ROLEPLAY HQ - devils-delights

The hardest part was ringing the doorbell. Grace had walked up and down this residential street in the older part of the city several times already, enough times to note the faded Halloween decals in the townhouse with the green tricycle chained to the railing, or the dead greenery in the window box across the street. For the tenth time, she double-checked the number above the door of the nondescript brownstone in front of her with a black door and gold numbers. It matched the address she’d been given, not that she needed to keep glancing at the card clutched in her hand to recall the single line of text. She was hardly able to read it anymore in the fading light of the early November evening. 59 Juniper Street The card was almost soft, clearly printed on expensive paper, with a solid black background and gold lettering. The lines were simple and elegant, and they gave nothing away. Grace was there for a job. At least, she thought she was. Her previous company had done several rounds of layoffs, and she had been the newest member of her team. She told herself it wasn’t personal. She’d been able to build up several months of savings before she received the notification on a Monday morning at the end of September for a random Teams meeting with her boss and an HR representative. That was almost two months ago, and the job search had been a torment. She’d submitted dozens of applications, each for positions that had anywhere from 30 to 150 other candidates. At this point, Grace knew that nobody would be hiring before the new year.

12:43 PM

She’d been lamenting her increasing financial stresses to her best friend Lucy in their favorite bar two nights before, a chill spot that toed the line between swanky and pretentious, and Grace had been speaking with a volume she only reached in public after multiple glasses of wine. Just as she was complaining about how she wasn’t even able to get a service or retail job for the holidays given her lack of experience, she’d been surprised to feel a hand on her shoulder. Turning to tell off whoever thought they could touch her without permission, she found a man who, despite standing only as high as her chin and sporting a head full of gray hair, had surprisingly smooth skin and youthful-looking features to compliment his ice-blue eyes. “I might have something for you.” He’d given her the very same card she had in her hand now. “My name is Philip,” he’d said, before launching into his offer. The details of the job were vague. Something in hospitality. Bartending. Reception. The usual. His tone had been gruff and distant. After a short and confusing conversation, leaving both Lucy and Grace perplexed, he suddenly dashed off, claiming that he needed to get back to work. At first, she had zero intention of following up on a random address handed to her in a bar. But there’d also been a flyer containing a QR code to the job posting. The company seemed legit, with branches around the world, for some kind of luxury accommodations. The salary in the description wasn’t great, but it had benefits. She just needed something to tide her over until she found a more permanent solution. That’s how she found herself in a 15-minute phone interview with someone named Agatha yesterday and in front of this townhouse today. She’d expected to find a hotel, a bed-and-breakfast, or some kind of short-term apartment units. Even the photos on google maps had been of a different building.

12:44 PM

She tried to tell herself that, if the place was meant for discreet or wealthy visitors, maybe the whole point was that it didn’t arouse attention from the outside. Enough was enough. She’d been standing here long enough to feel the cold creep in between her layers. She had dressed to impress in a black blazer and slacks, knowing the pants fit her curves perfectly and the jewel tone of her sapphire top looked lovely against her tan skin. Taking a last glance both ways at the deserted street, she marched up the stairs and rang the bell. She could feel her nervousness warming her stomach and cheeks as she waited. No turning back now. The door swung open, and Grace didn’t know why she was surprised to see the same small man. He was dressed in a black turtle neck and gray slacks, the dark colors contrasting with his hair and those striking blue eyes. “Miss Winters, lovely to see you again. I hope you had no trouble finding the place.” She didn’t know what to say to this formal greeting from the same man who handed her a QR code when she’d been halfway through a bottle of rosé. The whole situation seemed bizarre, but she had come all this way already. And she really needed this job. “Um, yes, thank you. It’s right where Google said it would be.” When he didn’t react, continuing to gaze at her with a polite smile, she felt a sting of embarrassment that only added to her growing flight response.

