Amber's First Apartment

My boyfriend asked, "Amber, is everything ok?"

Turns out I had betrayed a startled expression and spaced out unaware of it. He thought something bad had happened, which in a way it did. But no, I was fine. Though I wasn't fine, I was distracted, I was horny for abuse and he couldn't provide it because we'd only gotten to second base. He hadn't even felt skin really, so it wasn't appropriate to just jump his bones this soon. But I wanted a hand on me, I wanted a hand on my ass, I wanted a hand to own me.

"Mhhhmmm" I hummed and guided his hand on it, guiding him to stroke me. To touch me.

He was so sweet about it. He ran his hand over my clenched cheeks and followed the hip line, slowly stroking my ass. My teeth were clenched as well and the movie was going places and he was still unsure of himself, whether to do more. Not waiting for him, I guided his other hand to my breasts and he got the hint. Still, his right hand was a tease, still being polite and methodical.

It was so frustrating!

He should've slipped his greedy hand under my leggings and tried fingering my asshole just like Daddy. Yes it was irrational, but merciful God, I needed that right then. I was getting angry at my boyfriend. If he grew a backbone maybe then he could finally get his dick sucked, but no, he was just way too refined for that. Too respectful of my boundaries. I hated it momentarily. If he wasn't going to get assertive, well I wasn't going to give it up easily either. If he wanted his cock sucked, he should've just pulled it out and I'd make him wait until he grew into that. Feigning being tired, I hinted for him to leave and then finished the movie by myself. One or two fingers may have gone in my ass by the time credits rolled.

Next day mom picked me up and drove me home for Thanksgiving. She chirped the whole time and I didn't get a word in edgewise.

It felt strange being away from my first apartment right away and yet it felt comforting that I had a place of my own to escape to. The thought of having my own space put a smile on my lips. The big dinner was next day and as I was chasing a pea on my plate I again remembered getting my ass plugged and nearly gasped in astonishment that I actually let that happen. That I spread my ass cheeks for his cock. Really, I was disgusted that I let any of that happen. It was nasty. Daddy Mike was older than my father and particularly I felt disgusted with myself.

It was a confusing train of thought. Just on the physical level, how I could suppress the discomfort so easily when I clearly didn't get any pleasure out of it? Getting fucked in the ass hurt and frustratingly the thought of it made me horny. It made no sense whatsoever. More I reasoned it I figured it was the sensation of being used, of being useful that gave me a distorted sense of purpose, of accomplishment. But I wasn't going to be a piece of meat anymore. Smiling and grinning from ear to ear I decided I was really done with it.

"Something happy, dear?" my mother asked.

"Just feels good to be home," I lied.

After dinner I claimed a far corner of the big couch and covered myself up with a blanket. Our tradition was watching Christmas movies after dinner and it was comforting to feel that things haven't changed much year after year. My cell buzzed and I ignored it, figuring it was my boyfriend being sappy. But during commercials, turned out it was a far more unsavory character.

The text message read, "when r u gonna dress up 4 me again?"

Oh, hell no. Not anymore. The razor burn was a stark reminder of things I shouldn't be doing so I scoffed out loud and when mom asked, I pretended it was work related. The movie went on and I remembered how commercials are annoyingly longer than the movies these days. My phone buzzed again but I ignored it for a time.

It was a crude message, "shouldv come on ur face other nite."

Not chin, I wondered?

Halfway through the movie I caught my hand mindlessly sliding in the waistband of my sweatpants and I willed myself to stop. But by the next commercial I was quietly running my finger over my slit, and when my phone buzzed again I slid my finger deeper inside and teased my butthole. By end of the movie I was biting my bottom lip to stop myself from making noises. Like sprayed all over my face, forehead and eyes and nose and all? Is that what he meant? After the movie I ordered a new work outfit with my phone and hoped it would arrive by end of the week. Before bed, I shaved my pussy smooth with a travel kit my mom kept around and made sure to apply lotion.

Next day I saw Daddy Mike's truck pull in next door and my heart raced despite my mind trying to ignore it. There was nothing I could do to focus my mind once it started multiplexing on its own. That inability to channel my thinking was why I dropped out of college, a quirk of my character. Him being nearby was a trigger I couldn't control. I mean, I was done with the sex. So very done with it. Sure of it. He saw me and waved once. Then my thoughts turned into a rapidly deteriorating cyclone of inappropriateness.

