I looked at the photo of myself through my cracked phone screen and smiled. The girl staring back was 21, with sharp cheekbones, silver septum piercing, and the sassy side-eye she always wore when pretending she wasn’t nervous. Her wavy, light-brown hair framed her face, the purple streaks catching the light at the tips. I’d taken the selfie on my knees, hands behind my back, posed in a matching red bra and panties that flattered my slim frame, and teasing the tattoos across my chest. But it wasn’t the lingerie that made people stop scrolling. It was the gag. A bright red ball strapped between my lips, paired with wide, mock-surprised eyes that cried ‘oops, caught in the act’. I’d posted it to X to promote my new kinky OnlyFans, and to my disbelief, the image had started to blow up with likes and retweets. My heart fluttered as I opened the app and logged in to my OnlyFans account, ‘VioletMoon’. Twenty new subscribers blinked back at me from the screen, names like ‘SilverFox67’, ‘Chalkline’, and ‘KingOfClubs’ had happily parted with their cash for me. It wasn’t enough to get me out of my financial black hole yet, but it was something. A glimmer and a start. A chance to finally claw my way toward covering rent, bills, and maybe, hopefully, a version of life that didn’t feel like I was constantly drowning.
Flicking through the comments on my post for another hit of validation, my stomach flipped when I saw a reply from a local kink group: “Make sure you support your local kink artists!” I froze. The sudden throb of risk hit like a slap. It wasn’t just numbers and usernames anymore… it was real. I wasn’t ashamed of what I did, not really. Fuck anyone who wanted to moralise it. What scared me wasn’t being judged, it was being found. Stared at in the street and followed home. People jerking off to my face, then recognising it in public.
I swallowed hard, chest tightening as I took a breath through my nose and tried to level out. “Focus Violet. Work now, spiral later.” I breathed as I shoved my phone into my locker and pushed through the door into the café, already bracing for the rush, the noise, and the constant low-level threat of being seen.
The shift blurred by in a haze of burnt espresso shots and flaccid lukewarm paninis. Just another Tuesday in a tired café that smelled permanently of milk steam and cheap disinfectant. I'd almost convinced myself the nerves were in my head, no-one recognised me, and that the tweet had sunk into the algorithmic abyss. By mid-afternoon, my heart had stopped jumping every time someone lingered too long at the counter.
And then he walked in. Everything about him clashed with the room.
He was probably late thirties, maybe a shade older, but he wore it well. The kind of well that suggested he’d had to fight for it. His suit was sharp but not flashy, a soft grey-blue that somehow made everything else around him look beige. A few streaks of silver traced through his close-cropped dark hair that was thinning at the temples and into his stubble, like time had tried to catch him but hadn't quite succeeded. His perfect tanned skin betrayed him being present in coffee shop located in a permanently overcast northern city.
He didn’t look around the café like a customer. He assessed it like he owned it. Eyes skimming over the furniture, the counter, the staff. And then they landed on me. His gaze lingered… not long enough to be obvious, but enough to make my skin prickle. There was something about the way he looked at me. Not sleazy or flirtatious. Just... intrigued. Like I was a puzzle he'd half-finished and set aside years ago. I felt my stomach tighten.
He said something quiet to my coworker and stepped aside to wait. His voice was smooth, deeper than expected, with the faintest edge to his vowels. Not quite the Queen’s English, and not quite foreign. Just, polished like he belonged somewhere more expensive than here. I ducked behind the machine to make his coffee, hoping the chrome and steam would shield me from whatever that look had been. When I slid the drink across the counter, he leaned slightly to meet my eyes. “Thank you,” he said, with the ghost of a smile. Warm and measured, like he knew the effect it would have. Then he turned, took his drink, and made his way to the back of the café, settling into the corner chair like he’d been here a hundred times before. And just for a second, I swore I felt his eyes on me again.
I checked my watch. Fifteen minutes until closing. Tina, my boss, drifted over and placed a hand on my back. “Violet, can you start collecting glasses and wiping tables? I want to leave on time today for once.”
