Old Habits Page 7
“Mm. Now offer me your ass.”
“Oh yeah – you could totally do me in the ass, Curly. Any time you want to stick it in there, you go for it.”
“Tell me how much you’d like to suck my dick now, darlin’.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t. Not at all,” I said honestly.
His face darkened slightly. “Yes you would. Now try again.”
“Ha! I don’t know what came over me. I would love to give you a blowjob. If you want one, you got one. I’m one hell of a cock-sucker, promise.”
“Stand up.” I stood.
“Pinch your nipples.” I pinched them, though only delicately.
“Harder.” Not so delicately.
“Twist ‘em for me.” I did, groaning at the mix of pain and pleasure, hamming it up a little (since this was for Curly, after all, not just for my own enjoyment).
“Bend over, and don’t stop.”
Here it came. I could only listen over the sound of my own cries as Curly shed the rest of his clothes behind me. He stood there, watching me present myself, torment myself, his unabashedly obedient slave.
“Convince me you want it.”
“Oh god PLEASE, Curly!” I exclaimed instantly, as if I’d been holding back the words until he opened the floodgate. “I’ve been wet and horny all night and if I don’t get your cock in me soon, I don’t know what I’ll do. I’ve given you all my money – I can go to the ATM and get more if you want. Or dance for you, or suck your dick – whatever you want.”
I backed up a few halting steps until I felt his cock nestled in between my nether lips, then I rubbed myself against him without daring to take him in. I wanted him to see how sincerely aroused I was, see how earnestly I desired him. He had to believe I wanted this.
He gave it to me.
I never stopped pleading, never stopped twisting my nipples and mauling my titties, never gave him a single moment where he couldn’t see how much I wanted him to fuck me like his property. He came in me, but I kept thrusting myself against him so that he never had a chance to go soft, and then I fucked him until he came in me again.
I was surprised then, when instead of having a go at one of my other holes, or having me gyrate some more, or having me twist my nipples clean off, he stood up and began to get dressed.
“Done with my cunny so soon?” I said sadly. “But I still want more…”
“I know you do, my crazy lil’ darlin’. But I got a wife at home who’s already gonna need one hell of a whopper to explain where I been all night. Tell you what though, you go ahead and let me take a trophy, so’s I can think back on you when I get lonesome.”
I nodded, raising myself up to my knees on the bed, cupping my tits and smiling up at him brightly. “You’ll probably want to use a flash, it’s so dim in here. Otherwise you won’t be able to see how sweaty my titties are.” I loved having him look at my titties.
“Heh. I was thinking more something like this,” he said, fetching my panties from where I’d stripped out of them earlier. A cute little pearlescent bikini style pair that I’d gotten just for tonight’s dress. They’d cost me almost $20, and now I was glad to know he’d have them to remember fucking me tonight.
I hoped he’d picture my titties when he looked back on it.
He didn’t make small talk, didn’t get my number, didn’t say another word to me as he got dressed and left. Just a little smile at the door at where I was still modeling my big titties for him, his semen dribbling out of my pussy onto the sheets.
Then he was gone, and when I was sure he wasn’t returning, I slipped back into my dress and called a cab to take me home. I slept like the dead.
Chapter Five
To whom it may concern,
If you find this note and I have gone missing, then I, Harmony Reed, have been kidnapped. I have been subjected to brainwashing techniques the likes of which I do not fully understand, and due to their nature cannot fully divulge the details of. They have made me susceptible to control, and as of this time someone has taken my freedom from me.
I have purchased a GPS tracking device that I will keep on my person. If you are able to find me, please know that anything I say to convince you that I am acting of my own free will is not true. Wherever I am, take me away from there, by force if necessary, and get me to somewhere safe. NOT. HERE.
Sincerely,
Harmony
I left the note on my kitchen counter before I left for work the next day. Mind you, it was hard for me to do. Not because I worried I might forget about it and one of my friends would see it. Not because it was difficult to talk or think about what Master had done to me. It wasn’t even the asking for help that was hard, even though that was always one of my personal vices.
