Belle Out of Control

The next time Christopher came into the room, he entered holding a big bag of something unexpected: clothes.

I sat on the bed, looking at the bright pink bags, confused.

"Yes," he said, "these are for you. They're certainly not for me. I don't fit into anything at Victoria's Secret."

"Is it all lingerie?" I asked. If it was, that would be better than nothing, but obviously not my top choice.

"Open the bags and have a look," he said, setting them down on the bed.

Curious, I pawed through them, finding two pairs of yoga pants, some tank tops, two bras, a bunch of brightly colored panties, two hoodies, and two pairs of flip-flops. Nothing even remotely kinky or scandalous. I was surprised, and told him so.

"I much prefer you naked," he said. "But I realize it's impractical for you to be naked all the time, and I don't want you getting too cold. Hence, clothes. But you can't have them yet."

I sighed. There was always a twist, wasn't there?

"Today we're going to go over some rules, and then get to know each other better. If you're a good girl, at the end of it all, you get clothes to wear for a while. Understand?"

I nodded. "Yes."

"First, the rules. You are to be naked whenever I request it. It's non-negotiable. You are to do as I ask in any other way as well. If you have concerns, you can voice them, but know that it won't necessarily change my mind."

"Okay."

"You can speak freely here. Your feistiness and sarcasm is actually charming, and I don't want you to hold back. But if I feel that you're getting out of line or being disrespectful, you will be punished. You don't want me to punish you. Got it?"

I nodded.

"As things evolve here, you will get more privileges, but only when I trust you more. First comes clothes. Eventually, you may even be able to roam the house on your own. But not until I trust you more, and right now, I don't. So when you're hungry, or need to use the bathroom, or want to take a shower, you knock on the door three times. I'll come and evaluate your wishes, and then I'll bring you what you need or escort you to where you need to go."

"Thank you," I said sincerely.

"Today I want to get to know you more, inside and out. I want to understand what you like and don't like, what turns you on and off. I want to start off with you laying on your stomach on the bed, so please do that now."

I stretched out, laying down on top of the covers, my head on the pillow. "Like this?"

"Very good, yes." He came over and gently touched my butt, and I jumped.

He laughed. "Really? I thought you'd be used to this kind of thing by now."

"It takes a while."

He massaged my ass with both hands, squeezing the cheeks. "So, my dear Belle, what turns you on the most?"

I thought carefully. I didn't know how to answer that. Before I'd come here I'd have said a good, hard fucking. But now? Did I dare say being deprived of control? Was that too dangerous of a thing to say? Or did it not matter because he already knew?

"Being fucked hard," I said shyly.

"Really?" he asked. "Because I would have thought it would be being vulnerable. Or did you not say that because it would make you even more vulnerable?"

I stayed quiet, and he slapped my right buttcheek. "Belle, another rule is that you answer truthfully when I ask you a question."

My ass stung. I sighed. "Yes, it can be hot to have control taken away from me."

"You both love it and fear it, don't you?"

"Yes," I whispered.

His hands moved down my legs. "How many men have you been with?"

"Six," I said. "Before now."

I could hear the smile in his voice. "So that makes me lucky number seven. Excellent. Any women?"

"No. I'm not into women."

"Okay. How many serious relationships?"

"Just two."

"Guarded, aren't you?" he asked softly.

"Yes."

His hands moved down to my legs. "Nice, strong leg muscles. Do you play sports?"

"I run. Well, ran. I suspect you won't let me run much here."

"Not true, Belle. I have a treadmill. But you'll have to earn the right to use it."

"Thank you. I think."

"What are some things you love?" he asked, grabbing my feet.

I immediately tensed. There are several spots on my feet that, when touched just the right way, drive me wild, and I didn't want him to know. I tried to distract him from my feet by talking. "I like wine, and shopping, and rock music, and the beach..."

"That all seems very vanilla for someone like you. What else do you like? In bed, for example?"

He was massaging various spots on my feet, and I could feel myself getting turned on. I was hoping he didn't notice. "Getting fucked hard, of course. Strong hands. Being fucked from behind."

"What's going on with your feet here?" he asked.

"What do you mean?"

"Most people hate to have their feet touched. But you seem to like it, and you appear to swoon every time I touch here...or here."

I didn't want him to know this. Every time he touched those places—on the bottoms of my feet, in the middle, right by the muscles—I got wetter. It was like the touch sent a shock directly to my clit. But if I lied about it, I'd get into trouble.

He pressed harder. "Yes," I gasped. "It turns me on. I don't know why."

"Interesting," he said, considering this.

Desperate to get a little of the focus off me, I said, "Christopher? Somehow this doesn't seem fair. I'd like to know things about you, too."

"Hmm. I see your point. I'd be willing to answer one question of yours for every two you answer for me."

"Okay. Deal."

"First, my two. How do you usually masturbate?"

My head was down, so he couldn't see me blushing, but I was bright red. This wasn't something I ever talked to anyone about. "I rub my clit until I come, usually with a toy."

"You don't insert any toys?"

"Not usually. Feels weird. Your turn to answer now. Why me?"

