#@goochfiddler99

Although time off together is rare, you and Caleb always make the most of it. Tonight, you’re seated within the warm golden glow of candlelight in one of the city’s most exclusive restaurants, the kind that takes months of planning and a small miracle to reserve. The table gleams, a bottle of your favorite wine already half-empty between you.

Caleb’s fingers are laced through yours on the white tablecloth, his thumb tracing lazy circles against your skin as he murmurs soft nothings that make you laugh quietly. He looks at you like the world has narrowed down to this single moment, to just you and him alone. 

You don’t notice the sharp edge in his smile when the waiter fills your glass a little too slowly, or how his hand tightens around yours every time someone’s gaze lingers on you for too long. You’re too wrapped up in the warmth of him, the way his voice feels like silk against your ear, the way his eyes linger on your lips, the way his smile turns his eyes to cute little crescent moons.

“Was everything to your liking?” the waiter asks, suddenly at your side. Caleb’s arm slips around your waist, casual to anyone else’s eye, but you feel the slight pressure in his fingertips, claiming, protective.

“It was amazing” you say brightly, smiling up at the waiter. “That ravioli was to die for.”

The man chuckles, leaning in with an easy grin. “If you leave me your number, I can send you the recipe” he suggests, his eyes flicking briefly toward Caleb.

You laugh, naively thinking nothing of it. “Oh, really? That would be great!”

You grab a napkin, scribble your number, and slide it over with an conspiratorial wink. The waiter grins, tucking it into his pocket and giving it a pat, before moving off to fetch the check.

When you turn back, Caleb’s smile is still fixed, but it’s tight now, his jaw locked. The faint lines around his eyes don’t look like amusement anymore.

“I’m gonna get the recipe” you gush, oblivious to the way his knuckles whiten around his wine glass. “I can make it for us at home, isn’t that brilliant?”

“Brilliant” he repeats drly, his tone smooth but hollow. The candlelight catches his eyes, and for the first time tonight, they look dark, far too dark.

You chatter on all the way back to the car, laughing, replaying your favorite parts of the evening. You don’t notice that Caleb hasn’t said a word in several minutes. You don’t see the way his reflection in the car window watches you, unblinking…calculating. 

…

The car hums softly as the city lights slide past the windows. Caleb’s hand rests loosely on the steering wheel, the other draped over the armrest between you. Normally, the drive home would be full of laughter, soft music, his voice filling the silence with easy conversation.

But tonight, he’s quiet.

Each time you try to draw him out, commenting on the food, the music playing on the radio, the way the night air smells tonight, he only hums in response. A grunt here, a vague nod there. His profile is calm, serene, but something about the set of his jaw keeps your stomach uneasy.

You circle back to the topic that had excited you all evening. “The waiter was nice, huh?” you say, smiling despite the tension. “Can’t believe he said he’d send me the recipe for the ravioli…wasn’t that sweet?”

For the first time since you left the restaurant, Caleb’s head tilts, just slightly, but it’s enough to make your words falter.

“You liked the service then?” His voice is smooth, low, almost purring. There’s an edge beneath it though, something sharp.

You blink at him, thrown off by the shift. “Yeah, he was really kind” you say softly, trying to catch his expression, to read him.

His hand moves slowly. It slides from the console to your thigh, shifting the hem of your dress higher. The weight of it is heavy, and possessive. His fingers flex once, kneading the soft skin at the top of your thigh. It’s not rough, but it’s not tender either, it’s claiming.

You swallow, your voice coming out thin. “What’s wrong?”

He doesn’t answer right away. The only sound is the quiet thrum of the tires against the asphalt as he comes to a stop at the lights. He finally looks at you, his amethyst eyes swimming with unrestrained want.

“Nothing” he finally murmurs, fixing his eyes back on the road ahead like it’s nothing. “Just… interesting.”

The word hangs in the air, heavier than it should be. His thumb continues to trace slow, deliberate circles against your skin, the touch searing.

You glance out the window, heart skipping when you notice his reflection in the glass. He’s smiling now, faintly. But it doesn’t reach his eyes. 

… 

Caleb is the first out of the car, by the time you pick up your bag from the footwell and reach for the handle, your door is already swinging open. His expression is calm, composed, one hand braced against the frame, the other extended toward you like the perfect gentlemen. 

“Come on” he murmurs. His fingers close around yours, warm and firm, drawing you up from the seat. His touch lingers longer than necessary, thumb brushing over the inside of your wrist, tracing slow circles until your pulse stutters. You feel yourself relax into his touch.

