[https://www.reddit.com/r/Erotica/comments/zzarg4/hollys_tales_part_1/](https://www.reddit.com/r/Erotica/comments/zzarg4/hollys_tales_part_1/)
Mr. Donovan’s hands gather up my hair together. He doesn’t pull hard as I can feel him put it into a pony tail. After a few moments, I can tell he’s grabbed the shower head now because the sound of the shower head wobbles and oscillates in my ears. He starts low, on my feet, getting me used to the temperature. I wince momentarily as the hot water hits my skin, but I adjust quickly and my body soaks it up. There’s a sting when the heat hits the welts on my leg, but I don’t mind; it almost feels good in its memory.
The water has moved up my legs and to my waist, and now around back. He is methodical in drenching me, but the heated air and hot water has turned me to jelly in his hands. The water is now on my shoulders, and my body involuntarily shudders at the encompassing pleasure the heat has. After several minutes, he stops and I can tell he’s replaced the shower head in its cradle, but kept it running. I can hear the distinct opening of a plastic top near my head. Next, my ears pick up the sounds of wet washcloths rubbing together.
*Wait, is he going to wash me too? Yep, he is…ok…*
I feel his hands on mine first. However, instead of skin, I can feel he has put on what seems to be some kind of gloves made of a wash cloth material. The sudden realization of what he’s about to do hits me and I tense up for a moment. He ignores me and simply goes about his business. He starts with my fingers, massaging in between each one, rubbing my palm and the top of my hands, and then both my wrists. By the time he’s on my shoulders I’m lost in the pleasure of the pampering. I can feel the soap sliding down my arms. He washes my neck, putting both hands around me several times, but he never squeezes and he only washes up to my jaw bone and stops. When he starts moving down to my breasts, I have long since stopped caring. He washes under my arms, and gently around my stomach. I breathe in sharply when I feel his fingers momentarily slide gently between my lips below, and then back to my ass. He even cleans down between my toes.
My breathing is now slow and easy. I’m lost in the moment. He has finished washing me but has raised my arms above me now. The shower turns off and I can hear just the sounds of dripping from both my body and the now quiet shower head. I then hear him moving, and then his shoes making small splashes as I feel him walk up to me. The first thing I feel is a soft, thick towel on my hands. He takes my fingers in his hands as he goes to work to dry me off. Again, he’s methodical and gets between every finger, moving down my arms, to my shoulders, and my chest, then my stomach. He momentarily stops, and then starts on my upper back with what feels like a new towel. He moves down to my ass, and reaches up underneath. By the time he has taken the leash off and allowed me to put my hands down and put me back in the robe, I begin to understand why rich people like to live like this.
With his hand on my neck again, he leads me back out, and we’re back into what should be the master bedroom. As soon as we enter the room I can smell the food. I smell cooked meat and I immediately feel the watering in my mouth. I swallow a few times.
*Oh sweet fuck what smells so good?*
He guides me around the room and we stop, the overpowering smell of the food has me licking my lips. I feel his hands on the back of my head, and he undoes the blind fold. My eyes involuntarily close at the sudden influx of light. I squint and let them adjust and slowly allow things to come into focus. While my eyes are adjusting he has opened my robe and brought up my hands, removing my right hand from one of the metal rings. I rub the spot where the cuff was rubbing my skin and notice my surroundings.
I’m in a very large master bedroom. It’s a huge room and I guess that it must be as big the entire floor plan as most of the apartments I’ve lived in. Off to my left are the big double doors that we entered from earlier. The entire room is carpeted a light beige carpet, speckles with some blacks and browns throughout. The walls are painted a pleasant tan color with a dark red focus wall behind the bed to my right. I notice the ceiling and walls meet behind a decorative crown molding with elaborate corner pieces around the room connecting them together. The ceiling is tall, about twelve feet up at it’s highest, with two extensively lit ceiling fans, currently spinning on their low cycle. Along the wall where the front of the house is a large window in front me and a set of French doors further down that lead to I don’t know where. Large red curtains hang all the day down from the top of the wall to the carpet, closing off the outside world to me.
Aside from the large bed, with two nightstands, the only other furniture is a small table in the middle of the carpeted area in front of the bed. The table is set with a simple black table cloth, but what is resting on the top of the table is what has my attention. Mister Donovan is standing next to me but saying nothing right now. I’m staring at a steak and sweet potato sitting on a plain white porcelain plate.
