Marriott's Antiques

Note: This is the first story I publish here. Feedback is welcome! All characters above 18.

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I had walked that street countless times before on my way home from work. My biggest mistake was perhaps in assuming that, as a result, I had seen all there was to see and explored all there was to explore. I knew of the shop's existence, of course, but I had never thought to venture inside, or even to stop and take a closer look. However, there was something strangely enticing about it, this time. The name rung in my ears: Marriott's Antiques. The shop's heat and warm light seemed to offer me refuge from the cold pavement and the ominous clouds. A large pot of flowers, placed by the door, beckoned me to enter, and the window's aggressively British greyish-green border was of a now irresistible appeal.

I had hoped to make as little sound as possible going in, but the shop bell sounded and the attendant's steps diligently made their way towards the entrance. I was soon standing in front a dark, slim and tall woman, - perhaps twenty eight years old - her features carved into a smile. The shop itself was a grandma's wet dream: tastefully decorated, bohemian, elaborate and old-fashioned. Centuries-old wooden beams were visible through the white walls.

The woman was ridiculously light on her feet, and, under any other circumstances, I may not have noticed her approach. She wore a dark-coloured skirt up on her waist, short enough to leave the top of her calves exposed, and a short-sleeved shirt of some light material.

Her prompt arrival and response time were a testament to how rigidly the shop was managed.

"How can I help you?" she said in the friendly and phony voice of customer service.

"Just looking around."

"Looking for anything in particular?"

She said this last sentence after a slight, pause and with a hint of arrogance in her voice that immediately made me think of her, perhaps subconsciously, as the owner or manager of the shop. I did my best to sort through an imaginary list of things that I might have needed. None of these items were compatible with those you might find in an antiques shop. A half-hearted "Not really..." was all I could manage.

The woman's smile had now become a smirk. She gestured me to follow her and I happily obliged.

As I looked around, occasionally touching an object, our conversation progressed. She now talked about her business: the titular Mr. Marriott was, as a matter of fact, a distant relative who had passed away and whose business she had come to own through some sort of legal loophole. She had done a better job at running it than her relative, she thought. I was not listening to the explanation as much as I was looking at her, anyway. She walked with her back arched and perfectly straight. Her lips were red and glossy, her dark hair suited her pale skin and was cut short enough that it framed her face, but not too short. She was coquettish and charming,

and her eyes inspired a sort of cool confidence. I found her beautiful.

"I really expected that running a shop would be harder, with little to no experience, especially one with a history like this one. I suppose I always did like to have everything my way as a girl." She smiled and snapped her fingers as she said this. I admired her confidence, and, frankly, I found it really sexy. I found myself following her around instinctively until she walked me back to the front desk. Occasionally, she would glance behind her shoulder, as if to check that I was still behind her, and smile, at which I could feel myself blush.

"Leaving empty handed?" She said when we came to a stop. The patronising wording amused me. I smiled; she, in turn, frowned, her face becoming a caricature of disappointment. I stuttered something like a thank you and a goodbye, excused myself, and made for the door.

I could not help but feel unsatisfied, however, as though our interaction had been incomplete. I regretted leaving before I could even lay my hand on the doorknob. I felt her standing behind me, too, and I pictured her dark eyebrows wrinkling her forehead and nose, and her supple lips tilted downward in contempt. I felt, at that moment, that I had an obligation not to displease miss Marriott, and that I should do everything in my power to fulfill her expectations of me. I stopped with the door half open and turned to face her once again.

I stood there awkwardly for a moment, before saying:

"I should probably check out the second floor before leaving."

I had noticed a staircase leading up on our walk, and offered her my most credible excuse. This, however, seemed to cheer her up. Her shoes made a pleasant tap on every wooden stair, and I followed close behind. She kept talking, and I mostly gave short replies. Despite this, I found her very interesting and easy to talk to talk to.

My focus, at this point, was hardly on the antiques or on the store at all. Instead, my attention being entirely devoted to miss Marriott, and to how lucky I was to simply be in her presence. Nearing the back of the room, she faced me and looked at me with pleading eyes:

"Excuse me for a moment."

I was left standing in the middle of the cluttered room while she retreated behind a small door at the corner of the hall. I considered leaving for a moment, but could not bear the thought of doing so without a goodbye from miss Marriott, or without her permission. Luckily, she emerged soon after with a few buttons of her blouse undone, (and believe me, I would have noticed) giving me the relief that I now apparently depended on her for. She walked towards me gracefully, as she did, and came closer than before, although I myself may have pulled into her embrace. At that point, she was so close to me that I could smell her, feel her hot breath on my face and her hands on my body.

"Stay longer" she said, and although her kind face said otherwise I understood it to be an order rather than a request. I could feel us shift from the composure we had both been keeping to disinhibition, and her all-too-familiar smirk sealed the deal for me.

