Chapter 5: Late Night Shopping Spree
The bell above the boutique door chimed softly as they stumbled back out into the cool night air, a sharp contrast to the warm, perfumed haze inside. Connor’s legs felt like rubber, his skin still buzzing from Erika’s hands and the lingering thrill of exposure. He clutched the sleek black shopping bag, the contents feeling impossibly heavy for their size.
“See? Told you you’d look good in lace,” Erika slurred slightly, slinging an arm around his shoulders. Her breath smelled of tequila and mint. She leaned in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper that tickled his ear. “That old guy behind the counter couldn’t take his eyes off you. Probably jacking off in the back room right now.”
Connor flinched, a fresh wave of heat flooding his cheeks. He hadn’t noticed anyone else, only the feel of the velvet curtains against his back and the black mesh stifling his moans. “I didn’t see anyone,” he mumbled, focusing on the cracked pavement beneath his feet.
“That’s because you were too busy trying not to cum in your pretty new panties,” she laughed, giving him a rough, affectionate shake. “Don’t worry. I took care of it. Cash. No trace.” She patted the pocket of her leather jacket where her wallet bulged.
They walked in silence for a block, the only sounds the distant hum of traffic and the rustle of the bag in Connor’s grip. The alcohol was beginning to ebb, leaving a raw, exposed feeling in its wake. The reality of what had just happened—what he had let happen, what he had, in some secret part of himself, wanted to happen—started to settle in his stomach like a cold stone.
“You okay?” Erika asked, her tone shifting, losing some of its drunken edge.
He just nodded, not trusting his voice.
“Hey.” She stopped walking, turning him to face her under the jaundiced glow of a streetlamp. Her eyes searched his. “You got quiet. You’re not freaking out on me, are you? Because we can’t have that. Not now.” Her thumb stroked his jawline, a gesture that was both a caress and a warning.
“I’m not freaking out,” he said, and it was almost true. It was more a sense of vertigo, of standing at the edge of a cliff and realizing he’d already jumped a long time ago. “It’s just… a lot.”
“It’s supposed to be a lot,” she said softly. “That’s the whole fucking point. Now come on. Let’s get back. I want to see how that little toy fits.”
Back in the dorm room, the familiar sterility felt different, charged with the memory of the last time they were here together. Erika kicked the door shut and tossed her keys onto the desk with a clatter. “Okay. Let’s see the goods.”
Connor stood awkwardly in the center of the room, holding the bag. Erika flopped onto her bed and gestured for him to empty it. He upended the bag, and a spill of black lace, silk, and sheer mesh tumbled onto the linoleum. Among the delicate fabrics lay the small, unassuming box containing the vibrating plug.
Erika picked it up, turning the box over in her hands. It was sleek, white, and discreet. “High-tech,” she mused. “Remote control. Range of up to thirty feet. We’re gonna have some fun in lecture tomorrow.” She grinned at him, a wolfish flash of teeth. “Go on. Put it in. Let’s make sure the batteries work.”
His mouth went dry. Here, in the bright, unforgiving light of their room, the act felt more clinical, more deliberate than the drunk, frenzied groping in the boutique. He hesitated, his fingers trembling as he reached for the box.
“Do you need help?” she asked, her voice deceptively light. There was a challenge in her eyes.
“No,” he said, too quickly. “I can do it.”
He took the box and the smallest of the lace thongs into the bathroom. His reflection in the mirror looked pale, his eyes wide. The blonde extensions, now slightly tangled, felt like a costume. He undressed, his movements slow and clumsy. The lace of the thong was shockingly soft against his skin, a whisper of a touch that felt more intimate than anything before. He opened the box. The plug was smaller than the ones she’d trained him with, made of smooth, body-safe silicone. He lubed it up, his hands shaking, and pressed it in. The fit was perfect, a subtle, buzzing potential nestled deep inside him. He pulled the thong up, the lace framing the flared base, keeping it securely in place.
When he walked back out, he felt hyper-aware of the object inside him, a secret he was carrying in his own body.
Erika was on her feet instantly. “Turn around.” He complied, presenting his back to her. He felt her fingers hook into the waistband of the thong, pulling it down just enough to inspect her purchase. “Good. Fits perfect.” She tugged the lace back into place, her hand lingering on his ass. “Now, for the test run.”
She found the small, black remote on her desk. It looked like a key fob. She held it up, her thumb hovering over a button. “Ready?”
Before he could answer, a low, powerful buzz erupted from within him. It wasn't painful, but it was insistent, a deep, internal vibration that made his knees buckle slightly. He gasped, his hands flying out to steady himself against the wall.
Erika’s laugh was a dark, happy sound. “Whoa, steady there. Just the lowest setting.” She clicked the remote again, and the vibration intensified, shifting into a pattern of short, rapid pulses. It was maddening. Pleasure and overstimulation warred in his nervous system, making it hard to think. “Oh, this is going to be so much fun,” she purred, watching the way his body twitched with each new pattern she cycled through.
She finally turned it off. Connor slumped against the wall, breathing heavily, his face flushed.
“See?” she said, coming up behind him and wrapping her arms around his waist, her chin resting on his shoulder. She kissed his neck. “It’s just a little reminder. So you don’t forget who you are when you’re out there pretending to be someone else.”
The next morning, the buzz in his head from the tequila was nothing compared to the phantom memory of the vibration in his ass. He dressed carefully under Erika’s watchful eye: a simple, knee-length navy skirt, a loose-fitting sweater, and the lace thong holding the plug securely in place. The remote was in the front pocket of her hoodie.
“You look like a nice, quiet co-ed,” Erika said, adjusting his collar. “Very studious. No one would ever guess you’ve got a secret tucked up your skirt.” She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. This was a mission.
The walk to the lecture hall was agony. Every step, every shift of his hips, was a reminder of the plug. It wasn’t active, but its presence was a constant, looming threat. He felt like everyone could see it, like the outline was visible through his clothes.
The hall was vast, a steep amphitheater filled with the murmur of two hundred students. They found seats near the back, off to the side. Erika slouched down, pulling her hood up, looking every bit the bored student. Connor sat rigidly, his notebook and pen neatly arranged on the small desktop.
