Sweet Surrender Pt. 07

Sienna + Ben

Date: Fri Oct 01, 8:41 PM

Subject: Chat Log

[Sienna]: It's been one hell of a week. Glad you were available to chat!

[Ben]: Yeah, I totally get it. Real life has got to come first, unfortunately.

[Sienna]: It does. I've been traveling, working essentially 24/7, very intense on-the-brink negotiations. Not much headspace for this stuff.

[Ben]: So that means you still haven't completed your final assignment?

[Sienna]: Haven't even started it. And my only thought so far is just to wonder: what can I offer you that fits your specific... quirks. Because I'm sorry to inform you, I don't struggle in ultra-fem attire, I strut!!

[Ben]: Haha, I'm starting to believe it. I don't mind if you stick to your strengths, I did say to be true to yourself! But I'm also wondering if I should take advantage of having your undivided attention, before I lose it again. Why don't we do your last task together?

[Sienna]: Ooo, sure, I'm in! But just to be clear, I will get to rub myself silly to the final chapter afterwards?

[Ben]: That's the idea! You can start us off with a description of a classic work outfit. Not the one for the boardroom or signing deals, the one you wear back at the home office, when you want all your male colleagues and peons just nodding and agreeing with whatever you tell them.

[Sienna]: That would be the open jacket, buttoned blouse and pencil skirt. Depends on the skirt length, but it CAN be tricky to move around or walk quickly in. I usually wear at least 3.5" heels, so I have to pay attention when managing stairs or curbs, but I'm a pro. And I can learn about a man by dropping something. Does he retrieve it for me (chivalrous, but boring)? Watch me bend my knees as I balance and reach (promising...)? Or does he dare make a suggestive remark (hot flash!)?

[Ben]: Perfect! Now roll that into the evening. The deal's closed, it's time to loosen up and head to the hotel lobby bar for a few cocktails...

[Sienna]: For me, it's pretty simple. I would be thinking of you as I pull my stockings on, adjusting the seam so it's just right. The hint of a garter strap, a taste of stocking top through the slit up the side of my skirt. A lacey bra peeking from my blouse, unbuttoned one notch too far. My head dizzy with lust as I slip on the heels, knowing how my Loubs drive you wild. All these sexual talismans make me shiver with delight. I would NOT be able to resist teasing my slick kitty for a few minutes, through my lace and sheer-paneled panties, before I finally headed out.

[Ben]: Sounds like you're going in feeling pretty confident. The only sign of being flustered (which is what makes this all about me) is how horny you made yourself, just from undoing a few buttons, unzipping a skirt split, and freshening up a little...

[Sienna]: I'm not such a complicated woman after all. But if you told me in precise terms what you expected me to wear, it would make me more eager to show off, and more anxious for your approval.

[Ben]: Oh, I'm sure I could come up with something. For example, instead of wearing your nicest sheer panties, I might have told you to wear an old pair of cotton granny undies for the whole day. Embarrassing, uncomfortable, distracting -- partly because you still had to do your job in them, and partly because you knew exactly what they implied: I would be ripping or cutting them off you later.

[Sienna]: Hmm, not sure I'd want to risk my job over ugly cotton underwear, but that would certainly throw me off my game. Ugh, I'm thinking about having to strip and reveal them to you. That's an interesting way to shift the dynamic. I do love the idea of choosing an outfit that I know is going to be ripped from my body, though. All that cost, all that effort... but worth it. Occasionally!

[Ben]: I'm thinking of other things that could be revealed as you strip for me. Can you imagine spending an entire evening wearing a tightly tied rope harness hidden beneath your classy business wear?

[Sienna]: That is... pretty far outside my comfort zone. So, I'm intrigued.

[Ben]: Good to know! But I think we'll set that aside for now. Another time, another place, another fantasy. Let's finish the story we're already in the midst of telling!

[Sienna]: Yes, please!!! Are you sending it tonight?! I just so happen to have the whole place to my lonesome self.

[Ben]: I can send it soon. But you need to go find something in your closet similar to the dress that story-Sienna was wearing in my final episode, and put it on for your reading session. And for whatever comes after.