Once inside, the quiet continues. You expect the usual chatter, teasing remark about how much you both ate, but there’s nothing. The silence stretches thin as he walks behind you, his hand resting lightly on the small of your back. The pressure is gentle, but there’s purpose in it, a subtle insistence that keeps you moving forward.

You reach the hall stand, slipping your coat from your shoulders. “I’ll hang this—”

He takes it before you can finish. The fabric slips from his hand, landing soundlessly on the floor. He doesn’t look down, doesn’t apologise. His hand is already back on your spine, guiding you toward the stairs.

“Caleb…?” You glance over your shoulder. He doesn’t answer, just looks at you, a small smile on his lips, and then closes the distance between you.

His mouth meets yours without warning. The kiss is slow at first, deceptively tender, his hand cupping the side of your face, fingers stroking gentle paths across your skin. But then the pace shifts, his lips drag against yours, a quiet hunger building beneath the surface. He kisses like he’s reclaiming something.

You melt into him, breath hitching as you feel the warmth of his body and the faint hum of his breath. The taste of wine still lingers on his tongue. When he finally pulls back, his eyes are half-lidded, unreadable, his thumb tracing the curve of your jaw before he leans in again, deeper, rougher this time.

By the time you reach the bedroom, your pulse is racing. Caleb pushes the door open with one hand, the other never leaving you. He moves you backwards until you feel the cool press of the wall at your back. His hand slides up, fingers braced behind your head so you don’t hit the plaster. Always careful. Always in control.

He trails kisses across your cheek, one at the corner of your mouth, one along the bridge of your nose, another brushing the edge of your lashes. His breath is hot against your skin. You can feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat where your chests touch.

When he stops, his face hovers inches from yours. His voice is quiet, velvet-soft but laced with something that makes your stomach twist.

“You smiled for him” he murmurs. “The way you smile for me.”

You blink, confused, dazed by the closeness. “I—I didn’t mean anything by it” you manage, your breath uneven. “He was just being kind.”

Caleb studies you for a long moment, his gaze flicking from your eyes to your mouth. The smile that touches his lips is faint, almost tender, yet it chills you.

“Too kind” he says at last, his tone dipping lower. The words are barely audible, more exhale than sound. “That won’t happen again.”

His lips ghost against yours once more, a teasing brush that leaves you chasing more even as your body tenses. His eyes flutter shut briefly, savouring the moment. His fingers tighten slightly at the back of your neck, not painful, just enough to remind you how easily he could hold you there. Then he tilts your chin up, forcing you to meet his eyes.

There’s affection in them, yes, but it’s a sharp, burning kind of affection. Your breath catches, a flush creeping up your neck as forbidden excitement pools low in your belly, the unknown looms, electric and intoxicating.

Seamlessly, he pivots you both with that iron grip on your neck, guiding you as he walks backwards toward the bed. Each step amplifies the anticipation, your bare feet brushing the cool floor, his presence a magnetic pull you can’t resist, your mind racing with fragmented thoughts. 

Abruptly, he releases you, the sudden absence of his touch leaving you swaying, exposed and aching for him. His focus shifts with predatory efficiency to undressing you, no fumbling, no hesitation, just swift, purposeful movements that make your skin tingle in anticipation. 

His fingers find the zipper of your dress, drawing it down in one fluid, decisive pull that echoes in the charged silence. The fabric whispers free, he guides you to step out of it with gentle but commanding hands, then steps away for a torturous moment to lay it neatly on the dresser. You stand there in nothing but your underwear, pulse thrumming wildly in your throat, every nerve alight with uncertainty. The seconds stretch, deliciously agonising, your body humming with nervous energy.

He returns, closing the distance in a heartbeat. His fingers ghost along the sensitive skin of your waist, feather-light trails that ignite sparks, making you gasp softly and arch instinctively toward him. Then, with the same expert precision, he strips away the last barriers. Unhooking your bra in a single motion, letting it slip from your shoulders and fall discarded; hooking his thumbs into the waistband of your panties, tugging them down slowly before helping you step free. 

Naked now, utterly vulnerable under his gaze, you feel a rush of absurd nervousness, heat flooding your cheeks. His eyes are impossibly dark, primal, devouring you like prey, and you swear you could melt into a puddle right there, legs weakening as arousal and apprehension twist tighter.

He remains fully dressed in his suit, a stark contrast that only heightens your exposure, your submission. But then he reaches up, loosening his tie with deliberate slowness, letting your eyes trail ever move. His tongue darts out to wet his lips, a predatory gleam in his eye that sends another wave of anticipatory heat crashing through you.

“I need to teach you a lesson, pip-squeak” he whispers, the words laced with a faux reluctance, as if this punishment pains him as much as it will you. 