“Yeah, sure,” I muttered, eyes already darting toward the far corner of the café. I wiped the coffee grounds from my palms and grabbed a tray, hands slightly clammy. Most of the tables were already empty, just a few stained coffee cups and crumpled napkins left behind. I stacked the cups and glasses methodically, pretending not to notice the knot forming in my stomach as I neared him. The man, still sat exactly where he’d planted himself, was frowning at a comically large iPad, thumb flicking slowly across the screen. Everything about him was calm, still, and calculated. The kind of man who made silence feel deliberate.
I took a slow breath, grounded my feet, and gave myself a silent slap to get it together. Then I crossed the café, plastering on my best dead-inside customer service smile. “Are you done with this? Just a heads up, we’re closing in fifteen,” I said, gesturing toward the remains of his iced americano, now fully melted and separated. He lowered the tablet, eyes already on me before I finished speaking. I caught a whiff of his aftershave as he shifted; gunpowder and vanilla. My heart stumbled in my chest. He ignored the drink entirely. “Do you take tips?” he asked, voice low and smooth, drawn out like he was used to people leaning in when he spoke. It rolled like caramel, just enough gravel to stick in the air.
I nodded quickly. “Yeah, we’ve got a tip jar by the till. Mostly goes towards staff nights out.”
“No,” he interrupted, calm but firm. “For you, Violet.” My name slid from his mouth like it tasted good. My breath caught. There it was… the confirmation. He reached into his coat, wallet already half out before I could speak.
“I just like to help where I can,” he said, almost offhand, but his eyes were locked on mine. I heard the soft rustle of notes, the unmistakable crinkle of something thick being unfolded. He drew out a wad of cash like it was nothing, just a casual act. I reached to take it with a trembling hand, but he didn’t let go. His fingers remained firm, skin warm against mine. His grip didn’t tighten, but it didn’t yield either.
“I’m staying at a hotel nearby,” he said, voice gentler now, almost thoughtful. “Would you care to meet me there for a…” he tipped his free hand, wrist relaxed, eyes never leaving mine, “…date, of sorts? I’ll quadruple what you’re holding.”
The heat in my chest went ice-cold. I yanked my hand back like I’d been burnt. “I’m not some cheap whore,” I hissed, jaw clenching.
His expression didn’t change initially. Then something shifted in his face. Not anger, but… disappointment, or restraint. A flicker of something brittle underneath the cool. “The young girl,” he said slowly, “a student, I presume, working part-time as a barista. Supplementing her income with online sex work. We both know you need this money.” He held my gaze, not unkind but unrelenting. “I can help you. And I think you can help me. I don’t want to negotiate here. I’m not asking you to do anything you don’t want to do.” He paused, voice low again, almost amused. “Besides. Four hundred pounds is a lot to offer for a so-called cheap whore.” The way he said it, like it was an insult never meant for me, like he was inviting me to see through the performance, made my skin crawl and tingle all at once. The money was still in his outstretched hand, perfectly still. I stared. Then I stared at him. My thoughts were a tangle of pride, disgust, curiosity, temptation. Beneath it all, a cold logic that I hated how easily I understood.
“Yeah, we’ll see,” I snapped, snatching the cash. Something stiff and thin was folded into it… a business card. I didn’t look. I just shoved it into my apron and turned on my heel. I made it three steps before realising I’d left my tray behind. “For fuck’s sakes!” I whispered, tilting my head towards the heavens. I turned, swallowing hard, poker face reset, although the sheen of sweat on my brow betrayed me. I scooped up the tray, avoiding his eyes, and collected the glass. My fingers brushed the table. Still warm where his hand had rested. Without another word, I walked back behind the counter, a lump forming in my throat.
