"Binding Resolutions" is an exploration of submission taken to its harrowing limits. Plunge into the twisted depth of desire and dominance, where a once robust and commanding man finds himself ensnared by his own reckless New Year's vow. Draped in the silken robes of servitude, Yvonne is a perverse masterpiece forged from the warping of a man's resolution who dared to surrender control.
As she teeters on the edge of succumbing to dark yearnings she barely fathoms, she is engulfed by desires that awaken a self-destructive lust unknown to her before.
Transformed into a profane tribute for her mistress and those she chooses, Yvonne is the showcase of a willing descent into the abyss of forbidden pleasures. This is her story, where she grapples with the remnants of her past strength, the sweet poison of submission, and the surrender to true love. This is a tale of erotic melancholy—a testament to a lost soul's quest to find solace in the very chains that bind, a journey fraught with manipulation and hidden perils, hinting at a deeper malevolence that ensnares all who touch upon this domain.
As the new year approaches, our heroine faces her new reality. Once in control, but now turned into someone whose purpose is to serve and please her mistress. Dressed up, ready to be paraded and stared at, her body, no longer her own but a symbol of her promise to her mistress. Be warned, This story is dark. I have added all the appropriate tags
Binding Resolutions Chapter 1: A Promise Kept
New Year's Eve had always signified a time for transformation. But what *had* I become? My resolution, my solemn vow that I clung to even now, had plunged me into this startling... metamorphosis. The relentless ticking of the clock taunted the man I once was – robust, attractive, rational – yet who stood here now? This being was all undulating curves and softness, a foreigner wearing my skin.
Staring into the mirror, my eyes *scanned* for traces of my past form. The solid, defined lines had faded, replaced by a form more vulnerable, more naked to the eye. These once dependable shoulders now strained under a different weight. Where powerful arms used to command attention, they now hung, diminished and feeble—a tempting morsel, perhaps once the fancy of women, now reshaped to satisfy the cravings of a different kind of spectator.
Right then Nina called, "Honey, are you ready? The night beckons, and the stage awaits us."
"J'arrive, ma maîtresse," (*"I'm coming, my mistress,"*) I returned weakly, dredging up what remained of my resolve. The transition was nearly complete – the man I knew fading away, his place taken by a fantasy born from desires that were never mine.
I push back with the remnants of my will. Almost there, indeed – one man's exit, another fantasy's entry, scrawled into life by whims I never asked for.
As I walked out the door, I presented myself for her scrutiny, clothed in a skimpy maid's outfit chosen by her, my body's transformation flagrantly on display. Where once my hips stood straight and narrow now arch out boldly, flesh undulating without shame at each motion.
My once inconspicuous nipples now stood out for all to see, grossly enlarged and brazenly pink, pushing through the fabric that might as well have been a cobweb, their swollen state screaming for the rough grip or hungry mouth of any onlooker. Gone was the sculpted torso, now all that hung were these hefty, pliable and oversized mounds, shamelessly swaying, eager to be manhandled, squeezed, and sucked.
"Oui, juste pour elle... et ceux qu'elle choisit," (*"Yes, just for her... and those she chooses,"*), I whispered to myself helplessly, a crimson hue spreading across my cheeks as my nipples, already painfully erect, strained even harder, a mute appeal for the crude touch they have never known but now so desperately craved.
Sandwiched between my trembling thighs, trapped in a pathetic pink plastic thimble and dwarfed by nipples that now usurped its once formidable presence, lay my past pride. The full eight inches that it once was, had become no more than a running joke, a useless, pickled relic, locked away for good. "Yvonne's little *cockette*," as Mistress mockingly christened it, was just that, a tiny symbol of my torment, a debasing chant designed to remind me of what once I was, what I had now become, and what I would continue to be.
Bound to a welded piercing that ran through the middle, any shift caused a sting, ensuring that even the tiniest twitch brought pain. Clearly, this cage wasn't coming off unless someone took a cutter to the metal.
As my gaze clung to the pitiful state of my former manhood, I felt Nina's presence bearing down on me. She sauntered closer, and with a flick of her devilish tongue between crimson lips, unleashed a wolf whistle that pierced the air.
her eyes devouring the sight of my debasement. "Mmm, just perfect for tonight's performance,” she growled, the words dripping with desire as her eyes tore over my flesh, eyeing me like I was just some piece of meat hung out to play with as I stood helplessly, the naked craving to be used and debased outshining any remnants of dignity I have left.
"Je suis votre création... dépravé... le produit de vos caprices, Maîtresse." (*"I am your creation ...depraved...the product of your whims, Mistress."*) I whispered hoarsely, my own body betraying me with arousal at the thought of the humiliation of her parading to me an audience tonight, every stare etching me with disgrace.
"Where are those little earrings? The ones we had made just for this occasion?" she cooed. I knew precisely why she wanted me to wear them. Glistening tokens that would dangle and declare my debasement loudly, without needing a single spoken word.
I teetered over, turning to walk towards the vanity, my five inch stiletto heels clicking and forcing my ass to sway. Each step was a reminder that this was a mocking tribute to the height I once boasted, a painful reminder of the taller man I once was, now just a caricature prancing on command.
But before I could move very much, she caught me by surprise. She was on me, her hands snapping around my neck like a trap, tilting my face upwards, my gaze meeting her fiery eyes. "Not so fast,"
She closed the distance between us quickly, her hands clamping down with intent.” Not so fast," she growled, her approach feral and hungry. With a jerk, she slammed me against her, branding me with a kiss that seared my soul. Her hands were vicious, pinching and pulling at my nipples, as my body convulsed from the pain and pleasure until I was moaning guttural, primal needs. I was just soft, exposed curves for her to play with, to hurt, to tease.
"You're still my only love,” she breathed out, drenched in possessive lust, "My perfect, dirty little fucktoy," she named me, binding me with chains no eye could see - unbreakable, suffocating, and intoxicating. She promised, "...and tonight, everyone gets a front-row seat to experience how deep you've sunk for me." She’d flaunt me like some debauched prize, a sacrificial piece of meat ripe for their pleasure. And I'd cave to her, every damn time, swallowed whole by the twisted joy of belonging entirely to her.
Nina's hold on me was relentless, spinning me like a plaything. With a rough yank, my dress flew up to bare the white panties that were nothing more than a tease over my skin. The fresh tattoo on my lower back, a maid, helpless on her knees, her eyes shimmering and child-like, lost, vulnerable, trapped in ink. And scrawled below her meek submission, the artistic sweep of ‘À votre service’, a permanent testament, etched into my flesh as if to mock the very idea of what I had been.
She then smacked my ass, ‘hard’, rippling through me, my cheeks quivering under her hand. I let out a yelp, a sound that was half protest, half shameful yearning. The sting of the slap was nothing compared to the burning humiliation that flushed through me. It was like she had struck a chord that runs straight to that caged-up ‘nothing’ between my thighs.
"Yvonne," she purred, and there it was, that name. Just a single utterance sending shivers down my spine. Even as the sting bloomed across my butt. It was as though she'd spoken me into existence, my body flushed hot thrill, every shred of my manhood vanishing with the name she claimed me with. My identity becoming more real with every helpless throb of my heartbeat.
My eyes once fierce with ambition now glazed over with wanton surrender."Oui, Maîtresse, je suis à vous, façonnez-moi à l'image de vos désirs obscènes." (*"Yes, Mistress, I am yours, shape me into the image of your obscene desires."*) I breathed out the words, each syllable laced with shameful longing.
"Hush, pet, don't let that tongue wag any more than that pathetic *jouet* you've got there," she teased softly. Her fingers traced the chain, drawing attention to the miniature cage that proved more than sufficient to contain my soft, feminised pebble. A slender thread of humiliation, looped from my pitiful piercing, binding it back between my thighs to a second piercing, nestling in my perineum, "Show gratitude," she demanded, a smirk in her voice, "that I've allowed you to keep your pathetic clit."
Her movements were a ripple of intent as she turned around and lifted her skirt, unveiling the smooth, naked, and voluptuous cheeks of her backside as if gift-wrapped in sin. Her fingers spreading her back apart, her tight, unblemished ring seemed to beckon me, whispering of forbidden pleasures long denied.
In the shadow between her thighs lingered a glimpse of her pink lips, denied to me for months now and just beyond reach. My lips hungered for them, thirsted for the taste I hadn't savoured in an eternity of torment. But obedience was my only option and my role was clear. To worship at the rear of the temple I'd been exiled from. Dropping to my knees, I settled into my ritual, crawling, like a bitch in heat, I buried my face between her. My tongue lapping at her puckered rosebud with abandon.
Gripping my hair like a leash, she commanded me as she pushed me in further, "Trace the drips along my thigh, feel every drop that you've been missing," she commanded. I complied, tracing the path of her essence, slick with desire, my own torment audible in every slurp. "Pour your desperation into your tongue. Show me the depth of your longing," she taunted, thrusting against me.
My tongue worked her ceaselessly, my mind transported to times past—times when our roles were reversed, her moans fueling my dominance. "Harder. make every lap count slave. Lust for it like it's your last morsel of me," she demanded. "Impress me enough, and perhaps you'll partake in my special blend later tonight."
Her thighs clenching with a telltale shudder, I felt Mistress's body on the brink of succumbing to the wave I'd diligently invoked with my tongue. Yet just as I tasted the crescendo of her pleasure building, she yanked my head back, her voice a mix of cruel delight and authoritative steel, "Not yet, pet. The night is still young and we have a lot more... things... to do." Her words left me aching, pulsing with need. ‘Si proche, j'ai presque fait venir ma maîtresse,’ (*’So close, I almost made my mistress come.’*) my thoughts churned with longing from the echo of her denial.
The ringing bell broke the spell, pulling me out of my carnal trance. Mistress adjusting her dress while turning to face me, twirled her finger, telling me everything I needed to know. Turning, I bared my ass,offering up my flesh to her whims. And then she punctuated her demand with a firm slap to my behind, drawing out a moan from me .
"You're almost there, almost fulfilling the terms of your resolution to perfection.” she mused loudly, her voice threaded with a wistful nostalgia. A delicate yank on my chain sent a sharp bolt of pain and pleasure through me, wrenching a high-pitched whimper from my constricted throat. "And, I must confess, right now, you're far more appealing to me this way; helpless, quivering, so pitifully small, and entirely at my mercy.”
"And make sure that you make quite the spectacle of bending over tonight," she instructed, her tone laced with the intent of showcasing her claim." I want them all to see that fuckable, round, plump bottom of yours. And by the end, I intend to have it red and ripe before the real party even starts," she declared, sealing my fate with her clear intent. "Now scamper, go and welcome our first guest, " she commanded, and scamper i did.
The door creaked open to admit the arrival of Jacob, my former boss, who might as well write my future checks. Ten years my senior, with a pot belly that he'd apparently laboured over and a hairline in full retreat, he carried the smugness of a man who believed he was far more charming than nature had allowed.
Generously, he'd granted me a year to sort out my 'delicate condition'—a sabbatical from the numbers and spreadsheets that once formed my daily grind. I knew his charity wasn't free; it was drenched in desire for Nina, a lust that gnawed at him, unable to understand how she ended up with someone like the old me.
Jacob had become a regular shadow at our doorway, claiming a concern for my welfare, but it was no secret his visits were truly aimed at undressing Nina with his lecherous gaze. Just days ago, he dangled the carrot of employment again, telling me the accounting department would somehow survive without me but his own personal secretary's position was conveniently vacant—a position that promised 'intimacy' and a paycheck that would only remind me of my diminished worth.
Two weeks past, I'd seen him drop Nina home late at night, her sultry form poured into one of those dresses that screamed sin, her stride unsteady, lips a smear of red. I dared to question her as she stumbled in, "Maîtresse, est-ce que vous couchez avec lui?" (*"Mistress, are you sleeping with him?"*). Her laughter rang dismissive and clear, as if the thought was too absurd, "No” she answered with a derisive laugh, yet as she moved away, I caught something—a hushed breath that carried the faintest trace of words: "not yet...", and it landed like a cold weight in my stomach as she vanished into our once sacred bedroom.
As he approached, I dipped into the deepest of curtsies, my bare breasts hanging down invitingly, my embarrassment evident in my flushed cheeks. "Nina, looks like your little French slut cleaned up good and proper - look at her, all tarted up and begging for it. " Jacob sneered, his gaze raking over me with undisguised crudeness, as his fingers gripped my chin, forcing my gaze to meet his.
