Sticks of Wood Pt. 01: Gathering

While it's a welcome change for the girl to message you first on the FireWood dating app, the message you generally don't expect is "You will go down on my friend, won't you?"

This is, come to think of it, not the message you expect from anyone, anywhere.

All the same, this is the message I get half way through my shift on a Tuesday night from Sonia, aged 29.

I'm not the kind of guy to go around sharing the strange messages I get, even if they are sexy. I think about not replying, but I'm horny, lonely with nothing to distract me from writing code for this project, so I message back thirty minutes later:

"Sounds kinky, but why your friend and not you?"

Then I think about it and add "haha" and a tongue out emoji in case this is a prank.

It takes over twenty minutes for the response, even though I check my phone multiple times in between and take a five minute break to fully appreciate Sonia's photos.

Sonia is the kind of girl who you expect to unmatch you in a few minutes of boosting your ego. Or maybe you're a stud, but for an average guy like me, she is stunning. A voluptuous brunette, with piercing blue cat-eyes. There is maybe something a little unsettling about the photos. Every one is an undershot, which makes her look imperious. And there is something arrogant in her smile, like it's to an in-joke.

Here she sits, dressed for a night out perhaps in a short black dress, made to show off tight skin and cleavage of her heaving breasts, her long smooth legs crossed delicately. One hand holds the wine glass, the other is resting on her hip, forming a fist. It looks like she's talking to a small child.

The second, she hugs another thin, beautiful blonde friend and they're both laughing while looking down at the camera, somehow cruelly. They're dressed casually, but sophisticated in light blouses and dark flannels. Is this the friend she's asking for? It's fine with me if it is.

The next photo is a strange one. It's the inside of (her?) house, sparkling and lavish. Obviously just cleaned by the three maids bowing in the darkness of the background. Why share this on a dating app? To show off her wealth, I suppose, which makes it all the more suspicious that this is a prank.

The fourth photo shows her in a two-piece too small white beach bikini, a little more tanned than the others. You can appreciate the true beauty of the figure; the smooth curve of her breasts, even as she sticks her tongue out at the camera with those same self-confident eyes, just visible behind the sunglasses.

The fifth photo, maybe the most odd, is a profile shot of her, without make-up and somehow prettier for it, wearing a silver necklace with perhaps twenty shiny metal keys. In this one not even her eyes are smiling as she stares into the camera. It is a dangerous gaze.

The profile just reads "This is your shot."

Okay, so maybe I took fifteen minutes checking the photos out.

"Because I want you to go down on my friend," her anti-climatic reply reads. "Will you do it for me?"

This has got to be a joke, I think. Or maybe she really is crazy. That might explain her interest in me. If that's the case, I can take it. I'll put up with her being all kinds of mental if I can get a date. It's been six months after all.

So I wait as long as I can, five minutes as it happens, before messaging her "if it gets me a date with you! :D But show me a picture first."

The reply comes almost immediately. "Thank you, I knew by your pictures I could trust you. Come at 7 tonight. My apartment is 17 York Street, Flat 8. Phone me when you get there. x"

Then she sends me the number. But no picture.

I muse a while, thinking how this date might go. It could be a mental girl and her ugly girl friend. It could be a bunch of teenage boys playing a prank and laughing at me when I turn up.

So I wait until I'm ready to take a break, then I phone the number.

She answers on the second ring. "Hello?" she says, confidently. Sonia has a warm, smooth voice, with just a hint of flirtatiousness in it, even though she can't know who is on the other end.

I clear my throat quickly. "Hello," I say. And then because I can't think of anything else I ask "is this Sonia?"

"Yes, it is!" she says. "Who is this?" The voice is playful as well, I decide.

"Look- my name's Matt, from - from FireWood..."

"Hello Matt," she says, her voice taking on an extra layer of coquettishness "you're ver-ry eager."

"I just... I can't quite understand your messages. You want me for a friend?"

"Oh no!" says Sonia with mock concern. "Oh no, no! I want you all to myself Matt. But I want you to go down on my friend for me. Can you do that?"

I am shaking slightly. Sonia's voice, her words, have managed to give me an erection in the work cafeteria, so I sit down at an empty table.

"Send me a picture, please," I say quietly.

"You already have a picture," Sonia says, and then the line clicks dead.

