by Naomi West
Laying my eyes on the nearby dresser set, I approached it and opened one of the top drawers. Sure enough, it was filled with neatly-folded shirts. The one below was jeans, and the one below that was underwear. I sifted through them and found that nearly all of them were my size.
Man must have a type, I thought, pulling out a matching pair of lacy, light blue underwear. After I put them on, I took out a purple T-shirt and a pair of dark blue jeans. The clothes were skintight, and as I stepped in front of the mirror, I couldn’t help but notice that the collar already seemed like an important part of my wardrobe, like I’d been wearing it for years.
It just seemed … natural.
I spent the rest of the morning and afternoon lounging around the house trying to keep myself busy. Tank hadn’t given me any instructions on what to do while he was gone, other than not to get any big ideas about escaping. And it wasn’t as though he’d left a note telling me when he’d be back.
As I made lunch, I noticed something sitting on the kitchen bar counter—a small black object sitting on top of a piece of paper. I’d only had coffee for breakfast, so it had been able to slip by unnoticed when I’d been in here earlier. Approaching the thing, I saw that it was a burner cell phone. On the paper was a four-digit passcode and a small note that read in surprisingly neat handwriting: “This is for me to keep tabs on you. When I text, you respond within ten minutes. And don’t bother trying to make outside calls. If you’re a good girl, I may give you access to more phone privileges. But only if you’re good.”
Damn, I thought. He really wants to mess around with the “property” thing. I picked up the cell, which was an early-model iPhone. I’d never actually owned a smartphone—Grandma had never been big on technology, let alone social media—so it was all pretty fancy to me. I played around with it for a few minutes, learning out to use it. Sure enough, any feature that would’ve allowed me to contact the outside world was disabled. I looked through the contact list and saw that there was only one number: Tank’s. After I’d satisfied my curiosity, I slipped the phone into my back pocket and went back to work on my lunch.
A half hour or so later, I finished my lunch of a sandwich and some chips, pushing away the plate when I was done. I couldn’t believe how fast I’d wolfed down the food. Though it wasn’t really surprising; when I thought about the last meal I’d eaten I realized I hadn’t had anything since my oh-so-fateful meal at the diner yesterday, the meal that I’d gotten for free but which had ended up costing me any trace of my old life.
I put the plate in the sink, and just before I could begin to think of what I was going to do next, the phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out and saw that there was a text. It was from Tank.
Be back at six. Be ready for me. Find something from the walk-in.
T
“Be ready for me?” What did that mean? I checked my watch and saw that I had several hours until he was due to be back. Realizing that being “ready for him” could only mean one thing, I headed back up to my bedroom and looked around. Sure enough, there was a door that I hadn’t noticed.
I opened it up, revealing a massive walk-in closet that was nearly as big as the bedroom. The walls were lined with clothes, and in the middle was a massive and well-lit five-panel mirror. I stepped in front of it, looking at my slender body from all of the angles it allowed. I wasn’t entirely sure what “be ready for me” meant, but I was sure that my jeans and T-shirt didn’t qualify.
He’d told me to find something in there, so I walked over to the clothes hanging from the many racks. Flipping through them, I gasped when I realized what they were. They were almost exclusively skimpy and scanty lingerie, ranging from teddies to matching bra-and-panty sets to corsets to full-on leather bondage gear. I sifted through them, trying to find something that was both sexy and something I wouldn’t feel totally ridiculous in. Eventually, I settled on a black lace boy-short set, figuring it was a decent compromise. Plus, it matched the collar.
I spent the next couple of hours putting on makeup and getting my hair just right. The bathroom contained more beauty products than I’d be able to go through in a year, even if I slathered them all on every morning. I worked intensely, making sure that I looked as good as I possibly could. Only when I was nearly finished did I realize that the task I’d been focused on for so long was making myself into a proper fucktoy for Tank. What was wrong with me?
Once I put the finishing touches on my makeup, I decided that I was going to give more thought to escape. Wearing nothing but my underwear, I stepped to the window and looked out over the front lawn. The road would be my best bet. Maybe I could slowly gather some supplies over the next week or so, hiding them in my room. Then, when the time was right, I could make a break for it, following the road but keeping far enough away from it that I would be spotted by Tank or any other guys in his gang. It wasn’t the best plan, but it was the only one I could think of. Sure, even if it did work I’d be right where I was before, broke and homeless, but I could figure out the odds and ends later.
For now, I just had to get free.
More time passed, and just as I was putting the finishing touches on my makeup I heard the growl of a motorcycle pulling up. I rushed over to my phone and saw that it was nearly six.
Damn, I thought, pretty punctual for an outlaw biker.
I hurried downstairs, not wanting to be in the middle of getting ready when he walked in. I scolded myself for being so concerned about matters like that, but I couldn’t help it—part of me was really concerned with pleasing Tank. It ran against all notions of independence that I had, but I couldn’t help it.