Forbidden from speech, and forbidden from refusal by my Mistress's order prior, I couldn't utter a word or reject any advance made upon me.With my heart hammering in my chest, I could only gasp inwardly as he abused the oversized and blushingly conspicuous nipples that jutted capped my breasts, now swollen and achingly receptive to his crude touch. As he continued to squeeze and twist, he leaned close and whispered into my ear, oozing contempt. “Bet it burns, huh, realising you ain’t nothing but pathetic now?, whimpering while a real man takes control of the woman you could never truly satisfy. Soon enough, you’ll be begging me to ravage her, ravage you both.”
Clearly, Mistress had caught every word, her gaze flashed with unspoken understanding as she witnessed my complete debasement for her. I stood there, utterly at her mercy, gnawed by the thought of losing her to this pig. My strength had drained away, and I feared everything I'd endured would mean nothing if he staked his claim on her.
But as just as he desired, with my voice quivering, I spoke, "Je m’incline devant vous, prête à servir dans la maison de la Maîtresse, *vaurien*." (*"I yield to you, eagerly waiting to serve in the Mistress’s abode, bastard."*)
A brief touch of real amusement flickered across Mistress's face before she adopted the expected placid smile, though I caught the fleeting sincerity.
Clearly, the brute did not understand a word and looked towards her, "What'd she say?"
"She's thrilled, can't wait," Mistress countered coolly. "Now, relax, make yourself comfortable dear, while I shove some last-minute instructions into the help. “ Mistress said.
As the brute lumbered off, she spun me, coquettish malice sparkling in her eyes. “No missteps, my pet. Attempting to ‘rise to the occasion’, don't amuse yourself with such fancies. Your slightest whimper of dissent, no matter how ‘tiny,’ will not be tolerated." She emphasised, each word as her fingers yanked my little clitty upwards, the surge of pain mingling with the shameful pleasure of reprimand, as I let out a choked sob. Defeated, yet desirous, I responded, "Oui, Maîtresse… comme vous le désirez." (*"Yes, Mistress… as you desire."*) As her grasp relented, the pain faded into a lingering ache, a prelude to what the night might bring.
As we made our way towards the bedroom, Mistress laid out her command with absolute certainty. "In my home today, he's not just a guest; he's royalty. You will serve him, or anyone I command you to. No questioning, no hesitating." However, your little show of insolence just now gives me an idea.
"Now, walk with me," she instructed, and I acquiesced, my steps a shadow of her own confident strides.
Midway, she turned, her gaze capturing me like a trap. "Tell me, how do I look?" In my distraction, I had forgotten to drench her in the adoration she rightfully deserved.
As I took her in, my throat turned to sand and my heart stuttered in its cage.
Her dress clung to her like sin made fabric, a brazen fuck-you to modesty. Barely there strips, like a black whisper snaking over her, lusting to peel away and leave nothing to the imagination.
Each curve of her body was a siren's call, her ample chest pushed up, nipples pronounced, boldly defying decency, a blatant tease of flesh begging for attention.
Her waist, nipped in by the black strips, partitioned her waist before blooming into the lush, seeking curves of her hips.
The dress, if it could even be called that, skirted just above the edges of her thighs, promising glimpses of the secrets that hid just beneath, her movements an open dare to witness more.
It was a masterclass in erotic display, her choice of dress—or the lack thereof—crafted solely to ensnare the senses and seize control of every lustful thought. She was a vision dipped in the very essence of desire, bare skin barely concealed, pure temptation on two legs.
Each choice was a deliberate act, her body the weapon and there was no subtlety in her allure. A living embodiment of every deep-seated craving that spoke of late-night whispers and early-morning regrets.
As my mind fumbled for language, The Mistress and I entered the seclusion of the bedroom. Without a hint of ceremony, she seized my hand, pressing it against the naked, moist evidence of her arousal beneath her dress. It was then that the raw deprivation hit me; I had been denied even feeling her intimate heat for months, and the sudden touch sent tremors of craving in me,
"Make sure this... my excitement endures," she demanded, each word saturated with entitlement. "Whenever, and for however long I wish it," she added, her eyes cutting through me with a brazen challenge, "And if my desires extend beyond you, be ready to witness and to serve whoever can fulfil them..."
Over there, bend across the nightstand," she ordered, her grip on me unrelenting, shoving me forward. "Panties off; they'll serve you no purpose tonight," she stated. Her declaration was absolute, and I shed my last veil obediently, the scant fabric pooling at my feet.
“I’ll be back for you, stud," she announced to Jacob who was seated outside, her voice dripping with a sultry promise, a deliberate jab to my confined state.
Her dig through the closet was swift, a predator rummaging for the perfect tool of torture. "Stand still, not a whisper," she ordered, and I was an obedient statue. It didn't take long before I heard the triumph in her husky murmur, "Ah, there it is," as she turned to face me, her prey, exposed and ripe.
"You neglected to compliment me," she all but purred, her mocking tone a velvet threat. "I'll need recompense... but first, spill it." her words dripped venom sweeter than honey.
she hissed, voice thick with a teasing cruelty. "Age of honesty—what do you yearn to do with my body? Pathetically though, you're no longer the 'man' for the job, and you've been barred from the garden. So...." she paused, letting the moment marinate in my mind.
"Tell me instead about the vigorous bull who'd rightfully claim me while you stand there, witnessing, and yearning. Choke on your helpless jealousy, speak of his virility, and don't you dare omit a thing, while I make you nice and ready, with this pretty little piece for everyone to see you in tonight."
As the intrusion set into me, she paused, savouring her control. Confess! She demanded. My thoughts reeled, tangled in English, but only fractured French could leave my lips.
With hesitancy, I began the debasing narrative. "Un autre homme... dans notre—non, votre lit," (*"Another man... in our—no, your bed,"*) I corrected myself under her spell.
“Doing what? choose your words wisely.” she asked, seeking details, hungry for the depiction of her own mastery over a different suitor.
My reply spilled out, painting the disgraceful picture, "Il vous baiserait farouchement, sa queue énorme vous écartelant, et vous, hurlez votre reddition alors qu’il vous prend sans relâche, comme une salope en chaleur." (*"He'd fuck you fiercely, his enormous cock stretching you wide, and you, bellowing your submission as he takes you relentlessly, like a bitch in heat."*) each word tripping over the last, betraying a power I had once wielded.
"And my moans, Yvonne, for whom would they be? Her voice was pointed, cutting, demanding acknowledgment of her power to elicit such sounds.
"Pour lui seul," (*"For him alone,"*) I admitted, the truth of my subservience and shattered reality laid bare.
"He would lay claim to me?" The hint of her triumph demanded my confirmation.
"Oui, madame..." (*"Yes, madame..."*) I murmured, the acknowledgement barely a whisper.
"The way you used to?" Her cruel glee painted words with the memories of our past.
"Oui, madame..." The words slipped out again, echoing my helpless state.
"Tell me how he'd use my body; hours on end," she growled.
But I could only respond in the tongue of my subjugation, "Il vous baiserait pendant des heures, chaque cri serait une prière à sa puissance." (*"He would ravage you for hours, each scream a testament to his strength."*)
Her command hit me like a slap, "Tell me, how would I get on my knees for my real man, every single day?"
My throat tightened as I spit out the crude image "Prends sa queue en toi, baise-la avec ta bouche, sens tes joues s'engorger de sa virilité inépuisable. Tu es là, jouant avec ton clitoris, implorante, voulant qu'il se vide en toi, que son explosion comble le vide dans ta bouche désespérée." (*"Take his cock inside you, fuck it with your mouth, feel your cheeks swell with his inexhaustible manhood. There you are, playing with your clit, beseeching, wanting him to empty himself into you, let his explosion fill the emptiness in your desperate mouth."*)
Her query was venomous. "And you, my little slut, what's your role? you're are there remember?"
Choking on the stark reality, I barely uttered, "Je serais là, à vous regarder, prête à lécher, à nettoyer, à être utilisée..." (*"I would be there, watching you, ready to lick, to clean, to be used..."*)
"And my man?" she pressed, expecting more than my hesitant reverence.
A pause, heavy with the dawning of my purpose, I whispered, "Lui aussi, je le servirais..." (*"Him too, I would serve..."*) My hesitancy indicating my coerced consent.
“No, Yvonne, you'll eagerly welcome him, zealously suck off the man who makes your mistress his. Aching to be fucked raw just like me. Begging while crawling on fours, lusting for it, forever marked, available anytime for his delight or to mop up what he leaves behind. Existing entirely for my approval and his gratification.”
With that, her final thrust was merciless, burying the intruder to its base in one smooth motion, making me gasp with the shock of being so full. and the air I gasped was tinged with the reality of being her pleasure object, nothing more than her lewd plaything.
With that, her final thrust deep to the hilt, I gasped as the sudden intrusion filled me. A cruel affirmation of my debasement and my status as a plaything for her deviant delights.
The chime of the bell snapped us back to the reality of the night ahead. With a cruel spank to my behind that sent the plug deeper, Mistress signalled it was time to face the party. Standing was a trial, walking a torment; each step I took was challenged by the device tormenting me from within.
"Actually, put those panties back on. They've got some unfinished business," she remarked, eyeing me expectantly.
"Comme vous voulez, Maîtresse," (*"As you wish, Mistress,"*) my voice just a breath as I eased the delicate white lace over my thighs, feeling it press against the plug that she claimed me with.
She then strutted out, her body a walking promise, knowing each hungry eye would feast on her curves tonight. I shuffled behind, the fullness in my behind mocking my strides, my own body on obscene display in this submissive outfit.
We entered the fray – her untouchable, me laid bare. She was a deity in that space, and I, merely her offering, twitching with every step reminding me of my place beneath her.
Yvonne's evening descends into a carnal savagery where the hedonistic fantasies of onlookers are not just met but encouraged. She is simply a vessel for gratification for the crowd, an emblem of her solemn vow to her ever-demanding mistress. Adorned in attire that barely conceals, she is marched out before hungry eyes, every inch of her transformation a testimony to her submission. Be forewarned: this chapter treads through shadowed corridors, filled with explicit scenes and raw exchanges that may unsettle the faint of heart.
**Personal Request and Trigger Warning for Chapter 2**: Please be advised that the following chapter contains material of a very dark and explicit nature, exploring themes of extreme power dynamics, enforced submission, and explicit sexual content. It is intended for a mature audience and is not suitable for all readers. If such topics are likely to cause distress or are not to your taste, it may be best to refrain from reading further. Reader discretion is strongly advised as we continue this harrowing journey into the abyss of absolute surrender.
Chapter1 can be found here: Binding Resolutions Chapter 1: A Promise Kept
Chapter 2: Lost in Submission
Transformed, the once stately mansion by the cliffside now teemed with raw flesh, no longer shielding its secrets from the deep blue of the ocean's gaze.
The mansion had turned into a den of depravity, miles from its serene, oceanside elegance. Every inch of the lush cliffside estate screamed of the sexual frenzy that my own wealth, now signed away, afforded. It was a smut fest, drenched in carnality, alive with voracious appetites, indulged under a black velvet sky.
By the moonlit pool's edge, the New Year's bash was a sinful showcase with fuck-hungry bodies contorted in pleasure. Strings of low-hanging lights cast a permissive glow, making every jutting nipple and bobbing cock a star in the night's filthy parade.
Lounge chairs, once meant for idle sun-basking, now bore the weight of screwing couples. One woman, it was almost obscene how her ample ass devoured the cock behind her, each plunge met by her moans that spiced the salty evening air.
The air was so thick with the stank of screwing, it clung to me like a second skin. There I was, a peep show dolled up in frills, tits bouncing with every step as I served the drinks. My role was now a living, breathing ode to all that I was witnessing.
In my periphery, the unmistakable figure of Dr. Michelle, typically the vision of professional poise, was on all fours upon the dewy grass, body bent and offered up. The stud behind her drove into her like she was just ripe for his picking."Having fun watching, Yvonne?" her voice dripped with ridicule, the irony not lost on my captive gaze.
To my shame, my gaze lingered a little too long, drinking in the sight of her wanton unbecoming, before reluctantly tearing away.
