Pity (The Pickup-Artist)

"KK-huhh!" I scream into the ballgag. Cunt. Although I doubt I'd say that if I thought she could understand me.

"Who's a good bunny? Come along, let's get comfortable so we can have a talk."

Like, a gag-free conversation? I wonder hopefully.

She glances behind at me with a wink, "Or, in your case, more of a 'listen.' Oooh!"

Shit, I huff. As I hop, fighting for breath with my mouth stuffed, I snort through my nose. Tightly bound hand and foot, it's a tough and frustrating effort to keep my balance... and truth be told, I really am depending on Emma's firm grip on my erection to steady me. I'm furious and ashamed at myself for giving Emma that eager, engorged handle to use against me. But the little fucker doesn't seem to know when to quit.

Huff! Huff!

A couple hops later, I'm looking at a view the living room. It's spacious though dim, lit by a single floor-lamp next to the sofa. Modestly luxurious. Large Persian area rug, redwood ceiling beams and matching the interior trim on the doorways, bookshelves and fireplace, antique furniture, a desk next to the heavily-draped windows. Looks like this Emma bitch does pretty well for herself...

Next I notice a couple things that don't seem to belong. First, on the rug by the desk, there's a big black canvas duffel bag, and spilling out of it are several coils of rope, something like a dog-collar, except it's thick black leather, and a leather-handled chain leash.

Second, lined up on the carpet next to the bag -- a riding crop, a wooden cane and a thin, coiled leather whip.

Oh..... fuck.

"Oops." Emma stops suddenly. "Silly me, I almost forgot my own rule."

Leaving me teetering at the end of the hall, she goes over to the duffel bag and comes back holding a pair of medical shears, which she eagerly works in her hand, snip-snip-snip. "Rule one: No boytoy of mine enters this room wearing anything at all. Which means you, bunny-pet, are not quite up to code."

She crouches and, snip-snip, cuts the briefs off my my knees. Small mercy.

Playfully, she rattles the links between my ankles cuffs. "Anything, I mean, except their chains."

Emma gets up and undoes my chest strap, lets the belt fall to the floor. She rips my shirt open, buttons flying off, then methodically slices away every shred of my two-tone, tab-collared Hugo Boss dress shirt. She trails her bright red nails up my pelvis, abs and chest, until they stop at the knot of my necktie. My last stitch of clothing.

"Told you I hate neckties." She tugs it playfully, eyeing it with amusement. "Hmm, pale yellow with navy polka dots, classic power-tie."

Snip-snip.

"Oooh!" Emma coos.

Letting the ruined silk fall to the floor, she looks up at me with her lips parted, her brown eyes seething with desire. "Tell me, pet, who's got the power now?"

* - * - * - * - * - * -*

"So, you have a lot of these, do you, Rich? These one-night stands?" Emma asks cheerfully.

She's got my hips pressed against the desk in the corner while she works behind me, binding my arms with her ropes. I'm annoyed at the friction of the varnished wood desktop against my rigid cock. But since Emma has already tied up legs, with tight loops around my thighs, knees and ankles, I'm glad for the stability of something to lean against.

"Not many like this, I bet."

Finished tying up my wrists, Emma removes the handcuffs and lets them drop to the floor.

"For one thing," Emma purrs, "I bet you're never the first one who's all the way naked, while your 'barfly slut' still has all her clothes on -- hmm?"

"Mfff!" My face heats up at the taunt.

"Well, most of them." She taps the ballgag to remind me where her panties are.

"Grrr."

"Clothed Femme, Naked Boytoy," she giggles. "The natural order of things."

Emma weaves a rope harness around my arms, chest and shoulders. I groan at the feeling of my bondage tightening. I feel my aching hard-on bobbing with the jerky motions of her hands. Due to how tightly Emma has bound my thighs, all my junk is pushed forward, my balls feel huge and full, and that tireless boner of mine is ramrod-hard, thick and tipped up. Although my urgent need mortifies me, I can neither tame it or relieve it.

"Ooh, pet, you were so easy to capture, too. I didn't even have to use my tae kwon do. That's got to be a little embarrassing for you, huh?"

"Grrr!" This bitch has a real knack for twisting the knife.

"Well, it was hot for me, anyway. Bet you don't know, I've had three micro-orgasm since I took you down."

'Micro-orgasms?' I'm not familiar. But maybe that explains the little 'oooh's' she's been making.

