2 comments/ 83965 views/ 27 favorites The Secret Ownership of Tim By: MisterErus Part One, in which we meet Tim as he remembers his tutor from his teenage years. In Part Two, we will accompany Tim in his current position as VP as he meets Natasha Bodinski. Tim’s confidence, drive and ambition had accelerated his career to Vice President of Sales and Marketing. A man everyone said was smooth and unshakable. But right now, Tim’s palms felt sweaty as he re-read, for the fifth time, the letter from Body Beautiful inviting his company, Cockle Wire, to bid on the wire used in much of their lingerie. If Tim declined to visit the account himself personally, there would be questions from the CEO. Why ignore the specific request from one of the largest potential accounts that have come the company’s way in years? The letter stated specifically that a visit by the company’s top corporate sales executive would be expected. Others would see the letter from Body Beautiful as a golden opportunity. Tim looked at the letter and just saw the signature. Natasha Bodinski. His babysitter cum tutor from his youth. He had known that she had started her own lingerie line and become the leading competitor to Victoria’s Secret. Often he had slowed while walking by one of her stores when traveling. Flashes of memories would shock him with mixtures of shame and excitement. As he sat in his leather chair, he looked out over the city from his corner office, and then back at the letter. Tim could not possibly explain to the board or CEO why someone else should visit the account. There was no way out. He was trapped. He knew it. And she knew it. She knew, because she addressed the letter to him personally. Without ever a hint that it was anything but one company executive writing to another. His hands trembling, he brought the scented paper to his nose and he smelled where she had signed in loopy letters, “Ms. Bodinski.” His loins flushed with a tingle and his cock began to swell. He dropped the letter on the desk as if it were suddenly too hot to handle. “Damn her!” he whispered. Instantly, he was transported back to when he was 18. Mother was heading off to dinner and the theater with his older sister by two years. Natasha was to come over and help Timothy study for his SATs. Timothy felt embarrassingly uncomfortable having Natasha tutor him. His former babysitter always sat just a bit too close, and her fragrance toyed with his concentration on the test questions. But Mother insisted. Natasha was about to graduate University of Vermont. She was the daughter of the neighbors who had moved from Russia into the neighborhood about ten years ago. She had never completely lost her Russian accent. Her Russian lilted slightly on her tongue drawing out her words when she spoke slowly, and giving them an edge when her voice became stern. “Oh Timmy,” Mother said, “Why do you resist her? She’s likes you. And she’s smart; she is going to graduate Cum Laude, you know? Stop resisting her, and you might even appreciate her. She said she would be here by seven. Your sister and I should be home by ten or eleven.” It was six-thirty when Mother and his sister left. Timothy flicked through some TV channels, procrastinating on homework. He came across a provocative ad for lingerie, and suddenly was infused with that tingle that overcame him every time he was alone in the house. The tingle of being free to be naughty. At those times, all his senses were perversely heightened and he walked around half or fully hard, wondering in what naughty or forbidden ways he could masturbate. He walked into his sister’s room. To save money, she was living at home while going to UVM. Timothy began opening her drawers, fingering through her bras and panties. His teenage cock fully hard in his loose jeans, when he suddenly turned and ran to his room. From under his mattress, he pulled a Penthouse. But instead of throwing himself on his own bed, this time, he wanted to be even nastier and crossed the hall again back to his sister’s room. He yanked off his sweatshirt, and pulled off his pants and boxers, and splayed his naked body, stomach down, on his sister’s comfy bed. Her cool, soft, fluffy, down comforter and flannel duvet cover welcomed his hot, hard cock and the first shooting sensations of lust through his dick were almost too much and he had to just lay there in order not to cum. Then, slowly, with the Penthouse girl fingering her pussy, egging him on with a mocking smile, he slid his cock up a grove that had formed in his sister’s blanket. A nice smooth cunt slide for his cock. He began to slowly pump the blanket, legs spread eagle. He put one hand back and felt his strong ass muscles contract with every long pump of his hips into the soft, velvety-smooth blanket. He was fucking his gorgeous sister’s bed. The blanket that every night enveloped her luscious, ripe, fuck-eager body. God, she was hot. At 20 she had the knock-out sex appeal that was driving all the boys crazy at UVM. And while the boys could only wonder what his sister’s body looked like under her taunting clothes, Timothy got to see her every day at home with her perfectly perky tits, her full round ass, her strong, flat stomach with its small belly button. Theirs was a liberal home. Mother and sister always walked around naked, and sometimes Timothy was convinced it was just to torture him. But now he was getting back at her. Now, he was fucking his dick into his haughty sister’s blanket, and he was going to mess her perfect little princess bed. He was stroking faster now, the pleasure rising in his balls, flowing through his veins, as if there was cum in his entire body urging to be released into his sister’s bed. His gorging cock was viciously pumping now as if it was a fuck machine, just body, muscles, sinew, and fat dick pumping sister’s sheets and he was about to release his cum all over that prissy bed, when… “Oh, you are in big trouble!” belted a sharp, Russian-tinged voice behind him. The shock of a voice combined with being at the verge of being at cumming, shot adrenaline through Timothy’s body as if he had been electrocuted. He jolted his head back over his shoulder and saw Natasha’s tall frame almost fill the doorway. Natasha was standing with her legs spread and her arms crossed. All of her long, blonde hair was cascading down loosely over the front of her left shoulder. Her black miniskirt was stretched tight by her stance, and her shapely, muscular cheerleader legs strutted out from underneath at clean angles. She wore white sneakers. And her soft, inviting, pink mohair sweater was so short it revealed her flat stomach, but more teasingly, the plush sweater bulged with Natasha’s full and proud tits. Her nails were painted bright red, and they drummed silently on her folded arm. The realization of being caught masturbating spread eagle on this sister’s bed shot red-hot shame into Timothy’s face. But at the same time, the sight of the tall, blonde beauty standing there and having caught him in the dirty act, kept his dick just as hard as it was before it was about to spurt cum. In fact, he noticed that his hips were still slightly grinding and he quickly averted his gaze down at the bed where the Penthouse pussy pouted up at him. “I… I’m… I’m… sorry,” he stammered. “Please don’t tell. I…” “Shut up,” she commanded. She sauntered over to his prone body and towered over him. “What have we here,” she laughed arrogantly. Then she hauled out and spanked him hard on his ass. Stinging pain shot through his ass and Timothy clenched the sheets into balls with his fists. “A wanking fuck boy, jerking off to a slut in a magazine. And all that on his sister’s bed.” She spanked him again. And once more. She was standing so close to him now that he could smell her tantalizing perfume. He didn’t dare raise his gaze to meet hers, but his deep shame at being naked