Sex-Video Marathon

“Enjoying yourself?” I asked rhetorically as I entered the room. The heels of my thigh high boots echoed as I confidently strode along the varnished wooden floor. They matched the rest of my outfit: black, shiny, and tight. Twenty minutes it had taken me to squeeze into my rubber leotard and matching gloves, all for his benefit. That meant I couldn’t just change into casual clothes whenever I walked out of the room. I had to concentrate on my work while dressed up like that. It was distracting, to say the least. Sometimes I wonder if he realises just how much effort I put into our relationship.

Every step drew me closer to him. My live-in slave, Chris, that is. Closer to the stench of his precum and sweat. I came to a halt once I was in front of him, careful not to block his view of the TV.

He tried to say something. I hoped it wasn’t anything important because I couldn’t make out his muffled words and I wasn’t about to unlock his head harness any time soon. He probably didn’t even know what he really wanted at that point anyway, so there was no reason to let him speak. The contract he’d signed three months beforehand had made it clear what we both could and could not do, and it was all I needed.

He’d told me what he wanted the other week, when he wasn’t aroused. That’s how I knew he meant it. He said how he’d never seen any of his hour-long BDSM videos all the way through. He always ended up wanking, only a few minutes into one. He has no self control, that’s one of his problems. No self restraint. But I can easily control him. Restrain him. Of course, he didn’t come right out and ask for my help. He hardly ever does. But I always know what he wants.

Chris was sitting on top of one of my old blankets, on my couch. The white, mental hospital issue straitjacket kept his hands safely away from his dick, which was completely exposed. I looked down at the pathetic figure. He looked back up at me with pleading eyes. He was still squirming around slightly under the jacket, more likely to try to find a way to touch himself than with the intent of escape. His erection betrayed his enjoyment, whether he wanted to admit it or not. How embarrassing it must be for guys, to have such little control over even their own bodies.

His ankles were encased in the gleaming manacles I’d made him polish a few days earlier in preparation. They kept him chained to the floor hook in front of the couch, so that he could move around a bit and stretch his legs without worrying that he might miss any of the video this time.

He hardly ever tugs on that chain for more than a few seconds any more. He always loves to make sure his bonds are secure, but I’ve chained him to that floor hook many times now. He had always found escape from that hook and those manacles impossible, even on the few occasions when he could use his hands. I have a thing for padlocks, you see. They help to induce that feeling of total helplessness.

“It should be over in a few minutes,” I told him, nodding at the television. It was showing a rubber clad woman licking out a naked woman. A tinny reproduction of her approving moans came out of the TV’s speakers. Why men like watching two women together is beyond me, but this wasn’t the time to try and analyze the poor thing. He was tied and helpless, just like both of the women in the video he was watching.

“I’ve got a lot of work to do today, honey,” I said before bending down and licking the tip of his exposed shaft, my leotard creaking as it stretched. His helmet was slippery with precum. Bitter. I made a mental note to put him on a vegetarian diet to make it sweeter. As my tongue made contact with him, he shouted into the gag. I think it was in approval, not that it made any difference.

“But don’t worry,” I continued, straightening up. I kept my gaze on my helpless captive and grinned, licking my lips. “You’ve got about half a dozen of these videos, and that should be plenty to keep you occupied.”

Chris let out a loud protest, still muffled by the gag. A fresh bead of sweat trickled down his forehead before disappearing behind one of the gag’s straps. He must have assumed I’d only treat him to a single video of his. I guess he didn’t know me as well as he thought he did. That had always been his other problem: underestimating me.

The rubber encasing me creaked again as I leaned towards him. “Relax, sweetie,” I whispered in his ear. “Just think of all the fun we’ll have when I let you serve me with that uncontrollably hard dick of yours tonight. If you’re obedient, I might even take off your straitjacket before we go to sleep.”

As he tried to plead with me, his muted words in a familiar, whiny tone of voice, I started to walk away. He actually stood up and tried to follow me, but couldn’t even make it as far as the side of the couch before the chain became taut, keeping him in place. I calmly walked over to the door without even breaking my stride, then turned around and blew him a kiss. I let a big smile take over my face before I closed the door behind me.

I could barely hear him from the next room, and when I turned the CD player back on, it drowned him out completely. I tried to put him out of my mind for a few minutes. I could still get a bit of work done before putting the next video on. I knew this was what he really wanted, deep down. I know him better than he knows himself.