“Give me a minute,” Jack responds, turning off the vibrator.
Dammit!
He unties my bonds, which isn’t as great as coming, but I’m glad not to be tied to the cage anymore. He throws me over his shoulder, opens the cage, and puts me back in.
“Wait!” I protest as he closes the top and locks it in place.
“You’re going to save that orgasm for later,” he tells me. “No coming while I’m gone. I’ll be watching.”
I grab the bars. “You’re coming right back, right?”
He gives me an amused look before walking up the stairs and out the door.
Frustrated, I kick at the cage. Of course that doesn’t help. At least he left the light on so I’m not in complete darkness.
What does he mean he’s watching? Does he have a spycam on me? I look around and actually spot a camera in one corner of the ceiling. Maybe if I faced the other way, he would only see my back and not know for sure if I was playing with myself? I turn around and notice another camera. Why does he have cameras in the basement to begin with? There’s nothing here besides the cage I’m in, a dresser, an armoire with glass doors, a wooden pony, a St. Andrew’s cross, chair and table, and a metal bed near the corner. The cameras must serve a kinky purpose.
Since I can’t sit up without having to duck my head, I decide to lay down with my knees in the air. I hope he comes back really soon. Though even if he does, there’s no guarantee he’s going to let me come. Jack is the hardest Dom I’ve ever come across.
And there’s more! He said something about a lot more training to go. He said that, about me not being ready, instead of what should have been the simple response to my question asking if he’d sell me: no.
He’s got to be messing with my head. Doing some kind of mindfuckery. Taking this fantasy roleplaying to the extreme.
My body still hums with arousal. I wish I could will myself to an orgasm. I’ve had wet dreams, so it’s probably possible for me to daydream myself into an orgasm. Closing my eyes, I focus on the area between my legs. I flex my pussy. I want so badly to reach down and rub myself. A few strokes on the clit. That’s all I need.
But after several minutes, I don’t feel anywhere nearer to a climax. What if Jack doesn’t come back for hours? I wouldn’t put it past him to do something like that. I don’t want to be aroused for hours on end again. Maybe I should focus on cooling down instead.
After what feels like an hour, I hear footsteps. Several. Two men I don’t recognize come down the stairs. I’m guessing they’re two of Jack’s friends. One of them is tall and black, the other of mixed race has a crooked nose and a scar across his cheek. The one with the scar gives me a lascivious grin as they just stand there, looking at me. It’s a good thing I’m not shy. I haven’t taken selfies of myself naked or barely dressed and posted them on a social media platform, or anything like that, but I wouldn’t be opposed to doing it.
Would Jack really let his friends fuck me? Would I want to? Now that I’ve seen their faces, it feels more personal, so maybe no.
A few minutes later, Jack comes down.
“You did good, princess,” he says. “I could tell you wanted to touch yourself.”
“I did,” I say. “You really know how to work me up. I’m gonna come so hard for you.”
Through the bars, he taps me playfully on the nose. “If I let you.”
I don’t want to break the fantasy, but part of me wants to ask for my phone.
He turns to his friends. “Take her out.”
After opening the cage, they grab my arms and lift me out. They set me on my feet while Jack holds a fancy-looking leather hood with an opening for the mouth.
“We’re going to play a game,” he says. “How much of a slut are you?”
What could I be in for? I’m both intrigued and nervous.
“Will you come on any guy’s cock?” he asks.
Part of me wants to object. Liking sex doesn’t make me a slut. Or if it does, I’m okay with being one. Coming on a dildo wouldn’t make me a slut. What does it matter if the dildo happens to be real and attached to someone?
But being called a slut in this case is part of the fantasy. It’s naughty and dirty.
“Keep your mouth open at all times,” he instructs as he places the hood over my head and laces it up.
Padded on the inside at both the eyes and ears, the hood deprives me of sight and hearing. Remembering his instructions, I part my lips. Something rubbery slides through the opening and over my tongue, filling my mouth. It’s a dildo. I feel it secured at the back of my head. With this thing in my mouth, how am I supposed to say my safeword?