I was led behind that very same door, exposing a short hallway with a staircase at the end of it. She stopped dead in her tracks in front of me and lifted her arms above her head. I could think of about a million different things I would have liked to do with her then, none of which involved that movement. I must have looked confused because she saw me and giggled. I blushed when I met her gaze. With the same smile and playful look in her eyes, she said: "A little help?" I realized what I had to do and eagerly lifted her blouse over her head, looking at the curve of her body where her skirt met her waist and at the dimples below her neck. Her skin was porcelain-like.

When she was standing in just her bra and pantyhose, a cold finger traced my face and neck down to the end of my tie, and gripped it firmly, thrusting me forward. Her sensual, almost reluctant smile was hypnotic. The semi-naked miss Marriott led me by my tie, like a dog on his leash, to the third (and final) floor.

Despite my initial reticence, I made no effort to fight it, and followed through with her initiative. The pace of her walk was sure and steady, placing one foot exactly in front of the other while her heels made a beautiful clacking noise. Her round ass swayed from side to side with each step, and the arm that wasn't holding my leash swung rhythmically back and forth. As long as we remained like that, I belonged to her, and she knew it.

We arrived at a closed door and she turned to face me, grasping the door with the one hand and holding my tie in the other. She raised her eyebrows seductively as she gently twisted the doorknob. We fell clumsily through the doorframe and came into a room not unlike the rest of her shop, with the notable addition of a framed painting hanging above the bed, portraying a stiff old man which I imagined was Mr. Marriott. She finally let go of my tie and plopped down at the foot of the bed. Her next word was a command:

"Strip."

Unmistakably concise. I opened my mouth to say something, but miss Marriott stopped me:

"Quiet, pet."

Not that I had any objections. The last word moved me, knowing that I had become her pet: her property. Her tone had become commanding, and she looked at me with icy seriousness. Her smile, however remained sweet and sincere. I smiled myself and started to unbutton my shirt.

She stood up, circled me like a lioness eyeing her prey, and finally came up behind me, running her silky hands below my arms and along my sides. I shivered at the coldness of her hands. Miss Marriott reached to my chest and tore open the last few buttons, sending them rattling to the floor, and turned towards me with a smile

"You won't need those anymore." she giggled. She slid her hands towards my bulging cock, and squeezed it a few times through my underwear, letting out a guttural "Mmmh". When I was standing in nothing but my boxers she trod on her catlike feet back towards the bed, sat down and gestured me towards her. When I started walking, she shook her head:

"Crawl."

I knew my place now. I got on all fours and started crawling to her. Her crossed legs hung off the edge of the mattress. I sat on my knees by the foot of the bed while she took something from behind her and fastened it to my neck: a leather strap lined with various metal hoops from one of which she had attached a chain: a leash.

I was surprised to catch myself glad that she had something other than my tie to drag me by. when she thought it sufficiently tight she looked down at me:

"Now, pet, help me with my shoes". I obliged and began sliding her left shoe off her heel, when she lifted her arm and slapped me across the face. A painful lesson in disobedience.

"Not like that."

I had gotten something wrong again, but I understood this time. I brought my head under her lifted foot and grabbed the heel between my teeth, slowly sliding it off. I was forced to lower my head towards the ground, depositing her shoe as softly as possible. As I did this I felt her now pantyhose-clad foot grind my head on the ground. She laughed and pressed her toes against my cheek, holding my leash firmly and putting her weight into it. I loved it. On her part, she seemed content, and I could see that her gentle elegance was back when she let me up from the floor.

When she was done, miss Marriott lifted my chin up with her toes and I stretched my collared neck to look up at her, staring into my eyes expectantly.

"Now the other."

I repeated the same procedure with the right shoe. She then stood up, forcing me up with her but not yet off my knees as she yanked my leash. She didn't have to say anything. I raised my head to her waist and grabbed her pantyhose between my teeth, sliding it all the way to the ground too.

Her devilish smile and occasional moans encouraged me; I wanted to please miss Marriott. As I slid her pantyhose down my head brushed against her thigh. She held it against her leg and ruffled my hair.

"Good boy", she cooed.

When she sat back down, I held her toned calf and finally pulled down her panties. As I did this, she thrust her bare foot in my face. I let out a surprised moan as she pushed my head back as far as it would go while still holding my leash, her foot covering my mouth and nose.

The smell was feminine and musky. miss Marriott giggled as I inhaled deeply.

"You like that?" she didn't give me time to answer and shoved all five of her toes into my mouth and laughed. She wiggled them, letting me savour her toes only for a few seconds before bringing her foot out and placing it in front of me.

"Kiss it"

I stared at her steep arch and long toes and then up at her face, planting kisses all along the length of it, and one on each toe. Miss Marriott looked at me wide-eyed and bit her bottom lip.

"Aww, such an obedient little pet. Stick your tongue out."

I did as she commanded, embarrassed and turned on by how desperate and eager she had me. With my tongue flat against her foot, she forced it back and forth again and again, as one would do to a doormat when cleaning their dirty boots.

