Chapter 2: Confessions Under Duress
The silence after Serena's climax stretched, thick with the scent of her satisfaction and Abe's ragged breathing. Sweat cooled on his skin where her thighs had clamped his head. He kept his hands locked on the headboard, knuckles bone-white, obeying her last command even as his body screamed. The taste of her lingered on his lips – sharp, musky, undeniable.
Above him, Serena shifted. A soft sigh escaped her as she stretched, muscles rippling in the moonlight filtering through the heavy velvet drapes. She didn't retreat far, settling back onto his thighs, her weight a familiar anchor. Her green eyes, luminous and sharp, opened and fixed on his face. There was no lingering softness from her release, only renewed intensity.
"Hands," she murmured, her voice rough but clear. "Still there. Good boy." Her fingers traced the damp line of his jaw, a mockery of tenderness. Then, she reached beside the bed, her movement fluid. The soft click of a small drawer opening broke the stillness. She withdrew something sleek and black, barely larger than her palm. A remote control.
Abe’s stomach clenched. He knew what was coming. He’d seen the device before, nestled in that drawer like a sleeping viper.
"Remember this?" Serena held it up, letting the dim light glint off its smooth surface. A predatory smile touched her lips. "Time for phase two." She shifted her weight, leaning forward to press a kiss, hard and possessive, against his mouth. It was over before he could respond. "Be still."
He felt her hands then, moving lower. Cool fingertips brushed the small of his back, tracing the curve of his ass. He tensed instinctively, bracing. The slick, unmistakable sound of lubricant being applied reached his ears. He gritted his teeth, staring fixedly at the ornate ceiling plasterwork. Pressure, firm and insistent, followed. A brief, sharp burn of intrusion, then the strange, full sensation settling deep inside him. The plug. Remote-controlled. A relentless engine waiting for her command.
Serena patted his hip. "All settled." She positioned herself again, knees bracketing his hips, hovering just above his straining erection. But she didn't sink down. Instead, she slid forward, her body moving with deliberate grace until she was once more poised directly over his face. Her damp heat radiated onto his skin, the scent of her arousal, mingled with the fading jasmine, flooding his senses anew. Her thumbs hooked into the waistband of his boxers, tugging them down just enough to expose the flushed, leaking head of his cock. "Comfortable?"
He groaned, a sound ripped from deep within his chest. "Serena... please..."
"Please what?" She lowered herself fractionally, letting her slick folds brush his lips. The contact was electric, maddening. Her thumb found the remote. A low, insistent buzz vibrated deep inside him, making his hips jerk involuntarily. "Ah-ah," she chided, pressing down slightly harder with her hips, pinning his head. "Stay put. Answer the question. Please what?"
"Please... let me..." He swallowed thickly, the vibration intensifying, buzzing up his spine, coiling the tension in his groin tighter. "Fuck... touch you... come..."
"Not yet." Her voice was calm, utterly in control. The buzzing subsided to a low thrum. "We have business first." She leaned closer, her breasts brushing his chest. Her breath was warm against his ear. "Clara."
Abe froze. Even through the haze of arousal, the name hit like ice water. Clara from Finance. The quiet one with the shy smile and the way her blouses always seemed just a little too tight.
"Clara?" Serena prompted, her tone deceptively light. She shifted her hips, grinding lightly against his mouth. The plug’s vibration surged back, stronger this time, making him gasp against her skin. "Tell me about Clara, Abe. What do you imagine when you watch her at her desk? When she leans over the copier?"
"Serena, don't..." he choked out, humiliation warring with the relentless thrum inside him.
The vibration intensified sharply, buzzing almost painfully deep. "Don't what?" Her voice hardened. "Don't make you admit it? Too late. I saw you looking. Tell me. Now. Or this buzz becomes… uncomfortable." She pulsed the remote again, making his back arch off the bed.
"Okay!Okay!" The words burst out. "She... she bends over the filing cabinet. Reaches for a folder... high up."