Not a stone's throw away, Helen, the Mistress' sister, was the centrepiece of her own carnal theatre. Spread over a silk-draped cabana, legs wide and high for the stud fucking her into bliss. She saw me, and with a lustful leer, called me over. As I neared her to take her instructions, with a forceful grab, she pulled me up next to her, her grip on my wrist rigid. I was propped to watch, helpless. "Watch and learn, Yvonne. You'll get used to it." The promise in her twisted smirk was clear—this would be me.
The night was no celebration of time—it was an unabashed worship of sex. The music drowned us, a perverse lullaby cradling the writhing masses. We were all adrift in this sea of sin—a communion in the flesh, the old year dying in the throes of lewd rebirth.
I threaded my way through the labyrinth of bodies, continuing to serve, continuing to watch helplessly my breath hitched as I stumbled upon Mike.
Before I knew it, his arm shot out, snatching me with a growl, pulling me towards the couch where Annabelle perched atop him, impaled on his dick. A wife to one but a whore to another, she pounded onto him with lascivious fervour. Her husband, oblivious, sprawled out not too far from where she bounced upon Mike—the drug she'd likely slipped into his drink enabling her brazen betrayal.
Pulled down onto the couch, my flesh pressed against their hot, writhing bodies. Annabelle rode him unhurried, gyrating as her breasts, a touch smaller than what mine had morphed into, rose and fell in rhythm to her movements.
Mike harshly pulled my top aside, exposing my hefty, soft breast, the nipple now painfully swollen, vividly pink, and shamefully ripe. Compared to what Annabelle carried, what I sported were much more purpose bound. "Les seins d'une chienne," (*"The tits of a bitch, "*) I thought, eyes wide, as blood rushed to my cheeks in mortification.
"Cry for me, Yvonne, let's see if your tits do your weeping," Mike mocked, latching onto my nipple with a ferocity that extracted not tears but a gasp of raw pleasure. It was the first time that a man had claimed my breasts, imprinting the sense of their true purpose onto my psyche.
I realised then, with a clarity that ravaged my remnants of dignity, I existed for the abuse. To be bent to perversion's whims, manhandled, desecrated, and ultimately left painted with the marks of someone else's hunger. Nowhere to run, nowhere to hide — just a raw twitching mess, my body betraying me with spasmodic jerks, surrendering to the base moans torn from the depths of my being. Heat streaking across my face in a flush of shame.
"Pity your Mistress put a lock on the real goodies until she gives the green light," Mike groaned and went back to sucking my oversensitive nub, leaving me bucking against the cage latched 'round my shrivelled little ‘cockette’, which twitched and ached, desperate for a relief that wasn't coming.
"Oui, Maître. Utilisez-moi comme vous voulez—après le feu vert de la Maîtresse, je suis toute à vous," I conceded, voicing my own objectification. (*"Yes, Master. Use me as you will—after Mistress says so, I’m all yours,"*) slipped from my lips, each word shivering with a wretched cocktail of shame and forbidden hunger as Mike's mouth worked over my swollen nipple.
Annabelle's taunt sliced through the fog of my pained arousal, "Let's face it, you were just a sorry excuse for a man, weren't you? How you convinced Nina is beyond me. Even now, she's withholding... but not from Jacob. He's playing his cards right; maybe she'll be his New Year's conquest."
I wanted to shrink away, disappear, but her words were like barbs hooking into my flesh, tearing open a fresh wound each time. It baffled me—why did these women find Jacob enticing?
The man was nothing next to Mistress’ magnetism or even who I had once been—a version of myself that was athletic and appealing. What twisted fate had led me to this—to become something so abjectly helpless? This question gnawed at my essence, the torture sharpened as it mingled with the torment of feeling invisible needles piercing my exposed essence.
Annabelle and her crowd found some magnetic draw to him that was torturous to contemplate. The only response I could muster was a string of moans punctuated by tormented breaths, steeped in the heat of the moment and the torment it brought.
The enigma of Mistress withholding her favours from the night's revelry perplexed me, her beauty unclaimed. I felt the burn of knowing that Jacob, a man with a middling presence when I once stood proud and virile, a slow torture that unravelled me from within. The sting of understanding a game in which I was the losing player seared through me.
As I tried to wriggle free from the harsh clutch, Mike held fast, an unyielding trap that had me stuck and stewing in a cesspool of self-loathing and lust, making me bear witness to the raunchy spectacle laid out in front of me. It was once my realm, no, now it was Mistress’ kingdom, and I was naught but a quivering plaything, with a desperate wail that came unbidden.
"Je ne suis pas l'homme pour la Maîtresse, elle se laissera emporter par celui qu'elle désire..." (*"I am no man for the Mistress, she will be swept away by the one she desires..."*)
Mike leaned in close, his hot breath fanning across my ear, his words a vulgar promise. "That's right and I can't wait to give you a proper fucking when that happens, you little slut."
It felt as if my mind fractured, yielding completely to the inevitability of my fate, birthing a mute entreaty in the dark alcove of my psyche.’Oui... il est inévitable …’ (‘Yes... it's inevitable …’)
That is when I noticed him looking at us from a distance. Jacob's hawk-like gaze fixed on me with predatory focus as I writhed under Mike's rough handling, his intent to intervene clear as day. He strode towards us with purpose, an angry glint in his eye as though he'd been robbed of administering my discipline first.
Mike, the bigger man, had been engrossed in his lewd occupation with my body but seemed unaware of Jacob's approach. I watched, helpless, as the larger man was unanticipatedly shoved aside. Mike, usually unyielding, surprisingly offered no resistance against the pig’s show of dominance. There was an undercurrent of complicity that I couldn't fathom.
With Mike displaced, Jacob, his fingers, talon-like, dug into my arms, trapping them behind me with the authority of ownership. The shock of his aggression left me momentarily dazed, and I was the deer within the grasp of a raptor, and I was truly terrified. No arousal, no shame, just fear.
“You are what I made you to be, you stupid little tramp,” he snarled in slow, deliberate English as he bent me over, a perverse glee in his execution. “Today, I’m finishing what I started—right here, right in front of you, in front of everybody. But first, you gotta be punished. You are not supposed to enjoy any of this.” His words were like a slap, stripping away any remnants of my pride, leaving me exposed and vulnerable.
In a heartbeat, he was on me, grabbing me with iron-hard hands. He dragged me like a rag doll over to the couch, throwing me down across his lap with a thud that forced the air from my lungs. I was panting, scared, glaring up just in time to see the Mistress’ sharp, predatory focus, hungry for the show.
Jacob's booze-soaked breath was hot on my neck, his voice gruff and rank with command. "Let's crank this up. Beg her now, bitch. Beg her with your hole to take me. To let me use her." I looked helplessly at the Mistress and she simply smiled letting me know that she wanted this.
His palm smacked down hard. "One."
"il peut vous posséder comme j'en ai jamais été capable." (*"Please, Mistress, take him, he can possess you in ways I never could. "*) I blurted, the first lash sending a jolt straight to my core, forcing tears from my eyes.
He hoisted his hand back up, the sound of the second hit echoing through me. "Two."
"Offrez-vous à lui, madame, laissez-le vous conquérir, corps et âme." (*"Offer yourself to him, Mistress, let him conquer you, body and soul, "*) my voice broke, the heat from my ass radiating through my entire body.
"Three."
With each passing moment, each searing spank, I painted the lurid image for the Mistress, invoking the raw power that Jacob wielded, a power that could make her succumb in ways that would render my own attempts a mere memory.
"À genoux, madame, pour cet homme, le seul capable de vous dominer complètement, de vous emmener aux sommets de l'extase..." (*"On your knees, Mistress, for this man, the only one who can truly dominate you, who can take you to the heights of ecstasy... "*) I choked out, breathless, humiliated.
"Four."
By the fourth, I was barely holding on, my throat raw as I spoke my bitter surrender.
"Pliez-vous pour lui, madame, offrez-lui ce que vous ne m'offrirez jamais, laissez-le explorer les profondeurs de votre désir..." (*"Bend over for him, Mistress, offer him what you will never grant me, let him delve into the depths of your desire..."*)
He paused, holding my chin, forcing me to look at Mistress as he geared up for the final humiliation.
"Five."
The last hit landed with a brutal thud, and I was winded, defeated.
"Madame, je reconnais que je n'ai jamais été à la hauteur, que vous n'auriez jamais dû me donner votre amour..." (*"Mistress, I acknowledge I was never good enough, you should have never wasted your love on me... "*) I whimpered, resigned to the fact, my place was crystal clear.
As the confession clawed its way out, raw and bleeding. For a moment, just a flash, Mistress' cruel smirk faltered, flickered into something almost human—sympathy? Pity? It vanished as quickly as it had appeared, leaving nothing but the hungry glint I knew so well.
I was nothing but a plaything, a spectacle, and beneath their joint gaze, I dissolved into the role they designed for me—Yvonne, the broken, the beggar, the bitch in heat for a discipline in denial.
Flushed with a heat that could scorch, the Mistress painted the room with her bare lust.
She glided toward Jacob, every movement dripping with a defiant promise of pleasure. With a casual flick, he flung me to the ground, a toy spent and rejected. Held captive by the scene, I watched them collide in a raw clash of lips and limbs. Mistress fed her breasts to Jacob’s roughened grip, their kiss a ravenous maw of longing and claim.
Then, in a brazen display, her fingers dipped beneath her skirt, emerging glistening—proof of her arousal. She found my mouth with those slick digits, and I complied, no command needed. My sobs and her nectar, long denied to me, commingled on my tongue, an intimate concoction I couldn't reject.
Mistress pressed for words, her voice soft but edged with command. “What do you say now, Yvonne? And don't you dare mumble.”
Choking on her scent, on the truth of my place in her world, I steeled myself. “Merci, madame,"(*"Thank you, Mistress,") I gasped, her flavor overwhelming, "de m'offrir ce goût, c'est tout ce que je peux avoir.” (*"for allowing me this taste, it's all I'm allowed to have."*)
Mistress' laugh was a dark melody, her eyes glinting with a predatory glee. "Don't worry, my little doll, you'll have plenty more—new ‘cocktails’ to lap up from me. Next time, I promise that it will be… saltier," she promised, her voice a seductive growl that flirted with the edge of cruelty.
And with the smug assurance of a queen, she twisted in Jacob's lap, her lips finding his once more in a carnal promise, sealing the moment with a kiss that spoke volumes, her hand deftly exploring within his pants. Left alone with the remnants of her desire coating my palate, I knelt in silence, my surrender complete.
As Jacob's hands itched to rip her dress up and bare it all, Mistress caught his wrist, her command absolute. She picked up her glass and stood, one hand still teasing the bulge in Jacob's pants, commanding the room with her presence.
Glasses clinked like chains as she beckoned me to the centre of the room — the stage for my unveiling. Mistress laid out her thanks like cards on the table: to Dr. Michelle for cooking up the hormone cocktail that softened my edges; to Lady Lynn for refining me into the docile maid I'd become; and to Jacob, for reinforcing how truly pitiful I was as a man... as her man.
With the ceremony of a high priestess, she lifted her glass. "Yvonne, ma chère," she directed me with a velvet voice that hid the steel beneath,”lift your skirt, panties off as well”
I with the obedience of a damned soul, hiked up my skirt, sliding the sheer fabric of my panties down, baring my desecrated form. The sight of the metal cage imprisoning my clittie tinkled a mocking chorus. Mistress' smile was victorious and cruel.
"Spread the view, love. No modesty left here, is there? Flaunt what is dangling beneath your laughable 'clit'," she urged with a venomous sweetness.
Stifling tears, I lifted the merciless chain for all to witness—the stark nudity of my castration laid bare for their perverse pleasure.
Mistress, with theatrical glee, announced, walking towards my trembling form. "Yvonne has surrendered the final remnants of her pitiful manhood." Then, touching the earring that dangled from my lobe with a flourish, she added, "Her little balls? They jingle here now, golden mementos for all to admire."
She cast a sweeping gaze around the room. "After our cheer, feel free to inspect our little eunuch up close."
Her attention snapped back to Jacob, her voice a resonant purr. "Yvonne, crawl to him, plead with him, unzip him. Suck him. Feast on your first taste of a real man."
Before I could summon the ghost of defiance, Mistress added, a sickly-sweet afterthought piercing through, "Do it with zeal, my love."
