Unraveling the Enigma: Chapter 3
On a Saturday, a mysterious individual encountered me in a restrained state and engaged in activities with me. He provided me with three orgasms, and I induced myself into a fourth afterward by reliving the encounter through messaging with him.
Four days later, on a Thursday, he took advantage of me. He had me perform oral sex on him until I gagged, and he spanked me until I was shedding tears. Then, he comforted me and checked in with me later, making certain I was alright. I was more than fine.
By Friday, a joyful daze enveloped me. I found it challenging to focus at work. However, my tasks didn't have any imminent deadlines, thus it was alright for me to finish them mostly on my own. I visited the restroom more frequently than usual, as I wanted to examine the marks on my body for myself. My thoughts of these marks made me feel proud. My colleagues didn't notice my odd behavior.
But on Saturday, a different feeling started to emerge. I had not experienced an orgasm the entire week, and my body would not let me forget it. I woke up and envisioned the upcoming event, where he would penetrate me. He'd ruffle my hair during intercourse from the rear and release his sperm within me as we shared simultaneous orgasms.
I'd never engaged in unprotected sex before, so I was unsure how it would feel. Furthermore, in reality, he'd likely don a condom. However, my imagination had a different take on things - it felt enjoyable.
My right hand sought refuge under my pyjamas and began to approach a climax before I could stop myself. I decided it was best not to come without permission.
I managed to get up, dress, and have a cup of coffee, despite the discomfort. While I drank, I found myself caressing myself again. So, I exchanged my light skirt for a thick pair of jeans. I continued to rub at my crotch all day, and at times, I unbuttoned my pants and slid my hand within. My fingers glided effortlessly through my skin, found my clitoris, and I was in agony from the need at every instance. I withdrew my hand after only a few seconds each time, and I was even more overwhelmed than I had been before. I also put on a padded bra and a turtleneck.
I could've contacted him. I wanted to. Yet, I felt as if we were both engaged in a struggle of wills. I felt he wanted me just as much as I wanted him, and we were both vying to determine who'd break first and reach out to each other. I didn't want to be the one who lost. The reason entirely baffles me, but it felt right. I resolved not to be the first one to initiate contact.
When I went to bed, I wished for a chastity belt. It would've simplified the struggle between my willpower and my desires.
11:18 AM, Me: Please sir11:18 AM, Me: I need to cum11:18 AM, Me: I need you to fuck me
Sunday morning. My decision didn't last an entire day.
11:20 AM, Unknown: "Need"?
I wasn't sure how to answer that. I meant yes, though also no "need" need. Instead of attempting to clarify, I opted for
11:21 AM, Me: Please sir
11:21 AM, Unknown: Five minutes. Naked and blindfolded in your room
I perked up a little upon reading this. My heart started racing.
11:21 AM, Me: Yes sir
My coffee had become excessively hot and I was unable to consume it at the moment, so I left it in the kitchen. I flew upstairs eagerly. I threw my clothes in a heap, smoothed out my bed a bit, and hunted inside the room for my blindfold. I'd left it on my bedside table since Thursday. Next, I noticed my bladder and rushed to the bathroom.
I returned just as I heard the front door opening. This type of town has a spare key under the doormat, which is how he gained entrance initially. I lowered the blindfold and kneeled, my hands on my thighs, facing the bedroom door. I attempted to regulate my breathing.
I heard the stairs creak softly as he ascended, and a few seconds afterward, footsteps approached the threshold. Then there was silence. Was he just observing me? I envisaged that he might be pondering what he would do with me, and my breath caught. I almost said something before I heard extra steps, a hand supporting my face, raising my lips, his mouth joining mine, and his tongue pushing against mine.
A fire ignited in my vagina, and I began to moan as my tongue pressed back against his. I attempted to embrace him, but his arms were nowhere to be found. My hands encountered nothing, and I was left feeling rejected.
I made a sound of dissatisfaction and he spoke. "Hands on your thighs, whore. Keep them there."[1]
I gave a nod as I obliged, then paused to catch my breath. "Yes, sir," I whispered shakily.
He drew back slightly this time, wrapping my face with his hands. He resumed kissing me, and I responded by moaning deeply. I pushed myself forward, trying to get closer to him. I gripped my legs with my hands, then tightened them into fists and pressed my nails into my palms. I craved to feel his body pressed against mine, and eventually I couldn't resist any longer and I reached for him again.
He retreated again after just a brief touch, and I felt the sting of his hand slapping my face. It didn't hurt physically, but it felt like a reprimand. "We need to work on your self-control, whore," he whispered softly to me. I barely managed to muster a "yes, sir. Sorry, sir." He responded with a "good girl" and my heart fluttered.
