No! No! It’s a waste of time; I answered my question quickly… my twenty minutes is nearly gone.
I had memorized the last instruction, having read it ten times through… dwelling on what that meant.
Slip your hands behind your back, behind the back of the chair, and work the second handcuff around your right wrist, press it closed until you hear the lock set.
This was crazy. I didn’t even know the man and I was putting myself in bondage from which couldn’t escape. Why?
What made me trust him? Or was it even a matter of trust? Had my life become so tedious that I’d let myself be lured by such sexual promises? Apparently so.
It didn’t matter, however, what my better judgment told me. I completed the bondage as ordered, believing, hoping I’d be rescued and delivered from this crazy lust.
***
The minutes dragged on endlessly, making rude accusations of about my stupidity with each defining tick of the clock. How could I do this to myself? How could I be so foolish when I didn’t even know his name, had never laid my eyes on his face? What craziness had brought me into this horror!
The minutes dragged and I began to sweat. My hands nervously worked the cuffs, as I wondered if I could free myself. But the metal held me fast, made the bondage stick, and continued to remind me of the predicament I’d gullibly walked right in to. No, there was no plan for rescue but the one my master outlined. I remembered his words and prayed.
Be content to wait, Skye. Be content.
How the hell could I be content? Did he know how I suffered? Understand the horror of waiting? My fear of failing him? Failing me? Looking stupid in the eyes of the world, as I naively followed the instructions of an anonymous man?
Yes, of course, he knew. He evidently knew me well—better than I knew myself— and that was why he could so easily put me in bondage without laying a finger on my body.
For a time I disappeared… I’m certain that I didn’t sleep, but I didn’t daydream and I don’t remember being conscious, not until I suddenly heard the sound of a key in the front door. Ah relief! My fear of not being rescued slowly subsided… though it was quickly replaced by more immediate concerns.
The sound of shoes on my hardwood floor became not one pair but two, as the game took an unanticipated turn. Was I prepared for this? Two masters? Was I naïve to think I was dealing with one man alone? What if they were all masters—these mysterious men who populated my office? How many were there? Had I become their slut, their toy to use? I raced from thought to thought afraid of the answers, afraid of the questions.
Then a voice suddenly jerked me out of my hysteria and into reality.
“You say her name is Skye?” I heard the question, but not the answer.
“Voluptuous little thing, isn’t she? You suppose she can take a beating?”
Something cold and thin drew a line between my naked breasts, down my torso to my tummy, finally jabbing me in the crotch.
My flesh jumped. My crotch quickened. I could feel hot tears of fear inside the blindfold.
“How they do play with fire…”
There was but one voice speaking, once voice taunting. The second man was silent, replying silently to his friend.
Something cold and harsh crept up and clamped down on my left nipple; its twin repeated with a steely grip on the right one. My tits dragged heavily from the weight, stretched downward, the skin pinched, a tiny but screaming pain rolling through my body. I bit my lip as my body tensed.
“Better if you relax…” the voice addressed me specifically.
I could sense him circling me, his implement—a baton, a cane, the tip of a knife, perhaps—made contact with my skin in unexpected places: my shoulder, my knee, my ass, scratching the surface and causing me to jerk each time.
I attempted to obey the unseen master and relax, while wondering where the other man had been… was he still there? My breathing slowed, and as the sharp pains in my nipples began to ease, I sensed the wildness in my crotch, the clawing, aching need for sex supplant the heavy ache from the dangling clamps.
“Ooo, yes, look how she squirms to avoid her lust.” He couldn’t be more delighted with my distress.
Perhaps my saner self hated these taunts, but my sexual self was on fire. The need in me ignored for days billowed free now. My only prayer was for release… not from the bondage, but from the ache, the pain of not coming, this crazy sensation that was driving me mad. Heaven help me! I sat before two cruel sadists no long wondering why I put myself in this position, wondering only if they’d get me off.