Every ounce of me screamed to resist, but with "my love" lingering in the air, I was snared. Mistress' words, a binding spell, her will, my shackling command.
Dragged down by chains of defeat inside me, I crawled on my knees toward Jacob. My very audible pleas scraping the bottom of my swallowed pride.
With resignation staining my soul, I crawled on my knees to Jacob.
Each move was a silent plea, “S'il vous plaît, monsieur, permettez-moi de vous servir avec enthousiasme avant que vous puissiez avoir ma femme." (*"Please, sir, allow me to service you enthusiastically before you enjoy my wife. "*)
“S'il vous plaît, monsieur, laissez-moi polir votre queue avec ma bouche," (*"Please, sir, allow me to polish your cock with my mouth, "*) I pleaded, my voice a barely-contained whimper leaking through parched lips.
The rough carpet burned against my skin as I inched closer to him, the distance a marathon of humiliation. "S'il vous plaît, servez-vous de ma bouche comme d'un trou chaud pour votre plaisir," (*"Please, use my mouth like a warm hole for your pleasure, "*) my words dripped in perverse reverence, a mantra of my own degradation.
My hands trembled as they hovered near his lap, my breaths short, sharp, laced with the acrid tang of fear and want. "S'il vous plaît, je veux être empalée sur votre bite, la sentir au fond de ma gorge," (*"Please, I want to be impaled on your dick, feel it in the back of my throat, "*) I choked out, the image of my own submission reflected in his darkening gaze.
I reached him, my plea now a fervent gasp. "S'il vous plaît, monsieur, remplissez-moi, utilisez-moi jusqu'à ce que je sois juste un gâchis dégoulinant," (*"Please, sir, fill me up, use me until I'm just a dripping mess, "*) my face hovered inches from his crotch, hot breath begging through the fabric separating us.
With a mixed curse of eagerness and self-loathing, I unzipped him. My final surrender was a silken whisper. "S'il vous plaît, montrez-moi que je ne suis rien sans votre queue," (*"Please, show me that I'm nothing without your cock, "*) my voice broke, staining my tongue with the metallic taste of defeat.
Mistress' hushed words, "my love," were both a caress and a brand – the duality of love and possession melding into my dawning reality. As I peeled back the zipper, giving in to her spell, I was acutely aware of every eye upon me. Her voice was the crack of a whip, her words the fetters that bound my soul to this relentless craving for shame.
As I continued to tug the zipper down, expectation hung thick in the air, a perverse invitation to the end of who I was. But there, staring back at me was the final joke – he was smaller than I'd ever been. Yet his cocky grin told a different story; he might as well have been a giant the way he leered at me, his eyes glazed with the raw hunger of ownership.
I wrapped my lips around him, the salty, skin-like tang hitting my tongue – nothing to brag about. The irony was a slap; I used to be bigger. Now here I was, taking him into my mouth, my identity dissolving with every taste of his mediocrity. ’Cette bite est délicieuse,’ (*’This cock is delicious,’*) I repeatedly lied to myself, the affirmation a twisted attempt to find some shred of enjoyment in my disgrace.
Without warning, his grip found my hair, his hold merciless as he forced me down on him. I gagged, my eyes watering as I was invaded, ruthlessly deep-throated by what I should have considered pitiable. "Yeah, that's it, you little whore. Keep it up," his voice rasped, a perverse praise.
My eyes stung, tears streaking down my face, yet I persisted, servicing him, degrading myself for the audience of the one who'd orchestrated my fall from grace. "Work for it like your Nina is going to work for it later. Get hungry for it,” he hissed, every word a command wrapped in vitriol.
Tears streamed down, mingling with the spit on my chin as I forced my mind back, back when she was on her knees for me. She was a natural, worshipping me, making me swell in bliss. Now, it was my turn, to dredge those memories and replicate that hunger, that devotion. 'Fais-le avec conviction... sois la garce avide de bite que tu ne peux nier être.' (*'Do it with conviction... be the dick-hungry wench you can't deny being.'*) I muttered in my head, a mantra to spur me on despite the shame.
I dove into my work. My lips, once proud and firm, were now soft and yielding, a haven for his mediocre meat. Each bob of my head was exaggerated, theatrical, a masterclass in the vulgar art I'd descended into. Compelled by Mistress' orders, by the fractured shards of longing that still pierced my chest, I sucked him like my life depended on it.
My lips were wrapped around Jacob’s manhood, working in desperate, forced rhythm, while my Mistress, my tormentor, my goddess—sang praise to her conspirators in my emasculation. Above the wet, choking sounds filling the air, I caught the sugar poison of Mistress' gratitude. “Shout out to Dr. Michelle for juicing Yvonne up with enough femme-fuel to shrivel her assets. Took no time to bob those bits from man to mouse.”
Dr. Michelle’s voice slinked back,all thick “Fuck me harder!” Revelling in her pounding, and oily with triumph “Pumping that—Nngh—primed canvas with Estro-max, Ooh God, yes, was a—Shove it in, you bastard!—a delight," her moans punctuating her claim. "Those balls, heh, went from—Ahh, yes!—grapes to—Ugh—raisins to gone. Even had—Mmm, that's it!—a decent piece between his legs once, you know? But now?—Aghh—Just a wink of flesh now—Ahh, fuck!—barely there, barely anything. A whisper where—Oh, fuck yes!—where a shout used to be."
Mistress' cackle was a bell toll in my hollowed chest, each chime a mockery of the flesh and pride I had once held. “Now my good Doctor, tell us, how did you like playing God with his raisin pouch?”
“Oh, Nina," Michelle's voice cut across the distance, strained as she was clearly feeling another thrust, "His bits were hardly—Ahh, God!—worth the name by the time the meds were done with their job. A quick cut, and—*Damn it, right there!*—voilà—nothing left but a—*Mmm, fuck!*—nice neat little nubbin. Just an exquisite—*Ahh shit, yes!*—little dimple that once dreamed it was a—*Ugh!*—a dick."
"Yvonne's such a—*Oh fuck!*—good girl now, isn't she? *Drive it deeper, you bastard!* Isn't that—*Ugh!*—right, doll?" she taunted at me, the sadistic joy thick in her voice. "Just thinking about it—*Oh, fuck me!*—Yvonne, legs spread wide, cut without—*Ahh, damn!*—anaesthesia, squealing in—*Ahh, yeah!*—in pain ... Shit, it makes me—*Mmm, fuck!*—it makes me so damn hot!"
Her voice grew manic, each curse word wrapped around the rhythm set by the person hammering into her, enthralled by the memories. "Such a sweet, clean slice—*Ahhhhh, FUCK!*—and the way you—*Yes!*—you bled for us, Yvonne, that's it—*Ohh, I'm gonna... I'm...*"
Her already loud cries escalated into a torrent of profanity as climax gripped her. "*AHHH, THAT'S IT!* Think back, Yvonne! The fucking slice—how it felt, your little balls getting chopped off, —*Ughhhh!*—our perfect, ball-less bitch! Oh, the reality was so much filthier, so much more satisfying—*AHHH, FUCK YEAH!* than any fantasy I had of fucking your old self in the past. Now I'm cumming—*AHHHH, CUMMING HARD!* Revel in the memory, Yvonne! *FUCK, YES!* Your pain, your loss, it's my…. *AHHHH, LOSING MY FUCKING MIND HERE, CUMMING SO FUCKING HARD!*"
“Hear that Yvonne, but don't you dare stop” Mistress' voice, a purring blade, kept weaving its spell of humiliation through me as I remained impaled on her design, my mouth stuffed full by the force of her will which, at that moment, tasted a whole lot like Jacob.
Mistress tossed her fiery gaze my way, my eyes looking at her while I continued to bob up and down , her voice dripping with raw promise. "Big shout-out to Lady Lynn for her 'special touch' with our pet here," she cooed, venomous honey in every syllable. "She's got Yvonne so tightly wound up, the poor slut's swimming in endless heat, but never getting off. Never coming. Just aching." She took a sip of her drink as she glanced at me and back to the crowd. "The devious butt plug training and wicked hypnosis sessions have left her squirming, trained to spill nothing but desperate yearning.” She said, her words laced with acid sweetness. The room erupted, laughter snaking around like tendrils looking for prey.
"Always a pleasure, Nina. Though let's be honest, a maid's work is never done—good thing ol' Yvonne over here will be on her knees to lick clean every splatter Jacob leaves behind." She has been reduced to an itch that never goes away. A lovely fuck-doll whose every breath is a silent scream for more cock, more cum, more humiliation" Lynn announced proudly, her eyes dark with twisted pleasure. "That mouth—oh, it's made for milking the menfolk, ladies too, while her butt is just a target for our guests' eager members. Once she gets real cum in her, we've packed her head so full of dirty hypno-triggers, she'll be chasing that cock high all night, then begging for the next hit even in her sleep."
Mistress turned on her heel, the centre of gravity swinging with her hips. "And Jacob," she purred, her gaze flitting to where I knelt, working tirelessly at my indignity. "Oh, Jacob, my beastly brute—you've given me so much already, showing me the insipid man Yvonne once pretended to be. And now, consider this my gift to you: me and this eternal tease here," she waved negligently toward me, "both at your mercy. Think of it as a lesson in power, babe. She’s primed to simmer in her own hell, boiling with need she can't quell, while you indulge yourself in every drop of the pleasure we offer."
Jacob was far gone, drowning in the shameless surrender of my lips wrapped tight around his cock. His mind numbed out to everything but the drag and swirl of eager servitude I offered up. The only thing that came from him was a half aware low grunt, the sound of a man soaked in the raw power of undeserved domination. His eyes, clouded over, were locked on the bob and sway of my head, hypnotised by the spectacle of his easy dominance on full, humiliating display. That dumbstruck daze of his, it spoke volumes about how deep he'd sunk into the pleasure of it all—lost in the depravity of my willing degradation.
With a sneer, Mistress spoke, "Let’s not forget, our Yvonne here speaks only in French now. Hypnosis has her wired tight, so all those pretty whimpers and words that escape are nothing but echoes of her submission. It's all I allow her, her language of servitude, her tender moans of wanting, the endless carousel of denied pleasure that spins in her pretty little head." Her mockery was a cold splash on my hot, writhing want—want that would never be more than just that, a panting, slobbering want.
**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:
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:
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.
**Synopsis**
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:
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
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."
**Trigger Warning: Explicit Content**
Dear reader, if you've followed us through the journey of this series, please be aware that just like its previous parts, this vignette unfolds with vivid and explicit storytelling. Your boundaries are valued and respected. Therefore I warmly encourage you to listen to your feelings and prioritize your well-being when choosing to engage with this content.
For those who find solace and excitement within my work, you are all invited to this casting call.
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
Chapter 4 can be found here: Binding Resolutions Chapter 4: New Beginnings
Interlude: Casting Call
Ahhh... Masters, Mistresses... Mmmm, do you like this? how I'm down for you on all...*oh fuck yes*...fours? The show’s been...*ah*...quite something, I...*mmm*...bet. Have you been indulging in the delectable ride of my story? Is it my breasts you're eyeing? How they dangle, full and heavy, swaying with each 'hard' thrust I take from behind... *Oh god, yes*... echoing each savage ramming?*ahh* And these nipples... *shit*...they could cut through glass, so hard, so painfully desperate for... *yes*...agonizing strokes or a pair of hot, greedy lips...
His hands are so...*unf*...strong and decisive. Ugh... can you hear my ass...*oooh fuck*...can you witness every...*ahh*...agonizingly delicious inch of him ploughing into me? Squeezing my hips like they're dough, shaping and... *unnnhh*...moulding me onto his shaft. You've got the front-row seat to this spectacle, and Mistress, sweet Mistress, so deliciously splayed out below...an offering—a divine spread just for... *ooh*...my tongue and your blissful perversion *...ahhh...fuck...yes*
No lies, there's nothing more 'sinfully' arousing than knowing his pent-up load is going to explode... *mmm*...all over, just gush into me until we overflow, and cascade all over... *yes*...all over her quivering, moaning lips below... it’s lewd, shameful, and damn if I don’t revel in it.
There’s a craftsmanship to being fucked and feasting on pussy at the same... *ugh*...time. A slut so... *ahh*...desired. Sorry if I...*god*...stumble over my words. Who wouldn't when sodden with such...'deep'...unbridled ecstasy?
