Chapter 01 – Red & Black

Literotic asexstories – Chapter 01 – Red & Black by Julieboundandcollared,Julieboundandcollared
This story is copyrighted by the author, who retains all rights over publication in any form. It may not be published on any site or used in any publication, without the author’s written approval.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

All comments and constructive suggestions are welcome.

Mornings have never been my thing; waking up before 10 am should be against the law, in my opinion. But politicians don’t listen to me, so why would the sun? At almost 7 am, the intense beams begin to peek into my large bay window. I used to have black-out curtains until Ben took them down as he was an early riser and liked to look out on my garden while the sun came up.

The bay window in my bedroom was something out of a romance novel; it protruded out, giving space for a small bench that allowed me to read while also having the full sun and garden surround me. I had several different types of bird feeders that always caused chaos as the squirrels tried to nab a bite of their food.

Just when I’m starting to fall back to sleep, hiding under the covers, thinking about what book I was going to read next when the alarm goes off. I reach through the blankets to shut it off when my backup alarm in the bathroom goes off. It would continue to get louder until I turned it off. I curse the sun for being up so early and try to devise a plan to put the curtains back up to at least give me a few extra peaceful minutes in the morning.

My third alarm goes off as I grudgingly accept that it is time to face the world. Sigh, this one, at least, was playing music instead of the most annoying sound in the world. I turn off the second alarm in the bathroom and wonder where my tool kit is, as a hammer would solve some of this for me.

Yawning, I turned on the shower and waited impatiently for the hot water to kick in. Those minutes felt like they dragged on forever as I stared at myself in the full-length mirror hanging on the wall.

Standing just over 5’8″, I have always been on the taller side; peaking at this height at 11, my parents wondered how much taller I would get, but I stopped growing, thankfully. Being so tall and young has always given me a complex as the boys were under 5 feet during this time, so I felt like a giant. Even now, nearing my twenty-ninth birthday, I still can’t shake this obsession with my height. I’m stuck on this trivial thing that shouldn’t matter at all. 5’8″ wasn’t too tall, right?

Trying to get over my height issue, I look at my reddish-brown, almost maroon hair that falls past my shoulders. At one time, it used to go past my tailbone, but I found that with my extra circulatory activities, it would often get in the way of chains, straps, and other fun things.

Continuing to look at myself, I see the eternity collar snugly encircling my next, resembling a tight choker. When Ben returned from his travels a year and a half ago, he secured it around my neck. A tiny screw clasped it shut so only he could remove it with a unique tool. It was now a permanent fixture that I hope is never taken off me.

Continuing to smile at the collar, I take note of my fair, pale skin, knowing that even a mere glance from the sun would turn me from pink to lobster in a heartbeat. Sunscreen becomes my best friend, my saving grace, as I quickly burn without a healthy amount of it. I was so happy when I found some Korean sunscreen that felt like lotion instead of the greasy stuff that is so popular in the States.

I move on to my physique, where my petite breasts catch my attention. Their small size has always been a source of self-consciousness, as I barely fill an A-cup, but the nipple rings make them look cute, so they have that going for them. Speaking of my physique, I have been blessed never to be heavy or thin; my DNA helps me stay at a healthy weight without much effort. I say a small prayer that never changes.

My gaze travels downward, and there it is–a custom-made chastity belt crafted from leather and steel. Its polished surface reflecting the light, with a sturdy lock ensuring its permanence. Adjusting to the daily wear of the chastity belt took time, but now it has become a routine. However, I have the privilege of temporary respite on weekends, granted under strict permission and supervision. The tight bands encircling my waist hold it securely in place, effectively preventing any form of self-pleasure. I try to think back to the days before wearing it when I could touch myself whenever I wanted and like it better like this, as it kept me in a state of near horniness as the act of denial turned out to be a turn-on for me.

The shower is finely lava hot, the only temperature a shower should be. I step in, allowing the near-burning water to cascade over me, enveloping me in pure bliss. I indulge in the simple pleasure of washing my hair, feeling the lather as it cleanses my strands. Today I decided to use my coconut conditioner, which makes me think of the beach. Wishing I could be under an umbrella on the hot sand instead of staring at a computer screen all day.

Knowing the beach was not in the cards today, I finished washing my hair, savoring my daydream of ocean waves. Grabbing my goat milk soap bar, my personal favorite, which leaves my skin feeling soft and smooth. I grab my fluffy loofa and create a rich lather to shroud myself in bubbles.

