Binding Resolutions Chapter 4: New Beginnings

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As you navigate through this chapter, you will witness a softer side of this tale, revealing a bond that may refuse to be defined merely by power and submission amidst newfound intimacies and unspoken confessions. It appears that love wears many masks, and the dance between our heroine and her mistress takes a curious turn towards the unsaid and the undone. What will become of our 'little Yvonne' when soft touches and stolen glances suggest a twist in the tale?

Chapter 1 can be found here: Binding Resolutions Chapter 1: A Promise Kept
Chapter 2 can be found here: Binding Resolutions Chapter 2: Lost in Submission
Chapter 3 can be found here: Binding Resolutions Chapter 3: The Stroke of Midnight

**Author's Note**

Phew, Chapter 4 was a doozy to write. Let's be honest: I discarded the entire first draft. But good ideas don't die—they get reused.

As I said from the very beginning, this tale is about love that survives the storm and Chapter 3 nearly put me in a bind.

The challenges that I needed to overcome this time were the following:

  1. How do you find true love under so many secrets and sins?
  2. How do you patch up our very broken Yvonne without just slapping a band-aid over a gaping wound?
  3. Will you come to cheer for Yvonne AND Nina after all that has happened?
  4. Lastly, how do I pull all this off without ditching the deliciously dirty spirit of the story? (Because, let's be honest, it's been one hell of a filthy ride.)

Starting with this chapter, the resolution is 'rising,' so to speak, the kinky, 'heart' tugging kind and I think you'll love how it ends.

**Trigger Warning**

**Personal Request and Trigger Warning for Chapter 4**: Please be advised that this chapter contains mature and explicit content, including graphic sexual descriptions and themes of submission and control within a consensual dynamic. Although Chapter 4 exhibits a lighter tone with less intensity than Chapter 3, it may still be unsettling for some readers. As such, discretion is recommended. If you find that such topics don't sit well with you, or if they stray from what brings you enjoyment in reading, it is absolutely okay to pass over this chapter. Your comfort and emotional safety are incredibly important, so I warmly encourage you to listen to your feelings and care for your well-being as you make your reading choices.

How I found the confidence to write:
Read here on my blog

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Binding Resolutions Chapter 4: New Beginnings

Stirred by the soft touch, I awoke to Nina's breath, whispers of warmth against my skin, "Wake up, love. Time to welcome the new year." Her lips danced along my neck, descending in a trail of feather-like kisses, igniting a trail of shivers that cascaded down to my soft, ample breasts.

The full bloom of my chest heaved in quivering anticipation as her mouth grazed a swollen, vulnerable nipple—proud and rosy pink, and begging for the slightest attention. She bit down gently, and the overwhelming cocktail of pain and pleasure forced a moan from my lips. "Oh..." I gasped in the language of my soul, "C'est délicieux..." (*"It's delicious... "*)

Her kisses were a tender exploration as she journeyed down to the belly button, a tender dip in the soft expanse of my belly. And then, her lips brushed lower, to where I'd become accustomed to cold plastic and metal. But there was no cage, no lock, no chain, just the warm touch of her lovely tongue on flesh that responded with an involuntary twitch—a living, pulsing piece of my old self.

The realisation jolted me, and my mind wrestled with the aberration, but my body simply relished it. An erection, ‘petite’ though it may have been in stature, surged to life, leaving me breathless. "Peut-être... qu'elle est plus grande que mon téton?" (*"Maybe... it's larger than my nipple? "*) I considered with a flicker of glee.

I felt the press of her palms, the teasing flicks against my wanton nubs, ushering a joy that bubbled up and broke on the surface in hushed moans. I filled the room with muted sighs as her lips remained latched to my sensitive ‘clitty’— every motion driving me to the brink of a joyous madness.

"Continuez, je vous en prie, cela me fait flotter…" (*"Keep going, please, it makes me float…"*), I cooed, drawing in the sensation of her lips that played me like a fine instrument of pleasure.

I tightened my grip on Nina’s locks, the need to connect on a visceral level commanding every fibre."Mon cœur bat pour vous, ma déesse," I moaned to her. (*"My heart beats for you, my goddess,"*) My words, breathed out in the tongue of my truth, clung to the electric air between us.

Yet, confusion clawed at me with feverish intensity. How the hell did I have an erection?

I could still see the glint of the knife, feel the bite of the straps around my quivering thighs as I lay exposed on the table. The cold snap of rubber gloves, the gleam in the eyes of Dr. Michelle as she cut away the last remnants of my masculinity. The wailing from the pain that I couldn't suppress, the hot sting of tears, the inability to look away as cut after cut, I was unmade.

Nina had been there, watching the spectacle with a twisted smirk, her words slicing through me as sharply as the scalpel, "You're parting with those little balls, but trust me, darling, I'll ensure they're always adorning you in a more 'valuable form'."

True to her vicious vow, she had them fashioned into earrings—golden, shining trophies of my emasculation for all to behold at yesterday's debauchery.

My permanent emasculation, along with Miss Lynn's training sessions, the hypnosis, and the chemical cocktail of hormones, was meant to exorcise even the ghost of my orgasms, let alone the ability to harden. But there it was, that minuscule 'pathetic excuse' as they all called it, jerking with an unexpected shot of life that I had been assured was forever smothered out of me.

I gazed down at Nina, bewildered, suckling what should be nothing but a limp tadpole; instead, it stood in defiance—my proud little ‘cockette’.

