Princess

Connor awoke to find the world turning normally on its axis. Spinning a little too fast for his liking, perhaps; he stumbled from bed to bathroom and retched violently over the toilet bowl. He recalled that the previous night had fallen into a familiar pattern. A drunken and very public row with Rachel; followed by drunken, messy sex. That too, in a public place.

As he retreated from the bathroom he saw items of underwear discarded in the hallway. The bedside clock indicated that it was past noon, but Rachel slept on heavily, snoring loudly. She was naked, the duvet bunched up beside her. Connor climbed back into bed and took full advantage of the bed clothes.

Rachel was one sick puppy even by his low standards. She got off on using the word cunt, referring to her total being rather than the specific orifice. He learned early on that she did not appreciate gentlemanly behaviour; she loved it when he slapped her face and pulled her hair. She was a cunt with a tight cunt. She wasn't brave enough to be self-destructive; she needed him to do that for her.

***

The first thing that he noticed about her, that drew him to her, was her pierced nipples pushing through the thin fabric of a t shirt. On their first drunken date, he watched her piss in an alleyway and then she gave him a blow job. She bit down on his shaft and smeared his cock with her lipstick, before taking the length of him in her fist and pumping him until his cum was smeared over her face. He thought she was perfect. He called her a dirty fucking slag, and she let out a deep moan of orgasmic pleasure. He had focussed on what she was doing to him with her mouth and hand. He didn't notice her masturbating.

***

She moaned and writhed on the bed, then curled up in a foetal ball with her hand jammed up to the join of her thighs, making tiny subconscious rocking movements. She admitted to having wet dreams just before waking up, but Connor suspected she was conscious and masturbating. He quizzed her on the content of her dreams but she was vague about specific details. He wanted to know who she was dreaming about. She described faceless men, naked from the waist down. Anonymous cocks presented for her to suck. "Just cocks, big hard cocks" she would goad him, getting off on her cruelty. There were women in her dreams too. Always blonde with scarlet lips sucking on her nipples or tasting her pussy; identical women to herself.

***

"I'm thinking of having cunt tattooed here," she said, touching her pudenda.

"No, I forbid it!" he replied. Connor understood very early on in their relationship that he was her safeguard against herself. He would abuse her, to save her abusing herself. They had made the strangest deal, she would stop cutting herself, give up the self-harm, if he would fulfil her fantasies of rough sex, beat her, call her disgusting names. She craved the contempt he could muster up, by way of an expression of love.

"What about a clit piercing?"

"Why?"

"Just for the thrill of it. Complete the set."

She pulled on the metal bars that pierced her nipples. Her face contorted in a unique mix of pain and pleasure. Connor sometimes wished they were a normal couple. Quiet glasses of wine, ordinary lives, normal behaviour. Vanilla sex, rather than this need to push each other through walls. Feeding this mutual craving to make love hurt and leave marks so they could say, "Look, see how much I want you."

***

They spent the day hung-over and naked. Watching each other shower, watching each other masturbate, watching porn. Their mutual taste was wide ranging; lesbian, amateur, S&M. Age play, young women with older men; it most accurately reflected their own relationship. Rachel was twenty one and sexually active for a decade, Connor over forty and generally sexually inactive for a decade before meeting Rachel.

They touched each other roughly. He pulled at her nipples, poked his fingers into her, grabbed her hair and pulled her face down onto his cock. She boasted that she gave the best blow job, and he believed her. She had no reservations about sinking her teeth into his hard shaft, biting on the flesh until he yelled. She could sense when he was close to coming and stop, grip the base of his shaft so tightly that he would back away from an orgasm. They rarely kissed.

The evening drew in; eventually they talked about why they had rowed the previous night. Rachel had been on the dance floor, giving the come on to two guys closer to her own age. Connor fought with himself to control his jealousy. The situation wasn't a new one. The voyeur in him loved watching her at the centre of male attention. He watched her grind her slim hips against one of them whilst rubbing her hand over the other's trousers.

Above the pounding loud music she shouted in Connor's ear, "They both want to fuck me."

Connor said, "Baby, everybody wants to fuck you."

She said "I'm so turned on," and guided Connor's hand up under the hem of her miniskirt.

"Not tonight baby, let's just leave it."

"I want to play, I want to get fucked."

"We're both already really fucked. It's just too messy! Let's just go home, just you and me."

He grabbed her by the hand and tried to pull her out of the club.

"Let me just say goodbye. It's only polite. Wait for me outside, okay? Two minutes."

