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Anger Management (f/f, executive, non-consensual, humiliation)
- Thread starter quinn65
- Start date
powerplay110
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I must agree with all the above… hot shot Monica’s punishment is sexy and hot as well to read…
TickledCurious
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Damn...we need to see levels 2, 3, and 4 in serious action. The suspense is killing me
quinn65
3rd Level Red Feather
- Joined
- Sep 30, 2001
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- 83
Sorry for having my priorities out of line, but I got distracted over the holidays playing with Chat GPT.
Here's the result; I was really pleased with it. Wish I could take full credit.
Here's the result; I was really pleased with it. Wish I could take full credit.
quinn65
3rd Level Red Feather
- Joined
- Sep 30, 2001
- Messages
- 1,511
- Points
- 83
Thanks, I appreciate all the comments. I'm trying to finish up another project in the true stories forum first, and then I'll get back to this one. In a perfect world I'd turn this into a series...lots of ideas floating around in my head.
Those foot pic illustrations look too familiar 😂
quinn65
3rd Level Red Feather
- Joined
- Sep 30, 2001
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- 1,511
- Points
- 83
Anger Management, Part 8
Emma backed off before Monica could hyperventilate. The blonde attorney was a wreck, her face red, her breath chuffing, and a desperate helpless smile lingered on her face, which was sore from the strain of laughing. She seemed surprised to have caught a breath.
Monica shook her head and looked up to find Emma annoyingly, happily, and patiently staring back at her, eyebrows raised with a look of anticipation. She wanted to be angry and defiant, but she knew the girl had broken her.
“Okay, Emma, please stop! PLEASE stop! I can’t take this any more. I’m losing my mind!”
Emma bounced on her toes and clapped as she beamed at her captive. “That’s what I wanted to hear! Ooh Monica you are so much fun!”
A gruff voice came from the computer’s speakers. "Zastav' yeye umolyat' o chetvyortoy stadii!"
Emma’s brows knit in annoyance as she turned and replied. "Terpite, izvrashtsentsy, ya uzhe pochti tam."
“What are they saying?” Monica asked.
“Ah,” Emma replied, “the old perverts want you to beg for stage four.”
Monica dropped her head on the pillow in resignation. “And what is stage four?”
Emma watched Monica appraisingly. “Well, lapochka, I’m afraid it gets a bit more pornographic from here.”
Somehow Monica wasn’t surprised. She wriggled her shoulders and flexed her trapped feet. “Spit it out, then.”
“In stage four,” Emma explained, smiling, “I will hang you from the ceiling here and force you to cum. Many, many times.”
Monica’s head shot up again, a blush creeping over her cheeks. “And I’m supposed to beg for this? Fat chance.”
Emma sat by the table and rested her chin on her hands. “I’m afraid my instructions are very clear. You must beg for me to start, and then beg for me to keep going. We need a finale for our video.”
“Listen, Emma,” Monica explained. “You’ve proven you can make me laugh, but I’m not sure how you expect to make me cum. That’s at least one thing I control.”
“Oh no, Monica, I’m afraid you don’t.” Emma turned to her valise and withdrew what looked like a bra and panty set of black lace lingerie. She placed them in a loose tangle next to Monica on the table.
On closer inspection, Monica saw the lace mesh was made of thin wires.
Retrieving more gear, Emma turned back and laid two small round devices that looked like washers on the table alongside an arched, palm-sized device. The device sported two protuberances along its inner curve that reminded Monica crazily of cabinet handles. But she knew what they were for.
“These little round dudes,” Emma explained, “will fit over your nipples. They do all kinds of tricks. And this guy,” she picked up the device, “goes between your legs, of course." She tapped the larger cabinet handle, "This is for your pussy;” she tapped the smaller one, "and this is for your ass.”
Monica swallowed, her eyes wide. “I suppose those do tricks as well?”
“Ohhh,” Emma gushed, “you have no idea! This is our latest sexual torture tech. You’re going to love it!”
“Emma, be serious,” Monica kept her tone level and reasonable. “One, I will not cum for you, full stop. You can’t force a person to orgasm against their will. Two, I don’t care what you do, I will neither beg for this to happen nor will I beg for you to continue.”
