Taming of the Stalker

"Really?" you ask, looking incredulous. "I thought you trusted me by now."

"For shame," I say, with an irrepressible grin. "You're just giving me an excuse to punish you more." I laugh. "Actually, you're right. I just like having you in that position. However, I will leave the sheath off, so your big cock can breathe. There's your sign of trust. Oh, and after I'm done, I'll get you out of that silly harness and we can have some dinner."

I walk over to the stripper pole and drape an arm over it, leaning against it like a drunk person leaning on a friend to hold me up. I pull a remote controller out of my pocket and use it to change the track on the stereo. Before, it was playing some hardcore metal to enhance the mood. Now, it plays something slower but still wicked with electric guitar and thumping drums. I bend down and unbuckle the little boots first, then kick them off, letting them spin in different directions across the floor. I place one bare foot on the pole, and then take hold of it with one hand. With the other, I unfasten the buckles on the corset and let it fall open. I press myself up against it, my boobs on either side, and start shimmying slowly downwards, until I am kneeling with my arms above my head, and the leather has hiked itself up over my shoulders. I slide my arms from the straps and spin it around my wrist, letting it fly. It lands with a surprisingly light sound almost at your feet. The chain and belt clatter as it falls.

I come up again, boobs swinging slowly as I use the pole to climb back to my feet, sliding the pants down as I do. I'm wearing a silk thong underneath.

"Remember this?" I ask, and you nod and grin.

I wrap my thighs around the pole and climb it like a fireman's pole, almost three feet. It's almost eight feet high, nearly scraping the ceiling. It only barely fit inside the armoire because it telescopes into a shorter four-foot pole if you release a catch at the base. Pushing off with my arms, I spin around, wiggle my ass in your direction, then fall backwards, landing on my hands on the carpet, my legs still wrapped around the pole. I circle my hips, letting my boobs jiggle freely, and the thong starts to slide its way down my thighs. I walk backwards on my hands until I'm gripping the pole with my knees, then lift a foot, balancing carefully, and use the heel to catch the thong and slide it toward my ankles, then, as I slide my legs downward, off completely. I have managed to wrap the thong around the pole with my feet. I take the straps between my toes and, slowly but neatly, tie the thing in a bow. I've been practicing that one for weeks. You will never know how damnably hard that was to learn. I hope I've made it look easy.

For my last trick, I walk on my hands back toward the pole and slowly crawl my way up it, upside down, hands gripping hard, hair hanging down below me. You watch from your awkward position, eyes wide with amazement, as I slide upward, higher and higher, the pole digging into my back. I was wondering if I could flip back over, landing on my feet, but my arms are obviously not double-jointed and won't bend the right way, so I'll have to just let go and hope I land gracefully. Fortunately, I let go with my hands first, flex my body upwards, and slide downward, ending up on my ass with the pole jutting up between my legs. I bounce up to my feet, do one more slow spin so I'm facing you again, then step away, completely naked and sweating.

I walk over to you, releasing you first from the harness, then from the hand and ankle cuffs. You step away from the couch, stretch, grin, and reach for me. I hesitate, then step into your arms. You hug me hard, but don't try to force yourself on me. Truthfully, at the moment, it wouldn't take much forcing. I'm tired out from the strenuous exercise on the pole. Besides the which, I'm so damned horny I almost want to scream and shake you and tell you to just do it already.

But no. Now is not the time, not yet. Maybe tonight, or even tomorrow morning.

I gather up the leather pants, taking floggers, scissors and cuffs off the belt, and putting the harness and leathers away in the bedroom. You follow me and dress yourself in another jumpsuit. I put the ruined one in a bag that also holds the other things I want to take home, and put it and everything else in the large cabinet of the armoire. I collapse the pole and shove it unceremoniously in there too, then slam it and lock it with a small key from the shiny handbag. I notice you watching closely, and give you a playful glare. "Keep those dirty little hands off," I say, and place the handbag on the night table. You grin, shrug, and walk toward the bathroom.

"I'm going to make some dinner," I say, slipping into a comfy nightie, lace tickling my chest. "I know we usually take two between meals, but today's events have been pretty intense, so I think we both deserve a break, don't you?" You nod vigorously, and I grin. "So I'm going to make dinner, and you can do whatever you like, just stay out of my way, and no escaping."

"Naturally," you say, and I smile.

"After that, we can play our game again. OK?"

