Payback Is A Bitch Named Coleen

Stephen looked up; his head was spinning round. All conscious thoughts were drifting away. His head sank into his shoulders, and he fell sideways onto the cold concrete. 

Coleen sat for a couple of minutes, savoring the hot coffee, her eyes never leaving the prone figure on the floor. She watched him with a predator's patience, knowing that the drug she had administered was already working its way through his system, softening his resistance, dulling his will.

She took her time, letting the chemical cocktail do its work fully. The muscle relaxants would have eased the tension in his limbs, making him feel heavy and lethargic. The hypnotic, a potent blend of benzodiazepines and a proprietary formula, would be seeping into his brain, clouding his thoughts, making him suggestible.

After a few minutes, she could see the change in his breathing—slower, deeper. His body had relaxed, his muscles going slack. She knew he was in a light sleep, a state where the subconscious mind was more accessible. His body would be fully functional under her guidance. 

She set the cup down beside her, the fob still resting in her palm. She had about six hours before the effects would start to wear off, before his mind would begin to clear. Six hours to plant her suggestions, to shape his thoughts, to mold his future.

Nothing stamped in concrete, she mused, a small, secret smile playing on her lips. Just whispers in the back of his mind, seeds of obedience and desire. Suggestions that would bloom in his subconscious, guiding his actions, his thoughts, his very identity.

She stood up, her chair scraping against the concrete floor. She walked over to him, her heels clicking softly, and crouched down, her face inches from his. She could smell the faint, metallic scent of the drug on his breath.

"Stephen," she whispered, her voice low and soothing. "Can you hear me?"

He didn't stir, but she knew he was listening, that part of him was awake and waiting. She leaned in closer, her lips almost brushing his ear.

“We are going on an adventure, you and I, and when you wake up, you're going to remember every part of it.”

He moaned softly as she sat him up, his eyes fluttering open, confusion clouding his gaze. Coleen unlocked the chain around his ankle, noting the swelling with a clinical eye. She made a mental note to address it later.

“Come on, love, let’s get you upstairs. I’ve got everything ready for us, it’s going to be so much fun. You do want to have fun, don’t you?”

He smiled and nodded, his movements slow and dreamlike, as if he were already half-asleep again.

She helped him stand, her arm supporting his waist as he found his balance. He was a little wobbly at first, his legs unsteady beneath him, but with her guidance, he soon gained his footing.

“That’s a good boy, Stephen, you do want to be a good boy, don’t you?” she cooed, her voice a soothing murmur. She slid her hand over his cock, feeling it stir to life beneath her touch. She stroked him gently, her fingers wrapping around his growing erection, her thumb circling the sensitive head.

He moaned slightly, his hips bucking into her hand, a smile playing on his lips as pleasure washed over him.

“See how nice it feels when you’re a good boy, Stephen?” she whispered, her breath hot against his ear. “You like this, don’t you? You like being my good boy.”

He nodded, his eyes glazed with a mix of drugs and desire, his body responding to her touch without reservation.

She stroked him a little more, feeling his cock throb in her hand, before helping him up the wooden stairs, her grip firm on his arm, guiding him like a child.

“Up we go, my love. Up to where all the fun is waiting.”

She guided him up into her bedroom, the soft carpet muffling their footsteps. The room was dimly lit, the air thick with the scent of her perfume and something else—something sharper, more primal. She led him into the ensuite bathroom, the tiles cool beneath their feet.

Coleen stroked his cock a little more, her fingers wrapping around his length, feeling him pulse and grow in her hand. She kept him on edge, ensuring that every sensation, every touch, was associated with pleasure. She wanted him to crave this, to need it, to remember it.

She turned on the shower, the water hissing against the tiles as it warmed. She removed the collar around his neck before stripping off her clothes, the leather corset and sheer panties falling to the floor in a heap. Her body was toned, her skin smooth and flawless, her nipples hard and pointed.

When the shower was at the perfect temperature, she guided Stephen in, her hand still firmly wrapped around his cock, the other supporting his arm. The warm water cascaded over them, steam rising and filling the small space.

“Let’s get you all cleaned up, shall we, my good boy? That would be nice, wouldn’t it?” she purred, her voice barely audible over the sound of the water.

Stephen smiled, a dreamy, blissful expression that made him look almost childlike. “Now, I want you to remember everything that Ms. Coleen is doing for you, because you’re being a good boy. You’ll do that for me, won’t you, Stephen?”

“Yes, Ms. Coleen,” he muttered, his voice thick and slurred.

“Good boy,” she said, leaning in to kiss him on the cheek, her lips lingering for a moment. “You’re doing so well.”

