At some point in their life, everyone has a record-scratch moment.

You know the one. I guess boring people might call them defining moments where you learn a valuable lesson as you reevaluate your life choices, but that would imply I had some sort of regret or shame for getting myself into the situation.

That’s not really what a record scratch moment is, though.

It’s that moment when you’re almost outside of yourself, viewing the events of your life through the lens of a statick-y CRT television. It’s that moment that you question how you got there, what series of events could have possibly led you into that situation. It’s that moment when you’re standing at the end of your bed in stilettos that are far too high and a corset that was far too expensive given how cheap it looked, a feather in one hand and a butt plug in the other, with a completely naked man—who was nearly choking on the panties you shoved in his mouth to make him shut up—tied to the headboard.

Record scratch.

Freeze frame.

Yep, that’s me. Nellie Belanger, two months away from my university graduation, dressed like an approximation of a dominatrix who has no idea what she’s doing, mostly because I had no idea what I was doing. That guy tied to the bed? That’s J.P., my boyfriend, a complete horndog and all-around bastard that I loved way more than I wanted to admit and who, despite being the one who put this whole fucking thing in motion, was laughing so hard that he was having trouble breathing through the lacy black panties I’d bought especially for the occasion.

I guess it was a good thing he’d wanted to experiment with breath play.

But I’m getting ahead of myself.

You’re probably wondering how I got into this situation, and frankly, so was I. I mean, that was the whole reason for the record scratch moment. It was a pause, a break, an internal question of how we went from attending my soon-to-be-stepmother’s baby shower to this moment of me wondering if it would have been more effective to shove the butt plug in his mouth instead of my panties.

It all started when I walked in on J.P. jerking off.

I guess I could say that I caught him jerking off, but that would imply both that it was something to be ashamed of—which it wasn’t—and that he was trying to be sneaky about it, which he absolutely wasn’t. If he was, he wouldn’t have been watching porn as he sat on the bed in my room at my father’s house while the last few high-society types attending the baby shower of my not-yet-out-of-the-oven sibling lingered downstairs.

At least the door was closed.

Or it was, until I opened it to see my boyfriend absorbed by some video in full view of the doorway, hand down his pants as he stroked himself lazily to the dulled sounds of fucking coming from the speaker of his phone.

Thankfully, there was no one else in the hallway.

“Whatcha watching?” I asked as casually as I could while trying to find that balance between hurriedly closing the door and trying not to slam it so I didn’t attract attention.

A normal person might have yanked his hand out of his pants and hurriedly turned off the video. Not J.P., though he at least stopped moving his hand. Instead of turning red and stammering some kind of excuse or apology, he smirked.

“I doubt it’s anything you’d be into, babe,” he said.

He couldn’t have said anything that made me want to find out more, even though I knew he was just appealing to my competitive streak and trying to goad me into a reaction.

Which, of course, worked.

“Fine then,” I said lightly. “Don’t tell me what kind of dirty videos you’re watching so I don’t have to cater to yet another one of your weird kinks.”

“Weird kinks?” he scoffed. “What weird kinks?’

“The Christmas one.”

He laughed, finally taking his hand out of his pants and pausing the video. “Oh, right. Says the girl who got all hot and bothered by the Santa suit I had to wear.”

“Actually, I got all hot and bothered harnessing you up in the fake beard.” I kicked off the black pumps I was wearing and flexed my toes, finally relieving the sore spots beneath the sheer fabric of my stockings. “Remember? Your voice was a little muffled by the hair, so it was like I could get five seconds of peace.”

J.P. grinned. “You know, I had forgotten, but you’re right. Maybe you should come take a look at this video.”

“Maybe now I don’t want to.”

He shrugged and unpaused the video, the sound of bodies slapping together resuming loudly as he put his hand back into his pants. “Fine then. I’ll just take care of this myself.”

I gave him the dirtiest look I could muster, which made him laugh harder, and started working the backing off the studs in my ears as I walked towards him. Before he could properly start jacking off again, I put my earrings on the nightstand and crawled onto the bed beside him. The skirt of my far-too-expensive dress pooled around my legs as I plucked his phone from his hand.

