by Trent Evans
Opening her thighs still more, she slid her chair in, boxing her slave in under her desk. She tapped her furred mons with a single finger. “Get to it, boy.”
It was impossible for her not to shudder as that increasingly agile tongue pressed itself to her slit, those surprisingly soft, full lips molding themselves to her hard clit, easing the hood aside to dart against that most sensitive part of her.
Before long, any pretense at working was abandoned, her hand submerged in his hair, his nose hard against her mound as she ground her pussy against his entire face, coating him utterly in her wetness, marking her slave as her own with her own scent. She wanted him to forever associate her scent with his submission, his subjugation, even his shame. She reveled in all of it, in the way she’d bent her slave to her will, to every lustful twisted impulse she dared entertain.
“Suck that clit, boy. Harder!” She gasped as he took it between his lips, drawing upon it, the wet sounds coming from between her thighs, her breathy moans and sighs the only thing that could be heard in the room. “That’s it… oh fuck, that’s good. That tongue is like magic now.”
He had no choice but to obey, yes. But in truth, he’d ceased resisting now. Even the pain he seemed to accept, if not welcome. But was it acceptance borne of a nascent affection, of emotion? Or was it simply a man surviving the ordeal of his captivity, enduring his penance — one that even he knew now was richly deserved.
She tugged at his hair, looking down at the top of his head as he worked her sex with his mouth and tongue. “You like licking Mistress’ cunt?” He looked up at her then, her juices gleaming upon his chin, his lips an inflamed red. She reached under with her other hand and smacked his face sharply. Pulling him against her once more, he made a sound of protest against her flesh. “No, I didn’t tell you to stop. Get that tongue in there.”
Groaning, she dropped her head back as he thrust it deep, plunging over and over, his stubble rasping against her labia pleasingly. “Oh, that’s a good boy. Just like that!”
Within seconds, she was nearing her climax, her voice a high-pitched purr. “Harder. Get that fucking tongue in or I’ll whip your ass raw!”
A final flurry of his clever tongue across the top of her clit and she went off, her body going rigid as her orgasm took her. She soaked his face with her fluids, her wetness flooding over his tongue, down his chin. She could hear droplets of it splatting to the hard wood floor he knelt upon.
Breath whistling in and out of her lungs, lightheaded, she slumped in her chair, twitching and murmuring as he gently cleaned her — just as he’d been exactingly trained. It had taken more than a few painful lessons with the cane before he’d understood he was to lick up every trace of her juices before his service was at an end. Laying her sodden panties on the bed and forcing his face into them, grinding his nose against her scent had proven to be a particularly effective way of emphasizing her point.
He was particularly thorough now.
She waited for her heartbeat to return to normal before gently pushing his head away, pushing her dress back down her legs as she opened her laptop.
“You just stay down there nice and quiet,” she murmured casually. It was as if she were cooing to a favored pet. “You be a good boy, and we can get you out of there soon. I need to get a few things done first.”
She couldn’t help but wonder what he thought about down there, his face coated in her fragrant essence. Was the darkness a torment of its own, or did it offer him a sort of shelter for his shame? Out of sight, if not out of mind.
Never out of mind… which is a problem, don’t you think?
* * *
“Open your legs wider, boy.” She slapped his inner thigh, a ghostly image of her slender fingers darkening upon his pale flesh. His hard, weeping cock jerked at the sting, his teeth grinding. “Wider!”
“I — that’s as far as I can.” His cheeks were red, but his eyes flashed as he bit out the words. “I’m not fucking Gumby here, you know.”
She couldn’t help but laugh at that, despite the fact she should have given him a dose of the whip for his defiance.
His arms were hiked up in a leather sleeve behind him, the end where his fists were encased in a single thick glove was affixed to the chain descending from the ceiling. He stood on his feet, but the traction on his arms forced him to bend over, his torso roughly parallel to the floor. His legs were spread wide, his heavy balls swinging below him, his cock, hard as ever, pointed almost directly at her, mere inches away.
Sitting primly before him upon a low, padded stool, her hands laced together across her bare thighs, Anna waited. She’d come into the room wearing only lace panties and crop top that hugged her breasts. She’d even dispensed with her heels this time, experimenting to see how he reacted.
It was the sort of outfit her captive was helpless to resist. She knew he loved her long legs; though he’d never admitted it; his cock always told the real story. So, she’d decided to give him plenty of what drove him crazy.
Next to her upon on the roll-around cart was the Taser, set out for him in plain sight. She knew she didn’t need it anymore, but before Darynn had blown her lid, she’d insisted Anna take it with her whenever she was alone with him.
If only Darynn knew the transformation of the man bound before Anna at that moment.
“Do you remember the last time you spilled your seed?” She asked it in a quiet voice, unhurried. It would force him to concentrate in order to hear her.
“I-I don’t even know how long I’ve been here.”
“Does that mean you’d like to come, Quinton?”
He met her gaze. “Yes, Mistress.”
“I like that. Very good.” She flicked aside the dark cloth at the top of the cart, revealing what she had in store for him. It was one of the only true surprises she’d decided to spring on him. She found knowledge to be far more effective when it came to dealing with a defiant male. If he knew what was coming, had time to think about it, dread it, rationalize it away, it worked on him like almost nothing could.
