Payback Is A Bitch Named Coleen

Stephen had no idea what time it was when the light came back on. The darkness had robbed him of all sense of time, leaving him adrift in a void of endless, suffocating blackness. He blinked hard at the harsh light, his eyes watering as they adjusted to the sudden, brutal illumination. He groaned as he stood, his body aching from the cold, hard concrete floor and the unyielding grip of the collar around his neck. Scratches marred the skin around the metal band, a testament to his futile attempts to free himself. His ankle was swollen and red, a throbbing reminder of his twisted fall and the cruel chain that bound him. He felt filthy, his skin caked with sweat and grime, a physical manifestation of his degradation.

“Good morning, Stephen,” Coleen said, her voice a smooth, chilling purr as she descended the steps. “I trust you’ve had time to reflect on your bad behavior last night.” Her words were a mockery, a cruel reminder of the power she held over him, a power she wielded with unflinching precision.

She placed a bowl on the floor, the steam rising from it a tantalizing promise of warmth and sustenance. She was dressed much the same as she had been yesterday, her tweed jacket and skirt a picture of composed power, a stark contrast to his naked, filthy form. Sitting down on her chair, she started to talk, her voice a cold, calculating sound that sent shivers down his spine.

“I'm afraid I haven’t got too much time to spend with you this morning, so I’ll be brief,” she said, her words a dismissive, almost contemptuous statement. She shuffled in her seat a little, crossing one leg over the other, a casual, almost bored gesture that only served to emphasize his helplessness. “Does the print shop have an alarm, and does it have a code?” Her questions were sharp, precise, a demand for information, a reminder of the control she sought to exert over every aspect of his life.

He looked at her, his eyes filled with a mix of confusion and defiance, his mind still reeling from the shock of his capture and the brutality of his treatment. He shrugged, a futile, almost childish gesture of rebellion. “No, I had the alarm turned off at the beginning of the year.” His voice was hoarse, a raw, desperate sound, a pathetic attempt to assert some semblance of control.

“I see, and will anybody be working there today?” Her tone was deceptively soft, a chilling contrast to the cold, calculating intent in her eyes.

“No, I let my help go also.” His words hung in the air, a stark admission of his failure, a testament to the desperation that had led him to this point.

“Oh dear, “ she replied in mock sympathy, her voice laced with a cruel, mocking amusement, “things must be pretty bad, well, lucky I’m here to get things on the right track again.” Her words were a declaration of her intent to take control.

He just stared at her, his mind a whirlwind of confusion and dread, still not understanding the full extent of what was happening, the true depth of the trap she had set for him.

“I’ve brought you some nice hot porridge to warm you up.” She told him, her voice a smooth, chilling purr, her eyes gleaming with a cruel, amused satisfaction. “It’s yours as soon as you apologize.” Her words were a demand for submission, a reminder of the power she held over him, a power she would not hesitate to wield.

Stephen rubbed his head, his mind reeling from the surreal turn of events. He looked her in the eye, a spark of defiance flickering in his gaze. "Look, Coleen, I mean Ms. Coleen," he corrected sarcastically, his voice laced with a bitter, mocking tone. "Don’t you think this has gone far enough? You’ve made your point. I was a dick, and I deserved this, but come on, enough is enough." His words were a desperate attempt to reason with her, a futile plea for mercy in the face of her unyielding dominance.

She stood, her movements fluid and predatory, and walked to the corner of the basement. She picked up a plastic bucket, a mundane object that took on a sinister significance in this context. When she returned, she stood by the chair, her expression unchanging, her eyes cold and calculating. 

"That doesn’t sound much like an apology to me," she said, her voice chilling.

"Apologize for what, because I lost my temper at some crazy cow who drugged me, locked me in a cellar, you’ve got to be fucking kidding," he spat, his voice a mix of anger and desperation, a futile, defiant gesture.

Coleen shrugged, a casual, almost bored gesture that only served to emphasize his helplessness. "So be it." She picked up the bucket and tossed it to him, a cruel, mocking gesture. "You’ll probably be needing that sometime today," she threw him another of her special bottles of water.

She turned and left without another word, her steps echoing in the silence, a final, crushing blow to his hopes of escape or mercy. Stephen was left looking longingly at the hot porridge she’d left on the floor, just out of his reach, a tantalizing, mocking promise of the sustenance he so desperately needed. The basement door closed with a bang, a resounding statement of his imprisonment. The lights stayed on. Coleen wanted him to be able to see the porridge he’d missed out on, a cruel reminder of her power. 

Stephen turned the bucket upside down and sat on it, just for a change of surface. It wasn’t cold like the concrete floor. He looked longingly at the bowl of porridge, even though it had undoubtedly gone cold by now; it still made his mouth water. He took a swig from the water and made a decision. The best way out of this was to go along with the crazy bitch until he saw an opportunity. The image of Coleen came into his mind. Dressed like a country spinster, that’s when it started. His erection grew, potent, pulsating. His grimy hand automatically reached for it.

