Tom was the heartthrob of every girl in the college, regardless of race, culture, age or religion. He has slept with the blacks, the asians, the mexicans and the whites. Everyone knew of him as a playboy. And he sure was!
He flirted with just about everyone and anyone. And had quite a reputation amongst the girls. All except for Jessica who was his next door neighbour. She didn't pay any heed to him. No matter, the countless times he tried to persuade her.
For him she was a challenge worth fighting for and he wanted to change himself if needed just to be with her. You see, every other girl he dated took notice of him right away, they didn't resist. But Jessica was different. And it made him more interested in her.
Tom had never been denied. And it was something extraordinary for him. Jessica didn't flirt, she just went on her own way.
Tom wondered what secret does she holds, why is so different, so difficult. And in a daring move he knocked her door, holding a flower bouquet, only to be mocked at after she shut the door on him.
He begged outside her house, asking her to give him a chance but she didn't. She just watched him from the window.
This continued for days, as Tom kept pursuing her over and over again. Frustrated she called him one night to her house.
He entered through the door with great confidence, only to be slapped by her.
He was shocked and disappointed. "Why would you do that?, he asked.
Cause I wanted to, she replied.
"Now, be a good dog and bark", She whispered in his ears.
He blinked. "Wait, what—?"
"I'm not asking, Tom. You've been begging to me to give you a chance, and now you have it, it's your choice.", She replied back.
He hesitated, his mouth ran dry. This wasn't the game he thought he was playing.
And yet, he'd never been more turned on.
"Bark," she repeated.
This time, he obeyed, seeing that seductive look on her face.
She collared him that night with a soft leather, a silver O-ring resting against his throat, making him kneel at her feet while she sat back on her rocking chair enjoying the scene.
"Hands behind your back," she ordered then proceeded to play with her body
She touched herself slowly, deliberately. Her fingers slid between her folds, glistening in the low light. Her eyes never left his.
"You don't get to taste yet," she said. "You haven't earned that privilege."
Tom forgot to breathe, almost choking on his collar. But she didn't care. His erection was hard to ignore.
"Are you enjoying this scene", she said, teasing her clit with a flick of her finger.
His hands remained locked behind his back unable to move. More importantly he didn't what to do, he felt vulnerable.
Good boy, she replied back at him.
She made him crawl to her bedroom, leash clipped to his collar. Hands and feet tied hardly to each side of the bed. Little by little she undressed herself showuoff her black lingerie. He couldn't touch, couldn't feel just yet. And then she unbuckled his pants and rode him—slow at first, then harder, until he was shaking under her, desperate to cum.
"Not yet," she growled, hitting his chest with a wooden stick. "You'll wait, you have to."
He begged. Pleaded again and again.
"Now," she whispered.
And when he exploded, it was with a broken cry, her name tangled in his moans.
The days that followed blurred into a dream of obedience and indulgence. Making him beg for every touch, every glimpse and every sigh.
He wanted to leave her but he loved the pain she brought, the way she hit him only made him fly harder.
He loved the taste of her as she sat on his face for hours, using his tongue to chase wave after wave of climax. He loved how she tied him, teased him, bit him, branded him with her nails. With blood trails all over his body, from neck to back.
He wore her marks like medals.
One night, she blindfolded him and whispered, "You're going to thank me after every spank."
"Thank you, Mistress," he breathed after each strike, trembling from the heat and pain and pleasure. He never felt this level of pleasure, this control.
He was used, teased, denied, praised, punished over and over again. His mind dissolved under their touch. His body surrendered entirely. And afterward, when he collapsed into Jessica's arms, she kissed his temple and whispered, "My perfect little toy."
He cried not in a sad way but as if he was happy, happy to be her slave. She held him up, pulling his hair.
"You are a good dog," she said.
Months passed.
Tom didn't flirt with anyone anymore. Didn't need to. He belonged to someone who saw him, controlled him, pleasured him like no one else ever could. She didn't just ruin him for other women. She molded him into something else.
His wild sexual urges turned into pleasing and obedient ones. Begging her for her mercy, her love, her kisses. So much to wear her branded collar on public gatherings even at schools, a proof that she's his master.