by Lauren Rowe
“No,” I choke out, even though every fiber of my body wants to yell, “Yes, yes, yes!”
I feel something slipping over the top my head and then over my eyes (soft satin!) and suddenly everything goes completely black.
“Let me go!” I yell. “Right now!”
But the horrible man—or dare I say, the horribly sexy man?—doesn’t stop. He lifts me completely off the ground, crushing my body against his, and, in a flash, I feel myself being carried out of the bathroom in long, delicious, cologne-infused strides.
“Please,” I whimper. “Let me go.”
He doesn’t reply. He’s carrying me in loping movements. I nuzzle my face into him and breathe in his sexy scent, my clit burning with intense arousal. This is incredible.
“Who are you? Why are you here?” I shout. Oh, God, he smells good. I’m already twitching with desire.
I hear a door opening. The sound of shoes on hard cement. There’s the sound of a car door opening followed by the sensation of my body being laid down in an extremely small space. Oh fuck, no—Josh isn’t putting me in the trunk of his car, is he? Oh shit.
“From Justin to Kelly!” I shriek.
His movement freezes.
“You’re not putting me in the trunk of a car, are you?”
“No, babe,” Josh’s voice says soothingly. “I’m laying you down in the backseat of my Beemer.”
I exhale. “Oh, okay. Whew. I get really claustrophobic—I should have mentioned that.”
“Babe, I’d never put you in the trunk of a car. You could get hurt.”
I exhale. “Okay. Whew.”
“Babe. Come on. I’ll never risk your safety.”
I exhale with relief again. “Okay. Good. Thank you. Proceed.”
“You okay?”
“Yeah. I’m great.” I grin. “This is so awesome, Josh. Oh my God. When you burst into the bathroom, I had a freaking heart attack.”
He laughs. “You should have seen the look on your face. Sorry if I scared you.”
“No, no, it was a good kind of scared. I loved it. My panties are already soaked—or, then again, maybe that’s pee.”
He laughs. “Okay, you ready to keep going now?”
“Yeah. Sorry I pulled the safe word so fast. I won’t do it again.”
“No, no. Use the safe word as much as you need. That’s what it’s for. I never want you to be scared. This is supposed to be fun.”
I exhale. “Okay. Thanks.”
“Don’t hesitate to use it if you need it, babe.”
“Okay.” I shake it off. “No more breaking character. Go, baby. I’m already totally wet for you.”
He makes a sexual sound. “Don’t tempt me to fuck you right here—I’m rock hard.” His fingertips graze my thigh and slip inside my undies and then right into me. “Oh my God,” he says. “You’re soaking wet.” His fingers massage me for a moment, making me writhe and moan.
I spread my legs, inviting him to fuck me right here and now.
“Oh my God,” he says. “What am I doing? I’ve got a whole thing planned, babe. Stop being evil.”
His fingers retreat from me, leaving me aching and wanting more.
I hear the unmistakable sound of him licking his finger vigorously. “You taste like sugar, baby. So sweet.”
My clit jolts. “Josh,” I breathe. “Take me now.”
“Patience, babe,” he says, his voice low and sexy. “You’re in for a wild ride.” The car door shuts and a moment later, I hear a car engine start.
We’re unmistakably on the move.
After a few minutes of driving, music suddenly blares in the car—Britney Spears, “I’m a Slave 4 U”—and I burst out laughing.
Josh’s laughter joins mine.
“Hilare,” I say. “You’re so funny, babe.”
“Hey, you didn’t say From Justin to Kelly,” Josh says. “You gotta stay in character unless you say it.”
“There’s no way I can stay in character if you’re gonna make ‘I’m a Slave 4 U’ the soundtrack of my abduction into sexual slavery.”
“Just to be clear, there’s no other circumstance when I’d ever play this song—this song is a testament to just how far I’ll go for a laugh.”
“Mission accomplished,” I say.
“Okay, back in character now.” The song switches to “Fever” by the Black Keys.
I sigh happily. “This is so frickin’ awesome.”
After what seems like forever, the car stops and the engine turns off. The driver’s door opens—and then the car door nearest to me—and then I’m being lifted up by strong arms and carried like a sack of potatoes, my cuffed wrists dangling down.
