Taming of the Stalker

Before you can move back up to the desk, the timer shrills obnoxiously. I jump up, banging my head on the desk, rather hard actually. I hear a banging sound, and the timer stops. Then, I see you leaning down toward me with concern, even though your incredibly frustrated dick is still twitching and oozing precum.

"You OK?" you ask, and I giggle furiously. The situation is just too precious. I stand up, straighten the prim, career-woman uniform, then take you by the hands, standing you up from your chair. I carefully tuck you back into your fly, trying not to stimulate your tormented cock any more, and give you a long, genuine hug. After awhile, your arms settle around me and you relax, and we are both laughing, standing there in the office, arms around each other like a couple of innocent teenagers. In that moment, just for a brief instant, I stop thinking about sex entirely and wonder if we could ever laugh like this again, realizing just how nice it feels to have no pressure, sexual or otherwise, just to feel my head resting on someone's shoulder, and know that they are there to hold me up if I fall over because I can't breathe.

After awhile, I get control of myself, and you pull away a little, not letting me go until you've had a close look at the top of my head, where I banged it on the desk. You see that it's not bleeding and there isn't much swelling, and you let go of me at last. I don't say anything about this, because for just that moment, we're not playing games. That moment was real, and you were really worried that I'd gotten hurt.

"I'm fine," I say, now that I can speak in words that you will understand. "Timer just startled me, that's all. Well, you startled me, and the timer made it worse."

You apologize, but I shake my head, tell you it's not your fault. We barely avoided an orgasm, and that is fine. I am actually charmed that, yet again, you took the initiative to play by the rules, even when it looked like I wasn't.

"Well, now we have that out of the way..."

I glance significantly at the desk, and you sit in your chair again, much more gingerly than before. The tension is nicely returned, and you are hard and hot as ever.

You take the dice, and are rolling them as I get back in my seat across from you. When I lean forward to look, they're sitting in the box, and they show 1, 2, 2, 4, 6. You keep the 1, and reroll the other four, getting 1, 1, 4, 4. You grin excitedly, setting your three 1s aside. As an afterthought, you reroll the last two dice again, coming up with 2 and 3.

"Aces," I say with a victorious grin. "There's your bonus. I could have picked a more interesting way to give you that orgasm, but there will be plenty more opportunities later." I write down 3 in the aces column, where the simple handjob is indicated. "Let me take my turn, and I'll be right there."

I take the dice and roll them all. I get 1, 2, 3, 4, 5. "Huh. Well, that's interesting. I already have my large straight, so I'll take the small. This means we're both tied with 174 points. I wonder which of us will win?"

I smile enigmatically and come around to your side of the desk, snatching up the bag on the way. I lead you out of the office, amazed at how brief a time we spent in there this morning. Only about ten minutes, maybe fifteen.

I take you into the bedroom and we lay together, cuddling and fondling each other. I slide my hand over your cock, squirting lube onto my fingers and making you nice and slippery, then squeezing you slightly, sliding my thumb up and down the underside. You surprise me by returning the favor, skillful fingers sliding into my wetness and giving me delicious pleasure. I hold you back from the brink until the three minutes are almost up, and your hand has begun feverishly pumping against me, which is making it very hard to think. You hesitate, and I realize what you're trying to do, and I grin. "Yes," I say, "wait." We wait, and when three minutes are nearly up, I start to come. I am amazed that I can come to orgasm so fast, but your urgent hands are almost enough to drive me crazy. I moan softly, then begin working your cock again, this time, not stopping as you come to the edge of climax. You teeter there for a moment, then groan, warm semen squirting into my hand in a long gush. It's not as spectacular as the orgasm you received last night, but then again, it's only a handjob. I'll do better tonight, and maybe even tomorrow morning if I can't help myself.

When it's done, we're both sweaty and satisfied. I wash my hands and you take a morning shower. When you come out, I'm in the living room, watching TV. I take my shower, and we sit on the couch together, relaxing and making out. After awhile, I lay my head on your shoulder and begin teasing you again, rubbing my boobs up against you, sliding my hand down your chest. When I finally give your cock a squeeze, I see that you're hard once more. "We're giving you a workout, big guy, aren't we?" I grin up at you as you sit there gazing at me with glazed eyes. I quickly pull my hand away, laughing. "It's almost lunchtime," I say. "Wouldn't want to get my hands all dirty again, would I?"