The professor, a droning man with a monotone voice, began his lecture on macroeconomic theory. Slides filled with graphs and equations flashed on the screen. Connor tried to focus, to let the familiar language of academia pull him back to a safer, simpler version of himself.
Then, without warning, the plug came to life.
It was on the lowest setting, just a gentle, insistent hum. He jerked in his seat, a sharp intake of breath hissing through his teeth. Erika, beside him, didn’t look over. She was staring straight ahead, her hand casually in her pocket.
He tried to ignore it, to focus on the Phillips curve, but the vibration was a relentless distraction. It ebbed and flowed, sometimes a steady pulse, sometimes a teasing pattern of stops and starts. He could feel his face growing hot. He clenched his muscles, trying to stifle the sensation, but it only seemed to amplify it.
A girl in the row in front of him turned around, giving him a curious look. He forced a weak smile and pretended to scribble a note. His handwriting was a frantic scrawl.
Erika leaned over, her voice a whisper. “You okay? You look a little flushed.” Her eyes glittered with malice and amusement.
“Please,” he whispered back, his voice strained. “Not here.”
“Why? Bored of the lecture? I’m just trying to keep you engaged.” She clicked the remote again.
The vibration jumped to a higher intensity, a frantic buzz that made his thighs tremble. He bit his lip, hard, to keep from making a sound. He was painfully, obviously hard, the erection straining against the lace of the thong and the fabric of his skirt. He had to cross his legs, praying the desk hid his lower body.
The professor droned on about inflationary pressures. Connor’s world had shrunk to the six inches between his legs. Sweat beaded on his upper lip. He was drowning in the sensation, each pulse pulling him deeper into a state of helpless arousal. He was on the verge, his body taut as a bowstring, every nerve ending screaming.
Just as he thought he couldn’t take it another second, as a helpless, choked sound escaped his throat, Erika turned it off.
The sudden silence inside him was almost as shocking as the vibration had been. He slumped forward, his head in his hands, pretending to be overcome with a sudden headache. His whole body was trembling with the aftershocks.
Erika patted his back, a mock-sympathetic gesture. “Rough night, huh? Maybe you should get some rest.”
He didn’t answer. He couldn’t. He just sat there, breathing raggedly, feeling the cool air of the lecture hall on his feverish skin. The professor’s voice was a distant murmur. The graphs on the screen were meaningless squiggles.
He had never felt more exposed, more owned, more utterly and completely hers. And as the terror of the experience began to recede, it was replaced by a dark, shameful, and undeniable thrill. He had survived it. He had taken it. And a part of him, the part that was now Connie, wanted to know what she would make him do next.
The final twenty minutes of class were a special kind of torture, a relentless anticipation that left him raw. Every rustle of paper, every cleared throat, felt like a precursor to the vibrator's return. He sat perfectly still, his muscles locked, waiting for the buzz that never came. Erika just stared ahead, a faint, knowing smirk playing on her lips as the professor dismissed them.
The scrape of chairs was a release. Connor stood on shaky legs, the plug a heavy, inert weight inside him. He didn't look at her. He just started walking, his steps quick and purposeful, leading her out of the hall and across the sun-drenched quad. The buzz of student life around them felt like it was happening on another planet.
"Where are we going, Connie?" Erika asked, easily keeping pace, her tone laced with amused curiosity.
He didn't answer. He pushed through the heavy brass doors of the library, the sudden quiet and smell of old paper and dust a shock to his system. He moved past the main circulation desk, past rows of study carrels, heading for the stacks in the back where the oldest, least-used books were kept. The air grew colder, the light dimmer.
He finally stopped in a narrow aisle between towering shelves of philosophy texts. It was a dead end, silent and forgotten. He turned to face her, his back against a shelf of Kant and Hegel. His heart was a frantic drum against his ribs.
Erika stepped into him, caging him against the books. "Well?" she prompted, her voice a low whisper in the profound silence.
His hands were trembling as he reached for the button of her jeans. "You didn't finish," he whispered, his voice hoarse. He looked up, meeting her gaze. "I want you to finish."
A slow, dark smile spread across her face. She didn't help him, just watched as he fumbled with the denim, finally freeing her cock. It was already half-hard, and the sight of it, here in this sacred, silent place, sent a jolt of pure lightning through him. He dropped to his knees on the worn industrial carpet, the musty smell of old paper filling his nostrils.
He took her into his mouth without hesitation, the familiar taste of her skin a grounding anchor. He worked her with a desperate focus, his tongue and lips trying to convey everything he couldn't say—the shame, the need, the terrifying gratitude for her ownership.
Erika let out a soft, shuddering sigh, her hand coming to rest on the back of his head. "Good girl," she murmured, her fingers tangling in his blonde extensions.
Then her other hand slipped into her hoodie pocket. He heard the faint click.
The plug erupted to life inside him, not on a teasing setting, but on the highest, most intense vibration. It was a brutal, immediate assault on his senses. He choked back a cry, his mouth still working on her, the dual sensations short-circuiting his brain. The world narrowed to the cock in his mouth and the violent buzz in his ass.
Erika began to move her hips in a slow, shallow rhythm, fucking his face as the vibrator devoured him from the inside. "That's it," she breathed, her voice tight. "Take it. Cum for me, you filthy slut. Cum on your pretty little skirt in the library."
It was too much. The command, the vibration, the sheer taboo of it all shattered his control. A broken, muffled sob escaped him as his body convulsed, pleasure tearing through him with violent, helpless intensity. He came, hard, the orgasm wracking him so fiercely he saw stars, his release soaking hot through the lace thong and into his skirt.
The vibrations stopped. The sudden silence was absolute. He slumped forward, his forehead resting against her thigh, panting and trembling, spent and utterly hollowed out.
Erika gently pulled herself from his mouth. She tucked herself back into her jeans, then knelt down in front of him. She wiped a stray tear from his cheek with her thumb. Her expression was unreadable, a mix of triumph and something softer, almost like awe.
"Look at you," she whispered, her voice rough. She hooked a finger under the damp hem of his skirt. "You're a mess." She leaned in and kissed him, deep and slow, a claiming that felt more final than any fuck. When she pulled away, her eyes were dark and serious. "Let's get you home."