A shoe nudged between my legs, forcing them apart. My hands returned to my thighs. The shoe was pushed further in, rubbing against me slowly. I writhed and groaned loudly, struggling to maintain my grip. It didn't take long before I approached my breaking point. Was this how I would achieve my first orgasm in a week, being stimulated by a shoe? I clung to my self-control.
The shoe pulled back, and I experienced momentary relief. But then it pressed against my mouth. I jerked my head away, but it found me again. I couldn't prevent him, so I reluctantly pushed my tongue out and licked.
The shoe didn't taste terrible. There was a slight scent of shoe polish, and my juices gave it a salty taste. The texture was smooth. However, I knew what it was - a shoe I was licking that had been worn by a stranger, drenched in my pussy juices from its time spent grinding against me. I slowly licked back and forth, cleaning it thoroughly. I made a disapproving "mmh?" sound without opening my mouth, but I continued nonetheless. When it withdrew, I quietly murmured "thank you, sir."
He didn't respond but simply returned to rubbing my crotch forcefully. Now I fought to maintain my grip.
When the shoe pulled back again, I experienced a brief reprieve. But then it pressed against my lips. I jerked my head away again, but it found me right away. I made a soft "mmh?" expression of disapproval without opening my mouth. However, I understood what he wanted from me. I pushed my tongue out a bit further.
It wasn't that it was repulsive. There was a faint taste of shoe polish and a hint of saltiness from my juices. The texture was smooth. Still, I knew what I was licking, and that knowledge made it more disgusting. I went back and forth, ensuring it was clean. When it retreated, I replied softly, "Thank you, sir."
And still he didn't say anything, but continued the slow grind against me. I was close to orgasm now. It was degrading to admit it might happen, but it would be worse if it happened without permission. So, after a few moments, I blurted out, "Please, sir. Can I cum?"
Of course, he didn't give me permission. He slowed his motions down, keeping me just short of exploding. "Remind me what you said in your message earlier, slut."
I shuddered as I tried to maintain my composure. "I need to cum, sir."
"And what else?"
I pondered the meaning of my previous message. "I need you to fuck me, sir."
"To be fucked?"
I realized he was alluding to a question I'd asked before. Did I mean to be mentally and emotionally consumed? Or something more formal and carnal? It took me a while, but eventually I figured out what he meant. My face flushed. "I need...need you to fuck me, sir. Ohhh," as he paused, increasing pressure on me before resuming.
"What did you mean when you said need?"
I tried to understand his question through the haze of desire. Was he guessing, and did he want me to confess? Or was this some sort of game?
It seemed I took too long to provide an answer, so he gave my crotch a sharper nudge with his shoe. "Answer me, slut."
I tried to think of an answer, and I supposed I meant that I craved sexual satisfaction to a particularly intense degree. "I'll go mad, sir," I replied as he slowed down again. "I'll...I'll...ah! I don't know if I can function properly at work, sir."
"That's a good reason," he replied, slightly more assertively. "And what if I let you cum but didn't fuck you?"
It was unclear where he was going with this questioning. Was it a test? Was he curious? I couldn't tell. He seemed to be wanting me to elaborate on my previous message, whatever it truly meant.
The thought hit hard. I felt a knot in my throat and watery eyes welling up. Of course he couldn't see them with the blindfold on. I was still sexually frustrated, and he could probably make me cry and orgasm simultaneously if he desired. But I tried to take his question as just a question, not a declaration of intent. The response was that I wanted him to desire to fuck me, and if he wasn't going to do that, then it felt like I wasn't satisfactory enough. Yet I didn't know how to express that, so I simply said "I would be sad, sir."
He didn't respond right away, and I could stop pondering my ideas and emotions and merely feel them. His foot didn't stop pressing, and the possibility that he might not want me still hurt. Was this how he was going to grant me the orgasm I was yearning for? Not just fucking me with a shoe, but messing with my emotions? I was conflicted about being attracted to this - both physically and mentally - but it certainly heightened my arousal, and I was attracted to it - even if it made me like it - either for the better or the worse.
I don't believe he altered how he manipulated his foot but the sounds I was making became loud cries. Tears cascaded down my cheeks as I frantically sought more contact with anything that might bring me relief.
I didn't have authorization to cum, but I couldn't stifle it and I couldn't form words to ask. Instead I loosened my grip on my thighs, allowing my hands to fly up to my face, where they could cover my tears.
Almost immediately he removed the shoe, and I continued to hump futilely against nothing. I was on the verge of orgasm but unable to push myself over the edge. I let out a final "uaaaagh" and then began to sob softly.
