I've tightly gagged you and tied you to a chair. I walk away with the cash stuffed bag in hand. You're distracted from the severity of the situation by my assets. I taunt you with my curves & tease you about the visible bulge in your pants.
Suddenly there's a noise. I freeze and my eyes dart towards the door. You begin to call for help, moaning through your gag. I hiss at you, do I need to shut you up?
I retrieve a plastic bag from my duffel and deftly pull it down over your head. You'll quickly learn not to make any loud noises, any unnecessarily deep inhalations. How long do you think you can last with that bag over your head before suffocating to death?
I turn to leave, pick up my things. I turn back and glance down. I smirk. Your cock is still hard.
Does the thought of suffocating to death for me really turn you on that much? I suppose with the way you've
been staring at me this whole time I shouldn't be surprised. You've probably memorized every inch of my body by now haven't you? Big
mistake. Now I have to make sure you won't make it out of here alive. I remove a roll of tape from the duffel and tape the bag shut securely around your neck.
Now you're certain to suffocate and die before they find you. I tease you a bit, talking about your sweat, your breath, the look in your eyes. I should probably get going.
I glance down at your still hard cock, grab it through your pants, turn and sit on it. I grind and moan. It would be fun to stay, torment you, speed up your demise, considering how much trouble you're
having controlling your breathing with me on your lap. Unfortunately I have to leave - getting caught in a room with a corpse is bad for business.
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Executrix,
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Mind Fuck,
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Femdom POV,
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I arrive. You're seated as instructed. I sit, glancing at the black bank bag.
I'm surprised you showed up. It's a dangerous fantasy you have. Most men are all talk.
You shouldn't take it so lightly. I certainly don't.
Don't you think I chose this location for a reason. In case something goes wrong? There's just the little matter of your tribute.
I arch my eyebrows, look at the bag, lift it & feel it's heft. I peer inside.
This is more than we discussed.
10,000 pounds. In small notes. How dramatic.
Shall we begin?
I walk over & handcuff your hands behind your back.
Funny how a little metal bracelet can make a strong man like you so helpless. Show me how much you can move. It's a heavy chair isn't it. You really should work on that core strength.
Shhhhh - the cuffs should be the least of your worries.
Breathplay - such a playful euphamism.
I remove the bag from my purse, slowly unfurling it.
Bet you haven't seen one of these before - Turkey Bag, an American invention. Strong enough to withstand a roasting oven for hours on end.
Now the safe way to do this, would be to poke a couple of holes in - right around nose level. But that wouldn't be any fun now would it?
I pull the bag over my head, just to demonstrate, this is 100% hole free. I breath in & out.
Now beg me.
Beg me to put this simple, innocent, plastic bag over your head.
Beg me to suffocate you for real. Until you're unconscious.
Beg me to suffocate you to death.
Convince me.
As you wish.
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Star knew she should have peed before she left the party! She's in an industrial area & no gas stations in sight. Looking around, she decides to pull over and just squat.
As she's hiking up her tight dress to pee, an undercover cop shows up out of nowhere! He confronts her & smells the wine on her breath. He pushes her up against the wall & cuffs her hands behind her back. Star weakly argues that she just really needs to pee, but he says she has to wait until they get to the station.
The station is only 20 minutes away, but Star is in for a very bumpy ride as traffic incident after traffic incident reroutes them. She shifts her legs desperately trying to hold it in as the police officer ignores her pleas to please stop somewhere so that she can pee.
The car begins to make weird noises. The cop checks under the hood & calls in for assistance. Unable to hold it any longer, Star struggles to open the door with her handcuffs on. The officer catches her trying to squat and throws her back up against the car where she lets loose a heavy stream of pee.
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She wants me to cure her. I tell her it's impossible, unethical. I can't change who she is, no one can. I offer to perform some techniques, help to ground her, make her more comfortable with herself. We try hypnosis, but it's obvious she doesn't believe in it. Luckily I have a couple of other, older, techniques on hand.
I show her the chloroform. She's concerned, isn't it dangerous? Not in the hand of a trained professional. I knock her out. Her eyes roll under her glasses and quickly shut. I play with her limp body, strip down to my bra and graze her curious hand along my breast. I caress her, begin to strip her. I press my flesh against hers and kiss her. She begins to wake. I pull back, reach for the cloth in case she isn't ready yet.
She wasn't expecting this. She doesn't yell, doesn't scream, but she is questioning. Visibly uncomfortable.
I put her back under. Time for stronger tools. I plug in the hitatchi, I explain to her unconscious body how this tool was invested to help repressed women. I push her limp legs apart and pick a speed. I tweak one of her nipples. Her hungry body responds quickly. An orgasm ripping her back awake. She arches and moans, sits up to kiss and thank me.
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Star can't believe her luck. One glass of wine after work and she blows over! Now she's stuck in a holding cell at the local precinct and has to pee really bad! The officer on duty won't let her out to pee until her paperwork processes and the creepy dude in the holding cell with her is obviously enjoying her predicament. Stuck in the cell with nothing to take her mind off her full bladder. Star paces. adjusts her tight skirt, crosses and uncrosses her legs. The minutes pass like hours until Star just can't hold it anymore. Horrified, she wets herself while the creepy dude looks on in amusement.
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