God, I love the sound of your screaming

tough lady in undergarments

22 September; 11:36a

I know it’s tough to be a man. I know it’s even harder to be in charge — so many demands being made on you, everyone expecting that you have all the answers; to be in control. Especially when I know you aren’t, really. That it’s all a big facade. I know what you really want; that you wish you could let it all go and be yourself. I know you want to be that with me.


That’s why I don’t like the game you seem to be playing. It makes me angry and wants to do things I know I shouldn’t. That you shouldn’t let me. After all, you’re the boss. You should know better than this. You should expect better of me. It makes me fear you don’t really know me at all. Worse, it makes me want to show you what I really am. And I know, at first, you’re not going to like it. Not at all.

I’m afraid. I’m afraid of what would have really happened, had I not walked away. You didn’t know what I’d brought with me that day; just in case. I told myself that I was sick of you. What you were doing to me. How you made me feel. You thought I was going to be under your thumb. That you could just take control of me, and I’d like it. You thought I was that kind of girl. You didn’t know how wrong you were.

That’s why when you’d said to me what you did this morning, I stopped by my apartment for lunch. Of course, I returned with my bag, as usual, never like to keep my purse anywhere that it could seem inviting to sticky fingers. I knew you weren’t that sort of naughty boy, so it was safe in your office. Of course, that afternoon, it wasn’t just my purse I was keeping hidden. I brought what I knew I’d need to teach you a lesson. And had it not been for a lapse of momentary sanity, you would be at my feet right now, instead of back home with a woman who doesn’t understand you, and me with a man that I hate and only use for sex when I feel like it. (It beats having to go out and play the bar scene. Ugh. Really, now.)

No, you were the one I wanted. But you’d made me so angry, I wasn’t sure I could do it without really hurting you — and we both know that you couldn’t have taken that. You’re a lightweight at this point, and unless you did something to really piss me off, I had no real desire to break you down completely. Just enough so that you dropped this image of being what I know you’re not. Instead, it’s just what I’ll have to envision tonight while I’m using my boyfriend’s cock so that I can get off, as I usually do. I’ll just have to imagine you, instead, and what I would have done had I not had the sense to walk away.

Oh, I’m sure you would love to know what I would have done to you. Unfortunately, you never will. But for my own pleasure, I’m going to write it all down in this notebook, inches from you, ignoring any playful inquiries into what I may be writing during my coffee break.

If you only knew.

That’s enough for now. Back to work.

22 September; 4:06p

I figured I could steal about five minutes and write a few more things down before I forgot them.

Where was I?

Oh, right …

I already had everything at my disposal, and soon, I would’ve had you, too. But I’m getting ahead of myself, again, and your oblivious smile is only infuriating me further. You’re lucky I don’t grab you by the hair right now and shove your face into the paper. But, it might break your glasses. And I might get fired. Although, I’d love to hear you try and explain it to corporate. Can you imagine what sort of controversy it would build up around your burgeoning career?

No, no, no.

I have you right where I want you. Even now.

Go on. Keep smiling. I may have to set this aside until later, you may have convinced me that you deserve the abuse after all.

That’s right … keep smiling.

23 September; 10:48a

Today is a new day, and I’m sure the orgasm I enjoyed last night (thanks to my fantasy of what I would have done to you the other day) is radiating from every pore. I’ve still got the tools. Don’t tempt me.

But there’s something different about you. You’re not smiling, and the way you keep looking over at, though you’re not facing, me while I know you’re on the phone with The Big Guy is not exactly comforting. Your tone is hurried, and your voice is low.

Hmmm. You’d better not be doing something else stupid.

Now that you’ve left your office, for the time being, I can write in peace. So, a new plan. I’ve decided to write it all down. Things did not go well that night when you made your move, and I’m wondering if my job is potentially in jeopardy because of your fuck-up. That’s right — your fuck-up. After I was so good to you. Dutiful. Appropriate. Acting intelligently while your cock led us into all kinds of precarious positions, and, had I not been the smart one, would’ve gotten us both canned weeks ago. Nice going, Einstein. Now it looks like I’m going to be taking the brunt of it.

That’s okay. Two can play this game. And I only play to win.

