The Restless Libido
By day I'm a mild-mannered reporter for a major metropolitan newspaper who pays his taxes and helps his landlady carry out her trash. This blog covers the rest of the time.
Yes, she thinks, as she fastens the row of snaps, one by one.
This will do just fine.
She doesn’t want to.
But it’s too big for her not to.
She sleeps this way intentionally, knowing I will have to wake her.
I can’t hide what her bonds do to me.
She knows me so well, inside and out. There is not a twist in the rope as she binds me. It is perfect. As is she.
I am harnessed, bound, as much by her ropes as by my own libido.
I am hers.
They fall on her, filling her, consuming her very form.
To control him she must harness him.
To harness him she herself must be harnessed.
The chain around his throat is unbreakable, as is her power over him, as is the zipper that runs up her back.
His hands are large and strong. They seek the hem of her dress, slide it up over her hips. One hand each, front and back, one pressing her into him, the other pressing into her.
Their lips are wet against each other. They moan into each other’s open mouth until her knees buckle, until she can’t take it any longer and she’s at his feet on the floor, fumbling with his buckle, with the buttons on his pants.
When he is freed her mouth is hot upon him. Now it’s only his moans I hear, as she sucks him, as she takes as much of him into her as she can.
That’s enough, she says.
She tugs the zipper down, sealing her skirt around her thighs. She gives her hair a quick look in the mirror, then slips back out into the bar.
She works slowly, methodically, sliding up his shaft and then back down.
She is perfectly wet, slick and hot for him. She is careful to yield to his hands, up and down and up again, exactly how he wants it.
She works to coax it out of him, his cum, and get it deep inside her.
She will keep at it, unrelenting, until his eyes close, until his breathing gets quicker and his muscles tense, until he holds his breath and grips her flesh. She will wait until that moment to push herself back down and stay down, his cock as deep in her as she can get it right at the moment the orgasm overtakes him, pressing down as he pumps his cum into her.
She will get what she wants.
She wasn’t sure at first, when she first saw in it the window.
But she was definitely curious.
It took her several tries just to work up the nerve to go into the store.
She flirted with it from afar, wanting to make sure her attention was not misplaced.
It was not.
The third time she walked into the store and started pretending to browse the shop girl smiled knowingly.
You’re going to try it on today, she announced. And that was that.
The first time she was alone with it in the dressing room she was nervous. So many things that could not be right, that could go wrong.
But everything was right and nothing went wrong.
When she asked the shop girl for her opinion all she said was I’ll go ring you up.
She steps out of the bathroom and watches my face as I see her, transformed, as though for the first time.
At first she wasn’t sure. But she is now.
His hand stops and for a moment they both lay there, his cum hot on their skin, his cock still nodding.
She squirms, the aching between her legs all but overwhelming.
Now it’s her turn.
She is dark-eyed and beautiful she could have any one she wanted.
Someone stops her, someone tall and handsome, and asks her to pose for a photo. She obliges, leaning into him afterward, to review it, to enshroud him in her perfume. When he gives her his card she fixes his eyes with her own as she slips it meaningfully under the snug leather at her waist.
At a discrete remove the other waits and watches, his cheeks burning with jealousy and lust. He is not tall, not handsome. He disgusts her, in his ill-fitting clothes and dirty eyeglasses.
He disgusts her and this is precisely why she torments him, why she teases and riles him, taunting him with her lithe form and laughing at his discomfort, until his hands shake and his eyes flash, until he snaps and slaps her perfect face.
Forward over the back of the chair, ass up, her pants around her thighs, his around his ankles and then he’s inside her, his hands iron on her soft hips and her laughing because it’s always better than she remembers, him fucking her, like only he can, half-mad, fucking her like he’s trying to kill her from inside.
She wears these for him.
These are what he gives her to wear and she puts them on and wears them.
When they sit she sits right next to him and leans back so he can rest his hand on her bare thigh.
When they are standing she brushes her flesh against the back of his hand.
Later he will finger her in a darkened bar, pressing his wet fingers warm into her mouth.
