Holster pt 1

She was perfect. Her wide eyes brimmed with tears, eyeliner ruined, she quaked in fear. Bound as she was, there was no way she was getting away. The gag in her mouth kept her from making any loud noises, but she still managed to produce very satisfying harumphs.

The contract made it very clear that there was to be no sexual contact of any sort. So to show her how much things had changed, I walked up to her and grabbed a fistful of her dark hair. When I pulled, she strained to look up at me. She couldn’t really do much else, strapped to the bondage bench. Even in her mid-forties, it was obvious her time at the gym had paid off. Maybe not as much as she wanted, girls always want to be skinnier, but I was looking forward to sinking in between her ample ass. More cushion really did make a world of difference. And she was all mine.

She pleaded with those dark brown eyes, moaning unintelligibly into the ball gag. My smile down at her did nothing to calm her. She even winced her eyes shut, leaking tears when I gently stroked her cheek with my other hand. She started begging again, the words just a soup of noises. I pressed my hips forward, letting her feel hard cock through my leather pants. She fell quiet, now knowing with certainty what my intentions were.

I savored that moment. Basking in her terror. Knowing that I could fuck her any way I chose… For as long as I chose… And as hard as I chose… I’d spent weeks getting her here. In a few minutes, I’d be buried inside her, possibly in a nether spot where no man had ever gone before. My cock twitched, aching painfully in anticipation.

It all started when she reached out by phone with questions. I knew exactly what she was. It didn’t take long to confirm my suspicions… Married, kids, approaching or in her forties, and not ready to give up on her libido.

I answered the questions about the dungeon, let her know it was a safe space for people to play out fantasies, that she wouldn’t be judged by anyone here, and, most importantly, told her how brave she was to reach out.

She fit the mold, a frustrated mother and or housewife with too much alone time at home when the kids were at school. So she read dark romance novels. If she worked, she was ready to trade it in for a few moments of just relaxing and not making any decisions, to let someone else do all the thinking and work, even for a few hours.

I didn’t press for any personal details; I was certain I could get those in time. Instead, I just played up the fantasy, let her know that all kinds were welcome, and that safe, non-sexual, and non-cheating scenes were totally possible to help recharge her. She didn’t commit on that first phone call, but I knew she’d be back after a week of hyperventilating.

Sure enough, she did call back. She reintroduced herself and seemed flustered, but was all business about finding out what the rates for an afternoon session might be. The Dungeon was typically only open Friday through Sunday night, but we did open for those who wanted to reserve a scene without the usual dance crowds around. I explained that, for safety reasons, we would need to have a contract explicitly stating the parameters of the scene, exactly what she did and did not want to happen. Once I had the contract, we could work out the price and go from there. I gave her a website, knowing the final step would ask for a one-dollar credit card charge to reserve the room.

It took more than a week this time, but she didn’t disappoint. The contract was incredibly tame, fully dressed, light impact play, and masks… I knew then she was doing this without her husband’s consent.

The credit card gave me a name and address, and from there it didn’t take long to figure out exactly who she was. In an afternoon, I had her home address, work history, school history, phone number, email address, plus some bonuses, including lifestyle purchasing habits, and info on her entire family.

She was exactly as I’d imagined… She was in her mid-forties, married to a man a decade older than her, one son who’d moved on to college a few years ago, worked only part-time as a teacher with an occasional side hustle of tutoring maths, had a gym membership, good credit score, and a lovely home in a very nice neighborhood.

She was perfect.

I could imagine her… teaching part-time for years to take care of her kid, when he goes to college, it leaves a hole, providing more time than she knows what to do with. Her husband is in that awkward age where things start slowing down, now she’s left with gaps during the day, and at night when he rolls over to sleep instantly. There’s an active library card, and lots of book purchases, along with an interesting chargeback to a scam site called DarkSmut.com.

Nature was very cruel to women in regard to libido and appetite. They may be most fertile when they’re young, but it's when the bomb of the eggs going south approaches that their libido goes off the charts. Meanwhile, men, often killed in stupidity at young ages, have the urge to shoot their seed everywhere before they accept that final dumb, drunken dare. The age mismatch of sexual desire is at opposite ends of the spectrum.

