Chapter 9
Starring: Taylor Swift
LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA. 6 JANUARY. 15.30 PST
Joel had been knelt on the cold stone floor in a dark, dank basement for some time. Quite how long it had been he wasn’t sure. There was no clock on the walls and his wristwatch had been removed. Not that the handsome, 40 something pilot would have been able to see it anyway, as his hands were bound together behind his back with a pair of leather cuffs. All he could hear was the gradual drip of his saliva onto the frigid ground. He had a ball gag in his mouth meaning droplets of spittle had been dripping slowly from his chin since he’d been put in this position. His ankles were fastened together with shackles; the metal cuffs so large and imposing they wouldn’t have looked out of place on a chain gang. A collar had been fastened around his neck, a long leather leash trailing down to the floor and he was entirely naked, save for a small leather thong that cupped his package and rode up his ass crack like a woman’s g-string.
He’d been taking scans of his surroundings since minute one. All kinds of BDSM accessories, from paddles to ticklers, whips to riding crops, hung from the walls, while a number of exotic looking apparatus lined the basement floor. There was a set of stocks. A tall wooden board with a single metal cuff fused to each corner. A bench with all manner of leather belts and buckles laid across the surface. There was a red neon sign on the wall reading, “The safe word is ‘pineapple’. Use it and you’re out the door”.
Finally, after he’d been knelt on the hard stone floor for what must have been nearly an hour, Joel heard the dull thud of footsteps approaching slowly from a distance. The footsteps stopped as they reached the entrance, replaced by the sliding and unlocking of a series of latches and bolts, so complex it sounded like The Hole at Alcatraz. The door opened with a loud, horror movie creak, and in stepped Taylor Swift. She was dressed head to toe in fetish gear; an outfit so simultaneously alluring and imposing it would see even the most dominant of alpha males dropping to their knees and worshipping the ground she walked on at the drop of a hat.
She wore a crotchless latex jumpsuit that clung to her like a second skin; the shiny black garment showcasing every curve of her athletic body and baring the crack of her peachy, round ass and her freshly shaven pussy for all to see. A matching set of glossy elbow length gloves stretched up her arms and a pair of expensive black stilettos adorned her dainty feet. A black choker bearing the word ‘BITCH’ in silver block capitals ringed her neck to round off the outfit.
To say the getup gave Miss Swift a domineering presence would be putting it lightly and the gorgeous blonde singer had styled her hair and done her makeup in accordance with her intimidating air. Her golden hair had been carefully slicked back; the shiny blonde locks styled and re-styled with more hair product than the state of New Jersey. She wore black eyeshadow, thick dark mascara and stark red lipstick; Taylor’s fair hair, expensive beauty products and strong, frightening demeanour giving her the air of a Gestapo interrogator as she crossed the basement floor.
How Joel had ended up in such a compromising position went like this; Miss Swift had fired Joel and his trusted co-pilot Ryan, when they declined the offer to pilot the popstar’s private jet during her ‘tour’ of Europe earlier in the year. They were fully booked throughout that entire month and had been for some time, but as far as Taylor was concerned, these details were simply immaterial. She just could not fathom how the two flyboys could possibly have a more important client than her. Due to their unreliability and insubordination, Taylor had been forced to sip champagne in the first class lounge of a commercial flight like a common peasant. She sacked both men on the spot.
However, with a party to arrange on her brand new Bahamian island, Taylor was going to be racking up a good deal of air miles over the coming months and, as such, would be in need of a pair of pilots she could trust. In this context, the popstar defined ‘trust’ as being prepared to bend to her will with minimal resistance. She needed a team that would fly her to Timbuktu and back at the click of her fingers. She conducted interviews with a number of other pilots, but none of them were of the required standard (many were, in fact, far more skilled and experienced than Joel and Ryan, but lacked the ‘physical’ attributes of her previous employees). With what seemed to be every pilot in the state of California interviewed and rejected, and with meetings on the island with the heads of a number of construction firms scheduled for the following week, Taylor was left with little choice.
