh. 

You smile and slide behind him as he battles with his hairstyle and loses. You run your fingers through his hair and tease and muss his hair so that it looks relatively styled, or at least better than his previous ode to hair gel.

'Thank you. I'm terrible at that.'

'I would never have guessed that.' You say with a smile. He smirks back at you in the mirror.

'Wanna get some food?' 

'I could use some breakfast. I feel like I've completed a couple of intense workouts over the last couple of days.' That thought brings an even bigger smile to your face.

For the first time in a long time you feel truly sated. You body aches, but it's a pleasant ache. Your head is clear, and your thoughts aren't cluttered with frantic little desires demanding you slake them. 

You feel good. Great actually, and it's because this lumpy, chubby older guy with bad hair has focused everything he has on your needs for a weekend. 

What a weekend.

You run a hand down his back, and resist the urge to take his hand and lead him back to bed. You feel almost addicted to him now, his way of taking charge when you need him to, the way he attends to your needs, the way he lets go and lets you do what you need to do when you need to do it. 

He doesn't anticipate your every need. In fact, he's blown a few signals completely, but he tries, really tries to be what you need, when you need it. 

And he likes you. He really does. 

He sees you watching him in the mirror. You realize that your gaze is pretty intense so you look down, a little embarrassed. 

'You ok?' He asks.

'I... don't want this to end.' You answer, surprised at how easily this comes out.

He nods, turns and slips a hand around your neck and pulls you to him. You wrap your arms around his hips and hug him to you. 

'I don't want this to end either... but...'

'But?' You ask, slightly terrified of the answer.

'But you already took a day off from work, and I have my son coming over Wednesday to Friday.'

'Oh.' You hug him tight. Is that it?

'... but I can see you on Sunday. Are you free Sunday?' 

'What's happening on Saturday?'

'Uh... well... I have a prior engagement this Saturday.'

He's nervous suddenly. Why is he nervous?

'Why are you nervous?' You ask him with the least subtle line of questioning you can imagine.

He sighs.

Fuck.

Is there someone else? Is there another woman? His wife? 

'I am working at Club S this weekend.... And I committed to topping someone that evening.'

'Oh. Are you... do... are...' You stammer, unsure how to ask the question.

'No, we do not have sex. Ever. She just needs pain, a lot of it, and she trusts me.'

You process that for a moment.

'Why didn't you tell me this before?'

'Addie, in all seriousness, how would I tell you about this? We've been fucking like rabbits for three straight days, working through emotional stuff together that scares the crap out of me and testing your limits. I think we pushed the boundaries pretty hard over the last 72 hours, wouldn't you say?'

Well, yes, but...

'Do you want to come to the club with me?'

'What?'

'Do you want to come to the club with me? I'll show you everything. If you want to see my dark side... this is about as dark as I get.'

This is intriguing. He's really not trying to hide this, it just hasn't come up. You still have questions about this though.

'So are you like... some kind of ... man ...whore?' You blurt out, attempting to secure the world record for most awkward phrasing ever.

He bursts out laughing. 

You smile weakly at him. This conversation is confusing.

'No. God no. Nobody is paying me to fuck them. Good god that's funny.'

'So what exactly do you... how... I'm confused.'

'Addie, club S is a... private club for some very wealthy and very connected people with very exotic tastes and a strong desire for privacy. I work for them part time as an administrator and for some of their clientele. It helps me pay for things like child support, legal fees and occasionally lets me repair my car when it breaks down yet again.'

'Oh.' 

'You're freaking out.'

'Just a little.'

'Addie, I was involved in this and made my commitments to this evening long before I even met you for Sushi. I didn't know you were going to happen. I didn't even dream you could happen. I'm not hiding anything. Come and see it, see me, meet my friends. They'll like you.'

'How do you know that?'

'Because I like you, and my friends aren't stupid. They'll like you too.'

You just hug him for a minute. 

Dammit! Everything was going so well. Just once, you'd like to have a nice relationship with no drama. No unsuspected surprises. 

You'd also like to sprout wings and fly, but that's not going to happen either.

'Ok... I'll go.'

'You don't sound enthused.'

'M'not. Scared.' You hug him tighter. PLEASE don't let this fuck things up you think to yourself.

'Addie, c'mon... there's a fun part to this that I haven't told you about.'

'Fun how exactly?' You ask with a raised, suspicious eyebrow.

'We have to dress up.' Scott says with a smile.

You look at him blankly. 

'Really dress up.' He says, still excited for you.

'What exactly do you mean by 'really dress up' exactly?' You ask, now interested but still concerned.

Scott smiles and pulls his cell phone out of his holster on his pants and dials a number. It rings, and a moment later someone picks up.

'Hi Melody, it's Scott.'

'Yes, I'm glad to hear from you too. Do you have a moment to talk?'

There's a pause.

'Well I can call back, you're negotiating with someone...'

Another pause, Scott grins. 

'Oh, it's one of *those* negotiations. I see.'

You hear the woman talking to Scott, but he just grins and nods. 

'Wow. Remind me to never piss you off Melody.'

She laughs clearly through the phone. You feel a little intimidated. Scott seems to defer to her a little bit, which you can barely imagine him doing.

'Mels, I'll be quick, so you can get back to obliterating this poor bastard. I have a date for Saturday.'

The voice sounds concerned.

'We're still on Mel. I wouldn't leave you hanging.'

He pauses. Then he rolls his eyes.

'You know what I mean Melody. Listen, I was thinking about bringing her to the club, for a meet and greet.'

'Yes, she knows all about me.' Scott says calmly. 'This is about the last thing I have left to show her.'

Another pause, she asks him some questions that you can't make out.

'Yeah, she's going to need some wardrobe. Can I beg, borrow or steal some of Dominic's time for her?'

Who the heck is Dominic? Why does Scott need his help? Why do you need 'wardrobe'?

'White Melody. Definitely white.'

White? He is going to have to answer sooooo many questions when he hangs up that phone.

'Ok, sure... and what's this going to cost me?'

The voice on the other end says something and Scott rolls his eyes.

'Fine. I'll fix the server cluster in St. Paul for you. You know Melody, you really do need to get some competent technicians working for you.'

She says something else and then laughs. Scott laughs too.

'Nice try Melody, but I am never going to be your bitch. You on the other hand.... will be seeing me on Saturday.' He says with just a hint of menace.

That tone of voice makes you nervous. He sounds like before, when you begged him to show you his darker side and stop holding back. He did and you regretted it. You're glad he stopped playing with you like that, but it makes you nervous that he can speak or think like that.

On the other hand, he does all those other things sooooo very well.

You realize you're hugging him tightly. You ease up a little as he rubs your back.

Scott bids the woman he called goodbye and focuses his attention on you.

'Got you an invite, and got you some new... clothing.' He says with a smile.

'Great. Where the heck are we going again?'

'Club S.'

'And this is some kind of... sex club?'

'Yes... and no. It's a private club for people with... certain tastes. I certainly don't meet the wealth criteria, but I have a skill set that these folks appreciate.'

'And you're not some kind of Man whore.'

'I am not Deuce Bigelow, no. Nobody really wants to see me naked but you.'

'Well, I don't know if I'd go that far... ' You say with a grin.

'You are so mean to me!' Scott says with mock outrage. And then he suddenly starts to tickle you. 

You shriek and squirm out of his grasp and scoot around the table. Scott chases you around the table laughing diabolically. You complete four circuits staying just ahead of him as he wiggles his fingers at you. Finally he vaults on top of the table and lunges at you, but trips over the edge and smacks his forehead off the side of the table.

'Sonofabitch!' He growls and holds his hands to his forehead.




The Bleakest of Seasons Pt. 02



'Oh god! Scott I'm so sorry! Are you ok?' You stammer as you stop running from him and lean over him.

'I am now!' He says gleefully as he lunges and tackles you onto the bed. You shriek as he pins you and starts to tickle you.

'Wait! No! Stop! Please! I hate being tickled!' You wail out loud.

'Really?' He says incredulously, his eyebrow raised.

'Really.' You say firmly, panting just a little.

'I don't know anyone that hates being tickled. My son loves being tickled.'

'Well, it could be that I'm not five?' You say with just a mild amount of sarcasm.

'I certainly hope so, or I have broken soooooo many laws this weekend.'

You laugh at him and impulsively kiss him. He kisses you back, still smiling. His lips are hot and soft and his skin has just the right amount of stubble. You wrap your arms around his neck and pull him to you.

He doesn't fight it, he just rolls on top of you and cradles your face in his hand so that he can kiss you back. You close your eyes and feel his body on you, unconsciously spreading your legs so that you can feel him closer to you, almost in you.

Scott pulls away a little and smiles.

'No girl, we're going out to get some lunch and we need to go see Dominic. We can do this later.'

'But I want it nowwwwwwww!' You whine in a little girl voice.

'Nope. Not gonna happen. Get up Addie.'

'Do you promise for later?'

Scott grins and slips a hand behind you head so that he can grasp your hair firmly, then he slides his other free hand down your shorts. His fingers part your lips and are inside you in seconds, your insides slippery with passion you didn't even realize was building. You open your mouth and gasp at the sudden but extremely pleasurable violation and Scott places his mouth over your own, you try and kiss him back but you're too busy gasping as he manipulates your body in a way that you love and were totally not prepared for.

Scott relentlessly works your sex with his fingers and holds you in place by your hair until he rips a quick, powerful and brutally efficient orgasm from you. After you shriek into his mouth as your little orgasm rocks you, he stops working you with vigour and gently moves his fingers in and out of you. You moan as he does that, your last eruption still making you sensitive and responsive to his now gentle touch.

'Addie, I need that to hold you for now. We need to go out. I promise when we get back I will fuck you right stupid.'

You chuckle with your eyes half closed. From anyone else that would sound crude, Scott makes it sound like an earnest promise.

'Do you swear? Extra stupid?' You whisper into his ear.

'I swear. You're gonna lose a good 20 IQ points when I'm done with you.' He says with just a hint of a growl.

You smile back, kiss him gently on the lips and let him help you out of the bed on your surprisingly wobbly legs. You straighten yourself out again, ignore the slick, sensitive feeling between your thighs and the fuzzy feeling that he put into your brain, via his fingers and your crotch.

You both wander over to the lift, and Scott fires it up. You cuddle into him for the minute or so it takes for the lift to power up and drop you both gently down to the garage level. He runs a hand up and down your back and basically just enjoys being with you.

You think you really adore him. He's so unusual, smart, sassy and downright kinky. 

Maybe he's the one.

Maybe not.

You definitely want to find out, that's for sure. 

Scott takes you both to a little place that he dug up that specializes in soup and you share a nice light lunch. Scott gets you red pepper bisque and he treats himself to some jambalaya. You both split a nice serving of fresh hot bread and he even manages to get some roasted garlic from the vendor in place of butter. 

It's lovely, but you're now inclined to not smooch him because you're afraid of garlic breath.

You excuse yourself to dart off and get some mints and when you get back he's gotten some cookies for you both to nibble on. You decide to have one... which becomes two, which rapidly leads to you both devouring the bag of cookies.

You both sit happily at the table, content and full, and start to make idle chatter.

'Tell me about this Dominic guy.'

'He's a costumer.'

'So... what kind of costume am I getting?'

'A nice white one. With gloves.'

'That doesn't tell me very much.' You say with a pout.

'Imagine that.' He responds with a smirk. 

'Boo. Hiss! Wrong answer!' 

