This is not what Nikki was expecting but it shouldn’t really be a surprise. The loaf of banana bread in her hands, a little gift, seems naively inappropriate as the metal door clanks close behind her. The written directions wrapped around the apartment key had told her to silently walk into the middle of the atrium and wait. So, that is what she’s done.

The space is well appointed if somewhat strange. Three imposing doors stand closed on her left and at the far end of the room, there is an opening to what looks like the main living space. The only light in the otherwise windowless hall comes from this area, where she assumes He is. She wants to go to it and find Him but that is probably a bad idea. Instead, she fixes her eyes on the abstract painting directly in front of her: a fight of red and black and gray oils slashed across an enormous canvas framed in concertina wire. Not exactly “Colonial Living” she smirks to herself.

“Who is this?” It is Him, that voice that owns her but it comes from a speaker, somewhere in the atrium. Her skin sparkles to life.

“It’s Nikki.” she laughs at the absurdity of the question. Who the Hell else would be showing up at the specific time He’d asked her to?

“In this space, there is no Nikki.”

Her shoulders sag a bit. She’s pissed him off, she can hear that. The banana bread was such a bad idea. He just isn’t like that. At all.

Still up for the game though, she has an idea on how to handle this. “What would you like to call me in this space?”

“Cunt.” His voice comes from a speaker over her shoulder. That word is like a punch to the jaw, does it have to be that?

“If that’s what you want. Call me ‘Cunt.’” She tries to sound casual.

From another speaker, now in front of her, “Cunt, remove your clothes.”

And so, for her it begins, that definitive step, the acknowledgment in the command that the purpose of the play is ultimately carnal. If she’s naked, she knows, that no matter what He does to her, she will be satisfied. Satisfied in a way that nothing else in her life before him, compares to.

Placing her baked gift on the floor, Nikki slips off her heels, lifts her dress over her head, undoes her bra and slips out of her thong. Clothes in a neat pile, she stands up straight, puts her shoulders back intentionally raising her lovely, little tits and sticks her chin out for what comes next. If He’s in charge, at least she knows her body pleases him. Standing in the space, she thrills to think of Him unseen watching her like this. Maybe His cock is in His hand.

Somewhere unseen, a fan kicks in and cool air drifts against her nakedness. Looking for a camera hidden on the walls or in the ceiling, she feels that need to connect with Him, to feel just a little bit of His humanity for a moment.

“This is an inspection.” Another speaker, my God, He’s spent a lot of time setting this up.

“An inspection?” The idea of His scrutiny is a welcome concept.

“Yes. Do not move, Cunt. Stand perfectly still.”

Her confidence cracks a bit, it’s oh so difficult to feel sure of the direction he might take.

One of the doors to her left and behind her creaks open with a Medieval heaviness. Nikki tingles with anticipation, loves the way this mystery makes her feel. Whisper quiet, naked feet on the marble floor approach her. But something is wrong. It doesn’t really sound like the cadence of His walk. The threat that someone else is in the room crashes through her mind. This is not something she’s ready for. She starts to turn her head and the PA system barks: “Cunt!” She freezes. “Do not FUCKING move.”

He’s so mean. But, why is someone else in here, seeing her like this? Tears are part of this loaded relationship and today is no exception, they roll off her cheeks, dropping onto her chest. Trying to stifle the emotion, she takes deep, syncopated breaths to help her hold on to some part of herself. It’s very scary to have this other person in the room.

Woomffff.

The world goes black as a hood is rushed over head. The feet behind her squeak on the marble floor as the excess material is gathered at the back of her neck and secured by what sounds like a zip tie. Inside it’s humid and warm, a stark contrast to the air on Nikki’s chilly skin.

Needless to say, she’s petrified but helpless to protest.

“Are you ready for the inspection?” There must be sixteen speakers in this place, every time He’s coming from another part of the room. The effect is so disorienting but, my God, that voice makes her want to cum.

