Binding Resolutions Chapter 3: The Stroke of Midnight

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**Synopsis**

As you turn the pages of this chapter, brace yourself for a plunge into Yvonne's descent. What unfolds is a profane display of excess that satisfies the voyeuristic and indulgent cravings of all involved. Now a mere object for pleasure, parades through a gauntlet of desire, a testament to the depth of her bonded service to her insatiable Mistress but is there a glimmer of hope at the end of the tunnel? This inevitably comes with a warning: the narrative roams through deeply shadowed corridors, laden with explicit encounters and emotional intensity that might unsettle, or indeed offend, the timorous soul.

Chapter1 can be found here: Binding Resolutions Chapter 1: A Promise Kept
Chapter2 can be found here: Binding Resolutions Chapter 2: Lost in Submission


**Author's Note**

Writing this chapter knocked the wind out of me. It took a toll on my heart and pushed my mind to the edge. But why go down this road? Why write something so raw, so dark? Well, initially, I had a softer version, but then, something inside me whispered, "Go farther."

I had a few questions haunting me:

  1. How far can you push a story before it becomes too much? Where's the line between filthy and good storytelling?
  2. Is it possible to make you, the reader, feel conflicted? caught between enjoying the story and feeling a bit disgusted with me, the author, for writing it?
  3. And, can I plant little mysteries throughout the story? Little secrets that don't stand out at first but keep tugging at your thoughts?

This story is taking a turn. It looks strange now, I know. It might even seem like there's no good reason for all this to happen to Yvonne. Stick with me. By the end of chapter 3, I plan to drop a twist that’ll start making things clear. Chapter 4 will give you the whole picture. At its heart, this is a love story, but one that's taken some really dark turns. There’s a resolution coming, and everyone will get what they deserve in the end.

**Trigger Warning**

**Personal Request and Trigger Warning for Chapter 3**: Caution is advised; the upcoming prose deals with profoundly mature and unsettling themes of extreme power dynamics, coerced submission, and vivid sexual encounters. Please tread carefully. This chapter is for people who are comfortable with tough subjects. If that's not you, it's perfectly okay to skip this part. Your peace of mind is important, so please, use your judgment as the story goes into these darker places.


On how I found the confidence to write:

Moved to my blog here

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Chapter 3: The Stroke of Midnight

The final minutes of the year ticked away, and that goddamn box of dreams and fuck-ups 'the resolutions box' gleamed under the spotlight.

Me? My focus never wavered from Mistress even as I slobbered over Jacob as she declared to the crowd, "Let's make some wishes, folks! Drop in your hopes and desires for the New Year!" she urged the partygoers.

Her smirk was pure sin as she sauntered over to where I was, and without a hint of tenderness, she pulled out the butt plug nestled inside me. a whorish yelp bleeding right into Jacob's lap but didn’t miss a beat, milking him with every draw of my mouth even as my eyes watered.

He was lost in a haze of pleasure, head thrown back in unabashed indulgence, groans escaping him like a man possessed by the obscenity of my mouth’s enthusiastic caress.

Mistress didn't skip a beat, yanking up her dress and impaling herself on Jacob. It was a sound that echoed betrayal, sloppy and harsh, tearing at my insides. This was the grand finale, the spectacle she'd promised—a show of betrayal so bold it turned our love story and twisted it into something ugly and unrecognizable. Her breath hitched, revelling in the rush it brought her, she grabbed my face, making damn sure I caught every gut-wrenching detail.

"Sing out every sordid fucking detail," Mistress snarled, her claws digging into my flesh, dragging my reluctant face to the site of my ultimate undoing. Her icy stare speared me with a cold joy only she could muster. "Press your quivering face next to his hairy, swinging, mmm…potent balls. Watch me get taken, filling me with what could be his legacy—a gift you could never bestow upon your former wife. Feel your history bleed out with each relentless drive. Let each confession tear you open."

Her proclamation floored me—I was no longer her husband, my love and life snuffed out by my own contract. A soul-crushing howl tore from my depths, sorrow flooding out as I felt a visceral pain ravage my core. My knees shook with weakness, but she held up me, her grip in my hair unyielding. "Tell me... my love," she whispered, her words, words only I could hear and then she spoke aloud again, laced with venom, "Tell me all, you filthy sissy, spill it for me and satisfy Jacob's ear."