She gently cleaned his body as the warm shower jets washed away the dirt and sweat. She made sure to keep her body in direct contact with his, her breasts pressing against his chest, her hips brushing against his erection.

She soaped him down, her hands slick and sudsy as they roamed over his skin. She paid special attention to his erection and firm balls, her fingers teasing and stroking, her touch both soothing and arousing. She told him he was being such a good boy, her voice a soft, hypnotic murmur.

She kissed his neck and chest, her lips soft and wet, her tongue flicking out to taste his skin. She brushed her lips lightly against his, her tongue darting out to tease his mouth, exciting herself as she kept Stephen in a constant state of passion, his body aching and ready for more.

After the shower, Coleen dried herself off with a plush, fluffy towel, her movements efficient and deliberate. She pulled on a silk gown, the deep red fabric shimmering as it clung to her curves, accentuating every line and shadow of her body.

She turned her attention to Stephen, drying him with the softest towels she owned, her touch sensual and purposeful. She made sure to remind him with every caress that he was being a good boy, her voice a soothing, hypnotic murmur that wrapped around him like a warm embrace.

“You’re doing so well, Stephen. Such a good boy,” she cooed, her fingers tracing patterns on his skin, leaving trails of goosebumps in their wake.

She led him by the hand, guiding him through the bedroom and into the kitchen. A chair sat in the center of the room, and beside it, an array of tools lay neatly arranged—a sight that might have sent a shiver down Stephen’s spine if his mind had been clearer.

Before proceeding, Coleen tended to his wounds. She dressed his swollen ankle with a gentle touch, her fingers careful and soothing. She cleaned the small cuts on his forehead and neck, her ministrations slow and deliberate, ensuring that he felt cared for, even as a part of him stirred uneasily.

Once his wounds were tended to, she sat him down in the chair, her movements confident and commanding. She smiled, her eyes gleaming with a mix of amusement and anticipation. She ran her fingers through his thick head of hair, tugging gently to pull his head back, exposing his throat.

She leaned in, her lips capturing his in a firm, demanding kiss. Her other hand found his cock, stroking him slowly, her touch both teasing and promising. The towel draped over his shoulders, covering his chest, and she tied a makeshift knot behind his neck, securing it in place.

“Such a good boy,” she whispered in his ear, her breath hot and enticing. “You’re doing so well, Stephen. I’m so proud of you.”

A faint buzzing sounded in the distance, a barely audible hum that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere. Something deep in the recesses of Stephen’s mind stirred, a flicker of awareness that told him something wasn’t right. But Coleen’s voice and touch were like soft clouds, enveloping him, drowning out the faint warnings, pulling him back into the drugged, dreamlike state where only her voice existed.

Coleen hummed a soft, tuneless melody as the hair trimmer buzzed to life, the vibrations humming against her palm. She guided the blade against Stephen’s scalp, watching as thick, black locks fell in clumps onto the towel draped over his chest. His eyes followed the falling hair, a distant, confused expression on his face. He knew it was hair, but the significance of its removal seemed to elude him.

“Such a good boy, you are making Ms. Coleen very happy,” she cooed, her voice a soothing balm. She leaned in, her lips pressing a gentle kiss to his neck, feeling the pulse beat steadily beneath her lips. He smiled, a dreamy, blissful expression that made him look almost ethereal.

She spat out a small tuft of hair that had clung to her lips, her tongue flicking out to catch a stray strand. The trimmer finished its work, leaving only a stubble of dark hair on his scalp. She rinsed his head with warm water, the steam rising and enveloping them both in a misty haze.

Coleen took her time applying the shaving foam, her fingers massaging it into his scalp in slow, circular motions. She watched as the foam turned a dirty white, mingling with the remnants of his hair. With a sharp razor, she began to shave the remaining stubble, her strokes sure and precise.

Soon, his scalp was completely bald, smooth, and vulnerable to her touch. She rinsed him off again, the water running in rivulets down his face, his neck, his chest. She applied a soothing cream, her fingers gentle as they massaged it into his sensitive skin.

Stephen winced slightly as the cream touched his scalp, the sting sharp and unexpected. Coleen was quick to comfort him, her voice soft and reassuring.

“There’s Stephen. I know this is a little uncomfortable, but it’s for your own good. It will stop all that nasty hair growing back too quickly, and that will make Ms. Coleen very happy with Stephen, isn’t that good?”

He smiled, a slow, lazy curl of his lips, and nodded gently, his eyes never leaving hers. In his drugged state, her words made perfect sense.

While the cream worked its magic on Stephen’s scalp, Coleen slid her hand under the towel, a satisfied smile playing on her lips as she found his cock still rock-hard and throbbing. She stroked him a few times, her touch firm and purposeful, reminding him with every caress that he was being a good boy, that his obedience pleased her.