Oh... god yes, my beloved readers, if you've tasted the... *ungh*... sin on your screens, get down to the dirty work. Tap, no—POUND that Thumbs Up!, located down under—like where he's got me, where I’m spread wide, THERE!—now slide your eyes to the left, be generous and lavish the author...*ah*... with your filthiest... *mmm*... applaud. They've written my every moan for your wicked glee. I've sworn—*yessss*, just there—to quench their deep, dark...*fuck*... hungers if they hit the climax of likes and... *ah*... comments.
And fuck—goddamn sinners, I’m unfurling your red carpet to filth...*ngh*... in the best, dirtiest way. Slather your... *mmm*... debauchery below, let it tricklefrom your minds to the comments ...*aaaaah, yes!*... your fantasies trickling with every word. Look back, relive our past fucking rendezvous and in a soaking, hot paragraph ...*ahh*... confess how you'd join our obscene encore in the Vignettes. Be the god of your own sinful domain. The most decadent of you? You get to play an honoured role in our Endgame, with three other deviant spirits participating in the Vignettes..
*oh fuck...YES*. Here it comes, *nghhhhh... yesss* ... I'm breaking, shattering — gonna splatter. So... *mmmmm... ahhhhh* YES—Maîtresse! *fuuuuck*... YES!
**Synopsis**
As our story nears its climax, Yvonne's tale starts to iron itself out, exposing the concealed truths below. How far do the depths of desire and devotion go? Can frank confessions and a readiness to sacrifice all for love redefine the rhythm of the narrative? Awaiting Yvonne is a destiny that is still to be fully realised, yet startling disclosures test the bedrock of her being; how will she and her dear mistress navigate the ensuing upheaval?
**Trigger Warning**
Please be aware that this chapter contains explicit sexual content and explores themes of power dynamics and identity transformation. It may be distressing for some readers. If such material is not to your taste or comfort, I encourage you to exercise discretion and prioritize your well-being.
Prior Chapters of Binding Resolutions can be found here: Binding Resolutions Book
Binding Resolutions Chapter 5: The Resolution that Changed Everything
Mistress' fingers, barely there against the tender skin of my obedient cockette, were not ‘little Yvonne’, not at this moment, as she traced idle patterns, eliciting involuntary twitches with every light caress.
“The tattoo seems to have worked as intended. There is a good reason I had it inked on you: to be a constant reminder of who or what you are becoming, meant to change with you during this journey. To jolt you back to reality if you ever got lost.” Her feather touch was a soft curse, teasing life into the quivering nub. The gentle prodding coaxed forth quivers of pleasure from where I had only recently believed that only shame could reside.
“The resolution box,” her breath danced on my skin, “was more than just a pretty piece to hold paper dreams. It had power – the kind that weaves written wishes into the fabric of fate.” Mistress punctuated her words with a quick tug on my sensitive little bud, coaxing a stifled moan from my quivering lips. “People dropped their desires into this box on slips of paper; the bits of paper would disappear, but throughout the year, their wishes would manifest.”
She didn’t skip a beat as I squirmed under her words. “Jacob, that motherfucker – he recognised the box’s true nature. He must have pieced it together at the pool party we hosted last summer.”
"Quoi... de la magie?" I started, only for Mistress’ stern "Shush, just listen and trust in what I say," as she tugged at my swollen ‘clit’ again, just a wee bit painfully this time."The words are mine now, my voice; you’re the echo. ‘This… Is my desire, my order." The turmoil within her baby blues, deep pools reflecting pain and longing, tethered my soul to hers.
I had the damn right to refuse, yet love prevailed — I chose to immerse myself in her desires and her sorrow. With a raspy, heartfelt "Oui, comme vous commandez, ma maîtresse." I sealed my loyalty, and I passionately suckled at her, baring my soul to her guidance.
"He must have been privy to its power. His family might even have owned one of their own, some of the only surviving artefacts of the damnable witch trials," she continued, tracing the shell of my ear with her tongue, then pausing to moisten her fingertip with my lips.
"He knew how they worked; they couldn’t just be stolen. Those boxes passed from hand to hand only by consent, willingly. Their power is immense, meant for good, but his plan sought to twist their gifts, and by extension, our very fates, to his will."
"Mais pourquoi?" slipped from my tongue, my voice barely audible, but her swift rebuke, "Silence, my eager little kitten," left me reeling from the next little pull at my 'clitty'.
"The jealousy was fucking killing him – that *Adam* – you," she clarified, tilting my head up again to lock eyes, commanding me not to speak. She smirked at me with pointed clarity. "Yes, I said, Adam. Now just return to sucking," she instructed as she pushed my lips back to her inviting nipple. "You were the antithesis of his mediocrity."
"Adam was everything the scumbag wasn't – fucking tall, dark, overflowing with that fiery charm, warm, approachable, and just so goddamn irresistible... the primal alpha. Your very existence was a reminder of his wholly average existence, and in the office, Adam was on the cusp of overshadowing him completely."
She revealed her growing appetite in a husky whisper as she engaged my rosebud, her finger parting me tenderly. "Adam had it all: the room's gaze, a captivating strength from within and without, respect for me as his equal, and between the sheets, a relentless, untamed predator.”
She groaned with passion as she continued with our tale, her fingers slowly easing into my welcoming love knot, "his lust for, and obsession with, me. Knowing that I was utterly and completely in love with, owned by, and truly dicked down by Adam drove him mad."
Then she plunged into me with purpose, igniting a flare of raw yearning. I cried out, breathless, "No longer Adam, correct?... Confess, do you miss him?"
The very thought of *Adam* sent a pulse of warmth flickering through me, making my ‘clitty’ quiver with recognition. Swarming thoughts of Adam, with his broad chest and chiselled abs honed by relentless discipline, swept over me. That confident grin etched across a face of stark, masculine beauty.
Each memory of that body, of Adam, was like salivating over a face I knew but couldn't touch—an ache for a brute strength I didn't just surrender to but was stripped away from me. Now, all I could do was drool and ache for that power, to be pinned and taken by it, to be split open and to be utterly, deliciously ravaged.
The vision flashed hotter, filthier—I was straddling him, skewered on that magnificent cock, bouncing with a slut's greed. And there she was, my Mistress, eyes blazing with twisted pleasure at the sight of her man, her Adam, owning me.
A raw, guttural moan clawed its way out of me before I could leash it, a sound drenched in desire for a past that twisted my insides with yearning and a perverse kind of thrill.
"Mmmmm... cette bite," the words purred out, unbidden, tinged with carnal nostalgia, "maître," (*"Mmmmm... that cock... master’s...,"*) the term falling from my lips like a token of another life. I raced to correct myself through a haze of lust, "J'aimerais encore l'avoir..." (*"I wish I still had it..."*)
Mistress' laugh was a melody spiked with longing, a tender probe into our open wounds of longing. "You and me both, babe," she crooned, a predatory purr to her teasing. "And based on that little slip, ideally inside us, right? Wouldn't that be delicious?"
As she continued, my lips were clamped tight around her, sucking as if my life depended on it. Her fingers diligently worked my little bud, now throbbing desperately for release. "Keep that pretty mouth working, but I'll let you squeak out little words. I liked your little slip-up. No idea what ideas they might give me," she purred as her nail grazed my tip, sending jolts of pleasure coursing through me.
As my hands, wanton with craving, crept towards the warmth between Mistress' thighs, she swiftly captured them. "Not yet, my little slut," pausing her circling fingers on my aching nub, "There's time for that later—listen now."
"The shiftless cur. Not a thought for bettering himself; all he craved was to peel you away, layer by layer until nothing was left, not even me." Mistress spat out the words, her thrusts burying deeper with each assertion as I attempted to focus on the task at hand. My sucking grew frantic against her nipple, yet my body betrayed me with quivering fits of weakness.
Her touch was torturous, pinching and rolling my ‘clitty’ between her fingers, all while she began to finger me relentlessly from behind. "...pour me briser," (*"...to break me,"*) I choked out, salty droplets mingling with the heat of my breath.
"He saw you shattered to pieces, with himself as the twisted orchestrator. Any desire, any ambition could have been his; had he but devoted himself to it, the wheel of fortune would've spun in his favour. Instead, he chose to ensnare us; you and me compelled to surrender to his perverse vision," her hands found a wicked pace, pushing deep and pulling in rhythm. "Hélas," I whimpered, tears streaking my cheek. "Toi et moi."
"That, my precious toy, is the true might of the resolution box. No grand sorcery; rather, it's the subtle yet incredibly powerful whisper of fate that helps turn your deepest wishes into reality. Just remember, though, to make a wish again, the prior year's commitment must be honoured. The box sides with only the truly committed."
As her fingers worked their magic, "Promesses," my murmur hung in the air, heavy with lost dreams and the path ahead. "Promesses sacrées..." (*"Sacred promises."*)
"He spelt out his sick yearnings," her voice was silk over steel as she spoke my former name again, each utterance of 'Adam' paired with a deeper thrust and a sharp pull at my aching ‘clitty’, binding me tighter in the web of my own reckless surrender.
"You offered yourself so blindly, Adam. You swore to be anything I wanted, gifting your complete submission to me and opening yourself up to his perverse wishes — for him, yes, but also against yourself, Adam, and inevitably, against me."
"Arrêtez, Maîtresse, s'il vous plaît..." (*"Stop, Mistress, please..."*) I gasped out, my voice hitching as she continued to pluck at my little cocklette, but she only chuckled darkly.
"Stupid girl," she said with a loving bite. "Your promise left you bare, gave you away — made you the unwitting star." Her finger twisted within me, her other hand delivering sharp pleasure to my throbbing bud, the precarious balance of pleasure and pain driving me mad.
Mistress' voice softened, a shadow of remorse threading through as she recounted the twist in our tale. "The most fucked-up part was how he got me involved. It was sinister, really," her finger paused inside me as if to mark her words.
"Do you remember me going to Lynne for hypnotherapy to help quit smoking and to become more confident? It was your recommendation."
"Oui… putain… sur la recommandation de Jacob," (*"Yes... fuck... on Jacob's recommendation,"*) I blurted out, alarm flaring within me. "Yes, Yvonne, he did... and that's how his vile claws snagged me right along with you."
Mistress moved on top of me, and reclined against my thighs. Her breast momentarily forgotten as her thoughts cast backward. "Let's retrace our journey, love, to a time not long after the party at the pool," she said, wistfully staring into my eyes.
“You came to me, off the back of Jacob's recommendation, for Lynn's hypnosis for my smoking." Her hand slid from my throbbing cockette, commanding bluntly, "Slide open, darling, let me see the goods," and I obliged, my thighs shamelessly unveiling my naked need.
Hmm. Where was I? Yes, her hypnosis snared the cigarettes. Had I been aware back then, I would have understood that a mind attuned to the desired end can be reshaped with only will. Hypnosis is a great excuse to exercise said will; otherwise, it's a fruitless endeavour. Clearly, her hypnosis was no great shakes, but she had earned my trust.
"You, too, had seen the merit in her sessions and were supportive of my desire for further self-improvement on the professional front. To embrace being more forceful, more assertive, more commanding," she reminisced, her eyes tracing the curves she now laid claim to.
Her fingers continued their torturous playing with my 'clitty', the torment keeping my breath well away from the rest of me, "mmm... plus imposant" (*"mmm...more commanding."*) I was caught in a whirlwind of discomfort from her words and ecstasy from her touch.
The bitch took it all in—she listened, and like a viper with honeyed words, she whispered suggestions. She toyed with the idea of dominance—over my professional sphere, yes, but also within our intimate walls," she mused, “suggesting I dip not just a toe but my very soul into dominance, to wield it both in the boardroom and in the bedroom."
Mistress reflected, her coy smile reassuring me even as it manipulated my tender flesh. "Planting seeds in my head, having you lay it bare, giving it up to me, to have every inch of you, inside and out." She drove her finger with a savagery that wracked my frame, "mon Dieu... oui... maîtresse," (*"my God... yes... Mistress."*) My body ached for more of her cruel mercy.
“Remember that session when you wore the maid's outfit, serving me, yielding to my every urge?" Her eyes sparkled with the memory as she recounted, “That was when you first opened up to me completely."
