Owned 1: Owned

Malcolm's bit of solo experimentation with bondage has gone horribly wrong. To his horror, coworker Clara appears to rescue him. Clara decides to demand answers to a few questions before setting him free.


Malcolm almost had it. He’d managed to get his teeth onto the strap and if he could hold this position for another second–

The door of his house slammed opened. Malcolm yelped and lost hold of the strap. Fucking hell.

Steps on his stairs, and a voice he knew well: “Malcolm? Where the hell are you? You aren’t answering your phone and iCloud says you’re at home and-- Oh fuck!”

“Don’t say it. Don’t you fucking say a single fucking thing, Clara. Just fucking avert your eyes and get these sodding things off me.” Malcolm tugged at the cuffs again, hard enough to make his bed creak. Humiliating, yes. Unbearably humiliating. Thank all that was fucking sodding shit-tastically thank-able that it had been Clara who’d found him not fucking Ollie Fucking Reeder.

Clara said something under her breath. Something thudded onto the floor. Malcolm risked a look over at her: raincoat, phone going into her pocket not snapping a pic of his predicament. She was not looking at him straight on. Maybe he would get out of this with some scrap of his dignity left.

He said, “Key’s on the dresser.”

Clara knelt up on the bed and fumbled at his wrists. “Fuck. What are these locks?”

“Timed. They were supposed to go off after half an hour.”

She bent close to his wrist and poked at the lock. “Says you have another two hours of lockdown. You must have mis-set them.”

“Stop fucking telling me what I already know and just unlock them.”

“Would it kill you to ask politely once in your life?”

Malcolm ground his teeth. Yes, he was feeling desperate. He was naked and cuffed in the presence of his colleague, a woman who was well-fit and had a brain like a hand-whetted straight razor. If this had happened in any reasonable way he’d be begging happily. But it hadn’t. Instead he’d made himself into a laughingstock to her.

He found what remained in him that could be polite. “Clara. Please. Unlock me.”

“No. Well, yes, but first I want some answers. Was this self-bondage? You tied yourself up?”

Malcolm closed his eyes and tried to breathe. He counted to ten, slowly. He had lost his mind. Or she had. Possibly they both had. Eventually, he said, “Yes. I tied myself up. Yes, and because it’s your next fucking question, I was going to spend the half hour fantasizing myself into a lather and the ten minutes after that wanking myself into next week.”

“Hence the lube and the box of tissues by the bed.”

“Yes. Have you humiliated me enough yet?”

“Maybe not.”

The weight on the bed shifted. He opened his eyes again. Clara was taking her coat off. Not dressed like she was in his fantasies, in which she was in heels and a red dress with a plunging neckline and sometimes, when he was feeling very bold indeed, a whip. This Clara, the one in reality, was wearing jeans, a green sweater, and trainers. It was Saturday morning. Not the time of day for bondage dreams. He’d had a free hour. Try out the new cuffs, have an extra-satisfying wank, take a shower, then work. That had been his plan. Instead, here he was, arms bound over his head, prisoner in his own bed thanks to his own stupidity, with the only woman in the Party he respected laughing over him.

Malcolm closed his eyes again. He gave up. He’d lost. It was over; his self-respect would never be repaired. Possibly his career, depending on how she felt. “Yeah. Go ahead. Have your fun with me. We both know you’ll get whatever you want from me from now on. Rub it into my face good and hard.”

“Malcolm.” Her voice was very close to him now. He could smell her perfume.

“What.” He was tired, so tired, of the constant fencing.

“Look at me.”


“Open your eyes,” she said, in a way that was so commanding that he snapped his eyes open. She was leaning over him, and she was not laughing at him. “Malcolm. Is this what you’re into?”

He swallowed. What the hell. He couldn’t lose anything more than he already had. “Yeah.”

“With a partner or do you prefer it solo?”

“Never had the chance to find out with a partner.”

“Would you like to?”

His cock knew the answer as well as he did, and was more eager to give him away than Malcolm would have liked. Fortunately she was looking at his face, not down at his prick, so he had a choice. Or the illusion of choice. Wasn’t that what mattered in the end?

“Yeah,” he said. Shit. His voice had gone funny. And his prick, gone so very soft during the struggle to get the cuffs off, was stirring for real now.

Clara closed the bedroom door and drew the blinds tighter than he had. Now it was properly dim. She climbed onto the bed and straddled his waist. Malcolm gulped.

“Some rules,” she said. “First. We will not screw around in the office. This stays in our homes.”

“Fucking sensible lass. Knew you were the only one with brains.”

“There’ll be plenty of time for you to fawn over me later. Probably while you’re on your knees. Second. We’re going to talk properly once this is over and agree on boundaries like sensible people.”

