Curry On, My Haywardson

Jayne Renault
14 mins read
Published over 1 year ago
Chapter 3

Curry On, My Haywardson (Part 3)

“I don’t hear you, Michael.”

The dam broke and words began to pour from him. “Yes. My lady,” he gasped. “Yes, please, I’m ready. Please. Take me, I’m yours.”

Still squatting over him, Ginger leaned back and pulled the drape of her skirt aside to expose her bare pussy to him. Racked with strain, he burned everywhere—around his throat, in his chest, his biceps, his forearms, his hips, his shins. Before he could process any tangible thought, he was fighting against his restraints, reaching from every corner of his body out toward her. It was a reaction borne of his primal, unbridled compulsion to submit and worship her. He barely recognized himself—this behavior didn’t really make any sense to him. At the same time, he couldn’t imagine responding in any other way.

“Oh my. Look at you, fighting so hard to get up here to me.” With the fingers of one dark hand, she spread her darker pussy lips wide, dipping her middle finger in to coat it with her wetness. “Is this what you want?”

“Oh my god, yes, Ginger, yes. Please.”

The begging was certainly out of character for Michael, and came easier than anyone else would ever know.

She traced lazy lines and circles around her vulva, glossing herself in her own scent. The intoxicating aroma was warm and dark, like smoked cedar and cinnamon with a hint of jasmine blossom, and left Michael so lightheaded he thought he could feel her fingers on him—inside him—in that moment. As if every stroke she painted on herself somehow marked him too. 

When she fingered herself even deeper, Michael felt himself open up. The muscles in his neck were white with exertion. “Please, Ginger,” he pleaded again. 

Her fiendish cheshire grin consumed her face right before she twirled her hand with a little flare up to her mouth and licked her fingers clean. Sighing with extravagant self-satisfaction, she finished with an exaggerated POP that echoed in the shadowy corners of the room; the taste of her echoed in his mouth and drove him to mania. 

Michael’s hips groped impulsively for the domed ceiling. His frustrated groan was met with stern purple eyes weighed down by an expertly sculpted brow line.

“So greedy,” she tutted and pulled herself back up to full height, allowing her skirt to fall back into place. The gauzy hem tickled at his chest and down his body as she walked away from him. “I’m afraid you’re going to have to exercise a little patience, Michael. I’ve never been one to rush through a good meal.”

Michael craned his neck in an attempt to follow her movements as she stepped back to stand at his feet. He watched as she raised both hands in front of her, bracelets tinkling when she swiveled her palms to face the ceiling. Moments later, soft black ropes not unlike her hair snaked up from the floor and made their way over his body. He was about to cry out when a soft, pillowy obstruction filled his mouth, muffling any sound that might have escaped otherwise. The animated ropes wrapped like dark vines around his limbs, looping intricate, repeating patterns into his flesh, and manipulated him into a perfectly bound kneeling position with his arms clasped behind his back to spread his chest wide. Ginger approached him from behind to place a cushion beneath his kneecaps and stroked his cheek with menacing affection. She stalked around and squatted down to meet his eyes.

Michael looked up at her, wary.

“It’s okay,” she cooed reassuringly. “Again, I want to make you uncomfortable, but not terribly so.”

His head drooped back down in silent reverence. 

“You’ll notice that your hands still have some mobility,” she said as she rose. He wiggled his fingers behind his back to test out this claim. “Can you snap for me?”

Michael obediently snapped for her over and over like he was praising a spoken word artist.

“Good,” she purred. “I just couldn’t resist gagging you. You look so beautiful in your helplessness, you know that?” Ginger stroked his chin with the tip of a single black fingernail. A flicker of pride swelled in him and pushed against the ropes banding his chest. “But as you may have noticed, you are unable to speak now. You can deliberately think your safe word and I will hear it, but the snap serves as a back up for your own peace of mind.”

She tugged at the intricate knot that crossed his sternum to check the tightness.

“After a couple thousand of years of practice, of course I am quite skilled. But even the best can get a little carried away sometimes. If you notice pain, or worse, that you’re going numb, make sure you snap for me. If you can’t snap, we’ve gone too far. Understood?” 