You may flip things around. May make it seem like it was my fault. That’s all right. You need this job more than I do, and you’ve got a lot more to lose. I’ll just make sure that this finds its way to you long after the smoke has cleared and the dust settled. I guess you’d just hope your girlfriend doesn’t find it first. Especially if you have plans of upgrading your relationship anytime soon. Wives don’t typically like tales of how their husbands came onto their employees. It’s bad form. I’d hate to see you get involved in something nasty like that. Underneath it all, I think you’re an okay guy. Don’t make me regret my generosity. Of course, your suffering would hardly be undeserved, since I was the one who walked away. Don’t forget that.

Oh, you’re back. I guess I’ll have to stop for now. Especially since you don’t look happy. Just wait. I’m far less cheerful than I look. You have no idea who you’re fucking with. But that’s all right. You’ll find out soon enough, won’t you? I’ve done far worse to men for far less. You’d better be grateful for how good I’ve been to you up until now, because those days are over. Jekyll’s gone away for now. Time to meet Hyde. Terribly sorry; I’m afraid you won’t like her.

Oh, but I will.

24 September; 11:22a

My boy-toy was begging to be fucked last night, so I finally let him. Only on the premise that I was taping you to your chair. (Oh, I know I’m jumping ahead. Again. But we just have so much duct tape!) Anyway, somewhere between making you beg me to let you come, and my imagining lines of red welts across your ass, I experienced some wonderful release myself. So, I guess you’re not completely useless after all. I’m pretty sure you’re not a masochist, though, which makes the thought of causing you real pain even more arousing. You don’t want to know how wet I am right now, and I’m not so reckless to let you find out.

Let’s see …

Today is the first day of my writing it all down. I figured I would have plenty of time typing it all out in the comfort of my own home, except that it’s less personal, and not nearly as much fun as doing it while you’re feet from me. So, the whole thing will be composed right here, in this chair, as we go about our daily business. If you ask to see it, I’ll think up something clever and humiliating to make you drop the line of questioning immediately. (I love how pink you get when you blush. It’d be kind of cute if I hadn’t already decided to destroy you.) Oh, and I know if you knew that you’d be so hard you wouldn’t know what to do with yourself. But since you’re in denial about the whole thing, that’d be even more terrible for you. This is why I’m going to make sure this gets to you, word-for-word, someday.

Now, then. To begin at the beginning. First-person, present tense. (My favorite.)

You’ve just made your move and been subsequently shot down. There’s no one but us on the premises, and you’ve turned the music lower and are hiding certain embarrassment. You thought you’d be fucking me up against the wall by now. Instead, you’re going to find yourself suddenly grateful they’re made of such sturdy concrete. (Not that the neighboring businesses could tell that it was you screaming. But, still.) On the off-chance, someone happened to come by for some strange reason that late, I’d set up behind the large steel shelves, which take the weight of heavy chain well. But before we get too far in with what I might be doing to you over there, let’s start with how I’d even get started.

You think it’s business as usual. You’re rejected, feeling sorry for yourself, and wondering where-oh-where it all went wrong. You wander back into your office, finishing up the books for the day, not expecting me to be there at your desk, with the roll of duct tape behind my back. And as you catch sight of me, in your moment of confusion, I take total advantage of the awkwardness you’re feeling, slide the roll down my arm like an over-sized bracelet, and grab your shirt collar with my other hand, yanking hard and pulling you down to the surface of your desk while I undo your belt. Now, you think I’ve changed my mind, and I’ll see you smile with unexpected glee. Of course, it happens so quickly, you don’t realize why I’m taking your belt off, or what I plan to do to you with it. For now, it just seems really hot, and you’re sure you’re getting lucky. It’ll still be really hot — but you’ll feel anything but lucky.

Belt off, I suddenly retrieve the utility scissors from my pocket. You know them well; we use them every day. Sure, now you’re confused — and a little alarmed. Even more so as I begin cutting straight down your slacks, rendering them useless. I’m not thinking pragmatically right now; just how much fun it’s going to be for me to watch you drive home in your boxers. Or, maybe nude. I haven’t decided if they won’t see the same fate as your pants. (Hope they were expensive. They looked to be mid-range.) Shirts are fairly easy to rip, especially our shirts, given the company didn’t exactly contract the highest quality clothiers. Buttons go flying; ricocheting off of this and that, and I’ll probably make you collect them after I’m through with you. You won’t refuse me anything by that point. You’d never refuse me anything after this.

