Breaking You In [MF, Fsub]

You stood at the front door walkway, head down and eyes peering up alluringly. I came in close, we kissed, and you pulled me in tight.

Earlier in the evening we had been out dancing, moving and shuffling and grinding together on that floor in rhythm to loud beats blasting from the DJ’s speakers. But now we danced again, our lips gently touching and parting and tongues flicking in and around, tentatively exploring.

It was our seventh date across four weeks. I took it slow, applied no pressure. On our first date, after a fine evening out, as we strolled to your apartment I reached out and simply took your hand. You glanced down and tossed your hair, then clasped fingers back and smiled. We reached your front door and I didn’t even try to kiss. I simply faced you, held both hands, looked deeply in your eyes, and asked for another date.

Of course you’d said yes.

But now you are persistent. Your lips needy. Your groin pressed against mine as I stroke your back along the satin of your evening gown.

“Come in,” you say in a husky voice.

“Are you sure?” I reply, drawing a lock of hair across your cheek away from those gorgeous eyes.

“Never more so.”

Inside we go. Up the main stairwell to the front door of your apartment and your hand trembles as you try to insert the key. Turning the knob my palm goes to your rump and you stand straight, eyes bulging. Then you turn and a wicked grin erupts along your lips. There will be no foibles about offering a drink or getting settled before getting nasty. You know that I comprehend exactly what you want and my forwardness makes sure of it.

I’d seen the apartment before. Last Sunday we’d watched a movie there together, arm in arm on the couch, me gently stroking your neck, wondering – hoping – when the time came if you would generously tilt you head and acquiesce. That week we had had been getting close and I knew soon I’d have to confront the inevitable. Would you say yes?

But I had patience, timing is everything. Of course timing without preparation leads to failure as well. Fortunately, I had brought it with me.

By your hand, you led me straight to your bedroom. Once inside, you turned, bit your lip, and let out a nervous giggle. Then you reached down to the hem of your dress and began lifting, but I shook my head no. You stopped, a quizzical expression hiding uncertainty and fear and doubt, as if wondering, ‘does he really want me?’

In answer, I hook the top of your dress with my finger and yank. Pulling the cloth, full cleavage and a bit of nipples flash until you come in close. Then, wrapping you with my arms, I hug tight and forcefully kiss, letting a hand wander down to the curve of your slender torso, fingers probing to the nape of your back and line of your behind. You must have no lingering doubts about whether I want you. Yes, of course I do!

But I also want more. You must know of this before we go further.

Our kiss breaks and we’re panting. You’ve put your hands to my chest while I stroke your cheek. You look up into my eyes with lust and I gaze back, steady and in control. Glancing down, you seem uncertain again.

I turn you so that your back faces me and lead you by the shoulders to a bureau at the corner. On it is littered your personal things, a hairbrush, perfume, cosmetics, and a few ponytail ties. I shove the items aside to make room for something else. A thing that will fill your belly with nervous dread and – I hope – expectant thrill. It waits coiled in my pocket, ready to wrap around you like a warm comforter on a chilly evening.

I take your wrists and put your palms on the bureau's surface. You glance down and then back up at me through the mirror, anxious of my intentions. You start to turn, wanting to face me. But I take your shoulders and hold you in place. Then you inhale and arch your back, bending forward to lean against the furniture, mouth agape. You think you know what I want. You don’t. Not yet.

I remove the item from my back pocket and place it before you on the bureau’s countertop. You gasp, turning to look at me with bulging eyes. You know what it is. You know what it means.

I’m good and hard and I press my cock against your backside, trousers against dress. You close your eyes and I reach out to stroke an ear, then gently pull you up to press your back against me. Your hands come off the bureau to reach behind but I take them by the wrist and put them back. You are not to remove them.

Understanding, your knees buckle and I steady you by your shoulders. Reaching up to the nape of your neck, I gently stroke exposed skin along where it will tightly should you acquiesce bind until my fingers travel round under your chin. You tip your head into my movement and hair flows across your shoulder, exposing an ear. My wandering fingers continue caressing just under that ear, and I toy with the lobe as a delicate bit of jewelry dangling off it flutters.

The other hand reaches around and I place it on your chest, a hard nipple pressing into my palm. Dread and thrill build within you and your pounding heart skips under my hand. You’re panting now, eyes down, staring at what I’ve placed before you. Biting your lip, I can see in the changing expressions as you consider the matter.

‘Should I do this?’ You seem to ask yourself. And, ’why do I want to?’

I can explain.

Think back to an imaginary childhood. You were once a little girl with pigtails boys would yank and frilly sundresses soiled in the yard. One afternoon mommy came home from grocery shopping. Bags on the kitchen table, she put away cereals in the cupboard and perishables in the fridge. But then you spied something special going in the freezer, your favorite strawberry ice cream!

Knowing this would be an after dinner treat, every minute of the rest of that day dragged on like cold molasses dripping through the mesh of a tight sieve. How could you possibly wait hours and hours for desert when there it sat only a room away? It’s as if mommy had planned this as some form of kid torment. And weren’t you going to eat it anyway?

Mommy was in the sun room talking on the phone, daddy in the living room reading the paper and watching TV. They couldn’t see. So you crept into the kitchen and took out a spoon from the drawer. But, reaching up to the freezer door, you weren’t tall enough to open it much less reach inside.

A solution presented itself. With a mighty heave you lifted a chair by the table and staggered over to the fridge, because you knew the scrape of dragging it along the floor might have been noticed. Climbing up you opened the freezer and clutched your prize, the container cold and your mouth watering.

