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You sit at the desk, a place that has become as familiar to you as if it were in your own home.
But it isn’t your home that you find yourself in.
It’s Mistress Scarlet’s.
Specifically, her study.
For several months now, you have made the pilgrimage here several times a week in your position as her devoted writer slave, and in that time, you managed to write several tantalizing tales inspired by your gorgeous gloved Goddess.
Not only have your words continually pleased her, but they have also done precisely what she’d hoped they would- enraptured several others online who, upon reading of her in your stories, have sought her out just as you did so long ago, and found themselves just as caught in her web.
Mistress Scarlet’s stable of servants and slaves had certainly grown, and though you would never claim to be the reason for it, she had on several occasions praised you and your work for bringing more and more glove-loving admirers her way.
The pride you feel each and every time she says that is great, but it is nothing compared to the pleasure she gives you in return for your continued servitude.
Every dirty word you put on the page provides her with a seemingly endless list of ways to tease and control you, which she does regularly. You’ve honestly lost track of how many times she and her amazing collection of gloves have made you cum, and yet each and every time they do, you are left craving even more. Her touch, her presence, and her gloves. They are the greatest addiction you could ever fall victim to, and you never want it to stop.
Alas, these last few weeks, the time spent with her while you were under her roof was limited. More slaves meant less time, and though you understood, it was still difficult to manage. Yet you had, churning out story after story day after day for your Goddess.
And yet, today, for the first time, you find yourself without a single, solitary idea.
You’ve been here over an hour- having arrived at your usual time and been greeted by Mistress Scarlet- still absolutely stunning even answering the door in a long navy blue Captain America shirt, short red leather driving gloves and messy hair, before stripping down to nothing and making your way dutifully to the study like countless days before.
That had been the last you’d seen of her, and as you sat on the chair staring at the screen, you longed for her more than ever before.
She hasn’t felt the need to restrain you in some time, although you’d be lying if you said you didn’t miss it sometimes. At least then, she’d need to stick around a little longer.
So here you were, sitting at the desk, your mind blank. And while it’s not the first time you’ve found yourself lacking in ideas right off the bat, in the past, one eventually made itself known and you got straight to work.
But not today.
Today nothing comes to you.
And that terrifies you.
Though she has never threatened any such thing, the idea that if you failed to do as expected and produce a new story you would be sorely dismissed from this place has never quite left the back of your mind. After so much time practically wrapped around Mistress Scarlet’s gloved finger, the concept of leaving it all behind is more than you can bear.
So you sit, and you stare, and you try your damnedest to come up with something, anything, to put on the page.
You wrack your brain, thinking back to everything you’ve written before. How you wrote about how you first found yourself here. In fact, that was the story that led to you gaining such an enviable position. You’ve written about the times that followed, as well as bursa escort fictional accounts weaving tales of submission and servitude with Mistress Scarlet in countless roles- a wicked stepmother, a dominant teacher, a sexy librarian, and even a long-form series about an online dominatrix with a different name but who was almost entirely inspired by her and her gloves.
And yet, even with all of that spent, you were certain you had more in the tank.
The clicking of her stiletto heels coming down the hallway sends shivers down your spine as your eyes move over to the clock. You sigh- it’s nearly time for her to stick her head in and check on your progress, and you have nothing whatsoever to show for it.
For a moment, you struggle to come up with even a single word, something to make it appear as if you haven’t been sitting here like a useless lump, but nothing comes, and the sound grows closer by the second. Before you know it, the door to the study opens up, and there she is, in all her glory.
Mistress Scarlet stands there, having changed as well as gotten a little more glammed up than when she’d first greeted you this morning. Her long, shapely legs were presented beneath a black leather skirt, with a blue, silken sleeveless top covering her incredible bosom, though the shape of her breasts could still be seen beneath the soft fabric. A pair of shoulder-length black leather gloves snake along her arm, and the black lipstick she’s sporting only adds to the image of power and control she exudes.
