This
work is protected under the Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs
2.0 license.
You
are free to copy, distribute, display, and perform the work under the following
conditions: you must give the author credit; you may not use this work for
commercial purposes; you may not alter, transform, or build upon this
work.� For any reuse or distribution, you
must make clear to others the license terms of this work.� Any of these conditions can be waived if you
get permission from the copyright holder.�
Your fair use and other rights are in no way affected by the above.� (Full license)
Third
Date
By
Toran
I see her through pain hazed eyes as she
tinkers with one of the knots on the miles of rope she's tied to my body in a
seemingly random spider web.� Her image
is upside down because that is the position she has me in as I hang in the
center of her cold dark basement.� She
giggles from time to time as she pulls rope loops that have somehow worked
loose, and every constriction causes the blood to pulse just a little harder
behind my eyes.
Our third date doesn't start as innocently
as the other two.� She's the one that I
have a crush on almost immediately after starting my job at the place where we
both work.� She walks around the office
in her pointed high heels and seems to enjoy the whispered snarls behind her
back, the ones that usually end with 'bitch'.�
Those rumors, of a dark side and bizarre interests - they are the
offering scent that floats on the wind and catches my nose, as my body is
caught now.� Her outfits of leather, her
piercing eyes and not-so-subtle patronizing tones cause my heart to flutter and
it isn't long before I follow her around like a beaten puppy.� Soon, she is calling me 'her boy' to my
friends and co-workers, and behind the red that creeps across my cheeks I am touched
so deeply that her towering image begins to haunt my dreams and fantasies.� Dreams where I am strung up
before her and flogged into unconsciousness.� Dreams where I am pierced
with hundreds of tiny needles.� Dreams where my only sexual release comes after she reduces me to
tears and welts and dried blood.
I hear the wall crank ratcheting its
metallic song and somewhere it clicks that she's lowering me to the floor.� The red that clouds my vision is from
endlessly swaying upside down at the mercy of her crop.� Her Goddess form slides into view and she is
brimming with tears, she is so pleased.�
I moan, my pain suddenly gone, so far away, replaced
by warm golden light, that my suffering has somehow pleased her.� Her auburn hair brushes my face as she checks
the packing that is three layers thick in my mouth.� I close my eyes as I feel her roll another
tight band of tape around what still seems to be my lower face - her sopping
wet panties, followed by medical wrap so tight my cheeks bulge, followed by tight
white sealing tape that wraps around my head.�
And now, more tape.� I imagine my
jawbone lost in a tight sheen of tape, from nose to the tip of my chin.� She whispers silk in my ear, 'You're making
too much noise, pet.'
I get assigned to a project that she's
managing.� Immediately, she finds ways to
chastise me - the work is late, the work is poor, the work is never going to
get done under deadline.� We work late
into the night, together, alone, me running to the pop machine whenever she is
thirsty.� Me
hardly controlling my throbbing dick when she asks me to give her a back rub -
her muscles are so tight from finding my mistakes.� Me turning beat
fiery red when she points out that giving her a foot massage at 3 in the
morning is making my pants 'grow in interesting places'.
I feel ashamed at her treatment.� I know that she is obviously marking me,
either as her professional whipping boy, or, and my heart flutters fast in my
chest, her sexual toy.� But when I begin
to ask her out� for
drinks, she laughs and changes the subject.�
This is why I wear her panties.�
She plops a
She runs her nailed fingers across my
chest, bouncing from rope to rope, her thighs, soft and silky and warm in this
cold cold basement rest against my waist as she
kneels over me.� Her fingernail catches
the nipple rings, still painful because they are so fresh, and she blinks
slowly at my pain.� I know her pussy is
sopping from this, I know that she's already sat in the corner and masturbated
twice while flicking my balls with her leather crop.� I know that her appetite can be slowed to
simmer and that she can climb the basement stairs and flick off the lights and
leave me here in the darkness without much thought, to be available whenever
she feels the hunger.
Of course, she tells me that only when I
wear the necklace she gives me, the one with her initials plainly monogrammed
in the center of the delicate chain, only then can she begin to consider going
out with me.� I should walk away.� I should run away, actually.� But, she stirs things inside me that are
dark.� And inviting.� And right.�
And her power is what washes over me and cleanses me of my need to be
anything but her pet.� At her feet, her
beck and call, the end of her whip.� And
now that I wear her panties, and her necklace, she ignores me.� She flirts with some of my co-workers who
smirk as they banter, all the while glancing at her necklace around my neck.
I know now that teasing is her thing.� She clamps my nipples, squeezes my balls,
drips wax on my chest and always takes me to the brink of tears or explosive
orgasm - and that's what gets her off, gets her wet, makes her want me almost
as much as I want her.� But its her tease.� She
hurts every inch of my body, plays with my dick and balls, and only
masturbates.� In soft throaty whispers,
she tells me that when she is ready to come down off her throne, when she feels
I am ready to worship her and please her in the way she demands, when I have
proven through torture and torment that I am worthy to feel her power fully -
she will consume me.
