Incels in Cells

The Predators’ Pet-2

A check of my watch shows that it’s almost time for Tawny to leave.

I’ve made it through the afternoon without jealously pestering her. Of course I’ll get to remotely monitor most of her capture, not to mention join in the indoctrination soon enough. But the temptation to coach (or kibitz) even after all of our planning has been maddening. Now all I need to do is wish her success and endure the interminable interval until her return – hopefully with a more appreciative sort of quarry.

Toweling off the sweat I take the elevator back upstairs. Big enough to carry a gurney, cleverly disguised and code-locked for security, the car disgorges me into the lavish master bedroom suite. Heavily shackled and prettily petticoated, a pair of Domestics is just putting the finishing touches to Tawny’s knockout ensemble.

27 is dusting her nose with a makeup brush while lucky 13 zips up the back of a just-tongue-polished, shiny-as-vinyl thigh-high boot. 13 plants a last reverent kiss on the steel-capped toe-tip and then suggestively fellates the stiletto heel. Indulgently Tawny pushes back the little lace maid’s cap to teasingly tousle carefully coiffed curls. Looking up she greets my appearance with a dazzling smile.

“Precious Jayde!”

“Semi-precious, you mean.”

“Not to me. To me you’re worth more than a satchel full of sapphires, a roomful of rubies, a mile-high pile of diamonds!”

This is a favored routine between us, what with jade being classed as a semi-precious stone and all. My own irreplaceable treasure waves a hand to dismiss the help and gives me a fiery titty-squeeze along with her kiss.

“I can’t believe the time is finally nigh. Are you sure you don’t want to come along for the ride, maybe sit up front with the driver?”

“What, and lock down the rest of the Domestics?”

“We kind of want them out of the way for this prey anyways.”

“I thought we were going to let our prospective pet get a glimpse or two on the way up to the bedroom.”

“A hint of what his destiny holds for him, I know.” Tawny gnaws on a slender but still supremely kissable lip. “And you were supposed to lay down a rose-petal path to the mattress.”

“It’s your turn!” I firmly aver. She regrets my envy, bless her. “Go get him, tigress. Or cougar I guess. Just don’t devour him all at once. Leave some scraps for me.”

“I promise to follow the plan. Only a little while now until it pays off in particularly potent pleasure – or at least in something superior to doting on dopey Domestics or torturing horrible Incorrigibles. I’m a bit bored with both!”

“Well, here’s to more inherently pliant prey.”

This time I’m the one kissing and pinching, even finishing by twisting that always pointy n****e-tip. “In addition to using those last four boars as warnings, maybe we’ll soon be able to present future swine with a more consequential, even providential route to redemption in the living, willing example our special new pet provides.” I step back, before I have to tear the tight leather bodysuit right off her. Tawny grins her greedy agreement.

“Let them see how the virtues of worship are rewarded in the place of hatred.”

“I hope this Phillip proves as optimal as he seems – both at representing the correct identity and fulfilling our own emotional needs.”

“Time to finally find out!”

***

Jesus, I’m so nervous that… No, scratch that. I’m worse than nervous. Worse than uptight or anxious or any other silly synonym. I’m scared supremely shitless.

For a twenty year-old virgin on a first-ever date, this shouldn’t seem extraordinary. For a skinny little shrimp with a pitifully piddling prick and even poorer interpersonal prospects, it’s more like perfectly normal. What if this one fantastic chance collapses into laughs? It could be fatal for my already foundering sense of self-worth.

To be honest I’m finding it hard to believe this liaison will even proceed.

Why me, of all possible peons? What could such a supremely desirable and obviously wealthy woman find to prize in a self-described super-loser too timid to score even a date to a high school dance? Who could want a five-foot-six, hundred and twenty-pound weakling who’d admitted to dreading every gym class? It’s entirely too miraculous to imagine.

There I was, supposedly working at home (jerking to porno) when the doorbell rang. I almost ignored it in favor of my fevered fantasies. Instead I stumbled over all flushed and sweaty to find the most alluring real female I’d ever seen standing casually on the veranda.

Introducing herself as Tawny Pantera, this athletic older blonde in a classy black suit claimed to be a graduate student in social psychology. Her thesis concerned changing cultural mores, and she asked if I would please participate in a rather in-depth survey.

Who could refuse such a vivacious, beautifully sexy lady anything?

Not this manliness-challenged sap. With obsequious eagerness I settled her in the most comfortable seat and made a pot of herbal tea.

Soon the interview was well begun. And without warning I found myself divulging more about my past and what truly made me tick to this total stranger than I’d ever admitted outside of anonymous internet forums. It was like each subject she broached was cunningly chosen to progressively expose more and more of my fundamentally insecure core, the weaknesses both innate and created in me that had led so inexorably to my social isolation.

Topics ranging from the physical disciplining of children and the prevalence of spousal abuse, from bullying in schools to acceptance of gender fluidity often seemed to infer rather feminist political objectives. I must admit I did all I could to ingratiate myself accordingly with my answers. The honesty of these beliefs aside, that’s hardly surprising. The portrait that quickly emerged of me was of a consummate giver, a compulsive people-pleaser.