He pushed his way to the front door and leaned against a car in the street. Ten minutes later she emerged.

"I was just dancing. A song came on I really like."

He thrust his hand up under her skirt to check she hadn't given her underwear away as a souvenir. He felt the warm damp material against her crotch.

""Did they give you their phone numbers?" he asked.

"Maybe" she replied. The row escalated from there.

***

"Give me their numbers"

She searched through the pile of clothes on the floor and found the denim miniskirt. She pulled a business card out of the pocket and handed it over.

"Which one is this?"

"The tall one. The one with a huge dick that he wanted to shove down my throat."

"And the other one?"

"His mate. They offered to spit roast me."

Connor took the card and finding his own jeans on the floor, pocketed the card and then pulled them on. He got a fresh t-shirt, socks and his sneakers.

"Where are you going?" Rachel asked.

"I'm going to see if I can find your new best friends. You're going into the guestroom."

They never had guests; it was just a box room that Connor had kept free from the usual junk. He locked Rachel in it from time to time, just for her own safety. The walls weren't padded, but it was a cell in all but name. It had a bare double mattress on the floor, and an anglepoise lamp sitting on one of two wooden chairs.

Connor rummaged through Rachel's clothing, he selected some items and collected her make up bag. He carried them to the guestroom and dumped them on the mattress. Rachel knew what was coming next. They had developed a ritual that mentally prepared her for her incarceration.

She knelt on the floor next to the bed, naked buttocks resting on her heels. Connor opened the drawer where he kept valuable things, and withdrew a black leather collar. He ran it through his hands, enjoying its smooth texture and hard edges, appreciating its significance and the power it gave him. Rachel placed her hands by her sides, touching the floor to hold herself steady. She closed her eyes.

Connor fastened the collar around her neck. Collared, she was owned, now anything that happened to her and whatever she did, was at Connor's wish. The very paradigm of her existence shifted when she was collared. She felt at ease, comforted. Her actions and their consequence belonged to Connor. Her collar set her free. When she opened her eyes, she reached out to him. They kissed deeply and passionately.

Connor held Rachel's hand and guided her up off the floor. She sat on the edge of the bed. He reached under the bed and took out a shoe box containing an exquisite pair of black stilettos. They had a concealed platform and a five inch heel. The ankle fastenings were an arrangement of buckles and tiny padlocks. Connor gently held Rachel's left foot and slipped the shoe onto her, clicking the lock in place. He repeated this ritual with her right foot.

He pulled her to her feet; in these shoes she was almost as tall as him. He led her to the guestroom. She looked incomplete, dishevelled hair and no makeup, teamed with the leather collar and extreme shoes. To Connor she was perfect just as she was. He hugged her and told her she was beautiful, and then told her to get ready to receive some guests. He withdrew from the guestroom locking the door behind him.

He mapped the next few hours out in his mind. It may not go to plan, but at least he had a plan, he reassured himself. Away from the house he took a deep breath and called the number on the card. The voice sounded suspicious, but agreed to the meeting. Two men would meet Connor in the bar they had been to the previous night; the place where they first encountered Rachel.

Connor had time to kill, he wandered round the town, idly people watching and wondering what Rachel was doing alone. Was she aroused, touching herself, frightened, shaking with anxiety? People watching turned to girl watching. Mentally undressing them, wondering about their taste in men. How did they like to fuck? What was their kink? If they were his girlfriend would they get involved in what was about to happen? Would they relish it, get turned on; get a thrill, the way he was expecting Rachel to. They all looked so vanilla, so mainstream.

He sat in the familiar surroundings of the bar, waiting for the two cocks to arrive. That's all they were to him and all they would be to Rachel. Hard cocks and heavy balls full of semen. They didn't recognise him, at first, not until he showed them photographs of Rachel's on his phone. Some pretty pictures, some obscene, just to signal that his intent was genuine. He explained the situation, offered his terms, non-negotiable. It was simple; they would go with him, drop their trousers, Rachel would suck and stroke their cocks until they were satisfied. No kisses, no groping and definitely no small talk.

They took a taxi back to the house. Both the cocks filled with nervous excitement, edgy as naughty schoolboys. Connor hoped that their big swinging dick talk from the previous night was more than idle boasting. He had committed himself, he didn't want to be let down by a flaccid cock. He wanted Rachel to take two mouthfuls of cum to satisfy her voracious appetite. Connor was in control of the supply. His plan and it seemed to be going well so far.