Assuming she wanted to do it a second time. “Yeah.”

“Now. For our first time. Do you want to be hurt, or do you want to be helpless and teased?”

Malcolm kept his mouth firmly shut while he thought this over. All three, really, but it was too terrifying. Too much. He wanted it. He wanted her. He wanted to hand himself over. Dared he? He opened his mouth to speak, but it was too hard. He was bound on his bed, underneath the woman he hadn’t dared look at straight on for the last year lest she read his mind and see how much he worshipped her, and she was willing to dominate him, and dared he?

He cleared his throat and tried again. “Yeah. I mean. Tease me for now. Make me beg to come. Next time, hurt me. Mostly–”

“Mostly what?”

“Fucking make me yours. Yeah?”

She planted her hands on either side of his head, leaned down, and kissed him. Malcolm tried to slip her some tongue but she slipped him tongue instead. He opened his mouth to her and let her do what she wanted. He was hard now. Would probably be hard for some time yet, if she did as he hoped.

“You’re mine now,” Clara said to him.

Malcolm groaned. He gave the cuffs another tug, a happier sort of pull this time, reminding himself that he was helpless and utterly in her power. “Fucking fuck me,” he said.

“I intend to.”

“Oh, fuck.”

“You are almost adorable when you’re embarrassed, Malcolm. I would never have guessed.”

“Fucking hell, what have I got myself into?”

“Exactly what you were dreaming about, if I am not mistaken. And I’m not.”

“You never are.”

She smiled down at him. “Keep that in mind.”

Her weight shifted off of him. She sat on the edge of his bed and took her trainers. Malcolm watched avidly. He’d always wondered what she looked like naked. He’d finally get to find out. Today, if he was lucky. Oh, yes, lucky he was, because her jeans were next. Thong, black, lace, and it was clear from the view in front that she waxed. She tossed her jeans onto the floor and knelt up on the bed again, backside toward him. Malcolm let his head rest against his bound arms and stared at it without shame. Was a relief to be able to look at her without feeling guilty.

And then she opened his bedside drawers and started rummaging around inside without so much as asking for permission. Malcolm opened his mouth to protest then shut it. If he jibbed now she might leave.

She said, “Condoms, more lube, where’s your plug?”

“My what?”

“Your plug. For your arse. You have to have one. Either that or a dildo. I’ll take that.”

“Don’t. Sorry.”

Clara straddled him again. She’d settled her quim right over his cock. Malcolm was not complaining about that. Felt good to get a little friction at last.

“Locking cuffs but no plug?”

Malcolm shrugged.

“Your first task for the week is to buy yourself a plug. Large enough to you’ll feel yourself fucked. If I think you’ve finked on it I’ll make you regret it.”

“How? Can’t be seen in sex shops.”

“Order one online, you berk.”

“Oh. Yeah. I-- Yeah. I’ll find something.”

“I’m going to be fucking you with it. How does that make you feel?”

Malcolm swallowed. Clara was gorgeous, even more gorgeous leaning over him like his, with her weight on him. How did he feel about the idea of something up his arse? In all honesty, he almost didn’t give a fuck so long as it was her hand on whatever it was. “Terrified. Excited. Fucking mental, to be fucking honest.”

Her fingers wandered down his chest to his nipples. She played with them almost idly, then pinched. Harder. Malcolm sucked in his breath. He’d done this to himself but had never had the courage to do it hard. Clara had no such worries. It felt like he was going out of his mind. What a right mess his head was in, pain and pleasure at once. She pinched him again, and he made a sound he’d never made before in life.

“Huh,” she said, and she let go of him. “Noted.”

“Noted what?”

“Just trying to find out what you like, Malcolm. Apparently you like that.”

“Not sure like is the right word.”

“Need? Crave?”

“Fucked if I understand it.”

“What else do you like?”

“I don’t know. Being tied up.”

She let her eyes rove up to the cuffs on his wrists, pointedly. The cuffs he’d locked to himself. “Oh, really. Let’s talk about something else you like. Being hurt. Being whipped?”

Malcolm nodded. Theoretically. But if it was anything like having his nipples pinched had been, yes, he liked it.

“And being made to wait to come.”


“Having to beg for permission?”

“Yeah. Fuck.”

“Having to go without?”

He raised his head. “Hard to tell the difference between that and the rest of my life.”

“I’ll teach you the difference. Starting now.”

“Not this time? Not the first time? I get to come the first time, for fuck’s sake.”

Her weight was gone, and now she was shoving his legs apart so she could kneel between his thighs.

“Malcolm,” she said, and the steel in her voice made him gulp. “Let’s make something clear.”

“What? Fuck!”