That she filled out the contract told me one last detail that I planned to take full advantage of. She’s incredibly naive. She thought a piece of paper would protect her.

I emailed her back, letting her know that, given the very tame details she requested, our session would only be about forty dollars. She also restricted the reservation to working hours on a weekday, normally that would be a hard decline… But I knew she’d be coming here without telling anyone… I’d be here all alone with her.

She put it off another two weeks before scheduling a ninety-minute session. It gave me time to hunt down her social media, gather pictures, and consider what we’d really be doing when she got here. Just thinking about it made me reach down and squeeze myself. I couldn’t wait for the real thing.

She arrived late. Not by much, but I suspected she’d actually parked somewhere nearby and debated with herself quite a bit before working up the nerve to come in. On the door cam she looked like someone with one foot in the door and the other already running. I hustled to greet her before caution won out.

Opening the door, I was all smiles. I stepped back and ushered her in quickly. She was exactly as the pictures had shown, a hint of Mediterranean blood, lush dark wavy hair that cascaded past her shoulders, and a warm oval face made all the better knowing she was a closet kinkster. Her eyes brimmed with intelligence, so I had to chalk her being here to being naive. She had a delicious figure with ample tits and ass. She probably thought she was a little overweight, but like I said, that extra cushion would come in handy, especially once we got to the impact play. The jeans and T-shirt would have to go.

“Here’s the contract,” she said, thrusting out a stack of papers at me.

“That’s great as a backup,” I explained, “But you already submitted them electronically, so we are all good.”

She knew that too, the papers in her hand were her way of reminding me that I agreed to all the boring shit she had in mind. Sorry, miss late bloomer, we will definitely be pushing some boundaries today. I took the contract as if it were forged in gold and set it on the bar where the dance floor was.

Looking around, she asked how a dungeon stayed in business. It was early afternoon on a workday, and not only were there no customers, but we wouldn’t even be open until the weekend. I smiled sweetly and explained that weekends and rentals were how we stayed in business, and that it made just enough to stay open.

Even though my cock screamed in frustration, I gave her a tour of the club. There was a dance floor and bar at the front, a hallway with lockers, and a row of unisex bathrooms for those who needed to change into their true attire. There was a demonstration room with some crosses and toys, nothing too shocking. And finally, the individual rooms, each with its own themes and toys.

She flushed when she saw the cage room. It had a queen-size cage in the center of the room with a mattress on top, making a perfect bed to lock your partner in if you wanted to fuck someone right above them. The look on her face screamed, “We ain't in Kansas anymore.” Another little dog kennel in one corner, and a standing gibbet in the other corner. We talked for a bit about being locked in cages, and it was obvious she was getting flushed. I decided to end the tour, didn’t want her to skip out when I was so close to having my prize.

I guided her into the torment room. The walls were lined with all manner of spankers, floggers, whips, and clips, perfect for every fetish. Along the walls were the usual Saint Andrew crosses, thrones, and chain webs, to tie someone up, no matter what their fantasy.

In the center of the room was the bondage bench, no taller than waist high, covered in leather, metal loops, and straps. This was going to be the star of the show tonight.

She gravitated right to it, and I told her about all the ways it could be used. She looked at it so longingly that it might as well have been a long-lost lover. At some point, I could tell she wasn’t listening to me. She was lost in some fantasy of hers, most likely inspired by her smutty books. Well, there was no time like the present to get things rolling.

“Why don’t you go ahead and kneel down over here?” I told her. That snapped her out of her daydream, and she visibly flushed. I lied to her, “Don’t worry, we won't do anything outside of what's specified in the contract. We can take it as slow as you’d like…”

She breathed and set her purse aside. She walked towards the door as if to leave, then stopped, looking away from me. I watched her intently, knowing I’d leap after her and throw her down to the floor hard if she bolted. I was poised, muscles tense, waiting to see…

And she lowered herself to her knees. She was still facing the door, and although I was irritated and wanted her to see all the bondage gear, I thought, maybe this is how she gets past it. One tiny step at a time.

