by Loki Renard
This man is perverted. But this feels incredible. My eyes fly open wide as the tip of his tongue swirls around my bottom hole. I feel dirty. I feel perverse. I feel strangely cared for, a naughty runaway kitten being tended by a much bigger male.
No man I have ever been with would do this. I’ve been with guys who wouldn’t go down on my pussy at all. Ethan Keller just took charge and blew the memory of every single last one of them out of the water.
My pussy is responding jealously to the attention my ass is getting. I can feel my inner walls clenching, my lips starting to flower and swell with desire. But Ethan doesn’t give my sex even the lightest touch. It is all about my ass.
He teases that bud with the very tip of his tongue, makes me feel how sensitive it is. Little trickles of arousal are finding their way through my body at his urging. My breath condensates against the leather beneath me as he utters a growl and rears up above me. I hear something click. A cap maybe. And then the heat from his mouth is replaced with cool liquid drizzling down the crevice of my ass. It pools in the indentation of my anus, and continues to slither down across my lower lips down to the upholstery. We’re going to make a mess, one Ethan won’t be cleaning up.
He hasn’t said a word. Doesn’t need to. I’m saying them all to myself in my head. I am about to be fucked in the ass.
The head of his cock presses against the tightest part of me. I don’t think it can fit, but he makes it fit.
“Breathe,” he advises as I whimper.
It would hurt more if I wasn’t so horny, but even so it hurts enough. My ass is not used to this. The tight ring of my sphincter tries to resist the hard rod of his cock as he pushes it in.
“Put your hands back,” he says. “Hold your ass open.”
I do as he says, hoping it will make it easier on me. It does, a little, but it is also much more embarrassing to be fucked in the ass and be helping him to do it. This is a punishment, and I’m complicit in it.
The hard rod of his cock sinks deeper as my bottom gives way to him. I hear him grunting over the road noise of the car rumbling through city streets. The feeling of being impaled in my ass is like none I could ever have imagined. It’s very different from my pussy, harder to take, and without the same inner sensations. My bottom was not made for fucking, but he is going to fuck it anyway.
“Hold those cheeks open,” he reminds me gruffly, his cock sinking slowly into my spread asshole. It’s a slow intrusion and it comes with the rumbling beneath me as the car traverses the streets. This is shameful. This is filthy. My face is pressed against the car door, my arms are arched behind me, my hands spreading the cheeks he whipped with a belt yesterday.
And his cock is sinking inside me. His cock feels like hard, hot steel as he pushes past the tight ring of muscle that protects my tender bottom. He will leave me with no hole unused. He will fuck me and come in me and he will use me until he is satisfied.
I hear the pleasure of his groans as he pushes deeper still, making my muscle yield to him, using a part of me that was never intended for this purpose. There’s a tightness and a stretching. It hurts a little, but he doesn’t care that it hurts. He wants it to hurt. He wants to punish me.
With every inch he pushes inside me, he proves his dominion over me. “Next time, it won’t just be my cock,” he growls. “I can find a dozen things to push inside your little ass, stretch you out so wide you could take multiple men at once. Maybe that’s what I should do to you. Share you out among the people you’re trying to fuck over, and let them fuck you.”
It’s a bullshit threat, but he’s an asshole for saying it. Is he trying to frighten me? Or is he testing me? Seeing if the threat of multiple men does anything for me. It doesn’t.
“You are such a fucking…” The rest of my sentence is lost in a low moaning growl as he reaches under me and pinches my clit between his thumb and forefinger, a punishingly tight grip that makes my pussy and ass clench. His cock throbs inside me, and I feel how much pleasure my resistance gives him.
He is playing me like an instrument, making me react just the way he wants me to. My body isn’t mine. It’s his. It responds to his commands, spoken and unspoken alike.
“I’m going to come inside you,” he growls. “I’m going to fill your naughty little ass right up.”
