Thanks to everyone who reviewed. It was nice to hear your thoughts, as well as motivating. Also, to the reviewer who mentioned G!p, this fic certainly will not be a G!p. I don't get the g!p fascination. I've tried and it just doesn't work for me. But even without g!p, I hope you can still appreciate this tale
: ) To the other anon reviewer, Brittany's name thing will make itself more clear with coming chapters ; )
On with the show then!
I loitered by the sleek silver convertible, arms folded, with my foot turned out to the side as I beat it to the concrete. My growing impatience brought the toe of my shoe down heavier with each tap. "Where the fuck are you?" I hissed down at the diamond-encrusted watch hanging from my caramel wrist.
"Ah, Santana," Ben's voice sounded, deep and business-like. He quickly emerged from beyond the tall black and gold cathedral-like gates, which looked as though they'd been built for that of giants, and he power-walked towards the scowling young woman waiting by his car, me. "Sorry about the wait, Santana. I had some things," he sighed, gesturing a bored thumb over his shoulder at the modern castle with which he lived in, "to take care of. One of my maids got a bit lippy. Anyway, how can I be of service?"
I unfolded my arms, but continued to tap my foot to the ground. "Ummhmm, you think I have nothing better to do but wait out here for you? Here!" I stuffed the crumpled piece of paper into the breast pocket of Ben's pinstriped blazer, causing the stocky man to step back a little under the impact. "Her name's Mistress Brittany Sheridan, but goes by the name Madame Sheridan, or Mistress Sheridan I'm presuming. Anything and everything you can find on her would be helpful."
"Mistress?" Ben questioned, an eyebrow lifting with his upward tone. He then chuckled and shook his head from side to side at the supposed scandal of it. "Never thought I'd see the day that Santana Paris 'Turn 'em out' Lopez would venture to start paying for sex."
I rolled bored eyes off to the side, and slipped my arms across my chest once more. "I'm not paying for sex, because that would be illegal, Einstein," was all I sighed out. "She's just real closed off, and if people don't open up to me, I pay you to pry them open. This is no different from any of the other times I've used my parent's money to have someone checked out, so just do what I pay you for and quit with the damn inquiry."
"Alright." Ben nodded, tapped his blazer breast pocket and pulled open his car door, sinking down into the driver's seat but a moment later. With a mechanical whooshing noise, the window then descended. "I'll have something for you ASAP. Have a good day."
With that, Ben enclosed himself within his convertible, rumbled up the engine to a smooth purr, and rounded the driveway which snaked out into the road.
I stood there smirking off into smug thoughts. "Let's see how you deal with not being in control, Brittany."
I arrived at my parent's mansion some twenty minutes later, and was greeted with the sight of my father sat at the bar, kitted out in his golf attire whilst he ran his finger repeatedly around the rim of his whiskey glass. "How did it go with the Fabray girl?" he asked, before I even had chance to close the front door.
I pushed the door in and closed my eyes, sighing and reopening them before turning around to look at him under my eyelids, cautious. "Not good."
He wrapped his large hand around his tiny glass and threw the strong brown liquid down his throat without as much as a wince. "How bad was it, on a scale of one to ten?" he probed, rotating the empty glass round on the bar top.
I looked down to my feet, hiding a wince of my own behind my hanging curtain of hair. "A five, maybe?"
I then looked up into the steel that was my father's cold brown eyes. They were the eyes of a business man, a ruthless business man, and they'd flickered that way ever since I could remember.
He wasn't blinking, and neither was I.
"You couldn't get this one simple thing right. It was easy, just make friends with her, and you screwed that up."
"She's a boring uptight princess!" I erupted, slinging my hand out with my words to punctuate my fury. "Way too easily offended. I was nice to her, all evening," I argued. "Do you have any idea how difficult that was?" He wasn't going to make me feel small over this bullshit. So I failed, once again. The asshole should've been used to it by now. Everybody else in this family was, including me.
He continued to pin me with his glare for a few more seconds, before waving his hand through the air like he was dismissing me or something. "I should've gotten your sister to handle it instead. You know nothing about networking or business. Always too busy thinking about bedding the next woman, right?"