"Sure," you say. I walk toward the kitchen and hear the bathroom door close and the toilet seat flip up. I wonder if, when you're done, you'll explore more of the apartment. There's not much more for you to find, except maybe the map of the apartment complex in the desk drawer, but it doesn't have any markings on it to indicate which apartment is the one we're in now. There are labels that clearly say "Upper Wing" and "Lower Wing," but I'm not sure you'll put together that and the 7-Up. It's a bit of a stretch. I might need to make it easier for you, though I'm sure you're intelligent enough that you'll get it eventually. As I hear the toilet flush, I skim through a book of recipes in the kitchen, looking for something to cook us.

The Stalker

When I'm done in the bathroom, I come into the kitchen quietly. I sneak in, making sure not to move too much, so the jumpsuit doesn't rustle, and not putting my full weight down so the floor doesn't creak. You're reading the recipe book, your lips moving silently as you skim over a recipe for, hmm, lasagna?

I come up behind you and start rubbing your shoulders. Either you've known I was here the whole time, or it feels too good to jump and then punish me later for sneaking. Either way, a contented sigh escapes you and you lean back into my strong hands as I massage your shoulders. You lean your head back and I can see you have a contented smile on your face, so I keep up the shoulder massage.

After a few minutes, I notice you beginning to doze off. You really must be tired. I pick you up off the stool you were sitting on and carry you into the living room. I recline the chair we used for the human chair game and put you in it, then go to fetch a blanket to wrap you up. You are asleep now, and could be taken, but I choose not to. I've decided to come and find you again before doing that. This is an excellent time to gain your full trust. If you know you can sleep in my presence when I'm awake and unfettered, perhaps it will make that task a little easier when it comes time.

Once I have you situated, I massage your lower body, legs and feet. I press my thumbs into the bottom of your feet and feel tension leave your muscles. I work at it for a good half-hour before I hear the rhythmic heavy breathing and realize you're so dead to the world now that you can't even feel what I'm doing anymore. I stand, smile lovingly at you, and breeze back into the kitchen. I skim the lasagna recipe, deciding, what the hell? I'll make dinner. Why not?

I start looking through the fridge and cabinets for the proper ingredients and come up with them all eventually. The recipe calls for:

Olive oil

1 lb lean ground beef

1/2 medium onion, diced, about 3/4 cup

1/2 large bell pepper (green, red, or yellow), seeds and veins removed, diced, about 3/4 cup

2 cloves garlic, minced

1 28-ounce can tomato sauce

1/2 6 oz can (3 oz) tomato paste

1 14-ounce can crushed tomatoes

2 Tbsp chopped fresh oregano or 2 teaspoons dried oregano

1/4 cup chopped fresh parsley (preferably flat leaf), packed

1 Tbsp Italian Seasoning

Pinch of garlic powder and/or garlic salt

1 Tbsp red or white wine vinegar

1 Tbsp to 1/4 cup sugar (to taste, optional)

Salt

1/2 lb dry lasagna noodles (requires 9 lasagna noodles - unbroken)

15 ounces Ricotta cheese

1 1/2 lb (24 ounces) Mozzarella cheese, grated or sliced

1/4 lb (4 ounces) freshly grated parmesan cheese

I am surprised you had it all stored somewhere. I set to preparing the pasta for cooking.

I am going to serve my bondage queen dinner. I now had the opportunity to play another role I've always wanted to. See, along with this pervert who likes to be tied down, made to serve a beautiful woman with her own twisted desires, is a very chivalrous persona. I've always enjoyed reading about those old knights of ancient England and think I get that from them. I doubt you'd let me feed you again, but I can serve it up, put it on a plate and bring it to you. Once the preparations are done, I set a timer to ninety minutes—that's the required amount of time to cook—and take it with me as I walk out of the kitchen and back toward the bedroom.

I'd really love to find out what's in your little handbag, but I don't know that I dare. I might be able to put everything back just the way that it was, but I don't know. Some people are good at spotting when their things have been tampered with, and I'm beginning to learn what you'll put up with and what you won't. I might not even get a "punishment" for looking through it just to see what's in there. I might just get a scolding and then nothing but cold shoulder for a while. I don't want our last night together to be messed up by the fact I couldn't keep my hands off something you'd told me not even to consider perusing. So instead, I go through the rest of the apartment. In the office, I find a map in a desk drawer, hidden under some blank printer paper. It's folded up, and once I unfold it, I can see it's a map of the apartment complex. Hmm, so there are upper and lower wings. The labels clearly say that, but there are no actual apartments labeled. After studying the map closely for a few minutes, I shake my head and put it back.