12:45 PM

“Right this way, then.” His voice sounded weary as he moved to the side to beckon her into the entry way. Stepping across the threshold, she felt a wave of nausea turn her stomach. Trying to hide what she thought was probably another bout of nervousness, she pasted a smile on her face as she felt the discomfort ease. Philip watched her closely but didn’t comment. Turning her attention to the space, she took in a long dark hallway with wooden paneling on the walls and an arched doorway at the end. Two chandeliers hung from the ceiling giving off low light down the length of the hallway, and the only adornments on the walls were a large landscape painting across from a mirror in a gilded frame. She could see a stairwell through the arched doorway at the end, but Philip led her into a small room to their right at the end of the hallway instead. It seemed to be a sort of reception area, with a strange mixture of furniture. The desk to the left was antique, wooden with floral designs carved into it, but the black leather couches in the center of the room were low and modern. Behind the couches, there was a large electric fireplace flanked by two doorways, and to her right, there was a row of bay windows covered by plush golden curtains, blocking all natural light. A couple of armchairs and a table with a vase stood in front of them. The designers had certainly chosen a color theme and stuck with it, Grace thought to herself. “You’ll speak to Agatha first.” Philip’s voice interrupted her musing as he gestured for her to take a seat on one of the couches. ”She’s the manager. I’m a butler of sorts. I suppose that seems kind of quaint to you, doesn’t it? Anyway, I’m not sure if you’ll be able to meet the owner today. Or owners, I should say.”

12:45 PM

Grace did her best to nod along and mumble affirmatives at the right moments, hardly following the direction of the conversation. She was somewhat relieved when Philip was stopped short by voices drifting in from the direction they’d come. Once she could make out the words, she realized the tone of one of the speakers was agitated. “Agatha, the alarm wouldn’t have been triggered unless it was—” Two figures entered the room, one after the other, their voices dying off as soon as they spotted her. The first was a woman with black hair and brown eyes who would have seemed middle-aged to Grace, except that she had the same smoothness to her dark complexion that Philip had on his pale one. She was dressed in a simple sheath navy dress with her hair pulled into a bun, exuding professionalism and confidence. But despite how glamorous she was, Grace couldn’t keep her eyes on her for long when the second figure came into view. He was unearthly. His pale blonde hair was shoulder length and wavy, and his blue eyes were more vivid but no less striking than Philip’s. Grace didn’t know what to make of the expression on his face as she met his gaze, except that she had the distinct feeling of being unwelcome. “Philip,” the beautiful man said, his voice somehow cold and musical at the same time. “Who might this be?” Philip looked quickly from the speaker to Agatha. “This is Miss Winters.” After a brief pause, he continued, “The master—that is, the other master—had me find her.” “Find her?” the blonde man repeated, tone rising in volume and intensity. “Do you even understand the kind of security nightmare this is? The risk for exposure?”

12:46 PM

He rushed on, not letting either Agatha or Philip answer. “We can’t have her here. I know my brother didn’t tell you to go and find…her,” he said, gesturing at Grace. “Zuriel,” Agatha said, her tone intending to calm him down. “What Philip is trying to say is that your brother is hiring.” There was a beat of silence as Zuriel processed the words. Grace could see it on his face when he lost the last vestige of control over temper. “Hiring?! No. Absolutely not. I would expect this from Philip.” He paused to shoot a glance in his general direction. “But Agatha, how can you not see how unethical this is?” “Zuriel,” Agatha said again, this time more firmly. “Not like that. She’s here to work in reception.” That seemed to stun him momentarily. “Reception?” A laugh sounded from Grace’s left, at one of the doorways beside the fireplace where a figure leaned against the frame. “Brother. Do you have any ideas for how she could be better…employed?”

The figure leaning against the doorframe was long. It wasn’t that he appeared tall… or did he? It was hard to get perspective when looking at him, his limbs all seemed stretched but somehow still proportional to his whole body. He was dressed in a tight pair of leather pants and a loose shirt that was only buttoned half-way up. His chest was smooth flowing into a long neck then a sharp jawline. The features of his face were androgynous, full lips, a narrow nose, and large, round eyes. His hair was long enough to reach his shoulders, it looked unkempt but in a way that made it look intentional. He looked over at Zuriel, seeming to ignore Agatha and Phillip. “It seems to me that we have an opportunity here. How many mortals get to see past their own drab lives to what else the universe has to offer?” He pushed himself off the doorframe and sauntered into the room, walking a full circle around Grace, pursing his lips and putting a finger up to them. “A little too willowly for my tastes. I prefer someone… sturdier. But she has good taste and posture. Only a little self-doubt there on the door step. And eyes like a newborn.” He walked over behind Zuriel, putting his hands on his shoulders and leaning his face over one. “As long as you aren't worried she'll get too corrupted, I think we should give her the job.”