I have a picture? I think, as I drive uptown. What does that mean? Is it her friend then, as I hoped? Or is it someone else I know? The thought scares me.

And who the hell. Who the hell asks someone; not to 'date my friend,' not to 'kiss my friend' or even to 'fuck my friend,' but to 'go down on my friend?' The arrogance of it is astonishing.

But here I am I think, doled up in a fresh shirt and jacket, well groomed and shaven with freshened breath all, possibly to give head to this nutcase's friend. Of course, I tell myself, I'm not really going to do that. Not unless Sonia can do 'something' for me. It will be different when I'm there.

Uptown is very fancy. For a junior software developer for a medium-sized company like me, it's not a place I'm visiting every night out or anything. York Street is in the residential part of Uptown, and I have even less reason to be there.

When I get to York Street I realise I'm looking at some of the most expensive apartments in the city. The ones with ballroom sized windows in elegant stone buildings, ornamented inside and out. I can actually see through the street level windows chandeliers and grand pianos as well as high-backed leather futons and Indian-style tapestried carpets. I pull up on the other side of the street to number 17 and kill the engine, the lights.

If I'm being pranked here, I think, it's by some real rich-kids. Bored brats with the money to hire a seductive escort just to make the Goddamn prank call.

Even if it's all for real, what am I here for? Just to give oral to some rich ugly girl's friend then leave, a whore without payment? But remembering Sonia's voice on the phone, I stay where I am. She said "I want you." I look at her photos; the rise of that full creamy thigh, disappearing into the hem of the dress. That face...

I get out of the car and I call her, no longer thinking about what I am doing. She answers.

"You're a few minutes late, Matt."

"I'm sorry. I'm here now," I say.

Just as well. I notice they actually have a doorman, standing outside in this freezing cold street.

"Jo-Jo will let you in," she says. She clicks dead.

At the same time as Jo-Jo is fixing his cold stare on me at the top of the stairs, his pager beeps. He checks it, then looks up smiling. He beckons me. "Right this way, Sir."

I smile at him. I'm not going to hold a grudge. He opens one of the tall glass doors for me and I step into a huge, plush hall way. The stairs and walls are adorned gold, the carpet a rainforest green. I follow Jo-Jo to one of six elevators. He opens the door by swiping a key-card against a black panel.

"Level 8," he says. "The Penthouse."

Then he turns and walks away. I press 8 and the doors slide shut. Even the lift is plush, mirrored on three sides and carpeted. It flies up eight floors.

When the doors open I expect to be in a hallway. But instead they open right into Sonia's lobby. I know this because standing right there, hands on hips, is Sonia herself.

She is even more elegant and beautiful in person. Her hair in thick, full, hazelnut curls that fall around her bare white shoulders. Her black, low cut top, the white trousers scream out at once more style and less effort than what I am wearing. Only despite her beauty it feels like she hasn't sweat too much over everything. The white plims seem more for comfort than to impress, the pretty face adorned with little makeup outside the red lips.

I take all this in as I move towards her and I notice something else awkward. Something that online photos doesn't prepare you for unless you specifically ask for this information. She's about three inches taller than I am.

If this bothers Sonia, she doesn't show it. She responds to what must be my nervous smile with a full-faced beam. She shows off her bright white teeth and her eyes laugh as if I am more than she had hoped for.

"Hello, Matt!" she says, "welcome to my humble home!"

And makes the first move by hugging me there and then.

It's almost an awkward hug because I don't expect it and when she moves into me my chin crashes into her shoulder, highlighting how much smaller I am. But she maintains a tight, almost smothering grip and lets me go, still beaming.

"It's a really nice place you have here," I mumble.

It seems stupid, not a worthy compliment of the hall I am standing in. But Sonia says "thank you!" And takes me hand.

She leads me through the hall, past a few huge portraits of ladies that I don't have time to take in and rich, china and jade vases to what must be her living room and kitchen.

It is a huge room, surely the biggest in the building, with one wall a glass view into the city and French doors opening on to a giant balcony.

Sitting on the couch is not some ugly shrimp, but the thin blonde beauty I saw in the photo. She is wearing only a white cotton bath robe, her hair still wet and hanging down behind her. But it is clearly the same girl. The same aristocratic nose, delicate cheekbones. The same white, lovely legs.

"This is Veronica," say Sonia, leading me to her. She lets go of my hand and I reach it out to Veronica.

