Meridsya's Pet 02: Boundaries

Then, as my gaze idly drifted around the grotto, I saw what I had somehow missed before: Between the stairs and the shower waterfall, there was a smooth section of wall that was not above a single flat surface but was above a rock ledge where two people could comfortably stand. Above head height but lower than the door, a rusty-looking iron bar extended across the rock. From the bar dangled a few pairs of iron chains and manacles.

Of course. There had to be something. Anybody chained there would be in full view of anyone lying in the pools if they chose to look in that direction.

I shifted position so I could see the shackles without turning my head, and gasped with shock as the gently warmed layer of water around my body was replaced by fresh cool water and I realised I was sporting a full erection.

If my idle musings hadn't been enough, the sight of the shackles and instant thoughts of how they could be used certainly was.

With a curse, I gave up on trying to relax and stood up, grumpy with myself and trying to ignore the sensations as my groin broke the surface and my cock, robbed of neutral buoyancy, bobbed in front of me.

I snatched up a towel, finding it to be the softest, nicest towel I had ever used. The most absorbent, too, drying me completely although I suspected the air was warm enough to make me sweat if I stayed long enough.

My erection did not go down. Even as I dried myself briskly while sternly thinking of what classic literature I could finally find time to read, it did not go down.

Had Meridsya ordered me not to masturbate while she was not there? No, I didn't believe she had.

Fuck it, then. I could try and use self-discipline, but I felt a perverse desire to not.

I walked back up to the shower platform, until the edges of the waterfall were slapping against my cock with noticeable force and the occasional stinging small droplet, and masturbated while imagining Meridsya pressed against the wall as I pounded into her arse.

It took about three seconds before I was ejaculating into the torrent of water.

When I stepped back, gasping a little for breath and feeling light-headed and slightly weak-kneed, I could see no evidence in the water about my feet that I had just come into it. Well, that was good, then.

I took the towel with me, of course, to redry myself. When I opened the wicker hamper to throw it in, my kilt and shirt were gone.

For half a second, I got the prickly feeling that if I turned around quickly enough, I'd catch a silent, mute servant tidying up after me. But although I didn't discount the possibility, Meridsya's magic made it unnecessary.

I forced myself to close the hamper calmly, stand up without concern for modesty, and think about what I was going to wear.

#~#~#

After a morning like that, you might think I would look for something soft, comfortable, shapeless, unsexy and comforting.

But I suspect someone who would desire that would not be approached by Seiren and would not be caught by Meridsya's ring -- or any other succubus's.

No. As I stood there naked, dry but feeling clean and still soaked and with the lingering feeling of sexiness that had stolen over me in the pool -- I started looking at the row of dresses, thinking: Hmm, that looks sexy.

I had worn dresses to clubs. Not as a drag queen thing, not as a sissification or feminising thing. No: Because I enjoy fucking with bullshit social expectations and the goth community is highly welcoming of that sort of thing. I've done it to match a girlfriend; I've done it when a small group of us all cross-dressed, women in suits and men in dresses. I've done it because a toxic national debate about civil rights was happening and I was sure as shit going to show my support. I once did it because someone I knew and would shortly no longer be friends with was becoming full-on anti-trans and I wanted to piss them off just as much as I possibly could before they snapped and unfriended me.

But I have also done it because those clothes can feel nice, male bodies can look good in a dress just as much as female bodies can look good in a suit, and looking sexy and feminine can be just as enjoyable as looking sexy and masculine.

But wearing a dress would necessitate underwear for someone with my genitals. And that led me to a drawer containing underwear rather more feminine than my usual styles. Some of it, I found as I went digging, was designed for tucking.

Either Meridsya had thought of everything, or the room was adapting to me.

I obviously wasn't going to need a bra unless I was deliberately going to pad, and I wasn't, so I didn't.

I tried on a few barely-there evening gowns -- but couldn't take them seriously to wear during the day -- and a cheongsam with a silver dragon design on it that made me feel like a Bond girl. That one also made me feel uncomfortably appropriating.

In the end, I settled on a mid-thigh sleeveless dress with a neckline low enough to hint at small breasts without revealing that I didn't have any. It was black, of course. Most of the clothing there was. It was suited to me, after all.