Give her the job? That line stuck out in Grace’s mind, snapping her out of the self-conscious spiral she could feel growing in her chest and heating her cheeks at the way this new man blatantly evaluated her. She’d thought this was the second round of interviews, potentially one of a handful of interviews with final candidates. The possibility that it could be decided just like that, that the instability she’d felt over the last couple months could be over, had her desperate to seal the deal. Tamping down on every instinct to avoid eye contact and lower her head, she kept her head level and pivoted to face the pair directly. “When do I start?” Their reactions couldn’t have been more different. Zuriel’s beautiful face scrunched up almost as if he were in pain. The new one grinned wickedly and pushed off Zuriel’s shoulder’s to clap his hands together, the crack of it echoing through the large, formal room. A moment later, Zuriel whirled on his brother and they were arguing. “The security risk—” “She won’t be able to say anything once she signs the contract.” “You said you were done making deals with humans, Argemeth.” “This is different. I won’t take anything from her.” Grace could hardly follow the conversation. Many jobs had contracts, didn’t they. Why would Zuriel be so worked up about one in this case? They were interrupted by chiming. It sounded almost like a doorbell, but more pleasing and melodious than any Grace had ever heard. It had a surprising effect on the group in the room. Agatha and Phillip immediately slipped out as if on command, Philip back the way she had come and Agatha through the opposite doorways. Even Zuriel shook his head and began to walk away.

7:22 AM

“We’re not finished discussing this,” he said, but his gaze kept shifting in the direction Phillip had gone, like he was waiting for something. Argemeth sauntered behind the desk, leaning over it to read some papers before looking up and beckoning to Grace with one hand. “How about a working interview, darling?” His tone, alluring and seductive, was at odds with the words. “No contracts,” he said, flicking his eyes toward Zuriel as though he should be appeased. “Except, of course, something like an NDA. We are, after all, committed to discretion.” “Of course,” Grace responded, fighting her instincts to run and joining him by the desk. He gestured for her to sit, so she did. His presence leaning over her had her holding her breath. Sounds of chatter and laughter floated in from the hallway. “Here come your first customers.”

A small humanoid creature walked into the room holding the end of a leash. It was squat with compressed features and a stout build. The eyes were squinted, as if unaccustomed to so much light, and the mouth was a mere slit in the face. The hand holding the leash had short, stubby fingers with blackened nails at the end. But the voice was clear as it narrated things of interest to it's companion. Behind it, attached to the leash by a color was a wispy thing that seemed to be made almost entirely out of eyes. It practically floated into the room, eyes gazing in every direction, blinking in unison and then refocusing. It didn't seem to have a mouth but a high-pitched laugh emanated randomly as the eyes landed on various objects around the room. Argemeth slipped a sheet of paper onto the desk in front of her, a pen appearing in his hand, he leaned in further to whisper in her ear. "The NDA, if you please, just boilerplate really confirming that you'll be confidential about what you see on the job." Across the room Zuriel's mouth opened as if he were going to say something, and he took half a step forward. Argemeth looked at him, raising his brows in question. Zuriel stopped and took a deep breath, then moved over to greet the 'customers.' Grace's mind reeled. What was even happening right now? So many things assaulted her at once. Philip and Agatha leaving, the two strangers... customers... appearing, with Zuriel treating them as if this was normal. And under her nose was a contract... no, not a contract, just an NDA. Those were harmless right? And if she didn't sign it, could she walk out of here and tell Lucy what she'd just seen? She doubted that Lucy would believe her, that anyone would believe her. Well, if no one would believe what she said, what was the point of saying it. She took the pen and scratched her name out on the line. Argemeth clapped his hands again, the booming sound louder as he was right next to her. Then he immediately started rolling up t

8:19 AM

he scroll. Grace panicked for a moment, trying to read what she'd just signed as the text disappeared into the curling paper... "will not talk about, communicate, or telepathically project in life or in death..." "even if under duress, torture, threat of eternal damnation, or promised exaltation..." "binding in perpetuity until Armageddon makes all things moot..." And then it was gone. Argemeth tucked it away somewhere and stood up. He walked over to where Zuriel was having a discussion with the two creatures. After a short while longer, Argemeth lead the pair towards a door, that Grace was pretty sure hadn't been in the room before. As it opened, the two customers seemed to shift, the shorter one stretching, becoming taller and more agile. The other smoothing out as eyes disappeared, becoming skin and hair. Then they were through and the door shut behind them. Zuriel came over to Grace and put a awkward, comforting hand on her arm. "It's a lot to take in, you'll learn more about the job as you go but for today, just wait until the door re-opens, wish them well and invite them to return when they wish." He sighed, shaking his head and grabbing Argemeth by the hand has he walked towards the door Agatha had left through. "We need to talk about this contract."