She looks down from me to my hand and then back up. She is not smiling, though her eyes dance, like Sonia. She seems for me to be waiting for me to say or do something.

"How do you do?" I ask. But Veronica does and says nothing.

I slowly drop my hand and feel myself begin to sweat.

"Would you like a drink, Matt?" Sonia asks, as if nothing untoward had happened. She is already moving behind the bar, which of course, they have.

"Yes, please," I say, sitting down on a high-backed white, pin-cushioned armchair. I am not sitting next to Veronica because she never takes her eyes off of me and it is unnerving.

I look at the floor, around, awkwardly.

"You... Are roommates?" I ask.

Veronica says nothing.

"What's that Matt?" Sonia asks coming back with an open white wine bottle and three glasses.

"I was just asking if you were roommates?" I say.

"We are," says Sonia. She pours wine in one glass and hands it to me. I taste it. It is so delicious that it puts me instantly at ease. Just a little. I hope it will do the same for Veronica.

"It's a nice place you have," I say.

No one says anything until Sonia has filled Vernonica's glass and her own. She sits to the other side of me on a king-sized plush white couch.

"Tell us about yourself Matt," Sonia asks, leaning forward. She rests her chin on her hand.

I hate this part. Maybe that's why I embellish as much as I do. Making it seem like I'm a consultant rather than a junior. If they know anything they'll know I'm too young. I tell them I live alone though and that part is true.

By the time I'm done I notice that I've drained the wine glass while Sonia and Veronica seemingly haven't touched theirs. I feel dizzy with the lies.

"Fascinating," Sonia says. She leans over and fills my wine glass up. I nod my thanks and take another sip.

"So," I say, "tell me abou-"

Sonia stands so abruptly I shut up. "Are you relaxed?" she asks me. She's smiling, but the eyes are intense as they study my face.

But I do feel relaxed. Almost sleepy. "Yesh," I mutter. "Ah fee greeyy."

The girls are laughing and something is wrong. But I'm too tired to care. The wine falls from my hand and the glass bounces on the carpet. The girls are still shrieking and pointing at me though. Then Sonia grabs me by the hair and pulls me to my knees.

I'm barely aware of being pushed before Veronica, of her parting her legs while still laughing and opening her waistcoat.

Sonia pushes my drugged up face towards Veronica's fairytale body, down to the trimmed pussy.

"Kiss," says Sonia, all loveliness gone from her voice which is now cold and hard. "Suck."

Something in her tone, in my helplessness makes me obey. I kiss the top of Veronica's pussy and I lick it gently.

"Harder," commands Sonia, shoving my face deeper.

I suck on the top of her pussy, shove my tongue inside and alternate kisses and sucking like a dog. Veronica jerks and writhes her pussy, then throws a leg over my back. I can feel the erection in my pants, even as terror grips me.

Veronica's own hand joins Sonia's in my hair and they interlock and pull my head aggressively back and forth, as if they were trying to smother me.

I suck hungrily, not knowing what I'm doing, but knowing that I'm in danger if I don't please these women.

"Uhh!" Veronica moans, "don't stop!"

She cums there into my mouth and as she's going she pulls so hard on my hair that I want to yell. Then she pushes me away with a foot on my head.

Sonia jerks me backwards and thrusts my hair back so that I face up to her. She is beautiful still, but no longer smiling, only furious.

"Swallow," she says and I instantly gulp Veronica's cum.

Then she throws me to the ground.

"Oh my God," I hear Veronica say dreamily. "We've found a good one."

As I'm getting to my knees with some effort Sonia thrusts a wine glass in my face and puts a hand on my shoulder. Standing over me she says "drink this."

I obey and she holds the glass up and the liquid goes down into my throat. Then my face crashes into her thigh and I black out.

When I wake up I'm in a bathtub and my head is a bowling ball, or maybe a whole bowling alley. I groan and I realise I'm naked before I sit up.

My heart races. I have a very, very tight feeling in my stomach. I feel the metal of the chastity cage before I look down and see it. My sex tightly bound in a silver steel cage, the pink love-heart key ring to boot. This is nightmare. I'm going to wake up. I have to wake up.

"Sonia!" I call. But there is no answer.

