Captive (Social Experiments #1) (9 page)

I took it away and delighted in her tortured groan. Her hips raised desperately from the blanketed floor and chased the retreating pleasure tool.

“Tell me that you want it.”

Desire warred against Yvonne’s stubborn tenacity. She turned her head away from me and didn’t utter the words. Her muscles tensed down every inch of her rigid frame like a cord ready to snap. I tossed the finger vibe aside and my mouth took its place. Yvonne’s legs kicked and she came undone, grinding her pussy against my lips. I slipped my tongue between her folds, danced along delicate skin, and I ended it with a torturous suckle to her swollen clit. It drove Yvonne wild.

“Please…!” she cried out.

I had to take my mouth away from her snatch to talk. My face glistened; my lips and chin wet with her arousal. “Please what, Yvonne?”

“Don’t stop! Oh god, Jake, it feels… fuck, don’t stop.”

Elation rushed through my veins and set my heart racing. I wanted to take her then and there, to slam my cock home in her wet pussy and fuck her till she screamed. I resisted the primal urge and let my tongue speak for me.

But this wasn’t about me. This was a lesson to show Yvonne that I could be trusted as a provider. That I could give her sustenance, safety, and the pleasure she deserved as a woman. I wasn’t Greg, and I would never again leave her without an orgasm for her efforts.

She breathed my name and spasmed on the blankets. Her toes curled against the floor, and her hands clutched my hair. My index and middle fingers gave her body something to grasp and clench, as she shuddered in the throes of ecstasy.

Her clit loved the stimulation. A determined suckle proved sufficient to make her come again. She threw her head back and soundlessly screamed while her legs jerked and trembled. I might not have joined her, but I was in my own sort of heaven, marveling over her responsive body and how easily I’d brought her to climax. I wanted to do it again and again.

I
would
do it again and again. Every fucking day. Yvonne belonged to me, and while she didn’t know it yet, I also belonged to her.

After wiping my fingers dry on the inside of her thigh, I returned to my folding lounge chair. I couldn’t hide my erection if I wanted to, as it jutted up and tented my sweats.

“C’mon, there’s a slice with your name on it.”

Yvonne hesitated. Her gaze darted to the stack of blankets and I could practically see the gears turning in her head. She wanted to cover her body but something stopped her from asking.

“I brought you a Gatorade.” I pulled the lemon-lime drink from the brown bag by my feet. The lure worked, drawing her over before she voiced any questions about clothes.

Yvonne accepted her lunch and hungrily scarfed it all down. The entire time she stole glances at me, her gaze lingering on my crotch. I offered her a second pizza slice.

Leaning back, I dropped one hand to my waistband and pulled my dick from my pants. Freedom from the restraining fabric brought a small modicum of relief. Yvonne’s gaze darted toward me and away again. A flush rose to her cheeks, warmer than the pink tint of exertion lingering after her climax. Good. While she nibbled on her food I wrapped my fist around my cock and gave it a slow stroke.

Yvonne might have thought she was sly, but I saw more than the whites of her eyes. Her big green eyes widened slightly, and her spine stiffened. I had her complete attention.

No words came between us. The only sounds were my low groans and her feathery, panting breaths. She’d given up trying not to look and her eyes followed my pumping movements. Her tongue wet her parted lips. I never took my eyes off her.

Hot semen spilled over my hand. Once I finished, I cleaned up with a napkin from the pile on the small table.

“Done?” She’d left her crust half eaten so I snagged it up and finished it off - a habit between us since we were teens. She ate my olives when we ordered supreme pizzas, and I ate her crust. Yvonne held her silence but her gaze continued to shift back and forth between my pants and her lap.

“I’m not going to hurt you again, Yvonne. You’re just so fucking beautiful I couldn’t help myself.” I uttered a single half-truth to gauge her reaction. “But I think… deep down, part of you enjoyed it. I made you come and you’re lying to yourself if you say you didn’t love it.”

