This orignally appeared in a tumblr post. At some point there will be a series on the same theme.
“Well .. I guess … yeah .. Yes.”
“OK, then, ‘for clarity’ — if you insist.. “
Deep breath — tits move prettily, nipples hard from the cool water. She knows it, wonders at her own wanton-ness (so new!) as she makes sure to show this to him to best advantage — to display herself with the sole object of pleasing him — presenting herself, as far as possible, as she hopes he will like her to.
“OK, yes, having agreed to be naked at all times these last few days, whatever else, has been .. liberating .. exciting .. fun .. and, yes, sexy, too. Is that good enough for you?”
“Hardest bit? Oh, easy”
Little pause, a breath;
“Coming in to that room when I knew those friends of yours had arrived. I didn’t know what you’d told them. They were so .. well, you know, posh, and, and rich, and old.. No .. no introductions, really. And then .. and then you made me kneel that way, on the chair — backwards, with my face in the cushion. Away from you. That .. that was hard. I .. I felt like .. like a possession — a thing you were showing off.”
He raises his eyebrows a little, tilts his head ever so slightly; and the rest, girly ..
A blank look, trying to stonewall.
Failure; she blushes a little, then more (enchanting, he thinks, his cock stirring), looks down, giggles, twists her shoulders, wriggles her hips, like a little child caught out in a white lie ..
“Yes, yes .. OK .. it, it turned me on like crazy, and .. and I jumped you the minute you left and I was desperate for it and I asked you to cuff me before fucking me and .. and it was ..”
She is quiet for a long while, looks up, her eyes soft, serious. She’s trembling a little
“You know. You did it to me. You saw what .. how .. how it was for me. That .. that was just so .. ”
“I keep thinking about it. What it was like.”
She closes her eyes — the memory, called forth, of her jerking, twitching ecstasy, her soft, animal cries, the experience of melting in a sea of violent electrical activity, the need, the intensity of her gratitude afterward ..
Forcing herself back to reality, she looks up at him, knowing he understands everything, feeling not just naked, but, as has been more and more the case the longer this has gone on, just utterly exposed; frighteningly, excitingly vulnerable ..
Slowly, she opens her legs, looking at him in that open, honest way, wide .. wider, wider; hands placed deliberately behind her. Inviting him. Offering herself. Needy. She has begin to do this over the last few days, of her own accord.
He will have her do this for abusive strangers, he thinks. It will drive some of them wild, quite possibly result in some real brutality. He looks forward to looking into her eyes at those moments, letting her know that he understands. Yes, this one was a good pick, that night at the award ceremony. Although he should chase up the blonde; she had had possibilities also.
He watches calmly — smiles casually, amused, lets her see that he sees her hurt at his taking her intensity, this controlled, passionate urgency from her for granted, appreciates the moment, smiles again. Looks at his watch.
“I’ve guests for lunch today. Three men — business contacts. I’d like it if you would ask Gilbert to cuff your elbows and put a collar on you before you come in — I’ll tell him when.”
As he is walking away, he pauses, turns back,
“A possession, you say. Interesting. Perhaps I’d be interested in acquiring a possession like you. Owning you.”
And he’s gone, leaving her utterly overset, suddenly hyperventilating, having to control herself.
How can she be so weak? So foolish? So stupid?
She is not stupid, though, not at all. She knows what game he is playing, what he wants, where it is going.
The problem is that she can’t be sure that she wants to resist him. More, she fears that she wants to let him. Let him do .. well, do whatever. Whatever he wants. Against all sanity, she wants it, wants that experience again. The experience that is nothing like anything else.
Even though she knows that no good can come of it — that she could lose important, irreplaceable things; friends, family, career.
More, she is already losing things; self-sufficiency, control, agency, willpower..
Self respect.
A picture comes into her head, unbidden; her, cuffed, collared, naked, delivered to a roomful of businessmen by his butler, at a time set by him — not introduced, just led in, on a leash; presented, displayed. Her heart races, belly flutters at the implications of this vision, by the sudden certainty that it will happen — something similar, at least — throat too tight to breathe easily, quivering, sex tingling, nipples like stones, hips surging tightly of their own accord, wanting … needing.
Eyes squeezed shut, the voice of caution, of sanity, overwhelmed.
She has to exert maximum willpower not to start caressing herself, right there, in the garden, overlooked by the large windows of the house, for anyone to see.
Suddenly, opening her eyes, her nakedness stuns her, her vulnerability, the shame of it. She cowers, wrapping herself in her arms, buries her head, fighting off panic, wanting to run, having no idea where to run to.
What can she do, what can she do?
Why — WHY? Why can’t she just calmly stand up, walk to her room, dress and leave? No-one would stop her. She is in upper Manhattan — she can hail a cab and be gone. He is civilised, laconic — he won’t chase her — just move on to another infatuated silly girl. That blonde …
In the midst of these confused thoughts, a quiet but intentional click of a heel. Immaculate patent shoes. Gilbert, the butler.
