The neon lights outside "Sitters" flickered to life as the sun dipped below the skyline, casting a soft glow through the dusty windows. Inside, the bar was already filling up with the evening's clientele, a mix of the powerful and the desperate. Lisa, a woman in her prime with fiery red hair that cascaded down her shoulders like a liquid flame, sailed through the door with the confidence of a queen entering her castle. She had come to claim her throne for the night, the same throne she had made her own over the past few months.
The bar's owner, Anna, a stern yet alluring woman with a knowing smile, recognized the sound of Lisa's stilettos clacking against the floorboards from the moment she entered. "Welcome back, darling," she purred as Lisa made her way to her usual spot at the bar. "Your usual?"
Lisa nodded, her eyes scanning the room before settling on the freshly cleaned barstool. She knew what was beneath her, but she had grown to enjoy the thrill of the unknown, the secret pleasure that awaited her. She swung her shapely leg over the seat, feeling the leather hug her skin as she straddled it. The faint scent of the last patron's perfume still lingered, mixing with the musky aroma of male submission.
"Indeed, Anna," Lisa replied, her voice a seductive purr. She leaned closer, her ample breasts pressing against the cool surface of the bar as she whispered, "I had quite the session with my fitness coach today. He really worked me over." She smirked, the corners of her mouth curling upwards as she felt the barstool's secret occupant stiffen beneath her.
Meanwhile, Slave Number 11—or "Ben", as he was once known—felt his heart race beneath the blindfold. The scent of fresh sex wafted through the air, a heady mix of sweat and arousal that was all too familiar to him. He had been here before, his mouth a silent witness to Lisa's conquests, his tongue a servant to her whims. He could taste the warm, sticky residue of her encounter with the fitness coach from her sultry flesh. Despite his chastity cage, his cock twitched with a painful throb, yearning for a similar release.
The barstool had been customized to accommodate his slender frame perfectly. He was strapped in tightly, his wrists and ankles bound to the chair's steel frame, leaving him utterly immobile. Only his head and neck remained free, a design that allowed him to be the unsung hero of the evening's entertainment. The cushion of the stool had been cleverly modified to form a snug cavity around his face, the material molding to the contours of his cheeks and forehead. It was a prison of comfort, a place where he was both hidden and displayed.
Anna, ever the skilled conversationalist, pretended not to notice the silent exchange of power between Lisa and the slave beneath her. She mixed the cocktail with the precision of an artist, the clinking of ice and the glug of liquor a symphony of seduction. "Oh, you and your coach," she said with a knowing smirk, placing the drink before Lisa with a flourish. "He's quite the specimen, isn't he?"
Lisa took a sip, the cool liquid sliding down her throat like liquid silk.
"Mm, yes," she said, her voice thick with satisfaction. "He really knows how to push me to my limits." She leaned back, the leather of the stool groaning slightly as it took her weight, the warmth of Ben's breath against her crotch a stark contrast to the chill from her drink.
Ben felt her muscles tense, then release, his own body responding to the rhythm of her pleasure. He knew what was coming next. His tongue darted out, eager to perform his duty, to cleanse her of the evidence of her infidelity. The taste was bitter and sweet, a mingling of his own jealousy and the undeniable allure of her arousal. He lapped at her, his tongue dancing over her folds, savoring the remnants of her coach's release.
Above the bar, Lisa's voice grew louder, recounting the details of her rendezvous. The sound of her laughter was a symphony of dominance that echoed through the bar, a reminder to all present that she was in charge, even over those she could not see. She leaned back further, her fingers toying with the edge of the cocktail glass, her other hand idly tracing the contours of Ben's face, his eyes still tightly shut by the blindfold.
"So, Anna," Lisa said, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, "have you trained him on the new hygiene protocol already?"
Anna's smile grew wider, her eyes glinting with mischief as she nodded. "Indeed, I have," she responded, her voice a sultry purr. "Two taps on the head, and he'll know exactly what to do."
Lisa's grin was predatory as she tapped Ben's blindfolded head twice. Instantly, he understood the signal. He parted his lips, forming a tight seal around her opening. He felt the warmth of her bladder and the pressure build before she released, a steady stream of liquid filling his mouth. His throat constricted as he swallowed, his body responding involuntarily to the humiliation and degradation of his role. Yet, the taste of her, the power she wielded over him, was intoxicating.
The bar's ambience grew heavier with each gulp, the muffled sounds of the other patrons' conversations and the throb of the background music seeming to pulse in time with his beating heart. As Lisa relieved herself, Ben felt a strange kinship with the plumbing hidden beneath the bar—both existing solely to serve the women above. His thoughts raced as he struggled to keep up, to be the perfect receptacle for her waste.
Lisa leaned back further, her hand resting on the top of his head, guiding him like a master to their shared secret. Her grip tightened, urging him on as the last drops fell from her body into his mouth. He swallowed, the salty taste lingering on his tongue. The warmth of his embarrassment flushed his cheeks, yet a twisted sense of pride swelled in his chest. He had served her well.
After a moment, Lisa's hand lifted, and she tapped his head again. Ben knew what to do. He extended his tongue, tentatively at first, then with more confidence, lapping at her cleanly shaven mound. The scent of her arousal was stronger now, a potent blend of power and desire that made his own caged cock throb even more painfully.
Lisa's breath hitched as his tongue found her clit, flicking and teasing it with the precision of a maestro conducting an orchestra of pleasure. She could feel the tension building within her, a tight coil ready to snap. Anna watched the silent dance unfold with the detachment of a puppeteer, the slightest twitch of her finger on the remote in her pocket a constant reminder of the power dynamics at play.
