the doctor is in.

I grab the chart by the door, and enter Examination Room Three, my eyes scanning over my assistant's messy handwriting.  He's new, Eric is his name, and I don't know if I'll ever get used to his bizarre mix of cursive and block letters.  He also has the annoying habit of interrupting appointments to ask tedious questions, which is completely unprofessional.  I sit in my chair, preoccupied for moment, thinking of his buffoonery, without introducing myself or announcing my presence to my patient.  Only when I'm properly seated and feel grounded enough to continue, do I glance up.
 
"Now, what seems to be the matter?" I ask the young, nervous woman sitting on the examination bed.  I peg her at 30.  Good job, boyfriend, new home owner, perhaps.  She adjusts herself, and the paper underneath her crinkles.    
"Lately, I seem to have trouble..."  She trails off, eyes averted down towards her hands.  Mine follow, and I watch her pick something out from under a freshly manicured nail, and flick it onto the linoleum floor.  I take a moment to notice her perfectly professional attire: a knee length skirt, pristine pantyhose, fitted button down shirt, her hair tightly pulled into a slick ponytail. Except for one flaw: a button carelessly left undone at her breast.  As her chest is too small to pop the button, I attribute it either to something she fidgets with when nervous, or the window to her newly undone state.  
"No reason to be nervous," I encourage.  "There is no judgment, here."
"Right," she breathes.  "Nothing you haven't heard before, I'm sure."  I smile, and wait.  There is an obvious internal struggle she's having. Either shame about the problem, or the condition is somehow tied up with her emotions... something heavily loaded or layered perhaps?  Something that is in part, psychological?  The woman crosses, then uncrosses her stockinged legs.  I glance at the clipboard in my hand for her name, and lean forward emphatically.
"What seems to be the problem, Janet?"
"I'm having trouble orgasming," she stammers.
"I see," I say, trying to suppress a smile.  Sometimes I really consider myself a healer.  "Well, there's could be several reasons surrounding an inability to..."
"It all started when I broke up with my boyfriend," She says. "He would always... do it... for me?  Now, I don't really know... how."
"Well, it's important to remember that our bodies can take time to adjust to a new type of stimulation.  There could be a period of adjustment between moving from his mouth, for example, to your hand, or a toy."
"A toy?"  She asks, perking up.  She's either very naive, or a great actress.  
"Yes.  Something of a phallic shape, or with vibration or a thrusting action."  Her blank stare tells me she's overwhelmed.  "Why don't I show you what I mean," I say to an enthusiastic nod.  I get up from my chair, and walk toward the cabinet, my heels clicking in the quiet, anxious room.  My hand dances across the doctor-ly looking implements; a speculum among them, syringes and pumps, measuring devices, and the classic stethoscope and head flashlight.
I place a pair of latex gloves on my hands, before removing a lovely replica of one of the first vibrators ever made, to treat hysteria in women.  It's an ancient looking thing, a metal plug in wand, that looks more like a fifties style microphone than something you would put on your genitals.  I feel powerful, just holding the weight of it in my hands.  I place it on the tray beside the examination bed, and my patient's eyes are already dilating.  
"Why don't you remove your clothing, and I'll do a quick exam.  Before we get to the tutorial," I smile.  I flip open the stirrups, watching her face turn the most attractive shade of pink.  She begins to unbutton her shirt, when ...

There's a frantic knock at the door.  "Head Mistress?"
Just as I was dreading.  "Eric. What?"
"Someone says they have a session booked in the dungeon, but Mistress Heather's using it until 5pm."
I glance at the clock on the wall.  "It's only ten minutes from now.  Ask them to wait."
"Ok.  Thanks."  He addresses my patient.  "Sorry."  

I take a deep breath, suppressing my annoyance.  "Would you like to continue?"  I ask, giving her the out, since the fantasy has now been completely shattered.
"Oh, yes," she breathes.  "Very much so."

st. andrew.

Every time we play, I see it there.  His St. Andrew's Cross.

It's usually hidden behind a floor to ceiling abstract painting, for when platonic, non-sexual house guests come over. The large canvas is on a track, which can be rolled aside to reveal the cross behind it. The St. Andrew's Cross.  

Let me explain.  It's more of an "X", really.  A massive, eight foot high frame, with two restraining points at the top for the wrists, two at the bottom for each ankle, and sometimes one at the center, for the waist.  The lucky person being chained to it is held in a majestic, standing, spread eagle position.  If you're facing the wall, you're most likely getting flogged, spanked, or whipped.  Being restrained outwards is reserved to sexual teasing and sensory play.  At least, that's what I understand in theory.

Yes, he rolls the painting aside to reveal the x-shaped cross, every time I come over.  But, no, I've never had the pleasure of being tied to it.  It occupies my mind.  Sometimes, during other sex acts, in the same room.  Hard fucking, deep throating, pussy worship... I look over, longingly, at it's polished, dark wood, thinking how everything we do could be just a little better if I was tied to that thing while we were doing it. He seems to read my mind in every other way, except this one.  It feels deliberate; the way he presents The St. Andrew's cross, but doesn't let me indulge.  Does he think me too fragile? Does he mean to tease me?  Does he want me to beg for it?  He usually owns me right from the moment I step in the door, so I scarcely get a chance to speak up during play.  Not that he doesn't encourage me to communicate my wants and needs outside of scenes.  He most certainly does.  But, this particular desire just seems to get lost.

I think I'm scared.  I don't know if I'm ready.  Am I really kinky enough to be restrained to a St. Andrew's Cross?  It's seems so hardcore.  Do I really like pain all that much?  I think it's more the psychological power dynamic that I'm into.  The fantasy is definitely titillating, but some things are better left as vivid mental pictures you furiously jerk off to.  But, you never know until you try.   

"You will knock at 8pm.  You're mine as soon as you step in."  I stand in the hall of his condo, reading his text.  I check the time.  A couple minutes early.  Always better than a couple minutes late.  I take a deep breath.  Usually I get so immersed in the submissive experience that I have a hard time looking him in the eye, let alone speaking when I'm not being directly spoken to.  Just do it right away, I pep talk myself.  Say it before you get to that delightfully surrendered place.  Immediately.  Right when you step beyond the threshold.  Let it be the first thing that happens. Yes. Be a good communicator.  Hold space for yourself.  

The timer for 8 o'clock goes off on my phone, startling me.  My heart accelerates in my chest, and I shove my phone in my purse.  I do some last minute adjustments on my presentation, like it matters.  My clothes will be ripped off before the door even has a chance to catch behind me, and not long after that, his hands will be in my hair, my lipstick smeared all over his dick. I nervously tug at my skirt, and realize how desperately wet I am.  A smile crosses my face.

