h0pelessr0mance
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- Jan 9, 2023
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Carol prides herself on her work in the underground, but when she finds her dream client, her desires begin to cloud her judgement. Can she keep her personal desires out of her job? Or will she have to accept no longer being professional?
In the deepest pits of her dungeon, no man could escape her clutches.
At least until his time was up and she needed to get the next client in, then he was ushered out with a “shoo!”.
Running a business was no easy task, not even for one as fun as this. There were schedules to keep, deadlines to risk, and clients to please enough to come back and justify the exorbitant price tag. But this equipment wasn’t cheap, and she still needed to pay rent. What was supposed to be the living room of a small house had been refurnished into the aforementioned “dungeon”; shackles hanging from the ceiling, a table with leather straps, a horse and a wall with six horizontal bars bolted in were the main attraction, with a few extras for the other fetishes she had to accommodate- they just weren’t important for this particular story.
Most of the clients were simple enough to please, yet others took careful and hard work, especially when they were outside her own kinks and interests. Still, she did her best to accommodate, enough to keep a fairly regular client base. After a few years the novelty had worn off and it had become her “normal”. It was easy to fall into the pattern of routine.
At least until he showed up.
He was tall- at 6’5” he towered over pretty much everyone, and at 240 lbs of muscle at least, he commanded their respect too. At 5’8, and 180 lbs, she was not a tiny woman by any means, but he easily dwarfed her. Not just in height, but width as well. He was broad shouldered, and clearly worked out, giving his upper body serious proportions and size. She would assume the same for his legs, but she had never seen them. He only ever wore pants when she saw him, though his thighs seemed to be decently thick as well. As were hers, though for entirely different reasons. She had no idea what ethnicity he was, because she didn’t feel it was her business and didn’t want to ask, but while he was a lighter shade, he still had a distinct olive tone, and very dark eyes and black hair. She was white, but also had short black hair and rather dark eyes, though that was definitely their only common traits. Most of her weight was in her bust, butt and thighs, with some tummy, but she knew most men appreciated her curves and figure- hence why she wore taut black dresses for business. He let his facial hair grow out into a trimmed, tidy beard, adding to his rugged charm.
That was all that really needed to be said for his physical appearance. He worked in business, and was doing well for himself, climbing up the corporate ladder as best he could. She knew this because he came regularly, and occasionally he came to her in his business attire, when he pulled late hours at the office. It was a well tailored suit, clearly not cheap, and obviously for business purposes. As if he didn’t have enough going for him, he had a gorgeous face as well. Not handsome, gorgeous. The first time he’d walked into her house, she’d been struck completely dumb. He should’ve been an actor and had women quite literally tripping over themselves for the chance to sleep with him; not an over-stressed business man driving nearly two hours to her dingy little dungeon out in the middle of nowhere.
Tall, smart, well-off, handsome, and probably a manager of some type too. He would definitely fit into the “alpha male” category. Some days she felt sorry for him. If it wasn’t for his kink, she was sure he could have any woman he wanted.
But thankfully he was her client because of his kink, so she got to play with him instead.
And oh, how she loved to play with him. Sure, all these features might make a woman swoon, but besides her admiring his face, she wouldn’t bother giving him a second look. She’d had clients that worked out before, and plenty of good looking guys came to her. It came with the job, and she was easily able to keep the relationship strictly professional. But the thing was that he just wanted tickling. Not just any tickling- her kind of tickling. Once she got her hands on his body- oooohohoho how he revved her engines. It was so rare to find a man as sensitive and reactive as him, and she always found herself thrilled by his exquisite feedback. She may have also had a thing for making big, strong men a wiggling, giggling mess, which could account for her satisfaction.
He was a dream come true, and she loved teasing his ticklish body. There was no getting around that.
That’s why she could feel herself already getting excited as she cuffed him to the bars. It was, for lack of better term, a rack. An array of thick, horizontal steel bars were spaced about a foot from each other, bolted from floor to ceiling- almost resembling a grid of towel bars. The ends were bent enough to stick them from the wall a few inches, leaving the client (or victim, if she was playing the sub) securely bolted in place, but out in the open for her to reach behind them, if needed. She had it custom built for… special clients.