With serious misgivings on what the “inspection” might entail, Nikki manages to squeak out a “yes” through the very dark fabric. Her stomach screws into a puzzle of apprehension and excitement. The challenge is to trust but the introduction of strangers just might be more than she can handle.

“Good.” He’s cold as the air surrounding her.

Another door opens, and quick, light, feet trot across the floor. Nikki is taunted by the reality of now two people witnessing and contributing to her vulnerability. Who are they? What do they think of her? Her body? A far darker, more complicated thought, hammers through her mind: what could they possibly do to it? With a childlike sense of unfairness she wonders, “Why can’t it just be the two of us?”

Despite the turmoil, it feels like there’s a little bit of eagerness running down the inside of Nikki’s thigh.

“Cunt, don’t you dare soil my floor.” Are you kidding me? There’s no way He can see that.

Just like with the hood, a sudden motion behind her and Nikki’s scooped up by tree trunk arms in a single, paralyzing movement. The thick forearms slide behind her knees and she feels her back pressed against what is clearly a huge, “bodybuilder” type man. With zero chance of escape, her thighs are held against her chest and when the man leans back from the waist, her bum and pussy are exposed in an utterly, defenseless way. She feels so available, that she has little choice in what is to happen to her. Like a roller coaster ride, this makes her want to both scream in terror and take on more. Kind of.

Though she can’t see, Nikki can hear and feel that the light footsteps are now in front of her. The forearms slide from behind her knees until they are replaced by a pair of authoritarian hands that lift her even higher into the air while spreading her knees wide apart. Footsteps takes a step closer and her(?) breath falls delicately on Nikki’s parts. This face hovering so near, so intimately involved with the center of Nikki’s being at the moment, is mesmerizing. The blood surging through her sex must be causing quite a sight, Nikki self-consciously hopes she’s not too messy. She’s never had a woman so close but Nikki likes the way she looks down there, she’s almost proud. Footsteps certainly takes her time, it’s like she’s considering the most important chess move in the history of the game. The breath moves from top to bottom of Nikki’s play space and by the time it reaches her twisted button it’s causing some serious contortions. Every neuron in her is alive and focused. To her surprise, Nikki finds herself wanting to be touched, her preference is for Him but right now, she feels willing to settle for less.

And then, Footsteps retreats and the Tree Man puts her on the floor. She’s dizzy, confused and really wishing to be indulged.

From yet another speaker, this time right above her, “Put Cunt in the position.”

There He is, if He’d just come into the room, all of this could be so interesting. Still scary but interesting in a way that makes her heart race.

Tree Man grabs the back of her neck and with way more strength than necessary, forces her onto the marble.  Now, she’s extra cold but worse than that are the multiple rivulets mapping down her legs like bloodshot through an eye.

There’s a sharp inhale from Tree Man, like he’s spotted a crisis of some sort. Did he see the mess she’s making? Footsteps heads towards the area where the daylight was coming from. She’s leaving? Behind her, Nikki can hear Tree Man breathing quietly. Is it possible to express disappointment with a breath? That’s what she feels in spades. She is in trouble and she knows it.

A new speaker lets out a piercing bit of feedback, making Nikki flinch and the microphone is muffled with a hand. His? There’s an urgent, unintelligible conversation with Him and a woman with some kind of accent that Nikki can’t quite make out. That must be Footsteps. The talking stops, there is only the Gargantuan’s breathing. Nikki starts to crumble. This is Sunday for God’s sake, what is she doing? This is so fucking, fucking weird. She’s buck naked in downward dog with a sack on her head and a giant of a man behind her. What if this guy’s going to jam her?

“Cunt, you came here unprepared.” Though accusatory, the voice hooks her again, decisions, judgments are not hers to be made.

“My assistant has discovered stubble. You will be shaved, made clean as you should be, and then you will be punished.”

That word “punished” stabs her in the heart, it holds such decadent promise, the reason why she came. She presses a hand against her mound at the very idea. But then He ruins her.  “Because you have no control over that cum dribbling down your legs, you will not have release with me today. You are a disappointment.”