[Sienna]: Ohhh, I can definitely do that. Not exactly the most seasonal choice in outfits, but I can turn up the heat. If I even need to...

[Ben]: Off you go, then! Once it's on, your final assignment is complete.

To: Sienna

Date: Fri Oct 01, 9:30 PM

Subject: The Grand Finale: First Dates -- Part Three

Why the fuck was she doing this?

The click of her heels echoed loudly in the tunnel leading out of the train station, as she increased her pace and slipped past a few slow-moving commuters. She could just catch sight of his feet rising up the staircase at the end, now almost a hundred feet away. The bastard wasn't going to slow down for her, clearly. She had hesitated until the last possible second, hearing the tones announcing the train's departure as she lunged out of her seat and stepped onto the platform.

Once again, why the fuck was she doing this?

She couldn't use the same easy excuses that her weekly prowl of the club district gave her. She couldn't blame this on her excess drinking, or on her friends' stupid dares. There was no pounding music, no grinding hips, no sweaty bodies, no lustful looks. No chemical influences that would inevitably unleash both her insatiable libido and her questionable judgement. Not to mention the fact that she was going to be very late for her friend Anya's cocktail soiree. Yet somehow, here she was anyway, letting her pussy make every life-threatening decision. So how exactly, as he had claimed, was this really going to be any different for her?

She had reached the top of the stairs, and looked up and down along the side road trying to locate him. She had matched his speed, but he was still well ahead of her and headed away from the main street. It was all starting to feel completely foolish, and yet her legs still carried her forward. "Slow down, jerk!" She tried calling, but he didn't even turn to acknowledge her. She was moving faster than she was comfortable with in this particular pair of heels, yet she was holding it together, maintaining her stride, even gaining a little ground now. She would enjoy having more of an audience for this power strut, but there wasn't a construction site to be seen...

She bit her lip and smiled. Any attention was fun, but hands-on was better, so why not seize the opportunity for a little action? There was plenty in her favor here. He was good looking enough for her, nicely muscled, and she already knew he could fuck like a machine. Her memory was not nearly as bad as she had played it out to be. As soon as he had offered to give her a 'refresher', all of the events of that evening had come flooding fully back to her: from the toilet stall bludgeoning, to the hard scrape of pavement on her knees, to the breathless supernova at the end. She remembered just about everything except his departure -- which was a total dick move, by the way. He owed her an apology for that! She had some ideas on how he ought to deliver it.

Ugh, she was getting lathered up now. Thinking about it, she could pin-point the exact moment when her vagina had started overruling her brain. It was clarity she never had after one of her patented drunken romps. 'What a novel experience,' she thought sarcastically. When he had first sent her the message saying 'I am going to get off the train,' her reaction had not been relief at all, but more of a pouting disappointment, a disbelief that he might actually walk away from her. From HER! But when he added '...and you are going to get off and follow me,' her body had lit itself on fire. She would never admit it to him, but he had out-manoeuvred her, arranging it so that she had to do what he said in order to get what she wanted. That little power flip had her nicely lubricated, but she was far from being putty in his hands yet.

Still closing the distance, she watched him turn off the street onto a gravel lane, then duck through a half-open chain link gate into an abandoned industrial site. This finally made her slow her pace and try to think more seriously about her own safety. There would be no help if she found herself in trouble, and this guy was definitely acting like a bit of a snake. But the danger of the situation had set her worst impulses loose, cancelling out any useful, rational thoughts. 'Last weekend with him was dangerous too, and I came out fine in the end, right? I'm doing this.' That was the full extent of the reasoning ability she had left.

Even so, she stopped short of the gravel road, hesitating on the verge of what, she didn't know. And then, for the first time since the pursuit had begun, he turned to face her. He broke into a grin and gestured to her, waving her on, encouraging her on like they were simply two carefree kids out exploring the world away from adult eyes, afraid of nothing, throwing caution to the wind. It was unexpected, and finally a taste of the attention she craved, but it was the simple innocence of it that truly broke down her guard, and let her willingly cross the threshold.

