Kaitlyn was a bitch, that much she readily admitted. In her professional life, she had things exactly the way she wanted. Her co-workers, and certainly her subordinates, had to do everything her way or face her wrath, which was often subtle or vindictive. She had driven others out of their jobs when she felt it was necessary for the firm, and felt completely justified whenever she had to maneuver someone into getting fired. She was not overly-empathetic, and in general was not a giving person, except for her time, and that she gave to work. She was a slave to the firm, and did everything she could to be completely professional, and to make sure everyone marked her for advancement the moment they came across her path.
She was short, at 5' 3", but had a subtle aura of power, even for all her lack of stature. Her breasts were over-large for her size, and she often thought about getting them reduced, but it was something she hadn't managed to do, yet. The custom-sized bras she bought were expensive, but they were the only thing that could support and define them. When she was naked, which she tried to avoid, she was overly-critical of every aspect of her body, but especially her boobs. They were just too big, she always thought, never knowing the lustful stares they attracted from men on the street.
She was also completely unaware that most men found her heart-shaped ass delicious, and she usually wore clothes that de-emphasized her figure, anyway. She knew her hourglass-shaped body was a few pounds overweight, but never managed to do anything about it. Getting in better shape was always a project for "someday", and she always felt that her work, and her vision of her work, was more important, more demanding of her time.
Her hair was long and brown with streaks of premature grey in it, but she didn't bother to do much with it, preferring instead to have it pulled up tightly into a bun. The effect it had on her face was to make her look years older, and emphasize the severity of her features, an effect she quite liked. She liked to think that, with her hair up, she was more powerful.
The one area that Kaitlyn had absolutely no control in was in her relationships with men. They usually seemed to find her off-putting and too intense for their tastes, so she spent years between dates. She had been raised in a strict household, and was more than a bit prudish about sex, so her needs went completely unfulfilled. She didn't bother to masturbate, she didn't own a dildo, and the thought of buying personal lubricant at a grocery store was much too much for her. She frequently found her vagina too dry during intercourse, at least when she was in fact having some, and typically asked her intermittent boyfriends to buy lubricant to use with her, since otherwise her vagina was too dry for comfortable intercourse.
Kaitlyn's world was ordered the way she wanted it, at least those parts that she deemed important. All the sex stuff, the relationship issues, and her body's needs besides being incredible at her job, were pushed aside. Katilyn lived the life she wanted. Or so she thought.
Kaitlyn woke up slowly, fuzzy from her long sleep, as so often happened at the cottage. It was so far from everything, removed from the hustle and bustle of the city, removed from the down-state world, like it was all on its own, a little island of tranquility. Kaitlyn always slept long and hard up there.
Today was different, though. The first thing she noticed was the strong smell of new leather. She layed there, with her eyes closed for a long time, the word just sitting on the stoop of her mind. Leather. It just made no sense. Why would she smell leather? It was ridiculous, in a way, and Kaitlyn was tempted to just go back to sleep rather than think about it.
Instead, she opened her eyes, and for the first time, felt the blindfold in place over them. Dim light filtered in around its edges, but try as she might, she couldn't see anything at all. A sudden movement of her wrists, as she tried to snatch the blindfold away from her face, and she finally felt the other strange thing. Her wrists were suspended, and there were unyielding bands of cloth around them. She couldn't move them from their place above her head. A quick panic thrilled along Kaitlyn's body. Who could have done this, she wondered. She thought of a prank, but no, no one she knew would risk jail time over a horrible practical joke. And that meant it just couldn't be one.
She drew her knees up, to try to get her legs underneath her and get up, but found that her ankles were tied, too, and that she couldn't move much more than a half inch, no matter how she tried. She was firmly bound, even by the ankles, and her legs were spread wide open.
She tried to call out, but found her mouth had something tied over it, and the most noise she could bring out of herself was a quiet moan.
The covers were quickly growing warm from her body. She tried to think. No one she knew would do this to her, and not many people even knew she was here this weekend; she came up north from the city only intermittently, and often didn't know if she'd be going or not until that very afternoon. She had a sudden thought of her neighbors: maybe Oma and her sons would notice. . .she pushed that thought away quickly. She realized that she knew they wouldn't be around this weekend at all, and they were here closest neighbors. The odds that someone would see into her place from across the pond it stood against were slim. Her captor, whoever he was, had planned this right.