“Mm-hmm,” Emma nodded patiently. “Is there a three?”
“Three,” Monica finished, “good luck getting those things on me wrapped up like this.”
“Well, three I can agree with,” Emma said. “Which is why you’re going to sleep for a bit.” She reached under the table and pulled up the facepiece from an oxygen mask, attached to a thin hose. Monica struggled and thrashed, but couldn’t stop Emma from slipping it over her head.
The last thing Monica heard was a faint hiss.
More to come… (ha!)
Emma backed off before Monica could hyperventilate. The blonde attorney was a wreck, her face red, her breath chuffing, and a desperate helpless smile lingered on her face, which was sore from the strain of laughing. She seemed surprised to have caught a breath.
Monica shook her head and looked up to find Emma annoyingly, happily, and patiently staring back at her, eyebrows raised with a look of anticipation. She wanted to be angry and defiant, but she knew the girl had broken her.
“Okay, Emma, please stop! PLEASE stop! I can’t take this any more. I’m losing my mind!”
Emma bounced on her toes and clapped as she beamed at her captive. “That’s what I wanted to hear! Ooh Monica you are so much fun!”
A gruff voice came from the computer’s speakers. "Zastav' yeye umolyat' o chetvyortoy stadii!"
Emma’s brows knit in annoyance as she turned and replied. "Terpite, izvrashtsentsy, ya uzhe pochti tam."
“What are they saying?” Monica asked.
“Ah,” Emma replied, “the old perverts want you to beg for stage four.”
Monica dropped her head on the pillow in resignation. “And what is stage four?”
Emma watched Monica appraisingly. “Well, lapochka, I’m afraid it gets a bit more pornographic from here.”
Somehow Monica wasn’t surprised. She wriggled her shoulders and flexed her trapped feet. “Spit it out, then.”
“In stage four,” Emma explained, smiling, “I will hang you from the ceiling here and force you to cum. Many, many times.”
Monica’s head shot up again, a blush creeping over her cheeks. “And I’m supposed to beg for this? Fat chance.”
Emma sat by the table and rested her chin on her hands. “I’m afraid my instructions are very clear. You must beg for me to start, and then beg for me to keep going. We need a finale for our video.”
“Listen, Emma,” Monica explained. “You’ve proven you can make me laugh, but I’m not sure how you expect to make me cum. That’s at least one thing I control.”
“Oh no, Monica, I’m afraid you don’t.” Emma turned to her valise and withdrew what looked like a bra and panty set of black lace lingerie. She placed them in a loose tangle next to Monica on the table.
On closer inspection, Monica saw the lace mesh was made of thin wires.
Retrieving more gear, Emma turned back and laid two small round devices that looked like washers on the table alongside an arched, palm-sized device. The device sported two protuberances along its inner curve that reminded Monica crazily of cabinet handles. But she knew what they were for.
“These little round dudes,” Emma explained, “will fit over your nipples. They do all kinds of tricks. And this guy,” she picked up the device, “goes between your legs, of course." She tapped the larger cabinet handle, "This is for your pussy;” she tapped the smaller one, "and this is for your ass.”
Monica swallowed, her eyes wide. “I suppose those do tricks as well?”
“Ohhh,” Emma gushed, “you have no idea! This is our latest sexual torture tech. You’re going to love it!”
“Emma, be serious,” Monica kept her tone level and reasonable. “One, I will not cum for you, full stop. You can’t force a person to orgasm against their will. Two, I don’t care what you do, I will neither beg for this to happen nor will I beg for you to continue.”
“Mm-hmm,” Emma nodded patiently. “Is there a three?”
“Three,” Monica finished, “good luck getting those things on me wrapped up like this.”
“Well, three I can agree with,” Emma said. “Which is why you’re going to sleep for a bit.” She reached under the table and pulled up the facepiece from an oxygen mask, attached to a thin hose. Monica struggled and thrashed, but couldn’t stop Emma from slipping it over her head.
The last thing Monica heard was a faint hiss.
More to come… (ha!)