Joel received a text message from Taylor asking him if he wished to visit her home to discuss a return to her employ. Understandably, Joel had been angered by his sudden and incredibly unjust dismissal and vowed never to work for her again, no matter how much she begged and what financial incentives she offered. But with a simple message from the fair-haired singer and a reminder if the certain other ‘bonuses’ she’d bestowed upon him during his time in her jet, that quickly went out the window. The pair arranged a meeting and Joel went along, the handsome pilot’s mind whirring with all the possible inducements she may used to coax back into her cockpit. However, when Miss Swift had answered the door in her fetish get up, tapping the tongue of a riding crop menacingly in her gloved hand, it was clear to Joel that he may have gotten a little more than he bargained for.
*
Taylor stood before Joel, hands on her shapely, latex-clad hips as she regarded his kneeling frame. She leant over and removed his ball gag. Joel stared forward, the singer’s air so fearsome and domineering that he could scarecly make eye contact with her. She placed a finger under his chin and angled him up to meet her gaze.
“You know why you’re here, right?” she asked.
“Yes,” Joel replied timidly.
“Yes, what?”
“Yes, Taylor.”
“Taylor?!” she spat. “It’s Mistress or Miss Swift to you, got that? Call me Taylor again and my riding crop will get acquainted with those nice steel buns of yours. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, Miss Swift.”
Good. So, tell me, why are you here?”
“I’m here so you can offer me my old job back.”
Taylor threw her head back and laughed. “Offer? Ha! Baby, I ain’t offering shit. You want that job back, you’re gonna have to beg for it.”
“B-beg?” Joel stammered.
“That’s what I said, wasn’t it? Beg. And do it well, ‘cause if you leave here without securing the position you’ll have wasted my time. And I don’t like my time being wasted.” She smacked her riding crop against her hand. The message was clear: play ball or the next one is for you. “So, come on...beg.”
Joel gulped nervously. His lower lip trembled slightly, his mouth drier than noon in the Sahara. “P-please, Miss Swift. Please can I be your pilot again?”
Taylor smirked. “Hmm, not bad. I think you can do better though. Beg for your job, you little worm. Plead for that shit.”
“Please, Miss Swift. I-I beg you. Please let me be your pilot again. I’ll do anything you want.”
“Hmm. Anything, huh? I like the sound of that.” She struck her gloved hand once more. “Be more specific. If I grant you the honour of being my pilot, what exactly are you gonna do for me?”
“I’ll...I’ll eat your pussy out. I’ll make you cum real good. Every time we fly.”
Taylor let out a loud, trilling laugh. “Just eat it? What are you, a freakin’ dyke? You got a pussy under that little thong, have you?” She tapped her riding crop against the crotch of his fetish undergarments, the large, protruding bulge, however, a clear indicator that what he had inside was all man.
“I mean, it’s cool if you do,” Taylor went on. “I like pussy too, as you’re well aware.”
He certainly was. One didn’t work for several years as the pilot of the popstar’s private jet without learning a thing or two about her sexual preferences.
“But I was under the impression you had a dick tucked away in there,” Taylor added, tapping her crop against his crotch a second time. “Do you have a dick?”
“Y-yes, Miss Swift,” Joel replied, looking down at the stone floor with equal parts dejection and humiliation.
“Mmm, yes, I remember,” Taylor purred. “It’s a big one, isn’t it?”
“Yes, Miss Swift.”
“How big is it?”
“About ten inches, M-Miss Swift.”
“Mmm, nice! That is big. Shame it’s wasted on a little pussy ass bitch, who wants to lick my box like a freakin’ sorority girl at a party! Can you even eat pussy? I mean, I can make a girl cum like that.” She clicked her gloved fingers. “I bet you couldn’t get me off if your life depended on it. Could you, you little bitch?”
“I-I could, Miss Swift.”
Taylor turned around and thrust her bare ass out in his direction. “Prove it then, bitch. Get me off with that tongue of yours. Put your money where your mouth is.”