“Good girl,” I said, and she sighed. “Now put your hands behind your back.”

She made a big show of taking a series of long, deep breaths. Or maybe it wasn’t a show. Didn’t really matter, it was aggravating my drama bone. Finally, she pushed her hands behind her back and hung her head. I could only imagine the book scenes flashing by in her imagination. Damsels in distress rescued at the last moment by some hunky hero… Not this time.

“I’m going to put a collar on you,” I explained. “Typically, a show of ownership. In this case, just to remind you that while you are here you are a sub, a slave, as per our contract.”

She nodded quietly, and I wrapped the fabric collar around her neck, using my fingers to caress her skin as I did so. I wanted this to feel like a lover’s touch, not a brute locking her down. It closed with Velcro, a soft and non-threatening touch. This collar had a tail that dangled down her spine, ending in cuffs. When the cuffs touched her hands, her fingers opened, exploring the new shapes.

“Now, I’m going to cuff you…” I said softly as I knelt behind her. I guided one wrist into the cuffs and velcroed it shut. Then did the same with the other, securing her wrists one atop the other. When I released her hands, gravity pulled them down, tugging on the collar they were attached to.

She didn’t react at all, she was breathing heavy, still lost in her smutty fantasy.

I stood and strode to the wall, watching her. There was no way she could leave, the door would be difficult at best to open. But she might flail and hurt herself. I grabbed a ball gag and guessed at her size. Adjusting the strap I raced back over to her.

“Open your mouth,” I cooed softly, “this is all a part of it.”

She did as she was told, probably still in an erotic stupor. I pressed the ball in and yanked back on the elastic strap, snapping it around her head. It yanked on her hair, which broke her reverie.

I damn near came when she looked suddenly up at me over her shoulder. Her eyes were wide, and I could read the look easily, betrayal.

Surging into action, I scooped her up and lifted her to her feet. She screamed a muffled yell into the gag, but no one would ever hear her. We were alone here, with days to tick off before we opened on the weekend.

Shoving her down across the bench, I locked her collar in place. With her hands cuffed behind her, she couldn’t push herself away. She tried kicking, and I grabbed her ankle and snapped the cuff in place quickly. She struggled when I grabbed the other, and I had to force her legs apart. Once snapped in place, though, there was nothing she could do but stay in place. Just for good measure, I wrapped a belt around her waist, further locking her to the bench.

She bucked wildly and screamed for a bit. I leaned against the door and watched. Occasionally, she would strain everything to twist her head so she could look over her shoulder, down her back, and over the mounds of her ass to see me. That and all the thrashing eventually tired her out. When all she could do was quiver I shoved myself from the door with my ass.

Walking around her so that she could get a good look at how calm I was, I pulled out a tiny MP3 player, no bigger really than a wand. Tapping the play button caused her voice to echo in the room. We sat listening to her phone calls, her asking about being tied up, about visiting the club, rates, sessions, and what to expect. What was missing were all the times she asked about it being nonsexual. I did leave in the bits about writing up a contract of her expectations, but any mention of no sex was scrubbed.

She listened calmly as if the mention of the contract somehow bound me to abide by it. We’d gone far beyond that, and I thought her naivety was cute. Such a pretty woman, and so dumb…

Next, I produced a sheet of paper and explained, “We made a contract of the services you could expect during a session. Would you like to hear it?”

She nodded desperately, still thinking we were playing the game by her rules. I could practically feel her holes squeezing my cock, soon enough, they really would be.

“Contract date, today. Duration, ninety minutes for a rate of forty dollars, paid in full by card. Renter, you. Provider, me. The usual stuff, really…”

“The purpose of this contract is to facilitate a consensual BDSM scene focused on exploration of bondage and light impact play in a safe, controlled environment. The Submissive seeks to experience various forms of bondage and sensory play, etcetera, etcetera, a bunch of boring legal mumbo jumbo, hencewith and forthwise, yada, yada. Blah, blah, safe words.”