Last edited:
quinn65
3rd Level Red Feather
- Joined
- Sep 30, 2001
- Messages
- 1,511
- Points
- 83
Anger Management, Part 9
Monica was dreaming again. This time, she was buried, but somehow, miraculously, she could breathe under the soil. She could almost marvel at the oddity of it, until she felt bugs beginning to crawl all over her skin, from her shoulders to her toes. She had to dig out before they reached her face! She had to…
“Monica! Monica? Come on lapochka, it’s time to wake up and dance!” Emma was gently slapping Monica’s cheek when she suddenly snapped awake, almost hyper-alert.
Emma jumped back. “Well hello! It looks like our little cocktail has kicked in. Welcome back to the living!” She pulled on some kind of cable, lifting Monica’s crossed and cuffed wrists into the air above her head.
“What did you…?” Energy and awareness surged through Monica’s body. She felt like she could run a marathon, or lift a car…if her legs weren’t heavily strapped down. She looked frantically side to side and behind her, taking in her new predicament.
She was kneeling on a high sturdy wood table, her knees spread apart not uncomfortably and resting on soft cushions that extended down for her shins. Her lower legs from the backs of her knees to her ankles were crisscrossed with thin straps, immobilizing them and leaving her feet hanging off the table’s edge, toes pointed down.
She was wearing only the bikini “lingerie” that Emma had shown her earlier, now integrated with the devices, but still fully revealing. Her nipples were ringed snugly by two wide black rings wired into the mesh atop the generous swell of her breasts, and as she shifted her hips, she felt a fullness in her ass and pussy where the other device had been inserted, as Emma had promised. The energy pulsing through her body seemed also to juice her nervous system, focusing her awareness on these sensations.
Emma left a bit of slack in the cable pulling her wrists up. “The audience wants to see your moves,” she explained as Monica tested the tension. Although her legs were securely anchored, she found she could lower and raise her hips and swing them side to side.
Her heart dropped as she heard cheers and whistles over the speakers in response to her movements.
“Careful with those hips, girl,” Emma warned. “You’ll give the old men heart attacks.” As she spoke, three computer screens in front of Monica flickered on. The center screen showed Monica from the front, lit tastefully, looking like a schoolboy's bondage porn fantasy. On the left screen she could see the room she was in, with Emma moving about making final preparations. The screen on the right showed a pull-away view of the vast sitting room at Prokhorov’s retreat, his friends relaxing on couches arrayed comfortably around an enormous flat screen television displaying the center image in front of her.
Monica blushed to her core, and fumed.
She noticed that her hair had been fixed and artfully tousled, and her makeup applied expertly, if a bit sluttily. “You did my hair and makeup?” she asked Emma evenly.
“I am a full service torturer,” came Emma’s bubbly reply. She seemed radiantly happy, much to Monica’s dismay.
The camera for the screen displaying the torture room must have been back over Monica’s right shoulder and high up, showing her from behind with Emma’s workstation organized on a shallow tray below the level of her toes. There was Emma’s laptop, but more disturbingly, Monica could see thin wires trailing from her "outfit" down to a series of blocky looking controllers complete with dials and blinking red lights.
“What are you going to do to me?” she finally asked, her heart pounding. Emma was now settling herself on a stool in the pool of shadows behind her captive, between Monica’s feet.
“Only what you ask me to, lapochka,” came the reply. “Remember, you have some begging to do.”
More whistles from Prokhorov’s friends.
“And if I refuse?” Monica asked haughtily.
“Well then, I would ask you to consider two things,” Emma explained, clearly enjoying herself. “One, you’ve probably noticed that your skin feels a bit tingly. That’s the X you just took, laced with some Venlafaxine, a powerful serotonin reuptake modulator. All of your nerve endings are going to be at full attention for the next hour or so. And two, your feet are right here, and I’m about to start tickling them again.”
Monica could feel her skin humming. Just the thought of more tickling made her flinch and squirm, but her feet were held fast to the table’s edge.
“And I will keep tickling them,” Emma continued, “until you beg me to make you cum, and sound like you really mean it.”
Monica clenched her jaw. “I don’t think you—ohhhWAAAHAHAHAHAHA JESUS CHRIST!!!”
“Pretty intense, huh?” Emma chirped. As she drew her nails back, Monica’s feet were flailing and curling wildly.
On the center screen, Monica could see a flash of white teeth in the gloom behind her as Emma smiled.