Her first few steps on the loose gravel were awkward, to say the least. These were not the shoes you wanted to be wearing here. She looked up at him and saw that he was gazing intently at her, still smiling, evidently enjoying the view as she stumbled, wobbled, and struggled. He had totally set her up for this, the asshole! So much for innocence.

She didn't want to give up on her power strut this easily, but she wasn't switching to bare feet either. She flushed a bit, then stopped and crossed her arms across her chest in defiance. "That's as far as I can go. So much for whatever plan you had in your head!"

He shrugged and nodded, conceding her point, and began walking toward her. She stayed still, looking obstinately back at him. When he was close, but just out of reach, he knelt down on one knee, extended his hand and proclaimed, "will you accept my hand in aid, milady?"

She snorted, but it was another change in attitude that still managed to disarm her slightly. She stepped forward carefully to take his hand. His courtesy, she would soon realize, was just another game, like his boyish enthusiasm had been. As she moved toward him, he slid past her arms, moving under and then upwards from his knee so that in a single motion he had picked her up at the hips and slung her over his shoulder before she could react, protest, or mount any resistance. Turning, he began carrying her towards the buildings.

She tried to register a complaint, of course. But there was no one there to hear her, and flailing her legs and arms accomplished nothing. Nothing that is, except for flipping her dress up and off her ass, and giving him an opening to slide a free hand up between her legs where he could explore exactly how wet she was. When his hand made first contact, her entire body jolted and flopped like a fish, combining her urgent instinct to escape with the full force of her arousal. He could barely hang on, gripping her tightly and letting her grind herself against his hand until she was gasping for air.

Undaunted, he took advantage of her weakened state to tug at the thong he found there, from one side and then the other, yanking it down over her hips and past his shoulder so that they tumbled down her legs as he continued to carry her around behind one of the ramshackle buildings. Ignoring her creative name-calling, he caught the flimsy bit of damp material as it dangled from one heel, then balled it up and tucked it into a pocket. "What do you know, you're wearing underwear after all. I lost a bet with myself. But gained a nice souvenir!"

She hissed in unbridled frustration, ready to resume her struggle, when she felt him shifting his position to put her down. He tilted her off his shoulder, one hand under her armpit and the other arm that had been carrying her now positioned between her legs with his hand squarely on her ass as he lowered her slowly. When her feet touched the ground, that same hand slipped forward, and in an instant two of his fingers had buried themselves deep into her pussy.

All her breath expelled again in a whimpering groan as her legs gave out, and her full weight hung on his arm and hand for a deliriously painful and excruciating moment before he stabilized her and her limbs remembered how to work on their own. Yet the removal of that intense pressure on her clit was not a relief, instead it was a bitter and throbbing disappointment, and she ground herself back down on his hand again, testing the strength and endurance of his arm. He never wavered, but distantly she hoped he would feel sore later. It was petty, but any successful act of defiance was worth something at least. And then her thoughts splintered as his fingers continued to probe her insides, teasing and tormenting, mastering her reactions, until she realized that her mind and body were running out of resistance.

When her eyes rolled back into her head involuntarily, he knew he had found precisely the right spot. He kept the pressure firmly in place, using small and subtle rotations, minute variations to the rhythm, playing with her arousal and drawing high pitched chords from her throat like she was a tightly strung musical instrument. His other hand began roaming her body, grabbing and squeezing, groping and pinching, adding delicious accents while forcefully claiming his ownership over everything that he touched. Now, as he moved in to take a first deep kiss, her mouth surrendered to him immediately. Any concern about having his tongue bitten as a defense reaction could be safely filed to the back of his mind. With both their jaws wide and lips grinding, he fucked her mouth with his tongue until she was gasping for air.

Delirious, she lost her balance again and stumbled backwards until she slammed against the rusty corrugated siding of the abandoned building, her cunt locked onto his fingers and pulling him along with her. His free hand moved down to his jeans and yanked them open, allowing his cock to leap free immediately, there being no briefs or boxers in the way to slow him down. He pulled his fingers from her with a wet smack that made her cry out in need and anguish, and then he lifted her up easily and dropped her straight down on his raging erection.

