Vivian awoke that morning, naked and hurting, but hurting in the most wonderful way. She took her time looking herself over, enjoying the small bruises she could see here and there on her skin. Especially the three spots on her left breast, she could almost imagine seeing his fingers there, pressing in, claiming her flesh as his.
He had given her orders to follow today, while he was off in some other city on business. She wasn’t thrilled that she wouldn’t have him again tonight, but she already felt herself getting aroused thinking about her tasks.
The first was of course, that she wasn’t allowed to have an orgasm. What made that harder, was that the second was she was supposed to find time to get herself to the edge twice. To send him pictures of what she was doing to herself.
The asshole. How dare he, she thought, how dare he tell her what she could or couldn’t do with her body. There was real malice in the thought. Real irritation. But also arousal. She was going to do it and god damn herself, she was going to enjoy it. How did he know? Would he have treated anyone like this or was he correctly figuring her desires out? And how, she didn’t even understand her desires? But here she was, knowing she was going to let this stranger control her and her body even when he was a city away.
She would feel humiliated and controlled and love it. And she’d send him photos the entire time. She already ached to send him photos. To know his eyes were on her body. To know he was appreciating her body. It was a dirty, but nice, feeling.
The third order was much more interesting. He had told her to find something simple that she could include in her wardrobe. A belt, a scarf, jewelry, it didn’t matter. Something that no one would question if they saw her wearing it.
Then she had to take that item and do something perverse with it. Send him a photo of the perverse thing, and then wear it all day. Knowing that she was secretly showing off what a whore she was. His whore. A screaming announcement to the world that only they understood, that he owned her. That she would display his power over her so openly. That she would do such vile things on command and enjoy them.
She slid her hands across her breasts and stomach as she thought about what she might do. Her fingers playing across her nipples, squeezing hard, imagining his teeth. Touching the three little bruises that his fingers left on her breast.
He had only really demanded five photos. Two of her edging, one of her using the whatever in its perverse way, and two during the day showing she was wearing it.
Her right hand slid down her belly, she let her nails scrape hard against her mons, enjoying the light pain, before she began to rub herself in earnest. She was wet, but when during the last few days had she not been?
Five photos to take. This strange man who thought he could tell her what to do. Five photos he had demanded. And she’d jump to his orders. Enjoy them. Like a whore.
Like a whore, she kept thinking as she rubbed. She tried to hold the anger and the arousal together. Tried to focus on how mad she was at herself for letting a man have such control over her body. Her cunt. Her mind. Along with how good it felt to do so. How good it felt to be . . . degraded. To be a slut.
She paused, only long enough to get the little vibrator she had brought with her. Switching it on and pressing it against her clit, feeling herself twitch as the pleasure pulsed into her. Her other hand, her fingers pushing inside herself. But that wasn’t dirty enough. She was a slut. A dirty whore. She adjusted herself on the bed and moved her cunt-slicked fingers to her asshole and slid not one, but two, in as she let the vibe pleasure her clit.
She got closer and closer. Enjoying the vile feeling of being a pervert. Of imagining him watching her. Of fingering her ass, which was still sore from his fucking, of imagining his cum was still inside her. And got closer and closer.
She could have stopped as she felt herself nearing. She should have stopped. This fucking man. How dare he tell her what to do when he wasn’t even around. How dare she follow his orders. How dare he assume she would be good. But she also knew it would please him. To push herself closer and closer. Why did she want to please him so badly? Why was her body thrumming imagining his pleasure in watching her?
The idea occurred to her then and she smiled. He had ordered her to send five photos. To tease herself throughout the day. And she would. But fuck him. She could do what she wanted. She’d send him the five, and five more, and more and more. Let him see what it felt like to be horny and unfulfilled. Let him be teased and horny and left wanting. He was the one who went away. He was the one abandoning his slut to self pleasure.
She held it back as her body fought to orgasm. Lifting the vibe just enough to stop the orgasm from hitting, before pushing it back in. Over and over. Edging and denying herself the pleasure she wanted because some strange man had told her too.
Thinking about what photos to take, how she would tease him, what a slut she would be and . . . . what her husband and friends would think about her if they knew the truth. What she had let herself become in only a few short days.
Finally, she dropped the vibe, panting at the exertion of not orgasming, and grabbed the phone off the nightstand to take a picture of her swollen, wet, cunt, her fingers still deep in her own ass, and sent it to him.
“Sir,” she wrote, “first edging complete. Your slut is happy but misses your cock.”
Stopping was almost painful, her body wanting it so bad, but she felt a thrill of accomplishment. She knew he would be pleased. She had pushed herself so far, held off for so long, and it felt amazing and horrible at the same time. He better make this up to her when he got back tomorrow.