Monica flinched as Emma placed the flats of her hands on her squirming soles. “Now here’s the game. I will tickle your feet and stop every so often, when I feel like it. When I stop, I need to hear you begging me to make you cum. You need to beg hard, and it needs to sound real, or I will just start tickling again.”
“That’s hardly—AAIIEEEE NONONO HAHAHHAHAHA!!! …GodDAMNit!”
“Let me be clear, Monica. I don’t want to hear any questions, or comments, or complaints. I only want to hear you beg.”
Monica stubbornly started to object again as Emma dug her nails in and tickled away. If I were capable of feeling sorry for someone, Emma thought as the attorney’s howls shook the room, surely now would be the time. With her nervous system amped, Monica’s laughter was raw and panicked, ripped from the roots of her soul. Emma had seen men and women waterboarded who suffered less.
Yet she kept tickling as the poor woman thrashed and screamed for it to stop.
Finally she relented. “Anything you’d like to say to me?” she asked sweetly.
“Pleeease Emma pleeeeease, oh my God please make me cum! I’ll do anything JUST MAKE ME CUM!!!”
Huge cheers broke over the computer, and Emma’s heart swelled. “I’d say that does it!” she almost sang, flicking a row of switches on her controllers.
The sensation of tears running down Monica's face was exquisite, she realized as she recovered.
Then, suddenly, she felt a new tingle.
More to come…
Monica was dreaming again. This time, she was buried, but somehow, miraculously, she could breathe under the soil. She could almost marvel at the oddity of it, until she felt bugs beginning to crawl all over her skin, from her shoulders to her toes. She had to dig out before they reached her face! She had to…
“Monica! Monica? Come on lapochka, it’s time to wake up and dance!” Emma was gently slapping Monica’s cheek when she suddenly snapped awake, almost hyper-alert.
Emma jumped back. “Well hello! It looks like our little cocktail has kicked in. Welcome back to the living!” She pulled on some kind of cable, lifting Monica’s crossed and cuffed wrists into the air above her head.
“What did you…?” Energy and awareness surged through Monica’s body. She felt like she could run a marathon, or lift a car…if her legs weren’t heavily strapped down. She looked frantically side to side and behind her, taking in her new predicament.
She was kneeling on a high sturdy wood table, her knees spread apart not uncomfortably and resting on soft cushions that extended down for her shins. Her lower legs from the backs of her knees to her ankles were crisscrossed with thin straps, immobilizing them and leaving her feet hanging off the table’s edge, toes pointed down.
She was wearing only the bikini “lingerie” that Emma had shown her earlier, now integrated with the devices, but still fully revealing. Her nipples were ringed snugly by two wide black rings wired into the mesh atop the generous swell of her breasts, and as she shifted her hips, she felt a fullness in her ass and pussy where the other device had been inserted, as Emma had promised. The energy pulsing through her body seemed also to juice her nervous system, focusing her awareness on these sensations.
Emma left a bit of slack in the cable pulling her wrists up. “The audience wants to see your moves,” she explained as Monica tested the tension. Although her legs were securely anchored, she found she could lower and raise her hips and swing them side to side.
Her heart dropped as she heard cheers and whistles over the speakers in response to her movements.
“Careful with those hips, girl,” Emma warned. “You’ll give the old men heart attacks.” As she spoke, three computer screens in front of Monica flickered on. The center screen showed Monica from the front, lit tastefully, looking like a schoolboy's bondage porn fantasy. On the left screen she could see the room she was in, with Emma moving about making final preparations. The screen on the right showed a pull-away view of the vast sitting room at Prokhorov’s retreat, his friends relaxing on couches arrayed comfortably around an enormous flat screen television displaying the center image in front of her.
Monica blushed to her core, and fumed.
She noticed that her hair had been fixed and artfully tousled, and her makeup applied expertly, if a bit sluttily. “You did my hair and makeup?” she asked Emma evenly.
“I am a full service torturer,” came Emma’s bubbly reply. She seemed radiantly happy, much to Monica’s dismay.
The camera for the screen displaying the torture room must have been back over Monica’s right shoulder and high up, showing her from behind with Emma’s workstation organized on a shallow tray below the level of her toes. There was Emma’s laptop, but more disturbingly, Monica could see thin wires trailing from her "outfit" down to a series of blocky looking controllers complete with dials and blinking red lights.