Her eyes shot open and she screamed again, helplessly suspended off the ground, impaled deeply and pinned against the shed, oblivious to the banging sounds of her back and ass against the rusty metal, riding him up and down on a wave of desperation and ecstasy. Using his hands under her thighs as leverage, and with her arms braced against his taut shoulders, she made one last effort to reclaim the illusion of control. She wanted to make it feel as though she had chosen to fuck herself on his cock. That she was not fucking him for his pleasure, and that this was not really about him at all. She was not there at his disposal, he was the sexual object in service to her, and she was using him for the purposes of an earthshaking orgasm that was now mere moments away.

But he felt this change in the dynamic. How could he not, as she humped herself against him with such greed? He knew exactly what mind game she was playing with herself, the mental "out" that it would give her afterwards, and he was not going to let her have it. He turned away from the wall and carried her several feet to a low stack of concrete barriers that was covered by a dusty, grease-marked blue tarp. He dropped her down on the hard and unforgiving surface, holding her thighs tightly to keep himself planted inside her. Ignoring her "ow, what the fuck?" exclamation, he pushed her back down again when she tried to sit up, and set his own rhythm as he began pounding himself into her.

Her protests were short-lived as he quickly brought her back to the brink of orgasm, but her face remained a conflicted mask of physical discomfort combined with frantic sexual need. Satisfied that the situation was back on his terms, he increased his pace to a level he could sustain, but still slamming himself into her by any other measure. Abruptly, he reached down and began flicking her clit repeatedly and cruelly with one finger, first faster, then slower, then faster again, keeping her on the very edge but not letting her go over.

"Please just fucking make me cum!" she wailed loudly, pleading and powerless. Ah, now that was the exact tone he was looking for, and so he rewarded her good behaviour.

Her orgasm was an explosive confusion of emotions that jolted her mind as much as her body. She was cumming because she craved what he had done to her, and yet also because he didn't care what her opinion was on it. She was cumming so hard because of the taboo thrill of being taken by force, but also because she had willingly put herself in this situation. She was cumming so fucking hard because she was not only incredibly aroused by what the future might hold, but because she was terrified of it as well. She was cumming oh god so crazy fucking hard not just because her body had been utterly conquered, but because her mind had been overwhelmed too. Each realization triggered an even larger wave of back-arching contortions that left her both broken and satisfied.

As she lay prone on the blue tarp afterwards, small tremors continuing to ripple against his hard shaft that was still inside her, he reached down and pulled his jeans up far enough to reach into one pocket. From it he removed a thick oval ring of stainless steel, smooth in appearance but concealing a small hinge. A quick twist allowed him to open it wide, and he placed one half of the ring against her left ankle, closed the other side with a click, and then pushed in a pin that met flush with the surface and became inaccessible. After which, he slid himself reluctantly out of her pussy, pulled his pants back up and began to walk away.

As he headed around the far side of the building, the looming implications of possible abandonment snapped her back to her senses and she sat up to yell out: "Where the fuck do you think you're going?"

"Home," he called back. And as he did, she heard the sputter and rumble of a motorcycle being kick-started.

"What about me?" she spat at him, her sense of panic mounting as she began to realize just how much of a set-up this had all been.

He wheeled the bike around the corner, and tossed her a small towel he had kept tucked away in the tank-bag. "You seem like an independent girl. I'm sure you can clean yourself up and find your own way. Although, you might want to fix your hair first."

"You wouldn't dare!"

"Yes actually, I would. And you'd better call me tomorrow if you want to get that anklet off. I doubt you'll want to explain to anyone how it got there, or ask for help removing it. I'll keep your underwear until tomorrow, too. I think the rest of your day, whatever it is you had planned, just got a hell of a lot more interesting."

"You son of a..."

"Call me in the afternoon. Not earlier. I'll pick you up and buy you dinner. Almost like a traditional first date, I swear!"

He spoke those final words with a hint of sarcasm, then laughed and flicked the throttle, spinning the bike around and roaring across the dusty yard and out the gate. Behind him he could hear her screaming "Fuck you!!!" at the top of her lungs. Which was funny, because he'd checked his text messages on the way here, and that was exactly what she had said in her last message from the train. And then followed him anyway.