Home Sweet Home

I was going to pay for what I had put him through. Pay for my luring and my poking. Pay for being Eve to his Adam. A caged man should be pitied, not provoked. Understood, not tempted. Given sympathy, not sass.

Unless, I need him to fuck me. Then quite certainly all bets are off.

I started out sweetly enough. Purring in his ear that I needed him. Rubbing up against him a moment too long. Telling him of the little string panties under my dress. He'd groan but not reach for that cage door. There are others, I'd tell him. Boys who will occupy my time, taste my kiss, fill my cunt. He smiled easily and said to have my fun. I circled his cage in contemplation and frustration. And then it dawned on me.

He is confident in his ownership. Pimp to my whore. The control over my fuck is his. I can be borrowed but not kept. Sampled but not had. Shared but not stolen. But what if another desires to stake claim. What if another is fucking my mind. And what if I am liking it.

I crouched down next to that cage of his and whispered these truths. His eyes met mine. I leaned in close enough to him to let the words of another man fill his ears. Words of possesion and control. Of my allowing it and giving in to it. And that's when he pounced. That's when I paid.

His lunge landed him squarely on top of me, heavy and growling. His hands were at my throat, or pinning my wrists. He slapped my face and my ass. He forbid me to close my eyes, forced me to acknowledge who was fucking me. He shoved my mouth onto his long cock and held me there till I pushed against him for air. He bit the inside of my tender thighs and gripped me harder if I struggled away. He called me his beauty as his fingers gripped handfuls of hair. He pierced me so deeply with his cock that I cracked and broke. He licked the sweat from my heaving chest and bent to kiss my lips. He slid two fingers into my pussy full of his cum and said my name. When I looked at him he took my swollen clit between his slick fingers and said one word. Mine.