I go back into the kitchen, check on the lasagna preparations, and then head back to the living room. Oh my God, you're still sleeping.

I quietly sit down on the couch and just watch you sleep. The voices in my head argue about whether I should take you now or wait. I've already decided, dammit, but it's so hard when you're just sitting there, so obviously available. I ignore the voices and decide to stay my course, to wait before just taking you. That will come, but not right now. You're the one in control, and a queen cannot worry that her best servant would do something to disable her while she's dead to the world.

Time passes, and I think I doze off as well. I relive some of the moments of the past few days. Me licking your fingers as I knelt at your feet in the rain that first night. The wicked gleam in your eyes, the predatory way you looked at me our first night here when you took me into the bathroom and made me watch you shower. Oh yes, you are a wicked, wicked girl, and I love every cruel inch of you. The thing that's so odd is that you look nothing like the stereotyped women who do bondage. I mean, you've worn leather, but most of the time here, I've seen you in nighties or nothing at all. Your commands haven't been given in a tone that indicates you're superior to me, I've just come to accept it.

I come out of it as I hear you stirring. You yawn and stretch, then look at me and smile.

"Congratulations, little stalker. You've passed another test. I woke up and wasn't tied hand and foot to the bed. I thought you'd take this opportunity to have your revenge for all the teasing and denial I've put you through. Come here."

You stand from the recliner and beckon me over, the smile turning into a seductive, flirtatious one. I come and stand before you, not sure exactly what you want me to do. As it turns out, it isn't much.

You wrap your arms around me and give me a passionate, sensual kiss. Our tongues dance their familiar little dance for a few seconds, and then you pull back, breathing hard.

"Mmm, that was nice. OK, so why is the timer running, and what is that amazing smell?"

You turn and walk into the kitchen, sniff a few times, then open and close the oven.

"Wow. Found everything, did you?"

"Yeah, I did. I didn't have any problems," I say. "Everything that recipe said to do, I did. It wasn't difficult."

"Awesome. And I suppose you were planning on treating me like royalty and serving me tonight?"

"Yes I was, your Highness," I say jokingly, but not in a smart-ass kind of way.

"Then your bondage queen's royal command is to go ahead and do just that. I want to just put my feet up for awhile. Stripper activities really take it out of you."

I check the timer. "Well, if you'd like to sit down now, it'll be ready in just a few minutes."

"Excellent!" you say and sit at the table. I bring you a Coke from the fridge and grab one for myself. I put the Coke on the table in front of you as well as a plate and utensils. I set my own place, then inspect the cooking lasagna. It smells awesome and the smell permeates the entire kitchen. I put on oven mitts and take the pan out of the oven. I find a hot pad in a drawer and take the pan over to the table. I serve us up each a generous amount, then retire to my place and watch you eating.

"This is good," you say. "I didn't know you were a cook."

I laugh. "I'm not. I just know how to follow instructions."

"So how about another turn after dinner?" you ask. "I'd almost like to just enjoy our evening, but I know you want to find out what else I might have in store. Also, I'm not sure we'd have enough time tomorrow to finish everything."

"It's up to you, my dear," I say. "You're the one with all the power, I'm just the one that gave it to you."

Over dinner, we talk about a variety of topics. I learn a little more about what you're trying to do in school, how far you are and things of that nature. You'll be graduating soon. I smile and congratulate you. You nod and tell me it can't come quick enough.

I get up after dinner, taking both our plates and what's left of the lasagna. I put some foil over the top of the lasagna pan and put it in the fridge. I put the plates into the sink for later washing, and then look at you expectantly. You slowly rise to your feet and beckon me back to the office.

"It's been long enough, little stalker," you say. "Return to my lair again, if you dare."

The Victim

We take our places at the desk, and I grin and point at our score sheet. You have your bonus now, so you have 214 points, while I still have 174.

"Well look at that," I say. "You're winning."

You smile, then shrug.

"We only did one activity between lunch and dinner, because it took so long, so we can take two turns now. You get to choose which one you want to do tonight. You'll have to do the other one tomorrow morning, of course, so don't think you've gotten out of anything." I grin. "Ready?"