She will open her mouth to them, to him, and suck them until they are clean.
In the dream she was a horse, yoked crudely with a harness of coarse leather bands, forced into a narrow stall, and bred, yielding breathlessly to the swollen cock penetrating her.
As soon as she tells him she can feel the straps tightening around her, holding her fast.
It’s too late to take it back now.
He is everywhere.
His weight is upon her, his mouth there to catch the breath her forces out of her.
His hand is around her neck, his cock deep inside her.
She lays there, panting, his.
The cum drips from her lips.
The collar is tight around her throat. She brings a shaking hand up to it, smears the cum on her fingers across its polished surface.
Now it doesn’t matter any more. Now it’s no longer needed.
Now this is who she is. She is touching herself without even thinking about it, melting from between her legs and she realizes that the change is forever.
Now that she has been this person, this cock sucker, she will always be her. It is who she is now, this slave, this rich man’s plaything.
Now she will do whatever he asks of her. Always.
She has to.
She wants to.
The coarse cloth in which they have dressed you cannot conceal your body’s shape.
The bidding is high and fast.
You wait, on the smooth sheets, the scented air cool on your bare breasts.
The lock on the door is secure.
No one will find us here.
She wipes her lips with a finger as she looks at her mouth in the mirror.
All she can taste is his pleasure on her tongue, his moans and screams and hands on the sides of her head.
She adjusts her hair.
Freshly fucked, she thinks, even though her pussy, wet and warm, is sadly neglected.
The shutter clicks behind her. And again. And again. She will use these pictures, later, to remind herself of the taste.
There are no chains to hold her, no cuffs around her wrists.
She is not being held there by force, against her will.
She is free to leave any time she wants, to avoid the punishment to come.
After each crack of leather against her skin he stops and asks her.
She answers him the first few times, until the tears come, until word become beyond her, until all she can do is close her eyes and nod.
He’s so eager, pushing himself up into her, desperate for her warmth.
Her hand is light on his chest but firm. She can feel his heart beating rapidly.
She lifts herself off of him, almost, until his eyes are wide, until his moans turn to pleas, then back down onto him.
She fixes her eyes on his and does it again. And again.
You will listen to me, she says, sliding up and then down again.
You will obey me.
Yes, he says.
He stays so completely still that briefly she thinks he may still be asleep.
She watches his face as she pushes inside him, sees the small wince flicker across his face in the darkness, then his mouth open slightly, as his ass yields to her, his cock stiffening against the mattress.
She wants him so badly in this moment, to make him moan, to watch his erection bounce as she fucks him, to make him cum without even touching him.
The next day, as they are walking to get breakfast, she will hold him by the wrist, having claimed her as her own.
He’s already hard, from the smell of her wetness and the warmth of her flesh against his, but she guides his cock into the waiting mouth, so that he will stay hard, for her, for whenever she wants him inside her, after she’s finished amusing herself with his discomfort.
This was all they offered her, this tiny scrap of mesh.
Standard issue. Sealed in a plastic envelope the size of a teabag. The price of admission.
She undresses, hanging up her clothing carefully in the locker provided. She checks the number on the door with the number on the band around her wrist.
After a shower she dresses, such as it is.
Somehow she feels more naked that when she actually was naked.
A deep breath, then she steps through the curtains, into the body-warmed air.
Eyes are on her, on the number at her wrists.
She circulates, as instructed.
The bidding starts high.
Remember: You asked for this.
As she winces and cries, remember that this is all because of you.
I am not kind. I am not gentle. I am not small. You knew all of these things when you put us together.
She will ache afterward. She will be bruised and tender and want to be left alone when I am done with her.
She will want nothing to do with you.
Is this what you wanted?
She shows them to me with a very particular form of pride.
She points out how perfectly they fit, how they were crafted for her specifically.
She tells me they are heavy but that she’s gotten used to the weight.
She clicks them together as we speak. I suspect she doesn’t even know she’s doing it.
My instructions were very clear.