I raise my fist towards the door, and knock.  One, two, three. 

happy ho ho ho to you.

"Do you want to go first?" I ask, from my spot, kneeling on the carpet.  

Jonathan joins me.  The fresh smell of Evergreen dances in the air, to the smooth tones of Harry Connick Jr's Christmas album.  I squirm excitedly in my seat.  So far, the holidays have been perfect.  Two full days off together, with no family commitments up until later on this evening.  Never have we indulged in each other's company so completely.  And, of course, our generous holiday moods have found us in the bedroom on more than one occasion.  He even tied me up like a pretty little present.  So, needless to say, We're currently savouring the last of our alone time together before a big dinner with his family tonight.
"You go," Jonathan smiles, handing me my gift.  
"Ok," I concede, taking the square shaped, light weighted present in my hands.  "Hmm," I wonder, aloud, turning the box this way and that, even shaking it slightly; but nothing betrays its mystery.  I hope it's something sexy, I think to myself.  Perhaps some lingerie, a blindfold, some handcuffs, anything to further the role play we've been experimenting with this holiday season.  I bite my lip saucily and suddenly rip off a strip of shimmery paper.  He smiles handsomely in anticipation; even winks, flirting with me.  I turn my gaze towards the gift, squinting to find and read some of the fanciful text. "Personal massager," I read aloud.  My eyes go wide for a moment.  "A vibrator?"  I tear the rest of the gift open.  The picture displays a discreet bullet vibrator with an attractively smooth finish.  My mouth hangs open, unable to form words.  I've always wanted one.  I don't even know what vibration feels like down there.  I'm beside myself with excitement.
"Yes. However, there's a catch..." Jonathan begins, as I anxiously root through the packaging.  But, I immediately notice the seal is broken.  I quickly compare the picture on the box with the product inside.  
"Wait a minute. It looks like there's a part missing. The remote.  Aww, that's too bad," I pout.  "We'll have to take it back." When my eyes once again reach his, he smiles devilishly, producing the remote from his pocket.  My eyes narrow.  
"Listening now?" He asks, playfully.  "This part, will stay in my possession.  To use whenever and wherever I see fit.  That part," he states, gesturing to the vibrator, "will stay in your panties."  I lick my lips, the muscles in between my legs sympathetically flexing.  Not only does his authoritative tone make me wet, but the thought of carrying out his sexy task.  
"Ok..." I seductively smile, waiting for more instructions.  "And where and when exactly will I wear this?"
"Glad you asked," he smiles, matter of factly.  "Tonight, at Christmas dinner."
"With your parents? And sister?" I gasp.  No.  Could I? I picture myself at the table, discreetly carrying the dormant vibrator in my pants, waiting anxiously for it to erupt with movement.  A smile creeping across my face, half expecting it to turn on at any minute, making eyes at Jonathan from across the Christmas spread, at our little secret.  Perhaps I forget about its existence for a moment, answering a question about my job to his mother, and suddenly feel the vibrator come to life between my legs.  I stop mid-sentence, trying to compose myself, coughing to cover my reaction, pressing my napkin into my lap, apologizing.  My breathing becomes laboured as I pretend to be listening to the rest of the conversation, as I retreat further and further into my world of erotic pleasure.  I imagine myself catching Jonathan's eye, who is finding pleasure in watching me squirm.  I feel a bead of sweat break my hairline, and my face flushes in embarrassment, to be vulnerable in this way in front of his family.  Yet, I feel the flutter of an orgasm approaching.  I deny it, but the vibrator pulses relentlessly.  I deny it again and again, each time my will is weaker than the last.  I feel the climax building within me, and I close my eyes, bite my lip, trying to hide.  At which point... I imagine him turning it off.  A wicked grin emanating from his seat across the table. 

Snapped back from the daydream, Harry Connick croons, "Happy ho ho ho to you."  
My eyebrow raises with a thought.  "Alright.  Now, you open your present.  

But, there's a catch."

yes, sir.

