Taming of the Stalker

I slowly rise up on my knees, turning around so you can look at me. I pull the drain plug and we sit in the tub, making out as it drains. I press my body against yours, my boobs rubbing along your chest, one hand snaking down to rub your cock every once in awhile. Then, we stand, and I turn on the shower. The hot water has had time to reheat, so the shower is nice and warm. We rinse the bath foam and other things from our skin, and I hand you the shampoo and soap. You wash up and rinse off, gazing at me with such eagerness and desire that I want to take you right there, but I wait.

I use my shampoo and wash my hair quickly, making sure the oils have all rinsed out and it's not going to look greasy when it dries. Then I hand you the soap and grin. "I think you've been wanting to do this for awhile," I say.

You nod, then lather the soap onto a sponge and start washing me. You start at my face, gently spreading the soap over my cheeks, not getting it in my eyes. Then you move down to my neck and shoulders, then slowly rub the sponge down my back. You circle me, taking each breast and washing it, squeezing slightly and rubbing the nipple until it's hard and pink. You stay in front of me, sliding the soaped-up sponge down my stomach and around over my ass, caressing with one hand and washing with the other. As your body moves down mine, you rinse the soap away and start kissing my stomach, spreading my thighs with your hands. I shift my stance wider, pressing your shoulders down, just as eager as you are. The sponge slides over the insides of my thighs, down over my calves and my feet. You wash them carefully, taking each one in your hand, kissing it and washing it before putting it down again. You crawl back up my body slowly, kissing the insides of my ankles, my calves, my knees, and finally, my thighs. Your tongue snakes between my lips, and I shiver in anticipation as you enter me. I don't want to cum just yet, and I have a feeling you're not going to waste your opportunity. You take the chance to bring me right to the edge, which takes a disappointingly short amount of time, and it seems you're going to keep going after all. I pull abruptly away, gasping and shuddering. "Wait," I say, turning off the shower and wrapping a towel around myself. I take another towel from the rack and shove it into your arms, turning away and stepping past you and out of the shower. I wring out my hair into the tub, and realize I'm bent over with my ass right in your face. It's becoming too much for both of us, and when I know I won't drip all over the place, I drop my towel, grab my bag and start running for the bedroom. I can hear your quick footsteps coming after me, and I think if it's possible to cum without stimulation, I just might do so.

I make it to the bedroom before your arms slip around me from behind. You spin me around and kiss me hard on the lips, your tongue sliding deep into my mouth. I can still taste myself on you, and I realize your hands are straying toward my hips and ass. I pull away, looking into your eyes, my breathing harsh and quick. I can see the hunger in your eyes, the desire coming to a feverish crescendo at last. You're going to lose control soon, whether I give you permission or not, so I decide to take advantage.

"I want you to throw me down on that bed," I say, my voice unsteady for the first time. "I want you to pound me until I scream. Do you hear me?"

You say yes, you hear me loud and clear. I can tell the commanding tone of my voice turns you on, as well as the desperation you hear there. I tell you to do it already, as I have wanted to all weekend. You take me by the hips, lift me right up off the ground and throw me backwards. I am airborne for an instant, then I feel myself come down on the soft, unmade bed. You are on me before I can move, spreading my thighs open with one hand, the other coming up to slide under my head and neck. You grab one of the pillows and slide it under my hips, tilting them upwards, then I feel your hips flex forward. Your cock drives into me, again and again, and I can feel the urgency and need in every thrust, every quick, harsh breath you take. I can feel your pulse racing, your hands all over me, hungrily trying to explore every inch of me as you ride me. I can feel myself approaching a quick, hard climax, and in the back of my mind, below the tide of rushing blood and hormones, I wonder how you are able to hold yourself back, how you can control yourself and keep from cumming in about two seconds, especially after all the torture I've put you through in the last couple of hours. I wonder if you weren't as close to the edge as I thought, but I discount that almost immediately. I could feel your stomach muscles tensing, your cock twitching, your face tightening with excruciating pleasure and denial. I start to think maybe I have trained you better than I thought, but any further use of the logical parts of my brain is made impossible by the undeniable surge of orgasmic pleasure that drowns everything else. It doesn't last long enough, and I'm not sure I'll get another chance, so I try to enjoy it as much as possible. But then, you just continue hammering into me, with even more intensity, and I realize you're just barely in control, but somehow, you have managed to hang on. The next orgasm is slower in coming, and I'm left teetering on the edge for several agonizing minutes before it finally comes. This one lasts a good deal longer, and in the end, all I can do is gasp and cry out your name again and again. The third orgasm is even better, and words get lost somewhere along the way. When it finally breaks, all I can do is scream, a long, wordless exclamation of pleasure. As the last and best orgasm finally starts to fade, I feel you cum inside me in a long, warm burst. You bury your head in the pillows next to my face and lay there, breathing hard, sweat dripping down your skin and onto me. You just lay there on top of me for a long, long moment before you finally get up the energy to raise yourself up and laboriously roll off me and onto the bed. You curl up and are asleep almost immediately. I realize muzzily that there will be no exploring of the apartment tonight, and that I hope you've gotten all your clues as to the location of the complex by now, because your chance is gone. Then, I too am lost.