One was in front of me, the other behind, weaving his fingers through my dark hair, pulling, like he’d strangle me.
“You want to come?”
Yes! I heard his voice… but I still I didn’t recognize the man.
“Yes, sir, I want to come.”
The man in front began to play with me, tease me with his fingers, jab me with his tool and pinch my clitoris until it hurt. Waves of sensation rolled through my body, again and again. I was close to coming.
“You think you’ve earned it, slut?”
“Oh, sir, I hope so. I’ve done everything you’ve asked.”
“Indeed. Indeed you have.”
He pulled my hair down and my head back, as if he could look into my eyes.
As the other man continued manipulating my genitals, I couldn’t wait. He wouldn’t stop, not even for a second. Soon, my body flooded free with this wild excess.
“Oh, pllllleeeeease!” I quietly pleaded to the man above me.
“You’re holding back for me, that’s good.” He let go my hair and my head bobbed forward. “Put her out of her misery,” he said coldly to the other man.
On cue, the man in front increased his efforts so that in seconds, my pussy gushed with juice. The empty cavern clenched, and clenched again, as if it was looking for something inside to bear down on.
So what if it was a wasted effort without a cock in side me. My whole being died in that moment of surrender… taken to heaven with a solitary pleasure.
I was too far gone to hear or feel the handcuffs unlocked. But when the men were at my door, walking out on me, one of them called back, “You can set yourself free, Skye, whenever you’re ready.”
I shook myself awake, while my belly still spasmed in tiny aftershocks of the big quake. I moved fast once I discarded the blindfold, suddenly frantic with new things on my mind. Freeing my bound legs, I raced to the window looking down on the street, straining in the darkness to see what make of car, if any, was speeding away. But the street was empty of traffic, no car doors shut, no pedestrians walked briskly in the night, no masters and voyeurs passed by. They’d already escaped the neighborhood undetected, leaving me to wonder, to worry still who claimed my thoughts so brutally, who owned me with the sound of his vague voice, whose cold typed messages had the power to lure the most degrading acts from me, a girl once innocent of such strange sex.
Chapter Four
In the several days after, my apartment, well being and body were raided in the night, I kept a low profile in the office. Despite the fact that I was terribly curious about my visitors, my apprehensions seemed to prevent my previous bold adventures into the outer offices. I ducked out of hallways, walked rapidly down corridors and spent as much time as possible sheltered by my cubicle, busy with a flurry of important tasks. Even the casual glance from a coworker was likely to make me blush, and I’d suddenly feel a quickening warmth creeping through my body. I was afraid that everyone knew my secret.
In the meantime, I waited impatiently for another message from my email master, dreading but anticipating his next command. There had been just one lone message after the appalling night in my apartment:
It is a credit to you that you’re learning fast. I will be in touch.
Was he out of town for the week following? Had the job taken too much of his time to bother with me? Those questions floated in my brain for days, with no reasonable answers surfacin
g to calm my inner turmoil. This time I had no desire to inspect the office for clues to satisfy my curiosity. I allowed myself to stew in my embarrassment and my quandary.
Five days later, I returned to my desk after lunch—during which I’d gone to the tech office in basement that day, seeking solace from an unknowing Roddy—and clicking into my personal email as usual, I watched the screen flicker as I shrugged off my sweater.
A message from [email protected] popped into my email and I could hardly sit down, nervous as a June bride, my shattered poise making me almost lose it in my wobbly desk chair. My sex hormones began to rumble, making my tummy flutter and my pussy wet. I spent several seconds trying to settle myself, and finally opened the email without redeeming my composure at all.
You’ll find a bag inside your right desk drawer. Take it unopened to the 5th floor conference room, and then follow the instructions to the letter. Leave now… and don’t fail me.
Why would he think I’d fail him?
