Compliance Pt. 06

Something a little different. Enjoy. RR

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Olive sat on the subway, her leg crossed over her thigh so that the point of her heeled boot made it risky for anyone to stand too close to her. She was nine stops away from meeting him again in the East Village, the new object of her obsession. Though she had dressed sexy for him, in a red teddy, stockings, and garters, she wasn't really comfortable letting everyone in the city see her that way, so she'd hidden the lingerie under leggings, a pale sweater, and a voluminous scarf. She was all wrapped up like a present for him. The extra layers made her sweat in the dank inferno of the station.

Her hair was held in place by a knit headband adorned with a brooch, and her copper waves framed her face delicately. Her makeup was feminine and youthful, with shades of blushy pink and lilac, and she'd opted not for her usual red lipstick but an elegant berry-colored gloss that reminded her of the glazed pout on a porcelain doll.

She really should be studying instead tonight. She had a paper due in a few days that only existed as an outline in her head so far, and an exam not too far behind that required some serious cramming. And it ain't the only thing, either, she thought to herself with a smirk.

She met eyes with a man standing nearby and held eye contact just a beat too long, not so long that he'd approach her but long enough that he'd wish that he had as he walked home later. She liked to imagine she could leave a lingering impression on people like that, with just a look. It had been so satisfying to develop more sophisticated ways to flex her power of flirtation lately, and the city provided ample opportunities to practice. Sometimes it required the finesse of an art form. Other times all she had to do was post a cute picture of her body on a meetup subreddit and let the replies roll in, and she'd have her pick of the kind of evening she wanted to have. An orgy in the Hamptons, or hookah and Egyptian food in Astoria, or pizza and molly with a guitar player in Bushwick...

Yes, she'd sampled many of the city's offerings; it had been a truly perfect playground for her. But lately she only seemed to have the taste for one kind of experience, with exactly one man. She didn't know his last name yet, but his first name was Paul. He'd found her the normal way, with a horny reddit reply to one of her posts. She found it charming, the way people would reach out to shoot their shot. It was like the modern day version of answering the personal ads in a newspaper, but for perverts.

So, he'd taken her out to dinner, and they'd sized each other up to ensure the other wasn't a crazy person. Then they went back to his place where they abandoned the pretense of being on a date and, per their mutually agreed-upon terms, fucked. So what?

Olive couldn't answer that question for herself, but for one reason or another, she couldn't get this one out of her head. She bit her lip and felt her hot cheeks swell. He was almost like the kind of guy she could bring home to her mom, if she'd met him under different circumstances. He'd had an impressive path to law school, from what she'd gathered, and he was tall, witty, and thoughtful. Twice after their first encounter he'd called her on the phone, and she'd laid in her bed in her dorm room listening to his voice in her ear as they got to know each other. Though they were just playmates, and she was distantly aware that their age gap precluded them from being real dating prospects, she never felt like he wasn't taking her seriously. And he had the biggest fucking dick she'd ever seen.

The subway car rattled Olive out of her reverie in time to dismount at the stop her navigation app recommended. She grabbed her overnight bag and took a second to compose herself before rising and making her way to the door. She kept to the right on the stairway up, taking the steps slowly. She was always punctual to her booty calls, and was actually running a little early. He'd told her to punch in the address to a sushi restaurant, but to take a nondescript staircase to the left upon entry. A swanky cocktail bar was hidden on the upper level.

She wandered into a dimly lit atmosphere with a brass front bar and a brocade-papered wall and took a seat at a small corner table that looked down upon the street below. With time to kill, she ordered a drink. She didn't recognize more than half of its ingredients, but it came with egg white foam, which she enjoyed immensely, so she hoped it'd be good. If she were honest, her nerves could be braced by knocking the whole thing back quickly before Paul arrived, but she didn't want to let on that she'd shown up so early to anticipate him. She dreaded appearing too desperate for him. More delicate than the art of flirting, was the tightrope act of counterbalancing her indulgence in sensual vulnerability with enough aloofness to keep things vaguely casual. Too much restraint could ice someone out, or limit the intimacy, but too little could scare a partner away. She delighted in this dance, in the intoxicating complexity of human mating rituals, but it stung to get it wrong, even in a situationship like this.

She glanced out the window and caught a glimpse of a tall figure hurrying up the street in a long dark coat, his head bowed against the late autumn chill. Her heart seemed to rise in her chest like a flag on a pole. She breathed, took a sip of the fizzy bitter concoction the server had brought her, and closed her eyes to try to dissect its notes. She had not been drinking alcohol long enough to appreciate the nuances of a fancy cocktail like this.

She slowly opened her eyes at the sound of the wooden door swinging to look up at him through her mascara-teased lashes as he entered. Paul.

His hazel eyes darted across the small room and locked onto her. A warm smile danced across his face as he approached.

"Hi, Olivia."

"It's Olive..."

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Olive was back home from Bleecker Nash. She rushed to her car without stopping to check with Kent on the way out, and sped like a maniac (to the extent city traffic allowed) back to her neighborhood. She couldn't really remember what she had worked on for the rest of the day after Paul had left the office.

With her heart pounding, she raced up the stairs to her apartment and threw herself onto her bed, letting out a loud groan into her pillow that carried many emotions. Then she tore off her shirt and grimaced at her reflection as she approached her bathroom mirror. DADDY'S SLUT.