Josh stops walking and shifts my body weight slightly. There’s a beeping sound, and then the sound of a door opening. He walks several paces and it’s clear to me we’re now indoors.
Josh sets me down gently onto my feet. I wobble slightly—the blackness of my blindfold is disorienting—and he grasps my forearm just above my cuffs to steady me.
“You okay?” he whispers.
I nod.
“Hang on.” I sense him moving away briefly and then returning to me. He grasps my forearm again and guides my body down. “Kneel,” he commands at full voice, his tone menacing. My knees are met with a soft cushion. “I saw you walking down the sidewalk last week and I had to have you,” he continues in his bad-guy voice. “I’ve brought you to a place far from civilization where no one can hear you scream. Do as I say or else—” He stops for a long beat. “Hey, babe. From Justin to Kelly. I can’t do this part. It’s making me think about my mom. I feel sick.”
My stomach drops into my toes. “Oh, I didn’t even think about that. I’m so sorry. Take off my blindfold.”
“No, I’ll be okay as long as we skip this first part. Let’s just pretend I said all the shit necessary to get you under control—that I already crushed your spirit like a sex-slave-master would and made you totally submissive to me. Okay?”
“Are you sure? We can stop.”
“No, I’m good as long as we skip this first part. I don’t wanna threaten you.”
“Okay. No problem. But if you decide you wanna stop, just lemme know.”
“Okay.” He exhales. “God, I wish you could see your nipples under your dress right now. They’re like little bullets. So fucking sexy.”
I lick my lips.
“Hey, why don’t we get some music cranking?” he says. “That’ll help loosen things up. Hang on.”
I remain on my knees in the blackness, my cuffed arms dangling in front of me, wondering where the hell he’s taken me.
After a brief moment, an old-school funk song fills my ears.
I feel Josh’s body heat next to me again. “‘Thank You For Letting Me Be Myself,’” Josh says. “Sly and the Family Stone—greatest funk band ever.”
I’ve never heard this song before, but it’s definitely got a great groove—my body’s already involuntarily pulsing to the beat—and I can’t imagine a better song to kick off our mutual sick-fuckedness than a tune called, “Thank You For Letting Me Be Myself.”
I hear the sound of Josh’s fly unzipping. “Open your mouth,” he grunts.
I do as I’m told and warm flesh unexpectedly whacks me in the mouth. I flinch out of surprise.
“Lick my balls,” he growls softly.
I smile. That was an extremely porno-y thing to say, especially with this awesome bow-chick-a-wow-wow-music blaring around us. And that’s exactly what I wanted—to star in my own porno. Hell yeah. I stick out my tongue and do as I’m told—well, as best I can, anyway—I must say, without the use of my eyes or hands to help me with my task, licking and sucking on balls feels a bit like bobbing for dangling apples—but after a few minutes, I get the hang of it (snicker) and really start delivering some seriously excellent ball-licking-and-sucking, if I do say so myself.
“Good,” Josh says after several minutes, his voice ragged. “Congratulations. You’ve just earned
the right to suck my cock.”
My clit flutters. “Thank you, sir,” I purr. I open my mouth. It’s watering with anticipation. Being Josh’s slave is turning me on every bit as much as I fantasized it would.
I feel the sensation of Josh’s wet tip resting against the subtle cleft in my chin (surprise!), followed by his shaft sliding into my open mouth, all the way to the back of my throat—so far, my eyes bug out behind my blindfold. Holy motherfucking shitballs. Good lord, that’s a lot of dick all at once.
My throat closes up and I gag.
“Relax,” Josh coos, running his hands through my hair. “Take a deep breath and relax your throat.”
I breathe through my nose and focus on releasing my throat muscles, and sure enough, my throat opens up and Josh’s cock slides farther into me. Holy Big Dick, Batman, Josh is so far inside my throat, I can’t do a damned thing but sit here like a blowup-doll. This ain’t no Katherine Morgan Ultimate Blowjob Experience, folks—this is nothing but Crack Whore Blowjob. I’m just a warm hole, for crying out loud—no skill or finesse required for this job. I can’t suck or lick or swirl my tongue or finger or massage or do any of my other tricks. I could be anyone, really. Anything. It’s demeaning, I tell you—dehumanizing. And I love it.