From behind a pair of black-framed glasses, she stares over at you, her expression betraying nothing.
This Amazon of a woman steps inside without a word, and with every step, it feels as if the remaining minutes of your time as her writer slave are ticking by.
You sight, bracing yourself for the worst.
She stops in front of the desk, leather-clad hands on her hips as she stares down at you. Based on your positions as well as her appearance, it feels almost as if you are an employee about to be reprimanded by your stern boss, which, perhaps you are. You have to wait and see.
“Well now,” she begins softly, that lovely accent of hers music to your ears even if it may yet prove to be the last time you ever hear it, “let’s see what my little writer slave has come up with so far.”
With a gulp, you hang your head in shame even as she takes two steps around the desk to stand behind you.
Her cool gloved hand rests on your bare shoulder, the sensation sending signals down to your now well-trained cock to start to stiffen, although even it knows it will not be allowed to cum until the woman standing behind you deems it so, which may never be again.
She doesn’t say a word, and the silence that fills the air is almost more than you can take.
After a minute or two, you practically burst into tears and begin to sputter out an excuse. “I’m so sorry Mistress Scarlet, I just… I can’t think of anything… Please, don’t send me away, I promise I’ll come up with something, I just…”
Before you can say another word, the gloved hand pulls away from your shoulder, and for the briefest of moments you worry that your plea has indeed fallen on deaf ears.
Then, without warning, the chair is spun around so that you are facing her, and Mistress Scarlet’s glove hand cups your chin, bringing your face up to gaze upon hers.
She’s smiling warmly.
“Hush my little writer slave,” she continues, her voice soft and caring. “I understand that sometimes it’s hard to come up with new ideas… Do you think all of my content just comes to me?”
You shake your head in bursa eskort as much as you can given her gloved grip. You’d honestly never give it much thought but, the more you consider it, the more it makes sense. Her photo shoots, her videos, every piece of her content… Any form of creativity requires inspiration, and even the best sometimes still hit a wall.
Even someone as amazing as Mistress Scarlet.
“Exactly… Sometimes I need to take some time, focus on something else, until the wheels start to turn again. It’s perfectly fine sweetheart.”
Her other gloved hand moves up to brush away your tears, and you almost feel like crying all over again from her kindness. You hadn’t expected such a reaction, but her tone and warm smile are almost enough to make you melt. “Thank you, Mistress.”
She lets go of your chin and gently pets your hair, then steps back from the chair. “Now now, it’s alright my little writer slave… I know I’ve been rather busy with all those new subbies your stories have brought my way… Perhaps I’ve been shirking in my duties as your muse.”
Your eyes widen, and once more, you begin to sputter. “It’s not your fault Mistress Scarlet. I just-“
A gloved finger presses against your lips, silencing you instantly. “Hush sweetheart. Sometimes silence is best.”
Stepping away from both you and the chair, she walks towards the center of the study, then, looking over her shoulder, she beckons you toward her with a single gloved finger.
Although you’ve grown quite used to spending nearly all your time here seated at the desk, you are intrigued by what she could possibly have in mind that would require you to stand up. Carefully, you make your way towards her, stopping and dropping to your knees before her as is usually the norm.
But not today it seems.
Mistress Scarlet reaches down and, with a hand beneath your chin once more, effortlessly brings you back to your feet. “Not this time writer slave. You want to be inspired, don’t you?”
You nod and, to your shock, she begins to lower herself, her strong legs bending until her knees touch the warm, carpeted floor of the study. All you can do is watch and stare at this sudden shift of position, as well as the possibilities of what she could possibly have in mind doing so.
She looks up at you, her black lips pursed together in a smile and her deep eyes staring at you through her glasses. “Now then, let’s get started.”
With that, she reaches for your already hard cock with a single leather-clad finger, pressing the tip of it against the head and sending a shiver of pleasure coursing through your body. A small moan slips out from your lips, but she’s only just begun.
