After being struck by the news that my birthday gift was to be put into some service for Marc I was understandably shocked; gagged-speechless, unable to move, there was nothing I could say or do but try to absorb the information as it came in.
Millions of concerns and questions circled in my mind… My intense dislike of Marc, though, paled in contrast to worry about the potential relationship consequences of being used by another man — did Blackie really know what he was doing to us?
As Blackie and Marc joked about how Marc would have to get himself a drink from the bar because I was “tied up at the moment,” I swallowed hard and tried to clear my head so that I could pay attention to whatever information I might learn. By the time Marc returned with his glass I thought I had composed myself; but when he sat on sofa, on the side opposite Blackie, resting his left thigh against my naked body, I jumped. At least on the inside.
Both men sat there, discussing whatever was on TV (I was completely oblivious to it by this time), as if this was just the same-old-same-old, while I tried to calm myself down. Fear was tightening in my throat. I could feel moisture growing under my arms. I tried to concentrate on slowing & controlling my breathing.
Blackie, who knows me so well, likely was aware of my efforts; so it was probably no coincidence that once I had more control of myself that the men began to talk about me — and talk about me as if I wasn’t there, or as if I were some object, not a sentient being.
“So, tomorrow morning, 8 A.M.?” Blackie casually confirmed.
“Yup, right after I do those few things on your list,” Marc replied before taking a swig from his glass, the ice tinkling as if laughing at me too.
“Because you know, we should celebrate the whole day, even if Pinkie isn’t really a morning person…” Blackie began then smugly chortled, “Not that I imagine she will sleep well at all tonight.”
“Eager little beaver, hmm?” Marc mocked.
“Oh, I imagine the anticipation will keep her as up tonight as her nipples are right now,” Blackie laughed, punctuating his point by tweaking my left nipple.
“Lovely, just lovely…” Marc said. “May I?”
“Of course!” was Blackie’s gracious reply.
And with that, Marc took a firm grip of my right nipple, slowly rolling it between his thumb and forefinger.
“Now, that Marc, is not a flush of arousal; it’s a flush of anger,” Blackie pointed out, “A most delicious thing to see…”
“I suppose it is when you know you can wipe that smug refusal away anytime you wish,” Marc said, changing his grasp of my captured nipple from a firm rolling motion to a tight press that continued to hold as Blackie spoke.
“Oh, don’t worry, you’ll soon be doing what you want, when you want, no matter what her face says — in fact, you’ll do more than that. You’ll take what she believes she can refuse to give you. And, over time, you’ll soon have her dependent upon you — humiliated and hating herself for it too. And won’t that be delicious.”
Marc was silent for a moment, still holding my nipple firmly. Still silent, he jerked his hand downward, yanking my nipple and tit with it, then gave a slight twist before letting the nipple slip away and sending my breast bouncing. Then Marc stood on his feet, “Well, tomorrow we’ll start all of that, won’t we?”
He said goodbye to Blackie, then bent down before me, towering over me and looking me in the eyes, “You have sweet dreams, Pinkie, cuz tomorrow mine begin.”
