The door was securely shut, the window's blinds were drawn, and she had never been so afraid of anything as she was of that old dusty red velvet recliner in front of her.
The chair itself had been a cheap impulse purchase at a yard sale, she remembered. He was so cheap, but he did love soft furniture, and especially old things. That old cloth smell really did it for him, she thought fondly, remembering his fondness for things that were heavy and solid and possessed of an air of history.
Then she remembered what he was doing to her, and she got the cold sweats. She shuddered a little and pulled the blanket tight around her nakedness.
Her ankle was chained to a radiator set in the wall with a lock she couldn't break, and a leather collar (with leash) snugged tight around her neck was her only clothing. She had even been denied the pleasure of her regular pink soft one- instead, he had bought a black leather one adorned with spikes from a pet store and put it around her soft struggling throat. As he locked it (carefully keeping two fingers inside the band as he tightened it- she would need her airways free) he whispered, "you'll wear this til your punishment is done... and til then, nothing else."
She shuddered at the memory of the cool line of his knife slitting her panties, sliding up the back of her old nightshirt, then the feeling of being tossed in the trunk of a car like a bag of garbage. Then being driven to a house and dragged out in the dead of night by a few willing compatriots- she thought she recognized a particular pair of warm feminine hands that lingered a bit too long on her ass- and now she was here.
And the party was about to start.
As a bitter irony and in-joke, the only food he had given her for the past three hours had been a few crackers and a bowl brimming with cream, but to eat he had cuffed her hands. He had hand-fed her the crackers (and even a few morsels of his steak sandwich) but he had made her lap up the cream like a cat, and whenever she had spoken, he had made a little hashmark in his book. At the end of the meal he had stood up, left the book open showing all twenty-one hashmarks, and administered 21 brutal strokes to her buttocks with his bare hand until she cried out and yelped, knowing that using words would only make him add more.
And then he had taken off the cuffs and left, turning out the lights, and she was alone watching the day's last sunlight creep away through the blinds.
Soon it would be night, and then the rest of the punishment would start. She tugged at her chain, pulled the blanket tighter around her, and waited.
The party began. She could hear laughing, chatting, friendliness outside. His voice, in particular- always projected, a little loud, telling a joke or storing, managing and smoothing the conversation. He eased from place to place- she could imagine him in his fine tuxedo (well, cheap tuxedo, she conceded in her mind), gracefully maintaining the social atmosphere... and she knew that he was probably half-hard the whole time he did it from knowing she was there, in the back room, waiting for her punishment.
She was there, in the dark, quivering with anticipation and damp between her pale thighs, for a long time.
Then suddenly the door opened, and a buttery light flowed in, revealing a well-dressed young man in a blue suit. His hair was short and blond, and his face was innocent- still with traces of baby fat at the edges.
He shut the door, solidly, and sat down in the chair, looking at her. She knew what she had to do.
He cleared his throat, nervously. Then he said, trying to sound domineering but failing, "don't you have something to be doing?" He unzipped his pants to make it more obvious. His erection was hard and medium-size, springing free from the confinement of his dress pants, upright and with a single drop of precum decorating the tip. He looked at her, nervous and innocent.
She grinned at the reversal of power. Licking her hand, she gently stroked his cock up and down, smoothing his flesh, wetting him. He let out an involuntary moan.
Giving a long lick from base to tip with the point of her tongue, cupping his balls with one hand, she set gently to work. Kissing and teasing the flesh of his cock, running her tongue right under the ridge of his head, kneading his cock with her lubricated hand- all of it was driving him mad. He gasped and writhed under her experienced hands, crying out just a bit, and when she took him into her mouth it took her two or three strokes at most before he shot his creamy load into the back of her throat, gasping and jerking like a marionette, moaning in pleasure. She swallowed, greedily, knowing it was part of her punishment.
He sat there for a moment, gasping, and then arose. "Th-th-thank you," he said, looking away. She grinned at his fear. "Come back any time," she said, leaning forward, giving him a come-hither gaze and good look at the beautiful naked body he was forbidden to touch.
He fled.
In the dark again, alone, she began to feel just a little rebellious. She tugged at the chain, trying to get it loose, or maybe even break it. No good- with no tools and no time, she wouldn't be able to break free.
She pondered her crime, and his punishment... as always the one far outmatched the other, but in an utterly different way. Her jaw was going to hurt by the end of all this, she knew, but it was worth it to be free of his approbation again, to have him not be angry anymore.
There was a whisper at the door, and then it opened, warm light spilling across her naked body- and the punishment caught up with her again, in a rush...
He was tall and slender, with a few tattoos just visible as he unbuttoned his shirt and pants. His eyes were dark brown and intent, intense, flickering, and his high cheekbones and full pouty lips gave him a darkly handsome androgyny that made her wet with lust.
She smiled inside. Even when he punished her, he kept an eye open for treats.
The man slid his pants down, revealing his elegant pink cock. Smiling, she reached for him, and in a single smooth motion took him into her mouth and cupped his balls gently.
