Strictly Business is my first BDSM/Femdom work and was a lot of fun to write – I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. A preview is below.
I sit down, harder, my thighs pressing into the heels of the pumps I didn’t trouble myself to take off. Why bother? I need them for when I walk all over his body, digging the points into the many soft parts of his flesh. If he were allowed to speak, I would force him to thank me for my cruelty in between his cries of pain.
I’m sitting with such force that my tailbone is crushing the bridge of his nose through his blindfold hard enough that it hurts even me. My knees hurt as well, and I kick myself for forgetting my kneepads. I could have tied Tom to the soft bed for my sake, instead, but he deserved the hard, wooden desk that sat in the corner of every suite in the hotel. He would suffer no less for my mistake.
When I turn my head back and look down on him, his pale, blotchy skin sticks out sharply next to the darkly tanned hue of my own. The tape on his mouth hasn’t budged and he’s struggling for air, the pink in his face getting progressively darker by the second. The thin strap of fabric that’s hidden deeply in the crevasse of my ass is pressed into his nose, cutting off the only air supply I allowed him after taping his mouth shut.
The only movement I make is with my hips, slowly grinding them in a circle as I squeeze myself down onto him harder and harder, watching as his face and neck turn from pink to red and from red to maroon, his struggles against his restraints and muffled yells becoming more intense as the seconds tick past.
His struggles are entirely hopeless, and the sound of his cries make me look up and laugh. Normal people would be horrified, but I can’t help it. I hate him so much. If only he knew I would torture him for free, I wouldn’t have eight crisp one-hundred-dollar bills from him tucked safely away in my play bag. He’s so stupid that even after all our sessions, he still thinks I’m just a good actress.
As his cries reach a panicked tenor, I know he’s squirmed enough and lift my ass just high enough to hear him hungrily suck fresh oxygen in through his nose. I watch him for several moments, thoroughly repulsed by everything about him, already itching for my chance to sit again. He can pretend to hate this, but we both knew moments like this made him jerk off for weeks.
His breathing is still rapid, but the color in his face had returned to normal, and I sit down once more. His immediate howl sounded frightened, pathetic within seconds. This will be the last night I ever see him, his money being the only thing I’ll truly miss.