It looked good on me, but I thought I could do more. While I'm not heavily built, I am wider across the waist than I wanted to be while wearing a dress like that. Which is one reason I have had practice wearing corsets.

There were, of course, corsets.

I found a waspie belt and only needed a few minutes to get it on and tightened until I was pleasantly uncomfortable and a lot more hourglass-shaped.

With my hair brushed out and left free, and no need to shave my face, the only thing left...

I found a small selection of makeup.

I only needed eyeliner and lipstick to finish the look I wanted.

I smirked at myself in the dressing table mirror, tried a quick wiggle of my shoulders, laughed at myself and hunted out a pair of slip-on stiletto heels. Yes, I have practice walking in heels.

Not a lot of practice, I do admit. I had to walk carefully. But I could walk.

In the drawing room, the first bookcase I looked at could only be described as gothic classics. I had to laugh, then checked other shelves to find that, yes, Meridsya did have a wide range of literature, with various science fiction, fantasy, classics, contemporary young adult or "literature" novels as well as whole shelves of old or new reference works and science texts, all bound in beautiful but unadorned leather and roughly organised by genre.

I couldn't not return to the gothic shelves, where I found a copy of John William Polidori's The Vampyre. As far as I could remember, I hadn't read it but had been meaning to for some time.

Now that I had nothing but time, I intended to make a list of everything I had been meaning to read, and then read them.

I took the slim volume back out to the conservatory, underneath the looming menace of the bondage spider, which I smiled sweetly at and gave a coy wave to before I arranged myself in an armchair, settled a stool under my crossed ankles, and remembered about the coffee machine.

With a sigh, I put the book down.

By exercising great self-control, I was able to avoid drinking the shot I made myself until I was once more in my armchair. I saluted the bondage spider with the full cup.

Ten pages into The Vampyre, I realised that I had, in fact, read it before. Probably just the once, and a very long time ago, but enough of it rang bells that I recognised it. Still, I didn't remember it very well.

I was four pages from the end, utterly engrossed because I had nothing else to do, nowhere else to be and a morning that had sapped me of any restlessness, when Meridsya nearly made me jump out of my skin by saying: "Well, well, don't you look cute."

She was halfway along the long path from the drawing room, walking with a predatory slink that I could not hope to match, and giving me a smirk that was utterly possessive and which contemplated eating me alive.

"Oh! I didn't realise you'd be back so soon," I said, making my voice feminine without trying to change the pitch.

"Oh, I wasn't sure exactly how long that would take," she said, stalking towards me without blinking. "I'm glad to see you found the grotto."

"Oh, I just had to find the right panel. And the right sconce," I said. "Those are lovely towels."

"Aren't they?" she said, in a tone that said she had things on her mind far more interesting than idle banter, and wanted to get to them. "That's a lovely dress. Really brings out your thighs."

I had to appreciate that turn of phrase. "I've always rather liked my legs," I said, smoothing down fabric that didn't need it.

"You should," Meridsya said as she reached me.

She lunged forwards, her knee landing on the chair next to my legs and pressed against me, effectively pinning me in place. Her skirt rode up until it was essentially a belt to let her legs separate so much. I forced myself to break eye contact with her so I could very deliberately look down, but the angle meant that although I could see the elaborate tops of her stockings, I couldn't see if she wasn't wearing underwear.

When I looked back up, her expression had changed from mingled amusement and intent to sheer naked, aggressive and possessive desire.

I felt it in my groin. Her position, the situation, the way I had dressed and her reaction to it, and quite possibly her magical intent if not smell, were producing the predictable result in me. I was suddenly hungry for her and my cock, trapped inside underwear that wasn't rigid but was intended for tucking, was restricted and complaining.

"I'm surprised you didn't come into this world with a rather different body," she said, planting her hands on either side of my head on the back of the armchair and leaning forward until she was just that little bit inside my personal space and making me reflexively try to pull back. I felt trapped and excited about it, and she obviously meant it.

"Oh, was that an option?" I asked, trying to force myself to sound interested when I wanted her to rip the dress off me.

