Purpurea Manor Ch 3

The station was tiny, which made sense as the town of Marington they had just driven through was scarcely bigger than a village, really. There were only two cells, both empty.

“I told you you'd be well looked after,” the officer, who introduced herself as Janine, told him as she closed and locked the cell behind him after carrying his limp, exhausted body inside with seemingly no effort. It was dark, the only light in the

Andrew laid in the bed, which was at least comfortable, and tried to figure out how he had gotten himself here. If only, he cursed, if only he had resisted Janine's charms. Now she was no doubt already putting her plan into action.

Faintly, from down the hall, he heard her voice.

“Hello Sylvia... yes... right here with me. I brought them in.”

Knowing he couldn't take this lying down, figuratively or literally, he forced his tired body up and crept over to the bars of his cell. She must have been on the phone, as he couldn't hear any responses.

“Yeah... oh, very easy. Natural, I'd say.”

Was she talking about him? He bit his lip, straining to try to hear the voice on the other end, but couldn't make it out.

“Well we'll have to question him, but after that, we can make the arrangements...”

With a strained creak, he heard her chair react to her standing, and Andrew hurried back to the bed, rolling to his side to seem as though he hadn't been listening.

“Yeah...” she said, softly, into the phone, as she walked down the hall towards his cell, “all taken care of. I'll have the lab results to you as soon as I've got them.”

Andrew tried not to look up, but when he peeked over his shoulder, she was staring directly into his eyes, her fingers curled against the bars like a caged animal... except he was the one trapped.

“I'll be in touch.”

***

At some point Andrew had finally found sleep, or rather, sleep had found him. Exhaustion.

The gentle clicking did not rouse him at first. Indeed, it barely registered within the murky fog of his clouded dreams, which had so swiftly drifted to dark corners.

Tap, tap, tap.

Wincing against reality which so steadily strained to invade what little respite he had in troubled sleep, every tap made his features dance ever so slightly.

Tap, tap, tap.

At last, his eyes drifted open, having rolled to his back at some point in the night. Silhouetted against the moonlight pouring in, across his cell, a shadow lay. Hovering, two glinting eyes stared out at him.

Tap, tap, tap.

The only feature illuminated was a pale hand, its black nails tapping against one of the bars of his cell.

Andrew drew himself up, hiding under his thin blanket, as the bosomy figures who had haunted his dreams paled in comparison to the outline which now pressed itself against the bars.

He watched as a pair of breasts, naked in the moonlight, squeezed themselves between the bars, a single pole between them. Their mass struggled to pass between even the generous space between the bars.

As one then the other ballooned past the metal pillars which imprisoned him, they passed further, and further, as the sheer scale of this woman's assets became apparent.

The tapping, at last, stopped.

He had winced at the taps, but jumped at their silence, the sudden cessation and his anticipation being even more of a shock.

“I hope you've considered my offer,” came a cool voice, that seemed to swim and linger in the shadows of his jail cell.

It was Janine, naked, standing barefoot and longing.

“There's no point pretending, you know. Just come clean. I told you, you'll be so well taken care of...”

At that, he watched, eyes fixed as she ran a single finger down the bar.

“It's a dangerous world out there, you know. Wouldn't you feel safer with me?”

Her finger now moved, chilled by the metal, to her nipple – where it began to idly circle, swiftly hardening the nub.

“I haven't done anything,” Andrew said quietly, almost afraid to speak.

“No need to be coy, boy, you and I both know that DNA sample is going to prove it. Wouldn't you rather stay with me? You already know how well I can... handle you.”

She began to slowly trace her fingers up and down the bars, forefinger and thumb, in mock masturbation.

“I... don't even know what crime you think I've committed. You abducted me and-”

“All I did was give a lost little boy a ride into town,” she mused, and pulled away from the bars at last, as he heard a tiny metallic tingle, “and who said you'd committed a crime?”

“You did!” he insisted, growing bolder, the sheer injustice of it all finally coming to a boil. “You said that-”

Click.

With a tiny, almost imperceptible sound, Andrew was silenced, as the cell door was unlocked.

Soundlessly, Officer Janine entered, and Andrew truly pulled back now, backed into the corner of his bed against the alcove of the wall. She closed the door behind her and it latched shut.