and splayed in front of her stung his face with heat. “Get up little masturbator. Get up and show me what you have been rubbing all over your sister’s sheets.” “N… No… I’ll just get dressed and start on my homework…” “The fuck you will, little pud puller.” She reached down and grabbed his hair in the back of his head and started pulling him up to a standing position next to the bed. Once standing she slapped him across his face. “You bratty little masturbator. You will do exactly as I say, or I will tell your mother and sister all about your uncontrollable urge to jerk off on sis’s bed. What do you think they think they will say about that?” “No, please,” Timothy begged, his face stinging, “Pl…Please,” now beginning to feel the sweat of fear moist his armpits. And yet, standing naked and utterly exposed in front of this tall, strong and beautiful Russian kept his cock raging hard with anticipation and excitement. “That’s right,” she laughed, and continued in her hinted accent. “Get used to begging. You’ll be doing a lot more of that.” And then she reached down and wrapped her hand gently around his cock. “Mmm, now let me see just how big this dick of yours is.” The shock of Natasha’s soft hand wrapping around his cock, made him involuntarily groan and his legs begin to buckle. She slowly slid her enveloping hand gently up and down his strong shaft, until he could not longer stand it and he sank uncontrollably. But even then her pleasing hand would not grant release, and followed him until he was on his knees in front of her, moaning in exquisite pleasure. “My, my” she purred as she released his cock. “It’s true. You DO have a big dick. And such a nice, straight shape and large head, and that thick vein bulging out underneath. Your sister was right: It is spectacular.” His eyes shot up in surprise. She gave him a husky laugh. “Yes, little jerk off boy, your sister has seen what you do in the shower with your hands wrapped around that soapy dick of yours. She’s been telling me what a fat, long cock you have. None of the cocks she’s sucked at school are as big as yours. And she tells me how she loves to torture you by prancing around naked, knowing how you have to hide the big boner you get in your pants when you see her perky tits.” Before he could say anything, she had him by the hair again. With her other hand she pulled up her miniskirt. Timothy inhaled sharply as he suddenly was inches away from her naked, shaven pussy. He breathed in her fragrant odor of moist pussy mixed with her perfume, and his cock jumped with a new wave of rigor. “Mmm, you like that, don’t you, pussy boy.” His panting was shallow and quick now. More than anything in the world, he wanted her to shove his face into her pussy. To force his face deep between her legs, where he would bury his tongue and lick out her pussy as if his life depended on it. A slap across his face shocked him back to paying attention. “I asked you a question, pussy boy! Do you like my pretty little kitty?” “Y.. Yes…,” he stuttered. She yanked his hair back, ‘til his eyes were looking up into hers. “Say, ‘Yes, Ms. Natty!’” “Yes, Ms. Natty.” “Good boy. Now it’s time for your punishment,” she said strictly. “Lay cock up on your sis’s bed!” He did as commanded. With a few belts from his sister’s closet, Natasha soon had Timothy bound spread eagle to the bed. His cock was rigid and exposed. “Little boy cocks shoot off so quickly and we don’t want that, now do we? We’ll have to make sure that thing doesn’t go off too soon,” Natasha said, rummaging through his sister’s drawers and pulling out a nylon stocking. “Ah, perfect.” She tied the stocking around the base of Timothy’s balls and cock, cinching it so tight that he yelped like a dog as she gave it a final, hard tug and knotted it. “Now, we’ll have to see just how hard and blue that fat cock of yours will get.” Then she kicked off her white sneakers and climbed on the bed between his legs. He raised his head to see what she was doing. Timothy watched as she lowered her self closer and closer to his dick. “Mmm, looks good enough to eat,” she purred. And suddenly, Timothy was afraid Natasha would actually sink her teeth into his cock. “P… Pl… Please don’t hurt me,” he wimpered. Natasha’s hand shot out and her long red nails dug into Timothy’s cock. He yelled out. “Ask me properly!” she sneered. “Oh, Please, oh please… Please don’t hurt me, Ms. Natty!” he begging, almost crying as her nails finally gave release on his cock. “That’s better, pussy boy. Mmm, such deep red marks from my nails,” she laughed. “Looks good on you. And look: Look how blue your cock is turning. Why, it’s almost purple. And so hard! Look at those veins pulsing out. You didn’t know it could get that fucking rock hard, did you?” And then she leaned over him closer. “And you know what else you didn’t know? Just how sensitive a cock is when its bound up like that.” And with that, Natasha gently rubbed her length of her mohair sweater along Timothy’s cock. He groaned in painful pleasure. The sheer sensation of his super sensitive cock gliding along the heavenly soft mohair was almost too much to endure. Natasha laughed as Timothy’s eyes rolled back into his head, and she leaned in harder so that his cock was now buried between her tits in a velvet valley of mohair. She rubbed up and down, driving him mad. “Now my little fuck boy, show me what a good pussy licker you are,” and with that, Natasha climbed up to straddle his face. She hiked her skirt up around her waist and slowly inched down closer to Timothy’s face. He strained up to taste her, but she stopped just a breath away from his mouth. “Look at how much the little masturbator brat wants pussy,” she laughed. “You like my pretty shaved kitty, don’t you?” Timothy grunted in response as he stretched his tongue out as far as he could, lapping the air just below her glistening lips. “Ok, here’s a little,” she said and lowered herself aching slow onto Timothy’s face. And immediately, as soon as his tongue touched the velvet of a real live pussy for the first time in his, Timothy knew he would be a pussy slave for the rest of his life. As she lowered, he lapped and licked hungrily and greedily like a dog burying his face into a food dish. It tasted so good, so fucking good. Her juices and soft flesh and a mixture of her ooze and his spit dribbling over his chin. She slide her cunt along his nose. “Ooooh yeah, baby, I like my nice, slick kitty fucking your nose like it was cock.” She lowered herself even further now, burying his face and he rocked his head back and force to shove his stiff tongue deep into her cunt. His hips and aching cock began bucking the empty air. “Oh yeah, baby,” she purred, “That’s right, pussy whore, work your tongue. Fuck my cunt with that tongue. Yeah, that’s right, lick my clitty, oh yeah.” She was completely riding his face now, her pussy mashed on his nose and mouth and riding up and down his entire face, smearing him with her slick cunt juices. “That’s right fuck boy, eat my pussy. You make me so fucking wet. I’m shoving it into your face hard,” she grunted. “I have been wanting to fuck your face for a long time. Force you to eat my cum. I love it when the boys eat the cum right out of me. Oooh yeah. Someday I’m going make you suck another man’s cum right out of my kitty. Oh, fuck yeah! I’m going to cum. Mmmmm! Unnnnggghhhh!” and suddenly her strong thighs clamped around his head, shutting off any air to him, and she shuddered hard around his face and he felt cum ooze into mouth, and breathlessly he tried to swallow, as another wave of shudders shoved him deeper into bed. When she finally relaxed her thighs, and lifted her wet pussy off his drenched face, Timothy was gagging for air in loud gasps and coughs. “Mmmm, you ARE a good pussy licker. You made Ms. Natty cum all over your face. And look at that hard cock of