"Trans men and women do," she said. "Every now and then, one of us finds a pet who hasn't transitioned, and they find out what their body image really is. It's heart-warming, seeing them realise they're finally in the bodies they're supposed to be."

She had still not blinked, and her teeth flashed as she talked -- entirely at odds with her light, amused tone and uplifting words.

"That's wonderful," I managed to say. "Could you... temporarily change me?" I asked, trying to be coquettish, trailing fingertips down the bare skin at my throat and upper chest and giving her an inviting look. The look she gave me in return made my head spin.

"No," she said. "Your body image is your body image. If I could change you that easily, you wouldn't be human and wouldn't be much use to me. I can tweak you and I can manipulate your body a little -- what you would call chemistry, mostly -- but I can't change it that much."

She moved one hand to tap me on the sternum, above where my fingers rested. The contact made me involuntarily gasp. "You're not trans. But you do appear to be genderqueer."

"I've always seen myself that way," I said, stretching the truth of "always" a little but she didn't need to know that.

"What a delightful bonus, and I never even expected," Meridsya said through a shark-like grin.

"And yet, my wardrobe is full of dresses," I pointed out. I could feel every beat of my heart in my ears. I knew my face was flushed. Maintaining the banter took almost all the self-control I had.

"Oh, I was merely hoping you'd be curious, pet. I wasn't dreaming you already knew how to wear a corset."

I smirked.

She stroked the back of a finger down my cheek. "And if you want to feel like a woman, we can do that."

I knew what was coming as soon as she said it. I almost felt my arsehole flex in anticipation. I couldn't stop myself from licking my lips, but I was glad I did it when I saw her grin twitch wider for a short second.

"In my house, women get fucked," Meridsya said, before moving her other leg up -- without appearing to need to support herself against gravity -- until her knee was braced against the chair next to my corset. She lifted her skirt the inch it wasn't already bunched up.

To my great surprise, she was wearing panties. To my lack of surprise, there was a bulge in them that had not been there when she had been walking towards me.

I was sure I could smell her cock -- a musky, more masculine version of her scent, which I had already come to associate with my libido being hot-wired.

I realised I was still holding the book, so I dropped that onto the table so I could use both hands to reach for Meridsya's groin.

On impulse, I grabbed her panties and pulled them sharply down instead of taking them off normally. They tore like tissue paper and her cock sprang free, hardening the rest of the way as it was uncurling.

I knew how to suck a cock, although I had minimal practice compared to my experience with vulvas, and had enjoyed doing so, finding the experience erotic enough and not only easier than cunnilingus, but more easily producing a satisfying response. But I had never before felt a craving to wrap my lips around an erection and fill my mouth with it.

I grabbed it. It felt thick and hot in my hand, with a thin, silky softness moving over pressurised hardness. Somehow, no part of my brain made any comparisons with the cock that had become a restrained, frustrated ball of pressure inside my tucking panties. I was too focused on the way my mouth was watering.

The smell made me drool, made me almost go weak and moan with desire before I gathered the strength to lunge forward as Meridsya kept, tauntingly, at a distance that forced me to go to her. It was a virile, animal scent, with the same underlying and almost threatening spiciness she usually had in her scent and taste.

I didn't pull her cock towards my mouth. I wouldn't have dared. I braced my other hand on her leg and clenched my stomach muscles inside the corset to pull my back away from the chair as I opened my mouth wide.

It hadn't been too long since I had last sucked a cock, although the boys I ever ended up with tended to be more submissive and more likely to suck mine. I remembered how they felt in my mouth, although I had never had the nerve or experience or desire to deep-throat.

So Meridsya's flared and fleshily soft head felt familiar, but that was as far as my experience went. I had never felt the same desire to suck. The same head-spinning, lustful need for more of the taste. The same feeling that if my mouth wasn't full, I'd be begging her to come on my tongue. The same feeling that performing that sexual act was as pleasurable as having it performed on me.

I had thought, in passing, that Meridsya had only demonstrated her utter control over my arousal, and her ability to make me helpless and bend my mind and break me through overpowering lust, to make a point.

If so, she had another point to make.

