My name is Tommy. I’m a 26-year-old jazz guitarist, but I could pass for 19. I shave once a week. Willowy build. A little effeminate in some ways. I have a strong career with a nice income.
I am married to Taylor, a very successful realtor, who is 30, and she is a stunner. People tell both of us that she is a Natalie Wood look-alike. Yowza! She has dark auburn hair, cut in a very cute bob, with legs for days and an amaaaazing ass! She is five feet and eight inches tall and around 138 hella sexy pounds. She can be a bit bossy at times, even bitchy, and she can be quite outspoken. I can put up with any of that because the woman gives me a perpetual hard-on.
The thing is that she is soooo out of my league. I’m fucking lucky that I even know her name. And I’m very sensitive about being able to keep her in my life. She could have any man, and a great many women, by crooking her finger. Therefore, I bust my ass to satisfy her. I try to maximize my income, and I go to great lengths to please her. I try to defer to her in most matters without giving off a completely pussy-whipped vibe. And I am a world-class muff-diver! Win-win!
My situation changed about a month ago. I was getting home late one night after a gig at the Hollywood Bowl. I noticed a ping pong paddle on the kitchen island. I hadn’t even realized Taylor owned one. Curious, but no BFD.
Taylor was standing there by the island. She studied me with that look—the one that made my stomach a little queasy. “Tommy,” she said, “We need to talk about your name.”
I laughed, because what else do you do when your wife says something like that out of complete fucking nowhere? “What’s wrong with Tommy?” I asked.
“It’s boring,” she said. “It doesn’t suit you.” She took a slow sip from her tea mug. “I’ve been thinking… Chrissy. That’s better. Chrissy!”
I tried to speak, but nothing came out. Taylor put her mug down and stepped closer. “You’re going to be so pretty,” she murmured, almost to herself. “I’m going to fix you. Your life is about to go into free fall, motherfucker!”
This was going south. Quickly. I needed fixing? What the fuck? “Taylor,” I started. My voice was cracking. “This is—I mean, you can’t just—You’re scaring me, babe!” A single tear ran down my left cheek.
She laughed and pressed her thumb against my bottom lip to silence me. “Oh, Tommy. Or should I say…Oh, Chrissy?” It was the way she said it. Like it was already decided. This shit was already jangling my nervous system. “Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it,” she taunted.
Before I could protest, she produced a slim black box. She flipped it open. Inside lay a delicate silver anklet. It had delicate calligraphy that spelled out “Taylor’s.” “A little gift,” she said. She then knelt down and put the anklet around my ankle. The clasp clicked shut before I could even process what in hell was going on. “There. Now that’s the way things should be,” she declared.
I stood there being claimed. I wanted to argue. I SHOULD have argued. But I didn’t. What a pussy! She stood there in that stance. It was the one she used to close down argument, the one where she placed her left hand on her left hip. TROUBLE, motherfucker! That look always scared me, but it also always set my cock to throbbing. “You’re gonna be a good girl, Chrissy, and good girls must always show respect,” she informed me. If you talk back to me, you must do it so carefully. I WILL be respected.” And then she kissed me, hard enough to turn my will into mush. Oh shit!
When she pulled away, she patted my cheek. “Now go shower. Use the pink soap—the one that smells like roses. And don’t rinse it all off.” She smirked. A smirking Taylor was never good news. “I want to smell it on you later, little bitch!”
Little bitch? What the actual fuck! But God, I loved that woman!
The shower took twice as long as usual because my hands wouldn’t stop shaking. I kept glancing at the anklet. No visible hinge or lock, just smooth metal…and it said “Taylor’s.” Now that was a little off-putting, but it still made my cock throb-throb-throb.
By the time I stepped from the shower, I felt beautiful. I smelled like a bitch, but I smelled gooood! The bathroom mirror was fogged over. I wiped it and froze. My reflection looked wrong—not like “me,” not like Tommy. My damp hair curled at the ends, my lips slightly parted. For a wild second, I imagined them painted red. “Dude, get a fuckin’ grip,” I scolded myself.
