I call it the Doorknob Game.

The rules are simple. I stand in front of a hotel room door. She stands on the other side of the room. If she touches the doorknob before I can cum inside of her, she wins.

“What do I get if I win?” Ivy asked.

It was a fair question.

The idea of a prize was important for this scene. We’re both adults and can admit that we’re attracted to each other. We both WANT the night to end with me using her like a fucktoy. But I want there to be some genuine struggle, and the prize makes for a good motivation.

Previous contestants have picked tame things, like $100, or a chance to have me in a suit and tie taking her out to some lavish dinner date. One of the more amusing fucktoys was struggling to earn the right to sleep on the bed like a real human.

Ivy, being the brat that she is, picked an extremely interesting prize option: If she won, when I wrote about her, I would be unable to call her a seven-letter word that combined a three-letter c-word for ejaculate, and a four-letter s-word for a sexually promiscuous person.

Even though it was clear to me that one word described her perfectly.

I liked the challenge of it. But then again, I’ve never lost a round of the Doorknob Game.

Part of the reason was my sheer size. I’m 6’2 and 260 pounds. While I’m getting up there in age at 45, I’ve been fighting off the temptation to let my body fall apart. Lots of swimming, hiking and biking have been keeping me somewhat active. And knowing that I need that energy and flexibility to fuck cute women a fraction of my age proves to be extremely good motivation.

Ivy was a skinny 5’5 sweetheart, with small, perky tits and an amazing ass. The night before I gave her an introductory course to my sadism and sensuality, getting a feel for what her body could handle before I really let loose on her.

While she wore a lovely sundress for me the night before, I had her put on a tank top, skimpy shorts and underwear she didn’t mind losing for Night Two. She still looked so perfectly fuckable. Knowing that I was about to have my way with her only made me more eager to drag her back up into our hotel room.I had made a point of keeping on my dress shirt, tie and slacks from work. Partially because I knew she liked the way I looked in that fit, and partially for reasons she completely underestimated.

I was ready to go. It was 8 p.m. She looked around the room nervously, looking to the counter with my spread-out kink materials - condoms, paddles, rope, zip ties, tape, first aid kit and more. I mistakenly thought she was parsing out my tools, trying to predict what I was going to do to her. I wondered if she noticed which items were missing from the night before.

She said needed a minute. And another minute. She kept looking to the counter, to the door, to the bed.

My body was filling up the hallway entrance. She knew it was hopeless.

I started to tease her.

The hotel room was an insanely large jacuzzi suite. It wasn’t really my plan to book it, I just wanted a nice king-size bed to have some space to toss her around.

But entering the room, there was a marble-tiled hallway that created a choke point in front of the door before spilling out to carpet, a desk, a lounge table and some cushioned chairs, which would have made for perfect voyeur seats to the King Size bed. The jacuzzi was on the far side of the room, where the carpet again gave way to marble tiles.

In preparing the room, I had pushed all the furniture with sharp corners away from the bed, giving me a little extra space.

I moved to the edge of the hallway and laughed at her nervousness.

“You know it’s hopeless, don’t you?” I said. “Your feet aren’t even going to touch this tile.”

She took one last look at the counter. It was 8:03.

“OK,” she said. “Green light.”

I had her within three steps, dropping low to plant my shoulder into her stomach and wrapping my arms around her. A little bit of a lift, followed by a toss and slam into the bed.

It was already obvious that I was bigger and stronger. And now she was realizing that I was faster. And I had been planning.

With her body face down on the bed, I pulled a Velcro strap out of my pocket. Velcro probably doesn’t realize that they’ve accidentally designed the perfect BDSM restraints, but when they made some luggage straps that can hold up to 300 pounds each, I had to pick some up.

The one from my pocket was only of my longer straps, and it had a nice molded black handle on it. It was just big enough to slip around her ankles. The goal was to distract her and slow her up. Honestly, if she didn’t get out of that restraint I’d be disappointed.

But she took the bait perfectly, squirming and reaching down to her ankles to unfasten that strap. Only to find out that I used her time squirming to pull out another set of restraints fashioned into handcuffs. And one of her wrists was already in my hand. I strapped it in tight, and she instinctively used her other hand to try to free herself. A quick twist of her arm and both of her wrists were behind her back.

Two seconds later, her arms were useless.

She didn’t even have time to notice where the cuffs came from.

In looking around before we started, she missed spotting the bits of rope dangling from the corners of the bed. Bits of rope rather expertly tied and connected to restraints. I had spent about an hour before her walking into the room setting various snares and caches of tools. Things to quickly lock her down, immobilize her and overwhelm her. 

I didn’t want her seeing any more of the traps, so I gave her a bigger disadvantage. I unbuttoned my dress shirt, then wrapped it around her face, using the arms to tie it off. Then I violently yanked down her shorts and panties.

When I pushed my hand between her legs, I could feel the warm, wet mess she was melting into.