"Half sister! Rachel is my half sister," I pushed through gritted teeth. "And bullshit, 'cause you're no different than I am, except you're married to mom, which makes your skirt-chasing a whole lot worse." I stopped for a moment, reining in my temper so that I could slip into my sweet-little-girl-who's-about-to-start-fucking-with-your-mind persona. "It'd be so sad if she found out that when you say you're going golfing, you're actually balls deep in a completely different type of hole than the ones on a golf course, wouldn't it?"
He smirked, something sinister behind it. "She'd never find out about that though, right Santana?" It sounded like a question but it wasn't, and we both knew that.
I shrugged a casual shoulder, just to irritate him. "Never know who might make like a bird and sing. They say I've a pretty good voice. You've even said so yourself, right pap?"
I watched my father chuckle down into his lap and then ditch his seat at the bar. His face straightened with every step he took towards me, until I was staring up into his most stoic expression. I didn't realize that he was holding a golf ball until he lifted it up to my cheek, tapping my skin in suggestive threat with the cold white object.
"You have a wonderful voice, just like a bird. Be a shame if anything happened to it. It's always a sad thing to see an injured bird."
With that said, he smiled, nudged my nose with the bent knuckle of his index finger, and stepped past me, the front door opening and slamming seconds later.
My fists balled by my sides, so hard that my entire frame trembled momentarily, and when I unclenched them I felt weak. There you have it ladies and gentleman; my Papi, Miguel Lopez.
It was unwise to threaten him, to be on any side other than his, but I couldn't help it. He pushed my buttons so hard that most were jammed by now, making me erratic and prone to anger at the slightest changes in the wind. Yes, my father was an asshole, but he'd given me everything that I had, and it was a tiring mental exercise to have to keep reminding myself not to bite the hand that feeds me.
One day I was going to be free of him though, free of him, free of my constantly intoxicated mom, free of Rachel.
Definitely free of Rachel.
"You think it's healthy, this tension that you two constantly keep between you?"
I looked up to the scene of Rachel - speak of the devil - sweeping into the bar area, her body enveloped in a plush pink velvet robe which trailed the marble floors behind her. She grabbed a glass, and the same bottle of whiskey that I suspected still had dad's prints on it.
"He's not your father, Berry, so kindly mind your own business." I signed that with a cloying smile, which held more hostility in it than a fist to the gut.
Rachel clicked her tongue and poured a small amount of whiskey into her glass, all the while shaking her head at me. "You've much to learn little sis," she sighed, like I was this great big burden to her, like it was her job to show me the way.
All finished pouring, she took a sip - one that seemed to reset our conversation - from her glass. "Mom's upstairs emptying the contents of her stomach in the toilet, which leads me to the conclusion that she's pregnant again, merely because it's been going on for the last five days. Your take?"
"Perhaps her liver can't take the alcohol abuse anymore. Thought of that?"
"Santana," she scolded, rolling her eyes like my statement was implausible or something, which it totally wasn't.
I folded my arms and stood firm to the black swirls patterning the white marble floor. "What? The woman drinks non-stop. The day before yesterday, she was so out of it that she handed me a thick roll of fifties when I asked her for two hundred. Quite frankly, I'm surprised she still has a stomach."
"That's our mother you're talking about, Santana! And quite frankly..." Rachel paused as if considering whether to say what was on her mind or not, and then finally just shrugged, spitting it out. "She never drank this much before she found out about your lewd nightly activities with other women."
Oh, so she wanted to take it there, did she? I had just the thing for her uptight ass.
"It's not just nightly, Rachel. I'll fuck at any time of the day, just so long as the pussy is juicy enough." I smiled at her, waiting for her stomach to curdle at my 'crass' words.
Sure enough, her face contorted like she was in physical pain, and she pushed her glass of whiskey away from her, disgusted by the idea of putting anything near her mouth whilst the mental image of me with another woman roamed her thoughts.
I hadn't been this amused in days.
