Emailed Instructions

She hadn’t seen him in months.  She thought it was over.  She had stopped jumping each time her phone rang, stopped freezing with fear at each late-night knock on the door.

And then today, an email.

“Tonight, when you get home, you will leave the door unlocked.  You will strip to your bra and panties, whichever you are wearing today.  You will leave on your heels, and any jewelry you already have on.  You will tie a pair of stockings around your eyes.  Then you will stand in the middle of the main room of your apartment, hands behind your back, legs wider than shoulder-width apart… and you will wait. ”

He didn’t sign it.  He no longer even bothered to threaten her with an “or else.”  He knew she would do as he instructed.  She simply had too much to lose to risk disobeying.

And so she spent the rest of the day unable to concentrate, thinking only of the night ahead of her, thinking of the humiliating experience that was surely ahead of her.  Her pussy dampened as she stared at the email.  She blushed, hoping nobody walked into her office this afternoon.  It was one thing to do as he said… but to get wet at the prospect…

Five o’clock took forever to arrive.  Her legs shook as she walked to her car, and she drove quickly and in silence, face clenched, squirming in her seat.  She’d been getting wetter and wetter all day, and now, in the car all alone, she could smell her own arousal.  She drove faster, ashamed of her body’s reaction.

She pulled up in front of her apartment building, and had a long, embarrassing ride in the elevator with a cute guy who lives a floor or two above her.  She kept her knees locked together, praying her wet pussy was something only she could smell.  She hurried out as the doors opened, not saying a word to him.

She closed the door behind her, and left it unlocked, as he instructed.  She stood there, just inches inside her apartment, and began to strip.  It was embarrassing, taking instructions from an email sent six hours ago, stripping herself right at her front door, knowing she had no choice.

She was glad she’d worn pretty underwear today.  She’d felt adventurous this morning, and had chosen a pretty black lace demi bra that presented her perky young breasts on a platter, and a matching, lacy black pair of hiphugging shorts.  She kept her shiny black heels on, and had been instructed not to remove her thin silver bracelets nor her pretty little earrings.

She took stockings from her drawer, walked into her main room.  She’d been moving like a robot, doing as she was told… but now it was time.  Time to face her tormentor.

She stood in the middle of the room, swallowed… and tied the stocking around her head, blindfolding herself.  Her body shuddered with fear and arousal.  She placed her hands behind her back, locking her fingers together, and spread her legs, nice and wide.

And then… she waited.

And waited.

She stood still, legs open, breasts on display, her pussy throbbing between her open thighs, waiting.  He kept her waiting all alone like that, obeying in solitude for a full twenty minutes.

When the door finally creaked open, she gasped aloud.  Suddenly she had the urge to cover her nearly naked body, but knew she would be punished for moving her hands.

He closed the door, locked it, and chained it shut.  Her breath quivered as she felt completely locked in.

He approached her, and she felt his presence near her body.  She trembled as he stalked around her, and she imagined him examining her breasts, her pouting, nervous mouth, her half-bare, quivering bottom.

She heard him in the kitchen, in her drawers… and then he was beside her again, and there were scissors against her thigh… and in two quick snips she was no longer wearing panties.  He had sliced them off of her.  Her pussy and jaw clenched hard at her spread-legged exposure.

And then the vibrator.  Her Magic Wand, the one he made her buy.   She jumped as she heard it turn on, and whimpered as he began to run it up the insides of her thighs, from her knee up… up… up…. and stopping just short before switching legs.  He loved to torment her, loved to show her how very much she wanted it, even when wanting it made her nothing more than a complete and total slut…

And then he held it still, just a fraction of an inch from her hot, throbbing cunt, right below her, her whole body tensed…

“Get it, slut.”

She blushed, bit her lip with shame… and squatted.

She settled her wet, naked pussy on the vibrator, and groaned as pleasure shot through her half-naked body, her head dropping back, mouth going slack as she gasped with pleasure, groaning aloud as her hips began to thrust, humping back and forth on her own vibrator in the middle of her own apartment.

He kept it pressed firmly to her cunt as she squatted and made her standing humps for him, ashamed and hating him and the way he made her act…

And then she felt herself starting to cum, and she groaned, knowing he would never let her, not yet.

“Please… Sir… can I please cum… Sir?”   She did her best to be a good girl.

And then his hand was suddenly around her throat, squeezing, and her body shuddered with pleasure as she ground her clit harder into the thrumming wide rubber head of the vibrator.

“No.”  He squeezed her throat harder and put his face right in hers, her half-naked body thrusting and humping, shaking her head, gasping for breath as he refused her orgasm…

But she couldn’t hold it.  She needed to cum… she needed it…

She gasped, “please…. Sir… oh god please…”

“No.  Cum and you’ll be punished.”

But she had no choice.  He held her throat tight, and she thrust and humped her pretty hips into the vibrator harder, harder, harder… and she groaned and shook her head and whimpered a pathetic, “oh god…. I’m cumming… I’m sorry…. I’m cumming… oh fuck….”

Her body shook, her pussy bearing down hard on the dildo in her humiliating squat, orgasm washing over her as she struggled to breathe, hands behind her back as her knees shook hard, gasping, grunting…

And then she squirted.  She felt his face right beside hers, calm and collected as she grunted and squirmed and sweated.  He was laughing as she started to squirt, spurting her juices all over her own carpet, cumming in a spread-legged squat in the middle of her own apartment, blindfolded with her panties cut off of her.

They both knew it was cumming.  This vibrator always made her squirt.  And she hated it, every single time.  It was intensely embarrassing, and he knew it.  And so this vibrator was her enemy, a tool used to punish her with her own reactions.  And as she felt herself making a puddle on her own carpet, she sobbed with shame.

He released her throat and pulled the vibrator away, and she stood there, shaking, trembling, pussy dripping, squirt juices running down her bare, jiggling wet thighs.

He let her stand there trembling and ashamed and unprotected for a moment.  And then he leaned in close, and whispered:

“I thought I told you not to cum?”

She started to cry.  She had disobeyed.

And now she would be punished.


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