Absconding off to a coat closet, you closed yourself inside. And there you were, all alone, with spoon and a tub of strawberry ice cream. You tore off the lid. Burying the spoon deep in, you pulled out a heaping pile and stuffed it in your mouth. Never had it tasted so good! You closed your eyes and let its cold sweet essence swirl along your tongue, savoring the creamy delicacy.

Then, finally swallowed and gone, there was another spoonful. And another. Until soon the bottom of that container was exposed and your fingers and lips were sticky and your belly sick and what’s going to happen when mommy and daddy find out?

You panicked. You’d eaten it all but it was meant to be shared! You’ve been selfish and greedy. Stuffing the container at the bottom of the kitchen trash barrel, you hoped in a few hours no one would notice. Of course you were wrong. You’re so full now you couldn’t eat dinner. Then mommy noticed the ice cream gone and she pointed a finger at you and daddy stood up and you knew you were in for it. You’d been a bad, bad, little girl and you knew it.

Daddy bent you over his knee and gave a few gentle swats, enough to scare, enough to feel, enough hurt without real harm. But you cried anyway. After that he dragged you by the hand to a corner of the room for a time out to think and consider your intransigence. Then, blubbering and alone, he returned to send you off to bed without having eaten dinner.

Days passed and the memory fades. You’ve got Barbies to occupy you, little play tea parties to give, and stuffed animals to hug. But then, after a forevertime of a week or two had passed, mommy comes home from grocery shopping and there’s another tub of ice cream pulled out of a shopping bag and set on the table. The expectation of a treat builds once again.

Had you learned your lesson then? For it is the same lesson you must learn today. That lesson is: The Power of NO.

You may not crave ice cream with the same enthusiasm you once did. But you still crave. And it is in craving that unfulfilled desire and anticipation builds like twirling a rubber band until so taught it might snap.

Stroking your neck where that fetish accessory is meant to go, you want your heart to pound, your belly to tumble free, rasping breaths to escape trembling lips, the gentle touch of a finger to foretell ravishings to come. Yet merely fulfilling this desire in an endless stream of YES can never satisfy.

I understand this, do you?

Right now you could stroll to the closest bar and a line of drunk men with insistent cocks would woo and ply and beg and promise to quench this inner thirst. But they can’t. And that you do know. Not because they are pathetic – though they might be – but because a circumstance of endless YES makes it impossible.

For four weeks I have said NO, building up suspense and anticipation and expectation until lust pierced through the center of your heart.

You are ready for YES. It is time to say YES. But before the enchantment of YES can erupt from within like an explosion of ecstasy – muscles weary, gasping for breath, flushed cheeks and chest, body covered in sweaty dew, and you, totally and completely satisfied – before then you must acquiesce and allow it to bind you. I already know you want it. The allure of it draws your eyes. But can you accept that dark desire? This is the question I must have answered.

What wearing it means is not intrinsic to the thing. It is by yielding to the role one assumes upon buckling it snug; it is by fulfilling that duty of NO obliged upon you in its binding around your neck; it is by accepting loss of power now so you might lose control later; it is there that does a seed of desire build, winding up until one more moment without release becomes an ecstatic torture to endure. So that, when release finally comes, its frenzied detonation gushes all over, a paroxysm of blind joy.

So you stand at your bureau as I lightly stroke your neck and hold your breast tight while your eyes linger at that thing you fear and want. It is simple leather with a buckle and three metal hoops for a leash. But I haven’t brought one of those. You’re not quite ready for that yet.

You swallow hard and absentmindedly nod. I pick it up and you tip your neck to the side, seemingly accepting my offering. But I’ll give you a little more time to contemplate NO before you say YES.

I place it dangling against your neck and make you look in the mirror. You glance back with a pained expression, as if begging me to please not make you. I lean in to nibble an ear lobe. You press your rear against my groin and a little moan escapes as you tip your head back into me.

I draw each strap of the collar around your neck, letting it dangle down your back, holding it taught against you.

“Look at it,” I say.

You turn away as if to shake your head and I pull tighter until you relent and gaze upon this leather strap almost buckled, almost bound, almost taking you in acquiescence.

“What will you do to me?” It comes out as the whispered croak of terror and desire.

“What does it mean to accept this?” I answer.

Your knees buckle and I’m forced to steady you again.

“Say it.” I prod.

“It means I am yours.”

“You are my what?” I gently slide the leather back and forth and grind my groin against your ass and you tip your head to let out another moan.

There’s a moment of silence. You open your eyes and stare into mine through the mirror. You bite your lip. You certainly know the word but you can’t seem to say it. I know you want to.

“I am your… slave,” you whisper with a shudder and then glance down at your hands in shame.

“So what will I do to you?”

Like a deflating balloon, your shoulders droop and you hunch forward, holding yourself up by those palms on the bureau.

“Anything you wish,” you say, trembling.

I tug your shrunken form back up against me to stand tall as I hold that unbuckled collar. There’s terror in your wide eyes as I’ve dragged this moment on and on relentlessly, forcing you to realize just how much you want this.

“Anything?” I ask, leaning in to whisper in your ear.

“Anything,” you hoarsely reply with a gulp.

Looping the leather strap through the buckle, I pin it at the right hole to fit snugly and you’re finally collared. And you let out a big sigh of relief as if the hardest part to capitulation had ended. Which, for now, it has.

I unzip my trousers and take out that throbbing cock and turn you around so you can see the prize you’ve now earned. And, without prompting, you fall to your knees and reach around to grasp my ass as you eagerly take me in your mouth to properly perform that first servicing.

edit: copyedits

Source: reddit.com/r/sexystories/comments/25ivml/breaking_you_in_mf_fsub