yours. My, my, it’s all purple with veins gorging out. I bet it wants some of what your face got, hmm?” “Oh yes please, Ms. Natty, oh yes, yes, yes. Yes, please.” She laughed. And she undid the restraints. “Now turn over, and get up on all fours like the good pussy licking dog that you are.” He obeyed quickly, and then she re-secured him again to the bed, now spread eagle on his stomach and cock. “Well, that may be what that little fuck cock wants, but it’s not what it’s going to get,” she laughed. “Oh Please Ms. Natty, Please, I swear I’ll be good, I...” “Shut up!” she snapped and smacked his ass. “We’ll just have to take care of that winy mouth of yours.” She went over to his sister’s drawers and pulled out two panties and another stocking. She balled up one panty. “No, please Ms. Natty, I… mffgggh” he muffled as she stuffed the gag deep into his mouth. Then she took the stocking and tied it as an extra gag, cinching it tight and knotting it off behind his head. “Now, pussy dog, we are going to make you into my little pussy whore. And you know what every good whore does, don’t you?” She took another belt from the closet and looped it around his neck and left the strap end lying down his back. “The better to ride you with, my dear.” And suddenly Timothy’s eyes widened in terror. Every nerve in his body tensed in fear. He began shaking his head, grunting against the gag, yanking against the leather belt restraints. “Oh yes, little fuck boy. That’s right. Every whore gets fucked in her hole with a good, long, fat, cock, and you are not going to be any different. I’ve wanted to fuck that nice tight ass of yours every time you were sassy to me as your babysitter. Well, now we’ll see just how sassy you are, little brat. You are going to be my fuck whore.” From where she suddenly got the strap-on cock, Timothy didn’t know, and didn’t care right now. All he could do was stare in horror at the big black cock that she was strapping on in front of her still-wet pussy. She dropped her skirt, but kept her pink sweater on, as she cinched the leather straps tight. Then she grabbed the other pair of his sister’s panties. “Up, up with your cute ass, fuck boy,” she cooed as she patted his naked ass. “Come on, lift up and let me put sis’s panties right under your dick. There, that’s right. And when I command you to “Cum” later, I will release your cock stocking and you will shoot your load of cum all over sis’s panties,” Natasha laughed. “Won’t that make for a nice little blackmail item?” Timothy’s eyes started welling up with tears now. His chronic masturbation had gotten him into so much trouble, and Natasha was just too much for him. He felt like a helpless mouse that she was toying with, first pleasing, then hurting. Always taking another turn making him feel off balance and scared of what she would next… or not do. He never thought he could fear and want a woman so much. “Ohh, is my fuck whore crying? That’s ok. I know you hate me. But you’ll see: you are going to cum to love hating me,” she said as she took position behind him and started feathering his ass in long, soft, gentle strokes with the backs of her fingernails. The sudden sensation of extreme pleasure made his ass twitch and contract and begin to grind against the sheets and his sister’s panties. The pleasure shot straight from her finger tips through his ass directly into the tip of his cock. She was playing his sensations like an instrument, inducing a soft rhythm of his hips fucking the sheets. God, his cock was so swollen but bound so tight that every stroke into the panties was a tortuous slide through denied pleasure. His hips began bucking faster and she grabbed the leather leash. “Mmm, that’s it my fuck horse, begin a nice trot of your cock into those panties,” she whispered. The belt cinched tighter around his neck, making it harder to breath. He raised his hips to fuck the panties better. “That’s right, show me your ass, present your ass to me.” And he did, beginning not to care anymore if she would fuck his ass. He felt a shot of cool jelly on his ass, and then quickly a nudge of the cock at his asshole. “You want to be fucked in the ass, don’t you?” And suddenly he understood that he did. That he WAS a whore. He nodded, and grunted eagerly. She pushed in and an uncontrollable groan was pushed out of his throat as if the cock were pushing it out louder and louder the deeper she sank her cock, inch by inch, into his muscular ass. “That’s right, my FUCK whore, take my cock. Take my cock in your pussy. You like being fucked in the pussy don’t you?” and she yanked his riding leash, choking him tighter. Now he was grunting and bucking wildly like a crazed animal. He was pushing back with his pussy ass so it could be filled deeper with more of her cock. He was rocking back to have the thick shaft rammed all the way in, and she met his ass with full impact, slamming her cock into his hole, and feeling it push against her clitty. A deep guttural grunt ripped through his lungs as he lurched his cock into the panties taking the impact of her cock. The leash around his neck was so tight now, it was turning his neck blue with bulging veins. He heaved air through his nose, nostrils flaring. “That’s right fuck whore. Oh God, I’m raping your ass, owning your ass. Your pussy ass is mine now. Oh God, that’s good! You’re making me so wet, watching you take my cock up your ass.” She reached under and yanked the slip knot around his cock and with a sudden explosion of sensation, he felt blood rush into his rock hard dick. He winced and cried fearing that he would have to cum before her command. She rode the leash so tight that he was choking. His head and cock were on the verge of bursting with pressure. His body was racked with the need to splatter his cum. “CUM! Spurt your boy cum Fuck Whore!” she yelled, yanking his leash, choking off his last breaths and thrusting into his ass and cumming herself on her own cock buried to the hilt in his ass, and he exploded, splattering cum in long jets on his sister’s panties, up his stomach and on her bed, as Natasha collapsed onto his back and he blacked out in pleasure, pain and release. The Secret Ownership of Tim Ch. 02 My name is Timothy Willow. I am the VP of Sales at Cockle Wire. I got to this position by being calm, directed and willing to do what it takes to advance myself. I consider myself easy with the right word at the right moment and that makes me likable. You know, a good salesperson. You wouldn't know the calm part to see me now. I am sitting here at my desk, holding a letter in my sweating hands. It is a Request for Quote; a sales opportunity for my company to supply wire. It is a legitimate RFQ, but we don't get requests for these types of applications every day. It is from Body Beautiful. The RFQ is signed by the president herself, Natasha Bodinski. And it is her signature that has turned my normally steady hands into jittery, moist betrayers of my mixed emotions. Natasha was my high school tutor. The daughter of Russian neighbors, she had learned English at an early enough age to be completely fluent in it, but late enough in her teens to still maintain a slight lilt that always seemed slightly stern yet fascinating to me. In an earlier story, I told you about the time she arrived earlier than expected for tutoring at my parents' house and caught me masturbating on my sister's bed into my sister's panties. The memory of my shame and her punishment of me for my dirty act, even now, some dozen years later, races through my blood, engorging my dick, and making me sweat. I don't want to respond to Natasha's letter. I sense danger, just like a rabbit looking out onto a sunny field that shows no visible signs of enemies, and yet the rabbit twitches its nose, its blood pounding and adrenaline coursing so powerfully through its small, frightened body that it almost hurts