Of course, he had only made himself an easier target by scooting into the corner. As she sat on his bed and, through sheer mass alone, now blocked any way for him to escape. His cage had been made all that much smaller by just her body alone.

“I said that if you confessed, I'd plead your case, and then you'd get to come home with me.”

Her grin widened, as she slowly moved closer to him, backed up like an animal in a trap.

“What do you even think I did?”

She just smiled, as he felt her hands close around him.

Whump.

In moments, he was embedded into her flesh, sinking deeper and deeper, until...

Her arms around him, she just held him like that for a while. Her hand stroked his hair, her breasts pressed against him, cushioning his face.

“Shhhh...” she said at last, as tears welled up in his eyes, “shhhh...”

At last, the dam broke, and he sobbed. It just wasn't fair. Not just the arrest, not just the way she had silenced him so unfairly. It was more than that. It was everything. Things much deeper than what had happened in the last day or so, more even than the long weeks and months of travel which had worn him down, were bubbling to the surface. Things he had long since buried were being unearthed.

Her pale bosom soaked up his tears, as she cooed softly, her hand just calmly brushing his hair.

“I told you to confess. I didn't say to what, or for what.”

Andrew just lay there, dazed, both by the sudden closeness of her body and the sheer weight of his life which had followed so closely behind him as he ran suddenly caught up to him and collided all at once.

There, in that dark cell, against this nude woman who he had only just met, only for her to bind and molest him and threaten to take his life away, he just let it all flood out.

“Tell me the truth.”

He thought, for a moment, about spilling his whole life to her. Maybe, just maybe, she'd take pity on him. Maybe she'd feel sorry enough to let him go.

Go where, though?

“I'll make it easier for you, I'll speak, and you nod.”

He mutedly weeped, unsure how to feel. He could never in a million years have pictured himself in that position. Yet now he was there he could barely remember how it had felt to be anywhere else.

“You're running from something.”

For a while, he didn't respond, until she ran a finger over his ear.

“It's okay, sweetie. You can tell me.”

He nodded into her breasts, their pillowy softness absorbing his subtle gesture.

“You're worried.”

He nodded again.

“You're afraid.”

Was it a trick?

“You're afraid of something else, much more than you are of me, sweet thing. Boys don't run off like you did unless there's something out there a lot scarier than Officer Janine and her big boobies.”

Despite himself, he couldn't help but feel a tiny giggle erupt within him at that. The sheer absurdity of it all was driving him mad, no doubt. He cursed, how could he be smiling at the way this woman was treating him?

Even so, he couldn't deny it. He nodded.

“You don't want to face it, do you? The big, scary world out there...”

He didn't, and it was clearer now to him, up to his eyes in a stranger's tits, than it had been the night he had fled with a bag. He hadn't cried once since then, but now it all came out.

“I know, honey. Trust me. It's scary out there, not like in here, not like with me.”

Her hand moved down, and began to tug at his clothing once more. He nodded, even as she spoke, and she didn't seem to be waiting for his responses any more.

Her hand found what it was looking for as, once again, he felt himself being coaxed to a full erection by her delicate fingers.

“Boys like you were never meant to face the big world alone.” She was telling him now, not asking, and he was nodding along, his former reluctance being lost somewhere between her breasts, which seemed to be begging him to sink into them, and her hand which – after his last encounter with her – now held so much promise along with his delicate package.

“You would be so much happier with me, sweetie,” she soothed, as she gently lowered him down to the bed beneath her, as if to reinforce her words.

Looking up, he found his vision closing as she, smiling wryly, slowly moved in for the kill. Her nude form pressed closer to his, entrapping him still further, although he knew deep down there was nowhere to run to, even if he could ever break free of her slowly closing form.

Her cloying skin pressed against his now, disrobed and ensnared, as she enclosed him within her grasp, both his cock and his entire body.

She simply held him, slowly stroking his cock as if petting a pet cat, seemingly just enjoying his vulnerability, so casually was she taking advantage of him.

“Oh yes... she's going to love you...” Janine whispered, though Andrew wasn't sure she had even spoken, let alone what she had said.

