Under new management

The ding of the entrance caught DJ unaware. It felt like just a moment ago he had been trying to figure out a way out of this mess and where to go, only for him to suddenly find himself walking into the sex shop. His heels clicked off of the hard linoleum floor as his eyes adjusted to the darker lights. The whole place had a slightly run down feel to it.

He could feel the lube drying on his abused asshole as he wiggled across the room. The memory of the recent finger fucking he had received began to drive DJ’s desire back up. He could feel his cage keeping his cock from hardening under his tiny red latex skirt as he tried not to think about the fact that he had now cum twice just from having men insert themselves up inside him.

His memories of the recent debauchery were cut short by a voice from across the room. “No hookers.” His head whipped around as he recognized the feminine yet strong voice. Jamie’s friend Jenn stood behind the counter and glared back at him, obviously taking him for a local whore.

“I’m… I’m not a hooker.” His voice was shaky as he responded. He could feel PK add a small line to the already embarrassing situation. “They get paid. I’m a slut!”

“DJ?” The recognition in Jenn’s voice made DJ wince as she stepped around the corner and walked over towards him. “Well, you certainly look like a slut. So, you finally realize you weren’t any good as a man huh?”

DJ’s mind spun as he watched the tall goth girl approach. Even in his hooker heels, she towered over him by a good six inches. He wanted to argue with her, but the memories of being fucked by a random driver and then fingerbanged by a cop were still to fresh in his mind.

Jenn got close enough to smirk down at the bump from his cage in the tight miniskirt around his hips. “And locked up like a good girl.” Her hand shot out and took a fistful of his hair, yanking him towards her. “Who is your owner, slut?”

DJ whimpered at the feeling of having the long mane of blonde locks pulled. He could feel it just like the hair was his own. Still, there was something exciting in the feeling of being manhandled by the woman. He took a deep breath and tried to explain his way out of the situation. “I don’t have an owner. I’m just doing this as a joke for Jason…”

The grin on the woman’s face grew as she listened to the pathetic excuse that DJ tried to pawn off on her. “Oh, I think you do have an owner.” Reaching up with her free hand Jenn fished a silver necklace out of her top, a tiny key hanging from it.

“Now, let’s try this again. Who is your owner?” Her grip on his hair tightened as she leaned in and growled the question at him.

DJ winced at the pain in his scalp but couldn’t tear his eyes from the dangling key. PK’s voice popped up in his mind. “Huh, wonder where she got that?” The giggle after words show just how sarcastic the entity was being.

“You are.” DJ whispered the words he knew he had to.

“Not good enough.” The sentence she whispered into his ear was the only warning he got before she moved deeper into the store, pulling him along by his long blonde hair.

Just barely keeping his footing in his platforms, DJ stumbled along after the cruel woman. His focus entirely on eliminating the pain in his head and keeping up with her, he failed to notice when she shoved him up against a padded surface. Before he could figure out what was going on, she began to buckle his hands onto the St. Andrews Cross. With both of his arms immobilized up over his head and out to the side, it was a simple matter for her to lock his smooth legs up as well.

With his face buried in the wall behind the cross, DJ was unable to see what Jenn had in store for him.

“Time to teach you who you belong to, slut.”

PK’s voice came over the loudspeaker of the store. Neither DJ nor Jenn heard it as the entity spoke out. ‘What do you think? Good old fashioned paddling? Maybe a bit more painful riding crop? Or is she a more modern Queen and hooks him up with a machine?'