But she also liked to be unpredictable. Keeping a male on his toes, always guessing, was something she liked very much indeed.
His eyes widened, his mouth falling open as he beheld what had laid beneath the cloth.
“What… is that?”
“I think you know very well what it is. It’s a cock cage, stubborn man. We’re going to take care of these erections of yours that keep cropping up. When I see that cock of yours standing up so proudly, it makes me suspect your mind isn’t where it needs to be.” She drummed her thumbs together in her lap. “And where should your mind be, boy?”
“On you, Mistress.”
“Which part, specifically?”
He glared at her for a split second, and she simply beamed at him.
“Your… pussy. Mistress.”
“That’s right. While I realize your cock might very well get hard from thinking about my pussy, I know you better than that. I know that selfish streak is still there. We may have suppressed it… but we haven’t beaten it from you entirely, have we?”
He knew better than to answer that one.
“So, I’m going to give you a choice. Always a choice, yes?” She picked up the black leather flexible paddle, holding it up for him to see. Numerous holes had been drilled through the smooth gleaming surface. He paled as he looked upon it. “You can either take forty from this, and then be allowed to drain those aching balls of yours. Or”—she fingered the stainless steel cage, lovingly tracing it with her fingertips—“you can be a good, obedient slave and slip this on, and spare yourself this dreadful paddle. And you might even hope that sometime in the future your Mistress will let you come. If you’re very, very good.”
He looked down, swallowing hard. “The… first one.” His cock bobbed as he said the words, his arousal obviously torturing him.
“Before you decide, there is something you need to know. If you choose the first option, then your already well-beaten bott
om is going to be left black and blue by this paddle…and you’ll be presented with the exact same choice tomorrow night.”
“Jesus Christ,” he whispered, not daring to meet her eyes.
“I’d like you to choose — and quickly. Or your Mistress might choose both for you.”
His head lifted, gaze coursing over the metal, then darting to the deadly paddle she flipped back and forth in her hand.
The agony of the Hobson’s choice. Few things made her pussy drip more.
“The cage.”
She wasn’t sure she’d actually heard the words. “Speak up, boy.”
“I choose… the cage. Mistress.” His head hung down as he said it.
“For all your defiance and disobedience, you can be absolutely adorable now and then.” She set the paddle down on the cart, and he jerked at the sound, his visceral fear of it plain. He was right to be terrified of the vicious black leather.
Plucking the cage from the cart, she turned it in her fingers, letting the smooth metal catch the light. Shaped like a flaccid cock with a wide ring at the base, it was simply, yet devastatingly effective. “Now, this is actually two pieces, young man. The first”—she separated the base ring from the curved shaft— “goes over those disobedient, swollen balls of yours, like so.”
She took firm hold of his scrotum, forcing each of his testicles through the ring one at a time. He jerked and grunted as she handled him so matter-of-factly. She knew many men found such treatment of the testicles to be distinctly uncomfortable.
Judging by his winces, his quivering thighs, she suspected Quinton was one of those men. That discovery made her smile.
“There — I like that!” The ring fit snugly around the base of the scrotum, gathering the heavy balls together below, separating them distinctly from his penis. His erection hadn’t subsided one bit, despite the uncomfortable fondling of his genitals, so she reached back for the cart, retrieving the thin, flexible strap.
“Wait — what are you—?”
Taking careful aim, she snapped the strap across the glistening head of his cock, a thick string of fluid flipping up into the air as his penis bounced under the impact.
“Fuck!” He dropped his head, grunting.
She didn’t wait for more from him, striking precisely upon that swollen head twice more, the third blow drawing a strangled cry from Quinton’s lips. His cock began to deflate almost immediately then, its owner panting and cursing under his breath.
“That’s better,” she said softly, setting the little strap back down upon the cart, waiting patiently until his penis went fully soft.
“You could have… I don’t know, just waited.” He refused to look at her as he said the words.
“You don’t make your Mistress wait, Quinton.” She gripped his cock, pinching the head between two sharp nails, making him hiss. “Ever.”
Threading his penis through the curved cage, she snapped it in place, connecting it to the ring at the base. Lining up a round hole on the shaft piece, with a matching hole on the base of the ring section, she felt around the metal to ensure the fit was correct. “Anything pinching?”
“No,” he whispered.
She gently flicked one of his captive testicles and he cried out. “No, what?”
“No, Mistress!” he yelled, the veins standing out at his neck.
“Now that we know it fits, there’s one more thing to take care of.” She slipped off the shaft of the cage, and pushed his testicles back through the ring, one at a time, Quinton making a frantic little sound as she eased the second one through.
He sagged down in his bonds then, letting out a long, ragged breath.
“Look at me, boy.”
He shuddered, then his head slowly raised. His eyes were tear bright, but there was still the fire of defiance, even rage somewhere in there.
Very good.
“Do you want to come?” She used the tip of her finger to stroke just under the head of his penis, where she knew he was most sensitive. His shaft began to swell.
“Yes, Mistress.”