I ring the doorbell.  The house looks so normal from the outside; seemingly not the house of a Sir, at all.  I wonder where your wife is tonight, where that little man of yours is, that you always seem to be putting down before chatting to me online.  
You answer the door, and instantly I feel the cumulative arousal of all our previous interactions.  The tasks you've given me over text messages, the videos and pictures we exchange via email, but most recently, our trip to the sex club, Oasis.  My bare pussy, which I've freshly shorn for tonight, grows suddenly slick.  
"Hello, Slut," you greet warmly, though with your signature confident power.  One of your large hands rests near my shoulder, then wanders towards my neck, caressing it.  Just the weight of it arouses me, knowing that you could engulf it completely in just one of your mighty fists.  Already, you put me in a submissive mind set, just by the way you assert yourself, naturally towering over me, and petting me like a dog.  "Come in."
The interior of the house seems unassuming as well, certainly not the house of avid swingers, of a polyamorous couple who play separately, and with both men and women, at that.  I step over a children's toy, on my way up the stairs to the bedroom.  
"Strip, Slut.  I want you completely naked.  Except the heels," you add.
"Yes, Sir."  Another power play.  You stay fully dressed for this part, while I remove any physical shred of protection I brought along with me.  Usually people react positively when they see my figure, but you almost completely ignore it.  My porcelain skin, shapely hips, and small round breasts are all but lost on you, while you set up the bed harness.  My face burns in shame.  I can't help but thinking that this is the bed that you are your loving wife share, and I search for a framed photograph to sharpen the mental image.  Before I find one, you turn back to me, square jaw tight, and brow furrowed with intensity.   She probably wouldn't want to see what we're going to do, anyway.  
"Hands behind your back, Slut."
"Yes, Sir."  You reach around me to fasten them together, rather than having me face away from you, which I take as a secret act of affection.  Your button down shirt grazes my bare breasts as your thick arms envelop me, in what very nearly is an embrace.  I look up to your delicious neck, and discreetly breathe in your aftershave.  My eyes close in an ecstatic daydream, in which I am worthy of your true adoration, and I get to touch and kiss the skin I now admire from afar.  A testing tug on the restraints snaps me out of it.  This is what I deserve, and I want you to administer it to me.  
You retreat to a chest of drawers, housing many toys, unlike the one I stepped over in the hallway moments ago.  Tools accumulated from years of dominating women and men, but more recently, a couple that I particularly inspired you to purchase.  As a task, you asked me to send you a list of three toys that I do not own, but would desperately like to try.  Knowing your inclination for domination, I chose accordingly.  One, you already had in your possession.  You remove the second one from the list, now, and walk it back over to me.  I feel a bead of sweat break my hairline.  
"Look familiar, Slut?"  You ask sternly, smirking.  You display them in front of me in one of your large palms.
"Yes, Sir."
"Are you going to be a good girl for me today?" 
"Yes, Sir," I answer, pussy contracting at the phrase.  I feel myself flood a little bit.  
"Keep still."  I do, in fact, I stand straighter than I've ever stood, so that you have unhindered access to my breasts.  I long for you to compliment them, caress them, devour them, but you stay focussed at the task at hand.  You go to work, fastening the two suction cups to my nipples.  
I feel each one grab as you squeeze the bulbs between your thick fingers, activating the suction.  The tug at each nipple is almost as erotic as wearing the ridiculous devices is humiliating.          I long to adjust them, but my restrained wrists leave the control squarely in your hands.
"Shake your tits for me, Slut."
I do, shimmying my shoulders slightly, and the heavy bulbs sway slightly, tugging tightly at my nipples.  I feel my bare pussy stream, and my chest redden in embarrassment.  Your eyes finally take me in, and you do so as you unbutton your shirt.  I avert my gaze, but feel the intensity of your stare on my skin.  You take your time, ogling your good little Slut, licking your lips while methodically removing your clothing.  I suppress the urge to smile, imaging your warm, wet mouth on my breasts.  But, I don't deserve it.  Instead, I get this.  
Naked now, with your erection bobbing in front of you, you relieve my hands from their binding, and instruct me to climb into place on the bed.  From the harness projecting from each corner, I assume that you want me on my back, spread eagle, but you quickly correct me.  I feel a sting across my right breast, as you flick one of the suction cups.  I gasp.
"Ass in the air, Slut."
"Yes, Sir."
"Don't move unless I tell you to, Slut.  Understand?"  Another flick, this time on my left nipple.  
"Yes, Sir," I redden further.  
"I thought you said you were going to be good for me, today."  
"Sorry, Sir."  
"You better be, Slut," you bark, finishing with one sweeping motion that hits both devices.  I clench my teeth.  I hate to be corrected.  I hate it, and at the same time, intensely desire it.  "Onto your stomach."
You expertly fasten my wrists and ankles to the bed.  Now, I feel truly vulnerable to you.  With my arms and legs bound, you now have full, unrestricted access to my body.  My glistening pussy strains, leaking uselessly. The nipple devices press uncomfortably into the mattress, but, at least I can press my mound into it, as well.  Unfortunately, you catch me, and smack me clean across my backside.  I groan.
"Don't you dare pleasure yourself, Slut.  Understand?"
"Yes, Sir."  Another smack.  My breath catches.
"You haven't demonstrated yourself to be worthy of it, yet tonight.  I'm looking for you to change my mind on that," you continue.  You hit me a third time, harder.  I moan into the mattress.  I long for you to rub the spot, no doubt growing red by now. 
"Yes, Sir."
"Now, are you going to be a good girl for me, or not?"  I prepare for another beating, but it doesn't come.  Instead you retire once more to the toy cabinet.  This time removing another object I immediately recognize, and almost as immediately regret mentioning as the third item on the list.  An anal plug with a pump attached.  The fantasy is intoxicating, but can I handle it for real?
"You've shown me some of your anal prowess online.  Isn't that right, Slut?"
"Yes, Sir."
"Now, you're going to show me what you can do, in person.  Understand?"
"Yes, Sir."
"Now, this is your big chance to please me.  To redeem everything you've done.  If you do this for me, I'll be very, very impressed with you.  Do you understand?"
"Yes, Sir," I answer, growing nervous yet excited at the thought of being stretched open, and pleasing my Sir so completely.  My pussy has created a little pool beneath me, and I crave the ability to press it into the mattress.  You squeeze the lube over my bare ass, and it clenches with each drip.  
"Now just relax, and be a good Slut," you coo, probing my opening with the plug.  Now, I've had regular anal plugs enter me before, and it goes in easily, resting just beyond my asshole comfortably.  But the hardest part is yet to come.  "Are you ready, Slut?"
"Yes, Sir."
"You'd better be."  One squeeze of the pump, and I feel it inflate inside me.  A little fuller, sure, but nothing I can't handle.  But, I have no idea how big this thing can get.  I'm laying all my trust squarely in my Sir.  
I see you press the pump in your large fist, and again the plug inflates, testing the walls of my ass.  It's getting bigger now, and I yearn now more than ever, to pleasure my clit against the bedding.  Usually when I take this much in my ass, I'm orgasming pretty soon after, and then the girth is removed.  I can't say I've ever taken it further, and I have no idea what lies ahead.  My pussy drips freely down my legs, as I anxiously wait for the next gauge.  The sheet underneath my face is also growing damp with drool and sweat.  
Another pump, and I really feel the stretch.  I want to see; I want to see how big it is.  It feels bigger than anything I've ever had in there, and I don't know how much more I can take.  I groan wildly into the sheets.  
"Good girl," I hear you say, and I feel encouraged to continue.  I want nothing more than to please you.  It satisfies the deepest, darkest part of myself to do this for you.  
Another pump.  I moan, feeling as I might explode.  I reach for your hand, for anything, and the restraints jostle in response.  Then, I feel a hand.  On my ass cheek.  
"It's okay.  Just relax.  You're doing great.  I'm very, very impressed.  You're making Sir very proud."  My pussy creams so completely onto the mattress.  I'm a total sloppy, gorgeous mess.  Everything is so overly sensitive and tense, all you have to do is brush your hand across my ass softly, and suddenly I feel myself buck, muscles contracting, and I come loudly and desperately onto the bed. 
You free my wrists and ankles, and I am grateful.  And, I am equally as grateful for the sperm you shoot all over my face.  

sex club.

Though I'm blinded temporarily by the headlights, I think I see your thick silhouette behind the wheel, approaching the curb of my apartment building.  I shift in my heels, and adjust my short skirt.