Scott smiles and sits back. He's done talking.

'Sometimes you are soooo mean. Big meanie.'

So you sit quietly and finish off the cookies with him and have a coffee. And occasionally kick him. Or at least you kick him once, and then he gives you a hard look and you grin.

'Behave.' He says quietly, in that tone of voice that makes you tingle.

You do so.

A while later, you both climb back into his rust bucket and head out to a quiet little strip mall. Half the building is unsigned and the windows are decaled solid white. Scott opens/hip checks your door for you and leads you over to the blank white store front. He presses an unlabeled black button and waits a moment.

'Yes?' A bored sounding voice buzzes out of a hidden intercom.

'It's Scott plus one Dominic.'

'Oh hi Scooter. Come on in.'

The door buzzes, and Scott catches and holds it open for you.

'Scooter?' You ask with amusement.

'Shush.' He admonishes you and leads you into the storefront.

You step in and stop dead. You're surrounded by racks and racks and racks of colourful, exotic costumes. Huge swaths of fabric are interspersed on shelves in every color, shade and hue you can imagine. You smell leather and dyes and scents you can't even place.

'What... what is this?' You ask as you gape at the scenery.

'Pretty cool hmm?' Scott asks you. You nod assent as you try and take in the riot of color.

'Dominic does costume design for Hollywood. He works with some pretty big names, but he likes a low profile so he works here. He's married to Bob, who knows Melody... and everybody goes to club S.'

'You are *such* a name dropper Scooter!' Dominic says as he rounds a corner with a pad of paper in hand and a tape measure draped around his neck. 

'God I hate it when you call me that.' Scott answers him with just a hint of a smirk.

'I know, I know dearie, it makes it so much more fun to say.' Dominic says with the tiniest of snorts. 'Let's take a look at our victim shall we?'

The unusual man that seems to know Scott very well approaches you and scans you from head to toe with a critical eye. You look back at him and he's memorable. He's short and thin and older, with pale skin and a shock of unruly, white spiky hair. A pair of round, gold spectacles rest on his nose and he's wearing a loose shiny gray dress shirt coupled with distressed jeans and a pair of day glow orange sneakers. His outfit is casual, but his watch looks expensive and you're fairly certain that the ring on his hand is worth more than your house.

'So Scooter...' He asks as he eyes you.

'I hate that name.' 

'...yes, yes, we covered that. What do you want hear, a nice red silk, leather and satin special?'

'Stop it Dominic. She's not wearing red on her first visit.'

'You did.'

'I wasn't new to this.'

'She is? Really?' Dominic's eyes widen a little.

'I have a name you know.' You blurt out, feeling oddly intimidated.

'My apologies m'dear.' Dominic says with a overly dramatic bow. 'And what would your name be?'

'Addison... Addie.' You say in a tiny voice. 

'Well young miss Addison, it is my pleasure to make your acquaintance.' He says and takes your hand. He lays his lips on the back of your hand and places a gentle kiss on your skin. 

'Uh... thank you.' You respond blankly to him.

'You are very welcome. Strip please.'

You freeze for a moment. 

'What?' You squeak out in a tiny voice.

'This one is a little slow on the uptake Scooter.' He says over his shoulder.

'New!' Scott says with an aggravated tone.

'I am not taking my clothes off!' You say firmly.

Dominic laughs and throws his hands into the air. He gestures to Scott as he leans against a swath of bright blue fabric and tells him to straighten this out.

Scott sighs.

'Addie, strip please.'

'Why?!'

'He's a costumer. He needs your measurements for your outfit.'

'So why do I need to be naked?!'

'Addie, you won't be wearing any underwear in this. It will be form fitting. And I mean skin tight.'

'So!?'

Scott sighs again and heaves himself up off the fabric. He walks over to you and slips a hand around your neck and pulls you to him. 

You feel scared, your heart pounds in your chest. It's felt like a game up until now, but he's upping the ante again and you're in another situation that feels completely out of your control.

He puts his hand on the back of your neck and pulls you to him. It's not cruel or intimidating, but it is forceful and just mildly aggressive. 

It's almost like an electric shock, his skin on your skin. You catch and hold your breath.

'Addie, do you think I would really put you in a situation you couldn't handle?' He asks you gently.

'Maybe?'

'Possibly. Yeah. I'm stupid sometimes. But we're just here to get you an amazing dress. And he needs you naked to make it unbelievable.'

'Unbelievable how?' 

'You're going to feel like a goddess wearing it. I promise.'

That's an odd statement. 

'You promise?'

'I can't make a promise based on how you'll feel, but I would be completely astonished if you did not marvel at how beautiful and exotic Dominic is going to make you.'

'I just... I..' Why are you so afraid of this?

Is it because he's going to have you strip in front of another man again? Is it because you still don't trust him? Are you just afraid in general? 

It's none of those things, you realize, you just haven't learned how to fully let go and just be. Scott's offering to take care of these things for you. He bargained with somebody to get you here, in this amazing space filled with surreal clothing and an odd, sarcastic and apparently ridiculously talented clothier.

'Will you hold my clothes for me?' You ask, embarrassed that it took you this long to get to this point.

'Of course I will. Dominic will get you a robe while he sketches once he finishes measuring you.'

With no more hesitation, you reach down and pull the comfy sweatshirt over your head and hand it to Scott. He calmly folds it for you and then slips it over his arm. A moment later you kick off your shoes and then slide the borrowed pair of shorts down your legs and then slide out of them.

Scott kneels and picks up your shorts and shoes and deftly arranges them, then stands and looks at you for a moment.

'What?'

'I just never really get tired of that view, that's all.' He says with a hint of a smile.

You make grumbly noises at him and wrap your arms around yourself. It's chilly in here.

'Dominic, she's ready for you now.' Scott calls out and steps away. 

'Excellent, excellent, about time Scooter. You really do need to finish training your slavegirls before you take them out in public you know...' Dominic mutters as he wanders back around the corner. You can see that he's been sketching on the pad of paper.  

Wire frame dolls spin and twist on the page and Dominic has several versions of a dress concealing their frames and you can barely imagine what he's drawing. Some of these things would require a lack of gravity. 

'All right, let's get started.' Dominic mutters to himself, and he starts to poke and prod you. 

What follows is the most thorough measurements you have ever had. The tape measure is everywhere, between your legs, around your breasts and neck, measuring your inseam and ribcage. 

He finishes up and jots down yet another sequence of numbers and nods. Then he hands you a silk robe that you eagerly slide into. 

'Ok, I've got some ideas, let me flesh them out and I'll run them by Scott.' He mutters as he looks at the measurements and the sketches.

'Don't you mean that you'll show them to me?' You ask.

Dominic turns and looks at Scott with a smirk.

'She's new!' Scott protests.

'How new pray tell?' Dominic sputters with mock indignation. 'Did you pick her up at the bus stop? Should I be checking her ID? Is she a virgin? Wait..'

Dominic turns back and looks at you, eyebrow cocked.

'Are you a virgin Addison?'

You open and close your mouth and suddenly blush a deep pink. Words will not leave your mouth at this ridiculously intimate question.

'Ok, definitely not a virgin.' He says conclusively. You did not think it would be possible to blush any harder, yet you seem to do so.

Scott throws up his hands and walks off, seemingly frazzled by the bizarre conversation. Dominic snickers into his sleeve and turns back to you.

'That was fun. He'll be back in a minute when he gets over his urge to strangle me.'

'Uh... ok. I have no idea what happened just now.'

'It's just a game that Scooter and I play where we needle each other. You should see it when we play poker.'

'He plays poker?'

'He does play, and quite well on occasion. He's still a little bitter about some quad threes that I felted him with a couple of months ago.'

'I have no idea what that means. Is that bad?'

'I took all his money.'

'All of it?!'

'Well, all the money that he had at the table. I didn't clean out his bank account or anything. This dress will do that.'

'Oh. I thought he arranged this with... uh... Melody?'

Dominic looks up and arches an eyebrow. 

'Melody is paying for this? What did Scooter trade her for that?'

'He... he told her something about a server cluster somewhere? St. Paul I think?'

'Ah. He's trading on his technical skills for mine. Nice.'

'I think so. He's does things with computers that I just don't understand.'

'I'll leave that in your capable hands. I need to go show him the sketches.'

'Oh! Me too!' You squeal with excitement. You've never had someone make you a dress from scratch before. It's exciting. 

Dominic looks at you with a wry smile. It's like he knows a joke that you don't and he's chuckling at it to himself.

'Why are you looking at me like that?'

'Addie, sweet girl, your Scooter's... love slave. Right?'

You feel yourself blushing ferociously again as you look away in embarrassment.

'I'm going to take that as a yes.' Dominic says calmly as he continues. 'So Scooter here is taking you to a very private, elite, BDSM club to present you to his inner circle of friends. He's just leveraged an intense amount of himself to make you look as spectacular as you can possibly look in this environment.'

'Um... yes?' You respond, not sure where this is going.

'So traditionally, he chooses how you dress and what it will look like kiddo.'

'That... that doesn't seem fair.' You say with a tiny pout. 

'It's not. It isn't supposed to be fair. Your whole relationship is based on you surrendering your will to him, for him. Right?'

'I don't... I mean...'

Dominic slips arm around your shoulders and gives you a friendly squeeze. 

'Addie, I'm not judging you. I'm in no place to judge anyone or anything. I'm just telling you how it is. Be glad Scott wants you in a nice dress. One of the members presented a new slave last year by walking him in on a leash, buck naked on his hands and knees.'

You wince at that. That would be hard to handle from anyone.

'Addie, Scott gets to pick the dress. If he shares that with you, every time he looks at you that night, he sees compromise. You guys are not about compromise. You're about surrender and trust and control... and all the fun things that come with that.'

You think about that for a moment. It bothers you that this man is designing a beautiful dress that will cost a fortune that you will have no say in at all. But you also remember the table, and that first night and the whole weekend that you've spent with him. He's lovely and he adores you and he's clearly putting himself out there to try and show you everything you asked him to show you at costs you don't understand.

Dominic waits patiently while you process that. His sketchbook is tucked into his side.

'You won't... I won't...'

'Addie, I'm going to make you look beautiful. Sexy and desirable and not slutty or whorish.'

You nod your head. It will have to do.

Dominic squeezes your arm and heads off into the maze of fabric rolls to locate Scott and show him the design. You take a moment to think about it, and then call out.

'Dominic?' You call out, hoping he's still in earshot.

'Yes Addie?' He says, poking his head back around a roll of shiny, metallic fabric. 

'Can it be... just a little... a little slutty? For him?' 

Dominic smiles.

'Sexy always has to be a little slutty Addie, the trick is to use just the right amount.' Dominic replies with a smile as he makes a tiny measurement with his fingers showing what represents to him just the right amount of sluttiness.

You smile as he disappears into the fabrics. He's funny and talented and he seems to really enjoy teasing Scott, something you are surprisingly jealous of.

You spot your clothes on the floor and slip out of the robe and then slide back into the sweatshirt and shorts and your comfy Toms. It's warmer like this in the chilly air.

You hear conversation and Scott and Dominic emerge from the maze of cloth and costuming supplies bickering with each other.

'... please dude.... You draw into four of a kind once and you won't let it go. Your luck will run out and I am going to crush you when it does.'

'Pish Posh Scooter. You've been saying that for months now. Please keep feeding my bankroll you fishy little fish. Now take your girl home and give her some attention. She looks starved for affection, poor little thing!'

