16 - Isa #2
Each click of the buckles makes my cunt clench.
The leather creaks as it takes my weight, suspending me with my legs spread wide, my pussy completely exposed.
When he pulls on the chain to lift the harness up off the ground and then steps back, I'm exactly as vulnerable as I knew I'd be.
Arms stretched above me, legs held open, every private part of me on display.
My pussy glistens, I can feel how wet I am, how open.
"Fuck," he breathes, palming his cock as he looks at me. "You're dripping already. Look at that pretty pussy, all swollen and ready for me."
That's when I see it clearly. Really see it.
His cock, the way he strokes it, that exact curve, that prominent vein.
Recognition slams into me with sudden clarity.
The chamber. The anonymous stranger I sucked off through the glory hole.
It was him. The cock I worshipped in the dark, the voice that called me good girl, the man I came for harder than I ever have.
It was Adrian.
My breath catches as the pieces click together.
The timing, right after he'd touched my face at the bar.
The way he knew exactly what would break me open, what words would make me melt.
The bourbon-rich voice through the speakers that I should have recognized, even though it was distorted.
He orchestrated even that. My one moment of anonymous surrender, and it was never anonymous at all.
The floor tilts beneath me. Or maybe it's just the harness swaying.
He engineered everything. Not just my job, my apartment, my failed escape.
Even the encounter I told myself meant nothing, the surrender I thought was mine alone with a stranger.
That was Adrian too. He's authored every moment of my life, including the one I thought was free.
The betrayal surges up through the arousal, threatening to drown the heat. He's been playing God with my life so completely that even my secrets aren't mine.
But then I look at him standing there. Naked, cock hard for me, watching me with those dark eyes that have seen everything I am and want it anyway.
The broken part of me that responded in that chamber recognizes its match.
He orchestrated that encounter because he knew what I needed before I could name it myself.
Knew I'd never surrender to him openly, so he gave me the gift of thinking it was nobody.
And I loved it. Every second of it.
The realization doesn't cool the heat. It intensifies it. Being known this completely, being authored this thoroughly, it feeds the exact hunger I've been trying to starve. The need to be wanted so obsessively that someone would build elaborate frames just to give me what I couldn't ask for.
I choose this. Choose him. Choose the cage with my eyes open and my pussy dripping.
"It was you," I say, not quite a question. "At the Aviary. The glory hole. That was your cock I sucked."
"Yes." No denial, no justification. Just acknowledgment.
"You locked me in that room. Made me think I was servicing a stranger."
"I gave you what you needed," he says, moving closer, his cock bobbing with each step. "The chance to surrender without admitting you wanted it. To let go without having to see who was catching you."
"Come here," I command, my voice rough with all the conflicting things I'm feeling. "Show me what else you've been planning. Make me come the way you've been imagining all those nights watching through your holes."
He drops to his knees, hands bracing my hips and knees, and dives into my cunt with no hesitation or mercy.
His tongue finds my clit in a single, practiced glide, applying pressure so intense and precise I nearly scream.
The harness pitches me forward, legs forced apart, every inch of my pussy exposed and helpless to the onslaught.
He anchors me there with a grip that promises I’m not going anywhere, not until he’s taken everything from me.
The straps bite into my thighs, a delicious counterpoint to the wet, sucking torment against my clit.
I try to buck, to grind myself against his mouth, but the leather won’t let me move.
I am held and helpless, quivering in the air, forced to take everything he gives me.
He laps through my folds, drinking the wetness he’s coaxed from me, then circles my clit in relentless spirals.
The sound I make is desperate, ugly, base.
He moans in approval, the vibrations echoing down to bone, lighting every nerve. I’m already half out of my head.
“Fuck,” I choke, voice strangled and raw. I want to curse him, bite him, thank him. “Your mouth—Adrian, Jesus—”
“I’ve been dreaming about this pussy,” he says, breath hot against my cunt, voice rough as gravel. “All those nights, Isa. Listening to you touch yourself, pretending it wasn’t for me. Now I get to taste the real thing. All of it.”