Taylor was waiting near the bed when I emerged. I was wrapped in my usual towel. She’d changed into a silk red robe. It was the kind that softly slid open when she crossed her legs. Instant hard-on. “Chrissy,” she murmured, nodding at my flustered demeanor. “Lose the towel.” She tossed something at me—a bundle of lace.
I caught it reflexively. “Taylor—”
“Shush.” She waggled a finger. “Respect, motherfucker. Not negotiable.”
The lace slipped through my fingers, pooling on the carpet between my feet. Taylor stood up. The silk robe parted to reveal her perfect thighs. I stopped breathing. “Turn around,” she ordered, and when I hesitated, she shot out, “Now, Chrissy…I want to see respect from you, Missy! Capisce?”
I turned. Her fingertips traced my spine before something cold pressed against me. It was metal. I tensed, but her free hand gripped my hip, holding me in place. I had to wonder…was she stronger than me? “Shh,” she whispered. “It’s just a little cage for your little birdie…Sometimes I might allow it to be Chrissy’s little birdie, but it’s my little birdie unless I say otherwise!” I took a mental note. Bitch be cray cray!
She spun me around. “Oh, look at you,” she cooed, tilting her head. Her laughter was bright, almost girlish, as she tapped the tiny pink cage with her fingernail.
Taylor stepped back. She reached for the nightstand drawer. A moment later, I saw the dildo in her hand. That was quite a shock, and it made my throat go dry. It was thick, veined, and large. Did I say LARGE? She smiled at my obvious dismay. “Don’t worry,” she purred, stroking the length of it. “I’ll be gentle. Soooo gentle. I’m your new man, Chrissy. Shit’s gonna change around this house.”
Taylor’s fingers were already slick with lube when she gripped the business end of the dildo. I flinched at the thought of my certain anal destruction. It was also a little scary the way her other hand pinned my hip to the mattress. I was a prisoner, emotionally and physically. A prisoner wearing a pretty anklet. “Look at you,” she said. “All locked up and trembling.” She tapped the pink cage again. The ting of her nail against the cage was absurdly loud in the quiet room. “My sweet little birdie. You know, the one that used to be yours. So helpless in its little prison. It’s as helpless as you are. Seeing you like this makes me wet.”
Then she plunged the dildo into me. The first thrust knocked the breath out of me. I arched off the bed like an overwhelmed little bitch, but this was starting to feel very good. Shot was weird, but I definitely could get used to it! Taylor’s weight settled over my thighs, trapping me. “Fuck me, baby,” I whispered. “Fuck me real hard!”
She dragged the toy out slowly just to slam it back in. “You must take it all, Chrissy. Not taking it would be disrespectful, and I will not have that!” She yanked my head back until our eyes met.
Another thrust, deeper this time, and my vision blurred. “I want to take it all, Taylor. It’s so big, but I want to take it all. For you!” I cried. The tight little cage made my disabled cock feel like it was on fire…in a good way.
Taylor’s rhythm was determined, her hips rolling in time with each punishing stroke. She watched my face, her lips parted, her pupils wide. “Oh—oh—look at you,” she gasped, her voice breaking with laughter. “You’re crying!” And I was crying, with hot tears spilling down my cheeks as the stretch of my little asshole threatened to split me. Her grip on my hair tightened. “Good,” she hissed. “That’s so good, Chrissy. I can see the respect in your eyes. And you give good pussy!” I was starting to love this woman even more!
When she pulled the dildo out, I gasped, but Taylor was already moving on, already flipping me onto my stomach with a strength that startled me. I was being womanhandled! The first smack of the paddle landed before I could brace myself—a sharp, stinging crack that shot up my spine. I cried out, but her laughter drowned it out. Then the paddle came down harder, setting my ass on fire. “Louder, bitch! Much louder!, she screamed. I complied.