I didn’t know there was such a thing as an anal quickie, but Ethan educates me on that front as he fucks me to a swift climax just for him. His hips slam against my ass, pound me against the car until his roar of satisfaction heralds his cum filling my bottom hole all the way to the brim just in time for the car to slow and begin heading up the driveway to his mansion.
His cum is dripping out of my ass as he marches me up to the house. This is, without a doubt, worse than when he brought me back here as a sloppy mess yesterday. Yesterday I was whipped and fucked. Today only the fucking has happened and yet my ass is just as sore as last time.
The expression on his handsome face tells me that he has more in store. And now he’s come, there’s no urgency in it. He can take his time. It’s me who is throbbing between my legs. My pussy is tingling and aching with desire. He fucked my ass and he didn’t let me come. He is a sadist and he is not done with me. Won’t be done with me until I am broken.
He takes me to the room I left just a few hours ago and lets me go inside the door. I stand there, shaking slightly, not from fear but from the pure tension running through my body.
“Strip.”
I think about refusing, but it would be a token gesture at this point. Once you’ve held your cheeks open in the back of a car so a man can fuck your ass as punishment for trying to run away, you lose credibility.
That doesn’t mean I do what he wants in a way he wants me to do it. I pull my clothes from my body and leave them in a sullen heap at my feet, crossing my arms over my chest, under my breasts. No point hiding them. No point hiding anything.
Ethan’s power over me is shame. Maybe I’ll become shame resistant. Maybe I’ll become the girl who doesn’t even care that there’s a thick puddle of cum in the panties she just pushed off her ass and down her legs.
His eyes run over me slowly. “Beautiful,” he says, his voice husky not with desire, but appreciation. He looks at me as if I am one of the fine pieces of art that grace his home. I was feeling dirty, used, and cheap. His gaze transforms me into something sublime.
There is no faking the expression on his face. He loves the way I look. It’s hard for me to believe because the few times I actually bother to take any time to look at myself, I’m not impressed. But he is. Ethan’s genius has always been in seeing what other people can’t. He sees something in me. For a brief moment, I see myself reflected in his eyes, and a warmth flowers not in my sex, but in my heart.
The moment of tenderness is shattered when he steps forward and speaks.
“I’m tired of looking at you in these clothes,” he declares, kicking them away with a casual flick of his foot. “I want easy access to your ass and pussy.”
The words are crude and almost cold. He is in disciplinarian mode as he strides over to the closet and throws the door open. I find myself looking at rows of designer skirts, dresses, and blouses. They’re beautiful, but they’re not me. At least, not the me I used to be before Ethan Keller got his hands on me and started twisting everything I am.
I walk into the closet and stare. Someone has been busy obtaining a wide range of attire, all of which looks to be my size. There are rows upon rows of everything from formal attire to bedroom wear. I have never owned as many clothes in my life as are now displayed in front of me.
Leaving me amid the forest of finery, Ethan sits down in an armchair nearby and makes a generous gesture toward the clothing. “Show me what it looks like on you.”
“What?”
“Fashion show,” he smiles. “I want to see you in some of these things. Pick something you like.”
He looks at me as if he expects me to be grateful or impressed. But I’m not either of
those things. He didn’t get this for me because he thought I wanted it. He got all this for me because how I was isn’t good enough. I need to be augmented. I need to be clad in fine cloth, because that will make this somehow better. That will make him less a kidnapper, and me less a captive. Except it won’t, and it can’t.
I am a doll to him. Something to dress up and use. Something to play with. I know what boys do to dolls in the end though, they always end up broken.
“I should take a shower first,” I say. “I don’t want to make these messy…”
He smirks and nods. “Five minutes,” he says. “And then I want your sweet ass out here. I’ll pick something for you.”
The shower is only a brief reprieve, but it is a reprieve. The hot water washes away his cum, but none of the shame. I emerge four minutes and fifty-nine seconds after I went in, pink and steamy and knowing that he will not let me keep the towel I have clutched around my body on for very long.