As Lisa's moans grew more urgent, Ben felt his own need growing, the chastity cage around his cock a cruel reminder of his role. He was a mere vessel for her satisfaction, denied the sweet release she sought so readily from others. Yet, as the first tremors of her orgasm began to ripple through her body, his own envy was replaced by a fierce sense of loyalty. He was hers, utterly and completely, a living tool for her to wield as she saw fit.
The tension peaked, and Lisa's body convulsed. Above the bar, her hand clenched into a fist, her knuckles white from the force of her grip. She threw her head back, her hair cascading over her shoulders like a crimson waterfall. Anna watched with a knowing smile, the silent performance a testament to the control she had over her patrons.
The orgasm washed over Lisa in waves, a symphony of pleasure that Ben felt in every twitch of her muscles. His own cock strained against the unforgiving metal of his chastity device, the painful throb a silent crescendo to their shared experience. When the last spasm of pleasure had passed, Lisa leaned forward, her hand patting Ben's head like a pet might be rewarded.
"Good boy," she murmured, the words barely audible over the din of the bar. Her praise washed over him like a warm embrace, his heart swelling with a strange mix of pride and despair. He had served his purpose, brought her to climax once again, but his own release remained a distant dream.
Lisa leaned back, her breathing returning to normal as she took another sip of her cocktail, the cool liquid a stark contrast to the sticky warmth of her recent release.
As Lisa sat there, basking in the afterglow of her climax, she couldn't help but feel a twinge of pity for the man beneath her. He was so devoted, so eager to please, despite his obvious suffering. Yet, she knew that the very nature of his servitude was what made her feel so powerful, so alive. It was a cycle she had no intention of breaking.
"Anna," she called out, her voice still thick with satisfaction, "how much longer does he have?"
Anna glanced at a ledger beneath the bar, her eyes scanning the page before looking up. "Three more months," she replied, her tone devoid of any hint of sympathy for Ben's plight. "Assuming he continues to perform as well as he has been."
Three more months. The words hung in the air like a death sentence, each tick of the clock in the corner of the bar a painful reminder of the endless servitude that awaited him. Yet, as he listened to the clink of ice and the soft murmur of feminine voices, Ben felt a spark of hope. Perhaps, just perhaps, Lisa would take pity on him. Perhaps she would use her influence to end his suffering, to free him from this hellish existence.
But Lisa only chuckled, the sound low and throaty, sending a shiver down his spine. "Three more months," she mused, her fingers tracing the rim of her glass. "So much fun to be had, so many more debts to pay."
The words were a dagger to Ben's heart, but he knew better than to react. His training was thorough, his obedience absolute. He swallowed hard, his eyes watering slightly from the effort of holding back his emotions.
"I'll have to make sure to bring more friends to introduce to our little secret," Lisa said, her eyes gleaming. She took another sip of her cocktail, the ice clinking against the glass a stark contrast to the silent anguish Ben felt. "I'm sure they'll enjoy the service as much as I do."
Ben felt the weight of her words, knowing full well that Lisa had no intention of releasing him from his debt early. Yet, he couldn't help but hope that one of her friends might see beyond his predicament, might feel a flicker of empathy. His mind raced with the thought of being used by strangers, his body a plaything for any woman who cared to claim his services.
Lisa slipped off the barstool, her bare skin sliding against the leather with a soft whisper. Ben felt the loss of her heat and the absence of her weight like a cold embrace. He remained still, awaiting his next command, his tongue still tasting the faint tang of her arousal.
"Thank you, Anna," Lisa said as she slid a credit chit across the counter. "As always, your service is impeccable."
Anna took the chit with a nod. "And 11's service?" she asked, her voice a purr of curiosity.
"Perfect," Lisa purred, her hand lingering on Ben's head for a moment longer than necessary. "As always." She slid off the stool, the leather releasing its grip on her skin with a sigh. Ben felt a twinge of loss as she stepped away, his body craving more of her touch, more of her command.
Anna nodded in approval, tucking the chit into the cash register with a metallic click. "We aim to please," she said, her eyes lingering on Lisa's retreating figure. "And I'm sure you'll keep us busy with referrals."
Ben, still bound to the barstool, felt a pang of longing as he heard the fading click of her heels. His mind was a whirlwind of emotions—desire, anger, resentment, but mostly, a deep-seated devotion to the woman who had reduced him to this. He had once been a man with a life, a man with dreams, but now he was nothing more than a living toy for Lisa and her friends to use at their whim.
The night stretched out before him, a seemingly endless parade of women who would take their pleasure without a thought for his own. He steeled himself for the hours to come, knowing that his job was to satisfy each and every one of them, no matter the cost to his dignity or sanity.
As the bar grew more crowded and the air thick with the scent of desire, Ben couldn't help but think back to how he'd ended up here. It had been a foolish gamble, one that had cost him everything. His pride, his self-respect, and ultimately, his freedom. But the most bitter pill to swallow was that his own wife, the woman who had once promised to cherish him, was the one who had signed away his fate.
Lisa had always been in control of their finances, a detail Ben had willingly ignored in the early days of their marriage. Her sharp business acumen had built their life into something enviable, a castle of comfort and status. But when his gambling addiction had spiraled out of control, threatening the foundation of their empire, she had acted swiftly and decisively. It was she who had brought him to Anna, the broker of this twisted deal, and it was she who had strapped him into the barstool that would be his prison for months to come.