The paddle cracked against my bare skin again, sharper this time, and a whimper tore from my throat before I could stop it. Taylor’s breath caught—I heard it, the way it stuttered in her chest. The fingers of one hand dug into the small of my back, holding me in place as the paddle came down once more. “There it is!” she exclaimed. “There’s my Chrissy. You’re pathetic! You can’t even defend yourself from a girl! You can never be my man again!” This was all new to me. Really pervy. It hurt like hell, and she was scaring me some, but I was liking it!
I squeezed my eyes shut. But the tears came anyway, hot and humiliating. “You’re so pretty when you cry,” she whispered, and the paddle landed again, harder, the impact radiating up my spine. My sob was ragged, broken, and Taylor moaned in response. “Give me more, baby,” I pleaded.
Her fingers were slick and frantic. The dildo lay abandoned beside us. It glistened even under the dim bedroom light. But Taylor didn’t need it anymore, not when my tears were doing the work for her. She rocked against me, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps. “Say it,” she demanded. Her voice was cracking. “Say you’re mine.”
I choked on the words, but she didn’t wait for an answer. The paddle came down again, and this time I screamed. Louder. As ordered. The sound coming from me was raw. My cock erupted with an enormous orgasm, despite the chastity cage!. Then Taylor shuddered above me, her body going rigid as her orgasm tore through her. For a moment, there was nothing but the sound of her panting. A deep ache was spreading across my poor ass. “I love you, Taylor,” I said. ”Truly.”
I opened my mouth, but she pressed a finger to my lips. “Ahhh. I can see the respect in your eyes. I love that.” Her hand slid down, cupping the cage in her palm like she was weighing it. Then, without warning, she squeezed—just enough pressure to make me squeal. Taylor moaned softly, her pupils dilating. “There it is,” she breathed. “That’s my girl. Your squeal is adorable! That’s my helpless little bitch!”
At that point, we drifted into a deep sleep with my little imprisoned cock in her hand.
Next morning, Taylor dragged me out of bed. “Up, Missy,” she sang. “We’re going shopping.” My stomach lurched. She tossed a short sundress at me. It was the kind of thing I’d seen on mannequins in store windows. Put it on,” she said, tapping the paddle against her palm.
The dress clung to me like a second skin. The fabric whispered against my thighs as I hurriedly walked to the car, trying to keep up. Taylor watched me struggle with the seatbelt. “Good God, so helpless,” she scolded, leaning over to buckle it for me. Her Van Cleef perfume filled the car. She patted my knee. “You’re going to love this place. It’s for real girls, but they love helping new little bitches like you.” My head was spinning. My world had been turned upside down!
The boutique was all soft lighting and velvet chairs, the kind of store where the air smelled like money, and the salesgirls had French manicures. They descended on us the moment the bell chimed. Their eyes lit up when Taylor squeezed my shoulder and said, “This is Chrissy. She needs a whole new wardrobe.”
One of them—Lena, according to her name tag, and the spitting image of a young Mira Sorvino—clapped her hands together. “Oh, she’s soooo cute,” she gushed, reaching out to pinch my cheek. I flinched, but Taylor’s grip on my shoulder tightened, her nails biting into my skin.
Lena and the other girls—Sophie and Tawny—led me to a plush dressing room, their voices overlapping in excitement. “Let’s start with lingerie,” Sophie said, holding up a skimpy thong so sheer I could nearly see through it. Taylor nodded approvingly as they stripped me down, their fingers roaming over my ribs, my hips, the curve of my ass. They seemed to really like the curve of my ass.
“Such a pretty little thing,” Tawny cooed, tracing the line of my collarbone. “So delicate. And what a wonderful little ass! Simply to die for! This girl was made for one thing only!” Then she winked. Winked? I thought people didn’t wink anymore.
They didn’t listen to a single thing I said. The thong they chose for me slid up my thighs like a second skin, and the strip in back buried itself in my ass crack. With a giggle, Sophie said, “Look at her, she’s blushing!” The girls all laughed, their fingers fluttering over the straps, adjusting them just a little too tightly.
