Playing with Fire

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Playing with Fire

Unread post by anonymouse »

Authors notes:
- This is a fantasy story, obviously.
- I am not a professional writer, nor do I intend to become one. Feel free to comment/critique, but set expectations accordingly. I'm writing this primarily for my own edification, but I figured I'd share, in case others enjoy it.
- My interests are not everyone's; hopefully this will be an enjoyable read for some people.
- Story is currently incomplete (work in progress). Will post more parts over time, no guarantee of completion, though.
- Apologies for kinda janky formatting; no way to preserve tabs stops copying into phpbb. =/


“You should make sure it’s tight,” she said with a slight smile, wiggling her left wrist within the shackle which held it up away from her body and affixed it to the wall, “we wouldn’t want me slipping out or anything.”

It was unnecessary, of course; she had secured the cuff moments ago, as she had many times before, and I was certain that she had done so with sufficient competence as to render escape impossible. That was not the point of the request, though, as we both knew, as the smirk still played on her lips, inviting the action. She enjoyed the restrictive pressure to the point where it elicited slight pain, more so so if applied by another, and especially if applied by her lover, a position I was incredibly fortunate to occupy. Dutifully, I moved to oblige the request, caressing her bare arm with my hand on the way up.

“You know,” I said, my eyes locked with hers as my fingers reached her wrist and felt around for the appropriate position of leverage to push the cuff incrementally tighter, “we shouldn’t dilly dally when you’re not sure how much time you have.” As I finished the admonishment I squeezed, pressing the metal into her flesh, until I heard the telltale click of the ratchet, and elicited a corresponding moan of satisfaction.

“I know,” she said in her deep sultry voice, with a barely-perceptible slight glow in her reddish eyes, “but you know it’s just my nature.” I felt the delicate but firm fingers of her other hand snaking around my head, her neatly manicured nails leading the way through my hair, her surprisingly strong hand pulling me in for a kiss. Her soft red lips were warm, and that warmth seemed to emanate, threatening to envelop my body at a moment’s notice, and leave me adrift in her embrace. Then, far too quickly and entirely too soon, her fingers grasped my hair, and pulled my head away, breaking the embrace.

“It’s just my nature,” she said again, this time far less wistfully and with a newly serious, and slightly desperate, look in her eyes. They were still faintly glowing, a fact which I now observed, having been jolted more aware when she pulled me away. My body wanted to press my lips back in and fall back into the blissful euphoria I hadn’t wanted to leave, but my mind was now acutely aware of the danger that presented, and barely kept my impulses at bay. “The gag, quickly,” she said, half commanding and half pleading.

The gag referred to was one of numerous items, purchased over time from various purveyors of sexual paraphernalia, most of which were now online outlets with discrete shipping. Unlike most of the toys in our collection, though, the few down in this room were not used for pleasurable escapades, but rather for a more utilitarian purpose. On the side of the room hung two such gags, one primary and one backup, the former of which showed some small signs of wear from repeated use. Alongside the gags, in separate hooks, were two blinding devices: blindfold type items, but with individual padded leather patches to cover the eyes completely, and a strap with buckle to fasten securely.

I tore my eyes away from their fixation on her perfect face, an action which seemed to require physical exertion, and moved quickly across the room to acquire the requisite item. The gag itself was a leather panel with straps to secure it, with an artificial phallus protruding from the “back” of the panel, the length of which would be challenging even for a seasoned professional in the applicable entertainment industry. It was also, we had discovered through extensive experimentation, the most effective non-destructive device one could use to stifle any attempts at communication on the part of the wearer. A grabbed the well-used one from its hook, and the matching blinder, and turned to set about applying it expediently.

She really did present a striking image, I thought, seeing her entire body in full now for seemingly the first time that evening, even (or especially) as partially restrained as she was. She was wearing her ubiquitously ever-present six inch heels, this time in the form of knee length patent black leather boots with stiletto heels, which elevated her already statuesque height to a bit beyond six feet. Beneath, some classy black nylons were briefly visible, before the black leather skirt line, which was not too short but not too long. Above that, a low cut semi-transparent top hung loosely, obfuscating the form fitting and tightly cinched bodice which accentuated her pre-existing hourglass figure. Her long, wavey, deep brownish red hair hung loosely around her face and onto her shoulders, framing her minimal-makeup look face, save the perpetually red lips. A classy evening jacket had been discarded on the way into the room, and now lay by the door, forgotten.

She was standing with her feet apart, legs slightly straining against the confines of the inflexible skirt. This was necessary to position her ankles for the bottom shackles, which had already been secured around the boots at the ankles, and were affixed to the padding-covered concrete wall with solid and study mounts approximately three feet apart. Above, similarly heavy duty shackles were mounted slightly above head level, one of which already held one of her delicate wrists, and the other awaited its companion. A casual observer might have questioned the need for such heavy duty wall-mounted restraints for such a petite woman, but we both knew better, and had commissioned the installation as such.

“Focus,” she said, again with an urgent tone, snapping me out of my lurid gaze which had threatened to derail my returning few steps across the room. “I’ll put it in, just do the straps, then my arm. And secure it.” The last addendum helped emphasize the urgency of the situation: we’d done the overnight restraint procedure numerous times since I’d found her, but “secure it” meant she thought the situation warranted using a lock on the gag as well, something which we’d done a few times but always felt superfluous, given the other precautions. It may very well have been in this case as well, but the mention had the desired effect, and I set my mind to complete the tasks without further dalliance if possible.

She grabbed the gag from me with her free hand as soon as it was in range, maneuvering her fingers to grasp the panel appropriately. A flash of desire to pause the process and steal one last kiss entered my mind; I pushed it aside, the lingering caution from moments ago serving its purpose. Having aligned the gag appropriately, she unceremoniously opened her mouth and shoved the phallus in, about two thirds of its length sliding smoothly past her open lips and disappearing deep into her mouth. As I moved to secure the straps behind her head, she repositioned her hand to push the last third in, exerting the tangible additional amount of force necessary to push the end beyond the point of resistance which signified the extent of the confines of her mouth, and into her throat proper. Moving quickly with practiced hands, I found the buckle behind her head, threaded the strap through, and pulled to cinch it down, trapping the phallus in position and pressing the panel against her face, trapping her lips entirely within a tight seal. By the time I was done fiddling with securing the buckle, she was already motioning with her eyes towards the other wrist shackle, where she had positioned her arm and was urging me non-verbally to complete the process.

I moved to attach the other wrist shackle, forgoing the interstitial caress along the way, and quickly ratcheted it down into place, a rapid series of clicks each signifying a diminishing chance of escape, until it too was held uncompromisingly in place pressing into her skin. This too elicited a moan, this time slightly less audible past the phallic intrusion and through the panel, but still enticing enough to necessitate mental effort to ignore. Instead I turned my attention to applying the blinder, the individually adjustable eye pads sealing off her eyes from view, and the buckled strap ensuring that they would remain so confined for the duration of the evening. The image of her eyes staring into mine as I applied it would linger for a moment, as it always did; a symbolic last look shared between two lovers before her complete surrender to inescapable solitude.

Once again pulling my eyes and mind away, as if with physical effort, I moved to retrieve the locks. These we did not keep conveniently on-hand, but rather in a side drawer in the room, the convenience proportional to their frequency of use. I retrieved two: both the gag and the blinder had straps which would accommodate locks to secure them, and if I was to take this extra step, I might as well be thorough. Pocketing the keys, I moved back to my lover, and seconds later clicked both locks into place, ensuring that even if someone were to find her like this, they would not be able to grant her any reprieve. Only then, the critical tasks complete, did I grant myself a moment to contemplate the situation.

She really was stunningly beautiful, supernaturally so one might say, even secured in a somewhat unnatural spread position with over half her face hidden. Her narrow but accentuated hips were swaying back and forth rhythmically as she continued to explore the limits of her movement, pulling half-heartedly with each arm in turn, not to attempt escape, but seemingly to just feel the uncompromised rigidity of the restraints. Her head was tilted slightly back, resting against the padding on the wall, the distended bulge in her throat which betrayed the length of the phallus therein slightly visible on her otherwise slender neck. The soft, dark, unblemished and uncovered skin of her arms, and the slightly shiny black leather of her boots, both contrasting against the lighter silver of the thick metal shackles holding each in place. I could have stood there for hours, transfixed, just watching that writhing image in silent erotic appreciation.

Begrudgingly, I pulled myself away from the gazing once again; it was dangerous to get too absorbed, especially as I was the only person with the means to affect her release. I took one final look around the room, primarily to ensure nothing was inadvertently within her reach or otherwise accessible, before turning and retreating to the door. As I passed the frame I hit the light switch, plunging the room into almost complete darkness, the only light being that which was coming down from the lights in the stairwell outside. I secured the solid and metal-reinforced door, and made my way up the long flight of stairs, back into the lower level of our house proper. There, I would ensure the monitors were functional and that the sensors indicated that everything was secure, before retiring to our master bedroom to spend a restless night alone, as was the unfortunate and mournful necessity on nights like this. This was the price we both paid, willingly.

In the back of my mind I knew that, were something to happen to me, and the authorities discovered my house, the secret sub-basement room, and my lover’s predicament, I would be branded a sexual predator at best, and more likely an abhorrent sociopathic monster. I had, by all external appearances, chained up a woman with whom I had no legal relationship in a hidden room in my house, burdened with a gag so barbarous as to make just continued breathing a tenuous proposition, and entirely dependent on me alone for any eventual release, or even for eventual discovery of the body. Moreover, even if I was able to tell the authorities my side of the story, it would be doubtful they would believe me anyway; how implausible is the potential defense which begins with “she’s not actually human.” Yet, that was the case, and as I settled down that evening for my night alone, I recounted again the unusual set of circumstances which had led my highly unusual life experience to this point.

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Re: Playing with Fire

Unread post by Petrajane »

Jesus! I want to be in her position! Vamp?

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Re: Playing with Fire

Unread post by anonymouse »

In a Strange Land

I’d first run into Mona, as we decided her name would be, a few years ago. That wasn’t her real name; to say her real name was in a hard-to-pronounce foreign language would be a gross understatement, and early on we needed to pick something she would go by. Mona was a fanciful if simple play on words, but like many other monikers, we just grew accustomed to it through casual usage, and when it came time to introduce her, Mona it became.

Back then, I’d like to go for hikes alone, in the wooded areas around my remote home. Working remotely in IT didn’t require working in any specific location, and like many people in the IT industry, I wasn’t naturally either particularly outgoing or sociable. Thus I migrated my living arrangements to a relatively secluded location, where I could have a comfortable house to live and work in, close enough to the city to be within easy driving distance for supplies, but far enough away to afford some privacy and nature around my home. I would make regular excursions into said nature; picking a direction and wandering for a while, trying to explore areas off the familiar paths, with no particular goal or destination in mind, just aimless wandering. Carrying a GPS enabled personal device made that type of excursion much less dangerous than it would have been historically, and it was relaxing to just walk without trying to get anywhere.

It was on one of these excursions that I happened to be hiking in a new area, and heard what sounded like sobbing coming from a small cave near the area I was walking. This was very strange: I wasn’t hiking on any particular trail, and it was rare to run into anyone on these walks. I approached, cautiously, wary that I might be hearing the noise from some wild animal that just sounded human to my confused brain. Peeing into the darkness, I could just make out a vaguely human-sized shape in the vicinity of where the noise was coming from.

“Hello?” I offered into the darkness, still unsure what was there. “Is someone there? Are you okay?”

“Go away,” came a reply from the darkness, unexpectedly. It was a distinctly female voice, as as the response correlated with a pause in the sobbing, I surmised it was indeed from a human female voiced entity. “You cannot help me,” the voice added, more softly, with a clear undertone of resignation.

This presented, on its face, a pretty bizarre dilemma for me. Here I was, in the middle of nowhere, having encountered someone who was by all appearances in distress, yet she was telling me to go away, and every fiber of my aversion to unnecessary, much less undesired, social interaction was inclined to oblige. Was this another random hiker, seeking seclusion, upset that I ha disturbed it? Then why the crying? Was this someone attempting some form of depression-fueled suicide in the wilderness? But why then travel all the way to the middle of nowhere first, how did that help?

I went through several possible scenarios in my head at that moment, and in the end I think the thing which decided my course of action was not landing on any particular theory to explain the situation, but rather that nothing seemed to make sense, and my IT-background tempered curiosity could not let that go. “Pardon me, mam,” I offered, digging around for a light from my phone, “but are you okay?”

The inquiry was met with silence, which persisted until a few seconds later when I had device in hand to provide some illumination. I was not prepared for what the pale LED light revealed, though. Sitting on the ground, huddled as far back into the crevice-like small cave as possible, and staring up at me, was a slender, and apparently completely naked, young female. She had long, wavy flowing dark hair, evenly tanned skin, and damp lines on her face from recent tears… and nothing else on or around her body as far as I could see. No clothing, no hiking gear, no equipment, no shoes… nothing.

The cliche would be to say that I stood there dumbfounded at her beauty, but the reality was that my analytical mind was so preoccupied with the lack of any discernible outdoor equipment or clothing that I really was stuck at that moment trying to figure out how she could have possibly gotten into this situation. It wasn’t exactly freezing cold outdoors at that time of year, but it wasn’t tropically balmy either, and I couldn’t imagine someone being entirely exposed to the elements as she was for more than a few hours, and only seemingly distressed emotionally.

“My gosh, let me get you my jacket,” I managed after a few moments, and hastily removed my outer coat. She made no response, she just stared up at me, with what I perceived to be an expression of lingering sorrow mixed with resignation. As I bent down to drape the coat around her, she leaned forward away from the stone she had been learning on, and I wrapped the coat around her shoulders. Strangely, as my hand brushed her skin, it didn’t feel cold; on the contrary, it seemed perhaps slightly warmer than normal. I assumed she must not have been there long to still be warm.

“Thank you,” she said, in a soft and warm voice. “You are kind.” She hadn’t taken her eyes off me since I turned on my light, and presumably even before that point, and I’d just then noticed that her eyes were a strange color, dark brown, but with a hint of red in them. I finished wrapping the coat around her, tucking it in as best I could without touching any of her private areas, and squatted down beside her on a nearby rock in the small cave. Her bare legs were still sprawled out on the ground, but at least she was reasonably covered now, not that she’d shown any sign that this was of any concern to her at all.

“So,” I said, after we had sat in silence together for a few moments, “how long have you been out here?” Admittedly, this probably wasn’t the most salient question to ask at the time, but since my brain was still struggling to come up with semi-plausible scenarios to explain what was going on, this was the best I could do.

“A while,” she replied, her response trailing off. It struck me that she didn’t seem like she was being evasive or anything; rather, it was as if the measurement of time in this state was not something which she had bothered to track. This didn’t really fill in any blanks in my speculative scenarios. She also didn’t seem like she was eager to volunteer her life story, or even the most recent few paragraphs, so the brief answer hung in the air for a few moments while my brain formulated another.

“Okay, cool, how did you get here? Are you lost or something? And why were you crying?” Suddenly I’d found a number of things to be vocally curious about, apparently, although oddly her lack of any attire was not one of them. My brain is odd sometimes, to say the least.

“You shouldn’t have helped me,” she responded, ignoring my inquiries as her eyes drifted away from me to stare out of the cave. “I’m not what you think I am. You wouldn’t have approached me if you knew what I was. I deceived you… it’s my nature, and I’m cursed to follow it. Cursed to…” Her train of exposition, which didn’t seem directed to me, trailed off, as tears welled in her eyes once more.

I gave it a beat, then tried again. “Okay, let’s start from the beginning. Can you tell me your name?”

She slowly turned her head to face me again, as if being pulled from her malaise and grudgingly reminded that I was there. She seemed confused for a moment. “I don’t have a name, at least in a language you would know. Also, names are dangerous; names imply connection. You shouldn’t know my name.”

Her tone didn’t seem hostile; rather, more resigned, like she was responding to the inquiry in the best way she knew how, even though she knew the answer would be unsatisfactory. It was, profoundly: what she was saying didn’t make any sense. It occurred to me that I could be dealing with someone who had mental issues, who had somehow wandered into the wilderness alone, discarding clothing along the way, and was now having a complete psychological collapse here in this cave. Doubt crept into my mind that I might not be prepared to deal with someone in that state.

Yet, that explanation didn’t make much sense either, on reflection. Firstly, this location was pretty far from any urban areas; the chances that someone would travel this far while in a degrading mental state seemed low. Second, and perhaps less scientifically, most mentally ill people I’d encountered had physical signs of a degraded state: scars from drug abuse, general health issues, etc., and I didn’t see any of those signs when I’d looked at her body. Third, it occurred to me that someone who had walked here barefoot would certainly have some grime to show from the trip, yet when I looked down her legs, her bare feet (which I then noticed were pointed parallel to the ground at rest, like linear extensions of her legs) showed no dirt or scrapes that I could discern. So if not mentally ill, then what?

“Okay, so you don’t want to tell me your name. That’s fine, I can call you ‘mam’.” This elicited no response; she simply continued to look at me with sorrow-filled eyes. “So mam,” I started again, trying to be as non-threatening as possible, “can you tell me how you got here, and why you are sad?”

She didn’t respond immediately, but that was okay; I gave her time, and didn’t push. After a few moments, it seemed like she internalized the idea that I wasn’t just going to up and leave, and decided to engage. “I got here in a way you wouldn’t understand,” she began, “and even if I told you, you wouldn’t believe me. I’m sad because I am cursed, and in a way which is new to me, but devious in the way it gets worse the more I care. I’m sorry if that doesn’t make sense, and I’m sorry that you’re going to have more questions. I’m sorry about so much…” She trailed off again, sadness threatening to overwhelm her ability to articulate.

“I’m not making much sense to you, and I apologize for that,” she continued after a bit, regaining her composure. “Since it doesn’t seem like you’re going to go away and leave me be, I’ll need to tell, no show, you what I am first. Then you can decide if you really want to stick around and try to help me. You seem like a nice person, and you have been kind, and I appreciate that, but you deserve to know what you’re dealing with, so you have a chance to run away. It’s dangerous to be around me, and you have no idea now.”

She paused for a moment, either to gather her thoughts or to let the statements sink in, or both. “I am not from here,” she continued, as I patiently waited. “In fact, I’m not from anywhere you know of. You humans have a lot of fairy tales and myths about things which maybe some people saw at some point, but are rare enough that they just become fanciful stories. Other realms, mythical creatures, stuff like that. Most of that is just imagination, but some of it is grounded in reality; it’s just a reality which most of you never get exposure to. I’m one of those creatures, from one of those places that you think is a myth, which is why what I’m saying probably doesn’t make a lot of sense.”

She was certainly correct on that point, and I admit that mental illness was looking more plausible by the moment, but I patiently let her continue. “You don’t believe me, of course; no rational human would. I will show you, and you will still not believe me; you’ll find a way to explain it, or convince yourself it’s a trick, because that’s how you process things you cannot accept. But you deserve to see, before you decide if you truly want anything to do with me.”

“Okay…” I nodded, indicating that I had understood what she had said. She’d now been fully categorized in my mind as mentally ill, regardless of the rest of my questions around her situation. Still, that didn’t mean I shouldn’t try to help her; I just didn’t know what the right approach to do so was. I decided to just let her keep talking, and maybe something she said in between the delusions would give me some answers indirectly.

“Observe,” she said, still looking intently at me. Then something started to happen, something which, as advertised, my mind simply could not initially accept as real. Beneath her hair, something started to move, and two pointed dark objects emerged. As I watched they grew, curving backwards as they grew, growing from the top of her head by inches per second. I didn’t even notice until they had stopped growing, slightly beyond the back of her head in length, that the slight reddish glow in her eyes was now neither slight nor subtle any more. The whole transformation process took only a few seconds; she continued staring at me the entire time.

As predicted, I couldn’t really process what I was seeing, even though it was right in front of me. I think it was more that failure than anything else which prevented me from recoiling in fear and shock: she had said I wouldn’t believe it, and there it was, and I wasn’t believing it. I reached out almost instinctively to touch the… horns? They felt real, solid, not an illusion. In the back of my mind, I clung to the notion that it was still possible that this was some sort of magic trick, an elaborate ruse setup in the middle of nowhere in case someone happened to be walking by that day, in a place where I doubted even one person a year would happen by.

As Arthur Conan Doyle wrote, “When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.” I hadn’t quite eliminated the elaborate ruse hypothesis, but it was struggling to appear more plausible than what I was observing in front of my eyes, as the presumed female simply looked on, waiting for me to absorb what I had been shown.

“Okay,” I managed eventually, cautiously feeling around for mental footing in this suddenly very strange and vaguely frightening new reality, “so you’re a…”

“Demon,” she said, softly and matter-of-factly. Her glowing red eyes were still fixed on me, scrutinizing my reactions. “That’s what you humans have called our kind, at least, in your legends and myths. Specifically, a succubus, if you are familiar with the lore of demonology.” She paused for a moment, either gauging my reaction or allowing a pause for questions from me, none of which were immediately forthcoming. “I am a creature from another plane, who feeds on mortals, and I have been cursed to suffer on this plane until the conditions of the curse are fulfilled. My very being is a danger to you, and you should leave me to my suffering, lest it consume you too.”

I let that sink in for a minute, while she looked on. I knew what a succubus was, at least in mythology: a female demon which fed on the life energy or mortals who engaged in sexual activity with her, at least as far as I could recall. It was probably some myth which originated in some puritanical religion, where there was a fiery damnation awaiting anyone who deigned to stray from the strict moralistic behavior mandated by the doctrine, a doctrine which no-doubt included prohibition of sexual relations outside of the strict allowed conditions to procreate more believers. Yet current evidence would suggest that there might be some alternative basis for the “myth” as well, which I had not previously considered.

I considered whether I should just take her advice, and just leave. That was the simplest course of action: get up, write off my coat, and leave this person/thing to her own devices, consigning myself to engage in self-doubt until this was a hazy memory I could have just imagined while walking alone in the wilderness. That conflicted with my nature, though: I wanted to understand what was going on, what the reality was, what this all meant, even if that threatened to upend my world view. It was conditioned into my psyche as an engineer.

Moreover, though, I still wanted to help her also. After all, I’d come upon her crying, there was clearly something wrong, and even if she was this thing she was claiming to be, that didn’t mean she wasn’t in distress. I’m not claiming to be some gratuitously chivalrous knight or anything, but I still wanted to try to help, warnings be damned.

“Okay, I understand,” I said, disingenuously of course, but as one does to acknowledge information they have absorbed. “But you haven’t sucked out my life force yet, so you must have some control over that part, right?”

She nodded, slowly. “That’s true; I don’t need to feed all the time, or even that often. Really I don’t need to feed at all, my kind is sustained by energy from the plane where I’m from, not by anything we take from mortals. But, when we are in this world, I get periodic urges which I cannot control, where something causes me to need to…” she trailed off for a second, searching for the right explanation, “consume, if you will, and in that state I would use all of my power to do so. Not you, or anyone else, would be able to resist me in that state, and I would not be able to stop. You would be in ecstasy, right up until your soul was entirely drained, and you ceased to be. That’s the danger, that’s the inevitability.”

“Okay,” I said, still working the problem, “but you’re not there now, and there’s clearly something wrong now. Why don’t you tell me what's wrong now, and I’ll see if I can help you.”

She took another moment, seemingly deciding whether to engage or make another attempt at pushing me away. She seemed a little perplexed that I hadn’t done the latter, even in the face of her revelation, and perhaps didn’t know how to proceed from there. After a moment she looked away, and as I watched the horns receded into her head, disappearing under her flowing hair. When she looked up, the unnerving red glow was gone, and back was the smouldering yet mostly human look to her eyes.

“I was crying,” she began, speaking slowly and without making eye contact, “because I’m cursed, like I told you before. Normally those of my kind stay in our realm, and rarely venture outside of it. Occasionally someone powerful will venture into another realm on their own accord; that’s the sort of event which engenders myths and stories. The other way for us to get here is to get sent here by another powerful entity… which is what happened to me.

“See, normally beings like us are made with a specific purpose, a calling if you will, but more than that: it is the essence of our being, infused inseparably with what we are. In the case of my kind, that is to serve for the pleasure of others in my realm, and to drain and consume those that are weak. We are less like a threat there, and more of a recycling mechanism, in a sense. Demons do not normally age or die, but we can grow weak and complacent over time; our kind exists to ensure that only those that remain strong survive.”

She paused for a moment, then continued. “I guess I was an anomaly among my kind: I found myself caring about some of the other entities I had relations with. You have to understand,” she said, looking up at me, “to demons, caring is foreign, and compassion is considered offensive. To be a demon who is compassionate is like being a human who is psychopathic: it’s considered against the nature of the society there. I hid it for a while, but demons live a long time, and given enough encounters, someone is bound to notice something. I guess someone eventually did.

“There are some very powerful entities in my world, demons and otherwise, and some of them can be especially cruel and creative in their torments. This one, the one who cursed me, decided that as punishment for my compassion, he would grant me my ‘wish’: he banished me to this world, with the capacity to care amplified by a desire to give people pleasure, and to top it off the ability to ‘love’, or so he said. Love is a foreign concept to me, so I’m not sure what it would feel like, but feeling it is part of my curse, so I suppose I will experience it one way or another.

“But that’s not the end of it,” she continued, “there is one more part. I am cursed to be in this state until I find someone who is compassionate for me, and for whom I engender love in return, and experience love myself… and then that person is consumed by my hunger, and I am torn apart by grief at being the sole instrument of destruction of the only thing I would ever, or will ever, love. That is my curse: to care, to love, and to be powerless to stop my very nature from destroying the target of my affections. And I have been here, in the wilderness, for some time, trying to avoid the fate with which I have been cursed.” She paused there, once again the last sentence trailing off as she finished.

I let the silence hang in the air for a moment too, processing what she had said. “So you’ve been here a while, then,” I said eventually, half stating and half inquiring.

She nodded. “Demons are effectively immortal, and our world works differently, so it’s harder for us to mark the passage of time as you do, but in your time I’ve been out here alone for many, many days; hundreds, or more. I’ve been hiding from the fate which I have been cursed with, hoping to figure out some way out from under it, some mechanism to reserve it, while trying to avoid any contact which might be ruinous. And then you came along.” She half smiled up at me, with a forlorn expression. “And you were kind to me, and you’re still here, even after I tried to scare you away. You can still leave now, still escape getting caught up in my fate, my curse… but I will remember your kindness and compassion for many days to come.”

She was right, of course. I’d still only sat down, lent her a coat and an ear, and got a story which would sound insane to anyone I might tell it to. In an objective sense, I hadn’t committed much to our encounter, I didn’t have anything vested, and I could still walk away. I knew she… it… was different, and I didn’t need to care about her; heck, she’d begged me to leave moments before, it would just be acquiescing to her wishes.

But in my heart I knew all of that didn’t matter: I was already seeing her as a person, or at least as someone capable and deserving of compassion, and there was about as much chance of me walking away as flying away. I reached down, and took her hand, to her slight surprise.

