#nsfwork

The handcuffs don't frighten you any more. They did, in the beginning - when you had first seen Missy withdraw them from the pocket of her coat where it hung inside the armoire - if only because they were so new, but you’ve played with them quite a few times since then. It feels at once like that could have been yesterday and like it could have been half a lifetime ago. She's right; time passes strangely in the Vault.

Time passes strangely when you're underneath her like this, handcuffed to the headboard, her warm weight where she straddles you a comforting counterbalance to the restraints. The curve of her lips is utterly wicked. Even so, her eyes are soft, and when she reaches up to give your left hand a gentle squeeze it makes you feel a bit less like you've been bound and a bit more like you've been tethered.

"Alright?" Missy runs her thumb across your knuckles, dipping into the hollows between. You entwine your fingers with hers.

"Yeah," you answer, honestly, with what you hope is a brave smile. "Yeah, I'm good. Are you?"

"Good?" She blunts the vowel and draws it out to taunt you, arching a brow. "Never, my dear." Her kiss leaves a sticky pink mark on your cheek. "Terribly excited, though. Are you excited?" You nod, swallowing thickly against the new lump in your throat. Her voice lowers to a conspiratorial whisper. "And a wee bit scared, hmm?"

You're glad that she asked; you never would have been able to admit it otherwise. You'd readily agreed to play this game - it was your idea at least half as much as it was hers - but the memory of that does nothing to loosen the knot of nerves in your chest, any more than it loosens the handcuffs. "Yeah," you confess, and some of the tension leaves you with the breath. "A bit."

“Well, that’s half the fun, isn’t it?” She cups your face in a delicate hand, her thumb wiping away the print of her lipstick. “It would be awfully dull if you weren’t.” Her smile crinkles at the corners, affection melting the smirk into something softer that fills you with warmth. “What do you say, if you need me to stop?”

You don’t realise that you’re waiting for the question until you hear it and something in you comes unravelled. Missy knows the word - moreover, she knows perfectly well that you know the word - but this little ritual is meant as a reminder that you can stop her, and it’s a welcome one. When the pad of her thumb brushes across your mouth you kiss it gratefully. “Mercy.”

“Clever girl.” Her thumb parts your lips, slipping just inside, tracing the edge of your incisors. “I won’t stop for anything else, you understand?” At your whimpered affirmative, her grin sharpens once more. “No matter how prettily you beg me.”

She gives you a chaste kiss, which is over much too quickly, and then she’s gone, moving to the other end of the bed. Her absence leaves you cold. Without the plentiful wool of her skirt to cloak you it’s impossible to forget your own nakedness, your skin prickling with goosebumps in the chill of the Vault. The ticklish stroke of her fingernails over the sole of your right foot doesn’t help.

“Such a lovely thing,” she murmurs, quietly enough that you think it might not be for you to hear. Her fingers lock onto your ankle, and the soft kiss of silk follows, one of her stockings repurposed to ensnare you. “I’ll send for something more appropriate next time, but this will have to do for today. Not too tight?”

You wiggle your toes and tug against the loop that she knots around your ankle, testing the give, pleased to find it immovable while still comfortably loose. “Not too tight,” you echo. “Thank you, Mistress.”

She hums with delight at the sound of her full name. “My pleasure.”

It’s fairly quick work, all things considered; one end of the stocking forms a soft, forgiving shackle, the other tied to the bedpost to force your right leg straight and out. You hardly notice the way your left knee draws up towards your body out of reflex, thighs clenching to protect your naked cunt, until Missy picks up the other stocking and cups a firm hand around your calf to part your legs. You’re half surprised to find yourself resisting her.

“Now, don’t be shy,” she says patiently. “We’re all girls here, poppet, and I’ve seen it all before.”

Your face flushes with heat. It’s ridiculous - you know it is; there’s no modesty left between you - but you’ve never been bound like this before, spreadeagled and exposed, and the knowledge of what she intends to do with you makes it feel all the more daunting. “Sorry,” you murmur, and her face softens.

“No need to apologise.” She strokes your calf with the flat of her palm, letting her fingers trail higher, painting ticklish swirls over your knee and towards the join of your thighs. “Relax for me, dear. I’ll take good care of you. Cross my hearts.”

Missy’s fingers sink easily between your thighs. Her touch is chaste, not straying too high, but it’s also tenacious, and between the desire to obey her and the need to be touched more you relax into her hands, letting her draw your legs apart. She coos with pleasure.