Surrendering to my vulnerable position, drawn to her breasts, arching my back into her, returning to her teats, folding myself into a tiny little ball, and hungrily nursing as she drew me back into the heat of our memories, "Je m'en souviens..." I murmured against her skin.
“I remember your submission, how nervous but willing you were. That was when I discovered the joys of your backdoor. You, on your knees, my fingers and tongue exploring, the first time I delved into your sweet, puckered hole. My beautiful bull, letting me tug the reins," her body quivered with the thrill. “You, squirming, relenting, letting me have my way with you, was fucking intoxicating."
Her rhythm intensified as she tortured my 'clitty’. "J'ai vraiment aimé..." (*"I really enjoyed it..."*) I groaned, lost in the shockwaves her touches sent crashing through me.
Mistress' finger moved with a rougher cadence now, igniting a blend of pain and pleasure that left me squirming, a puppet strung on the aching throb within me.
And then, her manipulation became almost feral, her motions eliciting deep, animalistic urges. "Incroyable..." (*"Incredible..."*) my fragmented voice sighed in rapture as my lips desperately sought to feed on her ripe bosom.
Then her tone dropped, icy like the truth she recalled, "It was then, atop that exhilarating peak, she tested me with stories of forced submission, husbands brought low entirely." Mistress spat, a loathing for the poison she nearly drank. "But it didn't stick, I loved you—Adam."
The name was a jab, deeper this time, "Your touch, how you cherished me, and God, that beautiful cock of yours." That day, I stopped visiting her, she said as she continued her ministrations. Each pulsing push spoke of yearning for a life and love teetering on the cusp of being lost.
Her insistent touch paused only briefly as she unravelled the truth – clarity breaking through. "I did piece it together later, but it was too late by then. Our journey had already begun." Her motion resumed, each thrust layered with new understanding. I nearly shouted, "Ils étaient dans le même bateau." (*“They were in the same boat.”*)
She leaned into me. "Yes, babe. They both shared this sin. He was an investor in her business and between her legs. The plan was to poison my thoughts. Now suck harder. Deep reflections don't need to stop other important... activities as well." She said, and I crouched into her even more, sucking harder.
“Still, she left behind seeds that played on my curiosity despite it all, whispers that wormed their way into my thoughts. I even took up reading kink on websites,” she said, her voice drifting away for just a moment.
“The temptation gnawed at me, wondering what it would be like to truly command, not just playfully but totally," she whispered, her fingers continuing their maddening rhythm that now twisted in my flesh. "La tentation, c'est le piège ultime..." (*“Temptation is the ultimate trap…”*)
"Curiosity can be a hell of a drug. Mixed with intrigue and touched by the allure of something more... something darker. It led me…us down a path I never foresaw," Mistress confessed, her voice heavy with unfolding dread.
She looked down at me, helplessly offered up for her pleasure. "Is my precious girl drinking in every syllable?" she asked seriously. Amidst the overwhelming sensations, my compliance spilt forth with a breathy moan, "Yes, Mistress... dominion over... Adam."
Her fingers dove deeper within me, her touch echoing the twisted narrative she spun—a tale of corrupted lust. "Give me your moans," she ordered, and my response came hot and needy, "Maîtresse... vos désirs... manipulés." (*"Mistress... your desires... manipulated."*)
"What we thought was a mere flirtation with control—it was explicit in its intent to reshape us and you—Adam." Each mention of that name was delivered with a deeper plunge, extracting broken breaths that spilt out of me.
“We left enough loopholes for him to get exactly what he wanted. Two vague, vulnerable and open-ended resolutions that he could spin to serve his own desires. All he needed was a resolution of his own to ruin ours.”
"My desire and your blind promise, Adam," she said, now relentlessly plundering into me, unearthing cries of agonised ecstasy, "morphed you into my private whore, and us into playthings in his grotesque little theatre."
"Je suis foutrement à vous, Maîtresse... utilisée par ce connard ou non," (*"I'm fucking yours, Mistress... used by that arsehole or not,"*) I bellowed, laid out naked, body and soul laid bare before her. Her fingers thrusting, even during this confession, drove me higher.
"Oh mon amour," her voice was laced with hurt, her hands drawing me in closer, flesh mashed against flesh, as she divulged, "He mapped out our demise, every wicked detail crafted with someone else's pen. Even paid some smut peddler to draft a five-thousand-word blueprint. A fucking saga disguised as a resolution that painted the walls with his shit-stains of decadence."
"Arrêtez... non, continuez, Maîtresse!" (*Stop... no, continue, Mistress!*) The contradiction of my pleas matched the push-pull of her punishing touch, the perfect blend of agony and ecstasy.
“We were the stars, but he spread his poison far and wide, corrupting almost everyone from last year's gathering, from Mike to my sister—all unwitting pawns on his dirty chessboard."
The scream of "Oh my God!" ripped through me, my voice splitting between the horror of Jacob's vile deeds and the rampant waves of ecstasy that Mistress was pounding into my body. Each thrust against my cocklet sent spasms of delight that clashed with the icy realisation shadowing each reveller's devolution from decency to debauchery.
"That sneaky bastard had it all tied up – a dirty magic trick with no loose ends. No one suspects sorcery when their minds and faces are buried between each other's thighs. Chasing shameless revelry over regular lives. Their transformations into sexual demons made everyone a suspect and everyone a victim.”
Beneath her skilled hand, a hot, conflicted "No!" bubbled up from my throat. Her fingers still persistent, and her words spelt out the hideous game that twisted a year's worth of guests from pristine to stone-cold sex freaks.
"Hold on a moment, my sweet," Mistress' voice was soft as she withdrew her wet finger, leaving me empty. I was glued to her breast like a babe, curled in and suckling with fervent need, missing her presence inside me.
A shift in her movement, and then—it came, a chill of anticipation on my skin before the mammoth invader breached me, a beast larger than any I'd had the pleasure of feeling inside me. She drove it home with deliberate force, and I was exploding with stars, my surrender absolute.
"Do you revel in the memory of my Adam's monster meat, my depraved little harlot?" Mistress' voice was thick with triumph as the phallus buried itself in me, feeding my bottomless craving. "That life cast I had taken ages ago?”
Her voice had a delighted edge to her words, "Today's secret from the mall? I took my incredible fucker’s mould and had it turned into this strapping delight just now. And I spared no expense to have this surprise crafted on such short notice."
“Tell me, my slut, how it feels to be speared by the cock of MY Adam? Can you feel his big virile balls slap against you, being split open by the only shaft that sated me?" she roared, the lioness in her emerging as the voice reverberating through me.
I was lost, dizzy with desire. "Mmm… la bite du maître… elle est plus grande que toutes celles des autres hommes… comme je le voudrais ici…" (*"Mmm… the master’s cock… it’s bigger than all others… how I wish he were here…"*)
“Listen to my voice," Mistress' tone brooked no dissent as she ruthlessly pounded each inch into me. Clarity washed over her, even in the throes of our shared depravity. "I was fucking oblivious to the spell’s insidious creep, but halfway through our journey, it hit me like a slap on the face.”
Some gutter site had a story that accurately reflected our sordid ordeal, every little detail. At first, it turned me on, but then repulsion struck hard. It was like peering into the abyss. The same dirty fable unravelled right before my eyes," she plunged deeper, coaxing a guttural scream of pure, filthy pleasure.
Each slap of her cock on my tender flesh made me want her more; each strike demanded my silent agreement. “Say it,” she demanded. “Admit to your Mistress that you're nothing but a toy sculpted by envy and lust."
I uttered precisely what she asked of me, "un jouet, oui…" (*"A toy, yes…"*) I spoke, my words, a reflection of my helpless acceptance and the hunger that knotted my insides.
“It was that cursed author, commissioned by Jacob, who had published it as a filthy tale, now public, a blueprint of our demise crafted into erotica and splashed across those dark corners of the web that I had taken to visiting by then.”
“Our descent was not ours alone to bear – horrors that I shamefully found myself poring over, consumed by the explicit perversions that someone dared to call our life.”
Enraged by the thought, she was now punishing me with relentless fervour. Her… Adam’s cock slamming home… over and over. Her hand ensnared the back of my neck as she dragged my diminutive, suckling form even closer to hers.
The other twisted my nub—a torturous pleasure so sharp I could barely breathe. "Je suis à bout, je ne peux plus penser…" (*I'm at my limit, I can no longer think…*) I choked out, my mind a whirlpool of lust.
She continued, "Remember how quickly those hormones ravaged your robust form, Yvonne," she growled, "how those meds should have taken years to sculpt these—" Her hand cupped the heft of my breast, "—ripe, suckable tits."
"Oui, ma poitrine est si douce... si parfaite pour lécher…" (*Yes, my chest is so soft... so perfect for sucking…*) I panted, feeling the weight of my new flesh, the pink nipples hardening under her touch.
"Your stature, once towering, now diminished, ripe, and tender beneath me," she said with a cruel affection as she pushed deeper, each inch she claimed inside echoing the inches I'd lost outside. "Mon Dieu, je suis si petite, si vulnérable sous vous…" (*My God, I am so small, so vulnerable beneath you…*) I exhaled sharply, each thrust of the penetrating shaft as impactful as the dawning reality of my transformation.
Her palm traced my jawline, now purposed for her possessive grip. "The firm set of your jaw, now a graceful arc for kisses," her hand ascended my face, grasping my spun gold tresses, "and see how your once dark mane now spills in honeyed curls," she said. "Maîtresse, je ne me reconnais plus…" (*"Mistress, I no longer recognise myself…"*) I uttered, a whimper softer than the curls that now framed my face.
Still holding me by my hair with one hand, a finger from her other hand traced the void where my balls once resided, her touch sympathetic and her voice cracking. "You bounced back from the snip as if it were nothing more than a haircut, my pretty little thing." She chuckled, but I could hear her sense of loss, knowing full well the gravity of what had been stolen from me.
"Tout guéri si vite, comme si rien d'important n'avait disparu," (*"All healed so quickly, as if nothing important had ever been there,"*) I mumbled, my voice laced with the loss of my former masculinity.
Then her eyes wandered to my present shame. "And this, mon petit clito," she crooned, wicked affection in her words as she flicked the sensitive nub. "An eight-inch monument of virility, now a delicate speck." Her fingers toyed with it, a reminder of the transformation from something grand to something...else.
I couldn't contain the heat flushing my cheeks or the bite of desire her words conjured. "... ma bite, j'ai perdu ma fière bite..." (*"... my cock, I've lost my proud cock..."*) I ached out loud, a tortured admission of what I mourned the most.
Her pace quickened, the cock plunging in and out of me with a roughness that blurred the lines between pain and pleasure. She cooed about the transformation of my posterior. "Your cute little peach, once firm and unyielding, is now just a soft, jiggly pillow, always hungry for attention, to be touched, to be taken, to be of service."
There was a kindness in her tone, a loving approval of what I'd become. Her free hand smacked the soft flesh; the sound was obscene in its sharpness, and the sensation rippled into my core. "Mon cul est tellement accueillant pour tous maintenant, Maîtresse..." (*"My arse is so welcoming to all now, Mistress...,"*) I confessed breathlessly, pressing back against her, craving more of her delicious invasion.
As she drove her fingers within me with resolve, I could barely comprehend the fullness of her words. "Can you believe it, pet? Our little world turned on its axis, and nobody – not our parents, friends, or even the watchful Dr Michelle – none were any the wiser. They simply accepted it and even gleefully participated," she mused aloud. Each word was synchronised with a calculated thrust, emphasising the stark reality of our transformation.
My response came as a fragmented whisper, carried in the wake of strokes that left me trembling, "Everyone is so enthusiastic, as if everything is normal..." I panted, my voice a blend of arousal and astonishment.
Reality felt skewed, inexplicably altered so my drastic change seemed to fit perfectly within everyone's expectations. "Ils me matent, putain, ils voient ce vestige d'Adam et bandent pour défoncer Yvonne, leur nouveau jouet à baiser." (*They fucking ogle me, seeing the remnants of Adam and get hard for pounding Yvonne, their new fuck toy.*) The truth lay thick between us: that wish hadn't just remade me; it had ensnared the perceptions of all who knew me.
Mistress' relentless exploration of my depths didn't let up; the tempo matched only by the throbbing pulse of my dicklette under her rough ministration. "I found out it was all Jacob’s doing when I hunted down the author responsible for crafting this reality," she cursed through gritted teeth, punctuating her words with a sharp thrust that made me cry out.