Michael looked her in the eye and offered a curt, knowing nod. A droplet of saliva was shaken loose and fell to the floor when he did so. He sucked back as sharply as he could through the gag in a fruitless attempt to catch the drool caught at the corners of his mouth.

Ginger took a step back to appraise him. She crossed her arms and rubbed her chin.

“Have you ever been bound like this, dear?”

Michael shook his head. 

“Do you like it?”

His pulse pushed against the constriction of every inch of rope. His balls ached between his bound thighs. He felt impossibly secure and supported in his state of forced restraint.

Michael tried and failed to force a garbled “mm-phhmm, yemph” through the gag.

“That’s enough,” she said cutting his non-words short. “Mm. Yes. Stunning.”

Ginger floated back in toward him and licked up the side of his cheek. Michael’s whole body shuddered when she inhaled so deeply, it was as if she was actually breathing a part of him into her. As if he could feel his essence moving through her body.

“You really are delicious,” she said, swooning. “Thank you for coming to me today, Michael.”

Michael sighed involuntarily through the gag. He was pulsating all over, thrilled by her praise and approval. He was entirely consumed by her sway over him. Until that moment, he never could have imagined the comfort and security he found in avowing her this authority.

Ginger hummed a few measures of a harrowing folk tune to herself as she raised her hand and brought Michael back to float a few inches above the stone surface, slowly rotating him until he was facing away from her. Having lost sight of her again, her wordless singing, airy and whimsical like it was passing through a bamboo pipe, was his only frame of reference. Not a little charmed by her whispering song, he stared at the cold, dark wall and trembled. Relinquishing all of his power to control the situation and not knowing what would come next was both terrifying and liberating.

And then, the hall fell silent.


It was so impossibly quiet that Michael worried Ginger had left him altogether.

He really had no idea how much time had passed since the last sign of her—Seconds? Minutes? Years?—because he wasn’t entirely sure that time existed in this underworld of hers.

The suspense had built slowly enough to make him jump against his bindings when a sudden heating sensation of slight friction rose on the flesh of his ass. As if she was rubbing circles into him until—crack! The sting met the sheer fabric of his boxers and carved a line of white-hot bliss into the backs of his eyes.

Michael couldn’t tell if he was more startled by the unexpected strike or just how good it felt.

Yes, again, he thought. Uh… If it please you. My lady.

Her low, rumbling groan of approval was so smug when she cracked him again, and again, and once more with impeccable precision. Without any visual cue, he wasn’t even sure what she might be using to draw out such a delicious sting; Michael’s entire body tensed and subsequently melted like butter on hot toast with every strike, and he grunted into the gag.

He heard Ginger lick her lips. 

“Michael, your arousal is so… savory,” said her disembodied voice. “Yes. I can taste you from here. And you are exquisite.”

Michael could taste it too. Umami and tart, with the subtlest hint of sweetness. He didn’t have words in his vocabulary for these flavors. He’d never tasted anything like it, which seemed all the more strange when he realized it was his own essence prickling his tongue.

The ropes on his bare skin began to travel again. He relished in the soft friction of their movement around his limbs until they finally released him. The scarf snaked out from his mouth as he floated back toward the silk-covered dais, stretching long, viscous lines of saliva out with it. Michael drank in the cool, damp air with more gratitude than he had ever known. When his feet met the floor, the charmed ropes bent him right over the rock and strapped him down by the wrists while the damp scarf slinked up his face and clung to his eyes, robbing him of all sight.

He felt Ginger come up behind him, pressing her hips into his bare ass. His boxers were gone, and the silk covering the dais was pleasantly cool on his hard, aching cock. 

Ginger’s fingers slinked up the side of his thigh as she folded herself over him to match his position. Her breasts were soft and her belly warm as she pressed her front to his back.

Her hand then slipped between them, between his legs, and stroked and massaged his balls from underneath. Michael moaned into the silk when she finally touched his cock. 

“You’re so eager, Michael. But it’s not quite time for the main course, my sweet.” Her whisper consumed Michael as if her voice was coming from within him. “Though I might have to get a proper taste of this before we’re done.”