The café finally closed, and the silence left behind was almost worse than the whirr of machines. In the changing room, I stared at myself under fluorescent light; pale, dark circles under my eyes, ponytail damp with sweat. I looked like shit, like someone who needed saving. I opened my locker and pulled out my phone. One glance at my bank balance said everything. Rent looming, overdraft limit exceeded, and student finance a joke. The wad of notes in my apron, £100, felt like a sick joke. Generous, but compared to what I owed? It felt meaningless. I looked at the business card with handwriting on the back.
Lucas
Rm 801
He’d written it before we even spoke. The calculation in that made my skin crawl. I wasn’t a person to him, I was a game piece on the board. I grabbed my things on autopilot; phone, keys, the money, the card. I reached for deodorant, then paused. Smirked at my reflection. “Nah. He can get the full sweaty-barista experience,” I muttered, tossing it back into my bag. I pulled on my green hoodie, slung my rucksack over one shoulder, and gave myself a final look. Sharp eyes, set jaw. “Let’s see how deep the rabbit hole goes.” I muttered.
The hotel rose like a monument to quiet wealth, formed from glass and brushed steel, no velvet, no flashy gold. The floor tiles were polished enough to reflect my grey Doc Martens. Inside, everything smelled like eucalyptus and old money. I didn’t belong. My hoodie, green café polo, black cargo pants had no place here. The man at the desk didn’t seem to care. “Room 801?” I asked.
“Of course. Mr Lucas said to expect you… Miss Violet, yes?” He replied, flicking through a leather bound ledger.
I blinked. “Yeah,” I muttered. Then, under my breath: “Fuck’s sake.”
“Sorry?”
“Nothing.” I smiled. “Lead the way.” He tapped a keycard to the lift. We rose in silence. Of course Lucas had the top floor. Each ding felt like a countdown. “Just here,” the man said, stepping out.
He politely knocked twice, followed by a pause. Then the door opened. Lucas stood there, same smoky-sweet scent, suit trousers and polished shoes. His shirt sleeves were rolled just enough to be casual without surrendering an ounce of control. “Hello, Violet,” he said warmly. He nodded to the receptionist, who vanished. I stood for a beat, pulse dancing in my throat. Then I gave a tight smile and stepped inside, shoulders creeping toward my ears.
The room swallowed me. It wasn’t just big, it had been curated. Grey stone and rich wood tones met in crisp lines. Leather chairs and a sofa that looked like it had never been sat on. An oak dining table with a single place setting laid out, like someone had been waiting. Built-in speakers whispered soft jazz I couldn’t quite place. Across the open-plan space, a king-sized bed sat sunken into a nook framed by mauve blackout curtains and recessed lighting. The sheets looked so smooth they practically glowed. It didn’t feel like a hotel room, it felt like a private lair.
Lucas returned to the room like he owned it. No urgency or performance, just steady confidence. He poured himself a drink from the crystal decanter on the sideboard, something dark and rich, and let himself melt into a leather chair, legs wide, glass resting lazily in his hand.
“Have you eaten?” he asked.
“No, I’m fine,” I said, eyes fixed on the floor.
“Drink?”
“I’m driving.” I lied.
He gave me an amused look and took a sip of his own. He didn’t press, but the pause he left was deliberate. Like he was giving me space to squirm. “I’d like to get to know the real you,” he said. “Why don’t you tell me a little about yourself, Violet?” There it was again. The way he said my name. Like he was trying it on and finding it fit a little too well.
“Um… I make coffee,” I said. “And I study nursing.”
He nodded thoughtfully. “A very noble profession.”, then with a slight smile, “Your parents must be proud.”
I flinched. Just a flicker. But he caught it… of course he did. Another sip. Another moment of silence, now thick with things unsaid. “Let’s not waste time,” he said at last, voice dropping half an octave. “We’re both here for a reason.”
“Please,” I said, grateful and guarded all at once.
He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, eyes locked on mine. “I think you’re what I’ve been looking for, Violet.”