********
He was still driving when his phone buzzed, sweet sexy Vivian, the lovely little slut wasted on a husband who had no interest in giving or taking pleasure from her body. What things he would do to her had he the time.
The photo was quite naughty, why was it so sexy to see a woman fingering her own ass?
“You are amazing,” he said into his phone, on voice-to-text. “So sexy.” He meant it. Every word.
He loved the feeling of knowing she was horny and denying herself. Of knowing she was obeying him. That she was turned on by obeying him. How much better it would be after she had denied herself and he made her cum and cum and cum.
It was less than 20 minutes before the next photo came. Her face was out of frame, but she had wrapped something around her breasts, some sort of cord, lifting them up and making them bulge slightly in a way that made him very sad he hadn’t brought any rope. Then a picture of her in a pretty dress, the cord, a small cloth belt apparently, worn on her waste. She looked so pretty.
He spoke into his phone again. “Good girl. Just think, all day long, it will be on your waist after having tied your breasts.”
He didn’t think he’d hear from her again for some time. She was there to work after all and he had made it VERY clear that no order from him should interfere with her actual life.
But the photos kept coming as the hours went by. Most were innocuous. Her in an elevator, one hand holding the end of the belt that had been around her breasts. Another of her hands at her key board. Her in the little cubicle her customer’s had given her to work from. A selfie in a hallway, the belt visible.
But some. Fucking shit, some. Some where so dirty they shocked him. Her in the bathroom, standing at the sinks breasts out of her dress. Where anyone could walk in on her. Her in what looked like a break room, legs spread and pulling her panties to the side. A picture of a blue gel pen sticking out of her ass and then another of her using it to take notes.
As the day wore on, he kept finding himself eagerly checking his phone. Had she sent something to him? He opened a text from her during a meeting, sitting inches away from clients, if they had leaned back they could have seen his screen, and there was a picture of her with binder clips on her nipples at her desk!
He was so turned on it was hard to think. His cock was half erect all day long. And the worst was her notes to him.
“Sir,” she wrote, “I want your tongue on me.” And a photo of her clit.
“Sir,” she wrote, “I want more bruises.” And a photo of her breast with 3 clear, small, bruises on her breast.
“Sir,” she wrote, “don’t you want to taste me, its so good.” And a picture of cunt slicked fingers in her mouth, at her desk.
“Sir,” she wrote, “this hurts in such a good way.” With a picture of the belt being pulled tight on either side of her clit, crushing it, making it bulge in an obscene way that made him ache to lick it.
“Sir,” she wrote, “come take your property.” And a picture of her cunt, with the word “yours” written in sharpie on her mons. He was rock hard. Sitting at dinner with a customer. He couldn’t even stand up. He could barely focus.
The waitress asked him if he wanted another drink and he realized, no, no he didn’t. He needed to be able to drive.
*********
It was almost 10 pm when she decided to give up on work for the evening head down to the bar. Really, she’d been imagining teasing him more, but in public, for some time.
She had already edged again with the vibrator. She had retied the belt around her breasts, pulling it as tight as she could. She didn’t just send pictures, but videos of herself biting her nipple, her breasts pushed out by the belt, and another, taken in a mirror, as she used the little vibe on her clit.
She had decided not to shower and sent him a note. “Sir,” she wrote, “I smell of sex and am going to the bar. I wonder if anyone will notice?”
She had worn a little dress, nothing too sexy, just a cute dress. The belt looped around her waist. But she smelled the pussy on her. On her fingers, around her, like a perfume. She wasn’t sure if it was just in her head, and both hoped it was and that it was not.
The hotel bar wasn’t packed, but there were a few people and some of her bravado about not caring if others smelled her evaporated. She sat a few seats from everyone else. She ordered a drink and a small salad.
She tried, as casually as she could, to take selfies of herself. Nice stuff, nothing obscene for the first few, though she did pull the dress down a bit to make her cleavage really pop. Then, carefully looking around, she casually spread her legs and moving so no one would notice, slid the phone out of sight under the bar, and then took a photo between her legs.
She looked at it, deleted it, and tried again. This time she got a lovely photo, her white panties were so clearly soaked. She sent it to him.
She added a note – “Thinking of you.”
She got one back. It simply said. “More.”
*************
He was in the car when the picture of her, with her breasts out, in a women’s room came through. The belt was wrapped around her breasts again. There was no way she’d be able to hide it if someone walked in. God he was hard. He looked at the clock. A bit late, but he should make it.
He said into his phone, voice to text. “More.” again.