Connor unlocked the guestroom door and the cocks filed in behind him. Rachel had artfully aimed the Anglepoise lamp to light the wall behind her. Silhouetted, it gave her the sense of drama she loved. Connor thought she looked stunning. More demure than tarty, much better than the cheap street clothes she went drinking in. She had brushed her hair straight, her makeup was a little on the heavy side with intensely applied scarlet lipstick.

Her collar, of course. The clothes that Connor had selected for her to wear; a black gauze blouse with the word "Princess" written across it in silver glitter, somewhat see through, its translucence would display cum stains so disgustingly well. A black bra with heavy padding. Connor jealously guarded Rachel's pierced nipples against the cocks. Their tenderness and raw sensitivity were for him alone. He suspected that at least one of them had copped a feel of her young firm breasts and metal enhanced nipples the previous night. A knee length black skirt completed her outfit. It accentuated her flat stomach and slim youthful hips. More importantly its taught fabric made it almost impossible to get a strange hand inside to stroke her pussy, unlike the way he had watched the cocks push their hands up under the short denim mini skirt.

Rachel stood in the centre of the room, holding the attention of three pairs of lustful eyes.

"Your guests have arrived, darling. I told them to expect the best blow job of their lives. You're not going to disappoint them."

It was a command to her, and also a signal for the cocks to drop their trousers. Connor rested on a chair in the corner. Rachel sat in the centre of the room. They dropped their trousers and she was presented with two throbbing cocks, one on each side of her, level with her face. They hadn't lied about the size of their manhood, prowess might be another thing but really he didn't want either of them to last very long. It was the simplest of carnal acts. Fill Rachel's mouth with cock. Make her taste them, gag her down to the back of her throat. Connor knew she had the capacity to swallow hard cock.

She gripped the base of their cocks, one in each hand. They grunted as she slowly pumped them. She quickened her pace and then slowed, teasing them. She licked the head of one, probing the tip of her tongue into the eye of his cock. When he could stand it no more, she switched her attention, repeating the treatment on the other.

They called her a filthy whore, but it only encouraged her. Connor didn't feel the need to jump up and defend her honour. He though she was getting everything she deserved, and deserved everything she was getting.

He muttered, "Dirty cock-loving whore," as he rubbed at his own crotch.

She sucked cocks, alternating between them. Her lipstick smeared both shafts. She took each one deep into her throat. Connor could hear her start to gag. They were close to orgasm.

"Come together," she instructed, "all over my face."

"Come all over me." She repeated it like a mantra.

"Now, now, please now!" she called out, begging for them to orgasm, to make a mess of her.

Their cocks spat out a sticky white mess all over her cheeks and chin. Their semen covered her face.

"Don't move," Connor instructed her. "Don't wipe your face."

The two strangers swabbed their cocks on their underwear and pulled up their trousers. Connor showed them to the door. He slammed it behind them. No pleasantries.

His own cock was throbbing and he needed relief.

***

Rachel sat still on the chair as he'd instructed.

"Happy now?" he asked.

"Happier, not completely satisfied. You?"

"Enjoyed watching you. Want what's mine now."

"Good," she said.

With his fingers he cleaned the semen from her cheek. He pushed them into her mouth and she sucked hard. His cock throbbed in response. He kissed and licked at her face, the strange flavour of another man's semen thrilled him. Not in itself but tasting it on Rachel's skin.

She reached out and stroked his cock, pulling it free from his trousers.

"Better," she said. Both statement and question.

He massaged her breasts. Feeling for the hard metal that enhanced her nipples. She gasped and begged to be fucked. He pulled her by the collar. She rose from the chair and he pushed her to the mattress. She wriggled free from her tight skirt. Without ceremony, he pushed his fingers deep into her.

She gasped, "Cunt, baby. Fuck my cunt. Fuck your cunt."

Her pussy was soaked in the evidence of her arousal. Roughly, he pushed her legs apart and drove his cock deep into her. They emitted an animalistic growl in unison. He kissed her deeply, tasting the salty flavour of semen in her saliva.

She had been teasing him for the past twelve hours. This deep kiss was the crowning moment. He emptied his own semen deep into her cunt. She howled as her own orgasm took hold. Locked together, shaking, sweating, spent, he told her that he loved her.

She said, "I love you, too."

He knew she meant it. They were unconventional, occasionally visceral and sometimes cruel; but they were perfect for each other.

***

He led her by the hand out if the guest room.

She knelt by the bed and he removed her collar.

He unlocked her shoes and carefully packed everything away.

She soaked in the bath he drew for her.

He brewed some earl grey tea.

A semblance of normality assumed.

Until next time.