Like him.
He was still as she put the leather cuffs on. There was a pair on each of the three tallest bars, and of course he needed the tallest one. She was on a chair to reach, and had to resist a joke about him being Goliath. Instead of informing him she had finished, she reached down and wiggled a finger in his armpit, making him snort and jerk away. The rings rattled, but with the wrist cuffs, the ankle cuffs, and his belt that had been looped through one of the mid-level bars, he wasn’t going anywhere.
“Done,” she informed, stepping down and placing the chair to the side. “Comfortable?”
“Yes,” he said, moving a little more to test the restraints’ constriction. The metal rings clinked and slid against the steel. This wasn’t his first time on these, and he knew they would last.
He didn’t like the bars at first because he always had his shirt off and they were always cold against his bare skin, but he agreed to it when she pointed out how they made it easier for her to reach all around him.
What he didn’t know was that she made sure they were cold before he got there. For… special reasons. Those reasons were now hard and pointing out nearly at eye level, just for her, begging her to tickle them.
Look, it was for his own good in the long run.
She walked over to the small table, where his suit jacket, dress shirt and under shirt, and tie were carefully laid out with his keys and wallet. On the corner was a small timer, and she set it for sixty minutes and fifteen seconds. She started it, and walked back over to him, raising her hands.
“Ready?” She checked once more.
“Ready.” He affirmed.
She glanced at the timer once more, then as it hit the minute mark, lowered her hands.
There was one thing about him that made him different from other clients, besides his sensitivity. Most lees enjoyed verbal teasing in the experience. Something about it just made them more reactive and sensitive to the tickling fingers. But he had a strong dislike of humiliation, and for him, verbal teasing always bordered on “humiliation”. It was his one “flaw” as a dream client, if she could put it that way. As a result, she’d had to get creative with her teasing.
So as her hands lowered, she never broke eye contact, keeping her face straight. But her fingers flexed ominously as they neared, promising the torment to come. The dark pink acrylics were long, round, and smooth, making them her most diabolical torture device. With a gentle graze of her fingers she could make him jump- with quick little strokes she could send him spiraling into a puddle of laughter. And now those insidious little nails wiggled ominously toward him. He inhaled sharply through his nose, knowing the game but refusing to admit defeat so quickly. She was careful not to use this every time he came over, since she had to keep things fresh and exciting after all. But he was already mounting in excitement, so he was thankful for the jockstrap keeping him under wraps.
Her hands stopped just above his sides, never ceasing their methodical cycle of flexing. They were only two inches from his skin, her long, rounded nails teasing the air above it. And then her hands started moving to center.
“No,” he said without thinking, leaning back, and hissing through his teeth as he touched cold metal. He shivered, more goosebumps springing over his skin, but his eyes never strayed from her hands as her fingers cycled over his taught stomach. He didn’t have a six pack, just a flat waist that accentuated his broad, hairy chest and shoulders. Which was unfortunately also very sensitive.
She moved her gaze to his waist, squinting as she pretending to scrutinize it. She let one hand drop, and closed the other into an almost-fist, leaving out one finger to circle around the outer edge of his belly button. It went slowly, methodically, skimming the edge of his navel in a teasing motion that always drove him mad.
“No, please,” he said again, breath hitching this time as the finger inched just a tiny bit closer with each circle. His lips betrayed him, twitching as he sucked in his stomach to delay the touchdown just a few more precious seconds. “Don’t!”
She looked up at him innocently, like she had actually heard his request. And then, locking eyes with him again, she let her fingers “claw” at the air as she raised them up, and to the side, clearly aiming for his smooth, shaved armpits.
“No, no, not that!” He snorted for the first time, this time letting his shoulders and arms lean against the freezing bars and starting another shiver. “Why do you have tease me?”
He knew why, of course, yet he still had to beg when in the moment. She had made a joke about it after a few sessions together, when he complained after a point where she had ravaged his armpits particularly thoroughly. When she joked that he was lucky because they had hair, and that otherwise it would have been worse, he started trimming them down and chipping away at it until the tufts of black hair were completely gone, now vulnerable and naked for her to control.