The next photo almost made him swerve on the road. It was up her skirt again, on the bar stool, but there was a baby carrot sticking out of her pussy. Then a second photo of a baby carrot, he assumed the same one, in her mouth, being bitten in half. Where had she gotten it? How was she being so brazen? It was not what he was expecting from the shy sub.
What had gotten into her? He hadn’t been teased like this in years. He wanted her so bad it was almost painful. He didn’t know what had brought this out in her, but he grinned. He liked it. She was amazing.
***********
The bar was fun, she ended up talking to a few people, slowing getting drunk and stopping to take a photo here and there in ways that she thought were careful, but it was increasingly hard as the drinks kept coming. After almost getting caught trying to take another up skirt, she quit for the night.
When she got back to her room it was almost midnight. She stripped down and decided that one more edging, one more video, would be the right way to end the night. She didn’t have to, she only had to do two, but she was a whore and she wanted her cunt to hurt for him.
**********
A video came a bit after midnight. He wasn’t sure how she had done it, as both her hands where quite busy. She must have set it up and let it film.
One hand busy on her clit, the other, busily sliding two fingers into her pussy and one into her ass. In and out. In and out. He could hear her moaning and then she started to beg.
“Please sir,” she said, her voice husky. “Please, I’m so close, please. Please let me cum. Please. I’m,” and he could hear her hesitation, her forcing herself to speak with foul language, “fingering my cunt for you sir. I’m fingering my asshole. I want your cock in me so badly. I want to cum so badly. Please. Please. Please.” With a shudder, not an orgasm he thinks, but forcing her body to stop, her fingers stop and then she leans into the camera so he can clearly see her face, a slight sheen of sweat on it as she licked every finger on each of her hands clean.
“The little whore,” he says out loud, smiling. Shifting in his seat to make the erection more comfortable.
As she finished cleaning her fingers, she said, “thank you sir for letting me feel pleasure, I’m going to sleep now. I hope I have pleased you and can orgasm tomorrow.”
********************
It was 1 am and she was in bed, starting to drift. She knew she had drank too much and that was a mistake. She had to be up early for a meeting. Her makeup was off and she was wearing the pajama bottoms and ratty shirt she liked to sleep in . . . at least, what she liked when there wasn’t a strange man in bed whom she wanted to look sexy for . . .
She was startled awake by a knock on the door. Confused, but her heart started to pound. Him, she thought. Feeling both excited and annoyed. This was too late and he was supposed to be far away.
She forced herself to get up, tried to shake the sleep from her brain. She wasn’t dressed right. Not to see him. She looked like a frumpy house wife. Not the sexy thing she had shown him the other nights in the bar.
She slid the peep latch open and saw that it was him. She stood for a moment, considering telling him to go, and her phone dinged.
It was from him. “I know you are up, let me in slut. It’s an order.”
She made a small whine and said, “no” in a small voice. Not like this, not when she was this . . . un-sexy, what would he think, she could at least maybe get some lipstick on or . . . he knocked again. Louder. The whine came again, unbidden.
The need to follow his order was so startlingly strong. The fact that she could feel her body responding with excitement. It was almost infuriating to feel so out of control. To feel her body, her desire, betraying her. And it was so late.
But she went to the door and opened it, looking down at the ground, hiding her face, as he walked in and grabbed her. Nearly slamming her against the closing door, his hands tangling into her hair, forcefully, painfully, using her hair to pull her to his mouth. He kissed her with an almost fevered passion and she could feel his erection pushing into her stomach.
She guessed the teasing worked and felt some pride pushing through the annoyance.
She was still to tired, too confused, to turned on by his aggression to speak, even when he broke the kiss to nearly tear her shirt off of her. She tried to hide her face, tried to reach for the light switch to turn it off but he stopped her hand.
“You lovely slut,” he said into her ear, “you sexy little minx. Did you have fun teasing me all day?”
She had, but she wasn’t able to answer him as his mouth was back on hers. His tongue sliding against hers. His hand, the one not in her hair, grabbing onto her breast firmly, groping without much skill, but with passion and need.
It was so late though and she wasn’t dressed right or shaved and had no make up and . . . she pulled away from him. This was wrong. This might interfere with work.
“I need to be up early,” she started to say, but he spun her around, his hand letting loose of her hair and reaching around to cover her mouth as he pushed her face into the door. He wasn’t covering her mouth hard though, she could still speak through it, but was distracted as he yanked her pajamas down to below her ass and slid his hand between her legs, finding her wet.
She moaned into his hand as his teeth begin to nip at her bare shoulders and neck, as his finger slid inside her. But no, fuck this, no, it was late and god it felt good, but it was too late. He needed to wait.