Already, I feel the muscles in between my legs engage.  I'm beyond excited to meet you for the first time, and apparently, in more ways than one.  I don't know exactly what the night is going to hold, but I have a pretty good idea.  The car stops promptly in front of me, and a tinted window rolls down just enough for you to deliver the command, "Get in, Slut."
Before long, we pull up to Oasis Aqualounge.  I knew it.  I knew it, and yet, I still wonder if I'm really ready.  You lead the way with authority, as if you've been here many times before, as I follow sheepishly, though curiously, behind.  We walk through several poorly attended rooms, in which people are just having drinks and chatting, as I start to gain some confidence, thinking that this place isn't all it's cracked up to be.  
"This way, Slut."  You lead me upstairs, as I realize where the real party is.  Everywhere I look, there's various bodies in various states of undress, engaged in various types of sex, and my hungry eyes quickly lap it up as we keep pace towards our destination.  An attractive, slim girl is receiving oral beneath a latex skirt, as she bends deeply over the back of a couch.  Two older woman kiss passionately while groping each others' lace covered, falling breasts.  A hunky, tanned man grinds against an equally tanned woman with fake tits, which barely move as they fuck.  Several men hold themselves in their own hands, pants spayed open at the hips, stroking off while they watch.  We pass by them all too quickly for my mind to process the shock of what I'm seeing.  
"Keep up, Slut," I hear, a little far away.  I realize I'm falling behind, but I mange to spot your intimidating figure one room ahead.  And, the room is completely red. 
Red vinyl couches, red walls, and in the room's epicentre, an oversized red bed, complete with red plastic sheets.  You sit, fully clothed, amongst several writhing bodies.  As I realize that this is our final destination, my face begins to burn in renewed nervousness, matching the scarlet decor perfectly.  
"Come here, Slut.  Show me what you've got."  My pussy starts to clench, throbbing with my accelerating pulse, as I walk towards you, the clicking of my heels barely audible over the moans of pleasure and squeaking latex.  You spread your knees so that I can slot myself in between them, and you place your large hands on my hips.  They drift down slightly to my naked thighs, then back up to my skirt to feel up my naked ass.  You clench it in your powerful grip, and I feel the pull of pleasure in my pussy.  I glance around the room, relieved and encouraged that no one seems to be paying attention.  Most people are invested in their own interactions, I think, confidently, wondering what the big deal is anyhow.  You lift my skirt, putting my ass on display, and I feel a rush.  You continue to knead it in your fists, and my pussy aches to be touched next.  Luckily, you let me have it.  
You encourage me to get on top, so that I straddle you, standing over you with a heel digging into the couch on either side of your lap.  With my skirt lifted up over my hips, you pull my pussy towards your face, as I relax onto it.  I feel your warm, wet tongue probes my folds, and I feel myself drip onto your cleanly shaven face.  I see you unzip your fly beneath me, and begin to openly stroke yourself as you suck me.  You smack my ass suddenly, loudly.  If they weren't looking before, they most certainly are now.  
You continue to drive your face into my pussy, and in act of total abandon, I remove my shirt.  You reach up to grab my naked breasts, making me join the chorus, sending an ecstatic moan up into the room.  I feel the urge to bear down, as you mercilessly flick your tongue against my clit.  You want me to come.  You want me to come in front of all these people, and it strikes me both as incredibly hot, and painfully cruel.  
Knowing my weakness, one of your large fingers starts to probe my asshole, using the combination of lube and spit to coat them before going in.  I feel my face flush scarlet again, at the thought of someone, multiple people, watching me come.  I clench my eyes shut, feeling the flutter, but completely unable to stop it.  I groan wildly through gritted teeth, trying to stifle the sound of me coming all over your face.  In a public place.

"You've been a good girl tonight, Slut," you say out the car window, after you drop me off at my apartment.  
"Thank you, Sir," I respond obediently.  I want to ask when we can do it again, which club we'll try next... So many ideas flood my mind.  But, I know a good sub shouldn't ask questions, so I just bite my lip, and wave goodbye.  I see your car turn the corner, and suddenly, it's gone.  

sex assistant.

Obviously, my pussy would ache and yearn at the sight of you fucking someone else.

I picture myself made to stand at attention beside the bed, with my hands clasped behind my back.  I wear a sexy secretary outfit, complete with thigh high stockings, a low cut collared shirt, and glasses.  I think the muscles in between my legs would clench sympathetically, each time I watch your slippery member disappear between her glistening folds.  My shaved mound would moisten uncomfortably, begging to be touched, and I would keep adjusting my weight, squeezing my thighs together, trying to stop it from dripping down my leg.  I think, at the same time, I would feel ashamed and embarrassed to watch, as if I shouldn't be intruding on your intimate moment.  To be ignored, and not asked to join in, would turn my face and chest scarlet with awkwardness.  My eyes would keep finding your two writhing bodies, even when I tried to look away.  My gaze would lower towards my stocked feet, wishing that I could be wearing the exotic heels adorning the dainty feet of your lover.  My eyes would wander upwards, seeing flashes of flesh, then darting immediately away.  My hands would writhe behind my back, wanting to touch the skin, the breasts, the cock, my own pussy.

  

"Karen?"  Finally I hear my name.  Maybe you want me to join in after all.  Perhaps you felt badly making me stand here for so long.    Maybe I've done such a good job being patient and quiet, that I deserve a reward.  "More lube, please.  And hurry."

"Yes sir."  I retrieve the bottle from the cabinet, and squirt a liberal amount onto your throbbing dick.  My mouth is partially open, wanting to taste it so very badly.

"Thank you.  Now, back to your corner."  I obediently comply.  Little do you know that pleasing you and your lover is all the reward I need.  

good boy.

Let me describe a scenario for you.

I have you undress and sit in the chair beside my bed, while I lovingly clasp your wrists together, behind the back of the chair, with the black silk ropes I reserve for special occasions.  While I fasten your hands, I lean in to your ear so that you can feel my warm breath tickle your earlobe.  I tell you that I want you to come inside me like a good boy, but that you have to wait until I've gotten myself off first. You tilt your head so that you expose your neck to me, hoping that my lips grace the soft skin there, but I remain diligent in my knot tying, wanting assurance that you couldn't reach for your own cock even if you tried.

I undress in front of you, the restraints already tightening against your wrists, as you long to touch every inch of creamy white skin that I expose to you.  I retrieve my vibrator from the bedside table; a dick sized, purple latex phallus, which I tease you with as I slowly approach the chair, letting it graze my small, perky tits, making my nipples stand at attention.  I run one of my hands through your hair, stopping at the nape of your neck, while my other raises the dildo towards your lips.  You obediently lick your lips and open your mouth, the taste of silicone fresh on your tongue.  I look down at you, being such a good boy, and I feel my pussy twitch sympathetically, as if it was my dick you were taking into your mouth.  Yours starts to rise.  

Satisfied with the moisture accumulated on my vibrator, I withdraw the latex dick from your lips, and you immediately feel its absence, knowing that this is the last time you will be in physical contact with me.  Now, you must only watch, and longingly wait.  

I kneel on the bed in front you, just like in the picture I sent you, exposing my soft round ass, and puffy pussy lips, already glistening with desire.  As I place the pre-moistened vibrator between my legs, you observe my muscles immediately contract, hips tilting, thrusting towards it.  The buzzing sound of the toy is soon followed by moans of delight.  I bend deeper, letting my face rest on the sheets, giving you an even more immaculate view of my pussy and and asshole.  You see the opening of my ass clench and release, and I rock forward against the vibrator.  Then, you become extremely jealous, as the fake phallus probes my dripping pussy lips, ready to sink itself deep within me.