What was hard was that my libido was thundering at me not to write it.
The previous night, some lard-ass creep in a country bar had spoken a few words to me, and I’d been completely and totally at his mercy. Or lack thereof. Only days before, the same had happened with my food delivery boy, who’d walked into my home and been treated to all the hospitality he could have ever dreamed of. And last week, I’d gone down on my shrink after I was dumb enough to let my guard down. Each experience had left me feeling more vulnerable than the last. But the sex…
Someone knew my triggers, and was somehow passing them on to people around me. The odds that Curly and Chinese delivery guy and Dr. Kovacs were all in cahoots was too preposterous to consider. For the time being, the hypnotherapist was my prime suspect; maybe the hypnosis had been so successful he’d been able to get them out of me and still had time to try one out? I didn’t think I’d been in there that long, but I’d been so distraught when I was leaving that I hadn’t exactly checked my watch.
Nonetheless, what could I do about it? I had to be at my school job at 7:00 sharp, and even if I could have just driven to Dr. Kovacs’ office, it wasn’t a winnable fight. I could storm in and make accusations, demand explanations, and then he’d just use one of my triggers again. Even if he wasn’t behind all this, he still clearly knew at least one of them.
Any thoughts of trying to track down my other two recent masters-for-an-hour reached the same dead end. They might be able to say who had given them the trigger, but faced with a choice between using it again or betray the person who’d given it to them, what were the odds they’d choose the latter? Would they even know a name or have any way of reaching this guy?
Thanks for the best sexual experience of my life. Here’s a photo ID and the contact info for the sonofabitch who made it possible. Yeah, that seemed likely. What, then, to do?
I went to work. I packed a spare pair of panties in my purse in case my day went on in the same spirit as my night.
As I went about my day, I surprised even myself at how well I maintained my calm. At Master’s ranch, my inability to panic at my objectively terrifying circumstances was an obvious symptom of Master’s control over me. I hadn’t considered it a skill, nor a benefit. Mostly it just kept me from screaming in horror, or crying myself to sleep every night.
Today, it was coming in handy. Every time I found myself alone in a room with someone, I wondered if this was it, this was the moment someone would say those magic words and I’d become the slutty librarian, a shy but curious schoolgirl, a strict school mistress ready to lay down some discipline. But no one did.
Hannah’s son, Angel, passed me in the hallway at one point, and I flushed just thinking of those horrible, horrible things I’d said to her last night. I waved to him, but he looked away. I guess his mother had at least given him some idea that we were fighting, and I know the kid was fiercely loyal to her. It was one of the things I liked best about him, even if presently it made me the recipient of his sidelong stinkeye.
That day I was aroused almost all the time; that was normal enough. It’s why I wore thick bras and a maxi pad to school most days; these kids had too many raging hormones as it was without my nipples showing through my blouses or the occasional wet spot
visible on the butt of my pants on a bad day.
Today, I excused myself to the bathroom to get myself off twice before lunch. I’d never been given a key to the faculty restroom, so I had to do it as quietly as possible at the students came and went into the stalls around me. The second time, I came with two fingers inside me, biting my knuckles to keep from making noise as I listened to Debbie Kaiser complaining about a pre-zit to her friend Lauren Kraske.
Strange to think I was just like them before I was taken, maybe a few months older but no less aware of the world. Now here I was, jilling myself in a public restroom because I was too turned on by the idea of being a fuck toy to stop myself.
After school, I went back to my apartment and stared at my phone, willing it to do the work of coming up with a way of apologizing to my friends for last night. How would I ever make them understand? Hell, even I barely understood it. I definitely wouldn’t understand it if Hannah had called me a nosy bitch, or if Vivian had said to close my mouth before the whole bar area started reeking of jizz. I tried not to think about telling Justin that if he were any more of a pussy then Curly would be fucking him instead. All because that redneck had told me to get rid of them, so he could take me to a cheap motel and fuck me.