She squirmed and her cheeks flushed again. “I… Maybe…”

I had made her feel good and we both knew it. In time, she would be grateful to utter the words.  She certainly appeared to be grateful for the freedom from her kennel. She didn’t speak much, but she enjoyed a hot shower and the scant bit of privacy I allowed her. The life and vitality returned to her eyes for those moments as I showed her the luggage case of her own belongings.

“I thought you might want these back eventually. You’ve been good today, so I want you to pick something from this suitcase to wear.” My idea could result in increased resentment or appreciation. Suppressing my anxious nerves, I waited for Yvonne’s reaction to the offer.

“Whatever I want?”

“One thing,” I instructed her.

All the clothes had been carefully chosen; I provided access to panties, camisoles, silky nightgowns, and a few airy sundresses. She picked out a strapless, knee-length dress with a floral print. I zipped her up then settled her back into the kennel.

“How long do I have to stay here, Jake?”

“As long as it takes to save you.”

Of course, she questioned that, but I wouldn’t elaborate since it wasn’t time to discuss her freedom yet. After a promise to return soon, I dimmed the lights and made my way out. I didn’t need to turn around to know Yvonne watched me on my way to the exit. Her gaze practically burned the back of my neck.

A lot of people don’t know this, but when you leave the house, your animal isn’t always some ambivalent little hound snoozing comfortably on the dog bed. I’d go so far as to estimate about half of them pace the home howling and crying no more than thirty minutes after you’ve gone. Dogs suffer separation anxiety. You’re their leader, the alpha, and they love you too much to understand why you’re leaving them five days a week.

I wanted Yvonne to feel that same unbridled glee when I entered the basement. I had to train her body to realize I was her only salvation and way to survive. I’d bring her food, I’d allow her to shower, and I’d bait her with pieces of her life one tidbit at a time.

She’d come to loathe my departures and celebrate my returns.

***

As far as the police were concerned, Yvonne ran off after graduation to blow through the money gifted by her parents. It helped that she’d withdrawn nearly a thousand dollars of it on the same day of her disappearance and also spent half as much at some upscale boutique buying summer attire and a new bikini.

I covered my tracks well by taking a mid-sized parcel from Yvonne’s luggage and packing it with her new clothes. The tags were tossed in her bedroom’s small trash bin, just in case someone peeked around her room. I even made her bed and tidied the bathroom. As for Chester, I rewarded Yvonne with him on day four. She had allowed me to touch her again and snuggle her on the blankets. For that, I allowed her the comfort of her kitten and brought his litter box into the sublevel.

By the fifth day, she asked about the world outside and whether anyone noticed her absence. I’d expected her to ask sooner.

“The cops think you took off to enjoy some R&R now that the semester is over. Your parents agreed.”

I paraphrased, but the overall idea was there without sharing Marie’s disgusting words about her “cunt of a daughter”. No matter how childish Yvonne behaved, she didn’t deserve the way her mother treated her.

“I guess… I’m glad they’re not worried then. You really sent a message from my phone to yourself?”

“Yeah. Worked like a charm. As far as anyone knows, you’re probably strutting your stuff on a beach in Florida while wearing a piece of butt floss.”

Yvonne laughed quietly and rummaged through her luggage. I wanted to reward her cooperation and appeal to her vanity by allowing her to try on all of her new clothes and to keep a set of underwear. “I don’t have anything that tiny to wear in public and you know it.” She glanced down at her thighs and shook her head. While I thought she was perfect, Yvonne had always struggled with her weight. She’d spent the past ten years drifting between a size 2 and a 10. I preferred her on the higher end of the weight spectrum. Marie disagreed and maintained a perfect size 4 despite her matronly age. Her expectations for Yvonne were for her daughter to sport a perfect 2.

“Your thighs are perfect. I told you that when we went to Florida.” I rolled my eyes. Yvonne’s athletic childhood had given her an abundance of muscle, which she hadn’t lost entirely as an adult.

“You always say that.”