"I wanted someone for a while now, and when I saw you...I couldn't resist. Your hair...it's the color of honey, and its beautiful. Pretty body, pretty face, great smile, although I haven't seen it much here yet. And there's an edge to you, an air of mystery, and I was so incredibly curious. Still am, of course—I'm more intrigued by you now than I was then. I'd been following you around for weeks, you know. You barely seemed to notice me. You were frequently preoccupied. But not frequently with others. Picking a loner would be easier, and you being by yourself a lot made it easier for me. My turn again."

"Thank you," I said, and I meant it. I'd been wondering why, and that was a good answer.

"What are some things you don't like?"

"In general, or in bed?" I asked.

"Both. Those will be my two questions."

"I don't like being cold or dirty. I hate pickles. I don't like oral sex."

"Wait a second. You seemed to like going down on me, or was I wrong?"

"Not wrong at all. I did like sucking your cock," I said, blushing again. "I just don't like oral sex done...on me. My turn now. Have you always wanted these things? To have a woman to use at your whim, fulfilling your twisted needs?"

He smirked. "I've always been twisted. Since I was young, really. But I had to repress it for a while. My wife...she was extraordinarily vanilla. I loved her anyway—loved her so much—and when she was alive, I repressed my needs. But after she died...I couldn't help it. Eventually I knew I needed to indulge, and not long after, I found you." He paused. "I'm sure you're curious, so I'll mention she died of breast cancer over a year ago."

"I'm sorry," I said, almost surprised that I actually did feel sorry for him.

"Thank you," he said. "Back to me now. And while you're at it, please turn over."

I did so, laying on my back, completely exposed to him.

He came next to me and grabbed my tits, squeezing. It felt good, and I moaned a little.

"So why don't you like to let go, Belle?" he asked.

"It's fucking scary," I said. "Opening myself up to someone else? I hate it."

"And," he said, giving my tits another squeeze, "you love it. Don't you?"

"Maybe," I said. "Next question. Don't you work?"

"I'm fortunate enough to be able to work from home. My degrees are in computer science and psychology, and I work in the technology field. I have a home office here, and get paid very handsomely for what I do."

He moved his hands down, slipped a finger inside the folds, rubbed my clit. "Feels good, doesn't it?"

I nodded, nervous. "Yes." It felt too good, dammit.

"Now, Belle, I want you to stay right where you are. For this next thing, do not make me tie you up. I want you to not have to be bound for this, but if you make me..."

"I'll be good," I assured him with more confidence than I felt.

"Good girl," he said, lowering himself to the bed, bringing his face to my pussy.

I knew what he was going to do, and I didn't want it. "No," I begged him. "You know I don't like this, you asked me about it..."

"I think you do like it more than you're willing to admit," he said, and then he stopped talking because his tongue was exploring my pussy.

He teased me, sucking on the lips, tonguing the hole, and I tensed up. I hated having someone so close, knowing these intimate parts of me. How much more intimate can you get than having someone's mouth on your pussy?

He went after my clit, the spot he knew would drive me crazy. At first he tongued it gently, but then he went after it hard, licking and sucking nonstop.

"No!" I cried out. "Please stop. I don't want this!"

He licked harder, massaging my clit with his tongue. I was equal parts turned on and terrified. "Stop, please," I begged. "I'll do whatever you want. Let me suck you. Please?"

It didn't help. He began sucking hard on my clit, and my begging was interrupting by my moaning. I tried to squirm, but he held my legs down tightly, continuing his assault on my now-engorged clit.

I was getting close, and I knew it. I was sure he knew it, too. I didn't want to cum for him like this, with him so close, right there. It was too intimate, too much, and I couldn't.

But he kept going, despite my protests. By this point I was crying, desperately begging him to stop, yet at the same time out of my mind with lust and need.

He didn't stop. Of course he didn't. And when I came, I came hard, moaning, grinding against his tongue, shaking, wanting more and also wanting it to end. When my traitorous body finally relaxed, the tears still flowing freely down my cheeks, I felt him clean me up, his tongue licking up my juices, and I felt even more mortified. It was just too much, too close, and I wanted to curl up under the covers and lay there in the dark, by myself.

He slid out from between my legs. "How was that, Belle?"

I sniffled. "I hate you."

"Somewhat," he said, pleased with himself. He stretched, then walked around the side of the bed. "I'm sorry I made you cry."

"Somewhat," I mocked him.

"Truth. I supposed I deserved that." Then he leaned over and kissed me, full on on the mouth. I wouldn't necessarily have minded the kiss, but I wanted to recede into my own dark world, plus I could taste myself on him, and it was disconcerting. I made a face, and he laughed and kissed me again.

"Better get used to this, my dear," he said. "In an hour I'll be back, and you can brush your teeth and take a shower. But for now, you stay like this. Naked, with your taste on your face."

"You're evil," I said softly.

"Perhaps. But I don't think you really mind, do you?"

Before I could answer, he was out the door, locking it behind him. I laid on the bed, feeling angry, grateful, sticky and unsettled.