After the tumultuous weekend, the quietness of my apartment was a welcome reprieve. I found myself wandering from room to room, the silence a stark contrast to the sound of passionate moans and the slap of flesh against flesh that had echoed through the walls. The memory of Margaret's dominance, of the way she had taken control of my body and my desires, was still a fresh wound that throbbed with every beat of my heart.
The biggest plug they had given me was a constant presence, a silent sentinel to the new world I had entered. It filled me with a sense of submission and longing that was both terrifying and exhilarating. I had been instructed to wear it every day, a symbol of my commitment to them, to our newfound arrangement. The weight of it was a reminder of my place in their lives, a pet to be used and enjoyed at their whim.
It was Wednesday afternoon when Jenny knocked on my door, a knowing smile playing on her lips as she handed me a small bundle of laundry. "These are for you," she said, her eyes sparkling with mischief. In her hand was a pair of her dirty panties, the fabric a testament to her youthful vigor and the recent activities she had shared with Benjamin.
I took them from her, feeling a thrill run through me. The scent was faint but unmistakable – a musky sweetness that was uniquely hers. She leaned in, her breath hot against my ear. "Don't worry, George," she whispered, her voice a siren's call. "You can sniff them all you want. Just don't get too excited. Save it for when we play again."
The next day, Margaret paid me a visit. She looked like a goddess in a simple black dress that clung to her curves in all the right places. Her heels clicked against the floor, the sound echoing through the hallway as she made her way to my door.
"Hello, George," she purred, stepping into my apartment. She kicked off her shoes, revealing a pair of sheer black stockings that hugged her legs like a second skin. She settled onto the couch, her legs crossing with a grace that made me weak in the knees. "How's the plug feeling?"
Margaret's question brought a blush to my cheeks as I sat down opposite her, the plug a constant reminder of my newfound submission. "It's... fine," I managed to say, trying to keep my voice steady.
With a knowing smile, she stretched her foot out, the tip of her stockinged toes brushing against my knee. "I want to see it," she said, her eyes gleaming with anticipation. I swallowed hard, my hands shaking as I reached down to pull my boxers down. But before I could stop myself, she waved a hand. "No, no. I meant all of it," she clarified, her voice like velvet.
My heart racing, I stood and began to undress, my eyes never leaving hers. She watched me with a hungry gaze, her lips curled in a smile that was both seductive and commanding. The plug was a stark contrast against my skin, a constant reminder of the power she held over me. When I was fully naked, she leaned back into the couch, her eyes taking in every inch of my body.
"Much better," she said, her voice a low purr that seemed to resonate in my very bones. "You look so much more... open, like this."
Her hand slid down to cup my balls, her touch feather-light yet firm. "Did I tell you to get hard?" she asked, her tone one of dominance that sent a bolt of excitement straight to my groin.
"No, Margaret, you didn't," I replied, my voice a hoarse whisper. The grip tightened, and I bit my lip to stifle a gasp. "What was that?" she asked, her eyes narrowing, the question a silent demand for obedience.
The realization struck me like lightning, and I felt my cheeks burn with a mix of embarrassment and arousal. "Miss Margaret," I murmured, my voice strained as I corrected my earlier slip. Her grip on my testicles eased immediately, and she offered a knowing smile that seemed to hold a thousand secrets.
"Why are you hard, George?" she asked, her voice a sweet melody that seemed to dance around the edges of my consciousness. Her fingers traced the shaft of my cock, the touch as gentle as a feather yet as commanding as a whip.
"Because of you, Miss Margaret," I murmured, my eyes never leaving hers. The words were a declaration of my desire, my need to serve her in any way she saw fit. The way she looked at me, the way she touched me, it was like nothing I had ever experienced before.
Margaret leaned back, her hand still wrapped around my cock, stroking me with a slow, deliberate rhythm that made me want to beg for more. "But you're not supposed to get hard unless I say so," she said, her voice a teasing whisper that danced through the air like a siren's song. "What makes you think you're special enough to get an erection in my presence?"
