All I could think about was my fantasy of Mr Hunter pushing me forward over his desk, snarling at me to pull my skirt up because he needed to discipline me, and then feeling his thick, hard shaft pushing uncaringly into me, forcing me to take him because I needed to be taught a lesson. Chapter 1 of Molly’s Cage is here.
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Molly’s Cage: Chapter 10
My days fell into a humiliating rhythm.
Every morning, Mr Hunter picked me up from my house and took me to his office to ‘inspect’ me. Every day, after my inspection, I would wear the chastity belt and the dildo inside me for the full working day.
In the evenings after my actual work finished, Mr Hunter would make me bring him a coffee and a biscuit or even run down the street still wearing the belt and the dildo to fetch him a takeaway dinner. Then he would sit working late with whatever drink and snack I had brought him, while I knelt at his feet.
I was used to him groping my breasts by now. I was ashamed to realise I even looked forward to the peace and quiet of the evening. It was the best part of my long, humiliating days. I would kneel uncomfortably on the floor with the dildo inside me, my eyes downcast and Mr Hunter’s hand absent-mindedly kneading my bare breasts while he worked. I liked the feeling of his hands on my skin and the feeling of arousal that it brought into my pussy.
Sometimes I wondered at how unfair Mr Hunter was. I brought him drinks and food that I never got to eat or drink. I would sit waiting, compliant and submissive, while he took a bathroom break, my body reminding me that I hadn’t been to the bathroom myself since before I left my house this morning.
I wondered if I had started to just accept that Mr Hunter’s needs were more important than mine. More disturbingly, I sometimes wondered if kneeling at his feet was my need.
Possibly even more humiliatingly, my body was growing used to the constant penetration. I had learned to walk and bend over and climb stairs in a way that didn’t hurt. I was even growing used to the constant images of cocks and fucking that filled my head all day. I was used to my body clenching continuously around the dildo, desperate for either more or less stimulation.
The worst of all was that at night, when I was finally home and allowed to remove the dildo, my cunt just felt lost and empty. I still told myself that I hated the dildo inside me all day, but privately I wasn’t sure what I would do if I had to spend all day empty as well.
My work had suffered of course. It’s hard to work accurately when your cunt is pulsing with need around a hard shaft and all you can think about is your boss pushing you down onto the ground to fuck you. But no-one noticed except Mr Hunter, and he didn’t seem to care as long as I was quiet and obedient. He was content as long as I wore what he told me to wear, submitted to my ‘inspections’ and knelt at his feet for him to grope my boobs when ordered to do so.
One night, after about three weeks, Mr Hunter handed me a package as he dropped me off for the evening.
‘Wear these tomorrow,’ he said. ‘I think you’re getting too comfortable, Molly. I want to push you out of your comfort zone. Show you what being a slut is really like.’
‘What is it?’ I asked, turning the package over in my hands dubiously. I knew that I shouldn’t ask. He probably wouldn’t tell me and even if he did, I wouldn’t like the answer.
Mr Hunter just chuckled, reaching out to stroke the side of my face, an errant thumb running across my lips. I flushed at the confident, intimate touch – as if he was a lover or my boyfriend.
‘You’ll see,’ he said. ‘If you’re going to behave like a slut, you should dress like one. So you can see what it feels like. We all make choices, Molly.’
I flushed deeper and didn’t say anything. I wanted to yell at him that I wasn’t making any choices, that he was making all the choices for me, but I wasn’t sure that was true any more. So, I just blushed deeply and grabbed the package, heading inside.
The following morning, I was even more embarrassed than usual when Mr Hunter picked me up at my house. I was wearing clothing akin to my usual knee-high skirt and white business shirt, except that the skirt was significantly shorter and the blouse was cut with a tight fit and scoop neck that exposed and emphasised the generous swell of my breasts.
The package had included a suspender belt and stockings, with a note in Mr Hunter’s handwriting to wear them. The skirt was so short that the suspenders were visible. I was scared that if I bent over, the chastity belt would also be visible.
I felt like a slut. I did not feel work appropriate and I was already dreading what my colleagues would say.
‘Good girl,’ said Mr Hunter, putting the car in gear and pulling away from the pavement. ‘You’re getting better at following instructions, at least. You’ve been quite compliant these last few days.’
‘Yes, Sir,’ I said woodenly, looking straight ahead and biting my lips. Embarrassed, I realised that a feeling of warm pleasure was sweeping through me at the thought that I had pleased him.
‘Tell me what the dildo feels like inside you this morning,’ Mr Hunter said, easily navigating the heavy morning traffic.
‘I…’ I stopped, flushing with embarrassment at the question. ‘I c-can’t,’ I said, my voice breaking.
My whole body felt on edge, so exposed and vulnerable. My thighs felt exposed in the short skirt. I felt like he was transforming me into a toy, a pretty decorated doll, my breasts too large inside the tight-cut blouse and my pussy far too close, too available, under the short hem of the skirt I was wearing.
‘Don’t be coy, Molly,’ said Mr Hunter chidingly. ‘Surely you can describe what it feels like to have a thick rod poking up into your fuckhole. Are you wet? Is your sweet little hole clenching around it? Is it making you think about being fucked? I know your body misses it when it’s not inside you.’
I blushed bright crimson.
‘No!’ I snapped. ‘I’m not. I don’t!’
‘Don’t lie to me, Molly,’ Mr Hunter chuckled. ‘I know how often you think about sex. I know you spend all day wanting a man — any man — to hammer his dick into you. You can’t stop thinking about it. That’s why I brought you those clothes to wear. So you’re reminded all day about precisely how slutty you are.’
He looked across at me, his eyes running up and down my body appraisingly, and my clothes suddenly felt even sluttier and the fabric too thin.
‘At least I’ll get the benefit of looking at you as well. Given how much work I have had to put into you, giving me a show is the least you can do.’
I blushed harder at his words, feeling his eyes resting on the hem of the miniskirt, my upper thighs feeling over-exposed and vulnerable.
‘I d-don’t want you to look at me,’ I muttered, staring straight ahead, tears of frustration in my eyes. ‘It’s not my job to give you a sh-show,’ my tongue stumbled over the words.
‘Don’t you want me to look at you?’ asked Mr Hunter coolly, chuckling a bit to himself. ‘I’m pretty certain you do. I think that if I stopped the car right now and told you to strip for me, you would do it.’
I wouldn’t, I thought fiercely, knowing I was lying to myself. I had gotten into the habit of doing everything he said, and I knew exactly what I would do. I would strip naked for him, hoping that he was finally going to fuck me. Hoping that if he saw my naked body, he would finally have pity on me and impale me on his cock, roughly, harshly. It was weeks now since I had had an orgasm and I wanted to be fucked so badly.
‘It doesn’t matter anyway,’ said Mr Hunter dismissively. ‘If you were a good girl, well behaved, and modest, we wouldn’t even be here. But I think we both know you’re not, don’t we? You’ve demonstrated pretty comprehensively over the last couple of weeks how slutty you are. Sluts don’t get to choose which men look at them, do they Molly?’
I wanted to yell at him that I wasn’t a slut and he was an asshole and full of shit but I didn’t. I just bit my lip, still looking furiously straight forward as the car drove into the work parking lot.
‘Do they, Molly?’ Mr Hunter, his voice stern, not allowing me not to answer.
‘No, Sir,’ I whispered.
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Pixie Isobella 