Written in a strong hand on linen paper, the card resting gently atop the folded garment.
Wear only what’s within this box.
Very clear. And yet.
When she meets me it’s in a public place so she thinks this will save her, that she’ll be able to get under my skin without consequence.
Nothing, ever, is without consequence.
She will learn this, shortly.
You know you’re a trouble-maker.
You knew exactly what you were doing when you stepped up onto the couch, heels and all, to straighten the painting.
You know your dress is too tight not to notice.
You know I’ve noticed but you’ve taken steps to make sure.
Now, you’re waiting.
The only thing you don’t know is how long it’s going to take to get me to react, or what I’ll do when I do.
Suffer for me.
Such wicked big boots for such a little girl, he said.
Her mind flooded with ways to wipe the smirk off his face.
Later, she thought.
She pulls them down and suddenly it’s all back on me.
Right there, her bare ass, in all of its perfection.
The tiny black thong, offering no resistance.
And I, willing to make good on all my promises?
In a word.
He brings her mouth to his mouth.
He takes the breath from her by force.
He bought it for her.
It is very tight around her body. It restricts her breathing, her ability to move.
She can only carry herself in certain ways when she’s wearing it, which is to say, upright.
She can’t put it on herself, at least not in the way it should be worn.
It feels like his hands around her body, holding her tightly, keeping her safe.
It makes her feel sexier than she would have ever thought possible.
It was a lovely time. We sat and watched the sun set over the river while drinking dark cocktails and touching knees underneath the table.
I want to show you something, she said to me on her doorstep, before opening the door and waiting for me to follow.
On her couch I waited, while there came the sound of zippers from the other room. The lights were low. Heels all but silent on the carpet, the swishing of her skirt.
I want to show you, she said, emerging from the doorway, how quickly you will learn your place.
It is tight and perfectly fit to her body.
Almost like they knew the size.
Almost like someone told them.
Had I been looking I would have seen there was only one hole on each of the straps, that it was designed to fit her, that it was her harness.
Instead I was fumbling for my wallet to pay the ransom when the hood came down over my head.
When the cards are turned over a collective groan goes up from the table, from everyone except her.
She is pale and silent and her eyes search mine as two guards materialize behind her chair.
There is a particular look of surprise and betrayal on her face as she feels the hand heavy on her shoulder. She waits for me to intervene but I do nothing.
Rules are rules, after all.
She is led away, watching me as she walks. A respectful moment after she disappears another fills her seat and play resumes.
- - -
An hour later I am wandering aimlessly from one room to the next, looking for something to spend my winnings on when I see her.
She’s wearing the same tight rubber uniform as the rest of the staff. However, the blue indicates that she’s a debtor, that she’s earning herself out of servitude, that she gambled beyond her means and lost and that the house owns her now.
When she sees me she holds her head up high and stares back at me defiantly. She is still angry for not being bailed out, for the humiliation of being pressed into service, for the appraising eyes and hands that have familiarized themselves with her body.
She still feels like she is on my side of things, that a grudge is something she is permitted to have.
She has forgotten her place.
I signal to the guard.
I will help her remember.
It started off with a statement.
You want to fuck me, she said to him, a matter of fact.
He did, of course, but they were friends and it felt strange to admit. So he lied, said he’d never considered it.
He would learn not to lie.
He lays very, very still and tries to find a neutral place to rest his eyes.
He wants, desperately, to look at her, this new version of her familiar face, all black leather and stockings. He wants to help himself, to touch her, to kiss and grope her, to fuck this new version of her, to force out of her the usual sounds of pleasure.
But he doesn’t dare.
It was made clear to him that this was not the usual night. And that the usual behavior on his part would not be tolerated.
He lays still and waits for an indication of what to do, to expect from her, this dark-eyed mystery uncoiling coarse hemp rope with a practiced hand.
All you need to be is willing, she said to him. I will provide the rest.
She makes sure the camera is rolling and then she begins.
She does it.
That’s all anyone needs to know, is that she does it. She does what is asked of her.