“Being able to be compassionate isn’t a curse here, and you shouldn’t be ashamed of it,” I said, looking into her eyes as I held her hand in both of mine. “And walking away from someone in need is not something that we, or at least I, do. Maybe you’re dangerous to me just being around, but you seem capable of some amount of control of your nature, and you said yourself that you’re not like others of your kind. Maybe I can help you, or at least make it so you’re not sad for another hundred days or longer. And if you need to run away in the future because the impulse, or whatever, gets too strong, then so be it, but at least consider allowing someone to try to be a friend.”

She stared for a moment, and then smiled, as if a pressure release had happened somewhere inside her. “It’s strange,” she said, glancing down at where her hand still lay in mine, “I’ve been threatened with a lot of things in my existence, but friendship might be a new one.” She glanced around, as if seeing the cave with new eyes for the first time. “I have been in this wilderness for quite some time, and I haven’t really made any progress lifting this curse. I suppose I could give friendship a try. You cannot say I didn’t warn you, though.”

“Indeed,” I confirmed, still not sure I fully grasped the extent of danger her warning conveyed, but glad to see her happy for seemingly the first time. She had a lovely smile, and a warm touch, and I savored that moment as much as I could. I really had no idea what I was getting into, but at that moment, I didn’t care.

We sat there for a while, her hand still resting in mine, both of us presumably contemplating the significance of the change in our relationship which had just been agreed upon, perhaps surprisingly for both of us. She seemed content to just wait in silence; she had said that time meant less to her, so I guess that made sense. I took the opportunity to start second-guessing my decision, as was my custom with all major decisions I’d made, good or bad. Eventually, though, I figured I needed to say something; after all, I wasn’t immortal.

“So,” I started, breaking the silence, “you speak our language, and you obviously are familiar with humans. You look like us, more or less. Is it just the horns and the eyes, then, the rest of the stories are bogus?” As I spoke, I gestured to her exposed legs, still spread out on the ground and looking completely normal, and included her torso in the gesture even though it was covered, but from what I recall looked indistinguishable from a normal human female.

She smiled. “No, not exactly, but it’s complicated. My natural form has horns, and wings, and hooves, and scales… most of the stuff from the mythology. But we have the ability to disguise ourselves, to appear as attractive members of other species, including humans. So I can make my legs, for example,” she nodded down, gesturing with her head because her other hand was still wrapped under my coat, “look just like human legs and feet, as you can see. And it’s not just an illusion: they are that shape right now, you can touch them, feel them, and do whatever. It’s the same with the rest of my body: I choose the shape, and will my body to confirm to it.”

“There’s a catch, though,” she continued. “The thing is, it takes some will to keep a shape; not a huge amount, but some, and it can be tiring after a while. The closer the shape is to my real form, the less will it takes. That’s why my feet are pointed.” She gestured down, drawing my eyes to her feet. As I watched, they began to change shape, growing outward and morphing, the bottoms becoming darker, until seconds later they had fully changed. Where moments ago normal feet had been, now a scaly darker outer skin began just above where her ankles had been, and gradually tapered off into full horse-like hooves on the bottom.

“These are my real legs,” she stated, matter-of-factly. When I take a human form, I need to will a whole series of joints you call your ankles to be there, and as you can see I don’t have ankles. That takes effort, and it would take even more effort if I needed to flex those joints significantly. So I tend to keep my feet pointed when I’m in human form, as much as possible, because it takes less effort. I’ve found that most humans don’t notice, if you don’t draw their attention to it, and if they do they usually find it attractive anyway.” I had to concede the point: I had noticed, but I hadn’t thought it too unusual, and found it slightly attractive as well.

“There’s a cheat, though, too,” she continued, as I processed what she was saying. If something constrains the ability to take my original form, I can sorta ‘rest’ my will against that thing, and it takes less effort. That’s why I’m leaning up against this rock while sitting here: the rock is pressing into my back, and that’s where my wings would need to grow out, if I wanted to revert to that part of my natural shape. By sitting here like this, the rock prevents the wings from growing out anyway, so it doesn’t take any effort to keep them hidden, at least until I get up.”

“I see,” I said. “So if you had something like a helmet on your head, it would prevent your horns from growing out, and it wouldn’t take any effort to keep them in, but it takes some effort now. Is that right?”

“Yes, that’s correct. It’s not a lot of effort, but it might start to get difficult after a few hours, depending on the part. Hiding the horns is easier; hiding the wings and hooves are more challenging. I think that’s because they are bigger, and require more effort to transform them, but I’m not really sure.” She gave a wry smile. “Just because I’m a demon doesn’t mean I know everything, you know.”

“But there’s probably a trade off sometimes,” I surmised, thinking about what she had said. “If you’re sitting with your back on a rock for a while, that probably gets quite uncomfortable too, so you probably have to shift around periodically.”

“That’s true, but then again it’s not like I’m around humans much, being out here all alone until you came along. When I saw you coming, I hid myself here and assumed my human form, just in case you saw me. And you probably wouldn’t have, except I remembered what it was like to be around other people, I remembered those feelings, and I remembered the curse, and I couldn’t help myself from crying a little. I think you probably heard me.”

I nodded. “Yup, that’s what brought me over. You can’t just hear someone crying while alone in the woods, and not go make sure they are okay.”

“You can, actually, and you probably should have,” she said, “all things considered. But I’m glad you didn’t, I think. You are kind, and a lot of people are not… and truth be told, I’ve become very lonely since I was banished here, and I sometimes felt my sanity slipping. It’s nice to have someone to talk to after all this time, and feel like someone cares. I will try very hard not to kill you.”

“You seem a decent fellow, it would be a shame to die,” I said, soliciting a quizzical look, which was fine because my self-satisfaction with quoting the obscure reference outweighed the temporary confusion. “It’s a quote from an old movie,” I clarified. “It felt appropriate in the moment, even if the gender was wrong.”

She smiled and nodded, in a “that was strange but I accept your oddities” sort of way, which made me happy. I might live to regret my decision, but I was not feeling any regret at that moment.

“So,” I said, having completed my self-satisfactory revelry, “we should probably get going if I’m going to make it home by dark. I’m assuming you’ll come with me,” I added, suddenly aware that I might be making an assumption about her plan which might not be valid, and with a twinge of fear that it was not.

“Okay,” she said, to my relief. She pushed up from the ground, and strangely gracefully rose to her “feet”. Strangely, because it was just a visually unnatural motion for me to observe, with the hooves where feet should be; either that, or maybe there was some supernatural assistance thing going on. Whatever the case, she seemed to be able to stand just fine, despite not having flexible ankles, and the hooves being curved to be significantly in front of her would-be center of mass. I guess whatever she had for tendons and bones were strong enough to make that a non-issue for her, as briefly visually disconcerting as it was for me.

“Okay then,” I said, and rose to my feet with significantly less grace and elegance than she had just exhibited. I shook out the stiffness from my joints; she simply stood, as if sitting for all that time had no effect for her. She was tall, I noticed for the first time; not outside the range for a human, but taller than the average female, and probably approaching six feet. It was rare to meet someone even close to my own height, much less a female; just another strange observation to add to the ever-growing list of such today.

Then another thought occurred to me. “You’re not actually cold, are you?” I asked, somewhat embarrassed that it had taken me this long to question it. The coat that I’d given her was long enough to cover all of her vital parts, but I remembered that her skin didn’t feel cold before, and now I was wondering if demons actually got cold; I realized there were still numerous things about this new reality which I simply didn’t know.

“No, not really,” she replied, shrugging. “It was nice of you to give me your coat, when you thought I was human, but I don’t need it for anything aside from modesty, and as you’ve probably guessed, modesty is not something which is important to me at all. I can keep wearing it, though, if that’s important to you.”

It was my turn to shrug; modesty wasn’t a big deal to me either, and part of my mind off-handedly observed that it wouldn’t be terrible to see her naked again, since that was immaterial to her. Another, more grounded part of my mind also observed that at some point on the way back it was going to get cold, and I might need the coat. “I can take it back, if you don’t mind. You might be immune to the elements, but I might get cold before we get back to my house.”

“Sure,” she nodded, and with one graceful twirling motion the coat was off her shoulders and in her outstretched hand for me to reclaim. Her body was magnificent, now fully visible standing, whereas before it has been obfuscated by how she was somewhat curled up on the group. No hair below her neck that I could discern, medium sized breasts with no signs of any lingering effects from gravity or age on them, a waistline which would draw looks of calorically-deprived jealousy at a modeling convention, and hips which were the ideal proportion, if such a thing existed. About the only thing which could even be construed as a “flaw” would have been her small, flat, toned butt, which might have been insufficient for some tastes; these were not my tastes, though, and to me her body was the closest to perfection I’d ever seen, then or since.

She stood there as I took in the sight, with the same slight and slightly devious smile, clearly not put off in the slightest by my overt attention while I grabbed my coat. “I’m glad you like it,” she said, “I could change little bits, but I’ve tried to find the shape which is the most pleasing overall. Let me show you my real self, though, so you know what you’re dealing with, with no disguises.”

As before, there was some movement under her hair, but this time the skin on her back seemed to ripple as well, and as the horns reappeared, protrusions emerged from her back, growing outward. Her skin became slightly darker; it was already a deep tan in her human form, but this was a darker, slightly reddish tone. Behind her back, the protrusions grew, spreading out as they did with leathery flaps pulled between what looked like forming bones. In seconds, I was looking at something straight out of a fantasy novel, or a depiction of a literal hell: a demon, a succubus, undisguised and very much in the flesh.

I took it all in; I was prepared, I thought, but yet in that moment, it still felt a little overwhelming, like everything up to that point could have still been written off as a very elaborate ruse, but somehow this final transformation had a feeling of solidifying my acceptance of this reality. She was there, in front of me: a literal vision of the evil of seduction. And yet, I found that these new features didn’t detract much from her beauty in my eyes; rather, they just made her unique, exotic, and although I could do without the demonic parts, still the most beautiful creature I’d ever seen, all things considered. Maybe there was something to the notion of fate, I thought.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, the real you,” I said, extending my hand. She took it, smiling, engaging in the polite and ceremonial gesture. “My name is Jack, what is your name?” At that moment it occurred to me that I’d asked that question already, in the way back time which seemed like ages ago but in reality was probably only five minutes, but the question was already out before I recalled having previously asked it.

“I told you,” she responded before I could apologize, but seemingly not perturbed by the repeated inquiry, “I don’t have a name which you could say in this language. It would sound like someone was clearing their throat, combined with cursing someone to damnation. You should just call me ‘mam’, or make up something, if you want me to have a proper name.”

“Hm… I guess I’ll think about it on the walk back home. By the way, it’s a good couple of hours walk, will you be okay walking that long? I really don’t know much about you,” I noted, trailing off, slightly embarrassed that I was still making assumptions about her capabilities based on thinking of her as “kinda human”.

She maintained her casual smile, as if amused at my ignorance, but coddling me none the same. “I’ll be fine; my stamina is significantly more than that of most mortals, and walking for even a full day wouldn’t tire me out. As long as we don’t run into any other people who ask a lot of questions, we should be fine. I will follow you to your home, and on the way try to answer your questions; you must have a lot, but it will be good to talk. It’s been so long since I’ve had any conversation, and it will be nice.”

“Well, not much danger of running into anyone else,” I said, “and my house is pretty remote anyway. Walking and talking it is.” And with that we set off, to make the journey back to what would become our home.

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Re: Playing with Fire

Unread post by anonymouse »

First Date

It took about three hours to hike back to my house, only occasionally having to detour around obstacles as I relied on the GPS in my pocket to guide me there, which allowed ample time to converse with my newfound exotic (and, as she reminded me, dangerous) companion. And converse we did, as we walked, about a wide range of topics, as I tried to learn as much as I could about both her, and the dangers of this new relationship which I had signed up for.

I learned, for example, that her wings did not magically allow flight or anything, and were more for aesthetic purposes than practical ones. She didn’t know if that was a consequence of whatever force had designed her kind, or whether at some point they had provided the ability to fly; whatever the case, that was not something she was capable of now. However, they were somewhat prehensile: not enough to grab and manipulate anything per se, but enough that she could control where they were, and wrap them around herself, for example. They were also tough and durable, with a leather-like texture, and she would instinctively use them to protect herself in a dangerous situation.

We also discussed something she had alluded to before: that demons are not born, but made. Apparently, they are formed out of the essence of their plane of existence, and created with a specific purpose in mind, which is fused into their essence. As with any other construction, sometimes that process is flawed, and/or the item changes over time with exposure to the elements and other objects, and the same is apparently true for demons. It’s bizarre to think of the capacity for compassion to be an introduced flaw into a mechanical process, but that’s how she described it.

We discussed the other parts of her anatomy as well, covering similarities and differences to humans and other species. Her hooves were similar to those of horses, albeit somewhat slimmer, but with a similarly hardened base which was well suited for traversing any type of dangerous terrain. Amusingly, we speculated that they would be particularly ill-suited for walking on ice, or any other slick flat surface, as they were fairly smooth on the bottom. That wasn’t something which really existed on her plane, as she described it (something akin to a desolate hellscape from stories, in broad terms), so that was not too surprising. It was, however, heartening to think there was at least one thing human bodies might be superior for (notwithstanding her ability to transform her body into a shape of her choosing, of course).

In another series in inquiries and volunteered information, during which I was far more uncomfortable than she, I learned that the demon anatomy with respect to sexual organs is very similar to that of humans, albeit with the exception of the ability to conceive. That being said, my new would-be partner assured me that as a creature created in large part for giving sexual pleasure, and having had literally centuries if not longer to refine that craft, she was quite skilled, and without much in the way of modesty assured me that she could pleasure me better than any human female could, if I desired it. Apparently succubi can articulate their sexual organs with significantly more precision and vigor than human females; I would have to take her word for it if it got to that point, though, as I didn’t have much of a baseline to compare to. She also assured me, for the question which immediately came to mind, that as long as she was not “hungry” (a state which was rare and predictable), she did not need to drain any life essence from me in the process, and I would not be in mortal danger from such activity unless during that time. So there was some solace in that, and something to look forward to.

With respect to the timing of the hunger, though, there was less certainty. “I don’t know how to predict it, or what exactly it’s correlated with,” she told me. “It might have something to do with factors on this plane, or some manipulation by powerful beings on my plane, or some combination; I don’t know. I generally can feel it coming at least a few hours in advance, so there’s some time before it overwhelms my ability to control myself, and generally it doesn’t last for more than a few hours. But we will need to make sure you’re not anywhere around me during that time, or more that I’m not around anyone during that time; I cannot control myself, and I will try to feed. We have powers, beyond just strength and endurance, and I would use all of them without hesitation to satiate the hunger while in that state.”

Naturally I inquired about the “other powers” she mentioned, as we talked about potential mitigation strategies for when that time would inevitably come. She informed me that all demons have supernatural strength, and she was no exception: hers was comparable to the strongest human when she exerted herself. I also learned that succubi have a limited power of verbal persuasion, where through her words alone she could compel some actions on the part of humans. In addition to that, there were also of course the more mundane abilities, which were usually more than sufficient to attract the appropriate prey: swings of the hips, flashes of skin, seductive looks, being willing and available, that sort of thing. She assured me that in general her kind had little resistance feeding on any number of humans, and that if she was determined to feed, no human would be able to resist. I believed her; a mitigation strategy would be a must, and not just for my safety. The best we could come up with at the time was some sort of container, and I resolved to try to find the most sturdy container I could when I arrived home, and hoped that would be sufficient.

We also, at one point, got into addressing more general questions about her species, such as it was, to separate the myth from the reality (even though at the point, and for several days after, a small part of me still thought I might wake from a dream, and restore my previous reality). I learned that demons don’t eat or drink, and they also don’t sleep, at least the same way humans do. “Time doesn’t mean much to us, like I told you before,” she explained. “If we’re with a lover who sleeps, we can sorta just wait out the night lying with them without moving, without any problem. Humans get restless or bored, and we do too, but the amount of time it takes to get to that point is just way different. For us, it would be waiting around for what would be weeks of time here; waiting though one night is like a relaxing break.” That made sense in context, I’d decided, and wasn’t the strangest thing I’d learned that day, by a long shot.

I also learned that demons can be killed, do have physiology which is largely similar to humans (with the exceptions already noted), and do feel pain, although in the case of a succubus, it was somewhat different. “Most humans have a part of their brain which processes strong receptor inputs, like pleasure and pain,” she explained at another point, “and many people can be in a state where pain can become pleasurable. A succubus can experience both also, but to us they are always different variations of the same pleasurable sensation. Pain feels good to us all the time, and sometimes intensely so; we are just created that way.” I wasn’t sure what to do with that information at the time, but it was an interesting revelation nonetheless.

We covered other topics that I don’t remember too; it was after sunset when we got close to getting back to my house, which was probably for the best. I volunteered my coat again just in case we ran into any cars or people; it was unlikely, but my house was not rural enough that we could get all the way there without passing any roads, or any locations where people might be. I’d decided that Mona would serve as a temporary name for my new companion; a simple play on Demona, which I figured would suffice until we came up with something more creative (I hadn’t really intended for it to stick, but it did). Mona had rescinded her wings back into her back to dawn the coat; interestingly, this left a tattoo-like image of wings spanning the height of her back, which she said she could hide, but it took more mental effort to do so. Apparently the same was true of her horns, she told me, but that was hidden by her hair (and curiously, this was not the case for her hooves for whatever reason).

Coat covering her upper body, we made our way by cover of night to my house, hoping that on the off chance that anyone drove by, they would overlook the hooves, or dismiss them as simply an optical illusion. We’d discussed her disguising her legs for the last bit of the trip too, but decided it would also seem strange to see a woman walking barefoot at night, probably more than seeing someone with what could be confused for boots on in the dark. Incidentally, I asked about making her legs look like actual boots too, but she said that was not possible; apparently, the ability to disguise her appearance was limited to one particular visualization of the body of a target species, not any shape, so something outside of “normal female” shape was impossible, as far as she knew. Again, that was good to know.

Fortunately, the roads were quiet that night, and we made it back to my house without incident or observation. “It’s a house,” Mona observed, stating the obvious, when I asked what her first impression of the place where I spent the majority of my time was. Admittedly it was not the most exciting or the most aesthetically pleasing place in the world; I felt it was fine, but making it “nice” had never been a priority for me, generally living alone and infrequently having guests. I wondered how much that would change, if Mona stuck around.

“So, what do we do now?” Mona asked, once we had safely made it into the house. I’d discarded my hiking supplies, removing the outdoor equipment and my shoes to get more comfortable. Mona had removed the coat, and her wings were fully extended again; somehow in this more sterile and domestic environment, she seemed even more out of place than before: a visage of a full-fledged demon now fully incongruous with my comfortable normal life.

“Well, you might not need food, but I’m pretty hungry, so I’m going to find something to eat,” I replied, moving toward the kitchen. “Once I have some food in me, I’ll be able to think a little more clearly.” I wasn’t sure the food would actually help with my comfort level, but I was pretty hungry from the day of walking, so it was a necessity in either case. I moved to go prepare something from the assortment of mostly pre-packaged goods and “carefully curated” leftovers, leaving Mona in the living room.

When I returned with my dinner a few minutes later, I found her standing, exactly where and how I’d left her, as if she was frozen except for her eyes; it occurred to me that she had mentioned the perception of time thing a few times, but seeing it in person was a bit more disconcerting than I was prepared for. “Please,” I said, taking a seat at the couch, “sit, relax, or pretend that you need to sit or something. The standing there is a little creepy, especially with the whole demon thing.” I waved with my free hand, gesturing vaguely at her person as to clarify my point.

“Sure, of course,” she replied, moving to occupy one of the other seats. As she sat back in the chair, her wings once again retreated, making way for her back to rest against the chair. She put her hooves up crossed on the ottoman, creating an entirely strange image of a half-centaur like person imitating a human relaxing. “Better?”

“Uh, yeah…” I said, unconvincingly. “Maybe If you could just look human for now? I know it’s not your natural shape, and I promise to get used to that, but right now it’s just a little… much.” I felt bad, genuinely, at that moment, asking her to hide her normal appearance just for my comfort, after inviting her into my house. But her being in my space was making me more uncomfortable than I’d anticipated, and the demonic appearance was a big part of that.

Fortunately, it didn’t seem to bother her in the slightest. “Of course,” she said with a smile, and her legs once again morphed into normal female legs and feet, as her horns retreated into her head once more. “This is just as comfortable for me, and I’m happy to stay in this shape all the time, except for the mental effort it takes after a while. If you get me a wrap for my top it’ll keep my wings in, and some shoes or boots would keep my feet like this. The horns don’t take much effort to keep hidden; as long as I had those other things, I would happily stay in this shape indefinitely.”

“Well, that would certainly help if I had people over,” I observed, between bites. “I don’t socialize too much, but I have a few people I know, and I don’t think I’ll be able to hide you from society forever. We’re going to have to figure out how I suddenly have this new human female friend, and how to explain that to people.” I thought for a moment, considering what would be required to proceed with that plan, then added, “I guess that means we also need to find you some clothes.”

She nodded, and I proceeded to eat my dinner, a semi-awkward silence filling the room aside from my chewing and swallowing noises. Normally I might have the television on, or be at my computer watching videos while eating; the remnants of social graces in my body suggested both of those would be rude, but this seemed awkward too with her not eating anything, so I wasn’t really sure what the socially correct arrangement was for this unique situation. Of course, just when I thought it was awkward enough… “May I pleasure you?”

Any other day I probably would have choked on, or at least spit out, my food; the plethora of surprises already that day reduced my reaction to a pause while I finished my bite, and then the inevitable, “What?”

“It’s just that, as I saw you eating,” she began, with what I registered as a hint of embarrassment, though I wasn’t sure that was possible from her, “I remembered what it was like to eat too. Don’t get me wrong: what I told you was true, and we don’t need human food or drink to stay alive. But we can eat, just not in the way humans do, and I haven’t eaten anything for a very long time.” I let my confused but patient stare indicate that I was waiting for more explanation.

“So, all demons are sustained by the energy of our plane, which keeps us alive, but it’s not really food,” she continued. “I would imagine it’s like a human, if all their food was delivered through a tube which was connected to their stomach: it would sustain you, but you’re not really eating anything. You wouldn’t get to savor the food, taste the flavor, enjoy the experience; you would just keep living, without any of that. That’s what my experience has been like this last year or so: being sustained, but not being able to feel any pleasure from the process. I saw you eating, and… I just want to feel what it’s like again.”

“Uh, okay,” I said, still not entirely sure what she had in mind, or if there was a catch. “Does this, like, drain my life essence or anything?”

“No, of course not!” she exclaimed, as if horrified that I’d thought so. Then, sensing my continued confusion, she continued, “No, this is different. Draining the life force from a being is a separate process, one which I am fully in control of, unless it’s one of those times when I’m not in control; tonight is not that time. I would not do that normally, and especially to you; like I told you, I feel compassion, even more so after the curse. That would be awful, devastating even.

“No, demons feed off emotions: fear, anger, sorry, or in the case of succubi, passion and sexual energy. It’s entirely harmless to the person experiencing the emotions: they are just radiating the energy anyway, and we just absorb it. In a way, it just allows us to feel the same sexual pleasure as the people we are with, just through a different mechanism. It also,” she added, sensing that my fears had been assuaged, “allows us to sense what really works for people, and when they are just playing along and faking pleasure, because we can literally taste the difference.” She smiled, and I couldn’t help smiling with her.

“Okay, sure,” I said, still a little trepidatious, but now also a little excited at the prospect. “Can I finish eating first, though?”

“Of course,” she said, “of course. I was just thinking of it then; I didn’t mean it had to be right then. You finish, then I will pleasure you.”

I ate the rest of my leftovers meal with her watching, which was a little unnerving, but I wrote that off as cultural differences. “Okay, I’m done,” I announced eventually, when I had finished off the last bits, still unsure what would come next.

She rose and moved over to where I was sitting, with a speed and agility which were just slightly beyond normal for a human, even someone who choreographed and practiced that particular maneuver. She pushed the coffee table which I’d been eating off of back with one hand, without about as much effort as I would have exerted to push away a food wrapper, and knelt in front of me. That, at least, seemed to clarify one element of her intent; it would seem that “pleasure me” meant some sort of sexual manipulation of my sensitive bits, as opposed to full-blown intercourse or something.

“May I?” she asked, and I nodded my consent. Rapidly she dismantled the machinations holding my pants closed, and within seconds they and my underwear were around my ankles, with me still sitting in place. She then reached out and began to fondle my balls and just-waking penis with her hands.

I had, by my estimation, just enough time to formulate a concern in my mind about the days strenuous physical activities, and whether or not any evidence of that was reflected in any excess sweat or cleanliness issues around my nether regions, before the endorphins biologically generated as a result of her obviously well-practiced and surprisingly enthusiastic hand manipulations overwhelmed my desire, and possibly even my will, to think rationally about anything else. Part of my brain registered that at some point, she began moaning also; a point which I would later realize probably corresponded to her beginning to “taste” the emotional reactions which her actions were generating. It also occurred to me, long after the fact, that any cleanliness issues I might have had were totally immaterial to her, at least as far as I could tell.

At some point she bent forward to slide the tip of my member into her mouth; I think that corresponded to the point of my first orgasm, but I’m not entirely certain. I was briefly aware that I had ejaculated, and that she had taken that into her mouth, as there wasn’t any resulting mess either in the room or on her; that moment of clarity lasted only for a few seconds, though, as her manipulations only slowed down slightly afterwards, and then she and I were back to the same state as before. I think she started using her mouth more too at that point, although if someone told me after that her hands were just that magically smooth and moist, I would have believed that as well. I came two more times, each more intense than the last, before I had to push her back and beg for a break; the sensations were just too much. It was the most stimulation I’d had in a while, truth be told, and it was just overwhelming.

She leaned back to a kneeling position, smiling, waiting for me to recover. “That was good,” she said, when I’d had come down enough to open my eyes and refocus on her, “thank you.”

“Thank you,” I managed, finding it very strange that the person pleasuring me was thanking me for the privilege of doing so. “That was amazing.”

“I know,” she replied, matter-of-factly. “I could feel that. I’ve been doing this a while, like I said, with all kinds of beings of several kinds of species; I know what I’m doing. Members of each species are not biologically that different, at least for the basics.”

We sat there for a few moments, both relaxed, before the next coherent thought dawned on me. “So, should I like… reciprocate or something?” I was suddenly feeling a little embarrassed that I’d received such an amazing, but one-sided experience.

She smiled, again, this time with a self-satisfied look. “Believe it or not, my dear, you already have,” she said, her voice now almost purring. “Like I said before, we get satisfaction and pleasure differently than humans do; ours is through feeding off the emotions, not physical stimulation. I actually don’t feel much physical stimulation at all, and the only thing which really physically feels pleasurable for me is pain. So unless you want to whip me or something,” she added with a wink, “I’m good.”

“Oh.” That was, in my best approximation at the time, the only valid response to that revelation. I let it sink in for a bit. She was in no rush; I could see on her face the same expression that I associated with post-coital sexual satisfaction, and she appeared to be relaxing in that state at least as much as I was.