He sucks my clit, hard enough to make my vision scatter, then plunges two fingers into my soaked cunt.
They slide in to the knuckle, curling up and forward so they hit that spot he’s already mapped and claimed.
My body jolts; I nearly black out. His tongue never leaves my clit.
His fingers pump in and out with obscene, slick sounds, the lewdness amplified by how completely I’m held.
The harness groans and sways. I am writhing, and still he holds me steady, controlled, fucked open and bare.
He adds a third finger without warning. My pussy stretches, the burn making my eyes water.
I want it. I want him to wreck me, to open me up so wide nothing will ever fit again.
He fucks me with all three, thumb grinding over my clit in counterpoint.
I am going to die; there is no other possible outcome.
My cunt pulses and spasms around him, leaking down my thighs, and he just grins up at me from between my legs, face shining with my slick.
“Get that pussy ready for my cock,” he says, and it’s not even a command, just a prophecy. “The same cock you begged for, sucked for, when you thought it was a stranger. You want it now, don’t you? Want me to fuck you so hard you forget your own name.”
“I want it,” I pant. “God, Adrian, please, I want it—fuck me, fuck me, fuck me.”
“Not yet,” he growls, and clamps down on my clit with his mouth, tongue flicking so fast I convulse.
The orgasm rips through me, violent and involuntary.
I scream, whole body twisting in the shackles, cunt clamping down so hard on his fingers it hurts.
He doesn’t stop. He never stops. He works me through it, through the aftershocks, lips and tongue relentless while his hand keeps milking more from my body than I knew I had to give.
He stands suddenly, harsh and urgent, and positions his cock at my pussy.
He’s hard, leaking, and so thick it should not fit after what he just did to me.
But the wetness, the stretch, the way I’m split open, it’s all perfect for him.
He rubs the head through my slick folds, circles my clit with it, then holds me steady by the waist and drives inside with one long, brutal thrust.
I swear the entire world tilts. The harness strains under the force.
I hang suspended, impaled on his cock, unable to move or shift, just take him in as deep as he can go.
He groans, head thrown back, hands digging into my ass as he starts to pound me—slow at first, then faster, relentless, hard.
Each stroke hits something inside I didn’t know existed. I sob out his name, voice shredded.
“This is mine,” he snarls, words punctuated by the slap of flesh and the creak of leather. “This pussy, Isa. You were made for me. Even when you didn’t know it.”
He presses his lips to my neck, biting down hard enough to mark, then bites harder.
His thumb finds my clit again, cruel and perfect, never letting up.
The pressure builds so fast I can’t resist. My whole body contracts around his cock, another orgasm detonating through my pelvis.
I cry out, thrashing in the straps, helpless, ruined.
He’s close. I can feel it in the way his rhythm shatters, the way his breath turns wild and ragged.
He fucks me harder, chasing his own end, and it comes in a sudden, gorgeous violence.
He jams himself deep, shuddering, and I feel him pulse and fill me with hot, thick cum.
He clings to me, chest pressed to my breasts, arms holding me up as the last spasms wrack us both.
We stay joined for a moment, both panting, his cock still twitching inside my oversensitive pussy. I can feel his cum starting to leak out around his cock, dripping down toward my ass. The evidence of what we just did, of what I chose knowing exactly who he is.
Adrian pulls out slowly, watching his cum drip from my pussy with dark satisfaction. "Beautiful," he murmurs, using his fingers to push some back inside me. "You look perfect dripping with my cum."
His hands work the buckles next, releasing my wrists first. Red marks circle them where the leather held tight. He kisses each mark before moving to the leg straps, helping me out carefully. My legs shake when my feet hit the floor, pussy sore and still leaking his cum.
"Stay," he says against my hair, vulnerability cracking through his voice. "Not because I'm making you. Because you want to. Because you know we're inevitable."
I should leave, walk away from this insanity. Instead, I lean into him, still feeling his cum slide down my thighs, still craving more.
"Yes," I tell him, wondering if I just signed my death warrant.