“Now the tits,” Lena crowed, producing a pair of gel inserts that looked soooo real.
They molded to my chest with a cold, slick pressure, and Sophie gasped. “Oh my god,” she cried out, squeezing my new cleavage and making me feel like a little tramp.
Taylor’s smirk deepened. She had different smirks. This one meant that she was satisfied. “I know,” was her only response. She was proud.
The skirts were even more embarrassing—short enough that my pretty thong threatened to show with each step. And tight enough that I felt like I was revealing everything. Also, the stiletto heels were so thin and high, I wobbled like a baby deer. “Oh, sweetheart,” Taylor laughed, steadying me with a hand on my waist. “You’ll get used to it.
Turn for us, Chrissy,” Tawny urged. I did, my legs shaking. Lena whistled. “Damn, girl. You’re killing it.”
Taylor watched from a velvet chair, her legs crossed, her smile reflecting satisfaction. “Try walking,” she said, nodding toward the mirrored wall. I took a step, then another, my ankles wobbling dangerously. The girls cheered, their laughter ringing in my ears.
“So sexy,” Sophie sighed, lightly touching the back of my knee.
I said, “Ohhhh, that felt niiiice!”
Sophie followed that comment with, “Astronomical fuckability rating!”
Taylor stood then, her heels clicking against the hardwood as she approached. She cupped my chin. “See?” she gloated. “The results are in! Astronomically fuckable!”
The final outfit was the most embarrassing—a sheer blouse, paired with a skirt so short it barely reached to my lace thong. I glanced at a mirror. I looked like a sex-crazed plaything.
When everything had been selected, Taylor handed my credit card to Lena without even looking at the total. “Wrap it all up,” she said, her eyes never leaving mine. “Little bitch is wearing the blouse home. Love those tits! Not too small…not too big…PERFECT!”
The girls giggled as they packed up everything. “You’re so lucky,” Tawny whispered, her lips brushing my ear. “Taylor’s perfect. I hope she takes you home and tears your shit up!”
Outside, the sunlight exposed me to the world in ways I almost couldn’t bear. I clutched the shopping bags to my chest like a shield. My face turned beet red as strangers leered at me. My legs shook. Taylor unlocked the car, giggling when I stumbled in my heels. “Careful, Miss Thang,” she teased, as she helped me in. “We wouldn’t want you falling apart in your little panties before the fun begins.” Once we were in the car, she leaned over and kissed me. The kiss was prolonged and wet. She was digging me, and I was digging her!
The car ride home was torture. Every bump in the road sent the stilettos digging deeper into my ankles. Taylor hummed along to the radio, tapping against the steering wheel in time with the music. “You did so well today. Actually, better than I expected,” she murmured, glancing at me from the corner of her eye. “I’m proud of you.” The words shouldn’t have made my chest tighten, but they did. A warmth spread through me despite everything I was undergoing.
Back at home, Taylor dumped the shopping bags onto the bed. “Now,” she said, turning to me with a leer, “Let’s see how you look in all of it.” I swallowed hard. My fingers trembled as I reached for the first outfit. Taylor caught my wrist before I could grab it. Her voice was gentle, but her grip was firm. “Hold up,” she chided, her voice low and sweet. “Let me help you, sweetheart.”
Her hands were everywhere—unbuttoning the blouse, sliding the skirt down my hips, peeling the thong away with a slow, sexy tug. The gel breasts clung to my chest, their weight and shape unfamiliar to me. Taylor traced the curve of one with her fingertip, a sight that made me gasp.
The lingerie she chose next was sheer black lace, delicate against my skin. The straps dug into my shoulders. The waistband was tight enough to leave marks. Taylor circled me. “You’re breathtaking,” she admitted. “My beautiful Chrissy. You almost make me cry!”
The dress she picked for me was scandalously short, the hem riding high enough to expose the pretty lace thong beneath. The fabric clung to every curve. The neckline plunged low enough to showcase the gel breasts. Taylor fastened a delicate silver choker around my throat. The heart charm dangled just above my collarbone. It was engraved with ” Taylor’s property.” “There,” she said, stepping back to admire me. “You are soooo fucking mine, Missy!”
