She Tied Me Up and Kept on With Her Meeting Like Nothing Was Happening

It had always been like that between us: when Clara had a work video call, I’d retreat to the study with my headphones and some mediocre series on the laptop screen. She needed silence, concentration, and I respected that without question. We’d been together for twelve years, and that routine was part of the many unwritten agreements that held our ordinary life together.

That day was different.

She came into the study ten minutes before her meeting. No knock, no announcement. She looked at me from the doorway with that expression I’d never quite known how to read: restrained irritation? Pure control? Something much more dangerous for me? I muted the series and looked back at her, waiting.

—Take your clothes off —she said. No preamble, no smile, none of the tone she used when she was joking. Just those three words hanging in the air between us.

I took off my headphones. I studied her face, looking for some crack in the expression, some sign that this was a perfectly timed joke. I found nothing. Her face was blank, sealed shut, completely serious.

I undressed. The T-shirt first, then the trousers, then the boxers, which were already straining in front before I’d even managed to pull them all the way down. I stood there in front of her with my hands at my sides and my cock halfway hard, pointing at my waistband, throbbing with every pulse, betraying me without mercy. We’d seen each other naked thousands of times, in every possible circumstance. But this wasn’t the same, and my body knew it before I did.

—Faster —she said. —I don’t have all day.

Something tightened in my chest. A strange mix of shame and anticipation that didn’t have a name yet. I straightened up, still, my hands at my sides, my cock now fully hard, and I felt a drop of pre-cum slide from the head and fall to the floor between my feet.

Clara looked at it. Then she looked at me.

—Look what happens to you just from stripping for me —she murmured. —You’re dripping and I haven’t even touched you.

She came closer slowly. She moved around until she was right behind me, and I felt the heat of her body before she touched me. When she did, it was with her fingertips: ribs, shoulder blades, the curve of my neck. Taking her time. Then her hands reached my nipples and twisted them with such precision that I had to bite my lower lip to keep from making a sound. The pain was exactly enough. No more.

One hand dropped, crossed my stomach, and grabbed my cock at the base firmly, without tenderness. She squeezed. She slid her fist upward in one slow, torturous motion that tore a rough gasp out of me. She repeated it once, twice, three times, drawing more fluid out with every pass, soaking my head until her fingers gleamed sticky under the light of the room.

—So hard already —she said, right against my ear. —So hard and so pathetic. Look at you.

She gathered up with one finger what I could no longer control and slowly smeared it over my lips, coating them with my own anticipated cum, saying nothing. Then she shoved the finger into my mouth to the last knuckle and waited. I sucked. I sucked without being asked, with my eyes closed, tasting myself while she smiled inwardly without moving a single muscle in her face.

—Don’t move —she murmured. —Not one centimeter.

I stayed still. Not because she’d ordered me to, but because I genuinely couldn’t do anything else. My cock trembled in the air, swollen, dark, the vein on top standing out as if it were about to burst.

***

She took two things out of her jacket pocket. I recognized them immediately and felt heat rise from my chest to my ears: a black chastity cage that I thought I had stored away properly, and an anal plug I’d assumed she didn’t even know existed.

I looked at her face. It still showed nothing.

—Does it embarrass you? —she asked. —Good. That’s exactly the idea.

She knelt in front of me and took my cock in both hands. She looked at it like someone appraising a piece they’re going to put away in a drawer. She ran her thumb over the head with deliberate slowness, spreading my pre all over the crown until my legs started to shake.

—Last time you’ll see it like this for a good while —she said, and blew on it with cold air until my skin prickled all over.

Then she fitted the cage. She had to force my foreskin inward, crush my balls with the silicone ring, and I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from protesting while my caged cock kept trying to swell against the bars with nowhere to go. It was a digital lock, keyless: only her thumb. While she adjusted it, my body tried to resist what it knew was coming and failed completely. The lock clicked softly and definitively, sounding far louder than it should have in that silent room.

Then she put on a leather harness that secured the cage from underneath, threading the straps behind my testicles, separating them, leaving them exposed and hanging. Every adjustment was slow, deliberate, unhurried. When she was done she stood and turned me toward the full-length mirror in the corner of the bedroom.

I looked at myself. It took me a moment to recognize me. The black cage squeezed my sex until it looked like a toy, my balls bulging above the ring, the leather shining against my pale skin.

Clara stood behind me, looking too through the mirror, arms crossed. She put on a latex glove and told me to open my mouth. What followed was methodical and unsparing: her fingers going in until they nearly made me nauseous, sinking in to the uvula, saliva running down my chin, hanging from my jaw in thick strings that fell onto my chest without my being able to do anything about it.

—Good. Salivate well. You’re going to need it.