There is some kind of click of finality over the speakers that she doesn’t quite understand but feels the consequence of. He is gone. The connection that sustains her, the power that drives the sensuality she feels, has been cut off.

Nikki lets out a long, bitter wail. Picked right up off the floor, she struggles in her tears to no effect. Tree Man’s strength is indomitable, oppressive. Against these considerable odds, her emotions come so forcefully, Nikki worries she’ll hyperventilate. But, once again, she’s lifted higher in the air and her legs are spread wide. She is reduced to a whimper, her strength insignificant to the force her back is pressed against. For a moment, she’s fascinated by just how infantile she feels.

Footsteps return to the space with the sound of a rolling thing, water sloshes, there’s a clinking of metal. Patient preparations are made. Nikki’s mind moves from the savagery of rejection to a sliver of sniffling curiosity.

There’s an abrupt rhythmic stroking, it startles Nikki. From her obscene perch on the Tree Man, she thinks maybe it’s something being sharpened, a blade for her pussy? In all this lunacy, she concerns herself again with thoughts of how her response to that idea may be her undoing. She can feel the blood is still plentiful down there, she can only imagine how else her body might be preparing for a violation.

The hiss of foam being dispensed and there’s movement between Nikki’s legs. A warm lightness is spread over her electric triangle with precise, deft swipes. The space of a second inflates with her anticipation, then the razor finds her private skin and through the creaminess, flicks away her failings. Despite the danger of the blade so close to her most sensitive self, Nikki leaks with want. Each gentle scrape removes a stick from the Jenga-like complexity of her disappointment and leads her to a growing hope this experience might not end in frustration. Feminine fingers hold her inflamed lips to one side and then the other, tenderly keeping them from harm. Though she desperately wants Him, she lifts her hips to this new experience. Helpless in the Tree Man’s arms, it’s an x-rated spa treatment so unlike any other her friends have invited her to. If they only knew, could only see her now…

The tiny scrapes of the straight-edged blade give way to a hot towel pressed against what’s now even smoother than before. As the towel dips across her engorged entry, there is a barely audible giggle. Behind her, Tree Man snorts, oh so quietly. The two of them are amused by what Nikki realizes must be the plentiful cum this has inspired from her. She can feel it running along the crack of her ass. But they’re not laughing at her. She’s sure of that, she senses it’s more in appreciation or maybe they can just relate. Even in her black hood, Nikki feels a bond with the two other souls in this room. They are, after all, connected to Him: just how, she wants to know.

Still suspended on Tree Man, freshly shaven and alive to the idea of “punishment,” Nikki’s transition from fear, confusion and disappointment to primal need is almost complete. With no control, her nipples are hardened for abuse, her twat opens and closes spasmodically: she shames herself for the wantonness she feels.

Then, she is airborne. With a quick dip of his knees, Tree Man has spun her into a gymnast’s flight, she can feel her body rotating 180 degrees, he catches her and she comes to rest with her stomach on his shoulder, her ass and hamstrings now facing Footsteps. Something slides along metal, Nikki hears twitching in the air, then feels a spark of pain on the back of her leg. It’s not a hand or a paddle, she can’t quite make it out. It hurts but not near enough to cancel the urge that plows through her. It lands again on her other leg. A hungry, little grunt comes from Nikki’s gut. She likes this way too much for punishment.

With tiny hisses, Footsteps warms to her task. Raining a flurry of strikes on Nikki’s legs, they run from the back of the willing hostage’s knees to just below the curve of her ass. As their number increases, the stings move from titillating to a total invasion of her senses. The varying intensity of the corrections, their sporadic visitation on her flaming body, drive Nikki to total surrender. She is all in.

Footsteps stops her work. And just like that, Nikki is chopped from the erotic force of the instrument, it’s driving intent and command. Under the hood, she squeezes frustrated tears from her eyes, ravenous for the sumptuous abuse to continue to its needed end.