He felt his aversions slowly giving way to instinct as, inevitably, his libido overrode any self-preservation instincts he had left. No matter how he tried to mentally fortify, a few steady strokes from her hand would shatter any concentration.

Andrew rolled his head in her grip as she gently hooked an arm around his shoulders, keeping him firmly pressed into her bosom, like a cat twitching in its sleep. Officer Janine simply smiled. Her technique was flawless. No boy could resist it. It was only a matter of time.

“Just give in to me,” she whispered, soothingly, “give in and let me take care of you. Be a good boy and stop fighting it.”

Biting his lip, he fought the urge to thrust up into her slow paced strokes.

“I can feel you tensing up, wouldn't it feel so nice to let all that tension out? Let me milk all your worries out of you.”

Her hand just shucked up and down slowly, unerringly, far too slow for any boy's liking and yet he had no choice but to lie there and bear it.

Gasping, moaning, he arched his back as electric shivers ran through him. She was holding his cock the way she had in the car, that perfect grip that felt better than even when he touched himself. That made it all the more frustrating then that she was going SO DAMN SLOWLY!

At last, he couldn't help it, he felt his ass cheeks clenching together in sheer wanton need. Slowly, gently, he rocked his cock up into her grip...

“That's it... just give in. Surrender yourself to me...” she laid it on treacle thick as she felt his hips bucking into her hand, trying desperately to increase the friction through his own thrusts.

“What a good boy you are... but good boys do as they're told.” She admonished him and kissed him on the nose, only for him to sink into her cleavage further, struggling for air.

“I said I was going to milk all your cares away. I'll make sure there's nothing left in that little brain of yours but a sweet, obedient little boy for me who will do anything I say.” She added coolly, “I can't do that if you're going to squirm around...”

At that, she slid her foot across his legs, clamping them down in the pillowy-soft vice of her thighs. Now, he found he was having to fight against the weight of her leg to try to thrust... and he was nowhere near strong enough to do so. Even if he wasn't so exhausted, so desperate, he could never have hoped to lift that leg even with his full strength, let alone what little room his hips had to move.

Smiling innocently, she beamed down at him... and her hand hadn't changed tempo at all.

Groaning muffled protests into her cleavage, he tried desperately now to thrust up into her hand, but he may as well have been buried in concrete. Between her breasts weighing him down and her thigh-lock around his legs, he couldn't move a millimeter.

On, and on, her hand kept up its slow masturbation.

Panicking now, he felt his cock throbbing and aching with need... but he had absolutely zero way to relieve it.

“Such a good boy, holding nice and still for me...” she grinned, conspiratorially, and paused for just a moment to squeeze the tip of his cock, collecting the resulting squirt of pre-cum, and used it as lubrication.

It was as if she were moving her hand at the exact right speed to keep him constantly building towards orgasm, and yet never gave him anywhere near enough friction to achieve it. The time dragged on, and his muffled groans became shouts, cries, whimpers, and of course moans. Her massive breasts muffled them all, reduced them all to the plaintive whines of a petulant child in her grip.

“There, there... such a good boy. I'll milk all your cares away. You'll squirt out all your thoughts... all your cares...” Her eyes narrowed as she narrated her promised orgasm, which he was now beginning to believe would never come. “Then... I'll keep milking you. Good boys need to be milked dry. When you live with me, you'll never be left wanting. Young guys like you need to be milked constantly, to keep all those silly thoughts out of your head.”

Now his heart was hammering in his chest, every instinct was screaming at him to thrust into her slippery fingers, no matter how impossible that was. Her glacial movements kept his cock constantly leaking and throbbing, further lubricating and contributing to his torture, but he couldn't cum like this! He screamed desperately, trying to beg, plead, bargain, cry, anything to be heard.

She simply hummed a tune, the slick wanking of his cock the only other noise apart from the almost imperceptible sounds which barely escaped her bosomy prison.

“That's it, such a good boy... good boys give in... good boys don't fight it... they listen and obey...” She kept up a constant drone of poisonous thoughts, and try as he might, he couldn't summon the mental energy to resist them any more. They sank into his mind like water into a sponge. “Good boys give in to their milking... they let themselves be milked... boys need to be milked... that way their minds are nice and blank... all good boys think about is obeying and cumming...”

