Pity (The Pickup-Artist)

There's a terror growing in me, though, alongside the lust. That's my brain reminding me, if I'm hearing her right, hers is a story full of deceit, abuse and heartache, edged with bitterness, with an implied subplot of emasculating revenge. I should be terrified of where this is headed. Because, I don't fool myself, her hand isn't pumping me to give pleasure, but to torture me...

And because, I am sure of it, her sweet, stroking hand is only the softer side of the tortures to come.

Lined up on the carpet -- the riding crop, the cane, and the whip.

I know it. I deserve it.

Emma knows it too, and she is working it.

"Cocks don't fuck me anymore," she growls. "No, after I've taught them obedience and respect, I fuck them."

Oh God! My balls stir and contract, my penis pulses in her hand. My eyes clenched shut, I am panting and squealing through my nose, chest heaving, fighting for breath. So close. God, one or two more wet, wonderful strokes like that, and --

Click.

I feel Emma's fingers on my nutsack, a constriction around the top of it, cool, encircling steel. Tightening. Click-click-click.

"MFFF!!" My eyes pop wide open.

Another steel ring ratchets around the base of my twitching, engorged cock, cool and smooth but unyielding.

Click-click-click.

And then, one more -- click.

"MMMGHH!!" I scream uselessly.

"Oooh!" she trills.

She looks into my terrified eyes and hums with contentment. She presses her chest into mine, so close that I feel her breath hot on my face. Her eyes not wavering from mine, she teases her fingertips along the shaft of the penis between us, confirming it's just as hard as she had it before.

Emma nods with approval. And though I don't feel it, I hear it once more, a tiny - click.

She shows me the small, shiny key strung on a slender silver chain, which she puts around her neck. The key drops into her delicious cleavage, where it is swallowed, out of my sight.

"There."

Smiling and flashing her white, wet teeth, she licks her lips. "Now I own it."

I look down. A polished silver ring tightly grips my rigid, agonized erection. Beneath that, but unseen, a second ring encircles the base of my bloated red balls. The two rings meet at a beveled joint, where there is a keyhole. A tiny black void into which all the fight in me has disappeared.

"Now, it's only a matter of time before the rest of you falls in line."

Emma steps back to make room, smiles grimly, and points at the carpet.

"Kneel."

Half in a daze, I don't hesitate to obey. I slide my buttocks off the edge of the desk, my bound hands briefly steady my descent, and my knees drop to the floor. The soft carpeting welcomes them like it is their natural place. I settle my hips, soften my shoulders, and bend my neck.

Emma's hand grasps my chin and lifts my face to gaze into hers.

She collars me, drawing the supple leather around my throat, padlocking the buckle. I feel tamed.

Standing over me, Emma lifts her skirt of by its hem, pulls her black dress off over her head, revealing her black satin brassiere. Naked at the waist, her hips are wide and commanding. Her skin is freckled but flawless, her tummy is soft but flat, and I see the grace and power in her arms and legs. I see viscous, glistening trickles of the pussy juices slicking the insides of her thighs.

She unstraps her pumps and tosses them aside.

During this, she doesn't speak. It's weirdly striking to me that Emma, who was so talkative before, has fallen silent. But in a dream-like way, I understand it. Before, she used her voice, along with her touch, to kindle and fan my lust for her control to the edge of combustion, before she captured it, like lightning in a locked, steel bottle. Now, she has no use for those words. Everything she wanted from them is accomplished.

And to me, everything is clear.

She stands astride my roped, kneeling thighs, her vulva and its groomed tuft of curly blonde pubic directly before my eyes.

She sinks down, straddling my hips, but holds her sex teasingly clear of mine. I could strain my hips and try to reach her, but I don't want to. This is a thing Emma wants to control.

Settled, she reaches behind and unfastens her bra, slips the straps down her arms, and sets her breasts free. Gravity does its job and lets them freely drop, jostle, and bounce back up, firm and proud. They are large, soft, rounded, and beautiful. Her areolae are large pink circles capped with nipples as hard and large as rosy pearls. The tawny freckles on her décolletage highlight how white and perfect the skin of Emma's bosom is.

Reaching down, she trails her fingernails up from my balls and the length of my shaft.

In a muted sense of panic, I realize in the most sensitive parts of me are nearly nerveless, anesthetized, or like meat hanging in a cooler. My penis and balls, and with them the near-climax they still contain, are trapped. Shackled. Like a snapshot of my lust held in suspended animation.

Held by my Goddess Emmalee and her steel proxy. I take blind faith and cold comfort in that, in my Goddess's control. In that erotically mesmerized state, my panic subsides.

"I even warned you, didn't I, pet? That you might regret you met me. And you didn't believe me. Pity. Pity for you."

She licks her lips.

"Not that I'll show you any."

Looking up I see in the cleft of her breasts, a glint of metal, the cock-ring key.

And that's the last thing I see.

"You're on display for me, pet, not the other way around."

The slick, black spandex snakes over the hot skin of my face, blotting out all light. "I take away your face, just as I took away your freedom and your voice, to make you more of a thing. It's to remind you, while I torture, humble and break you, that to me you're only an object."

The next moment, she lowers her hips, claiming the head of my erection inside her firm, tender walls. She exhales heavily, "Haahhh!"

She eases off, then dips back down, capturing more of my cockhead.

She leans forward, clasping my face and latching her hungering mouth on mine, kissing me through the hood and gag. Down below, her hips slowly begin to churn faster, swallowing and claiming more of my flesh with each increase in tempo.