Her breath warms my ear and then her soft
wet lips play with my earlobe.� My arms
are numb, my fingers only appendages without movement.� My balls are a light shade of blue, save for
the angry red marks of her switch.� My
toes have become cold and lifeless from lack of blood in the upside down
position.� Time stretches on end between
her soft, warm baths where she reduces my restraints from severe to light and
the torments become pleasant as she suds my always-naked body with scented soap.� Her naked body sometimes slips into the large
tub and rubs against me and it takes every once of will to keep myself from
filling the water with the seeds of my pleasure.� She tweaks my ringed nipple and pats my
head.� She raises her nyloned
leg up and straddles my ears leaving her pussy just inches from my nose.� I drink in her smell and wish that I were
ready now, ready to please her, ready to become unfettered enough to touch her,
to run my fingers through her auburn tresses, to suckle her nipple and roll the
button of her clit between my two fingers.
She lowers her pussy and rubs her perfume
across my nose.� Then gets up, throws a
blanket over me climbs her stairs.� The
complete darkness that follows the flick of the basement light pales to the
blackness in my heart.
We see the movie Castaway on our first
date and she spends the entire time telling me that Tom Hanks is fighting his
prison - he should just submit and offer his soul to the sun Goddess.� I fight back the laugh - sun Goddess - and
she senses this and quickly slides her hand down my pants and squeezes my balls
so hard I tear up.� She doesn't say a
word the rest of the night and it is two weeks of groveling at her feet before
she even acknowledges me.� And that gives
me pause to wonder exactly how deep into this I've fallen.
Our second date is dinner at the most
expensive restaurant in town.� By her
third glass of Dom Perignon she is staring at me with
animal lust, her pointed heeled foot planted squarely between my legs under the
table, her toe flicking my rock hard dick with feline impatience.� She insists on driving and tells me that she
wishes me to be gagged.� My only choice
is to sit up front with her and that big rubber ball buckled on me or to ride
in the back seat, hand cuffed and blindfolded.�
I choose the second option and immediately see the disdain in her
eyes.� She roughly cuffs my hands behind
my back wraps a strap of leather tightly across my eyes.� I end up kneeling on the backseat floor while
she drives for hours, soundlessly, every now and then snaking a hand between
the seats to crack my ass.
Our third date, the one that hasn't
officially ended yet, if it ever will, starts with me at attention, naked save
for her panties, in the center of her front room.� She wears nothing but a silky teddy, black,
and long high heels.� Her hands roam my
body, rubbing, squeezing, pinching everywhere but the one place I wish she
would touch.� Her lips brush mine and
when I lean into her, finally wondering if her kiss is as wonderful as my
dreams, her fingers dig into my balls.� I
look into her eyes, consumed by her power over me.� She leads me to a chair and soon I am tied
tightly to it.� Eyes never leaving mine,
she slips her panties off and opens my mouth.�
They are wedged deep inside, my lips taped shut
and her juices on my tongue before I can even murmur.
She rummages around behind me and I hear
small metal noises.� Then she is
straddling my torso, her naked pussy so close to my throbbing dick, her legs
tucked around my waist, her arms on my shoulders.
"This is the last step, pet.� This is your first real gift to
me."� She kisses me briefly my taped
lips and I almost swoon.� Then it is her
teeth on my nipples biting and sucking and working my tiny buttons to a raw
red.� Our eyes locked, she reaches over
me a brings an ice cube to my eyes.� Slowly, working the melting frozen water
deeper and deeper into my red flesh, she numbs my nipples, hips rocking with
every buck of my body.� Her breathing
coming faster, she throws the ice cubes to the floor and grinds her wet pussy
into my waist, never letting me come, she orgasms twice in quick succession.
Flushed, she reaches behind me and shows
me a long, slender needle.� My eyes open
a little.� I am tied.� There is nothing she does to me that I can
remotely stop.� I have trusted her , given to her my body, my masculinity, my soul.� This too, I will give her, this act of
branding, this permanent mark.� Quickly, deftly, she punctures first one
nipple, then the other and lowers her head to suckle my blood.� My muffled cries and steady writhing stir her
up again and she rides my tied body a third, then forth time.� Wiping tears from my face with one hand, she
works a ring into each nipple.
"You are now marked, pet.� You are mine
now."� Lost in the blur that follows
is the blindfolded, hobbled walk down her basement stairs, the endless wrapping
of rope about me, the suspensions, the whippings, the long endless periods of
blackness punctuated by soft and soothing baths in the basement bathroom.� She says she has made arrangements to have my
position at work changed to permanently offsite status.� She has shown me things from my apartment
that she says she moved over here.� She
says that this is my home and that I am to be permanently confined; either in
leather shackles or in the cage she has loaded.�
Part of me soars at the idea of being her forever slave.� It's the other part, that dark part from
where this all began, that asks me in a whisper, 'is this is enough?'