"Ugh, why must you insist on spewing such deplorable obscenities in my presence? This is why I'm taking over the business if and when mom and Miguel are ever not able to. You have absolutely zero tact or people skills. It's quite angering, but then again, you love to upset those closest to you, don't you?"
"Fuck you, fuck mom, and fuck dad if you guys can't except that I'm gay. I love women, I love to bury my head between -"
Rachel threw a stern hand up to prevent me going any further. "We have no problem with you being a homosexual, you crude individual. My best friend is a homosexual in case your eyes jest you. We have a problem with the fashion in which you flaunt it to the world, in this ever-growing seedy and unsavoury manner. It just isn't warranted." She paused to take a much needed breather, brow furrowed as she huffed and puffed. "If you'd just pick one woman and try to love her and make it work, nobody would have even the slightest problem, I can assure you. But you insist on conveying your lesbianism as this never-ending myriad of sexual trysts. It brings you down and the quality of the Lopez name."
"Which, by the way, you're not a part of," I kindly reminded her, all nice and wrapped up with one of my sickly sweet smiles and nose wrinkles.
Rachel threw both of her hands up, declaring, "there's just no getting through; you're insufferable!" In a hurry to get away from me, she breezed out of the room, even leaving her drink behind.
"I'm me. Get the fuck used to it!" I shouted after her, as she stomped up each step of the spiralling staircase. When her angry feet were out of earshot, I mumbled, "I have to get the fuck away from these people before I lose my fucking mind," to myself…
The moment I got to my condo, I grabbed my laptop, a cup of coffee, and sank down into my sofa.
I spent the next hour or so sipping dark Egyptian roast from a mug and typing bondage terminology into Google's search engine.
I'd grown uncomfortably wet running my eyes over one term's definition to another, unable to shake the vivid imagery of Mistress Brittany stood tall and stern over me in nothing but a black corset, heels and suspenders, as she did unspeakable things to my body. My mouth was watery at the mere thought of going down on her and having my jaw ache because she was having me work my tongue so hard. The cotton of my sticky panties felt almost painful against my overly sensitive clitoris, and peering down, I noticed each of my nipples protruding out so that my green shirt looked as though there were two notice board pins underneath it.
"Fuck, you really need to calm down," I told myself.
In that moment the phone rang. With a sigh, I grabbed it from the table and pressed the pick-up button, clearing the husk from my throat. "Hello?"
"Finn's totalled his car. We're all at Saint Jutenberg's hospital," Rachel panicked on the other end, and by the temperament of her voice, the image of her stood out in the hospital parking lot flailing entered my mind.
I snapped the laptop's lid shut and tried to give the normal human response. After all, Finn had never done anything to me, besides encompass every reason as to why I wasn't attracted to guys. "Is he alright?"
"...they, umm, they said that he will be," Rachel responded after a few moments of breathy silence. She sniffed back what I can only assume were tears, her voice quiet and tenuous when it returned. "Are you coming down too? The more positive energy we can send him, the better. I'll send Larry to come and pick you up."
"Wait just a minute." I scooted to the edge of the sofa. "Are mom and Miguel there?"
"Yes."
I nodded in solemn understanding. "Well then I'm staying right where I am. I don't want to get into a fight with the both of them today. I'm only twenty-four; too young for high blood pressure."
"So you're not coming?"
"You have mom and Miguel down there with you. It's not like Finn's dying, Rachel, and it's not like you and I are anything close to pillars of support for one another. Call that fudge-packer, Kurt; I'm sure he'd be down there for you in a shot."
And I wasn't wrong. Kurt would be down there in a shot if she called on him, but it wasn't because he couldn't bear the thought of Rachel going through such distress without him to soothe her through it, but more because Kurt himself had a thing for Finn's doughy, lumberjack-looking ass - not that Rachel's noticed. Finn's noticed though, hence why he constantly talks about all the sex he's had with women, jabbers on about football, and mentions how much he likes to chug pitches of beer with his bros whenever Kurt's around, like that affirms his manliness or extends his capacity for heterosexuality or something. Funny thing is, I think those things turn Kurt on all the more. Really, the exchange is a wonder to watch.