I open the dishwasher and put away the clean dishes, then make us grilled ham and cheese sandwiches with coke to drink. I wonder if you have seen the 7-Up in the back of the fridge, and I get a little heart flutter again. If you saw it, maybe you understood it for the clue that it is, that the apartment is "seven up," meaning, apartment 7 on the upper wing of the complex. I do so enjoy playing little games like this with you, because I suspect strongly that you enjoy them just as much, if not more so.

We eat lunch, talking and laughing together, and I occasionally rub one of my legs up against you, keeping you honest, and horny. Afterward, we head into the office again, and sit quietly at our chairs, expectant and excited.

"Ready to roll?"

You nod, smile, and take the dice from me.

The next moment is like magic. You just let the dice fall out of the box and onto the desk, and they fall beautifully, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5. You collect them, looking at them in disbelief.

"No way," I say, and then laugh. "That is one of the most amazing hands I've seen. You're keeping it, I assume." You nod, grin, and I write down 40 points next to the "large straight" column.

"So what does sex therapy involve anyway?" you ask.

"Well, it's going to involve a lot of the toys I didn't want you to see last night," I say, taking the dice from you and rolling them idly. They come out 1, 2, 5, 5, 5. "Some of the more extreme toys," I add, with an ominous grin, setting aside my 5s and rerolling the other two. They come out 3 and 6. I roll them again and this time, they come out 4 and 5. "Well, there goes my Yahtzee." I write a 0 in the Yahtzee column. "It was a close thing, too. OK, little stalker, here's what I want you to do. I want you to go into the bedroom and stay there for awhile. I need to set some things up before we get started, and I don't want to spoil the surprise, so no peeking. Trust me, it'll be worth it. When you hear the music, you can come into the living room."

"Music?" you ask curiously, but I just grin and shoo you playfully off toward the bedroom, swatting your ass a time or two along the way.

The Stalker

Anticipation. Furious, sexy anticipation. What the hell could you be setting up that means I have to be away for awhile? Last night you put food condiments on yourself and that took a few minutes, but this time you used the words extreme toys while grinning at me like you own me. OK, so maybe you do, but still, I wonder what is going on. While you set up whatever it is in the living room I get thirsty again. I walk quietly into the kitchen from the bedroom, avoiding peeking into the living room with all my will-power. I trust you when you say it's going to be worth it and I don't want to spoil what you've obviously taken so long to plan. I like a bit of disobedience now and again, as I've said before, but not that kind. You're obviously excited, and the past day or two have made me realize that you planned all the games we've played immaculately. You might not have planned how the Yahtzee game itself would go but you did plan everything else. The lesson in trust, which still gets me hard just by thinking about it, (I can still almost feel the knife running slowly down my torso as I lay blinded on the bed), to the game we played this morning with the naughty secretary. You wouldn't just happen to have a business suit hanging idly in the closet. I open the door to the fridge and look inside and I notice something odd. Everything else in there has been opened.The chocolate milk, orange juice, the Coke and tea, but the bottle of 7-up still sits there closed. I don't really like it, and I don't know that you do either. Perhaps your friend does? I shake my head in confusion and grab a bottle of water out of a drawer on the bottom of the fridge. I put in some Crystalite, shake up the bottle and take a sip. I then softly close the door and make my way back to the bedroom, following orders. I walk past the living room entrance and hear you humming softly to yourself as you go about whatever it is you're doing. I hurry past the door, not wanting to stop for even an instant, lest my curiosity overcome me and I steal a glance inside. Bad boys get punished, and I wanted to be good right now. I keep thinking once you've let me go I'm gong to find you and play some games with you. It's clear I turn you on and as I enter the bedroom I get a wicked glint in my eyes. Perhaps at some future point, my love, I will return and control you. It is clear this time you're the mistress and you wear the pants, but I wonder if you'd ever submit. It will be difficult to get you to do that, since you've already tasted the power of dominance. Most people who dominate don't submit, but some do, and in the moments when we are not doing something I see myself sneaking quietly into the room where you're sleeping and crawling on top of you. I whisper into your ear, "Good to see you. But this time it looks like the joke's on you." I tie your hands to the bedposts with the same silk scarves you used on me then get up, looking down at you with a grin on my face.