Just like every other time I’ve found myself a patron at Devil’s Delights, I go to the mirror before I take in the rest of the room, my partner trailing behind me like I’m the one leading him. For now. A shiver of arousal runs through my stomach as I look at myself in the mirror, naked except for the collar. All my previous partners have preferred a form with only two eyes—they say it makes them nervous to see more than two blinking at them—and I have to say, there’s something about the way you only focus on one thing at a time that has me willing to comply. At least, at first. Sometimes I need more eyes to see everything that’s going on. I try not to surprise anyone with them anymore after that one time when I added some to my pelvic area without warning… I take the time (out of necessity) to look over my body. My form is slight, angular, waifish. My hair is long and light brown, the color of dirt. Hair doesn’t do anything for me, so I always yield to my partner’s preferences there. But the body is for me. Anytime I go more fully corporal, I have to be small. It’s too awkward to have long limbs and extra weight in different places, no matter how much my partners like to grab it. Add that to subjecting myself to Earth-like laws of gravity. No, thank you. In any case, it’s easier to toss me around this way. Gravity isn’t all bad.

3:13 PM

This time, the room we’re standing in is only the first of several. We don’t know the exactly layout—just like we asked, given the nature of the “scene,” as the humans call it. They have such a vocabulary for these games. Besides the mirror, there’s a wall of toys, implements, gear. They excite me, but as I turn, my attention is arrested by the figure standing behind me. “Is there anything else we need to discuss? I want you to feel comfortable.” My partner’s new form is as surprising to me as mine must be to him. It’s pleasing. We were matched together based on the scene we wanted. More human categories. Bondage, CNC…clever ways of describing the raw domination we crave. “It’s all in the contract.” My tone is assertive, confident. Again, for now. “In that case.” He reaches up to unhook the collar I’ve worn since Philip welcomed me into Devil’s Delights while I waited. His grin is, well, devilish. “Ready or not…” I recognize the human taunt, and I take off sprinting into the dark hallway behind me.

I watch her slip away after the collar comes off. I flex the muscles in my arms, back, and legs. I can feel the strength in this form. I can feel the power of it. I run a hand over my head, feeling how smooth it is, no horns or protrusions, such an odd feeling. I want to run immediately, catch her before she gets too far. Take her, make her mine. But I know that the thrill will be enhanced if I wait. If I have to hunt her through a maze of rooms, until finally, cornered and exhausted, she breaks down. My mouth waters and I feel the human cock stiffen at these thoughts. These bodies have so many reactions to the slightest fantasy. It can be distracting but I regain my focus. I walk over to one of the walls, finding a particularly appealing gag and take it. I don't want to be over burdened but this might come in useful later. I push it into a pocket of the short fabric covering I'm wearing. Which makes me notice the fabric over my chest and torso. It feels unnatural and makes it hard for me to move. I tear it off, the dark human skin of this body glistening under the sheen of sweat that's already begun to form. The room beyond this one is quiet. You must have passed through it already. That is enough of a lead, and now it's my turn to run. "Here I come!" I howl into the emptiness before me and plunge into the corridors and rooms ahead. My head whipping back and forth, looking for signs of your passing. My ears alert for any noises you might make. I curse my poor sense of smell, I could easily track you if that was better. No matter, I know I will find you soon enough.

Here I come!” The scream echoes through the hallways, sending a flash of raw fear through my chest and raising the hair on my arms. The terror, the thrill, every emotion is overwhelming when amplified by this body. At first, I was moving at a dead sprint, putting as much distance between us as I could, making random, hopefully unpredictable turns. When I hear his warning bellow, I fight every instinct to sprint harder, knowing my footsteps need to be quieter, and I need a good place to hide. When I see the wall in front of me signaling a dead end, the prey instinct clouds my mind. I dart into a random room, feeling the desperation driving me to get out of the main hallways. It’s dark, but even these eyes are able to make out furniture. Instead of going further into the room, I go to the right, crouching behind a wardrobe along the same wall as the door. Maybe there’s a chance I can escape back through the door if he enters the room. My breathing is ragged and I can’t come control it. Even if he couldn’t see me, these shallow inhales would give me away if he were close enough. But my imagination has a mind of its own, and when I start to follow that line of thought to the inevitable conclusion, the images that pop up—of him pinning me to the wall with a hand to my throat, of him shoving me to the ground and covering me with his body—makes my body react just as strongly with lust as it is with fear.