There was a 'why' and 'how' buzzing at the back of my mind, but all thoughts were drowned out by a sweet, soft moan that escaped my lips as the pleasure rippled through me.

She sucked me off as if I were still the man she used to choke on, the sounds she made as lewd as they come. There was no struggle, no strain from a sizable cock to gag on, just her deriving pleasure from the simplicity of my reduced existence.

Clearly, this was theatre, a performance dedicated solely to my standing ovation. The sounds erupting from Nina’s loving lips—the dripping, slurping cacophony punctuated with coughs and gags streamed without interruption, an unbroken thread of sound—her tribute to what once was and a deliciously twisted homage to what now remained.

She was showing me, in the most profane and passionate way, that whilst her "ample summer sausage" was now a "little jelly bean," her love remained unabashed and filthily absolute.

Crushed in the heat of her grasp, I'd given in to the sweet rush of climax three times over last night, my ball-less little dicklet defying the damn impossible. Now, with Nina's lips working a wicked dance of soft and rough, I hovered on a knife-edge, teetering on the cusp of a fourth shuddering release.

And then she slowed down, her tongue, equal parts torment and ecstasy, lingered leisurely around her bite-sized candy. Each circle she traced sent a shiver to every part of me. And so close to the edge I swayed, breath hitching in small, panting gasps—it was happening again.

"Je vais venir... oh putain, je vais venir encore..." (*"I'm going to cum... oh fuck, I'm going to cum again... "*), I moaned, overwhelmed, and melted into the impending wave of release.

Tension coiled like a spring inside me, the sweet peak nearing with each passing second. Nina’s tongue, relentless in its pursuit of my unravelling, whipped up a frenzy within my groin. "Je-Je-Je vais...!" (*"I’m—I’m—I’m...! "*), my voice fractured, splintering under the strain of the urgent climax building its crescendo.

The tidal wave of pleasure crashed over me, dragging me helplessly over the edge. My entire being tightened, a knot of desperate anticipation, before unravelling in wave after wave of pure bliss. A tiny dribble marked the summit of my ecstasy, a pitiful tribute to the climax that rocked me to my core—a visceral rebellion against the neutered body that was supposed to be mine.

And Nina, the maestro of my undoing, kept her tongue swirling, relentless in her pursuit as I dissolved, spent and drowned in a deluge of carnal satisfaction.

As my trembling subsided, Nina approached me with tears cascading down her cheeks.Her gaze, deep as the ocean blue, locked onto mine. "Thank you for everything, my love," she breathed out, trapping me in her arms. I gave in, both of us a mess of sobs and sniffles.

Time blurred as we clung to each other until; finally, Nina peeled herself from my hold. A year's worth of distance couldn't dull the ache of separation. My need for closeness found that defeated voice in my mind, ‘Moi, bête, je veux plus,’ (*‘Silly me, wanting more,’*) but Nina, with an almost clairvoyant touch, reassured me gently, "Hold on my little kitten, let's freshen up," she chuckled, a tease in her voice. “We both reek something fierce." She winked and added with a playful nudge, "The bath awaits,but wait a moment. This lady needs to tinkle first."

I grudgingly lounged in bed, watching her saunter off, a hypnotic rhythm to her behind that held my eyes captive. There, me being a smitten girl again, enthralled by a simple sway more potent than Lynn’s brainwashing. A wicked twitch came from down below – my 'third nipple' was acting up again. ‘Heh, mon troisième téton, c'est plutôt accrocheur,’ (*’Heh, my third nipple, kinda catchy,’*) I smirked. "Name it, and it becomes real... right, Nina?" I mumbled, contemplating a playful introduction for my newly enjoyable nub.

As I lay dreaming up lewd nicknames, I found my hand petting 'little Yvonne' again. "Oh, j'aimais bien ce nom aussi," (*"Oh, I liked that name too,"*) I smirked, tickled by how fitting that felt. I was heating up, fingers dancing as they sought that heavenly peak, but just then, Nina had reentered and had clearly noticed my little ‘indulgence’ because she then walked up to me and eased my hand away with a bemused, "Move it, my sultry little minx. We need to strip the filth from you forthwith."

Rising off the bed without hurry provided Nina with a clear view of the entirety of what I was, knowing her eyes were eating up every inch of me. She had dubbed me a minx; the least I could do was play the part—no hesitation, no compulsion—just a flare of teasing self-assurance. 'You fashioned Yvonne, now feast your eyes,' I thought wickedly, stretching languidly, arching my back, my ample breasts provocatively on display.

Did I just hear her breath hitch? Oh, the power of the tease—but before I could savour it, a sharp 'thwack' to my plump backside broke my trance. “To the bath, now, little lady," she said with that teasingly exasperated tone. "Oui, Mademoiselle!" I exclaimed, retreating to the sanctuary of the bathroom with mock obedience.

Oh wow! Would you look at that? The sight of the scented bath, decked out in romantic flair, petals adorning the water with a flourish, caught me by surprise. This was a lavish gesture that only I prepared and exclusively reserved for Nina. "For moi? Really?" I mused when the sound of Nina's voice reached me. "Take your time, enjoy this. I'll shower in the maid’s... the other bathroom."

She sweetened the deal with an offhand mention, "There's also a glass of that Spiced Indian buttermilk you adore by the tub. Snagged it from the Kumars, plenty more in the fridge. Relax, soak it in. Breakfast won't be ready for a bit."