Ethan is waiting. And what he has in his hand is not what I expected. I figured he’d pick one of the slutty, skimpy lingerie items. I imagined he’d make me parade in front of him like the cheap whore I feel when he uses me.
But that’s not what he has chosen.
It’s a cocktail dress. Red silk, looks like it is going to be form fitting.
“Here,” he says. “Put it on.”
I’ve never worn anything like it in my life, but it’s better than being naked and vulnerable in front of him, so I do as I’m told. The dress slides up my calves and thighs like a cool caress, and then it fits snugly around my hips and unravels up over my stomach and hugs my breasts.
Ethan glides around me, does the zipper up with a practiced touch.
“Yes,” he says, looking me up and down. “Very nice.”
The insides of the doors are mirrored, so I can see my reflection on both sides, repeated to infinity. This dress has transformed me. My normal clothes are comfortable, but they don’t do anything for my figure. This dress takes every curve and accentuates it. My ass is round in the rear, my hips have a feminine, sensual sway. My waist looks smaller than I thought it was, and my breasts look bigger.
“This isn’t a dress,” I mumble to myself. “This is a magic trick.”
“No trickery here,” Ethan chuckles softly. “This is how you look, Casey. This is how beautiful you are.”
I don’t feel beautiful, but the woman in the mirror is undoubtedly attractive. She’s also me. This is weird. It’s nice, but it feels very strange to see myself as one of the women who can easily grace Ethan’s world.
I have to be careful not to be sucked into this. These fine clothes, this dress that makes my ass look incredible—they’re all a trap. As long as Ethan has to whip me into submission, it’s not really submission. But if he can get what he wants by bribing me with clothes, then I’m selling myself out and might as well have taken his offer of employment in the first place. I have to keep resisting.
“Here,” he says, producing a pair of shoes. They’re red too. They match the dress, and they have a heel that isn’t astoundingly high, but I tend to keep my heels on the ground, so it’s high enough.
“Those aren’t a pair of shoes,” I snort. “Those are foot torture devices. Ankle breakers. You want me in these clothes so I can’t run away as fast.”
“Mhm,” he smirks, his eyes gleaming with humor. “Female fashion is all a patriarchal attempt to make you easier to catch.”
I can tell he doesn’t believe what he’s saying. I don’t believe it either. The second I slide the shoes on, out of curiosity more than anything, my ass is lifted, my legs look longer, and I seem taller. Another layer to the illusion. Another lie.
“You look amazing,” he compliments me.
“Thanks.”
I do look good, but that’s because I haven’t tried to take a step yet. I tried heels out when I was a teenager. Once. That didn’t go so well then, and I have a feeling it’s not going to go so well now.
“Come over here.”
He extends a hand to me. I take unsure, wobbling steps like Bambi in his wake. I don’t care what they say about these shoes; on my feet, in this room, I might as well be wearing a couple of shackles on my ankles. I’m not going anywhere in these, and my feet already ache at the strange weight distribution.
“You’ll get used to them,” he says when I shoot him a look.
I won’t get used to them, because I’m not going to let him turn me into whatever this is. My body is displayed in this dress in a way I don’t feel completely comfortable with. Yes, I look good, but at what cost? I can barely move. There are no pockets to hold my phone, or push my hands into when I get nervous. This dress exposes me, puts me on display. Of course he likes how I look in it. I’m basically naked.
His hand runs up behind my leg, finds the inside of my thigh. My bare pussy is exposed just a couple of inches above the hem of the dress. He doesn’t just have easy access, he has me unable to move as his fingertips brush the soft lips of my sex in a casual caress.
“You look incredible, Casey,” he murmurs in my ear. “And you feel it too, I can tell.”
“You don’t know how I feel.”
“Yes, I do,” he says. “It’s written on your face. You give everything away, girl. You’re standing taller.”
“That’s the heels.”
“No, it isn’t,” he purrs, rubbing his fingers over my pussy again. “It’s you, starting to feel what you are. You’re not just a programmer, Casey. You’re a woman. And you have a woman’s needs.”