The walk back to the dorm was a blur of shifting light and muffled sounds. Connor moved like a ghost through the bustling quad, hyper-aware of the damp lace clinging to his skin and the residual tremors in his thighs. Every burst of student laughter felt like a personal accusation.
Erika kept a firm arm around his shoulders, her grip both possessive and supportive. "You okay?" she asked, her voice softer than usual, cutting through his daze.
He just nodded, his throat too tight for words. The admission was already forming, a dangerous truth coiling in his gut. He didn't trust his voice not to betray the sheer, terrifying scale of what he felt.
Back in their room, the door clicked shut, sealing them in the familiar sterile silence. Connor stood frozen in the center of the floor, his arms wrapped around himself. The adrenaline had faded, leaving him hollowed out and raw.
Erika didn't push. She just watched him, leaning against the door, her gaze patient and unnervingly perceptive.
"It's okay if you're freaked out," she said finally, her tone matter-of-fact. "That was... a lot."
He shook his head, a sharp, jerky motion. "That's not it." He forced the words out, each one a struggle. "I'm not freaked out."
"Then what's with the statue impression?"
He took a shaky breath, his eyes fixed on a crack in the linoleum. "I don't... I don't want you to stop." The confession hung in the air, stark and undeniable. "It's messed up. I know it is. But I don't."
Erika was silent for a long moment. He could feel her studying him, weighing his words. Then she crossed the room and cupped his chin, forcing his gaze up to meet hers. Her eyes were dark and intense, but the corner of her mouth twitched in something that wasn't quite a smile.
"Good," she said, her voice low and definitive. "Because we're just getting started." She released his chin and trailed her fingers down his arm, taking his hand. She turned it over, examining his short, unremarkable nails. "These have to go, for starters."
He looked down at their joined hands, his plain fingers against her calloused ones. "What?"
"You think this is the final form?" she asked, a genuine laugh bubbling up. "Honey, no. The dress and the hair were phase one. You're ready for phase two." She let go of his hand and gestured to his face. "The makeup today is subtle. Cute. We're going for something you can't ignore. And these," she said, tapping his nails again, "are getting long, sharp, and very, very expensive."
"A makeover?" The word felt absurdly mundane, like something from a teen magazine, contrasted with the reality of their situation.
"An upgrade," she corrected, her eyes gleaming with possessive excitement. "Tomorrow. There's a place downtown. My treat." She leaned in, her voice dropping to a whisper. "I want everyone who looks at you to see exactly what you are. My masterpiece."
Connor's heart hammered against his ribs. The thought was terrifying. It was one thing to be her secret in the confines of their room, or in the anonymity of a dark boutique. It was another to walk through the world permanently marked, unmistakably altered.
But the thrill that shot through him was sharper than the fear. It was the same dark current that had pulled him under in the library stacks.
"Okay," he whispered, the word tasting like a surrender and a promise.
Erika’s smile was brilliant and triumphant. "That's my girl." She pulled out her phone, her thumbs already flying across the screen. "I'm booking the appointment now. No backing out."
He watched her, the finality of it settling over him. There was no going back to Connor after this. The boy from the privileged, toxic upbringing was being systematically erased, replaced by something entirely her creation. And the most terrifying part, the part that made his knees feel weak, was the fervent, undeniable hope blooming in his chest that she would never, ever stop.
The hope was a live wire in his chest, buzzing with the same terrifying voltage as the plug she’d controlled in the lecture hall. It left him breathless.
“No backing out,” Erika repeated, snapping him back to the present with the finality of her phone clicking shut. “Appointment’s at two. Until then, we’re getting you prepped.” Her gaze swept over him, analytical and cold. “You need to look the part before we even walk in the door.”
The department store was a cathedral of scented air and aggressively bright lighting. Connor flinched as they passed through the sliding glass doors, the blast of climate-controlled perfume making his head swim. He stuck close to Erika’s shoulder, a nervous shadow in his simple skirt and sweater.
“Relax,” she muttered, grabbing his elbow and steering him toward the cosmetics section. “You look like a deer in headlights. Own it.”
The makeup aisle was a dizzying spectrum of colors and promises. Counters lined with glossy black surfaces displayed powders, potions, and pencils in every conceivable shade. Sales associates with impossibly smooth faces glided between stations, their smiles sharp and assessing.
Erika marched straight to a high-end counter, her confidence a force field. “We need a full contour kit, a setting spray that could survive a nuclear winter, and a liquid liner that doesn’t smudge when you cry.” She shot a look at Connor. “Which you will.”
A woman with severe eyeliner and blood-red lips glided over. “Can I help you find something today?” Her eyes flicked to Connor, lingering for a beat too long on his Adam’s apple.
“We’re good,” Erika said, her tone leaving no room for argument. She began plucking items from displays with the ruthless efficiency of a surgeon selecting tools. “This. This. And two of that.”
Connor watched, mesmerized, as a small fortune in compacts and tubes accumulated in her basket. The names were foreign: ‘Dragon’s Blood’ red, ‘Wicked’ kohl, ‘Orgasm’ blush. Each one felt like a brick in the wall being built around his old self.
“You’re staring,” Erika said without looking up from a display of glittering eyeshadows.
“It’s just… a lot.”
“It’s armor,” she corrected, finally meeting his eyes. Her expression was deadly serious. “Now stop gawking and help me pick a highlighter. Do you want to look dewy or glazed?”
An hour later, they emerged from the store, a heavy bag of purchases swinging from Erika’s hand. The afternoon sun felt harsh and judgmental after the store’s artificial glow. Connor felt exposed, as if the shopping bag were a neon sign announcing his transformation to the entire world.
Back in the dorm, Erika dumped the contents of the bag onto her bed. A kaleidoscope of products spilled across the plain comforter. She dragged their desk chair to the center of the room and pointed at it. “Sit.”
He sat, his heart thumping a nervous rhythm against his ribs. The chair faced the large mirror on the wall, forcing him to watch his own wide-eyed reflection.
Erika stood behind him, her hands resting on his shoulders. Her face appeared next to his in the glass. “Lesson one,” she said, her voice low and close to his ear. “You’re not painting a face. You’re building one. My face. On you.”