The mere thought of her mouth on his cock sent a wayward ripple through his entire body.

“We’ll see though,” she added.

Ginger then abandoned his lovely cock and massaged her way back up the crease to thumb the bundle of puckered muscle and nerves at his core. Like a ruthless puppet master, she orchestrated his limited body movements by adding and revoking pressure in a haphazard fashion. His wrists pulled against their restraints and Michael shuddered every time she teased him with the prospect of cracking him right open.

And then once again, she was gone.


Michael felt the weight of Ginger’s presence all around him, but his flesh was aching with the sudden absence of her body on his. Her cruel laughter rumbled through his chest.

He raised his head as high as it would go when he heard her telltale pop. Though he couldn’t see through his blindfold, he could smell the powdery explosion of her reappearance somewhere right in front of him.

Ginger stroked his cheek and caught his chin gruffly between her thumb and forefinger. “I need to whet your appetite so I can stoke mine.”

She held his face in place as she teased his lips with the soft tip of… well, Michael wasn’t quite sure what it was. 

It can’t be her penis… She just showed me her cunt…

He could feel the ripples of Ginger’s satisfaction in denying him visual confirmation as she pressed the phallic tip past his lips and into his mouth. He relaxed his jaw to make room for the foreign presence. Ginger moved it slowly, back and forth over his tongue. Earthy with a hint of spicy clove, the soft, ribbed exterior was unlike anything he had ever tasted. He found himself choosing to swirl his tongue around the tip, familiarizing himself with the sensation of taking in such lines and curves for the first time in his life. 

“I’d ask if you like this,” she cooed. “But I already know the answer.”

She thrust with a little more fervor, moving in and out, deeper and deeper until Michael worried he might choke. But he didn’t. He was thrilled and embarrassed by how much he enjoyed fellating… her?

“That’s it, Michael.” Her voice was breathy, yet controlled. “Make it good and wet.”

He wanted more. He needed more. But his restraints restricted his reach.

Harder, he thought. My lady.

She plunged into his throat until she threatened to gag him. Thick saliva from the darkest corners of his throat was dragged up on the out-strokes, dripping in long, hanging lines from the corners of his mouth.

Michael panted, ecstatic and strained as she withdrew from his mouth. 

Another dusty pop, and he felt her behind him once again. Her hand was on his back, dragging down his spine to the swell of his ass. She gave him a squeeze and massaged his asscheek like she was kneading a ball of fresh dough. 

“How are you, Michael?”

Overwhelmed by the collection of sensations and lack of some sensory feedback, his lower back arched spontaneously, and he pressed his forehead into the cool stone.

“Michael,” she said sternly, softening her grip on him. "Shall I continue?”

“Yes, Ginger. P-please, don’t stop.”

“Greedy little slut…”

Michael’s heart flipped in its cage. No one had ever talked to him like that; he struggled to reconcile with how enthusiastically his cock throbbed in response.

He heard the smack of Ginger’s lips again and her finger was between his legs, painting inexplicably wet circles around his rim. Michael’s breath hitched when she slid in just past his edge to her first knuckle. She stilled until he breathed out.

“Good, Michael. Yes. Give yourself to me.”

His chest heaved into the perpetually cool silk under him. He pressed his cheek into the hard surface as she slid her finger further into him. Her other hand rested encouragingly on his rump, massaging him deeper into submission.

Michael felt himself opening up to her. A soothing pliancy came over him at the realization. 

Ginger slowly pulled her finger back, and added a second one, thrusting carefully, ever deeper, until she almost couldn’t reach any further. An electric current shot through his abdomen when she curled her fingers down into him.

“Yes, Michael.” She sucked the air in hard through her teeth like she just had just torn off an old bandage, and breathed out in a long sigh. “Let me take you there.”

Michael’s mind turned to mush as she massaged him from the inside out. He almost didn’t notice when she withdrew her fingers entirely and replaced them with the same soft tip that she had just put in his mouth. 

Michael’s deep, rumbling groans crescendoed as she slid the head past his rim into his depths, filling him with permission to let go. 