Her phrase, "my love," served as the key to unlocking the torrent within. I spilled the vulgar truths and exposed the raw, bleeding remnants of my passion. "Sa virilité impitoyable... enfoncée au plus profond de vous, Maîtresse." (*"His merciless manhood... pumping deep into you, Mistress."*) The heave of each sob carved into my shattered spirit.

Mistress's laugh was like a whip, cruel in its clarity. “When the fuck did you last taste such divine bliss, feel my quivering snatch clenching? Let it out, my little cuckold, bleed your hollowed existence into my ears." Her mockery cut jagged, malicious edges into the hollow cavern that I had become.

Mistress erupted into heartless laughter—a sound as vicious and biting as it was gleeful. "Can't you even grasp the thrill of plunging your dick deep anymore? Speak up, my gelded-wonder. Serenade me with the agony of your pitiful, shrivelled life," she heckled, delighting in the cacophony of my splintering ego.

"Il la serre fort, ses mains marquent sa possession sur elle... Ses seins si tendus, coiffés de leurs mamelons brun clair... sautillant sous chaque coup de rein.Ses mains vous enserrent fort, marquant de son empreinte sa propriété sur votre chair soumise... Et, bon dieu, ces seins, si fermes, surmontés de tétons dressés, proéminents, vibrants sous la force de ses coups.” (*“His hands wrap tight around you, stamping his ownership on your yielding flesh... And, god, those breasts, so pert, topped with nipples stiff, protruding, vibrant against his pounding.”*) An agonised sigh slipped past my lips, a sign of the devotion I still freely gave.

With a smirk, Mistress pressed, "Sad—that a stiff breeze could stir me more than your fuckless crotch. You'll never see these tits bounce to your worthless hump again." Each word was a cruel reminder of my impotence, my fall from grace.

Mistress' body trembled with the rapture Jacob's thrusts provided, her beautiful bubble of ecstasy burst with my every sob. "Narrate the act of unprotected love... how he could impregnate me..." Her voice was laced with the venom of mock consolation.

"C'est l'act de reproduction brutesque.... elle se fait combler d'une semence vigoureuse, contrairement à la mienne, absente pour toujours..." (*"It's the act of brute reproduction... you are being filled with vigorous seed, unlike mine, absent forever...”*) I uttered through sobs, the finality of her words piercing through my very soul.

Mistress cackled, her pleasure unbound. “Fucking pathetic—imagine it was you trying to fill me up, no fucking balls. Isn't it hilarious?” the grotesque punchline to my castration.

Mistress shivered a dark laugh that congealed the air around us. “Indeed. Laughable that you'd even thought of fathering a child. A sterile end to your line—just how I ensured it." Her words drove home the final nail into the coffin of my hopes—the obscene conclusion of my tale.

"Admit it, you love watching me turn your 'wife' into my personal fucktoy, don't you, you weak little sissy?" Jacob’s words were delusional, each boastful claim of prowess diminishing amidst his subpar performance. Yet his pride swelled with each uninspiring thrust into Mistress, whose physical response was rote and lacking our past intimate dance's fervour.

It was the pain in my eyes, knowing that the pleasure in her body, came from the sight of my torment, rather than the feel of Jacob's inadequate manhood, drawing forth her arousal. The broken shards of my heart ached with each piteous jolt of her hips, betraying my disbelief and despair. Lost and broken, I agonised, 'Pourquoi cette soif de ma douleur, Maîtresse?' (*Why this thirst for my pain, Mistress?*).

Even as my spirit lay in ruins, the dominion of Mistress' words over me left me with no choice but to lie. And lie I did, with a whisper torn from my depths, “Oui, ça m’excite de voir ma maîtresse défoncée sans merci par un homme qui lui est supérieur." (*“Yes, it excites me to see my mistress mercilessly pounded by a man who is her superior.”*)

Unsatisfied by my broken admissions, Mistress grabbed my hair, yanking me down. I found myself inches from Jacob’s sweaty sac, hanging, glistening with the slick sheen of her own arousal that dripped onto them.

