The Assistant Part Ten [F20s,f30s][WLW][SLOW BURN][2 POVs][flirting][first time gay][lesbian][D/s play][spanking][bastinado][restraints]

ANDY

I watched her nervous, fluttering hands go to her cloud of Harlow-whore hair. Not really making contact, almost as if she could create a small tornado that would somehow set it a’right again. 

I loved how instantly she responded to me, no matter what the response was. The way she hopped-to when commanded, or blushed, or took a position or grinned at me. Especially her involuntary reactions. I was obsessed with how, if I glanced down at her tits, I could watch her nipples get hard. That if I put my hand anywhere between her belly button and her knees her clit jerked. 

It was fucked up, but I liked how I could throw her off-kilter. She was confident and competent and incisively smart… until the game started. She had this walk, I don’t know how else to say it but a strut that commanded attention and brought her exactly where she wanted to be. But I could make her stumble. I could make her heels slide out from under her. I’d watch her feet somehow unsock from her shoe, watch her hip catch on a door knob or desk corner, like a plane thrown off its flight plan. Watching her tugging fruitlessly on her own locked door had gotten me so horny I’d almost tossed her to the floor to fuck her until she cried. 

I wanted to make her cry tonight. 

Which was partially why I’d half-promised her dinner. She wasn’t complaining at all, and seemed genuinely unbothered by the fact that she wasn’t my ‘girlfriend.’ But I foresaw that a harder session might require some softness afterward. 

I was becoming more and more sure, almost by the hour that we were both going to regret this soon. But I couldn’t stop. Not since those blissed-out early days of confusing lust with infatuation, infatuation with undying love, had I been so deeply sunk in obsession. While certainly not in love with her, it was like this little three-dimensional doll was constantly at a slow spin in my subconscious. A tugging drive to get her naked. Compare her softness, paleness, curvyness to my lack of any of that. To see how I could make that doll contort, scream, bend over, spread and widen and sweat. 

Once she was following me up to my apartment I rolled my eyes at myself, the pulse-quickening embarrassment I was feeling comparing my place to her place. Which was unfair. But I couldn’t help but picture her telling her uptown, straight girlfriends about slumming it with her dyke dom in a brick walk up in the south side. 

But she clacked along happily enough in her stilettos, ignoring the sounds of neighbors, the traffic a few floors below us, and the way I kind of had to throw my shoulder into my door after unlocking it to get it to actually swing open. 

She proceeded to stand politely in my doorway, staring up at me in that way she did when she was horny. It unfortunately reminded me of those blinking, sleep-eyed dolls. The kind that if you tipped them, their eyelids would close down on them. She had enormous, light colored eyes to begin with, and when she was excited or frightened, she became almost saucer-eyed. When I pulled her face toward the ceiling today, and her eyelashes fluttered down and brushed under her eyes I’d almost laughed because she’d so completed my unflattering image of her.

“Get naked, toy,” I said, walking further into the house, flipping on lights, making sure there were no outstandingly awful things in her eyeline. Her house had been plush, and pink, but hardly cluttered or unclean. I was not a neat person myself.

She did instantly, letting her clothes fall haphazardly in front of my door, setting down her purse none too gently and kicking her shoes aside. 

I liked how she behaved when she was nude, too. She usually shivered. I hardly thought it was the cold– my apartment ran hot, the fourth and highest floor of the building and kept warm no matter what I did– it seemed to be fear and excitement. But even in her fear or excitement, she never covered up at all, not like another woman or man might. She most generally stood like she would if clothed; hip cocked, one hand on out-thrust hip, the other dangling. She saw me glance back at her and struck a sexy pose then– hand above her head, head thrown back, tits forward, back curved. 

She made me laugh. She was, as she’d ever been, fun.

I snapped my fingers at her, pointing at the ground. “Wind-up dog.”

Pleased though surprised to watch at how instantly she went down onto her hands and knees, remembering how I’d called her a wind-up toy. 

“Come on,” I said, walking toward my living/dining/everything room. I didn’t want to fuck in my bed, we weren’t playing that game at all.

Listening to her palms and shins near-silently shushing over the parquet floors. 

“Stay,” I directed, once she was in the center of the room. Going to my bedroom to retrieve the various toys I planned to use on her. 

“Dulcie?” I asked.

“Mm?” she said, sounding drunk, cricking her neck up uncomfortably to look at me from her still-hands-and-knees position on my carpet.

I snapped my fingers again. “Doing lots of new things today,” I said, trying to catch her eye, trying to get her to clock into real conversation again. (I probably should have done this before getting her naked and on her knees, I castigated myself. She just fell so fast.)

“Oh good.” She still sounded almost slurred.

“So you’ll tell me ‘no’ or ‘stop’ if it’s bad, right?”

“Nu-uh,” she disagreed. 

I set everything down on my coffee table and crouched next to her, grabbing the back of her neck.

“We can’t play if you can’t play by the rules.”

“I want to be able to say ‘no’ and have you not stop,” she said. Sounding a little more ready to have an actual conversation. I sighed, slightly relieved.

“Okay, what’s your plan then?”

“To scream and cry and beg you to stop,” she said, turning to the side to look at me, smiling devilishly and fully cognizant. 

I sighed again. “Brat.”

“Well, what with the mess earlier and the promised punishment,” she said, wheedling and shaking her ass now.

“So what’s your alternative?” I asked.