The bath's embrace could wait—it was that darned buttermilk that beckoned with urgency. Swiftly grasping the glass, I savoured a generous gulp, letting the cold, salty treat cascade through me. A year had passed without this heavenly brew, a simple yoghurt drink from my backpacking days, yet it was a blissful rush at this moment.

Memories of my dorm days across the pond in India trickled in, where this simple drink of watered-down yoghourt spiked with mustard, ginger, and scorching chillies (much like little ol' me). Topped with a spritz of lime, this glass of goodness was precisely what hit the spot for me. Nina, delightful as she is, never could grasp the allure. But ahh, there I go again—being such a baby over my little obsessions!

For nearly an hour, I simply reclined in the scented suds, sipped on my delightful drink, and engaged in a bit of self-indulgence. Oh, the sweet torture of a languid, sensual tease, edging myself towards a torrid buzz. A touch here, a stroke there, cooking myself into a state of simmering passion.

Eventually, though, it was time to get out, and I draped myself in a robe, chuckling, "Oh, regarde-moi, quelle coquine je fais." (*"Oh, look at me, such a naughty thing."*)

To my surprise, I discovered my usual maid attire conspicuously absent when I looked around the bedroom. In its stead? I found a flirty, floral little thing waiting for me – and I mean little – not a stitch of underwear in sight. "Quand à Rome," (*"When in Rome,"*) I mused as I slipped into the scant bit of fabric and headed down to the kitchen.

The kitchen smelled heavenly; Nina was whipping up Dosas. Such unassuming little crepes demanded a finesse that could provoke a minor scandal for us 'non-Indians'. Pouring, spreading—oh, but let's not gloss it over with mundane terms—it was a Dosa and nothing else, an irreplaceable indulgence.

The aroma was mouthwatering. "Mmm, ça sent incroyable," (*"Mmm, smells incredible,"*) I proclaimed, loud enough for her to catch every bit of my excitement. Her voice came wafting back, clearly pleased with my proclamation, "Also got the Sambhar and Chutneys in from the Kumars, but these Dosas and that damned potato concoction will be ready any moment. Perch yourself at the table ma petite fleur, and I'll serve them up."

True to her word, I waited only moments before Nina waltzed over, one plate in each hand and mischief in her stride. She served me first, then squeezed in beside me, plate in hand, the other hand making quick work of lifting my dress and playing with my eager 'clit'.

Dizzy with a blend of spicy desires and aromatic Indian cuisine, I was practically purring, a content kitten about to indulge in the feast before me. Then, like a slap to the face, the sudden realisation hit me.

'WHAT IN THE ACTUAL FUCK!?!' This was abnormal, next-level nuts, and why was I just clocking it now? “Oi, Nina,” I snapped, spinning round to her, her gaze like a laser on mine. . “Why’re you laying it on thick with the pampering? Speak up.” Only to freeze under her piercing gaze. ”What did you just call me?” She questioned, her voice razor-sharp. I realised the slip I guffed — But no!

This needed straight talk. Straining against my conditioning, I tossed out her name again, no frills, no ‘Mistress’ bullshit tacked on. I drew myself up tall—’oh look, Yvonne’s got balls again’—“I called you Nina,” I threw down, English words flying, taking back my goddamn voice.

Her eyes bore into mine, unblinking, and then, without warning, tears spilt over. Next moment, I was caught in her tight embrace, her kisses like rain on parched earth. I could feel her heart thudding against me as she pleaded desperately, “Sweetheart, say my name again... please, call me by all your endearments. God, I’m starving for it.”

Right then and there, the floodgates opened — I was bawling right along with her. “Nina, my love, chérie, honey, sweet pea, cupcake, my queen, my goddess...” I let the pet names flow, a stream of dedicated affection until I deliberately chose my final utterance in French, “ma maîtresse”, I said as her lips continued their tender assault. We held onto each other, crying until it felt like maybe, just maybe, we’d washed away all the trials from the past year.

She wiped our eyes, a burst of soft laughter bubbling through the solemnity, then kissed me deep. “Good to see ‘mistress’ hasn't left your charming French vocabulary. Such a delightful word on your tongue,” she teased.

“What’s happening?” I blurted out, my voice addled with confusion. Nina shot me a smirk as charming as the spring breeze, “Wait up, my pet. All will be revealed before the night ends. We still have some ‘prayers’ that need to be answered. But first, let’s not let this meal turn cold, eh? “ Her voice felt like home, so I obliged, an obedient giggle escaping me alongside a mouthful of food.

While her hand lingered, stirring a constant fire within me, I couldn't resist letting her in on my little secret, "I've renamed ‘her’. 'Little Yvonne,' just seemed fitting,” I shared, a chuckle slipping out as Nina's laughter joined in, echoing in my ears.

“Oh, you're too much," Nina laughed, her merriment evident, "but always remember, ‘she’ is MY 'little Yvonne'.” My heart did a little flip at her loving possessiveness, overcoming my ….something. "Elle est à vous, Maîtresse." (*"She is yours, Mistress."*) I acquiesced, a warmth rising to my cheeks as Nina's words caressed my heart, and my groin; as I returned to our lavish dining.

The ring of the bell had barely faded when I popped up like a jack-in-the-box, on door duty as usual. But oops, there was Nina, hand on my shoulder gently coaxing me back down onto the cushion. "No need, sweetie," she said with a chuckle, heading for the door herself.