She started with a primer, smoothing a cool, silicone-slick gel over his skin. Her touch was surprisingly gentle, methodical. “This is the canvas. Everything else is bullshit if the base is wrong.”
Next came foundation, a thick liquid she dotted across his forehead, cheeks, nose, and chin. She blended it with a damp sponge, patting and stippling until the faint stubble and minor imperfections of his skin disappeared under a flawless, matte finish. His face began to look like a mannequin’s, unfamiliar and smooth.
“Look at that,” she murmured, tilting his chin with a finger. “Connor’s already fading.”
He stared at the stranger in the mirror. His features were the same, but the texture was all wrong. It was like looking at a photograph of himself that had been heavily airbrushed.
“Now, the fun part.” She picked up a palette of dark powders. “Contouring. This is where we lie to people’s eyes.” With a narrow brush, she swept a stripe of taupe powder along the hollows of his cheeks, the sides of his nose, and his jawline. She blended it all with a swirling motion, her movements sure and precise.
The effect was subtle at first, then dramatic. His cheekbones seemed to sharpen, his nose appeared slimmer, his jaw more delicate. It was a trick of light and shadow, but it felt like magic. Like witchcraft.
“See?” she said, her breath warm against his temple. “We’re chiseling away the boy.”
She moved on to his eyes, tapping a neutral shade into his crease with a soft brush. “Look up.” She traced his lash line with a jet-black pencil, her hand perfectly steady. The sensation of the pencil dragging against his sensitive lid was intensely intimate. He held his breath.
“Now, the wings.” She switched to a liquid liner, its tip fine and sharp as a needle. “This is the hard part. Don’t blink, or I’ll stab you in the eyeball and you’ll have to explain that to the nurse.”
He forced his eyes to stay open, watching in the mirror as she drew two fierce, perfect flicks at the outer corners of his eyes. They transformed his entire expression, lending a sharp, feline intensity to his gaze.
“Mascara.” The wand whisked through his lashes, coating them in black, making his eyes look bigger, more defined. He blinked, the unfamiliar weight feeling strange.
Finally, she chose a lipstick, a deep, creamy burgundy. She applied it directly from the tube, her other hand cupping his jaw to hold him still. The color was rich and dark, a stark statement against the pale canvas of his face.
When she was done, she stepped back, her head cocked. She didn’t speak for a long moment, just studied her work.
“Okay,” she said finally. “Look.”
He leaned forward, his hands gripping the sides of the chair. The person in the mirror was a stranger. A beautiful, severe stranger with sharp cheekbones, smoldering eyes, and a cruel, dark mouth. It was a face that commanded attention. A face that belonged to Erika’s world.
His heart hammered, a frantic bird trapped in the cage of his ribs. The hope in his chest wasn’t just buzzing now; it was singing, a high, clear note of terrifying triumph.
“I don’t look like me,” he whispered, his voice cracking.
“You don’t look like Connor,” Erika corrected, her reflection smiling a slow, proud smile behind him. She placed the lipstick in his limp hand, closing his fingers around the cool metal tube. “Now. Your turn. You’re going to take it all off and put it all back on. Until you can do it in the dark. Until it’s your face.” She stepped back, her eyes roaming over his reflection with a critical gaze. “Now, shoes.”
She disappeared into her closet, reemerging with a pair of black patent leather heels. They were sky-high, the heels impossibly thin, and the toe box narrow and pointed. They were as far from his usual worn-out sneakers as a shoe could get.
He looked at the shoes, then at her, a frown creasing his brow. “I can’t walk in those.”
“Can’t or won’t?” she countered, holding them out to him. “You’ll learn. Besides, the point isn’t to walk in them. It’s to stand in them. To own them. To be owned by them.” She gestured for him to take them. “Try them on.”
He hesitated, then took the shoes.
As he slid his foot into the first one, Erika watched him with amusement, her arms crossed over her chest. “Come on, don’t be a baby. It’s just a shoe.”
The heel wobbled precariously as he tried to find his balance, his arms flailing like a newborn colt. She couldn’t help but laugh, a genuine, warm sound that filled the small room. “There you go.” She clapped her hands together, her eyes sparkling. “Now the other one.”
He switched feet, his face already flushed with exertion and embarrassment. He managed to get the second shoe on, but the effort left him teetering, his arms pinwheeling wildly.
“Hold on,” she said, stepping in to steady him. She grabbed his elbow, her grip firm and steady. “You’ll get the hang of it.
It just takes practice,” Erika said, her grip on his elbow firm and reassuring. She guided him to the center of the room, the polished surface of the hardwood floor gleaming under the harsh overhead light.
Connor took a deep breath and tried the heels again.
He wobbled, his arms flailing like a pinwheel, but he managed to stay upright. The heels were like stilts, lifting him up and away from the ground, making him feel unnaturally tall and precarious. His calves burned with the effort of maintaining his balance, and sweat beaded on his upper lip.
Erika stepped back, her eyes scanning him critically. “Good. Keep your core tight and your back straight.
Head up, shoulders back, and take small steps,” Erika instructed, her voice calm and patient. She walked around him, assessing his stance from all angles. “That’s it. You’re doing great.”
Connor focused on keeping his balance, his breathing shallow and rapid. He could feel a thin layer of sweat on his brow, a trickle of it running down his spine. The heels felt like they were lifting him off the ground, like he was balancing on stilts. Every step was a challenge, every movement a negotiation with gravity.
After a few more laps around the room, he was starting to get the hang of it. "Good now, back to the makeup. Apply it all once, then remove it and do a few more laps in the heels. If you're slow, I'll activate the vibrater, but I'll have a movie playing, what do you want playing in the back ground?" She asked Connor , a playful smile on her face.
"Anything," Connor said, his voice slightly trembling over the strain of maintaining his balance. "Something funny, I guess."
Erika nodded and pulled out her phone, tapping a few times before setting it on the desk. The opening credits of a comedy from the past decade started to roll, the familiar laugh track filling the room.
"Okay," she said, handing the makeup kit to Connor. "You know the drill. Make it perfect."