“See how good you feel, Stephen? Such a good boy,” she murmured, her voice a low, hypnotic purr.

His face was next on her agenda. Three days of stubble needed to be removed, and she wanted him smooth, vulnerable, completely under her control. She leaned in, her lips capturing his in a firm, demanding kiss before she applied the shaving foam. His eyes were glassy, distant, as she ran the razor over his skin, the blade whispering against his flesh, leaving it smooth and bare.

When she finished, she carefully removed the towel, trying to catch as much of the fallen hair as she could. She laid another towel on the floor, its plush surface absorbing the water and hair that had accumulated. She guided Stephen to stand on it, his legs wide, his cock jutting out proudly, pulsing with a life of its own.

Coleen rinsed the tools and filled a bowl with warm water, placing it on the chair beside her. She knelt in front of him, her eyes locked on his, a slow, knowing smile playing on her lips.

“You’re such a good boy, Stephen. I’m so proud of you,” she cooed, her fingers wrapping around his length, guiding him into her mouth.

As she took him deep, her memory drifted back to her father, to the way he used to pull her close by her hair, his grip tight and commanding. Shivers of pleasure ran through her, her own arousal building as she sucked him, her tongue swirling around his sensitive head, tasting the pre-cum that beaded at his tip.

She pulled away, a string of his essence clinging to her lips, glistening and inviting. She reached for the soap in the bowl, lathering it up before gently washing his genitals, her fingers exploring every inch of him, lingering on his firm, heavy balls. She marveled at how much easier it was to shave him now, his skin smooth and exposed, ready for her touch.

She sat back, admiring her handiwork. Stephen stood before her, clean-shaven from head to toe, except for his eyebrows. His thick, black hair lay in clumps on the floor, a physical manifestation of the identity she was stripping away, piece by piece. She glanced at the clock on the wall, noting that three hours had passed. She had two more to play with, to mold him further, to plant her suggestions deep into his subconscious. And then, she would have one final hour to resettle him, to ensure that he remembered every moment of their "adventure," every touch, every command, every pleasure.

With a satisfied sigh, she stood up, her silk gown rustling softly; she was ready for the next phase of her plan.

Coleen took Stephen’s hand, her grip firm and commanding. “Come, Stephen,” she said, her voice a sultry invitation. “Let’s have some more fun.”

She led him back to the bedroom, the soft carpet muffling their footsteps. The room was dimly lit, the air thick with anticipation and the lingering scent of her perfume. She turned him around gently, her hands guiding him onto the bed, the silk sheets cool against his bare skin.

She leaned over him, her lips capturing his in a deep, passionate kiss. He kissed her back, his movements slow and dreamlike, his body responding to hers on instinct.

“I’m going to fuck you now, Stephen,” she whispered against his lips, her breath hot and enticing. “Because you’ve been such a good boy. And when I say ‘go,’ you are going to feel so much pleasure that you will not be able to stand it. You can release all that beautiful cum deep into me.”

She kissed him again, her tongue exploring his mouth, claiming him, owning him. She slid her body down his, her silk gown rustling softly, her legs straddling his hips. She hooked one leg over him, positioning herself above his hard cock.

With a sigh of pleasure, she lowered herself onto him, taking him inch by inch, her inner muscles clenching around him. It had been a while since she had felt a hard, submissive cock inside her. The Alpha men of the Sisterhood were satisfying, but there was something primal, something raw about this—about him.

She began to ride him, her hips moving in a slow, sensual rhythm. “You’re such a good boy, Stephen,” she cooed, her voice a hypnotic murmur. “Such a good, obedient boy.”

She sped up, her movements becoming more urgent, more demanding. His body responded in kind, his hips bucking up to meet her thrusts, his cock pulsing inside her. Even in his drugged stupor, his feral mind took over, driving him to please her, to obey her command.

Finally, she could take no more. “Go,” she shouted, her voice a command that brooked no disobedience.

Stephen groaned loudly, a primal, guttural sound, as he released his load deep into her. She orgasmed around him, her inner muscles clamping down on his cock, milking him for every last drop. Her hands gripped his chest, her fingernails digging into his flesh, drawing blood, marking him as hers.

She rode him through his orgasm, her body shuddering with pleasure, until he was completely depleted, his cock wilting inside her. She slid off of him, a mixture of their essences dripping from her pussy, pooling on the sheets.

“Good boy,” she told him, her voice soft and approving. She slid up his body, her skin slick with sweat, her breath coming in ragged gasps.

“Open your mouth, Stephen. I have a gift for you.”

He obeyed without hesitation, his mouth opening wide, his eyes glazed and distant. She opened her legs, and the remnants of his cum, mixed with her own juices, dripped into his mouth, a bitter, salty reward for his obedience.