I fellated her greedily, pulsing suction in my mouth and forgetting about my own breathing as I pushed my head further forwards, getting her from the front of my mouth to the back and coating more of her shaft with saliva so it would slide easily over my lips.

I tasted her precum as well, and it was the same sweet, spicy, heavenly, addictive taste of her cunt. I craved more. I wanted ropes of it to flood my mouth so I could drink like a woman dying of thirst.

At some point, my body had enough sense of self-preservation -- or thought it did, I truly did not know if I actually needed to breathe in that world -- to make me suck a huge breath through my nose as I was trying to exhibit any sort of skill with lips and tongue and pressure.

Meridsya, however, did not seem interested in me trying my best. That, or she got annoyed at how bad my best was.

My lungs had barely settled when she seized my head in both hands, gripped it immovably and just short of painfully, and thrust.

She was into her third pumping thrust before I remembered I had no experience of deep-throating and had no idea how to suppress my gag reflex.

By that point, I was living in the moment so much the realisation that I apparently didn't have a gag reflex -- as every thrust she made buried the tip of my nose in the folds of her bunched-up skirt -- didn't even make me panic. I just sat there, half hanging from her hands and half still trying to hold myself in place, as she rapid-fire fucked my throat to the accompaniment of squelching noises.

My hand had a desperate grip on her leg. My other hand had automatically gone to her wrist and stayed there.

"This is what women in my house get," Meridsya said, with no hint of strain or exertion in her voice. "They get fucked by any cock that visits, in whatever hole the cock wants. But I think you like that."

All I could think in response was: "Please use me, please use me, please use me..." to the rhythm of wet "glk, glk, glk, glk," noises, while trying to look up at her and say the same thing with my comeslut eyes.

She smirked down at me, past the thrusting, incongruous mounds of her breasts.

My vision seemed to be blurring. My head wasn't shaking, with her grip upon it, but it felt swimmy. Everything became surreal, and my vision began narrowing on her possessive smirk.

Then she pulled out of my throat and mouth and I was gasping in great, heaving breaths, oxygen or the memory of oxygen flooding my body, as a trembling rope of saliva collected my lips to her cock.

"Face or mouth, slut?" Meridsya asked. I could see her cock throb in heartbeat time.

"Mouth, please, Mistress," I barely managed to gasp out.

"Open wide!"

I did not need telling, but I barely had time to stop breathing before the first spurt slapped my tongue and flooded to the back of my mouth.

She did not hold back. I knew how much she could come. She pumped great thick ropes into my mouth as I hungrily swallowed as though in a race. It was not quite warm enough to be hot but was a little more than lukewarm, was thick and sticky and difficult to get down but sweet and spicy and tasted so delicious, so heavenly, I almost cried when I felt it overwhelm my ability to swallow and start spilling down my chin.

Then she stopped, still hard but no longer spurting, and used her cock as a brush to smear the last bit against my chin and nose and upper lip before stepping back off the chair.

I desperately tried to finish swallowing and lick up the trickles that were running down my chin.

"What do you say?" Meridsya demanded.

I froze in mid-lick, then had to swallow again to clear stickiness from my throat before replying: "Thank you, Mistress."

She smiled at me, so warmly it made me melt and feel puppy-glad to have made her happy.

"Good," she said. Then she grabbed me by the knees, yanked me so I shot down the chair until my back and neck were level and my hips were on the very edge with my dress up around my waist, then lifted my knees up and apart. "Hold them."

I did so, pulling my knees back towards my head as she ripped my panties off.

The relief from my cock, which had become background throbbing frustration, almost felt like coming as it sprang free and was allowed, finally, to become erect. But she didn't touch it.

She dropped to her knees to get to the right height, lined up, and speared my arse without further ceremony or tenderness.

Without her magic and my tweaked body, it would have been unbearable. Instead, I cried out with pleasure.

There's no need to try and justify anal sex by talking about the prostate -- it's enjoyable because being fucked is enjoyable. It doesn't have to be rubbing against nerves attached to your pleasure centres to be rubbing against nerves that feel nice, and the simple act of being penetrated (consensually) is erotic. Everything else is a bonus.