I blinked. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“My life’s been… structured, successful. I’ve built things and sold things. Earned more than most people ever will. But I missed out on something real. I married young. It was convenient and predictable. And I got everything I thought I wanted. Except… I never got to play. Not properly.” He let that hang for a beat before continuing. “No chaos. No messy firsts. No wild fuck-it energy. No-one gasping in my face as they realised what they liked. I want to feel that. And I want to be the one to give it to someone else.” I glanced at his left hand. No ring… so that marriage hadn’t lasted.
“Oh, boo hoo,” I said dryly, eyes rolling.
His lips twitched as anger danced across his face for a moment. But then let out a warm, unbothered laugh. “Exactly. Champagne problems.” He shrugged. He studied me again, something softer now. “I want something real. Someone with curiosity, spark. Who wants to figure themselves out. And in return,” he gave a small, nonchalant gesture “, I can offer you stability.”
I felt my spine straighten. “So what, you want a pet project?”
“No,” he said, measured. “I want something mutual. A connection that serves us both. You get support, safety, and space to figure yourself out. I get… to feel something again.”
I swallowed. God help me, it didn’t sound awful. Not the way he said it. “So?” I asked. “What’s the catch?”
He stood, crossing the room with sudden energy. He dragged a heavy wooden chair from the dining table, placing it gently in the centre of the room. Then he walked over to a small sideboard, retrieving a small bag and setting it on the table beside the chair. His focussed expression never wavered. “I like games,” he said simply. “Little kinky ones. Tonight’s called Truth or Zip-Tie.” He met my eyes.“ I ask questions and you can answer them. Or you don’t, it’s entirely up to you. I won’t press. But if you stay quiet, or lie I’ll… adjust the dynamic a little.” A pause. “Nothing harsh. Nothing you haven’t already invited in a dozen ways online.” That made my stomach flip. I hated that he was right. He continued. “Afterward, I’ll give you £300. No expectations. No pressure to stay.” I hesitated. His voice was calm and reassuring. I tried to ignore the deep parts of me that craved giving up control, being made helpless. My bag suddenly so heavy and my hoodie too warm. I peeled them off and let them fall, hands trembling as I stepped closer to the chair. “Fine,” I said. “But I want twenty quid for every question I do answer.”
He grinned, slow and pleased. “Clever girl,” he murmured. “Deal.”
Gingerly, I sat into the chair. It was made of solid wood, with slats running along the backrest. My hands gripped my thighs, heart racing with anticipation. Lucas stepped round and crouched down to my level, holding a bundle of black zip ties. “Look at me,” he said. “Three taps if you want out.”
I nodded wordlessly.
“Fab. Let’s begin.” He rose, pacing slowly in front of me, like a teacher about to issue a test.
“Tell me your real name. Full name.”
I gave him a flat look. “Fuck off.”
He didn’t flinch. Just shrugged and stepped behind me. After a moment, I felt plastic wrap cold around my left wrist, then the telltale *zip* as it tightened. My right arm was drawn back to meet it, and my wrists were fastened together in a moment alongside another zipping noise. Then one more tie cinched both to the chair slats. The sudden pressure made me jolt, a little thrill rising in my chest. “That okay?” he asked.
I frowned, then smirked. “Yeah. It’s fine.”
“Next question. How much do you make on OnlyFans?”
“Hundred a month,” I muttered, eyes on the floor. “It’s a start.”
“Look at me,” he said, softer. “What were you thinking when you posted that gag selfie this morning?”
“I needed the money,” I replied, then hesitated. “And… I thought I looked hot… tied up… gagged.”
“Good girl,” he purred. “You did.”
His next question landed like a slap. “Do your parents know how you’re making ends meet?”
I straightened, chair creaking. “Fuck you.”
He crouched again, calm and unbothered, fastening my right ankle to the chair leg. Then the left. Both boots zip-tied in place. My legs were locked with two zip-ties each. I shifted, tension burning just under the skin. Anger and arousal, it was impossible to separate them now. He stood and looked down at me. “What’s my screen name?”
I thought back to the new subscribers I had seen. “KingOfSpades…?”