Clara had his balls cupped in her hand. One squeeze and he was trembling. Now this, this was pain.

“Repeat after me. I own you.”

Yeah, she owned him. A flood of something warm rushed through him at this thought. He could yield to this. He could surrender to her. Stop fighting. Let go. Let her hold him. It almost made him want to cry, the idea of it. Trust her all the way. What the fuck. Do it. He only lived once and she was either the fever dream of a dying man or the best thing that had ever happened to him.

He craned up as far as he could with his hands over his head and held her gaze. He said, “You own me.” He put as much earnestness into it as he had.

She smiled at him but gave his balls another squeeze anyway. “I own your orgasms.”

Malcolm sucked in a shuddering breath. “You own my orgasms.”

“You come only when I give you permission to.”

A third squeeze, even crueler than the first two. Malcolm groaned under her. He’d asked for this. He’d told her he wanted to be hurt. And now that he had what he wanted, how did he feel about it? How fucking hard was he? Shit, he was doomed.

She released him, and he found his voice again. “I come only when you give me permission to. Clara. I’m yours.”

“Good man. Now see what happens when you do as you’re told.”

She shifted down and shocked him by licking his cock. Tongue on the underside, wetting him, then flickering around the head. Malcolm bit his lip and watched her, struggling to control his urge to thrust, to take more. And then she went down on him, took him all way inside, a moment of deep throat, then she pulled back and got her hand around him and her tongue on the sensitive spot under the head and fuck, that was good, she was good, and fucked if he could stop himself moaning.

He could feel impending orgasm tickling at him, rising. Of course Clara could feel it in him as well, because she sat up and grasped him around the base of his cock, hard. Malcolm swore under his breath. Well, he’d asked her for this. She was going to make him wait for it. He could only pray that she didn’t make him wait days. Or she might be the sort to lock him up and take all choice away.

He stared up at her face, with that mysterious smile, that dimple, and wondered what she was planning for him.

“You look amazing like this. All sweaty and desperate. Such a nice change from the angry sweary Scotsman rampaging around Number Ten frightening people.”


“Love you like this. Really looking forward to seeing what you look like after a little flogging.”

Malcolm couldn’t help it, it happened without his conscious mind intervening, he was thrusting his hips up under her. The idea of her with a whip-- he was out of his mind with desire. He wanted inside those panties so badly. He wanted her to do it all to him, right now.

Just then his arms decided they’d had enough.

“Shit!” He winced then tried to control his reaction. He shifted himself as much as he could, trying to relieve the strain.

“Arms? Been bound too long?”

“It’s okay. Carry on.”

“No, it’s not, you idiot.”

Clara was off the bed in an instant, snagging the key from the dresser, and then a second later the locks on his cuffs clicked open. She helped him sit up. Malcolm stretched and rolled his shoulders. Fuck, he’d been there how long? Nearly two hours. Not something he wanted to do again, even with a gorgeous woman on top of him.

“One rule we don’t break, Malcolm. If something that isn’t supposed to hurt hurts, we stop. And we are not stubborn idiots about it.”

“Yeah, okay. I was just starting to enjoy myself. And you haven’t had any fun yet at all. Sorry.”

“What makes you think this is over? On your knees. Now.” She pointed at the floor beside the bed.

Malcolm grinned and rolled out of bed and onto the floor. Now this was straight out of his fantasies. This was perfect. He rubbed at his shoulders again and stretched.

“Hands behind your back. Keep them there.”

“Yes, ma’am,” with a grin that widened when she pulled her jumper over her head. Under it was a pale green shirt that also came off, revealing a bra that matched the panties. Black, lacy. Front clasp. She smiled at him and took off the bra.

“Your lucky day,” she said.


Nice breasts, not tiny things, but lovely breasts with pink nipples. She wasn’t a starving model, thank God for curves, for hips, for breasts that would fill his hands. If he were ever allowed to touch them, that was. Hallelujah, fuck all, the panties were next, and there she was, little patch of brown hair above a bare pussy, deliberately sitting down on the edge of the bed right in front of him with her legs spread. Malcolm let his gaze linger. He did so love bare quims, showing him everything, all the secrets exposed. Where he wanted to put his cock. His tongue. Anything.

“Come here,” she said.

Malcolm shuffled forward on his knees eagerly. She was turned on already, he could smell it and see it. And it was his happy lot to taste it as well. No hands allowed, sadly, for he’d have loved to get his fingers into the job, one in her arse, another inside this sweet quim, but he would take what the gods and Clara had given him. Just lips, tongue, teeth, and his overheated brain. Listen to the sounds she was making and do more of that, wait for her fingers to twist in his hair when he did something particularly nice and do it again, find the rhythm that she needed to drive her onward, to turn those quiet words of encouragement to gasps, to harsh breathing that let him know she was close. Her fingers unsteady in his hair now, starting to tremble, and he scraped his teeth over her clit and there she was, that was what she’d needed, she was shuddering around him, and that was his name on her lips.