Josh lets out a particularly sexy sound and my body begins clenching furiously in reply—but my throat is so filled up, I barely make a sound.
He’s rippling in my mouth. He’s gonna blow. Oh my God. This is so effing sexy.
But, nope. He doesn’t come. He pulls out of my mouth, instead.
I cough and sputter, trying to calm my raging throat muscles.
I can hear Josh breathing heavily. “Since you sucked my dick so well,” he says, his voice ragged, “I’m gonna reward you by taking off your blindfold now.”
“Thank you, sir,” I squeak out in a scratchy voice. Oh my God. My throat is throbbing.
Josh’s fingers slide into my hair and then, suddenly, the blindfold is off.
“Holy shitballs,” I say, looking around and blinking in the soft light. “What the... ?”
“This is my lair,” Josh says, obviously trying (but failing) to suppress a huge grin.
Oh my effing God, we’re in a bona fide sex-dungeon—a glittering, gleaming BDSM dungeon like nothing I’ve ever seen or even imagined. I knew places like this existed, but this place is... well, out of a fantasy.
It’s a large, windowless room with black marble floors. The walls are painted a deep chocolate brown. Gold and crystal chandeliers hang from the ceiling, along with an eye-popping assortment of cages, harnesses, whips, chains, pulleys, racks, and other suspended contraptions I couldn’t identify if my life depended on it. There’s an X-shaped, padded rack in the middle of the room. A system of pulleys in the far corner next to a bunch of studded leather straps. A neatly arranged assortment of leather riding crops and feathered rods sits prominently in the middle of the room. Oh, shit, what’s that spherical cage-thing hanging from the ceiling? It looks like a birdcage for a very, very large canary.
“Come with me.” Josh pulls me to standing and drags me across the room to a harness-looking-rack-contraption. Wordlessly, he unlatches my soft cuffs, strips off all my clothes, and straps me into bindings, spreading my limbs out into a four-pointed star. Oh my God. I’m completely opened up in this position—his for the taking, any which way he pleases.
My body is jolting with excitement.
“Relax into the bindings,” Josh says, his voice full of smooth confidence. “They’ll hold your weight.”
I try to let myself relax, but I can’t seem to do it.
“Take a deep breath,” he commands, grazing his fingers across my belly. “And then let it out slowly.”
I do as I’m told and allow myself to melt into my bindings—and, I’ll be damned, just like he said, my limbs are being fully supported and held into place. I’m like a fly caught in a web. Immovable. Completely at his mercy. A little sound of arousal lurches out of my throat.
Josh peels off his clothes slowly, his blue eyes smoldering at me as he does, and stands in front of me, his erection straining, his muscles tense. “Your body is mine,” he says.
“Yes, sir.”
He looks me up and down for a moment, smiling wickedly. “Hmm. What shall I do to my slave first?”
I shudder.
He ambles over to a nearby rack and runs his hand along a selection of implements, finally selecting a long, feathered rod from the rack. When he returns to me, he’s smiling devilishly.
“I had to have you,” he says. “I couldn’t go another day.”
He lazily drifts the tickler over my breasts, belly, and hips, culling goose bumps out of every square inch it touches. I moan. He does it again. And then again. And then he leans into me and unexpectedly sucks on my hard nipple.
When I cry out with excitement, he reaches down and plunges his fingers inside me, making me jerk and jolt in my bindings.
“Dripping wet,” he says softly. “Such a good girl.”
At his words, as if right on cue, I feel a glob of wetness ooze out of my crotch like thick molasses and onto my thigh.
“Oh,” he says. He brings his fingers to his mouth. “Delicious.”
I let out a long, steady exhale.
Josh walks slowly around to my backside and begins tickling the backs of my thighs and ass with his feather.
I let out a little moan. I can’t stand this anymore. I’ve never wanted a man as much as I want Josh right now. I shift my hips, desperate to relieve the pressure building inside me, but it’s no use. I’m about to climax. I can feel it. I’m in pain with this ache.
The feather retreats.