Sometimes, I catch a reflection in the corner of my eye and can’t help but give a small, hopeful smile to the camera mounted there. Ben had them installed throughout the house when he was stranded in Europe during the pandemic, a way for him to be close and see me at all times, even from afar.

Once my shower is complete, I dry myself off, wrapping the towel around me and folding a corner into itself so it doesn’t fall off. I brush my teeth and look at the clock to see how much time I have left until Ben calls. He calls every morning to check in on me and help me decide what to wear for the day. Once dry, I apply lotion as far under the high-waisted belt as my fingertips can reach; being chafed was always put a damper on any activity.

A minute before eight, a text message arrives.

“Good morning, my sweet girl. I won’t be able to call you today. Wear black and red.”

A smile spreads as I read his words, fully aware of his desires and the precise image he wishes to see. I waste no time gathering the necessary items to assemble the requested Red & Black entire.

I begin by adorning my hips with a garter belt crafted from soft, seductive black lace embellished with intricate red lacquered embroidery. It fits me flawlessly, hugging my curves in all the right places, perfectly complementing the matching lace panties that leave little to the imagination. Slipping on the black sheer stockings effortlessly elongates my lengthy legs, adding an extra touch of allure. Ben always had good taste when he purchased any clothing for me.

Thinking of what I should do next, my attention goes to my pierced nipples, a special gift from him on our second anniversary. I go to my jewelry box and select one of my favorite chains. I delicately attach the silver chain that has a red rose in the center of the chain. The rose dangles in the middle, drawing the eyes’ focus, making my nakedness even more prominent.

Moving on, I locate one of his crimson button-down shirts. The shirt descends close to the top of my stockings, teasingly revealing just enough skin. To transform it into a daringly short dress, I cinch it with a thick black belt at the waist, accentuating my figure. I leave the shirt unbuttoned enough so that my nipples are poking out. If I end up on any video calls at work today, I must remember to button the shirt up; otherwise, it could end up in an HR-type situation.

Slipping into sleek black 6-inch heels by Louboutin, their unmistakable red soles always make me feel sexy and boost my confidence. Once dressed, I run a comb through my hair, bending over and appreciating the curated outfit from behind, aware of the cameras capturing every angle. It’s a small act of exhibitionism, a subtle reminder that I do all of this for him. As I straighten up, I add a touch of product to my hair, scrunching it slightly to add some volume.

Keeping things simple, I opt for a tinted moisturizer and a light dusting of powder on my face. I always thought it was unfair that women had to “paint their face” to be presentable, and Ben had agreed with me and told me he prefers it when I don’t wear any makeup at all. Unfortuantually the rest of the world didn’t agree with him, so he decided I could still wear a tiny bit as it helped my professional persona at work.

My heels on the tile floor echo behind me as I head to the kitchen. I reach for plain yogurt in the fridge and a fresh banana on the counter, my go-to morning snack. I dip the banana into the yogurt, savoring each lick of creaminess as I run my tongue along the length of the fruit to capture every last bit. The kitchen camera captures my playful act, but there’s no text message from Ben, no indication of his appreciation. Feeling frustrated, I take a big bite of the banana, discarding the peel and disposing of the remaining yogurt container in the trash.

I had decided to move to this area halfway across the country for my current job, enticed by the attractive pay and benefits. With no close family ties and a few distant friends, starting anew in a place where I knew no one seemed appealing. It was an opportunity to break out of my introverted shell and make genuine connections, even though the prospect was exciting and terrifying. The company transitioned to remote work a year later when the pandemic hit.

Not making any friends before this time, I embraced the solitary lifestyle of working from home as it seamlessly fitted into my introverted nature. It’s as if my dream of a secluded existence has come true, even though I am never truly alone, knowing that Ben, my Sir, my Master, is always watching over me.

Shifting my focus, I go to the sunroom, instantly enveloped by its serene ambiance. The room offers a captivating view of the garden accompanying the house, stretching beyond the boundaries of the screened porch. I deliberately positioned my desk to face this breathtaking view, allowing me to witness the playful interactions of birds, squirrels, and the occasional bunny. Nestling into the custom chair specially crafted for me, I prepare myself for the day’s tasks, finding solace in the natural beauty beyond the glass.

My desk chair resembles a modified knee chair, where most of the weight is supported by the knees in front of you while sitting on the seat behind it. However, this chair possesses two distinct knee rests, allowing me to sit with my legs wide open, a required position in Ben’s presence.