Now you’re standing there in front of me, pants-less with your shirt ripped open and exposing your relatively fit chest and abdomen. I’m silently admiring just how much working out you truly do outside of working, which you already do too much of anyway. Sane men would be home with their girlfriends and wives by this point; not hanging about in their underwear with their kinky employees. You’re setting a terrible example, and I’m going to need to punish you for it. Severely. What you’ll hate most of all is discovering how much you love it. That’ll be the best revenge I could ever exact.

I move my fingers across the fabric encasing your cock with the lightest touch, and it practically leaps in response. Hard, as I wanted. I tell you it isn’t acceptable, and your expression changes to one of confusion. Now, you notice the roll of duct tape, especially since I’m beginning to yank some off in long strips. I order you to bring your hands together. You refuse me. That’s okay. I knew you would the first time. I tell you I’ll give you the best blow-job you’ve ever had if you put your hands together. You think about it for a minute, but your hormones win out over your good sense — unsurprisingly — and you bring your hands together, after all, muttering something about watching the arm hair. I pretend not to hear you; after all, I’m binding your wrists anyway. I loop the tape around you once, twice, three times before deciding it’s sufficient, and you’re not going anywhere. Then, I grab you by the hair, (and enjoy your complaining that it hurts and various related expletives) and shove your body down to your knees. (That concrete hurts like a bitch, don’t it?)

You’re starting to regret having let me get this far, especially now that I’m binding your feet together in the same fashion. No, not your ankles, but your feet — soles together, legs apart. You’re already down on your knees, so getting up is going to be the sort of challenge I know you’re not really up for, and this guarantees you’ll have no way to even try and stand. I’ve little to worry about you going anywhere. Besides. I know that little voice in your head that can’t help but be insanely turned on by all of this won’t let you do anything but see it through to its chilling end — where you’ll have no other choice but to come to terms with exactly who and what you are; not to mention, never going back to this lame excuse for what you’ve never been. That ends tonight.

Now, I pull your chair toward you and sit down in it. Your head is the perfect level to give me the greatest cunt-licking I’ve had since this one guy I taught in college, but you’ll learn quickly if you’ve not figured it out already, that you hardly deserve it. No, I’m just going to watch you, fingering the strip of duct tape I’ve yet to use, and wondering if I want to gag you, too. But it’s fun to listen to you ask me repeatedly what’s going to happen to you and ignore you each time. Instead, I’m just going to sit here for the moment, refrain from tasting your lips, even though I’ve thought about it before, and let you be terrified over what may happen to you next as I double your belt in my hands, and prop my chin upon my elbow against my knee. Just watching you.

A fine mess you’re in now, boy.

Damn. Day off tomorrow — and much deserved, I’ll admit. I guess I’ll resume after that.

26 September; 9:57a

Ahh. Coffee and kink. (Where did I leave off? Oh … yes. Right before the good stuff. Man, I am such an incurable tease!)

So. I pull the belt tight, enjoying the sound of leather-on-leather as it goes slack and taut in my hands. I wonder, briefly, if you were ever whipped as a child? Beaten with a leather belt? If you know how much it hurts against bare flesh. How long it stings, how you wish it would end, and when you’re sure you can’t take any more, it keeps going, going, going until tears are pouring from your eyes, and whatever it is you did, you swear to anything that will listen to you that you won’t ever dare to do it again. And I wonder, will you have learned your lesson then? Will it be enough? Drawing the scissors back out, you’ve probably already figured out what I’d surprisingly failed to. You’re gonna be naked driving home. Were I able to somehow slide your boxers off without unbinding your feet, I might. But, I can’t, and such is life. And sometimes, especially as you’re learning tonight, life can really suck.

It’s nice to watch you cry. Cathartic. Secretly thrilling as I imagine your good-natured and loving girlfriend back at home, watching the clock with dinner ready, wondering where-oh-where is her saint of a boyfriend at this late hour? You don’t deserve her, you creep. Hitting on attractive young women — too young for you. You didn’t know what you had. You men; you’re all the same. Don’t know how to keep from fucking-up a good thing. Were it not for women like me who take it upon themselves to show you, you’d never learn. And you’re learning now, aren’t you? Each time that leather hits your reddening skin, oh, you’re learning. And I’m losing count. As much fun as it’d be to do this all night, that’s not everything. I like the marks it’s left behind, though. Even more, the private thought of how on earth you expect to explain them away to your lady-love. Good luck there, pal. You’re seriously going to need it. Long before I send this to you, you’re gonna have some ‘splainin’ to do. I wish I could be there to watch you squirm. Of course, that way you’re squirming now trying to escape the blows is good enough. For now.