In the darkness of her blindfold, she tried to focus her thoughts. What to do? Wait for a chance to escape, that was all she could do. The bonds tying her arms and legs were just too tight to slip out of, and she wasn't hopeful that she had the strength to do so, either. Maybe her captor would let her go, eventually? But why did he have her, in the first place? Why----her thoughts broke off as she heard the radio in the kitchen switch on, filling the tiny cottage with unfamiliar music. It was instrumental guitar, something she couldn't place, and loud enough she couldn't hear any of the cottage's usual background noises.
Without warning, she felt the covers pulled off, and her back arched as she instinctively tried to cover herself against the sudden exposure. Her captor knew she was awake, so Kaitlyn didn't bother trying to hide the motion of her head as she tried to glimpse him through the edges of the blindfold. She couldn't see any details, just a vague shape. She felt something touch her right ankle above the restraint, and her entire leg broke out in goosebumps. He was touching her, possessively, caressing her leg! Kaitlyn realized then what had been in the back of her mind all along: he had come to her cottage and tied her up to take her, sexually, and there was nothing she could do about it! She imagined her captor, some unknown stranger, gently but firmly pulling her hips apart even further, then slowly pushing the tip of his cock into the folds of her pussy, making her cry out as she was filled with his hardness, but helpless to stop him in the least! Kaitlyn could feel her body's anticipation for the invader's act, the forcible taking of her sex.
Her captor, however, had other things in mind. He seemed to enjoy teasing her. So the hand continued stroking the skin of her lower leg, and continued its way up her leg very slowly as he came nearer, along the side of her bed. Her body jerked and flinched as he did so, his strong hand inching ever nearer to her exposed pussy. To her embarrassment, she could feel herself getting wetter----this was turning her on!
Kaitlyn had always had a fantasy about being submissive, and just giving in to the needs of her man, who took whatever he wanted from her, someone who used her like a sex toy, without thought of romance and subtlety. Now, her captor's hand inching closer to her pussy, she was hopelessly turned on, and was almost ready to moan in anticipation of his touch.
His hand was suddenly gone, and Kaitlyn suspected he had moved away from her, out of the cramped bedroom. What on earth could he be doing? She clenched her back muscles, trying to see if she could shift her position to see more, but the blindfold just didn't show enough. She relaxed her body entirely, and sagged against the bed. Escape was simply out of the question. It was shameful, though, the way her pussy was practically dripping with wetness; she usually didn't get this excited about regular sex at all. She could feel her nipples tightening, too, but could do nothing more than wait in frustration.
Without warning, he was back. Something was different in the air in the room, and she could feel him there, watching her, taking in the details of her body. Her breasts, stomach, and pussy were all completely exposed, completely vulnerable to whatever he wanted to do. It was like torture, waiting for him to do something to her. He leaned in closer, and she felt his hand touch her pussy unexpectedly. It was wet, and sticky, he was smearing something on her! And then she could smell it, it was shaving cream! Her mind flashed ahead, and she struggled against her bonds again. He was going to shave her pussy!
His hand moving back and forth, kneading in the shaving cream in the hair of her bush, was incredibly arousing. It felt so good, even though she knew what he was going to do next, and feared it. He obviously liked the idea of a clean pussy on her, and the fact that her bush was long and untrimmed wasn't slowing him down a bit.
Too soon his hand with the shaving cream was gone, and she felt the fingers of his left hand touch her upper thigh gently, her skin contracting slightly at the touch of the razor, as if she could actually shrink away from it. She gasped around her gag, but didn't move at all, fearing suddenly that any motion on her part would cause an accidental cut. All she could do was hold herself steady as he shaved her carefully, thoroughly stripping the hair from her mound. The feeling was so intimate, it was as if, in taking away the hair that covered her pussy, he was removing the layers of defenses she had against him. It was like he was bringing her under his control, with each inch of clean, pale flesh uncovered.