"Untie me now," you growl menacingly. "Or you will suffer."

"Now now," I say. "Let's not have any unpleasantness." I walk around the room, and open the dresser drawer. I pull out a vibrator, throw it onto the bed at your feet and strip off my clothes. I then crawl onto the bed, sighing contentedly. I remove your nightgown gently, wanting to savor the moment. I bring my head down close to your wetness and lick gently. I feel you tremble and sigh quietly.

"Ah, not so feisty now, are you?" I ask.

"You'd better enjoy this," you say. "Remember how easy it was for me to get you last time? You think I don't still have the sedatives, the cuffs? You don't think I can overpower you?"

"No," I say boldly, but I shiver internally as you say this. "This time honey, I'm the one in control."

I pick up the vibrator and turn it on to a low setting. I glide it gently up and down the opening of your vagina. I feel you shaking and hear your breathing speed up. I slide the vibe in and glide it in slow circles over your clit and the shaking intensifies.

I keep this up for timeless minutes. I don't keep count, intending to savor this feeling of control. You start begging me to let you cum in a tiny voice dripping with lust, but I decline your request.

"I think I do hold the power now," I say. "I could bring you off in no time flat. Imagine me furiously licking you to an earth-shattering orgasm. I think I have your attention now...."

I snap out of the daydream as I hear music coming from the living room. Ah, I think. This is my signal to enter. Before I leave the room, I quell the grin on my face. At some point in the future, my love, you will be mine. I will torment you viciously, but at the end of it all, like you did to me, I will bring you such a release that were it a known event it would shake the world to its foundations.

The Victim

When you enter the room, I am already doing chin-ups on the ballet bar I've set up on one side of the room. It was collapsible, as is the tall, shiny silver stripper pole near the center. Behind the ballet bar, there's a side table next to one of the recliners, with some thin leather floggers on it, the harmless kind that sting a little but don't cause much pain. The handbag is also there. You stand there ogling me as I flex my thighs and abs up toward the bar, arms over my head, boobs jutting cheerily up. I am wearing a tight leather corset and pants, high heels with silver buckles and a studded belt wrapped with chains, all in black. I'm completely covered, but you can see the outlines of my body clearly.

"Good," I say after a few sets of chin-ups, as if only just noticing that you're there. "Stand there by the couch, feet shoulder-width apart. No, not in front of it. Behind it, so I can bend you over if I have to. That's better. Now put your hands on the back of the couch, palms down. That's it."

I stretch, then walk slowly over to you, inspecting you critically. I take a pair of studded leather cuffs from my belt, rattling the chain. I close the cuffs over your wrists with a click, then clip the chain between the cuffs to one of the arms of the couch, so your arms are slightly stretched out in front of you and you are slightly bent over, though not so far as to be uncomfortable. You give me a nervous grin.

I take a pair of scissors, which are very sharp, from my belt as well, and carefully snip the jumpsuit's shoulder loops until it falls to the ground at your feet, leaving you totally naked. You kick the rest of the way out of them, then stand still.

"I am having a very hard time believing this one brief weekend is going to be enough time to train you," I say. "So now, I am going to test you, so I know how you will react the next time we meet. Don't give me that puppy face mister, I do not expect it to be soon. Here," I say, holding up a leather sheath. "This is a large, so I can tighten it if I need to, but I highly doubt I will." I slide an arm around you, letting leather rub against your back. The studs are cold and hard, but you don't flinch. I slide the sheath over your cock, make sure it's secure, then come around in front of you again.

"First comes the test," I say, getting three floggers of various thicknesses and putting them on the handy belt. "Then comes the reward. There is no passing or failing, but the more you can handle, the more of a reward you will get. Understand?"

"I, think so," you say uncertainly.

"I want you to be honest," I say. "That's the only rule. Don't pussy out on me, but don't try to endure more than you're comfortable with either."