He licked her gently afterward, everywhere but her clit, careful not to give her too much immediately afterward.

“Yeah, that’s enough,” she said to him. “Nice. That was good. We’re going to do that again.”

“My pleasure,” said Malcolm.

“Look at you,” she murmured. She wiped his face off with a tissue. Malcolm submitted to this, though he’d have been perfectly happy to leave his face wet. At least her scent was still with him. He loved that smell. Sex. Women. And now, Clara. All over his face. His cock twitched. Poor prick, hard for hours. Surely it was his turn now. Surely he deserved a reward for that performance.

He smiled up at her with his best puppy eyes.

Clara stretched luxuriously in front of him.

“You can take your hands out from behind your back now. We’re done. I think it’s time for a shower. Don’t you?”

Malcolm left his hands where they were. “I was hoping for a little more.”

“Were you?”

He was not mistaken, that was pleasure on her face at his distress. Might as well ask for what he wanted, though he already understood he wasn’t going to get it. “Was hoping to come.”

“I don’t think so.”

He shuddered. It was going to be hell, but he would do it. He inclined his head to her, trying to make it clear to her that he had submitted. “Okay.”

“Not going to argue?”

He shook his head. “I belong to you. I only come when you let me.”

“Good man.”

Clara tugged him closer, tipped up his chin, and kissed him. Malcolm whimpered into her mouth, he was so very hard and so close to going out of his mind with the need. He wanted to be inside her. He wanted to feel it, to spend himself inside her. Anywhere she wanted. He didn’t dare beg for her mouth, but he wanted it again. Why not, though? Why not dare?

“Clara. Can I-- can I beg?”

“You may beg,” she said.

Malcolm swallowed. This was also something he’d long wanted to do. And now that he could do it, it was impossible. Here he was, on his knees to a woman he adored, and she wanted him to beg, and his voice had utterly gone. He shook himself all over.

“Please, Clara. Let me come.” A whisper, almost unrecognizably hoarse, but it was all he could manage.

She smiled down at him. “No.”

“Oh, fuck, Clara, please, I’ve done all you asked, I’m suffering here. Fuckin’ let me, Clara, please.”


“Clara, I worship you. Let me come, please.”

“You worship me?”

“Fucking hell, I do. You’re a goddess. Fucking gorgeous, the only human in that miserable lot of troglodytic morons that think they’re up for the job of running the fucking country, poor miserable country to be saddled with those fucking retarded Oxbridge twats. But you, not you. Fuck. I haven’t been able to look straight on at you for ages because I get stiff when I hear you eviscerating them. I’ve wanted to be on my knees to you since the moment I first heard you do it. Fuck, Clara. Please let me come. If you won’t let me, promise me it’ll be soon. I want to come with you touching me. Any way you want it. Please, darling.”

Clara kissed him on the end of his nose. “Since you begged so nicely, and said such nice things. You may come. Touch yourself for me.”

“Fuck. I can?”

“Yes. Bring yourself off now, before I change my mind.”

Which was no more than what he’d been planning on when this fucking insane morning had started, but Clara’s fingers were running through his hair, and she was kissing him. Tongue in his mouth, giving him something to suck on, God, she really did own him already. One hand on his aching balls, the other around his cock, one stroke and he knew he couldn’t last more than a minute in the state he was in, he’d been so excited so long. Now she was tugging on his hair, hard, and he closed his eyes. She owned him. He’d handed himself over. He was hers. It was rising in him. Her voice commanded him to come now. Malcolm couldn’t help but obey her. One last stroke and he came, saying something, he had no idea what, and then he collapsed forward onto her knees.

When he was next sure of where he was and what was happening, he felt Clara’s hand stroking his head.

“Hey, Malcolm, hey, you okay?”

Malcolm rocked back. He went to run his hand over his face then stopped. He’d come all over his hand. The floor. Fucking everything. Wank himself into next week? More like next month. “Yeah. Fuck. That was–”

“That was what?”

“Fucking amazing. You’re amazing. Clara. Love. I–” He closed his eyes and shook his head.

“You’re not so bad either, you idiot.”

“Deserve that.”

“You do. But I’m not going to complain about the outcome.”

She took his elbow and helped him up. Then she grimaced at him. “You need a shower.”

“Shower, yeah. And then tea.”

“And then we have a lot of work to do. That utter waste of skin Hugh has–”

“You just killed the mood, sweetheart.”

Clara laughed at him, but Malcolm found he didn’t mind in the least.