“Well,” I said finally, finding the energy to separate my back from the couch before I fell asleep on the spot, “I should probably get some sleep soon. I need that, you know. Are you going to be okay tonight, with the whole ‘bad hunger’ thing?”

“Yes, we should be safe tonight,” she replied. “I had it only a week ago or so, and it usually doesn’t come more than once every few weeks. So we should have at least a few days to figure out some arrangements for that.”

“Great,” I said, exerting the effort to rise to my feet, “then that’s a problem for tomorrow.” She rose with me; again it struck me as a little unnatural, as she swiveled one leg out, and then pushed her entire body up with it. It was a move which would have been impressive for a gymnast, and even though I knew she wasn’t really the lithe female that her current appearance was portraying, it was still a little disconcerting. Also strange was that after she rose, she was standing completely on her toes, as if she was a ballerina without the toe shoes.

“It’s what I told you before, about the way the body shaping works,” she said, noting that I had observed the peculiarity. “I could make the ankles bend and the feet go flat, but that takes a lot more concentration, because it’s unnatural for my actual body shape. I can bend them a little without too much effort,” she demonstrated, flexing them down about a quarter of the way to flat, “but more than that gets exhausting pretty quick. Don’t worry, though: this is not very uncomfortable at all, because it’s actually close to my real body shape.” It looked uncomfortable, or at least like it would be after a short time, but I took her word for it, and shifted my attention to preparing for bed.

“Where do you want me to be when you sleep?” I’d made it to my bedroom, and turned to answer, but then realized I hadn’t really thought about that yet.

“Uh, I guess in the bedroom is fine,” I said, for lack of a better answer.

She nodded, and silently followed me into the room. Again, it was a little disconcerting: she wasn’t walking so much as gliding with steps, silently, still naked, and entirely on her toes. Just because I knew it was normal for her didn’t mean it was normal to me, at least yet.

I prepared for bed, going through the normal rituals in as expedited a fashion as I could manage, while she stood just inside the doorway. When those were completed, I flopped into bed, thoughts still racing through my head, but at the same time eager to get some much-needed rest. I felt like the intellectual toll of dealing with all the new information and world-view shaking revelations had been just as, if not more exhausting than the physical exertion of the day, which itself was not insignificant. I was ready for sleep.

Only, I couldn’t. Mona was standing, still, just inside the doorway, watching me, her body slightly illuminated by the faint ambient light coming in through the window. Even with my eyes closed, I knew she was there, and it was just profoundly strange. I knew I needed to try something else, or at the minimum I was going to have a very restless night.

“Hey,” I said, unnecessarily getting her attention, as she was already still looking at me. “I don’t know if I can sleep with you just standing there. It’s just… weird, and it’s kinda creeping me out a little.”

“Okay…” She paused for a moment, then walk-glided to the side of the bed, and knelt down on the floor. “Is this better? I could lie in the bed with you also if you want, or go out of the room; you tell me what would make you most comfortable.”

I considered the options. Out of the room would probably invoke a similar existential fear of not being able to keep an eye on her (as absurd as that would be while sleeping, that was my thought process). In bed might be tricky also; I’d had women in my bed before, but not demons, and I wasn’t sure I was ready for that level of trust yet. “Yeah, kneeling there is good, I think that will work. Can you please not stare at me, though? Maybe just keep your eyes down or away or something.”

“Of course,” she said, and lowered her eyes, creating an image of a submissive woman in waiting, which was as non-threatening a position as I could imagine for her at the time. I considered if that would be enough to put my mind at ease, even if I knew I was fooling myself, and before I knew it, I was asleep. It really was a convincing illusion.

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Re: Playing with Fire

Unread post by anonymouse »

The Day After

I slept functionally well that night, which is to say that I didn’t wake up, and I got biologically sufficient sleep. I didn’t sleep restfully, though: dreams were all over the place, as one might imagine. I don’t remember any of the particulars of the dreams, as is common with most people; I do, however, distinctly remember thinking they were bizarre and intense that night.

I also remember waking up, having a brief moment where I wondered if the past days events had all been some sort of vivid imaginary experience, and then rolling over and seeing something at the side of my bed. I probably would have been more startled, but in that hazy morning state where you’re not sure if you’re still dreaming or not, it was more just a pause and stare while my brain caught up. Mona was at the side of the bed, still kneeling exactly where she had been the night before, eyes still down, only she had reverted to her natural shape while I was sleeping, with horns and wings (and presumably hooves as well). I honestly probably would have screamed, if not for the part of my brain which assumed this was still just a dream, until I woke up enough to remember the past day’s events.

Mona looked up, and once again morphed in front of my eyes, her horns and wings seemingly retreating into her body. “I noticed you were waking up, but I didn’t want to stare until you were all the way awake,” she said softly, “I know you said you didn’t want me to do that while you were sleeping. I’m sorry if I startled you.”

“Thanks,” I replied groggily, “it’s okay now. I just wasn’t expecting the wings and horns, that’s all.” She started to apologize, but I cut her off. “I know, you can’t hold this shape forever, and you were just resting while I was, and that’s fine. It’s just going to take a little bit of getting used to for me. Yesterday you were a myth, you know.”

She smiled and nodded. “I know. I will try to do what I can to make you comfortable; I still appreciate you deciding you wanted to spend time with me, and hopefully figure out a way to help with my curse. I’m in your home and your world, though; I will try to adapt and fit in as best I can, without causing you too much trouble along the way if I can help it.”

I considered that; I wasn’t the most social person in the world, but I wasn’t a complete hermit either, and that moment was the first time I’d actually contemplated what I was going to do to have Mona interact with the rest of my public-facing life. Would I take her to social events? What would I tell a neighbor who observed that I had a woman in my house now? Should I try to hide her from the world, and hope nobody ever found out, or I never slipped up? The last of those seemed particularly tenuous: at some point I was bound to say something in passing, and that would spawn questions I wouldn’t be able answer without an enormous pile of lies.

So at some point, then, I’d have to explain how I’d come to meet this new, and fabulously attractive person. Perhaps even more challenging than that, I’d have to explain how this fabulously attractive person was with me, assuming people would infer a relationship. I’m not grotesque or anything, but I’m also neither a professional athlete nor enormously wealthy, and to say someone like Mona in her human form would be “out of my league” would be putting it mildly. So I’d need some sort of story to explain that otherwise extremely improbable circumstance, and preferably something which would also rationalize a certain level of glossing over details about the past. But first, some coffee.

“So at some point, you’re going to have to interact with people,” I began, after having started the process of acquiring coffee and some semblance of breakfast. “We’ll need to figure out some back story for how I would have met you, a totally normal female human, and why you have chosen to hang out with me. I’m thinking some sort of foreign person who I met online, and is staying with me to try to get to stay in the country. That would explain the difference in attractiveness level, why you showed up out of the blue, and why you might not be too familiar with normal day to day stuff. We’ll just have to figure out enough details so that you can talk to people, and hopefully they won’t ask too many questions.”

“I have lived among humans before,” she said, with just a hint of condescension, “I wasn’t made yesterday, you know. I can sell the ‘girlfriend from a foreign country’ thing easily enough. However,” she added, “if you’re going to have me meeting people, we might want to acquire some clothing for me. That means going to a shop or bazaar, and unless puritanical attitudes have changed since the last time I was here, that’s probably something you’ll need to do alone.”

I couldn’t help it: the image of Mona strolling into the local mall stark naked popped into my head, walk-gliding into a clothing store and demanding attire. That was probably not the most low profile approach in the world, but the thought was amusing at least. “We don’t need to go anywhere, assuming we don’t need to go out desperately in public in the next few days. I can just order some stuff online.”

Her slightly quizzical head tilt indicated that, even if she had been created long before I was born, there might still be a few aspects of the modern world where I had a knowledge advantage. “The internet? Online shopping? Any of that ringing a bell?”

“You spend a couple decades in the abyss and see what you miss,” she retorted, in a playful manner. “What is this internet, and how can it get us clothing? Is it some kind of special shop?”

“Uh, sorta…” I started, and proceeded to spend the next five minutes or so trying to explain online commerce. She seemed to understand the concepts, more or less, although it certainly reinforced the idea that someone appearing in this world from 50 years prior would be thoroughly confused for a while, due to the rapid pace of technical progress during that time. I assured her that it would all be clearer when I got on my computer, after I had some breakfast (because unlike her, I needed to eat). It was still the weekend, so I didn’t need to do actual work that day, which was fortunate, all things considered.

About 20 minutes later, I was at my computer, Mona looking on over my shoulder, browsing the ubiquitous e-commerce site with stuff from A to Z. “So you just tell them what you want, and they send someone to take it to you?” She still seemed a little incredulous. “What if the thing you want is far away? Do they take your money through the computer?”

A few minutes of explanation about logistics and online payments later, with a lot of hand waving over the details, and we were back on track. We started with clothing, which turned out to be fairly straightforward, as we were just buying a lot of basics. Mona had some helpful suggestions on style, and we guessed on sizing; her having a model-like body helped in that respect, since we could essentially buy things “off the rack”. She kept pointing, and I kept clicking, accumulating an ever-increasing haul in my virtual shopping cart.

“Do they still have corsets around these days, and at this store?” She asked, out of the blue, as we were looking at tops.

“Uh, I’m not sure,” I said, somewhat by reflex. In reality, that was a lie: corsets were well within the sizable Venn Diagram of my sexual interests and fetishes, and I was fairly well aware of the options available, where they could be acquired, how they were worn, etc. Like many other people, though, I’d honed a reflex to brush off and avoid questions about fetish-related things for which I might have a personal interest, as a social self-defense mechanism. It occurred to me that hiding such interests from Mona was probably pointless, and very probably counter-productive given her nature and what I was hoping would be our future interactions, but that reflex was well ingrained over many, many years. Opening up to her would take a while.

“They are not particularly comfortable or useful for moving around in,” she continued, oblivious to my internalized existential quandary, “but they do keep my wings in pretty comfortably, at least if we can find one which goes up the back enough. That has worked for me in the past, if they are still around.”

“I’ll check,” I said; a quick search later and we were browsing all manner of corsets and bodices, some loose and casual, others far more on the restrictive and/or fetish side. We picked a few to add to the cart; Mona suggested we prefer rigid and tighter to keep her wings contained more comfortably for her, and my imagination was more than happy to engage in some visualization for what that would look like in person. I added more than a few.

“This excites you,” she noted; it was a casual observation, not a question. “I can feel the energy coming off you now.”

A made a mental note that even if I wanted to hide my sexual interests and proclivities from her, it would be effectively impossible if we were going to be in close proximity. “Yeah, it’s attractive. It looks good, and I like the restrictive aspect too; that tends to turn me on.” That was still understating my interests by a substantial margin, but as noted, long-conditioned habits are hard to overcome.

“Good to know,” she said, again in an observational and non-judgemental tone. “I can certainly incorporate more restriction into our future play together.” I heard a slight moan from her a moment later, presumably correlated with the implications of her statement registering in my brain, my brain reacting to that prospect, and Mona feeding off the surge or energy which that had immediately created. “Yes, lots of restriction…”

“Let’s try to focus on this now,” I said, desperately trying to pull my mind away from all the various images and scenarios which were now flooding in, like a giant dam holding back a lake of sexual fantasies which Mona had just casually reached out and poked a giant hole in, “we need to get this done so you’ll have some clothes and basics. After that, we can get sidetracked on what I enjoy, and maybe order some toys too.”

“That would be more fun…” purred Mona, “but you are probably right. We should get some shoes as well, if you want my legs to stay in human form, if this place has those too.”

“This place has pretty much everything,” I responded, and soon enough we were browsing women’s shoes, and quickly zeroed in on high heels.

“Those are easier, as I told you before,” she noted, “and the higher the better.” Then she noticed the height selection mechanism on the sidebar, where the person browsing could filter the selection by heel height. “Let’s check the highest ones they have,” she added, pointing to the selector labeled “8 inch+”.

I was pretty sure I knew what kind of shoes we were going to find on that page, but neither I nor me libido were going to dissuade browsing them, so I dutifully clicked the link. Sure enough, in addition to the expected thick platform heels for exotic dancers, the top of the page had some more fetish-oriented selections, and the top line of that was populated with a selection of ballet boots. “Let’s get those,” she said, immediately pointing to some black ballet ankle boots, “and those, you’ll enjoy those.” The second pair she’d indicated was another pair of black ballet boots, these with ankle straps with padlocks on them. My reflex was to act non-committal regarding her assertion; her moan of pleasure a second later indicated that would have been futile, so I was glad I didn’t bother.

“These are fine for around the house,” I said, as I added the indicated items to my cart, and downplayed my excitement at that prospect, “but we will need some shoes that you can wear in public also.”

“I bet I could wear those in public hidden under some of the pants you just bought,” she countered, “but fine, we can get some other ones too.” We spent the next five minutes or so adding shoes to the cart, none of which had less than five inches of effective heel height (that is, the shoes with platforms had higher heels to compensate, so the arch was as high as possible), and several of which had additional locking hardware. I was a little worried I was getting carried away, but her soft moaning whenever a suggestion touched a fantasy nerve was mutung any of my concerns. By the time I looked at the total in the cart, we were well into the four digits for the total.

“That’s a lot of money,” I noted, observing the total. “Buying a whole wardrobe for someone isn’t cheap, especially when you add some fun items.”

“Is that a problem?” she asked, suddenly concerned.

“No, no it’s fine. You’re lucky; I make pretty good money, so it’s not a big deal.” That was accurate: working in IT paid fairly well, and being currently a single male (by choice, I told myself, in the white lie way that most men in that position do), I had some extra disposable funds in my bank account. Granted, this was more than I think I had ever spent at one time for anything not housing related, and possibly more than I’d spent on my personal wardrobe over my entire adult lifetime, but the endorphins were still circulating around my male brain from all the small moans, so it really seemed like a worthwhile expenditure at the time. I clicked through the cart to checkout, confirmed the payment and delivery details, and placed the order.

“So speaking of restraints,” she began, putting her hand on my shoulder, sending what felt like a tingle down my body. I was certain I knew what came next in that sentence, but it turned out I was wrong. “We should also probably look to buy something to deal with the bad hunger, when it comes.” Reminding me of the mortal peril associated with her association was a buzz kill of the first order.

I forced my mind, reluctantly, to focus on that problem, and not the myriad of scenarios it was busily constructing like a hyperactive child in Minecraft. “Okay. You said before that when that happens, you lose control of yourself, and do everything possible to drain someone. We know you’re strong, so assuming you’re still somewhere close, you’ll need to be contained in something strong, like a bank vault or something.” I struggled to conceptualize how I would go about ordering a built-in person sized vault through an online retailer. “But you said there were other possible abilities you might use also?”

“Yes,” she said, now more serious. “When that state happens, we will use all our powers of seduction to attract victims, and those powers are considerable. Along with the normal stuff, it also sorta ‘unlocks’ the ability to somewhat compel people through words: we will suggest courses of action, and people will comply with them without thinking about it. Simple confinement is not good enough, if the person who could release me is nearby; in that state, I could just persuade them to let me go, and then consume them.”

“Okay, so we want to avoid that,” I said, probably a bit too cavalierly for the situation, but that was my stress coping mechanism. “What about just a soundproof room or something, or maybe a gag?” Apparently my subconscious had already decided that trying to be coy with Mona about the rest of my sexual interests and experience was pointless and counterproductive.

“A gag could work, I think; if we can’t communicate, then we can’t really suggest someone do something,” she confirmed. “But it would have to be effective; most of the gags you see on shows and in plays basically do nothing in real life. Even ‘real’ gags are not always really effective, and usually you can still have some amount of communication when you’re wearing one. Trust me, I’ve been gagged by partners more times than I can count,” she added with a wink, no doubt to just enjoy the burst of emotional energy which that addendum elicited, and which she absorbed with a brief eye-fluttering mouth-in-O-shape pause.

“So an effective gag, then,” I summarized, trying to stay on track with the goal. “Do you have any suggestions?” I had many images running through my mind, of course, but rather than immediately browsing to one of the many online stores specializing in such items, many of the selections of which I was already familiar with from experience, I let her go first.

“Well, you need to get one which fully covers the mouth, and fills it, so it’s difficult for any sound to get out. Stuffed tends to work pretty well, where you stuff some cloth inside and wrap tape around, but that can be dangerous too, because sometimes you can get your mouth close to something and use it to pull the tape down, and push the gag out. It can also be dangerous for the wearer, especially if left alone, because the cloth can get in the back of the mouth and cause gagging, and the person can choke. That last part is not a problem for me, though,” she added, “because I don’t actually need to breathe.”

“You… what?” You would think I’d be used to the random revelations about differences in physiology by now, having had many new things explained to me and literally watched body parts morph in front of my eyes, but I did a double take.

“Demons don’t breathe,” she confirmed. “We also don’t have a gag reflex like humans do, since we don’t really need to eat. We can physically ‘eat’ stuff, but it’s weird; probably not worth going into right now, but the point is that for me, something in the back of my throat isn’t really a problem. But the tape thing is not recommended, because there’s almost always something you can rub that against given enough time, and it’s not really reliable. I’d recommend something like that, filling the mouth entirely, but with a cover of some sort attached to it, and secured tight, so that there’s no possibility of rubbing against something to dislodge it.”

That was suspiciously specific, I thought to myself, then it dawned on me that this was probably not the first time she’d considered how to possibly protect people from herself, given the lifespan and alluded to experiences. The immediate next thought that occurred to me was that for all my brainstorming and attempts to generate helpful ideas, if she’d been thinking about this problem for any amount of time, she’d probably already thought about everything I had already considered or was going to come up with any time soon. I had a flash of frustration that I had wasted a bunch of mental effort on stuff she could have just told me, but then I realized that if she had done that, I would have felt worthless in the nominal partnership, and really what she had done was withheld the right amount of information until the right time, so that I could feel good about contributing and performing my naturally inclined protective role, even though she already had all the answers.

For a demon, she could make a pretty good case for being identical to many human women in that regard. And she was patiently waiting for me to digest the latest information before saying anything else.

“Okay, let’s see what we can find,” I acquiesced, and proceeded to navigate to one of the specialty equipment sites that I was familiar with. We were presented with a wide selection of all types of toys and accessories, from the very mild to the slightly disturbing, and everything in between. I navigated to the selection of gags, and found many, many options.

“Something like that,” she indicated, pointing to a dildo gag with a panel. I clicked through, and we compared a few, eventually settling on the one which seemed the largest and was rated the most severe and difficult to wear. The dildo part looked like it was at least six inches long, and with girth to rival a porn star It was even made with a special buckle which allowed a lock to be fitted on it, to make it impossible to remove without the key. I added it to the cart.

“You know,” purred Mona, back in her seductive voice, “you could get a lock too, if that would turn you on. After all, you should make sure I can’t possibly remove it.”

I glanced back to look at her, in time to catch the eye flutter again. “You know, we should try to stay on task, as much as you’re obviously enjoying poking at the things which turn me on. We’ll have time to explore all those fantasies after we’ve figured out how to keep me alive for more than a couple of weeks.”

“Mmm… yes, sorry.” Mona composed herself, seeming to “shake out” of the previous seductive mindset. “I’m sorry, it is my nature to drift into that, if I do not focus on controlling myself. Everything in my being is wired to just seek and crave that energy, and I do it without thinking sometimes. But you are right: we should focus on solutions first, and satisfy cravings later.” I expected a parting comment about enjoying the eventual satisfaction period to follow, but Mona apparently was making a genuine effort to focus, and no additional seductive comment was forthcoming.

“Okay,” I said, turning back to the task at hand, “locks make sense, that’s good, I’ll add that. But you’re pretty strong; I could add some general restraints, handcuffs and the like, but I don’t know if they would hold you.”

“The cheap ones won’t,” she confirmed, still in her serious voice, “but if you find some thick metal ones, they probably will. The key is to make sure I can’t reach anything, or find a tool to pry something open. A lot of restraints are not designed to account for someone with superhuman strength and tools at their disposal, and I’ve escaped from quite a few of those before. We should order a few and test them, if you have the money for that.” Surprisingly, that last comment was still delivered in a serious tone, even though the implications still had a biological effect on me.

“We should also have backup measures,” she continued, seemingly ignoring what was certainly another burst of energy from me. “Think about multiple layers of restraints, and maybe some sort of locked metal box also. That way even if I manage to break or escape from one thing, you’ll still be safe. It only needs to last a few hours, six at the most, but it needs to be as secure as possible.”

I nodded, and began the process of making the necessary additions to my shopping cart. I did have the money; it didn’t feel great spending that much money on the spur of the moment (being relatively frugal otherwise), but I told myself it was a good investment, but in my sex life and ongoing survival. All told, I ended up spending another solid four figure amount on various types of restraints, as if I was stocking a professional bondage dungeon with one order. I also looked into secure boxes, something which was not carried on any of the sites I had looked at before; I found storage crates and furniture chests, the former being far too large to fit in my house, and the latter being generally of questionable strength. I also found cages, some of which were made for fetish play, and a few of which seemed sturdy enough to potentially work. However, these had a long lead time, so I didn’t think one would be ready in a few weeks. An hour or so later, the containment box was still elusive, and I was feeling a bit burnt out from looking.

“I need to take a break from this,” I said, stretching back in my chair and feeling my back complain about it, having become accustomed to its previous position. “Maybe we can look more this afternoon, but I feel like we’ve done a lot; more than I typically do on a work day, and this is my day off.”

“Well then,” said Mona, resting her hands on my shoulders, and fully back to her sultry voice, “perhaps we can do something to relax you. I have more than a few ideas…”

She did, it turned out, have a number of ideas for things to do, a few of which were relaxing, most of which were exhausting, and all of which were sexual in nature. I couldn’t recount the sequence of activities if I tried; the rest of the day was a blur of activity, muddled in my mind by repeated post-orgasmic haze. I remember vivid bits and pieces, but any semblance of time or sequence is long forgotten.

I remember she gave me an actual massage at some point, her soft, warm, and strong hands working the stiff muscles in my back and legs, before moving on to envelope my penis in their warm embrace. That might have been the first time I came that day, musing about how I was getting a happy ending while it was still the morning. I think that was also the point that my clothing was discarded for the day, although I’m not sure.

I remember digging through a closet and finding an old pair of handcuffs; an optimistic purchase from a previous relationship which had barely seen any use, and had been largely forgotten up until that point. I remember Mona seductively applying them on her own wrists, clicking each ratchet step slowly, looking into my eyes with each click, and savoring the energy from my reactions as she embodied that particular fantasy. I think I remember her using her cuffed hands in tandem with her mouth on me after that, jingling the chains as she fondled me to make sure I was always focused on her bondage, amplifying the physical pleasure.

I remember her riding me cowgirl style, as I lay on my back. At some point her wings were back out, and she was flapping them slightly in rhythm with her vertical motion, as she sat up vertically on her knees and her cuffed hands fondled her naked breasts. It seemed like her wings were helping her bounce up and down, maybe providing some actual lift, although I have no idea if physics would support that theory, or even have a say in the matter. It was a striking and fantastic image when I looked up, though, physics be damned.

I remember that her vagina was wet (but also that the fluids had no smell), and at one point wondering why, since she didn’t have the same biology as humans. She told me that she didn’t know either, although she suspected it was just something her body did automatically, as part of the design to be optimal for the pleasure of others. That explanation was also given when I wondered how she was able to manipulate her inside muscles so precisely also, like a warm prehensile glove of ecstasy.

I also remember at one point, in a moment of post-orgasm clarity and guilt, asking her if she wanted me to reciprocate any of the physical attention she was giving me, my vastly inferior manipulation skills notwithstanding. She reminded me that this was unnecessary, since she didn’t get her pleasure that way, unless doing so excited me. She actually told me that it was pointless unless it turned me on to do so; she didn’t get pleasure from physical stimulation at all (unless it was pain), and if I wasn’t really “into it”, it didn’t do anything for her, and she would of course know it. We resolved to only engage in things which I was into, for both our pleasure; fortunately, that was still a fairly extensive list.

One other recollection from that thoroughly exhausting, yet “best day of my life to that point” day, was Mona remarking at one point that I needed to be careful about having too much sexual activity, because “people can die from exhaustion from too much sex too, even if their life force isn’t being drained”. She informed me that she had had several “partners” (she didn’t use the term “lover” or “victim”, and sometimes that distinction was ambiguous in her anecdotes) who had simply passed away from heart attacks or the like, because neither party knew when to stop. She said that part would be largely up to me: she couldn’t tell how close to danger I was, and even if she wasn’t using her ability to explicitly drain someone’s life energy, her nature made her hunger for emotional energy from pleasure essentially insatiable, unless she actively fought against it. I felt that in general I was still young-ish and healthy-ish, so that wouldn’t be too much of a concern, but by the end of the day I was feeling pretty sore and thoroughly exhausted, and more than a little drained. I made a note to try to keep an eye on this; probably futile, I knew, but still good to try.

That was the rest of the day, as much as I remember of it. At some point I must have collapsed into bed, still naked, because that’s where I woke up the next day, still feeling the effects of the whirlwind tour of sexual exploration and debauchery. I never made it back to my computer to research containment boxes any more, or anything else for that matter.

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Chair Bound
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Re: Playing with Fire

Unread post by Amordaza »

I'm enjoying this story. I really like the prologue: it starts off with a nice bondage scenario but turns it on its head: as the reader, I have no idea why the bottom is so eager to be bound and why the top keeps forgetting that he needs to hurry up. It felt like something was off, and I had to keep reading the other installments to find out.

I think the prologue and the rest of the story really play with the title, too. At the end of the prologue, I'm thinking, "Oh, he's playing with fire because, if he's discovered, he's in a vulnerable position with the law." After the second installment, it becomes clear that there's another fire that the succubus and man are playing with: her dangerous nature and the threat it poses to the man.

Before I read this story, it never occurred to me to write a story with a succubus. Now I'm thinking to myself, "I've gotta write a succubus story!" though I doubt I can write one like this.

If you're up to it, I'd like to see more installments. I'm curious as to how things go with these two characters and how things conclude at the end.

Well done, anonymouse!

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Re: Playing with Fire

Unread post by anonymouse »

Thank you. :)

There are more chapters to come, some of which have already been written; I'm not done yet, though, and I'm trying not to "publish" too close to what I'm writing, in case I need to change something in a previous section.

As you can probably tell, I like fantasies that are grounded in reality (to the extent reasonable), and I try to think through how something would work, given the overall environment and conceits. There is more coming, though. :)

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Re: Playing with Fire

Unread post by anonymouse »

Trying Things On for Size

“Good morning,” I heard Mona say, her voice coming from the side of the bed. I turned slightly, and saw her kneeling in the same position as before, her wings out once again, her head just above the height of the bed. “May I pleasure you this morning?”

I think I might have rolled my eyes, or at least moaned; the thought of more activity during the would-be hangover period from the last day, combined with morning grogginess, made that something I just didn’t want to think about at that moment. However, I also couldn’t understand why I would turn down the offer either, so I mumbled acquiescence, and the next thing I knew Mona had crawled under the sheet and had her head bobbing up and down on my morning wood. I could get used to this, I decided, still half awake, having a magnificent half-dream where a gorgeous woman was just waiting for me to wake up so that she could pleasure me. It was a good enough dream to reach climax twice.

