"If you think I'm carrying my own bags, you've got another thing coming hubby. Take my carry-on and trundle yourself off to baggage claim. I'm off to get myself a drink you worthless waste of space."
He fumed inside like a volcano about to erupt, but said nothing. He'd lost everything just before they married, and so long as her trust fund gave her the purse strings, he just had to bear her endless belittling. Four more years, his lawyer said, before he could divorce her and get half the money. Four more years of impotent fury.
He grabbed the bags from baggage claim and followed along behind his wife, who ignored him and was already gabbing with her friends on the phone putting him down. When they got home, she grabbed the shower first and left him to unpack.
He'd just finished putting all her things away, when he realized that he had grabbed someone else's bag instead of his own. He nearly lost it, thinking of how his wife would use this mistake against him. With her in the shower, he went through the bag...
20 minutes later, having completed some research online, he realized just what a gift he had received. With the codes he found, he could release his pent up misery on some anonymous woman. imagining her to be his wife. He spent the rest of the night programming the most devious revenge fantasies he could imagine into the distant innocent.
And all the while, his mind rolled over the possibilities of his new discovery. Sometime in the next few months, his wife would awaken from one of her wine-induced "headaches" to find herself bound in her own TTcB...
When I read this caption I was wondering: Why didn't she just call her flatmate, telling her something like: "Can you just read out that code on that note on the fridge. I need that for the hotel check-in." That would have been a rather safe, fast and easy method to get the code. Some minutes later, I got the solution: She had guessed that her flat mate had figured out what that code was for. And she was right. Her flat mate knew. And once the bag had been sent back to the appartement (because the address was written on it), her flat mate knew she had won: She now had both the spare code and the notebook. From now on, little miss holiday would be her denied lesbian slave. That silly text message was just a little teasing... playing the innocent, ignorant girl for the last time. Next time they meet, she would have turned into a cruel mistress.
Give the woman on vacation two weeks on the streets of a foreign city in nothing but club clothes to get her all worked up. Letting the universe tease her by proxy with no stimulation from her belt needed. Then once she gets home, the flatmate gets to watch the spirit of her new slave crumble as the flatmate does random cruel things to her, first at night when the woman thinks the flatmate is asleep, then more and more during the day when the flatmate can witness her suffering.
Then finally, once the woman is a shaking mess of need desperate to do anything, ANYTHING, to make the teasing and tormenting stop, the flatmate introduces herself as the woman's new master...
Anon -
ReplyDelete"If you think I'm carrying my own bags, you've got another thing coming hubby. Take my carry-on and trundle yourself off to baggage claim. I'm off to get myself a drink you worthless waste of space."
He fumed inside like a volcano about to erupt, but said nothing. He'd lost everything just before they married, and so long as her trust fund gave her the purse strings, he just had to bear her endless belittling. Four more years, his lawyer said, before he could divorce her and get half the money. Four more years of impotent fury.
He grabbed the bags from baggage claim and followed along behind his wife, who ignored him and was already gabbing with her friends on the phone putting him down. When they got home, she grabbed the shower first and left him to unpack.
He'd just finished putting all her things away, when he realized that he had grabbed someone else's bag instead of his own. He nearly lost it, thinking of how his wife would use this mistake against him. With her in the shower, he went through the bag...
20 minutes later, having completed some research online, he realized just what a gift he had received. With the codes he found, he could release his pent up misery on some anonymous woman. imagining her to be his wife. He spent the rest of the night programming the most devious revenge fantasies he could imagine into the distant innocent.
And all the while, his mind rolled over the possibilities of his new discovery. Sometime in the next few months, his wife would awaken from one of her wine-induced "headaches" to find herself bound in her own TTcB...
Wow... This is screaming for another update. Or 2 for those 2 women.
ReplyDeleteWhen I read this caption I was wondering: Why didn't she just call her flatmate, telling her something like: "Can you just read out that code on that note on the fridge. I need that for the hotel check-in." That would have been a rather safe, fast and easy method to get the code. Some minutes later, I got the solution: She had guessed that her flat mate had figured out what that code was for. And she was right. Her flat mate knew. And once the bag had been sent back to the appartement (because the address was written on it), her flat mate knew she had won: She now had both the spare code and the notebook. From now on, little miss holiday would be her denied lesbian slave. That silly text message was just a little teasing... playing the innocent, ignorant girl for the last time. Next time they meet, she would have turned into a cruel mistress.
ReplyDeleteAnon -
DeleteI like this idea Ronnet Massi. :)
Give the woman on vacation two weeks on the streets of a foreign city in nothing but club clothes to get her all worked up. Letting the universe tease her by proxy with no stimulation from her belt needed. Then once she gets home, the flatmate gets to watch the spirit of her new slave crumble as the flatmate does random cruel things to her, first at night when the woman thinks the flatmate is asleep, then more and more during the day when the flatmate can witness her suffering.
Then finally, once the woman is a shaking mess of need desperate to do anything, ANYTHING, to make the teasing and tormenting stop, the flatmate introduces herself as the woman's new master...