"Her skirt rides up?" Serena pressed, grinding down harder. "Show me her legs."
He squeezed his eyes shut. "Yes. Thighs. Smooth. Tan. The back of her knees..." The vibration eased slightly, a cruel reward.
"And?" Serena’s voice was a purr now, dripping with false sweetness. "What do you want to do? When you see those smooth thighs?"
The plug buzzed, a warning. "I... I imagine..." He faltered, the confession thick and shameful. "Pushing her skirt up higher. Higher." The vibration softened, encouraging. "Holding her hips... pressing against her..."
"From behind?" Serena clarified, her own breath hitching slightly. She was moving against his mouth again, slow circles. "Tell me."
"Yes." The word was a groan. "Holding her down. Feeling her... soft." The plug surged again, sharp and insistent, pushing him towards the edge. He gasped, hips bucking futilely. "Serena, I'm close... please..."
"Not yet," she hissed, lifting her hips just enough to deny him friction. The buzzing dropped to a low, maddening hum. "Keep talking. What else? What does Clara whisper?"
"Nothing!" Abe panted, desperate. "She... she bites her lip. Looks back at me... scared."
"Scared?" Serena sounded intrigued. She lowered herself again, letting his tongue find her clit. He groaned against her. "Or excited?" She pulsed the plug hard. "Confess."
"Excited!" he gasped, the vibration blurring his thoughts. "Her eyes... wide... dark... she wants it..." He was babbling now, the words spilling out under the dual assault – her taste, the relentless buzz deep inside, the unbearable pressure in his cock. "I want to... fuck her hard... make her scream... claim her..."
"Like you want to claim me?" Serena’s voice was tight, her own movements becoming more urgent against his mouth. The plug vibrated in a frantic, uneven pattern, mimicking the frantic rhythm Abe longed for. He was teetering, every muscle locked, sweat pouring down his temples. He could feel the tremors starting deep in his gut.
"Yes! God, Serena! Like this! Please!" His plea was raw, ragged.
She slammed down onto his mouth, grinding hard. The plug buzzed at its highest intensity, a punishing thrum. "Scream for her!" Serena commanded, her voice cracking.
Abe arched off the bed, a guttural cry tearing from his throat as release roared through him like a freight train. It was agony and ecstasy fused – the brutal denial finally broken, yet twisted by the confession forced from him, by the relentless vibration inside him, by the suffocating heat of Serena’s body smothering his cry.
As the last shudders wracked him, Serena lifted herself abruptly. The plug’s vibration ceased instantly. Silence crashed back, heavier than before. She looked down at him, sprawled and spent, his chest heaving, his face glistening with sweat and her wetness. Her expression was unreadable: fierce, satisfied, perhaps a flicker of something else – jealousy? Triumph? She wiped her glistening thighs with a corner of the sheet, her movements precise.
She flicked the remote once more. Not a buzz. A sharp, short click. The plug deactivated completely. Then she tossed the remote onto the nightstand beside the discarded silk camisole. It landed with a soft thud.
Without a word, she swung her legs off the bed. Standing tall in the moonlight, her naked form a silhouette of power, she glanced back at him. Abe lay utterly still, drained, the echoes of the plug and Clara’s imagined cries still ringing in his ears. Serena’s lips curved into a slow, enigmatic smile.
"Sleep," she commanded softly, the word hanging in the perfumed air like a threat. "We're not done with Clara yet." She turned and walked towards the en suite bathroom, the door clicking shut behind her, leaving Abe alone with the scent of leather, jasmine, and the cold, hollow ache of aftermath.
The bathroom door clicked shut. Silence crashed over Abe, heavier than the velvet drapes. His body felt like shattered glass – trembling, oversensitive, the ghost of the plug’s vibration still humming in his bones. Sweat cooled on his skin. The scent of jasmine and leather felt cloying now, mixed with the sharp, intimate musk clinging to his face. He kept his hands locked on the headboard, knuckles screaming, obeying her last command on pure, frayed instinct.