He drooled, eyes rolling back in his head as he felt his orgasm constantly burning away beneath the surface, yet never able to break through. Like hot metal simmering, his desire to cum was near overwhelming, and his cock was throbbing mightily in her grip.

She simply kept stroking, at the exact same speed, the exact same tempo, with the exact same grip.

It was utterly maddening. He felt his grip on reality fraying. He could do nothing, say nothing. He existed simply to experience her infuriatingly slow handjob. He was just a vessel for her torment.

“That's it... all those pesky thoughts... let them all bubble away into a nice big creamy mess... and then we'll milk it all out of you...”

Time passed, but he had no way of tracking it. All of his senses, had they not been overloaded, were smothered beneath her sweaty body as she molested his poor, vulnerable cock.

At last, he felt a familiar itch in the head of his cock. He had no idea how long it had taken, but the sheer overwhelming sexuality of their proximity, the way she was whispering a string of such sexual sweet nothings into his ear, it was enough.

Andrew felt his orgasm approaching. The throbs got stronger. His whole cock was jerking in her grip as if it were trying to break free. It felt like pushing a boulder over the tip of a mountain, but it was coming. He whimpered and cried in anticipation of what would, no doubt, be the single greatest orgasm – single greatest moment – of his life. Within the confines of her chest he hyperventilated, his body simply unable to process the sheer chemical rush he was going through at the prospect of finally, FINALLY getting to-

“Of course, though... only good boys get to cum.” She said at last, and her hand suddenly slowed to a stop. Strings of pre-cum trailed away from her hand as she pried it from his thrumming flesh, and a pool of sticky desperation had accumulated on her stomach.

“If you were a good boy, you'd sign a confession. Admit what you did. Then you could come live with Officer Janine, and you'd get to cum. Oh... the orgasms I can give a boy like you... your poor little mind will crack under the pleasure, I'm afraid.”

Now her hand was gone, he felt a growing urgency. His orgasm was... there. Right there. So close. So, so close. For so long he had been building, building up, he was right there. He had to cum. She didn't understand. He HAD to cum.

Click.

He felt a pair of handcuffs on his wrists, very tight, but not painful. They were lined with something soft.

“As soon as you want to sign that confession, you let me know.”

She pulled back, and he immediately began to tug at the handcuffs. They didn't give. He tugged harder, They didn't give.

Now free of at least her upper body, he thrusted into the space between them, as if trying to fuck the air itself.. The tiny jolts of pleasure he got when his cock slapped against his stomach were nowhere near enough to give him the release he needed.

“Please! Please let me cum! Please!” he sobbed, he begged.

“Well, if you like, I can give you a piece of paper to sign...” she pulled out a sheet of blank paper, and a pen. “I can always print the confession later.”

He screamed, a mournful cry, wracked with a dozen emotions at once. His brain felt like it was on fire. His cock definitely was. His balls were churning in anticipation of the greatest orgasm he would ever have.

But he just... couldn't... cum.

“Pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease-” he began, but she simply smothered him in her breasts again.

“Oh, and here I thought you were going to be a good boy...” she cooed, and he squealed with bliss as he felt her finger on his cock...

Only for her to slowly begin to trace her fingertip around his cockhead.

For a few moments, he was silent, his throat having closed up entirely at the imminent orgasm... but when it became clear it wasn't going to happen, his voice cracked in a single, long cry of agony.

Smiling, she just let her finger idly trace around his cockhead, which was now leaking so much that it glided effortlessly.

He grunted, he screamed, he felt pure animalistic rage breaking his soul apart. None of it did anything to bring his orgasm.

For a while he just suffered, sobbing uncontrollably into her breasts, as his cock jetted tiny spurts of pre-cum – much to her delight.

Eventually, eventually he knew, she had to make him cum.

But it wasn't coming. Neither, in fact, was his orgasm abating.

“We'll just wait here until you decide to be a good boy,” she uttered, in a sweet voice, but tinged with the coldest stare he'd ever seen.

His eyes widened in sudden realization. This would never end. She would keep him like this. For hours. Days maybe. Until he went truly insane. SIGN THE FUCKING PAPER, his mind screamed.