“Because it’s true. Here, try on the other one for me… I wanna see you wear it.” I settled back on the blankets while Yvonne played runway model. The sheer lace teddy hugged her body like a second skin, revealing her high and full breasts. Her perfect pair enticed me, easily hardening my cock into a semi-rigid state. I rubbed it through my boxers and watched her change.

The second lingerie choice didn’t seem feasible for casual undergarments. A bright pink bow connected each strap to her black demi bra cups and the embellishment would show through when she wore a low cut blouse. It was the kind of pretty thing that only belonged in the bedroom for a lover’s eyes.

“Come here.” I beckoned her with one hand and removed my cock with the other. Yvonne’s stride paused, her eyes dropped to my crotch, and then she reluctantly resumed her walk.

“What do you want me to do… Sir?”

Sir. Not once had I ever asked her to call me by a title or special name. I liked the unexpected change.

“Just touch it. You did once before,” I coaxed her. “I liked the way you touched me.”

Her fingers shyly wrapped around my cock and delivered a testing pump. Tentative at first, she gradually gained the confidence to stroke me again. Her touch was divine, the perfect thing to soothe away the stress of my day at work. I rolled my hips upwards into her fist and groaned my pleasure.

“That’s good, Yvonne. Like that, baby.” She had agreed more easily than expected, but I didn’t question her decision.

“I never knew you were so...”

“So what?”

“That your…. dick was so big,” she whispered, as if admitting the words were somehow taboo.

Gloria may have said it once or twice, but I’d never taken her seriously. Before her, I might have had a half dozen or so lovers in college before dicking random girls began to bore me.

I liked hearing the words more from Yvonne.

“When you touched me like this that night, I wanted to drag you down and bury myself inside you.”

“I wanted you to,” Yvonne whispered in a tiny voice. Before I could ask her anything more, she ducked her head down and took my cock between her lips. That single action obliterated my thoughts. I couldn’t form another coherent sentence and succumbed to the skill of her mouth.

Skill was an understatement. As she dragged backwards and left a slick sheen on my dick, I shuddered and anxiously awaited her return. The playful light had returned to her eyes, the glow that I missed seeing so much. She consumed me again in a single stroke and drew me in to completion, deep throating me so skillfully I writhed against the blankets and gasped in surprise.

She kneaded my balls and gently squeezed the weight in her hands. I should have been afraid, or at least a little distrusting, but deep down I knew she only wanted to serve me.

Admittedly, it was the most reckless and narcissistic thought I ever deduced when it came to a woman.

Her tongue teased my sensitive cockhead and prodded the hole, lapping away a clear droplet beading from the tip. I watched her come alive again with enthusiasm and became helplessly captive in her competent hands.

“Yvonne-”

Her mouth wasn’t enough, but it was too early to claim her again. I wanted her to be the one to ask and beg me to fuck her. I needed to see devotion in her eyes before I took that move.

Yvonne made cocksucking seem like an art. She slid her mouth to the tip and engulfed me anew with zeal. Something in her had changed, and I lacked the concentration or willpower to investigate it. I became her willing captive, a slave to her talents each time my dick disappeared between her lips and down her throat.

My fingers tightened in her hair, my abs tensed, and I exploded in her mouth. She licked up one creamy burst of my semen and then another, drawing back to allow me to watch the erotic display. It was the hottest thing I ever witnessed in all of my life. She made it a spectacle, sort of a show for me to enjoy. She tasted my come and swallowed it down without even a grimace. Gloria never did that.

“Yvie… holy shit,” I gasped out loud. I had wanted to bring her to a toe-curling orgasm, but she’d done it to me instead. I lay on the blankets for a while, waiting for the last shudders to leave my body while the perfect girl, my goddess, crawled between my thighs and lay against my body stomach to stomach, her warm, lace-cupped breasts against my chest. She’d done it on her own without coercion and it… was bliss.

“Do I get another cider?”

“Baby, you can have all the cider you want.”