"Thanks a lot," Rachel spat down the phone, meaning anything but. "You never cease to amaze me with your ability to constantly sink to new depths of insensitivity."
The phone was dead within seconds...
I stared at it for a moment, then placed it back on the table, slowly lifting the laptop's lid back up. The urge to email Miss Brittany now, thirteen days before our agreed two weeks, was strong. Not just because I couldn't stop thinking about how her hands would feel on my skin, but because she'd given me that ultimatum. I wanted to test it, wanted to see if she'd really seek out a restraining order against me if I broke her weird little rule.
"Thirteen more days," I sighed, switching the laptop off and throwing on my jacket to head on down to Saint Jutenberg's. The press already had me pegged somewhat as the black sheep of the Lopez family. I couldn't miss this opportunity for the paparazzi to snap a shot of us all together, being this caring cohesive unit, in support of both Finn and Rachel, even if it meant smiling at my parents in front of the camera and ignoring their existence the rest of the time. It never hurts to work on your public image, right? Maybe I could expand the type of job offers that I often received if the world saw a side to me that wasn't always knee deep in tits and pussy.
Sender: Snixed-mailer. net
Recipient: YOURBRITTANYSBITCH-pro-dom. org
Subject: About that appointment...
Attachments: IMG2369. jpg, IMG6548. jpg
Body:
Two weeks are up. Get back to me. And enjoy the pics I attached. I know you will ;)
Santana.
I clicked the send option and blew out a breath that slumped my shoulders a little. I was about to shut the laptop down when a new email appeared in my inbox.
A smirk bunched my cheek as I clicked it.
Sender: YOURBRITTANYSBITCH-pro-dom. org
Recipient: Snixed-mailer. net
Subject: About that appointment...
Body:
I'm somewhat impressed by your restraint. You're now allowed to phone me. Call the number on the contact card I gave you, and call me from your cell phone. You've got five minutes, otherwise don't bother.
Three minutes. That's how long I sat staring at my phone before tapping in the number from Miss Brittany's card. I could play these games too...
Down to the remaining forty seconds, I finally thumbed the call button and put the phone to my ear, listening to it ring until it wasn't anymore.
"...hello?" I impatiently asked the stretching silence on the other end.
"There's a small cafe in central town called Eden. I'm there now. Get here within the next twenty-five minutes. However, if I've finished my sandwich and coffee before then, and you still aren't here, I will have already left. Have I made myself clear, Santana?"
I threw my wrist out, looked at the diamond encrusted face of my watch, and sighed extensively into the phone. "Look, Brittany, anybody ever tell you you're hot? Well, I think that you're unjustly hot, and I know that dominating your little submissives is your job or whatever but, honestly? I just want some fun, maybe handcuff me, spank me a little bit." I leant my head to the side in thought. "Maybe even drop hot candle wax on my skin, whilst I get myself off either in front of you or whilst sat on your lap. That too much to ask?"
"Yeah it is," her unimpressed voice filled my ear. It was pure sex in the form of a voice, Brittany's voice, and I closed my eyes at the sound. "You haven't earned any of that. You're impatient, ill-disciplined, spoiled, and you think you can just throw money at things and that means you own them. I can't stand any of those qualities, especially that last one. So you're going to be different when you're with me. Is that understood?"
Just like that, everything went sour, and my eyes snapped open, teeth caging. "You know nothing about me, except what the media puts out. You can go fuck yourself if you think I'm coming to meet you now."
Just like that the phone went dead on me...
"What an absolute butt monkey!" I grunted down at my phone, whilst fumbling to get my contacts up on the screen. When I got to Ben's number, I selected the option to call him, and then promptly slung my phone back to my ear, listening to it ring out…
"Come on, pick up, pick up, pick up."
"Hello, Ben Fullham speaking."
"Did you manage to find anything on Mistress Brittany yet?" I all but barked.
"Oh, hey Santana, and no. Nothing. It's like she doesn't exist. No social security, no criminal record, no driver's license, no dental records, no diplomas. Nothing."