As She gyrated atop, her silent directive was unmistakable. Commanding me to lavish attention on his reeking, musky testicles with the desperate strokes of my tongue. I was to serve doubly, to clean and to please, as she rode him with fervour.

Without warning, a foreign heat breached me from behind. An anonymous cock, thick and insistent, plundered my virgin rear without a whisper of preamble. The pain was sharp, raw, and tore a cry right from my guts…but I bit it back, my first time taken but I stayed buried in Jacob's sack, meticulously mouthing him like a good whore.

I was split open, skewered front and back, my passage plundered by the relentless jackhammer behind me, entirely exposed, filth incarnate. The vulgar slaps against my ass echoed in my ears, punctuated by my own muffled groans around the rank, sac forced against my lips.

“Play with your pathetic dicklette now!” Mistress' voice, twisted with tainted affection, commanded and I obeyed. My trembling fingers fumbled with the pitiful nub, the cage that enclosed it only letting me feel plastic. Each tug seared through the tender flesh, but the agony was overcome by my perverse compulsion to do as she demanded. My role had been etched in stone.

Harsh, brutal thrusts impaled me, the man behind acting as if I were nothing more than just a hole to pound, I was close to being nothing, just turning into this cock slave. I tried to focus, tried to cling to some shred of myself, but the sinister whispers of the Mistress and Miss Lynn’s conditioning blossomed darkly within me, eager to twist me into something else, a creature born to submit, created for the sole purpose of service.

Their pace was a mad drum, signalling the end, and I knew it. Once I tasted that hot rush of cum, and felt a man's release deep inside me, those hypnotic seeds would sprout, taking me over, locking me into this new debased existence. My insides tensed, aching for relief, my lips clamped around Jacob's quivering balls just as his body tensed too, a clear sign of his looming explosion destined to breach the Mistress' womb.

With a guttural grunt, the brute’s climax erupted. the pig filling Mistress with pulsing spurts. The spillage flooded down her quivering thighs to mingle with my breath — thick gobs of deviance compelling me to drown in their indecency. "Savor that, slut, taste the disgrace but you better not fucking swallow," Mistress commanded, crude and sharp.

She wrestled my head upward, the incessant ramming from behind continued unabated, my painted face a canvas of their shared depravity. One hand clawing at the earth, the other making a mockery of my locked-away lust."Perfect," she hissed, and then plundered my mouth with hers, forcing me to stew in the symbol of my capitulation, to marinate in my own downfall as she desired.

This was my crossing point, the trigger, the hypnotic key turning in the lock of my denial, pushing me — N-no, *forcing* me — into becoming the creature Mistress truly desired me to become.

Her lips pulled away, a decadent trail of spit and ejaculate, the signs of our recent sin hung between us as her taste lingered in the corners of my mouth – unforgettable and intoxicating. One last desperate swell of raw longing for my past vigour tugged at the seams of my reality. But it was mercilessly crushed beneath the brutal reality that suffocated any remnants of my past.

My tongue moved reflexively, lapping at the evidence of my new place in this twisted hierarchy, bathed in the tangy vestiges of my own demise, savouring the taste of the defeat that had become my sustenance.

Jacob, that swine, was drowning in his liquor-laden euphoria, spent from the lust that devoured him. He slurred out, "Best. Fucking. Day. Ever." Pleasure plastered across his swollen face before he toppled into unconsciousness.

In that instant, the hypnotic commands lodged deep within my psyche detonated. I was on all fours again, my tongue eagerly swabbing at the limp, dripping cock of the unconscious troll before me —no prompting needed, just a fervent drive propelling me to polish every filthy inch, a cum-soaked rag dutifully following Lady Lynn's programming.

I hungered to serve, to exist as nothing more than Mistress' and any eager man’s leashed plaything. Frantically lapping up every drop, I was consumed by the need for more when Mistress' hand tenderly halted my fervour, guiding my head upward. In the depths of her eyes, I caught a glimmer of something unexpected, a softening not just of amusement at my plight, but an almost loving entreaty. Her lips barely moving as she breathed the words only meant for my understanding, "Complete your surrender, baby."