She pulled her fingers from my mouth slicked over, crouched down, and put them between my ass cheeks. She worked them over the pucker, slow circles, pressing without going in yet. Then one finger made its way to the knuckle, and I arched without meaning to.

—Stay still, I said.

Two fingers. More saliva. A third. I breathed through my nose in short huffs, with the cage knocking against my thighs every time my hips tried to flee. Without warning, she pulled her fingers out and pressed the thick tip of the plug against my hole, easing in very slowly, millimeter by millimeter, until the widest part stretched me so hard a long moan escaped my open mouth. Then the pucker snapped shut around the narrow base and the plug was fully seated inside, heavy, impossible to ignore.

—Good —she said. —That means it’s where it belongs.

She moved the plug with two fingers, a quarter turn to the right, another to the left, and I felt the cage trying to fill with an erection that had nowhere to grow. My cock, pinned tight, hurt. My balls, taut. My whole body was one long cry of need with its mouth sewn shut.

***

The sensory-deprivation mask was the last thing. She adjusted it carefully, almost gently, as if it mattered to her that I be comfortable: the blindfold blocking out all light, the rubber gag secured between my teeth. The world shrank to a muffled hum. The smell of the room, the warmth of the floor under my knees, the weight of the harness on my hips and the plug moving a fraction inside me with every breath.

Then the straitjacket. My arms crossed over my chest, the straps closing behind my back one by one. Completely immobilized. Completely hers.

I felt her moving around the room with total normality, as if I weren’t there. Turning on the computer. Pulling out the chair. The clink of a cup set on the table. And then, her voice shifting register all at once: fluid, professional, greeting her meeting partners with the same energy as always, as if there were absolutely nothing out of the ordinary on the floor of that room.

Then the vibration started.

Low at first. An almost imperceptible buzz at the base of the plug, which might have been mistaken for something else if I hadn’t known exactly what it was. Then a notch higher, and another. The hum climbed through my prostate like a dull current, swelling it from the inside, and the caged cock responded by trying to get hard against the bars, bumping, hurting, leaking fluid from the tip that dripped from the cage to the floor between my knees. I tried not to move. I tried not to make any sound that might seep above the gag and reach the ears of whoever was on the other side of her screen.

Sweat started running down my back, my chest, between the cheeks clenched around the plug.

I don’t know how long that meeting lasted. All I registered was the intensity rising and falling according to criteria I knew nothing about: if someone interrupted her, it dropped. If she took the floor, it rose. It was a code I had not asked to learn and my body memorized it without my permission. Every time the vibration climbed, I clenched my teeth around the gag and felt the plug seem to grow inside me, felt my balls contract, trying to spend themselves against the metal ring and failing.

There was a moment when I lost control. A long spasm climbed from my ass to the nape of my neck and threw me forward on my knees, and only the edge of the table kept me from falling all the way. I felt something thick leaking out from the bottom of the cage, frustrated cum, incomplete, squeezed out by force with no possible orgasm. I huffed against the gag. I heard Clara pause for a split second in the middle of a sentence, just enough for me to know she’d noticed, before she resumed the conversation with the same easy naturalness as always.

The vibration didn’t stop. On the contrary: it climbed another notch.

I stayed like that, kneeling on the floor, unable to see or move or do anything except feel, while she talked about quarterly margins or delivery deadlines or whatever was occupying her meeting. At some point I stopped trying to hold back and simply gave myself over to it. The caged cock dripped nonstop, the plug hammered my prostate at rhythms I wasn’t choosing, and under the gag I babbled unintelligible obscenities that I myself couldn’t even understand. There was no other option. None left.

***

I don’t know if I fell asleep or if I simply stopped tracking time. When the mask loosened and light existed again, the room was silent. The computer was closed. Clara was seated on the edge of the bed in front of me, legs crossed, her expression still locked shut.

My body was a map of exhaustion and sweat. The harness, the cage, the plug: everything was still in place. There was a small, cloudy puddle between my knees.

—Clean it up —she said.

It took me a second to understand what she meant. When I did, I lowered my head and stuck out my tongue. I licked the floor slowly, collecting my own cum from the parquet while she watched me from above without helping, without saying a word, letting me do it.

—Good boy —she murmured when I finished, and those two words shook me harder than the whole vibration of the last hour.

She helped me up and led me to another part of the house with her hand on my shoulder, because my sense of direction still hadn’t come back. I heard ice clinking in a glass. The television turning on. She made me kneel on the floor of what I assumed was the living room.

Her legs over my shoulders. A soft but unmistakable weight. The smell of her pussy, warm and clean, inches from my face.

On the screen there were images I could barely make out from that angle, but the sound came through perfectly clear: moans, overlapping voices, the wet splash of a cock going in and out of a mouth, the rhythm of something that didn’t need to be seen to be understood. Clara shifted position. Something unmistakably shaped, warm silicone, brushed my cheek, then my chin, then my lips: a thick dildo she was handling from above, forcing me to turn my face to receive it.