Cold tile. Running water. The muffled sounds from the bathroom were tiny invasions in the stillness. He slowly, painfully, uncurled his fingers from the carved wood. The ache in his shoulders was deep. He stared at the ceiling, the plaster swirls blurring. Clara. The name echoed, a sour note beneath the physical exhaustion. Shame prickled hot under his skin. He’d confessed everything, laid bare his private fantasies under duress. Under her command.
The water stopped. Silence again, thick and expectant. Abe braced himself. He didn’t look towards the bathroom door. He just listened. A drawer slid open inside. Closed. Soft footsteps on tile. Then, nothing.
The door opened without sound. Serena stood framed in the steam-lit rectangle, a silhouette backlit by the harsh bathroom light. A towel was wrapped loosely around her torso, tucked above her breasts. Her dark hair was damp, slicked back, revealing the sharp lines of her face. Water droplets traced paths down her neck, over her collarbones. She looked refreshed. Utterly composed. Her green eyes scanned him, taking in his sprawled, spent form, the white-knuckled grip finally released from the headboard. A faint, unreadable expression flickered across her face.
She walked towards the bed, the towel swaying with her hips. The scent of clean skin and soap cut through the lingering musk and jasmine. She stopped beside him, looking down. Her gaze wasn’t angry. It was… assessing. Calculating. Abe held his breath. What now?
"Turn over," she said. Her voice was clear, calm. Not a whisper, not a purr. A direct order. "On your stomach."
Confusion warred with ingrained obedience. His body protested, stiff and aching, but he rolled. The sheets were cool against his overheated skin. He buried his face in the pillow, inhaling the mingled scents of sex, sweat, and her perfume. He felt exposed. Vulnerable. The plug shifted slightly inside him, a dull, uncomfortable reminder.
Her weight dipped the mattress near his hip. He felt her hand, cool and damp from the shower, land firmly on the small of his back. Her fingers traced the curve of his spine, down to the base. He tensed, anticipating removal, relief, perhaps another command.
"Show me," Serena murmured. Her voice was low, deliberate. "Show me how you imagined it with Clara." Her fingers pressed, not removing the plug, but emphasizing its presence. "Show me how you wanted to take her from behind."
Abe froze. Show her? The humiliation was instant, scalding. It wasn’t enough to confess? She wanted a pantomime? "Serena..." he started, his voice muffled by the pillow.
"Show me," she repeated, her tone hardening. Her fingernails dug in slightly, just enough to sting. "How did you hold her hips? How did you push into her? Show me the fantasy, Abe. Make me see it." Her other hand moved, fingertips tracing the edge of the towel where it met her thigh. A silent threat. A promise of withheld touch.
A shudder ran through him. The plug felt larger, more intrusive. He pushed himself up slightly onto his knees, awkwardly, his body protesting. He kept his face down. He planted one hand firmly on the mattress near his shoulder, mimicking pinning someone. He gripped his own hip with the other, fingers digging in like he imagined holding Clara. He rocked his hips forward, a shallow, jerky thrust against the empty air, the plug shifting uncomfortably within him.
"Harder," Serena commanded, her voice sharp. "You said hard. Show me hard." Her damp hand remained on his back, a grounding, inescapable pressure.
He pushed himself up higher, gritting his teeth. He thrust again, more forcefully, driving his hips down. The movement jolted the plug, a sharp spike of sensation that wasn't quite pain, wasn't quite pleasure. He grunted, the sound raw. He pictured Clara bent over the filing cabinet, the smooth skin of her thighs, the imagined resistance. He thrust again, rougher, faster. "Like this," he gasped, the words torn from him. "Holding her... like this..."
"Did she struggle?" Serena’s voice was right beside his ear now. He hadn’t heard her move. "Did she try to get away?"
"Yes," Abe groaned, thrusting again, lost in the humiliating performance, the physical strain, the relentless internal pressure. "A little... she pushed back..."