I sleep for what feels like forever. I don't dream.

Tuesday, Morning, the Victim

I wake up to feel your hands on me, slow and gentle, stroking my hair and my shoulders. I don't want to move, lest you get nervous and stop, thinking I don't like what you're doing, but I know it's Tuesday and we have a limited amount of time. I sigh reluctantly and raise my head. My hair is plastered to my face and has dried oddly, one side of it poofed up, the other matted with sweat and stuck to my cheek. Your hair is similarly mussed, and I laugh. You return my grin with one of your own.

"It's a good thing we're doing the shower peep show this morning," I say, stretching stiff limbs and sore muscles. "I definitely need it."

You sigh, shrugging in resignation and walking over to the office chair. We both know that you're going to have to leave me soon, so even though you think further restraint and teasing is unnecessary, you don't want to ruin the moment.

You sit in the chair, gingerly holding your arms out for the ropes. I tie your arms and legs carefully, making sure your circulation won't be too badly cut off. I reach into the handbag, take out the chocolate lube, cock ring and weights, and carefully apply them as before. I am pleased to see that it takes a little longer to get you hard this time.

"I thought you might have been tapped out," I say, mock relief on my face. You glare up at me, but you're grinning, so I grin back. "Don't worry," I say. "You still won the game. You get one more orgasm when this is over, I just want to make it worth something."

You shrug and say you're sure I know best, which makes me grin even harder.

I roll you into the bathroom and tie your chair to the toilet again. Then, I place my bag on the back of the toilet, where I did before.

This time, I don't touch myself in the shower. You may not be tapped out, but I think I am. I'm sore from last night, though I must add that I'm not complaining. I just let you ogle me as I soap myself up all over, then towel myself off, just enough so I don't drip all over the floor when I get out. I'm still glistening wet though, and I'm sure that doesn't help your concentration as I step out of the shower and start untying the ropes. I slip the weights and ring off your cock and balls, then take your hand and step back into the still-steaming shower.

"Your turn," I say simply, picking up a foamy loofah from the caddy. I start soaping up your body, washing you all over, rubbing gently at your cock, then more quickly, until your breath quickens and you start to moan softly. I turn away from you, pressing my ass up against your stomach so your back is pressed hard against the shower wall. You bend me over, spread my legs apart, and slide into me, careful not to accidentally go into my ass and ruin things. I've already told you I don't like anal sex, and I'm sure the last thing you want to do is ruin the last moments we'll have together. You move more gently this time, which tells me you're not exactly tapped out, but most of the urgency has gone. This is fine with me, but it still doesn't take you long to come to a quick, gasping orgasm. I don't cum this time, but I've gotten off at least a dozen times, with or without your help, in the last several days, and you've only cum four times, so I figure we're more than even.

You slide down my body, resting your head against my stomach. Now, I realize, is the time I've been dreading.

"Well, my little stalker," I say, "it's been fun, but for various unfortunate reasons, our time is just about up."

When I put the cock ring and weights back in the handbag earlier, I had taken something else out, something which I had hidden inside the loofah and not let you see, knowing it would ruin things. Now, I let the loofah rest on the back of your neck, still sudsy and warm. "I think your tolerance has gone away by now, and you should sleep for at least twelve hours. When you wake up, you'll be back outside my dorm, and since you've been such a good little toy, you'll have some presents to remember me by. I'm sorry I have to do this to you, baby, but I can't have you finding out where I am just yet."