How easy would it be to slip out and suck his cock in his garage, I wondered?

Or in his truck while he drove? He liked blowjobs and I was a good little cocksucker. We could be quick about it, a round trip to the grocery store.

Or if we had time, maybe he could try to force it in my throat again like that first night in my apartment, holding me down with his legs? The utility road off 100 had a dark and wooded dead end.

But both our houses were full with visiting families, so it just wouldn't happen. But what if I grabbed a pie and walked it over to ostensibly share it, hoping he'd get my meaning and cream mine after everyone went to sleep?

God, I was a hot mess. For someone who didn't want to be his piece of meat anymore, why was I inventing reasons to see him and mechanisms to make it happen?

By that evening I was under the blanket again, playing with my pussy and ignoring the family for want of my runaway thoughts. The dessert came and I licked my fingers clean. Mom gave me a gift card for Christmas and I ordered some more clothing with my phone before I went to bed.

Inexplicably, the whole time all I could think about was facials. Like the kind in porn. Cocks blowing loads over girls' faces. The kind Daddy Mike wanted. It was something I never tried - I got it on the chin plenty of times, but not the face. Jesus, that was so fucking random of me but there was nothing else stimulating to think about at Thanksgiving.

As mom drove me back home a few days later - and how weird was that my definition of home was shifting - I kept checking the phone nervously and wondering if package thieves got to my box first, or if a nice neighbor brought it into the locked vestibule. Barely a mile into the trip and against all my better judgment I texted Daddy, setting myself up for bad behavior.

By the time he arrived I was wearing a slutty cheerleader outfit, complete with leg and arm warmers.

"Jesus Christ, you look hot," he said and touched my exposed midriff.

Within seconds of him closing the door I was on my knees and blowing him eagerly.

"Please cum on my face," I blurted out.

It didn't take long at all for once. When he got close to orgasming he pulled his cock out of my mouth and warned me he was going to blow his load. He aimed it at my mouth but I adjusted it for him, aiming it at my forehead. God, feeling that blast of cum made me gasp. The thoughts in my head were made real, they made it happen. I laughed in a spasm of uncontrolled pleasure because I gave him what he wanted, a slutty outfit and willing head, and the random porny facials became real. It was me who enabled him to be selfish, who willed it into being. Cum on my face was the reward for my labor.

He left soon afterwards. After toweling my face off and changing into jammies I felt horny and sat on the couch to get off. Out of habit I turned on the TV and my hand was doing its own thing inside my panties. Minutes later I texted him, "did u like that?" I wanted approval.

His reply came late and it was a single "FUCK that was good."

Feeling lonely I called my boyfriend and chatted for awhile while I played with myself. My phone buzzed again and daddy texted me an expanded note.

"Hold on a sec, got a message from mom," I lied to my boyfriend.

It read, "u made me so horny. strking again. should have fuckd ur ass afterward."

"First thing in the morning?" I asked and went back to talking to my boyfriend. We made brunch plans and I took a shower before going to bed.

In the morning Daddy came over to fuck a cheerleader's ass. This time he was too impatient to undress and I ended up with messy boot prints all over my area rug. I was on my knees on the bed all dolled up and he stood at the foot of its corner with his zipper undone. After sticking it in my pussy for mere seconds he made his promise true.

"Do you like fucking my ass better than my pussy?" I asked him again. Truth be told, I didn't care which hole he picked. To be even more truthful, I wasn't horny at all. I was just repeating a habit, developing my undefined subservience.

The whole time I kept thinking how this was nasty and marveling at how excited it was making me despite its questionable appeal to me. He grabbed my hips firmly and slammed into my ass hard each time, skewing the bed in the effort. The entire time I kept vacillating between wanting it all over and wanting his cum. After he came in my ass he zipped up and asked me his usual cryptic line to which I nodded silently.

"You good?"

After he left I got back on my knees and sank my head into the coverlet and fingered myself until I came. By now some stubble had showed up so I wasn't smooth shaven anymore and it was a mark of shame that I went along with it. Stripping off the slutty outfit and throwing it in the closet, I felt disgusted with myself after my orgasm.