The rooms are dimly lit, so I stay aware of movement that might give you away. I move more slowly now, balancing between checking each room thoroughly and moving forward to keep you from gaining distance. I growl in frustration and excitement. The chase is exhilarating, even if I want the reward that comes at the end. I peer into room after room, finally, seeing one with more furniture than the others. This will require extra inspection. But, if you are hiding here, can I enter without you noticing me? I stand to the side of the doorway, peering quickly around the corner, looking for eyes that shut quickly or your head jerking back. I pull my own head back when I don't see anything. I drop to all fours, on hands and feet rather than knees, I creep into the room, trying to stay low and quiet. I edge my way around a couch in the middle of the room. There's nothing here but a thick, plush carpet. I lie down on it, looking beneath the furniture, looking for shadows that don't belong. There. What's that near the wardrobe, it looks like a dark spot where it should be empty space. I move into a crouch, ready to spring over the top of the couch if I see any movement.

Humans have a quaint saying. Something about the way that fear paralyzes you. I have to fight mine tooth and nail to remain still. I’m fucking desperate to peek into the hallway. To find another place to hide. To move where I could hear him coming. The inevitability of being caught starts to sink in. It’s designed this way, ensuring that there’s no escape. In the helplessness of waiting, my mind is screaming that it’s not fair. That I want out or that I wish it would stop. But deep down, my body, even spiked with adrenaline, knows that I want this too. Why else would I feel those tingles? I sense him more than I hear him. It takes all my willpower not to look up when I feel he’s in the room. Is that his breathing? I strain to make it out, so light that I can’t even be sure. The random thought that he’s good at this slips across my head. It’s like there’s no extra panic for my body to produce now that he’s caught up with me. Suddenly, it goes really silent. The absence of all sound tells me he’s seen me. I don’t even think, just react. I’m sprinting around the wardrobe and toward the open door.

There! I see the movement before you come around the wardrobe. My heart starts beating faster, I can feel the blood pumping through my body. My head seems to clear and time slows down, this must be the adrenaline. My prey is in sight. I know what I must do and his body is already moving, acting on instinct before I've even thought it through. My legs push off the ground, propelling my body upward, over the couch in front of me. I see you as you spin around the wardrobe, your eyes wide your breath heavy. Your feet trying to find purchase as you run. I crash into the wall just a split second behind you, my hand grazing across the back of one leg. My shoulder smarts from the impact but my own feet are already running after you. I push the pain down. It will not matter once I have caught you. The pleasure will override all. You reach the doorway and pass through. With another leap, I clip one ankle, sending you stumbling for a moment. This is my chance. I let my hip ram into the doorway to stop my momentum, then pivot and turn back towards you. I can already picture you, pinned to the ground beneath me. My hot breath on your neck. My hands pulling away layers of worthless clothing. With a growl, I push off the door frame, directly at you.

I meet your gaze for a split second and the flight almost goes out of my body. But you move faster than I expect, bursting over the couch directly toward me. When I hear you hit the wall and swipe at my leg, I know I have an extra second. It's all I need. If I can just get to the hallway, I can reach a full sprint. I'm through the door way, and my gaze locks on a room I'm sure I can reach. That's when I feel your hand on my ankle. How? I was sure you were further behind me. My hands hit the floor to stop my fall, and I keep one knee from hitting the ground as I scramble to get back on my feet. I whip my head back up and the door I was settled on looks further away all of the sudden. I can't find my balance and I end up lurching further down the hallway, coming down hard on my knee. The pain makes me roll off of it, hissing in surprise as I land on my hip and fling my arm out to catch myself. When I look up and see you coming at me, I let out a scream. My hands and legs to push me backwards in a crab crawl, a futile attempt to put a little distance between us before you're on me.

I watch you lose your balance, see you trying your hardest to get away even still. For a moment I want to let you think you have a chance. Give you just enough room to give you hope. But there is a hunger deep inside me, not in my belly but down deeper in my loins. This body has loins, and it seems like they function like a second brain. This second mind overrides all other thoughts, driving me forward out of the doorway. I pounce once in the hallway and then I'm on you. I can feel my body crashing into yours, flesh and muscle colliding. It is a stimulating mix of sensations, pain from the collision but pleasure at the touch of your skin. My hands push your arms out behind you, my weight driving you to the floor, my body landing hard on top of you. I bring my knees up, placing them on either side of you so that I'm straddling you as I push myself back upright. I can feel the softness of your belly were my ass presses into it. I bring a hand down to your throat, intending to pin you here. My fingers press into your neck, feeling the tendons tightening. It's such a delicate thing, I hesitate.

