tagMind ControlIn the Interest of Closure

In the Interest of Closure


"I can still make you come," he said, and for a second Chloe's heart stopped beating.

It was supposed to be a friendly drink. A closure drink. Five years ago, still in high school, she had met him online and fallen into a trance at the words he typed to her. Not like the boys she knew. He wasn't flirtatious. He was forceful. And she'd secretly wanted, for so long, to be forced...

"I can still make you come harder than you thought possible," he told her from across the table now, and took a casual drag on his cigarette.

She found her voice, and tried to put some irritation into it. "Don't even start that, Mick," she said, shifting in her seat slightly. "That's not what this is about."

He looked amused. "Oh, isn't it? Then what is it about, Divisi?" He was the only person who addressed her by her last name, and the offhand authority of it still made her mouth go dry. He went on, gesturing with his cigarette to make a point. "You meet me online. You say all you want is to be forced into submission. I manage to do that from a thousand miles away. You read every word I send you, you touch yourself when I tell you to -- you hurt yourself when I tell you to..."

"Not anymore," she said immediately, but she could feel her cheeks reddening.

"No," he agreed. "Not anymore. And why? Because you found a boyfriend. And you just couldn't do that to him, could you?"

"It's not just -- it's not like I'm just scared of getting caught," she protested. "Trevor's good. He's really good. I'm not the unfulfilled girl I was when we met. I don't have to search for it anymore." It sounded weak even to her own ears. 'I don't have to search for it'? What the fuck does that even mean?

As though reading her thoughts, Mick was smirking openly now. "Riiight," he drawled. "So this, what we're doing here, this is simply a final, in-person get-together. In the interest of closure."

"It is!"

"And does that make any sense to you? Really?"

It had when she'd first planned it. He'd dropped her an e-mail saying he was going to be in town for a day or two. She'd thought as far as a goodbye drink, and no further.

"Look at me," he said suddenly, distracting her from her worried thought process. She looked at him, then wished she hadn't. The directness of his gaze, the leering, knowing look in his eyes made her shift in her seat again, uncrossing and crossing her legs, and she realized to her horror that the crotch of her panties was soaked.

"That's better," he said. "I like you more when you're not overthinking the situation." He drained the last of his beer, still watching her past the glass. Chloe was getting more and more nervous. She moved to check her watch, but gasped instead when a strong, booted foot hit her in the ankle. Mick kicked the other ankle next, effectively spreading her legs under the table in under a second. She froze. "Good girl," he purred, and snuffed out his cigarette in the ashtray. Before Chloe realized what was happening, he had lifted his foot under the table and brought it down firmly to rest on the bench she was sitting on... directly between her parted thighs.

The sole of the boot pressed lightly against her wet panties. A soft, inadvertent moan escaped her lips and she closed her eyes for a second, her mind reeling. Her hips twitched forward instinctively, rubbing her throbbing clit against the rough tread of the workboot. "Oh god," she whispered.

"Oh god is right," he said. She opened her eyes. He was still smirking, looking calm and confident. The angle of the table kept anyone from seeing his boot on the bench, or Chloe's spread legs. Her pussy ached. She stared at him, a helpless plea in her eyes. With a flick of his lighter to ignite a new cigarette, he denied that plea. He simply stared back at her across the table... and pressed lightly with his boot.

The breath caught in her throat. She rotated her hips again, massaging her pussy against the tread through the thin, clinging fabric of her wet panties. And from there, her body took over. Now it was as though she were drugged. She couldn't stop. Careful to keep her upper body absolutely still so no onlookers would suspect, under the table she rubbed herself against the sole of Mick's boot, wettening it with her sodden panties. Her heartrate accelerated, her mind going blank, unable to thin of anything but how humiliating it was to be overpowered so simply, and how weak Mick had made her with so little effort. A few words and a glance and she was masturbating herself to orgasm on his workboot.

Across the table, Mick exhaled a trail of nicotine-laced smoke in her direction, knowing full well she'd always found the smell of cigarettes to be a turn-on. Feverish now with the need to come, feeling it mount inside her to an almost unbearable climax, she actually lifted her ass slightly off of the bench, propped up by her hands on either side. The tread of the boot was firm and rough and the friction it caused against her dripping pussy was so good it was almost painful, the pressure against her swollen clit was making her lose her mind. She lifted her spread feet suddenly and propped them against Mick's bench, one on either side of him, and thrust her pussy against his boot with a renewed intensity caused by the new angle.

The orgasm rising in her body was overpoweringly close, when--

"Stop," Mick commanded her."

She faltered for a moment, stared at him in disbelief. I'm... so close... Her body throbbed painfully in protest at the cessation of its pleasure. Her hips twitched forward again.

"No," he said firmly, condemning her for her disobedience. She slowly eased herself back down onto the bench, resting against the now entirely wet seat of her panties. He lifted his right boot and set it back down on the floor, then ran a light, mocking finger up her jean-covered leg. Hurriedly, still dazed, she withdrew her own feet and rested them on the floor once again. She stared at him with glazed eyes, not comprehending. She was beginning to come down, but so slowly... Her pussy still throbbed and ached for that friction.

Mick snuffed out the second cigarette, glanced briefly around the bar, then his eyes came back to rest on her. She knew her face must still be flushed. Her breathing was still heavy and the pulse in her neck was still beating fast and hard. Mick grinned.

"How'd you like to go for a walk?"

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