And surrender I did, heaving with each punishing thrust from behind, my swollen tits painfully swaying, a grotesque burlesque all for her twisted amusement. "Regardez-moi, Maîtresse," (*"Look at me, Mistress,"*) I gasp out, saliva dripping down my chin as I fruitlessly nurse the lifeless dick before me, trying to coax it back to life with hollowed cheeks and eager lips. "Ce que je suis devenue... une chienne insatiable," (*"What I have become... an insatiable bitch,"*) I slur between slothful sucks.

Slapping my hand against my dangling breasts, I yank at my nipple hard enough to call forth both pain and perverse delight. "Je suis votre objet," (*"I am your object,"*) I mumble mindlessly, my mouth returning to Jacob's flaccid, uninspiring member, my lips attempting to wrest virility from the limp vestige of my field of defeat.

Pressing my thighs together, despising the laughable nub, once so noble, now just pitiful mockery aching for a touch I'm forbidden. "Une misérable petit clitty," (*"A miserable little clitty,"*) I chastise myself, resigned to the impotent tugging of my cage—a symbol of my ultimate derision.

With a vacant grin spreading across my face, ecstasy dulling my gaze, I murmured, "Maîtresse, j'espère être l'esclave servile que vous désiriez, rien qu'une marionnette humide, le cul encore suintant du foutre de quelqu'un d'autre, la bouche remplie et humiliée, une coquille vide prête pour votre débauche." (*"Mistress, I hope to be the abject serving slave you wished for, nothing but a wet puppet, ass still leaking someone else’s cum, mouth filled and humiliated, an empty vessel prepped for your debauchery."*)

Just then, The dick impaling me from behind erupted, spewing seed deep inside my offered ass, and with it my mind entirely shattered, a cascade of drool spilling from my slack mouth.

In that instant, the nameless cock erupted inside me, unravelling my mind, the hypnotic triggers taking over, and drowning me when I shrieked,"Oui, putain, c'est ça... salope stupide et excitée, une sissy juste pleine de trous pour de grosses bites bien grasses et les jus de la Maîtresse une fois qu'elle en a fini avec eux. C'est moi ça..." (*"Fuck, yes, that's it... stupid horny slut, a sissy only full of holes for big fat yummy cocks and the Mistress' juices once she is done with them. That's me..."*).

Slack-jawed, drool dribbling from my mouth, I buckled under the haze of demented bliss that subsumed me. I pinched and twisted the ridiculously prominent nipples that crowned my massive, distended tits, offering them up for anyone's cruel delight. My plump butt cheeks fluttered like a tart's flag at every lascivious grope, a flagrant offering to be conquered, ravished, and claimed. My higher faculties fell away into nothingness as I swivelled, a beast of basest need, to gobble up the dirty dick with unholy eagerness, its stench of wrongness now my greatest delight.

My tits swayed low, nipples straining for maltreatment. Clumsily, I tugged at my overripe teat; the other hand was knuckle-deep, rooting around my debased chute for more filthy dribbles to lap up. "Mmmmh, c’est dégueu... mais ça me plaît..." (*"Mmmmh, it’s disgusting... but I like it..."*), I breathed, my muddled praise for the taste muffled as I bobbed on its softening length.

On all fours, I chased the escapee cum across the ground, my tongue sweeping up traces of shame. Peering up at Mistress, beseeching in lust, "J'aime cette saleté... elle me rend chaude, Maîtresse..." (*"I love this filth... it makes me hot, Mistress..."*), my every slurp, a filthy ode to my new reality.

Abruptly, Mistress jerked my head backwards by my hair, sending me sprawling into her embrace, a helpless ragdoll caught in the afterglow of depravity. A hollow moan, laced with vacant desire, echoed from my lips as I stared into her.

The background hum of Master's deep, satisfied breathing provided a twisted harmony to the moment, affirming my debasement. Her eye contact seared into my being, her gaze gleaming with corrupt approval. "Yes, just like that, my sweet, wrecked plaything," she praised in a hushed tone that fastened the final chain of my subjugation.

She fetched the butt plug previously sprung free from the clutch of my insides, twisting off its jewelled end to reveal two slips of paper tucked inside. "Get your ass over to the box and stuff this in, quick. Then get back to me, fast. There's a whole line of hard cocks waiting and a night full of cum with your name on it," she instructed with a hint of impatience.