“Submissive is healthy with no medical concerns. An emergency contact phone number has been provided, but the number is not active…” I paused. She’d done this. Her safety contact was a bogus number. She didn’t want anyone to ever find out, and what could possibly go wrong?

“You came here on the sly… Didn’t you? You horny little slut.” I smiled as her brows furrowed. She’d been caught, and she knew it. She wasn’t thrashing around anymore, just breathing and looking at me over that gag.

“I’ll continue reading the contract… Agreed activities, rope bondage, cuff restraints, blindfolds, hoods, and other sensory deprivation tools of a similar kind. The Submissive requests at least three different bondage setups during the session for variety.”

“Impact play, spanking with paddles, light flogging, and cropping on buttocks and thighs limited to mild stinging without bruising or breaking skin. No heavy implements or those that easily leave marks such as whips or canes.”

“You kinky wanton whore.” I let that statement hang in the room between us like an unwelcome fog, dense and suffocating.

“Sexual activities,” I continued. I savored this moment, the way she looked up at me from that bench, thinking her contract would save her…

“All allowed,” I said dryly. She shook her head and oomphed. I went right on reading, “Vaginal, oral, and anal with condom, except where a recent (within two weeks) STD panel can be provided as a clean bill of health.”

She shook her head more violently now, screaming non-stop into her gag. I smiled, basking in the warming glow of betrayal. I was hard, rock fucking hard, and every look at that pretty gagged face, now brimming with tears, made me want her all that much more.

“I’m glad you're so enthusiastic, sweety, but to continue… Birth control is not needed as The Submissive is already on a contraceptive regimen… Fuck, I can’t wait to creampie you.”

She bucked, cried, and made whimpering, pleading noises. I turned the contract to her so she could see. “There it is. Your signature right there…” Of course, I’d cut and pasted her signature from the contract with no sexual activities and placed it on this new one I’d printed out.

I wasn’t sure if she was connecting the dots so I decided to spell it out for her. “If this were to end up in court, what with the recorded phone calls, the credit card charge, the door cameras showing you coming in here of your own volition… It would make any criminal case… Difficult. But I’m sure your husband, son, parents, PTA, and co-workers will all understand. Hell, something this salacious might even make the evening news…”

I let all that simmer in her head. Hope faded from her eyes as it dawned on her just how trapped she was. Most importantly, she understood that mentions of it ending up in court, and the effect of all this on those she knew, meant she understood she would be going home after this was over. That little bit of hope kept her from sinking into an unfun despair. I wanted her to know she could work her way through this by being a good girl.

I walked to the wall covered in hanging floggers and took a pair of medical shears off it. I held the angled scissors up for her to see with wide eyes. She didn’t shake her head or make any noises, probably beginning to resign herself to what was happening.

Starting with the T-shirt, I snipped from one sleeve to the neck, then on the opposite side, from the neck to the sleeve. Grabbing it at the bottom, I yanked it down to her hips, leaving her in just a bra and the collar cuffs combo. Bunched up like an oversized belt, it was easy to cut it off her waist. She tried grabbing it with her fingers, but I ripped it away with ease.

Next, the jeans had to go. I slid the shears in against her skin carefully, then cut slowly over one ass cheek. I wanted her to feel the exposure inch by inch, so I took my time unwrapping this present. I also use my hands a lot to hold on to a thigh, or calf, holding it in place while I snip, snip, snip the clothing away. When I finished one side and started on the other leg, she was trembling. With a yank, I tore the pants away, leaving her there in panties.

And the panties were not at all what I’d expected. Black, lacey, and see-through, if she had intended no sexual contact, or even clothing removal, she sure dressed in contrition to that.

I whistled, “My, my, my. What are you wearing? Those are positively scandalous. Are you sure you didn’t want me to see them?”