in the heart. Natasha had ruthlessly exploited my embarrassment back then, and to top it off, she drove me even deeper into that desperate pit of confusing pleasure by taking me and calling me her whore and her slut. Back then, the pleasure was stronger than the shame and I longed to see her again, but I never did. She moved away, and left me fantasizing ever since. But now I am older, and hopefully wiser. Oh sure, I still masturbate to fantasies of being taken by an assertive woman. But I have become clear about Natasha and her particular type. She is what I call a sexual blackmailer; an exploiter of the embarrassed; a predator with a sixth sense of men with perverted thoughts. She is a vampire that thrives on a men's humiliation and she knows how to draw it out of your deepest recesses and so deviously that as she sucks the shame to the surface, you eventually give into the shame, you desire to revel in it like a pig rolling around in a sty, because you see how much it pleases her, and pleasing her becomes all you want to do, offering up all your debasement for her pleasure, ... that becomes your one and only want, your one and only need. That's why I don't want to answer the letter. Natasha would surely exploit her power over me to her advantage with my company. Blackmail me perhaps into low prices. Who knew what her savage imagination was up to, but it was no coincidence that Natasha Bodinski was requesting a quote from me, Timothy Willow. Sitting here now for a while, I am ridiculing myself for thinking that I can't handle this situation. After all, didn't I say I was older and wiser? Hadn't I gotten to my position by demonstrating resolve and, sometimes, even defiance at the right moment? If I don't respond, wouldn't that make me weaker than responding? And yet, there is the rub already. I can't chose to not respond. She might call the company and ask why I hadn't? She already had me in a bind. But, I have nothing to fear from Natasha if I don't let her pervade my inner resolve to resist whatever games she might be playing. So, I am going to review the quantities of various wire in the attached spreadsheet, and then issue a quotation. I print a standard cover letter, but then hesitate for a moment before signing. My full name? Just "Timothy"? She called me "Timmy" but I can't sign official correspondence that way. I snap back to awareness. My only power against her is in never giving into being personal. I sign my full name. Three days later, my secretary pages me. Ms. Valooma of Body Beautiful is on line 3. I take the call. "Ms. Bodinkski would like you to visit to discuss the quote," says Ms. Valooma. I say I will check my schedule and call back to confirm, but Ms. Valooma insists on finding an agreeable time for the appointment right now on the phone. Friday, 3 p.m. was preferred by Ms. Bodinski, her firm voice says, and I agree. As I hang up, I wish I was married, and for a moment, I even consider borrowing a wedding ring from someone in the office. I google her name and company. In its ten year history, Body Beautiful has mushroomed into the most noted competitor in "fashionable erotics," as her company likes to call them. Natasha has finessed the company's line and reputation to a successful niche that is classier than, say, Frederick's of Hollywood, but racier and much bolder than Victoria's secret. Her leather lines, for instance, more than hint at primal struggles for power and control. I am also surprised to learn that the corporate offices comprise the top three floors of a downtown building. The train ride in is 45 minutes, and while I have taken out a pad to jot down notes for the coming week, my mind drifts and my pen doodles. The web site's photograph of Natasha comes back to me. In it, the pride and stature of her lithe body was sculpted by a skin tight, black, dress that reached up and hugged Natasha's curves. The dress slinked its choker-like collar round her sleek neck. Her blond hair rolled in long soft curls down around that jealous collar, lounged on her shoulders and then spilled down her back. Her body, her neck, her hair and especially her yellow eyes were all like wild animals, panthers, jaguars, tigers, that she kept on short chains while they growled dangerously and even fletched their teeth at each other in competition for Natasha's attention to use that particular animal in the attack on the next victim. Between images of what a stunning woman Natasha had become and memories of her evil desires for humiliation, my cock is growing hard in my slacks. I snap to attention at the conductor's call of my stop, and embarrassed at the hard cock in my pants, I hold my attaché case in front of my crotch as I exit the train. I was hoping I would lose my erection while exiting the train, but by now my breath is short and my pulse quick with the anticipation of the meeting. My own cock seems to mock me by gorging even fuller. "Natasha commands her body's ferocious beauty," I think, "and my body's chronic urges betray me." Laughable, I think, and my hard-on rages against my pants in full erection as I imagine Natasha laughing at my deplorable lack of control over my very own cock. On the escalator in the train station, I end up behind a woman in heels and a mini skirt, and my face is almost level with her round and luring behind. I imagine that even that woman's sassy ass is taunting me. Want some of this, don't you dirty boy, the ass laughs. You want to peak under this skirt at some tasty pussy, don't you horny boy? And just then, the woman shifts her weight to the other side and the ass shrugs at me, Pervert! and walks off the escalator. By the time I reach the building, I am struggling to breathe normally and assess the circumstances. My cock is no longer hard, but still swollen in my pants. I can feel that precum has oozed out. My crotch and the head of my dick feel wet from the slick slime. I glance down and see that, so far, it doesn't show through my pants. I pray for mercy that it won't soak through. The elevator opens and I feel instantly overwhelmed. I have seen some lush offices before, but this is more than lush, it is lavish. And seductive. I step into a two-story high rotund that is lined with marble. Suspended in the center of the arched ceiling, is a many-times larger-than-life-sized hologram of a lingerie-clad, almost too-stunningly beautiful model. She is crouched on her haunches, one elbow casually on her bent leg, the other hand reaching out and beckoning the visitor in. The black bra is cradling tight, perky breasts, and the lacey thong is just see-through enough to hint at her pleasure. My mind reels back to masturbating as a young boy to cartoon pornography depicting giant women tormenting me. Without the least bit of hope to control it, I feel my dick swell hard again. "Can I help you?" says the receptionist again, louder. I look at the round reception desk under the hologram. An equally beautiful, and this time real, woman smiles at me. I announce myself, and after a brief phone call, she bids me to wait in a conference room down a hall from the rotund. I enter the conference room, put my briefcase on the table and turn to look around. In the corner, I notice another hologram display at waist height coming from a short roman-styled column. This time, the model is only a foot high, and as she models the lingerie, she turns and bends and slinks her hips, and then this one too beckons me. A new hologram flashes up, this time a brunette, wearing leather bra and pre-torn mini skirt to look like an Amazonian loincloth. Then another: red teddy with black ribbons. And another and then I realize the trap I am in, my dick hard, my mind already feverish with the poison of Natasha's control: I am in her web. There is only one thing to do. I walk back briskly down the hall into the open rotund, under the crotch of the giantess