And enough with the begging, already! Save your breath! You’re begging me to stop this? You don’t want to know what’s coming next.

Damn. And it looks like I’m going to have to save that for another day. You’re back early, and I don’t want to be around you right now. Not with the roll of duct tape and the scissors sitting on your desk in such close proximity. You’d better value my self-control and immeasurable willpower, because of that, and the fact we’re not alone is the only thing saving you right now.

But it won’t be for long.

27 September; 1:04p

I’ve pondered whether or not I can finish this today. I guess we’ll see. Depends on how long it takes you to eat your lunch, and how quickly I can write. I’m watching your lips. Your fingers and you suck the sauce from your TV dinner off of them. If only you knew what you’re desperately wanting to suck right now in the confines of imagination. Not that you’d believe it if I told you. After all, what straight man knowingly and willingly begs to suck cock? Of course, compared to what else you could be doing, you realize at this point that it’s the lesser of the two evils.

So, where were we?

Oh, right. Your ass beat red, and I was setting down your belt that I’d just beat you with. For the moment. Studying your expression, tracing the lines your tears have left upon your face. Almost feeling a touch sorry for you — but only almost, and only a touch. Your head is hanging low, so I have to bring your chin up. You look mad as hell, but also pretty tired. You think you’re angry and exhausted now, but you have no idea. Remember, you wanted to fuck me. That’s not an offense to be taken lightly. And I know just how I’m going to do it, too. Your ass is already bare and exposed to me, so when I take a moment to gently stroke it, you’re relieved by the softness of my touch. I could slap it once you’re lulled into a sense of peace, but that would just be rude. Besides, this is your very short, deserved, break. You’ve been good so far, so I have to applaud you for that. The next part is the true test.

As a kind of gag, a girl-friend bought me a dildo, thinking I didn’t enjoy myself enough. I told her not to, that I really didn’t like them, but she sent it anyhow, and, surprisingly, it wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be. So, when I crouch down in front of you, holding it firmly in my hands and bringing it up to your face, I expect you to look at me as if I’ve gone insane. I somewhat have. Good job. Now, your choice is between this and more beating, and since you figure your ass can’t take it, (and those marks are going to be fun enough to explain to your loving girlfriend) you open up eventually, albeit with some reluctance. Have I got a camera hidden somewhere? But you’d never know, and you’re pretty sure I’d happily commence with the beating, which I would.

You’re a good little cocksucker, too, as I assumed you might be. Secretly, all your life, you’ve wanted this, but never had the balls to do anything about it. Honey, would you mind strapping on this dildo so that I can suck it like a little bitch? Right. But you are a little bitch; and that’s okay. Your secret is safe with me. For now. So long as you do a good job of making the cock good and wet. Of course, if you don’t it means little to me. I mean, it’s your ass it’s going into. Oh, that one gets your attention. You don’t think I’ve seen you sneak a look at porn back in your office? Really? I’ve seen how much you love it when the little slut takes the big cock up the ass. I’m sure you thought that’s what we were going to do. That, somehow, I was that kind of girl. Really, I knew all along that you were the little slut, and deep down, you wanted it up the ass and were just too scared to tell anyone. You know — for the usual reasons. Didn’t want to be thought of as gay, or some other ridiculousness when you’re hardly gay — just a pathetic little bitch who wants to take it up the ass. And if I wasn’t going to have so much fun fucking you, I’d probably have left it at that and just told everyone around the office. But only if you pissed me off, or I wouldn’t enjoy fucking you. (FYI: I always love fucking men who wish to do the same to women. Objectifying them, making them nothing but toys for our pleasure.)

Guess you missed the memo; hey, boss?