That was the last time, I decided again. Even though the cheerleader outfit had only lasted a day, I grabbed it along with all the other slutty things Daddy Mike wanted me to wear and threw them in a garbage bag and left it all in the closet until garbage day came. I was through with this, but I'd make sure to moisturize sensitive spots.

Some weeks passed and I repeatedly fought the urge to be a little pleaser. The garbage day came and went and I was reluctant to throw away something so expensive. My relationship with my boyfriend was progressing slowly and we were having a great time spending time together. Maybe I could model some of the more innocent outfits for him later, I thought. He licked and sucked on my nipples and I ran my tongue over his belly button, just to be a tease, but I didn't want to have sex with him yet, or God, I wondered, maybe at all?

One evening as I raked my brain over my idiosyncrasies a thought occurred to me - was I just more attracted to older men?

The thought was appalling because I surely didn't find them attractive, but was it possible that I preferred older men in bed? No, that was wrong. Truth be told, I preferred older men to use me, which was a very specific difference. How was that sexual? Was it a matter of submission, I wondered? Could I, myself, not be assertive?

More weeks went by and with my unanswered question my hormones flared up again, as bad as that first time in my senior year. Every time I opened my closet to dress I saw the tied-off garbage bag and knew the potential of what was inside it. Gradually I felt a heightened need for a daddy to use me. Any daddy.

Stupidest idea ever, but I posted an online ad looking for as much one night to test the waters.

Jesus, but dozens, nearly hundreds of people replied within minutes. I had no idea that it would generate any kind of interest, let alone this much, but then again I was naive at these things. With my left hand inside my underwear I clicked through the responses, and ew, no, I was definitely not attracted to older men, I was absolutely sure of that. Half of them, maybe more, sent pictures of their disappointing cocks. Maybe a third opened up with a picture of their face. Small minority sent me pictures of themselves bending over and I could not even. Was that their idea of seducing a girl, or were they repurposing a more unsavory reply to someone else? The ad got deleted quickly.

Next afternoon I tried again but dialed back on the details and requested far more in return. It was my best effort at a non-sexual ad. I wanted someone educated to talk to, not a pipefitter like Daddy Mike. Someone who could carry a conversation, who cared about current issues. And of course, the age requirement was a wayward hint suggesting I was looking for someone who had a fractional interest in molesting a younger girl. Of course, I was just testing the waters.

The responses were much better this time around, but not perfect. It got me to try to carry on at least three separate conversations out of the bunch. One guy was faster than the rest and he shocked me. He asked me if I'd ever tied up another girl. Jesus but that came out of nowhere, it was supposed to be a platonic exchange. The other guy said his wife was out of town, a rare occurrence, and he wouldn't mind chatting over a beer. It sounded pushy, and, well, he sounded like a cheating dirtbag. The last guy said he was working in the city all week and was only free during day times. He sounded uninterested, like it was a chore to reply to me.

Why were they all married, I wondered? But then I scratched that question because being single at their age meant they were failures at life. So being married was somehow better? That made no sense.

So no, I hadn't ever tied up another girl - or anyone else for that matter. The curiosity struck and I asked for more details. Like who, for example? The curiosity wanted to be fleshed out.

He was married with kids, but apparently he had a mistress on the side and they were looking for another girl for a threeway. What nerve! He was cheating on his wife with one woman and now reaching out to another who just wanted to talk - it sounded disgusting. My hand was inside my underwear as we kept emailing back and forth.

Finally he mentioned he was free that evening and the hormones flared again and I texted my boyfriend that I wasn't going to make it tonight. Instead, like an idiot, I invited a perfect stranger over directly to my apartment. I'd never done anything like that before and the exploration had certain appeal.

God, but I paced nervously by the window the next whole hour, watching people park in the street. This was my first time inviting anyone over like that and even though I was clear about having nothing more happen but an innocent chat over a glass of wine, the buried sexual undertones rocked me to my core. Still nervous about meeting a stranger I thought to give my outfit some consideration.

Were jeans and a t-shirt adequate? The mirror confirmed it but I was actually thinking about dressing up in one of those filthy outfits Daddy Mike paid for, because I wanted to be admired. Yeah, who was I kidding, I could never. One of my little black dresses I wore to work made me feel less slobby.

