Binge Your Life 2

“Go to your room,” Jake said. He was standing close to me. So close that the silk scarf he held brushed against my arm. “Do as you’re told, Rita.”

I obeyed.

When I was in the middle of my bedroom, Jake followed me. He didn’t move a step before then. It was like he was waiting, watching, evaluating everything I did before he rewarded me with more of his attention. With a small smile.

“You’ll have to be punished for what you’ve done,” he said. “That’s the life you agreed to. Reward and punishment. All depending on how you act.” He looked down at my high heels. “What you want. It’s okay to like being punished, Rita. I certainly enjoy punishing you. Those are nice heels.”

He did that often, zig-zagging what he was saying, forcing me to forget what I was going to reply and have to respond to the last thing he’d said. That was only fair, of course. I wasn’t here for conversation. I was here to be punished.

“Thank you, master.”

“Do you feel powerful when you wear them? Those heels making you tower over other women? They can’t be comfortable, so it must be something else you get out of them.”

My mouth felt dry. I couldn’t lie to him. I could act the brat, solicit the punishments that I craved, but if I ever lied, we were done. I was only allowed to be naughty—not bad.

“They do, master. They make me more appealing… they highlight my legs and ass. Men pay attention to those and they want me. When they can’t have me, that gives me power.”

“And you enjoy it,” Jake said.

I nodded tightly. “I like when men look at me.”

“Men like me?”

I bit my lip. “You. And others. Men I’m not attracted to. Men I’d never touch or look at twice. I like knowing that I’m an impossible dream to them. A thing that people want like they want to cure cancer or bring about world peace.”

He arched an eyebrow. “You really are a kinky bitch… tell me, are you allowed to feel powerful here?”

“No, master.”

“Do you think I’ll stop looking at you, just because you take away those towering heels?”

“No, master.”

“Then take them off.”

I did as he commanded.

Jake led me to a big leather chair—the one he’d been so delighted that I already had when he’d taken over my apartment.

Not been invited to. Commandeered.

The back of it was even with my hips. He bent me over it and looped the scarf around my wrists. He knotted them fast, expertly. The silk was softly perfect on my skin, but I didn’t want it. I wanted his rough, callused fingers.

Jake petted my hair. The gesture couldn’t have been more condescending, but I felt myself swooning. His attention was so focused on me. I couldn’t help myself—I gorged on it.

“It’s good that you waited until I told you to before you stepped out of them. I know how bad you want to please me. But it’s even more important that you do as you’re told.”

“Yes, master.”

“I’m almost tempted to let you out of your punishment.” There was a twinkle in his eyes as he said it. He knew the reaction this would get from me, though that’s not why I gave it to him. “Would you like that, Rita? We could go watch TV… I could give you a footrub… or maybe you could just catch up on some sleep. I know you work so hard…”

I told myself I wouldn’t cry. Then, almost immediately, I started sobbing. “Please, master… I don’t want that… not any of that… I want to be a good girl. I can’t be a good girl if you don’t punish me when I’m bad!”

He wiped the tears from the orbit of my eyes. “You really are pretty when you cry, Rita. Like some Greek goddess out of myth. I want to find a sculptor to commemorate that beautiful sadness of yours.”

“I’m glad my tears please you, master,” I retched out, knowing how ridiculous it was that I was sobbing over the prospect of not being disciplined, but my body wanted what it wanted. Especially when what it wanted was so close. “You can make me cry harder…”

He pulled another, longer scarf through the one around my wrists. He tied that to the front legs of the chair. I was bent over the back of it, pulled forward by the tension on my bound arms, which stretched as far as they could. Then he crouched to tie my ankles to the legs in back of the chair.

My tears kept up their flow, down my cheeks and off my jaw. I was frustrated too. My body was getting its desire, but so slowly. No such thing as instant gratification. Not unless I really made Jake happy with me.

“I really can, can’t I?” Jake mused. “I hadn’t realized how receptive you were to all this. If anything, I would’ve thought you’d be the one doing this to someone else.”

I cried harder than ever; the thought that I had pleased him with my kinkiness was intoxicating, burrowing right into my emotions and making them too big to keep behind my mask. “Would that please you, master? Would you like to see me whip someone else for you? I can find someone, someone pretty… I’ll punish them good for you…”

“No,” Jake said at length. “Your heart wouldn’t be in it. What you really enjoy is this: your head down, your ass up. Absolutely powerless. I want you to enjoy yourself, Rita. Aren’t you enjoying yourself?”

My ankles were firmly bound. I was stretched over the back of the chair like a sacrificial victim tied down to an altar. My panties were still on—I felt them as Jake ran a hand over the plump fullness of my ass.

His touch pressed my own satin underwear along my skin. The fabric was charged with eroticism… him touching it touching me… knowing that he was pleased with me looking this way, feeling this way…

“No, master, but I’ll enjoy what I’m waiting for.”

“You’ll enjoy being punished?” he cooed, mock-chagrinned.

“I’ll enjoy knowing I’m not a bad girl anymore… that I’m a good girl… I want to be such a good girl…”

“Would you enjoy being whipped?”

“It doesn’t matter what I enjoy. Just so long as you’re pleased. Whatever satisfies you always fulfills me.”

I could tell Jake was smiling. “I don’t believe in whips. I’m old-fashioned that way.”

His hand came off my ass. Then it came back again—HARD. The smack resonated with heat and echoing sound and the smarting impression of his palm left behind on my flesh. It made me feel like a piece of meat.