Somewhere in the midst of recovering from the second orgasm, the product of which Mona had apparently (as with the first) captured entirely with her mouth and swallowed, I had a semi-panicked realization: today was a work day! I scrambled to get out of bed; Mona was initially confused, wondering if she had done something wrong, but I hastily explained that I needed to work that day, and that meant getting on my computer with at least some clothing on. I briefly considered taking time off, citing a medical situation or something, but that sort of short notice change in plans was certain to invite questions as well as consternation with work, neither of which I wanted to complicate my already complicated situation.

“I need to do work today,” I explained, as I dug through my wardrobe for a reasonably clean shirt. My homelife maintenance habits are not atrocious, but I admit to a certain level of bachelor-negligence when it comes to ensuring I did laundry often enough to only wear each item once per cleaning cycle. I thought of it as being efficient with my time, although I’d never lived with another person in the house to comment on the net value of that trade-off.

“Oh.” Mona took that in stride, still sitting on the bed where I had left her, watching me struggle to make myself presentable, at least from the waist up. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“I’ll be on my computer; I work from home, so I don’t have to go anywhere, but I need to be online and available.” I’d found a shirt which didn’t reek of body odor, at least in my estimation, and some comfortable athletic shorts. “I’ll also have some meetings, which will be on video, so you’ll want to stay out of the room during those, especially with your wings out and all,” I added, gesturing toward her back for emphasis. A part of me wondered what my coworkers would say if they saw an unrealistically attractive woman engaging in a demonic cosplay in my house; while amusing, it was probably not a question I needed answered.

“You could… uh…” I paused, trying to mentally shift gears to answer her question. “You could watch TV; that might help catch you up on modern world stuff.” I briefly wondered if she knew how to operate a television, or if that was too modern for her experience. “You could also clean up some if you wanted,” I added, gesturing to the accumulated remnants of yesterday’s carefree activities combined with my own habits of negligence. Immediately I regretted that last remark, though: the last thing I wanted to imply was that I expected her to clean, or do any sort of household chores or anything; it just sorta came out while looking at the totality of the mess, and thinking of possible activities Mona could do while I was working to keep from getting bored. Fortunately for me, she didn’t appear to be offended, or even fazed; she just smiled and nodded.

I got the rest of my house clothes on, did an appearance sanity check, grabbed a few to-go breakfast food items from the pantry, and made my way to my makeshift home-office: an otherwise unused bedroom, with my work computer and accessories. There I stayed for the next few hours, until around noon. Work was always busy on Mondays, with the accumulated issues from the weekend plus whatever came up that day, and everyone was usually a little extra grumpy as well. I focused on the work, until it was time to get lunch.

Mona was on the couch in the living room when I eventually emerged, and she had apparently figured out how to turn on the television. “I cleaned,” she announced with a smile, and I could see the evidence of such: what this morning looked like the morning after a mild college party now looked like a disorganized, but clean, bachelor pad. “I would have laundered as well, but I assume your wash bin is outdoors, and I know you didn’t want me going outside where neighbors might see me. I’ve been watching things on this device, mainly advertisements, to catch up with what has changed since I was last in human civilization here. It’s a lot, but I’m catching up. May I pleasure you again?”

Honestly at that moment I just wanted to get some lunch and relax a bit before the afternoon work, and I briefly considered declining the offer, but she had cleaned up some, and it felt unfair to deny her the satisfaction she sought after doing that for me. Also, as if to sweeten the pot, as I was hesitating she held up the handcuffs again and jiggled the chain, and before I knew it her head was bobbing up and down on me again, her cuffed hands were augmenting the job, and I’d forgotten why I’d even considered refusing her offer.

So, after that activity, some recovery time, and whatever time I had left for actually eating something, I went back to work, and spent the rest of the afternoon once again focused for the most part on mundane things. I don’t remember anything of significance happening that day work-wise, but I did get a few packages in the afternoon, which I had brought inside but not yet opened. Modern logistics to facilitate one-day delivery was a kind of magic in and of itself.

It was twilight outside by the time I was finished with the long day of work. Mona had turned off the television, and was just kneeling in the living room, waiting for me. “I cleaned what I could, but I didn’t know where you wanted some things. I also stopped watching the device: the advertisements were very repetitive, and boring after a while.” Well, it was good to know that demons had at least that in common with humans, as blindingly obvious an observation as that was. But truth be told, my mind was already on something else.

“Shall we see what came?” I moved to open the packages, and inspect today’s haul, while Mona looked on. There were several mundane items: shirts, pants, basic underwear, the type of items which are commonly stocked at various warehouses, and which we had purchased the generic brands in most cases, neither of us having a good reason to be very selective. One package, though, promised to be more interesting, with a couple internal boxes bearing the label of a well-known manufacturer for shoes for exotic dancers. I figured this was probably one item in multiple sizes; we were not sure what size would fit Mona, and I believed from reputation that sizing was not entirely predictable across brands or items, and in particular for women’s attire; that was simply a known limitation of modern society. This was the most interesting package to me, because while most men found high heels sexy (see: the standard uniform of all exotic dancers even when they are wearing nothing else), I’d always been more excited by them than most men. I was very much looking forward to seeing my new companion wearing some, and the higher the better.

“Let’s see what we have here,” I said, as I opened one of the boxes, and began to extricate the heels from their packaging. These were actually one of the fairly mundane pairs, considering the range which I had ordered, although they would still be considered fairly risque if worn openly out in public. Black patent, with a simple one inch platform, around six inch heel height, wide strap open toe, open back, and medium-width ankle straps to secure them. This was essentially the combat boot of the exotic dancing profession: simple, reliable, and effective. This particular brand even had soft fuzzy padding on the soles, because these shoes were made to be comfortable and durable even with hard and regular use.

“You like those.” Mona had risen from her kneeling position to observe the package openings, and was now standing just behind me. Her statement was a matter-of-fact observation, not a question or assumption, with just a hint in the tone of the satisfaction associated with that observation. As when I had ordered these (and the many others), there was no hiding that fact from her, even if I wanted to.

“Would you like to try them on?” Even after the whole previous day’s intimate and enthusiastic activities, the question still came out with a bit of nervous hesitation, like a socially awkward computer nerd asking a hot girl on a date. Some habits die hard.

“Of course,” said Mona with a smile. She moved to the couch and sat, her wings retreating into her back as she leaned back; as soon as she was seated her legs morphed also, hooves replaced with fully pointed human feet. I was getting more comfortable with her actual form, I mused; her human disguise was still gorgeous, but now it was like she was just going from one attractive form to another in my mind. It also seemed fitting that the first article of actual attire she would be wearing after meeting me would be high heels, given my proclivities (unless you count the handcuffs as attire, in which case the point still stands).

“Would you like to put them on me?” As soon as the question rolled off her lips, she knew the answer without me saying anything, and I could see that she knew; there was a slight physical reaction when she was absorbing emotional energy which was subtle, but I’d seen it enough to recognize it now. I didn’t bother to answer out loud, I just moved over to sit on the coffee table, shoes in hand.

Mona raised one leg until it was horizontal in front of me. She had beautiful feet; this wasn’t a surprise, of course, since she literally shaped them to be perfect, but it was still noticeable, even though that wasn’t one of my particular “things”. Also noticeable after a moment was the fact that she continued to hold her leg out in that position with no perceptible strain from her muscles, something which would have been a little unnerving, had I not already accepted the peculiarities of her being. I slid her foot into the heel, made sure her toes cleared the front strap properly, adjusted it to be snug, and checked the fit: this seemed to be the correct size for her, at least for this particular shoe. Satisfied, I moved on to secure the ankle strap, tucking the strap into the buckle guide when I was done.

Mona tested the feel, moving her foot back and forth like a hypnotic pendulum. “These feel fine,” she observed, “they are far from the most uncomfortable human shoes I have ever worn. This seems to be a good fit.” I agreed, and got to work putting the other one on her as well.

A few moments later, she rose to her feet, standing in the new heels. She seemed comfortable and well-balanced, although it was hard to tell if that was reality: I hadn’t yet seen her make any movements which didn’t seem supernaturally nimble and lithe. She tested a few steps, then raised one leg into the air so she could get a closer look at how the shoe looked on her (while standing solely on the other foot). “Yes, these feel fine,” she confirmed, putting the leg back down, “although like I said, they bend my leg in an unnatural direction, so they are a little distracting. I can wear them, though, and they will keep my legs in this form for as long as I do.”

I was pleased with that, of course, both the statement and the fact that we luckily got the size right on the first try, and moved to put the excess packaging away. I figured that I would make one singular return of all the items and sizes which didn’t work once everything had come, and we’d had the chance to try everything on [her]. It was a little odd to hear the telltale noise of heels on the floor as Mona continued to feel out the shoes, but not displeasing in the slightest.

“Well,” I said, as I moved to consolidate the packaging materials, “we should probably try on the rest of the less-exciting clothing, to make sure stuff fits and all.” Mona concurred, and we spent the next few minutes assessing the rest of the day’s shipments. The pants fit well; I’d ordered them long knowing that Mona was unlikely to be wearing them without tall heels, and I’d guessed right: they came down to just above her toes, and disguised the height of the heels quite well, at least while she was standing. The shirts also fit reasonably well: a little loose, but totally wearable, although Mona noted that they were both too loose to hold her wings in, and too constraining to let them out, meaning that she would still need to focus to keep them in while wearing these shirts. Of course, we had other mitigations on order for that issue.

We didn’t bother to try on the underwear, as nominally sexy as it may have been, since it wouldn’t “do anything” for me, and we didn’t anticipate needing it anyway aside from special situations. “I don’t really need underwear,” Mona had told me when we were browsing for normal wardrobe items, “since demons don’t excrete waste from down there, and don’t sweat, and I only secrete moisture when it’s helpful for intercourse. So unless you want me to wear underwear for modesty or something, I don’t need it.” I’d decided to throw in a couple packs anyway, in case we ever did need modesty, or if she ever met any female friends who might otherwise wonder why she didn’t own any.

As an aside, later in the day yesterday, when I had just finished with her bent over the couch to take her from behind, and was flopped down on her back between her soft leathery wings, I had occasion to wonder about the obvious follow-up to the underwear discussion. “If you don’t actually poop, then why do you have a hole there?” These are the types of brilliant philosophical questions which I may ask, apparently, in the famed post-orgasmic clarity of mind.

She had twisted her upper body around to look at me, just to give me the type of look a mother might give her children, when they asked why she spent so much time doing housework instead of playing with them. “Because some people really enjoy anal sex,” she’d said with a smirk, “and it would be pretty difficult to satisfy that desire if I didn’t have an anus.” I don’t know what answer I was expecting, but that made perfect sense in retrospect.

When all the packages had been opened and sorted, and most of the clothing tried on, it was time to put things away, which meant finding an open drawer (or several) and some closet space for my new roommate’s attire. This wasn’t too difficult: I had a small selection of clothing and a fairly large house; being in a remote area meant real estate was inexpensive, so I had been able to afford something far larger than I needed. Mona helped me organize the clothing, and I observed that she had done a pretty good job cleaning up in the bedroom as well. I’d have to explain laundry machines to her at some point if she was going to handle the pile of dirty laundry too, although I told myself that I needed to continue doing that part for now, so I didn’t feel like I was making her do everything housework related.

Now normally, on a work day, when I’d completed my compulsory tasks in exchange for my daily wages, I would typically do a few things as part of my evening routine. First, I would get dinner, which occasionally involved cooking something, but far more frequently involved using an online app to motivate someone to bring me food in exchange for money. Second, I would be online, either browsing forums and social networking sites, playing online games, or mindlessly surfing until I was tired enough to sleep. Third was trips to the gym, something I didn’t do enough, but which I always felt like I should; like many Americans, I kept an active gym membership to motivate myself to go, more than something which I got full value from. Forth was late-night pornography viewing, something I also had in common with the vast majority of men in America.

Of those, I figured I still needed to get food, but the others seemed distinctly less preferable than just suggesting to Mona that I had enough energy to share some with her. So, that’s what I did: I found a meal on an app which was sufficiently large to both feed me tonight and ensure I would have leftovers for tomorrow, and suggested to Mona that it would take about 30 minutes for the dinner I’d ordered to be delivered, if she wanted to “eat” first. She was then, and as I have always known her to be since, both insatiable and eager, and before I knew it she was on her knees in front of me again, servicing my penis with her mouth and hands with enthusiastic vigor. I feel like I fed her a solid meal, catching glimpses of her still-on heels past the motions of her wings before I came.

I was still recovering from that when the doorbell rang, and I needed to quickly throw on my hastily discarded clothes to answer it. I was sure I still smelled of the recent activity, as well as had many visual clues lingering, but to the extent that the delivery person noticed, he didn’t say anything. I suppose he had other deliveries to make, or didn’t care, or had seen similar images on delivery stops enough times that mine was unremarkable, or all of the above. I made a note to tip him for his discretion, imagined or otherwise.

The rest of the night was more of the same: I ate my dinner, let the food settle for a few minutes, then intimated that I was curious to see what the new heels looked like in coordination with the handcuffs. That was really all it took, if even that much: whenever Mona was anywhere nearby, and a sexually suggestive thought or fantasy entered my mind, I could tell she could feel it, even if I didn’t say anything. At that point she was basically primed and ready, and any indication that I was willing was an invitation to begin an aggressive seduction. Mentioning any particular current fantasy element just guided her approach.

I think I had two or three more orgasms that night, before I ran out of energy and collapsed into a deep sleep. Once again the particulars are a blur; I believe at one point she may have had her hands cuffed behind her while I held her legs in the air and penetrated her, I believe that lasting image was from that evening. Nothing else stands out in my recollection, though, aside from once again thinking it was fantastic, and not wanting it to ever end.

The next morning, I awoke with a momentary panic that I had overslept and was late to work, quickly followed by another momentary panic that I may have left Mona cuffed and unable to escape last night. Both of those proved to be baseless concerns, I realized moments later: I had a healthy thirty minutes before I was expected to be online (and honestly, probably more before I would be missed), and Mona was in her usual location by the side of the bed, with no sign of neglected restraints on her. I would later find out that she’d been able to simply remove the cuffs normally with the key and her considerable flexible dexterity, although she could have almost certainly broken them off too if that was necessary, given a couple minutes otherwise free in the house.

Once again, upon observing that I was awake from her sleepless vigil, Mona inquired if she could pleasure me, and once again my mind said that was a bad idea schedule-wise, which came out my mouth as “yes”. As she crawled onto the bed, I noticed that she still had the heels on her still human-looking feet, a fact that she emphasized by maneuvering her body this time such that as she lay on her stomach with her head beneath the sheets, her feet were still out and visible, up in the air via her bent knees, and gently moving forward and back to tease for my attention. This was at least partially successful.

Twenty or so minutes later, and I was once again rushing to get some breakfast before I started my day, and checking my upper-body clothing for any residual signs of dishevelment. Having assured myself that I was within normal tolerances of “presentable”, I logged in, and proceeded to get on with my work day. This was a little harder that day: without the Monday rush of frantic tasks and things which broke over the weekend, there was less pressing work, which meant more time for my mind to wander. I made it through unscathed, though, having had the leftovers for lunch, and emerged once again in the late afternoon to tackle the next set of packages for that day.

There were more this time; a virtual steady stream had arrived during the afternoon, regularly pulling me away from whatever task I was trying to immerse myself in, to shuttle a package indoors. By the time I was done there were at least ten packages piled by the door; I wondered what the delivery people might suspect was going on. Mona was patiently waiting for me when I got done, seemingly uninterested in opening the packages herself, although she had once again cleaned up the house while I was working. I told myself not to get comfortable with that arrangement, although my subconscious told me that I could get used to that.

“Shall we see what we have today?” I moved to the pile of packages, but I noticed that Mona did not get up to follow; rather, she was sitting with her legs extended, pointing her feet even more than the angle of the heels she was still wearing. I hesitated, suspecting that something might be amiss, “Is anything wrong?”

“Oh, nothing serious,” said Mona, looking up and breaking her concentration. “I’ve been wearing these for a while, and it’s starting to become more difficult. I’m having to try to move my legs to their natural position to relax them. These are still nice, though,” she added, swaying the heels back and forth again for my amusement.

“Well, let’s see what came today, and maybe we can switch it up a little,” I said. “Sometimes joints can get sore when they’re in the same position for too long.” Intellectually, I knew that was not the problem she was suffering from, but it was the best analogy from the human world which I could come up with at the moment, and it seemed at least similar in effect. Mona nodded, rose to her feet, and moved over to join me.

I set about opening the pile of packages, just to get all the items out first. There were a couple more clothing items; nothing thrilling, just more essentials. In addition, there were some of the restraints in this shipment; I wasn’t sure which yet, thanks to the semi-discrete package, but I recognized the seller. There were also a couple more pairs of shoes, of the many we had ordered (I probably went a bit overboard in that area, but you try telling people not to gorge on one of their fetishes when they have the resources and are presented with a willing and eager partner).

“Let’s try those.” I directed my eyes to where Mona was pointing, and identified the box she had singled out in the pile; it was one of the shoe boxes. Looking closer, I noticed that there was an image and text on the side of the box which indicated the type of shoes within, and this was one of the ballet boots, with a corresponding generic image of such.

“Okay, sure,” I said, and abandoned my strategy of trying to open and organize all today’s deliveries to focus on the one which had caught Mona’s attention. I retrieved it, and followed Mona over to the couch, where she had already begun removing her existing shoes. As each came off, she stretched her feet out, which for her was a process of affecting a straight line between her knee and her toes. For my part, I got to extricating the shoes from their packaging; I noticed that these were one of the lockable variety, as there were several luggage locks with keys helpfully in the box with them.

“You might want socks or something with these,” I began, trying to think of the practical concerns. Unlike the other shoes, these were fully enclosed, so something to keep feet dry over time would be recommended. Also, in the videos I’d seen with these types of shoes, the owners always recommended some combination of socks and padding to minimize the pressure points (and even then, standing in them was a challenge even for seasoned veterans). Of course, I was still thinking in the context of human women, because I had no other ingrained point of reference.

“Why?” she asked, sensibly, but not accusingly. Her question prompted me to pause, and reconsider the suggestion. I recalled that she had mentioned that demons don’t sweat, so presumably the heat buildup would not be an issue (she did radiate body heat, I’d observed, but I presumed demons would be comfortable in/with most amounts of heat, if the mythology held). Padding was strongly recommended for human wearers, but outside of trained ballet dancers, humans generally didn’t stand “en pointe” for very long at a time, and even for ballet dancers this was cushioned with shoes and limited in duration. In contrast, I’d seen Mona walk around the house on her toes for many minutes at a time, with no discernable discomfort. I was forced to concede that perhaps my suggestion, while well intentioned, might not be applicable in this particular situation.

“Huh, well, maybe not, let’s just try it,” I said, after the moment’s pause. Mona nodded and extended her foot, and I began the process of putting one of the shoes on her. This was not as quick as the previous model: these had a side zipper for quick on/off, but the laces needed to be done up first, and adjusted to be snug. All told it took about a minute, with some tightening, to get the boot on right, at least as far as I could tell, and this was notwithstanding the attached thick flap of leather where the locks would go, which was still hanging off the back.

“How does that feel?” I inquired, pulling my hands back to admire my handiwork, like a shoe store employee helping a customer. Mona tested the fit; even though this was only an ankle boot, it was made to have strong ankle support, no-doubt in anticipation of the potential for injuries for the inexperienced but enthusiastic customers who would try to walk in them. As a result, there was very little sideways flex, or ankle flex in any direction for that matter. In that respect, they seemed high quality at least; no thin cheap pseudo-plastic here.

“They’re nice,” Mona observed, “do you like them?” I realized that I’d been so focused on getting the lacing done right and adjusting the fit that I hadn’t really shifted my mind to appreciate the shoe itself, as Mona was testing the limits of its flexibility, and she had picked up on that. Her suggestion was all the nudge that I needed, though, and in an instant I was not perceiving them as a fitting challenge, but as a fetish item like the manufacturer intended. Mona’s look of momentary concern was quickly replaced by one of enjoyable stimulation. “Oh, you do, that’s good. Let’s get the other one on too, then.”

I repeated the process with the other shoe, this time also taking time to appreciate the view as I went along, to Mona’s enjoyment. When I was satisfied, I once again sat back, and Mona once again tested the limits of the flexibility of the boot. Once again it was fairly rigid, although this time no prompting was needed for Mona to find the enjoyment she was looking for while wiggling the shoe in front of me to test the security of my lacing job. I was enjoying the view.

Mona rose to her feet, with no discernable impediment to the gratefulness or efficiency of that action. The thick leather ankle straps which were intended to prevent access to the laces and zipper when properly attached hung loosely from the back of the boots, but otherwise everything looked secure. She took only a few steps before declaring, “Yes, these will do very nicely.” She was fully back in her sultry, very much enjoying herself voice.

“Should we lock them on?” I asked, knowing the question was perfunctory at best. Mona was quickly back sitting, and I got on to figuring out how to nominally ensure she would continue wearing these boots until I decided otherwise. Each ankle strap actually had two locks, four in total, and by my estimation they did a very thorough job blocking access to the laces and zippers, as well as securing the boots at the ankles, and reinforcing the ankle stability. These were designed surprisingly well, I thought, especially for something likely intended for very infrequent bedroom-only use.

Mona stood once more when I was done, and once again started pacing around the room, feeling out the experience while I watched. I imagined that virtually all women would have been jealous of her ability to even just walk around like that, much less gracefully and easily, as if just taking a relaxing evening walk around the house. It occurred to me that her wings might be assisting with that; I hadn’t given it much thought, but I did know she was able to move them consciously, and perhaps there was a balance-assistance equivalent to how humans shift their weight without thinking to stand upright. Or perhaps the movements required were just second nature for her, being very similar to her actual hooved feet, just with a smaller base. Whatever the case, she was making walking in them look trivial.

“How is the fit? Is that the right size?” Again, they seemed like perfunctory questions as soon as I asked them, but I suppose some part of me still couldn’t accept that this was happening, and I was on auto-pilot trying to be helpful.

She turned to face me, striking a pose which is now indelible in my mind. She was standing facing me, legs slightly apart, locks visible on the outside of the ballet boots, naked otherwise, her large wings framing her gorgeous body from behind, horns snaking up and back from her head, eyes glowing slightly, and a smile of satisfaction that might as well have been glowing also. “I think they are perfect,” she intoned, while looking into my eyes, “I could wear these forever.”

Her eyes fluttered a tiny bit as she absorbed that comparative blast of energy, then she continued with more mundane details. “The fit is good, I think this is the right size. The shape is right: it matches my natural legs, so there’s no additional effort to keep them in human shape. There’s also additional pressure on the toes, because they are pointed now, and all my weight is on them, which is perfect.” She noted my quizzical expression, and clarified. “It won’t cause any permanent problems, even if I wear them continuously, because I can just shape that part back, but any additional pain over time will just provide me more pleasure. I can see how these would be difficult for human women to wear, but for me they are pretty much ideal.”

I took a moment to digest that assessment; I hadn’t considered that some discomfort might be good for Mona, but it made sense with what she had told me previously. “Okay, cool,” I managed after a moment, “should we see how they work with the pants we bought?” I don’t know why that was the first thought that popped into my mind after absorbing that striking image and surprising revelation, but I blame an adult life mostly comprised of detached problem solving, and lacking experience with intimate relationships.

Fortunately, Mona did not have that problem. “Mmm, that sounds useful, but maybe first we should test out how these new shoes affect other interactions. I’m a little taller in these, you know, so we should make sure stuff still fits, and that I can still pleasure you in all the same ways…”

That was, of course, all the encouragement I needed, and I quickly forgot about all the rest of the packages for that evening. It turned out all the previous positions and activities that I had the energy to try again that evening worked just fine in her new boots also, to our mutual satisfaction.

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Re: Playing with Fire

Unread post by absolutist »

A great tale expertly brought to life. And one where the "happily ever after" is far from assured. I'm looking forward to more installments. Thanks a lot for sharing this!
Cheers, Absolutist

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Re: Playing with Fire

Unread post by boundBinder »

I just want to echo the other users, here. I am also enjoying the tale, thus far. I am eager to see how things change when "Mona" inevitably falls "in love" with him. Keep going, please. :)

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Re: Playing with Fire

Unread post by anonymouse »

Not to worry; more is coming, I just ask for your patience. I've essentially caught up with what I'd written previously, notwithstanding buffer chapters, and I'm not an enormously fast writer, so updates will be a bit slower now. But I have an arc, and I intend to finish the story.

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Re: Playing with Fire

Unread post by boundBinder »

anonymouse wrote: 23 Jan 2022, 05:22 Not to worry; more is coming, I just ask for your patience. I've essentially caught up with what I'd written previously, notwithstanding buffer chapters, and I'm not an enormously fast writer, so updates will be a bit slower now. But I have an arc, and I intend to finish the story.
By all means, take your time. One cannot rush good stuff like this.

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Re: Playing with Fire

Unread post by anonymouse »

Feeling Out Constraints

The next morning I was exhausted, despite having a very deep and restful sleep. Despite my regular weekend hikes and occasional gym visits, my body was not accustomed to regular vigorous exercise, and the amount of orgasms I was experiencing was taking a toll. That didn’t stop me from acquiescing to Mona’s now-standard morning request to pleasure me again as soon as I awoke, made from her now-standard bedside kneeling position, but I made a futile mental note to try to take it easy in the next couple days. Living with a fantasy personified who was always willing, eager, and literally insatiable made that practically impossible.

Work was slow that day, and I found myself having difficulty focusing on it, rather than letting my mind wander to what might follow it. More packages arrived during the day; they were brought in and piled up, to be examined that evening. Every time I went out to get something, it took me a few minutes when I got back into my office room to refocus on work, because Mona would be walking around, smiling at me. It wasn’t that she was trying to be distracting (if that was the case, there would have been no chance I would have been able to return to working); rather, the exhaustion was just making it difficult to focus, and my default mental state was to follow my biological urges. The still locked on ballet boots certainly didn’t help.

When I was finally done with work, I set about going through the old and new packages again, with Mona an interested but mainly passive observer. We’d received a few of the bondage items now: some “police grade” cuffs, and some thicker models as well. I’d also ordered some thick solid metal shackles, a design which looked far less modern, and would have been more in place in a medieval dungeon setting. Mona had suggested they might work better than more modern cuffs, because if properly secured, there was no way to shim the lock or otherwise jimmy them open, and with a heavy duty chain they could be attached to fixed points to limit movement. We didn’t have any suitable fixed points yet, but the theory was sound, so into the cart they had gone.

We also had received most of the gags we had ordered; I guess these were more “in stock” than I would have imagined. I’d already experimentally verified Mona’s claim that she didn’t have a gag reflex; I didn’t have a porn star sized penis, but it was large enough when erect to exceed the length of her mouth alone, and I’d had my first “being deepthroated” experience a couple days back. I had little doubt she would be able to handle the severe gag we’d purchased, although we’d still need to test it at some point, for science.