Funny, in the year that had passed, taking charge of the door was Yvonne’s little slice of normal. But then again, I was a silly little thing... at least for today. And, nestled in my snug corner, I realised I didn't mind this new 'silly' one bit; watching Nina do my bit just tickled me pink.

The Doctor strolled in, all business and crisp efficiency, a stark contrast to the wanton sadist from last night's Smut fest. I couldn't help but flinch at her gaze—it was instinctive, a shudder that betrayed me. My reaction fluttered like a trapped moth, but clearly, it had caught the attention of Nina’s keen eyes.

"Doctor, thanks for making the trip today. Yvonne and I need a second, but then we'll be right behind you upstairs," she explained with a courteous nod, the underlying message clear as day.

To my surprise, the Doctor gave me a smile that felt oddly warm, a first since forever. Not one of those cold, clinical smirks that I had gotten used to, but a kind, human one. Something almost resembling camaraderie. "See you shortly, Yvonne," she remarked, her steps unhurried as she climbed the stairs.

Nina closed the space between us, her touch tender as she held my hands, her eyes searching mine. The sharp memory of that final look before I surrendered my manhood flashed between us, but the intensity in her gaze now was different.

There was only a softness there. All her love poured into the oceanic depth of her concern. "Don't worry, my baby. This time, it will be different... Better... I promise you," she whispered. And just like that, I was her girl again, nodding and stepping behind her, my trust as inevitable as the moon above us.

As we advanced upstairs, Nina leaned in close, "It was the good doctor who removed your piercings last night, believe it or not," she mused casually, a curve at the corner of her lips. "Ruined her fancy diamond-tipped tools in the process, all without disturbing a single dream of yours."

I couldn’t hold back a carefree laugh, "Mon Dieu, quelle opération délicate ! Je suppose que mon sommeil de beauté était trop précieux pour être interrompu, hein ?" (*”My, what a delicate operation! I guess my beauty sleep was too precious to interrupt, eh?”*)

So there I was, sitting all awkward and bare on the edge of the bed, arms pinned to my side, legs shamelessly akimbo under the scrutinising eyes and digits of the doctor.

While the Doctor's eyes and fingers dallied between my thighs... oh my, slipping into my role again, all flushed and vulnerable to her expert ‘examination’. It felt less like a check-up and more like pleasantly shameless abuse of… “I think we shall call this little marvel 'Little Yvonne', yes?" Nina had playfully interrupted my thoughts. "Indeed, such a delightful name for an equally delightful treat," agreed the doctor, her attention unwavering from her unabashed diddling below.

Her gaze shot up to my cheeks, brimming with colour, matching the hue of my embarrassment. "Oh look, a perfect match for your pretty, flushed face," she commented, her sincere smile matched by her own reddening at the excitement of her work. "Although previously assessed by you, Nina, may I conduct a brief experiment of my own?” She breathed, lust clearly evident in her voice, “strictly in the name of progress, naturally."

“Have at it, you dirty slut. Consider it a recompense for your tools." Nina sneered playfully, a gleam of wicked provocation in her eyes. Without a moment's delay, the Doctor had my ‘Little Yvonne' engulfed, her lips enveloping it with a slobbering fervour. "Mmm… docteur, oh!" (*"Mmm… doctor, oh! "*) I half-protested in a squeal, but it was struck down by a sharp nip, a shockwave of pleasure coursing through me. “Michelle works when we're playing doctor like this. I'll be back for plenty more of these ‘check-ups’," she winked before her mouth descended again, her tongue twirling and slurping, making ‘Little Yvonne’ throb with delight under her expert care.

Michelle's mouth was doing wonders down south but not quite reaching the climactic touch that Nina possessed. Grasping for more, I pulled her head in closer, craving that final push, but my grip was tender where it needed to be fierce. She responded by pressing atop my hands—her silent instruction clear: be bold, demand more. I obliged, holding her close until her breath mingled with the sparse tuft of my groin. For several aching moments after, I was a heartbeat away from paradise, yet not quite there.

Caught in a purgatory of pleasure, it must have painted a portrait of longing on my face because I heard Nina's silky voice slide into my ears, "Mmm… This wouldn’t do." I felt her climb behind me, her delicate hands peeling away mine from Michelle's fervent ministrations. She pulled my arms back with a soft strength, binding them with her own, my helplessness crafted by her whispers alone.

Drawing me into a sculpted incline, powerless and exposed, Nina's voice wrapped around me, "You like it when you’re defenceless, baby," the words lingered as an affirmation rather than a question. "Hands back, stay there, nice and arched," she directed, and I followed without hesitation. Obedient, quaking with anticipation, I held the arch as she rose like the dawn before me.

Her glistening treasure, so close, so beckoning, the smell, the scorching heat of her arousal filled the air, dangling just out of reach of my desperate tongue. With her desire almost brushing my lips, she held back a mere breath away, demanding, "Say the magic words, baby," her prompt was fire, and I was ash.

How swiftly "S'il vous plaît, Maîtresse," (*"please, Mistress "*) escaped me. And with those words, like a goddess responding to a divine scripture uttered, she descended upon my longing lips. Finally, tasting her after an eternity of denial, I lapped at her sacred temple with a fervour meant only for the divine.

There we were – our roles cast – Michelle clung to me, her mouth relentless, lavished her attention on my trembling lure, nipping and tugging with a gentle ferocity. And I — arching beneath Nina, my body, a temple of desire, a welcoming altar upon which she had descended.