You spring, and I instinctively throw my hands up to shield myself. Your body lands on me, hard. I hear it more than I feel it when my head hits the floor as you knock my torso to the ground. My hands are grasping at you, trying holding you off me when you push them away from me. I don’t recognize the sounds coming out my mouth, half-scream/half-sobs around the words, No, no, no. Even though I wanted this, the realization that I couldn’t escape even if I tried, the weight of your body making it hard to breath, spikes some combination of lust, fear, and hysteria. You pin me to the ground with your knees and your hand, and the threat in your fingers as you begin to cut off my air quiets me to whimpers. I kick my legs out uselessly between yours. I’m already reaching up to hold your forearm when your hand stills. My gaze drifts to your face, seeing your eyes riveted on your hand, not even meeting my gaze. The expression I see there makes me want to melt, but I know I’m not done fighting yet. Instead of pulling your hand away, I push it into my neck. You lean into it, using your body weight to increase the pressure, and my eyes roll back at the sensation. I drag my fingernails down your arm, needing an outlet, somewhere to put all these conflicting feelings as my heart keeps pounding while desire heats my core.

In the moment that I hesitate, I feel you push your throat into my hand. The memory of why we are here, why we have assumed these forms, and the knowledge that there is no danger to the real you flashes through my mind. The lust in your eyes as they roll back, and then your fingernails running down my arm, snaps me back to the hallway. The hallway where I have you captured. The hallway where I've almost won my prize. With a growl, my hand tightens again and pushes you back to the floor. I lean forward, more of my weight going over my arm. Your breathing gets ragged and your eyes start to bulge. I reach down with my other hand, sliding it up your shirt until I find one of your breasts. I pinch the nipple between my fingers and squeeze it, twisting and pulling it. Watching your face contort as you try to scream but cannot find the air to do so. I smile with half my mouth, a curling at the edge that conveys my thoughts. I ease my grip on your throat, allowing you to breathe again. My hard is racing, this power I have over you is exhilarating. My cock is engorged with blood, standing hard inside my pants and throbbing painfully with the desire to be used. The scent of your fear and desire are enough that even this body can smell them. "You put up a good chase. And I don't doubt you'll put up a good fight now too. But know, my dear, know that I'm going to spread that cunt of yours wide and fill it with my cock until I decide that I'm satisfied." I give your nipple one more twist, then retighten my grip on your throat. My hand moves from your breast, going to the front of my pants where a simple button holds closed the opening from which my cock can escape. I undo it single-handedly

My mind goes blank with panic when I can’t draw in air, and I’m shocked by the raspy gasping sound my throat makes when you relax your hand enough to allow my desperate inhale. The pressure builds in my head at the strain and struggle. You pinch my nipple, not unbearably hard at first, but the physical violation still makes me feel helpless even while the burst of pleasure fuels an ache in my pussy. The twisting and pulling turns cruel while you watch my face and my gaping mouth. Soon, my brain starts to accept the pain, to crave it. You relax your grip, allowing me to draw in shallow gasping breaths, and your words almost make me want to give in when you talk about using me to your satisfaction. But then the sting of your fingers at my nipple and the pressure in my head reignites my fight. When you move your hands to your pants, your hand loosens on my neck so slightly that I don’t even know if you notice it. Your weight shifts to the side to make it easier for you to unbutton. I tense up, sensing my chance. My knees bend and my foot hooks around yours on the side you’re leaning towards, and I buck as hard as I can in that direction. Your body is so much more solid than mine, but I manage to send you off balance and get one of my knees outside yours. You let go of me to stop me from falling, and I roll as hard as I can, scrambling to get out from under you again. I make it to my hands and knees before I feel you grabbing at me, and I kick back with one leg only to hear the “ooph” as I connect squarely with your groin. Satisfaction at hurting you back fills my chest as I make it to my feet, and I sprint in the direction of the room I’d spotted earlier.

My stomach cramps as your foot connects with my groin. The tender genitals of this body unable to handle such contact. I wince as I try to stand, staying bend over for just a second. But I know every second counts if I don't want to lose you again. Gritting my teeth, I start running after you. My footsteps feel uneven as I try to push through the pain. "There's no where for you to hide. I'm coming for you." You turn a corner, ducking through a doorway. If you're trying to find another hiding spot, you're sadly mistaken. I only hope there isn't another exit from the room. I pick up my pace, letting out a howl of pain and desire. When I turn the corner into the room, I'm shocked by what I see. This isn't a room with furniture and rugs but a veritable spiderweb of ropes and chains strewn across the room on hooks and beams. It has slowed your progress. You're looking around, trying to find a way through. I leap through an opening, jumping over a waist high chain that impedes me. I feel myself hit your body as I tackle you, driving you into another tangle of ropes that keeps us both upright instead of crashing to the ground. My arm encircles you, clutching your side with my nails and digging them in. My other hand reaches up to grab your hair, pulling your head up so that you can only stare at the ceiling. Mmmm. My pretty little fly. Looks like I've caught you. This time for good.