“What are you going to do to me?” she finally asked, her heart pounding. Emma was now settling herself on a stool in the pool of shadows behind her captive, between Monica’s feet.
“Only what you ask me to, lapochka,” came the reply. “Remember, you have some begging to do.”
More whistles from Prokhorov’s friends.
“And if I refuse?” Monica asked haughtily.
“Well then, I would ask you to consider two things,” Emma explained, clearly enjoying herself. “One, you’ve probably noticed that your skin feels a bit tingly. That’s the X you just took, laced with some Venlafaxine, a powerful serotonin reuptake modulator. All of your nerve endings are going to be at full attention for the next hour or so. And two, your feet are right here, and I’m about to start tickling them again.”
Monica could feel her skin humming. Just the thought of more tickling made her flinch and squirm, but her feet were held fast to the table’s edge.
“And I will keep tickling them,” Emma continued, “until you beg me to make you cum, and sound like you really mean it.”
Monica clenched her jaw. “I don’t think you—ohhhWAAAHAHAHAHAHA JESUS CHRIST!!!”
“Pretty intense, huh?” Emma chirped. As she drew her nails back, Monica’s feet were flailing and curling wildly.
On the center screen, Monica could see a flash of white teeth in the gloom behind her as Emma smiled.
Monica flinched as Emma placed the flats of her hands on her squirming soles. “Now here’s the game. I will tickle your feet and stop every so often, when I feel like it. When I stop, I need to hear you begging me to make you cum. You need to beg hard, and it needs to sound real, or I will just start tickling again.”
“That’s hardly—AAIIEEEE NONONO HAHAHHAHAHA!!! …GodDAMNit!”
“Let me be clear, Monica. I don’t want to hear any questions, or comments, or complaints. I only want to hear you beg.”
Monica stubbornly started to object again as Emma dug her nails in and tickled away. If I were capable of feeling sorry for someone, Emma thought as the attorney’s howls shook the room, surely now would be the time. With her nervous system amped, Monica’s laughter was raw and panicked, ripped from the roots of her soul. Emma had seen men and women waterboarded who suffered less.
Yet she kept tickling as the poor woman thrashed and screamed for it to stop.
Finally she relented. “Anything you’d like to say to me?” she asked sweetly.
“Pleeease Emma pleeeeease, oh my God please make me cum! I’ll do anything JUST MAKE ME CUM!!!”
Huge cheers broke over the computer, and Emma’s heart swelled. “I’d say that does it!” she almost sang, flicking a row of switches on her controllers.
The sensation of tears running down Monica's face was exquisite, she realized as she recovered.
Then, suddenly, she felt a new tingle.
More to come…
Last edited:
quinn65
3rd Level Red Feather
- Joined
- Sep 30, 2001
- Messages
- 1,511
- Points
- 83
Anger Management, Part 10
“aaaaAAAHHHHAHAhaahaaaa…” Monica couldn’t help the noise she made as her nipples began to throb. She twisted her shoulders, but something in those little rings was pulsing and squeezing, and she couldn’t stop it.
“Mmm-hmm,” Emma said. “Told ya! And that was the lowest setting of the easiest thing I can do to you now!”
The nipple massage stopped abruptly. Monica tried to gain some footing. “What the…!?”
“Isn't it fantastic?” Emma beamed. “It's like I have a control panel back here for your entire body!”
It occurred to Monica that Emma might be crazy. A sexual sadist. The thought made her pull futilely at her cuffed wrists.
“Oh you're not going anywhere, miss Ice Queen,” Emma crooned, “miss ‘no one can make me cum.’ I am going to light you up like a Christmas festival, and then just when you're ready to howl, I'll turn it all off.”
Monica narrowed her eyes and set her jaw, a familiar look returning to her face. She snapped her head around to lock eyes with Emma, jerking sharply at the cable at her wrists over and over. “Well then I wish you’d shut the fuck up and get on with it!” she seethed.
“Oooh, there she is!” Emma beamed. “There’s that hate! Now, seriously, try to stay mad at me while I do this.”