A warm, wet tongue licks my ass, and just when I begin melting into the delicious pleasure, I feel a sharp pain on my ass cheek—the unmistakable sensation of being bitten.
I shriek and jerk in my bindings.
He chuckles.
“Jesus,” I mutter.
His tongue returns to my backside and begins exploring every inch of my ass as his fingers slide to my clit and wetness and begin working me with astonishing skill. Oh shit. I’ve never been touched like this before. Where’d he learn to do this? Oh my fuck. His tongue is lapping at me from behind while his fingers are owning me. I want to writhe, but I can’t. I want to shift to relieve myself of the pressure building inside me, but I’m completely immobile.
“Fuck!” I say through gritted teeth. “Fuck, fuck. Oh my God. Fuck.”
My body suddenly wracks with a twisting orgasm and I jerk against my bindings like a fish out of water.
Before my orgasm ends, I feel Josh rising up behind me. There’s the unmistakable sound of fluid splooging out of a bottle and then a finger sliding up my asshole. I shudder. Oh my effing God. He wraps his arms around me from behind, cleaves himself to my back, grabs ahold of my breasts with lubed palms, and slides his slick cock up my ass, eliciting a low groan from deep inside me.
“I own you,” he growls into my ear, his voice strained.
I’m incapable of replying. I’ve tried anal before, but not like this—not when I’m completely sober (and therefore feeling every goddamned inch). Not when I’m bound and trussed like a pig on a spit in a goddamned sex dungeon. Not when the dick in question is a freaking donkey-dick, not to mention attached to the sexiest fucking slab of man I’ve ever seen—who just so happened to abscond with me out of a bathroom while wearing a freaking ski mask.
I moan loudly.
“I’m gonna make you come so hard,” he says into my ear. “Harder than you ever have.”
I groan. This is too intense. I’m not sure I can handle this. I thought I could, but it might be too much, even for a dirty little freak like me.
“Beg me for more,” he whispers into my ear. “I’m not in all the way yet.”
There’s more? Holy fucking hell. This sure feels like all of him.
“Beg me,” he grits out.
“More. Please,” I choke out, even though I�
�m not sure I can handle it.
He gives me what I’ve asked for and I inhale sharply in shock—but before I can exhale my breath, something glides inside my vagina and begins vibrating from deep inside me. Oh my fuck. My breathing is shallow. I’m like a pug with heatstroke. Oh my God. There’s more. Something begins swiping at my clit like a tongue. Oh Jesus. He’s using some kind of rabbit vibe on me. Oh my fuckity fuck. I let out a strangled cry. I’ve never been filled up like this, stimulated in every conceivable way all at once. I feel like my body’s scattering in a thousand directions, all at once, exploding and melting at the same time. Too much. No more. Can’t handle. Gah.
Josh pumps his donkey-dick harder inside me while the vibe does its thing.
“Oh fuck,” he says, his voice ragged. “Fuck.”
Yeah. My thoughts exactly.
One of his hands gropes my breast and pinches my nipple so hard, I shriek, and just like that, my body spasms violently with pleasure so intense, I dry heave. Oh shit, I’ve never done that before. Oh God. I do it again. I’m losing complete control of my bodily functions. I feel like I’m gonna barf. Or pee. Or crap myself. Or all of the above. I’ve never felt this much intense pleasure all at once. My body can’t handle it. It’s going completely haywire. My insides are twisting violently. It’s like the pleasure is literally tying me into knots. I make a strangled, gagging sound, followed by a whimper. And then another shriek. But Josh doesn’t stop. In fact, he fucks me harder.
I jerk pathetically, trying to escape the clenching pleasure that’s brutalizing me, but my bindings hold me firmly in place.
“No more,” I yell. “I can’t do it. Stop.” I have never in the history of my life said these words during sex. But this extreme pleasure—or is it pain?—is just too much for me to endure. I can’t function. I can’t survive it. “Stop,” I say. “Stop.”
But Josh doesn’t stop. In fact, his thrusts are becoming even deeper, if that were possible, and even more passionate.
He bites my shoulder so hard, I’m sure he’s broken the skin.
I shriek again and convulse like he’s electrocuted me.