I knew J.P. well enough to know that whatever porn he was watching, it shouldn’t be that out there. Or rather, it shouldn’t be that unexpected. J.P. was a complete and total bastard and had been ever since we were kids. That hadn’t stopped me from crushing on him hard while we were growing up, and it also hadn’t stopped me from losing my virginity to him when I turned eighteen. And a few years later, it hadn’t stopped me from hooking up with him again, and then again, and then for nearly six months before he confessed that he’d fallen in love with me. And of course, I’d freaked out and insisted I hated all things relationship-y and monogamous and serious, but somehow I’d ended up back in his arms, admitting I’d fallen in love with him, too.

It helped that he kept promising me things like threesomes and the possibility of an open relationship, if we wanted that. Funnily enough, we hadn’t explored either of those things, even though those were two of my biggest concerns in agreeing to be his girlfriend. I didn’t want to be tied down or suffocated. I liked exploring my sexuality and trying new things and being open to different experiences. And so did J.P., which is truthfully why a relationship between us had potential. But even though we were both open to it, those things hadn’t come up.

A big part of that was because our sex drives were totally in sync; that is, he was as horny as I was, which was basically all the time, and… well, he was really fucking good at fucking.

There’s no way our relationship would have worked if he wasn’t.

The point, though, was that sex was a big part of our relationship. Nothing was off the table for us, and that meant we had discussed a wide variety of past experiences and future hopes. I’d told him about the threesome I’d had with two men and how I’d kind of wished they’d been more into each other; he told me about how he’d never had a threesome with another guy involved but that if he did, he’d want to explore things with the other guy.

“Really?” I had said, unexpectedly surprised.

J.P. had been running his fingers along my collarbone, tracing the edges of the dragon I had tattooed there. “Yeah, really. I didn’t think that would bother you.”

“It doesn’t bother me,” I replied, mildly insulted. “I just didn’t know you were…”

“Were what?”

“Like, bisexual.”

His fingers traced the dragon’s tail, dotting each of the scales that trailed off its body as he chuckled with amusement. “Hmm. That’s news to me.”

I felt my cheeks turn red. “I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s okay,” he interrupted. “You’re not totally wrong. I don’t mean that I’m not, I just mean that… I dunno. That word doesn’t feel right.”

“I am. Bi, I mean.”

“I know.” He kissed the top of my head. “I never thought about it before. I don’t know how to define what I am.”

“You don’t have to label it.” I ran my fingers along his pecs as I rested against his chest. “I was just curious.”

“About what?”

“What else you’re attracted to.”

He smiled. “Everything. I think that’s the problem with the label. I mean, I think I’m more into women. I don’t think I could ever give up tits. But if a person consents and is into it, I probably wanna fuck them, regardless of how they identify or what they’ve got in their pants. I’m… I’m sex-sexual.”

“You’re… what?”

He laughed. “I just like sex, babe. I like fucking.”

J.P.’s unreserved frankness was one of the many things I refused to admit I loved about him. It could be argued that his lack of shame could be a double-edged sword, but I’d argue that it was more positive than anything. It meant we could have those discussions, that we felt comfortable telling each other about our many, many adventures before we got together. It meant that we didn’t feel the need to hide our desires, that as unusual as our relationship might be, we knew we could explore things together.

So when I looked at the video J.P. was watching and saw something I didn’t expect to see, that was saying something.

It wasn’t anything horrible. Open as we were, we both knew each other’s hard limits and were very much on the same page about all of them. He had just never mentioned wanting to try that, and for whatever reason, I’d never considered it.

The man in the video was tied down, straining helplessly as a woman dressed in a skin-tight black leather corset and thigh-high boots sat on his face. She had clearly just moved up his body to do so; his cock was slick and glistening, so hard that it was practically purple, and precum was dripping relentlessly from his tip. As she ground her pussy against his face, she reached back and grabbed the man’s balls, demanding to know whose balls they were. A low, braying moan was muffled by her thighs, but the word he spoke was unmistakable.


I jumped as she slapped his balls and his body jerked.