You swallow hard, shifting restlessly on your feet, mouth opening to protest or plead, but before a sound escapes, he slips his tie around your eyes, knotting it securely behind your head. Darkness envelops you instantly, robbing you of sight and amplifying every other sense, the rustle of his clothes, the thud of your heartbeat.

… 

You hear him circling you slowly, the soft pad of his footsteps a deliberate rhythm that sets your nerves alight in the pitch-black void of the blindfold. Drawers slide open with a hushed rasp, one, then another, followed by the faint clink of something heavy being set down on the ground. Your breath comes in shallow, absurdly heavy bursts, chest rising and falling as anticipation coils tighter in your core, every second stretching into eternity. 

Then his hands return, warm and commanding, palms settling on your hips with gentle insistence, guiding you forward step by blind step. You follow without resistance, body thrumming with obedience, cool air kissing your bare skin and heightening your vulnerability.

“Hands and knees, baby” he murmurs, his voice a low, soothing rumble that belies the storm brewing beneath. You comply instantly, heart slamming against your ribs as settle onto the ground, carpet soft against your knees and palms. On all fours, your slick folds part naturally, exposed to the room's chill draft and, more intoxicatingly, to his hungry gaze.

A flush burns across your skin. You can feel his eyes devouring you, the weight of his stare like a physical touch, making your entrance clench involuntarily in anticipation. 

He can’t seem to  resist, his fingers ghost over your swollen folds in a feather-light tease, tracing the slick evidence of your arousal for just a second, sending a violent shiver racing up your spine and pulling a soft, needy whimper from your lips. The brief contact leaves you aching for more, hips twitching instinctively.

Without warning, cool metal cuffs snap around your wrists, firm, unyielding, anchoring them securely to the foot of the bed with a decisive click that reverberates through your bones. Your ankles follow suit, locked into a rigid spreader bar that forces your legs wide apart, thighs trembling from the enforced openness. No closing them, no hiding, no escape. 

The realisation crashes over you like a wave. You're utterly trapped, displayed for him, every intimate inch of you at his mercy. Panic and arousal twist together, your pulse thundering in your ears.

“Caleb” you gasp, the name tumbling out in a breathless plea, your body arching as his fingers trail a slow, possessive path along your spine, from the base of your neck down to the curve of your ass, eliciting a high, desperate whine that you can't suppress.

“Baby, don’t whine…” he chastises softly, though there's a dark amusement threading his tone, his touch lingering to soothe and stoke the fire simultaneously. “This is a punishment, remember? Be good for me.”

His fingers dip lower again, dragging languidly through your dripping folds, collecting your slick on his fingertips before circling your clit with maddening gentleness. The tease builds an unbearable ache, your hips bucking futilely against the restraints, chains rattling in protest. 

Then, unexpectedly, something cold and wet drips onto your exposed entrance. Lube, slick and chill, making you arch sharply with a startled gasp, the metal shackles clinking as your body jerks.

“Hold still” he commands, his voice dropping to a husky warning, one hand pressing firmly between your shoulder blades to steady you. “I want to teach you a lesson, not break you... yet.” 

He works the lube in with expert thoroughness, fingers plunging deep, scissoring and coating every inch until you're so drenched it trickles down your inner thighs, the obscene wetness amplifying your humiliation and arousal. Your breaths come in pants now, mind hazy with need, every nerve screaming for what's next.

Finally, something cold and unforgiving, hard silicone, presses against your clenching entrance, the bulbous tip nudging insistently, teasing the sensitive rim. You tense, a fresh wave of anticipation flooding you: This is it. He's really going to…

“Let’s teach you some loyalty, then” he whispers, the words send heat pooling hotter in your belly.

A soft beep pierces the air, followed by the low, ominous whir of a motor coming to life, like a predator awakening. The cold tip advances slowly, inexorably, stretching you open inch by thick inch. It doesn't relent, pushing deeper until it butts firmly against your cervix, filling you so completely that a shuddering inhale rips from your throat, your walls fluttering around the intrusion in overwhelmed protest. 

Only when it's seated to the hilt does it retreat, agonisingly slow, sliding out until just the bulbous head remains, hovering at your entrance, leaving you empty and clenching desperately for more.

Then it plunges back in, a relentless rhythm beginning. Deep, unyielding thrusts that bottom out with precision, the flared base kissing your slick lips before withdrawing again. The machine's pace is steady at first, mechanical perfection that builds a torturous friction, each stroke dragging over every sensitive spot inside you. 

Time blurs as it continues, thrust, withdraw, thrust, your body rocking forward with the force, breasts swaying heavily, the wet sounds of your arousal filling the room like a symphony of submission.