*Holy fuck…*
The steak is very small and round, but about two inches thick. It’s been seared with grill marks, and I can see red juices pooling around the base. The sweet potato is also small, but has been partially opened and mashed up. To the left of the plate is a small metal ring poking out of the table cloth. There is a large glass of water next to the plate, as well as another small plate with a dinner roll on it. Several smaller bowls include some condiments such as brown sugar, whipped butter, salt, and some kind of cheese crumbles that look bluish and white are nestled together next to a dinner napkin with a fork and steak knife on top. I can’t stop the salivating in my mouth.
Mister Donovan gives me a moment to take things in, and then motions to the black wooden high backed chair with the red seat cushion next to the table. I sit down. There are no armrests, but he takes my left hand, the one still cuffed, and hooks the other ring to the metal ring in the table right next to the plate.
*I’m not going anywhere, just let me eat!*
My robe has fallen open but I don’t care. I’m sitting on the edge of the chair looking at my food and wondering when I can eat it. I notice Mister Donovan fumbling in his pocket and I look up. From his pocket, he removes something and places it on the table and turns and walks away. I look and see a digital timer that reads 29:27…29:26…29:25.
*Thirty minutes, remember?*
I reach for the fork with my right hand and put it in the grip of my left hand. The handcuffs don’t allow my left arm much movement, but I can hold the fork enough to cut steak while I use the knife with my right. Red fills the plate as the juice runs out. The steak does not resist much, and I can tell right away this is finer than anything I have ever eaten. I cut a small piece, and take the fork from my hand to use normally. I stab the meat, and lift it to my mouth. As soon as it hits my tongue I close my eyes in pure bliss. The salty, warm beef flavored juice fills my mouth, and I gently chew the succulent piece of meat. I savor every swallow of juice before getting ready for the next piece.
*This is unbelievable…*
I focus only on the food before me. I’ve swallowed every bite before me and look at the timer. 21:23…21:22.
*Holy shit you pig…oh my god that was incredible…how the fuck do they live like this? What does she do? Being a dominatrix can’t pay this good?*
I involuntarily try to use my left hand to scratch my nose and am reminded of my predicament. The handcuff pulls tight. I try to get in a more comfortable position, but I can’t really scoot back far enough to use the seat back, and the chair is too heavy in my situation for me to pull it up any closer under me. I push the empty plates out of the way and lay my right arm on the table and then my head on the crook of my arm, my head turned to the left. My left arm, cuffed, is secured in a ninety degree position with my hand near my face. I close my eyes. The food is settling in immediately, and can feel myself succumbing to sleep.
Twenty minutes passes in a heartbeat. I don’t hear the timer go off or the door open, but I do feel a strong tug on my neck. I gag for a moment and my eyes open wide in fear and confusion, trying to adjust to the light again and figure out what is going on. I feel something cold and wet on my lips dripping down onto my chin and then onto the table.
*Great, you’re fucking drooling…*
I see Mister Donovan standing next to me holding the leash in his hand holding me up by my neck. I reach for the napkin with my right hand to wipe my embarrassment off of my face, but he grabs me and tosses my hand away. Without thinking I reach up to wipe my chin with the back of my hand, and he again grabs it. Instead of tossing it away again however, he grabs the back of my hair with the hand holding the leash and yanks my head back harshly, forcing me to stare at his face. His green hued eyes are staring at me intently, and I feel real fear for the first time. He squeezes my hand tight…too tightly. I grimace and twist in pain but his iron grip has me in my place. My eyes are wide with fear.
*SHIT…please don’t hurt me!*
“ow…ow…” I barely squeak out in a high pitched voice.
He raises his eyebrows and nods to my hand as if to ask me ‘are you understanding now?’
With my eyes squinting in pain, I manage to nod. He lets go of my hand gently and I place it on the table, the power and strength of Mister Donovan securely etched in my mind.
*Don’t fuck with him…*
He unlocks the handcuff to my left arm and for the first time since arriving my hands are free. He then takes my left arm and lifts me up. Standing there naked, he puts the robe back on me, but this time my hands are in the sleeves. He places the blind fold back on me, and then leads me back around to the bathroom entrance. He stops me and opens the door. Soft music is playing, I don’t recognize it but it sounds classical. I’ve heard it before but I can’t place the artist.
*Mozart? Beethoven? One of those old composers for sure*
With so much time spent at the library, it was hard to avoid being exposed to many different musical and cultural influences. I feel comforted by the soft, soothing melody.