I remained silent, pondering that for a moment. Whenever I'd done research on someone before and nothing came up, it always meant that the name I'd been researching was a false one, an alias. "Shit," I muttered. "I think she's operating under an alias, Ben. I'll get back to you with a real name as soon as I can."
"Alright. Good luck," he wished me with an amused chuckle.
Slipping my phone into my sweatpants pocket, I glanced at the clock hung up on the wall. I still had twenty minutes to meet Mistress Brittany's - or whatever the hell her real name was - deadline. I was going to get a real identity.
Fifteen minutes later, I found myself in dark round shades as I pulled open Eden's café doors and peered around the establishment for blonde hair and complex blue eyes. The place was pretty empty for this time, save one or two couples sat throughout.
Then I saw her, sat in the corner by the counter, eating her sandwich whilst she fiddled with her cell phone, oblivious to me. I spent the next few moments just staring at her. I needed to. I needed to look at her and not have it be dictated by her. She wasn't in sweats today - far from it. She was in regular clothes, a V-neck, long-sleeved green shirt, and black skinny jeans that sucked tight around her shins, shins which were crossed beneath the table that she was sat at. Smart black heels adorned her feet, and her hair was braided back with only her bangs free to frolic in the wind.
She was stunning, and I despised her for it.
I brisk-walked over towards her, and noisily slid into the seat opposite. She looked up and stared into my big round shades, jaw working around the food in her mouth. I simply stared back, silent. The more I stared, the harder it was to believe that she was this hardened dominatrix. Away from the seductive lighting of the bar, she looked even more so like a harmless babysitter, someone that you'd ask to watch your house whilst you kicked the sands of some exotic beach abroad.
I couldn't work her out, and it was bugging the shit out of me. "What do you want from me exactly?" I grunted low, leaning in towards her so that no one would hear.
Nothing new flickered in her eyes as she took another bite of her sandwich and then leaned back slightly to slip her cell phone into her jeans pocket. "You're the one that approached me."
"And you wouldn't take my money, so I don't understand what you want. What do you want?"
She chuckled, and the instant that it hit my ears, I felt mocked. "Well, it's definitely not your money," she replied, her voice pretty soft and jesting.
Fuck, she was cute. She had these freckles, very faint, peppered about the bridge of her nose. Even they seemed to frolic, mocking my urgency.
I ran my hands through my hair, stressed by the vacant look in her blue crystal pools. "Alright, fine," I finalized.
"Fine?" she asked squinting, and I cherished that upward inflection of her tone to an almost unhealthy extent, the sudden guardedness in her eyes. She was asking me something. For once, I was the knowing one, the one in control.
"I've decided to be the bigger person, and forgive you for what you said to me on the phone just now," I said, taking us down a new route. "It's easy to get swept up in everything that the media says. I get it."
"Who said I wanted your forgiveness?" she instantly retorted, brow cocked feistily.
I leaned forward just that little bit more into her space and enunciated, "me, that's who." I then let up on the intensity and smirked. "I know it's important to you that I like you, so... I guess you're forgiven."
"Wow," she chuckled, like my comment was completely absurd and the only response that it was worthy of was laughter.
"Wow was totally your response when you peeped those pics I sent you, and we both know it."
"Those pics." She shook her head slowly and repeatedly clicked her tongue. "I have to say, I'm not as forgiving as you."
What, she had a problem with the nudes that I'd sent her now?
"The hell are you talking about? You said I could put anything in the email." I paused to unruffle my feathers, settling back into a smirk. "And I know you liked those pictures. No one can look at those and not appreciate."
Her face remained unchanged for a moment, before it smiled. "You're right."
I flooded with pride. I worked hard on my body, and to get Miss Brittany's approval, no matter how lame I sound right now, made me feel good.
But that feeling was short lived when she deadpanned. "Get up, and go wait for me in the middle stall." She calmly nodded her head over in the direction of the ladies room, an easy expectance about her.
"Excuse me?"
She took another bite out of her dwindling sandwich and peered out of the café's window, watching as members of the public bustled by. "Do as you're told, Santana. If I have to tell you again, those pictures you sent me go global." She chewed on her food like what was happening was an everyday thing.
