tagNonConsent/ReluctanceCaught in the Act

Caught in the Act

byDar_Jisbo©

I was thinking about my past. This was not at all unusual for me, given the events that happened in my life.

I was born to be a mobster – my father was the legendary Anthony "Tony Pro" Provenzini, head of the Lucchelli crime family in New Jersey. I had made my way up the ranks, and at 23, when Dad was "retired" by some old enemies he had made, I took the helm. My training in martial arts and my M.B.A. from Princeton helped me handle the situation, and by the time I was 30, I was a millionaire several tens of times over. But I wasn’t happy.

I decided, at the age of 31, to hand over the reins to my top lieutenant. We agreed that I should retire gracefully, and one deal with the police later (sharing information on some of the lower-level people, then paying them $1 million per year to accept a 1-2 year sentence), I had a "new identity" and was in witness protection in California, knowing I’d never need it. (The "boys" knew a little time in prison looked good on their resume, and a million a year is good pay for sitting around doing nothing. Money heals all wounds…)

I was now Nick Baker, having left Joseph Provenzini back in the Garden State. With the $25 million I had in the bank, I didn’t need to work. I spent my time working on my martial arts skills, my shooting, and my cooking (a man has to eat, and I was a bachelor without a woman to do the kitchen tasks…)

I poured myself a final glass of orange juice and climbed into bed. I didn’t anticipate anything out of the ordinary happening that night. I had no idea what was about to happen.

At 2:30 a.m., I was awakened by a noise. I thought at first it might have been a creature of the wild: my house is a mile from the nearest neighbor, and set in a forested area. I sat up in bed and listened. This time I heard a distinctly human sound coming from the living room. A footstep of someone trying to be as quiet as possible.

I slipped out of bed, in just my sweatpants and a T-shirt, and took my gun off the nightstand. Slipping quietly down the stairs, a made my way into the living room. A shadowy figure was trying to remove my computer from the desk. Since the machine is bolted down, they weren’t having much luck. I aimed my gun at their head. Flipping on the light switch, I called out, "FREEZE!"

Startled, the person spun around to face me. "Don’t move," I warned, "or I’ll blow your head off. Now slowly put your hands in the air." They did as I instructed. Their face was masked, but their worn-out clothes revealed a startling fact: it was a woman. "Remove the mask," I instructed. The woman did so. She was quite young: I judged her to be between 18 and 25. She was wearing a ragged T-shirt that had clearly seen better days, jeans that were filled with holes and so worn I thought they would tear apart at the slightest touch, and very little else.

"Lie on the floor," I told her. I went over to my desk, removed a pair of handcuffs, and cuffed her hands behind her back. I seated her in a recliner and pulled up a chair in front of her, seating myself comfortably on it. The gun was still pointed at her as I did so. "Talk," I said. "Who are you and what are you doing?"

"My name," she said shakily, "is Lisa MacKenzie." I retrieved her purse from the floor and confirmed she was telling the truth. Her license revealed she was 21 and lived in the nearby college town of Humboldt. "OK, Lisa," I told her, "why would a college student at Humboldt State be robbing a house?" "I need the money," she said. "My brother borrowed $3,000 a month ago, and now with interest, if he doesn’t come up with 4 grand by Monday the men say they’ll break both his legs." Loan sharks, I thought to myself, are the same lousy, small, arrogant people here as in Jersey. I looked at my watch: 2:45 a.m. Friday morning.

I looked Lisa over appraisingly. Her short brown hair was military-style, very unfeminine, but the rest of her looked good. Her soft brown eyes had begun to tear up, but they were very pretty. Her body was soft and curvaceous, with luscious-looking breasts, nice wide hips, and strong legs. "You realize that I could have you busted for breaking and entering." I said.

"Please don’t!" she replied. "Then I’ll be in jail and my brother will be in the hospital!" "I’m rich," I told her. "Your brother’s debt is just pocket change to me. Now tell me why I should help you."

"I’ll do anything you want," she pleaded desperately. "If you help me out, I’ll do whatever you want! I don’t want to see my brother mutilated by those thugs!"

This had possibilities, I thought. "Get up," I said. I took her into the bedroom and uncuffed her hands. I put the gun away in the drawer before doing so. "Now take off your clothes." She looked at me with tears now filling her eyes, but reluctantly disrobed. "Let’s understand each other," I told her. "For the rest of this weekend, you will be my slave. If you obey my every command, I will not report you for breaking and entering. If you’re good enough in bed, I may even help out with your brother. Now get on your knees, slave."

Crying openly now, she did so. I removed my clothing and stood in front of her. "Suck me, slave," I ordered her. She took the tip of my prick into her mouth, flicking her tongue over the head. "Good," I said. "Now take it all." I started sliding in and out of her mouth, face-fucking her as she swirled her tongue around my prick. "Open wide, honey," I said, grabbing the back of her head. I slid down her throat as she struggled to breathe. After a few strokes, I pulled out and let her get a breath.

I then made her lay on the bed spread-eagled. It was the work of a moment to tie her wrists and ankles to the four posts of my bed, leaving her exposed and helpless. I slowly ran my hands over her inner thighs, teasing her. Then I flicked my tongue down over her clit. She was red-hot and dripping wet. "Did sucking me off get you horny, slut?" I taunted her. "Did the little whore get hot giving me a blow job? You’re a hot little tramp." She scowled but made no reply.

For the next 20 minutes or so, I teased her clit and pussy with my tongue, bringing her close to orgasm but denying her release. I wanted to make her beg to be fucked. Her moans were music to my ears as she grew more and more frustrated.

Finally, she could take no more. "Let me cum! Stop teasing me!" she begged. "Do you want to be fucked?" I asked her. "Yes! I want it bad!" she said. "Beg for me," I told her. "Say you are a horny slut who needs her master to fuck her." "I am a horny slut. Please fuck me now, Master!" she moaned.

I had her. I slid my swollen prick into her steaming cunt. Within a few strokes she was cumming. I slammed into her, harder and harder, driving myself onward. She came over and over, each orgasm seemingly more intense than the one before.

Finally I had had enough. I pulled out and made her open her mouth and lick her juices off of me. "Suck me off now, slut," I told her. "You will swallow it all without complaining. You are nothing but a tramp." She licked my prick up and down until I was ready to cum. I slid deep into her mouth and shot my cum down her throat: she obligingly swallowed every drop.

I let her clean up in the bathroom, but insisted she sleep in the nude. To make sure she didn’t try anything, her wrists were chained to the bed while she slept. The next morning I fucked her again, and again made her beg for it first. We had a wonderful weekend, but the moment of truth was now arriving.

On Monday morning, Lisa woke up to find me dressed and ready to leave. "Where are we going?" she asked sleepily. "To pay off your brother’s debt, silly," I told her. I had secretly purchased a lovely dress for her to wear: I had plans for her beyond the weekend. "You mean…?" she asked. "Yes, I do," I told her. "You were terrific. I didn’t mean to scare you, but I wasn’t sure what you were up to, and so…" She smiled. "I do hope to see you again," I told her, "under less… shall we say, hostile circumstances."

Two weeks later, we went on our first "real" date. Six months later, we were husband and wife. I made her grow out her hair: it looks better long. And we still enjoy role play, especially when I pretend to catch her "in the act" and use her body to "punish" her.

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