I cautiously crawl out of the bathtub, stand and look around me. I am in Sonia's bathroom, I assume. There is a hot tub, a shower with spouts on all sides. A high-ceilinged mirror and an assortment of toiletries and expensive perfumes all along the baby-bathtub sized pearl sink. My clothes are not in site.

I resist the urge to cover my shame. If these two crazy bitches have really done this to me, they will get off on any sense of humiliation that I reveal. Still, it's hard to feel proud as I walk out of the bathroom naked, the steel cage jangling around my imprisoned sex.

"We're in he-ere!" I hear Sonia call from the living room. I breathe in, trying not to panic. I puff my chest out and resolve to threaten them with violence, if necessary, if they do not unlock me.

The flash goes off, blinding me, as soon as I walk in. The women cackle again. Sonia is holding a camera, Veronica holding an iPhone, also taking pictures. Now I cover my shame. But it's too late. The girls laugh more and go on taking pictures.

"Undo this at once!" I cry, my voice shaking.

After a few more clicks Sonia lowers her camera. "You will stay as you are," she warns. "Or you will pay the price."

Then she smiles again and clicks the camera.

I come forward to the girls, against my instinct to run from them. "Please stop that," I say. They look at each other, then lower the cameras.

"Okay," Sonia consents.

"Please," I hear my voice high with pleading. "Please unlock me, let me go. This, this isn't my thing. The drugging. This. It's too much. It's not me."

"You stay like that," says Sonia, "until we can trust you."

"Trust me with what?" I say, my voice rising. "What is this?"

Sonia stands. It's an impressive effect, as she's looking down at me again. "Calm down," she says. "You've been played, okay? You came round, hoping to use women and you did nothing that you didn't consent to. We put that on you, and you can get it off with a pair of bolt cutters. The price is that we put the photos we've taken of you all over the internet. We took a lot more while you were in the bathtub. We can send them to your boss. Your loved ones. So you can have that happen or you can do what we say."

My head starts spinning. I sit down on one of the couches.

"It's easier not to think now. You can just work for us."

"What about you release me and I don't fucking-"

"Now Matt," says Veronica holding her hand up. I notice she has an Eastern European twang to her accent. It is the first time I have heard her speak coherently. "Before you make any stupid threats, you should know the photos are with our friends and they will send them out if you do anything to us. Do not say something stupid. Your dick and your life is in our hands... Figuratively. We own you now and it's not in your interest to piss us off."

I look at them. Wait for a hint to show that this is all an elaborate sex-game or a joke. I even smile, stupidly, to see if their stony, hard glares will break. But they are serious.

"What is it you want?" I say quietly.

"Good boy!" says Sonia, breaking into that grin of hers which is, I realise an unsettling quality of hers.

"Clever boy," agrees Veronica, a more honestly small, twisted smile of satisfied triumph on her face.

"It normally takes a little more punishment for the preps to realise their place," explains Sonia.

"Wait, preps?" I ask. "There are more of me?"

"Yes, preps," says Sonia. "We are collecting you."

"To make our lives smoother," says Veronica.

I shake my head. "I don't think I can handle this," I say. It's true; there is something even more degrading about just being one of many slaves to two women.

"You don't have a choice," says Veronica.

"Sweety," says Sonia, as if to an idiotic child, "you are completely our property. We decide when the dick gets out. And yes, there are lots of you. So you really, really, want to work hard to please us if you want to play."

"What?" I ask, aghast.

"Your playtime now has to be earned," says Veronica. And she starts giggling.

"How can I earn that?" I say.

"I'm glad you asked," says Sonia. She opens her legs wide apart. "I heard from Veronica that you're quite good at giving head." She pulls back her skirt.

A stab of pain goes through my genitals. I bend forward with the pain. Sonia is not wearing underwear.

Veronica is obviously laughing at my dismay and I lower my eyes on to the ground. When I look up, it's to see her taking pictures of me again on her phone.

"Please no!" I say.

"You've got ten seconds!" commands Sonia.

I get on my knees. With Veronica's phone trained on me I start begging Sonia. "Please, take this thing off and I'll give you all the head you want. It hurts too much with it on."

"Five seconds!"

I realise she's serious. Suddenly I'm crawling to her, feeling a tear prick my face.

I can feel the pain starting as I come close to her cunt. I imagine I can close my eyes and imagine I'm tonguing doughnut or something. But she is merciless. Her firm, full thighs grasp my cheeks between them and I yell.