This Guest Post by Mr Bram Stroker continues from Part 1 here.
The Choice Part 2 :- Devyn.
He’d known her for a few months, Christ it was nearly a year, having met, by serendipity, in a shopping mall. They had collided in their haste amidst the Christmas shoppers, and his bag and fallen to the floor.
Without hesitation she had stopped to retrieve it. She handed it to him with a murmur of an apology and suffixed it with ‘Sir’. She has caught herself saying it and he noticed her face redden with a tinge of embarrassment.
He tested her. ‘Thank you’ pausing momentarily …’little one’. She looked up from the ground beneath her and smiled. They both knew. And so it had commenced.
She was good looking. She wore her hair dyed black in a fierce neck length French bob. It reminded him of a Tarantino character. She dressed, usually in blacks or shades of dark tones. Her skin was pale, very pale. She had numerous piercings in both ears and as he’d later discovered, both nipples pierced with a short ball ended bar. She had a tattoo across her back, from shoulder to shoulder. Black raven wings spread as in flight. And at her hip, just beneath the waistband of her underwear she had a small tattoo of a Succubus.
‘Devyn, what an unusual name’ he’d once commented.
And she’d told him that she was the only child of Hippy parents, she wasn’t even sure if it was a real name. And as she’d matured through puberty, she’d rallied against the ‘Peace out ‘ mentally of the generation before. She’d become what had been known as rock, goth, Emo.
But in him she’d found a like. An Alpha. And she adored him.
In her. He had found tranquility. A place to be free.
And so he went to her. He arrived at her maisonette, pressing the intercom to alert her of his arrival.
She spoke and he responded ‘did you do as I asked?’
Her response was immediate ‘Yes. Sir. Come up. ‘
He made his way up the stairwell clattering over the 1930’s concrete steps, two, three at a time. Standing at the end of the external landing he could see her front door was ajar. He neared, as he did, he caught the unmistakable sweet musk of hemp wafting from within.
He entered and softly closed the door. The Yale latch clicked shut. She was playing music. Metal. But quietly. Yet he still had the soundtrack to the previous evening reverberating around his mind.
‘put your little hand in mine’ …
Here it was incongruous. This was her lair. Devyn’s den. It was dark.
He entered the sitting room. She stood before him. Her hair perfect. She had worn scarlet lipstick. She was Wearing a black AC/DC T shirt at his request. No skirt. No dress. No trousers. Only a small pair of black briefs. Around her neck she wore a leather choker with a silver ring displayed prominently at the front. He could see her jugular throbbing.
‘Kneel’ he said & immediately she did, palms rested on her thighs.
He walked to her iPhone and fingered through her Spotify playlists. ‘No, No, No,’ he spoke to himself before selecting. A heavy bass kicked in before the Southerned syrup tones of Alannah Myles started. He looked at her and the room, perfect he thought. ‘Black Velvet.‘
He stared at Devyn and as though commanding a device, said ‘Devyn…play.’
He took a seat opposite her as she sparked to life. First she began to stretch her knees wider across the deep pile. She held his gaze.
‘…that’ll bring you to your knees’
She removed her t-shirt slowly unwrapping herself. Her breasts were full and the bars were almost pulsing, he noticed. She leant backward. Her head against the carpet as she reached between her thighs. Her knickers were soaked and clung tightly against her. He could see every contour.
She scratched her fingers along her midriff to her breasts, where she twisted the bars, Bringing herself upright. She could see he was swollen beneath his jeans. She was pleasing Sir. And it drove her on. She almost purred as she turned her back to him. The restraint. She lowered her face to the floor raising her hips and backside.
Here he noticed that the fabric of her underwear had gathered and pulled tightly revealing the dark jewelled tip of the plug inside her.
‘Black velvet ..if you please‘
She reached under herself tapping the tip of it before drawing her fingers over her wet mound. She peered at him over her shoulder. His hand rested upon his crotch and he was gently rubbing himself. She rotated her hips as she saw him unzip. He was fully exposed and erect within moments and this spurred her on. She could see he was focussed on her in a hypnotic trance as he quickened his stroke. The smoke from the burning blunt swirled through the space between them She touched her clit. It shook electricity through her as she bit her lip.
He could see how she wanted him. How she ached to please. She was his. She existed to fulfill him. He gripped tighter and felt his toes tense in his shoes.
Devyn was edging. She could feel her nipples rubbing against her carpet and it sent a rush to her drenched self. She quickened, mirroring his stroke. She could feel it.
‘May I …Sir?’ she managed through gritted desperate teeth. ‘May I?’
He positioned himself directly behind her. Standing above the perfection of her body. He was so close. So achingly close.
‘Sir…’ she continued.
He spoke and exhaled as his arm pounded. ‘YES …NOW’
She didn’t wait, and cried out in relief and ecstasy as the orgasm seeped from her, as she felt him shoot over her back.
He watched himself orgasming and painting her canvas, darting between her backside.
She turned. And faced him. She could see how happy she’d made him. She again knelt and placed her hands back onto her thighs. She was in deference to him and it made her cum again as she sat motionless.
He sat back into the seat as the songs replayed. The words of both merging into a hedonistic medley.
‘Thank you Devyn’ he ventured eventually. ‘You’ve pleased me very much.’
She raised her head and looked at him. Her face emblazoned with the afterglow.
‘Thank You Sir.’
She stood with his permission and dressed back into her t-shirt; ‘Hells Bells’ he noticed the slogan.
‘So Sir …’ she bravely enquired. ‘Did you decide?’