***All works of erotica are based on ficional scenarios. We never condone anything that is not consensual.
I don’t like cats. Not really. Except that they kill rodents.
But watching you move with cat-like grace on those impossibly high heels… Delectable. Yes, you caught my attention. Perfect feline fluidity… You slid up on the bar stool smoothly as you caught my eye. Maybe I caught yours. But I also caught your short dress sliding up your lean, finely muscled thighs.
I’m not normally a foot guy, either. Most women act so proud of their feet when they should be the opposite. But yours are … perfect. It’s the arch, of course, but also the proportion. The mere sight of them incites in my mind’s eye all manner of images of the tender torture I could inflict upon them. I watched, entranced almost, as you let one shoe slide off, half-way, letting it dangle provocatively, pretending it was an accident.
I sent the barman over to you with an offer of a drink. You waved your hand at him from side to side, palm up.
“No, thank you.”
And then you turned to face me. And uncrossed your legs. And flashed me … a smile, too. A winsome smile, telling me without words that no, you weren’t wearing any panties under your sheer pantyhose, as if you hadn’t shown me that fact already. Silently you asked with your sparkling eyes, “What are you going to do to me?”
You had a different meaning for that sentence than mine, I’m sure. Much different.
I made a move to walk over to you, and again with the hand. A silent “no, don’t.” I sat back down. And still you continued your show.
Your cock-teasing continued the effect you expected. My jeans tightened as the swelling increased.
Silly little slut…
No one else seemed to want to make an advance on you. For me, it was a private show in public. For them… It was as if they had all seen your show before, and knew it for the cotton-candy cock-teasing that you intended. All sugar; no spice. Plenty of appetizer, but no entree.
A few more minutes and you watched me leave. I’d had enough. You seemed … disappointed.
What you didn’t know was what would happen later.
When you have no one else to tease, you’ll slither off the bar stool, perhaps letting your dress ride up to your hard, perfect cheerleader ass. Maybe not that high, but you’ll make sure to give the room an accidentally-on-purpose exhibition. You’ll slide your delicious feet back into your come-fuck-me pumps and give the room one last display of your sensuous feline stride.
And being you, you’ll head to the parking garage after checking all around to see if you’ve put anyone over the top. Then, click-clicking along in your heels, you’ll make your way to your car. You won’t notice the van parked a few spaces away; you never do. But your pace won’t slow as you click-click-click along the concrete garage floor, racing to the safety of your car.
A few steps from that serene automotive cocoon, you’ll feel the leather glove over your mouth, and you’ll smell the leather too, because my hand over your mouth will also cover your cute little nose, stifling your screams into frightened whimpers and pulling you by your head back against my chest.
Then you’ll feel the other glove, sliding fast and hard up your delicately athletic thigh, sliding your dress up and cupping your pussy as I lift you off the garage floor and carry you squirming and flailing into the van. When the van door slides shut, you’ll know what awaits you. You’ll fight harder, but have no chance; you’re nowhere near a match for me physically. And when I place you face-down into the pile of sheets laid there just for you, pressing your pretty face into the linen to silence you as I straddle your head, you’ll know you’ve lost–and that *no one* is coming to save you.
When your arms are tightly bound behind you–with bondage tape the first time, but after that, you’ll experience the tight sensation of rope and straps–I’ll stuff your mouth full of cloth and then seal it with more tape. Then still more tape to cover your eyes, and finally viciously tight wraps of tape around your trim, delicate ankles.
I’m sure you’ll squirm and fight even after you’re hopelessly bound–thrashing wildly on the hard van floor as I run my hands up and down your legs, playing with your perfect ass, probably even after I slap your ass hard several times as a warning. When I rip your pantyhose open and slide my fingers inside to moisten you, you’ll be relieved. You’ll take silent solace in the fact that at least I’ll be using your cunt. And when I mount you, you’ll realize you were wrong.
And then I’ll whisper into your ear, as you twist and squirm under me in a futile effort to escape, the first words you’ll hear from me.
“Don’t worry, slut. You’ll get it there, too, deep in your tight little quim, before I’m finished. And if you’re a good little cunt, I’ll fuck your pretty face, too. But not here. Somewhere else. It’s going to be a *long* weekend. There’ll be *plenty* of time…”
I won’t tell you, though, while I’m raping all your openings, that when we’re finished, I’ll tie you up tighter than ever, making sure everything is as uncomfortable as possible. I’ll drive you back to your car, reveling in your pathetic struggles to get free, and bind you securely in the driver’s seat with all your shredded clothes lying in the passenger seat, your eye-catching high-heeled pumps lying outside the driver’s door. Then I’ll lock your car door and set the alarm and throw away your keys, all so the Monday-morning commuters can see you, imprisoned in your car, praying for and dreading your rescue.
And how can I be so certain of all this?
I’ve been watching you for a *very* long time…
Thanks for reading. If you’d like to read (complete, non-serialized) stories I’ve written, please come visit: https://tinyurl.com/yycvsgr6
I’ve been writing erotica–niche adult fantasy (C/NC and N/C)–for the enjoyment of my readers for a number of years. My greatest reward comes from knowing the pleasure my words bring to my readers. If you want to let me know how you liked this story, feel free to drop me a line here: email@example.com