She reached back and placed a hand at the back of his head, pushing his face into the crack of her ass. Joel shot out his tongue and licked at her wet pussy; the handsome pilot lapping at her clit like he hadn’t eaten in days.
“Yeah, that’s it, baby,” said Taylor, gripping a handful of his hair and holding his face in her crack so firmly that he couldn’t have escaped if he’d wanted to. “Eat that fucking pussy! Show me how much you want the job.”
Joel scoffed at her hot pink snatch like a man possessed, Taylor’s sugary sweet pussy juices smearing across his face as he tongued at her pulsing clit.
“Ohh, fuck!” Taylor purred, her pretty face lit up like a Christmas tree as Joel lapped at her sodden box.
It pained her to admit it, but he was doing a stand up job. Such a good job, in fact, that her grip loosened on his hair slightly as jolts of pleasure shot through her system. Joel, who had been scarcely been able to breathe since minute one of his oral secapade, took this rare lapse in her domineering demeanor to come up for a lungful of air.
“Hey! What are you doing!?” Taylor shrieked, spinning back around to face him. “Did I say you could stop? I’m gonna have to punish you for that, aren’t I? Turn around, bend over. Face on the ground, ass in the air. Quickly.”
Joel did as instructed. He span around as quickly as his restricted legs would allow and bent over, thrusting his muscular, thong-clad ass up into the air.
Taylor placed the tongue of her riding crop against one of his ass cheeks. “Apologise.”
“I’m sorry, Miss Swift.”
Taylor drew the crop back and struck Joel on the ass; the cane meeting his rear with a loud *THWACK*, leaving behind a thin red mark across his flesh.
“Ahh!” Joel hissed, his buns stinging from the force of the strike.
He thought of yelling the safe word but decided against it. When he was balls deep in Taylor’s ass on the shores of her Caribbean island, making her scream out his name as he pounded her to within an inch of her life, all this pain and humiliation will have paid off.
Taylor hit him again, even harder than the first time. “I said ‘apologise’.”
“I’m sorry! I’m sorry, Miss Swift!”
“Will you stop again without my say so?”
“No, Miss Swift! Never again! I promise!”
“Good,” Taylor grinned. “Get back up.” She tapped him on his sore ass with the tongue of her crop. “Up! Up!”
Joel sat and turned back around as fast as he could.
“You’re not afraid of eating a little ass, are you?” Taylor asked.
“No, Miss Swift.”
Taylor returned to her previous position and whipped her crop out behind her, wrapping the shaft around the back of Joel’s neck and pulling his face back into her rear. “Then hop to it,” she said, pulling tightly on the ends of her cane as she held him between her cheeks.
Joel delved his tongue into her asshole and bobbed his head as much as his restricted stance would allow; the slick red flesh probing a little deeper into her rectum with each pass. Before long, his tongue was tunneling so far into her anal cavity it was like he was mining for gold; the muscled pilot rooting around in the singer’s rump like he was searching for his keys.
“Yeah, that’s it!” Taylor groaned. “Eat that fucking ass! What else you gonna do to my ass if I let you fly me again, huh?”
She released him from between her cheeks so he could answer.
“I’ll fuck it,” he wheezed, the middle-aged hunk sucking in deep breaths as he responded. “I’ll pound your tight little ass into next July! You won’t be able to walk by the time I’m finished with you!”
Joel closed his eyes, bracing himself for another strike of Taylor’s riding crop or maybe a slap across the face for speaking to her in such a manner. But instead, all he got in return was a pleasured groan. It had, in fact, been exactly what she’d wanted to hear.
“Ooh! Tell me more!” she cooed in delight. “What about your friend? Is he gonna fuck me too?”
Joel opened his mouth to respond, but Taylor stopped him, placing the tongue of her cane across his lips.
“Hold on,” she said. “Why don’t we ask him?”
Taylor strutted across the basement floor, her heels clicking and echoing from wall to wall as she went. At the far end of the room was a large sliding wooden door. Taylor slid it back to reveal Joel’s co-pilot Ryan thrust up to a wooden frame; his wrists and ankles bound to the bondage apparatus like Christ on the cross. He wore a leather thong matching that of his work colleague, a dog collar around his neck and ball gag in his mouth as he stood thrust up like a butchered pig.