Eventually he sat down next to me and enveloped me in a sideways embrace, pressing me tightly along our legs and up our sides, sashi-seki against clothing against my bare skin. He wore a short-sleeved shirt and his elbow was bent to hold my shoulder firmly. After a little bit, he mumbled "color?"
I examined myself. The previous few minutes - had it even been that long? - were not especially nice. But they were freeing somehow. I hadn't reached orgasm, but I'd attained a sort of release. I didn't want to return to the place where he'd just taken me, but I was still horny, and I wanted him to penetrate me.
"Yellow," I offered, and he nodded. Then he said "I'm proud of you," which gave me a sense of pride in myself and I made a small murmured sound of acknowledgment.
He continued "I am going to fuck you. And you'll get to cum when I do." Hearing the words he was going to give me an orgasm was just what I wanted - it was his call, not mine. I hummed again and relaxed into him.
However, he continued "but maybe not today," and I stiffened. I tried not to sound desperate when I inquired "when?" I then added "green, sir," in case he doubted my readiness. I honestly have no idea whether I was totally green yet, but I strongly desired him to fuck me.
He commenced to tenderly scratch my arms with his fingernails. This eased me as well as aroused me. Then, instead of responding to my inquiry, he posed his own: "do you have plans for Saturday?"
The incoming weekend? That would be two whole weeks without an orgasm. "I don't want to wait that long, sir," I whispered in a tiny, pitiful tone.
Without a word, he relocated his right hand to my breast, squeezing my nipple and twisting it. This caused me pain, but he didn't let go. After a few instances, I realized it was due to my failure to answer his query. "No, sir!" I gasped, and he liberated me. The pain faded quickly, and I understood that I hadn't actually considered the issue before answering. "At least nothing crucial," I corrected. I intended to visit the cinema with a friend, but she wouldn't mind rescheduling.
He concurred, then resumed the gentle scratching. "This is what I intend to happen," he said to me.
He was going to fashion plans. He wouldn't divulge them, but he believed I'd enjoy them. I'd endure another week craving release, and he'd relish knowing how eager I was. And on Saturday, I'd cum when he penetrated me.
"However," he added, "I'm aware this won't be simple for you. And I'm dead set against jeopardizing your career. So if you feel incapable, please do express it." He'd screw me if I requested it. Today or any given day this week. He wouldn't retaliate, it would not count as a defeat in his mind. He was proud of what I had endured so far. He thought I could endure more, but it was a decision for me to make.
I didn't desire it to be for me, but I grasped why it needed to be. This was unchartered territory, and he couldn't gauge how far I could tolerate. He had faith in me to figure it out on my own, and I wouldn't want to betray that confidence. Could I make it through another week?
I didn't know, but I did think I could last till tomorrow. I shuddered within his arms and murmured with passion: "I want... I want to please you, sir. I'll make an effort for you." I bid myself to supervise at the minimum, another complete day of longing. A day more, considering it was not yet noon and tomorrow I had work.
He rendered that grin I could sense, and he pronounced, "good girl" and kissed me on the forehead. Those two words and those two lips nearly sufficed to validate the entire situation. Then he expounded, "I'm going to stow some of your belongings in a bag for Saturday. You'll lob it in. No investigating into it, and no objectifying other belongings."
"Yes sir," I replied. Having the bag lingering around taunting me wouldn't prove constructive. I assumed that was part of the plan. He ventured into my wardrobe and I remained rooted in place. I tuned in to any potential audio suggestions, albeit I couldn't conceal the probe entirely. Nonetheless, I didn't hear anything remarkable - it was not helpful.
When he finalized, he positioned himself in front of me and said, "one final thing, slut. You disengaged your hands from your thighs without consent." In my defense, if I hadn't done that, I'd climax without consent. It had been an exhibition of self-control. But also a desire for failure.
"I comprehend, sir," I confessed. I aligned my back, and I cushioned my hands back to their designated area. "I'm sorry, and I'm geared up."
I flinched as I sensed the touch of his hand upon my cheek. It was more physically agonizing than the prior, yet this time I felt no trespass of dishonor, no judgment of failure. It felt monitoring, like he knew I could perform better subsequently. "Enjoy you sir," I expressed, and he responded "good girl" and I sensed him disengaging from the room.
I remained motionless, gasping for breath, for several minutes subsequent to hearing the front door slam shut behind him.
Read also:
- Yes, Darling
- An Evening with Brittnay: Part 1
- Max Obeys His Mother's Orders
- House Sitter Part 3: New Responsibilities
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