She knew she was going to lose. And every inch of her body was betraying her with excitement.

The brat in her made her kick and flail with her legs. I had to admire it. But still, I was prepared for this. I grabbed one ankle and dragged her leg towards the edge of the bed, where another tied-off strap was waiting.

I picked up the previously loosened strap that I had originally used on both ankles, then used it to connect her other leg to the rope her wrists were strapped to.

For fun, I checked the clock.

It was 8:05.

It really was so easy.

I could have won then and there. She had absolutely no ability to stop me from taking my victory. She was bound, blindfolded and exposed.

But I didn’t just want a physical win. I wanted to break her. I wanted her mentally.

I took some photos of her helpless state, knowing that she would enjoy seeing them later. And then I decided they’d look sexier with less of a tank top. I didn’t bother untying her, ripping open the top.

The bra was cute. But I knew her tits looked even cuter. So it made sense to rip the bra in half to show off ALL of her fuckable body, and to let me suck on her nipples as she squirmed.

Then there was her pussy. The night before, I got a feel for how tight she was. If I was a gentleman, I’d have to say she was too tight for my cock. There really wasn’t a way to fuck her that didn’t also hurt her a bit, too.

I’m definitely not a gentleman. If I’m being fully honest with you, it makes me more turned on knowing that my cock hurts her. And it really turns me on knowing that my aggressive, primal strokes that I like to use to cum break her like I’m hitting the factory reset on her soul.

But forcing my cock into her tight little pussy isn’t the easiest thing. A little bit of foreplay with my fingers, stretching her out and preparing her for my girth, also gave me a chance to mock and tease her.

I kept pointing out how helpless she was. How badly she lost. How easy it was for me to tie her up.

“And you were a cocky little brat, right?” I said. “That was what, about a day and 29 minutes ago. What’s happened since then?”

“You,” she said. “You happened.”

There wasn’t a hint of defiance in her voice. She was my puppet.

“You’re not a cocky little brat anymore, are you?”

“No.”

It was more of a whimper when she said it. She knew it was coming.

“What are you?” I said.

“I’m a cumslut,” she said with a soft whisper.

“Say it louder.”

“I’m a cumslut.”

Full voice, from her chest. It made my cock throb as I started to rub it against her wet pussy.

“You’re a happy little cumslut, aren’t you?”

“Yeeees.”

Her hips started to reach for me, begging for me to fill her.

Mmmm, that’s a very good girl,” I said. “You were fighting that for so long. You were trying to not let that little slut brain out. You wanted to be a person with big thoughts and dreams and rights.”

I started to let the tip of my cock push inside of her.

“And now you’re a dumb little slut, aren’t you? You’re a naughty little cumslut.”

She couldn’t form enough of a thought to speak now. I let out a bit of a laugh as I realized the situation. For me to get a good angle into her pussy, I was going to have to untie her.

I might as well use this against her.

“There’s a part of you that can still struggle,” I teased. “You can try to stop this. You can try to stop being a cumslut for the rest of your life. You know it too, don’t you?”

“Mmm hmm.”

The response was almost words from her.

“Yes, all you have to do is escape, get off this bed, run to the other side of the room, and touch just the doorknob,” I said. “You don’t even have to walk into the hall. It’s so easy, isn’t it?”

I unhooked one leg.

“You can run away and show that you’re a real person,” I said. “Or are you really wanting… THIS.”

I pushed in deep. I’d already seen what happens to her when I don’t hold back. I unhooked her other leg, then folded her in half.

“This is your chance,” I said. “If you have any struggle left in you at all, it’s now.”

I didn’t hold back. I had won physically and mentally. I could hurt her. I could make her cum. I could make her say anything I wanted her to. I could make her do anything I wanted.

She was my cumslut.

“Oh fuck,” she cried out. Words were slowly coming back to her as I pushed harder. “Fuck. Oh fuck.”

Deeper.

“Please,” she begged.

I don’t know if I had a chance to pull out.

Her thighs squeezed.

“Please, I want to feel you,” she said.

Anything I wanted.

I wanted to.

She was my cumslut.

I lost all control.

I could feel myself throbbing inside of her.

Filling her.

Ivy the Cumslut.

For the rest of her life.

“That’s a good girl,” I said.

* * *

Postnote - About five minutes after cumming inside of her, the phone rang.

I answered it. The front desk was calling to confirm that I wanted an 8 a.m. wake-up call. Apparently there was some confusion, and the front desk had a note for an 8 p.m. wake-up call, but that would be silly.

Things got busy around the front desk, and they only just now got around to making the call to check up on that.

I thanked them, and confirmed that yes, an 8 a.m. wake-up call would be lovely.

Ivy was never looking at the tools on the counter. She was looking at the phone. Waiting for it to ring, so that I’d be distracted and she could make a run for it.

Only it not only failed, but it turned into some help for the next morning.