The actual seat is designed akin to a saddle, providing comfort as my legs remain open, my pelvic area resting securely on the chair without slipping off. Its most intriguing feature is the remote-controlled vibration capability, a fun addition that sends subtle sensations throughout my lower body, despite the presence of the chastity belt. While the vibrations aren’t intense enough to induce orgasms, they leave me breathless. Ben enjoys activating it when he sees me in a meeting, knowing that I must maintain composure on camera. The vibrations are discreet, causing no visible movement or telltale signs of pleasure, but they present a challenge, forcing me to conceal the sensations from my face and voice.

Settling into the chair, I spread my legs wide, ensuring my heels touch behind me. I dive into the day’s tasks, sifting through emails, preparing for meetings, and tending to the usual office responsibilities. I loved my job, and when people asked what I did, I would tell them “Cat Wrangler,” as it was my responsibility to get all of the departments to stay on task for a project and communicate any changes along the way. Some days, I think wrangling actual kittens would be far more manageable.

I relocate my laptop to the treadmill desk during my lunch break, ready for the weekly lunch and learn session. While I listen to the speaker and take notes for my team, I can’t help but think that these hour-long sessions could have been condensed into a simple email. Like the one I typed up and sent to everyone who didn’t have time to listen to the speaker go on for an hour, not that I did, but c’est la vie.

Walking on the treadmill in 6-inch heels requires a steady balance and some concentration. The chain between my nipples bounces with each step; as I don’t have the video on, I remove the belt and shirt, leaving me mostly naked. I hope Ben was watching on one of the several cameras set up in the room, and I put a bit more bounce in my step.

Looking at my calendar, I saw I was free of meetings for the rest of the day, so I returned to my chair without putting the shirt back on, though keeping it close at hand in case someone decided to call without checking if I was free first. In this all-digital world, one of my pet peeves is people calling without sending a message first to see if the person is even free or has time to talk.

Sending the last email of the day, I get up and go to the bedroom to change for my one-hour mandatory exercise session. Have I mentioned I hated exercising more than waking up in the morning?

Ben did not care about my opinion on this topic; he still required the one hour, knowing I wouldn’t do it without him commanding me to. The rule was that if I fell even a minute short, it would require a punishment, typically a spanking with his belt. I always tried my hardest not to mess up as I was not a fan of spankings, no matter how pleasurable they could sometimes be.

For today’s exercise, I opt for the indoor cycling bike, another gift from Ben. I trade my garter belt and hose for snug-fitting biker shorts, leaving my breasts bare except for the chain gracefully adorning the space between them. I gather my hair into a tight bun and grab a towel for my neck to help keep the sweat from going everywhere.

Just as I am about to mount the bike, a text message arrives.

“You have been good these last few weeks. Wear the two-ball plug.”

A mischievous grin spreads across my face, and I practically race back to the bedroom, anticipation coursing me. Opening the third drawer, I retrieve the specially designed butt plug, meticulously crafted to connect with the chastity belt seamlessly. Eagerly, I lower my biker shorts to my knees, applying a generous amount of lube to the two-balled plug.

Gradually, I insert the plug into my waiting body, relishing in the sensation as it glides deeper. With a gentle push, I can feel it clicking securely into place against the belt, sending shivers through me. The added fullness and stimulation of the plug put me almost over the edge, as it’s been so long since he’s permitted me to play.

Maintaining my bent-over position, I continue moving my legs up and down, reveling in the friction and pleasurable sensations of the plug. I perfectly angled myself towards the bedroom camera, offering a captivating view for him to savor.

Returning to the bike, I lower myself onto the unforgiving seat, feeling the belt’s pressure and plug pressing deeper into me. As I start pedaling steadily, I can sense the familiar sensation of the plug moving within me, heightening my awareness and igniting a growing fire inside me.

Gradually, I increase my speed, pushing myself to go faster, the rhythmic motion of my legs propelling me forward. With each revolution of the pedals, the plug responds, swirling and twisting within me, sending waves of pleasure coursing through my body. The intensity builds the plug’s circular motion, teasing and tormenting my senses.

Embracing the growing exhilaration, I rise from the seat, standing on the pedals, eager to push myself further. I pedal with increased enthusiasm, my body glistening with a sheen of sweat, the drops trickling down my breasts, following the chain that adorns my chest and falling onto the bike below. I try to dry myself using the towel, but that requires me to slow down, so I toss the towel on the floor as I only want to go faster. The combination of physical exertion, and the delicious pressure of the plug, is causing an orgasm to build within me.

I know I can’t stop; I must keep pushing the orgasm away until I finish the hour. Just as passing the point of no return, the timer signals the completion of 60 minutes; the waiting orgasm overtakes me with a force that nearly knocks me off the bike. Waves of pleasure cascade over me, threatening to overwhelm my senses. I quickly resume my seated position, continuing to pedal for a few more minutes to prevent my legs from cramping, holding on to the handles tightly so I don’t fall off. When I stop peddling, a second orgasm washes over me, not as intense as the first but still immensely pleasurable.