Scott sighs and strolls over to you. You hand him the robe with a smile and he gives you a quick hug. 

He guides you toward the door, but Dominic calls out your name. 'Addie!'

'Yes Dominic?'

'I need you to come back on Wednesday to see me for final fitting. Wear something easy to slip in and out of sweetie.'

'I have to work on Wednesday. Can I come in the evening?'

'Of course sweetie. I don't work nine to five like Scooter does. Just buzz the door and let me know that you're here.'

'All right, thank you Dominic. I can't wait to see it!'

Dominic smiles and ushers you out the door.

Scott hip checks the passenger door open for you in the parking lot and you slide into the well worn seat. You both buckle up and Scott fires up the engine and you roar out of the parking lot in his rusty little deathtrap.

The drive to his place is quick, but you can't help but grabbing his hand and squeezing it. He looks at you and smiles and squeezes back. It's comforting.

The car rolls into the driveway of the weird little complex he calls a home and he taps the remote on his visor to open the garage door. He zips in beside your own car coolly and then exits the car to once again let you out of the malfunctioning door. 

'You really should get a new car some day.'

'Some day...' He agrees with you. '...some day when I don't have alimony and lawyers fees and child support and a big old mountain of debt to contend with.'

'Hmmmf. I thought you kinky types were always closet millionaires.'

'Ah, you've got the nomenclature wrong. Millionaires get to be kinky. We common folk are just perverts.' He says with a chuckle as he guides you into the lift and hits the button to take you both up to his place.

'I wouldn't call you perverted.' You whisper as you lean into him. 

'What would you call me then?' He says quietly as he wraps his arms around you.

You lean up and kiss him, hungry for him suddenly. He's a little surprised, but he kisses you back with his normal explosive passion. His hand slides up your back and fingers grip your hair tight and pull your head back. His lips drift down your throat and he nuzzles and kisses your neck.




The Bleakest of Seasons



He smirks. Score one for you.

Scott slides the chopsticks across the table. 

'Fix your hair.' He says with a smile. Clearly he is enjoying the view.

You pick up the chopsticks and toss your hair into a bun and then slide the chopsticks into the mass of twisted hair to hold it in place. You see him admiring your body and you blush. 

'You are very cute when you blush, I will tell you that.' He says, as he cracks apart a second pair of chopsticks.

You feel your cheeks redden. You move to lower your arms, but he stops you.

'Keep your hands clasped behind your neck and leave them there.' He says in a matter of fact tone, and then starts rubbing the second set of chopsticks together.

You stop for a moment, then place your hands behind your neck and wait. 

You look around the room. He continues to rub the chopsticks together.

'Um... now what?' You ask finally.

Almost on cue, there is a knock at the door; the waiter has returned with the green tea. He freezes, and stares at you. You stare back, mortified. You feel your face and chest flush in embarrassment. He stands there, stock still, holding the tea. 

Scott barely looks up as he works the chopsticks. 'That's perfect. Can you get her an order of kappamaki sushi? A dozen I think please.'

The waiter looks over at Scott, then looks back at you. You stare back at him in horror, certain that you may actually die from embarrassment. Finally, he sets the tray with the tea on the table, furtively steals one last glance at your chest, and then slides the door closed and disappears. 

'Before you say anything...' Scott says quietly. '...please remember that you can end this at any time.' 

You ignore him, focusing on your breathing. You really would like to get dressed and walk out, but it would mean he was right and you were wrong. He was clear;. if you quit, this would be it. Not one further look at anything behind the curtain, except for the tales he spun and chose to share with you.

You want more. You do. Your curiosity is piqued, and until he or you can overpower it with another drive, you're going to have to do what he says. No matter how badly he makes you blush.

'Lean forward again.' He says calmly, as he picks up the first rubber band and wraps it around the end of the chopsticks. A moment later he repeats the process at the other end and then plucks at the chopsticks. They snap together with some force.

Uh. Oh.

Scott leans forward and stares directly at your breasts. He pokes at one, then cups the other. His hands are hot, although the skin is soft. His other hand snaps the chopsticks off each other with a loud clacking sound.

Something makes a little squeaking sound. It's you. 

He decides on your left nipple, and he gently seizes it between his thumb and finger. Slowly, deliberately, he rubs it back and forth until it hardens. He looks you in the eye, leaning into your personal space. Calmly, he touches his forehead to yours, and rubs his nose against yours. His breath is hot, and it smells slightly sweet. 

'Deep breath. Don't scream.' He whispers.

Oh. Shit. 

A moment later, the chopsticks snap shut around your nipple. Something makes a louder squeaking noise, and it hurts for a moment, then it switches to a feeling of pressure on your nipple, almost like someone has seized your flesh in a tight grip that is both painful and arousing at the same time. 

'Oh god...' You whisper, mostly to yourself. 

He tugs on the chopsticks slightly, coaxing one more gasp from you. Then he sits back again, leaving you hanging. He picks up the teapot, carefully pours you a cup. 

There is a knock on the door, and then it slides open again. You glance over and realize that it isn't the waiter this time. The sushi chef stands there with twelve perfectly shaped little green round rolls. His face is blank, and only a few furtive looks reveal that he is entranced by your naked chest. 

Your cheeks flame again. This is the third man to see you naked tonight. 

He carefully sets the tray on the table in between you. 

'Thank you chef.' Scott says, and dismisses him with a nod.

The chef bows, and then slides the door shut and leaves.

'I absolutely hate you right now.' You hiss.

'And you can end this at any time.' Scott murmurs as he carefully pours the second cup of tea.

'You didn't say anything about not hating you.' You argue back, convinced that you've at least found a small loophole in the rules.

'That's true.' He says calmly. 'Hate away.' 

He holds up the teacup for you. You lean forward, and he holds it up to your lips. The tea is fragrant, strong and hot. You sip it carefully, and then lean back. 

Scott smiles at you. Then he bridges his fingers together, and rests his chin on them. He flutters his eyelashes at you. 

'You mean you don't like me now?' He says mockingly.

You shake your head. You definitely trust him. And like him, but at the moment you would really like to strangle him.

'Heh.' He chortles, then gestures at the tray in front of you.

You look down, then look back at him, frustrated.

'Scott, I'm a vegetarian. I... I can't eat that.'

'Addie, it's kappa maki. It's cucumber and avocado in rice wrapped in seaweed and as vegetarian as it gets.'

'Oh.' You look down at the perfectly uniform little green rolls. 'How do I eat them?'

Scott smirks, then reaches forward and flicks the chopsticks compressing your nipple. He pulls on one end of the sticks, then increases pressure until the sticks pop off your nipple. You gasp as your nipple pops painfully free, then blood rushes back into the nipple and it starts to tingle painfully.

'GnnnnGGGHHHH.... ' You start to swear, but you catch yourself. Scott ignores that and removes the elastics from the chopsticks. He easily seizes one of the little rolls and then holds it up to your mouth. Carefully, you lean forward and he carefully places it between your lips. You bite down, and it's sweet and crunchy and fresh. The avocado is ripe and creamy, and it contrasts with the tangy seaweed and crunchy cucumber in just the right way. 

He waits until you finish, then he holds the teacup back up to your lips again. The liquid is hot and it burns your tongue ever so slightly. You suck in and blow out air to relieve the heat, and a moment later Scott holds up another piece of Sushi.

The door slides open, and yet another waiter stands there, eyes wide. 

You look over at him, sigh, then turn back to Scott and look pointedly at the green tea. You're tired of feeling embarrassed. 

Scott nods at you. Obviously you just passed some test on some level. He smiles and holds the tea up to your lips again and carefully pours the hot liquid into your mouth.

'We're good, thank you.' Scott says to the waiter. And then puts him on ignore. 

The waiter stays frozen for a moment, then bows and slides the door shut. 

For the rest of the unique meal, Scott feeds you carefully while you sit naked and vulnerable and yet feeling oddly free a few inches away. 

A while later, after you've shimmied back into your clothing and straightened your hair out, you wander back out to the front desk with Scott. He pays for the meals and the drinks, leaveing a reasonable but not too generous tip. The manager warmly asks how the service was.

'I would say they were very attentive.' He replies, no hint of irony in his voice. 'Wouldn't you say Addie?'

'Very.' You reply, a forced smile on your face.

The waiters and chef wave to you as you go, their smiles wider than ever. You give a surreptitious wave back and then dart out the door with Scott. He walks you to your car. You walk there in silence. When you reach the car, you turn and look at him.

He's frumpy, and old, and a bit paunchy. He looks like life has beaten him down, just a little bit.

But you like him. 

An errant hair drifts down in front of your face. He moves it out of your eyes. He looks down at you.

'Sooo..' He starts. You don't let him finish.

'Yes.' You answer firmly. 'Show me more. If I can't take it, I can't take it, but if I don't find out I'll go crazy. Take me as far as you can take me.'

He looks at you, and he looks sad. His eyes look tired.

'You can really do better.' He says quietly.

'Maybe. Maybe not. You're the one that has caught my imagination.'

He sighs; looks down at his shoes, then looks to the left. 

'What's wrong?' You ask. 

He sighs again.

'This is. This is wrong. You shouldn't want this. You should run from this. I shouldn't even have let you start.' 

You stare up at his face. Then you reach up and place your hand on his cheek. 

'Then why did you let me start?' You ask plaintively.

'Because... you never judged me. Not even for a moment.' He answers without hesitation.

'Can I trust you?'

'Yes.'

'You'll show me everything?'

'As much as you can take. And then some.'

'And I can end it at any time, right?'

'Yes.' It sounds like a vow.

'Then...' You pull on his shirt, pull him close. He doesn't fight at all. His face is stubbled, and his straw colored hair is messy, and his shirt is still damp over his belly. 

And his eyes are tired. So tired.

'When do I see you again?'

'I have my son this week, but he goes back to his Mom's house for the weekend.'

'So Friday?' You ask.

'Friday.' He confirms.

You pull him closer and lock lips with him for a minute. He holds off for a second, and then you feel his hand in your hair pulling you closer in just the right way. 

You break apart, and his hands slide through your long black tresses and down your back. He reaches into his pocket, and holds up the chopsticks, reattached firmly to each other with two red elastics.

'Friday.' He says firmly. His eyes still look exhausted, but now he has just a hint of a smile.

You watch him as he walks back to his car;the chopsticks clutched to your chest.

You smirk as he gets to it. Rust bucket would be a polite term. Deathtrap would be more accurate. Still he slides into the seat and buckles up. The engine roars to life and he zips away out of the parking lot.

You watch him go. Wait until the roar of his battered car fades away. Idly, you toy with the chopsticks in your hand.

'Friday' you murmur. Then a moment later, you're standing in your front lobby, keys in one hand, chopsticks in the other.

You take a long bath and mull over the evening in your head. A soft fluffy towel wicks away any moisture, and then you go through your little ritual of powders and creams so that your skin stays soft and pale. You slide into your comfy pyjamas, and slip under the covers.

Sleep won't come. You feel restless. Your head is still in the restaurant.

Finally, you roll out of bed and walk back to the front hallway. They sit there, next to the keys. The red elastic is taut against the chopsticks. You stare at them for a moment, then pick them up and walk back to the bedroom. You slide into bed, then pull up your top and pluck at your nipple with one hand until the little bud becomes firm. You pause for a moment. Quickly, you pop the chopsticks open and then let them snap shut on your nipple. 