Emma's rope harness secures my hands at my mid-back -- leaving my bare buttocks strategically undefended. I'm red-faced with impotent frustration and shame, and high-alert fear.

"Yeeah, baby..." Emma says in a breezy voice while she works. It unnerves me how cheerful she is while she's roping up a man. "You know, steel is quick and effective for a surprise capture like yours, pet. But for me, it's got be 100% natural Japanese hemp on all my playthings," she explains happily while the ropes whir in her hands. "That's what makes the games I play feel more, you know, intimate."

Emma finishes off by tying my elbows, twisting them in close, looping off the narrow space between my arms. Her rope work is firm, intricate and obviously inescapable. The feel of it gripping my flesh tells me I have no way out of this, until Emma chooses to let me loose.

Taking my shoulder, Emma turns me around to face her.

Emma places a firm hand on my chest, holding me still at arms-length. The edge of the desktop bites into my butt. I feel especially vulnerable facing her. Emma, in the tight black minidress that hugs her thick curves and the four-inch sandal-pumps that enable her to tower over me. And me, acutely aware of my nudity and how tightly my arms are trussed up behind me. Involuntarily I tense and scrunch in my body, a futile effort to protect my exposed, erect manhood.

"Shhh, calm down, my skittish little pet. Hurting you comes later. Right now, I just need you to settle down...and listen."

I try settling down like Emma says. But when she brushes her fingertips along the underside of my shaft, that makes it a little, um, harder. I moan into the gag in my mouth. Her eyes light up at my response. She moans a little too. I can tell from the husky, breathy tone of her voice and warm scarlet flush in her ample cleavage and freckled cheeks that Emma is deeply aroused by what her view commands, and itching to do something about it.

Standing close in front of me, she looks my bound body up and down appraisingly. Her fingertips lovingly caress the hemp strands she has woven around my legs, arms and chest. Roped and gagged as I am, all I can do is perch bare-assed against the desk, try and look calm... and listen.

"Pet, the bondage you're wearing now is just the first stage your submission. I call it the 'post-capture' stage."

Her voice has changed. Now lower in volume and tone, it is breathy, mesmerizing and dangerously seductive. "But once you're broken and trained, you'll submit to me unbound. Your naked, subjugated body is going to kneel, cower, beg, and serve me with gratitude and a burning, unquenchable need to please me...

"Please, serve and obey me...

"You'll gladly sign over your financial life to me. And I'll manage your money well -- I mean, my money -- just as I do for a half-dozen other boytoys like you. I mean look around, how do you think I arranged this 'early retirement?'"

Impossible, I think. But then, looking around, I have to wonder...

Emma goes on, purring like a jungle cat, "You'll accept my natural superiority. You'll be my expertly trained, perfectly willing and obedient body-servant, house-pet, pain-toy and sex-slave. You'll admit that out loud, thank me gratefully for my training, and mean it with all your heart."

"Nnn-nrr!" Never.

Through the sexual miasma that clouds her eyes, Emma gives me a superior smirk that says, We'll see about that.

"Oh, look at yourself, pet, the helpless state you're in. Obviously, I can take whatever I want by force. And I'll enjoy that, don't you worry! Ahhh, but for me, the deeper erotic thrills come after I've tamed a man... from watching him freely and wholeheartedly submit to my will."

Emma's fingertips slide lightly up the length of my shaft. I moan. She nestles up alongside me, like she's snuggling with her favorite stuffie, her bare inner thigh caressing my roped-up legs. Looking into my eyes, she absently teases my penis with varying strokes. And I can see, with her other hand, she is fingering herself through her skirt. She lets out a long sigh of contentment, like this bizarre scene is her most comfortable and serene happy-place.

Emma strokes. I moan. She eases off.

I groan. It's more than clear by now, Emma's expert hand knows its way around a man's cock, and she is playing mine like a Stradivarius. She has me breathless, confused, on an erotic knife's edge. Thinking back, I realize I've been desperately engorged since the necking in the front hall, and even through the ordeal since, my erection has never slacked, even for a second. I know her game. She's going to tease me relentlessly, but never let me cum. Even knowing this, though, I can't stop my lustful, heavy-lidded eyes from begging hers for release.

Emma ignores that, leaning close to purr into my ear, "Think about before, in the foyer, when you reluctantly kissed my feet. How sweet will that be when you do it, not under my threats, to spare yourself pain... but at my casual whim, just to please me?"

Involuntarily, my hips jerk and thrust at the breathy sibilance she gives the word, "please." Her hand senses my erection has grown overexcited, and eases all the way off.