“What about you, huh?” asked Taylor, tapping Ryan on the cheek with her riding crop. “Are you gonna fuck me like your friend here?”
She removed his ball gag so he could answer.
“Yes, Miss Swift,” he wheezed.
Taylor smirked and patted the tongue of her crop against the crotch of his thong. “Let’s see what we’re working with here, shall we?”
Taylor slid her gloved fingers under the waistband of his thong and whipped it down, his half hard cock raising slightly like a half-levered drawbridge.
“Hmm, looks like you like Mistress Swift dominating you.” She ran the tongue of her cane along his shaft making his long, thick cock stiffen further. “Don’t you, big boy?”
“Yes, Mistress,” he replied.
Taylor smirked. “Let’s see what else you enjoy.”
She set her riding crop down on an antique cabinet and crossed the room. A collection of bondage accessories, every bit as extensive as that of the previous chamber, hung on the far wall.
“Hmm, which one do I choose?” Taylor pondered; the blonde haired beauty wandering slowly along the length of the wall, considering each of the exotic objects in turn. “You,” she finally decided, stopping before a leather flogger and removing it from its hook.
She stepped up behind Ryan and ran the flogger’s tassels along his thigh and up to his ass. Then, she drew it back and whipped it forward, the tassels striking the co-pilot’s firm rear like a cat o’ nine tails. Ryan hissed at the force of the hit; the blow leaving a series of thin rosy marks across his cheeks. Taylor peered around to his crotch, noticing that his dick had grown and hardened in response to the strike; the nine inch wang now jutting from his groin like a long flesh girder.
“Ooh, yeah! You definitely like that!”
She hit a few more times for good measure; on his thighs, his back and his ass again, almost the entire rear side of his body red raw by the time she was done.
“So you’re gonna fuck me good then, huh?” she asked, running the tails of her flogger across his muscled chest.
“Yes, Miss Swift.”
“Well you’ve certainly got the right tool for the job,” said Taylor, draping her floggers tassels over the top of his wang. “You know how to use that thing, baby?”
“Yes, Miss Swift.”
Taylor dropped to her knees, setting her flogger on the ground beside her as she gave his cock a closer inspection.
“Well, the plumbing certainly works,” she said, spotting the pearl of precum pooling in his open tip.
She shot out her tongue and lapped it up, Ryan’s dick flopping up and down before her in response. It looked like someone was operating it via remote control. Taylor laughed.
“Sensitive little fella, isn’t he?” she grinned. “You’re not one of those little bitches who cums after five seconds are you?”
“N-no, Miss Swift.”
“I hope not, ‘cause I’ve got no time for a two pump chump, believe me.”
He did believe her. Given that she’d just spent the better part of ten minutes hitting him with a flogger for no apparent reason, Ryan daren’t even think about what the punishment for cumming early might be.
“OK, honey, here’s what’s going to happen,” Taylor went on. “I’m going to suck this big, fat dick of yours and if you even think about shooting your wad before I’m finished you’ll be back at American Airlines, ferrying pensioners to Florida and back until you retire. You got that?”
“Yes, Miss Swift.”
“Good.”
She parted her lips and wrapped them around his cock, sinking the pouty red prickpleasers right down to the hilt on the first pass.
“Ahh, fuck!” Ryan exclaimed, the chiseled stud unprepared for his popstar counterpart to devour his wang so greedily.
Taylor released his dick from her mouth; the girthy member dripping with spittle as she held it in her hands.
“God damn, you’re a little pussy, aren’t you?” she said. “You almost came on the first pass! What are you, 15 years old?”
Ryan hung his head in shame.
“Shame, ‘cause this is a big fucking dick!” Taylor continued. “Tell me what you’re gonna do to me with his long, thick cock. Provided that you can keep from blowing your load for five seconds of course.”
