Mabel Shot

I forget how to breathe as I drown in the most seductive brown eyes I've ever seen. I feel his warm breath on my throat, the heat of his arms at my side as he releases the clasp of my bra, looking at me with a dark and dominant gaze. Just like his touch, because that’s how he touches me—with possession. Complete possession of what’s his. He doesn't ask, nor flatter or stare at my body in a perverted way, nor with disgust, as I thought he might when he saw the scar. He simply closes the gap between us with two steps. His hand slowly rests on my hip, one on each side, hooking his finger into my panties and pushing them down, holding me captive with his gaze as he undresses me without any rush.
His touch is calm but possessive, as if memorizing every inch of me, inspecting his new acquisition with his fingertips. He gets rid of my panties without a hint of resistance from me. I remain still as his hand glides up my thighs, sliding to my butt, sending shivers down my spine as his fingers take a torturous path up my back, stopping only when they reach the bra clasp. He unfastens it slowly, and just hooks his pinky fingers on the thin lingerie straps, one on each side. He gently pulls it down my arms until there’s nothing left covering even a patch of skin on my body.
"Raise your arms, little bird!" His hoarse, dangerously deep voice commands me, and I can't say no, I just obey.
I slowly lift my arms, awkwardly leaving them above my head. His large hands return to my body, making me inhale sharply, pressing my legs together to ensure I don’t collapse like jelly. He continues his inspection of my body, tracing his fingers along with my arms until they’re raised. I’m frozen, seeing him so close to me, his eyes locked on mine. I drop my gaze to his mouth, and my body heats up from his warm breath. The sound of a click above my head pulls me out of the intoxication he causes, making me look up to realize my wrists are bound by a pair of cuffs attached to a metal hoop in the ceiling. I force myself to stand on tiptoe to keep up with the height at which I’m bound, my arms stretched, my chest heaving forward spontaneously. I lower my head to Czar and see him admiring the pair of erect breasts, with their hardened sensitive nipples pointing at him, and I breathe faster, trying to balance on the crate.
"Perfect!" he says calmly and lifts his face to me, moving closer as he extends his arm to check if I’m securely bound to the cuffs. "Is it tight?"
"No..." I answer slowly, knowing he seduces me shamelessly as he lowers his voice and murmurs to me.
"Excellent!"
I try to turn my head over my arm, but I can’t because of the cuffs, to see where he’s going when he steps away and walks behind me. I lower my gaze to my feet, shifting my weight upward. Okay, maybe I’m not so sure I should’ve agreed to this game. What does he intend to do to me? What if he kicks the crate? I’ll be left hanging by my wrists, suspended off the ground. And before I can continue to think of the worst he might do, I see him return and stop in front of me, holding an iron bar in his hand. My body immediately recoils, making me sway, trying to balance, staring at the bar in fear.
"I don’t use this for hitting," he responds with a cynical, wicked smile at the corner of his lips, looking at the bar with interest and then back at me. "Unless you ask me to."
I swallow hard and breathe anxiously, watching him enjoy my reaction as he kneels in front of me. I observe the large leather straps beside the crate that he lifts, placing them on my ankles one by one. He removes the dress from beneath my feet and pushes it aside, holding my calf and guiding my left leg to one side of the crate and my right leg to the other. He leaves just enough space between my legs to ensure he can bind me to the iron bar, which guarantees I’ll keep my legs spread in this position.
In my head, I start imagining all the ways he plans to use me. Standing sex isn’t really my thing; in fact, I don’t think I’ve ever done it. I recall what sex with Nate was like. I liked it; for me, it was good. I was eighteen when I finally agreed to lose my virginity to him. Nate was respectful that time, but it was also the only time. He always scared me in some way during sex; I always thought he was expecting something more, especially when he would get off me and lie beside me on the bed, ordering me to keep my eyes closed until he finished changing. And in the end, I was right; he was expecting more, and he made sure to show me everything he wanted that damned weekend.
But this man in front of me isn’t Nate; he doesn’t touch me the way Nate did, before or after revealing the true monster he is. Czar frightens me, yet gives me a sense of safety at the same time, and I still don’t know if that’s good or bad. I’m even more confused, with no idea what to think when the tip of his finger touches my body with curiosity, sliding up my leg and slowly tracing the side of my waist. He circles around the crate and rubs my back, inspecting me just like I do when I observe new paintings arriving at the gallery. My eyes focus on the door, and I feel sweat taking over my body, wishing he’d touch me more intimately. I take a deep breath, my body trembling, causing me to sway back and forth. The slight tap of the tip of the dark silicone stick he’s holding hits the inside of my thigh, making me let out a small yelp from the unexpected sting.
"Don’t move!" he orders, and his hand slides up my back until it reaches my hair, pulling it down, reprimanding me.
"Christ..." I murmur and part my lips, my head forced back. I let my eyes rest on the iron ring suspending my arms above as he strokes my legs and holds the rubber material.
"Magnificent," he says proudly, caressing my thighs and applying more pressure as he tightens his grip on my hair.
A moan mixed with pain and pleasure escapes my mouth, and all I want is to close my legs, to relieve the growing excitement deep within my vagina.
"Your body is far more sensitive than I imagined," he murmurs curiously, as if talking to himself. He circles around and stops in front of me, keeping my head tilted back by my ponytail, which is trapped in his fingers. "A little rocket, I presume."
"Ohhh, my God!" I bite my lip and whimper as his hand squeezes my nipple between his fingers, gradually increasing the pressure.