My blood is thundering in my head so loudly, I can't tell if it's her whispered voice, or her earlier words branded on my mind. Cocks don't fuck me anymore... after I've taught them obedience and respect, I fuck them.

It's the stark truth. I'm nothing but the fixed, nerveless rod of meat she rides. I have just enough sensation in it, that I can feel the intense muscular constriction of her inner walls as they gobble up

I feel hopelessly used, objectified, degraded. But inside, I surrender myself to that use. It fulfills me. I am a thing she fucks.

"Ahh, ahh, a thing!" Her mouth is next to my ear. Panting, her words slurred by gasps of carnal hunger, Emma babbles, "Nothing. But. A. Fuck-toy. Peg-hole uhh! uhh! uhh! Whip-meat! OHHHH!"

And at last, in my solitary darkness, I feel her hips cascade down and engulf me.

"UHHNNHH!!" Her thunderous exhale explodes around me.

My frozen erection splits the hot sheath of her pussy, and the impact of her groin shuddering into mine splits me inside, too. The tsunami wave crashes over me and the riptide sucks me away. Her ecstasy unbridled, Emma screams next to my ear, terrifying me.

The next thing, It's not just my cock that feels it, but all of me.

There is a shivering spasm low in her belly that builds like an earthquake, shaking me too. Her thighs tighten around me. I hear her breath held in suspense, a delicate tittering in the back of her throat, a soaring escape of air from a gaping mouth...

...and then, her climaxing wail, "Mine! YES! MINE!"

Ecstatically, Emma clutches my shoulders, frantic nails digging into my flesh with all their strength.

Her hands on my shoulders are strong.

The pain is exquisite.

And I am abjectly grateful for something to feel.

"MINE! MINE!! MII-IIIIIIIIIII--!!!"

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

Her hands on my shoulders are strong. She pushes my suit jacket back over my shoulders. And right here, I remember what she said in the cab.

Something about "regret."

I open my eyes.

At first, what I see isn't Emma... but a dead-eyed face in the glass-framed portrait hanging on the wall... superimposed over that, the darkened blur of my own face reflected in the glass... the dead-eyed face of a Pickup-Artist.

A happy hour predator, a deceitful prick... and a weak, lost narcissist terrified of commitment.

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

Her hands are strong. Pushing back on the lapels, Emma's thumb gets accidentally caught in my tab collar. In her lusty carelessness, she pops the top four buttons of my shirt, pop-pop, one after the other.

"Ooh!" Her eyes widen, seeing the damage she's done. Her expression is abashed, and the scarlet blush of her arousal is fading to an embarrassed pink. "Oh! Shit, sorry! Look what I did --"

I stand there, stunned, rooted at the spot where I previously had Emma pinned to the wall. My pants are around my ankles. There's a boner straining to the front of my tightie-whites. My belt is on the floor. Her clutch purse and the Victoria's Secret bag are on the foyer table beside us. There's a surreal sense in my vision of all this, but despondent, like I am coming down from a high.

"No worries, baby," I brighten up, or try to. Something is nagging at my mind, distracting me.

But I let that go. "Seriously, I've got plenty like it. It's not hard to fix --"

"I even warned you, didn't I? That you might regret you met me," she giggles. "And you didn't believe me..."

Pity, I think. But I'm not sure why. I can feel my dick shrink.

Why does that feel like a relief?

I shrug. Clearly, the mood is gone, at least for now, so I figure what the hell. I hoist up my pants and button them. "Umm, should we get a get a drink or something, sit down and talk some more? Get to know each other. Or...?"

"I've got some Sauv Blanc in the fridge," she says with a wistful air.

I think she knew what the "Or?" meant, but she was hesitant to bite. She's as aware as I am, we can put the mood right again in a heartbeat, hightail it it to the bedroom, and get on with doing the nasty. But she's looking to me to take the lead. I know how to do that. So why don't I?

It's the same question as, why did I say, Get to know each other? I fucking never say that, if the pussy is already secured and the screwing is imminent.

The answer to both questions is the same: Emma seems like a really nice girl.

I look at her face, and I find it really charming, the changes it's gone through since she messed up my shirt. Genuinely surprised, adorably apologetic, playfully self-deprecating, and plain horny. I love what the flush of desire does for her round, peaches and cream cheeks, and how her freckles accent that. Her dark brown eyes, when you really look into them, are kind of mesmerizing. I've got now idea how I didn't appreciate it before, she's actually gorgeous.

I like her adorable smile. I like her body, the size and stamina of it, a real woman. I want to wake up with her tomorrow and go out for brunch, then spend the rest of the day in our shorts at the park. Have dinner.

I like her.

Nuzzling up to me, Emma looks down at my shirt, makes a pouty-face, and says it again, "Sorry."

"Hey, I've already forgotten about it, Emma."

"It's just, that was so clumsy." She puts her pinky finger to her lips, biting on a bright red nail, and her eyes give me a look that's mock-contrite and seductive. "Aren't you mad at me? Sure you don't want to... spank me?"

"Hey, I got my collar in the way of your finger," I joke. "Maybe you should spank me?"

She laughs, showing her white, wet teeth. Then looks at me with her nose scrunched up, quizzically. "Why would I want to do that?"

Why indeed? I shrug my shoulders, trying to laugh it off. "I was only saying, I can swing that way too, if you want to be a good sport about it."

She eyes me more quizzically. I look back at her. With regret, I realize she's not going to swing that way at all.

Pity.

> The End <