Payback Is A Bitch Named Coleen

Coleen pulled on a deep red silk gown, her movement slow and deliberate. The fabric slid over her skin, the cool touch a stark contrast to the heat pulsing between her thighs, a heat born of power and dominance. She pulled the gown tight, a low moan escaping her lips as the silk caressed her hard nipples, which strained against the material, desperate to break through.

The doorbell rang, a crisp, electronic sound that cut through the air, a summons she had eagerly anticipated. She glanced at her phone's security feed, saw the figure on her doorstep, and pressed the entry button with a deliberate finger, a smile playing on her lips. She gave it a couple of minutes, gathering what she needed from a side table, her movements fluid and predatory.

As she headed for the hallway, she knew what awaited her. A naked form was kneeling on the floor, forehead pressed to the cold marble, his clothes folded neatly in a pile beside him. He was a picture of submission, a testament to her control, a plaything for her to manipulate and command.

She bent down, her movements fluid and predatory, and placed a heavy, studded collar around his neck. The metal was cold against his skin, a stark reminder of the power she held over him. She gave the attached leash a sharp tug, a command and a promise, a declaration of her dominance and his submission.

In this moment, Coleen was the embodiment of power and control, a force to be reckoned with, a mistress to be feared and obeyed. And as she led her new slave down the hallway, the leash a symbol of his bondage, she knew that the night was young, and the possibilities for pleasure and pain were endless.

On the other end of the leash was the previous owner of the coffee shop she now owned in Ramsgate. His business had been failing, drowning in debt, and he was desperate. She had swooped in to save the day, but salvation always came with stipulations. Now, he didn't just jump when she ordered him to; he existed only to serve her every whim, his broken will a testament to her absolute dominance.

After he had paid the usual homage, his lips reverently kissing the arch of each foot, she commanded him to stand. She circled him like a connoisseur inspecting a prize stallion, her fingers trailing, pinching, and poking, her touch a mixture of ownership and scrutiny. She was verifying his adherence to the strict diet and exercise regimen she had imposed, ensuring he was nothing more than a perfect, obedient tool for her pleasure.

He was handsome in a homely way, and certainly fitter than the broken man whose failing coffee shop she had acquired. She placed a hand around his neck, her fingers gripping firmly, a silent reminder of the control she held over him. She pulled his face down to meet hers, claiming his lips in a hard, passionate kiss, a declaration of her ownership and his submission. He returned the kiss with equal fervor, his hands twitching at his sides with the desperate, forbidden urge to hold her, to touch her, to break free from the shackles of his servitude.

Her hand slid down his firm chest, over his flat stomach, a journey of dominance and possession. It came to rest on the cold steel of the cage that held his cock prisoner, a symbol of his humiliation and her control. He groaned into her mouth as his flesh tried futilely to expand against the unyielding metal, a futile, desperate attempt to break free from his confinement. She smiled against his lips, a chilling, satisfied smile, her eyes gleaming with the knowledge of his torment. He'd been locked up for two months now, and his desperation was an aphrodisiac, a constant reminder of the power she held over him.

In this moment, Coleen's dominance was absolute, her control over him a perfect, unbreakable chain. She had reduced him to a mere plaything, a tool for her pleasure, a slave to her every whim. And as she savored the taste of his submission, she knew that this was only the beginning of their journey,  that the depths of his humiliation and her pleasure were yet to be fully explored

"Wine and crop," she ordered.

He scuttled off to do her bidding, his movements swift and silent. Talking was not permitted when he came to visit, or at any other time in her company, except at the Ramsgate coffee shop, where he now worked for her as a barista. She settled into her favorite recliner and clicked on the TV, navigating to the high-definition infrared camera feeds from the basement.

Stephen’s glowing form filled the screen, curled in the fetal position. Her hand squeezed her breast through the silk, her fingers pinching the bullet-hard nipple. The special drug she had laced his water with would have fully kicked in by now. He would be getting confused, his thoughts muddled and disoriented. Trapped as he was with seemingly no hope, he would be experiencing the most agonizingly hard erection of his life, a physical betrayal that would only deepen his despair. She watched, a satisfied smile on her lips, as he began to shift restlessly on the cold floor.

Coleen's slave returned, bowing low as he offered a glass of red wine and a leather crop. She took the glass, savoring the deep, rich color, and pointed to the floor at her feet. He knelt instantly.

"Puppy," she commanded.