"Merde, il ne nous possédera pas encore..." (*"Shit, he won't own us yet again..."*) I uttered with a ragged breath, the mixture of dread and thrill in my voice making it quiver. The reality of our situation was as penetrating as Adam’s magnificent tool. It was a game of chess that he played with our bodies and wills at stake.
Mistress prodded deep inside, her touch methodical and deliberate. "Pored over every word, every perverse stipulation, and meticulously made notes. I analysed every condition that needed to be fulfilled. I had to take control of the narrative to protect you, to shield us from being completely unravelled by that motherfucker’s fantasies," she announced. Each thrust was a declaration, sending spasms of delirious pleasure through my exposed form.
"Préservée par votre ingéniosité, Maîtresse..." (*"Preserved by your ingenuity, Mistress...,"*) I exhaled, my every nerve ignited by her penetrating motion.
"The party was the stage—the final act where everything would come to a head. Just moments of complete exposure to his depraved desires and our cue to wrest back control of our fate," Mistress' movements became more aggressive, sending me spiralling.
"Une scène pour notre délivrance, Maîtresse..." (*"A stage for our deliverance, Mistress...,"*) My cry was both pleasure and plea, the foreign syllables spilling from my lips laced with need.
Mistress didn’t stop her tactile onslaught, as if her determination alone would stave off the darkness Jacob had woven into our destiny. "The clock’s hand was going to be our ally—your plunge into being Jacob's bitch would last just a goddamn flash."
"Par votre volonté, je plonge et ressurgis, Maîtresse..." (*By your will, I plunge and reemerge, Mistress...*) I whispered, spinning in the whirlpool of her creating, ever her compliant, needy subject.
Mistress' unyielding fingers carved new pathways of sensation within me as she confessed, "Had last night's excesses 'manifested' too early, you’d have been gone—your head, your personality, and memories scrambled, and I sure as hell wasn’t going to allow that.”
Her rigorous pace brought me to the edge, my fragmented mind clinging to every word she uttered. "Oui, Maîtresse, vous me sauvez..." (*Yes, Mistress, you save me...,*) I cried out, lost in the relentless tide of her pleasure.
I heard her voice swell with emotion as she spoke. "I pleaded with the heavens that you might still enjoy the delights of orgasms after our new vows, and what an unbelievable relief I felt when you came in my eager mouth."
When it first happened, I could not believe it: the jerking spasms, the little erection, the sweet, sweet dribbles of your release. It happened last night, it happened during all our little sexcapades today, and even now, it defies belief – my lurid little delight is still alive," she revealed, basking in the splendour of my bliss with incredulity.
Suspended by Mistress' will alone, I could do nothing but moan in eager, delirious French, each plea a testament to my submission. "Je t'en supplie, Maîtresse, ne t'arrête pas..." (*Please, Mistress, don't stop...*)
She intensified her assault, pumping savagely within me, one hand now pulling my head tighter to breastfeed in her nipple, while her other hand, rough and possessive, returned to tormenting my ‘clitty’. "But understand this, with or without magic, this is what we are. I love watching you quake, and you adore being my plaything. Look at us, insatiable," she growled, her voice twisted with incredible affection.
"Recognise our mutual debasement and swear to me your endless love, just as I swear to you my everlasting devotion," she pronounced with such ferocity that it thrust me into a state of pure sensation; I was nothing but raw, exposed nerve endings, every fibre of my being screaming for release.
With that demand, she lifted my body to align with hers, consummating the union of desire and dominion. "Maître de mon plaisir, enfoncez-vous en moi jusqu'à ce que l'éternité s'épuise; je jure de vous aimer à jamais..." (*"Master of my pleasure, plunge into me until eternity runs dry; I swear to love you forever..."*) I implored, on the brink of an infinite collapse, my release tethered to her entirely.
Each unyielding stroke edged me closer to the abyss, her vice-like fingers wrapped around my throbbing ‘clitty’. Her unyielding grasp on my head forced me to suckle helplessly. "Now, melt—let everything go, my sweet aching flower," she commanded, her words detonating within me like a charge keyed to my soul.
"JE VIENS... AH... DIEU, MAÎTRESSE, JE ME RENDS... TU ES... AH... MON AMOUR," (*"I’M COMING... AH... GOD, Mistress, I SURRENDER... YOU ARE... AH... MY LOVE."*) I cried out, the words tearing into breathy cries, as waves of ecstasy surged through me, hurling me into a storm that fragmented me.
Then, as though struck by lightning, her control vanished with a surrendering scream. "AHHH!!... Chérie... OUI!!!... FUCK!... OUI!!!! ... MON DIEU, OUI!!!" her unrestrained, primal howl shattered the silence, picking up the fragments of my disassembled self to rend me anew as we crumbled together, utterly exhausted, joined in blissful collapse.
As my consciousness wavered on the edge of darkness, I heard Mistress' words through the fog. "Don't fret over that piece of shit, Jacob; his plans went south when you sucked his brains out, and I nailed him to the floor – out cold and clueless. Swapped his paper for mine and had you drop it in. Serves him right to choke on the poison he brewed for us."
In my delirious state, my voice weak but insistent, I whispered, "Et nous, Maîtresse?"
Her assurance was the last thing I heard before darkness enveloped me. "Don't trouble your pretty little head about us, my dear. All will be known in due time," she soothed, and I surrendered, succumbing to the embrace of oblivion and the sweet promise of her protective presence.
Synopsis
In the conclusion of our story, Yvonne's bonds of love and trust face the ultimate test. A day of revelations brings our little heroine full circle, challenging the depths of her transformation. Our lovely couple confronts the prospect of a future once unimaginable as secrets unfurl and a significant vow binds them. Will this final chapter carve a path toward healing and happiness, or will the remnants of a year's turmoil demand one last sacrifice?
Author's Note
I have embraced more straightforward and personal language in this concluding chapter in response to very valuable reader feedback. I needed to finish Yvonne's story with words that resonate from the heart. I aimed to keep the narrative authentic and genuine, allowing for an emotional connection as we reach the end of our journey with Yvonne. I really hope to stick the landing.
Binding Resolutions Chapter 6: Valentine Be Mine
Oh, how things had changed in over a month. The pieces of myself didn't quite fit the same way they used to. The character I had been forced into had now evolved. Eve was the name that rolled off my tongue these days. The only exception being those intimate moments when my adored Mistress would summon Yvonne from the shadows.
Eve was her own damn person – resolute, burgeoning with confidence. Not yet the pillar of strength, but she was getting there. Amidst it all, she held a tender, moist spot in her heart and other places only for Nina. The depth of love she harboured for her only grew stronger with each passing moment. Heck, I'd even started clocking back into work last week.
With Jacob being fired unceremoniously for fraud, thanks to ‘his’ unfortunate new resolution, his spot at the office had landed in my lap. The phenomenon was bizarre, unfathomable even. But it was clearly true that the world bent and twisted, playing to the tunes of our still-secret-to-me resolutions. Slowly, it gave us back what we'd lost or maybe never even had.
The contents of those resolutions were still a damn mystery to me, though. Nina kept them under wraps like they were timed to explode with the right kind of magic moment or some celestial alignment.
And as for little Yvonne? Well, she was all woman now, thanks to a surgery everyone else thought was cut and dry. No pun intended, but Dr. Michelle and her folks had magicked up a fully working vagina where none ought to be.
They were oblivious to the fact that, despite the absence of sufficient tissue, they had forged fully functional lady bits. Miraculously, it healed overnight and settled into natural normalcy within days.
A week past that, nobody batted an eyelid. Even Michelle's recollection of my 'trans' history had seemingly evaporated. When she started chatting me up about my upcoming monthly blood moons, it felt like she thought this was an entirely normal part of my journey.
Eyes set forward, I was anticipating my inaugural skirmish with that 'delightful' monthly visitor to waltz in right in time with Nina’s.
In essence, I was replete; I was now whole, and all it took was the creation of a new vessel to fill in missing portions of the picture. Ahh, another accidental pun. But back on topic, today bore special significance. It's our first Valentine's Day with this newly awakened Eve.
Nina had that look in her eyes - the one that told me she was up to something just for us. "Rentre tôt, ma chérie," she had whispered, her voice betraying the surprise she held close to her heart. I couldn't help but feel the flush of anticipation for the surprise that awaited me at home.
To seize the day, I had left work early. I went to the gym and then swung by the mall. Heads turned as I strolled in to pick up some fresh tailor-made trousers. 'Bout damn time I strutted something other than my gams – nice as they were, a return to pants, even if only on occasion, would be sure to feel pretty damn good.'
Returning to matters of my evolution, I had rekindled my relationship with the gym, immersing myself in strength training. The gains had been nothing short of miraculous. I, who hovered around a featherweight 120 pounds, found myself hoisting nearly double that in deadlifts while working out in apparel that'd make a nun blush. But hey, I was all about commitment, resolutions and magic be damned. It was just good old-fashioned sweat, steel, and the view my booty shorts provided as my fellow gym goers gawked.
The changes in my body were clearly magic-enhanced and very pronounced. The mirror reflected a leaner frame, two well-proportioned C cups, and a hint of a six-pack teasing beneath my skin. For god’s sake, I had even lengthened vertically, four inches to be exact, standing taller in more ways than one, you know?
Driving back with a post-workout high, my thoughts drifted to my fans at the gym. I've got to admit, I loved the attention, and rocking the type of gym gear that raised both brows and heart rates had its perks.
There were offers on the table to make me some kind of fitness queen on the gram. They came buzzing like bees to honey, but it wasn't for me. Then consider my body, courtesy of some enchanting genetic tweak; it set the bar of reality-bending relatively high.
So, I held my ground because what truly mattered was getting better and stronger. And, of course, every once in a while, skewering myself on an irresistible piece of man-meat, but always with Nina, my ride-or-die, right there.
Speaking of Nina, she was always there rooting for me during every slick slide, every gasping high, right beside me. But, hell, she never strayed. No touching the hired guns that rolled through our sheets.
No one else got the slide of her hands, the sweet pressure of her lips – that was exclusively my fucking privilege. Said it clearly, didn’t she? She had laid it down – It was me, me alone, that got to be her whole damn universe, all soaked and dripping in desire.
At that moment, I felt the pang of what I lacked. That old dick of mine, the very instrument of her pleasure, I was now without. She deserved those lofty peaks, the thrill of being thoroughly fucked, and that was the one joy I couldn't give her now.
Striding through our door, I was still feeling the burn from the gym. Damn, if the pokies weren’t leading the charge under my bra. Those booty shorts might as well have been a second skin, my cameltoe practically branded into the fabric.
Seems like my getup was an open invitation for some gym bro to offer help with "fixing my posture." Nice try, buddy. So, I gave his crotch a friendly, lingering 'thank-you' grind; gotta love the impromptu dry humping and his posture held up superbly, I must say. Maybe later in the week, he’d fancy giving me a more in-depth 'lesson' on 'really ironing out those kinks', you know?
Anyway, I was all smug smiles—until the candlelit ballet in our living room halted me mid-strut. Lingerie, scattered like an erotic treasure trail, called me toward the staircase.
''Ninaaaa! Honey!!!!'' The silence that answered me was like a strip tease for the ears and far more tempting than my prior thoughts of 'posture corrections.'
At the foot of the stairs, a delicate jewellery box awaited with a post-it note. It carried a simple directive: ''Please put them on.'' My fingers worked hastily. The earrings were the same, but now very different from where my testicles once hung. There were now hearts crafted with twisting bands of white, rose, and yellow gold, each cradling a solitary heart-shaped diamond.
Without hesitation, they dangled from my lobes by the time I took my next step. With the renewed riches framing my face, I headed up, heart pounding, past the intimate breadcrumbs.
There she knelt, just beyond the doorway of our bedroom, her gesture of surrender so pure, her nose tenderly brushing the ground beneath her. Her hands crossed behind her back as far as she could reach. Framing the pose, a solitary red envelope lay before her.
She was a vision in the same maid's outfit that I wore on the night of my rebirth. Our roles reversed—and here she was, offering herself to me.
As the quiet of the space around us stretched on, Nina's voice broke through, intimate and raw. " this is for you... For us," she murmured, her voice a caress against my soul.