Slowing getting off the bike as I’m still trying to catch my breath, I stand in front of the back window directly under the AC vent, allowing the cool air to soothe my heated body. I take a moment to notice the tall sunflowers I planted last year; tiny bees are going between them, dancing in the sunlight.

Glancing at my phone, I realize I missed a text message. My heart skips a beat as I unlock my phone, my eyes scanning the screen for the missed text. A mix of trepidation courses through my veins, knowing that his words hold the power to shape my day, my actions, and my very existence.

“I did not give you permission to cum. This will require a punishment.”

My eyes widen as I read the words before me, unleashing emotions within my core. The text is short, yet its implications are profound. I read the previous message, and Ben was right; he didn’t. Remembering that my life was an odd game of Ben says instead of Simon says.

With a mixture of resignation and lingering excitement, I remove the plug from my body, feeling its presence disappear with a soft sigh. I carefully wash it in the sink, ensuring its cleanliness and readying it for subsequent use. As I cleanse myself with a damp washcloth, I relish the refreshing sensation, already missing the fullness the stainless steel toy offered me.

Now stripped of the plug, I find myself adorned only with the chastity belt and the delicate weight of the nipple chain. I retreat to the screen porch, a sanctuary of privacy nestled within the protective enclosure of my V-shaped house. The tranquil suburban surroundings lend a sense of calmness, and I take solace in the knowledge that I can fully embrace my desires without the prying eyes of neighbors intruding upon my intimate moments.

Looking down at my chastity belt, a constant reminder of his control over my pleasure securely encases my most intimate parts. The nipple rings are a permanent reminder he can do whatever he wants to my body. Let’s also not forget the cameras that allow him 24/7 access to me, even when he’s on the other side of the planet. I missed him so much. Wishing he would come home soon.

Sighing, I noticed I was getting hungry, as I hadn’t eaten since this morning. I headed into the kitchen to see what my options were. My cooking skills may be lacking; I heat the leftovers without incident. I plate the food, arranging it neatly and presentably as if serving a gourmet meal instead of day-old chicken parma from my local Italian restaurant.

With the plate in front of me, I sit outside and read my book, occasionally glancing up to check the time. The minutes tick by slowly; I can’t help but wonder what form the punishment will take this time, hoping for a spanking and not at the same time.

As the evening darkness deepens, I become increasingly aware of my surrounding. The silence outside is palpable, broken only by my breathing and the occasional rustling of the trees.

The sweat from my earlier exercise had dried on my skin, and as I contemplated the need to shower before bed, the idea of a bath seemed more appealing.

I eased into the jacuzzi tub’s depths, feeling the water’s warmth enveloping my body. It was as if the hot liquid embraced me, washing away the remnants of the day’s stress. A contented sigh escaped my lips, and with each passing minute, I could feel the tension melting away. The flickering candlelight in the room cast dancing shadows on the walls.

With a gentle touch, I unfastened the nipple chain, the cool metal sliding from my tender flesh. A shiver coursed down my spine, a bittersweet sensation of loss and anticipation intertwining. I placed the chain on the tub’s edge, its presence a silent reminder of the connection between us, if only temporarily severed.

After drying myself off, I wrap a plush towel around my body and walk through the dimly lit hallway; I make my way to the bedroom, guided by the soft glow of moonlight filtering through the bay window. Sitting on the edge of the bed, I rub lotion over my arms and legs and finish rubbing my breasts, keeping my skin soft and hydrated.

Nestling beneath the covers, I position myself in the middle of the queen bed, the sheets cool against my skin. My phone, resting on the nightstand, emits a subtle vibration, letting me know I have a new text message. With a mix of trepidation and excitement, I unlock the screen.

“Friday, my house, 6 pm until Sunday evening. I will be busy all week and will be unable to call.

I have a surprise for you.”

I respond promptly, my fingers dancing across the screen, affirming my commitment to his expectations. Still staring at the screen, I wonder what surprise he has for me.

Placing the phone back on the nightstand, I close my eyes, allowing the darkness of the night to engulf me, and the veil of sleep descends upon me, carrying me deeper into the realm of dreams and desires. In the depths of my slumber, I can almost taste the intensity of the encounters to come, the intoxicating blend of pleasure and pain that awaits me. And so, I surrender to the night slightly, wishing the sun would let me sleep in.