“I didn’t know women needed to be wrapped in silk and put on stilts,” I bite back sarcastically. “You should go to deprived countries and hand these things out.”
His palm meets my ass sharply. “Hierarchy of needs,” he lectures as my butt stings. Of course the dress offers close to no protection whatsoever from his hand. I might as well be wearing a single layer of plastic wrap. “You hide from what you are, Casey. You don’t know what you’re capable of.”
“Like taking it in the ass?”
He’s chuckling as he spanks me again, one of his hands steadying me so I don’t fall off the heels, the other making my ass burn with punitive fire.
“That’s part of it,” he says, his hand smoothing over my soon to be very sore cheeks. “Fucking your ass feels amazing for me, and it teaches you a valuable lesson.”
“What is that?”
He fists his hand in my hair and pulls my ear up to his mouth, speaking in a husky drawl that sends a decadent tingle to every part of my body. “That I always win. And that losing can feel very, very good.”
It’s not fair. It’s not fair that he can do this to me. It’s not fair that I am at his mercy. Least of all, it’s not fair that he is right. Losing to Ethan gives me more pleasure than anything I have ever experienced in my life.
He walks me toward the window and bends me forward, my forearms resting on the windowsill, my ass up high thanks to these treacherous shoes that make me naturally arch my back and stand on my tiptoes.
“Stay there,” he orders. “Don’t move an inch.”
He leaves and goes to the bathroom. I could kick these heels off. I could take the dress off and pull my jeans and hoodie back on. I could run downstairs, throw myself into the wilds around his house, and try another escape.
But I don’t. I stand there with this fine dress hiking itself up over my ass, leaving me on lewd display. And I wait for him to come back and take me. My anus is still tender from the rough thrusts in the car, but my pussy is yet to get what it wants—what I want. It’s so easy to separate myself from my body. Tell myself that this is all physical. But he hasn’t tied me in place. I am here, waiting. He is starting to get inside my head. Starting to break me down, and right now, I am too aroused to care.
Is he right? Is this what a woman wants? To be kept and dressed and fucked, to never have any kind of job, to be owned completely? No. This is just a fantasy. But it’s one I’m living right now.
&nb
sp; I let out a soft moan of defeat as he pushes in, that thick cock spearing slowly inside me. He takes his time, works it into my wet pussy with a languid thrust. He knows my body is aching with need. He can feel the way my wet walls grip him. But he’s not going to give me everything I want. Not yet.
He fucks me against the window, makes me look out at his world as his cock sluices my wet slit. He fucked my ass, came in my ass, and now my pussy is getting some much delayed reward because I submitted to being dressed up like a doll.
I feel his hand slip around my neck, grasp me lightly by the throat as he pulls me up, still unsteady on those heels. He holds my wobbling form in place against his hard muscular body, arched against him as he surges into me over and over, drawing cries of desire and outrage and need and impending climax.
When Ethan fucks me, there is nothing else in the world. There is only him, his cock plunging inside me over and over, taking me to the verge of orgasm and sanity alike. The hand not at my neck slides between my legs, his fingers rub against my clit as his cock slams in and out of me.
And then he adds another layer of humiliation and pain to the mix—he starts spanking my pussy while he fucks it. He thrusts in, pulls out, smacks my pussy hard enough to make me yelp, and then pushes his cock back in all the way. The hand at my throat keeps my head pinned back against his shoulder as he repeats this treatment over and over, fuck, spank, fuck, spank. My cunt is getting tender and sore and so fucking close to coming, but he won’t let me, not yet. He’s not done showing me all that he can do to me, all he can make me feel.
Finally he buries his cock deep inside my writhing sex and rubs my clit hard. I scream up to the ceiling as I burst into an orgasm that makes it impossible to stand. He has to shift his grip to hold me on his cock, his hands on my hips, driving me up and down that hard shaft as I scream with release. I am a mess. A wet, cum-stained, ass-fucked, pussy-spanked mess. And I am his.