The dildo easily finds its way in, and I bob it into my pussy, only about halfway for now, coating its purple tip with my moisture.  You notice a bead of sweat break your hairline, and long to wipe it.  Your muscles flex, and erection begs to be soothed.

I push the toy deeper inside myself, as I release a groan up into the air.  My ass is working overtime now, muscles contracting and releasing, trying to sync up with the vibrations delivered by the dildo.  Your wrists strain against the ropes, ready to rip them to spreads to get to me.  Suddenly, I buckle forward, gasping, tense one moment and relaxed the next.  I remove the vibe from my pussy, still twitching, and exhale.  

Your mouth forms a saucy smile, ready now, to be released.  Your cock anxiously awaits my touch, and the warm wetness of my engorged pussy.  The past ten minutes has felt like a lifetime. "That's one," I exclaim, exasperated.  

"Usually I give myself three or four, when I'm alone."  

mistress leila.

She fastens me into the device, hog tying my feet to my hands, behind me.  I feel the cool metal of the table on my exposed belly, squished breasts, and warm face, which all rest against it.  

The machine around my pelvis doesn't naturally make contact with me; that is, with my pussy or ass, but if I tilt my pelvis forward, which is difficult considering the pose she has me in, then I feel both graze my sensitive flesh.  These two latex prongs, attached to the harness, both vibrate, as I can hear their buzz, and feel them slightly, when I rock my hips forward enough.  The temptation to do this is irresistible, even though I'm not usually a fan of anything touching my ass.  Mistress Leila, of course, has set it up this way, on purpose.  She intends to break me.
"Comfortable?"  She walks around me to deliver this saucy line, right to my face, winking, her heels clicking on the concrete floor.  "Now, darling," She says to me affectionately, taking my face in her delicate hand.  "Don't be cross with me.  I just want to open you up to a while new world of pleasure."
"Yes, Mistress."
"Shall I get the oil?"
"Yes, Mistress."  She takes the glass bottle, inverting it over my exposed ass, and I feel the cool liquid run between my ass cheeks, down to my pussy.  The coolness of it gives me goosebumps, sending a shiver through the core of me, and I feel my nipples harden against the table.  I long for Leila to touch me; rub it in a little, probe my crevices with those warm, womanly fingers, but she denies me that humanly pleasure.  Instead I feel it pool beneath me, and I instinctively thrust into the table, allowing the vibrating tendrils to momentarily and simultaneously make contact with my clit and ass.  I instantly shy away from their vibrations, unused to the one that so coyly tempts my asshole.
"Mmm," I hear her moan, watching the oil glisten off my flexing butt.  She, no doubt, must long to touch me, as well.  "That's right, my dear.  Don't be afraid of the harness.  It can give you so much pleasure."
"Yes, Mistress."
"Will you try it again for me?"
"Yes, Mistress," I answer obediently, but unsure of my ability to proceed.  Yes, I trust Leila with my body; she knows me better than anyone, yet the thought of anything entering me anally, is enough to make me clench.  But, I crave the clit vibrator so badly right now, and want her please her equally as much, that I ultimately concede to put myself in her hands.  Or rather, her harness.  I once again tilt my pelvis towards the table, hands and feet bound behind me.
"That's lovely, my pet," she coos, eyeing my bare ass cheeks tightening again.  I do it quickly, almost believing, through the sheer power of my will, that the anal probe won't be there the second time.  But, I feel it tickle my asshole again, and I retract almost as quickly.  "Try to linger there, my love. It's nothing to be afraid of.  I'm here with you, after all.  Aren't I?"
"Yes, Mistress." I have such strong feelings for her, such an immense build up of trust developed over the course of our sessions, that I'm willing to do almost anything for her.  Even if I have an aversion to it, I know that she is ultimately doing it for my own good.  I try again, feeling the now familiar sensation of the pulsating protrusion near my anal opening.  I let it stimulate me there, choosing instead to concentrate on the vibrator nearing my clit.  If I can just focus on the pleasant pulses emitting from my pussy, then I can almost bear the rest.  I surprise myself, by employing this, rotating my hips against the table again, and I almost forget about the anal probe.  My pussy's wetness mixes with the massage oil on the slippery surface of the table.  I test this theory again, thinking only about the sensual stimulation on my clit, and the anal vibe seems to fade into the background.  Not only does it eventually recede as I get used to the sensation, but after a half dozen thrusts or so, it almost seems to enhance the experience.  I hear moans release into the air, thinking at first that they belong to Leila, who is enjoying the delicious presentation before her.  But, after catching a glimpse of my mistress, I realize that they aren't coming from her lovely mouth at all, but from my own.
I let the anal vibrator enter me as I force my hips against the clitoral one, hands and feet bound and hindering, rather than facilitating.  Leila softly hums and crosses her arms, enjoying my sensual struggle.  I feel a bead of sweat drip down my temple, as I taste salt from my lip as well.  She's making me work for it, this time.  Equally bound by my respect for her as the corporeal restraints, I continue to thrust, secure in knowing that it's what she wants me do.  "That's it, my dear.  I'm not letting you go unless you come."
"Yes, Mistress."  I answer, allowing myself to finally feel the flutter of the urge to come.  With the probe in my ass, my instinct is to shy away from the feeling, but I remember Mistress Leila's desire for me to experience this new and intense pleasure, and I try to open myself up to it.  I relax my ass, allowing my hips to melt into the table, and therefore, the buzzing vibrator against my clit.  I feel myself buck, and cry out both muffled and echoed by the metal table.  I both tense and relax at the same time, welcoming everything to contract at once, from my ass, to my pussy, to my clitoris.

"See, my dear?  That's a good girl."  And, I do feel good, even if the process felt a bit foreign.  Very good, indeed.

my darling cuck hubby.

***This story has been removed due to publication with Stupid Fish Productions.  If you're interested in viewing this story, you can find it in the anthology, "Tonight, She's Yours." at http://www.amazon.com/Tonight-Shes-Yours-Cuckold-Fantasies-ebook/dp/B01ABHG2KI/ref=asap_bc?ie=UTF8*** 

SPICY TEASER:

"The underwear too, Cuck," the Bull states in an rumbling bass, calling my husband by a short form of the nickname, Cuck Hubby.  I watch him hesitantly slide the boxers over his hips, and kick them to the floor.  His white cock is already engorged and twitching, when Black Master cages him.  It's exactly how it sounds.  He takes a small cage, built specifically for cuckolding fetish enthusiasts, and fastens it over my hubby's small cock.  Not that I would call it that on any other day, but clearly I am getting into the role play as well.  This game is about satisfying a different kind of urge for my husband; one not entirely physical.  He won't need his cock while the Black Bull's here.

v-day BDSM.

