… Of course she put my shirt on. What it is it with women and stealing their partners’ comfy articles of clothing. Oh. Right. Exactly that. They have to wrap themselves into something that looks good but feels terrible to wear. Like a pretty wrapping on a present. You have to take the wrapper off to enjoy the present, or something. And after it’s off, they can finally breathe easier and enjoy something that actually feels good. Silly creatures. Well, she will pay for what she is doing.

“I see that you put my shirt on. How does it feel?”

“It’s so nice, and soft, and big, and it smells of you.”

“Did you ask permission?”

“What? Why? It’s just a shirt!”

“Right. So, if I wanted to put on, say, your top, you would not mind?”

She stares at me, confused. “But you are a straight guy!”

“What does my sexual orientation have to do with anything?” I look at her sternly. “Are you postcoitally identifying as a dude or something? Releasing your repressed your inner man?”

She laughs. I bare my teeth in a poor facsimile of a smile. “Come here, my little cross-dresser!” I inject a bit of softness in my voice, just enough to get her guard down. And so she does, silly playful thing, apparently relieved. I hug her from behind and wrap my arms around her.

“This shirt is so big on you, look, your hands are hidden inside the sleeves. Don’t you know how dangerous this is?”

“Dangerous?” She hasn’t caught on yet.

“Very!” I say grimly. “Who knows what someone without many scruples might do!” I grab the the sleeves by the cuffs, pulls them down below her hands and behind her back, her hands trapped inside. “And you wouldn’t be able to do anything.” Her arms are now pulled behind her back, the sleeves swiftly tied together.

I feel her body tense up and her weight shift on one foot. She is a feisty one. She uses the back of her heel to kick me in the groin. Tries, anyway. I expected as much, and so I grab her foot.

“Look at you, trying to be bold.” I pull her leg up and tie her ankle with the remainder of the sleeves. Then let go. She tries to hop away from me on one foot, then turns around and scowls. Comical. She hops around like the Black Knight. I slap her cunt with my open palm, sending her flying, then hopping some more, and declare: “It’s just a flesh wound.” She flops on the bed and cracks up. She may be tied up, but she is not slow.

“See what wearing a wrong kind of a garment can do to you?” I shake my head at her in mock disapproval. Her hands, and a leg, are tied behind her back, giving me easy access to her lady parts, as she sometimes calls them in polite company. Right now, it’s just some holes to be used as I please. And, boy, do I please!

She doesn’t give up and sticks her tongue out at me. I shake my head. “You know what else is dangerous in not wearing your own attire?”

“What?” She looks genuinely curious.

“I can use them for other purposes. Like shutting up a feisty brat.” I grab her panties from the floor and stick them in her mouth. She tries to spit it out, so I pick up her top and tie it around her face to keep the gag in place. Then cross my hands on my chest while looking at her ineffectual attempts to say something.

“Gwezh we oof!”

“What did you say? Speak clearly.” I pretend to not have guessed that it meant “Get it off!” She goes on yelling something incomprehensible, undeterred neither by the obstacles, nor by her precarious situation.

“Or better yet, keep quiet!” I roll her on her side, pinch her nipple with one hand and ram the thumb of my other hand deep into her already moist cunt, all in one swift motion. She yelps. That sound does not require much articulation and so comes out loud, clear and musical. Well, it is music to my ears, maybe not so much to hers in this instant.

“See what happens to those who steal their partner’s clothes without permission?” I keep pulling and twisting her nipple and repeatedly slamming my thumb inside her again and again, my palm slapping her clit in the same motion. Her fingers, and toes, flail and curl with every push.

“That shut your irreverent mouth right up,” I finally smile at her. She only moans in response, eyes closed, lost in the sensations that I am inflicting on her. I can sense her climax build up, getting closer. And so I stop.

“You thought your transgressions would be rewarded, didn’t you?” I stop playing with her body, grab my phone and pretend to make a few snaps of her being bound and gagged on the bed, cunt and tits out, her makeup all smeared around her pretty face. “Not a chance.”

I get dressed and on my way out of the suite mention in an off-hand way “Going to grab a beer in the lounge with my buddies, and show them what a slut you are. Might even invite them up, who knows.”

I hear a snarl as I let the door slam shut behind me, then head to the library to work on my presentation for tomorrow’s meeting, chuckling inwardly. There. Combining business with pleasure. Sometimes a mindfuck is more fun than an actual fuck.

Masturbation Monday


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  1. Jupiter Grant

    Wonderful. I’m always nicking my dude’s jumpers, he’s never quite had this reaction! (Pity!😉) I’ll never see that scene in “Holy Grail” in quite the same way, either 😀

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  2. Kayla Lords

    Ahhhh, the power of a good mindfuck. Also, I love wearing JB’s shirts (when I can — he’s slightly smaller than I am) but I’m sure I’d love it more if it turned into this, lol.

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