She wet her finger and rubbed at the T in slut. It didn't budge. She grit her teeth as she remembered the cup of permanent markers the receptionist kept on the front desk.

As if you actually would want to scrub this off, a little voice said to her. He's marked you as his own. She growled in utter frustration and, as if in defiance of Paul's most recent triumph over her free will and better judgment, grabbed her vibrator from her bathroom cabinet and stormed back to her bed to do something for herself tonight.

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Olive took Paul's arm as they left the speakeasy.

"I am sorry if you were waiting on me a few minutes, by the way," he said. "I needed to change out of the clothes I wore to my internship today so you didn't outclass me. You always look like a fucking movie star."

Olive blushed and smiled demurely. "You cleaned up well."

Paul grabbed her tightly by the waist and directed her out of the way of pedestrian foot traffic on the crowded sidewalk to press her back against a brick wall. Then, he pulled her close and pressed his warm, full lips against hers. They exchanged a few hungry kisses, the vestiges of their libations mingling in their mouths as their tongues rolled decadently around each other. He separated from her and grazed his beard against her cheek as he moved to her ear to whisper.

"I am going to destroy you tonight. Come with me."

Olive snickered and threw her arm around his shoulders, as they started to walk together once again toward Paul's apartment.

"To the ends of the earth," she muttered sarcastically, though she knew a part of her wasn't joking when she said it.

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Olive laid with her legs open in her bed. She had lost her soaked panties but thrown on a tee shirt to hide the humiliating label Paul had left on her tits. She had dabbed an arousal gel on her clit to aid with her masturbation, though it hardly felt necessary as her skin seemed to thrum with arousal with every memory of Paul she indulged in. For someone whose presence of mind seemed to come and go at will (well, not her will), all the details of her time with him seemed to be captured in stunning technicolor clarity.

He had brought her to his room, and pinned her against yet another wall, a recurring pattern.

"Why do you still have clothes on?" he growled in her ear.

"Yes, Daddy..."

Olive snaked her hand up her top and applied some of the gel to her nipples. Then, she pinched and tugged at them as the heat built in her sticky clit. The points grew firm, and she wished she still had her old nipple clamps to put some extra pressure on them. She tossed her head back into her pillow and winced at the impact on the love bite on her neck. She writhed against her soft sheets, eyes closed, finally reaching down for her silicone helper and switching it on to a low setting...

Olive had disrobed to reveal the lingerie she'd worn for Paul. His jaw dropped as she slid off her leggings and he helped pull her sweater over her head.

"You're so good to me, baby, " he purred as he interlaced his hand with hers, then raised her arm to spin her around. "And so, so pretty. Do you think I could fuck your ass tonight?"

Olive's face turned red at how forward he was. His lust for her made her feel more drunk and woozy than the drinks.

"Uh, yeah... I'd love to try it." She smiled confidently, though her head was reeling with the thrill of pleasing him. "It's been a while, so I might need to be eased into it, and I might be very loud..."

Paul grinned back at her. "Excellent. Fuck the neighbors."

"And I might need to be tied down..."

"Goooood fucking girl."

"Yes, Daddy," Olive whispered to herself as she rubbed circles on her sensitive clit. She had laid the tip of her vibrator against her damp pussy lips, letting it slowly buzz its way between them. The buzz seemed to resonate throughout her whole body, as if she was a hollow vessel that needed to be filled to overflowing with pleasure.

She reached down and began to slowly pump the toy in and out, savoring the squishy noise of her sopping, aching cunt. She groaned and felt shockwaves of vibration course through her pussy as she stimulated her clit.

Olive screamed and bucked as Paul's huge cock rammed in and out of her asshole. As promised, he'd worked his way up to anal sex with toys and lube and patience, and they were both pleasantly surprised with how easily her ass welcomed his cock.

Her wrists and ankles were lashed to his bed with silky underbed restraints and she had a small, boat-shaped vibrator under her pussy. He'd pulled it out of a drawer of sex toys he had in his apartment for his play partners, which she tried not to think about too much. She felt pussy juice dribble out of her slit onto the object as she shrieked with absolute abandon. It felt so fucking good to give it all up to him, to be everything he wanted. She felt her body building to a climax, but knew that if she came first, they were far from finished, not until her tight ass had milked every last drop of cum from his cock. Paul smacked her ass, enjoying the way it jiggled, and dragged his nails over her back.

"FUUUCK! OH FUCK! FUCK ME, DADDY!"

Olive groaned again and started rubbing her clit faster with her right hand as she pumped the dildo with her left. She felt her abs spasm and her hips jump and she curled her toes as waves of pleasure overtook her. She hooked the upward facing curve of the toy into the ridges of her g spot and, with her last remaining drop of energy, stroked one final orgasm out of her clammy, sticky body before collapsing, spent, onto her bed.

She opened her phone, ostensibly to look at the time, but also to look at her beloved photo of Paul and his precious cock. She realized an hour had passed since she'd begun. The sun had set, and it was dark in her room.

She wished she had some dark chocolate.

She stared at Paul's serene, post-orgasm face in the photo. A face she never thought she'd ever see again. A body she never thought she'd touch again. She sighed. No matter what lies she told herself, that orgasm was for him, too.