and ask the receptionist for the men's room. With my suit jacket slung over my arm to hide my bulging pants, I hurry to the men's room. It is a single bathroom, thank goodness. I drop my jacket, fumble with my pants, finally freeing my stiff cock and curl my hand softly around my meat. Slowly I begin stroking up and down. I'll blow my cum, and preempt the danger of her exploiting me. Fine, if this was her trap, I'll give in, but right here in my own hand, on my own terms. I stop to slick my hand with soap and water. I almost groan as I slip my dick into my wet fist. Faster now and harder. As I pump I imagin that maybe she even knows, maybe they all know, the receptionist and every one that works here, that this is what the men do when they come to this office. I imagine them standing around me right now, egging me on to wank my dick harder. Faster! a blond commands. Harder! a brunette orders. On the floor, a red head yells, Fuck the marble floor with your cock. And I do. My knees slowly give way while my pussy-fist slams onto my cock. Now I am flat on the cool marble, pants around my ankles, using both hands on my bare ass cheeks as my hips grind my soap-slippery, rock-hard dick along the marble floor. I bite my lip as my mind hears them all yelling: Cum you fucker! Cum on the floor like a horny, humping dog! Spurt your little seed right here at our feet! Now! And I do, oh God, oh glorious God, I do. Shot after shot after shot. After I calm down, I get up and clean the floor. I splash my face with cold water, dry off, and straighten my appearance in the mirror. Then I return to the conference room. Almost as soon as I get there, a doppelganger of Dolly Parton comes in. "Hi, I am Ms. Valooma. Ms. Bodinski has been waiting for you." I start apologizing, but she interrupts and is already walking out, "Right this way." I am shown into a large, wood-paneled room. The far wall is floor to ceiling glass, overlooking the city. The other wall is a large, semi-circle from one end of the picture window to the other. It is a cherry-paneled wall with padded red leather studded inside each panel. Besides the large wooden desk, which is bare but for a phone, there are only two chairs in the office. A large black leather executive chair behind the desk, and in front of the desk, a simple, leather woven, high-back hair with no arm rests. Ms. Valooma closes the door and leaves me in the room alone. I sit in the chair, place my briefcase at the foot of Natasha's desk, and look out on the city. Eventually, one of the panels opens. I rise as Natasha walks in. "Timmy," she says as she walks in. Her smile is broad, warm and genuine. She is wearing a classic business outfit. Heels, stockings, short skirt, and suit jacket over a white blouse. Her heels are silenced by the carpet as she strides toward me, extending her hand. I hold it, and then do something I have never done before: I bow and barely press my lips against her fingers. Her perfume invades my memories and begins its assault. I rise and look into her yellow eyes. They penetrate and entrance me. "Natasha," is all I can manage to say. I stand and I stare. Stare into the eyes that once – and now again -- control my very core of desire, lust and will. I stare into those eyes and feel they were an abyss, taunting me to jump. Abandon all will and jump. I am overcome by a deep and peaceful weightlessness. I am devoid of all feeling and of all thought. I know there is no hope of maintaining self-control. Nor do I want hope. Or control. Or even self. Not in her presence. And this very idea, that I am nothing in her presence, that with her eyes alone she had just eviscerated my entire self; this idea that there is no shred of hope that I will be able to resist this woman, no matter what she demands; this idea is so powerful and so present that it begins to vibrate through my body like low voltage, and the charge is heading straight into my groin. All the energy of my body and my mind and my soul are now concentrating in my dick and making it swell as I stand there, helpless, in front of this woman. "Timmy, please, call me Ms. Bodinski. After all, this is business, no?" She says in her seductive Russian voice. "Sit!" she says as she walks around to her chair. I sit. "Well, well, Timmy, look what's become of you. A corporate executive in a large company. I am quite impressed. It appears my tutoring did some good after all, hmm?" I smile uncomfortably, lick my lips and slowly begin to regain my wits. "Yes, I am quite happy at this company. And yes, quite a turn-around from that high school kid you knew." "Oh, I don't know about that, Timmy, but we shall see," she says, tailing her lips off in a smile. I feel my face flush hot with embarrassment, and though I am normally never at a loss for words, I struggle to find something to say. "Anyway, let's get down to business, shall we? I'll tell you right off, Timmy, your wire prices are high. Too high even for your quality, with which you tout your company. But rather than negotiate a lower price, I would rather have some leverage to demand your best quality. So, as of the first shipping dates that can be arranged, Body Beautiful will begin sole-sourcing all of its wire from you." "Nata... Ms. Bodinski, this is quite sudden. You haven't even sampled our wire yet." I feel suspicious and quickly alert. "I trust your word that your quality is beyond reproach, Timmy. And I know you wouldn't risk quality at the cost of having me as an account, now would you?" "No, of course not, Natasha. Thank you for your business. I know you won't be disappointed." "Ms. Bodinski." "Sorry," I blush and look down. "Ms. Bodinski." "Well, good. Now that we have that out of the way, let's move on to the next bit of business." "Yes, Ms. Bodinski?" Natasha rises and begins to walk around the desk, trailing one forefinger along the edge of the desk. "Timmy, Timmy, Timmy." I am silent. "Timmy I run a large corporation. And my company's image and reputation depends on the discipline that I can instill here..." "I understand, Ms. Bodinski, and if... "Shut up, Timmy, you're interrupting," she says, folding her arms under her breasts and leaning back to rest her behind against the desk edge. Her Russian accent makes her voice even more severe. "Don't make me annoyed with you. You're in hot enough water as it is. But you're cute, and I have a soft spot for you. Who knows why; perhaps because you were the first boy I ever took, but anyway, I digress. Now, just behave and listen." "Yes, Ms Bodinski," I say, but I am nervous now. Shocked by her sudden change in tone. I feel heat course through my body and concentrate in my cheeks. Why was I in hot water? I thought we had just come to an amiable business agreement. Natasha straightens herself now, pushing off the desk with her behind. She begins circling my chair. "Now, as I was saying, I run this company with an iron fist. Nothing is done without my approval or anticipation of my approval. In this business, unless you instill discipline, you receive no respect. Without respect, your merchandise ends up selling in seedy catalogs. And you don't become the hottest seller of fashionable erotics that Body Beautiful has become." The entire time Natasha is talking, I can smell her perfume. The scent has not changed from that first time she caught me masturbating and punished me for it. I want to turn my head as she walks around me, but restrain myself. My eyes arch to the right, watching her pass, and then roll to the left, waiting for her form to appear, and then follow her as she passes in front of me. Her body inches from me, and my eyes between the bliss of her breasts and the yonder of her yoni. I am beginning to breathe shallower. Embarrassingly, I can't control my cock that is now beginning to swell in my pants. I pray that the lay of the fabric from my sitting position will hide