All the while, his hands roam your skin with possessive reverence, ghosting beneath your heaving chest to cup and knead, fingers pinching and rolling your stiffened nipples until they're aching peaks of need. He flicks them sharply, drawing broken moans from your lips, the dual assault of machine and touch pushing you toward the edge with merciless intent. 

Time dissolves into an endless loop of build and denial. Your body betrays you, hips rocking back instinctively, chasing the invasion despite the restraints. Your mouth hangs slack, soft, broken groans spilling freely as you fuck yourself onto the relentless silicone, the wet slap of your slick lips echoing obscenely in the room.

Caleb's fingers descend upon your clit, but there's no haste in his touch, only languid, tormenting strokes across the swollen, throbbing bud, rolling it in slow, hypnotic circles that ignite fireworks behind the blindfold. The pleasure sharpens to a near-burn, a white-hot edge that has you babbling. 

"Please... faster... Caleb, I can't—" Your voice cracks, words dissolving into whimpers as the dual assault coils tighter, unbearable tension winding in your core.

You're teetering on the precipice, every muscle taut when it crashes. Your cunt clamps down like a vice around the silicone, clenching spasmodically as ecstasy rips through you. You feel everything, the artificial ridges dragging against your spasming walls, amplifying the overload until stars burst in the darkness.

"Oh god!" you gasp, the cry raw and shattered, your upper body collapsing forward onto your chest in surrender. The shackles hold firm, keeping your hips elevated, ass presented high, your pussy still impaled, speared wide open by the machine even as aftershocks ripple through you. 

It doesn't pause. The dildo forces its way back in with mechanical indifference, stretching your oversensitive depths anew, drawing out the orgasm into a prolonged, trembling haze. 

…

“Now, baby…” Caleb’s voice drifts to you, low and honeyed, the chair creaking as he sinks into it with deliberate leisure. The metallic rasp of his zipper follows, then the unmistakable glide of fabric over skin. “Count for me. Out loud. Don’t lose track.”

A hiccupping sob catches in your throat just as the machine surges, tears soak through the tie covering your eyes. The motor snarls to a higher pitch, pistoning faster, harder, each thrust slamming home with brutal precision. Your body jolts forward, cheek scraping the plush carpet, wrists yanking against the cuffs as the dildo spears deeper than before, bullying past every fluttering barrier. 

The sudden velocity rips a strangled cry from you, but you still grind back on it, greedy, shamelessly, hips rolling to meet the invasion because being empty is worse than too-much.

Over the wet schlick-schlick-schlick of silicone claiming you, another rhythm layers in, slick skin on skin, steady and obscene. You twist your blindfolded face toward the sound, it’s Caleb, fist pumping his cock in perfect sync with the machine, fucking you by proxy. His soft, ragged gasps weave through the mechanical whine, each exhale a dark praise you can’t see but feel in your bones.

“C-Caleb—” The name punches out of you on a forward lurch, half plea, half cry. Your second climax barrels down like a freight train, you grind back frantically, thighs quivering, chasing the brutal dig against your cervix. “One… two—oh fuck—t-two!”

Your walls spasm wildly around the invading shaft, legs shaking so hard the spreader bar jangles, metal clinking with your futile attempt to snap them shut. Slick gushes down your thighs in hot pulses, but the machine never slows, it continues to forces its way through your clenching channel, dragging against oversensitive walls, prolonging the climax into a merciless plateau.

You try to crawl forward, to escape the relentless plunge, but the cuffs bite into your wrists and the bar locks your knees wide. There’s nowhere to go. Only deeper. Only more.

You’re utterly wrecked. Skin sheened with sweat that cools and stings in the open air. The blindfold is sodden, tears bleeding through to trace hot paths over your cheeks; drool slips unchecked from your slack mouth, pooling beneath your lips on the carpet. Limbs gone liquid, you sag in the restraints, face buried in the plush weave, every muscle surrendered to the machine’s merciless rhythm. 

It hammers faster now, a blur of silicone and lube and raw need, each thrust punching muffled sobs from your chest. Words are gone. Only fractured babble spills out, “C-Caleb—please—nngh—too much—I love you—I love you”

A guttural, filthy groan of your name rips from him, thick with release. The sound alone wreaks you. Your cunt clamps down in frantic pulses, milking the invading shaft as another climax tears through your ruined body.  All that escapes is a frail, keening moan, high and broken, while fresh tears flood the tie and your frame shudders helplessly in its metal cage, utterly spent, utterly his.

“Baby” Caleb coos from where he’s sat. 