The item that caught both of our attention that night, though, was the corset: one of several ordered, but the first that had arrived. “Let’s try that,” she had suggested as I was going through the packages, and I certainly wasn’t going to deny her desire. I extricated the package contents, and brought it over to the couch to inspect. This was a fairly standard corset, as such items go: high back, underbust, rigid boning, etc. We had guessed on sizing as with the other clothing items, but this article would be more sensitive to size in general, so I hoped we’d at least gotten close.

Mona had walked over, and was now standing in front of where I was sitting, waiting. I noted that she had retracted her wings, in preparation for applying the corset; I felt a tinge of disappointment at that observation, as her wings were actually starting to grow on me. It’s surprising how much of an effect a few days of intimate familiarity, and numerous instances of physical adoration, can make in your appreciation for aspects of a lover’s body you might have initially found distasteful.

I wrapped the corset around her waist, and attached the grommets in the front. It fit easily but snugly with the laces fully open, which I estimated as close to ideal in terms of sizing, although I didn’t have much experience to base that assessment on. The hips were a little loose, but I guessed those might get a bit tighter as I tightened the laces. Once the front was fully attached, Mona turned around so that I could work on that.

If you’ve ever laced up a corset, you know that the process is not quick, and usually is done in stages, with some time for the wearer’s body to adjust between tightening sessions. I had not, but I’d read about the process a little online in optimistic preparation a few times. Recalling what I could, I started from the top and bottom, and worked my way in, pulling the laces taut but not with force. There was probably three inches of separation still in the middle when I was done with the first pass of lacing. Even with the “loose” lacing, the corset was already shaping Mona’s waist slightly more inward, creating a curve where previously there was essentially just a vertical line down to her slim hips.

“How does that feel?” I inquired, after tying off the laces with a temporary knot.

Mona wiggled her body a little, testing the fit and range of motion of the current application. “It could be tighter, this is still pretty loose. Don’t be afraid to pull on the laces, they are made for that; try to close it up as much as you can. And don’t worry: you won’t hurt me, and even if you do I will enjoy it.” She really had a way with words for encouragement.

I took another pass as instructed, this time pulling at every step, and doing my best to close the gap in the back. Between each pull Mona squirmed a little, sometimes accompanied with a slight moan. By the time I got to the middle this time, I’d closed the gap to around one inch, and really gave the last bit a strong pull before typing it off, and this time tucking the laces inside. “How about now?”

“Mmm…” came the reply, as Mona did her customary wiggle to test the finished product. “That’s delicious.” I couldn’t tell if she was referring to the fit of the corset, or the energy I was undoubtedly giving off looking at it tightly laced on her, constricting her movement and creating a now very accentuated curve at her waist. I was also right about the contact at the hips: tightening the laces had pulled the corset in, and it was now tight against the top of her hips as well. That was about the best fit one could hope for ordering sight-unseen, I decided, and like everything else we’d tried it looked fantastic on her.

“This should keep my wings in quite nicely,” she continued, as I admired the view. “When it’s tight like this, there’s basically no effort involved. So I can look totally human now, aside from the horns.” She gestured to her head for emphasis, where her slightly curly and fuller body long hair obfuscated the horns a little, but not enough to hide them. “And I can keep those away pretty easily, effort-wise, so I can look totally human for you now.”

I put my hands around her now very thin waist, and pulled her closer to me. “You know, I’m starting to like your wings too.” She was only about an inch shorter than I was with the ballet boots, actually, so there was no bending involved when talking to her close, unlike with some of my previous short-lived relationships. “They can get in the way sometimes, but they are also kinda nice too, and very you.”

She smiled, her soft, sweet, kinda seductive but also kinda nurturing smile. “Well, I guess I’ll only have to wear this part time, and when we’re going outside, then. But while I have it on, let’s see if it still works for the basics…” As she finished that thought, she was kneeling down, running her hands down the front of my body and on to pulling down my shorts and underwear in one smooth motion. Then her mouth was on my penis again, and my shivers of anticipation became quivers of stimulation.

We tested previous positions and activities again that night, as before. I must have obtained food at some point, but I don’t remember. I do remember that a few positions were a little more tricky because of the rigidity of the corset, and neither of us cared.

The next day was more of the same; I noticed that when Mona was under the covers with her legs exposed and in the air, the locks on the boots jingled a little as she swayed them, but most of the rest of the work day was not memorable. The morning routine and work days were turning into an exhausted blur of frantic morning activity, and a long day of trying to keep my mind off what the evening had in store.

In the evening it was back to packages; there were less that day, but we still had a backlog. First, though, I checked on how Mona was doing: per her account, everything was still comfortable enough, she was not spending any effort keeping her feet in human shape and her wings in, and she had some minor “enjoyable pain” from walking around. We decided to leave everything in place for that evening, and just see what else we could find to try.

We ended up trying several of the restraints that evening, nominally to test their efficacy, although we of course also evaluated their suitability for wear during sexual activities as well. Handcuffs were about the same as what we had tried before; one of the new pairs had hinges and could be secured to be difficult for Mona to remove herself, when locked behind her back, which was promising. Ankle shackles were somewhat effective at hobbling fast movement, but didn’t slow Mona down much unless wrapped around something, and got in the way of some os our sexual positions. About the only thing we concluded from the experiments was that we would need to attach the restraints to something in order for them to have any real value in containing Mona.

We also tried the few gags which had arrived. As expected, the “mainstream” gags (balls of various sizes) didn’t do much except obfuscate speech, and there was plenty of semi-verbal communication which was still possible. The larger ones did a better job, and we figured that the largest one which we had ordered, which really took some force to get behind Mona’s teeth, would do in a pinch. But it was really the large plug gag with the panel that was a clear winner in the comparison, as expected.

It looked unrealistically large, really, to fit inside any normal person’s mouth; by my estimation it was over eight inches long and over an inch wide. The plug was shaped like a phallus, of course, complete with tip and veins. I briefly wished I could rival the size of it, but when I considered how difficult that would make wearing pants in public, I was back to feeling content with my well proportioned and modest size.

Mona had asked if I wanted to put it on her, as I had with the other gags we had tried, and initially I did, sliding it into her mouth and going to attach the strap behind her head. She stopped me, though, turning her head around to show me that there was still about three inches of phallus remaining outside of her mouth before the panel, even though I had slid it in as far as it seemed to go. “You need to push it into my throat,” Mona had said, once she had reversed my botched attempt, “and that will take some force, because that’s a smaller opening, and a large gag.”

I tried again, once again sliding the large cylinder past her wide open lips and back to the point of resistance, and then applying more force. Mona leaded her head back slightly, and there was a discernible “pop” feeling from the resistance, as the gag pushed through and into her throat. I checked the front: the panel was flush with her mouth and covering her lips, making a reasonable seal around them. I got a nod, and attached the back straps.

“Mmmph.” Mona tested her ability to speak, and the result was a very muffled and totally incomprehensible sound. She made a couple more of them, then looked to me for an assessment.

“Yup, that works pretty well,” I said, smiling. I think Mona smiled as well, from what I could tell from her eyes; it was impossible to see anything from her mouth with the panel. She directed my eyes downward with her gaze, to where her hand was holding up one of the additional luggage locks which had come in the packaging. I brought my eyes back up to her face in time to catch the eye flutter from the surge of energy I knew I produced.

Naturally I obliged her, and that was the end of anything else productive that evening. I can report that the gag effectively impedes any ability of Mona to perform oral sex, and use her mouth (and tongue) in general, but otherwise does not diminish her ability to either seduce or satisfy me in the plethora of other manners in which she is exceptionally-skilled and very effective.

The next morning, Mona was in her usual bedside position, with her customary morning greeting. It took until she was under the covers before I was awake enough to realize that she was sans gag. I don’t recall having removed it the night before, although it was certainly possible, but it was also entirely plausible Mona had removed it herself during the night, as I hadn’t gone to any lengths to hide or secure any of the keys (in fact, I’d been keeping them in conspicuous locations for easy access). I was just as well: I would have felt guilty leaving her in it overnight, since it seemed like it would be pretty uncomfortable, even if it wasn’t particularly dangerous for her.

I spent another restless and distracted day at work, dealing with the mundanity which funded my lifestyle. I found myself increasingly making excuses to step away and take breaks, which sometimes involved retrieving packages, but always involved stealing lurid looks at my incredibly sexy roommate. I still thought of Mona as such, and not a lover yet, although if I really was honest with myself my feelings for her were certainly strong enough to masquerade as love, even after less than a week since I met her. Intellectually, though, I hadn’t yet gotten past the short term and interspecies natures of our relationship enough to acknowledge that fact.

I did have a little close call that day, though, when I forgot to close the door to the office after one of my “breaks”. A short time later I was on a work meeting, with the computer camera on, and Mona walked past the open door. It was only a brief moment, and the angle made only her upper body potentially visible, but the corset would have been obvious, her breasts were clearly exposed, and depending on the resolution on the other side, maybe even her horns. I got a couple of raised eyebrows as I apologized and closed the door; I suspect my coworkers were more surprised to see a female in the house than looking too closely at the particulars (at least, that’s what I was hoping). Whatever the case, there were no questions asked about it, and I made a mental note to be more careful in the future.

Fortunately, the rest of the day was uneventful, and when it was time to log off, I dutifully went to go through the accumulated packages. We were accumulating quite a pile, and if the trend of picking one item, applying it, and losing the rest of the evening to sexual escapades under the guide of “testing it out” continued, it might take literally months to get through the rest of the packages. I didn’t necessarily find that prospect distasteful, but I may have been overlooking some important considerations.

“We need to talk about containment,” announced Mona, just as I had gone to begin going through the day’s packages. Mona had joined me as usual, and was standing nearby, still looking absolutely stunning in the corset and boots (the latter of which were still locked on, despite the symbolic-only nature of that qualification given present circumstances). Her cheerful, anticipatory, and encouraging demeanor had been supplanted by a serious one, though, which suggested the topic warranted discussion.

“I’ve been thinking about that,” I began, and then trailed off. In truth, I had been thinking about it, a little, in the short between the long days of trying to focus on my work so that people didn’t think I was too distracted and start asking questions, and the passion-filled whirlwind sexual adventures which comprised my recent evenings before passing out from exhaustion to begin the cycle again. I’d gotten as far as to conceptualize that perhaps I could attach some of the restraints I had ordered to something solid, so that Mona couldn’t go anywhere, and maybe leave the county or something. That was as far as my planning had gotten, though, and I wasn’t prepared to defend that level of forethought as having really “thought about it”.

“You have a basement,” Mona continued, unphased by my half-hearted attempt to deflect rightful criticism for my negligence, and still in her serious voice. “I found it while exploring your house. It’s filled with boxes and items right now, but if you clear it out, it could provide a viable containment room, provided we take steps to secure the door. There do not appear to be any windows down there, and no other obvious means of escape.” She stopped; it was taking my mind longer than usual to switch gears after the entire day of anticipating something entirely different for this time, and Mona seemed like perhaps she sensed this, and was waiting for me to catch up.

“Okay, I guess that could work,” I agreed, still trying to frantically fill in the details in my mind. I’d mostly forgotten about the basement; the house had it when I’d moved in, probably as an old bomb shelter built by a parnoid person, and I’d used it to store the types of things you hold on to when you move even though you probably should have thrown them away. I never considered it habitable space; I wasn’t sure what the ventilation situation was like, not to mention mold, it didn’t have any of the building-code required egress access, and although it didn’t seem bad when I moved in, I remember thinking that I would probably need to get it inspected if I ever intended to spend more than a few minutes at a time there. But now that Mona had reminded me that it existed, it suddenly seemed perfect, and I was kicking myself that it hadn’t come to mind before.

“We’ll need to move stuff out of there,” I continued, thinking out loud. “To be honest, I’ve never used the space, I just put some junk there when I moved in, and forgot about it. This house is large enough that I never needed it, especially living here by myself. But yeah, that could certainly work, maybe… we’ll need to look at it.”

“Well, I could move the stuff tonight if you tell me where to put it,” said Mona. My immediate mental reaction was “Now? What about the sex?”, but then I remembered that Mona didn’t sleep, and she probably meant the period after I collapsed from exhaustion and before she could get more energy from me in the morning. Probably.

“I have another spare bedroom, but it’s upstairs, so you’d need to take stuff up two levels.” Immediately I also felt a tinge of guilt; the male instinct was kicking in, and even though I logically knew Mona was far stronger than I was, and had way more endurance, it felt absolutely wrong to have her carry all my stuff up by herself. It seemed doubly ridiculous as she was literally in fetish wear, balancing on her toes, and naked otherwise. “Let’s go look at it, and I’ll help start taking boxes up.”

I made my way to the door near the kitchen which led down to the basement, with Mona in tow. The door itself was off the pantry, as I recalled, and when I got there I saw that Mona had already moved some items out of the way to facilitate access during her previous explorations. The door itself was not hidden, but it was not obvious either; if you didn’t know it was there, you could easily overlook it. I suspect that was part of the original intent, as it was maybe designed to function as a panic room of sorts as well.

Opening the door revealed the short staircase down to the small secondary storage room, which had more non-perishable consumables in it. From the pantry, it looked like a strange but normal auxiliary pantry design, although I knew there was more there. I descended the stairs after checking for spiders (fortunately, there were none to be seen, which was surprising; perhaps Mona had cleaned them out), and shortly we were both standing in the cramped auxiliary area, the space of which was mainly taken up by shelving and canned goods.

On the side of this area, not visible from the upper door but visible from within the sub-panty, was another door, for which the purpose would be less obvious to an observer. Opening that door revealed the concrete stairway to the sub-basement bunker that I hadn’t been in since moving into the house years back, as far as I could recall. Turning on the stairway light, I descended that stairwell as well; Mona’s stiletto-tipped boots had a decidedly more staccato clicking on the hard concrete as she followed me down. At the bottom there was yet another door, and then the storeroom proper.

The storeroom/bunker was pretty much exactly how I remembered it, which is to say a bare room with a concrete floor and walls, and boxes piled up with no discernable organization. I recalled that there were some plumbing hookups, but that the original builder had either not gotten far enough along as to actually install plumbing, or the effort had been abandoned for some reason along the way; whatever the case, there was no working plumbing. There was also not much working ventilation as far as I could tell, although the air didn’t smell particularly stale or deadly, so perhaps there was some passive system in effect that I just hadn’t observed previously. The lights still worked, which was a pleasant surprise at least.

“Okay, let’s see about moving a few of these boxes.” I tried to sound more enthusiastic about the manual labor aspect than I actually was; it was not that I was adverse to the work, it was more that I was adverse to discovering what might have been left growing in the room all this time. I approached the pile, selected the box which seemed the most accessible, did as thorough of a check for creepy crawlies as I could without appearing overly cautious, and then hoisted it up. Turning, I moved to relocate this box upstairs.

I could hear the telltale sound of Mona’s boots on the concrete as she followed me, even though I couldn’t see much past this box. I carefully maneuvered up both flights of stairs, and then through the house and up the main flight of stairs to the spare bedroom. I found an open space and deposited the box there; all things considered it wasn’t too heavy, but lugging it up two and a half flights of stairs had left me a little out of breath.

Mona then deposited the box that she had carried up into the same place, instantly deflating any sense of macho accomplishment I’d briefly felt. She had carried one which was larger than the one I had, and probably heavier, and in extreme heels and a corset. Sure, I knew she was a demon, and the comparison wasn’t really fair, but that didn’t make me feel any better in the moment.

“Two down, and like a few hundred to go,” I quipped, trying not to show my deflation, and turned to head back for the next box. We managed to carry up three more pairs of boxes, before I felt exhausted, and suggested I needed a break, and maybe some food.

“We can finish it later, sure,” said Mona, to my relief. “This room looks big enough to hold all the boxes, if you’re not using it otherwise. Let’s get you some dinner, and see what people brought us today.” I figured the weekend was coming up; we’d have plenty of time then to move boxes, when I wasn’t exhausted.

We headed back downstairs, and back to the now imposing pile of packages. I saw on the side of the pile that Mona had placed the gag from last night there, alongside some of the other toys and restraints. I realized that in all my eagerness to try new things, I hadn’t really considered where to put the items on a longer term basis, and they were sorta piling up in the living room. “We should probably find a place for this stuff, probably in the main bedroom,” I opined. Mona just nodded, seemingly unconcerned.

The evening ended up being more of the same otherwise; we’d received a couple more restraints and clothing items, but nothing really notable in comparison to what we already had. I had insisted on at least trying on the rest of the pairs of shoes which had arrived, a count of which was now well into the double digits, owing to my propensity to buy the ones I found attractive (which were numerous), and curtail when the count became more than would ever be practical. By my estimation, most of the ordered shoes had arrived; I guess those shipped faster than some of the other more exotic items. Mona offered me a pouty face when I went to remove the ballet boots to facilitate the trying on; in her words the boots were still “perfect”, and she could happily wear them indefinitely, or at least until they fell apart from use.

We went through the pile, with quick test walks around for each pair, a la a prolonged shopping trip; there were far too many to try for any ritual sexual “break in” activities, so we skipped that part. Inaccurate sizes were piled up to be returned, acceptable pairs were collected to be stored for later use, and eventually we were through the pile. By the time I was back from finding places to put the ones we were keeping in my closet, Mona was already back in the ballet boots, locks and all.

“I guess that’s all we need to do tonight,” I said, being still somewhat physically exhausted from moving boxes and mentally exhausted from the work day and watching Mona try on things. “How about I get some dinner, and we just relax?”

We did that, for some interpretation of “relax”. The highlight of that evening was one of the restraints which attached one’s arms behind the back, with a heavy strap which connected to a thick collar, and could be tightened such that excess arm movement pulled on the neck, creating a predicament situation for the wearer. This was less of an issue for Mona, since she didn’t need to breathe, but it was still reasonably effective at rendering her hands useless, especially when I pulled the strap up high enough that her arms were bent, and her hands were above her elbows and close to her neck. That wasn’t the best toy for functional sexual activities, since Mona couldn’t use her hands much while in it, but it was exciting for me and promising for the containment exercise, both of which made us both happy.

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Re: Playing with Fire

Unread post by anonymouse »

Note: The story is coming along nicely, and I'm getting closer to done; hopefully in the next few days I'll post the rest of the chapters. There are a few more, and it does take some twists (see previous note about trying to think through how something would function in the "real world", beyond just the immediate fantasy element), but I'm liking how its turning out overall. This is something I never really know going in; the way I write, the story sorta drives itself, and I just try to make telling it as interesting and compelling as possible.

Also, I appreciate the positive feedback, and wanted to say so. As noted, I'm not a professional writer, but it's always nice when other people think your work product is good, even if it's non-professional. :)

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Re: Playing with Fire

Unread post by anonymouse »

Stepping Out

The next morning I awoke to a familiar request, which I once again groggily consented to. It wasn’t until Mona was under the covers that it registered that this particular session was proceeding a little slower than the previous ones, and then another few moments before it registered that Mona was removing my underwear with her mouth and not her hands. I pulled up the sheet to check, and sure enough, her hands were still pulled tightly up her back in leather shackles, the solid strap affixing them to the thick leather collar which was still around her neck. I was mortified that I’d fallen asleep without releasing her, which she must have picked up on, as she paused her efforts to free my penis and rotated her upper body to face me (the collar being too stiff and severe to allow much lateral motion of her head without also moving her shoulders).

“It’s fine, really,” she said, anticipating my apology, which was only delayed because of the initial surprise. “It’s actually good; I struggled a bit last night, and I think this will hold reasonably well, even if I’m trying to escape, as long as I can’t reach any tools or sharp things. I could have cut if off even secured just like this if I needed to,” she continued, wiggling her fingers from behind the upper part of her back for emphasis, “but I didn’t, and I thought given you other tastes, you might enjoy waking up to me like this.” Sure enough, as she was reassuring me and I’d gotten over the initial surprise and worry, and particularly after I saw the finger wiggling which emphasized her continued severe restraint, my body did start to react, and as she smiled and waited my penis started trying to push my underwear out of the way and make itself presentable. “May I still pleasure you like this?”

I wasn’t going to make her ask again, of course, and accelerated the process by pulling my own underwear down and out of the way. She rotated her body such that her head was one again facing down, and began to apply her oral pleasuring skills as best she could, given the very restricted neck mobility and lack of hands to assist. These still proved easily sufficient to satisfy both of us.

I did release her hands (and neck) before I logged in for work, since the previous unintentional experiment was complete, and sat down for what would be the last day of the work week. It was surprisingly busy, and the package deliveries were light that day, so I ended up working fairly uninterrupted through the day. It felt good to be done when I finally logged off; I’d have the whole weekend to catch up on rest and such, and maybe try to have some sort of life outside of the work, fuck, sleep cycle of the past week.

It had occurred to be, in a not so subtle and not so reassuring way, that although Mona had emphasized that her kind had the ability to literally drain the life energy out of people, and that she had absolutely no intention of doing so to me (and I believed her), the “safe” sexual interactions with her were also taking a toll. I had been becoming so exhausted in the evenings I would collapse into bed, often forgetting to do things, and yet it was still tremendously difficult to say no to Mona: she was the embodiment of all my sexual fantasies, personified. If I wasn’t careful, she wouldn’t need to be in a “hungry” state to consume me; her normal insatiable hunger for energy satisfaction, and my inability to deny her even when it was debilitating to me, would consume every waking moment of my actions if I let it, until all I thought about was Mona. I might literally lose the rest of my life, and be consumed by her anyway.

I resolved to try, as best I could, to not slide down that slope, and to that end I was going to make an excursion out of the house this weekend. I could take another hike in the woods, as I had on previous weekends, but that seemed not much better: I’d undoubtedly take Mona, and she would undoubtedly ask to pleasure me there, I’d accept, and then I’d wake up in bed the next morning with half-real memories of the rest of the day. No, I would need to go somewhere public, talk to some other people, try to have some sliver of a normal life, in an environment where Mona’s appetite would need to be contained. That’s what I told myself, anyway.

Mona was waiting for me when I emerged from my home office that evening, with a smile on her lovely face. “Come with me, I want to show you something.” Obliging, I followed her, taking the opportunity to admire the less often seen vista of her perfect backside as she led me through the kitchen and into the pantry; the corset especially was striking with the intricate lacing and the one inch of visible skin through the gap in the back, just adding to all the other accentuated vertical lines ending with the stiletto heels on the back of the boots. However, I had a sinking feeling that I was destined to continue with more manual labor as it became clear she was leading me to the storage room, where hundreds of boxes remained to be moved; at least, I thought that right up until she opened the door.

“Look,” she announced, with a delicate revealing handwave reminiscent of a model on a game show. The room was empty: all the boxes were gone, and the bare concrete floor I hadn’t seen since I moved in was entirely clean. There was not a scrap of junk in sight, aside from the remnants of the plumbing work which were visible on the far end of the room, almost all of which was attached to the walls and floor. The room was larger than I remembered, and far larger than it appeared when there were wall to wall boxes. I was a little in shock.

“You moved the boxes.” My addled mind was apparently the master of the obvious today. I’ll admit I hadn’t considered that Mona would have simply completed the rest of the task while I was working, but apparently she had, and without any perceptible exhaustion or lasting strain on her part.

“It seemed like it was difficult for you before,” she noted, without any hint of condescension which I could discern, “so I finished it. All the boxes fit in the room upstairs. Now we can use this room for containment.”

“Yeah, okay, this is great.” I still wasn’t really ready to process planning beyond that, having been focused in the later part of the day on what social activity out of the house I could arrange for the weekend, and not on this impending necessity, so I didn’t really have much to add to the containment discussion. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, but remember, we still need the rest of a plan. I can move things around all day, but that alone isn’t going to keep you safe when the time comes.” There was no judgment in her voice, just reminding me of my responsibilities. I nodded to acknowledge that.

“Okay,” she continued, “that’s what I wanted to show you. I assume you’re tired from whatever you do for work; we can go back upstairs now and do more packages or other stuff now, if you want.”

I did want, and I had a pretty good idea what she meant by “other stuff” too, which I admit I had grown somewhat accustomed to and was consequently very much also looking forward to. We headed back upstairs, and returned to the package pile; it was smaller today, but had a couple more notable arrivals, and one in particular which I was somewhat more excited to try.

In one of my more fanciful purchase decisions, which was grounded far more in fantasy than practicality, I had looked at, and decided to purchase, a set of medieval looking shackles. These were heavy metal, hinged, solid pieces, with solid metal latch closures where one could attach a padlock. They were not nearly as adjustable as either leather or modern ratcheting cuffs; I had to order approximate sizes based on some quick measurements I’d done. They were also not cheap: the set that I’d procured was hundreds of dollars by itself, and the padlocks and chains necessary to secure it properly were extra. However, the fantasy image had appealed to me for quite some time, and given that I was ordering numerous similar items to “test out” with Mona’s consent and encouragement, it was something I had to throw in, and now it was here. I was surprised this package had arrived so quickly, especially given the very niche nature; I suppose the vendor must have had the sizes in stock, and just shipped them out.

“We should try this,” I began, and proceeded to gather the shackles, chains, and locks necessary to do so. Mona was game, of course, and I set about figuring out how well my fantasy intersected with reality. First up were the ankle shackles; these fit surprisingly well, even around the top of the ballet boots and over part of the strap which locked them on. The sizing must have been a bit large for Mona, but that turned out to be a fortunate coincidence, given her current state; of course we could have removed the boots as necessary, but it turned out that step was not. I attached the metal closure pieces which held them closed; these would be secured later with the locks, but I’d wait to put those on later, so I could attach the chains to them with the same locks.

Then I moved on to the wrist shackles. These seemed to be more accurately sized, and fit snugly around Mona’s wrists with a slight but not excessive tolerance gap. Then I attached the neck shackle, and again was relieved that it too seemed to fit well. All the while, Mona looked on with a content and self-satisfied smile, simply letting me apply the restraints to her; I think she was just enjoying the energy I was giving off, even if we both knew these were unlikely to have much practical value for the containment time.

Lastly I attached the chains, running one between her ankles which was about a foot long, and another which wound around the slimmest part of the corset, attached in the front, and then ran down to the ankle chain. To the waist chain I attached the wrist shackles, and then as a functionally pointless final gesture, I ran a chain from the neck shackle to the waist chain as well. Only then did I step back to examine the overall sight.

It was a nice image, to be sure, but if I’m honest I’m not sure it lived up to the hype I’d created in my mind. I encouraged Mona to take a few steps around, and she dutifully complied, shuffling around the room like a shackled prisoner in some very sexy non-standard prison attire, with the chains making satisfying jingling sounds. The visual sturdiness was also impressive, with bigger locks, thick unyielding chains, and thick shackles creating a very secure look. It just wasn’t that functionally restrictive, though, any more than what we’d already tested, which was a little bit of a let down. I figured maybe I’d leave it on her a bit, and see if it grew on me; in the meantime, I wanted to refocus on my plan to expand our social exploration.

“Let’s sit,” I suggested, gesturing to the couch. Mona shuffled there and sat with more grace than I thought possible in her current state, as was her custom, and I joined her. “I want to talk about this weekend, now that I’m done with work for the week, and we have a couple days. I want to try to go out of the house at least once, with you, and try to maybe socialize a little, with other people.”