Mister Donovan’s hand pushes me gently and guides me around the bathroom, twisting and turning a few times until he stops me, turns me around, and then pushes on my chest gently to have me sit down on a large chair. I do so. I feel his hands open my robe and take my right hand. I give it to him willingly. There’s a pressure on my hand as he’s trying to slide it through something, so I stiffen my wrist. My hand slides through what feels like a large, thick ring of leather and I can feel a small metal bar wrapped in leather towards the top that my hand can make a fist around and grab onto, as though I’m holding the straight part of a metal D. I can also feel against the back of my fingers a metal half ring coming off of the bar that I am holding.
*What the hell is this thing?*
The leather around my wrist tightens snugly to ensure that no matter how hard I tug, it does not come off. He places my arm on the oversized armrest and I can feel him grab the top of the D ring that I’m holding onto, and then I hear a loud snap. He grabs my hand and pulls, and I feel the device resist. I grab the bar and tug a little. My arm is stuck. He grabs the other arm and I feel another contraption slide on. He secures it tightly and snaps it onto something on the other arm rest. I feel his hands around the sides of my chest and he lifts me up and slides me back in the chair. My arms pull a little but still have a slight bit of give before it becomes uncomfortable. He pushes my head back, but I feel his hand on the back of my neck as he guides my head down and into a soft groove of something firm.
*This is a salon chair…he’s going to wash my hair too? This is a fucking dream…what the hell is happening here…*
I can hear him next to me and suddenly the chair starts moving up a little, and expanding out, flattening me. I’m nearly flat on my back when the chair stops, my head comfortably fitted in what should be the sink, and my arms secured at my sides, my hands gripping the steel bars in my palms. I take a deep breath and relax.
*Everything has been incredible so far, just enjoy it. You want her anyways. Let her do it if she wants to, it’s a once in a lifetime experience!*
I close my eyes and sink into the robe which, no longer secured by the belt, falls across both sides of my body, leaving me helpless and naked. There is no fondling that occurs. Mister Donovan does not touch me. I hear him walk away and close the door. I am left with the relaxing smell of Eucalyptus still in the air, and calming music echoing throughout the spa-like bathroom of this massive house. Only a few moments go by, and I suddenly hear from a different direction a different kind of foot wear approaching. Metal on tile.
*click*
*click*
*click*
*click*
*click*
The loud clicking of steps stops to the left of me. It’s her. I pick up a slight aromatic trail of her perfume, barely noticeable over the eucalyptus permeating the air. My breathing starts increasing the tempo despite the fact that nothing has happened. I feel a sharp nail gently poking my soft belly. I gasp. It moves up towards my breasts, the pressure increasing a little. I squirm as the sharp nail grabs my nipple for a moment…and then pauses. I grab the bar in my hands of the restraints and pull. I go nowhere. Her fingernail traces a slow, gentle circle around my nipple and I feel it harden immediately. There is a sudden arousal between my legs.
*Oh yes…*
“ohhhhh” I accidentally moan. My eyes open in surprise suddenly under the towel, but only to darkness.
She stops for a moment, but then moves her nail up my chest pressing harder, up along my neck, and then up my cheek. She turns the nail over and rubs the back side of her fingers along my cheek. Her nail hooks the blind fold and pulls it off. Before my eyes can adjust to the light, a hot, wet towel is placed over my face, thick and soothing on my eyes and face.
This is the first time I have ever had my hair washed like this. She first lifts my head gently and slides something soft…
*A towel?*
…under my head, and just as gently sets me down. I feel her remove the band of my pony tail behind my head and with her nails she combs it out briefly. My hair isn’t long, just enough for a pony tail, and about shoulder length. It’s not flashy or layered, and rarely styled. I’m barely lucky enough to afford getting my hair done at the discount places.
I can hear the click of her shoes on the tile for a moment, and then the sound of running water directly behind my head. The light pressure is soothing on my scalp, and the warmth inviting as it permeates throughout my hair.
*Oh wow…oh wow…oh my god how nice…*
The bottom of her hand runs along the upper edge of the hot towel, keeping the water out of my face. Even without the towel on my eyes, I would not have opened them. The flowing warmth feels like a bubble of comfort around my head. She moves the nozzle up and down, back and forth.
The flow of water stops. I hear the distinct pop of a plastic bottle, and I feel the shampoo drizzle into my hair. She audibly closes the lid and places it somewhere. Two hands begin to gently massage my scalp slowly and carefully. She works her fingers in and out, using her nails to slightly scrape along my skin without hurting me. I have no memories of my own mother ever washing my hair. That thought stirs something. I can feel something in my chest building; something that is causing my breathing to increase again. The warm towel is now serving a second purpose; it’s absorbing the tears building in my eyes.