You suck in air between your teeth with a hiss. It stings. But it stings just right. A moment later, your free hand is between your legs. Your fingers flutter and you coax pleasure from yourself.

It's almost perfect, but you can't quite finish, until in a moment of clumsiness, your hand pulls on the chopsticks and they pinch your nipple even harder. 

You gasp, and then twist on them viciously. Your breath comes in ragged gasps and as you finally orgasm you rip the chopsticks away. It stings like few things have, and your orgasm is the most intense one you can ever remember.

Moments later, as you lay splayed on the bed, fingers still between your legs, you giggle.

'Friday... you need to hurry up and get here.' 

And then you sleep.

You met him on a Sunday evening. He told you he would be free on Friday. 

Friday is a mere four days away. 

It feels like a thousand years. Work is hard to focus on because you keep thinking about the things he made you do in the restaurant. When you get home in the evenings, you try and pace yourself, but inevitably you end up in bed with that pair of chopstick gripping your nipple painfully as you gasp and writhe under your own fingers. 

That holds you for a few days, but on Wednesday night you twist the chopsticks so hard that the one snaps in half and sharp splinters poke at your tender skin. 

'Dammit!' You curse as you rub your sore little bud and examine the McGuyvered sex toy he built for you. You liked this thing, but now it's broken and your nipple is sore.

Maybe he can build me a new one, you think. 

But then he would ask what happened to the old one, and then you'd have to explain that you'd been using it as a masturbation aid for three straight days and he'd end up raising that eyebrow at you again.

You sigh. This is frustrating. Also, your nipple is a little sore from being crushed between two chopsticks every time you masturbate... which has been frequent.

He talks with you via email and chat. You tease him, he jokes with you, you learn a little more about each other as the days pass.

And Friday takes for-fucking-ever to get here. 

Thursday night you make plans to meet him at a local bar after eight. He's dropping his son off at his mom's for the weekend, and then he's all yours. Or you're all his. Something to that effect.

You try and get him to tell you what he has planned for you.

'That's for me to know and for you to find out.' Is all you get back.

Bastard. Chubby, gray-haired, four-eyed, perverted, painfully honest, and deliciously intriguing bastard.

Friday afternoon goes by at what can charitably be called a snail's pace. But, finally, that most wonderful time of the day, 5 pm arrives, and you literally leave a vapour trail in your wake as you dash to your car. 

You zip home as fast as you can without majorly violating any traffic laws, and dash into your bedroom and start arranging yourself. You shower quickly, shave everything that needs to be shaved... and then you go back and shave a little more just in case. Then you set yourself on the laborious task of making yourself appealing, yet not slutty. Outfits are auditioned and dismissed with great rapidity. 

Finally, you settle on a naughty little black dress with a slit on the thigh that's just an inch too high, pairing it with a neckline that's a tiny bit too revealing, giving the dress a look that says 'Maybe. If you're lucky.' You match it up with a brassiere from Victoria's secret that amplifies your bountiful chest and slide ruffled pair of bikini briefs on underneath it.

You fiddle with your hair. Up, then down. Then you experiment with a couple of interesting looks that you've seen in magazines that make you feel ridiculous. Finally, you just pull your hair back and braid it into a simple, elegant ponytail. 

Your makeup is next, and you keep it simple; some eye shadow, a little bit of eyeliner, and a shade of lipstick that you rarely use because your secret name for it is 'Fuck-Me-Red'. You smile as you pull out the tube from your reserve compartment. Every other time you pulled it out, you got lucky that night. Except for that time with Brad. 

You shudder. The less said about Brad the better.

You banish Brad from your thoughts, then you realize that you have a second secret weapon in your drawer. You scramble around, then find it crammed into the back. The package is torn from the last time you used it, two Halloweens ago, but the fishnet stockings are still there, still waiting.

You hesitate. This will definitely look slutty. Is this the message you want to send?

You look down at the table. The chopsticks, splintered and broken are still there, because you can't bring yourself to throw them out. You close your eyes, and you can almost taste the scalding hot tea that he carefully held to your lips as you sipped and posed naked for him in a tiny little private room in the back of a restaurant.

A moment later, you're sliding the nylons on. You strap on your highest, most calf enhancing, leg elongating, sexy and vulnerable, yet strong and powerful heels. 

That's it. You're done. 

You pose in the mirror. You turn and examine yourself from different angles; critique yourself harshly. You release the ponytail, then braid it back up, tighter and with a more complex braid. You try on six different pairs of earrings, settle on a dangly but not too dangly pair, and finally spritz yourself with a blast of a new perfume that you picked up for just this evening called Jasmine. You waft the mist over yourself and hope that you smell like a very sexy flower. Or at least smell like a very pretty flower. 

You're still fretting over your appearance when you glance over at the clock and realize it's nearly seven-thirty. Panicked, you bolt out the door as fast as you can move in your suddenly very high heels that look great on you when standing still, but feel like someone is murdering your feet when you try to run.

You get to the car quickly, bargain your toes down to a grievous bodily harm charge and zip through traffic as fast as you can. As you're pulling into the parking lot your cell rings, and you slide smoothly into a parking spot as you pull your cell up to your ear.

'Hello Addie?' He says quietly. Your stomach flutters when he says your name.

'Hi Scott.' You answer, sure that he can hear you smiling through the phone.

'Addie, I'm terribly sorry, someone wanted a bedtime story and I'm running a little late. I apologize. I'll be there in about fifteen minutes. Do you mind grabbing a drink and waiting for me?'

'You must be kidding. Our first date and you're late? That's it. I want out of this arrangement. We're done.' You say in a severe tone.

'Uh...' He hems and haws and tries to find the words for your surprising answer.

'You know, for a perverted, chubby little nerd with horrifying rape fantasies, you're kind of gullible, you know that?' You tease him as you let him off the hook.

'Hey! I am not gullible!' He says in mock indignation. You're pretty sure you can hear him smiling through the phone too.

'I'll see you in a little bit then?' You ask.

'Of course, I'm just heading out to the car now. Get a drink and I'll be there asap kiddo.'

The line goes dead, and you sigh. It was nice hearing his voice. You move to get out of the car and realize that your nipples are hard, and you're actually quite damp. 

Slightly embarrassed, you spritz yourself with the Jasmine again. You really don't want to smell like sex until at least after you have sex.

As you walk to the restaurant, you realize that you may not even be at that point yet. What if he wants to show you pain first? Or humiliation? 

You stop. Are you sure you want this?

Abruptly, you remember that moment in the parking lot at Midori's after you surprised him. He looked so tired, sad, and guilty. He swore that you could trust him and he would stop it the moment you'd had enough. You believed him.

Yes, you want this.

A moment later, you're at the bar in the restaurant ordering a glass of wine. Two businessmen sitting at a table look up and give you appreciative looks, as does the bartender. You do a quick mental fist pump, then fish through your purse for money to pay for the drink.

'I got it laady.' Says the salesman suddenly next to you, slightly slurring his words and not so slightly drunk.

You look at him calmly and decline his offer politely. 

This irritates him.

'A guy can't buy a pretty lady a drink?' He says with just a touch of a sneer.

Wow, you think to yourself, this turned ugly in record time.

'I'm waiting for my date.' You advise him calmly.

'Date huh.' He says with a sneer, hands on his hips.




The Bleakest of Seasons



'Yes. Date. With my boyfriend.' Did you just call Scott your boyfriend? 

'Hmmf.' He snorts, then turns and heads back to his friend, who shakes his head at him.

A sense of relief washes over you. You're not one for confrontation, and all you want to do is sit quietly and wait for Scott.

'Excuse me.' 

Fuck.

'Miss?'

You turn, and the second salesman is standing to your right. He has a grin on his face, but he's not as drunk as his friend, although his tie is loose and his shirt is untucked.

'I'm waiting for my date, can you please leave me alone?' You request quietly.

'Date huh?' He leans on the bar beside you. 'I've got two hundred dollars in my pocket. Can I be your 'date' first?' 

It happens so fast you're not sure what happens first. The bartender slaps his hand on the bar in anger. 'Buddy!' He calls out, clearly offended by what the man just said to you. You, angered by what he just said to you, throw your drink (A nice dry Pinot-Grigio with a nice sharp aftertaste and a hint of apple.) directly into his face. 

The man recoils, as the alcohol stings his eyes. He takes a step back and wipes the wine from his face. Then he focuses on you, sneers, and to your horror he starts to cock his hand back.

'LOWER. YOUR. HAND.' 

The words are so loud and said with such force that everyone freezes and the restaurant falls still. You stare at the half drunk, violent salesman frozen in his position. You glance left, and Scott is standing in the doorway of the bar, the hostess frozen behind him as well.

A while later, you wonder if it's weird that the first thing you noticed moments after he interrupted a potential assault on your person was that he had obviously taken pains to dress up for you. Pressed black dress slacks were coupled with a freshly ironed stone gray dress shirt, and his shoes were so polished that they shined.

'You!' Barks the bartender as he points at your potential assailant. 'Take your drunken friend and leave. Now!' 

Both salesmen look sheepish, then the one that was about to hit you turns away, embarrassed and suddenly passive. He walks back to his table as Scott walks through the doorway and stands between you and the salesmen.

They both pick up their jackets and the aggressive one looks back at Scott.

'You have a pleasant evening buddy.' Says Scott, in a tone of voice that implies something entirely different than what he says.

He stands like that for the next few moments, fixing a cold glare on the two clods as they gather their things and meekly leave. You can't help but watch his rigid body language, as he stands there like a chubby guard dog waiting to sink his teeth into someone. 

Before you even realize you're doing it, you slide your hand out and touch his hand. He pauses for a moment, then relaxes his fist and gives your fingers a gentle squeeze. At his gesture, you suddenly realize you were holding your breath and exhale. 

'I am terribly sorry about that folks.' says the bartender behind you, and as you glance over the older gentleman looks distraught. 'I can't believe those guys would act that way. Please let me get you something. On the house.'

You try to ask him for another glass of wine, but you squeak when you try to talk. Adrenaline surging through your blood has made you unsteady. The door closes behind the two drunken idiots, and Scott watches it for a minute before turning to you.

He goes to speak. Then stops. He opens his mouth again, closes it, and finally gets words out.

'You... you look fantastic.' He says, with just a hint of a smile.

You can't take it any more. Abruptly, you stand up from the bar stool. The heels on your ridiculous, toe crushing shoes give you a height increase so that you can grab Scott by the shirt and pull him to you. You give him a kiss that lies somewhere between 'I'm really glad to see you.' and 'You are so getting laid tonight.' 

He's a little surprised, but he kisses you back a moment later. You can feel his pulse pounding, telling you that despite his calm demeanour, he was as jacked up on adrenaline as you were.

You part lips, and look up at him with a naughty grin.

'You're late.' You whisper.

'I am. I'm sorry.'

'What do you have to say for yourself?'

'You really do look fantastic. Just... wow!' He says with a smirk.

The bartender coughs, and you glance over and blush at the same time. Why are you embarrassed? you wonder to yourself.

'So... uh, can I get you folks a drink?' says the polite older gent behind the bar, desperately trying not to stare at the two of you as you...

What am I doing? You think to yourself. How am I this besotted over a guy I just met for real a few days ago.

'I'll have a Guinness, she'll have a Gibson's with Ginger Ale and we'd love a table please.' Scott says without breaking your gaze. 'Something private would be nice.'