“Good, good girl,” she praises, as she makes short work of binding your left ankle. She slips a finger beneath the knot, testing the resistance. Once satisfied she bends to kiss your knee. “Aren’t you a delight like this?”

Your pulse quickens pleasantly when she rises to her feet. The thrill of the handcuffs is familiar enough, but the new restraints compound it tenfold and leave you all but immobile, her own private prisoner to do with as she pleases. You tug at your bonds and find them strict. With your ankles pulled either side of the bed frame you can’t close your legs to cover yourself, leaving your cunt totally vulnerable to Missy, and to the toy she now has in her hand.

The vibrator belongs in your bedside drawer - it’s nothing fancy; just a basic rabbit design, something to help you unwind after a long day - but in this context it looks distinctly more threatening. It had been your idea to bring it, or, at least, Missy had let you think it was your idea, but as you watch her measure its weight and run her fingers along its contours you get the sense that she’s taking some kind of voyeuristic thrill in holding one of your most tangible secrets in the palm of her hand. The sight makes you shudder.

Of course, she notices.

“Have you been thinking about this?” She tilts her head, her face open and inquisitive, far too innocent for the way she runs the tip of the toy up the length of your bound leg. “Have you ever played with this and imagined that I was the one holding it?” 

Your breath hitches when the cold silicone brushes your inner thigh, so close to where you crave it, and you nod shakily. She smiles. “Shall we give it a try, then?”

Another moment of teasing, and then the vibrator skims higher, over the soft flesh of your belly and up between your breasts. She moves closer with it. You part your lips readily when you realise her intentions, and she pets the crown of your head fondly.

“Very good,” she murmurs, as she sinks the dildo into your waiting mouth. Her fingernails comb through your hair. You hum contentedly, your eyes fluttering shut. “Get this nice and wet for me, hmm?”

It’s not strictly necessary. You can feel how slick and ready you are, the dimples of your thighs slippery with your own arousal, but you do as she says, lips and tongue wetting the hard silicone while she strokes you with an affectionate hand. After a few moments - at once an age and not nearly long enough - she withdraws the toy from your mouth with a wet pop.

“Oh, that should do nicely.” Warm, now, and slick from your attentions, she runs the toy back down your chest, past your navel, dipping it between your legs. “Are you ready for me?”

The dildo slides easily through the folds of your cunt. You jolt at the friction, twisting your hips, not able to retreat or to rut against it, nor able to tell which you would prefer to do. It feels exquisite, but it’s also a sobering reminder of what you’ve agreed to. Missy shushes your whimpers and settles beside you on the bed.

“Do you know why I want to do this to you, my dear?” Her voice is gentle, and you open your eyes, unaware that you’d been clenching them so tightly shut. She smiles down at you. “Only because you look so very pretty when you come for me.” Slowly, smoothly, the dildo presses into you, filling you with a sweet aching stretch. Your soft whine makes her lips curl back from her teeth. “I’m terribly greedy, you see. I want more of it. Once just isn’t enough.”

You shiver when you feel the toy slide home, the nub of the vibrator pressing into your clit. “I know,” you manage in a whisper. “I just- I don’t know how much I can give you.”

“That’s alright.” She pushes the hair back from your face, fingers light and soothing. “We can find out together.”

It’s a deeper kiss, this time, and not so brief, nothing urgent or hurried about it. She takes your mouth with slow indulgence. You melt into her, letting her tongue slip through your lips, breathing in her contented sighs until - with such impeccable timing that you realise, too late, how she must have planned this - the vibrator jerks to life inside you.

Missy swallows your startled cry. You struggle against her, handcuff chain rattling on the bedpost, hips circling in a vain attempt to dodge the new stimulation, but she doesn’t let you go, catching your bottom lip with her teeth as if to warn you that you need to settle down. You force yourself still. It’s sudden, yes, and intense, but not unpleasant, the setting no higher than you would have chosen yourself. After a few moments, once you’ve relaxed into the pleasure, she releases you from her kiss.

“My lovely girl.” She licks into your gasping mouth, chuckling darkly at the way your breath stutters in response. “What a treat you are.”

There’s no respite from the powerful vibrations. They’re warm and deep inside you, relentless on your clit, her hand keeping the toy in place to follow your every squirming movement. She’s right - you’ve thought about this plenty of times - but it’s so unlike the freedom of pleasuring yourself, so foreign and out of your control. Left to your own devices, you would stop after an orgasm, satisfied and oversensitive, but the purpose of this game is to rob you of that choice. The muscles in your abdomen clench hard, steeled against the threat of an approaching climax.

