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Heat rushed between my legs, my arousal intensifying as I placed my kisses lower, towards the dusty sole of his boot. The taste of dirt was on my lips but even that didn’t dissuade me. I pressed my forehead against his ankle as I kissed, utterly lost in that strange world of leather and laces and my own degradation.
There was a tap on my head, something pressing me down and keeping me there. Within moments I recognized the textured feeling of a boot sole, and realized Manson had pressed his opposite foot on top of my head. I felt him shift, and knew he had leaned forward again by the nearness of his voice. “Use your tongue. Get it clean.”
I wanted to beg him, Please, please don’t make me, please don’t make me do it, I’ll be good, please… My heart was racing, my breath quickening, my arousal an ache that spread throughout my body and set all my nerves alight. I didn’t want to say no, I just wanted to beg. But I couldn’t manage any words with my face pressed down on his boot.
Obediently, I stuck out my tongue and traced it along the leather. Smooth, pleasing, and almost tasteless except for that heady scent that I was now inhaling through my mouth. I licked around the toe, just above the sole, over my lipstick prints, up beside his laces. I savored every inch. I felt filthy, vile, completely disgusting...
I felt on fire, alive, utterly consumed in the high. I laughed from the giddiness. Licked and laughed, then laughed harder. I wanted to touch myself so badly…
“Head up.”
His opposite foot no longer held me down. Slowly, begrudgingly wrenching myself from whatever bizarre pit of a headspace I’d fallen into, I raised my head. Still on my knees, I stared at him and waited.
“Thirsty?” He held out the beer bottle. My mouth was dry, and I reached for it eagerly, only to have him pull it back. “Uh-uh, no hands.” I put my hand down slowly, uncertainly. “Open your mouth, angel.”
I didn’t even hesitate to obey. It was as if the world had fallen away and all that was left was his gaze and the sound of his voice. He filled his mouth with beer - filled it, but didn’t swallow. He leaned forward...I knew exactly what he was going to do. I didn’t flinch. I didn’t back away.
I didn’t close my mouth.
He leaned close, so close our lips nearly touched. He spit the beer into my mouth, all of it, not spilling a drop. It was still cold, refreshing on my tongue, but it tasted...it tasted like him. I knew it was his taste, I remembered it, and it sent a shudder of pleasure throughout my entire body. My arousal dripped as I gulped it down.
On screen, an unlucky teenager begged the killer not to stab him, his screams blasting from the speakers.
“That’s much better, angel,” Manson said. “If only you were this obedient all along, I wouldn’t have to punish you now.”
I was horrified that I was going to leave a wet spot on the carpet. Every time he mentioned “punishment,” it got worse. I couldn’t handle it anymore. I was too turned on, too humiliated, too desperate.
“Give me my thong back,” I said quickly. “Please.”
He frowned, still leaning close. “Why?”
“Just give it back!” I hissed, shifting my position uncomfortably.
“I’m going to need a reason, Jess,” Manson said calmly. I clenched my fists. I wanted to slap him, to whine at him, to breakdown into more useless, pathetic begging. What had he done to me? How had he managed to reduce me to this?
“I...I’m…” The words garbled up in my throat. I couldn’t say it, it was too embarrassing! But there was that wicked little voice again, whispering, egging me on. Go on, say it, spill it all. Let him know what a pathetic, desperate little whore you’ve become.
Manson’s fingers wrapped around my chin, forcing my gaze up. I couldn’t hide my blush, or the desperation of my expression. He said nothing, just locked me into that dark, creepy gaze. He didn’t even need to command me to speak; it just came spilling out.
“I’m wet and I’m afraid I’m going to drip on the carpet, okay?” My own gasp cut me off, a choked sound, full of shock and horror at my boldness. Except I wasn’t bold, not really: I was squirming, hot and humiliated.
“Is that so?” The smile that spread across his face only made it worse. I hadn’t noticed before how sharp his canines were, like little fangs that could pierce into my skin. “Oh, Jess. Poor little angel. I’ve made a sinner out of you. Enjoying your punishment so much it’s making you wet. So cute.”
I wanted to look away. Instead I began whimpering again, staring at him helplessly, squeezing my legs together.
“Now I have to make your punishment even worse,” he said, his voice mockingly sad. “I can’t have you enjoying yourself that much.” He patted his lap. “Come here. Sit.”
My eyes widened. Here it was, the moment I’d dreaded and desired. That little voice inside my head was still cheering cruelly, taunting me, You’re gonna get punished, you’re gonna get punished!
All my sassy protests died in my throat. All my thoughts of coming out of this with my pride still intact were shoved aside by vivid fantasies of Manson spanking me, his palm making contact with my bare ass again and again, until I was crying uncontrollably as he laughed.
I had no doubt that was what my punishment would be. It could be nothing else, and it granted Manson the opportunity to hurt me, humiliate me, and make my arousal worse all at once. His eyes were wide, bright in the dim light from the flashing TV. His white eye seemed to glow. Haunting music played over the speakers, and I crawled up onto his lap, my back to him.
His hands gripped my hips and he leaned forward, pressed against my back, and said softly in my ear, “Do you understand what a safeword is?”
I gulped. “Yes.”
“Yours is Red. Call it if you need to. Although, now that I’m seeing how much of a little masochist you are, I don’t think you’ll be calling it. You know what you deserve.”
“I’m not a masochist!” I hissed. But the words felt false. The wetness between my legs was getting worse as my fear over my punishment intensified. If I didn’t move soon, I’d get a wet spot on his pants, and I knew he had no intention of letting me go anywhere. I tried to squeeze my legs together, but it didn’t make a difference since I was straddling his lap. As I moved, I felt the hardness in his crotch and froze. He was enjoying this, really enjoying it - god, he felt big.
“You’ve been a bad girl, Jessica,” he whispered harshly. “A very bad girl. You deserve to be punished.”
I held my breath so I wouldn’t start gasping. His words squirmed inside my brain and straight down to whatever nerves controlled my cunt. The heat between my legs felt unreal, too extreme to be a reasonable reaction to simply hearing someone speak. Before I truly realized what I was doing, I pressed myself against his crotch, so that his hard dick made contact with my aching clit and I moved against him, claiming the only physical stimulation I’d had all night. I nearly moaned just from that tiny moment of pleasure, the contact so good that it sent a shudder all the way up my spine.
Manson’s hand gripped into my hair, right at the nape of my neck.
“Naughty angel. Very naughty. You really think that’s what you deserve right now?” He pulled me back, his mouth close against my ear and he whispered. “You deserve to have your clit aching all night. You deserve to have duct tape slapped over it so you can’t touch while I crush your pretty little pussy under my boot.”