The stilettos were the final touch. Their heels were perilously high. And their straps bit into me. Taylor knelt before me, fastening each buckle. “Walk for me,” she commanded. Her voice was soft but firm. I took a shaky step, then another, my legs trembling. As I wobbled, her hands steadied me. She purred, her lips curling into a smile. “You look like you might become a nasty lil sumthin-sumthin. This is gonna work for me.”
“It’s already working for me, Taylor. Big time.” My cock was hard as a ball bat!
The mirror reflected a stranger—a delicate, wide-eyed creature with flushed cheeks. The anklet glittered against my skin. The choker caught the light with every breath. Taylor wrapped her arms around me from behind, her chin resting on my shoulder. “See?” she admitted. “You are so fucking pretty. So fucking fuckable! Astronomically fuckable!”
Then Taylor’s fingers dug into my hips as she pushed me face-first onto the bed. “Look at you. Look at that ass!” she purred. Her palm slid up the back of my thigh and across my pretty ass until she pulled on the waistband of my pretty thong. “All dressed up just for me. You don’t belong to you anymore, Chrissy. You belong to me!”
Then the ping pong paddle landed against my bare ass with a crack that sent fire racing up my spine. Once, twice, three times. Each strike was harder than the last. I yelped. She just laughed, her free hand tightening in my hair as I attempted to pull away without really wanting to pull away. Then Taylor let the hammer down with, “Oh no, sweetheart, we’re just getting started. The title of this chapter is NO ESCAPE!”
The paddle came down again, this time in a relentless rhythm. Each slap was punctuated by her teasing. “You like this, don’t you? My pretty little Chrissy, all pink and squirming.”
I whimpered. “I love it, Taylor. I’m not sure why, but I love it! Tears were in my eyes. But she didn’t stop until my ass burned and my thighs trembled. Then her touch and her tone softened. “Shhh,” she cooed, her lips brushing my shoulder. “You’re amazing, little sweetheart! You are becoming you! I knew it was in you!”
Her hand slipped between my legs, tracing the outline of my little cage. “Slut!” she announced. “Dripping for me so much!” The paddle clattered to the floor as she yanked my thong aside, her other hand fumbling with the buckle of the strap-on harness. I didn’t have time to brace myself before she sheathed herself inside me in one brutal thrust, the stretch burning in the best and worst way. I found myself loving her even more. “Fuck,” she groaned, her hips snapping forward again, her nails biting into me. “Your ass is insane, girlfriend!”
She fucked me like she owned me. Because she did. Her pace alternated between slow rolls and frenzied slams that had me sobbing into the sheets. Every time I tried to muffle my cries, she’d land a sharp smack to my ass or thighs. “Louder,” she demanded, her voice ragged. “Let me hear you. And let me hear you ask for it!” And I did, as she drove me toward a climax that was supposed to be prevented by the cage. Taylor’s laugh was triumphant as I came undone beneath her, shouting and begging and telling her that I would love her forever!
Then the sight of her coming—lips parted, head thrown back, her thighs trembling where they pressed against mine. It all sent a fresh wave of tears spilling down my cheeks. She shuddered through her orgasm with a groan. For a long moment, neither of us moved. The only sound was our ragged breathing. Then she shifted, her fingers tracing the wet trails on my face with something like reverence. “God,” she whispered, pressing a kiss to my temple. “You ruin me. You make me forget myself. My Chrissy, you are sin on a stick!”
Then she reached for the bedside drawer, pulling out a small velvet box. This whole thing had been so mapped out! She popped it open. Nestled inside was a delicate silver bracelet, thinner than the anklet but heavy with meaning. “Left wrist,” she instructed, tapping the inside of my arm. “To match.” The chain rested just above the bone. Engraved on the underside, in tiny script: “Taylor’s Girl.” I stared at it. My throat was tight. This wasn’t just marking me anymore…it was rewriting me.