I rushed, all messy and slick from the last ravaging, my little caged cockette a splayed joke, spurting out its disgrace. My skin was smeared with another man’s jizz, marking me as public property—a cum-slut in the flesh. My big tits swung and swayed, nipples proud and obscene, each movement a crazy dance for the eyes feasting on my fucked-up fall.

Staggering through the crowd, eager hands took turns yanking at my nipples, giving them a good twist. I couldn’t help but flush hot each time, a guttural moan bursting from my throat, feeling my skin burn with raw excitement. "Uuuugh..." It wasn’t quiet; I couldn’t hide how much their rough play turned me on.

Many eyes latched onto the earrings jingling from my ears—shiny medals that once were my precious testicles. Every pinch to my nipples was more electric, each yank sending waves of dirty pleasure shooting right through me. "Mmmm... ouais... encore..." (*"Mmm... yeah... more..."*) I couldn’t stop myself, the crowd’s crude touches pushing me deeper into the ache, craving every nasty jolt they sparked in me.

“Hey Yvonne, bet you miss having real balls, not just these trinkets – right?” The heckler roared out, triggering a wave of vulgar chuckles around us. I looked at his smirking face, nodding, a surge of sick thrill at his words painting my face in hues of lust. In a breathy, eager confession, “Oui, il fallait que je les perde... elles n'avaient aucune utilité,” (*"Yes, I had to lose them... they served no purpose,"*) I murmured, a quiver in my voice, the sinful joy blooming in that moment of utter shame.

A stranger yanked my cage briskly and ooh!, and it sent shocks of unchecked want through me. I almost dropped right there before Mike as I walked past him, wanting to worship that bulge in his pants and experience his promise to tear me apart. But Mistress' orders anchored me, her will clearer than my own needs.

The room felt charged as I made my way to the box, the reality of my cock-thirst had me high, dizzy with desire. With every crude comment, every tug on my worthless little cockette, my ache deepened. ‘Je ne peux pas m'empêcher de les vouloir... tous…’ (*’I can’t stop wanting them… all of them...,’*) I thirsted silently, craving the raw, nasty use I was built for, all tangled up in my cock-hunger.

"Je suis faite pour ça, pour être prise par ces délicieuses bites… c'est ce que je suis..." (*"I’m made for this, to be taken by these delicious cocks… it’s what I am..."*) I muttered, a depraved song to my soul, to the overwhelming rapture of my need.

Nearing the box, I saw Trevor, the groundskeeper, hammering into someone. His gaze scorched into me, searing me with the fierce command he wielded. "Down, Yvonne, now. Worship my ass. Don’t stop 'til I'm damn well satisfied," his order took hold, as he delivered a slap to the bent figure’s bottom.

"Oui, monsieur, avec plaisir," (*"Yes, sir, with pleasure,"*) I panted, as I dropped to the ground and without hesitation, I descended, my tongue sliding into his puckered entrance. Each taste sent a pulse of elation—it was intoxicating, the direct order from a man instantly inflaming my desires.

Leaning sideways, my arm outstretched awkwardly, I fumbled for the box’s slot. My slick, coated hand, trembled as I slipped the papers through the narrow opening, all the while my tongue dutifully serviced Trevor.

From across the room, Mistress' voice bellowed through the thick air, commanding his attention even amidst the clamour. "Trevor! I have plans for that slut. Send her back to me, now," she declared,

Trevor, his tempo momentarily disrupted, grabbed the back of my head, yanking my face deeper into his rear, He gave one last, deep thrust, jerking me forward. a reminder of his power, before pulling away with a frustrated grunt.

"Go on, hurry up. Your Mistress wants you," he muttered. With a quick nod and a lowered gaze, I scurried towards Mistress, eager and anxious for the next stage of my endless display.

Hastily returning to Mistress, my limbs were quivering with a visceral, primal hunger—an insatiable need to worship any dick dangled before me, tattooed into my very core by the hypnotic triggers.

Mistress simply watched, knowing no command was necessary. My lips eagerly sought out the flaccid member of the unconscious Master, a dutiful servant breathing life back into the dormant shaft.

Then Mistress signalled Mike with an imperious flick of her wrist, her voice commanding and clear, "Mike, lift this bitch and fuck her good."