And oh how she controlled it. A simple rake through the air, and he was already giggling.
“Please,” he begged, and he was pressing himself against the bars, eyes darting between the clawing fingers as they hovered over his naked, shivering torso.
But she never paused, her deep red lips curling as her eyes sparkled, her fingers flexing faster and faster as they neared her targets. He broke into snorting, squeezing his eyes shut as he braced himself.
But she stopped, hands frozen over the bare, soft skin. Bright white and freshly shaved, they really were like little targets for her to pounce. But she didn’t, holding still, and waiting for him to finally open his eyes. He did, and he eyed her and her hands tensely as he held his breath. But she lowered her hands, and started to flex right at the waistband of his pants. The shiny old skin of his scar peeked out in a tiny little triangle, exacerbated by the black fur all over his belly.
“Shit,” he said without thinking, adjusting his hips as he moved to watch them warily.
It was a very specific technique of hers, where she held her hands still, and flexed only her fingertips. They pulsed purposefully, hands standing next to each other at the center of his waist where the thick of his happy trail started, then slowly moved outward.
“Oh no, god, please!”
They circled around his waist to his hips, then rotated around, like she was teasing his hipbones. His whole body clenched, a single laugh betraying him, until both hands started the slow climb upward.
“No, no, no!”
They continued their climb, the pulsing nails never more than an inch from his skin, and he started to break into laughs.
“You can’t- stop!”
They followed the curves of his ribs, reaching around his back to put them out of his sight, and make him arch forward unconsciously.
“You can’t do this to me!” He complained, already struggling to keep his giggles in check.
He could see the pulsing of her forearms, telling him that she was still flexing her fingers and could touch down any moment. But once he started to squirm, she finally pulled them back around, and continued their trek upward.
“Goddamn it, are you going to do this for the rest of the time?!” He finally snapped.
“I wasn’t going to,” she said cryptically, and her smirk broke into a full on grin, showing her straight teeth. “But I might now.”
He swore again, banging his head on the bar behind him.
She was a ruthless ler, he had learned that again and again. It wasn’t like she kept him in some constant stream of fake hysterics like a bad tickle porno. But she knew how to press all his buttons and get under his skin. Or tease the top of it, he supposed.
But he was getting his money’s worth, having that love-hate relationship with this fetish. So he took a breath, and brought his head back up to match her eyes again, steeling himself for the rest of the time.
While he hadn’t been looking, her thumbs had moved to pulse right over his nipples.
“FUCK!” He jumped, and she snorted and broke into snickers, and he pressed himself hard against the bars as he wiggled. “No, no, not that, definitely not that!”
“Are you suuuuuure?” She crooned, letting her left hand reach around to pretend to tickle under the edge of his pectoral. “You seem to be in a bad mood. I can help you feel better.”
He leaned away, snorting and cursing as his grin came right back, hating himself for playing right into her hands (no pun intended). The cuffs were loosely linked to the bars, allowing him to slid a little bit in his attempt to escape. So he slid a little to the left, jerking back with a snort when the top part of his ribcage hit her fingers from her other hand.
She hadn’t even moved, skin just barely touching the pads of her fingers. He was just so nervous from all the teasing that he couldn’t help but jump.
“What’s wrong?” She said, and her thumbs, her goddamn, aggravating thumbs started circling the tiny area just above his areolas. “You don’t seem to be doing well.”
His breath went out in a shaky stream of not quite chortles. His massive barrel chest quivered under her hands, that mix of dread and anticipation making everything in him wired up. And damn her, damn her for that switch, that little flick of her thumbs just above his perked, ready nipples. They moved back and forth just above the tips, and he dropped his weight as he finally spluttered into a chuckle.
“There now, that’s better.” She said, and her grin turned nearly maniacal. “Now we can really start.”
He howled, the whole room shaking with his laughter as she finally touched down on him. She hadn’t teased him the whole time, but he’d be damned if she didn’t try eventually. As it was, he just roared, alone and helpless in the dark shadows of her dungeon.