My right desk drawer always needed a tug to get it open; the lock would jam, and only with the right jiggling could I get it loose. That day, I pressed the knob and it opened without the familiar tug; this was odd. Inside the drawer, at the top, sitting on a spare pair of shoes, my make-up kit, a Kleenex box, and other personal items, was a brown velvet bag, tied with a drawstring at the top. I grabbed it, trying blindly to feel the contents, and then with my insides all keyed up and nearly nauseous, I sped off down the back corridor toward the elevator. Luckily, there was no one to witness my obvious distress, just a janitor who didn’t give a hoot about me, sweeping the floor with a huge dust mop.
5th Floor Conference Room. I didn’t even know there was one.
The 5th floor was the spare parts annex for two floors of Lloyd & Lockhart offices below… a file room, temporary desks for the accounting department during an audit, a little-used lunchroom for secretaries and clerks, who most often opted to leave the building to lunch at one of the cafés, coffee shops or bistros on the street. Grey walls, grey furniture, grey floors, and a Coke machine that droned annoyingly loud; who’d want to spend their lunch hour there? It was my first time through the sparse place and hopefully my last. Although at the moment, I was too engrossed in finding the Conference Room to care. I listened to the clicking of typewriters and computers in the two offices along the corridor and arrived at the end of the hall, standing in front of a windowless door, labeled with a black plastic plaque, Conference Room.
Inside, the environment was a little more hospitable than the rest of the 5th floor. A blue-green carpet covered the linoleum tile and the chairs and conference table were a warm blond wood, smooth with rounded edges. Across the wall opposite the door was a bank of undraped windows that looked down on the street. I dropped the brown velvet bag onto the table and peered outside, feeling grateful that I wouldn’t need to worry about anyone surprising me.
Beyond the glass, beyond the busy city street below, were residential neighborhoods of simple wood frame and brick trimmed houses. To the left, the street meandered down a hill to the riverfront where trendy shops lined the thoroughfare; and to the right in the distance, the middle class neighborhoods ended at the woods of the city park, which stretched on for some distance, farther than my eye could see.
I turned back, staring at the velvet bag for what seemed like many minutes—although it was probably just seconds—immobilized by my fear. My mind flashed back to the incident in my apartment five days before. It was enough to make me split the scene, leaving the bag and my desires in favor of my sanity. Instead, my hands of their own volition impulsively flew to the satin ties, tugging and pulling the opening apart. I shook out the contents: a note, rope wrist cuffs, dildo, high-heels and assorted clamps spilled loudly onto the wood surface … so loudly I wanted to smother the noise with my body. Did it call attention to my presence there? Was there anyone who might be curious? I furtively looked around, any second expecting someone to come popping through the doors to investigate.
I could have fled the room, but like a robot with no mind of my own, I picked up the note and began to read the instructions.
Place one of the large armchairs before the window, then strip naked. Replace your shoes with the high-heels. Cuff each wrist in a leather cuff, and then lubricate the anal plug—so this was an anal plug!—with your pussy juices. There should be enough to coat it sufficiently so the plug slides neatly into your ass. Hold it there—it should stay with little effort. Then place the connecting nipple pins over your nipples and squeeze them tight. When you feel a small ripple of pain, stop and let the chain dangle free. Go slowly, let every step arouse you. Next, tie ropes to the top of each forward chair leg and attach them to the large clamps, which can rest on the chair seat until you’re ready to use them.
Finally, position yourself bending forward over the back of the chair—the one he wanted me to use hit me at my waist—and then with a little ingenuity you’ll be able to lock the rings embedded in the wrist cuffs to the clamps. Pull tight; they are designed to lock up short, preventing you from releasing yourself.
By the time I’d followed each order, my heart was about to jump through my chest, my palms were wet with sweat and there was a shine across my body that must have made me glow in the yellow light from above. I wished I’d not snapped the lights on the moment I entered the room and had left it dark; but at the time, it was as grey inside as the cloudy day outside. Once I completed the self-bondage, just like the night in my apartment, there was no way I could escape without someone there to help—at least none that came to mind.
