Chapter Thirty-Three
Miss Paxon
Ithink I’ll take the opportunity to have a little fun today.
Now that he’s made the connection to his Mr. Wilkins, Manny’s sure to realize Declan is telling the truth.
That he doesn’t know what happened to his precious girlfriend.
That he’s had it all wrong from the moment he accepted this case.
He retired for a reason. But I digress. It just means if I want to have a bit of fun with new plaything, I better do it before the he’s cut loose.
SMACK!
The sounds of my palm colliding with Declan’s bare ass bounces around the room. But he doesn’t come to as quickly as I expected. I guess that means I get to go again.
SMACK!
I don’t withdraw right away this time, letting all the energy from my spank vibrate into the soft tissue.
“Onnnw, fggk.” He tries to speak through hesitant consciousness and a little something else I’ve come up with for our session.
Bulging from his head, his eyes work faster than the rest of him.
It’s possible I designed my outfit today to inspire such a reaction.
It’s not every day I show as much as I am today.
But, this is a special occasion. At least for me.
I’ve been wanting to lace up the thigh-high boots again.
I always feel my most powerful when I have them on.
Though, I’m sure it’s the pencil-thin G-string I’m wearing that has his attention growing.
Truth is, it came with the boots. I’m pretty sure it may just be an excess lace woven in the shape of underwear.
Nevertheless, my plump pussy is devouring it, and I can tell he wants to know how deep they’ve sucked it in.
My tits are covered by a leather corset.
The cherry lipstick has been a big hit, especially when my eyes have cooperated, like they are today. The doctor always says I look my most unhinged on red days, which is a win for his patient today.
“Missster Roberts,” I say with the playful emphasis I now feel beholden to. “How are we feeling this morning?” I give him a smile and feel great about holding my laughter in, for now.
“Wknt… rrrrrrrrrr.” His frustrated moans are the best.
He can’t tell me, but I’m guessing he’s trying to move and finding he’s stuck. Which is the plainest way I can put it.
“Shhhh, Missster Roberts,” I whisper. “There will be time for you to make all the noise you can produce soon enough. Right now, however, I bet you’re wondering why you can barely move. And why when you do, you feel an intense pressure against your prostate.”
Since I needed to be sure he’d stay passed out, I drugged him while he slept.
That gave me a chance to use my handy dandy lift to get him onto this eight-foot-long table and hold him in position while I got to rigging.
With Declan slumped over on his knees, I pressed his head to the tabletop and pulled his wrists along his legs until they could go no further.
“For starters, Missster Roberts, I used my favorite jute rope to bind your wrists and ankles.” I love watching his eyes widen with realization, but I’ve only scratched the surface.
One might think it’s easier to get a rubber gag into an unconscious man’s mouth, but it’s not. Prying his jaw and keeping it wide enough to get the ball in before is shut on its own took both patience and skill.
“Before buckling the gag behind your head, Missster Roberts, I passed them through a large metal ring, which essentially gave me a free hook for more rope.”
“Hnnvh tttkkg…” Again, he tries to object. At least I assume it’s an objection.
His breathing hasn’t increased much, but flecks of spit are starting to drool out around the ball when he exhales. His increased blinking tells me he’s thinking about everything I’ve shared thus far. But I’ve saved my favorite bit for the end.
“I ran four strands of jute through the ring held by the gag straps, Missster Roberts.” I strut behind him and reach my hand out.
My fingers hover over the metal bar protruding out from his tight little asshole before I flick it.
“Hahaha,” I cackle as the way his bound body writhes with nowhere to go.
“I ran those same lengths of rope through the eye at the end of this hook. I pulled hard on the strands, Missster Roberts, hoisting your sleeping head off the table, until your neck tilted back and your closes eyes were facing forward. That’s when I tied them off.
Now, Missster Roberts, should you move your head any way but backward, even if you squirm just a little… ”
SMACK!
I clap my hand across his bare cheek and watch as he first begins to flail like a fish out of water, then seizes from the sensation.
“You’ll pull the ball on the end of the hook deeper inside you.”
“Ggggnnh fffrrk,” he shouts.
“I’m sorry, Missster Roberts. I don’t understand what you’re saying. Can you speak up?” I prance around his platform to look him in the eyes. The only parts of him he should feel comfortable moving.
His glare fires daggers, and it makes my clit throb. But that’s not what I’m after.
“When I was done getting you into position,” I explain further, “I slid a short footstool under your chest. I’m sure you feel it pressing into your ribs when you react.
I used industrial ratchet straps to secure that to the legs of the table, which means it’s not going anywhere.
I wrapped some jute around your torso and tied it to the stool.
Then, just to take things up one final level, I ran a bit of rope around your cock and balls and sinched them tight, before tethering them to a set of industrial steel rings mounted on the side of the table.
Suffice it to say, you’re not going to fall off unless I want you to. ”
It's not acceptance I see settling into him. He hasn’t given up. But he’s taken to not fighting the hook in record time.