“No seriously,” she said and pushed back, pushing him away as she yanked her pajama bottoms back up and covered her breasts with one arm. “I think it’s too late and . . .” He stepped forward quickly, his hand slapping into her face before she realized what he was doing. Not that strong of a slap, almost playful, but it began to sting. He looked . . . amused, and that look on his face, she felt her shock being replaced by anger.
“Do you have a safe word,” he asked, his voice calm.
“What the hell is wrong,” she tried to yell at him, to call him out, to question this insane behavior. How dare he slap her. How dare he. She had to admit, that part of her, the part that had enjoyed teasing him, was enjoying how clearly riled he was. How bad he wanted her. But she was stopped short as he slapped her again. She saw it coming this time but he was too quick. It stung and stopped her from speaking.
Was this it? Was he finally going to become the dangerous stranger she feared? Was he not going to take no for an answer? And . . . why did that turn her on even more?
“I said,” he said, “and I don’t like repeating myself, especially not to a naughty slut, do you have a safe word?”
She held her mouth for a moment, trying to stare him down, refusing to answer him, but feeling the anger start to shift to embarrassment. She did have a safe word, Red. He had even told her to use Yellow as a caution word as well. “Yes,” she said, then decided to add, “sir.”
“Have you used it?” he asked, grinning again. There was hunger in his eyes.
He was right of course. God damn him. He had given her a safe and a caution word to use and she hadn’t used either. She should say it too. Not just because it was late, but to show him who had the power. To show him that she wasn’t just his toy. His fuck puppet to use as he wanted, when he wanted. She had a life, sleep, a career. But that hunger in his eyes. The way it made her feel.
God damn her desire. God damn her body. Why did she want this so badly, why did her body ache for him? And she wasn’t even sexy right now. But he was looking at her as if she was beautiful. He was appreciating her body, enjoying her anger. He wanted her, even like she was now. To be desired like this, to be wanted like this, to be a prize. He didn’t move. But from the look on his face, she knew he already knew what she was going to say.
Finally, she said, “no sir.”
And he was on her again before the word sir finished. His hands and mouth on her body, on her breasts. She was still tired and a little drunk and the pleasure and touches blurred.
She was feeling his fingers inside her as her pajamas came off. Feeling his cock with her hands as his pants came off. Then she was face first in the disgusting hotel couch cushions, knees on the floor, ass in the air. Her hands were trapped behind her back by his large hand, holding her by the wrists painfully tight. His other hand was back in her hair, grabbing a fistful to use for leverage. His cock teasing her entrance, his cock pushing in.
The position was . . . Demeaning. Insulting. Degrading. Painful. As he thrust hard into her. As he fucked her wet, hot, horny, abused, cunt. It felt so right.
There was no long foreplay tonight. No sucking or licking or stroking. There was only fucking. There was only him using her body to take out his day of sexual frustration. Her wrists and arms hurting, her hair being pulled painfully, as he took what he wanted. As he took his pleasure and forced her to be taken.
And it felt so good. His cock just pounding her pussy after she had edged it all day. Teased as much as she had teased him. Edged three times and denied. And now she was being fucked with a wild abandon. She was being taken like an animal. Like a whore. He was barely a man now, a beast rutting, a beast taking her and fucking her. Fucking her cunt. A primal hard thing.
She felt wanted and used in the way she should be used. She was just his whore. His slut. The thing he took his pleasure in. And it felt as strangely powerful as it did demeaning. To be needed to the point that he seemed to be losing himself. Losing control. She could already feel that he must be closing in, that his rush, his passion didn’t include her pleasure.
And then he was moving her, practically throwing her onto her back onto the floor. Trapping her wrists over her head, lifting her legs up into the air and pushing them back almost painfully. The look on his face. The lust. The dominance. The primal need as he bent down to kiss her hard, forcefully, and sank his cock back inside her.
That should have upset her, knowing she was being fucked without concern for her pleasure. But it felt so right. She had teased him all day. Worked him up. Made him want her so badly. And now she was here, a vessel for his pleasure, his cock, his cum. What was wrong with her?
She was his whore. And as he broke the kiss to sink his teeth into her shoulder. The pain made it even better. The teeth and his cock and his need and his power.
She felt him finishing, felt him collapsing onto her, felt his cock slowly shriveling. She was limp and used and it was good. They didn’t even make it to the bed, only pulled cushions from the couch to use as pillows. He rolled off of her, one hand across her stomach, still claiming his prize. She felt a happy peace and knew, knew, that he’d reward her tomorrow. That she’d been good and that he was pleased. She felt happy. He was asleep only a few moments before her.
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/oo7acl/vivian_the_tease_mf_bdsm_and_mild_humiliation