I drank from her, a devout pilgrim at the fountain of my deity. This was the moment for cherished retribution, my chance to navigate Nina to the edge of her ecstasy—the very edge that had been my tortured refuge all of last year would now be her surrender.

Ah, but well, I was her beloved little minx, her petite treat. I might have basked in the role reversal, teasing Nina with the taste of her own medicine as she quaked, sighed, and cascaded over the brink.

Just a taste, though—a tease shouldn't overstay its welcome because, mmm, my thirst for her sweet nectar was real, and my eagerness to drink her down was torment that licked at my desires.

In a stroke of genius that only Nina's flexible body allowed, she manoeuvred her seeking mouth to where my nipple throbbed, engorged with need. While keeping me buried in her own pleasure. A skill sourced from those many sunrises spent in yoga's embrace. And as she suckled, I teetered on the cusp, my frame ready to shatter into release, but no, this dance was mine to lead. My moment to watch Nina unravel above me.

Yet, I couldn't halt Michelle's unrelenting pursuits. With my tethered hands, I could do nothing, and—Oh! The dam of my restraint broke my release, little spurts of abandon gifted into her waiting mouth, releasing each droplet of gratitude into her care.

Suppressing the reflex to pull away, I fervently continued my service. My Mistress Nina's breaths coming in short, needy bursts. Her grip tightened around my waist, drawing me closer—pulling me into her embrace. I could read her body like my favourite book, each shiver and sigh underlining a sentence in the story of her pleasure, and this chapter required that I redouble my worship.

Poor 'little Yvonne' below was valiantly weathering an onslaught. Still, she was putting up an impressive fight, steadfast in tiny rigid glory even in the throes of Michelle's almost too vigorous attention.

Then I felt it—the unmistakable quiver of her oncoming crescendo, and holding my breath, I buried myself in her depths, a torrent of relentless flicks and caresses over her swollen nub.

In that moment, the discomfort that had faded below gave way to anticipation. Michelle’s bites now edged me nearer to another peak. Clearly, the ecstasy of bringing joy to my adored Mistress outshone any mouths that had worshipped me.

And so we both crumbled—Nina's release crested with a soul-baring "ohh god baby… yes!!!!!" and I, gasping with joy at the taste of her, felt real satisfaction bloom as her legs bucked, dragging me down with her into the sheets. And then, as if my soul was attuned to her symphony, I too surrendered to yet another mind-melting release— many more dribbles and my wet little tribute to Michelle's prowess.

Mistress must've realised I was breathless, for she propped herself just so, my tongue still lavishing her with adoration, even as she extricated me from Michelle. "Mmm..sweet like honey, and slow down. She came twice just now. That seems to be a good sign. Your little cutie is multi-orgasmic now," Michelle remarked a note of wonder in her voice.

"Got it, bitch. I'll go gentle on her and yes, she tastes like fine honey. Now, get us ready for the next thing, will you?" gasped Nina, breathless even as I slid a daring finger into her heat, my tongue's pilgrimage unceasing.

Time blurred as we lost ourselves in one another's touch until I heard the heavy footsteps accompanying Michelle's return. They were more profound, laden with a confident masculinity. Trevor?

The unmistakable timbre of our groundskeeper's voice filled the room. "Whoa! Our little Yvonne and the boss lady are indeed going at it." His hearty, sincere, and definitely aroused words brought a momentary touch of the familiar, warm Trevor I knew from the past.
Not the harrowing memory of last night’s depravity.

As Mistress's lips withdrew from ‘little Yvonne’, she kissed my nub one last time before letting me go, instructing plainly, "Lose the clothes, Trevor. Remember what we agreed on?" She grinned at him, "Let's give Yvonne a good show, shall we?"

Softly, she slid out from beneath me and, with a reassuring presence, nestled me against her. Guiding me upright, her hands snug around my waist, she positioned me to face Trevor standing beside Michelle.

“Baby, I need you to express how you feel seeing him. Every bit of him. Don't censor. Just breathe out the truth.” she urged with the softest tremble that tried to hide away in her voice but could not escape my ears.”

Enveloped in the comfort of her body, warming me from behind, I looked towards Trevor. There he stood, revealed in his entirety. Six feet something, sheer brawn and undeniable masculinity. Gazing upon his slightly embarrassed, sweaty, muscular and very manly form, a result of relentless labour, and that cock—oh, that proud swinging cock—my appetite stirred.

My immediate thought was, 'Hmm, délicieux !' but it faded, a sign, perhaps, of Lynn's hypnotic influence unwinding.

Yet the yearning lingered, but not for Trevor—no, not the man, it was his cock my body ached to feel. It craved to be vigorously handled, tossed around like a plaything, to submit its willing form to the mercy of this manhood’s demand.

Evidently, parts of the hypnotic conditioning remained nestled deep within me. Yet how empowering it felt to distil someone to just their stiff, pulsating, succulent privates, mirroring how I'd been reduced to my plump, ripe mounds and 'take-me-now' bottom until mere hours ago.

And I also knew, for sure, from the quiver that had escaped her lips, that losing me to an unrelenting, meaty, and thick cock was, undeniably, Nina’s greatest unspoken fear right now.

I could almost feel the cold sweat on her skin as she contemplated me being consumed by a raw desire to worship, to be stretched and skewered, and to serve the needs of that thick organ and away from the sanctuary of her embrace.