A warmth is generated from it, and it seems to take the chill away from him. The more he thought of Coleen, the more he stroked. His body hummed with excitement, a desperate attempt to find solace amid his captivity. He tried to push her out of his mind, but the memory of last night invaded his thoughts, and he stood, not wanting a repeat of last night. He groaned as he pulled himself to another mind-blowing orgasm, his body trembling with a mix of relief and despair. His knees buckled slightly as he shot thick wads of cum to land on the floor in front of him. Just like last night, it seemed more potent than anything else he had felt, a bitter reminder of his helplessness.

He was panting, cock in one hand and the other hand on the wall, helping keep balance. He slowly lowered himself to the floor, the cold seeping back into his bones. The chill came back, and he huddled into a ball and rocked, a pathetic, desperate attempt to find comfort in his isolation. That’s when the lights went out, plunging him back into the suffocating darkness. He knew what he had to do.

Stephen blinked hard as the lights came back on, his eyes adjusting to the harsh, unforgiving illumination. He didn’t know how long it had been, the endless darkness having robbed him of any sense of time. Anger seethed through him, a hot, churning ember in his chest, but he knew he had to play Coleen’s game until he got a chance to escape. He listened to her footfall, steady and in command, a rhythm of dominance that echoed through the basement.

She had changed from the tweed suit into jogging shorts and a t-shirt, a casual outfit that somehow made her seem more attractive to him. For some bizarre reason, there was a stirring in his cock, a traitorous response to her presence. "Please," he said to himself, a desperate plea, "not now." All his willpower went into trying to keep an erection from happening, a futile battle against the primal, unwanted attraction he felt for her.

The sight of her in casual attire, her body more visible and less constrained, only heightened his awareness of her. The jogging shorts hugged her thighs, accentuating their shape, while the t-shirt clung to her curves, hinting at dark nipples beneath. It was a stark contrast to the tweed suit, and it disarmed him.

Stephen's mind raced, a whirlwind of conflict and confusion. He hated her for what she had done to him, for the humiliation and the control she exerted over his every move. Yet, there was this inexplicable attraction, a pull that he couldn’t ignore, a response that betrayed his resolve to resist her.  

As she approached, he could feel the heat radiating from his body, a mix of anger, fear, and unwanted desire. He clenched his fists, trying to regain some semblance of control, but it was a losing battle. The more he tried to suppress his reaction, the more pronounced it became.

“Well, Stephen, how was your day?” Coleen asked, her voice so smooth and chilling that it sent shivers down his spine. It was a rhetorical question, a mocking reminder of the power she held over him.

“Mine was interesting,” she continued, her tone laced with a cruel, amused satisfaction. “It seems that with a bit of TLC and firm leadership, our little print shop could be made worthy of your father's legacy once again. You know, before you fucked things up.” Her words were a sharp, cutting reminder of his failure, a brutal assessment of the mess he had made of his inheritance.

She studied him for a moment, her eyes sharp and calculating. He was standing, but turned away from her, a pathetic attempt at defiance. She looked at the empty plastic water bottle lying on the ground and smiled, a chilling, satisfied smile.

“You’re being rude again, Stephen,” she teased, her voice mocking. “Please look at me.” 

He turned his head, his eyes meeting hers, desperation flickering in their depths. 

“Are you hungry?” she asked, her tone deceptively soft.

“Yes,” he replied meekly, his voice barely a whisper, a pathetic, desperate sound.

“Yes, what?” she prompted, her voice a demand for submission and respect.

“Yes, Ms. Coleen, I’m hungry,” he corrected himself, his words a bitter, humiliating admission of his subservience.

“Well, you know what you have to do, don’t you?”

He gulped, his mind racing, a whirlwind of conflict and confusion. He had a plan, but he wasn’t expecting his body to betray him in this way, a traitorous response that left him exposed and vulnerable.

“Well?”

“I’m sorry for how I behaved last night and this morning, Ms. Coleen,” he said, his voice desperate, an attempt to appease her and gain her favor.

“Mmm, that’s a good start, but really, you need to come as far as the chain will let you, kneel like a good boy, and apologize properly.” Her voice wasn’t angry. More motherly, yet firm.

He was torn; if he stuck to his plan and did as she ordered, he would expose his erection, and he knew just how humiliating that would be, another cruel reminder of his powerlessness and her control.

“Stephen, I haven’t got all night.” She said, sensing his hesitation, her voice sharp, 

He slowly turned and shuffled to the end of the chain, his movements hesitant and awkward. His hands were over his groin, trying to hide his erection, a futile, desperate gesture of modesty in the face of his humiliation. He knelt slowly, trying to be as gentle on his knees as possible, at the same time trying to hide his hard cock,

“Stephen, I haven’t got all night,” she repeated, the sharp edge of her voice slicing through his hesitation. She tapped her foot impatiently, the sound echoing like a gunshot in the quiet basement.