Now you’re begging, just like I knew you would. Jesus, you’re so predictable. Yes, yes, I know it’s huge, and your asshole is oh-so small, and blah-blah-blah. Like I really give a fuck. All I want to do is hear you scream when I shove it all in as soon as you’re least expecting it. That’s why I’m stroking your cock, silly. Nothing more than that. I know you don’t know this, and I’m definitely enjoying the secrecy. I know you’ll relax, and the second you do, in it goes. I just wish I was able to fuck you the right way, that I had a harness and the whole setup. But, really, I’m just happy to happen to have a dildo on hand. You’re loving my fingers around your cock, and Goddamn, you are hard. I knew you’d love this. Too bad I’m going to begin fucking you the second you’re thinking I’ve possibly switched tactics and decided I just want to give you a hand-job. (But, c’mon. I know you’re not stupid.) I’ll even count it down to when I do … in my head, that is.

Yeah, what did I tell you about the concrete walls? I didn’t know a man like that with balls as big as yours could scream at such high an octave. They must just be for show. I knew your mouth was as filthy as your ass no doubt is, but I’d never really imagined the creativity of which you were capable. I wonder if I’m fucking you too hard, if this could really do some sort of damage. Huh. After all, this is the first time I’ve deflowered a virgin ass — even as long as I’ve wanted to. Now, I’m grabbing your hair, too, which I love to do while I’m fucking someone, and you’re probably not sure which hurts worse.

God, I love the sound of your screaming.

I’m pulling harder, feeling strands come off in my hands, as I’m having to reach for more. I’m driving the dildo so hard into your ass that little folds of skin keep getting stuck to it as I’m ripping it back out. Hmmm. I guess you didn’t make it wet enough. I’ll bet that’s why you’re screaming, too. And though, ‘No! What the fuck? You psycho cunt!’ (at least, that’s what it sounded like you said), is not a satisfactory response to whether or not you’d like me to shove it back in your mouth so you can do a better job of lubing it up, I think it’s more fun to fuck you until it’s raw from the penetration. And just solve your little problem of being too vocal with more duct tape. There we are.

Ahhh. Now, there’s nothing but the calming sound of your muffled screaming and the soft growl underneath. I twist it a few different ways to watch the effects it has on you, and your attempts to scream to the point of your voice breaking tells me what I needed to know.

That must’ve really hurt.

I leave it in your ass — way too deep for you to push it out on your own — and walk back around to where I can face you. Oh, yeah. Your face is so red; your eyes completely bloodshot, and that vein looks like your forehead is splitting in two. Not to mention how horribly you’re sweating. I think you’ve learned your lesson. Maybe. So, I delicately take my fingertips from the tip of your truly tortured brow down to the base of your chin.

You’re crying again. But it’s all right. I know you want that dildo out of your ass so badly, and to come, and to experience a number of things. But I can’t let you just yet, so I’ll just run my fingers through your drenched hair, whispering softly to you as I hold your heavy head and let you cry. It’s okay. Let it all out. Everything you’ve held in for so long. How pathetic and weak you really are. How much you’ve wanted this your entire life, for thirty-some-odd years. How no one’s ever understood, and they probably never will again. Cry for everything you wish you were and will never be.

Cry for the fear that you’ll never be the same again because you won’t be.

But I’m here now to comfort you. So, cry.

One of these days, though … I swear you have to learn to take your entire lunch hour like a normal human being. But, no matter. You may be across from me now, again, asking me what I’m writing. And somewhere in the land of make-believe, I’m ripping the duct tape off of your face and cutting it from your wrists and ankles. You’ve been instructed to fuck your girlfriend like she’s never experienced you before. Worshipping every aspect of her beautiful female form, and accepting your place at her dainty feet. You are not to dare come until she’s had the most earth-shattering orgasm you could give her. On the off-chance she hasn’t enjoyed herself enough, you’re to suck and tongue her clit until it can be determined whether or not she’s among the multi-orgasmic. And you are to do this for the entirety of your relationship, no excuses, no questions, and absolutely no slacking. You know I could find you, and you never know where I might get the crazy idea to come and visit you again. Even if we aren’t working together, as, I suspect, after long we won’t be.

That’s why I had to make sure you learned your lesson now. And even if I haven’t, and I’m just sitting here writing out all of my kinky thoughts on paper, you never can be sure I won’t at some later date, long after you’ve forgotten about me and this. That’s when I’ll finally send this to you; and as you vacillate between sheer horror, and touching yourself every time you read it, over and over again, you’ll secretly, desperately wish I was there with you. Like I am right now.

And who knows? Maybe, when you least expect it, I will be.

But I don’t think you’re that lucky.

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