“Yours, what?” she pressed.

“Y-Yours, M-Mistress!”

“That’s right, you sissy little slut. You’re barely good enough to lick my pussy, aren’t you?”


She gripped his balls harder. “What was that?”

That braying cry came from between her legs again. “Y-Yes, Mistress!”

She slapped his cock and I winced. “Wow.”

“She wasn’t doing the hitting stuff before,” J.P. said. “But I mean, as long as it’s not my balls…”

I settled against the headboard, holding the phone so he could still see it as I watched, entranced. He had taken his hand out of his pants again at some point and wrapped it around my shoulders as I tucked my legs under me. Together, we watched the woman in the video come against the man’s face before standing up. He gasped for breath, but there was a look of glazed awe in his eyes as he stared up at her.

She told him that he had made her come, which meant he was a very good boy, and that good boys got rewards. Apparently, getting to wear the panties she’d discarded before I started watching the video was that reward.

I wasn’t entirely sure how it was a reward for him, but I was incredibly surprised at how much of a reward it was for me. My mouth went dry as I saw his cock bulging beneath the black lace of her panties, his tip poking out the top and leaking precum onto his stomach.

“Don’t you dare get cum on those,” the woman ordered, and then proceeded to start stroking him through the fabric.

“How much you wanna bet he totally gets cum on those?” J.P. asked from beside me.

I jumped, having almost forgotten he was there, and he snickered.

“You’re really into this, eh?” he asked.

“Having someone do as I say without being a smart ass?” I asked flatly. “Of course not. I try to keep my fantasies a bit more based in reality. Besides, I hate that word.”

“What word?”

“‘Mistress.'” I rolled my eyes. “It sounds so… I dunno. Dramatic. Harsh.”

“I could call you something else, if you want.”

I snorted. “Yeah, right. Because you’re so well-known for listening to me when I tell you not to call me something.”

“When have I ever—”

“You have never once stopped calling me ‘babe’ when I’ve told you to stop calling me babe.”

“That’s because I know how much you love it, babe.”

“At least it’s better than ‘Mistress.'”

He leaned in, his breath warm against my cheek. “What if I called you something else?”

“Like what?”

His voice went low, enticingly sexy as he nuzzled against me. “What if I asked really, really nicely if you’d please stroke my cock, Miss?”

I felt a rush of heat roll through my body. I was almost certain it had stained my cheeks pink, but if J.P. noticed, he didn’t say anything. Without responding or even taking my eyes off the video, I slipped my hand into his lap. He made a soft noise, then a louder one as I pulled his cock out. He sighed heavily as I curled my fingers around his shaft and began moving my hand, slowly at first and then faster as I spread his precum along his throbbing cock.

“Oh my God, Nellie,” he groaned breathlessly.

I ignored him, biting my lip as the woman in the video stopped stroking the man’s cock, replacing her hand with her pussy. She ground against him, the thin piece of lace between them soaked within seconds, and the man whimpered beneath her as he fought back his orgasm.

“Just wait,” she breathed.

“Mistress, please,” he begged.

“Wait,” she ordered.

“God, please… please, Mistress. I can’t—”

“You can and you fucking better,” she snapped, and she began rolling her hips faster. “Don’t you dare come, pet.”

I had a feeling she was purposely trying to make him fail. I was more certain of that when ropes of cum soaked the semi-sheer fabric and coated his stomach as she grinned wolfishly.

“You know what that means,” she purred.

Apparently, that meant stripping the ruined panties off and making him clean the mess with his mouth, then pulling on a long pair of gloves that matched her corset and boots before lubing up a finger and pushing it into his ass. My eyes widened as she started fingering him, his cock hardening as she plunged a second finger in his ass. It was starting to seem like he might come again when I was distracted by the sound of J.P. groaning beside me.

I tore my eyes off the video and looked at him. He glanced back at me, his face flushed, his breath coming in those quick gasps that told me he was getting close. Meanwhile, I was still fully dressed, my panties soaked and my nipples painfully hard.

“Not yet,” I said.

J.P. laughed breathlessly, the sound strained as his cock twitched in my hand. “I might not have much of a choice, babe.”