*Don’t…don’t…shhhhh…keep it calm…don’t lose it…*
I grab the handles of my restraints and grip tightly to try and avoid the heaves and body wracking sobs I know are just a moment away. I know without a doubt that if she were to say something…anything…I would lose it.
*Music…focus on the music…find the different instruments. Ok…that’s a…a flute…focus on the flute…*
The music is soft and stimulating, and I try to lose myself in it. Her fingers continue to work the shampoo in and out of my hair, and I feel as though every muscle in my body has completely given in. I lay there in a state of semi-consciousness breathing in the eucalyptus, and feeling the warmth of the air flowing around my naked body. My mind has surrendered.
She stops her washing of my hair. The water is turned back on, and she proceeds to rinse my hair thoroughly. Once satisfied the product is out, she turns the water off, and works as much of the excess moisture out of my hair. At the same time she removes the towel on my eyes and just as quickly replaces the leather face mask rendering me sightless as usual. I realize I like it on. She fastens it securely under my wet hair in the back, and then wraps a soft towel around the back of my hair and then around my face. I feel her hand slide under my neck, and the chair I am laying on lifts me up and out of the sink trough and at the same it begins to reform as a chair underneath me.
*Why couldn’t you have been my mother?*
I have an overwhelming urge to thank her, but think better of it. She told me not to speak unless asked a question. I don’t want to upset her again, especially now.
The chair returns to full form, and I am now sitting upright, the towel around my head, and my robe nothing more than a blanket I am sitting on. She removes the towel, and I hear the sound of a hair dryer. I sit patiently while she dries my hair, combing it out as she goes until every strand on my head is completely dried out. I listen to the sound of the hair dryer back and forth in front of me, behind me, on top. I’m lost in her touch and begin to crave it even more.
The dryer turns off, and I hear her shuffling around a little, every movement echoed in the cavern of a bathroom we must be in. Whatever shoes she is wearing click against the tile every time she moves, and the sound bounces off the walls. The music has also been turned off, I realize, its absence noted and missed. I can feel her hands on mine as she works the latches and releases each restraint from whatever they were secured to.
There is a gentle tug on my leash forward and I stand up. I rise slowly and put my hands at my side. I’m calm, relaxed. Her hands and nails reach up and fluff my hair out, and I feel her gently pet my head from the top down. Again, her touch elicits an involuntary response from my body. I want to feel her hands on my arms now, my sides, my breasts, my pussy…my nipples stiffen immediately and there’s a warm tingle I can feel from my clit.
She pulls her hands away from my hair now. I’m standing there naked in front her, not seeing her, and yet desiring her in any way she wants me.
*Please…please…*
Her fingers find my right nipple and I can feel her gently rolling it between her fingers. My shoulders heave as I breathe heavier.
*Oh fuck…ohhhhh yes please…*
“God…Mistress Kim…please…” I mutter almost incoherently.
She squeezes my nipple a little hard and even though I momentarily wince, I moan again with pleasure. She steps closer to me, and I can feel a light, billowing fabric against my upper body that she is wearing. The perfume is in my nose and I breathe it in. She moves closer, her fingers still caressing my nipple, rolling it, pulling it, and squeezing it. I can feel the tingle growing below. My breathing is getting faster. I want to feel her touch everywhere. Her breath is hot my right ear, and I involuntarily bring up my right hand and put it on her hip. Whatever she is wearing is skin tight but smooth to the touch. I picture her in black leather pants, knee high boots with stilettos. It arouses me.
Whatever you want, please let me do it…I’ll do anything…please yes…
Her lips take the lobe of my ear and she gently nibbles it. Her other hand is now rubbing the back of my head, gently gripping my hair. Her tongue moves around my ear, and she kisses it a few more times. Her fingers are pulling my nipple outward now, twisting it slowly. She’s pulling it outward a little more now, a little harder…
“Holly…” she moans in my ear. She’s twisting my nipple a little more…
I can barely moan back, “Please, ma’am…please…”
“Time to remember why you’re here.”
She pulls and twists my nipple to the point where I bend over and grab the side of her hips with my hands, the restraints I wear making it difficult to grab her slick pants at all. I hold her with my arms as best as I can. My contorted face buries itself in her bosom, her breasts enveloping me, my open mouth full of the sheer fabric of her top. She yanks and squeezes my nipple so hard I can’t help but fill the room with my muffled scream.
Source: reddit.com/r/Erotica/comments/102boir/hollys_tales_part_6