My first reaction was to shrug a shoulder, just to rip some control away from her. "I'll just have the major news corporations paid off. They won't publish those snaps. Money talks," I bragged, sliding my thumb back and forth the pads of my index and middle finger.
"You can't pay them all off," she told me with a grin, eyes a-sparkle; this was a game to her, what she did for fun. It was how she got her kicks, through the power.
I shrugged again, this time with much less confidence. "Well... at least my body looks good. If anything, it'll be a free advertisement to all those closet Hollywood starlets out there. They'll come running my way."
Miss Brittany nodded, though her expression gave nothing away. "You're gonna learn, and pretty quickly," she chuckled like she knew of things that I didn't, "not to stall when I tell you to do something."
"Really now?" I mocked.
"Sure," Miss Brittany nodded.
I couldn't tell whether she was being serious or not; she just had one of those faces that shut you out at will, and I was growing tired of this back and forth. Honestly, I just wanted to fuck her. Seriously, was that too much to freaking ask? I was even willing to give and not receive at this point.
I sighed, breaking the silence that had settled uncomfortably between us. Then I thought of Rachel and how she'd called me out on how I was with women. "Look, how about we drop the whole idea of booking a session and I take you out instead, for dinner or something?" I shrugged, though I didn't know why.
"I'm not hungry," she responded.
"I didn't mean right now. I meant -"
"I know what you meant."
"Then why did you -"
"Because I felt like fucking with you. Problem with that?" she challenged, her voice as even as the casual tide.
I sighed again. "Come on, I'll take you out, we'll get to know each other, and we'll see where it takes us. I came at you wrong the first time, I get it. What do you say?"
Miss Brittany raised her palm to cover her yawning mouth, before saying, "nope. You didn't earn a date with me. You think I'm just gonna drop my panties and let you go down on me because you spent a few hundred dollars on dinner and champagne? I don't see your money. It means nothing to me."
That was it! I was done putting myself out there!
I stood up in a fury, batting the plastic container that her sandwich had come packaged in from the table. "You know what? Forget you!" Turning my back on her, I began weaving through the various tables and chairs to get to the exit.
The moment I passed by the door to the ladies room, I felt a forceful hand on my back, then another on my one shoulder. Together, they steered me off course and pushed me through the ladies room door before I could say or do anything.
Once inside, the strong hands puppeting me relented, and I whipped around, a little out of breath, only to be met with complex blue hues. Surrounded by three sinks, a few pipes, three stalls, and Miss Brittany, my jaw fluttered from open to closed, to open again. I couldn't believe the strength of this woman... or the audacity.
Something hot and dangerous then began to sear through my limbs, my galloping heart the seeming source, and I walked up on Miss Brittany, teeth caged like this was Wrestlemania and I was about to slam her forehead against the turnbuckle. "Don't fuck with me, beca-"
Before I could finish threatening her, she'd clamped her palm over my mouth, pushing me backwards through the door to the middle stall. My back thudded the cubicle wall, the shades I'd worn easily tumbling from my face to the floor, and I clenched my eyes in wince, before opening them to exactly the same image that had been there when I'd screwed them shut; Mistress Brittany hovering over me, with eyes that somehow still managed to glisten with life even whilst stoic.
I wriggled for her to loosen her grip on my mouth, but she only applied more pressure, as she pressed into my torso with her own, keeping me in place. She didn't say anything, the only sound: my breath leaving my flared nostrils and hitting her hand.
"When you're with me, I'm running things," she whispered, pressing herself even flatter against me. My eyes fluttered shut, because she smelled gorgeous, and her warm, perky, clothed breasts melting into mine felt pristine.
"Look at you loving every second of this. I bet you'd do anything I told you to if you thought it would draw you a step closer to tasting my skin," she continued to whisper, inches away from my face; I could feel her warm breath gush at my skin with every word she spoke.
I opened my eyes, feeling them widen at her unexpected comment.
"I didn't tell you that you could send me naked pictures. That's another luxury you have to earn. Also, I don't like the way that you just spoke to me out there, so you're going to be punished. Am I clear, Santana?"