"Mmffff..."

"But you already know this, pet. You worshipped my toes. I can tell the difference between grudging acceptance and true erotic inspiration, and I saw it in you... in the the softening of your shoulders, the movements of your hips, the bend of your neck..."

Two fingers sweetly graze the tip of my penis. My hips spasm. Her fingers dance away.

"I'll admit it freely, sweet pet, that was my first micro-orgasm, watching how obediently you debased yourself for me. Doesn't it please you to know that? Search your heart and you'll see that it does, and you'll also see, doing it pleased you too."

"Nngh!"

"Shhh, don't fight me on this, pet. You have it in you. Can't you feel it? However dimly for now...now in this moment, in your confused state... still you can see a future of peace and contentment for yourself, and sensual fulfillment, too... in a world where you receive your Goddess Emmalee's instructions... and eagerly, you obey."

"Nngh?"

"I know, right? The question really is, how do we get you from here," she runs her fingers across the ropes hugging my chest, "to that world? The one where you are my slave?"

No! The word "slave" galvanizes me. My shoulders twist back and forth, my trussed-up arms strain behind me, and legs and feet flex and wriggle in their ropes. I feel the knots press back in on me, though, groan in frustration, but keep squirming in my bonds. I grunt a string of muffled, angry curses into my gag. I tense up, showing her with my eyes that I'm going to fight her all the way.

This just amuses her. She'd pulled back to carefully study me and my eyes during my outburst, pointedly removing her hand from my penis. Now, satisfied at what she sees, she sighs happily and settles herself back alongside me with her hand poised over my erection, waiting. Her smoky brown eyes query mine. With a faint sob, I nod. She laughs softly, triumphant, and her hand gently cradles my balls, then shimmies up the shaft.

"But see, pet, I can't free you just yet. No, I see the resistance burning in your eyes. I feel it coiled up tightly in all your muscles..."

She slides a hand from my chest to shoulder and down my to my bicep, coming to rest on a loop of tight rope, then returning it to my twitching erection. She chuckles, teasing herself lustily with her other hand, showing me that all the struggles of my body, mind and desires are just an amusing sexual game to her.

A puzzle to unlock. Maybe not an especially challenging one...?

"It's the need to fight me, defy me, show me that you, your body and your stupid male ego believe you still have freedom, will and choices. And it's a hateful desire, frankly, to do me violence -- admit it, sexual violence -- if you could. So yes, we're still a long way from that world of willing submission. I can see that. And that road is going to run through degradation, fear and pain for you. Lots of it. Sorry, spoiler," Emma chuckles evilly.

"That's why I've got you tied up, pet." Emma's face comes around she sweetly kisses the rubber ball in my mouth. "And gagged."

Suddenly inspired, Emma's mood changes.

She steps away, facing me. Her hand comes away from my penis, and my hips jerk, following after it. My face heats up and I moan involuntarily. God, I want the hand back!

Emma's voice brightens, she gives me a quizzical look, and asks cheerfully. "Say, pet, do you want the gag out?"

My eyes widen and I nod my head frantically, Yes! Yes!!

"Oh, of course you do, silly!" Emma chirps playfully, mocking me like I walked into her clever trap. She stands in front of me, hands behind her back -- making it clear my aching boner isn't going to get any more attention for now -- bouncing playfully on her red-painted toes.

"Hahaha! You always do -- all my wide-eyed, freshly captured playthings do. Men, so predictable! When everything else about you is helpless, vulnerable and exposed, all your crushed male ego can think to do is try and blabber-blabber your way out of it. 'Reason' with me. Whimper, bargain, and beg. 'You can't get away with this!' 'Can't we talk it over first?'-- you know, before the whip falls. 'Please, Goddess, I'll be good and do whatever you say!'..."

Emma sighs wearily. "Boring."

I shake my head, seriously trying to convince her I have something more meaningful to say than that pathetic shit. "Leee-eth..." I groan. Please... begging her to ungag me.

"What's that, pet?" she smirks, eyebrow arched. "See, that's why I keep all my new playthings gagged at first, pet. And strictly. So I can't make out a single weak, tedious word."

Suddenly, her attitude is no longer playful, but angry and scolding. "In your case, the gag stays in because if your mouth is free, your tongue will lie. Sure as night follows day. All you want is a chance to chat me up and sweet-talk me all over again, like in the bar. That why you're not permitted to speak."