She sucks all the cocks that are thrust at her open mouth. She takes all the cocks that are forced into her pussy and ass. She endures it, the spurts of hot cum that are splattered onto her skin and pumped inside her.
No one needs to know why.
A mouth full.
She goes slowly, knowing how closely I’m watching.
She waits until I am just beginning to soften from neglect before parting her lips, sliding her tongue around and underneath to support, to guide me inside.
Her patience is matched only with her cruelty.
He pins her to the mattress, his weight holding her down as he thrusts his cock deep into her again and again.
She can do nothing but endure it, his dominance, his control over her body. She wants to resist but he’s simply too strong.
She feels her body beginning to respond to him, despite her best efforts. Her pussy lubricates for him, loosens to allow him in deeper.
He feels it too and he slows his thrusts, slower and longer and deeper. When he cums it will be hot and quick and she will clench her legs behind him involuntarily, holding him inside her.
It was all his idea.
Her boyfriend, he’s the one who first suggested it. Why, I never thought to ask.
He saw us talking at a party, me and his girlfriend, me making her laugh, bringing the dimples out on her face, her eyes shining as she looked up at me.
There was something in that moment, watching us talking from across the room, that lodged in his mind and stayed there from that point on, until he finally brought it up to her, formulated his fantasy in words and released it into the world.
She was curious what my response would be.
Another occasion was formulated to bring she and I together, and him. Drinks were had and it came up, the idea of she and I, without him.
She meets me at the door in her sparkly miniskirt, bought special for the occasion, that he’s only seen on the hanger and never on her.
I make sure to close the door firmly behind us so he can hear it from the other room.
She could do this for hours.
Sucking and watching, she’s mapping his mind. Each little gasp or clench she notes then recreates again and again, until it’s another word of vocabulary, until she’s fluent in his sexuality, until she can make him do anything she wants.
Aoi Yu. 百万円と苦虫女 (One Million Yen Girl).
All. The. Time.
This is how they catch him.
So elusive, he’s slipped their snares more times than anyone can count.
So they stop trying to catch him and catch her instead.
Chained, open, horny, her moans draw him near. Her wetness lures him into the bed.
She doesn’t resist. She’s been tormented within an inch of her life. She knows they’re waiting for him, that she’s the bait in their trap, but she doesn’t care. All she can think about is release, his hard cock inside her, itching that most particular scratch.
He can’t resist either. Despite himself he creeps in, sheds his clothing, and is inside her, mindless with pleasure.
He’s mid-thrust when their hands are on him, their blinders and shackles cold against his skin, a collar coiling around his neck and cinching tightly shut. They bind him and drag him off of her, balls heavy and full, cock wet and nodding.
He struggles and strains to free himself but they are too many, too well-prepared. A gag is forced into his mouth, a plug into his ass, his swollen cock into a wicked little cage.
He writhes but the spider’s web is tight around him.
They will drain it from him, his strength, at their leisure, and not in a manner he will enjoy.
It’s innocuous and easy to miss, the slim black band around her ankle.
Smooth rubber, seamless all the way around, with a wicked little wire running through its core, connected to a chip that never sleeps.
She smiles sweetly at me as she makes us toast.
It will buzz later, to let her know to get ready for him.
She does it slowly, intentionally, watching my face the entire time.
She means to control me, with her body or at least the threat of it.
She watches my face as her fingers loosen her nipple from behind the fabric.
Soon enough she will have all that she needs.
At some point it ceased to be about her.
It had started that way, with both of them all over her, their mouths and hands and cocks all searching, exploring her body.
At some point there was one cock in her with another trying to get inside. It had found its way inside something else, a hot hole had opened up and swallowed it inside.
The cock inside her stiffened, differently, the rhythm now coming from somewhere else.
He spread his legs for him, opened up his ass, and she became just an observer, her own hands the only ones on her.
This one had taken longer than she’d expected.
He was smart and clever, determined, and he’d almost gotten the jump on her.
But now here he was, on his knees, bound, broken, like all the others, like always.
She would find one, she thought, one of these days.