We didn't really get anything for each other for Valentine's this year.

We went out to dinner the night before, and I had some old lingerie set aside to wear, but we never got around to it.  So, here we are, ready to go to bed.  I'm removing my clothes, as I sleep in the nude, and he suddenly smacks me on the ass.  I turn around to Nick, naked as well, sexily biting his lip.  

"Bend over."  Smiling to myself, I do as I'm told, elbows on the bed, thinking that it might be a happy Valentine's after all.  He smacks me again, and a warm feeling spreads through my pussy.  I want to touch myself, but wait to see if he'll command me again.  Face against the sheets, I hear him kneel behind me. Then, his face is in my ass.  He kisses my ass cheeks for a brief moment before diving in between them, vigorously licking my asshole.  I feel his saliva coat it, even dripping down towards my pussy, but I'm already getting wet before then.  The immediacy of the act has left me playing catch up, but it won't be long.  I love being dominated.  The desire for this type of aggressive play balances out the lack of physical foreplay.  

He performs analingus to exercise his control over me.  It's something that gives me mixed, intense feelings of both eroticism and embarrassment.  I hate that I love it.  To top it off, Nick stands, and orders me to kiss him afterwards.  His mouth is warm and wet, chin glistening with moisture.  

"Come taste your ass."  I rear up on my knees and he greedily takes my face into his hands, kissing me deeply on the mouth.  Both my ass and pussy are a wet, hot mess.  The sloppy feeling only adds to my shame.  He smacks me again, gripping my ass tightly in his fists.  

"Back on your elbows.  Show me that ass."  My breathing is becoming laboured with arousal.  It's a trial not to be able to express myself.  The sexuality is so pent up, that I crave any touch he'll give me.  A smack, a squeeze, a butt plug.  He spreads my cheeks, and spits in between them.  I moan wildly.  I thrive on being humiliated.  I feel the thick tip of the plug press against my asshole, and I let it in.  He pats it in place, the flared base snug against my opening.  

Nick kneels onto the bed now, to get a better angle.  He moves beside me, and reaches underneath me to touch my pussy.  His fingers move slickly over me, and I shudder, it feels so good.  He fingers my clit, and I'm so wet, it feels like I have lube on me.  I open my eyes, and his thick cock is right beside me now, right beside my face, and I can't help myself.  I lick my lips, and lean forward to take him into my mouth.  My hands remain on the bed, my weight into them, but my wet lips open to suck on the tip while he plays with me.  

Another smack.  But, right across the face, this time.  Not too hard, but enough to shock me into stopping what I'm doing. 

"Did I tell you to do that?"  I shake my head, no, feeling a smile spread across my face.  I press my face into the sheets, hiding it.  The correction gives me as much pleasure as if I got to complete the act.  I vow to try again.   

His fingers move over my pussy's folds, and he carefully removes the plug from my ass.  I groan as he does it, and long for something in its place.  He leans over to the bedside table, for what I can only guess is the lubricant, and his cock once again hovers in front of my face.  I can't contain it; I need to express my sex to him.  I wet my lips, opening them to take the plump tip into my mouth.  Success for a fleeting moment, as I enthusiastically suck on its head a couple times, then another smack.  

"Don't do anything unless I tell you to.  Understand?"

"Yes," I barely manage, through my intense arousal.  Fully smiling, now.  I remain bent over, face pressed against the bed.

"Now, open your ass."  He says, as I feel the cool, fresh lube coat its opening.  Nick deliberately takes his time, rubbing the outside, then pressing the lube into my ass.  The fact that he is above me, watching my asshole eat up the lube the whole time, drives me absolutely crazy with desire.  More taboo feelings of embarrassment.  He applies a bit more on his finger, and presses it inside.  His cock brushes the side of my face, and I like to think that he doesn't even notice, using all his concentration to play with my ass.  As if he gets all the pleasure he needs from seeing me do this.

I feel the plug enter me again; much easier this time.  Nick watches my ass devour the it, pressing it into place.  His hand is back beneath me, fingers sliding over my pussy, while his other rubs the outside of my ass, around the base of the toy.  Oh, God.  I feel myself bearing down, but his thick erection taunts me.  

"Baby, I want your cock in my mouth," I moan.

"You can have it, if you ask nicely."

"Can I suck your cock?"

"Say please."

"Please..." I whine.

"If you say the whole thing."

"Can I please suck your cock?"

"Yes," he replies, quickening the slick movements on my clit.  I wet my lips again, parting them to take him into my mouth.  He only need lean slightly forward, to give me his juicy erection.  It enters me, filling me completely, and I sigh in gratitude.  Rather than suck it, I simply hold it in my mouth, as he plays with my clit and ass.  I moan, mouth full of his cock, while I feel a bead of drool drip of my bottom lip.  Yes.  Fuck, fuck.  I feel it.  His fingers work steadily over me, slipping and sliding over my sensitive folds.  I picture him watching me as before.  Watching me, content in the pleasure of playing with his toy.  Making me his little plaything.  Oh, fuck.  Yeah.  Yeah, yeah, yeah!  

I groan beyond his cock, coming hard on his hand, a few fingers in which he thrusts into my pussy a couple times as I'm coming.   Everything is withdrawn, and I collapse onto my side.  

"Fuck baby!"

"Mmm.  Nice, baby?"  He asks, stroking my hair.

"I wasn't sure if you were going to let me have your dick."

"Mmm... well, you asked so nicely," he says, kissing me on the mouth.  

"I love you," I say.  

"Happy Valentine's," he responds.  It certainly is, I think to myself.  

undercover cop.

"You have to go in there," the Chief says, over the wail of blaring sirens.  Extra backup is being called.  It looks like things might get violent.

"I'm ready."  I say, also feeling that we need someone on the inside.  We need eyes.  And, not only that, but the perpetrator will not deal with our negotiator.  It has the potential to be a real publicity nightmare.  But hostage situations always are. 

"We need to swap you with a civilian," he continues.  "When he sends her out for food, you need to take her place."

"I understand."  Luckily, the perpetrator has covered most of their faces with duct tape.  From the online database, I'm a dead ringer for the bank manager.  And, he has chosen her as the liaison.  I've been trained to diffuse dangerous situations, but I'm not exactly a negotiator.  But, we can't waste this opportunity.  It may be our only chance to save the lives of these people, and apprehend the gunman. 

"You'll need to get changed quickly.  Tape your hands and mouth.  And, we'll get a wire on you, too.  Are you ready?"