“Mm… ‘yellow’ to slow down, ‘red’ to stop?” she pitched. Throwing me off my game because why was she even aware of that?

“Okay,” I said. “And do you promise to actually use that?”

“Yessir!” she agreed, all spritely bubbles like she always spoke.

So I reached around her and strapped her into a padded blindfold. She gasped, patting at it. I thought she’d like that– she responded well to being put into the box. 

“Stay,” I said again. 

I was mighty pleased with this part of my plan, feeling both creative and wicked when I rescued one of the mannequin boxes and brought it home, with the specific intention of fucking her up with it. I’d punched four holes and reinforced them in the sides.

I let it drop with a soft fump to the floor beside her, making her jump. Her girly little arms were already shaking from having kept herself on hands and knees for all of ten minutes. So I grabbed her by the hair, making her shriek and pulling her to stand up again. Dragging her until her toes hit the cardboard. She startled like a horse.

“Get in your box, toy,” I said. 

She lifted her foot blindly, dipping into the box like a toe into bath water. Feeling the packing peanuts again. Looking over her shoulder as if she could see me. But then stepping into the box. 

Adorably, she held out a hand to me, like a princess would descend from her carriage. So I helped her ease into it. Letting her get herself comfortable in it again. 

I could hear she was excited, obviously enjoying the sensation of the peanuts against her bare skin this time. 

Once she was settled, I grabbed her left hand, tugging it toward the first hole, drawing it through. Using zip ties to fasten her wrists to the cardboard. She’d be able to tear herself out of it if she really wanted to. But she’d be restrained.

She moaned and then inhaled when she felt herself getting tied in. Pushing her right hand through before I even got around to that side, making me laugh. Doing the same with her ankles. Once she was tied into the box I stood for a little while above her. Both because I liked the image it created and because her discomfort with just being still was both intensely interesting and made her get very subby fast. 

I watched her melt again, almost seeming to sink deeper into the box, peanuts shifting around her and burying her a little deeper. Watching her breath cycle down from an excited too-fast beat to something almost sleep slow. 

I sat down at the end of the box, cross-legged, facing her soles. Feet comfortably slumped to the side, relaxed and strapped in with thick black zip ties. I loved the look of the black against her skin. She probably wouldn’t like how frequently I compared her mentally to food. But especially her feet made me think of desserts– whipped cream and cannoli, beignets and karpatka. Her thighs were croquembouche to me, her hair profiterole, her lips strawberry of course. Or maybe just any attention would be good attention to her. But the truth was, I wanted to devour her just like I would the food. 

I ran my fingers up her soles, making her jump, sort of giggling through her nose. Reaching over for the one light, thin cane I had and started tapping against her insteps. As expected, she moaned, reaching her toes toward me, chasing after the sensation. Backing up, I started to hit her a little harder. She just kept falling into it. Gasping over the impact, moaning on her exhale. 

I worked up to hitting her pretty hard after perhaps twenty blows. And she kept moving into it for another fifteen or so. When she started curling her feet, pointing her toes toward each other to block blows I stopped. Even if she hadn’t said anything. Listened to her catching her breath in the box. 

Getting up and moving to the side of her box, watching her breathing heavily, sort of twitching, feet still wiggling through her ankle holes like she was waiting for more punishment. As if to say “okay, I’ve had my break, you can hit me again!” 

“Too bad my toy is so milky white,” I said. Watching her head roll slowly to face me, as if she could see me through leather. I loved the look of the blindfold strapped around her head, the dents the straps were making in her hair, one curl already uncomfortably wrapped around a buckle. “I like pink better.”

I watched that thoughtful mouth purse she would do. When we were playing, she was looking for the “right” answer or how to “solve” whatever “problem” I’d raised with her. Like she actually had an answer. Or needed to answer. 

“Maybe I could beat it until it was a color I liked better,” I said, musing toward the ceiling. Hearing the squeaking shush of peanuts while she nodded inside the box. 

First grabbing her nipples, pulling them hard toward the ceiling, eliciting a shriek. Listening to her moan after she got back from the shriek, her legs cricketing together. Picking up a smaller paddle, something I’d actually be able to wield in the confines of the box, I tapped her left tit. She rolled toward that too. So I started beating her chest. Watching her jump, slightly worried about the zip ties cutting into her wrists and ankles. But I wouldn’t leave her in the box much longer. 

She took her chest beating even better than her feet. She really seemed to enjoy that, hips desperately jerking upward with every blow, nipples hard and tight, areoles starting to swell. Like the rest of her– which was to say, pale and curvy– her tits were enormous and pearlescantly pale. So when she first flushed because she was horny, and then started getting hit, her nipples became almost hibiscus pink, breasts a more mild rose. 

When I stopped, she grunted, disappointed. She never did move away from the paddle, just endlessly accepting. 

But I was starting to get horny myself. I was having fun with this but I wanted to take her out soon. So I moved down to her pubis, tapping that too. Another shriek, but I could hear her attempting this time to stifle herself. Which was good. My neighbors had definitely heard many sorts of sexual escapades but Dulcie in particular was loud and sounded more like she was being murdered than fucked. 

I beat her until her stupid straight-girl porn-star bald mound was equally pink. Watching her wriggle and squall. And then I stopped again, letting her just sit in the box. Panting and moaning again and eventually falling back into that stupefaction. Getting my second stage prepped. I heard her head cocking in the box as I got up and moved around but she didn’t speak or make any inquisitive noise. Just letting me work.