Not sure of where to go, I went back into the lounge where our “activities” had taken place last night. I futzed around with the lights, making sure that they were a low, sensual dim, and got a bottle of champagne ready. I knew that he’d said he didn’t really care for bubbles, but champagne sounded sexier to me than sitting there with a glass of whiskey. Plus, I needed something to calm the anxiety that was slashing in my stomach. I got into position on the couch, wine flute in hand, just about when I heard the front door open.
My heart began to race, partially out of fear and partially out of excitement. Last night I’d only shown him my body—he hadn’t seemed to be interested in anything more than that—but what if today he wanted to take my virginity? The thought of having sex both thrilled and frightened me, and all I could do was take a big sip of my wine in hopes of calming myself down. But before the wine could kick in, the thumping echo of Tank’s combat boots sounded through the cavernous entrance hallway, growing louder and louder.
And moments later, there he was.
I swallowed hard. Standing at the entrance of the lounge, his beefy, bare, tattoo-covered arms crossed over his huge chest, his icy blue eyes like two brilliant sapphires among his rugged, tan, gorgeous face, Tank looked larger than life.
“Stand,” he said.
I complied, scampering to my feet. As I got up, Tank took a seat, and I could feel his eyes on my body all the while. As I turned to face him, I realized that he didn’t seem all that interested in the champagne—all his interest was focused on my exposed skin.
“Take off my boots,” he said, his voice stern.
I got right to it. Setting down my now-empty glass of wine, I knelt in front of Tank, his dirty, scuffed combat boots before me. They were a mess of frayed and worn laces, and I set to work gingerly undoing them. I looked up at Tank as I worked and saw that he was looking away, a pensive expression on his face. He reached over and grabbed his glass of champagne, downing it all with a single swig. Part of me wanted to ask him about his day, but the other part of me realized that there was no chance he was the type to open up about things like that. I was sure the best I could do was just to do as he asked.
I removed his socks along with his boots, then looked up at him for my next command.
“Get me whiskey,” he said.
I nodded, my eyes wide. But as I began to get up, he
placed his hand on my head, holding me in place.
“Don’t walk.”
He wants me to crawl on all fours? I thought. What am I, a dog?
“Don’t forget for a moment that you’re my pet,” he said, as if picking up on my hesitation.
I turned around got on all fours and began to move towards the bar.
“Slower,” he said, his voice low and sensual. “Put that ass into it.”
I complied, moving on my hands and knees at a more leisurely pace. And as I crawled, I swayed my ass from side to side. I could feel his eyes burning into my rear, and that same thrill at being the center of his attention took over me. I should’ve felt degraded, but the only feeling building within me was that same tight, hot arousal as yesterday.
Once I reached the bar, I turned back to Tank. He flicked his chin up, and I understood that as my cue to stand up. I made his drink and brought it over, making sure that my hips had the same slow sway to them. Then, I stood still.
“You learn fast,” he said, noting that I was awaiting his command. “We’re going to go a little further than last night. Go to my box.”
I complied. He turned on the music as I walked, the lounge filling with sensual, sexy, jazzy-electronic music. Upon reaching the box, I popped it open. All manner of toys stared back at me. I didn’t know where to begin.
“Get that small black bag and the silver, curved one. Bring them over to me.”
I spotted a small drawstring bag of black silk and picked it up. The other toy was a silver, curved thing that was about the perfect size for my hand.
Wait a minute, I thought. That’s a …
Vibrator. It was a vibrator. I know it’s a little strange that I was so startled by this, but I’d never seen one in person before. Didn’t I say that I was sheltered? I wrapped my hands around the cool rubber, feeling the heft in my grip.
I returned to Tank and awaited my next orders.
“Take off your bra.”
I did as he asked. To my surprise, my nipples were already hard.
“Now open the bag.”
I did, dumping the contents out into my hand. It was a pair of small silver clamps, attached by a black chain.
“Put those on your nipples.”
I gasped, my face going red.
“You might like it a little more than you’re thinking,” said Tank, picking up on my shock.
I did as he asked. The vibrator cradled in one hand, I attached the first clamp to my left nipple, a shudder and a gasp leaving my body as I did. The feeling was … odd. Once I’d accustomed myself to the initial pinch, a strange feeling swirled through my body, a feeling that was a perfect mixture of pleasure and pain.
“Now the other.”
I obeyed, attaching the other clamp.
“Now put your hands at your sides.”
I obeyed, standing still. The feeling of the clamps on my nipples was all I could think about. They were two perfect pinches that sent twin shockwaves of pain and pleasure through my body. Goosebumps formed on my body, and my breath and heart both quickened.
“Now your panties. But leave on the heels.”
