Toy Closet Ch. 01

A slow stream of thick nail polish drips from my toe onto your back as you adjust yourself beneath me -- the color, geranium, blooms against the fabric of your white t-shirt and a blood red dot stains the spot beneath my bare feet.

"Hold still," I command, digging my heel deeper into your back as I bring the small brush back to my nails.

"Yes, goddess," you whisper, your timid voice soft and submissive.

"And don't talk," I order, "you'll have to be silent when the girls get here so you might as well start now." I turn the music up, letting the noise fill the apartment as I finish with the polish. I admire my work and let my feet rest on your back as the red on my toes dry. I can feel your body tense with the excitement of me using you like furniture and the way you swell against the rough denim of your jeans makes me tempted to take them off you, to show my friends what being my toy does to you. I glance at the time and calculate whether or not there is time to tie you to bed before they get here.

Lately, I've liked strapping you down so I can watch your erection grow as I walk around in next to nothing, teasing you for hours until I feel like using you. Some nights I'll forget all about you, tied up in your room as I fall asleep happily in mine, but other nights you serve some purpose. I love finding you tied to the bed, swelling with excitement as I decide what to do with you. If I'm in the mood, I'll tend to torture you with my mouth, sucking your cock just so its wet enough for me to sit on it and cum before you can. I like to go back to my room then and cum again, picturing you hard and helpless, still tied to the bed, unable to release yourself in any way.

The abrupt buzz of the doorbell pulls me from my thoughts. I feel you twitch beneath my legs, a preemptive jolt of energy at the idea of my friends walking in and seeing you on all fours, acting like my table. I swing my feet onto the floor and snap my fingers at you, pointing at the small steel chair in the corner of the living room. My friends, ever curious about our home life, told me I should leave you out tonight for their amusement.

On previous nights I've tucked you away, closing the closet door when the bell rings, telling them you're there but never taking you out. I know how much it thrills you to be locked in there, listening to us laugh as we get ready to rack up a tab that you'll end up paying for. When I tell you to stay inside the closet while we're out, I know you will, faithfully sending as we spend, waiting patiently for me to come home, open the door and play with you again.

Tonight, however, you are allowed to watch us, to sit in your chair quietly, avoiding eye contact as my friends drink your liquor and laugh. I order you from the chair to the kitchen, tell you sternly to make three martinis before returning to your corner. You obey silently and get to work as I go to answer the door.

"I hear the shaker going," Em says, as I swing open the door, smiling.

"I would never make you guys wait," I tell her, beckoning her and Bea inside. The two girls slip out of their heels and shut the door behind them, peering into the kitchen curiously, trying to get a peak of my pet at work.

"Is he allowed to talk to us?" Bea asks, taking the chilled martini glass from your obediently extended hand. Your eyes avoid hers.

"No, he's not," I tell her, laughing as you deliver Em and I's drinks.

"Good boy," I say, as Em and Bea watch you intently, making you tremble beneath their gaze. Your face flushes and I can tell you're getting harder. I snap my fingers again and with the conditioned response of Pavlov's dogs you slink, subserviently, back to your corner.

"Is he coming out with us?" Em asks, eyeing you in your chair.

"Fuck no," I laugh, "he'll sit there and wait for our receipts." The girls sip their drinks and smile, knowing the night ahead is on you.

"What happens if he moves?" Bea questions, "do you tie him down?"

"I don't have to," I say. "But I do take some precaution..." I take my phone out of my pocket and open an app, passing it to them so they can see what I do. A small camera, positioned on top of the refrigerator, takes survey of the room, capturing you perfectly in frame, still and serious in your chair. The image displayed on my phone gives us a full view of our toy and the girls giggle at the thought of keeping an eye on you tonight.

"What happens if he doesn't pay?" Bea asks, a wicked smile spreading across her pink lips at the thought of possible punishment.

"He always does," I say, "but if he takes too long... I do have a new toy we can try out tonight." I watch as Em and Bea's eyes light up with excitement as I turn to fetch the surprise from my bedroom. For months now I have been regaling them with tales of our time together, of the serendipitous way I found a roommate and plaything in the same week.

The dynamic came to light almost instantly. I had caught you staring from the couch one day, early on into our living together, and taken note of the way your eyes darted from mine when I turned to catch you. The next morning you had left your wallet wide open on the kitchen counter, bills spilling out so that I would make no mistake when it came to your intent. I pocketed a thick stack of one hundred dollar bills and headed out for the day, ready to spend your money on a lovely day of bookshops and bars.

You were asleep by the time I returned home, but scrawled in your handwriting where your wallet had been, was a loving thank you note, praising me for using you properly. I had felt a giddy rush surge through my body at the thought of me not only taking your money, but being thanked for it afterward. I imagined you experiencing the same sort of rush as you wrote the note, seeing the bills were missing and knowing exactly where they had gone. I was certain you had replayed the moment over and over as you laid in bed and the tension radiating through the wall between our bedroom told me I had been right.

After that first exchange I started wearing less and less around the house, while you, ever respectful and stuck in your place, stayed fully clothed at all times. It took several weeks of our "wallet left on the counter" game for me to take some more initiative but one day, as I made plans with my girlfriends, I started writing a list, letting you know exactly what you could do for me that night. I left the note -- detailing how much cash to leave, how I would like the apartment cleaned, and the drinks I would like prepared in time for my friends' arrival -- out on the counter for you to find, before stripping down to my underwear and falling asleep on the couch.

When you returned home and saw the list I had left, your response was immediate, like your body had no power over my orders, like it had been waiting for a very long time to be called to attention and suddenly, it was happening. It felt natural for you to obey without question, to take out your money and leave it on the coffee table in front of me as you tried to hide the way your eyes slid desperately over my bare legs. Even though my eyes were closed, you felt as though I was watching you very intently and just the thought made you shy.

I slept smugly as you tidied around me, nervously trying to follow my instructions while desperate not to wake me. I lay there happily, feigning a deeper sleep than I was actually in, and listened to you do everything you possibly could to please me. I let my body rise at the sound of the shaker, the promise of a homemade cocktail prepared by my new wallet making my bare skin buzz with eager anticipation.

"Is that for me?" I asked, stretching my arms above my head so that my loose top rose, exposing the soft skin of my stomach.

"Yes goddess," you said, blushing as you tried not to stare directly at me. As soon as I took the chilled glass from your hand, our feelings seemed to solidify, both of us sure of our rightful place.