Consumerism Ch. 16-19

"She can stay here," he says with a grin, sips wine, and stares at me. "I'll watch her." Of course, he must misgender me. It's ok, I don't mind being a little fem for him. From now on, I give permission to him only to use female pronouns for me.

"Ok, great," she says. "I'll see you tomorrow morning than when you take your morning medications."

"Uhm," I stammer, scratch my arm, and bite at one of my fingernails. "One last thing... about the DUI..."

"Yes?" Dr. Welker asks, glances at a watch underneath her lab coat, hardens her jaw line, and frowns.

"The police officer, he said my pupils were dilated," I point out, lower my voice, draw my eyebrows together, and grow still. "These medications you're giving me. I thought they were regarding toxic masculinity. You're not giving me street drugs, are you? Drugs that would impair my driving?"

Dr. Welker clasps her hands together, stays remarkably still, and doesn't blink even once. "Of course, I'd never give you hard drugs," she promises. "Although some of what we provide you can sometimes lead to a false positive on a drug test. Don't worry, I have copies of all your prescriptions at the office. If this officer is foolish enough to cite you, we'll get you an attorney and get the case tossed. Right Brad?"

He smirks. "There's a reason we always donate so much money to the District Attorney's re-election campaign," he insinuates. "You've got no exposure. Nothing to worry about. This officer, he's got baggage. He wouldn't dare push something like this. It'll be the end of his career if he does."

Dr. Welker leaves.

"Thanks for letting me stay with you Chief," I praise, get off the sofa, clack my heels against his granite floor, and join him near the kitchen counter. "You wouldn't mind pouring me a glass of what you're having would you? It's been a rough night."

He smiles, leans toward me, strokes my left arm, and looks firmly at me with glossy eyes. "Of course, sweetheart, I'd love to feed you wine again," he agrees. He sets a glass down on the other side of the kitchen and it clinks. I hear the wine pouring into and filling the glass. He sets it in front of me. "Don't drink it," he warns. "I want to feed you this wine myself. Wait here. I have some things for you. The perfect cure for you to forget all about your wife. I promise; this will lift your spirits." He disappears down the hall to his bedroom. I stare at the full wine glass. Not once do I dare lift it to my eager lips.

He reappears with a smirk on his face holding something behind his back. Soon enough, we're across the counter from each other again. His eyes twinkle, mouth grins, and he licks his lips. He drops what he was holding behind him on the kitchen counter. One of the items clanks loudly against its surface. I look down and see a blindfold and a pair of handcuffs. I grin, bounce, gleam my eyes, stare at him, and wait intently to hear what he wants to do to me tonight.

19. Mr. Bentley's Bedroom

I wear a blindfold and once again my hands cuff my body to brass bars of a bed. Only this time it is not the headboard but the floorboard. My body lays stomach down on the cold granite floor in front of his bed. I wear whatever he put on me after blindfolding me. It is some type of lingerie with a brassier over breast forms, panties, a garter belt, stockings, and high heels.

I feel one of his fingers trace a line from the strap of my bra down my lower back, over the garter belt, and towards my ass. He stops and both of his hands roughly grab on to my butt and grope me. He pulls the panties down my legs. My chest flutters, hands moisten, a smile slowly builds on my face, and I tremble. "Yes, Chief, fuck me in the ass again," I request. I lift my butt up and relax it for my boss to use as he pleases.

He snickers and shoves something inside of me. It's cold, extremely cold, and burns at the same time. I wince, squirm my ass, pull away from him, flare my nostrils, and rattle the steel cuffs against the brass bar. "Wait, wait, wait," I beg.

He grabs the left side of my waist with his left hand and holds me in place. His grip is strong. I feel his right hand shove the freezing cold object further inside of my ass. "You wait," he snarls before barking out laughter.

My eyes glass. Maybe it's not so bad, whatever it is he's doing to me. There's sweat all over my face. Fuck. Adrenaline shoots throughout my body. I tremor, shake and tremble my hand, neck spasms, and I violently thrash at the floorboard of the bed. The room fills with my pained squealing and the sound of metal clanking, banging and rattling as I hopelessly struggle to free myself from the suffering.

He roars with laughter. "I tell you what," he taunts. "It's all you had to do sweetheart. I don't know exactly what's in there. What you're thinking about in that head of yours right now. Say the magic word. But I bet you've forgotten all about your cunt of a wife. Tell daddy please."