Her clasp on my leash tensed and loosened, as she touched and fingered herself while I sucked the dirt from her soles. Her legs trembled and she let out pleased moans. When she thought I'd cleaned her soles well enough, she stuck both her big toes in the corners of my mouth, stretching and pulling my face.

Miss Marriott found this quite entertaining and played with my face for a while. Midway through sucking the other foot, she yanked my leash hard.

"That's enough."

I stopped. she pulled my leash closer to herself and finally grabbed me by my hair with both hands and pushed my head towards her sex.

I started playfully kissing around her inner thigh, although she quickly got tired of the teasing and pulled her pussy towards me, smothering my face and spreading her juices on me.

I heeded her, lapping at it and flicking her clit with my tongue. A little nervous about how I was doing, I tried to sneak looks at her from below. She tugged on my leash increasingly, which I thought was a good thing, and alternated cute squeals of pleasure with long uninterrupted moans.

Miss Marriott possessively wrapped her legs around my head, and I placed my hands on her thick thighs. She held me by both my leash and my hair, grinding my face into her pussy as hard as she could. I could barely breathe, and she exploded in a loud orgasm, thrusting her hips into me.

She looked down at me endearingly, my face covered in her juices and with the taste of her sex still in my mouth. She cupped my chin and spoke, as if to a child:

"Such a good little slut! Now get up here."

Miss Marriott patted the bed. I stood up, my knees a little sore and my dick hard and throbbing for her.

"Lie on your back"

I did as I was told, while miss Marriott undid her black bra and threw it away. My dick stood straight up as I layed on the bed.

I only caught sight of her tits for a brief moment, before she pulled a blindfold over my eyes. Even so, I was not the slightest bit disappointed - it almost felt natural.

I could feel her bony fingers running up my chest before she leaned in and whispered into my ear:

"Do you want your reward?"

I whimpered: "Yes mistress".

she giggled and tied my arms and legs to the bedposts with some kind of rope. I did not resist.

I felt her hot breath against my neck as she did it:

"If you can't stay quiet, I'll gag you. Do you like that bitch?"

"Yes mistress"

"What was that?"

"I want you to gag me and use me however you want"

"Louder."

"I WANT YOU GAG ME ANHG UFH MIH HWFhruant"

She shoved her pantyhose into my mouth halfway through that last part. It tugged at the edges of my mouth. I felt her tying a knot at the back of my neck. I pictured her devious smile widening from behind my blindfold. My heart was beating rapidly, and I could feel it not only through my chest but also through my ears and head, and wherever the blood it was pumping reached.

I was now at miss Marriott's mercy, tied up, blindfolded and gagged. Suddenly, I felt the heat of her sex over my fully erect cock. I also felt her grab onto my leash and her body weighing down the mattress, her hands by my waist. She lowered her hips, letting the tip of my dick touch her; my desperate attempts to thrust it up inside her were unsuccessful.

"Ohh what a pathetic fucktoy"

She giggled at my plight and slid the tip down her slit a few times, teasing me. Miss Marriott finally let out a deep gasp as she sank down suddenly on my full length, using me as her personal dildo.

It didn't take long for me to get close to the edge. I let out a loud grunt:

"I'm going to cum, mistress" I said through shaky breaths, although she understood me well enough through the improvised gag and replied:

"Don't you dare cum, puppy. I better not see you blow your load until I tell you to."

I would not have had it any other way. My face was burning up and I tried my hardest not to shoot. Miss Marriott was panting, her now shaky fingers reached over my face and removed my gag.

"You wanna cum?" she said breathlessly

My balls were aching.

"Yes Mistress."

"You're gonna have to beg me. Understood slut?"

"Mistress, please let me cum, I love being your desperate sex slave, please miss!"

I moaned.

"More!"

"I'll obey your every order, mistress! I'm yours, my body belongs to you forever!"

She let out one last exasperated moan:

"Fuckk, slave, cum for me."

I groaned, my cock convulsing inside her. She rested her hands on my chest and I started bucking my hips up and down while squirting my cum inside her, panting like a dog until she finally removed my blindfold. I saw her serious eyes, now tired and half-closed but still as seductive as ever, her face a mask of pleasure. She pulled me in by my leash for a warm and passionate kiss.

It was at that moment, still tied to the four bedposts by my four limbs, with my dick half- flaccid and the watchful gaze of the late Mr. Marriott over our naked bodies, that I was overcome by a deep sense of appreciation for the antique. I now pictured clearly the objects that I had seen during my visit: first the shiny bronze details of a plated bronze sewing machine, then the glossy finish of a delicate ceramic vase, and later yet the colorful embroidery of a cotton tablecloth. Such craftsmanship! Such simple beauty! I had a feeling I'd be returning to Marriott's Antiques regularly; to admire the shop's vast collection, no doubt. Besides, I had made miss Marriott a promise, hadn't I?