Taylor then straddled me, her knees pinning my arms to the bed. “Lesson time,” she purred. “Repeat after me: I belong to Taylor.” I swallowed hard, my voice cracking on the first attempt. Her teeth grazed my earlobe in punishment. “Louder,” she insisted. This time, I managed it. She rewarded me with a slow, open-mouthed kiss that tasted like love…and desire.
Then her hips started rolling against me. Her breath was ragged, and I involuntarily arched into her. “See? Your body knows who owns it!” she crowed. She rolled me over, then the paddle came down—once, twice—just hard enough to sting. “Now say ‘thank you’ to your new daddy!” I choked it out between gasps. The humiliation burned hotter than the strikes. My wife was now my daddy?
As my father would have said, “Jesus Christ on a crutch!” Then my defenses collapsed. “Thank you, daddy,” I screamed out in my new girly voice.
That particular orgasm hit me like a freight train. The fingers on Taylor’s left hand twisted my gel breasts while her other hand worked the cage without mercy. I sobbed through it, my back arching, the pleasure/pain so intense I bit my own lip bloody. Taylor licked the crimson off my chin. “Beautiful,” she whispered, dragging her nails across me. “You slay me, bitch!”
Afterward, she gently bundled me into the shower. She slowly washed me with lavender-scented soap that smelled like surrender. The water scalded, but I didn’t protest. She scrubbed every inch of me raw. She massaged my scalp in slow circles. I nearly wept at the kindness of it. “Shhh,” she cooed, kissing my temple. “I’ve got you.” The whiplash between Taylor’s cruelty and her tenderness left me dizzy.
Dressed in a silk nightgown that barely covered the marks she’d left, I knelt at the foot of the bed while she braided my hair. The tug of each section was methodical, almost meditative. “Tomorrow,” she said, securing the end with a satin ribbon, “We start on your voice.” Of course, I should have known she wouldn’t stop at my body. But the pace of the day had overwhelmed me. Then she tucked a loose strand behind my ear, her smile soft. “Sweet dreams, Chrissy.” The kiss she pressed to my forehead felt like a brand.
She crouched down beside me and traced the fresh bruises on my hips. In my mind, I already referred to them as “Taylor bruises.” “You’re taking it so well,” she said, almost to herself. The praise shouldn’t have warmed me, but it did. I was such an emotional slave. Her thumb swiped over my lower lip, smearing the last of my lipstick. “Open.” The command was soft, but I obeyed instantly, my jaw dropping as she slid two fingers into my mouth. “Suck.” I did, hollowing my cheeks around her digits, my tongue swirling in practiced motions. “Christ, you’re good at that.”
That next orgasm came differently—slower, crueler. Taylor pinned me face-down on the rug, her knees on the backs of my thighs. Then she worked me over with the paddle again, each strike landing just shy of unbearable. “Count,” she ordered, and I choked out numbers between gasps. At twenty, she paused, her palm replacing the wood to rub slow circles over the burning skin. The contrast of gentleness and cruelty made me whimper. Her hand dipped between my legs, finding me improbably wet despite the cage. “Look at you,” she laughed, holding her gooey fingers up for me to see. “Pathetic little honey-dripper!”
She rolled me onto my back then, her thighs bracketing my head as she lowered herself onto my face. “Make me come, precious little whore,” she breathed, grinding down against my mouth. I licked frantically. My nose was buried in her. She yanked my hair hard enough to make my eyes water as she rode my tongue like it was a little pony. When she came, it was with a full-throated cry. Her thighs were clamped tightly around my ears. Crazy bitch was strong.
I took another mental note. “Dude, don’t fuck with her. She can take you.”
Afterward, she collapsed beside me, her chest heaving. For a long moment, we just breathed. Then, without warning, she rolled atop me again, her hands framing my face. “Tell me you love me and that you are afraid of me,” she demanded, her eyes blazing. My throat tightened.
