Star
The next week was like some kind of strange dream.
The routine was the same: Tank would be gone in the morning, and I had the run of the house until he came back later in the day, always sending me a text telling me when to expect him and that I needed to be ready for him. Before he arrived, I’d spend an hour or so getting ready, taking my pick of the clothes in the walk-in. Then, when he arrived, I was at his command until he was done.
What he wanted specifically varied, but it all, so far, seemed to involve me putting on a show. He’d ask me to dance for him, to touch myself, to cum … all for his viewing amusement. The tools used in this process changed. At first, it was the clamps and the vibrator. Then it was cuffs. Then it was a remote-controlled vibrator that he controlled from the couch; Tank seemed to take exquisite pleasure in bringing me close to orgasm and taking me back from the brink, teasing me over and over again as he sipped his whiskey and watched me squirm in pleasure until I begged for release.
Later in the week, he began to take a more “active” roll in the show. One night, he bent me over, handcuffing me to the bar. Once I was restrained, he pulled down my panties and slapped my ass hard. The feeling of his firm palm connecting with my ass was ... indescribable. I felt as though I might melt like butter under a heat lamp. He squeezed and kneaded the flesh of my rear, breathing in hard through his nose. I wondered with panic if this was the night he was going to finally have sex with me. Thrill and panic gripped me as I wondered I was going to hear a zipper being pulled own followed by ... well, I didn’t quite know what to expect. I’d never had a man inside of me before.
But as I stood there bent over, my hands restrained, my teeth sinking into my lower lip in thrilled anticipation, I heard the vibrator click on, coming to life with a dull whirr. First, Tank rubbed my sex with it, touching me with such expert skill that I felt I might cum instantly. But just as he knew how to make me feel good, he also knew just how to delay the pleasure. He teased me, moving the vibrator over my clitoris, the feeling making me crazy. Then, after teasing my lips with the tip of the toy, he slipped it into me. The feeling of fullness, coupled with the sensation of the vibrator roaring inside of me, brought me instantly close to orgasm.
And just when I thought the pleasure couldn’t be any more intense, Tank moved in close to me and placed his hand on my inner thigh. The skin of his palm was rough just in the way I’d imagined it to be, and I couldn’t get enough. Slowly, the vibrator doing its amazing work in me, he moved his hand up along my thigh, coming to a rest as the side of his index finger was pressed against my clitoris. He began to move his hand back and forth, rubbing me slowly and sensually, the sensation of finally being touched by him making me feel ways I’d never imagined.
Soon I came harder than any of the previous days, and as I stood there with wobbling legs, all I could think about was how much I wanted more and more of him inside of me.
I found myself staying up at night, lying in bed and imagining what it would be like to have Tank’s firm hands on my hips, holding me in place as he drove his cock into me over and over again. I imagined lying under him, my legs wrapped around his hard, muscular body, his blue eyes brilliant and sparkling as he stared down at me, his prick plunging into me at a deep, steady pace.
Like I said, I’d never been much for masturbating, but the thought of Tank fucking me was enough to “inspire” me to get really good at it really quickly. One night, I even snuck down into the lounge. I swiped the vibrator out of the box and lay down on the couch. The scent of his body still lingering in the air and in the fabric, I draped one leg over the back of the couch, flicked the vibrator on, and brought myself to orgasm again and again. And as I came, I kept one eye open, hoping that Tank would hear me, come down, and finish the job in the way I knew only he could.
But, alas, he never came. Though I did. Repeatedly.
Aside from the maid service that came once, I was the only one there when Tank was gone for the day. He gave me the run of the place and as I became more comfortable there, I began spending my days relaxing in the sun, swimming in the massive pool in the backyard, and making food in the kitchen.
Tank never seemed to eat, which was strange—I would think that a man with the muscular physique he had would be gobbling down steak by the pound. But if he did, I never saw it. After I started to feel lazy doing nothing, I began to make little thises and thats in the kitchen, using my phone as a recipe book. I couldn’t connect to any social media using the phone, but I could look up things like cooking websites. A first, I began to make stuff for me for lunch. Nothing crazy—just sandwiches and soups. After a day or two of this, however, I started thinking about Tank. Was he just one of those guys who was so busy that he never ate?
Maybe I could do something about that.
One day during the afternoon, I pulled a massive slab of frozen steak out of the freezer. Once it was thawed, I set to work making a nice little dinner. I prepared the steak garlic and butter style, and to go along with it I made some potatoes au gratin and roasted vegetables. Once it was done, I covered it up, set a note next to it letting him know it was for him, and began to prepare for our evening routine.
Once we were done and I was lying on the couch in a blissed-out mess, I heard him walk down the hallway as he usually did. But this time, he stopped in front of the kitchen. I heard him walk into it, and a few moments later leave. When he had gone up the stairs, I scampered to the kitchen, not even bothering to put on my underwear. Sure enough, the food was gone. All that remained was the bottle cap from a beer that he’d taken from the fridge.
As I stood there, a little pleased smile on my face, a disturbing thought entered my mind: I hadn’t been thinking about escape. Not once in the last few days had I done a single thing about my plan to get the hell out of this prison I was in. My thoughts had been consumed by Tank, whether thinking of ways to please him or getting myself off to the idea of him fucking me.
Standing at the entrance of the kitchen, I made a vow to not give up my freedom so easily.
But try as I might to summon it, the will just wasn’t there.