my cock's growing size. "Are you listening to me, Timmy? Because it seems you are distracted." "Yes, Ms. Bodinski." "Good, then let's get to the point. One thing I cannot tolerate is disrespect for my company. Is that clear, Timmy?" "Yes, Ms. Bodinski." "Well then, Timmy. Is there anything you want to tell me now?" She is standing in front of me. Her arms crossed, her legs slightly apart, forcing the skirt tight around her shapely thighs. I stare at her breasts under her blouse rising and falling with her breaths. I am helpless. My cock straightens to its full length, and I figure she is looking right down into my crotch. I startle when I feel her finger under my chin. She lifts my face so that I am looking up into her face, her finger still under my chin. My eyes are wide and my breathing is coming in short takes. I am now that poor rabbit with blood pounding and adrenaline injecting itself into my heart, sensing danger. All I can do is stare directly into her paralyzing yellow eyes. "Well, Timmy? Is there?" I swallow hard and shake my head, truly ignorant of what she expects me to say at this moment. I have nothing but respect for her and her company. Fearing she expects a response, but not knowing what it is, my heart begins to race. I would say anything right now just to please her, to meet her expectation of the cute boy she said I was. I would lie and make up anything just to have her finger move from under my chin to across my cheek and stroke me and perhaps pat my head and tell me what a good boy I am, and how I please her. Right now, I didn't even care anymore that my dick is now pushing up my pants and making a fool of how easily I can be entranced by her, how easily I can be seduced and controlled with my lust for her. Not knowing what she wants, I slowly shake my head from side to side. "No, Ms. Bodinski." Her slap across my face is sharp and shocking. My hand shoots up to cover my cheek and the heat of the sting warms my hand as well as my cheek. Tears flush my eyes, and I hope they don't roll down my face, but it is too late and they are. And most shockingly... my cock engorges even harder with sudden and almost painful pressure. "That's right, go ahead and nurse your face, little cry baby. But don't you ever lie to me again! Understood Timmy?" Her voice is loud and stern. She is wagging her finger at me. The Secret Ownership of Tim Ch. 03 Author's Note to readers: This is a prequel to the other two stories about poor Timmy. * Yellow eyes. Have you ever known anyone with yellow eyes? Except for Natasha Bodinski, I have never known anyone with yellow eyes. Yellow eyes are eerie. Hers eyes spear me, penetrate me, render me helpless. Lionesses have yellow eyes. Surely some snakes have yellow eyes. Owls have yellow eyes. Predators, all of them. Natasha included. I remember the first time I was captured by her eyes. Her Russian parents had just immigrated to the neighborhood. She -- their only child -- quickly began to integrate into the community. Her accent, rather than alienating her, made her exotic. She attracted friends at college easily, almost as if they were mesmerized by her ease as a foreigner in this country. Even my sister, who was in biology with her at UVM, became enamored with her. At the dinner table my sister gushed about Natasha's poise and charm. Whenever I saw her on campus, I made a wide detour. Maybe some of it had to do with our fascination with Russia at the time. The superpower against which we had armored ourselves. The competitor we were taught to hate, to distrust. The grand USSR was hidden behind an Iron Curtain. It gave the country and Natasha an air of mystery. And here she was, not in our country by defeat, or to escape the ruins of her politics, but as if to come and claim our country. How was it that she seemed more cosmopolitan than we? Why did the friends around her, guys and gals alike, talk and act as if they felt compelled to prove to her that they were suave and sophisticated. She jogged every morning. Usually some kind of tight white shirt, tank top or sometimes tee shirt. Shorts. Short shorts. Very short shorts. White, with the UVM logo in green and yellow. White sneakers. Anklet socks. Every morning. Punctually. The rigidity of her punctuality almost scared me. It was a discipline to which I knew I could only hope to aspire. My bedroom window in my parents' house faced the street of our quiet neighborhood. At first, when I saw her jog by, I just stood there in my room and watched, hypnotized to immobility like prey charmed by a snake. Then I began standing by the window, just off to the side and out of sight from the street. I waited. Soon, I began to notice that it was always at seven thirty. In fact, it was exactly at 7:36. And that's when I first felt a stab in my groin. That preciseness frightened me as much as it entranced me. I don't know why it became terrifying. I couldn't help myself: I made sure to be done with my shower and back in my room, watching my watch until 7:35. Then I would raise my gaze slowly with trepidation as if looking up at the tortured Christ nailed to a cross. Sure enough, exactly a minute later, the crucifier would round the corner. The gorgeous Russian was on her victory parade down my American street. Her tits bound in a jogging bra under her white top, but bouncing ever so proudly, ever so confidently. This might be strange to say, but it became almost claustrophobic. It was like a bad repetitive dream. I became obsessed with timing it. My breath would quicken as the time ticked toward the toll of her arrival. Adrenaline surged into my heart when I saw her come into view. The trot of her lithe legs. Her muscular thighs tightening and relaxing. Her calves extending and pushing off. Her arms slightly bent. And between them, her round breasts riding the rhythm of her rigid determination. Surely you can predict what started happening. I set up in front of the window. Naked and dried from the shower. Bent on my knees so that only my head showed above the sill. It was uncontrollable. I was possessed by her command. It is silly to admit, but I felt as if I were a soldier in her army, whose bidding it was to stand at salute for her passing. Somehow I was convinced that other guys, and possibly girls, in the neighborhood along her route were being brought to their knees as well. Volunteering ourselves into the service of her command. Shameful then. Shameful that what began to salute her was my cock. But I had no choice. I was not volunteering at all. I was being pressed into service. I had been conscripted into submission. I was mesmerized by fear and fascination. And both thrilling feelings gorged my saluting cock so hard, it throbbed. All throughout my adolescence I had always feared that my masturbation was too frequent and urgent. I was always deeply shamed by the dirty, degrading and despicable images in my head as I pumped by swollen cock into my bed sheets. I feared cumming and having the stains discovered my Mama when she did the laundry. And so I taught myself to rub but not cum. I taught myself denial. And yet the more I denied myself, the more I needed release. I started cumming in my socks or tee-shirts, hoping it wouldn't be noticed and simply thrown into the washing machine. I would cum and every time, I was instantly guilty about cumming. But this ... this horrifying act of stroking my cock while a women jogged by ... this was final proof of how disgusting and utterly out of control my masturbation had become. There I was, on my knees, a soft tee-shirt wrapped around my hard, stiff cock, stroking while the Zsar of Lusciousness demonstrated her command over me. The contrast was not lost on me. She demonstrated utter self-discipline. While all I could demonstrate was my demonic, disgusting degradation into nothing more than a dick-stroking cum boy. On one bright sunny