One possibility

You walk into the bar. You don’t see me. I had texted that you should sit at the bar, order a drink.

Your phone vibrates. “I see you.”

You look around.

It vibrates again. “Stop looking for me. Look straight ahead.”

You do as you’re told.

You nurse your drink, feeling your cunt start to moisten. In anticipation? Of what? You don’t. Fucking. Know.

Another text. “Cross your legs.”

Another one. “Turn to your right.”

“Finish your drink.”

“Order another.”

“Drink it fast.”

Where am I? You start looking around again, but it’s too crowded. You can’t find me.

“Say yes to me.”

“What?” you text.

“Say yes to me. May I use you as I see fit?”

You think, “What the fuck is he going to do?” You text me, “Where are you?”

I text back: “I said say yes. Say yes. You will not see me until you say I may use you as I see fit.”

You think about it. You’re torn. “Yes,” you text. “Yes.”

“Take the elevator to 5. I’ll meet you there.” I text. “I’ll pay you back for your drinks. Don’t worry.”

“No. I don’t have any cash,” you text me.

“Then go to the bathroom,” I reply. “I’ll settle up while you’re gone. Touch yourself in there. Don’t come out for ten minutes. Don’t wash your hands. I’ll text you where to go next.”

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Before you’re all the way in the room, my arm is around your neck. “Ow!” you say.

“Pick a safe word,” I say. “Quick.”

You pick a word.

“Thank you. Now don’t say it again, please.”

“I won’t.”

I throttle your neck with my hand, lifting and pushing you against the wall.

With my other hand, I grab the back of your head, by your hair, and hold you an inch from my face.

“I’m going to hurt you now,” I say.

“Yes,” you say. “Hurt me. Please.”

I throw you down on the bed. I straddle you, choking you, hard. I pull your skirt up high, and start raining blows on your cunt.


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