I motion you to spread your legs a little, then use leather ankle cuffs to tie each of your ankles to a leg of the couch, adjusting the chains to the right length to where you can't close your legs, but you aren't straining to stay upright either. You help me out with this, and I suspect you like the slight discomfort of being exposed and having no control. You are now totally helpless, yet again, but at least you are pressed against something soft, and the leather cuffs aren't too abrasive.

First, I slide my fingernails up and down your back, grinding my breasts against you. Then, I press you roughly forward, and your chest is pushed up against the padded back of the couch. I slide my arms around you, flip up a cushion of the couch, and take out a configuration of straps that was hidden under it. I slide them over your shoulders and chest, hooking a clip on the end of a long chain to the bar that goes under the couch cushions. "Ironically," I say into your ear with a smirk, "this is a pull-out couch. Probably not the most comfortable to sleep on, but the bracing bar comes in handy for other purposes than that."

You can't straighten up now, and I see you are anticipating something. I don't disappoint you. I step back slightly, then swat your ass with the palm of my hand, this time hard enough to make a slapping sound. You flinch, take in a sharp breath, and shiver slightly. I give you three more swats, alternating between your left and right cheeks, then place a warm, damp cloth on the area, first one cheek and then the other. "I have to keep you sensitive," I say. "Can't have you going numb on me, can I?"

You say you highly doubt that will happen, but I give you an exaggerated skeptical sneer. I stand off to the side, so you can see my face as I get the thickest of the small whips. "This one looks like the cruelest one, but in fact, it's actually the least cruel. The broader the strap, the less it hurts, because it spreads the impact over a larger area." I crack it against my own arm, to demonstrate. It stings slightly, but only reddened the skin for a few seconds. You nod, then hold very, very still.

I lightly run the tip of it down your back, missing your buttocks and sliding it down your thigh. It tickles, and you gasp and squirm reflexively, but you can't help but grin. I can see your pulse jumping in your neck. I jerk the sheath off your cock and run the tip of it over your balls, then up around the base and along the length of it.

"You're not going to hit me there, are you?"

"Nope," I say, and you relax. "But I am going to finish punishing you for your behavior."

And I crack it dramatically and unexpectedly over your right buttock. The sound startles you, but the skin only gets pink where it struck. You're getting into it, I can tell, so I hold your throbbing prick in one hand and swat you again, keeping up the alternating pattern of left and right I used before, with the flogger in the other. You moan and beg me to do it harder. I grin evilly and whisper that if that's how you want it, I am only too willing to oblige. I step back slightly and, making sure not to get too carried away I broaden the area I've been attacking. I hit the area just above your buttocks, and go up from there to your back and between your shoulders. I monitor your breathing and facial expression very carefully, not wanting to hurt you... too much. I find I enjoy this spanking thing immensely. God, if you could be tonguing my clit as I do this I would cum explosively. I switch instruments without you seeing, and don't stop until I can tell you're starting to get uncomfortable. You've gotten through two out of the three mildest of the toys, and that's further than I thought you would get. I've had to start on your thighs to keep from irritating the same place and bringing up a welt without meaning to, and when the redness goes away, there will be no marks.

I am very excited now, and when I feel you have relaxed under my hands, I slide my fingers along the length of your cock, kissing the places where I swatted you. They are very sensitive, so I back off and come around to the front. "My friend who lives here bought an entire collection," I say quietly, knowing you are hardly paying attention. "There's everything from tiny silk and feather ticklers to metal paddles with holes in them to decrease air resistance and cause more pain. Neither of us use most of it," I added quickly, "but it's rather good for testing purposes. This is the one I was using in the end," I say, showing you the second leather crop. You look a little surprised, your eyebrows going up, but then you shrug stiffly under the harness.

"Honestly, I thought I'd have less of a tolerance than that," you say.

I laugh. "You're tougher than you think, little stalker," I say. "Besides, there's a lot of bondage queens who give their art a bad name. You don't always need Indiana Jones's bullwhip and spurs to make your point, as well you know."

I step back and look at you, surveying you in the submissive position, bent over the couch with your legs apart. "Now for your reward," I say. "Since you enjoy it so much, you are going to get to watch me. However, I don't trust you not to try to get yourself off, especially after so much excitement, so you're staying right there for the moment."