Mike’s hands were merciless as they clamped down on my hips, hoisting me into the unyielding air as he prepared to enter me. As he lifted me, there was no barrier, no façade left. My ass, pliant and yielding, had been transformed into a gateway of perpetual welcome.

With a primal grunt, he drove into me, his entrance lacking all ceremony, as though I were a vessel custom-made for severe, ruthless use. His thick member glided seamlessly inside the gaping maw of my rear, which lay surrendered and spread wide, like a harlot's overworked cunt, accepting the intrusion without a hint of resistance.

"Look at this slut skewered on display," he sneered, slamming into me with a ferocity that sent me swinging, a piece of meat caught and spinning on his cruel rod, devoured by humiliation and savoured with every punishing thrust.

Dangling midair, tits bouncing wild, I'm just a bottom for Mike's rough fucking, each slam making me sway. His one meaty grabbing me by the waist, tipping me downwards like I'm nothing but a piece of ass on display—the outline we were making, a filthy shadow puppet show on the wall.

Like an obscene display in a den of depravity, I rocked between the thunder of Mike’s lust-powered thrusts and the helpless weight of the still-sleeping Master's flaccid dick in my mouth.

Dazed by the lewd rapture, eyes squeezed shut, the boisterous cheers of "Happy New Year!" felt distant, as if muffled through a thick fog of debauchery. ”Mon corps est une marionnette, les seins balançant, chaque poussée des bites me rappelle combien je suis tombée bas, et putain, ça m'excite et je ne peux pas m'en empêcher. Je sais que maîtresse regarde, et ça... c'était son désir. (*"My body’s a puppet, tits swinging, every pump from the dick reminds me how low I've sunk, and fuck, it turns me on and I can't help it. I know Mistress is watching, and this... this was her desire."*)

Just then, I heard the mistress whisper into my ear, "happy new year my love" and then I felt, for the first time since this whole ordeal, her lips wrap around my caged clit. She was below me, never had she been below me since this began, my cage hurt, but it was the mistress, taking what little had remained of me inside her, nothing else mattered, not the cocks I was servicing, not the pain, only her, giving me a taste of what we had in the past. lovingly, gently, slowly.

Everything faded—the dick drilling me, the men using me, even the sting of confinement—it all just washed away. She was giving me a flicker of what we once shared, her lips moving tenderly, with a slow care that used to be mine before.

As my world bucked and reeled, the edges of my senses blurred. No longer the mistress, she was l'amante, the lover, the remembered whisper of intimacy. Jacob's limp dick flopped from my mouth, and I half-choked, half-gasped the words out, "Maîtresse, continuez, je vous en supplie. Je vis seulement pour vous, juste pour ça. Je sais que mon petit *dickette* ne vous intéresse pas, mais j'ai besoin de ceci. Je ne pourrai peut-être plus jamais jouir, mais aidez-moi à essayer. S'il vous plaît, s'il vous plaît, aidez votre servante à obtenir ce dont elle a désespérément besoin." (*"Mistress, keep going, I beg you. I live only for you, just for this. I know that my little *dicklette* doesn't interest you, but I need this. I may never be able to come again, but please help me try. Please, please help your servant get what she desperately needs."*)

As Mistress enveloped me, her arms coiling possessively, she consumed every fragment of my being, a predator claiming her prey. Hoisted and suspended, Mike's thick hand steadying me, while another restrained my wrists. My legs clung to his sides, as I flailed in the throes of eros, clutching desperately as her mouth found the pin-sized hole in the cage.

She flicked her tongue once, just once, and the world shattered. I climaxed, came apart like a marionette with cut strings, a crescendo of "Ah, ah, oui, oui, oh s'il vous plaît, oui, maîtresse..." (*"Yes, yes, oh please yes, Mistress..."*) erupting from deep within.

But she didn't cease. She sucked harder, as Mike pounded away, filling me to the brim until he clenched and came. He wrenched me back painfully, and I detonated again, a squeal tearing through me – a creature of pure want.

Tears streaming, I couldn’t contain the guilt, the joy, "Maîtresse, merci... je ne mérite pas cela, je ne mérite pas votre amour. Je suis juste votre esclave, et je suis désolée d’avoir joui. Je promets de ne plus jamais jouir. Ne me laissez pas..." (*"Mistress, thank you... I don't deserve this, I don't deserve your love. I am just your slave, and I’m sorry for cumming. I promise to never cum again. Please don’t leave me..."*) I whispered, my voice a fragile, but she did not seem to hear my plea and she did not stop milking me.