After I buzzed him in the building and opened my door he walked in carrying a backpack which made me look at it funny.

"Oh, hello," he said and introduced himself as Brian.

"Um, I'm Amber," I reluctantly offered my name since my disposable email didn't.

Guiding him to the couch, I poured him a glass of wine.

We sat on my couch and he took my usual seat which made me eye the heel gouge the whole time. The conversation started off slowly and nervously and I asked him all sorts of questions about his mistress and his wife. Despite the inappropriate nature of the conversation, he seemed like a really decent guy. This went on for half an hour fairly innocently. He explained the mistress wanted another girl to tie her up, and Jesus that situation had never come across my mind.

"Um, what's in the bag?" I finally asked him.

"Have you ever been tied up?" he asked me in return.

"Uh, no... that's not my thing."

"Well, have you ever tried it?" he wanted to know.

"No," I said innocently but elongated playfully.

He unzipped the backpack and unloaded the contents onto my coffee table. God, but I covered my mouth in surprise and actually gasped quietly. He neatly arrayed a blindfold, two dildoes of interesting sizes, and a wad of what looked like pantyhose or tights.

"Do you want to find out what it feels like?" he asked.

"Um, no thank you," I replied in disbelief that someone would bring a dildo to a wine meeting. My eyes were peeled onto the larger dildo. Its size was intimidating.

Instead of hearing me, he unpacked the wad of tights and separated three out of the bunch. I watched in morbid fascination as he rolled two of them in a ball and put the third pair across my legs.

"Um, what are you doing?" I asked him nervously.

He slowly and carefully brought the ball to my mouth and held it off a few inches away.

"Open your mouth," he asked me nicely.

"Umm, no, seriously what are you doing?" I asked him again.

"If you tell me to stop, I will. But open your mouth and I'll just give you a taste of what it's like" he assured me.

Jesus fuck, a stranger was in my apartment late at night and this man wanted to shove a ball of what looked like used tights in my mouth. My heart started beating fast and I started breathing in response but the weirdest thing was I felt all the danger right in my pussy. My clit was throbbing at facing this unknown situation. Thrill overrode my sensibilities and I opened my mouth for him.

What the hell was the matter with me?

He took his time, carefully lodging it in. It filled my mouth almost completely and the thrill of being gagged was a surprise I had yet to categorize as an experience. He picked up the third pair off my legs and wrapped it around my head, fussing with my hair, tying it off in the back. It held the ball of tights in my mouth securely and oh my god, I was sure I couldn't spit it out or otherwise remove it without helping hands. Breathing was a notch more difficult but otherwise ok.

"Does that feel secure?" he asked me.

Very muffled and barely audible I muttered a hypnotized "Umm, yeah" and switched to nodding. Secure was for damned sure.

When he leaned over to pick up another pair of tights, I tried to say "what are you doing?" but it got muffled beyond recognition. He seemed to understand though.

"Just going to tie it firmly around your legs is all," he assured me, "just so you see how it feels."

My legs were starting to shake nervously but I let him without objecting. After all, I still had my hands free and like he said, this was exploration. His hands touching my ankles and calves were electrifying. This was a guy who coached middle school soccer on the side, tying me up. His hidden personality unrolled right in front of me and it was an unknown. He stretched and braided the tights into a sturdier shape and coiled it around my legs, tightening it with a knot I didn't recognize. Oh god it felt tight and what was I doing.

"Does that feel tight?" he asked.

"Yes," I replied, then nodded, nervous as I've ever been in my life. Even that simple yes was barely comprehensible as the gag was fairly effective. This was such a bizarre situation and truth be told I wasn't sure whether I liked or disliked the sensation thus far. But he sounded educated and reputable from our prior conversations so I extended his behavior as respectful.

"Now lets get you on your knees," he said, "I'm just going to help you turn around."

He started helping me to get up when I asked "Why?" but my muffled voice was ignored. He got me to stand up and even turning around in place was surprisingly difficult. Walking far with ankles tied together wasn't very feasible. He helped lower me on the couch so I was on my knees, and I supported myself against the backrest.