He turned slowly, every movement heavy with dread, and shuffled to the limit of his chain. His hands were clamped desperately over his groin, a futile attempt to shield the traitorous erection that throbbed against his palms. He lowered himself to the concrete, wincing as his knees met the unforgiving floor, all while trying to hunch forward to conceal his shame.

“Hands behind your back and look me in the eye, please, Stephen,” she commanded. Her voice was deceptively polite, but the steel beneath it was unmistakable.

He squeezed his eyes shut for a second, then obeyed. As he clasped his hands behind his back, his body naturally straightened, thrusting his hips forward. There was nowhere to hide. His cock sprang out, hard and unyielding, bobbing slightly with his ragged breathing.

Coleen’s gaze remained locked on his eyes, feigning complete indifference to the rigid flesh displayed so prominently before her. But behind her cool mask, she reveled in the knowledge of why he was so hard. The drug she’d spiked his water with was potent; it would keep him in this state of aching, humiliating arousal for hours, denying him the dignity of going soft, no matter how terrified he was.

“I apologize for my behavior last night and this morning, Ms. Coleen,” Stephen murmured, his voice heavy with remorse.

“There you go, my silly boy. See how simple that was?” She smiled, her tone gentle yet firm. “You missed out on a lovely hot breakfast. I bet you’re famished, aren’t you?”

“Yes, Ms. Coleen.”

“We’ll get to that in a moment. But first, could you please stand up for me?”

Stephen rose slowly, his hands automatically moving to cover his erection. His head bowed in shame.

“Hands behind your back, please.”

He complied, placing his hands behind his back, his body slumping under the weight of his humiliation.

“Well, well, what do we have here?” She cooed, her voice tinged with amusement and curiosity.

“ Stephen, is this for me. You get all... excited. Thinking of me?”

Stephen nodded, his face flushed with embarrassment.

“Now, now, don’t be shy. Let’s have a closer look, shall we?”

 She stepped closer, her eyes roaming over his body with a mix of amusement and curiosity.  Stephen’s breath hitched as she reached out, her fingers lightly tracing the outline of his erection. 

“Such a naughty boy,” she murmured, her voice low and teasing.

“Ms. Coleen, please...” Stephen’s voice was barely a whisper, a mix of plea and resignation.

“Please, what, Stephen? Please stop? Or please continue?” She chuckled, her fingers now firmly grasping his heavy balls.

“You know, I think we need to do something about this, don’t you? Then maybe you’ll behave better.”

Stephen’s body tensed.

“Stand still,” she commanded.

She pulled her chair forward, scraping it against the floor, and placed the cold bowl of porridge on the seat. From her pocket, she produced the remote fob and held it up for him to see.

“I’m going to trust you, Stephen. I am going to make you feel so much better. But if you try anything...”

His eyes squeezed shut, and his knees weakened as a sharp warning buzz from the collar bit into his neck. He looked at her, eyes wide, and nodded his understanding. 

 Coleen felt a warmth spread through her pussy seeing him so close to tears—so close to being completely broken. Her hand returned to him, stroking the length of him. She rubbed the slick pre-cum around the purple head, examining him as she played. It was a healthy, responsive cock, just like his father’s.

She moved the bowl of porridge slightly and sat on the edge of the chair. Reaching out, she cupped his heavy balls, leaned forward, and took him into her mouth. Her practiced tongue explored the contours of his cut cock, teasing the sensitive skin. She bobbed her head, sucking hard while her hand pumped him faster, firmer.

Stephen groaned, the drug in his system amplifying every sensation, making his nerves scream with pleasure. He felt the pressure building, surging toward another mighty release.

Coleen sensed the shift in his hips, the way his breath hitched. Just as he was about to break, she pulled away. Quickly, she grabbed the bowl of cold porridge and held it directly under him.

Stephen let out a ragged, loud groan as he erupted. Coleen watched as thick ropes of cum splattered into the grey porridge. She kept pumping him, milking every last drop until only weak dribbles ran over her fingers.

She let go, and Stephen collapsed to his knees, panting heavily, his chest heaving.

Coleen inspected her hand, tutted softly, and wiped her fingers on Stephen’s bowed head. She let him catch his breath for a moment before placing the bowl on the floor between his knees. She stood up and pushed her chair back.

“Stephen, look at me,” she ordered.

He looked up, his eyes weary and glazed.

“Now, you have to be a good boy for me and eat all your food.”

He looked down at the bowl. The fresh addition was pooling on top of the cold oats. He looked back up at her, a silent plea in his eyes.

“Oh dear,” Coleen said, her voice dripping with false sympathy as she ignored his begging look. “It looks like I’ve forgotten the spoon. Oh well. I’m sure you’ll manage.”

She stepped toward the steps. “I'll be back in an hour. If you’ve been good, I may have another treat for you.”

She turned and walked out, the heavy door clicking shut, leaving him alone in the cold basement.