My phone, surprisingly, refused to comply. I should’ve sprung for the newer model, I guess. The fluids dribbling out of my pussy had been in competition with the tears threatening to leak from my eyes all day. At home now, when I had no valid excuse not to call and beg forgiveness except my cowardice, the latter was finally winning.
I pulled a shift at Suds & Go that evening, only three hours but I pulled in almost $50 in tips. Better than usual. Again, I found myself in constant anticipation of my next trigger, waiting for someone to pull up and say the words, have me buff his hood ornament to a mirror shine. So to speak. Again, no one did. I played with myself through my clothes on the drive home, and the moment I got into my apartment I tore off my uniform and frigged myself in the shower until I collapsed to my knees from sheer exhaustion. I even fell asleep like that for a while,
Stop it, I ordered myself as I began to start up again on the couch, where I slept more often than not. You’re being forced into this. This is dangerous. Stop liking it. I don’t know how effective it was at squelching the feeling, but I at least managed to fold my hands behind my head and fall asleep.
My dream was half-memory, half-fantasy, but so vivid I had a hard time understanding what was happening when I woke up. I was back at the Suds & Go, only Master was the manager now, and Master had triggered me on behalf of a customer. It was like going home again – only the homey feeling in my head belonged to Master’s ranch.
It was my “model” trigger, and so I eagerly engaged in washing the customer’s car – only now, cleanliness was nowhere in it. Every part of it was an excuse for erotic display. Little by little, I eased the zipper on my coveralls down until it was clear I wasn’t wearing panties, and my boobs threatened to burst loose with every movement. Then they did, and I sighed in relief at exposing myself to the clientele. This was how I belonged, wet and naked. The sponge hardly touched the car, mostly acting as a vehicle to deliver sudsy water to my tits; draped over the hood as I was, I could be pretty sure at least some of it wound up on the car.
Little by little, it got clean. I soaped the windows with my naked breasts, shined the front end with my rear end after I cut off the legs of the coveralls. (My ass was mostly hanging out of what was left; the wash cloth hanging from my belt hung down longer than the remains of the legs.) I bent over the hood to stretch out to get the entirety of the windshield – and that’s when the customer decided to take advantage of the slit I’d cut in the crotch and fuck me.
He didn’t leave a tip, but I’d gotten as much of his tip as I could have wanted anyway.
I woke up with thoroughly pruned fingers in my pussy, the shower water by now as cold as the car wash in my dream. I toweled off and went to sleep in my own bed. Or tried to, at least. I drifted in and out, my phone reclining on my chest as I kept trying to make myself pick it up and call my friends. More than what had been done to me, more than my urgency to find out who was spreading my triggers, I needed to make things right with them. That didn’t stop the excuses from being effective, though. It was too late; they needed time to calm down; I had to rehearse my apology just a few more times.
Around 2am, after hours of wallowing in my fear of picking up the phone, someone called me.
It was just a phone number, nobody I had in my contacts. Maybe it was a wrong number; maybe it was one of my friends who’d gotten a new phone since yesterday calling to chew me out. Maybe it was one of the guys I’d screwed around with the past few days looking for another romp.
I tried to tell myself I was only hoping for the first two.
Hesitantly, I answered the call. “Hello?” Nobody responded, so I repeated myself. “If you have something to say, just say it already, OK?”
Then whoever it was just said a few words I didn’t catch, then, “I’m watching.” Then the line went dead, but by that point I didn’t care.
I had a show to put on.
This was one of my triggers I’d never fully understood. As I gave myself a quick once over, I tried once more to ponder the mindset of someone who would submit to the security screening, travel all the way out to Master’s ranch, pay the king’s ransom Master charged for time with us... then not fuck one of us. Not even touch. While I would have let a man fuck me under this trigger to avoid displeasing Master, it wasn’t compulsory like the others. I didn’t have to suck or fuck or jack anyone off.
I just had to look good. Damn good.