Her silent apprehensions sent an aching throb through my heart, a powerful wish flaring to dismiss the crowd, and to just cradle her in the embrace of my comfort was overwhelming. Yet, beneath that, a rabid lust for the stiff, throbbing slab of flesh, the desire to be impaled, to feel it ruthlessly split me open, fill my every hollow, left me quaking.

The thought of being reduced to a quivering mess, drenched and defiled, and then pleading to be used again as a cum canvas, yearning to be painted with spunk. The raging flames of desire to be reduced to such delightful ruin was the stark realisation that compelled me to speak the biting truth.

It was now in my nature to submit to desire, unleashing the instinctive longing for it. The man himself was a mere footnote. It was his manhood that called to me. Ravenous for its barbaric dominance.

'Brace for the bite of pain now to avoid the torment of discovering lies later,' I reconciled internally, forcing my eyes from the enticing girth of the erection on display to confront Nina with my admission.

My choice of words was as honest as it was deliberate, "Chéri, la vue de cette bite me fait l'eau à la bouche, je te jure, je la veux partout." (*"Darling, the sight of this cock makes my mouth water, I swear, I want it everywhere."*)I continued slowly, each word crystal clear in its intent, "Je dois la déguster entièrement, la sentir dans chaque orifice." (*"I must taste it entirely, feel it in every orifice."*)

Her voice faltered, nearly lost in silence, the ghost of a tear shimmering in her eyes as she accepted, “Okay, love, tend to your hunger. I had more than an inkling that it might come to this.”

I recognised the gravity of her words, our shared secret, and hopefully, an answer to another one of her ‘prayers.’ This was a test not of obedience but of our mutual desire, one which I was determined to pass—for both our sakes.

And so, I let my cravings guide me as I edged off the comfort of our shared bed. “Quel délice," (*"What a delight,"*) I purred quietly. My descent was slow and deliberate, my knees finding their place on the ground.

Michelle's gaze, first sharpened with professional curiosity, lacking any hint of her prior arousal. But as her eyes danced between Nina and me, concern quickly etched her features. Yet, commanding my immediate attention was this pendulous, musky manhood, reeking of his daily toil, that required my devotion. I answered its call without hesitation.

I dove into my work, devouring that cock like it was my life's calling, each wet suck a primal tribute to my insatiable appetite. Gagging myself shamelessly, spit-drenched and gasping as I worshipped it with my tongue. I withdrew just enough to breathe before descending again.

His delirious groans and warped grin, as my eyes scanned upwards, were a clear badge of honour – I was drenching him in the sloppiest, most debased blowjob he'd ever been lucky enough to receive.

Submitting to a man's desires felt undeniably heady. I was the stage, and his inflated shaft and ego were the stars of the show —and therein lay the wickedness of my submissive enthusiasm. It was his necessity, not mine, that I craved to service.

It was this twisted need, my addiction, that painted this encounter with such explosive satisfaction. My experiences in the past year and Lynne’s manipulations had woven their way into my psyche and broken me in an irredeemable way.

Gobbling the engorged meatstick was blasphemy of the sweetest kind. The more I served it, the filthier I craved to become. Each glob of drool I spilt was a gift, and I slathered it all over my whimpering hole before impaling myself with my finger. I damn near choked myself with the relentless bobbing, using my gasping as a rhythm to fuck myself harder onto this dominating manhood.

I pushed to debase myself until, with a savage pull, Gripping a fistful of hair, he hauled me up, my spit-smeared lips torn from my feast and as my choking gasps of needy discontent filled the room.

As my mouth reluctantly broke away, a glistening line of drool dragged from his pulsing tip to my lips, a messy badge of my labour. Panting, he declared, "Sugar, savouring your mouth's a treat, but I've got some poundin' to do where it counts. Promised I'd give you a proper reaming. Payday comes with you ass-up and me balls-deep.”

The words struck a chord—hell, I was gagging for that savage reaming as much as he was boasting about it.

Swift as sin, I spun around and sprawled out for him on the bed, arching like a bitch in heat, my bottom in the air, offering him my moist and welcoming rosebud with a brazen grin. "Allez, grand garçon, emmène-moi à l'église," (*"Come on, big boy, take me to church,"*) I cooed with a wink.

It started off as gentle caresses and tender nudges, but then he found his rhythm, and goddamn if it didn't get ruthless. The slam of his hips, the way he claimed me, it was everything I was programmed to love.

The fierceness? Absolutely delectable—being ravished, turned into a mindless, wanton whore on display—it was a high like no other. Trevor clearly had the moves, but just like when Michelle had her mouth all over me, I was floating—in a delirious limbo but not quite hitting nirvana.

Nina, oh my Mistress, peered from across with silent, tear-brimming eyes. Her silence was her choice; I could have cut through the thick gloom at any moment, but this was Nina's trial, a necessary truth to experience with her own eyes.

However, playtime was over. She had her show, and now, it was my scene to direct. Grasping Nina's hand, I insisted, "Chérie, let's revisit that soixante-neuf... and make it snappy!" I demanded, and damn if she didn't dive right under me like a woman starved. As I plundered her depths, her tongue found its destined mark, and, oh fuck…

Completely lost in my basest state of being, I screamed, "Oui...Oooh... ahhh…merde.. Oui… plus vite... ENCORE PLUS FORT… oooh FUCK ME DAMN IT!!!!!!", my voice a clarion call to the upcoming explosion. My climax was building, explosive, but Nina—my dear goddess—deserved a universe in return.