I shucked off my underwear, just as he’d asked. He looked down at the thick tuft of hair above my sex, shaking his head as he did.
“We’ll have to do something about that,” he said. “But some other time.”
I felt a little embarrassed at this, especially since now I was nude aside from my heels and the clamps. Tank put his foot and a nearby footstool and moved it over to me.
“Put one foot on this.”
I did, my sex now exposed.
“Turn on the vibrator.”
I did, the device coming to life in my hand.
“Now touch yourself.”
I looked down at the shaking toy in my hand, unaware of where to begin. Sure, I’d …played … with myself before, but never like this. The entirety of my sexual experience was nothing more than me rubbing myself every now and then, maybe grinding on a pillow if I was feeling really wild. I’d never even had an orgasm … at least, I thought.
So, the pleasure from the clamps still radiating throughout my body, I lowered the vibrator to my sex. Pointing the angled portion at where it had always felt good to touch, I pressed it down gently.
If what I’d felt from the clamps was a mild pleasure, this was like a goddamn tidal wave of ecstasy. As soon as the vibrator came into contact with my sex, pleasure shot out like a bomb blast. It was so intense that my first instinct was to move the thing away as fast as possible.
“Nope,” he said. “No taking it away until I say so.”
I gave a quick nod as I pressed the toy back onto myself. The pleasure started right away, the hot waves radiating out from my most delicate areas. I held it there gently, afraid to press too hard. My eyes were winced shut right away, though through small peeks I could see that Tank was watching me intently.
After a little time, I got used to the feeling of the vibrator and began moving it up and down along my sex, stimulating new areas. The pleasure built with each second, and I could feel my legs grow weak as I struggled to support my own weight through the pleasure. Soon, the sensation became all I could think about. Moans escaped my mouth that I had not control over, and I continually ran my free hand through my hair. My teeth sank into my lower lip so hard that I worried I might break the skin. Something was building in me, something intense and unbelievably pleasurable that I’d never before experienced. I could sense that it was on the brink of happening, whatever it was.
“Oh my God, oh my God,” I moaned, the words coming out as in instinct.
“Now,” said Tank, his voice low and sensual, the sound of his words only contributing to the pleasure. “I want you to cum. But only when I say so.”
My teeth still biting down on my lip, I nodded. I’d never cum before, but I could sense that it was close, so close. I fiddled with the speed of the vibrator, the whirr of the motor increasing in volume as I did. I wanted to cum so badly; it was so tantalizingly close.
“Do you want to cum?” he said.
I nodded, my face tight.
“Tell me how bad you want to cum.”
“I want to cum so bad,” I said, the words coming out in pained squeaks.
“How bad?”
“So … so fucking bad.”
“Who’s my pet?”
I struggled to form the words through the pleasure.
“Who is my pet?” he repeated, sterner this time.
“I-I am,” I said, now barely able to stand.
“And when does my pet get to cum?”
I was close, so very close.
“When … when my master says so.”
“That’s right,” he said.
Another shriek slipped out of my mouth, the loudest one yet. I forced open one eye slightly, hoping to see some sign that he was going to give the word. I needed to cum, more than I could ever remember needing anything, and his holding it off was almost like some kind of strange torture.
“Cum,” he said, the word deep and low.
As though Tank had some spell over my body, it happened. The pleasure broke through water smashing through a damn. I moaned and screamed as the feeling took hold; it was unlike anything I’d ever felt before. I pressed the vibrator hard against my pussy, coaxing out every last bit of pleasure from the orgasm. My chest heaved with aroused breaths, and my knees wobbled underneath me.
Soon, the feeling began to fade, and I turned the vibrator down to a lower volume. Once the orgasm was finished, I turned the thing off. My breaths were so heaving and heavy that they seemed to drown out the music.
“Very good, pet,” said Tank, rising from his seat. “You put on a good show. The rest of the evening is yours.”
And with that, he turned and walked from the room, leaving me alone just as he had before.
Chapter Nine
Star
The next week was like some kind of strange dream.
The routine was the same
: Tank would be gone in the morning, and I had the run of the house until he came back later in the day, always sending me a text telling me when to expect him and that I needed to be ready for him. Before he arrived, I’d spend an hour or so getting ready, taking my pick of the clothes in the walk-in. Then, when he arrived, I was at his command until he was done.
What he wanted specifically varied, but it all, so far, seemed to involve me putting on a show. He’d ask me to dance for him, to touch myself, to cum … all for his viewing amusement. The tools used in this process changed. At first, it was the clamps and the vibrator. Then it was cuffs. Then it was a remote-controlled vibrator that he controlled from the couch; Tank seemed to take exquisite pleasure in bringing me close to orgasm and taking me back from the brink, teasing me over and over again as he sipped his whiskey and watched me squirm in pleasure until I begged for release.