You take his arm, and wander into a quiet area in the restaurant with him. He's still tense from the moment, but you feel secure with him. He pulls out your chair, seats you and then seats himself. He plunks down into the chair, exhaling loudly. 

'Hey.' He says. 

'Hey yourself.' You smile at him.

'So what was with the two idiots?'

'Oh, my date was late, so I waited at the bar and got a drink, and because I was all dolled up, they thought I was a prostitute.' 

'What?!?' Says Scott incredulously.

'A prostitute. The one guy offered me two hundred dollars.'

'Really?

'Why are you so shocked? I'm a fine looking, exotic and seductive woman!'

'Well that's what I'm talking about. I would have offered at least two fifty and let you haggle me up to three hundred.'

You kick him under the table. He yelps and laughs.

'Jerk!' 

'Absolutely. Should we get something to eat?'

'What makes you think I want to eat with you?'

'Because you,' He says with a gleam in his eye. 'Are going to need your strength tonight.'

You really, really want to come up with a clever retort.

'Oh.' 

That was not it.

The waiter brings drinks, and you order a salad. Scott orders pasta with cheese and herbs. He tries to eat and look mysterious and sophisticated. He doesn't see the noodle slip off his fork and latch onto his shirt. You giggle at him a lot behind your napkin.

He catches you about the third time you do it, and sighs. 

'Now you are never going to find me dark or mysterious.' He says with a sigh.

'Honestly, the chances of that were not high.'

Dinner is nice. The food is simple but well made, and they have some nice vegetarian things to eat. Aside from the cheese, he avoids anything that might make you feel queasy. The drinks are going down like water. You've got a little bit of a buzz going by the time it wraps up and the waiter brings the check. 

'This was nice.' You say. Your nose is tingling. Salad doesn't offer much of a buffer and you had at least five ryes with ginger ale as Scott charmed you and teased you.

As you get up to leave, you stumble a little and Scott catches your hand so you don't stumble any further. He smiles at you, mildly concerned.

'Are you ok Kiddo?'

'M'fine. Just the heels.' You respond, mildly embarrassed.

He eyes you for a moment, then leans over and whispers into your ear.

'Are you sure you're ok? This can wait for another night.'

Without thinking, you whisper in his ear.

'Nope. No it can't.' You say with just a hint of a grin. And then you lean in and nibble on his earlobe.

It catches him a little off guard. Then he smiles and takes your hand and you walk casually out of the restaurant together into the mildly chilly night. You cling to his arm as he walks you out to his car. He's going to drive, as he had a beer and a couple of cokes while he kept buying you drinks. Your nipples pop erect in the chill night air, and you kind of hope that he can see that and kind of hope that he can't.

If he does, he isn't letting on.

'Hey, wait, were you trying to get me drunk?' You blurt out suddenly as the thought crosses your mind.

'Nope. I didn't try, I succeeded.'

'That doesn't seem fair.' You respond with what you hope is a sexy pout.

'Absolutely not. Traditionally I'd go for the chloroform on the cloth method, but I try and save that for a third date.'

You giggle at him, but he's stone-faced.

'You're kidding me, right?'

He grins, and leads you out to his car. You eyeball his rust bucket, then tease him a little bit. 

'Is it safe in this thing? It has brakes and seatbelts right?'

'Absolutely. Most of them even work.'

You roll your eyes and slide into the passenger seat as he holds the door. His place is only a few minutes away, and he pulls into what appears to be a commercial area. You raise your eyebrows and look over at him in confusion.

'I thought we were going to your place?'

'We are.' He hits a remote on his visor and a garage door slides up, allowing him access to a small bay. A light flicks on, and you see the inside of a clean working area. 

'Call stereo.' He orders his Bluetooth, and a moment later it answers him in a robotic voice proclaiming 'Stereo.'

'Play Loms. Volume 4.'

'Playing.' And you suddenly hear faint orchestral music. He walks around to your side of the car and holds the door open. You try and slide out all sexy, but you're distracted by the weirdness of his home.

'What is this place? It looks like a meat packing plant?'

'It's not a meat packing plant. I live here. It used to be an engineering firm but they relocated to Arizona.'

'So there's no killing floor? You're not going to knock me out with chloroform and then carve me into chunks?'

'What kind of dates have you been having?' Scott says with a raised eyebrow. 

You smile, and he leads you to the freight elevator. You move up one floor, and then the doors open and let you out into the most bachelor looking apartment you have ever seen. The floors are not even tiled, they're just painted concrete. It's entirely open concept except for the two doors leading to the men's and ladies' room, complete with little male and female stick figures. There's a kitchenette area with two separate fridges, and one coke machine. Aside from that, there's little furniture. There's a bed, a large couch and a couple of recliners. A huge wide-screen TV is positioned to be visible from all of the seating or sleeping space, and is connected to at least four video game systems. Behind all that is a work bench with a pair of laptops and at least four computers in various states of disassembly. 

Then there's the curtained off area. You wonder about that.

'It's... homey.' You say, trying to be nice.

'It's a dump. But when the firm left, nobody else picked up the lease and it sat here for fourteen months.' He wanders into the kitchen, opens a cupboard and pulls out a bottle of whiskey. Ice clinks around in a tumbler, and a moment later he pours you what would charitably be called a strong drink. 

'It is however, hooked directly into a T3, which I use to telecommute to work. Hydro and heat are built into the rent. It also came with a Coke machine already in place, and it has all kinds of... other amenities.' He waves generally to the washrooms.

'What kind of amenities?' 

'I have urinals. How many guys have you dated that actually have urinals in their apartments?' 

'About one too many.' You say with a smirk as you take a long pull on the drink. You take his hand and lead him to the couch.

He plunks down next to you, smiling at you. You smile back.

'So what are you doing to me tonight?' 

'I thought we'd do a little exploring. Nothing painful. Nothing too rough.'

'You're not going to ravish me? Tear my clothes off and use me without mercy?'

'We could, but that kind of looks like an expensive dress.'

'Meh. Ninety dollars at Spanglers.'

'I thought we might go a little slower, maybe see if we can keep your clothes intact, at least for the evening.'

'Oh do tell me more.' You tease back, taking another pull of your drink.

'How about I just show you?' He says, and he lifts himself off the couch and walks over to the curtain. He heaves it back, not without some effort, revealing the hidden area. 

Over in the corner, a simple bed sits, blankets rumpled and messy with a couple of pillows. A sleepy looking white and black cat looks at Scott with disdain from the comfy bed. In the other side of the room though, a very large, very interesting table sits. Hard points and rings jut out from the side of the table, and several chains hang down from the ceiling. 

'Oh my.' You say, suddenly interested now. A moment later, you're on your feet, and you wobble over to the table for a closer look. The top of the table is covered with a black leather or leather substitute, and it's shiny and soft. There are some bars and wheels on the side of the table, but other than that, there's nothing else. It's just a table, but it's a table with a comfortable leather top.

'I think it was a base for a milling machine of some kind, maybe a lathe. It slides up and down; I can put it on an angle. It has storage areas and there's heavy duty support rings embedded in the ceiling.'

He looks at you and smiles. 

'I was actually sold the moment I saw the coke machine, but this made me sign the lease that day.'

'Was the leather...' You ask, running your hand over the surface of the table. It's smooth and just a little chilly.

'It's not actual leather. It's a synthetic I think. I'd like leather, but it was bloody expensive and... well, you've seen my car.' He says with a smirk.

'So are you going to tie me to the table and have your way with me? Rip my clothes away and use me without mercy?' The words spill out with a tad more lust than you'd like. Scott grins when you say that however, and then he slides around the table and moves in close.

'That's the second time you've mentioned that. I may not be all that perceptive, but I can take a hint.'

He slips a hand around your waist; the other one creeps up your back and then grips your hair firmly. You exhale and close your eyes. This is it. He leans into you and slides the other hand up your side and then cups your breast.

'Tell me. Gentle or rough?' He whispers in your ear. His breath is hot, and it tickles your neck.

'Rough. Don't be gentle.' You whisper back without hesitation.

He pulls back, looks you right in the eye and raises an eyebrow. The question is asked silently, but he wants to be sure.

You slap him, hard. He recoils, surprised by the sudden violence.

'How dare you lay your hands on me, you brute!' You say, with a smile.

Scott holds a hand to his face, surprised. You hit him a lot harder than you intended and the red handprint is clear. Still he smiles at you, then he grins widely.

'All right kiddo. Let's play that game.'

He pounces with surprising speed, abruptly gripping your hair none to gently, pulling you in to him. He forces his mouth over yours and kisses you hard and with passion. He gives your breast a firm squeeze, and then you feel him gripping the collar of your dress. There's a firm tug, and then you can hear fabric scream as he tears open the front of the dress. 

You feel a sudden chill down the front of your chest as the dress tears apart. A second later he grabs the straps on your bra and yanks them down your shoulders, pinning your arms with the straps and the remnants of your little black dress. 

He stops for a moment and stares. You realize that he's taking in your chest, and you feel heat in your cheeks and throat as you suddenly blush a deep pink. Your nipples suddenly harden like little diamonds as you feel his eyes on you.

'I... I just...' He stammers for a moment, and then he pulls you into him and kisses you hard again. He's hot against you. His grip is strong and the torn dress and the straps of the brassiere pin your arms tight against your sides. The rye in your tummy makes you feel fuzzy and warm and light headed. You press your lips back against his hard. 

You stay like that for a moment, locked in. Then he gives your nipple a painful tweak that makes you gasp and arch your back. That's all the opening he needs and you feel the rest of the dress tearing away in shreds. His grip is still firm against your hair as he paws your breasts and dips his mouth to suck in your small, muddy pink nipple and drag his teeth over the little bud of flesh. 

'Gnnnnnah!' You gasp out loud. He's playing your body like a violin. He's rough, but not too rough, strong, but not violent. He listens; he reacts and overpowers you. The cold steel of the table juts into your back and his smooth clothing warms your skin. You feel him pawing at the brassiere, and a moment later it pops open and releases your arms. 

You don't hesitate; you place your palms on the table and heave yourself up. A moment later, you kick off your heels and relish the sudden release of pressure in your toes. He grins at you again, pats you on your thigh and then tugs on your black panties. He doesn't have to ask. You just raise your bum off the table and he slowly slides them down your legs. A moment later, he tosses them over his shoulder and pauses, just taking you in.

You can't help yourself. You spread your legs wide, and show him all of you. He cocks his head to the side and sighs.

'This moment.' He says quietly. 'This one moment...'

'What are you talking about?' You say back, legs still open, feeling especially naked.

'This is the kind of moment you wish you could bottle and store. So you could relive it again... and again and again.' He says it in a wistful way.

'Scott. Come live it now.' You whisper back.

He grins, walks forward and into your embrace. You wrap your arms and legs around him and pull him tight. He buries his face in your cleavage for a moment, and you grin and squeeze it tight around him. He comes up gasping for air seconds later. Then he plants his palms on the table and pulls himself up, toppling you over and pinning you to the table. He grabs your hands and forces them flat against the table. You can't help yourself, you wrap your legs around him and pull him tight against you. You feel him through his pants, erect and hard... and large.

You smile up at him, he smiles back, then leans down and nuzzles your neck, the stubble on his beard gently scratching your tender skin. He releases your hands so that he can cup and squeeze your breasts and suck the nipples into his mouth. You groan in pleasure as he mauls your chest in just the right way. 