He smiled. “Yes.”
“BOOM!” I grinned. Tried to raise a finger-gun but the restraints held firm, biting just enough to remind me. “You’re not subtle, mate.”
He chuckled. “Tell me something that scares you… and turns you on.”
I twitched in my seat, laughed nervously. “This?”
He smiled, warm again, and brushed his fingers beneath my chin. Then he stepped behind me. “How many Twitter followers do you have?”
I blinked. “How the fuck would I know?”
“So you’re refusing to answer?”
“No, I just, wait—mmmmph!”
The red rubber ball hit my lips before I could finish. I bucked as the straps pulled tight behind my head and buckled fast. I was muzzled, silenced, cheated. I groaned into the gag, the chair creaking again. Every sound louder now. Every breath hotter. I was completely pinned, voice gone, and the game had just begun.
Lucas stepped in front of me, grinning like the Cheshire Cat. “What’s your body count?”
I stared up at him, unable to form a response past the gag. “Mmmph.”
He cupped a hand to his ear, mock-concerned. “Sorry? Didn’t catch that. Of course, if you can’t answer, I’ll just have to… add a little more restraint.”
I rolled my eyes and exhaled hard, but my chest fluttered. He was enjoying himself now, full cat-and-mouse mode, and part of me hated how much I was leaning into it. He crouched and began fastening my knees to the chair legs with swift, practised movements. My legs were now locked in place, completely immobile. He tilted his head. “Would you prefer I keep pretending to ask questions, or should I just finish restraining you?”
“Mmmph fggumph gyyu!” I shot back, eyes narrowed.
“I thought so.” He chuckled, voice dark velvet. He stepped behind me again, and I felt the rasp of daisy-chained zip-ties looping around my torso. One just under my breasts, then another pulled tight above. I gasped through the gag as the pressure cinched me back into the chair, chest rising in short, shallow breaths. Then came two more zip-ties, slipped loosely under my right thigh. A tease. I shifted slightly, watching intensely. Lucas moved away briefly. When he returned, he held something sleek and black in his hand. It was unmistakeably a wand vibrator. “A little reward,” he murmured, “for being such a good girl. And to help you… stay still.” My eyes widened. My breath hitched. He positioned it precisely, tucking it snug between my thighs, the tip perfectly placed against my clit, and then pulled the zip-ties tight, securing it flush against me. My whole body jerked as he switched it on a low setting. Gentle and torturously steady. I moaned through my gag, an involuntary, guttural sound, barely registering the quiet snip of a pair of scissors as he moved around me, trimming the excess from the zip-ties.
He stood and smiled, pleased, before strolling to where his wallet lay. I watched helplessly, chest heaving, as he counted out notes. “£300,” he mused aloud. “Plus four answered questions… let’s round it to £400.” He folded the bills and made a show of sliding them beneath the base of his empty glass. Then he turned to me, eyes full of amused affection.
“I’m going for a shower,” he said. “When you get free, you’re welcome to take the money and leave.” He paused. “Or you can stay. Your choice.” He disappeared into the ensuite, the door clicking shut behind him, leaving me alone. Bound, gagged, pulsing with heat and need, the low hum of the toy still whispering through my core.
That was that. I was alone. Helplessly bound and gagged. I twisted in my bonds, testing for slack, but there was none. My ankles, zip-tied snug in their boots, gave me no room to scoot or shift. Every tug, every movement sent fresh waves of stimulation from the vibrator between my legs. The plastic restraints dug into my skin, sharp and inescapable. I bit down on the gag in frustration… frustration at being trapped, and at the shameful truth beneath it.
I liked it.
Was this his plan all along? To turn me into some broken-in toy? No. I’d brought this part of me with me. He was just giving it permission to breathe. Another moan escaped me, low and raw. I cast a glance toward the bathroom door, heart pounding. I couldn’t let him know he’d won. I had to try to fight it. I scanned the room for the scissors he’d used, but they were gone, of course. My eyes landed on something else instead: the full-length mirror across the room. I gazed at my reflection, at the girl in the mirror.