It was time to deploy my coup de grâce. My knowledge of her body’s landscape was as intimate as my own. My guiding finger struck true—her sacred, secret instrument—and in a moment as old as time, I bestowed upon her the bite that sang to her soul. And… she exploded, her body singing like ecstasy incarnate, her thighs splayed, gushing into my mouth.

Even as the waves of pleasure seized her, leaving her at the whims of carnal spasms, she kept her greedy mouth clamped on me, suckling like a depraved angel, until my own rapture rang out across the fucking heavens. "Ooooh ma chérie, je viens, ohhhh yes...yes…FUCK YES!!!!!! The torrent was fierce, and ‘little Yvonne’ proved herself a champion, releasing dribble upon relentless dribble until I crumbled onto her, completely spent.

It wasn't long until I noticed Trevor's tempo slip; the poor dear was lost, momentarily dazed from my 'wail of the banshee routine.'

I couldn't resist but to brightly chirp, "Allez, tapez fort, c'est si bon," (*"Go on, hit it hard, it's so good,"*) really laying on the sugar. The man had put his back into it—God bless his fuck-pumping spirit—but my body wasn't about tasks well done; it ached for his cum, thick and filling.

So, as Nina and I regained our breath, I let him thrust to his brute heart's content. I had beckoned his raw instincts to take over, permitting him to hammer away until his load erupted within me, painting my insides white. My muscles working to wring out every bit of his leaking heat, literally begging his dick for every sloppy strand of his spurt.

As he withdrew moments later, his warmth sloshed around inside me, naughty squelching glorifying every clench. Feeling used by that now floppy sausage was a dirty kind of comfort but one that flickered and dissolved soon enough like the last licks of a flame.

But now that I was well-fucked and thoroughly wasted, it was time for the curtain call. Using English for the second time in forever, I said, “Trevor, honey, the show's over. Skip along now. The ladies need a gossip, especially after such a steamy battering," I sang out, a simple little order that he instantly obeyed.

Once his shuffling retreat faded, I turned to Nina, still sprawled on the bed, my rump’s precious deposit leaking down my thighs despite me trying to so hard to hold on.Nina, that well-fucked heap of my heart, still catching her breath next to me.

"Michelle," I chimed in, my words now all in English, free from the necessity of French that had been like a chain around my tongue. "Seems the world of man-parts and their offerings has taken up residence in my routine, and yet," I paused and smiled, "I've found it's an acquired taste that's best savoured when my Nina's the sterling dish by my side, or under, or atop."

My giggle drew a quick jab to the arm.”Oh, my tender flesh!" I feigned distress only to hear, "Oh, my tender flesh... mistress," as Nina retorted with mock annoyance.

Our post-romp shower, with Michelle as the unexpected but welcomed third, drenched me in warmth and tenderness. I was assaulted by kisses and cuddles from both sides, not that I was complaining, and thankfully, No skin-slapping this time. Both ‘Little Yvonne’ and I, well served, vault filled and entirely drained, were thankful for the rest.

As considerate as ever, Nina had swung us some fiery Indo-Chinese fare (yes, it's an actual thing) for lunch—talk about a palate party. Then, we lounged comfortably with full bellies and content hearts,

Nina and Michelle briefly huddled close, clearly hatching their next scheme, exchanging secret messages and then, with a cheery wave, Michelle was off.

Now that it was just the two of us, Nina prowled over with that 'I'm up to something' look. "Got one last treat for you, buttercup," her voice dripping seduction. Panic fluttered in me at the thought of another round in bed. I braced for the word, and there it was: "Shopping!" I heard myself groan internally.

When we breezed back into our sanctuary, our arms overflowing with the spoils of an eight-hour retail crusade. Our stash told a story of two chapters: mine, with sensible shirts and jeans, comfy sports bras, and plain panties; hers, with my body in mind, was all about turning heads and dropping jaws.

Lingerie that'd put a blush on a nun, heels that could put an eye out, and cosmetics that could launch a YouTube channel. Her clandestine diversion into the jewellers hadn’t gone unnoticed either. She's got surprises up her sleeve, the sneaky fox.

Waving the white flag was redundant; Nina had no qualms about casting me as her precious doll to dress and caress. Guess what, though? I was eating it up like a kid with cake. What can I say? Being pretty is fun.

Waking up to Nina's love-soaked world was like being reborn. She had pampered me silly, spoiling me with everything from the scented bath she prepared to the buttermilk that kissed my lips. She kept the day filled with flavours, serving up my favourite cuisine for breakfast and lunch, accompanied by the best dessert, her kisses. My heart could not help but marvel at how every gesture felt like a caress and every moment an embrace.

And the sex – oh, the sex – let's just say, it's hard to stay modest when you're entirely swept off your feet. First came Michelle’s tongue, attentively adoring 'little Yvonne' with an ardour that set me alight. Then, there was Trevor’s rough, dominating possession, rendering me a vessel of pure sensation.

They had been scornful yesterday, but today, along with Nina’s enthusiastic participation, their touches transformed into acts of reverence. My, how the turntables! As I basked in the moment, it was hard not to throw a quip at myself, thinking that if only Nina's love could be bottled up, it'd outsell the finest perfumes in Paris.