The lone finger slowly traces its way from the tip of your shaft along your length, taking its sweet time before stopping at the base. Then, she moves it around to the bottom and brings it back to the tip, making sure to cover the same ground a second time.
Once there, another finger joins it, repeating the same teasing gesture, moving from the tip to the base. Then a third, a fourth, and finally the entire gloved hand is wrapped around your shaft, gently stroking it up and down without as much as a word. All the while, her eyes remain locked on yours, and though you are the one standing, it feels more like you are the one kneeling.
“Tell me, writer slave,” Mistress Scarlet begins, her voice along with the continued movement of her gloved hand making you weak in the knees, “do you think I can retain total control of you whilst here on my knees?”
A slightly louder moan is the only response you can muster, but it’s more than enough to confirm Mistress Scarlet’s suspicions.
“I’d say yes… Yes, I can.”
It’s the truth, there’s no denying it. To some, kneeling would be seen as a sign of submission, yet as you look down into Mistress Scarlet’s intense gaze, you know that regardless of the positions, she is still in complete control of you.
The sheer fact that it only took a single touch of one leather-clad finger on your cock to render you little more than putty in her gloved hand says it all. You are ready to serve and obey any and every one of her commands.
And as her gloved hand continues to stroke and tease your erection, you have a feeling you know exactly what command she has in mind for you.
Her other hand moves down to cup your balls, teasing and tickling them even as their twin increases its speed along your shaft. Your groans grow louder and louder by the second, the pleasure you’re feeling a reminder of what only Mistress Scarlet and her gloves can give you. The thing you live for.
And there it is.
“Mistress,” you moan, completely dumbfounded by the words you know you are about to say. “Wait.”
She slows down her strokes and looks up at you with a cocked eyebrow. “Wait?”
You groan, then nod. “Yes… I… I know what to write today.”
A smile crawls across her black lips. “I thought so. You just needed a little… helping hand.”
No other words need to be said, she knows precisely what you are getting at. Enjoyable as what she was doing to you was- and it most certainly was, there were rules. The most important one being that you had to earn your pleasure. And you had every intention of doing so.
Much as it might ache to have her stop when you were so close, you knew from experience that it would be worth the wait. She’d make sure of that.
Mistress Scarlet’s gloved hands pull away from you, and you reach down to take one so as to gently bring her back to her feet just as she did to you only moments before.
“Ever the gentleman,” she says with a smirk, then stands before you, towering over you even more than usual thanks to her heels. You smile and blush a little, then bring her gloved hand to your lips, kissing it in gratitude for the help both it and her have given you in your time of need.
You turn towards the desk, but before you can take as much as a step, you feel Mistress Scarlet’s gloved palm give your bare bottom a soft smack, causing you to jump and her to giggle like a schoolgirl.
“Don’t expect to make a habit of this,” she says with a wicked grin. “Next time, I may need to provide inspiration some other way…”
Then she blows you a kiss and heads for the door, leaving you to return to the desk, take your seat, and start to write in earnest, even as your cock continues to stand at attention, waiting patiently for her eventual return to finish what she started.
The words practically pour out of you now, taking the image of Mistress Scarlet as well as her actions and weaving them into a story worthy of both your Goddess and her gloves. Time passes in a blur as one page becomes two then three, and before you know it, the story is complete.
And your cock is even harder than it had been at the start.
Smiling at your handiwork, you press save and sit back in the chair. There will be edits, likely a rewrite or two, before it’s ready to be posted for the world- as well as future slaves for Mistress Scarlet, to see, but for now, it’s finished. And just in time too.
You can hear the clicking of Mistress Scarlet’s heels on the hallway floor ring out once more, only this time, you feel a sense of relief.
You hope she enjoys this one.
It may not be your best work, but it is yet another piece that proves without a shadow of a doubt that you are indeed a writer slave.
Her writer slave.
Now and forever.