You scoot back on the leather tabletop to give him more leverage, and as you do so, he sits back on the table and begins unbuttoning his shirt. His eyes don't leave yours though, and his gaze is intense. He finishes unbuttoning his shirt and peels it off, revealing his own pale chest and flabby tummy. He smiles at you, but turns and slides off the table, disappearing from view for a moment.

'Wait! Where are you going?' Your voice sounds a little more desperate than you wish. 

You hear a drawer slide open and then close, and Scott appears again a moment later. He tosses you something and you catch it.

It's a restraint. Hard leather and steel buckles, with a metal D-ring built into it.

You meet his eyes, and they're hot, his pupils dilated widely. His breathing is deep and focused. You keep his eyes locked on yours and slide your wrist into the restraint, slide the straps into the buckles and cinch it tight. Then you deliberately spread your legs to give him a clear view of you. The glistening between your thighs tells him just how aroused you are. 

He smiles and provides you with three more restraints that you slide on in silent agreement. Chains are pulled from the table and hooked into the d-rings on the base of each restraint, and then each chain is slowly pulled taut until you are immobilized and spread wide open and naked, except for the trashy fishnet stockings that you wore to excite him. 




The Bleakest of Seasons



You think you're done preparing for whatever is next, but he adds one last touch. He leans down and whispers in your ear for you to lift your head, and then he slides a soft pillow underneath your hair so that you can rest comfortably. 

He removes the rest of his clothing. His legs are long, muscular and powerful. As he slides away his own underwear, you catch your breath at his erect manhood. It's larger than you thought, and the tip is level with his navel. 

He gets back onto the table and you hold your breath, expecting him to be inside you momentarily. He surprises you by sliding up beside you, and moments later his mouth is on yours and his hand is exploring your body. His fingers knead your breast, plucking at the nipple and cupping your bountiful flesh. His lips slide down to your ear, and your neck and the hand glides lower as well. His finger traces a circle around your navel, then glides down through the tiny thatch of trimmed pubic hair on your mound and across your delicate bud.

You gasp and tremble as he slides a finger easily inside you, then a second. His lips continue nuzzling your ear, as he relentlessly slides in and out of you. You feel your pulse quickening; your nipples pop erect and your breathing speeds up. His fingers dance between your legs, and the tips graze your clitoris in just the right way.

You orgasm loudly, desperately, and thankfully. 

Soon you realize that he's not done with you yet. Those fingers keep working on you, those lips and teeth, they keep tasting and nuzzling you, all of you, your neck, your earlobes, your eyelids, your nipples. It's an all you can eat Addie buffet, and his appetite is large.

Those fingers continue to dance, to penetrate, to slip deeper and to touch just right.

Your next orgasm is louder, more insistent.

And the one after that is even more powerful. Your eyes roll back into your head. You want to pull him tight, hold him to you. Stop him from playing your body like a musical instrument. You try to for a moment, and the chains clink and pull back, reminding you that you surrendered all control of this situation. 

It slips beyond foreplay, into a test of endurance. How many orgasms can you have? How intense can he make them?

The answer is ... a lot. You lose count. And the second answer is... you don't know, each one seems to be more fantastic than the last one. 

After a while, you can't even keep your eyes open. All this pleasure is beyond exhausting. Sweat pools in the gap between your breasts and trails off your forehead. It mixes with the tears slipping quietly from your eyes, and he kisses the tears and sweat away. 

Just when you think you can't possibly take any more, he moves above you and you feel him between your legs. He's beyond hard and you're so over stimulated he's inside you, entering you without even a whisper of resistance. You gasp, arch your back, feel him filling you as full as you have ever been.

'Oh God...' you moan. 

And after more than an hour of foreplay and manual stimulation, he takes you completely. He pumps away furiously inside you, and the pleasure overwhelms you. You frantically pull at the chains and restraints, but nothing gives. You feel him slide all the way inside you and pull nearly out, and repeat the process as hard and as fast as he can.

Someone is screaming. Suddenly, you realize it is you.

Time melts. Your body takes all the passion it can take, and then some. 

The room goes fuzzy, and stars shine. And a moment later... or maybe a year, you hear a faint voice and someone is patting you on the cheek.

'One moment... just tired...' you mumble.

'Addie, look at me please. Look at me now.' Scott demands.

You flutter your eyes open, exhausted. It takes a moment to focus them on him. He's looking down at you, concerned. 

You raise your hand to his cheek; smile at the sweat dripping off his nose. He catches your hand and starts to remove the wrist restraint. You tug away from him.

'Leave it... please. Like'em.' You mumble. 

He grins down at you, leans down and kisses you on the forehead. Then he turns and cracks something open, then holds a bottle of cold water to your lips. You drink it, down it actually. You cannot believe how drained you feel.

Scott lets you finish the bottle, then he lifts you up and carries you to the bed. He slides you in, tucks the cool sheets around you and then slides in beside you.

'We'll talk more in the morning. You rest kiddo.' 

You want to argue, but you've got nothing left. Your muscles are mush, and you feel like you just ran an extremely pleasurable marathon. You lay immobile on the bed, cool crisp sheets wicking away the heat and sweat from your exhausted form. You can hear Scott padding about the room. His breathing is ragged; apparently what you just did was as draining for him.

The coke machine buzzes, then drops a chilled can into the slot. Scott cracks it immediately, and you can hear him sucking back the cold sugary drink. 

'I thought fucking someone unconscious was a myth.' He mutters to himself. 

Mythical, you think. That sounds about right. As you drift off to sleep, you hope that next time he tries for a coma.

Light.

It's too bright. 

You groan and snuggle into the warm sheets and blanket. Somebody lays spooned up against you. Their hand is on your hip. Without thought, you grab the wrist and pull the arm around your chest. 

He grumbles behind you, but lets you take the arm captive. The hand slides down and cups your right breast, the fingers gently squeezing your nipple.

That feels better. You put your hand over the other hand and hold it there. It feels nice. His hand is warm against your soft sensitive skin. You stretch and give a little girl whine, your body still demanding sleep after last night's... exercises. 

As you stretch, you can feel him against you. His belly is warm and fuzzy, his legs long and strong and his arm wrapped around you and cupping you gently, fingers still teasing your nipple. 

Something else is gently rubbing against your buttock. It puts a faint smile on your lips, and a stirring between your legs. 

You remember last night. You'd had boys before, fumbling, clumsy young boys, awestruck by your cleavage, and inept between the sheets. He was different, not only was he more interested in your pleasure, he knew how to coax it from you, tease it out of you... rip it from you if he had to. 

And you really liked it when he ripped it from you. 

You remember clearly for a moment the previous night, your sex so wet that you swear you were dripping, your clitoris so over stimulated you didn't think you could come any more or any harder, and then he slid inside you and proved you very wrong for a very long time. All while the chains held you in place, forced you open, made you obey. 

You moan a little just thinking about it.

His hand slips off your full breast and very erect nipple, to your disappointment and he pulls your hair back so that he can whisper in your ear. 

'Are you ok Kiddo?'.

You smile. 'Ok' would be a significant downgrade after last night. 

You slide your hand down your hip and behind your back, fingers reaching out until you feel his erect manhood. You smile again, because he's hard as a rock. 

He was hard as a rock all last night too. What was with this guy? 

'I'd be better....if we could find a better place for this.' You say in your sleepy little girl voice, as you trail your fingernails up and down his shaft. You feel him twitch as you do so, and you slowly raise your leg and tug him towards you.

You consider it for a moment, then decide to move him towards the closer of your two openings. As you do it, you realize that the hazy, lazy, sleepy feeling you love in the morning is gone, and that you are wide awake and suddenly holding your breath. You pull him to you and touch him to your anus. You feel yourself getting ridiculously wet again, and hope that he knows what he's doing in this regard too.

He stops you.

'What are you doing?' He whispers in your ear.

'I wanted you to... you know... take what you wanted.'

'Really. On our first date?'

'You took everything else you wanted last night. Not that I am complaining.'

'Addie, have you ever had anal sex before?'

You hesitate, suddenly feeling ridiculous.

'No. I never... I wanted to but...'

'And you want to try this now?' he asks softly in your ear. His breath is warm, and it tickles the little hairs on the back of your neck. 

'After last night, I want to try everything with you.' You whisper back with complete sincerity.

'We're not doing anal on our first date. Especially if you've never had it before.'

'Well... I'm disappointed. I... I don't know. Are you mad at me?'

'Why in the world would I be mad at you?' He responds instantly, brushing hair away from your face. You shrug helplessly, suddenly confused and a little embarrassed.

'We will absolutely try it. I would love to try it with you. But I want you to love it too, and if we don't... prepare for it a little bit it can be kind of unpleasant.'

'Ok. I understand. But...'

'Yes.'

'I just... I want... ' Words are failing you. Stupid, stupid words. Where are they when you need them?

He just waits patiently. He's in no rush, as he already proved about 45 times last night, and just a few seconds ago.

'I want you to enjoy this. I need you to enjoy this. A lot. Nobody ever did what you did to me last night. Nobody even came close.' 

It's frustrating you that you can't see his face, so you abruptly lift yourself up and spin around to face him. One of your impressive natural gifts manages to smack him in the face as you do so. 

'Oh! Jesus! I'm so sorry... I...' You start to laugh. He has a terrible case of bed head. His hair juts out on a crazy angle, and he looks like he's still a little stunned from the sudden whack of boob to face.

He smiles at you, that goofy, crazy smile that he uses whenever most guys get angry or upset. But he's not like most guys. He has some miles on him, and he has no vanity, and he's so gentle and yet so firm. He's different from all those other boys that you toyed with. 

Impulsively you place your mouth on his and kiss him. Your tongue leaps forth of its own accord, and you have a sudden urge to mount him right then and there, and ride him until you feel that same blissful wave that you felt last night. 

Despite your fervent desire to start humping away, you pull back. You really want him to get what he needs out of this. You know his needs are very different from anyone else's. You also don't care at all. If it hurts, it hurts, but you really want him to take what he needs, and you want him to do it now.

'Take me now.' You whisper. 'Do it. Fuck me, hurt me, defile me... whatever you need.'

'Whoa Addie, where is that coming from?'

'Last night, when you were... when your hands were.... Did you even come once last night?'

'No.' He admits after a moments pause.

'ARE YOU KIDDING ME?' You practically shriek.

He's a little taken aback by that.

'I just... sometimes it's hard for me to let go. I was close when you passed out.... So I stopped.'

'Oh my god.'

'It's not a big deal Addie.'

'Oh my god!'

'Really, it's not that big of a deal.'

'ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!?!' You blurt out in amazement. 

'You're starting to give me a complex Kiddo.' He says with that smirk on his face again. 

'You... you... oh my god... you have to come. In me. On me. I don't care. You have to finish. Right now!'

He looks a little embarrassed. 

'Why is this so important?' He asks quietly, but sincerely. 

He really doesn't consider this a big deal, which completely floors you. The last boy you slept with, which was so long ago you can't even remember, lasted exactly four minutes, gasped like a seal barking for a fish, and then rolled off you and wheezed until he dozed off moments later. You remembered staring at him with amazement, then heading into the bathroom shortly afterward to at least get some battery powered satisfaction. This man played you like a violin, for hours, and he played a sonata with your body that you didn't even think was possible.

You shake your head at him. This has to be the difference between boys and men. Boys are younger, fitter, have more hair. Men know what the hell they are doing; and they do it right.

He's still not showing any indication that he's going to saddle up and ride out on you. 