Oh of course, the pub! There was nothing fancy about it at first at least. We were dressed down when we walked in, yet you would have thought we were strutting down the runway the way those catcalls stacked up. It was like a contest, and we weren't talking about small change, more like open-bar status, thanks to many friendly gents (and a couple of ladies). Nina's tolerance hung by a silken thread while I found myself blushing so hard that you could have effortlessly cooked breakfast right upon my cheeks.

And what's a celebration without swaying hips and thumping beats? As Nina vanished momentarily to hit the ladies' room, I embraced the rhythm. Losing myself to dance with a strapping young man, my figure swaying, grinding against him like a lusty sonnet, my mind toying with the notion of devouring him—our treat for the evening's closure. Yes, the surge of surrendering to one’s craving—it was a tangible allure.

Enter the Mistress-saviour. One hot-to-trot little tart saved by the bell. "Pouvons-nous monter ce poney, s'il vous plaît ?" (*"Can we ride this pony, please?"*) I giggled into her ear as she politely dragged me. “You are one horny little delinquent,” she complained as she gave my rump a well-deserved spank.

Fun and flirting aside, while making our way back to the solitude of our bedroom, my mind just couldn't help but wonder – just how long had it been since we last shared the intimacy of this bed?

Here, we changed our skins again – Nina slipped into her skimpy black number, and I into a thin negligee that was pretty much air, stitched with thread. Beneath that, she had me wiggle into panties that cheekily declared "Nina's 'little Yvonne' " upfront, garnished with a purring kitten, too innocent-looking to be true.

The instant my back hit her front, she lured me in for a peep, spinning me into her view. A giggle spilt from her – rich and ripe with an inside joke I was yet to get. "What?" I piped up, at which point she grabbed her phone for a quick snap and showed me the evidence.

All switched up – where the maid once knelt, a drop-dead gorgeous woman now stood, chest forward in a sizzling red ensemble. Below her, the script had done a one-eighty, even switching languages. "At your service… but maybe only if you ask me nicely", it proudly declared.

'WHAT UNHOLY FUCKERY WAS THIS?' Self-altering ink? "Nina, you better make it make sense – and right-the-hell-now!" I threw the command at her, my eyes locked into hers.

Nina looked at me, dead serious."Forget the nightwear. We'll cocoon into each other for warmth. Let’s cosy up first, and then…" She hesitated, her voice softening, "Tonight, could I be your Mistress once more?" It was almost a beg—an offering of the greatest treasure I'd been deprived of—a choice.

As instinctive as my lips lust to taste her depths, the reply danced off my tongue, a submissive, wanton whisper of surrender "Bien sûr, Maîtresse," (*"Of course, Mistress,"*) my eyes lighting up at her evident delight.

Soon after the words left my lips, we found ourselves wrapped in the bed's embrace. She drew me to her chest, her breath a melody by my ear, stirring the ripples of longing.

"Tète-moi, mon trésor," (*"Suckle me, my treasure, "*) she breathed out in French this time, each syllable dripping with erotic intent.

As her fingers waltzed upon the little mound of my little cockette, the sensation was akin to a seductive siren song ensnaring every thread of my self-control. With gusto, I suckled the gift she offered. Every beat of her heart under my cheek promised her sanctuary.

I felt her nipple burgeon beneath my mouth's heat. A beacon of hardened flesh against the silk of her areola. With each shuddering breath, she released an accolade for my tireless devotion.

"Now keep suckling, love, Mistress purred, "while I tell you the story from a year ago. Of the resolution that changed everything."

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So . . .

Emma Anne Tate's picture

. . . Not my normal fare, to be sure — though exceedingly well-executed. And yet, this chapter gives me great hope! The first three chapters were sizzling hot, but also cold and cruel, heartless and debased. I struggled to get through them for that reason, but I felt the story had more to it.

In this chapter, though, we start to see tenderness. Why? And, what could have caused their relationship to take such a turn? Such a tease . . . we shall have to wait to find out!

But there remains a dilemma. Yvonne has, as she now clearly understands, been broken and reformed, as much mentally as physically. She enjoys her day of pampering, and the sex . . . and more sex. If asked, it seems likely she would accept her new life. But, is it really consent? Does she have free will any longer? Does she have independent agency?

It shall be interesting to see whether these questions trouble the dreams of our author, and if so, how they are answered!


They definitely haunt me

Who knew that the corner I painted myself into back in Chapter Two would transform into the canvas for Chapter Three's darkness and Chapter Four's loving libido-fest? As I approach Chapter Five, I'm half-expecting a 'Deus Ex Machina' to swoop in. Because let's face it, at this point, it's either divine intervention or a cold shower for both me and my characters!

Not Our Usual Fare

joannebarbarella's picture

I don't know how this will go down here. Sadism, masochism, all sorts of sexual deviance! But well written. We'll have to see what kind of reception you get.

It Grew And Grew!

joannebarbarella's picture

Sometimes that happens, when your characters refuse to lie down!

See, there is an audience here. They're the ones with the mackintoshes and no pants.

I don't normally read these

SaraKel's picture

I don't normally read these types of stories but I love your prose. It is well executed and descriptive. I wish I could write sex scenes half as well.

Like Joanne/Emma said, there aren't many exploring this type of writing on this site so don't be discouraged if you don't get a great response at first. Explore your inner thoughts and don't feel the need to apologize. Every story on this site would offend someone - the warning tags are there for a reason. Build your stories and you'll find your following.