“Sir wondered if you might be cold. Suggested you might like to take a hot bath. I’ve taken the liberty …“
She looks up, having to force herself. To be naked, cowering, tear-stained, like this. Knowing that he knows just what has been happening with her these few days. She flushes, deep red … ‘Blotchy, my face will be blotchy …’, she thinks, as if this is the final straw of her humiliation.
“ .. as I thought you might like something warm?”
He is offering a heavy cape, with what looks like a red silk lining.
She is, suddenly, aware of how very cold she is — that she is shivering.
Then, abruptly, she laughs; a short laugh, releasing her mood, giving herself over to this … this extraordinary … experience.
Stands, as naturally as she can, resisting the urgent need to cringe before the man, hide her breasts, move awkwardly so as to keep her sex hidden. Just stands, and faces him, but cannot find the strength to look into his face.
Her voice is small, husky but without doubt;
“Thank you, but … but I’m supposed to stay … stay … naked. Will … will you take me to the bath? And … and then, late … later …?”
“Sir has instructed me as to how you will be presented, yes, Miss. If you will just do as I say, Miss, all will be well.”
And so she follows him, calm now. Do as he says: so easy, just to obey.
So devastating, to understand that she will. Will obey his servant. To the letter, without question.
Suddenly, she wonders if he might be watching from the house; she is instantly consumed by the importance of walking in the most elegant, yet sexually enticing manner she can achieve.
Since she has been naked, this concern has begun to obsess her, and, with sudden clarity, she realises why.
If she is to become a possession, a naked young female, used for sex, but denied all mystery, all the games of the seven veils that are the normal dance between visual appraisal and hard fucking, if she is to be kept, permanently, kept naked — under such conditions (my god! The knot of excitement, of delicious, fascinating terror just those few words create in her belly!) then what has she, except for her ability to present herself so?
As elegant, yet sexually enticing. Maximally sexually enticing. At all times.
She is trembling.
Is this it, then — has she accepted this?
Is she to allow him to transform her into a possession?
If it’s what he wants — and that is what he said — she sees one thing with absolute clarity. His will is stronger than hers. She isn’t going to be able to resist; if he decides, then that will be the way it is. She doesn’t even know what she wants for herself — not any more — not in any way that seems convincing. Even the idea of going back to work, back to her flat, strikes her as — well, as ridiculous; simply not going to happen.
How can she even begin to resist? Even if she wanted to? She needs to be here, now. Here, naked — naked for him. So that she can be certain she is getting every scrap of attention he has for her. So that she will continue to feel special, continue to be the one he puts his cock into; the one he knows he can use, just as he likes, whenever he likes.
And so she may as well give in.
She wants to tell him, explain to him her thought process, to tell him that it’s all going to be as he wants it, that she will work to be what he wants her to be — but of course she can’t just head off to find him. She is following instructions. She is under Gilbert’s orders.
She is going to have her bath, as he wished. Later, she will be prepared — make-up by that clever Phillipina housemaid, cuffed and collared, delivered, naked, to a room full of older men, strangers, displayed as a sex object.
Later, obviously, she will be used as a sex object. Fucked. Strangers will be pushing their cocks into her tender places, and she will be working hard to please them.
And if this is what she is to be, then why should He care what such a creature — a mere sex object — why should he care what it feels inside?
She smiles. A small, self-pitying, but ironic smile. This is it. Game over.
Apart from the shouting.
And the fucking.
God, the fucking …
Her throat is tight again, her sex wet. She can smell her own readiness. Gilbert, too must be able to smell her arousal. She is ready to die from embarrassment — and yet she has no option but to carry on as she is.
A realisation, all at once. At some point, Gilbert will be fucking her. Of course he will. At some point, everyone will be fucking her. It’s so obvious.
It’s like a punch to the gut.
And yet even this changes nothing. There is nothing for it but to keep walking, keep trying to look fuckable.
Maximally fuckable. Tits ‘n’ ass. Sweet and eager. Cocks, thrusting into her, any old how.
She can hardly hold it together as Gilbert opens the door into the bathroom and she has to slide past him, nipples scratching the itchy wool of his jacket, smell of her sex strong between them.
He stays to watch as she gets in, testing the water, the contrast making her gasp. She wishes — oh how she wishes — he would not watch. But it is impossible to speak, now, impossible to do anything except continue along the path that has been laid down for her.
The path that leads to devastation. To glory.
And she makes herself perform for him as she would have for Him, giggling, little shrieks, jerking her shoulders to set her breasts jiggling, mock embarrassment, covering herself, then blatantly opening herself again, bending at the hip, feet apart, pushing her sex toward him, opening as she bends.
She’s semi-hysterical — only just in control — lost in shame and the freedom of having accepted this control.
The butler has seen other girls, all of them a little different. He likes this one, considers her as one who will allow herself to be taken far along the path — perhaps all the way.
He wonders how she will be with him once she learns that it is he who will visit her for the pre-dawn whippings — the heartless, sexless impositions of subjugation that will ultimately suppress all resistance — whether she will be even sweeter, in the hope that he will show her mercy, or entertainingly terrified, knowing him for the merciless sadist that he is. He doesn’t mind, to be honest, but thinks he would bet on this one staying sweet, no matter how cold-eyed and vicious he is with her. His cock stirs.