"Yes, sir."  I say, already removing my police cap, and following an assistant to the surveillance trailer.  I get fitted for a very small wire, but we can't risk a weapon.  We watch the main camera, holding our breath, and then, she emerges.  She jogs towards us, tears streaming down her face, with a police man on either side of her.  I greet her, and talk quickly.  The assistant removes the tape from her wrists and mouth, as I explain.

"Gina, you're safe, now.  You're not going back in there.  I know it's hard to ask of you right now, but we need you to remove your clothing, so that I can stand in your place.  Do you understand?"  She nods, mouth free of obstruction, but still unable to speak.  "Quickly, now."

I emerge from the trailer in a minute flat, and all eyes are on me.  I don't need to do much to fake the nervous energy required for this to be convincing.  I'm quickly escorted to the door, hands and mouth taped, the plastic bags filled with food draped over my bounded arms.  They open the door, and suddenly I'm on the inside.

I discreetly scan the dark room.  The blinds are drawn, eight frightened hostages, bound and sitting on the ground against the main counter.  The gunman stops his pacing, and greets me anxiously.  His eyes have trouble looking in one place for long, his hair is dishevelled, and his face is pockmarked.  He looks at me weirdly, and I get nervous, but then I realize that that's just the way he looks.  He pats me down with one hand, his other on the cocked gun.  He takes his time, spending time on my ass and breasts, which he gropes with his mouth hanging open.  When he appears to be done, I raise my arms to indicate the lunch bags, and he rips the tape from my mouth.  "What took so long?"

"They had to get the food from a trailer," I reply, cowering.

"Fucking cops.  Well, it's not exactly like we had a reservation!"  He jokes.  I fake a small laugh, but I manage to let my fear show through.  He looks at me a second, seeing it.  Then, immediately returns to his bravado.  "Fucking cops, am I right?"  The weary group nods.  "Let's eat!"  He gestures with his gun, for me to go to the group.  I help each civilian up, and remove the tape from their mouths and hands.  Five employees, and three customers.  Each employee's eyes bug out when they see my face up close.  I only realize now that they might be a liability, in knowing that I'm not their manager, Gina.

I hand out the sandwiches, one by one.  A young blonde woman, who we identified as Joyce Gaines, speaks to me in hushed tones.  "Are you... with the police?"  I don't respond, but I shake my head slightly, trying to tell her with my eyes to stop.  "You've got to do something.  Some of us have children."

"You!"  The gunman shouts, and my heart jumps in my chest.  "Sugar Tits!"  He gestures with his gun for me to come over, and I do.  The perpetrator pulls me aside.  "Listen," he says.  "You know I'm a good guy, right?"  I nod, relieved that he didn't see Joyce and I talking.  "I want this to end, just like you guys do."  I nod again.  I venture a response.

"So do the police."

"Hah!  The police.  They just want to fuck this up for me, you know?"

"Well.  Maybe.  But, I think they just want everyone to be safe, most of all."

"Everyone's safe.  You guys are doing great, right?  I got you food, didn't I?"  He says to the hostages.  They silently nod.

"Thank you for that.  It means a lot to me."  He looks at me a second, and I feel like we connect.

I don't have a plan yet, but I know that I have to form a relationship with him to execute it.  Lucky, Gina did most of the work for me.  He seems to trust her, already. 

"Alright, everyone! Dinner break's over.  You!  Sweet Cheeks," he says to me.  "Get everyone taped back up."  I grab the roll of duct tape, and carefully re-apply it to everyone's mouths and hands.  He gunman paces, hand on the trigger.  The employees look at me as if they have something to say, but they can't articulate it fast enough.  One by one, I lay it across their trembling lips, and swallow the emotions bubbling up inside of me.

"We've got to get out of here," the same blonde woman pleads before I tape her, and I shoot daggers with my eyes to shut up.  She's going to blow my cover.  And then, all our lives are in danger.  The last thing we need is a problem that will escalate the situation.  I bring the roll to the perpetrator, and he tapes my hands together, in front of me.  Thankfully, he leaves my mouth.  It's my only weapon, at this point.

"Everybody good?"  He asks, sitting on the counter.

"Yes.  They're all very grateful, I'm sure.  Just too scared to say so.  Especially the women."

"Haha, well!  Nothing to be scared of, here," he says, patting my back.  "Except me, of course," he flirts, looking me up and down.  I just eye the gun in his lap, finger still on the trigger.  "The only thing we have to really worry about is who's out there," he continues enthusiastically, pointing towards the window.  I nod.

"They'd probably leave you alone if you gave up the hostages," I try.

"And then they'd come in and shoot me up!  Fuck that."

"Not unless you threatened harm to anyone."

"They're threatening to harm me!!  Fuck 'em.  Fuck all of them," he grumbles, standing and walking away.  He immediately starts pacing again, and some of the women shift out of his way.

I weigh my options.  He doesn't seem to want to talk.  I could try and disarm him, but he keeps an awfully tight grip on that gun, and I'm not completely confident I could overpower him, if it came to a struggle.  Especially with my hands taped.  He would have to be in a pretty relaxed state, though, to be able to grab it right from under him.  If I could distract him long enough, kept him in another room, perhaps; the team could potentially evacuate the hostages completely.  Even more risky.  He likes Gina.  I have to work that somehow.  I think of the way he looked at me, stroking his gun like a phallus.  I gulp, realizing what I might have to do.  

I wait a couple hours through stone silence, other than the perpetrator rambling to himself.  With him not speaking to the police, it's a total stalemate.  They're all depending on me, at this point.  "Any chance we could get a washroom break?"

"What?  Oh, I guess."

"I can take the ladies," I offer.  He considers it.  This whole operation is a joke, with only one gunman.  All of us having to be under his watch the whole time.  He has to trust me, if he wants this to go on any longer.  He suddenly looks me dead in the eyes, backs me against the counter, and raises his gun to my throat.  Two of the women gasp.  

"You better not try anything, Hot Ass.  Understand?"  I nod.  "Good," he breathes, but doesn't back down.  The gun's barrel moves down my shirt, in between my breasts, to one of my nipples.  "Bang!"  He suddenly yells, then breaks out laughing.  I catch my breath, then help the ladies up, one by one.

"What are you going to do?"  One of them hisses, when we get to the bathroom. 

"What do any of us do?"

"She's a cop, lady!  And I mean, when the hell...!"

"You are?"

"Do you have a gun?"

"So, what's the plan?"

"I..."  They begin to get louder, chirping about this newfound information.  Unfortunately, all the bank's customers were women, so now all eight hostages are aware of my identity.  This is a huge liability, and I've got to do something fast, before my cover is blown.  "Quiet!!" I wave my bound hands frantically, whisper yelling.  "You all need to be patient.  These things aren't resolved easily.  Everything will be okay.  I promise.  You just have to trust me."  