He didn’t give himself enough credit. Once I’d stopped so I could stand on the bed to slide my panties off, he’d regained enough control to grab me and guide me onto my back. After shoving his pants down, he bunched the skirt of my dress around my waist and sank his cock into me. I brought my hand to my mouth, biting the base of my thumb to muffle the noise I made as he started to fuck me. It didn’t do much, not when J.P. was so hard and I was so wet and his cock felt so fucking good.

“Come for me, babe,” he instructed. “Come on, Nellie.”

And despite the fact that I was getting off on the idea of being in charge of him, I did as he said. Distantly, I hoped that the last lingering baby shower guests had left, or at the very least, that I’d managed to muffle my cries enough that no one heard us. I had no idea how loud I’d been; J.P. had this funny way of making me lose myself, of using his cock to separate my mind from my body and turn me into a mess of quivering limbs and pulses of pleasure.

J.P. did a better job of keeping quiet, which I only knew because I was coming down from my orgasm as his began. He groaned in my ear, a low, rumbly sound that I swear could have made me come all on its own, and shoved himself harder and harder inside of me until I felt his cock start to spasm. Wave after wave of cum spilled in my pussy as he gasped, his breath hot against my cheek. I clung to him, enjoying the feel of his body pinning mine to the bed and the way his arms held me in place.

He rested heavily against me after he came, my pussy still enveloping his cock. Then, moving carefully, he shifted so he could sit back and I could straddle his lap with his arms around me. My dress blanketed our laps, hiding that his cock was still inside me as I leaned against his chest.

Those moments were some of my favourites. J.P. knew that; I’d told him it was because I usually fucked him so good, he was finally quiet for a while, but it was more than that. Those moments were the moments we communicated best, even if we weren’t speaking; those moments were the ones where I was certain he knew how much I loved him, even if I didn’t say it out loud as often as I should.

We stayed that way, silently content as we held each other, until J.P.’s cock began to soften. Before it slipped out of me, I shifted so it stayed in place, but the movement broke that peaceful haze around us.

“So that was new,” I said as I settled against him.

“What was new?”

“Oh, you know, just the sex we’ve had eight thousand times.” I rolled my eyes, even though he couldn’t see me. “The video, genius.”

“Well, yeah. I don’t usually rewatch them. I mean, once I know how it ends, the plot kind of loses its appeal.”

“I don’t know about that. I might rewatch that one once or twice. I mean, there was a lot going on.”

He nodded sagely. “Ah, yes. One of those ones that you have to see again to catch all the little details. Like Memento or something.”

“Exactly. It was a bit of a mindfuck, you know?”

“I think it was more of a regular fuck, but whatever floats your boat, babe.”

I raised my eyebrows at him. “Really? You consider that to be a ‘regular’ fuck?”

He tried to keep his face blank, but failed as the corners of his eyes crinkled. “Why, what was so unusual about it?”

“I mean, the whole chained-to-the-bed, fingers-up-the-ass thing was new.”

“I’ve put my fingers up your ass many a time.”

I glared at him. “You are infuriating.”

“You love it.” He stole a kiss before I even knew what he was doing. “And you’re infuriating too, for the record.”

I faked offense. “Me?!”

“Yes, you.” He nipped at my bottom lip. “Instead of just asking the question I know you want to ask, you’re talking around the thing like you’re trying to be all clever.”

“And what question do you think I want to ask?”

He flicked an eyebrow up at me and didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to; I knew him well enough to know what that eyebrow was saying. The memory of the man’s cock pressed against his stomach by the waistband of the lacy panties flashed in my mind and I felt heat rise in my cheeks.

I wanted to know why he’d never told me he liked that sort of thing. Why, after all this time and all the things we’d talked about and tried, the idea of tying him up and having my way with him had never come up. In fairness, it hadn’t come up the other way, either; he had never asked to tie me up or anything. Part of it was because he didn’t have to. It was almost pathetic how he could take over me, how the entire world knew me as a person who said what she wanted to say and did what—and who—she wanted to do, but J.P. could simply take from me without so much as a second thought.