Connor took a deep breath, his hands shaking as he opened the kit. He looked at the mirror, studying the face that was no longer his own.
He'd done this once before, in the store, but under Erika's watchful eye, the stakes felt higher. He picked up the foundation brush, dipping it into the small pot of cream, then began to apply it to his face. He knew the basics from the store, but the reality of doing it himself was daunting.
Erika watched him silently, her arms crossed, a small smile playing on her lips. The room was filled with the familiar sound of the comedy playing in the background, its laughter a stark contrast to the tense silence between them.
Connor focused on each step, trying to mimic the way Erika had done it. He would stop and ask to clarify or ask her to check if he had done a step correctly, and after 2 more movies, sore calfs and a strange familiarity with the weight and feel of makeup. She sat beside him and helped him with makeup.
When they both looked immaculate, she selected a dress for Connie and gave her a set of comfortable flats.
"We're going out," she announced, her eyes gleaming with mischief. "Dinner's on me." Connor raised an eyebrow, already knowing better than to argue. He slipped his feet into the flats and followed her out the door, both of them leaving their identities behind in the dorm room.
As they walked through the bustling streets of the city, Erika looped her arm through Connor's, guiding him with confident purpose. The air was filled with the familiar scents of late-night food and the distant hum of traffic, but everything felt different with Erika by his side. She was a different person, and so was he.
"Where are we going?" Connor asked, his voice barely audible over the din of the city.
Erika looked up at him, a smirk playing on her lips.
"It's a surprise," she said, her tone implying that further questioning would be futile.
They walked in silence, the city lights reflecting off the smooth surfaces of Connor's makeup. He felt a strange mix of vulnerability and exhilaration, his heart pounding in his chest like a bird trapped in a cage. He could sense the looks they were getting—the stares, the double-takes, the whispered comments. But he didn't dare meet anyone's gaze. His world had narrowed to the feel of Erika's arm linked through his and the click-clack of their heels on the pavement.
They turned a corner, and the familiar landscape of the college campus gave way to a more sophisticated district lined with upscale bars and restaurants. The air felt charged with an energy that was both exhilarating and terrifying. This was Erika's world, and he was being ushered into it, transformed and barely recognizable.
The restaurant Erika chose was a dimly lit, intimate space with low lighting and a hushed atmosphere. It felt like stepping into a different era, a secret enclave where the rules of the outside world didn't apply.
The hostess, a tall, elegant woman with hair so perfect it could only be a wig, greeted them with a smile that was both welcoming and appraising. "Good evening," she said, her voice a low, sultry purr. "Two for dinner?"
Erika glanced at Connor, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "Yes. A private table, please."
The hostess nodded, her grip on the menu tightening slightly. "Of course. Right this way." She led them through the dimly lit room, past tables filled with couples in various stages of intimacy and conversation.
The air was thick with the scent of expensive cologne, perfume, and the subtle undertones of expensive wine and cigars. The hostess stopped at a table tucked away in a corner, shielded from prying eyes by a sweeping, velvet curtain. She pulled the chair back for Erika, who took a seat with a fluid grace. Connor fumbled slightly, his hip catching on the chair as he tried to sit down. Erika shot him a sideways glance, a hint of a smile playing on her lips.
The hostess handed them each a menu, the leather-bound pages embossed with gold lettering.
"Your server will be with you shortly." She gave a small nod and disappeared behind the curtain, leaving them alone.
Connor took a tentative peek at the menu, his eyes scanning the elegant script. He had no idea what half the items were, let alone how to pronounce them. He felt a flutter of panic in his chest, the same feeling he used to get when he was a kid and his parents took him to fancy restaurants. He looked up at Erika, his expression a silent plea for help.
She was already watching him, her lips curled in a knowing smile. She took his menu and placed it on the table beside her own, then signaled the hovering server. A young woman with an upswept bun and a severe black dress approached their table with an efficiency that suggested she had done this a thousand times before.
"Miss," Erika began, her voice low and commanding. "We'll start with the Champagne. The '95 Dom Pérignon, if you please. For our meal, I'll have the oysters, the foie gras, and the filet mignon, medium rare.
And the lobster bisque. Yes, it's for both of us. And bring extra napkins. We'll need them." She looked over at Connor, a smirk playing at the corner of her mouth. "Don't worry, I'll feed you."
The server nodded, making a note on her pad. "Anything else I can get you, sir?"
Connor shook his head, feeling a little dizzy. He wasn't sure he could eat anything, let alone all that. But he trusted Erika. She always knew best.
The server retreated, leaving them alone behind the curtain.
Erika reached for Connor’s hand, her grip firm and reassuring. “Relax,” she said softly, her voice a low murmur that seemed to carry across the table just for them. “You don’t have to do anything but enjoy the ride.”
Connor took a deep breath, trying to relax his tense shoulders. “I’m not used to this,” he admitted, his eyes darting around the opulent room. Erika squeezed his hand, a gentle, reassuring gesture. “That’s the point. You’re not supposed to be. You’re supposed to be here with me, enjoying the things you never thought you could. Or would.” Her voice dropped to a low, seductive whisper. “You’re supposed to be mine.”
The server returned with the champagne, a silver bucket filled with ice and a bottle of Dom Perignon. She poured two glasses, her movements precise and elegant, before sliding the bottle back into the bucket and placing it on the side table.
Erika raised her glass, her eyes locking onto Connor’s.
“To new beginnings,” she toasted, her voice filled with a dark promise. He clinked his glass against hers, a shiver running down his spine as their eyes held for a moment longer than necessary.
The server left them alone again, and Erika rested her elbows on the table, leaning in. “So, tell me, Connie,” she said, her voice playful but with an edge. “What do you think of your new life so far?”
He took a sip of the champagne, feeling the cool, bubbly liquid tingle on his tongue. “It’s…different,” he finally said, trying to find the right words.
“Overwhelming, but in a good way. I feel like I’m in a dream or something. Like I’m not really here.”
Erika smirked, her eyes glinting with amusement. “You are. And you’re doing great. Better than I expected, honestly.” She reached out and touched his face, her fingers tracing the line of his jaw. “You’re a natural at this. It suits you.”