She was gagged, bound, helpless. Her wrists yanked behind the slats of the chair, chest rising in quick, shallow breaths, the zip-ties tight above and below her breasts. Her legs pinned tightly to frame, fastened at the knees and ankles. Her café polo stretched across her chest, wet from drool, sweat patches evident. Strands of hair clung to her flushed cheeks. Her eyes were wide, almost glassy, locked in the kind of dazed focus only hunger could bring… And she was smiling.
I couldn’t look away. The girl in the mirror started to move. Hips rocking forward, pushing into the vibrator between her thighs. She writhed, just a little. Her moans were stifled, muffled, and needy. That girl was dripping. Her shirt was damp, her thighs trembling. Her eyes yearned for more. Her mouth gagged and silenced still found a way to beg. And still, she smiled. I stared at her, stunned by the heat radiating off her. The rawness. The filth and the freedom. I wasn’t supposed to be that girl. But she was me. The part I only ever glimpsed behind locked doors and phone screens. And now here she was, fully unwrapped. I rocked with her. Slowly, then harder. Every grind sent a pulse through me, every tug at my restraints brought another sharp thrill. I couldn’t escape her. I didn’t want to. Tears prickled in my eyes, pain, pleasure, or something entirely deeper. The vibrator kept humming. My hips kept moving. And I kept watching the girl in the mirror spiral into something she’d never admit she needed. I dropped my head at last, breath hitching, sweat running down my neck. I was gagged, helpless, dripping, and I had never felt so free.
I was jolted from my trance by the soft *click* of the ensuite door. Lucas emerged, towel slung low around his hips, skin still glistening from the shower. I wanted him. God, I wanted that sleek, toned, beautiful body. “Well, look who’s still here,” he teased, voice dripping with amusement. “Enjoying yourself, Violet?”
“Mmmmmmph!!!!” It came out desperate. My eyes wide and pleading. I twisted in the chair, moaning into the gag, willing him to understand the mess he’d made of me. Lucas paused, genuinely taken aback by the sight. I must’ve looked wild; flushed, restrained, glowing with sweat, and still grinding against the vibrator like it was the only thing keeping me sane. “Jesus,” he murmured, grinning. “You really are enjoying yourself.”
“MMMMMMPH,” I tried again, tugging against the zip-ties and jerking my head, trying to dislodge the gag. I wanted to speak, to beg. I would’ve agreed to anything. But the big red ball was locked tight between my teeth. He stepped closer. “Do you want the gag out?”
I nodded furiously, hair bouncing around my face. I couldn’t remember ever wanting anything more. “Okay,” he said softly. His hands were gentle as he unbuckled the strap. The gag fell slack and dropped round my neck, trailing a slick ribbon of drool down my chin. I gasped, jaw aching, chest heaving. I looked up at him, lips slick, voice raspy but certain. “I’ll suck your dick… if you turn the vibrator up,” smiling with what little strength my jaw had left.
Lucas let out a low breath, slow and deliberate. Then he let the towel drop. He stepped forward, gaze locked on mine. “Is that what you want?” he murmured.
I nodded, breath shaky. “Yes, please.” He took his rock hard dick in hand with a quiet hiss of pleasure, started slowly stroking. With his free hand, he reached for my face. He brushed the sweat from my brow, fingers tracing up my head. I let out a choked moan as he gripped my hair and tilted my head back. My eyes met his, wide and hungry, hips still grinding helplessly against the still-humming vibrator. His strokes quickened. His expression tightened. Then his grip softened. He released my hair, fingertips sliding back down to my lips. His thumb pressed against them, coaxing them open. I obeyed, letting my jaw fall slack.
“Good girl,” he purred, stepping closer.