Did you enjoy this snippet? Buy the whole novel of their escapades- only $.99! Buy it here -------------------> https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/1339034
In the deepest pits of her dungeon, no man could escape her clutches.
At least until his time was up and she needed to get the next client in, then he was ushered out with a “shoo!”.
Running a business was no easy task, not even for one as fun as this. There were schedules to keep, deadlines to risk, and clients to please enough to come back and justify the exorbitant price tag. But this equipment wasn’t cheap, and she still needed to pay rent. What was supposed to be the living room of a small house had been refurnished into the aforementioned “dungeon”; shackles hanging from the ceiling, a table with leather straps, a horse and a wall with six horizontal bars bolted in were the main attraction, with a few extras for the other fetishes she had to accommodate- they just weren’t important for this particular story.
Most of the clients were simple enough to please, yet others took careful and hard work, especially when they were outside her own kinks and interests. Still, she did her best to accommodate, enough to keep a fairly regular client base. After a few years the novelty had worn off and it had become her “normal”. It was easy to fall into the pattern of routine.
At least until he showed up.
He was tall- at 6’5” he towered over pretty much everyone, and at 240 lbs of muscle at least, he commanded their respect too. At 5’8, and 180 lbs, she was not a tiny woman by any means, but he easily dwarfed her. Not just in height, but width as well. He was broad shouldered, and clearly worked out, giving his upper body serious proportions and size. She would assume the same for his legs, but she had never seen them. He only ever wore pants when she saw him, though his thighs seemed to be decently thick as well. As were hers, though for entirely different reasons. She had no idea what ethnicity he was, because she didn’t feel it was her business and didn’t want to ask, but while he was a lighter shade, he still had a distinct olive tone, and very dark eyes and black hair. She was white, but also had short black hair and rather dark eyes, though that was definitely their only common traits. Most of her weight was in her bust, butt and thighs, with some tummy, but she knew most men appreciated her curves and figure- hence why she wore taut black dresses for business. He let his facial hair grow out into a trimmed, tidy beard, adding to his rugged charm.
That was all that really needed to be said for his physical appearance. He worked in business, and was doing well for himself, climbing up the corporate ladder as best he could. She knew this because he came regularly, and occasionally he came to her in his business attire, when he pulled late hours at the office. It was a well tailored suit, clearly not cheap, and obviously for business purposes. As if he didn’t have enough going for him, he had a gorgeous face as well. Not handsome, gorgeous. The first time he’d walked into her house, she’d been struck completely dumb. He should’ve been an actor and had women quite literally tripping over themselves for the chance to sleep with him; not an over-stressed business man driving nearly two hours to her dingy little dungeon out in the middle of nowhere.
Tall, smart, well-off, handsome, and probably a manager of some type too. He would definitely fit into the “alpha male” category. Some days she felt sorry for him. If it wasn’t for his kink, she was sure he could have any woman he wanted.
But thankfully he was her client because of his kink, so she got to play with him instead.
And oh, how she loved to play with him. Sure, all these features might make a woman swoon, but besides her admiring his face, she wouldn’t bother giving him a second look. She’d had clients that worked out before, and plenty of good looking guys came to her. It came with the job, and she was easily able to keep the relationship strictly professional. But the thing was that he just wanted tickling. Not just any tickling- her kind of tickling. Once she got her hands on his body- oooohohoho how he revved her engines. It was so rare to find a man as sensitive and reactive as him, and she always found herself thrilled by his exquisite feedback. She may have also had a thing for making big, strong men a wiggling, giggling mess, which could account for her satisfaction.
He was a dream come true, and she loved teasing his ticklish body. There was no getting around that.
That’s why she could feel herself already getting excited as she cuffed him to the bars. It was, for lack of better term, a rack. An array of thick, horizontal steel bars were spaced about a foot from each other, bolted from floor to ceiling- almost resembling a grid of towel bars. The ends were bent enough to stick them from the wall a few inches, leaving the client (or victim, if she was playing the sub) securely bolted in place, but out in the open for her to reach behind them, if needed. She had it custom built for… special clients.
Like him.