Serena’s hand slid from his back. He felt the towel brush his hip as she shifted. Her cool fingers wrapped around his wrist, the one mimicking the hold on Clara’s hip. She pulled it back, forcing his arm behind him, pinning it against his lower back. Her strength was surprising. "So you held her tighter," she breathed, her voice vibrating against his skin. Her other hand landed on his shoulder, pushing him down flat against the mattress. Her knee pressed firmly between his spread thighs. "You controlled her." She leaned over him, her damp hair falling around his face, smelling of clean water and something sharp and herbal. "Show me control."
He was pinned again. Not by her grip on his wrists this time, but by her weight, her knee, the sheer force of her presence. He struggled instinctively, a brief, futile twist, but she held him easily. The plug pressed hard against his prostate. He gasped. The fantasy dissolved, replaced by the overwhelming reality of Serena above him, controlling not just his body, but the re-enactment of his own illicit desire. "Serena... please..."
"Let me see, Abe," she whispered, her lips brushing his ear. Her free hand slid down his flank, over the curve of his ass, fingers tracing the base of the plug. "Show me how you finished her." She applied subtle pressure to the plug, twisting it slightly. He cried out, arching involuntarily.
Driven by the command, the sensation, the raw exposure, he bucked beneath her. Not a controlled thrust, but a desperate, ragged movement. He imagined Clara’s cry, the surrender he’d fantasized about. "Like that!" he gasped, his voice cracking. "Hard... deep... claiming her..."
Serena made a low sound, almost approval. Her hand tightened on his shoulder. Her knee pressed harder between his thighs. She held him down through the frantic, simulated climax, his hips jerking uselessly against the mattress, the plug a cruel accomplice. Then, as the last shudder passed through him, she released his wrist. She lifted her hand from the plug. Her weight shifted.
For a heartbeat, Abe lay panting, utterly spent, face down, exposed and humiliated beyond words. The silence was deafening. He felt her move beside him, the mattress dipping. Heard the soft rustle of the towel being discarded.
Then, smooth, warm skin slid over his back. Her thighs bracketed his hips. Her weight settled firmly onto him, pressing him deeper into the mattress. Her heat, her scent – clean skin now mixed with the lingering jasmine – enveloped him. One hand braced beside his shoulder, the other tangled roughly in his hair, pulling his head back, forcing his face to turn towards hers. Her green eyes burned down into his, fierce and unyielding.
SHE MOUNTS HIM
Her green eyes burned down into his, fierce and unyielding. Her damp hair brushed his temple, smelling of sharp herbal soap now, cutting through the fading jasmine. She shifted her hips, the warm weight settling firmly onto him, pinning him face-down into the pillow.
“Look at me,” Serena commanded, tightening her grip in his hair. He turned his head further, straining, meeting that furious green gaze. Sweat beaded on his upper lip. Her free hand slid down his flank, over the curve of his ass, fingers finding the base of the plug still inside him. He flinched.
“Remember Clara?” she breathed, her voice low and dangerous. Her thumb pressed against the plug, a subtle, insistent pressure. “Remember how you wanted her?” She rocked her hips against his lower back, the heat of her core radiating through the thin towel still wrapped around her. He felt slickness even through the terrycloth. “This isn’t for her.”
She abruptly released his hair and sat back, kneeling astride his hips. Cool air hit his skin where her heat had been. He heard the soft rustle as she untucked the towel, letting it fall open. He couldn’t see, only feel the shift in the mattress, the new, naked weight settling back onto him. Her hands gripped his hips, fingers digging in. She lifted herself slightly, aligning herself.
He felt the first, hot brush of her against his lower back. Slick. Intentional. She dragged herself slowly down the length of his spine, leaving a burning trail of wetness. Lower. Over the plug. Pausing. He held his breath, muscles quivering.
Then she lifted herself higher, bracing one hand on his shoulder. He felt the air cool on his exposed skin. The plug hummed faintly for a second, a cruel reminder, then stopped. Her other hand guided him, fingers wrapping around his aching cock, slickening him with her own arousal. He groaned into the pillow, a desperate, muffled sound.