You nod and take the dice, rolling them around in your hands. They fall into the box, 1, 1, 1, 6, 6. You shake your head and keep your 6s. The other three come out 1, 5, 6. You keep another 6 and reroll the last two. Your luck holds out. You get 2 and 6.

"I'll take four of a kind," you say, "26 points." I write that down, giving you a score of 230.

"My turn."

I take the dice and roll: 2, 2, 2, 5, 6. I keep the 2s and reroll the others, this time getting two 5s. "Full house for me. I'm surprised that happened again. You're still ahead, 230 to 199. Want to take another turn?"

You shrug, then take the dice and roll them again. This time, they come out 2, 3, 4, 4, 5. You keep your 4s and reroll the other three, getting 1, 1, 4. You keep your 4s again and the last two fall as 2 and 4. "Three of a kind, I guess," you say doubtfully, looking at the score sheet.

"Eighteen points," I say. "You now have 258. Here," and I take the dice for my next turn.

I roll 1, 4, 5, 5, and 6. I keep my 5s and roll the other three again, getting 2, 4, and 5. I now have three 5s, so I roll the other two and get 1 and 3. "Well crap. I'll just take an ace and have an even 200."

I look up at you with an even stare. "We both need a bath anyway," I say. "Do you want to join me, or do you just want to watch?"

You frown thoughtfully for a long moment. You know you'll have to do whatever you didn't pick in the morning, so you think carefully before answering.

"I'll join you," you say, unable to resist.

I laugh. "You know you still can't cum yet," I say with a grin. You nod resignedly, but you're still smiling a little. "Tomorrow, you can have a front-row view of me in the shower to wake you up a little before you go." I start to get up to leave, then stop.

"Hey," I say thoughtfully. "You know, you only have one more turn tonight. Why not just take it and finish the game?"

You shrug. "Sure, why not?" you say.

"OK then," I say, sitting back down and sliding over the dice.

You take them and roll without really paying attention, already dreaming up things you'll do to me in the shower, I imagine. You get four 6s and a 2.

You stare at the dice as if willing them to stay where they are. Carefully, as if it's explosive, you pick up the 2, and reroll it. It comes out a 5. You pick it up again and hold it in your hand for a long moment.

At last, you flip it up into the air and let it fall onto the table. It skids across the desk and almost goes onto the floor, but I block it with my hand. You're not even looking at it, afraid you'll see what you don't want to see.

I could just turn the die, I think. I could easily do so, it's only one turn away. Either way, you'll win, but still...

I reach down, carefully flip it under my hand, and slide it over. It's now a 6.

"Go ahead and look," I say, grinning. You do, and you just shake your head. "Yahtzee," I say simply, writing down your final score, which is 308.

I quickly take my last turn, seeing that all I need is something in 2s. There's no way I can win, so when I get 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, I just keep the 6. I reroll the others and get 1, 1, 2, and 2. I reroll them because I truly do not care at this point. My heart is flipping around so much I almost drop the dice. They come out with not a 2 in sight, so I just put down 0 in 2s.

"I could have gotten 10 points at most," I say. "You win, and you get a Yahtzee."

You stand up and I come toward you. My arms come around you and you just stand there letting me rub my hands up and down your body.

"Here's how we'll do this," I say softly. "Since you picked bathtime fun for tonight, I'll get you warmed up for your Yahtzee then. After that, I'm yours, for the rest of the night."

You grin, and we kiss passionately. I lead you toward the bathroom, and start drawing us a bath. The tub is big enough that we can both easily fit inside.

"After all that work earlier, I think I need a soak," I say. "I fell asleep before you could finish what you were doing earlier, so I think a nice rub-down would be just the thing to get me relaxed. Then we can wash off in the shower afterwards."

I add some pink bath foam, and relaxing bath salts. I light some incense near the tub, which smells like relaxing lavender and sandalwood. Nothing too strong, though. I don't want you falling asleep on me, and with what I have planned for the next forty-five minutes or so, you probably won't.

I undress slowly and get turned on just watching you watching me. You strip off the jumpsuit and leave it piled up on the floor next to my customary nightie. We both step into the steaming tub, and lie down next to each other. You start on my neck and shoulders, and I immediately feel myself relax. As well as your mouth and that amazing prick of yours, it seems your hands are something special as well. You take your time, moving down my back and thighs, then climbing down my body so you can reach my calves, my ankles, my feet. You even lay my head in your lap and gently take a comb to my hair, brushing it out until it shines with bath oil.