Bound by Control 2: A worm turned

Michael, sitting in the McDonald's parking lot just off the A2 at Sittingbourne, was assessing his situation. He had left his phone at work, ensuring they couldn't track him through it. However, he wondered whether his car had a tracker that might reveal his location. He checked his wallet, finding only twenty-five pounds and his cards. The question of whether they had access to his bank accounts loomed large, as did the possibility of being tracked through his credit card usage.

Given the state-of-the-art equipment the organization used, it seemed plausible they had the resources to monitor his financial activities. If they could, how much time would he have before they caught up to him? Michael exited his car and looked around. Across from McDonald's, he spotted a coffee bar. He decided to buy a cheeseburger meal with his credit card, intending to discard it before heading to the cafe to sit and wait.

On his way to the trash, he noticed a man standing at the traffic lights with a sign asking for food. Instead of throwing away the meal, he gave it to the man, only to endure a ten-minute story about his misfortune. "Fuck," Michael thought to himself, "that might be me soon."

He finally made it to the cafe, ordered a coffee and a full English breakfast, and settled in to ponder his next move whilst keeping an eye on his, which he left in the McDonald’s car park.

He had a clear view from his seat in the cafe; he should be able to spot anything suspicious.

Michael retrieved a notepad from his jacket pocket, ready to strategize. Assuming he had at least an hour before they could narrow down his location, he began to list his priorities:

1. Remove Hypnotic Orders: He needed to confront Olivia with her own serum to break the hypnotic control she had over him. By hypnotizing her, he could potentially remove the hypnotic orders implanted in his mind.

2. Confront Lady Dawn: He had to face and contain Lady Dawn, ensuring she couldn't interfere with his plans.

3. Confront Valerie: Similar to Lady Dawn, Valerie needed to be confronted and contained to prevent any further sabotage.

4. Investigate Chrissie and Her Organization: Gathering information about Chrissie and her mysterious women's organization was crucial for understanding the full extent of their operations and resources.

5. Remove WiFi from His House: By disabling the WiFi, he could move more freely without being monitored.

He also noted the equipment he would need to confront Olivia:

- 2 x Hood with funnel attachment

- Cuffs

- Replica Gun

Additionally, he planned to acquire a pay-as-you-go phone to ensure his communications remained untracked.

Michael scratched his head and smiled. He felt like he was living a scene from that old Robert Redford movie,  'Three Days of the Condor.’

Michael spent three hours in the cafe, depleting his twenty-five pounds in cash. As the cafe owner announced the closure, Michael noticed no suspicious activity around his car, leading him to assume they hadn't been able to track him through his vehicle or bank transactions. He checked his watch: 6:00 PM.

"Hey, do you happen to know where there's a phone shop around here? I need to get a new mobile," Michael asked the cafe owner.

"Yeah, mate. Up the London Road towards Rainham. They usually close around 8," the owner replied.

"Perfect, thank you," Michael said, leaving to retrieve his car and head towards the phone shop.

With his new pay-as-you-go phone activated, Michael gained unrestricted access to the internet. He quickly searched for stores that could supply the rubber hoods he needed, a task that would have once been daunting but now felt necessary. The past few weeks had stripped away any remaining inhibitions.

His search led him to "Love Lace" on Watling Street in Gillingham, which was open until 10:00 PM. "Excellent," he thought, "it's on the way back to Chatham.”

Michael entered the seedy-looking shop around 8:30 PM, his eyes scanning the shelves for what he needed. Not finding the rubber hoods, he was about to leave when a surprisingly soft and feline voice called out from the counter. "Can I help you find something?"

Taken aback, Michael replied, "Rubber gear, you don't seem to have any."

The butch-looking girl behind the counter smiled, her expression hinting at a life filled with more experiences than her 23 years might suggest. "We keep that and the leather stuff upstairs. Thieving fuckers around here would be nicking it all the time if we didn't."

She took a breath and continued, "What do you need?"

Michael, trying to sound casual, described the hoods he was looking for: "I've seen these hoods, with no eye holes, just a hole where the mouth is, with a funnel attachment."

The girl looked him up and down, her gaze appraising. "Have you been ordered to get them?" she asked, her tone probing.

Michael smiled confidently, stepping closer. "No," he replied, holding her gaze.

She understood, picking up her phone and speaking into it, "Get down here now." Michael heard footsteps approaching from upstairs. A hidden door, concealed behind a display of chains, collars, and cuffs, opened, revealing a skinny, spotty guy with a bright red Mohican. Michael noticed the thick, studded collar around the man's neck, padlocked on

Michael followed the girl upstairs, the heavy scent of rubber enveloping him as he entered the room. He was shocked by the vast array of rubber gear on display, from hoods to full-body suits, each more intricate than the last. At the back of the room, he noticed a St. Andrew's cross and a whipping bench, their purpose clear.

The girl caught him looking and explained, "Some of our clients like to keep their subs tied up while they try stuff on."

Michael nodded, a mix of curiosity and arousal stirring within him. He felt his cock begin to harden, a reaction that didn't go unnoticed by the girl. She smiled as she took off her overstretched cardigan, revealing enormous breasts barely contained by a loose black T-shirt.

"Every time I smell this stuff, I get horny, Sir. You'd think I'd get used to it, but..." Her hand rubbed up and down a rubber catsuit hanging nearby, her touch lingering and suggestive.

Michael watched her, his mind racing with possibilities. The atmosphere in the room was charged. 

Michael was taken aback when the girl took his hand and placed it on the rubber catsuit. "Feel the great quality of our stuff," she murmured, holding it up to his nose. "Take that in, sir. Isn't it so inviting?"