Taylor returned his dick to her mouth; swallowing it right down to the balls once more. Ryan did his best to mask his pleasure as she choked him down to the base, but couldn’t stop a muffled “MMPF!” from escaping his throat.
“I-I’ll fuck you real good and hard,” he said, his voice quivering slightly as Taylor worked his pole.
Taylor replied to each of Ryan’s declarations in turn, retrieving his dick from her maw just long enough to shoot back a response, before returning it back where it came from. “Oh, yeah? And what hole you gonna fuck me in, big boy?”
“Your-your ass. I’ll fuck you hard in your supple, round ass!”
“Ooh, bad news for you, I’m afraid. Your friend has already claimed my ass. I guess you’ll have to take the pussy. Think you can do that, baby? Think you and your friend can double team me as we soar over Middle America?”
“But...who’d fly the plane?”
“I dunno. You’re the pilots. You figure it out.”
By this point, Taylor was slurping at Ryan’s cock like there was no tomorrow; her pretty mouth generating more suction than a state of the art vacuum cleaner as she worked his pulsing wang. Ryan was clinging to his load for dear life; the handsome pilot trembling from head to shackled foot as he fought to retain his wad. His balls brewed and churned with what felt like a week’s build up of creamy, hot spunk; his throbbing prick itching to release it.
“Hmm, not bad,” Taylor declared, retrieving his dick from between her lips one final time and giving it a stroke. “From the look of you, I thought you’d blow in a matter of seconds, but you’ve managed to hold off pretty well. You can cum now, IF” she said, holding up a black latex finger, “you ask very nicely.”
“Please, Miss Swift, may I shoot my load?” Ryan asked, his voice aquiver as she jerked him off.
“Hmm, I didn’t really buy that.” The stroking came to an abrupt halt. His dick was literally pumping as Taylor released it from her hands, his balls heaving with the weight of the spunkload brewing away inside. “Beg.”
“Please, Miss Swift! Please! I’ll do anything! I’ll be your personal slave. You can keep me chained up in here or as long as I live, eating nothing but your sweet pink pussy and tight little ass! You can flog me, whip me, do whatever you want to me, if you let me blast my nut over your pretty face!”
Taylor grinned. That really was some textbook grovelling. “OK, OK. You can cum. But make it a good one.”
She wrapped her mits around Ryan’s cock and jerked it once more; the twitching pole requiring a mere trio of strokes before it went off. A thick torrent of creamy, off-white jizz blasted from his tip and splattered across her face, drenching her features in an unholy amount piping seed.
“Wow! Not bad,” said Taylor, releasing his prick and leaving the last few drops of nut to drip onto the floor beneath him as she returned to the previous room.
She strolled around behind Joel’s kneeling form and uncuffed his wrists and ankles. She took hold of his lead and gave it a light tug. “Come with me.”
Joel obeyed. He got on all fours; the shredded hunk crawling behind Taylor like a faithful lapdog as she lead him into the next room.
“Sit,” said Taylor, pointing a finger down at Joel. He returned to his kneeling stance. “Stay. Good doggy,” she added with a wicked grin.
Joel and Ryan regarded one another sheepishly from their respective stances.
“OK, boys, here’s what’s going to happen,” Taylor added. “You belong to me now. You’re my property. If I need you, you drop whatever you’re doing in the blink of an eye. You hear me? I don’t care if President Trump needs you to fly him to Iran for fucking peace talks. You tell that orange twerp to jump on the next United Airlines flight and think himself lucky. Else I’ll see to it that neither of you boys will be able to fly as much as a freakin’ kite so long as you live.” She unfastened the restraints on Ryan’s wrists and ankles. “Are we clear?”
“Yes, Miss Swift,” they said in unison.
“Good,” Taylor replied, laying back on a black leather futon and spreading her legs, splitting open her slick pink pussy with two gloved fingers. “Now get over here and fuck me like you said you will. And you better make me cum.”
End of Chapter 9
Topic: Dirty 30 (Taylor Swift and friends)[Chapter 15 posted] (Read 26340 times)