I have slid the needle into your skin by now, slowly and gently, so you barely even feel it. Unlike the last two times, you don't become fearful as you feel the drugs being pumped into a vein. You just give a half-resigned, half contented shrug, careful not to dislodge my hands from your shoulders. I clean the injection wound and turn off the water, knowing you'll be out in just thirty more seconds.

"I have thoroughly enjoyed our time together," I whisper, bending down and wrapping my arms around your shoulders. I kiss your ear, nipping at it playfully. "Sweet dreams, little stalker," I say, as your eyes slip closed and your sex and drug-exhausted muscles relax. You go completely limp and fall into my arms, breathing deep and even breaths. I manage to towel you off, drag you as gently as I can out of the tub and onto the bed, and then dash excitedly into my study and get the briefcase, putting the last part of my plan into action.

Afternoon, The Stalker

For the third time, I wake up slowly out of a drugged sleep. I feel the heavy, unfocused, pleasant warmth of the tranquilizers slowly falling away like warm blankets, leaving me a little sore and confused, but none the worse for wear. I feel sunlight streaming down on me from above, and I realize I'm reclined in the driver's seat of my car. I sit up slowly, stretching stiff and achy arms, and immediately feel a strange irritation at waist level. I reach down and feel something—leather?—under the denim of my jeans. Sudden trepidation grips me as I carefully unzip my fly, feeling inside. Yep, just as I thought. There's a leather barrier between my hand and the space between my legs. There's a metal-rimmed hole through which the very tip of my cock is poking, but I can't actually reach it very effectively. I reach around behind me, under the jeans, and feel a heavy padlock at the small of my back. The wicked, cruel woman, she's locked me in a chastity belt.

I discover that i'm wearing the jacket I was wearing on the first night I saw you at your dorm, and I reach hopefully into the pockets. No such luck—there's no key there—but I do find a paper envelope with something hard and thin inside. I take it out, and discover that it's a DVD, with the words "PLAY ME" written on the envelope. I also find my phone, keys and binoculars in the other pocket. I am eager to find out what kind of present you've left me, and so I quickly drive home, getting to my apartment just as the rush-hour traffic is starting to build up.

The first thing I do when I get inside is lock the door and throw the jacket over a chair. I go straight to the laptop on my desk, open it, and log on. When that's done, I open the CD/DVD drive and slide the disc in. The computer starts to whirr as the drive spins up. It seems to take forever, but the video window finally opens and I click the PLAY button eagerly.

The first thing I see is a still shot of me, shadowy and dangerous looking, standing next to a concrete pillar. The light isn't too good, and it's got the grainy, strangely ominous quality of a surveillance photo.

"Hello, little stalker," your voice says, sounding so clear I can almost feel your breath in my ear. The hairs on the back of my neck go up, and I can feel my balls tighten and my cock stirring under the leather restraint.

"I'm sure you will have questions," your voice continues, though you haven't come into the picture yet. "I made this video to try to answer as many of them as possible, as well as to drive you completely insane."

The shot changes to one of me bent over your car, you, the sexy policewoman, frisking me from behind. The memories are so clear I can almost feel your hands on me again. The shot dissolves to another of you in a black miniskirt and high-heeled boots. You turn and pose for me, showing a flash of thigh.

"Remember this, baby?" You grin wickedly, flipping your hair back. "I'm taking this video with my tablet, the one I kept at the apartment. The picture you just saw, however, was taken with this camera." You open one hand and show me a tiny photo/video camera in the palm. "Clever little gadget, this," you continue, picking up the shiny silver handbag you seemed to carry with you everywhere you went while we were together. "I bet you are wondering why I had this silly thing all the time. Well," you say, opening the elaborate, flowery-looking clasp, "now you know."

The clasp looked like a flower with several petals filigreed in some kind of silvery metal and done up with glitter. In the center of the flower was a clear, round rhinestone. As I watch, mouth gaping open, you slide the tiny camera into a bracket on the back of the clasp so the lens fits into the clear rhinestone and faces outward toward the camera, and toward me. "Tada," you sing with an ironic little half-bow. "This silly handbag was far more useful than it looked, as I'm sure you now suspect. Oh how I wish I could see your face right about now. I bet your reaction is priceless. Anyway, this little camera is very good, and designed not to be noticed. I caught all our best moments with it. For instance..."