When she took out the gag, I understood everything.

—Open —she said, and shoved the dildo all the way into my mouth in one thrust. It jammed into my palate, hit my throat, and gagging surged up before I could hold it back. —Swallow your saliva. Don’t spit it out.

She held my head with both hands. What came next was exact and unsparing: every time I tried to pull back, she waited and drove deeper. Every time I relaxed, she advanced another centimeter. I learned the rhythm against the grain, unable to use my hands, with the sound of the television mixed with Clara’s breathing growing faster and faster, and with my own muffled gurgles around the dildo while saliva dripped in thick ropes from my chin to the cage. She fucked my mouth the way you fuck a pussy: hard, deep, without asking permission or offering breaks.

When she noticed I was beginning to fall into that state between total exhaustion and absolute surrender, she stopped.

She sat me up. Made me look at the screen.

What I saw took time to sort itself out in my head: a woman kneeling between two men, one burying his cock in her mouth to the hilt and the other fucking her from behind with the heavy rhythm of someone who doesn’t intend to stop anytime soon. And on the edge of the frame, another man with a harness similar to mine, caged, tied up, forced to watch without being able to touch himself. I understood before she said a single word.

—See? —she asked, with a calm that struck me as more disturbing than any shout. —That’s you. Exactly that. While other men are fucking me for real, you watch. And you learn.

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t.

***

She stuck the dildo to the parquet floor with the suction cup, lifted her skirt to her waist and yanked down her panties. I understood she’d had nothing on underneath since before the video call. She sat astride the dildo slowly, looking me in the eyes, impaling herself until her ass touched the floor. Her pussy was shaved, glossy, open around the silicone.

—Start at the bottom —she said.

I did. I crawled to her on my knees and licked her slowly, from the base of the dildo to the tip of her clit, never taking my eyes off her because she never took hers off me. I sucked her slick silicone covered in her juices, climbed over her pubis, buried my tongue between her already soaked lips, slid it over the hood and back down again. She began to rise and fall over the dildo, setting the rhythm with her hips: when she went down, my tongue pressed against her clit; when she rose, I licked the part of silicone emerging from her, shining wet.

—Faster with your tongue. There. There.

Her breathing changed into a rhythm I recognized. I gripped her thighs with my cheeks, hands unused, and buried my face between her legs while she rode herself on my tongue and on the dildo at the same time. The spasms started in her thighs, climbed into her stomach, and when she came it was precise and almost silent: just one long tremor and a restrained sound she didn’t bother to hide, while her pussy clenched in my mouth and I felt it pulse against my tongue. I drank what she gave off. I didn’t let a drop fall. Then she looked at me with exactly the same calm as always.

—Now me —she said, guiding my head back to the hood again. —Again. I’m not letting you get up until I’ve come on your face for a second time.

I didn’t protest, either. I went back to work. My tongue was already heavy and my jaw was trembling, but I kept licking until she grabbed my hair with both hands and came again, harder, grinding her pussy against my mouth and nose until I ran out of air.

***

I understood it was over not because she told me so, but because something in her posture changed all at once. The straps of the straitjacket loosened. Her hands found my head in a completely different way, without instructions or direction: just resting there, still. She drew me closer and I laid my cheek against her chest, still kneeling on the floor, my face soaked with her and the cage still dripping inside.

We stayed like that for a long time. The two of us silent.

—You’re still caged —she said at last.

—I know.

—Do you want me to take the lock off?

I didn’t answer right away. She waited without pushing me, and that too was part of what made this work between us: absolute control on her part, and on mine, the strange freedom of surrendering to something without anyone demanding it of you.

—Not yet —I said at last.

I felt her smile even though I couldn’t see her face from where I was.

She led me to the bedroom. The bed was unmade from the morning and on the pillow she had left something I hadn’t seen before: a note folded in half. I opened it. Inside, in her usual tight handwriting, there was a single line: “This is only the beginning.”

I lay back on the bed with the cage still on and the plug still inside. Clara climbed onto the bed, squatted over my face without warning, and sealed my mouth and nose with her wet pussy until I could only breathe through whatever she allowed me. She began to move over me, slowly, rubbing against my tongue, fucking my face with her own rhythm. I licked everything she gave me, swallowed, breathed in the pauses she granted me when she lifted her hips a centimeter to let me take a breath.

She moved on top of me with the absolute control of someone who doesn’t need to hurry because she knows exactly where she’s going and has no intention of getting there ahead of time. She came once more like that, over my mouth, her hands braced on the headboard, pressing me down into the mattress until I no longer knew where my face ended and her pussy began. And while she did it, while I tried to remember how to breathe normally and failed at every attempt, I understood she was right.

This still hadn’t finished beginning.