Her words stung, but the truth was undeniable. In the face of their youthful passion, my own desires felt almost quaint. Benjamin had claimed her in ways that I could never replicate, had made her scream with pleasure that I could only dream of. And yet, here I was, my body betraying me with every stroke of her hand, my cock straining against the confines of my pants.
"You're right," I admitted, the words feeling like gravel in my mouth. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have..."
Margaret leaned in closer, her breath warm against my ear. "Don't apologize, George," she whispered, her grip on my cock tightening. "Just remember your place. You're here for my pleasure, not the other way around."
Her words sent a jolt through me, a mix of humiliation and arousal. I nodded, my cheeks flushing with the truth of her statement. "Yes, Miss Margaret," I murmured, my voice barely a whisper.
"But I'll tell you what really makes me wet," she said, her voice dropping to a seductive purr. She leaned in closer, her breath a warm caress against my neck.
"What's that?" I asked, my voice a hoarse whisper, the anticipation thick in the air.
Margaret's hand stopped moving, and she leaned back to look at me, her eyes dark with lust. "It's the thought of you and Benjamin together," she said, her voice a seductive purr. "Him taking you, claiming your ass for the first time. And Jenny and I will be right there, in the front row, watching every inch of his cock slide into you."
My cock twitched at her words, the image playing out in my mind like a pornographic movie. I swallowed hard, my heart racing with both fear and excitement. "Y-yes, Miss Margaret," I managed to stutter out, my voice trembling. The idea of being used by Benjamin while the women watched was a fantasy that had haunted my dreams for so long, and now it was within reach.
Margaret's smile grew wider, and she leaned in to whisper in my ear, "You'll be our little bitch, won't you, George?" The words were a warm, velvety promise, sending shivers down my spine. I nodded, my voice failing me as the reality of what was to come sank in.
Her hand trailed down my body, her fingertips grazing the base of the plug, causing me to gasp. "You're doing so well," she said, her voice filled with a motherly pride that seemed so incongruous with the situation. "But I noticed that worried expression on your face. Is there something you're not telling us?"
I took a deep breath, trying to find the words to voice my fear. "I'm just... I'm worried it might hurt, Miss Margaret," I admitted, feeling like a child confessing a secret. The plug inside me was a constant reminder of the depth of my submission, and the thought of something larger, something that could bring even more pleasure and pain, was both terrifying and exhilarating.
Margaret's smile was gentle, understanding. She leaned in closer, her stockinged foot caressing my face, the smooth fabric sliding against my skin like the softest silk. Her scent was intoxicating, a mix of power and sex that seemed to fill the very air around us. "You're worried about Benjamin," she said, her voice a soft purr. "But don't worry, my love. He'll be gentle with you. After all, we want this to be an experience of pleasure, not pain."
Her words were a balm to my nerves, and I nodded, eager to please. "Thank you, Miss Margaret," I murmured, my voice filled with gratitude for her reassurance. "I just don't want to disappoint you."
Margaret's expression grew stern, her eyes boring into me. "You won't," she said, her tone leaving no room for argument.
With a grace that seemed almost predatory, she slid off the couch, her stockings whispering against the fabric as she rose to her feet. She looked down at me, her hand held out expectantly.
"Help me to put those heels back on," she said, her voice a velvety command that sent a thrill through my body. I took her hand, the warmth of her skin sending a jolt straight to my cock, which was already beginning to stir once more. I knelt before her, feeling the coolness of the floor tiles against my knees as I took one of her delicate feet in my hand. The heel was tall and elegant, a symbol of the power she wielded so effortlessly.
Gently, I slid the shoe onto her foot, the leather whispering against her skin as I secured the strap. Margaret's eyes never left mine, a hint of a smile playing on her lips as she watched my every move. "Good boy," she murmured, the praise sending a wave of pleasure through me that was almost as potent as the earlier pain. I felt a strange mix of pride and submission, knowing that I was serving her in this small, intimate way.
Once her heels were back on, she stood before me, her body a work of art, the curves and lines sculpted by lust and power. She smoothed her skirt back into place, the fabric whispering against her thighs, a stark contrast to the raw passion that had just occurred. "I must go now," she said, the finality in her tone sending a jolt of reality through the haze of desire that had enveloped us.