He was still as she put the leather cuffs on. There was a pair on each of the three tallest bars, and of course he needed the tallest one. She was on a chair to reach, and had to resist a joke about him being Goliath. Instead of informing him she had finished, she reached down and wiggled a finger in his armpit, making him snort and jerk away. The rings rattled, but with the wrist cuffs, the ankle cuffs, and his belt that had been looped through one of the mid-level bars, he wasn’t going anywhere.
“Done,” she informed, stepping down and placing the chair to the side. “Comfortable?”
“Yes,” he said, moving a little more to test the restraints’ constriction. The metal rings clinked and slid against the steel. This wasn’t his first time on these, and he knew they would last.
He didn’t like the bars at first because he always had his shirt off and they were always cold against his bare skin, but he agreed to it when she pointed out how they made it easier for her to reach all around him.
What he didn’t know was that she made sure they were cold before he got there. For… special reasons. Those reasons were now hard and pointing out nearly at eye level, just for her, begging her to tickle them.
Look, it was for his own good in the long run.
She walked over to the small table, where his suit jacket, dress shirt and under shirt, and tie were carefully laid out with his keys and wallet. On the corner was a small timer, and she set it for sixty minutes and fifteen seconds. She started it, and walked back over to him, raising her hands.
“Ready?” She checked once more.
“Ready.” He affirmed.
She glanced at the timer once more, then as it hit the minute mark, lowered her hands.
There was one thing about him that made him different from other clients, besides his sensitivity. Most lees enjoyed verbal teasing in the experience. Something about it just made them more reactive and sensitive to the tickling fingers. But he had a strong dislike of humiliation, and for him, verbal teasing always bordered on “humiliation”. It was his one “flaw” as a dream client, if she could put it that way. As a result, she’d had to get creative with her teasing.
So as her hands lowered, she never broke eye contact, keeping her face straight. But her fingers flexed ominously as they neared, promising the torment to come. The dark pink acrylics were long, round, and smooth, making them her most diabolical torture device. With a gentle graze of her fingers she could make him jump- with quick little strokes she could send him spiraling into a puddle of laughter. And now those insidious little nails wiggled ominously toward him. He inhaled sharply through his nose, knowing the game but refusing to admit defeat so quickly. She was careful not to use this every time he came over, since she had to keep things fresh and exciting after all. But he was already mounting in excitement, so he was thankful for the jockstrap keeping him under wraps.
Her hands stopped just above his sides, never ceasing their methodical cycle of flexing. They were only two inches from his skin, her long, rounded nails teasing the air above it. And then her hands started moving to center.
“No,” he said without thinking, leaning back, and hissing through his teeth as he touched cold metal. He shivered, more goosebumps springing over his skin, but his eyes never strayed from her hands as her fingers cycled over his taught stomach. He didn’t have a six pack, just a flat waist that accentuated his broad, hairy chest and shoulders. Which was unfortunately also very sensitive.
She moved her gaze to his waist, squinting as she pretending to scrutinize it. She let one hand drop, and closed the other into an almost-fist, leaving out one finger to circle around the outer edge of his belly button. It went slowly, methodically, skimming the edge of his navel in a teasing motion that always drove him mad.
“No, please,” he said again, breath hitching this time as the finger inched just a tiny bit closer with each circle. His lips betrayed him, twitching as he sucked in his stomach to delay the touchdown just a few more precious seconds. “Don’t!”
She looked up at him innocently, like she had actually heard his request. And then, locking eyes with him again, she let her fingers “claw” at the air as she raised them up, and to the side, clearly aiming for his smooth, shaved armpits.
“No, no, not that!” He snorted for the first time, this time letting his shoulders and arms lean against the freezing bars and starting another shiver. “Why do you have tease me?”
He knew why, of course, yet he still had to beg when in the moment. She had made a joke about it after a few sessions together, when he complained after a point where she had ravaged his armpits particularly thoroughly. When she joked that he was lucky because they had hair, and that otherwise it would have been worse, he started trimming them down and chipping away at it until the tufts of black hair were completely gone, now vulnerable and naked for her to control.