Connor felt a warmth spread through him at her touch, at her words. He stared into her eyes, his voice barely a whisper. “I want to make you proud,” he admitted.
The words tumbled out before he could stop them, a confessional plea that left him feeling exposed and vulnerable. But looking into Erika’s eyes, he knew he had nothing to fear. She was proud of him.
She smiled, a slow, satisfied curve of her lips. “You do.” Her hand dropped from his face, but her gaze lingered, tracing the lines of his makeup. “You’re stronger than you think. More resilient. And you take direction well.”
Her words sent a shiver through him, a mix of pride and something deeper, something darker. He looked away, taking a slow sip of his champagne. The taste reminded him of home, of the love he could only get at a price, of the family that felt empty and cold. Transactional and cutthroat. All the things he couldn't be. All the things he was being forced to become.
Erika leaned back in her chair, her eyes never leaving his face. “You should drink more, Connie,” she said, her voice a low rumble. “You’re going to need it.”
Connor looked at his glass, the golden liquid glowing in the soft light. He took a sip, feeling the burn in his throat. The champagne was sweet and dry at the same time, a contradiction that mirrored his own existence.
“You know,” Erika said, her voice nonchalant, “I used to wonder what it would be like to do this. To have someone under my control.
To have them completely at my mercy, to be able to shape them into whatever I wanted. To have someone so completely, utterly mine. To have them wear my mark, not just on their bodies, but in their souls." She leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a husky whisper. "I wanted to own someone, Connor. And now I do."
Connor felt a shiver run down his spine at the intensity in her voice. He could see the flicker of desire in her eyes, the raw, primal hunger that lay just beneath her composed exterior. He looked down at his hands, his fingers tracing the rim of his champagne flute. "I'm glad," he said softly.
He wanted to say more, to express the strange mix of fear and exhilaration that was churning inside him, but the words stuck in his throat. He looked up at her, his eyes reflecting the soft glow of the candlelight. "I'm glad too."
The server arrived with their food, the plates heaped with expensive ingredients and decadent sauces. Erika took the lead, spearing an oyster and holding it out to Connor. "Open up," she commanded.
He obediently opened his mouth, and she slid the oyster inside. It was briny and cold, a shock to his system.
He chewed slowly, trying to savor the unusual taste. Erika watched him, her eyes intense and focused. She took a sip of her champagne, a small smile playing on her lips.
“Good girl,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “Now, your turn.” She held his gaze, he picked up her utensils following her cue. He cut a piece of foie gras, a rich, velvety delight that melted in his mouth and held it so Erika could take the bite . She chewed, her eyes on him, a small moan of pleasure escaping her lips. She took another sip of her champagne, her fingers tracing the outline of her glass.
“It’s creamy,” she said, her voice low. “Just like you.”
Connor felt a blush creep up his cheeks. He took a bite of his own, the richness overwhelming his senses. He ate slowly, savoring each bite, watching Erika as she fed him, amd for him to return the favor. The room around them seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of them, the food, and the champagne.
Erika fed him slowly, her eyes never leaving his, as if savoring every expression that passed over his face. He, in turn, did his best to mimic her care and attention, trying to anticipate her likes and dislikes. The act of feeding each other became a dance, a silent conversation between them that needed no words.
As they ate, the server brought out their main courses. Erika’s filet mignon was cooked to perfection, the meat tender and juicy. Connor's lobster bisque was rich and creamy, the chunks of lobster meat succulent and sweet. Erika cut a piece of her steak and held it out to him.
Connor opened his mouth, accepting it obediently. She fed him slowly, her eyes never leaving his, as if savoring every expression that passed over his face. He chewed, the rich, savory flavor of the meat filling his mouth.
“Good?” she asked, her voice a low murmur.
He nodded, swallowing the bite. “So good.”
She smiled, a satisfied curve of her lips. “I thought you’d like it. You always did have good taste.”
Connor took a sip of his champagne, feeling the warmth spread through him. The server came out holding a smaller menu , asking if they would like to see the dessert options. Erika declined without even looking at the menu. “We’re fine, thank you.”
As soon as the server was gone, Erika leaned in, her voice a low, contemplative murmur. “You know, I’ve always thought that the most powerful people are those who can control others without lifting a finger. The ones who can make someone do exactly what they want, just by a look, a touch, a word.” She reached out and traced the line of Connor’s jaw, her touch soft but deliberate. “Like a good horse whisperer.”
Connor felt a shiver run down his spine at the implication. Looking around, seeing no one looking, he slips under the table cloth and crawled towards Erika, slowly inching between her legs. He could feel her heat, could smell the musk of her arousal. He kept his eyes on her, her face a mask of pure desire.
She spread her legs wider, giving him more room, her skirt riding up to expose her bare thighs. Connor’s heart leaped in his chest as he glanced up at her, his fingers trailing up her inner thighs. He could feel the dampness of her panties, the heat searing through the thin fabric. He slips her hardening cock bringing it to his painted lips.
The scent of her musk fills his nostrils, primal and intoxicating. He licks her slowly, savoring the taste of her arousal, his tongue teasingly tracing the length of her shaft. He can feel her shaking with restraint, her hips twitching as she struggles to remain still.
Erika’s hands find their way to his head, fingers tangling in his blonde extensions as she guides his mouth. “That’s it,” she whispers, her voice thick with desire. “Take it deeper.”
Connor obliges, taking her in deeper, his lips pressed against the base of her cock.
He sucks hard, his cheeks hollowing as he works his way back up, his tongue swirling around the sensitive head. Erika groans above him, her hips bucking slightly against the chair.
“Fuck,” she whispers, her grip on his hair tightening. “You’re a natural at this, too.”
Under the tablecloth, the room is dark, the air thick with the scent of her arousal. The clink of glasses and the low hum of conversation from the other tables are muffled, as if the world outside their private cocoon has ceased to exist.
Connor’s mouth works diligently, the vibration of Erika’s whispered curses resonating through her cock and into his tongue. He feels her fingers tighten in his hair, guiding him with an unspoken rhythm.
“You like that, don’t you?” she murmurs, her voice a sultry whisper. “You like tasting me, you filthy cunt?”