He immediately shifted, dropping to his elbows with his forearms raised and bent, his hands hanging limp like paws. She took the crop from his offering hand and brought it to his lips. He dutifully took the end of it between his teeth and sat back on his haunches, holding it like a well-trained dog with a stick. She patted his head, a gesture of casual ownership, and turned her attention back to the screen.

A genuine, predatory smile spread across her face. On the monitor, the glowing infrared image of Stephen showed him shifting, his confusion warring with a primal need. He reached down, his hand closing around his erection, and began to gently, desperately pull. The show was just beginning.

Coleen undid the tie of her gown, letting the silk fall open. She slid her fingers down between her legs, finding her moist lips and parting them with a soft sigh. She gently massaged herself, her fingers sliding up and down her slick folds until they found her clit. She began to circle it, her touch growing firmer as she watched Stephen's desperate movements on the screen. Her slave watched, his eyes hungry and fixed on her, the crop still held between his teeth.

Leaning forward, Coleen pulled the crop from his mouth. "Now," she told him. He knew exactly what she meant, adjusting his position and burying his face between her legs. She set her wine aside and used both hands to grip his hair, pulling him deeper. He worked his tongue with the practiced skill she had drilled into him, flicking and circling to bring her to a swift, shuddering orgasm.

As she panted, coming down from the peak, she released his head and settled back into the chair. He gently continued his ministrations, lapping at her to ease her descent. She picked up the crop and, without warning, slashed it hard across his back. She loved the muffled cry that vibrated against her soaking cunt.

With her other hand, she picked up her phone, her thumb a predator on the screen as she adjusted the camera controls, zooming in until Stephen's writhing form filled the display. She watched, a hungry smirk on her lips, as his frantic movements escalated, his pulling harder and faster, his desperation a symphony she had composed. Coleen fought against the orgasm coiling in her belly, her slave's tongue a maddeningly perfect instrument of her will.

On the screen, Stephen bucked one last time, a final, convulsive arch of his back. This was the moment. With a cruel, deliberate press of her thumb, Coleen activated the basement lights. They flashed on, stark and unforgiving, illuminating his shame just as Stephen erupted in great, white blobs of cum that splattered across his chest and stomach. The release seemed to go on forever, a fountain of his utter humiliation.

At that exact instant, Coleen threw her head back and groaned, a guttural sound of pure victory, as a second, more powerful orgasm wracked her body. Her hips ground brutally against her slave's face, the dual waves of pleasure and conquest washing over her, leaving her trembling and utterly sated.

Stephen lay panting, blinded by the sudden light. Cum dripped from his fingertips, sliding down his chest in warm, sticky trails. He had nothing to clean himself with. He wiped himself off the best he could with his hands, smearing the evidence of his shame across his skin. Shivering, he looked around. It looked even more bleak in the bright lights, every cold, concrete detail now brutally visible. He curled up, tugging at the chain. No give. Adding to his misery, his cock refused to go down, a traitorous reminder of the pleasure that had been twisted into his utter humiliation. Then, as suddenly as they had come on, the lights went off, plunging him back into an absolute, suffocating darkness.

Coleen stood in her lounge, her naked form a menacing silhouette against the soft lighting. With a cruel, almost disinterested expression, she wielded a crop, its leather tip licking across the slave's back, leaving thin, angry welts. Each strike was precise, calculated to inflict maximum discomfort without causing real harm. The sound of the crop meeting flesh was a sharp, staccato rhythm, a macabre symphony of control and dominance.

Her business acumen was as ruthless as her actions. She was poised to take over a company she had once held dear, a move that would solidify her status as a powerhouse in her industry. The thrill of the impending takeover mingled with the primal satisfaction of her current position, creating a toxic elixir of power and success.

Below her, the slave stirred, his body tensing with each strike. Coleen tapped him with her foot, a dismissive, almost contemptuous gesture. "Out," she commanded, her voice as cold and unyielding as the marble floor beneath them. She reveled in the look of disappointment that flickered across his face, the way his eyes darted between pain and longing. He had hoped for release, for a moment of respite, but Coleen was not one to grant such mercies so easily. She made a mental note to have his manager increase the teasing, to keep him perpetually on the edge of desire and despair.

Her mind shifted to the tasks ahead. Tomorrow promised to be a busy day, starting with a drive to Margate to inspect the print shop. It was a necessary errand, a reminder of the mundane details that kept her empire running smoothly. But for now, she allowed herself to bask in the moment, in the power she held over her slave, in the thrill of her impending business conquest. Life, she mused, was indeed good…