Crouching down to peer through the stool legs, I see what’s happening. And I am excited.
“Good boy, Missster Roberts,” I say, leaning in to give him a little kiss on the cheek, while sliding a small receptacle under his bulging cock. “The knob you thrashed around inside you must have found the spot. You’ve got precum dripping out a rather impressive erection.”
Reaching my hand to the top of his head, I grab a fistful of Declan’s hair and slowly pull his head in the direction of the table.
“Nnnnnggggh,” he moans. Or cries. I don’t actually know. Or care.
Releasing the added tension, I watch him exhale and relax a tad, before pulling his head down, harder this time.
“Hhhhnng, gggrgh.”
“Does it feel good, Missster Roberts?” I ask with a seductive tone. “Be a good boy and let me make you feel good.”
I continue with the ebb and flow of using his skull to fuck his ass, faster and harder. As the anal hook plunges itself deeper and then retracts what bit it can, wet squishes eek out from his backside.
After a couple minutes, I pull my hand back and walk around Declan to inspect my work.
I can see everything from back here. The pristine metal coming out of his hole.
His rock-hard cock lancing down between his legs, with a pool of precum gathering between his knees.
And his gorgeous testicles, hardened and purple, with his arousal strained by the sinched jute.
I give the strands tied to his genitals a tug, forcing a deep groan to escape him. Declan withers and shakes, trying not to move. I grasp a fistful of the jute running from the anal hook to the gag in my right hand and push them forcefully toward Declan’s head. Tremors to flood his legs.
“Grrrngh,” he whines out, and I pull the twine back.
The hook moves about half an inch toward me, and I know we can go deeper. I push hard on the rope and watch the metal rod thrust further inside him. Precum seeps out like strings of melted cheese as I let the jute go.
“Missster Roberts,” I say, watching his body tremble, “I want you to fuck yourself.” I stop to see how he’ll react.
But he’s clearly registered he can’t respond with words, which is perfect.
Because I don’t want him to speak. If I wanted to hear anything he had to say, I wouldn’t have gagged him.
“Be a good little boy and fuck yourself. You know how.”
I pull a folding chair over and plant it on the floor in front of my pet.
The painted steel is cold against my exposed skin when I sit.
Leaning back, I spread my legs open and reach down to the leather of my G-string, slowly pulling it aside.
It wasn’t covering much if anything, but my hard little clit will work as extra motivation to get Declan going on his own.
“Just nod your head,” I say softly. “Forward, then back. You can do that, Missster Roberts. Can’t you?”
I gently run the tip of my finger across my clit while biting my lip, keeping my eyes locked on his. I’m in charge here, but he needs to think there’s something more in it for him.
“Hnnngvvf,” he moans while dipping his face in my direction, then tilts it back.
“That’s a good boy,” I commend him, and rub my clit a little more.
Declan lowers his face again and lets out a ravenous gurgle.
His eyes tilt further back in their sockets with every nod of his head.
His chest writhes against the footstool, while his legs quake with each faint release.
That his ecstasy steals his gaze from my glistening pearl excites me far more than the feel of my own fingers.
Back on my feet, I step forward and swing my hand at Declan.
SLAP!
I smack him square across the cheek, wrenching his head to the side.
“Gggrrrglll,” he whines.
SLAP!
I catch him with my other hand, tweaking his head in the opposite direction. His muffled howl is even louder this time. He pulls his head back in place and nods hard.
SLAP!
SLAP!
SLAP!
I hit him over and over, and he bounces his head faster. Harder. Groaning more and more with every violent movement.
“I know you want to come for me Missster Roberts,” I whisper in his ear. “Be a good little boy and fuck yourself harder and faster, longer and deeper, until you come for me.”
His head bobs with fury, and I can’t help but assist. With two fists full of his hair, I plunge his face toward the table and lurch it back up, then thrust it hard down again. The hook is as deep as it will go, pulled all the way so the curve in the metal is pressed into his flesh with each yank.
“The knob feels good when it hits that spot, doesn’t it, Missster Roberts?”
“Mmmmhhhhnngg.” He nods in agreement. Or because it feels so good.
We pick up the pace, bobbing and nodding, up and down, and I see when the orgasm starts in the base of his spine. His stomach and back oscillate in place. His thighs and quads tremor, almost picking his knees up from the table.
Down and back up. I flex my biceps and fire my triceps.
Declan’s eyes flutter back to his brain.
“Come for mommy,” I whimper, and he sails over the cliff.
“Gggggnhh. Hrrrfff. Mmmnnnggh.” He moans through the gag. Saliva drains from his mouth and plops on the table.
As Declan’s orgasm runs roughshod over his body, I circle behind him to gain quick access to his dripping cock.
I grip it hard and use long hard strokes, causing his legs and ass to quiver more.
Long strands of cum drain from his balls and into the pool he’s made in the container I set to catch his seed.
“That’s a good boy,” I say, finally.