My knee protests as I stop short when I reach the room, seeing the chains and ropes hanging from all manner of surfaces. There are metal loops and hooks on the ceiling and walls, St. Andrew’s crosses, and wooden beams at random heights. Fuck. The expletive slips out of my mouth in a desperate groan. The thrill when I see the display catches me off guard, stemming from some dark twisted place of my psyche that I've never been able to fully explore. I mentally shove the excitement aside and lean into my flight response. There’s no clear path. I can’t even see the wall on the other side to know if there’s a way out, but the only thing I can do is put more more distance between me and my predator. I vow to myself that I won’t be easy. I’m making my way through the web of restraints, stepping over some and ducking through openings, when you reach the room. The sheer force as you charge your way toward me makes me realize my mistake in the careful, almost dainty way I’ve been weaving my way through. You’re on me in a fraction of the time. It hurts when you hit me. Your weight slams me into a tangle of ropes of all sizes and textures. They dig into the exposed skin of my arms and legs not covered by my meager clothes, leaving a stinging, burning sensation. I whimper, both at the pain and because I need more. I flail, trying to find my balance, trying to get you off me, but the way you handle me this time leaves no room for escape. I relish the sting of your nails in the tender flesh at my side, and my arm instinctually clutches at your back to return the favor. When you yank my hair, exposing my throat, I’m at my most vulnerable, and I know the hunt is over. I can’t even see your face when your words tickle my ear, but a smile flashes across my face and my eyes close in response. Not quite. *In responding to your taunt, I know it’s only going to make it worse for me. I try to bring my knee up to your groin again, but your legs have me trapped off-b

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alance against the ropes. My nails dig into your back hard enough to draw blood, using the only free arm I can move, but you don’t let go.* I can’t win. I grit out. But I can make you earn it.

I feel your attempt to bludgeon my groin again but it's no use because you're too close. The nails you dig into my side bring pain and pleasure. Heightening my desire as you tear through my felsh. I wrap a leg around you, then take my hand off your side and reach for a rope hanging from an overhead beam. With my other hand, I keep your hair pulled down and your chin up, leaving your throat exposed. I start to loop the rope around it, wrapping it around itself and tucking the end through the coils. It leaves you on your tiptoes. I stand back to admire my work, something deep inside me gets excited seeing you helpless before me. Even though your arms are free, you can't move around too much or the rope will tighten on your neck, cutting off your breath. I release you, taking a step back and admiring my work. Now, I know you won't be foolish enough to pull your feet up off the ground. It would put the whole weight of that body onto your neck and that's a very bad idea. I step closer to you again, running a hand up your leg, feeling the fabric move over your body as I do. When I get to your waist, I put my hand inside your shirt and feel the bare skin of your body. It's warm and soft. I feel the pleasure of blood rushing to fill my body's cock, anticipating what will come. I slide my hand around your back and pull your body close to mine, so you can feel the bulge of it against your pelvis.

When you let go of me, I struggle to keep my balance on the tips of my toes without stepping backwards. Even my instincts tell me to back away from you. I bring my fingers up to my neck, trying to slip them inside the coil on either side of my windpipe, desperate to get a little more room to breathe. Your hand trailing up my body makes me shiver. The heady mixture of the fear and anticipation erases all thoughts, and I shudder as those fingers slip inside my shirt to feel my skin. When you pull me toward you, I let out a string of panicked whimpers as my feet shuffle forward, putting my body at a slight angle with you holding my lower back. Please. The rope tightens around my neck from the movement, making my mouth pop open and my eyebrows raise up and together. The upward pull creates a pressure in my head, and one of my hands instinctually pushes against your shoulder. My head starts to feel fuzzy and my calves ache, but when the hard outline of your cock moves against my pelvis, I want more. Please. I say it again, but I don’t even know what I’m asking for anymore. The hand that was pushing at your shoulder begins to clutch you to me, and I close my eyes and bite my lip when you rub against my stomach. Trying to increase the firmness of the contact, I lower my ankles a couple of inches. It immediately makes my pressure in my head start to throb, and I draw in a wheezy shallow breath. I stand back up on my toes to where it's tolerable, holding on to your shoulder and leaning back against your hand at my back.