“Now,” she whispered, the word slicing through the thick air. Not a plea. An execution order.
She lowered herself.
The head of him pressed against her, met resistance, then slipped through impossibly soft, yielding heat. A gasp tore from Serena’s lips, sharp and involuntary. Abe arched, a low groan escaping him as her slick, tight heat enveloped the sensitive crown. She paused for a fractured second, suspended, letting him feel the sheer, overwhelming pressure.
Then she sank down in one relentless, smooth slide. No hesitation. Pure claiming.
He felt every inch of her hot, velvet inner walls stretching to take him, molding around his length, impossibly tight and slick. It was suffocating heat, a deep, encompassing pressure that stole his breath. She seated herself fully, grinding down hard, taking him to the hilt. Her inner muscles clenched instinctively around him, a powerful, rhythmic pulse that made him cry out. She gasped again, her hand tightening like a vise on his shoulder.
She held him there, buried deep, both of them trembling with the shock of full connection. Her breath hitched above him. He felt utterly impaled, consumed by her heat and weight and the lingering echo of her command. Now. The plug inside him felt secondary, almost forgotten against the overwhelming sensation of being sheathed so completely within her. Her slick walls pulsed again, a slow, deep contraction that drew a ragged moan from his chest. She shifted, just a fraction, adjusting, settling him even deeper, and the friction was almost unbearable.
“Mine,” Serena breathed, the word thick with possession and raw sensation. She began to move. Slowly at first, a deliberate, grinding roll of her hips, lifting only slightly before sinking back down. Each descent was a fresh shock of heat, a tight, wet slide. He could feel the drag and pull, the exquisite friction, the way her inner muscles gripped him with every downward stroke. He pushed his hips up instinctively, meeting her, seeking more depth, more friction. A low growl rumbled in her throat. She slammed down harder, faster, her rhythm becoming urgent, demanding.
Her hands braced on his back now, fingers digging into muscle. Her movements were powerful, driving, each thrust forcing the air from his lungs, driving him deeper into the mattress. The plug shifted with the force, pressing against his prostate with each powerful downward stroke. Pleasure coiled, sharp and dangerous, winding tighter and tighter. Serena’s breaths came in sharp gasps, her rhythm faltering only to surge again, harder, faster. The sounds of their joining filled the room – the slick slap of skin on skin, his choked grunts, her sharp cries. He was lost in the sensation, in the heat, in the relentless drive of her body claiming his.
The coil snapped. Pleasure detonated at the base of his spine, exploding outwards in white-hot waves. He arched violently, a strangled cry ripped from his throat as release crashed over him. He pulsed deep within her, body locking rigid, every muscle straining. Serena cried out above him, a sharp, high sound, her body clenching around him like a fist as his climax seemed to trigger her own. Her inner walls fluttered wildly, gripping him through the pulses. She rode him through it, grinding down, milking him, her own tremors shaking her frame as she pressed him relentlessly into the mattress.
Slowly, agonizingly, the tremors subsided. Her weight settled heavily onto him, her breathing ragged against his back. His own body felt liquid, utterly spent. The silence that followed was profound, broken only by their harsh breathing and the faint city hum outside the velvet drapes. She remained impaled on him, unmoving. He could feel the slick connection, the heat, the slow trickle down his thigh. Her fingers traced a lazy pattern on his sweat-slicked skin. Then, without a word, she lifted herself off him. The sudden loss, the cool air replacing her heat, was jarring. He collapsed, boneless.
He heard the soft pad of her feet on the carpet. The bathroom light flicked on, spilling a harsh yellow rectangle onto the rumpled sheets and his prone form. She stood in the doorway, backlit, a silhouette of tangled dark hair and smooth skin. She glanced back at him, a single, unreadable look. Her green eyes were still fierce, but something else flickered in them now. Satisfaction? Distance? She turned away.
The door clicked shut, leaving him alone in the velvet shadows, the scent of sex and jasmine heavy in the air, and the cold, hollow imprint of her absence.