Her eyes said that I had no choice, despite the question she'd just asked.
"Mmfhh," I hummed against her palm, which was now condensated and humid due to the fact that I'd been breathing out into it.
Slowly, her hand came away from my mouth, but no sooner than I was able to once again suck air in past my lips, her hand slipped around the back of my neck, fingers tugging aggressively at the hairs there. "Kiss me," she suddenly said.
Before she was on her next breath, I threw my mouth at hers. Our teeth clashed, and our tongues swirled forcefully around one another. She sunk her teeth into my bottom lip, pulling back with it and letting it snap back to my face.
I could feel that my eyes were hooded as I leapt forward for her lips again, holding nothing back. We were messy, so deliciously messy, and the fact that I could taste the sweet sauce from the sandwich that she'd been eating earlier, was nothing but a turn on. My head slammed back into the wall with the push and pull of our kissing, whilst Miss Brittany's hands slid up my ribcage and grabbed at my arms, pinning my wrists up above my head.
She held me in this position as she pulled away from my mouth, my tongue still sandwiched between her soft lips. I whimpered when she eventually released the muscle with a wet popping noise, and I circled my lips with said tongue.
"I'm gonna fuck you so hard, you're not gonna be able to walk or sit down," I growled through shallow pants of breath, filth dripping from every syllable.
Miss Brittany snatched my sweatshirt at the chest, pulled me away from the wall, and shoved me down on the toilet seat.
Between my legs burned and ached and oozed for her to do something.
"You want me to suck on your clit?" she asked through swollen pink lips and a dirty smirk.
My eyes rolled back in my head at the thought of having her down there, between my legs. "Fuck yes," I gasped, clenching my thighs together as I fidgeted on the toilet seat. "I'm gonna come, so hard, in your mouth."
Mistress Brittany straddled my lap, snatching my wrists and pinning them above my head to the piped wall directly behind the toilet. Having her sat on me, her weight, her warmth – everything – was delicious. I didn't want her ever to get up. We stared into each other's eyes for a moment, with me grinning and her smirking. "If you want me, you'll do as I say from now on. No stalling, no refusals, no back chat. I own you."
I nodded eagerly. "You own me."
A wide smile fluttered over her gorgeous face and I felt high off of it.
"Good. Now close your eyes," she instructed, her voice smoky and seductive.
Instantly I shut them, opening the door to a world of darkness and delicious uncertainty.
I felt Miss Brittany's weight shift a little, then there was a tug on my wrists, before something cold quickly circled both of them with a chilling click. A click that sounded like imprisonment.
My eyes snapped open, peering up at my wrists, which were now bound to one of the toilet's pipes via a set of heavy silver handcuffs. I rattled them ferociously, achieving nothing but an earful of harsh clanging noise, all whilst Miss Brittany sat on me, looking at her wristwatch. "Time for me to go finish my sandwich."
All lust evaporated as though it had never been, and I pinned her with stormy eyes. "You better unlock these first." I rattled my restraints again, furious, "I swear to God -"
"You'll be in here for however long it takes you to figure out how to free yourself. In the meantime," she said, lifting up out of her straddle astride my lap, whilst nonchalantly patting the wrinkles from her clothes and hair, "you'll think about how you now belong to me, because that's what you are now; mine. When someone asks you what you do for a living, you'll respond with, 'I belong to Brittany,' from now on. If I find out that you ever answer otherwise, you'll be punished with something equally as humiliating as this." She nodded down at me, at my situation. "This isn't solely sexual. Your decision to come here and meet me today will touch almost every aspect of your life. You sit and think about that." Spinning around to back me, she pulled open the stall door, and passed through it with a casual mussing of her bangs, like this had been a casual trip to the toilet for her.
In stark disbelief, I watched her disappear from sight, only awakening when the quieting click of her heels occurred to me. "Brittany!" I yelled, my echoes bouncing around the confining stall as the reality of the situation truly sunk in, but my call was met with nothing but the sound of the bathroom door opening and swinging shut.
So that's chapter two. Tell me if you liked it, and well if you hated it, then forever hold your silence : P S