But, if he did... this would never end. She'd do this to him all day. Forever.

Right?

No, she said she'd milk him dry. Orgasms he'd never dreamed of. ORGASM. CUM. CUMMING. WANT – TO – CUM.

All he had to do was be a good boy-... was to sign the paper. Sign it. This can't go on. I can't handle a single fucking second more of this TORTURE.

She felt it, she felt his surrender. The way his body slumped within her grip. Every muscle uncontracting, untensing at once. Total surrender. He had given up. He was hers.

She handed him the pen, and held the paper against her breast. It stuck quite easily given the sweat.

He weeped, realising his weakness was about to cost him everything, his freedom, his life, even his sanity. He was going to sign it all way to her breasts.

“That's it, good boy...” she cooed, and began to softly, ever so softly run a finger up and down underneath the head of his cock. “Sign away your rights... sign away your life... give everything to me... give me all of it.”

Her composure was gone. The total control she now had was evidently too much for her, and her panting was causing her breasts to heave – making signing all the more difficult.

Andrew croaked out a final gasp of defiance, but as the pen finally made contact with the paper, she swept in for the kill.

Suddenly her fingers were clasped so perfectly, and he felt the sheer tension they imparted to his cock which was now harder than it had ever been. The sultry promise, a deal with the devil, was more than any boy's mind was ever designed to resist. No boy ever could have.

As he frantically scribbled away any semblance of his former self, she threw the paper to the floor, sending the pen clattering, as she pressed him against the wall.

Any shred of sanity remaining to him abandoned his mind. Any shred of kindness she had been feigning left with it. Eyes locked with his he saw a determination from her that chilled him.

“Cum.” She said simply, and began to stroke his cock at an inhuman speed.

The brief interlude had caused his orgasm to recede just enough that he had time to feel it return. Yet it did not reach a climax. It simply kept rising, and rising. It grew stronger, and stronger, as he felt the first white hot jet of cum erupt against her stomach, painting the underside of her breasts. He choked on the stranglehold his orgasm had upon his mind as his tongue lolled out and he saw stars. A second jet, and a third, erupted with even greater force. Every single fibre of his being was now dedicated to the sole purpose of rocketing every single drop of cum in his body out of his cock and into her milking grip.

Four, five, six jets of cum soaked the space between them, yet she did not stop.

Any kind of higher thought was beyond him now. His mind was filled with nothing but the image of her face, the words she had spoken, and the sound of her command. “Cum.” Not just now. Forever. He existed to cum for her, and nothing else.

***

The world was blurry. He couldn't make sense of it at first.

“Wake up, boy.”

Slowly, sluggishly, he felt the real world sinking in, after he had retreated so far from it.

“Your tests came back.”

He blinked, and as if on autopilot, sat upright, staring at Officer Janing.

“The prosecution office has ruled your biological sample negative.”

Her words were distant, but he couldn't tell if it was because he couldn't bring the world into focus, or that was how she was saying them.

“You're free to go.”

For a long time, he just sat there. His clothes sat where they'd been tossed the night before, but he couldn't even connect that those objects belonged to him.

He didn't know what to do.

The sun crept across a distant window. Eventually, he reached down for those clothes, and put them on.

He walked through the hallway, past two empty cells, and looked back, not sure what he was doing.

Stumbling, slowly, he shielded his eyes from the light of the sun outside through the bars of a window. Next to it was a door. Frightened, he clung to the door's push bar. What was he supposed to do?

Officer Janine was gone. There was no one there. He was alone.

Tentatively, he pushed, and the door swung open.

It took a few moments, but once he had the courage to do so, he stumbled out into the light... and ran.

***

Officer Janine watched through the one-way soundproof glass as the boy wilted against the door. Her heart ached to see him go, but she knew it wouldn't be for long. There was nowhere else for him to go.

“Yeah, he's leaving now,” she muttered into the phone, watching as the boy physically built himself up to the task of walking outside.

“I wish we could just...” she muttered, but after a response, stopped. “You're right.”

Andrew moved through the door, and then was a shadow across the bars... and was gone.

“We'll have him soon.” She hung up, and the door closed behind him.