Abruptly you decide that you can't wait any longer, and you sit up and roll on top of him, smothering him with your breasts. 

He makes a 'what the hell?' gesture with his hands before you slide down, dragging them across his face and down his chest. The stubble on his cheeks scratches your pale and sensitive skin, and you'd care about that if it didn't feel kind of fantastic. Slowly his face reappears from under the bosom avalanche, his cheeks reddish but a smile plastered on his face.

'That was fun.' He says breathlessly.

'You listen up Scott.' you demand with sincerity. 'You are going to come!' 

'I'm not really arguing Addie. It just didn't happen last night.'

'Gah!' you blurt out in frustration and glare at him.

You can feel his erect member poking against your thigh. Frustrated, you try to manoeuvre yourself open and slide him into you. It takes a second, but you eventually line up Tab S with Slot A and then you slide him into your surprisingly moist sex. 

'OOOooooOOoooh!' You gasp, forgetting for a moment that you're trying to make him come. He inhales deeply, closing his eyes and clawing at the sheets. You try to start riding him, but suddenly he lands a firm hand on your thigh and hooks it behind your knee. The other hand reaches up and grabs you by the hair. He bucks and you feel yourself twisting in air; then abruptly he pulls you underneath him and slams down on top of you; driving himself fully inside you. 

You gasp, and then squeal at the sensation you were completely not prepared for when his member penetrates you as hard as you ever have been penetrated before. He grabs your hair again firmly and pins one of your hands to the mattress. 

Playtime is over. He leans over with a hard look and whispers harshly in your ear.

'You listen Addison, and you listen good. I call the shots. If I want you to have a thousand orgasms before I have one, you'll have a thousand fucking orgasms. When I am good and ready, I'll come in whatever god damned hole I want to. Do you get that?'

'Yes sir!' You squeak, a little bit terrified and a lot turned on all of a sudden.

'Now you lay here like a good girl while I enjoy myself. Are you clear on that?'

'Absolutely.' You whisper.

He pins your arm, stillgripping your hair tightly. The firm grips give him leverage. He starts to thrust in and out of your wet sex,, pulling nearly out entirely then shoving forward forcefully again and again. You moan and toss your head from side to side. His head bends down to your pale white breast, and he sucks a dirty pink nipple into his mouth. His teeth catch it and then he slowly pulls away, dragging the sensitive skin between his teeth. 

It hurts in just the right way. You writhe and moan beneath him. 

He does it to you again; tearing orgasm after orgasm out of you. He's relentless, almost angry with you. It's almost like he's trying to punish you with sex, which to your mind would be the single worst punishment ever because absolutely nobody would ever be deterred from any crime if this was the penalty.

Finally, you feel him tense up, and he pulls out of you completely. You're not sure what he's doing now, but you don't care. You just rode out orgasm number five... or possibly number six and everything is fuzzy. 

You try to sit up, but he places a hand on your stomach and starts to stroke his thick, fully erect member. It takes him a few seconds, but he finally grunts quietly and ejaculates across your stomach and breasts, thick ropes of semen spray out across your body. It pools in your navel and between your breasts, and a thick white drop hangs onto your nipple before sliding down the curve of your bosom as your chest heaves and you suck in oxygen.

'Rub it into your skin.' he commands firmly. His eyes are hard, still angry.

Obediently, you do so. Your hands reach down, feel his seed and you rub it across your breasts. The glistening, creamy white semen seeps into your skin as you do so, and his powerful scent filters into your nose. You moan just a little as you do so, because you're happy that he finally came, and you're still riding the wave of the latest batch of orgasms.

He watches you do as you are told and then he leans forward to run a finger across your stomach and dip it into the pool of semen lingering in your navel. A thick white drop clings to the tip of his extended digit. 

He holds it up to your mouth with an assuming look. You pause for a moment, then tilt your head forward and take his finger into your mouth. His taste is strong, and not unpleasant. You swirl your tongue around his finger and carefully lick it clean, and then suck on it ever so slightly.

He nods, satisfied, but still with a severe look on his face. Calmly he leans forward and grips your hair again. He pulls you toward him until you are nearly nose-to-nose with him.

'Are you ending this?' 

'What? No!' you reply in confusion.

'Then who calls the shots?'

'You do sir?'

His free hand reaches out and grips your closest nipple firmly. He slowly twists it until you quietly whimper.

'Who runs this show?' He whispers in your ear.

'You do. You run the show.' You whine as he twists the little bud a bit further.

'That's right. I do. And the next time you try to take control, you're going to learn about pain a lot sooner than I planned on. Do you understand?' He asks in a growl.

'Yes sir. I understand fully.'

'Show me.' He snarls and he pulls your head into his lap.

You smile, and you begin to fervently apologize to him with your lips and mouth and tongue.

You make sure it's a very sincere apology.

 Twenty minutes later, after a successful apology, you lay there with your head in his lap. His grip has loosened on your hair and now he brushes it back from your face. 

A little bit of his seed has trickled down your chin. You don't care. After last night and this morning you couldn't stand the thought of him not finding release. The fact that you brought him to release with your body and your tongue just satisfies you deeply. 

'Ok... I think we might have a problem.' Scott says out of the blue.

'Is something on fire?' You ask dreamily, still floating on after-sex endorphins and a sense of accomplishment. 'Because unless something is on fire, I don't really care right now.'

You snuggle your head into his lap, sliding your hand under his manhood and gently massaging his testes. You turn your head to the side and plant a gentle kiss on his still half erect member. He stirs a little and becomes more erect, but he certainly doesn't fight this.

'Actually, I was referring to the fact that we tore all your clothing to shreds last night.'

'I told you. It was no big deal.'

'Ok, but I think you might find the trip home a little revealing.' He says calmly, waiting for you to catch up.

'Oh. Yeah, that might be a problem.' You murmur, gently running your fingernails underneath his scrotum.

He exhales, closes his eyes for a minute, then continues. 

'I've got some clothing you can wear, and we'll go pick you something up. It's a little... ok it's a lot not what you would normally wear, but you won't have to drive to the store naked.'

'Would you mind if I drove to the store naked?' You murmur.

'Absolutely not. Neither would any other heterosexual male that has achieved puberty. You might find it chilly however.'




The Bleakest of Seasons



'Maybe.'

He's getting hard again. You wonder idly if he'd be up to yet another round. 

Fuck it., you decide to yourself. You cup your hand firmly around his testicles and begin gently massaging them. At the same time you open your mouth and suck him inside you. Your tongue dances around his smooth skin, and you tickle the glans under the tip of his organ. He gasps quietly.

'You are obsessed with oral sex I think.' he says, almost in the same dreamy tone of voice that you used a moment ago.

You rearrange yourself so that you can accommodate him better, but you take him out of your mouth for a moment to ask him a question.

'Is it a problem if I'm obsessed with Oral Sex?'

'Absolutely not.' He replies instantly. 

You smile to yourself and get back to work. 

This apology takes even longer than the last one, and your jaw and tongue are sore by the time he finally releases. He hardly has any thing left to ejaculate after his two previous climaxes, so you simply consume it with a smile on your face as you realize that he really seems to enjoy this type of release.

You think.

You suddenly also realize that he's come three times in the last hour and a half and he hasn't made a sound at all. If you hadn't had him in your mouth, or he hadn't made sure that you could see him coming, you would have had no idea.

You fall back on your haunches, stretch languidly, and raise your arms over your head. Your chest raises and expands as you stretch fully. As you relax you look at Scott to find him staring at you, an odd smile on his face.

'What?'

'Tokyo at midnight. The Pyramids. Your chest.'

'What?' You query again, genuinely confused.

'Name three things that make you really happy Alex.' 

You roll your eyes at him. He's definitely a nerd. Then you remember what you want to ask him.

'Sooo... I noticed something when I was blowing you.'

'Really? Do tell.' He responds wryly. He's used to your haphazard conversational segues. He knows by now to just roll with them and enjoy them.

'I noticed that when you were coming... you were pretty quiet.'

'Oh... yeah. I'm quiet.'

'That's it? You're just some kind of... sex ninja?'

'I am. Stealthy in the night, I will... penetrate your defences and silently steal away all your orgasm. Orgasms. I don't know the plural for multiple orgasms. '

'Really.'

'They could do the same thing they do with animals. A group of orgasms could be a wave... or a crash... or an inferno. An inferno of orgasms.'

You steal his move and cock an eyebrow at him. Your hair splays messily across his thighs as you gaze up into his eyes in a sultry pose. At least you hope it's a sultry pose.

'Ok, so I grew up in a bedroom with two brothers and loud pleasure was frowned upon.'

You're pretty sure it's sultry.

'Oh.'

'Yep.'

'I liked the sex ninja part better.'

He rolls his eyes. 

'I'm going to take a shower. Care to join me?' He asks you.

'Absolutely.' 

A moment later he leads you into the men's room, although you balk momentarily at the little stick figure on the door. 

It's a fully functional change room, with lockers and a gorgeous shower, and even a bench to sit on. He grabs a couple of fresh towels from the pile, sets them outside the shower door, and then he checks supplies.

'Is Dove soap ok? And Head and Shoulders?'

'I see I've decided to sleep with a caveman. You don't have any goats milk and honey soap?'

'No.'

'A chamomile and jasmine soap?'

'Nope.'

'Perhaps a spearmint and lilac body wash?'

'Let me check.' He says dryly. He doesn't move. 'Nope.'

'Maybe you have...' 

He steps out of the shower, and you notice with amazement that his manhood is bouncing off his stomach, fully erect again.

'Good heavens Scott. Are you actually sixteen?' Agape at his member that you just stimulated to release no less than three times over the last two hours. 

'Nope. I just look at you naked like that... and... fuck it.'

He slides a hand behind your neck, then grips your hair firmly. He pulls you to your feet, tilts your head back and then presses his mouth down on your own. His kisses are hard, passionate, and they stir your own response. Quickly you are kissing him back with equal fervor. His free hand glides around your hip, then draws forward and slides between your legs.

You squeak a little bit as his fingers brush against you and then into you. You're still surprisingly moist from your earlier play. He hooks a finger inside you, eliciting another little gasp and then backs toward the shower, dragging you into the surprisingly hot water with him.

He straddles the bench, pulls you toward him. He locks onto your eyes and you don't have to even ask him what he wants. You move towards him, slide over the bench and take him inside you with one smooth motion.

'Ooooooh god!' You moan as he fills you completely. 

He starts to buck his hips, and the motion moves him in and out of you. His hands slide under your buttocks, hold you wide open, you reciprocate by wrapping your legs around his torso and pulling him tight. 

You feel raw, almost bruised inside from what happened last night and this morning, you also don't care. It feels right. Almost perfect actually. There's one thing missing.

You lean forward, pulling him deep inside you again, then you wrap your arms around his shoulders and neck, shoving your breasts into his face. Automatically his mouth is hot on your flesh, teeth are nibbling and his lips are kissing and sucking.

You lean down and whisper in his ear.

'Please don't be gentle.'

You can feel him grin, then he shifts a hand up and grips your left breast firmly. A moment later you feel his mouth close on your nipple and his teeth clamp down and he drags them across the hypersensitive skin. 

You arch your back and pull him in even deeper. He starts to thrust harder, and you start to literally bounce up and down as you ride him. The water sprays you both and heats you up good and hot, your skin slick with moisture and ripe with pleasure. You pant and thrust, and whip your hair around as you ride him. You catch your reflection in the glass, and for a moment you almost think you're watching an adult film.