Emma moved her hand, and something in the device between Monica’s legs opened up and drew her center into a warm, pulsing kiss. Monica felt a gentle rhythmic pressure begin to suckle and lap at her clit.
“Gahhh!!!” It was more overwhelming than sexual at first, but with her senses heightened Monica began to lose confidence in her ability to hold out. She spun around only to find her own image staring back at her, looking desperate and frustratingly sexy.
The sucking on her clit was relentless. As hard as she tried to master herself, she saw her image’s hips twitch… and something about seeing herself struggle triggered a low wave of sexual pleasure. A soft moan escaped her, and on cue her nipples began pulsing again.
“I heard that,” Emma purred from behind her. “How long do you think you can hold out before you orgasm, Monica?”
Monica couldn’t deny there was something sexy about Emma's voice, with the girl so obviously enjoying her helplessness and torture. She probably is a sexual sadist, Monica thought as she struggled. And I’m at her mercy.
Mmmmmm. That was kind of a delicious thought. Monica's hips started to sway.
Just think how excited she must be, seeing me now.
A stronger wave of pleasure washed over her, tingling across her throbbing clit and nipples.
“Were those goosebumps?” Emma asked happily. “Where's all that willpower, Monica? What are you thinking about?”
You, Monica thought, watching me. She bit her lip and moaned a little more. Who else was watching her?
The speakers were quiet. Monica’s eyes cut over to the screen at Prokhorov’s to find the room’s men and women silent and attentive toward her struggling form on the big screen. Even the bodyguards she could see were rapt, and some of the young working girls were leaning forward with interest.
Oh, that was hot. Another wave of pleasure coursed through her.
On the third screen she could see Emma, looking up at her intently, smiling softly, with her hand… Oh my God, Emma was masturbating to her. Monica gasped, and Emma looked up at the camera.
Monica couldn’t look away as her smiling tormenter bit her lower lip and rocked in her chair. With her free hand, Emma reached up and started ever so softly stroking Monica’s soles.
Monica gasped again and began to buck, losing control to the sensations overwhelming her. “Ah, ah, AH, AH, AHH!!!”
And then it all stopped.
“What? WHAT?!” Monica thrashed.
“Feel your skin right now?” Emma purred. Her voice was strained and breathy. “You won’t believe the intensity of your orgasm when it comes. Want me to keep going?”
Monica knew this was the begging they were looking for, but she was beyond resistance. “Yes…” she whispered.
“That didn’t sound like begging,” Emma scolded.
Monica’s hips twitched and rotated. She locked eyes with Emma on camera. “Come on Emma, please!”
Emma's smile was cruel. “Please what?” She teased Monica’s toes playfully.
“AAH-HA! Stop! Please make me cum, you evil bitch!!!”
“Perfect,” Emma crooned. “Now I ruin sex for you forever.”
“Oh…my…GOD!!!” Monica screamed. The device between her legs suddenly grew warm, pulsed, and clenched at once, causing her to buck in her restraints. A tingling enveloped her clit, and her nipples hummed.
Her settings locked in, Emma climbed up to kneel on the table and began running her nails from Monica’s shoulders to her thighs and back again. She licked and nibbled the back of the attorney’s neck.
Monica screamed again. Her orgasm would build and crest, only to build some more. Her hips gyrated wildly as she pulled on the cable at her wrists again and again.
When I come I can’t move, she kept thinking. I can’t stop it!
“It’s too much!” she screamed to Emma. “Please!!!”
Finally the dam broke, and kept breaking. Monica saw her back arch on screen and then she was outside her body, only aware of her helpless cries. At some point she was laughing—was Emma tickling her again?—and she was aware of the sounds of cheers and applause.
Then everything faded to black.
More to come…
“aaaaAAAHHHHAHAhaahaaaa…” Monica couldn’t help the noise she made as her nipples began to throb. She twisted her shoulders, but something in those little rings was pulsing and squeezing, and she couldn’t stop it.
“Mmm-hmm,” Emma said. “Told ya! And that was the lowest setting of the easiest thing I can do to you now!”
The nipple massage stopped abruptly. Monica tried to gain some footing. “What the…!?”
“Isn't it fantastic?” Emma beamed. “It's like I have a control panel back here for your entire body!”