Leaning down, she claimed my mouth in a kiss that was as tender as it was possessive. Her hand found my cock, giving it a brief, firm squeeze that made me moan into her mouth. Then she broke away, the smile on her face one of satisfaction and dominance. "Remember, George," she whispered, her breath hot against my cheek, "you're mine."
The door clicked shut behind her, leaving me alone in the apartment with my swirling thoughts. I couldn't help but think about the unspoken bond that had formed between Benjamin and myself during those innocent meetings in the last days. The way his eyes would linger on me, the gentle press of his body against mine as we walked, the subtle touches that hinted at a desire much deeper than friendship. It was a thrill that I had kept hidden from Margaret, a secret that added a delicious edge to our dynamic.
As the days passed, our encounters grew more intimate. We often leaned in for a hug that felt like a silent claim, his hands firmly grasping my body as if to say, "You're mine." The warmth of his touch was like a brand, leaving me craving more, even as I knew I was being consumed by a desire that could never be fully realized. His fingers would trace the contours of my chest, occasionally wandering lower to give my ass a quick squeeze before retreating, leaving me panting with anticipation.
On Thursday, Jenny arrived with a knowing smile, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Hey, George," she called out, her voice a siren's song that had become all too familiar. "I came for my washed panties," she said, holding out her hand. I handed her the neatly folded package, my heart racing at the thought of what might come next.
Without missing a beat, she plopped herself on the couch, her legs spread slightly apart. "Why don't you sit down?" she suggested, her voice a gentle purr that seemed to coax me closer. I sat opposite of her, my eyes drawn to the spot between her legs where the fabric of her skirt parted, revealing the absence of any underwear.
"You know," Jenny began, her hand idly tracing the line of her thigh, "Margaret said you've been doing so well. I figured you might want a little reward." She paused, her gaze flicking up to meet mine, her smile wicked. "Do you want a taste?"
Without waiting for a response, she leaned back, her skirt riding up to reveal her freshly shaved mound, glistening with the evidence of their earlier encounter. My breath caught in my throat, and I couldn't help but lean in, drawn by the allure of her bare skin and the scent of their mingled arousal.
Jenny giggled, her fingers parting her folds to reveal her swollen clit. "This," she said, her voice a breathy whisper, "is a bit seasoned now, since it is from last night, and I let it simmer there for you as a variety." She dipped her fingers into her own wetness and brought them to my lips.
The scent was musky, a faint hint of something familiar and yet entirely new. I took a tentative lick, savoring the taste of her juices mixed with the faint saltiness of Benjamin's cum. It was a heady cocktail of flavors that seemed to dance on my tongue, a delicious reminder of the taboo act I had witnessed.
"What do you think, George?" Jenny's voice was a teasing whisper, her eyes gleaming with amusement as she watched my reaction. "Does it taste as good as when it's fresh?"
I took another swipe, my tongue tracing the contours of her pussy, savoring the flavor that was now a part of me. "It's delicious," I murmured, the words barely audible. The taste of her and Benjamin on her skin was like a secret handshake, a silent acknowledgment of the bond that had formed between us all.
As I licked, I couldn't help but think of how she had been so naughty, teasing and taunting me with her flirty glances and knowing smiles. In that moment, the thought of her sprawled across my lap, her ass bare and waiting for a good, hard spanking, filled my mind. I bit my lip, pushing the fantasy down, but it lingered there, a tantalizing whisper of something more to come.
Suddenly, Jenny pulled away, leaving my tongue feeling cold without her warmth. She leaned back with a contented sigh, a smug smile playing on her lips. "Oh, I forgot to tell you," she began, her voice a siren's call that had my heart racing. "Benjamin has been asking for a date this Friday evening. Just you and him. In our flat."
The butterflies in my stomach grew wings, fluttering with a mix of excitement and trepidation. A date? Just the two of us? I nodded, my voice a hoarse whisper of agreement, unable to find the words to express the tumult of emotions that swirled within me.
I could barely wait for Friday.