The words send a jolt through him, a potent mix of shame and exhilaration. He nods as best he can, his face pressed against her heat, his lips gliding up and down her length. She responds with a low, approving growl.
"That's right. You're a good little whore, aren't you? A filthy little bitch that just can't get enough of my cock."
Connor's dick throbs at her words, his mouth watering as he sucks her deeper. He can feel the tension building in her, her hips moving in short, sharp thrusts. She's close. He wants to make her come, to taste her essence as she breaks apart under his tongue.
He redoubles his efforts, his head bobbing furiously as he takes her all the way down, his nose pressed into her crotch.
He can feel her trembling, her body stiffening, and he knows she's close. He sucks harder, his lips tight around her cock, and his tongue swirling around the head.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck," she chants under her breath, her grip on his hair almost painful. "That's it, you little slut. You're making me come."
He feels her cock pulse in his mouth, the first spurt of her release hitting the back of his throat. He swallows, his throat working as she comes, filling his mouth with her essence.
He keeps sucking, milking her for every last drop, until she finally pulls him away, her breath coming in ragged gasps.
"Fuck, Connie," she whispers, her voice hoarse with pleasure. "You're insatiable. I love it."
She helps him up, her hands on his shoulders as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. His face is flushed, his lips swollen, and his makeup smeared. He looks debauched, and the sight sends a fresh wave of desire through him.
Erika pulls him close, her lips claiming his in a brutal, possessive kiss.
Her tongue invades his mouth, tasting of champagne and desire. Connor can feel the heat of her, the primal need radiating off her in waves. His cock throbs, painfully hard, his body aching with the need for more.
Erika breaks their kiss, leaving him breathless and wanting. She pulls out her card and hands it to the approaching server . "Check, please," she commands. "And bring us a bottle of that '95. I know we're going to need it."
The server nods and scurries off. Erika turns back to Connor, her eyes dark with lust. "Let's get out of here," she says, her voice low and dangerous.
They make their way through the dimly lit restaurant, Erika's hand possessively gripping Connor's hip. As they step out into the cool night air, she turns to him, her eyes gleaming with intent. "My place," she orders, her voice brooking no argument.
She hails a cab, her hand lingering on his ass as she helps him inside. The ride is a blur of city lights and murmurs of conversation. Erika doesn't let him out of her sight, her hand never leaving his thigh, her thumb brushing against his crotch in a constant, maddening tease.
Her apartment is a penthouse, all glass and steel and sweeping views of the city. She drags him inside, her grip tight on his wrist, her eyes never leaving his. The door slams shut behind them, and she pushes him roughly against it, her body pressing against his.
She brings her lips to his ear, her voice a low, dangerous growl. "I want to see you, Connie. The real you. Strip for me."
Connor's heart pounds in his chest, a primal fear and excitement coursing through his veins. He swallows hard, his fingers fumbling with the buttons of his blouse. Erika watches him, her eyes dark and hungry, her lips parted as she waits for him to reveal himself to her.
He manages to undo the last button, the blouse falling open to reveal the lacy bra that had been hiding his mostly flat chest beneath, nipples hard.
Erika's eyes flare with desire as she sees the delicate undergarment. She steps back, her lip curling in a predatory smile.
“Turn around,” she commands, her voice a low, dangerous purr. Connor complies, his hands shaking slightly as he turns to face the door. He hears the soft rustle of fabric as Erika begins to undress, the sound sending a thrill down his spine.
He feels her hands on him again, this time at his waist, unbuttoning his skirt. It slides down his legs, pooling at his feet. She runs her hands up his inner thighs, her touch both gentle and possessive.
Her nails graze the sensitive skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake. Connor shivers, his breath hitching as she reaches the juncture between his legs. She grips his cock through the thin fabric of his panties, her thumb rubbing circles over the head, already slick with pre-cum.
“You’re such a good little slut, aren’t you?” she whispers, her voice a low growl in his ear. “You’re so hard for me. So ready to take my cock.”
Connor nods, his lips parted, his breath coming in short gasps.
"Yes," he whimpers. "I'm yours."
Erika's hands slide around to cup his ass, her fingers digging into the soft flesh. "Mine," she growls, her breath hot on his ear. "All mine."
She releases him, and he turns to face her, his eyes wide and desperate. She's stripped down to a lace bra and thong, her body a living testament to power and control. Connor drinks her in, his cock aching with need.
"Kneel," she orders, pushing him gently but firmly. He drops to his knees, his eyes level with her crotch, her scent filling his nostrils.
She steps closer, her fingers tangling in his hair, tugging his head back to expose his throat. He looks up at her, a mix of fear and desire swirling in his eyes.
"You want it, don't you?" she whispers, her voice a low, insistent growl. "You want to feel me inside you. You want to be filled with my cock."
He swallows hard, his Adam's apple bobbing. "Yes," he whispers, his voice barely audible. "I want it. I want you."
She smiles, a cruel, predatory smile that sends a shiver down his spine.
"Good. Because I'm going to fuck you until you scream, until you beg for mercy. And then I'm going to do it again."
She lets go of his hair, stepping back to kick off her heels. She slides her thong down her legs, stepping out of it gracefully. She stands before him, completely naked, her body a masterpiece of power and strength. She reaches down and grabs his wrists, pulling him to his feet. She spins him around, pushing him onto the bed so that he's on all fours.
Connor gasps as her hand lands on his ass with a sharp slap.
The sting radiates through his body, a shock of pain that instantly morphs into pleasure. His cock throbs, aching and desperate, leaking pre-cum onto the bed beneath him.
Erika runs her hand over the red mark she’s left, soothing the sting with a gentle caress. She leans down, her voice a low growl by his ear. “You like that, don’t you, you filthy little whore? You like when I hurt you.”
Connor nods, unable to form words. The pain is exquisite, a sharp contrast to the gentle touch that follows.
Erika’s fingers trail down his spine, tracing the curve of his back before dipping lower, brushing the crease of his ass. Connor shivers, his body aching with need, his cock leaking pre-cum onto the sheets below. He can feel the heat of her breath on his neck, her voice a low, sensual purr in his ear.
“You’re so responsive, Connie,” she murmurs, her fingers delving deeper, teasing the sensitive skin between his cheeks. “You love it when I touch you like this, don’t you?