Night falls, and the hostages are beginning to fall asleep, snoring through their noses.  Perhaps the knowledge of my identity relaxed some of them.  The only thing keeping anyone awake is the perpetrator's frantic pacing, so I softly call out.  "Maybe you'd like to sit down," I offer, gesturing to the counter beside me.  My hands are still tied in front of me. "You've had a long day." 

"Huh?  Yeah, I guess," he says, sitting.

"Is there anything I can do?"

"Wouldn't you like to know," he insinuates, laughing at his joke.  I throw on my most genuine smile.  It's now or never.

"You know, I've noticed you looking at me."

"Haha.  Really..."

"Yeah.  And... I've been thinking about it."

"Thinking about what?"

"You."

"Really.  And what do you think?"

"I think... that maybe we could go to the next room..."  Practically drooling, he has to bring himself back to reality for a minute.  But, he's just unhinged enough that I think I can convince him.  

"But, what about...?"

"Everyone's sleeping.  They'll never even notice we're gone."  He sits there, tapping his finger uncontrollably on the trigger of the gun.  He clearly has some anxiety he needs to relieve.  "I'll be real quiet," I add.  He raises him eyebrows, suggestively.  Come on.  Come on, buddy.  He inspects the hostages for a moment more, and thankfully, no one even stirs.  

"Alright, Peaches.  But, we'll have to be quick."  

We sneak into Gina's office, not far away from the group, and I hope that my peers on surveillance are ready.  The gunman leaves the door open slightly, and it makes me nervous.  How long can I keep him distracted?  And to what end?  I wish so badly that I had an open line of communication with the force.  I position myself so that I'm against Gina's desk, facing the front windows.  

"I knew you wanted it," he snickers, bringing me out of my head.    

"Yeah?  I was hoping you'd notice."

"I saw the way you were checking out my package."  His gun.  When I was looking at his gun.  His hand is still on it, even now.

"Mmm, yeah.  I was wondering what you were packing down there," I flirt.  My bound hands grab the front of his shirt, bringing him close.  "Any chance you can untie my these?  I might need my hands, if you know what I mean..."

"Not a chance, Girl.  Besides, I like you this way," he says, lifting up my skirt.  I swallow and look away, as he ogles my pussy.  He could almost burn a hole through the front of my underwear, he's looking so hard.  The buckle of his belt jingles, as something catches my eye outside.  The team.  Yes!  I see them crouching, gathering around the door, silently signalling to each other.  Now more than ever, it's important for me to keep the perpetrator distracted.  And to try to snag the gun.

"Do you like what you see?"  I say, sexily.  

"Oh yeah, baby.  I've been checking out that fine ass since you walked in here."

"Mmm, really?"

"Bend over, and show it to me."  I turn around, and place my elbows on the desk.  The only thing I don't like, is that I can't see the front door anymore.  I peek over my shoulder, but I can't see anything now that I'm bent over.  "Show me that ass," he says, sleazily.  He then surprises me, by ripping down my underwear.  My bare ass is exposed now, and I'm thankful that my team doesn't have cameras in here, after all.  I take a peek at the gun, which he still grips on to.  I'm hoping he puts it down when he undoes his pants.  

Suddenly, he smacks my ass.  I groan sexily, keeping my eye on the front door.  I think I see it open, and I close my eyes in thanks.  I wiggle my hips suggestively, as if I can't wait, and I hear a zip.  My eyes dart to the gun, still in his hands.  Then, I feel his dick.  Probing my opening, trying to find wetness where there is none.  He thrusts his hips forward a bit, his dick pushing against my pussy, but it won't go.  He leans forward, the hand with the gun on the desk, now.  His weight in the hand, but the gun still beneath it.  Out of the corner of my eye, I see movement.  People exiting the building?  Please, please hurry.

"Give it to me, big boy," I taunt, frightened that he might turn before they finish evacuating.  I pour it on thick.  "Give me the big cock I've been staring at all day."  I feel the head push against me again, and I tilt my hips to help maneuver it in.  I want to reach between my legs to spread myself, but the tape around my wrists prevents me.  His erection kind of pops in, past the opening, then my natural moisture helps lubricate it. 

"Mmm, you are wet, aren't you?  I knew it."

"Oh yeah.  Of course I am, baby."  I glance back, and all I see is the tops of heads.  The gunman starts thrusting, groaning, slobbering, bent over me, and I can feel his dirty dick moving in and out of my pussy.  

"You did want it, didn't you?  You fucking slut.  You got just want you fucking wanted, didn't you?"

"Oh yeah.  Give it to me."

"I could tell when I saw you.  That you had a hungry.  Fucking.  Cunt."  He punctuates each word with a hard thrust, pushing his weight harder onto my back, bending me further, splaying me out on the desk.  I can't see anything now.  My face is pressed completely against the wood of the desk, with him huffing, heaving on top of me.  He whispers, spitting, into my ear, as he fucks.  "I could tell when you first came in with dinner."

Wait.  Dinner.  I first came in with dinner, but Gina...

"I could tell when you looked at me, that we had an instant connection..."

Gina was here all day.  He knows I'm not Gina.  Then...

"You really look like her.  You really do.  But, I know Gina a little better than you think."

He knows I'm a cop.  He fucking knows.  The bastard.

"But, I have to tell you.  You're a much better lay," he whispers.  At that, I smash the back of my skull against his forehead, and standing, give him a fierce elbow in the stomach.  But, when he straightens, he's still got the gun.  And, he points it at me, holding his pants up with the other hand.  With my wrists bound, and my underwear around my thighs, I don't stand much of a chance.  I'm so angry, that I feel myself begin to shake.  I don't know what comes over me, but I let out a scream, lunge towards him, and raise my fists like a club.  

A shot.  I hold my breath, close my eyes, stopped in my tracks, but feel no pain.  I look up to see the gunman stiffen, then fall to his knees.  Blood suddenly pours from a small hole in his chest, then he falls completely forward on the ground, the gun bouncing away from him.  I look up to see three of my peers, guns raised.  I breathe out.  Someone comes with a blanket.

"Did you get her?"

"Gina?  No.  She was long gone.  But there are alerts out everywhere for her," the Chief replies.   

"Good." I rock in my office chair.  An awkward silence follows.  The gunman's inside woman.  How he was able to do it alone.  We ruined their entire plan, by a complete coincidence.  

"You saved eight civilians.  That's nothing to be upset about."

"Yeah," I say, offhandedly.  

"And, we got our man."

"Yes.  We did."

"Congratulations, officer."

"Thank you, sir."  

I turn my attention back to my paperwork, where I need to relay every last detail.