It occurred to Monica that Emma might be crazy. A sexual sadist. The thought made her pull futilely at her cuffed wrists.
“Oh you're not going anywhere, miss Ice Queen,” Emma crooned, “miss ‘no one can make me cum.’ I am going to light you up like a Christmas festival, and then just when you're ready to howl, I'll turn it all off.”
Monica narrowed her eyes and set her jaw, a familiar look returning to her face. She snapped her head around to lock eyes with Emma, jerking sharply at the cable at her wrists over and over. “Well then I wish you’d shut the fuck up and get on with it!” she seethed.
“Oooh, there she is!” Emma beamed. “There’s that hate! Now, seriously, try to stay mad at me while I do this.”
Emma moved her hand, and something in the device between Monica’s legs opened up and drew her center into a warm, pulsing kiss. Monica felt a gentle rhythmic pressure begin to suckle and lap at her clit.
“Gahhh!!!” It was more overwhelming than sexual at first, but with her senses heightened Monica began to lose confidence in her ability to hold out. She spun around only to find her own image staring back at her, looking desperate and frustratingly sexy.
The sucking on her clit was relentless. As hard as she tried to master herself, she saw her image’s hips twitch… and something about seeing herself struggle triggered a low wave of sexual pleasure. A soft moan escaped her, and on cue her nipples began pulsing again.
“I heard that,” Emma purred from behind her. “How long do you think you can hold out before you orgasm, Monica?”
Monica couldn’t deny there was something sexy about Emma's voice, with the girl so obviously enjoying her helplessness and torture. She probably is a sexual sadist, Monica thought as she struggled. And I’m at her mercy.
Mmmmmm. That was kind of a delicious thought. Monica's hips started to sway.
Just think how excited she must be, seeing me now.
A stronger wave of pleasure washed over her, tingling across her throbbing clit and nipples.
“Were those goosebumps?” Emma asked happily. “Where's all that willpower, Monica? What are you thinking about?”
You, Monica thought, watching me. She bit her lip and moaned a little more. Who else was watching her?
The speakers were quiet. Monica’s eyes cut over to the screen at Prokhorov’s to find the room’s men and women silent and attentive toward her struggling form on the big screen. Even the bodyguards she could see were rapt, and some of the young working girls were leaning forward with interest.
Oh, that was hot. Another wave of pleasure coursed through her.
On the third screen she could see Emma, looking up at her intently, smiling softly, with her hand… Oh my God, Emma was masturbating to her. Monica gasped, and Emma looked up at the camera.
Monica couldn’t look away as her smiling tormenter bit her lower lip and rocked in her chair. With her free hand, Emma reached up and started ever so softly stroking Monica’s soles.
Monica gasped again and began to buck, losing control to the sensations overwhelming her. “Ah, ah, AH, AH, AHH!!!”
And then it all stopped.
“What? WHAT?!” Monica thrashed.
“Feel your skin right now?” Emma purred. Her voice was strained and breathy. “You won’t believe the intensity of your orgasm when it comes. Want me to keep going?”
Monica knew this was the begging they were looking for, but she was beyond resistance. “Yes…” she whispered.
“That didn’t sound like begging,” Emma scolded.
Monica’s hips twitched and rotated. She locked eyes with Emma on camera. “Come on Emma, please!”
Emma's smile was cruel. “Please what?” She teased Monica’s toes playfully.
“AAH-HA! Stop! Please make me cum, you evil bitch!!!”
“Perfect,” Emma crooned. “Now I ruin sex for you forever.”
“Oh…my…GOD!!!” Monica screamed. The device between her legs suddenly grew warm, pulsed, and clenched at once, causing her to buck in her restraints. A tingling enveloped her clit, and her nipples hummed.
Her settings locked in, Emma climbed up to kneel on the table and began running her nails from Monica’s shoulders to her thighs and back again. She licked and nibbled the back of the attorney’s neck.
Monica screamed again. Her orgasm would build and crest, only to build some more. Her hips gyrated wildly as she pulled on the cable at her wrists again and again.
When I come I can’t move, she kept thinking. I can’t stop it!
“It’s too much!” she screamed to Emma. “Please!!!”