For long moments after this, Emma is quiet. My heart sinks and I feel a chill rushing through my body. The cold and the warm mingle in my groin, blending an unsettling brew of anticipation, dread and erotically-charged fascination.

As her silence drags out a few moments more, the dread takes over.

"It's because I see you, pet..." Emma begins in a tone that is soft, but menacing. "I know you."

* - * - * - * - * - * -*

"That's right, I know you," Emma repeats. "You're the 'big swinging finance dick' who likes to go out on the town, hit the happy hour meat-market circuit, and fuck."

"Oh, I can see how you get all the tail you want, stud. Tall, dark and handsome, great bod -- workout-warrior, am I right? Charming, in a way, if your barfly victim doesn't have the radar for narcissism and lies. Dress sharp, got a good job, apparently.

She looks down approvingly at my boner. "And you know, pet, I like to laugh at men's small penises whenever I can. But in your case, I don't think I can quite pull that off."

She sighs. "So, I bet you're just knee-deep in barfly pussy from Friday night happy hour to Sunday brunch -- fucking, fucking, fucking, all weekend long."

She moves closer, our eyes are locked, and so are my erection and her hand.

"But you know what, Mr. Stud-Muffins Pickup-Artist Player? Turns out you're just working a playbook, nothing you say is true, and you're going to make promises you don't plan on keeping... just so you can get under that skirt," she hisses, giving me a lingering stroke. "And keep on fucking."

"Hmmmm..."

"Blowjobs too. You always manage to sweet-talk your barfly into a hummer, don't you? Promise it's going to be a '69. But you never make good on that. Do you?"

Shit, she's not wrong about that.

Emma moves closer and tickles her tongue around my stretched-out lips. "That's why I decided you need the feeling of having your mouth stuffed."

I shudder at those words. She's right, I deserve it.

Shit, did just think that? It's eerily familiar, the story she is telling, and it shames me to see it through the barfly's eyes. But somehow that shame excites me, too, as I feel the arousal Emma takes from taunting my ballgagged mouth with her fingers, lips and tongue, which she's done a few times. She obviously delights in it, and knowing how it enflames her, enflames me. Fuck. Is she starting to get to me?

"Then there's the anal..." She slides her other hand around my hip and I feel her exploring the crack of my ass with wet, sharp-nailed fingers. "Somehow, you coax her into that, which she's never done. But she's a pleaser, and you're a talented sweet-talker, so all of a sudden she's game to give it a try. But you don't warn her, once you're inside, you don't know how to be gentle about it. Do you, Player?"

"Nnnngh..." Does Emma plan to show me how that feels? On the receiving end...?

"Do you?" she nods thoughtfully, her eyes briefly lost somewhere else. "No you don't. Left her with nothing but a necktie, and a... yeast infection. No, your type doesn't know the first thing about empathy... or caring."

Oh no. This is coming a little too close to home. Please, stop.

"Or commitment."

Emma's eyes are down, fixated on the swollen boner that her hand sweetly torments.

"Now your 'barfly slut,' she likes her one-night stands too! Just as much as your average single, liberated, sex-positive urban female. Doesn't make her a bimbo. She's entitled to like sex. So, fuck that."

She pumps me rhythmically and seductively, licking her lips, studying my face closely.

"Did it occur to you, Player, that there's a difference between fucking and getting fucked? That there might have been a certain 'barfly slut,' on a certain weekend, who felt like with you, she just got fucked?"

I start to rock my hips in time with her hand, but she places the other one firmly on my pelvis, taking away my involvement in her maddening, edging handjob. But that thrills me in another way: the firmness of one hand, controlling me; the seduction of the other, driving me wild.

To show her what's inside me, I surrender a desperately pleading look to her that I can't help, hate myself for, but know its gives Emma the sweet suffering that she wants from me. She takes satisfaction in my despair, but gives me no relief. Her fingertips collect the precum from my glans and smears it down the length of my shaft.

I tip back my head and inhale sharply through my nose.

"But your 'barfly slut' never gave up on one-night stands. She wasn't going to let narcissistic, prick users like you take that away from her. It's just, you know, after a certain point she decided she was going to have them her way, with her rules... on her terms. She decided she'd had enough of being fucked, and from then on, she was going to be the one doing the fucking."

"Nngh!"

Emma spits into her hand and returns it to my penis, expertly working the saliva down my shaft. Stroking and easing, stroking and easing... edging and denying, edging and denying. I whimper, sobbing into my gag, desperate to thrust my hips into one hand, but held at bay and controlled by the other.