He was grateful for her patience as she gave him the time he needed to welcome her in. Once he was open and ready, Ginger grabbed hold of Michael’s hips and sunk deeper. His moans turned to ecstatic wails as she moved with more intent on every thrust.

“What do you say, Michael?” she snarled.

“Thank you, my lady,” he whined. “Thank you!”

Ginger plunged harder and faster into him until the room was filled with the smacking sound of her hips on his ass and his grateful howls. His eyes blurred over under the blindfold. He ground his erection into the equally hard surface beneath him and strained against his bindings. 

Michael had never known such all-consuming splendor.

The tension building in his body rose all over, filling him to the point that Michael thought he might burst if he didn’t pass out first, and his desperate cock was on the brink of explosion.

“Yes, Michael,” came her harsh, breathy whisper. “Come for me.”

Her permission launched him headfirst over the edge. Michael began to sob into the cool silk as spurts of white-hot come erupted from his cock, drenching the purple pall beneath him with his release. He dripped his way through layer upon layer of every heavenly state that he had never known but had always been there waiting for him. 

Ginger slowed her roll as he fell back down into the steadfast rock face, limp and utterly spent. The ropes went slack, melting off his body; his blindfold disintegrated in a cloud of black mist; she slid out of him completely.

She was only gone a moment, but the sense of abandonment that Michael felt then was almost as overwhelming as the pleasure she had just given him.

“Shhh,” Ginger reassured him as her hands found his flesh again. She said, “It’s okay, I’m still here,” over and over as she gently rubbed life back into every line the ropes had carved into his body.

With the blood returning to the surface, she flickered momentarily with one more soft pop. Sitting beneath him, she cradled his head in her covered lap. The heady amber scent emanating from her was still spicy but more caramelized than before. A fresh silk shroud appeared suddenly and wrapped Michael in a gentle cocoon. He curled into a ball on his side as she continued to stroke him softly, gently wiping away the last of his tears with a corner of his silk.

“Shhh… That’s it.” Her voice was impossibly soft, as if she was breathing the words right into him. “Rest now. Rest that weary head of yours. It’s okay. You’re done.”

Michael sniffled and nuzzled his nose into her belly, feeling all the moving emotion come to a calm halt.

“Mmm,” she purred. “You look so peaceful now.”

Without altering his position in the slightest, Michael groaned and mumbled through his grogginess. “Ginger?”

“Yes, Michael?”

“Did you… eat well?”

Ginger giggled softly through her nose. “Thank you, yes. I haven’t indulged like this in some time.”

“That’s nice.” Only half-conscious, he said it without really processing what she had said. He almost nodded off completely before adding another, “Ginger?”

“Yes, Michael?”

Her fingers running through his hair had him drifting closer and closer to some kind of enchanted sleep.

“Thank you.”


Michael was jamming his card into the machine when Eddie returned with his characteristic grin.

“Alright, Haywardson. I’m all set,” Eddie flicking his metro card and shoving it in his pocket. He rubbed his hands together in anticipation of a delicious meal and clapped Michael on the back. “Oh, hey, thanks man,” he said with a nod to the debit machine in Michael’s hands. “You didn’t have to do that. You all ready to go then?”

“Almost.” 

The woman was still carefully placing their styrofoam containers into a paper bag behind the counter.

“Yo, dude. You ready for this?” It wasn’t a real question because Eddie already had his answer. “Man, you’re not ready for this. It’s so good. I can’t wait to eat.” He offered the woman another smile, which she mirrored back to him.

The woman handed the bag full of packed goodies to Michael. He accepted it with a nod and a courteous “Merci” and the two men turned to walk back out to the bustle of the underground city.

“Oh, shit,” Eddie said, hitting Michael’s arm with the back of his hand. “I forgot to tell you. They make this tea here with condensed milk that’s amazing. And if you ask real nicely, she’ll even put some cardamom in it.”

“Cardamom?”

“Yeah, dude. It’s the shit. You want some?”

“No.” Michael looked back at the woman, who was nowhere to be seen. “I don’t think I’ll be needing that today.”

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The Dinner Date
The Edge of Glory
Expressions of Grief
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Hey, Babe.
Just Dessert

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