And oh how she controlled it. A simple rake through the air, and he was already giggling.
“Please,” he begged, and he was pressing himself against the bars, eyes darting between the clawing fingers as they hovered over his naked, shivering torso.
But she never paused, her deep red lips curling as her eyes sparkled, her fingers flexing faster and faster as they neared her targets. He broke into snorting, squeezing his eyes shut as he braced himself.
But she stopped, hands frozen over the bare, soft skin. Bright white and freshly shaved, they really were like little targets for her to pounce. But she didn’t, holding still, and waiting for him to finally open his eyes. He did, and he eyed her and her hands tensely as he held his breath. But she lowered her hands, and started to flex right at the waistband of his pants. The shiny old skin of his scar peeked out in a tiny little triangle, exacerbated by the black fur all over his belly.
“Shit,” he said without thinking, adjusting his hips as he moved to watch them warily.
It was a very specific technique of hers, where she held her hands still, and flexed only her fingertips. They pulsed purposefully, hands standing next to each other at the center of his waist where the thick of his happy trail started, then slowly moved outward.
“Oh no, god, please!”
They circled around his waist to his hips, then rotated around, like she was teasing his hipbones. His whole body clenched, a single laugh betraying him, until both hands started the slow climb upward.
“No, no, no!”
They continued their climb, the pulsing nails never more than an inch from his skin, and he started to break into laughs.
“You can’t- stop!”
They followed the curves of his ribs, reaching around his back to put them out of his sight, and make him arch forward unconsciously.
“You can’t do this to me!” He complained, already struggling to keep his giggles in check.
He could see the pulsing of her forearms, telling him that she was still flexing her fingers and could touch down any moment. But once he started to squirm, she finally pulled them back around, and continued their trek upward.
“Goddamn it, are you going to do this for the rest of the time?!” He finally snapped.
“I wasn’t going to,” she said cryptically, and her smirk broke into a full on grin, showing her straight teeth. “But I might now.”
He swore again, banging his head on the bar behind him.
She was a ruthless ler, he had learned that again and again. It wasn’t like she kept him in some constant stream of fake hysterics like a bad tickle porno. But she knew how to press all his buttons and get under his skin. Or tease the top of it, he supposed.
But he was getting his money’s worth, having that love-hate relationship with this fetish. So he took a breath, and brought his head back up to match her eyes again, steeling himself for the rest of the time.
While he hadn’t been looking, her thumbs had moved to pulse right over his nipples.
“FUCK!” He jumped, and she snorted and broke into snickers, and he pressed himself hard against the bars as he wiggled. “No, no, not that, definitely not that!”
“Are you suuuuuure?” She crooned, letting her left hand reach around to pretend to tickle under the edge of his pectoral. “You seem to be in a bad mood. I can help you feel better.”
He leaned away, snorting and cursing as his grin came right back, hating himself for playing right into her hands (no pun intended). The cuffs were loosely linked to the bars, allowing him to slid a little bit in his attempt to escape. So he slid a little to the left, jerking back with a snort when the top part of his ribcage hit her fingers from her other hand.
She hadn’t even moved, skin just barely touching the pads of her fingers. He was just so nervous from all the teasing that he couldn’t help but jump.
“What’s wrong?” She said, and her thumbs, her goddamn, aggravating thumbs started circling the tiny area just above his areolas. “You don’t seem to be doing well.”
His breath went out in a shaky stream of not quite chortles. His massive barrel chest quivered under her hands, that mix of dread and anticipation making everything in him wired up. And damn her, damn her for that switch, that little flick of her thumbs just above his perked, ready nipples. They moved back and forth just above the tips, and he dropped his weight as he finally spluttered into a chuckle.
“There now, that’s better.” She said, and her grin turned nearly maniacal. “Now we can really start.”
He howled, the whole room shaking with his laughter as she finally touched down on him. She hadn’t teased him the whole time, but he’d be damned if she didn’t try eventually. As it was, he just roared, alone and helpless in the dark shadows of her dungeon.
Did you enjoy this snippet? Buy the whole novel of their escapades- only $.99! Buy it here -------------------> https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/1339034