“Why?” This wasn’t an objection, just a curiosity on her part, which given her perspective was perfectly understandable. There was also a hint of concern in her voice, which I responded quickly to try to quash.

“Well, you are absolutely fantastic to be around and do things with, and I think that’s great, but I think it’s important that I try to maintain some social connections, and not just become a secluded hermit. Plus, if I don’t ever go out of the house, people will stop talking to me, and then people will start to wonder about what I’m doing inside all day, and become curious. The best way that we can keep a low profile is to be somewhat active with casual stuff, at least as much as other people do.” I paused to gauge her response to this unexpected suggestion.

“That makes sense, I suppose.” I tried not to visibly express my relief that this was not going to be a point of contention for her. “You must have friends, social circles, people who would notice if you didn’t go to events and such, and if I’m to be staying with you longer term, you’ll need to introduce me to them, and we’ll need to socialize. You just seemed so content to stay inside, I didn’t know if you did all of that on your computer these days.”

That last remark hit a little too close to home, for better or worse. Since I’d moved out to this house, I had become more of a social hermit; I wasn’t overly social before that point, and my relative seclusion had only diminished my face to face social contact. I made an effort to frequent the gym where I maintained a membership, and local stores and coffee shops from time to time, but the reality was that most of my social interactions before I found Mona were on the computer, and I didn’t have a very large social circle or busy event calendar. I liked to think I wasn’t a hermit, but when forced to think about it, I wasn’t sure anyone outside of my work would notice if I fell off the face of the planet, and that thought alone was disturbing. All the more reason to put in the effort.

“Well, I have been lacking in face to face social contact,” I admitted, “since moving out to this house, but it’s still good to get out and see actual people, especially people outside of work. It’s something I’m not very good at: maintaining social connections. I’ve never had a long-term girlfriend or wife, and I know that’s not an excuse, but usually it’s women who are more social, you know?” That wasn’t necessarily accurate, and strictly an excuse/rationalization, but it was another lie I told myself to excuse my own failings, so I didn’t not believe it either.

“I do,” she replied, to my slight surprise and markedly more relief. “This has been true in human history also; women traditionally fill the role of maintaining social connections, planning events, and facilitating communication, whereas men like to make things explode and think with their dicks.” She shrugged with her hands, or as much as the chains would allow, the waist-attached shackles cutting the motion short with a resounding “chank”. “It’s been the way of the world for a long time, and humans probably would have destroyed themselves long ago if not for women working behind the scenes to create and maintain vital social connections.”

I found myself nodding along. Mona clearly had more historical context than I did, and it was hard to find fault in any of her points. I knew some of the more current modern sensibilities would take unbridge to the generalization about gender roles, but Mona seemed to have a pretty good handle on how human social dynamics worked, especially for a non-human. “Yeah, well, I try to think with my head, but I still mostly fail at the other parts, so any help would be appreciated.”
Mona smiled. “Of course, I can help with that, I’ve done so many times.” I’m not sure how visible my relief about that was, but it was like someone had just told me I’d won a surprise lottery on top of all the rest of my recent experiences. “I’ll need some time to get to know people, and to meet the people you already know, but like I told you before, I’ve lived among humans before, and I can certainly handle social arrangements. That’s easy.”

“Okay, cool.” I was a little taken aback by how agreeable Mona was to my socialization plan that it took a moment to figure out what to say next. “Well, we’ll start by picking some place to go this weekend, where we can just go out and do something in public, and try that out. Then we can try to meet friends and introduce you and stuff. Sound good?”

“That sounds good,” agreed Mona. I stood, and Mona did as well; in her case, that meant moving her upper body forward to get her center of mass over the small points of her boots, and then pushing her whole body upwards at once, since she couldn’t move her hands much, or separate her feet. I’d been anticipating needing to help her stand, but like most everything else, Mona accomplished what I thought would be impossible, as restricted as she was, with a supernatural level of grace.

“Thank you,” I said, intending it to imply to both her understanding of my want to do more than just stay in the house forever, and her unexpected offer to help, and then without thinking moved to hug her. She couldn’t reciprocate the gesture, of course, but she smiled, and I kissed her. This was not something we had done much of, or at all maybe, despite all of our other sexual activities; this felt more intimate, and like a real connection. She kissed me back, softly and lovingly, as I held her; it was nice. I felt her shackled hands reaching down for my private parts as I held her, but the chain around her waist held them a bit too high for her to reach that far down, so they ended up just resting against my stomach; she whimpered a little, but I just held her. It was a good moment, and I savored it.

Eventually I pulled back, largely content with our moment of intimacy, but also because the bulky shackle around her neck and the attached chain were starting to bother me; I made a mental note to remember to forgo this accessory in the future if I planned for any intimate hugging moments. “So I was thinking maybe a coffee shop or something, casual like that, to start,” I said, figuring I’d begin the brainstorming for reasonable casual social opportunities.

“What’s a coffee shop? Wouldn’t a cafe be better?” As she asked, she bent at the knees, and I could feel her hands moving swiftly down, freed from their virtual confinement and now searching for their target. She kept her eyes locked with mine, even as her hands disappeared under my shorts. I had kept her tantalizingly close yet rigidly restrained away from her natural desire, I suppose, so it didn’t come as a shock, nor did I make any effort to stop her. I figured I’d delayed her enough for today.

“A coffee shop is like a modern-day cafe,” I explained, as fingers wrapped around my penis and balls simultaneously, and began kneading and stroking. “People go there to hang out, and you can see people, and… uh, have casual conservation…” That was about as far as I got in the explanation before I lost interest in that, and all my mental energy was diverted elsewhere. Her magic hands were finding all the right points to rub and stimulate, and my body was just responding to her. At some point she squatted down entirely, taking my shorts and underwear down with her hands in one smooth motion, and seamlessly switched to using her mouth. I had my first orgasm of the evening within a minute; it was far from the last.

This time I did remember to take the shackles off Mona before collapsing into bed; they were actually discarded mid-evening, and relegated to the pile of “intriguing fantasy, but less practical in reality”. They were sturdy, for certain, but also somewhat cumbersome, and more often than not an impediment to sexual activity. I vaguely recall having decided that they might be useful when it came to containment, but by that time in the evening I just wanted Mona’s hands to be free to touch me, her legs to wrap around me, and the shackles to not push into me when she was doing things like riding me, so off they came.

The next morning I awoke to a now very familiar proposal from the side of the bed, which once again I accepted. When Mona and I were done, I had a post-orgasm clarity moment, and realized that we would need to wash the corset which Mona had been wearing for the last few days. Even if she didn’t sweat, I did, and between the two of us and our activities there was undoubtedly an unhealthy amount of incidental bodily fluids on it. I mentioned as much, and Mona concurred; I added laundry to our list of activities for the weekend.

That left me thinking about our proposed outing, which I wanted to do sooner rather than later, before I lost the will to venture outside again. “I think we should go to the local coffee shop, and just sit for a while,” I announced. Mona turned to give me her attention, her hands still casually rubbing my body as was her default post-release custom. “It’s casual, I’ve gone there from time to time, and we can just be seen together. We might talk to some people, but there won’t be any pressure, and we can leave if anything gets uncomfortable. It’ll be a test run of going out into society, and we can see how it goes.”

“Sure.” Mona seemed casually agreeable. “If you want to launder this corset, though, we should wait until that is done, or see if we have another which fits, before we go out, if possible. It will make it easier for me to interact, without being distracted with keeping my wings in. We also need to spend some time agreeing on my background story: where I’m from, how we met, all that sort of stuff, so we can tell people the same things.”

“We’ll also need to find a different pair of shoes for you to wear,” I added, glancing aside to where Mona was still swaying the boots back and forth in the air to perpetually distract me, the locks swaying rhythmically also but slightly offset. Mona gave me a playful frowny disappointed face. “Don’t get me wrong, I still love those, but there’s a good chance if we’re sitting somewhere your pants would pull up, and people would start asking a lot of questions. You can probably manage something more mainstream for at least a few hours, right?”

“I suppose…” replied Mona, with mock indignation. I made a playful stern face back, to which she responded by cupping my balls with her hand, and tickling behind my scrotum with her fingers, a move which she knew would preempt any mock disappointment I had on my face; it had the desired effect. Although it was hard (double entandre intended), I figured I should try to keep the conversation on track, lest it devolve into another sexual session consuming at least the next 30 minutes of the day.

“Let’s get that corset into the laundry, and see if we have another one which fits, and figure out the rest of an outfit for going out.” I struggled to keep my mind focused; clearly Mona had other things on her mind, and resisting her charms was getting harder and harder the more we played together. “Common, Mona, I really do want to get out of the house today, and you’re not making this easy.”

“Okay, fine.” That solicited another mock pout, but Mona also stopped fondling and stroking me, which was a small victory which felt like a defeat. We got up, I got some breakfast, and we removed the corset which Mona had been wearing for the last few days. There were no signs of any smells or funkiness on the inside (benefits of not sweating), or marks on Mona’s skin from prolonged wear: I guess demons didn’t have that effect on their skin either, I learned.

As soon as the corset was off, Mona once again unveiled her wings; they started growing out again moments after I’d finished loosening the laces, undid the front connectors, and let the corset fall away from her. I actually had to move out of the way to avoid them, it was so sudden. “Sorry; when I’ve been holding a human shape for a while, my body wants to revert as soon as it can,” she explained, “it’s like if you suddenly are made aware of something, and then it’s all you can think about.” I supposed it was analogous to when a human hasn’t gone to the bathroom for a while but is distracted: as soon as you realize you need to go, you really need to go, right now.

I’d forgotten how impressive Mona’s wings actually were, in the few days she’d been wearing the corset; as she stretched them out, she sorta stretched her body, as one does when one is stretching after a nap, for example. Her wings were wider than her body by at least a foot on each side, extended above her head height, and the tips of the bottoms came down to around her mid-thigh level. They were majestic, dark, imposing, and initially a scary reminder of how distinctly non-human Mona actually was, beneath her human facade. At that moment, though, I found they had acquired an additional descriptor in my mind: sexy. Without thinking, I reached out and stroked one of them, feeling the soft leathery texture on my fingers.

Mona turns her head with a quizzical expression; she didn’t say anything immediately, just observed what I was doing. After a moment as I continued to feel them, she said softly, “They are a part of me, the real me, even if I hide them away to fool people, and make them feel safer.” I knew she was making last comment mostly in reference to me, at least most recently and my initial reaction to her real appearance, which was admittedly a little scary. There was an undertone of sadness in her voice; I imagine hiding her natural form from people because of their beliefs about what it represented, and how she would be judged based on her appearance alone, had taken a toll over the years.

“It’s not so scary any more,” I replied, softly, as I continued to feel her wings. I moved my body in closer to her back, nestling in between her wings, and put my other hand over her other shoulder to hold her (which was a little awkward, with the other wing in the way, but seemed the only opening to get my arm around her which was easily accessible). “They are actually kinda nice now.” I kissed her cheek, and we stood there for a moment, enjoying each other’s close presence.

“Well,” I said finally, breaking the embrace, but still speaking affectionately. “We should probably look at the clothing piles, and make sure we have something else which will work for today’s outing, or get to washing this one. Maybe we can take it off tonight, though, and have a little more play with the real you.”

“I’d… like that.” From the sound of her voice, and her gentle smile, I inferred that perhaps this was the first time anyone had said something like that to her… or it could just be that she liked me, and the idea that I liked this part of her natural form, when so many other humans would not, made her happy. I like to think it was both.

She quickly added an addendum, though. “Please don’t need to fall in love with my hooves, though, because I think human legs look way better, and if I had a choice I’d have human legs and feet. Seriously, I think the only reason we were made with hooves is the environment in the abyss, and how you need something durable to walk on hot coals and sharp rocks all the time. But here, humans have made an entire industry around making shoes which are attractive, you don’t walk on hot coals and sharp rocks, and these legs are obviously better.” She glanced down to emphasize the point, then back up to me. “Agreed?”

I smiled at her sincere, but also tongue in cheek admonishment. “Agreed.” As it turned out, I was a proponent of said industry already, so that was an easy consensus.

“Well, now that that’s settled,” I continued, “let’s see if we have another corset in the pile which will work for going out today.” We did, as it turned out; there was one other which was very similar to the first one, but an overbust model. Twenty minutes of lacing, adjusting, pulling, readjusting, and pulling with force later, and I’d achieved a similar level of closure with this one, with Mona’s wings once again contained and hidden inside her body. It looked like another good fit, which was fortunate. Moreover, Mona reassured me that she was still totally comfortable having her wings held and hidden; it was just knowing that I appreciated her either way which was important to her.

That being settled, we moved on to the rest of Mona’s clothing for our outing, which I was more than happy to let her select from the collection of basics which we had acquired and found room for in my closet. From this she selected a classy dark blue blouse-like shirt which hung loosely and covered the corset nicely, and a pair of sleek black pants which looked nice in concert with the top. She also noted that normally women would additionally consider jewelry as part of their outfits, but since she didn’t have any, that might be conspicuously absent from her overall look. It was a little late to address that for the current outing at this point, but I added that to my mental list of things we still needed to order, if Mona was going to appear to be a “normal” woman. She finished off her look with a lighter colored blazer-type jacket, which looked nice, and helped obfuscate the lack of jewelry.

When she was done deciding on the outfit, she moved on to figuring out which shoes she should wear with it, since I’d insisted that we not venture out in the ballet boots, locked on or otherwise. We looked through the collection, but actually settled on the first pair we had tried: the patent black, slightly platformed, relatively tame “classic” ankle strap heels. Granted, they were still a healthy six plus inches of heel height, but they were also something I could see an upscale normal woman wearing out, especially if she was dressing to impress or entice on a date. So to Mona’s reluctance, I found the keys and released the locks on her boots, and she slipped into something a little less comfortable (for her).

“So I have an outfit,” observed Mona, once she had everything on, “but you probably need some ‘going out’ clothes too.” Embarrassingly, I’d been so focused on getting Mona attired for public presentation that I hadn’t given any real thought to my own clothing, which was currently just a throw-on shirt and semi-clean athletic shorts; to say I didn’t match Mona’s level of presentation would be a literally gross understatement. I spent the next twenty minutes making myself reasonably presentable, which included a much needed shower and “grown up” clothes. Upon reflection, I was somewhat mortified at my lack of care in this area since I’d met Mona, and told myself I’d do better, even if she didn’t seem to care.

“It seems you are ready to go out now too,” said Mona, when I finally emerged from my preparation retreat. “How far away is this ‘coffee shop’, how are we getting there, and when are we leaving?” I didn’t interpret her interrogation as a signal that she just wanted to get the trip over with; rather, it was just Mona being direct and goal oriented, which I’d grown accustomed to in my time with her so far.

“We can leave now, we’ll take my car, it should take about ten minutes to get there, and you look great.” I know the last “answer” didn’t actually have a question attached, but it seemed appropriate. I gathered my things, Mona looked on (having no things), and we headed out to my car; I had a reasonably nice, but not ostentatious, couple year old near-luxury SUV, which was perfectly sufficient for my needs, even though I didn’t actually use it much. We climbed in, and headed out.

“This is nice,” Mona observed, looking around at the interior. “Cars have come a ways too since I was last among civilization, a few decades ago. It’s quiet too; is this an expensive car?”

I spent the next minute or so explaining how this was a fairly pedestrian vehicle these days, and the rest of the time working out a backstory for Mona, for when someone asked about her. She was to be someone I’d met online, from an Eastern Bloc country, who I’d arranged to visit the United States and spend time with me, and who was looking forward to integrating into the “American way of life”. I didn’t relish the idea of inheriting the social stigma associated with someone who had procured a “mail order bride”, but it seemed that had faded somewhat in the era of online dating in general, and it seemed the easiest story to cover all the bases. So, that’s what we decided to go with. That was also when we made the formal decision to go with “Mona”; I’d been using it casually all week, she didn’t care, and if I picked anything else, I’d inevitably slip up at some point anyway. So Mona she officially became.

We arrived at the coffee shop, as predicted, in about ten minutes of drive time. It was actually a fair bit away from my house, into the city proper, but one of the advantages of living on the outskirts of society as it were was that traffic was always pretty non-existent. I parked, and we walked in, Mona’s heels making a distinctive clicking sound as we crossed the parking lot. Being mid morning, the shop was fairly quiet, but I recognized the barista from some of my previous excursions here for a caffeine fix: she was young, maybe college aged, perky, friendly, and one of those people who always has a smile, no matter what she thinks of people. I said hi.

“Hey, Jack,” she greeted me. It’s a skill that some people have, and others have to cultivate especially in the service industry, to remember the names of their customers; she’d written my name enough times on cups to know mine. I couldn’t claim the same ability in the converse, but her name tag said “Lisa”, which afforded low-effort customers like myself an advantage. Her gaze wandered past me to Mona; her smile didn’t waver. “And hello to you as well. What can I get you both?”

I began to order my usual ice-blended drink, then realized with a slight panic that drink orders, or even what drinks are available, was not something I’d discussed in advance with Mona on the way over, and I had no idea how to follow up my order. To my relief, Mona stepped in smoothly, “... and I’ll have a simple espresso.”

“Got it.” I swiped my card, Lisa set about executing the drink preparation routine, and Mona and I found a small table near the window to sit at. The coffee shop was situated in a strip mall; there wasn’t much pedestrian traffic at this time in the morning, but a few people were coming and going, and the tall windows on the front facade of the cafe afforded a sweeping view of the parking lot and surrounding businesses.

“Well handled,” I began, once we were situated. “I was worried you wouldn’t recognize anything from the menu here.”
Mona gave me a smirky patronizing look. “Coffee has been around a while, you know; it predates this entire country, in fact. I may not know what a ‘mocha frappa-something’ is, but I’ve certainly had espresso before.”

I laughed a little. “Fair enough.” This was nice, I decided: casual conversation, with Mona, in public. Of course, just as I started thinking that, another thought popped into my head, and I had to ensure nobody was really listening before I asked about it. “You never did tell me that happens with stuff you eat or drink. Maybe now is a good time?”

Mona mirrored my leaning in to have a discrete conversation in a softer voice; fortunately, there was some background music in the cafe to make that a very reasonable proposition. “Sure, although I only sorta understand it. From what I know, my body does something with the material: shrinking, transforming, I don’t know, but I think it’s like what happens when I reshape my body. I can excrete waste if I eat or drink a lot, but it’s rare; usually it just gets transformed inside, and then I think used for something else later. Like the fluids I secrete when I have intercourse, for example, or when I pleasure you with my mouth.”

“So what you’re saying is this espresso you’re about to consume might be what prevents my penis from being rubbed raw later.” That sounded weird, but elicited the desired amusement, for both of us. To a casual observer, we were probably just having a pleasing, semi-romantic small-talk conversation, and that was perfect. We continued conversing together until my name was called; I picked up our drinks, and we resumed our small talk, the rest of which I do not remember.

“Is this what you had in mind for an outing?” We had finished our drinks and were just sitting, looking outside at the scenery and people passing by. Mona still looked fantastic, now sitting cross-legged, turned slightly toward the tall window, and fidgeting her upper leg slightly up and down, just to draw attention to her heels. It was working, and probably not just for me. At some point she’d reached out, and now her hand was atop mine on the table between us.

“Yes, this is nice. Also, you’ve gotten a lot of looks, so some people would recognize you too, and word might get around, so people will know there’s somebody new in town with me. That’s part of the idea too.” I had to also admit: it was a nice day out too, not too hot or cold, and it was nice to be outdoors again after the last week. “Would you like to go for a walk, maybe stop by the park down the way?”

“Sure.” We rose, smiled and waved to Lisa on the way out, and embarked on the stroll down to the nearby parklet. It was not a long walk, but I continued to hold Mona’s hand while we navigated the sidewalks. We probably looked very overdressed for the time of day, but I didn’t much care; this felt at least as intimate as all the wild, exhausting, and fantasy fulfilling sexual activity of the last week, and I was enjoying it.

Mona must have picked up on that too. “You know, I can feel that you like this too, but it’s different. It’s less of a pulse of energy which excites me, and more of a gentle warmth. I don’t know if others of my kind feel this kind of energy, or if this is something unique to me, or unique because of the curse. It’s… strange, but it’s nice.” She squeezed my hand for emphasis. “I still want you to chain me up, shove a gag down my throat, and pound me senseless while I struggle against the chains with my high heels in the air too, cause a girl’s gotta eat, but we can have some of this too.” I laughed again, we smiled, and it was a very pleasant walk.

We stayed in the parklet for around twenty minutes or so, mostly sitting on a bench together looking at nature. We considered walking around in the nature too, but the ground was a little damp, and I was concerned that Mona’s heels were not exactly optimal for that surface. Then we headed back, hopped back in my car, and headed back to the house. Mona continued to hold me hand off and on while I drove, but she also hiked up her shirt to expose the corset for my viewing pleasure as well, because “this has been hidden enough today”. I credit the lack of traffic and modern lane keeping assistance for making it back home without incident.

True to her word, when we arrived home and disembarked, Mona headed into my bedroom while I conducted my ritual disbursement of all the sundries I’d collected for the outing to their appropriate standby places (keys, wallet, etc.). She emerged just as I was finishing up, with her hands full of leather and metal, chains dangling, a standard ball gag on top of the pile and a devious smile on her face. “Gosh, we’ve done so much walking today,” she intoned, with a faux innocent voice, “I just wish someone would chain me down tightly for the rest of the day, and use my helpless tired body to their heart’s content”. I feigned resignation, she smiled and did the subtle eye-flutter thing associated with absorbing a burst of energy, and I moved over to see about applying a selection of the many items she had brought out.

Thus, the rest of the day vanished into another blurred recollection of multiple sexual escapades, lots of bondage, and a little cuddling. I remember Mona wearing the ball gag with a thick posture collar for a while (very effective, since the tall collar forced her mouth closed), cuffing Mona’s hands behind her back with hinged cuffs (also effective, especially with the key holes facing upwards), replacing the going out heels with ballet boots again (because her comfort was also a priority, no irony intended), and removing the corset in the afternoon so that she could literally spread her wings again. That was also the first evening we fell asleep in bed together, Mona still cuffed, but warm next to me as we cuddled together.

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Re: Playing with Fire

Unread post by anonymouse »


“May I pleasure you?” The now familiar morning greeting had not gotten old yet, and I sincerely hoped it never would. Some time in the night, Mona had moved out of the bed, and back to her familiar kneeling position on the side. I once again mumbled my obvious consent, expecting Mona to pull away the covers and proceed, but there was a slight delay; it took achieving the next incremental level of consciousness to realize her hands were still cuffed in the hinged cuffs from the last evening. However, she had skillfully maneuvered her extended wings under the sheet and blanket, and created a slight tenting effect as she pushed onto the bed, reaching my semi-erect penis with her mouth a moment later. I enjoyed her attentions while still in a pleasant half-awake state, and the warm wetness of her mouth as her undulating tongue coaxed every drop of cum out of me and down her throat.

“It’s nice,” she said a couple minutes later, when I had recovered enough to think clearly again. She was laying on the bed half on her side, with her head still between my legs where she had been periodically teasing my balls with her tongue while I was in my post-orgasmic haze, hands still cuffed behind her, legs angled slightly upwards and toward the front of the bed, so she could sway the ballet boots in the air within my range of vision, as was becoming another morning custom for her. “The warmth yesterday, I mean. I can still feel it now too, just slightly. Is this what love feels like?”

I pondered that question for a moment, in my slightly still floaty state. “I suppose that’s kinda what it’s like for humans, although I really have no idea what it’s like for demons. For humans, though, it’s like your day is brighter when someone is around, you care deeply about their well-being, and you want them to be happy, even more than you yourself want to be happy. I guess they also make you feel warm inside, although more in a metaphorical sense than a literal sense.”

“Huh.” Mona was still licking and kissing my balls while I was talking; that felt nice. “I don’t know what it feels like for demons; I don’t even know if another demon has ever experienced love before. I do care about you; I have cared about you since you were kind to me when we first met, and you haven’t stopped being kind to me. I do also use you,” she added, emphasizing the statement by maneuvering her head upwards slightly and licking the underside of my slightly erect again penis from base to tip, “but I think I also care about you in a different way. Maybe this is what love is for demons, I don’t know.”

We both thought about that for another few moments in silence, as Mona continued to fondle my balls with her tongue and lips. “Do you feel any different?” I asked finally, trying to get more information without asking the obvious questions which she’d just said she didn’t know the answer to.

“Not other than the warmth, which is new,” she answered. “I am a little worried, though,” she continued, still seemingly enjoying the relaxing morning laying in bed together as much as I was, “if I’m falling in love, I don’t know what that means for the curse. I might get the hunger quicker, and I don’t know if we have prepared enough. You haven’t seen me like that, and I really don’t want to wake up from that and find you gone; that would be terrible.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t let that happen,” I said, reaching down to gently stroke her wing, which was the closest part of her body to me and the only thing I could reach without repositioning. In truth she was probably correct: I wasn’t sure if I was ready for that, and I didn’t know exactly what it would be like. But at the same time, I felt reasonably confident: we had some restraints which seemed like they would hold her, a room to keep her in, a gag to silence her, and a rough plan which seemed like it was feasible, at least in broad strokes. Also, I really wanted to be the reassuring rock that she could rely on, even if I didn’t have all the answers.

“So, I usually go for walks on the weekends for exercise,” I said after a few, changing the subject. “That’s how I found you: on one of the walks. I’d like to keep doing that, if possible; it helps me get away, mentally and physically, and sorta relax. I’d love it if you would come with me, though, if you want.”

“Sure.” Mona seemed agreeable to the idea, although she pointed out a complication. “I don’t think any of the human shoes you purchased for me will be very good for hiking, though, so I’d probably need to walk in my normal legs. That sounds like fun otherwise, though.”

I kicked myself briefly for not even considering that possibility, and made a mental note to find something in the shoe department which was both suitably high arched and suitably flat bottomed enough to be feasible for Mona to go walking in rough terrain without showing her hooves; that would undoubtedly come up more if we stayed together long enough. But even with that caveat, I found myself excited at the prospect of hiking around again. I guess when you do something enjoyable regularly for a long time, especially with an exercise component, just thinking about doing it again brings a certain amount of happy anticipation and endorphin rush.

So, after eventually getting up from the bed, that is what we set out to do. Following my normal routine, I packed some snacks and water, and hiking essentials, as I had done many times. We decided that Mona should wear the most casual clothes we had purchased, which in truth were not all that dissimilar from the outfit she had worn the previous day, complete with the corset underneath. I figured she could wear normal heels until we got off the beaten pathways, and then I could stow them in my mini-pack until we were on our way back. She’d chosen some brown strappy sandal-like heels to go with the brown loose fitting pants she was wearing; the heels were still probably six inches, but the mesh of straps was a more casual outdoor look in theory. With preparations done, we set out, away from the house and into the unknown.