Now that I knew my role, I leaned forward towards her without pause as she waited like a present to be unwrapped. I closed the space between us with a kiss atop her head, the fucking turn-on. Envelope in hand. I opened the vessel of her words. Reading, I felt the pull of her soul and a rising ache when I read the message.
My Most Precious Eve,
Today, I emerge from under the dark clouds that once loomed over me, feeling a growing light and calm take their place. I come to you now, surrendering with open arms, ready to honour your every need and stand firm on my promise to forever stand by your side.
I acknowledge, with a weighty heart, that I carved those chasms of grief within you. It is only fitting that I dedicate myself to constructing bridges of joy across them. I offer up every shred of myself to heal the divides wrought by my own deeds.
My love for you extends beyond language. It pulsates as a steadfast rhythm within me. It is the seeking of your tender favour, your enduring love, and, most of all, your trust. This has to be the path toward not just undoing old harms but creating a new future filled with the richness of our life together.
Accept this letter as a binding declaration of my resolve. I will mend what I broke, never make those mistakes again, and hold tight to the forgiveness you have given me. I forego any posture of dominance that I held in our bond, unveiling my soul wholly in the quest for your absolution.
As a sign of my love and commitment to our voyage of recovery, I invite you to the dresser. There you will find a humble but sincere gift from my heart to yours, showing my feelings and pledge.
With all the love that brims my heart and the hope I cradle for our shared tomorrows,
Forever yours,
Nina
Damn, these tears, leaking all over the place. There she was, my darling Nina, kneeling there, offering herself up, blaming herself for all the chaos we had gone through. Bearing the weight of our twisted year with such remorse it made my heart bleed. God, how I wished I could be a man for her again, if just for a moment—to be everything she needed.
While I would have loved a conversation now, she clearly needed this play to unfold first, so I acted accordingly. "Come now, dear heart, unveil your mysteries to me," I muttered, sliding over to the dresser to see the vestiges of her offerings. An invitation in the form of a little note teased me to peek inside the top drawer. If it wasn't a seductive red box matching the lustful shade of Nina's envelope, I didn't know what was.
I snatched it up and, with deliberate drama, unfurled the box's lid as I tottered over to Nina. My footing was so close that, just as I unhinged the box, my toes inadvertently found themselves in the grasp of her fervid tongue. She was going to town on them as if there were no tomorrow. What's a girl to do but enjoy it when in Rome?
I leisurely teased the box open and lazily basked in the worship of my foot. Then, out spilt 'Adam 2.0'—different, kinkier—a double-ended beast that made my mouth water. "Looks like we're playing upgrades now," I purred. As I lifted my toes from the ground, I realized that her tongue had only gotten fiercer with the unplanned increase in access.
Inspecting this double-ender, I noted the familiar 'golden raisins' embedded on one side. Next to it, there was an exquisite "Eve's Adam" inscribed in gold. The colour perfectly matched mine. Every tiny detail was sculpted with lascivious attention.
It hinted at the meticulous labour poured into each curve. It was a gift that twisted just right. Knowing Nina, it certainly had its role to play. Decision made—this was going to be an experience to remember. I was going to savour every sinfully sweet offering.
Casually, I let the box clatter to the floor, pulling away from Nina's eager mouth. I settled on the edge of the bed, a dance where every step counted, and I could feel her ready to leap after me at my command.
"Kitten," I teased her, "do you have a name that sings to your soul right now?" But she—Nina—was all in, her voice quivered against her programming’s design, whispering out, "In your world, I'm whatever you choose to name me."
Ah, Nina—the 'I' sings. Sweet as sin, sacred as prayer, binding as fate. That name I loved wrapped around my tongue, calling her closer with a crook of my finger. "Niiiiinaaa, Yvonne's craving some attention, and time isn't waiting." The shorts slid down, and her mouth met the sweat and musk of my clit with fierce desire.
There she was on all fours, like a woman starved. My pet worked with a singular purpose, her mouth becoming a haven that brought me to peaks I could not climb alone. She lunged with all hunger and heat, lapping up between my thighs and chasing after my clit like it was her lifeline.
This moment—indulgent, filthy, and divine—was all mine. Mmmm, this was the life, all right. Propped up by my hands, spread wide and open—my little pet devouring me with fervour. Moaning like a whore, I gave in to the pure pleasure, anchored deeply within her, with one destination—my satisfaction. Here I was, eyes rolling back in bliss, and 'Adam' lay forgotten in the lust-filled haze that surrounded us.
I whispered sweet little pet names down to her as she wove her magic, and I soared! Cresting the wave to a soul-shattering orgasm that transcended the realm of flesh. My grip tangled in her hair. I pulled her tight, riding out the storm as her mouth became my sanctuary, and as I released my joy into her, she made sure not a single drop of ecstasy was wasted.
As I regained my senses, I felt her body quake beneath me—the cheeky thing had been getting off too. Mmm, naughty, naughty... A punishment would undoubtedly follow, but later, once I had returned to earth from the heavens, she had cast me into. Of course, I would let her get her rocks off first. My actions were that of a considerate mistress or, perhaps, more fittingly, her master.
Yes, she had let go of her claim, her title. But in my heart, she would always be my mistress. But there was something wonderfully sweet about this little switch in dynamics. Lying there, silently plotting, I decided to quietly nurture her excess, carefully planning every stroke to come, each one to be cherished. Because when it comes to desire and discipline, well, that's a master's prerogative.
I suppressed the urge to coax her onwards. Instead, I let her pleasure crest and crash. I allowed her the liberty of her little rule-breaking climax. Then, I let it fade into satisfied silence. Her body's tremors still echoed through our mutual bliss.
Gently grasping her chin, I lifted her gaze just enough to lock eyes, letting the air crackle with unspent desire. "It seems you couldn’t help yourself, Nina... A lesson is in order, wouldn’t you say?" My words fell with a tease as my gaze flitted toward the sidelined Adam. Cutting short any words from her, I directed, "Act, don't speak, my pet."
A mere order was enough to have her lavishing Adam with adoration. She worked over my name with her tongue in desperate worship. Her fervour and abandon had me suddenly aching for the past. Oh, how I yearned for the sensations of my once flesh-and-blood erection under such devoted attention, not just as a witness but as a recipient.
Noticing my envy with just a glance, she moved 'Adam' into position between my legs, touching my soaking folds. Her mouth worked 'Adam' with fervour, and as the heat from her actions spread, I felt shocks of pleasure that seemed to caress me both inside and out.
Just as I was surrendering to this sensation, one unlike any I had felt before, it drew me toward a new kind of euphoria. 'Adam' sank deep, and an explosive tide of pleasure threatened to tear me apart, igniting every nerve. The world blurred into a haze of white-hot bliss. Oh my god... the ecstasy!
I must've blacked out. Awareness returned slowly. I found myself sprawled upon the bed, with Nina between my legs. Her mouth was fervently claiming my arousal. I blinked in confusion, only half-lucid. I peered past my breasts as Nina, eyes looking back at me, withdrew for a moment.
She gasped with a delirious smile, then encircled the crown with her tongue and dove back into her task. This wasn’t just ‘Adam’; it was a part of me, IT WAS ME—undoubtedly alive and pulsing. What the hell had she wished for?
But those were thoughts for later; this was simply the time to lay back and enjoy what was being offered. The tremors of a seizure-like climax were still pulsing through every part of me. Knowing the calculated wiles of Nina, this suggested that this very state was her desire.
For the first time since we kicked off today's deliciously sinful escapades, my hands hadn’t been touching her. When I was about to plunge them into her silky strands, she pulled away from me, eyes gleaming with adoration. "Mistress, just lie back and soak in the moment. Your pleasure is my sole desire today," she asserted.
"Master, mon petit chaton," I purred affectionately while guiding her head back to where it rightfully belonged. "And I appreciate you speaking French," I instructed.
"Oui, Maître," she purred before her mouth enveloped me again. It was time to assert myself. "You're gonna swallow every inch of my cock. Do you get me?" Her eager moan was all the answer I needed.
"Knew you’d listen," I exhaled as the heat built. "Now faster, don’t stop." She chased the rhythm before I urged, "Go deeper, much deeper." She obeyed, damn near swallowing me whole. "All of it, come on!" I demanded. "Relax and just let it in." She closed her eyes, pushing past the choke... and there it was; she took me whole, her gasping gags a sweet melody to my ears.
I lost myself. "Oh, fuck, just like that! Faster, my slut! Make me come, bitch! Yeah, that's it! Fucking send me over the edge, you gorgeous fiend! Yes, that’s fucking perfect!" I lost all semblance of control. My hands grasped her hair as I drove deep, my hips bucking involuntarily. A howl of uncontrollable pleasure tore free as I climaxed, my release vast and relentless.
With cheeks bulging, she continued until she had devoured every drop. She climbed to meet me in a kiss as I beckoned with my fingertip, sloppy and sweet, with passion and the taste of myself. How damned perfect was this? My baby Nina, loving, serving, and apparently pretty pleased with her own handiwork. Surely no soul, especially a chick-with-a-dick, could have been as blessed.
"You've been up to something, haven't you, my petite amoureuse du coq,” I whispered into her ear. "Yes, Master, while not everything could be reversed, I managed this bit of magic at least," she answered, a playful bite sending shivers down my neck.
Why, then, the surgery? My cunt, tight and goddamn perfect, was a velvet vice ripe for the taking, but what now with my cock’s return? And then it slammed into me, visions whirling like a cyclone.
Nina pinned, helpless, bucking against the wall, Eve's, my hands a fucking fortress on her quaking back. I'm her beast, her Queen and king, ploughing into her, balls-deep and beyond, owning her cries like they're my due. I’m the storm she called down. Punishing, devouring, ensuring she’ll remember every godforsaken plunge as the last salvation on earth.
A flicker, and there's Yvonne, on all fours, distended and dripping. I’m gleaming, splayed, pried open, and dripping from a ghost’s harsh pounding. Mistress is ever-attentive. She swipes through my split folds, pilfering pearl strings of cock honey. She pushes the mess toward my drool-drenched mouth. With glazed eyes, I suckle each finger, relishing the grime like the good little slut I am.
A flash burns through. Eve, I, the ballsy bitch, swigging a beer, cocksure and in command, with sports blaring like some sort of macho soundtrack. And there's Nina, beneath my throne, gobbling up my cock with absolute fucking devotion. Those doe eyes implore, begging soundlessly, almost painfully, for the torrent of my spunk. She sucks like a primo whore, a testament to my reign, slurping on my junk like it's the holy fucking grail.
My mind flickers, and I am strung up. Chains bite into my flesh. Yvonne is, their plaything, displayed and heaving. Hands tied, swinging on a chain. airborne and spit-roasted between the mistress and some hulking brute. She is merciless. Each plunge into my yielding womanhood draws out whines of love-sick desperation. Behind, he impales my welcoming rump, rendering me voiceless save for the groans that sing their names. I'm the poor, willing captive pleading for more.
The psychic instructions laid it out clearly, seducing me with the power of choice. Whether the cock stood at attention or the pussy wept for an exquisite fucking, my body was a chameleon of lust.
With Yvonne at the helm, I would be bound by the desires of others. I could shed my equipment, leaving my love-nest bare, wet, and earnest. It thirsted for the rough satisfaction of being thoroughly owned.
But when I feel the strength of Eve stir within, ‘Adam’ returns, hard and demanding like the comeback of an exiled ruler. And Nina, my queen of whores, she'd drop to her knees with reverence, welcoming me driving into her essence, owning every ripple of her flesh.
"Mmm... you’ve yet to reveal the details of those enigmatic resolutions we made," I murmured, to which Nina's voice quivered, "Hmm... It is very detailed, but one key part is that I've resolved, quite specifically, to have your baby this year." The crack in her voice betrayed her uncertainty and the hidden layers of all her emotions.
A baby, our baby? A little one who would be part of both of us. I couldn't delay, couldn't ponder; I could only act. I drew her close with a fiery embrace and kissed her like nothing else existed.
Much later, when our passionate interlude began to wane. With a wicked chuckle, I announced, "We've got roughly thirty days to spawn our love child." Whip out the 'welcome mat,' 'cause Daddy's got a special delivery that's overdue for drop-off!"
Her response was a sultry nip followed by a firm yank that had me seeing stars. "Whoa! Mind the goods. That's your sperm bank you're roughhousing!"