Mike, finished with his savage use of my body, unceremoniously dumped me onto Mistress, my clit still trapped in her insatiable mouth. I couldn't brace myself as I freefell, landing on her with a wet slap. The remnants of his cum were like liquid sin, dripping from my ravaged hole to splatter across Mistress' chest. Her tits heaved beneath me, rising and falling with heavy, primal breaths.

Her arms tightened around me further, vice-like in their urgency, her grip ruthless as if wringing the last drops of pleasure from a spent fruit. I could feel her flesh against mine. The heat from her face, branded me with the mark of her possession. Her suckling was ferocious, her mouth working over the confines shielding my arousal like a beast tearing at its chains.

As she continued to suck with an intensity that made me feel as if I were sprouting an erection, albeit a meagre one. But I sensed her tongue detecting even this faintest uprising as she redoubled her efforts, sucking with a hunger that was nearly savage. Each draw of her mouth sent electricity crackling down my spine, awakening the core of my being that lay dormant.

Unable to resist, defying the insurgence of all my training, I rose against all my submission, my ‘clitty’ a prisoner still in her fervent mouth, and grasped the back of her head. Her hands, once binding, now simply cradled my quivering flanks, allowing – no, urging me to grind down onto her.

For the first time in an interminable span, I claimed a scrap of dominion, a fleeting inversion of our roles. My fingers wove into Mistress’, NO! Nina's hair, pulling her close as desire took over. "Lèche-moi, mon amour, fais-moi trembler de plaisir !" (*"Lick me, my love, make me tremble with delight!"*) I begged. That whispered command stirred something primal in her

"Suce ma clito, chérie, fais-moi jouir dur !" (*"Suck my clit, honey, make me come hard!"*) I cried out and that 'command' set her off—her sucking turned ravenous, a wild hunger unleashed from deep within her, a desperate need to please me that I'd never sensed before.

In that fleeting slice of clarity, It hit me, right there in the swelter of our shared heat—she was throwing me a crumb of the past, a tiny taste of when the balance tipped the other way, if only just.

She was feeding me lines from a script we'd torched long ago. Hell, this moment, she was right where she used to be those days, hungry, waiting for whatever pleasure I'd bestow.

Entirely consumed by a deep longing, she looked starved for the affection I ached to offer. "Vous enchaînez ma chair, mais, putain... c'est mon cœur qui porte votre nom gravé à jamais." (*"You chain my flesh, but, fuck... it's my heart that bears your name etched forever."*) I pronounced with certainty, ready to reclaim what was once ours.

In a move that was all heat and wild grasps, I shoved a finger into her dripping core, searching for the switch that had always been mine to flick. With my other hand, I pulled even her in even harder, keeping her locked onto the what she was coaxing into life.

We were a goddamn mess, a tangle of thrusts and desperate gasps. I felt her rocking against the intrusion of my fingers, riding them as she clung to the brink. Neither of us had gotten off tonight—not with that mediocre joke of a cock, certainly not her.

She craved it—craved me—as much as I needed release. "Effondre-toi pour moi, ma reine." (*"Come undone for me, my queen,"*) I panted, right on the cusp of the edge, and then it tore through us—a swell, a break, our bodies convulsing wildly.

Her knees buckled, my cocklet wept with joy at last as she leaned into me, my own cries tearing loose, "Ahhhh.... à toi, toujours à toi..." (*"Ahhhh.... yours, always yours…"*) We collapsed, heaving, spent, into the wreckage of our lust.

There was no strength left, only her touch drawing me against the warmth of her chest, her breath stirring the damp hair at my forehead, "Hush now, mon amour... a new dawn, a new year is ours." Her voice was the last thing washing over me as my world dimmed, and sweetness took me under.

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Very Erotic

joannebarbarella's picture

Nothing left to the imagination here. Woo-Hoo!

That was the intent ;-)

I put a lot of effort into this chapter, hoping to create vivid scenes that paint themselves into your minds. The intent was to give your imagination a break, I wonder if it had the intended effect. Thanks for sharing your thoughts!