“And do you deserve to come?”
His cock was almost all the way back up as he slowly shook his head. “No, Mistress.”
“No, you most definitely don’t.” She took hold of the hot, pulsing shaft, loving the feel of his heat in her hand. “But Mistress is going to let you come anyway. Just this once. Would you like that?”
His eyes opened wide. “Oh, thank Christ. Yes!”
“Then be a good boy and come very quickly in your Mistress’ hand, and we can get this over with. Hurry now.”
He seemed to know instinctively what she wanted, his hips beginning to buck immediately as she gripped his cock in her fist. She didn’t even deign to move her arm, rather simply content to hold the thrusting cock as he did all the work, as he desperately tried to achieve such a long-denied pinnacle. She watched him closely, and when his heavy balls pulled up tight, his penis swelling still more in her palm, she let him go, staring into his eyes as the furrow grew upon his strong brow, as the realization hit that she could — and would — deny him at any point until his seed was actually spurting forth.
“Please don’t do this, Mistress. Please let me come.” He shook his head, a wild desperation in his eyes. “Please!
Taking hold of him again, she slowly pumped his shaft as she gave him a sly smile. “That depends upon you, boy. If you’re very good, you might just get what you want. Now, get moving. If you take too long, I might change my mind.”
He was lunging frantically in seconds as she held him in her grasp again… and once more, she slapped his swollen shaft away just as he began to groan. Rather than curse and beg though, he simply waited, too humiliated to look at her as his hips gently thrust. It was as if he could no longer maintain control of them, of his overwhelming need.
Twice more she did this, Quinton’s lost groan his only reply as she left him hanging upon the precipice.
“Oh, please. I… beg you,” he whispered miserably. “Please…”
The sound of his voice alone almost made her come right there, her sex squeezing with need.
Not yet.
This time it would be her that sacrificed, if only for a few minutes.
Taking him in both hands this time, she held him firmly at the base of his cock, her other hand taking up the large scrotum, lifting it upon her palm then gently squeezing it. He jerked, the hard muscles of his thighs standing out starkly.
“Look at your Mistress.” It was a breathy whisper.
He met her eyes then, just as she closed her lips around the head of his cock, the tip of her tongue tasting the salty essence weeping from the slit there. He knew better than to look away as she formed her lips into a tight O, drawing upon that swollen head only. The suction was more than he could endure, and he jerked, his head flying up, his eyes rolling back, the tendons at the base of his neck going rigid.
Popping her lips from his cock, she held it high as the spurts began, watching avidly as each thick arc of pearly semen flew through the air. One leaped forth with such force, it splatted against her knee, the fluid hot against her skin. She scooped it up and licked it from her fingertip as she watched the last of his eruption pour forth from his tortured, long-denied penis.
“There… there. Isn’t that better?” She cooed the words as she let his cock go to dangle below him, the last of his seed extending toward the floor in a long, thin gossamer line. She gently caressed his balls, his cock jerking with one more feeble jet, his erection slowly subsiding. “Any more? You’ve made a horrible mess of my floor.”
“Sorry… sorry… Mistress.” He slurred the words, his hair hanging down in front of his face. His thighs shook spasmodically, the chain suspending his arms skirring as he tried to keep his balance.
Wiping the remnants of his seed from the tip of his now soft penis, she presented her sticky fingers to his lips. He tentatively licked them clean, his shame burning bright.
“Now, let’s get this taken
care of.” She fitted his testicles — which surprisingly seemed if anything even more swollen than before he’d ejaculated — through the ring. He was so exhausted that he barely stirred as she did it. Slipping the curved cage around his penis, she ensured it aligned correctly, then flipped back the last corner of the cloth upon the cart.
Quinton grew very still as he beheld what was revealed.
Taking up the pair of tiny silver keys, she bounced the decorative lock in her palm, his feverish eyes following it with a mixture of horror and fascination.
The sound of the lock snapping shut made her clit throb, and Quinton visibly recoiled from it. She dangled the keys in front of his face, grinning at him.
“I’ll keep these in a safe place for you.” She caressed the metal prison holding his manhood hopelessly locked away. “Now, that should help you keep your mind where it belongs, don’t you think?”
Chapter 27
It was a mantra I was very familiar with, and very much believed:
This is a lot better than being down in that cell.
I needed to remind myself of that. A lot.
I often repeated that same mantra as I laid down for the night. I rarely fell asleep before she did. Many a night were spent curled up on that pad, shivering, as I comforted myself with the soft sound of her breathing, with the fact that things could always be worse.
An elaborate routine had developed between us. Awakened early each morning, often by a tug on my collar, I was made to crawl from the soft pad I slept on at the foot of Anna’s bed.
My place was on my knees as I watched my Mistress’ ablutions. I ceased to remark on the fact that even in my mind, I called her Anna less and less, that she’d become much more than merely Anna to me. It just was the new normal, my reality — and one that, increasingly, I accepted as just and right and true.
I was often allowed to watch her shower, and those were the sweetest — and most agonizing — sessions imaginable. My hated cage ensured each erection was strangled before it started, each time, my shame flaming on my cheeks, my frustration making my teeth grind.