Yes, I grew up cringing from daily physical and verbal abuse. I watched my father beat and berate everyone daily. Consequently I learned a placatory subservience, a heroic endurance and a visceral aversion to conflict. And yes, my size and this instinctively needy generosity saw me humiliated and ostracized as a ‘sissy’ all throughout my socialization. Underdeveloped and slender, pathologically unassertive, accused of effeminacy for every expression of intelligence or sensitivity, I was forced into the role of pariah (and assumed queer-boy) early on.

Yes, I was desperately interested in women but still a virgin. (Blushing furiously under those kind green eyes.) Convinced of my inferiority, too socially inept to attempt approach, I’d given up on the dating game without ever daring to play. By the time Tawny arrived to draw all this out of me I’d become so awed/daunted by the finer s*x that my perceptions/conceptions of them had become hopelessly idealized. If only I were worthy enough to worship one so wonderful!

Such a sweet, sympathetic ear was offered to hear! How serendipitous this, to have a free therapist just show up and coax one into opening up! Even better, as an amateur analyst she presented no messy questions about professional ethics. There was nothing to stop lovely Tawny from putting down her pen and leaning toward me with flabbergasting frankness.

“Poor Philip! You don’t have to be lonely forever you know. There are plenty of women out there (and even in this very room) who’d value your appreciative attitude. Why waste your days unproductively online, arguing with assholes and m**********g to fantasies? Let me take you out tomorrow evening and all that unhappiness will end.”

Was it really that obvious what I did with all my time? And did this Tawny maybe even glean what kind of fantasies specifically obsessed me? I heard myself agreeing to the conditions for her proposed meeting in a kind of dazed dream. Keep it strictly between us, and just walk north from my door a few blocks or more? Say at around six? Expect her Mercedes limousine to appear and collect me? Whatever you say, my beautiful student of cultural attitudes. Just please don’t wake me from such a paradisiacal impossibility…

So far she hasn’t. A day later the dream persists, at least provisionally. Dressed in my very best I move step by tentative step away from the safety of home and into a very dubious future. As I notice that my route north moves me ever further into the decrepit outskirts, and away from credible potential witnesses or even security cameras, I can’t help developing certain suspicions.

Tawny showing up like that, her way-too-fortuitous questions and reactions, the way she seemed to intuit my internet habits, the degree of secrecy decreed, even her ambiguous promise to ‘take me out’ – everything about the situation screams of a setup. Paranoia battles impatience to keep me glancing constantly over either shoulder. Still my greatest terror remains being stood up, and the ignominious end of this brief sweet dream of worthiness. So it is with more giddy-thrilling relief than can be believed that I greet the sudden appearance of my destined deity.

As I approach a defunct funeral parlor, a dusty garage door goes up. Out backs a gleaming black limousine. Stopping, it bars my path forward. A long door swings open, blocking egress to the street and effectively cornering me. Out of the sumptuous space beckoning ahead peers Tawny, dressed as if straight out of my most fetishistic video collection.

“Get in here, my delectable incel. Enter submissive heaven or regret it forever.”

Okay, she definitely knows entirely too much about me. And the sweeter and more seductive the dream, the greater the likelihood it devolves into a nightmare at some point. Still there is no way I can allow such an irreplaceable opportunity to pass me by, to let this euphoric present and paradisiacal potential dissipate into the miserable mists of history. Haven’t I fantasized almost exclusively about women like this since earliest adolescence? After just a hitch of hesitation at that loaded salutation I practically dive into deeply cushioned luxury.

The hottest woman I’ve ever met (by many a metaphorical mile) pulls the door closed. An electronic lock thumps home and we immediately purr into a turn and take off. With the windows adjusted opaque and the slide between compartments raised it’s impossible to tell where we might be bound. That’s okay. For the moment I have eyes only for spectacularly attractive Tawny.

As slim as I am yet taller and far more fit, the slenderness and strength of her torso and limbs are emphasized by the tightness of her ridiculously skimpy bodysuit. Super-thin, supple black calfskin polished as shiny as the thigh-high dominatrix boots (and bicep-high gauntlets) she sports, this barely hides her arresting breasts and is cut up high enough to expose most of each perfect buttock to boot. Most breathtaking of all though, that flawlessly lovely face is full of natural high color, infused with the honest exhilaration of a fresh, hopefully exceptional (s****l) adventure. Formerly so sweetly sympathetic, those outsized, fiery green eyes now out-gleam her outfit with a smirking, positively perverted, derisory glee.

“How fabulous it is to capture you at last, Philip! Thank you for succumbing to my predatory attentions. Everything’s going to get so much better for you now – or at least be more challenging and rewarding. No longer will your potential go unspent. I see you’re trembling however. Are you an alcoholic perhaps, or just intimidated by aggressive women?”

“Aggressive women turn me on beyond any others, ma’am. It’s compulsory, a totally uncontrollable vulnerability in me. But I’d be lying to deny that I’m also terrified. After yesterday you surely know why.”

“I do. First of all, you’ve never been kissed, never been with anyone much less a vastly experienced, seriously kinky older girl. Second, you finally begin to suspect the extremity of my intentions. Most of all though you worry that you won’t measure up to gendered expectations. I’m going to see the infantile size of your manhood and dismiss it from further consideration.”