"Please!" I scream, the blindfold damp against my skin, face haggard, and eyelids drooping.

He pulls it out of me.

I gasp, grab on to a brass bar with my cuffed hands, let out a shaky laugh, and moan out parted lips. My body feels light suddenly.

He pushes something else inside my asshole. A finger perhaps? It feels strange and squishy. A few moments pass. I don't react. Then it hits me, searing pain, burning the builds. I can't take any more of this. I wince, gasp, and whimper. Adrenaline spikes again. I feel so full of energy and motivation. "Please, enough!" I beg. "Please, Chief, please! Fuck me. Please, take it out of my ass! Fuck my asshole raw. Take it out! Please, make me come. Fuck me with your penis!"

He pulls the object out of my stinging asshole only to quickly replace it with his own greased up cock. I recognize it immediately. The way it stretches me out, warms me, and wears my body like a skintight leotard. My hands tighten their grip on the brass bar they hold. "Yes, fuck me Chief!" I squeal enthusiastically, arch my back, and breathe faster and louder. My body feels hot and fluttery. "Come in me please. Fuck my asshole."

My own cock throbs and spasms. It longs to be touched. Stroked, jerked, manhandled. I rattle the cuffs. "Please Chief jerk my cock," I entreat, moan, feel my hands sweat against the bar, and salivate. "Make me come."

He sneers at me and belts out an ugly laugh. "Sure sweetheart, I'll make you come," he teases. "From now on I'll be doing everything. You just lay back and let me treat you. Like you did me last time we were alone in here." His penis rearranges itself in my ass. As he pumps his thick shaft in and out of me, I feel him repeatedly thwack my prostate on the other side of my anal cavity.

"Yes Chief, yes!" I praise, shiver, tilt my head back, moan, and squeeze the brass bar with my wet hands. His balls slap against my skin and it reeks of musk and manly body odor in the room which overwhelms even my own perfume. I feel his hands tightly grip on to the sides of my ass as he stills, and his cock begins to spasm inside of me. Any moment now. Let's go. I'm ready. I wet my lips, fidget, and focus on the sensations of his hard cock throbbing inside my stretched-out asshole. Finally, I feel it. His warm come creams the inside of my body. My lips part, eyes turn inward, mouth pants, and throat wafts out a pair of indulgent moans. I feel something strike the taut skin of my penis. As if he had flicked it with a finger. My cock vibrates and I come as well. Like every time we've fooled around together, it feels warm and wonderful. As his cock pulls out of my lathered asshole, my trembling, shivering body collapses on the cold granite floor in front of his bed and the handcuffs clank against the brass floorboard. I linger there and let out a deep sigh.

His footsteps sound around my breathing body. After a few minutes, I hear a clicking noise and I feel the hard metal cuffs slide off my wrists. From behind my head, he unties the blindfold. I turn my head around and I see him standing there sneering at me in his tweed blue pinstriped suit holding a bottle of red wine. Sitting on the ground behind him is a glass of scotch on the rocks next to a bowl of jalapenos sliced in half along the long side.

He raises his right eyebrow, stands wide, adopts a cocky smile on his face, and he stretches each of his arms over the front of his chest one at a time. "You look nice and cheered up down there," he compliments himself. "I'll get out of this suit. Let you cuddle with me in the bed for a while. But first I want you to drink some wine." He pours some of the red wine on the granite floor. It looks like shed blood against the white granite. "Drink up," he taunts as he takes off his jacket.

I stare down at the spilled wine before looking back up at him.

"Clean my floor with your mouth," he orders as he removes his tie from his collar.

My ribs squeeze tightly against one another, my face flushes, my eyes look downward on the stained floor, and I whimper.

"If you want, there's always the sofa outside," he says as he unbuttons his shirt. "I know how you are. Inclined toward being alone and all. Go ahead and leave. I don't care. I'm perfectly fine with it. Sleeping alone in my own bed. I do it every night."

I think of my wife. Something inside of me behind my ribs sucks and sucks inside of me, my eyes tear up, and I feel helpless. I didn't want to be alone. It was never what I wanted. Socializing is tiring and difficult for me. But that doesn't mean I want things to be the way they've been. Lonely and isolated. Ignored by the person I once loved. I lap up wine off his cold bedroom floor. Just as he wants. His nasty little office bitch.

He towers above me shirtless, nods, adopts a relaxed smile, puffs out his bare chest, and chuckles.

I cuddle him late into the night in his bed. Not once does a depressing thought pass through my head.