The words tumbled out, cracked and raw: “I love you, Taylor, and you scare the shit out of me, babe! Please don’t hurt me!”
Taylor’s smile was triumphant. She kissed me hard. “I know. I want you afraid of me. It’s sexy!”
The rest of the evening passed in a haze. She dressed me in a silk negligee. It was pale pink, with lace trim. And she fastened a matching ribbon around my throat. “Bedtime,” she announced, guiding me toward the master suite. In bed, Taylor’s body was a furnace beside me. Her arm draped over my waist. She was crazy possessive even in sleep. As her breathing evened out, I stared at the ceiling, the weight of the day pressing down on me. The anklet. The choker. The bracelet. That ‘call her daddy’ shit. I should’ve hated it all. I should’ve fought. But I adored her. I was her bitch.
Morning came with sunlight and soft hands. Taylor woke me with kisses along my shoulder, her lips warm against my skin. “Rise and shine, princess,” she commanded, as she toyed with the ribbon around my neck. I blinked up at her, disoriented, my body still heavy with sleep. She was already dressed—a crisp white blouse, tailored slacks, her hair pulled into a sleek ponytail. The contrast between us couldn’t have been starker. She, polished and put-together. Me, rumpled and marked, with the silk nightgown twisted around my thighs.
Afterward, she dressed me in a pale yellow sundress—the fabric barely skimming my thighs—and fastened a delicate pearl necklace around my throat. “You’re learning,” she said encouragingly, adjusting the clasp. She lingered on my collarbone, her touch oddly tender. “I’m proud of you.” The words shouldn’t have mattered. They shouldn’t have made my chest ache. But as she kissed my forehead—soft, fleeting—I felt something dangerously close to gratitude. And pure love.
The afternoon passed in a blur of small humiliations: Taylor painting my nails a glossy pink, her grip firm when I fidgeted. Taylor forcing me to practice walking in heels, her laughter ringing every time I stumbled. Taylor snapping endless photos on her phone, enjoying my embarrassment. “Smile, Chrissy,” she crooned, angling the camera for a close-up of my flushed face. “You’re adorable when you’re flustered.”
By evening, I was exhausted—my feet aching, my body thrumming with a mix of shame and something close to contentment. Taylor ordered me to kneel at her feet while she sipped wine. Her hand carded absently through my hair. “No matter what I call you when I get worked up, you’re really sweet,” she whispered, her thumb tracing the shell of my ear. The praise settled over me like a blanket. I leaned into her touch before I could stop myself. A soft sigh escaped my lips. “Oh, Chrissy,” she quietly exclaimed, tilting my chin up. “What am I going to do with you?”
I didn’t have an answer. I wasn’t sure I wanted one.
Taylor’s grip turned punishing. “Say it.”
“I—I love it,” I whispered.
Taylor’s laugh was triumphant. “Liar,” she purred, as she traced the edge of the cage. “But you will.” Her touch turned cruel then, her nails scraping over sensitive skin as she worked the metal ruthlessly. Pleasure/pain shot through me, my back arching off the bed. Taylor’s breath hitched. “Look at you,” she gasped, her hips grinding against my ass. “Ruinously pretty. Sinfully beautiful. Come for me now, Chrissy! Worthless whore!”
Then my ordered orgasm ripped from me. My body convulsed against the sheets as Taylor fucked me through them, her other hand fisted in my hair. “That’s it,” she groaned, her lips pressed to my shoulder. “Let go.” And I did—sobbing, shuddering, utterly wrecked. When it was over, she looked down at my tear-streaked face with something akin to tenderness.
Later, she reached for the bedside drawer again—this time withdrawing a delicate silver charm, shaped like a tiny padlock. “Turn,” she instructed, nudging my hip until I rolled onto my back. The anklet was already engraved—now she fastened the charm to it with deliberate care. “There, now everyone will know. You’re an insatiable little bitch… also a very sweet and weepy little bitch. And you are mine! Forever!”
I choked out the response she longed for. “I’m yours forever, Taylor. Please fuck me and make me cry forever.”