You fade out, and instead, I see myself lying on the king-sized bed, hands and feet bound with black silk, orange prison stripes showing up clearly. I'm dead to the world.

"I enjoyed watching you sleep," you say in a husky whisper, "but I enjoyed recording this much more."

The still picture changes to surprisingly close video of you perched on top of me, rubbing my clearly-visible erection, urging my eager tongue deeper inside you. Your nightgown obscures my face, but I can see your expression of ecstasy as you shudder above me, see my head moving as I bring you to orgasm.

"And this," you say, and I am seeing myself straining and writhing in the office chair, ropes digging into my arms and weights swinging around on my sack, you lying in a steaming tub, chest heaving and back arching as you come to orgasm under your own hands. The sights, along with the memories that go with them, make me harden under the leather belt. I clench my teeth, cursing mentally. You cruel, wicked little tease, you can even drive me crazy when you aren't even here. As if reading my thoughts, you give a wicked little laugh. "I bet you want to stroke yourself right now, don't you?" you say as the image fades out, replaced by one of you sitting on my face, your own mouth pulled down in a stern frown, but your eyes shining and gleeful. I hear a muffled groan, and you, off-mic, saying "What's that, sweetheart? I can barely hear you." The next thing I hear is a real live yell of desperation, muffled by your ass, but still quite audible.

"There there, little stalker," you say, back on mic and mock consoling, "you'll get to get yourself off soon enough. The little fashion accessory I've put on you is only temporary, sweetie. I would hope you would trust me enough to realize this." I see myself lying on the bed, blindfolded and looking terrified and turned on at the same time as you grin evilly and slide a butter knife down my stomach and toward my crotch. "For now," you continue, "you're just going to have to content yourself with watching us in action. The key to your prison is in the mail. When it comes, you can watch this again, and I hope it will have its intended effect. For now, let's review the highlights, shall we?"

I see us in your bed, you on top of me, slowly working yourself up and down my cock, covered by several condoms. You bring me right to the edge, then stop until the need has passed. The picture flashes to your living room, and you're in my lap. My right hand is playing with one of your breasts, my face is hidden in your hair, and the flickering light of the TV illuminates us as you lose all pretense of control, turn around and start grinding me. I hear myself give the warning, see you jerk back from the very edge, and then see you start moving over me again, merciless as ever. You bring me to the edge again and again, with your tongue, with your hands, with the movement of your body against me. I see myself licking you to climax, eating honey and syrup off your skin, being flogged with a leather strap across the back and buttocks. I see you doing your irresistible little strip tease, then coming into the office in a business suit, slamming a timer down on the desk, and crawling into the kneehole and out of sight.

"Don't despair," you say into the microphone. "You know your reward will come in time."

I see you crouching over me, my cock deep in your mouth, a small butt plug sliding into me. In my hand is a vibrator, buzzing as it slides into your wet pussy again and again. I see myself cumming in your mouth, then I see us in bed, cumming simultaneously as we pleasure each other with our hands. I see us in your bathtub on the last night, me washing your body, kissing you all over as the soap washes off your skin. I see myself fucking you hard on your bed, your head thrown back, eyes wide and mouth open in complete ecstasy. My own eyes close an instant before I bury my head in the pillow next to you. Last of all, I see myself and you in the shower, half-obscured by steam, moving together as I have my last orgasm of the long weekend.

"I'm not there with you now, little stalker," you say as the last scene fades back to you in the miniskirt again, "and I can't make you watch this video again, but I have a suspicion you will, even before you get the key. But when you do get the key, I want to challenge you. I want you to try to get yourself to the edge seven times before you cum, and when you do, I want it to be at the moment when I scream your name. I want to imagine it happening again and again, and I want you to imagine our last night as well. It was fantastic, baby. The only other thing I have to say is this. The moral of this little story? Stalking is probably not the best hobby, especially for a sexy, capable man like yourself. Why you feel the need to sneak up on a woman is beyond me, when you're more than adequate to the task of getting one with her full knowledge and consent.