We talked as we walked, about a wide range of things, from the environment where Mona was from (not many plants, lots of sharp rocks, she told me), to my experiences on hikes out in the woods, and many other topics. It seemed like we had the entirety of at least two separate lives to share with each other, which might itself take another lifetime, and was more or less the actual reality as well. I didn’t think we would ever run out of things to talk about, which was a good sign, as minutes turned into hours, and we lost track of time. I was just starting to contemplate suggesting we head back, when the bombshell hit.

“Uh… we might have a problem.” Mona had interrupted whatever train of exposition I had been on, with a tone which suggested she had something more important to share than whatever backstory I was in the middle of conveying.
I turned, suddenly a little on edge. “What is it?”

“I feel the hunger; it’s coming.”

People talk about peeing themselves when they are scared, or releasing other sorts of bodily excrement; it’s never happened to me, and I always considered it more of a euphemism than actual descriptive reality. This didn’t happen to me then either, but I did feel like the rug had been pulled out from under me, and suddenly I wasn’t sure if I was going to be able to keep standing. I also didn’t have my life flash before my eyes or anything, but to call back to my online MMO days, I was absolutely not prepared.

“How long do we have?” I was dreading the answer, out this far in the wilderness, after having hiked for several hours; if it was less than a few hours, I’d probably have to just make a run for it, and hope Mona couldn’t make up the ground and find me in her hungry state. I didn’t like my odds.

Fortunately, the answer wasn’t that dire, and I could see on Mona’s face that her caution was frightening me far more than was intended. “We have some time, it’s okay, there should be plenty of time to get back to the house and make preparations.” She’d moved over to steady me, and was now holding my arm. “It doesn’t come on that quickly; we have at least a few hours, probably more. It’ll be tonight, I think, but it’s usually in the middle of the night. We should head back now, that’s all I’m saying, so we have enough time to execute your plan.” She smiled, reassuringly; I tried to project confidence as best I could, and we turned to go home.

Fortunately, checking my phone, we had meandered a bit during our walk, so I didn’t think it would take as long to get back as it had to get out. We set out at as brisk of a pace as I could manage, my stamina being the limiting factor. As we walked, Mona tried to calm and encourage me, and it was working; I was gaining confidence as we went along that the plan would work, and it would be fine. It was tiring hiking, though, especially since we were moving in as straight of a line as possible, which meant sometimes picking our way around difficult terrain, and/or slowing down so that I could recoup my strength.

“There is one other thing you should do tonight,” mentioned Mona, during one of the slower walking periods where I was catching my breath, “if you can. You should find one of the shackles you bought which would fit you, and will lock on with a key. You should shackle yourself to something tonight, while I’m in the room, and don’t tell me where you put the key, just in case.”

My confused expression prompted her to expound on her suggestion. “Like I told you before, when I get into that state, I can compel people to do things with my voice, which is very bad for them. But from what I know from the past, people just try to blindly follow the things I tell them to do; they don’t really think about how they could do them better. I also don’t think very much, I just try to feed. So if I happen to be able to say something, I’d probably just tell you to come and release me, and if you could do that you would. Even if you didn’t, you’d still come close enough for me to feed on you if you could. If you can make it so you cannot, even in that case, that would be a good extra level of protection.”

“Okay, I’ll think about it,” I responded, and I did. It seemed like overkill, honestly, given how I’d planned to restrain Mona, but thinking about how I might manage that was sufficient to distract me from the exhaustion and soreness of the expedited hiking for a little while, so that was good. Eventually, we did make it back to a road just as it was turning dark, and the house about twenty minutes after that. As before, the roads were quiet, and I don’t think anyone observed our hustled return.

“How are you doing?” I asked, as I shed my pack, still breathing heavily.

“It’s getting stronger, but I can still resist it,” she replied. Now that we were inside and I was focused on something other than the forced march, I could see that indeed her eyes were glowing a bit more now. As I watched, the horns once again grew from her head, piercing her hair and curling back as they asserted their position on her body. “You still probably have a couple hours, but we should start getting me as secured and contained as possible soon. It gets harder to resist as it builds, and that means less energy to resist other things.” She looked me in the eye. “Do not let me seduce you, not now, even if I try; this is the danger time.”

I nodded, and went to retrieve the restraints I’d planned to apply to her. My plan was to use the hand restraints which were connected to the collar, some thick metal ankle shackles, the long plug gag, and secure everything to a chain which I’d lock around her corset, securing her in a hopefully immobile hogtie position. If all went well, she'd struggle like that in the basement, unable to move, until the hunger passed. Even if it didn’t, though, I’d also planned a makeshift brace to hold the basement door closed from the outside. I wasn’t sure that would hold, if it came to that, but I hadn’t had time to replace the door with something more solid or mount an internal lock, both of which were in the eventual plan but would not be available this evening. What I was planning would have to do.

When I emerged, Mona had shed all her outdoor clothing, and was once again naked aside from the corset. It was a shame this corset covered her breasts too, I thought; maybe I had time to swap it out for the other one I’d washed, just so that her naked nipples could brush against the cold concrete floor while she struggled. Then I caught the expression in her eyes, and I knew: this was the hunger, this was the danger, this was Mona exuding an aura of seduction which she herself could barely control, and I was so weak to it that just seeing her semi-naked was enough to send my mind on a tangent, which she had felt. This was not a game, and I needed to keep my mind on what needed to be done.

We moved across the house to the pantry, and down the stairs. I focused my mind on Mona’s hooves, and not her perfect ass or delectable curves. Clop clop clop down the concrete stairs, and into the barren room, where Mona turned to me. “Okay, what’s first?”

First was the thick collar, which I fitted around her delicate long neck, and secured with one of the locks I’d grabbed. Next came wrist cuffs, again secured with locks, and pulled as high as I could up her back, trying as much as humanly possible to not focus on the reaction that her bondage was having on me. Next was the waist chain, which I secured around the corset, before asking her to lie on her stomach, which she accomplished in her typical expedient and supernaturally graceful fashion. I then went to attach the ankle shackles; I’d brought two pairs, and intended to attach both, just in case one was not enough for some reason. It was only then I thought about the slight, and hopefully transient problem.

“These might fit like this, but I think your human legs are smaller,” I observed. “If I put them on like this, and you transform, you might be able to slip them off. I need you to make your legs human again.”

Mona nodded, and her legs once again changed shape before my eyes, morphing into the pointed toes shape I was familiar with. I quickly applied the cuffs, ratcheting them down until they were biting into her skin, which elicited a moan from Mona. This was almost too much for me; I knew I could flip her over as she was and climb on top of her, thrust my already hard penis into her exposed vagina, grab her collared neck, and let my weight on top of her compress all her bonds as I fucked her, pushing them into her skin as she moaned in ecstasy! No, I told myself, no; focus.

I quickly attached the other ankle cuffs, and pulled the chain up toward her waist, forcing her now human looking feet to follow. Using my body to hold her legs up, I secured the chain to the waist chain with a padlock, and then repeated the process with the second pair of ankle cuffs. I then added another set of handcuffs to her already secured and tightly held wrists, just in case. Looking at the job, I don’t think I could have fit any more restraints on her if I’d tried; at least, that is what I thought at the time. Being satisfied with that, I moved to complete the job with the gag.

“Please,” she said, turning her head and upper body as much as she could to look up at me from the hogtied position. “Remember what I said, and take the extra precaution just in case.” Her pleading eyes were glowing more strongly now, almost hypnotically.

“I promise I will,” I replied, and she nodded, and opened her mouth wide. I slid the gag into it, feeling it slide unimpeded for about two thirds of its length, and then giving it the requisite push to force it in the rest of the way. I secured the buckle behind her head, and used the last lock I’d brought down to secure the buckle for it. With that her bondage was complete, but I was not quite done.

I backed away; she was staring forward now, and I paused to admire my handiwork. She was still very attractive to me, even compressed and held in the uncomfortable-looking position that she was. Her bare feet were basically pointed toward her head, her hands wiggled slightly in their bonds, her reddish hair fell over her shoulders in a supple wave… she turned her head to look over at me, and her look and a grunt snapped me out of my daze. I hastily backed away, retreating to the stairwell, and closed the door.

As soon as the door closed, it was like a fog cleared out of my head, and I could think clearly again. Part of me wanted to immediately turn around and go back, so I could just stare more, but now I was also able to understand why that was a really bad idea, like when you visualize yourself doing something you know would be horrible, even though you know it would be horrible. I also felt tired, both physically from the long walk and hustle back, and mentally from the last few minutes. I knew I still had a few last things to do, though, so I forced myself to keep moving.

Originally, I’d planned to construct a brace to hold the basement door closed from the outside, just in case Mona was somehow able to get free. I figured I could anchor it against the stairs, and since the door opened outwards, it would prevent the door from opening at all. Then in the morning, I could simply lift the brace out of the way, open the door, and get into the room. Now I didn’t have enough time to build the full brace I’d envisioned, but I still had some pieces of wood, and I could still do a makeshift brace.

Trudging, now feeling the weight of the physical tiredness, I went to the garage and retrieved a few of the pieces of wood I’d planned to use for construction, along with some screws to hold them together. I walked back through the house and down to the door, and set about bracing it. A couple minutes of exhausted labor later, and I’d done what I could; it wasn’t pretty, but it seemed like a reasonable brace all things considered, and I reckoned it would have stopped any normal person from getting the door open. Satisfied, I headed to bed and much needed rest, depositing the power drill I’d use for the screws somewhere along the way.

I’d gotten as far as crawling half way under the covers when I remembered the promise I’d made to Mona. It seemed silly, and unnecessary, and completely pointless if she was able to get past all the precautions and restraints we had put in place… but I had made a promise to Mona, and even if I really wanted nothing more than to sleep at that moment, and no matter what I thought of the efficacy, I wasn’t going to break a promise to her. Very reluctantly, I dragged myself out of the bed, and to the pile of excess restraints we had piled in the closet.

On one side of the pile, I spotted the old-style ankle shackles we’d used before, complete with lock and long chain, and I remembered how they had been too big for Mona’s ankles, and had fit over her boots and their thick leather strap. I grabbed one, the chain, and a couple locks, and headed back to the bed. Bending down, I wrapped one end of the chain around the bottom of the bed frame so that it was secure, and attached a padlock with a click. Then, sitting on the bed, I fit the shackle to my own ankle, and to my relief it was wide enough to fit tightly, but not uncomfortably around it. I slid the metal brace into place, securing the shackle, and reached for the other end of the chain.

Then I remembered I needed to put the keys somewhere, which my addled brain told me I should decide before I locked the final lock. I had a brief moment of panic when my barely conscious brain then registered that wherever I picked to hide the keys, I might not actually remember in the morning, and that would be bad. I identified a place, went and retrieved some writing implements from my desk, and wrote the place I would put the keys on a piece of paper, which I then deposited under my pillow. That way, I figured, I would at least be able to tell something was strange when I heard the crinkling, and could reverse the steps from there. Satisfied with the prep, I clicked the last lock into place, attaching the snug metal ankle shackle to the bed via the chain, and crawled under the covers. I had barely enough time to start to dwell on the cold rigidity of the metal shackle, and I was asleep.

Things are a little fuzzy from this point, obviously.

I awoke to a now very familiar inquiry to which I consented without thinking, even going so far as to move the covers out of the way for easier access. Yet as I waited, I did not feel the familiar bed moving as Mona crawled into it from her bedside position. Even more strangely, Mona’s voice sounded distant, like she was perhaps talking through something, even though I could hear her clearly, as her question seemed to reverberate in my mind. I rolled over to check where she was; she was not in her usual position, and I couldn’t spot where the voice was coming from. Yet again I heard it, and this time with an additional plea.

“May I pleasure you? You must come, and release me, so that I can pleasure you.”

It was like my brain awoke enough to get to a higher state of thinking, and suddenly I remembered that I had left Mona last night, alone, bound tightly, in the basement room. Of course that was why the voice sounded distant and muffled: it was coming through the house, seeking relief from the strict and uncomfortable bondage I’d imposed upon her, and I was her only means of release. I felt terrible; I needed to get to her, and release her, so that we could share the intimate morning routine and connection.

“Please, I can’t get to you, and I just want to pleasure you.”

That was all I wanted to right then; I pulled back the covers and made my way towards the basement. I got just about to the door of the bedroom before something tripped me up, and I almost fell face-first onto the floor, if not for catching myself on the door frame. It was dark, I thought, and I’d probably left something in the way last night in my haste to sleep. But Mona needed me now, I was the only one who could help her, and I felt her soft, gentle, innocent voice calling to me. I got to my feet, and continued toward her.

“Please, help me, I just want to pleasure you…”

I couldn’t understand why I couldn’t seem to move past the door frame; it was like something was holding me back, clawing at my legs. But I needed to get unstuck, to get to Mona, to help her, she needed me. I pulled, trying to dislodge myself from whatever I was stuck on, and I heard something creak and moan behind me. I pushed past the door frame, and just into the living room, but whatever I was entangled in was still holding me back, trying to keep me from Mona. I tried to kick at it, whatever was holding me, and surged forward again.

“Please, my love, I need you…”

Mona’s words seemed to reverberate inside my head; they were faint, but I could hear them clearly, and I needed to get to her, to help her. I was desperate to get unstuck, desperate to get to her, to render the assistance she obviously needed. “I’m coming, my love,” I called out, and made another surge forward, accompanied by another creaking and grinding sound. I was making progress; I’d advanced another foot or so, but I was now down on my knees, pushing with my feet and clawing the floor with my hands.

“Please, come and save me…”

The words burned in my head, consuming my every desire. “I’m trying, please, I’m trying…” I clawed at the floor and pushed with my legs, seeming to get another few feet before I heard a soft thud behind me, and could go no further. I was not close enough, though; I was only half way across the living room, and I needed to go further. I pushed, I clawed, I did everything in my power to make more progress, but to no avail. Her pleas continued to torment me: my love, my everything, was in need, and I just couldn’t get to her. I sobbed, and it felt like my entire world was ending. Still I fought on, and I struggled on with every ounce of my being, until there was nothing left. Then I collapsed, and the world faded to black.

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Re: Playing with Fire

Unread post by anonymouse »

After Action Report

I awoke in pain and discomfort, and neither were in short supply. The first thing I noticed was that my head was throbbing, like I’d had too much to drink, and now had a massive hangover. The light in the room wasn’t helping; I went to pull the sheets over my head, but the sheets were not there. Then I noticed I was not in my bed, but on a hard wooden floor, which would explain the soreness in my back, and pain at the various points of pressure contacting the floor. I was also cold, having somehow fallen out of my bed and now having no covers. And my ankle was in pain… check that, it was in considerable pain, like someone had placed a burning ring around it or something. I rubbed the sand from my eyes, and forced them to open, so I could take a visual account of the situation.

I almost passed out, literally. The human mind has a tendency to only register a fraction of any pain you’re not directly paying attention to, like groups of neurons giving a summary report up a management chain, which is only a high-level approximation once it is aggregated with everything else that’s going on. However, when you examine a particular body part, you get the full status all at once, as if your body was saying “here’s what is actually going on, and you’d better pay attention!”. Add to that the sight of blood: there was a lot of it, smeared out all over the floor around me, like a violent crime scene with me in the middle. There was blood everywhere, and suddenly my head was swimming. My body suddenly couldn’t decide if it wanted to pass out or throw up, and I think that indecision was the only thing which allowed me to stave off either.

As I struggled to fight off the waves of nausea, I was coming to grips with what had happened. My ankle was a bloody mess: the attached shackle had ripped all the skin around it off, and was digging into my flesh, where caked blood had partially scabbed around it. Trailing back from it was the attached chain, which was still secured on the other end to the bed. The bed, which I had pulled multiple times across the floor, was wedged up against the door, where it could go no further. My fingers were also bloody: I’d scraped most of the skin off my finger tips, and there were bloody scratch marks in the floor. My elbows and arms were tender and bruised, where they had pounded against the floor in wild flailing abandon, my back felt strained to the point of pulling something, and my head was pounding in pain. I was messed up.

I also needed to eat or drink something, I realized: I’d lost a lot of blood, and some amount of the dizziness and pain was probably due to that reality. This presented a problem: I was still physically chained to the bed, and there was no food or drink that I could get to in this state. I needed to get free, and that meant forcing myself to get up, climbing over the bed to get back into the room, and retrieving the key. But any movement at all sent renewed waves of pain up my leg, my body screaming in agony as the relentless metal tore into my flesh. Maybe I could just lie here for a bit, and if I bled out, would that really be so terrible? It would end the pain, I didn’t have that many people who would miss me, I didn’t have too many loose ends…

Mona. The realization hit me like a jolt of adrenaline packaged in a load of bricks and hurled at my consciousness. Mona was still trapped, helpless, by my hand, and I was the only one who could free her. That wasn’t strictly true, of course: if I died, eventually my house would be repossessed, and when they went to inspect it, someone would find the barricaded basement, and Mona would still be there, not having aged or expired, just helpless, alone, and possibly heartbroken, for maybe literally years. That was not going to happen, I decided, with a resolution which was stronger than all the rest of the pain which had moments before had me contemplating giving up. I would not allow that to happen to her, period.
With newfound energy, I pushed off the floor with my bloody hands, and rose to my feet. The shackle dug into my leg and ripped some of the scabbing open, sending fresh trickles of blood out of the wound, and I pushed through it; I could give up when Mona was free, I told myself, but anything before that was simply not an option. I stumbled over to the bed in the door frame; every step with the shackled leg was agony, as the chain pulled on and twisted it, causing new spears of pain to assault my senses. I leaned against the bed and pushed, moving it backwards with a scraping sound, until there was enough room to squeeze by, then moved into the room.

I remembered where the key was hidden, and hobbled over to it; there was a brief moment of panic when I didn’t think the chain would reach, and I’d need to move the bed more, but I could just stretch out to reach it. Slumping down, I went to release the lock, and with an exhalation of relief it popped free without drama. I dared not remove the shackle itself; the metal panel was holding it closed against my ankle, and that in turn was undoubtedly keeping it from bleeding out. That would need to wait; now I needed to get fluids, and get to Mona.

I grabbed the key ring from my room which contained the keys for the various locks and restraints, and made my way to the kitchen, leaving a trail of blood droplets in my wake. I retrieved a bottle of orange juice from the refrigerator, and after the briefest consideration for food preparation etiquette possible, drank directly from it. It hurt going down, and not just because of the pervasive nausea, but I remembered that being the best thing to drink to recover after giving blood, and this was basically that situation. I drank as much as I thought I could handle without puking, then moved on toward the basement.

I felt like a zombie: dragging a dead limb as I moved slowly across the house, moaning along the way, but I made it to the stairs and started down. It was only then that I could hear the sobbing; it was very reminiscent of when I’d first come across Mona in the woods, in what felt like a lifetime ago now. The faint sounds got louder as I descended, each step bringing new pain but also renewed determination. I made it to the bottom landing, pulled the makeshift brace out of the way, and opened the door.

She was there, on the floor, hands and feet still restrained just as I had left them, sobbing. The gag was out, somehow removed and discarded, lying across the room. She had maneuvered to a position close to the door, but was still on her stomach, with her head resting on the concrete floor. She looked up when the door opened.

“Oh, thank god, you’re alive!” The words came out in a half croaking, half whisper voice, the kind of thing which happens when you try to talk right after heavy crying. There was a palpable sense of shock and relief in those words, too, and I don’t think she was worried about her own well-being. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry…”

I half kneeled, half slumped down beside her, my upper body coming to rest on top of hers roughly as I lacked the strength to rest it gently, and I pulled her in close. The hard metal of her restraints pushed into me, and I didn’t care. I felt her finger reaching out to touch whatever they could, her continued muffled apologies still ongoing. “It’s okay,” I said, trying to rub and squeeze whatever parts of her I could actually touch, “I’m okay, I’m alive, it’ll be okay.”

I held her for some time; I don’t actually know how long, but I didn’t want to let go. Eventually, though, the pain started to break through my relief, and I remembered why I’d forced myself to get there; I found the key ring from where I’d dropped it, and began fumbling around to find the right keys to free her. One by one the restraints came free, until Mona was free enough that she should hold me, instead of just the other way around. She still had cuffs and chains dangling off her, but it felt great to be held up, and I started to drift away in her arms.

“You’re hurt,” she said, with concern in her voice, arresting the progress of my slip toward unconsciousness, which was probably really good in retrospect. “We need to get you help. Please, tell me what to do, how can I get you help?”

“Hospital…” I managed, now teetering on the brink of consciousness, the adrenaline fading fast. “Take me… the car… drive…” Given more careful consideration, I might have suggested something like calling an emergency number and waiting for help, but that would have taken a while to arrive out here, and I wasn’t super confident in Mona’s ability to convey vital details, like my address. It might have been better than trying to drive, all things considered, but it would be an unknown, depending on how many other emergencies were happening right now. That consideration was immaterial at the time, though; I didn’t have enough bandwidth for more than one train of thought, and that train’s engine was running on fumes as it was.

Mona nodded, and rose to her feet, taking me with her. I hadn’t really dwelt on how strong Mona actually was; I’d seen a few feats of strength which demonstrated it, but most of the time she was operating within the bounds of a normal human female, I didn’t know how much energy she actually had for prolonged exertion, and I’d sorta gotten used to the idea that she was mostly a normal human in that respect. Her seemingly effortless rise with me in her arms would beg to differ, though.

She moved quickly up the stairs, carrying me in her arms, still attached chains banging on the floor and walls. Then we were moving through the house, and stuff was happening. Mona didn’t really have a smell, I observed in my semi-comatose state: I could smell the fabric of her corset, the metal of the restraints, and the prevalent odors in the house, but Mona herself didn’t exude any smell that I could discern. I couldn’t remember if I knew that before.

I was in the car; I could smell the interior, even though the view was different. Then Mona was there, asking me what she needed to do. I think I remember being slightly worried that she might have never driven before, and that I might not have been in the best state to give a crash course on driving mechanics, but we made it onto the road, and seemed to be going in the right direction. Somewhere along the way before we left, Mona had grabbed my phone, no doubt having observed me using it for all manner of things, and I’d managed to ask the digital assistant to direct us to the nearest hospital. Mona was following the directions, and I was trying to stay awake, a small pool of blood forming beneath me.

Somehow we made it to the ER, and the rest of the story I got second hand after the fact. Mona had managed to hand my unconscious body off to one of the doctors there, and I’d been taken in immediately, and given blood. They told me I’d been in shock, and it was a good thing I got there when I did, because I’d lost a lot of blood (a fact which would be very evident even weeks later, as we worked on cleaning up all the affected surfaces in the path that day). Once I was stabilized, the injuries were not particularly life-threatening, although I’d also sustained a nasty bump to the head at some point, which I hadn’t really even noticed (that explained the massive headache, in retrospect). They got me stable, and got to cleaning me up.

There’s a thing about doctors, and particularly those which work in the ER: they say that no matter how embarrassing or bizarre your situation is, they’ve probably seen worse, and stuff that you wouldn’t even imagine. Now, I cannot imagine how they would have seen anything stranger than that day: a near-naked female in just a corset carrying a man into the ER while walking on her toes, partially connected chains still dangling from her body, while the man was bleeding out from a shackle which had nearly ripped through his leg, among other injuries. But to their credit, at least by the time I was awake again, they didn’t say anything about the circumstances of my arrival, except to check if I wanted to report anything about household abuse (I declined). Professionals, those doctors and nursing staff were: consummate professionals, all. They even gave me the shackle back in one piece, in a bag, once they had extricated it from my body and patched everything up.

They had let Mona wait in the room with me, once I’d been awake enough to verify that this was acceptable to me. There was a small point of contention that she didn’t have any identification on her, so they couldn’t verify any family relationship, but since I didn’t have any information on my person either, they didn’t really have anything to go on. At some point she had removed the residual chains, and presumably left them in the car, but that still left her naked aside from the corset, which must have been pretty odd. But I’d asked that we be afforded as much privacy as possible, and hospitals try to honor that; aside from the nurses and doctors (and whoever they may have told the story to), I don’t think anyone else was aware of the strangeness in that particular hospital room. Medical privacy is also a serious thing in the medical community; see previous note about consummate professionals.

All told I was only in the hospital for around 24 hours, give or take. I did have to provide my information for billing purposes, along with a promise to call when I got home and provide insurance information and such, but the city was small enough that they trusted me to do so (and of course I did). I don’t know if the strangeness prompted an expedited discharge or anything, but I do know that I stayed overnight for observation, and Mona drove me home the next morning, still pumped full of pain medication, and with a laundry list of care instructions we promised to follow. We had made it back home, although I don’t really remember how.

The next few days were a blur of bedrest, drinking fluids, changing bandages, hobbling to use the restroom, and the like. Mona was at my side, literally 24 hours a day, playing nursemaid, masseuse, and periodic sexual therepist. I noticed on the first day back, she had re-donned the locking ballet boots, because “they would make me feel better”; that was true, but her continued attention and care was even better, in this case. She also continued to be apologetic, until I basically told her to stop: if anything it was my fault for not preparing better; it was literally her nature, she had been crystal clear about it, and I’d just not prepared enough. I’m not sure she internalized or accepted that, but we promised each other that we would both do better in the future.

At some point we also analyzed what had actually gone wrong with the restraints, and how Mona had managed to get her mouth free. As far as we could discern, she had managed to reach upwards on her back with her chained hands, lean her head back, and grab on to the gag strap behind her head. There was a lock securing the buckle, but this was meant to be effective against human strength, and only in a play sense at that. When we looked at the gag, the strap was basically torn apart there; the lock was intact, but the strap had been torn around it, and then Mona had been able to hook the panel on something, and pull the gag free. The rest, as they say, is a cautionary tale, and one which we intended to learn from.

That really motivated discussion on a different containment strategy, which would (among other things) hold her hands far away from access to anything else which might be affixed to her body. We also wanted a setup which would not allow independent movement around, if possible, as extra security for Mona not getting out of the basement, beyond a door brace which we both thought she might be able to break. We settled on a wall fixture, with mounting points which would be permanently attached with strong and durable cuffs. We were thinking of ratcheting cuffs, as opposed to hinged shackles, so that it would be possible for Mona to secure herself there, if the need ever arose. I made some calls while in bed, and lined up a couple contractors to discuss the project with. I’d look for discretion, of course, and preferably someone not too local; fortunately, there are lots of contractors in the world, and online ratings and reviews made a relatively discrete search plausible.

The rest of the next week was just recovery, more or less. I’d messaged my work to tell them I’d had an accident and messed up my ankle, and inferred it was from hiking. My manager was happy to approve a few days off with minimal questions; I guess being a productive employee and rarely taking vacation otherwise can grant you some leeway, at least in my organization. I did go back to work towards the end of the week, once I could hobble around the house again; it’s not like my job required significant manual labor, and bed rest was becoming monotonous, even with Mona’s attentions. I’ve found the longer you allow yourself to relax and not keep up with doing regular work, the harder it is to go back to regular work when you are done, and although I hoped there was a time when I could spend 100% of my time just enjoying Mona’s company, that time was not now, or soon. I would have bills to pay for some time yet, for better or for worse.