Allow your body to feel, Skye. Relish the sensation, and look forward to the impact that will follow.
Close your eyes; I’ll be there soon.
There I was, poised over the back of a sizeable armchair, legs spread and my arms stretched before me, secured to the legs in front. Dangling from my pinched nipples, the chain hung heavily, drawing the flesh out to the limit of its endurance, and at the same time creating a most exquisite ache.
Allow your body to feel, Skye. Relish the sensation, and look forward to the impact that will follow.
Close your eyes; I’ll be there soon.
Was it possible to relish the feel of this? Impact… what did that mean, I wondered as I waited in the silent, stuffy, room.
Close your eyes; I’ll be there soon.
With the lights from above beaming down on my bound body, I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and told myself not to panic.
It would seem that my life as this master’s submissive would be filled with long stretches of time, waiting… the rush, the warmth, the exploding sexual energy of anticipation and then the wait, the endless wait… the tease, the seduction, the mind-fuck, the forbidden lust. This was what drove me into danger, what threatened my sanity, turned off my good judgment, propelled me headlong forward. It didn’t look pretty. It wasn’t romantic. Nothing about this looked like love—unless you could call my plunge into the sexual Netherlands a daring act of self-love. My lust followed its own logic into a world that was at the same time degrading, insane and glorious.
By the time the lights went off, I was swimming in the sensations that flooded my body, almost orgasmic as the dildo in my ass moved with the involuntary massage of my inner muscles. I was so far inside myself that I hardly realized someone had entered the room, until I felt something touch my back. My eyes shot open for an instant and then closed again even tighter when the sudden rap of a whistling cane seared the flesh of my ass.
“Yeeeeeeeesh!” I exclaimed under my breath.
“Oh, so you want an audience,” the voice spoke softly.
“No, sir,” I whispered quietly.
He struck again with a blistering cut across the top of my thighs, and I couldn’t prevent a tiny cry from escaping my lips. But then, afraid he’d be upset with me, I sucked in air and bit my lip. It might have even bled a bit.
“Enough?”
I heard the question in his voice but didn�
��t now how to reply, so I kept my silence.
His hand was at my ass, pressing the dildo into me rhythmically, as he would a cock. Then, his fingers dropped lower, massaging my pussy, the labia and clitoris, and finally pinching the tiny bud of my clit until I almost cried out. He knew my body was screaming with arousal, backed by pent-up, unspent need. With just the slight manipulation of his fingers, the dam inside me seemed to burst and my body went taut. I pulled up tugging on the cuffs and shook the chair with my shaking body. The heavy chain between my breasts tore at my nipples, as if it would tear them off, while tiny rivers of pain shooting from the pinched skin expanded the deep orgasmic pulse of climax. My pussy grabbed at air as it came, yearning for the cock that should have been there. Meanwhile, behind me, bending over my body, the master of my fantasyland clutched my hair with one hand and shoved the anal plug ever deeper into my ass.
By chance, perhaps just by accident, I opened one eye again, just long enough to see the cuff of his shirt and the gold cufflink gleaming in the light above. I shut it tight again as soon as the fact registered in my brain. I was angry with myself for peeking, for having such ill-gained knowledge about my master. Like a child at Christmas, stealing glimpses of his presents before Christmas morning, I was stealing away the mystery and denying myself the pleasure of surprise.
The incident in the 5th Floor Conference Room ended when my master let go my hair and pulled the anal plug from my ass—it exited with a swooshy sort of pop. He removed the clamps from my nipples, along with their connecting chain. The briskness of the act almost made me howl as blood rushed back to fill the tortured flesh. He worked methodically, removing the wrist-cuffs and the clamps that attached them to the chair.
“You’ll keep the shoes and wear them when I ask you to,” he informed me, as a way of saying goodbye.
Force Me To Obey Page 4