I writhed and whined. Another hit and I jerked, every muscle in my body tensing with the pain then relaxing. The hurt was sharp and poignant, but what came after lulled me away from any bitterness or resistance.

Piece of meat.

Piece of meat.

Warmth spread over my sex and quivered on the insides of my thighs. Yes, he could hit me. He could do whatever he wanted to me. Every time he spanked me it was a reminder that I was his.

“Such a nice, nice ass,” Jake said, rolling his hand along the slope my buttock made as it poured its way down to my thigh.

He found the elastic of my panties. Then he toyed with it. I felt the taut band sliding down along the inflamed skin his blows had left reddening my ass. Then he kissed each bared swell.

I quaked. Wetness leaked from my pussy. I panted like a dog. Jake spanked me again, harder than before. I sucked in pain. As the sensation left me, I felt Jake’s lips again. He was brushing them along the redness of my spanked ass. The roughness of his tongue slipped out of his mouth and I felt it on my sensitive skin. It was excruciating.

“Are you going to spank me again?” I whined.

“No. I think you’ve learned your lesson.”

“Yes, yes… for now.”

I felt exhausted. I tried to hold still, but it felt almost soothing to work my mound against the back of the chair. Jake seemed to allow this minor disobedience—maybe he would punish me for it later.

For now, he untied my feet and my wrists. I stood up, but then he pulled my hands behind my back, tying them again. The silk was soft and felt delicate, but it was as strong as brass wire.

“What happens now?” I asked, a little jolt in my voice betraying my excitement..

Jake knelt me down in front of the chair, on my knees, facing it. He stayed where he stood, behind me, and I listened to him undress.

The sight of the empty chair called to me. I could picture him in it, his cock right in front of my face. I squirmed. My panties were still around my thighs and I wasn’t comfortable with them there.

Jake understood. I couldn’t see him, but I felt him reach down and grasp my panties. Then I heard a rip. After that, I was naked.

“I don’t think you should wear panties anymore,” he said, caressing my stomach. “They just get in the way. And you’ve waited long enough for this, haven’t you?”

***

Liv came back to herself, gasping. Her lips felt swollen, stung like she’d been kissed hard. She was used to intense experiences after she ate a brain—murder, and the passionate emotions leading up to it, couldn’t very well be anything but intense. Yet what Rita had been through was…

Wait, what am I doing? She thought, pulling her hand back from the statue and fleeing the room, her shorts and bra and skin all feeling too tight on her. She wanted to rip off her clothes—rip off her own body and maybe get back to what it was Rita had been feeling. It’d been so intoxicating, even overpowering.

Liv tried to concentrate on the other exhibits, but her mind kept wandering back to the naked brave and the man it had reminded her… or rather, Rita… of. Jake. He’d had such a big cock, if Rita’s imagining—or Liv’s memories of Rita’s imagination—was right. So hard and overwhelming to Rita’s enthralled senses, her enslaved lust.

Liv wondered if Rita had gotten him; she hoped Rita had. As bad as she was, Rita had died so young. She deserved some pleasure before the end.

Liv left the museum long before she’d planned to. She couldn’t keep her mind off Rita’s situation. She was tempted, more and more strongly, to go back to that brave and hope it would trigger another flashback. But she wouldn’t allow herself to. Those memories had nothing to do with Rita’s death. Liv wouldn’t use them like a letter to the Penthouse forum.

She came out into the sunlight, stunned momentarily by the feel of hot air settling on her clammy skin. She searched for the sight of Peyton, but missed her at first. The brunette wasn’t alone anymore; she was part of a couple. A young man sat beside her on the fountain, laughing with her. Peyton was pressed up against him. So close she was almost in his lap.

“Back already?” Peyton asked, giving Liv a cat-with-cream grin at how she’d found a man while her friend had been enriching her mind.

Liv couldn’t see the man’s face. It was in her neck, in her long dark hair. Liv felt a sense of envy, not directed at him or her, but just for the closeness they had. That easy intimacy that was free to become something more. She would’ve liked to have a man that close to her, or even to be that close to Peyton…

“I felt… faint,” Liv said lamely. “I didn’t know you were seeing anyone.”

Said in a tone of total bullshit, because she knew Peyton had been going out with someone for at least three weeks, mixing it in with her usual overwork. Peyton’s usually impeccable schedule had slipped enough—with late nights and broken dates—that Liv knew she had to be stealing time with someone. And if it weren’t a boy, she would’ve told Liv.

So either she was stepping out on him or this was him; the guy who’d been stealing her Peyton away.

“This is Jake,” Peyton said. “He’s a lawyer, but don’t hold it against him. Jake, this is Liv. She’s my soulmate. Sorry if you were hoping it was you.”

“No worries,” Jake said, giving Liv a look. “Your soul looks like it’s in good hands with her.”

And Liv felt herself spiraling, going under again. If it were just being introduced to him, maybe she could’ve avoided it, but with the way he was looking her up and down, she was right back in Rita’s shoes. And just as quickly, she was in Rita’s head… flashing back to her relationship with the man who was now dating her best friend.

***

After all the hours of texting back and forth, I didn’t hear his real voice for long. He gave me directions to his house and then hung up. My palms were moist. I would’ve ran to my car if I weren’t in high heels. We’d agreed to meet at eleven o’clock. I got there at ten fifty. I rang the bell.

“Yes?” His voice again. I heard it from a small intercom just over the button. It was more tinny than it had been over the phone, but I liked it even more now.

“My name is Gilda… I’m here for the job interview?”

“You’re early,” he replied.

“I thought it was better than being late.”

“And?” he prompted.

“And I was eager,” I admitted.