morning, my timing was perfect, my dick hard with devotion. I was using a tee-shirt to stroke myself. I slowly slid loosely up and down my dick, sometimes squeezing my hand a bit so I had to push my cock in as if having the outrageous fortune of her pussy descending on my cock. The sensations pulsed through my dick and shivered straight up my spine. I watched her jog by my window. Such a perfect body. Her tits, her strong legs, her round ass, all now undressed by my lecherous eyes. I stroked and was planning to throw myself on my bed after she passed, pump my pathetic dick into the tee-shirt covered pillow and blow my cum. It was at that moment, for the first time -- I swear Natasha somehow read my mind -- that she turned her head in mid-stride and looked straight at me. Instantly and involuntarily my face distorted, my mouth opened in that urgent "oh" expression which accompanies complete loss of control, and I saw her eyes. Her yellow eyes. Her strict, relentless eyes. Her glare hit me, invaded me, went deep into my groin and set off an explosion of shame. My cum spurted out and hit my chest and chin. I fell away from the sill. Cum was spattered on my chest and stomach. I lay there and was too terrified to move. I was scared Natasha had stopped jogging and was waiting for me to reappear. That she knew exactly what I had been doing. I panicked that the doorbell would ring any second and she would tell my parents that she was going to call the police on me and have me arrested for being a pervert, a demented peeping tom. I got a hold of myself and peeked over the sill. No Natasha. I wiped my cum off with the tee shirt and stuffed it under my bed. Then I glanced out the window trying to see if she was anywhere. Nowhere. I breathed for the first time, but my heart was still pounding as if I had just finished a 50-yard sprint. All day I fretted. Maybe it was just a glance. How could she possibly have known what I was doing? But inside, I knew. Worse yet, the same illogical thinking that led me to believe all the other foolish things like being a soldier in her army and such... it was that deranged thinking which made me know she knew. And she knew I knew she knew. That whole double, triple, dividing snake of thoughts in your head that just leads you to get further lost in obsession. And obsession is addiction. Yes, that was it: the incident made me addicted to her. So it was no surprise the next morning that even though I had pulled the blinds and left them slanted just enough to peek out, that she, upon jogging by, (my dick hard again, but this time I was too paralyzed with fear and anticipation to masturbate) she looked straight at me again, through the blinds, through my denial, right through to my pathetically predictably uncontrollable cock. With her yellow eyes. It was a quick side-glance. But I saw it all in slow motion: The turn of her lovely neck, her chin lifting through the turn, her eyes seeking their prey, and once finding me, assaulting me with a barrage of invisible needles of addictive serum like porcupine quills. I was hers. Her eyes sucked right through mine and onto my dick. It lasted but a second or two, and her body never lost its prefect stride. Insignificant almost, by any objective measure. But this was not being measured objectively. This was intensely personal. Now I knew for a fact that she knew. The glance was her statement: "I own you." Oh god, listen to how pathetically sick I was. To imagine that some stranger approved of my perverted pud-pulling? What was I thinking? Sick, sick, sick! I was nothing more than a chronic masturbator who now was yanking my filthy meat while spying on an innocent woman. I deserved to be reprimanded for my demented thoughts. Punished. Made to feel violated, just as I had violated her privacy. Yes, my very privacy should be violated. My ass raped and fucked in punishment. By all the women I had ever fantasized about. With Natasha watching. And laughing. And asking: How does it feel to be violated, pervert boy? Huh? And then screaming while yanking my hair back: Answer me! Would I be crying? Would my answer be my sorry, spurting dick? During the next few days, the vigilance of my routine matched Natasha's. I began waking before the alarm, having a bowl of Cheerios mixed with Granola and then returning to my room to complete my workout of squats, pushups, sit-ups and weights. I was in the bathroom by 7 to weigh myself, shower, towel off, and shave. Between 7:32 and 7:34 I was in position: kneeling, naked, my chin resting on the window sill. I no longer pulled the blinds, since Natasha knew I knew. And she wanted me there on my knees, worshipping her. Waiting for two to four minutes is an eternity. My cock would begin swelling, enlarging. I would look down and watch it grow as it flooded and harden itself. It was strange. Almost as if it was not under my command, but hers. Soon it was straight and erect, with the veins pronounced. Sometimes, I would get excited too early, while I was shaving naked in front of the mirror. Then I would have to find a way to hide my protruding boner to get from the bathroom to my room. I was worried my sister would see me. I was exactly in that state one morning, and had "casually" draped a towel over my arm to hide my boner. I was about to open the door and take the two or three steps to my door. But as soon as I opened the door, I startled. My older sister, Devina, was standing directly in front of the door, almost as if she had been eavesdropping. What's more, she was wearing just her pajama bottoms and nothing on top. Her gorgeous breasts were staring right at me. "Oh," I yelped. As I jerked back, the towel dropped. I bent quickly and fumbled the towel to my crotch. I looked up but instead of meeting her gaze, my eyes instinctively strayed to her tits with her small areolas and erect nipples. It's not like we hadn't seen each other naked before. Our house is casual that way. I swear it verges on exhibitionist. I wonder if Mama and Devina would have run around like that if there were a father in the house. Sometimes I even wondered if Mama and Dev pranced around naked just to tease me. Just to goad my cock into gorging. I bet they laughed at my prudishness behind my back. This was the first time Dev had seen me with my dick hard and pointing right at her like a torpedo waiting to be launched. I don't think she caught more than a glance because I reacted swiftly, but still, it was embarrassing. Dev put her hands on her hips now and cocked them to the left shifting her weight to one side. Her mouth spread to an evil grin. "Timmy, you just fucking stared at your sister's tits. A bit of a perv, aren't you? Oh, and look at that!" Now she crossed her arms and flicked one finger casually at my erection. "I guess you weren't quite done in there, were you?" "Whatever!" I mumbled as I tried to get by. She didn't move, forcing me to squeeze my naked body past hers, past her boobs, and fumble into my room, shutting the door behind me. My cock had deflated a bit at the moment but as soon as I was in my room and thinking about it, I got hard again. What the fuck? Why was I getting hard at the thought of my sister shaming me? It made me angry with myself. And even harder. The boiling heat of revenge flushed through me. I had a shocking image of her tied to a bed and me straddling her torso, fucking her tits and then cumming on her face. I blushed with guilt that I could be such a fucking pervert to have such thoughts. I was a sick, hopeless sex monster. Anyway, it was time for Natasha and I was in position. My position of honor and shame. Kneeling. A pathetic, chronic masturbator, kneeling with his dick hard. Stroking it into a soft sock. It felt so good. And now it felt extra hard because of the run-in with Dev. All these females towering over me in my life. I had my hand gently wrapped