Sabrina in Stockings smartass switch sex worker

I’ve got a plan, and it involves duct tape and a knife.

It’s not rape if he knows it’s coming.

Two weeks of threats. Just long enough for him to get used to the idea, to expect it but to stop thinking he knows when.

I like to hold him still, holding his shoulders, maybe pinning his arms in place, and go over his body with my eyes. I’ll walk around him, shamelessly eyeballing, checking out his shoulders and arms and chest and the line of his sides to his hips, the firm ass, the toned thighs. I squeeze where I want to and when I want to and if he makes a move to stop me it’s only to grope back.

Which isn’t to say he doesn’t know how to switch it around - how to fight back. Mrrow.

But this victim isn’t innocent or naive. It’ll be a challenge with the ultimate goal of feeding my sexual ego and blowing his mind.

First, the threats will increase in severity.

An obscene text message here and there. I’ll let him know exactly what I’m doing. He has to picture it, he has to be as constantly aware of the heat between my legs as I am.

Then voice mails prefixed with warnings: “You might want to turn the volume down if you aren’t alone…”

There will be evidence. He will receive it. Not in the mail, that’s too haphazard. I don’t want these things going to the wrong address.

After it’s affected his mind, after the curiosity and paranoia set in, I’ll back off on the threats.

Instead I’ll test the waters. I’ve already started; I started the first night. He’s doomed. He’ll go with a smile on his face if I do this right but that doesn’t make him any less doomed.

(I have to do this right. This one’s fun to play with.)

I’ll throw the pieces at him one by one before I assemble them around him. By the time he realizes he can’t escape he won’t want to.

(Technically he can, I just like the way that sounds. The knife will be there to cut the duct tape if he wants out. It’s not rape if you take no for an answer.)

I’m learning from the masters: One is a flaming psycho and the other is a sex god. I’m merging their techniques (minus the violence and illegality of the first - I want the intensity, not the fear) to create my own brand of crazy sexy.

I want him begging for it right before I thrust down and slide his cock home. I want to feel the tension in his shoulders and neck, in his thighs, and press my fingers against that hungry rhythmic pulse right above his balls. I want to see pure fucking need in his eyes that turns to orgasmic relief.

He’s seen it in mine. I saw what causing it, seeing it, did to him; exactly what it does to me.

(Have you ever been the victim of a seduction? Have you ever been hunted, lured, trapped, pushed and persuaded into exactly what you were hoping they’d do? Let’s just say I felt the hook in my mouth and now it’s his turn.)