Supplies in hand, I went out to my balcony, flipping on the 40-Watt bulb there. It was a small area, only about three feet by eight with a little closet on one side where I stored my grill in the colder months. It was sheltered from the sight of anyone else in the building, but the parking lot, the houses across the way, anyone driving by on Wagner St.… they’d all have quite a sight. I was almost certainly the only apartment lit up, my tiny light a beacon summoning the eye. Right now it featured a hanging plant I’d let die months ago, a couple folding chairs, and yours truly.
There was no rush. I took a moment to look out across the parking lot, wondering where my admirer was down there. In one of the cars, maybe? The bushes in the parking dividers? Hiding in a tree with binoculars? Wherever he was, I couldn’t see him. And it didn’t matter.
As it had been the middle of the night, I was wearing nothing but a gray t-shirt I’d gotten secondhand, and a pair of pink and white striped boxers. Not my sexiest look, for sure, but watchers liked that sometimes. It was authentic. Unfeigned.
As unfeigned as the arousal I was feeling. I didn’t have to fake a thing.
I started just by teasing myself a little, running my fingers up and down my arms. If the cold air hadn’t already hardened my nipples, that always did the trick. I gave my thighs the same treatment, leaning to one side, then the other. My fingertips were featherlight on my skin, tantalizing me with their gentleness. With my internal heat rising, I lifted the bottom of my shirt to fan myself. It was theatrical; it couldn’t be more than fifty degrees out, if that, but it showed skin. Just a little. Just for a moment.
I gave myself a moment to just stare out again, chewing my lower lip as I tried to decide whether it was time. Time to be bad. As if inspired by my own brief exposure of tummy, I lifted my shirt back up and used the underside of my breasts to pinch it in place. My fingers roamed across the smooth, pale expanse of my belly, drifting lower, then away. Still lower, away again. I couldn’t touch myself there yet. I had to earn it.
So my hands moved up up, then, rather than down. I had these tits, after all, these big, heavy, sexy, beautiful, succulent tits, and it was practically criminal to ignore them. My fingers trailed up my ribcage and then along the sides. Not center mass, not yet, just teasing at the sides. It was that delicious middle ground, the skin any stranger could just barely
see exposed in my bikini at the beach, while simultaneously never having the opportunity to touch.
Not me, though. I could touch them whenever I wanted. So I did. Only little by little did I work from side boob to underboob, careful not to let my shirt slip free from my tits’ makeshift grip on it, my belly still bared. Soon though, just teasing the skin wasn’t enough. Maddeningly so. My thumbs encased the outside and my other fingers cradled the rest, hefting – then squeezing – my breasts. They felt divine; I craned my neck back to gasp at how perfect it felt.
After some time sampling the whole package, I at last allowed myself to touch a nipple through my shirt. Just rubbed, not even caressed. Only touched. I stopped, and forced my hands down to my sides, balling them into fists. To anyone looking, I must look like a girl desperately fighting off her desires. In actuality, I was nothing more than a girl trying to look like she was fighting off her desires, when in fact she’d already decided to give in to them all.
I suppose “decided” wasn’t the right word, but no matter.
I touched them again. Just with the right hand, massaging the skin of one breast then the other. My left joined it soon after, unable to help itself. For several minutes, I treated the neighborhood to the sight of a buxom brunette groping her tits in the soft glow of her balcony’s dim, solitary bulb.
Before long that wasn’t enough. My right hand abandoned the left to its needful (or was it kneadful?) task and began to explore south. Down my stomach, beneath my waistband, down further still – where it paused.
I knew what my observer wanted. He wanted to see me overpowered by the lust he had put in me, to impale myself on my fingers and ride myself to orgasm. But he’d have to wait. First, my tits needed some real attention.
Off went my shirt. I groaned with relief at having them out in the open, no more barriers between skin and skin. I discarded it casually, and almost immediately it slipped off the railing and drifted out to land on the sidewalk. I didn’t care. In fact, I hoped someone would come pick it up, still warm from my body heat, that I could watch them take in my scent. I went from rubbing at my breasts to outright mauling them, crushing one in each hand, squeezing so hard they oozed out between my fingers. I declared open season on my nipples, pinching and gently twisting them in my fingers.