“Stop fighting it, love.” Missy smooths out the crease between your brows with her thumb, kissing away the tension. “Give in to me. Let me take this from you."

Resistance, naturally, gets you nowhere. There’s nothing you can do to avoid the pleasure that keeps winding tighter inside of you, your control a fraying thread, hers a knife edge. All you can do is trust her to catch you as you fall.

The orgasm takes you violently. You fight the restraints, trying to curl in on yourself, cunt squeezing like a fist around the vibrator buried inside. A jagged cry bursts from your throat. Missy eases you through it with gentle fingers in your hair, her smile sharp and sweet, her murmured praise like balm as you shudder through the aftershocks.

This is the easy part. The worst is yet to come, and it begins almost immediately.

You have a second of relief, perhaps two, before your nerves catch up to the fact that the vibrations haven’t stopped. The raw sensitivity of your clit makes the stimulation torturous. Your thighs lock, your body tensing as you struggle to lift your hips away, but she doesn’t let up, forcing the pleasure on you so ruthlessly that it feels more like agony.

“Stop,” you gasp, your voice breaking against the panic that curdles in your chest. “Off, turn it off, Missy-”

She hushes you, the backs of her knuckles stroking your cheek. “Not yet, poppet. Once more for me.”

“No, no, I can’t-!” You spasm underneath her, tugging viciously against your bonds, but there’s nowhere to go and nothing to do but endure it. You can hardly catch a breath past the overwhelming pressure that keeps knotting tighter in your abdomen. Your cunt burns, the gentle friction of the vibrator turned halfway to pain, the unrelenting stimulation enough to make your eyes water. “Please, please stop-”

“Shh, shh, it’s alright.” Gentle fingers stroke the delicate skin beneath your eye, wiping away the tears there. Missy is as calm as you are frantic, her eyes bright with pride and pleasure, and she speaks like she’s soothing a wounded animal. “You're doing so well, my dear. You can give me one more.”

It’s not far away; you can feel it in the cramping waves of horrible pleasure that get closer and closer to pain, setting every nerve alight in the confusion. Your heaving breaths fracture into sobs. “I can’t,” you beg her again. You know it’s futile - you know there’s only one way to end the game before its time - but it’s freeing, in its own way, to plead with her and be ignored. “Please, Missy, I don’t want it, it’s gonna hurt-”

“It will,” she agrees, and she somehow manages to make it sound like a comfort. She cups your cheek before you can turn away, keeping you in place, eyes locked on yours as she forces you closer to the brink. She presses your foreheads together like she wants to taste the pained cries you can’t withhold. “But it’ll only hurt more if you fight it. Just relax. Give in. Let it happen.”

There’s nothing you can do but obey her.

You were right; it does hurt. It hurts in a way that leaves you breathless, the choked wail that bursts from your lips a pitiful and powerless thing. Missy drinks it in, gasping with delight so deep that you can hear the quivering of her breath. Long before the word mercy can take form behind your teeth she removes the toy. It slips from you effortlessly, your cunt as wet and raw as an open wound.

“Good girl,” she praises, heavy with affection. You cry out in wordless protest when she cups you between the legs, too disoriented to understand her intentions, but she only kisses your brow and uses the pressure of her hand to ease the painful spasms in your clit. “It’s alright, you’re alright, dearest. It’s over. No more.”

You reach for her with shaking hands, but the chain rattles against the headboard, stopping you before you can touch her. “Hands,” you barely manage to whimper. She understands. In seconds the cuffs are gone, and your arms are around her sooner than they’ve hit the floor, pulling her close so that you can bury your face in her blouse. She cradles your head, fingernails combing the nape of your neck, holding you to her while you claw back control over your body.

“Thank you,” you gasp into her shoulder, blinking away the tears that keep coming. “Thank you, Missy. I wasn’t- I didn’t know if I could-” You sniffle and squeeze her tighter. “But I did it. Thank you.”

“The pleasure was all mine.” She kisses the crown of your head. “You were exquisite, my dear. As always.” Her other hand strokes over your thigh, kneading at the tense muscle there. “Shall we get you cleaned up?”

“In a minute?” You burrow deeper into her embrace and try to steady your breathing with hers. “I don’t think I can move yet.”