“Three” You whisper, voice hoarse, you hear him laugh softly. He’s there in an instant, kneeling beside you, the heat of his body cutting through the haze. A tender hand cups your chin, lifting, gentle but insistent. “Up on your arms for me.”

The machine never falters, still pistoning deep, but his touch eclipses it. You drag yourself upright on shaking elbows, wrists straining against the cuffs, every thrust rocking you forward onto his waiting palm.

“Open.”

Your lips part before the word finishes. The blunt, velvety head of his cock slides in, slick with his own release, salty and alive. 

You latch on instantly, desperate, tongue swirling the slit, lapping the bead of precum, cheeks hollowing as you take him in as much as restraints allow. You worship him, long, wet pulls, tight suction, the soft pop when you draw back to the crown and tease the sensitive ridge.

Above you, his breath stutters, a low, broken groan that vibrates straight to your core. His fingers thread into your hair, not gripping, not forcing, just resting, anchoring you to him while you unravel him. You feel him swell, pulse, his earlier climax left him raw, and it takes only moments.

 A shudder rolls through his thighs, the head flares against your tongue. Hot, thick ropes of cum flood your mouth, coating your throat. You swallow greedily, despite some spilling down your chin, milking every drop, lips sealed tight as you suck him through the aftershocks until he’s gasping your name. You slip your mouth off his cock, giving it a soft lick before you pull away.  

The taste of him, the sound of his surrender, it snaps the last thread inside you. Another orgasm crashes without warning, violent and sudden. You drop your forehead to the floor, a raw cry tearing free, back bowing as your walls clamp down on the relentless dildo. The machine continues to drive through the spasms, prolonging the blaze until your whole body quakes, tears and drool mingling on the carpet beneath you. 

The machine surges into overdrive, a mechanical growl rising to a scream, thrusts blurring into one continuous, punishing rhythm that hammers against your cervix with merciless force. Each plunge stretches you impossibly wide, ridges scraping oversensitive walls, slick and lube and your own release splattering with every withdrawal filling the room with the sound of your spent cunt. 

You’re beyond counting, beyond thought, only raw sensation remains.

Caleb’s fingers tangle in your hair, yanking you up just enough to claim your mouth again, his tongue pressing into your mouth, stealing your breath.

“Mine” he rasps, voice frayed at the edges. “All fucking mine.”

Your body locks, then shatters. A final, cataclysmic orgasm rips through you like lightning, every muscle seizing in violent spasms. You scream, hoarse, broken, wordless, drool and cum streaking down your face and breasts, slick dripping in glistening ropes down your quaking thighs. 

Your cunt clamps down in futile rebellion, milking the silicone shaft as it powers through the clench, forcing wave after wave until your feel nothing.

Babbling spills unchecked. “C-Caleb—please—stop—no more—please-I’m yours-I’m yours” Nonsense, devotion, surrender. 

You collapse, the cuffs alone hold you spread, hips jerking helplessly as aftershocks ripple endlessly. Your mind blanks, a soft, floating void where only his name echoes.

When the motor finally whirs down to silence, you’re left trembling, wrecked, utterly spent, a crying, babbling, cum-covered mess, marked inside and out by the man who owns every shattered piece of you.

He works with practiced urgency, keys clinking softly as the cuffs fall away from your wrists and ankles. The spreader bar clatters to the floor. When the machine finally eases out of you, a pathetic, broken whine escapes your lips, the sudden emptiness a cruel ache after hours of relentless fullness. 

Your legs give out completely, you slide forward, collapsing face-down onto the carpet in a boneless heap, chest heaving in ragged gasps. The mess beneath you doesn’t matter; you’ll call in professionals tomorrow. Right now, nothing exists beyond the throb between your thighs and the echo of his name in your head.

Strong arms scoop you up before the chill can settle. Caleb cradles you against his chest, one hand sweeping damp hair from your tear-streaked face, the other tugging the soaked blindfold free. Light floods in, soft and golden, and you blink up at him through swollen lids. He looks as ruined as you feel. Cheeks flushed crimson, skin gleaming with sweat, his own release streaked across the ridges of his abdomen in pearly trails. The sight punches the air from your lungs, if you had anything left, you might have cum again just from the sight of him.

You paw at him weakly, hands curling around the back of his neck, dragging him closer with what little strength remains. “I love you” you whimper, pressing frantic, sloppy kisses to his jaw, his throat, the corner of his mouth, any inch of skin you can reach. “I’ll always be yours. Only yours.”

His arms tighten, possessive and tender all at once. “Good girl” he murmurs against your temple, voice hoarse, reverent. “You did so well”.