When I make you feel things you never knew you could?” Erika continues, her fingers dipping lower, brushing against the tight pucker of his hole. Connor gasps, his body tensing at the intimate touch.
“Yes,” he whimpers, his voice barely audible. “Yes, I love it.”
Erika chuckles darkly, her breath hot on his ear. "Because I’m going to make you love it even more.”
She reaches over to the bedside table, opening a drawer and pulling out a variety of toys.
Connor can’t help but notice the vibrator, the harness, the lube, and various other implements designed for pleasure and pain.
“You’re going to love this, Connie,” Erika purrs, her voice low and sultry. “You’re going to love every fucking second of it.”
She grabs the lube and squeezes a generous amount onto her fingers, rubbing them together to warm it up. Connor feels her slick, cool hand press against his hole, the tip of her finger circling the sensitive flesh. He gasps, his body tensing at the intrusion.
"Um Erika.. do you... want me to grow breasts, like take estrogen and stuff?" he asks, his voice barely above a whisper. He can feel her finger still pressed against his hole, teasing but not entering. He's desperate for more, but scared at the same time.
Erika pauses, her breath hot on his ear. "No," she says finally, her voice firm. "I don't want you to change your body for me. I want you to use it, to enjoy it, to embrace it. The way it is." She applies more pressure, her finger finally breaching the tight ring of muscle.
Connor gasps, his body tensing at the intrusion. It burns, but it's not entirely unpleasant. After taking her time preparing him, Erika works him open, one finger at a time, until he's panting and begging for more. She's patient, relentless, her touch both caring and cruel, a perfect balance of pain and pleasure.
"Fuck, Erika, more," he whimpers, his hips thrusting back against her hand, desperate for more.
She hums with approval, her other hand reaching for a toy from the nightstand. "Patience, Connie," she coos, her voice low and soothing.
"You'll get what you need. Tell me what you want."
His breath hitches as she adds another finger, stretching him deliciously. "I want... I want you to fuck me," he manages to gasp. "I want you to fill me up with your cock."
Erika chuckles, a dark, sinister sound. "So eager," she purrs. "But you know what they say—good things come to those who wait."
She withdraws her fingers, and he feels empty, bereft. But then she's back, pressing the head of something cold and hard against his entrance. He relaxed , remembering to breathe, and the toy slid in, filling him with a stretch that bordered on pain. He hissed, his fingers clenching in the sheets.
“Fuck, that’s big,” he gasped, his body adjusting to the intrusion.
“It’s the biggest one I have,” Erika said, her voice pleased. “Take it all, Connie.”
She started to move, slowly at first, then with increasing speed. The toy filled him completely, hitting all the right spots inside him. He moaned, his cock aching and throbbing.
The toy inside him felt incredible, filling him completely, hitting all the right spots. But it wasn't enough. He needed more. He needed her.
Erika chuckled, a dark, sadistic sound that sent shivers down his spine. "Beg for it, Connie. Beg me to fuck you."
He whimpered, his body writhing as the toy continued to pound into him. "Please, Erika," he gasped. "I need you. I need your cock."
She pulled the toy out, and he felt empty, desperate. But then she was there, her cock replacing the toy, sliding into him with ease.
He gasped, his body tense as she filled him completely. She was bigger than the toy, harder, hotter. She groaned, her hips moving in a slow, rhythmic thrust.
“Fuck, you feel amazing,” she said, her voice a low, primal growl. “Your ass is so tight, so hot.” She pulled back, then thrust in again, a little harder, a little deeper. “You like that, don’t you? You like feeling me inside you?”
Connor could only moan in response, his body aching with pleasure. He pushed back against her, meeting her thrusts with his own.
"God, yes," he moaned, his voice hoarse with desire. "Fuck me harder, Erika. Please."
Erika leaned forward, her hands gripping his hips for leverage. "You want it hard, Connie?" she growled, her voice laced with an edge of cruelty. "You want to feel my cock pounding into you? Fucking you until you scream?"
Connor whimpered, his body aching with need. "Yes, please. I want it so bad."
Erika chuckled, a dark, sinister sound that sent shivers down his spine. "Good boy," she purred.
"Then hold on tight. Because I'm about to fucking wreck you."
Erika pulled back slightly, then thrust in again, harder and faster this time. Connor cried out, his body jolting with the force of her thrust. She started to pick up speed, her hips slamming against his ass with brutal force. The sound of flesh meeting flesh filled the room, along with Connor's desperate, pleading moans.
He could feel every inch of her inside him, could feel the way her cock stretched him and filled him completely. He pushed back against her, meeting her thrusts with his own, his body aching with the need for more. Hours seemed to pass as Erika pounded into him, her hips slamming against his ass with forceful, brutal thrusts. Each time she struck, his body shook, and he moaned, the sound echoing off the walls of the penthouse.
As the night began to wane as Erika finally lay still on the bed, wrapped around Connor like a plushe. Erika was still inside him, her cock throbbing with the aftershocks of her climax. He could feel her heart beating against his back, her breath hot on his neck.
"Fuck, Connie," she murmured, her voice ragged with exhaustion and satisfaction. "You're incredible. I've never felt anything like that before."
His own body was wracked with numerous orgasms and unable to move, barely capable of coherent thought. Every inch of him ached, but it was a good ache, one that left him feeling satisfied and sated.
"Mmmmm," Erika hummed into his ear, her voice soft and satisfied. "You're a natural, Connie. A fucking natural."
She wrapped her arms around him, her body still joined with his, her cock still buried deep inside him. He could feel her pulse, her heartbeat, the steady thrum of her arousal still lingering.
"I'm not sure I can move," he admitted, his voice a soft, breathy whisper.
"Don't worry about it," Erika murmured, her lips brushing against his ear. "I'm not going anywhere."
She shifted slightly, her cock still buried deep inside him, and he could feel the aftershocks of her orgasm pulsing through her.
"You were amazing, by the way," she said, her voice low and sultry. "I've never come that hard before."
He smiled, his fingers curling in the sheets beneath him. "Thank you," he whispered.
Chapter excerpt truncated at the edge.