Finally the dam broke, and kept breaking. Monica saw her back arch on screen and then she was outside her body, only aware of her helpless cries. At some point she was laughing—was Emma tickling her again?—and she was aware of the sounds of cheers and applause.
Then everything faded to black.
More to come…
quinn65
3rd Level Red Feather
- Joined
- Sep 30, 2001
- Messages
- 1,511
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Anger Management, Interlude 5
“Monica!” Bud almost screamed into the phone. “My God, girl, we thought you were dead! Where are you?”
“I’m walking back to the car, Bud. Where the fuck is my driver?”
“Where the hell have you been the last four hours?”
“Cutting red tape with no cell phone signal. Don’t ask me to relive it.” Monica turned and saw a beefy young guy jogging toward her. “Ah, here comes the idiot driver now. I’ll be back in thirty, Bud. Get the team together.”
“We’re all here, Monica. They’ve been trying to prep without you.”
“Adorable.” Monica swallowed hard, hoping Bud wouldn’t notice. “Tell them to throw everything out. I have a whole new strategy.”
The end
(Look for Emma to return in future stories…)
“Monica!” Bud almost screamed into the phone. “My God, girl, we thought you were dead! Where are you?”
“I’m walking back to the car, Bud. Where the fuck is my driver?”
“Where the hell have you been the last four hours?”
“Cutting red tape with no cell phone signal. Don’t ask me to relive it.” Monica turned and saw a beefy young guy jogging toward her. “Ah, here comes the idiot driver now. I’ll be back in thirty, Bud. Get the team together.”
“We’re all here, Monica. They’ve been trying to prep without you.”
“Adorable.” Monica swallowed hard, hoping Bud wouldn’t notice. “Tell them to throw everything out. I have a whole new strategy.”
The end
(Look for Emma to return in future stories…)
Some of my favorite lines from this story:
-"It was odd to see her own foot bottoms like this. The screen’s detailed resolution showed fine webs of intricate creasing in the pale linen texture of her soles..."
-"It was cute to watch her feet strain in the toe ties while she raged."
-"...the lovely, untouchable Monica Seever slowly came undone, her frenzied screams and uncontrolled horselaughs leaving her dignity in a shambles."
-"...the form-fitting wraps holding her securely to the narrow table but emphasizing the size and defenselessness of the ticklish feet she took such pains to conceal."
-"His eyes passed over every camera view of Monica's unraveling. Her hands opened and clenched, shaking spastically against the black wrappings around her hips. Her toe-tied bare feet struggled and writhed under Emma's tickling fingers."
I also love:
-"Yes, her feet were ticklish. Unbearably so. It was a failing and weakness that she carefully kept private."
But I'd just like to say - specifically to ladies - having ticklish feet is not at all a failing and nothing to be ashamed of! Again, great story. I love the beautiful Monica. And I love women's ticklish feet!
-"It was odd to see her own foot bottoms like this. The screen’s detailed resolution showed fine webs of intricate creasing in the pale linen texture of her soles..."
-"It was cute to watch her feet strain in the toe ties while she raged."
-"...the lovely, untouchable Monica Seever slowly came undone, her frenzied screams and uncontrolled horselaughs leaving her dignity in a shambles."
-"...the form-fitting wraps holding her securely to the narrow table but emphasizing the size and defenselessness of the ticklish feet she took such pains to conceal."
-"His eyes passed over every camera view of Monica's unraveling. Her hands opened and clenched, shaking spastically against the black wrappings around her hips. Her toe-tied bare feet struggled and writhed under Emma's tickling fingers."
I also love:
-"Yes, her feet were ticklish. Unbearably so. It was a failing and weakness that she carefully kept private."
But I'd just like to say - specifically to ladies - having ticklish feet is not at all a failing and nothing to be ashamed of! Again, great story. I love the beautiful Monica. And I love women's ticklish feet!
StocksFan4991
Registered User
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- Oct 21, 2024
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- 3
- Points
- 3
Please please please make another Emma story.
The scenario with the mummification and tied toes was PERFECT.
I feel there is potential for future stories with her getting other powerful people (perhaps even celebrities) in the same predicament.
The scenario with the mummification and tied toes was PERFECT.
I feel there is potential for future stories with her getting other powerful people (perhaps even celebrities) in the same predicament.