While I was sleeping, Mona had also set about removing the blood from the various surfaces in the house and car. She didn’t really discuss it, but when I was up and about again, I observed that she’d done an admirable job, given the constraints. I realized I needed to order some stronger cleaning solutions, and perhaps get a specialized detailing for my vehicle, but on the whole you wouldn’t be able to tell that just a week ago the house had looked like a murder scene. I was also picking things up comfortably by the end of the week, with just simple bandaids on my finger, and the bump on my head was healing.

It had been a close call, but we had made it through that one together.

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Re: Playing with Fire

Unread post by anonymouse »

Settling In, and Branching Out

During the week of downtime, Mona was doing what she could to alleviate my boredom, which I certainly appreciated. She had resumed her morning routine of waking me with a request to pleasure me, which initially gave me bad flashbacks, but I was getting re-accustomed to, to our mutual pleasure. She was also practicing the art of sensual massage, under the guide of stimulating my blood flow to prevent clots while lying in bed (something she pointed out was explicitly recommended in the home care instructions, and she had a very progressive and inclusive interpretation of “stimulating blood flow”). We had removed her corset at some point to reduce the chance of the front closure hooks catching on any of my hair while she did so, and as I wasn’t in a position to pull it sufficiently tight again, she spent most of the rest of the week with her wings out, naked from the ankles up.

She also took it upon herself to bring inside the small number of straggler packages which were delivered that week, and go through the substantially larger pile of accumulated clothing and accessories, so that I could “see how they looked”, and “test how they worked”. This included trying on and modeling all of the heels we had ordered, along with several combinations of clothing items, although none of the latter category stayed on for much time. It did afford me the opportunity to think about gaps in her wardrobe though, such as some extreme wedges which might work for hiking or the beach for her, and backfill those through the app on my phone.

Mona was also diligent about trying on all the various restraints which had been unpacked and added to the pile, on the way to organizing them in the closet. I’ll admit: there is not a huge amount of variety among types of restraints once you get past the basics; there are only so many variations of collars, gags, handcuffs, leg irons, and the like, and since I’d gone a little overboard indulging some pent-up fetish desires, we did have a good overlap of very similar items. That didn’t stop Mona from trying to make each item unique and interesting, though, through clinical observations of how the fit varied between each one, slowly and carefully applying them one click at a time while testing the limitations in between, evaluating how much they really interfered with particular sexual positions or acts, etc. We both knew it was extraneous and unnecessary, in one sense, but since Mona could also feel when something she did was working for me, she was really quite good at extracting every bit of energy from the exercise, so in another sense, it was just what the doctor ordered.

During the week, I’d also received a call from one of the people I knew from my gym. Actually, “knew” is probably over-selling it; I didn’t recognize him initially, and only after he reminded me of a few occasions in which we’d played casual sports there together, did I vaguely recall who he was. The reason he was calling, he told me, was that he had “heard a rumor” that I had a new girlfriend, someone foreign, and he was wondering if I wanted to come by his house some time, just to say hi, and hang out with a group of friends to watch some sports. I told him that I’d had a recent accident and I wouldn’t be able to do so immediately, but if it was okay, I’d get back to him, and try to get together in maybe a week or so.

“We should go,” said Mona, when I told her about the call and invite.

I moaned, but not from pain this time. “Why? This is someone I barely know, who probably heard about you from someone at the coffee shop, and probably figures maybe he can get in your pants. This is not exactly a ‘close personal friend’.” This glossed over the fact that I didn’t have many “close personal friends” at all, but that was not germane to the point that I was trying to make.

“I can think of at least three reasons,” replied Mona, clearly not content to accept my antisocial reflex. “First, I don’t have any pants, or at least not right now, so he cannot get inside them.” She made a face to go along with that point, to clarify that the euphemism was not lost on her, she was simply formulating a creative retort. “Second, it’s good to have casual encounters with groups of people in a low-pressure social environment, if you want to maintain social connections, and if you want people to get used to seeing me around the community. That is what you intended to do, remember?”

I started to form an objection, but Mona raised a finger to let me know she had not concluded with her points yet, and it was not yet my turn to ineffectually rebut them. “Third, and most importantly, we agreed that I was going to help you maintain more social connections, and be more sociable, and I say that we are going to do this, because it would be good for us.” She let the last point hang in the air for a moment, to give it a sense of finality, then waited to see if I had anything to say about it.

I groaned again, defeated, and wondered if this was going to become a trend. “Okay, okay, as soon as I can walk reasonably again, we will go and meet people and be sociable. Just don’t say I didn’t warn you when it’s just him and some guy friends, and all they want to know is if you are available, or if you have any friends who are.”

Mona smiled with some satisfaction, having triumphed in that round of couples negotiation. “Don’t worry, I am very much not available; I feel I am suitably attached as long as you will have me, even before the various physical attachments.” Her face changed to a more serious expression, “I care for you, and you should know that is not a small thing, and it’s not something which is going to change on a whim. I don’t know what love feels like, but I might even be feeling that too. I do not want to lose you, and I absolutely wouldn’t choose to.”

I smiled; that was the closest to a declaration of love that I’d heard from her yet, even this early in our relationship, and I certainly felt the same way. For all the risk, for all the danger, Mona was the most interesting, affectionate, and caring person, at least to me, that I’d ever met, even before all the “with benefits” parts of our relationship. I reached out to hug her, pulling her in close, and let her know I felt the same way without using any words. I feel confident we’d reached a mutual understanding.

“Also,” she added, when we had broken the embrace, “I don’t think they would care much for any of my friends, even if they were available. But if you really come out of there feeling like anyone is that terrible as to deserve that punishment, I might be able to make an introduction.” I couldn’t tell if she was serious or not, but she played it off like a joke, so I took it as such.

Fast forward a week, and I was walking around fairly normally, most of my body had healed to the point where no part of the injury was immediately obvious while I was dressed, and it was time to make good on my agreement with Mona. I made the call, and inquired as to a time which would be agreeable to get together. It turned out that Bill, my new would-be casual friend, was having a group of people over that Sunday already to watch football, or so he claimed, and I was welcome to come and meet them with my new girlfriend. As expected, I got the distinct impression that the last part was of paramount importance to Bill, although he assured me that it would be mixed company, and most of his friends were bringing their significant others as well. I got the address, some suggestions for snacks to bring, assured him I was intending to attend, and just like that I’d made a social arrangement, the first in quite a long time.

Mona was happy, and reassuring. “Don’t worry, it will be fun. We will talk, I will socialize, you will meet new people, it’ll be good. I have a lot of experience socializing. And if it’s a disaster, we can always make up an excuse and leave early. This is about making connections, which is important for beings of all types.” I knew she was right, of course; I took solace that she had included the bit about bailing out if it went south, because I didn’t have a lot of experience socializing, and in my mind the chances of it going well were not great.

As it turned out, though, I was wrong. When the day came, Mona had selected clothing for both of us: something casual but clean and presentable for me, and likewise for herself. For her, in this case, that meant a light dress, and some matching casual (albeit still very high) sandal heels. “It’s about matching typical expectations for roles”, she had said, “when you want to make people comfortable meeting you for the first time. This is feminine, non-threatening, blends in, and will conform to typical expectations, so it’s the most likely to make a good first impression.” I thought it looked great, and I took her word for it on the psychology aspect; she also assured me that she’d have a ready explanation if anyone asked about the corset she was wearing underneath.

The car ride over was also fairly non-stressful, but primarily we went over back stories, and Mona gave me advice on how to interact. I admit I also snuck a few lurid looks at Mona’s legs on the way. You would think that after a week of fairly non-stop naked sexual interaction, looking at her body, especially partially covered and not at all restrained, would be entirely mundane. However, there is something about seeing parts of your lover’s body in a new light, be that a new situation or peeks under new clothing, which can still be stimulating. I don’t know why; perhaps the lingerie industry knows the secret.

When we got to the “party”, such as it was, I was pleasantly surprised that Bill had not oversold the SO participation, and there were 4-5 people of each gender there. As expected, there were a lot of clandestine admiring looks at Mona among both the males and females there, but no overt pick up attempts, at least that I observed or Mona told me about. After the initial fifteen minutes or so, the gathering segregated, with the males gathering in one room to watch the sporting event(s), and the females in another to converse together about… presumably other subjects. I’m not sure I entirely know, or will ever be fully aware, of the topics of discussion among female friends alone and outside of earshot of their male acquaintances, and I’m led to believe it might involve dark arts or something. Whatever the case, they seemed to have a good time, we enjoyed watching some games, and it was evening when we headed home.

“Well, that wasn’t so bad, huh?” Mona inquired, when we had escaped to the relative seclusion of my SUV for the ride home. I was reluctantly forced to agree: it wasn’t so bad, and I might have even enjoyed myself, although I wasn’t quite ready to admit total defeat of my previous pessimism. Maybe it was the effect of extra testosterone through osmosis.

“Well, I had a good time, and made some new friends,” continued Mona, oblivious to my internal struggles to not admit I was totally wrong. “You’ll be interested to know that they asked about my shoes, and why my heels were so high. I told them it was normal where I was from, and that I was so used to wearing really high heels, that it was uncomfortable to wear anything too low. Which is actually kinda true, also.” It was accurate, I supposed, as was the observation that the topic would be of-interest to me. It seemed Mona was making a habit of being right.

“I gave them some pointers for what to look for, that sort of thing,” continued Mona with her recap, “and they were asking about where I got my clothes. I told them I didn’t know, but you had helped me order from a site which had everything, and when I explained a little they seemed to know the site I was referring to. I feel like that site might be getting a few more purchases soon, given how the men were looking at me.” I couldn’t tell at that moment if Mona was proud of herself, or just stating the facts; it was indisputable that she had everyone’s visual attention there, though.

“We also talked about my corset,” she continued, “because other women pick up on how your clothing moves on you as you move around, and it became obvious to them. I told them it was another custom where I came from, and again that I’d gotten so comfortable wearing them that not doing so was somewhat uncomfortable. They were a little worried about that, but I assured them that it was fine, and that it was no big deal for me. I also pointed out that, of course, it doesn’t hurt one’s figure, so there are some side-benefits. I’m not sure if any of them will experiment with corsetry in the future, but they at least seemed to accept that it was a thing that I would do, and that was okay.”

I nodded, glad that the eccentricities with Mona’s attire apparently hadn’t raised any large red flags among the people there, at least per her telling. That was one of my largest concerns with meeting more people, honestly, and it seemed to be a non-issue, at least for this group.

“We talked about other things too, of course; I just wanted to start with the things you’d probably find most intriguing,” continued Mona, once again accurately assessing the situation. She proceeded to fill me in one the high-level bullet points of the other topics of discussion among the group of ladies, while we men were doing our manly things. Of note, in addition to discussing thoughts on the people at the party, happenings in the town, gossip, and so on, the women had given Mona their respective contact information, but she needed to write it down because she didn’t have a handheld device (which she now knew was a “smartphone”). The ladies had been very insistent that I “take care of that”, and purchase her a smartphone now that she was in the country, so that she could partake in all the modern conveniences afforded from such. I thought that was an excellent idea, all things considered, and we actually ended up taking a detour later on the way home to remedy that oversight.

“We should also think about hosting a get together at some point,” added Mona, when she had finished recapping the conversation topics in broad strokes. “That’s a big part of solidifying a social circle and connections: hosting takes effort and commitment, people appreciate that, and it goes a long way to making sure people remember to include you.” She must have caught a glimpse of my semi-horrified expression, as she continued, “Don’t worry, you won’t have to do very much, aside from paying for supplies; I can handle the setup while you are doing your work, and invite people, and all that stuff. All you would need to do is be there and be friendly, and since it would be at your house, the first part is already done.”

“Our house.” I said it without thinking, but it seemed more profound than originally intended when I said it. Mona looked over; she seemed to have a mixture of question and hope in her eyes. I meant it on reflection, though: I had already mentally committed to a life with Mona for the foreseeable future, and notwithstanding the economic particulars, it was already our house in my mind. “Our house,” I reiterated, “where we live. Together.” I think I caught some slight tears starting to well in Mona’s eyes before she turned away; clearly the significance resonated with her as well.

“Okay, we’ll host something in ‘our house’.” She articulated it like she was feeling it out, unsure of what the words would sound like coming out, but happy with the result. Then she turned to me again. “I’m getting that warm feeling again now, just so you know.”

I did know, or at least I thought I knew, and Mona seemed happy to just bask in that feeling for a couple of minutes. I did as well.

I stopped on the way home and bought Mona a smartphone, as noted. There were some initial complications with her not having any sort of valid identification, so I ended up just getting a secondary device attached to my account, which seemed to satisfy the applicable information gathering requirements (or more precisely, skirt them). It did raise the point that we might need to address the problem of official documentation for Mona at some point; I had no idea how to go about doing that, though, and it seemed like a good idea to forestall an independent investigation into that area for as long as possible. So that became a problem for the indefinite future.

With that, Mona was able to record the contact information which had been given to her, and soon thereafter learned how to send and receive text messages. I had a mortified thought that she would disappear into the device, as so many other people did, but thankfully she quickly got annoyed with that prospect, noting that “this thing is really distracting”. I helped her silence the notifications and configure it to be fairly non-obtrusive, which helped a lot.

When we got home, Mona once again slipped into things more comfortable than her “going out” clothes, which for her meant exchanging her “normal” shoes for ballet boots, and shedding everything else. I jokingly noted that now that she had a smartphone, she was in danger of being consumed by that device, unless she explicitly took precautionary measures to save herself from that danger. She promptly disappeared into our bedroom, and reappeared moments later wearing the hinged handcuffs behind her back, an eye binder in hand, and a smile on her face, even before the satisfied eye flutter. “Will you protect me from the evil smartphone?” she asked, in her best innocent tone, reaching around her body with her cuffed hands to offer the eye binder to me. Naturally, I did my best to protect her, and that easily consumed the next couple of hours.

We attended another get together the next weekend, which was very similar to the first; apparently this was a regular thing for the group, and Mona told me we were now on the invite list. Again, Mona wore something reasonably casual (a mid-length skirt, matching top over her corset, and some six inch heeled ankle boots, if I remember correctly, with some casual jewelry we had acquired for her in the interim). I noticed that a few of the other women had also chosen to wear heels to that gathering; nothing to rival Mona’s selection for height, but one lady was wearing some very respectable 4+ inch pumps, and the others were not that far behind. Afterwards, Mona relayed that this had been an excitable talking point among the ladies as well: apparently most of them had been reluctant to “dress up” in any capacity for a while, but since they knew Mona would be coming in something more daring than anything in their closets, it gave them a certain amount of freedom to be as “fancy” as they wanted. We speculated that a certain amount of that was also driven by an unspoken desire to compete for the side-glance attention of the men there, but that didn’t come up in the friendly conversation. At least none of the other women had told Mona not to show up because they were threatened, at least to her face.

Mona had also talked with the women about scheduling, and they had penciled in a get together at our house in a few weeks. That, in turn, reminded me to trepidatiously inquire about the “hunger”, and if Mona had any indication when that would be upon us again. I’d had a couple of contractors out, and found one which was set to do the job I wanted, and be discreet about it (and I was certainly paying well for that consideration), but we were reluctant to start the work until after the next hunger struck Mona, because we wouldn’t have anywhere else for containment during that time. We’d modified the previous plan to take more precautions, of course; Mona’s hands would be held far away from her neck via a metal bar locked to a thick collar on one end, and sets of cuffs on the other, in addition to the rest of the restraints, and I was planning to stay in my car at least a half-mile away, just in case. Mona didn’t feel anything, and continued to have no more advanced warning of when it would be, so we just resolved to be flexible with canceling the gathering as necessary.

As it turned out, that would also prove to be a non-issue. She got the hunger again one night during the week before the gathering at our house, but as it was a weekday, we were home all day, and we felt reasonably prepared. Mona told me she was feeling it shortly after I’d finished with my work that day, and once I got over the initial moment of panic, we gathered up the requisite items, and executed our plan. Once again Mona was naked except for the corset: we’d thought a lot about whether she should be completely naked, just in case she pulled it apart to use as a tool or something, but at the end of the day we surmised that having her wings out would probably still be more hazardous for containment. She had nothing else she might use as a tool, though; that was the best we could do until the contractor was done with his work.

Mona pushed the gag in first this time; we’d since acquired a replacement and a spare, just in case. With that secured, we moved on to the collar: thick, rigid, and uncompromising, it held her neck in place with her head slightly turned up, and had D-rings on all sides. To the back we attached the metal bar, which had welded on rings on both ends, and was around three feet long. To the other end of that were locked two pairs of handcuffs: one thick, and one hinged, both of which went around Mona’s wrists. We then lay her down onto the concrete floor, and I attached the ankle shackles, once again locked to a chain around the corset. I then secured everything with a few more chains and several more locks, creating what in the end looked a bit like a chain link burrito with a head sticking out. I took my time, securing everything, and double checking that everything was tight; we had time this time, and that was really good. Mona gave me a smile from behind the gag and a slight nod, before I closed the door for the night.

I used the brace again as well; it was almost certainly unnecessary, but once burned twice shy, as the saying goes. Then I packed up some snacks and blankets, got my essentials, and headed out to the car. I drove a bit away from the house towards the empty woods nearby, until I found a quiet spot to pull off the road. It was dark that night, and there was virtually no traffic out there. I remember just sitting for a while, listening to nature, watching the stars through the canopy above. Eventually I went to sleep; the back of the SUV afforded plenty of space for that with the seats folded down, and it was comfortable enough to get the job done.

I awoke in the morning, slightly sore from the somewhat harder sleeping surface than I was used to, but without the inquiry which I’d become very accustomed to, which after being initially confusing, was an enormous relief. I gathered up my things, and started back toward the house. Mona had assured me that in all her recollection, the hunger came at night, and by the time the sun rose it was long gone. As I drove back through the morning light, I was really hoping she was right, and that trend held.

I cautiously entered the house, unsure of what I would find, but I heard nothing. I grabbed the keys, and went down to the basement. Sure enough, Mona was there, and everything looked intact. I had another moment of brief panic: how could I tell if Mona was still in her state, or back to normal? Her eyes were not glowing, though, and when I asked if she was okay, she gave me a thumbs up, which ended up being just barely visible through the absolute mess of chains. Taking a deep breath, I unlocked the gag strap, released the buckle, and slowly slid the gag out past her lips, one inch at a time, until finally the molded phallus head slipped free.

Mona looked up at me, as much as the collar would allow. “Thank you, my love,” she said, in a soft voice. That was the first time she had used the word, and I think I melted a little. “I thought about it a lot, while I was lying here, after the hunger was gone. This feels like love, or at least as you described it, and I hope it’s okay to call it that. I resisted calling it that for a long time, because of the curse, but it feels like you have seen the worst of it and me, and we have survived. I don’t know what that means for the future or the curse, but I’d like to be your love, if you would have me.”

“Of course I will,” I said, tears forming, and reaching down to hold her. It felt odd, to be sure: having this conversation with Mona when she could barely move at all, reaching down to put my arms around the massive blob of metal and leather, on the bare concrete floor of the cold basement… but at that moment it also felt right, and a long time coming.

I went to free her afterwards, undertaking the cumbersome process of reversing the steps of the evening before, awkwardly pulling and twisting things to get to the holes for locks which were far more easy to apply than to remove. Eventually, though, Mona was free enough to return the embrace, and we had another prolonged moment on the concrete floor, with most of the remnants of the evening still partially attached to her body. We’d have yet another later, up in the bedroom, once Mona had been wholly freed, all the various restraints had been returned to their places in the closet, and as a precursor to Mona’s ubiquitous morning inquiry that she issued while we were still in each others arms, and which had an additional special undertone that morning. “Always, my love,” I responded, “and for as long as you desire.”

We did have the gathering that weekend, as planned, and it went off without a hitch. I don’t think the company was overly impressed with my entertainment setup, being as I hadn’t put much effort into entertaining ever, but Mona had ordered some food, the men watched the game, and the women conversed, so it wasn’t too dissimilar from the other gatherings in form or function. About the only really memorable thing for me from the event, aside from being nervous that someone would wander into one of the closed-off areas and discover some of our secrets, was observing that one of the women had actually worn a corset there, outside of her clothes, and with some heels to rival the height of Mona’s, despite the observable fact that she wasn’t particularly skilled or comfortable in either. I guess she wanted the attention, though, and she certainly got it, and not just from the man she had come with; Mona said she was also the center of attention among the women as well. I like to think that Mona had lit a spark, at least among some of the people in the social circle, and over time that spark continued to grow.

We had the contractor at the house the next week, to do the basement wall. I’d emphasized that I wanted the hard points to basically be able to hold back Superman, and I was okay paying him to over engineer the crap out of it. He ended up pouring a new wall, with enough rebar supports for an entire foundation, and thick steel studs to weld to. I’d had him weld in the cuffs, reminded him of the need for discretion, and paid him more than I think I’d ever spent for any home improvement project before or since. He thanked me for the business, gave me his card, and assured me that if I ever needed another installation to hold Wonder Woman too, I had his number.

We tested it out the day after, of course. I’d measured everything as carefully as I could, but you can never be sure how something will work until you actually try it. To our mutual relief, it was a perfect fit: the ankle shackles were at just the right height for Mona in just over six inch heels, her arms were held up and away from her body at an extended but not uncomfortable distance, and there was only very slight movement possible for her while restrained. Equally importantly, she tried to pull with all her strength, and nothing budged, even a millimeter. “You know, you could fuck me like this, and couldn’t do anything to stop you,” she teased.

As it turned out, I could fuck her like that, but only just: I needed a step stool to get to the right height, the angle and her inability to rotate her hips outward made it tricky, and it was not nearly as enjoyable as most of the other positions we had thoroughly experimented with. But she was pretty good with verbal foreplay, emphasizing her own helplessness and pushing all the right buttons for me, and she ended up getting a reasonable amount of energy out of the situation regardless. The recollection fuck upstairs afterwards was good too, as was the knowledge that we now had a very secure containment setup for the future.

All in all, I thought, we had built a pretty good life for ourselves this last year or so, especially considering all the bumps along the way. I’d had some electronic surveillance installed for the basement, partially automated, to try to get an early alarm if something went wrong. We’d replaced the door also: it was now solid, with a very sturdy hinged lock on the exterior. Additionally, I’d added some cabinets inside the basement, now that we were not as worried about Mona’s mobility and potential access to tools during confinement periods, and I stored a good selection of restraints there.

Our social circle has expanded over time also as Mona made more friends, and I got dragged along for the ride. We now knew many people in the extended town, most of which were casual acquaintances we knew well enough to say hello to, but not much beyond that, but increasingly more were people we had regular conversations with, or saw at events. Corsetry never took off as a general trend among the social circle, but heel wearing had become significantly more popular, and there was often someone showing off something “extreme” to their friends, Mona included. I never shared what constituted our version of “extreme”; I was more than content to keep that as our shared secret.

We’d expanded our catalog of activities too, adding periodic dining events, some movies, some dancing, afternoons at parks, and other things too. It sometimes felt like a lot, but it also felt comfortable, and being able to talk to other people was nice. I still worked full time from home, but it wasn’t the all-consuming center of my life any more, and that was decidedly a good thing. Mona and I still went for weekend hikes through the woods; the wedges proved less than optimal over rough terrain, but I’d acquired a few pairs of platform boots with thicker (though still very high) heels, and those seemed to work reasonably well. We considered that our personal time, to talk, reminisce, and occasionally have spontaneous outdoor sexual adventures. We always stayed close to home on those, though, just in case.

In fact, it was a socialization event that we’d been returning from that evening: a dinner, at a venue with some live music and lots of after-dinner cocktails, where everyone was dressed to impress, and Mona had some real competition for the most provocatively sexually dressed person there. We were having a really good time, and we didn’t want to leave, even when Mona told me she could feel the hunger starting, and it was going to be that night of the month (we’d discovered that approximate frequency, although it wasn’t regular enough to be predictable, as far as we could tell). She had convinced me to stay a little longer because she could see I was enjoying myself, although she later apologized during the car ride home for potentially putting me in more danger, even though she still had control. Obviously we made it home okay and in time; it was a little more touch and go than I would have liked, but we live and learn.

That was the trade-off, I thought, as I closed the shackle around my ankle, noting the scars from the incident which seemed so long ago now. I hadn’t made any explicit promise to Mona for this, and we’d been doing this dance long enough that I held minimal concern for her breaking free of containment or anything else going wrong. This was just the way that I always reminded myself of the inherent danger that I’d signed up for, when I’d decided to take Mona home with me those many months ago. I slipped the cover over the ends of the shackle, holding them in place, and secured the lock through the shackle hole and the chain, locking it on for the night. It felt cold, snug, and secure, and the chain tugged on my ankle as I pulled it under the covers, reminding me that it was there. Mona would always be the best thing that had ever happened to me, but I always needed to remember that in the end, I was still playing with fire.

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Re: Playing with Fire

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The long term problem with falling in love with a demon and visa-versa, it turned out, was not so much the periodic all-consuming hunger; that could be managed. Neither was it the sexual sessions which extended for many hours and left me feeling near-dead, all in the interest of experimental attempts to satisfy Mona’s seemingly literally insatiable appetite for energy, events which undoubtedly earned me scornful reproaches afterwards, even though I’d survived all of them to date. It wasn’t even keeping up with social obligations, which seemed to be so plentiful as to always have multiple options for things to do, and more people who we knew than I could remember the names of.

No, the real problem was that I would get old, and Mona would not; that was the inevitable end state of our relationship, even if we avoided every potential pitfall between here and there. Already some of our friends were remarking on Mona’s remarkable genetics and/or skin care regimen, and how lucky she was to have a body that could wear the clothes that she did and still look just as good as when they had first met her. I couldn’t imagine how much more jealous they would be if they were aware of the feats of sexual gymnastics Mona also performed regularly, or any of her many, many other skills, none of which would decline even as I did.

Maybe that was the real implications of the curse, we hypothesized. That is, even if all the other things could be managed, falling in love with a mortal meant that one day, eventually, that mortal would die, and that would be when the curse would finally be realized. And Mona was very much in love with me, and I with her, so we were on that path, wherever it would lead.

And yet, we were happy; so happy together every day, but also we had made our peace with the inevitable outcome of our relationship. We had decided, long ago, that if this was the real curse levied upon Mona, then we would thumb our noses at the malicious intent, and create as much love and happiness with the time we had that no amount of heartbreak and sadness could eclipse it, and the entity which had cursed her would rue that decision. Mona also didn’t know what happened when humans died; I’d never believed in any sort of afterlife, but I hadn’t believed in demons either before I met one, so it was literally accurate to speculate that stranger things had happened. Perhaps when that day came, I would have the chance to literally tell another demon to piss off, and that Mona and I were going to exist happily ever after.

I didn’t know what would happen, but that was never the point anyway. We would enjoy the time we had together as best we could, and let come what may; that’s all anyone can ever do.

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Re: Playing with Fire

Unread post by anonymouse »

Author's addendum:

I hope this story was enjoyable. In some sense, I feel like the Phantom, presenting a finished piece, only to disappear into the shadows once more (but with no threats to read it or anything; really more like Twist at the end of Beethoven's Last Night, for those who get that reference). However, is with my typical writing process, it was a story that felt like it just needed to get out, and I was just the conduit to write it down. I hope I did it justice.

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