She turned slightly, her ample ass brushing against him, pressing against his growing erection. With a playful smile, she walked to the back of the room and retrieved a rubber hood shaped like a Catwoman mask. She slid it over her head, adjusting it to fit perfectly, before stepping toward Michael. Her hand rested on his chest, pushing the sides of his jacket aside. She slid them down his arms and let them drop to the floor.

The girl's voice was a sultry whisper as she leaned in, her lips brushing against his neck. "This is my favorite mask, sir. It makes men feel very naughty." Her lips traced a path up to his chin, then captured his mouth in a fierce kiss, her tongue probing and tasting. The scent of rubber filled his senses, mingling with the heat of her body.

"I'm a very naughty girl, sir, very naughty. I wouldn't be surprised if you thought I deserved to be spanked," she murmured against his lips.

Something primal stirred within Michael, a raw hunger for control and dominance. After weeks of being manipulated and used, he was ready to unleash his pent-up frustration. He grabbed her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze.

"Strip, you little slut, and get on your knees where you belong," he commanded, his voice firm and unyielding.

She complied, a sly smile playing on her lips as she pulled her T-shirt over her head, revealing huge, heavy breasts with hard nipples and massive areolas. She slipped off her baggy pants, exposing her nakedness, and knelt on the floor, her head bowed and her ass presented, inviting his touch.

Michael's eyes widened as he noticed the metallic butt plug nestled between her cheeks, its oval shape catching the light. He pushed on it gently, eliciting a quiet moan from her. Then, with a sudden, fierce motion, he brought his hand down hard against her fleshy ass, the sound of impact echoing in the room. She yelped, her body jerking from the sting.

Michael walked around to the front of her, his presence commanding. "Look at me," he ordered, his voice firm and unyielding.

She lifted her head, her eyes meeting his gaze, a mix of submission and defiance flickering in her expression.

"Take my belt off," he commanded.

She gulped, her hands trembling slightly as she reached for his belt. With careful movements, she undid the buckle and slowly slipped the leather belt out of its loops, her cheek brushing against the hard outline of his erection as she leaned in. She presented the belt to him, laying it across both of her palms like an offering, her eyes never leaving his.

He looked down at her, a sneer playing on his lips. "Beg me to punish you with my belt," he demanded, his voice laced with dominance.

She whispered, her voice barely audible, "Please, sir, I've been such a naughty girl. Can you help me be a good girl and punish me?"

He snatched the belt from her hands, the leather snapping as it left her palms. "Get up on that bench," he snapped.

She complied, her movements fluid as she positioned herself on the bench, her body trembling with anticipation and fear.

"You will get ten of the best from me, no more, no less. You will not scream, you will not move. You will count each one and thank me. Do you understand?" His voice was stern, leaving no room for misunderstanding.

"Yes, sir," she replied, her voice steady despite the turmoil within her.

Michael raised the belt above his head, the leather taut and ready. He brought it down hard against her soft flesh, the sound of impact echoing in the room. She grunted, her voice steady as she counted, "One, thank you, sir."

Another stroke followed, the belt biting into her skin. "Two, thank you, sir," she replied, her voice tinged with pain but laced with submission.

Michael poured all his pent-up anger and frustration into each stroke, channeling the pain and humiliation he had endured at the hands of the women in his life. With each lash, he felt a sense of release, a catharsis that cleansed his soul. She thanked him for each one, her voice a steady count that anchored him in the moment.

As he finished the tenth stroke, he looked down at the criss-cross markings on her backside, a map of his discipline and her endurance. He noticed her sobbing, her body shivering with the aftermath of the punishment. His eyes scanned the room, landing on a large, soft blanket on the shelf where she had picked the hood. Beneath it, a small glass-fronted fridge held a bottle of water.

With a tenderness that belied the harshness of his discipline, Michael draped the blanket over her, his hands gentle as they caressed her face through the rubber hood. He fetched the bottle of water, returning to sit beside her. His hands moved with deliberate care as he massaged her shoulders, his touch soothing and reassuring.

“I’m sorry," he murmured, his voice low and apologetic. "You didn’t deserve that.”

She looked up at him, her blue eyes shining through the hood, and kissed his lips, silencing his apology. In that moment, a connection passed between them.

Michael and the girl sat together on the floor, the weight of the day's events pressing down on him. The vulnerability he saw in her, coupled with the intensity of their encounter, proved to be a soothing balm. He leaned into her, his body relaxing as he drifted off to sleep.

The girl felt secure in his lean, hard body, a warmth spreading through her despite the lingering sting of the belt. She felt safe, cradled in the arms of a man who, in that moment of power, had shown vulnerability. Her body tingled with a mix of pain and pleasure.

A cough from the doorway startled them both. The man from downstairs stood there, his presence a gentle intrusion. "Err, sorry to disturb you, Ms., but it's time to lock up for the night," he said, his voice soft and deferential.

Michael sat up straight, his mind clearing as he checked his watch: 10:05. He had been in the shop for an hour and a half, lost in a world of intensity and release. The girl stirred beneath the blanket, lifting her head to meet his gaze.

"Ok, lock up, set the alarm, put some coffee on, then bed," she instructed, her voice calm and authoritative.

"Yes, Ms.," the man replied with a slight nod, disappearing as quietly as he had arrived.

Michael watched the interaction, a sense of disorientation washing over him. Such was the change in his life over the past few weeks that this scene, once so alien, now felt almost ordinary. The girl looked at him through the cat's eyes of her rubber hood, her voice soft as she asked, "You will stay for coffee, won't you, sir?"

Michael paused, considering the offer. "Fuck it," he thought, "there's nothing else I can do tonight." He nodded, a small smile playing on his lips. "Sure, and it's Michael.”