around my sock-enveloped cock and I was slowly stroking. It felt so soft and smooth in the cotton. It was a soft pussy. A soft pussy that made every nerve in my hard dick tingle with pleasure. Slowly but regularly, I ran my dick in and out of that pleasure hole. Then I firmed up my grip and pumped like I was pushing into her pussy for the first time. Pushing her cunt lips open. Slowly. Easing my fat head into her. Opening her with my dick. Completely enveloped in pleasure. Then I relaxed my grip as I felt the tension building up too much. I backed off on the firmness. And when I did, the precum began to ooze from my cock head. I couldn't help but pull the sock off and put my finger to the clear goo and watch how it dragged a spider web from my cock to my lips. It was so fucking sweet. Then I held the sock against the underside of my cock, along the fat vein. I slid it back and forth. Just like that. Just fucking that pussy with my fat cock-meat. In, out. Oh god. It was so good. So fucking good. It was seconds past 7:35. With the tenacity of inescapable fate, Natasha rounded the corner. Her graceful legs, her white shorts, and a tee-shirt that was cut off raggedly just below her breasts leaving her stomach bare. Her stomach was so smooth. In just about 45 seconds, she would pass my window, turn her head, stab my eyes with hers, and command me to cum. I stroked a bit faster now. My fat meat was so swollen this morning. Especially after getting hard in the shower, then staring into Dev's tits, having her humiliate me for it, and now seeing Natasha prancing her control over me; all this was boiling in my mind just like the cum was boiling in my balls. This was going to be an explosive cum. With one hand I stroked my meat and with the other, I reached down and cupped by balls. I swore I could feel how cum-laden they were. I was entranced and my cock thrilled to the tingles of my masturbation. For a second, I remembered my dick was unsheathed and my cum would make a mess, but it was too late. Besides I wanted to cum so badly I didn't care about anything else in the world. While kneeling there, my body started to twitch with anticipation and pleasure. It was like little electric shocks were being jolted between my balls and my brain. Another 20 seconds at most. "Oh you are in so much fucking trouble!" What the fuck?! I turned and saw Dev, standing there, arms crossed, all her weight on one hip, one leg extended out, tapping her bare foot. She was still just in her pajama bottoms and her arms were crossed under her naked breasts. "What the fuck are you doing, you pathetic pervert? Are you fucking jerking off to Natasha jogging by?" Now she saw me in all my despicable glory, my hard meat in hand. I looked at her, I turned back to look at Natasha, then back at Dev. And then, I swear to god, I saw Dev wink at Natasha. Terrified, I swung back to see Natasha. But she was jogging down the road, never having missed a stride. "Look at you, you disgusting pud-puller. You are stroking that fat piece of meat while watching her jog? How fucking twisted is that? What are you? Some kind of pathetic peeping tom? Actually I think you're fucking lower than that because you don't have the balls to be outside doing it. You're wanking your dick while hiding here in the house with Mama and me. You a fucking little Mama's boy wanker. Holy shit! That's exactly what you are." I began to get up. "Stay right there!" She walked up to me. My eyes flashed to the door, worried Mama would be coming in, but Dev had closed it. I couldn't help it but when I looked back my eyes fell to her tits and followed them until they were towering over me. She stood so close that her waist was inches in front of my face. Now, just as involuntarily, my eyes dropped to straight ahead where her smooth belly was edged by her pajama waistband. From behind that, her pussy taunted me with its odor. Instinctively, I inhaled deeply and my eyelids half closed as wisps of her sex invaded my nostrils like opium. My cock, which had deflated a bit from the incident, now gorged to full rock hardness again. Kneeling there, I felt a hot rush of adrenaline gush into a bottomless pit of degradation, shame and humiliation. The melding of all those sensations burned into my mind like a hot branding iron. That exact moment in my life permanently sealed my sexual fate. I knew I would forever be a depraved, wanton, cum-fixated, boy-whore who wanted women to dominate me, control me, abuse me, humiliate me, and own me. I knelt there with my hard cock and this epiphany was so bright it was blinding. It was terrifying. I was kneeling at the gates of hell and couldn't help myself from being erect, hard and full of cum that longed to gush out. "You are one sick fuck. Wanking off to a girl jogging down the street. Beating your fucking disgusting meat. And now you're staring at my crotch with a fucking erection in your hands." I tore my eyes away and looked straight up until my eyes met hers. "Don't fucking look at me! Did I tell you you could take your fucking eyes off my crotch? Do you think I want to look in your pathetic eyes? That's right, wank boy, that's better. Look at my fucking crotch. You're so fucking twisted. You want to see my pussy, don't you, you fucking sick wanker. You're so sicko that you want to see your sister's pussy. That's fucking twisted. You know how twisted that is?" I swallowed. I couldn't believe the words coming out of her mouth and raining down on me. "Answer me!" she grabbed my hair and yanked my head back. Now I was staring at her tits hanging right in front of my face as she bent over me. Her hard nipples were so close to my mouth. My heart beat so hard I could feel it pulse in my dick. I swallowed and couldn't answer. I just tried to shake my head in denial, but her hand had my hair so tight I could barely move my head. Meanwhile, my eyes were locked on her tits. "No?! Is that what you're trying to fucking say? Are you denying that you're a vile fucking worm who can't control himself?" I tried to nod. She let go of my hair and with an instant move smacked me across the face. My face was turned to the side from the impact. My left hand finally let go of my balls and went to my burning cheek. "You can try to deny it all you want, but now I know you. I know your filthy, dirty secret. You are a chronic masturbator who can't control himself. Look at you, on your knees naked in front your sister. And you've got a hard-on. You know what would happen if I told Natasha about this?" The Secret Ownership of Tim When he awoke, he was untied, and lying face up, with a cool wash cloth across his brow. She was smiling down at him. “Now that you’re my fuck whore, there are so many things I’m going to force you to do. I’m going to take pictures of you in girly clothes. And I will have you come to the girls’ locker room so I can show off my fuck whore to my girl friends. I’m going to make you come to the library and suck the cum out of my pussy under the library table. I’m going to torment you for the rest of your life. And there’s nothing you can do about it. Because I am going to keep your sis’s panties which you splattered all over with your cum because you just couldn’t help yourself, being the chronic masturbator that you are. You are mine, my little slut whore. And unless you want your sis and your mother and everyone at school, and the whole world to know what you did, then you belong to me. You are mine, my little slut whore. And your cock is mine. I own you.” “I own you!” The words echoed in his head now as Tim sat at his desk, perspiring with the memories, staring at the letter from Ms. Bodinski. His pants moist with his hard dick’s pre-cum. And his palms wet with fear. They had lost contact for many years. But now, it appeared, she had found him. He knew he was trapped. He knew he would have to visit her. He was owned.