Deliberately, Tree Man returns her to the original position with her back against his stomach, hands behind knees forcing them wide apart. Does he ever get tired? Like this, there are long moments of unspoken union. A still life in erotic temperament: Footsteps and Tree Man are calm, Nikki is frantic.

Thwack.

On the patch of flesh that once anchored the offending stubble, what must be a riding crop, visits fresh pain. Nikki cries out. It comes again, indifferent to the recipient. And again. And again. And again. Writhing against the blocky muscle of Tree Man, Nikki is terrified she can’t take any more on that spot. She twists and pushes with useless ferocity. Escape is impossible. And then the stinger finds the fleshy tenderness of Nikki’s bum. A blitzkrieg of discipline raises marks and howls. Footsteps is an artist in economy. Each inflicted stroke brings equal measures of suffering and pleasure. The redness of her skin is smeared in her excitement. Still hungry for more, she reaches her arms above her head and holds on to the thick, brutish neck of Tree Man.

Another pause and Footsteps is closer now. As alive as her snatch is, Nikki feels something hanging just above it. She’s certain it’s the leather leaf of the crop and she can’t believe how ready she is for it: another level of all this tortured ecstasy. Footsteps delivers.

A soft tapping begins where her mound makes way for her clit. The final stimulus Nikki’s body is screaming for has arrived. The leather works faster and ups the intensity of its provocative rhythm. Tears mat the fabric against her hot face, Nikki’s growing hoarse from the screams ripping from her body. The nearness of her climax sets her body shaking, she’s lost in the flood of all that she feels. Her back arches against Tree Man, she’s so thankful they are sharing this together.

“That’s enough.”

It is Him. On every speaker in the room. Everything stops.

So very close to completion, Nikki cries out “No. No. No. Please don’t do this to me. Please don’t!” Tree Man puts her back on the marble floor, she sinks to her knees, the cold surface mocks her. The rage between her legs is excruciating. “Please don’t.”

Between disbelieving sobs, Nikki hears Footsteps and the rolling thing move away from her. Tree Man is still behind. She longs to be in those giant hands again, pressed against his boundless masculinity. Nikki petulantly screams in her head for her silent collaborator to fuck her. But it’s not to be.

“Cunt. Stand up and close your eyes.”

She does so but not before hearing Footsteps come back one more time and place something on the floor beside Nikki with a clunk. Tree Man steps forward, there’s a tug at the back of her neck and the hood, her tiny prison, is removed. With her eyes still closed, Tree Man opens the Medieval door he came from and is gone.

Alone in the hallway, swollen, dripping, and hugely frustrated, Nikki waits.

“Put your clothes on.” In sharp contrast to what’s boiling in her, He is as steady as a clock.

Dressed she stands straight and looks at the violent painting before her. She’s so angry, she’s afraid to speak for what she might say, how this could end.

“In the case at your feet is everything you need. Go home,” He pauses as the command spins through her like a high caliber bullet, “Cunt.”

Fuming but determined to muster a bit of dignity, Nikki bends to pick up the black case Footsteps has left for her and the banana bread she made early that morning. The thought of walking the sixteen blocks home seems preposterous to her. How can she feel part of the outside world after all of this freakishness? She quivers at the ache of her sudden loneliness and turns for the exit.

“What is that you brought with you?”

Could this whole fucking day get any worse?

“Banana bread,” she forces through clenched teeth then braces for the abuse the absurdity of her gesture will bring.

“For me?”

Wordlessly, slowly, she nods her head.

“I love banana bread. Thank you so much.” He is so frank in His pleasures, she has to smile.

“When you get home and look in the case, call me.” Again, He pulls the strings that make Nikki feel what He wants.

“I think everyone here needs to know how this ends.”

The microphone clicks off. Nikki reaches for the black handle of the door and wonders about the heft of whatever rests in the case.

To be continued…