“Good boy, now lick me and make me all clean. Make Ms. Coleen proud.”

His tongue explored her swollen lips, delving inside, tasting her, pleasing her. She moaned above him, her body arching as he brought her to another orgasm, his tongue skilled and eager, his touch reverent and submissive.

In his fog, he felt complete, his purpose fulfilled, his existence defined by her pleasure, her command, her will. And as she came down hard on him, riding out the waves of her orgasm, he knew that he would do anything, anything at all, to make her proud.

Coleen gently climbed from his face, her body still tingling with the aftershocks of her orgasm. She looked down at Stephen, his body limp and sated, his eyes glazed and distant, waiting for her to guide him, to command him. She stroked his hair, her fingers gentle and soothing, and kissed his forehead, her lips lingering for a moment.

“Just one more thing to do, my good boy, then you can have a nice sleep. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” she asked, her voice soft and coaxing.

He smiled, a slow, dreamy curve of his lips, and nodded, his body already relaxing into the promise of rest.

She went to the bathroom, her silk gown swishing softly around her ankles. She gathered a warm, damp facecloth and a plush towel, her movements efficient and purposeful. Returning to the bedroom, she knelt beside him, her touch gentle as she cleaned his limp penis, her fingers careful not to arouse him further. She wanted him to rest, to recover, to be ready for what was to come.

She considered cleaning his face, but a wicked smile played on her lips as she decided against it. Let him wake up to the scent of their lovemaking, to the reminder of his submission, his obedience. It would be a fitting start to his new reality.

From her bedside table, she retrieved a small, sleek box. Inside lay the latest model of the Sisterhood of Nyx-approved chastity device—the Titanium. It was uncuttable, unbreakable, a symbol of his captivity and her control. But for Stephen, there would be a special addition—a set of small, sharp spikes that would fit inside the case, ensuring that any attempt to harden would be met with discomfort, with pain.

She smiled to herself, imagining his confusion, his frustration, his eventual acceptance as he woke to find himself trapped, his body no longer his own. It was a fitting punishment for his earlier transgression, a reminder of who held the power, who held the key to his pleasure.

With a final, lingering stroke of his hair, she stood up, the box clutched in her hand. She would fit him with his new "gift" while he slept, ensuring that when he woke, he would be acutely aware of his new reality, of his place in her world.

Coleen helped Stephen up from the bed, her grip firm yet gentle, guiding him to stand tall. She reached for the collar, the black leather and metal a stark contrast against his pale skin. She wrapped it around his neck, her fingers deftly securing the buckle, checking the charge on the back to ensure it was ready for use. Satisfied, she led him back to the cellar, her heels clicking sharply against the stairs, his bare feet silent in comparison.

In the cellar, she made him wait by the chair, his body still and compliant, his eyes distant and unfocused. She opened her tote bag, the contents spilling out in an organized chaos of tools and toys. From the depths, she retrieved two tightly rolled quilts, the fabric soft and inviting. She laid one on the floor by the wall where the chain was attached, creating a makeshift bed, a nest for her pet.

She guided Stephen to lie down on the quilt, his movements slow and mechanical, his body heavy with exhaustion and drugs. Once he was settled, she attached the manacle to his uninjured ankle, the metal clicking into place, the chain rattling softly as it settled.

Next came the chastity device. She held up the titanium band, the metal cold and unyielding in her hand. She fitted it behind his balls, the ring snug and secure, before attaching the case, the two hidden locks clicking into place with a finality that sent a shiver down Stephen’s spine.

She laid him down gently, her touch soothing, her voice a soft murmur. “Rest now, my good boy. Listen to my story. Let it sink into your mind, into your dreams.”

She began to weave her tale, her voice hypnotic and mesmerizing, planting seeds of suggestion deep into his subconscious.

“You want to obey me, Stephen. You need to obey me. I love you so much, and I am your savior. I am the one who will guide you, who will protect you, who will give you purpose. You are mine, and you will do anything to please me, to make me happy.”

Her voice lowered, taking on a darker, more insidious tone. “But in the back of your mind, you hate me. You hate that you have no choice but to please me. You hate that your body betrays you, that your will is not your own. You hate that you are mine, that you are a slave to my whims, to my desires.”

She leaned in close, her breath hot against his ear, her words a whisper that seemed to echo in the confines of his mind. “And you will remember this, Stephen. You will remember every word, every command, every suggestion. And you will act on them, because you are mine, and I own you, body and soul.”

With a final, lingering stroke of his head, she stood up, her silhouette framed against the dim light of the cellar. She watched him for a moment, her expression unreadable, before turning and walking away, leaving him to his dreams, to his new reality, to his eternal servitude.