I feel you next to me, feel you clutching me, your whimpers in my ears. I see you moving up and down slightly on your toes, the bulge of your eyes when the tension in the rope is too much. There is so much sensation, as though these bodies were made to be overloaded with emotions. I can feel them, flooding through me. I don't have to think anymore, simply let the urges drive me. I drop to my knees, my hands pulling your pants and panties off. My face ends up level with your glistening pussy. A soft, pink opening into your body that I know instinctively I want to be in. I rub my hands up your legs, going up the backs of your thighs, feeling the round bump of your ass. I can feel blood rushing to my face. I can also feel blood rushing into my cock. It's overwhelming and my tongue sticks out of my mouth, inching closer to you until the tip of it reaches you. I feel a tingle of electricity I can't take it any longer, my face buries itself in your slit. My tongue probing around the bump of your clit, sliding down to your hole, then back up. Tasting the juices that your body is producing. I grab you under your legs and stand up, gripping your ass and letting you sit on my shoulders while I continue to indulge my passion

My breathing is ragged and shallow as you remove the human coverings from my body. The cool air hits the exposed flesh, and all my senses are hyper focused on how close your face is to the source of my aching need. It consumes my thoughts even while I vaguely register your hands running over my skin and leaving tingles everywhere they go. The first touch of your tongue on my clit has me crying out. The warm pleasure makes me squeeze my muscles, desperate for more. This is what it feels like to be human. I try to spread my legs to give you better access, but I can’t widen my stance without tightening the rope around my neck. I close my eyes, moaning at the luxurious sensation of your tongue sliding freely through my slick folds, flicking across the swollen clit again and again. When you pick me up, my hands flail around behind and above me, finding more rope to hold on to while you grind your face into my pussy like it’s a feast. All my primal fear turns to feral need. I coil the rope I found around one arm, and I used the other one to clutch your head to me, nails digging into your scalp. The sensations are overwhelming, It’s too much and not enough at the same time. More. My voice is demanding rather than pleading, the word coming out as more of a growl.

My mouth moves at your command on impulse before I realize that I've even complied. My tongue presses hard against the nub of your clit. My hands pulling your hips into me. The pressure growing to as much as I can give, then nodding my head up and down to provide friction without losing any of the pressure. I can taste you dripping into my mouth. I can feel my breath holding as I press against you, even my nose is covered by your soft flesh and I simply have to continue for as long as I'm able. I feel my head getting light, a tingle that makes it hard to focus. With a growl of disappointment, I pull my head back. My tongue leaving your clit, the folds of your pussy closing back over it. I gasp a breath and nearly push back in. I want it. I want you. I WANT YOU. That thought shakes me loose. You want more but I'm still the one in control here. With a devilish smile, I push your legs back off my shoulders. Setting your feet back on the ground. I grip your arms, to make sure you don't struggle, then turn you sideways - perpendicular to me - and quickly slide two fingers inside your pussy, pulling you back up to your toes with the pressure. My other hand reaches behind you, pushing one finger into your ass, letting it resist and then swallow it deep. There now, little fly. That gives you more. Wouldn't you agree?

Feeling all that delicious pressure on my clit, I drop my head back and let out an open-mouthed deep groan. My hand on your head guides you as you slide your tongue against my clit, your face fully buried in my pussy. I’m starting to build, and I can’t imagine how this body could handle the pleasure of an orgasm when this already feels so fucking good. I whimper when you pull your face away and gasp for air. But your growl sends sexy butterflies through my stomach. The way your eyes devour me drives my need higher. I roll my hips, squirming to get your lips back on me. But you have other ideas. The way you handle my body is electrifying as you pull me off you and into the position you want. I crave the force even though im putty in your hands. I look up to meet your gaze when your fingers enter me, sliding inside so easily with all the lubricant my body made for you. My mouth drops open and my face scrunches up in pleasure when the force of your fingers lifts me off the ground. As your finger fills my ass, I close my eyes at the fullness of the feeling. With one hand, I reach down and find the bulge I felt pressing into me earlier, creating this ache inside me that your fingers have only partially filled. I rub it firmly with my palm, watching your face, delighted with the way my touch affects you. More? Yes. Enough? No. The big bad spider can do better than that. My confidence despite our predicament surprises me, and I squeeze your cock so you know exactly what I mean, pleased to find it so stiff and full.