I craned my neck forward, straining against my restraints to greet his dick. My lips wrapped around its girth, as he let out a low moan in pleasure. I slid my lips back and forth along the shaft, tongue dancing as it went, Lucas’ heavy breathing and pleasured grunts cheering me on. I looked up and met his gaze. His deep brown eyes burned with hunger; raw, unfiltered want. I rocked my hips against the vibrator, unable to stop myself. He moved with me, guiding himself in and out of my mouth in a slow, deliberate rhythm. We were locked in our own silent choreography, a filthy, perfect dance of tension and release. Muffled moans escaped around him as I twisted in my bonds. The zip-ties dug into my skin, unyielding. I was utterly restrained. A plaything, an object of pleasure. We both knew it, and we both loved it.
The pace quickened. Lucas’ quiet groans and shuddering breath set the tempo. I closed my eyes, surrendering to the rhythm. Gagged, bound, used… and more turned on than I’d ever been in my life. Suddenly he shifted, letting out a shout of pleasure. I moaned as his dick twitched in my mouth. I felt his hot cum fill my mouth, and I opened my eyes to meet his. He withdrew, breathless, leaving a trail that dangled and fell against my chin. I tried to swallow, I really did, but the volume of cum was too much. I gagged. Leaning forwards as best as I could, I spat the remaining cum onto the very expensive carpet underneath.
Lucas took a moment to breathe, hands resting on his hips. “Fuck me, that was hot,” he gasped, then added casually, “Don’t worry about that.” He dropped his towel to dab at the damp spot on the floor.
I craned my neck. “Our agreement?” I rasped, tongue heavy with drool and cum.
“Oh yeah.” He clicked the button on the vibrator twice. It surged to life beneath me. I gasped, my whole body jolting upright. The sudden escalation in intensity tore through me, sending relentless pleasure coursing through my veins. My legs shook, thighs trembling, joints screaming against the restraints. This was what I’d begged for. Now it was mine. And my body had no idea how to handle it.
I rocked helplessly, eyes locked on the mirror. My reflection twisted in place. Face flushed, mouth open, jaw slack. Sweat shimmered along my skin, my soaked polo clinging to my chest. My moans rose with every movement. “Oh fuck,” I gasped, again and again, the pitch rising with the pressure mounting between my legs. Suddenly, a hand clamped over my mouth. I flinched in shock. “Are you going to come for me?” Lucas whispered into my ear, voice like dark silk. I nodded furiously, a desperate, muffled cry spilling from beneath his palm. The vibrator. The restraints. The hand over my mouth. It was too much. It was perfectly too much. Slowly but surely, I reached climax. My whole body shuddered, the hand clamped around my mouth muffling my scream of pure pleasure. My body writhed in its bonds, the orgasm tearing through me in waves, wringing out every drop of tension I had left. I strained, pulled, helpless to stop the trembling as ecstasy crackled through my nerves. I closed my eyes in a desperate attempt to hold onto the orgasm, until it finally passed. Sensing this, Lucas gently lifted his hand. He switched off the vibrator and I slumped forward, gasping. Drenched, shaking, and completely undone, basking in the moment.
Eventually, he spoke. “How you doing?”
I took a breath, my head still spinning, then looked up. “I’d like to go home now.”
Lucas nodded. He cut me free, careful and quiet, then gently rubbed the red marks where I’d pulled so hard. He offered dinner, a warm bath, a cuddle on the couch. I declined them all, save for a cup of tea.
I drank it in thoughtful, contented silence. No talk, no small talk. Just warmth in my hands and calm in my chest. He called me an Uber, and I slipped out into the night, money in my pocket, and hoodie covering the various wet patches on my clothes. Tears prickled as the city lights blurred past the car window, but they weren’t sad ones. Just... full, emotional tears. Quietly, I let myself into the flat, unnoticed by my housemates. I peeled off my clothes, climbed into bed, and let sleep take me. The kind of sleep that only comes when your body is spent, your mind is quiet and, for the first time in a long time, you feel safe.
Well that's everything! I hope you enjoyed it. As always, feedback, pointers etc always welcome!