The girl rides her man, frantically grinding herself into him as he holds her in place and pulls her teats into his hungry mouth. Their skin is pink and hot, and steam flares up around them as water pounds down onto them. Her hair flings wildly and her mouth is nearly as open as her eyes are wide as she gasps for oxygen and frantically rides her partner.

You think for a moment that you can understand why people tape themselves. 

Then thought really leaves the process. Scott doubles his intensity and you start making groaning animal sounds. You stop trying to direct traffic and just take what he gives you, until you can't take any more. Suddenly your arms are wrapped around his head, and you pant into his ear with your eyes clenched shut. You feel like your skull is going to pop and your clitoris sends frantic signals that overload your brain. 

He's not having any of that, a strong hand grabs your hair and pulls it painfully taut. You moan and arch your back, and he surges forward and slams your body hard into the wooden bench. You gasp for air, and then you shriek as his hand grips your breast painfully. His pelvis continues to slam into you and his penis pistons in and out of you with aggressive, almost angry motion. 

You can barely breathe, you feel overwhelmed, pleasure and lust and submission and just the tiniest amount of pain rule you. You feel taken, owned, completely out of control of the situation. 

'Don't... Don't...' You whine frantically.

'Don't what?' He growls, still pawing at you, thrusting into you.

'DON'T STOP!' You scream, and clutch at your own breasts, your fingernails biting into your own nipples as he impossibly seems to pick up the pace as he grins at you with gritted teeth.

There is no other way to describe this. This isn't sex. It's not dominance or submission. This isn't him ravishing you or you servicing him.

This is fucking. Raw, primal, animal fucking. 

You shriek as it builds past your point of no return, and he won't stop for anything. You howl desperate, animal screams as he uses your body with abandon and you stretch and strain to let him take you as hard and as fast as he can.

An eternity passes. You both lay sprawled against the bench on the floor. 

The water from the shower has turned chilly. You don't mind. You're still trying to catch your breath. Your chest is heaving, and so is his. He lays sprawled on the floor, sucking air, his head in your lap. 

'What... was... that?' You pant.

'That.... That was... good.' He wheezes. He turns and plants a kiss on your tummy. You can feel his lips trembling as he touches your skin. Apparently that took as much or more out of him as it did out of you.

'Yes... but... why?' You want to know. You really want to know what triggered that, because you're definitely going to want to do that again.

'We...' He coughs, raises a hand to his mouth. You run your fingernails through his hair, gentling scratching his skull. 

'We've both been... celibate for a while...'

'Yeah?'

'Now... we can... talk without .... thinking about it.'

Before you can think about it you grab his hair and yank his head back. He doesn't fight it, and actually appears to be giggling at you as you glare down at him. 

'You just... fucked me .... hard enough to stop... my heart.... so that we could talk?!?!'

He giggles even harder. You try to stay annoyed, but he's cute when he laughs so a moment later you're only smiling at him.

'You... you...' The words won't come out. You don't even know what to say.

So you just lean over and kiss him on the mouth. He keeps laughing as he lies in your lap completely spent. 

'Oh shut up.' You demand finally. 

After about fifteen minutes, you both manage to drag yourselves up off the floor. He gets you a fluffy towel and you both dry off quickly and toss the towels in a nearby hamper. You pull your hair back and tuck it into a knot. 

Both of you emerge from the bathroom after your vigorous, aggressive 'showering' and then Scott sorts through his clothes to find you a pair of athletic shorts that you can wear and a couple of t-shirts to wear in place of your shredded bra and dress. He finds a comfortable pair of track pants and deep burgundy t-shirt for himself that declares boldly that whatever happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas.

You sit on the bed, exhausted, comfortable, and completely sated. He leans up against the dresser, and watches you, his hand rubbing his stomach, the muscles complaining after your frantic coupling in the shower. 

'It's only 9 am. Nap?'

'That sounds fantastic.' You say honestly after three full hours of mind-blowing sex. 

He saunters over to the bed and sits beside you. 

'Spoon?' He asks.

You nod assent with a tiny smile. He lets you position yourself comfortably, then settles in next to you. His legs wrap around your legs, his pelvis presses against your buttocks, and his chest is warm against your back. You pull his hand over your ribcage and tuck it tightly against your chest. 

'Wait.' he says and takes his hand away. You pout a little; this is interrupting nap and snuggle time.

He grabs the pillow, fluffs it, then slides it under your head. 

He cuddles back in against your back, wrapping his arm around your ribcage again to cup you. He's warm, and his breath is hot as it caresses your neck.

It's almost perfect.

'Wait.' you whisper with a giggle as you wonder if now he is the one pouting. You move his hand down, then under your shirt. He chuckles quietly as you guide it directly to your breast and clasp your hand over his.

Sleep doesn't take long to claim you, especially after the night before and the very vigorous morning. 

As you drift away, you feel his fingers gently tugging on your little bud. 

'Perfect.' Is the last thing you think as you begin to dream.

\

You dream a little bit, nothing deep or scary. Nothing you can remember. You faintly recall it being pleasant. 

But after a time, you can smell coffee, and you start to slide back towards consciousness. You gradually become aware of the soft bed you're laying in, and the warm blanket that's wrapped around you somehow. 

Then you realize that his hand is missing.

That's disappointing.

You start to panic thinking he might have snuck out, but you remember a moment later that you went home to his place, and you're wearing his clothes in his bed. If he decided to one night stand you, he's got a strange strategy for it.

You sigh, then slide the warm blanket off your torso and sit up slowly, groggily.

There is coffee on; you can see the pot full of pitch black happiness in the kitchen. You sit for a moment and contemplate getting up for a cup.

And then you spy it.

The floor, the floor is strewn with flotsam from the previous evening. Your shoes lay a few feet away, next to the big metal table. Shreds of your dress lay scattered around, and what's left of your brassiere hangs forlornly off one of the wheels used to spin and adjust the angle or pitch of the huge steel beast. 

His pants and shirt lay in a discarded pile, next to a clump of the leather restraints that you tossed aside this morning when he led you to the shower.

You look around for your purse, and see it on the counter. An idea strikes, so you pad over to retrieve it. Your phone flips open with a little chirp, and you gleefully snap some photos of the tattered remnants of the evening before.

It's satisfying looking at the photos. You remember him tearing through the dress and pulling your bra aside with an aggressive ferocity that you hadn't felt in... ever actually. There's where he tossed his clothing away after he'd secured you to the tabletop. That's where you kicked off your shoes. That tattered black chunk of cloth is what is left of the dress before he started to manipulate and pleasure your flesh.

You preen a little as you remember that moment when he stood back and marvelled at your body, your pale skin and dark hair and your naughty smile. And you had to coax him forward, because he was mesmerized by you for a moment.

Mmhmm. 

Where has this guy been all your life? If you'd known that the most intense coupling you were ever going to have was going to come from a chubby, worn down, sarcastic, plain looking man, you would have...

Would have...

What?

Where does a man like this hang out? You never saw this kind of man when you were wandering futilely through bars looking for company and finding only pathetic, sex starved players. Nobody at work or in your social life was like this. It was like he literally was two different people. The first was a quiet, funny, modest little nerd. The second was an aggressive, hard driving, dominating man that brooked no shit from anyone.

And where was he?

You hear some faint tapping, and you spy him on the other side of the apartment. He's hunched over a laptop having a quiet conversation with someone through a Bluetooth headpiece. You watch him for a moment, unsure that this is even the same person. He's so quiet and subdued he's practically invisible. You watch him for a bit, then spy the coffee cups on the counter and realize that your mouth is beyond dry. 

Quickly, you retrieve a coffee cup and pour yourself a hot cup of good morning. You lightly sweeten it with sugar, until it's the same color as your hair. You know sugar doesn't change the color of the coffee, but you like to think that your hair is sweet.

Running a hand over the tangled medusa on your head, you sigh. It's a mess. You fell asleep with it damp and now you're going to need to brush it out and braid it again.

But... back to quiet Scott, tapping away on the laptop. 

You pad quietly over behind him and peer over his shoulder. He's got multiple windows open, some spilling numbers fast and other windows with command prompts that he's rapidly typing commands into.

He's focused totally on the screen, and you can hear the voice in his ear rapidly relaying information. 

'I'm restarting the Sequel server now Ray. Let me know if you can ping it when it comes up.' he states calmly. You hesitate for a moment before placing a hand over his shoulder. He glances back at you and smiles, then holds a finger up to his lips as someone speaks to him via the Bluetooth again.

You smile, the last time you tried to play with him, he got angry, but he seems much less intense now. You ponder it for a second, then decide that the worst thing that will happen is that he punishes you... and you actually kind of want him too.

So you strip off the t-shirts he gave you. The air is chilly, so your nipples stiffen instantly, but that just makes them perkier and more pronounced, which is exactly what you want them to be right now. You slide up against his chair, run your hands over his shoulders and squeeze them. Gently, you massage his muscles, then lean in to gently nibble on his ear.

He sighs quietly, trying to focus on the problem.

You take that as a challenge, lean forward and drape your breasts over his head. 

'Ray... just a minute. I've got to step away for five minutes, ok?'

He taps his earpiece before Ray can respond. Calmly, he turns and looks at you with his glasses sliding down his nose. 

'Really? After what we did this morning?'

You smile warmly. Definitely.

He stands, reaches his hands around under your buttocks, then lifts you up. You wrap your legs around him as he carries you over to the leather table. Gently, he sets you on the tabletop, then eyes your naked chest with a smirk and leer. You jut your chest out at him and smile back.

'See anything you like sailor?'

He smiles then slides open a drawer. He produces a couple of pairs of handcuffs. You grin, feel that tingle in your loins that you get when he looks at you that way. Calmly, he locks the bracelet of the one handcuff around your wrist and then slides it behind your back. You happily slide your other wrist around to accommodate him and he locks that one in as well. 

You start to breathe a little faster. You like where this is going. 

Another handcuff locks around your ankle, and then he attaches the open bracelet to a hard point on the side of the table.

Is he going to secure you to the table and ruthlessly extract pleasure from you again? Is he going to spank you? (You really hope he does.) Is he going to do something else he hasn't shown you yet? 

What he does is give your nipple a stiff tweak, and when you gasp, he shoves a rubber ball into your mouth. You're surprised, but you can't complain or protest because of the rubber sphere that he just jammed into you. 

After he does it, his eyes harden. 

Oh dear, you think, he's not happy.

He leans forward and whispers in your ear.

'What did I tell you would happen the next time you tried to take control?'

You remember what he said. He'd show you pain. 

'Mmmmffgh!' You retort wittily. 

'I have to get back to work for a little while. You sit here and contemplate what's going to happen next.'

'Nnrrgffghg?' You respond.

'Yes. That.' He says as he rolls his eyes and taps his Bluetooth. 

'Ray? Hi, sorry about that. I had something in the oven and had to take it out. Did the Sequel server come back up? It did? Great!' He says as he wanders back to his station.

You watch him go, then realize that he intends to leave you here while he works.

The rat bastard. You glare at the back of his head as he works his arcane nerd magic over the internet. 

He spends about a half an hour working with Ray while you sit chained to the table and gagged waiting for him to finish. Finally, he claps his hands together, says something about a Raid array not synchronizing properly, and then bangs out series of commands into the black window. He flips over to his monitor screen and a whole lot of red lights turn green.