She made a pathetic moan and shook her head, then winced her eyes shut when I stepped in front of her with my phone out. It took a few attempts, but I finally got an angle where the lingerie panties could be seen with her face and dark curls in the foreground. The phone made loud clicks with each shot, so she knew what I was doing… Gathering more evidence of her infidelity and wanton smuttiness. On closer inspection, the bra looked like it matched the panties, but with her tied down, it wasn’t possible to fully confirm.

Whistling a little tune, I strolled back behind her. I wanted her to know where I was at every moment. My gaze wandered up her legs slowly, savoring the way she rolled her hips, testing to see if she could get free. I reached in, fingers curling around the gusset of her panties. She jerked hard against the binds, but really couldn’t go anywhere. I heaved back and felt the fabric give with a snap. Her bald cunt was on display now, there was no hiding it at all.

“Ymm,” I told her. “Quite the view from back here.”

She turned crimson, and the struggle renewed frantically. She couldn’t even cover herself with her hands pulling at the collar. All she could do was open and clench her fists.

“Keep squirming, and you are going to leave a mess.”

She made a noise. I had no idea what she was trying to say and didn’t really care. Looking at that bald clam, I knew only that I wanted to bury myself in it. I wanted to feel her cunt wrapped around me, squeezing.

I wasn’t sure if she heard or understood, so I reached up between her legs and grabbed her. My fingers squeezed her lips, and she yelped through the gag, driving her hips forward in an effort to dislodge my hand. All she did was smash my hand harder into her, the shove against the bench driving two fingers into her slippery cleft. I shook my hand against her, spreading her own slick juices across her lips, and grinding the tips of my fingers across her clit. She moaned and thrust back, which only allowed me to rub her more violently now that my hand wasn’t pinned.

The effect was delicious. She had no idea whether to push forward to grind my hand away or shove her ass back to try and shake the invading hand loose. I pressed the heel to her asshole, ensuring I had good contact, and could run all my fingertips across the top of her sodden hole with frantic ease.

“You’re soaking, and you know it.”

She squealed in frustration, anger maybe, but the squishy noises coming from her own body confirmed what she was probably desperately trying to deny. I worked it frantically. It was easier with older slaves, milfs who’d been denied this sort of treatment for years would juice up quickly. Younger slaves tended to clench up, making the experience more intense as they tried to fight the oncoming climax.

I leaned forward when my wrist started to ache, placing my other hand flat on the small of her back. I was watching her head, but could feel what was going through her body. She was looking straight ahead denying me an opportunity to see her expressions. But I could feel the quivers. And listening to those through the palm of my hand pressed against her I started frigging her a little slower after each quiver, and then would build up in speed until her next one.

She made a shuddering moan through her gag, then started barking something. I couldn’t make out the words but I’d heard enough cunts in my time to know she was demanding I stop. I pressed into her harder. If she was expecting me to back down, to go gently, she had the entire point of this training wrong. This cunt was a musical instrument, nothing more. I wanted to hear a specific song, and as I plucked the chords, I knew I’d hear it soon enough.

When she tensed, I knew. She’d climaxed. It wasn’t necessarily me, simply psychology really, she was undergoing an intense emotional trauma, the same type that women had undergone throughout evolutionary history. If her body didn’t react to protect her with wetness, her reproductive bits might get damaged during penetration. Her body reacted as it had been built to for millennia, to ease mating, whether it was wanted or not. Her emotions were running frantic, she was in fight or flight mode, and her body was trying to ease the oncoming violation. Her climaxing as I roughly diddled her was just icing on the cake, for me at least. I’m sure she was buried somewhere in her head. She was trying to make sense of it all.

“Good girl,” I cooed. “You really are a slut. No one has ever cum so fast like that before… It’s like you were made for this… Weren’t you? A horny little housewife giving herself a special fortieth birthday present. This IS exactly what you wanted. Isn't it? You don’t have to lie to me, I know. You are a dirty, filthy cunt.”

I leaned down over her, my hard bulge pressing into her ass as I did so, and reached up to smear her juices, her cum, her scent across her face. Especially under her nose. She’d be forced to smell her own excitement now as we moved on to the next phase… Wetting my cock.